Anticipation

"Anticipation"

by Professor Mary

R (for language)

Summary: Draco doesn't have a memory strong enough for a Patronus. Instead, he must find something to look forward to. (Mild slash H/D)

***

The ditch they'd been laying in wouldn't provide cover for too much longer. Even now, Draco could hear the faint rustling of cloth moving through the brush. They were going to have to either run for it or make a stand very soon. In the meantime, he rolled over onto his stomach in an attempt to get as close to the ground as possible.

He felt very very cold, despite the fact that when he'd woken up, the day promised to be warm and sunny. Somehow that promise seemed very far away as he lay in the dark damp ravine.

He knew that they couldn't actually be seen - the foul beasts circling above had other means for detecting their prey. He hoped that the cold ground would mask their own body temperature long enough to throw the things off course. Even though he knew they couldn't hear, he felt that surely his labored breathing and pounding heart would give them away.

He was truly trying not to panic. In recent days, Draco had faced some fairly horrible creatures. But Dementors were different. They were terrifying. There was no rationalizing one's fear away - no compartmentalizing anxiety or counting to ten or using breathing techniques until they were defeated. No, Dementors capitalized on fear- and they strengthened their own powers by calling up all weaknesses, horrors, and nightmares. And Draco had far too many bad memories to face Dementors unscathed.

He was the only one in the group who hadn't successfully conjured a Patronus - even Longbottom had produced a silvery wispy something. But not Draco. He practiced it more than any other defensive charm, too. He had the wrist movements down and incantation perfect. He understood the technique- he'd gone over the theory with Granger until he knew it better than even she did. But nothing had ever happened.

No one said anything in particular to him about it. Lupin, who'd worked with him tirelessly to cast the charm, always said something encouraging... always seemed convinced that the next time it would happen. Granger had some Muggle nonsense argument, something about psychological blocks. Evidently, Potter had experienced something similar with a Summoning Charm at one point, she'd explained.

No one said what they really thought. Draco was glad. The last thing he wanted to hear was their pity. Potter was the only one who even dared to look at him - to look at him with an understanding. He knew why Draco couldn't conjure a Patronus. But even Potter wouldn't say it.

So now he was lying in ditch, hiding from Dementors - the one Dark creature that frightened him above all others. The only one he couldn't fight.

The rustling noises had grown fainter but he didn't take too much comfort in that. The Dementors were biding their time, waiting for them to come out.

He rested his head on the muddy ground, his eyes closed, and wondered about the others. They'd been split up after the ambush - he hadn't even seen which direction they'd run off in. He sort of wished he gone with them, though. He was fairly certain that the Dementors hadn't chased the others at all. He should have known that following Harry Potter would only get him into deeper trouble.

There was no official plan, so to speak, about breaking off into groups in cases of emergencies. There were different safe houses and check-in points throughout the Forest to be used if people were separated. But there was no rule that dictated that Draco Malfoy should follow Harry Potter in the event of a surprise attack.

They'd just walked into a small clearing when the Dementors assailed them. There were any number of directions to run in. Draco heard rather than saw the others scrambling around him. One of the Weasleys was rounding them up, herding them back into the Forest. But Draco only saw Potter. He was alone. In that split second, he turned away from Weasley's voice and ran after Potter. There had been no thought processes - no reasoning - just action. He ran after the other boy as though his life depended on it.

Which was really quite apt.

He finally became aware that his heart had slowed to something akin to a normal rate. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, though his fair head was still resting in the mud.

Potter's sharp green gaze was trained on him from mere centimeters away. It wasn't comforting in the least. Draco couldn't see hope or justice or truth or beauty or any of that crap reflecting in those bright eyes.

But he didn't see fear, either.

He continued to hold the gaze of his solitary companion as the two laid there in the muddy ravine.

