"Narcissa Malfoy is my future mother-in-law."

Ginny made her say it out loud three times in succession and found it increasingly hilarious each time Hermione finished that preposterous sentence.

Ginny, self-dubbed maid-of-honor, launched herself into the midst of Hermione's wedding planning for the Muggle ceremony with surprising zeal. Certainly more enthusiasm than she'd shown her own wedding to Harry, wherein she'd handed the planning over to a more-than-willing Molly and made statements like "I've never heard the term 'serviette' in my life and I certainly don't care about its shape, size, or color, just someone make sure Harry is at the end of the aisle."

Hermione strongly suspected her wedding to Draco served as an excellent excuse for Ginny to leave baby James in Harry's care for a few hours every now and then. Ginny and Jean got along like a house on fire, and when Molly also showed enthusiasm for lending help with planning the Muggle ceremony, Hermione found herself surrounded by three overly excited women who asked her seemingly simple questions that somehow required very specific answers.

What would the wedding colors be?

"Purple."

Yes, but which shade of purple?

"Oh! Um maybe more of a blue-ish purple?"

Like a hydrangea?

"That's fine, yes."

Now it's perfectly fine not to have traditional wedding attendants, but how did she envision the procession? Who's responsible for the rings?

"Uh… just me and Mum and Dad? And the rings would just be kept by the officiant?"

What about the music? You can't very well walk down an aisle in silence!

"Something simple, perhaps just a pianist? Or a guitarist?"

Which type of font for the invitations?

"A… um… cursive?"

And the flowers, which would she like in her bouquet? And for Draco's boutonniere? What about floral arrangements for the ceremony arch? And the flowers for the reception tables? Ooh and centerpieces?

"Oh, I suppose… something purple?"

Yes, but which shade of purple?

She often felt like a failure of a bride. She and Draco had already discussed the rather important things ad nauseum, but how was she supposed to muster boundless enthusiasm for colors and flowers and fabrics? Ginny tried to assure her that of course Hermione couldn't fail at being a bride.

"It's easier to be excited over someone else's wedding," shrugged her friend. "Trust me, what you're feeling is completely normal. If you really can't be arsed to form an opinion, just let your mum decide."

With Draco reticent to weigh in on the first ceremony and Jean and Molly all too eager, she took Ginny's expert advice and practiced nodding vigorously while smiling. She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought that two Weasleys and zero Malfoys seemed interested in helping Hermione's mother.

Of course, she'd been the one to insist on the additional wedding, but if Draco could have a reaction other than to cough awkwardly or demur and sputter every time she voiced a question or asked his opinion it'd be much appreciated.

"So, how was the engagement dinner?"

Hermione huffed out a laugh and checked her mother was sufficiently embroiled in a discussion on centerpieces with Molly.

"I'm sure my parents had to be the first willing Muggles to ever set foot on the Lestrange Estate." She'd not told her parents this morbid fact.

"Bleak," agreed Ginny. "Did Narcissa receive you in all her pureblood heiress finery? Oooh did she wear a goblin-made tiara or flowing cape of unicorn hair? I bet her vaults are full of that sort of stuff."

Hermione chuckled and painted the picture for Ginny of the supremely awkward start to the evening. Dr. and Dr. Granger wore their best suit and cocktail dress respectively and Narcissa received them in formal robes. If she noted her son elected to wear a tailored Muggle suit leaving her the sole person dressed in magical fashion, she made no mention.

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at the memory, wondering if her soon-to-be mother-in-law took that as a perceived slight instead of Draco hoping to make the Grangers feel more at ease. Especially since her father had joked the entire time leading up to this occasion that he'd planned on wearing his best scrubs. The ones dotted with molars wearing sunglasses. He'd earned glares from both Jean and Hermione as a reward for his attempt at humor.

"Dad mostly just left Mum in charge of the conversation which was for the best, to be honest, she has more patience for the whole high society charade. But gods Ginny, you could just feel that condescension dripping from his mother's every syllable, still…" Hermione picked at a stray scrap of tulle, "it could have gone much worse. At any rate, I caught Draco and Dad exchanging several significant glances when our mums started comparing overly detailed notes about gardening, so maybe it wasn't a total waste of time."

Checking again that Molly and Jean still paid them no mind, she leaned closer to Ginny and whispered a fear of hers.

