Becoming

Author's Note: Hugs and thanks go out to my beta, Angel! So the wedding is broken into two chapters so that you get to see both boys' POV (it took a little creative finagling on my part since I refuse to have two POV's on the same day) and this is the first of those two chapters.

Chapter 12 March 18th, 2000

I'd been doing a lot of pacing lately, so much so that there was a worn trail in the ornate rug that decorated the sitting area of my bedchamber. It wasn't just my feet pacing either; my mind was flitting back and forth between two decisions as well. Go to the wedding or don't. It seemed like a simple enough question to everyone else, in fact hundreds if not thousands of witches and wizards would probably kill for the scrap of abused lacy parchment I clutched in my fist. But this was not an easy decision for me, no easy task at all.

For months I'd been weighing it carefully, as if I had a delicate golden scale in my mind. On the one side was the option of going, on the other the option of staying, and I was somewhere in the middle, looking back and forth between the two piles of information and emotions I'd thrown in each pot and noticing that they seemed level... perfectly so.

My initial answer to the invitation was going to be 'absolutely not'. I wouldn't be able to sit and watch the only person I'd ever loved outside my own flesh and blood commit his life to another. At that point it seemed easy, not to mention there was the added benefit of spiting the man who sent me the horrid little invite in the first place. Then my mind got to wondering if perhaps Harry had another motive in mind when he sent the request for my presence at his wedding.

Could it be possible that it wasn't done out of spite at all but the fact that he honestly and truly wanted me there? Based on our last real meeting at the restaurant I wouldn't have thought that very possible, but it wasn't as though Harry were the kind to hold a grudge, nor could I ever really see him wishing harm upon me, no matter how much I had inadvertently caused him. It even crossed my mind that perhaps someone else was responsible for the invitation, Harry's fiancé for instance, though I quickly ruled that out after a good bit of thought. If she was a clever witch, and I knew she was or else Harry wouldn't waste his time with her, she would want me as far away from her fiancé on their wedding day as possible. No, since it was an invitation and not a Portkey to Timbuktu, I felt fairly certain that Ginevra was in no way involved. I was curious whether or not she even knew of the delicate invitation I kept on my bedside table.

Still, no matter who sent it or the reason behind sending it, I couldn't muster the energy or the willpower to sit at that ceremony and not cause a scene. I knew perfectly well what I was and was not capable of and watching Harry take a lifelong vow of commitment, love and trust with anyone else was not a thing I could force myself to do. I'd find it easier to digest live insects, or pour salt into raw open wounds or to rip my own heart from my chest -though surely forcing myself to watch Harry seal his vow with a kiss would do that very thing to me all on its own.

Christmas came and went while I brooded silently, keeping a brave and unburdened face for Mother. New Years and St. Valentines did the same. Every day from the moment I received that invitation was a blur of sheer nothingness until mid-March.

I'd gotten fairly used to drinking myself into oblivion. It was the only way I'd be certain to fall asleep anymore. The noise of the pub always filled my head with enough distractions so that Harry's face wouldn't occupy it so much, and the cool liquid slithering down my gullet calmed my nerves. It was the only time I fully realized what an arse I'd been.

It was ridiculous really, how could I have fallen in love with Harry bloody Potter after one stupid kiss? Luke had been right; I was being childish and putting too much importance into one small incident. It was one tiny, insignificant moment of my life and I was ruining the rest because of it. It's not as if I'd never kissed anyone before, it wasn't as if Harry was even the first bloke I'd kissed, so then why was I blowing it vastly out of proportion?

Because it was amazing.

Not just amazing, that's a rubbish way to describe it. That kiss was like breathing air for the first time, it was like dancing under a bright starry sky, it was like flying the fastest and catching the snitch all wrapped into one brief press of lips. What was worse, it wasn't even the kiss. As perfect and life changing as that kiss had been all on its own, so many other things made my love for Harry burn deeper and truer than ever.

His ability to stand up for my family and I after all we'd done to him -and at a huge cost to himself- the power that washed over me when he was near, the compassion he showed me when he arrived uninvited to my father's funeral... I couldn't seem to overlook those things. I couldn't make my eyes stop seeing his and I couldn't even make myself want to.

Drinking helped with that. A shot of Firewhiskey or two cleared it all right up. Suddenly I could look across the bar and see a grizzled old man nursing his own drink instead of a phantom image of Harry Potter staring back at me.

