A/N: This, is my third Draco/Harry fanfic oneshot, but it's a bit different. I really focused on descriptions, which I don't seem to do too often. Tell me what you think. If you see anything I can improve, don't hesitate to tell me because I strive to improve. You know what, heck, even flame for all I care.

Disclaimer: Hi, my name is J.K Rowling. I'm a teenager with a giant hormonal rush and like to write fanfics, disturbing or fluffy, depending on my mood. And, I also tease with my original characters and make them something I never published them as. Isn't it great? Oh, and I do it before a school night because I have insomnia and don't have anything better to do. I mean, who needs a life?

Too Late Remembered

Draco's body hung from the tree, swaying back and forth as if it had just been placed there and still felt a whisper of a touch. Like a baby in a cradle, fast asleep, his face was calm, but held a certain tragic beauty which had nothing to do with the fact that he wouldn't stop rocking back and forth, eyes closed and never to open again. For once the immaculate hair was strewn in all directions, yet it felt fitting. Without it, he would have seemed too perfect, like a porcelain doll.

He wore a robe, simple yet tattered and torn. It was as if he was tired of trying and simply had given up, crumpling instead into a mess. His pointed chin and elegant features might have been made out of marble and roughly contrasted this. And even as he hung, neck broken, limp and swinging back and forth like a forgotten rag doll, he held himself with a certain importance as if in a final attempt to hold onto whatever dignity he had left.

The day was crisp and the sun rose behind the lone hill on top of which the tree stood. Untouched by what it held, the branches spread out, unblemished green leaves sparkling with morning dew. Like a halo on an angel, the rays of the sun glowed in each drop of water like little crystals of sweet perfection.

Harry knelt at the base of the tree, staring up with wide, horrified eyes. Emerald orbs sought the once lively steel ones, now forever beyond their sight as they wept in sorrow. A piece of parchment could be heard crinkling, and fell from Harry's open palm to the soft grass. The water soaked into it like flowing tears. The formed words blurred until the neatly-written "I love you" melted into an indistinguishable mess.

Behind the chirping of a lone bird, Harry muttered, "But I loved you, too."