Fic: Only Human [Harry/Draco]
Title: Only Human
Author: felixfvlicis
Prompt: # S24
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 2,365
Rating: R
Warning(s): N/A
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Many, many thanks to ravenclawsquill for her meticulous beta work & endless patience with me. This story wouldn’t be what it is without you. Thank you. ♥ Dear gracerene, the moment I saw your prompt, I knew I had to have it. I hope you enjoy this fic. ♥
Summary: Harry and Draco get stuck working on an assignment in the middle of the Amazon. This time, Harry can’t use the ‘Draco-is-up-to-something’ excuse for his incessant staring when he’s left alone.
"If you think we’re sharing a bed, Potter, you’ve got another think coming," Draco sneers, his fists clenched in the thin mosquito netting as he looks down at the king-sized four poster. "It’s bloody August in the Amazon. After all that time you spent with Hagrid as a boy, you should feel right at home perched on that chair in the corner."
Harry rolls his eyes, biting back an insult. Despite the dreadful Amazonian heat, the lush greenery surrounding their room offers a generous reprieve. They’re cradled in the belly of the jungle at sunset - its shadow licking at Draco’s pale skin, highlighting the harsh curve of his jaw. Harry wonders how his fingers would feel tilting it upward, running his tongue along Draco’s lower lip before tracing his adam’s apple and dropping to his -
No. Best not to think about that now.
Draco’s clearly in a tizzy, and Harry thinks he ought to be as well, but he’s too tired and sweaty to care. After all, Draco had made him hike up to the raised wooden pathway, hovering behind him like a silent shadow. Harry had pointedly refused to look back, but he could imagine Draco's posture - brows knitted, arms crossed, one hip jutting out. If the grass hadn't been so bloody thick, he'd wager Draco had been tapping his foot, the picture of impatience every time Harry sighed in frustration. Never mind the fact that he'd probably looked like a god even as the humidity turned Harry into a sweaty mess. They'd been less than halfway there when Draco had decided to take a chance and Apparate, and Harry, out of sheer stubbornness, had hiked the rest of the way alone.
"It’s a shame I’m not you, Potter, or I’d give Kingsley a thorough talking to about this. It’s absurd," Draco mutters as he shuffles around, running his fingers along the tree trunk protruding into the center of their room.
"For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy," Harry replies through gritted teeth. "Stop complaining, would you? Listening to you drone on and on is giving me bloody headache."
Harry’s gaze drops to the wooden floor. He has a sudden urge to whisper a protective enchantment, whether to shield him from the perils of the jungle or his grumpy Auror partner, he’s not quite sure.
A swish and muted thud pulls him from his thoughts.
Draco’s lying on the edge of the bed, his frame barely masked by the ivory mosquito netting. His thin white shirt clings to his body and the waistband of his khaki trousers dips below his hipbone, revealing a patch of smooth skin. Harry grips involuntarily at the netting and he so desperately wants to pull it back, to push himself into the space between Draco’s clad thighs. He’s almost garnered enough courage and then -
"So, what is it you think Healer Morgan is up to again?" Draco asks.
Harry forces his mind to focus on the case. "I pulled his file a few weeks ago and noticed he’d been spending an abnormal amount of time in the detox clinic upstairs. I cross-checked the clinic’s records, and some quantities of potions are inconsistent. Some weeks, there’s a huge overflow of one particular potion, and others, there’s a severe deficiency."
Harry stills, watching Draco run his fingers through his golden blond hair. He forgets what breathing feels like when Draco touches himself like this. He’s always amazed by Draco’s ability to make the most commonplace of movements seem so intimate. Suddenly, the jungle feels less like a protector who has blanketed the sky with deep blue ink and more like the masked figures who sneak a sinister smile or two into his dreams at night.
"Supply and demand, Potter. Surely you’ve heard of it," Draco replies, his voice tapering off with a groan as he stretches, arching his back against the sheets.
"Of course I have, you tosser."
"Merlin, you’re so sensitive."
"I am not -" Harry starts, though Draco’s gaze has captured his full attention. He’s not as pale as he used to be, though he’s still retained most of his sharp edges and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. In the soft light of their room, his eyes resemble winter afternoons at Hogsmeade, where greys kiss the clouds to life and everything is protected beneath the earth.
