Work Text:
“Tell me about this one,” Draco murmured into Harry’s cooling skin. He brushed his lips lightly over the scar in question on Harry’s clavicle.
Harry hummed softly and Circe Draco loved him like this; soft, and sated, and content. He wanted to scoop him up and hide him away inside of his own body for safe keeping.
“Mmmh,” he said, reaching up and nudging Draco’s lips aside so he could feel the scar, “That’s a sad one, actually,” he murmured. “I got that from a teenager, he was afraid and desperate. We caught him trying to steal something so that he could pawn it to get the money he needed to leave. He grew up with a bad family,” Harry added. “When he saw us he panicked, didn’t even think to use magic, he just threw the first thing he could grab at me and that happened to be a glass jar.”
“What happened to him?” Draco asked, pressing a kiss to the line of the scar.
“Officially? Nothing ever happened. Unofficially, Ron and I made him put the stuff back, I gave him some money to get out of town and make a fresh start and that was it.”
Draco smiled, heart melting inside of his chest. He ought to be used to it by now, the way that Harry was better than any human had the right to be, but he wasn’t.
Harry wore his scars the way some people wore tattoos, to remind him of important things, to remind him of lessons learned, and victories won. So Draco asked him about another.
“What about this one?” he asked, brushing his lips over Harry’s shoulder where a long slash had turned his skin pale.
“That one was from a very bad wizard,” Harry replied as he stroked the tips of his fingers along the arm that Draco had draped across his chest. “Nasty slashing curse meant to decapitate me.”
“What happened to him?” Draco asked.
“He went to prison,” Harry replied, pressing a kiss to Draco’s forehead.
“Tell me this one again,” he whispered, trailing his fingers over the circle on his chest.
He could practically hear Harry roll his eyes, “That was the horocrux, it tried to drown me and Ron rescued me.”
Draco huffed but moved on, he slid his leg between Harry’s, rubbing his shin over Harry’s calf. He sat up a bit and gently ran his finger along Harry’s right eyebrow where the hair was thinner. “What about this one?”
“I don’t like that one,” Harry whispered.
He pressed a little kiss to the scar, “you don’t have to tell me.”
“I got it when I was six,” he murmured.
Draco froze for a heart beat, Harry didn’t talk about his childhood very often. “You don’t have to-”
“Dudley shoved me down the stairs,” the other man continued. “My eyebrow and lip were split and bleeding and when I told my aunt, she said I was a lying, ungrateful child and put me in my cupboard with a rag to stop the bleeding.”
He pressed his lips to the scar once more, wishing he could heal, wishing he could take away the past.
“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” Harry whispered softly, turning his head and tilting it up to catch Draco’s lips with his.
“What happened to them?” Draco asked when Harry pulled back.
“Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “They moved during the war and didn’t tell me where. It was safer for them,” he added. “Not that I was desperate to ever see them again anyway.”
Draco stroked his curls back out of his face and Harry’s eyes drifted shut at the contact. He let out a soft sigh of contentment. I love you Draco thought. He said, “If you want them dead just say the word.”
Harry laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You love it when I’m ridiculous,” he teased.
“Godric help me, I do,” the other man replied, words genuine in a way that felt like they were wrapping right around Draco’s heart.
He slid his fingers down Harry’s arm until he reached the long scar on the outside of his forearm. Draco brushed his fingers over it and watched as Harry’s lips tilted up at the memory. “Tell me about this one.”
Harry chuckled under his breath, “That one,” he said, “I got one night when I was minding my own business and just trying to make it home. There I was, walking down the sidewalk, when I saw a devastatingly handsome blond trying to step off the sidewalk, into the street, in front of a bicyclist.”
“Devastatingly handsome, hmm?”
“Shh,” Harry chastised, “Without a second thought I valiantly jumped between the man and the bicycle, stopping the bike with my arm and gaining a rather horrific gash.”
“What happened next?” Draco murmured, brushing his nose along Harry’s cheekbone.
He could feel Harry smiling, “Well the devastatingly handsome blond also happened to be a brilliant mediwizard and he insisted on taking me to his flat a few blocks away to patch up my arm.”
“That was very thoughtful of him,” Draco replied, mock seriously.
“It was,” Harry agreed. “And then he further insisted on ordering dinner, opening a bottle of wine, and spending the night talking and laughing. We stayed up until the sun was peaking through the windows of his flat.”
“He sounds rather charming.”
“He is,” Harry assured. “Very charming, very handsome, very lovely. Nearly perfect in every way.”
“Nearly?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised at the other man.
“Yeah, it’s just the matter of his name.”
“My name? Potter-”
“That’s just it,” Harry said, opening his shining green eyes, “I would very much like to change his name to Potter. Or at the very least add Potter to it.”
“What?”
Harry brushed his fingers along Draco’s cheek, “If he’ll have me, of course.”
“What?” he asked again. Then shook his head, “What?”
“Stop saying what like that!” Harry protested with a chuckle. “It doesn’t have to be right now or ever, but,” he shrugged, “You’re it for me, Draco.”
“What?” he asked. “You can’t just say something like that,” he spluttered.
“Well, I just did,” Harry replied.
“But,” he protested, not even sure how to end that sentence, “But I’m me!”
“Yes, you are aren’t you?” Harry teased. “And I am rather in love with you.”
“Well then those are the logical next words! Not asking me to marry you.”
“Ah,” Harry replied, nodding as though he was pretending to take Draco seriously. “Let me try them in order. Draco, I love you and I think that you love me too-”
“But I’ve never even said it,” he protested.
“Yes you have,” Harry told him, “You say it every time you kiss me. Every time we make love. You say it in the way that you want to heal every scar on my body and in my heart. You say it when you make me a cup of tea when you notice I’ve had a bad day. You say it when you take the olives out of my salad. You say it when you highlight articles you think I’d enjoy in the Prophet so I don’t have to read the drivel to see the good bits. You say it all the time.”
Draco blinked, “You’re not supposed to be that emotionally intelligent.”
He snorted. “I knew you were just keeping me around for my looks,” Harry teased.
“Shut up,” Draco said.
Harry just smiled at him, “I love you, you know.”
“Well I didn’t know!”
“Then you are the only person in the world who didn’t know,” Harry replied easily.
“Well, I love you, too,” Draco said, feeling a bit wrong footed.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said easily, pressing a kiss to Draco’s nose.
“You’re very calm about this.”
Harry’s brow furrowed, “What’s there not to be calm about?”
“Am I dreaming?” Draco asked suddenly, “Was the sex so good that I just passed out or something?”
“The sex was really good,” Harry conceded, “But no, you’re still awake.”
After a moment of deliberation, Draco decided he knew what was most logical. “Prove it to me in the morning,” Draco said, still in disbelief that this could possibly be happening.
Harry laughed, “You’re going to make me wait for an answer until morning?”
“Ask me in the morning and I promise to say yes,” he countered.
“Alright,” Harry laughed. “I will, you nutter.”
“Good,” Draco said, scooching down in bed so that he could rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Good night, you crazy person.”
Harry wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “Good night,” he murmured. “I love you.”
————–
Draco was awoken the next morning with a plate of apple cinnamon french toast, a cup of coffee, a red rose, and Harry Potter down on one knee.
And if they let the breakfast and coffee go cold, well, that’s what warming charms are for.