Harry

When ites time for them to move in, he’s almost caught off guard.

Mostly because ites quicker than he expected it to. Hermione had told him not to think of it as an ending, but Harry had a hard time finding another word for it, when boxing up the pieces of his house felt like boxing up pieces of himself, too, old baggage that he should have shoved into storage a long time ago finally being let go of and all the old ghosts of the war finally finding something that feels like peace, settling down into his skin where he can’t even feel them anymore.

Some things can end, he thinks, looking up at the new ceiling over his head and reaching out to where he can feel Draco next to him. That doesn’t mean that everything has to.

“You really need to go to sleep.” Draco’s voice is nothing more than a murmur, the words slurred from the way that he is buried into the pillow. They have been lying here for two hours now, but Harry cannot get to sleep, not when every nerve in his body is awake and ready, not able to settle in this new place. There are so many corners to check for cracks, so many shadows that could shape into monsters at any moment. And as long as Harry cannot sleep, Draco cannot sleep, so used to having his easy breathing to set the pace for the night. “The wedding is in like four hours.”

The wedding. He’d almost otten. Luna had thought it was sort of symbolic for the four of them, that these new chapters of their lives would both be starting at the same time, but Harry just thought it was sort of aggravating. Both he and Draco were heavily involved in the wedding planning, and almost solely responsible for the packing (though when Hermione is stressed from work, she sometimeses over with a label maker and pretends it’s because she does not trust their abilities, but that excuse works better with Harry and Ron than Harry and Draco), which meant that the last few weeks had been nothing less than hectic. It seems like he hadn’t even be able to find time to breathe.

“You mean we can’t just sleep through the ceremony?” Harry rubbed at his eyes until it stung, wondering if it might just be more prudent to stay up through the night and drain a gallon of coffee in the morning. “It’s what I was planning to do.”

“Probably not, seeing as we’re sitting in the front row.”

Harry snorted. “Luna wouldn’t mind.”

“But Ginny would kill you.”

Harry barks out a laugh, and then quiets again, trying to force himself to sleep. It almost works, but then Draco is talking again, his hand searching out for Harry’s so he can squeeze it tight. “You need to know something.” His voice is a little bit breathless, a little bit strangled, and a little bit scared. “I probably love you.”

He hadn’t said it yet, even though Harry had. Hadn’t said it, even though they both knew the truth. Hadn’t said it because, as the boggart proved, he was still terrified of trusting what he knows to be true. Harry hadn’t minded the wait. But this? This was so much better.

“Okay.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I do. I think I do.” There’s a smile in his voice, and now Draco is not afraid anymore, apparentlyforted at Harry’s continued presence beside him and the fact that he wasn’t trying to make any grand declarations of his own. “Hard to tell.”

“How certain are you, then?” We do things a bit backward, is what Harry is thinking, but he’s not really bothered by it, not when he can roll over to hover on top of Draco, smiling down at him. “Like, a good bit, or only a small bit?”

“A good bit.” Draco pretended to think. “At least ny-five percent.”

“Ny-five?” Harry bit back a laugh again. “I thought I’d be worth ny-seven, at least.”

“Maybe ny-eight.”

There’s nothing much to say, after that, so they just stare at each other. Harry half excepts Draco to shy away after his declaration, but he doesn’t, just stretches out beneath him like there was nothing scary about this in the least.

“Hey Harry?” His voice is softer now, no joking.

“Yeah, Draco?”

“I really do love you.” He reaches out to trace the spikes of the lightning bolt scar, and Harry’s hands find his way to Draco’s stomach, to the silver lines he had slashed across them an eternity ago. “Really, really.”

Harry wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He wants to hold onto all of Draco’s sharp edges and broken pieces and old scars until he can drain the ache away, but he can’t, so he settles with I love you instead, over and over and over, hoping that it finally makes him believe it.

“Good,” is what Draco responds with, choking it out through his laughing and his tears. “Good.”

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