Life, As Experienced Through Your Fingers

Gold-Snitcher

Chapter Seven: Winter Chills

The taste of chocolate.

Draco unconsciously licked his lips as he stared out of the window of his bedroom. He had just arrived at Malfoy Manor an hour ago after a lengthy drive and still that exquisite taste of chocolate and Harry was on his tongue. It made his head spin to think about how Harry had looked: face flushed, faint freckles becoming clearer as they were backlit by rose-tinted flesh as Harry asked for what Draco had been pining for since he had first realized he had wanted Harry.

Which was about the moment he heard the music on his first day.

Granted, the form of his wanting had changed. It was an interesting realization for Draco that, unlike his ample crushes of the past, Harry had always been so much more. Even in the beginning when all Draco had known of Harry had been the lithe form swaying to music that had struck him to the core. Even then, there had been a certain allure, something about Harry had intrigued Draco. As they had become friends and Draco had begun to really know him, the realization that he, in fact, loved Harry had seemed a natural thing. Everyone, it seemed, loved Harry in one way or another. It was almost impossible not to.

He licked his lips again and raised a finger, pressing it against the glass and tracing patterns in the frost.

At the rate he was going, Draco was fairly certain that he would not survive three weeks of separation from the violinist. Already there was a faint panic as he realized the taste of Harry was disappearing slowly and taking the subtle trace of chocolate with it. Now all Draco had was a memory of warmth and that made him wonder if perhaps Harry was right when he had warned him to remember everything they had done together, because that was the key to the thaw.

He closed his eyes and remembered his first day at the school, walking through the heavy doors into a deserted hallway and being confronted by an impish old professor who had been flustered with the absence of his guide.

His guide.

Harry had been his guide since the beginning.

Harry.

And the taste of chocolate.

Day One.

Somehow it had acquired capitols.

Harry woke to the sound of many things clattering down, as if someone had knocked over a shelf. The subsequent curse made him smile and he waited patiently for the man to arrive. Sure enough the door slipped open and black shaggy hair and a face which sported a guilty expression appeared in the open door. "You awake?"

"Now I am," he mumbled, and Sirius grinned.

"Oops."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, still half-asleep.

"Erm, well, you know how you have that table with the coffee maker and the kettle and all that?"

"Yes," Harry said, wondering where this was going.

Sirius settled on the edge of his bed and shrugged. "Well, you don't anymore."

"What?" Harry was awake now and staring at his uncle with wide eyes.

"It collapsed."

"That's it, you are no longer allowed in my section," Harry muttered, huddling under his blankets and cursing the fact that he would have to dress and walk all the way to the Great Hall to get his coffee since their machine was probably damaged from the fall.

"Why?" Sirius asked innocently.

"Because every time you come in here you break something." Harry scowled and closed his eyes.

"Not true. Last time I didn't ..."

"The armchair."

"But when I visited at Easter ..."

"The Television."

"But then I didn't ..."

"Yes, you did. Admit it. Every time you have come here you have broken something."

Sirius sighed. "Someone's cranky. I came to ask if you would want to head back to the house today or if you wanted to stay here another night?"

"Doesn't matter. We're here every day nearly anyway. Let's head back. I miss it." In truth, he didn't want to stay in his section without Draco because everywhere he went he kept expecting the blond to appear, barging into his room in the morning with a cup of coffee to make sure he didn't miss his morning class. Sprawled on the sofa reading the novels he'd been assigned, nursing a cup of cocoa. Lurking in that row in the Conservatory that couldn't be seen properly because of the angle of the lights so that he could give Harry a semblance of privacy even as he eavesdropped.

Every corner he turned he expected to bump into Draco.

Only he didn't, and Harry hated that.

"Sure thing, Guppy."

"Don't call me that, I grew out of that when I was nine."

"No you didn't, you'll always be my little Guppy. Now get up or you'll miss breakfast and I'll make you eat with Severus." Harry mock-pouted and groaned for good-measure as Sirius pulled his blankets off and proceeded to throw some clothes on his bed. "Come on, Guppy, the faster you go, the faster we can get home. We need to decorate, I haven't been over there in a bit."