"I'm not sure Narcissa plans to attend our Muggle ceremony," she confided to a wide-eyed Ginny.

"What makes you say that?"

"Our most recent wedding planning session with her…"

Hermione was all too happy to hand over a bulk of vendor coordination to the well-manicured hands of Narcissa Malfoy. Once she and Draco finished drafting their initial preferences for the bonding, they faced his mother as a united front.

Hermione brought a neatly stacked pile of parchment to the polished cherry dining table in one of the lesser dining rooms of Narcissa's home. Narcissa brought several gorgeously-bound leather notebooks. The jade green book seemed to contain names of vendors or businesses she trusted. The blood-red book held all her acquaintances by name and address. The black book recorded personal notes and lists. The ocean-blue book served as her calendar and recorded personal appointments.

Narcissa threw out the names of caterers, florists, pastry chefs, decorators, photographers, and day-of help in rapid succession. She'd listened as Draco carefully articulated their vision in each of these areas for the wedding then would make the appropriate mark in the appropriate notebook pertaining to each facet.

"And the marriage rites?" she eventually inquired as they discussed the ceremony schedule. "The Black family ones haven't been used in several generations, so I will need to visit Gringotts to retrieve the scrolls should you select that set."

"No need," said Draco quickly. "We've decided on a soul-bonding ceremony."

Narcissa blinked once at them, then made a small note in the black book.

"Your father and I were soul-bonded," she commented quietly as she rounded off her note. The soft-spoken comment surprised Hermione, and she felt Draco's hand twitch in hers beneath the table.

"You were?" he blurted out. "I didn't know that."

"Mmm," said Narcissa as she flicked through another notebook. "Yes well, the press coverage never made mention, as we didn't allow any journalists at the ceremony portion."

"But I thought… I thought you and Father were an arranged match?"

"And so we were. Now, have you selected an appropriate and qualified bonder?"

Hermione could see that Draco wanted to interrogate his mother further, so she jumped in, "Professor Flitwick. I've already had an owl from him saying he'd be delighted and we'll be meeting with him tomorrow."

She felt a rush of sympathy for Draco, but knew once his mother shut down a topic, it would only cause him further frustration by not having his questions answered. And getting derailed now would only stretch this interminable afternoon on until nightfall or possibly the next century.

"Lovely. Now Hermione, I've scheduled your bridal robe fitting for the—"

"Oh that won't be necessary," Hermione swiftly interceded. "I'm having Anjana Nehru design my ensemble, and she'll be designing my parents' and Draco's robes as well."

Narcissa blinked again and made a note in the green book and then the blue book respectively.

"Would you… that is, I'd love for you to be included as well," Hermione awkwardly offered, drawing strength from Draco's squeeze of her hand. The blue book received another line via quill. Whether she actually needed to continue recording a thought or simply sought to buy herself more time to consider Hermione's offer remained unclear.

"Her designs are quite modern," Narcissa eventually remarked. "And rather singular. Please let me know of the fitting date."

Draco shot her an encouraging grin that never failed to make her smile in return at the sheer boyishness of the expression. The buoy of confidence from her fiancé emboldened her to bring up the topic of the first ceremony.

"We realize that it might pose some… challenges, so we're keeping the guest list for the first ceremony rather small, but I wanted to ask if anyone from your side of the list would like to attend that as well?"

"The first ceremony?"

"Yes, the Muggle one. At my parents' home."

Draco broke in quickly, "It's the Saturday before, Mother. On the 7th."

"I shall keep that in mind."

It did not escape Hermione's notice that not one detail about the first wedding (not even the date) had been recorded in any of the varied notebooks on the table.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that the owl she'd sent two weeks ago asking Narcissa the same exact question about guests for the August 7th ceremony received a curt reply of, "Thank you, I shall keep that in mind."

It did not escape Hermione's notice that Narcissa deftly dodged every single one of her mother's questions and comments about the August 7th ceremony at the engagement dinner.

Ginny's concerned voice brought Hermione back to the present.

"Have you brought this up to Malfoy?" she asked.

"Not directly," said Hermione with a small head shake. "I don't want him to think I'm constantly questioning his mother's motives, and I certainly don't want to add to his list of worries. If she attends, wonderful, and if not…" Hermione trailed off helplessly but Ginny came to her rescue.

