The Meaning of Love

Rating: G

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: Not mine, but you knew that!

Summary: It's too short to need a summary.

'Love.' What is it, anyway? It's just such a weird thing. Did someone just suddenly wake up and say, 'I like her very much, I think I'll call it love'?

'Love.' And again, what is 'it'? They say that when you're in love, you know, but how do you know? You can feel intense emotion, but to call everything intense 'love'...surely that would be sacreligious or something.

'Love.' What a strange word for it, too. L-uv. Such a crude, stupid word. The Greeks had, what, four or five different names for it, and each of them meant something, something people could understand.

'Love.' But then again, how can you possibly understand it? Is it even meant to be understood? And if not, why try?

'Love.' It sounds so foreign on my tongue when I say it, standing in front of my mirror, so unnatural.

Because when I look into your emerald eyes, I understand. I finally realise that to pin a title on this feeling would detract from its purity, its rightness.

So I look at you, desperately trying to convey my thoughts and pour my emotions into my gaze.

And all you do is smile one of your little half-smiles and say, 'I know, Draco. I know.'