Chapter Text
Harry walked downstairs to the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place wearing his slouchiest pajamas and his favorite blue house slippers with the hole in the toe. He rubbed his eyes, pushing up his glasses over his eyebrows, and let his hands drag across the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. Glancing over to his brightly lit kitchen, Harry noticed that the Prophet had already been delivered that morning and was resting next to a steaming cup of coffee on the counter. Harry shuffled over, taking a sip of the hot coffee as he sat down on the stool, plucking the paper up to read. With a grimace, he suddenly remembered what day it was. It was September 21, the day Daphne Greengrass and Neville Longbottom were getting married.
Harry had of course been anticipating the event all week, but this morning had woken up with serene forgetfulness to the bright sun pouring in through his upstairs window. Oh well, that had only lasted for eight minutes.
Neville was one of Harry’s closest friends, their bond having only strengthened following their joint roles as major contributors to the end of the War, and now as coworkers. Even though she had been a Slytherin in their schooling years, Harry thought Daphne was a very pretty and sweet girl, and perfect for Neville. After spending more time together while helping to rebuild Hogwarts following the final battle, Daphne and Neville had realized they actually had a lot in common. They both had an affinity for Herbology and grew up with similar Pureblood backgrounds, with similarly terrifying matriarchal grandmothers leading their families. Harry couldn’t be happier for the couple, but he was dreading the odd assortment of people who would be forced to co-exist peacefully together in one room for an entire evening. Up until his best friend had dropped the bomb on him earlier that week, Harry had been completely oblivious as to who would be attending the wedding. Ron had come over on Tuesday to help Harry finish the last touches towards his remodeling of 12 Grimmauld Place. As they had been shoving the horrible troll foot umbrella stand from the front hallway into the darkest corner of the attic, Ron suddenly burst out in an excited yelp.
In fact, he’d yelled “Harry!” so loudly, that Harry had dropped the troll foot on his own foot, feeling as if all of his toes were broken. While he was hopping around on his left foot and cursing Ron for screaming like a banshee, Ron had apologized and started explaining himself sheepishly. “Sorry, Harry. I just remembered something Hermione told me this morning that I meant to tell you earlier. Last night, she was helping Daphne with seating arrangements for the wedding, and she found out there are going to be some right wankers coming.”
Harry stopped hopping, placing his foot tenderly down on the attic floor and trying out his weight with a grimace. “Who?”
“Guess. Who are the biggest gits we know?” He responded, a grim but expectant smile plastered on his face.
“Well at this very moment, you’re the biggest git I know.” Harry complained, still testing his weight out on his littlest and most bruised toe.
“Harry, concentrate.” Ron insisted, throwing his hands out.
“I don’t know, Ernie? God, he was so annoying last week at Hogwarts. He kept trying to give me advice on my arm positioning while demonstrating Expelliarmus. I mean, does he even know how I defeated Voldemort?” Harry grumbled, finally looking Ron in the eye.
“No, Harry. I mean that is annoying, but come on, who is your least favorite person?”
“Cormac?” Harry guessed again, feeling puzzled now.
“God, you’re so thick Harry. Cormac isn’t your least favorite person.” Ron paused, before continuing, “although you’re right, he is pretty terrible.”
“You didn't have to work with him at the Ministry, Ron. He was a complete git, trust me. Just tell me who’s coming.”
“Seriously, Harry? Daphne is a Slytherin. Think about it.” Ron tapped Harry on the side of his temple, looking amused.
“Oh, Merlin’s tits.” Harry groaned, letting his head fall back. “Are Malfoy and his cronies going to be there?”
“Of course they are!” Ron smacked him on the chest. “Bloody Hell, Harry, how was that not the first name you came up with? Of course they’re going to be there, they’re all Purebloods like Daphne and they were all in Slytherin together.”
Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes and walking back out of the dusty, dark attic towards the ladder leading to the fourth floor. “Just our luck. Of course one of our best friends had to go and marry a Slytherin.” Harry and Ron exchanged significant, exasperated looks, before Harry continued. “Well, as long as we don’t have to speak to any of them it should be fine. I mean, I haven’t seen Malfoy or Goyle since after their trials, and I haven’t seen Parkinson since the final battle when she tried to turn me in to Voldemort.”
