Originally written for FarDareisMai2's birthday.
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys.
A/N: Dear PF, beautiful, talented, amazingly wonderful, PF. First, Happy Birthday! Second, Happy Holidays! I wrote this bit of Christmasy Harry/Draco flangst for you. Now, apparently, I have to warn you since I made several people cry during pre-reading. Rmhale was ready to throttle me. No lie. I think I subconsciously made this somewhat angst ridden since it was for you. Not sure. But, it's your birthday, and the Hols, so need I say more on that account?
Thank you to my pre-readers - there were many: OfTheTurningAway, RmHale, Leo Dracoins and Venis Envy. This wasn't technically beta'd but between the four of them, I think most of it has been cleaned up.
Happy Birthday, PF. I hope you enjoy!
. . .
Harry sat in the tiny living room of the cottage he'd rented for his holiday, listening to the gale force wind whine and scream outside the house. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine at the sound; Britain hadn't experienced a winter like this in quiet some time.
With the weather as horrid as it was, Harry had decided not to bother his friends over Christmas. There was more to it then that, of course, not that he'd ever let Ron or Hermione know of the real reasons he'd voluntarily secluded himself. He knew he could use the floo to travel, but really, he just wanted everyone to be happy, to finally have some peace. Harry had yet to find peace within himself, and he knew his friends would pick up on his mood. No point in dampening their Christmas spirit even more. They'd all suffered enough in the past year.
Lifting his wand, Harry transformed another match stick into a log for the fire before curling himself up on the small settee. There was no fireplace in his bedroom; he preferred to stay out in the living room where it was warm, even if it meant a neck crick in the morning.
"Happy Christmas Eve, Harry," he said, and then drifted off into a fitful sleep plagued with intoxicating dreams.
The next morning, Harry awoke to a blinding light; everything was white. He cracked open one eyelid to assess the sudden shock of brightness in the small house, only to see that there were snow banks pressed up against the window sills and the northern windows of the house glowed with the white-out cast of the day.
What was merely a blustery wind the night before, had turned into a blizzard the likes of which Harry had never seen.
He shot up off the small couch, cursing the dull pain in his neck, before running over to the door. It was jammed shut.
Whispering a reduction spell, Harry managed to shrink back the snow drift blocking the door outside, and pushed the old wooden slab open with a triumphant "Ha!"
His cockiness was smacked in the back of the neck a moment later, literally, when a chunk of snow dislodged itself from the sloping rooftop from his yell, landing him in a snow covered heap on the ground.
"Not my best moment," he grumbled.
After a few more reduction spells, and a warming charm, Harry slipped back into the house to throw on a few more snow appropriate bits of apparel. His flannel pajama bottoms and bleach stained jumper just weren't going to cut it.
Snow was one of Harry's favorite things about the winter season. It blanketed the world in white, making everything seem pure and clean, if only for the few days it stayed on the ground. Harry loved the crisp chill in the air that came with snow. It made returning into a warm house and sipping a mug of hot butterbeer that much more enjoyable.
His euphoria died as he reached the edge of the wood beyond the house, though. His snow boots were enforced with a keep-dry charm, and his scarf and coat kept him cozy and warm, but the sudden stillness of the landscape made him pause.
He was alone. Completely alone.
Fields of snow and powder-sugared covered trees lay before him, but he had no one to share it with, no one to marvel at the beauty with. No one. Not even Hedwig to let free and watch fly in the sky.
"I really should get a new pet," he mused.
Despite his loneliness, Harry did have his iPod for company. He'd never had much of an attachment to muggle things, since he'd been denied almost every convenience as a child, but music was always important to him. Hermione, being the caring know-it-all that she was, had given him the iPod last Christmas. He smiled down at the tiny screen as he hit play, thanking her silently for such a thoughtful gift.
Harry started up on his trek again as a Holiday playlist pumped through his ears. He sang the carols out loud, knowing no one would be around to hear, enjoying the freedom of the moment.
When an American tune about a magical snowman started to play, it gave Harry an idea. As long as he was out in the cold, singing carols, he might as well make a snowman. It'd be a shame not to with all this wonderful snow!
Not to mention, it'd keep his mind on other things besides remembering the slightly disturbing images from his dreams. They weren't disturbing in nature, just off-putting because of their appearance in Harry's subconscious. He'd been warring with himself over what they meant, and always tried to forget them come morning. Being in all this solitude was not helping his resolve on the matter.
