Title: Say You Will
Author: Janieohio
Rating: M for extremely crude and vulgar language in a side character, otherwise rated T
Tags: Epilogue What Epilogue, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Movie, Fluff, Humor, Established Relationship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Happily Ever After, H/D Wireless 2022
Summary: Draco's had a rubbish day, he's sitting next to his rubbish colleague, and he's stuck on a rubbish mode of Muggle transportation. All he wants to do is get out of there and back to Harry…that is, if he's even welcome back. Who'd have predicted this day could have the best of endings?
Author's Note: This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song-inspired Drarry fest with its home on Tumblr! You can find the entire fest on Tumblr or AO3 by searching HD Wireless 2022 on those sites.
Prompt: Grow Old With You, by Adam Sandler, 1998 (from The Wedding Singer)
Say You Will
Draco swore, pushing his coworker's bag to the side so it'd sit properly in the overhead compartment, then pushed his own up alongside it. And because he wasn't an arsehole and he knew the train was full, he didn't shove his coat in next to the bag, leaving room for other people to stow their luggage. His gaze fell on Alan's puffy coat taking up half the luggage rack.
Fuckhead.
Draco closed his eyes and breathed through his annoyance. Four days. He was stuck with Fuckhead Alan for three full days, and there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well suck it up and try to make the best of things. He mentally patted himself on the back for being so mature and reasonable, then sighed, grabbed Fuckhead Alan's coat, and threw it at him.
"Hey!" Fuckhead Alan cried, pulling the coat from his face and sitting up straight.
"Oh good, you're no longer pretending to sleep while taking up two seats." That wasn't really the truth. Alan was still sprawled across his seat by the window, but he also took up half of Draco's seat, where he'd planned to suffer in petulant silence all the way to Brussels.
Alan grumbled but moved his knees infinitesimally, giving Draco just enough room to try to squeeze into the seat. Luckily, his slight frame allowed him to sit his delightful arse into the chair. Not for the first time, he cursed this blasted job that had him working side-by-side with Muggles in secrecy, preventing him from utilising the convenience of Apparition and Portkeys.
Gringott's subsidiary, Institut Financier de Gringe—more commonly known amongst Muggles worldwide as IFG—was a premier banking institution of great repute. As Head Liason between the two banks, Draco was required to understand how to dress, behave, and travel like a Muggle. And since he refused to get into one of those flying deathtraps known as aeroplanes, the Eurostar it was.
"Why are you in such a bad mood, Malfoy? Is your boyfriend not putting out anymore? I told you that would happen." Fuckhead Alan yawned and stretched, pushing further into Draco's space. "Once you move in together, it's all downhill. You get all domestic, and the next thing you know, you're picking out curtains and not getting laid. Ask me how much pussy I got this week?"
Draco swallowed down the gorge that rose in his throat. "I will not, you filthy heathen."
"Four. Four, big, sweet, juicy cunts." Alan poked at Draco and then sniffed his fingers. "Two of them were last night. I can still smell them."
That was it. Draco'd had enough. Stomach turning, he jumped up and moved into the aisle. When he spoke, he pushed as much ice as he could muster into his voice—and since he learned from his mother, that was a considerable amount. "I understand that we're not in the bank right now, but you can't possibly believe this is appropriate behaviour for a colleague. This is your only warning. I don't care if it's a weekend and you feel that this is some kind of holiday. It is not. We are travelling for work, and I expect you to behave as such."
Fuckhead Alan rolled his eyes. "Definitely need to get you laid." He pulled a flask out of his coat pocket and sipped. "Ah, that's better. Want some?"
The smell of expensive whisky wafted to Draco's nose. Fuckhead Alan might be crude and disgusting, but he was paid well and had decent taste in alcohol. Which was probably a good part of his problem.
"No. Thank you," Draco bit out as the train began to move. He scanned the carriage, looking for another open seat. The goblins were cheap bastards, so he was stuck in the economy class carriage. That left Draco to choose between a seat next to a harassed-looking young mother with a screaming toddler—hell to the no—and one on the aisle beside a plump, older woman with short, greying-brown hair and knitting on her lap. She'd probably want to chat, but anything had to be better than Fuckhead Alan or the crying kid. "Is this seat taken?"
