Title: Unbearable Winter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: M?
Warnings: Yaoi
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, Hogwarts, or anything resembling JKR's work.
Authors Note: I don't know why I wrote such crap, really it is the fault of my muse, blame it all on him.
On the night the Dark Lord met his downfall, a baby was born. On the night Harry Potter defeated Tom Riddle for the final time, a storm raged. The moment Voldemort's lifeless corpse hit the ground and turned to ash, the world stopped for the Boy Who Lived.
The dead lay scattered amongst the late autumn foliage, the stench of death overpowering the crisp scent of a coming winter.
As Harry stood within the sea of death he felt a cold seep into the very marrow of his bones, making him believe that perhaps winter had already come, made him believe that the fall was a lie. The only truth was cold, and that icy bitterness filled him with remorse and utter hopelessness. He would welcome the lies, for they would warm him, but there was no one left, no one left to lie to him anymore.
The meddlesome old man Dumbledore was long gone, dead at the hands of a trusted friend. Hermione, sweet gentle, bookworm-ish Hermione was laying on the ground before him, her eyes glassy and dead, killed by a stray curse. Ron lay not too far from her, his body mangled and deformed. Remus was long since dead and gone, no one knew how he had died really. The list went on and on and as he gazed out upon the battlefield he saw nothing but dead, no living soul but him remained.
He shivered violently, wrapping his arms around his trembling body in a vain attempt to block out the cold. His head swivelled warily side to side, wondering distantly if it was a Dementor that brought this excruciating chill. No, his mind supplied, the Dementors were all gone, 'Mione had discovered the spell that had led to their destruction.
Harry shivered again, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms securely around himself. He wondered, absently if he was the only one left in the world. It was hard not to think so when all around him nothing stirred with life. Many had been killed in the backlash of Voldemort's death and Harry it seemed, had been the only one to survive, ironic that, as he had never expected to see the end of the war in the first place. Now, here he was, the only one remaining among the dead and he was so unbearably alone and cold.
He whimpered and closed his eyes, hoping beyond all hope that when he opened his eyes the scenes of grisly death would be washed from his vision. To his surprise, he felt warm arms encircle his waist and he clutched greedily at the source of said heat, keeping his eyes firmly shut lest the warmth be a figment of impending insanity.
Gently, almost hesitantly, Harry felt a hand running through his hair, soft, indistinguishable words whispered into his ears and the damp heat of breath against his frozen body made him shiver. The voice was one that Harry could have sworn he had heard before, his mind sending him vague pictures of the owner of the voice that dangled just out of his reach.
Tentatively Harry's eyes fluttered open and he gasped softly as he recognised just who was holding him so tightly and whispering comfort in his ear. The blonde had his eyes shut tightly as well, but upon hearing Harry's gasp his silver eyes opened to look at him, albeit, reluctantly.
"Malfoy," Harry spat the word like a curse and he noticed the Slytherin flinch visibly.
"Hello Harry," was the quiet, almost timid reply.
Harry scanned over the blonde boy quickly, hardly noticing that Malfoy still held him tightly, keeping the cold at bay. The Slytherin was much changed from the pointy, aristocratic boy he had known at Hogwarts. He was still very skinny and he seemed not to have grown at all since Hogwarts. His skin was pulled taunt across his face and his cheeks were hollow making him appear older than he really was. It was his eyes though, that Harry noticed the most change in. His grey eyes, haunted and hollow, reflected pain and weariness. Hidden deep within the depths of those pewter eyes, too, lurked madness.
After a moment of silence Harry managed to choke out, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Malfoy was silent for a moment, as if contemplating the answer. Even in a sea of death and destruction, he seemed calm, cold even, though Harry knew better than some that the boy was nothing but cold. "I think," Malfoy said finally, saying each word slowly as though he had to think carefully before each one, "I think I came here for you."
Harry was about to protest, break away and Apparate out of the battlegrounds if only to escape the unhinged blonde, but something in those mercurial depths stopped him, halted his movement and slowed his breath for an instant. Suddenly, the Slytherin leaned forward, until their faces were a mere inch apart, "Malfoy what--"
"Your cold," Malfoy said in explanation and the next moment, his lips were on Harry's prying his teeth apart to allow his tongue to plunder the slender brunettes mouth. Involuntarily, the Gryffindor moaned, an unbelievable heat enveloping him and for a moment tearing away the horrors of war.
Eventually the need to breath became an issue and the two boys reluctantly broke apart and when they did, reason came rushing back to Harry's mind. The brunette pulled away harshly, watching as hurt flashed across the Slytherin's pale face.
Harry wiped at his mouth harshly, taking in his surroundings once more, "What the fuck was that," Harry shouted, confused and more than slightly afraid. Leaving Draco's embrace seemed to have adverse effects as the cold immediately crept up on him once more. Immediately Harry wrapped his arms around himself, the clarity he had felt within Draco's arms was fading as the cold grew and he felt himself slipping away into despair again. He didn't notice as Draco spoke, nor did he notice the blondes hand resting on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He did notice, however, when he felt the Slytherin's hands on his zip.
For a moment he snapped out of his daze enough to shoot Draco a questioning look but the moment of lucidity passed and the cold returned full force.
Draco watched the Golden boy, worry, flitting over his elegant features; one minute the Gryffindor had been looking alive once more, glaring and yelling at him and the next his killing curse eyes had seemed flat, almost dead. Nothing the Slytherin said or did seemed to rouse him except for those few skin-to-skin touches that seemed to stir something in the brunette. Instinctively he knew what to do.
Reaching hesitantly for the zip on Harry's blood splattered jeans, he looked up into glazed bottle green eyes. For a moment only those eyes were alive before returning to their dull state. Determined, Draco undid the pants and slipped both the jeans and the boxers down Harry's hips.
Warmth. Unbelievable, incredible, consuming warmth had his nerve endings all aflame. Writhing, Harry felt his hips buck up and more of that sweet heat engulfed him. He knew without looking it was Draco and for some reason this didn't disturb him. It should have, Draco, blowing him on the same field where just minutes ago a hundred people had died, Draco, his sworn rival since first-year. Still, all Harry could do was thrust deeper into the wet warmth of Draco's mouth and let the cold recede and disappear under the blondes careful ministrations.
All too soon he was coming, his vision blacking out and stars appearing behind closed eyelids and for a moment, Harry just lie there, panting in an attempt to catch his breath. Slowly his eyes opened to see Draco looking out at the newly risen sun.
Cautiously Harry asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue the entire time. "Why?"
Draco turned around his pewter eyes brimming with tears and madness, "Because Harry, I'm cold too."