DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: This is for Rachel, who requested Harry Potter/Lisa Turpin. Apparently, it's her OTP. Go figure. God forgive me for writing fluff.

The challenge: Write a piece that involves: Harry Potter and Lisa Turpin, a pillow, sixth year, vanilla, ballet slippers, and eyelashes. Someone must say "I was always a poor judge of distance."

The response: 1600 words, 40 paragraphs. Am I proud of myself for that? Darn tootin'.

Dragonflies

Dragonflies always came out in the late spring. It was the way of things. Darting over the lake, they were always a marvel to watch. The ripples they made were relaxing. Lisa Turpin came out to watch them every year. She liked the ones with the blue wings; they had an iridescent quality to them. The red-winged ones always seemed to dart so quickly.

A few years ago, as a second year, Lisa had taken a book out of the library about dragonflies. That was when she learned that sometimes, books weren't the answer. The concept had blown her proper Ravenclaw mind, but there it had been. She learnt that she didn't want to know what made them tick, what was inside, where they came from, why they came out in the late spring. She learnt that sometimes, the fact that it was the way of things was enough. Sometimes, it was enough to know that a thing was beautiful, and it was enough to sit and watch a thing without knowing what it was and why it was there.

Now, as a sixth year, she still came to watch the dragonflies. She would sit perfectly still, and they would come right up to her. Lost in thought, she blinked back into reality when the dragonflies shot back across the lake. There were footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she saw to whom they belonged.

"Harry Potter." She sighed internally. Of all people, it had to be the crazy one. Once, she'd been taught to revere his name. Then he'd been brought back into the wizarding fold, and they'd all learned better. Not that she necessarily believed everything that the papers printed, but...

Harry stopped when he reached her. He seemed to shift uncomfortably. "Um, hi. Terry said you'd be here. Can I sit?" Terry had said? He was asking after her?

"Plenty of room." She gestured for Harry to sit. He sat next to her. Yes, definitely uncomfortable, and trying to hide it. And was he... was he blushing?

"It's nice here. Pretty." He smiled an awkward smile. "I don't think I've ever been to this particular spot. Big lake, you know?"

"Yes, it is." What on earth did he want? He reached into a pocket of his robes.

"I brought you something." He pulled out an apple. He blushed a little more. "I figured that flowers or something would be a little much of a statement, and this wouldn't turn quite so many heads." The apple was perfect and round and bright red. He held it out with a near reverence. "I might have bruised it on the way over, sorry."

It was Lisa's turn to smile as though she didn't know how. She took the apple and turned it over in her hands. "No, there's no bruising. It's perfect. Thank you." What else could she say?

"Well, I thought... if you liked the apple... maybe... erm..." Harry looked down and then up again. "Would you like to maybe go have some ice cream with me in Hogsmeade this afternoon? We have free time and it's Saturday and... I thought maybe..."

What harm could there be? It was just ice cream. In Hogsmeade, but... she could risk it. What was life if one didn't live it, after all?

"All right. But I want to stop in my room first. I'll meet you by the road?"

Harry looked half relieved, half frightened. But mostly happy, Lisa thought. "I'll wait there, then." He scrambled up, and after a moment's deliberation where he didn't seem to know what to do, ran off.

Could have offered a hand to help me up, but I suppose that's too much to expect from any man.

Heading up to the Ravenclaw dorms, she passed Terry, poring over a book in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Hey, Lisa! Did Potter find you? He was looking for you!"

"Yes, Terry. He found me. That's a private place, Terry. You know better than to send people to find me there." Lisa's tone was disapproving.

"Sorry, Lisa. I shouldn't have told Goyle when he asked, too, then?" Terry's eye gleamed.

"Terry Boot, you didn't!" Picking up a pillow from the nearest couch, Lisa threw it at Terry as he ducked.

