Prologue
Nodding at the appropriate times, Draco Malfoy solemnly swears to stand by his wife in times of sorrow and joy, in sickness and in health. It is a bright day, but even with the shafts of light filtering in between the windows, it is impossible to see his face clearly. Releasing a loud breath that momentarily hovers before his eyes like a cloud, he locks eyes with his wife.
Beautiful, yes. Happy? No. She has never wanted to marry him and nor does he want her. Despite the aftermaths of the war and the ever-increasing decline in pure-blood supremacy, their families had found it fitting to pair them off together. And how could Draco ever refuse? He has no other prospects, no other hopes. He has lost the only one who had ever truly mattered to him and left in her place is the woman who stands before him.
His wife makes a soft choking noise, which Draco understands to be a repressed sob. It truly is the end for any fight or fire they might have had left. Everything is mapped out for them. He supposes life is like that. It doesn't matter if you're not ready, it moves on without you. He wonders what happened to Potter, Weasley and Granger. It was unlikely they would ever find themselves in a situation like this. Perfect Potter. Some things never change.
"Ahem." The priest looks expectantly at Draco. Confused, he looks at his mother, Narcissa, seated three arm length's from him. She looks mad.
"I'm sorry?" The priest, troubled by Draco's lack of interest, just stares.
"He said, kiss me." It is his wife, looking even madder than his mother.
Draco doesn't respond. He just looks at her blankly.
"Draco. What are you doing?" His mother again, forcing a smile. "Don't tell us you have stage fright." His wife's lips tighten into a knot as Draco watches. Clumsily, he leans forward and presses his lips chastely to hers. It is dry and devoid of any feeling.
Feeling foolish, she is the first to pull away.
So it is official. He is a married man.
Chapter 1
Eighteen Months Earlier
Draco had been expecting it for a while now, but it still came as a surprise. He knew she was up to something, her eyes were bright and there was an excitement in her voice Draco hadn't heard for months.
"She's from a respectable family Draco! Wealthy, beautiful. What more can you possibly want?"
Snorting softly, Draco turns his head and focuses on the closed curtains. The sunlight filters through the gaps at the tops where the curtains part. He could hear the peacocks outside. Despite everything, they had been able to keep the manor. "I don't want to end up like my father. Look what he has done to us."
Narcissa's voice softens, "there's no point dwelling." He doesn't say anything and her voice changes back to its usual briskness, "now, I expect you to attend tonight." She is referring to a dinner being held by the Greengrass family. Weeks ago she had mentioned it, but he had chosen to bury his head in the sand. Knowing it would be futile to refuse, Draco nods his consent. "If I must…"
It hadn't been easy after the war. There had been some terrible moments along the way, bouts of depression Draco hadn't been sure he could ever overcome. Although he never admitted it, his heart ached for the loss of his friend, the loss of his child-like admiration for his father. He had once placed his father on a pedestal and worshipped at his feet. Now his father was a ghost of a man, like a ghoul in the attic, Draco rarely saw him. Sometimes, his dreams drag him back to that last terrible day, when Crabbe had released the Fiendfyre. He could not succumb to it. He would not succumb to it.
Three hours later, Draco found himself at the dinner hosted by the Greengrass family. He vaguely recalled a girl named Daphne among the Slytherins in his year at Hogwarts. They had spoken twice, maybe three times; nothing that left a lasting impression other than another hoity Slytherin girl. He understood now why his mother had been so keen on their attendance. The Greengrass family were pureblood. No matter what Narcissa said, blood purity was one of, if not the, biggest factor in his future marriage options. It was no longer at all fashionable to advocate purity and so she kept her opinions to herself – and, of course, to her friends. Draco no longer cared. If his father's example of a good upbringing was to worry only about blood status, he had done a poor job.
"Drink?" Draco did not expected to see Blaise here. Glad he had broken the silence and that they could finish their hellos and move on, Draco accepts the flute. "More like ten." Downing his drink in one, he tosses the glass aside, "I hate these events. Bunch of liars."
Blaise forces a laugh, "bitter old man already. How old are you? Forty?"
"It feels like it sometimes." Draco is more sincere than he had intended and he realises it. "You've been in Italy a while…how is your Mother?"
"Desperate for grandchildren." Blaise sounds as weary as Draco feels. "Listen…I have to go. Better find the future Mrs Zabini."
They lock eyes for a moment and Blaise is the first to look away. Heat creeping into his cheeks, Draco shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He and Blaise had not properly spoken since the war. Since leaving Hogwarts, Draco could clearly see the fool he had been. He couldn't face his former friends, if they could even be called that. How could he begin to explain without sounding insincere?
"Good to see you." Watching him, his eyes downcast and his cheeks ablaze with shame, Blaise believes it means more than that. "You too."
It would be a while until their relationship had regained any resemblance to friendship. But it was a start.
Across the room, Narcissa is in deep conversation with Ophelia Greengrass.
A proud woman, Ophelia had adorned herself with a number of the family jewels, the sparkle of which was catching Narcissa's eye. One eye on the large amethyst around her throat, Narcissa continues, "I truly believe Draco would be a good match for Astoria." Not one for risks, Ophelia eyes her warily, "they would certainly look wonderful together. However, I am not so sure. Your husband's current incarceration…well, I'm sure you understand."
Narcissa blushes, embarrassed, "Oh no you are mistaken. Lucius has not been imprisoned. That is just a rumour. These are the most dreadful accusations and I trust you would lay no faith in such wild stories. Draco is a fine wizard and…" lowering her voice, Narcissa drags her eyes from the jewels, "pure blood is becoming such a rarity."
Ophelia thoughtfully sips from her glass, weighing up the poor reputation of the Malfoys against the importance she places on blood status. After a long pause, her mind is made up. "I am sure the rumours will die down soon. Draco is a wonderful young man. Perfect for my daughter. Shall we introduce the pair of them?" Smiling, Narcissa nods, "I would like nothing better."
A/N First story in four years! I hope you enjoyed this little taste and I hope to do a longer chapter next. Also, I have no idea what wizards call priests. Thanks for reading!