The Long Walk

The Long Walk

By Draco Petulans / Greg Steele

********************
On couches thus bedecked I ween,
From jealousy and envy free
They mingled in felicity
Secure, with soft embrace and kiss,
'Neath sheltering boughs in heaven-like bliss.
The branches joined above them made
A fretted roof of cooling shade.
And there right joyously they spent
The jolly time in merriment
And carolling and amorous play,
As simple men for whom the day
Was ne'er too long, nor sad nor dull,
For all the world was beautiful.
********************

Though daylight had faded away some hours ago in the little village nestled in the hills of Scotland, hidden from Muggles and their prying eyes, it was hardly late. Perhaps it was eight or maybe nine on the night of Christmas Eve. Anyone wishing to know more would have no luck as, unless they were to stand directly outside the wizarding equipment shop at the end of the High Street they would be unable to make out the large Muggle grandfather clock kept in its window, such was the thickness of the fog resting on the cold night air.

As it was, no-one would, had anyone been walking the streets, have been able to make out the two figures a little further up the road. One was dressed in burgundy, the other forest-green, both shivering slightly underneath their dress robes, which the gently falling snow was clinging to in places.

What people would have been able to make out were their voices, raised in song as they slowly made their way back down the High Street. Both figures belonged to men, so the voices implied, though they sang neither a drunken rendition of a football anthem, nor a coarse limerick. Instead it was an old and beautiful tune celebrating a miraculous event some say occurred long before the two singers were born.

With the owls flying southwards above them towards the village post office as they sang, the two might be lovers out for a stroll, celebrating this night of peace together. Their voices certainly blended well enough that no-one would suspect they were more inclined to throwing curses at one another than to being raised together, harmoniously in song. Yet there was no denying the melody as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sang of stars passing above the silent streets of a little town thousands of years and miles from the picturesque village of Hogsmeade. For, a little further up from Dervish and Banges' wizard equipment shop, in the village of Hogsmeade, the thatched roofs of its shops covered in a blanket of snow and their windows glazed with a thin layer of frost, was where the two boys sang.

Neither would have chosen to be where they were, least of all together. Indeed, the choice had been Professor Dumbledore's. It was he who had decided that the few students who remained at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays would, on Christmas Eve, go in pairs to various magical locations and collect money for wizarding charities. The pairings had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire, the source of so much trouble in the previous year. It had caused trouble this year also, for when it had paired Potter and Malfoy, all hell had broken loose. A heated argument, which had threatened to break into outright violence, had only been halted by Professor Dumbledore's announcement that the Goblet worked in mysterious, but always valid ways and that it was his command that its decisions would stand. That and mentioning that anyone causing more of a scene over this would find themselves singing outside Chateau De Bauchery and Sofa So Good with their partners, naturally curtailed any further complaints.

Still, Draco secretly wished that he had been able to spend Christmas at home, where the House-elves would every year lay on a feast to put the preceding year's to shame. Draco could live without such luxuries, but he certainly took pleasure in them whenever he could. However, this year Father had politely but firmly informed him by owl that as he and Mother would be otherwise occupied throughout the holiday, Draco would remain at Hogwarts and should not neglect his studies if he expected to be allowed to return to the Mansion over the next holiday. Draco was certainly disappointed not to be going home for Christmas, but what hurt far more was Father's curt, officious tone.

Harry, too, would rather be elsewhere. Secretly he wished he were skating across the frozen surface of the lake he knew lay beyond the opposite side of the village, though he couldn't make it out through the fog which enveloped them. Only the thought of what his friends might think held him back - oh, and the prospect of slipping through the thin ice to meet a sticky end at the tentacles of the beast lurking beneath it.

********************

The fog and snow which wafted around the two boys rendered their task all but futile. Any wandering souls out and about on this cold December night would never find the pair of them to drop Galleons into the donation box for wizarding orphans, which Draco held. They were sealed in a cool, white world of their own, so near to everything around them, yet enclosed and entire of itself. Anything occurring inside might never be known elsewhere; curses, quick shoves, words of anger or ones of kindness, a gentle brush of hands, a kiss, anything was possible, permissible - perhaps even encouraged. The danger was immense. The two boys had not been alone together since those brief minutes in the Forest, a little less than four years ago now. Since then, both had grown, learnt more, and neither trusted the other not to try something if ever they found themselves together with no-one to keep them in line. Nor, truth be told, did either trust himself.

