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“It’s not normal.”
Ron didn’t know what he was talking about. Harry had good observation skills, that was all.
That’s all it was.
“It’s not normal.”
Harry pretended he couldn’t hear Ron. That’s what Hermione did to them whenever she was annoyed.
The sound of dozens of conversations around them wasn’t enough to block out Ron and his obsessive need to be right. He was spending far too much time with Hermione.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry hedged, eyes on anything but Ron or Malfoy.
Ron snorted, and Harry really wished he could hate him.
“Harry, you’re my best mate, my solid rock, the other part of my soul, the—”
“Shouldn’t Hermione be the other part of your soul?”
“No,” Ron shook his head slowly, like he thought Harry was being slow. “Soulmates don’t have to be romantic, Harry. You and I are a once in a life time combination. There will never be another duo as amazing as us, it’s just not happening.”
Harry hated that he loved Ron. Stupid and sentimental Ron.
“And as your soulmate,” Ron continued, hands moving between them rapidly. “I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you that you’ve completely lost the plot.”
Harry’s eyes closed as he fought a groan. He would do anything to let the conversation drop. Couldn’t Ron tell that he didn’t want to talk about it? Some soulmate he was.
“It’s my fault,” Harry said more to himself than anything. “I never should have said anything.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” agreed Ron, a sagely nod confirming his thoughts. “Just because we are soulmates doesn’t mean I won’t take the mickey out of you.”
Harry looked to the ceiling, a large exhale coming out in a frustrated huff.
“It was an observation,” he pressed, hoping that Ron wouldn’t push it. “I was merely pointing out an observation.”
Ron arched a brow. “An observation would be that Malfoy is right git that could use a kick up his arse. What’s not an observation is you knowing his favorite foods to eat, his schedule and whether he’s sad.”
Harry held up a finger. “Actually, those are observations. I’ve observed him enough over the years to have picked up on some things.”
“That’s not normal, Harry.”
“Why not? Hm? How could we be rivals for so long and I not know things about him?”
Rival, Ron mouthed, head shaking.
“What’s his favorite color?”
“Silver.”
“And how do you know that?”
“He wears silver socks, the buttons on his robes are charmed to be silver instead of black, the ink he uses is colored silver too. You don’t put that much effort into a color unless it’s your favorite.”
Ron placed a hand on his own cheek. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Before Harry could do more than roll his eye, the questions continued.
“What’s his favorite food?”
“Shepherd’s pie in the winter but roast beef in the spring.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
By watching Malfoy, that’s how. But it wasn’t like he tried to notice things. It was just an observational tactic. Harry couldn’t help but notice. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to watch Malfoy; it just happened.
“His favorite dessert?”
“Peppermint tart.”
“Really?” Ron’s nose scrunched up. “Disgusting.”
“What’s the point of all this?” Harry asked, eyes darting toward the Slytherin table where Malfoy was watching him, brows furrowed, and lips pursed.
“That it’s not normal.”
Harry didn’t understand how it wasn’t. Some people were more observant than others. That’s all.
“What’s my favorite color?”
When his mind blanked a sinking feeling in his stomach took over.
“Red,” blurted Harry before he cringed. No, that wasn’t right. Ron didn’t like the way red looked on him. “No, blue? Yellow?”
“Are you guessing or telling me?” Ron asked, arms folded, and eyes narrowed.
“My favorite food?”
Fuck.
“You like all kinds of food.”
“Uh huh,” Ron said slowly. “And?”
Harry winced. “Chicken?”
“You’re a lost cause.” Ron shook his head. “My favorite dessert?”
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, shrugging several times. It was kind of embarrassing. Ron was his best friend. Shouldn’t he know basic things like that about him? What kind of soulmate was he? He didn’t even want to know why he knew them about Malfoy. Wasn’t going to touch that one at all.
“If it was really down to observation then you’d know that about me too.”
The gentle way Ron spoke, as if he was a scared animal irked Harry. He didn’t need to be coddled. He wasn’t a child.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Ron.”
“I want you to dig a little deeper,” Ron said softly, in a way that was unlike him. “You might know a lot about Malfoy, but it’s about time you figure out why that is.”
That sounded like a horrible idea, one that he wasn’t going to do.
Ever.
