Uncivil
Title: Uncivil
Rating: NC-17
Genre: General
Length: 8852
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Some intense and potentially gory scenes, rough sex, spanking, not fluff
Summary: It doesn't take much to degrade people to their animalistic instincts, Harry finds. Stranded on an island with someone he wishes dead and no hope of immediate help is all it takes.
Note: Written for aquarian_days' request of a story along the vein of Lord of the Flies and The Dangerous Game, in participation of serpentinelion's Secrets and Wishes fest. Full request, because of length, can be found here.
A huge thank you goes to my wonderful beta sesheta_66. ♥
The strong current was pushing against him, trying to force him under the bitter water and end his life. He was still in a state of shock; the ocean was winning.
A glimmer caught his eyes, and he looked ahead to find Malfoy's white-blond hair flashing in the summer sun. He was swimming too, and it amused Harry that Malfoy must have mistaken the coordinates all along, but that meant Harry had overheard the wrong coordinates and that was why he was now in the ocean too.
Malfoy was rapidly approaching a stretch of land, so far in the distance that Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to make it. He was a dismal swimmer. But he struggled against the waves and ignored the tangy saltwater as it swept into his gasping mouth. He couldn't let Malfoy win. He couldn't let Malfoy get to the Horcrux first.
Harry fumbled with his robes, trying to dislodge his wand and not lose it. He waved it about, gagging, "Stupefy!" but nothing happened. Cursing, he kicked harder.
And then Malfoy was on the shore, and he turned, facing Harry, who wondered if Malfoy could see him.
"Potter?" Malfoy yelled incredulously, somehow invoking a drawl into his voice.
Harry didn't answer, not able to even if he had wanted. But he didn't want to talk to Malfoy; he wanted to kill the wanker. For the past year Malfoy had eluded him, and the sad bit was that Harry was pretty sure Malfoy hadn't even known Harry was after him. Harry was just that bad at tracking, as Ron liked to jeer.
This would show Ron. Not only had he found Malfoy all by himself, but he'd followed him to an island that supposedly contained a Horcrux. Ron and Hermione would be thrilled when he returned with the Horcrux, but no one would be more thrilled than he about Malfoy finally being dead.
He would never forget Malfoy's dealings during their sixth year. Malfoy may not have killed Professor Dumbledore, but he had tried. Not to mention what he had done to Madam Rosmerta, putting Katie Bell in St. Mungo's, nearly killing Ron, and letting in the Death Eaters, one of whom had turned Bill Weasley part werewolf.
Gone were his long ago brief feelings of pity. Malfoy had made his choices and would pay.
Suddenly, a wave hit him, and he tumbled under the murky water, a slimy object hitting him on the side, and he struggled to where he thought the surface was.
When he broke it, it was to find Malfoy streaking off. The git probably knew the exact location of the Horcrux.
The wave had brought him closer to the island though, and he strained against the water, collapsing on the sand once he reached it. The particles seemed to crawl up his nose and into his mouth, making him cough. Never again.
After some time, a shadow fell over him and he opened his eyes to find Malfoy hovering above him, Hufflepuff's cup in his hand. Unbelievable how fast he'd retrieved it. He had known the exact spot.
"What are you doing, Potter?" he asked, stepping on Harry's hair and forcing his head back.
Harry glared up at him. "That's mine, I believe."
Malfoy smirked. "You believe wrong."
Grinning, Harry thrust his wand up. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Magic doesn't work here."
That explained why it hadn't work in the ocean. He had thought maybe it had something to do with the saltwater.
Malfoy stood there, surveying him, his pointer finger caressing the cup's side. Harry was quite unexpectedly embarrassed to realize he was still breathing heavily.
"Out of shape, eh?" Malfoy laughed. And then he kicked Harry in the head and walked around him to the ocean. "I'd deal with you now but my wand doesn't work."
Harry scrambled to his feet, falling on shaky legs, once he realized Malfoy intended to enter the water and go far enough away to Apparate. Harry sunk into the water, heavy and dragged down by his robes. His soaked trainers were conspiring against him to take him under, and he managed to kick one of them off.
Malfoy let out some sort of weird snort/gasp and Harry grinned, thinking that Malfoy had choked on the water. But when he looked up, it was to find Malfoy gone
He cursed loudly and colourfully. He hadn't even heard Malfoy Apparate, and while that wasn't too unbelievable over the roar of the ocean, Malfoy couldn't have been too far away.
Oh, bloody fuck, he was screwed. There was no way he'd be able to reach Malfoy before he found Voldemort and handed over the Horcrux -- the last Horcrux.
He had been this close.
All thanks to sodding Malfoy. The bastard was going to die a slow and painful death, not by magic but by repeatedly being hit with a cup. Yes, that would be fitting.
Slightly calmed, as imagining Malfoy's death did that for him, he gathered the strength to push through the waves, trying to reach that elusive spot where he'd be able to Apparate back.
Something hard crashed into Harry's legs, taking him under. It was impossible for him to see underwater so he grabbed hold of the thing, hands tangling in something that felt an awful lot like hair.
He almost let go, the memory of that night in the cave with Professor Dumbledore, the Inferi climbing out of the water and ascending on him, fresh in his mind. But he summoned his courage and pulled the thing up by its hair.
Completely stunned, he looked into Malfoy's still face. Yelping, and managing to gargle saltwater, Harry slowly made his way back to shore, dragging Malfoy along and giving up after five unsuccessful minutes of trying to keep Malfoy's head above water.
Just when he thought he would surely die, Malfoy's heavy body dragging him under -- though he was adamant about not letting go of Malfoy, for Malfoy equalled Horcrux, and what good was Harry if he returned without the Horcrux? And wouldn't Malfoy love to know he would be the cause of Harry's death. But then he saw the sandy beach looming nearby, just out of reach.
Gagging, Harry's feet hit the ocean floor, face slapping against the water, and he didn't get another look at the island, blackness finally taking over.
There was a faint pulsating in Harry's hand and it felt so comforting. Harry focussed on that, trying to ignore the haze of pain over his head. But gradually the pulse disappeared and Harry blinked, sunlight invading his vision and sending pinpricks from his suddenly very sensitive eyes and through his body, lingering in his over-cramped mind.
Staring up at the blue sky, not a cloud in sight, Harry dragged his heavy hands to his forehead to press upon it, but three hands landed on his face.
Startled, Harry registered that he was holding Malfoy's wrist. And that pulsing had been his life!
A grin grew on Harry's face, and he pressed Malfoy's still wrist to his lips, kissing the damp skin. The salt tasted like victory: sweet and bitter and beautiful.
Quiet suddenly he recalled the Horcrux.
Sending pain to flare through his body, Harry sat up quickly and, ignoring his woozy head, looked down at Malfoy's unresponsive body. He couldn't see the Horcrux anywhere on him. Not in either of his hands.
"Shite!" Harry croaked, voice cracking and dwindling off mid word. He cleared his throat, coughed, and fell on top of Malfoy, latching onto his lips and exhaling.
Air burst onto Harry's cheek and he yelped, pulling back.
And then he remembered the small amount of knowledge he knew concerning CPR and the lesson he'd received back in secondary school. Something about blocking the airway so it couldn't come back out and tilting the head so the air could reach the lungs.
After fumbling, Harry developed a rhythm and was breathing, breathing until he didn't think he could breathe anymore. Malfoy wasn't responding and Harry had progressed to pressing down on his chest, most likely in the wrong way, but if that meant Malfoy would live, who cared if he broke a few bones?
Ironic, Harry thought, that he was trying to keep Malfoy alive. Plain cruel, the world was. He'd finally received what he wanted and he had to give it back.
Bloody Malfoy couldn't even die properly.
A horrible liquid reached Harry's mouth, burning like acid, and he jerked away, spitting into the sand.
Malfoy started coughing.
Unable to do anything else, Harry flopped onto his back, gasping for air and gathering strength to glare at Malfoy. He had puked in his mouth! Ungrateful git. See if Harry ever saved him again. Of course, Harry would be the one killing him next time so that wouldn't be a problem.
"Bloody hell," Malfoy gasped between coughs, spitting up all over his clothes, and Harry was peeved that Malfoy's voice sounded better than his, and Malfoy had been dead.
"You're telling me," Harry managed, pressing a hand to his wheezing chest.
Malfoy gasped into his shirt. "What happened?" He fell to his back, turning his head to look at Harry, and with every breath Harry could smell the saltwater and, more disgustingly, vomit.
Harry pushed himself to a sitting position, glaring down at Malfoy even though it made his head ping. Hysterically, he said, "You shrunk the Horcrux, right? Right? And, I don't know, sucked it up your arse or something. Right?"
For the longest moment in Harry's life, Malfoy didn't answer. Eventually, "Horcrux?"
Harry threw his head back, neck cracking. "Oh, god. Don't tell me you don't even know what you had grabbed."
"Shut up, Potter! I do too! I -- we just call it -- something else."
Harry raised an eyebrow, but Malfoy missed it because he was still lying on the ground and Harry was staring at the sky. "Touchy," he commented.
Humoured that Malfoy didn't know a thing about Horcruxes, and therefore wasn't high enough with Voldemort to have been told what they were, Harry met Malfoy's murderous gaze. "The cup," he explained with much relish. "The cup. Where is the cup?"
Malfoy raised his right hand, the one nearest Harry, the sun glimmering off it. "In my hand."
A long silence filled the air between them, pierced only by the rolling waves and birds screaming in the sky.
Suddenly, Harry moaned, grabbing Malfoy's hand frantically, hoping the cup was hidden in his grasp, which was a silly notion because not only was the cup much too large, but this was the hand Harry had kissed in triumph mere minutes ago, and he would have noticed something so important was spreading the fingers.
If he had a wand that worked, the killing curse would be zipping out of his wand, killing Malfoy without a word being spoken, he was sure. As it was, Harry settled with digging his fingernails, which were much too short to cause serious damage, into Malfoy's palm.
Malfoy hissed and tried to yank away. Harry dug in more harshly, if that was possible. He was sure he could feel blood well under his nails. When he looked down, it was to see specks of red seeping around his nails.
Quite suddenly he felt sick, and he threw Malfoy's hand away, ignoring the way Malfoy curled on his side and cradled his hand to his chest, shooting glares up at Harry.
Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't say anything about Harry's attempt to maim him and instead moaned, "It's in the ocean. I'm dead."
Harry whipped his head around to stare at him, steadying the painful shaking with his hand. "You're dead?" he growled. "If only -- I'm dead. The whole world is dead!"
Fuming, his hands curled into fists, tuffs of hair intertwined around his fingers -- which were itching to punch the smug look on Malfoy's face in -- Harry gave a strangled moan.
"Way to work the melodramatics," Malfoy smirked.
Harry glared. "You don't know how important it is. You don't understand. Gods, I wish I hadn't pulled you out."
"Then why did you?"
Looking at Malfoy as if he were incredibly stupid, which he was, Harry decided with a spark of morbid happiness, he answered. "The Horcrux. You think I'd save you? You? Trust me, I'd rather you die."
Malfoy groaned, tossing an arm over his eyes. "I am dead."
"Way with the melodramatics, Malfoy."
