Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Note: If I was the reader and not the writer, I would be pretty ticked off after this chapter that I was denied any sweet, cute moments between our Main Character, Hayley and our Fictional Love, Draco. So much of the plot needs to happen with them around everyone that it was always my intention to keep the America visit short, and use flashbacks to their stolen moments in chapters to come. You'll get to see it…gradually. Please don't hate me.
Everything on the racks looks like pictures from my mother's binders. Emma's had been black, silver and gold, which honestly, wasn't bad at all. However, because she left the family the way that she did, mother was very reluctant to include any of those previous details in future ceremonies.
Blair, with our father's olive skin tone and chestnut waves had been sanctioned a black, antique gold and ruby red Venetian wedding, regardless of the groom she chose to marry.
For me, mother had always drawn a blank. My binder was a mass of ideas, but no concrete theme—she'd just started assembling mine when Emma had eloped, and I supposed that it was too difficult for her to go back and revisit what she'd started so long ago.
But all of the dresses she'd chosen for the three of us were similar—ornate, over the top gowns with black detailing and Victorian gothic feels. All of the dresses in the shop seemed to fit that theme. There's a few I find tempting to try, but in the end, the black lace pushes me away, the red underskirt makes me recoil.
Eventually, Draco and I choose the ones we find the most ridiculous. Ten gowns and two hours later my sides feel like they're going to explode. We politely thanked the shop attendant, and headed for the first stop of the day on our itinerary—a wizarding restaurant oddly named Howlers for lunch.
It seems rather unsophisticated as a well endowed woman in a tiny tank top with the name Howlers emblazoned across her chest seats us at red-paint-chipped table by a window.
"Hi, I'm Mindy, and I'll be y'alls server today. Have you ever been to a Howlers?" She asked in a thick, American accent.
"No, we haven't." Draco replied coolly, much to my admonishment, to her face.
"Doesn't sound like you guys are from around here! Howlers is a great little chain inspired by a wonderful muggle establishment. We've got lots of different brews on the tap—maybe I could suggest the Screaming Toad Butter Beer? It's a really nice dark brew." Chain? Muggle? What on earth were we doing here?
"We'll take tea." I informed.
"Alrighty darlin', would you like that with lemon?"
"No, Thank you. I'll have mine sweet."
She turned to Draco, "How bout you, sugar?"
"Unsweet."
"What are you going to order?" I rather firmly placed the menu back down onto the chipped table. It's full of buffalo wings and burgers and French fries. At home, I'm not allowed to eat anything like this—fast food. Of course, in France, fast food doesn't exist. I'm both repulsed and excited to try something different.
Draco helps, pointing out dishes he thinks I might enjoy, and when Mindy comes back we place our orders. She lingered, chewing on the end of her ball point pen before asking, "Can I ask you a more personal question?"
I give Draco a raised eyebrow, hardly able to predict what this woman might consider personal.
"I cannot guarantee you that we will answer it, but it is alright if you continue." Draco replied.
"I've heard a lotta rumors about stuff that's going on over there with y'all."
"What sort of rumors?"
"That there's some dark wizard rallying troops with some kind of blood war." I'm surprised that she comes out and directly asks, especially considering that she has no way of knowing who we are or what kind of reaction that would invoke in us. But then I remember Draco and I are outfitted much more under the radar—I'm wearing pink, for crying out loud.
"There are a lot of witches and wizards who believe that blood purity should be more closely monitored, that is true." I replied diplomatically.
"What about that dark wizard?" What they say about Americans is true—they certainly know how to pry. I'd be willing to wager my vintage black Dior cocktail dress she was a mudblood.
"I'm not certain of whom you speak, there are many dark wizards in this world both in my homeland and in yours."
She giggled nervously, flipping a strand of her highlighted hair over her shoulder, "Right. Well, let me put this in for you guys and we should have your food for you in just a few minutes, alright? Let me know if you need anything."
As soon as she's out of earshot, I turned to Draco. "This stop is going to be inconclusive. American Wizards are so inbred that there's not going to be any way we'll stumble across a sect that believe they way that we do."
"It's on the list," is the only way he responded. I wondered how much of our stay was going to go the same way.
When she returned, minutes later as promised with our food, I piped up, "I'm dying to see what the American shopping scene is like, do you have any tips for where a good place to start would be?"
"Oh, we've got lots of options for shopping. There's a few malls around—the Twin Hills is my favorite, there's this really great store called forever 21 and they've just got the cutest!"
"Is it a Muggle shopping center?"
She nodded, "It's so great though."
"No, I was thinking more of a wizarding place. I'm interested in what American fashion brings to traditional dress robes."
"Well, of course there are a lot of those options too. I'll write some down for you. There's one just a little bit away from here, called Andromeda's point. It's an indoor shopping center, but they've got all kinds of shops."
True to her word, our check is accompanied by a hand written list of the nearest wizarding shopping centers with directions on how to get there.
After we've completed all of the stops for the day, back in the sedan, I relaxed into the black leather. "It's only day one and this already feels like a waste of time," I complained.
"Maybe we'll have more luck, tomorrow."
The rest of the week inches on just like the first day, an itinerary so full of wizarding places for us to visit. I've been so engrossed in shopping centers and mainstream cafes that I've forgotten the silver lining: secret time with Draco. Bella had provided each of us with a thick manila envelope on our cover stories, and they were hardly necessary at all. People automatically assumed we were a couple, visiting. They didn't much ask why or inquire into us, so those folders were just Bella's frivolity.
