"Oh, mon dieu," Draco sighed. "This wine is marvelous."
Harry smiled as he topped off Draco's glass of Cabernet Franc once again. He sipped from his own glass, listening to Draco's detailed descriptions of the wine's acidity and body. Harry could listen to him babble for hours. And he sometimes did -- he learned early on that a tipsy Draco is a talkative one.
They were in Draco's favorite restaurant, a muggle place Harry had shown him a few years before. Draco swiftly fell in love with the ambiance (and the lambs chops), and declared it his favorite spot for special occasions. Birthdays, celebrations, anything but anniversaries -- Draco insisted on cooking anniversary dinners himself.
Harry loved the way Draco spoke with such passion, no matter the subject. He loved the way Draco's hand movements became more animated over the course of the night. He especially loved the way Draco occasionally slipped French phrases into his ramblings, just because he knew it drove Harry mad.
"...you..." Draco paused thoughtfully, then leaned across the table to poke Harry in the chest. "I thought I'd hit a rake with you." He noticed Harry's amused puzzlement. "A rake. You don't know that one? Must be French. It's an expression, 'means unrequited love, Harry. You were my Romeo but I wasn't your Juliet. No, not Juliet, I'm not... Mercutio, then. I thought, the boy who lived, he'd want nothing to do with me, especially with the way I'd made such an arse of myself." He took a long sip from his glass. Harry took the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.
"I thought the same thing. I was practically obsessed with you," Harry laughed. "I couldn't imagine you had feelings for me, with all of the insults you slung my way. Then again, they did add to the sexual tension."
Draco choked on his wine. He composed himself, then added, "Yes, I suppose they did."
Harry shook his head, grinning. "Draco Picture-of-Elegance Malfoy, spitting wine all over himself. Got to be a humbling experience."
Draco dabbed at his muggle shirt with a napkin. "Oh? I thought we'd gotten over the last-names thing."
"You don't like me calling you Malfoy?"
"Well, I don't mind, but honestly, we've been together four years. 'Malfoy' is a bit tired, don't you think?" He raised an eyebrow, and Harry picked up on the teasing tone in his voice.
"I could call you something else. 'Pretentious bastard' perhaps?"
"Hmm," Draco pondered. "Too honest."
"'Honeysuckle'? 'Sweetie-pie'? 'Vanilla cupcake'?"
"God, those are much worse!"
"Hmm, not 'cupcake', not 'pretentious bastard', and not 'Malfoy'..." Harry smiled mischievously. "How about 'Potter'?"
"Harry, Harry. Just when I thought you couldn't be more ridiculous." Draco rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "That is your name and you know it, you git. Even I know it, and I'm drunk drabbling Draco."
Ignoring the fact that Draco had definitely just made up a word, Harry continued. "Yes, I know it's my name, but I'm willing to share, if you like." He left his chair and knelt on the floor next to Draco -- on one knee.
Time stood still for the both of them; Draco's eyes widened to the size of a house elf's and began to fill with tears. His hands flew to his mouth and he choked back a sob. Harry pulled out a tiny black velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a breathtaking ring, silver with diamonds and emeralds, polished to a glittering shine. Several small gasps were evoked from around the restaurant.
"Draco, I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, because even when I hate you, I love you with all of my heart. I hope you feel the same, and that I'm not...well, hitting a rake here." He took a deep breath. "Draco Lucius Malfoy... Will you marry me?"
"Yes, Harry James Potter, yes!" Draco tackled Harry to the floor in a smothering kiss. The world melted away, and the only thing left for them was each other. They were engaged, and that was the only thing that could matter.
...until they were escorted from the restaurant for getting to second base on the floor. Oops.
