Harry Potter and the Time Fluke

Snowball Fights

Emerald eyes locked on the ground and a wicked grin spread across his face. Later, he would claim inspiration from the Gryffindor's they passed, but only to himself, for no real self-respecting Slytherin would ever admit to being influenced by a Gryffindor; even if they used to be one.

Harry stooped quickly and scooped a large handful of snow up into his ungloved hands. He felt them instantly begin to numb with cold and knew he should finish up quickly.

After years of practice making snowballs for the annual fights the Weasley brood and he would engage in, it was only a matter of seconds before a perfectly sculpted spherical ball of powdery snow was cupped delicately in his hands. He drew his right arm back, took aim, and fired.

Splat.

The projectile stayed true to its course and hit its target dead center. Tom stumbled forward–flakes of white now clinging to the back of his dark curls–and swirled around to glare at a laughing Harry. The younger boy was so overcome with giggles that he was using the trunk of one or the trees to keep himself upright, with both arms wrapped around his stomach as he gasped for air. He didn't think he and Tom had ever thrown snowballs at each other. Yes, Harry had talked Tom into making a snowman each year at the orphanage, and yes he'd convinced Tom to make snow-angels once, but the older boy had never succumbed to Harry's pleas to engage in the barbaric sport of an actual snowball fight.

And seeing Tom stumble with his arms pinwheeling to keep his balance was just too much for Harry's sleep-deprived mind to take. He couldn't help but dissolve into laughter.

Tom's eyes narrowed in contemplation before flicking up to the branch above the other boy. If Harry had been paying attention, he would have noticed the nefarious smirk Tom now sported and the snow he had magically procured. With a simple flick of the wrist and aim that must have come from his years of spell-practice, an entire pile of snow that had been resting in the branches above Harry plummeted down to earth and landed on the younger's head, effectively shutting him up.

Tom tried to control it, he really did, but he couldn't stop the amused snort that escaped his lips, followed by a cascade of chuckles. Harry was standing frozen, his eyes bugged out and his mouth open in an 'O'. There was a miniature mountain of snow atop his head and a little hill on each shoulder, not to mention the bits clinging sporadically to the rest of him. Tom held up a clothed hand to cover his mouth in a vain attempt to hide his mirth.

It didnt work. Harry's eyes became slits and he clenched his jaw.

"Tom," he growled out, the only warning he would give for what was about to take place, and Tom could contain his laughter no longer. It was the growling that did it, really. It added onto Harry's whole wet-cat look that he'd taken on as the snow had begun to melt.

Harry's eye twitched and he gracelessly stumbled out of the entrapment of snow surrounding his legs up to his knees. One step towards the other boy, and Tom had turned and taken off, laughing the whole time. It was this carefree behavior that turned the corners of Harry's mouth up into a smile and brought sounds of happiness from him as well. When was the last time they had acted so free around one another? Harry couldn't even remember. It was brilliant for him to see Tom act so untroubled and unlike his usual brooding self.

He was gaining on the older Slytherin, who was hindered by the deep snow, and when he was within arms reach, Harry made a grab at the other boy's back.

Tom tripped at the touch and Harry, who hadn't slowed, slammed into him. Their legs became tangled in a flurry to each regain their balance, and they tumbled down into the snow with shouts of surprise.

Harry groaned at the slight ache his body felt when he tried to move. There wasn't any serious damage done, but there would probably be a bruise somewhere later. He was a bit more worried for Tom's possible injuries, though, since he had cushioned Harry's fall.

He easily moved his hands to rest on either side of Tom's body and lifted his upper half to peer down at the older boy. He opened his mouth and his question caught in his throat.

The eyes of the boy beneath him were hooded, having shut completely when his head made contact with the ground. Luckily, the snow had kept most of the damage that could have been done at bay, but the shock was still there. His breathing was heavy from having run and his mouth was parted as little pants of white air escaped.

It was good no one was watching; it was good no one could see. Because something in Harry snapped, and he leaned down and touched the soft lips that had haunted his dreams with his own.

He kissed Tom.