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“Scared, Potter? ”
That one phrase instantly sent indignation spreading through Harry’s chest. No matter how many years had passed since their school days or how their relationship had changed since then, Draco could get beneath Harry’s skin like no one else ever had. One sentence had Harry’s cheeks flushing a brilliant red and lungs huffing. His shoulders tensed as he walked forward, only stopping when they were chest to chest with denials slipping from his lips.
Harry had never been ice skating, hadn’t touched ice at all since the time he almost drowned, but he wasn’t scared. He had outstanding balance. He took to Quidditch like he was born for it, and that sport involved staying perched on a broom handle for Merlin’s sake. He could handle measly blades on a pair of shoes.
When Harry snatched the awaiting pair of skates from Draco’s hands, those thin lips lifted until they were in a devastatingly smug smirk. His chin was soon to follow.
“Good.”
The words were said like Draco had Harry right where he wanted him, which Harry had to admit was probably true. The blonde was still used to getting his way, even if he had matured since their schooldays, and Draco was the one who wanted to go ice skating on the last night of their honeymoon.
Harry had to admit that the rink Draco chose was beautiful. It was approaching midnight now, and they were the only ones around. Harry took a moment to really take in where he was as he sat to lace up the skates. It must have been a Muggle park, although he had no idea how Draco had found it. The smooth ice was surrounded by a deceptively strong barrier like the ones he’d seen briefly on the telly as a child when Aunt Petunia watched the Winter Olympics. The rink itself and the surrounding trees and pathways were illuminated primarily by the night sky, although he did see poles where he assumed the electricity could be turned on. Harry could see all the stars so clearly that it was obvious they were nowhere near London.
In fact, with how desolate it was, Harry would be worried Draco was trying to off him before their married lives really began if he didn’t trust him so much.
But it was Draco, always Draco, that took Harry’s breath away. If the scenery was beautiful, Draco looked godlike as he skated around the ice. He twisted, jumped, and spun across the slippery surface like a professional, never hesitating or faltering. The moonlight shimmering across his skin was ethereal, making Draco’s paleness glow and his blonde hair shine.
Draco was so graceful, so at home on the ice, and Harry couldn’t help but think that his husband was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Harry was enraptured.
The movement toward the ice was unconscious, simply a man lured in by his own personal siren. Which is why Harry was so surprised when he fell, head over skates, within moments of touching the ice. Harry blinked, stunned and out of breath from the impact. In the background, he could hear Draco’s guffaws as the taller man approached him.
“Harry…” Draco gasped for air through his chuckles, “Harry, I think I finally understand why your Patronus is a stag—your legs are as wobbly as a fawn’s!”
Harry mumbled something unintelligible as he let Draco haul him to his feet. Only the sight of Draco’s water-streaked cheeks splitting into a large grin and the toe-curling kiss Draco gave Harry once he was upright kept Harry from losing his temper again.
Draco held Harry steady as he pulled them further into the rink. “Come along, darling, I’ve got you.”
And Draco did have Harry—on the ice, during the night, and for the rest of their lives. Harry could think of no other person he would want to spend the rest of his life with, even with their troubled past. Draco remained a constant for Harry through all of their struggles, all of the fighting and war. Harry loved the fires Draco stoked within his chest and the intensity of the feelings they shared. Their love story wasn’t pretty, wasn’t easy, but it was theirs, and that was what mattered.
Even though Draco let go a couple of times throughout the night to laugh at Harry living up to the Prongslet moniker, Harry knew as long as he was within the grasp of those cold hands, he was safe.
Harry felt his chest warm with affection.