“What?”Thewordneedthrowshimoffabit,thisonethingthathehadnotbeenabletoshakefromthewar,whereyoumustbeattherighttimeandrightplaceoryoufindyourselflosingthebattle,wherepeopleneedingyouwasnotsomethingtotakelightly,becauseonlymerlinknowswhattheproblemwas.“Whatdoeshewant?”
“Don’tknowthat,doI?”Buthedoes,probably,he’sjustangryanddoesn’tknowwhattodowithit.“Justgofindhim.”
Dracogoes,fasterthanheprobablyneedsto,weavingthroughthecrowdandignoringthepeoplewhoarecallingouthappygreetings,duckingaroundthehalfemptyglassesofchampagnethattheguestshadleftfloatinginmidairsotheycouldcomebacktoitlater.Itonlytakeshimsecondsuntilhegetstothegarden,butthat’slongenoughtoletthepanicsetin,sowhenhecatchessightofHarry,it’stheonlythingthatletshimreallybreatheagain.
Thegardenwasbeautiful.Harryhadsaidthatitusedtobeagreatbigtangleofthings,butthatwasbeforeLunagotherhandsonit.Now,everythingwasinitsrightfulplaceandtherewasevenawalkwaytothecenterofthegarden,alittleclearingwithastonebenchrightinthemiddle.Youhavetopassunderanivycoveredarchwaytogetit,anotheroneofherinstallments.
“SorryI’mlate.”Hewalksthroughthepathwayandtheflowersreachouttohimliketheyknowheisthere.“Georgeforgot.”
“It’salright.You’renotlate.”Harrytakeshishandandleadshimovertothebench.“Ijustwantedtotalk.”
“Youcouldtalktomeoutthere.”
“Reallytalk.Withoutpeoplelistening.”Despiteeverything,Dracoishitwiththenigglinglittlethoughtthathemightbeabouttobebrokenupwith,whichhereallyhopesiswrong,becauseMerlinwouldthatbeannoying.“BecauseIhavesomethingIwanttotellyou.”
“Mefirst.”ThewordsjumpoutofDraco’smouthjustliketheyhadthenightbefore,withoutreason,withoutwarning,withnothingexceptforawanting,aneedforHarrytoknowthis,becausehe’sdonewithwastingtime.“Aboutlastnight.Iloveyou.Withoutmaybesorprobablysoranytypeofpercentages.Icompletely,totally,definitelyloveyou.”Harrysortoflookslikehe’sbeenslapped,he’sthatsurprised.Butinagoodway.Thunderstruck,thesnidelittlevoiceinhisheadthatsoundslikePansypipedup.“Iloveyouforever,HarryJamesPotter.”
“Good.That’sreally,reallygood,Draco.Because,”Andheslipsdownoffthebenchontooneknee,kneelinginthedampgrass.Hishandsaretremblingsobadthathecanbarelygettheboxoutofthepocketofhisjacket,andthat’swhenDracorealizesthatithadbeensolongsincehisownhandswereanythingbutsteady.“BecauseIcareaboutyoumorethanIcareaboutanythinginmylife,andIwanttokeepfeelingthiswayfortherestofmylife.Iwanttomarryyou,DracoMalfoy.Allyouhavetodoissayyes.”
“Itoldyou,”Dracosays,chokingontears.“Iloveyouforever.”
“Yougottasayit.”Harry’seyeswereshining,too.“Ineedtohearyousayit.”
“Yes,”Dracoalmostyellsthewordandthenhegivesuponpretenseandhugshim,theforceofitknockingthembothbackontothecoldgrassofthegarden.It’sthemostbeautifulplacehecouldeverhaveimaginedthistohappen,themoonhighoverheadandfirefliesblinkinginandoutofsightandthoseflowersleaningintoformasortofcanopyaroundthem,reaching,reaching,seekingoutthetwoofthemthesamewaythatheandHarryarecurrentlyseekingeachotherout,untiltheyaresharingeachother’sair,breathingeachother’swords.“Yesamilliontimesover.Yes,yes,yes.”
Harry
Theycomeoutofthegardenhandinhand,aringshiningonboththeirhands.
Nooneknows.Noonesees,withthewaytheyarebothkeepingithiddenunderthecuffsoftheirjacketsandbehindglassesofchampagne.Andtheyaren’ttelling.It’snice,foramoment,tohavesomethingjusttotheirown.
“Youreallylovehim,don’tyou?”Ronsays,hiseyestrackingHermionearoundthedancefloorassheispassedbetweenSeamusandDeanandGeorgeinsomeweirddancethatHarryhadneverseenbeforeanddoesnotthinkactuallyexists.TherewouldbeatimewhereRonwouldhavebeenforcinghimselftobeincluded,terrifiedthatshewashavingmorefunwiththem,thatshelikedthembetter,butnowhe’scontenttoletherhaveherfun,confidentthatit’salwaysgoingtobehimshe’sreturningto.“Draco,Imean.”
RonwastheonlyonethatHarryhadtold.Theonlyonethathehadtrustednottotellanyoneelse.
“Ireally,reallydo.”Hemakesafistjustsohecanfeelthechillofhisringagainsthisskin,eventhoughitwasquicklywarming.“Forever.”
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