"Father, this is my choice," Draco yells, as Lucius continues walking out of the room. "I'm marrying her even if you don't approve of her family!"
"How dare you," he spits, turning around to face his son. "Her family! Her family! This has nothing to do with her family!" he screeches, approaching his son again. "This is about her filthy blood and that damned mudblood she calls a mother!"
"Who is her family!" Draco counters.
"Enough of this senselessness! I forbid you to marry her! That is final." Lucius turns away, the door almost shutting behind him.
"I love her!" Draco yells. "Goddammit, father, after all I've done in the name of this family, I have the right to ruin my name however I want!" He takes a deep breath. "Not like you didn't already sabotage it enough!"
Lucius storms back in, his wand out and point at his son's chest. "How dare you insult me!"
"How dare you try to tell me what to do!" Draco draws his wand angrily. "You were never there for me, for almost sixteen years, then you go away to Azkaban, and now you expect me to listen to you?" His wand shoots some sparks, brought on by the anger. "No, father, you're finished controlling me when you see fit."
Lucius turns on his heel and struts out of the room. "You just sealed your fate, you are no longer welcome in my home."
Draco's shock and hurt doesn't register on his face, if he is even feeling any. In his anger, he rushes out of the house before saying goodbye to his mother.
Astoria's in her bathroom, painting the walls a forest green, when Draco finds her.
"Shit, Draco, damn, I wanted to have dinner ready by the time you got here—wait what time is it anyways? It can't be seven yet," she explains, turning around and trying to find a place to put her paint brush. "Why are you here so early?" She finally puts her brush down on the paint lid and starts to wash her hands.
"I…I just—I'll wait in your kitchen until you clean up."
He sits down at the table, pulling the little satin box out of his pants pocket. Laying it on the counter, he stares at it, wondering if it's the right time to do this. After all, he is angry; this could be his irrational thinking making his spontaneous decisions. It shouldn't happen like this, it should be better than this: better than an unexpected visit and Astoria in paint clothes.
Draco watches as Astoria's bedroom light turns off, and shoves the tiny box back into his pocket before she can see it.
"How about we go out to dinner then," he suggests, "you look like you've done enough work today."
She sighs and walks over to the table, leaning across so she can be level with Draco. "How about you cook then?—because I don't want to get dressed."
"Chinese it is then." They both laugh. "Chow mein or low mein?" he asks, standing up and putting his jacket back on.
"Low." She pulls an old sweatshirt. "I'll come with you," she says, pulling her hair back into a bun.
He nods his head as he holds open the door for her. She wraps her arm around his waist as the walk towards the elevator, the cold of the winter finally showing itself. He pushed the button and they wait.
They step in and she asks, "So how's your father?"