Unwilling

Draco carefully closed the door behind him, making certain to lock it magically, then with a shake of his head he pulled a tiny silver key from his pocket and turned it in the lock, hearing the bolt click he turned, having secured the door to her cell physically. It was a testament to Hermione’s power as a witch and his own fear of her eventual retribution, eventual because he’d no doubt that she could not be held forever, that he resorted to magical as well as mundane methods to keep her away from the prying eyes of the world.

It was disquieting in the extreme for Draco to have to second guess himself in such a manner and he cursed the day he’d hatched this plot, having a witch of her caliber at his beck and call was designed to make his life easier. Nothing about his life was easy since he’d brought her home and the business of the day would bring that into sharp relief, though Draco had no way of knowing just how difficult it would become.

It was more problematic than usual for Draco to remove his thoughts and worries from his face, though he’d been schooled to it from birth and had the ability polished during his service to the Dark Lord. He paused before the closed doors to the parlor and taking a deep breath wiped his face and mind clear of any thoughts not directly related to this meeting. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, he would not do well to drag his unpleasant life circumstances into the mix and sully the moment for his family. Having rid himself of his worries concerning Hermione, Draco found that his hands shook sightly as he reached for the brass handle to the door, he was actually excited and nervous for the first time in recent memory.

Draco opened both doors knowing that even the dim light from the window behind him would catch in his fair hair and that he’d look angelic; it was very much a Malfoy tradition to make as grand an entrance as possible. The pretty young witch who sat on the opposite side of the parlor smiled and drew her breath in at the sight of Draco framed in muted light. Her mother did the same, Draco noted with a self-satisfied smile that it seemed everyone else in the room took for his merely being polite.

His troubles pressed back into the recesses of his mind, Draco crossed the room in four swift, graceful strides nodding his morning salutations to his parents and dropping to one knee in front of the pretty witch who had smiled at him only scant moments before. Taking her hand in his he raised it gently to his lips and laid a soft, chaste kiss just above her knuckles; she shivered with delight at Draco’s attentions, though she had the grace to blush when she met the amused eyes of her father.

The artlessly graceful young man at her feet suffered from no oh-so feminine afflictions of random dotty moments and raised himself up to his considerable height smoothing the fine fabric of his robes by way of habit. Throwing his silken hair over his shoulder, he drew a chair up next to the young lady and sat taking her hand in his once more. She beamed and their parents began speaking slightly more formally than usual, as if they had more than an inclination as to their future status toward one another. Draco seized the opportunity to have a brief whispered council with his lovely young lady.

“Astoria,” he said, loving the way her name felt in his mouth; he raised his other hand and ran it along her delicately boned face and she leaned into the caress. He withdrew his hand and she positively beamed under his charming demeanor. “Have you any changes or additions to the plan?” he asked thoughtfully.

“No. Oh, Draco, I...I just can’t wait. I love you,” Astoria said her eyes sparkled with all the fire of a well-faceted sapphire, she bit her bottom lip and her palm began to sweat sightly in his, which responded in kind also growing damp with nerves. He gave her hand a soft squeeze and a conspiratorial wink before clearing his throat to gain the attention of the two couples who were discussing the latest shift in the Galleon to Gem exchange rate; both couples it seemed favored the new rate, as they’d much by way of precious stones to liquidate before the rate shifted back to its normal ratio.

“Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, Mother, Father, I would ask that you please be seated.” The couples obliged, with all the refinement that their wealth had bought for them the four sat opposite the young couple with identical expressions of polite curiosity painted on their faces.

Draco stood once more and brought Astoria to stand with him, though she let him speak for both of them, “As you know Astoria and I have been seeing each other for just over a year, we have reason to believe that you generally approve of our dating.” Nods of assent greeted this statement, heartened Draco continued, surprised that his voice was not betraying the extent of his nervousness, “Mr. Greengrass I would like to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”

Mr. Greengrass did not answer at once and Draco’s pulse began to speed, his heart began to thump, nearly audible in the silence. No one moved or made even the smallest sound, the silence had gone on too long, they’d be denied! His heart sank, then pounded harder at the prospect of losing her. Just when the beating of his heart could surely be heard in the farthest reaches of the Manor, Astoria stepped forward defiantly seizing Draco’s hand and as she opened her mouth her father cut off.

“Indeed. I’ll not lie to young man, Mrs. Greengrass and I certainly expected this day to come and now that it has I can only say that we cannot,” Draco flushed and Astoria burst into tears. Narcissa looked apoplectic, but held her tongue. Lucius leaned back onto the cushions and looked as though he was greatly enjoying the sport; there seemed to Draco a part of his father that was joyous whenever he failed. It took everyone, save Lucius, a full minute to realize that Mr. Greengrass was in fact overcome with a fit of coughing.

When his fit abated Mr. Greengrass sipped the water that appeared in front of him carefully and continued, the Malfoy’s rapt with attention and Astoria still sobbing inconsolably, “As I was saying, We cannot think of a more suitable partner for our daughter.”

Astoria was shocked to silence, by her father’s apparent about-face concerning her nuptials. Draco looked relieved and flopped onto the couch next to her with none of his usual elegance. Narcissa looked vindicated; her Draco was better than good enough for the Greengrass family! Lucius, Draco noted sourly, looked crestfallen for an instant, then returned to his usual mask of polite indifference.

