“Do you, Ronald Weasley, take Hermione Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
Stab to his pride, to his mind. A stab at his anger.
“And do you, Hermione Granger, take Ronald Weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
Stab to his heart, to his hope.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Stab to his soul.
“You may kiss the bride.”
See no evil, he thought sarcastically, diverting his eyes from the alter. He already was in the farthest chair in the last isle, there wasn’t much more he could do to avoid their happiness. To avoid everyone’s happiness.
Smiles were tossed from face to face; hugs were shared in the seats around. He crossed his arms, daring anyone to come even an inch closer. No one dared. No one ever did, because no one ever cared.
He slumped farther down in his frilly chair, kicking the grass with his black dress shoes. Bloody outside weddings, he thought, squinting in the sun. Everything was sparkling, shining, dazzling. White wedding; black soul. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t stay here much longer.
Rice was tossed as the newly weds happily floated back down the isle. He waited. This was his only chance. He slid his vision out of from beneath his blonde hair, his silver eyes watching her great descent. He waited.
Now, he thought, looking up suddenly. She had no chance but to look at the quick movement, and fell into the trap. Her brown eyes met his silver; it pained him and fulfilled him. This was so wrong, and they both knew it.
He would’ve liked to say that the moment froze in time, that everyone held their breath, and that she ran into his arms at just the locking of looks.
But, of course, she didn’t. No one but her noticed the exchange of emotions, which he quickly covered in a mere second. It passed, and she kept moving, kept walking, kept living. He did not.
Slowly, everyone in the field rose and followed the couple, exchanging hugs and tears of joy. He continued to sit, only making movement to lean down and pick up a thrown flower.
Figures, he thought, bringing the flower closer to his eyes. It had black edges, a dying rose. He grazed his finger over the petals, marking the black as his own. His other hand got clipped on a small thorn, and he felt a drop of blood form. He smeared it against his pale skin, cocking an eyebrow as it slipped between the patterns of his finger prints.
Finally, he looked around, noticing the quiet air and emptied chairs. All that was left behind was scattered rice, fallen papers, a few flowers, and him. Clutching the flower in one hand, he stood. The shining sun hid itself behind a cloud momentarily, and a dark shadow extended itself over him. He found familiarity in the darkness, in the solitude. His pace dwindled en route to the exit, where a few last straggling people would be before the party. He didn’t want to confront anyone; he didn’t want to see anyone. Not that they see me, he thought, examining his cufflinks for a moment.
He pulled the flower from his palm to his other hand, holding it now from the stem, upside down. He walked further, to the pillars of the entrance, by the front steps. He casually leaned onto one, his blonde hair flipping back into his eyes, shielding them from any workers and staff. He pulled the flower back up to his face, and pulled at a petal.
It popped out of place with no struggle. He rubbed it against his fingertips for a second, relishing in the velvety softness that he never felt in himself. He discarded it, and pulled at another petal. It, too, fell off, its black edges fueling its ease to break.
Funny. he thought, watching it drift to the floor, pulling at another petal, how easy it can fall apart once hurt.
He deprived the stem of any petals in a moment, feeling the bare bud. It looked wrong, almost, for a stem to be so alone, without petals to make it lovelier.
“Mr. Malfoy?” A distant male voice broke his thoughts. He looked upwards and saw the car, the driver opening the door. He nodded.
Draco took one last fleeting look at the white pillars, the white decorations and aura of happiness that was behind him. He blinked.
Taking two steps forward, he descended the stairs and got into the car, dropping the flower in the split second of the door shutting. He sat back in the black leather, closing his eyes as the car took on speed.
The black car sped out of view, leaving no trace of his presence. Nothing but the bare stem, dying solemnly on the concrete, seperated from its blackening petals.
Rose Without Petals by Sarakime
Chapter Notes: Thanks so much to Nicole (NikkiSue) for betaing this for me so quickly! And thanks to Andrea/red and gold for looking it over, too! *huggles both*
Note to the world, this was inspired by a discussion in my OWL Romance Class. Sorry it's so short.