In His Eyes

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In His Eyes

Chapter 1: "Breathe a Sigh"

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DRACO: I sit and watch the rain

And see my tears run down the windowpane...

When Draco Malfoy got back to his room, it was quite a while after midnight. It was as if everyone else on the Hogwarts' grounds was blissfully asleep.

Draco couldn't get to sleep, though. This stemmed from the fact that he really didn't feel like putting his head on his pillow, closing his eyes, and floating off into peaceful oblivion.

On the contrary, he felt like putting his fist through a wall.

After tossing and turning restlessly for a couple of hours, his will to sleep in vain, he had eventually given up on the idea of sleep, in favor of perhaps doing something more constructive.

So he had tried reading one of the novels his mother had sent him - only to throw it down in disgust when he realized that he had managed to read the same paragraph twelve times. Then he'd tried writing in his journal - usually a calming activity - until it quickly became apparent that he just wasn't in the mood to put his thoughts down on paper.

He briefly considered waking up Crabbe and Goyle - the result of a bite of jealousy to see them peacefully snoring in their own beds. It was the selfish part of Draco that wanted to shake them awake: "If I'm going to have insomnia, then the least you two louts can do is have the courtesy to stay up with me." But because he was rarely - if ever - intentionally cruel to his friends (and really, Crabbe and Goyle were only a few blanks short of that job description) he left them to their dreams. Besides, he doubted if he could really shake them awake. The most he could expect out of them was a grunt, a snore, then an unintentional swing of a meaty hand at his head.

Yes, he had figured they probably had dreams. Most probably, Draco decided, happy dreams. Draco wasn't sure what exactly it was that made them happy: eating...beating up people...sunny days...puppies or kitties.... He glanced warily over to the overlarge sleeping figures of his, well to put it in more blunt terms as that Weasley would, "bodyguards." Goyle grunted and rolled onto his stomach, just as Crabbe mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "mummy."

Draco snorted. Crabbe's bloody lucky to be one of the few people on my good side. If he was, say, Weasley, talking about his "mummy" in his sleep, I'd never let him hear the end of it.

Draco briefly wondered about what that Weasley prat might mumble in his sleep. He'd probably cry about how poor his stupid family is. And he'd probably only be doing it to get attention from Potter. Very loving relationship those two have. Probably never even say so much as a cross word to each other. Oh no...Harry would never argue with his friends. He saves that sort of thing for me. Damn him.

He set his jaw and looked around the room, trying to come up with something to take his mind off of the very thing that was threatening to consume him - the very reason he couldn't get to sleep in the first place.

And suddenly, strangely, his anger washed away and he was left with just one thought: I'd like to see the sun rise.

Draco knew he'd been up before dawn in the past. But in all his six years at Hogwarts, it had never occurred to him to find a window where he could actually watch the sunrise (something quite impossible to view in the undergroud-west-facing dungeons).

His mind made up, Draco slipped on his shoes and proceeded to sneak out of his room and out of the dungeons...up the stairs that led to the ground level, and then up toward the higher floors. At some point he decided that he'd let his feet take him wherever they chose, and that he himself couldn't be held responsible for where he finally ended up.

This excuse came very much in handy, as it turned out, since his feet led him to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

Draco looked all around, as if shocked to find himself in this particular area of the castle. "I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," he remarked, shooting furtive glances to all sides. It didn't matter - there was no one around to hear him...even the Fat Lady was fast asleep. She snores, Draco noted with a bemused smile. Oh well. At least she's asleep. I don't need her waking up and glaring at me like I'm planning to demoralize and degrade each of her precious Gryffindor charges, one by one.

Confident that he was alone, Draco turned at last to the windows that lined one of the walls.

Damn. It's raining.

Draco sighed heavily. Figures. His sharp eyes took in the sight of the raindrops sliding down the windowpane. It was only a morning shower, gentle and soft - and it hardly made any noise at all. Only when Draco strained his ears could he hear the slight patter of the tiny water droplets making contact with the roof. He briefly caught his reflection in the window, and he watched as distinct gray eyes stared back at him, flashing in irritation. The rest of his reflection was muddled by the traces of raindrops hitting the glass and trailing down slowly.

But the Slytherin chose to remain undaunted. He hoisted himself up onto the window ledge and sat there, letting one leg dangle over the edge as the other stretched out lazily across the length of the wooden frame. I came all the way up here, he thought to himself. Might as well enjoy the view.

Draco cast his gaze out across the countryside. But even as he tried to take in the beauty of Hogwarts...the tall trees of the forest, and the fresh, wet grass below...he found himself growing increasingly aware of his close proximity to The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry. The one person who had been in his thoughts constantly, ever since that day they had both arrived at school as anxious first-years. Granted, in the earlier times, the context in which he thought of "Potter" was very different from the context in which he thought of him now. Back then, it had been an obsession with blind hatred for the "goody-goody Gryffindor" with his Muggle-loving ways.

Now, well...it was still obsession. But everything else had changed.

What was it that Harry had said to him...that one time...? Oh yes.

"Now it's a whole different ball game." Whispered, with that beautiful smile, and that firm resolve. Words that held a promise - a promise that sought out something in Draco and held onto him, tightly.

A whole different ball game indeed. With new rules, and new loyalties. Now it was Harry and Draco, on the same team, wearing the same colors. Their opposition was made up of everyone else...or to put it more dramatically, "the world."

But even teammates have arguments. Draco cringed at the memory, which tugged for a second at his mind before he managed to push it away. I don't want to think about that right now.

He leaned the right side of his head against the window, and focused on a single drop of rain making its way down the glass. Sometimes it slowed down, only to speed up again. It wavered in its course, here and there, but the destination was the same.

And once that drop had met its unfortunate end on the outer, brick ledge; met its destiny in contributing to the dampness of the stone, Draco's eyes sought out another, similar, champion of the rain, and followed its journey in the same manner.

It's rather like the sky is crying, Draco mused. He traced one final drop with his finger, all the way down. I wonder what his tears are for? Draco was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even realize that he had subconciously spoken of the sky as if it were a boy.

A few moments later, the Fat Lady stirred, and Draco left the ledge, making his way back down to the dungeons to get ready for breakfast. As the sound of his footsteps faded away, the rain slowly began to cease... and a cloud rolled away to reveal the sun, barely breaking over the horizon.

HARRY: I sit and watch the sky.

And I can hear it breathe a sigh...

When Harry Potter awoke, two things entered his mind. The first was a simple point: I'm awake.

The second was simple only in the ways that it wasn't complicated: I'm loved.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was an amazing thing, really, to wake up in the morning with such knowledge. It spread a warm glow throughout his body...a glow that both excited and calmed him.

The glow was gracious, too: as it even allowed Harry a few moments of peace before he remembered exactly what had taken place the night before.

Oh.

He rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, as if he was scared that the scene would start replaying itself before his eyes. His arms came up to curl around his ears, as if he was preparing to block out the echoes of insults and accusations.

But nothing helped, because the argument was already clearly embedded in the one place he couldn't seek to defend: his memory.

God, was it ever in his memory.

He lifted himself to a sitting position and looked around the room. Dean's bed was empty - he was more often than not an early-riser. The same could not be said for Ron and Seamus, who were snoring rather loudly. In the dim light, he could just barely make out a lump in Neville's bed as well.

Against his better judgment, Harry wondered about Draco. Was Draco sorry? Harry snorted. No, Draco wouldn't be sorry - knowing the blonde Slytherin, he wouldn't even see himself as being on the wrong side of the argument at all. He was too proud to say he was wrong, too vain, and actually...

Had Draco been wrong?

His eyes fluttered to the window, and immediately a cloud of thoughts cluttered his mind. If Draco were to want to apologize, he would send me an owl...wouldn't he? Yes, an owl, and the owl doesn't think I'm here because - Harry's heart seized up in his chest - the drapes are closed!!

In a kind of blind panic made all the more worse by the fact that he hadn't completely woken up yet, Harry tumbled out of bed and ran to the other side of the room. There, his hands grasped the heavy scarlet drapes and yanked them open.

Daylight spilled into the room. Certainly, it wasn't very bright - it was a very early morning kind of daylight...a few gray, morning shower clouds trying their damndest to lessen the impact of the sun's rays.

But it was still daylight. A few choice Irish-accented curses were muttered in the direction of the window, followed by an angry voice that sounded suspiciously like Ron's, "Harry, what the hell?? Go back to bed! We've still got a good...minute left, or whatever." More grumbling came from the red-head, including a couple selections from his very colorful vocabulary, and then quiet.

