Seasons in Darkness

Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end, there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.

It was a brief thing; a brief, fleeting thing. Yet, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced.

Something that had started out as little more than a need for something tangible; some warmth in the cold of night, another body to curl up to just so that he was never alone, had developed into so much more - so much more than either of them imagined possible.

And now he was gone.

True love is like a butterfly: once it is gone, it has flown away, it is nearly impossible to recapture it.

It had lasted half a year and, like the seasons, their relationship changed - they changed - but not enough. He had not stayed. His lover had gone with the warmth and vivaciousness of summer - leaving him feeling lonelier, colder and number than ever before.

And I look again towards the sky as the raindrops mix with the tears I cry.

He hated winter; this one more than all the others: it was the bitterest winter he had ever lived through. Each minute seemed to drag on for an hour, each hour for a day, each day for a week...he had stopped counting - stopped caring - because he was alone.

He was always alone.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.

Morning dawned clear and bright on Hogwarts, sunlight raining down to bathe the school in an ethereal light; making it resemble some sort of castle from a fairy tale he remembered hearing of long ago.

He loved being outside in the mornings, seeing the world as it should be, untouched by mortals, unmarred by any traces of hostility, and he loved watching everything wake up around him. It gave him a sense of calm and strength to make it through the day, if only to experience these sensations once more.

He especially loved spring.

The breeze whipped up around him, and a small smile, so rare in these times of constant worry, stole across his features as he turned his face slightly towards the sun and closed his eyes.

The sound of footsteps coming towards him registered in his mind, and within seconds, he had his wand trained on the person who had dared to intrude upon his privacy.

Seconds later, a blond head became visible from his position on the grass. Draco Malfoy.

They glanced at each other, as if daring the other to break the sense of calm, the tranquillity of a Sunday morning away from the hustle and bustle of a school preparing for war.

Neither did. He turned away.

Malfoy settled down on a patch of grass nearby, and closed his eyes.

They stayed there until the showers that invariably came with spring drove them inside.

Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.

After that, their friendship grew and blossomed with the flowers, and they warmed to each other like the spring slowly sliding away to make room for summer. From the silences, came a certain calm companionship. From that, came soft confessions of fear, hopes, dreams; then anything - and everything.

He told the blond things he had never uttered to a single soul: his wish that the war would be upon them and be done with, his fear that he would lose everyone he cared about, a fate worse than death, his hopes that he'd live to see his twenty-first birthday and so much more.

In exchange the blond admitted his need for approval, his desire for comfort and his fear of failure, and everything else that made the blond who he was.

Talking to Draco, for it was Draco now, was like coming home.

Time has no divisions to mark its passage; there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginnings of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.

That was last year. Now there was nothing, only emptiness; a void which nothing and no one could fill - no one but him.

Even sitting there, on that same hill where it had all started - where he used to find such profound peace - did not ease the heartache. Instead, memories too painful to remember assaulted his consciousness, reminding him of something so precious to him - something that was now lost.

Time hasn't stopped for any troubles, heartaches, or any other malfunctions of this world, so please don't tell me it will stop for you.

Summer had his recollections repeating themselves again and again, as if his mind were some broken record.

Their first kiss, tentative and questioning, relaying a message, and understanding that neither knew how to express in words.

A day spent together, just enjoying each other's company.

And lingering touches that spoke volumes, love-filled glances across crowded halls, unnoticed by everyone else.

The sense of belonging and safety he felt when around the blond, the remarkable feeling of being desired, being loved, being wanted...

It was all rolled in together, never ending, never relenting in their onslaught of his mind; tearing apart his heart over and over again, ripping away his soul.

Invariably, the moments of joy and happiness would build up to the day, that one day in early autumn, when he woke up alone; the day that his spirit died.

He hated autumn.

It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the waking.

The sound of crunching leaves signalled someone's approach, but he could not bring himself to care.

The footsteps stopped a short distance from his position on the ground, a lithe figure casting a shadow onto his still form - a distinctly familiar figure.

He stiffened, not daring to hope; believing it to be a figment of his imagination...It couldn't be...he wouldn't be back....

"Hello, Harry."

It was his voice. There was no mistaking that smooth, soft tenor.

His head whipped around, almost involuntarily, to come face to face with his former lover.

He couldn't speak. What was there to say? What can you say to the man who shattered your heart into so many pieces?

The blond took a step forward and, on impulse, he stepped back. A spark of hurt flashed through those mercury eyes causing his heart to clench slightly.

"Harry." The pain in that voice was unmistakable, as was the slight plea that laced the single word. "Please."

A million emotions conveyed in two words; he would have thought it impossible had he not been there to witness it. He had never believed that two words could be so powerful.

But they were.

To err is human, to forgive divine.

A pale, shaking hand reached for him; the action disclosing so many things - so many unnameable things - things that he longed and yearned to hear.

He stepped into that embrace willingly; tears of relief flowing freely as he once again felt that overwhelming sensation of being loved and of the safety of feeling like he belonged.

Draco was clutching him like a lifeline, as if letting go would mean that he disappeared. The desperation, fear, sorrow and longing that had been eating at his soul were released and the relief that flooded him was like water to a thirsty man.

In that moment, his attitude towards autumn changed.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

It seemed as though the year had built up to this moment.

The lonely winter.

The bittersweet spring.

The heavy and desolate summer.

And the autumn that brought it all together.

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolour, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Finally, after the long tortured months, he could feel the darkness in his heart and soul lift and drift away, leaving behind only a shadow of a memory - memories that, if he ever visited again, would be visited from within the sanctuary of his lover's embrace.

His mental creation - his art - would be there as a reminder to himself that, even in the darkest places, the light of hope can still shine.

No my friend, darkness is not everywhere, for here and there I find faces illuminated from within; paper lanterns among the dark trees.

Finite Incantatum...