Summary: D/H. How can you not know what butterfly kisses are, Potter? End of 7th year.
Warnings: Slash and sex. And extreme sappiness. Don't tell me I didn't warn you.
Disclaimer: Sadly, the following story was not contrived by the brilliant J.K. Rowling. However, it was written by the soon-to-be-brilliant darkmosmordreheart. Hopefully, that amounts to something.
Author's Note: To my brilliant friend and the person who at times seems like the other half of my brain, WiseDraco :D a.k.a. WheezyD. (lol)
"Quiet down, quiet down now, please," rang the stern voice of Professor McGonagall through the largely populated hall. Her black and green robes floated leisurely behind her as she began to pace the large room at a casual stroll. Her thin, tight lips curved slightly as she studied her favorite class of students for what would be the last time; all seventh years now---Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and even Slytherin, alike. Though a few whispers still lingered in the corners of the room, yet she refrained from reprimanding any students; she was far too happy.
"Today, children, is the first day of your new lives and the last day you will spend at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
A few students clapped delightedly at the statement while a few others let out full on whoops of joy. Another smile played on the corners f the elderly witch's lips, but she held up her hand for silence.
"As you all most already know, this class has been, by far, the most accomplished class in all the history of Hogwarts---" At these words, the entirety of the student body rose as one and cheered together; laughter and joy echoed through the room, making the heart of the old teacher warm considerably.
"This is a class that has accomplished much. A class that has proven itself against all odds over and over again through the usage of intelligence, courteousness, bravery, and outstanding magical abilities. A class that has overcome during the toughest of times the wizarding world has ever faced.
"This moment is the proudest I've ever been and I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to witness an event such as this. So . . . young scholars," she looked to the Ravenclaw seventh years. "Young humanitarians," she glanced towards the Hufflepuffs. "Young wise men," she nodded to the clever Slytherins. "Young heroes," she gave a wide smile toward the Gryffindors.
"Hogwarts commends you and your great achievements and we at Hogwarts will greatly miss you, but fret not; your magic will always remain a fundamental part of this school and this school will always remain one of the best parts of you."
The water of the lake shimmered as if crystals adorned its surface, catching and reflecting the lazy light of the sun overhead. Birds soared above it, seeming as if they, themselves, wanted to dive right in to see if the water was in fact as sweet as it appeared to be. The current students and the newly graduated class lounged casually all around the lake, some talking animatedly with their fellow peers, others looking to the castle wistfully thinking of the "good ole days" that had only occurred a few days before. And though the grounds rang with the sounds of laughter, tears, and goodbyes, one former student lounged under a tree, away from all others, and slept.
The black lashes of the young man fanned from almond shaped eyes onto slanted, tawny cheekbones and fluttered occasionally as his dreams played behind closed eyelids. The shade of the tree he was leaning against shadowed most of his easily recognizable face, but the glasses that sat at the end of his nose glinted with the reflection of sunlight on the lake. His pitch black hair----already unruly by nature---was further rumpled as the warm breeze pushed its fingers through it.
The man of seventeen years, barely more than a boy really, was more tired than he had ever allowed himself to be. After all the stress and strain, the endless hard work, and the inevitable final battle, he finally had the time to be tired. He finally had the opportunity to be relieved. He finally had the ability to dream of his future and not of his past.
In his dreams, he wasn't the same man people thought him to be. He wasn't who people expected him to be. He was himself, by himself, soaring on his broom far, far away from a past that would never hold him in its grasp again. In this particular dream, he lay across his broom as it hovered above a large expanse of water, the tips of his fingers skimming the glittering diamond surface. In this dream, his emerald eyes closed and he smiled lazily, so relieved that he even had the ability to rest now, even in his dreams.
A soft kiss brushed against his cheek, barely even there, but left his cheek hot from the contact. He absently lifted his hand and traced it across his skin to further discourage any further kisses, but son he found himself at the receiving end of a pair of soft, tempting lips. A smile played on his own lips as his attempts to brush the kisses away were dodged and ignored. He had no idea when his dream had become a reality, but he really was not concerned with when or how he had awoken. What was important now was that he found who was kissing him so softly and so slowly, and quickly. He opened his eyes and saw . . . no one.
Just a single, silver butterfly floating back and forth in the space before him.
Was this the creature whose kisses roused him from his dreams?
He held out his palm and the platinum winged beauty fluttered down into his hand and, as soon as it touched his skin, seemed to dissolve into tiny silver snowflakes right before his eyes. Said eyes widened in wonder as the cool flakes melted and wetted his skin and he could do nothing but turn his head back and forth to see who was responsible for conjuring the obviously magical creature.
