Disclaimer- I do not own any of these characters, all credit for the world and characters goes to J. K. Rowling
(A/N: Just so you know, I don't know anything about Wiltshire, so don't hold me to any of this writing.)
When Harry Potter was seven years old he had no friends. Halfway through the month of July, the Dursleys decided to go on vacation to Wiltshire. Unfortunately for the Dursleys, Aunt Marge was away at her dog farm, breeding the females, Petunia hadn't broken the news about Harry to her new friend Yvonne and there was an old man living next door who liked to hit people with his cane when they bothered him. The Dursleys liked the last option, but even they couldn't convince him to take Harry in. So the Dursleys were forced, most reluctantly, to take Harry along. They didn't trust a stupid boy like Harry to be alone at their house for over a week, and it would probably get them into some legal trouble if they left a seven-year-old in their house for a long time.
They stayed in a small bed and breakfast on a cobblestone street called Main Avenue. It was bustling and busy on the Sunday they arrived. The Dursleys inspected their rooms, making sure Dudley liked them and Harry was free to wander. One of Harry's favourite things to do was listen to other people chit chatting as they walked down the cobblestones paths. Harry would sit on the stoop outside the B&B and listen to snippets of conversations when people passed. More often than not, they were complaining or worrying or making fun of, or simply talking about the Malfoy Manor, a way out of town. Over the days, Harry became obsessed with the idea of this Malfoy Manor. He imagined a big white house, with roses and a beautiful garden surrounding it. Inside would be a small dining table a cosy couch, and two loving parents, waiting for him. His mother would be tall and willowy, with a warm kind of beauty, and his father would be plump and soft, with a laugh that made his belly bounce. Harry would have a best friend, a boy his age who understood everything he was thinking without him even having to say anything. The boy would spend most of his nights at the manor with Harry, falling asleep on the couch with a movie playing, together. They would walk to school together, lunch bags swinging in time, laughing and giggling. If anyone at school even attempted to hit Harry or stuff him the dumpster or give him a swirly (all of which he had suffered) his best friend would rush in and stand up to the bully, saving Harry from torment. These were the kind of dreams Harry entertained during his summer at Wiltshire.
On Friday, the day before they left to go back home, Harry met someone. He was sitting on the steps and listening to conversations, as had become the norm over the week when he saw a boy his age run by. He was close enough that Harry could see tears streaming down his face and a big bruise on his left cheek. Curious, Harry hurried after him. He found the boy sitting on the swing at the rundown park on the other side of town. Harry had been there a few times, but tended to avoid it, because it reminded him of the playground Dudley hung around at home, where his favourite game was beating up Harry.
Harry sat on the swing next to the boy and studied him. He had longish blonde hair, light skin and sad grey eyes. As well as the bruise on his face, the boy had quite a few long bloody scratches running down his arms. "Hello," Harry said. The boy turned away from him, trying to hide his face. "Hi." He said, his voice small and timid. "I'm Harry. Who are you?" The boy looked up, and Harry thought he saw a spark of amazement in his eyes. "Draco. Draco Malfoy." So this was the son of the mysterious couple who lived there. Not what he had imagined in his fantasies. "Why are you crying?" Harry asked. "Some boys beat me up while I was walking to school." Harry could tell Draco was telling the truth, but not the whole truth. Something else was going on, but Harry knew what it felt like not to be able to tell someone something, so he didn't pry. "It sucks to get beaten up." Draco laughed, and Harry smiled at the beauty of it. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it."
The two boys spent the day playing together and imagining a better life for both of them. They became best friends overnight, and the next day, there were many tears as Harry was dragged away by his Aunt and Uncle. Before Harry left, he sat down on the swings with Draco and presented him with a present.
It was a little rock, with a circle through the middle, just big enough for Draco's pinkie finger. "What is it?" He asked. "A promise ring." Harry said solemnly, "A promise to you. I will never forget you, and I will find you someday."
Many years later, Draco stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. "Harry Potter, Harry Potter is here…" He heard everyone whispering. It wasn't, no it couldn't be, could it? It was. But Harry didn't remember him, so he didn't tell him, because if he hadn't remembered, that probably meant Harry hadn't cared.
Astoria was waiting in the bedroom for him when he got home. "What's this?" She questioned, holding up a tiny rock with a hole in it, now too small for any of Draco's fingers. "A promise ring. From my best friend. He said one day he would come back for me. I'm still waiting. I never forgot."
The next morning, Harry Potter was awoken by the screeching of an owl. Ginny groaned, and not wanting to wake her, he crept into the kitchen. Opening the package, and paying the owl, he found a small stone with a hole in it, just big enough for his knobbly pinkie. There was a small note that read: A promise, from your best friend. I have never forgotten. I love you