AN I don't own HP or any of the characters!
When Harry boarded the train for Hogwarts, he was considerably changed. Hermione said puberty, Ron said he'd gotten with a girl or something, but neither were true and he didn't bother correcting them. His face was more tired, now, and less expressive. The salve was nearly gone, aside from the bit Harry had set aside to treat Draco when they got back, and he was so skinny now that the thought of eating at the feast like normal hurt his stomach. He didn't look all that different, really, and especially not beneath his robes, but he felt different. Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as they went through a dark patch of trees and almost dropped the sandwich Mrs. Weasley had made him. He looked like Draco.
The hair was different, and the eyes were a different color but other than that… It was the same, gaunt features and the same, hollow expression that he'd seen on the blond's face for the first four years of their education. Was that really all it took? He'd always thought at least parts of those things were natural for Draco, genetic if nothing else, but Harry looked just like him now that he knew what to look for. Was his ignorance really the only thing that had kept him from finding out about Draco sooner? Kept him from recognizing the signs?
Draco, Harry knew by now, had a habit of swearing or muttering angrily in parseltongue whenever something happened because he didn't like other people hearing what he was upset about. Even if he just stubbed his toe, Harry knew to expect the hissing language. He wasn't shocked when he heard it carry down the aisle of the train car, either, because parseltongue had quite the ability to cling to the air and carry.
It was just a string of curses, but Harry could usually tell when Draco's swearing was in anger or when it was in pain. He made an excuse to Ron and Hermione, who barely listened because they were so involved in an argument, and he slipped away to the back of the car. Harry was good at transfiguration because McGonagall taught it, who he loved. As he hurried towards the Slytherin car, he quickly transfigured the little jar he'd slipped out of his sleeve into something less conspicuous. An empty inkpot would do.
Arriving at the Slytherin car, all eyes turned to him like magnifying glasses and he approached Draco in a huff. For a moment, the blond looked surprised. Then, he quickly realized Harry was just acting—that that was what they did—and twisted his face into a sneer. But Harry was already clenching his fist because he noticed the way Draco was favoring his left arm and how he refused to lean back in the chair. Lucius could burn in hell. Harry threw him the inkpot, which he caught.
"Tap it three times and use it, little dragon. I'll worry about getting more." Draco's face contorted in confusion for a split second before he realized what it was and he tried to throw it back but Harry refused.
"Harry, I'm fine." But Harry glared, only half faking, and gave a pointed look to the inkpot.
"No, I'm fine, Draco. You're in pain. Use it as soon as you get the chance and I'll meet you tonight. We can talk then." Draco sealed their conversation with an angry hiss, but Harry was already walking away. It would be too suspicious for him to help. Their conversation had already attracted a lot of attention and was spreading up and down the cars like wildfire but Harry just trodded back to Ron and Hermione. As he left, he heard a Slytherin ask what Harry had said. He heard Draco, in English, sneer something about a house elf dropping his things and Harry being a git.
"Oi, what was that about?" He shook Ron off as he took his seat again, looking out the window. Hermione, surprisingly, didn't ask a single question. When they saw that he was in no way in a better mood than before, they went back to arguing without him and let him stare at the passing landscape in peace. Thank god, Harry didn't think he could focus on anything else right now.
His mind was on Draco. He'd imagined the blond thousands of times over the long summer break and he'd pictured what Lucius was likely doing to him. He knew the boy would come back injured, if not broken and scarred. But, somehow, actually seeing him favor the hidden wounds was a hundred times worse and, even if he could speak in parseltongue and help in little ways, that old instinct flared. The one he'd shoved down and forgotten over the holiday, with his cousin and his uncle. Now, though, every muscle in his body screamed to protect.
Draco knew it was stupid not to use the salve. Harry had practically ordered him to and that familiar fire was back in those green eyes, daring Draco to disobey. But he didn't want to use it. He knew Harry wasn't unscathed and he wanted to take care of the Gryffindor, the one who wasn't accustomed to this already, before he even glanced at himself. At some point during the rest of the train ride, though, those burning green eyes urged him up. He dismissed himself to the bathroom, the inkpot in his pocket, and tapped it the way Harry had said to, turning it into the little jar he knew so well. Hesitantly, Draco dipped a finger in.
