Chapped

Chapped

~

It was a frosty Tuesday morning, the kind of frosty where if you breathed too hard you could see a faint white mist appear in front of your face for a few milliseconds before vanishing. The kind of frosty that made pale cheeks flush a cool, barely visible pink tint and turned red lips chapped and dry, so to keep them warm and moist you had to keep licking them, which Harry figured didn't make much sense because every time he did so, the air would only feel colder when the breeze softly blew by.

But then again, he thought, it didn't exactly make sense that he was sitting on a bench outside the castle on a day like this, without gloves or a scarf or any other sort of warm attire besides his winter cloak. Why wasn't he inside, in the toasty Gryffindor common room, perhaps sipping a hot cup of cocoa in front of the fire, relishing the warmth and privilege he had while most of the other 6th years were outside, taking their Care of Magical creatures exam?

So Harry sat, pulling down his sleeves to cover his fingers and occasionally licking his lips, pondering the question. He soon found that the answer was simply that he didn't know why.

Maybe it was because he'd rather be out here than in the common room with Hermione - who had also dropped Care of Magical Creatures after Hagrid left - who would probably spend the time lecturing him on what a good opportunity it was that he had an hour to catch up or get ahead on homework assignments.

Or maybe he just liked the snow that blanketed the ground and trees and everything before him, the cold air prickling like frost biting at his cheeks, the numb feeling he had in his fingers and toes.

But since Harry couldn't find much of a precise reason, he decided to go with his first answer, and told himself to wait and see, and just maybe he would find out.

So he did wait, and did what he had been doing for the past fifteen minutes, and studied the scenery. The lake in the distance was glittering silver, frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Snow covered the tips of the pine trees in the Forbidden Forest, making them look like pointy upside down icicles. They made Harry think of Honeydukes' new Christmas themed candy, often bought hand in hand with their Magical Mistletoe ("Kiss or Have your nose bitten off!")

These sweets were white pointed sticks of sugar that looked like icicles, held like a lollipop, and when put in your mouth, an icy burst plunged down your throat and throughout your body before coming back up, in a stronger wave, leaving your mouth dry and teeth cold in a blast of refreshing mint. At least, that's what the advertisement on the box claimed.

Harry had been planning to buy a pack or two for Ron and Hermione, in case they ever needed one before, well... Anyway, he'd do that on their next Hogsmeade visit, but that wasn't for a couple of weeks, so he'd just have to wait for that, too, which promptly reminded him of his initial inquiry, and he remembered that he already was waiting.

And who else to interrupt his waiting than Draco Malfoy, in all of his expensive fur coated glory, padding through the thick white snow in his handmade black leather boots, imported specially from Italy. He had been making his way over to the bench that Harry was currently sitting on before he spotted the messy black hair and slightly fogged glasses and stopped abruptly.

Harry watched silently as Malfoy glared before he walked over and sat down on the opposite side of the bench, as far away from Harry as possible - which was difficult, because the bench was only so big - before jumping back when he touched the freezing metal arm rests with his bare fingers.

Malfoy shivered as he rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt to heat them. Harry watched the other boy's efforts with detached amusement before looking away because he feared he might start feeling guilty. Why, he didn't know, and he wasn't too keen on finding out. It wasn't his fault Malfoy was cold. He was cold, too.

Once the sound of hands chafing together had ceased, it was once again silent as the two boys sat, neither knowing what the other was thinking, and probably not even wondering. The silence was indescribable, but it was a good kind of indescribable, Harry thought - music to his ears compared to what he usually had to put up with when this particular blond was around. Surely, on any other occasion, he would have gotten up and left had Malfoy come over to share a companionable silence with him, on top of the weather, of all things. So why didn't he?

He could go back inside, take off the ridiculous white coat from Madam Malkin's winter line which seemed hardly seemed like it was doing anything anyway, ask the house elves to make him a hot cider with mulled spices, like Mrs. Weasley made for them at the Burrow...

And as he was pondering this pretty philosophical Why, Harry suddenly felt something touch his knee. He looked down to see another knee, dressed in a black pinstriped material, casually propped against it. He turned his head to look at Malfoy, who at that moment took a sharp intake of breath but kept his grey eyes stubbornly looking forward at the landscape in front of them.

So he left it at that, and turned his gaze slowly forward again, wondering perhaps if there was any meaning in the tiny gesture, and then privately scolding himself for having such foolish and farfetched ideas, especially since they involved Draco Malfoy, of all people.

But what was the harm in finding out? Gryffindors were known for their courage, after all. And since Malfoy had already cast the first line... Harry moved slowly and carefully readjusted his thigh, so that it was practically aligned against the Slytherin's, careful to keep his gaze straight in front of him. He heard a tiny noise of resistance come from the other boy. He blinked and turned his head slightly for a clear view of Malfoy, who was staring at their adjacent thighs. He looked up at Harry with confusion and maybe a tiny hint of excitement, a look Harry imagined someone might have when they didn't quite know what would happen just then, before Malfoy narrowed his eyes a tiny fraction of an inch in slight defiance, masked defense. Harry watched his eyes lower and focus on his own mouth.

"Your lips are chapped," he said.

"I know," Harry replied, darting his tongue out to moisten them, not looking away from the other boy.

Malfoy blushed. "Licking them won't help, Potter," he said in what wasn't quite his usual lazy drawl.

Harry lowered his eyelids slightly, aware that it had begun to snow lightly because of the tiny white flakes melting quickly on his glasses, leaning his head forward. "Then what will?"

And just before he closed his eyes and laid his lips softly on Malfoy's, Harry caught that tiny gleam of surprise in the silver irises, the one which he knew people had just when they found out what had been going to happen after all, which he found made the kiss, quick and gentle, nothing more than lips brushing against each other, quivering and hesitant and warm and everything about it so much more complete.

When Harry withdrew and saw Malfoy's look of shock and wonderment, that's when he knew.

Oh, that was why.

~

-fin-