Beautiful Words

Yūgen

Noun- a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep emotional response.

Harry had just recently began to home a fascination for Astronomy. Before, he could have cared less about the sky, the moon, the sun, or the different galaxies although. He just never really cared for the topic much, believing his time would be better spent practicing defensive spells or something equally as important- not something as useless as studying the stars.

The first night that he truly realized how truly beautiful the galaxy had been a Friday night. Early in the week, he'd grown extremely aggravated with both Hermione and Ron. They were lying to him, and it appeared that they had been doing such for quite some time. And that particular Friday, Ron gained enough nerve to call Harry a 'poor excuse of a friend'.

And that had been enough for Harry to up and leave the dormitory. He ignored Hermione's frantic whispering about dangers lurking in the dark, choosing that her words would be encouragement to pick up his pace. He'd walked far away from them, as though they carried the plague. He'd just wandered slightly off course, and when he looked around, he was shocked to see he was standing in the Astronomy tower.

His knuckles were unusually pale, gripping the railing ridiculously tight. He also realized that his body was trembling, his breathing was shaky at best- he was no where near being at a point one would consider 'best'. He didn't remember how exactly he'd ended up where he was standing. Was this his subconscious once again giving him the message that he shouldn't be alive?

His gaze moved to the sky, almost as if expecting to see his parents' Angels descend from the Heavens and give him some one-on-one. That would be very helpful, considering that they might have some sort of advice that would set Harry back on the right path. They could give him a goodnight kiss like he wished he received as a small child, before floating back towards the Heavens.

He then briefly pondered the fact that they might not even like him. Just because they were his parents didn't mean that they had to love him, nor did he want them to fake loving him out of some sort of parental duty. His parents might not be supportive of him being bisexual, nor his crush on a snowy-haired Slytherin. Both of his parents might not approve of Harry's personality, considering that he didn't have the best personality- not compared to the Weasley twins or Bill Weasley.

Harry thought that he looked bland and generic, compared to many of the other individuals he'd seen before. With ebony black hair that was fairly long for a male, he looked like an younger version of his father- not that he knew that. Big emerald green eyes, framed by long eyelashes, always seemed filled with guilt and sadness, was a feature that he was proud of. A broken pair of glass, which should have been replaced years ago, rested on the tan skin of nose, surely didn't help his pathetic case.

His eyes, which were bright with curiosity, moved towards the sky. It was so beautiful that he also didn't know what to do. Glowing a beautiful, pure white were some of the most brightest stars in the sky. The crescent moon glowed bright in the darkness of the galaxy, almost as if beckoning Harry towards the sky. The darkness, the space between where the stars danced and glimmered, almost seemed to spark. It was overly beautiful, Harry realized.

Harry wanted to paint it out, so that he'd never forget. It was so beautiful, simply breathtaking, to be forgotten just because. Water paints would do alright, but he almost thought that he'd prefer acrylic paint, if only so that he had slightly more control with how the painting turned out. He thought that would be wonderfully stress relieving, as soon as he tuned out the voice that screamed out that he was doing it all wrong.

He had none of the supplies to do that, as he was only allowed so much money. Art supplies weren't necessary for school, and Harry was much to shy to give a list of gifts he wanted to anyone. The Dursley's never even gave him gifts, so he had to appreciate the few gifts that kind individuals that pitied he gifted him. But he'd love some nice oil paints with a some unused canvas, but he simply had none.

What if he died tomorrow?

The answer was simple of course.

There would a large funeral, which a variety of uniquely colored flowers for his grave. A speech composed of many fancy words would be read by either an overly emotional person or a person with no emotion whatsoever. People would mourn him and cry for their dead savior, whether they knew him or not, as they had to face a war without their main soldier who would willingly do anything to protect those said people. They would then take his corpse and bury him in the Earth's surface, alongside his mother and father.

Those people would move on- get married, have a couple kids, almost get a divorce, and die in the war before they could do anything else. It wasn't a life Harry wanted, but it was still more promising than the life he was currently leading. They might even survive the said war and have a couple more kids. They could live and see their children go to Hogwarts and cry while reading their child's first letter home. Maybe that fate wasn't so terrible, having kids and settling down somewhere warm with someone you love.

"Potter, are you crying?" The voice that asked the question was very nasally and bitter sounding, as though the person who was asking had a terrible cold and was rather pissy about that fact. Unfortunately for Harry, it was just the perfect little prefect, Draco Malfoy, who looked way too smug to be ill.

"I... I am," said Harry in a dumbfounded voice. He didn't even care that he had just given Malfoy blackmail information, it just felt good to be a little truthful about something. Maybe he didn't know why he was crying, but that didn't matter to him.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," said Malfoy in a snarky tone, giving Harry a wicked smile. "And another five for every minute that you aren't back in your common room."

"Y'know, maybe you should pull that stick out of your damn arse and just chill for five seconds. I'll leave you and your precious hair gel alone on your date," said Harry in a snappy.

"Oh Saint Potter," said Draco in a mocking tone, "Please stay and pleasure me."

"Mmm, sure," said Harry. "You have protection or...?"

Draco's pale cheeks filled with a cherry red blush, his eyes widening slightly. "Potter..." Draco's voice wavered slightly, his cracking ever so lightly. "You didn't say no. Do... do you like me back or would you just want to be enemies with sexual benefits?"

"I'm thinking, and I think saying Draco Malfoy is my boyfriend sounds nice." Harry smiled at Draco. "I like the way your name rolls off my tongue."

"Finally," said Draco, stepping closer to Harry and pulling him into a rough kiss.

Their lips collided, their arms moving to pull each other closer in a desperate attempt for more friction between the two. Their tongues continued to collide, crashing against each other like the waves. It was a frantic, desperate kiss that was filled with need and longing, perhaps for each other or a loving, romantic partner.

And the universe continued to expand.