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“Hey there, love,” Draco said, sitting down on the couch beside the fluffy black kitten that was looking at him with wide eyes. “Want some pats?”
Harry stood—stretched—and made his careful way to Draco’s lap, pawing hesitantly at his thigh, then hopping onto his legs and curling back into a hairy ball. With a fingertip, Draco scratched the area between his ears, smiling to himself at the softness of Harry’s fur. Harry closed his eyes and started to purr, a low sound that Draco could feel more than hear.
As Harry’s breaths turned even, his tiny body rising and falling under the cup of Draco’s hand, Draco looked around their living room. Harry had lit a fire on the hearth the Muggle way, as was clear from the box of matches sitting on the coffee table and the remains of some the twigs that were still burning underneath the logs. Draco scratched the space between Harry’s shoulder blades, wondering what could’ve troubled Harry enough to need to strain himself physically instead of casting a spell. To need to turn into his Animagus self, something he only did when he was up to no good or when his feelings were too overwhelming in his human form.
He’d find out eventually, if Harry wanted him to. For now, Draco looked back down at the kitten in his lap, fast asleep, tail curled around his body and paw poking out from under his chin, and murmured, “I love you.” And added, for good measure, “So much.”