"And if not he'll have a group of people supporting him regardless," finished Ginny fiercely and resumed their previous task of cutting lengths of ribbon as Hermione discreetly dabbed at her eyes.


April 2010

Since their formal introduction more than a year and some months ago, Draco had slowly come to know the woman he now referred to as "aunt." A moniker he no longer feared, given that it could now be associated with a less terrible individual.

Andromeda enjoyed literature (both magical and Muggle), a shared passion with Granger that led to Draco at times passively observing the rapid conversation between the two women during their luncheons. She spoke easily and often of her late husband and daughter, and Draco wondered if she did this for his benefit, to give him back pieces of a life he'd missed through no fault of his own, or if she simply needed to share everything possible about two people that had once comprised her entire world. Or perhaps a bit of both.

The elder Black sister presented a stern brow and could be stiff in her comportment, but laughed easily, especially around her grandson, prone to showering Teddy with the indulgent smiles Draco remembered receiving from his own mother during his childhood.

With Teddy home for the Easter hols, Draco took advantage of the rare opportunity, at Hermione's urging, to invite both his aunt and cousin round for tea. Teddy, a peculiar-looking boy with bubblegum pink hair, answered Draco's polite questions about his first year of schooling quietly, but seemed more comfortable chatting with Hermione, someone he'd known since birth.

Andromeda, when not busy fawning over Teddy's exam scores, couldn't contain her excitement about Draco and Hermione's upcoming wedding.

"A soul-bonding! Oh how romantic," she gushed. "Who'll be the bonder?"

"Professor Flitwick and oh gods… Andromeda… you should have seen…" Hermione became overcome with giggles while Draco scowled.

"You should have seen Draco's face. I don't know that I've ever seen him so uncomfortable," Hermione teased and his aunt's eyes darted between them amusedly.

"I was not uncomfortable, merely taken aback by the display of ah… emotion," he countered.

"The poor man burst into tears! Can you imagine? He kept trying to get out the words about what an honor it was to bond two former students—"

"—called us a 'rare and unexpected pair,' mind you—"

"—yes but he meant it as a compliment—"

"—to you, surely. He seemed rather overcome at the sight of us even sitting next to one another and when Granger brought up the soul-bond—"

"—he came around his desk and he—he—he hugged Draco round the middle!"

The four of them devolved into laughter at the thought of their tiny and beloved Charms professor embracing a mortified Draco. The moment of mirth had only just died down when a sudden movement behind his aunt's head caught his eye.

"Mother?" Draco called to the figure frozen at the threshold of the verandah.

Now that they'd actively involved Narcissa in the wedding planning, she felt more comfortable popping by Franklin House unannounced with either updates or questions and indeed, Draco could see parchment samples clutched in her hand, probably for place card settings for the reception.

It lasted for an infinitesimal moment, a mere blip of time, but as he locked eyes with Narcissa, the mask slipped. It afforded Draco the brief ability to see straight through his mother's near-constant façade.

She had the look of a parent who'd just now noticed her only child was very much no longer a child. Instead, she now observed an adult with values and principles antithesis to not only her own upbringing, but to what she then in turn taught Draco. Compounding this confusing swirl of grief, the surprising sight of a sister she'd not seen in years was taking tea with her only child, and looking quite at home in his company. How well did she really know her own son?

As quickly as it had been rendered transparent, the mask resumed its former state of opaqueness.

"Pardon my intrusion. I'll let you get back to your guests."

She spun on her heel and before either Draco or Hermione could act, Andromeda shot out of her seat.

"Cissy, wait! Please!" Andromeda called and hurried after her retreating sister. Another call of "Cissy!" echoed around the three remaining at the table. After a few minutes, Andromeda still hadn't returned, and Hermione turned to Draco with a suggestion.

"Perhaps you'd like to take Teddy flying over the grounds? He can borrow that new broom model the Wasps just sent you, the uh, aerial… uh…"

"The Aerial Assault," Teddy and Draco chorused and then shared nervous grins. Draco still didn't quite know how to relate to his newfound cousin, but quidditch was as good a place to start as any.

He directed Teddy down to the broom and equipment shed at the far end of his lawns then doubled back into the house under the pretense of grabbing his flying gloves. Hermione pursed her lips as he passed, fully aware of his snooping intentions.

