I do not own Harry Potter. *sobs*

Draco sits at his desk once more, his third cup of firewhisky at hand. 5 years had not been enough to make him move on with his life. It was not enough to forget her. Although, to be fair, she had given him enough time to pretend that he was alright, to pretend that he still did not long for her comfort.

"Granger," he begins, raising his glass to no one in particular, "always so bloody thoughtful, aren't you? Thanks for the pain, Hermione. It sure as hell taught me much." After he downed his cup, he poured himself another. Draco Malfoy was far from an open man. He did not like showing people his "feelings." But if Potter and his gang knew that something was wrong, it only meant that he was far from being discreet. Those lot can be quite thick sometimes.

Oh well, they'll get over it. It's just this month anyway.

Deciding that he need not worry, he downs his fourth cup.

"Vicky does not think you must drink," the house-elf appeared.

"Vicky, now is not the time..."

"Madam Malfoy is sad, Master Draco, she is not wanting you like this."

Draco looks at the house-elf before him, one clad in a pretty pink dress, courtesy of Hermione, of course. He sighs, "Me neither, Vicky, me neither."

A few hours after their visit, Harry floo-ed Draco, only to see him sleeping on his desk - dead drunk. Without asking for permission, he went through. Shaking his head and sighing, he calls for Vicky and asks her for a hang-over potion. A few minutes later, with a small bottle of liquid in his hands, Harry Potter tried to wake the youngest Malfoy.

Malfoy groans, and his eyes flutter, if only for a moment. Deciding that Draco was a lost cause, he places the potion beside his desk and snoops around his office for a bit. He spotted a painting near the east side of the room and chose to appreciate art will he was there. Harry had an unfortunate habit of touching the things he found beautiful and this was no exception.

It is a replica of painting named Spoliarium made by a Filipino artist named Juan Luna in Madrid, or so that's what it said on the golden plaque below it. Draco Malfoy always had a dark taste when it comes to art. Moving his hands across the canvass, he felt that it seemed rather hollow. It didn't help that while looking at it, he found a small latch.

With his curiosity getting the better of him, he looked at the Malfoy, seeing him asleep, and decided that he wanted to know what was inside the painting.

"Alohomora!" He mutters and the latch opens. He wonders why Draco didn't have better security measures in his home.

His curiosity turned into worry in a matter of seconds after opening the painting. There, right in front of his eyes, stands a hundred small vials - all containing bits of Draco's memories, he assumes, with Hermione.

Harry Potter, ever the Gryffindor, braved himself and grabbed a small vial, the nearest one he could find, and proceeds to get the pensieve. Looking at Draco, and finding that he was still asleep, he pours the contents of the bottle and looks down onto the memory.

Stars.

That was the first thing that Harry sees. Stars.

"They're really beautiful," he hears someone say. He turns his head and finds Hermione. He tries to hug her, talk to her, ask her why she left, but, alas, this was a memory and he was not here physically. No matter how hard he tried, Hermione Granger would never hear him and she could never answer him.

"Look at that one, right there? Do you see the row of stars?" Harry hears Draco ask her. He is laying down, on the ground and she is sitting right up.

"Yeah, that's Orion, isn't it?" She smiles at him. And he pouts.

"Here I thought there was something you didn't know," Draco says.

"I'm not called the 'Brightest Witch of Our Age' for nothing, Mr. Malfoy," she teases him and lays down with him. Harry sees their fingers intertwine.

"Touche, Ms. Granger, touche," he tells her and she giggles.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Draco speaks. "I like moments like these."

"Moments?"

"I don't know, when it's just us. No one else, you know? I don't know," he smiles and kisses her forehead, "I'm a very possessive man, Hermione, I like having you all to myself."

She laughs, "I noticed."

And, once more, they succumb to a comfortable silence.

"..."

"..."

"Hey, Hermione?"

"...Yes, Draco?"

"Don't leave me."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He raises his free hand, with only his pinkie finger up.

"I saw some Muggles do this. What's it called?" She laughs and locks her pinkie with his.

"It's a pinkie promise. It's the most powerful promise in the world, well, in the Muggle world, at least."

"Oh."

"I promise to never leave you," she looks at him.

"I promise to run after you if you even try to," he smirks.

"Promise?" She asks.

"Promise."

And, once more, for the final time, the world succumbs to silence and the memory ends.

Harry lifts his face up from the pensieve.

"It's a happy memory, isn't it?" Draco Malfoy asks him, sober and upright.

"Draco, I'm so-," Harry starts.

"No, it's okay," Draco interrupts, "You shouldn't worry too much about me. I don't spend all my time looking at those. Some of them aren't hers, anyway. Some are from my parents, some from even you and Ginny."

"You shouldn't keep all this, you know."

"I know. But it helps."

"Helps with what?"

Draco heaves a heavy sigh, "I don't remember what she looks like anymore, Harry. I know that she's beautiful and she has chocolate eyes and brown hair and a gorgeous smile but, Harry," he takes a moment to compose himself, "I've forgotten how her lips feel. I've forgotten how much I enjoyed running my fingers through her hair. Harry, I know I loved her and I know that I still do but I've forgotten how it feels to have her with me."

Silence emerges.

"I miss her," Harry says after a few minutes.

"So do I, mate," Draco says, "it's just that, well, I know that those memories will always just be memories. They can never happen again. But, Harry, if only for a moment, I remember her. And I remember me. And I remember that, once upon a time, we were happy."

Once more, a deafening silence enters the room as he and Draco Malfoy stand across each other, refusing to meet eyes.

"Harry," Draco says after a few minutes of unbearable silence, "I'd like to be alone."

With a swift and strained nod, Harry Potter approaches the floo and returns back home to his wife and his family while Draco Malfoy grabs another vial and pours its contents into the pensieve, hoping to find some relief in seeing her, if only in his memories.

This came out more rushed than I hoped it would be. Sorry!

I hope you still like it though!

I'd love to hear reviews from you!

Thanks!