Malfoy sat, unsteadily digging his fingers in the sand for support and finding none. "I know I'm mimic worthy and, Merlin, of course you'd want to be more like me, but stop it at once. You're incorrigible."
"Oh ho!" Harry laughed darkly, leaning into Malfoy's face and stopping just short of making his eyes cross. "Yes, I really want to be some tool, bumbling after Voldemort" -- Malfoy visibly winced -- "for something I don't even comprehend. You can't even stand to hear his name!"
Malfoy's eyes gleamed and he wrapped his disgusting hands around Harry's wrists. He spat, "Respect. Something you'll never get."
Harry let out a short bark of laughter. His voice lowered, as if he were telling a secret. "Respect? I think you mean fear."
"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed, using his grip on Harry's wrists to shove him on his back, startling Harry with the amount of strength coming from someone who had just died.
When Harry righted himself, the world spinning, it was to find Malfoy stalking off. Either he was stumbling all over the place or Harry's head was really spinning.
Harry reached down and untied his remaining trainer. Aiming, he hurled it through the air. It landed with a soft plunk far behind Malfoy, who snorted, or coughed. Harry wasn't sure. He hoped it was a cough and that Malfoy was bringing up blood.
With the waves licking his ankles, Harry flopped back onto the ground, exhausted, and slipped into unconsciousness again.
He had no idea how to make a shelter. Did he really need one? If it rained he could just escape in the thick forest that seemed to surround the island, thirty metres of beach between that and the water. Not that he'd checked the whole island. Though he did wonder where Malfoy had got to. Maybe he was lost, for good.
With that cheerful thought, Harry turned and looked out over the ocean. There was no way he could fool himself; he wouldn't be able to swim out far enough to Apparate. He had nearly died on the way to the island, and he needed more strength on the return trip in order to Apparate.
Hours ago he had declared himself stranded.
It was rather bad too; no one knew where he was. He had given some half-arsed excuse to Ron and Hermione the moment he'd located Malfoy, saying he needed a short vacation alone, to enjoy himself. Hermione had been all too ready to agree since she had been telling him he needed a vacation from nary a year of Horcrux searching.
Somehow he didn't think the island prohibited tracking spells. Just a hunch. But they still weren't expecting him back for a week.
Absentmindedly, Harry watched the waves wash over the spot on which he had previously been lying. They were what had woken him, choking on saltwater, a while ago.
Something came ashore with the next wave but didn't return. Harry frowned. He hated the jellyfish. He mostly disliked stepping on their slimy-ness. He had retrieved his one shoe a long time ago but he only had a sock on the other.
Although, even from this distance, the jellyfish looked rather large, and brown.
Harry ventured closer to investigate, eyes darting to the ground in search of jellyfish. And then he noticed that, no, it wasn't a jellyfish.
It was a cup.
He refused to get his hopes up and continued down in the same slow, careful manner. It couldn't be Hufflepuff's cup. That would just be too much to ask for. It had to be some random cup that had, for all anyone knew, fallen off a ship or out of a plane. It had to be.
It wasn't. Harry moaned in happiness, sinking to his knees and pulling the Horcrux to his chest, pressing it against his skin as if it would disappear should he let go for a second.
It was a miracle.
A twig cracked far behind him. Harry jumped to his feet, looking shiftily over his shoulder. Was Malfoy there watching? There was no way he would let Malfoy know he found the Horcrux.
He scurried into the forest, wedging the cup under some thick roots, and then went in search of something to make a shelter out of. He didn't see Malfoy anywhere, but he still checked on the Horcrux every fifteen minutes. He was sure Malfoy had seen him with it.
The next day Harry spent under his little shelter that rather looked like a wonky umbrella made of leaves. The slightest wind carried bits of it off. But Harry's stomach seemed pasted together, he was so hungry, and he just pressed the cup into his stomach blind in hope that it would quell the pain.
A twig cracked and Harry stuffed the Horcrux behind his back, snatching some of his shelter to cover it.
"Malfoy?" he asked.
A rabbit bounded past his shelter, having been scared by his voice, and before Harry really registered what he was doing, he had leapt after it. He was mental, and hungry. So hungry; he hadn't eaten since early Monday morning and it was near dusk on Wednesday. Plus he hadn't drunk anything.
The rabbit was too fast for Harry, however, and he crouched over after only running for five minutes. His legs were so weak, his tongue dry and thick against the roof of his mouth.
Panting, he looked around, wiping the grim from his brow. The forest met the ocean here, where it ended in a direct drop, the water so close to the forest that Harry could have hung his foot over and trailed his toes over the glassy surface. There really weren't waves, rather like a bay or lagoon, not that he'd ever seen one in real life.
It was peaceful and calm and Harry liked it. Maybe he'd move his camp to this area.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He walked to the edge of the small ledge and bent over, dirt tumbling into the water. There were fish in there. Harry liked fish.
There was no way he'd be able to catch one though. If only he could use magic, then he could Accio one.
He sat on the ledge for the longest time, just staring at the fish, stomach growling. Suddenly, he jumped in, fingers snagging on a fish.
Then he was wrestling, hands hitting fish and rocks and his nose. He couldn't breath and the nasty water was invading his mouth but he wasn't about to give up. He needed to eat something.
His limbs were flailing, water splashing everywhere, and he kept contacting harshly with everything, drawing blood from his knuckles. His energy wasted away fast and he was left floating, panting, hurting.
And then his eyes caught sight of a fish on the land, flopping about and dangerously close to the ledge and survival. He was so stunned he could only stare for a second, but at the last moment he shoved the fish from the ledge, watching in awe as its thrashing slowed to a stop, dead.
Grinning, he climbed back onto land, crouching next to the fish, dirt and leaves clinging to his trousers. He picked up the fish, slimy and clammy in his grip. And then he bit into it, tearing a small chunk out.
He promptly threw up.
Stumbling on weak knees, Harry found his shelter. After a quick check to make sure the Horcrux was safe, he dropped the fish to the ground and started peeling the scales off, getting to the meat. Hungrily, frantically, he stuffed the meat into his mouth, gagging but scarfing it down anyway. It felt so good and tasted so bad, and he didn't stop until there was nothing but bones and blood and skin and gore lying in disarray before him.
He fell asleep instantly, one hand on his stomach and the other swirling idly in the mess.
When he woke, the sun was lowering slowly and his stomach was twisting, sweat shining on his brow that had nothing to with the heat, which really wasn't too bad, but he was burning anyway.
By the time the sun had gone down, he was dry heaving, his stomach empty. He couldn't stop moaning, curling in on himself and wrapping his arms around himself, shivering into the night.
Around noon the next day, Harry's stomach had settled and he had disposed of the remains of the fish, whose smell had only added to his being sick. Never again would he eat raw meat.
Which was why he had built a fire.
Of course, it had taken him all morning to think of how he could build a fire when he had no magic or matches. He had tried rubbing two sticks together, but he was sure there was some sort of trick to it that he wasn't doing, and then he had remembered that on the telly people could catch things on fire with their glasses.
A couple of hours, oodles of frustration, and about a thousand different positions later, and there was a small fire in front of him.
He could only smile stupidly at it. Malfoy was probably dead by now -- good riddance -- and Harry had a fire and everything. Perhaps if Malfoy hadn't been so against Muggles he would have been able to survive. But, no loss, except that Harry hadn't been able to be the one to kill him.
"How the bloody hell did you get a fire?"
Harry dropped his head to his hands, glaring through his fingers at the flickering flames. So Malfoy hadn't died.
"Well? Come on, Potter, spill." Malfoy rounded the fire, poking experimentally at it with a sharpened stick.
Harry's eyes lit upon the sight of it. A spear, not as sharp, but still... It would be so useful in gathering food.
"Give me that there stick and I'll tell you," Harry bargained, moving his gaze from the stick to Malfoy.
Malfoy stood there in just his trousers and shoes. His chest was filled with minute scratches, a deeper one with dried blood on his shoulder. Instantly, Harry searched for any scars from his Sectumsempra. He was disappointed to find there were none. Snape hadn't been lying. There were no marks.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Harry asked, wondering if there was some dangerous creature with them.
Malfoy shrugged and Harry knew that was all he would get from the boy. "Why do you want my stick?"
"I'll tell you how I got fire."
"No. You want to stab me with it."
"Good idea."
Malfoy considered him for the longest time before handing the spear over. "Okay, tell me now."
Harry twisted it between his hands, testing the tip and pressing down with his pointer finger until a drop of blood exited. "I used my glasses."
He looked up and met Malfoy's grey gaze, which was staring at him but not -- at his glasses.
"Give 'um to me, then." Malfoy held out a hand, and Harry scoffed at it, pointing the spear at him.
"Bet you wish you didn't have twenty-twenty vision, eh?"
An ugly look grew on Malfoy's face, making his features appear pointier, and he stomped away, kicking at the fire and spreading it thin so that it was almost out. Harry shrieked, tossed his shoe -- which this time connected with the back of Malfoy's head -- and ran off for more twigs.
Blearily, Harry awoke, rubbing at his eyes to get the sand and dirt out, for the area where his shelter was contained both. He heard a soft gasp and he quieted.
"I know you're awake," Malfoy said nonchalantly. "Now, where do you keep your glasses?"
Harry's eyes shot open, and he found himself staring into Malfoy's eyes for his head was hovering directly above him.
"Nice job," Malfoy congratulated, eyes flashing. "Tell me, how'd you get the cup? Had it the whole time, did you?"
"No," Harry spat, tilting his head and straining his eyes against the blur and darkness to see Hufflepuff's cup in Malfoy's hand. "It washed ashore."
Malfoy nodded, then cheered and reached above Harry's head. "Well, it was nice stealing from you, but I must be off." He slipped the glasses on the top of his head and grabbed Harry's mouth, forcing his lips to squash and pucker like a fish. "Merlin, I hate you," he offered, scraping his nails against Harry's skin while pulling away.
Then he was gone, flailing an arm behind him. Harry was barely able to wonder what Malfoy was doing when his leaf umbrella cascaded down on top of him.
Glowering, Harry pushed the leaves off himself and stumbled in what he thought was the direction Malfoy had turned.
The moon was out and on the beach it shone clearly, lighting Malfoy's footsteps. At least Harry hoped they were Malfoy's and not his previous own.
Nevertheless, he followed them, losing sight of them numerous times. He was just about to give up and flop onto the sand in defeat, sleeping the rest of the night, when he saw something -- a log? -- stationed in the centre of the beach.
He walked towards it, evening his breathing, and peered over the log. Malfoy was sleeping there, in a hole in the sand he had no doubt created. Harry dropped on top of him, punching every bit of skin his fists could connect with.
Malfoy jerked awake with a cry, shoving at Harry futilely. Harry only whacked his head on the log before returning to his ministrations.
"Fuck you!" Malfoy managed before Harry cuffed his jaw. He felt the blood leak onto his hands, gushing soft and sweet and warm between his fingers, and he tossed his hand back, connecting with Malfoy's face again.
"Godsh, Podder, shtop!" Malfoy garbled, spitting into Harry's face. "Shtop! You'll bloody kill me!"
Harry paused, hearing Malfoy sigh in relief below him. "Why would I care if I killed you?" he asked, generally curious. He had given Malfoy no indications that he felt anything but hate towards him. Strong hate.
