The Re-Sorting [Drarry, TW SMUT]

Home.

1st POV - Harry

The air was crisp as dawn fully broke over the horizon—a gentle promise of a new day that carried all the hope I clung to. The Order had secured a temporary safe route out of the area, and I was finally ready to bring him home.

I knelt beside him. His eyes were closed, the fragile rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. Gently, I brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “We’re going home, Draco. I promise.”

With the safe path now clear, I carefully lifted him into my arms, cradling him as if he were the most precious treasure in the world. And he was.

Every step away from that grove was measured and cautious, every breath a prayer that we wouldn’t be discovered, worried that somehow, some way, Voldemort was still out there. I moved as silently as possible along the route the Order had cleared—a narrow woodland path that eventually led to a hidden safe house on the outskirts of our city.

Hours later, when the first glimmers of a safer world emerged, I pushed open the heavy door of the house. Grimmauld. Our house.

Inside, the room was dim but warm. A few members of the Order, who had beaten us there, nodded in silent recognition as I entered, Draco still cradled tightly in my arms.

I laid him down on my bed. The window let in the pale morning light. His eyes fluttered open briefly as he took in his surroundings, and a faint, sleepy smile tugged at his lips—like he finally knew he was safe. I knelt beside him, my heart aching with relief. “Draco, you’re home now,” I whispered, voice thick with emotion.

He reached up weakly, his fingers brushing my cheek. “I... I was scared I’d never see you again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the quiet bustle of the safe house.

"I’m here."

In that quiet moment, with the gentle hum of life around us and the warm glow of hope filling the room, it felt as if we had finally won a small battle of our own. The war outside was far from over, but here, within these walls, there was space to heal—to rebuild.

As I helped Draco settle into my bed, that would soon be called our, a kind nurse from the Order brought in warm blankets and a vial of restorative potion. I watched as he accepted them with trembling hands, every small gesture a testament to the fragile but resilient spark of life and love.

Later, as I sat by the window watching the day unfold, Draco’s soft snores beside me were a lullaby of reassurance. I thought back to every moment of the rescue—the terror, the fierce battle, the overwhelming promise of defiance against the darkness. Each memory only deepened my resolve to fight for a future where we could finally live without fear.

I whispered softly, “We made it, Draco. We’re finally home.” And in that moment, I knew that no matter what the future held, this was our sanctuary—a place built not just with walls and magic, but with the unyielding power of hope, love, and the promise of new beginnings.