The Wedding Planner

Draco leant back in his top-of -the-range office chair, hands folded loosely in his lap, with his most convincing expression of interest plastered on his face.

Over the course of the last half an hour, he had come to regret bitterly the moment of madness that had resulted in him handing Potter his business card. Because, although Potter himself was surprisingly tolerable, Ginny Weasley was currently living up to, if not exceeding, every pre-conceived notion that Draco had had of her.

From the moment she had arrived in their offices, one arm hanging onto Potter, the other gripping an outsized folder that was clearly bulging at the seams, Draco had known he was in for it.

Potter sat silently, a somewhat dazed expression on his face. But Draco didn’t miss the slight tic of his tensed jaw as his fiancée expounded another of her outlandish ideas.

“So,” Draco said eventually, seizing a break in the Weaselette’s one-woman monologue. “Do you have a date in mind for the happy event? I need to know what sort of timescale we are looking at.”

“Two months,” Potter replied, with a meaningful glare at his other half.

Draco allowed a small smile to cross his face. “Very amusing, Potter.” He turned his attention to the bride-to-be. “So, when were you thinking of.”

“Two months,” the Weaselette confirmed in a tight voice, and Draco realised that he could see the first cracks appearing already.

Draco mustered an outward calm that he really didn’t feel.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause. “That’s certainly a lot sooner than I expected. A wedding like this,” he indicated the bulging folder with a tap of his finger, “is usually at least a year in the planning. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until next summer?”

“No,” Potter said firmly.

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

Potter clearly looked uncomfortable with the question and Draco scented a good story.

“I assure you that anything I am told by a client remains completely confidential.” And it was true, Draco reflected. He and Pansy may gossip about it over their morning latte, but that was as far as it ever went.

“Ginny’s pregnant,” Potter replied abruptly.

Draco resisted the overwhelming urge to smirk. So it was a shotgun wedding. That explained a lot that had been puzzling him.


“Ah, I can see that time would be of the essence in that case. Well, we had better see what we can come up with.” Draco tapped the intercom on his desk. “Astoria, could you ask Pansy to come through, please. Oh, and I think we’ll be needing some more coffee.”

He turned back to face his clients. “Considering the scale of the event that you are planning, I will likely require my partner’s assistance. At no extra charge, of course.”

There were several moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence before Pansy entered the office, a neutral expression on her face that Draco knew was hiding her amusement.

“Ah, Pansy. Would you be a dear and go through the venue files with…Miss Weasley. We’re looking for somewhere available two months from now. She’ll be able to fill you in on her requirements. Potter, why don’t you and I discuss the financial aspects? The budget and so on.”

“We’re not on a budget,” snapped the redheaded nightmare, and Draco struggled to suppress a smile at Potter’s subtle eye-roll.

Potter gave an apologetic smile before nodding his agreement, and Draco’s keen eyes didn’t miss the visible loss of tension to his posture as his fiancée retreated to the other side of the room with Pansy.

Astoria entered at that moment, bearing a fresh pot of coffee. Draco took it gratefully and poured a cup for Potter first, pushing it in his direction.

“There you go. You look like you could use the caffeine hit.”

Potter smiled wryly in return. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Draco took a sip of his own drink, savouring the delicious aroma of the freshly brewed coffee. “Not that I’m trying to infer you can’t afford it, but I need to know that you understand just how much this kind of wedding will cost.”

Potter shrugged, an ill-hidden, unhappy expression on his face. “It’s not really down to me. Arthur, Ginny’s father is paying for it. Money is no object, apparently.”

Draco made along arm across the desk and pulled Ginny’s bulging folder towards him. He flicked through the pages absent-mindedly.

“There’s certainly some interesting ideas in here. Though, I’m not sure we’ll be able to persuade Beaubaxtons to loan us their flying carriage.”

Potter shot a quick look in the direction of his fiancée, before turning back to face Draco, an almost haunted expression on his face.

“About that,” he began hesitantly. “I was hoping that you might be able to persuade Ginny away from some of her more…unusual ideas. She won’t listen to me.”

Draco arched a brow. “And you think she’ll listen to me because?”

Potter’s fingers raked through his hair. Clearly, he was still favouring the dishevelled hedgehog look, Draco reflected with an inner smirk.

“Because you know what you’re talking about. This,” he gestured at the folder distastefully, “is her idea of a ‘stylish wedding’. She might not like you, but she will listen to you when it comes to taste. Especially if it means getting that Lumos! magazine spread that she’s desperate for.”

Draco suppressed another grin. “You’d actually let yourself be photographed wearing that?” He tapped lightly at a picture of Prince Charming that the Weaselette had used to illustrate her ideas for her husband-to-be’s wedding day attire.

Potter squirmed ever so slightly. “That was one of the aspects that I was hoping you could talk her out of.” He shuddered visibly. “She’s rather obsessed with the whole ‘Cinderella’ theme.”