Usually, Draco was more than careful about using the salve because if his father suddenly showed up and found him uninjured, there would be hell to pay. He didn't want to use very much of it, and he couldn't reach his back anyways. So, instead, he settled for pushing a bit of the goop into his arm where his father had broken it less than a week ago. It cracked and scraped, but it slowly healed. Draco pocketed the jar again and didn't bother to transfigure it because he was rubbish with transfigurations and would probably destroy it in the process. Returning to Blaise and Pansy, he continued to sulk.
They were used to him being morose and despondent after holidays or breaks, by now, so no one talked to him or tried to pry. He sat quietly in his usual seat and just stared out the window. Harry had looked alright. For some reason that bothered him more than if the boy had been in tears and Draco didn't like it. It seemed… wrong. He didn't believe for a second that the Gryffindor was in any way fine but the fact that he was pretending to be aggravated him. Though, Draco supposed, that was exactly what he was doing so he didn't have room to talk.
Still, that night could not come soon enough. It bothered Draco a lot that he couldn't just talk to Harry, even through notes, without the entire school knowing who had sent it. They would assume it was threats or insults, of course, but he could only pass that off so many times before someone would joke they were passing love notes. And neither of them wanted that thought to even enter anyone's mind. So Draco sat through the train, through the carriage ride, and through dinner, not bothering to put an expression on his face and just trying to eat as much as possible. It felt strange, after eating so little. He knew he had to pace himself now and get used to the food again but it was all so tempting. He'd been hungry for weeks, though, so he made himself stop and only picked at the blandest food available. No dessert.
Draco didn't hurry to bed, though he could have without anyone batting an eye. Harry wouldn't be able to shake the rest of the golden trio until it was actually time for bed because Ron slept in the bed next to Harry, even as fifth years, and the weasel would notice if he disappeared. So Draco sat, lost in thought, on one of the plush green couches. Pansy and Blaise were flirting beside him and, if it had been even a day later, he would have teased or chastised them for it but he was too tired. Honestly, he was just so tired…
He briefly considered going to bed, or at least taking a nap before he went to meet Harry, but he shook his head to himself. The nightmares would be horrible if he didn't see the boy first. Plus, he knew the pain was always worse at night so he would likely need the salve to be applied if he was going to sleep at all. And, he was worried.
He hadn't been expecting Harry to seem so… normal. Draco tried to remember what he'd been like the first time his father had come into his bedroom at night, but he couldn't remember that far back. Had he been devastated? He'd thought Harry would be, both because it was new to him and because it was from his family, but had Draco even been? Now that he thought about it, he remembered just kind of shutting down. He remembered going through the motions, living his life, and not really being a part of his body because he could never tell when the hits would come or when his father would unlock his bedroom door. Hogwarts had woken him for the first time in years, when he was eleven.
"We're heading to bed. You comin' Drake?" Draco nodded and followed the other fifth years to their dorm but he was thinking now. Maybe Harry was that same way? Maybe he was burying it down deep and hiding the broken the way Draco had?
"Night, Drake." He hadn't even realized that it was dark out, now, or that the rest of his roommates were already in bed. Draco was still just standing there, looking out the window. Blaise had managed to startle him, but they were used to not asking questions for the first few days after a break so Draco just shook it off and slid into his bed. He drew the curtains, and waited.
Draco did not have an invisibility cloak, and that was the only reason he made himself sit patiently on his bed and wait for Harry to appear. If he could have, he would have apparated in the boy's room the second dinner had ended. But, sadly, Draco was neither that gifted nor reckless enough to steal an invisibility potion from Snape so he just waited, pouting slightly.
"Hey." Draco didn't scream, because he'd been waiting, but he did jump as Harry appeared at the foot of his bed and joined him beneath the thick green curtains. Together, they cast a silencing charm.
"Hey." Harry was watching him, he could feel it, looking for any hint that he hadn't done as he'd been told, but Draco just caved. It was easier than arguing. He handed the little jar over to Harry and, before he could be mad, cut him off.
"I did use it, for my arm. I couldn't reach though." Harry took that as explanation enough, and began gently applying the salve to Draco's torn flesh. Ironic, considering almost a year ago they'd done the exact same thing.
"Harry, are you okay?" He didn't use the petname, intentionally, because he needed the raven-haired boy to know how serious he was being. Harry didn't tense, though, or stop applying the salve.
"I'm fine, little dragon. You're the one I'm worried about." The salve disappeared quickly as Draco felt his back begin to scab over and then heal. He stared at his hands. He knew he wanted to turn around, to embrace the Gryffindor and reassure himself that they were both okay, but he couldn't look up. Something in him was scared to.
