The Wedding Planner

Draco paused outside the entrance to the marquee and settled his new dress robes with well-practiced precision. A quick touch of his hair assured him that all was as it should be, and pulling his shoulders back, he entered the pavilion.

Draco moved with the casual grace of one who was well aware of the effect they had on others. He paid no heed to the looks sent in his direction. They were either from deluded witches who seemed to think that the fact he preferred men didn’t apply in their case, or from people who still saw only his surname and, by default, his father.

He was far too busy scanning the room to pay them any attention. His grey eyes narrowed as they took in every last detail of the reception, ensuring everything was as it should be. Not only was it the most important day of one of his best friends lives, but it was also his professional reputation under scrutiny.

It wasn’t that Draco didn’t have the utmost confidence in Pansy’s abilities. It was just that he was a perfectionist, and, if his business partner was to be believed, something of a control freak. Draco preferred to think of it as simply attention to detail. He and Pansy hadn’t built up a successful (and lucrative) event management company by resting on their laurels.

As best man, he had been forced to take a step back from the organising today, but that didn’t mean he had relaxed the reins totally. Of all the functions that they were called upon to organise, Weddings were the ones fraught with the most potential pitfalls. The seating plan alone was a minefield. Especially at this one, considering the wedding party consisted of, not just the Boy Who Lived, but also the children of several notorious Death Eaters.

In addition, the guests themselves were a challenging mix of ex-Slytherins and Gryffindors, with a few Ravenclaws thrown in to hopefully dispel any hostility.

As Draco watched Blaise gently guide his new wife around the dance floor, he found himself marvelling, once again, at the turn his and his friends lives had taken.

When his father had been imprisoned at the end of his fifth year, Draco had felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his world. He had arrived home for the summer and loudly informed anyone who would listen of his hatred for all things Gryffindor, and of Harry Potter in particular.

When only days later, his mother had informed him that she had spoken with Dumbledore and they were changing sides, he had shouted, screamed, and refused to come out of his room for almost a week. When he had eventually emerged, he had meekly agreed to go along with his mother's demands. This was mainly because, well, if people thought Lucius Malfoy was scary, then it was only because they had never incurred the wrath of Narcissa.

Draco had returned to school that autumn fully expecting to be an outcast in his own house, only to be stunned when the larger portion of Slytherin had followed his shift of allegiance - some of them in defiance of their families.

He was then pulled from his musings by the sound of the Master of Ceremonies inviting the rest of the bridal party to the dance floor. Draco realised with a sickening lurch that, as best man, he was required to partner the chief bridesmaid, or more specifically, Ginny Weasley.

He quickly snatched a glass of champagne off a passing waiter and gulped it down in one. Steeling himself for what he fully expected to be excruciating agony, he made his way to the dance floor, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with Pansy, who he just knew was smirking wildly at his discomfort.

Ever the gentleman, Draco held out his hand to the waiting redhead and gently led her into position. As the strains of a Strauss waltz filled the room, he was pleasantly relieved to discover that the ‘Weasley girl’ did appear to know her way around the steps.

He doubted very much that she had honed her skills in this department whilst dating Potter, who was as famous in polite circles for his two left feet as he was for killing Dark Lords.

Suppressing a snort, Draco settled in for several long minutes of uneasy silence. However, fate wasn’t that kind to him. For some reason, the Weaselette, who had never really managed to be civil to him, seemed to find it necessary to fill the awkward silence with small talk. Draco made polite noises of acknowledgment and prayed that she would take the hint.

When she began enthusing about the days arrangements, Draco paid a little more attention. He was never one to let personal dislike get in the way of a good compliment. His ears pricked up further when she began talking about what she wanted for her own wedding.

Draco was a little confused by this. He hadn’t heard anything of Potter’s engagement. As a matter of professional interest, he always paid close attention to the society pages of the Prophet; you never knew when an opportunity would present itself. Surely, if the Boy Who Lived had announced his intention to marry, thus breaking the hearts of his adoring fans, it would have made headlines.

Draco cast his eyes round the room until he caught sight of Potter, who was busy twirling Hermione and Theo’s small daughter around in his arms. Draco allowed himself a small smile at this. Not at Potter, but at Sophia, who really was quite adorable, considering she was a small child and the offspring of an annoying, bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Draco usually didn’t have any time for children, but he made an exception for his goddaughter, even if that honour was slightly marred by the fact that he had to share it with Potter.

The dance finally came to an end, but the Weaselette showed no signs of ending her questioning. In the end, Draco produced his business card and politely told her to make an appointment if she wished to discuss it further. He knew it would be a big coup for them if they were to arrange the wedding of the wizarding world’s saviour, to the daughter of the Minister for Magic. However, the conversation had gone on long enough and there were some things that even his professionalism couldn’t over come - a dislike of all things Weasley being one of them.

Moving away from the dance floor, Draco smirked at the sight of Pansy, leaning against the bar, chatting intimately with one of the young waiters. He really would have to talk to her about not fraternising with the help; they had standards to maintain afterall.

He shook his head in amusement. Pansy wasn’t just his business partner, she was also his best friend and the closest thing to a sister he had. It had always amused him at school when people assumed that they were dating. Much as he loved the girl, she was just that, a girl. And even if it wasn’t for the all important gender issue, Pansy was far too much like him for Draco to ever consider a relationship. Not that any of this stopped Narcissa from hoping, and hinting heavily, that they might marry one day.

