Warnings: Character Death implied, Slash,PG-13ish (and/or T), not hugely long, Common pairing, blah blah blah.

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I walked down the ally with my hands in my pockets, my head down. It was cold outside, cold enough to need a jacket but I was so numb already that I barely noticed the difference. The familiar sights and smells of Diagon Alley didn't even register, even though I'd been there so many times previously. It was as if the world was suddenly drained of all its color and life. I certainly felt like I was.

As I walked on I could feel the weight of the stares on my back, people who were somewhere between sympathetic and accusatory. I shifted my eyes away from them doing my best to avoid their eyes. Even in doing so, I ended up face to face with my heartbreak.

A page from the Daily Prophet blew down the narrow street, stopping just in time for me to see the headline and the picture. Boy Who Lived's Funeral: The rise and fall of a hero. This bold headline was followed by a picture of Harry's casket, sleek and beautifully crafted, surrounded by flowers. I chocked back a dry sob as I walked hurriedly forward. I'd wanted to cry but I couldn't. Something within me was holding back the tears. I'd already lived through so much death. It was his death however that would change me into this empty shell, wandering around without a soul.

When Harry and I were married, there was such a mixed reaction. We received many howlers, most of them addressed to me for corrupting such an innocent boy. I agreed that Harry deserved better than me, but he didn't seem to think so. I was more than darkness to him. I was a person, a human, the man he just happened to fall in love with. I loved him so much.

It's true irony that Harry would die of something stupid like a disease. One day he was coughing. The next he was laying in bed, thin and frail, hanging on by a thread. My love left me two months after our marriage. Just two short months.

I brushed my hair from my face as I covered my mouth with my other hand to try to keep from sobbing again. It was a losing battle and I soon found myself leaning against the side of one of the brick shops to stabilize myself in a world that seemed to be crashing down on me.

Suddenly it didn't matter to me that everyone was staring at me. Everyone knew who I was and what I was. I was Harry's widower husband. I was an ex-death eater. I was Draco Potter-Malfoy.

I was broken.

"Mr. Potter-Malfoy. Are you alright?" A voice I knew well was calling me back to the present and I looked up into the gentle face of Remus Lupin, my former professor. I looked at him with desolate eyes and attempted a smile that ended up looking more like an expression of pain.

"Yeah. Fine," I replied not moving from my leaning position.

"Alright. I give you that it was a rather stupid question. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"

"O…Okay." I don't know what made me agree. Maybe it was the offer for company that was nonjudgmental, maybe it was the tea, but more likely it was the fact that I didn't want to have to make my own decisions at that moment.

We wandered up the alley to a very small café. We seated ourselves at the booth, Remus attempting to make small talk while we waited for the waitress. My responses were all uninterested as I stared at the tablecloth and searched for patterns in it.

"Mr. Potter-Malfoy is it?" It was the waitress. She'd finally showed up at our table and I looked up sharply. She worried a lip between her teeth as she handed me a single red tulip. "I don't know why…but I suddenly had the urge to give this to you. I hope it doesn't bother you."

I barely heard her words as I stared in wonder at the delicate flower I held in my hands. Every time Harry and I went on a date, he'd give me a red tulip and tell me that he loved me. At our wedding, Hogwarts was a vision of them surrounding every nook and cranny in the entire castle. How had she known Harry's mark?

It was then that I'd figured it all out. My Harry was still watching over me. My heart felt a little lighter as I held on to that flower and the dam of tears finally broke and made their way down my cheeks. My angel was still there for me. And he was speaking to me through the flower. As many know, flowers have a language of their own.

Red tulips are a declaration of love.

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Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure whether or not I like this. This is kind of out of nowhere, but hey. Review and let me know what you think.