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Draco took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked over the crowd seated in Malfoy Manor’s back garden for the celebration. Champagne glasses in hand, they smiled up at him as he cleared his throat. Nudging the dessert fork a little to fix his setting at the head of the table, he glanced at the person seated to his right to gain courage, then opened his mouth to begin his speech:
“Hello, and thank you all for coming to our little party. Everyone here has meant so much to Harry and me. Whether family by blood or by choice, we could not be more grateful to you.”
Draco took a sip of his champagne to buy time. It cooled his aching throat.
“Now, it’s traditional for someone in my position to give a little speech reminiscing about our favourite man. There are a few secrets I swore to take to the grave, so today I share my favourite and most harmless one: Harry’s bath times.” Laughter ensued from the audience in surprise.
“Yes,” Draco continued, “the Boy Who Lived grew up to become the Man Who Loved Bubble Baths. Although Harry spent a significant amount of time as an Auror, he was notoriously known for being a terrible sneaker. I have it on good authority that he was much better at this while at Hogwarts.”
“Only if you forget the dozen times Filch caught him,” yelled Finnegan.
“Or Peeves,” added Dean at volume, drawing more titters. Draco ducked his chin graciously as the crowd settled down.
“That said, as an adult, he was terrible at hiding his bubble baths. I would come home to our tiny flat smelling so strongly of jasmine or lavender or peppermint, and each time he had the most wafer-thin excuse prepared. I’m sure old Mrs Tobbs next door’s ears were constantly burning with how often Harry brought up her supposedly enormous candle collection.”
Draco took another sip of champagne. His throat burned, but he wouldn’t let the memory of bath bombs and Harry’s outrageous lies best him. He swallowed hard, committed to finishing the speech with dry eyes.
“Smells aside, we all know how Harry is with an atmospheric charm. Try as he might to dispel the humidity in the bath, he was rarely successful. I always knew when Granger had been by because those were the few times he was able to complete the charm.”
At the mention of her name, Hermione Granger-Weasely tipped her champagne flute in salute. Draco gave a thin smile and tipped his back.
“As bad as he was at destroying the evidence, I somehow only caught him in the act a handful of times. The last time I remember vividly because I’d had a terrible day. Work was hell, and dear old dad had finally kicked the cauldron. All I wanted was Thai take-away and hours of mind-numbing telly with Harry on our terribly lumpy sofa—I’m still cross with you for letting him choose that sofa, Ron.”
Draco pointed at the familiar mop of ginger halfway down the table. He took another breath and wondered when his glass of champagne had gotten so low.
“When I arrived home, it was filled with music—the record of an old American singer Harry discovered while going through Sirius’ things. He was singing along, and the first thing I noticed was his voice. I won’t pretend he had perfect pitch, but he could carry a tune much better than myself.” A snort sounded from Draco’s side, resulting in a playful side-eye being thrown that way.
“Yes,” Draco rolled his eyes, “I can admit that now. Regardless, at that moment I realised that Harry hadn’t heard me enter, so I sat and listened to him sing along. Song after song passed, and I found myself so thankful for this wonderful person in my life, singing silly love songs.”
When Draco blinked he kept his eyes shut a second longer than he should have, and the flat came to him in vivid detail. The knit throw over the split seam on the chair, and Harry’s work robes pooled on the floor.
He blinked. “The sap even substituted my name in the songs,” he said. The assembled crowd hushed, as quiet and serious as his voice had become.
“That was the night I knew I wanted to come home to him forever. That night I knew I was going to ask him to marry me.” Scattered across the audience were long aww’s and sighs at Draco’s words. Draco reached over and tightened the hand resting on the shoulder beside him and continued.
“Now remember how I mentioned earlier that Harry was a terrible sneak? Not long after that night, I discovered a beautiful ring hidden in the kitchen cupboard behind the box of his favourite tea,” Draco held up his left hand in display. “I knew I had to act quickly if I wanted to be the one to ask first. At this point in our relationship, I knew Harry took his secret baths at least twice weekly, and I knew that he knew that I knew, but I let him pretend at having his secrets. Christmas was approaching, so Harry began favouring these ridiculous gingerbread-shaped bath bombs that made the flat smell like cinnamon for days. I know, because he thought a biscuit tin was a clever place to hide them. So, one day I bought a pack of them for him. Thinking myself clever, I put the ring inside one of them with a charmed note and a message: “Marry me.” I can see you shaking your head, Granger! Yes, I recognize my mistake now.”
Draco chuckled and hung his head sheepishly.
“For those of us not quite as quick as Granger over here, my scheming meant I wasn’t able to deduce when he would get the message.”
Draco gestured widely with his champagne flute. “It was awful. An entire week, living on tenterhooks. Arriving home to the flat reeking of cloves and cinnamon, not a clue whether he’d—anyway. I’d barely stepped out the Floo on a Monday evening when Harry walked up to me—cool as a cucumber, by the way—and he grabbed my hands, kissed me on the cheek, looked me in the eyes, and simply said “Yes.” And there I was, staring, in shock. My poor nerves had been frayed all week only for one word to put me back at ease.”
Draco shared a sly smile. “I won’t be indecent, but that night was the first time Harry invited me into the bath with him. So notoriously full of secrets, he decided that night to share this private part of his life with me. I didn’t think I could ever feel more loved than to have earned his trust.”
He took a sip tipped his head, considering.
“Except maybe at our actual wedding.” The crowd yielded a mix of jovial booing and laughter, and some asides Draco would pretend he hadn’t heard.
“Yes, yes, I know you were very upset that we eloped, but at least we invited you to party with us afterwards! And now, on our ten-year anniversary, here we all are again. Thank you for coming today, to help me get through what has certainly been an emotional day.”
He looked down to find his champagne flute empty, and his heart in his throat. By magic, it refilled, but all the sparkling wine in the world couldn’t tamp down the feelings bubbling up inside him.
“To not be able to celebrate the love of my marriage with Harry is excruciating, but I know in my heart that he is looking down at us, happy to see us all together celebrating love and celebrating life.”
Draco looked down at his side once more, making eye contact with Pansy. ‘You can do it,’ she mouthed to him. Draco, for the last time, patted her shoulder and then let go to stand tall.
“Tonight I raise a toast,” he said, and the rustling of fabric sounded throughout the garden as every guest stood.
“To the Boy Who Lived,” he said seriously, and then with a grin, “and the Man Who Bathed, the love of my life, gone but never ever forgotten. To Harry.”
Fireflies twinkled about, providing a magical glow as the guests raised their champagne flutes in answer.
“To Harry,” echoed in unison against the trees.
As peoples’ hands lowered, a star shot across the sky near the dragon constellation. It flashed so quickly Draco almost missed it. Still looking up, he smiled warmly and whispered softly, “Happy anniversary, darling.”