Monophobia

A deep silence fell over us... the sky surrounded
and your body, burned up by the sun,
disappeared.
What am I wandering in search of, all by myself...?

Harry had always pondered about the wonder of the colour grey. And somehow, now, in possibly the most unfortunate time ever, that was he was doing. He ponders about the colour grey. The colour grey that darkened into shattered pieces of mercury, which were the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

He thinks it was a funny thought that he ended up being the Boy Who Lived to Slaughter Other Boys, but that was what he had done these past few -minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell.

And Draco was bleeding.

He had seen him bleed before. Several times. And the first time he saw it, like this time, he was the cause of it. Harry thought Draco had the reddest blood he had ever seen. So impressively crimson. It was like that that time too; the first time he took him as if he was his.

And like then, he was overcome with guilt.

He had held the somewhat limp body close to his own and whispered "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," over and over again because of his shock, until Draco had turned to him and rest his palm on his cheek and said "I'm fine, really, now stop talking, I'm trying to sleep," and, as always when Draco asked something, Harry complied.

Contrary to what he always would dreaded when thinking -though he tried not to- about what would happen if the situation came to this point, it had been fast. It had been all flashes of energy and ancient curses on Voldermort's part and innate magic on his part. It had ended -like it had begun- with an 'Avada Kedavra'.

But, similar to what he'd always dreaded, Draco came into the picture. And it had been a very long while since the last time he saw Draco. Maybe the last time was when Lucius performed one of the Unforgivable Curses on him -the Imperius- and literally snatch him out of Harry's live. It had truly been Unforgivable. Harry had proven said point to Lucius earlier that night.

But now he was left to stand against the young Master of the Malfoy Manor. Draco may have gone away without his own consent, but he had stayed away, and that was what mattered most. Harry knows his way of thinking too well to question him about it.

And the said Master of Malfoy Manor is currently kneeling in front of him, clutching the wound on his arm that drew impressively crimson patterns down his bare arms, contrasting lividly with his pallid skin. His pallid skin that once Harry had claimed as his own.

For the first time since he went out of Harry's life, Draco looked up and let his eyes met Harry's emerald ones. And the look in his eyes was the same one he wore when he consoled Harry. And his light voice, solemn though the lips from which the voice came were smiling slightly, carried by the wind and reached Harry.

"Well, go on then. Every hero needs a dragon to slay- I'm yours." And he added quietly, "Always am,"

Bathed in the light of the moon, even your name
which I hum to myself, is taken away by the wind.

And, as always when Draco asked something, Harry complied.