When the Snow Melts

Draco shivered against the cold when the warm body leaning against him pulled away. He wasn't certain when he had fallen asleep, but the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and the temperature was steadily dropping.

Harry stretched out beside him like a cat, yawning as he worked out all the kinks in his body. He turned to smile at Draco, eyes reflecting the blazing amber color of the dying sun.

"That was a good nap," he remarked, seeming to be in a much better mood. "What time do you think it is?"

"Probably close to dinner time," Draco replied, glancing towards the lit windows of the castle in the distance. "We should probably start heading back."

Without a word, Harry stood as Draco did, striding along beside him as they traversed the uneven terrain, their hands occasionally brushing against one another.

"I'll go in first," Draco announced when they approached the Great Hall, thinking that it would settle Harry's nerves to know that a friendly face would be waiting for him inside.

Harry's movements were beginning to slow with each step as if he were struggling against some unseen force.

"You can't keep avoiding them forever," Draco scolded with a stern look on his face.

"I know," Harry sighed.

"Maybe you should go first instead," Draco suggested, shoving the boy forward a bit when he had stopped moving entirely. He was afraid that Harry would change his mind if he were left alone. While he wanted to be the smiling face that greeted him in the Great Hall, he also wanted Harry to eat and make up with his friends. When had he gotten so sappy? These stupid Gryffindors must be rubbing off on him.

Harry nodded in acceptance, visibly steeling himself as he crossed the threshold. There was a predictable drop in the noise level as people took notice of his entrance. Draco wondered if Harry was even aware that it happened like that every time.

When the clamor of voices picked back up, Draco made his own entrance, careful to only cast the briefest of glances in Harry's direction. Granger was hugging him with tears in her eyes and Weasley did not appear to be scowling. He felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight of them, which he quickly brushed aside.

At the Slytherin table, Pansy was surrounded by a group of Draco's former lackeys – Crabbe and Goyle included. She had a satisfied smirk on her face, her eyes following Draco as he approached. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and had to fight down the urge to take flight.

He shook the thought from his head, reminding himself that he needed to eat. This was non-negotiable. If he didn't eat, he wouldn't have energy, then he'd make a mistake thereby walking right into the viper's fangs. He had to keep his wits about him if he was going to survive the year.

He sat with his back to Harry, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to look at the boy. He could feel Pansy's eyes on him as he quickly shoveled down food in a somewhat undignified manner. To hell with decorum. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave.

With a mad fluttering of his heart, he wondered where Harry would be sleeping tonight. There was no way around it – he'd just have to ask him. Dinner finished, he exited the Great Hall, hiding a bit in the shadows as he waited for Harry.

He was growing bored; his thoughts taking mad twists and turns as the seconds ticked by. Every time the door started to open, his heart would skip a beat only to plummet into his stomach when he realized it wasn't Harry. This was getting quite ridiculous and he started pacing back and forth to burn off all his nervous energy. There was no reason for all this; he was just going to ask Harry what his plans were for the night. Why was he so on edge over this?

Just when he had managed to convince himself to set aside this foolish idea and head back to his dorm room, the doors opened to reveal the Golden Trio. They stood, chatting just outside the door in a friendly manner. Granger hugged Harry one more time, Weasley gave him a reassuring pat on the back and then the two of them left in the opposite direction.

Draco's heart was trying to escape from his chest as he realized that Harry was alone and walking towards him. He stepped out of the shadows, making his presence known.

"Where are you going?" Draco questioned, keeping his tone neutral as he pulled up next to the boy.

"Remedial potions," Harry replied, his posture growing stiff with apprehension the further down the corridor they walked.

Draco's eyebrows lifted in a questioning look. He had completely forgotten his suspicions regarding this topic.

"Remedial potions?" he asked dubiously. "I'm not an idiot, Harry. What are the two of you really up to?"

Harry stopped suddenly, a surprised expression on his face. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Probably only to me," Draco reassured him. "So, will you tell me about those lessons?"

Harry studied him, a thousand different emotions playing out across his face.

"I will – later – tonight," he said, dropping each word in a quick and deliberate manner as if fighting against himself. He raked shaking fingers through his messy hair, pulling in a deep and steadying breath.

"I have to go now," he announced in a clipped voice, very obviously making it known that he didn't want to be followed as he continued down the hall.

Draco felt a stab of heartache at the dismissal, but then felt his mood returning as he replayed the whole conversation. Harry had said 'tonight,' which could only mean one thing – Harry would be coming back to him. He smiled at the thought as he made his way back to his dorm room, meandering across the castle grounds in a happy daze.

A strong pair of arms grabbed him roughly from behind, a cold spike of fear shot through his belly at the realization that he had let his guard down.

<<<<<   >>>>>

With a weary sigh, Harry mentally prepared himself to make the short flight to Draco's window. The entire walk over, he had been practicing what he was going to say in his head. How could someone even begin to properly explain the connection that he and Voldemort shared? The conversation that he had been playing out sounded mad and he worried that at best Draco wouldn't believe him.

And if Draco did believe him? Then there would be no doubt about the truth of Trelawney's prophecy. It seemed that Draco had chosen to dismiss the idea that anything coming from her had to be absolute rubbish. He often expressed irritation when everyone treated it as an inevitable fact. Did he really want to end all that for Draco?

The room was dark as he entered, the fireplace dead and not a single candle lit. He felt the familiar tendrils of dread wrapping tightly across his chest as his eyes tore across the room, frantically searching for any sign of his friend.

"Draco," he called, his shaky voice just barely above a whisper. There was no answer. At once, he had his wand in hand, lighting it up to confirm his suspicions.

Draco was not there.