Holy Matrimony

Chapter 1

A Gown for Harry

Draco Malfoy, rich, dashing, charming, naturally blonde (but under speculation), handsome and engaged to the luscious Boy Who Lived and Fell In Love With His Sworn Enemy And Caused Quite The Controversy, stepped into Leather and Lace: The Wedding, the posh adult wedding boutique in Diagon Alley at a little over four 'o clock in the afternoon. A little bell rang above the door and he stepped in while looking critically at the pink walls. Pink was so last season. Yellow was the new pink (as trumpeted gaily by Witch Weekly).

Aside from the pink walls, orbs of yellowish light floated around the low ceiling, following the customers as they made their way around the clothing displays. Scattered around the store were differently shaped mirrors and mannequins modeling the latest style the wedding industry churned out.

He looked around and headed for the wedding gowns section, peering at the white dresses. At once a uniformed saleswitch carrying an inventory list came over.

"May I help you?" she asked politely. Draco glanced carelessly over his shoulder at her while holding a beautiful white gown (with no top. Odd, the topless wedding craze, he thought to himself). "No thank you. I think I'll just look around. Maybe I'll find the gown I want."

The witch nodded. "Well, we've got a new shipment of," she traced her quill down the inventory list. "...leather gowns." She looked at him slyly. "You seem to be the fashionista type. Plus, I think your wife will like it."

Putting the gown back on the rack, he looked back at her smirking. "I think you know me too well. Where are they?"

Rachael Simmons, the saleswitch (Draco sneaked a glance at her nametag because he could), shook her head, smiling. "In the back. I daresay your wife would be surprised at what gowns these days are made of. We have," she glanced at her inventory list again. "We have black and white leather, studs, mesh, anything you want. We can custom make." She waved her hand at the mannequins that posed by the shop's display window.

The headless mannequins waved back and posed in the gowns they wore. Not bad, the middle one, but frilly and pink with "I'm with him" down the front doesn't suit me at all. He paused. Not that I'll be the one wearing it. Rachael waved her hand in front of him. "Mister..." she trailed off.

Draco started. "Mal- fin. Malfin. Yes." Draco learned long ago that Malfoy wasn't too popular or respected anymore. Entirely to blame on dear father, Draco thought amusedly. Lucius Malfoy did not go back, yes, back to Azkaban quietly. Naturally, Draco was annoyed how his father handled being finally discovered as the Dark Lord's right hand man. Draco knew the tee Lucius wore under those black robes emblazoned with "My Dark Lord is Better than Your Old Fart" in shocking pink and black (Draco had no clue) was sure to be compelling evidence to allegiance to a Dark Lord with a sorry sense of fashion. Naturally, Lucius decided his intellect and wisdom was better than Draco's logic. He also decided that screaming at the top of his nasty tied-with-a-dainty-black-bow hair and looking rather mad and crazy was how he would be seen being led out of the Ministry's Wizengamot court. Hence, Azkaban with a bonus straightjacket and Muggle Valium, both courtesy of the Ministry.

Following Rachael to the storeroom at the back, he decided that he wanted to get something classical. Something that wouldn't be out of style when the morning after the wedding. But he wanted something edgy and new. He wanted something sexy and different. He wanted leather.

White leather.

White matte-finished leather with steel studs and full skirts with a mesh veil. And white stilettos.

Draco Malfoy was very fashionable, and sometimes a tad bit compulsive and irrationally odd.

The storeroom was surprisingly well-kept, unlike the dusty and dirty cellars he saw in the other shops in the Alley. Will never go back to that lingerie shop after seeing state of floor and storeroom, he remembered thinking when he hurriedly left a store the previous day. He just hoped the lingerie (not for himself!) he bought could be returned because the suspicious-looking stains were disturbing him. And they made funny noises when he wore them (but he was only testing if they fit!) (really!).

ANYWAY, this was beside the point.

Clothes hung from every inch of the storeroom in neat rows on metal racks. To Draco's left were some more magical mannequins folding up some gowns and tuxedos. Draco wondered how on earth Muggle wedding chic couture landed in a Wizarding wedding boutique.

Then again, it must've been because of the Muggle-inspired fashion craze currently sweeping London. Very in-vogue, trumpeted Witch Weekly's Official Fashion Guru Justin Finch-Fletchley. Draco saw no sense in wearing Muggle 'slacks'. As his father's former coworker and Muggle-enthusiast Archie Cauldwell proclaimed proudly, 'I like a healthy breeze around my privates, thank you'.

