Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. This plot is mine.
Summary: The big day arrives. Will Draco and Hermione make up? Will the "fab five" seek revenge? Will I ever finish this story? Stay tuned...(Sequel to Friendly Fire.)
A/N: Many thanks to beta readers reetinkerbell and chanteur dombre.
In the days leading up to the Wizarding world's "Wedding of the Year," Draco Malfoy was being an insufferable prat. Yes, even more so than usual. On the Harry Potter "prat-o-meter" – where one equaled "giddy as a schoolgirl" and 10 was for "total prat" – he had reached a scale-shattering 20.
Despite numerous attempts by Hermione and Fred to explain that they weren't having a passionate affair right beneath his aristocratic, pointy nose, he refused to listen. Instead, once the revenge-of-the-expected-revenge scheme had been worked out, he avoided them like the plague.
Much to Hermione's chagrin, that included the evening hours. Her only comfort when Draco failed to show up at their hotel room three nights in a row was to discover he'd been crashing on the floor of Neville and Luna's suite. Neville was quite put out, but suffered in silence. He feared Draco's insults and threats, even though it had been years since the Slytherin had maliciously tormented him. (For "old time's sake" Draco was still known to playfully torment Neville.) Luna didn't complain, since she considered it more protection from pancreas-stealing Vampshamswipers. 1
While relieved Draco hadn't been sleeping on the streets (or worse, with someone else – well, someone else besides their married friends), Hermione was enraged by his infantile behaviour. Even so, she missed him terribly. It was something she couldn't reconcile in her logical mind. How could someone be the bane of her existence and all she lived for?
Hermione was also on edge since Mitchell, Pansy, Harry, Ginny and Ron had returned from their Muggle holiday. They seemed to have taken the misadventure suspiciously in stride. Pansy positively gushed about the Creeveys and had given Marty and Tricia a last minute invitation to the wedding. It wasn't natural. Hermione was sure it was either a sign of the apocalypse, or worse, they were planning something really awful for her and Draco.
Well, fine, she thought rather hysterically. She was ready for whatever they were going to dish out. But she didn't have much time to worry, as revenge had to be pushed to the side to make room for pre-wedding activities. With Hermione's duties as best "man" and Draco's as "maid" of honour, they didn't have a minute to spare.
Before the wedding day arrived, they'd seen each other only briefly – usually with Draco heading quickly in the opposite direction, to Hermione's annoyance. Now that the big day was here, they would have to spend most of it together. Even if she had to tie Draco up (Hermione pondered dreamily on that image), she was determined to get his stubborn arse to listen.
However, that heart-to-heart (and potentially S&M) discussion would have to come later. First they had to deal with Presto, the flamboyant Wizard-wedding planner. (And really, if you expected me to put a "stoic" wedding planner in this fic then you probably stumbled here by accident. Be afraid, be very afraid.)
"DAH-links," the pink-haired wizard said in his obviously fake Euro-trash accent. Despite his best efforts to hide it, "Monsieur" Presto was as American as a Yankee Doodle Dandy. "Ve moost verk out zee seating!"
Draco squelched the urge to slap the wanker silly. Already in a rancid mood thanks to the situation with Hermione, he was even more churlish since Pansy roused him early that morning, begging him and Hermione to handle Presto. Apparently, the bride-to-be needed to devote the entire day to "getting beautiful." She was in a panic over the Creevey family being seated next to her parent's table. As much as she actually liked the Muggles, there was no way her mother would ever forgive that faux pas. So of course this threw the entire seating chart into disarray. Things were simple before the war, when pureblood wizards wouldn't dream of inviting any other kind to their social gatherings. Now that everybody got along (or at least pretended to), there were numerous opportunities to piss off and offend. The "high class" pureblood families couldn't be near the "common" pureblood families; the half-bloods couldn't be too close to the quarter-bloods since there was, um, "bad blood" between those two groups. And of course nobody wanted to be near the Muggle-borns, so they had the shittiest tables, either next to the band or the kitchen. Besides the Creeveys, no other Muggles had been invited.
