Chapter Five

The stunted glass rolled in her hand, the lone ice clinking in against its chambers. "I ran out on my wedding," she said for the third time. She sat her empty glass down and rubbed her hands over her face. She could only imagine the smears of makeup that she was streaking, but she couldn't be bothered. No, what bothered her more than that was the image printed in her behind her eyelids. "His face... I hurt him."

Hermione heard the sloshing of more orange alcohol being poured into her depression. "Sounds like you regret it. Why not go back?"

She let her hands thump on the table. "I... Can't."

"Sounds like you want to."

The liquid looked delicious, but in that too, she saw Draco's visage. There was no escape.

"I'll tell you what," the bartender said, "you did walk out on your wedding but not your marriage."

She must have drunk more than she thought, because that didn't sound right. "You have to have a wedding to have a marriage."

"Marriage is about love and spending the rest of your lives together. Who needs a paper for that," he asked with a wave of his giant hand that looked like Hagrid, but he was sounding very much like Draco.

She downed her fourth glass of whatever he poured.

Three Days Ago

Hermione sat slumped outside of their office door. It was where Draco went when he argued with his parents. It was where he went when he was emotionally hurt. He had never been in there because of her before. She thought the worst had been when he said brokenly, "how could you?" She didn't think he would retreat to the office, she didn't think it would be that bad.

"I'm sorry," she had said to the door, with no reply. There was nothing else to do but to sit and wait. When Draco sulked, there was nothing to bring him out of it but time, and that, unfortunately, was moving as slow as Winky in the kitchen.

She hated herself for making that comparison about Winky. Harry, Ron and Draco hadn't been the best influence... She liked them for that. Her boys...

The last she remembered that night was having looked at her watch to see that it was midnight. The next thing she knew she was curled up in the hallway, Draco's hand on her hair. His thumb was hooking itself on a strand of dirt brown, slipping it out of her adroit brown eyes.

"Do you love him," he asked softly.

She was wrong: That hurt the worst.

"No," she told him. "God, no, Draco." She sat up. "I love you. It's you I'm marrying."

He looked deeper into her eyes, something he did to spot a lie. "Are you sure about that?"

Taking his face into her hands, she nodded, tears burning her eyes. "No one's made me happier."

His hands gripped her arms, and he pulled her to him, meeting their lips. "You made me a promise."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You promised you'd marry me in three days," he reminded her.

"Ah," she faked comprehension, and she laughed. "I vow to you, Draco Malfoy, that in three days time, I will marry you."

"Make me another promise."

"What?"

"That he isn't invited."

"He's my best friend."

He exhaled shakily. "Make me another promise, then."

"What is it?"

"You'll marry me again in ten years, and ten years after that, and once every decade for the rest of our lives."

"Why every ten years?"

"Because I need you to know that there will never be a day I don't love you, and that I wouldn't marry you again and again."

"You have to make me a promise, too."

"Anything."

"That you don't kill my friends."

"That's asking a lot, Hermione."

She laughed, and kissed him. "Promise, Draco."

"I promise."

Presently

Draco was there to kill. That was the only reason he chose to go back to his failed wedding: To kill his bride's friend. It sounded good at the time.

He ignored the Weaslette's gasp as he passed her by the arched entrance. She must have been waiting for him, but he was too busy to stop and answer her insistent blathering of, "Malfoy!" He walked right into the reception area, where people were graciously helping themselves to the vast amount of food. Every single person had the gall to look up at him with anxious wondering. Some even had the gumption to ask him what happened. Again, he ignored them all.

He spotted the ginger by the wine. Draco took out his wand and aimed.

"Don't you think about it!" The Weaslette grabbed his arm and pulled him back, saving her brother's life. It only sounded exaggerated, but Draco did have every intention of murdering him.

Potter and Weasley had both taken out their wands, but Draco wasn't afraid. He had never been afraid of them and he wasn't about to start then - with or without his wand. He was too angry.

"Where is she?"

Weasley stupidly blinked.

"Where is my wife?"

"Why would he know where Hermione is," Potter asked reasonably.

Draco felt the old pull of his lips into the smirk he had when he found a new person to bully, an easy target. When something bad happened to Potter and Weasley and it gave him a fresh punch line for the next month. It was something that Hermione hated, but the old poison of hatred was surging in his veins again, and Hermione wasn't around to dilute it with her light.

"She didn't show up at the back of the church, did she, Weasley?"

Potter stared at his best friend.

Weasley shrugged them off.

Through gritted teeth, "tell me where she is."

"You're a stupid git, Malfoy. She's not with me, is she?"

Weaslette released him and a hand collided with his shoulder. His mother spoke in his ear. "Son, you are causing a scene."

He jerked his shoulder out of her grasp. He looked around him, at the beautiful lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the space where he and Hermione should have had their first dance, he noticed the half-eaten cake that he never cut with her. What he did not notice was the amount of eyes that were glued to him.

Weasel was telling the truth, that much he knew. It didn't stop him wanting to go through with his plans of dumping a body somewhere remote and cold, but it did give him enough reason to keep his promise to Hermione.

"It's time to call it a day," his father told him sternly. He was gripping his walking stick, the eye of the snake looking like it was winking at him.

"No," he spat, his throat tight. "Not until she's found."

"Malfoy," Weasley said before Draco turned away. "She didn't want me. It won't happen again."

"It won't," Draco agreed, "because next time I'm severing your jewels off." He walked away, but he heard his mother gasp at her son's vulgarity. He would apologize later. First, he would find his wife.