The young man was standing and dusting his dress robes off, checking behind himself for any unsightly signs that he had rested on something unpleasant, when another silver-winged insect floated to him and skimmed his cheek. And soon, another skimmed the other cheek.
And yet another until he was surrounded by them; overwhelmed and overjoyed all at once. He was experiencing pure beauty and he just had to find who was giving it to him.
The butterflies seemed to push him, even pull him a certain direction, one that moved to a dense part of the nearby forest yet still in perfect view of the lake. As the young man wandered the water's edge, he came upon a clearing where a single tree stood out from the others, shedding silver leaves. One by one, the silver tree released a single leaf and before that leaf could touch the ground it changed, morphed into one of the sweet creatures that still lazily tugged him further into the clearing. The freshly fallen leaves, now butterflies, fluttered to him, brushing his face and neck with the sweet kiss of their wings.
He walked to the silver tree that was their origin and put a hand flat against its snow white trunk and another butterfly fluttered down and kissed his forehead. He looked up, past the oncoming butterflies and leaves and saw the one thing he least expected to see at that moment.
Draco Malfoy looked down at the person he had last expected to see.
The emerald eyes of the wizarding world's savior widened with surprise as he looked up into the silver eyes of the pale boy above him.
"What are you doing up there, Malfoy?"
Draco curled his lip at the tone used for the crudely asked question. "What do you care, Potter? Last time I checked, sitting in a tree wasn't a crime."
Harry's eyes drifted away from his gaze for a moment of thought and then returned lazily with his reply. "I suppose you are correct. I was just wondering."
The sneer that had been steadily growing on the other boy's face quickly deflated as one platinum eyebrow shot up in question. Why was Potter suddenly acting so civil towards him? Why had he admitted he was wrong? Why was he now climbing into the tree?
Before he could ask all these questions and any resulting questions from these questions, Harry was in the tree, sitting on a branch across from the one he occupied. "What are you doing up here, Potter?"
"I was just wondering about a few other things, Malfoy. Don't worry, I'll be out of your tree soon," Harry chuckled, causing Draco's jaw to tighten.
"Well, ask a question and get the hell out of my tree."
Harry rolled his eyes and smiled; a flirty smile that brought color to pale, ivory cheeks. "Well, you see Draco; I have more than one question."
"Ask away," Draco offered with stiff politeness.
Harry smiled again and turned to pluck a silver leaf from a nearby branch. "Has this tree always been here?"
"No," the former Slytherin answered, entranced by the look of pleasure on the other boy's face when the leaf transformed into yet another butterfly and brushed against his lips. "I conjured it."
"So it truly is your tree?" Harry asked, plucking yet another leaf and gaining the same effect.
"Yes," he answered.
"What spell is this? Transfiguration?"
"A combination of both Transfiguration and Charms," he began to explain, hating that he felt his cheeks heating up once more when the former Gryffindor's gaze was upon him. "It's called the Tree of the Most Desired."
"I assume it gives the conjurer his most desired, am I right?"
"Well, yes and no."
Harry plucked another leaf and let the butterfly land on his hand so that it dissolved into snow. He watched this with interest, but he quirked an eyebrow at Draco's last statement. "How so?"
Draco began to pluck leaves absently, not noticing where the new butterflies wandered, he was so focused on this exciting subject. "Hmm? How shall I put this? . . . Yes, it gives the appearance of what is most desired, but one's wish is not actually granted."
"So," Harry concluded. "I could wish for money, but money doesn't grow on trees."
Draco chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that touched something in Harry. "Well, there's actually a funny story for that expression. Most people assume that it was derived from Muggles, but really it's a quote from the wizard that invented this exact spell."
"Really now?" Harry asked, his slight smirk holding back laughter.
"Yes," Draco continued, his eyes brightening in a way reminiscent of Hermione when she discovered new knowledge. "Apparently, the wizard's friend tried the spell and said, 'Look, I'm rich!' and the wizard responded, 'No you aren't, fool, money doesn't grow on trees!'"
Harry began to laugh; a full, throaty laugh that caused the other boy's eyes to narrow. It wasn't that funny.
"What are you laughing at, Potter?"
"You!" the green-eyed boy burst, taking off his glasses to wipe the tears his laughter caused away. "I never knew you were such a nerd, Malfoy!"
"I'm not a nerd!" Draco snapped; his body suddenly rigid in defense. "I just find this subject interesting."
