Draco spent the majority of the next week confined to his bedroom. He would join his mother for meals in the kitchen and went on the occasional walk around the gardens with her, but otherwise, he kept himself busy with homework and memorising his lines for the play. While he doubted his parents would take much interest in his schoolwork, he preferred to err on the side of caution and had magically concealed the script's contents whenever he wasn't using it.

Speaking to Harry late each evening was a much-needed lifeline. He spent most of every day looking forward to the time when he and Harry could talk to each other through the two-way mirrors. He missed Harry's voice, and even if he didn't say much himself, he enjoyed listening to Harry chat away about his day at The Burrow with the Weasleys. Their conversations also provided Draco with an impromptu tour of the Weasleys' dwelling. Every night, Harry would struggle to find a quiet spot for them to talk. Sometimes it would be in the attic he and Ron were currently sharing. On other occasions, Harry would be in the scullery or one of the six bedrooms in the cramped little house. Tonight, he was calling Draco a little earlier than usual and was sitting in the bathroom cradling a bottle of butterbeer in one hand as he talked.

"I'll be lucky if I can even get five minutes to myself this evening, The Burrow is absolutely packed," he explained. "They're hosting a dinner party tonight and Hagrid and a few others are visiting so it's even more cramped than usual."

"You don't sound too put out by it," Draco noted and Harry's smile broadened.

"Nah, not really. Yes, it's noisy and there's hardly any space to move or breathe, and there's zero privacy, but I actually really enjoy it. Christmas was never a time of year that I looked forward to growing up—not until I got to Hogwarts and met Ron and his family. They're the first ones that made it an enjoyable experience."

Draco sighed and flopped back onto his bed. "As hellish as it sounds, I'd much prefer the pandemonium of a Weasley family gathering than attending this wretched ball."

Harry's expression turned sympathetic. "There's no way that you can talk your mum into letting you give it a pass?"

"Believe me, I tried. But she wouldn't budge," he said miserably.

"That sucks." A mischievous grin spread across Harry's face then. "Although I must say, I like what you've done with your hair."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I haven't worn my hair like this in years, but Mother insisted it looked smarter than my usual style."

"It's nice," Harry offered. "Although, I prefer it messy. Especially in the mornings right after we've—"

Harry's sentence was cut short by a loud knock at the bathroom door. His face fell and he sighed, "Someone's needing the loo. I better go."

"I should probably be going anyway," said Draco reluctantly. "Guests will already have begun to arrive, I can't put it off any longer. Speak to you again tomorrow?"

"Yeah, definitely." Harry hesitated a moment before asking, "I could call you in the morning if you'd like? Wish you a merry Christmas?"

Draco smiled. "Yes, I'd appreciate that."

"Okay. I won't say have a good night because I know you won't, but I hope for your sake it's not too awful."

"Thank you," Saying 'I love you' was on the tip of his tongue, but instead he just said, "Goodnight."

Harry waved goodbye to Draco before he shimmered and vanished, leaving Draco's miserable face staring back at him. He sighed and hugged the mirror to his chest. He'd attended countless social events like this in his life—they were part and parcel of being a part of the pure-blood aristocracy—but he had never particularly enjoyed them, even when his reputation was stellar. He had hoped that by appealing to his mother privately, she'd give him a free pass tonight. But, rather unusually, his powers of persuasion had failed him, and she was quite insistent that he be in attendance.

Eventually, he managed to drag himself back onto his feet and scrutinised his appearance one last time in the floor-length mirror. Forgoing his usual black, he'd chosen to wear velvet, bottle-green dress robes with a high collar, which now felt restrictive and itchy around his neck. He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair, tucking a few stray strands behind his ears. Removing the frown that seemed to be permanently fixed to his face was going to be more troublesome, but at least he looked presentable. He slipped his left hand into his pocket where he'd placed Harry's feather and ran his thumb up and down the silky edge. It was no substitute for the real thing, but having it in his pocket helped calm his nerves a little. Bracing himself, Draco exited the bedroom and made his way down towards the ballroom. Soft music and several unfamiliar voices echoed through the drafty corridors before he'd even reached the ground floor.

Well, at least some guests had arrived, Draco thought to himself. He'd begun to worry that the evening would be spent in an empty room with only his parents for company.

