Author's Notes: This is a refined chapter!
Draco prefers the evening of solitude for New Year's Eve to the grandiose parties his parents once threw. There's something about all of pureblood society gathering in their ballroom to brag about their family accomplishments that makes his skin crawl now. His father would parade him around the hall, introducing his son to everyone worth knowing. Draco would courteously play his part as Malfoy's heir until the conversation turned to business, and he was dismissed from the room. Not that Draco cared in his teenage years, as that's when the party really started. He and his friends would sneak to his bedroom with a bottle of wine he had stolen from the kitchens and pass it around as they gossiped about everything their parents didn't want anyone to know about.
Friday 31st December 1998
This year, only Draco and his mother ghosted the hallways of Malfoy Manor, and they certainly weren't going to be ringing in the New Year together. For tradition's sake, Draco finds himself lounging across his window seat, an opened bottle of wine gripped in his pale hands as he presses his forehead against the cold, frosted window pane.
As a child of five years old, his attention had once been drawn to the nearby muggle village a few miles across the countryside. Draco had been mesmerised by the flickering of colourful lights hanging from the snow-capped roofs at this time of year. However, after expressing this admiration to his father, he was punished accordingly as his father complained about the stains that muggles left on the countryside and how disgusted their ancestors would be to know of their closeness. Draco vowed never to let his gaze fall upon the muggle village again for fear of offending his father and ancestors.
His grandfather's clock at the top of the stairs chimes once, indicating the time to be half-past eleven. In thirty minutes, the worst year of Draco's life will be left behind, and he'll have his whole life ahead of him. This time last year, Draco had long since given up on caring about his future. After all, the Dark Lord was living in his Manor, and his future was at a crossroads. One path led to a life as a Death Eater, living in constant fear and anger, and the other path led to a life in Azkaban. When the downfall of the Dark Lord became apparent, Draco began to crave the safety of Azkaban, as long as he could take his father with him. That's why he testified against him, to protect his mother from Lucius' anger and to ensure they would both rot in prison. His plan half worked; Lucius was sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban, but Draco hadn't considered Harry Potter's saviour complex. Potter had testified for Draco, keeping him out of Azkaban altogether. Instead, he was sentenced to ten weeks of community service and ordered to return to Hogwarts to complete his education.
Now that Draco had a future to care about, he didn't know what to do with it, not that he would have many options. Who would want to employ an ex-death eater hated by most of the wizarding world?
An explosion in the sky above the muggle village startles Draco into almost spilling his wine. They're a little early; as his grandfather's clock begins, its twelve strikes a few moments later. Gold rains down just before another firework brings more colours to the sky. A rare smile graces Draco's face as he watches the display, his head free of all thoughts for the first time in a long time.
Saturday 1st January 1999
A knock at his bedroom door awakens Draco early that morning. His face is still plastered to the cold window, damp with condensation. The bottle of wine, still grasped in his hand, is empty; its contents now spilt across the window cushion and his pyjamas. Confusion clouds his mind as he sits up. The sky outside is just beginning to lighten, so it's early enough for him not to feel guilty about sleeping in. Another knock brings Draco to his feet. He uses a non-verbal spell to clean the mess before answering the door.
"Morning, Mitty," he greets his house-elf.
Mitty is the only one who cares about his presence at Malfoy Manor. After Lucius' trial, his mother tried her best to ignore her son, only offering a few words of pleasantries at meal times. If his three friends hadn't been going home for Christmas, he would have quite gladly stayed at Hogwarts.
"Good morning, Draco," Mitty greets him, pushing her way into his room with a letter grasped in her tiny fist.
Mitty had practically raised him his whole childhood, and he considered himself closer to her than his own parents. After witnessing the abuse the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters threw at her during the war, he had chosen to set her free. Mitty thanked him for his consideration but claimed that as long as her master still needed her, she would remain by his side. Needing to make some sort of change, Draco ordered Mitty to call him Draco and frequently bought her gift as payment since she refused coins.
"Draco have letter," Mitty holds the thick envelope for him. "From Minister," she adds.
Dragging his hands down his tired face, Draco perches on his bed. Since testifying against Lucius, the Minister for Magic wrote to him weekly, requesting him to testify against other Death Eaters. No matter how often he declined, the Minister wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I thought we agreed to destroy all Ministry letters," Draco mumbles into his hands.
"Mitty did, but letter returns," Mitty explains.
Curiosity piqued, Draco reaches out for the envelope. "Must be important," he mutters as he tears it open, removing the numerous pieces of parchment.
