Drarry Oneshots (Angsty)

Forget About the World

A/N: Requested by @Phaniel_Lestowell

The day was beautiful. The sun was shining brightly on the crisp, colourful leaves overhead, reminiscent of a sunset. The chairs were currently empty but the murmurs of voices growing near suggested that the guests had finished their champagne and were ready for the main event.

I had personally decorated the area for the ceremony. It looked gorgeous, with tendrils of ivy wrapped around a trellis of white roses, culminating in a magnificent archway at the end of the aisle. The autumn air was crisp but not chilly, no hint of a breeze; the chairs looked pristine, laid out by the edge of the lake. Everything was perfect.

The guests had begun to reach the lakeside, choosing their seats with carefully preplanned accuracy. I was determined that today would run like clockwork, nothing could spoil it. As more and more people spilled down the lawns from the manor I felt myself growing evermore nervous.

This was it. The wedding of my dreams.

"It looks lovely, Draco," said the voice of Luna Lovegood from beside me. As the maid of honour she was wearing a stunning burgundy dress and clasped a bouquet of snowy roses in her hands. "You did a great job."

"Thank you," I said sincerely, "I'm really glad you think so."

Since the war, Luna and I had rapidly become friends. She had found me, crying, on a rock overlooking the Black Lake and instead of questioning me, drilling me to find my weaknesses, she had sat there and kept me company, talking about inane things until I could finally manage to muster a smile. She had the habit of emerging just as I needed a friend the most and I loved her for it. She really was unique.

"You look dapper, Malfoy." Blaise walked towards me smiling, his hands in his suit pockets, tie immaculately straight. I looked down at myself, silently agreeing that yes, I did look good. In the past I wouldn't have been seen dead wearing burgundy of all colours, it was far too Gryffindor, but now I felt that it complemented my hair quite nicely.

"You're not too bad yourself."

"Oh, please," Blaise laughed, "you're lucky I'm not in the wedding party. You wouldn't get a second glance."

"Be quiet, Blaise! Go and sit down, you're disrupting the whole timetable." He rolled his eyes at me playfully but, after one more witticism about his striking appearance, he finally took a seat towards the back.

I could feel butterflies starting to violently attempt to escape my stomach. "I feel sick. I don't know if I can do this."

Luna gave me a comforting look and a small pat on the shoulder. "No one's stopping you from leaving, Draco, but I'm sure Harry would be upset." Of course she was right, as usual.

Harry had asked me, and I had said yes. I couldn't run away now, not at the last moment.

"Take a deep breath, Draco. It might help." I tried what Luna suggested and though it didn't reduce the pace of my pulse, it did make me feel a little better."

"Let's do this." I said, with newfound confidence.

Luna and I stepped onto the carpet, put down specially for the occasion, and began to walk along the aisle, heads turning to look at us as we went. It seemed to go on forever and yet at the same time the walk was over in seconds and there I was, at the front, and there he was, by the alter. I moved to stand with him.

"Are you ready?", I asked him, fiddling with the silver band in my pocket.

"As I'll ever be," he replied, a besotted look on his face as he spoke.

Then, right on time, the opening line to 'Here Comes the Bride' began to play and Ginny Weasley was at the end of the aisle, arm linked with her father's.

As they walked, the crystal white gown sparkled and shone. She looked like an angel. I stood at Harry's side, ready to pass the ring at the given moment, the ideal best man. I would've given anything to trade places with her.

*.    *.    *.    *.    *. 

Under a starlit sky, two boys—one fair, one dark—swim in the shallows of a lake. Both are naked, neither care, because what does it matter when the only thing that exists is this moment and the beating of their conjoined hearts. They do not care for morning, during the day they will not dare to address each other, even a locking of eyes is forbidden, but now they pretend that this will never end. That they will never end.

And as they tread water they gaze into each other's eyes, and smile in a way that only young, first lovers know how; in a way that can never quite be replicated again because this is genuine and pure, everything the two boys dreamed it could be. They float, side by side, holding each others hands and forget the rest of the world in their escape. Their fingers link together gently like they were always intended to.

Later, in the light of the moon they will kiss, shyly at first, because they cannot be sure what they are, what is happening, and then, afterwards, passionately because they realise it doesn't matter. The time is their's and their's alone to work it out or not, it is their decision to make. They will disappear into the darkness and return changed people because love can do that to a person—it can build them up, but just as easily destroy them. They forgot that.

They meet again several days later, their bodies glowing softly in the torchlight as they move together. To them this is what love is, a raw passion, desire, the need to touch each other as often as they can because to withdraw would to be the moth flying away from the flame, and they both want to be burned. This is the way they want it because they're so in love and nothing will change that, not if they connect on a physical and mental level.

Soft moans instead of words, because sounds are just as good and convey just the same message; it isn't necessary to speak whilst they are entwined with each other, the moment intimate enough to convey everything they could think of saying in this moment. Praises spill from their lips as they lie together—the tan boy wrapped in the pale one's arms—and for a while the world seems to be perfect, how could it not be.

After a while they agree to be friends, the flame long burnt out and the heat of the moment diminished. They think that it's better that way, at least, one of them does; the other is a liar, too desperate to stay in contact that he will say anything to keep him there. But at night, he lies awake and thinks about the stars and the lake and the way their bodies were created to fit together, and he cries because it's over and he doesn't want it to be— he never did.

The fair boy sits with the dark one and listens to him talk. He listens to stories of the dark boy's freckled girl and sympathises, nods, pretends to be interested, yet inside his heart is shattering because it isn't him, will never be him again, because he had his chance and now it's over. Every time he looks at the tan boy, his emotions explode and he wants to go back to their moments, just the two of them, when they forgot the rest of the world and concentrated on each other. It will never happen.

And, after a few years, the tan man asks the pale man to plan his wedding to the freckled woman because he knows him, knows him better than anyone ever has or will, and decides that he is the only one he can trust with the task, the only one who will make it perfect. He does make it perfect, of course he does, it's the wedding he had always dreamed of them having together, the two of them, but Draco wouldn't give Harry anything less, because Harry is Draco's world, even if Harry doesn't know it.

*.    *.    *.    *.    *. 

"If any of you has reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

I look at Harry, then at Ginny. They're smiling sappily at each other. Harry is staring at her like she's the most gorgeous person on earth.

I swallow the lump in my throat and stay silent.

A/N: I've been experimenting with writing style over the past few oneshots and this one is probably the most unusual to my usual style so I hope you like it.

I'm also currently working on a new project which I will be ready to reveal soon, so keep your eyes peeled!