Chapter 9: Reconciliation
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"You would need to mix the yolk from a silver goose's egg with the mothwing dust, stirring counter-clockwise approximately seven times, before adding it to the other ingredients."
"Wonderful, Mr. Malfoy. Take 10 points to – oh, wait. Nonetheless, that's excellent work, my boy."
It was getting easier and easier to slip back into performing as the Malfoy he'd been before the War. Draco wasn't worried about anyone hexing him, not after how things had gone down last time, and was steadily reclaiming some of his old behaviors, however petulantly. There were many he retired for good, but some would probably always be part of him. Like his tendency to try and outshine Granger in everything academic and take the title of class valedictorian. The victory was so sweet, he could almost taste it.
"Actually, Professor," came Granger's annoyingly high-pitched voice. "If you scramble the yolk before adding the mothwing dust, that will produce a clearer, crisper result than simply mixing the two together."
Slughorn briefly tested her technique before offering congratulations. "What a fantastic way to refine the traditional technique, Ms. Granger. Hmm, I wonder," he mused. "With a little polishing, I think you could go ahead and publish that discovery."
Granger beamed. Draco scowled, but secretly felt a wave of comfort hit. This was normal, Granger showing him up in class. Her intuitions didn't take away from his knowledge, but, as usual, she bested him (seemingly) without trying.
"Alright there, Malfoy?"
"Naturally, Granger. I must congratulate you on that most original insight."
"I was surprised that you knew as much as you did. Most people have never heard of the Obfuscation Elixir."
"It was administrated frequently in my household." Merlin, now he'd gone and said too much.
Surprisingly, Granger took the admission in stride. "Certainly not to you, I'd hope?"
Draco found himself chuckling. "Father tried once, but his intentions were quelled once Mother cottoned on."
"Good thing for you that she was around."
"Very much so."
There was an awkward pause. Slughorn had gone back to grading papers, and the rest of their very small Advanced Potions class was digging ingredients out of the cupboards in preparation for their first try at the elixir.
He cleared his throat. "Say, Granger – Slughorn doesn't mind if we work in partners for the assignments. Did you want to show me your technique up close?"
"If you'd like me to, seeing as it's rather simple." She wasn't going to make this easy for him, but at least it wasn't an outright rejection.
"I would," Draco said decisively.
Another pause. "Let's grab ingredients, then."
They walked to the cabinet side by side, not together, but not separately either. It was an exhilarating feeling, being on the verge of making another friend that wasn't Harry or Longbottom and one that could keep up with Draco's academic interests. When Pansy and Blaise came to see him in the Hospital Wing, they'd expressed concern and regret, but not a desire to renew their friendship. Draco understood. Should one of his former acquaintances take up with a squad of Gryffindorks, he'd have reservations as well.
They set up their stations and cobbled together all of the necessary ingredients, grouping them together instead of in two separate piles. Draco set up the cauldrons and Granger lit the burners, taking care not to catch his long sleeves on fire. With one book between them, they took the first steps towards making the potion.
"–If you powder the mothwings–"
"–I can scramble the yolks–"
Granger smiled sheepishly back. Draco decided it would be best to get the process moving and snatched the jar of whole mothwings, dumping out the quantity he'd need to powder. Beside him, Granger worked just as efficiently cracking the silver goose eggs and scrambling them, not spilling a drop.
"Now, if you'll add a pinch of the dust," Granger said, watching Draco powder the mothwings. He extracted a literal pinch off of the counter and tossed it into the bluish-silvery mixture, watching carefully as Granger carefully stirred seven times. The liquid shimmered, and, in light of the accomplishment, Granger's eyes positively glowed in response.
"Well done," he offered, not grudging any longer.
An odd feeling filled Draco as Granger turned her light-filled eyes on him, nearly beaming. "Let's see if we can make a go of this, Malfoy," she said. "I'll cut and assemble the first five items on the list, and you'll do the rest?"
He gave the ingredients a quick once over and noticed though he'd have six to prepare, she'd taken one of the more tedious tasks – preparing the beetle's eyes. In all, it was a completely fair trade-off.
Nodding once, Draco mentally listed the steps he'd have to complete and chose to start with the asphodel – the most difficult of his six – first. They worked together in silence, Granger efficiently quartering the beetle's eyes while Draco chopped, diced, and crushed the roots and seeds. Draco had always been expert at Potions; but then again, so had Granger. Their ingredients were prepared in record time.