Malfoy's eyes clouded over and Harry stared down at him, following a drop of blood that welled from his split lip and rolled down the side of his chin, over his neck and into the shadows. He reached out and pressed his thumb against the cut. Malfoy hissed.
"Well?" Harry persisted.
Their eyes locked. "Then you'll be alone."
Harry pressed harder, until Malfoy bit down on his thumb.
"How about I give you your glashesh but I can ushe them when need be?"
Harry snorted. What good would that be? How would that benefit him? He had Malfoy underneath him, didn't he? He could easily continue to beat Malfoy into unconsciousness, maybe even for good.
But there was some sort of truth to Malfoy's assessment. While he would rather be stuck on an island with anyone but Malfoy -- anyone -- there was some odd comfort in the knowledge that he wasn't completely alone, that there was someone else suffering with him. That it wasn't like when he was younger and locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
"And I get the Horcrux," Harry agreed.
Malfoy's nose crinkled and Harry dug his nail into the cut as a reminder of what would happen if he refused.
"I'm not afraid of you," Malfoy spat. Harry simply grinned. "Fine. All right. Now get the fuck off me."
Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. And he made sure to 'fall' on Malfoy's shin when standing.
In high spirits, his glasses clearing his vision and the Horcrux heavy in his hands, he strolled back to his ruined shelter.
By morning the Horcrux had disappeared.
Harry stood, grabbed his spear, and stormed off. Apparently he hadn't scared Malfoy enough. Screw being left alone. Right now he'd rather be alone with Malfoy gasping for breath beside him, watching the last of the light leave his eyes.
He was practically drooling. Then again, since landing on the island, he hadn't eaten or drunk anything but that fish and water from a stream near his shelter that was no more.
When he reached Malfoy's camp, it was to find Malfoy sitting on the log, a large leaf on his lap, berries and fruit in it. He waved a finger at Harry, smirking.
Momentarily distracted, Harry faltered at the sight of food. It was no fair! His side of the island didn't contain fruit. At least, none that he had found.
Well, now he'd have something to munch on as he listened to Malfoy moan.
He thrust the spear under Malfoy's nose. His arm was shaking, the wood wavering.
"You haven't got it in you," Malfoy taunted, smiling widely, breaking his lip open. Harry noticed there was bruising on his face.
"Have too," Harry replied, fixing his grip on the stick and trying to figure out the best place to stab Malfoy.
Suddenly, the fruit fell in the sand, and Malfoy was standing, another spear pointing at Harry's stomach.
Malfoy scoffed, "Do you take me for an idiot?"
The answer was yes, obviously, but Harry couldn't speak. There was a ringing in his ears, taking over his thoughts and the only thing he could see was Malfoy, the spear under his nose.
He lunged, halting with a gasp when something sharp pressed slightly into his stomach, but the spear in his hand was knocked away and Malfoy kept moving forward. Twisting, flaring pain burnt its way up Harry's spine, and he looked into Malfoy's fearful hatred, eyes falling closed.
"Didn't think you would ever wake up." A tsk. "Too bad."
Harry's heavy eyelids finally managed to open. It was night, stars twinkling at him from a distance. He sat up, wincing.
"Baby."
Harry turned to glare at him, grabbing at his stomach above his belly button. There was some fabric twisted around his body and belatedly Harry realized it was his shirt, torn to tie at his side.
"It's really not that deep," Malfoy was saying, flicking berries idly at Harry, who tried not to snatch them up and eat them. He gave in after five; he was starving.
Malfoy regarded him. "Let me guess, you hadn't eaten the whole time."
Harry didn't answer him, too busy eating the sweet berries, juice filling his mouth and dribbling down the back of his throat.
His eyes caught sight of a leaf to his left and he snatched the fruit off it, stuffing his face.
Malfoy snorted.
Harry glanced up. Around a mouthful of food, he asked, "Were you nursing me back to health?"
Malfoy's face shuttered. "Health? You are far from healthy. Worse than me."
"You're avoiding the question. Why would you help me? I wish you dead, you know."
Quickly, Malfoy stood, kicking sand into the berries, which Harry paid no attention to, still eating them. "And I, you," he growled before stomping away.
Harry cast a yearning look at the food before stumbling after him, grabbing his stomach at first, but the pain eased off fast enough.
Malfoy stopped when he reached his log and he slipped over it, sinking out of sight.
"You really don't want to be alone, do you." It was not a question.
There was no reply, so Harry sat on the log, dangling his legs over it so that his feet brushed against Malfoy's knees.
"Go away, Potter," he said wearily.
Harry frowned, but the reminder of food was too strong. He agreed, "Okay," and pulled his feet up.
A strangled sound fell from Malfoy's lips. "I hate you and I don't want you near me."
Irritated, Harry snapped, "I'm going. Just remember, you're the one who stabbed me."
"You stabbed yourself." Malfoy grinned, a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering a pleasant memory. "I just aided you a bit."
"More like shoved it in the whole way," Harry corrected bitterly.
"Shush, you big baby. It wasn't that deep."
When Harry went to leave, Malfoy made that odd sound again. "I...my hole's big enough if you don't have the energy to walk back."
Harry swung his head around to stare down at him. Malfoy steadfastly refused to look at him.
Harry slipped down the log next to him, dropping his head onto the slightly raised sand and forcing Malfoy to meet his gaze. "You're afraid of the dark?" Harry laughed.
Malfoy's lips formed the word "alone" but no sound issued forth. He closed his eyes as if pained.
"I'm going to kill you some day," Harry said matter-of-factly.
Without opening his eyes, sounding tired, Malfoy replied, "Not if I kill you first."
Silence descended upon them and Harry fidgeted. Not only was he too close to Malfoy for comfort, but his stomach was growling, mouth parched, and he felt like he should at least be touching Malfoy, strangling him, striking him, whatever. Making him moan.
"When's your side going to come get you?" Malfoy asked.
"Er, soon. Soon," he repeated, trying to believe it. This was his -- how long had he been out of it?
When prompted, Malfoy said, "Two days. Bloody annoying it was drizzling water down your mouth and cleaning your cut. Disgusting."
Which Harry found ironic because Malfoy was the Death Eater and shouldn't he be into all that gore and torture?
"My side will come soon too," said Malfoy. Harry wanted to ask more about it because he was generally curious -- why had Voldemort sent Malfoy; why didn't Malfoy even know what the Horcrux was called, let alone what its importance was; how had Voldemort reacted when he found out Malfoy hadn't killed Dumbledore; how long had he been given to return the Horcrux? -- but he figured that Malfoy wouldn't answer so he didn't ask.
They fell into silence again.
Malfoy spoke up first. "I was thinking, if my side arrives first, I won't tell them you're here, so long as you don't tell your side I'm here if they come first. Then we'll both live."
Harry frowned. "But I don't want you to live."
Malfoy moved away from him, pressing his back against the wall of sand, and finally opened his eyes, which seemed to shine in the moonlight.
"Is it a deal or not?"
Harry studied his hand, awkwardly poised between them. Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed it. "All right."
Malfoy tightened his grip, pulling Harry closer. "And why should I believe you when every other word out of you mouth is 'I'm going to kill you,' huh?"
Harry shrugged, instantly aggravated. He hadn't even wanted to make the deal but it was the logical choice if Voldemort happened to show up first. It was very likely since he knew Malfoy was here, and Ron and Hermione didn't know where Harry was.
"Look, Malfoy, I don't care if you believe me or not."
Malfoy huffed and Harry had a feeling that the deal was off.
"What, you want to seal it with a kiss or something?" Harry scoffed.
Malfoy smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Harry scrunched his nose. "You're the one who didn't want me to leave."
"And you're the one who was all over me the other day. Couldn't keep your hands off me, you bloody shirt-lifter."
"What -- oh, because I was attacking you!"
Malfoy just smiled, apparently pleased with himself.
Harry grinned inside. "Fine, you're right. You madly turn me on. Now I want to seal it with a kiss." And he shoved against the scowling Malfoy, pressing their lips together roughly, disgruntled when Malfoy's lip didn't split open.
That would show him to keep his mouth shut.
"Gah!" Malfoy yelped, pushing him away. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're disgusting! Bloody hell!"
Harry felt inertly pleased with himself.
Malfoy was still rambling about how disgusting Harry was so he had to do it again. This time Malfoy nipped his tongue when he tried pushing it through protesting lips.
It hurt. This was war. Harry snatched his wrists and yanked him forward, away from the wall, and then shoved him on his back, sand springing up with the force and flying over their nude chests.
Quickly, before Malfoy could get enough leverage, Harry straddled him, twisting his legs around Malfoy's and leaning down to whisper into Malfoy's ear, inhaling particles of sand at the same time. "I'm going to rape you."
Malfoy stilled, turning his head to look into Harry's eyes. "You can't rape the willing."
"Who's willing?"
"Who's not?" And he bucked up, making Harry aware of the fact that he had been getting off on Malfoy's squirming. Although he'd rather Malfoy fight him. Would serve him right.
Harry shifted slightly so that their cocks were aligned and Malfoy moaned on the next thrust. It wasn't because Harry was killing him but it pacified Harry and he thrust down harder, revelling in the fact that Malfoy had started to thrash about.
He latched onto Malfoy's bottom lip, chewing on it and reopening the cut. Blood blossomed into his mouth and he sucked on it, loving the rawness, the life of Draco Malfoy in his mouth, down his throat. This time Malfoy's moan was of pain, and Harry's balls tightened, signifying his release. He bit harder when he came, drawling forth another toe-curling moan.
Malfoy's hands tangled in Harry's hair tightly, tugging, and he dislodged his gushing lip from Harry's mouth, digging his head into the sand, chin pointing to the sky. He came in silence, body quivering, and then he was still.
Harry pushed off him, clutching his stomach, not sure if he had moved it the wrong way or if he was going to vomit. It took a few tries until he made it out of the hole but when he did, he grabbed his spear and the leaf of food, and ran as long as he could, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Hunting was a no go. He was much too slow to catch any meat, his stomach protesting with every harsh pound of his feet. Fuck Malfoy. It had to be deep.
Then again, he had come so close to fucking Malfoy last night. Something was desperately wrong with him. He couldn't be...queer, could he? He wasn't attracted to Malfoy, that was for sure. The git's features were too pointy, hair too blond, body too hard. Not to mention his appalling personality and the fact that he's a Death Eater and a coward. No, Harry couldn't be gay. He...
He just liked having power over Malfoy.
That settled, he turned course in the forest, in what he hoped was the direction of Malfoy's camp, for he had became lost, and went to do what he had been avoiding. He was going to get the Horcrux back and force Malfoy to tell him where he found the fruit because for the life of him, he couldn't locate it.
When he finally stumbled out of the forest, close to Malfoy's log, the sight made his mouth gap open. Malfoy had the Horcrux to his lips, throat working. He was bloody drinking out of part of Voldemort's soul. The nerve of him! Too bad it wasn't killing him.
Tersely, Harry swatted the gnats away from his sweating face, which had suddenly become hotter, and his grip on the spear tightened. He stomped across the sand, its heat permeating the foot with only a sock and burning him.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and stood, scratching absently at his chest.
