Author's note: This was originally written for the hp_remnants post-war fic challenge at LiveJournal. It implies several past and present het relationships, so if het squicks you, go read something else; I've got plenty of gen!

Worst Best Man

Millicent's dreams never involved weddings. They never had, not even when she was five and thought she was pretty. When she was six her dreams had been of becoming Minister of Magic, like her namesake, Millicent Bagnold.

When she was fifteen her dreams had been of becoming an Auror. She'd worked her way into Delores Umbridge's favor, hoping she'd put in a good word somewhere.

Now, Millicent Bulstrode was twenty-five years old, and her dreams were all of fire. Gringotts stood in a glorious blaze, red curls on stately white columns, as the wards holding its walls together collapsed. In reality, Gringotts had a new building, a hideous, shriveled tub of architectural snobbery and practicality. There was a plaque commemorating those who'd died in the battle in Diagon Alley.

And now that was history and her present-day was Weasley's fucking wedding. She'd wanted to kill the bloody seamstress. Too thin, too cheerful, too nice. A wedding. Fuck that. She'd always thought she'd be going to Pansy and Draco's wedding, but they were locked up, of course, and Azkaban was no place for a wedding. No, this was a fucking Gryffindor wedding. She'd probably know everybody there and hate them all.

Maybe she could just not go...

Millicent grimaced, and turned a corner sharply. Not looking where she was going, she ran straight into somebody and knocking them down.

"Look where you're going, you git," she muttered, and glared at the offender, who was lying on the street. "...LONGBOTTOM! You bastard!" she shouted, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him to his feet. "Where the fuck have you been? Goldstein's been frantic!"

Longbottom looked terrified. "Which one?"

"Gabe. Lucky for you Chava's just really pissed off. I think she's going to kill you when you walk in, actually, so you might want to hire protection."

"I had sort of hoped they'd forget about me by now," said Longbottom, miserably.

"You git, we thought you'd died!" Millicent shouted. She grabbed him by the elbow and tried to pull him into the Leaky Cauldron. "Come on, I'm buying you a drink, you're telling me where you've been."

"But --"

"Or I'll tell Goldstein and she'll have your balls for her mum's soup."

Longbottom went limp and allowed himself to be dragged into the pub. Once they'd sat down and she'd glared him into asking for a Butterbeer, he coughed nervously. "...did you really think I was dead?" he asked quietly.

Millicent choked, trying hard not to laugh until she'd swallowed her mead. "Don't be ridiculous, we thought you'd got a job that didn't involve trailing after criminals and felt bad telling us you didn't want to be an Auror anymore. If we'd thought you were dead we'd have put a bit more effort into it, don't you think? So. Where've you been?"

"St. Mungo's," he said.

"Oh. What happened?" He didn't look injured.

"No, no, you were right," said Longbottom, looking sheepish. "I'm working there. I thought I'd turned my resignation into Goldstein, it must have got lost or something..."

"He must have spilled coffee on it." She raised an eyebrow. "Fuck, Longbottom, you're an Auror and a Healer? What's next, professional Quidditch?"

"Not a Healer," he said. "I'm growing plants for them. Professor Sprout knows their chief herbologist and she gave me a really good recommendation."

"I'm sure it's nothing to do with the Order of Merlin," said Millicent, rolling her eyes.

"That was an accident!" he said, looking rather like he wanted to hide under the table.

"If I were you, I'd be milking it for all I could. What's wrong with you?"

"I didn't mean to do it. Anyway, it was nothing compared to what Harry managed."

"Yeah, but have you had a good look at him lately? Shadows under his eyes, skin's a bit waxy... I dunno why Weasley's sister's marrying him, he's obviously mad as a boggart on a broomstick." She wrinkled her nose. "He looks like an Inferius."

"He's just been through a lot, that's all," said Longbottom quietly, examining the wood-grain on the table.

"We've all been through a lot," snapped Millicent. "We've all got scars. At least Potter's is photogenic." She absently rubbed at the spot on her arm where the Dark Mark had been.

"You don't know him," said Longbottom.

"Bah, I don't want to. All I know is Weasley. Granger and Potter can go hang themselves," she said bitterly.

Longbottom sat up very straight, suddenly. "Oh yeah! You were Ron's partner during the war, weren't you? So you are going to the wedding, right? I'm Harry's best man and I've never been to a wedding, I don't know what you're supposed to do..."

"I'm Weasley's best man," she said, snorting. "And I don't know what you're supposed to do either. I think it's the bridesmaids who have to do all the real work. We just have to get people drunk. I'm so glad Granger hates my guts."