"At least I’m capable of feeling things," Harry mutters, his cheeks aflame. He clenches his fists to quell his trembling fingers.
"You haven’t changed a bit, Potter." Draco says, the words dripping with vitriol as they claw their way out of his mouth. His eyes have darkened a shade, and he looks as if he could pierce Harry right in the heart without lifting a finger or whispering a single spell. "You walk the halls of the Auror office like you own them, like you’re owed something for surviving the war, for outrunning death. But you know what, Harry? We all survived. The best way we could. You’re just the one who got all the glory."
"Oh, piss off," Harry scoffs. "Like I wanted glory. Or fame. All I wanted was to be normal. Like you, when we were kids." He backs away, stumbling over the arm of the chair behind him, and suddenly the room is much too small. He closes his eyes briefly, wading in the salty sting of tears that threaten to fall from his eyes in frustration. Somehow, Draco’s always known exactly how far to push so that Harry’s hovering on the edge of the cliff at Seaside Cave, weighing up whether or not to succumb to his memories or keep going.
"Don’t be stupid," Draco begins, the floor creaking beneath him as he stands. "You know my family history. When you have a father as consumed with lust for power as mine was, nothing is normal."
In the silence that surrounds them, Harry wonders if he’s gone too far gone, if he can come back, if they can work together to solve this case. The trees whirr around them and Harry chances a look at Draco, whose lips are slightly pursed. His grey eyes are contemplative, and if Harry studies him much longer, he worries he’ll be lost to him forever.
"Go and shower, Potter. You’re covered in dirt and it’s quite unseemly."
Harry sighs, pushing himself up from the arm of the chair, and stumbles to the bathroom. He’s surprised to see that the shower is concealed by a half-moon door. If he’s honest, he expected something much more open. The moment he rids himself of his clothes, he all but falls into the shower, turning the knob all the way to the left. Despite the heat and humidity, this is what he needs. He hisses as the scalding water touches his skin, and contemplates backing away. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this pain - the all too familiar sting, a taunting reminder that the past cannot be forgotten. In these moments alone, he’s transported back to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, biting his tongue as Draco makes a sarcastic comment and greets him with that signature sneer. He’s still running, dodging danger’s pendulum swing with every step, every mission.
By the time he’s finished, the room is full of steam. Begrudgingly, he Accio’s a pair of pyjama shorts and a maroon t-shirt from his bag in the corner, and retrieves his glasses from the shelf above the sink. Part of him wishes that this were a dream, that he and Draco were different people, that they’d actually had a chance to experience some degree of normalcy. He shuffles into the bedroom and finds Draco sitting on the edge of the bed, untying his scuffed Auror boots.
"Still a masochist, I see." Draco says as he removes his boots and socks in one swift motion, his eyes following the curve of Harry’s neck which is covered in red blotches.
"Piss off," Harry hmmph’s and removes his glasses, falling back onto the mattress. Draco huffs beside him.
"A little warning would have been nice, don’t you think?" Draco asks. Harry doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes.
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy. If we have to share this bed, we may as well get used to each other." Harry replies, something like anticipation fluttering in his stomach.
"You’ve got to be joking. I’ve had half of my life to get used to you, and trust me, it’s maddening. And more importantly, I’ve already claimed the bed, remember?"
Harry sighs, relieved and disappointed to feel the mattress shift as Draco stands. The crack of his ankle reverberates throughout the room and Harry sees him wince as he pads to the bathroom.
Harry knows he ought to be thinking about the case, but his mind wanders so easily to other things - his time at Hogwarts, his last memories of Sirius, Saturday Quidditch matches and - why the running water is so bloody loud. He shifts to the side and props himself up on his elbow, and notices that Draco has left the bathroom door open. That would explain why it’s suddenly warmer in the room. Spying on Draco is a bad idea, he knows, but this time it’s dangerous because he doesn’t need to. He wants to. He wants to follow the curves of Draco’s spine with his eyes as he moves beneath the spray of the shower, he wants to savour the image of Draco’s bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving a gentle tug, his eyes fluttering closed.
