Title: The Well
Author: eidheann
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~400
Summary: Where there is a wish...
Warnings: angst
When he woke the next morning, sun shining in familiar patterns across his face and sheets, he expected to feel... something. The Well accepted his wish, everything happened as he'd been told. The blood, the spiral, the flash... He looked around his bedroom, but it was identical to it's appearance every other morning since he'd moved to the flat. He slowly pushed back and leaned against the headboard moments before his borrowed house elf appeared with his usual breakfast tray. Same tray, same eggs, same toast, same jar of marmalade, same cup of tea. Same curtsy before disappearing with the same quiet pop.
He frowned but began eating his breakfast with the force born of habit. Sure enough, 20 minutes later, the elf reappeared briefly before she and his tray disappeared again.
Shoving back his covers, he climbed out of bed and stomped to the wardrobe. He knew he was behaving childishly, but it should have worked. He glanced at his palm where the remains of the small cut remained. He hadn't dreamed it. The Well worked. It always worked. It's why he decided the risk was worth it. But this... His wish was general, vague by design, but the intent was clear.
"Unless he never really loved you," the traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shook his head, pausing from reaching toward his robes and knelt down, reaching to the back of the wardrobe and pulling out a shrunken engraved box. He clutched it to his chest and returned to his bed, taking his wand from the table. Two flicks had the box once again properly sized, and another caused the lid to swing up on delicate hinges. He reached inside and with a trembling hand, pulled out a single photograph. It was still, taken with a muggle camera that spat out the photograph immediately, and showed them outside a museum in muggle London. Dressed in muggle clothes, arms around each other, he laughing at something Harry had said before pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek.
He wiped wetness from his cheek and once again wished the photograph was wizarding. He hated he could only see Harry's face in profile, closed eyes, mouth mashed into his cheek. If the figures could move, he might understand what happened, find some reason to explain the distance. Some sign in Harry's eyes that Draco's feelings weren't reciprocated.
But as always, the photograph didn't move.