Summary: During Christmas break of Eighth Year, Harry and Draco are drawn together to puzzle out of the meaning of Draco's strange dreams. It seems Harry's troubles are far from over. Slash Draco/Harry.
AN: I wrote this for slythindor100's 25 days of Draco and Harry. Thanks, as always, to the mods for the wonderful photo prompts, indicated by the titles of the respective chapters.
This story has plot twists and drama along the way, and the rating will go up later on.
Draco snuggled into his coat, his breath puffing up in the cold December day. Raising his hand to nudge his fur hat which was slightly askew, he glanced up at the snow-covered roof tops of the houses along Diagon Alley.
He squinted at the window display when the sun struck sparks off the foot grips of the Firebolt, showcased so prettily in the Quidditch store. Draco tilted down his chin, staring at the pristine snow which covered the cobbled stones. Then he stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat and shook his head. He had no time to lose getting distracted by brooms.
Staring ahead at the dilapidated façade of the Leaky Cauldron, Draco's fingers brushed his wand as he wearily trudged the last steps to the Apothecary, his lonely footprints on the snow the only signs of life in the cold morning.
He scrunched up his nose at the foul smell of rotten cabbage that greeted him when he strolled into the dark shop.
"What can I do for you, sir?" mumbled the portly man behind the counter, laying down the Daily Prophet on the stained wood of the counter as he sneaked a look at Draco, and then he gasped.
Draco's long blond hair, limned by the morning light, lent him a striking resemblance to Lucius.
Draco scuffed his boots in apprehension, mistaking the shopkeeper's silence for the contempt he had become accustomed to after the Final Battle.
The man nudged up his bifocals with his thumb and squinted at Draco, finally nodding nervously. "What do you need, young Malfoy?" he said, waving his arm at the shelves full of jars which held odd liquids in which small shapes appeared to swim lazily.
Draco averted his gaze from the shelves and shuddered, their content striking too close to his recent nightmares.
Long seconds passed by while Draco hesitated. How could he tell the shopkeeper the truth? He would think him mad, or else a rabid Dark wizard intent on revenge.
He had to act, though; he couldn't just cross his arms and do nothing.
Harry Potter, the infuriating Gryffindor do-gooder, needed him. And this time, Draco intended to be there for him.
tbc