“Blimey, Harry. I forgot she did that. She had some nerve, didn't she, trying to turn you in to dear old Voldy.” Ron laughed, smacking him on the back. Harry rolled his eyes again. Following the war, Harry, Ron, and Neville had taken to making frequent dark jokes about the horrors they had endured. Hermione had tried to convince all of them to talk seriously and productively about the traumas they had experienced, but Harry found talking too much about everything they lost made him feel lethargic and depressed. Harry and Ron’s macabre sense of humor irritated Hermione to no end, but Harry felt making light of their terrifying experiences made the trauma far more tolerable. Since Harry was already extraordinarily ungifted with sharing his emotions, he found that using humor helped him to comment on or discuss events that had truly bothered him in his past without having to explain the emotional toll.
Now, Harry sat in the kitchen on the day of the wedding, tapping his finger on the newspaper headline, which read, “A Wizarding Wedding for the Books!”. Beneath the headline was an enormous, smiling image of Neville and Daphne from their engagement party, and Harry couldn’t help but groan at the thought of the enormous, photography-worthy wedding. Harry knew Neville had wanted it to be a quiet affair, but Daphne’s family and Neville’s terrifying grandmother insisted on turning the wedding into the social occasion of the year. As Harry continued to war with his combined excitement for his two friends’ happy day, and with the opposing dread he felt towards facing Malfoy’s crew and the paparazzi that would most likely show up at some point during the night, he heard a sharp coughing sound from somewhere nearby.
“Huh hem. What would Master Harry be liking for his breakfast this morning?” A growling, hoarse voice called from behind the counter. Harry sat up and leaned over, his new glasses almost slipping off the tip of his nose, to spot the floppy eared house-elf peering mulishly up at him.
“Good morning Kreacher." Harry sighed. The house-elf had insisted on returning to 12 Grimmauld Place as soon as Harry decided to make the Black ancestral house his official residence on weekends and during the summer holidays. Harry had lived for some time following the The Final Battle of Hogwarts at the Weasleys’ home, but once Ron and Hermione decided to move out to find an apartment to live in together, Harry had decided it would be strange if he stayed on. Molly had, of course, insisted that he stay for as long as he wished, but Harry had decided after five months of living in the Burrow that it was time for him to make his own way in the world.
On top of feeling like he was an additional burden to Molly and Arthur’s already full household, and that he might be getting in the way of the family dealing with the death of Fred, Harry and Ginny had decided to just remain friends following their hiatus apart the year before when she was at school and he was hunting Horcruxes. They had shared several tentative kisses and confusing, tempestuous conversations at the Burrow in the months following the last battle, but had eventually decided that they wanted different things in life and were too emotionally damaged to maintain a healthy relationship. Last year, Ginny had started dating again, and Harry couldn’t be happier for her. They had grown even closer the last two years, and he still considered her one of his favorite people.
So now he was living alone at Sirius’ family home, with a particularly ornery house elf. Despite the fact that Kreacher’s respect for Harry had grown exponentially following the destruction of the locket, and thus his fulfillment of the duty to his former master Regulus, Harry still found Kreacher to be rather poor company.
Harry sighed a second time and looked back down at the patiently waiting house elf, whom Harry suddenly realized had decided to don a distinctly pink and floral pillowcase that morning. “Could I just have some toast and an egg?”
“As you wish, Master Harry. I will serve it to the table.” Kreacher gave Harry a distinctly half-hearted bow and turned back towards the stove, stepping up on a stool so he could reach the cooking surface.
Harry stood up and moved with his coffee and newspaper over to the kitchen table, sipping slowly on the hot liquid while he scanned articles of interest in the Prophet. As Kreacher was serving him his breakfast, and appearing miffed over Harry’s many thanks and obvious discomfort still with being waited on in his own home, Harry heard a tap on the window. He looked up to see a small, swooping owl chirping and throwing his body at the window with complete disregard for his own safety. Harry reached over to the window clasp and let Pigwidgeon inside, and the little owl hooted pridefully and zipped around Harry’s head, hopping back and forth on each of his shoulders before Harry was finally able to pin him down long enough to remove the small scroll tied to his skinny leg. Harry let Pig nibble on some of his toast while he unrolled the message and began to read.
“Harry, please remember I have your tux for the wedding, so come to our flat first before we need to leave. No later than 3:30!! - Love, Hermione.”
