I remember who I was
Title: I remember who I was
Author: felixfvlicis
Pairing: Draco / Harry
Rating: G
Word Count: 365
Disclaimer: Harry Potter character are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for hogwarts365's prompt 163: Beige. Eighth year, possibly the beginning of a larger work. Draco-centric.
Summary: Draco returns to Hogwarts post-Voldermort.
Draco’s feet are planted firmly in the mud-caked earth as he closes his eyes and inhales the autumn-laced scent around him, placing his hands in the shallow pockets of his black trousers. The sleeves of his emerald green dress shirt are rolled up, tabbed, revealing the dark mark’s corpse, its tint blueish gray.
After several minutes of being lulled into the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Draco's breath escapes pursed lips as he opens his eyes, staring straight into the beige-colored bricks of Hogwarts. The foundation was rebuilt shortly after the war, but the architectural intricacies took several years to complete. In truth, all Draco saw between the cracks and lines upon which bricks were laid, were the lives of the fallen - their legacy cemented in each thick line of plaster - so compact, so finite, so heavy, mirroring the way his heart felt these days, trapped inside his foreign body. It was quiet on the grounds, and as he stepped forward, removing his left hand from his trouser pocket to trace the bricks with his fingertips, he swore he could still hear the blood-curdling screams of his classmates, as they were hit with curse after curse, some who were used for Greyback’s food source as he sucked the marrow out of them slowly, watching the light leave their eyes with a sinister smile plastered on his face.
A cool breeze shuffles across the grounds, brushing Draco's left cheek and ruffling the part in his white-blonde hair, pulling him out of the depths of his memories. The skin at the nape of his neck houses goose-pimples, the sensation makes Draco's spine tingle. He cocks his head, as if to shake the cold, and begins to walk toward the castle entrance, his eyes glinting from the castle to the top of his almond-toed black dress shoes. Draco doesn't notice that he's reached his destination until his right shoulder crashes against an upper arm, hidden beneath a red cable-knit jumper.
"Watch it!" the voice chides, with an exhausted annoyance.
Draco huffs, his gaze roaming over beige-toned hands, unmarked wrists. His opposite. His equal. His.
"I should've known," one beat. Two. ". . . Potter."