Harry stumbled out of bed and grabbed his shower kit. Closing his eyes as he walked to the bathroom because he was already tired of seeing an empty common room.

"Good morning, Draco."

Draco looked-up as he entered the dining room and was surprised to see his mother and his father sitting there. "Father," he greeted. "I thought that you would be at work."

"My meeting was postponed," Lucius drawled with disinterest. Draco took his seat and began to dish breakfast onto his plate. "You haven't told us much about your school. Your letters say that you enjoy it but beyond that it's unclear. How is your piano teacher ... What was his name?"

"Professor Snape. He is a talented musician," Draco replied, because that was the answer that was expected of him.

"And you schoolmates? Any problems?" Lucius did not look at his son while he asked this, he busied himself with his boiled egg and cracked it with a swift tap of his spoon.

"No, father. My section mates are really quite enjoyable, and very talented artists." He stifled a smile as he remembered the time they had all gotten drunk in their common room when he had first joined them. His father would likely not approve of any of his new friends. Blaise because of his brazen honesty, Neville for his poor marks and low self-esteem, Dean for his often disturbing art, Seamus for being a horrible flirt, Ron for his lack of exorbitant wealth and lack of decorum and Harry for his unseemly passion.

"Which brings me to the issue of the concert," Lucius said, putting down his spoon and turning to his son in a manner that alerted Draco that trouble was coming. "Who chose to play that piece?"

"Professor Pereskew. The professors always choose the pieces for concerts, as well as what we work on in class."

"I found it quite appalling that such a selection was played at Yule time. It was incredibly inappropriate, and I'm extremely disappointed in you." Draco was trying to stop himself from gaping, but his father continued. "If she does such a thing again, you are to make a point of avoiding the performance."

"Father, it's mandatory to play."

"Well then you should at least turn down a significant role. It made you look a fool, supporting her decision to play such a piece that so wholly does not fit the mood of the holidays."

"It fit mine," Draco whispered to himself, and looked up quickly, hoping no one heard him. His mother was looking at him oddly, but his father seemed to have himself distracted by the absurdity of Pereskew's selection.

"Regardless of the appropriateness of the piece, Draco, you played well," his mother commented with a small smile. Draco wasn't quite sure how to react to that, so he remained silent.

"'Cissa, please. At least he wasn't so horribly out-of-line as that violinist." Draco tensed, knowing exactly who his father spoke of.

"Darling," Narcissa cut-in. "Draco played well, and in the future he will heed your advice."

Lucius immediately stopped and quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, well. Remember that you are to practice three hours a day at the least, Draco. I won't have you falling behind because you are on vacation." Draco nodded and returned to his breakfast.

Black Manor House was really a beautiful place. It was covered in a fresh blanket of snow and looked open and welcoming to Harry. He stepped out of the car and helped his uncle wrestle the bags up the front steps and into the front hall. "You can go and unpack, I'll just pop out and do some grocery shopping. After, we'll go through our decorations and see what we need to pick-up." It was tradition that each year they added to their Christmas supplies. Each year the house got more festive.

"When will we set-up the lights?" Harry asked. They always twined a garland strung with lights around the porch at the front of the Manor, and hung a large wreath on the door encircling the lion's head knocker. Harry liked the way the house looked, so welcoming covered in snow, with the lights glowing warmly.

"We'll get to it, don't panic," Sirius assured. Harry nodded and dragged his bags up the stairs to his room. He didn't feel like unpacking. He missed Draco.

The memory of their kiss flashed through his mind and he took a deep breath. There had been something electric about it. It had made it easier to breathe and taken his breath away in one go. It had been different than his previous experiences with kissing, most of which had been awkward and a few of which had been stolen without his permission. This had been a surrendering of both himself and of Draco. It seemed almost as if there had been an entire dialogue between them without a word being spoken.

He smiled to himself and wondered how Draco was doing. What he was doing.

With another sigh, Harry turned to his bags and started to unpack.

