*Rating: this feels like a Pg:13

*Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage, so there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

*Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

*Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly  

*Thanks to: Kevralyn(who actually reviewed my 8th chapter – I wrote 2 chapters more this is the last =D enjoy), DBZVelena (heh I hope this will suffice =P thanx), BakaWeapon (heheh spooky=P I love u muchly coz u added me to ur favourites list WOOP go u! go me! Go us!), and once again AEZY!!!!! Ur just to fabulous for words *does a little dance* woop woop Fanny_chan is the greatest heheheh thanx darlin. For the final time thankyou all so much and MERRY CHRISTMAS!

*In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D MERRRRRRRY  XMAS!!

- A/N well its been great - but this is the last chapter. =D I have sooo many other stories to write – many many ideas. I hope u will all take a peak at my work in the future. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR

- Thankyou for reading and *hugs* to all my reviewers.

- Can I also say that for me the best writing music is Elvis? God I love this stuff.

- Oh and I'd also like to take the chance to alternately praise and curse my mother, she gave me a huge box Guylian Chocolate Seashells for X-mas . . . .they lure u in with the sweet, sweet taste and then the kilos come up from no where and jump you =P but GODS I love these things . . .mmmmmm I can type one handed (she says scoffing chocolates by the second)

- And hey! Life is like a box of chocolates, sweet and rich - enjoy the variations and the surprises, savour the experience.

- Um just for future reference – if I like a story and other ppl like it (like this one) then I generally update every day or every few days – more reviews means faster updates ;) lol. Oh ummmmm anddddddd I'm gonna start a new Harry/Draco soon a reaaalllyy long one so I'm putting it off for a bit.

- Ohhhh btw I no that pictures move at hogwarts but Harry and Draco just painted them, they havnt been charmed so they don't move.


~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~

 . . . That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? . . .

Harry took a peak at Draco, only to catch the boy doing exactly the same thing. Staring at him from the corner of his eye, making it look calmly casual. But Harry knew Draco. He looked into those exquisite quicksilver eyes and was caught, their eyes locked and something passed between them. Harry saw the confusion, the slight tinge of fear and almost shuddered – something was wrong here. Draco obviously had nothing to do with Harry's own painting – he seemed genuinely shocked. Not even noticing that he was openly staring, Harry's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. There was something else there . . . suspicion? Why would Draco be suspicious of anything – of him? Harry had nothing to do with it. His painting was safe on the bedside table in his room, where he had left it . . .

Oh Gods, Harry was assaulted by a bright, earth shattering flash of memory – he remembered waking up that morning . . .and looking over to the table for his glasses, he had not seen a painting!!!! With all those unexplained feelings claiming his attention, Harry had completely forgotten about it . . . groaning, Harry desperately wondered how long it had been gone . . .realizing with a pang that it could have been taken in time to enter the competition. Squeezing his eyes shut in pain, screwing up his courage, Harry tentatively peered towards the painting standing next to Draco . . . Double damn! . . . and had all his fears become a reality. There his painting stood, in plain sight, while the whole school stared. And Draco . . . Draco met his eyes with a look of such horror, of such extreme mortification, that Harry felt hysterical sobs building somewhere deep inside.

He had never thought this was a good idea. GODS! Draco must truly hate him, and his sad attempt at expressing his love had only disgusted the object of that affection. He must have been mad, how could he have ever thought this could work, it had never had a chance. Harry could not take it any more – he *had* to get away from that stare, from the *whole* school that was staring at them both, witnessing his humiliation. It would only be seconds before Draco reacted, before he did laughed, or cried, or punched him, and Harry knew he could never survive that. So he did the only thing he could. He ran. And ran. And kept on running until he was so lost that he couldn't think, couldn't remember anything, could only slump to the ground in exhaustion and fall into a curious kind of trance, hiding from the life that just kept getting harder and more confusing with every passing minute, allowing himself to escape reality for just a little while.


. . . That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? . . .

Draco gazed at his beloved, for the millionth time catching his breath at his astounding beauty. The what light there was in the hall seemed to be drawn to Harry, who in turn glowed with it, radiating a warm golden light that reached out to him, raising his temperature and bringing a light flush to Draco's pale cheeks. Even though he only admitted it to himself, Draco was fully aware that he was head over heels, hopeless, and even if the painting meant nothing, he would still love Harry Potter all his days.

