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Harry has always liked weddings, even the obligatory ones for work colleagues that he’s not particularly close to. Even these can manage to be rather lovely, he thinks, as he lays a hand gently on his husband’s thigh in the quaint English garden, a warm spring breeze dancing around them.
But Draco subtly crosses his legs and shifts over an inch, and Harry’s hand slides pathetically off of him. He supposes that even a wedding can’t erase the vicious quarrel they had this morning, a quarrel in which they tossed some cruel words (and an antique hairbrush) at each other until they were both fighting back tears. A quarrel, furthermore, which was only halfway resolved with a stiff and hasty hug on the way out the door in their dress robes that afternoon. They’d come to a swift agreement that they would lay it aside for the time being and leave the wedding as early as etiquette would allow in order to continue where they left off, but the fight still dangles uncomfortably between them.
It’s the same argument they’ve been having for over a year now, which is why it hurts so much. I want to start trying for a baby, I’m not ready yet, when will you be ready, I don’t know, when will you know… Harry never thought he would be the one who wants to wait, but then, his life has never quite gone according to plan. The strangest part about it is that he does want children, and he wants them soon. It’s just the fear… always, the fear.
Halfway through the couple’s charming vows, Harry is surprised to feel Draco’s hand on his leg. He looks over at him, and his husband glances up and smiles, rubbing a delicate hand over Harry’s thigh. Draco has always loved weddings as well, as much as he tries to deny it, and they turn him into a puddle of feelings every single time.
“I love you,” Draco mouths, almost reluctantly, and Harry winks at him as he weaves his fingers between Draco’s.
Weddings really are lovely.
***
After they and the rest of the guests have made their way into an elegantly decorated ballroom (which has even managed to receive Draco’s rare seal of approval), Harry glances around the room and sees a cluster of his coworkers in the corner.
“Should we—” he begins, pointing his thumb towards them.
“I see Marcus over there,” Draco interrupts him. “Let me say hello to him. You go and speak with your colleagues.”
Harry gapes at him. “You mean, we’re not even going to—”
“Harry,” Draco murmurs. “Let’s not do this here. I’ll come and find you later.”
“Draco—” he utters sadly, but Draco has already moved towards Marcus and his wife, turning on his flawless social charm as if nothing is amiss. He envies Draco’s ability to keep his feelings close to the vest.
Harry turns the other way and meanders aimlessly through the ballroom, saying hello to as many people as he can and missing the feel of Draco beside him as he feigns interest in all of the chit chat.
Weddings can be bleak affairs.
***
Midway through a rather dull conversation about gardening, Harry hears the opening notes of a familiar old song nearly an hour later: it’s the first song he and Draco danced to together as husbands at their own wedding.
Harry’s heart nearly cracks open as he pauses for a moment to listen, pain constricting in his chest. Suddenly, he cannot for the life of him understand why Draco isn’t standing beside him, straightening his tie for him, linking their arms together, commenting snarkily on everyone’s clothing choices… God, Harry misses him even when they’re in the same damn room.
“I’m so sorry, would you excuse me for a minute?” he says rather rudely to his companion, stepping away and turning to glance around the lavishly decorated ballroom in search of his husband. The sudden need to see his handsome face overtakes Harry to the point of desperation.
At last his eyes fall on Draco standing across the room, ignoring an older couple chatting beside him and looking nothing less than breathtaking.
He’s already looking over at Harry.
Draco is looking at him, not with disdain or obligation. Draco is looking at him with a heartbreakingly sweet smile, as if they’ve both been transported back to that day ten years before, when all the world made perfect sense.
Harry smiles tentatively at him and gestures stupidly at the nearly-empty dance floor. It’s a gamble, he knows it is, because if Draco won’t even work the room by his side, why on earth would he want to dance with him?
But to his delight and surprise, Draco rolls his eyes with a blatantly affectionate smirk and nods, setting his half-full champagne glass on a nearby table and walking towards the three couples already swaying to the gentle beat.
Harry keeps his eyes glued to Draco’s lithe movements as he makes his own way onto the dance floor, as mesmerized by him as he has been since they were children. Finally they reach their destination, beside each other, and Harry isn’t surprised in the least to feel butterflies in his stomach.
“May I have this dance?” Harry asks quietly, leaning closer to be heard over the music and the loud chatter of the crowded ballroom.
“You may,” he replies, still smirking as he takes Harry’s hand and guides it to the proper position on his slim waist. “I presume you’ve forgotten how to do this?”
“What, make a right fool of myself in front of a crowd of people?” Harry quips, pulling him just a little closer as they link hands. “No, I remember quite well.”
Draco smiles and rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll lead, but you can pretend to.”
“Our usual roles, then,” Harry mutters, shuffling into position.
“I wasn’t sure if you would remember,” Draco says softly. “The song, that is, not how to make a fool of yourself.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Draco Malfoy-Potter. How on earth could I forget?”
