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Hermione Granger liked the idea of marriage – she always had. She had been fortunate to watch her parents dote on each other as the picture-perfect image of marital bliss. Even thirty years after their wedding – with a memory modification and restoration in the middle – her mum and dad still looked at each other with star-filled eyes.
Marriage for Hermione had always meant much more than the romance or the flame – it meant you had found your person. It meant that you found your best friend, your soulmate – forever.
She did not take the word forever lightly – especially when she had nearly been robbed of the prospect so young.
She had only ever wanted to do it once – to make it count. Whenever Hermione finally said her vows, standing at the altar and staring at the person she had tied her life, her soul, and her magic to, she wanted to know that this was eternity.
Her and them, forever and always.
So when she did find that person, when that person walked into her office at the Ministry and asked her on a first date – when that person mended his relationship with her friends, when that person took her to Paris on their sixth month anniversary, when that person got on one knee in her West London apartment and asked for her hand — she knew.
Draco Malfoy was the one for her.
For forever.
So yes, Hermione Granger liked the idea of marriage. She especially liked the idea of marrying Draco Malfoy.
However, what she absolutely did not like was the wedding.
No, not the wedding – planning the wedding.
They still had three months to go. It was an eternity. It was no time at all. Every spare moment Hermione had was filled with booking caterers, hammering out the guest list, picking a venue, choosing a dress—
Draco had come back to her place the other day to find her stress-crying over a pamphlet of bouquet arrangements.
That’s when he had gently suggested bringing in professional help.
Hermione was busy; she was working her way up the ranks at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, babysitting Teddy when Andromeda needed extra help, volunteering part time at a non-profit focused on non-discrimination creature laws. She didn’t have time to plan a wedding. Draco certainly didn’t either, as he was working as an advisor to the Minister for Magic.
It became a simple alternative – a wedding planner.
Draco had handled all the particulars, bless him, and today was their first meeting with the planner. They were going for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had chosen the location, hoping that the familiarity would settle her nerves. She took a sip of her merlot, looking around anxiously for the planner.
“When did he say he’d be here?” Hermione muttered to Draco. His arm was thrown haphazardly over the back of the booth, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.
He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, did I forget to mention…”
“Draco! Hermione! My darlings!” a voice floated through the bar towards them.
Hermione nearly dropped her drink.
Familiar.
Turning her full body towards the entrance, she watched as none other than Pansy Parkinson waltzed across the bar, a folder under one arm and a bag that looked more expensive than Hermione’s apartment under the other. Without hesitation, she slid into the booth opposite them, slamming the folder down on the table with a wrestler’s strength.
“You hired Pansy as our wedding planner?” Hermione hissed at Draco, now sheepishly avoiding her gaze. “Are you serious?”
“Hmm, well… uh…” he replied, as Pansy began flipping through the folder. “She’s an event planner.”
“And one of your best friends,” Pansy interjected, her eyes on some papers in front of her. “Who else would you trust to do this?”
“I… Pansy… we can’t ask you to do this,” Hermione said.
Her friend finally glanced up from the papers. “You’re not asking. You’re paying.”
“I mean… yes… but still. I’m not sure having one of our best friends plan the wedding is a good idea.”
“I don’t think there’s a better idea,” Draco insisted, glancing down at her. “Why wouldn’t we want one of our best friends to do it?”
“Would you let Harry plan our wedding?”
“Couple notes on that,” he replied. “Firstly, Potter is not one of our best friends. He’s your best friend.”
“And Pansy’s yours!”
“Excuse me, Granger-almost-Malfoy,” Pansy interrupted, glaring at her. “I’m one of your best friends, too.”
“We’ve decided on Granger-Malfoy.”
“How progressive,” the wedding planner replied. “To add onto Draco’s point, Potter can’t plan shit. He winged his way to defeating Voldemort.”
Hermione could not stop her lips from quirking up. “Pans – you dated him for a year and a half. You can call him by his first name.”
“I simply will not do that, Granger. Thank you for your input.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to interact with him at the wedding, you know.”
The dark-haired witch chuckled. “I plan to.”
“Oh my god, Pansy. Please don’t.”
She sent Hermione a wink before flipping through her pages once again. “Anyway, besides the point. I don’t know why you would want some random in charge of this. Sure, they might be more neutral, but why would you want neutrality for your wedding? Wouldn’t you want someone who loves you both and wants to make this a special day for you?”
Hermione grimaced. “But you’re too close! Someone neutral would tell us if we were going over budget, or if the flower arrangements look stupid, or would see what a terrible idea it is to put Viktor and Ron at the same table.”
“We’re inviting Krum?” Draco asked, turning to face her as he raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t discussed that.”
