( To Fall, With Rain )

Draco looked down at the path, at the hardened, worn-in earth. He felt and heard the crunch of pebbles and soil under his dust-ridden feet. He ignored the dull, though sometimes sharp pain of the blisters and cracked skin along the underside of his feet, walking onwards up the hill. Like all things in this place, he had been told that he'd get used it – that his feet would toughen up soon enough.

Over days that he'd been in this place with no name, they had walked along every path that he had been shown. It amazed Draco sometimes, how each of the paths showed a part of their lives. One way, the widest of all, was to the river – to water that quenched their thirst and cleansed their bodies. The longest of paths lead to the garden up in the hills, where they collected their food. And the nearest, shortest path was to the fields, where they found grass for their bedding and floor. There were others - like to the forest for firewood and to the mountains, where they found bits of flint. Each path had a purpose.

When Draco walked along the paths, he imagined Ginny, all alone with no memories, walking blindly through the wilderness. It was in those times that Draco admired Ginny for the strength she possessed. He knew that he would not have had his sanity if he had been her. He would've gone mad, waiting and waiting for someone, anyone to appear. . .

But most of all, it was strange for Draco to know that he was dependant on the paths - and on the knowledge of others - for his survival. It irked him like nothing else did.

Well, maybe not as much as the strange feelings he felt when Harry was close. But he tried not to dwell on that.

For all the work they did, it was doubled by play. Ginny was unyielding when it came to recreation, even when Ron and Hermione tried, and argued, to convince her otherwise. She joked and bribed all of them into doing all manner of things. Her ideas of games had no end.

The one thing Ginny never stopped doing was telling them to do what they wanted – to do whatever 'tickled their fancy'. It was not often that anyone besides Ginny pushed an activity, but one evening, as they were shelling peas, Harry spoke up.

'It's going to be full moon tonight,' he said in a serious voice that caught everyone's attention. 'I feel like it's important, or at least was important . . . thus we're going to watch it.'

And, because Ginny thought it was an amazing idea, they really had no choice in the matter. As Ginny bustled around making plans, Draco watched the others' faces. There was a reason they let her do what she wanted – she lost more of herself each day and even he had noticed. They knew, and they let her create herself all over again – to fill the empty spaces within.

xXx

The moon was a golden disk against the night sky. They stared up at it, on their backs on the field, laying next to one another in a row. The grass was prickly underneath them, and the air crisp and cold as they bathed in the moonlight. It was so bright that for a moment, as Draco had stepped outside, that he had been sure that the sun had not yet set.

'Look at that one!' Ginny exclaimed excitedly, pointing. 'Doesn't that cloud look like a face?'

'Nah, more like a squashed face,' Ron piped in thoughtfully. 'A pancake face.'

Hermione smacked him on the arm. 'It's a cloud, for heaven's sake. Not a face. Or any type of food.'

'Oi, she was the one to bring it up,' Ron said, a tinge of hurt in his voice. 'I was just adding to the conversation – smack her instead!'

'But you were the idiot to bring up pancakes,' she huffed in annoyance. 'Pancake faces, of all things.'

'If you're hungry, don't bring it out on me, 'Mione.'

'Idiot.'

Harry grinned. 'Hey, don't those clouds look like a bird?'

They all looked up at the moon, and past its brilliant glow, they saw a cloud just over it. From its shape it looked like the silhouette of a bird with its wings outspread in flight. As Harry stared at it, a sudden sense of awe and quiet swept over him. He wanted to stay still in the silence outside and within him – in this moment forever.

But he couldn't, and even as a soft sadness filled him, there was a gentle joy in the knowing that it would not last. That even if this memory of tonight slipped through his fingers like sand, he'd never lose this feeling.

Harry turned his head to the side, his cheek brushing small blades of grass and looked over at Draco. The boy was on his side, curled into himself, nearly asleep and very close. He could feel one of Draco's hands lightly touch his chest and arm.

