**You know, bubs-who-didn't-sign-your-names, I really can't stand death threats. They make me feel unloved and grumpy.
**Coeur-de-ma-vie: I'm honored you like this humble little piece so much!
**Ladyblondehair: *laughs* I really don't think Harry is THAT manly man...
**eMJay: *embarrassed* So I'm a little slow! *grin* Good things come to those who wait, love!
**Quasy: *gives you bear hug in the heterosexual way* I'm flattered, but this has to be the last chappie! *sobs* Forgive me!!
**Lady Rillen: *hug* You're such a sweetie, and your reviews are such a joy to read.
**JaneyLane5: *laughs* Thanks, hun.

Chapter Ten: Petal Soft

The deep claw footed bathtub was filled to the brim with violet scented water, littered over with fresh rose petals. Above the tub floated large bubbles that glowed and spread a romantic luminescence over the whole room, bathing it in a dim, rose colored light.

Two lanky figures lay immobile in the scented bath, one with silver hair kissed crimson and the other with hair as black as pitch sticking out every which way in stiff, wet tentacles. The dark man's hands ran over the smaller man's chest, dipping down beneath the water. At this the silver haired man gasped and arched backwards.

"My fingers are getting wrinkly," Draco commented drily. Harry laughed, pulling the former Slytherin higher up into his lap and moving beneath his slender form pleasurably.

"Wrinkles should be the last thing on your mind right now, Draco. What an insult," he said in mock hurt.

"Oh pah, I doubt you care. You're darker anyway, and darker people age better than us blondes."

"I thought we were just talking about water wrinkles!"

"I'll be a prune by my thirties."

Harry smothered a laugh by kissing the back of Draco's neck and drawing designs through the droplets of water with is tongue. Sensing Draco's darkened mood and picturing the adorable pout adorning the his lips, Harry murmured against warm flesh, "I like prunes."

"Here I am in self denial and you just go to tell me that 'yes, you will become a prune in your later life, but I enjoy them anyway'!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That I'm the fairest in all the land."

"Harry, Harry, in the tub, who is the sexiest of studs..."

"That doesn't even rhyme, Harry."

"Doesn't have to, does it?"

"For Merlin sakes, have some tact- oh!"

"You know," Harry said matter-of-factly, "I remember you telling me once that actions are better than words not so long ago. So why don't *you* shut your desirous yap and let me make this a somewhat pleasant and relaxing day for us, hmmm?" He had turned Draco around so that their stomachs lightly tickled each other as Draco rose in the water.

At first Draco was rather miffed at being what he would think as manhandled, but when Harry pulled him forward, rubbing their bodies lengthwise against each other, he quickly forgot his complaint and moaned into Harry's fresh mouth, their kiss bursting as a fountain would.

Harry drew Draco back a little, quite taken with this easy movement he had with the water manipulating the wizard, and darted his tongue to sweep over Draco's luscious lower lip, drawing the warm skin between his teeth to roll it almost gently. Draco arched up at the movement, his knees resting on either side of Harry's waist and back hunched over, shoulders tucked in close to his lover's chest.

Hands with the wrinkled skin of soaking too long in water massaged wide circles over the arched white back, moving down to grasp the slight rise at the base of his spine. Draco's lips fell apart in a gasp and he was shoved forward, Harry delving is tongue into the open mouth and raising his hips to slap wetly against Draco's. The blonde wizard lowered heavily into him, grinding their hips together and creating a hot friction that made Harry's eyelids flutter and heart pound.

Then Draco found himself slipped beneath Harry, the raven haired man's weight pressing him into the water. He heard splashes on the bathroom tiles as the water rocked as one body, monetarily submerging his whole face. Though his position was forgotten as Harry's probing fingers dipped slowly beneath the water and traced down his spine, sending shivers pulsing up his body, even in the warmth of the water.

Lips, petal soft, brushed his ear, then his shoulders, then the dip in the spine, then his raised backside. Cold hands, with raisin wrinkled tips, gripped his thighs, raising him higher out of the water and gently spreading them apart.

Draco hung onto the edge of the tub so that he would not be wholly submerged beneath the water. Blowing idly at a rose petal stuck to his cheek, he felt a smile creep over his mouth when a finger drew over his lips and toyed with his tongue which swirled around the water softened digit. He wetted it, taking the whole finger into his mouth and gently sucking. Behind him Harry whispered a soft moan, adding another finger beside the first.

