𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐎

Part 7

Part Seven

"How dare you show up to my wedding looking tired?" Pansy seethes, and Harry jumps as he feels a spell wash over his face without warning.

"God, okay, someone needs to get her wand away from her," Draco says fearfully as she rounds on him next.

"And you! Hung-over, aren't you? Well, we'll just see about—"

"Um! We're going to see Ron now, bye Pansy," Harry says hurriedly, and he grabs Draco and escapes with him down the long, elegant hallway, to the room where Ron is supposed to be getting ready.

The getting ready part takes five minutes, of course; the rest of the time he's drinking beer with his brothers, and he looks quite content to be doing so. Harry shuts the door on Pansy's screeching and faces Ron with a dark look. "You are marrying that. What the fuck did she do to my face?"

"Dunno, mate, but you look bright and fresh." He smiles benignly and nods at Draco, who is looking at the door as if Pansy is going to burst in and assault them again. "I'd keep Hermione away from your house-elves, by the way, she's been having words with them, and I don't think your parents will appreciate a mutiny."

Draco snorts and throws himself at a chaise lounge, doing that elegant sprawl thing again and reaching for a beer. The room they're in is small and airy, and the groom's side of the wedding party has set up a Wireless and is listening to a Quidditch game. Everyone looks calm and relaxed, even in their formal dress robes—a sharp contrast to the frenzied, screechy chaos of the bride's side of things.

"Oh, let her," Draco says carelessly. "Let them stage a revolt right in the middle of the ceremony; my father will love to get that in the Quibbler."

As if on cue, a photographer suddenly swoops in and snaps a picture of Draco on the chaise. Draco glares at him for a moment, then shrugs and drinks his beer.

"Yes, I'd want my picture too, if my only other options were all this red hair," he says haughtily.

"You know, I like how far we've come, Malfoy," Ron says thoughtfully. "Few years ago I would've hexed you for that. But now? Meh."

"Now, Pansy would gut you," Draco corrects, though he doesn't sound too pressed about it.

"Is there like a Cheering Charm on this room?" Harry asks, looking between the two. Ron thinks about it.

"Not that I know of, no."

"Bet the girls could do with one of those." Ron beams at him.

"That's such a great idea, Malfoy!" He suddenly gets up from his own seat and wanders over to the chaise, waving at the photographer. "Get a picture of me and my buddy Malfoy over here, Kent."

"Certainly, sir."

"No, seriously," Harry says loudly, looking at them both pointedly. "What the fuck?"

"The stress of the wedding has obviously melted his brain," Draco assesses knowledgably, but then he looks at Ron with something like fondness. "But it's okay Weasley, I'll still take a picture with you."

He rearranges himself on the chaise to give Ron room, and the redhead plops down next to him with all the grace of a troll, and Draco doesn't even make a comment. Harry looks at them, two matching, ridiculous grins on their faces, and then looks at the beers in their hands. Looks at George Weasley.

"Okay. What's in the beer?"

George smiles innocently and throws his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. "You wound me, good sir."