Chapter 2
he lingered by the platform and greeted every passerby. unwavering polite nods and smiles. while he watched the scene that he'd lost faith in ever witnessing again. the telltale bustles of new and old hogwarts students boarding the express to school again. it was heartwarming. knowing there was no more battle to fight. or dark lord to defeat. it was indeed very heartwarming. however, the one single silhouette of his anticipation did not appear. even when he specifically stood by the first compartment. not allowing anything to slip by. or anyone. but still.
no signs of him at all.
the last signal was fired and he finally gave up. ignoring the sharp pain in his chest.
"i tried.."
he convinced himself.
"did you really?"
echoed a voice inside.
sounding more like sirius in his teasing tone. his heart hesitated. aching to answer. but couldn't find one.
"but why would you?"
another voice interrupted. he almost believed it was voldemort this time. had it not been for the lack of reaction from his scar.
suddenly, he was regretting his decision. regretting not having the marauder's map. regretting not going to hogwarts earlier with his best friends because he didn't want to be the third wheel again.
he didn't want to dread the wait. the unknown.. but now, as he wandered aimlessly through the almost full compartments. he was regretting. regretting his naive heart for expecting.
gryffindor impulsiveness be damned.
just then, his weary gaze caught a glimpse of familiar features.
right away, a wordless invisibility charm was cast. as he rushed to hide by the door. that's when he actually noticed.
it was the very last compartment. desolated and dead quiet.
the sting of silence was so poignant, that he almost cowered. wanting to fend himself from whatever pain that awaited behind the door. the autumn breeze was wafting through the open windows. past the slightly ajar door. and finally, past his unsteady senses. leaving behind the hint of another familiar feature.
the silken scent of sweet apples.
funny how the once revolting fragrance was now relieving.
or was it ever revolting?..
the sirius voice returned with a satisfied hum, teasing. with his heart beating in his hands, slowly, very slowly, he peeked through the glass doors. and there he was.
draco lucius malfoy. his archenemy. his nemesis. his bane.
his saviour.
looking everything like agony in its purest form.
silver hair that is usually gelled to perfection. now, slipped past both his eyebrows and nape. evidently not taken care of. sharper cheekbones appeared more striking than before, with his sunken facial features.
he did look better, somehow.
better than the time harry found him in the fiendfyre. better than the time harry vouched for him at the ministry. better than the last time harry held him under his bed. and the following times too. when he simply watched the boy float through the magnificent manor like a white ghost from a faraway memory. he did look better, yes. but he still looked like the dead somehow.
soul buried deep in the tomb of his own flesh and bones.
harry watched him stare into nothing. eyes lacking focus. lacking life. his posture and position somewhat awkward. out of place. and harry realized he never really saw the boy on the train before. except for the unfortunate encounters.
harry noticed how he didn't sit close to the window. nor to the door. or even in the centre of the entirely empty couch. his figure was slouched back a little, away from the window. leaving an anonymous space. between himself and the window.
the space that he's turned towards now. his expressions hidden. harry almost assumed he fell asleep until suddenly. very suddenly, the boy straightened his stance. and drew his wand. alarming harry within split seconds.
harry feared he was caught. after all, the boy did discover him despite the invisibility cloak before. but still. somehow failed to recognize him in his own manor again.
just why..
the boy made another ominous motion. hauling harry right back from his reverie. his hawthorn wand tip was pressed against his own temple. reminding harry of a disturbing scene from a depressing muggle movie. and the hawthorn awfully resembling a handgun. fear consumed his mind and he was a beat before jumping into the compartment and disarming the wand.
after all, it heeds to his commands rather very well too. just then, the boy's shoulders relaxed. as a long silvery film was extracted from his temple. and slowly, he raised it to the ceiling. the wand in his hand trembled as his other hand cuffed around his shaking wrist. hesitating for a longer moment before finally. finally, launching the sliver film like a small blaze of firework. silver dust cascaded serenely. and settled into the empty spaces around him. materializing into a bittersweet recollection of the past.
and harry could clearly hear the tear in his heart at the agonizing sight.
draco
my eyes opened to the silver-shaded figures of vincent and george. laughing from across my seat. george was casting a stinging hex on vincent. distracting him before wolfing his cupcake in one bite. while george hissed and hit vincent at the mild burn. i recalled. how he never could endure the heat. even had his tea only after it was cold enough. I recalled. how i lost him to the fiendfyre. the irony invaded my senses like poisonous gas. suffocating me. but not enough to die.
millicent was ignoring them as usual. her eyes evidently tired as she scowled at the space on my left. and i didn't have to turn to know the scene. i bear it all engraved in my veins anyway. but i still turned. silvery figures of blaise and pansy were bickering like the hooligans they are. over who had the best christmas vacation again. but we all knew the answer to that well. and just then. exactly right then. the said answer, laughed from my right.
that once soothing sound was carried over by the frigid fall wind. and my heart dropped. to the deepest end of the black lake. cold and gone. never to feel the warmth of his laughter again.
not willing to face him yet, my shoulders slumped. stuck to the seat. and i only turned my head to the side. enough to see him. afraid that he'll disappear. again.
his taller figure was leaning against the windowpane. the window seats were always his favourite. and he was mine. theodore nott. my very own window seat.
one long arm was lazily stretched on the seat. a ghost of his gentle touch caressing the back of my head. and i leaned in like a reflex. desperate to feel the familiar warmth. just a little.
his playful eyes locked with mine as he dramatically rolled his eyes at our friends' antics. the ever mischievous grin never leaving his lips. and his glimmering gaze bored into mine again. his entire face was blooming with affection. and i knew what he was about to say. the same thing that he says.
every single time.
"someday, we will have the best christmas. only us."
and he winked like the exquisite heartache he was. while i could only smile like the helpless tragedy i am. as my eyelids fluttered shut. sealing away his handsome smile beneath them. the echo of his addictive voice faded out from my senses. as the same wind scattered my nostalgia into numbed nothingness. leaving me alone.
all over again.
and it hurt. it hurt so much that my eyes brimmed with bitter tears. and they poured without any power. without poise to preserve anymore.
"only us.."