𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

14

Their legs lay tangled beneath the sheets, Harry's hand resting gently upon Draco's bare chest, tracing absentminded patterns across his skin, like a whisper of art yet to be defined. There was a peace that washed over Harry-a stillness that filled him as though he had been submerged in warm honey, the sweetness of tranquility seeping into every inch of him. It felt like something out of an old dream, a place he'd never truly believed he would find.

Draco glanced down at Harry, whose head was resting comfortably on the side of his chest, his breath soft against Draco's skin. Draco's fingers threaded through the unruly strands of Harry's dark hair, the contrast against his own pale skin like ink spilled across fresh parchment. He had never known such gentleness-never experienced touch that was so unguarded, so free of intention, so entirely tender. It ached somewhere deep inside of him, like a bruise he didn't want to heal. Merlin, he could die here-wrapped in this warmth-and never yearn for anything else.

"Why did you quit being an Auror?" Draco asked, his voice breaking the quiet, a question that had crossed his mind often, lingering on the edge of curiosity. "I mean... everyone expected you to become an Auror-you did. From what I heard, you were doing exceptionally well. Quickly on your way to Head Auror, even. It was impressive, at such a young age."

Harry breathed slowly, a soft rise and fall of his chest, his eyes not lifting to meet Draco's. Instead, he stared at his own fingers against Draco's skin, watching as they moved in random, delicate swirls, letting the sensation press into his memory like a flower pressed between pages.

"I don't know..." Harry murmured, his voice a quiet sigh in the dim room. "I guess... that's exactly what I hated. The expectation of it all." He paused, his fingers stilling, a thoughtful silence passing between them. "It wasn't that I didn't love the thrill of it-the adrenaline, the victories. It was... gratifying, yes. But it felt like I was still living someone else's story, filling a role that had been carved out for me before I even knew who I was."

Draco watched him, something deep and unreadable flickering in his gaze, the words sinking into him with unexpected weight. He knew, in his own way, that kind of burden-expectations placed upon them like chains, a life planned out with no room for deviation, for something as foolish as happiness.

Harry's voice grew almost wistful. "I think I always knew, deep down, that there was something else for me. When I was teaching Dumbledore's Army, back in fifth year... that was the first time I realized I could be good at something like that. It felt right-helping others, seeing them learn, seeing them succeed. I loved the look in their eyes when they finally understood a spell, the confidence it gave them."

Harry's fingers traced over Draco's chest again, this time slower, as though trying to convey the meaning of his words through the soft caress. "I wanted something that was mine," he whispered, his voice carrying a rawness, a longing. "I wanted to feel... at peace, I suppose. I wanted to be someone more than just the Boy Who Lived, the bloody savior Potter who was always saving the day and putting away the bad guys. And I think... I found that in teaching. In this castle. And..."

His voice trailed off, and he swallowed, his fingers brushing over Draco's skin one last time before looking up, green eyes meeting grey. There was something fragile in his gaze, an unspoken truth, an offering.

"And in you," Harry finished, barely audible, as though the words were too precious to speak aloud, as though they might shatter if they hung too heavily in the air.

Draco's breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair, his heart pounding, something inside him softening and breaking all at once. He looked at Harry, truly looked at him, and in that moment, Draco knew that whatever he had feared, whatever he had held back-none of it mattered now. Because here, in this quiet space, in this warmth, there was nothing left but the two of them.