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The fireplace erupted in a flash of green light as Blaise stepped out of the Floo and into the living room of Nott Manor, wiping away any leftover ash from his dark navy suit.
“You two didn’t start without me, did you?” Blaise drawled as he strode across the Persian rug. Taking his usual seat in the antique sitting chair, he lifted his leg to balance an ankle over his knee.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate,” Theo replied, levitating a glass of Firewhiskey over to Blaise. Fractured beams of light bounced across the room from the crystal chalice as it caught the reflection of the chandelier. It was a tastefully designed sitting room, one of the few in the ancestral home that reminded Theo of his mother. Not wanting to fall back into that well-explored spiral, Theo shoved those thoughts deep down his mind, drowning them with whiskey. The sharp burn of the liquid traveling down his throat proved an effective distraction.
As was the tradition for every third Saturday of the month, the three Slytherins Floo-ed over after work for a boys’ night. While refined in idea, the execution was notably less so. Draco, Theo, and Blaise gathered at the Manor, got piss drunk, and exchanged all the sordid gossip that each had overheard in the past month. Anyone who had spent time in the Slytherin common room would have said they looked exactly like Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria whispering about who kissed who in a broom cupboard.
Theo had a grin plastered on his face, practically vibrating with the need to share his torrid tidbit for the night. “Do you know what day it is?” he asked, his green eyes bouncing back and forth between Blaise and Draco.
“It’s Saturday, Theo. Just how many drinks did you have before I showed up?” Blaise questioned warily, his left eyebrow high on his forehead in a careful attempt to discern Theo’s sobriety.
“Well tell us before we all die of excitement,” Draco deadpanned.
Theo paused for dramatic effect, relishing the moment of silence before leaning forward and announcing, “It’s Weasley’s wedding day! The word on the street is that they’re eloping at the Burrow.”
The blood suddenly drained from Draco’s face, leaving him even paler than usual. Knuckles whitened and veins protruded from his forearms as Draco gripped the arms of his chair so tightly they were in danger of splintering.
“What did you just say?” Draco’s voice was so faint Theo almost missed the way it trembled just slightly.
Disappointment hit Theo like a hippogriff when he realized he would not be getting one of Draco’s signature rants about Ginny. He had spent the last three months finding ways to innocuously slip her into every conversation for the sole purpose of riling the blond up. After losing a thousand galleons betting the Harpies would win the Quidditch League Championships, Draco practically foamed at the mouth whenever Ginevra Weasly, star chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, was mentioned. And there were very few things in life more entertaining than reminding Draco of instances in which he was completely and utterly wrong.
While Theo pondered over other ways to pierce his best friend's ego, Draco’s face had slowly turned from white to green. Ice cubes gently rattled as Blaise placed his glass on the table and leaned over to the blond. “Draco, are you feeling alright?” He rarely saw his friend so affected, especially not over news about a woman who was barely in their peripheral friend group.
Blaise’s low tone seemed to jumpstart Draco’s brain back to reality. Grey eyes flickered up to meet Blaise’s stare before jumping over to scrutinize Theo. Draco slammed down his glass, the amber liquid sloshing over the edge and onto the wooden table as he dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He went perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a few heartbeats. A loud crash suddenly rang through the room as Draco stood abruptly and sent his wingback chair tipping over backwards to the ground.
“I need to leave. Right now. I’ll owl you later.” Draco threw the words over his shoulder as he nearly sprinted to the fireplace. With a handful of floo powder and a quick shout of “Malfoy Manor,” Draco was gone.
Blaise and Theo looked at each other, mirror images of confusion across their faces. “Maybe that animosity towards Potter really was hiding something more,” Theo mused as he continued to gaze at the fireplace.
Blaise rubbed his chin in consideration before throwing back the rest of his whiskey. “Well, anyway, did you hear who’s opening a shop next to Pansy in Diagon Alley?”
“Neville Longbottom! Now that is going to be an absolute disaster. She’ll tear him to shreds.”
“I don’t know about that. You know what they say about opposites attracting.”
Theo threw back his head in laughter at the suggestion and settled in for a night of pandemonium with his closest friend.
The momentum he carried into the fireplace hurled Draco through the Floo network and tossed him facedown on the ground of his study. Picking himself up and brushing off his clothes, Draco tried to calm his spinning head. Was it the nauseating Floo trip or the thoughts of Granger marrying another man causing his head to spiral? He didn’t know and didn’t have the luxury of waiting to find out; he already suspected that the cause was Granger. It usually was.
