Firewhisky
I still despise the day we married.
It was cold.
I remember.
It was frigid.
Rather like him, though I didn't think it at the time.
My dress needed to be slightly covered with a shawl in order to stay warm.
I hated that.
Afterwards, he told me he'd make it up to me.
I smiled icily and said, "Never," in my head.
The church was cold, too.
But I wouldn't wear the shawl.
I remember it well.
The drone of the priest, as Lucius urged him to get on with it under his breath, while I urged him to slow down using my eyes.
Neither of us got anywhere.
So he continued to drone.
I would have fallen asleep.
If I wasn't so nervous, of course.
Nerves kept me awake, as they would many nights afterward.
Nerves.
Saviors, really.
I closed my eyes and let the freezing air turn me numb.
For that kiss.
I went numb for the kiss.
The priest was speaking to me.
"Do you take Lucius Charles Malfoy as your lawfully wedded husband?"
All I heard was, 'husband'.
"I do."
I couldn't go back.
This was the end.
And then he said it.
"I do."
I shivered at the words.
Cold, quick, loud.
Ferocious.
And then, the kiss.
He did.
He kissed me.
I kissed back.
I had to.
I wanted to melt.
But at the same time, I wanted to cry of unhappiness.
I had not promised myself away to the man of my dreams.
I had promised myself away to the man of my nightmares.
That night, we were off.
Our honeymoon.
Ugh.
'Honeymoon'.
What a vulgar word.
I remember we went to a club.
A club.
"No, Lucius, I will not go to a boring old club," I said.
"Who says it has to be boring?" he asked.
I gaped.
Two bottles of Firewhisky.
"Here?"
"Why not?"
Because I couldn't.
But I said nothing, smiled a bit.
I toasted.
I toasted to us.
To our marriage.
What a lie.
I had too many.
He had too many in his pocket.
I know.
I know because they kept coming.
"Let's get out of here," he whispered.
I giggled.
He Apparated us to some flat somewhere.
He had more.
More bottles.
He drank more.
Now that we had somewhere to stay, so did I.
It was awful, in retrospect.
He got me drunk.
Lucius Charles Malfoy.
That—that—
No.
There isn't a scummy enough word.
He got me drunk.
Nine months later, Draco Malfoy was born.