The side of the tub was very cold against his arms as he crossed them over the white edge, burying his face in them and trying to ignore it as he was invaded slowly and stretched. Harry went to dull the sensation with distracting kissed dancing like tiny flowers over his back and legs. Draco sucked in his breath and relaxed, closing his eyes, rocking slowly with the movement of the water around him.....

..... Harry pulled the bright red scarf tighter around his neck, then shoved his gloved *and* mitten covered hands into the deep pockets of his traveling cloak, which covered over a winter coat of Dudley's that finally fit him somewhat lengthwise, several of Mrs. Weasly's sweaters from fourth year through seventh, and three long sleeved tees. His heavy boots crunched in the snow, plodding easily over the rocks beneath the frozen ground because Harry had no way to feel anything rough through two pairs of wool socks and five pairs he had just purchased the other day. One could also point out to him that his legs looked like badly linked sausages. This was only because (he would explain to them) he is wearing two pairs of long johns, one pair of wool slacks, jeans, and those terrible pants that rustle whenever you move. But of course anyone would have trouble understanding him due to the fact that only his lenses were visible under more layers of scarves, ski masks and snow caps.

Basically for the ten minutes it took to get to the nearest pub, Harry Potter looked more like the abominable snow man with a cold than a nineteen year old wizard who had just the other day humiliated himself at a job interview in the city nearby.

The pub was bustling with refugees from the blizzard outside, and though none of them were quite as flat out *dressed* as Harry, they all had piled their winter gear in a huge mass of wet clothing by the door. Harry's five or six outfits soon joined the rest and he made it to the counter of the place in his socks after discarding his boots, coats, sweaters, and most of his pants.

He nodded to the regulars of the pub, only recognizing one or two of the new faces in the place. The bartender slid his drink down the counter, smoothly missing anybodys' elbows or arms with great practice. Harry caught the steaming mug of cider and searched the place for an empty seat to rest his tired legs. Following the directions of the bar keep, he was steered towards a narrow table all the way in the back corner where no one was, as everybody was currently crowding around the fire or the bar. Harry nodded his thanks and weaved his way slowly through the mob of small time farmers and the sparse population of wizards he knew from Diagon alley.

There *was* a single person sitting at the table already with his feet up on the long seat and who was leaning back against the wall. Harry slid into the other side and smiled at the character, who's face was conceiled by a dark hood.

After a few sips of cider started to work their magic, Harry took a couple of moments to study his seat partner. It was a man by the way the dark cloak he wore hung on him with quiet grace, and by the way his finger would move when he gripped his cup. Suddenly remembering the crowded laughter of the pub, Harry thought back to the tiny cabin he had bought to get away from his fame, and his narrow bed within the cabin, only big enough for one person.

Then again, he thought sadly, that's all who's ever there in that empty place.

For the past month he had almost totally disconnected himself from the outside world. The fund in the bank was running fine, but not forever, and costs were getting higher. If he didn't get a job soon, he would be lost. And though Ron and Hermione always offered an extra room, he knew that they couldn't be responsible for him forever.

Yet the sting of loneliness was deep. Be it friends, or lovers, he needed someone. And somehow this odd quiet character sitting silently across from him made him remember all these depressing thoughts.

He looks like a loner, Harry mused to himself. I wish I could see his face.

Humorously he tapped at the table and leaned forward. "Something to hide, mate?" The figure across from him didn't move. The hand toying with the empty glass paused momentarily, then started again. Harry frowned.

"I notice you're wearing only one layer of clothing. That looks like a pretty thin material, too." He laughed, "If you saw me come in, you'd have noticed me bringing along my own clothing store, right on my back!"

The figure still didn't move.

"I can see you aren't much of a talkative fellow, but you might as well converse with a poor sap like me," Harry snapped, anger fading quickly at his small outburst. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough couple of months for me. You would never imagine how hard life could be after school until you get there and live it." He smiled wanly. "In school, I thought that one day I would be on top of the world. But now, no matter who you are, that dream is nearly impossible." Looking down at his mug, he failed to notice the sharp eyes under the hood rise to watch him. "Especially when you're alone."

The figure's fingers tightened around his glass, and Harry saw them, white as snow. He reached out gingerly, thinking to maybe warm them if they were cold, but they were ripped away and tucked beneath the cloak in a flash. Harry blinked in surprise, his own hands resting on top of the table as if stunned.

