Harry stood at the windows of the sumptuous suite he’d been given, staring out through the floor to ceiling windows at Malfoy Manor’s rear terrace and gardens. He knew that it was freezing cold and snowing; just beyond the edges of the blooming garden, he could see the white flakes floating lazily into drifts. But on the patio and in that near garden, not a single renegade flake dared to fall. The elaborate topiaries that lined the stairs were blinking with charmed fairy lights and the roses and lilies and gardenia’s that dotted the garlands wrapping the balustrades were full and gorgeous, untouched by the winter chill. Gold ribbon was being entwined in the greenery by a small army of house-elves, and Harry hoped absently that in addition to the repelling charms that were clearly in place, Narcissa had remembered to cast warming charms as well. If the elves had frostbite the next day and Hermione noticed, there’d be hell to pay.

He sighed and rubbed at his temples, turning from the window and dropping into a white leather arm chair that faced the dark fireplace. It had to be well past mid-night; the wedding party, those that weren’t spending the night at the Manor, hadn’t departed after the rehearsal dinner until nearly eleven. Things had been a bit strained between the assorted Gryffindors on his side of the aisle and the assembled Slytherins on Draco’s; Narcissa and Molly had put a good face on it, but Harry doubted that either of the women was really over the hat debacle.

Narcissa had been as jumpy as a cat since he and Draco had mysteriously disappeared on their final mission before the wedding and been gone for two weeks, and he didn’t supposed he could blame her. And no matter how far they’d come, Ron and Hermione and Blaise and Pansy were never going to be great friends. And then there was Snape, Harry thought, who had spent the entire evening glaring at him as if he’d somehow captured Draco through some sort of nefarious trap. Between the shrill virago of a wedding planner that Narcissa had insisted on, and the cold shoulder going back and forth across the center aisle and those black eyes boring into the back of his head, Harry had a monumental headache brewing, and he still hadn’t finalized his vows. Every time he tried to put them on paper, or put them into words, he just drew a complete blank. He had fragments here and there, but something solid? Something heartfelt, but coherent? No.

The scraps of parchment that he’d scribbled on were in his bag in the closet. After their unexpected disappearance, Narcissa had insisted that her son and his fiancé take the rest of the time before the wedding off from the Ministry, and that they move into the Manor with her. Harry had seen the ravages of anxiety on her still beautiful face when they’d been recovered; he knew how worried she’d been, and he hadn’t minded moving into the house with her. She’d been terrified for Draco, and to Harry’s surprise, for him as well, and he could only imagine what those two weeks had put her through. So he’d tried, very hard, to be completely understanding and accommodating. In fact, he thought he’d done really well. Then, he’d walked into the rehearsal, and found that in the interests of keeping peace, he and Draco had pretty much abdicated their wedding to his mother.

The ballroom, where the wedding itself was going to be held, was a sumptuous gold-trimmed rococo monstrosity of a room even without the garlands dripping with roses and lilies and the gold (gold?) lame’ runner that ran the length of the center aisle. When Harry saw the sheer number of chairs set up in neat rows, his palms had begun to sweat. This knee-jerk reaction was immediately eclipsed by the wedding planner, who obsequiously asked which of them was taking the traditional ‘bride’s’ side of the aisle. Draco had stepped neatly into the breach, and announced coolly that as there was no bride, there was no ‘bride’s side’, but the tone for the evening had pretty much been set.

Pansy and Hermione walked the lengthy aisle in somber time to equally somber music played by what Harry supposed was a very fine goblin orchestra, but to him it sounded like funeral music. Ron and Blaise were to wait for each of the grooms up front. Draco was going to walk down the aisle first, with his mother on his arm, the portrait of his father looking down on the festivities from a place of prominence behind an elaborate archway at the front of the room. Harry was to follow, flanked by Molly and Arthur. Without telling anyone, Narcissa had also promised several young relatives that they could be in the wedding, and hence there were four white-blonde junior bridesmaids between the ages of twelve and fourteen, who eyed the two grooms and giggled incessantly, and two four year old twin toe-headed cherubs, a boy and girl, who were the ring-bearer and flower girl, respectively. Harry was quite certain, between the gleaming white tresses on one side and vivid ginger locks on the other, that he was going to look like some sort of aberration who’d been dropped into the mix by accident. He’d never felt so out of place in his life.

Once the entire party was assembled, the front to the room looked like a mob scene. The girls giggled, the four-year-olds squealed, the Gryffindors glared at the Slytherins. Fortunately, Kingsley hadn’t been in attendance, because Harry wasn’t sure he could have taken Draco spending the evening trying to decide whether or not to hex their boss over his mother’s virtue.

The old wizard who was officiating was a jovial enough fellow, and he was kind and smiled a great deal. They made it through the rehearsal of the ceremony over the cacophony of noise created by the children and the occasional snide remark sent down from Lucius Malfoy’s portrait. (That ceased once Draco had threatened to silence him for the ceremony, and Harry was quite sure he’d seen Severus Snape hiding a smile behind his hand.) The only rough moment had been when they’d gotten to their vows, but somehow providence had smiled on him when the officiate seemed to sense his wide-eyed panic. He had suggested that they leave the vows until the following day, so that they would be ‘fresh’ for the ceremony. Harry vowed to slip an extra few galleons into his pay envelope. Now, all he had to do was figure out what in the hell he was going to say.

