Falling

“You may kiss the bride.”

The crowd erupted into applause. Everybody stood as the bride and groom kissed, quick and chaste. Full of smiles as George Weasley wolf-whistled from somewhere up front. Granger wiped tears from Weasley’s eyes. 

Draco supposed Granger was a Weasley now too, officially. From the back of the pavilion, he watched as the two of them waved happily at the crowd. The two Weasley’s took each others’ arms, and they walked back down the aisle among falling flower petals, together. 

The best man, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, linked arms as well with the maid of honor, the esteemed Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, and followed after the happy couple. Draco made a supreme effort not to make eye contact with either of them as they passed.

“They do look quite handsome together, don’t they?” Astoria muttered beside him.

Draco gritted his teeth.

The guests followed the wedding party out from under the pavilion. Rows of dishes had been prepared buffet-style in “the Burrow’s” backyard. 

Harry had described the place to him before, but it held none of the wonder that he’d promised. Admittedly, the Weasley’s seemed to own a moderately large property - they were pure-bloods, after all - however, the fields were terribly ill-kept with gnomes popping up in random places, and the run-down building they called a house was one good reducto away from collapsing into dust. 

Draco felt thoroughly low-class as he spooned some pie onto his plate. Back at the pavilion, the chairs had rearranged themselves around large tables covered in rose-gold cloth and carved with names that sparkled. Draco and Astoria seated themselves with a few of Hermione’s coworkers from the Ministry. 

“Loved the ceremony, but I am absolutely starving,” Astoria said. She took a dainty bite of spotted dick, making a decidedly indecent sound as she did so. 

The man next to her - Richard Kempt, according to the name in the table - giggled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Many people stood up to give speeches. Harry, of course. Then Ginevra, then Arthur Weasley, then George Weasley, then Neville Longbottom, then Luna Lovegood - even Minister Shacklebolt said a few words. Sappy stories, sentimental tears and embraces, knowing looks, jokes that everybody seemed to understand except Draco.

Honestly, it seemed as if the day would never end. When the sun started to sink into the horizon, however, tinging the clear, summer sky purple and pink, like the rosy glow that never seemed to fade from the merry couple’s cheeks, the food disappeared, the chairs melted away, and the open bar - as promised in Hermione’s invitation - finally appeared.

Leaving Astoria deep in conversation with her new best friend, Richard or “Richie” as she was now calling him, Draco made a beeline for the bar. From there, he watched Hermione and Ron’s first dance. A slow tune that reminded him of roses and smiling, green eyes.

The party picked up later on. Draco, however, refused to leave the bar. 

“Just one dance,” Astoria whined. She looked stunning in a low-cut emerald dress. It brought out the green in her eyes. Her dark hair had been curated into a careful mess on top of her head, held still only through liberal amounts of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. His Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. 

Draco brushed off a speck of dust from his own robes. Black, with silver lining. It’d been a while since he’d had any occasion to wear it.

“I appreciate the effort, love,” he said. “But at least one of us deserves to have fun tonight, and it won’t be me.”

“But-”

“Go,” he said. He smiled. “Snog Richie, or even a Weasley if you’d like. I’ll be fine.”

Astoria sighed. She placed a light hand on his wrist. “Draco,” she said. “We could still go. It’s a Saturday night, we’ll find a club or a pub, or something. A place with plenty of Richie’s to snog. For both of us.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m inviting you.”

Draco shook his head. “I came all this way,” he said. He downed the last of his firewhiskey, then motioned to the bartender for another. “I’m not backing out now.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “What are you really hoping to gain out of all this, anyway?” she said. 

Draco accepted his new glass of firewhiskey over ice. It smoked as he held the warm drink in his hands.

“We went over this, Astoria,” he said. “It’s the wedding of the century. We’re lucky to have even been invited.”

Astoria waved him off, managing to catch the attention of some lad at the other end of the bar as she did so. She smiled brilliantly at him. 

“I thought the intricate matters of wizarding society were beneath you now, Draco,” she said.

Draco scoffed. “They are,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my manners.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows.

“So us being here has nothing to do with the fact that he’s here as well?” she said. 

She nodded in the Saviour’s direction. He was laughing at some joke with his date, Parvati Patil, of all people. Although he definitely was in dire need of some Sleekeazy’s, Draco had to admit he looked almost dashing in green dress robes just a shade darker than Astoria’s dress. It made his eyes shine in the dim twilight.

“For Merlin’s sake, you can say his name,” Draco snapped. He sipped at his drink. Perhaps he should’ve gone for the pinot grigio. He usually stayed away from firewhiskey, ever since that one, rainy night up in the Astronomy Tower.

He shook his head. “It’s nearly been a year,” he said. “I’ve moved on.”

“Have you now.”

“I have.”

Astoria lifted her chin, as if attempting to look down at him. It didn’t work.

“Then go talk to him,” she said.

Draco froze. “What?”

“You heard me.” Her red lips were pursed, arms crossed. “Talk to him.”

“I will not,” Draco hissed. “Are you mad?”

Astoria sighed. “You said it yourself, it’s been a year,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to stay on the wrong side of the Chosen One for so long. It’s time you two buried the hatchet, don’t you think?”

Draco glared at her. “Buried what?” he said. 

The more time they spent in muggle London, the more Astoria had taken to using strange, muggle idioms. It irritated him on the best of days.