"Why don't we put them at the table with Remus and Tonks?" Hermione suggested. "Then we can just move Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to the table next to the Parkinsons."
"But Molly Weasley and Primrose Parkinson despise each other," said Draco, in a bored tone.
"Zen perheeps vay kun zend fwences!" offered Presto, managing to sound like the lovechild of Elmer Fudd and Deter from "Sprockets."
What the? Draco looked up from the chart and locked eyes with Hermione. For the first time since the "Gondola" incident they shared a moment of silent accord. Unfortunately, it didn't last.
"That's fine with me," said Hermione. "Let them all zend fwences." She really couldn't be arsed with the finer details of this bloody wedding any longer. Especially when she had more important things to sort out. "Draco, I think it's about time we got ready, wouldn't want to be late." She tried not to sound bossy, but failed miserably.
Draco grimaced. Until now he'd managed to avoid the fact his wedding "outfit" was in their shared suite. He wanted to evade the tongue-lashing (not of the 'enjoyable, nudity to follow' variety) Hermione was sure to deliver once she had him alone. "Maybe you should go get ready first, I can help, err, Presto here with any last details." He could barely believe he'd just offered to spend more time with the twit.
In fact, he instantly regretted making the comment when Presto literally squealed, "Vunderbar! Vee kun goo see zee flooers!"
Draco suddenly grew nostalgic for his old pals Tom and John and their mental, but rather fitting worship of his supreme arse.
Hermione stood up in a huff, exasperated by Draco's childish behaviour. "Cheers then, I'm sure you and Presto will have a cracking good time inspecting the flooers! See you at the bleeding wedding!"
"Yes, I'm sure I'll see you there with your Tweasley date," he shot back, voice full of contempt.
She mentally burned a hole through his brain, then left, slamming the door loudly.
"Vell!" exclaimed Presto.
As she stormed back to the hotel room, a stream of expletives spewed from the delicate bow-shaped mouth of saintly Hermione Granger. "Bloody-fucking-jealous-ARSEHOLE-stupid-f erret... Argh!" she muttered loudly, causing a group of Muggles to move aside and let the crazy lady pass.
Hermione was so consumed by her thoughts she didn't see Harry and Mitchell duck behind a tall, busty cocktail waitress near the elevator. They watched as the angry witch swept past.
"You don't think she saw us, do you?" asked Harry.
Mitchell snickered, "Not a chance. She was too busy chatting with herself. The little row she's having with Draco couldn't have been timed better, neither of them can think straight."
Harry exhaled deeply.
"What?" questioned Mitchell. He studied his friend for a moment. "Oh nooooo, wonder boy, don't you start going all Gryffindor on me now."
"I won't, it's just I feel a bit guilty. We didn't have such an awful time with the Creeveys – in fact your future wife absolutely loved the experience." He motioned toward the elevator Hermione had disappeared into. "And besides, I'm worried about Hermione. She's really gutted over Malfoy."
Mitchell grabbed Harry and knocked him back against a Double Diamond slot machine. "Listen, Potter. First of all, we have to get back at them for brainwashing us. Need I remind you we just spent three days traveling through the desert with a family of Muggles? Now, they weren't that bad considering who their wizard cousins are, but that kind of manipulation cannot go unanswered. Besides, Draco and Hermione expect us to strike back. If we didn't they'd be disappointed." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "And you know what? I do feel for Hermione. I've known Draco my entire life and he can be the most obnoxious, obstinate prick. He's bloody lucky she tolerates his whiny antics. Perhaps our little payback will embarrass them, but it's exactly the sort thing that will knock some sense into that idiot's empty blond head." His speech finished, he let go and backed away.
Harry straightened his waistcoat and looked thoughtfully at the bullish Bulstrode. "You know what, mate? I'm glad your a bloke now, cause you made the hairiest witch ever."
Mitchell winked at him. "Sod off, nancy-boy."
