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Harry frowns at his messy notes. “The tablecloths are mint green, right?”
Two distressed lines appear between Draco’s immaculate eyebrows. “Moss, Potter,” he says, as if this should be obvious. “Honestly.”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who decided both shades should start with the same letter, was I?”
Draco sighs heavily through his nose, as if he can’t be bothered to open his mouth. Then, of course, he opens his mouth anyway. “Tell me again why Ginevra isn’t helping me plan this?” Draco says petulantly, for what is perhaps the sixth time that week.
“Ginny,” Harry replies, “has a Quidditch team to train for the upcoming League tournament. She also has a girlfriend. She doesn’t have an extra hour a day to spend distinguishing between shades of green. I, on the other hand, am single and a career changer, which is to say unemployed.” Harry sips his tea. “Also,” he adds, “our sons seem to want us to be friends.”
Draco raises his eyebrows. “And here I thought we were already friends,” he says. His lips turn up at the corners, and Harry finds himself smiling, too.
“Better friends, then,” Harry says.
~*~
Scorpius frowns at a tray full of cake samples. Albus smiles at Scorpius. Harry hasn’t been in love like that in a long time, and seeing it makes him feel both warm and old.
“You know how much I love sweets, Albus, but all these samples taste the same,” Scorpius says with despair. He turns to Draco. “Father? You like cake. Could you please provide a consultation?”
Harry considers pointing out that he likes cake, too, and then thinks better of it. The first cake Harry remembers eating tasted a bit like sea spray and the inside of Hagrid’s coat. It’s possible that Harry doesn’t have the sort of refined palate that’s apparently required in this situation.
Draco unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves with crisp movements. “I would be honored to offer my services,” he says magnanimously. Draco sits in one of the elegant white chairs and crosses his ankles gingerly, then leans forward and inspects three of the cake samples.
Draco picks up a fork and tastes each of the three squares of cake, one at a time. After each bite, he swallows delicately, purses his lips, and takes a sip of sparkling water, apparently to cleanse his superior palate.
Harry bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning.
When Draco has finished, he sits back in his chair, lays the fork down on an empty plate, and lifts his chin.
“Here on the left we have Madagascar vanilla,” he says, with the air of a cake sommelier. “In the center, Tahitian vanilla; on the right, Mexican vanilla. I happen to be partial to Tahitian vanilla for its floral, almost licorice, taste, but for this particular affair, I can’t recommend any flavor more highly than…”
Draco draws out the pause, and Harry sees Albus struggle not to roll his eyes while Scorpius smiles.
“Chocolate,” Draco finishes.
Scorpius blinks. “Chocolate? Isn’t that a bit… non-traditional?”
“Sure, but vanilla, Scorpius?” Albus cuts in with obvious relief.
Scorpius looks at his toes and lets out a breath. “You’re right,” he says. “I just want it to be perfect.”
“It’s already perfect,” Albus says firmly. He pushes a lock of hair off of Scorpius’s forehead and places a kiss where it was.
“Oh,” Scorpius says, with a hint of wonder.
Harry wonders if Draco has ever blushed that way.
Harry picks up the nearest cake square and shoves it into his mouth.
~*~
It’s a Slytherin wedding, which means green – moss, a now-familiar voice corrects in Harry’s head – and grey. Ginny’s dress is charmed to glint like antique silver, and Luna wears sky blue.
Harry greets them with hugs.
Ginny grins. “Tell us we look nice, Harry.”
“You both look very nice,” Harry affirms. Ginny’s short hair falls in soft pieces around her face, and Luna’s is swallowed by her large hat, her own invention. Harry has been told that it displays the Muggle weather forecast on the underside of the brim.
Draco, who has been arranging the tablecloth to his exacting specifications, seems to pronounce the task complete. He rounds the table and leans against it, next to Harry.
“It looks like it’ll be sunny,” Luna says, indicating the hat. “Which is just as well, I suppose – although, rain at a wedding is known to attract daintrills, so I can’t say I’d be disappointed either way.”
“I hate rain,” Draco sighs. “Then again, I’m told daintrills signify luck in love, so perhaps rainy weather today wouldn’t be such a misfortune.”
“I don’t think Scorpius and Albus need any luck.” Luna cocks her head. “Do you?” It’s a genuine question, and Draco seems to consider it.
