Draco and Harry: Escorts in Exile

Chapter Five

Harry looked at the rugged Scottish coast and marveled that it had been mere weeks since he had stood in the same spot with Draco. The Brough of Deerness. It was a beautiful place. He remembered the Slytherin's silvery hair spread out over cloak and grass and felt an unwelcome tightness in his throat. He looked at the surf, crashing on the rocks below, and knew he stood on a metaphorical precipice, as well as a literal one. He was about to make a step that would change his life forever.

Hermione was going to kill him. Ron was going to kill him. Hell, Draco was probably going to kill him. He sighed and then smiled broadly. Harry hadn't done anything blatantly, ridiculously harebrained, nor had he broken so many rules, since he had left Hogwarts. For some inexplicable reason, the thought made him want to laugh aloud.

Harry mounted the broom, checked the compass, and flew out over the dark, roiling sea.

Azkaban Prison was an imposing structure, even in the dark. Harry hovered on the broom and wished he had brought something warmer than his invisibility cloak. A bloody Arctic wind shivered over him from the north and his hands were stiffening on the broom handle.

The structure itself was huge--Harry estimated twelve storeys, though it was hard to tell--very few lights illuminated the place and the windows seemed to be little more than slits, barely wide enough for an arrow to pass through.

Azkaban perched on a barren island of solid rock. Harry doubted it could be approached by sea; the pounding surf would dash a boat to pieces. He examined the place from all angles, taking care to stay far enough away to avoid detection by roving dementors. There seemed to be only one entrance--a small courtyard perched on a rocky promontory, looking like a landing pad for Muggle helicopters. Or wizard brooms.

Harry sighed, realizing it was the only way in.

"Straight through the big, main doors, then," he muttered. He landed in the courtyard and stashed Draco's broom behind a nearby boulder, along with his pack. He cast a quick Concealment Charm to hide them; made sure his cloak was fully covering him, and approached the doors.

They were imposing--fully twelve feet high and reinforced with iron. Harry put a hand on the doors and cast out with his special brand of magic, seeking to identify the spells on the portal. They were several and varied. A couple were even deadly. As expected, however, they were designed to keep people from escaping, not entering.

It took Harry nearly thirty minutes to dismantle the spells, starting with the alarms, and ending with the Lightning Hex. They were bloody serious about keeping prisoners inside. Those that had set up the spells had been competent, to say the least. Harry rested his forehead against the weathered door in weariness. After casting the Fidelius Charm, Apparating to Scotland, and flying to Azkaban to dismantle several complicated spells, he was beginning to feel the effects. He judged it to be nearly two o'clock in the morning.

No turning back, now. He cast Alohomora and one of the huge doors slid open--soundlessly due to the Silencing Charm Harry had cast. When it was open enough to squeeze through, Harry did so. He decided to leave it partially open, just in case the damned wards reset automatically when the doors were shut. He would most likely not have a half-hour to take them down on the return trip.

He found himself in a small, dark antechamber with a large dais in the center, upon which sat a stone desk. During the day some sort of receiving clerk or receptionist likely occupied it. Four stone doors led from the room, one on each side and two at the rear.

Harry hurried forward, hoping to find some sort of records. The desk drawers--two of them--also stone, were locked. Who the hell would come in here and try to break into these drawers? Harry wondered. Well, besides me?

He unlocked them without speaking a word. The first drawer was filled with ledgers. He pulled out the topmost volume. It was a massive tome, conveniently marked with a blue silk ribbon. Harry set it atop the desk and flipped it open to the indicated page.

Draco Malfoy was the second name from the bottom, marked with the date of his admission. Next to his name was a notation: B7-38. That was helpful.

Harry slammed the book and tossed it back into the drawer with a curse. Unless he could figure out where the hell B7-38 was he would have to wander the halls of Azkaban. After the Mulciber incident, Harry should have placed a Tracking Spell on his Slytherin. Harry grinned, knowing what Draco would have said about that idea.

Using what he hoped was logic, Harry chose the second door from the left. It seemed like a B. He found himself in a long, dark corridor--and facing a dementor! It swiveled toward him immediately with a hungry sort of eagerness, likely sensing untapped emotion. Harry felt the cold sucking at him instantly, but he no longer heard the tortured screams of his mother. Harry had faced so many dementors working with Draco that he could dispel them in his sleep.

It didn't hurt that he had an arsenal of happy thoughts at his disposal--one of his favorites was of Draco with a braided wreath of flowers on his head. The Slytherin had fallen asleep one afternoon on a job and Harry had twisted dozens of wildflowers into a crown before placing it over Draco's head.

Harry had laughed uncontrollably when Draco awoke and sat up. It had somewhat backfired on Harry, because Draco had looked like a damned Greek god, but it had not stopped Harry from calling Draco his Fairy Princess for the rest of the afternoon until Malfoy had tackled him and tickled him into submission, before kissing him into another form of submission--all in all, a very happy memory.

