It was snowing the day Draco died. He'd been waiting to see thick, white blankets of the stuff draped over everything for weeks. He'd never forget the first time it had snowed, really snowed.
He was just a child and, living in Wiltshire, it rarely snowed, and when it did, it never settled. But one year, just after the New Year, he had woken up to inches of it covering the Manor grounds. He was so excited that he ran down to the entrance hall in his pyjamas, nearly ran out into the snow in them but his mother stopped him with a smile and tugged his coat and welly boots on. He played for hours in the snow, and his mother warmed him up with hot cocoa and a soapy bath. It was one of the rare times he felt happy as a child, one of the few times he was allowed to be a child.
He'd never forget this day, either. It was December twelfth, and he and Harry had been together for one month and seventeen days. (He'd never lose count; each day was precious.) It hadn't been long, really, but it was the longest relationship Draco had had, and one of the best, the best. He'd never forget the feeling just seeing Harry gave him; it was the same feeling as that day when he was a child. He felt happy and child-like, he felt young and free. Seeing hair as black and messy and the snow on the ground was white and unblemished made his heart beat fast, made him feel alive.
He'd never felt as alive as he did when he was with Harry.
He'd never forget the moment he realized he was in love with the Golden Boy. The tumult of emotions was terrifying. He had tried convincing himself he was insane, losing his mind, complete bonkers, but nothing worked; he was in love with Harry Potter. He'd never been in love before. He'd be conditioned to believe that to be in love was to be weak, had it drilled into his skull by force and demonstration. His mother and father weren't in love, never had been as far as he could tell. It was as though they had been living two separate lives in once house, for the sake of him, Draco.
Nevertheless, he loved Harry. When he realized there was nothing he could do to stop it, he accepted it.
He'd never forget the day Harry acknowledged him, forgave him, and (unknowingly) reciprocated Draco's feelings, all in one smile. They had talked for hours – try as he might, Draco could never remember quite how they started talking, but he thanked God that they had. They became closer as friends, which then evolved into something deeper, and Draco had never felt happier.
Draco would never forget their first kiss. He had waited in that classroom for ages, feeling like a complete prat. He'd managed to slip out of Potions the second class was dismissed, knowing Harry takes years to pack up. When he reached out and grabbed Harry, Harry's face was terrified for a split second, until he saw Draco, and grinned. Draco smiled back, not as toothy as Harry, but just s dazzling. He pulled him into the classroom and gently pushed him against the wall. He still held Harry's hand with one of his own and cupped his cheek with the other. Harry skin was warm under his icy hand – it was winter and they were in the dungeons and yet Harry was still impossibly warm.
He'd never forget Harry's eyes in that moment. They were usually bright, like one of the lanterns in the Slytherin Common Room, glowing emerald glass, but in that moment, gazing into his eyes, they reminded him of fire – of the fire of a Floo, not the burning fire of the Room of Hidden Things.
It was mutual, the first brush of their lips. Draco had been scared and hesitant until Harry leaned in at the same time he did. It gave him courage. So he leant in more and pressed their lips together more firmly, unable to stop the whimper of pure relief and happiness. It was a rather chaste kiss, but it was like fireworks. That was when their relationship really started.
Draco would never forget their first proper date, their first fight, the first time they made love, or the second time, or any time. He knew he'd never be able to get enough of Harry.
He would certainly never forget the first 'I love you'. Harry had said it, of course. Draco had thought it, had felt it for ages, but had never had the guts to say it. Even when Harry had whispered it to him, he couldn't say it. The words were stuck in his throat, choking him. He knew Harry knew he loved him, but he wanted to be able to say it, to tell Harry over and over that yes, he was in love with him, and it didn't make him weak at all; he felt stronger than ever!
He'd never forget the look of mingled adoration and surprise on Harry's face when he finally managed to say it back. Perhaps it was then that Draco should have known something was going to happen. Perhaps it was then he should have paid mind to the terrible feeling in his gut. He'd never been able to say it before, believe he never would be able to, that his mind wouldn't let him, so why now? It was ridiculous, he knew; it was only three words, but regardless…
He was alone when it happened. He had a smile on his face and had just left Harry at the Fat Lady.
He'd never forget how the cold snow burned his hands and face as he was knocked down seconds before the curse was thrown.
He'd never forget the green light of an Avada Kedavra curse.
He'd never hear Harry scream.