Draco lies on his belly, gasping for breath. He wouldn't mind dying like this, blissfully unaware of anything else but Potter…Harry, really… moving over him, inside him…hands clasped together, breath mingling…the arm beneath his chest holds him so tight, it's almost painful, but he doesn't mind, really.
And its sweaty, he's sweaty, and normally, he hates it….but Harry's chest is gliding against his back, all warm and sweaty and firm…but he doesn't mind that, either. So it's okay, to be sweaty.
The window is open, the air fresh, and it gives him goosebumps. Or maybe it's Harry's fingers, now feather light over his skin…
They lie side by side. Hot and exhausted and sweaty. He lets his eyes travel over Harry. He's never really looked before, not like this, not so openly.
They stare at each other, for what seems like hours. The silence shattered only by the occasional car or drunkard passing beneath the window.
They've pushed the duvet off the bed, it's summer, and the room is warm….the air outside is still fresh, but it's nice and it makes Draco shiver.
They are naked, with nothing in-between them.
Harry doesn't even recall if the arm beneath his head is his own or Draco's.
"Do you think this is what Mrs. Weasley had in mind when she told us to behave?" Harry wonders after a while, eyes mischievous. Draco snorts, raises an eyebrow.
"Certainly not…Molly Weasley is the kind of woman, who still thinks her eldest is innocent to the pleasur-" he gets poked in the stomach, lightly. "pleasure of the flesh." He sticks his tongue out.
"ponce"
He wakes first. Stretches languidly, and wriggles his toes. His eyes travel over the dark hair resting just beside his pillow. It is curious, he reflects, to wake up next to someone.
He smiles to himself, wonders what Harry would do if…he were to wake him?
He is tempted to wake the sleepyhead, but he doesn't. Instead, he crawls out of bed, stretches again, slips into his clothes from a day prior, and trots down the stairs.
He pours himself a cup of coffee, black, no sugar, and sits down next to Remus Lupin. He has learned to appreciate his former professor, and remembers not so proudly the young boy he was, prejudiced against Werewolves, muggleborns and bloodtraitors.
It is funny really, that of all of Grimmaulds Place inhabitants, Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger and Mrs. Weasley are the only early risers. They cover the whole spectrum of Draco's prejudiced youth, all by themselves.
Lupin's eyes keep gravitating towards him, but Draco doesn't notice. He is entranced by his coffee, holds the burning hot liquid just below his lips and blows.
He likes the feeling of steam against his skin.
"hum-hum" he blinks. Molly is standing before him, looking expectant.
"uhm…Good Morning…Mrs. Weasley…?"
He is still with his coffee, the steam against his cheeks… and Lupin's eyes are gravitating towards him, nostrils flaring…
"Are you-" sniffing me out? He almost says, and is glad he never finishes that sentence. Ron Weasley enters the kitchen, with heavy feet and messed up hair, and Draco returns to his contemplation.
Coffee…
He is not a morning person.
After Ron enter Ginny, Mad-Eye and Tonks.
Draco is nursing his third cup, still nibbling on his first toast and reading the Daily Prophet over Lupin's shoulder when Molly decides it's time to wake the birthday boy. Draco tenses, Lupin stands...and in a matter of seconds the breakfast tray is taken from her hands.
"I…will bring this up…Molly, no worries."
Lupin flies out, Draco blinks.
The morning mist dissipates, and the clogs turn in his head.
He drops his head onto the table with a bang.
Remus Lupin is a werewolf and Draco Malfoy is most certainly wearing Essence of Harry all over himself…
He is not a morning person.