Draco stomped into the kitchen, and up to the table, to impatiently stand by his boyfriend’s side. When Harry refused to take his eyes off the Prophet, Draco started loudly tapping the toe of his boot.
“No,” Harry lazily said, flipping the page. Draco huffed and kicked his chair. Harry just chuckled and shook his head. “Careful, you’ll scuff those new pretty shoes of yours.”
“Twat,” Draco said, kicking the chair again and striding to the refrigerator before Harry could land his attempted smack. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Harry scolded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Is it so wrong that I want to plan something special for our anniversary?”
Draco let out a sound that registered somewhere between a childish whine and defeated groan. He hated when Harry pulled those guilt cards on him.
“You know how much I love planning shit like this,” Draco protested, piling milk, sausages, eggs, and butter into his arms. He nudge the fridge door shut with his hip and carted the food to the stove. “And you know how good I am at it too.”
“Shit like this,” Harry muttered, and Draco knew he was biting his lower lip trying not to laugh.
Draco ignored him and continued with his protest. “You can’t deny it Potter. What did we do for your birthday?”
“You took me to the Caribbean to ‘indulge my frivolous Muggle fantasy’ of parasailing,” Harry replied. He finally put down his paper and turned around in his chair to look at Draco. “Among many other ‘frivolous’ fantasies.”
“Sand really does sneak into every nook and cranny,” Draco commented, tossing sausages onto the frying pan. As they began to sizzle, he rubbed his backside, remembering the rashes that had been the result of getting caught up in the moment and neither of them being able resist ripping each other's clothes off in the middle of their private beach.
Draco snapped out of his recollection and continued, “And what about our second anniversary?”
Harry smiled and answered, “Somehow, you managed to rent out the entire top of the Eiffel Tower so we could have a private dinner, surrounded by the lights of Paris.”
Harry's reaction to that surprise would forever be burned in Draco's memory. He had set up a portkey to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and as soon as Harry arrived, his eyes had gone wide in wonderment. He’d grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him around the perimeter, as he silently took in the beauty of the illuminated Paris cityscape.
“And what about--"
Draco never finished his sentence, for Harry had risen from his seat and quickly silenced Draco with a tender kiss.
“I never said you weren't absolutely spectacular at surprises,” Harry murmured against his lips. “I'm just saying that now it's my turn.”
Harry pressed forward with another kiss, this time with his tongue coaxing Draco's lips to part. He obliged, twisting his own tongue around his gorgeous, yet maddening, boyfriend's.
Just as a delicious heat was starting to intensify in Draco's stomach, Harry pulled away and planted one last kiss on Draco's nose. He just laughed when Draco let out a moan of longing.
“I have to go or I'll be late for my meeting.” He grabbed his Ministry robes and pulled a small, wooden box from the pocket. “This portkey will activate at six-fifteen exactly tonight. Be ready.”
Draco took the box, turning it over to examine it. It wasn't anything fancy. The only marking on it was a heart carved into the bottom, with HP+DM inside it.
“Such a sentimental bastard,” Draco said. He tried to open it, but the lid wouldn't budge.
“Don't waste your energy. It won't open.” Harry pulled on his robes and grabbed his wand from the table.
“Can you at least give me a hint as to what to wear?” Draco sighed, tucking the box into his trouser pocket. “Formal? Casual? Business attire?”
“Mmm, while I do have business to attend to,” Harry said, tucking a lock of hair behind Draco's ear, “I don't think formal dress will be required. Do you remember what you wore the first night we were together?” Draco nodded. “Wear that.”
“Are you serious? I don't even have those clothes anymore.”
“You're a really shite liar for a Slytherin.” Harry kissed his cheek. “I'll see you tonight.”
With a twist and a crack of apparition, he was gone, leaving Draco to tend to his half burned sausages.
Throughout the day, Draco would pull out the small box and rub his thumb over the engraving. Three years… He had been dating Harry Potter for three full years now. He'd be lying if he said they had been the easiest the years of his life, but he could confidently say they were by far the best. Even through the rocky patches, he couldn't imagine being with anyone else.
