Love Language

Harry was on the phone with Neville when Draco arrived. He listened to the end of his conversation as he started peeling potatoes with an actual peeler. 

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Harry concluded. “See you Sunday. Love you!" 

Draco scoffed. "You know, you tell people you love them a lot,” he grumbled.

Harry chuckled. “I know. I mean it a lot.”

Draco viciously threw down a peel. “So, you really love Hannah Abbot?

"Of course!” Harry teased. “She’s the mother of Neville’s child.”

“And Pansy?”

“Obviously. She’s your best friend.”

“And yesterday, when you told the mail carrier you loved her?”

“Draco, she brought me my LICORICE WANDS. So yes, I love her.”

“Okay, fine,” Draco grumbled. “I get it.”

Harry approached the sink carefully, prying the peeler away from Draco. “Why do I feel like we’re arguing?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know which one I am. Am I Neville level of love? Or the Post level of love? How am I supposed to be able to decide what I am to you if you love everyone.”

Harry set his wand on the potatoes and pulled Draco away from the sink. “Draco, I don’t say ‘I love you’ to tell you I love you.”

“Great.”

“I don’t say it because you don’t hear me. So instead I say, "I trust you”. Or “why don’t you choose what you want for dinner, I’m easy”. Or even “Can I have a hug? I had a bad day’.”

Draco, whose arms were crossed and blocking the embrace that Harry was trying to initiate, sighed again and took a step back. 

“It’s easier because you don’t get your hackles up right away,” Harry pressed on. “Do you seriously not know that? Because I worked that out a long time ago. Around the time you first told me I say ‘I love you’ too much. So, yes, Draco, I—”

Draco cut him off with his arms dropping over Harry’s shoulders, a kiss that apologised, and a push passed him with a gentle kiss. “Here,” he said, handing back Harry’s wand. “Let me finish these and get them boiling. Can you hand me the basil?” 

Harry, with a small chuckle, handed down the basil and poured them some wine, all while leaning gently into Draco’s space. Love language, after all, does not always require words.    

Okay, but just.... Fucking... THIS.

I love this as a fanfic, as a bloody brilliant depiction of Draco and just how uncomfortable he would be with hearing those words after everything, but also? Also because THIS is Love Languages! They're precious, quietly spoken, lovely things that so many people miss entirely, but when you notice them or understand? Hnnngg it's amazing!!!

This is SO GOOD!!!!