He’d thought about nothing else for several days.

He loved Draco. In fact, he couldn’t imagine his life without him any longer; there would be no life. Draco was… everything. But to say that, in front of room full of hundreds of people, without tripping all over himself? He wasn’t sure that he could do it. He wasn’t a public speaker, and he hated making speeches. He knew how he felt, but there remained this block, this fear of putting the thing into words. Perhaps it was at least partly that he was afraid to; he’d loved his parents. He’d loved Sirius. He’d lost them all. Now, he loved Draco. But some small part of him was afraid to say that for an audience, afraid that acknowledging it would be to endanger it. But a larger part of it was that compared to Draco’s no doubt thoughtful and well expressed vows, his were going to sound childish and ridiculous, and he’d stumble all over himself and embarrass them both. He sighed again, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back against the high back of the chair. All he wanted was to get married. He didn’t want the three ring circus, and he didn’t want to sound like an idiot. He felt a vein throbbing just above his right eye, and the dull ache at his temples intensified.

His first indication that he wasn’t alone was provided by his sense of smell.

He smelled sandalwood with a faint undertone of patchouli, and some of his tension immediately began to slip away even as he felt cool fingers gently touch the soft hollows above his ears where the worst of the pain was located. Draco moved nearly silently; it was one of the things that fascinated Harry, the way he could move from room to room without even seeming to stir the air. He felt Draco’s chest come to rest gently against the top of his head even as long fingers moved over the ache. Harry felt the soft brush of Draco’s magic against his skin, and sighed softly.

“Here?” Draco asked, his voice deep near Harry’s ear.

“How did you know?”

One finger smoothed up between his brows. “When you hurt, you get a crease. Right here.”

“Hmm.” Harry inhaled and exhaled slowly as the soothing massage and the subtle unspoken spells began to whittle away at the pain. “You’re mother won’t be happy that you’ve violated her ‘mustn’t see one another before the wedding’ curfew,” Harry murmured. The corner of his lips quirked slightly when he heard Draco’s soft snort.

“Well, that’s indeed tragic,” he said dryly. “It’s a stupid custom anyway.” His hands dropped away and Harry felt him move from behind the chair, and opened his eyes. Draco came to stand before him, dressed in sheer white linen pyjama’s that showed every toned line of his slender body and the faint pink outline of his nipples. “Besides,” he went on conversationally, smiling slightly, “I believe that my mother has had quite enough her way for one evening.” He moved forward and after gesturing Harry’s hands aside with a graceful, casual hand movement, settled himself comfortably across Harry’s legs, his own long legs over one arm of the chair. He leaned back into the other arm and studied Harry’s face. “Don’t you?”

Harry took in the handsome face, the expressive light eyes. He saw that Draco knew that the evening had been uncomfortable for him, and he rolled his shoulders unconsciously. “She means well…” he began.

“She always means well,” Draco agreed, but his lips were pulled down at the corners. “Her intentions are always good, which is what makes it uncharitable to want to throttle her. But isn’t there some Muggle saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? Frankly, I think she’s gone round the twist. I should have called a halt days ago.”

Harry encircled Draco’s back with his arm, and felt his weight settle against his side. “You just wanted to make it up to her, for the scare we caused her. I understand.”

Now Draco sighed. “But you don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question, and the expression on Draco’s face said he understood all too well that it was true.

Harry looked down at Draco’s lean legs and idly plucked at the soft linen covering them. “I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding what I was thinking.”

“Oh, mother hadn’t a clue,” Draco said, catching Harry’s hand and twining their fingers. “I think even the Weasley’s thought that you were fine.” He lifted Harry’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over the back of it, and Harry’s eyes rose to find Draco studying him casually. “But I know you, Potter,” he said, one fair brow arching. “And you got more and more withdrawn as the evening wore on.”

Harry glanced away. “I didn’t have anything to contribute.”

“To your own wedding?” Draco squeezed the fingers he held to get Harry to return his gaze. He did, reluctantly. “Harry,” Draco murmured. “Tomorrow is supposed to be about us, and what we wanted. I agree that Mother had a terrible scare, and I feel badly about that. But it’s OUR wedding.” As he spoke, he placed a soft kiss on each of Harry’s knuckles. “I feel badly that there’s no daughter for her to plan a wedding for, but I categorically refuse to suddenly become the bride. Those ivory robes are as far as I go.”

Harry’s lips twitched at the wry humor rich in Draco’s voice. “Not afraid you’ll be struck dead for wearing something so near to virginal white?”

Draco laughed softly. “No, I imagine the powers that be have a sense of irony.” One corner of his mouth quirked. “Besides, you took care of whatever virginal tendencies I might have had left long ago.”

“So I did,” Harry agreed. Draco smirked.

“And isn’t he proud of himself,” he teased, poking Harry in the center of his chest. “So, what are we to do about Madam Malfoy?”

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, Draco,” Harry assured him softly. “Is it what I would have chosen? No. You know me; I’d have been happy in the registrar’s office at the Ministry. But tomorrow isn’t really about me. It’s about you, and your mother. And your friends, and family. As long as I get you at the end of the day, I’ll be happy.”

