Unguarded Moments

A.N. This is set after the war, in an AU where Harry never dated Ginny, and Draco came to the Order instead of becoming a Death Eater after his father was captured. In this story, Draco may have helped fight Voldemort, but only because being a bootlicking murder who was servant to an insane half-dead monster didn't appeal. Most of the time, he's still the pureblood ferret that we all know and love. (Well, except Ron, of course.)

Harry was sprawled across the sofa watching an old re-run of Mock the Week when a quiet, liquid sniff came from the doorway. Harry turned to see Draco wearing one of Harry's old knitted Weasley jumpers and wrapped in the duvet. A small smile curved Harry's lips at the sight of Draco's messy hair and adorably red nose poking out of the top of the bundle. In the too-large jumper, with the blanket wrapped round him, his partner looked oddly innocent.

"Hey honey. I've charmed a bowl of soup to stay warm for you if you want it?"

Draco shook his head, which had the side-effect of making his hair even more mussed up than before. "I'm dot hungry." He professed, and his nose wrinkled adorably as he sniffed again. Suddenly awkward, Draco bit his bottom lip nervously and shuffled his feet a little, making him look even more like a little child. Cautious grey eyes peered over at him. "Cab I stay dowb here wib you, please?" He asked hopefully, and sniffed again, making the congestion in his voice even worse. A hand emerged briefly from the cocoon of blankets and rubbed childishly at his nose before disappearing again. The grey eyes were staring at the floor now, as though desperate to hide the hurt that would come inevitably when he was turned down.

"Oh, love, 'course you can. Come here." Harry reassured him, and opened up his arms. As Draco made his way over to the sofa, the cocoon seemed to shed bits of duvet, and Harry found his arms filled with a ball of Weasley knitting and sick Draco, the duvet abandoned on the floor a few steps from the sofa.

Draco pressed his face into Harry's chest and wiggled until he could bury his face into the hollow at the base of Harry's neck. Harry's arms tightened around Draco of their own accord and he kissed the top of Draco's head fondly, the only visible part of Draco he could find. In response, he felt Draco's nose nuzzling against his neck contently, slightly damp from congestion, and Harry discovered that he didn't mind.

Draco seemed content to simply cuddle up to him, so Harry turned back to the television, unconsciously running his fingers gently through Draco's hair.

He noticed that Draco was shivering lightly, and said, "Draco, love, wouldn't you be warmer and more comfortable in bed?"

Draco shook his head violently, and Harry caught a glimpse on desperate grey eyes. "More comfortable here, and you're warm." Came the muffled answer, and Harry knew that really, that meant that it was lonely in their bedroom, and Draco didn't want to be alone.

"It's alright, love, I'll stay and keep you warm." Harry reassured him, and Draco knew that really, that meant Harry would always be there, and he would never leave him alone. A small, contented noise came from the blonde, and Harry just held him, glad that he had chosen to take the day off work, even though he knew that Draco just had a bad cold.

Five short minutes later, Draco shifted somewhat desperately and pressed his nose fiercely against Harry's shoulder blade. His breath hitched a few times, like he was crying, and Harry cradled him carefully. "Draco, love, what's wrong?"

The blonde head shook, but he pressed his nose into Harry's shoulder blade even harder, and his breath hitched again.

"Draco, love, I know something's wrong. Look at me, love." Draco shook his head again, and gripped his t-shirt tighter. Ever so gently, Harry took Draco's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head back so he could look at him.

Draco's nose wrinkled and his eyelids fluttered down to half-closed. Nostrils flaring, he sneezed, spraying Harry's t-shirt and arm. "Heh-Tshoo!"

"Bless you, love." Harry said, and summoned a packet of tissues to clean up Draco's face. Draco's shoulders shook, and a tear spilled out from beneath closed lashes. Concerned, Harry leant forwards to kiss his lover's sweaty forehead.

That seemed to get a reaction, at least. The grey eyes blinked open, full of unshed tears. With an uncharacteristic lack of confidence, a small voice from his lap asked, "Why are you still letting me sit with you? Don't you want me off your lap? I'm disgusting and snotty and…." Despite the words, Draco gripped Harry tighter, as though he were truly afraid that his lover was about to shove him away.

Harry pulled him in tight. "Because I don't think that you're disgusting. I think your little red nose is adorable, and I like having you on my lap." Draco seemed to read the message behind the words and relaxed against him, snuggling up close.

Harry rested his own head on top of Draco's and asked softly, "Is that what your parents used to say?" Draco nodded against him, and Harry kissed him again, a silent promise that he would always be there, and always love him.

Out of the blue, a few minutes later, Draco's hot breath hit his neck as Draco lifted his head slightly and whispered, "I love you."

Harry smiled, and whispered back, "Love you, too, you big softie."

They lapsed back into silence, Draco's soft sniffles growing further and further between, until Harry was convinced that the other man was drifting towards sleep. Eyes closed, Draco mumbled something sleepily, and Harry had to strain to catch the words.

"Happy." He mumbled, and Harry smiled, gently kissing him. He knew that by Monday, Draco would be back to himself; poised, snarky and sarcastic, and Ron would be asking him why on Earth he'd asked the git to marry him.

But Ron didn't see Draco's unguarded moments like Harry did, and he didn't realise that beneath it all, Draco was a romantic softie, and he makes Harry happy, too.