Take These Roses All From Me, a harry potter fanfic

i The difference between forgetting and not being able to remember is that when you forget, the memory disappears forever. However, if you just don't remember, the memory is still there. You just can't find it. /i

The clock read 6:04 PM. He could see it, because it was just over the shoulder of whomever was tapping the wand against his forehead. It must be the same person with the shaking voice whispering for him to focus and concentrate.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to piece together a picturesque version of blond hair falling over a pale forehead, gray eyes seductively gazing outwards, thin lips curved in a smirk. The fabricated face was disproportionate in his mind—the pointed nose and elegant eyebrows fitting in the wrong places.

Trying again, he bit his lip and saw aristocratic hands chopping up potions, a lithe body soaring in the sky, and strong arms pulling him close into an…

i "Obliviate." /i

Harry Potter expected that having his memories erased from him would be a quick, simple, and painless thievery of his past. He expected to close his eyes clinging on to bare shreds of history, and re-open them grabbing for the present and future.

Instead, he felt his mind slow and time gradually halt as each syllable of the spell was uttered. His thoughts felt muddled and then blank, and when he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find himself standing in the living room of his apartment.

Blinking slowly, the world swirling back into focus, Harry looked around, and wondered why Draco Malfoy's belongings were still strewn around the room. A bundle of socks lying near the leg of a coffee table, a pair of expensive trousers draped over the couch, and gold-rimmed glasses folded next to a thick book about the properties of powdered unicorn horn in truth potions.

The last time Harry was in this apartment, only two hours ago, the living room had been devastatingly devoid of any signs that two people had once occupied it. Harry wondered how those little tell-tale signs of life had returned, and then he wondered how he even remembered that all those miscellaneous objects once belonged to his ex-lover.

Perhaps Hermione had botched up the spell when she cast it, Harry thought bemusedly. Perhaps, he hadn't focused hard enough as she'd asked him to do. Although, all those 'perhapses' would never lead to him being back in his apartment.

A loud moan to the left from his bedroom caught his attention. He headed towards the familiar groans. A dreadful sense of recognition crept into his body when his hand touched the door to push it open.

He saw the long legs split wide in the air first, with one sock still on, connected to a naked body arching up off the mattress and then another naked body thrusting on top of it. He couldn't place the face, but the fact that it wasn't his own made him almost sick. Draco's blond hair tangled with light brown hair, gray eyes gazing into eyes that were not Harry's.

"What the bloody--," he heard his voice, but he hadn't opened his mouth. He whirled around and saw a mirror image of himself, shaking with rage, shame, and disbelief.

The scene was too familiar. Wasn't he supposed to have forgotten this by now? Wasn't this what had made him want to forget in the first place?

He saw the horrified look Draco gave the other him and heard the regretful whisper of, "Harry?" And then he watched himself flee.

He cast one long look at Draco, who was pushing the body off and struggling to chase after him, before following himself out the door.

When he looked back again all he could see was white, and he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be looking at in the first place.

Harry stepped back into the living room, shocked that it was absolutely empty save for several stacks of cardboard boxes. Some of them were labeled in a neat print, and others in a messy scrawl that he recognized as his own handwriting. As he ran a finger along the tape, tempted to open it, he heard the front door open and two voices floating in.

Foolishly, he went to hide behind a particularly large box, peering over the top.

"Potter," said the drawling voice, "Why do you always insist on having me carry all the heavy boxes?"

"Because, the heavy boxes are yours," Harry could identify his own chastising voice, "You're the one who couldn't throw anything out and insisted on bringing it all with you."

Harry could only see the back of Draco's head, but he knew Draco was pouting, and he knew that within seconds, his other-self would relent and carry all the bulky and awkward, heavy boxes while Draco would carry all the light packages from that point on.

He found himself admiring the curve of Draco's neck and the way each strand of hair belonged in its own precise place. Indulging himself, he did not notice the boxes around him vanishing one by one and then stack by stack. Only when he heard the drawl fade away and saw Draco fade into nothing before his eyes, did he yelp out, desperate and startled.

