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"I once dated a poet."
The spontaneous comment caused Draco's spoon to halt its circular movement in his cup of tea. He studied Harry for a long moment, waiting for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, Draco said the only thing that came to mind.
"You did not."
Harry leaned back in his wrought-iron chair, a gentle smile on his lips as the morning breeze stirred his dark hair. "I did," he insisted. "It was shortly after I broke it off with Ginny and well before I took up with a scandalous Slytherin."
Draco set his spoon down and took a sip of tea. "Scandalous?"
"You must admit, it was a huge scandal when the Prophet got wind of us dating."
Draco had been mortified at the time, but he looked back on it now with fond relish. "Everyone was convinced I'd ensorcelled you."
Harry chuckled at the reminder. "Those closest to us always knew the truth. You were mad for me since Hogwarts."
Draco sniffed and added a pinch of sugar to his tea. "I dare say it was the other way around."
"I won't argue with you there, love."
They lapsed into comfortable silence. The only sounds were the sighing of the breeze and the singing of birds in their garden.
"So what became of him?" Draco asked, striving to sound casual. "The poet?"
"Who said it was a bloke?"
Draco hesitated as he mulled that over. "It must have been," he decided. "You've told me that dating Ginevra convinced you that blokes were more to your liking."
Harry's green eyes gleamed at him over the rim of his cup. He set it down and said, "Yes, the poet was a bloke. He was from Oslo, just passing through London. He was a passing fancy, nothing more."
"Did he write you poetry?"
"As a matter of fact, he did," Harry replied.
When he said nothing further, Draco ventured to ask, "Do you miss him?"
"Not really, no," said Harry. "He had pretty eyes, and he spoke pretty words, but he was...bland."
"Bland?"
Harry shrugged. "He was fawning and obsequious, he never wanted to argue or even disagree. He had no fire."
"Nothing like me then," Draco smirked.
Harry's eyes sharpened on him. "Not at all like you, love. You are haughty and difficult, and you're disagreeable by nature. You're snarky and passionate and everything that fire should be."
Harry's words nearly stole Draco's breath. His lover was not usually so candid. Still, there was one thing about the pacifist poet that bothered him. "And my eyes?"
Harry's lips curved in a smile. "You have the most beautiful eyes," he said softly. "I'm fortunate the poet didn't meet you first; he'd have thrown me over to write odes to your eyes. And you, you vain git, would have lapped it up."
Draco couldn't help but laugh, perhaps because there was a grain of truth in Harry's words. He did love flattery and attention. "Do you have some pretty words for me, Potter?"
Harry's smile widened. "As a matter of fact, I do." He shifted in his seat and pulled something from his pocket. Harry kept it hidden in his right hand as he reached across the table and took Draco's left hand in his. He cleared his throat.
"A rose is red
A lily is sweet.
Draco Malfoy,
Will you marry me?"
Harry opened his right hand to reveal a tasteful platinum ring resting in his palm. It featured an emerald baguette that sparkled in the morning sun.
Draco's eyes opened wide, and his throat closed with emotion.
Harry squirmed. "It's the best I could do on short notice."
Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "The proposal, or the ring?"
"The proposal, you tosser," groused Harry. "I've had the ring for weeks." When Draco simply continued staring at him, Harry's brows drew down. "Will you wear it?"
Draco took pity on him. "Of course. How could I turn down such a pathetic proposal? Pity for my fellow man compels me to accept."
"You are such a pillock," Harry muttered, even as he tugged on Draco's left hand and slid the ring on his finger.
"I am disagreeable by nature, remember?" Draco lifted his hand to admire how the emerald gleamed on his finger.
"Don't forget haughty and difficult."
"And fiery," said Draco, grinning at his fiancé. His fiancé. "Don't forget that."
"As if I could," Harry said, reaching for Draco's beringed hand and pressing a kiss to the palm.
Draco quivered in delight. "When shall we get married?"
"As soon as possible," Harry replied, "although I reckon we'll have to go through all of the pomp and circumstance. I suppose you'll want to honeymoon in Paris?"
Draco's lips quirked. "Anywhere but Oslo."