"We haven't seen you around much lately, Harry," says Molly, and he can sense something accusing in her tone, but he feels no guilt for it. It's true that it's the first time he's been at the Weasleys for more than an hour or two on a Sunday afternoon in a few months, but he's been otherwise occupied. He and Draco have just entered the fourth month of their relationship, and with that has come ... well, more than Harry realized was meant to happen at the four-month mark. He decides not to tell Molly that the next day—Sunday—he'll be not at the Burrow, but Malfoy Manor.
"I've been busy," Harry says. "You need some—"
She waves her hand dismissively. "You know I never need help with anything, Harry. Unless you'd be willing to start setting the table with salad bowls."
"Sure." As Harry reaches for the bowls, he listens to Molly asking him why he's been so busy.
"Well, you know the post holiday crime roundup's always a wrench," he says, spelling the bowls to their proper places. "And Kingsley's asked Ron and me to start up this inter-Ministry intramural Quidditch league, as Ron's probably mentioned to you."
"He did," she says with a nod. "Why aren't you out there playing with them, anyway?"
Harry looks out at the backyard, where Ron, George, Ginny, and Dean are playing a game of two a side. He shrugs. "Wanted to talk to you a bit."
She smiles warmly. "And are you and the Malfoy boy still...?"
Harry smiles at her insistence that Draco is still just "the Malfoy boy." "Yes, we're still."
"Think he'll propose soon, then?"
Harry, who's just taken a sip of water, promptly chokes on it.
"Well, it's a fair question, Harry," says Molly. "Dean proposed to Ginny after four weeks, and that was two days after asking Arthur's permission."
"Yeah, but Dean had wanted to be with Ginny since we were in school," Harry says. "Draco—it's not the same thing."
"If you say so. Would you go out and get the others? We're ready to eat."
Harry's unnerved for the rest of the night, even as Draco comes to his flat just so they can sleep beside each other before spending Sunday at the Manor—a sweet gesture, Harry thinks, romantic, even, considering they hadn't been together all day. Draco had a trial to sit in on that had already been rescheduled twice, so he and Hermione had both been tied up there, thus her absence at the Burrow. As morning breaks and he and Draco get dressed, Harry still can't shake Molly's question.
"Are you showering first, or did you want to go together?" Draco asks, curling Harry's hair around his ears and kissing his cheek. Harry was surprised to find that Draco is neither a morning person nor a night owl; rather, he's at the same level all day long, and that's a level that's fine by Harry.
"How much time do we have?"
Draco snorts. "You're not suggesting it takes quicker when we're together, are you? Because I can assure you, it almost certainly takes longer." His expression turns concerned. "Is something wrong? You seemed a little off last night, and it's still here now."
"Oh. Well." Harry hesitates. "It's weird, OK?"
"It's probably not."
"Molly Weasley asked me if I thought you'd be proposing soon."
Draco's face turns a whiter shade of pale, and he swallows before saying, "Well, I can understand why you've been a little off. What a terrifying question."
"Thank you!" says Harry, relieved. "It's not—I mean, marriage—well, you know, I care about you a lot, I love being with you, I'm never, ever, ever going to break up with you, ever—"
"Go on," Draco says, smiling.
"But it's been, what, three months? And we're not old or anything. We've got time to decide what we want to do about—if we want to do something—you know. Like. Commitment."
"I'm not sure I could've put it better myself," says Draco. "So, what'd you tell her?"
"There was some choking and a bit of stammering, mostly," Harry says sheepishly.
Draco laughs. "Of course, you've got a charming, choking, stammering, awkward, uncomfortable, totally endearing way about you."
"I'll let the endearing part cancel out the rest," says Harry. "Anyway, I don't think you want to marry some git who won't let you have sex with him after more than three months."
"Isn't that more incentive, actually?" Draco asks. "There's some Muggle phrase you used once when you told me that Ron and Hermione never did it till they were married. Something about cows and milk and free market."
"Nothing about the free market," Harry says. "It's that you don't want to buy the cow if you can get the milk for free, like, you don't want to get married if you're already getting laid."
"You'd think if you enjoyed the sex enough, the marriage would come naturally."
"You'd think." Harry pauses. "You know I'm almost ready, right?"
"I know, Harry."
"And you know I'm going to be awful, right? Just dreadful?"
"A possibility, but that's not 100% certain."
"And if it is, you'll absolutely never marry me?"
"Let's not talk about that anymore, hm?" Draco kisses Harry on the neck once, twice, and many more times before shooing him out of the bed and into the shower. Within an hour, the two of them are on the needlessly long path into the Manor.
"You didn't have to bring her anything," Draco says, gesturing to the fruit basket in Harry's hands.
"I know, but I want to look good," says Harry.
"She's still quite sweet on you for saving my life," Draco says.
