flower crowns | drarry

thirty five

thirty five
————

draco only managed to feed harry half of the food on the plate, but he felt lucky to have convinced him to eat anything at all, since he was determined to remain a stubborn idiot even while sick. he rewarded harry between bites with soft kisses to his cheeks and brow and small praises since those seem to soothe him.

over and over again, draco was struck by how wrong he was about harry, for so long. struck by how harry—even being the savior of the wizarding world, the boy who lived twice, the chosen one—was so unused to attention and genuine affection, seemed actually baffled and flustered in the face of it.

surely someone so revered by so many people would have been exposed to an abundance of affection? surely he'd been talked to like this? been held like this?

but, in this vulnerable state, he clung to draco's touch and grew upset whenever he drew away, even if only for a moment. he reacted to draco's tenderness with desperation, as if he thought the warmth of his touch was a lie, something that would be ripped away from him at the slightest slip-up.

he was in pain, unable to sleep though he desperately needed to, and terrified of trying.

"honey, your body needs sleep to heal." draco had tried to insist, but harry'd only shaken his head fervently and tucked his head into draco's chest—where it stayed most of the day.

so, in an effort to calm him down, draco spent the morning and afternoon reading to him. harry had a surprisingly large collection of books (most of them by muggle authors, and most the blond had never read before). he'd absentmindedly passed draco a yellowing copy of jane austen's pride and prejudice, and draco, though confused, was quick to take what was offered to him.

he ended up surprising himself by how much he actually got into the story. it had an intriguing plot and intriguing characters—even without the magic involved—and draco found himself actually empathizing with the main character elizabeth bennet, and he never thought he could empathize with a peasant girl.

when he'd voiced that fact, harry had snorted sleepily and mumbled something sarcastic draco couldn't make out.

harry seemed to find his voice soothing, and by the middle of the book, three in the afternoon, he was asleep on draco's soft stomach.

draco finished the book himself, and then made his way through half of another. he only realized how late it'd gotten when the door to the boy's dorm opened and dean, seamus, neville, and ron stepped inside.

they paused in the doorway—taking in the odd sight of a tousled draco malfoy in harry's bed, one hand on an open book and the other tangled in the mass of dark curls, their roommate's head resting on his stomach—with varying expressions. then, seeing that harry was asleep, they quieted down and made their way across the room to their own beds, speaking in hushed whispers. despite their efforts, their arrival caused harry to stir from his sleep.

he whined as he blearily opened his eyes, his fingers still fisted in draco's shirt. the blond closed his book with a soft smile and rubbed harry's back. the gryffindor boys flitted their eyes to and from the pair, obviously listening.

"harry," draco hummed, pleased. "how are you feeling?"

he shrugged tiredly.