He doesn’t reply, only smiles up at him as they begin to dance to the dreamy melody of the song. His warmth is the most reassuring feeling, and for the first time since they walked into this gorgeous venue, Harry feels at ease.
“I missed you,” he blurts out.
“God, me too,” Draco sighs.
“Really?” Harry asks, once again surprised by his reaction.
“Not having you by my side at a wedding feels utterly wrong,” he whines. “Just because I’m still angry with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want you with me.”
“Oh, my Draco,” Harry hums. “You’re so bloody sweet.”
“Sod off,” he scoffs. “Honestly, are we really so codependent that we can’t be apart for more than an hour without losing our minds?”
“Yes,” Harry says, grinning. “We’re so married.”
“Well, it has been ten years,” he allows, smiling back at him.
“Ten years,” Harry repeats, pulling him in even closer still, breathing in the oh-so-familiar scent of citrus body wash and fresh shampoo as he rests their heads against one another. “I can’t believe we’ve been married ten years.”
“No, nor can I,” Draco agrees, sighing. “Do you think you would go back and do anything differently?”
Harry can’t help but tense up slightly in his arms. “That’s a weird question.”
“Is it?”
“A bit, given what we were fighting about this morning.”
Draco sighs again. “Let’s not ruin the moment, Harry.”
Harry groans in frustration. “You’re the one who brought it up again—”
“Stop,” he sighs, pulling his head back slightly so that their eyes meet. Harry is so tired of how sad Draco looks these days. It makes him feel like everything is his fault. “I merely asked you a simple question.”
“You and I both know the question wasn’t simple.”
They sway together in silence for a moment, the tension wedging itself between them.
Finally Harry sighs into Draco’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Taking that question the wrong way, I suppose,” he mumbles.
“And I’m sorry for asking it,” Draco replies. “Because I meant it just as you took it.”
Harry snorts. “I figured.”
“This is a wedding,” Draco points out again. “You know I can't control my emotions at a wedding. Feelings are bound to come up. There’s a stupid, romantic mood in the air. I suppose I was swept up in it. Love, and all that garbage.”
“You always say you hate weddings,” Harry reminds him.
“Yes, well, I say a lot of things, Potter,” he mumbles, and Harry smiles.
“Malfoy-Potter,” he corrects, despite the fact that ten years of marriage have yet to quell Draco’s habit of calling him 'Potter' at every possible turn, and Harry knows that he’s certainly not going to stop now.
“Merlin,” he murmurs, nudging Harry in closer. “It appears I’m not the only one swept up in the cloying sentimentality of weddings.”
“Can you blame me?” Harry retaliates, smiling into Draco’s neck. “You know I have a weakness for you in dress robes.”
“Even all these years later?” Draco teases.
“Damn right,” Harry assures him. “You’re as fit as the day we first went out to that stupid restaurant that neither of us could afford.”
“I could afford it,” Draco huffs.
“You mean your father could,” Harry teases.
“If I recall, you had no problem letting me pay for the whole thing.”
“And if you recall, I did you a favor and only ordered a starter.”
“And then proceeded to eat half of my dish,” Draco reminds him. “Without asking, of course.”
“You could’ve stopped me if you’d wanted to,” Harry chuckles, squeezing his fingers.
“Well, at least you let me have most of the creme brulee for dessert.”
“Only because it was terrible.”
Draco sighs. “We were so young then.”
“We’re still young,” Harry argues, pinching his side.
“I know,” Draco replies. “But not as young as we were.”
“No, not that young,” Harry allows, their quarrel catching up to him again. “Old enough to be considering having children, but young enough to be afraid of it.”
Draco stops swaying in his arms and pulls back to look at him. “You’re still afraid to have children?”
“Of course I am,” he sighs. “Look how we were raised.”
“Harry, we’re not going to raise our children like we were raised,” Draco reminds him vehemently, as he always does when they discuss it. “And you know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” he admits. “It’s an irrational fear, I know.”
“It is,” Draco agrees, rolling his eyes. “How on earth could you still entertain the notion that you’ll be anything less than a perfect father?”
Harry sighs. “I dunno.”
“Well, surely you must know that I, at least, will be an absolute saint,” Draco tells him, pulling him in as they start to dance once again. “Even if you end up being completely useless, our child will want for nothing.”
He snorts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling.”
“It’s what I’m here for, angel,” he replies, and Harry has missed hearing that smile in his voice.
They dance in silence for a few minutes, even as the song changes to something unfamiliar.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been putting pressure on you,” Draco finally says, before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. “It’s unfair of me. I just… I want this very much, Harry. I want to raise children with you.”
Harry nods against his head. “Yeah.”
“Say something besides yeah,” Draco commands.
“Yeah… you look proper fit in those robes.”
He snorts again. “Evasive as ever.”
“Draco, I want kids with you, too,” he says. “You know I do.”
“Then why haven’t we started to try yet?” he asks. “Is it only because you’re afraid?”
