Draco’s Very Bad Day
Draco Malfoy had been having a Very Bad Day.
It had started in the morning, as most days which are bad tend to do. He had woken at a ridiculous hour to find Neville Longbottom sitting on the end of his bed.
~@@@~
“You are coming today, aren’t you, Malfoy?”
Draco had groaned and rolled over. “I don’t have time for your pathetic whining, Longbottom. Now go away, I am very busy and important.”
Though he was, technically, still half asleep, Draco had deigned to open one eye and glare at the sandy-haired man. Wisely, Neville had retreated from range, but unfortunately, failed to look very scared.
“Malfoy, you know they won’t forgive you if you don’t come. Hermione is your best friend, and she wants you at her wedding. Get your very annoying self down to the Burrow right now.”
Snapping to attention, Draco pushed off his bed sheets, managing, inexplicably, to look alert and commanding with his hair ruffled and his eyes full of sleep.
“Why do I care who Granger is marrying?”
Neville let out a sudden exclamation of annoyance. “Malfoy, I swear on everything that is good and holy, I would kill you if we DID NOT HAVE A WEDDING TO GET TO!!!”
“Longbottom, I am not in the right state of mind to give you the full verbal beating you deserve for waking me up at this very unholy hour to drag me to an abomination of a wedding that no one should have any part in. Rest assured, however, that when I am fully woken, you will be receiving several very witty…”
Draco yawned expressively,
“…cutting and scathing phrases that will anger you no end.”
Reclining gracefully on the bed, he continued, “and anyway, I have already expressed my regret that I cannot witness this sham of a marriage being legalised. I have important business to detain me. I will come if I have time, as I have already explained to Granger. Really, you should be grateful for my willingness to shine even that smallest ray of hope into your dull life. It is a huge sacrifice on my part, I can assure you. Do not take it lightly…”
Refraining from muttering some scathing comments of his own, Neville had decided to try and broach a new topic.
“That isn’t the only reason I wanted to talk to you, though Malfoy…” Neville puffed out his chest,
“No.”
“…you see, it has fallen to me…”
“No.”
“…to bear the honour of being the best man…
“No.”
“…and I was wondering, I have to do a speech…”
“Out, Longbottom, before I end up doing something I will not regret.”
“…so would you help me prepare it?”
“Longbottom, OUT!”
Neville took the hint.
~@@@~
Draco looked up at the oversized clock on the wall of the kitchen he was in. He was not late. Malfoys were never late; the party only ever began when they arrived, but he had the suspicion that Hermione might be a little miffed if the party did not start until all the other guests had gone home.
Hearing a pointed cough, he turned politely back to the witch who was talking at him, wondering how he could get out before he grew a Very Long Beard. He needed to leave soon, if not immediately. Though her… usefulness prevented him from being rude, the young woman in front of him had been talking for the past hour and he was becoming desperate for escape.
~@@@~
After Longbottom had left him, Draco set about getting himself some much-needed coffee. He rolled out of bed, grumbling softly about the audacity of Hermione letting Neville use the one day only floo connection she had to Draco’s flat. A man needed his own personal space now and again. When the space didn’t include Longbottom, he needed it all the time.
The pressing engagement he had warned Longbottom off with wasn’t actually one he had discussed with Hermione. He had received an owl last night from the secretary for the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, who was rather senile with a tendency to ramble; it was too late to deal with that night, but it was strongly recommended that he come to get his good friend Blaise Zabini out of a spot of bother that he was sure would be dealt with speedily, but was nonetheless a bit tiresome…
The old man had gone off on a bit of a tangent, but the gist of the letter was that Zabini had got into an argument with a patron of a local wizarding bar and his large friends. He was at St. Mungo's, apparently delirious and addressing all of the female nurses as Daniel.
Draco would have dearly loved to leave him there, where he might at least get the treatment he deserved from one of those nurses. But after Neville left, remembering why Zabini would have been in the area where he met his newest friends, Draco shot out of his seat with a dramatic,
“Fuck!!”
