Chapter Text
Four Years Later.
“Ron, you’re going to give me a migraine,” Hermione is saying, pressing her fingers angrily into her forehead. “You are not wearing that.”
Ron only shrugs, smoothing flat the pair of trousers with the palms of his hands. “They don’t look terrible.”
“They do, Weasley,” Draco teases from the doorway, and Harry’s attention snaps up. He has barely registered Draco’s face when Hermione covers his eyes.
“Draco!” Hermione exclaims, rushing in front of Harry with open arms. “You are not supposed to see your betrothed on his wedding day!”
“Hold on, how come I’m the only betrothed?” Harry argues, closing his eyes with a grin from behind Hermione’s surprisingly impressive wingspan. “What about the other way around?”
“I won’t look, I promise. I heard all the commotion,” Draco says, focusing on Ron. “We have to do something about this atrocity. What’s happened?”
“He forgot to take them to the tailor.” Hermione shakes her head, a certain fondness in her tone. “God alone knows why I married this man.”
Harry can’t see, but he can picture Ron making a face in response as the wood creaks and Draco presumably bends down in front of him.
“You know.” Draco removes his wand from his pocket, Harry can feel the magic. “Franklin is fantastic, and if you’d used him, we wouldn’t be here today. Take these off.”
Ron seems to comply.
“I know,” he groans. “Work has been keeping me so busy, though.”
“I can vouch for that,” Harry says from the corner.
Because work has been nothing short of insane. It isn’t really that crime rates have risen because they’ve been steadily declining since the war itself. But, Harry is, for the first time in a long while, beginning to find his job quite fun. He and Ron are out in the field more often than not, assigned to cases that Harry only heard about in the movies. Tracking rogue serial killers across Romania and overthrowing an underground drug ring had been two intensely exciting cases they’ve had the opportunity to work on the weeks before the wedding. He and Ron haven’t complained about the paperwork once, and that seems to put Robards in a permanent good mood.
“Diffindo,” Draco says smoothly, and Harry can hear the rip of trouser legs. “That should be good enough.”
“Good enough?” Hermione yelps. “It’s your wedding, it needs to be perfect.”
“Everything is perfect,” Draco says, and Harry can feel the love, the contentment in his voice. “Hermione, trouser legs are not going to make or break this wedding. I’m confident in that fact.”
Hermione makes an impatient nose. “Alright, shoo now, before you see him.”
The door shuts with a soft click, and Harry opens his eyes.
“He looked amazing,” Harry grins.
“You saw?” she says, frustrated.
“No, I just know.”
The garden of the Burrow is lit with floating candles as the sun begins to set in the sky, turning it an inky blue. Long wooden benches lead up to an archway and intertwined narcissus flowers and lilies pepper the intricate aisle. Lights are low and dim as people chat amongst themselves by the drinks table. The wedding could have been a spectacle, Harry knows. With his money and the Malfoy fortune combined, they could’ve done something huge. But Draco, to Harry’s surprise, had insisted on something quiet, intimate. Molly had practically begged them to do it at the Burrow, and Harry was eager to agree. After all, it had been his first real home. And Ginny and Blaise have done a wonderful job dressing up the place for guests. Aside from this area, there’s a long table decorated with soft white linens and flowers and vegetables from Luna and Neville’s greenhouse.
The whole affair will be beautiful, and humble, and exactly what the two of them need. Nothing frilly and ornate. Just friends, family, and love.
Harry is snagging a cracker with brie from the food table when Ginny waves him over.
“You clean up nice,” Ginny says with a laugh, reaching up to ruffle at his hair. Harry doesn’t even mind because he’s barely bothered to tend to it in the first place. If it weren’t for his tuxedo, people might be hard-pressed to realise this is his wedding. “But Draco has you topped.”
“Only when I’m in the mood,” Harry says with a coy smile, offering her a wink. Ginny wrinkles her nose in response.
“I love you both, but that is too much information for my liking,” she snickers. The look on her face is wiped away immediately as she spots something that makes her face grow cold and surprised. Harry is almost a little afraid to turn around.
Narcissa Malfoy stands at the patio doors as people flit past her, no one really bats an eye at her presence. Harry supposes it makes sense that their guests wouldn’t be surprised that Draco’s mother is attending the wedding, but everyone close to them knows it’s not so simple.
“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry says, untangling his arm from Ginny and walking over to meet her.
She’s dressed in beautiful, simple olive-green robes, her hair braided up into a bun, no strand of blonde out of place. She clasps her hands together in front of her, and Harry feels as though he’s about to be scolded by a professor. But her change in expression is quick as she relaxes into the environment. The thin, tight line of her lips curves upward, into what Harry can only call a willing smile.
“Mr Potter,” she says. “It’s nice to see you.
“You too,” Harry says awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.