He smiles. “I think that love makes its own luck,” he says.
Not so many years ago, Albus and Scorpius needed all the luck they could get, due in large part to Harry’s meddling. Now, as the last of the wedding plans come together and afternoon turns to early evening, Harry thinks how glad he is to have people like Draco who told him how stupid and selfish he was to try to break Albus and Scorpius’s bond.
Charms begin to coax a melody from wind chimes hung throughout the hall. Draco catches Harry’s eye, and they fall into their places together at the ritual circle. Draco’s impeccable posture is emphasized by his grey robes, sharply pressed and expertly tailored. Ginny, Harry, Lily, and James stand with Scorpius to welcome him into the Potter family, while Draco and his mother stand with Albus to accept him as a Malfoy.
Harry watches Albus and Scorpius make their vows, watches the ancient magic wash over them and seal their marriage.
Draco’s eyes shine with joy, and Harry beams back. The six Potters and Malfoys step forward and link hands around Albus and Scorpius. Draco’s hand is warm in Harry’s.
The magic washes over them all.
The Potters and the Malfoys are joined.
~*~
It’s raining outside.
Draco, seated next to Harry, is trying to look annoyed at the rain and succeeding only in looking as happy as Harry feels.
Across the hall, Albus and Scorpius are slow-dancing. Albus whispers something in Scorpius’s ear that makes him double over laughing, and Harry is so proud of them both that he is overwhelmed with it.
“I did my best with him,” Harry muses, “but sometimes it feels like he grew up well despite me. You’re a good father. You’ve raised Scorpius well.”
“I know,” Draco says, and Harry rolls his eyes at him. “But that’s funny, Potter, I was just thinking how much Albus takes after you.”
Harry looks up at that. “Really?”
Draco laughs. “Well, he has your atrocious sense of humor, but Scorpius seems to appreciate it. Albus looks quite like you, too.”
“When I say you raised your son well, of course I mean he’s nothing like you.”
Draco takes a bite of wedding cake, chews it politely, and swallows. “Scorpius does have my stunning features,” he says.
Harry snorts. “Sure, Malfoy,” he says. “In fact –” He gestures at the newlyweds “– if you squint, that could almost be us slow dancing.”
The thing is, Harry thinks as his brain grinds to a halt, that was supposed to sound sarcastic.
The thing is, it didn’t sound sarcastic at all.
And now Draco is looking at Harry like he’s trying to figure something out. Harry considers fleeing for another slice of chocolate cake, just so he doesn’t have to be here when Draco reaches the inevitable conclusion. He reminds himself that he is a Gryffindor.
“You’re right,” Draco says finally. He stands and extends his hand. “We could be slow dancing.”
Harry feels his mouth fall open in an unattractive fashion. “Sorry?” he says stupidly. “You mean, now?”
Draco swallows. “Well, fifth year is off the table, isn’t it?” His lips twitch.
Harry lets out a breath. “This is a terrible idea,” he says with a decisive nod, and takes Draco’s hand for the second time today.
“It’s raining,” Draco points out, leading Harry onto the dance floor. He places his left hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry abruptly realizes that this is the first time he’s danced with another man. Well. About time, then, isn’t it?
“Yes, so you’ve been whinging about for the last hour,” Harry says belatedly, and starts to steer them around the dance floor. Draco is a practiced follow, so Harry does his best to lead properly even though his body feels like it’s vibrating.
Draco shakes his head. “I never whinge. In any case, my point is that the daintrills are out, bringing luck.” He leans closer to speak into Harry’s ear. “As such, today may be the first time that this is not a terrible idea.”
Draco smells like lemons. Harry has wanted him for a long time.
“Maybe it hasn’t been a terrible idea for awhile,” Harry says.
After a moment, Draco exhales a little disbelieving laugh through his nose. “Nonsense,” he says, but he shifts a little closer.
Two sets of Potters and Malfoys dance together for the rest of the night.
~*~
Draco frowns with his eyes closed. “There’s no such thing as daintrills, Harry. You know that, right?”
Draco’s voice is rough with sleep. The morning sunlight pours over his pointed face, glinting off his white-blonde eyelashes and his immaculate eyebrows.
“We don’t need them,” Harry says, and kisses him again, and again.