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When Harry steps out of the fireplace, brushing Floo powder off his Auror uniform, he freezes in his tracks. Draco is sleeping on the sofa, his blond head visible beneath one of Molly’s quilts that she had gifted them when they had first moved in together. On the table in front of him is an empty bottle of wine and a book is splayed upside-down on the floor - one that Draco must have been reading before he had fallen asleep. A whispered Lumos reveals their family clock, another gift from the Weasleys, cradled protectively against Draco’s chest.
Harry doesn’t have to come closer to know that both clock hands are now at Home. Until recently, Harry’s clock hand had been at Undisclosed Location for more than a month, ever since the war’s tenth year anniversary. The undercover Auror mission had taken longer than expected, and during that time Harry couldn’t owl or communicate with anyone.
Harry loves being an Auror, but it has its drawbacks. His memories of Draco had to suffice during the last ten years of lonely nights he had spent in dingy safe houses, of terrible meals where even the scraps the Dursleys had fed him were marginally better, and trying to survive as he chased criminals whilst being hexed within an inch of his life.
His latest mission involving a group of Aurors searching through Albania for rogue neo-Death Eaters had been one of the toughest cases yet. Whenever Harry had to cast a Patronus, he had thought of the last time he had seen Draco. Draco had pushed him against their home’s front door, alternating between kissing him and casting all the protective spells he knew to keep Harry safe and return him home.
Draco’s magic had worked. Harry is home now.
Harry gently removes the clock and sends it back on the wall with a flick of his wand. Draco is frowning in his sleep, lips pressed in a thin line, and a muscle twitches in his neck, a sure sign that his dreams are troubling him.
This isn’t the first time Harry has found Draco sleeping this way. Harry hates the stress the undercover missions causes his husband and he aches to smooth out the lines on Draco’s forehead. If he were awake, Draco would never state that he is unhappy with Harry’s job, because he knows how much Harry enjoys being an Auror. At least he isn’t crying in his sleep this time.
Cradling an arm around Draco’s neck and placing the other arm underneath his knees, Harry lifts Draco’s warm body against his and makes the journey back to their bedroom. Draco’s hair tickles Harry’s nose and instead of Draco’s usual citrus and vanilla shampoo, Harry smells the woodsy shampoo he himself favours. He falters in his steps, which causes Draco’s head to roll away from his chest.
Immediately Draco’s arms and legs start flailing, trying to escape the confines of Harry’s arms. “Stop! Let me go!” Draco cries out, twisting like a wild animal. “Protego!” he cries out, even though he has no wand. “Protego!”
There are not many things that terrify Harry, but seeing Draco act like he’s being attacked and helpless to defend himself is one of them. “Draco! It’s me, Harry! You’re safe now,” he repeats over and over.
Draco stills. “Harry?” he whispers. His names sounds like a sob on Draco’s lips. “Is it really you?” He blinks his eyes open slowly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes and failing. It doesn’t stop him from trying to kiss Harry, missing his lips entirely and catching the edge of his jaw.
“Shh, I’m here now, you’re okay,” Harry says, tightening his hold on Draco and walking faster to their bedroom. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“It’s too big without you next to me,” Draco mumbles against Harry’s neck, the rest of his body trembling in his embrace. “I didn’t want to be alone. You were gone for so long I thought you were going to miss my birthday this year.”
Harry’s heart beats wildly and guilt spreads throughout his body. Draco has never mentioned this out loud, but perhaps the wine has loosened his tongue tonight, almost as if he has swallowed Veritaserum.
“Why were you holding the family clock?” Harry asks.
“I thought it was broken and I was trying to fix it. Your clock hand has been in the same place for far too long, never moving,” Draco says. He yawns, the warm air tickling Harry’s skin. “It’s okay. As long as you aren’t in mortal peril, it’s fine. You love your job. Just come home each time… I will deal with it.”
Harry thinks about Draco’s words all the way to their bedroom. Like Draco had said, their bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in a while. Harry wandlessly pulls the duvet down and gently lays Draco down on the silk sheets. He protests when Harry lets go, an anguished look on his face.
“Please don’t leave me again,” Draco says, struggling to sit up.
“I won’t, Draco. I just want to change out of this uniform,” Harry says. Harry quickly strips down and changes into joggers and threadbare Holyhead Harpies tshirt and settles down on his back, pulling the duvet over both of them.
Draco immediately settles down at Harry’s side, placing his head directly over Harry’s heart. “Promise me you’re not a dream and you’ll still be here in the morning.” His words come out low and unsure, yet seem loud in the silent room.
Harry tightens his hold on Draco and kisses the top of his head. “I promise. Now got to sleep, Draco. I love you.”
Draco manages to say “I love you, too” before his body relaxes and he falls back to sleep.
Harry strokes Draco’s hair as he thinks about why Draco is more vulnerable than usual. Perhaps it’s because it’s so close to the war’s anniversary that Draco feels this way, but Harry thinks that something needs to change if this is the way his husband reacts to his prolonged absence.
Unbidden, Ron’s words the day he had told Harry he was retiring from the Auror force come to mind. “I don’t know, Harry,” he had said, rubbing the back of his neck, “there are always going to be criminals in the world, there’s no denying that. But do I really want to keep doing this for the rest of my life, when I’ve already spent so much of it fighting? I have Hermione and my children, the people whom I love most in the world and bring me peace, waiting for me at home. I’d be a fool to give that up.”
When he was younger and stuck with the Dursleys, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened. Until he was eleven and he had discovered magic, had found his best friends, and had found the Weasleys, who took him in and loved an orphaned boy as one of their own. Even after the war, when he had already lost so many friends and family, he had been fortunate to find Draco and fall in love with him.
One thing he knows for certain: he loves Draco more than anything else in the word. To give up something for him would not be such a hardship, not if it brought them peace of mind and happiness.
Sleep does not come easy for Harry that night, but by sunrise the next morning, he has made a decision.