_____<br/><br/>There was something comforting in being powerless. Little by little, it had become almost inevitable that they’d both end up in Harry’s bed and, lately, in each other’s arms. The weight of Draco’s head against Harry’s chest was becoming tentatively familiar, something Harry had a hard time minding.<br/>“I think what struck me today," he said, the quiet reflection breaking the silence that had befallen them. There was no gravity in his voice, his breathing only shallow as a result of their embrace. It was easier to have that conversation here, in a room that felt softer than the cellars. Otherwise, Harry appeared perfectly at ease; content, even.<br/>He had once again reached for Draco’s hair, Draco’s voice in his ear as he did, awfully aware of the fact that maybe it /was/ a thing for him. It was difficult not to, realizing the task was less finicky if he did a French plaid.<br/>“I think the cellar’s the only place I’ve felt afraid of dying."<br/>Harry’s thumb once again raked against Draco’s scalp, carefully sectioning another sliver of hair off, before slowly braiding another link. “Or at least not ready to.”