Draco paced magnificently around his flat with an expression on his face that might have looked frantic, but was actually a very Malfoyish disdain for his current situation. He needed to decide on an appropriate Course of Action. It would do him no good at all to go down to St. Mungo’s and throttle the life out of that no-good, idiotic, foolish, thoughtless… person that he had to call a friend. No good at all… theoretically, it could have therapeutic purposes, though…
Leaping out of his reverie, and into action, he threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, bracing himself and calling out,
“The Burrow!”
As he felt the familiar distasteful ‘whooshing’ sensation, Draco saw the cluttered kitchen of the Weasleys' home spin into focus…
And out again. He found himself in a bedroom, covered in soot. Mentally cursing whichever of the Weasley twins he was sure was behind this, he tried to find an exit. He opened a door that looked promising, positioning his signature sneer in case he met any member of the family.
He stepped into the room and was immediately assaulted with something that looked suspiciously like a muggle umburulla. Turning to face his attacker, he blanched. Facing him was a barely-clothed Professor Minerva McGonagall. Inexplicably, lazing on the bed behind her was Ernie Macmillan, in a similar state of undress.
McGonagall didn’t even have the grace to blush, but, noticing her attire, grabbed a dressing gown from the bed and glared accusingly at Draco, daring him to speak.
Thoroughly astonished in a way that no Malfoy should ever be, Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times. When he turned back to the bed, the expression on the former Hufflepuff’s face was sinister.
“Had a good gawk, have we?”
Draco blinked.
“You know, Malfoy, it’s not polite to stare. Minerva here is with me, and if you feel uncontrollable lust when looking at her, as I know I do, well it’s just too bad, isn’t it?”
McGonagall smiled and batted her eyelashes demurely at the crazed man in her bed. Draco, temporarily speechless, almost didn’t register the rest of Ernie’s pompous speech, which was turning into a poor imitation of Draco’s youthful drawl, (his grown-up drawl was far superior), the drawl that came from innocent, carefree times, times before his eyes had been burned at the sight of his old professor in her underwear.
“…and though we do pride ourselves on being a progressive couple, we have both agreed never to do anything with,” he sneered, “Slytherins.”
Though Malfoy tradition would have had Draco apply a superior, biting comment at this point, he found himself still in no position to uphold his family customs, so he backed out of the room, leaving the offensive scene. He Disapparated quickly, ending up in an alley somewhere. Hoping for the best, he walked along it until he came to a dead end. He needed to get to the Burrow, to explain his lateness, but Arthur Weasley had, in a moment of misguided protectiveness during The War, made the place impenetrable. It was impossible to Apparate into the Burrow or any of the surrounding woodlandish areas, which really was very counter-productive to Draco’s needs.
Thinking more clearly now, his sneer back in place and his hair smoothed, Draco felt just about ready to hit the town. Anywhere with a fireplace would do, and, after his recent Very Traumatic Experience, he didn’t want to have to deal with irate Weasleys.
From somewhere behind him, he heard discreet cackling. He whirled around, as one would, if faced with a similar situation involving cackling.
The cackling got louder, and two hulking figures emerged from the shadows of the now Very Obviously Shadowy, Dark and Scary Alley.
They just had to be hulking, though didn’t they? Draco was really not in the mood for a thrilling adventure, and would almost have preferred to go back to his flat, and face whatever music he knew was possibly waiting for him.
As if on cue, an owl landed heavily on his shoulder, bearing a red envelope. Of course, the owl was Pigwidgeon, and the Letter that Howled was from a very irate Neville Longbottom.
Hulking figures forgotten, he reluctantly opened the steaming missive. Neville’s voice soon filled the alleyway, not angry, but entirely self-assured, quietly and superiorly berating Draco. The nasal, pompous quality that apparently no one else had noticed came through also.
