For @drarrymicrofic prompt: âBookâ wc 741
In the early days of their relationship, Draco had wondered about the little notebook Harry kept on his person.
It was a small thing, barely big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Plain black leather. Muggle-made, with crisp white paper instead of the aged yellow of parchment.
Then, as the days bled into weeks and the weeks into months, Dracoâs curiosity only grew.
Harry rarely got it out in front of him, but when he did, he was always careful to angle it away, shielding the contents as he scribbled. Tiny little scratches of his hand, sharp and quick, so frantic that Draco often wondered how Harry managed to read his own writing afterwards.
On the morning of their first anniversary, Draco finally asked.
Sleep-mussed and bleary-eyed, Harry took a moment to realise Draco was speaking to him.
âHuh?â Harry looked up, blinking once.
He looked adorable like this. Curled up in the corner of the sofa, wearing the ratty grey joggers Draco claimed to hate but, in truth, didnât. Bare-chested because, apparently, Harry was allergic to clothing on Sunday mornings.
Draco didnât hate that either.
In his lap was the notebook, perched precariously on his thigh. In one hand, a Muggle biro. In the other, his coffee.
âWhat is that little thing youâre always writing in?â Draco asked, curling up beside him.
The smile Harry gave him was coy and lopsided, a flush of pink spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, set his coffee down, and leaned forward until there was barely an inch between them.
âA present,â Harry explained, his voice a whisper.
Puzzled, Draco tilted his head. âA present?â
It took Harry a moment to respond. âYes. For you.â
Then it took Draco a moment to hear the words properly.
And another for Harry to offer the book over.
Carefully, tentatively, he held it out.
Confused, nervous, and a little bit excited, Draco accepted it. Harryâs eyes remained fixed on him as he opened it to the first page.
365 Reasons Why I Love Draco Fucking Malfoy
âI started this the moment you said yes to a date. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago,â Harry explained. âI knew then that I wanted a million plus one days with you. Three hundred and sixty-five reasons are simply not enough to even begin to explain why I love you.â
With shaking hands, Draco flipped through the pages, and with each turn, he felt his heart grow larger and larger until it threatened to tip over and spill out of him entirely.
#16 â Owled me just to say hello.
#45 â Remembered Hermioneâs favourite wine and brought it round for dinner because he knew Iâd forget.
#51 â Bought me a limited-edition Puddlemere jersey for my birthday. How he did that, I donât know. They were sold out everywhere.
#96 â Took Teddy to his Junior Quidditch club when I couldnât get out of work.
#148 â Brewed me Pepper-Up Potion when I caught a cold.
#193 â Booked us a surprise weekend trip to France. He wants to introduce me formally to his mum.
#228 â Saved Christmas dinner when Molly burnt the turkey by Apparating home to get the one heâd saved for our Boxing Day meal.
#274 â Ate my arse out for a solid forty-five minutes until I was a whimpering, fucking mess before shagging me something rotten.
#319 â Took Ron to St Mungoâs when he fell off his broom like the idiot he is.
#339 â Agreed to move in with me.
Tears fell freely, but Draco didnât care. He wiped them away, stomach in knots, heart lodged somewhere in his throat.
Three hundred and sixty-five reasons why Harry loved him sat in the palm of his hand.
He looked at the last page again.
âSaid yes?â he asked.
Harry nodded, his own eyes welling. With a shaky breath, he said, âWill you marry me?â
The question landed hard and firm between them, and Draco knew he would need three hundred and sixty-five ways to say yes.
He started with the simplest one.
With a teary chuckle, he noddedâresolute.
From the pocket of his joggers, Harry pulled out a small box and opened it.
Inside, nestled in the velvet cushion, was a silver ring.
âThank God,â Harry breathed. âI bought this three hundred and sixty-five days ago, and I donât think I could return it now.â