Harry looked up at the moon again, just letting it all be.

xXx

When Draco awoke, the sun was peeking over the horizon. He felt the warm morning light on his skin and eyelids before he opened his eyes blearily. He was warm, and there were arms wrapped around his middle, and legs curled next his. Hot and hovering breath misted over his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Even though he had woken up in such a way for days already, it was different this time. The way Harry held him was tighter, closer, gentler. It was like he was fragile, a thing that could be broken.

Draco sighed, then began the slow process of prying himself from the embrace. Harry's grip tightened when he moved, and he grumbled into Draco's neck a few times, before he finally let him slip away. Draco sat at the boy's side, inspecting his clothing that was damp from dew. A quick hand through his hair revealed grass stuck in it.

He looked over at his side, and found three other shapes curled around each other for warmth on the grass of the field. After musing over their choice of resting place, he concluded that they had fallen asleep looking at the stars and moon. It was the last thing he remembered before closing his eyes.

A ray of light suddenly shone down on him, and he shielded his eyes for a moment, before peering over his hand to see the horizon aglow with orange and red. On the ground next to him, the dew droplets glistened and from above, the birds started their dawn songs. He took in a deep breath, then let it out.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?' Harry asked in a quiet voice as he sat down next to Draco. 'A new day.' He blew on his hands, rubbing them to get them warm.

'It is,' Draco murmured, holding onto the quiet. 'It's like a song that hasn't yet been sung.'

Harry looked up at the sky, frowning. 'It's going to rain.'

Draco smiled when he felt the first delicate patters of rain on his skin. He closed his eyes when it began to gain strength. He liked how the rain slipped over his skin, like the trailing touch of cold fingertips. A warm hand took his own.

'Let's fly away,' Harry whispered, very close. 'Let's sing that song that hasn't yet been sung.'

They got to their feet and ran across the field, right behind one another. They stopped near the cover of a tree, but stood in the rain, laughing. They shook their heads, spirals of droplets flying off their hair. They danced, hands clasped together, soaked to the bone. They spun around in circles, letting their laughter entwine into one, into one song.

Finally, breathlessly, they stumbled under the cover of the tree. Draco stood still, his cold feet pressed down against fallen pine needles, his head tilted backwards. He smelt the freshness of the earth that the rain had brought, pulling it into his lungs, intoxicating his senses.

Slowly, he lowered his head and looked over at Harry. The boy was leaning against the tree trunk, his wet clothes clinging to his body and his cheeks flushed from cold. But there was a bright light in those wide green eyes that Draco couldn't look away from. It was alive, overwhelmingly so. He felt like a moth to a flame.

'I think I loved you before, when I had a shadow,' Draco said softly. His heart was pounding madly. He couldn't look away, not from those eyes.

'Why do you think that?'

'Just a feeling. A familiarity.'

Harry frowned. 'I think I hated you before.'

There was no malice in the boy's voice, but the words still felt like a physical blow to Draco.

Harry shook his head, and said with a wry smile, 'No. Not hate, just intense dislike.'

Draco couldn't help the chuckle that left him. 'I wonder why,' he whispered, a little tiredly, a little bitter.

Harry smiled. 'But I like you now, don't worry.'

Draco gave him a weak, little smile. 'That's a relief,' he said dryly, wanting to laugh, cry and scream.

The dark-haired boy tilted his head to the side, watching him. 'It's not quite love though,' he said, his tone almost apologetic and sad.

'I know.'

The sound of rain and their breaths, coming out in hot steam, filled the space of words. Draco counted his breaths, trying to ignore the trembling of his hands. In that moment, he wanted to be the rain – to fly through the skies, to fall into the warm earth, only to be swept up with the wind and into the bright blue sky.

Hot tears brimmed and fell down his cheeks. He let out a choked sob, curling into himself. The trembling spread to all over his body when he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around him from behind.

'I don't want to forget this,' Draco whispered. 'Even if it hurts.'