Fic: Autumn Afternoon [Harry/Draco]
Autumn Afternoon
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Category: Futurefic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship. 2600 words.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry has thought about this for so long, and he wants to know, one way or another, finally.
Thank you to off_that_bridge and rurounihime for betaing.
~*~*~
I’ll see your heart and raise you mine ~ Bell X1
Harry likes this kitchen, especially when it has Draco in it, as it does right now. Draco is slightly slouching in his chair, a book propped up against the edge of the wooden table. Long legs stretched out, his bare feet reach a pool of sunlight on the uneven stone floor. Steam curls enticingly from a cup sitting next to Draco’s hand, and Harry decides tea would be very nice right now.
The water left in the kettle is still hot, but not hot enough, so Harry sets it back to boil. The stove is old and a little unreliable, like everything else in the small cottage, but Harry doesn’t mind. It’s comforting to know people have lived here before. He’s surprised that Draco hasn’t complained about the poorly insulated windows and the chipping paint, but Draco’s very presence here is still a surprise to Harry. Maybe he should stop expecting certain things from Draco.
Harry turns towards the shelf on which a few mismatched cups line up in a neat row. The white cup with the blue dots is Harry’s favourite. The rim is chipped in one place and it doesn’t have a handle anymore, but Harry likes that it is almost translucent. Draco doesn’t use it, and Harry wonders if it’s due to the cup’s imperfection or because Draco knows Harry likes it.
Harry settles into the other chair and draws his knees up. The tea is still too hot to drink, but just right to hold. He looks out the window onto the small trees and meadows and stone walls that dot the valley and surrounding hills.
Draco turns a page. “I haven’t seen you all day.” It’s just an observation, not an accusation.
“I’ve been…” Harry looks for words to describe how he spent his time. He hasn’t exactly been idle, but what he did doesn’t amount to anything with tangible results. “Just thinking, I suppose.”
“Hmm.” Draco turns another page.
Harry’s tea has cooled down enough to allow him a few careful sips. “What are you reading?”
“A muggle novel I found in the living room. It’s called…” Draco flipped to the beginning of the book. “Jane Eyre.”
“I think that’s famous,” Harry replied, remembering Hermione reading the same book once.
“Is it? It’s a bit tedious.”
“Why are you reading it then?” Harry uncurls his legs. The floor is chilly against his socked feet.
“I’m bored. And it’s not that tedious. Some parts are interesting. For a novel written by a muggle.”
Harry smiles. Maybe he should tell Draco sometime just how much he likes these little observations, but Draco might stop making them. “Aren’t your feet cold?” Harry asks instead.
Draco shrugs, eyes scanning the page.
In a swift move, Harry reaches for Draco’s feet and places them in his lap. “They are cold,” he chides softly, thumb slowly dragging over the sole of one foot.
Draco’s lips part silently, and he takes a moment before speaking. “Not for long, I hope.” His toes wiggle their way under the hem of Harry’s jumper.
Harry tucks one foot completely under the jumper and kneads the other with both hands. “Better now?”
Draco closes his book and his eyes. He sinks lower in his chair. “Yeah.” The words come out as little more than an exhalation.
Harry works on Draco’s feet, one after the other, watching his face the entire time. The light streaming in from the windows falls across Draco’s features, illuminating them to the point where Harry feels he’s looking at a mask, unmoving and flawless. Distant. Without realising it, Harry’s fingers press harder against Draco’s skin. For a moment, a frown falls across the face before him. Draco’s eyelids flutter and his lips press together. Familiar lines emerge in the corners of his mouth, and Harry resists the temptation to kiss them away.
When Draco’s feet feel warm again, Harry holds them close to his body with one hand while the other sneaks up the leg of Draco’s trousers. Only his fingertips glide across the skin, up and down. Draco squirms in his chair and opens his eyes, pupils slightly dilated. His toes flex against Harry’s stomach.
It would be so easy to pull Draco closer, into his lap, maybe, or to make good use of the sturdy table. But not today.
“Go for a walk with me,” Harry says, fully aware it’s the last thing Draco expects.
Draco blinks, and looks at Harry curiously. Slowly, he replies, “All right. Let me just get my shoes.”
~*~*~
They walk along a path at the edge of the forest. It’s not quite autumn yet, but here and there hints of red and yellow curl around the edges of leaves, and the light slants across the fields in a way it does only during this time of year. A hint of summer warmth still lingers in the air, occasionally broken up by chilly gusts rising out of the valley.
