Title: Fog
Author: Jane Delight
Warnings: Implied slash.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise does not belong to me.
Summary: Implied slash. One-shot. Draco leads a lonely life after the fall of the Dark Lord. Plagued by dreams and the cold, he awaits a change.
Fog
Raindrops hit the windowpane. It was dark outside, the light from the kitchen reaching only a few metres. The young man sighed and stared into his cup of tea. There was no longer a warm aroma drifting up from it – it was cold and had been so for a long time.
He stared back out of the window. A second, he tensed. Then he relaxed and sighed once more. He was starting to imagine things. With a grim expression he looked at the cold cup in his hands, before standing up and emptying its contents into the sink.
Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and then glanced at the clock. It was late - he should probably go to bed.
But what if he came? What if he came and he wasn't there? What if he was injured? What if he died on his doorstep?
His face scrunched up in frustration and it was all he could do not to throw himself onto the floor. He was a Malfoy; Malfoys didn't throw themselves onto floors and shouted and cursed at the unfairness of the world. That would be self pity and Malfoys did not 'do' self pity.
He took a deep breath and with one last glance out of the window he exited the kitchen – leaving the light on, to show that the house was inhabited.
He travelled through the carpeted halls, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Their bedroom. Not turning on the light, he undressed and threw himself into bed, quickly slipping beneath the warm covers, but to no use. The constant chill that followed him ever since the fall of the Dark Lord did not abate.
Tossing and turning, he sunk into an uneasy sleep.
He dreamed what he always dreamed since that fatal day. How Harry Potter and the Dark Lord both disappeared in a green light – the light of the Killing Curse. The screams of despair and then the scene would switch from that battlefield, where the grass was burned and the trees at the side lying in pieces on the ground to Dumbeldore's twinkling, victorious eyes which would flash past briefly. He would then be overcome by the feelings of hopelessness, loneliness and despair, as all around him people were laughing and celebrating. Celebrating the Dark Lord's fall. Laughing even though their Saviour was gone. They had never cared about him, Draco later realized, somewhat bitterly.
He would wake up, bathed in sweat and automatically feel the spot next to him. It was always cold.
He always decided that it was pointless staying in bed any longer. It wasn't warm, nor did he fancy going back to sleep after his dreams.
He got up, pulled on a jumper and a pair of trousers and went downstairs, into the kitchen. The light was still on, he turned it off. Glancing out the window, he noted there was frost outside. Was it winter already? He sighed and started rummaging in the cupboards for something edible. All he discovered were a stale piece of bread and some decidedly sour smelling yoghurt. He supposed he'd have to venture out into the world, leave his house. He hated leaving his house. He might miss something. Every time he left, the decision to do so was a little bit easier. He feared that. Every time he left the house it was as though he was saying that he wouldn't come back while he was gone. And the more he left the house, the more times there were that he believed that he wouldn't return.
He feared that someday he would completely stop believing, thinking, hoping.
And then, when he'd given up hope, he would return. And he wouldn't be expecting him, wouldn't be ready. Something would go wrong and he would blame himself his whole life. Hell, he even blamed himself now, although there was nothing he could realistically have done.
His stomach rumbled and he decided that there was nothing for it but to leave the house. It would do no good if he starved, would it?
Quickly he moved into the hall to grab his travel cloak, then re-entered the kitchen. He decided against leaving the stale bread out on the table in case someone came, and threw it into the bin. Donning his travel cloak, he exited the kitchen door and breathed in the chilly air. The grass crunched under his steps, and he was thankful the earth was frozen hard as he stepped out onto the barren field. A dozen metres or so further, he reached the only apparition point in the proximity of his house.
A small pop later and he was standing in an empty side street in Diagon Alley.
Soundlessly, he moved out onto the busy main street. Huge snow flakes were charmed to fall but not touch the people hurrying along. On the way to the Leaky Cauldron he passed a shabby looking wizard selling the Daily Prophet, shouting at people he hoped to be customers.
