Ship of Theseus (Harry X Draco)

Chapter 8

They had only been dating six months when Clarence proposed.

"I know it's soon," he said. He was down on one knee on the ice skating rink on the Eiffel Tower. They had just eaten at the Jules Verne again, because Draco had once mentioned it was his favourite.

Harry hadn't really proposed. They had been talking to the real estate agent, trying to find a house they liked in his catalogues, and Harry had turned to Draco and said, "You know, tax-wise, this will be a lot easier if we get married."

And Draco had said, "Would it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "What do you reckon?"

"Okay," Draco had said. The real estate said he wished he had know. He would have gotten in some champagne.

The violinist Clarence had hired played Vivaldi. Everyone had stopped ice skating to watch them.

"It's a bit cold on the knee, Draco," said Clarence, with a wry grin.

Maybe it was selfish to say yes. Draco wasn't sure. He knew that Clarence loved him, and he didn't think it would, realistically, get better than that. He made Clarence happy, he knew that or he made Clarence look good at parties, which amounted to more or less the same thing, for Clarence.

"Yes?" said Draco. Clarence beamed, got back to his feet, and put the ring on Draco's finger. The crowd cheered. Draco smiled, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop, although he was aware that it was a slightly hysterical smile. He and Clarence hadn't talked about marriage. He hadn't like being asked to marry Harry for tax reasons in an estate agent's, but this wasn't what he had wanted, either. He wasn't sure what he wanted. There probably wasn't any point in figuring it out, since he wasn't going to get it.

Everyone told him how happy they were for him.

"Except Harry, of course," said Clarence, as they wandered through Gifford's, picking out crystal.

"Of course not," said Draco. "Still off finding himself in Kuwait."

"Connemara," corrected Clarence. Draco laughed to himself.

"Whatever."

Clarence frowned, setting down a crystal goblet.

"They're very different places, Draco. Kuwait is in the Middle East, and Connemara is in Ireland," he said.

Draco was silent, temporarily paralysed by hopelessness. He and Harry used to have this recurring joke, where Harry would say something ridiculous, and Draco would respond with intent seriousness.

"I would rather peel off my nails with pliers than get up from the sofa," Harry might say, and Draco would answer, "I think it would be better to choose the getting-off-the-sofa option. You see, taking off your nails with pliers would be very painful."

"Oh, shit, yeah, good point," Harry would say, and get up from the sofa.

"Draco?" said Clarence.

"I'm actually inheriting a lot of crystal from my great aunt," said Draco. "Let's look at linen."

Draco insisted on inviting Harry to the engagement party, even though Ginny looked at him as if he was crazy.

"All his friends will be there," said Draco. "I don't want to leave him out." Harry had just got back from Connemara, and Draco wondered what he had found there. Whether he had shed his anger again. Met anyone.

They had decided to rent out an old palace ballroom in Westminster for the engagement party. It was all Draco and Clarence had talked about for weeks, which actually worked pretty well for them. Clarence was excellent at planning, and he had perfect taste. Draco never loved him more than when they were discussing logistics.

The engagement party itself, however, was hard. Draco could not help comparing it to the one he and Harry had thrown in their favourite Ethiopian restaurant. Draco had been overdressed, Harry  underdressed, Draco had felt as if he was dreaming. Harry had given a speech about how he'd been stalking Draco since he was sixteen and it was getting so embarrassing that the only remedy was a wedding. Draco had loved him so much it felt like something was going wrong inside his body.

"I'm so glad you're happy," Hermione told Draco, as he stood quietly next to Clarence. The palace ballroom was magnificent. Draco and Clarence looked splendid. Clarence had done Draco's bow-tie and kissed him.

"You're perfect," he had told Draco. And Draco did feel perfect. He was the Ship of Theseus. Replaced. New. No scrap of rot left.

Draco shook hands and smiled. He liked shaking hands and smiling; it made him feel as if he was living up to the dreams he'd had as a child, but in a good way, a harmless way.

Harry showed up late, wearing jeans. Black jeans, but jeans, all the same. His hair was so black. Would Draco's heart ever stop speeding up when he saw him? Would he ever be able to treat him like a normal person?

But Harry wasn't a normal person.

He scanned the room, frowning, as if he was looking for someone specific. Then his eyes landed on Draco, and his whole face came alive. He strode through the crowd, coming straight for Draco.

"Harry," said Clarence. "Draco and I are so glad you could make it."

"I need to talk to you," said Harry, his eyes fixed intently on Draco. Draco glanced at Clarence, who looked less than pleased.

"Can it wait?" asked Draco.

"Please," said Harry, which was the big guns, really. Of course Draco wasn't going to say no, when Harry was looking at him and saying please.

"I'll be right back," he told Clarence, and led Harry out to a gilded antechamber. He closed the door carefully behind him, then turned to look at Harry.

"Don't marry him," said Harry, instantly.

To be continued...