Winter in London spread out like an artist’s somber masterpiece beneath Harry’s feet, the snow blanketing the earth in a thick, unbroken veil of white. The clouds hung low, heavy and oppressive, casting an iron-gray shadow over the city. The skeletal trees, long stripped of their leaves, stood frozen and silent, their branches etched with frost, creating an eerie stillness. The streets were barren save for the sound of Harry’s boots crunching against the snow-covered pavement.
This should have been a magical time for him—curled up in a warm blanket, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa, the soft knit of his sweater hugging his body.
It should have been a time spent beside Draco, their faces glowing in the flickering light of a fire, voices low as they reminisced and planned for the future. The intimacy of a winter evening spent with someone you loved.
But instead, Harry was here.
In the biting cold, the icy wind cutting through his layers and clawing at his skin, standing in front of Draco’s apartment at 2 A.M in the morning.
“Draco,” Harry pleaded, his voice hoarse and fragile, barely audible against the whistle of the wind. “You have to listen to me.”
Draco’s silver-gray eyes glinted in the dim light, but his expression was as cold and unyielding as the winter night around them. He shook his head sharply, his hand slicing through the air to silence Harry.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Draco’s voice was low but sharp, each word like a dagger.
Harry shivered. Was it the cold seeping into his bones, or the sinking dread twisting in his stomach? Draco’s anger had always had a way of making Harry feel unsteady, but tonight it felt heavier, more final.
“You said you’d make time for me,” Draco continued, his voice trembling—not with cold, but with frustration. “You promised. This—” he gestured to the empty, snow-covered street, to the biting wind around them—“this is what you meant by spending time together?”
Harry looked down, his breath puffing out in a cloud of mist. He couldn’t deny it. Draco was right.
In a way
He had promised to dedicate his weekend to Draco. But winter always brought extra work—extra lectures for his university students to prepare them for exams. Every year it was the same. Draco understood Harry’s job as a top university professor and how unpredictable his schedule could be. There were late nights, extra hours for exam prep, and the endless demands of his students. Draco always said he understood, but when winter came, he always seemed to forget. This wasn’t the first time they’d argued about it.
And, as always, Harry was the one apologizing.
He understood winter’s loneliness, the need to feel more loved, more connected. Emotions weren’t a give-and-take—they were about sacrifice, Harry knew that better than anybody .
How many times had he dropped his teaching just to visit Draco at work, making time to have lunch with him?
All while LSE University was a thousand steps away from Draco’s office.
Draco was like a child sometimes.
A child spoiled too much for his own good.
And yet, Harry loved him. He loved everything about Draco, even the immaturity.
“I… I know,” Harry admitted softly. “I said I’d make time, but you know what it’s like this time of year. The university, the exams—I have to help my students. I can’t just leave my students to fend for themselves. They’re the future of this country.”
with bitterness. “It’s always about your students. Do you even have anything left for me? Or am I just supposed to take what little scraps of time you can spare?”
“Draco, it’s not like that—”
“Then what is it like, Harry? Explain it to me!” Draco’s voice rose, echoing against the silent buildings. “Explain how your job is always more important than me. Explain why I’m the one left waiting, every single time!”
Harry looked up at Draco, his emerald eyes wide with desperation, but Draco’s face was set, his jaw tight and his arms crossed defensively.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice cracking. “You know I love you. But my students—”
Draco cut him off with a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and cold. “Your students. Always your students. Well, if they’re so important to you, maybe they can keep you warm tonight.”
“Draco,” Harry tried again, stepping forward, but Draco held up a hand to stop him.
“If you can’t prioritize me, Harry,” Draco said, his voice trembling with emotion, “then maybe we shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“let’s break up”
Harry froze, though the words didn’t surprise him. He knew Draco’s moods were as volatile as the winter winds, especially during these long, cold nights.
Especially at 2 a.m.
This wasn’t the first time.
But Harry was tired, too. He had limits. He always lowered his pride to soothe Draco, to do whatever Draco wanted, but nothing ever seemed enough. After a long day of lecturing, Harry would rush to Draco’s place the moment his lectures ended. But when he got there, Draco wouldn’t even be home. And Harry would wait. Four hours in the freezing snow. Only for them to argue like this.
