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Draco sidled up—he actually sidled, there was no other word for it—and leaned on the counter next to Harry, who was making margaritas at Hermione and Ron’s taco Tuesday. Draco was all long limbs and blond hair and silvery eyes and, Christ, that mouth. Harry pretended to concentrate on the drinks but he just eyed Draco. Because Draco was—and there was no other word for it—hot.
Harry didn’t know when he noticed how hot Draco was. It could have been when he saw Draco at Dean’s twenty-first birthday party, loose-limbed and dancing to “Lady Marmalade” on a table with Ginny and Seamus. Or when Ron had dragged Harry to see A Knight’s Tale (because he had a crush on Heath Ledger) and they’d run into Draco and Pansy at the theater (because they also had crushes on Heath Ledger), and Draco had laughed at all the Chaucer references. Or when Hermione had brought Draco to their weekly lunch date, and Draco had asked Harry insightful questions about his work with Muggle-born students and smiled fondly at Hermione.
He didn’t even know how Draco—and Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Greg—had all become his friends. But they were his friends and Draco was hot and Harry was having a hard time focusing on anything but the way his body looked, all lounge-y and elegant and—Christ, Harry was doomed.
Harry dumped tequila and lime juice in the pitcher with no regard for measurement. Everyone said they loved Harry’s margaritas, but everyone lied because Harry’s margaritas were shit. It was just that no one else wanted to fuss with the blender. It was one of Arthur’s inventions and had a mind of its own.
Harry turned it on right as Draco said something. Harry couldn’t hear him over the motor whining, but a career in early childhood development had honed his lip-reading skills. He was fairly certain Draco had just said, “I need you.”
Harry shut off the blender.
“Would you care to repeat that?” Harry filled Draco’s glass with one of his shit margaritas.
“Repeat what?” Draco asked innocently as he took a sip of the drink. He made a face, noticed Harry notice his wince, and immediately smoothed over his features. “Delightful margarita, as usual, Potter.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Malfoy.”
“And you’re a terrible bartender.” Draco made another face but drank the margarita.
“Anyway,” Harry said as he leaned back on the counter. “What did you say?”
“When? Just now? I believe you heard me very clearly when I said you’re a piss poor bartender.”
“Hmmm, yeah.” Harry slowly leaned toward Draco, who stilled. “I think you told me you need me.”
“I need a drinkable margarita.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Harry nodded slowly and let his fingers brush against the back of Draco’s hand. “I think you also need me.”
“You know, you’re very conceited for someone the whole world seems to think is the absolute pinnacle of humility.” Draco took another sip of his drink and managed not to wince this time. He didn’t move his hand, though, so Harry kept stroking it.
“You fancy me.” Harry smiled.
“As if,” Draco scoffed, giving his best Cher Horowitz.
“You’re drinking my terrible margaritas.” Harry moved a step closer to Draco.
“Because that’s all that there is to drink!”
“You said you need me.” Harry crowded Draco, who flushed again this time. It was gratifying to watch him squirm a little.
“Must be the tequila,” Draco muttered.
Harry angled his body in front of Draco’s, so no one else would see. He brushed Draco’s jaw lightly with the tips of his fingers and stroked down his neck; that pale, long neck that haunted his thoughts. He let his fingertips rest at Draco’s collarbone for a moment and leaned in.
“That’s your first drink,” he whispered Draco’s ear, and felt him shiver. He stepped back and turned, heading back to the party.
Harry looked back at Draco.
He was smiling into his glass.
******
“I love you,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s ear.
“Wha—?” Harry huffed out a laugh and tried to turn his head to look at Draco. It was nearly impossible to do since there were ten of them packed into a booth that could comfortably fit six people, was tight at eight, and positively sardine-like at ten. Which is how Harry found himself wedged between Hermione and Draco, both of them practically in his lap.
Draco shifted and grabbed his martini off the table. He tilted it back, finishing it in one gulp, his long pale neck directly in Harry’s face. Harry only had to move his head the tiniest bit and he’d have his mouth on Draco’s neck. It would take almost no effort. Harry felt himself leaning forward when Draco swallowed his drink and the side of his jaw hit Harry’s nose.
“Oh, Harry. You’re still here.” Draco smiled as he put the empty glass back on the table. He waved his hand at the server and everyone cheered as they took another round of drink orders.
“Where else would I be? It’s not like I can leave this particular booth easily.”
Harry tried to shift under Draco’s left thigh. Draco was driving him to distraction, which was nothing new.
“Draco, what did you say?”
Draco put his nose in Harry’s hair. “What did I say when?”
