Drarry - It Was All Just a Game (REWRITE - MATURE VERSION)

CHAPTER 50 - FREEDOM

The fact that he was ridiculously warm and there was something weighing him deeper into the bed was all Draco knew. Small puffs of air hit and separated on his neck, and something tickled his chin almost enough to tickle it.

The brightness of midmorning beamed through the curtains, making him blink several times until his eyes fixed on two interlocked hands. His and Harry's hands.

His Dark Mark was up against Harry's forearm, and at first he felt guilty, but then he realized that he was naked, and the delicious memories from yesterday came flooding back.

Of fuck—yesterday was amazing.

Seven hours.

Seven fucking hours. Seven hours fucking.

He smiled as his eyes trailed up their arms, and he could then see a bare back and naked arse as Harry snored up against him. His raven hair tickled his chin, and Draco couldn't help but fall in love with the sight of it.

This is my payout for the war, Harry had said yesterday.

And it was Draco's, too. But Draco wouldn't be more selfish than to ask for this sweet, quiet, loving moment. Just this moment was enough to make up for all the pain—mental, physical, emotional—that he'd endured.

He moved his other hand, which was still on the small of Harry's back, numb from the misuse of the night.

He kissed Harry's forehead, still absolutely amazed that his Dark Mark didn't hurt one bit, before he whispered, "Harry, darling. Wake up."

And Harry, living in a forest for a year, even listening for Snatchers in his sleep, heard him and woke.

Harry opened his eyes and closed them. He grunted at the sun.

Draco gave a small laugh, his voice breaking. Every part of him was sore, but he didn't care to worry about that. He moved his hand from his back to his hair, running his hands through it. "Come on Scarface, time to stop hibernating."

Harry tried to open them again, but it stung, so he buried his head in Draco's collarbone. "Hmph."

"Harry," Draco sang softly.

"Do you need attention?" Harry's voice cracked through the misuse of the night.

"Well, if you're asking, I always need attention."

Harry huffed again. "Draco Malfoy, I have spent the past ten months living in a tent in the middle of the woods on a cot that was too small for me, eating rotten food with a Know-It-All and a Neanderthal who gave me literally no privacy while we all were running for our lives from a vicious dictator who was trying to murder me—while having the fate of the entire Wizarding World on my shoulders.

"I then fought a war with nothing but undiluted adrenaline and a piece of moldy bread given to me by the brother of a headmaster that the love of my life was forced to almost murder. I saw countless friends of mine slaughtered in a malicious massacre, to which I still can't even begin to comprehend, and I have the burden on me for the rest of my life because I know I could have saved them if I'd just been a little bit faster or a little bit more careful.

"I. fucking. died, Draco Malfoy! And then I came back to life and beat said dictator—do you know how fucking exhausting that is?"

"No—"

"Didn't fucking think so. Then, I had to try and avoid everybody—do you know how many people want to congratulate a war hero? Too fucking many! Anyway, so I had to hear it from my best friend who, despite me telling him several times, didn't believe you and I were dating and so along the entire fucking castle we debated about you and I going back to Grimmauld Place and 'I can't believe you're in love with a prick like Malfoy.' 'Harry, you look atrocious; you must eat something before you go see him. You need a shower," and 'Mate, you can't leave now, especially not for someone like him, the slimy git,' and 'Ronald, stop it! Harry's in love and you haven't met the real Malfoy enough to judge him. Just let him go... but not before I make sure he's mentally stable enough to get laid.'"