The woman looked him over before glancing at Alan two rows back. "As long as you're better mannered than that vulgar young man you were talking to, then you're welcome to sit."
Draco gave her a half-smile and settled in, a book on his lap. He pulled his glasses from his pocket and slid them on his face, opening the book to where he'd left off. The content was dry—a book recommended by his supervisor about America's Wall Street investment capitalists—and he found his mind wandering to the real reason he was in such a bad mood. After all, Alan was always a fuckhead, but usually, Draco would just laugh it off and add it to his list of things to entertain Harry with that night.
But after this morning, after the way they'd left things, was that even still an option?
Draco's stomach twisted. It'd been a nasty fight, possibly their worst since they'd started dating. And instead of sticking around, working it out, he had simply grabbed his bags for his trip and left.
Harry's hard green eyes, flaring in anger as Draco shut the door, were burned into his brain. What have I done?
"What'd you do?" the woman asked.
Draco jerked and turned to stare at her, dumbfounded. What the hell? Was she a Legilimens?
She chuckled, her fingers not missing a beat as her knitting needles continued to click. "I'm not a mindreader, son, but I've been around long enough to know when someone is pining. What did you do, and did you say you're sorry?"
He cleared his throat, closing his book and hugging it to his chest. "No, I didn't. I just left to catch the train."
She hummed, shooting him a quick glance up from her work before she continued. "Call her. Apologise. You shouldn't have angry words hanging over you."
"Him," Draco muttered.
She nodded. "Him, then. All the more reason to call. Men don't take hurt feelings well, in my experience. Was it your fault?"
"No," he said, and even he could hear the defensive whine in his voice. "I mean, not really. He probably thinks it is, but my boss decided to send me on this business trip last minute, so I had to cancel our plans."
"Special plans?"
"I didn't think so, no. We were just going to a nice dinner. It was on one of those dinner cruises that travel down the Thames for all the tourists. He was excited about it—talked about it for weeks."
"Oh, my Henry took me on one of those for our anniversary last year. It was lovely! Can you reschedule?"
"I'm not sure," Draco said, considering. "I suggested he take his best friend instead."
"On a romantic dinner cruise?" She paused her knitting for the first time and gave him that special maternal glare only mothers seem to know how to do. She must have a load of children or something because she was good at it.
"Well, it didn't have to be romantic. And his best friend was his girlfriend at one point, so it's not like they'd be uncomfortable."
"Oh, son, are you daft? You want your boyfriend of—how long have you been together?"
Draco did the math. Shit. "Three years. It's three years just this week."
She snorted. "You suggested your boyfriend go on a romantic dinner cruise with his ex-girlfriend on your anniversary? Oh, this is most definitely your fault."
Draco let his head fall back. Merlin, he hadn't thought of it like that. It was just a last-minute trip, and Harry had to go away on trips all the time for the Aurors. It shouldn't have been a big deal. But it was; Draco could see that now. Not the trip, so much, but how he'd handled it. His words echoed in his ears. "Fuck, Harry, it's just dinner. We'll do it some other time."
"The only thing that could make this worse," the woman continued, "would be if your boyfriend was jealous of that rude bloke you're with."
Draco buried his face in his hands. Didn't Alan try to flirt with Draco every time he saw Harry, touching his arm or batting his eyelashes? Hadn't Harry told him how much he hated the man, how he didn't trust Alan not to try something with Draco just to see if he could? Alan was as straight as they came, but as he liked to boast, he'd try anything once.
"I see," the woman said.
"What's your name?" Draco finally asked her. "If you're going to show me what an arse I was, you can at least tell me your name."
She grinned, a deep dimple showing on her right cheek. "Tabitha."
He nodded politely and tucked his book and glasses away in his bag. "I'm Draco. So, Tabitha, how do you suggest I grovel appropriately from a train while my boyfriend is back in London? Will a phone call be enough?"
"Probably not, but it's a start. Why don't you tell me about him?"
