"Remind me again why we're doing this."

Harry laughs. It's a stormy Saturday in August, and leaving the flat seems out of the question, so it only makes sense to be doing what they're doing—that is, if that ever made sense in the first place, and Harry isn't completely sure it had.

"Well," he says as he signs Dean and Ginny's names across the bottom of a thank you card with a flourish, "Ginny claims I broke her heart at least twice, and your father nearly killed her over the course of a very long school year. So I guess having us write their wedding cards for them is nearly fair."

Draco shakes his head and seals an envelope with the wax he'd insisted Dean and Ginny start using, starting with the seemingly endless stack of thank you notes. He stands and stretches, Harry's oldest, most threadbare jeans slipping down and revealing a bit of stomach and boxers. Lowering his arms, he tugs at the hem of Harry's shirt from the Quidditch World Cup three years back. Why he's wearing Harry's clothes today is no mystery; though he's nearly living with Harry of late, all his things haven't made their move from his flat to Harry's. He'd casually mentioned a week ago that he was letting his lease run out and more of his possessions would be on their way over time. Draco moving in with Harry was never up for discussion, and Harry expected no more than that.

"Those jeans are too loose and too short," Harry observes, following Draco's lead and standing. He steps toward Draco and tugs at his belt loops, pulling him closer.

"Sounds like you want me to take them off," says Draco in a low voice, playing with Harry's belt buckle.

"You know we should work on this for a while first," Harry says, sorely tempted to do what Draco's suggesting. "The sooner it's done, the sooner we shag."

Draco sighs dramatically, brushes his lips against Harry's, and gently removes Harry's fingers from his belt loops. "I'm going to make some tea," he says. "I think we're going to need it."

They've been at the task for 15 minutes more when Draco muses, "Can you imagine doing this for ourselves?"

Ever since watching Dean and Ginny exchange vows in a very Muggle ceremony, Harry's had heart palpitations whenever marriage comes up in conversation. This moment is no different. "Hardly," he says, trying to sound casual. "But thank you notes aren't really a wizarding thing, are they?"

"No," says Draco. "An invitation to the wedding is thanks enough on its own, in the eyes of tradition." He pauses and adds, "Not an eloping thing, either, thank you notes."

"So the idea of eloping appeals to you, then?"

Draco shrugs. "When I think about it..." He looks up at Harry's dumbfounded expression and laughs. "Yes, of course I think about it. Can't watch Ginny marry Dean and not have the thoughts cross my mind a bit more than usual, now, can I? Anyway, when I think about it, I think of both."

"Both?"

"Have the wizarding trappings and the like for my mother's sake, for the Weasleys' sake, even, since they are practically your parents." Draco signs another note and seals it up. "But first, stealing away to Kingsley's office and having him marry us and just being together and bonded and all that formal crap."

Harry can't keep the smile off his face as he tries to think of a clever way to thank Aunt Muriel for the set of self-sharpening knives. "Is that something you want, then?"

Draco looks across the table, meeting Harry's eye. "Yes," he says softly. "It is something I want."

"Well, thank God, then," Harry says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a velvet box. "I've been carrying this around for weeks. Do you want me to do the whole down on one knee bit, or can we just go to the bedroom and I give you that ring we saw in May?"

Harry's never seen Draco cry, but there's a first time for everything. At the very least, his boyfriend and just about fiancé's eyes are shining when he holds Harry's gaze and says, "I'd be fine with the latter."

The two of them walk upstairs, having difficulty keeping their hands and lips off each other as they go. They enter Harry's room—theirs, really, Harry thinks—and sit down on the bed, Harry brushing some stray hairs out of Draco's forehead to get a good look at his eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, would you like to marry me in a ceremony with no one else, then allow your mother to spend all the money she so desires on a ridiculously huge wedding?" Harry asks.

"There's nothing I'd like more, Harry Potter," Draco says, laughing. Harry joins in as he slides the ring Draco spotted months before onto a slim, pale finger attached to a man he's grown to love so deeply he can't even fathom it sometimes. He hands Draco the box and Draco gives Harry his ring, putting it on Harry's hand.

"I love your callouses," says Draco, tracing one with his newly ringed finger.

"I love how easily I can tell you use hand lotion," says Harry.

"I love you, actually."

"I love you too."

"But I'll be honest with you now." Draco wraps his arms around Harry's neck and looks at him with heavily lidded eyes, those same silver grey eyes that never stop captivating Harry. Harry puts his arms around Draco's waist. "If we don't consummate this engagement within a minute or two, I might have to call it off."

"That seems fair," Harry says seriously, and they lie down together, gentle and deliberate in their actions, so full of intense yet oh so quiet passion and the kind of emotion some couples, Harry thinks as Draco draws back but not far enough to quit holding him, might never get to experience. And he feels for them, but not enough to ignore the swelling of gratefulness and the pure, unadulterated joy that follows sincere words and great sex.

"You're thinking about me, aren't you?" Draco asks, that lovely smirk on his face.

"Of course," says Harry. "Astute observation on your part. Actually, it was more ... I was thinking about us. How ridiculously perfect this is. We argue and we resolve and we resent and we love and it's just ... it just is."

"Well put," says Draco, running a hand over Harry's ribs. "When do you want to do the marriage thing?"

"Next weekend, maybe?"

"If we did it Friday afternoon, we could have a mini-honeymoon over the weekend, go somewhere quiet and beautiful."

"That's good thinking. There are many reasons I keep you around, and your mind is one of them. Your sexy, sexy mind."

"You think everything I do is sexy," says Draco.

"Is that so wrong?" Harry leans in for a kiss, and it's lingering and soft and wonderful.

"Not at all. Nothing about this is. Nothing ever has been. And that's the most maudlin thing you'll ever hear me say."

"I doubt that somehow," Harry says. "Now that we're having our whole lives together, that is. But I can handle it. I can handle all of it."

"I know," Draco says quietly. "It's why I stay. You're for all of me. And I'm for all of you."

"We need to take a nap before this sentimentality gets out of hand," says Harry, curling his arms around Draco.

"I think it already has," Draco says, locking their legs together.

"I'm not going to complain," says Harry. "If I ever do, just remind me of this, OK? Because it's perfection. Really."

"Only if you'll do the same for me."

"Always," Harry promises, and they curl up together and dream for then, forever, and for always.

And how sentimental is that? It's a good thing they're not keeping track anymore, Harry thinks as Draco nuzzles into his neck and he marvels one more time at what perfection looks like.