A/N: So here goes. The last of the last. I was quite happy with the last chapter as an ending, but of course epilogue plot bunnies raided my head and I had to come up with this. So this goes out to all of you who would like a glimpse of our boys' future. I sincerely hope you enjoy :)

I have included a link to a song within the text, (it's in lyrics again, so watch for it). Please follow the link if you don't recognize the song – I think it's important you know what it sounds like. I will do a proper disclaimer at the end of the fic, because I don't want to give it away now, but lyrics and song do not belong to me.

To my amazing beta, sordid_humor—T, how can I thank you enough? It's been an amazing journey; I can hardly believe I finished one of these. You have been a world of wonderfulness to me. You've helped make this fic what it is today, and you've helped me to grow as a writer. So in a thousand words, a thousand languages—thank you.

Epilogue

Two Years Later.

Draco carded his fingers through his fine silvery strands, eyeing his reflection in the mirror, pleased with his appearance but unable to stop primping. He always knew he was neurotic when it came to… well, to everything, really. At least that's what Harry called it, though Draco much preferred the term meticulous. Today, however, his appearance was even more important. He looked good; that much was irrefutable, but today he needed to look much more than good. He needed to turn heads, flutter hearts, stop traffic—he needed to look so Goddamn fine that angels fucking sang when he walked into a room.

Because today, Harry was coming home.

"Draco, it's about time to leave, I think," Hermione noted easily, patting Draco's shoulder. "You look ravishingly handsome, as always. I'm sure Harry will be speechless."

"Oh, he'll be speechless, alright. But mostly because I'll have my tongue down his throat."

Hermione chuckled but shook her head. "You know, Draco, for a man who prides himself on his class, you can really be quite vulgar." She grinned at him, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. She'd grown more or less accustomed to the man's brutal honesty concerning his sex life; in truth, at some point in the past two years, she'd rather unexpectedly found herself quite fond of the prat. He was a stubborn but compassionate man, endlessly entertaining and reliably sharp-witted. Most importantly, he was good for Harry.

"I suppose I'll have to watch myself when mini Ginger pops out then, won't I?" Draco said, touching Hermione's round belly with a gentle pat and throwing her a smirk.

"You're quite right, you will," she answered, returning the grin. "To be honest though, you're the least of my worries. Harry's got quite the mouth on him as well—and don't even get me started on that husband of mine."

Draco snorted, finally pulling himself away from the mirror and grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter, the only thing out of place on the immaculately bare surface. The entire house was that way, actually; clean, orderly and uncluttered—just the way Draco liked it. It would be much more strenuous to keep it that way now that Harry was going to be around again but having the man home was well worth the extra effort. He figured it was about time he started paying for a cleaning lady again, anyhow.

"I'm just bloody thankful he finally knocked you up."

At the bewildered look Hermione shot him, Draco clarified. "For purely selfish reasons, obviously," he teased. "That little ginger you got cooking is what will be keeping our boys home for the next while. They've been on tour more times than I would like."

The band had been gone just three months this time but it still felt like years. Draco had gotten used to Harry's reoccurring absences by now—although he didn't so much find them easier as he found himself resigning to the reality of what their life was like for the time being. That was a reality Draco was hoping to change sometime soon.

The boys kept their tours rather short, mostly thanks to Harry and Ron's demands. They both had someone waiting for them back at home and it wasn't as though Wandless Magic was a worldwide phenomenon. They were successful, plentifully so, but they weren't kicking it with Muse just yet. To be perfectly honest though, Draco was fairly certain they planned to keep it that way, much to his relief. Harry didn't need his music to be his entire life anymore. And as much happiness as the band brought both him and Weasley, he was in a place now where he didn't depend on that crutch. With the baby coming, Draco was hoping Harry and Ron (and their newest band member, Alec) would take some much needed time off.

At the airport, Draco guided Hermione through the terminal with a hovering hand at her back. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd become protective of her but these past couple years of living with Harry had brought him a lot closer to her and Ron. It sometimes felt a tad odd but, in the end, he supposed it was nice that everyone could come together as a group.