Although they had reconnected with Narcissa in the years following Draco’s initial recovery, things were still a little tense for reasons Harry still isn’t entirely sure of. Narcissa steps to the side as Blaise passes by her with a tray of homemade Pumpkin Pasties. His eyes only widen a little at the sight of her in the home.
Though her house arrest had ended a few years before, she still hardly found the time to venture out into the wizarding world. It had been a big step, the first time Draco had asked her to meet for coffee in Diagon Alley. Harry had been present, probably the only reason the Malfoys weren’t harassed that day.
“It’s a beautiful day for a wedding,” Narcissa says, looking at the sky. Harry isn’t sure if she’s being serious, as grey clouds creep over the dark sky. “I do apologise for my tardiness. Kipsy needed some assistance with Lucius.” She whispers his name as though it is a curse word.
Harry crosses his arms over his chest, shivering at the name, and to warm himself more in the early October breeze. He shifts his weight, yellow and burnt orange leaves crunching beneath his feet.
Lucius hadn’t been invited to the wedding, probably still too ill from Azkaban to even attend if he was, and Narcissa hadn’t bothered to ask if he should come. A rekindled relationship between him and Draco is, and would likely always be, out of the cards.
“I can take you to Draco,” Harry offers, in lieu of acknowledging the comment.
Narcissa nods in agreement as Harry leads her inside. They approach the doorway to Ginny’s room and pause outside.
“Let me speak to him first,” Harry says quietly.
He raps gently on the door, and Pansy pokes her head out from behind.
“You can’t be here!” she hisses in a tone strikingly similar to Hermione’s from earlier. “Draco can’t see you yet.”
But Harry expects his expression is serious. She frowns, peeking around Harry. She spots Narcissa in an instant.
“Oh,” she whispers, to Harry. “It’s good that she’s here.”
“I know,” Harry says. “A small part of me didn’t expect her to come.”
Pansy shakes her head, white knuckles gripping the door handle. “It’s her only son’s wedding, of course she would come. Theo,” she calls back in. He appears at the door in an instant. “Let’s leave them for a second.”
He doesn’t question it as they exit, Pansy walking over slowly to speak with Narcissa, who wraps them both into familiar, albeit slightly uncomfortable, hugs.
Harry pushes inside, closing the door with a soft thud behind him.
“Well, you’ve fucked us now,” Draco says, not turning away from the mirror where he’s readjusting his jacket. “This is such bad luck.”
“Merlin, you look—” The words disappear from Harry’s mouth as Draco turns around.
Draco is clad in a navy-blue tuxedo that clings to every sharp edge of his body like it is made for him. He usually has his hair gelled into place, especially on workdays, but he’s let it loose a little, and it falls longer around his eyes just like Harry likes it. He’s radiant and beautiful, and Harry wants this image of him burned into the backs of his eyelids.
“I could look at you forever,” Harry says. He can’t resist taking Draco into his arms, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. The lips will have to, at least, be saved for the ceremony.
“Look at you, though,” Draco says, in awe, taking a step back to twirl Harry in a circle. “We’re getting married.”
“That we are,” Harry says, reminded of what waits for the two of them outside the door. “Come sit down.”
Harry sits on the edge of Ginny’s bed, patting the space next to him so that Draco joins.
“You better not be leaving me,” Draco jokes, but there’s a moment of concern, worry laced into his tone.
“No!” Harry says, “You idiot, of course I’m not.”
“Then what?”
“Your mum is here,” Harry begins, wincing as Draco narrows his eyes.
“She’s late,” Draco states, plainly.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, opting not to inform him as to why.
Draco’s jaw tightens. He inhales, turning his gaze down to the floor. “It still feels so strange to have her back in my life.”
“I would be more surprised if it didn’t,” Harry says quietly. “But this is a good thing.”
“I know.”
“She’s just outside,” Harry says.
Draco looks up to the door with a foreign expression on his face. “Will you give me a moment alone with her?”
Harry squeezes his hand. “Of course.”
It’s only a few moments later that he’s leaving the room to give Draco and Narcissa privacy to speak. He worries for a fraction of a moment, that Narcissa will convince Draco to leave, to go back to his old life. Despite all of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, it’s sometimes still hard for Harry to remember that people have changed since the war, including the people he least expected to.
“A wedding day heart-to-heart,” Theo remarks, as Harry emerges from the bedroom.
“It’ll be fine,” Pansy says, though Harry never trusts her enough because she’s always been an ultimate defender of Narcissa. “She’s not the warmest woman, but she has a good heart.”
“That’s all that matters in the end,” Harry says.
After a half hour, Draco and Narcissa emerge from inside. They still seem to be a little awkward around each other, and Harry will have to ask him about their conversation after the ceremony, but this is the reality of life. It’s rare that things can be fixed so quickly, so perfectly. But Narcissa is delighted by the presence of her flower on the ceremony’s archway, and Draco beams back at her. There is always a time to at least try and make things right.