Harry heard his friends, and ignored them. His eyes scanned the horizon in search of Draco's owl...and his mind kept him busy with more of those questions: would Draco send a school owl?

His eyes drifted in the direction of the owlery.

Or would he send his own?

His gaze switched back to sky watching. No telling from which direction the owl would choose to fly in. Draco's owl was just as sneaky as its owner was, and that was a fact.

Harry bit his lip. Facts wouldn't matter so much if Draco didn't bother to send a note at all.

After a few moments of internal turmoil, Harry decided that there was absolutely nothing wrong with merely operating under the assumption that Draco might send some kind of note. Speculation on the subject was, for the most part, harmless and (Harry had to be honest with himself here) quite unavoidable.

So speculate he did.

Would he send one of his "meet me" notes - asking me to meet him in our classroom, or in the Astronomy Tower? ...Pointless, really, that one, Draco, as it's daylight... Would he send a little piece of poetry from one of those books of his? No, if he's still even a little angry he wouldn't want to be sappy...sappy is only for when he's in a really good mood, or, I guess if he wanted to prove he was really sorry, so yes, poetry could be all right. Harry nodded. Poetry, I wouldn't mind that. I wouldn't mind anything. I'm not a picky person. Just a simple note, honestly, here, Draco, I could even write it for you: "Dear Harry, I'm really, really sorry about last night. I was up for so late, thinking it over - I just couldn't get to sleep - all right, I'll tell you the truth, I was up until dawn. And then I wanted to watch the dawn with you, I even walked all the way up to Gryffindor Tower so I could see the sun from that window, there. But there was no way to get in touch with you - I figured you'd be sleeping. If you could even sleep at all, I -"

"Harry?"

He startled a little bit at the timid voice, but didn't turn around. "Yes, Neville?" he managed through gritted teeth.

"I...was just about to head to the showers...I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me."

"Yeah, sure," Harry replied shortly. "Just give me a second, will you, Nev?"

"Sure...! Here, um, I still have to go get my bath stuff together." Harry could hear Neville going back to his bed...could hear the shorter boy rummaging around for things like soap and a sponge.

So The-Boy-Who-Lived went back to concentrate on more important things that weren't flying up to his window and dropping notes into his hand.

All right, Draco, I don't have time anymore for you to write something really long, and to be honest, I don't really need something really long. All I want is just for you to put forth a little effort. For you to just find some way of letting me know that you're sorry. Yes, that would be all right, "I'm sorry. D." I wouldn't mind even, well, if you did nothing at all, and --

"Harry?"

A surge of anger shot through Harry. No, not because of Neville (though it was taking every ounce of his will-power not to turn around and scream at his friend) but because he, suddenly and inexplicably, became aware of how spineless he sounded. I should be angry!, Harry thought in indignation. I should hate him! Here I am, sitting at the bloody window, looking at the bloody sky, mooning over him, making allowances for him? "Oh sure, Draco, apologize however you want...in fact, don't apologize at all, just as long as you don't hate me, just as long as you still want to be with me." Well that's the end of that!

"Yeah, yeah, Neville, I'm finished." Harry yanked the drapes back into place in front of the window, casting the room back into shadowed darkness. He then brushed past Neville and stomped across the room to get his bath pail. Stupid Malfoy, he silently seethed. Stupid Malfoy. I'm going to take a shower, and I'm not going to think about him anymore.

He'd almost made it do the door when he made the mistake of turning back around and looking at the covered window.

And he looked.

And he looked.

And he looked still more.

Just as Neville was about to open his mouth to ask Harry what exactly was going on, The-Boy-Who-Lived marched back over to the window, reached his hand underneath the curtains, and flipped the latch. Fingers trembling slightly, he pushed the pane of glass open. A shot of cool, damp air blew up against his arm.

He stepped back, still deep in thought. And then, before he knew what he was doing, his hands grasped the curtains and threw them open for a second time.

Ron and Seamus, only awake enough to realize that they were being treated to an encore performance of the sun, shouted in protest.

"Well the drapes might be too heavy for an owl to lift!!" Harry snapped angrily, as if they should have known better. With that, Harry grabbed up his bath pail and stormed out the door, a very confused Neville running after him.