Draco took his time before he went up to the suite, but there was only so much of Presto he could tolerate. Plus, he did have to get ready for the wedding.
When he finally opened the door to their room Hermione was still inside. She stood in front of the full-length mirrored wall trying to tame her unruly hair. She was already dressed, and the wizard had to keep his eyes from bulging or his tongue from rolling onto the floor like a cartoon character. The witch looked mad hot. Not only that, the vision of babeliciousness in front of him was eerily similar to his rather prophetic dream from months back, before they had gotten together. With the barely-there material of her leopard-skin "Sheena" ensemble, she looked like the lioness from his subconscious. Well, okay, the leopardess... close enough!
She spied his open-mouthed expression in the reflection, gave him a pointed look, then pretended he wasn't there. Have a little taste of your own medicine, prat-boy.
Draco continued to stare for a beat, then shook off his lust. He went to the closet and grabbed his own "formal wear," then rushed past her into the loo. I'll show little miss legs-that-don't-quit! Two can play at the so-fucking-hot-the-fangirls-squee game!"
Exactly three minutes later Draco emerged, in all his loin-clothed glory. Hermione looked up from where she was affixing a 80s-era Olivia Newton-John bandana around her forehead. Her mouth went dryer than the Sahara. Whoa, she thought. Thankfully, she hadn't said it out loud. The sight of Draco in tiny strips of animal-skin and nothing else hijacked her normally eloquent brain. She was left with a mere Keanu-like ability to articulate.
They both gaped at each other for a good minute in the ultimate carnal staring contest, each tempting the other to break down, stalk across the room and end the heated tension.
Ultimately, neither gave in before a loud knock abruptly ended their battle of libidinous wills.
Draco walked over and opened the door to find Colin Creevey and the Weasley twins waiting on the other side. While Hermione's visage made him horny-as-hell, the sight before him now provided a cold splash of water. As the astute reader may have guessed, Pansy and Mitchell had chosen "The Beastmaster" Muggle movie theme for their nuptials. Colin was dressed as one of the film's sword-wielding priests, while Fred and George were garbed as the hero's trusted ferrets, Kodo and Podo. "Sweet Merlin," Draco choked out, then doubled over laughing.
This went on for about a minute.
"Yeah, keep laughing, Tarzan. We know who the real ferret is," said George. But his put-upon demeanour while dressed in the furry costume only made Draco laugh harder, until he was hyperventilating.
That ended when Hermione joined the four at the entranceway. Draco suddenly lost his sense of humour and his Elvis sneer reappeared as the others ogled her jungle-girl look. She rolled her eyes, "Come on, let's just get this over with."
She started to move into the hallway, but Colin blocked her way. "Actually, I've got a Portkey that will take us down."
He sounded nervous and Hermione noticed beads of sweat beneath his magicked-on Hare Krishna-style ponytail. "What's going on, Colin?"
"Nuh... nothing. You just look bluh...bloody fantastic," he said. He winced at the glare from Draco, but his diversionary tactic worked. The three wizards assumed he was acting anxious because of Hermione's scantily dressed appearance. Which wasn't a complete lie.
"Alright, put your fucking eyes back in your head and let's get on with it!" Draco roared.
Hermione felt heat rush through her at his jealous tone. But that's not all that went through her mind. Unlike the others, Colin didn't fool her. She was certain that whatever was on the other side of the Portkey would lead to revenge. Didn't take them very long, she thought. And she grinned, because their quick response fit into her own plans perfectly.
"Right, then," she said, and reached out for the Portkey.
"I knew Primrose would arrange a most tasteful affair for Pans and Mill...Mitchell," said the regal Narcissa Malfoy, as she appraised the enormous banquet hall. She reached out and daintily plucked an hors d'œuvre from a tray as it magically floated by.
