A/n: This is my first slash pairing, hurrah, and I really am shocked that I was able to write it. I myself am het, and up until now my pairings were exclusively het, but I think I'll try to write more slash after this. ^^'
Uh…this is dedicated to Hush Puppy, who has reviewed and reviewed my stories and never fails to help me improve just that little bit. ^^ At least I hope so.
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Sparkling dewdrops fall from carrot-red hair as he makes his way from the catkins bushes and heather toward me. It's five in the morning, and the scent of June hangs heavy in the air. The rest of Hogwarts sleep high above us in the castle, so, for this one moment only, there's just Ron and Draco alive in the world, a precious rare moment caught in a glass orb all its own.
He makes his way toward me on his too-long legs and his too-large feet, his brown-freckled hands hanging on his thin arms at his side. His Adam's-apple is all too prominent in his long neck; on his flushed, freckled face there plays an embarrassed smile. His robes, thrown on over maroon paisley pyjamas, are threadbare, patched and worn, and his slippers skid and slither through the dewy grass. After what seems an eternity, he's beside me, and we stand before each other in the honeysuckle bushes.
He greets me with a casual "Hi, Draco." and I try to smile back at him, but I can't. Instead I hold his chin softly in my hands and kiss him. He tastes of strawberry ice-cream and lemonade, of innocence and lack of sleep. He tastes of Sugar Quills and Fizzing Whizzbees, of Honeyduke's chocolate and Cauldron Cakes. He is innocence; he is love and he is innocence, and I don't want to change that, so our kiss is a chaste one. When we draw out of our kiss, he's breathless and ruffled, and though I can't be sure, I know that I'm not at all disarranged, and I hate myself for it.
Pink roses bloom in his cheeks and his shimmering blue eyes cast themselves down on the grass. The shy scent of honeysuckle drifts up and we're lost in a world of candlebud scent and pink-grey sky. My lips are suddenly dry and aching for want of him, but I moisten them with the tip of my tongue and continue to watch him. He is clean and unsoiled, and as long as I know him he will stay that way; I could never touch him. He looks up, suddenly, and takes my hand in his. At once he blushes from this sentimentality, and looks about to drop my hand again when his spirit visibly hardens and he looks up into my eyes. I am afraid that he is going to tell me that he loves me, but it is soon obvious that he will not, because his arms fold around my back and his head drops onto my shoulder in a tender embrace.
I was never one for romance, and when I did fall in love, I expected it would be with a girl. But I'm in love with Ron, a boy, and though I know that some wouldn't agree, there's nothing quite like what I feel for him. When he draws away from me, the sky is a hazy blue, and with a parting smile, he disappears through the purple-flowered bushes, honeysuckle petals on his hair and shoulders.
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