Why they persisted with their task, long after they might have left, neither could honestly say. They certainly hadn't come across that many people at all whilst carolling. Those few they had passed were too intent on their own agendas to pay the boys any heed, and the collection box remained empty. Their gloved fingers were becoming numb and their scarves no longer afforded them much warmth. However, persist in their endless refrain of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" they did, trudging past the fairy lights made up of a hundred tiny fairies flying around Gladrags Wizardwear. A couple of fairies flew over to circle Draco a few times before returning to the others. Draco watched them for want of anything else to do.

"Ouch! You little... What do you think you're playing at, Potter?" Draco shouted, still trying to right himself from the sudden shove he had received.

"Look up there, Malfoy," Harry pointed to the sign for Zonko's Joke Shop, which they had been about to pass underneath.

Draco looked unimpressed. "And, Potter? It's a sign with a plant on it. Really, can't you come up with some better excuses to get your hands on me than that?"

"Actually, that was precisely what I was trying to avoid, Malfoy."

Malfoy still looked incredulous, so Harry continued "It's an old Muggle tradition that if you walk under mistletoe - that's the plant up there - with someone, then you have to kiss them," Harry explained, blushing slightly, trying to ignore the look Malfoy gave him that seemed to ridicule the very concept that he might ever deign to submit to Muggle traditions.

"Potter, I think that we can take it as read that neither of us has any intention of doing that, so you didn't have to sh..."

"Yes, Malfoy," Harry interrupted, "but this is Zonko's - chances are, that mistletoe's been enchanted to trap people walking beneath it with some spell until they give up and kiss, and personally I'd rather not find out the hard way."

Draco went over this in his mind for a few seconds and, though he'd never admit it, save under the most extreme of tortures... well anything beyond mild duress to be honest - he was a Slytherin after all - Potter could well be right. "Alright, Potter, I'll let you off this time, but why not just try telling me to stop in future?"

As Harry tried to work out why he hadn't done exactly that, after all they hadn't been all that close to the mistletoe, they picked up the song where they had so abruptly left off, Harry walking a few steps ahead of Malfoy, hiding the slightly confused look on his face.

Draco, however, was not looking at Harry's face. He had just noticed that underneath the scarf and the forest-green robes which brought out his eyes to such effect, Potter appeared to be wearing a green, home-knit jumper, presumably the one with the dragon on it he'd been given last year. Draco, never one to pass up an opportunity like this, put on his most superior tone and announced, "It's just like you, Potter, to need to have your exploits emblazoned across that rather dinky chest."

Harry spun around, the beginnings of a snarl quickly being replaced by an expression of shock as he slipped on a patch of ice and fell, face-first, towards a shop window, until a firm grip pulled him back. Harry's breath hitched as he found himself chest-to-chest with Draco, who had inexplicably, instinctively reached out his free hand and caught Harry, losing his own balance and stumbling into Harry in the process. Their eyes, emerald and grey, identical in confusion, locked for a second across the mist of their own breath, before being hastily averted.

"Will you watch what you're doing, imbecile," Malfoy spat, the slightest hint of embarrassed pink appearing beneath his pale cheeks, pushing Potter away from him before pirouetting neatly and pacing across the High Street, eager to put some distance between himself and whatever had just transpired.

With his eyes on Malfoy's receding back, Harry made to follow him, brushing off the snow which had attached itself to his robes somewhere in the course of the last few minutes, when he was suddenly seized by an entirely inappropriate whim, given who it involved.

"What the... My Hair!" wailed Draco, dropping the collection box in his attempt to smooth the silvery-blond strands back into place whilst brushing out the remains of the snowball Harry had just thrown at the back of his head. He didn't have much luck, as he was hit by another just as soon as Harry could gather it.

"Why you little..." Draco snarled abortively, reaching down to form his own snowball and throwing it, hitting Harry in the face as he came up from making one of his own.