Plebian.

ANYWAY, this was again beside the point.

Draco rummaged around the clothes racks looking for that white matte-finished leather gown with steel studs and full skirts. He also kept on the lookout for some trendy white mesh he knew that good old Madam Malkin down the alley could whip up into something wonderful. Rachael hovered around behind him clutching her inventory list while suggesting some clothing styles. She was very adamant about the gothic chic.

"I think your future wife will be thrilled to see this..." She held up a tiny black leather corset with a matching thong. Draco did a double take. He was so sure he saw a handkerchief and a headband. Smaller was more these days he presumed, looking slightly ill. What was with strips of cloth being overpriced and sold as apparel?

A genius idea of cutting costs, marketing new styles and encouraging blatant stares and naughty glances, replied his ever-trustworthy Voice in His Head. Knocking his head slightly and wishing not for the first time that the Voice in His Head would get out of his, well- head, Draco reached the Leather Rack, as Rachael's voice helpfully pointed out somewhere in the background.

She went off to the other side of the storeroom and led a mannequin over to where Draco was. "Would you like Alice," she gestured to the headless and rather naked mannequin who waved cheerfully (at least Draco guessed she did), "to fit the clothes so you'd see how they'd look?"

He didn't look up from a gown he was inspecting (Too retro, the Voice in His Head said disapprovingly as Draco caught sight of the clunky platform shoes that came with the gown). "Oh, I'll just try some of these on myself, thank you," Draco said vaguely.

Rachael, he decided, was very well-practiced in doing an unfazed-but-for-an-artfully-raised-eyebrow-and-nod face. She must have seen these things often. Then again, maybe not his case exactly, but he had to fit into the gowns or else dear spouse-to-be wouldn't fit into them either. He began to wonder about what customers came into the shop, whether they were as fashionable as him. Or as disturbing. He shrugged.

"Well," he said finally, straightening up holding up a couple of gowns. "Where are the dressing rooms?"

Rachael pointed out to the main store. Surprisingly, she still had a straight face on, though Draco detected a shadow of amusement. Or embarrassment. He figured that he never really was that good at reading people's emotions unless the person said, "I am happy today. The sky is blue and birds are singing."

Then again Draco wouldn't have needed expert mood-reading skills when that unlikely situation popped up as he was very good at walking away as fast as possible from people who unsettled him slightly.

ANYWAY that, like all the other interruptions, was beside the point.

After waving her wand and summoning curtains with a slight swish, Rachael led Draco to the instant dressing room and he stepped into them holding the gowns he was going to try on. After wondering for a moment how odd it would be to see a certain blonde (but intriguingly sexy) Slytherin fitting wedding gowns, the Voice in His Head exasperatedly exclaimed, Get on with it! You'll look fabulous in anything. The voice paused for a moment. But you do know fabulous is relative and that means you may think you look good but everyone else will swear that Draco Malfoy went drag.

"How are you doing there?" called Rachael from outside the curtains. "Are you positively sure you don't want Alice to fit them for you? I don't think your wife-"

"Husband, actually. Husband-to-be to be exact," Draco finally said vaguely as he stepped out looking resplendent in a white gown made of matte leather with studs. Erin gave a little squeak and blushed red. Well, here was something that was a first in this shop, Draco thought wryly as he paid for the gown and looked about for stilettos and other accessories for Harry.

"How do I look?" he asked her rather amusedly. He hitched up his billowing skirts and slipped into the white stilettos. "Fashionable, sexy and pretty?" He sashayed around the store in a very un-Draco like manner. Rachael squeaked again.

He grinned at the thought of Harry in a gown. He was so going to be dead. Ah well. Wizarding law stated that someone had to be a bride and someone had to be a groom. That meant gowns and wedding robes. And Draco would take the wedding robes.

"Oh," Draco added when he had paid for the gown. "This isn't for me." Rachael nodded rather weakly.

"It's for my boyfriend."

Draco would've sworn he heard a thud after the door closed.

He shrugged.

-----

Heavily laden with quite a few shopping bags a few hours later, Draco decided he would go to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to see if she could make some minor adjustments, namely to the dress's cup size and rather disturbing plunging neckline.

Madam Malkin, the kindly old witch hugged him tightly as he stepped into the cozy little shop. Draco smiled at his old friend. "Well, Draco," she said fondly. "What brings you here?"

