The Selwyn Estate was not as large or grand as Malfoy Manor nor was it situated in as private of a location and, where the Manor was warm and beautiful, the Estate was cold and dark, but Draco supposed it had its charms. The architecture was reminiscent of a medieval castle with all of its imposing angles and fascinating details. Draco could image the Amaris Grey that appeared at his mother's parties growing up here, but not the girl with whom he attended Hogwarts nor the child he played with over the summer when he was eight. That girl was far too happy to have grown up under this roof.

He briefly wondered what her parents' home had looked like as they climbed the front steps and knocked on the door. A house elf answered and ushered them into a dimly foyer with high ceilings, wall sconces, and a crystal chandelier. Before them was a double staircase with a dark, wooden banister and blood red runners, which framed a hallway leading deeper into the house and a large, ghastly painting that hung over the archway.

Mr. Selwyn was coming down the right side of the staircase. "You're early," he exclaimed, smiling.

"Apologies, Sagun. Draco was eager to see Amaris," his father explained and Draco shot him a dirty look. It's not that it wasn't true, just that he hadn't done or said anything to give his parents that impression. It was a tactic, nothing more, and it irked him.

Mr. Selwyn chucked. "Indeed, indeed. Welcome," he said, vigorously shaking his father's hand, then Draco's, and finishing with a light squeeze of his mother's fingers. "I'll have the tea summoned immediately. It's a lovely blend I bought off a warlock I met on business in Pakistan." He motioned them forward toward an open doorway beneath the stairs that led deeper into the house. When his eyes met Draco's, he winked and said, "Amaris is just getting ready. I'm sure she'll be along any moment."

Draco somehow resisted cringing and nodded, slowing his steps as the three adults hurried along, Mr. Selwyn boasting about his tea blend. Eyeing the grand double-staircase, he made an impulsive decision to go exploring and began quietly climbing the steps. Perhaps he could sneak up on Grey, or at least surprise her.

He had been looking forward to this day all week, anxious to discover whether she would remember his promise to dance with her if she wore something green. If she did, what did it mean? That she wanted to dance with him, of course, but what else? That she was attracted to him. That she had feelings for him. That she liked to be close to him. That she wanted him to touch her. Or maybe he was reading too much into it and she only enjoyed a capable dance partner, something she was obviously lacking. As was he.

As Draco reached the second-floor landing, he casually followed the open floor banister to the left, looking around at the wood panel walls oddly lacking decoration of any kind. As he ducked into a long hallway on his right, he found a series of rooms with closed doors save for one in the middle. Light spilled from a small crack. As Grey was the only other occupant of the Selwyn Estate that he knew of, he headed in that direction. Upon approach, he could hear voices.

"And what is this?" came a woman's voice. "I told you to put it away."

"But I think—" Grey began but was immediately silenced.

"You are not to think, Amaris," she said in a clipped tone. "That is why your uncle hired me. Childish sentimentality will not secure you a match. Now put it away."

Draco peeked through the crack and saw the back of a tall woman with dark hair. She snatched a scarf out of Grey's hands and tossed it on the bed. Draco tilted his head, but couldn't see her behind the other woman whom Draco guessed was her tutor.

"Put this on," the woman said, offering something to Grey.

"No."

"Don't talk back. I said put it on."

"But it's not mine. I don't want them to think—"

The woman cracked her across the cheek so suddenly that, for a moment, Draco was too stunned to react.

"How dare you talk back to me! The Malfoys will be here any moment now."

"I won't wear it," Grey rasped. "It's a lie."

The woman slapped her again and Draco felt his jaw tighten in anger.

"Your uncle will hear about this," she hissed. And then she spun toward the door. "Hurry up."

Draco pressed himself against the wall, breathing heavily as rage roiled in his chest. He waited in absolute stillness as the woman came through the door, closed it, and turned to leave down the opposite hallway. He noticed she held a piece of jewelry in her fist. Had she been angling to deceive them or had Grey been made an offer? Something to discover later…

Draco left his hiding spot and followed the tutor, quietly sliding up behind her. When his shadow fell over her, she started in surprise and spun around, giving Draco a clear view of the pug-nosed witch.

"Do you know who I am?" he purred icily, just as he had seen his father do a million times.

"Mr. Malfoy," she exclaimed with breathy surprise. "Welcome to—"

"As long as Amaris Grey is my match, you will keep your hands off of her."

Her face flushed with splotches of red. "Excuse me?"

Draco took a step toward her. "If you strike her again," he said slowly, carefully, "I will make you regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

The tutor blanched between the ruddy splotches, seemingly both offended and terrified. Then she nodded, dipped into a shallow curtsy, and rushed off.

