Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger; Theodore Nott/Luna Lovegood
Word Count: 600 words
"That's your last glass of champagne."
"Yes, obviously," Draco drained the flute of bubbly in one gulp, "I know you've been Disguising Firewhiskey with fucking sparkling water the whole night."
"It's necessary," Theo shrugged, raising his tumbler to his lips and taking a gulp, "Luna wants me sober when we Apparate to Ireland."
Draco shook his head and rolled the thin glass stem in between his fingers, the perspiration from the chilled drink lingered, "I can't believe you are going to Ireland for your honeymoon."
Theo looked over at his companion, and followed his gaze across the ballroom. "I can't believe you eloped without telling me."
Just as expected, his oldest friend stiffened. "… What gave us away?"
Theo glanced down at the flute in Draco's hand, "You kept rubbing against your ring finger as if it was an itch that never could go away. You have a chain around your neck, and I've never seen you wear anything but your signet." He gestured towards the group of witches in the room with his alcohol, "And Granger is practically glowing."
"Malfoy."
His automatic correction had Theo's mouth lifting at the corner. "I'm happy for you."
Draco opened his mouth, but gratefully allowed the interruption from the passing waiter with whiskey so to gather what he was going to say.
Hermione wanted it to remain a secret: fuck, he had to watch his new wife go through the Floo with that breathtaking midnight-blue gown without her arm in his; his bare left hand felt out of place without their simple platinum wedding bands. The only interaction for the couple on that day was when the minister announced Luna as a Nott that his witch had given him a secret smile, tugged at her chain and pressed her fingers against her lips.
"You knew how much I wanted this. You knew how much I needed this, and you definitely knew how scared I was that this wouldn't work." His fingers grazed his chain now with the kind of anxiety that wine couldn't seem to sooth, "She's head-strong and stubborn, and she would want to fight against the world so that I could raise my head to be the husband she deserves. She's scared for me: she thinks I'm not ready, but it's …"
"It's your battle in the end." Theo echoed, remembering having that conversation three weeks ago.
"I'm grateful," Draco's jaw tightened, his eyes on the ambers of the drink in his hand, "that she understands me enough, that she is patient enough to start our lives together when I'm still at the starting point."
Theo felt the same emotion that Draco was feeling as both of them watched their wives in the midst of the guests: two vibrant, graceful and magnificent women, bracing against justified reservations for 'reformed' criminals, had accepted their own promises of giving them full lives with all the love both men could muster, and expect nothing in return but simply let both Theo and Draco hang on for dear life.
Theo raised his drink and tapped it lightly to his friend's, "I'm grateful: for I was fortunate enough to be granted second chances to fight for what is right."
Draco's thumbnail scratched at the slight indentation on his fourth finger. "For all that's worthy."
Theo's ring gave a slight ting as he tightened his grip on his tumbler. "For all that's good." They drank, and it wasn't just their throat that ached in this good way they wanted to get used to.