"Draco!" Hermione cried eagerly, glancing behind him to make sure Harry wasn't around. "I've got it—how about an obscure Ancient Magic that makes it necessary for a blood relation of Harry's to be present at the ceremony to give it validity?" She was about to continue into the intricacies of her idea when Draco raised his hand proudly to stop her.

"Don't bother. It's done."

"You mean…you've given up?"

"Puh-leeze! I mean I've won. We're going as soon as school lets out."

Hermione stared at the boy in a kind of awe. She wondered if this were something she could study and memorize and thus utilize.

"How?" she sighed on her out breath when she started breathing again.

"It's very simple Hermione. Harry loves me and would do anything for me and I have something specific I want him to do for me. The one takes care of the other," Draco said jovially, making his weeks of hard work seem meager because he knew she was smart enough to know an underestimation when she heard one.

Just in case though, he smiled at her preeningly.

"Anyways, you can stop with all the research now."

"Good, because, honestly, I wasn't finding jack on any marriage rules that would require the Dursleys to be there."

"This is much better—I'm going to have us go there. If they're as terrible as he says I don't want them at our wedding."

Hermione shook her head. "Why exactly do you want to meet them then—if you believe him that they're so terrible?"

Draco opened his mouth, but then closed it, blushing slightly. He certainly couldn't tell her what he'd told Harry.

"I want them to see that I'm not someone to fuck around with and that I will not tolerate anyone fucking around with my husband," Draco said haughtily instead, making sure his voice sounded appropriately wrathful.

Then he realized what he'd said and he and Hermione exchanged mirthful yet slightly embarrassed smiles.

"I still can't believe you two are really going to do it. Get married! I hate to throw myself in with every other girl in this school—but that is just so freaking romantic."

"Yeah well," Draco muttered, blushing, "I'll be sure to toss the bouquet your way and they you can see how 'romantic' it is." He hoped this adequately covered how romantic he thought it all was, but Hermione was a smart girl.

She shook her bushy head, smiling, but didn't rebuke his statement. He decided to continue so she wouldn't be able to.

"Anyways, the only negative thing is that Harry's not going to give me much time to put the fear of me in those louses. Plus, I don't think he's going to lobby very hard in getting them to invite us, and he insists on us being 'welcome.' Luckily, I think I've found a way to change his mind. But I'll need your help, of course." He glanced around him, but no one seemed to be paying them much mind. He whispered his plan to her quietly, but was only about halfway through when someone interrupted him.

"Malfoy," said a strained voice behind him, and he turned to see Neville standing there, looking terrified.

He smiled evilly.

"Longbottom. I know you're forgetful to a point of mental handicap, but you sit on that side of the table. Run along now, widdle Gwiffindor, before you get under someone's foot." Draco smiled inwardly. Leave it to Longbottom to keep his ability at covert threats, taunts, and teasings sharp. What would Draco do without the little blubberer after graduation?

"Hannah's looking for you, Neville—why don't you go see what she wants?" Hermione growled dangerously.

It would have been an interesting stand-off as Neville appeared to be struggling to hold his ground, but then Harry had to show up.

"Hey babe—what are you doing here? You've already eaten," Harry said to Draco, elbowing Neville harshly out of his way to sit down next to the blonde.

Draco frowned. Something was definitely going on there.

"Nothing, just getting Hermione to help me with some more wedding stuff," Draco said pleasantly, holding Harry around his waist and kissing him happily in greeting. "I've got to get to it now, I'm afraid. Have fun with your friends—I'll be pretty busy today."

"Point taken—I won't come bother you," Harry promised as Draco got up from the table. Draco paused and put on his soft face. Hermione felt like she should be taking notes.

"Thanks, hon. See you for dinner." Draco kissed Harry again before leaving, shooting Hermione a glance that said, "Okay, your turn."

"I see you two got over your little tiff from last night," Hermione said smugly, fixing up her toast.

"Hm? Oh yeah—Draco apologized for all that, so, the coast is clear," Harry chuckled.

Hermione tried to not make too big a show of dropping her toast. Draco always made this look so believable, but she felt a little silly actually.

"Draco apologized?"

Harry looked at her, shocked, over his glass of milk.

"Um…yeah."