"Draco?" He was terrified, he realized, to look up and see those emerald eyes look broken. He was terrified that Harry was scarred somehow in a way that could never be healed because Draco hadn't protected him. Gently, though, Harry reached out and turned him. Thankfully, he didn't make Draco look up, but he did make him turn around.
"Draco, are you okay? Did something else happen over the break?" Draco shook his head but couldn't make himself meet Harry's eyes.
"No, I'm just afraid." He shocked himself by actually admitting that out loud, but then again this was Harry he was with. It was coming back to them both rather quickly. The truth-telling, the confessions, the intimate kind of trust that let them both loosen their tongues a bit.
"Of me?" The way Harry's voice broke, even over the hissed syllables, made Draco want to scream.
"No!" Harry recoiled. "No, hey, listen to me. No, I'm not scared of you and I never will be, you know that. That isn't what I meant. I just… I remember the first time I faced that and I remember pretending I was fine but I remember what it did to me, really did to me, and I'm just so scared that you're not okay because I should have done something, I should have protected—" Harry cut him off with a finger over his lips. Cautiously, the dark-haired boy reached out and pulled Draco into his lap so he could stroke his hair and press tender kisses to his temple and forehead.
"Hey, listen to me, little dragon. I'm fine, okay? I really am perfectly fine." Draco snorted, but Harry wasn't done. "No, stop that. I'm not lying to you. Yeah, it was hell and I'll never be the same person I was before that happened but look at me, Draco." Carefully, Harry lifted his chin so that Draco had to meet his eyes.
"I swear to you, I'm fine. I'm not good, but I would be a lot worse if you hadn't told me how to get through it. You did protect me. You did, okay? Because of you, I'm honestly gonna be okay. Stop worrying about me, though, are you doing okay, little dragon?" Words could not describe how relieved Draco was in that moment. That he hadn't failed, that he hadn't let Harry be destroyed just because he was too cowardly to do anything. Those emerald eyes were sad, but they weren't broken. Tired, maybe, and older but not broken. He couldn't help the tears that slipped out as he looked up at Harry—wait, up at Harry?
"Did you grow?" Harry laughed and wrapped Draco tighter in his arms.
"Is that really your priority right now?" But Harry had grown, it was obvious now, and Draco was extremely amused by that for some reason. Of all things, now Harry was taller than him?
"I can't call you little anymore." But Draco was laughing now, too, and it felt so good because he hadn't laughed in over six weeks and Harry was laughing with him and it just felt right. Like, finally, all the pieces fit together again. He felt Harry tangle a hand in his blond locks, the way the Gryffindor seemed obsessed with doing, and he let himself bury his face in Harry's robes. They were both laughing and he was sure they would look insane to anyone else but Draco was just so relieved. This was Harry—his Harry—and this was how they were supposed to work. Even if everything else in his life imploded, even if his father was twice as angry and his mother twice as apathetic, this one piece was completely, unequivocally, and irrevocably right.
"Just lion, then," Harry hissed out through snorts of laughter. "But you're definitely still quite little, aren't you? My little teeny-tiny dragon." Harry might as well have been calling him shortstuff for the reaction it got. They both guffawed with laughter, shaking each other as they gasped for breath and struggled to contain themselves. By the time it began to fade, they were both crying. For a good reason, this time, though.
"I love you, lion." Harry suddenly stopped, and Draco felt his blood run cold when he realized what he'd said. He bolted upright out of Harry's grasp and scrambled for the door, but Harry caught his wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! This was how he was going to die!
"Draco, breathe!" Some innate part of him must have still been wired to obey Harry's voice because his lungs sucked in oxygen without his consent. Slowly, he stopped struggling. Harry was still holding his wrist, though, Draco realized and that thought sent needles down his spine. He'd fucked it up—badly.
"Draco, please, calm down! Look at me." Draco obeyed, because he was scared now and he wanted to minimize Harry's anger. If he was lucky, he could get away without anything too bad. The bed had a silencing charm but if he made it out of the curtains he could scream and wake his roommates. Harry was still holding his wrist, though, so clearly he knew that and would do anything to keep Draco from getting help. Fuck, he was so screwed.
"Draco, hey, please look at me? I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that right?" He had known that, but all bets were off now. Draco had said the forbidden three words without even thinking and now he knew Harry was furious with him. He knew Harry would punish him. But he deserved it, he knew that, and as much as his chest ached and urged him to run for it he stopped. If he was stupid enough to say that, he could take the punishment. The idea of it coming from Harry was like his worst nightmare on repeat but he deserved it, so he stilled on the bed and stared at his hands, merely waiting. Harry let go of his wrist.