“Her wedding day, Malfoy? The happiest day of your friend’s life, and where are you? Probably lazing in bed, like the little prince I know you see yourself as, while your girlfriend is getting attention from… people.”
Draco could almost see the self satisfied smile Longbottom would get writing that, knowing the effect it would have on Draco. Involuntarily, his fingers curled into fists, just as the first and second forgotten hulking figures came up to him, looming menacingly. The cackling stopped, and a short person came out of the shadows.
~@@@~
Finally out of the woman’s house (though not without relinquishing his Floo address), Draco walked into the Leaky Cauldron, looking for a safe spot. He activated the portkey Tom kept behind the Bar, and finally found himself at the Burrow. There was no one inside the house when he arrived, but he knew Molly liked to keep her guests outside in the fine weather, so there was nothing strange there. He pushed open the back door, ready to face whoever was giving Ginny trouble…
~@@@~
(Back to the Hufflepuff fun…)
The short person turned out to be Justin Finch-Fletchley, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses and a fake moustache. After the war, the former muggle private school boy had turned to a life of organized crime, for reasons unknown to any but Minerva McGonagall, that well known stealer of strong men’s hearts.
When Finch-Fletchley spotted Draco, he commenced his highly unattractive cackling. He patted one of his goons fondly on the head and walked forward slowly, in what he must have supposed was a mysterious manner.
“Malfoy,” the second ex-Hufflepuff to alarm Draco that day stroked his goatee in deranged uncle style.
“Hufflepuff,” Draco managed to get out in a suitably haughty voice.
“Actually, I prefer to go by The Annilhator these days…”
“Oh.” Draco drew a breath. “Get out of my way you detestable spawn of chipmunks. I refuse to listen to one more word of nonsense from a Hufflepuff. You disgust me with your blatant disregard for everything good and natural. Cower a bit, for I am an Evil Slytherin, after all. Why can’t you fit your role and be scared??? I am your superior, and I can cackle far better. Move.”
The Annilhator pouted. “But I have hulking figures…”
Draco growled, and Justin leapt behind said hulking people.
“Get him, boys!!” he squeaked.
The hulking figures loomed menacingly. Though his lightning-fast reflexes were very fast, the hulking figures grabbed both his arms before he could get to his wand.
From a safe distance, The Annilhator resumed his cackling.
Not one to flail, Draco ducked the large men’s punches. He kicked the one on his right in a strategic place, and detached himself from the others’ grasp. Thoroughly ruffled, he turned to face a wand.
The Annilhator had been multi-tasking, managing to cackle and draw his only weapon at the same time. Draco was caught in a corner before a man with a wand and his two looming bodyguards. He felt an uncomfortable sense of deja-vu, although previously his position had been reversed, and at least his victims had something gorgeous to look at…
Shaking the wand threateningly, The Annilhator poked Draco and continued his cackling, which was becoming annoying. Draco tried to surreptitiously reach for his wand, when he heard a loud “Petrificus Totalis” and his assailants froze.
From somewhere in the shadows, a girl emerged triumphantly. She swished her hair dramatically and said,
“That takes care of that.”
Not waiting for a response from Draco, she jerked her head towards The Annilhator.
“Ex-boyfriend. Sarah, by the way.” The girl gave his hand a shake. “I’ve had a Very Traumatic Life, you know.”
She burst into tears and collapsed into Draco’s arms.
“Uhh, shhh,” he said comfortingly. “There there…”
As fresh waves of sobs hit her, he guided them out of the alley, looking for somewhere to go.
“We… we could go to my house.”
This was a terrible idea, Draco knew, but he felt a little helpless.
“That’s a good idea.”
Guiding him to her house, she began talking. Her life had been one of Misery and Woe, and, unfortunately for Draco, the story was a long one. It all began when her brother ran away from home at the age of fifteen, family life had never been the same, and her parents were crushed…
~@@@~
Feeling relief he never thought he would on entering the Burrow’s back garden, Draco tried to find Ginny in the crowd. Before he could identify her in the sea of redheads on the dance floor, he was accosted by Hermione.