"What for?!" She hissed in an outrage that seemed a bit much. She waited for Harry to see through her second-hand scheme, but the boy just looked shocked.

"For making me miss practice again! I was right, by the way—I didn't do anything at that stupid wedding meeting," Harry grumbled.

"Well personally I think you're using Draco horribly with this whole wedding planning thing," she huffed.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry said worriedly.

"I mean that Draco's working really hard on this and all you care about is your Quidditch practices! You haven't done one bit of work for months, and here Draco is doing both your jobs!"

"What jobs? We've got a wedding planner. The whole point of having a wedding planner is that it leaves no work for us!"

"Well it might've left no work for you, but Draco's working himself to the bone—between the wedding and Advanced Potions with Snape, NEWTs coming up—you know Draco's the only person around here taking those properly serious."

"You mean over-reacting—just like you."

"I just don't think you're being very fair—but hey, if you're okay with driving Draco that hard, then who am I to say otherwise? After all, he's your husband. It's your job to keep him safe and healthy—not mine. I guess you know better. You're so very observant after all."

Harry thought she was being a bit harsh, but more than that he thought that if there were the slightest chance that she were remotely right he would have to take drastic measures against anything hurting Draco—even the blonde's own insistence on overworking himself.
"Has he said something? Did he say he's working too hard? I guess I haven't noticed, but when I'm with him he always seems so…well…alert," Harry said with a blush.

"Of course he does, Harry—he doesn't want you to think less of him. You always do so much for him—he doesn't want you to think he can't handle it. You know what his pride's like," Hermione said happily—this thing really was easy.

"Yeah…I guess so…"

Harry was kept properly distracted for the rest of the day. Ron helped with that quite a bit even though Hermione hadn't, and couldn't, inform him of the nefarious plot. While Ron no longer repeatedly threatened to end Draco's meager existence, he also astutely refused to enter into any of the blonde's ploys—even the ones that eventually helped Harry. Ron didn't trust Plots, whether they were for good or evil. It didn't help that he didn't see anything he and Harry had ever done as Plotting. That was just Sleuthing, and he was perfectly all right with Sleuthing. The main difference between the two seemed to be Draco's hand in them. Draco Plotted, Ron Sleuthed. That was how he knew the difference.

In any case, despite his abhorrence of Plots, Ron was doing a good job of aiding this one, albeit unwittingly. He and Harry managed to round up the Quidditch team and they got their practice, although the bright sunshine made it a bit more playful that the average Quidditch practice, especially with Harry as Captain. It was hard to imagine it, but Harry was rather merciless as a Quidditch Captain.

In all, dinner was nearly over with when they scrambled back to the Great Hall, and they were barely able to stuff themselves before the food disappeared from the tables.

Then things went slightly pear-shaped.

"I'm going to go check up on Draco," Harry said worriedly.

"What? He's fine—come on, we haven't played a good game of Wizard Chess in eons," Ron cajoled. Harry would have none of it.

"No, I better make sure he's gotten something to eat. When he gets into one of his manic moods he forgets important things like that," Harry grumbled.

Hermione tried not to panic—Draco hadn't told her how long she'd need to keep Harry occupied. Was this too soon? Too late?

Luckily, Draco was coming down the stairway just as they were going up it. It was obvious to Harry by his pinched expression that Draco hadn't eaten.

"Draco!" he cried, and the blonde looked up—eyes focused but not on him, on a mission.

"Hey Harry—can't talk—on my way to the library."

Harry had to turn and follow the blonde back down the staircase, and Ron and Hermione followed after.

"You missed dinner."

"Hm? Oh yeah. Well—later, later," Draco mumbled.

"You can't work like this and not eat anything," Harry said authoritatively, but Draco didn't respond—seemed not to have heard him.

"Come to the kitchens and we'll get you something to eat—then you can finish whatever it is you're doing,"

"Right—later," Draco said distractedly. Harry had had enough.

He grabbed Draco by the arm, stopping the boy's downward rush to the library.

"No, now!" Harry insisted.

"I said later, Potter—let go of me! I'm in the middle of something!" Draco shouted, making Harry's eardrums flinch. No lunch either then—the blonde was always more volatile on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, you're in the middle of getting something to eat," Harry growled back.