He stepped quietly through the ballroom and cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself, ignoring the little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously Granger-like that admonished him for the slightly underhanded tactic. He crept through his own house, but couldn't find any source of noise and wondered if either they'd gone somewhere else or cast a Silencing Charm. As he passed by the music room, a flicker of movement caught his eye and he paused in the doorway.

Andromeda and Narcissa sat together on the Bluthner piano bench, arms around one another in a shaking and desperate hug. Andromeda faced away from him, but Draco could hear a whispered, "I know… I know…"

He'd never seen his mother cry in front of anyone other than himself before, and those instances had been limited to post-Azkaban visits of Lucius. Those tears she would shed quietly and quickly dab away with one of Draco's proffered handkerchiefs, an embarrassing display of weak emotion that she sought to hide.

The tears now streaming down his mother's face and onto the robes of her sister fell thick and fast, an unstoppable stream of grief, regret, and perhaps even insurmountable guilt. Narcissa made no move to wipe them away.

Draco left the sisters to their private moment then, hoping if he flew fast enough on his broom that he could blame his own wet eyes on the speed of the wind.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Draco ran his fingers reverently back and forth across the skin of his forearm. His left forearm. His mostly unmarred left forearm.

He still had some discoloration to his pigment, but the grisly symbol of a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull no longer held court there, taunting him with memories of horrors gone by. Now it was just his arm.

"How do you feel when you look at it now?"

Draco looked up at Healer Browning's question. "I feel… as if I can finally… finally be someone worthy of loving Hermione. Of marrying someone like her."

"Did you not feel that way before?"

Draco shifted in his seat as the floating quill scratched its way across the parchment and filled the silence.

"No, I did. I do. It was only… this was something I wanted off my body before our bonding."

"Did she not love you when you still bore your Mark?"

"She did but… well it was rather revolting and she had to see it all the time… this reminder of the terrible person she wants to bind herself to, Merlin knows why— "

"Draco, I'd like to remind you that your negative self-talk is an impediment to your healing."

Draco opened and closed his mouth quickly, an acerbic barb on the tip of his tongue, but he only bobbed his head to acknowledge Browning's calm admonishment. Because of course the older man was right. Draco cast his eyes back down to his arm.

"I also wonder what my father would have to say if he could see this and I often wonder... if he would ever have accepted my relationship with Hermione. If he would disinherit me or… or maybe have come round eventually."

"You could write him a letter."

"He's dead," Draco replied blankly.

"I'm aware, Draco," said Browning gently. "But letter writing even without the intent to send may help you to sort out how you feel about your father and help you decide what you can and cannot forgive or reconcile about his behavior and your relationship. It is merely an exercise, but you may find it cathartic rather than trying to talk about it. You do not have to show it to me or to anyone else."

Draco nodded, mulling the suggestion over. Browning had recommended journaling to Draco in the past, but he found it cumbersome to write about his feelings and didn't want a written record of his past traumas that he might accidentally re-read.

Browning's voice brought him out of his musings.

"That's our time for today. Please contact me if you need to, otherwise I'll see you next month."

"Oh, er actually, I'll have to skip next session. We'll still be traveling then… Italy, on our honeymoon." Merlin, what a strange word to say aloud. Honeymoon.

Browning made a small note on his parchment. "Then I will see you in September."

Draco hesitated from his seat on the couch, unsure if his next move would be considered inappropriate. Just as he'd already stood, preparing to take his leave with his task unfinished, his traitorous mouth forged ahead without permission.

"It would mean a lot to Hermione—" he began then faltered. "No, sorry, that's not it."

Draco cleared his throat and straightened up to look Browning full in the face. "It would mean very much to me if you would attend my wedding." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the thick cardstock to hand to him. "All the details are there and please bring your wife, of course."

Browning accepted the invitation solemnly. "Thank you, we would be honored to attend," he replied neutrally.

Draco rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. He thought for a minute there Browning might have had a reaction that conveyed an emotion other than clinical stoicism, but apparently not.

"Right, well, please officially respond by Monday or my mother will have my head. Or Granger will. Merlin help me the day those two discover that if they unite their powers they could rule the entire world."

He gave a grim smile and turned to leave.

