AN: This is set a few years after the battle - after Draco has been mingling with people besides Death Eaters for a bit.
The solid blackness behind Draco's eyelids streaked with red as lightning cracked the sky above him. Rain poured through the gutters of the tall muggle houses lining the London street, and helped to sooth the torrent of the Malfoy heir's mind with its relentless pounding.
Draco had always considered 'love' to be his sworn enemy. The ugly black burn on his arm was a constant reminder to his estrangement from the idea. So what could he call this - want for one person to never leave his side again?
Draco pulled his eyes open to the murky darkness of the night as a noisy car veered past. He didn't know why he had come here, to a lonely muggle neighborhood, but until he could establish some control over his own thoughts, he couldn't stand to be anywhere familiar. Especially not anywhere near his family.
Thunder crashed onto the rooftops and a sheet of wind caused the young man to shield his pale face behind the collar of his long black cloak. Love had refused him in every part of his life. He'd had the perfect childhood as far as education and health went - but there were no emotions.
His parents refused to display their anger, hurt, joy. All Draco ever received was disappointment or approval. A shake or nod of the head. He was never ignored, but his life was spent trying to be exactly what they expected so he could gain the respect he gave.
Since his infancy it had been in agreement with his and the Parkinson family that he would marry their daughter. But the word love was as vacant there as anywhere else. Draco jerked his head sharply to rid the tip of his nose of a rolling raindrop, but it was instantly replaced by another in the persistent storm.
He had enjoyed having someone to devoted to him throughout his years at school, but that was as far as it went with Pansy. Honestly, he couldn't stand her. She laughed to much. And it wasn't the way that Harry laughed.
Draco stopped and turned his face toward the sky as his emotions battled each other once again. Just the thought of Harry Potter's cheerful laugh made him feel as though someone had started to lift away his problems - but that in itself was a problem.
This was Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Saviour of the Wizarding World.
Green eyes...black hair...smooth jawline...
Draco shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind as lightning momentarily illuminated the street.
Draco didn't know what had happened - how it had happened - but Harry had said it. He had said the words that Draco had never heard. 'I love you.'
And Draco wished that he had been shown what love was so that he could tell if that truly was what he himself was feeling. But did it even matter? Draco could feel the familiar film of burning pain on his forearm that was present whenever he thought too hard of the Dark Mark that had been branded into his skin.
Draco knew that he wanted Harry Potter. He knew that he wanted to see him, to talk to him, to touch him. He felt more for him than he had for any other person. And if Harry had meant what he said - that he really did...love him - Draco knew that he loved him as well.
Rippling thunder seemed to shrink the world with its overbearing noise, and muffled the crack that Draco left as he Apparated out of the empty muggle street.