Disclaimer: All characters belong to Frances Hodgson Burnett, none of them are mine (although I'd love to own Dickon), no harm or profit-making intended, please don't sue me. I have no money to take anyway. Hope you'll like it, this is my first attempt at a Secret Garden fanfic. Please review! Oh, and sorry for any possible hiccups in grammar or style, I'm not a native speaker. :)

Mistress Mary felt more contrary than ever before in her life. As she strolled along the frozen path that led from the Manor to the gardens, she wiped an angry tear from her eye. She was going to depart the next day. Going to London for six months would have been a dream for any young lady at the age of fourteen. In the glamorous, high-class London a chain of balls, elegant tea parties and banquets awaited her, herds of young, promising gentlemen to be introduced to and never-ending etiquette lessons from some shrewd, spinster governess on how to become a proper lady. Mary Lennox, however, could not care less. She did not want to be introduced to the upper-class society. She did not want to become a proper lady. The prospect of having to do so reminded her of her memories from her early childhood, the glamour and wealth, the parties and the incredibly cruel class differences in India. Spending the past four years of her life at Misselthwaite, in the heart of the rural Yorkshire land and becoming firm friends with the Sowerby family made her realize her early ways and learned to appreciate and love the life she was given. She did not want to become like her deceased mother. She did not want the glamour and the shallow, monotone life of noble ladies. She wanted to stay in the place she treasured the most in the world: the beautiful moor that was so dear to her heart, the magical silver mornings and golden sunsets, the stillness of time and the vibrating Magic in the enchanted garden…the flowers, the trees and bushes, the roses…oh, the roses...all of them were her intimate, dear friends, and now she had to leave them behind. And her best friend in the whole world: Dickon.

What will she do without him?

The thought of not seeing him every day for six months made her insides constrict in a most unpleasant way. She did not feel the same when Colin left for the prestigious boys' school his uncle enrolled him into a few months earlier. She was very sad and missed her cousin much, but the mere thought of leaving Dickon behind felt like a punch in the chest. He had always been special to her. From the very first moment she knew him, she felt as a fierce love towards him as her young, innocent heart could feel for the person who first liked her after ten years of being neglected and unloved. Now this feeling seemed to be complemented with an equally strong physical longing for his nearness; so strong that it almost pained her. What will I do without him?

Her legs carried her faster with each step as she was drawn nearer to the garden. Once again she felt that queer pulsating, vibrating energy of the Magic that was in there and that seemed to pull her to itself like a magnet. And this time was the last one for six long months when she could step into their little sanctuary in the nest of tall brick walls covered with ivy. Out of breath she reached the hidden door, her long, honey-coloured locks tousled from the run. She entered the garden slowly, as if savouring each step, trying to memorize them for to remember everything while she was away. Mary walked around, caressing each plant, murmuring reassuring words and promises to return soon. She hugged the old tree that supported the swing, which was now hanging from the strong branch, swaying sadly and abandoned back and forth in the chilling wind. Mary traced the wooden seat lovingly with her fingertips. It would be a long while before she would sit on it again with Dickon…Occasionally she bent down to pull up intruding weeds amidst the sprouting green tips of snowdrops. To her utmost delight, she found that her favourite golden and purple crocuses had also started to poke their tiny heads from the earth. With a happy cry she bent down and kissed the ever-so-small green tips in such a loving way that it brought a fond smile to the round, pink face of the boy who was watching her from the gate.

Nearly a head taller than Mary, he was lanky and handsome with a pair of incredibly blue eyes framed with strands of unruly, rust-coloured hair. Dickon's gaze rested on her petite frame as she knelt down on the frozen ground and touched the small leaf heads with her lips. Her movement was so tender that it made his heart ache with some inexplicable longing. He moved forward, the ground rustling beneath his feet. Mary looked up and her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

'You came, Dickon' she exclaimed happily.

'Aye, Miss Mary, I told tha' I would.' He smiled back at her. He knelt down beside her and absent-mindedly he touched the very tip of crocus she kissed a moment ago. 'Said goodbye to th' garden, didn't tha'?

