DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or its respective characters, plot, or settings. They are the sole property of Joanne Rowling and her co. I make no money off this; it's merely for fun.

What If You

Unloading the remaining in the box, Harry caught sight of a rectangular figure lying at the bottom. Dubiously picking it up, creases fromed on his forehead as he tried to recall the last time he has held and examined the object. He turned it around, and a smile etched on his face as soon as he felt the texture of the cover and the binding. Of course, he remembered. It seemed like yesterday when Hagrid handed it out to him before boarding the Hogwarts Express on his first year, chuckling lowly when he imagined the half-giant's threat on his cousin.

Before turning the page, he mindlessly walked towards the bed, his eyes locked on the scrapbook.

He plunged on the newly-applied comforter, sinking a couple inches. The knowing smiles of his parents made him feel a tad forlorn. Even after avenging his parent's (and anyone else's) death, the same question keeps popping-up in his head: What would our family be like if you survived? He let out an anguished breath.

"Harry," said a voice that made him jump up slightly. "I've been calling you, didn't you hear me?"

Harry snapped the book shut as he looked up, "Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry, I was kinda preoccupied."

"What's that?" Draco asked, reaching over as he settled down beside him.

Harry instinctively transferred the object on his outstretched left hand where it was farther from the other man, unsure if he can let anyone else discover one of his prized possessions.

But Draco was steadfast. He fought for the book, bit out unnecessary remarks as Harry raised his arm higher and drew it out more distant. Draco leaned in too abruptly and found himself atop of Harry, taking the advantage and swiped the book from his writhing lover.

"Who knew you were that determined to get that thing?" Harry managed in between gasps for air.

"Because a Malfoy always get what they want," Draco replied smugly.

"To be honest, I knew you should've been sorted into Gryffindor," Harry grinned.

"What?" Draco scowled at him. "I am absolutely horrified by your assumption. There is no way will I ever be one of your Gryffindorks."

"Yeah. But you're mine."

"Still not a Gryffindor," Draco muttered, looking away.

Nevertheless, Harry flashed a smile that showed triumph.

Draco sat up, Harry following suit. Draco flipped the book open, eyes trailing on every picture, pausing here and there to ask absurd questions.

"Look at Granger's hair," he pointed out, amused. Hermione's hair was a brown and bushy mess. It wondered Harry how she managed to tame it.

"Look at Weasel—" Harry glared at him. "—Weasley's nose."

"Is this... Longbottom? Oh my goodness."

"Look at this kid, he looks like you—"

"Because that is me, Draco." snickered Harry.

"You're too skinny, and... why are your clothes too big for your size?" Draco turned quizzically at Harry.

"Well, the Dursley's didn't fancy me that much, they had to give me Dudley's old clothes..." he smiled a little. "After all these years, I haven't grown into them."

After a couple of page turning and more sensible questions, Draco gave the book back and disappeared around the corner; returning with a picture in hand and sitting back on his original position.

"Remember this?" he held out the card. "I think this deserves to be part of your little book." he secured it in place.

Harry smiled down at the recently placed photo. It was both of them at the re-inauguration of Hogwarts after the war. It was Harry and Draco's idea on an additional room that will serve as a memorial to those who died in the war, as to pay tribute on their outstanding courage and perseverance. Draco turned to his left and said something, Harry caught his lips as he turned back, camera lights flashing at the background. Draco looked back and beamed at the camera men, their ceaseless snaps of the device blinding him. Then, Harry remembered whispering in his ear: Something worth for the Daily Prophet.

This time, it was Draco who kissed Harry by the cheek, making him look up from the photo. Smiles were exchanged just as the loud cracking noise behind their door interrupted them.

Harry stood up, peaked at the peep-hole and turned the knob. "Madame Melena," he said in bewilderment. "What brings you here?"

Madame Melena is a woman in her forties, her brown hair with streaks of grey was fastened into a tight bun— which reminded Harry of Headmistress McGonagall. She was short, yet healthy despite her age. Her nose was slightly crooked, and skin sagged under her eyes. She's been under the department of Magical Maladies and Injuries at St. Mungo's for over a decade, now, so it wasn't surprising at all to see the physical changes of age and stress on her.

Harry stepped aside to usher her in, Draco flashing a welcoming smile.

She stepped in, returning the smile. Quickly examining the details of the house, she placed a protruding envelope on a vacant chair nearby. "Hello, boys," she turned to look at them, "or should I say men."

Harry smirked as he walked to stand beside Draco, intertwining their fingers.

"You have a very lovely home," she commented, moving gingerly as to avoid the boxes scattered on the floor.

"Thank you," Draco replied. "Apologies for the mess, we just moved here a couple of days ago so we're just finishing on stacking up some items around the house."

"Do you want anything? Some tea and biscuits?" Harry inquired.

The healer stopped examining the place and took a while to register the offer, "Oh, no. Thank you but I'm in a hurry," she moved to retrieve the envelope and pulled out a couple of papers.

Pursing her lips as she reluctantly handed over the files, she watched silently on both of their reaction.

The two took turns on exchanging the papers, frowning and quickly scanning it.

After a while, Harry asked, dumbfounded, "So... what are all these?"

Looking at him intently with a hint of grief, she stated slowly and clearly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you were diagnosed with cancer."