𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐎'𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

January 2, 1999, 11:02 am.
The day I died, and we finally began to exist.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

It was cold.

So cold that the skin on Draco's knuckles turned a purply-blue colour, looking like a line of perfect bruises in the murky glow of his dorm.

The walls offered no heat whatsoever, nothing but icy lake water and occasionally the Giant Squid for a view.

Usually he kept his scarf on for the remainder of his time spent in his dorm, though recently, it would seem that it had been "misplaced".

He didn't mind. Harry must get awfully cold too, he told himself as he wrapped a soft afghan around his shoulders.

There were books and quills scattered across his bed, ink stains littering the sheets. There was a half-empty mug of tea on his bedside table that had seemingly always been there (he had tried taking an experimental sip two hours before, only to spit it directly back out).

A worn, black leather notebook rested open in his lap. The pages were separated by months of use and possible water splashes. A fresh one now present.

Gently, Draco dipped his quill in an ink pot and scribbled at the top of the page in neat cursive:

December 24, 1998, 9:46 pm.

The castle's almost empty. Mostly everyone had gone home to their families, even the ones who usually decide to stay. I assume the war is entirely to blame.

Mother wrote to me. Once. She said she missed me, and wished I was at the Manor, but she never asked me to come. I'm sure Father is perfectly fine without me there—he was the main person trying to push me to come back here in the first place. Something about maintaining a reputation.

I came here this year with a deep dread in my gut. None of my "friends" decided to throw away their dignities along with me, so I would be alone.

But, now, as I write, I can honestly say that I wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

I'm happy. Surprising, I know. But how in Merlin's name was I supposed to know that I'd be lucky enough to befriend the very last human being I'd expected?

I don't even know entirely what led me to seek him out that first night back. It started out as only a late night wonder—due to nothing and no one else to keep me company—and I would say that it was entirely coincidence that I saw him there, glassy eyed, mentally: completely somewhere else. But now I'm almost inclined to call it fate.

I made my decision early on that I did not want to get on anyone's bad side this year (or worse side, I should say) but I still regret that fact that I decided that far too late. Eight years.

I will never be able to fathom how he slipped into my new demeanour so quickly—even I was still growing used to it. That is one of the many things that makes him one of the greatest people I will ever know... and I don't mean that in terms of only power.

He's kind. In a way that I never knew someone could be kind. He's trapped in his head, yes, and terribly irresponsible, but that's what makes him so intriguing to me.

I felt it an appropriate time to finally write this down, as I didn't think I wanted to end off this year without some kind of joyful note.