As he rounded the corner and entered the ballroom, he slowed to a halt and took in the impressive sight before him. Draco's eyes were drawn upwards towards the fat flakes of snow that had been enchanted to fall, although they felt warm and dry to the touch and vanished before reaching the ground. The tapestries that usually adorned the walls had been removed and the bare stone had been covered in sparkling silver frost, and thousands of icicles, glinting like diamonds, covered the dark wood ceiling. He couldn't help but marvel at the room's transformation, which he suspected was his mother's doing since she'd always had a good eye for all things beautiful.

Draco also noted the hundred or so small round tables, each seating a dozen people, lining the perimeter of the vast room. He scanned the room for any familiar faces but found none. That didn't come as too much of a surprise considering most of their old friends were either dead or imprisoned, and the lucky few who'd escaped those fates knew better than to associate themselves with the Malfoys. Based on the various foreign accents that he could pick up, his father had evidently sought new friends further afield from the British Isles.

"Drink, sir?" came a squeaky voice.

Draco looked down to find one of the house-elves holding a large silver platter above his head, filled with goblets of wine. Draco took one of the goblets and the elf bowed to him before hurrying over to the next group of guests to offer them refreshments. There were a dozen house-elves in total dotted about the room, each one carrying a platter filled with drinks and canapés for their guests.

"Draco, darling. I was beginning to wonder where you were," Draco turned to see his mother, dressed in a ballgown of black satin and lace, approach him. She smiled and nodded approvingly, "I must say, you look very handsome this evening."

"Thanks," he mumbled, casting a wary glance over the guests. "So, who am I schmoozing tonight? Father mentioned foreign diplomats but he didn't give me any specifics."

"There are a couple of people that may make for interesting conversation." Narcissa hooked their arms together and smiled at him. "Come. I'll introduce you to our new friends."

She steered Draco towards a group of men wearing grey robes and fur cloaks that looked similar to the uniforms that Durmstrang students wore. The men abruptly ended their conversation when they saw Narcissa and Draco approach.

"Gentlemen," Narcissa greeted them. "I'd like to introduce you to my son, Draco Malfoy."

Draco dutifully held out his hand and shook the ones extended to him. "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Elya Kolarov here is on the Koldovstoretz board of governors," Narcissa explained, nodding to the clean-shaven man with greasy auburn hair to her left. "And Ratimir Bukowski works in the Department of Defence at the Russian Ministry of Magic."

The man standing to Draco's right was dour in his appearance with steel-grey hair. He nodded curtly at the pair and Narcissa continued, squeezing Draco's arm. "My son is in his final year at Hogwarts at the moment."

The group of men nodded approvingly. Bukowski spoke with a thick Russian accent but his English was impeccable. "Hogwarts, you say? It is a fine institution."

"Koldovstoretz is far superior," Kolarov declared unabashedly.

Bukowski drew his companion a withering look. "I made no suggestion to the contrary."

Kolarov shrugged. "Still, it is worth noting. Our Dark Arts department is the best in the world, and our Quidditch team are European champions."

"Draco here has a fine mastery of the Dark Arts," Narcissa gushed. "And his skills in potions are second to none. He was personally tutored by Severus Snape."

That was stretching the truth somewhat (okay, it was an outright lie), but then most of the conversations currently happening in this room were half-truths or elaborate fabrications. It was par for the course at these kinds of social events. Regardless of how truthful the statement was, it had the desired effect as a murmur of interest rippled through the group. Kolarov, however, gave a derisive snort.

"A lot of good his mastery of potions did him, he couldn't even save himself from a simple snake bite," he sneered.

Draco frowned. "That's not quite how it happened."

"Even so, Hogwarts has a poor track record for keeping its staff and students alive. I'd rather take my chances at Nurmengard."

Draco felt a stab of annoyance rise up inside of him at those words. Sure, he'd been one of Hogwarts biggest critics over the years, but he didn't appreciate perfect strangers criticising it. Hogwarts may be a hellhole, but it was his hellhole.

One of the other men spoke up then and asked Draco, "If you go to Hogwarts, then you must know Harry Potter."