"Who are you?" he questioned suspiciously, leaning over sideways to peer into the blackness of the hood. In the dim light of the pub, he could almost make out dark shadows, the glint of eyes - but not enough to be sure. "I wasn't trying anything, honestly. Let me tell you this, friend, one shouldn't be so jumpy as that. The lads around here don't take kindly to odd acting strangers," he warned, perfectly aware that he was wording the same exact message the kindly bar keep had told him upon first coming into this little out-of-the-way village place.

"You blokes are going to drink me out of house and home!" boomed a merry voice from the front of the pub. Old Charlie was the aging bar keep that had taken Harry under his wing when the young man first came here. Harry cared for him deeply because the man had taken to him with no background, and no questions. "Someday I'll sell this place to some pretty little girl who will start a bakery, or a restraunt then we'll see if you keep complaining to me!"

"Stop your ramblings, Charlie, and bring us up some more of that ale!"

Harry directed his gaze back to the silent man across from him. His curiosity tore at his insides, loneliness fueling his bravery.

"I could easily reach across and uncover your face," he pointed out, leaning back casually. The face came up and the lower half was partly visible. A smiling mouth with thin, white lips made Harry suddenly feel like a scared little boy. This figure, even with so little of his face in the light, held an impending presence.

"I have dealt with death, Potter," he whispered is a raspy voice, "You cannot scare me."

Harry stared. Even though he had learned long ago to quit asking how people knew his name, the way the man spoke it sent horrible chills down his spine, as well as another feeling deep inside, buried beneath the others.

Clearing his throat, Harry shook off the small ringing in his ears and instead congratulated himself on getting words out of the guy.

"Are you visiting Mossy Hollow?"

"That is of my own concern." The voice was quiet, teasing, almost playful. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"If it concerns this town, it concerns me," he said darkly.

"You're the hero here, too then? I thought the Golden Boy would come to a place like this to escape."

"Who are you?" Harry was suddenly on his feet.

"Did you though, Harry," the voice whispered, "Did you really leave *everything* behind you? All those nasty little skeletons in your closet."

I thought we vanquished all of the Death Eaters, Harry thought in a panic, backing away from the table.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Don't you ever miss..." the voice faded into a guarded silence. Harry's eyes had narrowed down to emerald slits, his hand resting on the pocket which held his wand.

Suddenly the figure rose and swiftly began to walk from the pub, tossing various coins onto the counter as he passed. Old Charlie wished him a safe trip as the door slammed in a swirl of snow. Harry stared after the figure, confused, scared, and angry. Feeling tired, he slumped back into his seat and reached for his mug. But something glinting on the table top caught his eye and he reached forward to gently touch a glittering silver circlet. Then he gasped as if burned and jumped to his feet again, breath racing from his lungs, heart pounding wildly.

The ring's dark jewel glinted in the dim lights.

Without another thought, Harry shot from the room and stumbled through the door blindly, not hearing the lads in the background warning him of the cold and the dark. He threw himself into the snow and worked his way left, pumping his arms. For some reason he knew that further into the village was not the way he should go. He *knew* it.

The woods loomed around him, the cold more intense even with less snow covering the ground. Silver shadows played over the deep green in the trees, and the sounds of melting and cracking ice reached his ears. But there was no sign of anything else but the quiet and peace of these dark woods.

Harry followed the winding trail he was used to taking back to his cabin, walking as quickly as he could, eyes staring intently forward, breath freezing over his lips, sweat clinging to his frigid black tresses. All that evaded his thoughts, though, as he entered the soft silver meadow he would cross to get to his house. On this night however, the meadow stretched before him like barren wasteland. There was no one there.

He ran along slowly, joints freezing in the wind, and stopped at the near middle of the field, staring up with icy framed eyes at the winking stars peeking from under the blanket of snow bearing clouds. Tears of long past hung frozen on his skin, stinging. The moon above him, swimming in a framed sea of cloudless stars caressed his lone form in silver light, dripping down over him in the heavenly syrup of night.

"Where have you gone?" he whispered, falling to his knees.

Warmth wrapped around his ear and he froze.

"To have tasted something so sweet, so fleetingly."

"To have loved something so deeply, so weak," he replied quietly, turning slowly to see Draco, haloed by silver light, hood thrown back, watching him with impassive eyes that reflected nothing but the cold of the snow.

"It was never weak; what I felt for you, Potter."

"Than why did you rip it away from me?"

Fingers pressed against his mouth to hush and Harry felt a small sob drip from his lips. Draco lowered himself gracefully to his knees, drawing his frail arms up around Harry's shoulders and holding him firmly.

"I have never forgotten you," Harry murmured into the crook of Draco's neck.