That evening, when he flooed home, he was unsurprised to find the house empty. Harry was no doubt already off, preparing for the evening.
When Draco reached the bedroom, he set the portkey on bedside table and started stripping off his work robes. He knew the exact outfit Harry had mentioned that morning and, despite his earlier claims, knew exactly where it was.
The first time they had been together was Christmas day, four agonizing months after they had started dating.
Draco had gone along with Harry to celebrate the holiday with the Weasley family. He had been nervous, but Molly and Arthur had been nothing but warm and welcoming. Even more surprising, Molly had presented Draco with a brightly wrapped gift.
He forced back a grimace upon opening it and finding a hand-knitted, bulky, green woolen jumper, with a silver D in the center. Looking to his right, he saw Harry already slipping on a similar one, only his was royal blue, with a gold H in the center.
Not wanting to appear rude, Draco did the same. As it slid over his torso, he couldn't stop himself from hugging the sweater closer. It was the softest thing to have ever graced his body. That evening it would quickly be knocked to second place, but in that moment he had never felt anything more soft and warm against his skin.
Throughout the afternoon, he was able to loosen up with the aid of mulled wine and pleasant company. By the time the sun had set and Harry apparated them back to his flat, Draco was beyond tipsy and unable to wipe the smile off his face.
“Does she really knit you one of these every year?” Draco asked, as he ran his hand over the blue wool of Harry’s jumper.
“Since I was eleven,” he had answered, green eyes never leaving Draco’s face, even as Draco had let his fingers slip under the sweater. “If she makes you one, it means she likes you. You're officially family.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” Harry whispered.
Draco looked up into his jade eyes and said, “Do you like me?”
Harry's face turned serious and he shook his head. “No, I don't like you,” he said, running his hand through Draco's hair. “I love you.”
Before he let Draco respond, Harry's lips were on his and never left until the sun had risen on Boxing Day.
Draco smiled at the vivid memory as he pushed aside the clothes in the closet and pulled out his collection of Christmas sweaters, each a varying shade of green. After that first Christmas, his jumper had been adorned with the alchemy rune for silver, and last year's had the constellation that he had been named after. He plucked his original from the bottom of the pile and pulled it over his head. It was just as soft and warm as the very first time.
He dug out the well-worn jeans he’d had on that day and traded his polished boots for a pair of trainers. By the time he had brushed his teeth and fixed his hair, his watch was ticking over to six-thirteen. He rushed from the bathroom and grabbed the box just as it started to emit a blue glow. Seconds later, a familiar jerk pulled him into the twisting nether.
Almost immediately, Draco was spit out onto a forgiving, yet uneven, surface. As he fought to regain his balance, he looked down to see his shoes sinking into sand.
Upon closer survey, he realized he’d been ported to Newquay Beach, on the outskirts of Cornwall. Harry and he had come here before, but always with a group of friends and they had stuck to the more populated, touristy areas.
This time, Draco found himself in a secluded area, with only the cliffs behind him and the never ending ocean ahead. Leaving his shoes and socks on a nearby rock, he made his way to the water.
Cool waves washed over his toes, soaking the cuffs of his trousers and sending a shiver up his body. The sun was inching closer and closer to the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with a gorgeous blend of yellow, orange, and pink.
A strong arm, clad in blue wool, wrapped around his waist and, without hesitation, Draco relaxed against Harry.
“I don't need Paris, or the Caribbean, or Brazil, or Rome. As nice as those places are,” Harry whispered against his neck, gently prising the box from Draco's fingers. “I just need you, and some sunsets.”
Draco sighed contentedly and nuzzled his head into the crook of Harry's neck and shoulder.
“I like the sound of that."
Harry smiled and peppered kisses along the shell of Draco's ear, leaving him feeling as though he just might melt right there, despite the chilly September breeze blowing off the sea.
“Or, if you're up for it…” Harry held up the wood box and effortlessly flipped the top open to reveal a silver band. “How about an infinity of sunsets?”