There was a renewed murmur of interest at that query. Narcissa's grip on Draco's arm tightened but she kept her expression impassive. "Yes, they're in the same year together, aren't you Draco?"

"You know each other well?" asked Bukowski.

"Quite," Draco replied shortly.

"Well?" Kolarov pressed. "What's he like?"

Draco hesitated before choosing his words carefully. "Not the scholarly type...but he is a competent dueller. And his flight skills are quite superior. He could easily give that Quidditch team of yours a run for their money, Mr Kolarov."

Kolarov scowled but the other men chuckled in response. Draco smirked into his goblet as he took a sip from his wine. Belittling the man in front of his peers was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"What are your plans for after you graduate?" asked Bukowski.

"Nothing set in stone yet," Draco replied. In truth, he had no plans at all, although he knew better than to admit that.

"Have you ever considered a career in politics?" he asked. "You certainly have the right temperament for it."

"Why, it's a lifelong dream of Draco's," Narcissa lied.

Bukowski nodded approvingly. "Wonderful, I'll speak to your father about work opportunities. We could use a man of your calibre in Moscow."

Draco felt his stomach twist unpleasantly at those words and Narcissa spoke up again, "Thank you, Mr Bukowski. I'll have a meeting between you and my husband arranged at your earliest convenience."

"I'd also like the pleasure of meeting Mr Potter at some point in the near future," Mr Bukowski added. "Perhaps before I meet with your husband to discuss Draco's future."

Narcissa's smile faltered for a split second but she was quick to cover it again. "Of course. I'm sure something can be arranged."

They chatted briefly with the men before Narcissa steered Draco away from them towards a quiet corner and her smile immediately fell. "Well, that could have gone better."

"What the hell was that?" asked Draco angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"That rubbish about it being my lifelong dream to be a politician!"

"I'm just trying to give you some options for the future," she explained. "It might be worth reminding you that at present you don't have many of those open to you."

"I'm not moving to Moscow."

"Never say never, darling."

Draco sighed and muttered, "That Kolarov fellow was a right wanker."

"Language, Draco."

"You know that I'm right."

Narcissa conceded, "While I'm inclined to agree, Kolarov runs in high circles, so it's better for us all, in the long run, to keep on his good side. So next time you speak to each other, please refrain from antagonising him and be a little more courteous."

Draco clenched his jaw and gritted out, "Yes, Mother."

For the next couple of hours, Narcissa directed her son towards the right people to talk to and charm. There were a surprising number of Americans in attendance, who Draco enjoyed a spirited discussion about Quidditch with. There were also a handful of delegates from the Chinese and Indian Ministries, who were more interested in discussing the flourishing magic carpet trade than broomsticks. Draco talked at length with the Burkinabé Minister about their shared passion for magical creatures and even received an open invitation to visit one of their famous Runespoor colonies if he were ever in their neck of the woods. Draco thought to himself how much Harry would enjoy that, and even allowed himself to entertain the possibility that it could really happen, before his mother dragged him away to schmooze with some other delegate that he didn't know the name of.

Draco had assumed that his father had spent the past six months locked away in his drawing room, feeling sorry for himself. He should have known better. Because for better or worse, Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not a resourceful man, and he had clearly spent every spare moment trying to establish new connections with the rich and powerful of mainland Europe and beyond. They may be pariahs at home, but in the wider wizarding world, money still spoke louder than petty domestic politics. While Draco and Narcissa were talking to an incredibly pale Romanian count, Lucius glided over to their side.

"Apologies for interrupting," he preened. "Would you mind terribly if I stole my wife and son for a moment?"

The Count shook his head, so Lucius grabbed Draco by the shoulder and led him through the crowd of guests in the direction of the buffet table. "The man that I'm about to introduce you to is from one of the oldest and most well-respected families in France. It is of the utmost importance that you impress him, so wipe that frown off of your face and be a gentleman worthy of your name. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Draco automatically replied, bracing himself for yet another polite but strained conversation.

Lucius directed Draco towards a rotund man nursing a goblet of wine in one hand and using the other to lightly hold the elbow of an elegantly dressed woman, who Draco presumed to be the man's wife. They both wore robes of navy blue silk, only his was adorned with a side cape.

