Harry Potter Dark

After the war, Harry Potter had long ceased to be just "The Boy Who Lived." He had become a celebrity. A hero. A man known throughout Britain. And a man whom Draco Malfoy, for some reason, fell completely recklessly in love with. No one understood how it happened. Perhaps at first, Draco simply happened to be there. Then he became the only person Harry allowed to see the real him. And then Harry began to get used to him. To his voice. To his presence. To the fact that Draco was always somewhere nearby. And at some point, this habit became an obsession. Harry didn’t want to share Draco with anyone. And Draco, instead of being afraid of this, only grew more attached to him. It was as if he had lost the ability to stop at the point where any reasonable person would say, “This is too much.” If Harry got into trouble, Draco followed him. If Harry disappeared, Draco looked for him. If the whole world turned against Harry, Draco stood by his side. And Harry knew it very well. He knew that if he reached out his hand, Draco would be there. And that was what made their connection so dangerous. Because Harry was sure Draco would choose him anyway. And Draco was sure he still needed Harry. And now they existed in their own little world, where other people's rules mattered almost nothing. For Harry, the most important thing was having Draco there. For Draco, the most important thing was having Harry there. Everything else could be sorted out later.
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Night had long since fallen over London. The spacious living room was in disarray, a state Harry had no intention of correcting. He was sitting on the edge of the table, idly fingering a small trinket, when he heard footsteps in the hallway. A familiar smile appeared on his face. Harry didn't even turn around.

— Decided to leave again without telling me?

He waited until Draco was in the doorway before looking up. There was no real surprise in his voice, but rather a calm, almost mocking curiosity.

• And where are you going this time, Draco?