They haven’t spoken since they left the house. The silence weaves between them comfortably, something which Harry has always been grateful for. There aren’t many people Harry can share his silences with.
The backs of their hands brush together occasionally, perhaps a little more often than necessary. Harry hopes that Draco will catch his fingers, but he doesn’t. After the fifth time, Draco stops walking and turns to Harry.
In a soft voice, Draco says, “If you want to hold my hand, just take it.” His palm turns outwards a little bit, towards Harry.
Harry takes a step closer and slowly slides his hand into Draco’s. He watches their fingers lace together, tightly at first, then more loosely as they start walking again.
The valley stretches out to their left. A few houses rise in the distance, scattered evidence of human life. They don’t intrude on the remaining space, earth and sky and air.
For two months now, Harry has only seen Draco’s face, has only heard his voice, and he longs for it to stay this way.
He doesn’t realise he has stopped walking until Draco addresses him.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Following Draco’s line of sight, Harry’s eyes fall on a haphazard arrangement of stones that passes for a wall. He nods.
They sit close together, bodies pressed comfortably against each other. Harry closes his eyes, allows the wind to sweep through him until he shivers. He moves closer to Draco, leaning into his warmth. An arm comes around Harry’s waist, and Harry takes off his glasses so he can duck his head into the crook of Draco’s neck.
The wind doesn’t feel quite as harsh anymore.
Draco’s hand moves over Harry’s cheek and neck with careful touches, again and again. When he speaks, his voice is close to Harry’s ear.
“You said you were thinking about something.”
Harry is unsure about allowing Draco into the circle of his thoughts, worried about the flood of words that might pour forth. But he has thought about this for so long, and he wants to know, one way or another, finally. Sweep away the uncertainty.
Slowly, Harry asks, “Do you remember when you came here?”
“To the cottage, you mean?”
Harry nods.
“Of course I do. It was pouring that day.”
Harry remembers as well. The immediate confusion about Draco’s presence, the sense that he shouldn’t be there, and how that had faded away as Draco spread him out on worn sheets, laying claim to his body in a way that made Harry want to give and give and give.
“Why are you asking?” Draco’s voice interrupts the flow of memories.
“I just…” Harry begins. His fingers trace patterns across Draco’s thigh, too blurry for him to see, but the wool of Draco’s trousers is rough against his skin. “You never said why you came here.”
Draco tightens his hold and leans in closer, whispering into Harry’s ear. “Do I really need to say it? You know why, Harry.”
“Please,” Harry replies. He’s almost glad his voice cracks because he wants Draco to know he isn’t playing a game here, that he does indeed need to hear Draco say the words.
“Because you’re here.” A quiet sincerity underwrites the simple statement. Harry wants to capture it and lock it away in a box, but Draco is already speaking again. “Is that it? What you were worrying about?”
No, Harry thinks automatically. It wasn’t quite that. But maybe that should be all that matters. Draco’s here, after all, and why does anything else have to be important right now? But there’s this nagging voice at the back of Harry’s mind that reminds him of how arrivals are always tied to departures, beginnings to endings. One necessarily brings about the other.
“Harry?”
There’s no impatience in Draco’s tone yet, but there will be soon if Harry keeps hedging. Even though Draco has perfected the art of evasion, he has no tolerance for it in others. Or maybe Harry is a Gryffindor at heart, and hiding doesn’t sit well with him.
“I worry that someday, I’ll wake up and you’re not next to me, and I go into the kitchen and you’re not there either, and all your things are gone, and the door bangs in the wind because you forgot to close it properly when you-” He breaks off when Draco suddenly pulls away from him.
Harry feels Draco’s eyes on him, but he can’t look up. He wonders if he’s done it now, if Draco will get up and walk away. A particularly harsh breeze tears through him, chilling him to the bone.
Draco doesn’t stand up, doesn’t leave. Instead, his hands slowly slide down Harry’s arms until they reach Harry’s wrists. The fingers of Draco’s left hand briefly brush over the delicate bones, then wander into Harry’s palm and nudge at his fingers, willing them to uncurl. Their hands lie flat against one another for a moment, then Draco’s shifts minutely and their fingers lace together.
Harry holds on as tightly as he can.
“You’re crushing my hand,” Draco observes.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, and tries to disentangle his fingers.
