Draco's idea, like all his best ideas, came to him of its own free will, easily and without effort as soon as Harry put the heavy white casket into his hands.

"See you in the sitting room, and be quick about it," Harry said to him in that low gravelly voice and only once he was out of the room did Draco allow himself to smile evilly.

Then he realized he could get a lot more out of this situation than just pampering. There were many things that he wanted right now, after all. He wanted Harry to force him to stop with this wedding business so he wouldn't have to admit he was wrong and give it up freely. He wanted the wedding stuff put far away so he couldn't be tempted to get involved.

And he wanted to meet the Dursleys.

Harry had been so far inflexible in his out-and-out denial on this point. He was convinced that Draco would only maim them and thus get sent to Azkaban. That Draco believed that no Wizengamot would convict him of anything but being a dutiful husband swayed Harry not an inch. So far no amount of cloying, pleading, pouting, even a little crying had done him any good. Hermione hadn't had any better luck of convincing him on her end, either, and the Weasel flatly refused to help.

Although Draco had sworn after The Great Schism to stop with manipulating, he couldn't help but resort to it when every other facet of argument had lost.

He tossed his hair back and clasped the vibrant green collar around his throat. He would get to those rotten Dursleys. Even if he had to manipulate Harry to within and inch of his life.

Then he shuffled his feet to the sitting room and did his best to tremble nervously.

XXX

Harry awoke once again in the blissed-out state of a morning's procrastinated afterglow. He loved the way his body was able to hold on to an afterglow until he was conscious enough to really enjoy it.

He sighed happily and turned to his fiancé. The blonde was curled up a few inches away, his face buried in the thick comforter so that only a peek of white-blonde hair poked out. Harry tingled with a slight overdose on adorableness. This was by and far Draco's cutest sleeping stance, and Harry knew that if he took a peek at the face hidden under there the sight would remind him of an exhausted and slightly pouting kitten.

So he leaned up on his elbow and folded the covers back covertly.

He was not disappointed. Draco's one hand was curled under his chin, his mouth full and petulant as if someone were teasing him in his sleep. The hill of one fine shoulder was pulled up by his ear, for some reason making him look more childish.

Harry could see the dark green still stark against his throat. He felt a surge of both white-hot desire and cooling tenderness roll through him.

Draco had given him a lot last night. Much more than he normally asked for, and much more than Draco normally willingly gave. He felt incredibly indebted to Draco, despite there being no system of debits and credits in their roles. Still—Draco had pleased him and he wanted to please Draco likewise.

He kissed the blonde's temple very gently—somehow the Slytherin seemed especially fragile after last night—and slipped silently out of bed, knowing that after a night like that Draco would be both very tired and very hungry.

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt and slipped quietly out of the room, feeling jovial enough once in the hallway to whistle happily to himself. He tried to figure out what to ask the House Elves for. What would Draco be in the mood for this morning? Maybe he'd just ask for everything—hedge his bets. He should get eggs, even though they weren't Draco's favorites: the blonde needed his protein after working so hard last night.

Harry couldn't help but smile at that thought. Thoughts like that tended to lead places, and he didn't want to importune Draco any further that day.

Only when he saw the figure in the shadows of the stairway did he realize he hadn't grabbed his wand.

Neville stepped out into the light nervously and Harry learned how to breathe again, chuckling softly at his rush of adrenaline.

"Neville! What are you doing here? Merlin, you really freaked me out!" Harry laughed.

"Harry," Neville squeaked, then cleared his voice, wringing his hands.

"What are you doing up this early? It's Saturday you know."

"Yeah, I know…" Neville said nervously, looking around as if he were expecting someone dangerous to come along soon.

"So what are you doing up here?"

"I have to talk to you Harry," Neville said with much determination. Harry suddenly remembered why talking to Neville was going to ruin his morning: Neville had been waiting to ask him something awkward.

"Oh, geeze, Neville—don't you think maybe Seamus or Dean would be better people to ask? They're more like…on your team—they know what they're doing in that arena," Harry said, walking on to the kitchens, his face as red as Neville's.

"Ask? What?"

"Well, I mean, I'm just guessing—but it's something about Hannah Abbott right?" Harry questioned awkwardly.

