"Come with me," she whispers so low that she does not think he hears her, but it does not matter — she knows that he has spent too long fighting against life to know how to stop.
His hair is slicked back with perspiration and his desire to fully see the world around him, and it a stark reminder of their youth. Of him, and Hogwarts, and when she had first encountered him with his hair like that. There are moments, huge lapses of time, that hang between that faded twelve year image and the one she sees so defined and hard in front of her. She feels time, heavy and cruel inside her chest, swelling up along her skin until she feels bruised by it. He was a horrible little boy, who became this man in front of her now. And while he stands there as a single speck among the hordes of war and loss, she sees him in sharp, bold lines against a backdrop of faint colors and other people’s lives. Because while Draco Malfoy is nothing to the world, he…he is everything to her. -The Fallout