"It's official! Harry Potter announced dead by the Ministry of Magic! Last Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange finally caught and sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss!"
Draco scowled hard and hurried past the man. He yearned to be home. Pushing his way through the crowd, staring at the road, a bang made him look up and stop in horror.
In bright orange writing, the words "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" were dancing around and singing on an equally bright shop, the open door allowing a strong smell of cinnamon and burnt wood to waft out onto the street. The bang had apparently been the result of some no doubt primitive joke item. But that wasn't what horrified him so. It was the various heads of predominantly red hair and one brown one. The Weasleys and Granger. He noticed Granger was carrying a little bundle – a baby. Draco narrowed his eyes. It seemed Potter's best friends hadn't spent a lot of time mourning.
Shaking his head, Draco moved on quickly, not wanting any more nasty surprises.
He passed through the Leaky Cauldron without being noticed and soon found himself in Muggle London.
Here, it wasn't snowing – it was just cold. As a child, he had loved it when the cold made him able to see his breath. Now, it just served as a reminder of the constant cold which seemed to follow him.
He hurried along the road, only half trying not to bump into any muggles. Soon he arrived at the small grocer where he usually bought his food. He didn't need to think much as he moved along the shelves - he always bought the same things, which were always in the same place.
At the checkout, he dug around in his pocket for muggle money, and after politely returning the shopkeeper's "Merry Christmas", he made his way back home.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Nothing exciting happened. He ate, put the groceries into the cupboards, this time remembering to spell the yoghurt to keep cool, and sat at the kitchen table. He made himself tea, drinking it in an effort to warm up. It didn't help. He supposed he could move into the sitting room and throw and 'Incendio!' at the fireplace… but he didn't move. Instead, he stared out of window, pondering what he had learned that day. Harry Potter officially dead. He shook his head, he should've brought a copy of the paper – it would be interesting to know how the Ministry was backing this claim.
Not quite knowing why, Draco decided to go to bed early that day. The claim by the Ministry had upset him, and somehow, he just wanted this day to be over with. It hadn't caused him to give up hope though. No, it had only somehow strengthened his resolve to keep waiting.
His dream that night was slightly different. The battle was the same, and the green light was too. Only then, instead of seeing Dumbeldore's eyes, he saw emerald green eyes. Harry's eyes. A glimmer of hope in their dark depths.
He shot up, panting. Then he sunk back into bed, glancing at the clock. 6 am. Much earlier than usual. The image of those green eyes was burned into his mind, appearing whenever he closed them.
He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore.
With not even the slightest hint of sleepiness, he dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen.
There, he turned the light off, out of habit. It was still somewhat dark outside, and he noted that there was a thick layer of fog over the field.
He made himself a cup of tea and breakfast, as he suddenly felt quite hungry.
Whilst munching on his toast, he stared outside, thinking about the fog. It had something enchanting about it, he thought. As if it was calling him to enter it. With a start, he realised he was barefoot. How had he managed to forget to put something on his feet? He blamed the dream. Those eyes. He hurried upstairs, donned his slippers, and moved back downstairs, anxious, as he hadn't bothered to put a spell on his toast to keep it warm.
Entering the kitchen, he looked out of the window, out of habit.
His heart stopped.
Outside was a dark figure approaching through the fog. Emotions soared through him. Excitement, anxiousness, even fear. Who was visiting him? Was it…? Could it be? Hope swelled up and ignoring both his fear and the cold, he opened the door and stepped outside. He vaguely noted that his wand was still inside. He didn't care, a sort of ambivalence had settled upon him. All he did now was wait.
Soon, he could make out how the long robe of the man – for the walk was definitely that of a male – was sweeping over the ground. The figure was hooded and so kept his head hidden.
The man slowed his pace as he neared Draco. He then, with a shaking hand, drew back his hood.
Green eyes met grey ones.
Draco let out a strangled gasp and stared at the man, unbelieving. Then, with a cry, he threw himself at him and held him tightly. Soon, arms were wrapped around him and the embrace returned.
Finally, he felt warm.