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
London
England
United Kingdom
Saturday 1st January 1999
Dear Mr/Miss,
As we enter a New Year, we leave behind the most horrific year our community has ever experienced. It is with heavy hearts we remember those family and friends whom we
lost at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. While we may never know for certain just how many lives were taken during the four years of war, we do know the number is devastating for our community.
Our statisticians have recently come to the conclusion that our community is at risk of extinction during the next two centuries. As such, the Ministry must take immediate action to ensure Wizarding Britain thrives into a prosperous future.
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, hereby decrees that a Marriage Decree will be enforced to increase the population and morale of Wizarding Britain.
The Marriage Decree
All persons to graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on Friday 24th June 1999 to persons aged 24 years on Friday 1st July 1999 will be required to marry in The Marriage Ceremony.
All persons The Marriage Decree applies to will be required to complete the attached questionnaire to ensure they are effectively married to the person with whom they are most compatible.
Once married, all couples will be required to reside for two years, or until the birth of their first child, in our new Ministry Starter House Estate.
The Law
All marriages where one or both partners are within the age range mentioned are hereby illegal until The Marriage Ceremony on Friday 1st July 1999.
Any persons who do not return their questionnaire will be fined one-hundred galleons.
Any persons who refuse to marry their chosen partner in The Marriage Ceremony will be sentenced to a minimum of six months' imprisonment in Azkaban.
Any persons found guilty of using any infertility potions will be sentenced to a minimum of twelve months' imprisonment in Azkaban.
If at two years you and your partner have not conceived a child, you will be required to undergo fertility testing. If found to be infertile, a divorce will be granted, and any fertile persons will be required to remarry within one year.
Approved and Signed,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
Abruptly standing, Draco crumples the parchment into a ball and throws it into the dwindling fire. Before he can cast a firebolt at the offending letter, the fire bursts into roaring flames, instantly burning the parchments to cinders.
"Thank you, Mitty," Draco says, anger growing inside as he begins to pace. "But I doubt that's going to solve the issue."
"Draco, the letter?" Mitty asks.
"A new decree," he stops, turning to face his nervous-looking house-elf. "Requiring me to marry and reproduce."
Her wide eyes grow more prominent in surprise. "Who Draco to marry?"
"I don't know." He begins to pace again. "There's some sort of ceremony after graduation." He pauses to stare out his window. "Some poor woman is out there, completely unaware that her life is about to be ruined by being forced to marry and have a child with me," he sighs. "I could refuse, I suppose. Save her the trouble of being tied to me by a child for the rest of our lives and spend six months in Azkaban."
"No! Draco does not goes to Azkaban," she warns him.
Draco stares at his house-elf, surprised by her outburst. "Mitty, if I can do anything to stop this woman from having her reputation permanently ruined by being my wife and the mother of my child, then I will."
Mitty shakes her head. "Draco need someone to love him, not Mitty, not Mr Blaise."
Sighing at her naivety, he explains, "Mitty, finding love through this Marriage Decree will be rare, no matter how compatible the questionnaire tells us we are, and I can guarantee that I won't. Everyone in Britain knows who I am and what I've done; no one's going to fall in love with me," he scoffs.
Before she can argue, the fluttering of parchment draws their attention to Draco's desk, where the letter has reappeared. Clearly, this is an issue that isn't going to go away by ignoring it.
"I will have to speak to Mother about this," he regretfully admits.
After dressing for the day, Draco walks with purpose to the dining room, where his mother is having breakfast. They rarely dine together this early since Draco tends to forego breakfast for studying in the library. Upon entering, he finds his mother sitting in her usual seat to the right of Lucius'. Narcissa is wearing one of her favourite dresses, but where it once hugged her figure, drawing the attention of all their guests, it now hangs loosely from her shoulders. Her long blonde hair falls limply down her back, and her eyes are grey and sunken into her pallor face. Not for the first time, Draco wishes he could do something for his mother, but she is still mourning the loss of her husband and blaming her son for sending him away.
"Mother?" He calls her attention, standing behind his usual seat opposite hers.
Narcissa's eyes snap up to him and she unblinkingly glares at him, her brows furrowed, waiting for him to speak.
"I wish to inform you that I will be getting married in July," he begins, although her only reaction is an eye twitch. "The Minister has enacted a new decree. I must complete a questionnaire, then after graduation, some poor woman will be forced to marry me, live with me and have my child within two years, or I can spend six months in Azkaban."
Draco awaits his mother's response, but when conversations seems unlikely, he begins to leave.
"Were you awaiting my opinion?" Narcissa asks, her voice monotonous.
Draco sighs, "Yes, mother."
His mother rises to her feet, finished with breakfast, despite her plate looking untouched. "I have no opinion on the matter."
