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Summary
Draco fidgeted with his sleeve cuff, looking out to the distant lake and mountains. The wind was cold, and the rain was now just a drizzle. “Do you ever feel alone, Potter?”
Harry furrowed his brows, leaning against the railing of the Astronomy Tower. The nonchalant action made Draco worry—made him want to reach out and grab him. “All the time,” Harry began, studying Draco in front of him. “Even with Hermione and Ron, they just don’t always understand. Being born into a life you didn’t choose.”
Draco returned Harry’s gaze, the urge to get closer to the boy swelling in his chest, but he didn’t move a muscle. “I’m sorry, Potter.”