He no longer could recognize where he was.

The floor beneath him disintegrated and he fell into an undignified heap into a shabby looking room. The room was cramped with an overstuffed armchair, a chipped glass table with an empty fish tank on top of it, and various lamps without their shades positioned haphazardly. This was his old apartment.

Pulling himself up and dusting himself off, he wandered towards the kitchen where Draco was waving his arms around scornfully.

He snarled scathingly at Harry, "And how do you expect me to live in a place like this? I have needs, Potter. Material needs that you need to start providing for. I mean, it's not like you're poor or anything. You just choose to pretend to be."

Harry watched himself scuff the dirty kitchen floor with his red sneakers. "We don't need materials to be happy, Draco."

Draco stared with disbelief, "You mean you don't. I do. I need space to move and most importantly, furniture that coordinates and has style and a sense of décor!"

There was a shy silence, before Harry's other self suggested bashfully, "We could get another flat."

"What?" Draco had been shocked.

"I'd let you decorate it with coordinating furniture." Harry had been generous that day. Harry had always been generous towards Draco, maybe because he liked seeing Draco smile.

His heart pounded when he saw Draco's lopsided half smile, "Really? You'd let me?"

"I'd let you do anything," Harry heard himself say, and almost cringed when he heard himself add, "I'd let you do anything as long as you did it with me."

Instinctively, he tilted his head upward and parted his mouth when he saw Draco lean over to kiss him. A funny sense of loss filled him when his lips were left untouched, and a strange sense of disappointment overwhelmed him when the couple in front of him evaporated.

He rushed to follow them, but by the time he got to where they were standing, he no longer knew what he was trying to follow in the first place.

He was sitting on a bench in the middle of the night, with snow falling all around him. Next to him was a pink nosed Draco Malfoy, wrapped cosily in a scarf and wearing red and gold mittens.

Harry wanted to rest his head on Draco's shoulder and hold the mittened hand, but he looked to see himself already doing it.

The couple was sharing a cup of steaming hot cocoa and Harry looked to be busy trying to feed Draco marshmallows.

The image left Harry warm, but eventually colder and colder until he was left empty and confused as to why he couldn't hold on to something he very much wanted to hold on to.

The bench was gone and Harry stood miserably in a huge field of snow.

Harry sat grumpily on a stool in the middle of a dance club. The bright lights and pounding music didn't improve his mood any. He caught a flash of silver and gold through all the mist and smoke and bodies and he followed it, trying to reach for it.

One step closer and he saw himself already there, pulling Draco closer on the dance floor, whispering something into his ear, and grinding their hips together. Another step closer and he saw himself tug Draco towards a bed, not even noticing that he was suddenly in a hotel room.

His mouth was dry as he voyeuristically watched himself take off Draco's shirt, button by button. Each action he made, he became more and more animalistic and his behavior became more based on his carnal actions. His kisses were more feverish until he was bestowing them over any patch of skin he could find.

Draco was unbuttoning his shirt, licking a trail down to his pants and undoing the zip to pull him out. Leading him to the bed by tugging on his erection with his hand, Draco perched at the edge of the mattress, his legs parted invitingly.

Harry couldn't stop watching as Draco sucked him artfully nor as he pounded himself viciously inside of his newfound lover. His eyes may have been half closed and his hands inside of his own trousers when Draco screamed out his name, but he never stopped watching.

He only turned away when he saw Draco curling into his arms and his hand stroking Draco's hair off a damp forehead. He heard the whispered, "I love you," escape his mouth.

Wanting to turn around and warn himself, "No, no, no, don't be in love," he was already unclear as to why he shouldn't fall in love with Draco or why a burst of dulled pain had started to flare up again.

Finally, when he did turn, there was nothing there and Harry felt ridiculous not knowing why he turned in the first place or why he was moving backwards.

