The wind nuzzled Harry's body as he slept. Like a chilly blanket, it cascaded over his bones and lulled him into eventually waking in shivers. Green eyes blinked open, weary still with sleep, yet glistening with the soft sheen of longing and bliss – the look one had after waking from a particularly good dream. His bare arms, pale and achy from the cold, were wrapped securely around his cloak and he yawned expansively, forcing himself to sit.
After the unbearable and perplexing cruelty his imagination had decided to grace him with for the past few days, waking from a dream where Draco was not a snide enemy left Harry feeling especially elated. He grinned marginally, eyes a bit somber with the twist of his gut that wished for everything to be real, and played with the hem of his t-shirt. He wasn't absolutely sure of where he was, but remembered the incident of the day before. With Draco's sudden appearance in what was supposedly a true occurrence, Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was fantasy.
But he couldn't dwell on that. He was freezing, lost and most-probably in unfathomable trouble – if not with attackers, then with Hermione.
Sliding off the makeshift bed, which was actually a tangle of damp, wooden planks that did not look at all sturdy, Harry threw on his cloak. The thick material covered his soft skin and he inhaled slowly, still feeling spots on his chest and shoulder buzz excitedly with the lingering presence of Draco's ghostly kisses. He relished in the feeling for a minute, remembering the feel of Draco's lips and memorizing it.
He wondered about Draco's words. Better than fantasy. Draco was fantasy – could anything be better than Draco?
Harry had almost made it to the door when he was deterred by a loud clattering noise from behind him. Sucking in a sharp breath, his startled heart thumping hard in his chest, the boy spun around and widened his eyes at the limb swinging desperately over the ledge of what once was a window. It hung mildly for another second, before a grunt echoed in the empty cottage and gloved fingers clutched the ledge to hoist a lean body through the opening.
"The snow's blocked us in – the door's impossible to use." Draco picked up the wood he'd flung through the window that Harry realised was the culprit for the initial clatter.
His mouth opened to respond, vibrant eyes staring at the other with something so excruciatingly close to hope. No words left him, though, as it seemed his brain was too fixated on slowing down his worrisome heartbeat, thumping at an unhealthy rate, to focus on words. All that left Harry's mouth was a choked gasp.
Draco smiled kindly. Shaking snowflakes out of his hair, he walked up to Harry cautiously and cupped his face in a gloved palm. "Sorry I left." His voice was meek, crowded by uncertainty. "You looked so cold, Harry... I suppose my protective instincts from last year kicked in," he smirked gently, palm sliding down to the base of Harry's neck. "I went looking for wood to start a fire and would've been back before you woke up if the snow wasn't as thick as Weasley's skull."
Harry exhaled, the line between fantasy and reality fading. "You're not real." He said stubbornly, pulling his chin away. He never had control of his actions in his dreams before – it was more like watching a film, not acting in one. The entire experience puzzled him.
The blond was silent for a minute. Then, he took a step closer to Harry, but didn't allow himself to touch the boy. "I promise this is real, Harry." So sincere were his incredibly stormy eyes that Harry believed him. He knew he'd have to suffer the regret and longing when he woke up from another dream, but believing Draco felt too good.
After Harry's slow nod, Draco's serious expression faded into one of inquiry. He tilted his head forward, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth sweetly, and Harry let out a shuddering breath.
"Why did you leave?" Harry whispered suddenly. Draco stiffened slightly and though it was obvious he didn't want to, he pulled away from the other boy. Almost immediately, he pulled off his gloves and began working on building a fire, lost in thought.
"Because." Draco stared at the flickers of small flames. "You had a life, Harry – you have a life. It's waiting for you deep inside your mind," turning around to face the agonizingly trusting face, Draco continued. "It still exists in your heart. And I'm not part of that life."
Harry moved to sit next to the morose figure, their thighs brushing. "My old life?"
The blond didn't respond but continued magicking wet blocks of wood in attempts to start a flame. Draco was Harry's new life – a life filled with sorrow and despair, dampened only minutely by tender moments of love. His old life was filled with normalcy... with friends and laughter. With a different kind of love.
