(A/N): I had a lecture on modernism but all I could think about was writing Drarry fanfiction because apparently it's still 2012? I don't know, I really wanted to write this and now I want to write more chapters so pester me and I'll do that because I literally sat down and wrote it start to finish for 3 hours.

A word of warning, I haven't read the books in actual years, so if there's any timeline inconsistencies, I'm sorry. It was really a little drabble that I wanted to explore and the whole point of fanfiction is that it's outside the canon, right? (If I continue, I'm sure it will go completely away from the books.)

Please, enjoy.

Hand in Glove

Harry wondered how it managed to snow every year without fail at Hogwarts. For the first eleven years of his life, a white Christmas was just a fantasy.

Hogwarts however, seemed charmed to snow every year.

It was ironic, he thought, as he slipped down the stone steps of the Entrance Hall that he had so often wished for a snow day so that he didn't have to go to school. At Hogwarts, everything was business as usual. Stupid wizards.

He opened the huge wooden door to the entrance hall just wide enough for his skinny body to slip through. It took all of his weight and he leant against it to make sure it closed again. There was a very loud 'thump' as it clicked back into place. He'd probably woken the whole castle. Great.

It was still dark outside. If he looked up, he could still see stars sat in the dark lilac-grey sky. Clouds drifted like veils across the waning moon. If Harry stood here and looked up, would he be able to see the stars disappear one by one? Like sparklers burning out on bonfire night.

He had woken up early and couldn't get back to sleep. The cuts on his hand had been bothering him, and then there was Ron's sleep-talking and Neville's snoring and the whispers coming from Dean and Seamus' corner of the room.1 So, he had slipped on his school robe and snuck out of the dormitory. It was bizarre that they were all together for Christmas, and he found himself irked by it. He treasured those times when him, Ron and sometimes Neville basically had the whole common room to themselves and could do whatever they wanted.

Then again, Harry supposed, a lot of things irked him nowadays.

His scar gave a twinge of pain in agreement to this point. He gritted his teeth and picked up the pace. He wanted to crush the snow under his boots. He pressed his feet down as hard as he could with every step, but it was too deep for him to reach the ground.

He picked up the pace, trying again and again to step right through it. Step right through all the pain in his head and his hand and his mind. If he could just make it through to the paving below – to the grass below – then – then he would be free. It would free him. He'd see things clearly. Everyone would.

He slipped.

He had made it to the small hill before the Black Lake, even though he hadn't been paying attention. His foot had slipped on the sudden ditch and flew out from beneath him, taking the rest of his body with him as though he was being pulled by a ghost. He landed on his back with his robes spread around him. The snow swiftly began to melt through his cloak and pyjama bottoms.

There was a snort from somewhere above him.

Harry's heart skipped a beat before he realised that most of the things that tried to kill him did not snort at him. Voldemort laughed, but didn't snicker quite like that. So he turned with an excuse on his tongue for Ron-

And found himself staring up at Draco Malfoy.

"Had a nice trip, Potter?"

He was just an outline against the lightening sky, but the silhouette was unmistakable. Harry had been glaring at Draco for five years, why shouldn't he know the boy's outline as clearly as Ron or Hermione's?

"Almost as good as the Hogwarts express," he snapped. "Did mummy not let you go home for Christmas this year?"

There was a pause.

"Bit of a wordy comeback, don't you think?" Draco asked. He was smirking, but there wasn't that malevolent glint in his eye. "Need a hand?"

Harry was still sprawled in the snow.

"I'm surprised you'd deign to touch me," he said.

"I wore gloves," Draco said with a small shrug, before holding out a hand.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy above him. Surely, this was some sort of trick. Surely, when he took Draco's hand, he would pull it away and leave him face-planting in the snow. Draco Malfoy was not nice to Harry Potter. He didn't offer Harry Potter hands up.

But the sneaky glint his eye held so often was still missing. His mouth was a set line.

So Harry clasped his hand in Draco's, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Draco was surprisingly strong, considering how thin he was and how pale he looked. His eyes seemed even darker than usual and his hair was messy, stands falling over his forehead. One sat right over his eye, trembling slightly in some faint wind.

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

Harry snapped his gaze away, looking instead over the great frozen lake.

"Nothing," he muttered. Then realised he probably should have gone with something more along the lines of 'your ugly face,' because that was what he normally did. They normally traded insults at least three times a day. He didn't feel like it now. He must have hit his head – a hand up wasn't worth forgetting five years of solid hatred.

"What are you doing out here?" Draco asked suddenly. Harry gave him a quick sideways glance and found Draco watching him intently. Almost suspiciously, with his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "Running away?"