"Are we early?" Hermione asked as they approached the gate.

Draco glanced at his watch. "They should have landed already. I think we're just on time."

His phone buzzed in his pocket just then and Draco pulled it out to see a text message from Harry. "Speak of the devil."

From: Harry

Hey Dray we're just unloading now. Old hag in front is taking forever… Can't wait to see you.

Sent: 1:16 PM

"They're on their way down," Draco said with a small smirk. "It's a bloody good thing they fly first class now—sounds like Harry's wreaking havoc with the elderly. Impatient sod."

Hermione chuckled. "That's our Harry."

~.~.~

"Harry, would you relax?" Ron hissed through the side of pursed lips, trying to remain unheard by other passengers as he threw the stewardess an awkward smile. "She's like a hundred years old. She can only go so fast, mate."

"I'm just anxious to get off this plane is all," Harry muttered back, cracking his knuckles in the nervous habit he'd never be rid of no matter how it irritated Draco.

"You're anxious to get some action, is what you are," Alec jeered. "Oh, trust me, I know," he insisted when Harry tried to protest. "Hotel walls are very thin."

Ron snickered and Harry had the decency to blush slightly, flashing Alec an apologetic smirk.

When they finally stepped beyond the gate, Harry's eyes scanned the sea of people milling about until they landed on a chic, slender, preposterously good-looking blond. He stood out in this crowd and he would have stood out in a crowd of thousands. With his exquisite features—the refined arch of his brow, the dusty pallor of his complexion over chiseled cheekbones and jaw—he was almost angelic and it was no surprise that he turned heads whenever he walked into a room. He carried his long, trim frame with an aristocratic poise that always made Harry wonder if people were surprised to see them together.

As he caught that silver gaze, Draco smiled. A real smile—one Harry didn't see too often when they weren't in the privacy of their own home, over a hot cuppa in the evening or curled up on the couch enjoying a bad flic.

But in that moment, it was a bit as though they were alone because the world had hollowed and the blurry edges that surrounded Draco didn't matter. Harry quickened his pace, a wide grin curving his lips as he made a beeline for the man who was now watching Harry approach with a boastful expression on his face.

Dropping his carry-on when he got within a couple feet, Harry took Draco by surprise by wrapping his arms around the blond's neck and hopping up into his arms. His legs wrapped around Draco's narrow hips and he hooked his ankles behind his back.

"Mmrrff," Draco grunted, staggering back, barely prepared for the weight of the man in his arms but any words of protest lost in the eager press of Harry's mouth. Doing his best to secure his hold on the boy's small frame, Draco slipped his hands under Harry's arse for support and kissed back as best he could. He pointedly ignored the pull of his jacket across his shoulder blades, cotton and silk straining. He pretended he couldn't feel the curious glances sent their way.

Fingertips grazed the back of Draco's neck, dipping into his hair line as Harry kissed him long, hard and slow. When the boy finally came away for air, his green eyes were smiling behind half-closed lids.

"Hey, baby," Harry mumbled lazily, that lopsided grin tugging freely at his pretty mouth.

"Hey," Draco echoed. "Miss me?" He watched as Harry's eyes left his gaze, landing on his mouth as he spoke, as if mesmerized, as if distracted by his lips. Draco couldn't help but dart a tongue out between them for effect and Harry leaned forward slightly, somehow drawn in to that damp, teasing flick.

"Never," the brunet replied, his lust-filled, lingering eyes confessing everything that one word failed to. In a contradictory moment of hasty movement and catching breaths, Harry crashed against Draco's mouth, once again eliminating this unnecessary disconnect of their parted lips.

Draco moaned softly into Harry's kiss. He half-heartedly tried to pull away, knowing how much attention they were attracting to themselves but Harry had a persistent grasp on the back of his head.

"Harry—"

"Mmm," Harry hummed, snubbing Draco's efforts to cut off the kiss. "Love you," he mumbled.

With an eager swipe of his tongue against Harry's, Draco deepened the kiss for a brief moment to acknowledge the words before again trying to ease out of the brunet's clutches. "I love you too—but honestly, Harry, you're not getting any lighter."

