I hate winter more than any other time of year. It's cold, it's wet and it's lonely. I always knew that winters would be the hardest. I knew that his long days would get longer, late nights would get later and the cold bed in the cold flat would seem colder and colder with every hour. I'm not stupid. I know that the work he does is incredibly important and I understand the reasons that I cannot help him. My name, which once could have moved mountains on fear alone, is mud these days.

My mother could never understand why I would ever choose a life like this. Essentially, I'm a pet. I can't leave the flat alone, I can't work and I don't have many friends. Or any friends, really. It's kind of hard to be friends with people in prison. Or people who think you're a traitor. Or people... people you're better off not being friends with anyway. I guess my mother can't understand why I love him so much. I can barely understand it myself, honestly.

It's incredible, really, the things Muggles use in place of magic. Heaters. Dishwashers. Washing Machines... Living in Muggle London was never something I ever saw for myself. But then again, I never saw myself shacked up with the Chosen One either. I never thought I would end up disowned and destitute, abandoned by my friends and living off of my boyfriend. I never thought I'd have a boyfriend, never thought I'd get the chance to explore that aspect of my personality. I knew I'd never marry a woman. But I never actually thought about the alternative. I figured I'd die young and alone.

It's late. It's so late, it's early. A glance at the bedside clock says 4:27am. I know I shouldn't be worried. Harry's a big boy who can take care of himself. But I can't help it. I miss him. It's been twelve fucking days without anything, not even a quick little 'I'm okay, don't worry.' It's killing me. I can't sit still, in this freezing bedroom in this tiny little flat in this wet, dirty city. I will never admit it to him, but I hate it here. After a lifetime of grandeur, having only one bathroom is something that's hard for me to reconcile with. And I still haven't figured out how to work that damn heater. Harry says we can't use magic here. I forget sometimes, though he never does, that there are still people who would love to see the Malfoy name meet a violent, bloody end.

I get up to get another blanket from the closet across the hall. The sky is brightening, but only just. There's too much smog and rain for it to ever get truly bright around here. Merlin, I never thought I'd say it, but sometimes I miss the Manor. It was such a prison when I was younger, full of expectations I couldn't fulfill and standards I would never live up to. But at least the air was clear there. At least, when I was alone, I wasn't really alone, not like this. I'm really, truly alone here and it kills me to know how much I rely on Harry's presence. It's pathetic.

I realize I've been standing by the closet for at least ten minutes. Shaking myself, I grab a quilt Molly made for us and return to the bedroom. The cold, empty bedroom with its cold and empty bed. Wrapping the quilt around me, I can't help but remember how nervous I was when Harry first took me to the Weasleys'. I knew Ron and Hermione and Ginny knew the more specific details of our relationship, and had eventually come around to being friendly about it, but I had no idea how the rest of the family would take it. Even though it had been years since the Battle of Hogwarts, losing a son is something you never quite get over and I wasn't sure if any of the family would blame me. I would have.

But fortunately for me, the Weasleys are a forgiving bunch and once I made it adamantly clear that I really did love Harry and I wasn't planning on breaking his heart or going anywhere, I was welcomed in with open arms. It took a while, but George and I are quite close now, and if it wasn't so early, I'd consider writing to him, or even just popping over. But no one likes unexpected guests at... five-fifteen in the morning, so I refrain from sending that letter.

I can't sleep without him. After a year of this, of our relationship being in this almost parasitic state, with him living his life and me living off of him, I still have yet to learn how to sleep when he's gone for more than a couple of days. I still can't believe it. I stay up all night, kicking myself, knowing that if I just slept, things would be much easier. Then I find myself falling asleep at the kitchen table or in the bathtub or in that armchair by the fire. Every time he's gone like this I tell myself I'll put my foot down next time. But I know I won't. I know I'll just let him go again, pretend that it doesn't hurt when he picks his career over me again, make him believe that I'm okay with him fucking abandoning me again.

Would it kill him to stay closer? To pick jobs that won't take him so far away from me? I gave up everything, everything to be with him, to come here and live this half-life, to spend my days waiting for him to come home to me and reassure me that he loves me. I gave up my life, my friends, my family, my fortune, my honor. And this is what I get in return? He won't even ask for more desk jobs. I understand why he feels the need to do it, to track down threats of other Dark wizards so that no country, no Wizarding community will have to suffer as we suffered. I just wish he wouldn't. I wish he'd finally leave it up to someone else for a change. We're only twenty-three, for Merlin's sake. Would it kill him to act like it for once?

And then, suddenly, there it is: the soft pop of someone Apparating into the living room echoes through the flat. Finally. I hear a sigh and a click and a whir and beautiful, delicious warmth comes pouring out of the vent. I roll over, feigning sleep. I know he knows I'm faking it, but I always feel the need to pretend like I don't need him so much, like I can actually sleep while he's gone. He lets me, never calling me on my bullshit. I hear the creak of the floorboards in the hallway and the light in the bathroom flicks on. The water runs for a minute and I can imagine him pulling his hands across his face, dark circles under his eyes. The water goes off, the light follows and then soft footsteps come into the bedroom.

I carefully crack one eye open, not wanting to reveal that I'm awake, and am rewarded with the sight of a shirtless Harry Potter, all long, lean muscle and faint scars. He drops his shirt on the floor and I swear I see a smirk. He knows how I feel about dirty laundry all over the place. I'm just glad he left his backpack in the living room. I watch as he grabs a pair of shorts from the dresser and strips off his pants. New bruises cover his back and the back of his legs and I wonder for the millionth time what the hell it is that he's doing exactly, dangerous, horrific things, I'm sure. The shorts go on, the glasses come off and he steps over to the bed. I close my eyes as he slides under the covers, untangling the quilt and sighing as our skin finally touches.

As his arms wind around me, we both sigh and he knows I've been awake this whole time but doesn't say anything, he never does, he just curls around me, my back to his front and brings one arm up under my head like a pillow as my arms wrap around the one he's draped across my stomach. He plays with my hair, twirling the silvery strands between two fingers and I can breathe again because God, I missed him and as I resolve to ask him, no tell him that he is never ever to leave for so fucking long ever again, his nose nudges my ear and he whispers 'I love you, Draco' and a little part of me dies and is reborn again in an instant.

'I love you,' he says. 'And I never want to leave again.' Then he sighs once more and as he drifts into a deep sleep, his arm tightens around my waist and I know that even if he does leave again, I'll be okay. As the rhythm of his breathing lulls me to sleep, I know that no matter what, we'll be okay.