"Lucius, will you sit with me and have some tea?" Narcissa asked as she noticed her husband passing the sitting room. Draco had gone into town shopping for his Christmas gifts along with Hermione and Narcissa was hoping to take advantage of some time alone with her husband. It had been far too long since they had spent any time together.

"I'm busy right now, 'Cissa," he said flippantly.

"I have something particular to discuss in regards to Draco," Narcissa urged. If he would not come for her sake perhaps he would come for the sake of their son.

"Is the boy making a nuisance of himself?" Lucius asked.

"Not at all," Narcissa said, wondering how the man could be so blind. "But I think there is something wrong and I was hoping that ..."

"Really, Narcissa, I haven't the time. He's a grown man, he can take care of himself," Lucius said, cutting her off. Before she could protest he had left the room. Narcissa sat for a moment, looking with shock at the place where her husband had stood. He had changed so much over the years. She was certain that she had loved him once, but now the only thing she knew for certain was that her main concern was her son. She had nearly lost hope as she watched Draco's fire burn out. Slowly she observed the same transformation her husband had gone through. She had tried to prevent it, at first, but a boy always idolizes his father, and soon she had believed that her attempts were useless.

If Lucius thought that she would sit by and let the cycle begin again, he was wrong. She had made too many sacrifices to give up now. She had seen already the effects Lucius had on her son and she would have none of it. A part of her wondered if perhaps she were making the right choice. The other part of her was firmly resolved. She had tried, by the heavens she had tried. Eighteen years of trying and she was tired.

Narcissa shifted in her seat, drawing her shoulders back and sipping at her tea.

Draco,

Is it stupid of me to say that writing 'dear' just sounded weird? I had the strangest mental-image when I first started this letter, I'm not sure if you would find it amusing or if you would be insulted. Referring to you as 'dear' made me think of an old married couple, and I pictured you as a seventy-eight year old woman. I'm really sorry. Can I redeem myself by telling you that I'm really sick and have a ridiculously high fever? I have to write this letter secretly because Sirius is going to kill me. He thinks I'm resting. The only reason why I'm alone is because he's gone to ring the doctor.

How are things? I've been trying to complete the English readings but I've fallen asleep every time, I'm not entirely convinced it's because of the sickness. I've never been a fan of Dickens. I hope that doesn't disturb you. If I were to say that to Dean I would be hung drawn and quartered. For him, not liking Dickens is almost sacrilegious. It's kind of funny, really.

Anyway, the room has just started spinning in an interesting way. I can add vertigo to my growing list of maladies. I really hope you're doing better. Have you done anything interesting? I've been up to the usual. We go over to the school a lot. Sirius has meetings and sets-up the classroom for upcoming projects. I usually end-up practising or harassing various professors (McGonagall is the most rewarding person to harass, did you know?) Or I explore the school. Not that I don't already know it thoroughly. There's always the vague hope that I've missed a secret passage or dark hallway. So far, no luck. As soon as I get better, Sirius is dragging me back to do decorating. We always have New Years at the school. I've heard Blaise might be able to escape his family to come. I hate that I won't see you at all until the start of term.

I suppose it's blatantly obvious that I really don't know what to write you. There's too much to say. And at the same time, the only thing that comes to mind is that I miss you and hate the fact that you're not here. Or I'm not there. Sometimes when I'm visiting the school, I catch myself looking for you. Sorry, I know you don't like sappy things like that but I had to tell you.

How fair's your father's systematic annihilation of the artist in you? Sorry. I tend to joke about things when I'm worried. I keep thinking about our last night. I'm really sorry about everything that happened. I didn't mean it.

I was reading Shakespeare and found a quote that made me think of you. I hope it will help you remember.

Here we will sit

And let the sound of music

Creep in our ears:

Soft stillness and the night

Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Oh bugger. Sirius is coming. I'll try to write more but in case I forget, I miss you.

Harry Potter

"Do not complain about practice, Draco," Lucius scolded absently when his son sat back on the bench and wriggled his fingers.

Draco was absently wondering if the feeling would return to them. He'd been practising so long that there was only a faint pain. "I'm not complaining. I'm just resting my fingers for a moment, they're cramping," Draco corrected, and flexed his fingers again. He would stop soon, maybe go for a walk. It was a really lovely day out.

