Thanksgiving was always an awkward affair at the Burrow after Harry, Hermione, and Ron graduated.

It wasn't because of the young children running about, or that Hermione often got into arguments with Mrs. Weasley, or that Arthur always fell asleep in the middle of dinner.

If Harry had to guess — not that he really needed to — it would probably be because of who he kept bringing as his date to the Burrow: Draco Malfoy. He thought that the Weasleys would be used to them after four years of their very serious relationship, but Molly still ignored Draco sometimes and Draco's hair was still pink from the year George dyed it when he wasn't looking.

Draco had hoped that his hair would eventually grow back into its natural color, but it grew pink, not blond. Draco was not happy about that.

"I'm going to murder Weasley!" Draco yelled. He stormed out of the bathroom, his shoulder-length pink hair in a state of disarray, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Gonna have to be more specific than that, hun," Harry said, trying his hardest not to laugh. Draco flipped his boyfriend off and disappeared into the bathroom with a slam of the door, leaving Harry to stifle his laughter behind his hands.

Harry and Draco had news for the Weasleys this year, and it was news that they hoped — well, Harry hoped, as Draco couldn't really care less — would warm the family up to them. Draco told Harry that he'd use the news as a way to get his blond hair back.

Harry had just rolled his eyes and thought, Slytherins will be Slytherins.

Draco was busy slicking his dark pink hair back in the bathroom they shared as Harry worked out what to tell the Weasleys. Would they tell Molly first? Or would they just announce it during dinner?

"Stop pacing. You're making me dizzy," Draco drawled from the bathroom doorway. Harry turned, startled, to Draco. He hadn't even realized he'd been pacing. Harry recognized the concern in Draco's impassive, bored face, and he felt himself deflate a little.

"Sorry," Harry muttered distractedly. He scratched his scar absently as he thought about what everyone's reactions would be. Hermione would be glad, if a little worried. Molly would be ecstatic. Ron. . . Ron was a whole other story—

"Don't hurt yourself, love," Draco said. Harry scowled, and Draco smirked. That was another thing that seemed to throw everyone; Harry and Draco still didn't really get along, in the eyes of the Weasleys. To them, a couple should be like Molly and Arthur, completely in love with each other at all times, and they should broadcast it everywhere.

It took Harry and Draco a month — when they were undercover in Siberia — to be able to read each other completely, so they didn't really feel like they needed to act differently if they could just see through it anyways. Harry sometimes forgot that not everyone could tell what they were thinking or how they were feeling, so it seemed like they were constantly at each other's throats.

They really couldn't be farther from the truth.

"Malfoy," Harry snapped. Draco's smirk widened.

"Malfoy," he echoed, fiddling with something on his left hand. Harry rolled his eyes and felt his cheeks warm. He cleared his throat.

"Right, Draco. What are we gonna tell them? Should we tell Molly first? What about Arthur? What if we —" Draco cut him off with a fake yawn. His face grew serious after a moment, though.

"We don't tell anyone, Harry," Draco said sternly, his eyes narrowed. Harry opened his mouth in protest, but Draco held up a hand, effectively stopping whatever rant Harry was about to go on.

"I'm sure somebody will figure it out, corner us about it, and then tell everyone else without our consent. It'll unfold in its own way."

Harry wasn't convinced, but then Draco was standing in front of him, taking both of his hands. Harry looked up at his partner, a slight frown on his face. Draco was all sharp angles and edges, and Harry wanted to touch them and take away the slight crease between his brows that said he was worried. Harry was under no illusions that Draco was worried about the Weasleys' reaction, only about Harry.

"Love," Draco's voice was low and soft, soothing the nerves Harry didn't even know he had. "everything will be fine. Stop worrying, you'll give yourself wrinkles." Harry rolled his eyes.

"What if— what if they don't accept it?" Harry's voice was small, and he was ashamed of himself for a whole two seconds before Draco's usually icy eyes softened. He reached his hand up and brushed the fringe away from Harry's eyes before pressing a chaste kiss to his scar.

"They will. If Mother and Father can, Weasel and She-Weasel can too," Draco murmured. Harry shook his head.

"If you say so, Dra-co," Harry said, and bit his lip.