But Draco was frowning. “But what about you, Harry? What about your friends?”

“They’ll be here, and they’ll love it.” Draco looked at him askance. “Don’t kid yourself; Molly, Hermione and Ginny are beside themselves over getting to be in a wedding at the Manor, all decked out in their finery. And the Weasley men?” He shrugged again. “They could care less, but they’ll behave themselves.”

Draco looked frankly disbelieving. “Including those wretched twins?”

Harry smiled slowly. “They might have been tempted, because they are so fond of you, after all.” Draco snorted. “But the one thing Fred and George Weasley fear is the wrath of their mother. And according to Ron, she’s already threatened them with rather unpleasant consequences if they try anything. Something about jock-itch until they’re thirty-five.”

Draco shuddered. “And I thought my mother was ruthless.”

Harry grinned. “She is. Just in an entirely different way.”

“It’s true,” Draco agreed. “She probably would have come up with some completely dignified impotence spell, making it impossible for them to get an erection for the rest of their natural lives.”

Harry shuddered dramatically, feeling the last of his headache fading away as his amusement grew. “She’d do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Remind me never to irritate your mother.”

Draco sent him a wry look. “She wouldn’t dare, not to you. She values my good humor far too much, and an un-shagged Draco is a very cranky boy.”

Harry felt a smirk spreading over his face. “I believe I was aware of that fact.”

Draco’s eyes moved over Harry’s features, a smile playing at his lips. “Are you complaining?”

“Oh, no,” Harry assured him quickly. “Not a bit. Keeping you from being cranky is one of the highlights of my life. Honestly.”

Draco’s smile mellowed. “Is that so?”

“Definitely.”

“You know,” Draco murmured, lips pursed thoughtfully as he reached for the top button of Harry’s shirt. “I’ve been feeling a bit tense, too. Lot’s of stress associated with large weddings.”

Harry’s smile was slow, and mellow. “I’ve heard that.”

“And after watching my pre-pubescent teen-aged cousins ogle my intended all evening,” Draco said dryly, “I’m beginning to feel a bit… I’m searching for a word here…”

“Testy?” Harry provided.

“Something like that.” The first button on Harry’s shirt slipped through the hole, then the second, then the third, long fingers dexterous on their task. “Ends with a ‘y’, at any rate.”

“Let me see,” Harry pretended to ponder. “Sleepy?”

Draco eyed him askance. “Not even remotely.”

“Touchy?”

“Closer.”

“Uhm…” The shirt was now open nearly to Harry’s waist, and Draco slipped his palms inside of the parted sides, palms cupping pectoral muscles, fingertips grazing pebbling nipples. Harry caught his breath unsteadily when a fingernail grazed sensitive flesh. “What were we talking about?”

Draco’s smile was slow, and filled with both amusement, and heat. “You were attempting to divine my mood,” he offered. He rolled one of Harry’s hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and Harry’s back arched slightly in an involuntary response.

“Like that?” Draco crooned, and Harry hissed when he pinched him lightly.

“You know that I do.” He slipped his hand up the length of Draco’s back, caressing the knobs of his spine through the soft linen before curling his hand around Draco’s nape. He pulled him in, angling his head to one side in preparation of taking the slightly parted lips with his own. “So,” he breathed. “This ‘mood’ of yours; are you in need in having a fit of the cranky’s dealt with?”

“I,” Draco answered, his breath caressing Harry’s lips, “am in need of a shag with my beautiful fiancé.” He lifted one hand and cupped Harry’s jaw in his palm. “It’s the last opportunity I have, you know. After tonight, I’ll be sleeping with my husband.”

Harry went very still for a moment, then his lips curled up at the corners. “So you will. And allow me to say; he’s one lucky bastard.”

Draco’s eyes gleamed. “I certainly think so.” He centered his thoughtful contemplation on Harry’s mouth and brushed his thumb over Harry’s plump lower lip, his eyes going half-lidded and sultry. “Oh, this mouth,” he whispered. “I do love this mouth.”

“Is that so?” Harry murmured, nipping at the fleshy pad of Draco’s thumb with his teeth.

“Mmm,” Draco responded.

“It’s yours, you know. Should you care to entertain yourself with it.”

Draco’s lips parted on a soft exhalation. “Sounds like a marvelous plan.”

He closed the slight space between them and kissed Harry then, softly, almost innocently. Harry sighed into the kiss, the hand at Draco’s nape gently massaging the slender column of his neck. For several minutes, they kissed slowly, languorously, only slight slips of tongue, soft murmurs, and gentle sighs. It had been a very long time since they’d had the leisure to simply indulge one another, and they did now, tasting, noses brushing, breath mingling.

But as was always the case with them, the slow, lazy pace was lovely, but soon not enough by half. Draco pressed closer to Harry’s chest, his hip against the bulge at Harry’s groin. Harry’s hands slid down Draco’s back and spread on his arse, flexing, massaging gently, pulling him in more snugly yet. The kisses went from sweet and slow to open-mouthed, and needy. Harry pressed his tongue smoothly between Draco’s teeth, Draco pulled against it, trapping it to the roof of his mouth and sucking on it. Harry made a rough sound in his throat and shifted, pressing his crotch forward instinctively. When one of his hands slid from Draco’s arse around his body and up the inside of his thigh to cup the softness of his balls, Draco pulled his lips from Harry’s and let his head fall forward against his broad shoulder with a soft moan.