This angers Draco. "You and Lucius have had nothing but opinions my whole life; why stop now?" he frowns, pleased when her husband's name causes her to flinch.
"This decree sounds perfectly fair to me," his mother begins. "Marry the woman or go to Azkaban; either way, you'll be out from under my feet," she mutters, walking past him.
Draco watches his mother slowly climb the stairs towards her parlour. He had expected her to mention his responsibility as Malfoy's heir to produce a pureblood son to continue the Malfoy family name, but her response hurt more than any mention of responsibility ever could.
Returning to his room, on the opposite side of the Manor to his mother's, Draco finishes packing his trunk for returning to Hogwarts the following day. While the castle felt more like home than the Manor, his friends made it feel that way. However, he could certainly do without the younger students trying to jinx him in the corridors and his peers sending him glares across their shared common room.
He wishes he could visit one of his friends now to discuss their thoughts on the Marriage Decree. However, none of them were available.
Pansy Parkinson's father had banned him from their Manor after his trial. He had tried banning his daughter from being Draco's friend, but no one could control Pansy Parkinson. While Pansy is adamant her father was never a Death Eater, Draco isn't so sure and wonders how Perseus Parkinson could face the Dark Lord yet be afraid of his own daughter.
Gregory Goyle had refused to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year, confident he wouldn't pass any of his exams, and with his father in Azkaban, he had to figure out a way to earn his own money. Especially after he discovered his father had a severe gambling addiction and had lost most of the Goyle fortune. He'd quickly gotten a job in the Daily Prophet's printing room, lugging heavy piles of newspapers around for delivery.
Blaise Zabini, his best friend, is usually his go-to person when he needs company. The other man would drop everything to be by his side if Draco needed him, but his mother had recently married some affluent muggle, and the family of three were on holiday in Monaco. Draco didn't want to bother him while they were apparently bonding.
Needing to get out of the Manor but with nowhere else to go, he decides to head into Diagon Alley. He summons his winter cloak before setting out across Malfoy Manor's grounds. The cold air sends a shiver down his spine, and he regrets not grabbing a jumper before he leaves. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself as he steps out of the wards protecting the Manor and apparate into Diagon Alley.
As a child, Draco loved to visit Diagon Alley with his mother. They would spend hours trying on the latest fashions, browsing through the shelves of Flourish and Blotts and lunching in one of the tea shops. These days, he's not particularly fond of the street. Since most Death Eaters have either been killed, imprisoned or fled Britain, people no longer felt fear upon seeing him. Most left him alone, giving him a wide berth, but a fair few enjoyed throwing angry words and curses at him. Thankfully, this morning, the people he passes are like him, trying to get in and out before the crowds begin swarming.
Pulling his hood up to obscure his identity, Draco stalks towards Flourish and Blotts. The bookshop is still one of his favourite places in the world, one of only two places where Draco feels safe. Surprisingly, that's all thanks to the bookish Weasley. The man turned the shop's upstairs floor into a comfortable place to read and study, either at desks or in private reading nooks overlooking the street below. Over Christmas, Draco has frequented Flourish and Blotts whenever being at home became too much.
Draco reaches out for the door handle as he approaches the bookshop, only for it to slip from his grasp. Assuming another customer is about to exit, Draco patiently waits for them to leave, his head ducked so as not to cause any problems. After a few moments, when nobody leaves, he attempts to slip through the open door. However, it's just his luck that as he steps over the threshold, the customer decides to leave, and they collide. With his head bowed, he sees the other begin to stumble and automatically grabs their arm to steady them.
"Sorry," he apologises, lifting his head to show his sincerity, only to find Hermione Granger before him. "Watch where you're walking!" He snaps, dropping her hand. It's an instinctive response from years of sending biting remarks back and forth.
"Why don't you watch where you're walking. When someone opens a door, it usually means they're going to walk through it," she retorts.
"You were taking your time. I don't have all day," Malfoy responds. He hadn't expected that reaction and almost enjoyed the normalcy of their old, argumentative habits. "This current mood hasn't got anything to do with the Marriage Decree, has it?" he asks, smirking as he adds, "I'm sure you and the Weasel will be fine."
"Shut up, Malfoy." Granger pushes past him.
Draco watches after her, realising he's gone too far. He had gotten carried away with the familiar taunting, forgetting that he hadn't intended to hurt her. When the door swings shut, Draco turns to find the bookish Weasley watching him curiously.
"They broke up last night," the man, whose name Draco really should learn, explains with a polite smile.
"Oh, that's- I shouldn't comment." Draco makes his way towards the stairs.
