A/N: Well, one of my baby brothers got this Harry Potter
"Flying Lessons" Lego set for his eleventh birthday, and ever
since it has been my greatest joy to make the little Harry and
Draco figures cuddle. -^_^-v
And snog like rabbits in heat, of course. *evil grin* Which,
of course, inspired this fic.
*innocent eyes* "Do you want to play with Draco?" Let me tell
you, nothing is cooler than hearing those words spoken in
sincerity. Except maybe being able to say, "yes, I really DID
eat him." Long story there. ^_^;;
So slash, duh! And Mis-tah Potter's POV. ^_~
Why are you looking at me like that?
Malfoy . . . Stop looking at me. It's confusing. I've never
seen this expression on your face before.
And that scares me, because I think I like it.
"Harry," you say quietly, and your fingers are suddenly brushing
my always-askew bangs out of my eyes, and I don't think anyone
has ever touched me like this. So carefully, like I'm fragile.
And so few people treat me as fragile. I'm supposed to be the
hero, after all. Heroes aren't weak.
Right now, though, I think I'm going to faint, and that wouldn't
be very hero-like at all.
Why are you so close to me? Backing me up against the wall step
by step, looking at me in that odd way, touching me so gently
and calling me by my first name. My name . . . I've never been
so bloody shocked by the sound of my own blasted name.
Your eyes are so soft. I have never seen your eyes like this.
I have never seen your face like this. I have never seen YOU
like this. It scares me, to see such sweetness in your
expression, and I would doubt your sincerity if I did not know
that you're too arrogant to fake such emotions.
Don't touch me anymore. Or touch me harder. I can't decide.
You're so close . . . my skin is tingling and I'm getting so
dizzy. Why are you making me feel this way? This is something
completely new to me, but I'm already worried that I've started
to like it too much.
This must be a trick.
Please . . . let it be a trick.
"Harry," you say again, softer than ever, and your hands flicker
away from my hair to ghost across my face, cupping my cheeks
very lightly. I think I'm blushing. I know I am, actually, but
I don't know why.
We're almost exactly the same height. Funny that I never
noticed that before.
"Wh-What are you doing?" I ask finally, hardly able to breathe
for nervousness. Why am I nervous?
You don't answer; just move even closer. I'm practically
plastered against the wall- another step, we'll be pressed up
against each other. Between a rock and a hard place, I guess.
"Malfoy . . . " I say in a warning tone, attempting to gather my
nerves. "Stop joking around and sod off, you idiot."
"I don't hear anyone laughing," you murmur, and suddenly you
take that last step, trapping me between yourself and the wall.
For an instant, I freeze up completely- and then, for some
reason I can't even pretend to understand, all the tension takes
a break for tea and I find myself relaxing into you. And it's
like I fit perfectly against your body, like you and I were made
to stand like this forever.
And again I like it, and again it worries me.
"Malfoy?" I ask, and the uncertainty in my voice disturbs me.
You embrace me, lowering your head to my shoulder and choosing
silence once again. Strange, but I hardly mind at all.
Your hair is pressed against my cheek. It's much softer than I
thought it would be- smells like some kind of flower, too. Not
some vague shampoo scent, but one of the specific Muggle ones
Sprout was discussing in today's Herbology class. What did she
"Forget-me-not," I whisper as the name finally comes to mind.
You nuzzle deeper into my neck with a soft sigh, and your breath
tickles my throat. Unthinkingly, I lift my hands to your hair
the way you had done for me.
Your hair is fantastic. Like what I'd imagine spider's webs to
be if you untangled them all and gathered them up as thread;
colourless and slipping through the fingers as easily as you
breathe. I watch it do so, fascinated.
After a few strangely serene minutes, you lift your head
slightly, your eyes remarkably serious when you look at me.
"May I . . . ?" you ask as your hands find their way to my face
again. I'm not sure what you're asking, but something inside me
is suddenly so excited.
"Um . . . " I try, but I can't seem to speak anymore. The
situation is too beyond me. I don't even know how we got here
anymore. Heck, I barely even know where we are.
Your eyes search mine briefly (I think I like your eyes.
They're deep and old and bittersweet, and they have such a
softness in them right now), and your hands lower just slightly
to the back of my neck.
"I'll never forget a thing about you, Harry," you promise, and
I'd think it was a sacred oath, the way you speak it.
"Draco . . . "
The name is out before I even know what I am saying, but when
you hear it, you smile so sweetly that I know it must be worth
it. For a strange moment, I think anything would be worth
seeing you with such an honestly happy smile.
Anything at all.
Then the moment passes, and I'm the Boy Who Lived and you're
Malfoy, a Death-Eater's son, and this is all so WRONG . . .
And then you kiss me, and I'm Harry and you're Draco, and I
don't think anything will ever be wrong again.
* ende *
A/N: Scorpion grass, a.k.a. forget-me-nots. A small plant with
delicate pale blue flower s. Herbaceous and a member of the