Muggles and Wizards. Not the rules, of course, or the design, but the basic feeling, the quiet reverence and
the suffocating holiness of it all... the structure and the foundation, still the same.
It made Draco sweat.
He didn’t belong there, and he knew it, but apparently some people didn’t. So instead of being at home,
trying to finish work on a new kind of truth serum -he’d become an amazingly famous potion brewer at the
young age of 25- he was standing up in front of hundreds of people, looking like a jackass in dress robes.
The slow, almost haunting ‘celebration’ music was pounding through his mind as it repeated endlessly the
same basic four notes... dum dum da-dum... dum dum da-dum... please god if your there stop the fucking
mu-sic...
Red crushed carpet underneath, flushed red skin on the back of his neck. People said this was supposed to
be exciting, to the point of crying even, but he couldn’t see what the big fuss was about. It was just a
wedding. Wedding. Ugh. Unconsciously, Draco pulled on his robe collar.
Ron Weasley was the best man... which was predictable at best, downright pathetic at worst. How about we
take the one person out of everyone we know with hair so bright- and robes so horrible- that they’ll be able
to take away attention from the two centerpieces of the entire procession. He didn’t even know how to
stand, he just kind of slouched there and looked down from his freakish height with an odd look on his face.
Disgraceful.
Was that the music changing pace? Almost panicking, Draco turned to one side and stared down the center
hall that a figurative funeral march of people were trudging down. There was Harry all right, looking like
one of the ancient gods in his shining black robe, hair wild even on this special day. If Draco smiled, that
would have made him. Emerald green eyes gleamed no longer behind glasses, instead behind a pair of
contacts that Harry had ordered special for this occasion.
Draco felt his heart go into his throat. It was almost too much to bear, watching Harry march down the aisle,
step by step, a confident smile on his face. He wasn’t sweating at all.
Time seemed to freeze as he advanced, and only when they were within a single footstep of each other did
there eyes meet, and Harry smiled at him, mouthing wordlessly, “Aren’t you glad we aren’t allowed to get
married?”
The only answer was required was a simple nod. The two fell into place side by side as Ushers, to watch the
wedding or Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum.