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Dear Harry,
Do please forgive the lack of formality. I understand that receiving a letter from your school rival’s fiance the day before his wedding is likely not high on your expectations, however, I hope you’ll forgive the impropriety and indulge a bride-to-be.
This marriage has been long expected, and planned mostly before either Draco or myself were of age to agree to it. I have always expected to marry Draco Malfoy, and, though love was not something I ever expected from this union, I have been content knowing that the man I am marrying is a good man. A man I can trust. A man, I think you would agree, who is trying his best to undo the wrongs of his past.
While it may shock someone like you, who feels everything so strongly, to realise that ours is a planned union rather than one of love, it is not a marriage without feeling. Draco and I have long since been friends, and it is because we are friends that I am writing to you tonight.
Two weeks ago as I was sorting the items to be transferred from Malfoy Manor to our new estate I discovered a box of journals. I admit, it was improper for me to snoop, but I have always been a curious creature, and so I am ashamed to admit that I read them.
I wonder if you can guess the contents of those journals? I certainly couldn’t. But my surprise quickly gave way to understanding, for I finally felt like I knew Draco in a way I hadn’t before.
The contents of those journals, what lead me to writing to you now, on the day before my wedding, were countless letters to you, Harry Potter.
I have witnessed how hard Draco worked to put his differences with you behind him since leaving school, and I’m sure the work was just as hard on your part. Your history with my fiance is renowned, even now, and I know working with him—though limited it may be—has not been easy on either of you. Still, I have witnessed you both overcome those differences and become, if not exactly awkward friends, at least friendly acquaintances.
However, reading those journals full of letters to you have made me realise why you two have never developed beyond the tension fuelled agreement to get along. For two weeks I have watched you both. At Blaise and Ginny’s engagement, at Longbottom’s promotion party, at Pansy’s Gala, and I am confident now that the letters I read and the feelings contained within are not unreciprocated.
Which leads me to this letter.
I know you must be very confused, but if you’ve guessed, even slightly, as to what I am hinting perhaps you may also be a little hopeful. At least, it’s my wish that you will be.
You see, Draco Malfoy—my fiance and your school rival—is in love with you. And I believe you are in love with him, too.
If I’m wrong, if my assumptions of those heartfelt letters—a side of Draco I have never seen—have led me down a path of gross misunderstanding then I apologise profusely, and must request, with the deepest regret, that you do not attend my wedding tomorrow.
If, however, there is the slightest hint of truth in my guesses of the feelings hidden between you, then I ask of you a favour.
I ask that you take my place.
I ask that you take the box I have provided with this letter (along with a single one of the journals—the one I feel best shows the depths of Draco’s emotion), attend the appointment I have booked for you tomorrow morning at madam malkins (she is under strict instructions to dress you in attire befitting the most handsome of grooms—barring my Draco, of course), and take the walk down the aisle at 2pm sharp.
I know.
I know this is a lot to absorb. I know that this is the very last thing you would have expected to hear from me—the bride asking you to replace her.
But I beg of you. I have watched Draco struggle through all the fear, all the judgement, all the wrongs, and grow into a person who deserves to be happy. He will not stray from me, he will not give up on this union because he believes it is his duty to follow through with it, and I have long been grateful of the security this marriage will provide me with.
However, I know this man. I, in my own way, love this man. I want him to be happy. Most of all, I do not wish to deprive him of a marriage of love. A marriage you can give him.
I will be waiting at the Cathedral steps. If you do not come, I will continue with the path chosen for me and assume that you do not reciprocate his feelings.
I do so terribly hope you will show.
Until tomorrow,
Astoria Greengrass.
P.S. Draco, darling, don’t be a fool. Say yes to the man.
Draco reads the letter twice, his heart hammering so loudly in his ears it drowns out the confused mutterings of his guests. He stares, for a full five minutes, at the signature at the end—a signature which is most definitely Astoria’s—and wonders if he’s ever heard of Potter being good at forgery.
Potter. Potter who is standing across from him at the front of the church. Potter, who not five minutes ago stepped through the doors of the church, looking awkward and unbearably uncomfortable in his formal robes (a stunning combination of silver and green that compliments his dark skin and green eyes—not to mention Draco’s own suit) as he made his way down the aisle of the church. The aisle Astoria was meant to have walked down.
Instead, Potter stands before him. Dressed in wedding robes. Robes that, if the letter is to be believed, Draco’s fiancepicked out for him.
Draco’s mind reels. She read his journals. She read his journals and she told Potter about them.
She gave him one. She gave him one and then asked him to take her place and…
Draco looks up.
He’s here.
Potter is here.
Looking uncomfortable and terrified, yes, but also (Draco realises as his heart trips all over itself) sort of hopeful. Potter—Harry—shuffles his weight from foot to foot, chewing on the inside of his cheek as stares unblinkingly at Draco’s shoes.
‘You—’ Draco stops as soon as he starts, his voice unexpectedly high pitched and loud in the confused quiet of the church.
‘I know,’ says Potter, voice soft, quiet in that way he got when he was nervous or self-conscious. ‘I know this is insane. I know. I must have talked myself out of coming about a hundred times last night because of how crazy this is. I don’t think I slept at all. I kept reading the letter over and over again. At first, I thought it was some kind of prank but, then I read the journal and…well, I know you. I know you wouldn’t…anyway, the point is, I started to think…what if it wasn’t a prank. What if it was…real. And then, well… what if I…did…come here? What if it wasn’t crazy? What if…?’
Draco could only stare at him. ‘You want to marry me?’
Potter—Harry—swallows, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t drop those intense green eyes from Draco’s. ‘Yeah,’ he says, hoarse, barely a word more than a breath.
Draco’s heart lodges in his throat.
There’s an eruption of whispers and confused conversations but Draco doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of that because Potter—Harry Potter—is standing in front of him, telling him he wants to marry Draco.
‘But…’
‘She’s right,’ says Harry over the murmurs and noise. ‘About…about me, at least. I…I love you.’ He shrugs, his expression rueful and shy and hopeful all at once. ‘I just never thought that you would love me, so I…didn’t say anything…’ he hesitates, the tips of his ears turning a deep red. ‘Um, you do, right? I mean…do you? Uh…love me?’
His dark skin flushes with a red undertone that turns that rugged face back into the face of a boy. A boy that Draco had loved for years.
Draco glanced back down at the letter. At the looping words that Astoria had written. “Say yes to the man”.
Draco takes a deep breath, folding the letter up and sliding it into his pocket as he raises his gaze to meet Potters. Draco has never been one for bravery or leaps of faith. He doens’t make his move until he’s sure of the outcome.
But, well, when has Potter never not been the exception to the rule?
For the first time in Draco’s life, he takes a leap without knowing how the consequences will land.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do.’