They were lying, heads just touching, in the field down by the river. Albus let out a quiet chuckle, a little sound of contentment, when a butterfly flittered past his cheek.

"You are very lucky, Gellert. The flowers are beautiful this year."

There was a ripple of magic and in the next moment, Gellert's spell had ripped all the flowers from their stems, floating them in a whirlwind curtain of colours and heady fresh smells around them. Rolling over, his weight a comfortable press against Albus' chest, Gellert whispered, "Not as beautiful as you, my dear Albus."

The next morning, with the field looking decidedly bleak without its riot of wild flowers and already starting to die, Albus mentioned to Gellert that he had the slight tendency to go to extremes. At this Gellert laughed, carded his fingers through Albus' hair and said that if something was worth doing, then it was worth doing with all you possess.

It sounded logical and Albus was nothing if not a logical man. So when Gellert slid his hand down to cup his cheek and asked, "Don't you agree?" Albus just leaned into the kiss.

They were down by the river again, this time their fingers intertwined and Albus was telling Gellert about ice skating. About his complete lack of grace on the ice (here Gellert laughed) but how he loved it anyway. Later, he rolled into Gellert's side and settled in for a nap.

When Albus woke, there was frost ghosting over his lips and he thought he might still be dreaming. In the middle of the river was Gellert, his arms open in invitation. He had frozen the river, fish and all and Albus was starting to feel vaguely horrified. But when Gellert, looking so earnest, asked, "Don't you like it?" Albus couldn't find it in himself to say no.