The bar cart drew Draco in, the enchantment pouring a heavy glass of firewhiskey in response to his emotional turmoil. Draco downed half of it in one gulp, questions ricocheting through his mind faster than he could keep up with.
What was Granger thinking? They had been partners at the ministry for almost a year, and she didn’t even tell him she was getting married this weekend? And to Ronald Weasley of all people?
Draco couldn’t make sense of the situation. Granger was beautiful, brilliant, compassionate, and ambitious, while Ron was certainly none of those things. He was, at best, a washed up child hero still riding the coattails of his best friend’s achievements. More accurately, an incapable, helpless wizard who’s only skill was taking up space.
Granger had always spoken of Ron in friendly terms, never romantic. Well , Draco mused, maybe that’s how you talk about your fiancé when you’ve been with them since grade school.
But in their time researching projects together, there had been moments; Draco was so sure of it. Fleeting, blink-and-you-miss-them type moments, but moments nonetheless. Hands touching as they went to grab the same document, tea orders memorized as they worked late into the night, a shared smile when one of them made a case-breaking discovery.
Had it all been in his head? No, it couldn’t be. But he hadn’t made a move yet, always choosing to wait for a perfect moment that just never seemed to arrive. And now it seemed that he was too late; she was off marrying the Weasel.
Draco finished his whiskey and poured himself another as he spiraled further. Pacing back and forth across the study, he was incapable of standing still. His hand ran through his hair, the normally gelled back locks now standing up in every direction. The urge to find Hermione and tell her how he felt became a physical ache in his chest. A groan of frustration worked its way out of his throat.
It was infuriating, the grip this witch had over him while she was seemingly unaware. Did she know how he yearned for her touch? How he treasured every time she looked at him with a smile? How his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest whenever she leaned her head back to laugh and her wild curls bounced around her shoulders? Not that any of that mattered anymore; he would have to shove all those feelings behind long forgotten occlumency walls now that she would be a married woman. Hopefully his occlumency skills hadn’t become too rusty over time, he couldn’t fathom how to survive this without the aid of magic.
The more Draco drank, the more convinced he became that Hermione had to know how he felt about her before tying herself—her magic—to another man. She had to know that he was desperately and madly in love with her before she committed her life to someone else. It would be his biggest regret in life if he didn’t at least fight for a chance to be with her.
There were already too many decisions he regretted, too many moments he wished he could go back and change. He refused to add this to the list.
At that moment, Draco knew what he had to do. A grand gesture, something that proved the depth of his feelings. His alcohol-muddled mind put thoughts into action before he could talk himself out of it. Perhaps it was not the most well thought-out plan, but time was of the essence. Draco walked to his fireplace, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and threw down the powder as he let out a loud, if a little slurred, shout.
“The Burrow!”
Stepping out of the fireplace, Draco took a moment to look around the empty room. Flower petals littered the floors and empty bottles of champagne could be found on almost every surface. It was organized chaos—somehow capturing that comfortable, lived-in feeling that he’d heard was present in every room of the Weasley home.
There was no one in sight, but the clear voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt carried into the house with a gentle breeze through an open window. The words trickled into Draco’s ear, the talk of the power of love to overcome even the darkest of nights, that love is what won the future of the wizarding world. The soft trickling of a nearby stream and a chorus of sparrows interweaving with Kingsley’s baritone words created an idyllic scene. Knowing this was his one chance, Draco strode outside towards the ceremony, his eyes firmly on his feet as he went, careful not to trip as the firewhiskey caught up to him.
“Stop!” Draco called, eyes still locked onto his dragonhide loafers as he came to a halt in the middle of the aisle. His strong, steady voice was at odds with the nerve wracking anxiety that sat like a steel ball in his stomach.
Gasps rang out around him before a murmur of confused muttering spread across the crowd. Draco didn’t dare look up at Hermione. After all, he wasn’t the Gryffindor known for idiotic dispays of bravery. For all his longing to see her face as he pleaded his case, he couldn’t summon the courage to look at her. He couldn’t bear the reality of seeing her dressed in white, on her way to marry someone who wasn’t him.
Drawing in a deep breath, Draco swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat and began his half-planned speech. “Granger, I know this is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but I can’t let you do this without you knowing how I feel about you.”
