old man drarry drabble | married drarry | rating t | wc 600
Draco sat on the counter, barefoot, wearing one of Harry’s old shirts that had faded to a soft gray. The hem brushed his thighs as he swung his legs, idly flicking his wand to make the salt shaker dance along the tiles.
“Don’t you dare,” Harry said without looking up, wrist steady as he whisked the eggs.
“I wasn’t going to.” Draco smirked. “Though it’s a tragedy you insist on doing this by hand. There’s a spell for perfectly whipped eggs, you know.”
“There’s a spell for everything. This way feels better.”
“Primitive,” Draco said, leaning back on his palms. “Endearing, but primitive.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder. “You didn’t complain when I made you breakfast last week.”
“That’s because you made pancakes,” Draco said, nose wrinkling in mock disdain. “And I was being polite. Besides, you were shirtless.”
Harry grinned. “So it wasn’t the pancakes, then.”
Draco hummed, eyes warm. “No. Though they were tolerable.”
The kitchen smelled like toast and butter, and the faint, earthy scent of tea leaves steeping. Morning sunlight spilled through the window, catching on the faint silver in Draco’s hair. He caught Harry staring.
“What?” Draco asked, tone softer now.
“Nothing,” Harry said, voice roughened by sleep. “You just look... nice.”
“Old, you mean.” Draco’s lips quirked, but there was no bite in it.
Harry set the whisk down and turned to him, moving between Draco’s knees. “No. I mean you look like someone I get to wake up next to.”
Draco’s breath caught, and for a second, he forgot the teasing retort waiting on his tongue. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over the scar that crossed Harry’s cheek. “Still sentimental, Potter.”
Harry leaned forward, kissed him. It was slow, familiar. The kind of kiss built over years, layered with quiet mornings and shared silences.
When they parted, Draco tapped the side of Harry’s face lightly. “Your eggs are burning.”
Harry swore and turned back to the stove. Draco laughed, low and genuine, and hopped off the counter to rescue the toast before it met the same fate.
They moved around each other easily, like they had done this hundreds of times. Because they had.
Draco buttered the toast while Harry poured tea. Harry handed him a plate, eyes still crinkled from the laughter.
“See?” Harry said, sliding a serving of eggs next to the toast. “Perfectly edible.”
Draco inspected it as if it were a potion gone wrong. “We’ll see.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Draco sat down, cutting into the eggs. “I’m aware,” he said, voice full of mock gravity. “Truly, a daily miracle.”
But when he tasted them, his expression softened. “All right. Not bad.”
Harry sat beside him, shoulder brushing his. “Tolerable?”
Draco looked at him for a long moment, then smiled, small and real. “Better than tolerable.”
Outside, the kettle clicked off. Inside, Harry reached for Draco’s hand. Neither said anything for a while. The quiet was the kind that settled in, warm and easy.
Domestic. Ordinary. The kind of magic they’d stopped looking for and found anyway.
