Work Text:
Dusting the final wood shavings from the bench, Harry looked down at his latest creation. The birdhouse was exactly how he had envisioned it: small and square, with a round hole in the front and overlapping shingles forming a red, pointed roof. Some might have said the slightly crooked house was imperfect; Harry thought it had character.
“You know,” a voice interrupted, “ever since you took up wood-working, you’ve been noticeably happier.”
Harry looked up to see Draco leaning against the door of the workshop, a fond expression on his face.
“Yeah, I think…it calms me, to work with wood? Like, my mind goes completely blank and I just focus on the weight of the tools, or the feel of the grain.”
“I’m glad you discovered this hobby then.” Draco stepped forward, peering down into the birdhouse. “And this is really good, love. Shall we hang it in the backyard?”
Harry smiled. “You think the birds will like it?”
“Absolutely,” Draco said, and smiled back.
They lifted it together, carrying it into the garden and hanging it on the branch of a mature oak tree. The sun shone through the broad leaves, casting dappled patterns of light onto their skin.
“If we were birds,” Harry asked, “would you want to live here? In this birdhouse with me?”
“If we were birds,” Draco answered, “there is no other house I would rather call home.”