At 2 a.m.
He was exhausted.
“Draco… stop acting like a child. Let’s make up, okay? It’s two in the morning, and I don’t want to keep fighting over this. It’s pointless.”
Draco tilted his head, his lips curling with mockery.
“Pointless?”
“Are you saying that resolving our relationship problems is pointless to you?”
His anger flared, sharp enough that Harry could see the veins rise on Draco’s otherwise handsome face.
“That’s not what I meant. I just… we’ve fought over this too many times. And I’m cold, Draco. Please, let me in so we can talk about this tomorrow?”
“Stay out of my house. And don’t ever come to see me again.”
“I hate you,” Draco spat before slamming the door shut.
Harry clenched his fists, frustration boiling inside him, only to let it go with a weary sigh. Maybe he’d text Draco tomorrow to patch things up.
Again
But for now, Harry stood alone in the heart of London’s unforgiving winter—a winter that felt like a European dream in some moments, and a grey, desolate nightmare in others.
Draco had left him alone.
Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing the lump of bitterness, and turned to walk away.
———
Dragging his feet across the blanket of snow, Harry trudged slowly toward home.
His and Draco's place was far, and though the MRT would've been a faster way back, no trains ran this late at night. Not at this ungodly hour.
The snow had fallen thickly tonight, and the London winter became even more mercilessly cold. For Harry, whose height was on the shorter side compared to the average man, navigating the deep snow was no easy task.
Though his stature was modest, Harry's face more than compensated for what he lacked. He possessed a beauty that transcended gender, with large emerald eyes that seemed to hold the mysteries of the Amazon, framed by long lashes soft as silk. His fair, luminous skin almost rivaled the
whiteness of the snow, and his lips-full and berry red-formed a perfect cupid's bow. Round glasses perched on his nose, complementing the dark black of his unruly hair, gave him a disarming charm.Tonight, Harry wore a long, coffee-colored wool coat that hung a bit awkwardly on his shorter frame. Around his neck, he had wrapped a soft gray scarf, an accessory that somehow made him all the more approachable, even to strangers.
Crunch.
Snap.
A sound behind Harry startled him—a branch breaking underfoot, perhaps. He froze momentarily but dismissed it. It was probably just a stray cat or a rat scavenging for food in the quiet of the night.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The noise grew louder, unmistakably footsteps this time.
No, not just like footsteps. They were footsteps.
Harry's heart skipped, but he reassured himself. Perhaps it was someone heading the same way as him. He forced himself to keep walking, keeping his posture neutral.
But then it became clear.
Every time Harry changed direction, the footsteps followed.
Closer.
And closer.
Panic began to grip him. He couldn't lead this stranger to his and Draco's home-not if there was even the smallest chance they'd learn where he lived.
So, he ran.
Harry bolted forward, his breath escaping in icy puffs.
And the stranger chased him.
The figure wore a baggy black hoodie that obscured their face completely, making it impossible for Harry to see who they were. But one thing was certain.
They were taller than Harry.
Taller than Draco, even.
Fear clawed at Harry's chest, but he didn't stop running. He didn't know where he was going—his feet carried him blindly, leading him further into an industrial area under construction. The buildings here were skeletal, half-built structures looming like ghosts in the dim light. Harry spotted one such building near a bridge and ducked inside.
For a moment, he thought he was safe. But when he glanced behind, he saw the stranger's long strides closing the gap.
They'd seen him enter.
Harry crouched low beneath the unfinished floor, pressing his trembling hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing. His other hand shakily reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his smartphone.
2:45 a.m.
He typed as fast as his quivering fingers allowed.
"Draco..."
Sent.
"Draco, please answer me. I'm being followed."
Sent.
"Draco, help me, please! I'm so scared, Draco!"
Sent.
The footsteps drew closer, echoing louder against the unfinished walls. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as sweat mixed with the tears streaming down his face.
2:50 a.m.
Harry sent his location, but his hands shook so violently that his next messages became garbled nonsense.
"Draco ikdmmaf hereew" (Draco, I'm here.)
Sent.
"Draco savdsaer me imscardfe ddraco" (Draco, save me. l'm scared, Draco.)
Sent.