Suddenly, Harry can’t breathe. But he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the open door.
A section of the white sheet is clenched in his hand, while the other finds his neck and pinches at the scalded patches of skin to quell his growing arousal. He can’t close his eyes, because if he does, he’ll imagine that those are Draco’s hands around his neck, his gray eyes piercing into green, muttering something through clenched teeth before relaxing at the sight of Harry relinquishing all control. He’s always wanted Draco, in one way or another.
Harry manages to swallow thickly and release a shaky exhale before he feels someone approaching him. He hadn’t even noticed that the water was no longer running. In a panic, he unclenches his fist and makes quick work of smoothing out the sheet.
The shadow hovering over him speaks.
"If you needed to get your kicks, Potter, you could have stayed in the shower a little longer."
Harry sighs and sits up, releasing a frustrated groan. Even though he can’t bring himself to meet Draco’s eyes, he feels them everywhere, slowly roaming over every inch of his skin. The rush is warm like honey, with a subtle tingle that begins in his fingertips, and it sets his mind ablaze.
"I was even so generous as to reserve some hot water," Draco continues. "Just for you, darling."
Harry glares at him. "Malfoy, I swear to god."
"What are you going to do, Chosen One? We’re in the middle of the fucking Amazon. As much as you want to hex me, you can’t and you know it. You need me."
"Fuck off." Harry says through clenched teeth.
"No."
"ENOUGH!" Harry yells, exasperated. He rises from the bed abruptly, his forehead a sliver away from touching Draco’s. The air is thick and heavy around them, and Harry’s never felt more exposed.
Draco inhales and Harry’s palm finds his bare chest, tracing a Sectumsempra scar with a finger.
"Potter," Draco murmurs, "what are you doing?"
"I - I just wanted to - to touch you. Just once." Harry whispers, his eyes fluttering closed, his fingertip memorizing the shape of Draco’s scar.
"Tell me what you want," Draco commands, pushing Harry’s damp hair back from his forehead.
Harry gasps and pulls away, silently cursing himself for being so vulnerable, so needy. "This was a mistake. I’m - I’m sorry," he stammers, hanging his head.
"And I thought Gryffindors weren’t supposed to be cowardly." Draco quips, though his voice lacks the vitriol needed for the insult.
"Don’t you dare," Harry says, "You’re an insufferable know-it-all. You think you have me pegged, but you’re wrong."
"Is that so?" Draco challenges, stepping forward and closing the space between their bodies. "Show me how wrong I am. I dare you."
Harry swallows heavily, spreads his fingers and combs them through Draco’s golden blond hair.
"This isn’t at all convincing, Harry."
"Draco," Harry whispers, "at the moment, I really don’t care."
Draco leans in and rests his lips against the shell of Harry’s ear. "So reckless. Maybe you are a Gryffindor after all."
Harry shivers. "You’re ridiculous."
"I resent that, I’ll have you know."
"Get over yourself," Harry murmurs. "We still need to solve this case."
"I noticed. This should make it easier, though, yes? You won’t be so … uptight."
"Draco," Harry whispers. "We can’t. I - I want to, but -"
"Let me guess," Draco says, "you won’t be able to keep your hands off me."
"...Or my mind on the mission."
Draco chuckles. "Have it your way, then. You owe me, Potter. Now go to sleep."
"Don’t tell me what to do," Harry warns as he sits back down on the bed.
"Says the person who gets off on that sort of thing." Draco teases as he makes his way round to the other side.
"How would you know?"
"Oh, Harry, I’m very … observant." Draco says, clutching a section of the sheet in his hand.
Harry groans and flings his arm across the bed, hitting Draco’s bare chest, the sound reverberating throughout the room before getting swallowed by the jungle. He’s about to whisper a Nox when he realizes Draco is laughing.
"You really should work on your flirting skills," Draco murmurs when he’s calmed down. "They’re quite … amateur. Luckily, you just so happen to have an Auror partner who excels in that area. As well as others."
"But -"
"Nox."
"Bastard." Harry murmurs, a slow smile forming on his lips.
"Go to sleep, Harry." Draco whispers weakly.
"Goodnight, Draco."
With a sigh, Harry shifts onto his side, inviting the jungle to cradle him until the sun rises again.
