Author's Note: Thank you once again for your patience between chapter uploads. My goal is to hopefully return to a more regular update schedule, but at the same time, I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer for an update, so here you go :) I appreciate all the feedback I got on the last chapter, and your kind words and excitement kept me motivated when working on this current chapter.
And of course, the world's biggest thank you to LightofEvolution who keeps me mentally sane and spent half an hour researching different types of wood so we would find the perfect material for the doors of Malfoy Manor. She recently published the first chapter of her new story, The Catching of the Proverbial Snitch, and it's absolutely wonderful, so go check it out!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!
The green flames settled into the embers below Draco's feet as he brushed the lingering ashes off his robes and stepped into the manor. He hadn't been daft enough to keep his Muggle jeans on before returning home - his mother didn't need any more reasons to be suspicious of his afternoon activities. Yet if she caught sight of him now, he'd have a difficult time justifying the wide grin that was plastered across his features.
Even the prospect of his parents' disapproval about his tardy arrival couldn't squash the extra spring to Draco's step. His afternoon with Hermione had been perfectly blissful, and the best part was, the promise of lunch with her tomorrow meant that his high spirits would remain through then and into the weekend - as long as he survived dinner first.
As the distance between him and his parents crept towards nonexistent, Draco brainstormed what he would say if his parents pressed for a reason for his lateness. He could easily pretend that he had lost time reading a book - a believable enough lie considering that his mother had recently spotted him in the manor's library. Perhaps he'd even indulge his father and claim that he had been researching potential job leads. Or if all else failed, Draco could rely on the timeless classic that he had taken a pre-supper snooze and hadn't woken up in time.
But regardless of what he said, one thing was certain: Hermione's name would not escape his lips.
At dreaded last, Draco reached the large ebony doors that led to the dining room. He gripped the brass handle, the cool metal reminding him of the unappealing atmosphere that awaited him on the other side. No longer was he surrounded by the serene Muggle park with Hermione next to him, her contagious smile enough to erase any other thoughts from his mind. He'd give nearly anything to steal a couple more hours with her, but he didn't much feel like enduring his father's inevitable wrath if he dared defy one of his parents' expectations. Merlin knew he was already pushing the limits by risking being friends with Hermione, but as Draco had thought after the Leaky Cauldron just two weeks prior, what his parents didn't know, didn't get him disowned, and so far, his parents remained blissfully unaware, and Draco had every intention of keeping it that way.
So with a deep breath, Draco tucked away his smile and resolved to secure the happy memories of his afternoon locked inside. And whatever happened during the meal, he refused to let it ruin his mood.
The second Draco pulled open the doors, he was greeted with the sharp synchronised turns of his parents' heads and two accompanying glares.
Ah, yes. Family dinner as usual.
"You're late," Lucius promptly criticised, staring Draco down as he took his usual seat in the middle of the elongated table.
"Just a few minutes, Father. Nothing to get your wand in a knot about."
If his father said something in return, Draco didn't bother to register it, instead directing his attention to the first course of the meal that was already served. As his fork pierced through the leaves of lettuce, he could feel his father's menacing glare, but Draco ignored it as if it was a mere fly that wouldn't stop pestering him. The further he engaged in the situation, the more sparks it would incite, so it was best to leave it alone and retreat back into his thoughts while his parents resumed whatever they had been conversing about prior to his arrival.
Draco faintly smiled to himself as he tuned out his surroundings and placed a gentle hand over his pocket where the two Muggle library books were still safely shrunk and stored. It reminded him of the childish thrill of disobeying his parents when he had been no older than five and had routinely convinced one of the house elves to sneak him an extra sweet before dinner which Draco would keep in his robes pocket for later. As soon as the meal concluded, he would then race up to the room and devour the sweet, infinitely pleased with himself for successfully tricking his parents.
Yet that paled in comparison to the secret he now so dearly held.
Once the final course was cleared, Draco would be free to return to his room and spend the night immersed in the fantastical worlds that Hermione had introduced him to. Naturally, he was eager to read the books and discover what the future held for the Pevensie children as well as Frodo and Sam now that they had embarked on their adventure to Mordor, but if he was being honest, he was more excited to finish them. The quicker he reached the last page, the sooner he would get to discuss the books with Hermione.