"Ready to add?" Granger asked briskly, tying back her bushy hair.
"Quite ready," Draco replied. "Half the beetle's eyes first, I'd say?" Their book called for all of the beetle's eyes to be added, but there was a practical reason why Draco chose to hold off on the second half.
He didn't offer Granger his reasoning. She looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping anxiously on the tabletop before suddenly lighting up with understanding.
"The aftertaste," she said eagerly. "Adding half of the beetle's eyes initially and the other half after, oh, after the asphodel dissolves removes the aftertaste!"
Draco smiled. Her enthusiasm was surprisingly contagious, and it was quite nice to have a partner who cottoned on quickly for a change.
"I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!" Granger exclaimed, distraught.
"Well, Granger," he said smoothly. "You can't make all the discoveries in our class, after all."
"Stuff it, Malfoy," she said good-naturedly. "If we don't get these in there, our yolk-mothwing mixture's going to spoil."
He tossed the quartered beetle's eyes in, internally cringing as the squishy texture came into contact with his hand. Completely in synch, Granger snagged his chopped asphodel and dropped the pieces in, one by one. Again, Draco was impressed – like his, Granger's knowledge of potion-making stretched far beyond the textbook.
They continued down the ingredient list, Draco stopping Granger from adding one too many mistletoe berries and Granger stopping Draco from adding an unnecessary counter-clockwise stir after every seventh clockwise. "That makes it too viscous," she explained quickly.
There wasn't much need to consult the textbook. If a mistake was in the process of being made, the other caught it before it actually happened. They both seemed to have photographic memories of what each step called for and knew how to achieve better results than the actual author. Draco found himself in the middle of a potion-making experience far beyond anything he'd ever achieved by himself. He and Granger moved as one entity, stirring, adding, and tweaking as if they'd been partners for years instead of mere minutes.
"Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger!" crowed Slughorn, "What a marvelous effort!"
Draco suspected Slughorn didn't see – or even know – all the ways in which he and Granger had refined the potion. Nonetheless, they accepted his congratulations with good grace and went back to adding the last few ingredients.
"Malfoy," said Granger suddenly, as their frantic pace finally slowed, "While this brews, we should make a comprehensive list of all the ways in which we altered the recipe."
He wondered at her motivations. "I concur," Draco replied. "Any particular reason why?"
"I was thinking about what Slughorn said before. About publishing."
Warning bells went off in his head. Did she intend to take the fruits of their labor and leave him out of the final product?
"–he's really quite right, you know, and, to be quite honest, Malfoy, you can still be a right little berk sometimes, but you're actually not so awful anymore."
"Thanks?" he offered.
"You're welcome. So do you think it's worth the effort? You'd have to help, of course, it's only right, since we used a lot of your innovations as well–"
"Are you asking me to co-publish with you?" Draco couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice.
Granger rolled her eyes. "I've only been trying to ask you that for the last five minutes, Malfoy. In addition, I think we should partner up for the rest of the year. No one else has even come close to our shared level of productivity."
"Same," Draco said, surprising himself yet again. "It's so refreshing to work with someone who actually understands potions theory."
Granger laughed. "You might not want to mention "potions" and "theory" in the same sentence to Harry."
"It's quite a mystery how it's not a turn on for him," Draco laughed, momentarily forgetting Granger was one of Harry's closest friends. His memory rushed back as her face took on an expression of horror. He imagined their new partnership flying out the window and angrily rebuked himself until she suddenly burst out laughing.
"You're forward," Granger said, still grinning. "And cheeky. I think I can get along with this new Malfoy."
"I've always been this witty, Granger," Draco said. "You've just not been around to appreciate my brilliance."
He was treated to the most enormous eye roll he'd ever seen; and, after years of friendship with Pansy, that was saying something.
"I'll grab the glass bottles; you'll pour the finished potion." Granger directed, flouncing off to grab the appropriate flasks. Draco glanced around the room and noticed how there wasn't another pair with more than three-quarters of the recipe completed. He smiled. Granger was strangely companionable. Maybe this could all work out for the better.
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They were getting evicted. Apparently, the seller had learned that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, would be occupying the residence along with Harry Potter, Chosen One and Saviour, and so he'd backed out of Escrow.
Harry's heart dropped as he held the documents that'd arrived only moments before. Draco was going to be so disappointed. Even if they went to live at Grimmauld Place, which Harry was rather hesitant to do, anyway, they'd still be losing their home; the one they'd already started making happy memories in. He was equally hesitant to move into the Manor, even though Draco would have full access to the expansive gardens.
