Chapter Text
Harry sighed, standing in front of the two big, brown doors blocking him from the commotion going on in the room in front of him. This was the seventh time he’d been to one of these. He wasn’t tired of going to these events themselves—he was tired of seeing the face of a certain someone who was, without a doubt, on the other side of the doors.
Finally, with courage he miraculously built up and a deep breath, Harry pushed through the doors.
The repeated marriage was being hosted at the same place it had always been hosted—the Red House Theatre. The stage was drowned in gold: gold lights, gold garlands, gold balloons, gold platforms, gold chairs, and more. Harry could go on forever about how gold it all was.
The red leather seats were occupied to a significant extent. It had always been crowded, but never this crowded. Harry worried that if even one more person walked in, the room would just combust.
He made his way down to the first row to take his usual reserved seat and that’s when he saw her. Red Purse Lady.
She was old—probably in her fifties—with pale skin, wavy dark-brown hair, overly large lips, a mole drawn next to her mouth, and, of course, that damn red purse slung over her shoulder.
She had been showing up to these weddings since Harry was eleven years old. He was now fourteen. That made this her fourth time attending.
Harry disliked her from the start. The day he met her, he had been a (kinda) small innocent child, holding Hagrid’s big hand, walking down the steps, when Red Purse Lady stepped in rudely in front of them.
“Excuse me, you’re not allowed to sit in reserved seats,” she had said in a bratty tone.
“But I always sit there,” Harry had responded innocently.
If it weren’t for the groom, Ryan, interrupting them—saying Harry was allowed to sit in a reserved seat—she would’ve probably started citing made-up rules until security dragged her away.
The next year, Harry was twelve years old. She had thrown a tantrum about how the lighting was off and the bridesmaids weren’t being interesting enough. They were doing what they were supposed to do. It was as if she expected them to strip their clothes and start pole dancing.
The year after that, she complained that the photos made her look “curveless.” As if she had any curves to begin with. She held up the entire line, demanding retakes until the photographer took a photo that met her standards. Harry had been so pissed that he personally paid the photographer to edit the photos to make her look terrible. That had been the first time he actually made an effort to go against her.
This year, Harry made a deal with himself: If she behaves and doesn’t do anything that makes Harry lose his shit, he’ll leave her alone. If she does ? Harry will plan revenge. Not only does she ruin his time, but others’ too. He has to fight back for once.
Harry moved closer to his seat, his gaze not leaving the lady, and sat down. After a few moments of staring at her, Harry’s eyes moved to the gold-lit stage. He admired the decorations and details put into it. This must’ve taken a long time to make , he thought to himself.
Then: “No appetizers?! What kind of wedding doesn’t serve appetizers?! This is unacceptable! I take time out of my day to come here every year and every time it gets worse!”
Harry turned around, scanning the theatre to see who was yelling. And to Harry’s (not) surprise, it was Red Purse Lady. She was yelling at a servant dressed in all black.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Anger boiled through his veins. Heat crawled up his neck. She was really making Harry lose his shit. Without thinking, Harry bolted over to her.
“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!” he shouted so loud that the chatter of the people in the theatre got ten times quieter.
Red Purse Lady turned her head, startled by Harry’s scream.
“If you don’t even like it here, why do you keep coming?!” Harry continued.
“How old are you?” she scoffed, avoiding his question. “Five? How would you know what all this even is?”
“I know a whole lot fucking more than you—that’s for sure! I’ve been coming here since I was eight.”
“Oh child, maybe worry about that hideous scar on your forehead instead of—”
“That’s enough! Do I need to kick you out, ma’am?!” a security officer said, interrupting her.
Harry was still filled with anger. He felt as if he was going to explode. He dashed backstage with tears filling his eyes.
He made his way to a room with lockers, sank to the floor, and pulled his knees to his chest. He pressed his head down against them.
“What a performance, Potter.”
Harry froze. He turned his head to a shocking sight.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He wore a green hoodie with his pale blond hair sticking out at the top. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and a smirk on his face.
“W-What are you doing here?” Harry asked.
“Thought I’d ask you the same thing, but you’ve apparently been coming here since you were eight.”
“Yeah.”
“Who was that lady?” Malfoy asked, with a questioning look.
“Some narcissistic bitch who keeps coming to these. But seriously, why are you here, Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s expression shifted. “I’m hiding. Because I’m fucking wanted.”
“Wanted?”
“Look,” Malfoy pulled out a crumbled piece of paper from his right pocket and handed it over. Harry flattened it out and slightly dropped his jaw in surprise when he read the text, followed by a photo of Malfoy.
WANTED
(Alive Please!)
Draco Lucius Malfoy
Age: 14
Height: 5’5” (165.1 cm)
Eyes: Pale Grey
Hair: Platinum Blond
House: Slytherin
Blood Status: Pureblood
Reward: $300,000
“There’s no way…” Harry said.
“I know, right? I can’t believe they think I’m only worth $300,000.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy, are you sure this is real?”
“Yes, you prat.”
“And how do I know you’re not fucking with me? That you didn’t make this yourself for whatever reason your stupid mind could come up with?”
Malfoy sighed. “I’m not. I’m serious, Harry . Please, I need your help.”
“Okay, how can I help?”
“Hide me.”
“And what do I get out of this?”
“I’ll help you get back at that annoying lady.”
“I’m listening…”
☆
Harry spotted Red Purse Lady sitting up front in the reserved section. He was convinced that she never paid for the reserved seats. She would just probably threaten security to get her damn way. He walked over to her and slid into the seat beside her.
Harry turned to her and gave her a fake smile. “Hello, ma’am.”
“Why are you speaking to me, peasant?” she said cruelly.
“I apologize.” Harry lied. He knew damn well that was the last thing he wanted to do. If it weren’t for the plan he and Malfoy came up with, he would’ve punched her right then and there.
All she said was: “Good.”
Harry was going to fucking combust.
☆
The wedding was incredible, as expected. Harry loved every part of it: the music, the dancers, the groom, the bride, and the pianist—especially the pianist.
“I, Ryan Trahan, take you, Haley Pham, to be my lawfully wedded wife…again.”
Harry looked around the room and people were in tears. They do this literally every year. Why are people crying?
Then, suddenly, a huge bang echoed around the theater. Harry felt like laughing, but that was too diabolical. Red Purse Lady’s seat had exploded and she went flying up in the air—Harry wanted to say about 6 feet up. She landed on her ass, screaming.
Security ran over almost immediately. Harry held up his middle finger at her as she got dragged out of the theatre. Harry looked up at the stage and he swore he saw Ryan chuckling. That made Harry grin.
“You bitches! I’m never coming back here again!” Harry heard her scream.
Good , he thought. We don’t want you here anyway.
☆
“That was pure cinema,” Harry laughed as he ran up to Draco. “Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you, Potter,” Draco grinned. “I haven’t had fun like that in ages.”
Suddenly, the ground started to shake.
“What the fuck is happening?!” Harry yelled.
“I don’t know!” Draco shouted. “Earthquake?!”
Harry felt a hand wrap around his arm. Draco was holding him tightly. His eyes were shut. Soon, Harry’s eyes were shut, too.
The air started to feel colder. It felt as if he was flying. But it hurt at the same time. He felt as if he was getting hurled back and forth.
Then, it stopped. It all stopped. It didn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t cold.
Harry opened his eyes to find Draco lying next to him.
“Where the fuck am I?”
☆