Notes: Here's my first venture into the Harry Potter fandom. Written after reading the first half of Deathly Hallows, specifically chapter sixteen. The imagery hit me like the Hogwarts Express:)
Warnings: This was written after reading to page 350 of Deathly Hallows, so expect spoliers. If you read beyond this point regardless of reading that far in the book or not, it is your own decision. I've made my warnings clear.
Beware of DH spoliers, and enough HarryxDraco sap to rot a few teeth.
Disclaimer: I think it's obvious I don't own HP. I just like to play with the beautiful characters J.K. Rowling has given us:)
Reminisce
xXxKeYbLaDeMaStErxXx
It was just as he had left it.
The remains of the cottage stood silent against a backdrop of falling snow, covered in trailing vines. Despite the flurry of activity around him, the bustle of Christmas shoppers, children playing in the snow, the rubble of what had once been his home slept on, untouched by the hands of time.
The emotions rolled over him in waves, as they always did, overwhelming and intense, memories assaulting his mind of what could have been, what never would be, and he clutched at the hand resting lightly against his, drawing what strength he could from its warm hold.
He received a reassuring squeeze in reply, and was able to calm the harsh longing that tore at his heart, if only by a margin. Bright green eyes, coated with nostalgia, scanned the cottage, easily imagining it whole and warm, as safe and comforting as his alma mater was to him now, and smiled.
"So, this is it, huh?" His companion's quiet voice held a trace of curiosity, yet that same haughtiness remained, as natural and ingrained as the scar on his own forehead.
"Yes, this is it," he said, eyes flicking from steel gray eyes to the snow covered cottage.
His companion chuckled, earning a glare from heated green eyes. "What?" he began, only to be cut off as a gloved finger pointed forward, resting at the gate that separated them from the crumbled vine-encrusted walls.
There, poking from the ground, was a sign, as new and gleaming as the day it had been erected. It was his second time seeing it; his eyes raked over the writing almost eagerly, finding comfort in the words.
"On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981," he read, voice soft but clear over the breeze that rustled past them, "Lily and James Potter lost their lives."
"Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse." He stared at his companion, whose voice repeated the words forever ingrained in the wood, twining their fingers together in a small gesture of gratitude.
Green eyes returned to the sign, and he finished the short script, remembering with fondness those who they were written for. "This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family." His voice broke off after the last word, a pained ripple distorting the utterance of 'family.' He coughed to cover it, but gray eyes zeroed in on his own pair of green, and he winced.
"What exactly, about that, is funny?" he asked, diverting the other's attention from his moment of weakness. Gray eyes regarded him stonily for a moment, exasperation clear in their depths, but his question was answered regardless.
"Those, actually." A head of silk white blond hair titled, gesturing to the slew of graffiti written along the sign in Everlasting Ink. Various encouragements of 'Good luck, Harry, wherever you are' and 'Long live Harry Potter' stared back at them, along with a variety of others. "Sixteen years worth of magical everlasting graffiti, all for you, Potter."
Harry flushed, bumping his shoulder against his companion's. "Shut it, Malfoy," he groused, though a small smile threatened to curl at his lips. Draco caught it and answered it with one of his own, a barely there smirk, as close to a smile as he could get. Gray eyes trailed back to the house, a thoughtful expression overcoming his pale, aristocratic face. Harry watched in silence, studying the stormy eyes clouded with thought, the pale lips titled into a frown, the furrowing of silvery brows.
"Hey." He nudged the other boy's shoulder gently with his own, bringing Draco's eyes back to his. "You alright?"
The blond studied him for a moment, as though pondering whether or not he should say something, before his gaze trailed back to the cottage. "Do you think," he whispered, "that we'll be able to live somewhere like this? When... when everything's over?"
Harry started, unable to keep himself from staring. It was strange, to hear the other boy's voice like this, so quiet and uncertain. He knew what he was referring to, of course. Even with the war over, there were still those who doubted Draco's true loyalties, distrusted the value of his words, his actions. Even those close to him questioned his trust in the ex-Slytherin. Ron still couldn't act civil towards the blond, even months after the war's end, months after Draco had switched sides, fought alongside the Light against his former master.
Harry squeezed the other boy's hand, returning the comfort he had been given only moments before. "I'm sure of it," he answered, though that gesture alone had been enough to assure the other.
Draco smiled, eyes trailing from bright green to the snowy cottage, beautiful despite its ruin. Much like the boy at his side. "I love you, you know." The words were murmured, almost as an afterthought.
Harry grinned at the quiet confession, leaning against the blond's side. "Do you now?" he asked, eyes slipping closed behind his glasses as the other boy lifted his hand.
"That's right." A kiss was pressed, light as air, against the back of his gloved hand; the fact that it trailed over the spot where his scar lay was not left unnoticed. I must not tell lies. "And you?" Gray eyes stared playfully into his own, and he smiled, leaning toward's the other's pale lips.
No more words were needed.