“We need to get out of this chair,” he said breathlessly. “No room to maneuver here.”

“Mmmm,” Harry responded, dropping his lips to Draco’s neck and opening on the pale skin even as his hand slid from his balls to curl around his stiffened cock. He squeezed, and Draco gasped.

“Harry!” he said with more urgency. “There’s a bed, just over there…”

Without a word, Harry shifted and stood, holding Draco as his legs slid the length of Harry’s before he steadied on his feet. Once they were standing, Harry pulled Draco in against him and kissed him with all of the need and heat that had been building inside of him and Draco clutched his shoulders, sagging a bit at the knees. Harry felt him sink the fingers of one hand into his hair.

“Bed,” Draco repeated when their lips parted, a soft reminder. “Bed, Potter. Now.”

“Pushy, pushy, pushy,” Harry chuckled, but encircled Draco’s torso with his arms and lifted him easily, turning and striding to the bed. Draco clutched at Harry’s shoulders.

“Neanderthal,” he teased lightly as Harry set him back on his feet.

“You like it.” Harry smirked as his hands skimmed down Draco’s sides. “I can think of something else you like, too.” He shot him one teasing glance before sliding slowly to his knees, his thumbs hooking in pyjama bottoms and pants as he came to rest, kneeling on the floor. He swept the light clothing to Draco’s ankles, and then lifted each of his legs in order to free them and toss them aside. Draco stood before him, the linen pyjama top just covering Harry’s ultimate goal. He slid his palms up Draco’s thighs, hands shades darker than the pale flesh beneath them, until he arrived at the long shirt. Bunching it in his hands, he inched it upwards to reveal Draco’s cock, long and slender like the rest of him, so hard it rested against his flat belly. “Deal with this --” he said tersely, shoving the shirt into Draco’s hands, his eyes on the cock that was now at eye level, “-- while I deal with this.”

Draco caught the fabric in his hands just as Harry circled the base of his hardness with his hand, pulling it down and away from his body before leaning forward and swirling his tongue around the tip. Draco’s hands clutched the linen, holding it up and out of the way as Harry opened his mouth and took him in in a smooth, practiced motion, applying suction from tip to base.

“Gods,” Draco groaned, knuckles whitening. Harry knew just how much pressure to apply, just where to touch the throbbing vein on the under side with his tongue, just how much suction to use, just when to flick the curve of the crown to have Draco gasping. It wasn’t long before Draco’s legs where trembling and he was unable to prevent his hips from moving, thrusting into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth.

“Wait, wait,” he said finally, fingers curling in Harry’s hair and pulling. Harry opened his eyes and looked up the length of Draco’s body, pulling back slowly, the swollen head still in his mouth. “I want…” Draco paused, his eyes rolling up when Harry tongued his slit lightly. Harry pulled back all of the way then, still holding him in his hand.

“You want what, sweetheart?” He asked softly, stroking the velvety hardness slowly. “Tell me.”

“I want to come with you inside of me,” Draco breathed, and a Harry felt a thrill of heat shoot straight to his groin, making his stiffened cock throb.

He stood then, easing the pyjama top over Draco’s head and throwing it aside before he placed a hand in the middle of his chest and pressed him down onto his back on the bed. Taking just moments to divest himself of shirt, jeans and pants, he crawled over him, straddling his fiancé’s slender body. Draco looked up at him, light eyes filled with love and desire, and Harry leaned in to take his swollen lips in a kiss both tender and demanding. Draco started to lift his arms around Harry’s neck, but Harry forestalled that by placing one last soft kiss on his lips, then sliding back to kneel beside the bed with Draco’s spread thighs on either side on his body.

“Come back,” Draco whispered plaintively, hand curling over Harry’s shoulder.

“I will,” Harry promised. “Just a little something to see to first.” He slid his hand behind Draco’s left knee and lifted it, pressing his leg towards his chest. “Hold this, will you?”

“So pushy tonight,” Draco said wryly. “Deal with this, hold this. I’m already dressing like the girl tomorrow, Potter. You don’t need to go all Dom on me.”

Harry chuckled in response, reaching forward with both hands and spreading the pert arse cheeks that were before him. He made a satisfied sound in his throat when he saw the pale, dusky pink pucker, and leaned forward, nudging it with his nose, inhaling the clean, faintly musky scent of Draco. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased. “You’re the one who chose you’re current position, not me.”

“I chose to be fucked, my dear,” Draco responded cheekily. “Not manhandled and ordered about. Honestly, Potter, subtly isn’t your strong point, is it?”

Rather than respond, Harry chose that moment to lick a stripe from just behind Draco’s fleshy balls, back to the furled flesh of his opening. He felt the muscle twitch under his tongue even as he circled it with the tip, and he heard Draco moan above his head.

“Ah,” Harry said, smiling against Draco’s hot skin. His skin was fair, even here, and looked as if it should be cool to the touch. But it wasn’t. There was nothing cold about Draco. “That’s how to stop your whining; stick my tongue up your arse.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” Draco muttered. “And just… oh,” he sighed when Harry stiffened his tongue and pressed forward. “Yes, just do that.”