"You can't drink out of the Horcrux!" Harry yelled, completely beside himself.
Malfoy backed up a step, falling into his hole and spluttering wildly. Harry made to jump on top of him but suddenly remembered what had happened the last time he was in the sand pit. Instead, he jerked and twisted his spear into the sand a bit.
"Why ever not?" Malfoy asked, indignant, as he climbed up and snatched his own spear from the side of the log.
There were more spears peaking out from under the wood. Harry blinked. "How are you making them?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Malfoy smirked.
"No," Harry snapped, raising his spear, Malfoy doing the same and Harry was clearly remembering the incident before. Nothing like that would happen again. If Malfoy didn't cooperate, he would be the one with a hole in him; only Harry wouldn't return the favour and nurse him back to health. "I asked you because I didn't want to know."
Malfoy raised his chin. "Go ahead then. If you want to kill me so badly, do it." He dropped the spear, stretching his arms out, eyes never leaving Harry's.
Harry's mouth went dry. He aimed the spear and grinned when a flicker of fear crossed Malfoy's face. "Tell me," he said, "where are you finding all this fruit?"
"Why should I tell you if I'll just die afterwards?"
"Maybe I'll spare you." He moved forward, stalking his prey, and pressed the sharp wood against Malfoy's neck, drawing a thin red line from his Adam's apple to his collarbone. Malfoy quivered softly.
"Why are you procrastinating?" When Malfoy spoke, Harry could feel the spear moving up and down from the minute vibrations.
He couldn't stop watching Malfoy's lips, since he'd talked, drawing attention to them. There was the cut on the bottom one, in the centre, skin puckered up around it. The rest of his lips were chapped, a faint pink, as if the sand and sun had wiped all colour from his complexion. But he had always been pale. Harry had just never really noticed before.
He wanted to be kissing those lips when he thrust the spear into Malfoy's throat, feeling his life part beneath him, gasping his last breath into Harry's mouth. He wanted to taste Malfoy's life draining out of him, find out if his tongue shook, was still, or twisted sensually.
Tilting his head, Harry fixed his hold on the spear, knuckles turning white. His breath ghosted over Malfoy's lips, which parted, and Harry's muscles tensed.
"Over there," Malfoy spoke. Harry looked away from his lips to his arm, pointing a little ways down the beach. "That big tree over there, the one with the twisting branches. See? The fruit is behind it."
"Thanks," Harry said, and then he pressed forward, mouth and spear, but before his lips could close over Malfoy's, the other boy dropped backwards, over the end of the log. Harry blinked, as if coming out of a daze. He barely registered the fact that his prey was racing down the beach, kicking sand up behind him.
Blearily, Harry searched for the cup. He found it in Malfoy's hole and he grabbed it, walking the opposite direction Malfoy had run, towards the gnarled tree. Feeling disgusted and disturbed, Harry held Hufflepuff's cup to his chest, cradling it, proving to himself that he hadn't completely lost it.
Malfoy was standing by one of the trees off to the side. He didn't think Harry knew he was there. Harry grinned secretly to himself and climbed out of the small pond -- the drinking water. His trousers hung heavy around his waist, exposing his hip bones and sticking to him like a second skin. This was his way of cleaning them, of getting the nine days of grime, sand, blood, and forest gunk out of them.
He could feel Malfoy's penetrating gaze on him but he gave no inkling that he knew Malfoy was there. Subtly, he glanced at his spear; it was at the tree next to Malfoy. Malfoy no doubt had planned it that way.
"I'm bored," drawled Malfoy, slinking out of the undergrowth and over to Harry, who was trying to shake the water out of his hair. "This island is bleeding boring. And the bugs won't leave me alone."
Harry didn't like the way Malfoy was looking at him -- like he was the rabbit and Malfoy the fox. It suddenly hit him that Malfoy had never been the one to initiate the death attempts. Was he going to start now?
The early morning sun filtered through the thick trees, bouncing off Malfoy's dishevelled and slightly dirty, white-blond hair. He cocked his head, staring. "I'm so bored."
"And I don't give a flying fuck," Harry started but Malfoy took the moment to move closer, into his personal space, and hook his finger's in Harry's belt lopes, and Harry's breath hitched half-way through.
Not this again. It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't queer.
A small sound left Malfoy's lips -- a moan? -- and just as fast, Harry was laying on his chest, coughing up dirt. A heavy weight plopped on top of him, heels digging into his thighs.
"Gods," Malfoy groaned, making Harry aware of exactly what had just happened. "I hate you, and I want to fuck you raw."
Harry wasn't sure exactly what that entailed but he knew he didn't want it, so he thrashed about, tossing Malfoy off him.
"Hell!" Malfoy's hand came down on his arse with a sound thwack! that echoed throughout the forest.
Harry kicked wildly, growling, "Knock it off, Malfoy! I'm not a bloody pouf!"
"Don't have to be," Malfoy mused, sitting on Harry's upper back and knocking the wind out of him. His hand came down again and this time Harry gasped air. "You know, Potter, this is fun."
Thwack! Thwack!
Harry really wasn't squirming anymore. He was bucking, trying to make it seem like he was attempting to dislodge Malfoy, but it was pretty obvious that moving his pelvis wasn't going to remove Malfoy when he was at his shoulders.
Malfoy stilled. Harry couldn't help it; his hips kept moving, and he buried his face in the dirt and grass.
"You like that. You're getting off on it."
Finally, Harry was able to control his hips. "'m not."
"Shall we see about that?" Harry could hear the smirk in Malfoy's tone.
Thwack! Thwackthwack!
Harry mumbled into the ground, grinding his erection into it. His arse was turning red, he could feel the heat, and it felt so sensual with his soaked trousers still sticking to his skin. The sharp smacks of pain sent heat to his stomach, and he pulled his head away from the dirt to get air and moan, loudly, for it didn't matter. No one but Malfoy would hear him.
Malfoy was shamelessly humping Harry's back, his smacks less consistent now, and not as hard.
"Harder," Harry groaned, embarrassed at how much Malfoy ambushing him was turning him on.
A hand grabbed Harry's waist and the other was coming down in sharp, forceful smacks. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Malfoy was hitting the same spot over and over again, and Harry was bouncing mindlessly against the floor, his orgasm building from his toes, up his calves, tightening the soft muscles there. And then Malfoy gave the hardest one yet and Harry screamed, eyes wide and wet and cock shooting come in his trousers.
He had barely laid his head for a rest when Malfoy stood, grabbed his writs, and yanked him into the shallow water.
Quite suddenly, Harry noticed that Malfoy had just removed all his clothes and was starting on Harry's trousers.
"What are you doing?" he asked stupidly, still out of it.
Malfoy huffed, his nose bumping into Harry's cheek. "Told you already -- wanna fuck you."
Harry shook his head, knowing he should be more alarmed, knowing he should be mad -- mad that Malfoy had made him do it again, but then he was on his stomach again, and Malfoy was spreading on top of him, tangling Harry's dark locks around his fingers and forcing his head back, making his fringe fall into his eyes.
"Spread 'um," Malfoy commanded, kneeling in the water -- on the rocks, Harry recalled, smug. Malfoy shoved his legs between Harry's, forcing him apart.
And then Malfoy's hand dipped below the cold water, poking at Harry's arse, and Harry was too surprised to do much of anything but tense, eyes wide as they settled on his spear, sitting innocently against the trees, as if it was watching them. Harry felt his face flush. What was he doing?
He went to move but Malfoy was pushing into him and fuck! It hurt! He tried squirming away but Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry's hair.
Malfoy was still pushing in, and Harry's whole body cramped, thighs quivering with strain.
"Shite," Malfoy breathed. Hate filled Harry again, blinding him and mixing with the pain. Malfoy had just started to pull out, feeling as if he was taking Harry's innards with him, when he shuddered and bit down on Harry's back.
Harry scrambled away, Malfoy's flaccid cock slipping painfully from his arse.
Wincing, Harry stomped over to his spear, snatching his clothes along the way and tugging them on. The second the wood of the spear touched his hand, he noticed Hufflepuff's cup was missing. He whirled around, glaring at Malfoy, who was wringing his trousers out, boxers already off.
"Where'd you put the Horcrux?" he roared.
Malfoy blinked, lips curling, and Harry had the strongest desire to bite right through them. "I haven't the faintest idea. What do you do, carry it everywhere?"
"Duh," Harry bit.
From the distance, something snorted.
Another snort sounded, and it moved into the open, the cup dangling from its mouth. It was a boar!
Not even drying his glasses off for clearer vision, Harry crept closer, the boar's beady, black eyes trained on his every movement.
Malfoy was at his shoulder. "Get it back," he whispered.
Harry elbowed him, the soft sound startling the animal into a run. Cursing, Harry traipsed after him, limbs flailing and body aching, adrenaline rushing through his veins, fogging his mind. He could hear Malfoy stumbling through the undergrowth after him, and the boar's squealing, but all he could see was the hog and the distance between them, ever so slowly closing.
Legs cramping, Harry tripped over a root and landed on the hog. Shrieking, he stabbed the spear into the boar, through his tough skin.
Malfoy dropped to the ground on the other side of the hog, snatching the cup from its mouth.
Harry kept thrusting the spear into the boar, sinking it through the flesh, watching the blood swell out of the holes, splattering on his arms and bare chest when he pulled out.
The animal's crying had stopped but Harry kept going, entranced by the flowing dark red.
"...Potter. Potter." Malfoy's words penetrated Harry's head, and he whipped his head up, staring at Malfoy, at the way he was hovering on his haunches, the Horcrux tight in his hands.
"Potter, stop. Here!"
The cup was held out but Harry ignored it, clambering over the corpse, the red spear catching the sun and gleaming.
"Potter, Potter, stop it, it's me!" Malfoy yelped, curling around himself, the cup falling in the grass. He was shaking, moaning. Crying.
Harry blinked and dropped the spear. It landed next to Malfoy's hand, small droplets of blood springing onto his pale skin.
Harry grabbed the Horcrux and ran. He ran and ran until the forest ended, and he ran across the beach, eyes unfocused. He ran into something solid and hit the ground hard.
"Harry!" someone yelped and there were arms around him, squeezing, and there was a load of hair in his face. "Oh, Harry, we found you!" She pulled back and Harry was looking into the warm, brown eyes of Hermione Granger.
"The tracking spell just gave us a general area," Ron Weasley explained, moving into Harry's vision. Lupin, Tonks, and Moody were behind him. "We've been on a thousand islands, I swear." He frowned. "Ugh. What happened to you, mate?"
Harry felt faint. He held the cup out. "Horcrux," he rasped.
Ron and Hermione, the ones who understood what he was talking about, just stared blankly at it.
"You found it," she stated, unable to believe it.
"Good one, mate, good one!" congratulated Ron, slapping Harry on the back and making him jerk forward. "All by yourself too!"
Harry looked over his shoulder, into the forest, wondering if Malfoy was still cowering at the boar's corpse. "Yeah," he answered slowly.
"Let's go," Lupin's worried voice spoke up. He pointed to a fishing boat a little ways out, the ocean licking its sides.