“Are we ready to start?” Molly asks, encouraging, pulling Draco in with an arm. She gives him a warm smile.
Narcissa stands tall beside him. She looks proud to be his mother, and Harry can understand exactly why.
“I believe so,” Draco replies, grinning.
Music, a warm and cosy mix of acoustic sounds in the air, swells in the background as Fleur plays her lyre, and Percy strums gently at his guitar.
Draco walks down the aisle first, held tightly on either side by Pansy and Theo who both look like they could burst into tears. At the end of the aisle, they both give him hugs that last seconds too long, before assuming their positions up at the front.
Harry goes next, a nervousness in his throat that he can’t entirely place. There’s Draco, the love of his life, at the other end, looking back at him with so much love and care written into his expression that Harry thinks he might burst with feeling. He winks at Draco down the aisle, and Seamus cheers at the fact. Molly shushes him almost immediately.
Harry chose to have both Ron and Hermione walk him down the aisle, and both of them cry as they do. Ron will never admit it in the future, Harry knows this for sure, but he’s dabbing at his eyes with his shirtsleeves almost as much as Molly is.
“It’s about time we did this for you,” Hermione says, with warm and full eyes as they reach the end of the benches. “We love you so much, Harry.”
Ron agrees, sniffling, his arm tightly hooked into Harry’s as though he’s reluctant to let go. “Best mates for life, yeah?”
“For life,” Harry repeats, feeling his voice go scratchy and raw, too. He pulls them both in close, and Hermione peppers his face with kisses.
As he meets Draco under the archway, the flowers somehow seem to bloom brighter. Luna stands just behind them, wrapped in cornflower blue robes, a flower crown braided down into her flowing blonde hair.
Azalea sits in the front row flashing both Harry and Draco a genuine smile. While she’s still a closed, reserved kind of woman, she cares for Draco in the way that Narcissa hadn’t much when he was a child. She’s the reason why Draco’s managed to be sober for so many years. The wedding wouldn’t be complete without her there.
“Shit,” Draco curses quietly, as Luna draws up her wand and lights the candles around the arch.
“What,” Harry says, panicked.
“I don’t think I asked someone to cover the store.”
“Draco,” Harry rolls his eyes. “We’re about to get married, and you’re worried about your bookstore! It’ll still be there tomorrow, you know.”
“Yeah, but Mrs Madgen wanted that copy of Jane Eyre, and I promised her I’d—”
“Shh,” Harry says gently, taking his cold hands in his. “Be present.”
Draco swallows, some of the anxiety disappearing from his features as Luna begins the ceremony.
It passes rather quickly, in a swirl of hushed words, soft exclamations from the crowd, and shared glances. Luna officiates perfectly, her dreamy and whimsical affect making the whole affair seem that much more magical. Harry can’t take his eyes away from Draco’s.
There are no purpled bags under his eyes anymore, no pointy cheekbones protruding sharply from the skin of his cheeks. His eyes don’t look hollow and set too deep into his face, but rather burst with a soft, quiet kind of intensity that only Draco can claim as his. He’s so beautiful, Harry thinks, no matter what he looked like before, or will in the future. But he’s so healthy and happy, and those are the only things Harry really needs in his life.
They kiss to seal their bond, and it’s like their cores strain through their chests, aching to be pressed together forever, as close as they can be. Harry finds it hard for himself to pull away but doesn’t particularly feel like putting on a show for their audience.
“You’re so wonderful,” Harry whispers, forehead pressed against Draco’s. “I’m never letting you go.”
Then, like a damn scene in a Muggle film, it begins to rain.
Rain peters down slowly from the sky before it flows unbridled, soaking through everyone’s robes, and dresses, and suits. Harry’s hair is drenched within a matter of seconds, his glasses wet with condensation. He doesn’t seem to care though, taking them from the bridge of his nose and letting out an excited yelp.
“Oi, you fuckers would have your wedding on a rainy day,” George calls out, and the guests erupt into laughter.
Harry presses a kiss against Draco’s mouth, running a hand through his wet blonde hair.
“I’ll love you forever,” Harry promises, with a grin on his face that he knows he won’t be able to wipe away. He blinks back tears from his eyes that mix with rainwater running down his cheeks.
“As I, you.” Draco throws his arms around Harry’s neck as they fall into each other. “I’ll never let go.”
A crack of lightning illuminates the dark sky, and Pansy shouts in excitement. It’s definitely George or Charlie that puts on some Weird Sisters as upbeat music begins to stream from the Burrow, backlit by angry clouds.
Draco and Harry share their first dance right there, stumbling away from the archway as everyone joins in, soaked in rain and mud, water in their eyes until they can’t see straight.
“This would happen to us,” Harry shouts above the noise. He looks around to his friends, joy in their faces, soaked wet down to their boots.
Draco kisses him again, hands tight around his cheeks, pushing hair away from his face. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”