Things go back to the way they were before, save for all the times Harry catches himself thinking that he loves Draco. Like when he comes home from work on Fridays and she's already there, and she gets up to greet him, and her mouth is warm and tastes of the chamomile tea she was drinking with Luna. Or when he tells her he's going to shower, only for her to snap her attention away from whatever she's doing at the time and follow him to the bathroom without even asking. Sometimes she makes him get on his knees and washes his hair for him while he lets her fuck his mouth. Sometimes she blows soap bubbles through her fingers and uses too much of Harry's body wash. Or when he wakes up in the middle of the night and spends multiple minutes trying to catalogue her sleeping face in the dark, haloed by the mess of her silvery hair. She sleeps like a maniac; claiming more territory for herself and Hedwig throughout the night, limbs akimbo and fast asleep until Harry dares to move even an inch away from her to get some space. Maybe it results in him waking up with a crick in his neck every once in a while, but honestly, how dare he? He tries to tell her, then, thinking maybe it'll be easier when she might not hear him just yet, but the words stick in his throat. He tries to get them out, sometimes even all the way to the tip of his tongue, but they never roll past his lips. So he kisses her cheeks, instead, peachy soft and warm with sleep. 