(no subject)
Harry has traveled long. He has traveled hard. He has traveled far.
His job has taken him here. It has taken him there.
Life was sometimes up. Sometimes down.
He has fought many, won greatly, and his losses were aplenty.
But when he has had enough -
- When Harry is tired. Worn. Broken.
And decided that he has had seen far too much of the too wide world-
- He comes home.
Home to a warm little room with its firelight and squishy armchairs.
To green robes, pale arms and hair lit by a silver moon.
And he breathes.
Closes his eyes and sucks in life.
He breathes and sighs, lips parted in relief.
Because Draco is still here.
Waiting, waiting, and just waiting.
And he is Life - perfection concealed.