Maybe he'd surprise her and already have one completed before lunch tomorrow so that they could spend another afternoon discussing a novel. Or perhaps it'd be better if he only read part of the book tonight so they could go into greater depth, getting to focus on a smaller portion rather than trying to cram an entire book's discourse into an hour-long break. Then they could meet again on Monday to discuss the latter half of the book. Or even Saturday if she was free. There was no rule limiting them to weekdays.
"Draco Lucius!"
The sharp hiss of his mother's tone dragged him back to his present company. It had never boded well when his mother used both his first and middle name, and the annoyed expression on her face indicated that this was not the first time that she had tried to get his attention.
But the thing that made any trace of Draco's joyous mood fade into the darkness was the envelope she held in her hand.
Merlin's fucking tit. Another bloody proposition letter.
How trapped in his thoughts had he been that he hadn't even noticed the arrival of an owl?
"Who is it this time?" He did his best to ask without making his disdain too apparent.
"Alesia Burke. Apparently their family was out of the country on holiday, so they are just now receiving word of your availability," Narcissa returned as her eyes grazed down the parchment. When she reached the end, the now predictable subsequent grin stretched across her lips. "Well, this is another respectable prospect for you, dear. Do me a favour and hand me the box?"
Draco begrudgingly made his way to the chest and retrieved the jewelled box containing the rest of the letters that had accumulated over the past week and a half. If given an option, Draco would much rather pull them all out and throw them into the fire one by one and watch the parchments wither into ashes. Yet he resisted this growing urge and followed his mother's directions.
He placed the box next to her dinner plate, but as he tried to pull away, his mother's slim fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"What's this written on your hand? 'Tomorrow. Lunch with Gr-'"
Draco tugged his arm out of her grasp before she read too much, but he feared it was already too late. Narcissa's eyebrows came together as she peered up at him curiously while Draco frantically licked his thumb and rubbed the Muggle ink off the palm of his hand.
"And who exactly are you getting lunch with that you're trying to keep from us?" Narcissa asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a polite question.
"I'd like to know as well," his father's voice echoed from the other end of the table. "Care to explain what all that was about?"
Draco's heart and brain were both thrust into equally panicked frenzies. The last thing he needed right now was for his parents to find out about him and Hermione. He knew he had every bloody right to have lunch with whichever damn witch he pleased, yet the pressure from his father's stern glare and the potential of his resulting reaction reminded Draco why it was vital that he keep his luncheons private. Everything else from the day that had led up to this moment had been perfect, and he'd be damned if he was going to risk losing lunch with her tomorrow or any other day for that matter.
So Draco scrambled and settled with the first logical explanation he could supply.
"Gringotts," Draco said. "I have an informational lunch meeting with them tomorrow to discuss potential employment."
Silence filled the room for several seconds as both parents kept watchful looks on their son as if making their own personal assessments on whether or not he was telling the truth, until Narcissa finally spoke.
"Shame," she said with an unnaturally heavy sigh. "For a moment, I thought there was a chance you had reached out to one of the Greengrass daughters and were considering one of them."
Lucius scoffed. "Of course it's not a date with a witch. That would require Draco to actually do something on that front."
And that would require Draco to actually want to do something on that front.
But as much as Draco itched to say something spiteful in return, he once again forced himself to swallow his resentment, remembering all too clearly his father's reaction when Draco had let slip the comment about Helena Fawley's father not being a Death Eater. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Your father's right, Draco. It's far past time for you to make initial decisions, and there are plenty of lovely options here for you," Narcissa said as Draco bitterly returned to his seat. She shuffled through the stack of parchments, none of which Draco had ever bothered to read for himself. "I believe it's the younger Greengrass that her father sent a letter on behalf of. Astoria, if I'm not mistaken?"
She continued to flip through the letters and list off names, yet not a single one caught Draco's interest until he detected his mother's tone shift to that of pitied amusement.
"Oh, I forgot that Sylvia Selwyn sent a letter. I don't know who they think they're fooling. Although, I suppose you have to give them credit for repeatedly trying."
Lucius's scoff was even louder this time. "I must disagree. They're wasting our time even bothering to owl something. They should know better at this point."
"And what's wrong with her?" Draco piped up with his first sincere interest in one of the letters, even if it was only because he was curious what would warrant such a dismissive reaction from his parents.