God, Draco was so close. He smelled so good. Harry wanted to take him home. Apparate them out of this godforsaken booth and shag him senseless on the carpet. But leaving abruptly in the middle of Friday pub night wouldn’t be very discreet. Which is what they’d agreed to—discretion. At least until whatever this was became more serious. Which it wasn’t. It was very casual. Unless—
“Just now. Did you…did you say you love me?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why would I say something like that?”
“I don’t know, Draco,” Harry dragged out the second syllable. “But I’m pretty sure you told me you love me.”
Draco grabbed the fresh martini the server put in front of him.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Harry,” Draco mimicked him. He took a sip of his drink and, infuriatingly, his throat was back in Harry’s face, begging to be licked. He wondered what would happen if did, in fact, lick Draco’s neck right now, in front of all their friends. He shook his head a little to clear it.
“Draco,” Harry said sharply. Draco stopped drinking and looked at him, his grey eyes almost silver in the low light.
Harry smiled. “You love me.”
“I do not,” Draco scoffed.
“You’re in my lap, whispering about how much you love me in my ear.” Harry grinned.
“There’s no place else to sit!”
Harry leaned forward a tiny bit, just so his lips brushed the shell of Draco’s ear. “You told me you love me.”
Draco flushed pink, from his neck to his ears.
“Must be the vodka,” he mumbled into his drink, hiding a smile.
“I love you, too.” Harry kissed his neck.
******
“Be a dear and pass the coffee,” Draco murmured in his ear. Harry shivered and leaned forward to grab the silver carafe.
He turned to pour the coffee in Draco’s cup, but Draco was still entirely too close and they got a little tangled. Not that Harry minded.
“You’re a wizard,” Harry whispered to Draco. “You could have summoned the coffee pot yourself.”
“You know very well that summoning cookery, carafes, and cutlery at the dining table is rude,” Draco said in his best imitation of Pansy, still leaning into Harry, half off his seat.
“Do I?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been to enough of Pansy’s dinner parties.”
“Have I?” Harry asked, his eyes searching Draco’s face and smiling a bit. Draco smiled back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. His white-blond hair was slightly disheveled from where he’d run his hand through it.
Harry wanted to kiss him. But then, Harry always wanted to kiss him.
“Hmmm,” Draco hummed and slid back into his seat, putting an upsetting distance between them.
They were at Pansy’s monthly Adults Should Understand How Silverware Works dinner party, where she insisted on serving three courses and double-checking to make sure that they used the correct fork for each. Everyone loved to fuck with her, though, and the dinners usually devolved into them transfiguring their cutlery into all manner of inappropriate objects; plastic play shovels, little planters shaped like unicorns, toy quidditch players and, at one rather epic dinner, a dildo. Which, to everyone’s delight, turned out to be a rather good way to eat a mousse.
Harry assessed the table. There was an assortment of not-cutlery on the table for dessert; Ron had a tea kettle, Hermione a magnifying glass. Blaise had a cigar, Theo a tie pin, Ginny a pair of Quidditch goggles. Luna had a pendant of some sort, Greg a toy building, and Neville a potted plant. Dean and Seamus had something that looked suspiciously like a pair of fuzzy handcuffs at their plate.
No one was paying attention to them, so Harry scooted his chair closer to Draco. His grey eyes widened.
“Tell me something,” Harry said into Draco’s ear.
Draco gave Harry a sidelong glance while he poured some cream into his coffee. “Like what?"
“Like how much you love me.” Harry leaned in close, let his hand brush Draco’s thigh under the table. Draco shifted closer.
“Please, Harry. I could never love someone as noble and self-sacrificing as you. You’re boring.”
Harry drew little circles on Draco’s thigh with his index finger, slowly working his way up. Draco inhaled sharply.
“I bet I know how to keep your interest,” Harry said under his breath.
A cheer went up from the other end of the table. Harry looked over and saw that Dean and Seamus had handcuffed themselves together and were attempting to eat raspberry fool without the use of either their hands or magic.
Harry felt lips brush against his cheek and heard, just barely over the din, Draco whisper into his ear.
“Marry me?”
Harry turned his head quickly, but Draco had already pulled back and was idly sipping his coffee.
Harry caught Draco’s eye. His eyes were bright, glinting in the low candlelight, an amused expression on Draco’s face as he ever-so-innocently raised his cup to his lips. Harry’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.
“What?” Harry asked, his hand still on Draco’s thigh.
“Hmmm.” Draco raised his eyebrows.
“What did you just ask me, Draco?”
“I don’t recall asking anything, Harry. You must be imagining things. You really shouldn’t drink so much.” Draco gave him a knowing smile.
