A/N: This story has been amazingly beta'd by wonderful KoraKunkel! Thank you for helping me out with ideas when I'm stuck and for gushing with me over these wonderful boys! Ron and Draco is my favourite pairing in the whole wide world. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this story. This is a gift for user Pechat and was originally published on ao3.

June

"Mr Malfoy, I'm going to be completely honest with you. This isn't working out."

Kathrine Bouvier, professional Matchmaker and owner of the Forget-Me-Not Matchmaking and Dating Services, leant against her desk and sighed with an exasperated tone. Draco was sitting in a chair opposite her in her luxurious office, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Bouvier's long, manicured, glossy nails clicked against the shiny dark wooden surface, and he restrained himself with all his being not to shout at her.

"In fact, you are the most difficult client I have ever had. I am sorry, but—" she trailed off, pressing her red lips tightly together. Draco saw how she braced herself, shoulders tensing underneath the expensive blouse as she pierced her green eyes into his. "People aren't exactly—How should I put this… overfond with you and your family's, uhm… previous lifestyle." She gestured loosely to the air before straightening her posture and walked over to the window to look at the bright blue sky outside. Kathrine Bouvier's rigid back was turned against him; she was clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. As a middle-aged woman, the only youthful part of her appearance was her short honey-blonde hair—the curls a stark contrast to the dark green blouse she wore. The skin-tight, grey pencil skirt Draco had seen her wear more often as the weather warmed, accentuated her petite frame.

Draco put his hands together in his lap. "I assure you, being a former Death Eater is not exactly what I would call—"

"Don't speak about it!" Kathrine hissed out, interuppting him. Momentarily turning her gaze from the window to look at him, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I took a great risk by taking you on as my client. I have worked in this field for over twenty years, Mr Malfoy. Never have I ever had problems getting my clients dates before."

Kathrine sighed and gestured to the right where moving portraits of happy couples flashing white smiles scattered the entire wall from ceiling to floor. "Usually after six months, couples are sending me wedding invitations. You, however… You can't get past the first date." She put her hands to her hips and turned to him. Green eyes dark with irritation, she looked at Draco as if all of this was his fault.

Draco sat in his chair and said nothing. He had always been considered very handsome, and he was wealthy and charming and should be able to get anyone he wanted. That had at least been the truth only a few years ago. Bouvier was right; deep down Draco knew she was. Siding with the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War had given him a bad reputation.

Five years had passed since then, and though people looked at him more with sadness and pity in their gaze than hatred, he still found many were scared of him. Thankfully, business in Diagon Alley went normally without too many people staring and whispering—and Potter had actually smiled and greeted him politely at the Ministry once—but he knew some wanted to chase him out of every room he entered. The dates she had set him up with for six months now all but ran from him once they saw who he was.

A criminal. The boy who attempted to kill Dumbledore.

"What are you suggesting I should do?" Draco asked as he rubbed his palms together, following Kathrine with his stormy grey eyes as she started to pace back and forth. Her heels clicked against the wooden floorboards as she walked, the sound making Draco nervous. She came to a halt at the question, eyeing him thoughtfully.

"That's the thing…" she said. "I understand your plight, Draco, but you have been my client for so long and without any success, I'd prefer if we broke off the contract. However…" Kathrine paused before continuing, "There's one more person I have on my list that might suit you. A newcomer… You have a few things in common. Here, take a look at this." Kathrine was suddenly in front of him again with a folder in hand, brandishing it under Draco's nose. The strong scent of her rose-scented perfume engulfed him as he took the folder from her, and opened it slowly.

It didn't contain much. The parchment only had a few scribbles—all in a very ugly handwriting. No attached photo, no name, nothing really except for age. They were both twenty-three but other than that… This person was apparently very mysterious, and it piqued Draco's interest. His other dates hadn't been this secretive, if there was no photo, they would at least have personal information like date of birth and well, a name. Draco wrinkled his nose. This could hardly count as passable. Did this person get any dates at all?