Draco was understandably shocked, the very foundations of his reality rocked, teetering dangerously. He found it hard to come to terms with the fact that someone had wanted to create such a beautiful thing for him and the possibility that that person was his very own beloved, Harry. He was so afraid to let himself hope, to actually believe that Harry could love him, that when Harry finally turned to look at him, all he could do was stare right back. As if he had had blinkers on, all he could see were those two beguiling emerald pools.

Draco wondered if Harry was experiencing the same incredible thing, because if he was, then Draco could be in a *lot* of trouble. He could see every emotion that appeared in Harry's eyes, almost like he could read his thoughts. He saw the surprise, the shock, and . . . oh no . . . Harry was scared, he was confused and  . . . Harry shuddered, he *actually* shuddered, could what he found in Draco's eyes be that repulsive? . . . yes. Obviously it was because a moment later Harry broke the connection and turned away from Draco, leaving him to stare forlornly, heart shattered, faith in tatters, at Harry's profile.

Suddenly, something behind Harry caught his attention; his gaze travelling over his beloved's head to the artwork behind him, Draco stared in abject horror at the painting. Not just any painting, no - but *his* painting. Double Damn! Harry knew who had painted that, he must! He knew, and he was afraid, afraid of *him*. Oh gods, Harry hated him and Draco was just so disgusted in himself for daring to hope, for daring to love that he could not hold back a wince of pain.

Harry seemed like he was about to break down, and even though he knew he would only disgust Harry more by running to him and enfolding him in his arms, holding him safe forever, Draco had to violently suppress the urge to do just that. Harry looked like he was trying to make a quick decision, like he was making that ancient, vital decision – fight or flee – and while Draco fervently prayed that he would stay and say something to him, he hoped that "fight" didn't consist of either a. throwing up on him or b. using those Quidditch muscles and knocking his lights out. The next second, all Draco could see was Harry's fleeing backside as he ran as fast as if the gates of hell had opened up behind him. And suddenly Draco was the devil incarnate again - he'd never had a bloody chance.


Draco just stood there, a slightly quivering figure, alone, before the restless, furiously whispering crowd of students. He closed his eyes, blocking out the world, if he didn't see it then it wasn't real. He stayed where he was, frozen in place, until he felt a solid hand fall on his shoulder, offering some little comfort, giving him the strength to open his eyes once more, looking up into the wizened face of Dumbledore, kind blue eyes looking down into his, twinkle momentarily dimmed.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you can go now, the paintings will be hung in the galleria, near the Muggle Studies classrooms. You don't seem so well to me . . . perhaps you better take a little break, I will inform your teachers. Oh and Harry too, I wonder what's wrong there." When Draco simply stared at Dumbledore, tears of gratitude gathering in his eyes, Dumbledore gave him a gentle nudge, smiling kindly. "Go on now Draco . . ."

Oblivious to the stares and whispers, Draco stumbled from the hall, dazed and confused. When he reached a corridor, he turned down it, and when the next came he followed that as well, wandering aimlessly as he processed the morning's rollercoaster-ride of emotions.           


Draco found himself well and truly lost by midday, his feet, and his heart, weary and sore, Draco staggered into the nearest corridor. His confused feet felt the unusual plush carpet of this hallway and trued to stop, unfortunately, the rest of Draco was beyond the stopping point, so without any possible hope of saving himself, Draco lurched to the ground, swivelling mid air to land flat out on his back on the plush, royal blue carpeting. Hissing with pain, Draco simply lay there for a second, fed up with all the things that seemed to be tripping him up in life  - from unrequited love to odd carpet – by the gods he was done with it all.

"Ahhhh not as "plush" as you seem, huh?" Rubbing his throbbing head and patting the carpet with mock fondness at the same time, Draco rose to his feet, dusting of his black robes and growling quietly at the little blue fibres stuck everywhere. "Damn nuisance. Why on earth does one corridor in this whole bloody great stone castle have carpeting? Just *one* offcourse, and not somewhere useful like in the dungeons where we could use the extra warmth, no! *That* would be sensible! Instead they put the carpet here in the . . ." Draco broke of mid-sentence to actually find out where he was . . . and almost collapsed again - just his *bloody* luck. " . . . the galleria. Where else?"