“Of course we’re inviting Viktor! We’re still penpals…”
“You still write to that tosser? Since when—”
“Listen children,” Pansy snapped. “I am going to plan you the best goddamn wedding you could have ever dreamed. Granger, you’re marrying into the Malfoy family – what budget? On the flower note, I was Witch Weekly’s main design planner for two years; you think I can’t arrange bouquets? And finally, most importantly – Krum and Weasley will not be sitting together simply because Draco would find a way to set that table on fire. Otherwise, I would do it for the chaos alone. The Granger-Malfoy wedding will be a night to remember, one that you’ll tell your kids about one day, and I’ll tell your kids when you force me to babysit. It’s going to be bloody perfect – and we’re doing it the Parkinson way.”
Hermione knew a lost cause when she saw one – the Golden Girl could strong arm her way into anything, but if there was one person who would always beat her in a battle of wits, it was Pansy Parkinson.
The Gryffindor sighed. “Alright. At least it’s not Theo.”
Pansy broke out into a smile. “That’s the spirit, Granger! Now, very important, would you prefer twelve peacocks leading your procession, or flamingos?”
“I – uh, well…”
“There’s the happy couple and also Pansy!” a voice bellowed from near the bar. Hermione whipped her head to one side to see none other than Theodore Nott sauntering over, a shit-eating grin on his face.
The very concept made her nervous.
“Merlin, Theo,” Draco muttered. “Did you put a Taboo on your name?”
“No, but I really should now that you mention it. I’d love to know who’s talking about me.”
“Theo,” Pansy drawled. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”
“Push over, Parks,” the other man replied, shoving himself into the booth and sending a few of Pansy’s papers flying. “I’m joining the meeting.”
“When I told you that we were having a wedding planning meeting, I didn’t mean come along,” Draco said, glaring at his friend. “What the bloody fuck are you doing here? Did Pansy hire you as her personal assistant?”
“God, that sounds like seventh year all over again.”
“Merlin, Theo,” Hermione said, blushing. “Must you be so crass?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes boring into hers.
“Theodore,” Pansy hissed. “Why are you here?”
“You are planning the wedding,” Theo said, turning his gaze towards Draco. “And I thought I could help with a very important piece of that plan that has not yet been decided.”
Hermione’s fiancée closed his eyes and groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Theo. Not now.”
“Oh yes, Draco. Right now.”
Pansy and Hermione exchanged a confused glance before the wedding planner turned back to Theo. “What on earth is this about?”
Before he had a chance to speak however, another voice – equally familiar – boomed out from the bar.
“Theo, you sly son of a bitch. You really thought a head start would dissuade me? Absolutely the fuck not.”
Draco’s eyes flew open. “I’m in hell.”
Blaise Zabini walked up to the booth and slid in next to Theo. With five people now cramped in around the table, it was much snugger than Hermione would have preferred.
However, that seemed to be the least of her worries given the expression on Draco’s face.
“Must we do this now?” he hissed at his two friends sitting across from them. “At our first wedding planning meeting?”
“It’s a part of the wedding plan,” Blaise deadpanned.
“Yes, but not right now.”
“Boys,” Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes. “Care to explain?”
“Happily,” Theo exclaimed, before raising his finger to point at Draco. “This motherfucker – sorry, Granger – has not chosen a best man.”
Draco groaned. “And I told you I would speak to you privately when I figured it out.”
“Not good enough, Malfoy,” Blaise replied, shaking his head. “We want an answer.”
“This is not about you two. It’s about me and Hermione.”
“It is absolutely about us,” Theo replied. “One of us will reign victorious. We all know that the whole world revolves around mine and Blaise’s never-ending superiority contest.”
“Wasn’t aware, no.”
“Theo here thought he would beat me to the punch by arriving first,” Blaise said, before slamming a folder on the table similar to how Pansy had done. “But I made handouts.”
He gave Hermione a piece of parchment with a title scrawled at the top.
Why Blaise Zabini would be the Best Best Man
“Hell,” Draco muttered as Theo clenched his jaw.
“Inventive, I’ll give you that, Zabini,” Theo drawled, raising an eyebrow. “However, given that I’m planning on covering a portion of the wedding costs, I’m not sure your flimsy pamphlet is going to cut it.”
“At least I won’t have to buy my way in,” Blaise responded, shooting Hermione a wink. “I’ll get in on pure talent.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How did you remember that?”
“If you look at paragraph three, subsection E,” Blaise began, pulling out a pair of reading spectacles and placing them on the tip of his nose. “You’ll notice that one of my key arguments for why I would be a superior best man is that I actually paid attention to your relationship and have great respect for your fiancé.”
“Hey now,” Theo growled. “I fucking love Granger. Remember when I took her to Berlin that weekend?”
“Yes, and afterwards she was hungover for a week.”
“Because we had a blast!” Theo snarled at Blaise, before turning to Hermione. “Come on, Granger. I know you love me more.”
“Absolutely not,” she replied, trying to suppress a grin. “Work this out amongst yourselves, boys.”
“They never will, Granger,” Pansy muttered.
“Alright then, Zabini,” Theo snapped. “Cool, you remember something Granger said a hundred million years ago…”
“Fifteen years…”
“But, Draco,” he continued, brushing over Blaise’s comment. “This is not about her, this is about you – no offense, Granger.”
