Ten Proposals and Nine Drinks
Malfoy has been proposing to Harry all night. Harry wants a turn to propose as well.
“Here’s an idea,” Malfoy said.
“Uh-oh,” Harry said. “We haven’t even got to the pub yet.”
“Shut up,” Malfoy said. “I’m trying to say something.”
“For the love of - My plan involves a lot of free alcohol, what are you offering beside your mouth?”
“My mouth is always opened to you,” Harry said cheerfully.
Malfoy took a deep breath. “My idea is -”
“That maybe you can’t finish a sentence?”
“Oh, for -” Malfoy stopped to kick an innocent mailbox. “- fuck’s sake!”
Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how much of a brat he became in the five years he’d been together with Malfoy. Though, it was either become a quippy brat himself or get railed on day and night by Slytherins. Honestly, it was just Darwinism at its finest. Harry only did it to survive, no matter what Ron said (“You get the glow every time you snark with Malfoy, really, it’s actually more disturbing. You’re getting the after-sex glow without the sex. What the fuck?”)
Malfoy drew in a deep and slow breath. “You know how they give away free drinks to people on special occasions? Birthday, engagement, their bastard of an uncle died, you know, that sort of thing?”
“You want to pretend it’s one of us’ birthday,” Harry guessed.
“I would, but the whole magical world knows a certain twat’s birthday,” Malfoy pinched Harry’s side and Harry yelped, squirming away and bumping into a few girls.
“Sorry, sorry!” Harry flushed, glaring at Malfoy when he laughed. “So who are you killing off?”
“I was thinking Weasley, but I don’t want you to burst into tears.”
“I wouldn’t!” Harry said. “I can take a joke. You just have a shit sense of humor.”
“I do not!” Malfoy cried.
Harry ignore Malfoy’s protests and ducked into their first destination, which just meant whatever pub they see first. Malfoy was still talking indignantly when he sat down next to Harry. Harry cut him off.
“So, you want to propose,” Harry said. Of-fucking-course. “And I’m guessing you want to do the proposing.”
Malfoy latched onto Harry’s arm and batted his eyelashes. “You know me so well.”
Harry snorted. “Have at it, then.”
“Told you it would work,” Malfoy preened beside Harry as they head to the next pub.
Harry raised his eyebrows. “I never said it wouldn’t.”
“I could hear you think it!” Malfoy insisted. “Well, nevermind that. Wasn’t I amazing at the end?”
“You certainly were…something,” Harry said.
“I admit I hadn’t thought of an exit strategy,” Malfoy skipped on the icy road, making the back of Harry’s neck prickled with anxiety and he untucked his hands from his pocket so it would be easier to grab Malfoy if the prick slipped and fell. “But they all seemed eager to send us off into our bright future together.”
Malfoy’s “exit strategy” mostly consisted of grabbing Harry’s face and snogging him until Harry was weak in the knees, before loudly declaring “I must have you now, my love! My sun! My petit four! (“Petit?” Harry had sputtered and Malfoy shut him up with a hard pinch to the face) I cannot wait to have you until after our joyous union, let’s go now, fiancé!”
They were ushered to the door by a harried bartender and laughing crowd. Malfoy blew a kiss at the pub at large before they stepped out, and his face made Harry wished this was always how every one of Malfoy’s plans went- dramatic and ridiculous with the backdrop of happy grins. Not anything else, never badly. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how his life could have been like if Malfoy had been kinder, and they had ended up friends when they were children.
Harry took Malfoy’s hand in his. It didn’t matter right now, or anymore. They still had a young night, and many pubs, and many more proposals to make and receive.
Well, Malfoy certainly had a knack for proposal, unfortunately, he also had a bigger knack at mortifying Harry.
Twice, Harry had to stop Malfoy from describing Harry’s dick with details even himself didn’t know about. Twice, Harry couldn’t even understand what the hell Malfoy was saying because he was so drunk from the previous congratulation-this-is-on-the-house drinks.
(Harry had been ready to call it a night by the fourth pub, but Malfoy, who was so determined to get free drinks, had brewed sobering potions to take with him.
“Drink up, Potter,” Malfoy had said. “I am not a rich man any more, and I insist on milking this dry since I’m sure this is going to blow up in the Prophets tomorrow.”
“You don’t care about ruining my reputation?” Harry had said.
“What reputation?” Malfoy had said, and downed the potion.)
Once, though, Malfoy went from loud and sappy tirade to fervent whispers against Harry’s lips. His hands, cold, clenched Harry’s jacket, and he spoke like he was kissing Harry, swaying them both, with Harry gasping for air.
They had gotten champagne for that one.
By the time they were drinking their third Sobering potion, they had successfully gotten nine drinks from both magical as well as non-magical establishments, and Harry was a little irritated.
“I want to have a go,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Please, Potter, you barely got through your speech at the Granger-Weasley cult séance, and you knew most of the people there.”
“Barely being the keyword,” Harry argued. “I want to try. And stop calling their wedding a séance.”