"The rest of the Selwyn family may be considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but everyone knows her great-great-grandfather on her mother's side was a blood-traitor," Narcissa explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Draco couldn't resist the roll of his eyes or the next words that slipped out of his mouth. "Surely that's pureblood enough."
His statement was met with the clink of silverware falling onto fine china followed by another bout of uncomfortable silence.
The sound of wooden legs scraping against marble floor broke the stillness as Lucius shifted in his chair, his firm glare plastered in Draco's direction. "What did you just say?" he demanded.
His father's commanding tone sent a chill down Draco's spine, but the words were already out in the open, and there was no taking them back. Draco was far too familiar with refraining from voicing his sincere opinions due to cowardice, even in this very conversation, so perhaps it was time he actually stood up for something.
"I said, surely that's pureblood enough," Draco repeated, his words stronger the second time around.
"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed with clear shock.
Lucius rose from his seat and placed two firm hands on the edge of the table. "And since when has the definition of pureblood been so fluid to you?"
Draco casually shrugged to make it appear as if debating this topic was of no great consequence, but it was merely an attempt to maintain the illusion that his heart wasn't hammering faster than it had during any Quidditch match he'd ever played. Draco couldn't remember ever vocally disagreeing with his father before, let alone on something as important to their family as blood status, but the words had tumbled out of him, and now that the floodgates were open, it was near impossible to rein it back in.
"Forgive me if my maths are a bit off, but even if her great-great-grandmother was a Muggle-born, that would make her only a sixteenth Muggle-born, which seems fairly infinitesimal to me."
"That's not how this works," Lucius snapped in response.
Maintaining any semblance of casualness was becoming increasingly difficult, and Draco could feel his pent-up anger and frustration boiling to the surface. "So that's it then?" he spat. "I need to pick my lifelong partner and future mother to any children I may have out of these twenty-some odd witches? And what if I meet with every single one of these women and none of them strike my fancy? Or should I reach over now and pick one at random just to get this ordeal over with?"
Lucius's upper lip curled in obvious dismay. "You wouldn't know if any of these witches were of interest seeing as you haven't bothered to meet with a single one of them! Your mother and I can only do so much if you're not putting in the effort to help."
"To help with what?" Draco near shouted. "Get me married against my wishes?" He gripped the roots of his hair and any pretence of ambivalence was thoroughly shattered. "Don't act like you're doing me some big favour! We all know why you're really doing this."
"Draco!" came the shocked utterance of his mother, but Lucius held up a firm hand before she could say anything more.
"No, no," the Malfoy family patriarch snarled. "Let the boy say his piece."
Draco had had enough.
Enough of sitting by idly saying nothing. Enough of holding back his opinions.
And enough of his father treating him like a boy who couldn't make his own decisions.
Lucius wanted him to speak his piece? Well, he'd give it to him.
"I am not your pawn to regain your social standing," Draco said firmly, clearly enunciating each word so there would be no confusion about his resolve. "Not once have you asked if I even want to get married right now. You two made that decision for me, just like this." He pulled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing the faded serpent that would forever taint his skin.
Narcissa's eyes grew wide as they fell upon the mark. "That wasn't our decision either."
"Perhaps not, but it was your choices that forced me into that situation, wasn't it, Father?"
The two men glared at one another with pure contempt burgeoning in both of their expressions.
"I think that's enough of this conversation for the evening," Narcissa said, trying to placate the situation. "Why don't we return to our dinners?"
Lucius scowled, not once letting his glare stray away from Draco. "Not yet. It seems your son wants to ruin another meal, so why don't we let him?"
"Oh, yes! Blame it all on me even though every conversation the past two weeks has cycled back to these damn bloody letters!" Draco fumed.
"This really is in your best interest, dear," Narcissa tried to rationalise, perhaps concluding that Draco was the more likely party to stand down, but her attempt proved fruitless. By now, she should have accepted that there was little she could do to reverse the antagonism that had begun to suffocate the dining room, yet that didn't stop her from trying. "If you don't marry soon, the best options will already be accounted for. As you know, it is common for purebloods to wed young. Your father and I were not much older than yourself when we got engaged."
Draco huffed, a humourless laugh escaping his lips. "I must have forgotten the part where your youths were ruined fighting a war you didn't volunteer for and then spent two and a half years hidden away at home, not getting to enjoy your young adulthoods and newfound freedom. Oh, wait, my mistake! That was me."
