Let Me Love You // DRARRY

Chapter Twenty One - A Visitor Or Two

Harry was tapping his fingers, legs and then his feet nervously. All failed attempts to calm his nerves, to distract himself from the imminent task which was to come next.

It hadn't been until the day after Harry had received the letter that he had heeded it any attention and all previous thoughts about Malfoy were gone. His spiralling interests already seemed trivial at that point.

The hand writing, smoother and more elegant than Hermione's or Malfoy's, unfamiliar enough to have him wonder for a moment but seen enough times previously, years ago, for recollection to come quickly. All the gentle curves, the flourish of the ink, brought forth memories of whom the letter had come from.

Harry had never actually received a letter from his Aunt Petunia, but had been sent enough times in his younger years with a letter to the post box at the end of the road to quickly realised the origin of that 'Harry' so unapologetically prominent at the front of the letter.

Gently breaking the seal Harry, with surprisingly steady hands, then slid the enclosed letter out with a caution usually reserved for a feral or dangerous animal.

Harry then unfolded the paper, before taking his time to read the entirety of its contents slowly. Carefully analysing every sentence, word and letter had the opposite effect from what he wanted to happen and ended up having to read the entire thing a second time due to him not fully taking in the information which was in front of him.

After Harry went over it again, slowly, he took a deep breath and let the letter fall onto the table from his now shaking hands.

He didn't know what to think, how to feel about his Uncles self inflicted premature passing. He should have, at least partially, felt the grief that comes with a family member dying.

But he didn't.

All he felt was relief, relief that he would never have the possibility of meeting him in the street, relief that he would never have to worry about running into him later in life.

Harry felt like a great weight had been lifted, his uncle, a man who plagued him throughout his child hood, was now gone. There was no great enemy than death, and Vernon Dudley had let it win.

Harry looked down at the discarded envelope and paper, so white, crisp and rectangular. He had spent so long handling and adapting to parchment with its inconvenient length and its apparent inability to fold well that he felt like he was looking upon some alien device before him. He had grown to prefer the slight organic tinge of yellow, the earthy smell which wafted from the parchment and the fluidity at not having set lengths of paper, instead scrolls.

Draco walked in, already casually dressed in conventional muggle attire, with some American College referenced by stitching across t-shirt and tight cerulean jeans, before making a bee-line towards the kettle.

As Draco worked away, preparing both him and Harry a mug of tea, Harry looked up to the back of the blond. When Harry usually looked or thought about Draco, which was quickly becoming more than just a daily occurrence, it was predominantly a deeper connection he craved, to touch his hair at night and share a bed.

But in that moment - that moment where Draco had returned to the forefront of Harry's thoughts and everything else didn't matter, be it trivial or the death of a family member - Harry's interest was purely raw passion. In that moment it was simply a physical desire.

To kiss and touch the slim yet muscly frame Malfoy had developed, to feel the curve of his waist to further beyond his hips. He wanted to see and bite and kiss and taste lips which held such a sharp tongue.

He wanted to taste where no other had tasted and give what no other had given. He wanted to trade in flavors and bask in the waves of pleasure which would come after.