"The common reaction is that Hermione can do better. Ron doesn't appreciate her enough," the man tells him.
Draco isn't sure why the Weasley is telling him this. Maybe he's just trying to make conversation. He was nothing but kind and accepting of Draco's presence at Flourish and Blotts and refused to kick him out whenever other customers complained about him.
"You'd say that about your own brother?" Draco asks.
"It was my mother who said it first," the man admits.
Draco smiles awkwardly, turning back to the staircase.
"I must warn you," the man draws his attention again. "If you're here to complete the questionnaire, it flashes red if you answer incorrectly."
"Thanks for the tip," Draco says, then continues upstairs, glad to make it before the Weasley starts another conversation.
Sat at his usual table, hidden behind a row of bookshelves, Draco sets out his quill and ink before removing The Marriage Decree from his cloak pocket. There's no need to reread the initial letter; he's read it enough times to comprehend its contents, so he moves on to the accompanying questionnaire, waiting to be filled in.
Dear Sir/Miss,
The following questionnaire will be used to ensure you are married to the person with whom you are most compatible at The Marriage Ceremony. All incorrect answers will remove themselves in favour of a correct answer to be written. All twenty questions must be answered before being returned to the Ministry of Magic. All questionnaires must be returned by Tuesday 1st March 1999.
Name:
Date of Birth:
Gender:
Sexuality:
Blood Status:
Hogwarts House:
Career:
Average/Predicted NEWT Grade:
Current Relationship Status:
Hair Colour:
Eye Colour:
How many children do you wish to have?:
Your Favourite Colour:
Your Favourite Number:
Your Favourite Food:
Your Favourite Drink:
Partner's Hair Colour:
Partner's Eye Colour:
Your greatest fear:
Your greatest hope:
Any other notes:
Your time is appreciated,
Approved and Signed by
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic.
After reading through the first few questions, he smiles as he writes his answers. However, they pull Draco into a false sense of simplicity before asking the more complex questions.
Most purebloods believed that very few wizards or witches possessed the powers of divination, and Draco was not one of them. How was he to know how many children he wished to have when, if he were to answer truthfully, he would have to write zero. If it were up to him, the Malfoy family name would die with him.
Of course, the questionnaire wouldn't accept that answer since the purpose of The Marriage Decree is to produce a child.
While arranged marriages were the norm within pureblood society, this new Decree would be completely different. The purpose of an arranged marriage was for fathers to negotiate the most advantageous marriages for their children in the hopes of ensuring that their pureblood status and their name continue through the generations. As long as their firstborn wasn't a squib or female, most pureblood families stopped after their first child. Draco writes 'one' on the line provided and waits for a reaction. As the Weasley downstairs promised, the words flash bright red in his face, then disappear.
Did Draco actually believe what he kept repeating to himself? Apparently not, if the questionnaire was to be believed. He attempts to block his mind from all thoughts about poor, faceless women being forced to marry him and imagines falling in love. He imagines walking onto Platform nine-and-three-quarters with his wife's hand in his. His eldest child is ahead of them with their trolley while their youngest sits atop their trunk. In his imagination, he feels a tug at his hand and looks down to find another child pulling their parents after their two siblings.
Intrigued, Draco writes 'three' under the eleventh question and waits for it to flash red and disappear. When the answer remains, he frowns; the heart can want what it wants, but that doesn't mean it deserves that.
After completing the questionnaire, Draco prepares to leave when he hears a knock on the bookshelf behind him. He turns to find the Weasley watching him.
"Can I help you?" Draco asks, ready to leave, but the man doesn't move.
"I've got a book for you," he states, which confuses Draco as he doesn't recall ordering any books. "It came in the other day, and I thought you might enjoy it, so I put it aside for you."
Curiously, Draco follows him down to the desk, where he rummages through a crate of books until he finds it. When Draco accepts the book, he's in awe of its beauty. Across the cover is a gold embossed peacock, reminding him of the white one his father used to let roam around the grounds of Malfoy Manor.
"How much?" Draco asks without taking his eyes off the cover.
"It's on the house." The man smiles.
"Why?"
The man chuckles, "There's something different about you. I saw you at Hogwarts during the summer."
"I had community service," Draco reminds him.
The Weasley hums in agreement. "For ten weeks, you were there an extra three."
Draco isn't sure how he feels knowing others have noticed his actions.
"I'm not going to dismiss your actions during the war, but we're quite similar in that we've both had to make amends for those actions and beliefs," he explains. "That book helped me; maybe it can help you too."
If there's one thing Draco hates, it's admitting he requires help, but this man had accepted and stood up for him many times when Draco had nowhere else to go but Flourish and Blotts.