"I would not of let you," Draco whispered back fiercly, fingering the dark jeweled ring in Harry's grasp. He grabbed the other's chin after sliding the ring back onto his finger and tilted the precious face upwards, smiling softly down into the frozen tears. Gently and slowly with a steaming tongue he drew his way over the frigid lashes, licking them clean of any cold. Harry's lips puckered and it was everything he could do not to lie back on the ground and beg Draco to take him right then and there.

"My cabin is close," he said, taking Draco's hands as the blonde pulled him to his feet. The happiness and relief he felt was unbelievable. There were so many questions, so many gaps to fill, yet he wanted nothing more than to take Draco home and lay in his arms, showering him with kisses.

Draco merely nodded as this comment and followed Harry closely the rest of the way. When they arrived, Harry stumbled inside, aiming his wand at the dead fire place and starting up the flames. Draco smiled secretly at Harry's flustered movements, and moved up behind him as the wizard was babbling over the mess of the place.

"You always did talk too much," he said, biting the lobe of Harry"s ear hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. His arms went around Harry's tapered waist just in time to catch his limp form as the man's knees gave way. Spotting a door breaking off into another part of the house, he half dragged Harry into the room, pleased to have guessed right, and lowered the darker boy onto the mattress where he lay immobile, gaze silently worshipping the silver haired angel who had just swept back into his life on glossy black wings.

Draco peeled off his cloak to reveal a thin form fitting turtle neck of deep blue and tight fitting straight legged jeans riding low on the flare of his hips. Harry felt weak.

"You must've caught your death of cold," Draco scolded quietly, playing the location of the kitchen by chance and managing to get a cup of steaming tea back to the man in the bed.

Harry sipped it, eyes never leaving Draco's face, which reacted to his blatant staring with an easy smile.

"You stare as if you look away I'll disappear in a cloud of smoke."

His smile widened as the drawn cheeks darkened in a blush.

"It -it's just-"

"Don't bother," he chuckled, waving it away, "I'm here now."

"I'm glad," Harry whispered. He touched Draco's arm lightly, eyes wide and teary. The fabric of his pants rustled and Draco looked down at them with amusement, fingering a fold in the cloth. Harry watched him move the white fingers up his pant leg until they rested at the top of his thigh.

"These clothes are dirty and wet," Draco commented, eyes flicking up to catch Harry's, hooded under his thick lashes.

Harry went to remove them breathlessly, but Draco stopped him with a shake of his head, moving to perch on his knees. The other man shivered with pleasure when the white hands moved under his sweaters and pushed them up to his neck, pulling them over his head and uncovering a shaking shallow chest.

Draco's mouth turned down at the clear sight of Harry's ribs. His eyes, dark with anger, turned up and Harry recoiled as if slapped. But Draco caught his wrists and yanked him back up. "You haven't been eating."

"I - I've just been busy. That's all, I swear. Draco, it's nothing." For a moment, Harry felt like he was seventeen again.

The anger faded slowly into nothing. Draco pulled him close, gripping at his back tightly. "That won't be happening any longer," he promised, and Harry's heart felt as if it would burst.

"You mean-"

But Draco cut him off as he slid from the bed and moved his hand to the velcro strip holding up Harry's rustling pants. He tore it away roughly, jerking Harry's thin frame, and worked them down over bony hips to uncover more pairs of jeans beneath. Chuckling quietly, he did the same with the other pairs of pants until he had uncovered Harry all the way down to the man's last covering; his black boxers lying crumpled and shrunken against his skin.

With a coy smile, Draco stood up and walked toward the door.

"You need more tea. Get yourself in bed, and we'll see about that cold." With that he left a horrified Harry behind and refilled the tea cup.

As he was pouring the water into the delicate china cup, he closed his eyes as two hands curled around his waist and latched onto each other securely. Harry pressed himself against Draco's back, and the other man knew instantly that Harry stood naked behind him.

"You will bring about your death," he said smoothly, sentence ending in a moan as Harry undid his belt and unzipped his pants. "I would never forgive myself."

"Than it is your job to warm my cold skin," Harry whispered huskily into his ear, circling around in front of Draco. He stood before him, not quite able to quell the shivering of his limbs. Draco smirked at him and leaned forward to press his lips firmly to Harry's, gripping his shoulders in a cruelly hard grasp. Harry gasped in a pleasure driven pain, moving to align himself with Draco, cupping the angular face and lapping at the curving mouth. Draco parted his lips, meeting Harry's tongue and sliding along the muscle, rubbing his hand down Harry's bare back and twining the other in ebony locks, pulling the beautiful white neck into a sharp arch and biting at the quivering flesh before him.

