Harry sits at the kitchen table, holding onto a mug of tea, watching Draco scramble eggs on the stove. There’s music playing over a speaker and she’s humming along softly, hopping on the balls of her feet to the rhythm, and Harry stares. She’s wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a Modern Baseball t-shirt with some faded tour dates on the back. There’s a random bruise on the back of her thigh, her hair is sleep mussed, and Harry can just see the tips of her ears sticking out from where her hair is tucked behind them. 