A/N: All the usual disclaimers apply... Sadly, these characters are mine only to play with before I have to give them back.

Dear blondie, I went flying today, and I missed our chats out by the bleachers. Maybe you want to go for a picnic again sometime? –H.

Suddenly Pansy growled and threw down her quill. "Alright. I'm done with this mourning quietly crap. I hate this, Dray. I hate that you're doing this to yourself. I bloody loathe it."

Draco blinked tiredly and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't seem to be able to find the energy to respond. He wasn't even sure what he would say if he could muster the energy to get worked up about it.

It was funny. People assumed that Pansy was the hanger on and the one that Draco allowed to follow him everywhere just like Crabbe and Goyle, but she had always been his protector. Ever since they had been very young and each other's only company at functions that demanded they act like young adults. Something in her responded instinctually to the need she had always been able to sense in Draco. Standing in his father's shadow, Draco had always wanted to be loved for himself, needed for himself. She'd probably chop off an appendage or two if he ever said this to her, but the mother in Pansy couldn't stand to not comfort someone who needed her. Granted, her version of comfort was not something that everyone could deal with. Bullying, screaming and nasty hexes seemed to come natural to her, and she worked with the skill set that she had. Yet Draco had never – not once – doubted the sincerity of her caring for him. Just him. Not the Malfoy heir. And not the Slytherin prince.

"Dray? Dray, come on." Pansy's voice had taken on a slightly pleading edge. "At least talk to me. There has to be a better way than this."

Draco just sighed and continued to stare at his canopy. He had been doing a lot of that lately. He was sure he had the creases and the folds memorized by now.

"Damn it, Draco. You know I'm not Potter's biggest fan, but fuck it all, even I could tell you that the freaking berk cares for you. What is your damage?"

Draco finally turned to look at Pansy where she was sitting cross-legged on Blaise's bed. She'd taken to doing all her school work here when Draco stopped showing up in the Common Room altogether.

"Pans. I'm just so tired."

Her eyes softened a little, but the scowl didn't abate. "There's an easy fix for that and we both know it."

Draco barked a harsh laugh and his eyes stung. He turned back to his canopy watching.

"There is nothing easy about this, Pans, and we both know it. I can't imagine what mother must be thinking. You of all people know what is expected of me. You were there at all the bloody mad functions where I was paraded around like a bloody prize horse for the pure blood community in the hopes of a satisfactory merger at a later date." Draco could hear the bitterness in his voice as he quoted his father's oft repeated words verbatim. "She hasn't said anything in her letters, and what would she say about it anyway? I honestly don't know how I would bring something like this up. And father…" Draco stopped abruptly as his throat closed up.

Pansy sighed in the silence. "Yes, yes, the pure blood marriage mart. Trust me, you haven't seen true misery until you've been a girl at that circus. Pansy dear, we mustn't wear that, people might think you're of questionable character. Pansy dear, we must not slouch. Pansy darling, we must not sit in quite that way, it might appear rather risqué. Darling, decent girls don't cross their legs in company; it sends entirely the wrong idea. A bunch of repressed, sex-starved harridans with sticks up their behinds trying to suck the joy out of life."

More silence. One heartbeat. Two heartbeat. Three-

"Draco?"

"Yes, Pansy?"

"Draco, things are different. Now, I mean, ever since... Maybe-"

The snarl escaped before Draco could do anything about it. "There is no maybe, Pansy! You know this. Leave it alone!" He abruptly got up and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped to take a deep breath and compose himself. Wouldn't do to be storming through the Common Room like a bloody banshee. No need to make a spectacle of himself. Just before he stepped through, he did a customary sweep of the room, and he stopped at the wrongness of the picture before him.

Even though the Eight Years shared a Common Room, they tended to be cliquish in their social interactions. The Ravenclaws were near the windows where there was the best light and they had easy access to the book shelves. The Gryffindors sprawled near the fireplace where it was warmest. The Hufflepuffs had taken over one corner and arranged some of the most comfortable chairs in a semicircle around a plush looking carpet and were draped on and half off the furniture in various poses. The Slytherins were in another corner where they didn't have to turn their backs and could keep an eye on the stairs leading to the dorms, the portrait hole as well as the rest of the occupants of the room. Some habits were simply too ingrained to give up.

At first glance, everything was as it should be. Giggling girls in corners, whispering hysterically, check. Blaise working on his assignments with half an eye on the room, check. Macmillan complaining loudly that he was being left out of the game again, check. Weasley trying to cajole people into playing chess with him, check. Granger with her nose buried in a book, check.

And then it struck him. What was missing from the picture. The thing that connected all the disparate dots in the Common Room on any given day. Harry. Harry wasn't here. Harry who would normally be here, a tangible connection between the different houses, pulling them closer with his presence, his antics causing the Ravenclaws to smile indulgently even as they worked, the Slytherins to watch avidly to see what would happen, the Gryffindors to participate eagerly and the Hufflepuffs to come forward shyly. He'd been here in this room on many an occasion himself, inexplicably feeling lightened by whatever madness was ensuing even when he was no more than a spectator rather than participant. Harry. Harry was missing.

Dear blondie, The First and Second Years are organizing an Easter egg hunt for this Sunday. I know, I know. You scoff at everything Muggle, but I thought it would be a fun way to have a scavenger hunt regardless. Won't you come join us? Maybe just come for the end when we get to eat all the chocolate eggs we found? –H.

Draco stood out of sight in the window, watching the chaos that was Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Grubby students sporting droopy rabbit ears in their house colors stood along the edges, shouting encouragement and slurs alike. Each team had two blindfolded members in the patch, groping around on their hands and knees, trying to locate Easter eggs for their baskets based on the imprecise directions of their teammates. Every few minutes a buzzer would sound and the teams would switch out for new members.