Grinning to himself, Harry decided not to let Hermione know he actually had forgotten about the wedding that morning, and instead wrote a quick reply back saying he’d arrive at their flat around then. He pinned the scroll back on Pig’s ankle and sent him on his way, hooting loudly and practically squeaking with joy over the job.
Finished with breakfast, Harry jogged upstairs to his room on the third floor of the house, figuring he had more than enough time to go for a run before he needed to get ready. Since the War, Harry had begun to supplement his Quidditch league practice activities, which he attended two times a week with a variety of coworkers and friends, with long runs around Wizarding and Muggle London. Today, he decided to follow one of his usual paths around Regent’s Park.
Harry returned to his house a little over an hour later, sweaty and sticky from the run. Kreacher gave him a disdainful glare as he re-entered the house, snubbing his nose up at Harry’s Muggle jogging attire, but Harry ignored him. He kicked off his trainers by the front door and went straight upstairs to strip out of his grey sweatpants and exercise t-shirt in the bathroom. Before he got in the shower, he took a moment to study his reflection in the mirror.
Ginny and Hermione had insisted that he had really “grown in” to his face in the past few years. Most of the boyish roundness of his chin that he’d had throughout his time at Hogwarts had melted into sharp angles. He’d also grown his hair out long since the war ended, wearing it on top of his head in a bun like he’d seen Charlie Weasley do growing up. Ginny preferred his hair shorter, but Harry was rather enjoying sporting a different sort of hairstyle, especially as Ron kept telling him that it made him look "cool." But Harry had found that the only downside to sporting a bun, was that his scar was far more noticeable, even with the smaller wisps of hair that conveniently curled over that area of his forehead. But Harry had learned to accept this aspect of his face more comfortably over the past year, and was trying to follow Hermione's advice that he should stop hiding his scar, just because it slightly increased the amount of attention he would get in public. As the shower started to steam, Harry finally hopped in and washed thoroughly. When he got out, he magically wiped the steam off of the mirror with a swipe of his hand and criticized his face again.
Harry wasn’t typically vain, but he felt like he wanted to look his best for the wedding tonight. Sometimes he got accused by his friends and the press of being too uncouth, and he didn’t want to deal with the slag of the press ruining the memory of his friends’ special day. Harry dragged his palm over his chin and neck again, feeling the stubble.
Harry picked up his razor and carefully cut down his neck to shape the stubble on his jaw. Afterwards, he magically dried his hair and put it up in his bun, making sure that his hair was as sleek and flat as possible before stepping back to see the effect in the reflection. He thought he looked - nice. Put together in an effortless way. Harry thought Hermione and Ginny would probably approve, and with that he brushed his teeth and changed into a white undershirt, his best button-down, and his dragon-hide shoes. He had meant to wash his clothes earlier in the week, and had forgotten, so the only pair of clean socks he could find were the horrible broomstick and snitch socks Dobby had given him for Christmas one year. Harry was glad that they’d be hidden under his trousers the whole night.
A couple of hours later, Harry traveled by the Floo Network to Ron and Hermione’s third floor flat. Hermione greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and an array of compliments about his “chic appearance,” which made him blush with embarrassment.
“Erm, Thanks Hermione. You look very nice too.” Harry coughed out, giving Ron a bewildered look. Ron grinned, shrugging carelessly.
“Let’s have a drink before we go too, relax the nerves a bit.” Ron gave Harry a shove, wiggling his eyebrows in challenge.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I mean really, we’re going to a wedding. Wait to have a drink until the reception.”
“I think we might need that drink, Hermione.” Harry pointed out, giving Ron a look that said, “this is going to suck, but let’s get on with it.”
Later that afternoon, they apparated to the Greengrass Estate coordinates listed on the invitation. The family’s grounds were grand, although not as intimidatingly grand as Malfoy Estate. The lawns were long and green, and Harry could see horse stables to the right of the house. There were several beautiful brown and black horses roaming behind white fences. The estate also seemed lighter and more modern than the Malfoy Estate, with its light colored stonework and white painted buildings.
“Wow, Daphne’s home is beautiful.” Hermione gasped. “It’s like a fairy tale castle.”
Ron snorted. “You’re right, Hermione. Well, this should be fun. Let’s go, I still want that drink.”