“You don’t say,” Draco commented as he leant forward in his chair. “I’ll do my best, Potter.”

Potter smiled gratefully. “Harry,” he said.

“Huh?” Draco was a little stumped; surely Potter wasn’t that egotistical that he was now referring to himself in the third person?

“My name. It’s Harry. I think we’re at a point now where we can use each other’s first names.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at this. “I don’t know, Potter. We’ve managed to studiously avoid such an intimacy for quite some years. How do you figure it’s time for a change?”

Potter leant forward in his chair, a smile playing round the edges of his lips that drew Draco’s gaze. “You’re organising my wedding, several of our best friends are married to one another, and we share a goddaughter.” He shot a quick glance over his shoulder before leaning in conspiratorially. “Plus, I rather think that your partner and my best friend are shagging.”

Draco had been in the middle of savouring rather a large mouthful of his coffee at the same time as Potter chose to make this revelation. As a result, he choked rather violently, causing some of the hot liquid to spray on his new robes.

After a quick Cleaning Charm and a few moments to compose himself, Draco fixed a baleful glare on his client.

“Thank you for that, Harry,” he retorted, pointedly emphasising the other man’s name. “I’ll be sure to send you the bill from my therapist for the many sessions that I’ll undoubtedly need to recover from that little revelation.”

“You didn’t know?”

“What I know, and what I choose to acknowledge, are two distinctly separate entities. Now, if you’d be so kind as to never mention that again, or make reference to this conversation, then I would be most grateful.”

Potter shrugged and grinned in reply. Draco knew what he was thinking; he had that ‘Malfoy’s being a drama queen’ expression on his face, the one that Draco was oh-so familiar with.

Before either man could say anything further, a squeal sounded from the far side of the office, and a red whirlwind was heading in their direction.

“Harry! Look at this!” Draco was forced to repress a wince at her shrill tones. Interestingly, he noted that Potter was doing the same.

“Look! Isn’t it just perfect? We absolutely have to have the wedding here.”

Once again, Draco’s attention was caught by Potter’s apparent lack of any interest or enthusiasm for his own nuptials. He gave a cursory look at the details his fiancée was clutching. “Looks nice,” he agreed flatly.

Not that the Weaselette noticed any of this. She was already focussed on Draco.

“I want this one,” she said peremptorily, and Draco had to remind himself that she was a client and, as such, it really would be impolitic to try out one of his more imaginative curses on her.

He reached out for the details. “May I?” he enquired politely. Not that there was any need for him to see them to know where she had chosen. Draco prided himself on his ability to judge his clients taste, and he just knew that the Weaselette would have picked the largest, and the grandest venue on their books.

“Rutland Manor,” he mused aloud. “It’s a lovely house, and has beautiful gardens too. I’ll arrange a viewing for you both; when would be suitable?”

---

“So what did you think, then?” Draco asked lightly. He was leaning back in his leather chair; legs stretched out, with ankles crossed, his stylishly expensive shoes resting on his desk.

Pansy looked at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I think,” she said thoughtfully, “that we’re going to be earning our fee on this one. Did you get a look at that folder of hers?”

“A look?” Draco repeated. “The bloody thing is burned into my retinas. I don’t even think an Obliviate will remove that traumatic experience.”

Pansy snickered and perched on the edge of his desk. “So why the big rush? I would have thought the She-Weasel would have wanted to milk the engagement for all it was worth.”

“She’s pregnant,” Draco replied shortly.

Pansy snorted into her coffee. “Oh sweet Merlin! Coffee just went up my nose, but it was totally worth it. I can’t believe Potter was stupid enough to knock her up.”

“Don’t be so crass, Pansy. They are our clients now; we have to remain professional.”

“So does that mean we can’t mock the hideous outfits that she wants, or the tacky theme, or the cake? You did see the cake, Draco, didn’t you?” Pansy wound up on a slightly indignant note, as if Ginny Weasley’s lack of taste was a personal insult.”

“Yes, I saw the cake. Okay, you’re right. Mocking will most definitely be allowed. In fact, I think it’s the only way we will make it through this charade with our sanity in tact.”

Pansy’s smile stilled. “What do you mean, we? They’re you’re clients, Draco.”

“Pansy, you know as well as I do how much work is involved in planning a wedding of this scale, in such a short space of time. Not to mention the endless hours that will doubtless be spent talking the bride-to-be out of some of her more hideous ideas.” Draco shuddered slightly at the memory.

Pansy grinned and then shrugged. “Why bother? Just give her the wedding she wants. It would certainly be amusing if nothing else.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “As much as I would enjoy the sight of the Weaselette exposing herself to public ridicule, it will be our reputation on the line as well. Exactly how many clients do you imagine we would win by putting our names to that…freak show?”