"Pablo Casals," Lucius, said: "For the past eighty years I have started each day in the same manner. It is not a mechanical routine but something essential to my daily life. I go to the piano and play two preludes and fugues of Bach's. I cannot think of doing otherwise." That is how deeply music sat with him."

"He played two preludes and two fugues. He did not start each day with a three and a half hour practice full of scales and exercises. And while we're discussing Casals, why don't you complete the quote?" Draco prompted.

"I don't know what you mean," Lucius said as he continued on his previous path through the living room where Draco was seated at the piano, towards the stairs.

"'It's a sort of benediction on the house. But that is not its only meaning for me. It is a rediscovery of the world of which I have the joy of being a part. It fills me with awareness of the wonder of life, with a feeling of the incredible marvel of being a human being.' The full quote." Lucius paused in his work, and Draco asked, "Why don't you play anymore?" Lucius said nothing, didn't even turn around. He walked calmly to the door and shut it firmly behind him as he exited the room.

Draco flexed his fingers and then stood from the piano. Carefully, he put away his music before heading out of the living room, pulling on his coat and shoes, and heading out for a long walk.

The noise in the Weasley house was quite atrocious. Ron was surprised his mother could even hear the phone, but hear it she did and she promptly scuttled into the kitchen to answer it. Ron loved Christmas, especially when his entire family was united. It was a secret that few knew because he was afraid they might think he was a bit daft. Ron had a very large family and most of his friends complained about their family situation. It seemed a natural conclusion that the more people involved in the family, the more chaotic and irritating that family became. Ron agreed that his family was completely chaotic. Each of his brother's personalities was incredibly distinct, and they often had intense and heated arguments that his mother usually resolved by suggesting they sort it out through a friendly game of cards or chess.

Ginny had to be Ron's favourite sibling because, regardless of his brotherly instincts to protect her zealously, they agreed on many points, and the two of them, when united in an argument, often were able to win many arguments, if not for their reasoning, then for their skill, Ginny at cards, and Ron at chess.

Ron was also quite fond of his parents. He had heard Blaise complain about his frantic mother and knew that Draco's father was quite controlling, and it was true that Mrs. Weasley was very protective of each and every one of her brood, but there was a sort of respect and understanding that ran through her in regards to her and her children as well as her husband. Though he often gave them strict curfews and vetoed their ideas on fun, and she often scolded them quite loudly, there was always the sense that this was done purely out of her motherly instincts of love and protection. Ron never once resented her for it, though he was more than terrified of his mother when she was angry.

In complete contrast, Mr. Weasley was an encouraging and easy-going man. When Ron had first taken-up the cello, the twins, Fred and George, had teased him mercilessly. This was because thus far, each of them had followed what the twins considered 'manly' pursuits. Bill was a banker, Charlie was an archaeologist, Percy worked in the government and the twins owned their own store. Mr. Weasley himself worked in government as well. It seemed to amuse his brothers that he preferred music to politics or money. Mr. Weasley, however, had simply opened a separate account and saved money and, on his tenth birthday, gifted his youngest son with a cello of his own.

Even in their interactions together, Ron loved that his parents seemed to not only completely compatible, but also completely understanding. The only person who was completely aware of Ron's feelings towards his family was Harry and that was because they had practically grown-up together. There was no one he trusted more. Harry might as well have been a part of the Weasley clan.

"Ron, the phone is for you," Mrs. Weasley called. Ron quickly excused himself from the conversation and hurried into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him and winked. "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend," she scolded with a smile. "She sounds lovely, dear. You must invite her over some time." She handed him the phone and Ron, blushing a deep red, accepted it.

"'Mione?" he asked, just to be certain.

"Ron! Hi. Am I interrupting you? I didn't know when the best time to call was."

"No! I mean," Ron cleared his throat, trying to sound less eager. "Not at all. I was meaning to call it's just hard when my brother's keep distracting me." He heard Hermione giggle and he grinned. "How about you? How has your break been going?"

"It's been lovely. Quiet, but still ... I don't have many siblings. Actually, I'm an only child."