"Little dragon, you're not scared of me, are you?" Fuck. His father loved to do things like this—traps, where there was no right answer. If he said yes, Harry would be upset with him for reacting like this. If he said no, though, Harry would be mad that he'd lied. There was nothing he could say that would make the situation any better so he just sat there and braced for a hit, a punishment for not answering. Nothing came, though.
"Little dragon…" Harry didn't touch him or lift his face like before, in fact he seemed scared to, but Draco refused to let the crack in Harry's voice break down his walls. "Little dragon, I'm not angry. Even if I was, I hope you know I would never, ever hurt you. I understand that instinct but, please, please try to remember who you're talking to. I will never hurt you." The words were convincing but Draco refused to let them break him. He stiffened, physically trying to build his walls higher, and didn't look up into Harry's eyes for fear that it might be seen as a challenge.
But he did know Harry. He'd never known him to lash out in anger, at least not physically. That was what put that fear in his gut, though, because that was what everyone else thought about his father. Oh, Lucius would never hurt his son—he loved him too much. Lucius was cold and calculating and devious so, surely, if he was going to lash out at his son at all it would be anything but physical. Withhold money, maybe, or yell. No one ever thought Lucius would hurt him because that wasn't the kind of person Lucius seemed like. Harry would never hurt Draco, either, right? Because Harry wasn't the type to lash out with fists.
"I love you, little dragon, I'm so sorry if I hurt you somehow or scared you but I'm not upset. I love you too, hear that? I love you, Draco, so much. I love you." At that, Draco stopped breathing. He couldn't remember anyone ever saying those words to him. His father and his mother said it about him, sometimes, and assured everyone, even Dumbledore, that they loved their son. They described him as special, and as loved. But no one had ever actually said it to Draco before.
"You… what?" Harry seemed to take a deep breath in relief when he spoke, even if his voice shook. The dark-haired boy relaxed a bit on the bed, though he didn't reach out or touch Draco, and sighed.
"I love you too, little dragon." Draco was short circuiting. He had never, in all his years of living, thought someone would say those words to him and he certainly never thought they would be genuine. His future wife, maybe, would say it if they were in public. But never mean it. Harry was still watching him, though, with tears now slipping occasionally down his cheeks that weren't from laughing. He'd done that, Draco realized. He'd made the Gryffindor cry just because he'd panicked.
"I'm sorry." Harry shook his head, but didn't move otherwise. He let Draco come to him. Even if Draco was nervous, and trembling, he crawled back across the mattress and slowly wiggled back into Harry's lap the way he'd been before this entire disaster.
"I'm sorry, lion." Harry took the petname as permission, apparently, because Draco immediately felt a gentle touch to his arm and then in his hair. It was slow, and hesitant, though in a way Harry never normally was with him. Draco had fucked up.
"I'm sorry I don't know what happened I just… panicked. I'm sorry." Gently, he felt Harry kiss his forehead. The raven-haired boy stayed quiet for a long time, so long that Draco began to think he really was angry, but just when Draco was about to run again Harry spoke.
"Are you okay?" No petname, Draco noticed, and no reassurance that it was okay or that he'd done nothing wrong. Fuck, he had completely destroyed whatever made them them and now all that was left was this empty, shell-like remnant of what they used to be. Harry didn't even know what to do with him.
"Yeah, I'm okay and I'm sorry." He didn't feel like he could apologize enough. It wouldn't fix it, he knew, and it likely would only piss Harry off further but he couldn't stop himself. Instinct urged him to grovel at Harry's feet, but he settled for apologizing. Over, and over again. Until, finally, Harry pressed a finger against his lips and tightened his grip in a half hug.
"Little dragon, stop apologizing. I told you I'm not angry at you or angry that you said that. Please, just breathe and stop apologizing. I'm not angry at you." Draco couldn't help himself.
"But you are angry." He fully expected at least a slap for that comment, and flinched, but Harry didn't move. In fact, Harry had actually gone painfully still. For a second, Draco thought he might be trying not to trigger the Slytherin in his arms but then Draco realized he was getting ready to actually hit, and hit hard. He couldn't breathe or move, he was frozen there. His limbs screamed at him to run but he couldn't make his body respond so he just sat there, almost hyperventilating, as Harry chose his next words carefully.