Harry was overwhelmed. He could feel the darkness closing in, bordering his eyes. He nodded and let the dark take over.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: General
Length: 8852
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Some intense and potentially gory scenes, rough sex, spanking, not fluff
Summary: It doesn't take much to degrade people to their animalistic instincts, Harry finds. Stranded on an island with someone he wishes dead and no hope of immediate help is all it takes.
Note: Written for aquarian_days' request of a story along the vein of Lord of the Flies and The Dangerous Game, in participation of serpentinelion's Secrets and Wishes fest. Full request, because of length, can be found here.
A huge thank you goes to my wonderful beta sesheta_66. ♥
The strong current was pushing against him, trying to force him under the bitter water and end his life. He was still in a state of shock; the ocean was winning.
A glimmer caught his eyes, and he looked ahead to find Malfoy's white-blond hair flashing in the summer sun. He was swimming too, and it amused Harry that Malfoy must have mistaken the coordinates all along, but that meant Harry had overheard the wrong coordinates and that was why he was now in the ocean too.
Malfoy was rapidly approaching a stretch of land, so far in the distance that Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to make it. He was a dismal swimmer. But he struggled against the waves and ignored the tangy saltwater as it swept into his gasping mouth. He couldn't let Malfoy win. He couldn't let Malfoy get to the Horcrux first.
Harry fumbled with his robes, trying to dislodge his wand and not lose it. He waved it about, gagging, "Stupefy!" but nothing happened. Cursing, he kicked harder.
And then Malfoy was on the shore, and he turned, facing Harry, who wondered if Malfoy could see him.
"Potter?" Malfoy yelled incredulously, somehow invoking a drawl into his voice.
Harry didn't answer, not able to even if he had wanted. But he didn't want to talk to Malfoy; he wanted to kill the wanker. For the past year Malfoy had eluded him, and the sad bit was that Harry was pretty sure Malfoy hadn't even known Harry was after him. Harry was just that bad at tracking, as Ron liked to jeer.
This would show Ron. Not only had he found Malfoy all by himself, but he'd followed him to an island that supposedly contained a Horcrux. Ron and Hermione would be thrilled when he returned with the Horcrux, but no one would be more thrilled than he about Malfoy finally being dead.
He would never forget Malfoy's dealings during their sixth year. Malfoy may not have killed Professor Dumbledore, but he had tried. Not to mention what he had done to Madam Rosmerta, putting Katie Bell in St. Mungo's, nearly killing Ron, and letting in the Death Eaters, one of whom had turned Bill Weasley part werewolf.
Gone were his long ago brief feelings of pity. Malfoy had made his choices and would pay.
Suddenly, a wave hit him, and he tumbled under the murky water, a slimy object hitting him on the side, and he struggled to where he thought the surface was.
When he broke it, it was to find Malfoy streaking off. The git probably knew the exact location of the Horcrux.
The wave had brought him closer to the island though, and he strained against the water, collapsing on the sand once he reached it. The particles seemed to crawl up his nose and into his mouth, making him cough. Never again.
After some time, a shadow fell over him and he opened his eyes to find Malfoy hovering above him, Hufflepuff's cup in his hand. Unbelievable how fast he'd retrieved it. He had known the exact spot.
"What are you doing, Potter?" he asked, stepping on Harry's hair and forcing his head back.
Harry glared up at him. "That's mine, I believe."
Malfoy smirked. "You believe wrong."
Grinning, Harry thrust his wand up. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Magic doesn't work here."
That explained why it hadn't work in the ocean. He had thought maybe it had something to do with the saltwater.
Malfoy stood there, surveying him, his pointer finger caressing the cup's side. Harry was quite unexpectedly embarrassed to realize he was still breathing heavily.
"Out of shape, eh?" Malfoy laughed. And then he kicked Harry in the head and walked around him to the ocean. "I'd deal with you now but my wand doesn't work."
Harry scrambled to his feet, falling on shaky legs, once he realized Malfoy intended to enter the water and go far enough away to Apparate. Harry sunk into the water, heavy and dragged down by his robes. His soaked trainers were conspiring against him to take him under, and he managed to kick one of them off.
Malfoy let out some sort of weird snort/gasp and Harry grinned, thinking that Malfoy had choked on the water. But when he looked up, it was to find Malfoy gone
He cursed loudly and colourfully. He hadn't even heard Malfoy Apparate, and while that wasn't too unbelievable over the roar of the ocean, Malfoy couldn't have been too far away.
Oh, bloody fuck, he was screwed. There was no way he'd be able to reach Malfoy before he found Voldemort and handed over the Horcrux -- the last Horcrux.
He had been this close.
All thanks to sodding Malfoy. The bastard was going to die a slow and painful death, not by magic but by repeatedly being hit with a cup. Yes, that would be fitting.
Slightly calmed, as imagining Malfoy's death did that for him, he gathered the strength to push through the waves, trying to reach that elusive spot where he'd be able to Apparate back.
Something hard crashed into Harry's legs, taking him under. It was impossible for him to see underwater so he grabbed hold of the thing, hands tangling in something that felt an awful lot like hair.
He almost let go, the memory of that night in the cave with Professor Dumbledore, the Inferi climbing out of the water and ascending on him, fresh in his mind. But he summoned his courage and pulled the thing up by its hair.
Completely stunned, he looked into Malfoy's still face. Yelping, and managing to gargle saltwater, Harry slowly made his way back to shore, dragging Malfoy along and giving up after five unsuccessful minutes of trying to keep Malfoy's head above water.
Just when he thought he would surely die, Malfoy's heavy body dragging him under -- though he was adamant about not letting go of Malfoy, for Malfoy equalled Horcrux, and what good was Harry if he returned without the Horcrux? And wouldn't Malfoy love to know he would be the cause of Harry's death. But then he saw the sandy beach looming nearby, just out of reach.
Gagging, Harry's feet hit the ocean floor, face slapping against the water, and he didn't get another look at the island, blackness finally taking over.
There was a faint pulsating in Harry's hand and it felt so comforting. Harry focussed on that, trying to ignore the haze of pain over his head. But gradually the pulse disappeared and Harry blinked, sunlight invading his vision and sending pinpricks from his suddenly very sensitive eyes and through his body, lingering in his over-cramped mind.
Staring up at the blue sky, not a cloud in sight, Harry dragged his heavy hands to his forehead to press upon it, but three hands landed on his face.
Startled, Harry registered that he was holding Malfoy's wrist. And that pulsing had been his life!
A grin grew on Harry's face, and he pressed Malfoy's still wrist to his lips, kissing the damp skin. The salt tasted like victory: sweet and bitter and beautiful.
Quiet suddenly he recalled the Horcrux.
Sending pain to flare through his body, Harry sat up quickly and, ignoring his woozy head, looked down at Malfoy's unresponsive body. He couldn't see the Horcrux anywhere on him. Not in either of his hands.
"Shite!" Harry croaked, voice cracking and dwindling off mid word. He cleared his throat, coughed, and fell on top of Malfoy, latching onto his lips and exhaling.
Air burst onto Harry's cheek and he yelped, pulling back.
And then he remembered the small amount of knowledge he knew concerning CPR and the lesson he'd received back in secondary school. Something about blocking the airway so it couldn't come back out and tilting the head so the air could reach the lungs.
After fumbling, Harry developed a rhythm and was breathing, breathing until he didn't think he could breathe anymore. Malfoy wasn't responding and Harry had progressed to pressing down on his chest, most likely in the wrong way, but if that meant Malfoy would live, who cared if he broke a few bones?
Ironic, Harry thought, that he was trying to keep Malfoy alive. Plain cruel, the world was. He'd finally received what he wanted and he had to give it back.
Bloody Malfoy couldn't even die properly.
A horrible liquid reached Harry's mouth, burning like acid, and he jerked away, spitting into the sand.
Malfoy started coughing.
Unable to do anything else, Harry flopped onto his back, gasping for air and gathering strength to glare at Malfoy. He had puked in his mouth! Ungrateful git. See if Harry ever saved him again. Of course, Harry would be the one killing him next time so that wouldn't be a problem.
"Bloody hell," Malfoy gasped between coughs, spitting up all over his clothes, and Harry was peeved that Malfoy's voice sounded better than his, and Malfoy had been dead.
"You're telling me," Harry managed, pressing a hand to his wheezing chest.
Malfoy gasped into his shirt. "What happened?" He fell to his back, turning his head to look at Harry, and with every breath Harry could smell the saltwater and, more disgustingly, vomit.
Harry pushed himself to a sitting position, glaring down at Malfoy even though it made his head ping. Hysterically, he said, "You shrunk the Horcrux, right? Right? And, I don't know, sucked it up your arse or something. Right?"
For the longest moment in Harry's life, Malfoy didn't answer. Eventually, "Horcrux?"
Harry threw his head back, neck cracking. "Oh, god. Don't tell me you don't even know what you had grabbed."
"Shut up, Potter! I do too! I -- we just call it -- something else."
Harry raised an eyebrow, but Malfoy missed it because he was still lying on the ground and Harry was staring at the sky. "Touchy," he commented.
Humoured that Malfoy didn't know a thing about Horcruxes, and therefore wasn't high enough with Voldemort to have been told what they were, Harry met Malfoy's murderous gaze. "The cup," he explained with much relish. "The cup. Where is the cup?"
Malfoy raised his right hand, the one nearest Harry, the sun glimmering off it. "In my hand."
A long silence filled the air between them, pierced only by the rolling waves and birds screaming in the sky.
Suddenly, Harry moaned, grabbing Malfoy's hand frantically, hoping the cup was hidden in his grasp, which was a silly notion because not only was the cup much too large, but this was the hand Harry had kissed in triumph mere minutes ago, and he would have noticed something so important was spreading the fingers.
If he had a wand that worked, the killing curse would be zipping out of his wand, killing Malfoy without a word being spoken, he was sure. As it was, Harry settled with digging his fingernails, which were much too short to cause serious damage, into Malfoy's palm.
Malfoy hissed and tried to yank away. Harry dug in more harshly, if that was possible. He was sure he could feel blood well under his nails. When he looked down, it was to see specks of red seeping around his nails.
Quite suddenly he felt sick, and he threw Malfoy's hand away, ignoring the way Malfoy curled on his side and cradled his hand to his chest, shooting glares up at Harry.
Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't say anything about Harry's attempt to maim him and instead moaned, "It's in the ocean. I'm dead."
Harry whipped his head around to stare at him, steadying the painful shaking with his hand. "You're dead?" he growled. "If only -- I'm dead. The whole world is dead!"
Fuming, his hands curled into fists, tuffs of hair intertwined around his fingers -- which were itching to punch the smug look on Malfoy's face in -- Harry gave a strangled moan.
"Way to work the melodramatics," Malfoy smirked.
Harry glared. "You don't know how important it is. You don't understand. Gods, I wish I hadn't pulled you out."
"Then why did you?"
Looking at Malfoy as if he were incredibly stupid, which he was, Harry decided with a spark of morbid happiness, he answered. "The Horcrux. You think I'd save you? You? Trust me, I'd rather you die."
Malfoy groaned, tossing an arm over his eyes. "I am dead."
"Way with the melodramatics, Malfoy."