"Why isn't there a name?" He asked, lifting his eyes from the letter to look at Bouvier. For some reason, it felt like the most important part.

"My client says he isn't much for writing letters," Kathrine explained shortly and impatiently, stabbing a finger at the paper in Draco's hand. "This is the last match I have for you. If you can't manage two dates with him, I will immediately break off our contract. This isn't good for my reputation as a matchmaker."

At her blunt words, it suddenly hit Draco what Kathrine was saying, what she had been hinting at the whole hour he had been there. No, she couldn't, they had a deal! He paid her good money, for Salazar's sake. He scowled at her, his heart thudding like mad in his chest.

"You have no right to do that. I pay you. My father—"

"I am aware of your situation, Mr Malfoy, but as I said, this isn't good for my reputation. It was immaculate before I decided to take you under my wing, and now look where this has got me." Kathrine's voice was suddenly sharp and icy, her tone indicating that Draco wasn't in a position to argue.

More protests floated to mind but he bit his tongue. No other options were available to him, this was his last hope. So, he nodded quietly, turning his attention back to the short letter.

'Male, 23, tall, likes Quidditch and cooking. Has a steady job. Doesn't like to read, but won't mind a partner that does. Has a sharp mind and prefers to be two steps ahead at all times. Believes any problem can be tackled with a good sense of humour. Likes the ocean and beautiful landscape views.'

"Two dates, Mr Malfoy," Kathrine repeated, continuing the annoying habit of drumming her nails against the top of the desk. "Or there will be no more business between us."

December, six months earlier

The Manor was cold and quiet. Draco's steps echoed in the silence of the long, darkened hallway which was only lit by a few candles. With every step forward, Draco felt his shoulders tense and every shadow made him feel uneasy. Had the Manor ever had felt like a home; a true, loving home? He recalled his days as a young boy before Voldemort declared the Malfoy's house as the Headquarters for the Death Eaters, and decided that, yes, it had been a place he used to love.

But the war had taken it all away from him.

It left his family home in a raw state, stripped off any sense of comfort and warmth. Draco had moved out as soon as he could, not being able to stay within the large building. His parents still lived there and Draco couldn't understand how they woke up every day and faced the negative energy that filled the Manor to the brim nowadays. It always made Draco short of breath the minute he stepped through it's doors. Four years had gone by, but he could still hear the shrieks of people being tortured within these walls, Dolohov's and Rowle's especially, echoing in his mind.

The Death Eaters I used the Cruciatus spell on when Voldemort forced me to.

Draco had purchased an apartment in an upscale and newly built neighbourhood in their world, located near Diagon Alley. He spent most of his days in his home alone, pretending that he was always incredibly busy. Draco wasn't sure his parents truly believed him—his mother often shot him worried looks during the Sunday lunches he forced himself to attend at the Manor twice a month. Unfortunately, today was one of those Sundays; Draco felt his nerves heighten as he neared the dining room, he could feel the familiar tension in the air.

Ever since the war, he had been very secretive about his life to his parents. Draco had never confided much in his father, so that relationship hadn't changed, but he knew he distanced himself a lot from his mother. Guilt always welled up in his chest at the thought; it wasn't enough for him to admit the truth though. He reasoned it was best this way— there were things his mother just wouldn't understand.

Like being gay.

Draco had always known he was different. The girls back at Hogwarts never caught his eye as a young boy, not even Pansy Parkinson, who had so very clearly been smitten with him. A few other Slytherin girls had shown interest in him as well over the years, but he had never shown any interest back. Other boys chased skirts on the regular but Draco had never understood what they saw in them. Sure, he thought a woman could be beautiful, but he never felt what other boys seemed to feel. There was no soft tingling deep within his belly whenever pretty girls had smiled at him. Pansy had even mentioned once that she liked how his hair had been shining during a Quidditch match as he soared through the air on his broom, but he had never felt anything.