"Yes, I am incredibly angry. But not at you, little dragon, never at you." Draco could not believe what he was hearing, honestly, because it didn't make any sense. But his body wasn't his to control anymore so his mouth opened and he spoke.
"Because of me, then?" Again, Harry sighed. The hand in his hair started to stroke again and, surprisingly, Draco found the little repetitive touch relaxing rather than terrifying. It wasn't supposed to be that way, though, and he fought between his body and his mind because neither of them seemed to understand that Harry was a threat and that he had to get out of there as fast as possible. Between the two, though, he stayed frozen.
"No, not because of you either, little dragon. If I was angry because of something you did I would tell you, and we would talk." Not because of something he'd done… Then because of something he was? Draco's stomach clenched and churned at the thought but it made sense. Was Harry angry that he was broken? Had he not realized just how deep that brokenness ran when they'd become close last year, and was now regretting it?
"Breathe, I wasn't done explaining." The command made him breathe, even if Draco didn't want to. "I'm not angry with you, or at you, or because of you. I'm angry at the effect saying those words had on you—not your reaction, Draco, and not that you said them in the first place. I'm angry because you were clearly terrified and I don't know what you thought I was going to do to you but… I'm angry at whoever programmed that in you. At whoever made you that terrified of telling someone you love them, and at whoever made you look so surprised to hear it back. It's them I'm angry with, not you little dragon. Never at you." He couldn't breathe. Something about those words felt like honey in his veins because they sounded so sweet, so sincere, and so bloody protective that Draco wanted to believe them. But he knew better—he'd been taught better. Harry didn't mean that, it was just an excuse for his anger, and if Draco pushed him he knew he would see that. He would see the real Harry, the angry one.
"You don't mean that." What the hell was he doing!? Draco screamed at himself and at his own lips for saying such a thing because he knew, now, that Harry would beat him if not kill him. He curled into a ball and tried to breathe. Tried to brace himself to watch everything he'd let himself trust come crashing down as if it had ever really stood a chance. Harry didn't move, though.
"Draco, I want to know what you keep bracing yourself for. What do you think I'm gonna do?" This was dangerous territory, Draco felt it in the air and in the words, but he couldn't stop himself. It was like fifteen years of self control, of biting his tongue, of measuring and considering everything he ever did had just snowballed into this one moment and he couldn't control his own mouth.
"Hit me." He screamed at himself but Harry didn't move, didn't even stiffen.
"Do you want me to hit you?" What kind of a question was that? Was he supposed to say yes? Harry had always had the moral compass and the guilt complex between the two of them, was this his way of appeasing that before he laid into Draco?
"...no?" Immediately, Draco felt like that was the wrong thing to say. It was true, though, which was why his newly liberated mouth was spouting it out like he was half-confident in it. Harry pressed his cheek into the top of Draco's head, as if he was steadying himself.
"If you don't want me to hit you, and I don't want to hit you, then why would I hit you?" Draco shook his head and clamped his hand over his mouth because that bloody appendage had screwed this up enough already. "What will it take to make you believe me? To get you to trust that I don't want—and have never wanted—to hurt you?" Again, Draco just shook his head. He knew if he let his mouth open it would never stop talking and he would spill all the years of secrets, all the pain, as if that was some kind of excuse or explanation. It wasn't, though, and Harry was clearly upset. So, in lieu of making it even worse, he stayed silent.
"Draco, I want you to be completely honest with me. Know that it's completely okay to say no to what I'm about to ask you, and I will not be mad, or hurt, or upset in any way. I'll understand, just like always. Can you do that? Can you be one hundred percent honest with me just this once?" He nodded, even if he felt like crawling into a hole and dying because he felt open and exposed and raw in a way he hadn't experienced since he was a kid and he hated it. But Harry was still there, just patiently stroking his arm, so Draco nodded.
"Yes, I can." His voice sounded stronger than he felt, for once, and Harry took that as his cue to keep going.
"Can I kiss you?" For a second, everything stopped. "And I don't mean am I physically capable of it. I don't mean, will you allow me to? I mean if I offered, asked even, like I am right now would you actually want me to? Not just tolerate it, or say yes because you're afraid I'll be upset. Would you want me to?" Draco had to take a second just to get enough oxygen to process that question. His silence didn't seem to upset Harry, though, which was a relief so he let himself get a grip. Harry was asking if he could kiss him. No, not could, Draco reminded himself. Harry was asking him if he wanted Harry to kiss him.