"No—well, maybe being with her helped me to understand what relationships are supposed to be like, but that's neither exactly here nor there," Neville was muttering to himself.

"So you guys are definitely an item then! Cool. Sorry I haven't been on top of things much. Things have been kind of intensive with me and Draco lately—what with the wedding and all. And then Quidditch. And N.E.W.T.s, of course. Lots of work this year," Harry laughed slightly.

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Harry," Neville said with a determined set to his shoulders. Still, he followed after Harry stumblingly.

"N.E.W.T.s? Hermione's probably going to better than me when it comes to that."

"No, not N.E.W.T.s," Neville said with something approaching exasperation.

"…Quidditch? Why?"

"No, no it's not Quidditch, Harry—It's Draco!"

"What about him? Listen, I know he's been a bit of a bully lately, but it's only because he's so stressed with this wedding. He won't always be like this. I'll tell him to go easier on you—don't worry. What did he do to you, anyways?"

"Harry, just follow me with this, okay?" Neville said forcefully, grabbing Harry by his shoulders and holding him still. "Draco is like…Draco is like sweets."

"Okay, I'm with you so far."

"What I mean is, they might be fun in small doses but you can't live off them for the rest of your life!"

"I've lost you again."

"Ugh! Draco might be a fun boyfriend but he's not a husband—he's not someone who can take care of you and put you before himself! Now do you get it?!" Neville cried, his exasperation overriding his tact.

By the furious look on Harry's face and the feeling of slight electricity stinging Neville's hands, it seemed that Harry did get it.

Shaking with anger, he pulled Neville's hands off him and practiced taking deep breaths.

"It's okay," Harry said in a strangled voice. "You never spend time with Draco alone, and from what you see he wouldn't make a very good husband." He looked up to Neville suddenly and continued. "He's not exactly who he pretends to be to keep up his street cred. After the wedding, once he's calmed down into his normal self again, you two will hang out and then you'll understand how very wrong you are, Neville. Until then, don't speak to me about this again. And don't say a word of it to Draco!"

With that Harry walked away, and although Neville was disappointed he knew better than to try for another audience with the temperamental Gryffindor.

He appeased himself by murmuring, "You're making a mistake, Harry," and hoping that the brunette didn't hear him.

XXX

Harry stopped at the door of his room, took a deep breath, and tried to forget about Neville. Draco would read that kind of tension on his face and never let down till he got it out of him, and then how would Harry explain to Neville's grandmother how the ex-Death-Eater's son had killed her grandson? She'd go ballistic and then who knew how many people would end up in the wizarding equivalent to the morgue? He couldn't deal with all that and a wedding and NEWTs and Lord Voldemort, that was for sure.

Draco awoke when Harry shifted his weight onto the bed, and Harry couldn't help but smile at the groggy, blinking eyes and that Draco's hand went straight to check his hair.

"You brought me breakfast in bed?" Draco mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Yep, and you better eat all of it, too. No more of this 'I have to fit into my wedding robes' stuff—Gates showed me those robes and they're huge."

"But Malfoy fat goes straight to the jowls, and you can see that over robes. I showed you that portrait of my grandfather Abraxas." Draco stroked his own non-existant jowls and his hand suddenly came into contact with the thick collar around his neck.

He must have forgotten about it—his eyes flew open with surprise and then his cheeks went apple-red.

Harry blushed by association and stood to get the box off the vanity, offering for Draco to put it back in its case. This was obviously a powerful tool that should no longer be used so flippantly.

Even with it out of sight it still apparently affected Draco—he ate only a fraction of his huge breakfast before excusing himself to take a shower, alone, and without inviting Harry to join.

With nothing better to do, Harry lay on the bed and tried to get through some of his course reading for this week.

He had to stop abruptly when Draco got out of the bathroom, wearing his green sweater that was much too big and showing a lot of collarbone, along with what were definitely his SexyPants, looking as if they were painted directly onto his skin.

Harry put his book firmly aside, and was rewarded with Draco cuddling up so close he was partly on top of him.

"Are you okay?" Harry murmured into the blonde's damp hair. He got a nod in response, but that was all.

"Actually, I've been…thinking…wondering about something," Draco said slowly.