It was supposed to be an ordinary night when my world went sideways again. I was going to sit at my usual pub, get sloshed and then meander back to the Manor when I was certain my eyes would close the moment my head hit the pillow. Apparently it was also the night I was to have all my feelings for Harry renewed in one fell swoop.

One week until the fateful night that Harry would take Ginevra to be his lawful wedded wife and the pub was buzzing with the news. I drowned it easily enough even without the drinking, I had become quite used to it since the closer the famous wedding got, the less non-nuptial related things other people seemed to be talking about. As if that day was equally important to the rest of the wizarding population as it was to Harry and the Weasley girl. It wasn't until I felt a waft of cool air caress my face as if Harry's lips were being pressed directly into my cheek that I bothered to look up from my glass.

There he was, and for a moment I thought it was just a figment of my imagination once again, but he started to come over and I knew at once he was really there. He asked how I had been as if we were old buddies and it didn't take a genius to see that he was drunk. I noticed the Weasley boys outside and put two and two together. Harry was out celebrating his final weekend of singledom, and here I was, sitting right in his path.

I made him sit before he fell on his arse and he simply stared at me for a moment, but then those callused fingers -fingers that were so drastically different from my own soft hands- reached across and touched my lips. I hadn't had much to drink yet or surely my heart would have won over my common sense and pulled Harry into the kiss it seemed he was looking for. As it was, however, I shook him off. I was tired of the hot-cold games he was playing with me and I told him so.

He shouted at me then and his words filled my heart with pain and hope, which was nearly as painful all by itself. "I was never playing games. I was fucking in lov-"

Love. Had Harry's uninhibited mouth really nearly told me that he was in love with me? It couldn't be true, why would he marry someone else if he were in love with me? Unless I had foiled things more than I thought at the restaurant that night. I tried to get him to repeat his words, for all I knew he was trying to say that he was in love with Ginevra all along, or something equally devastating, but he refused to finish his sentence. 'Was' seemed to be the operative word anyhow. Even if he had been speaking about me it was in the past tense, so I sobered him up with a homemade potion I kept on me at all times these days, but even without the influence of alcohol it looked like he wanted to kiss me. Had it happened then I wouldn't have refused him the same way I had before, knowing he'd been three sheets to the wind and out of his bloody mind, but a sober Harry could take responsibility for his own actions.

If he had wanted me then he could have had me. I would have forgotten the last year of back and forth and set a course forward with Harry at my side, never looking back at our troubled past. But the Weasley family had better timing than me once again and Ron managed to show up that very moment to save Harry from himself. The life of a Death Eater's lover was no life for Harry Potter after all.

I spent the next few days agonizing over what I should do. Perhaps Harry sent me that invitation as a plea. Maybe some part of him -however small- didn't want to marry Ginevra, maybe that part of him wanted me to intercede and change his mind. Could I deny him that much after telling his fiancée he'd been unfaithful and trying to ruin his life?

I could, sure. I was a Malfoy, which meant deep down I was capable of all sorts of horrendous things, but would I? Would I leave Harry to live out a miserable life if there was anything I could do to stop it? Did I love him enough to interfere? Did I love him enough not to? Which would mean more to Harry?

It all came down to that in the end -what did Harry want? Above all things his happiness was paramount to me, which went against everything I was, everything I was bred to be, but the fact was, I loved Harry more than I loved myself. Should I go to Harry's wedding and try to win him one final time, or should I stay out of it and let him live his life -even if that meant I remained unhappy? I owed him a life debt, but it was far more than that now.

In the end, I decided there was only one real option.

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My hands were clammy and nearly dripping with sweat as I approached the front door of the Burrow. The place was like nothing I remembered. The old crooked and shabby hut was now a gleaming monument to the Weasleys' favor in the wizarding world, and probably Harry's fortune as well. Arthur had done well for himself after the war, and it appeared his first act as the new and improved Weasley patriarch was to fix up their family home. Instead of a shambling building there now stood a pristine homestead, three stories tall and graced with magic at every bolt and nut. I could feel the power of the home as I stood there, waiting for someone to answer. It was warded well against intruders, but I could feel the magic licking at the invitation I held, beckoning me inside.

It was dark, long after dinner and the real guests would be arriving shortly. The ceremony was set to begin just before midnight, so that Harry and Ginevra would be married within the first minutes of spring, or so I had read in an article earlier that week. It seemed like silly tripe to be but then I was rather bitter over the whole ordeal, so my opinion might not be entirely valuable.

