Draco sat staring into the empty fireplace, today was the day. He ran a hand through his messy short hair causing it to stick up in odd directions. His gaze fixed again on the cream slip of parchment that was sitting on the glass coffee table that sat in the middle of the room in front of the sofa Draco was currently occupying. He looked away; there was no way he could go!
The sound of his front door opening and closing was recognised distantly by Draco but he made no attempt to move and see who had just entered his home. A tall black man entered the room dressed in the ministry supplied black working robes; he was carrying a six-pack of butterbeer; not something one would usually bring to someone who just wanted to get drunk.
However, when the man offered Draco a bottle he took it without hesitation. Blaise spotting the slip of parchment on the table picked it up. He glanced over the words written in flowing silver ink.
"Are you going?" he asked casually, as if asking something as everyday as going to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Grey eyes snapped up to look at the other man for the first time since he arrived.
"Of course not," it was spoken quietly as if the person who uttered the words had no fight left in him. There were several moments of silence and Blaise took a large slug of his butterbeer, noticing that Draco was already half done his own butterbeer, before he spoke.
"As far as I can see there's no 'Of course' about it" Draco took a large gulp of his butterbeer and Blaise was actually worried for a moment that his friend was trying to drown himself. "Do you love her?"
Draco chocked on his mouthful of butterbeer and opened his mouth to retort then snapped it shut. In the growing silence, Blaise took in the defeated form of his closest friend. The slumped shoulders, the shirt that looked as if it hadn't been washed in a week, the over night growth on his face.
Suddenly the blonde sat up straight, he drained the last of his butterbeer, then turned to his companion. "I can't let her do it, Blaise! I need to stop her!" He jumped to his feet and without even grapping his clock fled the room.
The slam of the front door echoed throughout the penthouse flat. Blaise drained the last of his butterbeer before placing the empty bottle on the glass top of the table. He picked up the last four butterbeers then disappeared with a crack that split the silent air.
The rain was getting heavier, she was sure of it, not that she cared. The rain plastered her once flame-like but now deep red locks to her head. Her gown was ruined; the bodice stuck to her like a second skin and there was a ring of mud from the hem to her knees. Several times her white silk slippers had gotten stuck in the muddy path. She didn't care it was not as if she'd be wearing the dress again.
She had come here in the hope that he would be here. But she was to be disappointed; the bench had been empty and lonely looking when she had arrived. This was where they had first met. For all her troubles she was now only receiving funny looks from strangers walking passed. Muggles are weird; he'd always been right about that. She loved how he was stubborn about his beliefs.
Although the ice cold rain was now running under her collar and down her back and over her face like tears she smiled. She loved how difficult he was; it had made him easy to wind up and reminded her of her brother, she always kept that last piece of information to herself. As she sat with puddles gathering in her white slippers, she remembered all the things she loved about him. That's when it came to her, she loved him! She sprang to her feet, it didn't matter that he didn't come. She loved the stubborn git!
He rushed up the stairs as fast as his long legs could carry him. Why did there have to be stairs? Hands on thighs trying to catch his breath he tried to listen for sounds for inside the church over his own heavy breathing. He could hear… nothing. Cautiously he approached the large oak doors, surely he wasn't too late. He stepped into the foyer, the only sound was the clicking of his own shoes on the plain brown tiles.
There was another set of doors directly in front of him, gingerly he approached them. Opening them as slowly and silently as possible he peered in. Upon spotting what was inside he swung the door wide, the place was empty, he was too late! Defeated, he turned his back on the place where she had married another man and started down the steps he had moments before climbed.
Staring blankly into the street, not wanting to go home but having nowhere else to go his gaze focused on the park across the road. Where they had met, he started towards it. She had stayed on this side and he on the other and she had often talked of this picturesque church. He paid little attention to where he was going letting his feet lead him as the rain ran down his face and glistened like tears in the street lights and his shirt plastered to his back. His shoes were caked with mud but he didn't care.
He finally stopped when he came face to face with a plain wooden bench. He knew this bench. The park was empty now, with only a lone runner and someone walking their dog. Draco took a seat on the wet bench, this was after all where they had met and he wanted to remember her one more time before he was forced to forget.
By the time Draco had decided to it was time to go home darkness had fallen fully and the heavy rain and turned to the misty sort that never looked heavy but always resulted in you getting soaked. Not that it mattered he was already soaked to the bone. He stood and, walking as slow as possible, headed back to his flat. He didn't want to go back to the cold empty house. He hated it there, wherever she wasn't he hated.
When he entered his flat it was just as cold and lonely feeling as he imagined it would feel. Pausing at the sitting room door as he passed on the way to his room he gazed at the empty grate of the fireplace, he thought briefly of lighting a fire. The two bottles of butterbeer were still sitting on the table and he knew he should clean before he went to bed, she always cleaned before she went to bed. The slip of cream parchment was also still sitting on the table but so was something white.
Draco frowned, it looked like a veil, he shook his head to clear it, that couldn't be right. But sure enough sitting on his modern muggle table sat an old fashioned witch's wedding veil. He stepped into the room, his breath caught in his throat as he spotted her. Her ruined dress was spread across his expensive sofa while her tangled red tresses where spread across the seat Draco had been occupying that very morning. Her feet were bare and the ruined silk slippers lay abandoned on the floor.
He couldn't believe it, she hadn't got married! She was here! His Ginny.