To my dearest Harry,

Wherever I go, I see you. Your unruly hair, your emerald, sparkling eyes. I smell your delicious scent and hear your infectious laughter ringing clearly through the air. That purple shirt that you loved so much hugging someone else's body. I feel you sometimes. Warmth running up and down my body, holding me, rocking me, wiping tears and harmful memories that have returned in your absence. But when I reach out a hand to clasp yours, its not there, it was just a whisper of you that my imagination seemed fit to bestow on me. So I stopped going outside. I couldn't bare it.

That bed we bought three years ago is not comforting anymore. When I sink into it, that exactly what I do, I sink. No longer do I float. No without you beside me. I curl up in a ball holding the tiny pieces left of me together in some hope that if you return, which you wont, I will still be here for you to wrap your arms around.

The kitchen is not a place of love as it used to be. It's cold, undusted and dark. The windows lost their gleam and the bright red paint, its color. The glass dishes sit unused. They were your favorite. I remember throwing one at you when you left and watching it hit the wall, smashing into a million pieces before you looked me in the eyes and told me you didn't love me. I don't go to the kitchen at all now, just call in for take out and eating out of the paper cartons, not even finishing a few forkfuls before my stomach starts to rebel against me.

The restaurant we used to adore sends me cards once in a while, giving me certificates and coupons, hoping we will return. But I would never go there without you, so they sit on the table by the front door as if waiting for you to walking in whistling and pick them up and call me over and announce we would go out. But you don't, and they wait. The newspaper piled up on the driveway and have long since stopped coming, seeing as I never pick them up. The mailman has taken to pushing the letters under the door, I don't remember when he figured out that that was the best way to get things to me.

I stopped going to work. It held nothing in my heart and the only reason I went there in the first place was not to be cooped up waiting for you while you trained to be an Auror. Weird how now that is exactly what I do, wait. I have more than enough money thanks to the Malfoy millions and seeing as my parents aren't alive, almost none of it is being used. I will probably find a way to give it all to you before I die. I wouldn't want it to go to waist and if you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend or even a husband or a wife now, then it'll make them like you better, I'm sure. Not that you aren't perfect in every way.

Those tiles we picked out and took hours and hours to put on the bathroom floor because you kept getting spells wrong are disgusting now. I told the maid you had decided was necessary that she was not needed anymore so no one it there to clean it. But I don't use that bathroom anyway, too many memories.

Blaise and Pansy stopped coming over. After a few months of trying to get me out of the house seemed to have annoyed them so they don't try anymore. They still call on the Muggle Telephone, but they are brief, unnecessary conversations that could be avoided. I'm sure you're with your friends and family now. All those red heads and werewolves and other creatures that you hold dear probably welcomed you back with open arms. I know they hated me and are glad you came to your senses, Weaselette especially, she always was fond of you. Are you together now? Do you have children. I guess I'll never know, nor do I want to for that matter.

I still have nightmares. You used to hold me close and whisper the sweetest things to me when I woke up. Now I wake in a cold sweat, reaching out to you. But you are not there. Not anymore. I used to write my dreams down but they all run together each as meaningless as the last, seeing as your not here to comfort me and I cry myself back into a hopefully dreamless slumber. I've been told to get a therapist, but I don't need one, I need you.

What could I have to get you back? You know I would have done anything, I'm sure. After me telling you how much I loved you and how much I cared about you, what else could I say when you said the exact opposite to me that night? If I could go back and change it, I would. Maybe I would run after you and beg you to come back. Or go to the Granger-Weasleys and ask them to help me, not that they would, but it would have been worth a try. Maybe I should not have thrown that plate and pulled you to face me instead, telling you how much I needed you.