The stag burst from Harry's wand and exploded the dementor into a puff of black mist. Harry smiled and acknowledged that he never tired of doing that. He noticed a lift at the far end of the corridor and jogged silently toward it, trying not to peer into the cells. The place was ridiculously cold and unpleasant. Harry was certain if he allowed himself to look at any of the prisoners, he would free them all in a fit of altruistic pity, and some of them likely deserved to be there.

As he entered the lift, he revised that opinion slightly. Azkaban was so horrifying it was possible that no one deserved to be there. For certain no one deserved to be fed upon by soulless dementors for years without end.

The lift turned out to be one of the most ancient, loudest, and most rickety contraptions imaginable. The sound of it rattling and wheezing up to the seventh floor reverberated throughout the whole bloody place, it seemed to Harry, and he fully expected an alarm to be raised the instant he stepped out.

He was only met by two dementors, however, and savagely dispelled them. He knew there had to be human guards, but probably not patrolling where the dementors roamed. Perhaps Harry's Gryffindor luck would hold.

Small plaques were set into the walls near each cell door. Harry cast a tiny Lumos to read one. It read 20. The next cell was 21. Both were empty.

A prisoner in the next cell moaned and sobbed in his sleep. Harry hurried past. He counted the doors, turning a corner as he passed the 20s. He saw two dementors hovering before a cell door and felt a cold tendril of fear, instinctively knowing it was Draco's cell. Fresh meat for the dementors.

Harry dispensed with the Patronus and cast of one Draco's favorite spells--the Disruptor. Both dementors exploded in a flash of purple light. The glare and accompanying crack awakened a prisoner, who began screaming incoherently. Harry tried to shut out the sound as he reached the door and peered through the bars. A figure huddled on a small cot in the bitterly cold cell, with arms wrapped around his shins and blond head resting on his knees.

Draco.

Harry Silenced the door and spelled it open. He was on the cot holding the Slytherin in his arms in an instant. Malfoy was shivering with cold.

"No dreams," Draco moaned. "God, no more twisted dreams."

"Draco, it's me," Harry said and shrugged off his invisibility cloak. He felt tears scald his eyes as he tried to warm the Slytherin by rubbing his hands quickly over Draco's shoulders and arms. "I'm here."

Draco tried to shrink away. "You can't be here," he said harshly. "You're merely a figment. You're going to turn into some horrid, fanged creature of my worst nightmares. I'm already going mad. Oddly, I thought it would take much longer."

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. The mere fact of holding Draco in his arms again made all seem right with the universe. The sound made Draco raise his head and stare in amazement.

"Potter?"

Harry grinned and nodded.

"Please tell me you're not really here."

"I'm not really here."

Draco sighed in relief. "Then get on with the turning into something foul and eating my face off, so the dementors can get their jollies and I can get some sleep."

"I lied. I'm really here, but I do like your face-sucking idea."

Harry took Draco's lips with his own. They were cold as ice and chapped to the point of cracking. Harry tasted them gently, striving to warm Draco's mouth without hurting him. Malfoy inhaled sharply.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Breaking you out of Azkaban."

Harry couldn't see anything of Draco in the darkness but the outline of his body and a bright flash of hair, but he could picture the expression perfectly.

"Are you completely insane?" Draco hissed.

"It's been suggested. Mostly by you, of course. I'm not leaving you here. Now come on. It's a long way down in the loudest lift on the globe."

Draco did not move.

"You can't--! Potter, you're the Gryffindor Golden Boy. The Poster Child of Righteousness. You can't just--turn yourself into a common criminal!"

"I most assuredly can, and frankly all those idiotic titles were beginning to annoy me. Now get up. Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk," Draco snapped. He levered his legs off the cot and stood up, only to sway and nearly collapse. Luckily, Harry had not released him. He held Draco tightly.

"All right, so I haven't stood in a couple of days," Draco admitted. "I didn't really see the point."

"Lean on me," Harry said softly. Draco did, for a moment, and Harry pressed a kiss against his temple. Draco pulled away sharply.

"I'm not leaving, Harry. You need to get out of here before you're discovered."

"That's a very good Gryffindor impression," Harry said.

"No need to insult me," Draco replied. "This is for your own good."

"I thought you might fight me on this."

"Damn right."

Harry sighed, touched Draco with his wand, and hexed his lover with a Sleep Charm. He caught Draco as the Slytherin fell.

Harry slipped back down the hall with Draco, Levitated and covered with Harry's invisibility cloak, trailing in his wake. He hurried, uncertain how long dementors stayed dissipated when hit with a Patronus, and wondering if they would raise an alarm when they reformed.

The rattling lift was just as loud on the return trip and seemed slower than Harry remembered. He found himself reaching out occasionally to touch Draco, reassuring himself of the Slytherin's unconscious, unseen presence.

The ground floor cell block was empty of both dementors and guards, but the shrieking elevator had awakened several prisoners, who shouted hoarsely as Harry pelted past with all concern for stealth gone. He just wanted to get out.

