Sneaky, smirking Slytherins, and wedding-crazed Weasleys. Is this a match made in heaven or in hell?
Clearly, I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, you would be paying to read this, I would have a lot of money as a result, and then I'd stop writing just to annoy you.
I'm evil like that.
This story includes SLASH. If you do not want to read it, please leave. Otherwise, come in, stay a while, and don't forget to review when you're done.
Ginny was glowing. It was so palpable, not even Harry's sour mood could read misery into her elated expression.
Not that he didn't try.
"So, Gin, how is the git?"
"Harry!" Ginny didn't falter. "It's so great to finally see you! I was hoping you'd arrive early – have you seen Ron and Hermione?"
Harry's face took on a disgruntled cast.
"Umm . . . I think they're in the kitchen? Apparently they're busy."
Ginny's brow furrowed for a second, and her gaze shifted slightly to consider the firmly closed door to the aforementioned kitchen. Her face cleared, the puzzlement disappearing, as she heard a faint giggle emanating from within, followed by a gasp. She directed a grin – that appeared to be verging on malicious – at her traumatised guest.
"Ah."
She made no attempt to move.
A moan shattered the slightly uncomfortable silence.
Harry's eyebrow quirked upwards.
Ginny giggled. She was still glowing.
"Maybe we should go elsewhere?" Harry suggested.
Ginny nodded, reached for his hand, and began to lead her friend and the man she considered another brother into the living area, away from the disturbing noises. They finally settled, he on a rather worn brown velvet armchair that was covered with cat fur, she on the couch, next to Mrs Weasley's clicking knitting needles.
"So, Gin, you didn't answer my question."
"You mean the one in which you referred to the man I love as a git?"
Harry blanched slightly at Ginny's rather annoyed tone as she continued.
"But thank you for asking, anyway, and Draco is well. In fact, it was he who was hoping you would arrive early – he has something he needs you for."
Harry groaned.
Harry should have guessed it was a bad omen when he had woken up that morning to find the sun shining so brightly. Others might have seen it as a good thing, but Harry really should have known better. After all, nothing in the world should be trusted.
The weather perhaps least of all.
And it the sun was still shining, and warmth was soaking deep into his pores.
It might have been a pleasant omen, but by now Harry knew not to be so simplistic. Clearly he would get heatstroke, collapse at the altar of Ginny's wedding (thereby cementing the popular, if completely inaccurate, theory abounding in the wizarding world that he was madly in love with Gin and devastated by her choice in bridegroom) and die.
Harry was almost certain Trelawny would consider this moment of realization his finest hour.
Clearly he would die young, and horribly.
Probably that very day.
Harry expelled a laboured breath, maintaining clam and control in the face of adversity, and knocked on the door in front of him.
It opened, after an extended pause, to the smirking face of Draco Malfoy, urbane as ever, even on the morning of his wedding.
"Potter."
"Malfoy."
Harry brushed past the other man, strode to the centre of the room that had been assigned to him – Percy's old room, he noted absently – and stood, waiting.
There was silence. Draco was standing, still holding the door open, looking directly at his distinctly annoyed visitor.
"Well?"
"Well, what, Potter?"
"Well, what did you want to see me about?"
"Ah, that." Draco gave a slight involuntary grin, then smoothed his expression into its rather more customary smirk. "It appears that we have a problem. Given that the rest of the 'family'," there appeared to be a bad taste lingering in Malfoy's mouth, if his sour demeanour was any indication, "is otherwise occupied, I thought it could be your responsibility."
Draco then essayed an innocent smile. To Harry, it appeared more like the sort of expression Crookshanks might have made if he ever came face-to-face with Peter Pettigrew in his rat form.
Given Draco's similarity at this point in time to the most terrifying cat Harrry had ever encountered, he felt amply justified in regarding Draco with deep suspicion.
"What sort of responsibility are we talking about here, Malfoy?"
"Nothing too arduous, Potter." Draco smiled happily, turning to the mirror, where he meticulously adjusted the cuffs of his black silk dress robes. The silver thread that they were shot through with sparkled, apparently as a result of a good mood, if the long talk he had once given to Harry about the properties of the cloth he intended to be married in was any indication.
Harry supposed it was rather romantic – if one could use such a word about Malfoy – to choose to be married in clothing that made it patently obvious just exactly how happy you were about the union.
It was also rather disturbing that he could actually remember the conversation, which, if his memory was correct, had taken place at some point in their seventh year, when Ginny was still returning Malfoy's letters unopened.
Harry suddenly realised he had been completely ignoring what Draco was saying – not an unusual occurrence, as Draco tended to go on and on about matters Harry considered rather inconsequential – manners, Ginny, family history, history in general, Ginny, potions, Ginny, the consequences of muggle nuclear war on the wizarding world, Ministry of Magic politics, Ginny. It wasn't that Harry didn't relish a good, rousing, intellectual discussion as much as the next person (as long as there was nothing better to do), and it wasn't that he didn't LIKE Ginny, it was just that Draco took so long about everything.
Harry was waiting for the moment Draco would combine all his main topics of conversation in one sentence. He would listen very carefully to a sentence like that.
" . . . So, anyway, he's puking his guts out in the next room, waiting for the potion to kick in – I made it myself, so it'll be quick – and you have to make sure he doesn't ruin the wedding by doing something stupid like setting Black on fire. Although, on second thought, I don't think we arranged for any floor shows, so maybe you don't need to reign him in COMPLETELY."
Harry was rather confused by this fragment of what had clearly been a long rant about some unruly wedding guest, but he was willing to go along with it.
Anything to get out of this room. The flash of green at Malfoy's wrist had made Harry realise Ginny had been dressed in Slytherin colours. Maybe it was another omen, this time less ambiguous than good weather.
Ginny had been wearing Slytherin house colours. For her WEDDING.
Harry was certain that was some sort of crime against nature, and he needed to escape from all the oppressive black, and silver, and green.
Maybe then everything would start to make sense again?
"So where is it I have to go, then?"
Draco fell silent – something that probably should have set Harry on alert, if he had been paying attention – and nodded toward the connecting door that led through into the twins' old room.
Harry heaved a sigh, and strode over.
He completely missed the smirk aimed at his back as he tentatively eased open the door, and slipped into the darkened room.
Blinking in the gloom, Harry waited for his eyes to adjust as he tried to locate where the sound of a man vomiting violently was coming from. Making up his mind, he carefully picked his way across the room.
The man huddled in the corner, grasping on to an obviously transfigured basin – Harry knew from long experience that time in the bathroom at the Weasleys' was like gold dust, and generally required advance booking – so tightly that his knuckles were white, looked up.
"Potter. I might have known they'd send you."
That sneer was unmistakeable.
Snape.
Could Harry's day actually GET any worse? He almost wished Voldemort were still around. A nice, rousing battle to the death would cheer him up nicely right now.
And if not, he might very well be better off dead. At least then Snape wouldn't be staring up at him, disdain in his black eyes, holding out a stinking basin full of suspiciously green vomit for Harry to remove.
It was going to be a long day, and Harry was almost certain it would only get worse.