Potter's face was littered with scrapes and bruises. He'd run ahead of Draco and taken most of the beating from the malicious bramble that plagued the landscape in this part of the Forest. One cut on his cheek was oozing some revolting mixture of blood and plant bile. Draco hoped the boy wasn't poisoned - of the two of them, he was the only one who could perform the Patronus Charm, after all.

When Potter's gaze became a little too intense, Draco shifted his own eyes onto the disgusting wound. He could see tiny bubbles of the boy's blood angrily congregating around the gash as they interacted with the plant substance. It was vile to look at and somewhere in the back of Draco's terror-stricken mind, he was certain that it must be rather painful.

Inanely, he thought that the hideousness of the wound was too sharply juxtaposed with the rest of Potter's face. It didn't belong there. And Draco couldn't let it remain. There wasn't much else he could do for the world at the moment, but he could prevent this ugly blight.

Moving as quietly as he could, Draco ran his hand along the grooved indentions of the rotting tree trunk they were lying behind. Finding what he was looking for, he dipped his fingers into a little cache of rainwater. With his dripping fingers, he reached over to Potter's face to begin to mop up the wound.

The skin around the cut had already become crusty from where the foreign acid had dried it. Gently, Draco scraped away the hardening skin, effectively re-opening the festering wound. He reached back into the little pool of water and then continued his ministrations.

Draco's own fingers were burning from the harsh acidity of the plant substance. Potter hadn't said anything- he hadn't even winced. He just continued to stare with those hauntingly green eyes.

After several minutes of rinsing away the sticky plant poison, Draco was satisfied. The cut still looked raw but it was no longer bleeding and the lesions were all gone. His hand began to tremble a little in his relief at being able to do something. He rinsed his fingers with the last of the rainwater and hoped that the shaking would stop - or at least that it would go unnoticed.

As Draco laid his still-quivering hand back down beside him, he heard a single low sigh escape from Potter's mouth.

"Thanks," he whispered. Draco blinked in response. He hadn't found his own voice yet. Healing Potter had been a welcome distraction from the thought of impending death. And now that he was finished, the terror was beginning to flood his senses again.

Draco was jerked out of his rising panic when he felt a warm hand tighten around his forearm. He focused his eyes once again on the green ones in front of him as a second hand closed around his own. The shaking stopped and he was relieved.

"Malfoy, we have to get out of here," Potter whispered. "I think you're in shock."

Draco wanted to snort back some scathing remark. He wished for the normalcy that would have dictated a witty comeback on his part. But he could do no more than nod.

"They're still out there. And when we make our move, they'll come after us quickly. You need to stay close to me."

Draco managed a slight nod again. But through his haze he heard a sharper voice trying to emerge. It sounded oddly like his own father.

"What I need is a Patronus, Potter," he croaked.

As soon as the words left him, he became keenly aware of the firmness of the ground - the harshness of the cold - and the solidness of the person in front of him. He even noticed that the bushes and trees around him had stopped their bizarre movement.

He saw Potter's eyes widen for a moment.

"Yes, Malfoy, you need a Patronus. Do you have a memory?"

Ah, Draco thought, there it was at last. The question that no one would ask. Did he even have a single happy memory?

He didn't and he knew it. And he knew that Potter knew it. But there was no pity - no judgment reflecting in the eyes looking back at him.

"No matter," Potter said softly. "What you need is something to look forward to."

Draco said nothing but considered his words thoughtfully. Was there something that he anticipated? Something to be happy about?

"What do you want to do when this is all over? More than any other thing - what do you want to do when the war is behind you, Malfoy?"

Draco stared at the boy, suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety threatening to engulf him again. He hadn't thought about this before - hadn't let himself think about it. There was only survival - to think about anything else seemed to be a waste of precious energy.

He stuttered, trying to regain his hard-won composure. But it was fleeting...

"No, Malfoy, stay with me... right here. In this moment," Potter whispered, his gentle tones gone.