Thoughts of banter disappeared as Harry breached the taut ring with his tongue, pressing into slick, clinging warmth. He reached forward between Draco’s widely spread legs and curled his fingers around his cock, stroking him slowly in time with the thorough loosening of his entrance. When he began to spear him rhythmically with his tongue, deeper each thrust, Draco arched and once again yanked at his hair.

“Please, Harry,” he breathed, thoughts of teasing gone. “Stop. I want… please…”

Harry relented, placing a kiss on each quivering thigh before pushing up and over the flushed chest, hands beneath Draco’s arms to lift him further onto the bed. He paused to dig a small tube of lube out of the front pocket of his jeans, (he always carried one with him now, just in case, and it had come in handy more than once) and then knelt between Draco’s legs.

Their eyes caught, and held as he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingers. The scent of cinnamon lifted to him, and he recalled that this was the lube with the slight heating agent in it, and his cock throbbed in response. He tossed it onto the bed near his knee and reached forward, eyes still clinging to Draco’s, as he smoothed the slickness around the puckered flesh.

Draco’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. Harry felt the lube heating on his fingers, knew the sensitive mucus membranes had to be tingling. Gently, he teased with one fingertip before slowly slipping it inside.

“Oh, God,” Draco gasped, back arching slightly when Harry curled his finger, knowing just where to touch him inside. Draco’s mouth dropped open as he fought to steady his breathing. Harry pulled back, then re-entered with another finger, moving them sleekly. “Oh, yes,” Draco’s eyes rolled up when once again Harry pressed against his prostate. “Yes, Christ.”

Harry prepared him carefully, not wanting pain to be any part of the equation this time. Sometimes, pain was very much a part of what they were and they both reveled in it, but for tonight, this last night before they were married, he wanted this to be about nothing but pleasure and connection and… love.

Love. He watched the emotions that played over the mobile face, watched the flush that spread upwards from the elegantly muscled chest, the long neck, the faintly pointed chin. Draco’s eyes were open but he was staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, his face a mask of pleasure, and Harry knew in that moment that he never had, and he never would again feel anything like what he felt for Draco. It consumed him, encompassed him, and defined him. He was what he was, and who he was, because of this man, and wave of almost painful tenderness moved through him.

He withdrew his fingers and absently slicked his own hardness, registering the slight tingling that spread over the taut skin. “Draco,” he said softly as pressed forward, lining himself up. He paused, then held out his hand, and waited.

When Harry didn’t enter him, Draco fought to focus and searched for his face. When he saw the hand, waiting, unhesitatingly he caught it, linking his long fingers with Harry’s thicker, darker ones, before lifting his eyes to Harry’s.

Hands clenched, eyes locked, Harry slowly pressed forward, filling Draco with a smooth slide.

They’d had a lot of sex over the course of their relationship. In point of fact, they’d shagged just about everywhere it was possible to and still manage not to get arrested. Sometimes it was slow and easy, sometimes it was quick and nasty, but it was always, always an adventure, and more often than not extraordinarily satisfying.

But this? This was something different. This wasn’t just about the sex. It was so much more; it was about leaving oneself vulnerable, which in the beginning neither of them ever would have done. It was about trust; trusting that someone you loved wouldn’t hurt you. It was about laying yourself bare, in ways that had little to do with physical nakedness. It was emotional nudity, lowering the walls, hiding nothing. It was about a connection that went deeper than words or bodies, into the nature of what love was, beyond stereotype or gender. It was the definition of who and what they were, and why they were, and they both felt it.

Draco let got of his leg, lifting his other hand, and Harry caught it as well, pressing both of Draco’s hands to the bedspread on either side of his head, propping himself as he began to move. Their eyes never wavered, their fingers never lost their grip, even as their breathing began to become sharper and sweat slicked their bodies in the soft light.

“I love you,” Harry said, his voice hoarse.

“I love you, too,” Draco answered, dampening his lips with his tongue.

“I’ll always love you.”

“Always.”

The movement picked up speed, and intensity, but still their gazes held.

“Marry me,” Harry gasped, muscles tightening, arms beginning to shake. He saw the tendons showing clearly down the sides of Draco’s throat, the striated stomach muscles flexing as he met him stroke for stroke.

“Yes,” Draco answered, neck arching even as their eyes still held. “Marry me.”

“Yes!” Harry responded, changing angles slightly, knowing just which one drove Draco mad, and Draco cried out in response. Sweat dripped from Harry’s brow, slid down the flushed skin of Draco’s neck.

“Mine,” Harry growled on a particularly emphatic thrust. Draco gasped.

“Yes.” He locked his long legs around Harry’s waist and arched his spine. “Mine!” he ground out between clenched teeth, grip around Harry’s body tightening.

“God, yes!” Harry choked.

After that, there were no words. Just locked gazes and straining bodies, and the knowledge that what they were doing here was sacred; a promise, a benediction. They would unite before the eyes of the world the next day, but right then, right there, their marriage was sanctified.

Draco broke first, head thrashing, mouth open on a silent cry as he came between them without ever being touched, white stripes on flushed skin. The power of that rocked Harry; he felt the rhythmic grip of Draco’s orgasm around him, almost impossibly tight, and road it out in a fast, driving rhythm that pulled his own release from him in a mind-numbing rush. He shuddered and cried out as he emptied himself into Draco’s heat, body trembling, then wrapped his lover in his arms and rolled to the side so as not to collapse heavily onto him.

