Of Sight and Sound

As time passed and nothing had happened some of Draco's fear had diminished. And now all he could think about was how uncomfortable he was.

He had long since lost feeling in his legs, the circulation being cut off by Potter's arms, which were holding him up. But at least his ankle had stopped throbbing.

His arms were tired and stiff from the constant grip he had to keep around Potter's shoulders, his exposed fingers freezing in the chilly night air.

And he kept getting mouthfuls of Potter's hair, which he spat out in disgust. He wondered why the annoying Gryffindor had to have such unmanageable hair.

And above all, he hated being so helpless. Carried around like a child by someone he detested beyond all reason. He was glad none of his lackey's could see him. He didn't think his pride could take having them see him in his current state.

Potter didn't sound too cheery either. Draco realizing that the wooly fabric under his fingers wasn't that of Potter's cloak, but that of a jumper. The idiot must of lost his cloak somewhere along the way. Not a smart thing to do in the cold of November. But the way the other boy was huffing and puffing Draco reckoned the effort Potter was putting out must have been keeping him warm.

He felt a wave of annoyance when he remembered Potter's earlier jibe about his weight. Draco was quite certain he didn't weigh 'a ton'.

He, like Potter, was quite small for his age, as well as slender. He was definitely due for a growth spurt. It wasn't his fault that the pride of Gryffindor was as weak as a little girl.

But, Draco had to admit (if only to himself); he begrudgingly felt a certain amount of gratitude towards Potter. The other just kept refusing to abandon him (a courtesy Draco himself wouldn't have extended) and even agreed to carry someone he dislikes greatly around on his back. Draco imagined the other boy didn't enjoy being this close to him either.

Maybe Potter wasn't that bad.

Draco could never understand Voldemort's desire to kill the boy with the messy hair and glasses. He personally thought it foolish to focus so much attention on one person. But he supposed the Dark Lord had had a long time to stew over it.

He knew never to speak these thoughts aloud. Speaking against the dark wizard was one of the best ways Draco knew to get killed. If Voldemort himself didn't kill him, his father would. His old dad could be very ruthless, even with his only son. He had better odds of survival in his current predicament than he would if he ever angered Lucius.

Now, after what seemed like hours of being toted around with nothing- untoward happening, Draco was bored.

It wasn't like he could have a stimulating discussion with Potter, deaf as the other was. Draco found it highly unlikely he and his rival could carry on a civilized conversation without flinging insults (and curses) at one another anyway.

Draco, sputtering out yet another mouthful of Potter's disobedient hair, took to reciting potion ingredients. Potions was his best class. And his favorite, when Professor Snape wasn't having one of his mood swings.

He quickly grew bored of that though. Who wanted to think of schoolwork while lost in the forest? Well, maybe Granger.

His legs were now tingling unpleasantly, filled with pins and needles. They were crying out for more blood flow. If he could see he was certain his legs would be blue.

He tried swinging them around, wanting to wake them up. He succeeded only in jolting his sore ankle when his foot came into contact with Potter's leg. Reminding Draco that it was still sprained.

"Ouch! Watch it!"

Potter's yell echoed in the quiet forest. Draco again becoming aware of how precarious their situation was. He resisted the temptation to kick Potter again for that yelled comment.

He tuned his now extra keen hearing to listen if there were any sounds that might hint towards danger. It was difficult as every sound that reached his ears could be a threat.

He and Potter continued at a pace that was continuously slowing as Potter tired. Draco could both feel and hear the other boy's breathing grow more ragged. Sounding overly loud to his ears.

He was contemplating on how to tell Potter to stop for a rest when he heard it.

Coming up quickly behind them, a rustling sound of something passing through bush and leaves. It was rapidly getting closer.

Draco looked over his shoulder by reflex only to be further maddened by his persistent blindness.

The sound grew closer.

Panicking now, Draco tightened his grip around Potter with both his arms and legs. Willing him to hurry up. He nearly screamed in frustration and fear when the other boy stopped dead.

He tightened his arms and kicked his legs, ignoring the pain in his ankle, hoping Potter would get the hint. Danger approaching, get a move on!

In a matter of seconds he felt his lower half being dropped. Unable to support himself on his numb legs and bad ankle he fell, never relinquishing his grip around Potter's neck, bringing the other boy down on top of him.

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As his apprehension wore off Harry felt the extra energy it caused subside as well. He was exhausted and convinced that Malfoy was somehow making himself deliberately heavy just to make Harry suffer.

His legs felt like jelly, like they would give at any second. It didn't help that they appeared to be going in circles.

Harry had to admit, they were thoroughly lost.

He wondered if anyone was out looking for them. Surely Snape would have realized that they were missing by now.

Would the potions professor go for help or would he search on his own?

Harry could just see the surly professor doing just that. Taking up search by himself, then blaming all the nights misadventures on Harry. That would be just like the man.

As he trudged along Harry allowed himself to indulge in a little fantasy. One that involved Snape getting sacked for this little scheme of his. But his enjoyment of the daydream was short lived when his legs started to ache with a passion.

Where was a centaur when you needed one?

Harry realized he should be thanking his lucky stars that they had yet to encounter any threatening, hungry monsters. But he was too exhausted to really care.

He hated the humiliating position he was currently in. He was sure Malfoy was really enjoying having Harry carry him around. He had no doubt his passenger was just itching to retell all this to his Slytherin cronies.

He could feel Malfoy's warm breath on the back of his neck and suppressed a shudder. Will this night never end?

Harry wished nothing more then to drop his burden and collapse on the cold ground to take a long nap (cloak or no cloak). A nice drink of water would be nice. He was very thirsty. But he'd rather suffer in silence then admit this to Malfoy.

His stupid pride was almost as annoying as his conscience.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a kick to his right leg. He yelled without thinking, not even sure of what he said. A quick look around revealing no sign of danger. And Malfoy didn't appear to be panicking so he guessed the other boy hadn't heard anything suspicious. He was just making a nuisance of himself (what Malfoy did best).

Harry again fought the urge to drop Malfoy unceremoniously to the ground.

He carried on, step after painful step.

Suddenly his air supply was cut off. Malfoy's wiry arms wrapped vise like around his throat, his legs bearing into Harry's sides.

'He's snapped!' was Harry's frantic thought and he started to fight for air, coming to a stop.

Malfoy just gripped him tighter, now kicking his legs wildly.

Seeing spots and desperate for air, Harry let go of Malfoy and brought his hands up to fight off the arms wound around his neck.

He instead found himself falling backwards as the other boy, who had refused to let go of his neck, dragged him down.

When they hit the ground Malfoy let Harry go. He gasped in air as he struggled to disentangle himself. He got to his feet. Dizzy and with his a very sore throat, he turned to Malfoy, who was still lying on the ground. He meant to grill him with questions when he saw the look of abject terror on the other boy's face.

And in the cold night air in the depths of the Forbidden Forest such terror was contagious.

Something was wrong. Harry could almost feel the tension in the air. Something was lurking nearby. And judging by Malfoy's current expression, it was getting closer.

Forgetting all about his tired muscles and weariness Harry hoisted Malfoy onto his back and set off as fast as he could. Only going a few paces before a sharp kick and frantic hand gesture from his passenger alerted him he was going ~towards~ the apparent danger.

Doing a quick about face Harry ran as fast as he could with the added weight of Malfoy. Fleeing again. Deeper in the wild forest.