For the longest time, Draco thought something was wrong with him; that he wasn't capable of experiencing romantic feelings. Then, a Ravenclaw boy had winked at him one day in the Great hall during dinner and Draco found himself staring like an idiot in his direction. The boy had curly, brown hair that matched his eyes and perfect, what looked like soft, olive skin. He had never known his name, but Draco knew that was the first time he had felt what his Slytherin mates had talked about when they fancied a girl.

I could never tell Mother that. She would be disappointed in me. Not to mention father…

Draco didn't dare to think about what Lucius would say to his son's sexual preferences. He was certain he would be disowned in a heartbeat. Mother would be kinder, albeit upset that the bloodline would die with him.

Stopping short by the grand door that separated the hallway from the large dining room, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew his parents were waiting for him behind the door and Draco's heart began thudding, his stomach clenching with worry. Nobody but one of the old house elves they still kept around had greeted him by the door, informing him in a solemn voice that his parents were expecting him. His mother had owled him the day before, telling him to dress nice. There was definitely something odd going on and Draco wasn't fond of surprises.

He pressed his hand to the cold, golden door handle and took a deep breath before daring to push the metal down and walk inside.

The dark wooden floorboards of the rectangular-shaped dining room shined with the magical polish he knew the house elves used and the matching dark brown furniture looked as immaculate as when he was a child. A fire roared and crackled against the centre of the right wall, the light casting ominously on the black and white paint. Portraits filled the space around it, his deceased relatives peering down at him from their frames.

Narcissa and Lucius were sitting at the far end of the long table, but apart from them, the rest of the dining chairs sat empty. As Draco entered the room, he heard the scraping sound of a chair pushed back, as his mother rose from her seat and came forward to greet him.

"Draco, darling," she said, holding out her arms in a gentle embrace and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's been too long."

It was the only way she could say she missed him.

"I am incredibly busy, Mother, you know that." Draco kissed her cheek too. "Had a meeting at the Ministry last week; it went well."

"Ah, the Ministry affairs," Lucius said without getting up from his chair. Draco walked up to him and they shook hands before his mother gestured for him to take a seat opposite her at the table. "Did you sign the contract then?"

"Yes, Father, I now own the Leaky Cauldron," Draco confirmed with a curt nod. He had gotten into the real estate market shortly after the war and found that he was very good at buying and selling properties. The Leaky Cauldron business had not been a quick affair—at least not at first. The owner, Tom, had gotten old and wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible. He had been reluctant to sell it to Draco when he made him an offer, but despite being such a popular pub for witches and wizards, nobody seemed interested in taking it off his hands. Eventually, the old man gave in, enticed by the fact Draco was willing to pay double than what it had been listed for. A hefty renovation was sorely needed in the place and Draco couldn't wait to switch out the depressing and battered interior. He found that he loved to rebuild and revamp things, to wipe away the old and bring in the new. It had become like a sacred ritual for him; a feeling of being reborn.

Always the constant hunt for redemption.

Lucius hummed in reply but didn't comment any further. The silence allowed Draco's eyes to roam over the plates, bowls, utensils and golden goblets, realising his mother had brought out the nice china that once had belonged to his grandmother. With a flick of his mother's wand, a large bottle of wine appeared and started pouring itself into the goblets. Draco knew it to be the fine wine only used for special occasions.

The kind that cost twenty thousand Galleons a bottle.

"Is something special happening today that I wasn't aware of, Mother?" Draco asked as one of the house elves opened the heavy door to the dining room, pushing a trolley in front of himself that held their food. They watched in tense silence as the wrinkly, old creature served them potatoes, filet of beef, gravy and salad. Once done, he bowed and excused himself, leaving the room after having only been there for less than five minutes.

"The wine, grandmother's china… Are we celebrating something?" He arched an eyebrow and reached for his wine, taking a long sip of it. Draco felt oddly nervous and twitchy; he wondered if it was the bad energy forever staining this place from the horrible experiences that had happened here. He loved and respected his parents greatly, but something felt extremely off, more-so than normal. Draco might have imagined the slightly constipated and nervous look his mother wore too as she fiddled with the white pearl necklace hanging around her thin neck.