He tried to burn off some steam by uttering a variety of curse words that grew fouler and more vulgar by the second, but all he could see were delicious pancake breakfasts and a flushed Draco covered in mud, laughing at Harry's horrible garden puns.
Would it be better to hide the news from Draco, to let him enjoy their last week in the dream house together, or tell him right away? Undoubtedly, he was going to be upset either way. Harry rather thought Draco would accuse him of having trust issues again if he didn't disclose immediately.
With a sigh, Harry pocketed the letter – strongly refraining from ripping it up and mushing it into pulp – and made his way to Hogwarts for his afternoon classes. Thank Merlin he'd been able to talk his advisor into that free period. He resolved to tell Draco after Transfiguration, their one shared class.
The day went by in a bit of a blur. He practiced Protean Charms, which Hermione had used in their fifth year for enchanted Galleons, and which Draco had used during sixth year to communicate with fellow Death Eaters. Harry struggled to reconcile his Draco with the one he'd known at school, trying desperately to forgive Draco for his past actions. He reminded himself that he hadn't been such a saint, either, and that Draco never wanted to kill anyone.
He'd managed to get into a productive headspace before the end of Charms, moving seamlessly through Herbology (though working in the dirt reminded him again of Draco in the garden and that, by this time next week, they'd no longer have a home) and grabbing a quick bite before dashing over to Transfiguration.
The Transfiguration classroom was small. Harry looked around – Draco was usually here by now, eager for Harry's presence to revitalize him enough to make it through their last class of the day. Frowning, Harry slumped down into one of the desks farthest from the door and waited. Other eighth years hoping for a NEWT in Transfiguration trickled in, about half of them offering Harry a greeting, even though the media shitstorm about him and Draco hadn't died down in the slightest.
Finally, the oak wooden door swung open, and Draco walked in astride Hermione Granger. Harry's jaw dropped in surprise; not only was Draco laughing merrily, he had his outer cloak (which he always drew around him like a shield) casually tossed over his shoulder as to reveal his Hogwarts sweater. In a very odd way, it was almost like the old days when Draco would strut around the school and Harry would be drawn to his every motion. Only now, Harry could see the genuine enjoyment on his face, could notice the way confidence was slowly inscribing itself back into Draco's posture. He'd never seen Malfoy look sexier, honestly.
"Harry!" cried Hermione. He quickly closed his jaw and sat up straight, plastering a smile on his face before Draco could cast scrutinizing eyes at him. "Harry," she repeated, more quietly, once they'd clambered into the desks nearest Harry. "Why didn't you tell me that Malfoy crochets? I've wanted to learn for ages now; knitting's not really a challenge, not anymore, and that amigurumi you two bought me was just adorable –"
She was cut off abruptly as their new Transfiguration professor strode into the room. Harry did his best to quell his jealousy as Draco and Hermione passed notes during the entire lecture; they silently Vanished the parchment, after adding their response, and then made it reappear on the other's desk. Like Professor McGonagall had so eloquently stated, Vanished objects went into everything, and Harry couldn't possibly fathom how they were extracting the parchment from nonbeing and bringing it back into reality.
Their written conversation carried on throughout class. Though they wouldn't obviously be talking anyway, Harry felt quite ignored by the end of the lesson. Sometimes Draco would catch his eye, and they'd share a secret, private smile, but there was none of that today. Instead, when the professor asked them to practice the concept, Draco and Hermione cast quickly, demonstrating their mastery of the skill, and then went right back to their conversation about crocheting. While he was in the middle of third attempt at casting correctly, Harry caught a glimpse of the parchment – Draco had even taken to drawing crochet chains and stitches to properly inform Hermione of the different techniques.
After what seemed like forever, the class ended, and students slowly trickled out.
"This has been wonderful, Malfoy," gushed Hermione, "But Arithmancy starts in ten minutes, and I promised Professor Vector I'd help lead a review session about one of the concepts."
"Not a problem," said Draco smoothly. "So, about tonight – I'll bring the hooks; you'll take care of the yarn?"
"Absolutely," replied Hermione. Before turning to leave, she pulled Harry into a quick hug and told him that it was good to see him.
Confused, Harry watched her dash out of the classroom as Draco started packing up his materials.
