Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the plot, and Sebastian.
A/N* This is set seven years later, just so you aren't confused.
Chapter 2. To Live the Lie
He was home.
Draco Malfoy eyed the familiar mahogany door with distaste, feeling unsettled he should be at all disappointed. It had been nearly seven years since he'd set foot into Malfoy Manor, seven years he had to truthfully admit were better spent away from that now horrid place he was forced to call home.
Naturally, Draco had never particularly understood the 'home sweet home' prhase, not with Lucius playing the role of Daddy Dearest. His only refuge had been Hogwarts, where he'd gratefully attended until his eighteenth birthday, the day he became a man separate of Lucius, separate of the family he loathed. Or so he thought.
In truth, his age was not reason enough for escape. In truth, it was just the beginning.
First came the classy supper banquets that provided Draco Malfoy his introduction as an eligible, wealthy bachelor. They were tedious and pretentious, yes, but necessary for his upbringing, and Draco endured each one with the same apathetic face he'd practitioned during his schooling. It was, really, his first glimpse into the world of women as during Hogwarts he was forced to date that atrocious Pansy Parkinson, and Merlin knew she was more possessive than a famished man of food.
Draco was good-looking man, and immodest at that, too. He was the type of man people stared at upon entrance, the kind mothers warned their swooning daughters about when they weren't sneaking wanton glances themselves. He had true heartbreaker potential, and if it hadn't been for his sniveling father and pathetic Pansy, he would've deflowered half of Hogwarts.
So when he was finally rid of both of them, Draco had been ready to take the female population. He was back, and single with a vengeance. A few dinner parties to guarantee his spot into Lucius' will, and hecould unleash the monstrosity Pansy had kept confined. There was one large glitch, however, that prevented his freedom and chained him to Lucius' command.
Draco was betrothed to Pansy.
He was told, or rather reminded, of this particular blessed event during his nineteenth birthday celebration. His first instinct was to bed some random woman—he would not willingly marry Pansy the peroxide bimbo, especially not as a virgin, not after four torturesome years with her, solitude.
Lucius Malfoy was unfortunately too smart, too crafty, and too sly—he made sure Pansy attended the party, irritating Draco to his wits end with her bubbly cheer until he came dangerously close to hovering on the brink of insanity. He was never out of her sight the entire night, as she also made certain of for the six grueling months until their wedding. And for that hell he found her despicable, never ceasing to hide that fact from the general public either.
Those outside of the Slytherin society gazed upon the betrothment and Draco's response to it with befuddlement. People whispered with wondrous amazement as to why Draco simply didn't stand up to his father. He never exactly had the reputation of being meek, after all. They never understood what it was like being Lucius' son, being the Malfoy heir, and Draco didn't expect them to.
He considered it, briefly. Faking his death, disowning his family, anything to escape Pansy's clutches, but once again Lucius was a step ahead. He made it extensively clear to his angry son that should for any reason this marriage not occur, Draco would be out of an inheritance, out of the house, and out of any reputation. "It will be entirely impossible for you to seek employment," Lucius had threatened, making positive the vitality of a Malfoy-Parkinson allignment was not lost on Draco.
There had been a struggle, naturally, but in the end nothing was as Draco expected. Because though there was an era when Pansy had loved Draco, back when she could hope he'd learn to love her in time, all time had brought was reality, reality that lusting over him would always leave her broken and alone, reality that maybe love wasn't meant to be for somebody like her. She didn't stop admiring him, knowing well she'd jump at the chance of having him in her bed if only he would agree even though she hated him.
She'd always imagined him to be a magnificent lover, and it pained her that though to everyone else he was hers, in the most physical and emotional senses he would never be. But as she'd graduated, the last bit of her childhood girlish fantasies were left behind, and the new woman that emerged no longer went starry-eyed at the idea of spending a lifetime with Draco Malfoy. This new woman had learned that only the strong survive, that those weak enough for silly things like love where eaten, chewed up, and spit out mercilessly. It was her who set out to show Draco that if she couldn't have him, then nobody would.