“Where have you been, Draco? You missed Ron’s speech!”
“Hufflepuffs,” he muttered darkly, before flashing a charming smile. “Long story… I’m here now, anyway. I got here as fast as I could.”
Somewhat mollified, Hermione began to gush. As it was her wedding day, he decided to stay on topic as he asked who had come.
“Oh, all of the Order, of course. Molly insisted we invite everyone, you know. She’s been bustling about happily all day. Even Moody and Lupin came. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan are here from our year, as well as others, who haven’t been in touch in years, though God knows we tried to keep in touch…”
She began to rant, but Draco had concentrated on the first part of the guest list. Could it be Thomas? Though he and Lavender Brown had been dating for a while, he wouldn’t put it past him… looking over the dance floor again, he spotted the two dancing. A few metres away, he saw Neville Longbottom turn and give him a Significant Look, indicating the person next to him. Leaving Hermione with a brief friendly pat on the shoulder, he edged closer to Longbottom, catching the end of his conversation.
“…don’t want to do that. Her boyfriend is even more protective of her than her brothers are, and it was him that she told she didn’t ever want you near her again.”
The man next to him growled,
“Boyfriend?? And who has she seen fit to replace me with?”
Draco gaped. It was the Boy-Who-Sulked. The Boy-Who-Couldn’t-Fight-His-Own-Battles. The bespectacled fool who had broken Ginny’s heart.
“Turn around,” said Neville.
Author’s Note: Ooh. That’s that then… I’ve had builders in to enlarge my door, just in case, you know… More reviews would be lovely, they keep me going :D
By the way, I will be posting a new story vair soon. I have already written most of it, so it won’t take much time away from this story… review them both if you are lovely. *Also, as you all know, I am very Busy and Important comes from the fabulous Bridget Jones' Diary...*
Draco Malfoy had been having a Very Bad Day.
It had started in the morning, as most days which are bad tend to do. He had woken at a ridiculous hour to find Neville Longbottom sitting on the end of his bed.
“You are coming today, aren’t you, Malfoy?”
Draco had groaned and rolled over. “I don’t have time for your pathetic whining, Longbottom. Now go away, I am very busy and important.”
Though he was, technically, still half asleep, Draco had deigned to open one eye and glare at the sandy-haired man. Wisely, Neville had retreated from range, but unfortunately, failed to look very scared.
“Malfoy, you know they won’t forgive you if you don’t come. Hermione is your best friend, and she wants you at her wedding. Get your very annoying self down to the Burrow right now.”
Snapping to attention, Draco pushed off his bed sheets, managing, inexplicably, to look alert and commanding with his hair ruffled and his eyes full of sleep.
“Why do I care who Granger is marrying?”
Neville let out a sudden exclamation of annoyance. “Malfoy, I swear on everything that is good and holy, I would kill you if we DID NOT HAVE A WEDDING TO GET TO!!!”
“Longbottom, I am not in the right state of mind to give you the full verbal beating you deserve for waking me up at this very unholy hour to drag me to an abomination of a wedding that no one should have any part in. Rest assured, however, that when I am fully woken, you will be receiving several very witty…”
Draco yawned expressively,
“…cutting and scathing phrases that will anger you no end.”
Reclining gracefully on the bed, he continued, “and anyway, I have already expressed my regret that I cannot witness this sham of a marriage being legalised. I have important business to detain me. I will come if I have time, as I have already explained to Granger. Really, you should be grateful for my willingness to shine even that smallest ray of hope into your dull life. It is a huge sacrifice on my part, I can assure you. Do not take it lightly…”
Refraining from muttering some scathing comments of his own, Neville had decided to try and broach a new topic.