"Oh, I quite agree," said Claudine Greengrass. "Much improved from the Baddock wedding – that was positively ghastly. I was a bit concerned when I heard they were having it here. Apparently Pansy was dead-set on a Muggle theme! The silly girl had read in some magazine that it was the 'chic and trendy' thing these days! Thank Morgan Le Fay her mother knocked some sense into her! Can you just imagine the embarrassment?"
Narcissa nodded in snobbish solidarity. "Well I for one am relieved, since Draco's in the wedding party."
"Is he still traipsing about with that Muggle-born?" asked Claudine, making a "bitter Butterbeer" face as she said it.
At the reference to Hermione, the elegant witch made a noise that her friend mistook for anguish. In fact, she'd just muttered a rather vulgar cuss under her breath.
"Oh, Cissy," Claudine purred with ingratiatingly fake concern. She put a comforting – though rather stiff – hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "There, there, I'm sure it's just a phase." She tried to hide a catty smirk at the icy blonde's unfortunate predicament. As long as the young Malfoy heir insisted on dating the Mudblood slag, it lowered the family's social status and raised her own.
Narcissa graciously accepted Claudine's sympathies, while seething inside. My son could marry a House-Elf and I'd still be classier than you, bitch, she thought bitterly.
Their unspoken rivalry was interrupted as Molly and Arthur Weasley walked by, nodding cursory hellos. "Did you see those robes she was wearing?" asked Claudine.
"Tacky," offered Narcissa.
Ah yes, nothing like high-class pureblood manners.
Wizards and witches filed into the splendid hall. Each gasped at the impressive size and spectacle before them. In the middle of the ballroom hung a massive, moving chandelier. Instead of lights, it was made up of hundreds of tiny glowing fairies. Gorgeous bouquets of magical flowers danced through the air like a scene from "Fantasia." At the centre of the room stood a platform where Pansy and Mitchell welcomed their guests. A tradition of pureblood weddings was to hold a "greeting" before the magical rites of betrothal were performed.
"Are you ready to shake this party up, love?" Mitchell whispered, just as the current Minister of Magic, Brutus Fargelinas walked off with his wife.
Pansy smiled at her husband-to-be. "Definitely. I'm bored out of my fucking mind." She laughed. "My mum will never forgive me."
"Like you care," he grinned, then pulled out his wand. "Appareo!" he yelled, and in a flash of light, "The Beastmaster" crew appeared at the center of the platform, a shocking feast for more than 300 sets of eyes.
Across the room, Narcissa had been making a nasty remark about her awful niece Nymphadora and the half-blood's beastly husband. She stopped mid-snark and gawked in a most undignified manner at the new arrivals. There was no mistaking Draco, his gleaming hair – so much like her own – standing out above the speechless crowd. Of course, there were other things to notice in addition to his golden locks.
Claudine couldn't stop herself from smiling smugly.
Fanon!Blaise Zabini was getting tired of this shit. He was going to quit this bloody gig any day. Ever since that cow had decided to describe Canon!Blaise he'd been made into a cheap "Harry Potter" character wannabe. And now, adding insult to injury, he'd been reduced to this. Oh sure, there were still plenty of fangirls who preferred has gorgeous, dark-curly hair and violet-eyed Italian looks. But more and more they deserted him, "intrigued" by the exotic creation that stupid bint had conjured up. He sighed, adjusting his sideburns as he stared into the mirror. He stood up and swiveled his hips, imagining how all the witches would swoon at his moves. At least I'm still the most shaggable character in fan fiction.
Enraptured by his own mouth-watering beauty, he didn't hear the pop of Apparition. By the time he realized he wasn't alone, it was too late.
TBC
Endnotes:
1 As Luna explained in Part 8 "Margaritaville," The Vampshamswiper is "considered a magical creature in the same family as the Vampire, but it doesn't actually contain any of its own magic. It needs to feed on magical pancreatic juices. Otherwise, it could be out-spelled by a squib." This is according to Alvin Mythlander, author of "Not Quite Magical Creatures and How they Subsist."
And yes, I lied when I said this would be the last chapter. This story won't allow me to end it without a fight.