firecracker ???

BEST MAN

He looked at the wedding ring on his own finger. 

He hadn't written anything.

He knew he was supposed to. Ron had told him he was mad. Sirius had offered to ghost-write something for "maximum chaos." But Harry hadn't written a word. He knew what he wanted to say. He'd known for months.

He stepped up to the dais. 

There were too many eyes on him. Blaise and Theo were smirking. Lucius looked never prouder. Sirius was already halfway to heckling. Regulus had one hand to his mouth like he'd bite it to keep from laughing. 

Harry took one slow breath.

And then he said, calmly, without humour or hesitation:

"I hated him."

The laughter was instant — short, startled, real.

Harry smiled faintly. "Right off the bat. No learning curve. No slow burn. No dramatic build-up. I hated Draco Malfoy the very first time I saw him. He was running his mouth so hard his sister dragged him out of the cloak shop, and I decided I didn't like him. It happened so fast, it was before I even knew his name. Before I knew mine, really."

He glanced to Draco, who didn't noticeably react. Of course not.

"I was eleven. I'd just stepped into a world I didn't understand — wands, robes, words I couldn't pronounce — and there he was. All smug confidence and polished vowels, talking about the right kind of people, offering me his hand like it was a test.

I didn't take it.

That was our first moment.

And if I'm honest — I spent years thinking that moment defined us."

Harry smiled to himself, thinking of their childish rivalry in the hallways.

"We were eleven, and I said no. And maybe that was fair. Maybe it wasn't. But I said no. And from that moment, we acted like mortal enemies."

Another pause. Long enough to breathe.

"I thought we'd stay enemies. I thought that was the story. I was the Chosen One. He was the prince of the house that hated me. We were meant to clash. To glare across corridors and call each other names and duel in the shadows."

His voice didn't rise. He didn't pause for reaction.

He turned slightly toward Draco.

"And we were good at it, too."

The laughter was softer this time.

Harry looked down at his hand, curled around the stem of his glass, then back up.

"But somewhere between the duels and the detentions, something changed. Not because we forgave each other. Not because we stopped being angry. But because of her."

He didn't have to say her name, everyone knew.

"She had been my home long before Draco offered his hand. She was the quiet centre that held the chaos at bay — the reason I could finally listen. Not just to Draco, but to myself.

Harry caught Lyra smiling proudly.

"She stood between us for years. Not because she wanted to be caught between two stubborn boys — but because she believed in the possibility of us. In all of us. So then Draco and I started talking. Quietly. Then not so quietly. Then like we didn't know how to stop."

Harry exhaled through his nose. "He was still awful. Still smug. Still impossibly neat. But he listened. And I started listening back."

"It wasn't easy. We didn't just become allies overnight. We still fought. We still bickered. He still rolled his eyes every time I called him 'Malfoy,' and I still flinched every time he said 'Potter' like it tasted wrong.