Blanket
He wraps the blanket closer around him, inhaling the smell that the blanket has. He knows he has to be careful, that if he isn't the blanket will start to smell like him instead of his lover.
He can't let that happen.
He uses the edge of the blanket to wipe away his unshed tears, not ready to move just yet.
The blanket, his lover, smells clean, and fresh, smells like fresh air and cotton candy, the stupid muggle treat that he couldn't get enough of.
He would do anything to get Harry another cone of it.
But Harry's gone.