Amidst the turmoil of summer, Draco was permitted to see Amaris once more, and only to give her the first betrothal gift, the adornment that would clarify that she was spoken for. It hadn't completely hit him that he and Amaris were matched until after she and Mr. Selwyn had left his house and his mother had explained how Aunt Bellatrix had made some very threatening suggestions to Mr. Selwyn about the fate of his niece. He had gone to bed in a bit of a haze as he realized that he was, in fact, engaged.
Once ample time had been provided for Mr. Selwyn to revoke the agreement with Mr. Goyle, his parents made arrangements to visit the Selwyn Estate to solidify the match. It was absurd—utterly absurd—with the war going on, that they were bothering to secure an engagement. But Draco supposed they saw little reason to wait. They were, after all, on the winning side. With Dumbledore dead, there was nothing left to fear. What could Harry Potter really do against the Dark Lord himself?
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he stood in the center of the Selwyn Estate foyer, gazing down at Amaris who stood rigidly before him, her back straight, hands folded neatly in front of her, and her expression completely neutral. They were both flanked by chaperones. Behind him, his parents looked on by the front door. Draco glanced over Amaris's shoulder at Mr. Selwyn glaring at him by the hallway to his study.
Privacy, it seemed, was not allowed.
Draco hated this. He wanted to be alone with her, to explain that he hadn't meant for this to happen. He wanted her to want the match, not be forced into it. He wanted to give her a real betrothal gift, not this hurried after-thought.
If this had been a real courtship, Draco would have had a pair of white-gold earrings with a dangling design and diamond studs specially made to match her moon-drop. For the second gift, he would have selected a charm bracelet filled with pendants of every country her parents once traveled to, each one a promise to one day take her there. The third gift would have been a set of amber quill stems to honor her Hufflepuff legacy, just as she had once given him ones of jade. For the fourth gift, he would have found her family's old house and reclaimed the land so she could always return there when homesick. And finally, for the fifth gift that would signify the end of their courtship and intention to marry, he would have had a white-gold ring made for her, fitted with a white opal framed by diamonds to complete the set her mother had started.
But their engagement wasn't real. Even if his parents and Mr. Selwyn agreed, even if Amaris had said yes, and even he had figured out too late that he truly wanted it, he had only been trying to protect her, to explain away their garden tryst to his aunt. He hadn't meant for her to become tied to him… You've probably killed her, Mr. Selwyn had said, and Draco was afraid it was true. Which was why this could never be anything more than a ruse.
Draco cleared his throat. "Amaris," he said quietly.
His voice seemed to echo in the room and he was quite sure that even a whisper would be perfectly audible. He wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful in her sage-colored sundress, but he didn't feel like announcing it to everyone present, so instead he offered her an old, black jewelry box tied with a bow. She gingerly took it, slowly untying the white, satin ribbon and undoing the latch, portraying the perfect, patient, Pureblood doll she was expected to be. When she lifted the lid, her face softened for just a moment as she took in the brass hair cuff etched with a floral design and its matching pin. The item had been in his family for centuries. It was feminine, delicate. Like her. And the color was so pale, it matched the color of her hair. He had chosen it for that reason. It may have been a last-minute gift that he'd had to go to the family treasury to find, but he had still selected something that suited her.
"It's lovely," she whispered, her voice carrying throughout the room. He heard his mother inhale happily, could almost feel her smiling behind him. "Thank you, Draco. I will treasure it."
Draco gave a single, stiff nod. When she offered up the box, he removed the cuff and pin. She turned around. Had he given her a piece of jewelry, he would have completed the offering by adorning her with it, so naturally he was expected to follow suit with his chosen trinket. He gently fitted the cuff over the joint of her already braided heir and secured it with the pin. When she turned back around, she flashed him a brief, bashful smile.
They stared at one another for a long moment. Draco had no idea what to say and, apparently, neither did she. They couldn't talk freely, could only play their parts, and neither knew where to go from there. He didn't really want to end their moment in awkward silence, but Mr. Selwyn had no intention of inviting them to stay. He was still nursing his wounded pride, it seemed—that or harboring his hatred for Draco for forcing the issue of the match. Not that he would tell Mr. Selwyn that it was unintentional even if he could. He would rather win the man's ire than his approval. Not all Purebloods were better. Some, like Mr. Selwyn, Draco deemed far, far less than any half-blood or Muggle-born.
Not wanting the moment to turn uncomfortable, Draco held out his hand. She placed her fingers over his and he gently squeezed them. "I'll see you at school," he said softly and she nodded, a knowing look in her eyes.
Draco turned away without so much as a glance in Mr. Selwyn's direction, much less a parting word. He and his family whisked out of the home, down the driveway, and onto the sidewalk where they instantly apparated home. The walk to the manor was gloomy as they trudged under a dark sky and into a darker house. Draco wasn't aware he was staring at the ground, lost in thought, until his mother's voice penetrated his thoughts.
