𝘿𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 ; 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

xiv.

xiv. | FOURTEEN.
❦
13 november, 1998
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"You are now pronounced husband and wife."

Adelaide is launched into a dip, her lacy gown fluent around her ankles — as Marcus catches her into a kiss, urging an explosion of cheers from the audience.

Ivory clutches her bouquet — smiling, disguising her anger with a facade of happiness. She applauds as her adoptive mother comes upwards, her new step-father's hand in her's. They wave with happiness, a prideful smirk plastered upon Mr. Flint's lips.

Strutting down the aisle — the wedding party gossips in their wake. Several of Adelaide's bridesmaids dispose of tears with their thumbs, giggling at one another.

Gripping her bouquet, Ivory follows suit — jutting her chin to rid of the hair from her face, sauntering down the aisle in her mother's wake.

Ivory truly looks magnificent. Her long legs stride from behind a slit in a maroon dress. A long V-neckline capitalizes her cleavage, where a dainty golden necklace is placed. Her hair is secured in an updo behind her head, petite flowers laced within the strands.

To her dismay, she spots a duo of platinum blond hair in the crowd as she stalks down the aisle — a lump embodied in her throat. The pair of devilish blonds are of the utmost disinterest — Scorpius twiddling his thumbs as his father is in some abyss; one that is nowhere near the ballpark of the wedding he's present at.

Pursing her lips, she prays for them not to see her — but two salient eyes flash to her peripheral, sapphire and striking. Her gaze flits to the them — where Scorpius notes her presence, but doesn't acknowledge her. Mr. Malfoy is bloody analyzing her, so shameless and vested.

She ignores it. Can't help it — can't help to care. It's always the same monotonous cycle he's held her hostage her in.

Merlin, I'm so infatuated with you.

You could be my guilty pleasure.

You could be my secret.

But there's always a rebuttal.

I could lose my jobs.

I could lose my money.

I could lose my rank.

I could lose my bloodline.

She wrenches herself from that patronizing trance, in the depths of his blue eyes.

Beaming at the visitors, her cheeks a cherry red — she strides off the aisle, where the wedding party and her mother are congregated. House elves weave through their midst, their dilapidated faces screwed up in frenzy. She bids them all a small smile, thanking them for their aid — something her mother must've forgotten to do.

Adelaide and the bridesmaids bustle off to another wing, perhaps for reception preparation. Ivory spares herself from that heartache. Her mother couldn't even bother a word of integrity in regards to it being Ivory's twentieth birthday.

She sits upon a marble bench, adjacent to the cathedral where the guests are located. They arise from their chairs — some chuckling with mirth while toasting with goblets, others scowling at others, evident feuds between families.