Saturday morning, I wake to Draco playing with my hair. I tilted my face to look up at him. "I'm going to miss this," he admitted, tucking a strand behind my ear.
"Could you imagine what my mother would say if she saw us this way?"
"My Mother already has," he pointed out. My cheeks flame just at the mention.
"What's going on with your mother?"
"To what are you referring?"
"She's been very hot and cold with me lately. There are times that I see her and she seems like an ice statue, she's so distant. And there are times that I see her, like that night, in which she's just like old times, treating me like the daughter she never had."
"What exactly have you been told about tradition?" He asked hesitantly.
"What do you mean?"
"With our societal traditions?"
"Regarding what?" Where on earth was Draco going with all of this? I wondered, pushing away from him and sitting up. He follows suit, sitting across from me.
"When it was time for your coming out, what did your family tell you about tradition?"
"What was there for them to tell me? I've seen how it works, our still Victorian society. We have coming out balls to announce to society that we're ripe for marriage. And then suitors call upon us, fawning over our beauty." I replied, delivering it all with a sarcastic tone.
"So your parents didn't tell you how the engagements work?"
"Draco—just tell me."
"I know over the years, it's bothered you how little say that you have in the future you possess. It's not all up to us, either. If you want to follow tradition and not stray from society you only call upon women you've discussed previously with your parents. And if there is to be an engagement, that is decided upon by the respected parents, not the asker. If you want to ask for someone's hand, then you may do so only with both families' blessings. It is considered improper to ask without, and can be forced away from you if you don't follow procedure."
"I don't understand what you're saying—"
"Essentially, marriages are arranged. Of course, there are so many little rules in place that this is very difficult to discern from the surface—and I think most parents really do want to give their children the chance to find love, but free will is not totally accessible." I'd already acknowledged that was probably what happened behind the scenes, but what I didn't, couldn't understand is what that had to do with Narcissa.
"What does that have to do with your Mother's shifting attitudes towards me?"
"How do your parents feel about Blair?"
"She's their darling, she does whatever they ask without thinking about what that means for herself."
He nodded, "Exactly. Your parents have never worried about her upbringing, because she follows their rules. And what have your parents always said about you, when you were younger?"
"Emma. They've always said I was the spitting image of Emma. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"I guess your parents were scared with what might eventually happen when it became time for you to choose. My Mother only recently discovered, the day after your coming out ball that you've been promised to the Flint's, as long as in adulthood, there were no outstanding objections on either families' behalf, since our childhood."
"Why is your Mother upset?" I choked.
"My parents are lucky. They've loved each other for as long as they can remember, it was obvious to everyone that they were destined for each other. Because of this, their views are a little more modern for me—they think everyone should have the choice to find that. You know that you're like a daughter to my mother, and it upsets her that you don't get to choose."
"Does it upset her that I don't get to choose? Or is it that I don't get to choose you?"
"A little of both, I'm sure."
"Why are you telling me this? If anything it only makes it more obvious that we'll never have a chance."
"My Mother told me the morning after she found us in the gardens. She didn't want me to pour my heart into something I'd only lose, but I think she had an ulterior message. If we can force Flint into a situation that would cast him ill in your Parent's opinion, then we can dissolve whatever binding contract they've entered. Obviously, it can't be from you, because that would ruin you. Society tends to be much more forgiving about discrepancies from the male side."
"What are you saying, Draco?"
"I'll hold off on agreements with Pansy as long as I can," He insisted, "If anything has become apparent in this week, it's that the future I want is a future with you."
Logic tried to worm it's way into my head, tried to get me to back out on this for whatever reason possible—I haven't been around Draco for years, I don't know him like I used to—but none of that is true. I've always known him, just as he has always known me. We were young, and it was too soon for either of us to be considering lifelong commitments, but I knew.
I knew that he was it.
I opened my mouth to affirm I felt the same way, but I was promptly cut off by a loud tapping on the window. I look over my shoulder to see a reddish brown owl—Bella's owl.
Draco crossed the distance to the window, looking out the balcony to make sure no one was paying attention to the rather odd sight—quickly, he opens the screen and removes the letter from the Owl's outstretched foot.
He unrolled the parchment with a look of joy on his face, but after reading the letter all signs of that joy have diminished.
"Based on our reports, the Dark Lord has found that America will not be swayed, only conquered after we're victorious in Britain. Due to this decision, he has decided that we will return home where we can better serve him. Harry Potter's birthday is a mere thirteen days away, the spell protecting him at his home will be gone, giving him the ultimate window to attack. They need us on the battle lines."
All of the joy emptied out of my stomach—battle lines? That's what I'd signed up for when I'd let this mark get branded onto my arm. That's what I'd said I wanted when I chose to join him. But now that an assignment stared me in the face that would mean doing unthinkable things—I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I was wrong.
Draco dropped the parchment on the desk, and I can tell from his expression that he's worried.
"Our room has been paid for already," He informed, "Bella insists that we apparate back as soon as possible."
"It feels like a sign, doesn't it?"
"What?" His brows are clenched together, his face more stern than I'd ever seen it.
"We're not going to find a way to make this work." Shaking my head, I turned my face to my overflowing suitcase on the floor. "It's over—as soon as we get back, our time together is going to be limited and watched. There is no twenty hour plane trip this time, it's just straight back to home."
"We haven't even tried, and you're already deeming this a failure?" Draco's voice is raised, his anger unmistakable, "Just like that, you're ready to go to back and go through with marrying Flint?"
"It feels like life just offered me something impossible—and then reality took it away."
"You have to have faith in me. I'm a Malfoy, I have a hard time giving up on something that I want."