d r a c o
It was sickly sweet, all of it. Fairy lights and ribbons hung from the ceiling of the tent; bouquets of flowers lined the aisle. In the far corner, a string quartet played a gentle waltz. It was the sort of thing that Draco would have despised, once. Though now it didn't bother him all that much.
At the front of the tent, the ushers were waiting for the bridesmaids to walk in. Harry Potter stood by them, his expression the odd combination of happiness and nerves that Draco had only ever witnessed at weddings.
Draco had hated Harry Potter for his entire life. He had never expected to attend his wedding, never mind be invited - and had he known that he would attend, he would have expected to hate every second. But he felt nothing. He felt no emotions at being here, didn't feel anything for the bride or bridegroom. He wouldn't be here at all if Astoria and Blaise hadn't persuaded him to come, wouldn't have bothered to dress nicely and travel out to the middle of bloody nowhere to sit in a room of people he didn't like. But in the months since they had received the invite, Astoria and Blaise had insisted repeatedly that they attend, and eventually, reluctantly, he had agreed.
He hadn't told his mother and father that he was here, of course. They still despised Harry Potter, and tensions were running high enough in the Manor as it was.
Draco's father had been called back for a series of trials at the Ministry. Two years had passed since the battle now, which meant that almost two years had passed since the Ministry had decided that not one of the Malfoys was enough of a threat to the Wizarding World to be sent to Azkaban. But more escaped Death Eaters had been captured since the battle, and their memories and testimonies had been combed through, and more and more information had been uncovered about Lucius that put him at risk of imprisonment. And Narcissa and Lucius appeared to live in a state of perpetual anxiety, but Draco didn't really know what to think. Because he knew a thousand things that the Ministry didn't, that could potentially ship his father straight to Azkaban.
Blaise sat to Draco's right, beside the aisle. Astoria was to his left. The other wedding guests spoke quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the ceremony to begin, but they sat in silence.
As the first bridesmaid walked in, the congregation stood. A hush fell across the tent as the guests turned to face her, and Draco's mind wandered to Astoria, to his own wedding.
She was putting off the planning.
Draco wasn't sure why, and her manner of doing so was so very inconspicuous that he mightn't have noticed, had his parents not been so intent on its planning themselves. The wedding was scheduled for August, but Astoria was dawdling. Whenever the subject came up, she would subtly change it. Anytime he asked her about it, she was dismissive, her answers noncommittal. When Astoria had insisted they attend Potter's wedding, it had been the strongest sentiment she had shown in months.
When the second bridesmaid had walked in and taken her place, the guests turned back to the entrance of the tent, expectant. But there was a pause, and for long, drawn-out moments, nothing happened.
Murmurs rose from the congregation. Draco glanced at Astoria, and then at Blaise. Neither met his eyes. They were acting even stranger than usual, today.
The musicians continued on; the rise and fall of the strings soft and sweet. And just as Draco was beginning to wonder if something was wrong, a small hand appeared at the entrance to the tent. It was pulled back once more, and a girl with dark blonde curls and a tiny star necklace began to walk down the aisle.
And Draco had been raised in a house riddled with Dark Magic - had lived for years in a magical school - had seen all sorts of strange and enigmatic and inexplicably mesmerizing things - but he had never seen anything quite like her.
