There was something special about the middle of June. The weather that was later than spring, but not yet summer, where the air just smelled clean and fresh, without the ripening sweetness brought on by July's humid afternoons. June still had the appeal of blue skies and green life, without the sweltering heat of the sun. Lying in the sun, with the heat on his face warm, not hot, was just comfortable. Comfort was something that Harry was just beginning to truly appreciate.
Harry closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun, finding calm in the dark orange-red glow he saw even through closed lids. They were his favorite places to go in London, the parks. The carefully tended flowerbeds were vibrant with life, thrumming with colors. He felt a soft tickle on his face, and slowly opened his eyes. With his exhalation the butterfly that had landed on his lips fluttered away. It was an incongruous addition to the colorful surroundings. The butterfly was pure white, its wings flashing like drops of liquid brightness in the afternoon light. Harry extended out his hand, and the insect alighted on it, tasting his skin. It remained there for a few moments, wings waving lazily in the breeze, before it took back to the air.
Harry watched it go detachedly, and lay back down. When was the last time he had watched butterflies? When was the last time he had just enjoyed this almost-summer weather? It didn't really matter, he decided. He had time now, time to create whatever memories he wanted. Voldemort was dead, and he was free.
oOoOoOo
Not so far away from where Harry Potter was lying supine in the grass, Draco Malfoy was leaning heavily behind a tree, gasping for breath. His limbs felt ungainly and cumbersome, gravity weighing heavily on his shoulders. Brushing a white blond piece of hair from his eyes he tried to calm down. His world was one of enhanced senses, the fluttering of his heart in his chest, the roughness of the bark beneath his fingertips, the salty dew of sweat on his upper lip.
Draco peered around the tree at the relaxed figure in the grass, and envied his tranquility. Tranquility wasn't something that Draco had much of these days. He woke each morning aching with remembered flight, the heat of flames, the press of another body. Even his new form of flight couldn't compare with his unfulfilling memories. But still, it was something.
With one last yearning glance at the boy who had saved him, Draco quickly and efficiently dressed and left the park. He would have to be satisfied with the small benefits his newly acquired skill brought him.
Even something as small as butterfly kisses.