Harry sat at a table all alone in a tiny cafe, ignored by waiters and customers. At the table next to him, Draco was also sitting by himself with a red rose on the table, swirling a glass of wine impatiently. Instinctively, Harry got up to sit at the empty chair across from Draco, but before he could even take a step towards the other table, he saw a very former image of himself take the seat instead.

Still wearing the uncomely black glasses, and looking out of place in a tattered coat and torn jeans, his old self slipped apologetically into the chair, muttering an apology to Draco.

Expecting his date to scowl at his tardiness and berate him for it, Harry was stunned when Draco shrugged it off and asked him genially what he wanted to eat for dinner instead. During the exchange the rose had disappeared off the table and Harry wondered why he'd never noticed it.

The candlelight softened Draco's sharp features, making him seem tender. Harry had always been captivated by the way Draco was so refined. The man was refined even when eating spaghetti, twirling his fork artfully and fitting all the pasta into his mouth, none of the noodles slipping back onto the plate.

Somehow though, a spot of sauce was on the corner of Draco's mouth, and Harry found himself newly endeared. He reached over the table to wipe it off with his thumb, and was rewarded by Draco parting his lips around the finger.

This was their first date, and Harry could see the butterflies in his own stomach flutter in his face and his movements. Shaking, he saw himself pull his hand back, clumsily knocking over a glass of water. Draco laughed and Harry slunk back into his chair, red with embarrassment.

Sitting only one table away and watching Draco try to wipe up the mess with a cloth napkin, Harry was more and more attracted to the man. His brief touches and his quirked smiles all were casual, but intimate.

Draco made Harry believe that the world was theirs alone and soon Harry had eased into that blanket of comfort, feeling that no matter what Draco would be there, taking his hand and muddling with him through his messes.

The dinner was over too soon for Harry and he wished to prolong it, slowing his bites and trying his hardest to wheedle conversation to the very end. It never occurred to him that Draco was doing the same.

Draco picked up the rose from beneath the table and laced their fingers together. Harry looked up at Draco just as Draco looked down, his gray eyes locking onto Harry's green ones.

"A rose is like a promise, Harry. Most people think that they're supposed to give it to someone at the beginning of the night, but they don't even know what they're supposed to be promising," he handed Harry the rose almost shyly. "Make a promise to see me again tomorrow night?"

Harry took the rose, his fingers on the smooth stem. The thorns were trimmed off. "Okay."

Draco smiled again, a strand of hair hanging over his eyes and kissed Harry's temple in way Harry thought was intimate. Such gestures, Harry thought firmly, were so much sweeter than open-mouthed kisses or below the belt fumbling, because it was given as a promise of something more to come.

If Harry wanted to pinpoint the exact moment where he fell in love with Draco Malfoy, he would have chosen this one.

The image of the couple together wavered, and Harry panicked, desperately trying to sustain the picture of him and Draco together.

The candlelight flickered ominously and the people, tables, and chairs around him evaporated. Finally, the image of Harry and Draco did as well and Harry stood alone in the middle of a black room.

He wasn't able to place an emotion on the thrumming of his heart or why he felt like he just gained everything in the last two seconds and lost it in the next two.

The Last Battle was something Harry tried very hard to push into the back of his mind and maybe forget about all together.

He was standing in the midst of it now, feeling scared and vulnerable and wearing nothing but jeans and a tee shirt; his hair styled so that his scar was conspicuous to anybody that was looking to find it. Spells flew around him, never touching him, but always hitting some other person. The blasts of green light followed by the thud of a body falling sickened him and the screams and writhing of some of the other bodies made him retch behind a tree.

Why was he here again? He panicked and fumbled for his wand as men in dark cloaks advanced towards him. He cast spell after spell and they all missed. One of them men aimed a spell towards a sandy-haired boy behind him, and Harry screamed as he saw his old dorm mate crumple to the ground with his eyes still open in terror.

