Draco sat again on the balcony to the Astronomy tower, staring up into space.

"Hello, love," Harry's voice came softly.

"'Lo, sweet." Draco turned to meet Harry's lips full on his mouth and moaned softly. It had become tradition to meet in the Astronomy tower at midnight every time they had to fight for public reasons, but today, Harry was... different.

"Something wrong, sweet?" Draco asked.

"No. I only didn't finish your painting in time, so I had to come without." Harry shrugged apologetically. "I brought my stuff, just in case you wanted to watch."

Draco nodded. "I'd love to."

In less then five minutes, Harry had taken the Shrinking Charm off his easel and set it up with a half-painted canvas on it. He frowned, looking at a jar of paint. "Running out of white," he muttered softly, and then returned his attention to the painting.

Draco could see enough to see that he was trembling and crying, but this time not from cold or pain. From fear, and he instantly knew the night the painting had come from. "The time we fell asleep under the Invisibility Cloak," he said softly.

"Mm-hmm," Harry said, obviously not listening. Draco marveled at the way Harry's hand seemed to develop a life of its own, dancing across the canvas, accenting the tears with white and the shadows with pale gray. Finally, after an hour of work, muttering incoherently to himself, Harry painted in the lavender--clutched in Draco's hand--and sighed, leaning back. "Another one finished," he said softly, then yawned.

"Don't fall asleep on me now, Harry, sweet," Draco said. "It's... amazing."

"Well, that's what you've said to every one of them. Obviously I'm not improving." Harry opened his eyes and smiled. "I'd forgotten you were here, love."

"Oh?" Draco cocked an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry laughed.

"I can't paint around people. I just seize up, and everything I try to do comes out looking like crap. So I pretended you weren't here to be able to work, and it worked."

Draco moved to sit behind Harry, letting the other boy lean into his chest. "Do you ever paint anything else?"

"I could. What would you like?"

Draco flicked his wand at the canvas, performing a Quick-Drying Charm, and Harry rolled it up, tapped it with his wand and muttered something--it wasn't a Shrinking Spell, though it did shrink--and tied it with a gold and silver string, handing it to Draco. All this happened silently.

"Love? What would you like?"

Draco looked down into Harry's eyes. "Could you do an angel?" he asked softly. "An angel with jet black hair that never lies flat and brilliant green eyes..."

"I could, but there aren't any around." Harry smiled to show he was joking, but Draco didn't buy it.

"There's one sitting with me right now," he whispered in Harry's ear. Harry shivered at the warm breath on his neck, but only shook his head in response.

"I got my godfather killed," he said softly. "Him and Cedric... and so many other people, every day, every Voldemort hurts, it's just like it's me doing it, and I shouldn't have let him come back--"

"Shh, Harry," Draco said, rather forcefully. "It isn't your fault Cedric or Sirius or anyone else is dead, any more that it's you saying Crucio every night as my bedtime story." Harry winced slightly at this, and Draco stopped. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

"For one thing, you weren't yelling, and for another, you're right." Harry tilted his head back and pressed his lips against Draco's jaw. "I love you, Draco."

"I love you too, Harry."

= = =

Well, there you go. You requested and angel, and here it is.

Draco smiled at the lack of signature on Harry's part, and then looked for the bit of parchment the painting would be on.

It was an angel, but not quite the angel Draco had been expecting. Blond hair fell into the soft gray eyes of a pale-skinned, white-robed figure standing on a cloud. It looked like it had been done entirely in shades of black, white, and gray, but for the red forked tail and small horns protruding from the smirking angel's temples, and the halo, a wreath of lavender done in dusty green and soft, pale violet.

Draco looked up at Harry, who was watching his reaction, and cocked an eyebrow. Harry blushed and shrugged, as if to say, "I'm no angel."

Draco scribbled out a quick note and gave it to the impatient owl, which had been pecking at his sausages. The owl, amazingly, flew directly over to Harry, and Draco groaned. This was NOT how he would have liked to tell the school.

"Harry, what are you looking at?" Ron asked, trying to follow Harry's gaze.

"Nothing," Harry muttered as the small black owl landed on his plate. He glanced up at Draco, who was looking away.

"Bull," Ron muttered.

That wasn't quite the angel I was thinking of, sweet. More of a black-haired, green-eyed, more colorful angel. Of course, the tail and the horns were, how shall I say, quite... inspiring. I'm feeling rather devilish, be at the tower tonight.

Harry grinned, slipping the note into his pocket with a slight nod in Draco's direction. "Really, Ron, it's nothing." He reached across Ron for the syrup, but Ron grabbed his arm.

"Harry, what's all this? It looks like..." Ron scrutinized the stuff carefully. "It looks like paint."

"It is, Ron. I was up late painting last night."

"What were you painting? It's all gray. What can you paint that's all gray?"

"Ash. Shadows. A lot of things, Ron, and maybe I'll let you see some of them sometime." Harry smiled, thinking of the several pictures of Draco he hadn't gotten around to owling yet.

"I think it's great that Harry's gotten into painting. It's an ancient and..."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and grinned. "She's hopeless," Ron said softly. Harry nodded.

"'Mione," he interrupted, "I've been painting for about seven years now. If you want, you could come and look at some of the things I've done."

"I'd love to," Hermione said.

Ron frowned. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Harry asked. At Ron's miffed look, he grinned. "Just kidding, Ron. You can look sometime too. Right now, I have to get something from the library before Potions. I'll meet you at Snape's, all right?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron mumbled around a bite of chicken. Hermione nodded, barely looking up from her book.

A few moments after Harry had left the Hall, Draco gave a similar excuse to Zabini and slipped out after him. Harry was waiting for him, and they fell into step with each other, comfortable silence reigning.

"You never answered my question," Harry said softly, twining his hand in Draco's.

"Because you rejected me," Draco said, just as softly, and squeezed Harry's hand.

"I don't understand."

"First year. The train. I wondered why it was you'd accept a Weasley and a Mudblood over the richest, purest-blooded first year there. I didn't understand that there's more important things than money or blood."

Harry pulled his hand away from Draco's as they saw someone coming. "Yeah, right, Ferret-boy, and your father isn't Voldemort's right-hand man." As soon as the person—Harry recognized him as a second-year Hufflepuff—was past, their hands were entwined again. "I hate doing that," he said softly.

"I know. Me too."

"Oi! Harry! Har-" Ron's voice broke off suddenly from behind them.