Archive of Our Own ^beta

The funny part about living with Harry, Draco thought, was realizing how empty his life was before him. His flat used to be pristine and looked almost untouched, and he had liked it that way. Sparkling clean, everything clear enough to see his reflection on, not a single item out of place. It was beautiful and cold, just the way he liked it.

But in came Harry, who was a whirlwind of messes and chaos and warmth. When Draco had first moved in, he was almost shocked by how lived-in Harry’s place was. There were little trinkets on every table, and forgotten sweaters from Mrs. Weasley that lay on the living room sofas and mismatching pajama sets. It was homely and comforting and everything Draco had never experienced. His parents loved him, but in a cold sort of way, with their formal embraces and them sending him money every month. But Harry’s love was warm, with the constant affection and him making pancakes on the old, weathered stove because Draco had felt a bit melancholic when they had woken up together, in their shared bed where the sheets were more often wrinkled and unmade than not.

“Draco, love? The pancakes are ready. We’re out of blueberries so I had to make them plain.”

Draco blinked, and Harry was standing in front of him with his tattered old apron on, with a small stack of imperfectly cooked pancakes in one hand and a small store-brand bottle of syrup in the other. He set them down on the table and smiled kindly at Draco, the small crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling up.

“Lost in your thoughts?”

Draco wanted to reply, but he felt the lump in his throat and the tears prickling the very corner of his eyes, so he could only nod in response. Harry seemed to understand; he always understood.

Harry sat down next to him at the tiny table that was only meant to seat four, and gave Draco a softer smile as he started to cut up his pancakes into eighths, just how he liked it.

“I was thinking we could go see Teddy today, since it’s the weekend. And we could stop by at Molly’s to visit too; I think Bill and Fleur are bringing Victoire over this evening.”

Harry just kept up the small, pleasant talk as he finished cutting up Draco’s pancakes, his lovely smile a constant. It was only when he finished and Draco had taken a bite out of the pancakes that he had the strength to finally speak up.

“I love you. So much.” It was a quiet confession, but to him (and to Harry, he knew), it was the same as if he had shouted it from the rooftops.

Harry leaned in to kiss him over the pancakes. The kiss was not ideal. It was sticky and he still had some leftover syrup in his mouth from the pancakes that made it so much messier. But at the same time, it was perfect.

Everything with Harry was perfect.