Word Count: 305
Rating: PG-13 this part
Prompt: Day 1- snowy street scene
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them, not me. This is for mischief's sake, not profit.
Author's Notes: This is for slythindor100 's Christmas challenge picture prompts.
The thin man walked slowly, his boots trudging on the heavy snow that covered the sidewalk. He glanced up at the dim streetlight whilst his pale hand strayed to his forehead, brushing aside a lock of hair as white as the landscape.
He sighed wearily and tilted down his chin to stare at the snow. His black dragonhide boots contrasted sharply with the pristine winter scenery, lending a dash of life to the monotone white.
"Malfoy." The gruff voice beside him shook him out of his maudlin reverie. Draco shivered and fingered the cold metal of the magical device before taking it out of the pocket of his robes. In a mechanical gesture, the blond pointed it at the lamp and the dismally weak light flickered out, a gesture which reminded him of the countless times he was forced to extinguish the passion residing in his heart: gazing across the Hogwarts tables at Potter through the years, or looking on in helpless horror as Voldemort taunted Harry in the destroyed courtyard of Hogwarts.
He repeated the same economic motion until the other streetlights were darkened and dusk tinted everything grey. Then Draco puzzled his eyebrows at the Put-Outer and tossed it sideways.
"Hey, careful!" growled Ron, fumbling to catch the memento Dumbledore left him in his will.
"Sorry, Weasley," Draco said listlessly.
"Am not a bloody Seeker, you know!"
Sticking his gloved hands in the pockets of his woollen robes, Draco shrugged and cocked his head at the brick building in front of them. "I don't quite understand why you brought me here."
Ron squinted as the buildings opposite him shimmered, moving aside until 12 Grimmauld Place became visible. He huffed and a ghostly wreath of vapour escaped his lips. "Reckon it's easy to understand, Malfoy. If I don't act, my best mate will die."