Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.
Author's Note: Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (Selly87) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (dracosoftie) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

Chapter 51:

Draco's POV, several hours later, early evening

"You're not fucking serious!" Harry scowls at me as I gently close the door to Julian's bedroom. Pansy went home to check on her daughter, and she and Theo were only too content to leave Jules with me – lately he spends more time at the Manor than with Pansy, Theo and his half-sister – instead of bringing him home for the night and then dragging him out of bed early tomorrow morning to bring him back to the Manor so he can put on his delightful black suit and robes, which we had tailored especially for him.

Harry and I had our wedding suits made in Italy, and though neither of us knows what the other's suit looks like we both know what Julian's – who has been appointed our official ring bearer – suit looks like. He looks absolutely adorable, even though we've kept the suit quite simple. He'll be wearing it with a crisp white shirt, a green waistcoat and an ivy colored rose in his button-hole, complete with a fitted silver tie. Mother designed for him to ensure it would have the right length and all. She had a right hissy fit when the tailor in Italy presented her with the draft to match the suit and when he failed to miss her expectations with his second attempt, she went and did it herself.

"I'm dead serious, Harry," I sigh and turning on my heel, I walk down the corridor towards my study. There's still some time left and I'm not intending to let Harry out of my sight until then.

"Oh come on! I've gone along with everything your mother wished to include into the wedding. I didn't even bat an eyelid when she presented us with the final guest list… but this is too much! I'm not a virgin bride! I won't have it, I won't."

"Do you want to have this discussion with my mother?" I ask Harry as I open to the door to my study and walk through. Harry follows me, and much to my amusement there is a faint blush on his cheeks as he thinks back to the conversation he had with my mother earlier this afternoon. He told me all about it when he joined me in the library – or should I say he yelled so loudly that two house-elves instantly Apparated into the library to check up on our wellbeing.

"I think I can resist."

"Well then I think we have no choice but to go through with mother's final request."

"Only it won't be her final request. She doesn't even know about the song we picked for our first dance!" Harry throws his hands up into the air as he slumps onto the leather couch in my study and pulls his legs up. He gratefully accepts the glass of Firewhisky that I hand him and takes a rather large sip to calm his nerves.

"And you'd do well not to mention it to her. She will go ballistic if she finds out that we dropped the classic wedding waltz and opted for something a little more contemporary." I smile, and sitting down next to Harry, I place my palm on his thigh and squeeze gently. I can't quite believe that I'm about to get married to this man in less than twenty-four hours. It seems surreal after all that we've been through. It's been a rollercoaster of a ride and even though we've had enough moments where we simply sat back and thought about it all, it still doesn't make any sense to me. I couldn't stand Harry's presence back in school, was bitter that he turned down my friendship by refusing to shake my hand and made his life a living hell for seven years before finally, slowly coming to my senses and turning my life around.

My first book – now an international bestseller – brought us together. That fixed idea of wanting to write a true account of the Second Voldemort War – without any prejudice or from the point of view of a particular side – brought us together, not without major hiccups of course but it did give us the opportunity to bond. That and the fact that Harry got ridiculously pissed and promised me I could interview him for my book, providing I'd pay him with sexual favors. Years of tension unleashed when we first started fooling around and even though it sounds strange back then I already knew something was up between the two of us. But had anybody told me I would be sitting here with Harry now, on the eve of our wedding day, I would've laughed into their face and told them to go and see a Healer at St. Mungo's.

Yet here I am. Sitting right next to my husband-to-be in comfortable silence, sharing one last glass of Firewhisky before my mother will tear us apart for the night. Once she does there is no hope in hell that I will see Harry until 12.30pm tomorrow, when we are due to head down the aisle together. Mother was a little put out when I refused her offer to walk me down the aisle towards Harry, but she eventually relented and graciously allowed Harry and me to walk down the aisle together – hand in hand.

Oh Merlin, I hope, no I pray, this will last – I've been in the press more often than I care to remember, I don't want to the center of a scandal should Harry and…I don't even want to finish that thought. It sounds scary. I hope we'll make it past the first month without driving each other demented or apart for good. Married life is so much different to simply being boyfriends.

Even though I want tomorrow to happen, I'm scared shitless. Mother invited over six-hundred people. A representative from the Daily Prophet has been invited to snap one picture of Harry and me after the ceremony to satisfy the vultures of the British wizarding press. My son will walk down the aisle, bearing the wedding bands Harry and I designed together, he will witness his father tie the knot with another man. He will see me kiss my husband after the exchange of our vows – which we, in true tradition, wrote ourselves… all of that is big stuff and it scares me. It's laughable really. I'm the author of an international bestseller, I'm the father of a little boy, I'm a Malfoy, and I'm dating Harry bloody Potter, Head of the British Auror department. Yet I'm scared shitless of saying two little words…I do…

"Hey! Come back here!"

"What?" I turn my head and look at Harry with a blank face. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me, quietly scolding me.

"You were a million miles away," he chides affectionately, and leaning against me, he rests his chin on my shoulder and kisses my neck, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Are you going to answer me if I ask you for the fifth time?" he teases and I nod, feeling just a little embarrassed about the fact that I was so far away that it took Harry five attempts to get through to me – not that I'll let him in on that.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

I frown. "No. Why would I?"

"I don't know. You looked like you were thinking."

"I was."

"What about?"

"Us. Tomorrow. Our relationship. Julian. Everything. And nothing." I shrug, and Harry nods.

"But you're not going to bail on me tomorrow, are you? You're not going to leave me standing at the altar like an idiot, are you?" he pushes again, and I laugh.

"Not a fucking chance, Potter. We're reciting those damn vows. We're going to do this. I'm going to marry you whether you like it or not and you're going to marry me whether you like it or not."

"Oh I do like it." Harry grins.

"Well good."

"And you think there's absolutely no chance to convince the dragon to let us spend the night together?"

"Not a chance." I shake my head and grin at Harry's new nickname for my mother. He started calling her that about three months ago when she began to grate on his nerves with showing up at the Ministry every other day to get his opinion about this and that for the wedding. I think she knows that he affectionately calls her 'the dragon' but so far mother hasn't said anything, so I doubt she will say something now. Mind you, she's allowed us to get away with a lot of things both during our relationship and for the wedding preparations. She listened to all our suggestions and even though some changes didn't suit her, she relented in favor of keeping peace with both her son and her future son-in-law. We accommodated most of her wishes and stuck to most of the traditions she insisted on keeping alive – so it was only fair that she, in return, accepted the few requests we had.

"We could run?" Harry suggests, and I give him a pointed look. He sighs and nods. "Sorry, stupid idea. She'd have our heads…"

"Yes she would."

"And if we strike? Tie ourselves to the bed?"

"Worth a try, but I'd rather not experience just how powerful a witch my mother really is. And believe me she has a fair few tricks up her sleeve, she just doesn't show it."

"We could lock her into her bedroom?"

"She'd get one of the elves to get her out." I shake my head.

"So basically we're screwed… Is that what you're saying?"

"Pretty much…" I nod.

"This sucks."

"It does," I affirm and moving slightly, I wrap one arm around Harry's shoulder and pull him closer, relishing in the last few moments we have, before my mother is going to track us down to separate us for the night.

TBC