Draco heard rustling from within Grey's room and immediately went back downstairs, determined not to be there when Grey walked out. He didn't want her knowing what he had seen or what he'd said, didn't want to deal with her gratitude or ire, whichever would be unleashed.

The truth was that he hadn't done it for her. Draco merely detested physical violence. It was barbaric. Civilized wizards settled their differences with duels. How dare that bitch strike Grey like some…some Muggle? And more to the point, how dare she lay a finger on his woman? Even though the match was fake, as long as everyone else thought it was real, Grey belonged to him. He simply would not tolerate someone slapping around the woman he was supposed to care for.

Draco's father had taught him the proper way for a wizard to treat his witch: to cherish her, as she was his equal in every way. To be faithful to her in action and in thought. To protect her with his entire being. To devote himself to her pleasure. And to regularly remind her of her value by lavishing her with compliments and gifts. That was the way his father loved his mother and the way Draco intended to love his future wife, should he meet the right woman.

Grey was not the right woman and he would not cherish her, protect her, or devote himself to her. But he had allowed his parents and Mr. Selwyn to believe he had an interest in matching with her and, while he did not feel he owed Grey anything, he would be damned if he let some crusty old bitch slap his fake future wife. She was his to torment, no one else's.

When Draco found his family in the sitting room, he muttered a quick excuse about being distracted by the painting in the foyer, idly commenting on how exquisite the brush strokes and fascinating the color palette. Mr. Selwyn seemed thoroughly pleased by his assessment.

"I know the artist, you know," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Fascinating man, incredibly talented. You should see the gallery!" Mr. Selwyn suddenly smiled wide. "I'll have Amaris show you after tea!" Then, he frowned and shook his head. "Where is that girl?"

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets, mentally grounding himself. He wanted to tell him that she would come down when she was ready and to leave her alone, but that would raise suspicion against his lie.

His mother chuckled. "You must have patience with us ladies, Sagun," she said. "Beauty takes time."

"Quite right," he conceded with a nod.

Draco sat down in a sitting chair and took an offered cup of tea. He held it for a while, too tense to drink, as his parents chatted with Mr. Selwyn.

Approximately seven minutes later, he heard heels clicking on the wood floors and his mood instantly lightened. All heads turned toward the open archway as Grey appeared. Draco's entire body went taut. She stood in the door in an emerald green cross halter swing dress with her hair curled into white-blond waves that fell down her back and her eyes lined with make-up. She looked every bit a Slytherin.

She was beautiful. She was fucking exquisite. And she had dressed this way for him. He had told her to wear green and this was what she'd chosen. For him. It was so incredibly sexy that he felt his pants tighten uncomfortably and he immediately had to begin some mental exercises to calm down.

"Good afternoon," she said with a smile, and if he didn't know better, he would have never guessed she had just been struck. How many times had it happened? How many visits to his home had been preceded with a physical blow? "I apologize for my lateness."

"Don't be silly, dear," his mother tutted. "We've only just arrived." She patted the seat next to her, inviting Grey to sit with her.

"Beauty takes time," Mr. Selwyn parroted with a gentle lift of his teacup.

His mother nodded. "That's right."

As Grey came around the couch, their eyes met and one corner of her lips tilted up. There was something shy about it, a silent reminder of their deal that if she wore green, he would dance with her. She was holding up her end of the bargain. Now it was his turn. He swallowed the lump in his throat and double-down on his mental exercises.

"As promised," his mother said, handing Grey the D S Drummer book. "Not to spoil it for you, but the reviews were correct. It is his best book. I wasn't sure until the end, but that is when the masterpiece became apparent."

Grey beamed. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm so excited to read it."

As they sipped on tea and nibbled on biscuits, conversation was immediately taken over by Mr. Selwyn, who steered it directly toward the adults in the room, ignoring Grey and Draco almost entirely. It was so unlike tea at his own house where his parents made them as much a focus of the conversation as they were a part of it.

Draco instead stared at Grey, at her rigid posture and her dainty manners. She had been just as polite at his house, though remarkably more relaxed. Here, she gazed attentively at her uncle, listening to every word he said, though she remained utterly silent. She ate only half her biscuit and drank a single cup of tea. Her hands remained primly in her lap, delicate ankles crossed and angled to her right. This was the Grey that had come to his mother's summer party. This was the Grey who attended Christmas dinner. She was a statue, a perfect little Pureblood doll. So icy, it made the blood run hot, as Theo had put it. But not for Draco…

Only once did she glance over at him and he let her catch his appraising stare. He recognized her faint blush instantly, a crack in that marble veneer. That was what made his blood run hot—this Slytherin-like armor she wore, that he knew it was a lie, and that he could pierce it. When would they be left alone? Would it be rude of him to just get up, grab Grey by the arm, and walk out? Impatient, Draco found himself tracking the tea leaving the pot, the biscuits diminishing on the plate. He counted the seconds as they turned into minutes, counted the minutes until he was sure an hour had gone by.

