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"Come on you, get up."
Draco grumbled playfully and rolled onto his stomach, "Do we have to?"
"Draco, we've barely left this bed in 3 days, if we don't get up and do something vaguely productive soon I'm going to start thinking you only want me for my arse."
Draco lifted his head to look at Harry, "You don't really believe that do you?" Harry merely raised an eyebrow before placing a kiss on Draco's forehead and swinging his legs around to find the floor. He padded over to the dresser and rummaged around for a few minutes. At length he extracted a plain black vest and a pair of battered denim shorts and pulled them on.
"I don't have any clothes, at least not any for this kind of weather."
Harry sighed with amusement, rolled his eyes, dug back through the drawers, and threw a couple of garments in Draco's direction.
"Hmmmm, you've finally developed some sort of taste in clothes I see," mused Draco as he examined the white linen shirt and the pale grey shorts.
"Just get dressed you insufferable git," Harry laughed.
The small beach house opened out directly onto the sand. The sun stung Draco's eyes at first but the view was breathtaking so he gladly forced himself to take it in. They didn't bother with shoes, preferring instead to feel the warmth of the day between their toes. The shore seemed to stretch on for miles, a little way off in the distance there appeared to be a cluster of market stalls and what could have been a makeshift cafe, but other than that it was deserted.
They walked down to the ocean's edge and kicked the shallow water at each other's shins until Draco slipped and narrowly missed a sea urchin with his foot. They opted instead to sprawl out on the sand, letting the waves lap gently closer to them as the tide drew in.
"It's beautiful here Harry," Draco whispered.
"I wanted us to be somewhere peaceful; we've both been through so much."
"I love it, I love you."
Harry didn't say anything for a time. His eyebrows furrowed together and more than once he opened his mouth and closed it again.
"You don't have to say it back, it doesn't matter."
Harry twisted his body around so that he was leaning on his elbow slightly above Draco, "That's the second time you've said that to me."
Draco turned his head away and shrugged, "You just looked so uncomfortable..."
"Yes, but not because-" he cut himself off mid sentence, "What would you say if I said I couldn't love you back? Would you accept that?" asked Harry.
Shock hit Draco's chest like a broken bottle. His stomach tumbled around and his skin felt too tight for his bones.
"Yes," he replied quietly.
Harry was on top of him before he knew what was happening, gripping his shoulders with force.
"Look at me Draco," he demanded, pulling the face back to his, "Are you insane? Don't you get that you're worth more than that? You deserve everything I promised you, and so help me I'm going to make sure you get it, do you understand?"
"You don't have any obligation to me Harry," Draco bit back.
"Fuck obligation, I'm done with obligation!" he seethed before registering the obvious fear he was generating. He took a deep breath and continued in a softer tone. "I came back to you because I love you and I want to make you happy."
He reached for the chain around Draco's neck and unclasped it gently, "Do you know what this is?" He indicated the silver band that the chain carried. A magically engraved dragon danced around it slowly.
"It's your ring."
Harry shook his head. "It's not mine. It's my father's wedding ring; I want it to be your wedding ring."
Draco's lips parted slightly in disbelief: he knew how important relics of his parents were to Harry.
"So what I'm struggling to find the words for, I mean, what I want to ask is: Will you marry me Draco? Out here on the sand in the moonlight?"
Arthur Weasley stepped into the manor and addressed the house elf who'd granted his entrance, "Is Mr Malfoy home?"
"He is occupied at the moment Sir," the squeaked reply was accompanied by a low bow.
"It's rather important that I speak with him, will you ask him to see me?"
"As you wish Sir," the house elf disappeared in a blink and Arthur was left to study the entrance hall politely.
He noted that it was bigger even than his own sitting room but far less inviting. The cold marble and sombre artwork seemed to leech all the warmth from his spirit. He waved awkwardly at the aged portrait of a beautiful young maiden who hung on the back wall. She stared openly at him.
"He's not in the best of moods you know, if you value your eardrums you'll leave now," she stated.
"I'd best stay put my lady, but I appreciate your concern."
"It's your funeral," came the gloomy response, "Who are you anyway?"
"Currently I'm the Minister for Magic, but you may call me Arthur," he smiled.
"Arthur... I knew an Arthur once, he was such a kind, strong, noble man..." Her demeanour became more hospitable, "Have you come about my dear Draco?"
Arthur nodded silently just as the house elf reappeared.
"Mr Malfoy will see you now. He's in the drawing room, I'll take you," he squeaked.
When Arthur entered the room Lucius' eyes bore into his own in scrutiny. After a long moment he sneered and turned away, "Why are you here?"
"I came to discuss the investigation with you, may I sit?"
"Feel free, why don't you help yourself to my vintage Fire Whiskey as well, and after that you can take a jig in the family graveyard," Lucius drawled bitterly.
"Thank you," Arthur replied genially, helping himself to a short glass and pouring out an inch or so of amber liquid, "I think I'll pass on the jig though."
Lucius sat down in a high backed chair facing the room's grand fireplace and stared absently into the unlit hearth, supporting his chin on his white knuckles. "You may as well get it over with then," he snarled.
"You already know what I'm going to say. Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to read your guests thoughts?"
Lucius merely shrugged.
"You look tired Lucius."
"Of course I look tired I haven't slept in nearly three weeks you halfwit!"
"I know that this is difficult, but I wanted to let you know in person that we're still doing everything in our power to track him down."
"And what of Voldemort? Have you managed to catch up with him yet?"
"Regretfully, no. He seems to have gone underground. There's been no sign of him for a few days."
Lucius sat up straight, his eyes wild with panic, "He's got him, he has Draco!"
"We don't know that yet, we have to stay calm."
"Stay calm? Stay calm! Would you be calm? Do you realise how much hatred that bastard has for my son? He wants to rip him into pieces!"
"Voldemort has rather a lot of unfinished business; Draco may not even be his target."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd heard him in St Mungos," Lucius uttered darkly. "Don't you understand? Draco defected, he's a traitor. Not only that but he's the only traitor to ever escape his punishment. Voldemort despises him for that more than he despises Harry Potter. Potter was an irritating inconvenience that he wanted out of the way. Draco he wants to mutilate and violate and break. He took great pleasure in describing it to me once, everything he'd do when he caught up with him.
"He said if I was lucky," Lucius hitched, "If I was lucky he'd let me watch... so that I could see the horror in his eyes before they flickered out for good."
A/N:
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