“All weddings look like a séance to me,” Malfoy said loftily. “And do not try to tell me that the abomination Granger and Weasley called a dance wasn’t a ritual to summon the devil or an attempt to murder me through sheer mortification?”
“I’m telling her you said that.”
“What makes you think I care?”
Harry squinted at his boyfriend. “You don’t have the guts.”
Malfoy flushed. “Please don’t tell her.”
“Let me propose next and I won’t.”
“Fine!” Malfoy said. “Good god, cease the histrionics, Potter, it doesn’t become you. But just this once, if I don’t get the attention at the next bar, I shall certainly perish from neglect, and who is going to tell you your hair look atrocious in the morning, hmm?”
“You talk way too much,” Harry said, pushing the door open, and let it slam in Malfoy’s face.
Malfoy caught it smoothly. Damn. “Come now, darling. Betrothed lovers shouldn’t be so testy with each other.”
Harry sighed. “If you’re this annoying before we’re engaged, I can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be after.”
“I have great plans for it,” Malfoy said as they sat down. “I’m waiting, lovely.”
Draco looked away, gleefully awaiting the abysmal attempt of Potter’s proposal. He was never good with words, was he? Let him see what happens when he tries to best Draco at his game. They would never get their free drinks with it depending on Potter, but that was quite alright, the privilege of knowing - and saying - he was better at this was worth the lost alcohol.
He waited and waited for the stuttering and ers to come, but instead someone nearby gasped.
Draco turned around to look for Potter sputtering, but instead he found Potter kneeling. Draco stared. Potter smiled.
Harry’s smile settled into his face - it became him - it looked as though he was meant to always be so - smiling.
And yes, somewhere, at the very back of his mind, Draco knew he would be so lucky to have Potter’s smile sunk into him for the rest of his life.
At the very front of his mind, however -
Harry smiled at Malfoy. He looked very startled.
Malfoy didn’t say anything. His eyes were wide and bright and lovely.
“Really lovely,” Harry mumbled.
Harry shook his head. “I just -” he swallowed. Even though Malfoy’s dramatics unexpectedly set this whole night up for Harry, he was still shaky and scared. No matter how comfortably familiar the sight of Malfoy was for Harry, he was still trembling.
“I just love you,” Harry said, going for the one thing he knew he would never be scared of saying. Or would never waver no matter how scared Harry was. But then all of the valleys of words inside of Harry came tumbling out, too - “There’s nothing else, but it’s everything too. I love you, with you, holding you, spending time with you, living with you, being loved by you, everything. It all boils down to loving you, yeah?”
Malfoy looked as scared as Harry felt, so to not drag on, Harry fumbled for his pocket.
Finally, Malfoy started. “Oh,” he said.
“Yeah,” Harry laughed nervously, and it took him two tries to open the velvet box. The ring was pale, with a round moonstone in the middle. Harry remembered the day spend looking for rings, how it was filled with sparkling diamonds and gems, but the grey stones drew Harry in like Malfoy’s eyes always did, and the decision was easy.
Now, with both stone and eyes in the same vicinity, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sappy at the uncanny resemblance between the two.
“Potter,” Malfoy’s voice was wobbly. “I swear to…I swear if this is your idea of getting free drinks, I will maim you.”
Harry laughed. “That was all you, prat. Of course you would mess up my plan, even on this. But then, I want to have you around so you would keep messing up all my carefully thought out plans.”
“Carefully thought out?” Malfoy swiped underneath his nose with his knuckles. The tip of his pointy nose was red. “You must still be drunk.”
“You’re admitting you aren’t as good at potions as you claim you are?”
Sheepishly, Harry said, “I rather not.”
Malfoy’s hand pinched his thigh. His eyes never left Harry. He wasn’t blinking as well. For a moment, Malfoy looked like a statue, like his mind had forgotten it was still in the real world and left altogether.
“Will you, then?” Harry asked, belatedly. “Marry me.”
Malfoy’s laugh sounded manic. “Will I?” he said. “Who is going to tell you your hair looks atrocious in the morning if not me?”
“I don’t know. Hermione does a pretty good job,” Harry said. His knees were starting to hurt, but he didn’t want to get up.
“She does not!” Malfoy yelped. “I am marrying you, Potter, only I can insult your hair.”
“Yes,” Harry said. “Yes.” And he slid the ring onto Malfoy’s violently shaking finger with equally trembly hands.
Beside them, the bartender was frowning. “Excuse me,” he said, “are you still calling the person you proposed to by their last name?”
“Yes,” Harry said. The word felt incredibly gorgeous to say.
“Oh,” the bartender said. “Okay.” He turned around and poured two glasses of white wine. “It’s on the house.”
“That’s lovely of you,” Malfoy said. He had his left hand pressed to his chest. “But why don’t you give it to whoever sits here next?” Malfoy’s eyes sought out Harry’s. His smile made him looked all kinds of shine. “We have a séance to plan.”
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