For a long time, there wasn’t a sound but their ragged breathing. Then, as bodies cooled and perspiration dried and heart rates returned to normal, they still didn’t speak. Just held one another close in a silence neither wanted to break. Finally, chilled, Harry pulled the down comforter over both of them, Draco pressed his face into the curve between Harry’s neck and shoulder and they slipped into sleep still clinging to one another.


“You look very dashing,” Hermione said with a fond smile. She’d come upstairs in search of Harry as he’d been attempting for the fifth time to tie his bow tie, and had finally taken it in hand and finished it herself. She studied the end result, and taking his shoulders turned him towards the mirror. “See?”

Harry looked at himself, and had to admit that he cleaned up well. The custom made robes fit perfectly, and the dark brown, so dark that it was nearly black, suited his coloring. He hadn’t wanted traditional wizard’s robes; he never had understood how wizards could wear them with nothing more than pants beneath. Or, in Draco’s case when he was being an inveterate tease, nothing whatsoever. Harry didn’t feel comfortable without trousers beneath, and so a compromise of sorts had been reached. He wore wool trousers, a cummerbund and starched white tuxedo shirt, complete with white tie, beneath the open floor length rich velvet robe. It had a wide, stiff satin collar that stood up slightly in the back, and on each side down each lapel, trailing down to the hem, were vines and ivy leaves, accented with small diamonds, done in painstakingly elaborate ivory embroidery. Even he could admit that it was beautiful, and as Draco was fond of telling him, he had no taste whatsoever in clothes.

Even his hair had been tamed, combed into a messy semblance of order, and as he stared at his reflection, he thought that even Draco might not find anything to comment on. A slight smirk pulled at the corner of his lips; who was he kidding. Of course he’d find something to comment on. He wouldn’t be Draco if he didn’t.

“Are you ready?”

He glanced and Hermione and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “As I’ll ever be.”

She grinned at him as she pulled her elbow length gold gloves back on. She, Pansy and Ginny were wearing matching attendant’s gowns in a coppery gold, and she looked lovely.

“That color suits you,” he said softly, as she settled her gloves in place. “You look lovely.”

Her smile turned brilliant. “Oh, my,” she said, amused. “Draco really has rubbed off of you. I can’t imagine the old Harry telling me a color suited me.” He knew he was blushing when heat filled his cheeks, but she merely rose to her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I like it. And thank you.”

He offered her his arm, and they left the suite.

“I have to tell you,” she said conversationally as they moved though the vast warren of hallways. “I wasn’t certain how Draco’s robes would turn out. You know, whether they’d look too much like a bridal gown, being ivory and all. They don’t, not at all. He looks stunning, and nothing whatsoever like a bride.”

Harry lips quirked. “If there is one thing Draco knows, its clothes. I hadn’t a single doubt.”

“And the color is gorgeous with his hair. I think the women are all jealous that we aren’t as beautiful as he is.” Harry merely smiled. She looked at him and squeezed his arm. “You’re really happy, aren’t you?”

He returned her steady regard. “To be marrying Draco?” he answered. “Yes. With this circus of a wedding?” he shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

Hermione nodded, soft ringlets bouncing near her ears. The rest of the full mane of hair was up in an elegant French Twist. “I wondered. The whole thing has Mrs. Malfoy's stamp on it.”

“It scared her to death when he disappeared,” Harry responded by way answering.

“She was frightened for both of you, Harry.”

“Oh, I know,” he said quickly. “But… well, he’s her whole world, Hermione. It just seemed… fair, somehow, to let her have the wedding she wanted. We don’t care, really. Not that much.”

She shot a glance to the side, brow arched, telling him without words that she doubted that was true. “So, did you finish your vows?”

Harry swallowed the lump that suddenly filled his throat. He had, sort of. He knew what he wanted to say, even if maybe not the specific words. He nodded tightly rather than answer her, hoping she’d take the hint and not pry any further. Fortunately, she seemed to and lapsed into silence at his side.

They made it through the Manor through a series of back hallways to avoid the arriving guests, and entered the sitting room to one side of the ballroom through a door secreted in the wall’s paneling. When they appeared, there was a general rush of noise from those assembled; the women fussed over Harry’s elegant robes, the men shook his hand or patted him on the shoulder. The junior bridesmaids sighed, and the tiny flower girl stared up at him with saucer wide eyes.

“All right, everyone here then?”

Harry hadn’t seen Draco yet, and he turned at the sound of his voice, and went very still, staring.

His fiancé was standing near the fireplace, and the flames at his back turned his hair and his ivory robes a soft, burnished gold. The robes were beautiful; high necked, satin covered buttons running the length of the silk under-robe to the hem. It was belted with a spun gold rope that also hung to the floor, tasseled ends brushing white kidskin boots. The outer robe was identical to Harry’s, only purest ivory, with the same satin lapels over butter soft velvet, the embroidery the same intricate pattern, only done in deepest brown. When he moved his arms, the long pointed sleeves hung nearly to the hem, swishing with each graceful motion. He looked like a prince from another time; the only thing missing was a crown, but that burnished hair did a creditable imitation. Harry could only stare and wonder that such a creature wanted anything whatsoever to do with him.