"And half the Hufflepuff class as well. I also told Ginny Weasley that it was a good place to snog unseen." He didn't manage to duck the second incoming pillow. "Seriously, though. He asked specifically after you. What did you want me to say? That I hadn't seen you?"

Sighing, Lisa said, "No. It's all right this time. But in the future, please remember that that place is my haven."

Walking the steps to her room, Lisa looked at the apple. It really was perfect. And thoughtful. Why did he have to be thoughtful? It was easier to think of him as the crazy boy that had delusions of grandeur because he'd been raised on tales of his own survival.

Walking to her bed, she set the apple on her bedside table. The only other thing on her bedside table was a picture of herself as a little girl. She'd been dressed up as a ballerina, ballet slippers and all. Dreams of dancing had filled her head once upon a time. She'd even taken lessons from Muggle instructors during her youth when she'd attended a Muggle primary school. She'd never done very well at it, though, as she'd always been a poor judge of distance, and her landings more often than not landed her in painful positions heaped on the floor.

She kept the picture as a reminder of her childhood. A reminder of that which she was trying to escape. It was what forced her out of bed each morning, made her face the day. One day farther away from that. Looking at the apple next to the picture, she laughed at the contrast. Childhood melting into her adulthood. Casting a charm on the apple to preserve it, she straightened her robes and her hair, and headed toward the Hogsmeade road.
Harry was, as promised, waiting for her. His face brightened as she approached. He did not say a word; only fell in step with her as they walked the long road to Hogsmeade. The silence stretched on as they walked side by side; the road had never seemed longer. Suddenly, Harry broke the silence.

"It's a lovely day, don't you think?" Was that all he could think of to say? Well, it was a start.

"Yes, it is. The breeze is especially nice. I'd forgotten how long the road was. I haven't been to Hogsmeade in ages."

"I don't know; I was always a poor judge of distance." The words shocked right through Lisa as images of ballet slippers and clumsy falls flashed through her head. It was the perfect thing for him to say, and yet... exactly the wrong thing. For now, she had to regard him seriously as a real person, and she laughed involuntarily.

"Why's that funny?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, it's not. It's just that... when I was a girl, I would always get myself into the most horrible falls when I was dancing because I couldn't judge the distance of the jump I was trying." Was that even a sentence? She was flustered. Soon, though, they were laughing about idiocies they'd committed in their childhoods, and before she knew it, they were at the ice cream parlour.

Ordering strawberry for Lisa and vanilla for himself, Harry brought the dishes of ice cream to the table. The parlour was nearly empty.

"When's the last time you had ice cream, Lisa?" It was an odd question to be sure.

"Oh, I don't know. Last year, I suppose. It's been a cold winter. And none too safe, really." No one liked to bring up the war, but it hung over everyone's head.

"I have it every spring. Only once. Vanilla ice cream. Nothing fancy. I don't want to get used to it, see, 'cause then I'll want it over the summer. But it reminds me that when I'm here, I'm free."

"Can't you have ice cream at home?"

Harry laughed. "I am home. The Dursley's? That's not home. Hogwarts is my home. When I graduate, if I survive, I'll make my own home. That house has never been my home." Pausing, he tried to change the subject. "You have an eyelash. Here, let me get it." Carefully reaching out to brush the eyelash from her face, Lisa noticed how gentle his touch was. But she didn't fail to notice what he'd said, even as he showed her the eyelash and smiled.

If I survive. She had caught the little slip of the phrase. He'd sounded so sad. A thousand questions suddenly sprang to mind. Looking at the small boy with a new light, he suddenly looked all too human as she blew the lash off his fingertip.

But perhaps that was the way things were meant to be. Don't ask too many questions, or the magic will be shattered. She'd learnt that with the dragonflies.

But too many people pressed him with questions, too many people needed to know why. She found that she didn't need to know what made him tick, what was inside, why he ate ice cream in the late spring. She found that now, the fact that this was the way of things was enough. It was enough to know that he was beautiful, and it was enough to sit and watch him without knowing what he was, or why he was there.