Title Inspiration: Not Giving In by Tom Walker

Disclaimer: can't afford my coffee addiction, definitely don't own HP

When the first snowfall of the year covers the grounds of Hogwarts, everything is quiet. There is no noise, either on the grounds or in the castle. The Forbidden Forest is completely silent, save for the rustling of the wind. The branches are heavy, covered entirely in a thick white blanket. The frost permeates every surface, cutting across the surfaces of the windows, creeping its way into the castle despite the warming charms.

The lonely boy sitting on a window ledge, gazing out over the grounds, makes no noise; he is completely silent, even as tears race down his cheeks.

While he is long used to having to muffle his cries after years spent hidden away in a cupboard, he is especially silent tonight due to the silencing charm still resting on him. As he sits staring out at the castle grounds, his ribs are visible through the baggy sleep shirt, a gleam of sweat covering his body. His normally messy black hair is even more tangled, exacerbated from all of the tossing and turning, and he still occasionally slashes his hands violently through his hair in an attempt to blend his frustration with his pain – trying to relieve the pressure caused from his chest caving in, to redirect his hurt, his attention, his sorrow. There are marks on his palms from clenching his fists as tightly as he could.

He knows that by morning, the marks on his skin will have disappeared, all except for the full moon filled with constellations on his side. But he also knows that he will be in and out of the shower and dressed long before anyone else has even started to stir, let alone a chance to see anything he doesn't want them to.

He hides enough of himself during the day, hides enough of his sorrow and pain; hides enough of his body, of the scars that cover him and the soulmark that's burned into him; hides enough of his intelligence, his personality, all because that's what he was taught.

He doesn't want to have to hide anything from his own self, no matter how scarred he is – both on the inside and the out.

He will hide what he's learnt that he must, for he spent his childhood learning how to survive in a world that would continuously refuse to accept all of him – the fact that it was also how he learnt to survive his relatives is rather irrelevant to far too many people.

Far below the castle, in a room with no view of the grounds, a boy gazed out his own window. This window offered even less comfort than the one up in the Gryffindor dormitory, because it looked out into the depths of black lake. There was muddied darkness everywhere he turned, with not even a ray of hope nearby.

The normally slicked back blonde hair was free from its confinements and floated gently around the dry grey eyes; while the eyes themselves were bloodshot, he had no more tears left.

After what felt like a lifetime of having a monster sleep in your home, it is likely to do that to a person.

When this boy spends any sort of time thinking on the past two years, he turns into a shell of himself; the shell was his only defense in a world full of hurt, in a world that offered no protection and no joy, and he has since discovered that such a bleak world was not only limited to the Manor.

Since his return, he hides himself as well as he can; he hides from the stares, the sneers, the insults from the other students, and the feigned ignorance from the professors.

While he had only ever been able to take comfort from the stars, the thought of leaving the relative safety of his dorm sets his teeth on edge. They are the only things that are still pure for him, still innocent; it does not change the fact that he cannot bring himself to return to the Astronomy Tower, and so he's now lost them too.

He hides himself away in his room, and when he has no other choice and must attend classes, he hides away within himself. His shoulders are hunched, his skin is so pale it is almost translucent, and his ribs have never been so visible. While he doesn't know for sure, it feels like the circles under his eyes are closer to black than any other more normal colour, and he is unaware if his hair looks lanky, or is in need of a trim. His solution is to wear it in a knot every day and ignore the few pieces that manage to escape and fall to frame his face.

He is so ignorant because all the mirrors in his room have been shattered, and the elves are forbidden from replacing them. He refuses to glance at any sort of reflection, refusing to meet his own eyes, because he is unable to forget the expression his mother once said; the eyes are supposedly the gateway to the soul, and he refuses to see whether he lost his soul along with everything else.

He refuses to acknowledge that it's possible for him to loose everything throughout the years, including himself.

The first time they touch that year, it's with a bump of the shoulders.

It was between classes in mid November, when every student spends too much time with their faces tucked into their sweaters to properly watch where they were going. For these two exhausted boys, their minds far away, their bodies were left to collide with one another.

Clothed shoulders hit each other, and each one is left staggering slightly. For a brief minute, Harry feels the light resurfacing in his eyes; he feels alive, even if it's with indignation and what used to be hate, but has since transformed into apathy.

Draco's face seems to flush with colour, his skin abating marginally in its pasty tone. His cheeks flush slightly, and air seems to come easier. He feels like his heart is beating on its own for once, instead of being forced to by sheer will.

The moment passes before their eyes, and each boy goes back to their own path in life, never diverging from what they are supposed to be doing.

By the time December first has rolled around, they've regressed to brawling in the courtyards.

Neither boy understands their reasoning, but it doesn't really matter either; all that they know is that it makes them feel alive, and that's becoming rarer and rarer as time goes by. Their gloved fists collide anywhere they can reach, and its not until each boy is satisfactorily bruised and bloody enough that collapse on the ground side by side. There is no one to separate them beforehand, because all their friends didn't return and the other students are all too afraid to interfere. As they're gathering enough energy to rise, the glare between them holds no malice; rather, their eyes are alight in competition and fierceness. There is a small twist on the lips of each face, forming what would be a smirk were it not for being just crooked enough that they felt warm, a promise rather than a threat to resume next time they see each other.

There are no words exchanged between them, but maybe there doesn't have to be.

They both feel a twinge in their soulmarks, and think that maybe their soulmate is feeling just as alive as they are right now.

By mid-December, they've been reduced to studying together in the library, conveniently using the other as an excuse to keep their own mobs away.

They escape as soon as each boy is done with their classes, and should one be finished earlier than the other, their body is filled with tension until the other arrives.

Very few words were exchanged at first, but the insults that do escape have lost their tone. Looking back, they almost sound fond.

When exams are right around the corner, they discover that one's weaker courses are stronger areas for the other; when once there would have been taunts, there is now only teasing and assistance.

Tender smiles and warmth encompasses the world around them, and they are as lost in each other as they are in their books.

When they receive their grades, they each bear grins so large that their soulmarks can't help but twinge.

There is a slight fear that they could be getting to emotionally invested in something that is not destined to last, but neither one have always been keen on the idea of pre-determined destiny. Instead think they are perfectly happy where they are, and that if their dreams happen to include a shock of pale, blonde hair and a long, lean body, or a mop of wild, messy dark hair and a pair of strong arms, well, that's their own secret.

It is in January when lips meet together for the first time out on the snowy-covered Quidditch Pitch. They both gasp loudly at the electric shock that courses through their entire cores at the contact. They jump back and are only able to stare, open-mouthed, as they grasp the possibility that this might just be forever, and that they will never be alone again.

Shakily they both reach out their hands and cup the other's cheek, warmth resonating within them both and their soulmarks pulsing in synchronization.

Their shirts are quickly discarded, and they can't help but stare at the matching marks etched into their skin.

A full moon, completely filled-in with an accurate depiction of the constellations in the night sky that was directly above their soulmate, covered their sides, and the love behind the mark was reflected in the each others eyes.