A/N: This is written for the 'Miserable Melody' Competition at HPFC. And I hate it. No, that's not me fishing for compliments. I honestly hate this because it is short, under-developed, written in a matter of minutes, and completely and utterly rushed.
Draco's one of my favorite characters, too, so I feel especially guilty.
Anyway… enjoy? Maybe? Perhaps?
Soundtrack: 'Alone Again, Naturally' – Donny Osmond.
Disclaimer:Not mine.
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The birds were chirping and a thin breeze fluttered through the air, blue sky seeming to pulse with the bright of the sun. Draco was sure that he'd never seen a more beautiful day in his life – nor had any day, of course, been as special.
He was getting married today.
He was getting married to the girl he loved – he'd never though it possible, but it was true. Malfoys, and purebloods in general, so commonly married their cousins that from-birth arrangements were the norm. Draco himself had been engaged to some French noble since moments after his birth, but the war's end – and the incarceration of Lucius Malfoy – had changed all of that.
After all, who besides Lucius had ever been fanatical enough – and powerful enough – to enforce such a thing? Who, in these days, was willing to taint their reputation by continuing the tradition of pureblooded devotion?
Draco most certainly was not, and Narcissa far too frail to care much one way or another, so he'd courted and, by dint of charm and an astounding dose of luck, managed to win the woman of his fancy.
In several hours his marriage to one Astoria Greengrass would be official, and he would be happy – a fate he'd never envisioned for himself.
He scarcely dared believe it was true.
Draco now sat on a chaise longue in the mansion's sitting room, uncomfortable in his stiff black suit. In one hand he held a bouquet of flowers for his bride-to-be; the other was clasped loosely around a velvet box. He leant back into the plush cushions, reclining comfortably in the room he'd once hated so much.
He'd never imagined that his childhood would turn into this – this fairy-tale haven.
Draco looked up from the examining of his impeccable sleeve-cuffs as footsteps sounded, announcing a visitor. Pansy Parkinson, clothed in a dark green dress and heels, sauntered into the room.
"Hello, darling," she murmured, a soft smile on her face. Pansy's crush had never been more than just that, and Draco was ever so grateful that their friendship had remained intact over the last few years. It was yet another boon he'd never believed possible.
"Pansy." Draco nodded formally, too nervous to show much emotion. Her smile split the layers of makeup caked into her skin – there, of course, to hide the scars.
It was so rare to find a Slytherin unmarked.
"So – where is she? Ready?" His father would have been furious – stammering; how unbecoming of a Malfoy – but though Draco was thinking of many things at the moment, his father was not one of them.
Pansy's smile dropped the smallest bit, and Draco raised one eyebrow. "What's the matter, then?"
"Draco, I…" The tone of her voice was wrong – steady, too sombre. Draco began to feel the smallest bit of unease curling deep inside his chest.
"Yes?"
"She's not… she doesn't…"
The unease transformed into a growing knot of fear, hard and icy cold. Draco swallowed once, stroking the petals of the bouquet compulsively. Had something – happened – to Astoria? Was she –
No. She was fine and wonderful and perfect as always. They'd be married in a matter of hours. Nothing had happened.
It couldn't have.
"Spit it out, please, Pansy. I haven't got all day." Draco's now-forced cheerfulness seemed wrong, somehow, clashing with the chatter of birds outside. He felt the sudden urge to cover both ears with his hands.
"She'snotcoming."
Frozen. The world grew still.
"Excuse me?" Not true, Draco. Not true. She's beautiful. Perfect. She loves you.
"I said," Pansy repeated inelegantly, "she's not… coming. She left."
No. She loves you.
"With the bloke – Winston, was it? – that muggleborn from the pub we've met. She said… she cares about you, but not enough to, um, spend her life bound by a pureblooded marriage. She wants a fresh start."
Draco's mind felt as if it was set on replay, running through their conversation over and over. It took him a good minute to understand what it was she had said. "She… left. Me."
"Yes."
He felt now as he imagined a true Malfoy must feel – cold, glassy, and hard as ice.
His dark-haired friend left after a single anxious glance, allowing the door to slam shut behind her.
Draco Malfoy sat, utterly still, listening to the discordant chirping of the birds outside and the keening sound of the wind. Staring through the sheer curtains that covered the wall, he wondered when, exactly, the sky had become so goddamned dark.
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