Title: Being Lost

Rating: PG

Challenge: Wind, Autumn, Pen and the sentence "It's not as simple as it seems, you know."

Summary: Draco makes a difficult decision.

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago for my dear Dez, during the first wave of the G'n'H April Fools Cookie Challenge. It's also the first story that I wrote in Draco's POV. W00t!

Being Lost

I.

Summer has passed, and autumn begins. The world is painted in sublime red, from the blazing sunset to the gently falling leaves. You bask in the irony of how the season's colour so matches the keeper of your thoughts. How the free-falling movements of leaves mimic your hesitation—Go left or right?—to eventually fall somewhere else.

It is the wind, you suppose, that steers the movement of a leaf. Whether it goes left or right, north or south, it relies on where the wind blows. You wish you are as fortunate as the leaves; that you have your own wind to guide you where to go. You once thought that your father was your wind, that he could do no wrong. But lately, you realize that your father is really a direction—one of the sides to choose from.

You don't know where to go. You feel like a leaf suspended in mid-air. Harry Potter made you fall from the tree. The Boy-Who-Lived made you choose a side.

Your father, or me?

It is so unfair. You know that Harry is asking this because war is starting, but you don't think he can be this ruthless. Harry once told you that he was supposed to be Sorted in Slytherin, and you scoffed at him outright, for how could someone as good as Harry Potter belong in Slytherin? It is unimaginable.

You are wrong. There is a reason why Harry was almost Sorted to Slytherin, and it is this ruthlessness that made him ask you to choose between your father, your legacy, your family, your identity and everything that you have, and Harry Potter, the person you are foolish enough to love.

A sound of laughter stops your musings suddenly. From your place under a huge tree near the lake, you can see Harry and his friends laughing at something Weasley had said. Your eyes are drawn, as always, to Harry, and something clutches at your chest when you see him laughing so happily.

Yet you stand up and leave.

II.

"Wait, Draco!" Labored breath.

Curtly. "Potter."

"Wha—" A pause. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"What makes you think I'm avoiding you?"

"I haven't seen you around for a while."

"You see me in the Great Hall everyday, Potter."

A beat, then softly. "I missed you."

Silence.

And you walk away.

III.

You try to write to Harry. Crumpled parchments crowd your desk. You have so many things to say, yet you can't seem to be able to write them down. Words are lost in a sea of "I love you"s and "How could you"s and "I miss you"s. In the end, you wind up writing only a single sentence.

It's not as simple as it seems, you know.

You use a pen given to you by Harry when he tried to convince you that Muggles aren't as bad as you think they are. It has red ink. Typical Gryffindor. Although, and you will never admit this to Harry, you are rather fond of the pen as it appeals to your indolent nature. Not to mention that Harry has given it to you.

You go to the Owlery, and send the note to Harry. You know his routines. You know how he likes to sit in front of the window at this time of the day, so you expect an answer soon.

And just like you hope for, your owl arrives with an answer.

I know.

And below, as if it has been hesitantly written...

I'm sorry.

You snort. You know that Harry isn't sorry. In a war, nobody can be sorry. Especially Harry Potter.

You're not. Don't be a hypocrite, Potter.

Yet you bite your lip, and add:

But I understand.

You give a sigh as you watch your owl soar elegantly into the twilight. Five minutes passed by, seven, and then ten. You are half tempted to go back to the sanctity of the Slytherin common room and sit in front of the warm hearth. A cold gust of wind blows through the opened window, making you shiver. Can it be that the wind is trying to push you out? Is it trying to tell you not to wait in vain? Fifteen minutes and there is still no answer. You are about to turn around when you see your owl land on the windowsill.

Draco, please...

That makes you shut your eyes. It takes you forever to continue.

... I thought I was doing the right thing, but I didn't consider the thing that counted the most. You. I should've known not to make you choose. You are who you are, and I would never want you to change. Ever.

I love you.

And you know, in that exact moment, that Harry is your wind.

Fin