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Harry wakes up with the sunrise.
He hates doing it, always has, but all those years being forced to get up at five in the morning just to cook breakfast for the Dursleys that he wouldn't even be allowed to touch left him with that particular quirk.
Back at Hogwarts, it left him with time to use the bathroom and take a shower away from the prying eyes of the other boys in his year, he never wanted them to see the scars he got back in Surrey. A dog bite from that one time he couldn't run away from Ripper fast enough, a jagged line from the time Dudley pushed him into the ground and he cut his arm with a piece of glass, a burn from he was putting a chicken in the oven and Vernon bumped into him, pushing him into hot metal. There are more than that, but thankfully none of them ever saw them.
It's not like he didn't gain new scars during his time in the castle, but at least those he can be proud of, he got this cut saving Hermione from the troll, that bitemark when he went to save Ginny in the chamber of secrets, this scar when he ran through the whomping willow to save Ron from Padfoot.
He can count with one hand the number of people that know the difference between both kinds of scars, the number of people who know that there was a time when he wasn't the brave Harry Potter, always willing to risk his neck to save a friend, that he used to be just a little boy who couldn't even hope to defend himself from his relatives who hated him.
Hope wasn't allowed in number four of Privet Drive.
But he's not there anymore.
He's not in Hogwarts, either. Somehow, he survived his school years, he survived a war, he won that war, and now he's living in Grimmauld Place and feeling... quite good actually.
After all, he has his Draco sleeping next to him.
If a few years ago someone had told him the sight of Draco Malfoy sleeping peacefully next to him would bring him such joy, Harry would have called them a liar, and yet here he is, thinking that maybe getting up at the arse crack of dawn isn't so bad if it means he gets to see this beautiful man bathed under the first rays of sunlight of the day.
Merlin, he's such a sap.
He's not quite sure how it all happened, all things considered. He spent a few months after the battle at Hogwarts in a haze, not really experiencing the world. It might have been a consequence of dying and coming back, or just a sign that he should get therapy, if Hermione's opinion is to be considered. In any way, those days he moved like he was running on auto pilot, like his body was being controlled by an invisible puppeteer while he curled himself up inside his mind, and then, one day, there he was.
Draco Malfoy had broken through the—admittedly shoddy, after everything that had gone down during the war—wards of Grimmauld Place number twelve, and had ingrated himself in Harry's life like he was always meant to be there.
Oh, of course Harry fought it every step of the way, he kicked and screamed and insulted and when none of that worked he punched and hexed, but yet his Draco kept coming back, bringing him each day a little step closer to the word of the living.
Because that was the truth, Harry might have come back from the dead, but before Draco, he wasn't living.
It's been a couple of years since then, and nowadays he can say without hesitation that he's glad to be alive.
"Hnnngh," a soft moan draws Harry's attention away from his thoughts.
"Morning, beautiful," he says, drinking in the way Draco's cheeks blush at the compliment.
" 's too early," the blond man groans against the mattress.
Harry hums, a small smile on his face. "Go back to sleep, I'll go make some breakfast."
He doesn't have to tell him twice, as soon as Harry stands up Draco curls into himself, grabbing hold of the blankets Harry just abandoned and holding them against his face, breathing in his scent as sleep takes over him once again.
Harry spends a good couple of minutes just looking at him, his cock hardening inside his pants at the sight. He's really gone for the blond prat, isn't he?
Of course, Draco wakes up again as soon as the smell of blueberry scones reaches him, and together they eat breakfast like they have done each morning for years now. It's nothing short of a miracle how a chore he used to hate so much has become one of his favorite parts of the morning, but cooking breakfast for the Dursleys and doing it for Draco are two completely different beasts.
While the Dursleys were always unappreciative of his food, Draco doesn't spare words to tell him just how delicious he finds everything Harry cooks, he doesn't throw his food away if he uses too many spices like Petunia accused him of doing, doesn't throw a tantrum if he decides to make veggies with no meat, like Vernon and Dudley used to do, he always cleans his plate and sometimes even licks his fingers clean when he thinks Harry isn't looking.
"I would never do that, Harry James. It's just not proper," he claims.
"Whatever you say," he replies, a stupid smile taking over his face.
That's another thing. Draco has taken to start calling him Harry James for some reason, not that he's complaining. He hasn't asked yet exactly why he does it, but every time those two words leave his mouth they manage to fill Harry's stomach with butterflies. No one has ever called him like that. It's always been "Harry," or "Potter," or "my boy," or "that freak." Harry James feels different from all of those, it feels like a secret he and Draco share, and he's not keen on sharing it with the world.
"Any big plans for the day?" Draco asks once they're done eating. He always asks the same question, like he takes personal offense to the fact that Harry might want to stay inside all day long, but then again, he can't blame him for it. After all, he once spent months just letting himself rot inside these four walls, it's only thanks to him that he even knows what the sun looks like anymore.
"Might go to the ministry," he says casually. "I think I'm going to finally accept Kingsley's offer."
Draco draws in a sharp breath. "Really? You'll join the aurors?"
He doesn't tell him about the file the minister gave him, about the crazed Death Eater claiming he was Voldemort reincarnated they had to kill after he resisted arrest, about the fact that he wasn't the first person to do so, or that Kingsley only managed to convince him after he put it in terms of protecting Draco from other maniacs like them.
It wouldn't be the first time someone tries to hurt him for the mark on his arm, and if Harry's wearing blood red auror robes, maybe he'll be able to do more than just threaten the assailants into leaving the country.
He just shrugs with fake calmness. "It's been long enough, and a job might be fun. I can't exactly spoil my pretty boyfriend to candlelit dinners if I can't afford any candles."
Draco snorts, but the action doesn't hide the pink on his cheeks. "You have more galleons in your vaults than I have made ever since I started working, if someone's mooching off here, it's me."
"You're right," Harry nods seriously, dragging him close until their bodies are flushed together. "You should pay me back with your body, it's only fair."
Draco snorts. "It's already all yours," he tells him, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, and the words go straight to the brunet's cock.
"Fuck, Draco. You can't just say things like that," he replies, his hands on Draco's hips pressing their crotches together. He presses a kiss behind his ear, and Draco's breath catches when he follows by biting his earlobe.
"Hmmm. You'll keep me safe? My very own big, strong auror?" he asks, biting his lower lip and batting his eyelashes coquettishly even as he rubs himself against Harry's hardness.
"Yes," Harry replies without hesitation even as his hands travel lower, his intense green eyes focused on Draco's gray ones. "No one gets to hurt my Draco on my watch. I'll protect you."
"Idiot." Draco smiles, burying his face in the juncture between Harry's neck and shoulder. He lets out a sigh when Harry squeezes his arse, and then under his breath, he speaks. "I know you will."
"Hmm?"
"I love you, Harry James."
"I love you, too," he replies, pressing their mouths together in a soft, slow kiss. "I'll keep you safe. No one is taking you away from me."
Draco's returning smile is brighter than the sun. "Take me to bed?" he begs.
Harry doesn't hesitate before lifting him up in the air and carrying him in his arms.
It feels like holding the world with his bare hands, but for once, the burden doesn't weight him down.