Granger answered the door, and I was more relieved by that fact then I would have liked. She had remained kind and civil to me after the war and I could only imagine what explanation my serpent tongue would have given Ron, or worse, Ginevra for my presence there. "Malfoy," she greeted, as if she'd expected me, but I suppose she couldn't have known every person on the guest list and was probably treating every new arrival with the same candor.

"I need to see-" I began, but she cut me off with a quick yank on my arm as she dragged me through the house. There were paintings of familiar redheads hung on every wall and I nearly lost my nerve when I saw where the ceremony was to be held. Outside a large set of French doors was a glass solarium large enough to hold a Ministry ball inside. The room was filled with white chairs and draping fabrics and flowers were so rich in fragrance that I could smell them inside. It was beautiful, elaborate and far fancier than I imagined Harry's tastes were, but beautiful nonetheless. Perhaps I had no right here.

I hadn't been paying attention to where we were going, so when Granger stopped abruptly in front of a single white door I nearly ran into her. "He's in there," she whispered, shoving me at the entrance.

I didn't know what to say, why had Hermione willingly delivered me to Harry's doorstep? Wasn't the Weasley girl her friend? "I don't-" I began but I got no further. Hermione simply shook her head curtly and smoothed out her lavender bridesmaids gown.

"I love Harry," she told me simply. "He deserves to be happy."

My mouth gaped as the implications of her words washed over me. She had sent the invitation; she was the one hoping I would swoop in to save the day. Not Harry, but his best friend. I didn't have time to process what that meant before she turned around to leave.

I nearly shouted after her but she turned and gave me an encouraging look. "Oh, and Draco, try not to let him mess it up this time," she warned before disappearing around the corner.

The door in front of me was a gleaming white and I couldn't stop staring at it. On the other side would be Harry, and he would be getting ready for his wedding. Even worse, he wouldn't be expecting me like I thought he might have been. Hermione being the culprit behind that wedding invitation had thrown me, and now I wasn't sure I should be doing this after all. Harry hadn't reached out for me to save him, perhaps he didn't need saving. If I went in there I might be making his life worse, ruining his big day with my presence.

Before I could decide whether to go in or turn and leave, however, I heard the distinctive Weasley tone of Ron coming from further down the hall. Without thinking, I ducked into the room, leaning against the door to hear if he'd seen me and followed.

"I'm not ready yet, Ron," Harry called, and I turned to see the man standing in front of a gilded mirror adjusting his tie. He looked both a mess and the most handsome I had ever seen him all at the same time. His eyes flicked up to meet mine in the reflection and instantly widened upon seeing that it wasn't his redheaded friend who had burst in after all.

"I don't mean to intrude," I blurted, even though that was exactly what I had wanted -just not like this. I wanted to whisk in and save Harry from a lifetime of sadness from marrying the wrong person, but he didn't look very sad.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, not angry sounding, just surprised.

"Apparently I was invited," I replied, holding up the crushed and torn card I'd been distractedly mauling for weeks.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his face twisted with confusion.

"I thought you sent it to me," I began, but I never got any further with my explanation. Harry's face erupted into heartfelt look of pain and he shook his head quickly.

"I would never do that," he rasped, grimacing at what he was probably imagining I looked like upon receiving the invite. "I've never wanted to hurt you."

"I know," I admitted weakly, hearing the unspoken 'but' in his words. He was getting married tonight regardless of what I did or said. Why bother holding myself back if he was already decided? I would never go after a married man, so if I was going to steal one last kiss from my one true love I had better make it quick. "I just needed to see you and tell you one last thing before you took the plunge."

"What's that?" he asked, moving ever closer to me as if drawn in by my desire for him. He looked so edible, as if his skin would be sweet to lick upon. I wanted him so badly, to have and to hold and to walk with down the aisle, but I would always be second fiddle to the Weasley family in Harry's mind and because of our recent indiscretions I couldn't even hope for friendship with the sexy Gryffindor once he was married.

The tuxedo he wore made him look paler than he actually was; at least I assumed it was the suit because Harry normally looked healthy and sun-kissed. His hair had grown out slightly and was probably holding more product than all of my mother's hair care implements combined. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping and his posture was slightly slouching, but he was still the most beautiful person in the world.