"Draco, allow me to introduce you to Monsieur Henri de Montmorency, Marquis of Chantilly," said Lucius and Draco bowed to the large man. "And his lovely wife, Madame Marie-Félicie des Ursins."

Madame Marie thrust out her gloved hand and Draco dutifully kissed the top of it, wondering how many more arses he'd have to kiss before his parents would let him call it a night. Monsieur Henri scrutinised Draco closely before addressing Lucius in French. Draco, unable to understand what they were saying, stood awkwardly by his mother's side as the two men conversed with one another. Finally, Monsieur Henri addressed Draco directly.

"Your father says that you are a keen flyer. You play Quidditch?"

Draco nodded. "I was on the house team at school. Seeker."

Monsieur Henri hummed approvingly, "Our daughter, Aline, also enjoys flying. She was Chaser for Pappilonlisse."

"Where is that girl?" Madame Marie wondered aloud, scanning the crowd for her daughter. Her eyes stilled and narrowed when she caught sight of her. "Sacré bleu...Aline! Viens ici!"

Following Madame Marie's line of sight, Draco saw a tall blonde girl dancing with a boy similarly dressed to Monsieur Henri in the middle of the ballroom. Her smile fell when she heard her mother calling for her and she gave her dancing partner an apologetic look before weaving her way through the crowd towards them. Draco couldn't help but notice the crestfallen expression of the boy as Aline left his side. As Aline approached, she gave Draco and his parents a polite nod in greeting before addressing her mother.

"Oui, Momie? Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

Madame Marie and her daughter conversed in hushed whispers, a little unnecessarily in Draco's opinion, considering he had no idea what they were saying. The girl looked warily between Draco and her mother and muttered something under her breath. Draco might not speak French, but by the incensed expression on her mother's face, he could tell that she wasn't best pleased with whatever Aline had just said. After a few heated words, Aline rolled her eyes and turned back to Draco and his parents.

"Pleased...to...meet...you, Monsieur Malfoy," she said, struggling with her words as she curtseyed. Evidently, her English was as good as Draco's French.

Draco smiled and nodded politely to her, "Likewise, Mademoiselle."

"Look at you two, getting on so well already," Narcissa beamed. "Aline, it may interest you to know that we actually have our own Quidditch pitch on the grounds of the Manor. Draco, perhaps you could give Aline a tour? You could show her around the gardens as well."

"A fine suggestion," said Monsieur Henri. "It will give you two the opportunity to get to know one another a little better."

The parents looked expectantly at their children. Evidently, that was their cue to leave. Draco sighed and held out his arm to Aline. "Mademoiselle?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Aline took Draco's proffered arm and he led her out of the ballroom towards the front entrance. As they made their way down the flagstone steps towards the gardens, Draco drew his wand and cast a warming charm on both of them. Aline offered Draco a small smile and muttered 'merci' before bowing her head and they continued to walk in silence.

"I don't suppose you speak much English?" he asked. Aline simply smiled apologetically at him in response. Draco sighed and muttered, "Figured as much. Well, if it's any consolation, I can barely speak a word of French, so we're in the same predicament."

After showing Aline the Quidditch pitch, he guided her around the Manor gardens. Aline didn't seem particularly interested in the long line of white marble statues that littered the grounds, but she marvelled at the black roses that bloomed despite it being the middle of winter. She plucked one out of a bush and held it up to the moonlight, examining its velvety petals under the moonlight.

"Magnifique," she noted.

"Yes, they're quite lovely," Draco agreed. "My mother's the one who grows them; Herbology was always one of her fortes. I was always more interested in Potions and Alchemy, myself."

Aline stared blankly at Draco before smiling politely at him. Draco rolled his eyes and beckoned her to follow. He guided her through the water parterre, which she did seem thoroughly impressed by. She pointed at the fountains and said 'Versailles'.

"Yes, the gardens are based off of André Le Nôtre's designs," he explained. "Apparently, my ancestors were courtiers of Louis XIV. Not a fact that the family cares to brag about considering King Louis was a Muggle, but you know how it is with pure-blood families. No, of course you don't, because you don't have a clue what I'm saying, do you?"