Draco stopped when his eyes caught on a black haired figure sporting red rabbit ears. He hadn't consciously been scanning the crowd, but now that he'd spotted him, he couldn't deny that he'd been looking. Potter was standing at one edge of the pumpkin patch with Hagrid looming over him. Hagrid couldn't have looked prouder having a horde of crazies trampling through his tilled land. And Harry. He looked ... restless. Smiling while he watched the others trample through mud and shrub to fill up their baskets, but still almost twitchy, like his body wanted to be in motion, but he was holding himself still by sheer force of will alone. He looked up to smile at something Hagrid said to him, and then froze for just a second.

Patting Hagrid's arm twice, he started skirting the crowd, glancing around as he made his way through. What was he looking for?

He was here. He was hiding out upstairs, but he was here! Harry repositioned himself where he could better see the glimpses of blonde hair that he'd caught in an upstairs window and smiled to himself as the warmth in his chest grew. He was here.

Dear blondie, Imagine me hugging you. . . . Hi. –H.

Harry's eyes were soft, a small smile hovering on his lips, as he cupped Draco's cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing back and forth gently along his cheek bone. "You're beautiful."

Draco blushed. "I-"

Harry's eyes melted some more as he leaned forward. "Beautiful," he murmured before pressing his lips against Draco's in a soft kiss.

Draco sighed into the kiss that was all heat and tenderness, making no move to deepen it yet, simply enjoying the warmth that was spreading through him ... And then he opened his eyes.

He blinked at the familiar canopy of his bed as the warmth from the dream stayed with him for one shining moment. And then the horrifying truth settled like ice in his gut. A dream. A fucking dream.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

Blaise grunted somewhere in the darkness of the room. "What now, dray?"

Draco turned over and buried his face in his pillow as he exhaled on a scream. "FUUUUUUUUUCCCKK."

Dear blondie, April showers always depress me, and yet I find them strangely cathartic. Here is the world, crying all of its tears at once so that it can be happy and joyful for the rest of the year. It makes you think maybe we could learn something from Mother Nature. –H.

Draco couldn't sleep. He hadn't been able to sleep for a few days now.

In an ironic joke fate had given him peace for a little while before capriciously snatching it away again just as he was getting used to it. He couldn't believe how well rested he had been while Potter had been insisting in his idiotic way on cuddling. An activity that always made the back of his neck feel hot whenever Potter insisted. And he would always find himself embarrassingly falling asleep. In Potter's arms no less. He'd attributed falling asleep, in Potter's arms no less, to his exhaustion, but he'd never felt as tired as he did right now standing at the parapet of the Astronomy Tower. Stupid Potter and his stupid warmth.

Draco shivered as he turned to be on his way. The git had even managed to take away the self-flagellating pleasure from his nightly pilgrimage.

The Room of Requirement... the Astronomy Tower... the Great Hall... to the Owlery for some restful company... the one place he couldn't remember being confronted by accusing stares. Each place had been a reminder of his failures and how dearly they had cost him. A reminder that he needed to be more. To be better. And now... the walking felt ... empty.

He kept expecting to find Potter, waiting for him or to come barging around the next corner in his normal blustering way. He didn't know what to do with the disappointment whenever he turned a corner to find a corridor empty and no messy black hair and faded t-shirt in sight. He was after all the one who had decided enough was enough. There was that flash of anger and disappointment again as he remembered the look on Potter's face as he held back a fuming and frothing Weasley even as he offered Draco a cool nod before walking out of the Great Hall to get away from their avidly staring audience. The morbidly curious murmuring had started even before he had fully cleared the door. Draco himself hadn't quite been able to believe the vitriol that had spilled out of his own mouth. All evidence to the contrary, he'd been trying to make himself believe that Potter wouldn't have believed any of it either, that he would have known that Draco didn't really mean it. With the first snarled epithet, Potter's entire face had crumpled as Draco had looked on, and then a moment later his expression was wiped clean. He dropped his eyes to the floor though. That was one thing Potter had never been able to master - how to hide the emotions in his eyes. Everything he felt was displayed there, shining in its intensity, for anyone who cared to read him. Better than what his words said, better than what his body language said, Potter's real feelings were always there in the eyes. Admittedly, he tried to match his words to his emotions as often as possible - another one of his fruitless quests for honesty – Draco snorted softly. It was probably the reason he'd never been able to completely hide his emotions - something his own upbringing had demanded he master by the age of eight. But the stark, cutting truth was, Draco had given Potter no reason not to believe all of the crap he had said.

He'd been avoiding the Great Hall ever since. And there was no peace to be had in the Owlery anymore. Everything in there reminded him of Potter. Draco gave his head a hard shake to get rid of the same thoughts that had been circling like a broken record for days now. Five days to be precise. Five days that his ears had been ringing with echoes of You're beautiful. Five days since he had staged a rather public confrontation with Potter so the status of their "relationship" could not be misconstrued in any way. A confrontation that was everything Potter hated about being a household name. Damn it! He needed to sleep.

He missed those arms.

He knew he was worrying Hermione. It was always easy to tell when she was fretting, but the strain of worry had even started to show on Ron's face. That was when you knew things were bad. But honestly, he hadn't meant to make Hermione cry. It was just that, he couldn't stand to be touched any more. His skin prickled and made him restless and edgy in weird ways. He knew she meant well, but he'd shrugged away from her as soon as she'd tried to hug him. He'd felt instantly guilty at the tears, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to hug her even then. That was when the worry started to show on Ron's face as he provided the hug that Harry hadn't been able to. But he didn't want to deal with that either.

He was just so tired - bone-weary with exhaustion - and he wished he could sleep. It would be a kind of oblivion.

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