Astoria rolled her eyes, as if he were the one annoying her.

“Fine,” she said. “Do what you like.” Deftly, she reached over and drank the rest of Draco’s firewhiskey. She grimaced. 

“I’m going to find myself a Weasley.”

Astoria wandered off back into the crowd, and Draco watched her go with a sinking feeling. There went the only friendly face he’d find in this farce of a party. Turning back to the bartender, he asked for a glass of pinot grigio.

For the rest of the night, Draco stayed at the bar, growing steadily more and more inebriated as he watched the wedding guests laugh and talk and dance, no one bothering to acknowledge him outside of the occasional glare, double take, or look of confusion. 

Harry never acknowledged Draco’s presence at the wedding either. He chatted with everybody but him, danced to fast songs with his friends and to slow songs with Patil.

He scowled into his glass of wine, scaring off a boy with bright blue hair.

What seemed like hours later, Draco left his empty glass on the counter and stumbled away from the warm glow of the pavilion. He needed air.

Night had fallen like black curtains, blanketing the world in a million stars. Living now in London, Draco had almost forgotten what it was like, to look up and see the neverending sky, stretching into the horizon of shadowy hills and trees. The scene reminded him of Hogwarts, of the Astronomy Tower. Of Harry.

He shook his head. 

With the ease of habit, Draco took out a cigarette. He rested it in his mouth as he lit the other end with his wand. He breathed in. Nicotine circulated in him, in his lungs, calming his mind. He breathed out.

Four cigarettes later, he heard soft footsteps in the grass behind him. He sighed.

“I thought you were going to find yourself a Weasley,” he said.

Silence. Draco frowned. “You’re not still cross with me, are you?” he said. “Listen-” 

Wrenching his eyes from the sky, Draco turned around, ready to tell Astoria off for even suggesting he say a single word to the man who once nearly killed him, the man to whom he still owed a life-debt, the man who took his heart and shattered it, the shards innumerable, like the stars. 

It wasn’t Astoria. The words died in his throat.

“Since when do you smoke?” Harry said.

Draco looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. He still remembered his first one. At the time, he’d coughed so hard, it felt as if he would burn from the inside out. He looked back at Harry. 

“Since when do you care?” he said. 

Harry scowled. It seemed that he’d taken off the robes at some point, leaving him in only pressed, grey trousers and a white button-down. 

“What are you doing here, Draco?” he said.

Straight to the point then. Draco flicked ash off his cigarette. “I was invited.”

“I know.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled sharply. “Hermione told me.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Harry looked at him. It had been so long since he’d looked at Draco. Since Draco had looked at him. The late autumn breeze ruffled the space between them.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Draco sneered at him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Harry scowled. He tilted his head, looked away. The party went on behind him, without them. Draco thought he heard the cackle of Lovegood’s laughter.

“Look,” Harry said. He glanced at Draco. “I know Hermione offered you that job at the Ministry.”

It hadn’t been an actual offer. Hermione had simply reached out to Draco one day for a cup of tea, after a year of absolute silence from the Golden Trio. She was now a legal assistant at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which Draco knew. What he didn’t know was that she had heard of an available apprenticeship in the Department of Mysteries, working with Dark Artefacts in the division of Death. If he wanted it, she’d said, she would put in a good word.

Then she asked him to come to her wedding.

“Are you here to tell me not to take it?” Draco said. His fingers trembled slightly as he took a pull from his cigarette. 

Harry furrowed his brows. He looked a bit dazed, as if he’d also had two shots of firewhiskey and four glasses of pinot grigio. 

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I know how much it means to you.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. Unlike the great Harry Potter, who was offered a spot in the auror training program before he even received his N.E.W.T.’s results back, Draco had run into walls everywhere he turned after leaving Hogwarts. Nobody was willing to hire a Malfoy, much less an ex-Death Eater. No matter how well he’d done on his exams.

“What do you want, then?” Draco said. He was reaching the end of his cigarette. 

“I don’t know.” Harry ran another hand through his hair, as if that would somehow tame the unruly mess. “It’s just that, I didn’t want it to be…awkward. At the Ministry.”

“I doubt we’ll see much of each other.” 

“Still.” Harry sighed. “We’ve both moved, haven’t we?” 

Draco stared. Moved on?

Harry Potter had had his brief bout of insanity - exploring the more sordid side of his sexuality with a Death Eater, of all people - but he was better now, cured some would say, settled back into a story that made sense for the Chosen One. Training to be an auror. Sleeping with a woman. Giving a tearful, best man speech at his best friends’ wedding.

But what about Draco?

He blew out a cloud of white smoke that flickered in the breeze. 

“Don’t worry, Potty,” he said. He Vanished his cigarette butt. “I won’t cause trouble.”

“Promise?”

Draco blinked at the request. He almost smiled. “Pinky promise,” he said.

A corner of Harry’s mouth twitched.

“All right, then,” he said.

“All right.”

They stared at each other for a moment, eyes narrowed, as if they couldn’t see each other quite clearly in the dark. Draco remembered the last time they had met. Last summer, right after Harry’s birthday, the two of them so close he could smell the clean scent of Harry’s shampoo. They weren’t shouting this time, at least.

“See you around, Draco.”

Harry walked away. Draco watched him amble back into the party, back to his date, back into the fold of his perfect life as the straight, handsome hero of the wizarding world.

“Yeah,” he said. “See you.”