"I wish I could tell you I knew what that felt like," Ron said just as the twins began to yell exuberantly and he could hear his mother fussing.

"It certainly sounds as if you're having quite the time over there."

"You've no idea. My father suggested a friendly game of Balderdash, but things, as usual, have turned ugly. It's all in good fun. ... Hermione ..." Ron ventured after a moment. "Uhm ... would you ... would you want to come and visit? Or maybe, I could come there and visit? Just for a bit?"

"Yes! That would be wonderful! I have to talk with my mum and dad. Oh! Then I can give you your Christmas present!" Ron grinned stupidly until he realized that Hermione couldn't see him. "Ron? Ron, are you still there?"

"His," Ron replied. "Yes. I'm here. I'm grinning stupidly."

Draco,

That was an interesting solution to the 'dear', but for originality's sake, I'll have to find another term of affection that I can use for you. I'm sorry, again for that mental-image. I'll make it up to you, I swear, with a number of small, meaningless, and often annoying actions.

I think I should start out by saying that in my last letter I didn't - I did - I meant - when I said that I was sorry for our last night, I did not mean the kiss. I could never be sorry for that. I was thinking about that argument which really should never have escalated to such. I'm sorry that my lack of clarity upset you, like I said, I was sick and barely knew what I was writing about. That sounds like I'm shirking responsibility. Er. Well, sorry and I'll make it up to you. Maybe with another kiss?

I'm really sort of wondering how best to write letters to you. A part of me wants to be incredibly silly and drown you in romantic metaphors and frilly language but at the same time that's just a bit odd, isn't it? I mean, I feel conflicted. I've never written love letters before. Oh shit. I've buggered it all up, haven't I? I'm just not as eloquent as you are.

I really loved your letter, I haven't stopped smiling since, which, unfortunately, makes me look a bit of a dunderhead because I'm often wandering around with an unexplained grin. Sirius has given-up trying to understand it. Either that, or he's realized the presence of the grin usually coincides with the arrival of the post. It's not the biggest mystery, is it?

I have no idea what to tell you about your father. All I can think of to say is talk to him, but you've said you've tried that and it obviously didn't work. So, my next bit of advice is, go by instinct. It's my treasured secret and I'll thank you to treat it well... It really is an atrocious Christmas we're heading for, isn't it? All I can think of is how much better it would all be if you were simply with me. Is it ridiculous of me to tell you that I miss your taste? I suppose that just sounds weird.

It feels like forever and a day since we last saw each other and it may be ridiculous, but I'm wishing for the start of term more than anything. I don't even feel the need to blame it on illness (which is not as bad as before), I think it only makes sense that I should be missing you horribly (which I am). I haven't been able to sleep too well, (I blame you entirely as I'm awake thinking about you).

I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow (1)

Harry (2)

"Do you ever think about it?" Harry asked, and Sirius stopped fiddling with the annoying little light bulbs for the Christmas tree and looked seriously at his nephew.

"About what?" He had known his nephew long enough to know when the boy was troubled.

Harry snapped out one of the bulbs and replaced it with another, pausing to see if the chain lit-up. There was something deeply frustrating and yet, oddly satisfying about the task. One single bulb on the long chain of lights was out, thus, not a single bulb could function. The task was to find the culprit, and exchange the dead bulb for a new one. They had been at it since lunch and had already fixed two chains. It was nearing dinner.

"About before? About how it was when we were all together?"

Sirius didn't need to ask who Harry was referring to. "Yes, I do," he replied, watching carefully for Harry's reaction. There was none, he just shimmied forward and tried to next bulb.

"I feel guilty sometimes. I mean, Christmas is supposed to be happy, right? And I am. And I love spending vacations with you, but at the same time ... I just ... I miss them, you know?"

Christmas was always a difficult time for Harry. Or at least, ever since the death of his parents and his brother. He knew that he was incredibly thankful for his uncle and also for the way some of the faculty at his school had taken him in as one of their own. But still there was that hollow feeling in him that grew as the holidays progressed and he had increasingly more time to remember how it was before.

