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"I did not sign up to be an accessory to a crime, Potter."
It looks different from when Harry remembers it.
"The deal was matrimony," the word is still foreign and uncertain on the smooth, aristocratic drawl that Harry's so familiar with, but the delight in Draco's tone is unconcealed and echoes the giddiness that Harry feels— has felt since a fortnight ago.
Or maybe it's not different. Maybe it's just the rare sunlight, playing with the tickling wind that dislodges a few strands of hair from the bun atop his head.
"—maybe a kneazle. But I am not helping you hide a body."
Maybe it just feels different because this time around he's not alone.
"I can't believe that I'm willingly signing up for this for the rest of my life," Harry muses, promptly receiving a sharp elbow to his side. He throws Draco a look that's both exasperated and fond while he rubs at the spot, before he stops. He doesn't know how he recognizes the place, but he does. He looks around— he's certain it's still here— and gives a shout of triumph as he bends forward.
Draco quips an eyebrow. "You're making me miss an episode of Caliban's Peak for.... that?"
"Well," Harry stands, "You did agree to marry me. I think Caliban and his... peak, can do without you for an afternoon," he hesitates, the weight of what he's about to do making his throat close up. "It's... important." The unsaid ‘to me’ rings clear.
Draco levels a look at the object in Harry's hand, and nods.
Harry turns the stone over in his hand three times.