“That isn’t the only reason I wanted to talk to you, though Malfoy…” Neville puffed out his chest,
“No.”
“…you see, it has fallen to me…”
“No.”
“…to bear the honour of being the best man…
“No.”
“…and I was wondering, I have to do a speech…”
“Out, Longbottom, before I end up doing something I will not regret.”
“…so would you help me prepare it?”
“Longbottom, OUT!”
Neville took the hint.
~@@@~
Draco looked up at the oversized clock on the wall of the kitchen he was in. He was not late. Malfoys were never late; the party only ever began when they arrived, but he had the suspicion that Hermione might be a little miffed if the party did not start until all the other guests had gone home.
Hearing a pointed cough, he turned politely back to the witch who was talking at him, wondering how he could get out before he grew a Very Long Beard. He needed to leave soon, if not immediately. Though her… usefulness prevented him from being rude, the young woman in front of him had been talking for the past hour and he was becoming desperate for escape.
After Longbottom had left him, Draco set about getting himself some much-needed coffee. He rolled out of bed, grumbling softly about the audacity of Hermione letting Neville use the one day only floo connection she had to Draco’s flat. A man needed his own personal space now and again. When the space didn’t include Longbottom, he needed it all the time.
The pressing engagement he had warned Longbottom off with wasn’t actually one he had discussed with Hermione. He had received an owl last night from the secretary for the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, who was rather senile with a tendency to ramble; it was too late to deal with that night, but it was strongly recommended that he come to get his good friend Blaise Zabini out of a spot of bother that he was sure would be dealt with speedily, but was nonetheless a bit tiresome…
The old man had gone off on a bit of a tangent, but the gist of the letter was that Zabini had got into an argument with a patron of a local wizarding bar and his large friends. He was at St. Mungo's, apparently delirious and addressing all of the female nurses as Daniel.
Draco would have dearly loved to leave him there, where he might at least get the treatment he deserved from one of those nurses. But after Neville left, remembering why Zabini would have been in the area where he met his newest friends, Draco shot out of his seat with a dramatic,
“Fuck!!”
Draco paced magnificently around his flat with an expression on his face that might have looked frantic, but was actually a very Malfoyish disdain for his current situation. He needed to decide on an appropriate Course of Action. It would do him no good at all to go down to St. Mungo’s and throttle the life out of that no-good, idiotic, foolish, thoughtless… person that he had to call a friend. No good at all… theoretically, it could have therapeutic purposes, though…
Leaping out of his reverie, and into action, he threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, bracing himself and calling out,
“The Burrow!”
As he felt the familiar distasteful ‘whooshing’ sensation, Draco saw the cluttered kitchen of the Weasleys' home spin into focus…
And out again. He found himself in a bedroom, covered in soot. Mentally cursing whichever of the Weasley twins he was sure was behind this, he tried to find an exit. He opened a door that looked promising, positioning his signature sneer in case he met any member of the family.
He stepped into the room and was immediately assaulted with something that looked suspiciously like a muggle umburulla. Turning to face his attacker, he blanched. Facing him was a barely-clothed Professor Minerva McGonagall. Inexplicably, lazing on the bed behind her was Ernie Macmillan, in a similar state of undress.
McGonagall didn’t even have the grace to blush, but, noticing her attire, grabbed a dressing gown from the bed and glared accusingly at Draco, daring him to speak.
Thoroughly astonished in a way that no Malfoy should ever be, Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times. When he turned back to the bed, the expression on the former Hufflepuff’s face was sinister.
“Had a good gawk, have we?”
Draco blinked.
“You know, Malfoy, it’s not polite to stare. Minerva here is with me, and if you feel uncontrollable lust when looking at her, as I know I do, well it’s just too bad, isn’t it?”
