Ah, yes. My abandoned careerfest fic. Thank you to @teledild0nix for the tag! I’m glad to finally have an excuse to share some of the pettiness in this (in a way)WIP. For context, the prompt was Wedding Officiant/Wedding Planner.
Next came Potter, the ever-present thorn in his side and the ex-boyfriend of Bride 2.
He was awaiting Draco at his first appointment, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, wild hair tucked into a black hoodie, looking murderous and tan and stupid as ever. It made Draco feel a bit better about his tattered jumper and khakis–one of the two pairs of trousers he owned.
Pansy conveniently forgot to tell him that Potter would not only be officiating the wedding (Everyone loves a bit of blasphemy, Draco! Who better to act as our priest than the Savior of the world?) he would also be advising Draco regarding Ginevra’s taste during the planning process.
They argued many, many times, about everything aside from the things that truly mattered.
They argued at the florists because Draco thought gardenias would be the most tasteful choice, but lilies were Ginevra’s favorite flower—not once did it occur to either of them to put them in a bouquet together—until the elderly Muggle woman running the place screamed at them and threatened to call the poll lease if they kept going at it, whatever that was.
“You always have to be right, don’t you, Malfoy?” Potter screamed from across the street, the two of them divided by the flow of traffic lest their words turn to fists. His next insults were muffled by a passing tour bus, but Draco assumed they were something along the lines of, ‘Same stupid git,’ and ‘Fucking gardenias. You would pick those, you prick,’ and ‘I’m just angry because you’re devastatingly handsome in ways that I’m not.’
“Do you always plan your ex-girlfriend’s weddings?” Draco yelled back, loving the chance to be petty after being around Muggles for so long, where all he felt was repentant.
“No, do you?” Potter replied, because Draco conveniently forgot about that period where he and Pansy thought shagging would ignite some sort of spark between them, when all it did was make them extremely uncomfortable talking about sex in front of one another.
Prying questions were the source of most of the conflicts between him and Potter. Draco was insecure about his lack of a wand whenever Potter took his out. When Draco asked Potter why he and Ginevra had broken up in the first place, all Potter said was, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” before running off with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
They argued at the caterers, during the venue tour, at the card-maker, the linen shop, and nearly resorted to fisticuffs at the second florist. If the place had good acoustics, they fought. But, they also got things done.
“There’s no way in hell anyone is going to eat a fucking lemon cake. There will be children at this wedding.” Potter raged in that icy way of his, arms crossed in the corner of the shop like the hypothetical, lemon-hating children he was defending, “You tried the honey-vanilla cake. That one was clearly the winner here.”
“Lemon is refined. Lemon is refreshing. Lemon won’t leave you clutching your stomach on the dance floor. Case and point.” Draco shot back.
“Boys, boys!” Cassandra, the baker, held up her hands, effectively silencing the room, “Harry, now, you want a classic cake, yes? Sweet, palatable to all? And Draco, you want something light-weight and fresh. I can do a vanilla cake, to appease the masses, and we can make a nice, fruity frosting. Strawberry, raspberry, passion fruit. Anything like that.”
Draco and Potter stared at her, waiting for her to stop talking, so they could continue arguing, because that was a lot more fun than finding solutions.
Cassandra just sighed, rolled her eyes, and seemed to make the decision for them, “Vanilla and raspberry, then.”
Turns out, two people with very loud opinions about what they wanted spurred strangers to suggest a resolution—or threaten to call the police, which Potter explained were Muggle Aurors—and the end result turned out pretty great.
With Ginevra’s salary as a star Quidditch rookie, the couple could afford a pretty lavish affair. Draco and his sidekick (“Don’t call me that,”) found the loveliest venue: a converted art gallery now being used as an event space, with high, arched ceilings and glittering chandeliers, their reflection sending gold shimmers across the walls. It would be easy to rearrange the chairs from the ceremony in order to use the same space for the reception, which was convenient, and there was a trendy cocktail bar right next door in case anyone wanted to keep the party going elsewhere.
Pansy was ecstatic, Ginevra was happy that Pansy was happy, and Draco and Potter were just thankful it was over.
Id like to tag @mallstars @the-starryknight and @lemonlimelea! Sorry if you’ve already been tagged.