“Yeah, mostly,” Harry admits. “I don’t want to be a shit father. I don’t want to fuck up my kid.”
“You won’t,” he states. “And I’m not merely saying that; it’s really that simple an answer. You just won’t. No one in this world is more protective and caring and loving than you are, my dear, wonderful husband. You’re more than capable of loving our child purely and unconditionally. I, of all people, should know that. Because I, of all people, am never wrong.”
Harry is quiet for a moment, until finally the dam inside of him breaks open.
“I want kids with you, too,” he says once again. “I want to wake up to the baby crying and you telling me it’s my turn to check on them even though it’s definitely yours, and I want to go in and see their dad’s pretty grey eyes looking back up at me, and I want to sing them a lullaby until they fall asleep again, and then I want to come back to bed and cuddle you like there’s no tomorrow.”
“God, you’re so saccharine, Potter,” Draco says, tugging him as close as he can get away with in such a public setting. “Malfoy-Potter.”
Harry smiles. “I love you.”
“Of course you do,” he answers.
“I want kids,” he sighs. “I want kids with you.”
“I want kids with you, too,” he sighs back.
“Weddings,” Harry murmurs, kissing his blonde hair.
“Such sappy affairs.”
“But you do look proper fit,” Harry reminds him.
“I know.”
“I think another part of it is that I want you all to myself,” Harry admits at last. “Maybe I don’t want you to love anyone else more than you love me.”
“What a stupid fear,” Draco chides. “I’ll never love anyone more than I love you.”
“You’ll love our baby more.”
“So will you,” he reminds him. “And so it should be.”
“I know,” Harry reluctantly agrees. “I suppose I just get a bit sad at the prospect of sharing you. I want to be the only thing you want.”
“Well, that’s… very sweet, actually. And, if I’m honest, very relatable.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” he says, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t particularly like the idea of you catering to the baby’s cries in the middle of the night. I’ve gotten rather used to being the center of attention in our family. And anyway, I would rather you sing me a lullaby, sod our stupid baby.”
Harry chuckles. “But you hate it when I sing.”
“You have an awful voice, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love hearing it.”
“This is news to me.”
“We’ll be good parents.”
“Yes, especially when we call our baby stupid.”
Draco kisses his neck. “We’ll be good parents, Harry.”
He nods. “I know.”
“And you’re mental if you think our baby is going to have anything other than your spectacular green eyes,” he says. “I absolutely won’t stand for it.”
Harry smiles. “Reckon we’ll have to have another one then.”
“God, the fantasy version of me has only just given birth and you’re already discussing our second.”
“Fantasy Draco is gung ho,” Harry informs him. “He’s naked, as well. And giving me a perpetual blow job, it so happens.”
“I hope we’ve set silencing charms, in that case,” he snickers. “As we know, you come very loudly, and I wouldn’t want to wake little Scorpius.”
“Scorpius?” Harry snorts. “Come off it.”
“Yes, Scorpius. It’s a family name.”
“Scorpius?” Harry repeats, wrinkling his nose. "Really?"
“It suits him,” Draco replies in defiance.
“He looks more like a James in my head.”
“James,” Draco says, rolling it around in his mind. “Rather basic, don’t you think? Sort of like… Harry.”
Harry laughs and kisses him, because he hasn’t wanted to kiss Draco this badly in months, and it feels incredible.
“We’ll name them whatever you want, my love,” he gives in.
“Very well,” Draco says triumphantly. “Scorpius Magneto Abraxas Malfoy-Potter.”
“Changed my mind. That’s not happening.”
“Why not?”
“It took you, like, eight seconds to say that name,” he complains. “James Malfoy-Potter only takes three.”
“No middle name?”
Harry mulls it over. “Ronald?”
Draco guffaws at that. “Over my dead body.”
“Or we’ll just name him Ron outright,” Harry teases. “Ron Malfoy-Potter.”
“If you ever utter that name again, I’m divorcing you on the spot.”
“I suppose we don’t have to decide straight away,” he says, grinning. “We can talk names before the baby comes.”
“You’ve certainly changed your tune quite thoroughly this evening.”
“Weddings,” Harry says again, by way of explanation, before he spontaneously decides to spin Draco in a twirl.
He laughs sweetly, and Harry pulls him against his chest, swaying in contented silence for a minute.
“You asked me if I would go back and do anything differently,” he mutters gently into Draco’s hair, and he immediately hears his breathing quicken. “And my answer is, no. Not ever. Not a damn thing.”
“Saccharine,” he whispers, dusting kisses all over Harry’s neck.
“Mmm,” Harry agrees.
“I’m more in love with you now than I was ten years ago,” Draco states, and when he pulls back to look into Harry’s eyes, Harry truly doesn’t feel afraid. He can only gaze at him, and when he gets lost in those beautiful grey eyes, he thinks that maybe he sort of likes the name Scorpius after all.