Draco stared around the shop. Dark hardwood panels covered the floor and walls. The ceiling was painted a warm yellow as candles hovered around, charmed no doubt, by Madam Malkin herself. He often wondered how he could find a friend in the old, slightly batty but extremely kind woman. Somehow, he felt at home with her and she with him. Oh, never mind about his mad father who was currently locked in Azkaban. And forget about mum Narcissa who was drinking herself into permanent drunkenness at home in the Manor. Draco left that place quite some time. After leaving, he decided to stay somewhere in Diagon Alley, the heart of Wizarding London.

Diagon Alley was a winding complex of cobbled walkways in the heart of Wizarding London lined with apartments, bars, clubs and shops ranging from the Apothecary which sold rather gristly body parts of Magical creatures (a Third Year Draco finally found out the politically correct term; potions ingredients. Oh, said the Voice in His Head) to the Obscurus Books Shop where he could regularly browse rare books such as the infamous Invisible Book of Invisibility (the storekeeper never noticed Draco stole a couple) and some books which had nothing written in them at all (Draco decided that some authors had gone mad somewhere out there and he was reading a masterpiece work by one of them).

Here he could mix with the wizards and do nearly whatever he wanted, as he still had self-control and discipline, no doubt coming from the tiny shreds of morality he still had. That was in Sixth Year. And don't ask him how a minor did that. Money, donations, a cultured French accent, dear father Lucius's pimp cane and a cold stare did wonders for booking and legal papers, but even those could run out. Draco decided to find himself a little studio flat somewhere in Diagon Alley.

Madam Malkin, bless her dear, dear soul, had put up a sign saying she had a room above her store for rent. Draco was just passing by after being thrown out of the posh Spellmans Apartelles after hitting on the receptionist and both security guards. He saw her 'For Rent' sign and hurried straight in.

He came out after ten minutes with a place of his own on the upper floor of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for a mere thirty galleons per month. Draco's bank account interest, which he was wise enough to separate from his parents' accounts, was earning more than that per week. With him that rich, it was very difficult to look poor, harmless and adorable. But not too adorable. He also needed to be dashingly handsome and impeccably cultured to be able to manipulate people around his pale, aristocratic (and perfectly moisturized) finger.

ANYWAY, we are straying again from the topic.

Over time, he and Madam Malkin, who insisted on being called Marlene, grew close as they would often watch the store together. Marlene thought of him as her very own son, and Draco looked up to him as the loving (and sometimes rather perky) mother he never completely had.

Sometimes on Sundays, when the store would be closed, they would go around Diagon Alley and the surrounding area with places like Caligo Alley, a dizzying network of tiny alleyways containing tiny delis, nameless pubs and specialty shops including the famous Scribbulus Bookshop, and the Conservatory which held weekly Sunday open markets with merchants and gardeners selling their fresh produce and the Floo Hub located at the very end of Diagon Alley. Here they would sometimes Floo to Hogsmeade for a weekend of shopping with Marlene looking at Gladrags Wizardwear for some ideas for her shop back at Diagon Alley.

Most of the time, however, they would be seen going to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor where Florean and Marlene would chat about topics ranging from the weather to the latest trends according to Witch Weekly. Draco, content to sit silently by the side, would listen to their conversations with amusement. Old, these two women were, but their minds were sharp and their opinions were intelligent. It also helped that they both were the funniest and most amusing people Draco ever met and that Florean would offer him free sundaes every half-hour.

He then decided that this was his life. For the first time he was truly happy. Yes, he still retained the smirk, the icy gaze, the mask of indifference, dry and biting wit, snappy comebacks and impeccable fashion sense, but he was happy. Sometimes he would snap at his adopted mother, but Madam Malkin knew him well enough already to just ruffle his hair and head out to the shop before he did something rash, like throwing a tantrum and sulking in his room for an hour trying to fix his hair.

Now content, rather happy, well fed due to Marlene's excellent cooking and sure of life, Draco thought he had it all figured out already. Well, except for a tiny part named Harry Potter. Draco wasn't sure when it started.