“None taken.”
“And who was it, of the men at this table,” he rallied on – Hermione thought Pansy’s eyes may fall out from the force with which she was rolling them — “which hero healed your wounds when those stupid fucking flamingos attacked you at Malfoy Manor after fourth year?”
“Theo, they were minor cuts…”
“Fatal wounds!” the Slytherin roared. “Who mended your broken body and carried you to safety?”
“You helped him up the stairs…”
“And who did nothing!” Theo continued. “Who stood by and watched as you suffered – nearly died…”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Blaise interjected. “Fucking flamingos, who was the one who threatened to kill Potter after that Sectumsempra bullshit?”
Draco pursed his lips. “I mean – yes, good point.”
“Exactly!” Blaise exclaimed. “Did I or did I not follow him around for two weeks trying to figure out the best time to push him off the Astronomy tower?”
“Is it following if you just staked out the Astronomy tower and waited?”
“I did not stake it out, I put hours of labour into following the man. I was going to bring him to the Astronomy tower – for flare.”
“Alright fine,” Theo hissed. “Blaise got the closest to murdering Potter – we all know that’s a prerequisite for being friends with you.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I spent years saving Harry’s life and we’re getting married.”
“Exactly,” Draco said, taking her hand and kissing it softly. “You aren’t my friend. You’re my soulmate.”
Theo made a gagging sound before Pansy promptly kicked him under the table. The Nott heir attempted to force his mouth into a smile – he achieved a grimace.
“I mean… beautiful! I love love! Couple of the century right here.”
“Really making a strong pitch, Theo,” Draco drawled.
“Okay, let me change course,” he said. “Zabini is too pretty to be best man.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “I mean – thank you?”
“No, listen, Draco – mate,” Theo schmoozed, reaching forward and gripping Draco’s hands. “This day needs to be all about you. Why would you want Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor 2006 upstaging you on your special day?”
“I only care for the eyes of one,” Draco replied, shooting Hermione a grin. “Blaise can sleep his way through all the bridesmaids if he pleases.”
“Good, because me and Miss Ginevra Weasley have some unfinished business.”
Theo snorted. “Make me best man because I won’t sleep with any of Hermione’s bridal party.”
“That’s because you’re gay, mate.”
“The point stands.”
“Christ you two,” Hermione muttered. “Isn’t the main point of a best man to plan the bachelor party? I’m not sure I trust either of you to do that. I feel like you’d all end up stranded abroad, in Azkaban, or dead.”
Pansy snorted. “It’s true. Remember what you lot did for Weasley’s?”
“Hey, if Ronald Weasley hadn’t wanted to end up locked in a strip club for 48 hours until the authorities were able to break through the wards, he should not have invited us.”
Hermione shook her head at Theo. “I’m not sure Lavender will ever forgive you.”
“She doesn’t need to. I only ever see her when I’m with you lot.”
“Such as at our wedding.”
Theo’s face morphed instantly. “I shall apologize to Mrs. Weasley for imprisoning her husband in a strip club for two days by accident.”
Draco burst out laughing. “Hermione’s right. I don’t think I trust either of you twats to not murder me by accident at my stag party.”
There was a moment of silence as Blaise and Theo both tried to figure out a response to Draco. However, it was Pansy who spoke up first.
“These two wouldn’t be able to get you to the bar in one piece,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You need someone close to you – someone you trust to pull all the different elements together. You need someone with smarts – wits. You need an event planner.”
A second passed.
Draco groaned. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Thank you all so much for coming,” Draco said, raising a glass of champagne as he glanced around the pavilion adorned with fairy lights. Taking Hermione’s hand, he shot a smile at his new wife. Wife; her heart danced at the thought. Even married for only an hour, she knew that she would never be tired of that word.
Hermione and Draco Granger-Malfoy. It had a nice ring to it.
Her husband turned back to the group of their friends and family. “Now, before we really get the party started, we have a few speeches planned. First up, my wonderful best man has prepared what I am certain will be a vicious takedown of my character – which I’m sure some of you will enjoy.”
Hermione saw Ron and Lavender burst out laughing from their table.
Draco raised his flute in their direction. “Now where is the…”
“Apologies!” a voice shouted out from the corner. From a break in the crowd, Pansy came into view, looking the part in her tuxedo. “I was momentarily held up! Have you skipped my speech?”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, the best man.”
Pansy walked up to the microphone, but Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the break in the crowd, where she could see a sheepish Harry Potter make his way back to the group, frantically re-doing his bow tie.
From behind her, she heard Blaise snort.
“Hey Theo,” he muttered, as Hermione sat back down at the head table. “Do you think if one of us had been chosen as best man, we’d have been allowed to shag the maid of honour as well?”
Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laugh from reaching the air.
Theo sighed wistfully, taking a sip of champagne, his eyes on Harry across the room.
“Wedding planner privileges, my ass.”