"Ddrafvo imf schwrde pladce save med" (Draco, l'm scared.Please save me.)
Sent.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The sound of breathing came close-too close. Harry felt warm breath on his neck.
And then, a voice, low and sinister, whispered against his ear.
"Peek-a-boo."
Harry screamed. He didn't even think-he lashed out, striking blindly. His phone clattered to the floor as he swung a fist at the stranger's face. A sickening crack echoed through the room as his punch connected, and the figure let out a grunt of pain.
Blood dripped from the man's nose, but he didn't falter.
Instead, he seized a handful of Harry's jet-black hair and yanked him upright, dragging him across the cold concrete.
Harry kicked and thrashed, planting his feet firmly on the ground to push back against his attacker.
But the stranger was taller.
And stronger.
With one forceful motion, the man slammed Harry to the ground, pinning him beneath his weight. Harry clawed and fought desperately, but it was no use.
The first slap landed hard against Harry's cheek, snapping his head to the side. And then another. And another. The relentless blows left his once rosy cheeks bruised and swollen, turning purple as blood vessels burst beneath his pale skin.
His glasses flew off, shattered somewhere in the darkness. His nose bled freely, staining the snow-red ground beneath him.
And still, the man didn't stop.
A powerful punch struck
Harry's mouth, and the coppery taste of blood filled his tongue.
Something hard and sharp hit the back of his throat, and with a choked gasp, Harry spat out a tooth.
His front tooth.
The world spun. Pain wracked his body, numbing his limbs, until he could no longer fight.
He lay still, his lips trembling as tears streamed down his swollen face.
The man finally paused, his breath heaving from the exertion.
But Harry knew.
This was only the beginning.
“I’ll keep that pretty little face of yours intact,” the man growled, his voice dripping with malice. “But only because I saw you earlier this evening. Chatting with that blond guy, I already feel so fucking horny looking at you”
Harry’s eyes widened. His heart pounded against his ribcage as the realization hit him. He had been followed all along. This wasn’t some random encounter—this man had been watching him for hours, tracking him from the moment he left the house with Draco.
The man’s grip tightened on Harry’s hair, yanking his head up painfully. Harry winced, his scalp burning from the force.
“You’re so fucking pretty, boy. Makes me want to fuck you to the point that you’re fucking senseless and fill up with nothing except my cum. I’ll fuck you to death and all that lefts on you is my sweet seed.”
“You like that bitch?”
The man let out a grotesque laugh, dripping with malice, and Harry's stomach twisted with sheer terror.
But Harry, in a desperate bid for survival, took the chance.
Summoning the last ounce of his strength, he raised his knee and slammed it into the man's balls with all his might.
The man howled in pain, his grip loosening as he doubled over.
Harry didn't wait. With his body weak and trembling, he dragged himself across the cold floor toward his fallen phone. Every movement felt like agony, his muscles screaming for relief, but he pushed forward, stretching his fingers toward the device.
Please, Draco. Pick up.
Please.
He dialed. The call rang.
But no one answered.
Tears mixed with the blood dripping from his swollen lips as fear overwhelmed him.
He dialed again.
Please, if I'm going to die... I need him to know. I need him to find me.
One call.
Two calls.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Desperation mounted as Harry redialed, over and over again.
The screen lit up for the 20th time, and then -
"Had enough calls yet?"
The cold whisper slid into Harry's ear like a venomous snake. Before he could react, the man's hands were on him again, flipping him onto his back. Harry screamed, clutching the phone like a lifeline, but the man's heavy boot came down on his hand.
Crack.
The sickening sound of his fingers breaking under the pressure echoed in the empty building. Harry howled in pain, his body writhing as he tried to free himself, but the man leaned down and delivered a devastating punch to his already battered face.
Harry's head snapped to the side, and his cheek met the icy floor. Blood poured from his split lips as another front tooth fell loose, landing on the ground beside him. His glasses were long gone, shattered and useless. His once beautiful face, now bruised and swollen, was barely recognizable.
His tears fell unchecked, soaking the freezing concrete beneath him. His mouth, full of blood, could only form muffled pleas. He begged-through the pain, through the terror-for the man to stop.
"Please," he whimpered, the sound barely audible.