Draco crossed his legs—keeping them in his own seat space, thank you very much, Fuckhead Alan—and turned to study the woman's sparkling brown eyes. "He's a police detective."
"Oh, impressive."
Draco smiled. "It is, and he's very good at it. I think it's because he really cares about people, and he's not just doing it for power or prestige. He always looks for ways to improve other people's lives, even those he doesn't know."
"He sounds lovely," she said, her voice warm and encouraging.
Draco focused on the image of Harry in his mind. "He is. He has the most gorgeous green eyes you've ever seen—all warm, and inviting, and nearly the same colour as spring leaves. But he has no idea they're special, only that they look like his mum's. He's messy, but he doesn't mind tidying up and always does the laundry because he knows I hate it. He likes to sing, and as much as I tease him about it, he has a very nice voice. He's stubborn, and funny, and ridiculously noble."
Tabitha was watching him with a knowing smile. "You appear very much in love."
Draco dropped his eyes and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. "Yes, well, three years and all. We've known each other since we were kids, and we absolutely hated each other because I was an arse, and he was a righteous twat, but we didn't start dating until three years ago."
This time she cackled. "I have a son very much like you, and you know what I always tell him?"
"What?"
"I say, 'Jack, you got to—'"
Before Draco could hear what she always told Jack, a screeching noise came over the train's intercom. "Attention, travellers," a woman's voice said in clipped tones. "We don't normally do things like this, but we have someone here to perform a quick song for your travelling entertainment."
There was a shuffling noise and crackling through the speaker, and Draco exchanged confused glances with Tabitha. "What's this about, do you think? Seems strange."
"Very. Ah, well. Maybe it'll be good." She picked her knitting back up and resumed her work as a man cleared his voice over the speaker.
A soft guitar began to play, and Draco relaxed into the gentle music.
"I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad.
Carry you around when your arthritis is bad.
All I wanna do is grow old with you."
There was something about the song. Something familiar, even though Draco was sure he'd never heard it before.
"I'll let you cuddle close when your feet are cold.
Clean out the fridge when the veggies mould.
Oh, it could be so nice, growing old with you."
Draco gasped, and Tabitha turned to him.
"Are you okay?"
He shook his head, unable to get out a word as the guitar played through a short bridge. And then the intercom shut off, the door opened, and Draco's throat burned.
Harry.
Harry was walking towards him. He was wearing the grey trousers and blue jumper Draco loved most on him, and the old guitar he'd found in Remus's things after the war was on a strap around his neck.
"I'll miss you, kiss you, scratch your back when you've got an itch.
Need you, feed you, and even let you get first to the Snitch."
Harry was before him now, kneeling at Draco's feet. Draco's hands were shaking, and a gentle hand—Tabitha's?—rested on his back, bringing him comfort.
"So let me do the laundry when you need a break.
Hold you close when your spirit shakes.
Oh, I could be the man who grows old with you."
Harry set down his guitar and took Draco's hand in his, his green eyes serious and pleading.
"I want to grow old with you."
He sang the last line so quietly, Draco was sure only the two of them, and maybe Tabitha, could hear it.
The silence hung in the train carriage as Draco caught his breath, blinking the tears from his eyes. He finally managed to suck in the necessary oxygen to form words, opened his mouth, and—
"What the hell is all this about?" Fuckhead Alan. Right. He pushed his way up the aisle to Draco's side. "Malfoy, you can't honestly be considering saying yes. Giving up your whole life for this tosser? Tying yourself down to one person? Sleeping with the same person, night after night, year after year, forever more?"
From the side of his eye, Draco could see Alan shudder before a pair of hands—and whoever they were, Draco was going to buy them a fucking bottle of Ogden's Finest—pulled Fuckhead Alan away. But Draco didn't turn his head to watch, his gaze was on Harry's. Harry, whose face he knew better than his own. Harry, who despite being mad at him, arranged this whole thing and surprised him on the train to…do what? Was this a proposal? Was he supposed to be answering a question?