"Well you're in the middle of letting go of my fucking ah-ahhhr," Draco snarled, twisting around violently in Harry's grip. At first Harry thought he was going to sneeze or something—Draco had twisted away from the brunette and Harry couldn't see his face. He barely had enough time to catch the blonde as Draco slumped forward towards the descending stairs.
"Draco!" Harry cried out, and he could hear Hermione do the same in a high-pitched voice that more adequately belied her exact level of freaked-the-fuck-out.

The blonde's dead weight felled him to the floor, and he turned Draco in his lap—the pale face was ashen gray and damp, his eyes open but unfocused—blinking dazedly.

"Hospital wing, hospital wing," Harry murmured to himself, trying to direct himself in his immediate actions.

Draco struggled meagerly when Harry lifted him into his arms.

"I'm fine," he said in a groaning sort of voice. "I'm just a little dizzy—I'm fine—I can walk on my own."

But the body in his arms felt distinctly immobile, so Harry didn't bother to test this hypothesis.

"Oh come on, please," Draco groaned in embarrassment as Hermione jogged alongside them, patting his face with a damp towel she must have conjured up. Ron ran ahead to tell Madam Pomfrey.

Harry rejoiced in that embarrassed voice—it meant that Draco was aware, and if he were aware Harry forced himself to believe that it wasn't that dangerous of a situation.

"This is not necessary!" Draco growled when they got him to Madam Pomfrey who immediately set him in a bed he refused to lie down on and starting running her little tests and firing off questions.

"He fainted," Harry explained to the woman.

"I did not faint! Don't you dare say that I fainted!" Draco shouted with full ire—but then his eyes blinked out of focus again and he slumped forward bonelessly. Pomfrey deftly laid him back upon the pillows, fanning his face.

"Stop that," Draco murmured in a far-away voice—pushing her hand away weakly.

"Have you eaten today?" Madam Pomfrey questioned, feeling his pulse, taking his temperature.

"He only had breakfast," Harry answered. And not much of it, he thought.

"He didn't have dinner last night," Hermione reminded and Harry started—it was true but he hadn't realized it.

"Did you eat lunch yesterday?" Pomfrey asked Draco, who was feeling well enough by now to glare at her.

"I was busy—okay? People get busy!" he growled. His stomach growled with him and he blushed awkwardly.

"I'll call down for some dinner," Pomfrey said in slight annoyance, but her annoyed persona faded when she turned to Harry—his entire body was wracked with worry.

"It's simple over work," she said to him kindly, softly, taking his tightly gripped hands into hers and patting them gently into calm. "You see it a frequently this time of year. Nothing to worry about. Get him some regular meals, get him to rest more—he'll be fine."

"This is Draco Malfoy—how am I supposed to get him to do anything he doesn't want to do?" Harry asked in horror.

Pomfrey seemed a bit taken aback at this problem.

"You're his fiancé—I'm assuming you've got your ways," she accused vaguely, and left to get some food called up.

Harry's shoulder slumped miserably. He had been hoping for something a bit more helpful than that.

"Can you guys excuse us—we've got to talk," Harry mumbled to his friends as he went to sit down on Draco's bed.

"Yeah, we've got to talk! We've got to talk about getting out of here—I'm too busy for this! I can't waste time getting babysat in the fucking hospital ward!" Draco hissed tensely.

Harry placed a firm hand on Draco's shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes—Draco was shocked into compliance at the sign of Harry's overwhelming worry seen there.

When Harry said, "Please calm down," in a small, devastated kind of voice, Draco fell back against the pillows and watched in awe as his body let go of its tense hold of itself.

"Please, guys," Harry murmured to Hermione and Ron again, and they left numbly.

Harry's hand slipped from the blonde's thin shoulder, moving to wring its partner.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said sadly, and Draco's brain went into red alert.

He lunged forward, taking the brunette's caved body in both lithe arms, showing his strength by holding him tightly.

"Don't be sorry—please don't be sorry. It's not your fault—it's like you said, I bring this on myself. I just can't stop myself! You're right—I'm a total micromanager. I know my mother and Gates can take care of everything, but I can't let them!" Draco insisted, kissing Harry's face.

Harry shook his head miserably.