Maybe it was because dear father Lucius, when Draco was getting ready for his first year at Hogwarts, told him that on no account should he make friends with a boy with messy black hair and brilliant green eyes with a lightning-bolt shaped scar. How Lucius had known, Draco never really found out, but what he did find out (other than the fact that he was bisexual and that was the greatest thing since gold galleons. The best of both worlds. Imagine, the Voice in His Head said dryly) was that Harry Potter was intriguing. He was a contradiction, and yes, sounding very much like a sappy romance novel, he was drawn to Harry. Surprisingly, this wasn't all due to hormones. Draco saw something there. Then again, maybe it was just the pair of brilliantly green emerald eyes, how his eyes crinkled when he smiled or the fact that they were sniping at each other every second. Whatever it was, Draco, being his overachieving self, passed all odds and fell head-over-heels in love with his supposed worst enemy.

During the Yule Ball in Sixth Year, Draco managed to get violently drunk, after seeing a blurry, black moving figure, he launched himself at it to prevent himself from losing balance. Harry Potter (who incidentally had just downed his eighth shot of Ogden's Firewhiskey and was pleasantly tipsy) was rather surprised to see a wasted Draco fling himself at his waist and cling for dear life. The rest of the night was an expected blur for both of them.

What he did remember was that Harry was pleasantly gay and was ogling his arse for the last three years. Odd, how romance novel-ish it sounded but Draco couldn't care less. Neither, it seemed could Harry. They were now happily a couple.

And it only took three years of heavy, unresolved sexual tension for this one.

Draco considered it a record, after countless kisses and failed one-night-stands. At one drunken point he thought he had slept with the entire school population, including the students, faculty and staff. For a moment he was terrified as he thought of Neville Longbottom, a pudgy and clumsy Gryffindor, Millicent Bulstrode, a massive and rather hairy Slytherin in his year and Minerva McGonagall, heavily post-menopausal Head of Gryffindor House. Professor Snape also crossed his mind, but after a night of Remedial Potions before the summer, Draco decided Snape was endowed with something massive.

It was easy for them to keep their relationship a secret. Ron and Hermionie were too busy snogging in random broom closets every other night though they were both Prefects again for Sixth Year so Draco and Harry were left rather alone in other broom closets. Harry once pointed out that Hogwarts had an unhealthy amount of broom closets, but Draco was too busy enjoying Harry's hands on some sensitive areas to listen to what exactly he was saying.

ANYWAY.

He snapped out of his reverie when Marlene led him up the stairs to his room which he now shared with Harry. Smiling, she gently shoved him in and silently closed the door behind her after planting a soft kiss on his cheek. She disappeared down the stairs to tend to a family of five who just came in.

Harry was sitting on the bed with his legs spread, with both elbows on his knees. He was reading the latest article of the Daily Prophet, the Wizarding newspaper. He looked up and smiled at Draco, who hurriedly hid the shopping bags from Leather and Lace containing Harry's gown. He had forgotten to leave them with Marlene for some adjustments.

Damn.

Hiding the shopping bags gingerly behind his back, he bent down and kissed Harry gently. "Hello," he said in a slightly over-cheerful manner. "How was your day?" Harry looked at him oddly.

"What did you do, Draco?" Draco pouted, mind you, in a manly and cultured manner. Harry's mouth twitched slightly as he stood up in front of his boyfriend so they were chest to chest. Draco still pouted.

Harry reached behind Draco and yanked the two shopping bags from behind him. He looked quizzically at the 'Leather and Lace: The Wedding' print in elaborate magenta script. "I know you proposed and all, and I even have your ring right here," Harry waved his left hand where a simple silver ring adorned his ring finger. "But this soon? I mean..."

His voice trailed off as he stared at the white leather matte-finished gown with metal studs lining the seams. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair as he rummaged through the other bag and fished out the matching white stilettos.

"Draco, I really hope you haven't forgotten that I am male or anything."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well of course, I haven't forgotten. I went all around town trying to find a gown that fit you perfectly."

"Er..."

"And you will look absolutely fabulous and pretty on our wedding day in that."

The wedding gown was pressed into Harry's chest as Draco steered him towards the full-length mirror. "See?" he pointed out. "Very pretty. And white."

"And humiliating and downright odd," Harry interrupted.

"Yeah, that too. Perfect." Draco pointed out cheerfully.

The mirror was silent for a few seconds. "Oh, good heavens!" it gasped. Harry folded his arms defensively around himself. "Draco, hon, I know you're very fashionable and all, but I think you've picked the wrong thing for your future husband to wear." Harry glared back at Draco while Draco patted Harry's shoulder happily.

"Someone has to be the bride, you know," he said. "And I have chosen to give you the honor of being the bride dressed in white who will hold the pretty roses and wear heels."

