A Harry Potter FanfictionWhat 'Perfect' Really Means
Disclaimer: Not mine
Synopsis: Two males learn that, perfection can be found in the weirdest of all situations. SLASH DMHP. Don't like don't read!
Warning: Male/Male relationship and Bad Grammar
For many years, through decades, or centuries even, many humans of all kinds have been seeking for perfection, literally dedicating their lives for the flawlessness of anything – be it music, artwork, beauty, or even society.
In uttermost relativity, what is 'perfection'?
Leonardo Da Vinci answered the question with many realistic Renaissance paintings consisting of proper proportions and classic colours.
Picasso answered the question with modern pop-art paintings consisting of symbols and a clash of bright combination of colours.
Mozart answered the question with beautiful contemporary classic music.
Hitler answered the question with his theory about dictatorship.
Voldemort answered the question with his theory about purifying the world from 'Mudbloods' and 'Muggles'.
Most individuals have many different ideas about what 'perfect' really means, and some are rather bias about their sometimes thoroughly misguided point of views.
So, what does 'perfect' really mean?
Perfect (adj.) 1. Having everything necessary, complete and without faults. 2. Best of its kind. Synonym: excellent, flawless. (Source: Oxford Concise Dictionary)
They were, what many would call, perfect.
In terms of look, they made a really beautiful contrast from each other. He had sleek silvery blonde hair that felt like silk under one's fingers. His unblemished pale skin seemed like it was made of the finest marble. His body, tall, lanky and slender but at the same time muscular, was unreservedly gorgeous. His eyes were the colour of stormy summer sky, covered with flecks of pale blue around the centre of his orbs. His angular face merely added to his many charms.
While the blond glowed white in a light angel glory, the better half bore a resemblance to a striking dark fallen angel, with velvet-like dark hair, a rather round face and fair skin, though not as fair as the blonde's. Despite being lithe and rather small-sized, their bodies fitted each other just fine. Just like how you could get lost in the paler one's grey eyes, you could also get lost in her dark, beautiful obsidian-coloured eyes.
Both of them came from well-mannered Aristocratic Pureblood families, and had known each other since they were old enough to attend Kindergarten. Even though Draco was known for his conceit, wit, sarcasm and rather short a temper, Aria's patience, cool, equal wit and sarcasm were enough to counter the male in a subtle way. They enjoyed each other's presence very much, and cared for each other further more than each other had thought of.
So, why did the 'perfect' couple break up, really?
Annoyance and disgust flicked over the red-haired boy's pale blue eyes, as the young man glared at his supposedly best friend. "It's not that, Harry! I'm not disturbed at the fact that you're gay!" he yelled before wincing, "but why does your senses have to take a leave on you? WHY must you choose HIM? OF ALL PEOPLE?"
The youngest Weasley son shook his head before turning his back to the Boy-Who-Lived. "Look, I'm too tired to talk about this, okay? Open your eyes, Harry. He's just a bloody git."
With that argument done, the boy left with Hermione, who looked over her shoulder and gave Harry apologetic looks for not being able to help.
The dark-blue-eyed boy scrunched his nose in disgust. "You dumped Aria for that sorry excuse of an Idiotic Gryffindor?" the Slytherin exclaimed incredulously.
His companion paid him no reply.
Pansy scowled. "How low can you scoop down, really, Draco?" Beside her, Crabbe and Goyle grunted their agreement.
The grey-eyed blonde Slytherin kept on staring at his supposedly best friends with unreadable expression on his face, paying the insults no mind. It was only a while before the four other Slytherins sneered nastily at the former Ice Prince and left him.
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape whispered in a very low voice, his expression graver than it usually seemed to be, "I would suggest that you leave that boy in instance. This relationship is going to bring you nothing but trouble, that is for sure. It will be much better if you don't get involved…with a person who is soon going to die."
Whispers could be heard around the Great Hall.
Gasp "Is Malfoy going to hand Harry over to Voldemort?"
"Poor Harry must have been poisoned by Malfoy!"
Snicker "I doubt it. That Potter is infecting Draco! It's so revolting!"
"He's a shame to the Gryffindor's name!"
"He's a shame to the Slytherin's name!"
Once in a while, the two of them would meet up in the Room of Requirement, or in any anonymous empty classrooms they could find. First, they would reacquaint their bodies together, and have some time re-learning the curves, the muscles and each other's sensitive pulses. After that, they would cuddle, Harry's head lying on his favourite place on Draco's shoulder, and they would sleep, or simply stare at the ceiling, talking. Some occasional times, they dismissed the idea of sex and hug each other all night, comforting the other when he had a particularly nasty day. They would caress and kiss each other's face softly and gently, and touch each other as if they would never get enough of it. Of course, they had their own share of quarrelling, but they chose not to dwell in them and reconcile very soon afterwards. And, needless to say, with those reconciliation come moments that both would cherish beyond words.
Like the moment Harry and Draco were sharing right now.
The both of them were lying on the bed Draco had transfigured from one of the desks in the classroom, the sheet draping over their otherwise nude bodies. Harry had his head resting on Draco's pale chest, his green emerald eyes opened wide, unsleeping, as Draco stroked his lover's messy black hair absentmindedly, his grey eyes opened as wide as those of the Gryffindor's, marvelling at the softness of his locks. Harry shifted and wrapped a tanned arm around the other boy's body, the contrast beautifully apparent against the milky skin.
"Harry?" the voice was soft and caring.
The raven-haired shifted again. "Hmm?"
Draco kissed the top of Harry's head. "Next time when you're upset about anything, please do tell me about it, Harry. I will help you the best I can. I don't like seeing you sad."
The darker one of the two lifted his body to stare at his lover. Their emerald and silver eyes met, and all words seemed to be deemed unneeded anymore.
"I will," Harry's face broke into a soft breath-taking smile before he flopped down to nuzzle Draco's neck, "as long as you promise that you will tell me yours as well. I hate seeing you sad either."
Draco smiled an unbelievingly soft smile before wrapping his arms tighter around his boyfriend. "I love you, Harry."
Harry tightened his arms and nuzzled the blonde's neck once again before replying, "I love you too, Draco," and moved to kiss him.
Their relationship might not be the bests of all relationships – it was opposed by uncountable amount of people - be them best friends whom you really long to be with, or people you really care about; not to mention dangerous forces such as Lucius or Voldemort. But they wouldn't want to trade it for anything else.
As they were 'perfect'
A/N: See what I write when I'm in a terribly sappy mood. If you're wondering who the hell Aria was, she was an OC, one of Draco's best childhood friends: Blaise, Pansy, and Aria. I am planning to make her be the 'Hermione' (understanding, somewhat intelligent and something like that – only more sarcastic, witty and Slytherin-like) for Draco. The four of them will be like siblings, in a sense. Tell me if you want to know more about her.