Muggles ✧ Drarry

᥊᥊ꪜ𝓲𝓲

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.1ᴋ
ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ 21sᴛ, 2022
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The next morning, Draco awoke to the feeling of sunlight on his eyelids. He couldn't remember where he was, and everything was blurry when he finally opened his eyes. The room was white, and, as shapes began to form, his heart soared at the recollection of the night before.

He was in a chair, bent uncomfortably over the edge of a hospital bed, holding a warm, soft hand. In his lap lay a raven-haired head, softly snoring in what had to be an even more uncomfortable position than what Draco had just been in. He smiled absentmindedly down at Potter, and ran his free hand through the Auror's hair. Potter stirred, and began to sit up a bit. Draco moved his hand to allow this.

"How is she?" Potter asked, voice deep and scratchy from sleep. He stretched a bit, wincing when he bent his neck.

Draco looked over at whose hand he was holding. "She looks alright to me," he shrugged, still smiling. He wasn't sure he could stop smiling if he tried. "What do you think?"

"Magnificent," Potter chuckled. "Better than I've seen her in a while."

Potter's hair was even more of a mess than it usually was, and Draco was unsure how that was possible. He reached a hand up to run his fingers through the curls, tucking them this way and that in an attempt to right whatever he could.

"I don't think my hair is of much importance right—"

"Hush," Draco said fondly. "You're a double, triple, quadruple saviour now. You need to look the part."

Potter laughed quietly so as not to wake Draco's mother. "In my pyjamas? I'm sure I'll look ever so valiant dressed like this."

"Most everyone wears pyjamas, Potter," Draco scolded. "Saviours just look nice while they do."

"I don't look nice with messy hair?" Potter pouted, still smiling behind it.

Draco only rolled his eyes before doing a once over. Potter looked sleepy and domestic. Oddly enough, Draco had never found him more attractive.

"You look like you just awoke from an eternal sleep," he deadpanned.

Potter feigned shock. "You wound me, Draco Malfoy."

"Do I?"

"Very deeply," Potter claimed.

Draco just shook his head with a small smile. He sighed, letting silence fall around them. He looked over to his mother, who was sleeping softly, on her side, her face less exhausted and her lips just barely upturned. He felt his heart swell as he watched her take deep breaths, the steady rise and fall rhythm getting stuck in his head.

"I think it was love," Draco whispered.

"Hmm?" Potter hummed, and Draco turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday. There was this...light coming from you." Potter raised an eyebrow in confusion. "It was pinkish and pulsing," Draco explained. "And it went from you to my mother, and then...boom. She's mostly healthy again."

"You think this...light," Potter tried to understand, "Was love?"

"I think so," Draco shrugged. "It seems like everything is with you, anyway. Your parents, our magic, my mother...it's all so strange, and, yet, it makes sense."