They mingled downstairs in the gazebo with the entire wedding party, Draco with a glass of firewhiskey in hand and Hermione sipping Muggle champagne and watching the people. Everyone was bright and bubbly, drinking and dancing and having loud conversations about happy things and hopes, a sort of last fling kind of feeling hanging in the air amongst the will-o-the-wisps flitting beneath the gazebo's gauzy roof. In two days" time a good portion of the people here would be storming Gringotts and no one knew how many of them would come back alive, or unwounded. No one knew if they'd succeed in retrieving the horcrux, and right now everyone was working very hard on trying not to think about it. There were other more important things at hand right now.