Snow // IrethFefalas
Disclaimer: The following recognizable characters, places, events, et cetera, do not belong to me, but to J.K Rowling. I claim no ownership or profit over them.
Summary: Draco has no idea what to expect from Harry. This, whatever it is, certainly isn't it. One shot.
Warning: Definite homosexual hints if not outright content (depending on one's opinion).
Rating: Teen for mild romantic adult situations.
Notes: Written 14 Aug '06. I don't really know what happened. There is no evidence of a coherent plot line and contains only the intent to simply write. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome.
snow
He laughed, and warm clouds of air diffused into the cold winter air. "I am a living, breathing contradiction, Malfoy." He glanced back over his shoulder to the pale, pointed face, and smiled in genuine warmth. "I don't have to make sense."
His cheeks were flushed from the winter's harsh weather, eyes so very green, lips sliding into a slow, deep smile. A scarf was flung over his shoulders and loosely wrapped around his neck. Draco had a fleeting urge to grasp the scarf's end, and pull him close, take him in so the whole world knew who this strange, temporal boy belonged too. He shook it off with a shake of his head, his silvery pale hair rippling in the unblocked sunlight and falling snow.
Turning, Harry faced the boy he had so long ago sworn to hate, his bare hands balled together in a measure to keep heat. He took in Draco's indecision, drank it all in like a rare wine aged some decades back, and gave another slow smile so rich. He knew. He knew he had flung away Draco's carefully constructed world, had sent it reeling, and he knew how uncertain he was. And he knew in equal measures that if there was a thing to be done, it was to let the path run its course, to let him decide. He would not push.
Instead, he walked forward through the soft powdered snow (and here Draco wondered how he did not look sillier for navigating the high hills, but in fact seemed to acquire more grace), facing that unsure face with it's eyes so quiet.
He stood there, as true as the hushed landscape of winter snow and frozen water, as silent. He pierced his eyes into his, breaking all barriers and knocking down all protections, reaching deep into the core of his heart, without a word or movement. There was no smile on his face now, only an understanding, imprinted deeply into green and apricot and red. He moved forward, a small step, and uncurled his fingers, raising them to his face, hovering above his cheek, so close.
Harry traced the hollow of his cheekbone, and then that pointed, proud chin: across his forehead, down the bridge of his haughty nose, along the elegant arc of his brow. When he fluttered his eyelids closed at the strange, ephemeral sensations, Harry stroked delicately veined eyelids, the pads of his thumbs a curious texture on Draco's skin.
Down again his fingers traveled, before stroking gently at the corner of a pink, cupid-bow's mouth. He leaned forward slightly, thumb still stroking, till his forehead touched Draco's, and then quicksilver eyes trembled and opened, and he was drawn into an overwhelming tide of hesitation and curiosity, burgeoning hope washing down like fresh rain sliding down his throat.
Harry laughed. They were close enough for eyelashes to touch, and he murmured, "Don't you ever learn?" Those eyes of silver grey were wide. Harry laughed again, his breath warming him, and he dropped his hand. "I don't make sense."
He walked away, treading through the mounds of snow – and still, flakes were falling, white perfection on the world – and left him alone, staring after a shadow on the hilltop.