"Draco," Browning called softly. "I… I am immeasurably proud of you."


Saturday, July 31, 2010

The sight before Draco could only be classified as objectively absurd. And not only because George had passed out on a stretch of lawn behind Nott Manor, nor because Charlie and Oliver snored softly wrapped in each other's arms in a bench seat, nor even because Dennis had curled up like a cat at the foot of a marble sculpture of some ancestor of Theo's.

No, Potter and the Weasel embroiled in a drunken endeavor to teach an equally sozzled Theo how to conjure a Patronus probably topped the chart of current ridiculousness in Draco's direct line of sight.

Let it never be said that Draco's stag night hadn't included enough alcoholic beverages.

Draco quite firmly requested a night in, having no interest in any public drunken shenanigans making their way to the front page of every gossip rag a mere week before his first set of nuptials. He'd also firmly requested that only Theo be present for this auspicious occasion, yet his traitorous and supposed "friend" saw fit to inform Potter who then told Weasley who then probably told every customer who came to his shop and so the stag night for Draco Malfoy included a guest list that would make every single one of his deceased forebears roll mutinously in their marble tombs.

Theo pulled out all the quidditch stops, combining the vast collection of both his own racing brooms and Draco's stash of prototypes acquired through work that made the jaws of every male present drop. Indeed, Draco was certain Oliver would be adopting the latest Sun Streaker model as his own child.

The quidditch scrimmage eventually turned into broom racing which turned into drunken air acrobatics that would have made Ginevra jealous and Hermione a nervous wreck, which somehow then morphed into inebriated spell-casting one-upmanship from any men still on their feet. All in all, Draco could begrudgingly admit he almost enjoyed his existence at the moment.

His beautiful fiancée on the other hand, had been coerced by the combined corrupting influences of Ginny, Sasha, and Padma to traipse about the Muggle club scene. But based on the messages Draco received earlier in the evening in his two-way journal, he had to wonder if the women had even left Hermione's home.

The most recent missive had come in an hour or so ago in the form of a rather crudely drawn male appendage with a note written in Ginny's hand: "Ferret, settle a bet, is this artistic rendering an accurate size approximation of your flesh wand which is, in your future wife's words, 'a cock so glorious it'll make your eyes cross?'"

He could only hope those women had a ready supply of Hangover Potion for the following morning.

In the middle of the sprawling lawns before him, beads of sweat ran down Theo's brow as he produced a thin stream of vapor from his wand again.

"Aargh, blast it all!" he finally slumped defeated on the ground, panting.

"Chin up mate," enthused Ron who, to Draco's horror, only became more jovial with each drink consumed. "We can't all be little Patronus prodigies like this git here." He playfully shoved Potter who staggered inelegantly and almost collided with a hedge.

"That you even got a misty form is great for your first couple tries," consoled Potter.

He then pushed his glasses further up his nose and raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

The infamous stag of light burst forth and galloped gracefully across the grass. Ron shouted the spell too and soon a Jack Russell terrier bounded along beside it. Not to be outdone, Draco cast as well, adding the soaring Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon to the mix. A quiet peace fell over the party, as the three conjured creatures gamboled about aimlessly for a time before fading away.

"What were you thinking? When you conjured it?" Theo asked the group at large.

No one spoke for a beat before Harry gruffly broke the silence. "When Ginny told me she was pregnant."

Ron cleared his throat. "When Padma agreed to marry me."

All three sets of eyes turned to Draco instinctively.

"When… when Granger…" Draco heaved a dramatic sigh and moved away from the others. "When Granger sucked me off for the first time."

The angry shouts from Harry and Ron followed his sprinting form while their hexes bounced off his hasty Shield Charm, as he shot off across the dark grounds with Theo's peals of laughter sounding through the night air.


Saturday, August 7, 2010

Draco stood in front of the full-length mirror of his bedchamber and gazed upon the reflection of a man in full wedding regalia. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, preparing himself for the monumental event about to take place out on the grounds. He'd be married to the love of his life in but a few hours.

A hand clapped his shoulder. "This is a happy day for our family."

Draco turned and met the approving face of his father.

"Here," Lucius handed Draco a glass of his preferred brandy. "Let us share a drink before the ceremony."

