Sadly I still don't own Harry Potter....sigh.

For those of you more interested in Snarry than Drarry (eugh, still hate name combinations), my next submission may be be more to your liking...;D (if I ever get around to it u_u)

Inspired by the song Say Hello by Deep Dish. I highly recommend listening :B

"Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts."

--William Shakespeare

"You have small wrists."

"What? No I . . . well, I guess so." Harry held his wrist up in front of his face, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He looked away after a second, refocusing on the person who had brought this to his attention.

Harry was startled at the look in the grey eyes; he had never seen them wearing an expression so open and . . . innocent maybe? But they weren't focused on Harry's face; they were transfixed on the wrist held in the small stretch of air between them.

But before Harry could do more than take in this strangeness, a strong dual-grip grabbed his wrist and held it close to those grey eyes, examining. Pale fingers smoothed over his skin, flipping the hand and tracing swiftly over his palm and back around. They spread his own fingers and set to inspecting them as well.

"I think you have the smallest hands and wrists of any bloke I know," thin lips spoke into the corridor, semi-lit with torches and overlooking the blank canvas of grounds far below. Fresh snow was still falling on the windows of the Great Hall, where lights glowed and merry voices could be heard even from where they stood.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say, so he didn't. The sleeve of his thick winter jacket fell near his elbow as fingerpads seemed to dance across his knuckles and palm and the tops of his nails. His hand had never been touched like this, caressed almost . . . It was the simplest and most odd sensation he'd experienced yet, he decided, having this simple part of him studied with such interest and concentration, as if his hand was an important part of this curiously evolving friendship: a teacup into a dove right before his eyes.

Grey looked into green as the movement stalled. How Malfoy—Draco?—found almost nothing awkward continued to amaze Harry even after these few months. It was as if there were no self-consciousness in the world. A relieving escape from Ron's well-meaning jokes that often cut too deep.

"I don't think they're small, necessarily," Harry said, breaking the silence. "Thin maybe."

"Delicate."

"Yeah."

Draco continued to stare at the hand, turning it over every so often. Why didn't he mind Draco touching—no, holding—his hand like this? Why did he feel like there was nothing he needed to hide here; like the world could be his if he wanted?

Why was there a faint flutter in his stomach?

"Look." Draco shifted their hands so they were palm to palm, each adjusting fingers to match the other. Harry's fingertips were a full inch shy of Draco's.

The corner of those lips turned upward; Harry was only too familiar with Draco's different smirks. His stomach jumped a little.

"I wonder if that's all that's smaller than mine," he said smoothly, smirk unfurling into a suggestive grin. Harry opened his mouth with a nonexistent retort, then closed it and drew his eyebrows into a glare. "You will regret that."

The merry voices from the Great Hall were still audible over running footsteps and the laughter of two Seventh years as they disappeared down the corridor and through the Castle, savoring the first hint of love on their tongues.

Fin.

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Please review and tell me if it was too mushy :P heehee