for @hdcandyheartsfest 's prompt: Meet cute
rated: G
CW: Werewolf Harry, Potion-Maker Draco, Pre-relationship
It was a terrible idea really, but it was also the best and only one he had. He couldn’t trust anyone else to not rat him out to the Daily Prophet. It was terribly risky, but it was also his safest option. It was extremely ironic. The safety of his future depended on none other than Draco Malfoy. He could only hope that Malfoy would want to pay back the favor that he had done for him, even if only to make them even. He knew how prideful Malfoy was, he should jump at the opportunity.
It wasn’t that he had testified for him out of selfish or malignant reasons, he hadn’t ever intended to use it against Malfoy, If that’s what he was doing. But now he had no choice. He hated having to stoop so low, but he was running out of options and time. The full moon would be soon, and he needed Wolfsbane. It was going to be his first transformation, and he was desperate to get his hands on it. He just wasn’t keen on the entire wizarding world finding out that he was a werewolf, which made acquiring the potion not only difficult but dangerous.
He hadn’t seen Malfoy in years, not since his trial. All he knew was that he owned a potion’s shop in a back alleyway and was meant to be quite skilled at his job. At least, that was what Hermione had told him. He still didn’t know why she had bothered visiting his shop, but he was grateful for it now.
It was a rather small building, something that would be easy to miss, which he found strange. He would have expected to see something as obnoxious and loud as Malfoy was. He took a breath to steady himself, before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The shop was dimly lit and rather cramped. There was a rack of potions pressed up against the far wall, stocked with all manner of colors, consistencies, and textures. They glimmered faintly, some of them almost glowing in the darkness. To the right of the potion rack was a wooden door, which seemed to lead into a backroom. Smoke and mist were creeping out from under the door, although they fizzled out before they could reach him, leaving a strange, musty stench in the air. He looked around, but he couldn’t find any sight of Malfoy anywhere.
“Hello?”
“Just a moment.” The voice was familiar, and unmistakably Malfoy’s.
There was a brief pause, before the wooden door creaked and swung open. Malfoy stepped into the room, his back turned to him, as he used it to push the door open. He was carrying a crate full of potions, which continued to turn and rotate themselves every few seconds. Malfoy’s content expression vanished, being replaced with shock and disbelief, as he stumbled and tripped over his feet. The potions crashed to the floor, shattering and sending an awful, green puff of smoke into the air, that hissed and wailed all the way to the ceiling, where it finally died with a wheezing groan. Malfoy had grabbed hold of the counter, stopping himself from falling into the mess.
He grimaced, rushing forwards to help. “Are you alright?”
Malfoy just stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
He paused, suddenly feeling out of place. What was he doing here? Giving himself a shake, he cleared his head. “I need potions.”
Malfoy sneered, looking him up and down, his eyes cold and guarded. “Why here? There’s plenty of potion shops on Diagon. Why would you descend to mingle with the commoners?”
He held his tongue, trying to quell his growing frustration, even if he found it increasingly difficult. “Because I need something only you can give me.”
“And what would that be, Potter?”
“I testified for you.”
Malfoy’s scowl deepened, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle. “Yes, I remember.”
“I need a favor.”
“You, the great Harry Potter, need a favor from me? This ought to be good. What is it?”
He stared over at Malfoy, seeing the glee shining in his expression, and he very nearly turned around and walked out. What had he been expecting? Malfoy was still Malfoy, he shouldn’t be surprised. So, he couldn’t quite understand where the crushing disappointment and hurt came from.
“You know what, Malfoy. Nevermind, this was clearly a mistake.” He reached into his pocket and placed a sickle on the counter, before he turned to leave. “For wasting your time.”
“Potter, wait.”
He tried to ignore him.
“Wait.” Malfoy hurried after him. “Just, wait a second, would you?”
He stopped and turned to glare at him. “Why? So you can make fun of me some more?”
“No. Just.” Malfoy grimaced. “I suppose if you… You know, came all the way out here it’s probably important. So, uh, go on and say what it is.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You needed a favor, I’m listening.” Malfoy looked rather weary, as he waited for an answer.
“I need your silence, Malfoy. Can you give me that?” He thought the odds of Malfoy ever shutting up were next to none.
“About what?”
“I need you to keep what potions I buy between us. Is that something you can do?”
