Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

27 six years post hogwarts: twentieth letter

You are cordially invited to the joining of hearts and name ceremony of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.

Please be advised to refrain from wearing flip flops.

Was the bit about the flip flops a bit too much? But at least not one of the guests are wearing the new Muggle trend. They usually wear them everywhere nowadays.

Draco tutted at himself as he drank another flute of champagne before throwing the sodding wedding invitation at the grass behind him. Why are all pureblood marriages held in the afternoon when the sun is at it's peak? He had done it. He had married Astoria paper face Greengrass. It's not like that would change anything. She would still be living in Belgium and he, here in Britain.

If it was up to him, he'd rather go back in his room now and take his afternoon nap in his white Egyptian cotton sheets, a pitcher of perpetually cool lemonade; made from lemons imported from Mexico, on his bedside table and he can just lounge for hours undisturbed. But, alas, here he is watching another woman wearing white that isn't his wife in a sodding field of tulips. Fucking tulips. He'd rather have roses but Astoria hates them.

It is vexing, agitating and disappointing.

Yet he was the fool that brought it upon himself.

It was a decision made under the advice of his dear old friend Mister Firewhisky and his new chum Mister Dragon Brew. They were all having a jolly good time with the wedding invites. Suddenly they told him that it might be fun to have the Golden Trio there just for the press. Just as an excuse to see her outside the Ministry of Magic. He never thought for a moment that they would actually turn up.

But here he is, nursing a headache from the constant smiling and small talks with unimportant people who wished he and his acquaintance of a wife good luck on their new life together. Well, whatever.

Champagne is good. Champagne understands him. Champagne makes the sun kinder, if kinder means trying to bedazzle him into hallucinations.

See, this is why he prefers the night.

"You should not stare directly at it. It will make you go blind before your time and someone will have to care for you. The rays will destroy the lens of your eyes, as you know. Should I make them fetch you sunglasses?" A lazy but soft voice said from beside him.

"I know we're married now as wonderfully as that may seem, but can you please wander somewhere far away from me," Draco pressed his fingers at both his temples. "Won't you please, darling?"

She ignored his remark and refused to move. "I always thought that she's pretty. She has nice skin, good bone structure, unique hair and smart eyes. Great legs too-- she must run a lot," Astoria Greengrass Malfoy stood behind his chair and was looking across the field of green and sparkling refreshments to the guests' table. His new wife has dark brunette locks that fell in ringlets around her heart shaped face. Dressed in a beautiful white gown, lined with silver lace and pearls and on her finger a gold band with emerald stones. She was the picture of wealth and happiness but her eyes told a different story. "Look how gorgeous her calves look in wedges."

"Who are you-"

"And Daphne said that she was the most talented at Transfiguration. They had their O.W.L.S. at the same time and all the proctors applauded when she accomplished her task. She's a bright one, that Hermione Granger," Astoria sat on the chair beside him, half lounging, her flowing white gown touching the grass in perfect shapes. "You should probably say goodbye now, Draco. Because I have to be pregnant in a year."

"Yes, I remember. You don't have to remind me," the throbbing in his head intensified. His throat was constricting too. He's feeling something and he can't tell what it is or how he can make it go away but it isn't pleasant. "I have no business with Weasley's wife."