Grinning, Harry hopped down and bent to pick up his backpack but Draco beat him to it. Together they made their way over to where the others had taken refuge—a few paces away, acutely pretending they didn't know the ridiculous couple snogging like hormonal sixteen-year-olds in the middle of London Heathrow. Shuffling to a stop and hovering just behind Harry's shoulder, Draco looped two fingers into the back of the boy's waistband, dropping a quick kiss to his temple. This happened every time Harry came home—maintaining any sort of distance from the boy was beyond trying. After all their time apart, the proximity felt too good, too rejuvenating.

Alec was shaking his unkempt head at them; his dark, tousled dreads were vaguely Potter-esque but with his thick five o'clock shadow and harder features that were far less boyish than Harry's, he gave off a much scruffier impression. "You two need to learn to get—"

"Don't tell them to get a room," Ron interrupted. "Because you know they will. And Draco's our only ride home."

Draco smirked and turned his gaze to the unconventionally handsome features of Alec's face. The man's almond shaped eyes fell under the shadow of his low and heavy brows but his full mouth and ample, pouty lower lip were always a quick shift away from a smile. That infectious grin is what softened him, kept him from looking callous. "You need a lift?" Draco asked him.

"Nah, I'm alright. Thanks anyway. I've got a friend on the way."

"A friend," Harry repeated. The quotations around the word implying its connotations were evident without a physical gesture from Harry.

"Can it, Harry. You people," Alec started, motioning to the two couples with a bit of a sarcastic sneer, "have your meaningful relationship bollocks and I'll keep my shallow, adulterous sex life. We can't all live in a fucking Disney movie."

The irony in the statement had Draco biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his witty retorts to himself. He had a feeling Disney wouldn't particularly approve of the damage he and Harry had done to the headboard the night before the band had left on tour. Draco hadn't had the heart to fix the holes in the drywall yet, either—they reminded him of Harry.

"Until Friday night, then?" Alec asked, eyes finding Harry's with a subtle twitch of his brow.

Harry gave him a brief nod. "See you then."

As he walked away, Draco looked to Ron and Hermione—who were carefully avoiding his gaze—then to Harry curiously, trying to catch his eyes. "Friday night? What's Friday night?"

When Harry's eyes finally cut up to him, they were bright and enigmatic. "You'll see," he said.

~.~.~

The Room of Requirement was positively swarming with enthused fans—busier than Draco had ever seen it. Wandless Magic was almost getting too high profile to be performing there anymore but Harry had insisted that their homecoming celebration to wrap up the tour be there, where the band had first been born.

The place was positively teeming with security. Most of the regular bouncers recognized Draco by now anyway, but just in case Harry had gotten he, Blaise, George and the Weasley twins VIP passes that had allowed them to bypass the line—something for which Draco was quite grateful for, as it had been curving around the block by the time they showed up.

Hermione had left long before the others in order to join the boys on stage playing keyboard as part of the reunion. She was an endearing sight actually, her cheeks flushed in a wide smile and her subtle but noticeable baby bump tenting her empire-waist summer dress.

After nearly losing an eye in the pit of screaming teenagers, (because as it turned out, Harry, Ron and Alec, all being energetic and attractive young men, drew an overwhelmingly adolescent female fan-base,) Draco had had enough. Closely followed by Blaise and George Weasley, he retreated to the left side of the club to their reserved booth. Fred stayed with Little George on the dance floor, the teeny blond watching the band up close and personal with wide, admiring eyes. He'd never quite gotten rid of his fan-boy status and Fred would endure anything to be by his side. They weren't exactly together anymore but they somehow managed a friendship, despite their on-again off-again relationship.

From the safety of the booth, Draco ordered a round of drinks from a passing waitress and surveyed Harry as the boy worked his vocal magic. Not that he had any shortage of visual enchantment, mind you. He looked… incredible—almost the same as he had nearly three years ago when Draco first laid eyes on him. The only difference now was that his confidence wasn't contrived, his happiness genuine, and it showed in his eyes.

