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It is one of those crisp, can’t-quite-believe-something-so-perfect-exists days when Harry turns to Charlie Weasley and says, “Today. I’m going to do it today.”
Charlie smiles at him indulgently and turns back to Madam Puddifoot’s new yule window display. There are sparkling pink stars everywhere on a twilight sky background. Tame pixies, their wings and eyes lit up like glow worms, dance between mini fir trees floating lazily across the horizon, ferrying tinsel to and fro.
“No, really, I’ll do it today. As soon as we get back.” He nods decisively and glances across the street; Neville is still chatting away at the counter of Forrest & Gump with a bag of seeds clutched to his chest.
“Sure, Harry.”
“What? I will!”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t believe your intentions, but…it’s just…you’ve been talking about it for months and, nothing.” Charlie shrugs. He’s not being unkind, it’s true. Harry has been overly Hufflepuff ever since he thought of the idea.
“Neville’s coming,” Harry says instead of answering. “I’ll leave you to your afternoon.” It’s one thing to tag along for some last minute Christmas shopping, but quite another to crash the only afternoon they both have off – otherwise known as ‘date day’.
“Harry, don’t go and sulk.”
“I’m not, I’m going to bloody well go and ask Malfoy.”
“Sure, Harry,” Charlie dismisses sadly, immediately falling into step beside Neville and disappearing into the teashop. They both have glitter in their hair before the door swings shut behind them.
“I will,” Harry mutters, resolute.
Of course, by the time he’s in the wild limbo between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, his nerve starts to wilt. He stops.
He’s in the lane, just past the main gates. It’s peaceful and still. The snow is fresh and smooth, and the bare trees shine silver in the sun. And the sky is so blue, that perfect open blue that’s precious and rare in midwinter. It makes the air clean and when he breathes it in he feels alive.
But then a chill breeze picks up, a flurry of snow thumps as it falls from a tree branch and hits the floor. The tableau breaks.
Nothing lasts forever, it would seem.
Harry’s resolve strengthens again. He’s been standing still for too long.
He finds Draco in his laboratory, warily smelling the fumes wafting off of a fluorescent blue potion. The tips of his hair and eyebrows are a light green, and his cheeks are flushed. Merlin, he looks amazing.
“Afternoon,” Harry says, ambling in. Draco mumbles something, waves a distracted hand over his shoulder at him, and plucks something sparkly from the counter. The steam glitters in reply when he adds it. “Mixing up anything exciting?” Harry ventures.
“Tastes like lavender,” Draco replies. “Should be gingerbread by now.”
“Riiight.” Harry sniffs the air, but he can’t smell anything except Draco’s shampoo - the wonderful musky one he’s using at the moment. “So, anyway, I wanted to ask-”
“I’m wearing the blue this year.”
“Come again?”
“To the ball. I want to wear the blue robes this year. The green suit your colouring better anyway.”
“What? No, that’s not what I wanted to ask you.”
Draco turns to looks at him, his wand stabbing at the potion - probably a stasis charm. “Well what then? We agreed weeks ago we’d take that Siberian Malt Firewhisky as our gift. And I already talked to Minerva about the fuck up with the seating arrangement, we’re together on the end.”
“No, it wasn’t that either.”
“You’re not worried about the whole public thing, are you? I know this is our first official event together, but we’ve literally been together for years and everyone already knows about us, even the Prophet.”
“Would you just let me get this out, please?”
Draco leans back against his worktable, notices his dyed fringe, and tugs at it.
“So, we’ve been going out for a long time, and I think we’re at that stage in our relationship when, you know, we should think about moving things along. I know loads of people were shocked when we started living in the same quarters and-”
“Can I just stop you there for a second? Because I feel like this is going to be one of those speeches where you say a lot of words, but nothing really has a point.”
“I have a point!”
“Honestly, you usually do, you just take about an hour to get to it. And I have this Perfect Flavour potion to finish for Minerva before the ball, which needs some finicky temperature work in about thirty seconds, stasis charm or no. So, I’ll put you out of your misery and you can give me your big romantic speech later. Okay? Is this about the ring you’ve had stashed in your Quidditch robes for the last three months?”
Harry coughs, flustered. Draco points at his bubbling cauldron.
“Yes.”
“Fantastic. I want a summer wedding. My father’s not invited, but my mother will probably want to help with the planning. Neither of us are wearing white.” He hops forward and pecks Harry on the lips. “Now off you go. Remember, you’re wearing the green robes. I’ve left my spare styling potion out for you on the bed.”
With that, he turns away. Harry is clearly dismissed.
“Right then,” he murmurs as the lab door swings shut heavily behind him. “Right then.”
He hums ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’ dazedly all the way back to their quarters.