"Honestly," said Draco, slightly muffled as he carefully inserted his favorite quill into the very bottom pocket of his bag, "I could just murder my past self for not befriending Granger. At the risk of sounding really cheesy, she's a genius."
He'd always known that Draco and Hermione were both extremely intelligent. It only made sense that they'd be able to communicate on a different plane than he and Draco could. But everything felt nonsensical as Harry tried to deal with the fallout of his jealousy.
"You don't have to tell me," Harry said, trying (and failing) to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "We've been friends for seven years."
If he hadn't been looking, Harry wouldn't have noticed the hurt pass over Draco's face.
Expecting some sort of shouting match about how he should want Draco to make friends, about how he should be happy someone was willing to befriend him; Harry was taken aback when Draco spread his arms and enclosed him into the biggest, warmest bear hug they'd ever given each other.
He felt tears spring to his eyes as Draco whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry I neglected you today. Transfiguration is kind of our time, isn't it?"
Harry could only whisper back "it is," and then, after another moment, "I'm sorry." Draco hugged him tighter until Harry felt himself melt.
"There's something I have to tell you," he mumbled, once he felt like things were finally right again.
Pulling back slightly, Draco gave him an inquisitive look. Even though they'd just reaffirmed their relationship, Harry could see all of Draco's insecurities written clear on his pale, pointy face.
"It's nothing like that," he said hastily, ghosting his hand over Draco's cheek. "But it's not great, either."
Draco stepped back to lean casually against the desk, though Harry could see his fingers trembling. "Out with it, Potter," he demanded.
"Our house," Harry sighed, unable to meet Draco's eyes. "Draco, the seller backed out of the sale."
Across from him, Draco sank down from the desk to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest and massaging his temples with the palms of his hands. "This entire year is a nightmare."
Harry lowered himself to the floor too and wrapped Draco back up in his arms, making soft, soothing noises. After a moment, Draco leaned into Harry's touch. "I was looking forward to passing out candy, too. To the, what did you call them? Treat or trickers?"
"Trick or treaters," Harry corrected automatically. "And at least we're homeless together, right?"
It was enough for Draco to crack a tiny smile. "I suppose we do have options, should we take the time to consider them."
"Shall we consider them over a pint, then?"
"That sounds perfect, actually."
As they packed up their school bags, Harry thought of what would come after the pub. Of where they would go. He personally couldn't think of spending another night in the house that would not become their home.
Fortunately, Draco seemed to be on the same page, because he said, "And I want all of our possessions out of that house tonight, Potter, so don't even think about getting yourself plastered at the pub."
"Deal," Harry said, feeling very much like as long as he had Draco with him, he'd always have his home.
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They ended up finding a new place to live (after two weeks of reluctantly splitting their nights between the Manor and Grimmauld Place) in Hogsmeade sometime during the first week of November. It was a shoddy studio flat, with a small kitchen and an even smaller closet – much to Draco's despair – but the owner wasn't prejudiced, the neighbors were never home, and they were within walking distance of Hogwarts. Neither was willing to immediately consider buying again, not after how quickly they'd lost their dream house.
The cold seemed to seep into the flat through the windows, and, from there, right into Draco's bones. He cast three industrial-strength Warming Charms, even though he was still frighteningly cold after each one, and finally resorted to stuffing towels under the door cracks and putting thin plastic up over the windows. Nothing helped. Eventually, Draco put on one of Potter's horrible, hideous Christmas sweaters and went to hide under a blanket on the sofa. He studied for his Potions exam until Harry came barreling in the door two hours later.
"Merlin," he snarled, kicking off his trainers and chucking his cloak onto the ugly coat stand – when he came to help them move for a second time, Neville swore it looked like a troll – before plopping down on the sofa next to Draco, trembling with energy. "I could just murder that old bint."
"Which one?" Draco asked mildly. He was never overly surprised to see Harry riled up, even with all of the traumatic events that'd been happening as of late.
"Molly Weasley!" Harry bellowed, throwing himself back off of the sofa so that he could angrily pace around the room.
Draco arranged his face as to convey polite inquisition, not his overwhelming fear that Harry was about to be forcibly taken away from him.
"You see, Malfoy," Harry said, still treading the carpet bare, "My presence for Weasley family brunch has been requested this Sunday morning in an express invitation."
"Are you going to accept?"
"They've made it impossible for me to refuse!" shouted Harry, stopping in his tracks to glare properly at Draco.
"Couldn't you simply send a kind note with your regards?"