Draco watched as Harry stepped forward onto one of the large, booming speakers that flanked the stage, crouching down and reaching into the crowd. Arms and hands flailed frantically to touch him, grab his hand, graze his shoes or the tattered hem of his jeans. It didn't bother Draco like it used to—the attention Harry got, that is. He'd managed to find some control over his jealous behavior, perhaps because he was more confident in what he and Harry had. Bints and blokes alike could flirt all they wanted because Harry was a friendly little bugger, maybe more so than necessary, but he was loyal. At the end of the night, he would be going home with Draco.

Polishing off his drink, Draco moved to slide out of the seat.

A hand grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?" Blaise asked him.

Draco gave him a perplexed look. "The loo, Zabini. Do you mind?"

Blaise tried to pull him back into the booth. "No, you can't go yet."

"I didn't realize I needed to get clearance from you," Draco simpered. "Have you made up a schedule of when I'm allowed to take a piss?"

"No, er—it's just, it's almost the end of Harry's show!" He fidgeted, gesturing to the stage somewhat vaguely but not really meeting Draco's eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Did someone drop something in your drink, Zabini? Relax, I'll be back in two minutes."

He shrugged off Blaise's hand and slipped away to the back of the club.

In the confinements of the small bathroom, the music was a muffled echo against the tiled walls. When the song came to an end, Draco couldn't help but grin at the sound of Harry's winded voice addressing the crowd.

"Okay… firstly, I have to thank all of you for coming out tonight. We couldn't have hoped for a better way to close the tour…."

Harry paused for the explosion of whoops and hollering from the rowdy crowd.

"We'll be taking some time off for a while—" he continued. Loud booing interrupted him again. Draco smirked and shook his head. The boy had patience, he could give him that much. Harry pressed on cheerfully. "Now, now, guys. Ron here's going to be a daddy!"

Predictably, the mood of the audience lifted and Draco chuckled to himself as he washed his hands at the sink.

"Now, for those of you who've been around since the beginning, you may know it's somewhat of a Wandless Magic tradition to end with a cover…and we've got a little something special for you tonight. It sorta speaks for itself, so I guess we'll just jump right in…."

The thump of the foot-peddle drum and the light, plunking of keyboard notes were just starting to fill the club by the time Draco pushed out the door of the bathroom, heading back towards the stage. He caught sight of Harry and was mildly surprised to see the man was looking at him from all the way across the club, a small grin on his lips. His guitar hung from the strap around his neck as he stood with his hands on the mic, his eyes never once leaving Draco's.

Draco took leisurely strides in the direction of the table he'd been sitting at. He tried his best to focus on not colliding with anyone, very aware that he was wearing one of his best shirts and wouldn't have been too thrilled by another horrifying dry-cleaning bill. But Harry's eyes never left him, not once—and when the boy started singing, Draco didn't think he recognized the song, but that was of little or no consequence because the smooth yet gritty timbre of Harry's voice still made Draco's stomach do flips.

"It's a beautiful night,

We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,

Hey, baby,

I think I wanna marry you."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. He'd nearly reached the table now and he could feel his friends watching him. His eyes cut back up to Harry immediately, only to see that the boy had a mischievous smirk on his lips. Draco wasn't sure where his head was at but it wasn't currently attached to his body. He was somewhere frozen in an obnoxiously silent universe where there was nothing to see but Harry, staring into his soul with those penetrating green eyes. Harry threw Draco a wink and kept singing, but Draco didn't understand. His brain wasn't properly processing his environment.

"Is it that look in your eyes,

Or is it this dancing juice?

Who cares, baby?

I think I wanna marry you."

Harry's voice was like a drug and it was intoxicating. He could barely think, barely stand—come to think of it, he thought he might pass out. His eyes searched the floor, unseeing; it took a moment for him to realize it wasn't Harry's voice that was making his head spin but the words that were spilling from that inebriating mouth. Was this some sort of joke? Harry's idea of being cute? Draco reached out and clutched the frame of the booth, trying to steady himself. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. He was dreaming, or hallucinating or… or… something. But when he looked up at Harry, the boy smiling at him, looking playful and earnest and adorable, he knew that it wasn't a delusion. It was very much real.

