d r a c o
It was sickly sweet, all of it. Fairy lights and ribbons hung from the ceiling of the tent; bouquets of flowers lined the aisle. In the far corner, a string quartet played a gentle waltz. It was the sort of thing that Draco would have despised, once. Though now it didn't bother him all that much.
At the front of the tent, the ushers were waiting for the bridesmaids to walk in. Harry Potter stood by them, his expression the odd combination of happiness and nerves that Draco had only ever witnessed at weddings.
Draco had hated Harry Potter for his entire life. He had never expected to attend his wedding, never mind be invited - and had he known that he would attend, he would have expected to hate every second. But he felt nothing. He felt no emotions at being here, didn't feel anything for the bride or bridegroom. He wouldn't be here at all if Astoria and Blaise hadn't persuaded him to come, wouldn't have bothered to dress nicely and travel out to the middle of bloody nowhere to sit in a room of people he didn't like. But in the months since they had received the invite, Astoria and Blaise had insisted repeatedly that they attend, and eventually, reluctantly, he had agreed.
He hadn't told his mother and father that he was here, of course. They still despised Harry Potter, and tensions were running high enough in the Manor as it was.
Draco's father had been called back for a series of trials at the Ministry. Two years had passed since the battle now, which meant that almost two years had passed since the Ministry had decided that not one of the Malfoys was enough of a threat to the Wizarding World to be sent to Azkaban. But more escaped Death Eaters had been captured since the battle, and their memories and testimonies had been combed through, and more and more information had been uncovered about Lucius that put him at risk of imprisonment. And Narcissa and Lucius appeared to live in a state of perpetual anxiety, but Draco didn't really know what to think. Because he knew a thousand things that the Ministry didn't, that could potentially ship his father straight to Azkaban.
Blaise sat to Draco's right, beside the aisle. Astoria was to his left. The other wedding guests spoke quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the ceremony to begin, but they sat in silence.
As the first bridesmaid walked in, the congregation stood. A hush fell across the tent as the guests turned to face her, and Draco's mind wandered to Astoria, to his own wedding.
She was putting off the planning.
Draco wasn't sure why, and her manner of doing so was so very inconspicuous that he mightn't have noticed, had his parents not been so intent on its planning themselves. The wedding was scheduled for August, but Astoria was dawdling. Whenever the subject came up, she would subtly change it. Anytime he asked her about it, she was dismissive, her answers noncommittal. When Astoria had insisted they attend Potter's wedding, it had been the strongest sentiment she had shown in months.
When the second bridesmaid had walked in and taken her place, the guests turned back to the entrance of the tent, expectant. But there was a pause, and for long, drawn-out moments, nothing happened.
Murmurs rose from the congregation. Draco glanced at Astoria, and then at Blaise. Neither met his eyes. They were acting even stranger than usual, today.
The musicians continued on; the rise and fall of the strings soft and sweet. And just as Draco was beginning to wonder if something was wrong, a small hand appeared at the entrance to the tent. It was pulled back once more, and a girl with dark blonde curls and a tiny star necklace began to walk down the aisle.
And Draco had been raised in a house riddled with Dark Magic - had lived for years in a magical school - had seen all sorts of strange and enigmatic and inexplicably mesmerizing things - but he had never seen anything quite like her.
She was ethereal.
Her dark eyes, wide with nervousness, swept across the congregation. The other bridesmaids had looked at the guests as well, but more so out of courtesy; they had smiled and nodded as they passed everyone -
But her gaze skipped across faces, unsmiling. She was searching for someone.
Just as she neared Draco's aisle, her eyes found his. His breath caught.
He turned as she passed, watching her go; leant to Blaise and muttered, "Who is that?"
When the girl had reached the front of the tent and Blaise had not yet responded, Draco turned to his friend and saw that his jaw was pulled into a hard line. "What's wrong with you?"
Blaise did not meet Draco's eyes. "Nothing."
"Do you know who that girl is?"
Blaise paused. Whispered, "No."
Ginny Weasley had begun to walk into the tent, and the congregation turned to face her. While everyone's attention was on the bride, Draco angled his head back to the girl. He studied the curves of her face, the curls that hung loose down her back, the freckles scattered like constellations across her cheeks. Her hands were tangled together in front of her, knuckles white as she clutched her flowers.
Draco was quite certain that he had never seen this girl in his life, so he did not know why she seemed so familiar to him.
Without warning, her gaze slid to his. Their eyes locked for three, four, five long seconds. Nerves shot through Draco like electricity, and there was a whole crowd of bodies between him and her, but he felt as though they were the only two people in the room.
She broke the eye contact as the bride reached the altar, and she stepped forward to collect the bouquet.
Draco looked away, his pulse quickening. He could not recall ever looking at a girl and feeling so overwhelmed - he was engaged, for heaven's sake - and he could not quite say what had happened, just there.
The officiant ordered the guests to sit, and he did.
He hitched up his trousers to slouch back in his chair. He had not worn these trousers since his very first date with Astoria. Draco owned so many pairs of practically identical trousers that he rarely wore the same thing twice, and these were too nice for casual use anyway.