Author: felixfvlicis
Prompt: # S24
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 2,365
Rating: R
Warning(s): N/A
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Many, many thanks to ravenclawsquill for her meticulous beta work & endless patience with me. This story wouldn’t be what it is without you. Thank you. ♥ Dear gracerene, the moment I saw your prompt, I knew I had to have it. I hope you enjoy this fic. ♥
Summary: Harry and Draco get stuck working on an assignment in the middle of the Amazon. This time, Harry can’t use the ‘Draco-is-up-to-something’ excuse for his incessant staring when he’s left alone.
"If you think we’re sharing a bed, Potter, you’ve got another think coming," Draco sneers, his fists clenched in the thin mosquito netting as he looks down at the king-sized four poster. "It’s bloody August in the Amazon. After all that time you spent with Hagrid as a boy, you should feel right at home perched on that chair in the corner."
Harry rolls his eyes, biting back an insult. Despite the dreadful Amazonian heat, the lush greenery surrounding their room offers a generous reprieve. They’re cradled in the belly of the jungle at sunset - its shadow licking at Draco’s pale skin, highlighting the harsh curve of his jaw. Harry wonders how his fingers would feel tilting it upward, running his tongue along Draco’s lower lip before tracing his adam’s apple and dropping to his -
No. Best not to think about that now.
Draco’s clearly in a tizzy, and Harry thinks he ought to be as well, but he’s too tired and sweaty to care. After all, Draco had made him hike up to the raised wooden pathway, hovering behind him like a silent shadow. Harry had pointedly refused to look back, but he could imagine Draco's posture - brows knitted, arms crossed, one hip jutting out. If the grass hadn't been so bloody thick, he'd wager Draco had been tapping his foot, the picture of impatience every time Harry sighed in frustration. Never mind the fact that he'd probably looked like a god even as the humidity turned Harry into a sweaty mess. They'd been less than halfway there when Draco had decided to take a chance and Apparate, and Harry, out of sheer stubbornness, had hiked the rest of the way alone.
"It’s a shame I’m not you, Potter, or I’d give Kingsley a thorough talking to about this. It’s absurd," Draco mutters as he shuffles around, running his fingers along the tree trunk protruding into the center of their room.
"For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy," Harry replies through gritted teeth. "Stop complaining, would you? Listening to you drone on and on is giving me bloody headache."
Harry’s gaze drops to the wooden floor. He has a sudden urge to whisper a protective enchantment, whether to shield him from the perils of the jungle or his grumpy Auror partner, he’s not quite sure.
A swish and muted thud pulls him from his thoughts.
Draco’s lying on the edge of the bed, his frame barely masked by the ivory mosquito netting. His thin white shirt clings to his body and the waistband of his khaki trousers dips below his hipbone, revealing a patch of smooth skin. Harry grips involuntarily at the netting and he so desperately wants to pull it back, to push himself into the space between Draco’s clad thighs. He’s almost garnered enough courage and then -
"So, what is it you think Healer Morgan is up to again?" Draco asks.
Harry forces his mind to focus on the case. "I pulled his file a few weeks ago and noticed he’d been spending an abnormal amount of time in the detox clinic upstairs. I cross-checked the clinic’s records, and some quantities of potions are inconsistent. Some weeks, there’s a huge overflow of one particular potion, and others, there’s a severe deficiency."
Harry stills, watching Draco run his fingers through his golden blond hair. He forgets what breathing feels like when Draco touches himself like this. He’s always amazed by Draco’s ability to make the most commonplace of movements seem so intimate. Suddenly, the jungle feels less like a protector who has blanketed the sky with deep blue ink and more like the masked figures who sneak a sinister smile or two into his dreams at night.
"Supply and demand, Potter. Surely you’ve heard of it," Draco replies, his voice tapering off with a groan as he stretches, arching his back against the sheets.
"Of course I have, you tosser."
"Merlin, you’re so sensitive."
"I am not -" Harry starts, though Draco’s gaze has captured his full attention. He’s not as pale as he used to be, though he’s still retained most of his sharp edges and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. In the soft light of their room, his eyes resemble winter afternoons at Hogsmeade, where greys kiss the clouds to life and everything is protected beneath the earth.
