Draco didn´t say anything. Harry looked over at him and saw that his gaze was locked on a spot across the room. He followed Draco´s line of sight to the fireplace, where the rest of their companions were grouped around the fireplace. Sirius sat beside Narcissa on the long sofa, the firelight bringing out the laughter in his dark eyes and sparkling on the beading of her dress. On the carpet by the fire sat Hermione, her head bent over the magic ball, her right hand loosely playing with the topaz charm around her throat. She wasn´t beautiful in the flamboyant way that Fleur was, or Narcissa, but the line of her profile was pure and clean and lovely in the shadowy half-light, and her mouth was curved into a smile. Next to her sat Ron, and the scar on his hand was very black in the light, but his eyes were blue and full of laughter. Ginny sat at his feet, her hair turned to flaming amber by the firelight, her hand on Hermione´s shoulder as she giggled. Harry couldn´t tell what the others were doing, what they were laughing at, but it didn´t matter; they were happy, and the happiness radiated out from them like a wave, touching Draco and Harry where they stood at its outskirts, drawing them in.
As they both gazed, Hermione glanced up from the ball she was studying, smiled as if it was perfectly natural to see them standing and gazing like that, and returned her eyes to the small glass window.
Harry turned sideways, looked at Draco, and saw a small half-smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Harry reached out and put his hand on Draco´s shoulder. It was as brotherly a gesture as he knew how to make. It felt odd for a moment; and then the oddness went away, replaced by an even odder feeling of rightness. "Malfoy," he said. "What are you looking like that for? What are you looking at?"
For a moment Draco didn´t respond. His eyes were calm, contained and containing, as Draco was always contained, but nevertheless filled with a strong and indefinable and familiar emotion. It could have been joy or sadness, anger or agony, regret or remorse or a mixture of all of those. Then the look faded. He turned to Harry and smiled; a genuine smile, a seventeen-year-old boy´s smile, with happiness in it, and not a little mischief.
"My happy memory," he said.
Oh my Christ. That hurts, in a happy way. Mind, I am PMS-ing, so it might just be some hormonal shit that's making me cry, but God. *sniffs*
"May I point out that this is my bedroom," he said, eyeing Harry and Hermione´s goggle-eyed display of affection icily. "If there are going to be snogs going on, either I should be involved in them or they should go on elsewhere. And since I'm none too interested in a threesome..."
JLKJAS;LKJF. YES YOU FUCKING ARE, YOUNG MAN. YES YOU ARE.