"I'm sure Hermione doesn't hate you --" Longbottom started.

"She does. She always clicks her tongue when she's talking to me, and she's always especially nice to me. Like I'm four or something." Millicent shuddered. "She's just like one of those bloody Unspeakables, all Arithmancy and elitism. I always hated her in school."

"No, no, she's nice because she actually is," said Longbottom. "I'd never have passed anything without her, she's really --"

"I'll tell you what, Longbottom, if you like her so much, why don't we just call off the wedding?" She grinned wickedly.

"Oh, that's not how it is," Longbottom said quickly. "Anyway, she and Ron -- you know, it's the sort of thing that was just inevitable. I dunno, maybe you didn't see it in school but it was such a relief when they finally worked it out. The Common Room was much quieter."

Millicent stared into her mead. "I just don't like her. She's... not a bitch, that's me. A prick, if she was male. A cunt? Nah, not the same thing. Fuck it, she's just... Granger, full stop."

"She's really nice once you get to know her!" Longbottom insisted. "The first day we came to Hogwarts she helped me find Trevor! And she didn't even know me!"

"She probably just likes animals," said Millicent. She couldn't quite twist that into a bad thing; after all, it'd been the Death Eaters killing her cat that made her turn, finally. "Anyway. So you don't know anything about weddings either. Longbottom, we're fucked."

"I don't think we're that bad off. We could just sort of... go along with it."

"We could pretend we'd never heard of weddings in our lives," said Millicent. "Free love, huzzah," she added bitterly, raising her glass and chugging the remaining half down.

"I don't think that would work, Millicent," said Longbottom doubtfully.

"Look here, Longbottom, do I call you Neville?" she demanded.

He blinked. "...no?"

"No, I don't. I'm Bulstrode, you're Longbottom, we're all happy. Call me Millicent again and I'll knock your teeth out."

"I think you did that a couple of times in school," said Longbottom doubtfully. " I think Madam Pomfrey's stronger painkilling potions cause forgetfulness, though, so I don't quite remember."

"Huh, not like you need any more of that. …let's see, what year was it? Fourth, I think, after a Quidditch match. I was in a bad mood, you dropped a pile of books on my head," she said cheerfully.

"It was probably an accident," said Longbottom.

"Oh, knowing you? No doubt it was. I just didn't care," she said.

"Good to know," said Longbottom, sounding nervous and strained.

"So you think we should just ignore the wedding and hope that everybody just forgets it?" she asked brightly.

"I dunno, I think most people have better memories than me," said Longbottom doubtfully.

"Call it a desperate, last-ditch attempt to preserve my own sanity," said Millicent. "Waiter! More mead!"

"You too?"

"Me too what?" Millicent asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You too -- you know what, never mind," said Longbottom abruptly.

"Me too what?" she demanded. "...oh. Longbottom. You aren't pining after Granger, are you? Tell me you're not pining after Granger. She's a bitch, and she isn't even funny."

"No, she's not," said Longbottom. "And no, I'm not. I promise."

"...you're not?" Millicent frowned. "...It's Weasley, isn't it?" she demanded suddenly.

"Well, I -- Oh! No. No, no, no. Agh. No." Longbottom looked almost as shell-shocked as he had when they'd awarded him the Order of Merlin.

"What? He's not so bad," said Millicent.

"No," Longbottom insisted yet again.

"...oh. It's the other Weasley," said Millicent.

Longbottom looked suddenly away at the other diners. "Look at him, at the far table, was he in our year? I forget his name --"

"Maybe calling people by their surnames does have a few drawbacks," Millicent snorted. "Ginny Weasley, then. Are you an ex or did you admire her from afar?"

"Well, it's not like I stalked her..."

"Pity, it would've made a much more interesting story," said Millicent. Longbottom looked horrified. "Anyway, I know how you feel."

"What? You and Ginny --"

"No, you idiot," She rolled her eyes. "Weasley -- Ron, I mean -- Weasley and I fucked a couple of times. When we were stationed here, actually." She remembered the day she'd had nightmares about since it happened. The whole alley had been on fire, and they'd just escaped some nasty Knockturn explosions -- once Dark Arts objects caught fire, nasty burns were the least of your worries -- when the Gringotts building had come toppling down, all glorious white columns knocking into each other like a child's set of blocks, heading right towards Weasley. She'd been so terrified, and so grateful when she'd managed to drag him out of the way, and all the while he'd just stood there and stared like a fucking tourist, and then they'd been so relieved... She snapped back to reality suddenly. "Don't you dare mention this to anybody else or I'll break your skull open and feed you your own brain, but damn it, I hate Granger." She pounded her fist on the table as she spoke. "Finally," she snapped, grabbing the mead the waiter brought and sipping at it. "I knew he and Granger were, you know, destined or whatever crap they talk about in the fairy tales, but I did it anyway. The thing that bothers me, though? Is that he's such a fucking Gryffindor. And I don't even mind."