“Ron! Not until after the ceremony.” Hermione hissed as they walked up the path to the front gates. The pathway had been decorated with beautiful bouquets and border gardens blossoming with white roses. They were immediately escorted to the estate’s backyard garden, where an enormous white tent had been set up. Hundreds of white chairs were lined up under the tent, and an archway of white roses was positioned behind the alter.
“It’s so beautiful! Oh, this is going to be grand.” Hermione squeaked, with barely contained excitement.
They were escorted by a younger cousin of Daphne’s to a group of seats five rows from the front on the left side of the aisle. The seats were already filling up with nicely dressed couples and well-behaved children. Many of the women were wearing elaborate hats, and most of the guests had the air of aristocracy about them. Harry felt mildly out of place, and was thankful that Hermione had forced him to get a custom tailored suit made for the occasion. He had balked at the price at the time and almost didn’t go through with the purchase, but now he was feeling thankful he had spent the galleons. At least his clothes fit in appropriately, if his manners could not. A few minutes later, they were joined by some of their other Hogwarts friends. Luna arrived next with Dean and Seamus in tow. She was wearing an outrageously brilliant shade of orange, with matching kumquat earrings. Ginny showed up not long afterwards, accompanied by Hannah Abbott. They chatted happily with their friends for a while, until the ushers gathered in the back of the room and a hush fell across the tent.
Right as the wedding was about to start, Harry saw four of the people he was dreading to see that night stalk down the aisle, directed by an usher to the right side where Daphne’s friends and family were seated. Pansy was dressed in a tight blue gown that was borderline inappropriate for the occasion, her rather expansive cleavage on full display. Following her, Harry noticed that Blaise looked rather good in a fitted dark blue suit and closely-cropped hair. Harry had always begrudgingly thought he was the most attractive guy in their year. Taking one last glance before turning back around in his seat, Harry caught sight of Malfoy and Goyle. Malfoy was looking rather well, Harry thought with surprise. The last time he’d seen Malfoy, he’d been too skinny and pale, with deep, dark circles under his eyes. Now he looked slim, but healthy, and the color had returned to his face. To Harry’s great annoyance, Malfoy had also grown his hair out and was wearing it pulled back in a bun, in exactly the same style as Harry’s.
Hermione nudged him, and he looked back at her. She was gaping and scarcely stifling her laughter, pointing to Harry’s bun and mouthing “Malfoy?”
Harry blushed, feeling immediately aggravated. “That prat, how dare he try to steal my hairstyle.”
This made Hermione giggle even harder. “I’m sorry, hold on let me calm down.” She took several deep breaths, waiting until the couples around them stopped giving her dirty looks before whispering back, “I didn’t realize you had a monopoly on the man bun, Harry.” She gave him a cheeky grin.
“Hush up, you lot. The wedding is about to start.” Ron hissed to both of them. Hermione and Harry faced forward, schooling their faces into something more serious.
The wedding ceremony went perfectly. Neville had grown into his face and body so well that it always shocked Harry whenever he saw him. Daphne looked gorgeous in a modern fitted wedding gown, and Harry actually found himself tearing up as they said their vows, much to his own surprise and embarrassment.
Following the ceremony, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were seated at a table with all of their school friends. Ginny sat down on his right, and Ron on his left. The dinner was delicious. They had the option of salad or soup to start, which was followed by two delicate plates for the main course. Harry had especially enjoyed the sashimi, which was a food he’d never had before, but found he quite liked. Following the dinner, Daphne’s father gave a short and heartfelt speech, and announced that the dance floor was open. Harry was a terrible dancer when it came to anything formal, as he learned at the Yuleball, so he stuck to trawling along the outsides of the dance floor and talking with his friends. Here, they quickly learned that the wine and champagne was very freely given, and Harry found himself getting very warm and loose as the night progressed. He was having an excellent time so far, despite the fact that the paparazzi had indeed shown up and were casing the outside of the event, their cameras flashing every so often and calling out the names of the most famous guests, including the “Golden Trio.” They had been fairly easy to ignore, however, thanks to the rather loud orchestra and the noisy chattering around the venue.
