tcrtarus:

drabble: drarry

word count: 732

for @andreil ♡

the things you didn’t say at all.

“Hermione looks different today,” Draco says, a pondering look appearing on his face as he steps into the Great Hall with Harry. The clatter of glasses upon tabletops ring against Harry’s ears, and he stops himself short to take a glance at his best friend.

Hermione’s laughing terribly hard, her hair flying in all different directions as her body curls tightly.

A warm feeling brushes into Harry’s heart; because he can only count the few times she’s been this happy with just one hand.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her like this,” Harry murmurs, and he laces his fingers into Draco’s.

Draco tilts his head down at him, an attempt of something other than a sneer forgone but instead a natural, beautiful grin replacing it.

Draco tugs their hands forward, and Harry trails behind wistfully, an ache in his chest pounding again. Because he sees Headmistress McGonagall sitting in Dumbledore’s seat, and the slight space beside Ron, where his brothers should have been.

Where his brother should have been.

“Come on,” Draco says, his voice soft. He squeezes Harry’s hand, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles.

And all of sudden, Harry is struck with fear in his eyes. It’s repetitive; everything. He sees blasted Death Eaters and students fighting for their lives. He hears shrieks of triumphs and sobs ricocheting off walls.

He sees, he hears, he feels— and he wonders if it’d be better to have nothing at all.

“Harry…” Draco whispers, a hitch in his voice as he leads Harry out of the hall. The sound of rustling leaves and the breath of wind calms Harry down as the grand doors open, and Draco makes sure he’s allowed to touch him.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Draco asks, and Harry almost laughs because the words slipping out of his mouth are close to impossible. He never thought he’d hear that specific sentence come from Draco’s lips. Harry’s surprised, but the butterflies in his stomach are flying catastrophically.

Harry nods slowly, syllables and mumbles still unable to escape into the world beyond. He keeps quiet, giving permission to the Slytherin to guide him under a tree, beneath the dancing leaves fluttering beside them.

The autumn day calls for a sea of brilliant gold, orange and red leaves to prance around the sky like they were made to fly. Harry leans his back against the tree, falling deeper into Draco’s side.

They sit together, away from the chaos and into the silence they had called upon.

“Are you better?” Draco asks, and he tightens his arms around Harry as he nudges his leg against his. His hair is unkempt and the breeze folds into the air. Through the breaks of the branches comes in the sun, shining light onto Draco’s hair, giving an illusion of a halo.

For one, fleeting moment, Harry hopes that time stops. Right at this second; the ethereal glow of Draco’s sun streaked face, a curious look in his eyes; one of hope and love and everything there is to life.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’m better.”

And there’s a million more things he wants to say.

I’m better here with you.

I’m better because you’re here.

I’m better because you love me.

I’m better because I love you.

I’m better because you’re my everything.

But the words won’t come out because he’s so afraid to give himself up when he has already lost too much.

“Good,” Draco hums, a lilt to his voice. He rests his chin on top of Harry’s head, after giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

And this is the moment when Harry finally realizes that he didn’t need to explain anything, didn’t need to counter his motives and talk about his emotions. Because Draco understands him in a way no one else does, and he is eternally grateful.

He sits with Draco, hand in hand and heart to heart, without talking at all.

The sun sets below the horizon, waving goodbye to the boys who had given up so much— so much they were almost empty. But they had found each other in the midst of it all, and Harry did finally grasp on.

He finally understands the fact that he and Draco were made for each other. That they didn’t even need the words to untangle the story, because they already knew everything from the words that were never spoken.