This year it was made increasingly worse because of Draco.

It was a guilty wish he harboured, for his boyfriend to be with him. He knew that there was concern in him, despite everything he really did know music, and whether Draco confided or not, Harry knew without a doubt that there was something going on with Draco and his family, likely his father, that affected his boyfriend quite deeply. But as the days passed, Harry lost sight of his concern and focussed on the fact that really there was only one thing he wanted for Christmas, and that was Draco himself.

Sirius watched as Harry refused to look up, choosing to focus on his task. "I understand. You don't need to worry, of course you think about them at this time of year. After all, it's the season to be with family, you can't help but think about it. And you needn't think that I'll be angry if you need some time to yourself."

"That's the last thing I want," Harry said. "And it's not just my mum and dad and my brother. I just ... I hate how life is so bloody complicated!" Harry said. He snapped the tester bulb into place and suddenly the stand lit up.

"Success," Sirius said, and Harry half-smiled. Together they picked up the strand and wrapped it around the tree, it was the last string to go up, now all that was left were the decorations. Hefting a box into his arms, Sirius took a serious look at his nephew. The boy had gone through a great deal, especially in the passed two years. He hated the way Harry had closed off and shamelessly basked in any attempt the boy made to talk with him. "Life has got to be complicated, Guppy," Sirius said, as he plunked the box of decorations closer to the tree, smiling as Harry did the same with his box. "Otherwise you'd lose interest." Harry rolled his eyes and Sirius, with a chuckle, ruffled his hair.

"You have a letter, Draco," Narcissa said casually as she flipped through the letters that she had just picked-up. Draco walked over and she held it out to him, watching closely as he glanced at it. She noticed a very faint smile threatened to cross his face, but he quickly covered it and tucked the letter in his pocket.

"Thank-you, mother," he said calmly and turned to go. "I'm going for a walk." She nodded, though he couldn't see her as he left. She smiled to herself.

Letters had been coming to the house almost everyday, and she had seen Draco leaving with a letter of his own just as often. It surprised her that Draco could lead a double life. He played the obedient son so well that there were times she doubted what she had seen in the hallway of the school, but every morning a letter would arrive, and every afternoon Draco would depart on a walk, and relief would always fill her. It was the only time she was certain of anything.

"Sirius! It's Christmas! Wake up!" Harry shouted, smacking his uncle over the head with a pillow before grinning like a madman and rushing downstairs as soon as he noticed the dark glare.

"You little hellion!" Sirius cried as he launched himself from his bed, following the sounds of his nephew's cackles until he reached the living room. It was the perfect Christmas day. A fresh blanket of snow, early enough that the world was still dark and the living room was completely relying on the small coloured lights on the happily cluttered Christmas tree.

It was a nice image. The bright tree, presents packed beneath it, and Harry, sitting cross-legged, a ridiculous grin on his face. He looked so much like his father in that moment, and Sirius felt a momentary pang of grief. He knew that inside both he and his nephew were shying away from the dark thoughts. It was getting easier, both of them had already confided in each other and Sirius was surprised at how mature Harry was. Outwardly he was exactly like James, except for the green eyes and the softer features. And yet, the quiet sophistication was certainly Lily's. Harry was the perfect combination of his parents and every moment they spent together was a painful reminder of what they both lost.

"Go ahead," Sirius said with a grin, ruffling the already messy dark hair. Harry wrinkled his nose but snatched a small parcel wrapped in green paper, and then he carefully selected another gift, handing it to Sirius with a grin.

"Ready when you are," Harry said, and, with an impatient shout they tore away at the paper.

Draco,

There's something extremely pitiful in the fact that I am at a loss of what to say to you. The truth is, I never run-out of things to tell you. There's never a moment when I'm not thinking of you and wondering what you are doing, or thinking about how you would react to something. When I'm with you I never feel like this but suddenly I'm acutely aware of everything that I say and I wonder if perhaps, as soon as I put the words down on paper, they'll take on a new meaning.