With a mocking little laugh, Draco held his head in his hands, the laughter mutating into hysterics, on the verge of an all out tantrum. Of all the many rooms, corridors, hallways, stairs, floors, and other spaces in the entire school . . . he had ended up here – the galleria – the place where they had hung his painting.

"Are you trying to tell me something here?!?! AM I MISSING SOMETHING?!?!?!? Cant you just *say* it, damn you?!" Looking up to the rafters as if he could see straight through to the heavens, Draco raised his arms in supplication, almost screaming in frustration. Draco hung his head in exhaustion, all the fight drained out of him. Finally after minutes alone in the darkness behind his lids, Draco oped his eyes and looked to the wall in front of him, submitting to the inevitable.

The two paintings hung side by side. It was hard to believe that they were not painted by the same person or at least together, the style and general theme of the two pieces was in perfect harmony. Draco felt his heart constrict as he stared at the painting of himself, pale as the moon surrounded by sunlight, and then his painting of Harry, warm and golden as the sun, bounded by pale moonlight. The paintings were complete opposites and yet they fit together properly, like two halves of a whole, together they were more impressive, more beautiful than they ever were alone.

"Ohhh . . ." the soft exhalation was followed by a single crystal tear, flowing down a pale cheek unnoticed. The whole effect was stunningly beautiful. But Draco felt his eyes burning; they would never be together, no even in a painting. Both the figures stood arms out stretched waiting to embrace life and love, and yet frames separated them forever. They were in two different as different as night and day, both stuck forever in their separate places.

"And never the twain shall meet." At this, a life time alone came crashing down on Draco's head, and he broke down, deep, wracking sobs clawing their way up from the bottom of his soul, rocking and whispering nonsense words between his wretched moans.

Swaying under his grief, Harry threw out a hand to steady himself, palm flat the textured surface . . . of a painting. Instantly Draco's sobs quieted, his eyes clearing, opened wide and staring at the portrait if Harry that he was touching. Through that connection, Draco was flooded with peaceful feelings, safety, calming waves of love and reassurance. It was like being enfolded in a tight hug, like snuggling with an old blanket. It was indescribable, incomparable, powerful.

Laying his forehead against the picture, Draco exhaled a shaking breath. "Oh, Harry . . ." If he would never have the chance to share his feelings with the real thing, then he would tell all to an image of his beloved. It was his only option . . . something he needed to do. He needed to get it all off his chest and at least, when talking to a painting, he could be sure of its reaction. Absolutely Nothing. And nothing was fine with him, better than any reaction he'd had to date by far.

So, emboldened by his complete secrecy and lack of an audience, Draco proceeded to tell the painting of his beloved every thought and feeling in his cowardly heart. "Well Harry, you see its like this . . ."


Harry was rudely awoken from a blissfully deep sleep against the cold stone wall of a lonely corridor by the sound of someone shouting. Harry couldn't recognise the voice but the emotion thrumming through every word was patently evident. Someone was angry, but more than that there was a terrible sadness that plucked at Harry's heartstrings, clear notes of empathy. Whoever the person was, they were near hysterics and not even noticing that his feet were once again under him and his body was moving toward the source of the noise, Harry listened intently to the shouting, trying to pin point the location.

Abruptly, and all to soon, the shouting stopped and Harry was left floundering in an unfamiliar corridor. Making himself stop, Harry cocked his head to the side, straining his ears to hear every slight noise . . . THERE! He could here the broken sound of sobbing, which made Harry's not inconsiderable protective streak rear its head. Sympathy rose with in him, causing his own pain to be momentarily forgotten. Not really understanding the reason behind the action, Harry turned the corner and continued on, ever nearer to the distraught person.

Turning the last corner he found . . . Draco?!?!?


. . . "I -I love you. I honestly think I have always loved you." Still leaning his head against the painting, Draco drew on its strength to make his great confession. Granted, no one would be around to hear it . . . but he would still have done it. Ruthlessly quashing his the little mocking part of him that offered up the old "if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it . . . does it make a sound?", Draco remained, perfectly still, with closed eyes, forehead and one palm touching the portrait, waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for the lightening to strike, for the "something" that always happened when ever he went out on a limb, waiting oh-so-patiently to find out what would foil his not-so-evil plot this time.