"Which Weasley are you?"
The man laughs, "There is a fair few of us. I'm Percy."
The bell above the door rings as another customer enters.
Draco manages to say, "Thank you, Percy," before quickly slipping out without further attention.
Strolling aimlessly down Diagon Alley, his new book tucked into his inner cloak pocket, Draco feels like he's accomplished something today. He completed the questionnaire to determine his future and had a friendly conversation with someone he would have never acknowledged previously. His mood quickly shifts, though, when he sees a group of women walking towards him. They're in high spirits, which is not good news for Draco, so he quickly ducks into the nearest shop, Florean Fortescue Ice Cream Parlour.
A bell announces his arrival, so Draco quickly scans the seating area for anyone who might oppose his presence. Thankfully, the parlour is empty. Whilst he's here, he might as well order a hot chocolate. As he's checking the list of available toppings, he feels a burning sensation spread across his chest.
"Shit."
His brain takes a second to catch up as he watches Hermione Grander dabbing at his stained white shirt with a napkin.
"I'm so sorry, let me just-" Granger whips out her wand.
Draco flinches as her arm raises, preparing to cast her spell.
"Don't!" He steps away from her.
Her wand remains aimed at his chest as she looks up, surprised to find him before her again.
"Are you following me?" She asks, her expression worried.
Old habits die hard as he feels his tone becoming snarky. "No, I wanted a hot chocolate, and I guess I got what I wanted." He gestures down at himself, trying not to strain his sore chest. Granger doesn't need to know she's caused him pain. The pain almost subsides as he watches her eyes scan down his chest before realising with a blush.
"Don't be so dramatic!" she snaps at him through her embarrassment.
Draco laughs, catching Granger off guard as he captures her wrist in his hand. "Do you mind watching where you point that?" He asks politely.
Her arm twitches in his grasp before she pulls it free and pockets her wand. It seems Granger is done with their interaction as she steps around him and back out into Diagon Alley.
Inspecting the damage to his shirt, Draco decides to just head home and change. Mitty would need to soak the shirt straight away. Following Granger isn't intentional, but there are a few secluded places in Diagon Alley from which to apparate. Still, he's surprised when she stops abruptly and turns to face him.
"What's your problem?"
Draco steps back, pulling his winter cloak further around himself as the cold air hits the wet patch of his shirt and sends a shiver through his bones. "I'm going home to change. I can't be seen in public looking like this."
"You know cleaning charms exits," Granger says, shaking her head like he's an idiot. "Or are you too much of a pompous brat to do your own laundry? Does your house-elf do it for you?"
His nose turns up as he says, "Cleaning charms leave the fabric feeling rough."
The one thing he hadn't expected Granger to do was laugh at him, but here she was, laughing in his face, in full view of anyone walking down Diagon Alley, without malice.
Quickly, he ducks down a darkened alleyway, not wanting to draw attention to the fact Draco Malfoy seems to be having a jolly old time with Hermione Granger.
"Who are you hiding from?" Granger asks.
Draco wants to say everyone but thinks better of it and simply says, "Goodbye, Granger," before apparating home to Malfoy Manor.
Back at the gates to the Manor, Draco storms inside, stomping up the staircase towards his room in annoyance. Today has been a peculiar day; maybe he needs to sleep. He scoffs, knowing he definitely needs more sleep, but he can't waste time napping when he needs to study. He would sleep after graduation. Slamming his bedroom door behind him, Draco throws his winter cloak towards his bed and unbuttons his shirt.
A wolf whistle startles him, but he isn't surprised to find Blaise Zabini lounging across his comforter.
"I thought you were in Monaco," Draco states, not in the mood.
"I was, then I received a certain letter and thought you might need me," his friend admits, his face hidden behind a French muggle newspaper.
Draco sighs, hating his helplessness when Blaise rushes to his side at the first sign of trouble. "You needn't have bothered; I'm handling the news exceedingly well."
Blaise snorts, folding the newspaper up. "So what was that entrance about."
"Nothing," he mutters, walking into his dressing room.
"Yes, I can see you're not stressing about this decree," Blaise jokes, following Draco. "What did your mother say?"
Draco turns, staring at him pointedly, "As usual, mother offered no help."
"Which is why I'm here; you need someone to talk to or talk at; otherwise, you get lost in that pretty little head of yours." Blaise raps his knuckles against the side of Draco's head.
"Piss off." Draco ducks away, pulling a clean shirt from a hanger.
"Where were you anyway?"
"Diagon Alley."
"You hate Diagon Alley."
"I hate it here more."
