I never wanted a conventional marriage. I loved drama for some strange twisted way and knew that bickering over mortgage payments and who had to pick up the 2.5 children from school or walk the dog was not going to cut it in my married life. I suppose this was my masochistic streak, something about always being the glutton for punishment. I needed something more than that. I needed some obstacles for me to wake up and combat. Luckily Narcissa Malfoy ensured that I would deal with her son's inner demons until death do we part.
Narcissa Malfoy found me two years after my graduation from Hogwarts looking for a way out of my dead-end job at the Daily Prophet. I had been sitting quietly in the corner of a teashop, my table littered with articles in dire need of serious editing. Someone decided to open the door the exact second a gust of wind was blowing by, scattering my carefully organized piles across the floor of the shop. One landed atop the polished pumps of one Narcissa Malfoy who saw my pathetic grimace and found that aggravation somewhat appealing.
She introduced herself despite knowing that everyone in the store knew exactly who she was. She invited herself to sit beside me, claiming the desire to find out about my parents, when in truth I knew exactly what she wanted. Narcissa was always on the hunt for a daughter-in-law. She had a mental list of criteria each pureblood debutante had to fulfill before they ever were placed in the vicinity of her son. Everyone had assumed that Pansy Parkinson would have aced this examination, but Pansy had a clingy possessiveness that Narcissa abhorred. Narcissa also knew that a Malfoy wife was always affectionate from a distance, as the Malfoy men never let anyone too close. I supposed this is why the Greengrass girls struck her fancy.
"So, Astoria, is your sister still single then?"
She never wasted time, always direct in her questioning. "Yes. She left her fiancée recently."
"Yes I saw that in the Prophet society pages. Well I always thought that Theodore Nott was a bit foolish. Daphne was flighty in her own way."
I agreed with her, though I tried my best to keep a clear mind. According to Narcissa, I was aloof. I also kept people at a distance, and knew how to manipulate people from afar. Aside from that, I wasn't quite tall enough, nor graceful enough, nor pretty enough, but for some reason, she preferred me to my older sister.
"Would you like to join us for dinner? Your parents should come as well." I quickly acquiesced knowing this was the initial stage of a Malfoy proposal. Narcissa Malfoy had given her stamp of approval, and now the families had to discuss a joint future. It really was that simple and that antiquated in old Wizarding families. As she smiled and walked away, I sighed and quickly made a mental list of acceptable dress robes.
Like every good single witch, I was forced to follow the society pages, paying close attention to each of the single wizards who could potentially be my husband. Everyone knew the Malfoys and that Draco had become a serial monogamist in his family's quest for a woman to help him restore their name and honor. Every woman was carefully chosen by his mother. Every woman's wifely potential was carefully measured with every word spoken. The fact that I had even passed the initial stages meant that someone had found something remarkable that I myself could not see. Either that or the Malfoys were running out of options.
And so my first date with Draco, was actually a dinner between our two families. They had arranged the coupling, and thus wanted to be part of this initial meeting. Each party displayed their assets willingly, initiating the contract process. Both Draco and myself were shined and gift-wrapped, ready for the toughest judgment. From the confines of my corseted dress and overly pinned hair, I felt tight and restrained, as my life as a Malfoy wife would surely be.
Conversation was awkward, as Draco and I both felt uncomfortable with the close scrutiny of our selfish families. We were allowed only thirty minutes to ourselves that first night. Those thirty minutes were long enough to convince me that this marriage would survive, if only for the perseverance of our parents, otherwise we seemed nearly incompatible. He somehow found the time to kiss me in these thirty minutes.
As in all good parties with a defined generation gap, once the children got restless, the parents sent them outside to play. In our case, Draco grabbed a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses, as he opened the French doors leading to the well-lit garden terrace. He handed me a glass of red wine as we sat on the garden stairs. I of course accepted, although I preferred hard liquor (one of the few things we did agree on).
"So why do we want to do this?" he asked me, after a long uncomfortable silence.
I didn't like him insinuating that this coupling was already in process, but I knew better than to challenge it openly, especially under the watchful gazes of our parents. "I didn't know it was really a choice," I murmured quietly, as I emptied the glass, and helped myself to another.
"It isn't." I could feel him also watching me from the corner of his eye. This close attention was almost unbearable. If I were another woman with another history, I would've fled the premises long ago, screaming about the liberation of women and gender equity. Tradition has stifled me and had coxed my compliance into this system.
"Well then, there is your answer," I stated frankly, acknowledging that both of us had no real say in any of this. He sighed and lifted his glass to me and then turned to toast his family, who quickly slid away from the windows, though their presence was still felt.
Draco then took my chin in his hand and tilted my lips to his. He kissed me softly, testing to see if there was any sexual attraction on either end, a sampling if you will. I unfortunately knew the rules of this ridiculous dance. All pureblooded young women did. Here we played it coy and flirtatious, mindful of the four watching behind us, and thus keeping ourselves chaste and distanced.
"Our families are watching," I protested, as if on cue.
"Of course they are," he smirked as he took my hand and placed it in his larger one. His fingers were long and graceful, much like one expected them to be.
I glanced over my shoulder nervously. There stood Narcissa Malfoy and my mother, each clutching a glass of red wine smiling approvingly at the scene before them. "Doesn't that bother you?" I asked quietly. Surely it bothered us all, we were all just damned good at hiding and play-acting.
"Not since I was five. I am Wizarding aristocracy. We all play our parts," he sighed as he finished his third glass. I waited for a moment before suggesting we rejoin our parents. He smiled and offered his arm, the arm, which I was supposed to adorn for the rest of my life.
The first meeting had been a success. Draco and I didn't hate each other, and each family seemed to get exactly what they wanted. The Malfoys received allies who had distanced themselves from war; my family received an abundance of wealth that my father had always longed for.
The courtship itself was slow and calculated and appropriately advertised. It started with Draco and I having meals together and him leaving me at my family's house every night. I was routinely asked to escort Narcissa Malfoy while she shopped and visited with older socialites. Eventually those visits garnered one line mentions in the Daily Prophet Society Pages. After a few months, Narcissa and my mother began dolling me up for Ministry Galas and Charity Balls with Draco. We were young and attractive and polite. We were also very wealthy. It was enough to get a small contingent of photographers following me as I went to work, or as I ran errands. If both Draco and myself were present, it garnered half of the society page. We had become quite adept at portraying this young couple that flourished under the strict rules of traditional Wizarding society.
At the wedding reception, wealthy Wizarding families socialized and drank to their hearts content. Draco and I smiled appropriately and then left early for home. As we sat in the traditional thestral-drawn carriage, I leaned into Draco and sighed.
"Do you think we can grow to love each other?" I asked as he wrapped his arm around my bare shoulders.
"Who said I didn't love you already?" he joked, kissing the top of my head softly. Though appearances indicated ease between Draco and myself before unseen in a Malfoy relationship, it really was a testament to our acting abilities.
"Stop it. I'm serious."
"We'll be fine," he assured me, before he turned his attention to the countryside passing by the carriage window.
I was married at the age of twenty-two. In the muggle world, some girls were still studying, finishing their bachelor-level university education. I however found myself heiress to a fortune, contingent on my ability to produce a male heir, like some Victorian era novel. I was pressed to resign my position at the Daily Prophet, though I was kept on as a freelance contributor, in name alone. I would write one article over the course of my marriage.
Two years after our wedding, our son was born, and the drinking began.