As he sat back, his hand brushed against something flat and square in his pocket. He leant back, and unnoticed by Blaise or Astoria, slid it out.
The picture had ragged edges, as if it had been torn from a larger photograph. Its subject smiled up at Draco, looking cheerful and mischievous, without the slightest indication of the nerves she had shown when he had caught her eye, moments before.
It was a picture of the girl. The bridesmaid that had just walked past him.
-
i s o b e l
Isobel could feel her heart thudding through the entire ceremony. Her clammy hands clasped the flowers in her lap, and though she kept her eyes on Ginny and Harry, she found it difficult to think of anything but Draco, rows behind her.
Outside the Leaky Cauldron, the day after they had met in the nightclub, he had looked at her and had known almost at once that she didn't remember him. She hadn't quite understood back then how he could see that so quickly.
She understood, now. As she had walked past Draco he had looked right at her, but there had been no softness in his eyes. No flicker of recognition. And she had seen the faintest crease between his eyebrows, the faintest frown as his gaze met hers -
But it hadn't been him. It hadn't been her Draco.
When the ceremony ended, Isobel walked back down the aisle behind Ginny and Harry, with her arm in Ron's. She could feel Draco's gaze like heat on her skin as she passed, but could not bring herself to meet it. She looked at Blaise instead, and raised the corner of her mouth into as much of a smile as she could muster. The smile that he offered in return was equally miserable.
She could not get away immediately after the service. People gathered around the bridesmaids, taking pictures and chattering excitedly, and all she wanted was a moment alone -
When she had finally pulled through the crowd, having endured many polite conversations, she hurried into the Weasleys' house to lock herself in the downstairs bathroom.
She pressed her back against the sink, her chest rising with shallow breaths. Her mind spun, shifting rapidly between anger at Ginny to shock at seeing him, to apprehension at what might happen next. Over time, she had become comfortable in her sadness, had found routine and stability in her sorrow. No, she hadn't been happy, but it had been fine - she had learnt to cope, had learnt to live alone, and as much as she had missed Draco she hadn't expected to see him again. At least not so soon.
She straightened her dress, and combed her fingers through her hair. Just as she placed her fingers on the door handle, there was a light knock at the door.
Astoria was standing outside the bathroom, looking distressed. "If you're having second thoughts," she said, the moment that Isobel opened the door, "I don't want to marry him. Not if you're going to change your mind. I can't do it, I won't."
Isobel stared at her. "I'm not."
Astoria shook her head, flustered. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to be rude, I just - I haven't seen you since everything happened, and I didn't know how else to find you but to come to this wedding. I wanted to talk to you. And I wanted Draco to come here too, so you could see him and be certain."
Isobel stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door. She sank her back against it, and looked through the window, out at the crowd of guests. "It doesn't help," she replied. "Seeing him - it doesn't make me more certain at all. I'll miss him forever, but I'll keep my word. It's better this way."
She looked back at Astoria, but did not see the contentment that she had hoped for in her expression. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure you're right," said Astoria. "I'm not sure it is better this way."
"What do you mean?"
There was a long, drawn-out pause, and Isobel felt her gut twist as Astoria weighed her words. "He's not himself," said Astoria, finally. "Ever since his father erased his memories, he's been different. He never gets angry anymore. He never laughs, he doesn't really care about anything. And I keep thinking over everything that happened, and maybe if I hadn't gotten angry and stormed off - maybe if I'd stayed to talk things over, I could have covered for you both, and you'd still be together, now. We wouldn't be in this mess."
"It's not your fault," said Isobel. Worry clawed at her heart as she tried to process all of the new information. "I didn't realise it was a mess," she said. "I thought it was all sorted out now."
"He found perfume," said Astoria, her eyes filling with tears. "Between his things, he found your old perfume. He gave it to me because he thought it was mine. And I just had to say 'thank you'."
"I'm sorry."
"I think you should talk to him."
Isobel shook her head. "About what, Astoria? He doesn't remember me."
"I don't know," said Astoria. "Just - we need to figure something out. We need to fix things, because nothing is right, at the moment."
Isobel's heart sank. Here she had been, for the past few weeks, thinking that things had finally begun to seem right. "How does Draco feel about it?" she asked. "Does he think it's a mess, too?"
"That's the worst part," answered Astoria. "I think Draco believes that everything's fine, when it's really not. I don't even think he knows that I - that Blaise -"
Astoria dropped her gaze to the floor, and with that, Isobel caught on. "You're in love with Blaise?"
There was no answer for a few moments. Then Astoria said, "It doesn't matter."
Isobel's temper flared. "Of course it matters," she said. "If you're going behind Draco's back -"
Astoria fixed Isobel with a steely glare. "It's not like that," she said. "Blaise and I have never even spoken about it. I don't know if he. . ." She rolled her eyes, indignant at her own emotions. "I don't know if he feels the same way."
Isobel's cheeks burned with shame. "Sorry for jumping to conclusions," she mumbled. She didn't know Astoria very well, but she knew for certain that Blaise would never betray Draco like that.
