Draco is crying. His mother is getting married again today. He never thought he'd see the day when she finally moved on from Lucius, but he's dead and. Well, dead is dead.
Harry Potter is at the wedding. They don't talk much, Draco and Harry, but they're civil. Harry's only there because she wanted someone important. Draco's only there because she wanted someone she was related to.
It is kind of a beautiful wedding. There's a cake that's about as tall as Draco and the whole church is decked out in white and gold. He doesn't understand why it's in a church. They're not particularly religious and they certainly don't care for the place. "For the formality, Draco," his mother had said, drawing out the word formality until it sounded like a curse.
It was a curse. He doesn't particularly think he deserves this.
The organ starts up and all of the people that Draco doesn't know stand as she walks slowly in. Still dramatic as ever. It makes him cry even more.
They get through the vows. Draco doesn't look up, not once, not even when he kisses her.
Sure, he didn't have the best relationship with his father, but it was still a betrayal to see his mother forget Lucius. She had told Draco that she hadn't forgotten her first husband. He just didn't believe her, of course he didn't.
They had found a beautiful muggle hotel to have the reception in. It was his idea, the groom's, that is, not Draco's. He hadn't even know about the wedding until he had received the invitation three weeks ago. He could have paid more attention, could have known and helped his mother pick out a dress, but what was the point?
He makes his way over to the sliding glass doors. The room really is gorgeous, all Victorian architecture and foreign flowers. He looks out at the pond over the balcony rail. It's pretty.
Draco can't help but wonder if what he's looking at now is what Voldemort would have destroyed if he had won.
And he must say something out loud, because Harry Potter is looking at him now, outside on the balcony, his eyes knowing. Honestly, he looks like Dumbledore, and that just makes the tears flow again, knowing that he had almost killed the man.
Harry gives him a twisted sort of smile and turns to look at the ducks waddling towards a willow tree. Really, it's okay now, he's saying with his body. You can cry.
Draco cries. He never was one for sobbing; his shoulders had never shook while the tears fell and he had never made a single noise. Now was no exception. He cried carefully, every second painstakingly planned out to make it look like he wasn't shedding a tear.
Harry doesn't say anything. It makes Draco think for a moment that he never has to.