There is a brooch right above where his heart is supposed to be. A silver tear spilling from a dragon's mouth. His palm is dipped inside his suit, with just his middle and ring fingers poking out. Heavy rings seem to weigh his hand down, but it stays in place as he leans over to his side to whisper something to the groom. His smile is cocky. Blaise, on the other hand, presses his lips in a thin line as if to feign disapproval, but she can tell, by the way the corners of his mouth twitch, that he’s amused.
They look like the yin and yang symbols.
Beat-pause: two sets of eyes are peering at her.
Hermione doesn’t know which one to focus on, so instead she presses her cheeks in a tight smile and nails her gaze to the spot between their two heads. Draco seems alarmed. Blaise loses interest.
She shifts her gaze back to the altar, which remains empty. She isn’t sure whether she’s supposed to be up helping the bride. She isn’t even really sure whether inviting her was mandatory Gryffindor courtesy on Parvati’s behalf, considering the two of them had stayed friendly but not close over the course of the years.
A tray of champagne roams her vision. She dives in and picks up two glasses. She’s going to need them.
To her right, Harry and Ginny are smoldering each other in a very juvenile manner, which Hermione is never going to stop getting disgusted by. To her left: her date. Ron. Ron Weasley. Her not really an actual date- date. A more sober wedding invitation would call it: your plus one. He is stuck checking his watch and tapping his leg in such a way that even a Mongolian Shao Lin would eventually lose his patience.
She needs to flee.
Hermione watches as Ron’s focus shifts to Luna as she wonders around their space, and they (thank fucking God) actually start conversing. It seems like a genuine exchange on the woman’s part, but rather a coping mechanism on the ginger's, seeing as he looks thrillingly entertained.
This is her chance.
She turns her heel around and murmurs something about heading to the loo (she doesn’t want to lose all her dignity), before gulping one of the champagne flutes down her throat and vanishing the glass. Her eyes are set on the target—the back door of the manor. A manor so big and grand, the Malfoys should be too proud to even step foot in it. Her strides are long and confident, and she is halfway through the dark marble stairs before a figure reeks its shadow all over her own.
"I’ll be a second, Ron. You can survive me taking a trip to the loo without dying of utter boredom." She hisses in an effort to shoo him away, but the hum of acknowledgement she receives in return brings her jog to a halt.
Hm.
Hm??
Ron never hms!
The utter terror that she’s faced with when she turns around is groundbreaking. No amount of death and destruction had made the little hairs on her toes rise in such a painfully shuddering manner.
"Malfoy," she coyly says, but it rather sounds like a crying cat noise in her head.
He’s just a step below her. It makes a woman wonder what compels a man to think that is appropriate. By the looks of it, he isn’t budging, so instead, she takes a step back.
"Malfoy.. Hello!" she repeats, this time smiling and holding the remaining champagne flute with both her hands.
He seems amused. The silver brooch is hurting her eyes as it ricochets sun rays onto her skin. His one hand is loosely holding onto a low glass of whiskey (bet it’s Macallan), while the other seems to dust off minuscule particles of dust from his suit before it extends towards her.
Oh, no. That makes her panic harder.
"Uhm," she clears her throat and pries her arm back as far as she can from his reach, "Would- would you mind-?"
A silver eyebrow rises. "Would I mind?" He repeats, his tone drier than expected.
"Yes- would you-?" and she slowly leans away from the extended hand. She watches as his palm twitches before falling to his side.
"Are we really going to play that game? At my best friend’s wedding?"
Blood starts rushing up her face, and she has to scan around for any possible witnesses to the crime scene before actually (!) grabbing his arm and rushing through the back door she desperately wanted to reach in the first place.
Once inside, the place was eerily quiet. The tall ceiling echoed each breath like an abandoned cathedral, and the overdue light that got snuffed out in the shadows made her all the more uncomfortable. She turns to him, bewildered.
"Have you lost your mind?" She hisses, and she is convinced that the bridal party has surely heard them up on the fourth floor.
There is a dangerous smirk that rises from his mouth the moment she falls silent. His hair, now tied back in a neat knot for the occasion, looks like silver paint as it pools onto the canvas. "I thought I got your memo," he shrugs, completely unfazed.
Memo?? What memo?? How does he even know what memos are???!
"Do you want to get your skull caved in by Ron?! I am supposed to be in the loo-"
"You weren’t planning to come back, though."
Hermione made a face. The one she morphed into whenever she felt exasperated and embarrassed at the same time.
She twitches in her shoes. "What’s it to you?"
"Thought I’d visit the loo too." He glowered over her, a crown of light and arrogance glowing brightly around his head. Her chest tightens as his free hand undoes the top button of his black dress shirt. Her hypothetical Adam's apple, gulped.
"Will you be coming back?" She breathes, and he smiles silently with a shrug.
That’s it. She really, really had to go before they both ruined a perfectly well-organized wedding.
She starts walking away from him the moment he decides to take a sip of his whiskey. She’s half way through the enormous hall, and she strides towards a big set of stairs before-
"Wrong way." He calls, and she can see him striding towards the left of the house before quickly scurrying towards him with little dignity left.
He steps out the door, back to the summer air. June’s sun is soft against both their skins, and he doesn’t hesitate to keep her a step behind as he makes his way around the house.
"How does anyone get comfortable in a house like this?" She murmurs because she cannot stand the silence and because she needs some form of confirmation that he is aware of her presence.
He chuckles as he turns swiftly behind a gray marble column and pushes an engraved door to the side. He steps to the side to let her pass, and the dulcet dew of the house hits her like a cold shower. She stares at the grand sync before her and then stares up at the mirror and how he is peering at her through it.
He slides the door shut, and she has to clear her throat before she speaks again because he is clearly not going to.
"So, which one is for the fema-"
"Oh please." Malfoy murmurs, and suddenly his glass is gone and his ringed palm is sliding from her waist towards the middle of her stomach.
Hermione can’t stop staring at him from across the mirror as her mouth falls slack.
"No, I’m supposed to-"
"Go home? We’ll go home after." His words are muffled as his head dips down the nape of her throat and her head falls against him unconciously.
Hermione’s eyes flutter shut the moment his hand travels downward, resting easy against the dip of her thigh before sliding through the cut of her dress. Her hands reach upwards and clasp behind his neck, reaching for his hair.
Catchuscatchuscatchus is all she thinks, but the longer his hand glides against her, the less words have any meaning.
"Draco…" she breathes, and he all but huffs behind her ear. He’s peering at her, watching the way her torso arches and her legs shift with every little movement he makes.
"Draco, somebody is going to-"
Before she can finish (both literally and metaphorically), the ray of light glows larger and larger as the door slides open, and Hermione swears she died the moment she opened her eyes and saw two blue eyes peering at her. Draco swiftly turned to the girl by the door, his hand gliding upwards and resting back onto her stomach. Hermione wants to cry as she pries his palm off her and she screws her head towards an unfazed-looking Luna Lovegood.
"Luna. What are you doing here?" Smile. Twitching eye.
"Ron got bored of me. Blaise is looking for you." She replies, but her eyes are stuck on Draco, who has gone back to dusting off nonexistent dust from himself. After a moment of eerily tense silence, he turned to Hermione with a cocky half smile and winked before pushing through Luna and disappearing into the sun.
Beat-pause:
"Nobody can know." Hermione idiotically utters with no polish or elegance. Just pure panic.
Luna smiles knowingly.