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The little cottage was picturesquely situated on top of a hill, overlooking the sea. The hill slanted down towards a small, rocky beach below, and though it was easily spotted from the seaside, it was hidden from view enough that one needed to know it was there to reach it by foot. It was riddled with small and large rocks and boulders – it even had a small cave. From up here, however, all you could see was a thin strip of shore.
They'd had their first kiss in that cave. Soft and tender; unsure and haltingly at first – as though they were both afraid the other wouldn't allow it – then firmer, their lips melting against each other. Their warm breaths mingling; the excitement of the two of them sharing this forbidden secret.
That kiss was probably the reason why they had come back to settle in the cottage on the hill: nostalgia.
Back then, Draco had thought they could conquer anything. This new bond between them was surely proof of that. If they could overcome their differences – even fall in love – they must be unstoppable. The two of them, against the world.
Today marked the five year anniversary of Harry's departure; the day he'd flown away across the sea, never to return. Leaving Draco behind.
It was all Draco's fault, of course. He'd just had to go and ruin it by being childish and unreasonable.
'Me or them!' he'd shouted like a petulant child. There was no wonder Harry had chosen them. Who would abandon all their friends and family when presented with such an ultimatum? Draco would have done the same, had he been in Harry's shoes.
You reap what you sow he thought sadly from where he was standing on the veranda, watching the waves crash against the shore below. He'd lost count of how many times he'd been standing here, with the wind howling and pulling at his robes, watching the point on the horizon where Harry had disappeared all those years ago, wishing against hope that he could take it all back.
All he had left now was the sound of the wind as it blew with a howling, haunting whistle through the open doors of their house.
Because to Draco, it would always be their house. His and Harry's.
The screeching of the seagulls circling above him, was the only sound besides the wind.
The days went slowly by. Draco's thoughts were filled with images of Harry. Harry, lying naked on the bed, his heaving chest glistening with sweat. The dust of black hair adorning it was such a beautiful contrast to his pale skin. Draco would imagine Harry's head of black, mussed up hair, standing up at odd angles, and how his chin was always covered in prickly stubbles. He yearned for the way those lustful eyes would beckon him, lure him back into Harry's strong arms. In his mind's eye, Draco could feel the warmth of Harry's embrace, hear his voice as he softly whispered sweet nothings – or dirty, heated promises – in his ear. He'd shiver and touch himself. Afterwards, he'd feel disgusted with himself: He had no right to think of Harry like that anymore. A few days would pass, then the cycle would repeat itself.
Occasionally, Draco went down to the beach to remind himself of what he'd thrown away. The sting he received was bitter, but no more than he deserved. A fitting punishment, never ending. However, he hadn't been inside the cave since Harry left. He was too cowardly for that. Besides, the mere thought was too painful. Today, however, had brought a sudden urge. Like something was pulling him there. The five year mark might be a fitting time, he reasoned.
Restlessly, Draco descended the hill and crossed the sandy beach. As he approached the cave – the entrance hidden behind a particularly large boulder – he hesitated. With his heart in his mouth, he put a trembling hand on the hard, cold surface of the rock. The roughness beneath his fingertips grounded him. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold wind blowing in from the sea, and stepped around the boulder.
Sudden warmth engulfed Draco. He started when what felt like a hand swooped inside his mouth. As it went down his throat he almost gagged, although there was nothing solid for him to gag on. The warmth flew through his body, then it withdrew as quickly as it had entered him.
With a hand clutching his throat, Draco pulled a face. That had must've been a spell, and he had a feeling he knew whose it had been.
No sooner had the spell left him than a piece of parchment materialised in the air in front of him, before settling neatly in his hand. Draco's chest felt tight as he looked down at what appeared to be a note. His heart racing, his breath coming out raggedly, Draco stood rooted to the spot as he stared at the chicken scrawl on the note in his shaking hand.
“If you really love me, come get me.”
Draco felt his blood run cold. What was this? Had this message from Harry been down here all these years? Draco swallowed a large lump of bile. He couldn't believe Harry had really been waiting for him. Could all this suffering have been avoided if he'd only come down here sooner?
The reality was slowly sinking in, and Draco felt a wave of nausea go through him. He'd had a way to fix his mistake waiting for him down in this cave for five years, and he'd stupidly only found out about it now. Draco's hands shook as he held tightly onto the note. Now, when it was surely too late. After five years, Harry would no doubt no longer be waiting.
Cursing himself and his cowardice, Draco fell heavily to his knees, his head bowed and the note gripped tightly in his hand. Dampness from the ground beneath him seeped through the fabric of his robe, chilling him, but he didn't care. What did it matter? What did anything matter anymore?
Time passed as he sat there, lamenting, until he shook himself. This would not do. It wasn't like he'd lost Harry again, or any more than he already had now, just because he'd found this message. Rather, it was an opportunity, if anything. Perhaps Harry wouldn't take him back anymore, it had been five years, after all. However, Draco could pick himself up, show that he had gown as a man, and apologise. He knew he may be five years too late, but he'd be damned if he'd let this chance pass him by.
Taking a deep breath, Draco rose. He dusted off his robe out of habit (the damp patch on his knee didn't budge) and carefully placed the note in his pocket. Then he marched with newfound determination out of the cave and began the climb back up to the house.
Draco didn't know where Harry lived these days. He got The Prophet delivered, but he'd never sought out any information about Harry Potter. However, it wouldn't be hard to know where to start looking. They had mutual acquaintances who would surely know what the Saviour was up to these days.
The wind didn't seem so lonely all of a sudden. Instead, it filled Draco with new life. His spirit lifted, he forged ahead with newfound energy.
As he approached the cottage, Draco drew his wand. Something didn't feel quite right. He'd long a go developed a sixth sense for danger, and he now felt a familiar tingling at the back of his neck.
Proceeding with caution, Draco gripped his wand tightly as he rounded the corner and stepped onto the veranda, ready to stun whoever the intruder was. Then he froze, his arm falling limply to his side.
“Harry?” he whispered. He couldn't quite believe his eyes.
“Hi Draco. It's been a while,” said Harry, his face unreadable. Then he continued before Draco had time to do little more than open his mouth.
“I see you finally got my message.”
“Um,” was all Draco could muster. He still couldn't quite believe that Harry was here.
“H-how did you know?” he stammered, feeling like an idiot.
“Magic,” said Harry with a dismissive wave of his hand, although Draco could see a glint in his eye and the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “I thought it was best I came over myself. It's been five years already, and I figured we're mature enough not to play games anymore. How about we talk?”
Heat rose in Draco's cheeks. His instincts told him to be haughty. However, he knew in his heart that now was the time to be humble. Carefully putting the wand away, Draco agreed and held the door open for Harry. He felt an immense sense of relief.
As he went through, Harry said nonchalantly, “I see you're taking good care of our house.”