Malfoy sat, unsteadily digging his fingers in the sand for support and finding none. "I know I'm mimic worthy and, Merlin, of course you'd want to be more like me, but stop it at once. You're incorrigible."
"Oh ho!" Harry laughed darkly, leaning into Malfoy's face and stopping just short of making his eyes cross. "Yes, I really want to be some tool, bumbling after Voldemort" -- Malfoy visibly winced -- "for something I don't even comprehend. You can't even stand to hear his name!"
Malfoy's eyes gleamed and he wrapped his disgusting hands around Harry's wrists. He spat, "Respect. Something you'll never get."
Harry let out a short bark of laughter. His voice lowered, as if he were telling a secret. "Respect? I think you mean fear."
"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed, using his grip on Harry's wrists to shove him on his back, startling Harry with the amount of strength coming from someone who had just died.
When Harry righted himself, the world spinning, it was to find Malfoy stalking off. Either he was stumbling all over the place or Harry's head was really spinning.
Harry reached down and untied his remaining trainer. Aiming, he hurled it through the air. It landed with a soft plunk far behind Malfoy, who snorted, or coughed. Harry wasn't sure. He hoped it was a cough and that Malfoy was bringing up blood.
With the waves licking his ankles, Harry flopped back onto the ground, exhausted, and slipped into unconsciousness again.
He had no idea how to make a shelter. Did he really need one? If it rained he could just escape in the thick forest that seemed to surround the island, thirty metres of beach between that and the water. Not that he'd checked the whole island. Though he did wonder where Malfoy had got to. Maybe he was lost, for good.
With that cheerful thought, Harry turned and looked out over the ocean. There was no way he could fool himself; he wouldn't be able to swim out far enough to Apparate. He had nearly died on the way to the island, and he needed more strength on the return trip in order to Apparate.
Hours ago he had declared himself stranded.
It was rather bad too; no one knew where he was. He had given some half-arsed excuse to Ron and Hermione the moment he'd located Malfoy, saying he needed a short vacation alone, to enjoy himself. Hermione had been all too ready to agree since she had been telling him he needed a vacation from nary a year of Horcrux searching.
Somehow he didn't think the island prohibited tracking spells. Just a hunch. But they still weren't expecting him back for a week.
Absentmindedly, Harry watched the waves wash over the spot on which he had previously been lying. They were what had woken him, choking on saltwater, a while ago.
Something came ashore with the next wave but didn't return. Harry frowned. He hated the jellyfish. He mostly disliked stepping on their slimy-ness. He had retrieved his one shoe a long time ago but he only had a sock on the other.
Although, even from this distance, the jellyfish looked rather large, and brown.
Harry ventured closer to investigate, eyes darting to the ground in search of jellyfish. And then he noticed that, no, it wasn't a jellyfish.
It was a cup.
He refused to get his hopes up and continued down in the same slow, careful manner. It couldn't be Hufflepuff's cup. That would just be too much to ask for. It had to be some random cup that had, for all anyone knew, fallen off a ship or out of a plane. It had to be.
It wasn't. Harry moaned in happiness, sinking to his knees and pulling the Horcrux to his chest, pressing it against his skin as if it would disappear should he let go for a second.
It was a miracle.
A twig cracked far behind him. Harry jumped to his feet, looking shiftily over his shoulder. Was Malfoy there watching? There was no way he would let Malfoy know he found the Horcrux.
He scurried into the forest, wedging the cup under some thick roots, and then went in search of something to make a shelter out of. He didn't see Malfoy anywhere, but he still checked on the Horcrux every fifteen minutes. He was sure Malfoy had seen him with it.
The next day Harry spent under his little shelter that rather looked like a wonky umbrella made of leaves. The slightest wind carried bits of it off. But Harry's stomach seemed pasted together, he was so hungry, and he just pressed the cup into his stomach blind in hope that it would quell the pain.
A twig cracked and Harry stuffed the Horcrux behind his back, snatching some of his shelter to cover it.
"Malfoy?" he asked.
A rabbit bounded past his shelter, having been scared by his voice, and before Harry really registered what he was doing, he had leapt after it. He was mental, and hungry. So hungry; he hadn't eaten since early Monday morning and it was near dusk on Wednesday. Plus he hadn't drunk anything.
The rabbit was too fast for Harry, however, and he crouched over after only running for five minutes. His legs were so weak, his tongue dry and thick against the roof of his mouth.
Panting, he looked around, wiping the grim from his brow. The forest met the ocean here, where it ended in a direct drop, the water so close to the forest that Harry could have hung his foot over and trailed his toes over the glassy surface. There really weren't waves, rather like a bay or lagoon, not that he'd ever seen one in real life.
It was peaceful and calm and Harry liked it. Maybe he'd move his camp to this area.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He walked to the edge of the small ledge and bent over, dirt tumbling into the water. There were fish in there. Harry liked fish.
There was no way he'd be able to catch one though. If only he could use magic, then he could Accio one.
He sat on the ledge for the longest time, just staring at the fish, stomach growling. Suddenly, he jumped in, fingers snagging on a fish.
Then he was wrestling, hands hitting fish and rocks and his nose. He couldn't breath and the nasty water was invading his mouth but he wasn't about to give up. He needed to eat something.
His limbs were flailing, water splashing everywhere, and he kept contacting harshly with everything, drawing blood from his knuckles. His energy wasted away fast and he was left floating, panting, hurting.
And then his eyes caught sight of a fish on the land, flopping about and dangerously close to the ledge and survival. He was so stunned he could only stare for a second, but at the last moment he shoved the fish from the ledge, watching in awe as its thrashing slowed to a stop, dead.
Grinning, he climbed back onto land, crouching next to the fish, dirt and leaves clinging to his trousers. He picked up the fish, slimy and clammy in his grip. And then he bit into it, tearing a small chunk out.
He promptly threw up.
Stumbling on weak knees, Harry found his shelter. After a quick check to make sure the Horcrux was safe, he dropped the fish to the ground and started peeling the scales off, getting to the meat. Hungrily, frantically, he stuffed the meat into his mouth, gagging but scarfing it down anyway. It felt so good and tasted so bad, and he didn't stop until there was nothing but bones and blood and skin and gore lying in disarray before him.
He fell asleep instantly, one hand on his stomach and the other swirling idly in the mess.
When he woke, the sun was lowering slowly and his stomach was twisting, sweat shining on his brow that had nothing to with the heat, which really wasn't too bad, but he was burning anyway.
By the time the sun had gone down, he was dry heaving, his stomach empty. He couldn't stop moaning, curling in on himself and wrapping his arms around himself, shivering into the night.
Around noon the next day, Harry's stomach had settled and he had disposed of the remains of the fish, whose smell had only added to his being sick. Never again would he eat raw meat.
Which was why he had built a fire.
Of course, it had taken him all morning to think of how he could build a fire when he had no magic or matches. He had tried rubbing two sticks together, but he was sure there was some sort of trick to it that he wasn't doing, and then he had remembered that on the telly people could catch things on fire with their glasses.
A couple of hours, oodles of frustration, and about a thousand different positions later, and there was a small fire in front of him.
He could only smile stupidly at it. Malfoy was probably dead by now -- good riddance -- and Harry had a fire and everything. Perhaps if Malfoy hadn't been so against Muggles he would have been able to survive. But, no loss, except that Harry hadn't been able to be the one to kill him.
"How the bloody hell did you get a fire?"
Harry dropped his head to his hands, glaring through his fingers at the flickering flames. So Malfoy hadn't died.
"Well? Come on, Potter, spill." Malfoy rounded the fire, poking experimentally at it with a sharpened stick.
Harry's eyes lit upon the sight of it. A spear, not as sharp, but still... It would be so useful in gathering food.
"Give me that there stick and I'll tell you," Harry bargained, moving his gaze from the stick to Malfoy.
Malfoy stood there in just his trousers and shoes. His chest was filled with minute scratches, a deeper one with dried blood on his shoulder. Instantly, Harry searched for any scars from his Sectumsempra. He was disappointed to find there were none. Snape hadn't been lying. There were no marks.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Harry asked, wondering if there was some dangerous creature with them.
Malfoy shrugged and Harry knew that was all he would get from the boy. "Why do you want my stick?"
"I'll tell you how I got fire."
"No. You want to stab me with it."
"Good idea."
Malfoy considered him for the longest time before handing the spear over. "Okay, tell me now."
Harry twisted it between his hands, testing the tip and pressing down with his pointer finger until a drop of blood exited. "I used my glasses."
He looked up and met Malfoy's grey gaze, which was staring at him but not -- at his glasses.
"Give 'um to me, then." Malfoy held out a hand, and Harry scoffed at it, pointing the spear at him.
"Bet you wish you didn't have twenty-twenty vision, eh?"
An ugly look grew on Malfoy's face, making his features appear pointier, and he stomped away, kicking at the fire and spreading it thin so that it was almost out. Harry shrieked, tossed his shoe -- which this time connected with the back of Malfoy's head -- and ran off for more twigs.
Blearily, Harry awoke, rubbing at his eyes to get the sand and dirt out, for the area where his shelter was contained both. He heard a soft gasp and he quieted.
"I know you're awake," Malfoy said nonchalantly. "Now, where do you keep your glasses?"
Harry's eyes shot open, and he found himself staring into Malfoy's eyes for his head was hovering directly above him.
"Nice job," Malfoy congratulated, eyes flashing. "Tell me, how'd you get the cup? Had it the whole time, did you?"
"No," Harry spat, tilting his head and straining his eyes against the blur and darkness to see Hufflepuff's cup in Malfoy's hand. "It washed ashore."
Malfoy nodded, then cheered and reached above Harry's head. "Well, it was nice stealing from you, but I must be off." He slipped the glasses on the top of his head and grabbed Harry's mouth, forcing his lips to squash and pucker like a fish. "Merlin, I hate you," he offered, scraping his nails against Harry's skin while pulling away.
Then he was gone, flailing an arm behind him. Harry was barely able to wonder what Malfoy was doing when his leaf umbrella cascaded down on top of him.
Glowering, Harry pushed the leaves off himself and stumbled in what he thought was the direction Malfoy had turned.
The moon was out and on the beach it shone clearly, lighting Malfoy's footsteps. At least Harry hoped they were Malfoy's and not his previous own.
Nevertheless, he followed them, losing sight of them numerous times. He was just about to give up and flop onto the sand in defeat, sleeping the rest of the night, when he saw something -- a log? -- stationed in the centre of the beach.
He walked towards it, evening his breathing, and peered over the log. Malfoy was sleeping there, in a hole in the sand he had no doubt created. Harry dropped on top of him, punching every bit of skin his fists could connect with.
Malfoy jerked awake with a cry, shoving at Harry futilely. Harry only whacked his head on the log before returning to his ministrations.
"Fuck you!" Malfoy managed before Harry cuffed his jaw. He felt the blood leak onto his hands, gushing soft and sweet and warm between his fingers, and he tossed his hand back, connecting with Malfoy's face again.
"Godsh, Podder, shtop!" Malfoy garbled, spitting into Harry's face. "Shtop! You'll bloody kill me!"
Harry paused, hearing Malfoy sigh in relief below him. "Why would I care if I killed you?" he asked, generally curious. He had given Malfoy no indications that he felt anything but hate towards him. Strong hate.