“Malfoy…” A voice to his right urgently whispered.
Draco waved the owner of the voice away. He could not afford any distractions.
“I know I was horrible to you in school. I know that there’s no way I could make up for everything I did to you, but you have to know that I will never stop trying. Every day, I wake up and try to be a better man. For you, but also for this new world we live in. And you make me believe that I am–that I am a better man.” He paused to clear his throat, emotion causing him to stumble over his words. “That I've changed for the better. You look at me like I deserve love and friendship and a happy ending. Like I’m more than a washed up Death Eater. Every time you look at me, it's like I can feel sunlight washing over my entire body.”
“Malfoy!” The same voice repeated his name, this time rising in volume. Merlin, could this person not see that he was in the middle of the biggest moment of his life?
Draco mumbled off to the side, “Piss off, I’m obviously trying to give a speech here.”
Gathering his interrupted thoughts, Draco started again, “Working with you for the past year has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Better than my wealth, my status—everything. If you’d let me, I’d make you my new everything, Granger. And I would spend everyday reminding you that you are my sun, my moon, and my stars. I know this is a lot, you may not return any of my feelings, but I couldn’t just stand by and watch you marry someone else when-–”
“Draco!” The same voice interrupted, urgency replaced with a pleading tone that had not been there before. The use of his given name distracted Draco from his speech, and he turned to put an end to this side commentary during his big moment.
He looked at the person responsible for the heckling and quietly hissed, “Hermione, could you knock it off? I’m trying to convince someone I’m in love here.”
Draco began to turn away from her before his brain caught up with his eyes and mouth. His body froze when he looked back and realized who was standing next to him. Hermione Granger. Next to him . In the audience. Not in a white dress, and most definitely not standing at the altar. She looked at him with a smirk that rivaled the ones he often gave her in the office, one eyebrow raised as if asking him, Are you done yet?
Draco felt like his brain was short circuiting. When he finally looked up to the altar, his wide eyes struggled to process the image. The red hair of a Weasley, certainly, but long and flowing down her back. Ginevra, standing next to Harry Potter, both of them staring at Draco as if he had grown a second head.
There was a beat of absolute silence before Ginny threw her head back and howled with laughter. Harry looked dazed, his gaze bouncing between Draco, Hermione, and his bride who now had tears streaming down her face from the force of her laughs.
“Uh Malfoy, that was a very lovely speech, but do you mind if Ginny and I get back to our wedding?” Harry asked, trying in vain to regain control of the situation. Ginny somewhat composed herself, wiping away her tears and taking a few deep breaths to quiet her laughter.
She shot a quick wink at Hermione and called out,“I told you he wanted to shag you, Hermione!”
Hermione blushed a deep red and threw a vulgar gesture back at Ginny in response. She then turned to Draco, who stood stunned by the drastic turn of events.
“Well if you’re quite done with the show, get over here and hold my hand while I watch my two best friends get married.”
Draco smiled sheepishly as he moved into the row next to Hermione. There was no awkwardness, none of the shy stammering that usually accompanied a dramatic love confession. There was just Draco, staring at Hermione and trying to convey years of adoration in his eyes. And Hermione, smiling at Draco as though she had finally solved a tricky equation. Reaching down, he ran his fingers over her palm before intertwining their fingers, the wave of emotion almost sweeping him off his feet at the realization that he finally got his witch. She gave his hand a small squeeze before focusing back on the ceremony at the front.
Draco bent down to softly whisper in her ear, “So does this mean I’m forgiven for interrupting the wedding?”
Hermione glared at him out of the corner of her eye. “You could have picked a thousand other ways to tell me you had feelings for me. Preferably ways that did not involve embarrassing me in front of all of my closest friends. A nice, private moment would have been fine.”
A smile slowly spread across Draco’s face as he pulled their linked hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of Hermione’s hand. She flushed a pretty pink and smiled at the tender gesture. Emboldened by her response, Draco murmured in a low tone, “I will be sure to keep that in mind in the very near future when I plan to tell you just how much I love you”
Hermione leaned her head to rest on Draco’s shoulder, prompting a feeling of utter contentment to blossom in his chest and spread all the way down to his toes. He had worried that their timing would never be right—always two people just missing each other over and over. But now, with the worst timing of all, their love story was finally beginning.