There wasn't anything he could do to stop it. He ran and ran until he saw the tall, menacing figure with the unforgiving red eyes. The figure towered over the image of himself he saw.

He looked so young. His body was still in its awkward stages, not yet filled out, and his face still childish and pink. The figure had a wand pointed towards him, and Harry was queasy with the anticipation of what happened next.

Another young looking boy, rushed towards him, pushing him to the ground. The pale face was mud streaked and the blond hair matted with blood. Draco Malfoy looked so fragile when he was younger, and maybe it was because at the time, he had been broken over and over again, but never properly fixed.

The younger Harry was knocked to the side, as Draco received the full brunt of the i Crucio /i curse. His joints bent unnaturally, and his mouth opened in an endless scream.

When the curse ended, he saw the figure start to form the words i Avada Kedavra /i and Harry couldn't bear it. He tried to step in between the spell, feeling foolish and even more helpless because he couldn't stop it.

His younger self looked even more desperate and Harry watched himself snap. He tackled Voldemort head on, his skin burning at the touch, and pain exploding in his head. Yet, he managed to utter the right curse to distract Voldemort long enough to save Draco.

He saw Draco's body, unmoving but still contorted in a agonizing position. It was then, Harry started to understanding how someone never really becomes that important until he was about to lose him. At the moment, he didn't know exactly how perilously close he was to losing Draco altogether.

The scene started to dissolve and when Harry went to wrap his arms around Draco to cradle him in his arms, Draco vanished altogether.

Standing under the black sky, Harry felt a mournful loss for someone he never knew. Almost every detail of the battle was still excruciatingly clear in his head, but his emotions throughout them were distorted and there was a blank pause between several events.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in Dumbledore's office. Snape was hovering around him anxiously and Professor McGonagall standing stoically in a corner with her lips pursed into a thin line. Harry was sullenly perched at the edge of his seat, wanting to bolt at any moment.

Draco appeared small and even more boyish in a swath of robes, hunched over in the chair. When he spoke, his voice trembled and sounded almost as tiny as he looked.

Harry recognized this moment as when Draco made his confessions, acknowledging and incriminating Lucius Malfoy as a Death Eater, yet expressing love and concern for a man Harry had always believed as evil.

Draco had tried to explain that Lucius was simply misled, and consequently, his own desires to be led in a proper direction.

Harry had felt indignation and curiousity when Dumbledore pressed for the details leading to this discovery, and then ill at the stories that spilled from Draco's mouth.

An elderly man being stretched over sharp rocks and whipped, a little girl being turned from the inside out, and a Muggle mother having needles stuck into her until she slowly bled to death. Then a young boy witnessing all of the aforementioned events.

Older now, Harry was able to express concern and longing to protect that young boy. The younger Harry had ran.

As soon as the door to Dumbledore's office slammed shut, the entire office disappeared leaving Harry no explanation as to why he felt the need to take care of someone and comfort him.

He was soaring through the air on a broomstick, doing acrobatic flips and turns. The wind on his face was refreshing and Harry zoomed in circles, not minding the feel of his hair whipping in his face.

Colors of red and green flew by him and he spotted two lone figures drifting in the sky a little higher than everybody else. He flew up to see who they were and the bickering voices immediately clued him in.

"…Father to buy you onto the team, Malfoy. Did he buy you your friends too?" That had been his own taunting voice.

An angry voice lashed out, "At least I didn't need a stupid scar on my face to make friends with a Mudblood and a Weasel."

"Yeah, well, at least I never slept with Snape to receive high marks in potions."

Even as he said it, Harry had known that would never be true. It was fact that the rumoured Slytherin Sex God, had never actually bed nor even been interested in anybody, male or female. It was also fact that Malfoy had always been good at potions, his movements and calculations precise and his work perfect.

"If I slept with Snape, Potter," Malfoy had spat out his name, "Then you must have slept with the rest of the professors to receive the treatment you've been getting."

In a flash, Malfoy had ridden off. Harry looked in that direction and spotted the tiny glint of gold. He urged himself to look over there to follow it, but his younger self was too busy seething.