Malfoy looked confused. “I always keep my customers' purchases confidential.”
He supposed he didn’t really have another choice, unless he wanted to try and go through the full moon without anything at all. He still didn’t entirely trust that Malfoy wouldn’t take great pleasure in letting the world know of his new status, but he was his last option, and it was this or nothing. “I need Wolfsbane.”
Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, his eyes widening minutely. For a long while, he seemed to be frozen, before he snapped himself out of it. “Right. Yeah. How much do you need?”
“As much as you have.”
Malfoy hurried towards the far end of the potion rack, nearly stepping on the broken bottles beneath his feet, as he picked glimmering, blue vials from the shelf. He took great care in wrapping them in black cloth and flicked his wand to summon a sack from the back room, which he placed them into. “Here. I brew it every month. I’ll…” Malfoy shook his head. “I’ll brew extra now.”
He took the sack from Malfoy, shrinking it, so he could fit it inside of his robes. “And this stays between us?”
“Merlin, Potter. What sort of person do you take me as? I wouldn’t… I’d never tell someone something like that.”
He gave a curt nod, before he reached into his pocket to place a handful of galleons on to the counter. “How much for the ones on the floor?”
Malfoy shook his head. “You didn’t drop them, Potter.”
“I know, but–”
“It’s fine. I can just brew more.” Malfoy turned, beginning to clean up the mess.
He lingered for a moment, watching, before he realized he’d gotten what he wanted and was just watching Malfoy clean. “Uh. Thanks.”
He hurried out the door, his face feeling rather flushed.
Title: Veela Inheritance Problems
Author: Sakya
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ship: Drarry
Tags: creature!Harry; noncon/dubcon
Summary: The old pureblood families of the wizard world up hold many traditions and one of them is the engagement season where the families with veela ascendence can match their young. Nothing that Harry should worry about, right? Wrong.
A new chapter of Fallen Leaves, a creature!verse where Harry is a banshee and Severus is a dryad. Hope you enjoy!
The bed was too warm.
Severus tossed around, irritated. No matter what, he could not find a comfortable spot. His arm stretched across the bed and found only empty space. He flipped the duvet off himself, sighing a little as the cool air kissed his skin. Faint light was streaming through the windows. Another early morning.
With a grunt, he sat up and left the comfort of his bed.
Splashing fresh spring water on his face was enough to wake him fully for the day. He was quick with his morning ablutions in the absence of any distractions. Walking back to the dresser, he ignored the bright-coloured clothing and reached straight for the midnight black robes. It took several minutes to button up and he struggled a little with the ones on his sleeves.
Breakfast was simple, just toast and honey.
The sounds of the forest accompanied the clinking of cup as he stirred a dollop of cream into his tea. The silence echoed in the large cottage.
He drained the rest of his tea, leaving only the dregs. He peered briefly into the bottom of the cup and hummed. Standing up, he brought the dishes to the sink. The tea leaves and crumbs he emptied into a little bin by the sink that would soon join the compost heap in the shed. Once had cleaned up after himself, he headed out to the garden to prepare for the coming storm.
He headed first for the treeline. The young cedar trees waved to him in greeting. Patting the trunk of the youngest among them, he conveyed his message. A wave of acknowledgement passed through him, along with a chill and a hint of a question. He shook his head and the branch overhead rustled. With one last pat, he walked towards the vegetable plot.
The carrots were coming along nicely, as were the potatoes. The lettuce still had a way to go yet and he sent a spark to help them along. The spinach beckoned him over and asked for more nitrogen. He went to fetch the fertiliser and sprinkled a spoonful of it into the soil. Its leaves brushed along his fingers in thanks.
The herb section reported nothing of note other than a potential aphid infestation in the verbena. He dealt with it quickly and looked over the affected plants. Some were drooping unhappily, prompting him to lean down. Taking a deep breath, he held it in his lungs for a good few seconds before letting it blow over the wilting leaves. He breathed the essence of life, warmth, vitality until the plants straightened, regaining their healthy glow. Leaving one last stroke along a firm stem, he ambled slowly to the border of his growing plots.
The storm was fast approaching and he needed to erect the barriers to shelter his fragile plants. First, he walked the whole border once, just taking measured breaths. The second walkaround, he murmured songs of safety and protection. The plants swayed, dancing to his tune. On the third round, he left an even trail of withered leaves in his wake, careful to lay an unbroken line along the whole of the border. These were the remains of the forebears of his young crop. Long dead, the last remaining wisps of energy they possessed would go into protecting their descendants.
