Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related characters and settings belong to JK Rowling not me.
AN: Okay here's the new beta-ed chapter. I would like to thank my lovely beta reader, DarkSaber3434, for beta reading this for me :). Let the story commence!
On a glorious January afternoon, the kind where the sun is set just right in the sky so the snow twinkles like sugared cakes, there was a wedding. But there was something strange happening inside the grand hall full of guests. None were eager, no tears fell from eyes, and no gasps at the beauty of the decor could be heard. There was only quiet coming from the onlookers. Few sounds broke the strained and seemingly haunting silence.
The shuffle of feet as impatience began to take its toll.
The twang of a tuning organ as the organist checked her instrument.
The rustle of bridesmaids' dresses as girls outfitted in lavender tones shifted restlessly.
And the most heart breaking noise was the lone sniffle and a cough echoed through the cavernous chapel. The young bride stood in front of the altar with an elegant and flowing pearl white dress that hugged around her body. A sheer lace veil fell gently against her neck and back until it reached the finely set flagstones of the floor. Small, almost invisible tears ran down her flawless face.
The whole hall sat in a calm and knowing manner except the bride's father, who was red in the face and fuming. Her mother held a grimace on her face. Both of them staring down who they thought would be there future in-laws.
"Where is that damn boy, Lucius!" the red faced man gave a shout that cut through the air, now a mix of tension, like a piercing blade.
But Lucius, adorned in his best black dress-robes, said nothing. His wife, Narcissa, could see that behind his wordless response was a fountain of fury and embarrassment. Four times this had happened and she could see it: history repeating itself again and again. How could they have trusted him alone...
Thick emerald green curtains had been drawn over the windows, keeping out the blinding winter sun that would have been pouring through the fine glass. A sharp zipping noise floated across the room. Mounted on the wall a large clock's little door opened to show a miniature golden Snitch popping in and out to announce the time, eleven o'clock.
Draco Malfoy laid on his bed reading a Quality Quidditch Supplies magazine while balancing his practice Quaffle on his forehead. He was in a daze, not really paying attention to reading. With his lack of concentration the Quaffle balanced on his forehead began to teeter dangerously, until it rolled from his head and hit the lushly carpeted floor. He sat up and threw the magazine across the room, watching it ricochet off a black, wing backed chair and hit the floor as well.
With a large sigh, Draco rolled over on his monstrous sized bed right onto the top of a small square invitation.
"What..." He pulled the now crumpled piece of parchment from under his torso and examined it. He pulled it open and stared at the lavender colored tulips and holly berries gracefully hand painted on the front. His eyes traveled to the elegant writing in the middle of the invitation.
On January 25th 2003, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy cordially invite you to witness the joining of Merriweather Arthurson and Draco Malfoy in matrimony.
Draco scoffed at the words written before him. He had read these words so many times before, the name before his was the only thing to change, Prudence Lowe, Olive Livingston, and Adaline Worthens. They were just names written down on a mere piece of parchment. They meant nothing to him, and this was just another name to add to the collection.
He loosened his purple tie, unclasped the black cloak of his dress robes, and kicked off his shiny, stiff shoes.
It would just be another day. His father would burst in kicking and screaming that Draco had, yet again, missed his own wedding. Then he would go into an endless rant on the case that Draco was far too old, almost twenty-four in fact, not to be married. And now that had been the fourth girl he left standing at the altar, no one would want to marry him.
The list of things in his father's angry speeches would go on forever, until he got tired of Draco's 'ungrateful stare' and he would storm out of the room. Then Draco would walk on egg shells around him doing as he asked or staying late at the office, anything to avoid him.
He would come any minute now, storming back from the hall raging and cursing. If Draco was lucky he'd be able to see his father hex a passing house-elf. But Lucius never came. The Quidditch clock zipped hour after hour...there was nothing. No raging, no cursing, or hexing, nothing at all.
It wasn't until after ten o'clock that night that Draco dared to step foot out of his room. A man had to eat sometime.
He crept down the hall and then down the flights of stairs from his room to the kitchen his mother used only when she felt like baking pies for him and his father. Draco rifled through the stocked cabinets until he pulled out a custard tart. He jumped with the treat halfway in his mouth when he heard a crash. The drops of slush still clinging to the window had captured bits of down. A little, black bird lay dead on the sill, its feathers glistening in the winter moonlight.
Everything seemed to go on like that for days. There wasn't a movement that his father could make that didn't make Draco flinch.
When he went to work with his father he carefully filled out each form to impeccable standings. At home during meals he kept his etiquette skills in check. Making sure to pull out the chair for his mother, excuse himself from the table, and not pick at his food up with his fingers. He didn't want to risk doing anything that could cause his father's fuse to blow
A week later Narcissa found her husband in his study deep in thought, pouring over a disorganized stack of parchment, mostly letters and written notes and plans.
"Lucius what are you doing?" her voice was soft. She didn't dare ask the question any other way but softly. There was already a mixture of frustration and rage apparent on his face.
"No one Narcissa," he groaned, "not a single wizard will have their daughter subjected to the boy."
"What?"
"Look at this letter from Carmish! 'I am sorry Lucius, but after what I heard from Arthurson I will not let my young Annalise anywhere near that charming, heart-breaker of a son you harbor!' Can you believe that!"
"Lucius dear," Narcissa said picking up and unfinished letter to another father and potential bride and read it over, "you sound too desperate."
"I am desperate, Cissa! I'm not going to live forever. And honestly I see no future for the boy now, not after four brides."
"We could always try for another?" Narcissa said lightly, placing her hand on her stomach while trying not to sound too serious about it. Lucius looked up at her and snorted at her.
"You don't honestly think that that's an option anymore?"
Narcissa turned a little pink and huffed. "Well then Lucius, I don't know what else to say to you. You'll just have to continue at this rate until you've completely lost it!" And with that last note Narcissa turned sharply on her head and stomped out of the study. She wasn't in bed when Lucius had entered their room later that night.
"Mum," Draco said to his mother laying next to him in his bed, "do you think he'll ever forgive me for this?"
"Honestly? Not until your glowing, little wife pops out the first grandson."
"Brilliant," he mumbled and rolled over to face out the window.