"Draco, my love?" she called. He looked up in surprise. Both of his parents were staring at him. "Is everything alright?"
He frowned, unsure how to respond. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he opened his mouth, but no words passed his lips.
"Draco?" his father prompted.
"It's just…I didn't picture it happening this way," he finally answered.
"Picture what happening which way?" his mother asked, and then she gasped. "No… Did you not want the match after all?"
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Really, Draco," his father hissed, "you're telling us this now?"
"No, I didn't say I didn't want it." He looked away. "At first, I didn't. I was pretending, just to play with her a bit," he confessed. "But then it changed…"
His parents exchanged glances.
"Come," his mother said, motioning him down the hall. "Let's have some tea."
When they were all in the sitting room, his mother ordered Tippy to bring in some tea then sat down on the sofa while his father took the armchair. Draco stood by the fireplace, too anxious to sit. They waited in silence until the house elf brought the tray of teacups and a steaming pot.
"Now, Draco," his mother began patiently when Tippy was gone, delicately pouring them each a cup, "tell us what's wrong."
He sighed. "I just didn't want it to happen this way, that's all."
"The timing is rather odd," his father said diplomatically, "but it changes very little about the way these things unfold."
"I didn't want her to feel forced into it."
"What do you mean?" his mother asked, spooning a lump of sugar into her tea and stirring.
"It wasn't her choice. It's never a witch's choice, is it?" he asked, feeling disgusted for the first time since the whole business of match-making had been brought up two years ago. His mother's spoon froze mid-motion. "She didn't want to marry him. She told me so. Her uncle was making her." He shook his head. "I didn't want her to marry Goyle, but I didn't want to force her to marry me, either. I wanted her to choose me. But it's too late now."
His parents looked at one another, thoughts Draco could only guess at being silently communicated between them.
"It's not too late," his father said. "There's no need to hurry the engagement. You can have all the time you need to get to know one another."
"I'm sure she will choose you," his mother assured him, "if she hasn't already. She adores you, Draco."
Draco's gaze dropped to the ground, agony twisting inside his chest. "But I've made it worse for her…"
"How so?" his mother prompted, forgetting the tea tray as she shifted to face him.
Draco mouthed wordlessly at the carpet. He couldn't tell them that Amaris was what Pureblood society considered a blood traitor. He couldn't explain that binding them together would put her in the Dark Lord's path, would very probably get her killed.
"Because every time he thinks she's failed, he takes it out on her," he ground out. "But it's not her fault. It never is."
"What are you talking about?" his father asked.
"Selwyn. He lets that society tutor slap her around for every little thing—"
His mother sucked in a sharp breath.
"—makes her wear shoes that hurt her feet until they bleed, and who knows what else." Draco pushed his fingers through his hair in a frustrated jerk. "He didn't want us together ever since that night at the ministry. He'll blame her for this, but it's my fault."
"You really care for her," his father said as though it were a discovery. Draco wanted to deny it like he always had, but he couldn't.
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
His father stood up and approached him, his voice dropping to a whisper. "As things are, we have no room to intervene. But soon, soon it will all be over, and the Dark Lord will leave us to our own making."
"Have patience, my love," his mother said, rising to join them. "Soon, you will both be back at school, safe. Together."
"Once you graduate, we will hasten the engagement," his father continued. "You could marry in the fall and bring her home, where she will suffer no more ugliness."
Draco swallowed the surge of hope that rushed up his throat, threatening to burst out of him with acquiescence and thanksgiving. He couldn't allow himself that sliver of hope, not when bringing her home would endanger her life. Not when there was still the matter of her not wanting to marry him.
"I still want her to choose me," he told them.
"You are trying to protect her," his mother reminded him, "as you have been all along. She will see that. Just tell her how you feel."
"But I—"
"Draco." His father gripped his shoulder in one hand and pressed his palm to his chest with the other. "Listen carefully, son. If you want her to choose you, you must first give her a choice."
Draco frowned. He didn't understand. Of course, he would give her a choice… That was what this was all about, wasn't it?
A loud bang reverberated through the house and the Malfoys jumped in shock. Fear leapt into his father's eyes and it made Draco ill to see it there. His father had always been the strongest wizard in the world to him. He was the epitome of everything Draco aspired to be. To see him afraid made Draco feel like the ground beneath him was hollow, that at any second he might fall through…
His father offered him a wane smile before he straightened his spine and hurried out of the room. His mother took his hand.
"It will be alright, Draco, my love," she said. "Someday soon, all will be right again. For all of us."
Draco held her hand tightly, but this time, when he tried to summon forth hope, even the tiniest fraction, he felt nothing but dread.
Author's Note: Been awhile since I got to write the Malfoys together as a family! Since they all love each other dearly, I think it's reasonable to believe that Lucius is just as invested in Draco's happiness as Narcissa is. On a side note, I'm soooo over all the doom and gloom. I want to write happy Malfoys again!
