The Little Things
by
Eight Horcrux
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It was close to midnight when he arrived at Spinners End, bruised and bloody; running from the Dark Lord proved cruel at best. After Snape had mended his wounds, he lay settled on the couch; Draco's heavy weight was comforting.
"Merlin's soggy underpants," Draco sighed, nestling his head beneath Harry's chin. "I missed you."
"Yeah," whispered Harry, rubbing the blonde man's lower back in gentle circles. "Although, I don't know what Merlin's soggy underpants and I have in common. Are you trying to say something?"
They chuckled together and then lapsed into a comfortable silence. The couch was old and battered, with a broken spring that itched Harry's lower back; but they were together, and in the harshest months of war, that was all that mattered.
Spinners End wasn't Harry's first choice of refuge, but it was the only place they could think that they would not be found – right in the Devil's Pocket, was how Snape had put it. His eyes grew heavy and Draco's sleepy breathing lulled him at last. His dreams were plagued with red eyes, manic laughter and green light, until suddenly, he felt cold.
"Mmm," he grumbled, reaching to pat Draco, but touching himself instead. "Draco!" He shot up, kicking over a small table laden with books, and scanned the dark room. Where was Draco? Surely they weren't found out already?
"Ouch."
The whine was familiar and coming from near his feet. He looked down and saw Draco's startling blonde hair glistening in the moonlight that crept through a crack in the curtains.
"I fell," was the limp remark from the blonde, and Harry couldn't help but clutch his stomach and laugh heartily.
A light flickered on the landing and he could hear Snape's feet on the stairs; Draco's scowl and mutters of profanity made him laugh harder. He wasn't deterred by the glass of water Snape threw over his head, and chose to bang the couch with hysteria, raising a dust cloud that engulfed them all.
In times of war, it's the little things.