Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

FROSTBITE

A/N: Explicit smut warning a bit after the second divider (marked with "-x-").

Before setting off for London, Harry checked the weather outside and was met with flurries falling from the sky. Snow hadn't been forecasted the previous day, so it took him by surprise, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He let Draco keep on his black ensemble, sans the magical-looking overcoat, and gave him a gray wool sweater to wear instead.

While Draco picked out a suitable pair of gloves from upstairs, Harry summoned Kreacher in secret.

"I need you to go to the shops and see if you can find some sort of blood drink for vampires."

Kreacher knew what the request was for. Harry didn't even have to say it, but upon hearing the mere implication of the halfling's involvement, Kreacher rolled his eyes grumpily. He knew very well that Draco was half vampire, at this point, but he still did everything he could to avoid having the arrogant Slytherin's name in his mouth. He still didn't like the bloke; he only put up with his presence because of Harry.

"Animal or human?" Kreacher asked reluctantly.

"If you can find a hybrid of both, that would be lovely," Harry instructed. "Buy a whole case, if you can."

After putting great emphasis on how completing this request would mean the difference between Harry's life and death—though that was a bit dramatic—Kreacher nodded vigorously, eager to complete the task to perfection. He Disapparated with a snap.

"Ready to go?" Draco said with indifference, gliding down the stairs with a swift elegance that betrayed his uncaring mask.

Harry looked him up and down, smiling, "You look nice."

Draco's expression turned smug, "Flattery will get you nowhere." He looked out the window with a dreary expression and took an umbrella from a stand near the front door. Harry didn't understand why, but he didn't question it.

-x-

Their boots crunched through the snow as they made their way downtown. The falling flurries landed on Draco's umbrella and clung greedily to Harry's dark locks.

They both enjoyed the snow, but in very different ways. Harry wanted to be one with it—enveloped in it—but Draco would likely rather join the Hogwarts frog choir than be cold and damp, even for a little while. He reveled in the sights from afar, under the safety of his umbrella.

Harry was optimistic that downtown London would have numerous options for work—that was until the sun started to inch near the west horizon.

They stopped at a bakery, which wasn't hiring, then a floral shop, which also wasn't hiring. Even an American chain restaurant for pizza, which seemed suspiciously understaffed, wasn't taking on any new employees.

Draco looked at the food in the display window and pointed out, with aversion, that pools of grease sat on top of what seemed to be seven layers of cheese.

Harry didn't have the energy to explain that American food just looked like that sometimes. Was it good? Yes. Was it healthy? Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Afterwards, they dropped by several retail locations and cafés, with no luck. Discouraged and exhausted, Harry decided that the bookstore would be their last stop. Draco shook the snow from his umbrella before passing the threshold of Shelf-Esteem, and Harry told him to pick out anything he liked, since he had long since finished reading Frankenstein.

"The fantasy section is over there," Harry said, pointing to a large collection of books along the back wall. Draco's eyes widened, and Harry laughed half-heartedly, "See you in seven hours."