"Harry?" Draco asked. "Are you…?" He couldn't complete the sentence, couldn't get the words out. His mouth kept moving, though, and Harry seemed to get the hint.
"I am. Draco, say you'll marry me?"
"But, you were mad at me. We had a huge fight, and we both said all those bloody horrible things, and I wasn't even sure I'd be welcome back, but instead, you're asking me to marry you?" He turned to Tabitha. "Is this real? Seriously?"
She pinched him, hard, and he squealed. "Yup," she said with an evil grin, "seems real enough. Now answer the boy before he wets himself."
Harry's eyebrows rose up into his hair, but he nodded at Draco. "Please? I'm sorry about earlier, I just had this whole thing planned out on the boat tonight. I'd been working on this song for weeks and I was so fucking nervous, and then suddenly you're leaving and telling me to take Ginny, and I—"
Draco cut him off, smashing his lips to Harry's. He poured out his frustration from the morning, his irritation with Alan, his relief at seeing Harry again. It all came out in the kiss, and all he could think was, I'm going to grow old with this man. Against all odds, he's mine.
He pulled back, breathless, and rested his forehead on Harry's.
"Is that a yes, then?"
Draco snorted and sat back. "Yes, you berk. It's a yes. Of course, I'll marry you. And I'm sorry too, I just—"
"Save it for later. I'm sure you'll work yourself into the perfect apology after a few days, and I want a proper one. For now, put this on?" He opened a small box, displaying a beautiful, wide silver ring with a large diamond mounted in the centre. It was perfectly Draco, something he'd have picked out himself.
"Did you have help with this?" he asked, holding his hand out for Harry.
"Actually, no. It was in the very first shop I looked in, and it was so obviously yours, I just bought it without questioning anything. Do you like it?"
"I do," Draco said, grinning.
"No!" Alan groaned from behind them. "Oh, man, might as well make out the will now, old man. You're toast." Alan grunted, then fell back in astonishment as his mouth kept moving but nothing came out. Draco swung back to Harry right as his fiancé tucked something back into his Auror's wand holster.
"What?" Harry asked innocently. "He clearly just lost his voice. I'm sure it'll come back in an hour or two once he's rested it some."
"Why don't I move to let you boys have some time together," Tabitha spoke up, gathering her things.
"Oh, no, it's okay. I'll find someplace to sit," Harry began, but Tabitha was already sliding past Draco. He grabbed her elbow.
"Thank you. You've been a lovely seating companion. I'm almost grateful Fuckhead Alan was so extra-unpalatable today."
Tabitha burst out laughing, and Draco's face burned as he realised that his internal moniker for his colleague had slipped out. "Good luck to you, boys," she said to them both, then she leant into Draco and whispered, "And you're right about them green eyes." She fanned herself with her knitting and winked, then moved up a few rows and settled in next to the woman with the now-sleeping child.
Draco sat down and turned back to Harry. "I can't believe you did this."
Harry ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. "Was it over the top enough? You said once you wanted a proposal that was over the top, and I really tried."
Draco rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "It was perfectly over the top. So, does this mean you're going to spend the next few days in Brussels with me? Because I have to admit, I was looking forward to three days alone with Alan."
"Yes, I'm going with you," Harry said with a growl, and it was exactly the reaction Draco was looking for. Which was probably why Harry did it. He was good that way. "So, is Alan his first name or his surname?"
"No idea. I assume it's his surname since, clearly, his given name is Fuckhead."
"Clearly."
They sat in pleasant silence, holding hands for a few minutes as the train flew across the countryside. "Harry?"
"Hmm?" Harry leant his head on top of Draco's, making that little place in Draco's chest—the one he hated to acknowledge—purr in delight.
"When you say, 'Grow old with you,' you don't mean like, decrepit-old, right? You mean like, silver-fox old."
Harry snorted. "Of course. Silver-fox old."
"Okay, good. Just had to clear that up."
"Good."
"Harry?"
"Yes, Draco?" Harry said with a sigh.
Draco closed his eyes and fully relaxed for the first time all day. "I want to grow old with you, too."
Harry kissed Draco's head. "Good."
Finis