Wintry Visit

by Miz Thang

Harry Potter never was.

Title: Wintry Visit
Author: Miz Thang
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy, implied/mentioned HP/DM
Rating: FRM
Word Count: 315
Warnings: Slash, obviously. Angst.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.
Summary: Harry Potter never was. For my au100 claim of Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. This is the Big Ass Table.

Draco Malfoy is a lone pale figure, deeply contrasted against the nght sky. He stands in the wintry snow, his gaze cast low, to the ground where a grave has been ruined over the past two decades. A grave disgraced and spat upon. The tombstone is chipped and the most crude words in the world have been carved into the stone, disrespecting the life of the one who lied there.

And Draco stares at this all and he imagines. He imagines a tale of a baby who defeated the great Lord Voldemort, making the man disappear off the face of the earth for all of eleven years and thought dead by all. He imagines a boy prophecized to one day face this Lord Voldemort and win. He imagines a world not filled with pain and suffering and screams, and where his mother did not whisper to him every night that she wished she'd known better before.

Sometimes, Draco dreams so hard that he imagines the boy did exist – in his memories. He remembers fights and Quidditch matches. He remembers pranks and insults, and all the things in between. He remembers the disgust and the hatred, and the worry and confusion and the passion andthedesireandthelust, all mixing up into something indefinable. Something new.

And that's the part that hurts. Draco can see this boy of his dreams so clearly in his head – a messy head of black hair that Draco will always gets the intense desire to tame (but it won't work), and green eyes as bright as Avada Kedavra hidden behind round frames. Draco imagines what this boy is like in person, and is always disappointed because he will never exist.

So Draco stands in this wintry snow, his gaze cast down at the grave of one Harry James Potter that barely ever was, and he tosses down a white rose to what could've been.