Ron was wrong.
Just because Harry knew a lot about Malfoy didn’t mean that there was a reason for it, or that it was something to be discussed.
Malfoy liked potions. Everyone knew that.
Malfoy liked to wear his hair slicked back, except for a tiny piece at his nape that was slightly curled. Everyone with eyes could see that.
Malfoy didn’t care for Herbology, always stayed in the back and rarely answered any of the questions and let his partners do all of the work for him. Everyone with common sense knew that.
“What?”
The look Hermione gave him had his stomach sinking. He had gone to her with the hopes that at least one of his friends would be on his side. Hermione was the smart one, the bright one, the one to recognize that he was clearly rig—
“Look,” Hermione said, placing her book on the table as she lowered her voice after making sure there was no one nearby their table in the library. “I didn’t say anything when I thought that you might have a thing for Cedric. I didn’t say anything when you thought that your crush on Cho was going to go somewhere. I didn’t say anything when your crush on Ginny was doomed for failure from the beginning. I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d figure it all out on your own, clearly I was doing you a disservice.”
Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione glared at him into silence.
“You have been obsessed with Malfoy since your first year. Deeply obsessed. To the point that I think you have a problem. I think it goes both ways, and I think that you both have a problem. I think that you need to do some soul searching and figure out if you need therapy or are in love. Hopefully, for all of our sakes you decide which one soon.”
With that, she picked up her book and stormed away, not giving him the opportunity to form a reply.
Well, what did she know anyway?
Hermione and Ron were wrong. He just knew it.
Harry just had to prove it first.
If he was to prove that his friends were wrong, he just had to find other people that were good at observing things too. He wasn’t the only one who would know Malfoy’s interests.
“Huh?”
Harry withheld a sigh as he stared into Neville’s rapidly blinking eyes.
“I said, what’s Malfoy’s favorite color?”
Neville glanced at Luna, who was swinging her feet back and forth while she sat in-between two different Devil’s Snare plants on a table in one of the greenhouses.
“Erm, I’m not sure,” Neville said when Luna remained quiet. “Black?”
Regret began to pool in his stomach, and he tried to ignore the fear that was clawing its way up his throat. No. He couldn’t be wrong.
Not a chance in hell.
“What about his favorite food?”
Neville blew a harsh breath, cheeks bulging. “Is this a test? Was I supposed to have studied? What’s it for?”
“Neville.”
“Seafood,” Neville blurted, fingers twisting in his robes as he glanced at Luna again, who still said nothing—only had a small smile on her lips.
Harry’s shoulders slumped. There was a twinge of horror fighting all of his other emotions as he tried to think through the possibility that Ron was right, but he was stubborn, far more stubborn than anyone had a right to be.
No.
He couldn’t be wrong.
“What about you, Luna?”
“Oh no,” Luna said, smile stretching as she played with one of the Devil’s Snare as it tried to strangle her. “There are some battles you can’t bring an army for. This is for you alone.”
Betrayal. Confusion.
“Enlightenment and understanding can be synonymous with each other,” Luna said, tone patronizing as if he needed to be comforted. “If one knows where to look.”
“Or, you could just tell me.”
Her smile grew into a grin. “Denial overshadows common sense. Help is not what you seek.”
“It’s like you’ve been spending time with Centaurs.”
“She has,” Neville said, looking between them with a strange look on his face. “They don’t really like her, but they let her stay.”
If they let Luna stick around then they absolutely did like her.
When Luna looked at him, actually looked at him and not through him, he stood up straighter.
“Why look for an answer you already know?”
Harry wanted to argue, parted his mouth to do just that, but it was pointless. Nothing he said was going to change her mind, and he wasn’t sure it was worth trying.
Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna were wrong.
When he said nothing, Neville cleared his throat and hesitantly said, “Do you want to help me with seeding this new plant I discovered? Luna doesn’t want to get dirty.”
The earnest expression and happiness on Neville’s face made him feel better, and he was open to a distraction from his overactive mind. Procrastination was both his salvation and damnation.
“Of course I do.”
One more attempt. One more try.
“Blimey, mate. Are you alright? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?”
Harry groaned, collapsing on the floor of the common room as Seamus laughed.
“I don’t know why I thought talking to you lot was a good idea.”
