Chapter 16

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There were three words to describe Winter in London - dark, damp and dreary.

The new year festivities faded away and January drew on longer than was appreciated. Mornings were gloomy, the sun never managed to push hard enough through the thick grey clouds that blanketed the sky, and just as the day had finally woken up, it was dragged again back into nights where the streetlights were already lit by four o'clock in the afternoon.

Biting wind funnelled through the tiny streets and the chill of the air forced everyone into hiding, even the buildings looked tired, stripped of their usual vitality and wishing to pack up and tuck away until Spring arrived.

It was almost like a blueish-grey lens had been placed over the city. Puddles never seemed to evaporate, raindrops continuously dripped from leaky gutters and the smells of smoke and wood lingered in the air from the piping chimneys that were doing their best to brace from the cold.

Harry pushed open the wooden gate that lead up to the front door, with Draco following close behind, and tapped his wand on the handle, where a gentle glow emitted and the door creaked open awaiting their arrival home. They were wrapped up in thick duffle coats, with woolly hats and gloves and Harry thought it was amusing that the only scarf he had to offer Draco was his Gryffindor one.

"I still hate it." Draco bit

"It's kept you warm though, no?"

"Yes but that doesn't stop it from being ugly."

"It suits you," Harry grinned, his bush of brown curls bouncing out of his hat as he pulled it off. Draco just sighed and shook his head, tucking his boots onto the shoe rack and peeling off his coat. Harry hung them both on the hooks above and rubbed his hands at the sudden warmth that filled the house.

The house always retained its heat thanks to the magic that Harry had placed on it. He switched on the kettle which began boiling quietly in the background and leaned against the counter, the biting cold air still lingering on his reddened cheeks.

Draco wandered past the kitchen doorway and into the living room, where the fire was crackling lazily behind the grate. He grabbed his book and a blanket and slumped down into the corner of the sofa, dropping his head onto the cushion beside it and closing his eyes for just a moment, feeling the warmth seeping into his pores, wrapping him up away from the harshness of the Winter weather.

It was his favourite place, something he'd never felt during his years at the Manor. 'The Drawing Room' as they called it, was for sipping cups of tea over sophisticated conversation. Books were only to be kept in the study and though the fireplaces were often lit, the heat never reached very far considering the rooms were so huge.

Harry's living room, however, was small and cosy. The heat of the fireplace warmed from the moment you stepped into the room, and the glow from the flames wrapped you up in a warmth that emitted off the red-brick walls and rust-coloured sofas. The mismatched cushions hugged you from the moment you sank into the seat, and there were blankets on every arm. Draco had started storing his vast collection of novels on the huge bookshelves that stood either side of the fireplace, and Harry had to admit it gave a certain feel to the room now that the shelves were no longer empty. It was Draco's touch.

Harry joined him not long after, placing two mugs of tea and a plate of gingersnaps onto the coffee table, most of which he ate himself. He curled up into the opposite corner of the sofa, and buried his feet under Draco's legs, tugging the blanket over his lower half too.

Harry ate in silence, his sleepy gaze wandering from the dancing flames in the fire, to the misty rain falling through the windows but always falling back to Draco, to his soft lips, his perfect nose, his bright silver eyes that always softened whenever he met Harry's.

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