When, after several minutes a silence, nothing happened – Draco lifted his head, staring into the painted eyes of his true love, leaving one hand to lovingly caress the masterpiece, before continuing on with his private declaration. "Your *physical* beauty is stunning, spectacular but completely eclipsed by your inner beauty. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. Strong, loyal and courageous, you make me want to be a better man. You treat every creature on this earth with the same respect. Y-you treat *me* . . .wi- . . I -" Here Draco was forced to pause, gulping in great breaths of air, desperate to finish, to get it all out.

"E-Even though I treat you like dirt, you never sink to my level. Even though I know you could never love me, I find myself falling a little more in love with you everyday, in so many ways." Now he stepped away from the painting, to take it all in at once. Somehow he managed to keep the calm he had found, enough to make the last confession.

"I don't really know what possessed me to paint this portrait, but I'm glad I did. Even if you never know it was me, this painting will be here forever, an embodiment of my love for you. I know you hate me now, that you are in love with someone else, but all I can swear is that I will love you every day of my life, with every thing I have. You are my conscience, my guiding star, for you I will be a better man, I will try to become everything you prize so highly. You have my heart, you have my soul, do with them what you will."

Thus said, Draco stood silently for a moment, gazing at his masterpiece, smiling sadly, bleary eyed with new tears and old sadness. Somehow he knew that fate was noting this little twist with interest, filing it away so that someday it could come back to bite him on the ass but . . . he couldn't care. Even if Harry never knew Draco loved him, he would always have Draco's painting to remind him that someone cared. Sighing softly, Draco turned and walked down the hall, he would cast a locating charm to find his way back, but nothing could save his lost heart, it was in the hands of fait now.


Harry sank slowly to the carpeted floor where Draco, his beloved, had stood and confessed his love only moments before. Granted, Draco didn't know that Harry had heard him, but all is fair in love and war and anything you say may be held against you. If Harry could use this to finally get together with Draco, then he would, anything for the sake of love. Harry still could not quite come to terms with the fact that Draco had loved him. All. The. Time. He still wasn't really sure why Draco had looked at him like that when the paintings had been announced –

"OH GODS! I am *such* an idiot!"

 - Draco had painted a picture just like he had, obviously he had intended to enter it in the contest either because the thoughts reflected in his silver eyes must have been very similar to the ones in his own . . .and if *he* had thought Draco hated him after seeing those thoughts . . . then obviously Draco must have thought the same thing about him. It was incredibly bad luck . . . a comedy of errors. Stupid, *stupid* errors.

Banging his head on the floor, Harry revised his previous statement -  "DEAR GODS!!!! WE'RE *BOTH* IDIOTS!!!!!"

Harry now knew that Draco loved him, that they could be happy and together forever, he was sure of it, a soul deep kind of certainty. But then again . . . Draco hadn't yet heard a confession of *his* love . . . he was at a decided disadvantage . . . and Harry would have to rectify that . . .     


When Draco finally returned to his room, he found something waiting for him. Right there on his bed was a note, purple paper, curling gold writing, and dazzling words –

"Dearest Draco,

Meet me in The Grove at midnight. All will be explained.

Your admirer,

The Artist."

Draco almost through the paper away in disgust - it *had* to be a prank of some sort, hurtful teasing, probably those rotten Weasel Twins – but then he noticed that the note said "The Grove" which was how he knew the place where he had been painted in the portrait. No one else could know about that place. He was surprised that even the artist knew about it. Draco was finally convinced when he happened to run a finger over the glowing golden writing . . . and he felt it again, that amazing blend of feelings and emotions, a surge of love right from the very paper, and he knew. He knew that something special was going on here, as the note said, if he went tonight, he would not be disappointed . . . *something*, something *big*, was going to happen tonight, he just wished he knew what.

In less than a moment, Draco had made his decision. He would go tonight, at midnight, and he would meet whoever showed up. He needed answers and he had nothing left to lose anyway. Bring it on.


The night sky was bright, black velvet and diamonds. A whistling wind blew. All else was calm silence. The moon was full in the sky, flooding The Grove with pale, romantic light. All the birds and creatures were silent for once, waiting expectantly. The Grove seemed to exist outside reality, protected from all the lies and tragedies of every day life, forever peaceful and secure. It was a sanctuary for those seeking escape from their troubles for a little while, a sanctuary, sacred. And tonight it would stand witness to whatever happened as it had so many times before.

