Chapter Text
The wedding was wonderful.
In the middle of February, the only thing Draco had protecting him from the slight chill in the air was a white cashmere shawl he’d borrowed from his mother. He tightened the embrace of the shawl around him — the frost reached into his bones, even though the sun’s rays had poured down on him the entire day.
“Malfoy? That you?” Draco turned around at the call of his name, slightly stunned to see who it was that addressed him.
“Thomas,” Draco blinked, recalling the name of the Gryffindor boy he’d seen loitering around the halls of Hogwarts, often in his vicinity.
“Blimey! I almost mistook you for a bird,” Dean Thomas laughed. The humour of his statement was lost on Draco, but he took no offense to it. The feminine cut of his robes had probably messed with the other’s perception.
“Hello. How do you do?”
“I’ve been alright,” Dean Thomas shrugged. His face was lit with a good-natured grin, one that Draco often found difficult to exercise himself if he weren’t in a genuinely joyous mood. (Which he hadn’t felt for… a while.) “Gosh, I feel like it’s been ages since the last time I caught a glimpse of you around these parts.”
That line made more sense even if it were Longbottom saying it. Whatever.
Draco tried to let out a little laugh, but all he managed was a strained smile.
“I admit I haven’t been around for a while,” he said. “I’ve been travelling all over — I just came back from the Phillipines, actually.”
“Gosh! That sounds fantastic, mate,” Dean chortled. It was only then that Draco recognised the flush on his cheeks and the familiar scent of whiskey that seemed to stain his collar. “Now, don’t mind me, but have you seen Seamus around? I’ve been looking for him all over but–”
“Oh, were you?” Draco asked, blinking again. That made sense. Dean Thomas had probably meant to ask him about his rumoured paramour. Why else would he approach Draco, of all people? “If my sight serves me well, I think he’s over there with some ladies from the bridal party.”
“Thanks, mate!” Dean gushed, thumping him on the back. “See you around! Hope you keep trotting around the world — Merlin knows you deserve the chance to be happy.”
Draco’s gaze followed him as he left behind the echo of his words. He couldn’t help but make note of the lightness on Dean’s shoulders, the spring in his step and the joy that seemed to trail after him. He wondered what that felt like… being happy, being content.
He had come close to finding out once. It had been a while since then.
(The words rang in his ears: Merlin knows you deserve the chance to be happy.)
Dean reunited with Seamus by pulling him into what seemed to be a warm embrace. Initially, it seemed friendly, but with the way they seemed to melt into each other, the way Dean’s hand rested on Seamus’ waist, the way Seamus clung onto Dean’s back… it was all too intimate for Draco to stomach. He turned his eyes away as his shoulders sagged with the weight of shame for peering into a life that wasn’t his. The sight of their familiarity left a taste on Draco’s tongue — a pungent, vile taste that made him want to throw up. He felt like a dirty voyeur.
To comfort himself, Draco chose to take in his surroundings instead.
The wedding was beautiful. It made Draco sick to his stomach.
In the distance, among the star-like orbs that began to light up the venue as the sun dipped into the horizon, a crowd of well-wishers swarmed around the groom. He made his way through them like a butterfly going from flower to flower, returning enthusiastic handshakes and excited embraces with a warm, boisterous laugh that lit up the evening even more.
Eventually, he had found his way over to Draco.
He looked beautiful, curls styled in a way that made the rat’s nest on the top of his head look elegant. The stubble on his chin had been shaved. Even his hair had been trimmed. He looked neat, graceful in a manner that took nothing of his boyish charm away.
The last time Draco had seen him in a tux, he’d looked painfully awkward — as if the bowtie around his collar was actually choking him. Today, though… Today he looked like all the formalwear in the world had been made for him.
Ginevra was a lucky woman.
Draco, on the other hand, was clad in a charcoal robe that was so sombre in appearance that if it weren’t for his Malfoy-esque sophisticated airs, one might’ve mistaken the occasion to be a funeral. Fortunately, he was known to have a certain proclivity for dressing in a manner that summed up the entirety of London: grey, depressing and pretentious. His blond hair, usually braided over his shoulder, fell down his back in all of its wavy glory.
(So what if he left his hair the way Harry liked it on purpose? He missed the past. Sue him.)
“Harry,” the name slipped out faster than it had meant to, taking with it all the breath in Draco’s lungs. The shape of his name in Draco’s mouth, the sound of it ringing in his ears… it felt like someone had punched Malfoy in the gut. “You look beautiful.”
The words rushed out like a secret Draco had failed to keep.
Harry, who had ventured into Draco’s vicinity like it wasn’t a big deal at all — as if he’d expected Draco to be standing where he stood, as if he’d always known, grinned. His entire body seemed to soften when he did that; it always had. Whenever his lips pulled into a boyish grin that Draco found annoyingly charming, it was as if some part of Harry was melting — ready to take Draco with it.