"I know. I know. Calm down, Malfoy . . . It's kind of cute." The statement hung in the air between them. Silence enveloped them. All stood still but for a silver leaf that fell on its own accord between the two young men, transforming into a silver butterfly that simply joined the masses that fluttered languidly around Harry's head. A sly smile spread over the dark-haired boy's face and he leaned forward so that he was a mere inch away from touching noses with his rival. "I was just wondering . . ."
"Yes?" Draco breathed, feeling as if his heart was going to pound its way through his chest.
"What's your most desired, Draco?"
The blonde's eyes closed involuntarily as the sweet rush of Harry's breath smoothed over his lips. "Butterfly kisses."
His lips began to tremble. He knew what would happen next. His hands gripped the branch he sat on so tightly they ached. It was hard for him to breath. His heart was still running a marathon. And all because Harry could lean over at any moment and their lips would . . .
He opened his eyes after a few seconds of no lip activity. Harry had leaned back and was now toying with a twig he had pulled from the tree. His expression was inscrutable yet Draco could sense he was somewhat disconcerted. "Potter?"
"What are butterfly kisses?" the dark-haired boy asked innocently, looking to the other through the messy locks that fell over his eyes. "You can't possibly be literal. I mean, butterflies kissing."
Draco's eyes widened. "How can you not know what butterfly kisses are, Potter?"
"I don't generally get many kisses," Harry replied quietly, his focus so intense on the white twig in his hands. "The Dursley's were not that generous."
They sat in that tension filled silence once more, both boys avoiding one another's gaze.
"Butterfly kisses are when someone brushes their eyelashes on you. The touch is so light it's almost like a butterfly's wings against your skin. It's so close and so sweet . . . it makes me shake."
Harry looked up only to catch the other boy looking away, red ears peeking through light strands of hair.
"One last question, Malfoy," Harry chuckled, plucking a leaf and unleashing one last butterfly.
"Well, out with it," the other teen growled, looking at the tightened fists in his lap.
"Alright. Well, you sat your fondest wish is butterfly kisses," Harry stated, pausing just enough for an even darker crimson to crawl up Draco's neck before he continued. "Such a sweet wish. Innocent. Fragile. Pure. Vulnerable. A surprising wish to say the least."
"This sounds more of a speech than a question, Potter."
The dark-haired boy chuckled once more and even allowed that little smile to grace his face and he said, "I agree, Malfoy, but I'm only building up my question. I'm merely tracing the path that led to this question."
"Spit it out," the blonde urged, light eyes narrowed into silver slits.
"Fine," Harry granted. "Why is it, if you wished for butterfly kisses, that all your butterflies kiss me and only me?"
Once again, the tangible silence hit them like a ton of bricks. If possible, Draco's white pallet of skin began to turn every color imaginable; first green as if he were sick, then shifting to an angry purple, then calming to pink before burning scarlet with embarrassment and horror. "I don't---they don't only . . . kiss you."
"Not a one has kissed you, Draco," he pointed out as the other boy's color became a shade that would make a tomato jealous. "And I didn't see any one else being attacked by butterflies on the way here."
Draco didn't answer, just stared down at his twisting hands hoping that Harry wasn't going to push him out of the tree for discovering this about him. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." Light grey eyes looked up into deep emerald in question. Harry smiled reassuringly. "Would you like to give me a butterfly kiss, Draco?"
The blonde looked away briefly, as if trying to determine whether his rival was being sincere, but then he nodded as if he had made a decision and he lifted his head to look Harry hard in the eyes. "Yes, I would very much like that."
Harry's smile widened and he carefully made his way over to the large sturdy looking branch Draco occupied until he was pressed against the other boy. The tinge in Draco's cheeks was just a pale pink now, but his ears continued to burn like red beacons through his hair. "Kiss me, Draco."
The blonde nodded and looked nervously into Harry's eyes as he hesitantly lifted his hand and pushed his fingers through the other boy's dark hair. Harry groaned and his eyes closed at the contact, his head falling back at the unexpected pleasure. Draco pushed forward to nuzzle the long tanned neck Harry's actions had revealed and he breathed deeply. "You smell like wood smoke."
"It smells nice."
"Oh," Harry replied, pleased that he passed Draco's approval. "Oh!" he gasped as Draco's soft silver lashes brushed his neck, warmer and softer than the wings of butterflies. "Oooohhhh," he moaned as Draco's hands reached into his robes. "Mmm," he hummed into Draco's mouth when the blonde shifted up for a true kiss. "You smell like rain, Draco."
