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It’s a damn cold night,
Trying to figure out this life,
Take me by the hand,
Take me somewhere new,
I don’t know who you are,
But I, I’m with you.
I’m lookin’ for a place
Searching for a face
Is there anyone here I know?
Cause nothing’s going right,
And everything’s a mess
And no one likes to be alone
It was a freezing cold night in late December. The roads were quiet and peaceful, covered with an undisturbed layer of pristine white snow. It formed soft, fluffy piles against the curbs and whimsical shapes on the stone bridge.
It was a good night to be inside with friends, a good night to drink hot chocolate near a roaring fire and share jokes and cuddly moments with someone special. It was a night for family and friends, for relaxing between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It was a good night to be in a warm bed snuggling with that someone you loved, the one that made you truly happy.
It was not a good night to be standing alone in the middle of a stone bridge, watching a frozen river in nothing more protecting than a hooded black cloak. But that was what the slender young man was doing. He stared at the frozen water, ungloved fingers clenching a frozen railing. In his eyes was a pensive expression, a heavy sadness.
He knew his friends back home were worried about him, knew he should go back and rejoin their little party. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. He couldn’t go back there, he just couldn’t. Every time he looked at his best friends he was jealous of their happiness, of what they had. Of their beautiful little girl, of their love. It made him ache with loneliness.
He took one hand off the railing and pulled a small bottle out of his pocket. This was the other reason he left, he knew she disapproved of his obsession with elf-made wine. He snorted and uncorked the bottle, taking a quick gulp of the liquid. He ignored the burn as it hit his empty stomach, ignored everything except for the fuzzy, light-headed feeling in his head.
It was way colder than the forecasters said it would be. There was no way it was only 16 degrees. 16 below maybe. Or maybe that was just him. He wasn’t sure; it had been a long time since he’d been truly warm. He took another gulp of the wine, staring at the water below. He put the bottle away with a shaking hand and tilted his head back, looking up at the stars.
The hood fell back, exposing a head of ebony hair. Bright green eyes stared up at the heavens, before lashes fluttered closed. A single tear ran down Harry Potter’s face. Angrily he lowered his head, furious with himself. Look at me, he thought bitterly, the famous Boy Who Lived, Savior of the wizarding world feeling sorry for himself.
It was just so strange. All this time he thought he’d been fighting the Dark Lord for something like a normal life, a normal love and happiness. But since he’d defeated the Dark Lord, he’d been alone. Things hadn’t worked out with Ginny, but he still talked to her every once in a while.
Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione had married. Harry had been in a couple relationships, but they hadn’t worked out. Then Hermione had become pregnant and given birth to Ron’s daughter Rose. Rose was now two and enjoyed playing with little Teddy Lupin. Remus’ son was a sweetheart, every bit as intelligent as his daddy and clumsy like his mother.
It was as if the whole world was going on and he was stuck in the middle of it, an observer behind a glass wall. A bird in a golden cage, maybe. Only his cage was becoming cold and lonely and he didn’t see the point in keeping it.
Harry closed his eyes, leaning against the stone railway. His hands and face were freezing and he didn’t pay them any attention. He liked it; it was something he could feel. It was a cold with emotion, not this empty chill in his heart and body. He’d started to realize what his life was becoming when he’d talked to his old friends from school and every one of them was married, most with kids. Even Luna was married, to some reporter for the Daily Prophet.
He bitterly wished he’d stayed with Dumbledore in the happy reminder of King’s Cross, not bothering to return to this world. Then at least he’d have his parents and godfather around, not to mention Remus and the others who’d died to save the magical world. He missed them all with a sharp ache, sometimes wondering if they missed him. In his darker moments he was convinced they didn’t.
In his depressed mood he didn’t hear the snow crunch next to him, or notice the other figure lean against the railing. It was a sure bet he didn’t see gray eyes widen in surprise upon seeing his haggard, thin appearance. He nearly jumped a mile as a cool voice drawled,
“Shouldn’t you be at the Weasel’s place enjoying yourself?”
Harry shot a glare at the elegant, composed figure next to him and retorted, “Shouldn’t you be stuck in some boring pureblood’s mansion with a bunch of stuck-up old bores?”
A warm chuckle and his unexpected companion plucked the small bottle out of his hand as he said, “Mind?”
Harry frowned and said, “Apparently not.”
Harry tried not to watch as perfect lips took a quick drink of the wine. It didn’t work. He stared quietly at the pale features that had gone from pointy to so mature they looked carved. He had to admit, for being a smug and irritating bastard, the man next to him was attractive.
One pale eyebrow lifted and Draco Malfoy smirked as he said, “See something you like, Potter?”