And then finally, Mr. Selwyn gasped. "Ah, the gallery!" he exclaimed and Draco sat up straighter. "You wanted to see it, young man, isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," he ground out.

"Amaris, would you show Draco to the gallery?" he asked in that way that was clear he was not really asking. "He was admiring the Kumat de Varsi."

"Of course, Uncle," she said, rising from her seat with surprising elegance considering she hadn't changed positions even once the entire hour. "Right this way."

Without another word, she led him out of the sitting room, down the hall, up the double-staircase, and to the right. Draco walked behind her, admiring the sway of her steps, the click-click of her heels driving him mad. The house was utterly still and silent save for their footsteps, the steady sound drumming against his frantic mind as though they were two lovers carefully escaping to their secret indulgences.

The moment they turned down into a dark, side hallway, he grasped her arm and spun her to face him. "You can drop the act now," he said, and it was an order. She stared at him for a moment before her shoulders dropped a fraction and a small smile broke free.

"Is it that obvious?"

"That you lose your personality?" he asked, releasing her. "Yes."

She grimaced and turned away, moving down the hall to a door at the end. He put his hands in his pockets and followed her. She opened it and stood aside for him to enter. He stopped inside the threshold, only a few inches between them. Her dress was not low-cut enough to reveal cleavage, but it was cut just right that it shaped her breasts spectacularly.

Draco peeled his eyes away from her chest to eye her cheek. There was no evidence she had been struck. He thought of the reason she had been slapped, of the jewelry her tutor tried to force on her.

"Have you had offers yet?" he asked.

"Uhm." She looked away. "One, officially."

Draco's jaw tightened as he stared at her. "Who?"

"He didn't tell me. It seems, to my Uncle, that an alliance with the Malfoys is preferable." She looked at him again. "And you've done an excellent job convincing him that you are interested in a match with me."

"He turned it down," Draco surmised, and he was careful not to let any of the relief that he felt show on his face.

Grey nodded once. "He did." But she was not as adept as he was at concealing her relief.

Draco grinned and walked inside the room. As soon as he did, lights flickered on and light music began to play. The long gallery stretched out before him, the walls lined with grim paintings, busts, and artefacts. He skimmed them as he slowly walked along one wall, looking but not seeing. His attention was completely focused on the soft click of Grey's heels as she matched him step-for-step on the opposite side of the room. He glanced over his shoulder to see that she had not closed the door, careful as always to avoid the wrong impression.

Draco kept walking until he got about halfway down the room. Out of patience, he stopped and turned around. It didn't take long for Grey to do the same. She smiled and motioned around them.

"What do you think?"

"They're grotesque," he replied immediately. Her chest hiccupped with a giggle that she held in. "Utterly unhappy little scribbles unworthy of display."

Her hand clamped over her mouth as laughter burst out of her. "Why did you want to come up here, then?"

"Not to see the artwork," he scoffed. Silence settled between them as she realized what he was implying. He took a step toward her. "You didn't really want to say there being ignored, did you?"

She visibly swallowed, taking the time to pick her words. "I apologize that he ignored you," she said and shrugged one delicate, exposed shoulder. His eyes followed the movement. "He never had children of his own, so I'm afraid he doesn't quite know how to interact with them."

He took another step toward her, offering her a noncommittal shrug of his own. "I'm not interested in discussing anything with your uncle," he said, moving to stand beside her. He pretended to regard the painting on the wall. "Where did he find such a bizarre collection?"

"He patrons the artist," she whispered. He eyed her in disbelief and she nodded gravely. "It's a mystery I've yet to solve."

Draco just stared at her and, this close, he could see the moment that her cheeks tinted pink. She smiled and walked past him, pretending to admire the paintings—pretending because Draco knew they weren't to her taste at all, pretending because she'd grown up around them and knew them well by now.

He grinned and lazily followed after her. If she wanted to be chased, he would chase her. Draco was used to being sought after and didn't mind the role reversal at all. It was perfectly clear by that dress she had worn that she wanted him, too.