Draco came to a stop at a stone bench and sat down, giving his sore feet a much-needed rest. Aline hesitated a moment before joining him, twirling the black rose stem between her fingertips. Draco put his head in his hands and grumbled, "This is pointless, isn't it? Why have I been charged with entertaining you when we can't even speak to one another?"

Aline frowned at him, but Draco continued regardless. "You know what I'd rather be doing tonight? Spending time with my boyfriend. Yes, I have a boyfriend. And the only person in the whole world that I can talk to about him can't even understand what the hell I'm saying." Draco looked up at the pale moon hanging low in the sky and admitted, "He's really quite wonderful, you know. Merlin knows what he sees in me, but he seems to really care about me. I care about him, too—love him, in fact—which is surprisingly difficult for me to admit without chemical persuasion. Not because I'm ashamed of him—far from it. It's just...well, talking about those kinds of feelings, it's just not how I was raised. Love makes you vulnerable—that's what father always told me. That you don't want to leave yourself open to attack from your enemies. He also says that there are more important things than love, like honour and blood. I'm sure you can understand that. "

Draco looked expectantly at Aline but she merely shrugged in response. He knew full well that she couldn't understand him (and all the better for it considering what he was talking about) but he was desperate to fill the awkward silence between them and found that now he had started talking, he couldn't stop. "And what am I doing instead of spending Christmas Eve with the one that I love? I'm sitting in the dark, freezing my arse off in the company of a complete stranger."

Aline perked up then and asked, "Love? L'amour?"

Draco nodded miserably. "Oui. L'amour."

Aline frowned and asked hesitantly, "L'amour...avec moi?"

Draco snorted and shook his head. "Definitely not. Don't get me wrong, you're very beautiful, but you're not my type. Even if you did speak English, we don't exactly speak the same language, if you catch my drift."

Aline looked relieved. "Qui?" she asked, pointing at Draco before tracing a heart shape in the air. "Qui aimes-tu?"

Draco hesitated. He knew that this was a dangerous conversation to have, even with someone who he could barely understand, but he figured they weren't likely to meet again after tonight, so what was the harm? Although Draco didn't have a picture of Harry, he did have something of Harry's on his person. He pulled the white feather out of his pocket and showed it to Aline.

She giggled and said, "Votre petit canard."

"I don't know what that means, but I'll assume it was something cheeky," he said, pocketing the feather again.

She then pointed to herself and nodded vigorously. "L'amour!"

"You're in love, too?" asked Draco with surprise. "With who? Um...urgh, what's the right word you used...qui?"

Aline looked around to make sure the coast was clear before she pulled a silver locket free from the front of her dress. She opened the locket and held it out to Draco. He leaned closer to take a look and immediately recognised the boy that she had been dancing with at the party. Draco looked up at Aline and traced a heart shape through the air like she had done previously, "He's your boyfriend?"

"Mon copain," she nodded, her voice strained. "Mon amour."

She looked down at the photograph again with a mournful expression. Her bottom lip began to tremble before, quite suddenly and without warning, she proceeded to burst into fits of tears. Draco's mouth fell open with shock, unsure at what could have prompted such a response. As Aline continued to cry, Draco grimaced and looked around helplessly, but they were completely alone. Unsure of what else to do, he pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and held it out to her. Aline took deep, shuddering breaths before taking the proffered handkerchief and dabbing her eyes.

"M-merci," she said in a shaky voice. Draco hesitated a moment before reaching out and patting her lightly on the shoulder.

"There there," he said awkwardly. "I'm assuming this boyfriend of yours is a right twat if he's making you cry like that." Aline shook her head vigorously and it was Draco's turn to stare blankly at her as she began speaking rapidly in French. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying. Maybe we should head back to the party."

Draco began to rise to his feet but Aline grabbed his arm and shook his head. "Non! Ne partez pas. S'il vous plaît."

Draco hesitated a moment before sitting back down again. "Okay...I don't know what else you want me to say, we've pretty much exhausted all of the French that I know."

