Till Dawn (HS)

ix

The living room was silent and peaceful; outside, the snow had died out through the night and now the sun peaked from behind the clouds, bringing senses of hope and purity to the gloomy outskirts of London. Harry stared down at the girl in his arms, his chin against the palm of his hand, and his face wearing a pensive expression as he watched her slowly wake up from her slumber. He had been awake for maybe an hour already, and spent the time watching her skin bask in the morning rays of sun, making her appear even more beautiful than he assumed plausible.

Had he never looked at her properly? The last time Harry saw her in the morning was that first night together, in his bed, and she was practically naked as she slept curled into his sheets. He had been so distracted that morning by the fact that he had allowed for some girl to stay over, that he hadn't taken the chance to marvel in the beauty she possessed. Staring at her now, Harry saw a girl whose beauty was unrivaled; her dark locks framed her glowing face, her pink lips were parted just the slightest as she breathed shallowly, and the delicious skin of her neck trailed off under the fabric of her dress, where he could see the swells of her breasts rolling out due to the way she was laying down. Harry supposed it would be okay if he just... placed a kiss on the dip of her shoulder... she might not mind it...

But when Clara's eyes fully opened and she let out the quietest of yawns, Harry shut his eyes instead and leaned his head back against the couch pillow, pretending to be asleep.

Clara craned her neck to peer at the owner of the arm draped across her stomach. Her body ached from being curled onto the couch, so she stretched her legs out the best she could and groaned.

"Harry," she shook his shoulder gently and shifted in his arms. Harry's eyelids lifted open and he faked a yawn.

"Hm?" he hummed.

"We fell asleep on your couch," Clara whispered to him, eyes wide. Harry fought back a laugh; she did not know that he was already fully aware of their sleeping arrangements.

"Oh," he muttered. He looked around and scratched his hairline, scraping back a few strands of hair that had swept over his forehead. "It's okay. Doesn't look like my dad is up yet."

Clara nodded slowly, still unsure about the whole thing; why wasn't he kicking her out already? It seemed that Harry was nicest when sleep was running through his veins. She bit at her lip and faced him, laying on her side and running her fingers through her somewhat tangled hair. She felt a bit sore from being on the couch, and gross since her dress was still on, but other than that, Clara felt... good? She felt like her body had been refreshed and the lingering exhaust had been uplifted, replaced by a bit more color to her skin and a brighter gleam in her eyes. She felt surprisingly rejuvenated.

"I have work at two," Clara said, not looking away from the green irises staring back at her.

Harry squinted his eyes at the clock on the far wall. "It's ten. You have time." He looked back to his girl.

She smiled faintly and without allowing a moment for her conscience to stop her, Clara snaked her arm around his waist and pulled her chest closer to his. The warmth from her body spread through Harry's blood and he fought his eyelids from falling shut again at the sensation of being that close to her.

"Clara," his nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent, faded jasmine from her perfume.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for last night," Harry murmured. "You don't... you don't know what he means to me. Thanks." The memory of the smile on his father's face and the hope in his eyes was enough to make Harry forget about the warning bells going off in his head as he stared at Clara and stroked the side of her stomach gently.