"I'm flattered," said Harry dryly as the mirror snorted. "And what, pray tell, shall you do if I refuse to wear this?"

Draco shot him a devious look. "I won't have sex with you."

----------

In the end, after Harry went on ranting about how embarrassed he would be walking down the aisle wearing a gown, how it would be to have a picture of him in drag on the front page of every Wizarding newspaper from London to Timbuktu (Draco was positive Harry made that place up) and having to wear stilettos, Draco shrugged and said he'd get them both some nice dress robes to wear on their wedding.

Pouting in the manly way he learned from Draco, Harry agreed. Then after Harry was pacified and sated from loads of sex, Draco decided to stow away that dress in his closet should Harry's robes suddenly go missing on the day of the wedding. An unfortunate accident, but things happen. There always had to be a backup plan. After all, Draco was very precise and thought of everything.

Usually.

A sorry example was the fact that he still hadn't broken up with a certain Blaise Zabini after a fateful night in Sixth Year. Blaise, being the romantic Slytherin he was decided then and there that Draco loved him and that they would be together forever. Unfortunately, like Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced girl he was drunk enough to proclaim his girlfriend (Draco was alcoholic. Sue him), was extremely clingy and would be rather annoying. Unfortunately, what Draco saw as infatuation was in fact a heady and rather fruity mix of lust, need, confusion and naturally, clinginess. Draco broke up with him, sadly, when he and Harry came out in Seventh Year.

Ron and Hermionie even stopped snogging under the Gryffindor table. That was how shocking the news about Draco Malfoy and his supposed worst enemy ever Harry Potter shagging was. Draco, being the meticulous planner, decided to announce it then during the Graduation Feast, so that they wouldn't be too harassed by questions of how large the other was and whether they had tried the newest sex position some Ravenclaw (the scandal!) Seventh Years read about in the latest issue of Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them. Unfortunately, he just decided to. It seemed that Harry was determined to spend his last year in Hogwarts openly snogging Draco without any worries.

Harry dragged Draco (who was feeling rather terrified at the moment) up to the High Table right in the middle of the Welcoming Feast and announced to the whole school that they were a couple.

Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School just twiddled his thumbs, sucked on two sherbet lemons and sat on his squashy armchair at High Table at the end of the Great Hall and twinkled his eyes. Colin Creevey, the geeky little Gryffindor boy one year under Harry wasted a month's supply of film to record every possible second of Draco and Harry's first public kiss from every angle. Ginny Weasley sobbed happily into the tablecloth as Hermionie Granger the resident Gryffindor nerd and know-it-all rushed to the Library to research about gay culture. Madam Pomfery, the resident Mediwitch had to escort Professor Snape to the Hospital Ward for a liberal dose of Calming Draught though.

All in all, everyone was accepting and supportive, very much so, that Draco suspected they weren't. After Harry was congratulated by a truly happy Hermionie (who whispered 'If he hurts you I'll kill him slowly and painfully') and a reluctant Ron (he glared at Draco when he thought he wasn't looking), Draco decided to slip away for a while for Harry to be congratulated, or tripped, or sworn at, or glared at, or ignored by his adoring, or understanding, or homophobic, or dense, or irrational friends. Or fans.

Harry did receive a record amount of Owl post that day, come to think of it. Being the genius he was, Harry pointed the owls to the beautiful Gryffindor fireplace because he just couldn't get up from his chair to read letter upon letter of, well, letters from well-wishers and furious old mothers who thought he was now a bad example for their impressionable children. Gryffindor Tower enjoyed warm nights for a few months.

ANYWAY, why are we discussing things that already happened?

---------------

The flashy wedding gown was brought down to Marlene who, after a ridiculous amount of giggling and subsequent muscle cramps, was finally able to charm the neckline to cover at least a fraction of chest. The bodice's cup size went to a 24D cup for a moment when Marlene was seized by another laughing fit. It was corrected after she sobered up about the reality that her beloved adopted son was getting married.

She sniffed slightly and lightly dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as she tiptoed up the stairs with the newly corrected gown. Draco getting married to another man had been a shock for her (Tom, the bartender of the Leaky Cauldron ran out of Ogden's Firewhiskey for a good half of a week), she still loved him terribly and decided that what she believed in wasn't necessarily what he believed in. She came to the conclusion right after her third bottle that he was in love and that she was happy for him. The next day she invited Harry to live with Draco upstairs where she extended their room to take up the entire second floor, causing some rather unfortunate roomers to fall out of their beds and onto the cobblestones of Diagon Alley early one morning.