Aline looked despondent as she tried and failed to tell Draco what seemed to be something of grave importance. The more Draco shrugged and shook his head, the more upset Aline became. As Aline fell into a fresh fit of tears, Draco snarled in frustration and massaged his temples, trying to figure out how the hell they could resolve this communication barrier. From what he could discern, Aline didn't want anyone else to know that they were (attempting and failing) to have this conversation. His parents were fluent in French, but he knew better than to ask them for help, or anyone else at the party, for that matter. And as far as he was aware, there were no spells or incantations or potions that would magically make him fluent in French. The only person that he knew other than his parents that could speak the language was Granger, but she wasn't there to lend a hand, and based on her last trip to the Manor, he was fairly certain that she would refuse an invitation to visit again.

Just as Draco was about to give up, inspiration struck him like a bolt of lightning. It was a long shot, but he had to try. His hands fell to his sides and he cried, "Blinken!"

With a loud crack, the aged house-elf appeared before Draco and bowed to him. "You called, Master?"

"Blinken, can you speak French?"

Blinken blinked and replied slowly, "Yes, sir. Blinken can speak French."

Draco laughed in relief. "Merlin, I should have called you out here ages ago. Blinken, translate what Mademoiselle Aline is trying to tell me."

Draco stormed up the flagstone steps, across the entrance hall and towards the ballroom as fast as his legs would carry him. He'd had his disagreements with his parents in the past, had questioned the choices they made, often on his behalf. But however misguided their actions, he had always wholeheartedly believed that their motives were well-intentioned and that they only wanted what was best for him. He had always buckled and bowed to their whims, even if at times his hand had been forced to do so. This time, however, it was different. This time, Draco would not back down.

He came to an abrupt stop as he entered the packed ballroom, scanning the crowd for his parents. He found them sitting at a nearby table with Monsieur Henri and his wife, smiling and nodding along with one another as they sipped their drinks. He watched as Lucius held out his hand to Monsieur Henri, who smiled before taking it into his own and gave it a firm shake. Draco just about exploded with fury then—he knew exactly what that handshake indicated.

Draco marched towards his parents, determined to put a stop to this charade once and for all. Narcissa saw him approach and frowned. "Draco, what are you doing here?"

"Where is Aline?" asked Madame Marie, looking past Draco's shoulder for her daughter.

"Aline was feeling unwell, so she went home," Draco explained evenly. "Mother. Father. A word, please?"

"Not now, Draco," Lucius chastised. "Can't you see that we're busy?"

"This isn't a request," Draco said in a low, angry voice. "I need to speak to both of you. Immediately."

Lucius drew his son a look that would normally have sent him running with his tail between his legs, but he stood his ground. He glared back at his father, unblinking and unwilling to concede. The silent staring contest dragged on for an uncomfortably long period of time until finally, Lucius relented. He mumbled his apologies to his guests and slowly rose to his feet, followed almost immediately by Narcissa. The tension was palpable between the three Malfoys as they exited the ballroom, their heads held high as they walked past their distinguished guests. Draco led them into the privacy of the adjoining parlour before rounding on his parents.

"I just had a very illuminating conversation with Aline," he said through gritted teeth. "She seemed to be under the impression that this was an engagement party. Would either of you care to explain why she would think that?"

Lucius appeared unmoved, but Narcissa cast a guilty look at her husband. Draco felt winded at the silent, subtle confirmation of his worst fears. "So it's true? This whole winter ball is just some elaborate front for you both to get me hitched behind my back?"

"Don't be absurd," Lucius scoffed. "The purpose of the gathering was for our family to establish new connections with the wider wizarding community. Your engagement to Aline is secondary to that, at best."

Draco's world lurched violently then and he had to grab the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. "Oh, gods…"

"We were going to tell you," said Narcissa. "At a more appropriate time."

"When?" Draco snapped. "At the altar? Once you'd tricked me into the marital bed?"

"Hold your tongue, boy," Lucius warned. "Remember who you are speaking to."

"It never once crossed your minds that perhaps it was worthwhile asking me what I thought about this before you put your plans into motion?" he demanded. "Don't I have a say in any of this?"

"Not particularly," said Lucius. "Don't give me that look, this is the way that it's always been done."

"It's true," Narcissa agreed. "You know that our marriage was pre-arranged, as are all marriages in the Black and Malfoy families. Darling, I know how you feel—it is quite daunting to know so little about the person that you will spend the rest of your life with. That's why we wanted to bring her here for you to meet beforehand, so that you could get to know each other a little better first. Please try to understand, we wouldn't match you with someone that we didn't believe was compatible with you. Aline seems like a lovely girl, and she comes from a well-respected family."