He was frustrated when he noticed that Draco Malfoy had been the only person to have an affect on him that was entirely consuming of his attention. Perhaps the only reason, Harry saw the snitch during the match was because he saw Malfoy first, chasing after it.

Harry started diving but when he looked down both himself, Malfoy, and the snitch were gone and the pitch had vanished as well. He tried to stop his broom, but then he noticed he was no longer on one.

He kept hurtling downwards into absolutely nothing, unable to remember what his attention had been on.

Madame Malkin's was a familiar place to Harry. The expensive robes and trousers brought him to a level of comfort, because letting his fingers brush against soft fabrics gently reminded him that it was almost as if it were brushing against Draco Malfoy's clothes.

He saw two little boys standing on stools in front of a mirror, getting measured for robes. The little blond boy with the pale, pointed face looked at ease and confident, while the scrawny dark-haired boy looked as if he'd rather be anyplace but there with that other boy.

"Do you play quidditch at all?" Even at age 11, Malfoy had perfected the bored, drawling voice that complimented his cold sneer.

"No." Harry looked absolutely sour, yet confused. Leave it to Malfoy

to be the very first wizard his age he talked to.

"I do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"

Harry was surprised that some of his first bits of knowledge about the wizarding world and Hogwarts were from Draco Malfoy. When the two boys faded away, he was confused as how he came to know those things in the first place.

Harry was standing in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but the color black over his head, beneath his feet, and to the left and right of him. He was lost and absolutely alone.

He didn't remember ever being this lonely, and even when Draco materialized in front of him. In fact, it made him feel even more lonely, because when he reached for the other man, he couldn't feel anything. Draco seemed to just vanish as soon as his fingertips grazed him and reappear somewhere else.

"Harry," Draco looked as forlorn as Harry felt.

"Draco?" Harry was unwilling to believe that Draco was really in front of him, and one part of him understood that Draco really wasn't.

"Harry," Draco sounded urgent, "Harry, once you open your eyes you're not going to be able to remember me."

"But isn't that what I wanted? I wanted to forget all about you," Harry felt like he was lying.

Draco looked upset, "I know you do. That's the last thing you ever said to me. Don't you remember?"

"No," Harry whispered, "Please tell me."

Draco stepped forward, "I was sitting on the couch waiting for you to come back. I wanted to apologize for what happened. Do you remember what happened Harry?"

There was a couch now, and Draco was sitting on it looking desolate. "I cheated on you and you caught me and then you ran."

A door was in front of him, blocking Draco from his view, so he opened it. He found himself back in his apartment, which was almost empty. Hadn't Draco emptied it out last night?

"Why? Why did you cheat on me?"

"Because you scared me, Harry. You had so much power over me. You could make me do anything, feel anything that you wanted me to feel. I wanted to prove that I still could do what I wanted without you. Except," Draco stared at his knees, "I never really wanted to cheat on you. I didn't know I already had what I really wanted and that I never really wanted to do anything without you."

"I don't believe you," Harry hissed, and he was thrown back at why he sounded so hideous and so angry when he really wanted just to tell Draco everything was okay and what happened wasn't worth throwing over a lifetime's worth of memories.

"That's what you said before," Draco sighed sadly. "I've never given you reason to believe me have I? It was foolish of me to think that just one year of being in love could undo all the errors of our past."

Harry could only wordlessly mouth his surprise that it had only been one year. Draco had affected him longer than that hadn't he?

Draco continued and Harry felt the faintest recollection of his words, "Love is supposed to make someone stronger, not weaker. You made me weak, Harry. I felt opened to you. I always was you know, but before I wasn't afraid to do whatever I wanted. Then, I wasn't afraid to lose you, because I thought I would never have you."

"I don't want to listen to your bullshit, Malfoy. Just admit it. You were tired of me, just like you grow tired of everything else. You were bored and I didn't live up to your expectations." Harry wondered where those words were coming from and why they were spilling from his mouth.