The soft laugh that escaped Harry caused Draco to frown. "Draco," the ruffled boy started with a roguish grin that Ron would have been ecstatic to see, "How is that possible? If it exists in my heart, there is no way you aren't a part of it." Maneuvering himself so he was facing Draco, forcing the former Slytherin to drop the wooden blocks, Harry placed a hand over Draco's torso, where he felt the gentle hammering of his heart. "You're not only a part of my heart, Draco. You're all of it."
Draco felt a heady stir in his chest and wrapped arms around Harry's slender frame. He was selfish and he knew it. "You shouldn't have done it, Harry."
The messy-haired boy, looking so lost yet so comfortable at the same time, pressed himself into Draco's embrace. "Done what?" He murmured.
"Returned to this state of mind. You can't keep running away when things get tough – I understand you needed to forget the war for a while, and I understand that you think you need me. But you don't. You feel that way solely because I was the only one there for a while." Draco tightened his grip and Harry's cheek grazed his own.
"Then why do you feel this way?" He whispered. Draco sighed slowly, but Harry didn't let it deter him. "If I feel this way because you were the only one there, why do you feel the same?"
Draco had no answer. Instead, he kissed the brunet slowly, and Harry's breath hitched. Lips molded against his, fingers caressing his hips softly as shivers crawled up his spine. A tongue slithered slowly against his bottom lip before Draco pulled away to kiss tenderly at the curve of his chin and slowly downward, pressing warm lips down the arc of his neck. It was always remarkable to Harry how gentle Draco was, even in his dreams.
"How did you forget again, Harry?" Draco asked with a hint of misery. "Why did you forget again?"
Harry broke away from the embrace, his eyes clouded in hard smoke as he fought to remember. "You left a tingle on my lips," he began cautiously. "The snow began to melt, and I was losing you. I couldn't afford to lose you. Dumbledore understood."
Draco's brows creased in confusion. "Dumbledore...?"
Harry nodded, looking exhausted. "He understands love."
Draco wasn't sure what Harry was remembering, but when lips kissed him tentatively, shyly and with desire that mirrored his own, Draco found himself uncaring about anything but that exact moment.
Love. Draco smiled against Harry's lips, crushing the timid body against his own.
x.x.x.x
"Zabini?" Hermione opened the door to Harry's flat, glancing curiously at the Ministry lawyer.
Blaise leaned breathlessly against the doorframe, one of his eyes swollen.
"Listen, Granger. Listen closely." Blaise pushed himself away from the doorway and invited himself inside the small flat. "I think it's time we had a chat – has Draco been here to see you recently?"
The name sent a grueling chill down her spine. "What are you talking about? I haven't seen Draco in months –"
Ron appeared at her side, his mouth a grim line. "What in Hades is going on, Zabini? Tell me right now if it was Draco that abducted Harry."
The lawyer scoffed, dragging his battered body onto the sofa with its awful print. "We can only hope, Weasley."
The ginger-haired Weasley narrowed his eyes, a hand moving to rest calmly on Hermione's shoulder. Blaise smirked, though it pained his cut lip. "Do both of you remember the incident at the Leaky Cauldron not too long ago?" Both nodded curtly, a grim expression on their faces. "Twelve dead; a tragedy and a bloody mess at the courts."
"Sixteen." Hermione said shortly.
Blaise had been counting on that. He laughed, leaning back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling, looking crazed. "Fifteen."
Ron's presence was clearly impatient. "What's going on, Zabini?"
"Theodore Nott," Blaise shook his head, as if in a stupor. "Is very much alive. As well as three others that had been reported innocent victims in the fire."
The couple stared at each other, shocked. Hermione seemed to not believe him. "I can't believe you've barged in here when Harry's missing just to pull some nonsense prank –"
Blaise's smile faded. "Prank? You think this is a bloody prank?" Standing up shakily, Blaise pointed to his bloodied face. "Hell, I suspected Weasley to be this daft, but not you."
Ron's face flared in anger. "How do you expect us to believe something like this?"
