Love Bites (Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer, Part One)

Bliss

 Vocabulary for this chapter: 

furfuraceous - dandruff-covered

raggabrash - disorganised, to the point of driving others insane

pediculous - lice-infested

rakefire - someone who overstays their welcome (so long that the fire would have gone out and you'd have to rake the embers)

klazomaniac - someone who only speaks by shouting

Saturday Afternoon

10 October 2009
Harry's POV

"Draco, you fucking arsehole. I'm going to fucking AK you into the next bloody universe when I get my hands on you," I fumed as I furiously paced the reception, finger jabbing at my mobile to ring up Hermione.

The bastard had cast a seriously high-level Anti-Disapparation charm on me before he'd Disapparated himself, eyes blazing in fury, completely ignoring my cries for him to wait a second and to calm the fuck down.

Still, I had to admit living with Draco was mostly heavenly, to say the least.

As it turned out, Draco was, perhaps, the most attentive, doting boyfriend to have ever graced the face of this earth.

I no longer had any need for an alarm, seeing as he almost always woke before I did and took it upon himself to wake me with any number of extraordinarily sweet ways.

Oftentimes, it was the somewhat standard, yet never-boring, slide out of sleep to find one's morning glory being attended to.

Once, he had me waking to my favourite song being played repeatedly.

Softly, at first, then gradually louder.

Still another had a fresh bunch of flowers, picked from our neighbour's garden (the one we hated, it should be noted), trailing up and down my body.

Most days, Draco had to leave for work long before I needed to be at the pitch, and I would usually find a note — a classic mix of gooey sweet and sass that made Draco... Draco.

"My Dearest Harry

(and I could just see the sardonic roll of the eyes and smirk while he wrote that),

I miss you already...

... no, really.

I really will by the time you manage to get your lazy arse up out of bed and moving around.

Kisses,
Draco

I loved every second of it.

And I retaliated by spoiling him in my own fashion.

I wrote my own notes—letters, actually, when I went out of town for Quidditch.

Since Draco loved word scrambles, puzzles, and was a confessed Sudoku addict, (seriously, how the man hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw astounded me sometimes) I would often cut up said letters so that he would have to unscramble them to read them.

My favourite had been when I'd had the mind to cut out every word that could be construed as naughty and sent those with one owl.

The rest of the letter I had sent separately, a few days later.

It was so blissful, for a while, that take-away cartons freely littered our table, usually abandoned halfway through the meal when a schmoopy kiss turned into a more heated kiss, which usually turned into something else entirely.