It was a hot Monday in early August. Draco was, for reasons that escaped him, in a very crowded Diagon Alley, mentally cursing the mass of idiots who jostled him around. He hated crowds and heat. It was for these reasons that he also hated August. It was a horrible month, in his opinion, the worst one of the year. He much preferred autumn.

After wasting far more time and energy than should have been necessary to get anywhere, he reached Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour. It, too, was very crowded and he sighed resignedly.

Then he saw Blaise.

Blaise was sitting by himself, at a little table in the far corner of the covered outdoor seating area, sketchpad open and pencil in hand, eating an ice cream sundae – with a fork. Draco congratulated himself on his impeccable timing and worked his way over to him.

“Hello, Blaise.”

Blaise’s eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to the sketchpad. “Hello, Draco. Yes, you may sit down.”

Draco was not surprised by the short greeting and slid easily into the empty chair. “It’s hotter than hell, isn’t it? How long have you been out here, anyway?”

Blaise half-shrugged. “A couple of hours, perhaps. I’ve been sketching the people. Would you like some of my ice cream? I’m not going to be able to finish it.” He pushed the bowl halfway across the table and offered Draco the fork, his eyes still on his sketch.

“Blaise, that’s a fork.”

“I’m aware of that.” Blaise looked up and blinked slowly, like a cat. “Are you going to take it, or were you planning on eating the sundae with your fingers?”

“Why are you eating ice cream with a fork?” Draco took it anyway.

Blaise shrugged again. “I always eat ice cream with a fork. I like it that way. If you want a spoon, go get yourself one.”

Draco took a bite of the melting ice cream and decided that a fork was definitely not the best utensil for such things. “You’re a freak sometimes, Blaise, did you know that?”

“Mmmhmmm. And?”

Draco snorted and took another bite.

Blaise abruptly shut the sketchpad and put down his pencil. He regarded Draco for a moment silently, head titled slightly to the right, gaze unreadable.

“What?”

“You have ice cream on your chin.” He reached out and wiped it away, then licked his fingertip.

Draco refused to react, toyed with the fork. He wondered when exactly it was that he and Blaise had become as intimate as they were. When it had become acceptable to share food, or touch each other casually. When the walls had gone down.

“What are you thinking?” Blaise rested his elbows on the table, laced fingers resting against his lips. It was a very intimate, personal question that only Blaise was brazen enough to ask.

“That you’re mad and I’m mad and the world’s going to hell, but isn’t life wonderful?” Draco licked some ice cream off the fork.

Blaise smiled, that closed-lip smile that spoke of a million secrets, and then, lightning fast, kissed him.

Draco was shocked and sat very still, unsure of what to do.

“You had ice cream on your lip, you know.” The smile grew. “I’ll see you later. Ciao.” He grabbed his things and left, getting through the crowd with an ease and grace that Draco lacked, quickly disappearing from Draco’s field of vision.

Maybe August wasn’t such a horrible month after all.

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