Work Text:
Harry leisurely stretched out his limbs, sighing blissfully under rays of honey-coloured morning sun, a gentle Spring breeze blowing through the window. He loved the slowness of mornings. He loved lying still and watching as the sun rose higher, without a care in the world.
When he was small he didn’t get lie-ins. Vernon or Petunia would bang on his cupboard door at the first sign of light, often even earlier, and he would wearily get to work, scrubbing and wiping and dusting until his back ached and his fingers bled. Lie-ins were for cherished children. Harry didn’t like to dwell on that too much.
He distracted himself from those thoughts by gently rolling over to watch his lover sleep on peacefully. Draco always had lie-ins, and had never been a morning person. In the daylight Draco’s expressions were carefully constructed masks, the product of a childhood spent being groomed for political greatness, and he only slipped up around those he truly cared for. In sleep however his face lost its mask, his features became slack, and it softened him into the Draco Harry had fallen in love with. And Harry knew when he was having pleasant dreams, because the corners of his mouth would twitch upwards. Sometimes he would mumble whilst dreaming, odd words and phrases that didn't make sense to Harry, and he had given up asking, because Draco would turn a shade of pink and refuse to tell.
Harry traced his fingers over the thin white scar that crossed the bridge of Draco’s nose and continued down his cheek, until it ended under his jaw. Draco twitched minutely. It would take more than a feather-light touch to bring him to full wakefulness.
At times like this, in the quiet stillness of the morning, Harry sometimes wondered what he and Draco could have been at Hogwarts. They had had messy fumblings in dirty nightclub toilets, or in hastily charmed back alleys, but Harry wondered if they would have what they have now if he had been snogging him in the alcoves in the around the castle, or under the cloak in the boy’s dorm.
But then Harry wouldn’t want that, not really. They had a history, and he wanted to keep that, even the ugly parts. It defined them, and if they didn’t have that, then who would they be now? Would they share a gentleness between them like they did now, if Hogwarts had been different?
Harry liked slow mornings, because it gave him time to let his mind wander on things such as this. He brushed a strand of white-blond hair from Draco’s face. He had stopped slicking it back after he left Hogwarts, and when Harry first saw him again he had grown it to his shoulders. It should have made him look like Lucius, he had the same nose and jaw, but then Draco would laugh, or he would smile openly in a way Lucius never had and Harry wouldn’t be able to see the comparison.
Harry wasn’t sure whether they would have ended up like this if it wasn't for their explosive history that had ended up drawing them together, and he wouldn’t want to risk losing what they had become.
Draco made a small noise in his sleep, and he unconsciously leaned into Harry’s touch. Harry felt warm at the sight. It was still early, Draco would still sleep for some time. Harry could enjoy the sight more, like he had countless times before.
Or maybe not, as only a few seconds later a tawny owl flew through the open window and landed on the end of their bed. The owl strutted up the bed towards Harry (Harry didn’t know that owls could strut), and deposited its letter in Harry’s hand. Harry ran his fingers over the bumps in the waxed Ministry seal. He should open it there and then, his slow morning was over now, but he wanted to hang onto it a bit longer.
The owl must have been easily bored, for as Harry was contemplating this it decided to climb onto Draco’s shoulder and peck him. Harry tried to shoo him off as Draco groaned. He sat up, the sheets falling down his chest and exposing more scarred alabaster skin, took one look at the owl and flopped back down.
“Who the fuck is sending us the post at the arse-crack of dawn?” His voice was rough from sleep, and he pulled the sheet over his head as the owl began to attempt to peck a hole in the fabric.
Harry chuckled. “Ministry. Some bullshit probably.”
Draco groaned again. It was a common sound for him to make in the morning. “Tell it to fuck off already. It’s ruining my lie-in.”
“Your beauty sleep, you mean.” Harry said as he shooed the owl to the window. It seemed to glare at him, before turning its head the entire way round and flying off.
“Mm, exactly. So come here.” Draco held the sheet open for him, and Harry curled back into the cocoon of warmth. Draco was usually always cold, but in the mornings he ran hot. Draco curled his arms around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry tucked himself into a ball and let Draco latch onto him. Draco would never admit it, and Harry would never tell his secret, but Draco was a cuddle-monster, and Harry loved the feeling of being wrapped up in someone else, it made him feel safe and loved.
“What are you thinking about?” Draco mumbled after a few minutes.
“Nothing.”
“No, you’re thinking about something. That doesn’t happen often, I’ll have to write it in my diary as soon as I can.”
“Oh, often write about boys in your diary?” Harry teased.
Draco snorted.
“I used to write about you all the time. But really, what’s on your mind?”
Harry moved his shoulders in an attempt at a shrug. “Just you and me, really. How much I love you.”
Harry didn’t need to see Draco’s face to know he was blushing a deep red. To Draco, raised in a world of stiff upper lips, casual confessions of love were not something that was normal. But Harry had been raised without love, and he wanted to spread his own as much as he could.
“I love you too,” Draco whispered after a moment. Harry glanced up to his face; Draco’s cheeks were pink as he expected, and his eyes had drifted shut. He had a small smile on his face.
Harry laid there awake, enclosed in Draco’s arms. Outside the open window the sun rose higher, and he paid it no heed. The Ministry letter lay forgotten on the floor next to the bed, where it would stay until the afternoon. Draco mumbled something in his sleep, and Harry saw his lips twitch. He was content, all was well.
Harry loved mornings.