"I'm your fiancé. I'm supposed to take care of you. I didn't even know anything was wrong until Hermione told me. I should know these things. I should be able to see them, without anyone else's help."

"Harry, you take excellent care of me. Better than anyone," Draco said in a voice approaching sensuality. Harry glanced at him in slight confusion, seeing That Look in Draco's gray-blue eyes. "You take such good care of me," the blonde added, not bothering to hide the sultriness of his words.

Harry couldn't help but smile.
"Oh get off, you ponce," he sighed, pushing the blonde's arms off him.

Draco collapsed back happily on his meager pillows. Harry was smiling, which looked like a win in his books.

"Can we come back in now?" Ron yelled through the door.

"No yelling!" Pomfrey shouted.

"No," Draco called.

Ron walked in anyways, Hermione right behind him, looking relieved at Draco's easy manners. Pomfrey wasn't far behind her, levitating in a hefty meal. Harry cringed, and he was right on the mark.

"What are you, crazy?! Me? Eat all that?! I've got wedding robes to fit into this summer, you know! Maybe you can stand to let yourself go—closed up all the way up here in the hospital wing! The people who see you are already sick—it doesn't matter what you do with your body—but me! I've got a man to please!" Draco went on and on, and Harry knew that if left to his own devices this was topic he could spend all night delving into.

"Okay, okay! Thank you, Madam Pomfrey—thank you—it's the exhaustion—he doesn't know what he's saying," Harry cried as he ushered her out the door, shoving the platter of food into Hermione's awaiting arms.

"For someone who's normally so tactful, you sure do know how to piss off the one woman who has all night to kill you."

"All night?" Draco cried in alarm, sitting up sharply.

"You think after your fainting spells and then that she's going to let you go? Trust me, if there's one thing Pomfrey likes it's to punish students with overnight stays."

"It's not punishment," Hermione argued, giving Draco his towering meal. "She just knows that boys like you can't be trusted to oversee your own treatments."

Both Harry and Draco pouted at her with an identically hurt expression.

It couldn't last long, as Pomfrey made an antagonistically loud entrance then, strangling a pair of pajamas.

"All right, all right—this isn't a social call. You--change into this. The rest of you—out; back to your own rooms," Pomfrey said in a foul temper.

Draco's gaze shot to Harry imploringly and Harry appropriately stepped forward.

"Um, Madam Pomfrey? If I could have a word, please?"

With only two minutes of quiet talking outside the door, Harry re-entered, looking neutral, which Draco decided was the best he was going to get in this situation.

"I got it talked down. You guys still have to go, but I can stay the night."

"Well, darn, and I was so looking to spending the night in the hospital wing with a tempermental ferret-boy," Ron said sarcastically.

"And I don't have to wear those hospice pajamas?" Draco questioned eagerly.

"No, but you do have to wear appropriate pajamas," Harry warned. Draco groaned unhappily.

"He doesn't normally wear pajamas?" Ron asked, clearly horrified.

"What's the point? I have to take them off eventually anyways," Draco replied. When Ron looked confused Draco shot him a flirting glance that put an end to all confusion.

"Louse—eat up. I'll go get stuff from our room," Harry chided.

"Ugh—what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" complained Draco.

"Eat."

Ron and Harry left, but Hermione hung back to talk to Draco.

"That?!" she hissed quietly. "That was your big plan?!"

Draco blushed, looking very interested in his meal suddenly.

"Okay—maybe I didn't mean to…collapse—but you have to admit, it's totally going to work."

"It's going to work in Harry going insane until school lets out. You too, you know. Do you think he's going to let you lift a finger after this? You'll be lucky if he doesn't prescribe bed rest for the rest of the school year."

"I didn't mean to, okay! I couldn't eat or Harry would be able to tell and then I was so caught up in that damned seating arrangement that I completely forgot about eating! Trust me—the last thing I want is for him to treat me like the last dragon egg on earth for the foreseeable future," Draco pouted.

"Well, this is karma for plotting then I guess," Hermione said smugly.

"Then you'll get your comeuppance soon, too! You helped me!" Draco warned, and Hermione had the decency to look slightly contrite.

"Okay, okay. Point taken. Well, try to get some rest then at least. Maybe Harry will ease up if you start resting and eating right."