Harry softly cried out Drac's name with swollen, blue bruised lips, his hips bucking as Draco ground into them harshly.

Then Harry slid down Draco's chest and gripped his naked hips with pale, shaking hands, his quivering mouth shaping warm breath onto Draco's inner thigh.

Draco looked down at the honest green eyes staring up at him with nothing but a worried, fragile devotion. He smiled kindly and stroked the side of Harry's face, groaning deep in his throat as he was enveloped by warmth as soft as Angel's breath. Harry bobbed his head slowly, eyes never leaving Draco's face, tears brimming his lids as the beautiful man standing over him whispered his name sweetly into the frosty night, voice breaking into a cry.


..... Rain pelted against the roof of the cottage and Harry closed his eyes to listen to it. Thunder rolled almost gently above the rain, lightning kissing the sky sharply. The storm was a soft one, the eye far from the quaint cottage nestled in the trees. Harry looked out the window passed the grandfather clock to gaze at the choppy surface of the lake; a thick pewter gray as was the sky. On the bank, cattails swayed and played over the ground in the stirring wind, as if embracing each other like spectral lovers.

He lay Draco's head gently down on the white sheets, drawing his thumb lightly over the rose pink lips and smiling warmly when a slender hand brushed at him, sleeping brow knitting in annoyance.

Outside the cold bit as his skin with a vengeance in deep jealousy of his warmth. Harry chastised himself for not bringing out at least a shirt, and underestimating the intensity of the weather outside.

Picking his way carefully over the swaying grass, he made his way down to the lake.

The water lapped at the bank, smoothing over the runny mud, a cloud of dirt floating on the turning edge. Further out, Harry could see the blue depths through the gray, water grasses on the lake bed whipping side to side like tiny banners of dull green ribbon. Tiny fish darted in an out of the dancing plants, silver shadows flickering in and out of his sights. They swam with the wind riding above water, swimming in groups back and forth.

On the far end of the lake Harry thought he saw the bright beak of a mallard, maybe a flash of metallic green feathers. Looking up, his glasses were dotted with droplets, blotting his vision. He continued to look upwards, watching with a detached fascination as the rain came spearing down, hitting the round glass shields protecting his eyes.

Cold slapped across his face like a whip, bringing a healthy color to his cheeks and teasing at his white hands hugging himself and his bare chest and back. The long grasses along the bank laughed at him, and the rain sang as it coated his hair and glittered with droplets clinging to the stark black. He shook his head, flinging the drops to the ground where they disappeared among their fellows.

Mud squished between his toes and he enjoyed the sensation as he strode purposefully around back of the cottage, pulling up short when he came in sight of the pink blossomed cherry tree, shedding its cheery pink flowers over the ground. Even through the pouring April rain he could faintly smell the aroma of the sweet springtime petals.

His fingers ached dully and he scratched himself on a loose twig as he twisted off a small branch with the healthiest, liveliest blooms still clinging to life. Tucking the stem securely into the waistband of his sweatpants, Harry plodded to the back door of the cottage, shoulders hunched into the wind and hair swept over his forehead, hiding the vivid lightning bolt scar from view.

Inside he left a trail of water in his wake to the kitchen, where Draco found him climbing onto the counters to reach the high shelves where he kept his treasured china. The blonde had always thought it odd, but Harry had a fine taste for old china. Sometimes, for fun, he would read the tea leaves in his cup, seeming to always deduct only happiness and prosperity in his future.

Draco watched the dark haired boy, wrinkling his nose at the muddy footprints staining the floor, and chuckling at the sopping wet pants clinging to Harry in an oh so pleasant way. Smirking, he sat at the table, silently pulling out a chair and seating himself quiet enough so that Harry was not aware of his presence.

Each person acts different when they're alone. It's a fact in life. Draco happened to enjoy watching Harry very much when the wizard thought he was alone. The way he would mumble to himself, or rub at his scar with an annoyance he was so used to dealing with all his life, or when he would lie with his back up against a tree, eyes closed, book resting open in his lap. He was so beautiful when he knew the world had its eyes blocked from him. Often when Draco knew he was deep asleep, he would gently kiss his scar, always warm to the touch, and kiss him awake. Harry loved it when he did that. And he loved Harry in return.

