That Cold Christmas

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to all my reviewers, who have bore with me thus far. Thank you SilentStalker, tamyshka, moon pixie, Kachikara, AznNilli, Sharika, Ami Winner, platy_bear, Redhead Kitty Kat, ~~LIZ~~, Erae, Yuki-chu, Alysia, TheTrueSilver, Dudette, bakachan17, who cares?, SiriusWolf, tati1, NeveragainIswear, guess, deb, Luscious Kinney, Aoiki, Layce74, Coward in the Shadows, The Evil One, kittenkat, ZombieGurl98, YG, MalfoySlave, itdoesnotmatter, Me, Vici0usRebL, Amethystdawn, soundless, silentsoul, Su, Rowan Arkenson, Doneril, Weasley Wonders, fox00, Keitorin, Heh, Ehm..., radarPLO, michelle, X'mas Bunny, Dea Liberty, Lady Phoenix Slytherin, beezy, Elven Warrior1, Amanda, Nyades Road Ghost, vulpixfairy, celine and celine's friend.

The end is all yours. Enjoy.


The sleeping pills I swallowed after a microwave dinner last night must have worked because the time stated on my bedroom clock says it is past twelve. The packet has said 1-2 tables to be taken at a time but I was never one to follow instructions, especially one that was harmlessly printed on a plain slip of paper. Somehow, the whole night's sleep has not even refreshed me. I wake up groggy and feeling like a screwdriver had been bored into my left temper while I lay in a fitful slumber.

I perch atop the dining table, pondering the next course of action to take. Swirling the warm milk in my cup, I wondered if Draco would ever leave my head this Christmas. Everything I see in my house – his house – our house reminds me distinctly of him. Objects like the laptop, which took the longest time in the world to teach him; the sofa over which we quarreled over which colour to buy.

Everything, simply everything reminds me of him.

I don't understand why I'm feeling so maudlin, aside from the fact that I had a distinct fear he was abandoning me. The moment I get up, my back creaks so loudly that I flop back down on the table. My back is his fault as well. I could not go to sleep in the bed because it smelt so strongly of him. So collecting stuff, pillows and all, I tried so settle for sleeping on the cold marble. Finally I gave up and took those sleeping pills, which were originally bought to block out those nightmares. You can only guess how comfortable sleeping on the kitchen counter was.

Eventually, after much moping around, I make my way up to the third floor and into the bedroom to get changed so that I can get some food for tonight. The voice in my head severely reminds me that I will be spending the night alone so I might as well just buy a few cartons of beer and drink myself silly.

"Shut up."

It occurs to me that I am talking to myself again. That annoying voice actually went away when Draco came along, but it is now returning with a renewed fervor. I have always taken care of you, it echoes in my mind. Draco was just a lie, and you should listen to me.

"Shut the hell up."

You are insane, talking to yourself. There is nobody around. Except us.

"Shut the goddamn hell up. I don't care if I am talking to myself because I am like this. And if nobody wants to talk to me, what is wrong with talking to myself?"

In the silence that follows, I can hear my own heavy breathing, the result of my outburst. I hate that voice, it always seem so self-righteous. A grip. That was what I needed. I very badly needed to get a hold on myself. Lithium, that's it. I stumbled down the stairs for the green and white pills in the cabinet. Even as I swallow them down, I cannot control the emotions rushing through me, a river overflowing its dam.

My hand grabs hold of a chair and I throw it into the living room. I am so angry, and my face is screwed up so tight that pressure behind my eyes is almost unbearable.

"Bastard! You promised. You promised you would never leave me alone."

In the desperation that follows, my legs give way and I sink to the white tilled floor, with my eyes overlooking the fallen chair and into the living room. Everything swims in my head and my visions blurs, from the tears, or from the pounding in my temples, I cannot tell. The clock ticks on, like the beat of my heart, only steadier and each second an unconscious part of me keeps on hoping that Draco might return.

I vaguely remember that time when we had an enormous disagreement over something that gave way to a full-blown argument. It started off like any old quarrel, the same snide remarks that have always flown between us. It got more and more ridiculous and soon we were arguing on whom to leave the house.

"Its my house. YOU leave."

"Oh yeah? You pompous prick, I paid my half of it."

