Draco turned and walked away without looking back, and Harry wondered if it was the snow that was making him look so blurry against the startling white.

Draco pulled him closer, and Harry became aware of their breath so warm and Dracos face so close.

Harry brushed his lips hesitantly against Dracos, hoping and fearing at the same time that it would be the last time.

They were in snowglobe, the snow whirling around them, their lashes dusted with white.

"dont go." His voice was as cold and demanding as always, still the spoiled child who's father had bought him seven new brooms to be on the team.

They stared at each other for what could have been hours, the old menacing glares, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him remembering those hard grey eyes from a time so faraway in the dungeons, accross the quidditch pitch, and once upon a time in a robe shop when they were still so young and time had yet to scar their hearts.

"Malfoy." Surprised but unmoved.

He knew it was him before he saw or heard him, how many times had he heard those light footsteps creeping up on him before potions or in the corridors waiting to hit him with a new jinx.

His beautiful hair so soft it made him cry blowing in the wind, back turned, his luxurious black coat speckled and wet, and Harry wondered why he was here. An angel among ghosts, Fallen and twisted, but somehow still so pure. He hoped someone would be there to catch him, when he was gone.