Forgoing an answer made of menial words that Harry might choose to twist around; I just pulled him to me. My lips brushed his in the barest of touches and I could feel him shiver in response. There would be no misinterpreting my meaning tonight. Harry and I could talk around each other all evening and never think we're on the same point, but this, this connection I felt in my soul couldn't be denied.

When I saw that he wasn't going to pull away I ran my hands up his back and into his hair, staring at his wide green eyes the whole time. We kissed, and this time I didn't force myself onto his lips, I didn't even lean in, I just stood there and he pressed his lips to mine. It was undeniable bliss, sullied only by the knowledge that this was my last moment with him. His lips were soft, yet urgent, as if he knew that it was a goodbye kiss as well, as if he didn't want it to end either.

The first taste of his tongue sent my heart racing and my body trembled, begging for more, but all I could do was wrap myself around him and hold on as tightly as possible. I didn't want to let go -didn't want to give him up. Not now, not ever.

"I need you," I whispered when we stopped for breath. "Harry, I love-"

"What the hell is going on here?" a voice shouted from the doorway and we flew apart as if scalded. I turned to face the door, a blush no doubt already coloring my pale cheeks when I spied Weasley in the doorway, shutting the door violently behind him.

Harry shifted, almost imperceptibly in front of me, as if trying to hide me -or protect me. "Nothing is going on. I was just talking to Draco," Harry answered calmly. I had no idea how much Weasley had seen, clearly neither did Harry.

"You were snogging him," Ron growled. "You told me there was nothing to that rumor. You told me Gin was blowing things out of proportion."

"And she was," Harry argued.

"Clearly she didn't blow it out of proportion enough!" Ron shouted and I winced, trying to become invisible. The only thing worse than Weasley wrath upon your head is when you actually deserve it. I was fairly certain that attempting to break up a wedding by stealing the groom was one of those things Weasley would consider 'deserving'. "You're snogging the ferret when you're supposed to be marrying my sister in a few minutes. What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, and he sounded genuinely conflicted. I felt like rubbish. I had done exactly what I had set out not to do. I had been selfish, tried to claim Harry as my own when he rightfully belonged to another, I had confused him, hurt him -all because I was a greedy wanker.

"And you!" Ron spat, rounding on me at last. Harry made an obvious move then, getting directly in his friend's path to block me from his anger. "What is he still doing here?" Ron asked Harry, his eyes widening at the fact that Harry was interceding on my behalf.

"It's not all his fault, Mate," Harry replied. "He was invited and he came to see me, and things got out of hand."

"Invited?! Who invited him?" Ron demanded, but Harry merely shrugged and I wasn't about to get Hermione into trouble by offering up her name as a scapegoat.

"It doesn't matter who invited him. All that matters is that if you have an issue, take it up with me. Just let Draco leave and we can have this out," Harry assured the red-faced man.

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," I blurted, forgetting momentarily that I was trying to remain invisible.

"Unlike you, I don't snog Harry if I'm left alone with him for two minutes," Ron snarled angrily.

Harry turned and gave me one last longing glance before turning back to his friend. "I need you to leave, Draco." His words were for me, but the tone and his eyes were for Ron.

"I don't think that's best," I replied, worried at what the angry Weasley man might do to my Harry with no one there to supervise.

"Ron won't hurt me. He's my brother," Harry assured me, though it sounded like he was also assuring Ron, who merely huffed at the remark. "I need you to go."

"I-"

"Go. Now," he barked sharply before I could protest again. I didn't know what else to do, so I left. Harry seemed rather adamant that I leave, apparently so he could work things out with his friend. I lingered at the door, unsure of where to go or even how to get out of this house when I heard Harry's laughter through the door. My heart broke instantly when I realized that my words had meant nothing and that Harry had so quickly patched things up with Ron. Probably lying to the redhead and claiming it was entirely my fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to and Harry had never been attracted to me at all. Maybe the pull I felt was in my mind alone. With a sigh I resolved myself to my fate, my long life without Harry, and I left the Weasleys' home for my own dark cold Manor. Alcohol and silk sheets would be my only solace tonight and I would try to forget my sorrow while the man of my dreams got married to another.

Author's Note: Yes, I know I'm going to be barraged with 'Poor Draco' reviews. I agree, poor him, but I also feel dreadful for Harry. No matter what he does someone will get hurt.