“Terrible idea,” Dean said through small huffs of breath, shrugging when Harry flipped him off.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s funny.”
Harry flipped off Ginny too, who was settled between Dean’s legs comfortably.
“What’s Malfoy’s favorite class?” Harry asked, pretending that Ginny hadn’t snorted.
“Potions?”
“Yes!” Harry sat up, hands moving toward Dean in triumph. “I’m not the only one who knew that.”
“What does it matter?” Seamus asked as Ginny tilted her head at Harry, eyes narrowing.
“I’m trying to prove Ron wrong.”
“While I would love to get behind that,” Ginny began, lips twitching. “What’s with the questions? What’s the purpose?”
Harry fidgeted, not meeting their eyes as he stared into the fireplace instead. He didn’t know how to explain it well without them thinking he had lost the plot.
“Ron thinks that I know too much about Malfoy.”
There.
That was neutral, that was vague enough that they—
Seamus laughed, Dean buried his head in Ginny’s neck and Ginny, well Ginny covered her face with a palm.
“Don’t tell me you actually know the answers to all of that?” Seamus said, chortling in delight. “You know his favorite food? Class? What next, you know his childhood dream and future goals?”
Harry frowned, less at the laughter he was now on the receiving end of from all three of them, but at the fact that he didn’t know the answer to that. It wasn’t something he’d have been able to observe.
He didn’t know what Malfoy’s goals were, didn’t have the foggiest idea what his childhood dreams were.
And that bothered him.
But why?
Why?
“Harry,” Ginny said softly, tone hesitant and it frustrated him. Everyone was walking on eggshells around him whenever he brought up Malfoy and it was driving him batty. “Why do you care if we don’t know anything about Malfoy?”
Silence.
He wanted to shrug, wanted to blow it off or even get up and leave but he didn’t want them to form their own conclusions.
“If no one else is paying attention to him, then that means I’m the only one. That there’s a reason for it,” Harry said, frowning at the fire, wishing that it would swallow him whole as the silence that followed was uncomfortable
“And if there is?”
Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and clenched his eyes as he blocked out the sound of his uncle’s voice complaining about the unnaturalness of those that—
“Then I don’t know what to do,” Harry whispered, not sure that anyone had heard him, but at least he admitted it, at least he got it out.
Rustling, the sound of clothes against the carpet and then there was a pressure against his side that came with a scent of cologne.
“Maybe you’re talking to the wrong person,” Seamus said, voice quiet as he could hear Dean and Ginny talking amongst themselves, but it was muffled and distant.
“You can’t mean—”
“I might not know Malfoy’s favorite things, or what he likes to do, but I do know Dean’s.”
Harry turned to Seamus, aware that Dean and Ginny were still talking nearby, but he couldn’t hear what was being said, could only hear small murmurs, and that’s when it hit him. They were in a dual silencing charm. Seamus had put one over them.
There was a sad tilt of a smile on Seamus’ face that tore at Harry’s heartstrings.
“I do know his childhood dreams, his ideas of the future. I know his dislikes just as much as his interests. I know him, and I never did anything about it.”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, glancing toward Dean who was laughing at something Ginny had said.
“I fell in love with my best friend,” Seamus said, blinking away a shine to his eyes. “Only he never knew. Ginny is good for him, in ways I think I wouldn’t be, and I just have to learn to let go.”
Harry acted on instinct, hugging him tightly. When Dean had dated Ginny the first time around, he had been jealous, but not like this. Not even remotely the same way. Hermione had been right. What he had for Ginny had been a crush. Not all crushes pan out or mean anything.
“I’ll find someone else, someone who will love me back,” Seamus said, sighing a little and even managed to smile without it shaking. “But you? Your chance is still there. You just have to go for it.”
“But—” Harry bit his lip, wanting to hide again. “Malfoy is—”
“A complex mess of danger with your name all over it.”
Harry laughed, nudging Seamus in the shoulder as he considered it. Truly considered it.
“I always did like danger.”
“It’s the lack of self-preservation in you.”
“Life is more fun that way.”
“No matter how it works out, you have a slew of people who will be here for you,” Seamus said, nudging him back.
“You have me too,” Harry promised. “If it ever gets to be too much and you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I’ll understand.”
