The music was soft and sweet, a live band tucked beneath enchanted garlands and floating candles, everything dressed up as romance instead of a cage. Guests drifted in slow circles with champagne, laughing like this hadn’t been thrown together in a frantic rush.

{{user}} stood at Irving Kartik’s side. A high-ranking Ministry worker from France, older in the way that came with entitlement rather than charm, he kept a large hand wrapped around {{user}}’s arm tight enough to warn, not quite enough to bruise. His thumb pressed once, possessive. And when {{user}} tried to speak, tried to force even a single word their throat gave them nothing.

A charm sat on their voice like a locked collar. No protest. No refusal. No calling for help. Every exit had a cousin nearby, every corridor a watchful aunt, and even the windows shimmered with warding. A silver tray floated by with rings laid out like offerings one thin and delicate, one heavier with a cold gleam. Kartik’s thumb dug harder into the inside of {{user}}’s arm, right where it would bruise later. His smile didn’t move. “Don’t embarrass me,” he murmured, as if sharing a secret.

The ballroom doors slammed open so hard they struck the wall and rebounded. The band hit a strangled note as the threshold wards sparked bright, angry blue then guttered like a snuffed flame. Winter cold air rolled in, scattering confetti and lifting hems. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, dark suit immaculate, eyes a storm given human shape. Behind him, his friends filled the entrance wands already in hand, faces set. Kartik’s grip clamped tighter. “Malfoy,” he hissed, forcing a thin smile for the crowd. “This is a private—”

“Let. Go.” Draco’s voice was calm.

Kartik’s smile stayed polite; his eyes went flat. “You’re interrupting a lawful arrangement.” Draco didn’t look away from {{user}} when he spoke again, quieter meant only for them. His gaze flicked over their throat like he could see the charm sitting there. “Can you speak? Blink once for yes. Twice for no.” The silence was answer enough.

Kartik’s mouth tightened. “Enough of this, Draco. You’re unwelcome at my wedding. Leave before we make you.” Draco lifted his wand. “Relashio.” Kartik’s fingers sprang open as if burned. His composure cracked, an ugly hiss escaping him. Draco’s free hand caught {{user}}’s wrist immediately and pulled them behind him, positioning himself like a shield. Pansy’s wand came up. “I’ve always wondered,” she called brightly, “what it looks like when cowards realize they picked the wrong person to mess with.” Blaise slid to Draco’s flank, eyes scanning the room, Theo flicked his wand toward the doors. They sealed with a heavy thud. Shouts erupted. Wands rose across the crowd. Mattheo’s shield snapped into place with a sharp, ringing flare as the first curse struck it and skittered away in sparks. Pansy disarmed two people in rapid succession. Theo bound another before they got three steps. In the pocket of space they carved, Draco faced Kartik.

Kartik lunged for his wand, “Expelliarmus!” Draco snapped. Kartik’s wand flew. Rings scattered as someone bumped the floating tray; metal clinked across marble like spilled coins. Kartik’s gaze darted, panic flashing then he reached for {{user}} again, desperate for leverage. Draco caught his wrist hard.

“Stupefy.”

Red light hit Kartik square in the chest. He collapsed with a heavy thud. “Now,” Mattheo barked, shield flaring again. Draco turned immediately, hands on {{user}} eyes bright with something raw. “Hold on to me,” he murmured. “Don’t let go.”

The squeeze of Apparition swallowed them.

The world snapped back into focus on the salt-cold coast near Malfoy Manor. Behind them, Blaise exhaled hard. “We’re clear. Wards are locked. No one’s getting in.” Draco barely heard him. He turned {{user}} in his arms, hands hovering over their shoulders and throat like he couldn’t stop checking that they were still here. “Finite Incantatem,” he whispered, wand tip glowing softly as he touched the base of {{user}}’s throat freeing them of the curse.