"I… think so?" Harry didn't move, which Draco suddenly found infuriating, so he tried again more confidently. "I mean, yes. Yes, I would want you to, and yes I would let you." After a moment, he felt Harry take his chin between his thumb and pointer finger and lift it. Emerald met silver, in that moment, and Draco had to appreciate how ironic that was. Their eyes were the colors of Slytherin. He would tell Harry that later, if he survived this. Harry was just looking at him, completely calm, though, and almost looking relieved.
"Are you being honest with me right now, Draco?" Harry had that look on his face that said he was only going to ask once. For the first time since his near panic attack, Draco didn't have to fight his mouth for control or try to lie.
"Yes." Harry searched his eyes for a moment, as if looking for any hint that Draco was lying, but the blond withstood the scrutiny. Because he wasn't lying. The hand that was delicately holding his chin flattened and slid to cup the back of his neck. The arm previously loose around his shoulders tightened, curling to pull Draco's body until he was practically straddling Harry's lap. It was terrifying, but Draco didn't want it to stop.
"I love you, little dragon." Draco moved to respond, to say it back because now he felt like he actually could without panicking, but he didn't get the chance. Lips touched his own, stealing every bit of oxygen from his lungs in a heartbeat. His eyes closed, but Draco was overwhelmed. Harry was… perfect.
He was so, unbelievably gentle and, even as he guided Draco closer, he was never demanding. The Gryffindor didn't take anything, only accepting what Draco gave. It was slow, at first, because Draco had never been kissed before and he doubted the golden boy had much experience, but they gradually found a rhythm. Slow, consistent, predictable movement. It sounded boring out loud but, for the moment, both of them needed boring.
Draco needed predictable, because he still felt like the slightest jolt of fear would send him spiralling down a rabbit hole he would never escape. Harry needed consistency because he felt like he might stop breathing if he had to let go of the blond. He couldn't let go, not yet. It was tame and chaste, even as Draco inadvertently deepened the kiss, but it was perfect. The Gryffindor tasted like chocolate, Draco realized. He'd never had much of a sweet tooth, even as a child, but this kind of chocolate was irresistible. Life-changing, even.
It was Draco who pulled away. He wasn't sure if Harry was waiting, letting him be the one to break the contact so he could take it at his own pace and keep it predictable. But. regardless. Draco only pulled away because he felt like he was forgetting how to breathe. The second they broke apart, though, Harry was hugging him. Tightly, protectively to his chest with so much intensity and emotion that Draco was taken aback. Even before, Harry had been careful. Like the raven-haired boy was holding back, for some reason, or afraid of scaring him with that much feeling so soon. Draco loved it, though.
"I love you lion." It still shot a pang of fear into Draco's chest when he said it and he hesitated, waiting for a negative reaction, but Harry just hugged him tighter. Sitting in the (now) taller boy's lap with his legs around that too-skinny waist, Draco let himself relax. For the first time in what felt like years, Draco could actually breathe. Somehow, that position was a hundred times more intimate than the way they had held each other before. Maybe it was the kiss, but something told Draco it was because he fit there.
When they had first gotten close, there had been a lot of awkwardness and first-time uncertainty. Humans were heavy and, unlike in stories, it was very difficult to find positions that didn't put at least one limb to sleep or crush someone's lungs. They'd made it work and found a rhythm, but it was still awkward. Draco now realized it was because they'd never done it like this—never let Harry be taller, never let his legs wrap around the boy's waist, never let him cling to Harry's chest like a koala bear. Harry hummed in appreciation, too, and Draco could guess he liked holding him so close. And, apparently, burying his face in Draco's hair.
This… This was right. Draco wasn't sure what let him say it now, as opposed to all those other times he'd let Harry be the exception, but this time was different. Stronger, in a more visceral way, that he couldn't attribute to the 'I love you's or the kiss. All that awkwardness had momentarily just disappeared. He had no doubt it would return, and he didn't mind, but for the moment everything was completely perfect and he just fit there with Harry, in his arms, in a way he'd never fit anywhere else. And he wasn't scared.
"Thank you for trusting me, little dragon." Draco had to smile, then, because of course Harry would take a situation like that and thank him, of all things. He nuzzled a bit into the hollow of the Gryffindor's throat and hummed.
"Thank you for being trustworthy, lion."
Thanks so much for reading! Please please PLEASE review?