Blinking back into reality, Draco cocked his head to the side, a mischievous smile playing over his sensuous mouth.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

With a sharp yelp, Harry shot back from the cupboard he was digging around in and went flailing backwards off the shelf. From a gangly heap on the ground, he glared up at Draco with angry eyes, pouting mouth, and glasses askew on his nose. Draco laughed, kneeling down on the floor beside his lover to brush back wet locks of ebony and kiss the furrowed brow tenderly.

"So graceful," he teased, kissing Harry's nose, "So elegant." He kissed his mouth, sweeping his tongue along the bottom lip and mewling with pleasure as Harry took his tongue into his mouth, biting down gently and pulling Draco down over him by the muscle, grinning impishly.

"So good," Harry mumbled.

"What are these for?" Draco asked, as he was running his fingers under Harry's waistband. He had discovered the flowers and held them up for inspection. "Are these what you were risking your neck for up there? Cheery blossoms?"

"You reminded me of them."

"I'm not sure I want to know why."

"Quit flattering yourself," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, what a I supposed to think?" Draco got to his knees, laying the flowers onto the tabletop.

"With me!? You act as if I'm unsavory or something-"

"Unsavory? Oh Harry, *never*," Draco oozed sarcastically. Harry swatted him irritably. Draco grinned at him and ran a hand through his hair, looking at Harry's tangled disaster of hair and grinning. "Harry, Harry, of the tub," he crooned, "Who *is* the sexiest of studs?"

"That reminds me; I bet I'm going to get raisin skin from the rain."

"Gee, thanks love." Draco flicked him in the ear. "So vain, Harry."

Harry stood up, shrugging and walking back over to the counter, staring determinedly up at the top shelf, lips pursed.

Draco made a face. "Honestly, love." He raised his hand and his wand came floating through the air from the living room right into his open palm. Then he raised it up, pointed it at a beautifully articulated vase of intricate tracery, and said lazily, "Accio vase."

Now it was Harry's turn to make a face as he snatched the vase from the air. "Very clever, Draco - *if* you want to be lazy about it."

Frowning, Draco pointed his wand at Harry.


"Draco, what-"

"Accio, Harry."

There was nothing he could do. Try and struggle as he might, it was all in vain and the chortling look on Draco's face sealed his fate as his feet brushed along the floor. Next thing Harry could tell, his lips were being shoved apart by a familiar tongue.

"Laziness has its advantages," Draco derided coyly, releasing the magically invisible bonds from around Harry. He set down his wand and smartly took up the vase, plopping the flowers down into it and running it under the water faucet. He bowed his head and tried to hide a smile when two strong arms wrapped around his torso.

"The old fashioned way does, too."

He was slowly turned around so that he was facing Harry, his head tilted slightly back, breath caressing Harry's lower lip.

"Let's put these on the table, shall we?"

Harry grinned at him, taking the vase and setting it in the middle of the table, smoothing out the creases on the off white table cloth and flicking a few old crumbs away. He stood back to view his work, raising his hands and closing one eye, creating a tiny frame with his fingers.

"A pretty picture," he said, turning to look over at Draco, and pausing.

There was an odd look on the wizard's face. He was looking at Harry with an expression Harry had never seen before. Dropping his hand to his sides, he faced Draco fully and started to inquire as to why Draco looked so when the shorter man threw his arms around Harry's shoulders, burying his face in Harry's bare chest. Hugging him tightly in return, Harry stroked his back, confused.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Draco looked up, his pointed chin digging into Harry's chest. His eyes were brimming with tears. Suddenly quite alert, Harry held Draco away at arm's length.

"What is it?"

His worry melted away a little as Draco smiled at him, his eyes shining. "It's you."


"I'm so glad it's you."

Harry's concern ebbed down to nothing. Chuckling, he pulled Draco to him, burying his nose in the soft silken tresses, smelling of faint spices and cedar bark. He glanced up as he heard the faint chimes of the grandfather clock. On the last chime, the cherry blossoms burst forth in a shower of petals, raining down on the two men. Harry and Draco looked at each other and Harry whispered, kissing Draco softly, "Happy Anniversary, love."


A/N: *sob* And that is that! *sniffle* Hope you enjoyed my extended bout of insanity. And I HAD to stick the Anniversary thing in there. It was a must have. Now my darlings, don't think for one second I won't have another wacky romance up within these near weeks! My notebook is filled with ideas, and my muses pumping up for another round! I'm guessing my next is going to be a rather dark fic since I'm switching in and out of light romantic humor. *evil mysterious grin* Love you all bunches of tomatoes! Au revior! *kissies and huggles*