For Draco, marriage was always a simple fact of life. Growing up pureblood, he was taught from a young age that it was just another one of his duties—he was to grow up, marry a respectable pureblood woman and produce an heir. And for a while, Draco was okay with this—that is, until he realized that he in no way, shape or form, fancied women.
He internalized this struggle, though, and by the time his parents informed him that they'd be marrying him to Pansy Parkinson (unless he could find a suitable alternative, of course) he wasn't nearly as bothered by it as he should have been. For one, Pansy was a lesbian, so at least he wouldn't have to hide that part of himself for the rest of his life.
But then the second wizarding war ended, and Draco quickly realized that it didn't have to be this way. Pureblood ideologies were quickly falling out of style as many families renounced the old ways in an attempt to regain their status. Draco saw the effects of this first hand when Pansy tearfully announced her engagement to her future wife. He experienced it again when he mended ties with Harry Potter, and Harry had casually mentioned in passing that he was bisexual.
It wasn't long after that that they started dating, and after three years, marriage was no longer an idea that Draco pushed to the back of his mind—no, it was now at the very forefront. For a long while, he had a hard time determining what he wanted, though. Pansy frequently informed him that marriage isn't for everyone, Draco. You don't have to get married if you don't want to.
That was the problem, though. Draco didn't know if he truly wanted to marry Harry, or if it was simply a side effect of his upbringing.
The accumulation of Harry's little gestures of love was what finally made Draco figure it out.
Harry's love was subtle. It was the way he'd wake Draco from a nightmare with a soft kiss, or how he'd bring Draco lunch at work when he'd forgotten it.
Once he finally decided that yes, he really did want to marry Harry, Draco panicked. He had no idea how Harry felt about marriage—the only time it had ever been mentioned was when Ron and Hermione had gotten married. Harry had been genuinely happy for them, and he never expressed any amount of dislike for marriage, even when Hermione called him in the middle of the night, in tears over the stress of her wedding plans. However, Harry had also never given any hints about how he felt about marriage.
And so, Draco was freaking out.
He bought a ring anyways, of course. It was a simple gold wedding band that sparkled when the sun hit it. It was subtle, just like Harry liked it. He never liked to wear flashy, expensive clothing or accessories like Draco. He was perfectly happy with his worn cloak and frayed pants, even when he had to frequently patch them.
Draco tried not to let his anxiety show—he continued to shower Harry with his affection as usual, whether it was buying every ridiculous trinket that made Draco think of him, or Harry's favorite treats, or offering Harry one of his signature massages after a long day. If Harry noticed any change in his demeanor, he didn't say anything.
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There was a reason that Harry never brought up marriage—it was just something he never thought about. Growing up, he didn't exactly have caregivers who taught him about love, dating or marriage, so everything he knew he'd gleaned from observing the adults in his life. He knew he'd probably get married someday, but it was always something that was in the far distant future.
In fact, he hadn't even considered what it would be like to marry Draco Malfoy, even three years into their relationship. Perhaps he was just oblivious to any hints that Draco dropped, or maybe it was because, for so long, he didn't understand why people got married in the first place. It wasn't until he was twelve years old and he observed the loving relationship between Molly and Arthur Weasley that he started to understand.
It wasn't that he didn't love his boyfriend. He loved Draco more than anyone or anything he'd ever loved. Maybe it was because he felt so content—after three years, Harry's life really couldn't be any more perfect than it already was.
Their shared flat was only a few minutes walk from their favorite cafe, where they'd go on lazy mornings for a small breakfast. On the mornings where they couldn't be lazy, Harry was often up before dawn, making breakfast just the way Draco liked it. It was one of Harry's favorite things—he'd always been an early riser, and the satisfaction of seeing Draco dig into his breakfast vanished any of Harry's residual sleepiness.
Maybe it was the look on Draco's face when Harry visited him at work, or the small notes Draco delivered during his lunch break (usually along with some treacle tart) or the way Draco reacted when Harry kissed him deeply, tangling his fingers through his hair and pulling him close, but Harry had never felt so utterly loved in his entire life.
That being said, Harry still had his fair share of bad days. There were days when everything made him angry, when the smallest inconvenience sent waves of frustration through him that he struggled to suppress. There were days when he couldn't find the energy to get himself out of bed, when he was plagued with nightmares during the night and flashbacks during the day. There were days when he simply couldn't understand why Draco was still with him, especially when Draco offered him so much love, and Harry offered up hardly anything in return.
It was on one of these bad days that Harry dragged himself home from work, fully intending to get changed and snap himself out of the bad mood before Draco could see him like this. They'd had this date night planned for months, and Harry wasn't about to ruin it because he wasn't able to suck it up and push through the day.
"Is that you, Harry?" Draco called from the depths of their shared closet, his voice severely muffled by the clothing. "Hey, which of these should I wear tonight?" His voice became clearer as he exited the closet, holding two sets of dress robes. "Babe?" He frowned as he caught sight of Harry, who was trying very hard to not appear exhausted.
"Er, I like them both," Harry said truthfully, rubbing his eyes. "I still need to figure out what to wear."
Draco blocked the entrance to their closet as Harry approached it. "Maybe we should reschedule," he eyed Harry, noting his disheveled appearance. "You should just change into your pajamas."
