Potter!

Anticipation

The day after Christmas Draco was on the first train to Scotland. He could've apparated but he had no idea where specifically Harry was supposedly sighted and to he honest he quite fancied the picturesque train journey that would be somewhat nostalgic of his many train journeys to Hogwarts over the years. Harry had gotten him into muggle books and movies and he found he was quite entertained by the love stories which involved the anticipation of finally meeting the love of their life after so long.

It was a miserable day, as presumable for his winter journey through the Highlands. But there was something hopeful in the glistening rain running effortlessly down the windows, he hoped.

When mountains stretched beyond his view and the valleys rolled past, their waterfalls rushing enthusiastically down the cliffs, he knew he was close to something and the anticipation inside him was bursting. He arrived at a station in a town called Fort William, which by the shapes of the mountains, he presumed was not far from Hogwarts, though the bustling muggles around him had no idea.
There his search began.

Using the new muggle headphones Hermione had presented him with for Christmas, he tuned the radio with his wand in a shabby public bathroom stall to find the wizarding world news station. He was sure if there was anymore info on Harry's whereabouts, it would be big news.

And he was right.
"And another sighting of Potter just this morning in the muggle area around Hogwarts. Anonymous tips said he owns a muggle house on the North side of the Hogwarts/Hogsmede area in the nearest village. For muggles, it looks just like any old decrepit abandoned home. The perfect spot for the plotting of a new dark Lord?"

Draco wasn't in the least bit bothered by the talk about the dark arts stuff. Harry would never. But he was eagerly jotting down the sightings and what time they were reporting, still perched on a manky toilet seat in the middle of no where.

"And now we move onto the Quiddich world cup 1999 recaps..."

Draco muted the radio with a flick of his wand, and immediately apparated to Hogsmede where he was greeted with the silent blanket of snow on the what looked like miniature House rooftops and the looming silhouette of Hogwarts on the horizon. It reminded him of when he and Harry had visited Godric's Hollow together a year before. A blanket of snow had also covered every inch of ground, muting the colours of everything surrounding them; everything was in black and white. And those memories were for Draco. In the past, and growing darker and darker every moment he wasn't with Harry. The snow reminded him of Harry, weirdly. Like everything else to do with Christmas and Hogwarts and it felt overwhelming to be back here again, remembering their childhoods even though they were sworn against eachother.

Taking a deep, crisp breath, he cast a warmth spell over himself and found a pathway which seemed to head north. He did not know the name of the village that Harry was supposedly living, but if he walked just North of Hogsmede, he was pretty certain he'd come across it. Muggles were never hard to miss.

It was becoming dark when he saw lights in the distance, not candles and lit fires like they had in Hogsmede and Hogwarts, but muggle electric lights and streetlamps in the distance. He regarded them as quite beautiful, brightening up the dark sky with the colourful Christmas lights that reminded him of their walk through London. Everything had to remind him of some time he had spent with Harry, didn't it?

It was a small village he was relieved to see upon entering. The sign read 'Ballachulish' which he wasn't sure how to pronounce. But it must be it, there wasn't many inhabited areas in the rocky hills surrounding.

The streets were rather quiet for what the muggles called a 'boxing day' evening, but then it was only a village and there were no shabby pubs or bars and no one was going to hang about in the cold winter air for more than a few seconds. Draco rather liked the cold and the dark, though maybe that was what made him a Slytherin in the end, he certainly wasn't like one in any other way. The word coward crossed his mind, specifically in his father's voice, though he was sure the Golden Trio had put that label on him more than once.

The snow was thicker on the ground here surprisingly and Draco found himself trudging slower and slower gasping for any sign of an abandoned building that may be disguised as his lover's hideout. It was then he spotted an orange roofed bungalow hiding behind some thick foliage and frosted blue clusters of flowers. It was tiny, but the only house that seemed to be empty. Well, seemed to be, the windows had no glass and the darkness inside sucked in any light that dared to enter. The bushes surrounded it and as he moved closer he noticed a muggle fence which bore a sign stating that it was dangerous to enter. For muggles, obviously. 

No one was in sight so with a flick of his wand, the fence had moved aside for him and a path led to the hole that once contained a front door. Now Draco was trembling slightly. He wished he wasn't so alone. The house was dreadfully dark and though his wand now emitted some light, the shadows seemed to fight against it, and win. Coward, said his father again. But those words only made him angrier and the anger led him on.

It smelled damp. Damp and dusty and empty. Like the kind of smell you'd imagine from a house subjected to the elements of Scottish weather for sometime without care. He really hated the smell of damp. 

"Harry?" He called out, though it was more of a squeak. It was silent. The sound of the wind through the empty window panes kind of freaked him out. 

He cleared his throat apprehensively and spoke louder, "Harry? It's me, Draco. I know you're here."

Silence greeted him again and he felt a tear slide down his damp cheeks. All that anticipation and there was nothing? Nothing? How could Harry be alive and there was nothing? 

But through his anger he hadn't noticed the room begin to change around him and a warm light filled the space, flickering yellow and orange on the walls. The wind was an echo now, as if there was glass between him and the outside world. And there was a lack of the horrible smell filling his nostrils. 

He blinked back tears. There was a rickety chair by the light, only one, but there was a large fire crackling away beside it, inside a huge stone fireplace, that looked much older than the exterior of the house. And there was a shadow on the floor by the side of the fireplace. He strained his neck in excitement to see where the person making the shadow was standing.

A voice rang out, "You're not a muggle, are you?"