"What's that, Potter?"
"What?" Harry looked up, saw the imperially slim figure of Draco Malfoy leaning into the doorframe, and blanched. "Nothing," he said as he quickly threw a blanket over the construction paper, scissors, and giblets of scrapwork that littered his bed. "Who let you in here?" "Weasley," answered Malfoy smugly, his eyes trained on Harry's face. "He seemed to think you were doing something I'd get a huge kick out of." He uncrossed his wiry legs and entered the room. Harry straightened and drew his legs in warily. "Now. What on earth do you suppose he meant by that?"
"Oh, leave me alone," Harry muttered, but Draco had already crossed to the bed and sat on it as casually as if it were his own. Harry tried not to react to his closeness, but it was hard, especially when Draco just as casually reached over and ran a hand smoothly--possessively, Harry thought with a shiver--over his arm.
"Now," Draco purred, his voice as effective as light silk against Harry's skin, "let's just take a look." He reached around Harry, wrapping one arm around his waist and pressing his body flush up against him as he did so, and flipped the blanket off the items Harry had been hiding.
Harry blushed from shame and mortification and closed his eyes.
There was silence for a moment. Such a long silence, in fact, that Harry grew even more uncomfortable and had to fight not to squirm out of the Slytherin's grasp as he opened his eyes. Draco was sitting staring in shock, holding the giant card in his hands that Harry had been working on all afternoon and only just finished a few moments earlier.
It was a complete hodgepodge, magical and makeshift--a huge card in the shape of a heart. It had a silver outline that had been enchanted to glitter in iridescence, as had the writing on the card itself. It had three layers, the middle of which was an intricate paper pattern--not like lace, but a spider's web of silvery, sheen-like words that spelled out unmistakeably against their dark green background, "To Draco Malfoy, the Pride of Slytherin." Harry thought it looked ridiculous as he sat there watching Draco's reaction to it, but Draco simply absorbed it in silence. After a moment, Draco flipped the card over and received another shock. The back of the card was a completely different color--bright red. Two snakes, one gold, one silver, wound around the edges, their tails touching at the top, their heads touching at the bottom in an eerie, beautiful kiss. In the middle this time, traced in confident, bold lettering of solid gold, were the words, "You're Mine. Happy Valentine's Day."
Harry, red from his nose to his ears, was now convinced that Draco was about to storm out of the room in disgust. So he had no words when he felt Draco's hand slowly reaching up to caress his cheek, the card still tucked in his fingers. "It's beautiful, Harry," he said softly. Harry just blinked back at him, feeling a bit light-headed, and still not sure what to say.
And then--a question, so honest, so quietly asked, so jarring in its tone, a tone that was not-quite-willing-to-believe...
"Do you... you do...really love me, don't you."
Harry slowly raised his gaze to Draco's incredible silver eyes with their tiny gold hints, felt himself falling into their depths, and nodded with all the helpless adoration he felt.
The look of absolute relief that passed through Draco's face--relief mixed with hope and joy and things too beautiful to articulate--was unforgettable. Without waiting for a response Harry moved to sink his lips into Draco's and hold him firmly in his arms. He thrilled when Draco responded in turn, and for a long time there was only the sound of quiet kissing, sighs, soft gasps, frantic heartbeats, and unspoken declarations of love.
"So," Harry murmured finally when they were at last gasping for air, still trailing kisses over Draco's cheekbone and jawline. "What do you say? Wanna be my Valentine?"
Draco cupped Harry's face in his hands and a genuine smile lit his face, reminding Harry that pure, unadulterated happiness had nothing to do with what one had and everything to do with who one had it with. "Why not?" he said playfully, and then, seriously, "Every hero needs a dragon. And like you said--I'm yours."
And Harry proceeded to slay him.
AN: I wish i could claim that I thought of that last catchphrase, but that honor goes to Twilights Death. *grin* I'm stealing it from her for the purposes of this little cookie, so i hope she doesn't mind. *schnoogles Twilights Death* Also, the phrase “imperially slim” belongs to Edward Arlington Robinson and “Richard Cory”—not to me. I just can’t resist using it to describe Draco wherever possible.
Happy Valentines Day, everyone.