"But—" Harry frowned, "you've been looking forward to this."
Draco shook his head. "Yeah, but you look exhausted." He pulled Harry close and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Go shower and get dressed for bed."
"No, I'm fine," Harry insisted, "I'm not that tired. We should still go."
Draco looked Harry up and down. "Harry, you're making me tired, just looking at you. Let me take care of you, alright? Go get dressed for bed.
Harry nodded glumly, but he was far too tired to shower, so he opted for a strong scourgify once Draco had left the room. He felt a weight pull on his mind as he slowly changed into his pajamas, unable to shake the guilt that was worsening by the minute. He'd totally ruined their date night—how was he going to make it up to Draco? Not only that, but Harry was being so stubborn and nasty to him, when all he was doing was trying to help.
By the time he was ready for bed, Harry really felt like he was going to kneel over any minute and pass out. All he wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep by himself, letting himself be as sad as he wanted.
But then Draco called Harry downstairs, and Harry couldn't find it in his heart to ignore him. He trudged down the stairs and into the living room to find Draco with an excessive amount of Chinese take-away and a handful of muggle films.
Harry felt like he really couldn't focus on a movie at the moment—the idea made him feel like his mind was being squeezed from all sides. It must have shown on his face, because Draco jumped up and led him to the couch, assuring him that he didn't even have to pay attention to whatever film they chose—he just wanted Harry to sit with him while they ate dinner.
"You're not mad?" Harry asked softly as the first film started playing.
Draco frowned. "Why would I be mad?"
"I ruined our date night," he answered, fidgeting with the take-away container. "I'm sorry."
"Who says it's ruined?" Draco asked. "We're eating dinner and spending time together. That sounds like the perfect date to me."
Harry furrowed his brow. "But you've been looking forward to it for ages. You made the reservations months ago."
Draco put down his food and shifted to face him. "Harry, I was looking forward to it because I was looking forward to spending time with you. I could care less about the fancy dinner. I'm just as happy here, watching you shovel Chinese food into your mouth without an ounce of eloquence."
It was a good attempt at humor, but Harry didn't laugh. "You really like spending time with me that much?"
Draco grabbed his hands. "Of course I do—where is all of this coming from, babe?"
Harry shrugged half heartedly. "I dunno, I guess I've just had a bad couple days."
Normally, Harry was able to recognize when he was being irrational—when he knew, deep down, that Draco really did love him. Except, recently, Draco had been acting differently. He was careful around Harry, almost like he was uncomfortable, but just when Harry was starting to think it wasn't just all in his head, Draco would come home with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, kiss Harry on the cheek and drag him into the bedroom.
Maybe it was just the extra stress from work, but this time it was particularly bad—Harry's self-deprecating thoughts were stronger this time, and he was struggling to hide them.
"Oh, come here, love." Draco put Harry's food on the table and leaned back against the couch, pulling Harry to his chest.
Harry sighed into Draco's shirt, reveling in the rare sensation of being held. As comforting as it was, he still felt guilty—Draco was doing so much to cheer him up, but none of it was working because Harry didn't have the guts to express what was really bothering him in the first place.
"You know I love you, right?" Draco pressed a kiss into Harry's hair, cradling his head with his hand.
"I know," Harry said in a small voice. "That's the thing."
Harry didn't see the panicked expression that flickered across Draco's face, but he did hear the hint of worry in his voice as he asked, "what do you mean?"
Harry took a shaky breath. "I haven't done anything to deserve it."
"What—what do you mean?"
"You're always doing so much for me," he answered, "you get me flowers and help me through my panic attacks and always make sure I'm warm at night, and even now you're trying so hard to make me better—and what do I do for you in return? Nothing!"
"Harry," Draco cradled Harry's face in his hand so that he'd look at him. "You don't have to do anything to earn somebody's love. Just being you is enough."
"It is?" Harry gave him a searching look, his eyes starting to water, and Draco kissed him softly before continuing.
"Of course it is," Draco said. "Besides, you do more things for me than you realize—and I'm sorry I haven't expressed how much they mean to me." He paused when Harry gave him a doubtful look. "Not only do you make me breakfast every morning, but you always make sure I've eaten enough, too. You defend me every time someone at the Ministry makes a nasty comment about my past—and you force them to acknowledge my accomplishments, even when it makes them uncomfortable."
"That's just because I care about you," Harry said, and he flushed. "Right, I guess I see your point."
Draco laughed softly, cupping Harry's face in his hand. "You protect me from the world without leaving me ignorant—because you know what that's like, and you don't want me to go through that. You see me, Harry, all of me, and yet you're still here. You're not afraid or disgusted or disappointed. It's the fact that you love me."
Harry's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Draco's hand, finally relaxing in Draco's arms. "That's true," he murmured, "I do love you."
"And I love you too," Draco kissed his forehead, letting Harry's head fall back against him.
Harry mumbled something into Draco's shirt, and smiled when he felt Draco's laugh vibrate his chest. He marveled at the fact that Draco knew exactly the right thing to say to make Harry feel better. Maybe it was because Draco knew him more than Harry even knew himself. It was just like Draco had said—he saw Harry, and wasn't afraid of what he saw.
Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. And as he drifted off to sleep, Harry realised with a start that Draco wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, too.
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