"Well, I know this little chapel,

On the boulevard, we can go-oo-o-oo-o,

No one will know-oo-o-oo-o,

Oh, come on, boy.

Who cares if we're trashed,

Got a pocket full of cash, we can blow-oo-o-oo-o,

Shots of patro-oo-o-oo-on,

And it's on, boy."

And then the song picked up and Harry bent into his guitar, pulsing with the upbeat tempo and grinning like a buffoon. He sang it like he sang anything else—with energy, enthusiasm and sincerity. Only this time when his eyes found Draco's in the crowd, Draco knew it was more than just playfulness in those flirty eyes. No, this was more direct, more undeniably significant. And Draco was struck immobile by it. And Harry was so… happy, so jovial, as though he wasn't asking the biggest, most important question of his life in front of hundreds of people. He was astonishingly relaxed and the smile in his eyes depicted his confidence. There wasn't a shred of doubt—no fear whatsoever that it would blow up in his face.

"Don't say no, no, no, no-no,

Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah,

And we'll go, go, go, go-go,

If you're ready, like I'm ready,

'Cuz it's a beautiful night,

We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,

Hey, baby,

I think I wanna marry you."

There was the distinct sound of wedding bells interweaving into the music. Dear Lord, Hermione was fucking plunking out wedding bells on her fucking keyboard. It was horrific, it was tacky… and it was possibly the most romantic thing Draco had ever heard. His vision was swimming. People were looking at him now. When his eyes cut up to Harry's again, they were tingling uncomfortably. He swallowed hard.

"I'll go get the ring,

Let the choir bell sing like, oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh,

So what you wanna do-oo-oo-oo-oo,

Let's just run, boy."

As Harry sang on, Draco tore his eyes away and looked to his friends at the table next to him. George and Blaise were watching him intently. They were probably waiting for a reaction from Draco that expressed anything other than shock but so far, that was all Draco was capable of. He glanced over the crowd and locked eyes with Little George, who was gazing at him with full, round eyes that were brimming with tears. That's when Draco recognized just what that tingling sensation behind his nose was. He blinked quickly against the shimmery veil at his lash line that threatened to impede his vision. God damned fucking emotions.

"Just say I do,

Tell me right now, baby,

Tell me right now baby, baby.

Just say I do,

Tell me right now, baby,

Tell me right now, baby, baby, oh."

Harry's eyes were closed, fingers flying over the chords, his face a mixture of warmth and honesty. Quite suddenly, Draco had the use of his limbs back. He moved forward, albeit slowly, watching Harry's sweet face, his quirky smile, his pouting lips, the creases at the corner of his eyes….

It was as if the crowd knew Draco was coming; many of them were watching him, parting for him, as if they were all in on this unlikely scheme. Maybe it was the way Harry had been staring at him that made them know, the way he made so clear that these lyrics were more than just words, that this was more than just a song.

In very little time, Draco was at the front, gracefully hopping over the railing that separated the anxious fans from the stage, the bouncers watching him and saying nothing. If Draco hadn't felt so fucking petrified, so frozen and sick to his stomach, he might have chuckled; as usual, Harry had everyone in this place wrapped around his pinky finger.

The music quieted as Harry's hands left his guitar and wrapped softly around the mic stand—softly like the changing tone of his voice, softly like the petering moments of the song. Hermione's ringing bells chirped brightly in the background as Harry looked down at Draco, eyes sparkling. The chorus rolled from his lips with the slowing ease of falling dusk. It was gradually quieter—it was in question.

"It's a beautiful night,

We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,

Hey , baby,

I think I wanna marry you.

Is it that look in your eyes,

Or is it this dancing juice?

Who cares, baby?

I think I wanna marry you."

And then it was silent. Draco figured it was, anyway—but the sudden halting of notes and bass and cheering was louder than the shrillest shriek, the brashest applause. It felt as though hundreds of eyes were on him, waiting for an outcome, a response. It felt like the entire club was holding its breath but Draco supposed the crowd could have been screaming bloody murder and he wouldn't have known the difference—because in this moment, none of that existed. Standing at the base of the stage, there was nothing but Harry.