"Darling…" his mother started, giving Lucius a glance as if to seek out comfort, "You have always been very perceptive. Your father and I have something very important we would like to discuss with you. We have wanted to talk about this with you for a very long time, actually."

"And that is?" Draco picked up his fork and spiked a potato on it. The food smelt amazing and his stomach rumbled—by Salazar, he was hungry. It tasted delicious too; the meat was medium rare and the potatoes well roasted. He chewed and swallowed a few bites, before lifting his gaze from the plate to look at his mother. Her fork was in her hand but the food remained untouched. He knew he couldn't be imagining it; she did look nervous.

"Your father and I are worried you are lonely in that big apartment of yours, dear and we feel like you might need… company. Someone to take care of you, cherish you."

Draco wiped his mouth with a soft napkin, taking another gulp of wine. "Mother, as I have said a hundred times, I do not wish for a house elf."

Narcissa had been pleading with Draco to get one for a while, worrying over how he managed inside his home without the assistance. Draco had declined over and over; it didn't feel right to have a servants like he was used to from his childhood. Not that he thought it was wrong, but learning to do things by himself had seemed like a wise decision the first time he had turned down her offer. It made him feel independent and he still stuck to it rather stubbornly.

Furthermore, his Gringotts bank vault was overflowing and with his interest in properties; Draco had more money than anyone possibly could spend in a lifetime. He had every meal specially delivered to him so he never had to leave his apartment except for the few times he had business meetings to attend. Draco wondered what his parents would say if they knew he worked as little as possible, spending most days wandering about his home and roaming different clubs and bars at night in Muggle London. Lucius would most likely not approve of the latter. The idea of his own flesh and blood having the audacity to not only approach Muggle things, but also inappropriately touch and be around other men would certainly revolt him. Draco enjoyed the Muggle men; they didn't know about his history as an ex Death Eater, the faint mark on his left forearm only appearing like an interesting tattoo to them. Not that they got to see much of it in the dark, though.

"It's not what we have in mind for you, son," Lucius drawled, piercing his grey eyes into Draco's. "As much as I dislike your disapproval of them nowadays, it's not in our place to argue with you about it."

"Okay," Draco said, tongue in cheek. "Then what…"

"We are worried you are lonely, Draco darling," Narcissa repeated gently. "So, we thought… You might like some company. The company of a woman."

Draco blinked. What the…

"Astoria Greengrass…" Lucius continued, reaching for the inside pocket of his black robes, "Is a very nice young woman. Beautiful, pure-blood and very well-spoken." He pulled out a picture from the pocket, sliding it Draco's way across the table.

"We think she would suit you perfectly as your wife." His mother gave him a gentle smile when Draco met her blue eyes. He looked down at the picture where a serious-looking woman was gazing back at him, her dark brown hair in a fancy, half-up style, the waves spilling out over her thin shoulders. She was pale with big brown eyes that had the same serious gaze as her face. She was very pretty indeed but Draco couldn't stop the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. His palms started to sweat and he forced himself to lift his eyes to look at his parents again.

"Mother, father, I don't know this woman," Draco said and put down the picture. "What do you mean by…"

That she would be a perfect wife?

"You don't yet." Lucius cut a small piece of meat and brought the fork to his mouth. "But you will. In fact, you have your whole life to get to know her. Your mother and I are arranging everything."

Arranging what?

Although Draco didn't ask the question out loud, it hung tensely in the air. He felt the little colour he had in his ivory face vanish, blonde brows furrowing as he tried to take in what his parents were saying.

"We wish you only the best, darling," Narcissa said, sipping daintily at her wine, "And both your father and I agree Astoria Greengrass is the best woman for you. We have been meeting with the Greengrass family for some weeks and they agree to let their youngest daughter marry you. What do you say, Draco? We were thinking a wedding in, perhaps mid-August?"