Blaise sighs, "You should have come to Monaco with me. I had my own floor in Conrad's villa; he wouldn't have known you were there."
"I've been fine. Percy Weasley lets me hide upstairs in Flourish and Blotts for hours," Draco admits, pulling his new shirt on. He watches as Blaise's eyes are drawn to the red burn on his chest. There's no point hiding it now; it would seem suspicious.
"Who did this?"
"It's nothing, Blaise," Draco assures him, trying to button his shirt at a normal pace.
Blaise stops Draco's hands, inspecting the burn. "This is what happens when you go to Diagon Alley alone."
"I'm not a child. I can go out on my own."
"You're an easy target, Draco. You don't fight back," Blaise says with concern.
"You know I can't fight back. Do you want me to spend the rest of the school year in Azkaban?" He asks, returning to his bedroom.
"Obviously not, I'm just saying this is why you shouldn't go anywhere alone. You need someone to protect you," Blaise states, and before Draco can open his mouth to counter the argument, he continues, "We know you could handle yourself if you wanted to, but until graduation, your friends are willing to do it for you. So I'm going to ask you again, who did this?"
"Trust me when I tell you this was an accident, Blaise. It was as much my fault as theirs," he admits.
"Are you sure? Some people are cruel."
"Yes, I'm sure; they apologised."
Blaise tilts his head curiously. "They apologised to you."
"Well, they apologised before they knew it was me."
"Just tell me who did it?" Blaise asks once more. "I won't hurt them, I promise."
Knowing that Blaise won't let this go, Draco sighs before admitting, "It was Granger; she walked into me with her hot chocolate."
Blaise's concern quickly fades, recognising that she's no real threat to him. "Not the Hermione Granger. Wow! What's she like in person?" He jokes, throwing himself back down on Draco's bed.
Draco ignores his friend's antics as he collects his cloak, pulling the book from Percy and the questionnaire out of his pocket. "Mitty," he calls out.
Instantly, his house-elf appears before him. "Draco?"
"Could you send this to the Ministry, please?"
"Yes, Draco."
"Also, my shirt is stained; it might need immediate attention."
Mitty rolls her eyes at him before disappearing.
"Why doesn't Mitty like me?" Blaise complains, lying back against Draco's pillow. "She didn't even acknowledge me."
"She thinks you're a bad influence," Draco jokes.
Blaise scoffs then sighs deeply, removing his own letter and questionnaire from his pocket. "What do you actually think about all this?"
Draco lies beside his friend, staring up at the canopy. "It's not fair. People have gone through enough in recent years, but there's no stopping the Ministry. I'm resigned to marry some unfortunate woman, produce a child with her and spend the rest of my life trying not to end up like my father."
"You've got it all planned out." Blaise smiles. "I'm worried," he admits.
"About your elusive girlfriend?" Draco asks, leading the conversation in the hopes of discovering her identity. "Is she really why you're here? You returned to Britain to speak to your secret girlfriend, but you're too scared for her answer to actually go speak to her," Draco predicts.
"And you don't believe in divination."
"I don't need to; you're just that predictable, Blaise."
"I did want to check in on you; I have missed you all week."
"So, are you hoping to promote your elusive girlfriend to wife?" Draco asks, fishing for information.
"We've only been dating since Halloween, but I think we've been having fun. Maybe I don't want to marry her right now, but in July, if we're still together, I might feel differently," Blaise admits.
"Just write her name and see what happens," Draco suggests.
"No." Blaise's nose scrunches up. "If I write her name and it sticks, but I find out she didn't even bother, or my name disappeared, then our relationship is over, and I don't know if I'll survive the embarrassment."
Draco laughs, "You're too dramatic for your own good."
"Those of us in relationships don't know if we will get to stay together. We'll need to decide if we will keep seeing each other for the next six months," Blaise points out.
"Be careful, I don't know this girl, so I can't set Pansy on her if she breaks your heart."
Blaise guffaws as he rolls over to hug Draco. "I knew you cared about me."
"Get off," Draco complains, but he returns his friend's hug momentarily before pushing him away.
The following silence is calming and lasts long enough for Draco to think Blaise has fallen asleep until the man suddenly gasps.
"What?"
"Do you realise what this all means?" Blaise asks.
"Not a clue."
"You'll get to be my child's godfather."
Draco snorts, "I don't think your wife would agree."
"I don't care if I die; I want my best friend to raise my child and tell them stories about how awesome I was." Blaise grins.
"Again, not sure your wife would agree to me co-parenting your child."
"In this scenario, my wife is also dead?" Blaise clarifies.
"Some tragic accident?"
