Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
THE SONG OF SOLOMON
Chapter 4: The Union
Bill Weasley drummed his fingers quietly on the emerald silk, humming a silent tune in his warm, champagne-induced haze.
The party had reached its most frenzied state; dress robes were unbuttoned at the collar, and carefully coiffured locks were becoming undone at the waning powers of hair potions.
The bride was on the dance floor, her wavy tresses a lustrous raven canopy as one of her brothers held her at the waist and twirled her body in mid air. Merry laughter rang across the room.
Bill had always been fond of her. She was one of the foreign liaison for Gringotts, and their work had brought them together on several occasions. A seasoned traveler with an extroverted spirit, she had never run shortage of conversation topics whenever they met.
He was therefore mildly surprised when three months ago, at their lunch meetup, he was greeted with a blush rather than the usual bright smile. She pushed an envelope in front of him.
A wedding invitation.
Bill chuckled as he tore it open, only to have his teasing remarks froze at the lips when he read the name of the groom.
Thus there he was, attending the union of a friend and an enemy.
She hadn't wasted much time defending her choice. Draco Malfoy was a trader of rare potions ingredients, those heavily regulated or banned by the ministry but were nonetheless in high demand due to their healing properties. It was an occupation to which Magical Law Enforcement had always turned a blind eye, its significance understood but never endorsed.
Bill had said nothing, his only gesture a forceful rub on the scars on his face.
The couple had met at a Portkey station in a storm, he apparently mesmerized by the rain pounding on the rooftops down the hill as she collided into him during landfall. There had been no awkward exchanges, no words of apology; her eyes had been fixed to the striking features in front of her, and he had countered the stare, his expression contemplative and his forearm frozen at an awkward angle against the lower half of his face.
They could have stood there for hours. The storm passed, and when the first ray of sun broke through the clouds, the man reached out, grabbed her wrist and led her to a nearby restaurant.
He was a drifter and so was she; both wanted a home. They had decided to marry soon after, the wedding preparations were simple and carried none of the extravagance Bill would expect from a Malfoy.
Draco's only insistence was that the wedding must take place on a sunny day.
Fleur's gentle rub on his back brought Bill back to the moment. He smiled at her as his vision searched for the groom. There he was, leaning against the wall in an obscure corner, champagne flute in hand, his face tilted towards the clear moonlight.
Well, Bill thought, at least his wish was granted. His eyes returned to the dance floor and met those of the bride, who beamed at him and winked.
Apparently hers was too, he sighed inwardly, so who was he to worry or complain. He purged his mind of all previous thoughts, leaving behind a sole desire to wish them well. His lips curled into a smile and he raised his glass with a nod.
Afterall, Bill thought as he leaned to give Fleur a peck on the cheek and his hand reached down to pat a pregnant belly, he was hardly qualified to doubt a happily ever after.