Zabini clenched his teeth. "Because you want to find Potter. Draco's gone missing, too... and that idiot, Mathieu." He added as an after thought.
"Where is he?" Hermione cut in. Her eyes were resolute. "Nott. Where is he?"
Blaise swallowed hard. "He could be anywhere. A couple of masked figures attacked me on my way to the office this morning. His face might've been hidden, but mark my words – I can recognize that voice anywhere."
"I can't imagine Nott would return to being a Deatheater. He hated Voldemort... I know that much is certain." Hermione was throwing on her cloak while Ron worked on locking the front door.
"Oh, he isn't. It's all a ruse. He tried to get Draco's location out of me, and Hell, I probably would have given it after all that torture, but I don't have a bloody clue where he is."
"Does anyone?" Hermione said, somewhat bewildered. She noticed Roan looking guiltily away.
Blaise smiled eerily, as if revealing a deep secret. "Didn't you know? Malfoy is back."
Both Hermione and Ron wondered what the full implications of that statement would end up being with Harry roaming the streets alone.
x.x.x.x
Draco felt an absurd sense of déjà vu as he held Harry's warm figure in his arms. He had managed to get a fire going, and the colour of it glowed nicely off Harry's sleeping face. He missed Harry needing him. He missed Harry.
Nuzzling the boy's warm skin, he allowed himself a small smile. It might take a few more nights of convincing Harry he was real – that whatever those morons back at Hogwarts had told him wasn't true, and that he wasn't just a figment of his imagination – but he was willing to spend the rest of his life persuading the boy.
Nott didn't have a chance of hurting Harry. Not with Draco around.
The daze of sleep washing over him disappeared instantly. Heavy thudding reached his ears and Harry woke up blearily next to him. The sound grew louder until finally the door caved inwards and fell through. The first thing Draco saw was an unconscious Mathieu.
The next was the masked figure that held the young boy by his collar.
"Deatheaters?" Harry asked quietly, a firmness in his voice that could only belong to the old Gryffindor trying to get through. "They can't – Voldemort's gone –"
Draco watched Mathieu's limp form with hard eyes. "Let him go." He whispered quietly. He imagined Mathieu's mother and dread washed over him.
"Not unless Potter comes with me." The voice was unfamiliar, yet laced with a dark sort of amusement.
Draco's grip on Harry tightened. He felt his heart wrench out of his ribcage. But Harry's reaction was different. Green eyes lit on fire and a jaw set itself in determination.
When Harry stood up, disentangling himself Draco's embrace, he looked exactly like he had the day he walked into Tom Riddle's home. The old Harry. Draco swallowed, standing up after him and catching his wrist.
Harry shook it off and turned to smile at his worried companion. It was strained. Then, he looked back at the Deatheater. "I'll come. Let the boy go."
The Deatheater didn't comply until Harry was in his reach. Then he shoved the boy aside and gripped Harry's collar instead. Draco immediately scrambled up, pulling out his wand and aiming it at the cloaked figure.
It was no use, however. He was trapped between the fate of an eleven year old, and the fate of the only boy he'd ever cared for. When he saw the man's wand pressed against Mathieu's temple, he couldn't ignore Harry's furious gaze. No matter what state of mind Harry was in, he was always the same god-damned person.
The moment he lowered his wand he felt his entire body stiffen with the need to fight back.
But Harry was Harry. And Harry always gave up his life so easily for those around him.
When Blaise, Ron and Hermione arrived, it was already too late. Draco was huddled next to the fire, a blank look in his eyes, while Mathieu stretched unaware beside him, sleeping.
"Nott," Draco said slowly, meeting Blaise's eyes. "I'll kill him myself."
Blaise knew better than to doubt the Malfoy heir.
x.x.x.x
Author's Note: I'm sorry it's so painfully short. And so very, very late. I really thought I had no more Harry Potter influence left in me, which is a saddening thought, but I was struck with incredible inspiration today.
The response for this fic is incredible. I'm so happy that my HP muse hasn't given up on me.
Readers, reviewers and critics. You're all amazing!