That was a few months ago.

Now Harry had a stable job at a department she didn't know about. Maybe it was because she didn't bother much with politics anymore. Whatever place Harry worked, she didn't mind as he would come home early every night for Draco and that seemed to be the only thing that mattered. Draco was content with She also didn't mind the generous paychecks he would bring home every month. After all, all she did in return was cast daily Silencing Charms on their bedroom. She was far too old to be concerned with waking up dead after a heart attack induced by whatever sounds the couple made in their bedroom, though she would be pleasantly jolted by receipts she would sometimes dig out of their pockets recording transactions of the most interesting objects.

But she was fine with that and she loved them both dearly.

It was past dinner now and most of the shops at Diagon Alley were closed. Draco and Harry left hours ago to eat out while she insisted on staying at home to gave them some time together. They came home half an hour ago and went straight to Draco's bedroom. Suspecting of more quality time they'd have together, she cast a Silencing Charm on their door just in case.

Finishing the gown (she had no idea that Harry went drag before, but she wouldn't put it past Draco to force him into a gown on their wedding day in front of the entire Wizarding paparazzi) just after the grandfather clock at Gringotts's magically amplified tolling signaled 9 'o clock, she packed up and readied herself for bed. She was careful not to make too much noise as she went up the stairs to their room holding the magically corrected gown.

The door creaked slightly as she peered cautiously into their room. A sliver of light from the door where she stood was the only light save for a burning candle sitting by the bed's side. The curtains that hung by the windows beside the bed were half-closed and Marlene could barely see the silhouettes the Muggle skyscrapers that rose in the distance. She heard the echoes of cars that still went by Charing Cross Road, just beyond the magical barrier of the Alley.

Tiptoeing in and craning her neck, she could see the tiny bedside alarm clock that sat beside the candle. It was probably the only Muggle possession Draco owned. He claimed it was a petty trinket used as a novel paperweight but he sometimes lied terribly.

Marlene knew this was one of those times. Months ago when he was still asleep she had woken up to retrieve the day's issue of the Daily Prophet from her store entrance. She found a small box addressed to Draco from a Harry Potter on top of the newspaper. Peeking inside she found a little silver alarm clock and a sweet note attached to the clock's two bells. Smiling slightly, she put it back down on the entrance and went inside to prepare breakfast.

Draco would wake up that day and discover the best present he had ever received. And it was months before Christmas.

ANYWAY, that was beside the point, as points weren't romantic.

A darkened Diagon Alley lay below as Marlene crept to the closet (and only stubbed her toe once on an overturned table. She didn't want to know but she had an inkling) to hang the gown. All was silent and no, no mice were stirring. Draco hated mice so Harry and Marlene had to catch each one and set them free by the gutter. Draco also hated blood and cruelty to animals, especially mice. Though he still hated them.

She peeked at the couple on the bed. Half of the bed sheets of the massive iron-wrought four-poster bed (cost was nothing as long as there were four posters, Draco said with a grin when he, Harry and Marlene went shopping for one the day Harry moved in. Marlene thought she was better of not knowing really) were strewn about on the floor. Draco's black cloak was flung onto a small wooden chair in the corner, along with Harry's cloak. She thought she caught a sight of boxers with little heart-shaped patterns on them. They must've been Draco's. She always knew he was a closet softie.

Draco was fast asleep on his back with Harry's head resting on his bare chest. Harry's head rose and fell slightly every time Draco breathed or shifted. There was a shadow of a smile on both of their faces as their fingers were entwined. Marlene blushed slightly after a kick from Harry knocked off what blankets were covering them. An eyeful, yes. She picked some off the floor and tucked them in lovingly, placing a kiss on their foreheads before closing the door softly behind her going to her room.

------------

Harry woke up suddenly after a rather disturbing dream. Being a dream, he remembered only the snippets he didn't want to remember about. Dream conspiracy! His Inner Paranoia muttered darkly. All he remembered was a wedding dress made of white leather. He seemed to be walking down an aisle with rose petals scattered around it, holding a huge bouquet. Odd. He also remembered seeing a rather fetching blonde wearing a sleekly tailored dress robe, holding two gigantic silver rings.