"Probably, knowing me," Blaise sighs.
"So, how are the Mr and Mrs Conrad- I don't know his surname," Draco segues. He's lost count of the number of step-fathers Blaise has had, but he certainly remembers the best and the worst. The last few had been especially bad, so Draco was hoping Mother Zabini had found a good one.
Blaise frowns. "You know I don't get invested until the first anniversary; they still have five months until I'm forced to remember a surname."
"Has she told him yet?" Draco asks.
"Nope, another reason not to get invested. They usually don't take the reveal of magic well," Blaise says, clearly remembering his mother's last few husbands. "When I mentioned that I wouldn't be coming home for Easter, Conrad asked if I would be comfortable with him attending my graduation."
"What did you tell him?"
"He looked so hopeful; I didn't want to decline. So mother has five months to tell him or let him down." Blaise shrugs.
"I hope it all works out well."
By dinner, Draco had finished a few homework pieces and read some chapters of his arithmancy book while Blaise slept on his bed, avoiding his girlfriend. Together, they walk down to the dining room to find Narcissa sitting at the table, reading a book, as she takes a few sips from her bowl of soup.
"Evening, Mrs Malfoy," Blaise greets the woman, who hadn't bothered to look up as they entered.
Dropping her book in surprise, Narcissa glowers at her son for a split second before shifting into a polite smile as her eyes land on Blaise. "Dear, Draco failed to inform me you would be joining us for dinner." She stands tall, walking towards her son's friend.
"I always feel so welcomed at Malfoy Manor, but don't blame Draco for not informing you, as he didn't know of my arrival until I was already lounging across his bed," Blaise defends his friend.
"Well, your presence is as pleasant a surprise as ever, dear. How is your mother?"
Blaise kisses Narcissa's cheek in greeting. "Mother is very well, although she missed you at the wedding," he mentions with a sly smile.
"Please send her my apologies. I was so upset to miss her special day due to my illness," she sighs. "Hopefully, I will be able to attend her next one." Narcissa gently taps the side of Blaise's face.
Blaise presses his lips together in a smile, locking eyes with Draco over his mother's shoulder. "Well, Mrs Malfoy, one can't help feeling unwell, I hope you recover soon."
Narcissa purses her thin lips. "I assume there is some urgent matter that could not wait until tomorrow?" Narcissa requests, returning to her seat as the two boys sit across from her.
Before them, two bowls of spaghetti bolognese appear, with a side of garlic bread. Blaise immediately digs in, shovelling a forkful into his mouth before answering Narcissa's previous question. "Surely Draco has passed along the news of our imminent marriage, Mrs Malfoy." He swallows, picking up a slice of garlic bread. "It is the talk of pureblood society. I've heard Mr Parkinson is considering taking Pansy out of Hogwarts to have her marry a distant German cousin," Blaise laughs. "Not that she would ever agree to that."
"A pureblood daughter must follow her father's wishes. That girl is stubborn as a mule, or should I say a Hinny since her mother is the donkey in that particular marriage," Narcissa chuckles, pleased with herself.
"Mother, enough," Draco warns.
"Would you even contemplate speaking to your mother like that, Blaise, dear? You see what I have put up with all these years," she sighs sadly, clutching at the silver chain necklace that holds Lucius' wedding band.
Not one to dwell in an awkward moment, Blaise cuts the tension as he asks, "So, Mrs Malfoy, what do you think of this decree?"
"I have not read the decree, but from what I understand, I do not see how it will have any lasting effects on our family," she admits. "My assumption is that no two purebloods will be paired in marriage, as I'm sure the Minister blames the whole of pureblood society for the war. Either way, what the Minister fails to understand is our patient nature. Once Draco has produced a half-bred child, the Decree will have been completed, leaving him free to divorce the mother and marry a more appropriate girl," Narcissa explains.
"An appropriate girl?" Draco questions, a deep frown carved into his forehead.
"A pureblood girl whose body hasn't been sullied by this decree," she simply answers.
Blaise stares agape at Narcissa as they fall into an argument.
"This morning, you claimed to have no opinion on the matter."
"I have since taken the opportunity to remind myself of my duty as a wife, and with your father gone, it is my responsibility to ensure our family is as strong as ever for your father's return," she explains. "You are of age, Draco, and if this Decree had not been announced, you would have been expected to marry by the year's end. I have already been discussing the matter with Mr Greengrass," his mother admits.
Draco's face falls with the realisation that his life is still not his own, despite the Dark Lord's fall, and he would probably never have ownership of his life. "You'd have me marry Daphne Greengrass?"