Malfoy's eyes clouded over and Harry stared down at him, following a drop of blood that welled from his split lip and rolled down the side of his chin, over his neck and into the shadows. He reached out and pressed his thumb against the cut. Malfoy hissed.
"Well?" Harry persisted.
Their eyes locked. "Then you'll be alone."
Harry pressed harder, until Malfoy bit down on his thumb.
"How about I give you your glashesh but I can ushe them when need be?"
Harry snorted. What good would that be? How would that benefit him? He had Malfoy underneath him, didn't he? He could easily continue to beat Malfoy into unconsciousness, maybe even for good.
But there was some sort of truth to Malfoy's assessment. While he would rather be stuck on an island with anyone but Malfoy -- anyone -- there was some odd comfort in the knowledge that he wasn't completely alone, that there was someone else suffering with him. That it wasn't like when he was younger and locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
"And I get the Horcrux," Harry agreed.
Malfoy's nose crinkled and Harry dug his nail into the cut as a reminder of what would happen if he refused.
"I'm not afraid of you," Malfoy spat. Harry simply grinned. "Fine. All right. Now get the fuck off me."
Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. And he made sure to 'fall' on Malfoy's shin when standing.
In high spirits, his glasses clearing his vision and the Horcrux heavy in his hands, he strolled back to his ruined shelter.
By morning the Horcrux had disappeared.
Harry stood, grabbed his spear, and stormed off. Apparently he hadn't scared Malfoy enough. Screw being left alone. Right now he'd rather be alone with Malfoy gasping for breath beside him, watching the last of the light leave his eyes.
He was practically drooling. Then again, since landing on the island, he hadn't eaten or drunk anything but that fish and water from a stream near his shelter that was no more.
When he reached Malfoy's camp, it was to find Malfoy sitting on the log, a large leaf on his lap, berries and fruit in it. He waved a finger at Harry, smirking.
Momentarily distracted, Harry faltered at the sight of food. It was no fair! His side of the island didn't contain fruit. At least, none that he had found.
Well, now he'd have something to munch on as he listened to Malfoy moan.
He thrust the spear under Malfoy's nose. His arm was shaking, the wood wavering.
"You haven't got it in you," Malfoy taunted, smiling widely, breaking his lip open. Harry noticed there was bruising on his face.
"Have too," Harry replied, fixing his grip on the stick and trying to figure out the best place to stab Malfoy.
Suddenly, the fruit fell in the sand, and Malfoy was standing, another spear pointing at Harry's stomach.
Malfoy scoffed, "Do you take me for an idiot?"
The answer was yes, obviously, but Harry couldn't speak. There was a ringing in his ears, taking over his thoughts and the only thing he could see was Malfoy, the spear under his nose.
He lunged, halting with a gasp when something sharp pressed slightly into his stomach, but the spear in his hand was knocked away and Malfoy kept moving forward. Twisting, flaring pain burnt its way up Harry's spine, and he looked into Malfoy's fearful hatred, eyes falling closed.
"Didn't think you would ever wake up." A tsk. "Too bad."
Harry's heavy eyelids finally managed to open. It was night, stars twinkling at him from a distance. He sat up, wincing.
"Baby."
Harry turned to glare at him, grabbing at his stomach above his belly button. There was some fabric twisted around his body and belatedly Harry realized it was his shirt, torn to tie at his side.
"It's really not that deep," Malfoy was saying, flicking berries idly at Harry, who tried not to snatch them up and eat them. He gave in after five; he was starving.
Malfoy regarded him. "Let me guess, you hadn't eaten the whole time."
Harry didn't answer him, too busy eating the sweet berries, juice filling his mouth and dribbling down the back of his throat.
His eyes caught sight of a leaf to his left and he snatched the fruit off it, stuffing his face.
Malfoy snorted.
Harry glanced up. Around a mouthful of food, he asked, "Were you nursing me back to health?"
Malfoy's face shuttered. "Health? You are far from healthy. Worse than me."
"You're avoiding the question. Why would you help me? I wish you dead, you know."
Quickly, Malfoy stood, kicking sand into the berries, which Harry paid no attention to, still eating them. "And I, you," he growled before stomping away.
Harry cast a yearning look at the food before stumbling after him, grabbing his stomach at first, but the pain eased off fast enough.
Malfoy stopped when he reached his log and he slipped over it, sinking out of sight.
"You really don't want to be alone, do you." It was not a question.
There was no reply, so Harry sat on the log, dangling his legs over it so that his feet brushed against Malfoy's knees.
"Go away, Potter," he said wearily.
Harry frowned, but the reminder of food was too strong. He agreed, "Okay," and pulled his feet up.
A strangled sound fell from Malfoy's lips. "I hate you and I don't want you near me."
Irritated, Harry snapped, "I'm going. Just remember, you're the one who stabbed me."
"You stabbed yourself." Malfoy grinned, a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering a pleasant memory. "I just aided you a bit."
"More like shoved it in the whole way," Harry corrected bitterly.
"Shush, you big baby. It wasn't that deep."
When Harry went to leave, Malfoy made that odd sound again. "I...my hole's big enough if you don't have the energy to walk back."
Harry swung his head around to stare down at him. Malfoy steadfastly refused to look at him.
Harry slipped down the log next to him, dropping his head onto the slightly raised sand and forcing Malfoy to meet his gaze. "You're afraid of the dark?" Harry laughed.
Malfoy's lips formed the word "alone" but no sound issued forth. He closed his eyes as if pained.
"I'm going to kill you some day," Harry said matter-of-factly.
Without opening his eyes, sounding tired, Malfoy replied, "Not if I kill you first."
Silence descended upon them and Harry fidgeted. Not only was he too close to Malfoy for comfort, but his stomach was growling, mouth parched, and he felt like he should at least be touching Malfoy, strangling him, striking him, whatever. Making him moan.
"When's your side going to come get you?" Malfoy asked.
"Er, soon. Soon," he repeated, trying to believe it. This was his -- how long had he been out of it?
When prompted, Malfoy said, "Two days. Bloody annoying it was drizzling water down your mouth and cleaning your cut. Disgusting."
Which Harry found ironic because Malfoy was the Death Eater and shouldn't he be into all that gore and torture?
"My side will come soon too," said Malfoy. Harry wanted to ask more about it because he was generally curious -- why had Voldemort sent Malfoy; why didn't Malfoy even know what the Horcrux was called, let alone what its importance was; how had Voldemort reacted when he found out Malfoy hadn't killed Dumbledore; how long had he been given to return the Horcrux? -- but he figured that Malfoy wouldn't answer so he didn't ask.
They fell into silence again.
Malfoy spoke up first. "I was thinking, if my side arrives first, I won't tell them you're here, so long as you don't tell your side I'm here if they come first. Then we'll both live."
Harry frowned. "But I don't want you to live."
Malfoy moved away from him, pressing his back against the wall of sand, and finally opened his eyes, which seemed to shine in the moonlight.
"Is it a deal or not?"
Harry studied his hand, awkwardly poised between them. Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed it. "All right."
Malfoy tightened his grip, pulling Harry closer. "And why should I believe you when every other word out of you mouth is 'I'm going to kill you,' huh?"
Harry shrugged, instantly aggravated. He hadn't even wanted to make the deal but it was the logical choice if Voldemort happened to show up first. It was very likely since he knew Malfoy was here, and Ron and Hermione didn't know where Harry was.
"Look, Malfoy, I don't care if you believe me or not."
Malfoy huffed and Harry had a feeling that the deal was off.
"What, you want to seal it with a kiss or something?" Harry scoffed.
Malfoy smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Harry scrunched his nose. "You're the one who didn't want me to leave."
"And you're the one who was all over me the other day. Couldn't keep your hands off me, you bloody shirt-lifter."
"What -- oh, because I was attacking you!"
Malfoy just smiled, apparently pleased with himself.
Harry grinned inside. "Fine, you're right. You madly turn me on. Now I want to seal it with a kiss." And he shoved against the scowling Malfoy, pressing their lips together roughly, disgruntled when Malfoy's lip didn't split open.
That would show him to keep his mouth shut.
"Gah!" Malfoy yelped, pushing him away. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're disgusting! Bloody hell!"
Harry felt inertly pleased with himself.
Malfoy was still rambling about how disgusting Harry was so he had to do it again. This time Malfoy nipped his tongue when he tried pushing it through protesting lips.
It hurt. This was war. Harry snatched his wrists and yanked him forward, away from the wall, and then shoved him on his back, sand springing up with the force and flying over their nude chests.
Quickly, before Malfoy could get enough leverage, Harry straddled him, twisting his legs around Malfoy's and leaning down to whisper into Malfoy's ear, inhaling particles of sand at the same time. "I'm going to rape you."
Malfoy stilled, turning his head to look into Harry's eyes. "You can't rape the willing."
"Who's willing?"
"Who's not?" And he bucked up, making Harry aware of the fact that he had been getting off on Malfoy's squirming. Although he'd rather Malfoy fight him. Would serve him right.
Harry shifted slightly so that their cocks were aligned and Malfoy moaned on the next thrust. It wasn't because Harry was killing him but it pacified Harry and he thrust down harder, revelling in the fact that Malfoy had started to thrash about.
He latched onto Malfoy's bottom lip, chewing on it and reopening the cut. Blood blossomed into his mouth and he sucked on it, loving the rawness, the life of Draco Malfoy in his mouth, down his throat. This time Malfoy's moan was of pain, and Harry's balls tightened, signifying his release. He bit harder when he came, drawling forth another toe-curling moan.
Malfoy's hands tangled in Harry's hair tightly, tugging, and he dislodged his gushing lip from Harry's mouth, digging his head into the sand, chin pointing to the sky. He came in silence, body quivering, and then he was still.
Harry pushed off him, clutching his stomach, not sure if he had moved it the wrong way or if he was going to vomit. It took a few tries until he made it out of the hole but when he did, he grabbed his spear and the leaf of food, and ran as long as he could, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Hunting was a no go. He was much too slow to catch any meat, his stomach protesting with every harsh pound of his feet. Fuck Malfoy. It had to be deep.
Then again, he had come so close to fucking Malfoy last night. Something was desperately wrong with him. He couldn't be...queer, could he? He wasn't attracted to Malfoy, that was for sure. The git's features were too pointy, hair too blond, body too hard. Not to mention his appalling personality and the fact that he's a Death Eater and a coward. No, Harry couldn't be gay. He...
He just liked having power over Malfoy.
That settled, he turned course in the forest, in what he hoped was the direction of Malfoy's camp, for he had became lost, and went to do what he had been avoiding. He was going to get the Horcrux back and force Malfoy to tell him where he found the fruit because for the life of him, he couldn't locate it.
When he finally stumbled out of the forest, close to Malfoy's log, the sight made his mouth gap open. Malfoy had the Horcrux to his lips, throat working. He was bloody drinking out of part of Voldemort's soul. The nerve of him! Too bad it wasn't killing him.
Tersely, Harry swatted the gnats away from his sweating face, which had suddenly become hotter, and his grip on the spear tightened. He stomped across the sand, its heat permeating the foot with only a sock and burning him.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and stood, scratching absently at his chest.