I keep getting your letters and they're unbelievable and it may be foolish, but I feel completely light and alive whenever I read them. But when it comes to writing back I wonder what it is I should say and I hate that I end up biting my tongue. I was playing our song yesterday and I was thinking that this problem exists because I really don't know how to trust anyone anymore. When I'm with you, it's so easy because you're there and ... well, you're just incredible, but now, when all I have is a piece of paper, I can't convince myself that whatever it is I'm thinking, whatever I'm feeling, means anything. I guess that's why your letters are just an immense relief, because you prove that my neurotic fears are as ridiculous as I know they are.

You asked me what I wanted and I've been trying to think of an answer ever since. It's amazingly difficult to think about and I'm fairly certain I'll have an exquisite migraine later. I try to tell myself to take it slow. I know what you said about being hurt and about it being only natural that things should feel a bit overwhelming. But sometimes I wonder if that isn't all just some sad excuse.

What do I want? Everything. I'll settle for nothing less. But I think I've realized just how much certain things have fucked with my head and I'm fairly certain that 'everything' would break me almost as easily as 'nothing'. In truth, I really don't know what I want, but I feel it every time I'm with you.

Would it be alright to tell you I miss you? That the distance is stifling? I keep running over our last moments together but it feels like all I'm doing is shamelessly grasping at the unattainable.

It's been getting harder, even though I thought it would be the opposite, that the more time apart, the more I'd get used to it. It's a bit ridiculous. I've managed to live seventeen years but suddenly three weeks without you is impossible. I have to break down the moments. Just this breath then the next. One moment, then another. But you're my oxygen and even breathing seems difficult without you.

This letter was unbelievably difficult to write but I think I had to say it.

I miss you like hell.

With all my heart, it's yours anyway,

Harry

PS. Happy Christmas

TBC

---------------

Hello! Please don't flame me for this chapter. I know it's slow, corny and not much happens but it's necessary. This chapter was really hard for me to write, hence the long delay. (thus, any comments on the sap/fluff, please keep to yourself. I know all about it, but it had to be done.) The next chapter shouldn't be too long in coming as I have been writing it even as I avoided this chapter. I hope it's not too atrocious. I really tried.

Can I just say that I have the BEST scene planned. I am so excited to write it!! It's been driving me crazy! Every time I've written a Draco/Harry scene for this fic I've been thinking about it and it's coming up!! It's only ... two chapters away (I think)!!! I can't wait!!! does a dance of anticipation blinks as it begins to rain Wrong bloody dance!!! grumbles raises umbrella

IMPORTANT: I know it's a bit soon (Since there are still a lot of chapters to go) but I was wondering if anyone might be interested in a sequel, set once everyone is out of school. If you are, either include a mention of it in your review, or email me at goldsnitcheryahoo.com because I've got a few ideas for it already. This was also a way I could satisfy a couple requests I had about various things. let me know if I should write it.

And I have to give a BIG thank-you to Sailor Grape (again!) Because of the review I got for chapter six I (after screaming with excitement when I saw the length of your review. And after recovering from my mad blush-fest) started immediately in on this chapter even though it was 12:30 a.m. and I had been without sleep for nearly two nights. So, yes, I feel incredibly guilty for the long delay, but that review shot me to the moon and I've been stationed there (along with my computer) working on this chapter. Let's hope it's okay.

This chapter is dedicated to Dragenphly, for persistent reviews that never failed to spur me into working harder! You rock!

AND

Fallen Angel. Thanks bunches for the review, and the attempt at length (not too bad!) And for the compliment on my writing style (comparing me to published authors! blushes crimson) it feels great 'cause I try to make the fic a bit more interesting and it's good to know it's appreciated. And also, thanks for visiting my liveJournal, they're fun, I recommend them!

TEASER:

The Malfoy Rebellion

Midnight Kiss

Facing Reality

1. William Sommerset Maugham

2. Okay. The letters are not all the letters that Harry writes over the break. The first two are consecutive, but the next one, I imagine, comes after some more correspondence. Just like you don't ever hear from Draco, you don't hear everything that Harry writes. It's really hard to write believably like a guy and I'm sorry if I failed. The last one, in particular, is a bit sappy. Couldn't help it. Sorry.