Draco grinned and accepted the glass. His father never let him partake in this drink with him, and it pleasantly surprised him, this sudden keenness to share. But as Draco tipped the brandy down his throat, he discovered it tasted rather bitter and that he didn't care for it much at all. Lucius offered him a cold smile, a strange gleam to his eyes.

"I am pleased in your choice of wife, Draco," said Lucius. "She will honor our family name and I hope we can expect an heir soon."

Suddenly, he stood next to Lucius under a lavishly decorated arch in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Hundreds of faceless bodies sat with their heads turned towards him, a sea of guests that stretched on and on in an endless stream. A flurry of strings sounded through the air, igniting Draco's excitement. His bride would appear soon. A funny twinge occurred in his stomach and his throat tightened, but Draco brushed it off. Probably just wedding jitters.

A woman in white wearing an opaque veil floated down the aisle towards him and then grabbed his hands forcefully. "Your bride, Draco," said Lucius from just behind him. "The purest in the land."

Another uncomfortable swoop in his stomach and his throat burned again. He coughed to clear his throat but it only grew worse. Lucius lifted the veil to reveal Pansy Parkinson, who smiled widely. Draco looked to his father in confusion, then turned back to his bride only to see Daphne Greengrass in front of him. He blinked again and the bride became Astoria. Another shift in the facial features and the woman in front of him turned into an odd amalgam of all three women.

"Does the wife I've selected for you not please you Draco?" hissed Lucius. Draco tried to back away from both his father and the chilling smile of the unfamiliar woman but found his feet would not move. The burning in his throat increased.

A movement just beyond his father and the gruesome, blurry-featured bride caught his attention. The figures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood resolute, glaring at Draco in cold disapproval and deep disgust.

"Hermione!" Draco choked out, desperate for her to understand. She was meant to be his bride. Why wouldn't she help him? He sank to his knees and massaged his pained throat.

"Do be serious Draco," drawled Lucius. "The Mudblood would never have you. And no son of mine would lower himself to such filth. Not when I've just handed him everything he ever wanted."

Draco coughed uncontrollably and looked into the malicious face of his father, as the horrible truth dawned on him of the freely given brandy.

"P-poison…" Draco gasped. "You—you p-poisoned—m-me!"

"Yes," Lucius sneered, his face inches from Draco's. "And wasn't it just too easy?"

Draco shot upright in bed with a gasp and clawed at his own throat. He threw his legs over the side of his bed and immediately went into deep breathing exercises.

He's dead he's dead he's dead you're fine you're fine you're alive Hermione's alive I am okay with this I am okay with this.

Deep breath. And another. And one more. I am okay with this.

He never did sleep well without Granger, but she'd insisted on spending the last few nights leading up to the wedding apart per tradition or some such nonsense. And wouldn't it just be Draco's luck to suffer a particularly stressful bad dream the morning of his Muggle wedding ceremony. The one he'd been flippant about so his nerves about fucking it all up wouldn't swallow him whole.

And to dream of his father…

A silly nightmare easily dismissed, but Draco found his feet leading him to an ornate box that rested atop his mantel. With a whispered recitation of his family's misguided motto and a press of his thumb against the polished silver, the clasp unlatched and he opened the hinges.

He plucked the signet ring from the box and held it up in front of his eyes. Draco hadn't worn it since the day he'd been asked to remove it along with any other personal effects as he was placed in a holding cell before his trial before the Wizengamot at the age of 18. When the session ended with his handed-down sentence of mandatory healing and a two-year travel ban, he'd found it waiting with the rest of his things along with an item he hadn't left there: his hawthorn wand, courtesy of Potter, he'd surmised.

While he greeted his wand with a welcome grip, he shoved the Malfoy family heirloom deep into his robe pockets then stowed it away in this little antique coffin of goblin-made silver, never to be worn again. His father had worn his signet ring every day of his life; Draco never saw the fourth finger of Lucius's right hand without the ring, like his father before him. Draco had been gifted his own personal signet the summer after his Fourth Year. He remembered his obnoxious youthful habit of twirling and twisting the jewelry around his finger, constantly drawing attention to the dark "M" that signified his exalted place in the wizarding world, heir to a noble and ancient house.

