Chapter 4
Draco wasn’t a morning person. Harry learned this the hard way during their first few months of sharing a dorm as an official couple. The blond would cocoon himself in the covers, groaning dramatically whenever Harry tried to wake him up.
“Draco, we’re going to miss breakfast,” Harry said one morning, gently nudging him.
“Breakfast is overrated,” Draco mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Draco…”
“Five more minutes, Potter. Or I’ll hex you.”
Smiling, Harry leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s temple. “You said that yesterday.”
“And I meant it,” Draco said, though the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
Draco eventually got up, dragging himself out of bed with dramatic sighs about how much he was “suffering” while Harry handed him a cup of tea. “You’re lucky I love you,” Draco muttered, sipping the tea with half-lidded eyes.
“I know,” Harry said, beaming.
Harry quickly discovered that Draco liked to work in silence but couldn’t stand sitting alone. The solution? Harry would sit beside him in the library, reading or doodling in his notebook while Draco meticulously wrote essays or reviewed his potions notes.
One evening, after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice, Harry had dozed off, his head resting on Draco’s shoulder. At first, Draco tried to keep working, but eventually, he gave in. He adjusted his posture to make Harry more comfortable, his hand idly brushing through Harry’s messy black hair as he continued reading.
When Hermione walked by and spotted them, she didn’t say anything—she just smiled softly and left them alone.
One winter afternoon, Hogwarts was blanketed in a thick layer of snow. Harry convinced Draco to join him outside, despite Draco’s insistence that snow was "cold, wet, and thoroughly unpleasant.”
“It’s fun, I promise!” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s gloved hand.
Draco raised an eyebrow but followed anyway, rolling his eyes as Harry tried to build a snowman.
When Draco’s snowball hit Harry squarely in the back, Harry whipped around, grinning. “Oh, you’re in trouble now!”
“What are you going to do, Potter?” Draco taunted, smirking.
Harry responded by tackling Draco into the snow, both of them laughing as they rolled around like children. When they finally stopped, Harry was lying on top of Draco, their faces inches apart. Draco’s cheeks were pink from the cold, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You’re ridiculous,” Draco murmured, but there was no heat in his voice.
“And you’re beautiful,” Harry replied softly, brushing snow out of Draco’s hair before leaning in to kiss him.
One weekend, Harry decided they should try baking cookies together in the Hogwarts kitchens. Draco was skeptical, having never baked anything in his life, but Harry’s enthusiasm was contagious.
It was a disaster. Draco accidentally added salt instead of sugar, Harry spilled flour everywhere, and they both ended up covered in dough after a particularly messy attempt to roll it out.
“This is why we have house-elves,” Draco grumbled, though he was laughing as Harry smeared a bit of chocolate on his nose.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry said, grinning.
By the time the cookies came out of the oven, slightly burnt and misshapen, they were both doubled over with laughter. Draco still declared them “acceptable” after Harry fed him one, though Harry caught him sneaking another when he thought no one was looking.
One of their favorite places to spend time together was by the Black Lake at night. They’d sit on a blanket under the stars, Harry pointing out constellations while Draco pretended not to care—though he secretly loved listening to Harry’s voice.
“See that one?” Harry said, pointing at a cluster of stars. “That’s Orion.”
“Fascinating,” Draco drawled, though he leaned closer to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for hours, Draco occasionally humming in contentment as Harry absentmindedly played with his hair. The world felt smaller, quieter, and safer when they were together, and neither of them wanted the night to end.
On nights when the world felt too heavy, they found comfort in each other. Draco often had trouble falling asleep, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t always share. Harry would wrap his arms around him, whispering soft reassurances until Draco’s breathing evened out.
One night, as Harry lay on his back and Draco rested his head on Harry’s chest, he heard Draco mumble, “You’re too good to me.”
Harry smiled, running his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Not true. You deserve this, Draco. You deserve everything.”
Draco didn’t respond, but he tightened his grip on Harry, his way of saying he believed him—even if just a little.