"Yeah, maybe," Draco said doubtfully, pouting hard.

"See you tomorrow."

"If he lets me out of bed," Draco muttered, collapsing back petulantly.

XXX

Draco was only just getting bored with pushing food around on his plate when the hospice door opened again. He put on a big smile to show Harry how healthy he was feeling, but it turned out to be Neville instead, which was hardly less amusing.

"Good evening, Longbottom, have your feet tried to kill you again? Of course I would to if I had to carry you around all day. The least you could do is slim down and make the job easier on them," Draco said happily.

He stiffened though when Neville pulled out his wand and put a locking charm on the door.

Draco instinctively berated himself for changing so quickly into his pajamas—now his wand was still in his cloak on the back of the chair by the wardrobe. He tried to reason with his paranoid nature. Neville was Harry's friend. Friends don't kill friend's fiancés. But no friend's fiancé had ever been as antagonistic as Draco, the blonde imagined. He went for another reasoning tactic: Neville was so wayward with spells that he'd never be able to pull off something really painful. Draco let his faith rest in Neville's hopelessly bad Charms notes.

"What is it you think you're doing exactly, Neville?" said Draco sweetly.

"I want to speak with you, Malfoy. Speak seriously," Neville said in a wavering voice. He was nervous, but Draco could tell by the look in his eyes that he was also determined.

"By all means, talk away. I've got nothing better to do than to listen to you wag your chin, which will probably be a first and a last. You better take advantage of it while you can."

To Draco's disappointement, Neville didn't seem to have heard anything beyond his assent, pulling up a chair to ease his shaking legs.

"You can't marry Harry, Draco," Neville said seriously. Draco could feel it as the words hit close to his heart, but didn't let this show.

"Oh, really? And why is that? Don't tell me you're holding out hope that he'll sweep you off your feet to a golden land and make you his princess?"

"You can't marry him, Draco, because you're no good for him. And you know you're no good for him—yet you'd bind him to you forever anyway, which proves you to be even worse for him."

Draco couldn't do anything in face of this assault than hope, plead, beg that someone would break through the door and end his beating. In face of his paralysis, Neville continued, solemn in voice but shaking in body, as if he had memorized this speech, which Draco knew to be impossible with Neville's memory.

"I know that you're too far gone to want what's best for him, even more to do what's best for him. I know what you want out of him: his protection, his care, his esteem and all of this based off his adoration. But what he adores about you is exactly what you can't keep up; you can pretend to be the person he obviously thinks you are for the times you're around him in Hogwarts, but I'm talking about for life, twenty-four/seven. You might be a decent actor, but even you can't keep that up. And once that persona falls and he sees who you really are he'll be miserable but bound to you."

Outside the pain of his mind where there was nothing but these words to keep him company, he could hear harsh banging on the door. It seemed far away. Neville rushed on with the rest of his speech.

"He's stubborn, Draco. He won't admit defeat before he's been thoroughly beaten into the ground. Don't give him that beating. Don't let him take it. Let him go. You can't make him happy. You have to let him go."

This, rather than hitting Draco with the final blow, sparked him into rage. He remembered letting Harry go before, and he knew that that misery was more than he could ever live through again. He had promised to be with Harry, to stand by him and to love him—and here was yet another person who thought they could make him go back on his promise.

In the darkness of his mind the blazing image of Harry came to the foré and he knew that nothing anyone could say could make him hurt Harry like Neville was goading him into doing. His pig-headed conviction had already led him into hurting Harry before, and damned if Neville Longbottom was going to convince him to make the same mistake twice.

"Get out," Draco growled, and Neville stopped in whatever was he had been continuing to say. He was too shocked to move, though, and that was when Draco lost it. "Get out!" he screamed, as loudly and as insistently as he could muster, and once he'd started he couldn't stop. He could hear the chair topple as Neville panicked, he could hear the door come clear off its hinges as someone broke it down, but he couldn't stop until he felt arms he instinctively recognized as Harry's grasping tight around his shoulders.

Harry had managed to convince Madame Pomfrey that Draco would better recover in their own quarters, a hypothesis which was granted greater weight by Draco's over-loud litany of "I'm not staying here. You can't make me stay here. I'm not going to stay here." But now that he had the sullen blonde back home, he didn't know what to do with him.