This sort of magic was not something he would have thought possible. Not until he had been taught otherwise.
The ominous rumbling of thunder came just as he finished his ritual. Assured that his domain would be secure in the coming storm, he headed inside to seek his own shelter.
It was dark inside the cottage, sunlight blocked by dark thunderclouds. Feeling his way around carefully, he reached out a hand and brushed against silken soft petals. With some gentle coaxing, he tickled the bud open. A soft glow flickered in the darkness of the room. Slowly, the light from the lantern flower grew brighter in intensity. Its siblings began to wake as well, as dots of light sparked into existence. Across the room, the vines which lined the corners of the walls and the ceiling, started to light up. Eventually, the light was able to illuminate the whole cottage.
Outside, the first droplets of water had begun to fall, raining down sustenance upon the forest. He could feel his brethren rejoice, could taste the clear nectar of the skies with his roots.
Blinking, the feeling of soft, cool earth and strong winds retreated to the depths of his mind. He came back his plush sofa, the twinkling lantern flowers, the roof overhead keeping him dry.
He sighed. He was prone to losing himself in the absence of a grounding force. There was no distraction to be had, nothing he had to focus on. For lack of a better choice, he retrieved a book, something he had read before countless times. He tried to immerse himself in its pages, but he kept looking out the window, squinting for a shape in the distance.
It was perhaps hours later that he finally settled into the text, the heavy storm outside a distant cacophony.
A crackling whisper in the back of his mind had him looking up. There was a figure standing in the rain, looking up at the skies blankly.
The line of his shoulders tightened. With purposeful strides, he got to the door and swung it open. He watched the other from his position at the threshold. Slowly, their head turned to look at him. Woodenly, like they had forgotten how to move, they put one foot in front of the other, and again, until they were perched upon the doorstep.
“Harry…” Severus murmured.
He was utterly drenched. Rivulets of clear water ran down his face. Severus could not help but wonder if the water was not merely rain. Gently, he put a finger under the other’s chin and tilted it up. With great tenderness, he kissed the mixture of tears and water from closed eyes.
There was a little cupboard by the door that contained a change of clothing and a towel. After stripping Harry bare, Severus got out the towel and began to dry him. He stood passively, allowing Severus to manoeuvre him every which way. Once he was dry, Severus helped him put on a long tunic and guided him to the sofa.
When Severus tried to pull away, Harry dug his fingers in, refusing to let go. Jerking his head up, the other looked pleadingly at Severus, opening his mouth to protest. He was cut off by great, hacking coughs that wracked his whole body. The sound grated against Severus’ ears.
“Hush,” he said quietly, but firmly. With a stern look, he got Harry to relax against the cushions, which he did reluctantly. Severus was quick to retrieve the items he needed and return to Harry’s side.
Uncorking the bottle, Severus held it up to Harry’s lips. The other obediently opened his mouth to swallow every drop of the potion. He watched Harry lift a hand to massage his no doubt sore throat.
“It was a child today,” Harry said abruptly. His voice still held a hint of hoarseness, a testament to how utterly wrecked it had been before the potion.
Severus put a finger on Harry’s lips. They were dry and brittle, like the bark of a fallen tree. A single touch and they could crack and splinter. He got out the other potion he had brought with him and took a small dollop of it. Using his finger, he carefully spread the balm over every inch of Harry’s dry lips. Once he was satisfied with that, he sat down next to the other, tucking him into his side and throwing a knitted quilt over them both. He remained silent, letting Harry say his piece.
“His name was Colin. Colin Creevey. He loved drawing portraits of people, landscapes, animals, anything he thought looked cool,” Harry continued, staring idly down at the repetitive patterns of knitted wool.
Severus found his hand migrating up to Harry’s head of still slightly damp hair. He ran his fingers through it soothingly.
“I woke up this morning, before the sun even rose. I couldn’t fall back asleep. My mind was full of thoughts of a rushing river, wet mud, panicked cries. I couldn’t ignore the Call.”
Harry shivered violently, though not from the cold.
