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Inspired by this photo: http://www.pchost4u.co.uk/~taradiane/danielclose.jpg

~*~

Draco Malfoy has always said that he despises all things Muggle. He's lying.

There is one possession, one solitary item that is entirely Muggle in both making and completion, which he clings to. The size of a wizard card, it is kept with him at all times, placed carefully in the left breast pocket of his crisp linen Hogwarts shirt. He came across his prize by accident, by mere chance, and knew it had to be his.

It was just lying there, unattended, among several others. But there were none quite like this one; none quite like his. It had caught his eye immediately, standing out in sharp contrast, practically inviting him to give a closer inspection. And so he did. Checking to make sure no one was watching, he approached the deserted library table and leaned over for a closer look.

What made the item different from the others was the fact that it didn't move. A Muggle photograph, taken recently by the Creevey boy. A photograph of Harry Potter.

If there was one thing that Draco would begrudgingly admit about the Creevey boy, it was that he took stunning pictures - be they wizard or Muggle. This particular portrait was no exception. It was...haunting. The moment that Draco had laid eyes on it, the image was burned forever into his memory. This one perfect image of this imperfect boy. So he stole it and claimed it as his own.

The entire photograph was comprised of the visage of The Boy Who Lived. His face was turned slightly to the right while his eyes were fixed on some unknown person or object. A small grin graced Harry's mouth, barely reaching his eyes. Draco had spent hours trying to decipher just who, or what, was on the receiving end of that smile. If he were to be honest with himself, Draco would admit that he sometimes wished it had been him. If he held the photo at just the right angle, it could be him.

Draco had been in possession of the picture for a good two days before he noticed the one thing that made it so unique. Harry wasn't wearing his glasses. It was glaringly obvious, so why hadn't he noticed it before? Draco couldn't recall a time that he had ever seen the other boy without his glasses. Their absence gave Harry's face a sort of nakedness; a vulnerable innocence that just made the picture that much more intimate. If Draco were to be truly honest with you, or with himself, he would admit that it was precisely this feature that made him steal the photograph in the first place.

Draco spent many sleepless nights staring at the photograph that didn't move but seemed alive nonetheless. Every detail had been traced and re-traced a thousand times by his own delicate fingers. It had been prodded on more than one occasion by the holly and dragon heartstring wand in a futile attempt to make it move, to make Harry see him. It never did.

Draco had been content with just studying the lines of the other boy's face. There were details about Harry's face that he doubted even Ron or Hermione would have noticed in the 6 years that they've been friends. Did they notice the way the fine hairs that lined his widow's peak lay flat and angled left, in contrast with every other hair on his head? Did they notice that the tips of Harry's dark eyelashes were almost blond, thereby making them appear shorter than they actually were? Did they notice the worry lines that had appeared between the two brows that weren't present the year before? Did they notice the flecks of blue within the pools of green, the starburst pattern of the iris? Did they see the same Harry that Draco could see in this photograph? Draco didn't believe so. And that would be the truth.

If you ask Draco why he took it, he'll lie and tell you that he doesn't know. He might not even admit to having the photo. He certainly wouldn't admit to the raw intimacy that he felt with it either. The intimacy that comes from knowing someone's features so well that you could sculpt them with your eyes closed. The intimacy that comes from knowing just how many lashes lined the bottom of his not-entirely-green eyes...the way his upper lip thinned when he smiled just so...how Harry's trademarked scar was actually hundreds of tiny scars compressed together, forming that unmistakably jagged shape.

Draco had begun carrying the photo around with him after he had awoken late one morning with the prize still clutched in his hand. He had dressed hurriedly and didn't waste time stashing the item back in his trunk, shoving it into his shirt pocket instead. When he saw Harry in Potions later that morning, he could feel the stiff paper brushing against his skin through the fabric. It felt like a secret, and Draco liked secrets. It stayed with him always after that moment. Draco soon discovered he had another secret to keep as well.

If you ask Draco when his opinion of Harry Potter began to alter, he might tell you the truth. He might tell you that the picture became a treasure because he was desperate for something to hold onto when the real thing was so unattainable. He would sometimes catch himself muttering to the fading photograph, much like he did with the family portraits that hung within the grand halls of Malfoy Manor. Only Harry wasn't dead. Harry was very much alive. And sometimes Harry would be right across the room, sitting at a large oak table, looking at Draco, and Draco could only press his palm to the chest pocket that harboured his greatest secret.

That's not to say that he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment his feelings did change, because he could. He might tell you that it was precisely that moment, when Harry had caught his gaze during breakfast. A faint remnant of that snapshot smile still playing across his lips, but once again meant for another. What he won't tell you is that ten minutes later, his palm was still pressed against that pocket. A subconscious gesture that told Draco things had definitely changed.

That last day of their seventh year Draco had walked up to Harry who had been standing by the lake on Hogwarts grounds. Harry looked at Draco, saying nothing, as Draco reached into that same pocket to hand over what was never rightfully his. Harry took the proffered photo, ran his fingers lightly across the edges that had frayed and curled. Harry looked at it for a moment, then met Draco's resigned gaze, giving him that small grin that finally reached his not-entirely-green eyes. The smile that was finally meant for Draco.

"I thought you would have lost this by now, Draco."

"You...you knew I had it? All this time?" Draco didn't seem to notice the use of his first name.

"I saw you take it last year, just before Halloween. In the library"

"Why didn't you say something, or take it back?"

"I figured you wouldn't have taken it without a reason, Draco." It was noticed this time.

"I did have a reason, Harry. I...I just didn't know what it was until it was too late." Draco looked back to the photograph that now lay in Harry's palm.

"Yes, you have kept me waiting a long time, haven't you?"

Draco looked up at this, his eyes filled with what could only be described as hope. "What?"

Harry didn't answer, just took Draco's hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

~*~

Ten years later, when Draco had no need for the lackluster photograph, he still kept it with him. Harry would sometimes laugh about it when he would discover it in various places around their home...marking a page in a book Draco had been reading, or shoved in a trouser pocket, or propped up against the lamp on Draco's bedside table like it was right now.

"Are you ever going to throw this thing away?"

"No."

"Why not? I look like such a...boy."

"I know." Draco looked over at Harry, deciding to refrain from mentioning the fact that he still looked very much like a boy. Draco mused that even when he's old and grey, Harry will still look like a boy.

"Why do you keep it?"

"Because."

Harry leaned over Draco to put the photograph back on the table, stopping for just a moment to place a light kiss at the corner of Draco's mouth. "Because? Keeping secrets now, are we?" Harry let out a small laugh, knowing Draco had many secrets.

"I like secrets."

"Was I your secret? I kind of miss that, actually...all the sneaking around." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pulling him closer and marking the curve of Draco's neck with delicate kisses.

"No, Harry, you were always my greatest truth."

Harry pulled back and looked at Draco with faint surprise before letting out another soft laugh. "You sap!"

Draco grinned back sheepishly, "Well, you asked."

~*~

fini.