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Summary
It seemed absurd, like a familiar painting in which a tiny detail had been changed, transforming it into something the same but entirely new. The cool winter wind tossed Draco's hair, which fell open on his shoulders, to the right. Harry moved closer and sank down beside him. Instead of the starry sky, all they saw at this time of day was a dense grey of clouds, which almost looked like the eyes of the boy next to him in their richness of facets and different tones, hiding something much more profound behind them.
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Harry thought the end of the war would bring relief. Instead, he drags himself through sleepless nights and empty days, more lost than ever. Hogwarts offers little solace; exams mean nothing when the future feels hollow. And then there’s Draco, like a ghost from the past, only sharper, stranger, and impossible to ignore. Whatever pulls them together is relentless, and Harry is no longer sure he wants to resist.