Draco blinked, wondering if all of this was a very strange dream he would awake from at any minute. He desperately wanted to pinch his arm and check; his parents could not be serious—this was preposterous!

I see you twice a month and suddenly I'm getting married?!

"Mother, I have never met Astoria," Draco tried, nearly wincing at how small his voice suddenly sounded. He couldn't be a child in front of his parents. With his heart hammering wildly in his chest, he forced himself to regain some sort of control. Dammit, you have good self-control for Salazar's sake! You can have a mental collapse later. Just pretend this is a business meeting. "I can't possibly marry someone I've never met. Surely you… you understand that?" Draco let his eyes wander between both his parents. "You chose each other, why shouldn't I be able to do the same?"

"You are twenty-three years old, Draco," said Lucius pointedly. "You are getting too old to wander about as a bachelor. We expect you to settle down, have a family. The Malfoy bloodline needs to continue if we are to remain within the Wizarding World."

"And you are lonely, darling," Narcissa pressed on, reaching forward to put her outstretched hand over Draco's at the table. "You need a woman to look after you."

"We have arranged a meeting with the Greengrass family on Friday evening at seven o'clock sharp," Lucius said. "You are to be here and see the Greengrass girl then. Do not be late."

"I can't marry her," Draco said again, feeling like he was on the verge of panic. Hell, he was. Was this some kind of sick joke or a punishment for something wrong he wasn't aware he had done?

Plus I am…

I'M GAY! Draco wanted to scream. I'M GAY AND THIS IS RIDICULOUS AND I DON'T WANT TO BE MARRIED TO SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT!

Instead, he remained quiet, trying his damndest not to lose it. Draco gulped down the wine a little too eagerly, the bittersweet taste filling his mouth and making him almost nauseous.

"You can," his parents continued, almost in unison. "And you will."

You can't do this.

This should have been the perfect opportunity to tell his parents that he fancied men and never, ever be attracted to a woman, no matter how beautiful or accomplished.

He couldn't, Draco was too damn tongue-tied. His parents kept talking, telling him how utterly perfect Astoria Greengrass would be for him. That both she and her sister had been in house Slytherin just like the Malfoys and how polite and well-mannered she was. They went on with how great she and Draco would look together. The Prophet would want their wedding photo on the front page.

He wanted to puke.

The Greengrass' reputation in their world was flawless and even though the Malfoy's had fallen far from their place, Lucius told Draco he should be grateful. A union with the Greengrass family would raise Malfoy back to the revered name it had been before the War. Their voices rang in Draco's ears as he tried to follow along the best he could. Marrying Astoria would help all of them to earn back their social status. Draco wouldn't be so alone.

Everyone would be happy.

Everyone except me.

"As we said, Draco, Friday," Draco heard Lucius remark in a tone that clearly indicated the seriousness of the matter and Draco wasn't in a place to argue, "Seven o'clock."

"Wear your best dress robes," Narcissa smiled. "As soon as you meet the Greengrass girl you are going to love her; I know you will. I can feel it."

Draco bowed his head, saying nothing. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to get drunk.

Present day, June

August seventeenth. That was the day Draco Malfoy was going to marry Astoria Greengrass. Draco sighed and leant back to rest his spine against the headboard of his bed. He was running out of time. If he didn't find a partner soon, he was going to lose everything, forced to marry someone he didn't love.

The letter was in his lap; Draco had been staring at it ever since he got home from the meeting with Kathrine Bouvier. It almost burnt against his legs.

The person, the man, who had written it was his last hope.

He needed to get past the first date to convince Bouvier to keep their contract.

Please, please, please be someone decent.

And please don't run away when you see me.

Draco never prayed—he didn't believe in that sort of thing. But if it was what was needed in order to stop the wedding, then Draco would pray. He would get down on his knees in a heartbeat.