Jogging back towards the cottage, Harry accio'd a shovel from the backyard shed and started to compile a mound of snow, that he soon built into a large stub. From there, he piled shovel upon shovel of the powdery white fluff on top of one another, compacting it into as solid a mound as he could.
When a six foot solid pillar of snow stood before him, he stepped back and took a deep breath. He'd done it all by hand, not wanting to make short cuts with magic, and now, the real work would begin. But first, he wanted a butterbeer and to warm his frozen hands.
As he sipped at his hot drink, and nibbled on a biscuit, he often found himself looking back out at the pillar he'd created in the yard. To Harry, it was a piece of marble yet to be sculpted. He had nothing but time, and no one to care for except himself. He could work all day and all night if he wanted. As he took one long last sip of his drink, he figured he might do just that.
He'd accio'd a few more gardening tools from the shed he was going to use to carve the snowman, and brought with him a bucket of water. Harry was going to make this the most intricate snowman ever created, deciding to treat it more like sculpture than just a silly childhood pastime. If he kept himself busy enough, the dilemma he was having over those pesky recurring dreams would hopefully stay at the back of his mind, and not bother him anymore.
That was the goal.
But as he worked at the semi-frozen pillar of snow, carving out large chunks a foot or so from the top to make way for the snowman's neck—the thinnest part of the sculpture—Harry found himself in some kind of a trance. His hands moved freely over the white surface, chopping away at sections to define an arm, a wrist, fingers, only to start again on the other side.
Harry had originally planned for the snowman to wear an old fashioned cloak, like something you'd see in a production of A Christmas Carol, but as each swipe of his carver gave way to muscle and smoothed skin, he realized the creation before him was wholly unclothed.
The shoulders were broad and held the build of an athlete's: agile, yet sleek. Harry spent precious time whittling away at a set of prominent collar bones, wondering why such a specific part of the body fascinated him so. When the shoulders and neck were complete, he magically froze the section with his wand, transferring the water from the bucket into an even mist over his work, watching the white surface practically shiver beneath the spell.
Seeing the statue almost move from the vibrations of the magic made Harry still, blinking at what he'd been creating. He stepped back in shock, staring at the impressive shoulders and neck of a man, and promptly dropped his wand. The face was still ambiguous, along with the arms and torso. He'd yet to give them his full attention.
"What am I doing?"
Before he even dared to answer himself, he scooped up his wand and ran inside. The sun had set, and the wind had picked up, making his sprint to the cottage a bitter challenge, as if the elements were holding him back, keeping him out in the cold with his incomplete mockery of a snowman. He fought tooth and nail against it all, pushing his limbs harder through the snow as he gritted his teeth in the frigid wind.
Slamming the door behind him when he reached the house, he braced himself back against it, stunned and frightened at his actions. He slid down to the floor a moment later, and curled himself up into a tight ball on the cold stone floor.
Within seconds, he was crying.
He was startled awake by a clanging against the door, someone was banging to get in, and he was lying along the jamb in a pile of shivering limbs. Standing up proved to be rather difficult since his body was half frozen, half asleep, but he managed to straighten himself enough to grab onto the handle of the door and pull.
The wind slapped him in the face, bringing with it swirls of snow and sleet. No one awaited him outside but he could see in the distance the pillar of the half carved snowman, and an overwhelming urge came over him. The wind and the sleet would erode away all his work! Everything he'd done the past day would be gone by morning.
Grabbing at the coat rack, Harry picked up a cloak that he hadn't remember being there earlier, and dashed outside into the frozen night. His teeth chattered against the bitter wind, but the urge pushed him on; he had to cover the pillar.
Using a trick Hermione had taught him back in the forest, he concentrated his energies to exude a bubble of protection around him and his frozen creation. The spell fought back the elements, allowing Harry to drape the cloak over snowman's shoulders and down his arms, without sleet or any form of bitter wind harming them.
Harry noticed that the collar bones he'd worked so hard at earlier in the day had been almost completely smoothed down from the storm. This observation caused a fresh bout of emotion to well up in Harry, one he hadn't expected, and he found himself pushing away frozen tears from the corners of his eyes.
With a newfound desire to fix what had been destroyed, Harry clutched at the piles of snow at his feet and brought them up to the shoulders of his snowman. He'd yet to notice that the storm had done something else to Harry's creation: it'd given him a face. A very subtle, yet to be defined, face that looked out defiantly into the night.