“Thanks,” said Harry. “You look quite dashing yourself!”
“Of course I do,” Draco regained his composure. The comment on his attire reminded him of the nature of his presence — Draco was a guest. Harry was the groom. Remembering the nature of his role, he added belatedly, “Potter.”
Harry was gracious enough to allow him the leeway to let the change in his behaviour go unnoticed.
“When do I not?”
“Right, sorry, how could I forget who I’m speaking to?” Harry joked, “the Ever-so-Dashing-Draco-Malfoy, the Eternal Charmer and Ruler Over All Hearts?”
Draco rolled his eyes, subconsciously slipping back into the familiarity that Harry brought with him. And for another moment, he forgot that this was Harry’s wedding and Draco was a guest attending it.
“Oh, would you let that go?” Draco sighed, “it was fifth year, for Circe’s sake.”
“Ah, but it was alright for you to hold onto ‘fresh pickled toad’?” Harry asked. The slope of his brow arched as his grin sharpened into a smirk that seemed to pierce Draco’s chest cavity, where his heart was supposed to be.
“Worked out for you, didn’t it?” Draco answered.
Let it be known that Draco Lucious Malfoy was a bitter, bitter man. But there was nobody in the entire world who deserved love and happiness more than Harry James Potter, who had just gotten married that day.
Nevermind that the plan had once been to marry Draco. Nevermind that Harry was getting married a decade after all of their peers.
Draco was a bitter, bitter man but he loved Harry too much to let his cynical tendencies poison what was supposed to be the happiest day of Harry’s life. He had to hold himself together — his wretchedness could wait for his hotel room, where he would use the fireplace to Floo-Call Pansy.
So, when Harry fell silent for a second, Draco performed his final act.
He smiled. His lips curved, pushing his cheeks up so that his eyes would curve the way they did whenever Harry told a stupid joke to brighten up Draco’s miserable days. All so that Harry wouldn’t see the tears Draco was holding back, all the grief he was pushing down. Draco recalled Dean Thomas’ contentment, Harry’s boisterous joy and let it infect him like a desperate prayer.
“Congratulations on getting married,” said Draco. It was surprisingly painless as his tongue rolled out his words. Draco had assumed it would’ve stung as his lips moved to choke out the words but… it hadn’t hurt. Draco was a bitter, bitter man but… Harry was happy now. That was the only thing that mattered to Draco. “Merlin knows it was about time.”
For a moment, Harry said nothing. His eyes travelled all over Draco’s soul, searching for a second that seemed to stretch into endless hours. Then, his features softened into a small smile. Small though it was, anyone could see the gentle fondness that shone from Harry’s gaze.
“Thanks for making it, Draco.” The small smile stretched into a grin. Harry’s infectious joy stole a laugh out of Draco, even as the sound of his own name seemed to crack his ribcage in half.
“Of course I would,” replied Draco. In that moment, he wondered if he and Harry were thinking of the same thing: of all the times Draco was supposed to make it and hadn’t. “Thanks for inviting me, Potter.”
“Of course I would,” Harry laughed, as if the insinuation that Draco wouldn’t be at Harry’s wedding was the funniest joke in the world — and perhaps it was. Draco had always meant to be there for Harry’s wedding. There was no universe where he wouldn’t show up for the occasion — though it did sting that he had to come as a guest seated in some corner at the back. He wasn’t even a groomsman. Maybe that was because once upon a time, Draco was supposed to be the other groom. Once upon a time, it was supposed to be his wedding too.
But it wasn’t.
And that was alright. The wound had been stitched.
It was time to let it heal.
Harry looked so happy. Draco shooed him away, telling me to go make merry with the other guests that were practically dying to speak to him. However, Potter refused to leave him and it was only after a few flutes of champagne and another hour of conversation that he left.
Harry had been gracious, earlier, to leave Draco’s formal demeanour unaddressed. He had permitted him the leeway to stumble over his name, warbling out the syllables of Harry, only to stumble over the letters and choke out Potter. He was not gracious enough to return the favour.
When they parted, Harry left Draco with flushed cheeks, a racing heart and a sentence loudly echoing in his head.
“I was scared to run into you earlier,” Harry had admitted. “Didn’t know how I’d react, but now… I’m really glad you came,” none of them address the thousand emotions Harry has buried in his words. Feeling that, not for the first time, Draco couldn’t configure. “Thanks for showing up, Draco. You look gorgeous tonight.”
When Harry left, he took all the warmth and the cascading light with him. Draco stayed back, watching Harry go while he drowned in the dark frost of the night. Draco smiled, watching as the light edged further and further away. He didn’t even have to slip into the dark when he left, the shadows were already there.
In fact, Draco didn’t even leave. He stood there, watching until the light in the distance was snuffed out. He was the last person to get up and leave the venue.
The wedding was wonderful.