“I walked out of the cottage. I walked out the forest and followed the dirt path. A tickle started in my throat when I passed by the village. I turned into it. The farmers, those who had risen with the call of their crows, stared at me as I walked past. They shut their windows and barred their doors. My feet brought me to the other side of the village. By then, I was coughing and coughing.”
Both his hands had reached up to touch his throat, as if remembering the discomfort.
“The road led to the mountains. I trekked up the paths. They were steep and the soil was loose. I could feel water rushing in through my lungs, filling my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, yet all I wanted to do was scream.”
Harry’s breaths came ragged now, with agitation. Severus turned to pull him closer, tugging his face to rest in the crook of his shoulders, gathering his trembling body within the circle of his arms. He ignored the immediately chill the action brought him, used to it by now.
“Colin and his family had stayed out last night to watch the stars. It had been his idea, to draw the scene of a night sky to hang up over his brother’s bed. He woke up early, urged by his full bladder. The trail was dark, he picked a random direction. He walked towards the river. The glimmering light of the water captured his attention. He wanted to paint the reflection of the sunrise upon the river’s choppy surface. He walked closer still to the river’s edge. He didn’t pay attention to the wet mud beneath his feet. One misstep, a tiny slip, and he was sucked into the rapid current. His tiny, tiny lungs filled so quickly with water. I could taste the algae on the back of my tongue, feel the panic and fear. I started wailing. My cries were so loud they woke the rest of his family. They had to hike down the trail. That’s where I was, at the lake where the river fed into. There was a still body floating near the edge of the lake. Its heart had long stopped beating.”
Nothing was said for a few moments as Harry tried to collect himself.
“I stayed at the spot, screaming and screaming and screaming. His mother had been louder than even me at one point. Colin’ soul still clung to his decaying body. I couldn’t stop. I continued to moan and wail and shriek. His father shouted at me, but I didn’t stop. It took hours upon hours. His body was retrieved and brought back to the village and still I followed after, screaming. I didn’t stop until his soul had been driven away into the Ether. It was a close thing. He had almost been able to resist me, but I couldn’t let him be corrupted. When he finally slipped past the Veil, I fell silent. The villagers were looking at me with fear, they flinched back when I so much as glanced in their direction. No one spoke until I left the gates.”
It never failed to irk Severus, how the humans treated Harry. They didn’t understand. They only saw how a banshee appeared when a death occurred and thought that it was the cause. They never realised that a banshee’s cries were the only thing stopping souls from being corrupted in the mortal plane.
Still, Harry did his best for them. Screaming himself hoarse, until he coughed up blood and tore his vocal cords. Coming back from a Call devastated by an unavoidable death. Sometimes, even injured by the viciousness of mourning humans.
It was those times that Severus most wished to rain the wrath of his forest on the idiotic mortals. It was only Harry’s pleading that stayed his hand.
It was utterly ironic how the humans practically worshipped Severus when if it were not for Harry, he would never bother to extend any aid to them when they came calling. It was just so characteristic of the selfish creatures, to come begging to them for help when they needed it, only to spur and shun them once they had what they had asked for.
Severus would like to see how the dunderheads dealt with an inferi the next time someone died without the cry of a banshee to guide their soul into the Ether.
Harry would never let that happen, however. He cared too much for those puny humans.
When he came back from a Call, inevitably, Severus would need to pour healing potions down his wrecked throat. Harry was a fool, but he was Severus’ fool. He was also remarkably stubborn, though he would call it ‘resilient’.
The death of this Creevey boy would weigh on Harry, but he would get up tomorrow with a smile on his face and face the future. And when the next Call came, he would answer it with the same determination he always did.
hi hi hi! i have been looking for a fic and have asked many people about it since i haven't been able to find it, but i was wondering if you know this one. it's like soulmate/creature!harry, where harry can see magic and has to deal, along w being draco. it's a bit ooc, but its r amazing and sweet! theres a scene where harry is able to stop a bludger from hurting anyone and where he woos draco in the prefects bathroom. if you can't find it, its fine, but i'd appreciate your help! have a good day
Hi hi hi yourself! So, I feel like I probably have the wrong fic, but Part 5 of The Corruption Sequence by beren includes Harry stopping a bludger from hitting Draco. And Harry is this insane-combination-of-dark-creatures with lots of very Dark powers. But I don’t remember him seeing magic, and I don’t think he ever wooed Draco in the prefect’s bathroom? I could be wrong though?