Come morning, the sleet and wind had gone, but Harry had stayed, working obsessively on his snowman, not once stopping to look up at what he'd made, or to rest his hands. He was possessed and knew it. He'd allowed the trance to overtake him in the night, feeling the effects of whatever magic was touching him, and soaking it in, feeding on it as he pushed himself past all physical limits.
When he'd finally felt the magic driving him pull back, he allowed himself to breathe, to step back and marvel at what he'd done. Before him stood a man, tall, lean, and fully realized in frozen snow. Harry's wand moved on its own, dispelling a solidifying charm over his work. He watched the white skin glisten and vibrate under the spell, almost shivering, as if the snow itself had a chill.
As the last effects of the spell slipped from the tip of Harry's wand, he felt his eyes close and all his energy leave him.
Harry fell at the foot of the frozen man, landing in a heap on the cloak long forgotten.
The cold was consuming Harry in some frozen black abyss. He felt as if he were moving through molasses that was slowly pulling him into an eternal decline that he couldn't fight. Just as he was about to give up and give in to the twisting bands of suffocation choking him, he felt a bolt of pure white heat shoot through his body. He jolted awake from the shock and promptly fell back again as a secondary result. When strong arms surrounded Harry in a fierce embrace, holding him back against a solid chest, he was too stunned to react, and instead, turned round to see who'd caught him.
Frost-blue eyes and pure-white skin greeted him as he turned. Long, white eyelashes framed the concern he saw in his mysterious companion's eyes, and long strands of ice white hair fell over his and Harry's foreheads, they were so close.
The sharp cheekbones were familiar, the prominent jaw, the aristocratic nose, his high forehead lost in white blonde hair...Harry knew this man.
Harry's whispered breath was lost on the wind, but the man in front of him surely heard him. He smiled in return.
With a scramble to face to man holding him, Harry twisted and pulled, turning in the man's arms, and placing his hands on the his pure white face. Harry's fingers tingled with pleasurable heat as he touched the frozen snow of the man's skin.
"You feel warm," Harry said, his eyes closing, basking in the sensation.
Instead of answering, the man simply held Harry tighter, pressing him against his solid body. The sear of incredible heat shocked Harry into full consciousness, and in doing so, made him realize what was happening.
"Oh my god." Jumping back from the frozen man, Harry stumbled to his feet, grabbing for his wand and shoving his glasses back up his nose. "What the bloody hell?"
The snowman's seemingly frozen features morphed into that of pain, and his perfectly sculpted head turned from Harry, his eyes downcast towards the snowbank. Harry's heart clenched at the sight and he moved forward, only to be pushed backward by a shove of immediate wind. The man had rocketed himself out of the snow and into the air, his ice-blue eyes burning with rejection.
"You brought me here," his unearthly voice called, so alien, and yet, so familiar. It echoed over every tree and shivered up Harry's spine, as if he were speaking through him.
"I didn't," Harry said, shocked.
"You worked through the day and night, pulling me from the snow."
Harry's voice was strangled by the wind, which seemed to rise as the man's anger took hold.
"Is it? Here I am, and yet, you're still denying yourself. Why?"
"Because you died!"
Silence fell over every facet of the landscape, and the furious frozen man disappeared instantly. Harry spun where he stood, searching out where he'd gone, desperate in his need to see his face just one more time.
"No!" He cried. "No!"
He started to run, anywhere and everywhere, pushing past the banks of snow with sheer force of will. Huge drifts shoved away without Harry even having to raise his wand, he was so unhinged. He'd lost him once, he wasn't going to do it again.
Harry ran into the forest, scratching at the trees with his hands, feeling the cuts slice through his skin and not caring. He was, once again, possessed with a need he couldn't name. All he knew was the urge to search and find. Find him. Find him again.
Hours passed and Harry ran, pushing himself beyond all reason. The sun set behind the horizon and Harry kept on, circling the property in large arcs, using only the north star in the sky as his guide. When the clouds came, and snow started to gently drift down, obscuring his view, he fell to his knees and let out a sob of utter anguish. Whatever magic had propelled him, kept him going, had suddenly given out, and with it, went all his energy.
The last thing Harry remembered before closing his eyes to the world was calling for the cloak he'd left in the snow, desperate for any form of warmth to cover him.