"That's not the way this one works," Harry grumbled. The wind seemed to finally blown out of his sails and so he arranged himself comfortably on the sofa next to Draco. "Molly wants to apologize for the Howler and duly note all of her concerns at the same time."
Even to Draco, that sounded manipulative, and he'd grown up in a serpent's nest full of Malfoys and Death Eaters.
"You're probably not going to believe me, because we both know I'm usually really dense about these things," said Harry. "But I'm pretty convinced that me being a continued part of the Weasley family is contingent on me accepting this invitation and attending the brunch."
"That actually sounds like a really smart deduction, Potter."
"There's another thing I have to tell you." Harry groaned. "Why is there always another thing?"
"Let me guess," Draco surmised, "For one, I'm not invited. And for two, your Weasley status is also contingent on you distancing yourself from me."
"You're absolutely right on the first count, and, honestly, I'm not sure about the second one," Harry said, ruffling his hair into a right state. "But that's not happening anyway." There was a dark look in his eyes, and Draco didn't doubt for a moment that Harry really meant it.
There were a few moments of silence. Then Harry said, "I'm just not ready to give them up."
"I'd never ask you to give up your family," Draco said quietly.
"I know you never would," Harry affirmed. "But I really do believe that, once you're an adult or whatever, you should put your partner first. It's not just out of necessity, Draco, I want to put you first. I want to put us first. And the idea of going to this brunch makes me feel like I wouldn't be doing that."
Draco loved the idea of being Harry's number one, but he also knew when to keep quiet. This was a decision Harry had to absolutely come to on his own. He could offer no solutions here, only support.
They sat together quietly on the sofa well into the night. It was nearly midnight before Draco went to fold his blanket up, afterwards brushing his teeth and falling into bed. Harry followed him, gently snuggling against Draco and nuzzling into his neck.
Enjoying the comfort and warmth, Draco was just about to fall asleep when he heard Harry whisper, "Would you be willing to come with me?"
He waited a moment before responding. Come with Harry to the Weasley's Sunday brunch? That sounded like a recipe for disaster. However, it made sense as a logical approach; Draco'd actually had to exercise his self-control to refrain from suggesting that option. This way, Harry would be demonstrating his willingness to be a part of the Weasley family while still reinforcing his commitment to Draco. The Weasleys would be forced to recognize Harry alongside Draco or reject him outright. There were several other in-between options, mostly involving various sorts of snubs, but Draco refused to let himself dwell on those.
"I would love to," he finally whispered back, rotating around to kiss Harry properly. They stayed curled up together for the rest of the night.
Sunday did not come quickly, even as much as Draco was dreading it. Their nights were spent in cold squalor – they'd discussed moving on a more permanent basis back to Grimmauld Place or the Manor, but Draco was dead set on having their own space away from any ghosts and Harry was reluctant to make Neville help them move for a third time – and their days were spent at Hogwarts, suffering through long class lectures and even longer study sessions. NEWTs were quickly approaching, and Hermione was determined not to let either of them forget it. Saturday was spent in the library studying, and they were actually productive; Draco made it through over two thirds of the recommended review topics for Potions and coached Harry through the first third. They celebrated with a pint and hurried blow jobs in the loo of the pub.
When the big day did arrive, however, Draco was surprisingly calm and collected. He took deep breaths and tarried in the shower, determined to soak up as much positive energy as possible. Merlin knew he'd need it.
Harry wore simple slacks and a semi-dressy black v-neck shirt, so Draco followed suit with a nice pair of black trousers and a silver button down. He wasn't sure if he'd ever have the option of wearing short sleeves around the Weasleys.
They arrived precisely at eleven, though Harry was hesitant to knock on the door. Draco ended up doing the honors. Any other time and he would have made a crack about how he wasn't sure if the house would come crashing down or not from just the simple touch, but he thought it best not to rile an already-quivering Harry. Not that he would mention to Harry that he was quivering, either. The stubborn prat had been insisting all morning that no, he was not nervous, Draco, and that's final.
The Weaselette answered the door, and Draco couldn't be happier to see someone who was not the matron Weasley or the Weasel himself. However, they hadn't been expecting a warm greeting, and they weren't disappointed.
"Harry!" she hissed, looking frantically back and forth between Harry and Draco. "Why did you bring him? Mum specifically told you not to!" the Weaselette took a deep breath before continuing. "For Merlin's sake, now she might not let you in the house."