What would Lucius say to his son now? Disgusted that Draco would so coldly spurn his legacy? Puzzled by Draco's hesitance to proclaim his family name as one worthy of praise and admiration? Would his father ever have come to recognize that the Malfoy name had only ever been associated with the power behind the throne, synonymous with scheming and an obsession with purity?

Well perhaps after today, and most especially after next week, the Malfoy name could come to signify something else entirely.

Draco knew it was an exercise in futility to imagine his late father's reaction to the day's schedule of events, but his mind buzzed with lingering questions, threads of hypothetical conversations, and dreamt-up scenarios that ended in a multitude of outcomes ranging from the overly saccharine to the depressingly bleak.

With sleep no longer in the cards, he finally took Browning's advice and wrote a letter.

"Father,

I wish you were here on my wedding day, albeit the first of two. Mother was rather horrid throughout the entire process for the bonding ceremony and I think you would have a unique understanding of just how her particular quirks manifested. I think you'd at least be able to appreciate that I do not have, nor will I ever have, a preference for table cloth fabrics or guest chair covers. Unfortunately, you were not here to offer me temporary sanctuary in your study as a reprieve from her lectures about proper wedding reception cutlery.

I think Mother misses you very much.

I want to tell you about the woman I am going to marry. She's intelligent, ambitious, kind, brave, beautiful, generous in both her time and love, and yet you would overlook all her wonderful traits in favor of finding her blood detestable.

I love Hermione Granger with every bone in my body and the amount of affection I have for this witch could only be quantified as absurd. Part of me wishes you were alive to know how sincerely I mean that statement. Then again, I doubt it would be well-received, so perhaps my writing this to you with a guarantee of silence on your end is all for the best.

I never knew what you actually saw when you looked at me. Was I nothing more than an heir? A vessel to ensure the name lived on and gold continued to flow? I always wondered, but I never asked. Perhaps I was too afraid of your answer. Or of your dismissal.

I want to tell you about me. I don't know that you would recognize me now. I have known a loneliness most people could never conceive of, but I survived. Again.

I've done things for myself, to better myself. I dragged my body through the hell of addiction and back. I learned what it means to have a career I'm proud of, that I can enjoy. I learned that I can grow my ambitions in a field I'm passionate about. I learned how to earn and keep friendships without resorting to coercion or trading of favors. I learned how to assert myself without belittling others. I learned I have so much more to give than gold or my surname. I learned I am capable of casting a Patronus. I learned I am capable of loving another person and being loved in return. I learned how to ask for and accept help. I've started to have more days where I can look at myself in the mirror with pride again.

You would scoff, I'm sure, but I did not do these things for Hermione. She merely showed me what I was capable of doing all on my own.

I am angry with you. I don't know if there will be a day in the future when I am not angry with you. Were you sorry? Even once? I paid the price for your mistakes again and again and maybe one day I could forgive that, but I cannot and will not forgive you for abandoning Mother to the Dark Lord. You let him torture her, your soul-bonded wife, and you did nothing. How could you?

Now that I am a man with an understanding of the concept of willingly binding my soul to another person, I cannot fathom standing idly by while she screamed. I've already done that and I refuse to be the scared boy in the corner ever again.

You let your ego bring us to ruin, and perhaps our deranged forebears shoulder some of that fault, but you could have put a stop to our downfall. If I'm proud of anything in my inconsequential life, it's that I came out the other side of all the blood purity nonsense in time to secure the love of a woman who sees and treats me as her equal. I'll not be a slave to ideals again and if I ever have a child with Hermione, you can rest assured they will be given the one thing you never gave me: a choice. A choice in all things.

I miss you. I have so many regrets in this life. So very many. I think it might surprise you to know that one of those regrets is never telling you that I love you.

Your son,

Draco

As he signed the letter, he hesitated for only a moment before dropping the signet ring into the envelope and sealing it. Draco looked up from his writing desk to see the rising sun peeking over the horizon. He summoned his journal and penned a brief message to appear in Hermione's companion journal: I love you. Don't ever let me go another day without telling you. I love you.


A/N: Just two chapters left. I'll be posting the link to the Remain Nameless playlist in the author's note at the end of the next chapter for you all to delight in my questionable taste in music.

Thank you so much for reading and all your amazing messages on here/tumblr/discord, it all overwhelms me in the best way! Come say hi on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.

The next chapter goes up on November 20.