It's five years after the war. Draco a happy healer at Mungos. Harry an Aura. But is he happy? When they meet once at Mungo's, Harry sees Draco at a time Draco would have preferred him to have not seen, their surprising friendship grows.
All the wor...
Draco stirred from his sleep. It was warm. Fire? No. Nice. He settled back into the covers. This was nice. The way his body was deep in the covers, the hot breath on his neck. What?! He spun his head and saw what was causing the tickling feeling on his neck. Harry? What did we...? No. He looked down. Clothes. Good. Okay. But how? He had no recollection of what had happened last night. But then it started coming back in waves. Getting a drink... the noise... Harry crying... Sirius? Then Harry pulling him into the bed and sleeping. Draco had stayed up for a long time, staring at the sleeping man.
He wasn't a boy any more, but at that moment he looked so sweet and calm, almost childlike. Draco felt like a mother bear looking at her cubs, the pride, the need to comfort and protect. He had stayed up even later thinking solely about that. Did he like-like Harry? That was such a stupid term. He sounded three. Ugh.
Draco gently slipped out of the bed to not disturb Harry's sleeping form, and gazed at the boy. He looked so peaceful, nothing like the desperate panic that he had had yesterday. Did he like Harry? No. He didn't. He did not. Harry's whole body was shifted to one side. His side of the bed. What did that mean? It felt like an important detail, but Draco wasn't sure why. He pondered it the whole day. While he and Harry had a somewhat awkward, but much less so than yesterdays, breakfast. While they were scrubbing at the walls and floors. And while they had an even more awkward night. Draco had secretly wished Harry would have nightmares again, if just to have to comfort him again. But that was a selfish thought. He shouldn't wish that on his...
Friend.
It had been three weeks since Draco had slept- helped him with his nightmares. Four nights after it had happened, he had had nightmares again. Well, he'd had nightmares every night, but Draco had only heard him that night. He had again slept in his room, and had done it many times after. Staying far away from the other's side of the king sized bed. They never talked about it though. How could they? It was kind of a touchy subject.
They had grown closer than they ever thought they would, and enjoyed each other's company now, but they still couldn't talk about the old times. It was like they were completely different people. They had remodeled who they were with each other, and always stuck to that when around the other. Pansy and Blaise still didn't know about Draco living with him, but they had decided to keep it quiet. Who had burnt Draco, Pansy, and Blaise's house was still a mystery, but he was determined to find out who the culprit was. He thought it was an old Death Eater called Marcus Diaz. He had been in hiding for the last five years, but there had been many other big crimes over the world that looked like it had been a Death eater committing them, and most other known death eaters had been caught, were found dead, or had had a probation and were free now.
He was looking at draco from the kitchen. Draco's lean, muscled body was seated on an armchair in the now spotless sitting room. Draco's eyes shifted up, and he ducked out of site. Had he seen? No. Okay. He left out a puff of air and continued drying the already dry plate. Had he really been staring for that long?
Draco smiled to himself. Harry was staring at him. He had immediately noticed Harry's heavy gaze on him, but had acted normal. He couldn't express how happy it made him to know that Harry deemed him stare worthy. He supposed he was quite good looking. He had been joining Harry on his daily run, and had been doing a lot more alone. The skinny boy from his childhood was long gone, and a man had taken his place.
"Draco?" Came Harry's ruff voice from the kitchen. "Yeah?" He said back. He brought his eyes from his book to Harry who was walking to his armchair. "Well, Walburga has been quite infuriating lately, and I've been thinking about a way to make her leave. "Mmm?" His eyes creeping back to his book. Harry took the book from his hands, looked at the page number, then set it down on the table. He gave Harry an annoyed look but Harry just said, "359." He rolled his eyes and focused on what he had been saying. "Walburga?" Harry gave him a school boyish grin, and in quite a mischievous voice whispered, "How do you feel about knocking down a wall?" He found himself returning the grin.
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