Later in the evening, Harry stood with Hermione and Ginny and watched Neville and Daphne cut the cake. It was a gorgeous, towering concoction of pale white frosting and roses, and they only had to cut about a quarter of the largest two tiers of the cake to serve the guests. The rest of the cake sat pristine and barely touched on a small, intricately carved table in the center of the tent. Following the cake cutting, Harry returned to his his chat with Ron and Seamus, who were also very obviously tipsy. Looking up, he caught sight of Malfoy again on the other side of the tent. He was speaking to a rather venerable looking older woman wearing an enormous hat stacked high with what appeared to be a variety of fruits. Harry watched him from afar as he finished up the conversation, then dipped down and placed a kiss on the old witch’s hand. She giggled, batting him away. Harry felt himself rolling his eyes and nudging Ron with his elbow.
“Can you believe him? Sucking up to all these old doddering witches.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Who, Malfoy? I mean yeah that wouldn’t surprise me, he’s probably still scraping around trying to get on everyone’s good side.”
Ginny walked up, an eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on her pretty face. “Still holding on to Hogwarts’ grudges, are we? Aren’t we getting a little old for that?” Harry and Ron both scoffed at her, but Harry felt his face redden slightly.
“But it’s Malfoy, Ginny!” Harry protested.
“I seem to remember you standing up for his defense at his trial in front of the Wizengamot. Surely you can’t think he’s that much of a wanker anymore.” She replied teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows at Harry.
“Oh come on Ginny, he didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban, but he’s still a git.” Harry replied easily, Ron agreeing fervently next to him.
“I actually think he’s been doing some really great things.” Hermione chimed in, walking over to their group.
“Hermione, he used to call you a, a…” Harry trailed off, not want to use the word.
“A Mudblood, yes I know. But in case you forgot, despite me reminding you at least twice a month, he personally tracked me down at law school and profusely apologized to me about his former treatment. And he helped to draft an appeal to the Wizengamot for me on behalf of better treatment for house elves. If I didn’t have him there to help me with the wording and to show me how to gain support, I never could have gotten that bill passed and all these wealthy witches and wizards would still be allowed to punish their house elves however they saw fit.” Hermione crossed her arms, looking slightly annoyed now at her best friend and husband.
“Hermione.” Ron cried, exasperated. “We know, he apologized to everyone in my family too. But he’s still, you know, Malfoy. It doesn't make him less annoying.”
“Yeah Hermione, and he never apologized to me for anything.” Harry added, his voice gaining enthusiasm as he spoke. “I gave him back his wand and everything after the trial and he barely even looked at me.”
Ginny and Hermione groaned. “Yes, we know, Harry.” Ginny whined, giving him a shove on the shoulder.
“You’ve only told us at least fifty times.” Hermione added. “And before you say that he ignored you earlier this year at the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial ceremony, and before that when you ran into him at the Ministry, we also remember that too.”
Harry reddened and adjusted his new glasses. “Ok, so I already brought it up. But you can see why I still think he’s a total arsehole.”
“Yeah!” Ron added rather pointlessly.
“Ron!” Hermione ran her fingers through her hair in annoyance. “He’s been extremely polite to you at the Ministry.”
“Yeah he has, but I’m supporting my best friend here.” He slapped Harry hard on the back, and Harry chortled and slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Knew I could always count on you, mate.” Harry grinned back at him, then turned to watch Malfoy again. He was now speaking to a group of witches who looked to be in their thirties. They were giggling at something he'd said, and one of the brunette witches wearing a fitted lavender colored gown kept reaching out and touching Malfoy on the arm. Harry watched as Malfoy spoke again, and then all of the witches laughed rancorously. He quirked a charming smile back at them, leaning forward and giving the brunette witch a kiss on the hand.
“He’s going to kiss every witch in the tent.” Harry threw out his arms in disbelief. “Ginny, Hermione, you better go hide, he’ll be coming over here next.”
Ginny giggled. “I wouldn’t mind that much, he’s quite nice to look at, now that he’s not a purist shit anymore, and not sneering at everything that moves.”
Harry glared at his ex-girlfriend. “Seriously, Ginny? He was my mortal enemy!”
“Harry, listen to yourself.” Ginny’s snickers turned into a full-blown laugh. “You were up against Umbridge, Death Eaters, and dare we forget, Lord Voldemort, and you’re calling him your mortal enemy? You’re a nightmare.”
Even Ron seemed to be having trouble keeping his face serious, biting his lip to prevent the smile from creeping up. “She has a point, mate, you’re being a bit of a drama queen. Sorry, I’m mostly on your side, promise.” He added, putting his hands up defensively at the glare Harry shot his way.
