The common room fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Harry sat on the couch, his glasses slightly askew as he leaned against Draco, who was sprawled out beside him, his arm draped casually over Harry’s shoulders. They’d claimed the Gryffindor common room for themselves for the night—a rare occurrence, considering Draco usually stuck to his Slytherin roots. But tonight was different.

“Your house has atrocious taste in décor,” Draco muttered, his fingers idly playing with a loose thread on Harry’s jumper. “Red and gold everywhere. It’s like living inside a lion’s mouth.”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t move away. “You’ve mentioned this, like, a hundred times, Malfoy.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at the use of his surname but smirked. “And I’ll mention it a hundred more if it gets under your skin.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Though I suppose being here has its perks.”

Harry turned to look at him, their faces close enough that Draco could see the faint freckles across his nose. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Draco’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Like you,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice gone.

Harry’s cheeks flushed as he tried to hide his smile, but Draco caught it, his thumb brushing lightly over Harry’s knuckles. The room seemed to grow quieter, the fire’s warmth the only thing grounding them.

“Careful,” Harry said, trying to mask his nervousness. “Someone might hear you being nice to me.”

Draco scoffed, but his hand tightened ever so slightly on Harry’s. “Let them. I’m not ashamed.”

It wasn’t a grand confession, but it didn’t need to be. For them, sitting together in the quiet of the Gryffindor common room, it was enough.