“I didn’t say you need to let go.” Draco squeezes Harry’s hand until he stops fidgeting. Their fingers remain tightly entwined, but not uncomfortably so. With his other hand, Draco reaches into the pocket of Harry’s jacket. “Put your glasses back on. There’s something I need to tell you and I want you to look at me when I do.” Draco speaks softly the entire time.
The glasses slide into Harry’s hand and he fumbles to put them on, pushing at them until they sit straight on his nose. He looks up to find Draco’s eyes calmly looking back at him.
“I’m not leaving.” There’s certainty behind each of Draco’s words. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and next week. I’ll still be here once all the leaves have fallen off the trees and the first snow falls. And I most certainly plan to shag you rotten on your next birthday.”
Harry can only nod.
“But…”
Of course there had to be a but. Harry breaks away from Draco’s gaze, sees the valley stretch out in front of him. Suddenly he wishes there wasn’t quite so much space around them. Draco’s hand cups his cheek and gently forces Harry to meet his eyes again.
“I can’t promise you that…that I’ll be here for-” Draco hesitates for a moment. “For the rest of my life. It’s too soon for that. Do you understand?”
Harry can’t, not really, because he’s more than ready to make that promise to Draco. He nods anyway.
Draco frowns, obviously not convinced by Harry’s affirmation. His head dips for a moment, and his shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. When he looks up at Harry again, there is sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Harry opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. He clears his throat, tries again. “It’s all right.” He stands up, but doesn’t let go of Draco’s hand. “Maybe we should go back. It’s getting cold.”
“Harry, wait…” Draco stands up as well. He reaches for Harry’s hip, tugging him closer until they stand in a lose embrace.
Despite the distance that remains between them, Harry feels that Draco’s hands hold him securely. They rest low on Harry’s back, under his jumper, but over his t-shirt. Harry isn’t sure what to do with his own hands, so he lets them curl awkwardly against Draco’s chest. He looks at Draco expectantly.
“I’m sorry,” Draco says again. “I wish I could make that promise to you now, but-” He breaks off, swallows down the words. “Will you believe me when I say that someday…someday soon, I want to be able to say that I’ll be here with you, for good?”
Harry studies Draco’s gaze, and finds only sincerity there. “I…yeah. I believe you.”
“And when I do, I want to mean it. Because…because I don’t want to disappoint you, or hurt you,” he finishes quietly.
The words ring back and forth in Harry’s mind. He understands their meaning, is convinced that Draco believes in their truth. But Harry needs something else, something more tangible to be able to share that belief. He almost doesn’t notice how his hands flatten against Draco’s chest, how they slide up, around his shoulders, or how there’s suddenly no distance between them anymore.
Everything Harry can’t put into words flows into this kiss. All the disjointed, incoherent thoughts. Draco matches everything he’s given, and holds nothing back.
“Take me home,” Draco says after they pull apart, sounding slightly dazed.
Harry nods, and takes Draco’s hand in his.
They turn back to the path. It’s more comfortable there, near the forest. The trees keep the wind at bay, and the sun warms their backs. The light filters through the canopy of leaves, illuminating them in green and gold. Small strips of blue appear where the branches part and the sky becomes visible.
When the cottage comes into view, Harry suddenly realises that Draco has never referred to this house as home before this afternoon.
Home.
As the word slowly seeps into his mind, Harry realises that what they have, what they are doing, is more than Draco coming to stay for a while. They are trying to build a life together, even if he can’t say when or how it started. Kind of how the white cup with the blue dots is always on the shelf when Harry reaches for it. It just is.
Harry steals a sideway glance at Draco, who pretends not to notice, but the quirked corners of his mouth tell a different story. When Harry leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to Draco’s cheek, the smile broadens and Draco’s skin tints a light pink.
There’s a smile on Harry’s face, too, and everything feels lighter somehow, right down to his feet. An idea forms in his mind, and he turns to Draco, bouncing slightly, almost as if the earth gave him a little push with every step he takes.
“Let’s race, Draco,” he says.
“Race?” Draco repeats, slightly confused.
“Yes.” He looks around until his eyes settle on the cottage. On their home. “To the door. Whoever reaches it first gets to top tonight!” He doesn’t wait for Draco’s answer, but simply runs off, laughing. Draco gasps behind him, but Harry doesn’t mind him.
“Potter! A race without brooms? You’re mad, you’re…wait!!”
Harry hears Draco’s feet beating down the path behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he catches a glimpse of blond hair bright with sunlight. His heart skips a beat, and he runs faster, determined to reach the door first.
