Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

Zero

The weight of Harry lay heavy on his chest.

Even under the heavy draping of his arms and their feather duvet, Draco was cold.

Harry's head was tucked tight into his shoulder, his hair dusting gently across his cheek. His breath brushed warm across his throat. Steady and light. He could feel the rise and fall of Harry's chest, pulsing and pressing into his own.

He slept so soundly.

He always did.

His breath and his warmth. The only tells that there was life next to him.

Draco shifted beneath him, rolling his head to press his nose to Harry's hair, his lips to his brow.

Harry's weight had numbed the arm tucked beneath him, but with a little effort, and slight tingling in his fingertips, life returned to his hand, and Draco felt the thick whisps of Harry's hair run through his fingers. He smelled of the cigarettes he'd shared earlier with Ron, and his hair was heavy with some sort of styling gel. The two mixed into a warm smell of peppery burnt amber.

He pushed his fingers through his hair once more, dancing gently against his scalp. His thumb dipped lower, brushing a messy tuft of hair off of Harry's face, uncovering the faint silver sliver of his scar.

It had faded so much over the last ten years. Sometimes, it was barely even visible, you had to know it was there to be able to even see it. Most days it faded away into the creases of his brow. But when he was relaxed, at ease, when there was nothing but a gentle bliss gracing his face... Then. Then you could truly see it.

The boy who lived. The boy who died. The boy who came back to life. The man who was trying to live. Again.

He held him. His free arm crossing over his own body to hold them both tight.

With a deep breath in, Draco let the weight and smell of Harry completely engulf him. He could drown in him tonight. Die in his presence.

He pressed his lips to his head, huffing in the smell of his hair. He had to remember it.

He was holding his breath. Savouring it. Letting his lungs completely consume and marinate in its warmth.

Maybe he would just drown in him. How far more simple that may seem.

He exhaled, his own breath dancing over Harry's skin.

"Harry." He spoke. A quiet whisper in the night.

"Harry." He tried again. Louder.

"Harry." He rocked him slightly, pushing his hand gently into his shoulder.

Harry stirred with a hum, before nestling himself in tighter to Draco's side.

"Harry," Draco repeated.

His eyes fluttered open, and shallow pools of green flooded by dark pupils peeked out from under his lashes.

"What," Harry grumbled, turning his head to hide deeper in Draco's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Draco sighed. "We need to talk."

"It can't wait?" His voice was low, echoing gently against Draco's skin.

"No."

Draco rolled out from under Harry, shifting down the bed, his head falling gently off of the edge of the pillow. His knees nestled neatly between Harry's, the feel of his skin warm against his own. He lifted one knee, running the back of his calf slowly against Harry's, feeling the gentle tickle of his leg hair against his own.