Harry sighed loudly, rubbing his hands over his hair to make sure no loose strands had fallen out. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you guys anymore. Savior of the World over here and all I get is verbal abuse by the people who are supposed to be my closest friends.”
“Oh hush up, Harry. You hate it when people call you the Savior, don’t even.” Hermione and Ginny laughed louder.
Harry knew he was being dramatic, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. He turned back around and shot another glare towards Malfoy. To his surprise, Malfoy was now only a few yards away and was walking towards them, his face blank. Harry crossed his arms over his chest, letting his scowl disappear into a similarly neutral mask.
“Good to see you, Hermione.” Malfoy addressed her first, giving her a small smile. He looked over to Ron next, then Ginny, giving each of them a bow. He barely looked at Harry. “Can I ask you for a dance?” He asked Hermione, glancing at Ron with an eyebrow quirked and a friendly smile on his face. Ron looked annoyed, but shrugged.
“Of course, I love a French Waltz.” Hermione replied, her tone clear and polite. She gave him a small curtsy and placed her hand gently on top of his open palm, and they walked off together towards the dance floor.
“Bloody git.” Ron muttered under his breath. “Stealing my wife.”
“Oh hush Ron, it’s not like you were going to dance with her anyways.” Ginny gave her brother a playful shove before walking off to join Seamus and Dean near the bathrooms.
“Witches.” Ron huffed under his breath, making Harry laugh. In turn, Harry walked over to a nearby waiter and snagged two more glasses of champagne, one of which he passed to Ron.
“Wish we could get a fire whisky instead.” Ron sighed, swirling the fizzy liquid in the glass.
“Me too.” Harry shrugged, throwing the drink back anyways.
“Slow down, mate. You’re going to get plastered and we haven’t even had a chance to speak to Neville yet.”
“Yeah you’re right, where is he?” Harry looked around, his eyes first catching on Malfoy and Hermione on the dance floor. Hermione had started taking ballroom dancing classes two times a week as a hobby, and Harry thought she looked graceful and beautiful on the floor. Malfoy of course moved perfectly, having probably learned the French Waltz the moment he could walk. Harry felt annoyance stealing over his mood again, and pried his eyes off of them to look for Neville. He spotted him with Daphne on the opposite side of the tent near the entrance, and grabbed Ron by his wrist. “Come on, congratulations are in order.” He dragged Ron across the dance floor until Ron protested that he was coming and wrenched his hand free.
They spoke with Neville and Daphne for several minutes, and Hermione eventually sidled up and joined them, slightly breathless following the end of the set. After Neville and Daphne were pulled away to speak to an aristocratic looking couple in their fifties, the Golden Trio set back off towards the rest of their Gryffindor friends. As they walked, Harry and Ron snagged another drink, which Harry tried to drink more slowly, as he was feeling quite buzzed by now. They joined in a conversation with Luna and Ginny, but Harry couldn’t help but glare and watch Malfoy as he moved around the tent.
Malfoy had fallen out of the good graces of society after Voldemort’s downfall and his trial. But he had completed a good deal of community service rebuilding structures destroyed during the final battle, and had apparently finished his education at home with a private tutor in order to get his NEWTs. Somehow, he’d managed to secure a job at the Ministry, and now worked as an ambassador between the British Ministry of Magic and the French. As the Prophet continually reminded Harry, thanks most likely to the Malfoy’s flagrant use of galleons in hiring reporters to write fluffy, flattering articles about their entire family at least once a month, Malfoy also had started several non-profits and charities over the years. Harry hadn’t paid that much attention to the articles - ok, maybe he had every single one of the charities’ names and purposes memorized, and knew exactly who Malfoy was choosing to party with on the weekends from the gossip magazines - but he still couldn’t believe how easily Malfoy had managed to move from a social pariah to one of the Wizarding World’s most eligible bachelors. Harry had unfortunately seen an article posted in Witch Weekly a few weeks ago, listing himself, of course, as the most eligible bachelor, but then listing Malfoy as number six. Malfoy, a former Death Eater and absolutely intolerable stuck-up Pureblood of a wizard, was now considered one of England’s most eligible bachelors. Harry figured it must just be because he was filthy rich and, as much as he hated to admit it, rather good looking now, because it certainly couldn’t be based off of his personality.
