Where: the ballroom, Malfoy Manor When: towards the end of the evening Who: open to all
It was surprising how tiring weddings could be. Day long events, filled with socialising and polite debauchery, they wore down one's energy more efficiently than expected. But it was with a contented sort of bland fatigue that Rabastan finally conceded and paced through the ballroom, away from his parents and the witches his mother seemed to admire the most. If he must endure this procedure, he would do it on his own terms. So he observed those still milling in the room, a drink in his hand and an expression of passive resignation sprawling his features.
Mentally discarding option after option, he was almost ready to return to those selected for him. As loathe as he was to admit, his mother's judgement was peculiarly satisfactory and almost matched his own exacting standards. Absently, he wondered how Rodolphus had managed to escape this ordeal, and was fortuitously distracted by the sight of a wixen scurrying from the room in tears while their dancing partner paired away with another.
"Oh, dear..." With absolutely no pity, he downed the contents of his glass.