The door was pulled open behind the Weaselette, and all three jumped in surprise. Draco couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was just one of the Weasely twins, the one who lost his counterpart in the War. He definitely experienced a rush of guilt over that, especially as the twin – George, Draco thought his name was – rushed through the doorway and pulled Harry into a huge hug, on the doorstep and all.
"Great to see you, mate!" George smiled, cuffing Harry on the back of the head. "Blimey, it's been ages since we've had you 'round for a proper meal."
The Weaselette disappeared back inside with an apologetic expression, leaving the three of them on the front stoop.
Draco decided it was a good time to get at least one Weasely on their side, especially since George already seemed to be in Harry's favor. He extended a hand, taking care not to focus for an unseemly amount of time on George's missing ear. "Pleased to be reacquainted, Weasley."
With only a slightly suspicious glance, George took Draco's hand and shook it. "Good to see you too, Malfoy."
"I'd like to officially apologize for everything I did or said to you at school," Draco said, trying not to cringe from the awkwardness of the situation. "I'm hoping we can have a fresh start."
George met Draco's eyes as if searching for maliciousness or deceit. Finally, he nodded and said, "Likewise."
There was a silent moment when Harry and George seemed to have a silent conversation through eye contact. If Draco didn't know about Harry's abysmal Legilimency skills, he'd have suspected that they were communicating by mind. After some time, George nodded and clapped Harry on the shoulder again, as if he'd understood something meaningful.
"I've got to warn you though, mate," he said cautiously. "Mum's on the warpath. She's furious you're with Malfoy now. Dad's reserving judgement, though he's definitely not fond of the Malfoy family. Well, you already know how things are with Ron, and I'm sure you're not surprised Percy's gone and taken his side; we thought he was done being a prat after the War and all, but now he's even more of a wanker than he was before…"
The door flew open, and all three of them jumped rather guiltily.
"Harry, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. She too stepped out onto the stoop, pulling Harry against her bosom in a tight hug. "So good to see you. You do quite look like you could do with some more meat on those bones. Why don't you come inside and have some brunch?"
They seemed to have been invited into the house, and the flavorful aromas were making Draco salivate; they hadn't eaten their normal breakfast that morning in anticipation of a good old fashioned Weasley meal. Harry warned him that, if things went well (which neither of them anticipated but still hoped for anyway), Molly would be heaping seconds and thirds onto both of their plates. He couldn't wait to get inside and try some of that food.
George followed his mother into the house, but as Harry went to step through the doorway, Mrs. Weasley turned back around and said, "Food is for family only, dear. I'm sure you both understand."
Draco felt rather than saw Harry's anger. "Well then Draco should be joining us at the breakfast table," he said through clenched teeth. "By all means, he's my family too now."
"Are you married?" Mrs. Weasley asked pleasantly. Behind her, Draco could see George shaking his head.
Dumbfounded, Harry met Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and Draco witnessed the silent battle of wills between them. It was a showdown almost as intense as some of the ones he'd had with Father during his later school years.
"Harry, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, the self-declared victor, "Won't you come in and have some brunch?"
Harry reached out and took Draco's hand. "Thanks for the invitation," he said, just as pleasantly as Mrs. Weasley. "But I won't be dining without Draco."
"Do remember, dear, that the invitation still stands," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "Whether you end up coming by on a Sunday in a few weeks, a couple months, or even a year."
"I wouldn't bet on it, Molly," said Harry. "Smart money says the next time you'll see me then will be at my and Draco's wedding."
Without another word, but still with a simpering smile on her face, Mrs. Weasley closed the door, cutting off the delicious aromas coming from within.
For the first time since they'd arrived, Draco caught Harry's eyes. There was sadness there, but also finality and courage.
"Don't even say it," said Harry, cutting off Draco's attempt to speak. "I don't regret the decision I made. In fact, I'm thrilled with it." He smiled almost devilishly at Draco, taking his hand. "You know why?"
"Why?" asked Draco, suddenly unable to breathe.
"Because, Draco Malfoy, I have every intention of marrying you. It's not the question of if; it's the question of when." Harry's smile turned sheepish. "That is, if you accept my proposal."
"Yes," said Draco, drawing him into a passionate kiss right there on the Weasleys' stoop. "Harry, yes. A thousand times yes."
"I love you," Harry whispered into Draco's ear, kissing him lovingly on the cheek.
Draco smiled, returning his affections by giving Harry an enthusiastic butterfly kiss. "I love you too, Potter."
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