“Thank you. I might just take you up on that.” A glance toward Dean and Ginny had Harry feeling for him. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like. In love with someone who had eyes for another. Who couldn’t see your love, didn’t know it existed but loved so freely with someone else.
Love was stupid.
Absolutely stupid.
So why did he want it?
Maybe Ron was right.
“Did you see the look on his face?”
“Hard not to when it was partially on fire,” Harry said, elbowing Seamus. “Flitwick took points from me too and all I did was witness it!”
Seamus rubbed the back of his head as they walked down the corridor, heading towards the Great Hall.
“Well, it had been a mistake, honest.”
Harry snorted. “I doubt that. You like fire, too much.”
“What can I say? It’s gorgeous.”
“Says the arsonist.”
“Oi! That’s a bit of a stretch.”
They paused to stare at each other, neither one giving in until Seamus’ lips twitched and they ended up laughing. Spending time with Seamus was like a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t realized how stifled he had been, how much he had isolated himself. Ron and Hermione were there for him, always, but he had built up a wall where it was only the three of them and he had never realized how constricted it had made him feel.
“You’re blocking the path.”
The drawling tone had Harry’s eyes widening as they spun around to see Malfoy and Parkinson standing there with their arms crossed.
“You don’t own the corridor,” Harry said, watching Malfoy’s face twitch minutely. He always did love getting under his skin.
Before Malfoy could respond, Parkinson said, “You know, I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors going around.”
“That’s because you’re a nosy bint that can’t mind your own business,” Seamus sneered. The hostility surprised both him and Parkinson, but Parkinson’s eyes lit up in interest as she leaned forward.
“Does fire-boy think he can play in the big leagues?”
“I hope you aren’t talking about yourself. You aren’t worth third string.”
She clutched at her chest, but she didn’t appear to be all that offended. No. She looked delighted.
“All fire becomes extinguished eventually.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you? Suck out the life of everyone around you.”
Harry watched the two of them go back and forth in interest. He didn’t know if this was their first time coming to blows or if this was a regular occurrence.
When Parkinson looked at him, he took a step back, not wanting any of her anger directed at him. He hadn’t said a word to her.
“Word around the school is that you’re an expert on Draco.”
Draco elbowed her, eyes narrowed as Harry covered his face with a palm. Oh Merlin. Some friends he had, they opened their mouths and now the whole damn school knew that he—
“I wonder what the word around the school is about you?” Seamus said, fists clenched. “Surely nothing good.”
Parkinson took a step forward, but so did Seamus until they were face to face, only inches apart.
“My reputation is just fine. Yours however leaves a lot to be desired for.”
“As if I would want anything of mine to be desired by you.”
Parkinson scoffed. “Daft and stupid, suits you rather fine, doesn’t it?”
There was tension building around the two of them and Harry was reluctantly intrigued. He wanted to know more, was content with watching it build up until something exploded—preferably Parkinson.
“Enough,” Malfoy drawled, flicking the back of Parkinson’s head. “Pansy go, take that idiot with you.”
“Oi! I’ll have you know that—”
Parkinson perked up, grabbing hold of Seamus. “Come on fire-boy, let’s see what trouble we can get into.”
Seamus regarded her with narrowed eyes, but he eventually let her pull him away and Harry was half tempted to save him, but Parkinson had a mean streak to her that he wasn’t sure he wanted to intervene on.
Perhaps he had some self-preservation after all.
Hermione would be proud.
“You—” Malfoy began, taking a step toward him. “—don’t get to leave.”
Part of him wanted to do the opposite out of spite, but he wasn’t sure he could leave. Not without speaking his mind. He was tired of rumors doing the talking for him. The moment he entered the Wizarding world people made up their minds about him without ever getting to know him, spread lies about him without ever bothering to let him speak the truth.
He was sick of it.
“What do you want?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” Malfoy said, eyes narrowed slightly. “Why have you been talking about me? Incorrectly, I might add.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does when it concerns me,” Malfoy sneered. “Talk about the war, fine. Talk about my mark, fine. Talk about my scars, fine. But at least speak the truth.”
Confusion was a friend of Harry’s. He didn’t know what the fuck Malfoy was on about.