McGonagall smiled and batted her eyelashes demurely at the crazed man in her bed. Draco, temporarily speechless, almost didn’t register the rest of Ernie’s pompous speech, which was turning into a poor imitation of Draco’s youthful drawl, (his grown-up drawl was far superior), the drawl that came from innocent, carefree times, times before his eyes had been burned at the sight of his old professor in her underwear.
“…and though we do pride ourselves on being a progressive couple, we have both agreed never to do anything with,” he sneered, “Slytherins.”
Though Malfoy tradition would have had Draco apply a superior, biting comment at this point, he found himself still in no position to uphold his family customs, so he backed out of the room, leaving the offensive scene. He Disapparated quickly, ending up in an alley somewhere. Hoping for the best, he walked along it until he came to a dead end. He needed to get to the Burrow, to explain his lateness, but Arthur Weasley had, in a moment of misguided protectiveness during The War, made the place impenetrable. It was impossible to Apparate into the Burrow or any of the surrounding woodlandish areas, which really was very counter-productive to Draco’s needs.
Thinking more clearly now, his sneer back in place and his hair smoothed, Draco felt just about ready to hit the town. Anywhere with a fireplace would do, and, after his recent Very Traumatic Experience, he didn’t want to have to deal with irate Weasleys.
From somewhere behind him, he heard discreet cackling. He whirled around, as one would, if faced with a similar situation involving cackling.
The cackling got louder, and two hulking figures emerged from the shadows of the now Very Obviously Shadowy, Dark and Scary Alley.
They just had to be hulking, though didn’t they? Draco was really not in the mood for a thrilling adventure, and would almost have preferred to go back to his flat, and face whatever music he knew was possibly waiting for him.
As if on cue, an owl landed heavily on his shoulder, bearing a red envelope. Of course, the owl was Pigwidgeon, and the Letter that Howled was from a very irate Neville Longbottom.
Hulking figures forgotten, he reluctantly opened the steaming missive. Neville’s voice soon filled the alleyway, not angry, but entirely self-assured, quietly and superiorly berating Draco. The nasal, pompous quality that apparently no one else had noticed came through also.
“Her wedding day, Malfoy? The happiest day of your friend’s life, and where are you? Probably lazing in bed, like the little prince I know you see yourself as, while your girlfriend is getting attention from… people.”
Draco could almost see the self satisfied smile Longbottom would get writing that, knowing the effect it would have on Draco. Involuntarily, his fingers curled into fists, just as the first and second forgotten hulking figures came up to him, looming menacingly. The cackling stopped, and a short person came out of the shadows.
Finally out of the woman’s house (though not without relinquishing his Floo address), Draco walked into the Leaky Cauldron, looking for a safe spot. He activated the portkey Tom kept behind the Bar, and finally found himself at the Burrow. There was no one inside the house when he arrived, but he knew Molly liked to keep her guests outside in the fine weather, so there was nothing strange there. He pushed open the back door, ready to face whoever was giving Ginny trouble…
(Back to the Hufflepuff fun…)
The short person turned out to be Justin Finch-Fletchley, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses and a fake moustache. After the war, the former muggle private school boy had turned to a life of organized crime, for reasons unknown to any but Minerva McGonagall, that well known stealer of strong men’s hearts.
When Finch-Fletchley spotted Draco, he commenced his highly unattractive cackling. He patted one of his goons fondly on the head and walked forward slowly, in what he must have supposed was a mysterious manner.
“Malfoy,” the second ex-Hufflepuff to alarm Draco that day stroked his goatee in deranged uncle style.
“Hufflepuff,” Draco managed to get out in a suitably haughty voice.
“Actually, I prefer to go by The Annilhator these days…”
“Oh.” Draco drew a breath. “Get out of my way you detestable spawn of chipmunks. I refuse to listen to one more word of nonsense from a Hufflepuff. You disgust me with your blatant disregard for everything good and natural. Cower a bit, for I am an Evil Slytherin, after all. Why can’t you fit your role and be scared??? I am your superior, and I can cackle far better. Move.”
