"I can't believe it," Kurt says, for possibly the fifteenth time in as many minutes (Blaine's not really counting, except he sort of is). "I'm finally the groom." He's frankly adorable the way his eyes shine looking around the venue.

Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's waist and Kurt leans back into him. And because Kurt's ear is right there, and Blaine's resisted fourteen times already (he's not made of stone!) he murmurs, "And I can't believe I'm the Best Man."

A startled laugh bursts out of Kurt and he covers his face with a groan. "Blaine - "

He's going to apologize again, of course, which is ridiculous, so Blaine gives him a preemptive shake. "Hey. You're still my best friend. And, okay, my best friend has seen me naked and gotten me off more times than I can count, but that pretty much puts us in the gay majority, statistically speaking." He squeezes Kurt's shoulders. "No regrets."

Kurt takes a deep breath. "No regrets," he says, and his voice only trembles a little.

"Nervous?"

"No," Kurt says immediately. Then: "What if he changes his mind?"

"He won't change his mind," Blaine says patiently, because that's part of his duty as Best Man." (And as Second-Best Man, Finn's hopeless at that kind of thing.)

"What if he gets stuck in traffic?"

"He'll call."

"What if his family hates me?"

Blaine turns Kurt around to get a good look at his face. "His family are all dead," he reminds him.

"His friends - "

"Already think you're adorable."

Kurt raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't see how anyone could think you weren't adorable," Blaine says with complete conviction. And, okay, maybe there is a tiniest of tiny regrets he let Kurt get away. But since he's not sure he could have kept him if he'd tried, he's willing to let it go. (Unless and until Harry and Kurt break up and then all bets are off.) He guides Kurt to a chair and sits him down, keeping his hands on Kurt's shoulders.

Kurt looks up at him with utmost seriousness. "I don't think the word adorable is even in Severus' vocabulary."

Blaine snorts, because he's had proof otherwise. "Told you you shouldn't have left the bachelor party early."

Kurt stares at him in silence while Blaine smooths his already pristine lapels for the sake of something to do. "Seriously? He called me adorable?"

"Well," Blaine hedges. "Actually, he called me adorable."

The expression on Kurt's face is a priceless mixture of disbelief and the urge to laugh. "I didn't think you were his type."

"I'm not," Blaine says. "Or, at least, I don't think I am." There's a lot that's not all that clear from last night.

Blaine vows never to drink again.

Again.

"I never thought I'd be this nervous," Kurt says.

And honestly, Blaine never thought Kurt would be this nervous getting married, either. "Are you sure he's the one?" he asks again, because he's not just Best Man, he's Kurt's best friend.

Kurt meets his eyes, doesn't look any less nervous. "Completely," he says, more or less convincingly.

"Well, good." Blaine grabs Kurt's hands and pulls him to his feet. "Let's get you married, then."

The wedding was lovely. The bride looked delightful, even if he was the groom, and Draco is reasonably sure the happy couple will have a long and fruitful life together.

Et cetera.

He snags another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drains half of it. "Manners, Draco," his mother's portrait murmurs over his shoulder through almost still lips.

Draco favors her with a raised eyebrow. "I believe it's traditional to get soused at the wedding of one's former lover," he says.

"Probably," Anderson agrees comfortably, strolling over to lean against the wall between Narcissa and Black. "The talking to yourself in a dim corner over a glass of champagne is admittedly a little weird, though."

Draco snorts, glancing at his mother to find her the very picture (ha) of aloof beauty. He nods to the portrait. "My mother," he says.

"So she's..." He sounds like he's not sure whether he's allowed to say the word 'dead' to a man he's only met a few times, and never sober.

Draco deeply regrets his sobriety now, but the man with the champagne is on the other side of the room, and he only had the foresight to grab a single glass. He drains it.

Then he saves Anderson from his indecision. "Dead, yes. They're all dead," he says with a sweeping gesture to include the silent and still portraits. "But it's not a wedding without the family. Mother," he says, "This is the unfortunately named Blaine Anderson. He's the groom's Best Man. Blaine Anderson, this was my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

Blaine laughs. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," he says with impeccable manners, and, Draco realizes with mild horror, a flirtatious glance in his direction. With any luck, he'll assume the twitch of his mother's lips is only a trick of the light.

And with a little more luck, his mother won't remember seeing it.

Draco has never been particularly lucky.

"Likewise, I'm sure," Draco says for her.

"Do you believe in cliches?" Anderson asks with an abrupt change of subject. At least, Draco hopes it's changing.

"Cliche is for the common man," he says.

Anderson tilts his head, a smile growing on his face. "Okay. So hooking up with the other groom's hot ex at the wedding is out." And before Draco can protest that this is no time to make hasty decisions against giving in to cliche (hot? really?), Anderson is gesturing at the reception with his head. "Want to dance anyway?"

Yes, Draco doesn't say. And he'll kick himself later for drawling, "What makes you think I'm gay?" Because he's sure his mouth didn't consult any thinking part of him before asking that.

It's one of his few flaws.

Fortunately, Anderson seems to be favoring him with an expression of absolute patience. "I wasn't imagining those sparks last night," he says.

"Oh, fine," he concedes. Because his unfortunate streak of being unable to resist ridiculously short optimists with absurdly disheveled hair is not going to end anytime soon. And Anderson's suggestion does have some promise. "But the sparks were entirely in your imagination," he says, even though he rather hopes they weren't in spite of himself.

And that Anderson means the figurative 'attracted to one another' sparks - not the more literal kind.

He's not prepared to admit how little he remembers from last night.

"Got it," Anderson says with a ridiculous grin. "No sparks. Check."

If Kurt has mixed feelings watching Blaine dance with Draco, he seems to be the only one. "I realize," he admits to Harry over the crudites, "that I couldn't very well expect Blaine to stay single forever, all things considered."