But I didn't. I couldn't. I was shocked, hurt- no, broken, my heart, my soul, my tears. You had just told me that you never wanted to see me again and that I was the worst mistake of your life and that you never truly loved me. But when you said it, I knew it was true. How many times had I told myself that it was too good to be true? How many times had I though that it was all a dream? How many times had I though that maybe it was a set up or something evil? When you said those things to me, the world seemed real, terribly horribly disgustingly real. You had confirmed my worst fears.

So here I am, pouring the last of my heart out to you, on this stupid piece of paper that means virtually nothing, but still so much. I hope this reaches you in time so you can sit for a while and think. But by the time you find me, I will be as good as gone. It is not your fault, you just held it off a few years. My whole life had revolved around you ever since we first met at that robes places on Diagon Ally and without you next to me, there is not point of living.

I love you and I have always loved you.

I miss you.

I hope you will remember me, even if it is darkened by what I have done.

Just…

I hope your happy and free and in love with someone, because what is life without those things?

Love you so much,

With my whole aching heart,

Draco Malfoy

Harry eyes watered as he finished reading the letter. So that was why Draco didn't follow me. I'm such a prat, such a fucking prat. Why am I so stupid? God. Shaking his fists he paced around his small cluttered room. He had been staying with Hermione and Ron since the break up, but they told him he needed to go out into the world instead of moping so now he was in this place, paying a monthly lease and only going out when needed. They stopped trying to get him to get out and visited him once in a while, which was nice, sometimes.

"Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit. FUCK!" Harry was yelling at himself holding his head between his hands, but it didn't help. He crumpled to the floor, tears splashing down his from, soaking his already dirty shirt. "Draco…" He whispered trying to pull himself together. He needed to find Draco, save him, and then never EVER let him go, ever. Come on, Harry. Get it together. He needs you, loves you and might be dying. Get up find him, you IDIOT! Harry stood straight up and aparated to their old house.

It was a beautiful place. Or at least it used to be. Now the exquisite gardens were overgrown and dead. The porch looked like it could cave in from all the mold and the door was ajar. The white trimmed windows were dusty and the curtains were moth bitten. Harry gingerly stepped up the three stone steps and through the uniquely carved door. He didn't think Draco stilled lived here but seeing as the living room and their old bedroom had recently occupied, he called for Draco, hoping above hope that he would get an answer.

None, came but Harry kept searching. He looked in the many rooms they never used, the other bathrooms, the attic, and the basement, the kitchen, the little closet they stored traveling cloaks in, and the sun room, Draco's favorite. Draco wasn't anywhere and Harry was getting worried, and jumpy.

"Draco. Please. I need you, answer me, love. Please answer me. Answer me. I love you, ok? I fucking love you, and I never will stop loving you, so don't hurt yourself. It's been too long I know. Maybe you wont forgive me, but please don't hurt yourself. I nee- oh god… oh- oh my god. Draco!" Harry was on the flat roof that they used to sit on to watch the sun rise now and he was looking down at the gardens below. There in a bush of long dead roses, Harry's favorite kind, lay Draco. He looked like he was sleeping, but the deathly pale coloring on his face told Harry otherwise. He tore down the steps, knocking into walls, moving things aside, until he was in front of Draco.

Harry picked him up, and aparated to Saint Mungos, not even registering what he was doing. All he cared about was Draco safety and nothing else matter. He didn't remember getting into the hospital, just the hustle and bustle of healers as they crowded around him and took his Draco away from him. He felt himself being dragged though the halls screaming for his hurt lover and being pushed into a chair. He felt Hermione and Ron's arms around him and the scared looks on the faces of the people he cared about, but he didn't look at them, didn't see them. All he wanted was Draco who was currently on a hospital bed being treated.

'It'll be alright, Harry."

"He's going to be ok, Mate, I promise.

"Harry, calm down, he will be fine."

"Don't worry dear."

"-fine-"

"-alright-"

"-love-" All the words and condolences were running together and Harry couldn't make sense of it. The room was spinning, the faces were becoming a blur, his stomach twisted.

"Mate? Are you ok? Hermione, he looks like he's going to puke."