“All present and accounted for? Including the second groom?” he sent Harry a slight smirk, and the assembled group laughed lightly. “Excellent. Potter, if you please?”

He held out his hand, and Harry made his way to his side and took the offered hand.

“You look edible,” Draco whispered under his breath.

“Allow me to return the compliment,” Harry answered, equally softly. Draco smiled at him, and then turned to their friends and family.

“Harry and I would like to thank each of you for being part of this special day,” he began, still holding Harry’s hand. “Given how our relationship began, all of those years ago, it seemed far more likely that we’d hex one another rather than get married.” There was more scattered laughter. “And yet, here we are. So, from both of us, thank you. Sincerely.” There were misty smiles. Harry saw Molly Weasley dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, monstrosity of a hat in place on her faded red hair. Instinctively, he searched for Narcissa Malfoy, who was resplendent in muted gold, and wasn’t even remotely surprised to see a glittering tiara on her head in place of the embattled hat, her hand resting lightly on Kingsley Shacklebolt’s solid arm. Clearly, her son had gifted her with something that she’d chosen to wear instead.

“Mister Malfoy,” a voice broke in, and every head turned to find the wedding coordinator standing near the door that led to the ballroom. “We really must begin the ceremony.”

“One more moment,” Draco said mildly. He turned back to their assembled family and friends. “It was very important that you understand how much your love and support have meant to both of us,” he went on, “because there are about to be a few changes to the ceremony.”

Harry shot him a quick look, but Draco looked unruffled and completely calm, a faint sparkle of excitement in his light eyes.

“Mister Malfoy,” the wedding coordinator said tensely, approaching them. “I really must protest. There cannot be changes to the ceremony. Everything is in place…”

“Beginning,” Draco smoothly interrupted, “with you.” The woman stopped, her eyes going wide. “You will be compensated for your time, but you need to go.”

She blinked quickly. Harry saw surreptitious looks exchanged around the room, some amused, most startled.

“I don’t… what do you mean, go?” she stammered.

“Go,” Draco said flatly. “As in, leave immediately.”

“But…”She began to wring her hands. “The ceremony, the reception…”

“Draco, darling,” Narcissa began.

“No, mother,” Draco said, not unkindly. “Last night, when she asked which of us was going to take the traditional side of the bride, I knew this had been a mistake.” He turned back to the woman, who looked alarmingly as if she might cry. “I know that you meant no offense,” he said almost gently, “but it clearly indicated what you think of this wedding. There is no bride here, just two men who plan to marry one another, and be happy in spite of what the world thinks about it. And you,” he gestured towards the door that led out to the hall, “are free to go.”

For a moment, Harry was afraid that she planned to argue with him, and Harry knew how futile that would be; Draco had made his mind, and it would only prolong the inevitable. But she didn’t. She stared at them for another long moment, then calmly collected her bag and clipboard and left the room.

“All right, now that that’s handled,” Draco said with the air of someone who’s dealt with something unpleasant, “ladies, if you would collect your bouquets, please.”

He gestured towards a nearby table, and for the first time, Harry saw a dizzying array of bouquets arranged, one next to the other. At one end, there were two slightly separate, white lilies and roses with chocolate brown cascading ribbon. They were beautiful, but Harry felt his heart sink a bit. They were enormous; he and Draco would look like bloody beauty queens.

There was a rush towards the table. The men were already wearing small, tasteful boutonniere’s, but there were corsages to be pinned and baskets of rose petals for the flower girl, and nosegays of roses and lilies for Pansy and Hermione and Ginny, who shot Harry a cheeky grin as she collected hers. When the table was bare but for the two largest bouquets, Draco turned back to the wedding party.

“You all look lovely,” he said sincerely. “Now, for other changes.”

He moved gracefully to the table and picked up one of the large, presentation style bouquets, and moved to his mother.

“I’d like for you to carry this,” he said softly. “With our love.” He kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

She looked between the two men, blinking quickly at the gesture but clearly confused. “But, those are for you and Harry, darling…”

“Mother,” Draco interrupted gently. “Harry and I are not carrying bouquets at our wedding. But you look quite wonderful with that in your arms.”

Narcissa stared at him, and then down at the flowers, and nodded weakly. Draco picked up the other and handed it to Harry, and Harry knew immediately what he was to do with it. He turned and approached Molly, who watched him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Molly,” Harry said when he’d stopped before her. “You’ve been as much a mother to me as I could have ever hoped to have. I hope you’ll carry this,” he glanced at Draco, who was watching him fondly, “with our love.”

Molly held her kerchief over her lips, but nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. When Harry leaned forward to kiss her cheek, she clutched him around his neck and squeezed.

“As for the rest of you,” Draco went on when Harry had returned to his side, “I hope that you will understand the other changes we’re about to make.” He turned to the wide-eyed junior bridesmaids. “Sweet cousins, you all look quite beautiful, but I’m going to ask that you let the groomsmen escort you to seats in the front two rows.” The girls exchanged disappointed looks, but didn’t say anything. “Pansy, Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Blaise…” Their friends watched and waited. “We appreciate your support more than you know, but we’ve decided to let you sit this one out. I hope you understand.”