As giggly as Pansy could be, she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin without reason, and her own guile, though at times well concealed, could nearly rival that of Lucius. Like the elder Malfoy, she valued the importance of reputation and set out protecting her own. First, she warned those first class skanks to stay out of her fiancé's bed, and being a woman of incredible power and ferocity, she knew well he'd have to search before he found a woman submissive enough to place a good shag over their lives. He may have been very much a man, but Draco had too much dignity and pride, and she was satisfied knowing he'd rather hang himself than seek a woman lower than him.
This was all accomplished as he struggled uselessly with Lucius, and by the time he'd taken heed of her devious actions, damage control was an impossibility. Pansy layed out her expectations carefully, brutally, stressing the importance of his fidelity. "You don't like me," she'd told him. "That's fine, I don't care. But let me remind you that if you even so much as consider extramarital relations, what you'll suffer from me will leave you begging for an avada kevadra."
The part of her that would always remain lost to him wished, very subconsciously, that he would be so sexually frustrated he would come to her eventually. Then again, things never did turn out the way Pansy planned.
They wed in early June, when the weather was fair but bordering on warm, in an exclusive yet widely publicized ceremony. It was perhaps the worst night of his life, the dreadful honeymoon spent in separate suites with large amounts of drugging alcohol. At that time, suicide had seemed a perfectly logical road out of his incessant misery.
But then Lucius fell ill.
It's a terrible thing to wish one's father harm—unimaginable to wish him death. Lucius had never completely been a father, however, and with only a small, shameful amount of guilt did Draco count the days until he could be freed of Pansy. It not only gave him solace, that thougth of a burdenless life, his ailment was an excuse for Draco to leave Malfoy Manor.
The disease—trychlaeternia—was one even the darkest of magics could not cure, and a severely weakened Lucius was moved to a treatment center in Canada, Draco thus accompanying him. His condition worsened, and as Lucius bordered on death Draco watched with a mixture of grief and excitement. The days were dull, spent in the sterlized stench of hospital, haunted ubiquitously by Pansy's abundance of spies. He tolerated her, stayed loyal to their joke of a marriage, knowing with glee that Lucius was inches from death.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, Lucius recovered. Draco didn't panic at first—it was bound to be a fluke. But his health recuperated steadily, and Draco's world became dark again. In defeat and despondency, Draco made the momentuous decision to return home early, to Malfoy Manor, to Pansy.
She had been more than delighted, of course, no matter how many times he stressed that she was simply the lesser of the two evils. Yes, she was embittered by his treatment during all those years but to hide that she longed for him—that was unfeasible to accomplish. Despite that, though, he'd written her no more than two letters during his stay, one upon arrival and one before departure, both emphasizing his deep resentment of their ridiculous relationship.
But now he was here, facing Malfoy Manor once more. With a deep breath, Draco pushed through the door. "I'm home," he announced sullenly, not bothering to feign cheer.
The chattering stopped, and a moment later Pansy appeared before him. "Draco," she greeted with practiced sweetness. The years hadn't been as harsh on her as Draco wuold've hoped, but there was certainly a different air around her. Her plentiful golden hair no longer loose around her neck but was pinned into an immaculate bun that made her seem older and, if anything, more refined. Any grace she could've exerted, however, was lost on Draco.
"I thought I told you not to apparate on the grounds," he snarled.
"It's been seven years," Pansy said in a small, hurt, voice. "Can't you just act happy to see me?"
"I don't act anything I'm not," Draco replied darkly.
She crinkled her thin brows, moving to embrace him. "You don't mean that," she pressed.
He stepped away as if she carried a plague, and Pansy flinched. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he sneered. "We don't touch unless its for publicity."
"You know," Pansy said angrily. "I hoped beyond hope that time would've changed you, softened you—"
"Oh, now you want me to be soft," he scoffed.
"—but you're the same ignorant, bastardly, prat you always were, and—"
"I will not have you insult me in my own bloody mansion, you filthy bitch," Draco bellowed seethingly. There was a moment of silence, as though he had a nasty temper and an avid antipathy for all things Parkinson, Draco had never been flagrantly derisive, nor had he ever lost his calm in a situation with her.
"Maybe you've forgotten that I'm your wife," Pansy said dryly.