He saw Molly Weasley, Ron and Ginny's mum, crying into a dainty napkin embroidered with snitches. And maybe that was Narcissa falling unconscious and dropping a stash of gin cleverly hidden in between her bra cleavage. And maybe that was Remus Lupin and Sirius Black shagging in a broom closet that appeared out of nowhere and was now tipping precariously beside the last pew. And maybe that really was Oliver Wood wearing a kilt and nothing more playing bagpipes to the tune of 'God Save the Queen' with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas square-dancing along.

Harry's Inner Paranoia prodded him and said rather darkly (again. Paranoia was always thinking about bad and dark things) that if Harry saw the future, he'd better run away and find himself another boyfriend. Or at least postpone the wedding. Or just register both he and Draco as live-in partners who had sex every night. Yes, that would cause less scandal. The Daily Prophet would just have enough material to print two issues worth of news about them, rather than a month if they got married and if he indeed agreed to wear the (as his Inner Paranoia called it, wedding cake that was left out in the rain) wedding gown. It really didn't look too bad if nobody saw him. And those stilettos made his legs look so much sexier. He shook himself slightly.

Bah.

Yawning and stretching his arms, he got out of bed and rummaged around the still-dark room for his boxers, or what were left of them. Draco always had a thing for ripping clothes off him. Harry had given up reminding him that the best-cast Stitching Charm could only do so much. Finding his bright yellow boxers (bought specially at Gladrags Wizardwear, Hogsmeade. He couldn't find any other boxers that screamed loudly when it sensed erections) in tatters, (as Draco forgot to file his nails again) he stumbled to the closet to find something else to wear, after stealing a glance at the alarm clock he gave to Draco as a present before.

5:43 AM.

Bah.

Looking out the window, he saw Diagon Alley beginning to wake up. He looked down at the street just in time to see the day's edition of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly appear with a small pop on the doorways of those who had subscriptions. He waved at Stan Shunpike, the driver of the Knight Bus as he walked by holding five cups of coffee from the Leaky Cauldron followed by Ernie, the wizard who Harry supposed taught Stan how to drive without causing permanent gastronomical damage to any riders. Except for Madam Marsh who never learned that Floo was cheaper and less dizzying than a five-minute ride on the now-infamous bus.

Bah, snapped his Inner Paranoia. Where's the fucking coffee?

Poo. Harry, now wearing a tee that said 'Kiss Me I'm Gay' in lurid blue and a pair of Draco's white boxers with little heart patterns put on his glasses and obeyed the divine will of his Inner Paranoia. He went downstairs to get himself a cup of strong black coffee. No sugar, no cream. Harry had a body to die for and he wasn't born with it, you know.

The stairs creaked slightly as he tiptoed down to the kitchen at the back of the shop. Light was beginning to stream through the display window, illuminating various stacks of bolts of fabric sitting on the shop's floor. He smelled eggs, bacon and toast. Burning eggs, bacon and toast. He peeked inside and saw a rather harassed Draco making toast in a rather creative and slightly cold-blooded manner.

"Incendio!" Draco said impatiently, jabbing his wand into the piece of buttered toast. A thin red line of fire erupted from his wand and the piece of toast sitting on his plate burned a beautiful orange flame before exploding in a cloud of sparks and bits of melted butter. Harry chocked back a laugh as Draco swore and readied another piece of toast. The eggs and bacon were quite ablaze on the stove, sitting in a pan with what looked like a black lump of- Harry didn't know. Coal? Or more toast?

He wondered if Draco also managed to burn the coffee sitting by the table.

Draco looked up suddenly as his next piece of toast burst into flame and exploded (this time with flecks of peanut butter and grape jelly) and glared at Harry. "Fine. Laugh. I'm having the time of my life blowing up pieces of toast while failing spectacularly in making breakfast."

"You do know those slices of toast were innocent," said Harry seriously.

The buttery remains of toast missed Harry by inches.

"You also do know that plate had nothing to do with you losing the battle to cook something edible, and neither was it the floor's fault," Harry added, as the plate crashed into the floor.

Draco sniffed. "You have no pity for those who haven't made toast in their entire lives. And that broken plate with bits of toast, peanut butter and jelly on the floor is a marvelous work of abstract art."

"And we ought to frame it," he said thoughtfully. "Or at least take a picture of this masterpiece."

"Or," said Harry, dusting bread crumbs from his shirt. "Why don't we go to the Leaky Cauldron? Starving is not very appetizing at the moment."

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