my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
E. E. Cummings

"He sent me a letter," Harry says once they're a reasonable distance away from Honeyduke's and anyone who might overhear. Draco nearly asks who he's talking about before he works it out.

"Sirius?"

Harry nods. "He used Professor Snape's veritaserum at his trial and they had to release him," he says. "He seems like he wants…"

Draco raises an eyebrow, taking a bite out of his Sugar Quill and remaining silent.

"It seems like he wants to bond or something," Harry finishes, a bit lamely. "Apparently, he's legally my godfather."

"Do you want to 'bond' with him?" Draco asks, hoping that he sounds neutral.

"I don't know. No. Not really. He strikes me as kind of a prig."

Draco shrugs. "In fairness, you caught him at a really bad time."

"I guess."

"I'm sure he feels some compulsion to be in your life," Draco says. "Your father was his best friend. Maybe he sort of wants to… you know."

Harry gives him a quizzical look. "Wants to what?"

Draco makes a dismissive hand gesture. "Take up a sort of paternal role. I don't know. He is your godfather. Maybe he feels responsible for taking care of you."

His reaction isn't immediate. Harry lifts his head and stares up at the sky – clear and vibrant blue, bright with sunlight, crisp and fragrant with the scent of nearing summer. Hogsmeade – and, really, all the Scottish countryside – is beautiful this time of year.

"I think I prefer Professor Snape," he says after a lengthy pause.

"Well, obviously," Draco returns. "No contest between them, really."

Harry grins. "So have you had a good birthday?"

"Yes, thanks for asking," he answers with a mirroring grin.

There's a moment of silence as they meander back toward the train station.

"I got you a birthday present," Harry blurts out quite suddenly, shortly before his face contorts into a look of pain, like he hadn't meant to say that.

Draco's brow knits. "Uh," he says, "okay." He wonders why he looks so nervous.

"I…"

They slow to a stop. Harry reaches into his messenger bag and pulls it out. It's wrapped with glossy silver paper and tied with a blue bow. It's about the size of a paperback novel, and Draco can tell by the wear of the wrappings that it's been fussed with and pawed at for months, though it still looks nice enough.

"I mean, I bought it originally for your Christmas present, but I didn't…"

Draco's not sure where Harry's going with this explanation, but the look of nervousness on his face is doing uncomfortable, fluttery things to Draco's stomach. It's been months since Draco's finally been able to name exactly what he feels for Harry, though he remains painfully unsure of what to do about it. Thus far his tactics have included "pretend like you don't want to kiss your best friend." It's worked, more or less.

"Here."

He hands Draco the present. Draco finishes off his Sugar Quill before he takes it.

When he pulls off the ribbon and lifts the lid, he is staring at a butterfly.

But no – it's not a butterfly, not quite. It certainly looks like a butterfly – like a large, beautiful monarch butterfly with delicate gossamer wings – but upon closer inspection, Draco can see that it's just a facsimile of one, sitting neatly on a bed of silk.

"It's a magical tattoo," Harry says. "They come on and off, apparently. And they move some when you touch them. Look."

Harry reaches out and draws a finger across one of the butterfly's wings. It gives a strange, two-dimensional flutter, and lifts a few inches off its box. Draco thinks of Valentine's Day last year, of the card full of butterflies, and his stomach knots.

"Harry," Draco whispers, awestruck. Draco knows that only the very expensive, high-end tattoos move and can be taken off. Coupled with the near-photorealistic artistry, Draco cannot imagine how much this cost.

"I know it might be a bit…" Harry's mouth twists. "But I was thinking of your thing about chaos."

"The butterfly effect," Draco supplies.

"Yeah. I thought it might be a nice symbol."

Draco laughs, though it's quite breathy. "The butterfly isn't a symbol of chaos," he says.

"No?"

"No, Harry, it's a symbol of—"

Draco looks up at him, and he has to physically bite his tongue to keep himself from finishing the sentence.

You, Draco wants to say but doesn't. It's a symbol of you, of the way you feel about me, of the way I feel about you.

Harry is staring at him, looking just as nervous as Draco feels.

There's a slight fluttering feeling on his wrist and Draco looks back down. The butterfly has melted onto the skin of his forearm and is flying up towards his shoulder. Draco watches as it disappears beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, then reappears beneath his collar, fluttering its wings and settling down near his sternum.

"It's beautiful," Draco says, because it is, and because he feels like his heart is going to rip itself to pieces in his chest. He looks at Harry, and Harry is looking back at him.

"Draco," Harry begins, "I…"

Draco swallows. Harry is closer than he was a moment ago. And those are his fingertips he feels ghosting across Draco's palm. And that's his breath on Draco's mouth.

And he is going to kiss him, Draco suddenly realizes.

His eyes are half-shut when— "Oy, Draco! Potter!"

Draco's heart nearly leaps straight out of his throat. He whirls around and sees Anthony Goldstein – another Ravenclaw, one of Draco's friendlier acquaintances – standing a few yards away and waving.

"Train's leaving!" he calls.

"We," Draco stammers, "we should – the – th-the train—"

"Yeah," Harry says. He sounds breathless. "I mean – yes. Come on."

They start toward the Hogsmeade station. Draco can feel the butterfly fluttering on his chest and the ghost of the nearly-kiss on his mouth.