The End.
As always, feedback is very much appreciated.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Category: Futurefic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship. 2600 words.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry has thought about this for so long, and he wants to know, one way or another, finally.
Thank you to off_that_bridge and rurounihime for betaing.
~*~*~
I’ll see your heart and raise you mine ~ Bell X1
Harry likes this kitchen, especially when it has Draco in it, as it does right now. Draco is slightly slouching in his chair, a book propped up against the edge of the wooden table. Long legs stretched out, his bare feet reach a pool of sunlight on the uneven stone floor. Steam curls enticingly from a cup sitting next to Draco’s hand, and Harry decides tea would be very nice right now.
The water left in the kettle is still hot, but not hot enough, so Harry sets it back to boil. The stove is old and a little unreliable, like everything else in the small cottage, but Harry doesn’t mind. It’s comforting to know people have lived here before. He’s surprised that Draco hasn’t complained about the poorly insulated windows and the chipping paint, but Draco’s very presence here is still a surprise to Harry. Maybe he should stop expecting certain things from Draco.
Harry turns towards the shelf on which a few mismatched cups line up in a neat row. The white cup with the blue dots is Harry’s favourite. The rim is chipped in one place and it doesn’t have a handle anymore, but Harry likes that it is almost translucent. Draco doesn’t use it, and Harry wonders if it’s due to the cup’s imperfection or because Draco knows Harry likes it.
Harry settles into the other chair and draws his knees up. The tea is still too hot to drink, but just right to hold. He looks out the window onto the small trees and meadows and stone walls that dot the valley and surrounding hills.
Draco turns a page. “I haven’t seen you all day.” It’s just an observation, not an accusation.
“I’ve been…” Harry looks for words to describe how he spent his time. He hasn’t exactly been idle, but what he did doesn’t amount to anything with tangible results. “Just thinking, I suppose.”
“Hmm.” Draco turns another page.
Harry’s tea has cooled down enough to allow him a few careful sips. “What are you reading?”
“A muggle novel I found in the living room. It’s called…” Draco flipped to the beginning of the book. “Jane Eyre.”
“I think that’s famous,” Harry replied, remembering Hermione reading the same book once.
“Is it? It’s a bit tedious.”
“Why are you reading it then?” Harry uncurls his legs. The floor is chilly against his socked feet.
“I’m bored. And it’s not that tedious. Some parts are interesting. For a novel written by a muggle.”
Harry smiles. Maybe he should tell Draco sometime just how much he likes these little observations, but Draco might stop making them. “Aren’t your feet cold?” Harry asks instead.
Draco shrugs, eyes scanning the page.
In a swift move, Harry reaches for Draco’s feet and places them in his lap. “They are cold,” he chides softly, thumb slowly dragging over the sole of one foot.
Draco’s lips part silently, and he takes a moment before speaking. “Not for long, I hope.” His toes wiggle their way under the hem of Harry’s jumper.
Harry tucks one foot completely under the jumper and kneads the other with both hands. “Better now?”
Draco closes his book and his eyes. He sinks lower in his chair. “Yeah.” The words come out as little more than an exhalation.
Harry works on Draco’s feet, one after the other, watching his face the entire time. The light streaming in from the windows falls across Draco’s features, illuminating them to the point where Harry feels he’s looking at a mask, unmoving and flawless. Distant. Without realising it, Harry’s fingers press harder against Draco’s skin. For a moment, a frown falls across the face before him. Draco’s eyelids flutter and his lips press together. Familiar lines emerge in the corners of his mouth, and Harry resists the temptation to kiss them away.
When Draco’s feet feel warm again, Harry holds them close to his body with one hand while the other sneaks up the leg of Draco’s trousers. Only his fingertips glide across the skin, up and down. Draco squirms in his chair and opens his eyes, pupils slightly dilated. His toes flex against Harry’s stomach.
It would be so easy to pull Draco closer, into his lap, maybe, or to make good use of the sturdy table. But not today.
“Go for a walk with me,” Harry says, fully aware it’s the last thing Draco expects.
Draco blinks, and looks at Harry curiously. Slowly, he replies, “All right. Let me just get my shoes.”
~*~*~
They walk along a path at the edge of the forest. It’s not quite autumn yet, but here and there hints of red and yellow curl around the edges of leaves, and the light slants across the fields in a way it does only during this time of year. A hint of summer warmth still lingers in the air, occasionally broken up by chilly gusts rising out of the valley.
