Heat

It is a hot day, or maybe sweltering would be a better word, or oppressive. The sort of heat that just sits there, clinging to everything like an invisible haze, seeping into the pores and infiltrating the brain with the incessant hum of cicadas that scream heeeeeeaaaaaat heeeeeeaaaaat heeeeeaaaaaat. The sort of heat that dulls the senses and condenses movements down into the shortest possible distance between two points. The turn of a head to look at the person being spoken to is far too much effort for such a day. The sun is too bright, and when forced to leave the almost comforting shade of buildings or trees, eyes scrunch up and turn to slits, squinting into the impossible brightness, and the heat.

A small lazy breeze is almost comforting, brushing lazily across Draco's skin, but it is gone almost before it arrives and it must be a dream. The grass only acknowledges its passing with the barest twist. It is too hot to move any more than that. Laying on his back in the grass Draco imagines he can feel the cool from within the earth flowing into the skin of his bare back. He imagines he can feel a breeze playing across his chest like a breath, and for a minute he feels cooler. Then he opens his eyes.

Harry is standing over him, dark hair, dark green t-shirt and dark blue denim, half in the shade of the tree and half in the sun so that Draco has to squint when he looks up at him. All he can see of Harry's face is a dark shadow against the too bright sun. Draco wonders, not for the first time, how Harry can stand it. This has been the hottest summer for years and Harry has yet to wear any clothing that is not dark, or even shorts. He stands in the sun, dark clothes soaking up the heat, not even sweating, while Draco endeavors to wear as little as is decently possible. He dresses in the lightest fabrics, the lightest colors, and still he is left sweaty and miserable while Harry runs around as if he doesn't even notice the heat. Harry doesn't even remove his shirt, resulting in one hell of a farmer's tan. Draco wonders if this is modesty or something else. It is something else he suspects, given that Harry never hesitates to remove the offending shirt when Draco sneaks his hand between skin and fabric exposing the impossibly white flesh of his stomach.

"Are you ready?" Draco groans at Harry's cheerful tone. It is far to hot to be that cheerful. With an effort that is far too much for the day, he grabs Harry's arm and drags him down next to him in the shade, where he can see him properly.

"How can you wear that?" Harry looks down at his shirt and shrugs.

"I put it on this morning and it just stayed there. It takes almost no effort at all."

"But aren't you hot?"

Harry's mouth twists into a smirk. "That's what you always say."