"I'm not tired of you, Harry..." Draco was desperate.

"Don't call me Harry." And Harry felt desperate.

Draco gave a resigned sigh, "Fine. I won't. I just wanted to say sorry. You don't deserve someone like me. You deserve better."

"You're scum, you know that Malfoy?" Harry wanted to take back all those words.

He really knew where Draco was coming from, because Draco made him feel the same way. He was terrified of doing something to push Draco away, but deep down he was sure he always had Draco in some way and Draco had always had him. He didn't want to change that.

"I love you, Harry Potter." Draco's image started to flicker.

"No, Malfoy. You don't know the meaning of love," Harry's mind screamed at him to stop himself from talking.

"I love you," Draco repeated, "Don't ever forget that. You may not remember, but…please don't forget."

He handed Harry a withered looking rose that Harry recognized he kept in his freezer after his and Draco's first date. "Promise me you won't forget."

"Goodbye Malfoy. Just leave. I never want to see you again," Harry screamed.

Draco looked blurry in his mind. He couldn't remember his lines nor where each of his many angles were. "I just want to forget you, Malfoy. I want to forget that you ever existed."

Draco smiled sadly, "You won't be able to forget, Harry. But I can make it so you'll never remember."

Harry's screams were livid, when all he wanted to do was pull Draco close and tell him all was forgiven. He didn't know what he really wanted and what was real and what was not. "I hate you, Malfoy. I never want to remember you, your face, and your stupid lies."

"Not lies. Just misconceptions." Draco stared right at Harry. "Do you really want to stop remembering? Stop the memories?"

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"Maybe it'll be the only good thing I've ever done for you," Draco took out his wand.

"What-what are you doing?" Harry took a step away

"Stopping the memories," Draco pressed the wand to Harry's head. "Concentrate, Harry. Concentrate on trying to forget."

Draco had disappeared and Harry was left all alone once more, clutching tightly to a rose. He could see absolutely nothing around him, yet it seemed everywhere he looked, everything that had transpired between him and Draco, and every single memory he'd ever had with the other man was replaying themselves like a broken video.

i Harry tickling Draco over which CD to play. Draco trying to cook breakfast and had pancake batter all over his face. Harry was teaching Draco how to play poker and Draco insisting on making it a strip poker game. Harry and Draco riding on broomsticks while everyone else was at the Leaving Ball. Draco buying them matching rings and slipping it on Harry's finger. /i

Draco's desperate face pleading for forgiveness and a new start and Harry's merciless answer. Draco's wand pointed at Harry's face and his lips moving, " i Obliviate. /i "

"No!" Harry screamed into the blackness. "No! Stop. No. I don't want to forget. I want to be able to remember. I don't want to forget about..."

Who? Who didn't he want to forget about? What was the name?

His eyes sprang open.

He was alone in a half-empty apartment. He picked at a scone and let his thoughts wander over why all his clothes only took up half his closet and why the refrigerator had some foods he would never eat. He didn't really think about it though, because he found himself not really caring.

There was a withered looking rose on the coffee table in the living room, and scrunching his nose, Harry picked it up by the stem to throw it out, not stopping to wonder why he had a dead flower in his living room.

He glanced at his watch. 6:05 it read, and he thought it was still rather early for dinner. He wandered around his apartment, his mind rather muddled. He had a niggling feeling that there was something he should be doing around this time, but he wasn't sure what it was.

He also felt terribly, terribly alone, but he assumed that he felt the same everyday because it was a typical feeling for someone of his age who still had no one to come home to and no one to love him. He ignored the other niggling feeling that told him that wasn't true.

Shrugging, he went to go clean out the refrigerator. He picked up a strange looking fruit and an expensive looking block of cheese. They had labels on them that said, "Draco Malfoy." He wrinkled his brow. What a strange thing to label foods, he thought as he threw those in the garbage as well.