Harry shrugs. "And now she'll know that I appreciate good food. There's cheese in here, you know."
Draco rolls his eyes. "I'm sure there is. Oh, look, it's Pansy and her new man. Cute, isn't he?"
"He's not the same one from a couple months ago, is he?" Harry examines Parkinson—Pansy, he supposes, Pansy's what he'll have to call her now—and the man on her arm. He looks vaguely Italian and can't seem to stop smiling or exclaiming over something or another, quite possibly the peacock making its way past him.
"Of course he isn't," Draco says. "Pansy doesn't do long term relationships. Granted, she would if Blaise asked her out, but that'll never happen." Draco moves toward Pansy and Harry follows.
"So we've finally lured your precious Harry Potter away from his Weasleys on a Sunday afternoon?" Pansy purrs, taking Draco in her arms and then pushing him away so Harry can have a turn. It's odd, being outright embraced by Pansy Parkinson, but he accepts it gratefully—it's impossible not to imagine how much worse this could already be. "Draco, Harry, this is Emile."
Emile air kisses Draco and Harry before turning to Pansy and asking her, in broken English, how soon lunch will be. "Soon, darling, soon," she says. "Right, Draco?"
Draco nods. "Mother always has lunch ready at 12:15 pm." He pauses. "Well, the house elves always have lunch ready then, anyway."
It's not as horrifying as anything Harry was imagining. He's sat between Draco and Theo after Narcissa warmly accepts his gift and tells him how happy it makes her to see her son so content. In many ways, the lunch is just like a meal at the Burrow. Small conversations break out among groups of twos and threes, food keeps seeming to reappear as soon as the supply wears thin, and every once in a while, everybody seems to be laughing at some comment or another. The fact that they're in the most pristine dining room Harry's seen this side of the Ministry seems irrelevant somehow.
As the crowd disperses to play games of Exploding Snap or (oddly, Harry thinks, considering the Muggle nature of it) croquet, Narcissa takes Harry aside.
"I realize your relationship is fairly young," she says to him. "But I want you to know that whatever you and Draco decide to do—live together, marry, adopt, whatever—I will support your decision."
Harry fights back all manner of nervous tics and nods, but he can't help asking, "Why—how—when did you become this relaxed?"
Narcissa laughs softly. "Sometime between my husband telling me how much of a waste pureblood-based ambition was and my son telling me that no more natural Malfoy heirs would be coming into existence at any time. In life, I find, you must accept what you've been presented and move with it." She cocks her head to the side and looks thoughtful before adding, "Draco finds the idea of marriage horrifying, too. I understand. You're young and male and you probably don't grasp its appeal just yet. Don't worry. You have time. Judging from how he treats you, my son will give you as much of that as you need."
Harry doesn't tell Draco the contents of this conversation as the two of them bid goodbye to the Manor crowd and go to Draco's flat for an afternoon and evening in with Chinese takeout and a loud, nonsensical Muggle film. At least, at first, he doesn't.
"Another marriage talk, then?" Draco sighs dramatically. "How will you ever escape them? And how come everyone's asking you about it? Are you the man, then?"
"I'm fairly sure we both are," says Harry. "And ... it's nice to know, at least, if I do, you know, decide it's not the scariest thing ever at some point somewhere down the line. You know, like, five years down the line."
"Or ten," Draco says.
"Exactly," says Harry. "Well, I think I've kept you waiting long enough, haven't I?"
"Huh?"
Harry laughs. "So inelegant. Look, Draco, if the respective motherly figures in our lives are wondering why we aren't exchanging rings and vows in front of a crowd of our closest friends and relatives, then isn't it time we, you know, fucked?"
"Well, I certainly think so, yes," says Draco, trying to bite back laughter and failing. "Are you suggesting you're ready because Molly Weasley and my mother put fear of losing me in your heart?"
"No, I'm suggesting I'm ready because I've been saying I would be for over four months and I can't think of what more it would take than Peking duck and Bruce Willis."
"Who's Bruce Willis?"
Harry gestures at the screen and rolls his eyes. "Honestly, do you ever listen to me when I tell you about what we're watching?"
"Mostly I'm just staring at your mouth."
"That's fair." Harry stands up and holds out his hand to Draco. "I'm ready when you are."
"Well, suppose we'll see about that, then," says Draco, taking Harry's hand and following him to Draco's bedroom. "It's probably worth mentioning before we do this that I love you, and I have for a long time, since before this was anything official, and this is going to be the best damn sex you ever have, if for that reason alone."
Harry stops and turns to Draco and kisses him with all he has.
"So, good news there, then?" Draco's smirking.
"I love you, too," says Harry. "I've loved you just as long. And I'm not as articulate as you are, so I'm just going to show you how much I love you by pounding you into the mattress."
"Not if I pound you first."
"You're on."