For the second time that night, Harry was ready to accept death. It was mad, really. After all he'd been through, to now let everything just drift away in the cold. He was his own worst enemy, pushing away what he'd worked so hard to hold onto in the first place. What was his logic behind it? There was none. He was in denial. His subconscious had gone to insane lengths to show him what he needed, and yet, he continued to war with himself.
"If I die, I'll see him again," Harry thought as he felt the snow landing softly on his face. Maybe that's what he wanted all along? It would certainly explain his crazed behavior, the reason he'd thrown himself into solitude, the remote location, all of it. He would slip away without anyone knowing.
"Yes, slip away."
Harry's eyes shot open. Who was speaking?
"No, Harry. Get up."
The voice was back, though, Harry couldn't see him. Where was he? He needed him.
"I'm sorry," Harry sighed, his eyes closing again.
"How dare you give up."
Warmth surrounded Harry, and he sighed into the embrace, feeling peace.
"You're gone. What else is there?" Harry refused to open his eyes, too content in his circle of warmth and solace. He didn't believe that this could be real.
"You were always so fatalistic. Merlin, how does anyone put up with you?"
"You never did."
"Well, you're a tosser. Can you blame me?"
"How are you here?" Harry's voice was barely a rasp at that point, the cold stealing it and making his throat burn.
"I'm here because you made me."
"Is it? I'm here, aren't I?"
"I've lost too many people to believe that death is this easily thwarted."
"I never truly died."
That got Harry's attention, and he opened his eyes to see Draco staring down at him. He'd rested Harry's head against his shoulder as he held him to his chest.
"The magic? The overwhelming need to keep working..."
"That was me."
"You transfered yourself?"
"In a way."
"A lot of it was you. You missed me a hell of a lot, apparently."
Harry couldn't help the blush that crept over his skin, and he looked away. Realizing that they were sitting in a freezing snow bank, Harry attempted to crawl to his feet, but Draco held him down.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"It's freezing out here, Draco. We need to get inside."
"But I am the ice, the frost. I'm made of snow."
Harry was stunned into reality. "No."
"So, you'd...melt, if you came inside?"
"I'm not sure."
"I can't stay out here, Draco. I'll die."
"Then what kind of cruel joke is this!"
"The kind that I'm grateful for, because getting a chance to see you again is more than I could ever ask for."
Harry felt tears sting at his eyes and he looked away, infuriated with himself. There had to be a way to keep him, make him mortal in the human sense. Feeling Draco hold him tighter did not help Harry's resolve to stem his tears, and before he knew it, he was lost, sobbing in his arms.
"Shh..." Draco said, rocking him in his lap like a child, but Harry would not be soothed. He'd swallowed one too many bitter pills in his life to accept this one. Everything that had been dealt him, he'd more, or less taken in as best he could and moved on, but not this. All he ever did was say goodbye. He was done.
With a passion more forceful than Harry could have anticipated, he shoved his hands into the freezing tendrils of Draco's hair and pulled his face to his lips. Pushing aside all the denial he had felt, all the guilt and the illogical shame, Harry threw himself into kissing Draco, wanting to show him everything he'd been keeping bottled up since his death.
The scorching heat was something he wasn't expecting. He knew that Draco's body radiated warmth to Harry, despite being made entirely of snow. He knew that whenever Draco touched him, a sense of peace flooded him, but the sudden heat, the lust that spiked through him was new.
"For so long..." he breathed into his mouth, as tongues tasted and hands twisted into hair.
"I know," Draco said. "So long."
"You hated me."
"I pined for you...wanted you...I hated everyone around you...jealousy."
Between kisses, the two men tasted and licked at the other's necks, biting at the skin and frost, feeling the difference between flesh and ice.
"Pull down your pants, Harry."
Harry wasn't sure if he'd heard him correctly.
"Pull. Down. Your. Pants." Draco repeated with a heated grin.
"Because I'm going to fuck you. There's no point in spending anymore time on this earth if I can't have you."
Harry groaned out into the night, his breath misting on the wind. He was shocked and aroused all at once and didn't know which emotion was more prominent in his mind. When Draco turned him and pressed gently between Harry's shoulder blades to guide him to his knees, Harry's arousal doubled, and he knew he wanted this.
The cloak lay beneath them, allowing Harry a soft place to rest on his hands and knees as Draco tore blindly at the buttons of Harry's jeans, shoving them down his hips. The snow was still falling, and Draco raised Harry's wand to cast a protection charm over them both, keeping them safe from the weather, and the cloak dry beneath Harry.