In the entrance antechamber, a man stood over the desk, holding a lit wand and looking confused. Harry nearly bowled him over as he raced through the door. The man shouted and looked straight at Harry for a dazed moment, and then Harry's wordless Stunner hit him. The man fell and Harry bolted for the huge front door, praying the man had not shut it.

It was still partially open, as Harry had left it, and he murmured heartfelt thanks as he raced across the courtyard to the hidden broom. An alarm suddenly shrieked from the prison and Harry maneuvered Draco onto the broom haphazardly. He kicked off and flew from Azkaban as fast as the Vortex could manage.

ooOoo

Draco shivered, but he was aware of comforting warmth pressed against his back. He leaned into it with a sigh of contentment. He had been so bone-numbingly cold recently it seemed he would never be warm again.

Soft lips touched his neck and Draco's eyes snapped open.

Harry.

Draco rolled over swiftly to confront the smiling face of Harry Potter.

"Hi," Potter said sweetly.

Draco nearly smiled back, but the enormity of what Harry had done stilled his reaction. His tone was harsh when he spoke.

"Potter, you shouldn't--"

Harry scowled. "Shhhh. It's done. I couldn't leave you there and I couldn't possibly live without you for seven long years, especially knowing you were trapped in that cold, dark hell. If we have to live on the street in a... a cardboard box, or flee the country and live in Budapest, I don't care."

Harry words caused a lump to form in Draco's throat, but he had to make the Gryffindor understand the trouble they were in. He sat up angrily.

"I don't think you realize exactly what you've--where the hell are we?"

The room was completely unfamiliar to Draco. It was astoundingly decorated, with a huge wrought-iron bed, iron-shod dark wood furnishings, and forest-reminiscent colors of brown, burgundy, and green. The place was beautiful.

Harry grinned.

"This is part of your birthday present. Remember when you told me I could redecorate the Pristine Palace?"

Draco gaped at him. "This is my London flat?"

"It was. Now it's our London flat. I stripped the bleached whiteness and made it a place tolerable for humans."

"When did you do it?"

"Mostly while you were gone... with Mulciber. I wasn't sure if you would ever return, but if you did, I'd hoped you would come to the flat. It gave me something to occupy my time. Shopping is such a chore."

"Shopping is never a chore, Potter."

"Do you like it?" Harry asked shyly.

Draco had to smile. The damned Gryffindor was constantly fishing for compliments.

"It's perfect. However, we were not discussing furnishings and interior decorating. We were discussing you taking on the entire Ministry of Magic and becoming a wanted criminal. And giving me that dubious distinction while you were at it! I'm a bloody fugitive!"

"Well, it's not the first time," Harry said defensively.

"It is for you! Have you any idea what you've done?"

Harry threw himself out of bed and stalked to the window. He was dressed in green boxers that Draco recognized as his--mostly from the golden DM monogram. Draco immediately began to plot ways to get Harry out of them... He scowled and forced his thoughts back to the conversation.

"I don't care, Draco! That trial was a farce! The Ministry is acting like an idiotic version of Voldemort! Fucking Maeve tries to murder you and you get sent to Azkaban while she gets chastised! As far as I'm concerned, that potion you gave her was no more than she deserved, and better than she should have gotten!"

Draco leaned back into the pillows and tugged the blankets around him. He could not seem to get warm and felt another shiver seize him.

"Are you really prepared to take on the entire Ministry, Harry? Even your friends will be after you! Tonks, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt--they'er Aurors! It's their job to track you down and bring you to justice! How could you place that burden on them?"

Harry glared at him. "They won't find us. No one knows about this place."

"You plan for us to stay here forever? Living in hiding like... like scared rabbits?"

Harry stormed back to the bed. "What would you have me do, Draco? Leave you there? I would rather die than think of you in Azkaban! All right? I would rather die! I don't care if I have to live as a fugitive and never see my friends again! I will not have you in that place with those creatures feeding on you! I will not have it."

Draco sighed, realizing his Gryffindor was having a Harry Potter moment, where logic simply would not intrude. Truthfully, Draco was bloody glad to be out of the horrifying prison and did not relish the thought of going back, ever. If he had to live in Budapest or a... cardboard box?... then so be it. He shivered again and Harry's angry visage softened immediately.

Potter lifted the covers and pressed himself against Draco's back.

"Still cold? You were only there for eight days, Draco." Harry's lips caressed Draco's neck and breathed welcome heat against his skin. "I couldn't leave you there. I just couldn't."

"Warm me, Harry," Draco said thickly, taking Potter's hand and gripping it tightly. Harry did, using lips, and hands, and breath, and body, until Draco was filled with blissful heat and gasping for breath. He held the Gryffindor tightly as the last trembling shudders faded.

"Thank you," Draco said softly.

"For warming you?"

"For rescuing me."

Harry's arms tightened.

"You're welcome."

"Even if it was stupid."

Potter laughed into his hair and Draco grinned. Bloody Gryffindor.