But the man didn't care.
The next thing Harry heard was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down. His entire body went stiff, his blood running colder than the winter air outside.
Everyone would know what came next.
Harry's screams turned into silence. His body stopped resisting as numbness crept in, overtaking him. He felt the cold and the blood and the agonizing pain, but most of all, he felt his spirit break. His lips parted as he gasped for air, but the breaths came shallow and labored.
He wasn't even sure he could cry anymore. His tears mixed with the blood on his face, streaking down to the floor as he stared blankly into the darkness.
The last thing Harry felt was the searing pain in his ass, the cruel invasion that left him hollow, and the bitter taste of his own blood on his tongue.
“I feel like I’m about to drown,
my mind spinning, my heart weighed down.
The world out there is unbearably loud,
so many lost frequencies, impossible to be found.
One voice rises, a thousand drown it out,
silent, resentful, choosing not to shout.
Fragments of my soul fall,
fall so softly—
one time I cried aloud,
a thousand times I held it all.
Amid an ocean of tears,
some truly drown.”
The weight of the man pressed against him, the cold seeping into his back, but none of it mattered anymore. Harry's body remained motionless, his spirit shattered.
Somewhere in the distance, his phone's cracked screen blinked. The call never connected.
———
Early the next morning, Draco woke up. He faintly recalled the sound of text notifications and repeated calls from the night before. But the exhaustion from his argument with Harry had weighed too heavily on him. Frustrated, he had silenced his phone, thrown it onto the floor, and gone back to sleep.
He wondered if Harry had already left for work. Usually, after one of their fights, Harry would call him the next morning, apologizing softly. Draco thrived on that. He craved the reassurance that Harry would always come back to him, that Harry loved him enough to chase after him.
It gave him security.
It told him he wouldn’t lose Harry.
And so, Draco acted like a spoiled child when he felt hurt.
Sitting up in bed, Draco reached for his phone, eagerly anticipating the flood of apologies he expected to find. His lips curled into a small, smug smile as he turned on the screen, his eyes lighting up with the anticipation of Harry’s words.
But instead, his screen displayed:
20 missed calls.
8 unread messages.
Draco’s heart dropped. The air in the room grew colder, heavier, as he stared at the notifications, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. His fingers trembled as he opened the messages.
What greeted him wasn’t an apology.
It was a cry for help.
Draco’s breath quickened as he read the garbled texts that followed, Harry’s desperation palpable in every letter.
His hand flew to his mouth as a strangled gasp escaped him. He immediately dialed Harry’s number.
The call rang.
No answer.
He called again.
And again.
Draco’s calls stacked up, twenty missed attempts in total. But Harry would never see them. He’d never hear the desperation in Draco’s voice, the rising panic, the tremble of his hands as he clutched the phone tighter.
Because Harry wasn’t going to answer.
He’s dead
Draco’s heart raced, the horror suffocating him. He stood there frozen, unable to breathe, his chest tightening as he whispered Harry’s name over and over like a prayer. He stumbled toward the television, fumbling to turn it on, desperate for any news that might lead him to Harry.
The screen flickered to life. The BBC morning broadcast filled the room. Draco barely registered the words until he caught the anchor’s solemn tone.
“In the early hours of January 13, 2025, the body of a young man, approximately 25 years old, was found under the bridge on XXX Road in London. Forensic reports confirm the victim was brutally beaten to the point of being unrecognizable. Several bones in the body were found to be broken, rendering him entirely defenseless.”
The anchor hesitated, their voice faltering for a moment.
Draco’s knees buckled as the words tore into him like daggers. His vision blurred with tears, his breath catching in his throat.
“Additionally…”
The anchor’s hesitation seemed to stretch for an eternity. Draco didn’t need them to finish. He already knew.
The tears that had been brimming finally spilled over, streaming down his pale face. His hands gripped his knees as sobs wracked his body.
“Additionally, the victim appears to have suffered unimaginable rape, with 5 liters of sperm was found, the police will try their best to find the murderer, Thank you.”
Draco fell to the floor, clutching his chest as though he could stop the pain from consuming him. The TV continued its cold, detached report, but Draco didn’t hear it anymore.
“Amid an ocean of tears,
some truly drown.”