Something about the tone of his voice made Harry tense up—Draco was not wondering about something good.

"I don't know if it was because of last night or…" The blonde shook his head, trying to shake away that thought like an etch-a-sketch. "Is there a reason you don't want me to meet your family? I mean…I know I'm not very nice normally, but I already promised to be on my very best behavior."

"No," Harry said bluntly. He had decided this was a subject he needed to be blunt with. "I know I've never explained this very in-depth to you, but the jist of what you need to know is that these people never treated me like family and I don't consider them my family. The only reason I don't want you to meet them is because they're the very worst of Muggle kind and I don't need you being any more biased against Muggles or Muggle-borns than you already are. You are only allowed to meet good Muggles for the rest of your life, otherwise you will have worldviews which will be completely intolerable."

"Stop sparking my curiousity—I don't have much of it but I do have some and damn it I'm curious about what your life was like before I met you!"

"It was horrible and that's all you need to know."

"That's not all I need to know: if we're going to share our futures I think we should share our pasts too! What you know about my past always helps you to say amusing little comments about how that's why I don't know how to swim, or 'oh, that must be why you hate oranges!'—well that's not fair. I want to say things like that about you too you know."

"Anything you would be able to say would only be depressing: 'oh that's why you won't sit on Mum's satin sofa!' 'oh that's why you hate boxing!'."

Draco sat up into a kneel, clasping Harry's hands tightly and looking him seriously in the eyes.

"Like last night…you always get a chance to show me how much you'll always take care of me and be good to me—with my parents you always get to show how you'll be with me for better or for worse. You don't know how hard it is for me to not have an opportunity to show you that too, to prove myself to you. I trust you, Harry, and I want you to trust me too—" he held up a hand to stop Harry's protests, and continued. "And I know you that you think you do, but you don't know. You can't know because I've never been tested. I want this test. I want to show you that I'm here for better or for worse."

"You're willing to marry me even with a psychopathic murderer after me, I think that's quite enough proof," Harry argued, although he sounded cowed and tentative.

"Not for me it isn't. It's stupid and childish but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't as real to me as the Dursleys are. No one knows where he is or what he's up to and after my childhood he'll always be a scary bonfire story. And I know that if I ever have to face him myself I'll just prove how unbelievably cowardly I am. The Dursleys are the kind of mean I can handle."

"I know you can handle them, I think you can handle them too much. You have magic and they don't. You have a temper that's liable to slip the lead and land everyone in the hospice."

"That's what I want to prove to you. I can do this. I'm capable of a lot more that you think I am, you just haven't given me the chance to show you. I need you to know all the general facets of me before we get married. I don't want you to marry an idea of me. I want you to marry me—all of me."

Draco touched his throat and Harry thought of the collar. He had thought that that collar would be a whole lot of flippant fun, but actually it had made Draco seem nervous and strangely eager to please. There was still a lot that he didn't know about Draco, and he knew that because of his secrecy and taciturn nature in the face of emotional problems Draco knew even less about him. That was an unsure footing for the blonde onto which it was unfair of Harry to put him. If he could afford Draco better clarity into who he was, or rather had been, then that was the only fair thing to do. Draco wanted to prove himself to Harry, but Harry understood that what they both really wanted was to be fully understood, or at least as close to it as a married couple could get. The more understanding they went into this thing with, the better their chances of making it.

Harry thought of Neville suddenly. Neville, like himself, distrusted Draco's ability to be coolheaded and caring in face of adversity. Harry would allow Draco to show them both. But not for long. The Dursleys were trying on Harry's self-control, too, and he didn't need the chance to blow his temper either.

"I'll…think about it."

Draco beamed.

"That's all I ask for, darling, smart, calculating husband of mine. I know you'll make the right decision, as that is the hallmark of your high level of manliness. A little wife like me can only sit back and hope fervently for the blessed decision of her external brain. Merlin knows a helpless woman like me could never, say, find their address and sneak of for a weekend with the in-laws," Draco said pleasantly.

"Don't, okay—I'll think about it. I'll tell you tonight—promise."

But he should have known better than to think that Draco would put off till that night what he could get right then and there. His father had always warned him against procrastination, after all.