reparo ( ✓ )

chapter one

"Blimey, it's freezing out here! It's bloody September, why is it so cold?" They were a good hour or two into their trip and Draco Malfoy had yet to stop complaining. Harry only huffed his breath, irritated with the blond.

"Hm, I don't know. Maybe it's because this is bloody England and you're wearing just a button up. Don't you have robes or something you could put on?" Harry sassed, for he could no longer take Malfoy's pessimistic attitude when he was also carrying one.

"No need to get smart with me, Potter. I'm trying to hold up a conversation and all you're doing is moping. What even is your problem?" Malfoy asked.

"It's nothing." Harry lied, for what point was there in telling a Malfoy about the vivid dreams he lived when he slepy, or the cold, empty feeling inside of him.

"I'm going to sit. We've been walking a good two hours and I am exhausted." Malfoy stated, changing the subject and leaning against an evergreen, seating himself on top of one of his many trunks. Harry walked toward him hesitantly, and also sat on the trunk. His own trunk was worn, and if he tried sitting on it, it'd surely collapse inwards.

"The least you could do is offer me your jumper." Malfoy stated, brushing his arms against the chilly weather.

With another sigh, Harry muttered a quick "here" and slid the jumper from his body, to which Malfoy noticed something of an odd couple of scars on Harry's arms. He didn't feel like it was the right time now, but he'd definitely bring it up later to him.

"Thank you, Potter." He opted for instead, sliding into the jumper that was actually quite hideous, as a Weasley sweater would be, and still contained Harry's warmth and his surprisingly calming scent. It was no surprise that the smell of dust lingered on Harry Potter. He'd spent eleven years of his life in a musky cupboard, after all. But aside from the dust, Malfoy couldn't help but pick up the scent of lemon, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was the stuff Harry's aunt had been cleaning with over those years.

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It was now six hours into the trip, and the boys had figured the Hogwarts Express would be pulling into Hogsmeade Station in another hour or so. Night had fallen, and the only light shining down on them came from the harvest moon, aside from their wands that shined brightly after they'd muttered their incantations of Lumos Maxima.

They decided that in another hour, they should probably stop walking for the night. They were at least another five hours journey away from Hogwarts, and seeing as they both knew the dark too well, it would not be safe to wander all night; for both Muggle and Wizard dangers would face them.

"The night's even colder than the day. Are you sure you don't want your jumper back, Potter?" Malfoy asked, for he had started to feel bad for the Gryffindor having given him his jumper, and had yet to grab another one for himself.

"I'm fine, Malfoy. Just wear it and shut up." Harry stated. He was fine, honestly. The outside temperature did nothing to him like his interior temperature did. It barely bothered him, for he was always cold these days.

"What is wrong with you, Potter? Like, you're always cold with me but right now, I just feel like it's a bit more than just my presence putting you on edge." Malfoy asked. Ever since he'd seen those strange markings on Harry's arms those many hours ago, he'd been a bit more concerned with the boy's safety than he'd like to admit.

"It's nothing, Malfoy. Absolutely none of your business what's going on inside my head!" Harry sighed frustratedly. He wanted this night to be over. He wanted to be in his four poster bed in his dormitory, trying to catch up on sleep. It'd be bad enough that they'd be missing classes tomorrow by having to stop soon as it was.