"Not anxious to get back?" he asked, well aware that he now stood between her and the door. "Aren't you concerned about how it might look?"

"They asked me to bring you up here," she answered without looking back at him.

"Ah. So, it's all right if everyone thinks we're behaving indecently as long as it was by instruction?"

She spun around, wide-eyed. "No—"

"Or is it that you are all right with a little indecent behavior so long as no one knows?"

She started to protest but stopped, fixing him with an assessing gaze as he cleared the distance between them. "You're teasing me," she finally said.

He laughed. "You're incredibly easy, you know."

She pursed her lips so as not to smile. "I know."

"And why is that?" he asked, though Draco was fairly certain the reason was because she had never been indecent with a boy in her life. Grey just shrugged, letting that small smile appear.

He stared at her for a long, quiet moment. He thought about all of the snarky things he could say to tease her or the ways he might force her to be the one to ask for a dance. But Draco didn't want to. She was wearing a green dress and looked for all the world like a Slytherin witch. She had dressed this way for him. She looked beautiful. Sexy. And her perfume was a siren's song of scents. He didn't want to wait. He just wanted to touch her.

"I like your dress, Grey," he said. "Did you wear it for me?"

She didn't meet his eyes when she nodded. He slipped one hand out of his pocket and held it out. Her small smile bloomed into a bright one as she laid her thin fingers across his palm. He drank in her joy in the same way he reveled in her delicate hand—with a heady sense of power. When she finally met his eyes, he closed his fingers over hers and placed his free hand on her waist.

As they moved across the room, Draco was relieved to know that their dance at the summer party had not been a fluke. Grey was an excellent dancer. She followed him fluidly, grace in every movement. She kept her eyes on his, never looking around or checking her feet.

"Why do you like dancing with me?" he wanted to know.

"You dance well."

"So do plenty of wizards."

She didn't speak right away, moving through several steps first before softly saying, "I like the way you lead." Before he could ask what that meant, she asked, "When was the last time you danced?"

"Last summer," he answered, "with you."

"And before that?"

"The Yule Ball."

"With Pansy," she said just before he gently spun her.

Draco didn't bother to affirm. They both knew it was true. He wasn't sure why it suddenly felt embarrassing. Pansy was his friend. He felt no shame in taking her to the dance. And there had been nothing accusatory in Grey's tone. It was a simply stated fact. Yet for some reason, he just didn't want to talk about it.

"What about you?" he asked instead. When she started to grin, he added, "Before our summer dance, obviously."

"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "A spring garden party. The hostess spent a good hour boasting about her nephew and his many accomplishments in his eleven years of living. One of those was ballroom dancing. Uncle announced that I was a novice as well, and it was decided we should entertain the crowd by demonstrating our abilities."

Draco nearly grimaced. There was a tightness in her voice that suggested it was as wretched an experience as it sounded.

"A novice?" he repeated. Typically, Pureblood parents enjoyed exaggerating their children's talents. Novice was far too modest a descriptor for Grey's skill as to be considered humble, but was instead wildly inaccurate, making Mr. Selwyn out to be either a slimy git or an absolute moron.

She flushed in embarrassment. "It was a fair assessment," she admitted quietly. "I was so nervous with all of the eyes on us that I stepped on his foot. Twice."

Draco snorted. "Was that the first time you'd danced?"

"No, actually. Before that," she continued, "I danced at a Christmas gala. I was the only young lady in attendance and was forced to dance with each of the young men, of which there were four—though their parents forced them to ask me in the first place, so I suppose we were all equally miserable. But no one was watching us then. Well, not that I knew about, at any rate."

"And not one of them led to your satisfaction?" he asked, bringing the topic full circle as they drifted down the length of the gallery.

"Unfortunately, no."

"But I do?"

"I'm afraid so."

Draco grinned.

They continued to dance, switching up their steps every time the music changed. Where Draco had been tracking the time in the tea room, he lost track of it dancing with Grey. He wasn't sure when his hand on her waist had rounded to her back or at what point that same hand had slid up her spine to touch her bare skin revealed by the open-back dress. He could not have specified the moment they went from maintaining a proper distance between their bodies to practically touching. He was too caught up in the dancing and conversation, too mesmerized by her laughter and perfume, that when he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye his mother standing in the doorway, smiling, it completely shocked him.

Draco instantly stopped moving, tightening his hold on Grey to keep her from barreling into him. Three seconds later, she had discovered his mother there and had immediately put distance between them.

"It's time to go, my love," she said sweetly. He nodded and, with one last smile, she left them alone.

Grey was staring at the floor, clearly trying to recall if there was anything inappropriate about their behavior. The silence stretched out between them until Draco snorted.