Draco entered from a shadowed corner of the clearing, stepping forward hesitantly into the light of the moon. On a subconscious level, he tried to quiet his footsteps, both out of respect for the beautiful place he was visiting and in a vain attempt to keep his arrival a secret if someone was already waiting for him. Draco was right, someone was waiting for him, and though he tried to keep hidden, they knew instantly that he was there. 


Turning towards the sound behind him, Harry hid a satisfied smile in the darkness. Perfect. Fixing a look of shocked confusion on a completely on his face and complementing it with a personalised and totally believable look of beguiling innocence, Harry called out into the darkness near one of the entrances where he knew Draco was standing amongst the shadows. "Malfoy? Is that you? What are you doing over there in the shadows?" Moving forward, Harry was confronted with a genuinely puzzled Draco, meeting him in the middle of the clearing. Luckily for Harry, Draco's mask had lowered from shock, and he could see every thought in those quicksilver eyes.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Harry barely held back a moan at the casual mention of his first name, he had never heard it from those lips before, hadn't expected this reaction. Harry gave himself a mental slap and reminded himself to "Get on with The Plan!". Draco was obviously suspicious, his eyebrows were slightly drawn together and there was a calculating glint in his eyes. If Harry wanted this to go his way, he had to act quickly.

"Well Draco, I got a note this evening asking to meet the creator of my portrait here, tonight, at midnight . . . you didn't send the note did you?" Harry figured that one use of a first name deserved another, and by now he was confident enough to realise that Draco's shudder was one of pleasure, not revulsion. Fantastic. Harry had also just given Draco an opportunity to confess face to face, although he was pretty positive that it would take quite a bit more coercion to really convince him to take that kind of chance.

"What? . . . No, no I didn't. Actually I got a note saying the same thing. I think this was a mistake. I better go." Draco was disappointed. He had yet again had it rubbed in his face that Harry hadn't painted that picture for him, though he wondered who did. He was also more than a little confused . . . and because of that . . *very* suspicious. *He* knew that he had painted Harry's portrait . . . and he also knew that he hadn't sent that note . . . so who had? What the hell was going on here?

Harry had to think quickly. Gods damn it; Draco was too suspicious for his own good. He was going to ruin everything. Mentally skipping a few points down his list of things to say Harry came up with – "Wait! Maybe they're coming! Why don't we wait a little longer." Oh yeah . . . that didn't sound desperate. Double Damn.

Draco simply narrowed his eyes, taking a step back. "What are you playing at Potter?" Oh no, we're back to that, thought Harry. Well at least he wasn't leaving.

Harry knew that Draco had painted his portrait, and he knew that *Draco* knew he had painted that portrait, so he felt safe in a little teasing, anything to get Draco to open up, to drop the masks. Picking a name randomly and improvising a little, Harry plastered on his most innocent look, complete with wide eyes and laughed "Nothing Draco! I was just curious as to who the artist was who painted my portrait. Have you seen it?" offcourse he had, Harry had seen him make the confession to the very same painting earlier that day, "It really is beautiful, so detailed, so carefully done, you can practically feel the love rolling off the canvas." A little ego stroking was *always* a good thing.

"You know I think I might know who painted it!" Come on Draco. Say it. One last chance . . . .

"Oh, really? Who?" too late! Teasing in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1 –

"Well I'm almost positive it was Hermione!"                


Draco just stood there, his face frozen, his jaw hanging open and his hands by his sides. And then in he swung into action. Harry needed to see it in slow motion. It all happened to fast for his liking –

First. Draco's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

Second. It was almost perceptible as Draco gathered all his strength, coiling to spring like a giant snake. But without the fangs. Or the scales. Ok forget that analogy.

It was simply obvious that he was about to pounce and Harry was the only prey in sight. Before he could even think of running, Draco was upon him. He slammed into Harry, knocking him to the ground, the weight of Draco's lean body keeping him pinned to the ground, two surprisingly strong arms caging him. From this superior position of power, Draco growled low and furious, his eyes locked with Harry's. "Are. You. Mad, Potter?" the question was obviously a rhetoric so . . .Harry probably did the wrong thing by opening his mouth to answer back. It didn't matter, he couldn't get out any words anyway and Draco seemed to appreciate the convenient move in the end.