"His forehead is too hot, I think he needs to lay down and sleep for awhile, at least until Mal- Draco's ok." He was being tugged again, but this time, he felt like he was floating, blackness closed in around his eyes and he succumbed to the worries and stress of the day.

When he came to, the first thing he saw was Ron and Hermione. The walls behind them suggested he was in an unfamiliar room and before he could ask, Hermione told him he was in a hospital and everything from the day before came flooding back. Harry sat up straight in his bed, looking around wildly, beads of wetness pooling under his eyelids.

"Draco? Is he ok? Is he alright? Is he… Is he… dead." Harry could barely get the words out before they caught in his throat along with the sobs that followed. Ron placed a hand on his shoulder and handed him a tissue.

Harry, mate, it's ok. Ma- Draco's fine. He's gonna need to stay in the Saint Mungo's for a few more days, but you can visit him. They just have to patch him up and pump all the poison and muggle stuff out of his stomach or something." Harry just nodded. It didn't seem real. He had seen Draco dead, held him and felt only cold. But it had to be, because Draco was his and was never ever going to leave him. He got up from the bed, Ron and Hermione staring at him.

"Take me to him. I need to see him. Please 'Mione, Ron?" They silently walked in front of him, showing him the way. He waked slowly, but evenly. Without Harry noticing how he truly got there, he was being pushed lightly into a room where there was a beautiful blond man lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, tear dripping from his silver eyes. Harry stumbled and fell to his knees, dragging himself over to the bed. "Draco… Draco…" He grabbed the long fingered hand and held it to his cheek. It was warm. Harry sighed and kissed. Kissed it a million times, not letting go, but Drao still did not look at him. "Draco, look at me, love. Please. Please… Draco, my dragon, my heart, the center of my universe. Please, I love you." But the hand was ripped away from him. Harry looked up to see the silver eyes close and the hands reaching up to cover them.

"You aren't real… I'm dead, I died. You hate me, you don't love me. You left me." Draco was mumbling to himself. But he felt alive. Maybe this was a hallucination brought on by the mixture muggle drugs and magical potions he had swallowed about 24 hours previously. Harry didn't love him. Come one, Draco, It's ok, it's just a hallucination, just open your eyes. You're at home. Draco opened his eyes and looked around at the room. He was in a ghastly white painted room on a mildly comfortable cot. When he looked to his right, he started a the sight of Harry's green eyes that stared back at him, glistening and magnificent as always. "Harry?" The former Gryffindor just nodded and stood up.

"I'm so, so, unbelievably sorry I left you. I don't even remember why I did. But I feel terrible. It's been years and all I could ever do was think of you and then I got you letter…" Tears spilled down his cheeks, "when I got it… I… I, I didn't know what to do. And then I saw you l-lying there, in the old r-roses, and all I could think was 'Draco!' Draco, I know I hurt you s-so badly, but please, I need you too. I love you."

Draco's own tears were drenching his blue itchy hospital clothing and he sat up and reached a hand out to Harry's face, tracing it, feeling it, holding it. It was like heaven, just being near Harry and feeling his existence. Harry leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Draco and pressed him into his chest, whispering softly, "I love you, I love you, I love you…" over and over again, almost like a song, rocking him back and forth. Their tears mingled as they held each other.

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in Draco's chest and he thew his head back and giggled, Harry leaned down and kissed his neck. Then his jaw, his cheek, forehead, ears, eyelids, and nose. And then over again, as if he could not get enough. Draco pulled at Harry's head so that they were nose to nose and tilted his own slightly.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this" he whispered.

""Oh, believe me, I know." Harry whispered back, his breath washing over Draco like a bucket of happiness. They inched closer and closer until their lips met. And there were no words Draco could use to explain his relief or satisfaction or the sheer love that coursed through him at that moment.

"So what do we do now?" he said shakily when they parted. Harry pressed his forehead to Draco's and smiled,

"We live."