Draco

I am giddy, expectation whirls me round

The imaginary relish is so sweet

That it enchants my sense

"Whoa, steady"

Harry catches me as I fall into his arms.

I'm laughing loudly as I stagger, inebriated.

Fragile snow droplets fall as if the stars above are weeping, bleeding light like music notes, winking teasingly.

The flakes trickle languidly, nonchalant as the breeze carries them, making them dance in excitement and sing their own little language, voices soft and melodious, whispering promises.

My feet catch on the dirt and stumble and my arms are curling around Harry's shoulders in my semi-conscious state.

I suddenly feel a burst of euphoria as he holds me and I giggle and snigger drunkenly.

"Too mulcha budder bleer" I slur whilst tangling myself up in him.

He laughs whole-heartedly as he leans and whispers gruffly in my frost-bitten ear, yet his words are sweet;

"You have witchcraft in your lips"

I snort, intoxicated, and he chuckles huskily.

Tingles run along my body as the snow catches in Harry's ringlets and his glasses steam with our billowing breaths.

He's smiling his crinkly-eyed smile, eyes narrowing and creases wrinkling the corners.

When he does this, it transforms his face.

The war and death are all etched upon his beautiful features in their own little way, but when he beams his real, honest smile, not the one for show, it all disappears and his spirit and wit and energy all shine, his eyes wise and bright and that 11 year old bookworm radiates through

I bury my face into his Gryffindor scarf that he still wears and inhale the smell of his laundry detergent, the library and bitter coffee.

There's some other smell that's musky, humid and earthy and completely indescribable.

I have a dizzying feeling this is just Harry's natural scent.

I want more.


If you feel like Draco, please let me know and I'll be sure to update