He was so busy scrutinising the arrangements, that Draco didn’t notice Harry Potter approaching until he had almost fallen over the other man.

“Careful, Malfoy.”

Draco snapped his head round, a glare firmly in place. The biting retort he had prepared died on his lips when he caught sight of the beaming toddler in Potter’s arms.

“Potter,” he acknowledged stiffly. A warm smile then crossed his arms as he turned to look at his goddaughter. “Hello, Sophia. Is Potter looking after you?”

The small face screwed up in confusion and Draco found himself having to rephrase the question. “Is Uncle Harry looking after you?”

Sophia’s expression cleared and she grinned happily. “Yes. Me and Uncle Harry danced. It was fun.” And to illustrate just how much fun had been had, the small girl began bouncing up and down in her godfather’s arms.

“You look very pretty today.”

“I’s a bridesmaid,” she lisped proudly. “Like a big girl.”

Draco smiled broadly and mentally cursed cute little girls that brought his latent Hufflepuff genes. “That’s a lovely dress. Maybe you can wear one like that to your Uncle Harry’s wedding.”


Sophia’s eyes widened in excitement and she turned to look hopefully at her godfather. “Please, Uncle Harry. Can I?”

Harry fought to hold onto the squirming girl. “Of course, pumpkin. But it won’t be for a long time yet.”

“That’s not what I heard, Potter.” Draco couldn’t resist it; he had spent too many years provoking Potter to stop now.

“Well, you heard wrong, Malfoy. So you’re wasting your time if you’re touting for business.”

Draco huffed. “Hardly. We have a long and prestigious client base and have no need to ’tout’ as you put it. It was your fiancée who was very keen to retain my services.”

Draco was pleased to see how his words discomforted the other man, despite his best efforts to hide it.

“I think you’re mistaken, Malfoy. I can assure you there is no wedding.”

He watched as Potter strode away, and waved cheerfully at his goddaughter as she peeked at him over Potter’s shoulder. Nothing had ever cheered Draco up as much as aggravating Potter could.

“You look happy. That must mean you’ve upset someone.”

Draco turned in the direction of the voice and found himself faced with a smiling, and heavily pregnant Hermione Nott. Not for the first time over the years, Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was no longer Granger - Gryffindor know it all, this was Hermione - Theo’s wife.

“It was completely inadvertent, I assure you,” he replied smoothly. “I was simply congratulating Potter on his forthcoming nuptials.”

Draco watched the expression on Hermione’s face with pleasure. It was an expression that she always wore upon finding out that someone knew something that she didn’t, and Draco always delighted in being the one to cause it.

“Harry and Ginny?” she questioned, clearly stunned by the news. “I-I didn’t know.”

Draco grinned. “I wouldn’t feel too bad about that if I was you. As it turns out, neither did Potter.”

“Ginny?” she asked, comprehension showing on her face.

Draco nodded before gazing across the dance floor to where the couple in question appeared to be having a heated debate.

“You might want to go rescue Sophia from Potter. That looks like it’s about to get heated.”

Hermione took one look at Ginny’s red face and Harry’s moody expression, and hurried over to liberate her daughter from the arms of her increasingly agitated godfather.

Several hours later and the guests were assembled to watch the bride and groom as they left for their honeymoon. Draco couldn’t help but smile at the memory of just how close Blaise had come to spending two weeks in Scandinavia, hunting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. It had taken all of Draco’s persuasive charm to persuade the bride that two weeks on the Italian Riviera would be much more appealing.

From then on, the evening began to wind down. Those guests with children departed soon after the newlyweds, followed shortly by a rather tense looking Potter and Weasley. When the band wound up for the evening, and the majority of the guests had drifted home, Draco decided that it was time he seek his own bed.

Casting his eye around the marquee, he realised that Pansy was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he couldn’t remember having seen her for sometime. After noticing that a certain barman was also conspicuous by his absence, Draco headed outside in search of his errant partner.

He didn’t have far to go. Just round the back of the marquee, in fact. Pansy had the young man pressed firmly up against the side, held in place by the nearness of her body. And as Draco got nearer, he was slightly revolted by the sight of his friend’s tongue probing her partner’s mouth eagerly.

He cleared his throat, and got no response. He considered a number of delicate ways to gain her attention, but in the end he settled for grabbing hold of her arm and simply pulling her to one side.

“Pansy, darling. I know you have needs, but must you indulge them so publicly, and with the help too?”

“Jealous, Draco?” She smirked in return, and Draco resisted the temptation to slap her!

“Hardly. Unlike you, I have standards.”

“Hmm. And do these standards happen to have green eyes and a prominent scar?”

Draco took a deep breath before replying; now was not the time to get into this. “You’re deluded,” he replied calmly.

“And you’re in denial,” Pansy replied with a teasing grin.

Choosing to ignore that, Draco got to the point of his interruption. “I’m leaving now. There’s barely anyone left. I’ll be round your place tomorrow, so do try and be conscious by noon.”

“I’ll try,” Pansy said, in a tone that didn’t hold out much hope for the possibility.

“See that you do.” Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight, Pans. Be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied airily. Then, as she saw the expression on her friend's face, Pansy decided to put him out of his misery. “He was in Hufflepuff,” she confided, as if this should explain everything, and strangely enough, from the look on Draco’s face, it did.