"Well, I chose the location, so YOU leave.'

This led to me grabbing a roll of duct tape and screaming, "Fine! We divide the house, no one crosses this line."

"FINE!"

But as the yellow tape was about to be stuck onto the carpet, Draco roars at me to leave his Persian rug alone. I refuse and he decks me. Angrily I clutch my face and punch him in the guts. He backhands me with the ferocity of a wild cat. I claw at him, a reminder of the ferocity of our youth. Nothing that happens after that registered clearly in my mind, but I remember him crushing our faces together angrily, kissing me with the intensity that always makes me feel. He bites down, hard and I moan, catching his tongue in between my teeth as he licks the bruised spot. I groan again, my hand clutched desperately into his shirt as he grasps my jaw tightly. He kisses me again and again, straddling me confidently, and then we were making love and making up on the very couch we quarreled over.

His blond hair askew as he lies next to me on the rug begs me to run my fingers through it. And I did. Gracefully he catches my hands while they were doing a perusal of his beautiful body. He grips my left hand tightly in his right and places it over where his heart should be. I gaze quietly into his eyes, basking in the way he looks at me.

Gently he thumbs my hand. "I will never leave you Harry. Not now, not ever. I promise."

And he kisses me slowly, gently. He silently begs me for permission, kissing with a passion that gets right to me. I remember, that night, even under the pale half moon, my happiness was complete. It was almost as if I was made whole again - the scars of war chased forever away.

As I shake myself up from my reverie, I realize with no little amount of disgust that tears have indeed found their way into my eyes. I hate myself for being so vulnerable. I hate myself for being so needy. I hate it, when I have to depend on someone else to fill the aching gap that hurts every time I breathe.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." I mutter, even though I do not know whom those words I directed to.

When at last I collect myself, I make my way to the nearest store. At times like these, I did not want to step into a place where random people I have never heard of step up to me and wish me a Merry Christmas.

Exhaustion seeps into me like the winter chill as I step home. The snow falling around me looked grey, so old and tired. I bought a hell lot of liquor, and that is about all I could stand because every time I saw anything remotely green or silver, (which during Christmas you could imagine was almost everything), Draco jumps into my line of vision and I feel like smashing my head against a lamppost. Incidentally, they are also decorated with gold and red tinsel. How our youth haunts us.

I take out the beer for 'warm-up'. Already my mind is going off on weird tangents, wondering about fir trees that get chopped down this time of the year, travel hundreds of miles across the ocean, only to remain locked in a warehouse unsold, and then get burnt to cinders after Christmas. I think about when objects go when you Evanesco them. Is there a place full of banished objects? Things people once cared about, then tossed unsparingly into the void?

Drowning the last of the cheap beer, I crush the can. The aluminum cuts into my palm, and the red that seeps out of my hand looks exactly like the colour of wine. There is a sound, but having 'heard' sounds the whole day, I dismiss it, empowered by the alcohol in my blood.

Watching the slow trickle of blood slide down my hand, I feel slightly fascinated. The whiskey is next. As my lungs flare up, I feel hot and fiery. Young again and full of throbbing veins and unfilled ambition. And now, abandoning the spectacle of my hand I reach for more drink. My hand passes over the dry cider, the bourbon and finally stops on the bottle of red wine.

Perfect.

I struggle with the cork before forcing it out with my wand. I pour myself a glass, thinking I should start slowing down. This bottle had cost a hundred pounds, something even the bloody Malfoy would appreciate. Just as I bring the cup to my lips, a warm hand envelops mine. I start, as the hand guides the glass back to the table. My heart leaps into my throat, but I dare not turn around. The snow, I start thinking about the snow, and somehow I look out and see it falling in a pure, angelic white.

Two arms encircle me from behind and I am pulled into a tight embrace. A warm breath that makes me shiver ghosts across my neck. And the voice, the familiar voice whispers tenderly into my ear. "If I recall, the wine always tasted better when I am around."

Draco. You came home for me.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."


A/N: Well, how was it? Again, I thank all those who have supported me. I love you guys. As for the ending, couldn't help it, it was Christmas and I thought that was enough angst already. Merry Christmas to you, and all the best in your own writings.

~Shadafakup