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. ^_~

"Scorpion Grass"

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 call it?

"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 borage family.