As Harry finished his fifth glass of champagne that night, glaring at Malfoy and barely able to attend to Luna’s story about hunting for Wrackspurts over the summer holidays with her father, he noticed Malfoy step away from a group of his friends and stand over by himself near the cake stand.
Harry suddenly felt his usual reckless attitude taking over, and put his now-empty glass down on a nearby table. He excused himself from the conversation with Luna and Dean, and walked casually over where Malfoy was standing, his hands linked together behind his back.
“Malfoy, getting tired of sucking up to people yet?” Harry asked, keeping his voice low and tone light.
Malfoy looked over and scowled at him for a moment, before straightening his back and plastering a pleasant expression over his face. “Potter. Somehow I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me get through this night without seeking me out.”
This time, Harry scowled. “Seriously, Malfoy? I’m not always seeking you out, why would I want to seek out a great big rotter like you anyways?”
For some reason, this comment seemed to have the opposite affect on Malfoy. Instead of getting angry, he suddenly smiled, a strange and knowing expression darting across his face. “You just think everything ought to be about you, don’t you? I didn’t come groveling over to talk to the Chosen One, so you thought you’d come over here to get your bit of attention. As if you don’t have enough.”
Harry spluttered, stepping in closer to Malfoy. “I don’t think that at all, Malfoy. And you know it.” He added, rather lamely. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had so much to drink, his brain was feeling sluggish and his words felt stuck in his throat.
Malfoy seemed to realize it as well, and his smile grew larger. He took a step closer to Harry, dropping his voice again. “Maybe you’re just trying to make sure we get a nice little photo together for the Prophet. Make sure that the Wizarding World sees what a hero you still are, being all nice and forgiving to the former Death Eater.” Harry scoffed again, but before he could object, Malfoy took another step closer. He was only a handbreadth away now, and Harry realized to his aggravation that Malfoy was about two inches taller than him, and so was able to lean slightly over Harry to look him in the eyes. Malfoy continued, his voice now just a hiss. “Or maybe, you just can’t stay away from me. Do you have an obsession, Potter? I'm flattered.” A wicked glint flashed into his eyes, and he gave Harry a positively feline grin.
Harry felt his whole body and neck flush red. “Fuck off, Malfoy.” He pushed Malfoy lightly on the shoulder, immediately wishing he’d kept his hands to himself.
Malfoy growled, pushing him back and starting to turn away. Harry impulsively reached out and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulder, turning him back around. “Don’t you-” he started, before he suddenly lost his balance.
When Malfoy turned, his other arm flew out and caught Harry by the elbow, pulling him towards the left. Harry in turn clutched harder to Malfoy’s shoulder to keep himself upright, causing both of them to trip to the right. Harry felt Malfoy’s upper body land hard against his chest, and they tumbled backwards until Harry felt his shoulders hit something sharp and hard. They fell to the ground, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, staring at each other in surprise. A shadow fell over their bodies, and together they looked up towards the sky in what felt like slow motion. A huge object was crashing towards them, blocking out the magically charmed lights overhead. Harry tried to pull his wand out, but it got stuck in the pockets of his tighter than normal trousers. With a great big crash, the wedding cake fell on top of their bodies, landing with a disgustingly gooshy sound which was immediately followed by complete silence.
Harry sat up, pushing a heavy tier of cake and icing off of his face and chest and finally getting his wand out. He quickly used it to clean his glasses off, and slowly turned his head to look around the tent.
Every single attendee at the wedding was staring at them in alarm. The wedding cake was squished dramatically across the floor, and several old witches and wizards standing nearby were dripping in frosting. In the back of the room, Harry could vaguely make out Hermione with her head in her hands, shaking her head back and forth. To his even greater dismay, he recognized the familiar figures of two witches stalking towards them - Minerva McGonagall, whom Harry hadn’t even known was at the wedding, and Mrs. Malfoy.
“Oh no.” Harry heard Malfoy whisper beside him, and looked over to see that Malfoy was also covered in icing, and watching his mother approach them with absolute horror.
“Nice to see you, Headmistress.” Harry whispered when she approached. She put both of her hands on her hips, shaking her head with disappointment. “Professor Potter, Mr. Malfoy, come with us.” As Harry glanced back over to Malfoy, he saw bright pops of light from nearby.
Leaning over until he was right next to Harry’s ear, and with a fake smile plastered on his face, Malfoy whispered, “Potter, I’m going to murder you.”