"Do I, now?" Pale hands pushed the wizarding world's savior down across the thick branch. Soft kisses were planted in his most sensitive areas---his chin, his neck, his collarbone---as clothing was plucked from his body, one garment at a time. Kisses and butterfly kisses soon feathered across his bare chest. Soft silver-gold hair brushed his sensitive nipples. He was arching up into the cool heat of his lover's body; wanting, needing him. He lifted his hands in an effort to devoid the man of all clothing and soon their clothes rained down from the tree like falling silver leaves.
When he was naked, Harry was truly beautiful, Draco decided. His body was taut; muscles firm and lean. His skin was so golden he was almost jealous of the sun's ability to kiss it so. He wanted to be Harry's son god, Harry's Ra; he wanted the ability to kiss Harry all over . . . He always had.
His fingers traced through the thin trail of hair below his lover's naval and he smiled as the man's breath hitched at the tickling sensation. He leaned forward to take a bronze nipple into his mouth and relished in the gasps he heard, found solace in the hands that gripped him.
"Draco." Silver eyes closed with pleasure at the sound of his name being breathed so desperately with want. They opened slowly to lock with an emerald gaze. "Draco."
Pale fingers traced gently down the sides of that golden, trembling body, stopping at the waist and lifting the man upward into his straining flesh. Both men groaned at the contact, their heads reeling with the headiness of the situation. "Draco."
He continued to kiss any patch of skin his curved lips could reach as he wrapped strong legs around his waist. The dark-haired man arched up into his kisses, moaned a different moan at each one, as he clutched his lover's shoulders. Pale fingers glided between pink lips, he licked them sensually as heated green eyes watched before releasing them and guiding them between the two warm bodies. Those green eyes closed tightly when his wet fingers probed and prodded that puckered flesh. Small, breathy gasps sounded when those fingers passed that first tight ring of muscle. "Draco!"
The blonde found his head pulled forward until his mouth was being devoured so pleasantly; he pushed his fingers further and the mouth against him fell open, allowing his tongue to dip inside and taste a sweetness the likes of which he had never experienced before. "Draco! Draco!"
He felt his lover's need pressing into his stomach, already so hot and wet, so he stroked his free hand across it and pulled back to watch a satisfied smile play with the lips he had played with only moments before. "Now . . . Now . . ."
He slipped inside as slowly as he could at the moaned request, watching those emerald eyes open blindly, watching the mouth he had claim open to gasp once again. His lover clutched at him, both with his hands and the hot cave of his body. The brunet pulsed around his lover's hardness, he pushed against it, and even though the words never once left his lips, his body begged for the blonde to move. And the blonde did.
Golden hands gripped wildly at the smooth ivory back; digging fingers and nails reddened the flesh with scratches and bruises, but pleasured with the show of such outright want. Pale hands clutched golden hips tightly, bringing them forward and up, over and over, until he was sliding in and out over and over.
And over and over his lover cried out. First his name. Then his God. Then his love.
Until finally, all shattered for them at once. There was no world. There was no oblivion. There was just this and them. Together . . . Together and loved.
Silver eyes opened to look into wide emeralds as the evidence of their love splattered between them, coating their chests and stomachs. Hips moved forward one last time before they spasm uncontrollably, releasing the blonde's essence inside the one who gave him so much joy. So much pleasure. So much love.
Hooded silver eyes finally drifted close as the pale man nuzzled his face into a golden neck.
"Give me more butterfly kisses."
Minerva McGonagall strolled the grounds of the school she loved with such a passion. She looked out, smiling in her way at all the children she had watched grow up into adults. A single tear streaked down her cheek before she could stop it and she looked to the glistening lake, her smile only widening.
This is all because of you, Albus. They've come this far because of you.
She stopped to watch the sunset, a sentimental act she hadn't taken part in since she was a child, but suddenly she felt as if she must. There was so much magic in the air. So much love. She closed her eyes and sighed a deep sigh. When she opened them, she was surprised to see two butterflies fluttering past her.
She held her hand out at the beautiful sight and both of the lovely creatures landed; first the silver, then the gold. They seemed to nuzzle one another for a moment, but before she could get a closer look, they dissolved into soft pink blossoms and blew from her hand.
She smiled again, knowing love when she saw it. And this was sure to be it. There was no other explanation for it.
Love is the only explanation for butterfly kisses blowing into the breeze.
Author's Note: Aww, Wheeze, you made me cry at my own story you big jerk! Please tell me if you liked it. And you, too, not just Wheezy. Tell me how you liked it, if you did at all. I need to find some tissues. -DMH