Meow //Drarry\\

Chapter Twenty-Øne

This very hearty author's note is generally at the end of a book... But not to worry! This novela - (shhh, there might be a sequel too~) is far from finished! I'm back from my British holiday and the chapters are rolling :3 So, I re-read my entire story this morning before I got to work publishing my twenty-first chapter of Meow (Que lots of groaning and cringing in reply). If you're a binge reader to this here fanfiction, then you'll have noticed my writing style has changed quite a bit over the time between when I started and now. To be truthful, (I think?) it's for the better. I was thirteen and a freshmen to my school when I began, and now I'm in my third year of middle school (high school) and top of my class, with A grades and a very happy author and it's thanks to you guys. If it weren't for your persistence of wanting updates, I might never have had the courage to continue and develop both my skills and writing style. So, I dedicate this chapter to every single one of you as we near 40k (40K!!!) reads. Please enjoy and tag along for the ride, my lovelies 💞

A soft breathy sigh passed slack, soft lips, but it didn't belong to him. A clenched jaw, a stomach full of impatience and nervousness. Those were his own.

He didn't quite know why people talked about emotions being in their heart; everything he felt for Harry was in his stomach. The way it twisted with anticipation when the raven got too close, the empty feeling it was consumed by when the two where no longer in each other's company. The Gryffindor common room was empty, still, silent exempt the cracking fire, which emitted a constant hum occasionally broken by a pop and the sound of collapsing ashes. A blond Slytherin crouched expectantly beside the burning wood, and a dark-haired Gryffindor slept soundly on the nearest couch.

The gentle warmth of the open flame beside him was dampened by Draco's tire, his barely conscious state hardly aware of its surroundings. He moved his eyes from the blank ceiling to the still body.

The orange firelight threw Harry's face into sharp distinction, only his head and shoulders free of the thin quilt he'd burrowed under on the softer fabric of the couch.

And, the Malfoy heir decided, he was beautiful.

Harry Potter was a masterpiece. An unfinished one, perhaps, but a work of art all the while. It did not matter to Draco if Harry were clean or dirty, proud or ashamed, human or beast. Sometimes art was not meant to be attractive to the eye - pretty, even; it was meant to make you really feel something.

Something... Something more primal, more instinctual, more magnificent than the human eye could ever perceive. It could not be materialized, only realized.

A bundle of bare emotion, brash words, speaking -- acting -- without thinking, putting somebody else first and foremost, though cunning when it was clear. Cautious hands on Draco's pale skin, but needy and strong and delicious all simultaneously. All of it, all of Harry, crammed tightly beneath tanned skin and bunched muscles, so many thoughts and unspoken words hidden behind such magnificently green eyes and a gentle, pink mouth.

A strong jaw, broad shoulders, even if it seemed he needed to be protected like a delicacy. Draco loved him. Oh, he loved Harry so dearly. Patience, balance, kindness, all squeezed into a mortal body that seemed too small to fit it all.

Harry shifted under the blond's intense gaze, and his gunmetal eyes reluctantly pulled themselves away at the soft whisper of his name.

"Mother." His pale petal lips slowly curved into a fond smile at the familiar face shifting in the embers of the common room fireplace. Narcissa smiled sweetly back.

"Long time no see, my dear." She replied, her voice quiet as her pretty eyes flickered to the sleeping boy on the couch. "I see Harry had planned to stay up with you."