They haven’t spoken since they left the house. The silence weaves between them comfortably, something which Harry has always been grateful for. There aren’t many people Harry can share his silences with.
The backs of their hands brush together occasionally, perhaps a little more often than necessary. Harry hopes that Draco will catch his fingers, but he doesn’t. After the fifth time, Draco stops walking and turns to Harry.
In a soft voice, Draco says, “If you want to hold my hand, just take it.” His palm turns outwards a little bit, towards Harry.
Harry takes a step closer and slowly slides his hand into Draco’s. He watches their fingers lace together, tightly at first, then more loosely as they start walking again.
The valley stretches out to their left. A few houses rise in the distance, scattered evidence of human life. They don’t intrude on the remaining space, earth and sky and air.
For two months now, Harry has only seen Draco’s face, has only heard his voice, and he longs for it to stay this way.
He doesn’t realise he has stopped walking until Draco addresses him.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Following Draco’s line of sight, Harry’s eyes fall on a haphazard arrangement of stones that passes for a wall. He nods.
They sit close together, bodies pressed comfortably against each other. Harry closes his eyes, allows the wind to sweep through him until he shivers. He moves closer to Draco, leaning into his warmth. An arm comes around Harry’s waist, and Harry takes off his glasses so he can duck his head into the crook of Draco’s neck.
The wind doesn’t feel quite as harsh anymore.
Draco’s hand moves over Harry’s cheek and neck with careful touches, again and again. When he speaks, his voice is close to Harry’s ear.
“You said you were thinking about something.”
Harry is unsure about allowing Draco into the circle of his thoughts, worried about the flood of words that might pour forth. But he has thought about this for so long, and he wants to know, one way or another, finally. Sweep away the uncertainty.
Slowly, Harry asks, “Do you remember when you came here?”
“To the cottage, you mean?”
Harry nods.
“Of course I do. It was pouring that day.”
Harry remembers as well. The immediate confusion about Draco’s presence, the sense that he shouldn’t be there, and how that had faded away as Draco spread him out on worn sheets, laying claim to his body in a way that made Harry want to give and give and give.
“Why are you asking?” Draco’s voice interrupts the flow of memories.
“I just…” Harry begins. His fingers trace patterns across Draco’s thigh, too blurry for him to see, but the wool of Draco’s trousers is rough against his skin. “You never said why you came here.”
Draco tightens his hold and leans in closer, whispering into Harry’s ear. “Do I really need to say it? You know why, Harry.”
“Please,” Harry replies. He’s almost glad his voice cracks because he wants Draco to know he isn’t playing a game here, that he does indeed need to hear Draco say the words.
“Because you’re here.” A quiet sincerity underwrites the simple statement. Harry wants to capture it and lock it away in a box, but Draco is already speaking again. “Is that it? What you were worrying about?”
No, Harry thinks automatically. It wasn’t quite that. But maybe that should be all that matters. Draco’s here, after all, and why does anything else have to be important right now? But there’s this nagging voice at the back of Harry’s mind that reminds him of how arrivals are always tied to departures, beginnings to endings. One necessarily brings about the other.
“Harry?”
There’s no impatience in Draco’s tone yet, but there will be soon if Harry keeps hedging. Even though Draco has perfected the art of evasion, he has no tolerance for it in others. Or maybe Harry is a Gryffindor at heart, and hiding doesn’t sit well with him.
“I worry that someday, I’ll wake up and you’re not next to me, and I go into the kitchen and you’re not there either, and all your things are gone, and the door bangs in the wind because you forgot to close it properly when you-” He breaks off when Draco suddenly pulls away from him.
Harry feels Draco’s eyes on him, but he can’t look up. He wonders if he’s done it now, if Draco will get up and walk away. A particularly harsh breeze tears through him, chilling him to the bone.
Draco doesn’t stand up, doesn’t leave. Instead, his hands slowly slide down Harry’s arms until they reach Harry’s wrists. The fingers of Draco’s left hand briefly brush over the delicate bones, then wander into Harry’s palm and nudge at his fingers, willing them to uncurl. Their hands lie flat against one another for a moment, then Draco’s shifts minutely and their fingers lace together.
Harry holds on as tightly as he can.
“You’re crushing my hand,” Draco observes.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, and tries to disentangle his fingers.