“I’m sober.”
“A pity.”
“You’re sober.”
“Sadly, yes.”
“You asked me to marry you. Draco.”
“I did no such thing.” Draco slid a coffee cup and saucer toward Harry. He took it, still distracted.
On the saucer, instead of an appropriate coffee spoon, was a gold ring. Harry picked it up.
“You did, you fucker!” Harry leaned in close. “You did,” he said, softly into Draco’s lips and kissed him, long and deep, their friends' reactions be damned.
“Must be the brandy,” Draco murmured when they broke apart.
“You’re sober.”
“Regrettably.” Draco paused and stared into Harry’s eyes, grey meeting green. “Will you?”
“Of course.”
Harry kissed him again, and a loud cheer erupted around the table.
******
“They’re both ridiculously wealthy and unfairly attractive, so I understand if you want to go sit in a corner and lament about how lonely and ugly you feel in comparison. But! If you have even the slimmest shred of self-confidence, I ask you to join me by raising your glasses to my two best friends and wishing them a lifetime of happiness.” The crowd laughed as Ron raised his champagne glass and looked fondly at Harry and Draco.
Ron waited for the crowd to settle a bit before he continued his speech, more serious now.
“I thought about making another joke here,” he said, his eyes on Draco and Harry. “About how your relationship is the blueprint for an enemies-to-lovers Muggle romance novel, and how someone should write a whole smutty series based on your epic and fraught love story.” The guests laughed again, and Ron smiled.
“And while that’s true and someone should write it, I wanted to talk about how your relationship is more than that. It’s more than two people, on opposite sides of not only a war, but an ideology, coming together. It’s about more than two kids, really, who were subjected to forces much bigger than them, each doing the best they could. It’s about more than when, in the darkest of times and on the farthest of shores, neither of you could stand to see the other hurt.
“It’s about how the war and our childhoods tore us apart but how we—all of us—figured out a way to put ourselves back together. We aren’t the same, but we’re stronger where the cracks have mended. Stronger together than we were apart. And you, Harry and Draco, make each other and, by extension, all of us, feel stronger and safer and more loved than we ever thought possible. You found love with each other, in the last place anyone expected you to find it. And we’re all better for it.” Ron wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“To Harry and Draco,” he said, weepily.
“To Harry and Draco!” echoed the crowd, glasses aloft.
“He was a terrible choice for the toast,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, blinking back tears. Draco was impeccable in his tuxedo—no robes for them—a champagne glass held lightly in his hand.
“It was your idea to ask Ron,” Harry whispered back, wiping his eyes with a napkin.
“I would never do such a thing,” Draco sniffed and adjusted Harry’s tie.
“I said we should ask Blaise or Hermione and you said that they’d both cry too much.”
“Well, they would have.” Draco sipped his champagne. Harry wanted to kiss him, so he did. It was their wedding day, after all.
Draco smiled into his mouth and leaned into the kiss a bit more, drawing it out. Harry pulled back and rested his forehead on Draco’s.
“I love you,” Harry said.
“Let’s have a baby.”
Harry drew his head back and looked Draco in the eye. There was nothing but mischief in them. Harry narrowed his own.
“What did you say?” Harry asked.
Draco raised his eyebrows and hummed.
“Draco,” Harry said warningly. “Did you just say you want to have a baby?”
“Me? Why would I say something like that? Babies are so pedestrian.”
“Pedestrian?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Well, not pedestrian. But they are rather loud. And they drool, you know.”
“I know that babies drool, Draco, but how do you?”
“Excuse you, but I am godfather to baby Rose.”
“I told Ron and Hermione not to choose you.”
“Betrayal!” Draco gasped, mock angry. He took another sip of champagne.
“Draco. Do you want to have a baby?”
“Never,” Draco said, a smile playing on his lips.
“You want to have a baby with me.” Harry felt himself start to tear up again.
“It must be the Bailey’s,” said Draco.
“You’ve had two sips of champagne.”
“Ah, so I have.” Draco flicked his wrist and a scroll appeared. He handed it to Harry.
“Adoption papers?” He looked up at Draco, tears slowly rolling down his face.
“I must have been very, very drunk when I filled those out,” Draco said gently, brushing Harry’s tears away with his thumb.
“You know, I’ve never actually seen you drunk.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there.” He smiled and cupped Harry’s face in his hand.
Harry put the scroll down and leaned into him.
“I cannot wait to watch you be a father,” Harry whispered.
“Such a shame I’ll have to get sober.” Draco sighed and smiled.
Harry laughed and kissed his husband.