If this isn’t it, then I’m afraid I can’t help? Anyone else have an inkling?
Summary: Harry gets a unique opportunity to get to know Severus Snape. Who knew Snape would turn out to be a cat person? 8th year at Hogwarts, Snape!lives, animagus fic, rated M for later scenes of slash.
Warnings: None.
Themes: Understanding. Creature!Harry.
Genre: Romance. Fluff. LOTS OF IT.
Narrative: There is something that the author uses to make this otherwise cliché story to have a lot of heart. There are certain things that are glossed over, where I found myself thinking “Oh come on, this is too sudden I need some background info”. Then the more I read, the more I got the pace and the overall feeling of the story; understood I was expecting something that wasn’t going to be in the story, and that I had to pay attention in a different way. It’s, with the utmost respect, a quite simplistic story. It’s not complex and it doesn’t pretend to be, but that’s what makes it really special. Instead it wants to show you something else. Something more precious, that may or may not get in the way of your headcanons, but that I ultimately think is worth the read.
Brief Character Breakdown: The most noted changes are in Severus Snape. He is not mellow, sweet, nice or amicable, but there is certainly something softer about him. Something not quite so jaded and despairing. He is, for lack of a better word, “chill”, in a more private setting, which is what Harry gets to see. I like that duality. Harry is a little more playful than usual. Canon!Harry is delightfully sarcastic and caustic too, and I think that many fic authors sometimes don’t exploit that, and I always make notice of it when it doesn’t happen, but when I read this, I feel like the author replaced that dry, sarcastic wit with something else. Something that I think I can appreciate well. Harry is so playful here, lovely as always, and well meaning and also a little bit of a well-meaning but inconsiderate klutz, which I love about canon and fanon Harry.
My Opinion: Highly recommend it. The author is also a master at navigating UST. The fic is not exactly slow-burn but it makes you feel that way. There is a lot of flirting, which I think it’s an underused resource in fan fic. It’s also really sweet and fluffy. Not exactly something you can expect from a Snarry that takes itself seriously, but I mean cats just work magic so....
The duality of Snape’s persona in public and private, and the duality of his feelings for Harry in public and private is D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S.
for @hdcandyheartsfest 's prompt: Pillow
rated: G
CW: Werewolf Harry
He was stretched out across the couch, his face buried against the pillow. It was lumpy and misshapen, but it was all he could find. His muscles ached and his skin stung with the approaching moon. He could feel his body getting ready to change, as it always did around this time. Every week before the full moon, his bones would start to ache and fatigue would settle in, rendering him practically useless, as the pain only increased with the passing days. And now, the day before his transformation, he couldn’t even lift an arm without feeling as if he were tearing his muscles apart.
The blanket that was wrapped around him was light, and not nearly long enough, as his toes stuck out the other side. He was cold and miserable, and he wished Draco would hurry up and come home. He was supposed to be getting groceries, but he sort of hoped he’d just skip that and come straight back. They didn’t need to eat, right?
He burrowed deeper into the pillow, letting out a grumble, as he attempted to get some sleep, knowing he was going to need it. But his eyelids were sore, and he was far too painful to even hope to sleep.
After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened and Draco stepped inside, a row of grocery bags floating in after him, which were sent to their proper places with a flick of his wand. Harry watched him, trying not to look too impatient, while he silently willed him to come over and make him feel better.
Draco finally spotted him, his face softening. “Not feeling well, Love?”
He let out a muffled grumble, his face still smashed against the sorry excuse for a pillow.
Once he had crossed the den, Draco knelt down beside him, running a finger over his forehead and tucking a stray curl back into place. “Wouldn’t you be more comfy in bed?”
“I don’t wanna move.” He whined, knowing he sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t care, as he was sore and tired and didn’t think he’d even be able to stand without falling over.
Draco smiled and bent down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his cheek. “Okay. Can I get you a warmer blanket?”
He nodded, although the movement sent sparks of pain through his neck. “And a better pillow?”
“And a better pillow.” Getting back up, Draco placed a hand against his shoulder, before he pulled away to go and look for his blanket and pillow.
It didn’t take very long, before Draco returned with both. Once the pillows had been carefully switched out, and he was swaddled in his new blanket, Draco sat back down beside him. He glanced over at him, his eyes already growing heavy from exhaustion. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Love.” Draco placed his hand against his cheek, rubbing small circles over his skin. “Do you want a massage?”