Shivers worked their way up Harry's spine as Draco's frozen palm glided down the exposed skin of his backside and thighs. His skin was almost as white as Draco's, only the slight pink tinge that came as Draco massaged Harry's flesh showed the difference between them.
"You feel heat when I touch you?" Draco asked, curious.
Harry breathed out a hiss before nodding his head.
"I wonder..." Draco let the thought trail off as he lowered his mouth to Harry, licking up the crack of his exposed skin. Harry cried out from the slick heat of Draco's tongue, and whimpered into the night air as Draco started to tease his entrance with each, slow lick.
"Describe it to me," he said as he kissed at the puckered skin between Harry's cheeks.
With a shuddering rasp, Harry answered. "It...it's...white hot. Like something so...so...cold, it's warm. Oh god."
"What about when I do this?" Draco worked his tongue further into him, pointing it, and then repeating the movement: swirl, point, swirl, point.
Harry cried out, bucking his hips back towards Draco's mouth. "More!"
The sensations suddenly stopped, and Harry felt a large weight drape across his back. Draco's cool breath whispered over his ear, "Promise me something, Harry."
"Find me again. When I'm gone."
Harry's eyes slammed shut, his entire body ceasing up. "No." His hand reached back, grabbing ahold of Draco's neck and pulling his mouth down to his. "You're not leaving."
Draco kissed him back, nodding against him, but holding back the true emotion he felt: He wouldn't be able to stay. It made him angry, having this life dangled in front of him, only to have it snatched away again. He pulled back on Harry and spit roughly onto his hole before shoving a finger inside without any warning. Harry's body jerked as he cried into the night, and Draco stilled.
"Harry?" He asked, his voice strained. His frustration had gotten the better of him.
Harry shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. The invasion was sudden, but not wholly unpleasant. Mostly, the shock was what had caused him to shout. When Harry felt Draco start to remove his finger, he whimpered. "No."
Draco sighed and draped himself over Harry once again, finding a rhythm with him as he fucked himself on Draco's hand. Beneath them, Harry's cock bobbed and dripped with arousal, despite it having yet to be even touched. He'd never wanted to come so badly in all his life, and they'd barely started.
"Please," he begged again. The two fingers Draco had managed to work into him stung, but they were nowhere near enough. He knew what he wanted, what he'd denied himself, what he'd needed for so long. Now that he had it, he couldn't bring himself to wait any longer.
"I can't stand it, just please."
"You want me, Harry?"
"Yes!" The sound escaped him as a hiss, but it was all Draco needed to hear.
Draco took Harry's wand again to cast a lubrication charm, before placing the head of his straining erection at Harry's entrance. He was hard, harder than solid ice, and Draco was wary that he'd hurt him.
"Tell me, Harry. Tell me to stop."
With a frustrated growl, Draco moved forward, trying with everything he had to stay gentle, to keep Harry calm and safe, but wanting nothing more than the bury himself in Harry's heat and to never let go.
"Oh my god," he whispered as he slowly started to slide into him. The sensation was blinding. He was on fire, and burning up from the inside out. Frightened beyond all measure that this was all he was going to have left, he stilled, taking in the feeling for what it was: something fleeting but magnificent in it's completion.
Wanting to hold onto Harry for as long as he could, he fell forward, wrapping his arms tight around Harry's torso and pulling him back so Harry ended up sitting on his thighs.
Harry's arms clasped back along Draco's hips, holding him inside, wanting to feel him like this forever.
"What's it like?" Draco asked.
"I'm scared, Harry." He was feeling so warm, so utterly different then how he'd felt before this all started. He was no longer frozen, and that thought petrified him.
"Then don't waste time." Harry turned his head to kiss Draco, and saw freezing tears sliding down his white skin. He licked at the trail, feeling the burn against his tongue, and moaning at the taste.
Together, they started up a slow, rolling rhythm, neither of them wanting to separate from the other; not even an inch. The idea of Draco leaving Harry, even for a moment, was unthinkable, and so they clung to each other, and rocked, gradually letting the pace quicken with their breath.
"Oh god," they chanted, the words misting on the wind. Snow drifted down through the trees and landed everywhere but on their cloak, keeping them dry and safe.
Harry's head fell back on Draco's shoulder as they moved together, his eyes squeezed shut from the incredible fullness he was experiencing.
"Look at me, Harry."
Harry turned his head, his breath cascading over Draco's pale white throat. Harry wanted to mark him there, and so he kissed him, sucking on the skin of Draco's neck, coaxing the blood to the surface.
