Chapter Text
“Are you mad?” Pansy asked, her wine sloshing precariously in her glass. “You got married at dawn and didn’t bother to wake me up?”
“Oh, leave him alone, Pans. This is the most normal thing he’s done all year.”
Draco did not bother sitting up from his position on the sofa. The Manor had redecorated the sitting room, sweeping away the detritus from last night’s party and making everything slightly softer. Deep greens and reds abounded. And Harry—his husband—had apparently had a little panic over Christmas celebrations and sent Granger and Weasley ahead to tell their closest friends to stay.
They would have stayed anyway. Draco is sure of that.
Well—they might have stayed. He had been harbouring a secret fear that he’d kept them all at too great a distance in his grief, and the party hadn’t been enough to convince him.
This, though? Christmas Eve in his sitting room, with a ridiculous group of Slytherins and Gryffindors—and Luna Lovegood and a Hufflepuff whose name escaped Draco after one glass of champagne—that was enough.
There was an enormous stack of Christmas crackers on the side table, and people kept wandering over to open them. Weasley wore a paper crown three feet tall. Seamus Finnigan—when did he get there?—had sparkling rings on all ten of his fingers. An entire wizard chess set sprang out of one of the crackers, and Dean Thomas and Gregory Goyle were embroiled in what appeared to be a rather solemn game. Both of them had floppy green hats on, each decorated with a tinkling bell.
Harry and Granger went to the table of Christmas crackers, heads leaned close together. The marriage bond fizzed inside Draco like the loveliest champagne he’d ever had. Better, actually, because it didn’t make him feel separated from the world. It made him feel firmly grounded. Like he was supposed to be here.
“You’re invited to the reception.” Draco found Pansy’s hand and squeezed it.
“Fine,” she sniffed. “But I was looking forward to being your best witch.”
“You’re still my best witch,” Draco said.
“Tell us about it again. He was standing on your shoes?”
“If that isn’t a sign he’s gone for you, I don’t know what is,” said Blaise.
Over by the Christmas crackers, Harry and Granger had progressed from a whispered conversation to one that was…not whispered.
“It’s all right, Harry!” Granger was saying. “Just do it. You won’t be able to sleep, otherwise, and you know how you get when you don’t—”
“Hermione!”
“I’m supporting you!” Granger said, her voice low but so pointed that it cut through the voices of everyone gathered in the sitting room. “And he loves you. He’s going to love—”
“Shh.”
“Come on. Come on, Harry. Let’s go together.”
Granger took Harry by the arm. Weasley looked around from his spot at the table with all the food as if he’d sensed the shift in the air, then crossed the sitting room to join Harry and Granger. They walked on either side of him.
Draco sat up at that. It was very like a traditional wedding ceremony. He couldn’t just sit there, so he scrambled to his feet. Pansy leapt up next to him and put her arm through his.
“Hello, Potter!” she cried. “What have you got there?”
“A gift,” he said, his face flushing a deep red.
“What sorts of intentions do you have for our Draco with this gift?”
“Pansy,” Draco murmured.
“Well,” Harry said, lifting his chin. “I love him. Not that you could stop me. Since we’re already married.” And then, as if he thought no one could see, he stuck his tongue out at Pansy.
Pansy stuck her tongue out at Potter.
Blaise clapped his hands. “Let’s not forget it’s Christmas Eve.”
Draco could tell, from how Pansy’s arm had tightened around his, that she was very much enjoying antagonising Harry. Was this his future? His friends antagonising his husband?
Although—his husband had started it.
“Show him, Harry,” Granger said, and patted Harry’s arm.
Harry took a box out of his pocket and stepped closer to Draco. “I got this for you,” he said softly. “I remembered when we were looking at rings before, and I know we don’t need them, but, like, I want everyone to know I gave you one. If you don’t—”
Granger shook Harry’s arm, and he pinched his lips shut for a few heartbeats.
“Here,” he said finally, and held out the box.
Draco opened it.
It was silver and shiny and new, and Draco loved it instantly.
“I’m sorry it’s not, like, an antique,” Harry said in a rush.
“Harry,” Granger scolded.
“I love it. Harry, I—I love it.” It was Draco’s. Only Draco’s. It had none of the past clinging to it. It was made of hope and anticipation. Or perhaps that was the champagne.
No, it was Harry.
There was nothing to do but kiss him, so Draco did. Harry’s hands came to his waist and pulled him in closer. The marriage bond jangled like a thousand bells, taking Draco’s breath away.
“You’ll drown him with all this snagging!” Pansy said at his side, and Draco laughed, then heaved in an enormous breath. “Merlin, Potter. You can’t kiss him until he suffocates!”
“Didn’t,” Harry said, and took the box back from Draco. He put the ring on Draco’s finger, and it sized itself with a happy little tug of magic. Harry beamed at the silver glinting on Draco’s skin. “That’s nice.”
“It would be nicer if we both had one,” Draco said, and took a very similar box from his own pocket.
Harry’s eyes went wide and pleased. “For me?”
“For you.”
Draco opened the box for him and slipped the gold band on Harry’s finger. “I’m sorry it’s not an antique,” he said as the ring warmed, fitting itself to Harry. “It’s quite new, actually. It was only made this afternoon.”
“We only had twenty minutes!”
“I was motivated.”
“I think now’s when you’re supposed to kiss,” Ron said, his crown tilting wildly.
Draco hadn’t noticed the rest of the party—all their friends—gathering closer. They were all watching. They would all see him with Harry. They’d know.
It would be wonderful.
So Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him.
When all their friends cheered, it sounded like wedding magic.