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The sun casts its warmth along the vastness of the world. The waves glimmer in golden hues as Draco stands under the waterfall, wisps of dark blue rippling around his waist. Harry watches as he disappears under the water slowly, his distorted frame dancing around splashes of sky blue.
A few moments pass by until Draco rises, his opalescent hair soaked into a darker shade as his skin drips with drops of Jupiter. He turns, his face half-enveloped in the shadows as silver eyes scorch into Harry’s.
“Come,” Draco says, offering an elegant hand at him.
When Harry takes his hand, he feels his own melt into his as though he has finally reached him from another world.
Harry blinks, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as slivers of memories flash before his eyes. Every single one contains the same image of Draco, his sharp face looking back over a scarred shoulder.
Darkness slowly clouds Harry’s vision, as though he’s been thrown somewhere between time and consciousness. After what feels like a hundred lifetimes, light appears before him in the form of slices of sun rays from the window.
Malfoy stands on the other side of the changing room, his emerald bathrobe hanging off his shoulder as he glares at Harry.
“What’s the matter, Potter? Never seen a naked bloke before?” Harry watches Malfoy's lips curve at his name. Déjà vu burns through the back of his mind — he’s certain he’s seen Malfoy like this before, the same look in his eyes, his skin soaked in droplets of silver.
Harry’s train of thought breaks at the sound of goggles clattering against the floor. Out of instinct, he reaches for it, the same time as Malfoy does. Their fingertips touch ever so slightly, and Harry feels the same spark of warmth he felt a thousand years ago, when he took the same hand under cerulean skies.