Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I own Harry Potter. And Hogwarts, too, and--oh wait, that's only in my imagination.
A/N: Don't expect it to make sense. Do expect it to be fluffy. Cotton-candy-eating, teddy-bear-hugging, corny-love-confessions fluffy.

Pray

Harry isn't a very religious person—he's never been to a church in his life, he's never had communion or gone to confession, and if you ask him what year the Catholic church was founded, he'll likely just stare at you blankly and say, "Erm…1867?" But despite all this, on the inside, he believes; in what, he has no idea, but he knows there has to be something out there that makes the world go round.

So Harry prays. Whenever he's had a particularly bad day; when one of his friends has gotten hurt; and he always, always, comes to his room to pray after a fight with Draco.

"Dear Lord," he starts, when the house is quiet and Draco has already stormed off. There Harry is: kneeling in front of his bed, eyes closed and face creased. His hands fold in front of him out of instinct, and his chest moves as he breathes deeply.

"Dear Lord," he continues. Since he is not religious—was not religious—he had at first had no idea who he was talking, or praying to. But he's been praying a while now, because there have been a lot of fights between him and Draco; and he figures that 'Lord' is probably okay. For now.

"Please let this argument blow over," Harry whispers with his eyes still shut, "Please don't let Draco stay mad. And…" Harry swallows, "please don't let him stay away."

He pleads with the Lord, or whatever unseen force there was out there, to bring Draco back to him. No matter how many times they argue, no matter how much hurt they cause to each other, Harry still wants him back—and because of this, he prays. He prays whenever he is desperate, is needy, or alone; always, when he prays, he is asking for something.

In that moment, Harry's resolve crumbles and it all comes out. Never mind that to anyone else he seems as if he is talking to himself; never mind that he is not quite sure who he is talking to when he prays, or if he even believes in a God; and never mind the fact that Draco, the object of almost all of his half-desperate pleas to God, is standing in the hallway outside his bedroom as he speaks. Harry notices­—oh, does he notice—but he pays the blond no mind. He is drunk, damn it, drunk on his own foolishness and Draco sure as hell isn't going to stop him from angsting properly. It is his right, isn't it? Harry needs at least that much.

"Dear God," he says loudly, practically spitting out the words in Draco's direction, and big, showy tears running down his cheeks, "please make sure that my prick of a boyfriend never comes back here again. And please, please, make it your business to stop him from finding any happiness, however small, in his life. Let him drag his lame excuses and broken promises and…and…all the hurt he carries around with him somewhere else. Because I'm done with him. Completely and totally…" Harry pauses there, unsuccessfully stifling his relieved chuckle with his hand. But it is just such a surprise to him, to know that Draco came back for him, that he can't keep up the act anymore. Harry drops the pretense of hating Draco, throws his head back, and laughs.

Stunned, Draco just stares at him—and then starts to laugh too. They laugh, loudly and quietly, sharing a joke that only the two of them understand. Then, in what feels like a second, Draco is at Harry's side, putting his arms around him and settling his head on his shoulders. He puts his mouth next to Harry's ear—Harry shivers as Draco's breath caresses his skin—and whispers, half-teasingly, "I heard you the first time."

Harry turns—but Draco puts his finger on his lips to quiet him.

"You didn't have to pray to get me to return, you know."

He pauses, placing a kiss on Harry's lips and smiles. "I would've come back anyway."

.finis