His mouth slammed down onto Harry's own, tongue seeking entrance as he fought to express physically what he could not verbally. Harry was soon lost. It was hard and passionate, a release of years of tension, probably something they had to get out of the way . . . definitely something they had to enjoy. Their tongues duelled, Harry's flickering out to tease and entice, Draco's surging, claiming, branding with wet heat that melted Harry's bones. Together they performed a vibrant, sensual dance of body's and unspoken words. Magic.

 . . . "*That* is why it was not Hermione she doesn't have the passion, the romance, she cannot love you as I do. How could she have painted that for you, huh?? . . .

Both panting they stared at each other, hot breath steaming between them. Simultaneously they realised what Draco had said - "love you as I do".

Fighting hard to restrain the primal crow of triumph building in his throat, Harry could not control the bubbling laughter that spilled from his still open, swollen lips. Oh god. Hermione. And Him. Him. And Hermione. Together. It was just too funny for words. But when Draco started to pull away from him, a look of horror on his face, Harry quickly controlled himself wrapping his arms around Draco's waist to keep him on top of him, looking deep into his eyes. "Oh! No no no! I was joking you idiot! Ha Ha!!!! J.O.K.E" shaking his head, Harry must have jolted a stray memory back into place.

" . . .I know you hate me now, that you are in love with someone else . . ."

In love, with "someone else". Oh gods! Draco still had no idea that Harry loved him. He obviously thought Harry was in love with Hermione . . .for some strange reason. That would not do at all. "Now listen Draco, I don't know where you got this idea of me loving Hermione but I don't ok. She's just a friend. It was just a joke. I know you painted that beautiful portrait. I invited you here myself."

"You . . .? How? What?" Draco really was cute when he was bewildered, Harry thought.

"I invited you here. Because I saw you talking to the paintings in the galleria . . . we'll talk about that later by the way . . . and well because I wanted to say  . . . thankyou." Ok so it wasn't exactly a great romantic declaration of love . . . yet. But anything could happen in the moonlight.

"So, you um know I painted the picture huh? I guess you heard everything else to then . . . I really do love you."

"I know that. Plus you just said it but tha - . . .mmmffghhh" This time, though sudden, the kiss was a true expression of their love, warm and sweet, so spine meltingly, heart wringingly beautiful, passionate and oooh-so-romantic that Harry felt tears come to his eyes. "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" when Draco suddenly broke away, Harry was left blinking bemusedly, so cute that Draco returned for just one more sweet little kiss before once more lifting his head, a curios look of concentration on his face.

"Wha? . . . meeeh? Harry's noises were little mewls, desperately close to a whine. His mind blank, he was almost purring with pleasure, the only thought he was capable of was "More". And "Now". And then just "Draco".

The warmly affectionate, sensual chuckle only just penetrated Harry's lust-fogged mind. The smile was obvious in his voice, "I was just wondering, we know who painted your painting but . . . who painted mine?"

"mmmmm. You talk too much." It was a nice attempt, especially when combined with a nifty little full body wriggle that made Draco groan, but it was far too late. At the return of relative coherency, Draco was instantly suspicious; the wriggle was just a nice extra.

"Harrrr-yyy?!?" It was a perfect McGonagall impression and Harry almost burst out laughing. Almost.

"Well ok so it was me.  . . I – love you . . . I always have and I guess I always will. The painting was all for you, I wanted to show you, you were loved . . . Did you like it?" There was a definite flush to Harry's cheeks and his eyes were cast down in fake modesty. It was still cute.

Draco growled low in his throat, taking a moment to look at his soul mate, his lover, his beloved, His Harry, the most beautiful thing in his world.

And then, there in the moonlight, Draco proceeded to show him just how much he had *loved* the painting, and how much he loved Harry himself, just as he would continue to show him in every way possible for the rest of their lives.

That night an amazing light could be seen from the castle, radiating from somewhere in the forest. Swirls of silver and gold melded and flowed, and to it seemed as if both the sun and the moon had converged on one place. No one bothered to investigate.        