"She looked entirely too happy," he said.

Grey lifted her eyes. "Was she?"

"Undoubtedly." He reached out and she came closer. His hand found the small of her back and they walked forward.

"Thank you," she murmured, "for dancing with me."

Draco responded with a single, crisp nod and kept his hand pressed lightly against her back. When they reached the staircase, they found Mr. Selwyn and Draco's parents gathered near the door, talking quietly. As they descended, all three went silent and smiled up at them. Grey tensed but Draco eased her forward.

When they gathered at the bottom, Mr. Selwyn opened the door and the group headed out, but his mother drew Grey back for a private chat, walking slowly behind the men as they headed down the walkway toward the apparation zone by the street.

"They have their secrets," Mr. Selwyn said light-heartedly.

"They most certainly do," his father agreed, and they chuckled as though sharing some private joke.

Draco kept glancing over his shoulder at the two women talking. What were they gabbing about? Why did his mother seem so pleased? It was maddening not knowing in the wake of her discovery! He was mortified… How could he not have heard his mother's heels on the floor approaching the gallery? Why did getting caught dancing feel somehow more embarrassing than her thinking they had been kissing at Christmas? Because that had been intentional, he reminded himself, and today was not. Today, he had been enjoying himself. Today, the emotion had been real…

When they finally made it to the street, his father smiled at his wife.

"Ready to go?" he asked and she nodded. "Sagun, we had a wonderful time. The tea was excellent."

"My pleasure, Lucius. As always." They shook hands. "Narcissa, it is ever a joy to see you."

"You as well, Sagun," she said then hugged Grey. "Amaris, my dear. Enjoy the book. I hope to see you soon."

"As do I," she replied quietly.

"Amaris," his father said, gently taking her fingers.

"Mr. Malfoy."

All eyes turned to him. Draco cleared his throat and nudged Grey a few feet away. He didn't want to publicize their goodbye, not this time. It felt so fake in front of others and Draco was still riding the high of dancing with her that put in him a strange space where he wanted it to at least feel real.

"Why do you want your parents to think you're serious about me?" she asked before Draco could speak. He stared at her, unsure how to answer. At his silence, she continued. "I feel bad deceiving them," she whispered. "They're so kind to me. It feels wrong."

He rolled his eyes, wondering what in Salazar's name his mother had said to her to bring this up so suddenly. "My parents enjoy your company."

She squared her jaw and looked at him. "That will change when they find out the truth. Just like you change when we're at school."

Draco stiffened as though she had slapped him. Her words awakened something spiteful inside him as panic and frustration crashed against his brain. This deception had been steadily ramping up his guilt since Christmas, yet he had ignored that feeling because he much preferred the pleasure he got from maintaining it. And now she was calling it quits?

Of course, he knew things were different between them at school. Of course, he was beginning to wonder where it was headed. He knew he would have to make a decision—to let go of their fake match or to make it real. But he couldn't make it real, because she wasn't compatible. Which left only one option, and he wasn't ready to confront that.

"Are you saying you want me to court you at school?" he hissed quietly.

"No, I—"

No, she said, his mind screamed. "Should we make it official, then?" he pressed. "Should we turn around and tell my parents that you're to be my wife someday?"

She immediately shook her head. "That's not what I—"

"Or should we tell them truth?" He bore down on her. "That you're a blood traitor and would only disgrace the Malfoy name?"

An exquisite mixture of fear and anger stole over her face and she shook her head again.

"Then perhaps you should keep your mouth shut and just enjoy it, Grey," he sneered. Her lower lip quivered.

"Draco?" his father prompted, a signal that it was time to say goodbye.

And though he was consumed by his ire, he was still driven to maintain this farce he had perpetuated, unwilling to let it go even now, so Draco immediately pulled her into a hug, her torso flush against his. He felt her push against his chest but he held her tightly.

"See you at school," he hissed in her ear before releasing her.

He did not look back as he crossed to his parents and, together, they apparated away.


Author's Note: In the movies, at least, it's interesting how Draco seems quick to avoid physical altercations. Or that's the impression I got. I don't remember the books much, but he seems like a man who does most of his fighting with his mouth, the rest of it with his wand.

Rowling said Draco is not hiding a heart of gold and I don't want to give that impression, but I think he does have some good qualities.

This was another one of those chapters that I had planned out beforehand and yet found it turned out completely different than I had intended. I've rewritten it once and tweaked it a ton, so I can't even tell what's what anymore. I hope it's still entertaining. Thanks again for all of the encouraging words!