"A well-respected family," said Draco weakly. "I don't even know her! We don't even speak the same language!"

"She'll learn to speak English in time," Narcissa replied patiently. "Once she moves into the Manor, she'll be able to pick it up eventually."

"No," Draco shook his head. "No, I won't do it."

"Draco—"

"I WON'T DO IT!" he bellowed. "I won't marry a stranger just to keep you happy."

"This isn't for us, you ungrateful swine," Lucius snarled. "You think I've spent the last six months cooped up in my office trying to forge new alliances for my benefit? You are of age now, Draco. The future of this family rests on your shoulders, and I am attempting to salvage something from our tattered reputation to pass onto you!"

"Don't try to pretend that any of this is for my benefit!" Draco shouted. "You didn't consult me about it because you knew that I'd never agree to it."

"If Aline is not to your liking, then we can find someone more suitable for you," Narcissa offered. Draco drew her a withering look.

"You know fine well that Aline is not the problem here, it's you two constantly meddling with my life!" Draco snarled and slapped the top rail of the chair in anger. "Gods, I'm so sick and tired of it! If you're not performing Unbreakable Vows behind my back, you're enrolling me in school, or telling me what to wear and what to think. And now this! I can't take it anymore!"

"The depths of your ungrateful nature knows no bounds," said Lucius, shaking his head in disgust. "After everything your mother and I have done for you, after all the sacrifices that we have made, you still insist on acting like a petulant child."

"Oh! So, I'm mature enough to get married, just not to have a say in who it should be to?" Draco challenged. "I have never refused either of you anything in my entire life. Not once. But I cannot—I will not—marry that girl."

"And what am I supposed to tell the Marquis?" asked Lucius. "You expect me to walk back through there and tell him that months of negotiations are to be thrown out of the window based solely on my son's selfish whims?"

"I don't care what you tell them," Draco laughed. "You're the one that created this problem, not me. And let's make one thing perfectly clear—I won't be marrying Aline, or anyone else for that matter, unless I choose to. I am my own person and I won't be bullied or guilt-tripped into taking part in your stupid schemes any longer!"

Lucius lunged forward then and grabbed the front of Draco's robes. "You will do as you're told, boy, so long as you live under this roof!"

"Lucius, no!" Narcissa tried to pry her husband and son apart, but Lucius shrugged her off. "Stop it, please!"

"Now you listen here," Lucius snarled. "You are going to march yourself back into that room and apologise to the Marquis and his wife for being so rude, and then you're going to tell them that it would be the honour of your life to have their daughter's hand in marriage. You do that, and we can forget that this little disagreement ever happened. Are we clear?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "No."

Anger flashed across Lucius's face and he tightened his grip on Draco's robes. "Do it, or else—"

"Or else what?" Draco cut in. "The only way that I'm walking back in that room is if you Imperius me."

Something dark flashed across Lucius's eyes and Draco felt his blood run cold. It was there and gone in an instant but Draco couldn't deny what he'd seen—his father, however briefly, had actually considered doing just that. Lucius loosened his grip on Draco then and he yanked himself free from his father's grasp.

"I've had enough of this," he muttered, backing away from his parents. "I've enough of both of you. I'm leaving."

"What?" Narcissa said breathlessly. "Draco, wait. Let's talk about this…"

"There's nothing to talk about."

Draco stormed out of the parlour and headed straight for the front entrance. Lucius didn't move. He seemed incapable of speech as he watched his son walk away from him and out of sight. Narcissa chased after Draco, down the flagstone steps and across the long driveway towards the wrought-iron gates.

"Draco, stop!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "Please, don't leave like this. We can sort this out!"

Draco paused and turned to face his mother. "You know, I expect this sort of thing from Father, but not from you. How could you do this to me?"

Narcissa let go of Draco and let her hand fall by her side. "I did try to talk your father out of it. I told him that you wouldn't be happy about it, but you know how he is once he gets an idea in his head. There was no persuading him otherwise."

"But you could have told me," Draco argued. "You could have warned me what Father had planned, but you didn't. You left me in the dark and, as usual, I was the last one to find out things that involve my life."

