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The backyard garden of Number 12, Grimmauld Place has been revived, and in many ways, reborn.
Plants, flowers, and trees, both magical and muggle, were spaced in rows (though not the neatest) and where there were no rows, there were random clusters, surrounded by mulch in some places, grass in others. Tufts of monkey grass grew merrily throughout, looking somehow, against all odds, intentional. There was even a tiny forest that he wasn’t sure was quite legal – surely an undetectable extension charm like that, performed in a muggle neighborhood, on a forest, no less, warranted some type of registration or oversight – but he’d purposefully neglected to ask Neville. Clusters of plants for potions he’d planted lovingly, with hope, for Draco. Belladona, toward the very back. A proud, tiny little Wiggentree, toward the front. A Mimbulus mimbletonia, against Harry’s better judgment, but it had been a gift from Neville, after all. It really was a nuisance but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to get rid of it.
It was exotic, and chaotic, but at the same time, Harry found it positively calming. He and Neville had put no small amount of work into it, so he hoped Draco found it calming as well. Harry rather thought he did, because it seemed as though whenever he was looking for Draco, the garden was where he could be found. Harry congratulated himself once more on the temporal charm he’d had such trouble casting, that granted his backyard garden eternal spring.
He wasn’t absolutely sure that was legal either, but they were still behind a Fidelius, and he knew Draco well enough to know that he could be plied with such a springtime oasis.
His eyes slid over glowing toadstools, bioluminescent in all their glory; the green, red, and yellow muggle fern Harry and Neville had brought from New Zealand; the tiniest of babbling brooks – if he squinted he thought he could see the tadpoles – the curious willow with purple leaves that positively glowed on the full moon; an unassuming cluster of clover Harry hadn’t had the heart to pull up, damp with dew; the calla lilies, gleaming white and ethereal…
He took another drag of his cigarette as his eyes landed on Draco. He shouldn’t have, but he stubbed it out on the saucer he’d been using. He was sure Draco thought he didn’t know how Draco felt about his smoking, but he could always tell when Draco was thinking about it – it was the tightening around his eyes, really, that gave him away. As though he was itching to comment, but holding back.
It was late, or early, depending on one’s outlook. Harry thought it might have been around three. He smiled down at the watch on his wrist that Draco had given him for his 31st birthday, and found he was somewhat right – it was a quarter till three.
He looked over to his coffee cup and found it was empty. A carafe floated nearby, courtesy of Kreacher. He reached out and poured himself another cup. Draco was still watching Harry, eyes pinched, so Harry spoke.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so satisfied.”
Draco’s face softened before he spoke. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well it’s just…” Harry wasn’t quite sure where to begin, pausing slightly, but then the words began to flow a little more easily. “It’s just that since I’ve met you – er, re-met, I guess, everything started to feel – right. Life used to seem so hard – thinking back to all the places I’ve gone, and the people I’ve met – I drifted around just… Looking for something, something I didn’t even really know I was looking for. I tried not to let loneliness get to me, but I’m only human. There were days upon days, months, maybe even years, where I was just… Particularly sad.” He took a breath, and decided to light another cigarette. Draco’s eyes hadn’t strayed from his.
Harry continued on. “But now, being here with you, it’s the easiest thing in the world. It seems so natural, just being here with you in my garden. It’s like breathing.” He took another drag. “Just sitting here, drinking coffee, and smoking, talking… There’s nowhere I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing. I… I love you so much it hurts.”
“Since we, reconnected–” had it really only been two years, he thought, taking another gulp of coffee– “You’ve brought me nothing but joy. Sure, we fight sometimes, but my heart isn’t really in it – is yours? And even though you give me a headache sometimes – Hey, I know I’ve driven you to a headache potion once or twice too – I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because when I look at you, when I hear your name, when I think of you, all I feel is the most intense… Joy. And that’s how I know. That it’s you.”
The thing was, he knew Draco loved him, but there was something… Something that Draco seemed to be holding back. He hadn’t agreed to move in with him, when Harry had asked. Had a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t, why they shouldn’t.
Hadn’t wanted to get added to Harry’s Gringotts accounts.
Hadn’t wanted to help Harry pick out the Crup that was lazing at Draco’s feet – even though Harry assured him it would be staying at Grimmauld Place.
Hadn’t wanted Harry to list him as an emergency contact at St. Mungo’s.
Hadn’t want to sign on with him to the contract for the Firebolt Supreme, even though Harry had tried to explain that they wanted the both of them.
Harry shook himself out of his reverie as Draco spoke. To his surprise, Draco returned the sentiment. Albeit, in his own way.
“You’re right. It does seem so natural, that you and I are here.” Draco began. “Sometimes I don’t know if I love it or hate it – or rather, I try to lie to myself and pretend I’m unsure. You’re right, it is just like breathing. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, which is just as well, seeing as it was ever so hard for us to get here.”
That was an understatement if Harry had ever heard one.
“But even if I don’t always want to admit it,” Draco continued, “If I don’t say it… I’m glad we found our way here. I… I couldn’t imagine life without you here.” The look on Draco’s face was grudging, but beneath it, Harry could see trepidation, and hope.
Harry gave it a moment before he spoke. “I want to build my whole life around you.”
Harry thought he heard the tiniest of sighs from Draco, and felt as though Draco had been holding in more than his breath. Harry almost thought Draco released a part of himself with it, as though he was letting go of something he’d held back for a long time.
And so, Harry figured this was as right a time as any. He pulled a small box from his pocket. He fumbled with it in his lap, finally getting it open, slipping something from it, and reaching for Draco’s hand.
Slowly, so slowly – hands shaking, damn them – he slipped the ring onto Draco’s third finger. Rather presumptuous, he thought, but he was hedging his bets.
“How complete my life would be,” Harry murmured.
Draco’s mouth had fallen open slightly, and he was nodding – if he’d been anyone else, Harry would’ve laughed at the expression – but then, the smile that graced Draco’s face was absolutely beatific, and Draco said the word he’d been waiting to hear.
“Yes.”