He tightened his grip around Draco, hugging him closer, closer, closer, breathing soft words of encouragement in his ear. “Please, baby,” Harry whispered, his heart hammering in his chest because why wasn’t Draco breathing? “Talk to me.”
Draco jerked in his arms, as if slapped, and he choked back a sob, “I - I can’t -”
“I’m sorry -” Harry immediately said, kissing the top of Draco’s head. “You don’t need to do anything, baby, I’m sorry.”
He stayed silent, burying himself deep against Harry’s chest. Draco kept jerking in Harry’s arms, as if in war with himself, not sure if he wanted to bolt or get closer, closer, closer.
Why was Draco crying?
“Did I do something wrong?” Harry tried tentatively after a while, rocking them from side to side.
(What? It seemed to calm toddlers down - there was no reason why it wouldn’t do the trick for Draco.)
“No,” Draco whispered into his chest, heaving. “I - it’s my fault - I -”
Draco nodded. “I - I’m - you’re gay and I’m… I’m not a real boy -”
So that was the problem. “Draco,” Harry started carefully, “you are. Just because you don’t have a cock -”
Draco giggled - hiccoughed a dry sob. “Vulgar.”
“Shut up,” Harry smiled. “I mean it, though. You’re a boy.”
“I’m not -”
“You are.” Harry said firmly, his grip on Draco so tight it might bruise. “I’m gay, you’re a boy -”
“- and I am incredibly in love with you.”
“Oh,” Draco said, his breath hot on Harry’s neck. He was silent for a while, almost scarily still, until he slowly tilted his head to look up at Harry. His eyes were red, his cheeks wet with tears, and he had never looked more beautiful. “Oh,” he repeated, a smile breaking through. “I love you too.”
Harry kissed his nose.
Partly because he knew it would make Draco giggle again.
Partly just because he could.
But mostly because, though still crying, Draco was breathing again.