It is morning and the birds whistle to the dawn. Harry gazes attentively at a sleeping Draco, examining his light hair as it fades gently to clear. The faint sunrays drift onto their pillows, illuminating the swirling dust motes that eddy across their bedroom. Harry smiles and watches the slumbering figure intently; he is sure that such happiness will vanish in an instant if he closes his eyes. Draco wakes, rolls over, and looks up at Harry. The movement startles the brunet and he blinks, startled.
"Good morning," Draco mumbles. Harry grins with utter contentment; the blond is still there.