Remember when I loved you-drarry story

Chapter 4

Forgotten memory
Potter."

Harry stirred awake lazily, feeling drowsy and lethargic. Letting out a stifled yawn, he wrapped his arms snugly around Malfoy's delicate, naked waist and began to slip back into sleep.

"Potter," mumbled Malfoy again. "Hey."

The Room of Requirement was dark and cold, and the fire smouldered and sparked faintly in the hearth. It was clearly the tranquil early hours of dawn. Harry was in a sluggish, languid state, and his eyelids felt unbearably heavy and sleep-ridden. Some sensible part of him knew that it was time to wake up, to begin another long and tedious day of toil, but he was so cosy and comfortable that he didn't feel like moving an inch. Malfoy's warm, soft body was pressed against his chest, and the rich scent of his expensive shampoo made him feel at home.

Malfoy patted his cheek gently as he whispered in a quiet voice, "Potter, wake up."

A displeased, incoherent noise escaped his throat, and he pulled Malfoy closer sleepily, burying his nose in his soft, luscious hair. "Just a few more minutes, Malfoy," he murmured in a muffled voice into his head.

Malfoy sighed heavily, his warm breaths brushing Harry's collarbone. A pleasant, comforting silence fell over them, and Harry breathed deeply, basking quietly in the exquisite feeling of bliss and satisfaction. He hadn't felt so relaxed and content in a long, long time.

After all, at first, he'd only approached Malfoy to find out what he was up to. Then, it gradually became evident that it'd be more prudent to hear what Malfoy was doing from his own mouth. He kept up the strange charade to get more information out of Malfoy — at least that was what he firmly told himself.

A few weeks ago, however, a bit too much firewhiskey had made him commit a terrible mistake.

Unfortunately, since then, he'd made the same terrible mistake several times over. Despite all his painful guilt, and his determination to not see Malfoy again, he'd failed to fully go through with it.

Somehow, they continued to meet secretly, without either of them saying as much as a single word to each other. They'd wordlessly meet in the Room of Requirement every night, sitting right beside each other and drinking in absolute silence. Harry would always pointedly avoid Malfoy's eyes, but he'd always feel his stare, piercing and unafraid. Sometimes, their knees would touch just a little, and occasionally, their shoulders would bump. More often than not, they'd spend the night in bed.

In the morning, they'd awkwardly pull on their clothes as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They'd acknowledge each other with a distant nod and be on their merry way. Not a word passed between them during those tense, thick moments of utter, silent desperation.

It didn't matter, Harry would always tell himself. He knew that they weren't friends, and they were most certainly not in love or in a relationship. They weren't boyfriends or lovers, and he wasn't completely sure what they were, but he knew it wasn't meant to last long either way. So, why bother giving it an official name?

However, every once in a while, during the early morning hours like now, when it was strangely too cold, and all was utterly quiet, Malfoy would cuddle closer to him, tucking his head under Harry's chin. His soft breaths would brush Harry's neck, slow and steady, and Harry's chest would ache with a longing so strong that he'd often feel hypnotized and choked, as if he were slowly crumbling from the inside. Sometimes, very rarely, when they were both in unusually happy moods, they'd talk in those silent moments. They'd whisper about professors or laugh heartily over some stupid scene they'd both witnessed during the previous day.