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Harry held his hand up, admiring the way the ring on his finger shone in the firelight. The unadorned silver band was slim, but it fit perfectly, and the sight of it against his tanned skin made Harry grin.
“I’ll get you something better.”
An arm snaked around Harry’s waist, pulling him back against the warm, solid body of his boyfr—fiancé. Harry laughed and curled his fingers around the dainty band possessively.
“I’m happy with this one,” he said.
Tom made a disgusted sound. “You’re going to be sentimental about this, aren’t you?”
“One of us has to be,” Harry grinned. He let his head loll back, smiling up into the disgruntled face of the man he loved. “Normally, it’d be you—“
“I am not sentimental.”
“You’re still using the quill I loaned you on the train to Hogwarts in first year,” Harry said, quite reasonably in his opinion.
Tom scoffed.
“And my scarves,” Harry added, rolling his eyes.
“You gave me a scarf for Christmas second year,” Tom sniffed. “It would be rude not to use a gift.”
“Not that scarf,” Harry snorted. “I mean the other three you’ve stolen from me and charmed green and silver in the hopes I wouldn’t notice.”
Silence.
“And,” added Harry, feeling reckless, “ my favorite teacup.”
“You broke it,” Tom huffed. “It’s not sentiment, it was just—practical.”
“Practical,” Harry mocked. “It was in a dozen pieces.” He rubbed his cheek against the scratchy wool of the Weasley Christmas jumper his fiancé had so grudgingly donned earlier in the evening and hid his smile. Tom’s arms around him tightened in response.
“It was a perfectly good cup,” Tom insisted. “It wasn’t difficult to repair, and it would be wasteful to just throw it away.”
“Uh-huh,” Harry dryly. “And the charmed duplicate of it you make me each morning is what, exactly?
A longer, slightly more guilty silence.
“Efficient,” Tom rumbled at last.
“Effic— Tom!” Harry exclaimed, laughing. He tried to wriggle around, but the firm grip around his waist kept him pinned. “How is it efficient to copy my cup instead of simply giving it back— or just letting me use a different cup?”
“Obviously,” Tom drawled, “it’s because now you can’t break it again.”
“I have broken it again,” Harry said. “Several times.”
“You’ve broken the copy,” Tom corrected him. Harry could feel the smugness radiating from his body. “The original is safe, with me. This way you get to use it, and you never need to worry about not having it.”
Harry’s heart gave a giddy swoop, and he pressed a kiss to the only place he could reach, Tom’s wool-clad shoulder.
“Sentimental,” he said, his words slightly muffled.
Tom made a soft, grumpy sound. He buried his face in Harry’s curls and huffed, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. The moment stretched out, peaceful and warm with only the sound of the crackling fireplace in front of them to break the quiet. They had the Gryffindor common room to themselves, the rest of Harry’s house having gone home for the winter holidays.
“I had it all planned out,” Tom said at last. His words puffed against Harry’s sensitive scalp, drawing him out of the languid doze he had begun to fall into.
“Mmm?” asked Harry sleepily.
“The proposal,” Tom explained. He hissed something in parseltongue under his breath, clearly annoyed with himself. “I was going to wait until we graduated, and I was going to do it right.”
“Define right,” said Harry, suddenly suspicious.
“Courtship,” Tom said, exasperated. “The proper Wizarding way. After we graduated this year, I was going to approach your Weasleys and inform them of my intent. I have the cloak pin picked out and the rest of the gifts ready to go. I have flowers,” Tom added, sounding bewildered by his own actions. “I grew them.”
“Oh,” said Harry. His chest felt painfully tight and close to overflowing. He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. “What sort of flowers did you pick?”
Tom pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of his head. “Muggle ones,” he admitted after a moment. “I would have cultivated magical species, but—“ he stopped abruptly.
“But you know I like the regular flowers more,” Harry finished. He didn’t bother concealing his smile.
“Sentimental,” Tom accused dryly. Harry shrugged, unconcerned. Living with his Aunt and Uncle had been terrible, but their garden had always been a comfort to him.
The hands around his waist had loosened enough for Harry to wiggle around, legs sprawling to either side of Tom’s lean hips as he settled into his lap properly. The fireplace at Harry’s back radiated heat, but he still felt cold without Tom’s solid presence pressed against him.
“I am sentimental,” Harry admitted freely. “About you.” He pressed his hand against Tom’s chest for balance and leaned closer, tilting his head up in a silent request. Tom bent to meet him immediately, brushing their lips together with a delicate sweetness that made Harry’s heart beat wildly.
Beneath his palm, he could feel Tom’s heart speed up to match his own.
The kiss deepened into something warmer, a slide of lips and just the briefest graze of teeth. Harry sighed into it, curling his fingers into Tom’s sweater and swaying forward. They kissed for long, lazy moments, content to share in the heat that always simmered between them without chasing it to a conclusion.
“I’m keeping the ring,” Harry said, pulling away an indeterminable amount of time later. His lips felt warm and swollen and somehow, his glasses had ended up on the floor beside them.
“It’s tinsel,” Tom objected, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll buy you a real one later this week. We can sneak out after New Years, I’ll be of age and no one will notice if I apparate us to Diagon to go shopping.” His hair was mussed from Harry’s wandering fingers and there was a flush on his cheeks. He looked debauched, Harry noted smugly— and just a little like an offended cat. Tom reached for Harry’s ring, and Harry yanked his hand back, cradling it to his chest protectively.
“You can buy me a second one if you want,” Harry allowed. He ran a thumb over the flimsy band of silver. “But I’m still keeping this one. It’s mine,” Harry said, baring his teeth in a feral grin.
Tom shivered underneath him at Harry’s possessive words, thighs tensing as his eyes went dark.
“Ah,” Tom said with breathless understanding. He settled his hands on Harry’s hips and squeezed, pulling Harry down to rock against him in a slow, insistent grind. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Harry’s and staring into his eyes. “And am I yours, too, then?”
Harry frowned, puzzled.
“I asked you a question earlier,” Tom reminded him, reading the confusion on his face. His long fingers traced the curve of Harry’s hips, sliding tantalizingly lower. He nipped at Harry’s lips, eyelids drooping sensually over his dark, drowning gaze. “You never answered me.”
“Oh,” breathed Harry, looping his hands around Tom’s head and pulling him back down for another fierce kiss. He couldn’t stop smiling into it, unable to stopper the pure, unadulterated joy that bubbled through his veins like liquid luck. He had thought his first Christmas at Hogwarts had been magical, but nothing would ever compare to this one.
“Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Tom!”