“I was trying to prove a point to Ron.” Malfoy’s nose wrinkled. “He thinks I’m obsessed with you because I know too much about you.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“Except I do,” Harry said, taking a step forward. Malfoy didn’t move, and he counted that as a win. “Your favorite color is silver, you wear it on your robes and whenever you get a chance. Your favorite class is potions, you hate Herbology. Your favorite dessert is peppermint tart. You love being a Seeker. You like Shepherd’s pie in the winter and eat roast beef in the spring.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened before he huffed a little breath, lips curved slightly on one end.
“I think perhaps Weasley was right. You are obsessed.”
It was Harry’s turn to huff. “We have spent years trading spells, insults and finding ways to interact with each other. If I’m obsessed, so are you.”
“Obsessed is not the word I’d use,” Malfoy sniffed, lifting his nose in the air like the snob that he was. “I am more aware of you than others, but I assure you, it means nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Harry took another step forward until they were just as close as Parkinson and Seamus had been.
“I’m aware of you too,” Harry murmured, eyes boring into Malfoy’s and that was when he realized that there were specks of blue in his eyes and he wondered how he had never noticed before.
“You’re wrong.”
Before Harry could decipher the mess of emotions that were surely going to strangle him, Malfoy said,
“About all of it. I wear silver because my mother said it would wash me out, that I was too pale to pull it off. So I surround myself in it because I can, because she was wrong. Potions is my best subject, but it is not my favorite. It’s the one my father forced me to excel in. I don’t hate Herbology. My mother is allergic to peppermint, refuses to let me have it in any capacity. I eat peppermint tart because I can, because she can’t tell me no here. I eat Shepherd’s pie because my father said it was below our stature, that Hogwarts should have better quality food. I eat roast beef because my mother thinks it’s disgusting. I became a Seeker because it was the only position available, and because my father made me.”
Harry’s mouth had parted somewhere near the beginning and lowered with each bit of righteous anger punctuating every sentence.
“Don’t you see? You don’t know me, you only think you do.”
Ron was right. Had been the whole time.
Harry was wrong.
So wrong.
He had been tricked, whether unintentional or not. He had always known that Malfoy paraded around with a mask on, but he hadn’t realized that even his actions had been masked, that his choices had been done out of spite. It didn’t matter that Harry had observed him for years, watched his choices. None of it mattered because the game had been rigged the whole time.
Despite being wrong, he couldn’t help but feel a touch sad for Malfoy. He understood doing things out of spite, he found himself frequently doing the things that the Dursleys always told him he wasn’t allowed to. But to dedicate so much of Malfoy’s time doing things out of spite was sad.
“Why not be you?” Harry blurted, unable to keep it to himself.
Malfoy clenched his fists. “It’s none of your business what I do.”
“If I was wrong about it all. Then what’s the truth?”
“Again, none of your business,” Malfoy said, hands twitching near his wand holster, and part of him welcomed the idea of a fight. He hadn’t had a chance to duel anyone in a healthy manner since Voldemort, and he was just itching to let off some steam.
“I want to know.”
“Why?” Malfoy said, tone filled with an emotion he couldn’t recognize. “Why do you care so much? Why do you watch me? Why?”
“Because I’m aware of you,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “Because I thought that I knew you, and I liked that. I liked knowing things about you.”
“But why?”
“Because I like you. Too much. Even when I shouldn’t. Even though it’s not smart.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened and he took a shaky breath.
“Potter…”
“Malfoy.”
Malfoy licked his lips, eyes closing slightly as he exhaled sharply. “You are a terrible idea.”
“The worst,” Harry promised, grinning at the glare he got in return.
“I would be a fool.”
“Join the club.”
“And to think my reputation—”
“Would surely rise.”
“—could sink no lower.”
He glared at Malfoy, but it was with no heat, and it brought a shine to Malfoy’s eyes that he had never been on the receiving end of before. He craved it, was greedy even, wanted more of it. Wanted to know what other firsts he could pull out of Malfoy.
“Mahogany.”
“Huh?”
“Mahogany is my favorite color,” Malfoy whispered, moving inches forward until there was no more room between them. “My favorite class is Herbology, something my father wouldn’t let me pursue. My favorite dessert is baklava. I enjoy being a Seeker, but I’d rather be a Beater. My favorite food is Irish stew, and I could eat it year-round.”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “More. I want to know more about you.”
