title: "I do."
author: newtypeshadow
disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters and settings are the property of J.K. Rowling.
rating: PG-13 (sexuality)
notes: written while listening to Placebo's "Twenty Years" and "Every You, Every Me".
The preparations have been ready for months. Flowers cover every available surface. The bridesmaids are in peach, the bride in purest white, though he hasn't seen her yet. His best man claps him on the shoulder reassuringly before heading out the double doors to get into place. "She's beautiful," he says on his way out.
Harry's eyes are greener than the emerald on the necklace he wears around his neck—one of many such gifts Harry accepts with hesitation but treasures doggedly. His skin is golden and supple, his thighs inviting as he raises his knees and spreads himself over the green silk sheets, invitation in more than his smile.
A knock on the door startles him. He blinks, the vision gone, and stands to greet the usher who has come to get him. The ceremony is about to begin.
Draco takes his place before the stone faced priest dressed in solemn black. He holds a bible in his leathery hands. Its cover is the red of crusted blood. Draco wonders if his bride-to-be has ever seen war firsthand. He realizes she hasn't.
Smoke and ash cloud the air. Burnt bodies litter the ground. Draco's feet squelch in the bloody grass. Ahead of him, Harry's body sways in the dead air. His wand is still gripped in a white fist. Glasses broken and blackened in patches, face streaked in tears, blood, dirt, the savior of the wizarding world looks more defeated than the body at his feet.
When he falls, Draco is there to catch him. As his eyes close, Harry reaches up and smiles.
Music snaps Draco out of the memory. He finds that his eyes rest squarely on his godfather. The professor's eyes are narrowed. He shakes his head minutely. Draco frowns a question, but it is not to be answered; Severus is blocked by the tall man in front of him as the witnesses stand to watch the bride enter the sanctuary. The bride's mother smiles proudly at her as she glides down the aisle. Her father walks with dignity beside her.
She arrives at Draco's side in slow motion, a wash of virginal white and veiled identity. Draco is in tailored black robes, face well known and bared for the world. He feels acutely the differences between them. He lifts off her veil, but cannot look into her eyes. They turn to the priest.
Harry had been a virgin when they had sex for the first time. Draco had been gentle with him, had wondered that someone with so much fame and wealth had so little experience. He surprised himself with his desire to make it the best that it could be, to erase the miniscule kisses and gropes that Harry had experienced before him from his memory, from his body memory. He drove himself to distraction pulling sounds from Harry, who breathed his screams and shuddered his pleas. He shivered, he ached, he felt hollow and full when he leaned over Harry's body, not quite touching, and let their breath mingle together in the quiet night.
When it was done he laughed and kissed Harry for all he was worth. There was nothing else he could do. He was exploding on the inside, and nothing but Harry could hold the licking flames at bay.
He puts the ring on her finger in a daze. For some reason, his hand is steady when her soft hands slide the gold band onto his own. His hand feels infinitely heavier when he lets it fall. She takes it up again with a giggle.
"Do you," the priest is saying to her, a long speech about having and holding,
His arms around Harry, front to back, swinging him around in the rose garden at the Manor
for richer or poorer
"I'll be disowned if I don't," Draco said. Harry was standing in the window, naught but a silhouette. His head hung down, but his expression was hidden by the halo round his body. "I could lose the Manor."
"You could lose a lot more than that."
"Harry, this doesn't have to change anything."
Harry looked up. His glasses glinted in the light, but still his eyes were hidden. "Don't be naïve. It doesn't become you."
sickness and health
He sat vigil at St. Mungos for four days before Harry opened his eyes. Draco was reading aloud to him—drivel from the Daily Prophet this time. He wasn't sure it was the sort of thing that Harry would appreciate waking up to, but perhaps it would piss him off enough to wake from the unexplainable coma he'd fallen into after his grand showdown.
The first thing he heard was a horrible choking sound. The second thing he heard was a grunt of pain. Looking up from his paper, Draco saw Harry's eyes clenched. Black goo was dripping from the scar on his forehead. Draco shouted for a mediwitch and tried to wipe the liquid from Harry's forehead with his sleeve. When it touched the fabric it ate straight through.
Draco pulled his cloak off the chair and pressed it to Harry's scar, trying to soak up the liquid before it dripped below Harry's eyebrow. Harry started screaming.
Medics rushed in and shoved Draco out of the way.
as long as they both lived.
The door shut behind him with a finality he didn't want to feel. Draco immediately Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. He signed the missive from his lawyer agreeing to the wedding. He stared into the gardens from his window well into dark. He wondered what Harry was doing. He wondered at sharing this room with another. A house elf appeared carrying one of Harry's muggle shirts.
"Leave that," Draco said, stretching out his hand. "Pack the rest and send it to the Hollow."
She says "I do."
The priest turns to Draco. "Do you, Draco Lucien Malfoy, take this woman—" her name doesn't matter. None of this matters, not really. Nothing but the money Draco will keep and the Manor that he was born in, born in the sun room on what his mother always said was the happiest day of her life. He wonders if the day this woman has a child will be the happiest day of his life. He'll finally have someone to pour his wealth into, pour himself into, share his dreams and his joys and his plans for the future.
Someone to replace Harry.
"Do you?"
Draco finally looks at his bride. Her face is girlish and cute, her nose pert, her lips glossed and full. And her eyes…
Emerald
are cold. Barely concealed glee lurks in their grey depths. She nods slightly, impatient.
Harry smiled widely and dove onto the bed. He landed on Draco and shook him. Draco glared at him, spat and hissed, but when Harry finally pulled him out of bed at four in the bloody A.M. he was smiling widely too.
Draco drops her hand. He ignores the gasps, ignores the shouts, doesn't speak a word to anyone as he strides quickly out of the church and Apparates in full view of the busy street.
He appears outside the wards at the gate of Godric's Hollow. The black bars are unwelcoming, but they recognize him all the same and let him through. Draco races up the walk, picking up speed as he nears the house. As he runs he rips the ring from his finger, lets it fall somewhere along the path up to the cozy manse Harry calls home.
Drums are beating in his chest. Draco feels again like he is exploding within himself, breaking out of his skin and becoming impossibly large. He waves a desperate hand and the front door slams open before him. A figure comes running into the foyer. It is Harry. His face is wondering, shocked, when Draco nears him.
There are three steps up to the door. Draco launches himself over them and hits the threshold at full speed. And then Harry is right in front of him. Draco opens his arms and crushes the stunned man to his chest. They stumble backward and fall, Draco twisting to take the brunt of it, and Harry's face is inches from his, Harry's smile centimeters from his, Harry's lips full on his, and Draco's body is singing "fuck it all—I do."