"What have I told you about rhyming in conversation?" Draco scolded lightly, and Harry couldn't help it— he leaned up and kissed Draco, grinning.

Draco and Harry apparated to the Burrow just as Molly set down the last plate on the dining table outside. Molly looked up at the crack, and she smiled warmly at the boys. She took the plate of cookies Harry was holding and set it down on the table.

"Harry, Mister Malfoy," she greeted. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Harry a hug. Harry stepped back and saw Draco studying the chicken coop, as if he was a stranger and thought he was going to be ignored.

"Draco," Harry hissed, and the pink-haired man looked up at Molly in surprise. She had half-heartedly reached out to him, her arms open. Harry glared at Draco and crossed his arms, and Draco got the hint.

Plastering a fake smile on his face, Draco leaned down and hugged Molly. His hands were held stiffly near her waist, and she patted his shoulder awkwardly. They stood there for a few moments before breaking apart.

Harry scratched his nose and tried not to laugh. They looked so awkward, but at least they were trying. Besides, he knew that the only person Draco had ever embraced was the Dark Lord and himself. He felt a little smug knowing that he was the only person alive to have done that.

"It's excellent to see you, Mrs. Weasley," Draco said, smoothing down his gray sweater. Harry looked at his own Weasley sweater and wondered when Molly would make Draco one, too.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you looking so well," Molly said politely. Draco inclined his head to her, and then the three of them were walking inside the house.

The rest of the Weasleys arrived sometime after that, kids in tow and plates in hand. Hermione, Ginny, Molly, Angelina, and Fleur disappeared into the library to discuss whatever it was that women discussed at these things.

That left Dean, Harry, Draco, Ron, Bill, George, and Arthur to take the kids and sit in the garden. If Harry was being honest with himself, it was more than a little awkward. It seemed that Harry was going to have to get used to that.

Dean and Bill got up for drinks and to tell off Victorie for pushing Teddy off his toy broom. George had been strangely quiet, studying Draco closer than he normally did. Finally, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, George cleared his throat.

"So, Harry, got something you want to tell us?" he asked nonchalantly, one eyebrow raised. Harry glanced at Draco, who had a slight smile on his face that a lot of people mistook for a smirk.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling his throat close up, and Draco discreetly grabbed his hand, and suddenly everything felt better.

"Yeah, actually," Harry started. George was grinning, of course, like he already knew what Harry was going to say. "Draco and I have something to tell you."

"Before their hair's gray, love," Draco murmured. Harry shot him a look of amusement and irritation before turning back to the people he called his family.

"We're getting married," Harry said. Ron and Arthur had similar expressions of shock and confusion. George was openly laughing at that point, and Bill had chosen that moment to walk back into the room. Bill shook his head, turned back around and left.

"Well then. This is awkward," Ron said. Harry looked at him.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Mum's been trying to figure out how to tell you that you don't have to pretend to be in a relationship," Ron explained, looking uncomfortable.

"What? She thinks we're not actually together? Why?" Harry asked. Draco snorted.

"You never kiss each other. You never give any indication that you're in love," George said, having recovered from his laughing fit.

"I didn't think she'd really want to see that," Harry said, dumbfounded. Suddenly, everything made sense. The way Molly acted around Draco and how everyone seemed to think they weren't serious about each other.

"That's flattering," Draco said flatly.

"I — but how — what didn't we do —" Harry stuttered. He felt like it had always been Draco, and he couldn't really remember a time when it wasn't that way.

"Well, we'll just have to prove it to her, won't we?" Draco asked, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that Harry recognized with a sigh.

At the end of Thanksgiving, Molly believed them and congratulated them on their engagement — though she was a little flustered and wouldn't really meet their eyes. Draco was smug, while Harry was more embarrassed than anything.

Come next Thanksgiving, Draco had his own Weasley sweater that Harry forced him into, and Draco's hair wasn't pink anymore. Harry was nervously fiddling with his wedding ring as George stared at him.

"So, Harry, got something you want to tell us?" George asked. Harry nearly groaned. How is it that George always knows, Harry thought for a moment, before deciding that it didn't really matter.

"Well," Harry started. He shared a look with Draco just as Bill walked in the room. Some things, Harry thought, would never change. Harry opened his mouth with a small smile on his face.