Longbottom stared.

"What, you're surprised?"

"...well, yeah," said Longbottom. "Erm."

"Mental images, right?" She smiled wryly. "Sorry. Hey, at least I wasn't graphic."

"Well, it's just that -- that is -- I wouldn't expect him to -- well, you know."

"Cheat? Yeah, neither would I. I don't think he did, technically. I do know he wrote to her every fucking week, but I think I hope he hasn't told her, but he's honest and stupid, he probably has." She rolled her eyes. "Everything would be so much easier if I could just kick Granger's arse."

"Erm. Maybe you shouldn't go to the wedding," said Longbottom, looking worried.

"Nah, I'd better go. Weasley'll be... disappointed or something." She shook her head. "Look, what do you say we just set fire to the whole -- the whole -- where is this being held, anyway?"

"A hotel somewhere, I don't know," said Longbottom doubtfully.

"We are the worst best men ever," Millicent decided. "Why don't we set fire to the whole wherever-it-is and then they can't possibly have the wedding."

"Why are you best man, anyway?" Longbottom asked.

"I suspect Weasley knew I'd flat-out refuse to wear a dress and hate Granger," said Millicent. "And don't change the subject."

"...all right, fine, it's just that I don't think arson is going to win me much favor with the rest of the Auror Corps."

"We could go on the lam!" Millicent suggested enthusiastically.

"You're drunk," he said, looking skeptical

"I am not! I've only had two glasses of mead. WAITER! MORE MEAD!"

"You're starting to act like Goldstein," said Longbottom, looking worried.

"Which one?"

"Chava."

"...no, no. If I was acting like her I'd be running off to look at handbags." She snorted. "All right, we won't burn the wedding down. But damn it, I need a break from London. We could just go on the lam."

"For something we haven't done?" Longbottom asked.

"Why not? They'll never catch us," said Millicent.

"Wait, wait, who is 'us'?" he demanded.

"I need somebody to bully, don't I?" she asked. "You'll do. Come on, when's the last time you took a nice long holiday?"

"Erm. Well. I went to Brighton the year before last --"

"Too long, that's right. Come on, Longbottom, do I have to pummel you into it?"

"...no, I suppose not," said Longbottom. "But I've just started at St. Mungo's, I --"

"Tell them you're on a top-secret mission, you git," said Millicent. "Or I could go on my own and have all the fun, and you'll read about me in the papers. I'll get really smashed and cause an international incident. Do you want that to happen? You're dooming me to life imprisonment in Singapore!"

"...you get scarier when you're drunk," said Longbottom, hesitantly.

"And then after the international incident I'll come looking for you," she said, grinning toothily. Oh, she did like bullying people. She wasn't sure if that meant she made a good Auror or a terrible one, but she didn't really give a damn. "Anyway, if you don't come I'll throw you to the Goldsteins."

"Right, right, I'll go," he sighed wearily. "...oh no."

"What now?" she demanded. He couldn't have any objections. Threatening him with the Goldsteins was bad enough.

"We're going to have to plan a stag party, aren't we? This is going to be ridiculous, I don't know anything about parties."

"Oh, don't worry, just leave it all to me. I learned from Pansy. Before she was in Azkaban, obviously. The trick is to make sure nobody remembers it in the morning. That way, they fill in the gaps and assume it was fun. Knockturn's got the best supplies, we could go there now..."

"But we haven't paid for our drinks!" Longbottom sputtered.

"That's their problem, isn't it? We've better things to worry about."

"I can't believe you're making me do this. How did this happen?"

"Basically, Longbottom, you're a pussy," said Millicent, smirking. And as they walked past the new, hideous Gringotts, and into the half-rebuilt Knockturn, Millicent felt relief. Fuck it all, burn it all down and start anew. That was how you did things. None of this letting-it-eat-into-your-soul crap. "Now come on, we've got a party to plan. It'd better be good if it's going to bring Potter back to life for his wedding. Somebody needs to fucking teach him a lesson. He's too bloody gloomy for his own good. Hmph. And we'll see what Weasley says when the girls pop out of the cake -- he could do better than Granger, that's for fucking certain."

Well. Maybe she'd let herself be just a little bitter.