He was always there. Rain or shine; he was always there, standing vigil in the middle of the field. His emotionless eyes stared the same way off into the far distance, over the purple hills that dusted the horizon.

Those eyes that had once shone green with laughter, anger and sadness were now but empty pools. He couldn't feel anything anymore.

It was strange how some people could change so quickly: one second, so full of life, the next… Well, like this. Some things, however, could not be helped. The war had changed him; but for better or worse, Draco knew not.

"Hello," Draco whispered as he came to where Harry stood. Harry just stood there silently, staring as usual into empty air. Draco sighed – conversations were fairly one-sided these days.

If things were normal, then Harry would be laughing, crying, or saying something – anything. He used to be so vivacious; he was, after all, the Boy Who Lived. It only made sense that he lived life to the full: it could've been taken away from him in the blink of an eye.

Draco moved into Harry's line of sight. Still the boy made no sign of recognition. It hurt Draco to think the boy that was kissing him not long ago was just staring through him right now.

But it could've been because of the setting: this very field in which they stood was covered in the blood of wizards and witches slain, both for the Light and for the Dark.

The war had been horrific; the fatalities immeasurable. But now the field was as green as it was before the war, and Harry was always there in the centre of the expanse of green; staring at something Draco couldn't see.

Draco leaned forward and brushed the boy's arm with his fingertips. Harry still did not respond. Draco sighed and wondered how he ever could've thought he'd have a decent conversation with this boy now. The war had finished months ago, Voldemort defeated, yet Harry still stood here, watching… Watching over what?

Draco was suddenly angry. He'd loved Harry; he still did. Now this stiff boy who had once been so full of life was… He was here, but not here. He wasn't what Draco needed him to be any more.

He'd refused the Dark Mark and fought alongside Harry all throughout the war. He'd been disowned by his parents, denied the Malfoy family fortune… But for what gain? He'd done all that, and now he was left with the aftermath of war.

People depended on him to help clear up the gigantic bloody mess that Voldemort had left, as Harry was currently… Unavailable. Some people said that Draco was crazy for coming out here every day and talking to the motionless Harry; that he'd gone round the bend.

Draco stared at Harry, his anger ebbing away as quickly as it had first come. He couldn't be angry at Harry; not when he was like this. Harry couldn't retaliate. It was so hard to believe that this deathly still boy had once thrown a badge at his best friend's head; that he had once snuck around Hogwarts wearing nothing but an Invisibility Cloak.

Draco had never been in love with the Harry that most people saw; the hero, the pride of Gryffindor. He instead loved the boy with haunted eyes and a hopeful smile, the boy that only he could see.

Draco sighed and bent to kiss Harry's pale lips. He was still as unresponsive as ever. Not even the droplets of rain that now splashed onto his forehead stirred him from his catatonic state.

"Goodbye, Harry," Draco whispered. He thought he saw one corner of Harry's mouth quirk up into a tiny smile, but that must've been an illusion created by his tear-filled eyes. Harry didn't smile anymore.

He was too far gone now; most people said that Draco would either go crazy or go the same way as his lover. Harry was lost forever, and not even magic could bring him back; however, his statue, an everlasting monument to his memory, was very well-made.