He could feel his cheeks growing warm, so he turned his head, until it was hidden from view, and he was starting to suffocate against the pillow. “Yeah.”
“Okay. You just had to ask.” He could hear Draco shifting, as he moved closer and began to drift his hands around his shoulders, pressing against his sore muscles.
Draco was always incredibly gentle with him, somehow knowing exactly where to rub and how much pressure to apply, so he wouldn’t agitate his body more. It was something Draco always did for him before every full moon. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through them without it, as it was the only thing that cut through the constant pain. His hands were warm and helped to release the growing tension inside of him, as he worked his way over his back, avoiding any spots that were too tender to touch. Draco could always tell where the terribly sore spots were, even if he had no idea how. Maybe, he could feel the tension growing in his back. Or maybe, he was just magic.
All he knew was that it felt good, and it helped to distract him from the pain and discomfort. His breathing slowed, as he let himself relax, thoroughly enjoying the warmth that spread through his skin with every touch of Draco’s hand. Lips brushed against the back of his neck, sending tingles down his spine and eradicating any of the soreness that had been lingering there.
He tilted his head, so he could look up at Draco. “Thank you.”
Draco just smiled. “It’s okay. I like being able to help.”
for @hdcandyheartsfest 's prompt: Love Language
rated: G
CW: Vampire Harry
read the sequel here
He was slumped back against the couch, bathed in moonlight, as he finished knitting the pair of gloves he had been working on. They were a bit misshapen and lumpy, but he thought they were an improvement from his first attempt, even if Draco still regularly wore them. It was one of the reasons he felt compelled to continue with his knitting, as Draco seemed to enjoy the scarves, hats, and mittens that he made him. The smile on Draco’s face was all of the payment he ever needed, it made all of the discarded attempts entirely worth it.
Besides, he’d read all of the books in the house three times over, and he was running out of things to do during the night. The least he could do was make gifts for Draco, as the other man always made sure to tell him how wonderful he was and never hesitated to cheer him up when he was feeling sad. It was a constant that Draco would be there for him, no matter the reason, regardless of what he was. Draco was the only one who knew, and sometimes the constant pretending wore on his nerves, as he always had to be on guard, making sure he didn’t move too fast, making sure he didn’t forget to breathe, or making sure that he didn’t lift something that should have been too heavy for him.
He’d gotten better at it over the years, but it was still a constant stress. One slip up, and it’d all be over. But Draco knew, and he didn’t care. He loved him anyway, and it made him feel just a little bit less horrible.
But it wasn’t just Draco’s kind words that helped him to get through the never ending days, Draco also never hesitated to hold him. He still couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand why he would want to touch him, but he did, and it made him feel whole and complete again, as complete as he could ever remember feeling, maybe more so.
He tucked the finished gloves away, planning to give them to Draco in the morning. Now with nothing left to do, he began to clean up the kitchen, trying to find any idle task to pass the time with. The floorboards from across the hall creaked, and he paused, to find Draco shuffling towards him, his eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What’re you doing?” Draco mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Cleaning.” He put everything back, not wanting to leave the kitchen in more of a mess than when he’d found it. “Can’t sleep?”
Draco shook his head. “No. Well, I was, but I woke up.”
He nodded, he knew Draco had been fast asleep when he’d left him to work on his gift. “I’ll lay with you.”
“I know it’s boring for you.” Draco crossed the distance, resting his head against his chest, as he let all of his weight press against him.
“It’s not, and even if it was, it helps you sleep. So, I wouldn’t mind.” He placed a hand over his back, giving it a gentle pat. “Come on. Let’s lay down.”
Draco let out a sleepy mumble, before he nodded and started to make his way back to their bedroom, their fingers still intertwined. The room was completely dark, as the windows were drawn, since Draco couldn’t sleep if any light came in. Draco flopped back on to the bed and curled up under the covers, waiting for him to join him.
He laid down beside him, feeling Draco rest his head against his shoulder, as he rolled onto his side and clung to him. Wrapping an arm around him, he pulled him closer and relaxed against him, enjoying the warmth Draco provided. He ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, as he knew that it helped him to fall asleep, and he seemed to enjoy it if his content smile was anything to go by.
“Goodnight.”
Draco’s smile grew. “Night.”