For a few moments it was no longer Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, enemies extraordinaire, partnered together on the streets of Hogsmeade, victims of chance and cruel irony. Instead, there were two boys, two young men ticking away the moments of a dull evening with amorous play.

The snow gripping to his glasses, Harry missed the playful look of innocent pleasure that graced Draco's features as he reached for another snowball, only to find Harry's hand on his forearm, stopping him from throwing it.

Naturally, Draco responded in kind, grabbing Harry's free hand, and for a few moments they grappled, each boy's straining muscles taut, each pitting their strength against the other, doing their best to gain leverage before, predictably, both slipped and fell into an undignified heap in the snow, panting with exertion.

It wasn't long before they managed to hastily disentangle themselves. Malfoy, after retrieving the collection box, set off with Potter trailing behind in silence, neither willing to pick up the tune again as both tried to make sense of the last few minutes.

********************

They made their silent way up the High Street, the snow falling just a little harder than before, the outline of the hill atop which sat the Shrieking Shack beginning to loom on the foggy horizon. They passed many cottages with wreaths on their doors and enchanted candles in the white branches of the trees in their small gardens. Warmth and merriment were to be found inside, but this was not the path the boys trod.

By the time they reached the post office, owls delivering last-minute gifts thick above their heads, they were again singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem". At least, they were singing it until Draco stopped, and with a petulant glare asked Potter why they had to keep singing the same carol over and over again.

Harry looked at Malfoy quizzically. "Well, you told me that it's the only one you know, so..."

"I realize that, but you have to know some others after slumming it with Muggles all these years," Draco said with a touch less vehemence than he would have liked.

"If you think that I'm going to carry this on alone whilst you go off and..." Harry began, his voice rising in indignation, before Draco cut him off.

"No, you dolt, teach me another carol so that we can both sing that one."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of this, but as Malfoy seemed sincere enough, he tried to think of another carol.

"Well... erm, there's 'Deck the Halls'."

"I've heard that one, and though I can see from those robes that you obviously enjoy donning gay apparel, personally I'd prefer not to," Draco drawled rather quickly.

"Malfoy, you really need to listen to some more of the lyrics," Harry started, but on seeing Malfoy's face he decided not to push the point and made another suggestion.

"And what the hell is a Wassail when it's at home, Potter?"

"It's... erm... I'm not sure, but it doesn't really matter, does it? OK then, umm... 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas'?"

"I might if I wasn't stuck with you because Father didn't want me to c... I mean... well," Malfoy began bitterly before faltering and glancing downwards, for once at a loss for words. He couldn't believe that he had just let his guard down, had come so close to letting someone, Potter of all people, know that his father apparently had more pressing matters to attend to over Christmas than him.

He may have stopped himself before actually voicing it, but the damage was done. In the silence that followed, with a few stray snowflakes the only things moving, there was no way to interpret his words as anything but what they were; not the thoughts of a cold, imperious Death Eater princeling, but those of a boy uncertain of his own worth and place, trying to do what was expected of him. He readied himself for Potter to seize the opportunity handed to him so readily, for after so many years of practice, both were adept at recognizing and exploiting the smallest sign of weakness in the other.

He knew that Potter hardly had a decisive advantage in this case. As soon as he made his opening lunge, Draco could parry it with the old fallback of Potter's own lack of family and they would slip into the established routine of cut and thrust, if only Potter would wipe that strange, slightly searching look off of his face, stop staring at Draco and land the first blow. All of this went through Draco's mind in a few seconds and after it had done so, another few passed in silence before Harry, with a hint of a smile playing across his lips, spoke.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," he said softly, almost kindly, and with what was hard to mistake as anything other than a slightly cheeky grin, "Slumming it with the Muggle-Lovers must be terrible for you."

Draco was taken aback. He could hardly believe it - Potter had not only turned down this rare opportunity to score first blood, but he had left Draco with an easy opening to do so himself. But for some reason, instead of taking it, he slowly raised his eyes from the patch of snow which had recently become so very interesting. They moved past Potter's robes and the hint of his dragon jumper underneath, until they met Harry's own eyes, whose mirth was beginning to be replaced by apprehension, perhaps realizing that Malfoy would now do what he hadn't and take a swipe at the offered neck. But instead, Draco gave a small, shy smile which soon faded, leaving them a few feet apart, gazing into each other's eyes, searching for they knew not what.

