Summary: The Malfoys won't take no for an answer on attendance to their wedding, so Marcus decides to just get drunk on free liquor, until the night sky rises above him.
[a/n] Requested by moonnott on tumblr! Posted on August 2nd, 2016
Marcus scowled at the letter, his back beginning to complain at his lack of movement the last twenty minutes. Leaning over the railing of his ancestral home, languishing in the heat of the afternoon sun, an owl swept out of the sky and all but dive bombed him until he'd fed it a piece of his finger. And, though it hurt when dittany hissed over the wound, the missive was more a punch to the gut than he could've imagined.
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger formally invite you to the witnessing of their nuptials on Saturday, the First of July, MMVI
"Fucking prick ignores me for four years at every damned event," he grumbled to himself. "And invites me to his ruddy wedding to that bossy muggleborn."
When he returned the RSVP with a black strike through the box labelled unable to attend he thought that was that. Out of his hair.
He replied the same to the second message. And the third.
By the time the fourth letter arrived, an extra document was stuffed into it, vague, but unmistakably threatening.
Marcus viciously tore apart the bequest in Hermione's handwriting, everything in shreds but his RSVP, a jagged line through attending. "Why the fuck would you have that option on that letter then, you pompous assholes."
His teeth weren't straight enough, he couldn't tame his hair, and the robes itched at his sternum were the ruffles poked through the collar, making him swear under his breath because he forgot the cotton shirt beneath everything. Since his mother passed after Christmas, he'd been at loose ends, unable to remember simple things like a soft undershirt to alleviate the scratch of dress robes. He didn't spend as much time in finery as when he was a boy, at endless hours of dance lessons or his fingers punching the keys of a piano, his mother desperate to find something he was skilled enough in to pass his father's muster.
But flying. Flying and dragons. Marcus would (almost) give up the Manor for a broom and whatever he could carry on his back. After stealing a Nimbus from his father's closet, intending to run away to Cassius Warrington's home, and his father saw how he could fly, the lessons didn't stop.
He'd rather be on a broom with just his knees for balance, attempting to wrangle a sick dragon, than walking through and socializing with people he didn't know, and frankly didn't care to.
Slouching in a chair on the side of the dance floor, pretending to wave to the married couple parading from guest to guest, he quietly tried to get as pissed on free liquor as he could. As his throat burned from the sting of champagne bubbles rising too quickly, and swallowing a burp uncomfortably, what appeared to be a piece of the night sky filled the left side of his vision. Recognizing it as a skirt, a midnight blue skirt covered in sparkling gems, he stood as manners dictated.
Bright silver eyes, even brighter than the gems woven into her skirt, filled the face of the slight woman staring at him. Her mouth was a relaxed line and her tone matter-of-fact as she reached up a hand to his face. "The wind is in your hair."
"Rubbish with a comb," he said, regretting the last two shots of firewhiskey numbing his lips and tongue, breaking the barrier between brain and voice.
"Oh, you think it's a bad thing?" the girl said. When she turned one side of her mouth up in a smile, he racked his brain to remember who she was. "I thought it suited you, Marcus."
Unsure of how to answer, he set his glass down on a passing waiter's tray, grabbing two more, and mumbled thank you. He caught himself staring at her slender neck as she swallowed a healthy gulp of expensive champagne, bringing her hand to her face to suppress a delicate burp.
"Your laugh reminds me of the nymphs in Romania," he said, the barrier completely broken down at the vision of a woman before him, as she laughed musically at herself.
"The nymphs there aren't as musical as the ones by the Yangtze. Would you like to join me there sometime?"
Marcus realized who she was like a jolt of lightning. A night spent on the dragon reserve with a pretty magizoologist leading him to each enclosure, wishing he were bold enough to ask her to sit with him at dinner in the mess hall, and his chest constricting when she left for another reserve.
Near breathless from the heady distraction of alcohol, and the pure attention of Luna Lovegood, he grasped at a spark of energy he'd not felt in months. "Let's go there now, show me."
Luna's side smile bloomed into a full, toothy grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit. "After we're out of these ridiculous party clothes."
The groom kissed away a self-satisfied smile from his bride as they watched their smooth orchestration play exactly to plan.