Work Text:
"Harry! You were recently spotted having tea with Narcissa Malfoy. Care to elaborate on that?" Rita Skeeter trills. "Is Ms Parkinson designing your wedding robes? You were seen exiting her shop."
Harry huffs incredulously. Skeeter is barmy if she thinks he's going to comment.
"Draco!" she calls and Harry's eyes light up as the blonde approaches them. "Rumour has it, you're getting married in an intimate ceremony in Mykonos this July?"
Draco sneers, deftly pushing the magical microphone away from his face and grabbing Harry's hand. "Rumours," he enunciates, "are spread by fools and accepted by idiots." Turning on his heel he waves with his left hand where a gold band glistens on his ring finger.