"I could ask you the same," Harry said, returning to watching the brush sway on the edge of the lake. "Do you always lurk around in the middle of the night waiting for people to fall over?"

"We Slytherins take it in turns," Draco said. "It's part of our secret subject – 'how to be an evil wizard.'"

Harry gave a dry laugh.

There was a pause. That was a joke. Draco Malfoy had made a joke to Harry Potter and it hadn't bene mean.

They were out here. Alone, Harry supposed. So what would be the harm in being a little honest? If Draco laughed at him, he could laugh straight back.

"I couldn't sleep," Harry said.

"And your friends let you go out – alone?" Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't tell them. Haven't been telling them. They've been…getting on my nerves to be honest."

"Finally, you see it too," Draco said with a small scoff.

"Everything's been pissing me off," Harry said, then noticed the wrinkle of Draco's nose. "What?"

"Do you really have to sound so much like a muggle, Potter?"

"Lived with 'em long enough."

"And yet you still worship Dumbledore. Even when he dumps you there."

Harry blinked and turned to Draco. He stared back, one eyebrow ever so slightly quirked as if waiting for a challenge. A retort or an argument.

Harry couldn't give one. Not today. Not this year.

"I can't remember the last time I spoke to him, honestly," he said.

"Now you know how the rest of us feel," Draco said. He sighed as he finally turned back to the lake with the smallest of smiles. "You're the only one Dumbledore speaks to. The rest of us are just students. But you…you're the chosen one."

The snark was just sneaking back into his voice, but it had none of its usual venom. Harry would never believe Draco was jealous – not with the way he despised Dumbledore – but there was something of a ruefulness in his tone that he hadn't heard before. In fact, he had rarely heard Draco speak normally.

"So, is that what's got you 'pissed?'" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged, burying his mouth in the collar of his robe.

"Dunno," he said. He paused. "Scar, I think."

"Everything revolves around that scar," Draco spat.

"It's a link to Voldemort, right? Since he's come back, I guess it's picking up some stuff. Like a radio," Harry said. It was easier when Draco was spitting at him. Then it was back to normal. He could just say what he liked, let it out and they could exchange verbal jabs in the morning.

"A radio?" Draco echoed.

"You can't be-" but when Harry turned, Draco was looking at him with steady, earnest eyes. Almost interested, if Draco could be interested in anything other than being a total prick. "Wizards have radios. Ron has one. You listen to – music and stuff."

"I guess we weren't allowed one," Draco said, as though that was a complete explanation. "Probably too muggle for my mother."

"Must be a quiet house."

"Manor."

"Oh, of course."

That pause returned. Pregnant and uncomfortable.

"So, what are you doing out here, Malfoy?"

"Thinking."

"Plotting?"

"Thinking about – never mind," Draco turned to leave.

Harry reached out and caught his elbow without thinking, tightening his grip as Draco tried to shake him off.

"I've opened up to you about all my crazy Potter, 'the boy who lived,' problems," he said to the back of Draco's head. His heart was pounding. "It's your turn."

"I was thinking about if," Draco swallowed, only half-turning back. His Adam's apple bobbed in the light. He had ducked his head so that Harry could only see the shadow of his mouth moving up and down. The occasional flash of teeth. "If he was back – what it would mean for me. My family."

"You know he's back – your dad was there!" Harry said. He tried to tug Draco around to face him but he remained stubbornly in place.

"My father wouldn't tell me anything about it," Draco hissed. "Barely said a word to me all summer. Dumped me here as quickly as he could!"

"I would've thought he'd have you following in his footsteps," Harry snapped, trying again to jerk Draco around. Did he really think that was believable? Did he really think he could fob him off with such a stupid lie?

"I'm nothing like my father!"

Draco turned and jerked his arm so quickly out of Harry's grip that Harry reeled a couple of steps back, as though he had been punched. Draco stood, his lips curled as he glared at him. A black figure against the pale snow all around him.

"I am not my father," Draco repeated. "You think I want," he swallowed again. "Him back? I don't want war – I don't want killing and darkness and shadows – I don't want to be part of my parent's mess. To have them using forbidden curses and murdering people and working with him!"

"B-but when the Chamber of Secrets was open, you-"

"I was twelve, Potter! I was twelve and wanted to be cool and mess with you!"

Harry stared. The wind whipped at his cheeks to reinforce the slap of Draco's words. His chest felt tight He could barely breathe.