"I have at times," he retorted. "Best dreams I've ever had. But then I wake up, and you're still here in my house."
"Stop referring to the manor as your house," Pansy huffed. "It became my house when you married me."
"I didn't marry you," Draco corrected acidly. "Our fathers married us. And as soon as mine dies, you'll be out on your surgically corrected arse."
Pansy flushed. "Well, you just wasted seven years in Canada and he's not dying anytime soon," she pointed out smugly.
"Wasted? I don't think so," he snorted. "You see, those were seven glorious years during which I never had to see your face. And while we're on the topic of your face, you better pray you didn't charge that second nose job of yours to my account."
A voice interrupted their interlude from the sitting room before Pansy had the chance to respond. "Is that you, Draco?"
The nose comment immediately forgotten, Draco narrowed his eyes at his wife when it registered who the speaker was. "My mother is here?" he hissed.
"What are you, afraid of women?" Pansy smirked.
His icy gray eyes became glowering slits, and she suppressed a shudder, as she'd almost forgotten his powerful presence and the ability he possessed to terrify every single non-Slytherin back at Hogwarts. "Did you invite her?"
"She's your mother, Draco."
"And look who my wife is," he bit. "Terms don't translate to love, Pansy."
"So I've learned," she sighed. "Look, just try to be pleasant. Narcissa isn't exactly someone I want to annoy."
"Draco?" Narcissa called again.
He glared darkly at Pansy again. "Coming, Lady Malfoy," she replied helplessly, avoiding his penetrating gaze as she turned towards the sitting room.
"Coming, Lady Malfoy," Draco mimicked under his breath, but followed her nevertheless.
Narcissa set her teacup down when they entered, sweeping over Draco and taking him in. She was nearing her fifties, but with the exception of a few sparse white strands in her already silvery hair, she looked as always—cold, distant, elegant, and beautiful. There were barely any wrinkles, as Narcissa Malfoy never had much reason to worry, and in the same respect there were no laugh lines either. "Draco, darling," she greeted with a think-lipped smile, his thin-lipped smile.
"Mother," he returned congenially, pecking her rouged cheek with an almost awkward politeness.
She touched a palm to his face as he drew back, the lack of warmth in her hand causing him to jump. "Tell me, Draco," she said in a voice he'd never heard on her before, "How's my dear husband?"
Draco wiggled a bit, not used to any displays of affection on his mother's part. "He's fine," he said, sounding more clipped and strained than he would've preferred. "Made a miraculous recovery, as I'm sure you've heard."
"You must've been overjoyed," Narcissa scanned his eyes carefully, seeing her own, those same silver eys, mirrored in his. Draco shifted again, now more physically uncomfortable than anything.
"Of course," Draco grimaced, struggling not to let his sarcasm be evident. Pansy snicekred, and if he oculd've turned his head he would have silenced her with yet another lethal Malfoy glare.
Narcissa studied her son wordlessly for a second, an unreadable expression gracing her classic features. She patted his face lightly, her touch bordering on maternal, and then withdrew the hand. Reaching for her teacup, she flashed a bright, wan smile. "Lovers' quarrel?"
He jerked away, glowering loathefully at Pansy. "She wishes," he sneered
Pansy shrunk, and Narcissa's eyebrows rose as she observed their interaction silently. "So do tell me about your father," she said, dabbing at her mouth.
Draco let out a small puff of air. "Would you mind not talking about Father today?" He snapped.
"If you wish. We could talk about something else, then," she shrugged with a wicked grin. "Like, perhaps, grandchildren."
It was a thankful thing Draco hadn't been drinking tea, or droplets would've been flying all around the elegant parlor now. "Grandchildren?" He croaked. He had to procreate with this terror of a woman?
Her eyes lit up then, a fleck of blue appearing in those rigid gray that he'd never seen before, and her gaze concentrated on something behind him. "Speaking of which," she said softly.
A small boy, not quite hitting the three feet mark, stood warily in the doorway. He was just a toddler, but clothed in mature clothing, and Draco felt a wave of nostalgia as he took in the the cleanly pressed black slacks and stiff collared shirt. "G'Afternoon, Grandmother," He chirped.
