Harry didn’t think it would actually come to this; A large field of fighting bodies, many that were sharing the color of blood, so much so that Harry didn’t even know what they were fighting for anymore. It was the war the Wizarding world had whispered about since Harry had portkeyed back to Hogwarts with Cedric limp in his hold.
He had mud on his hands, on his clothes, in his hair and on his face. It was cold and sleeting and Harry watched as the ice melted on his glasses. It warped the images around him, making them seem like what Harry thought them to be. A distorted dream.
In front of him, out of the haze of falling rain, Draco walked towards Harry, hair plastered to his forehead. Draco looked a lot like Harry did, disheveled and dirty; a mirror of one another.
It was a lazy summer day, school was over in a few weeks and Harry wanted to enjoy himself before he had to study for his finals.
He was lying on his back, eyes closed under the sun. Few clouds graced the sky and Harry took the chance to relax. The ground was cold on his back, but his face bathed in warmth.
He was dozing when he felt a shadow fall across his forehead. Harry opened his eyes to see a smirking face looming over him, surrounded by the glare from the sun.
“Draco.” The Slytherin moved to sit beside him, next to where Harry’s head lay.
Harry lifted his head to lay it on Draco’s left thigh. Harry felt the other boy hesitate, before a hand rested in his hair, fingers idly massaging his scalp.
They stayed like so until dinner.
Harry watched as Draco reached into his sleeve and pull out his wand. He raised it in front of his face and Harry followed suit. Their arms went down. Draco began to bend at the waist and Harry followed again. He bowed slowly and fully, eyes down, trusting Draco to wait for him.
When he came back up, that was what he found – Draco, wand at the ready.
As Harry felt his own arm rise, he thought: how did it come to this?