Pansy wisely decided this was a rhetorical question. She lit a fresh cigarette and then tossed the packet to her partner.

“I’m trying to quit,” Draco said, a faint flush on his cheeks.

Pansy snorted in amusement. “Since when?”

“Since my personal trainer recommended it,” he replied loftily.

“Trainer? You?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I like to take care of my body.”

“No,” Pansy corrected. “You like others to take care of it for you. Usually buff male masseurs. I don’t think I’ve seen you break an actual sweat since Hogwarts.” She eyed her friend speculatively. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

Draco gave her his most condescending look. “The fact that Julio is undeniably gorgeous is neither here nor there. This is about getting fit.”

“Getting laid more like,” Pansy said, with a wide smirk on her face.

“Look,” Draco huffed. “When you’ve quite finished, can we get back to the matter at hand?” Receiving no protest, he continued. “This won’t just be the wedding of the year. We’re talking Charles and Di, here.”

Pansy grinned; Draco’s Muggle references always amused her.

“Everybody who is somebody will be there. In fact, given who the bride is, there will undoubtedly be a large quota of nobodies too. I will not stake our professional reputation on the festival of tack that the Weaselette has planned. Much as it pains me to do that girl any favours, she’ll have the perfect, tasteful wedding, whether she likes it or not.”

Pansy watched silently for a moment, a smile playing around the edges of her lips. “I imagine you feel a lot better, now that you’ve got that off your chest.”

Draco merely sipped at his coffee and took refuge in a dignified silence.

“I’ll help, of course I will. I’m not daft, Draco. I know how important this could be for the business.” She paused here and gazed at her partner speculatively. “Are you sure you’ll be okay doing this?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re looking at the man who got Luna Lovegood down the aisle in a classic Vera Wang wedding dress, instead of those offensive yellow robes that she wanted to wear. If I could survive that, I won’t be beaten by Ginerva Weasley.”

Pansy smiled wryly. “I don’t doubt that for a minute, but that wasn’t what I meant. I just thought it might be weird for you, organising this wedding, considering the way you feel about Potter.”

“Pansy.” Draco’s voice was low, and an unmistakeable warning.

Pansy chose to ignore it. “You’re not kidding anyone with this denial, you know? No one believes it. Not Blaise, nor Theo. No one. We watched you two for years back in school. Trust me, if one of you had had pigtails, then the other would have been pulling them. All that fighting was just foreplay at its most basic level.”

“Thank you very much for that illuminating insight, Oprah,” Draco snapped.

Pansy chuckled. “Oprah?” she questioned.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “I might have got satellite TV,” he muttered defensively.

“You’re such a Muggle nowadays, Draco. I do hope your father doesn’t know about this. It’s enough to give him a heart attack.”

Draco snorted inwardly at this; if only Pansy knew the truth. That the once-feared Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, now spent his afternoons in front of a widescreen TV, watching reruns of Dynasty. Apparently, Alexis reminded him of Bellatrix.

However, though his father had mellowed with age, Draco knew it was more than his life was worth to divulge that little secret. He set his coffee cup on his desk with a soft sight, and gazed steadily at his partner.

“This has to stop, Pansy. Whatever I may feel about Potter, and I assure you it is nothing like you imagine, he is a client, an engaged one at that. Unlike you, I prefer my men unattached.”

Pansy recognised the set of her friend’s expression and wisely did not pursue the conversation further. They may have been friends from the cradle, but there were still some limits on their friendship, and Pansy was smart enough to know when one had been reached.

Ignoring the rather pointed jibe about her past liaisons, Pansy stubbed out her cigarette and gave Draco a lop-sided grin.

“Why don’t we go back to my flat? I picked up a rather nice Pinot Grigio earlier, and we can order in from that Chinese takeaway that you love so much. Plus we could take a closer look at this monstrosity.” She tapped Ginny’s folder with one well-manicured fingernail.

Draco quickly agreed; anything to get Pansy off the topic of his supposed unrequited love for Harry bloody Potter.

It had become a reoccurring theme of their conversations, one that harked back to the uncertain days after their switch of allegiance in their sixth year. Pansy had been caught up in the romantic notion of two former enemies finding love with each other.

Draco sniffed derisively at such Hufflepuff nonsense. Sure, Potter wasn’t bad looking. He had that whole post-shag look going on with his hair, and those green eyes, which, Draco was forced to admit, were rather striking. The there was that whole noble, self-sacrificing hero image, which, Draco supposed, could be rather appealing if you liked that type. Which he, most assuredly, did not.

No, he definitely did not find Harry Potter remotely attractive. Now all he had to do was convince Pansy of this. Then maybe she would stop twittering on at him about it, and the inconvenient tightening in his groin, that appeared every time Potter was around, would disappear.

It was all Pansy’s fault, he decided, for putting such ideas into his head in the first place.