At the crack of dawn the next day, Draco Malfoy was up and dressed smartly - not that that was unusual, of course. He quickly explained to his mother that he wanted to go see his friend Blaise Zambini. Narcissa Malfoy looked at her son, understanding that he was up to something - referring to Zambini as a friend! After a few moment's consideration, she tossed her hair, and gave her assent.

It took five minutes, and a quick commitment to give Zambini some free rides on his broomstick (provided Zambini cared for it afterwards), before Draco Malfoy was summarily ushered to the library. Zambini sat down and ostentatiously opened a book, reading some direly boring thing on House Ancestry. Or at least pretending to. He was really there to guard his "friend" - not that Malfoy would ever be allowed back if he harmed the Zambini family library. So his guard duty was pointless, as Draco had enough good breeding (and sense) to destroy libraries in such a way as to not get himself blamed instantly.

All this dust was going to make Draco Malfoy sneeze. He had never understood, before today, exactly how many days there were to a year. Or a decade. Or a century. And Zambini's mother hadn't bothered to make any of it easier to find, either.

Sighing, he sat down to think, How old would I have to be to remember a betrothal? Well, they couldn't possibly have made a bethrothal before mother was carrying me... And I would have remembered at eight, I think. No, I know I would!

In a fit of pique, Malfoy kicked at an embellishment, and Zambini looked up, glaring. Nine years, this is going to take forever...!

Lunch had come and gone, and still Malfoy sat, pouring over documents. Now it was time for dinner, and he pushed his hair back, before heading down to the family room for a small repaste.

After dinner, he mulled over the last year, age seven. There wasn't a single thing there suggesting... anything. And that was,in a lot of ways, worse than finding evidence of a plot, of an engagement, of even pointless feuding over who got the girl! Nothing is the greatest mystery. It was almost as if Draco Malfoy didn't exist. And, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the windowseat, he looked up at Leo. It was a disquieting thought - what if he really wasn't here at all?

Shrugging off such silliness, he headed back to Malfoy Manor, sparing only a wave to Zambini, who looked mildly grateful that Draco hadn't decided to spend the entire night reading the news. When Draco arrived, his mother fastened her hawklike gaze on him, "Lost something in that pile of old news?" Shit! Caught at it again.

"Quite a variety of things, actually. It's proven terribly interesting." Draco hazarded, his voice that arrogant, uneffected drawl.

"Why, whatever prompted you to study? It's most unlike you, in the middle of summer. Usually you wait until it's far too late." Mother smiled, knowing she had the point.

"A comment my godfather said. He mentioned that you were most upset at my betrothal." Draco scanned his mother carefully, curious as to what her response would be.

Out of nowhere, Narcissa Malfoy tilted her head back, and out spilled silvery laughter. "He would put it that way! He would!" Draco eyed his mother warily - was something wrong? "You were always a difficult child, Draco Malfoy." Narcissa said, and then strolled away out of the room. Draco knew better than to pursue her. She had said what she had wanted to say, and not even a herd of wild horses would get her to divulge more than she wanted. His mother was always thus.

In his own green room, frosted with silver, he stared at the ceiling, musing at what she had told him. She had nearly confirmed that this was a ... magical... bethrothal. Of all the twisted, wyrd turns of fate!

[a/n: Read and Review! Draco hasn't even started down the path of "who could it be" yet...]