"Probably not," Harry agrees, eating a piece of licorice Kurt knows wasn't on the table at any point tonight. He arranged everything with the caterers himself.

"You know, being a wizard doesn't make you exempt from diabetes and heart disease," he mutters under his breath. Granted, he's not sure if that's even true, but it sounds good.

"Bite?" Harry asks with the unrepentant charm Kurt can't seem to resist. "And I'm not wizarding now, am I? I'm a perfectly normal young man from England getting married to his fabulously stylish American boyfriend."

Kurt ignores that part, but only because he can't figure out how to say he wouldn't mind a little wizarding around the house here and there without anyone overhearing the ensuing argument. "No, thank you," Kurt says instead and virtuously takes a carrot stick. Returning to the topic of conversation just seems to be the wisest course of action here. "Isn't it a little..." Kurt waves his carrot stick and gropes for the right word, "crass for him to hook up with a hot blond at my wedding?"

"My ex," Harry says.

"Excuse me?"

"Malfoy. The bloke Blaine's dancing with. He's my ex-boyfriend."

And all Kurt can think of to say is, "And you didn't think to mention that before now?"

Harry slips his hands around Kurt's waist under his jacket. "Didn't seem important."

Kurt could argue the point, but it's kind of sweet that he honestly didn't think Draco posed any threat to Kurt whatsoever. He's still not entirely sure Blaine wouldn't pose a threat to Harry. If he wasn't wrapped around a leggy blond in a manner (oh, fine) entirely appropriate for a wedding. Kurt closes his eyes. "This isn't always going to be easy, is it?"

"Probably not," Harry agrees.

"And it's not a happily ever after." Which is fine. Kurt doesn't really believe in those. It's been a long time since he did.

"Not really," Harry says, like a man who never expected a happily ever after anyway.

"I suppose I should trust you, then."

"Probably," Harry agrees, standing on tip-toe to press their mouths together chastely. "Could be worse," he whispers into Kurt's mouth.

"You are reasonably attractive," Kurt allows, but only because Harry has already figured out it's Kurt's way of saying he's smoking hot in a scruffy way Kurt's not supposed to admit to admiring.

At least, he hopes Harry has.

"Oh, well, thanks for that." Harry bites into another piece of licorice that Kurt knows was a carrot stick until the moment it left the tray.

Kurt narrows his eyes.

Harry smiles. Kurt is prepared to admit the smile epitomizes 'winsome'. Also, that there really were worse people he could be sharing this situation with.

"All right?" Harry asks under his breath.

Kurt inhales and opens his eyes, finding Harry's hand with his. "I think so."

"It's only a year," Harry reminds him, and Kurt isn't ready to examine the pang he feels. "After that, well..." he lets hang the unspoken 'it's up to you.'.

Kurt appreciates that. "I can't do this if I think about it as only a year," he admits. "Until the end of the year, this is entirely real to me," he insists, and feels like such a bitch, the way Harry lights up. He frames his face with a hand and leans in to kiss him.

"The magic is binding, but you'll get used to it," Harry promises again.

"I am used to it," Kurt lies. "I haven't thought about it in weeks."

Harry doesn't call him on it this time, but Kurt appreciates the way Harry holds his hand.

"Only you, Potter."

"It's not like I woke up one morning at the age of five and thought 'This tea party is brilliant! I'm going to bind that boy in an unbreakable marriage vow over the next biscuit!', you know?"

Severus snorts, unamused, so Harry knows he's actually laughing on the inside. And probably hating himself for it.

He suppresses a grin. "And anyway, we got along well enough when we met again last year. Wouldn't even have known there was a vow if it wasn't for Malfoy."

"Oh?" Severus raises an eyebrow.

Harry waves it off. "It's a Slytherin thing. He doesn't trust anyone."

"Rightly so," Severus says with evident approval. He would.

"So it turned out the only magic there was mine, which I wasn't actually expecting, mind you." Harry shrugs. "But stranger things have happened."

Usually to him, too.

"Nothing ruffles you, does it?" Severus asks with a studied lack of interest in the answer.

Harry laughs, because that seems the only appropriate answer. "Suppose not," he agrees. "And anyway, I lucked out, right? He's not a bad catch," he says, and does feel a little strange admitting that in front of Severus of all people. But what's the point in being the unruffleable, fearless Boy Who Lived on his wedding day if he can't say what he wants to whom he wants?

"I suppose," Severus admits. Grudgingly.

"That physically pained you to admit, didn't it?" Harry asks, pleased.

Severus presses his lips together, clearly against the urge to admit it doesn't pain him at all. In fact, the lack of pain is probably paining him, if nothing else. "It won't last, you know," he predicts. "As soon as the year is over, the both of you will wake up, part ways, and never see each other again."

"That's a depressing way of looking at the world."

Severus raises both eyebrows. "I've had little cause to look at the world differently."

"Liar," Harry says. Smugly. Severus' glare has no power over him anymore.

"Five points from Gryffindor for impertinence," Severus says, and doesn't quite succeed in suppressing his urge to smile.

"So where's Bill?" Harry asks, offhand.

Severus stares at him for a while before saying, eventually, "Iceland."

"Iceland? What's in Iceland?"

Severus shrugs. "Curses, evidently."

"And that's why you had time to floo over here and officiate at my wedding."

"Precisely," Severus agrees. "I simply had nothing better to do."

"Thanks, by the way."

Severus catches a flute of champagne from a passing tray and toasts Harry with it briefly. "May it give you both happiness."

"What's that?" Harry holds a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you."

"I am not repeating myself." Severus drains his drink. "Go be happy with your new husband, and stop bothering me."

"Got somewhere better to be?"

Severus' lips twist in a blink and you'll miss it smirk. "Iceland."