Draco stood on the sidewalk in front of a small house on the outskirts of London. It was nighttime, and the streetlamps were lit, but they were nothing more than vague circles of light visible in the pouring rain. He didn't have an umbrella.
The house was simple. Small. He might have even used the word quaint to describe it. It was white, with dark shutters- they might have been navy or dark green or black; Draco couldn't tell in the darkness. There were no flowers outside, and the grass was at the point where it would need to be cut soon. A walk led from the sidewalk to the front door. He wondered what sort of reaction he would get if he simply walked up and knocked on the door. He didn't think it would be favorable.
It had been years since he'd seen Harry, and slightly longer than that since they'd spoken. The last time he had seen Harry, they had been leaving Hogwarts for the final time, after graduating. Harry had been standing at Hogsmeade Station looking wistfully back up at the school, the place Draco knew Harry had considered home for the past seven years of his life. When Harry had turned to board the train, his eyes had caught Draco's for a split second, and the wistfulness in those startling emerald eyes had turned into coldness directed at Draco, and Draco alone. Draco had turned away and boarded the train at the opposite end, and had not gone looking for him, not gone looking to pick a fight. It was unnecessary after the last one they'd had.
He had dated Potter during seventh year. It had not been the smoothest of relationships, but considering the history they shared, it was to be expected. Both boys had wanted to try to make it work, to see if something could come of it. There were certain subjects they avoided speaking about, that they had resolved to deal with later. But somehow one of those subjects had come up, and they'd had a terrible row. Both of them refused to speak to each other after that.
Lately, however, he had been thinking about Harry again. He had been thinking about how much better things were when they were together than when they were fighting. No one else could match Draco in temper, would stand up to Draco if he were in one. No one else could compete with Draco in Quidditch matches the way Harry had, or even when they were flying for fun. No one else would make fun of him, make jokes about him, the way Harry had, as though it didn't put his spine up and it was the most natural thing in the world. No one else acted as though Draco didn't have the wealth that he did, as though his arrogance were a show. No one else could quite get under Draco's skin the way Harry did.
And no one could stir up emotions in Draco the way Harry had. When Harry kissed him, fire stirred inside of him, and there were sparks, there were fireworks. Every relationship he'd had after Harry had been a sparkler compared to those fireworks- they were exciting but short-lived.
Draco had heard that Harry had just gotten out of a relationship with Seamus, a little more than three months ago. He didn't know if Harry would be over it yet; he'd always gotten over relationships quickly, but he had usually been the one to break it off and they weren't very deep relationships anyway. Harry was more emotional, and had been dating Seamus for two years, so he figured it would take longer for him to get over it.
But he was in London that week on business, and he had come out to Harry's house, for no reason he could fathom. Had he really wanted to come out and knock on Harry's door and make up with him? Try to get back together with him? He hadn't even known if Harry would be home, but he supposed someone was there, judging by the soft glow coming from the left front window. The curtains were drawn, and he didn't think he'd have been able to see someone through the rain anyway.
Draco sighed and turned, beginning to walk away. It had been stupid to come here tonight. He didn't notice the curtain being drawn back from the window, or the emerald eyes that gazed with longing at his receding figure through the sheets of rain.