Harry turned his head; hopefully he’d done it before the crimson blush spread across his face. “Cocky, aren’t you?” he mumbled.
“There is a difference between cocky and confident, Harry.”
Startled emerald eyes met warm gray ones. “Did you just call me by my name?”
“Of course. Why not?” Draco watched him with an amused expression.
“You’ve never called me by my name before,” Harry replied.
“Well, aside from the fact that the Weasel would have probably cursed me from here to the US if I tried, I never saw a reason to.”
“Why did you do it now?”
“You’ve changed, Harry. We all did but you changed the most. You’re no longer someone I could detest so easily.”
“What made you so angry with me?” Harry asked, curious.
The blonde sighed and looked at him for a minute. Then he looked toward the river and ran a hand through his immaculate hair, thinking. “Do you remember when you and I met on the train?”
“Yes,” Harry said. Vividly, his brain added. “You offered to ‘help’ me with choosing the right sort of people.”
“Do you know how often purebloods offer a hand of friendship to someone?”
“No,” Harry replied.
“The purebloods are a jealous group. We are tied in with so many families and enemies with others that friends are rare and precious. I have had plenty of people offer a hand of friendship to me. I was the insecure sort of person Harry; I covered it by acting brash and boastful. You were the first person I ever asked, wanted, to be my friend.”
“And I turned it down,” Harry murmured.
“You turned it down,” Draco agreed. “The first time I ever exposed myself to someone and it was rejected. It burned and I hated you for seeing me so vulnerable and unshielded. I made myself a promise that night, Harry. I promised myself I would never show my true personality again. I vowed that I would make you regret your decision. It wasn’t until 2nd year the Slytherins started calling me by the name I became known for.”
“The Slytherin Ice Prince,” Harry muttered.
“Then in 6th year it started breaking apart. You caught me at the worst moment, when I was caught between feeling betrayed by my father and terrified by what the Dark Lord wanted me to do. You saw me vulnerable and honest again and I hated you for it. When you flung that spell and I was lying there bleeding on the floor all I could think was ‘I wish I could have done things differently’.”
Harry shivered. That image still haunted his nightmares sometimes. The effect of the Cutting Curse on Draco had been horrifying. Thank Merlin he’d run into Snape of all people, the one who’d originally developed the spell.
Draco was looking at his forearms, resting on the railing. “I never wanted the Mark. When I was younger I thought I did, thought I wanted to be like my father. Mother tried to steer me away from that and she succeeded. Only by then it was too late.”
Unaware of what possessed him to do it Harry reached out with one icy hand and caught Draco’s right wrist. He turned the arm over, pushing back the silk sleeve. There it was a dark stain upon pale skin. The snake and skull that was the Dark Mark. Lightly he traced the outline of it with a fingertip, contemplating what Draco had just told him.
“You’re right,” he finally rasped, letting go of the blonde. “I did change. Though it’s not for the better. I doubt feeling barricaded off from everyone and everything is a good thing. But here I am, locked in my own private cage of ice and silk.”
“You asked why I’m not at Ron’s. The answer is I don’t belong there. He has Hermione and Rose and the new baby. Ted and Andromeda at least have Teddy. Everybody I know has someone to go home to, someone whom they love and loves them back, everyone except me,” his voice was little more than a whisper.
“Then you and I have something else in common besides the fact that we survived the War. I live alone as well,” Draco replied, looking up.
“Weren’t you engaged?” Harry asked.
“We broke it off two months ago. It would have been a marriage of convenience and position and that’s not what I want. It worked fine for my parents but this is my life and I want something more than that,” Draco sighed.
Harry stared at the trees as he thought. What Draco had said sounded similar to what he felt. He was surprised Draco had broken off his engagement; it had been all over the wizarding papers. The day they’d announced the engagement the election of a new Minister of Magic had taken second page.
“It’s starting to snow again,” Draco commented.
Harry looked at the fat flakes without replying.
Draco looked at him with a cautious expression. Gray eyes were dark and thoughtful. After a moment he turned and walked toward the end of the sidewalk. He turned around again, staring at Harry.
“Harry?” said ebony-haired wizard turned toward his erstwhile enemy.
“Since it’s starting to snow again and neither one of us wants to go to our respective gatherings, why don’t you come to my place for the night?” Draco suggested, extending a hand and watching him quietly.
Harry looked at him for just a moment. He looked back over the river and then smiled. He took the blonde’s hand and said, “Sure.”
As they walked off together Draco linked one arm around his waist. Harry couldn’t be sure whether or not he was imagining it, but he could feel something. It was just the slightest hint, but it was the first hint of true warmth he’d felt in ages. And it had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the blonde next to him.
You’re never going to be alone,
From this moment on.
If you ever feel like letting go,
I won’t let you fall.