By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 24: Harry

Harry awoke to vivid sunlight splashed across his face like warm saltwater, bleeding through his eyelids and rousing him from a sleep as thick as honey. He quickly realized only half of his body was actually warm, and as he opened his eyes, blinking into the brightness, he found the blankets were knotted at the bottom of the bed, and Draco was curled against his side. His head rested on Harry's chest, pale hair luminous against his dark skin, long legs twisted around Harry's like a vine. Harry's arm was wrapped around his shoulders, gripping him tightly. He remembered waking up a day earlier by the fireplace in France, he and Draco lying next to one another on the rug, no part of them touching. Harry had ached for him then—just as he had for what he suspected was quite a long time—and something pulsed in his chest now as he felt Draco's heart beating in time with his own.

He gently unwound himself from Draco's long limbs, sliding from the bed and collecting his trousers and jumper. As he dressed, he made a mental note to ask Bill for some spare clothing. Not that Harry was exactly known for his taste in fashion, but he was looking forward to the day he could wear his own clothes again. He slipped on his glasses before lifting the blankets and draping them delicately over Draco, who had turned away from the window, his face shoved into the pillow.

Harry quietly made his way from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. As he turned, he came face-to-face with Hermione who was standing across the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. "'Mione," he said carefully, running his fingers through his wild hair. "Good morning."

"Harry," she replied, her brown eyes sliding past him to the door. "Sleep well?"

"Er, yeah," he said, stepping towards her, "Much better now that I know you and Ron are safe." He fidgeted with his sleeve, resisting the urge to tug at the hair he'd just patted down. "And in a proper bed and all."

She smiled slightly, but her eyes were still narrowed in that calculating way of hers, and Harry had to convince himself that, as powerful as Hermione was, she couldn't see through the door to Draco asleep in tangled sheets. "I haven't seen Malfoy yet this morning," she said, as if she'd read his mind, and gestured down the hallway. "He's not in any of the empty rooms, either."

Harry felt himself flush, heat staining his cheeks. "I've no idea where he is," he said, the words tumbling gracelessly from his mouth.

Hermione tilted her head, the silence stretching between them. "If you see him," she said finally, unfolding her arms and turning toward the stairs, "tell him Fleur is looking for him."

Blinking after her, Harry waited until she'd disappeared down the stairs before following. He continued to futilely pat down his hair as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Ron was seated in the breakfast nook, tearing apart a croissant, buttery crumbs littered around him. He grinned when he saw Harry, taking a swig of juice before greeting him with a "Hiya, Harry." Bill sat on the other side of the table, reading the Daily Prophet and scowling, the scars lining his face vivid with the expression.

"Good morning," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's eyes as he slid in across from her, next to Ron.

"Alright, mate?" Ron asked, handing Harry a croissant.

Hermione produced her own copy of the Prophet, a similar expression of disgust climbing across her face as she began to read. Harry turned his eyes away from the moving photos on the back of the paper, not wanting to see the propaganda Voldemort's followers were peddling.

"Yeah, fine," he said to Ron. "Nice to feel a bit like I'm on stable ground."

Hermione laughed, and she looked around sheepishly when she glanced up to find the three men staring at her with raised eyebrows. "Not you, Harry," she said, flattening the Prophet against the table. "They're still speculating about the break-in at Gringott's."