Miscellaneous gay crap

Spring & Winter

Draco loved spring.

When he was a little boy, he would run to his window and watch his dear Maman's garden come into bloom again, their small buds bursting through the the thick duvet of snow that covered the vast expanses of the landscape around them.

When Draco turned 11, he met a boy with eyes the colour of spring.

That year, he learned to hate spring.

Learned to hate the easy rejection he never had to face before. Learned to spit hate and shoot arrows of ice with his gaze.

Draco hated spring.

When Draco was 16, alone, confused and broken, having to face unspeakable horrors, spring came back to him.

Spring with the mind of summer, temperamental and warm and everything Draco could have asked for and spring finally had a name.

Harry.

Harry helped him out of the winter his mind had become, easily thawing the ice in Draco's soul and making him feel things he had never felt before.

Draco liked spring again.

Then, darkness extended its wings reeking of horror and blood and screams across the lands and a wizard, who carried despair and rot and everlasting winter with him wanted to encase them with the ice and the numbness.

Draco felt the cold. It made him uneasy.

Harry was the only one who could fight the one without a soul, like spring always prevailing the hard, harsh winter.

Harry was the one who went alone, hugging Draco fiercely before he went, promising to come back.

Draco really, really disliked being lonely and scared.

And Harry did not come back. He had promised. But he could not keep his promise.

Spring did return to Hogwarts but Harry did not.

Draco never looked back when he left the castle, left them to their own healing.

He hated spring now. It reminded him too much of the eyes of the one he had lost before he had even recognised his true value.

If you asked him about his favourite season now, he would look at you with lost eyes, looking through you, answering with no more than a whisper:

"Winter."

It pulls a blanket over the green. Makes everything turn colourless. Makes me forget about your vibrant colours.
But most of all, it covers the green. The spring.
It covers memories of you. Of would have beens, of what if's that never happened.

Draco hates spring.

Winter

Harry loves winter.

He does not like the cold but he likes the white that covers the ground like a blanket.

He does not like the snowballs that Dudley chucks at him but he likes the way that snowflakes look, all delicate but so so destructive.

When Harry is 11, he learns that he is different. He learns that he belongs to another world and he is exhilarated.

He goes shopping and meets a boy who reminds him of winter, of cold, harsh beauty. Harry is intrigued, but the boy insults his first true friend.

Harry learns to despise winter that year, learns to burn like the sun, like fire and melt the snow.

He is the only one who ever manages to break the thick coat of ice that encases the other boy.

When Harry is 16, the boy who reminds him of winter is alone and scared and Harry cannot do different but help him.

He also learns his name and it is foreign, beautiful and suits him.

Draco.

But then, darkness comes, foul and unforgiving and Harry is the only one who can fight it, the one who was born to fight it.

He hugs Draco fiercely, whispers promises of coming back, of living with him, of creating a secure future. And he feels the ice melt as Draco hugs him back, makes him promise again and again that he will come back, Please Harry.

A promise he cannot keep.

Harry does not see another winter.