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AAAAAARgh, I seriously cannot wait to post this even though I'm spamming y'all :(( I haven't written H/D fluff in FOREVER, but I love [livejournal.com profile] lillithium's watercolors so I was inspired, but they're just so soft and sweet and fluffy, IT WASN'T MY FAULT, OKAY?? Not my fault!! *cries*

Okay, so. Like. Don't hurt me, I wrote H/D vaguely PWP post-war fluff :( :( *repents immediately!!* :( And yes, I'm trying to both write & avoid my angsty plotty Death Eater!Draco fic. :/ WAH.


Disclaimer: not mine, Valentine.

Author's Note: written for [livejournal.com profile] lillithium's beautiful fair watercolors.


- sparklers -


The look on Draco's face was making Harry duck and blush, fiddling with the borrowed camera. He just couldn't quite reconcile the sheer openness, the uncomplicated happiness radiating from Draco with someone he'd once called 'Malfoy'.

He tried to tell himself it was only this moment-- only here, at the Hogsmeade Faire-- it was a fleeting joy that lit up Draco's face so that it shone, a warmth he could feel seeping down all the way to his toes. It was quite an odd, unaccustomed feeling.

He kept prancing in place a bit nervously; looking up again and again as if trying to get the best view, the most perfect angle, but the truth was Draco had no bad angles today. He stood there bathed in cool morning sunshine in one of Harry's plain white shirts, surrounded by native fauna in all sorts of bright colors he'd normally avoid like the plague. There were those awful running children Draco usually mocked and the shouting vendors, plus a dozen large toy unicorns in a circle, but in the midst of all the pandemonium he just looked natural. That definitely wasn't a word Harry would have associated with Draco Malfoy in the past. There it was, though: Draco's natural secret half-smile and his translucent skin with its first morning flush, his clear-sky grey eyes wide open, the fleeting fondly exasperated look.

Harry could barely believe his own eyes, if truth be told: it was like Draco had just woken up and was looking at Harry while he thought he was asleep.

"Are you quite done gawking, Potter? We do have a schedule here, if you've forgotten."

Even Draco's voice was warm; unbelievable. Harry shivered and snapped a keepsake, trying not to think of summer's end.

+ + +

Draco had gone silent again for the past five minutes at the least, but Harry smiled, half-closing his eyes to the gentle summer evening. It had been a good day.

He leaned one shoulder against Draco's and let the silence between them stretch out, filling the spaces between them with warmth. Indeed, there were distant children's voices from somewhere on the Ferris Wheel behind them mixing with the raucous cries of birds, all in sweet counterpoint to his lover's even breaths beside him, making soft hums of appreciation as he licked his ice-cream cone oh-so-daintily, one pinkie finger stretched out as always.

There'd been wizarding fireworks on for the past hour, and Draco was mesmerized as a child-- most were shaped like stars and flowers. There was also a huge glittering dragon taking up half the night sky, which Harry specially ordered. Harry could barely take it all in, he was so overwhelmed and oddly nostalgic. He sighed.

This was Draco's birthday, so he'd made sure everything was picture-perfect; it was definitely a stroke of luck that they'd opened the first wizards' Faire since the war ended right near Hogsmeade. Draco was almost entirely recovered by now, but Harry didn't want to face the whole wide world just yet. This was their moment; their little bubble, which felt like it existed out of time altogether. Just theirs alone.

Harry's own ice-cream had started to leak, being untouched for awhile, so he took a slow, languid lick, feeling nearly drunk with something which felt too sparkly with the heat of Draco's body to be mere contentment. He sighed again, a tiny hymn to chocolate, the June night and second chances, and leaned over to discover Draco's face had already turned, was already falling towards his.

+ + +

Their lips met slowly, oh-so-slowly, gentle as floating feathers at first. They were in no hurry, since both of them had finally gotten to this point: no need-- no room-- for words, for awkwardness or force.

All he knew was Draco's lips, which were sweet and cool with remnants of vanilla lolly. His heart beat frantically even as his body remained mostly motionless, almost afraid to move too suddenly and shatter something precious. At the back of his mind, he was still terrified of losing this; couldn't believe this was really them, Draco and him, him and Draco.

Him and Draco Malfoy-- the idea was still enough to make him nearly nauseous with excitement and anxiety, remained a surprise every time. A soft breeze blew strands of Draco's soft, fine hair against his cheek, and he could hear explosion after explosion. He wasn't immediately aware he was hearing another round of fireworks, because in his own mind there was a sky full of white noise and chaos.

Because then-- oh my god-- then, those lips finally parted and it was all warm-wet-slick heat, that pointy too-fucking-pink little tongue pressing ever so tentatively against his upper lip, licking in a tiny arc. Harry hiccupped and forgot to breathe for several long moments, his throat closing.

His breath started coming in gasps, though they were both still silent-- they didn't quite moan as Harry sighed into Draco's mouth and caught his upper lip between his teeth, sucking. Draco usually whimpered when Harry teased him so, sweeping only the tip of his tongue along the bottom lip, testing teeth and prodding minutely further, licking only at the corners. This time, there was merely the smallest return sigh and the slow arching of Draco's body closer, the increasing pressure of his mouth as he leaned in, the undulating movement of his lips as they flexed, parted and moved in tandem with Harry's own.

It was only in retrospect that Harry realized the silence was deceptive; he simply couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart, the roaring in his ears when he was in such close proximity to Draco. Draco could've been talking about anything at all back then, maybe giving a casual treatise on astrophysics, and Harry wouldn't have known. At the end of the day, the only three words Harry would've needed were written all over Draco's face, brighter than any sparkler.

+ + +
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the artist formerly known as lunacy

October 2012

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