Draco extended a hand to him. Just one hand, held up and waiting. Harry lifted his guitar strap over his head and silently handed it to Alec. He crouched and took Draco's hand, dropping himself off the stage and landing in front of Draco with an agile bounce. His kind eyes watched the blond so carefully, tracked his every movement. There was the tiniest of grins playing at the corners of the boy's lips but it hovered, unsure—watching, waiting.

Lifting his fingers to the worn brim of Harry's cap, Draco eased it off his head and absently let it drop to the floor, where eager fans fought to catch it. Never straying from Harry's hypnotizing gaze, Draco fingered one of the boy's belt loops and gently pulled him closer. He stared into those staggering jade pools for a long, painfully silent moment. Then, with a hand swiftly lifting to the back of Harry's neck, Draco kissed him, deep and thorough and fervent.

The roar that filled the room then was deafening and should have drowned out everything else. The thunderous applause and piercing cheers should have been the only thing filling Draco's ears. Yet, as he inhaled deeply, breathing into the kiss and drinking in Harry's sweet, needy moan, what instead echoed in his head was the sound of the boy's thundering heart, his quiet, wet gasp, his quickening pulse. Apparently, Harry took precedence with Draco's senses; he was the center around which Draco foolishly orbited, the very oxygen that he breathed.

And the damn sod wastalking again. Why was he always talking?

"Should I take tha' as a yes, then?" Harry mumbled against his lips.

Draco hummed and deepened the kiss, pressing into the smaller man's frame as absolutely and hotly as he could.

"Mmmwe coul' go ta' Canada, ya know."

"Spain's closer," Draco replied instinctively, refusing to pull away.

"Or we coul' do it here… partnership laws… pretty much tha same thin'…."

"Harry, I'll marry you in every fucking country you can think of. I'll marry you on the fucking moon if you can get us there. Just shut up."

Harry caved then. Submitting to the kiss, he brought his arms up to hook around Draco's neck, mouth readily accepting his tongue. He let Draco kiss him into oblivion, guide him to a place where Draco could answer yes in so many ways but so little words. And Draco did so greedily. He accepted his offer with hot touches, vibrating nerves, burning grazes of skin against skin.

Neither of them heard the MC's congratulatory announcements, or noticed the flashing of paparazzi cameras, or cared that someone had reached through the bars of the barrier to snatch Harry's cap and dash away with it. It didn't matter that the bouncers were starting to fidget uncomfortably, that they were having to forcefully keep fans from spilling over the railings. It didn't matter that people were watching, didn't matter that this would be the talk of all of tomorrow's papers or that Alec was forced to say the final thank yous to officially bring the show to a close. All that mattered was this kiss, this moment, this feeling—in the very spot they had first met, the night it had all started—what felt like eons, worlds away.

Draco smiled against Harry's lips. He'd never anticipated a love like this, never expected to feel so consumed by an obsession for someone other than himself—it was so un-Malfoy; however, he supposed his perseverance would have done his father proud. He'd gone after what he'd wanted and triumphed in more ways than he could have hoped for. He'd faced every damn hurdle, dealt with every one of Harry's bloody mood swings and trounced every competitor. Harry was his now, in the same way that he was Harry's—and for that, he had many things to thank; patience, for example—patience and finesse; love and sex and determination… and most importantly, post-its.

A/N: There she be my pretties.

I have to SINCERELY, from the bottom of my heart, thank those of you who have read this fic from the beginning, and have always made the time to give me your feedback. You are appreciated on more levels than you can count, honestly. The story wouldn't have been the same without you. And as most of you will know by now, the song was Marry You, by Bruno Mars and I do not own it.

I'm a tad sad to see the end of this, but immensely satisfied as well. I hope to write more fics, I have plenty of ideas, so hopefully you'll be seeing more of my work again soon :)

Peace, Love and Boy Sex,

WrittenMatrix