"You can't drink out of the Horcrux!" Harry yelled, completely beside himself.
Malfoy backed up a step, falling into his hole and spluttering wildly. Harry made to jump on top of him but suddenly remembered what had happened the last time he was in the sand pit. Instead, he jerked and twisted his spear into the sand a bit.
"Why ever not?" Malfoy asked, indignant, as he climbed up and snatched his own spear from the side of the log.
There were more spears peaking out from under the wood. Harry blinked. "How are you making them?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Malfoy smirked.
"No," Harry snapped, raising his spear, Malfoy doing the same and Harry was clearly remembering the incident before. Nothing like that would happen again. If Malfoy didn't cooperate, he would be the one with a hole in him; only Harry wouldn't return the favour and nurse him back to health. "I asked you because I didn't want to know."
Malfoy raised his chin. "Go ahead then. If you want to kill me so badly, do it." He dropped the spear, stretching his arms out, eyes never leaving Harry's.
Harry's mouth went dry. He aimed the spear and grinned when a flicker of fear crossed Malfoy's face. "Tell me," he said, "where are you finding all this fruit?"
"Why should I tell you if I'll just die afterwards?"
"Maybe I'll spare you." He moved forward, stalking his prey, and pressed the sharp wood against Malfoy's neck, drawing a thin red line from his Adam's apple to his collarbone. Malfoy quivered softly.
"Why are you procrastinating?" When Malfoy spoke, Harry could feel the spear moving up and down from the minute vibrations.
He couldn't stop watching Malfoy's lips, since he'd talked, drawing attention to them. There was the cut on the bottom one, in the centre, skin puckered up around it. The rest of his lips were chapped, a faint pink, as if the sand and sun had wiped all colour from his complexion. But he had always been pale. Harry had just never really noticed before.
He wanted to be kissing those lips when he thrust the spear into Malfoy's throat, feeling his life part beneath him, gasping his last breath into Harry's mouth. He wanted to taste Malfoy's life draining out of him, find out if his tongue shook, was still, or twisted sensually.
Tilting his head, Harry fixed his hold on the spear, knuckles turning white. His breath ghosted over Malfoy's lips, which parted, and Harry's muscles tensed.
"Over there," Malfoy spoke. Harry looked away from his lips to his arm, pointing a little ways down the beach. "That big tree over there, the one with the twisting branches. See? The fruit is behind it."
"Thanks," Harry said, and then he pressed forward, mouth and spear, but before his lips could close over Malfoy's, the other boy dropped backwards, over the end of the log. Harry blinked, as if coming out of a daze. He barely registered the fact that his prey was racing down the beach, kicking sand up behind him.
Blearily, Harry searched for the cup. He found it in Malfoy's hole and he grabbed it, walking the opposite direction Malfoy had run, towards the gnarled tree. Feeling disgusted and disturbed, Harry held Hufflepuff's cup to his chest, cradling it, proving to himself that he hadn't completely lost it.
Malfoy was standing by one of the trees off to the side. He didn't think Harry knew he was there. Harry grinned secretly to himself and climbed out of the small pond -- the drinking water. His trousers hung heavy around his waist, exposing his hip bones and sticking to him like a second skin. This was his way of cleaning them, of getting the nine days of grime, sand, blood, and forest gunk out of them.
He could feel Malfoy's penetrating gaze on him but he gave no inkling that he knew Malfoy was there. Subtly, he glanced at his spear; it was at the tree next to Malfoy. Malfoy no doubt had planned it that way.
"I'm bored," drawled Malfoy, slinking out of the undergrowth and over to Harry, who was trying to shake the water out of his hair. "This island is bleeding boring. And the bugs won't leave me alone."
Harry didn't like the way Malfoy was looking at him -- like he was the rabbit and Malfoy the fox. It suddenly hit him that Malfoy had never been the one to initiate the death attempts. Was he going to start now?
The early morning sun filtered through the thick trees, bouncing off Malfoy's dishevelled and slightly dirty, white-blond hair. He cocked his head, staring. "I'm so bored."
"And I don't give a flying fuck," Harry started but Malfoy took the moment to move closer, into his personal space, and hook his finger's in Harry's belt lopes, and Harry's breath hitched half-way through.
Not this again. It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't queer.
A small sound left Malfoy's lips -- a moan? -- and just as fast, Harry was laying on his chest, coughing up dirt. A heavy weight plopped on top of him, heels digging into his thighs.
"Gods," Malfoy groaned, making Harry aware of exactly what had just happened. "I hate you, and I want to fuck you raw."
Harry wasn't sure exactly what that entailed but he knew he didn't want it, so he thrashed about, tossing Malfoy off him.
"Hell!" Malfoy's hand came down on his arse with a sound thwack! that echoed throughout the forest.
Harry kicked wildly, growling, "Knock it off, Malfoy! I'm not a bloody pouf!"
"Don't have to be," Malfoy mused, sitting on Harry's upper back and knocking the wind out of him. His hand came down again and this time Harry gasped air. "You know, Potter, this is fun."
Thwack! Thwack!
Harry really wasn't squirming anymore. He was bucking, trying to make it seem like he was attempting to dislodge Malfoy, but it was pretty obvious that moving his pelvis wasn't going to remove Malfoy when he was at his shoulders.
Malfoy stilled. Harry couldn't help it; his hips kept moving, and he buried his face in the dirt and grass.
"You like that. You're getting off on it."
Finally, Harry was able to control his hips. "'m not."
"Shall we see about that?" Harry could hear the smirk in Malfoy's tone.
Thwack! Thwackthwack!
Harry mumbled into the ground, grinding his erection into it. His arse was turning red, he could feel the heat, and it felt so sensual with his soaked trousers still sticking to his skin. The sharp smacks of pain sent heat to his stomach, and he pulled his head away from the dirt to get air and moan, loudly, for it didn't matter. No one but Malfoy would hear him.
Malfoy was shamelessly humping Harry's back, his smacks less consistent now, and not as hard.
"Harder," Harry groaned, embarrassed at how much Malfoy ambushing him was turning him on.
A hand grabbed Harry's waist and the other was coming down in sharp, forceful smacks. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Malfoy was hitting the same spot over and over again, and Harry was bouncing mindlessly against the floor, his orgasm building from his toes, up his calves, tightening the soft muscles there. And then Malfoy gave the hardest one yet and Harry screamed, eyes wide and wet and cock shooting come in his trousers.
He had barely laid his head for a rest when Malfoy stood, grabbed his writs, and yanked him into the shallow water.
Quite suddenly, Harry noticed that Malfoy had just removed all his clothes and was starting on Harry's trousers.
"What are you doing?" he asked stupidly, still out of it.
Malfoy huffed, his nose bumping into Harry's cheek. "Told you already -- wanna fuck you."
Harry shook his head, knowing he should be more alarmed, knowing he should be mad -- mad that Malfoy had made him do it again, but then he was on his stomach again, and Malfoy was spreading on top of him, tangling Harry's dark locks around his fingers and forcing his head back, making his fringe fall into his eyes.
"Spread 'um," Malfoy commanded, kneeling in the water -- on the rocks, Harry recalled, smug. Malfoy shoved his legs between Harry's, forcing him apart.
And then Malfoy's hand dipped below the cold water, poking at Harry's arse, and Harry was too surprised to do much of anything but tense, eyes wide as they settled on his spear, sitting innocently against the trees, as if it was watching them. Harry felt his face flush. What was he doing?
He went to move but Malfoy was pushing into him and fuck! It hurt! He tried squirming away but Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry's hair.
Malfoy was still pushing in, and Harry's whole body cramped, thighs quivering with strain.
"Shite," Malfoy breathed. Hate filled Harry again, blinding him and mixing with the pain. Malfoy had just started to pull out, feeling as if he was taking Harry's innards with him, when he shuddered and bit down on Harry's back.
Harry scrambled away, Malfoy's flaccid cock slipping painfully from his arse.
Wincing, Harry stomped over to his spear, snatching his clothes along the way and tugging them on. The second the wood of the spear touched his hand, he noticed Hufflepuff's cup was missing. He whirled around, glaring at Malfoy, who was wringing his trousers out, boxers already off.
"Where'd you put the Horcrux?" he roared.
Malfoy blinked, lips curling, and Harry had the strongest desire to bite right through them. "I haven't the faintest idea. What do you do, carry it everywhere?"
"Duh," Harry bit.
From the distance, something snorted.
Another snort sounded, and it moved into the open, the cup dangling from its mouth. It was a boar!
Not even drying his glasses off for clearer vision, Harry crept closer, the boar's beady, black eyes trained on his every movement.
Malfoy was at his shoulder. "Get it back," he whispered.
Harry elbowed him, the soft sound startling the animal into a run. Cursing, Harry traipsed after him, limbs flailing and body aching, adrenaline rushing through his veins, fogging his mind. He could hear Malfoy stumbling through the undergrowth after him, and the boar's squealing, but all he could see was the hog and the distance between them, ever so slowly closing.
Legs cramping, Harry tripped over a root and landed on the hog. Shrieking, he stabbed the spear into the boar, through his tough skin.
Malfoy dropped to the ground on the other side of the hog, snatching the cup from its mouth.
Harry kept thrusting the spear into the boar, sinking it through the flesh, watching the blood swell out of the holes, splattering on his arms and bare chest when he pulled out.
The animal's crying had stopped but Harry kept going, entranced by the flowing dark red.
"...Potter. Potter." Malfoy's words penetrated Harry's head, and he whipped his head up, staring at Malfoy, at the way he was hovering on his haunches, the Horcrux tight in his hands.
"Potter, stop. Here!"
The cup was held out but Harry ignored it, clambering over the corpse, the red spear catching the sun and gleaming.
"Potter, Potter, stop it, it's me!" Malfoy yelped, curling around himself, the cup falling in the grass. He was shaking, moaning. Crying.
Harry blinked and dropped the spear. It landed next to Malfoy's hand, small droplets of blood springing onto his pale skin.
Harry grabbed the Horcrux and ran. He ran and ran until the forest ended, and he ran across the beach, eyes unfocused. He ran into something solid and hit the ground hard.
"Harry!" someone yelped and there were arms around him, squeezing, and there was a load of hair in his face. "Oh, Harry, we found you!" She pulled back and Harry was looking into the warm, brown eyes of Hermione Granger.
"The tracking spell just gave us a general area," Ron Weasley explained, moving into Harry's vision. Lupin, Tonks, and Moody were behind him. "We've been on a thousand islands, I swear." He frowned. "Ugh. What happened to you, mate?"
Harry felt faint. He held the cup out. "Horcrux," he rasped.
Ron and Hermione, the ones who understood what he was talking about, just stared blankly at it.
"You found it," she stated, unable to believe it.
"Good one, mate, good one!" congratulated Ron, slapping Harry on the back and making him jerk forward. "All by yourself too!"
Harry looked over his shoulder, into the forest, wondering if Malfoy was still cowering at the boar's corpse. "Yeah," he answered slowly.
"Let's go," Lupin's worried voice spoke up. He pointed to a fishing boat a little ways out, the ocean licking its sides.
Harry was overwhelmed. He could feel the darkness closing in, bordering his eyes. He nodded and let the dark take over.