"I don't want to kill someone," Draco said. His voice was small. A mouse's protest. And that's what it would be. Harry didn't imagine Lucius Malfoy was someone you would say no to. If he wanted Draco to be a Death Eater, then Draco would be. What would be his alternative? If he wasn't murdered or tortured, he'd have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

At least Harry could run. He could run with Sirius.

"Maybe you won't have to," he said. "Maybe I'm just crazy, yeah?"

He had no idea why he was trying to comfort Draco Malfoy.

"Don't be thick, Potter, we both know you're not actually crazy."

It was a sort of white flag. A parley. They both returned to staring at the Black Lake. It had frozen over and gleamed menacingly in the dawn light. The vague, dark shape of the Giant Squid could be seen floating under the surface. Waiting. Watching.

"That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Harry muttered.

"Don't get used to it."

Harry looked at Draco sideways once more and tried to force a smile.

"I won't tell if you don't?"

Draco blinked at him. He frowned slightly, his eyebrows making a small, sharp crease in between his eyes, then he gave a long exhale, his breath making a cloud of fog in front of his face. Then, finally, he smiled.

"Deal."

Harry gave a nod. Just to secure it. He couldn't imagine being dragged into the wrong side of a war. To see his loved one's fight for a cause he couldn't quite get behind. To see them doing unspeakable things to other people and still have to look them in the eye. Still have to find a way to love them, because they were family. To agree with them to stay safe. To stay alive. And be forced into joining them because of the costs. Would he be brave enough to say no? In theory, he was. In theory he saw himself standing up to these imaginary evil parents and making some cool retort when he got tortured or killed. (Because what's the difference in torturing a stranger and torturing your son?) But in reality, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look his father in the eye and say 'no.' That was terrifying. Much more terrifying than being the boy who lived. It was much scarier than being on the right side.

"Guess we both got dragged into this, huh?" he muttered.

The silence stretched out and he began to seriously wonder if Draco was going to leave again.

"Yeah," came the answer. "Glad I didn't get a dumb scar, though."

"I'll give you one now, if you like," Harry said, raising a fist. "Stand still?"

Draco laughed. Actually laughed, not his usual snigger. A happy, if short laugh. More of a bark, really.

And Harry was grinning at him.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter having a bit of banter. That was an unbelievable headline. Maybe if the Prophet published that, Voldemort's return wouldn't seem so farfetched.

But then the moment was ruined. Because Harry winced.

He'd stretched the cuts on his hand when making a fist and the icy wind had stabbed straight into it. His grin turned into a grimace and he relaxed his hand to try to sooth the screaming pain.

"What's wrong?" Draco was asking, but his voice sounded far away, and Harry was gritting his teeth too hard to answer. "Potter?"

"Nothing," Harry said through clenched jaws.

Draco was frowning at his hand, his mouth just open in confusion. Harry tried to shove it into his pocket – back where it belonged, but Draco caught his wrist as easily as a cat catches a bird.

He scowled at Draco and tried to pull away. He was held fast.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Draco pressed, his bony fingers digging into Harry's thin wrist.

He set his jaw as he shook his head determinedly, his hair flicking against his glasses.

But Draco – Draco – was somehow as strong as him, and pulled his hand over to read the words engraved into his skin. They seemed bright red against the snow. 'I must not tell lies.'

"What the," Draco's thin eyebrows met in the middle as he stared at the sentence. "Merlin's teeth! Potter, what have you done to yourself?"

"I didn't do it!" Harry snapped. The wind was still whipping against the cuts. A bead of red traced down his tan wrist. It paused as it reached Draco's gloved finger, as though hesitant to continue. "Shit, Malfoy, I don't-"

"Then who, in God's name?" Draco's face looked as though it was on fire. His dark eyes smouldered and steamed, his mouth twisted into a dragon's grimace.

Understanding dawned across his face. It suddenly unravelled and smoothed out like a spring. His fingers relaxed as he uncoiled.

"Umbridge," he breathed.

"Umbridge." Harry said.

Draco's hand was still around his wrist, though his grip had relaxed. He would almost be holding Harry's hand, it was that gentle. And his hand was so warm. It seemed so smooth with his glove on.

And Draco was still staring at him with horror on his face.

"Haven't you told your old pal?" he asked. His eyebrows were pressed together as though he was worried. Draco Malfoy did not worry about Harry Potter.

"I told you, I haven't spoken to him in months," Harry said. "I don't want to bother him with something stupid."

"Something stupid?!" Draco repeated incredulously. "You've been maimed by a member of staff and you don't think that's important enough to tell him?!"

"It's really not a big deal."