"I'm going take a bath," Draco mumbled.

"I'll come with," Harry volunteered, but was countered.

"No," Draco said sternly, and then completely passed up a chance to properly argue, a pastime Draco never normally tired of.

The blonde trudged off to the bathroom, starting the bathwater and locking the door. Harry's heart sank a little in his chest at that, until Draco seemed to change his mind a few minutes later and unlocked it again.

It was times like these that Harry thought he'd be a horrible husband. At times like these Draco became a mystery and how to help him was an unsolvable puzzle. The best he could do was guess and check, and so after Draco had had nearly an hour to gather his thoughts, Harry headed in, bearing warm, fluffy towels as an appeasement gift in case his guess was incorrect.

Draco glanced his way for a moment, but then seemed to decide that ignoring him would be better. Still, Harry hadn't been screamed out, so he gave this guess a checkmart and ventured another one, creeping close enough to sit on the edge of the tub.

"Draco, are you okay?" Harry questioned, keeping his voice soft. This did not seem to be the modus operandi that Draco wanted. The blonde turned his face away and slunk another couple inches under the water. That guess got a big X through it. Okay, so gentle was not the way to go. Harry followed this clue: Draco did not want to be babied—pampering was fine but babying was taking it too far. Maybe vindication would be the way to go if Draco weren't in a coddling mood.

"Listen, Neville's an idiot. He doesn't know what he's talking about," Harry said, although the words were loath to get out of his mouth. Despite everything Neville was still his friend, and he knew that in the boy's misguided, underhanded way he was trying to be a friend to Harry.

Harry was not rewarded for the pain it cost him to say this. Draco dropped another inch, his mouth under the water now.

Harry's nature-bred-infinitesimal amount of patience ran out now.

"Okay, new game. You tell me how you want me to react to this and I'll do my best. How about that? And—go."

Draco laughed, bubbles cascading to the surface of the water. Finally he sat up a little, and then extended his dripping arms towards the brunette, who was loving his luck. He didn't mind a little wetness for some unexpected lovin, especially when that wetness only affected his pajamas.

He minded slightly more when Draco turned his embrace into a yank and pulled him off his precarious perch and into the hot bath.

"Jerk," Harry muttered, not bothering to fight Draco's tight arms around his submerged shoulders. He settled himself in instead, his blue pajamas wavering around his body in the water. "You're lucky I'm not wearing shoes."

Draco didn't respond, instead opting to wrap his legs around his brunette.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I can take care of you and me at the same time, Potter," Draco observed, although Harry was hard-pressed not to scoff. Harry didn't need the guess and check system to know that scoffing would be a Bad Idea right about now.

"I've just been going about it slightly wrong, and had it pointed out to me by someone who's not bright enough to be lying about it," Draco continued. "I've been spending all my time convincing people that I make you happy, when that's only half the battle. People also have to be convinced that I'm right for you—that I can take care of you and put you first and be supportive and caring. So phase two of Mission Win Over the Public starts now."

"Ohhh, what exactly is this mission going to entail? I can't deal with pampering the way you can. I'm not used to it," Harry complained.

"Then this mission will firstly entail getting you used to it, and secondly making it obvious to everyone with reputable senses that I'm good at it."

"Mmm, fine. But don't go overboard. Malfoys Are Subtle, remember?"

"You already got to that section of the Malfoy Code of Conduct?"

"I had to skip ahead to the important stuff. I couldn't spend 50 pages going over how Malfoys Do Not Consort with Lesser Bloods. It's a bit depressing, seeing as how I'm going to be marring your family line in little over three months."

"Lesson One in Draco's School of Improving Your Self-Esteem: My blood is so lucky to be marred by yours. I know I say it disgustingly often, but I don't always say it with the proper emotions behind it: I love you so much, Harry."

Harry smiled and snuggled into Draco's wet throat.

"I know you do. And I don't think it's disgustingly often. I love hearing you say it."

Draco held him tighter and pet his wet hair, murmuring against his forehead "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"How could anyone think you're anything but perfect to me?" Harry mumbled, ready after all of the day's drama and exertion to drift off to sleep not matter what was acting as his bed.