Suddenly feeling awkward, his cheeks flushing, Harry racked his brain for something to say and ended up reminding Draco that he still hadn't said what he thought of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".

"Sounds OK to me," Draco replied, a slight frown appearing on his brow as he absentmindedly ran his teeth lightly across his lower lip.

So Harry began reciting the words to Malfoy, but before long he was interrupted by "Potter, how do you expect me to sing it if all I know are the words and not the tune?"

Harry tried to think of an answer to this, as he was not particularly keen on singing alone to Malfoy, but could find no excuse not to, so he closed his eyes and with ever reddening cheeks, began to sing.

His eyes closed, Harry missed the slightly puzzled look which appeared on Draco's face, which gradually became dreamy and vacant, his eyes misting over as he listened to Harry singing to him, but then again, so did Draco himself.

"First the clothes, now 'making the Yule-tide gay' - something you're trying to tell me, Potter?" Draco had apparently put the mask back on. However, to Harry something seemed to be missing from the words, some bite. Or perhaps something had replaced it. Harry wasn't sure if it was Draco or himself, but there was, well, something!

In the end, after much debate and despite an elegantly arched eyebrow from Draco at the name, they settled on "Jingle Bells" and, once Harry had instructed Draco on the lyrics and tune, they set off again into the snow.

********************

However, there was now definitely something different about their manner. Something which defied any attempt to classify it, but that made it no less evident. They were somehow more... playful. Wandering through the streets of Hogsmeade inside their small, white world, they heard for the first time in a long while the sounds of life outside their foggy cocoon. From somewhere to their left, probably the fields outside the village, there came a gentle, yet persistent lowing that signalled the presence of a herd of cows. Though there should have been nothing of any particular interest in this, it seemed to light some small spark in the boys as they walked. Harry broke from the song to remark that there should be reindeer out tonight, not cows. Draco asked him if he also thought that nine of them with shining red noses were going to show up carrying an old, bearded man on a sleigh calling out "HA HA HA", to which Harry replied that there was only one reindeer with a red nose and anyway, everyone knows Father Christmas says "HO HO HO", not "HA HA HA", and back and forth the ball went. However, the spark between them was short-lived, as it must be according to the nature of such things. The ball was dropped and soon they were back to singing their slow way up the tree-lined High Street.

But there was still... Something. Perhaps it had been there all along.

********************

As they sang, they came across another figure. It appeared to be a woman, though it was difficult to tell underneath the cloak. She was probably in her twenties and a little of her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was visible underneath the hood she wore. Though they could not see it, for she was still only on the verge of their world, and the fog hid all but her presence from them, she smiled sweetly, though unusually purposefully, at the boys.

As they shuffled past her, a hand reached out from the robes and dropped, with a slight chink, a Galleon into the collection box. She then walked a little further down the street before turning first in the direction of the lowing, shaking her head lightly and chuckling, then towards the boys, the smile still on her face, before letting out a small sigh and making her way over to The Hog's Head.

Meanwhile the boys had reached The Three Broomsticks tavern and the vast array of decorations it put up every year.

When they reached the tavern, they waited a while outside, singing as they looked through its windows. Inside were people eating, laughing, drinking, enjoying themselves in the warmth of companionship and goodwill generated on that special night, as well as the roaring fireplace in the corner of the room. As they sang, now a little forlornly, both boys wished that they could go inside, sit down and join those they saw through the frosted windows. But nothing was said, as neither believed that the other would go in, not in present company at any rate. So, as no-one came out of the warm, sheltered tavern, shivering slightly, the snow falling a little more heavily on their robes, they began to make their way towards the bend in the road hidden behind the base of the Shrieking Shack's hill. A little beyond the bend a black, deep-sided sleigh with a few lights around it, pointing back towards The Three Broomsticks had been placed as a signpost by Madam Rosmerta. After that, it was only a short distance to the railroad station, where they would turn around and walk back up the High Street as they had done so many times already.