The Annilhator pouted. “But I have hulking figures…”
Draco growled, and Justin leapt behind said hulking people.
“Get him, boys!!” he squeaked.
The hulking figures loomed menacingly. Though his lightning-fast reflexes were very fast, the hulking figures grabbed both his arms before he could get to his wand.
From a safe distance, The Annilhator resumed his cackling.
Not one to flail, Draco ducked the large men’s punches. He kicked the one on his right in a strategic place, and detached himself from the others’ grasp. Thoroughly ruffled, he turned to face a wand.
The Annilhator had been multi-tasking, managing to cackle and draw his only weapon at the same time. Draco was caught in a corner before a man with a wand and his two looming bodyguards. He felt an uncomfortable sense of deja-vu, although previously his position had been reversed, and at least his victims had something gorgeous to look at…
Shaking the wand threateningly, The Annilhator poked Draco and continued his cackling, which was becoming annoying. Draco tried to surreptitiously reach for his wand, when he heard a loud “Petrificus Totalis” and his assailants froze.
From somewhere in the shadows, a girl emerged triumphantly. She swished her hair dramatically and said,
“That takes care of that.”
Not waiting for a response from Draco, she jerked her head towards The Annilhator.
“Ex-boyfriend. Sarah, by the way.” The girl gave his hand a shake. “I’ve had a Very Traumatic Life, you know.”
She burst into tears and collapsed into Draco’s arms.
“Uhh, shhh,” he said comfortingly. “There there…”
As fresh waves of sobs hit her, he guided them out of the alley, looking for somewhere to go.
“We… we could go to my house.”
This was a terrible idea, Draco knew, but he felt a little helpless.
“That’s a good idea.”
Guiding him to her house, she began talking. Her life had been one of Misery and Woe, and, unfortunately for Draco, the story was a long one. It all began when her brother ran away from home at the age of fifteen, family life had never been the same, and her parents were crushed…
Feeling relief he never thought he would on entering the Burrow’s back garden, Draco tried to find Ginny in the crowd. Before he could identify her in the sea of redheads on the dance floor, he was accosted by Hermione.
“Where have you been, Draco? You missed Ron’s speech!”
“Hufflepuffs,” he muttered darkly, before flashing a charming smile. “Long story… I’m here now, anyway. I got here as fast as I could.”
Somewhat mollified, Hermione began to gush. As it was her wedding day, he decided to stay on topic as he asked who had come.
“Oh, all of the Order, of course. Molly insisted we invite everyone, you know. She’s been bustling about happily all day. Even Moody and Lupin came. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan are here from our year, as well as others, who haven’t been in touch in years, though God knows we tried to keep in touch…”
She began to rant, but Draco had concentrated on the first part of the guest list. Could it be Thomas? Though he and Lavender Brown had been dating for a while, he wouldn’t put it past him… looking over the dance floor again, he spotted the two dancing. A few metres away, he saw Neville Longbottom turn and give him a Significant Look, indicating the person next to him. Leaving Hermione with a brief friendly pat on the shoulder, he edged closer to Longbottom, catching the end of his conversation.
“…don’t want to do that. Her boyfriend is even more protective of her than her brothers are, and it was him that she told she didn’t ever want you near her again.”
The man next to him growled,
“Boyfriend?? And who has she seen fit to replace me with?”
Draco gaped. It was the Boy-Who-Sulked. The Boy-Who-Couldn’t-Fight-His-Own-Battles. The bespectacled fool who had broken Ginny’s heart.
“Turn around,” said Neville.
Author’s Note: Ooh. That’s that then… I’ve had builders in to enlarge my door, just in case, you know… More reviews would be lovely, they keep me going :D
By the way, I will be posting a new story vair soon. I have already written most of it, so it won’t take much time away from this story… review them both if you are lovely. *Also, as you all know, I am very Busy and Important comes from the fabulous Bridget Jones' Diary...*
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