Pink and orange hearts

As the faint blue light of dawn barely teased the edges of the tent, Harry was already awake, fidgeting with excitement. They were far from the usual hustle of London, deep in a secluded forest with no prying eyes, no flashing cameras, just the whisper of leaves rustling outside. This was precisely why Harry had suggested they go camping in the first place: a bit of privacy away from it all.

Glancing at Rabastan, who was still snoring softly, his face pressed into the pillow in a way that left his hair adorably tousled, Harry felt a small surge of determination. It wasn’t every day they got a sunrise like this, and he was determined not to let Rabastan sleep through it.

He leaned over and nudged Rabastan gently. "Rabastan... Rabastan, come on. You’ve got to get up."

A grumble was all he received. Rabastan shifted slightly, pulling his sleeping bag tighter around him, his face barely visible beneath the fabric. "It's... still dark, Harry," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Harry chuckled and nudged him again. “I know, but that’s the point! We need to be up before dawn if we’re going to make it to the top of the hill. Come on, it’ll be worth it!”

Rabastan’s answer was to bury himself deeper in his sleeping bag. “Harry, you do realise most people camp to relax, not to get dragged up a hill at ridiculous hours, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry leaned in close. “But that’s the magic of it, Rabastan! Just imagine it: no paparazzi, no nosy onlookers, just you, me, and the sunrise.”

Another grumble, louder this time. “Harry, if you love the sunrise so much, you can enjoy it. I'll appreciate it later, from here. In my tent. Asleep.”

But Harry was undeterred. He tugged at Rabastan’s sleeping bag until Rabastan finally opened one reluctant eye, fixing him with a sleepy, yet withering, glare. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Rabastan sighed.

“Not a chance,” Harry replied, grinning as he pulled Rabastan to sit up.

Groaning, Rabastan dragged himself out of the warmth of his sleeping bag and into the chilly pre-dawn air. “Fine. But if I fall asleep on this hike, I’m holding you responsible,” he muttered, reluctantly pulling on his cloak and boots.

Harry grinned wider and offered Rabastan a thermos. “That’s what the tea’s for,” he said cheerfully, pouring him a steaming cup. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

They set off together through the woods, their breath forming small clouds in the cold air. Harry’s enthusiasm was practically palpable, as he kept sneaking glances back to make sure Rabastan was still with him. Rabastan, still grumbling about “ridiculous Gryffindor ideas,” trudged beside him, though every now and then Harry noticed the way he looked around at the soft glow breaking through the branches and couldn’t help but smile.

As they approached the top of the hill, the first hints of dawn began to show. They reached the summit just as the first rays broke through the trees, flooding the clearing in a gentle, ethereal light.

Harry and Rabastan settled onto a blanket that Harry had carried up and laid out, the world around them feeling suspended in time, as if the very forest held its breath, waiting for the day to be born. The eastern horizon slowly lit up like a canvas being painted in the deepest shades of indigo, touched by faint hints of lavender where night surrendered to the soft beginnings of dawn. Stars still glistened above them, their delicate silver fading in the face of what was to come.

Slowly, the first strokes of gold broke through the line of trees, threading the sky with veins of warm light that unfurled like silk ribbons across the horizon. Hints of pink bloomed softly, as though brushed on by an artist’s hand, mixing with the gentle blues that lingered in the sky. Oranges burned in the sky. With each passing moment, the colours deepened, layering like watercolours on a page. The pale lavender morphed to a rich violet, then to fiery orange, setting the clouds alight like embers scattered across the heavens.

Rabastan’s breath caught as the sun began to crest over the edge, spilling light like liquid gold over the landscape. The golden glow poured down the hillside, illuminating each leaf, each blade of grass, making the morning dew shimmer like tiny jewels in the first touch of sunlight. The trees, tall and ancient, seemed to lean toward the light, their branches glistening in a warm, amber haze.

Harry watched Rabastan’s expression soften in the warm light, captivated by the sight of dawn reflected in his eyes. A faint smile touched Rabastan’s lips as he stared out over the world awakening before them. “It’s like… magic,” Rabastan murmured, almost in awe.

“Isn’t it?” Harry whispered back, his own gaze drifting back to the sky, where soft swirls of coral and pink spread through the clouds like feathers. The colours were radiant, otherworldly, as though the universe itself had been transformed in that one perfect moment, filled with hues beyond anything they could capture in spells or potions.

The light reached them in full now, a cascade of warm gold drenching them, making everything—their clasped hands, the earthy smell of pine around them, the damp grass under their feet—feel wrapped in something timeless, precious. Sunlight cast their shadows long over the hilltop, and every sound around them, from the rustle of leaves to the distant calls of birds stirring to life, seemed infused with an ancient, peaceful magic.

Rabastan turned to Harry, the dawn’s brilliance reflected in his gaze. “All right,” he murmured, voice softer than the morning breeze. “I suppose I’ll forgive you for waking me up.”

Harry laughed, leaning his head against Rabastan’s. “Good, because it’s still my favourite sunrise. And, if I’m honest, I think it’s only because I’m here with you.”

They sat in silence, bathed in the sunrise, words unnecessary as the day dawned around them, carrying their moment forward like a soft, golden spell.

The scene unfolding before them was nothing short of breathtaking. The sky was a shifting canvas, every moment revealing new hues and deeper shades of orange and gold and to the bright blue of a new day that was slowly creeping towards them. The trees were bathed in a warm, rosy glow, casting long shadows over the dew-kissed grass and the warmth of the morning sun was keeping them both toasty as they sat together and took everything in.

Harry grinned, his heart swelling at Rabastan’s awestruck expression that the dark skinned man couldn't seem to shake. He squeezed Rabastan’s hand, their fingers entwined naturally as they sat side by side, watching the dawn unfold.

Rabastan’s eyes softened as he looked at Harry, his earlier reluctance long forgotten. “It’s beautiful, Harry,” he murmured, his thumb gently stroking Harry’s hand. “But… you know I didn’t need a sunrise to be happy here. You’d be worth getting up at any hour for. Any time spent with you is magical.”

Feeling his cheeks warm, Harry turned back to the horizon, hiding a smile. The sun climbed higher, bathing them in a soft, golden light. For that brief, perfect moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet magic of the dawn.