The table shook as Lucius slammed his palms against the table, causing the centuries-old fine china to rattle at the disturbance.
"That's enough!" Lucius ordered, his breaths growing increasingly shallower as he continued to glare at his son. "You are a Malfoy, and there are certain expectations that come with the honour of holding this name. As the last person in the line, you have a responsibility to not only me and your mother but to everyone else who came before you. You will marry a pureblood - an actual pureblood, not one that suits your definition." He narrowed his eyes as he leaned across the table. "Do I make myself clear?"
"And what if -"
"This is not a discussion," Lucius maintained. "This is and always will be the expectation."
Draco felt his fingernails claw into his palm as he watched his father reclaim his seat at the head of the table and casually return the cloth napkin over his lap - the clear indication that he considered the conversation to be over. Yet Draco's head was still spinning with a myriad of thoughts and emotions, none of which were helping to suppress the animosity that was building inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. Evidently it didn't matter that Draco still had plenty he wanted to say. As was another beloved Malfoy family tradition, what Father decided was the law of the household, and Lucius had already made up his mind.
Well, Draco was bloody sick of it.
Unable to bear being in the same room as his father any longer, Draco forcefully pushed back his chair and slammed his napkin next to his barely touched salad before storming towards the door.
"And where do you think you're going?" Lucius demanded.
"Anywhere but here," Draco clipped. "Apparently I'm just ruining dinner, so you'll now be free to enjoy the rest of your meal in peace."
He only briefly caught a glimpse of his mother's incredulous expression before Draco yanked open the ebony doors and proceeded down the candlelit corridors and up the stairwell to his bedroom. Once inside his room, Draco locked the door with a Sealing Charm and released his pent-up anger with a long, frustrated groan and a sharp kick to his dresser. The framed photograph of him and his parents at the Quidditch World Cup that typically rested on top of the dresser teetered off the edge and crashed onto the wooden floorboards, causing the glass to shatter.
Draco ignored the mess and kept two clenched fists at his sides as he paced back and forth across the length of his bedroom, his mind in disarray. How foolish had he been to think there was even a chance he'd be able to change his father's mind on this? Of course Lucius wouldn't waver on the expectation that Draco marry a pureblood! Draco had known and accepted (and originally agreed with) this his entire life, so why was this the thing he had felt the need to fight his father on? It wasn't like he had another witch in mind that he'd rather marry instead!
Yet Draco couldn't squash the rage that lingered in every inch of his body. He was furious - furious with his father for continually refusing to listen to him but also with himself. Despite Draco's initial resolve not to let whatever happened at dinner affect him, his father had still gotten under his skin and was on the verge of spoiling his entire day.
But Draco couldn't let his father have that control over him.
He tried to cling onto his memories of that afternoon and leave that disastrous dinner at the other end of the manor where it belonged. He desperately needed to suppress his anger and return to that happiness that had consumed him the entire time he had been with Hermione, but that was proving easier said than done. Not even crashing onto his mattress and reading the first few pages of The Two Towers had been able to erase the thundercloud that obscured his thoughts. So Draco resigned himself to resuming his pacing when suddenly there was a knock on his door.
"We need to talk," said the voice from the other side of the locked barrier.
Draco sucked in a breath and clamped his eyes closed. "I'm not in the mood, Mother."
He retrieved his wand to put a Silencing Charm on the door, but his mother's response was quicker.
"You don't honestly expect me to believe you really have lunch with Gringotts tomorrow, do you?"
The heated feelings that had been coursing through his veins finally dissipated but was promptly replaced with apprehension. Draco opened his mouth to formulate another credible lie, but Narcissa continued before he was able to utter a sound.
"I know there's something you're not telling me and your father," she said. "You may think you're clever enough to get away with these secret luncheons of yours, but you forget who raised you."
Draco's heart froze. She knew about the luncheons. And if she hadn't yet found out who with, it wouldn't take her long to piece it all together.
Before Narcissa could ask any more questions or Draco said anything that would further incriminate him, he flicked his wand towards the door so that no further words could come in or out.
He fell back onto his bed and placed both hands over his eyes, trying not to let the panic consume him. For a flicker of a moment, Draco considered cancelling his and Hermione's plans for tomorrow, but quickly dismissed the idea. No, he wouldn't let fear dictate his decisions.
Nothing would stop Draco from attending his lunch with Hermione. Right now, he needed to see her more than ever.