"Sang dieux – you have letters in your – that's going to scar," Draco said. He examined Harry's hand again, taking it in both of his. "That's definitely going to scar."

"Then I'll have two dumb scars and you'll still be perfect. Now stop looking at it."

He tried to pull his hand away again, but Draco held fast, frowning at the cuts intently. He traced a thumb across the letters at a snail's pace, as though he could smooth them away. They looked all the angrier afterwards, and Harry gave another impatient tug. His face was burning and his chest felt tight. He couldn't stand Draco looking at them like that. He just wanted to hide them. The way he always did.

"I have some murtlap essence in my room, come on," Draco started to tug Harry along behind him.

"No, Malfoy – stop!" Harry planted his feet in the ground and found his voice growing louder. "Stop! Fucking hell, Malfoy – let. Go. Of. Me!"

He was bellowing now and had finally managed to pull his wrist free. He screamed in Draco's face. Mostly words that began with 'f'. The white-hot flames that had been burning inside him all year were back, in his chest and face and head. He was so angry that Draco's stupid face became a blur in the white.

But Draco wasn't yelling back. He was standing there quite calmly. His frostiness made the flames die down and Harry was left there, panting as he waited for Draco to shout or slap him or something.

"Are you quite done, Potter?" he asked. That one eyebrow was raised again and there was the ghost of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

Harry opened his mouth to yell again. But the anger had retreated. There was only a throbbing inside him. Draco wasn't scared of him. Not like Ron or Hermione, who scurried away and left him to stew in his own misery. Draco was waiting for him to calm down.

"Here," Draco pulled one of his gloves off with his teeth. Without breaking his gaze, he took Harry's hand once more and begun to pull the black glove onto it. Harry stood there numbly, watching Draco gently ease his unrelenting fingers into it. "A perfect fit. That'll keep the chill out. Now, are you going to come with me or are you going to start screaming like a little girl again?"

Harry hung his head. He felt like a scolded dog.

"I'll come," he muttered. He felt suddenly powerless. Draco wasn't fazed by him. He didn't care if Harry Potter was angry or upset. He just cared that a kid in his year was bleeding and hurt. That didn't seem a very Draco Malfoy thing to do. Draco Malfoy didn't care about other people.

Or maybe he just didn't care about Harry Potter.

Draco was leading him by the hand, he realised as they began to cross the courtyard. He had taken Harry's fingers in his and squeezed them gently with his own bony ones.

The snow was tinted gold by the rising sun and the stones of the castle looked more like sandstone than its usual stormy grey. The windows glinted at Harry as he peered through his messy curls up at it. There was something more welcoming about it than usual. As though it was smiling down at them like a mother would her children.

They slipped into the Entrance hall quietly, and Draco pushed the door until it was almost closed. Only a small whistle of the wind revealed that it wasn't. A small act of rebellion. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow hall as they crossed over to the entrance to the dungeons.

Draco was peered around corners as they headed down to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Scared your Slytherin friends will kick you out if you bring Harry Potter home?" Harry asked. He couldn't quite bring the edge to his voice.

"They would," Draco said, glancing back at him. "Most of them have gone home. Everyone in my dormitory, so try not to worry yourself."

His teeth flashed in the green-yellow light of the dungeons, giving him a wolfish appearance. Even the twinkle in his eye was back. He stopped and dropped Harry's hand as they stood in front of just another stone wall. It must have been the one the Slytherin dungeon was behind.

"Don't listen," he said, before stepping closer.

Harry didn't mention he'd already been here. As Draco had said, he had been twelve. That was all in the past. He tried not to hear the whispered password.

He tried not to think about Draco whispering to him like that.

The two stepped into the Common Room. It was dark, lit only by the Black Lake. It was just as gloomy and moody as the last time Harry had been here, only now there wasn't even a fire in the grate. Just smoking ashes.

Harry followed Draco up to the boy's dormitory. It was practically a mirror of their own, only green instead of red. Draco pointed to a bed, and Harry sat obediently on it, cradling his gloved hand as it begged for attention. He watched Draco search in the trunk at the end of the bed before he brought up a rag and a bottle.

He recognised the murtlap essence and slipped off the glove so that Draco could press the damp rag against the angry cuts. It was cooling, he had to admit. Much more than when Hermione was doing it.

"You really think I'm perfect?" Draco asked, a half smile on his face. In the dark, he looked like a spectre. A vampire.

"What?"

"Out there – you said you'd have two dumb scars, but I'd remain perfect."

"I – I just meant…"

His words died on his tongue. He just stared at Draco. At the dark rings under his eyes. They weren't unattractive.