When Astoria didn't respond, Isobel said quietly, "You would know." She scanned the crowd of guests outside, searching for a head of white-blond hair. "I think you'd know without him saying anything."
If Astoria had an answer for this, she didn't voice it. When she spoke again, there was urgency in her tone. Desperation. "Please talk to Draco," she said. "Please."
Isobel could not bring herself to meet Astoria's eyes. "They're starting the reception," she said. "We should go."
Throughout the reception - the meal, speeches and all, Isobel could not find a moment to steal Ginny away, to talk to her. There was no opportunity for Isobel to get angry, to call Ginny out or to lose her temper because Ginny was occupied at every moment, with every guest wanting to say a word to her, and even if she had had a moment to spare, Isobel couldn't get angry at her on her wedding day anyway. She felt even more frustrated with Ginny for that.
And she might have more attention to give to her frustration, if her every sense wasn't centred on Draco. The sky was darkening outside; the wedding guests were lit only by flickering candles, but still he studied her, across the tables. And she could not concentrate.
She would not allow herself to return his stare because she feared that he would see, from her expression, that something was amiss. She knew that she wanted to talk to him, knew that she needed to give Astoria an answer - but she had not been expecting this, had not planned for this, and felt increasingly overcome with emotion and confusion.
When the meal was finished and the tables were being cleared to make space for the dance floor, she slipped out of the tent. She walked to the edge of the garden, and leant against the wooden fence that circled it. She held the fence so tightly as she looked out at the fields, at the starless sky beyond, that the splintered wood began to dig into her palms.
"No stars."
She turned at the sound of his voice. Saw him silhouetted against the candlelit tent, his body all hard lines and dark shadows.
"No," she said. "No stars."
Draco took another step closer. Isobel could just make out his features in the dim light, could see the furrow that deepened over his white-blond brow. "What's your name?"
"Isobel," she answered. Her voice was weak.
"Isobel," he echoed. She turned away at once, took the fence back into her hands and gripped it. He followed, and leant against the fence to face her. "Do I know you?"
"We were in the same year at Hogwarts."
He paused. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What house were you in?"
She glanced at him; saw the scrutiny in his eyes. Knew the intensity of the déjà vu he must be feeling. "Gryffindor."
He shook his head. "It's strange that I don't remember you."
She took a shaky breath. "That's okay."
"Do you remember me?"
She almost laughed. "Kind of."
"And my friend, Blaise?" he said. "I saw you smile at him. Do you know him?"
"Not really."
"Are you interested in him?"
She looked up, then. She saw Draco's perplexed expression, and her heart ached. "No," she replied. "I just - I recognised him from school, that's all."
"Right," he muttered. "Well, that's probably for the best, as I think he's in love with my fiancée."
She hesitated. "What makes you think that?"
"I've seen the way they look at each other," said Draco. He turned away, and rested his hands on the fence so his position mirrored hers. "It's different from how she looks at me, or I suppose, how I look at her. I don't know. I'm not engaged to Astoria for love - our supposed marriage was never about anything like that, so -" he paused. "I'm wondering if it would be terrible of me to keep something like that from her."
Isobel stared at him. Draco's eyes skated over her face, her stunned expression, and one eyebrow tilted in mild amusement. "What?"
She felt as though her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach. "I just - I think that some people might believe stability is a better proposition than love," she said. "In marriage."
"Is that what you believe?"
"I've considered that." Isobel released a breath. Her heart was beating fast, her thoughts were muddled, and she could not fathom that he was considering breaking things off with Astoria for the exact opposite reason that Isobel had broken things off with him.
She had been certain that Draco and Astoria would be okay, now. Their life together had seemed so simple, so straightforward - she hadn't considered for a minute that it might become rocky before they'd even married.
"Sorry," said Draco abruptly. He stepped back. "I'm sorry - I have no idea why I told you any of that -"
"Don't apologize," said Isobel, and by instinct, she reached out to him.
Her fingers brushed against his, and Draco froze. His eyes locked onto hers. Slowly and hesitantly, his hand curled into hers. And she knew - knew, with utter certainty - that he could feel the familiarity of her skin, her fingers, her touch - just as she felt the familiarity of his.
Draco dropped her hand. "I don't know why," he said, voice gruff, "but I feel like I know you. But I don't know you, obviously - and I'm sorry that I told you all of that -"
Tears sprang to Isobel's eyes. And before she could even think about it - before she even really knew what she was doing - she reached out again. "Don't go, Draco."
He took another step back, uncertainty and fear written all over his pale face. "I found a picture of you in my pocket," he said. "I don't know how it got there. I'm sorry if that - if it scares you. But I really don't know who you are, or what's going on, and honestly, I'm scared myself."
Draco turned, so that his back was to her. He raked a hand through his hair; stared out at the fields for long moments - then looked up, out at the starless sky -
Then he turned back to her. And tears were brimming in Isobel's eyes, now, and she was shaking her head because she knew what he was about to do, and she didn't want him to leave - she needed just a little more time -
"I have to go."
Isobel rushed towards him. Her hand curled into his shirt just as he Apparated.