Their old friends didn’t seem put out by the decision in the slightest, merely nodded in acceptance. In fact, Ron looked frankly relieved.

Draco turned then to his mother. “Mother, you know I adore you.”

“Yes, darling,” Narcissa answered, already sounding resigned, as if she knew what was coming.

“But,” he turned to look at Harry. “With my fiancé’s permission, I’d like for him to walk me down the aisle.”

Harry stared into the watchful eyes, and for a moment he feared that he’d tear up on the spot. He managed not to, just, but nodded.

“Kingsley,” Draco said without breaking Harry’s gaze. “If you’d be so good as to escort my mother.”

“I’d be honored,” the deep voice answered.

“And Mr. Weasley, if you would escort Molly,” Draco went on, still staring into Harry’s eyes.

“Of course,” Arthur agreed.

Draco smiled faintly at Harry, who watched him, hoping he could read his gratitude in his eyes, and then turned back to those assembled.

“All right, then. I believe we can begin.”

“Draco,” his mother asked softly. “What about the children?”

Draco looked at the two small children, resplendent in their wedding finery, both of whom looked dreadfully disappointed. He went to them, and gracefully crouched in front of them. “Well, they must stay, of course,” he said gently. “This young man has the rings,” he said, touching the matching rings tied on slender gold ribbon to the pillow in the little boy’s hand. “And no one should walk down an aisle that hasn’t been strewn with rose petals.” He touched one of the flower girls corkscrew curls, and she ducked her head shyly.

Hesitant smiles spread over small faces, brighter smiles over their mother’s, and Draco stood and turned back to Harry. “Ready for this?” he asked, hand extended. Harry stared at it for a moment, a smile blooming across his face as he curled his fingers around Draco’s.

“Oh, yes,” Harry answered, and Draco squeezed his hand.

There were gestures of departure as each of the members of the wedding party walked through the massive set of golden doors and into the ballroom. Hermione pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek and Ron squeezed his hand so tightly that Harry had to fight down a wince. Ginny trailed her hand along his arm a bit wistfully, but her smile was sweet. Pansy kissed Draco and managed not to sneer at Harry, and Blaise shook both of their hands.

Molly cried as she kissed Harry’s cheek, then took Arthur’s arm when he murmured, “come on, old girl.”

Narcissa paused before them, regal as a queen. She pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek. “I expect you to take care of him,” she whispered in his ear.

“I promise,” Harry assured her. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

“I intend to hold you to that,” she told him, but when she leaned back, her smile was fond. Then she turned to her son, and her legendary impassivity simply wasn’t up to the task. Tears filled her lovely light blue eyes.

“Be happy, darling,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to Draco’s, her hands tight around his forearms.

“I will, mother,” Draco answered, sounding slightly suffocated, and when he leaned back, he was blinking quickly. Narcissa paused to smooth the front of Draco’s robes even though they didn’t need it, then turned and regally accepted Kingsley’s offered arm.

When everyone had taken seats but the two small children who waited impatiently just inside the doorway, Draco gestured to someone Harry couldn’t see, and the soft strains of harp music throbbed in the sudden expectant stillness inside the ballroom. Harry listened to the simple, uncomplicated melody, and then glanced at Draco in surprise.

“Sacked the orchestra,” he said a bit sheepishly. “It just seemed… too much.”

Harry smiled slightly and nodded, squeezing his hand.

The children glanced back at them expectantly, and when Draco nodded, they stepped off down the long aisle to a murmured ‘awww’ from the assembled guests. Their trip to the archway was relatively incident free, and a pale trail of rose petals dotted the white runner. Harry stared at it, and then glanced once again to his side.

“You got rid of the gold lame’,” he said, fighting a smile.

“Well, of course I did,” Draco said primly. “I’m gay, not blind.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He tried to hold back his laughter, he really did, but it spilled from his lips, even though he covered his mouth with the back of his free hand and bit his lip. The people in the back rows, hearing the sound, were turning around, and still he couldn’t stifle it.

“You’re making a complete spectacle of yourself,” Draco commented, and Harry looked at him, only to see that Draco was having difficulty fighting back laughter of his own. They stared into one another’s eyes, giving up and laughing softly together, and Harry knew he’d never been this happy in his life.

And just like that, his vows were there and he knew precisely what he was going to say. Draco knew him, with all of his faults, and loved him anyway. He was there for him, and he trusted him, and supported him. He saw into his occasional melancholy, and was his solace. There had been rough spots, and they’d cried together, but they’d laughed together more. He was the reason he drew each breath, but he was so much beyond that. Draco was the other half of his soul; it was as simple as that.

Draco gestured towards the front of the room with his head. “So, are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Harry answered emphatically. “Let’s get married, shall we?”

Draco’s look turned teasing. “I never thought you’d ask.”

“Hey,” Harry said in mild protest. “I did ask.”

“Yes,” Draco said, his eyes going soft and fond. “And this time, you didn’t even stammer.”

Harry knew he was blushing when Draco’s smile deepened, but he lifted their joined hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss over Draco’s knuckles. “I’m trying.”

Draco leaned into his chest. “You’re succeeding,” he whispered. “Now, make an honest man of me, will you?”

Harry’s smile was brilliant as they stepped off down the aisle together.
 
End