Draco struggled to attach meaning to his words. It seemed terribly important to do as he'd demanded. He eyes shifted back to the now clean wound. Something real - something that he'd fixed. He reached out with his hand, breaking it out of Potter's grasp, and cradled the healing cheek in his palm.

He was reminded once again of the solidness of the boy.

Potter took a deep breath.

"Malfoy, tell me, what do you want to do when this is over?" Potter insisted.

Draco ran his thumb just under the jagged cut. The skin he'd cleaned was soft and pink and new. He couldn't even remember what the lesions had looked like now.

"How will I now it's over?" he asked, still admiring the smoothness of the new skin.

"Well, for one thing, I imagine you won't be lying in ditches with me," Potter said with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "In fact, I doubt you'll be around me at all, Malfoy. You've got to be looking forward to that."

Draco looked from the gash to Potter's eyes.

"So I'll know it's over because you're not around?" he asked dubiously.

Potter didn't say anything right away. Draco kept his hand around the other boy's cheek. He was afraid to let go for fear that the trembling would return.

"How about this? You'll know it's all over when we're sitting back in the Three Broomsicks having a Butterbeer... No, make it a Firewhiskey. That's what you have to look forward to, Malfoy. Choosing to be with me - not lying beside me in the mud because we're hiding from Dementors," Potter said with a small smile.

"It's hard to see that..." Draco answered.

"Really? Well, I suppose we haven't ever been the type to just hang out, eh?" Potter said with just a ghost of a smirk playing across his face.

"All right then, close your eyes, Malfoy. That's it. Now, picture the inside of the Three Broomsticks. Okay? There's Madame Rosmerta... she's walking towards us right now. Can you see? She's holding a tray loaded down with drinks - several shots of Firewhiskey and two Butterbeers to wash it all down. She leans over to give us our drinks, giving us both her warm smile. I can see it plain as day. Then I raise a toast, Malfoy. What should the toast be, anyway? How about this: Fuck Voldemort, the bastard got what he deserved!"

Draco smiled as he heard Potter's short derisive laugh. Behind his eyelids, he could see himself sitting with Potter ...

"Then we'll raise our glasses, Malfoy. Of course, you'll be boasting about something or other... probably telling me that my favorite brand of Firewhiskey is plebian or something... and then you won't be able to resist mocking me about living with Muggles or my hair or clothes or glasses... And I can see you now, Malfoy. You'll be sitting there, looking resplendent in your designer robes--like the Lord of Malfoy Manor--which you are already... and we'll laugh as we remember the day we hid in a muddy ditch- but we won't really remember it anymore, you know - not the cold or the dirt or the pain..." Potter sighed.

"But you'll be there with me, Malfoy, having a drink because you choose it. Not because anyone or anything forced you," Potter's voice trailed off.

Draco opened his eyes to see very solemn green ones regarding him.

"I can see it, Potter," he said quietly.

"Will it make you happy?" Potter whispered.

Draco didn't trust himself to answer with words. Instead he reached down with the hand that had been around Potter's face and locked his fingers with those of the other boy.

After a long quiet moment, Draco realized something - something that he did want to say.

"Potter... Harry, I did choose to be with you now."

He felt the hand he was holding squeeze him in return.

"Are you ready then?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded and then pushed himself off the cold ground. He could hear the crinkling of their stiff mud-packed clothes as they crawled out of the ravine.

"Point me," he heard from behind him. He turned around to see Harry's wand glow softly and then spin around, ultimately pointing towards their right.

Draco nodded to him and then headed in that direction.

They both knew that it wouldn't be long before the Dementors found them again. Even now, they could feel the growing coldness.

He reached out with his hand until he found the other boy's. Taking it in his own, he felt a strong sense of himself.

When they heard the telltale signs of the evil creatures swooping down upong them, Draco quelled the last of his lingering panic. He raised his wand alongside his companion's with all the confidence he could muster.

Thinking of a pair of bright green eyes, a joyous laugh, and a particular choice, he squeezed Harry's hand and exclaimed,

Expecto Patronum!