"At least I’m capable of feeling things," Harry mutters, his cheeks aflame. He clenches his fists to quell his trembling fingers.
"You haven’t changed a bit, Potter." Draco says, the words dripping with vitriol as they claw their way out of his mouth. His eyes have darkened a shade, and he looks as if he could pierce Harry right in the heart without lifting a finger or whispering a single spell. "You walk the halls of the Auror office like you own them, like you’re owed something for surviving the war, for outrunning death. But you know what, Harry? We all survived. The best way we could. You’re just the one who got all the glory."
"Oh, piss off," Harry scoffs. "Like I wanted glory. Or fame. All I wanted was to be normal. Like you, when we were kids." He backs away, stumbling over the arm of the chair behind him, and suddenly the room is much too small. He closes his eyes briefly, wading in the salty sting of tears that threaten to fall from his eyes in frustration. Somehow, Draco’s always known exactly how far to push so that Harry’s hovering on the edge of the cliff at Seaside Cave, weighing up whether or not to succumb to his memories or keep going.
"Don’t be stupid," Draco begins, the floor creaking beneath him as he stands. "You know my family history. When you have a father as consumed with lust for power as mine was, nothing is normal."
In the silence that surrounds them, Harry wonders if he’s gone too far gone, if he can come back, if they can work together to solve this case. The trees whirr around them and Harry chances a look at Draco, whose lips are slightly pursed. His grey eyes are contemplative, and if Harry studies him much longer, he worries he’ll be lost to him forever.
"Go and shower, Potter. You’re covered in dirt and it’s quite unseemly."
Harry sighs, pushing himself up from the arm of the chair, and stumbles to the bathroom. He’s surprised to see that the shower is concealed by a half-moon door. If he’s honest, he expected something much more open. The moment he rids himself of his clothes, he all but falls into the shower, turning the knob all the way to the left. Despite the heat and humidity, this is what he needs. He hisses as the scalding water touches his skin, and contemplates backing away. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this pain - the all too familiar sting, a taunting reminder that the past cannot be forgotten. In these moments alone, he’s transported back to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, biting his tongue as Draco makes a sarcastic comment and greets him with that signature sneer. He’s still running, dodging danger’s pendulum swing with every step, every mission.
By the time he’s finished, the room is full of steam. Begrudgingly, he Accio’s a pair of pyjama shorts and a maroon t-shirt from his bag in the corner, and retrieves his glasses from the shelf above the sink. Part of him wishes that this were a dream, that he and Draco were different people, that they’d actually had a chance to experience some degree of normalcy. He shuffles into the bedroom and finds Draco sitting on the edge of the bed, untying his scuffed Auror boots.
"Still a masochist, I see." Draco says as he removes his boots and socks in one swift motion, his eyes following the curve of Harry’s neck which is covered in red blotches.
"Piss off," Harry hmmph’s and removes his glasses, falling back onto the mattress. Draco huffs beside him.
"A little warning would have been nice, don’t you think?" Draco asks. Harry doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes.
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy. If we have to share this bed, we may as well get used to each other." Harry replies, something like anticipation fluttering in his stomach.
"You’ve got to be joking. I’ve had half of my life to get used to you, and trust me, it’s maddening. And more importantly, I’ve already claimed the bed, remember?"
Harry sighs, relieved and disappointed to feel the mattress shift as Draco stands. The crack of his ankle reverberates throughout the room and Harry sees him wince as he pads to the bathroom.
Harry knows he ought to be thinking about the case, but his mind wanders so easily to other things - his time at Hogwarts, his last memories of Sirius, Saturday Quidditch matches and - why the running water is so bloody loud. He shifts to the side and props himself up on his elbow, and notices that Draco has left the bathroom door open. That would explain why it’s suddenly warmer in the room. Spying on Draco is a bad idea, he knows, but this time it’s dangerous because he doesn’t need to. He wants to. He wants to follow the curves of Draco’s spine with his eyes as he moves beneath the spray of the shower, he wants to savour the image of Draco’s bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving a gentle tug, his eyes fluttering closed.
Suddenly, Harry can’t breathe. But he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the open door.