The two boys had been, unbeknownst to them, moving closer to each other as they walked. Perhaps drawn to the warmth offered by the other, perhaps not. However, they suddenly drew apart as they realized that their cold hands had been brushing together as they walked. They looked at each other briefly, their voices faltering, before Harry averted his eyes and, with a little more colour added to cheeks already flushed from the cold, started forwards, picking up the song again.

Perhaps it was the bottle of Butterbooze Harry and the few Gryffindors still at school had partaken in earlier, combined with the need to do something about this pervasive awkwardness that hung between himself and Draco that made him do it. Or instead, it could have been an attempt to derail them from whatever path it was that they seemed to be on. Maybe just a wild impulse given to him by the song, or even the herd of cows lowing nearby. Perhaps some other potent, unknown force was acting on him. Whatever it was, it certainly made no real sense that as he passed the sleigh for the umpteenth time, Harry, feeling just slightly breathless and with the same impish grin as before, eyes darkened with something deeper than just cheek, turned in to close the distance between himself and Draco, his footing this time sure.

Harry's hands reached for and found Draco's chest and without thinking he gave a quick shove. Not so hard that Draco might land awkwardly, but not softly enough that he could avoid falling with an indignant squawk directly into the sleigh and onto the cold snow which had gathered inside it.

However, what Draco could and did do was drop the collection box and reach up with his long fingers as he fell, trying to find something to hold on to. Livid at Potter's nerve, his gall and the fact that he'd thought to do this before Draco, the thing he grabbed was Potter's scarf, pulling Harry down with him, on top of him.

Seconds after they landed, neither had moved. Lying in the sleigh's soft, cold bed of snow, drawing in each other's misty breaths, their chests heaving and butterflies dancing wildly in their stomachs, both knowing what to do and neither doing it, each second seemed to last so very much longer.

Neither knew who leaned in first, perhaps they both did. But, in the space of a heartbeat, they found their lips tentatively brushing together and, after a momentary tension, a tongue ghosted across a soft lip and their eyes fell slowly closed, surrendering to the inevitability of the moment.

The kiss changed subtly and became, not hard, but insistent, vital. Tongues flickered out to meet each other. Then, both terrified of the moment ending, all their tiny attempts at art lost, their teeth clicked, tongues doing battle, roughly pillaging the other's mouth for the scant few seconds it might be allowed before everything ended and the price would have to be paid. Draco arched ever so slightly upwards, his robes riding up as had Harry's earlier, eliciting a moan at the sensation of their flesh rubbing together, and at the same time tangling his fingers through Harry's hair.

The moment came. Both knowing that the other would now wrench himself away, leaving nothing more than perhaps a clinging strand of saliva to mark the profound and terrifying, yet beautiful thing that had happened here, their eyes opened and locked, fear mirrored in both. Fear it was, fear of doing this with another boy, fear of what this would mean, what would be to come, but, strangely, not fear of this happening with the boy they found their limbs entangled with. That was the other thing in those eyes; lust, a need for the other boy, and no-other-boy, and perhaps something stronger even than that. In all the time that passed afterwards, neither would ever be able to completely explain what at that moment kept them from drawing apart as they should have done, as they had to do, but didn't. It was something beyond any warmth of the other's body, but everything to do with this new warmth in the connection between the two of them.

And slowly, inside the shelter of the sleigh, their eyes still locked, Draco's fingers still resting on the back of Harry's neck, they began again. But this time the kiss was different, no less intense, yet paradoxically gentler, more caring. And suddenly Harry was kissing Draco more softly, and Draco was deepening the kiss, and their eyes were closing again and Draco's hands were moving like silk along Harry's back and Harry's eyes were opening again and so were Draco's, and gazing deeply into Draco's eyes, Harry felt his racing heart explode into a myriad of hues, shades and depths and he saw the same reflected in Draco.

********************

Later, still at that same side of the Village, still inside their cocoon, the two boys resumed their carolling. No-one stopped to drop any coins into the collection box and they again passed by the hill, The Three Broomsticks, the post office, various cottages, Zonko's, Gladrags, and Dervish and Banges', until they reached the outer edge of the town. Nothing was really any different from before, except that, if someone could have seen them through the fog, they might have noticed that, beneath the hem of their robes, the boys held each other's gloved hands. That slight touch, and the comfort they drew from it, showed that in reality, everything had changed.

The End