And Sometimes...

You hated him in school. You really did. You thought he was a bratty little child and you sometimes caught yourself wondering what it would be like if he just died. He was the bane of your existence, more so than Voldemort, because he was there every day. All you got from Voldemort was a twinge in your scar a few times a year, the odd nightmare and a huge anticlimax. But he was constantly in your face, on your back and in your ear.

Every day you dreaded leaving the common room, every day you dreaded going to breakfast, every day you dreaded walking to class and the only thing you looked forward to was going to bed. Bed was the one place he couldn't reach you, bed was the one place you could pretend he didn't exist. All through your years at Hogwarts, bed was the one place you ever truly felt happy.

You still don't know what changed.

It wasn't fate, you don't believe in fate. To you, the prophesy was just someone's idea of a sick practical joke, because if that prophesy had never been made, then it might never have needed to come true.

Standing on the edge of the lake, looking out at the water, like steel, unmoving, hard and cold. You watched the clouds as they rolled across the sky and took it turns to paint the landscape different shades of grey and wondered why nobody had ever thought to restore the grounds to their once magnificent splendour.

You still don't know why you went back there, and sometimes you wish you never had.

"Potter?"

You remember that moment so well, as if it were emblazoned in your brain. You remember it so well now, because you remembered that voice so well then. You turned... you didn't really want to, but something in the softness of that name made you do it and you weren't at all surprised when you saw who had called it.

"Malfoy," you replied, as if he had asked you some profound question about life and what it all means and you'd just given him the answer.

There was silence then and as you looked at him all you could see was that bratty little boy you'd hated so many years ago. Only... you didn't hate him now. You looked and saw Draco Malfoy, unchanged, apart from the missing trademark smirk that had once never left his face, and you didn't hate him.

No more than four words were spoken between you.

But that night you were in his arms and in his bed and for just a few hours, it was like the past had never happened. For just a few hours Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had never been enemies and in just those few short hours, you once again felt happy.

You didn't love him, you didn't ever fool yourself into thinking you loved him. You didn't even really like him, but you needed him. Just like he needed you, because you were the only two people in the world that understood. The only two people in the world that would ever understand and as much as the thought of this drove you crazy, you knew you couldn't let him go.

So you didn't, and you lie beside him every night wondering what it is you hold onto him so tightly for. You look into his eyes and wonder what it is you're searching for there, because you can see nothing behind those glassy, cold, sheets of ice. You make love to him like you think that will find you an answer, but it never does, and you're sure he feels the same.

You don't love him, you can't hate him. He means nothing to you, but he is your everything and sometimes... you catch yourself wondering what it would be like if he had just died.