Narcissa beamed proudly. "Would you believe he's only six?" She gushed, and the funny feeling that aroused within him from hearing his mother sound so loving was nothing compared the eerieness that radiated from this boy.
The sunlight dancing upon his amber eyes made them seem golden, and he turned ot Draco with wide-eyed curiosity. "Who are you?" He said in a voice incredibly cultured for someone of his age.
Draco glanced suspiciously between a tight-lipped Pansy and the blond-haired boy standing before him. "Who are you?"
Pansy cleared her throat nervously. "Draco dear, I would've told you earlier but you never wrote to me."
"What does he have to do with me?" He wanted to know.
Pansy was losing her cool. "This is Sebastian." He frowned, and she added with pleading blue eyes, "Your son."
~*~
"What are you, out of your fucking mind? Or is it still stuck up your arse?"
"Shut it," Pansy hissed, locking the den doors quickly and glaring at her husband. "He can hear you if you don't keep your voice down, you know."
"Why the hell do I care?" Draco raised his voice for good measure. "He's not my son. He can't be, because maybe you still haven't realized, but for you and I to have a son, we'd have to fuck first. Which never has and never will happen, not outside of your lucrative fantasies that is."
As his furious silver eyes bored holes into her, she sank down into one of the fine upholstered chairs and buried her head in her arms. "I realize, Draco," Pansy said, sounding muffled.
"So you're not delirious or anything," Draco remarked with a snarl, a little calmer now. "You know he's not my son."
She bobbed her head up and down as best she could. "Yes, Draco, I know."
He strode over, grabbed a fistful of her bun, and yanked her head back to glare into her eyes. "Then why would you bloody tell everyone we know that he's our son? Including my mother?" He spat each word out with venomous poison, and she flinched.
"Think about it, Draco," She cried, wrestling away from his grasp. "We've been married for what, eight years now. Don't you think people would've gotten suspicious if we never had a child?"
Running his fingers through his hair, Draco stepped back and surveyed her for a moment. "Wait a second," he said, eyes glittering, "He isn't my son."
She rolled her eyes. "I think we've established that, Draco."
"Why Pansy," Draco feigned hurt. "I thought fidelity was important to you."
"What?" She frowned.
There was an elongated pause that Draco undoubtedly enjoyed, a smug smile flickering upon his face as he sauntered to his desk and leaned against it with crossed arms. "He's not my son," Draco said, "Which means, you slept with another man, not only that, you had a child by him and lied to pass it off as mine. I think that's good reason for an annulment, don't you?"
Pansy simply tilted her chin, sea blue eyes narrowing as she matched his leer. "You wouldn't."
He smirked. "Try me, Parkinson. I've been trying to get rid of you for a decade now, and it looks like I've finally hit the jackpot."
She seemed almost amused now, watching him with the same cool indifference he'd perfected. "No, Draco, you wouldn't," she restated firmly. "In fact, you're going to play along, and embrace the child society believes to be the heir of Malfoy Manor."
"Now I know you like your drink," he arched a brow, "But don't you think you've had a little too much?"
"Listen to me, Draco Malfoy, oh dearest husband," Pansy snarled, jabbing one pointy finger at his chest and glaring. "You are going to do what I say, you are in fact going to be taking care of your lovely son while I'm on vacation for the next two months, and you are going to love every minute of it."
"Really," he chuckled mirthlessly, entertained by her tirade and at the same time just the slightest bit intimidated that she could be so confident he would act as she bidded. "And just why would I do that?"
Pansy raised her chin defiantly. "Remember what your dear father said to you about not sleeping around?"
"What about it?" He said guardedly.
She stood up with languid ease, smoothing the hem of her skirt with a knowing smile, the kind Potter had worn after winning a quidditch match. "I think he would be quite upset to learn that you had an affair, don't you?"
If just for a moment, Draco felt the blood rush to his head, and he watched his wife with baited breath. Impossible, he thought, she couldn't know. "What the fuck are you playing at?" He demanded, praying she was just bluffing.
"You know what I'm talking about, Draco," She said, her voice decievingly soft. "I know everything that goes on with my former Slytherins, and you of all people should now how hard trust is to find these days."