Mistress Mary hung her head and gulped, willing to force back the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. 'That I did' she replied in a tiny voice.

'Us'll miss tha', th' garden an' me.' Dickon hesitated for a moment before he reached out and covered her hand with his.

'Oh Dickon…' Mary's lips began to quiver at his touch and she blinked furiously, but it was futile. Large drops of tears ran down her pink cheeks, leaving wet traces on her skin and landing in her lap.

He frowned and moved closer to her, squeezing her hand lightly. 'Don't tha' cry, Miss Mary, 'tis only six months, tha'll return verra soon.'

'But I will not see you…nor the garden' Mary sobbed. She buried her face in her hands, trying to shelter herself from Dickon's gaze.

'Eh-h-h…' Dickon drew out the word soothingly. He moved his hand up and began to caress her hair ever so lightly, edging a few inches closer to her. 'Please, don't cry' he pleaded. 'I promise I'll be waitin' for thee 'ere in th' garden when tha' returns. There'll be lilies o' th' valley an' daffydowndillys growin' everywhere…and th' heather'll be bloomin' on th' moor. An' th' robin shall have young 'uns again.'

Mary gave a shaky little laugh. 'An' us'll sit on th' swing an' lay in th' grass an'll laugh until we canna speak' She added in broad Yorkshire, to which Dickon responded with a particularly loving smile. She lifted her teary gaze and their eyes locked. She did not have the words yet to tell Dickon what she felt, because she was unsure herself about the true nature of her feelings, but she wanted to pour all her emotions into one grateful smile…And that, and the look in her eyes did seem to say it all, because Dickon blushed and averted his gaze.

'I see tha' still kisses th' flowers' he said after a moment of silence, willing to sound cheerful. Despite herself Mary found herself laughing once again. She, too, remembered her words that surprised Dickon so much four years earlier.

'You never kiss a person in that way' she whispered. 'Before I came here, I never kissed anyone, not even my parents; I did not know what it was like. But still, it is very much different from the way I kiss Uncle Archie or Colin or Martha or your Mother.' How queer, she thought to herself while she spoke, I have never kissed Dickon. And for her life she could not explain why she never kissed the one she loved the most…

Dickon laughed. 'I canna know, Miss Mary, never kiss'd a flower m'self. I rather talk to 'em an' sing to 'em.' He looked away again and laid his eyes on the crocuses once again. His honest, handsome features were clouded with slight disappointment.

'I think it should be the most delicate and tender thing in this world, Dickon' Mary sighed. 'It must be like kissing an angel!'

'Aye, it mun…' Dickon shifted his penetrating gaze from the plants to Mary, who must have felt the intensity in his eyes because she blushed in an adorable way.

Suddenly, as if inspired by the Magic of the garden, Dickon leaned forward. He hesitated for a brief second just an inch away from Mary's face and then pressed his lips lightly against hers. Mary felt her eyes flutter shut at the sensation of the touch. It was a chaste, soft and innocent little kiss, but both children must have felt the magnitude of it, because after a few moments they broke apart abruptly, both staring at each other with huge eyes. There was a surge of Magic in the air around them that was almost palpable. Mary could feel a strange emotion swept over her body that she did not understand, but it left her lips tingling, unleashed what felt like a horde of fluttering butterflies in her belly and she could feel the soft hair standing up on her forearms and the nape of her neck under the thick wool coat. Dickon simply stared at her, dumbstruck by his own boldness and the sensation of feeling of Mary's soft, full lips on his. Slowly a deep blush crept up his neck and flooded his pink cheeks, and Mary noticed that his sky-blue eyes were much darker than before. Before she could say anything, Dickon sprang to his feet and flashing his genuine, wide smile at her he turned and ran from the garden as fast as his legs could carry him. Mary stared after him, her fingertips touching her lips, her breath shallow. She heard her own words echoing in her ears: He's – he's like an angel!

'No, it could never compare to kissing an angel' she whispered to herself, smiling dreamily. These six months must go by swiftly. Aye, tha' they mun…