"I'm sorry for not telling you," said Narcissa mournfully. "But there's no need for you to storm away in the middle of the night. Please, come back to the house and we can talk this through."

Draco scoffed. "What's to talk about? You and Father have already made your minds up for me. All those things that you said to me the other day, about taking a step back and leaving me to make decisions for myself in future, it was a pack of lies."

Narcissa shook her head, "No! Of course it wasn't."

"Then what do you call all of this?" he cried, his voice breaking. "What was all of that in there? Bringing all of these people here, trying to find me a job and a wife—trying to sculpt a life for me in your own image. You don't care about me or what I want, you just care about how other people see us!"

"No! I've only ever wanted the best for you," she argued. "Can't you see that none of this is for our benefit? We're doing all of this for you!"

Draco shook his head in disbelief, "Gods, you really believe that, don't you?"

"Since the day you were born, everything I've done has been for you!" she implored. "I turned my back on everything, burned bridges with everyone that I know—for you. When I defied the Dark Lord that night in the forest, I knew that one way or the other, life as we knew it would be over. And I'd do it again, in a heartbeat, because I love you, Draco. More than my own life. So for you to say that I don't care about you wounds me...deeply."

"If you really cared that much about me, then why can't you trust me to decide these things for myself?" he asked. "If you'd bothered to ask, you'd know that I don't even want to get married! To anyone!"

"I don't understand why you are so opposed to the idea of the marriage," said Narcissa. "Aline is smart and articulate, and she's beautiful. You share the same interests, and while I concede there is a language barrier, that's a small price to pay for a relatively happy marriage."

Draco shook his head. "Even if she were the most perfect woman in the world, I still would not marry her."

"Why ever not?"

"You know why!"

Narcissa pursed her lips. Draco's sexuality had been a subject he'd been careful to avoid discussing openly with his parents, but even if they hadn't talked about it, he found it hard to believe that his mother, at least, didn't know the truth.

"Draco, you're young," she said evenly. "Our tastes are like our priorities, they mature with time. Don't throw away a perfectly good marriage on account of passing notions that change with the wind."

"This isn't some passing notion," Draco argued. "This is who I am. It's who I've always been and who I'll always be. What kind of person would I be to marry someone that I couldn't love? What kind of home would that be to raise a child in?"

Draco looked pleadingly at his mother as she considered his words for a moment only to cross her arms and shrug. "I don't see what the issue is. You're old enough to know that marriage isn't a fairytale. We all must do what's expected of us. Once you've produced an heir, how you conduct yourself in your private life is your business. Isn't that enough?"

Draco's shoulders sagged. He'd been foolish to think that she would say anything else.

"No, it's not," he said quietly.

Resolute in his decision, Draco turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his mother standing out in the cold. Once he'd passed the Manor wards, Draco stood alone, wondering what to do next. His first thought was to go to Harry, but he didn't have any means of contacting him and he didn't know where The Burrow was. He didn't have any money either, so a hotel room was out of the question. He hadn't even been savvy enough to grab a cloak before he'd departed the Manor, and warming charms were only so effective against the midwinter chill setting in. Draco's options were limited, but only one other destination came to mind—the only other place in the world that he would be welcome.

Probably.

Maybe.

Okay, perhaps welcome was a strong word, but with no other viable alternatives, Draco clenched his eyes shut and Apparated to the front door of a sizable estate just outside St Neot in Cornwall. Bracing himself, Draco grabbed the brass knocker at the centre of the door and knocked it three times. He waited anxiously for any reply, and just as he was beginning to worry that nobody was going to answer, the front door creaked open and a familiar, sometimes friendly face appeared.

"What are you doing here?" asked Theo.

Draco opened his mouth, but no words came out. It had been so long since Theo had even looked at him that he couldn't think what to say. Theo cocked an eyebrow at Draco.

"Well? Are you lost or is there a particular reason that you're darkening my doorway?"

Draco gave himself a little shake and came back to his senses. "I…I had a fight with my parents and I needed to get away."

"So, you came here?" asked Theo, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Draco admitted shamefully.

Theo considered him for a long moment before rolling his eyes and opening the door. "Well...I suppose you better come in, then."