"You're mine, Draco," he said when he pulled back and saw the purplish mark left in his wake. With a dazed smile, he let himself fall forward onto his elbows, his head dangling between his shoulders. "Faster."
Draco's pace escalated to a daunting speed. He wanted to keep himself buried inside Harry for as long as possible, his need driving him forward. And Harry only pushed back faster, slammed onto him harder, with more force than he thought he could handle. The sounds of the forest were drowned out by the cries of the two men. Heat and frost. Ice and flesh.
Draco kissed Harry between his shoulder blades, sucking and nipping at the flesh till it was red from his mouth. He smiled at his work, and moved onto the crook of his neck, biting down on his skin as he wrapped his hand around Harry's cock and squeezed.
Harry's cries turned to pleas of desperation as Draco pumped his cock with his hand.
"More?" He taunted.
And so he went harder, pumped faster; his hand was a blur beneath them.
"Oh god, I'm gonna..."
"Yes. Come for me, Harry. You're mine."
"Yes!" With a final tug and a responding slap of Draco's skin against his, Harry let out a sob of euphoric ecstasy. His climax rocketed through them both, letting Draco feel it all too fully, as his muscles clamped down around him, milking him, pulling him further inside.
"You're amazing," Draco groaned into his neck as he drove himself as far as he could go into Harry, wanting to feel every part of him when he came.
Harry never stopped moving, desperate for Draco to feel just as incredible, just as claimed.
"Make me yours, Draco. Now."
As if on command, Draco's back arched, his eyes squeezed shut, and his teeth gritted together in a full body convulsion that signaled his climax. All the wind left his lungs in one gust of air as he thrust and pulled and slapped against Harry, erratic and possessed by his need to make Harry his.
Falling forward, the two men collapsed onto the cloak, the protection charm breaking as all their energy simultaneously left them. All they could do was feel. They were electrified and riddled with aftershocks, their hips connecting every now and again with another spasm. Each time Draco's arms would hold Harry tighter; the only strength he had left, he used to keep the man he'd pined for for all those years close to him. He never wanted to let go.
Snow drifted down onto their overheated skin, and tingled as each little flake melted onto their pink flesh.
Draco watched them fall with half-lidded eyes, wondering why snow suddenly melted when it touched him as opposed to just landing gently on his arm. He couldn't give it much thought before sleep took him, and he was lost to a swirl of colored light and endless snow.
When the two men woke, they were back in the cottage, wrapped in blankets by the hearth. Pillows were tucked beneath their heads, and Harry's wand lay next to his right hand, ready for whenever he needed.
Harry blinked a couple of times as he stared at his wand, pondering why he was inside as opposed to outside with Draco.
That thought made him jolt.
"Draco!" He shot up, blankets flying off him as he scrambled to his feet and towards the door, naked as the day he was born.
"Wha..." he heard grumbled behind him.
Turning on his heel, he looked down at where he'd just been sleeping, only to see Draco, curled up under the covers, his nose slightly pink, and his hair no longer a frosty white, but pure blond.
Harry fell hard to his knees, the words he wanted to scream leaving him with a wheeze. "Draco..."
"If you're planning on waking me up this early every morning, we're going to have a problem," he mumbled before turning over on the pillows. Harry scrambled towards him and shook his shoulders, amazed to even be touching him.
His eyes shot open and they stared at Harry with a fury that clearly read: I'm not a morning person. All Harry could do was smile down at him and try his best to stem off the tears.
"Stop saying my name. Why are you crying?"
Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Of course I'm..." his voice trailed off as he finally took in his surroundings, realization registering all over his face. "Merlin."
Harry nodded, too happy to speak for fear he'd cry harder.
"I'm here! I'm inside!"
Draco launched himself out the covers and into Harry's arms, holding him tight and staring at his own hands behind Harry's back. They were long, elegant, but most importantly, pink! Deathly pale, as always, but flushed a rosy pink from the heat of the fire and the warmth of the blankets. He was skin and bone, not ice and snow. He was alive. Fully alive.
"You brought me back."
"I'm back! I'm yours."
"And you're mine."
. . .
A/N: *peeks out from rock*
Did you like it, PF? There were many firsts for me in this little o/s. Harry and Draco, ice peens, snowy butt snogging (as RmHale put it)... you can understand why I'm a nervous reck right now, right?
Have a happy day, PF. Love you.