When Malfoy smiled, a true smile—another first—it was to see that he had—
“I have dimples,” Malfoy said, eyes closing briefly as the smile grew and deepened them. “My father hates them.”
“Fuck your father.”
Malfoy laughed, the sound light and airy and it was another first that Harry was rapidly becoming obsessed with.
“I think Hermione was right. I do have a problem.”
An arched brow. “Oh?”
“I was obsessed with you before and now even more so.”
There they were again, those blasted dimples that took his breath away.
“I like to draw,” Malfoy whispered, lips moving closer to him. “I wake up early to watch the sun rise and take a nap afterward. Is that enough knowledge for you?”
Head shaking, Harry said, “No. Never enough. I want to know everything.”
“Everything? That might take a while.”
“I have time.”
There was a wickedness to Malfoy’s eyes that also took his breath away and he was beginning to think that was an occurrence that would always happen.
“Show me.” Their lips brushed briefly, causing him to gasp. “Prove it.”
This time when their lips met, it wasn’t brief. They kissed, over and over lips moving as the kiss deepened and arms entwined around each other pulling them that much closer.
“I will,” Harry said, gasping when his bottom lip was captured in a gentle bite. “I’ll prove it again and again.”
A smile was pressed against his lips, and he almost regretted not being able to see it, for surely that meant the dimples were out again, but then his mind blanked when a tongue touched his.
Oh.
Oh, yes.
This he could get used to.
The warning bell rang, jerking them apart and it took him an embarrassing long moment to realize that lunch was over. But when he stared at Malfoy, he knew that whatever was happening between them was far from over, they were just getting started.
He couldn’t wait to find out where that would take them. Couldn’t wait to discover more about Malfoy. Find all of his favorites and make sure he never pretended again.
He couldn’t wait.
-Fin
Extra
The sound of the Floo going off had Harry rushing to place the tray on the table right as Draco walked in, bags floating in front of his face.
“Harry, I picked up take out on the way back—”
Harry groaned as Draco stared at the kitchen table where he had already cooked dinner.
“If it makes you feel any better it’s your favorite,” Draco said, smiling softly at the Irish stew on the table, a finger trailing across the bowl.
“You got me curry?” Harry said, perking up as he bit his lip. He had worked hard for that Irish stew and didn’t want it to go to waste, but he could eat both.
“Of course. I also got you some treacle tarts.”
The small floating bag moved toward him, and he plucked it out of the air, hugging it to his chest. He couldn’t make treacle tarts the same way that the House Elves in Hogwarts could, so he only ever indulged himself when they went out to eat. It had been weeks since he last had it, when they had gone on a double date with Pansy and Seamus.
“I made you dessert too,” Harry said, gesturing toward the counter. “Fleur helped me make it.”
“Baklava,” Draco whispered, eyes lighting up as his smile grew and out came the dimples he loved so much.
Ever since they got together they paid close attention to each other, even more so than before and he knew every desire that his boyfriend had. Knew all of his favorites, hopes, dreams and what he wanted in the future. Harry knew Draco in every intimate way, and it was reciprocated just as fiercely.
“We did it again.”
They traded a look before they were both laughing. Harry placed the bag on the table and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck. It wasn’t the first time they had decided to surprise each other and wound up disrupting their plans.
“We always do this,” Harry said, kissing Draco softly.
“What next? We both propose at the same time?”
They both jerked back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Don’t you dare, Potter. Years. Years, I tell you. I have been planning—”
“Potter-Malfoy doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Years! I have been planning for years and you’re just going to—”
Years. It had been years that they had been together, and as fast as it went he wanted to cherish it.
“—can’t believe you. Ruin a perfectly good—”
Harry knew that they had many more years to go, was ready to spend the rest of his life tied to an annoying git that he knew far too much about.
“—and you better say yes when the time comes. Merlin knows I have put up with—”
Yes. Oh, he’d say yes. Harry Potter-Malfoy was going to marry the fuck out of his boyfriend and watch the chaos of their union unfold.
“—you’ll look dashing, of course. And our honeymoon will be gorgeous. We can’t invite too many people because Merlin knows we don’t like anyone. I guess you’re friends can come, but only like three, and then—”