Maybe he needed to go grocery shopping. He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and stepped outside. The market was to the right, but on a strange impulse he turned left. He had no idea where he was walking, but his feet seemed to know. There was a place called the Leaky Cauldron which he entered and then went out the back. He tapped bricks with his wand and entered into a colorful street full of shops.

He didn't have an acquired taste for shopping but he was pulled towards a place called Madame Malkin's robes anyway. He entered and noticed a tall man with blond hair standing on a stool getting measured.

When the blond man turned towards him, Harry felt a flicker of recognition before pushing it away. He'd never been here before nor had he ever seen this man before. Yet he yearned to know this new man. His loneliness was still ever present and tangible, and it was difficult not to lose himself to anyone who bothered to pay him the least bit of attention.

He stepped onto another footstool and glanced curiously at this man, whom was gorgeous. Blushing, he turned away, ashamed to be caught staring.

"Hello." the man said.

Harry was taken aback by the sound rich, aristocratic baritone and how he could manage a bored, drawling voice yet sound so pleasant. He also thought that such a pale, sharp-angled man would seem cold, but Harry got the impression that such a man would be warming to the touch.

The man smiled at Harry, "You look familiar. Do you play quidditch?"

"N-no. I don't think we've ever met before." Harry tried smiling, but couldn't seem to remember how to move his lips.

"Oh. Shame. Would you care to tell me your name then?" The man looked genuinely curious and Harry was stunned that anyone would want to know his name.

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"My name's Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Warmth tingled throughout Harry; his feeling of emptiness seemed to evaporate. He felt like he found a missing piece inside of him that he never knew was there until it was filled.

"Want to go for coffee?" He surprised himself by asking.

"All right," Draco agreed, and Harry didn't feel so alone anymore.

Draco picked Harry up at his apartment. He was dressed inappropriately for the weather—a silk shirt and jeans one size too small, but Harry felt overdressed all the same when he stood next to him in a heavy coat and knitted scarf.

They walked around the city, Harry's shoved his gloved hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wanted to reach out to hold Draco's mittened hand and kept looking down to see their arms swing side by side.

He never noticed how his hand managed to find its way towards Draco's, but he felt another rush of familiar warmth when their hands touched.

They stood side by side on a bridge overlooking a river. Tiny lights illuminated the stone road. Harry rested his elbows on the edge, and Draco did the same. Their shoulders brushed and all Harry could think about was having Draco come closer.

He had missed this sort of quiet companionship and wracked his brain for past moments reminiscent of this. When he could not remember any, he became agitated. He was almost sure he had some. The gentle feel of someone next to him, their breath on his cheek, and his hand in theirs was one he recognized.

Draco wrapped an arm around him and Harry sighed with contentment. He felt safe, comfortable, and the butterflies in his stomach were for the anticipation of something greater.

When Draco leaned forward to kiss him, he instinctively tilted his head upward and parted his mouth. His body seemed to know exactly where he fit against Draco and how to mesh their lips and noses together for a perfect match.

He was disappointed when the kiss ended and tried to prolong it by letting his lips linger near Draco's and gazing up at the taller man with his eyes half-closed.

He wanted to treasure this moment forever and preserve it as a memory he'd never forget. He would treasure the kiss like a keepsake, able to pull it out and remember it whenever he needed a quick burst of warmth or any undiscovered missing pieces filled.

Draco pulled a rose from his coat pocket and laced their fingers together and let their eyes lock.

"A rose is like a promise, Harry. Make a promise to see me again tomorrow night?" He handed Harry the rose.

Harry nodded and whispered, "I promise."

He tilted his face back up towards Draco, whom had his eyes closed. He closed his own eyes and just let their lips find each other. One hand clutched the rose, and his other hand rested on Draco's hip.

He could see Draco smiling against him even with his eyes shut and decided he wouldn't mind if they stayed like this forever.

If Harry wanted to pinpoint the exact moment where he fell in love with Draco Malfoy, he would have chosen this one.