The Other Side

Chapter Sixteen

His thoughts turned endlessly around the dreadful night when it all happened. It elicited a longing in his heart, but he couldn't get rid of it. A black leather-bound book rested on his lap, and he stared down smiling weakly at the blissful faces, seemingly ignorant of the world around them too caught up with him. He continued flipping through the pages, having to remind himself that they were dead despite how real they seemed. He felt the same as he always did. He felt the same as he had felt in first year when looking into the mirror of erised and when hearing her pleas and screams whenever faced with a dementor, and he desired to be with them. He didn't stop the first tear that rolled down his cheek, nor did he try to quiet the soft sobs that escaped his lips, as he mourned the loss of his parents. He couldn't stop the onslaught of memories that consumed him as he cried. This is why he detested Halloween; he could barely stand the pain that came with it.

He was so caught up in his despairing thoughts that he didn't notice the soft footsteps walking towards him. Through his tears he could barely make out the pale figure as it sat next to him and gently lifted the album from his lap. He didn't see the realization that dawned in the beautiful grey orbs as they looked at the pictures in it.

"Is it too presumptuous in assuming that, if they'd been alive, then I would have eventually charmed them both to my side?"

He gave a soft laugh, and Draco shot him a small smile. "I never knew them, or even had the chance to. So, I am just going to assume that you would've." He said, wiping his eyes. "You did charm me, didn't you?"

Harry rested his head upon his shoulder, as Draco slowly turned the pages, and placed a soft kiss in his hair, resting his cheek against them. "You were certainly a nuisance," He chuckled, gesturing a picture of him under the table, with a cookie in his hand, which he'd apparently stolen from Sirius. Draco captured his lips into one of the most tender kisses that he had ever experienced that tasted faintly of mint and vanilla. "A lovable nuisance, but a nuisance nonetheless." He said, bringing a hand up to stroke gently through his raven locks, and setting the album on bedside-table.

"In case you're wondering, weaselbee let me in," Draco said. "They're not at the feast either, but they wanted to give you the space you need. I, frankly, think that it's a bullshit. You can throw a fucking tantrum about it, because you have approximately ten brain cells –

"That's offensive, Malfoy."

"Or the fact that you can't put on your tie properly, proves that you might have less than ten brain cells, Potter. The company I keep usually has more skill than a six-year-old."

"Fuck you," Harry retorted, but Draco was clearly not impressed with his choice of phrase.

"You need to expand your vocabulary."

"This isn't English class."

Draco gave him a surprised sort of look, as if he'd forgotten that Harry had, in fact, attended muggle school until he was ten years old. Harry sometimes forgot too, or perhaps he just tried to. His childhood didn't come with the most pleasant of memories, especially when they involved his vindictive cousin, Dudley.

"I can't imagine the lord and savior of the wizarding world sitting in a muggle classroom, learning how to spell," Draco snickered, and Harry flipped him off.

"Sorry, not all of us are born into wealth and can afford a private tutor."

"Poor you."

"Poor me," Harry said with an air of drama. "I'm sure your childhood was a lot better."

"Better?" Draco snorted. "Try being forced to comprehend topics two years ahead of your age group just so you could always stay on top of the class."