“I didn’t say you need to let go.” Draco squeezes Harry’s hand until he stops fidgeting. Their fingers remain tightly entwined, but not uncomfortably so. With his other hand, Draco reaches into the pocket of Harry’s jacket. “Put your glasses back on. There’s something I need to tell you and I want you to look at me when I do.” Draco speaks softly the entire time.
The glasses slide into Harry’s hand and he fumbles to put them on, pushing at them until they sit straight on his nose. He looks up to find Draco’s eyes calmly looking back at him.
“I’m not leaving.” There’s certainty behind each of Draco’s words. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and next week. I’ll still be here once all the leaves have fallen off the trees and the first snow falls. And I most certainly plan to shag you rotten on your next birthday.”
Harry can only nod.
“But…”
Of course there had to be a but. Harry breaks away from Draco’s gaze, sees the valley stretch out in front of him. Suddenly he wishes there wasn’t quite so much space around them. Draco’s hand cups his cheek and gently forces Harry to meet his eyes again.
“I can’t promise you that…that I’ll be here for-” Draco hesitates for a moment. “For the rest of my life. It’s too soon for that. Do you understand?”
Harry can’t, not really, because he’s more than ready to make that promise to Draco. He nods anyway.
Draco frowns, obviously not convinced by Harry’s affirmation. His head dips for a moment, and his shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. When he looks up at Harry again, there is sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Harry opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. He clears his throat, tries again. “It’s all right.” He stands up, but doesn’t let go of Draco’s hand. “Maybe we should go back. It’s getting cold.”
“Harry, wait…” Draco stands up as well. He reaches for Harry’s hip, tugging him closer until they stand in a lose embrace.
Despite the distance that remains between them, Harry feels that Draco’s hands hold him securely. They rest low on Harry’s back, under his jumper, but over his t-shirt. Harry isn’t sure what to do with his own hands, so he lets them curl awkwardly against Draco’s chest. He looks at Draco expectantly.
“I’m sorry,” Draco says again. “I wish I could make that promise to you now, but-” He breaks off, swallows down the words. “Will you believe me when I say that someday…someday soon, I want to be able to say that I’ll be here with you, for good?”
Harry studies Draco’s gaze, and finds only sincerity there. “I…yeah. I believe you.”
“And when I do, I want to mean it. Because…because I don’t want to disappoint you, or hurt you,” he finishes quietly.
The words ring back and forth in Harry’s mind. He understands their meaning, is convinced that Draco believes in their truth. But Harry needs something else, something more tangible to be able to share that belief. He almost doesn’t notice how his hands flatten against Draco’s chest, how they slide up, around his shoulders, or how there’s suddenly no distance between them anymore.
Everything Harry can’t put into words flows into this kiss. All the disjointed, incoherent thoughts. Draco matches everything he’s given, and holds nothing back.
“Take me home,” Draco says after they pull apart, sounding slightly dazed.
Harry nods, and takes Draco’s hand in his.
They turn back to the path. It’s more comfortable there, near the forest. The trees keep the wind at bay, and the sun warms their backs. The light filters through the canopy of leaves, illuminating them in green and gold. Small strips of blue appear where the branches part and the sky becomes visible.
When the cottage comes into view, Harry suddenly realises that Draco has never referred to this house as home before this afternoon.
Home.
As the word slowly seeps into his mind, Harry realises that what they have, what they are doing, is more than Draco coming to stay for a while. They are trying to build a life together, even if he can’t say when or how it started. Kind of how the white cup with the blue dots is always on the shelf when Harry reaches for it. It just is.
Harry steals a sideway glance at Draco, who pretends not to notice, but the quirked corners of his mouth tell a different story. When Harry leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to Draco’s cheek, the smile broadens and Draco’s skin tints a light pink.
There’s a smile on Harry’s face, too, and everything feels lighter somehow, right down to his feet. An idea forms in his mind, and he turns to Draco, bouncing slightly, almost as if the earth gave him a little push with every step he takes.
“Let’s race, Draco,” he says.
“Race?” Draco repeats, slightly confused.
“Yes.” He looks around until his eyes settle on the cottage. On their home. “To the door. Whoever reaches it first gets to top tonight!” He doesn’t wait for Draco’s answer, but simply runs off, laughing. Draco gasps behind him, but Harry doesn’t mind him.
“Potter! A race without brooms? You’re mad, you’re…wait!!”
Harry hears Draco’s feet beating down the path behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he catches a glimpse of blond hair bright with sunlight. His heart skips a beat, and he runs faster, determined to reach the door first.
The End.
As always, feedback is very much appreciated.