A section of the white sheet is clenched in his hand, while the other finds his neck and pinches at the scalded patches of skin to quell his growing arousal. He can’t close his eyes, because if he does, he’ll imagine that those are Draco’s hands around his neck, his gray eyes piercing into green, muttering something through clenched teeth before relaxing at the sight of Harry relinquishing all control. He’s always wanted Draco, in one way or another.
Harry manages to swallow thickly and release a shaky exhale before he feels someone approaching him. He hadn’t even noticed that the water was no longer running. In a panic, he unclenches his fist and makes quick work of smoothing out the sheet.
The shadow hovering over him speaks.
"If you needed to get your kicks, Potter, you could have stayed in the shower a little longer."
Harry sighs and sits up, releasing a frustrated groan. Even though he can’t bring himself to meet Draco’s eyes, he feels them everywhere, slowly roaming over every inch of his skin. The rush is warm like honey, with a subtle tingle that begins in his fingertips, and it sets his mind ablaze.
"I was even so generous as to reserve some hot water," Draco continues. "Just for you, darling."
Harry glares at him. "Malfoy, I swear to god."
"What are you going to do, Chosen One? We’re in the middle of the fucking Amazon. As much as you want to hex me, you can’t and you know it. You need me."
"Fuck off." Harry says through clenched teeth.
"No."
"ENOUGH!" Harry yells, exasperated. He rises from the bed abruptly, his forehead a sliver away from touching Draco’s. The air is thick and heavy around them, and Harry’s never felt more exposed.
Draco inhales and Harry’s palm finds his bare chest, tracing a Sectumsempra scar with a finger.
"Potter," Draco murmurs, "what are you doing?"
"I - I just wanted to - to touch you. Just once." Harry whispers, his eyes fluttering closed, his fingertip memorizing the shape of Draco’s scar.
"Tell me what you want," Draco commands, pushing Harry’s damp hair back from his forehead.
Harry gasps and pulls away, silently cursing himself for being so vulnerable, so needy. "This was a mistake. I’m - I’m sorry," he stammers, hanging his head.
"And I thought Gryffindors weren’t supposed to be cowardly." Draco quips, though his voice lacks the vitriol needed for the insult.
"Don’t you dare," Harry says, "You’re an insufferable know-it-all. You think you have me pegged, but you’re wrong."
"Is that so?" Draco challenges, stepping forward and closing the space between their bodies. "Show me how wrong I am. I dare you."
Harry swallows heavily, spreads his fingers and combs them through Draco’s golden blond hair.
"This isn’t at all convincing, Harry."
"Draco," Harry whispers, "at the moment, I really don’t care."
Draco leans in and rests his lips against the shell of Harry’s ear. "So reckless. Maybe you are a Gryffindor after all."
Harry shivers. "You’re ridiculous."
"I resent that, I’ll have you know."
"Get over yourself," Harry murmurs. "We still need to solve this case."
"I noticed. This should make it easier, though, yes? You won’t be so … uptight."
"Draco," Harry whispers. "We can’t. I - I want to, but -"
"Let me guess," Draco says, "you won’t be able to keep your hands off me."
"...Or my mind on the mission."
Draco chuckles. "Have it your way, then. You owe me, Potter. Now go to sleep."
"Don’t tell me what to do," Harry warns as he sits back down on the bed.
"Says the person who gets off on that sort of thing." Draco teases as he makes his way round to the other side.
"How would you know?"
"Oh, Harry, I’m very … observant." Draco says, clutching a section of the sheet in his hand.
Harry groans and flings his arm across the bed, hitting Draco’s bare chest, the sound reverberating throughout the room before getting swallowed by the jungle. He’s about to whisper a Nox when he realizes Draco is laughing.
"You really should work on your flirting skills," Draco murmurs when he’s calmed down. "They’re quite … amateur. Luckily, you just so happen to have an Auror partner who excels in that area. As well as others."
"But -"
"Nox."
"Bastard." Harry murmurs, a slow smile forming on his lips.
"Go to sleep, Harry." Draco whispers weakly.
"Goodnight, Draco."
With a sigh, Harry shifts onto his side, inviting the jungle to cradle him until the sun rises again.