𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐒𝐈𝐀| ✔︎

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍|𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃

HARRY GLANCED OVER at the trees across from him. There it is. A silhouette. A shadow of a boy with a white head and vivid piercing eyes.

"You're not real." Harry murmurs. "This is a dream, another dream."

Draco frowns at him. The view is gorgeous. His hand runs up and down the smooth bristles of the meadow, which withholds a flurry of colours from the familiar parsley and canola to the scent of lavender. He fiddles with his ring for a moment before opening his mouth — then closing it.

"This is more real than you think it is."

Harry studies Draco. He feels foolish for not realising it sooner. Those first few conversations with Draco, the first few, breaching moments of aggravation and confusion. It somehow seemed far too placid, far too accepting of Harry's sudden appearance in that manner to open up to him. To let himself be kissed. To kiss back. To feel something, feel something he hasn't ever felt before. It makes sense, now, to realise Draco's truly been there there with him — all this time.

"I want to find you, but I'm scared." Harry says truthfully. But it's not a want. It's a need. "I'm scared to wake up. To wake up and find everything as it was. All black and white."

Draco stares at Harry for a moment, as if he's studying his features.

"That's not the way it works," he gives out a light chuckle. He continues speaking as though he hadn't done moments ago. "then again, nothing has ever worked the way you've wanted it to, hasn't it? It's always been —"

"A leap of faith." Harry finishes the sentence for him.

"Now you're getting it, Potter."

Harry is silent for a long time. Something is starting to click in his head. Everything is evident. It's all put together, all the clues he needs seems to be right in front of him. He just can't seem to find himself.

Harry wants to say he's changed. He turns to pensiveness as he thinks of young Draco. His earliest years of Hogwarts. Immature, always showing off his wealth and drawing attention to himself. Throwing insults left and right. But now, he's not Malfoy. He's Draco. But it's difficult to explain how something is both the same and different. Harry continues to stare out at the valley, before breaking the silence.

"Does it take a lot of effort to be here? To be here with me?" he asks, wondering if Draco will suddenly vanish again, or he'll just wake up with it being another dream, or vision. "Are you going to leave again?" he pauses, drawing on the ground with a twig. "I let you in, but it's always gone. You're gone, and nothing in reality seems to change."

Draco's head snaps to him. It's peculiar, nonetheless, as he seems to be giving Harry a look of pure misery. Like his heart had just plummeted before him, and the sinking feeling is back.

"I never left you, Harry." he cried. "I'm here," Draco pauses. "all of this is for you."

Something finally clicks within.

"You were... you're sending me the roses?"

He grumbles, but it's soon replaced with a laugh — then a sigh. "You're so fucking naive."

"All this time? Me?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, Draco takes Harry's arm and begins to run his fingertips slowly against the soft skin of his forearm. His hands were cold, but Harry felt too hot. His fingers surfaced up and down until they were completely caressing all of his shoulder and arm.

"It's always been you, Harry," he whispers. There's that tempestuous look in his eyes.

Harry didn't know how to react nor respond to that. He felt so undeniably stupid. How could he be so dense? So blinded? He had guessed, yes. But he wasn't aware that maybe his suspicions would be accurate. But then it occurred to him. All of those maddening and irritating encounters with Draco — had truly only been an act of desperation. Draco constantly seeked attention, and if he couldn't get it from his father, he'd get it from Harry. One way or another.

But what really took him off was merely the fact that he'd only seen Draco genuinely smile when he was around him.

Draco takes his hand and places something on Harry's palm. It feels round, indenting. It takes him a moment to realize that Draco has given him his ring. One of his most prized possessions. Draco's hands are clasped on his hand, holding the silver piece of jewelry down.

"I need you to find me, Harry. I need to show you how I feel about you. How much you mean to me."

Harry tries to call after him — but his voice wavers on the air like someone plucking a metal wire away from a barbed fence. It's too late. As deigned, Draco is suddenly vanishing into thin air, and Harry can already feel his nimble body falling back into consciousness.

He is gone, or perhaps he was never there.

Now, it's just apparent. The roses may have been what is given, but what was truly missing, undoubtedly, was Draco Malfoy.