At another time Harry and Draco would return to the galleria, hand in hand, only to find their paintings gone. Instead there wound hang in that place forever more an enormous landscape, beautiful beyond words. The frame is a work of art itself, ancient wood, precious stones, rare shells, feathers, all woven together to create an intricate pattern, delicate but strong, protecting and surrounding the painting. But the painting itself, now that was something to see. It was more than a masterpiece. It was without any imperfection, no stroke out of place, every shadow falling just so, the colours vibrant and exquisite, it was *so* good in fact . . . that it seemed it could not have been done by any mortal artist.

This incredible work of art depicted a beautiful sunset, all warm reds and golds fading to cooler blues and all the shades in between. The scene was caught forever at that wondrous, rare moment between night and day, when both share the sky for a few brief moments, putting on a phenomenal display for any lucky enough to see it. Both the sun and the moon could be seen in different corners of the brightly hued sky, both bright and strong, but nothing compared to the power, the beauty of the twilight.

This astounding sight was clear above the tree line, contrasting with the rich greens of the tall treetops, ancient oak, rowan, pine and fir, all towering, their branches spread wide and high, joyously embracing the dusky sky, limbs stretched up towards the clouds, a meeting of earth and air. Through the thick trunks of the trees, if you looked hard enough, you could sea the wild blue glimmerings of an ancient ocean. Those regal trees created a ring of secrecy, protection, around a verdant clearing, thriving with life.

The greenest grass, lush and springy, carpeted the soft earth in glorious splendour. Wild flowers like precious jewels grew all over, all the colours of the rainbow and more. Exotic birds, bright colours, small and delicate, flitted amongst the higher branches, singing their bewitching melodies, serenading the grove. Soulful and sly, soft and glittering, gleaming in the shadows, mysterious eyes peered curiously into the clearing, unafraid but un willing to interfere. The grove was steeped, surrounded in ancient magic. And behind the birds, the flowers, the trees, beneath the shadows and beyond all that was so obvious, there was the barely seen, the barely known, sparkling and shimmering, iridescent with power and ancient magic, strange beings floated, watching, protecting, just existing.

And amidst all of this wonder, at the centre of it all, there were two beings, one pale as the moon, and the other warm as the sun. Both wore robes of richest purple and sat together, cushioned by luxuriant vegetation, embracing, entwined and entangled so that it was impossible to tell were one ended and another began. Two halves of a whole, they radiated love and joy, an almost visible force, and any who looked upon them could only cry tears of joy and laugh that at least something was right in the world.

In balance and in harmony they found peace.

In love and in joy the found forever.

In themselves, together, they found perfection.


Written by BaBe_WiTh_BiTe – AKA Amy Edwards

Note: purple is a mixture or blue and red and also the colour associated with gay pride – poor tinkiwinki. Ummm I tried to make everything clear and enjoyable, if anyone had any questions, email me at the address below/

Well theres no more TBC's this is the end . . .or is it? . . lol so clichéd

That really should have been 2 or 3 chapters but what they hey! I promised 1 last chap and I delivered =P even if it was a little long (ok almost 3 times the normal length but who cares). Thank god for the wonderful restorative powers of copious amounts of caffeine. I only got three hours sleep last night 5:00- 8:00 *sigh* and its already 1 o clock again . . .vicious cycle I say. . I'm due to crash aaaannnyyy minute now . . .=P caffeinated beverages only take you so far. *sleepy grin*

If any one cares my middle name is Caitlin so my enitials are ACE =) just an interesting little tidbit for you . . . I really am sleep deprived . .now im rambling.     

Ummm id like to say thatnkyou all for reading and reviewing, you really don't know how much your encouragement means to me, I'm only 13 and still pretty unsure if anyone really wants to read what I want to write lol =P so just . . .thankyou

Also, if you've read my whole story, I would really appreciate it if you could help me out a little by telling me what you liked and what I could have done to make it better.

Ummm also if anyone likes my work and has a little free time, im looking for a beta who can give my work a little check for stupid errors (my worst fault imafraid) and um so yeah ud get to see chapters before everyone else =D um I write a lot, usually a chapter ever day or two so you no. but if any one is interested, please email me at glittergalrules@hotmail.com thanx :)

Love you all, merry Christmas, happy New Year, good luck and good bye.