Draco gave a small snort and his ghost of a smile widened.

"I'm not going to hold this on for you," he said, letting go of the rag. "You're not a princess, Potter."

It almost slithered of Harry's hand before he caught it and pressed it back onto the collection of cuts. His face was burning. Why had he let Draco Malfoy, of all people, hold his hand all the way up here? Like they were-?

"Do you also give your gloves to your girlfriend?" he asked. His thoughts seemed muddled.

"Don't have one," Draco said. "No girl who would follow me around could compare to 'the Chosen One."

What did that mean? Harry didn't do that. Did he? He frowned at Draco, though it felt more of a pout.

"You hate me, Malfoy."

"I do not," Draco said. He turned away so that Harry could only see the outline of his nose in the dark. "If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you."

"So, if you don't hate me…"

Draco sighed.

"Honestly, Potter, it astounds me how you manage to solve so many riddles."

Harry blinked and looked down at his hand. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool. This conversation, this whole event seemed more like a very odd dream. It was almost as though they were friends and almost as though Draco had just…confessed to him? Maybe it was Voldemort messing with his head. Humanising the enemy.

But he was here. The pain was real. And Draco Malfoy was sat on the end of the pain, glancing periodically at Harry's hand. His eyes flickered to his face once. Meet his eyes. There was a tiny glint in his eye. Like a star. If Harry kept watching, would the star fizzle out, like a sparkler on Bonfire night?

Draco Malfoy did not hate Harry Potter. But Harry wasn't ready to admit just how Draco felt about him. Or how he felt about Draco.

What did he feel about Draco? The burning hatred had lessened in the last two years. When faced with 'He Who Must Not be Named,' a schoolboy bully was hardly a threat. And now that he had actually thought about Draco's position he found himself sympathising with him.

But that was ridiculous. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor couldn't be friends.

Why not? A nagging voice in his head asked. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff's were. They were friends with everyone, regardless of house.

It did seem a little silly, now that Harry thought about it, to get all worked up about school houses.

Dark wizards came out of Slytherin.

"Did you know the only house that hasn't ever produced a dark wizard is Hufflepuff?" Draco asked into the silence. It didn't seem sudden. Just natural. As though they were two friends just hanging out.

"I didn't," Harry admitted. "Were you hoping for Hufflepuff?"

"Could you imagine?" Draco was actually grinning. It still looked like a smirk, but he was grinning. "My father would-"

He stopped suddenly. And his face fell. He went silent.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He wasn't sure what else he could say. "Maybe he'll…"

He trailed off.

The sun slowly rose as they sat in companionable silence. The sliver of windows at the very tops of the walls begun to shine, flooding the room with light. It was like waking up very slowly on a Sunday morning. Reality was coming back and Harry found he didn't want it to. He wanted to stay here with this phantom vampire Draco Malfoy. The Draco Malfoy that he wanted to be friends with.

"You'd better go," Draco said, with a yawn. He was leant against the bed post. If he stretched out his legs they would lay across Harry's lap. Why did he want to know how that felt? "The others will be going to breakfast soon. Can't have a stray cat down here."

"Yeah," Harry said, slowly getting to his feet. It felt as though he had been a statue moulded to the spot. He handed the rag back to Draco. "Thanks."

"Keep it," Draco pushed it back to Harry. He looked even paler in the light, as though he was just going to fade away. "I wouldn't want an old rag that Potter had contaminated. You'll infect me with all your unexplainable specialness."

Harry smiled.

"Does that mean I can keep your glove too?"

Draco's eyes flickered to it in Harry's hand. He bit his bottom lip for a second, before he waved it off as though he didn't care.

"It's a perfect fit, isn't it?"

So Harry left the Slytherin Common Room, sure that Draco had dropped off before he had even left the room.

At breakfast, he caught Draco's eye. It was like he had been jinxed. His face suddenly burnt and he spat out his pumpkin juice, choking on it as Ron clapped him on the back.

Draco only smirked, an un-gloved hand pressed to his mouth.

(A/N): A few notes -

The little (1) is because Dean and Seamus are totally together in this story. I hope that was as obvious as it was in the books.

Draco Malfoy totally swears in French and you can't convince me otherwise. I unfortunately didn't have the copy of The Three Musketeers that had a list of French swears all in the front. I was going for 'God's Blood' but Google Translate is, well, Google Translate.

Lastly, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Any thoughts. Even a smiley face. (If you really can't manage it, a favourite is fine. There's not a thumbs down if you didn't like it, but I guess you could send me hate?)

Have a good Easter!