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There are a thousand and one things Harry choses to marvel at each day, and a sense of gratefulness that not only is he alive, but that he’s actively making choices for himself that bring a new and profound sense of joy.
One of those marvels is sitting in his study, wand held at a peculiar angle while spells weave in and out of the tinkering machinery—cogs and wheel mechanics moving in together in a dance orchestrated by one Draco Malfoy.
Harry says nothing, simply stands at the door and watches—knowing that his intrusion could cause bedlam with the little mechanisms languidly floating on golden dust.
The deeper in focus Draco appears, the more intricate the dance becomes. One by one, cogs line up with gears, and other bits of metal screw together to fit inside the box like a secret puzzle only Draco could solve.
Mesmerised by the way Draco’s tongue sticks out from between plush lips, Harry feels a warm glow inside. Of all the choices he’s made, and all the thousand ways he gets to practise gratitude, Draco Malfoy—with his silk and cashmere robes, and soft hair falling in thick tendrils over his face—is possibly the greatest of them all.
“There,” Draco whispers as the dance ends and all the pieces are back in place. “You know I can feel when you’re hovering, Potter?”
The box titters for a moment then settles complacently, as if the gears were responsible for making it sentient. And given all that Harry has yet still to learn about magic, he supposes that’s entirely possible.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. Only watch.” Harry shrugs, arms crossed over his chest where he remains leaning against the door frame.
“You disturb me merely by being within reach.” Draco says surprisingly fondly.
“What are you working on?” Harry steps into the room, walking around the large oak desk to see the box in question.
“If I told you,” Draco’s lips twitch at the corners, a barely there smirk present in his tone. “I’d have to Obliviate you.”
“Mm, we wouldn’t want that,” Harry murmurs as he moves in closer. “I’d have to go back to thinking you were an obnoxious prat.”
They move together slowly, an echo of Draco’s earlier magic, and when Harry slots himself against Draco’s sturdy form, it feels very much like they too are perfectly matched cogs and toothed wheels.
“I was a prat.” Draco replies, one part self-admonishing, the other part soundly tender for the man pressed against him.
“Whatever happened before doesn’t matter now,” Harry presses a small, tender kiss to Draco’s forehead. “We’re well beyond all of that now. What matters most is that we both made choices, and those choices led us here. To this moment.”
Their hands join over Draco’s heart, which Harry can’t help but marvel at as well. It thumps so hard for him that even through the fabric, he can feel it.
“You are here. With me.”
The thumping gets a little louder, and when Harry looks over at the desk, he realises it’s actually the box Draco had been fiddling with.
“It’s set to synchronise with my own,” Draco bows his head bashfully. “So when you’re away, you can have a piece of me with you.”
Harry’s whole body warms with a feeling he can’t put words to. There’s love, of course, but this is so much more than what the word love can express. It’s just… more.
Harry has lived. And he has died. Not many get to try again the way he has. But Harry gets to live this second life, to hold this little mechanical heart in his pocket, and know that beyond everything, he is loved.
—— End ——