"Initially, yes, but as she will be involved in the Decree, we must turn our attention to Astoria. She is currently in her fifth year, so by the time the two years for the Decree are up, she will have graduated, and we can have the first pick."
Draco's fork slips from his grip, clattering upon the fine china. His little appetite vanished, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. "I regret to inform you of this, mother, but I had no intention of getting married or producing a pureblood Malfoy heir for you," he admits.
Narcissa's eyes narrow on his. "A pureblood son must marry well, produce an heir and go into business with his father."
"Maybe you'll be lucky, Mother, and I'll refuse to marry whichever poor woman the Minister forces upon me and end up following my father into business after all," Draco retorts.
Narcissa gasps harshly, slamming her fist upon the table, causing the silverware to jump. "Your father has no business being locked away in that hole."
"My father got let off easy. He should've been given another twenty years at least," Draco argues.
"If you weren't our sole heir, son, I would throw you to the streets without a penny," Narcissa threatens. Then, upon remembering Blaise's presence at the dinner table, she straightens the layers of her dress. "After everything your father and I have done to ensure you even have a future, you should show us a little respect," she sighs. "If only your father were here, he would force some sense into your insolent head." Turning to Blaise, she says, "It was lovely to see you, dear, but I would rather you not stay the night. I must rest for my health."
"Of course, Mrs Malfoy, thank you for your hospitality," he agrees, continuing to eat dinner.
Narcissa collects her book and leaves with her head held high. Draco can finally relax once her footsteps are heard on the floor above them.
"Is she always like this?" Blaise asks, his voice calm but not pitiful.
"No, she usually ignores me at dinner. This was a special outburst just for you," Draco sighs.
"I feel honoured; dinner and a show."
Draco sputters with laughter, feeling calmer already. Blaise knows precisely what he needs to bring him out of his moods.
"You are spending the night, right?"
"Of course, I'm not leaving you here with her."
"Thank you, but I'm not letting you avoid your girlfriend. Go now while I pack my trunk," Draco orders.
"Yes, sir." Blaise stands and salutes him, leaving out the front door.
When Blaise returned via floo powder an hour later, Draco lounged across his bed, reading the book Percy had given him. He finds the writing fascinating, if not very confusing. Far too late into the book, he realises it must be a muggle book, as the characters have yet to use magic to make their lives easier.
"Draco!" Blaise excitedly shouts as he bounds across his room and dives onto his bed. "It worked! We discussed what we wanted from our relationship and agreed we weren't ready to give up on it because of the Decree. So we wrote each other's name, and they stayed right there on the parchment."
"Congratulations!" He tries to sound encouraging but thinks it comes out bitter.
"Why would they ask if we're in a relationship if our partnerships aren't going to be considered during The Marriage Ceremony?" Blaise rhetorically asks. "She is the coolest person I've ever met, including myself."
"You're insufferable," Draco mutters.
"I'm in love."
"I'm aware."
"You'll understand one day." Blaise pats his arms comfortingly.
Draco scoffs, "I doubt anyone will love me. I don't want anyone to love me."
"Wow, you're really bringing my mood down, Draco," Blaise says. "You're not unlovable. I love you. Pansy loves you. Mitty loves you."
"Not what I meant, and you know it." Draco frowns.
"You never know what The Marriage Ceremony will bring you. Give love a chance, Draco." Blaise rolls onto his side, giving Draco the once-over. "You're an attractive man."
Draco rolls his eyes. "There's more to a relationship than looks."
"How would you know?" Blaise teasingly asks.
Draco pushes Blaise's shoulder, and his friend has to scramble at the bed covers to not fall off the bed. Everyone at Hogwarts knows Blaise Zabini is a regular Casanova. He'll flirt with anyone, and if he finds them attractive, he'll pursue them. His relationships don't usually last more than a fortnight or two, so their friendship group is intrigued by his current girlfriend, whom he's been dating since Halloween. Meanwhile, Draco has been a little too busy the last few years to even think about dating.
"Seriously though," Blaise begins. "Attraction draws a person in; personality keeps them there."
"I don't want the married life," Draco sighs, sick of repeating himself.
"Why are you so difficult?" Blaise cries. "Do what you want, but you're not going to do it alone because you've got friends, and we love you. We're here to stay, so deal with it."
Silence befalls them as Blaise's words settle heavily on Draco's mind.
When Draco had been ordered by the Wizengamot to return to Hogwarts for his eighth-year, he'd kept graduation in his mind as the moment when he would finally be free, from his punishment, his mother and this Manor. Yet now he had been handed another two-year sentence where he would be imprisoned at the Ministry's Estate with an unwanted wife as a cellmate.