"Look, Pansy, it doesn't matter because what matters is that you—"
"Marcus Flint was more than willing to tell me about finding you naked in one of his guest rooms." She cut him off, and his face grew ashen. With an extremely self-content smirk, she added, "A room that reeked heavily of sex." He made a growling noise at the back of his throat, and she tossed back her head to laugh. "My, my, Draco, you really think I didn't know? Flint's wife said she could hear the screams all the way down the hall as you fucked your little whore into the night. Or do you not remember?"
As if it could block out her face, Draco closed his eyes anguishedly. He remembered, all right. The recollection of that steamy night was all that kept him sane during his time with Lucius, and when he lay awake in his cold chamber he could picture the woman, her creamy skin and full lips, and the burning touch of her hands. He'd tried to find her, even, using a locater charm on the necklace she's left beside him, but whoever had crafted the necklace had done so with a counterspell. He'd even gone so far as too demand the guest list from Flint, finding every woman invited but never the mysterious redhead.
Glancing at Pansy now, Draco knew that night had left him years of trouble to come, but he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it. That woman, whoever she was, had left an odd impact on him he really wasn't able to explain. She was different, delicate, and in that moment of passionate coition they'd shared he felt connected to her in more ways than one—he felt as if she was made for him, made for that physical act of love.
Love. What was it, really? He found it ridiculous that he could be associating a one-night stand with love when here was his wife, the woman he'd dated since fourth year, and the idea of touching her sent fits of revulsion all throughout his stomach. And after several years, he gave up on finding the mystery woman, not sure he could deal any longer with the disappointed that had flooded him the morning he awoke in Flint's mansion, alone and smelling of her.
He never forgot her, however. Though he'd left for the Americas not a week after his encounter, he saw her everywhere he went. He stared at every redhead, fell silent at every sound which reminded him of her, and there were times when he'd wake in his penthouse bathed in cold sweat, his dreams haunted by her, dreams that seemed unbearably real. Pansy was staring at him curiously now, and he snapped out of the reverie.
Draco cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Okay, Pansy," he drawled. "I'm not one to deny things so obviously true. So what do you want from me?"
"I told you," she smiled triumphantly. "I'm going on vacation, and naturally it would look terrible for you to come along and leave our darling child home—"
He winced. "Don't call him our child when we're in private, Pansy," he sneered.
"If you say so," she dismissed. "Anyways, I'm sure you'll have a splendid time with him for the next, oh, three months."
"I thought you said two," he demanded.
Pansy grinned cheekily. "I lied." Boy were the tables turned now, she thought in delight.
"So what's his name, anyways?" Draco grumbled.
"Sebastian," she reminded. "Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy. I didn't pick the name, though."
"It figures," he retorted. "It's a rather decent name, one that would suit a Malfoy. Too bad he isn't one. But it doesn't matter, because you know I hate kids. Alive ones, at least. So how the hell do you expect me to take care of a kid?"
"I don't," Pansy replied smoothly. "That's why I've taken the liberty of hiring a governess. You didn't think I took care of Sebastian for six long years, do you?"
"I thought that having a child might've made you halfway woman," Draco smirked. "But I see that I've thought wrong. Do tell me, though, who's the idiotic father of our so-called child?"
"Jealous?"
"Hardly," he snorted. "Just haven't met anyone both blind and stupid enough to sleep with you. So who is he?"
She flounced towards the door. "That's for me to know," Pansy said, relishing in the irked scowl that appeared immediately on his face as she slipped into the hallway.
Draco stared after her. "And me to find out," he muttered. "Oh Pansy, mark my words, you'll pay for this."
~ End of Chapter 2
A/N* muahaha! Ah just to tell you ahead of time this is not and will never be Draco/Pansy. . .there is a reason why I didn't put that up there, because there won't be any triangles with the D/G/P or anything, as you can probably tell from this chapter that he hates her. Don't worry, Ginny returns in the next chapter. You can probably guess how and why. And yes, the deal she made in the previous chapter will be revealed, though some of you probably have realized exactly what it was already. Meh. The review button's waiting. ^_^