He did not dwell long over his father’s moods, nor would it be wise to begin doing so now. With a downward twist of the right corner of his mouth, Draco filed his father’s reaction in his mind, waiting for the day when he’d have the upper-hand in that epic battle. There were far more important things to attend to now that the engagement was official. Drawing Astoria aside he reached into his robes and drew out a tiny box, opening the lid she squealed delightedly.

She plucked the ring from the protection of the box and placed in on her finger, a three carat sapphire matching her eyes sparkled, reflecting her glow. Draco smiled, it was rare that things went so smoothly for him, in spite of his privileged upbringing he was far from accustomed to getting his way.

Lucius bowed out of the room with an excuse that no one had ears for as the Greengrass’ and Narcissa were deeply involved in the discussion of plans for the wedding. He joined them, though he could not even tell the difference between the shades of purple which were being debated as the wedding colors. Lilac or orchid? He looked down at the swatches of fabric and strained his eyes trying to make out the difference, finally he gave up and asked about the cake. He had assumed, incorrectly, that this would be a simple matter after all what choices were there to make? Chocolate or vanilla and the same options for the icing. When he gave a voice to this question his mother looked at him as though she’d never seen him before and Astoria laughed as if she thought it a joke. After a few more minutes, during which he kept his opinions quiet, Draco sensed that he was not needed, which was all to the good as far as he was concerned.



Hermione gathered herself and her new robes, standing slowly she slipped them over her alabaster shoulders. Draco’s behavior had never done much to make her feel of value, but his most recent onslaught had left her with the certainty that she was nothing more than an object, a poppet to dress, entertain and clean up after him. There was no need to abuse her so, ‘Not,’ she thought bitterly, ‘that he needs a reason.’ The lack of provocation for this attack was strange, though she was where he channeled his rage, she’d no doubt of that. She decided that it was best not to dwell on his motives, they hardly mattered and even had they it would do little to alter her status as chattel.

Hermione padded to the table in the far corner of the room where her list of daily chores was laid out. It was rather a short list today, which was just as well, as she did not feel herself. One positive that had come of serving a wizard with no non-magical relations was that she’d seen her load of chores lightened when she’d complained of not being allowed the use of her wand. She knew that Draco would never sully himself by doing his own sweeping and laundry by hand, so she felt safe in telling him that it took far more time than it actually had to complete what work she needed to satisfy him.

She set to the short list and finished all but her final task, which she left partially completed, lest he come in unannounced, as he was wont to do. That task was mending some robes that had clearly not been in style for near a century, it struck her as odd that they were even kept as the Malfoy’s had always had a reputation for wanting the very best of what was new. There was little by way of sentimentality reflected in the eyes of any member of the household, another mystery that she might solve if she lived long enough, she sighed. Taking the basket of robes that needed yet to be mended to the window box, she pulled the book she’d selected from the middle of her sewing pile and began to read.

The book she’d selected was a tale of deathless romance, a Wizarding adaptation of Cinderella. Under normal circumstances Hermione would have found it to be cloying in its sweetness, saccharin in her mouth, but her current predicament elicited a strange pity for their commonalities. Hermione envied the heroine of the tale no small amount too, for where that damsel would be rescued, she had no such hope, no prince. She had only a tyrannical taskmaster who alternately ran hot and cold with rage and on the rarest of occasions showed some odd act of what could only be called kindness.



Draco positively flew through the halls, the plan had gone better than even he could have imagined; it would not be much longer that he’d have to endure the taunts, slights and abuses of his father. Someday he would be a father and he vowed never to be the loveless, sadistic bastard that was Lucius. In the last six or so months Draco had come to refer to his father as only Lucius. This critical distancing was a method by which he could begin to heal the lifetime of scars of mind and body. Soon with his marriage he would be able to have a house of his own, the prospect of having a physical barrier from Lucius was intoxicating as a bottle-full of fire whiskey.

Drunk on the anticipation of his freedom, Draco’s senses were dulled to the point where he missed his father hiding behind the door in the kitchen. He was alerted to Lucius’ presence by a careless push of the swinging door; Draco fell flat onto his back, his arms and legs sprawled about like a life-sized marionette with strings cut. Draco was momentarily blinded by the pain in his nose, it was surely broken and blood rushed onto the carpet in the hallway, pooling crimson and hot on his scalp. Lucius’ laughter was scornful and Draco tried not to let slip the chain holding his temper, which had grown to be a beast beyond even his father’s reckoning. ‘One day,’ Draco thought, ‘One day.’

Draco glared into the empty hallway, down which his father had disappeared, from his place on the floor, and rose cursing at his dizziness as he snatched a towel off of the nearest counter and placed it gingerly against his nose. He cast his gaze down at the rapidly congealing puddle of his life’s blood and cocked his head slightly to the left as he considered the way that it changed from a red-orange to almost burgundy as the heat diminished.

He was startled, drawn from his reverie, by the sound of a gasp and a timid squeal. One of the maids had come into the kitchen, no doubt to begin the preparations for lunch. His eyes storm-grey narrowed dangerously as he beheld the look of terror on the face of the mousy young witch. “Are you going to stand about all day gawking at this mess or are you going to clean it up? If you feel it is beneath you, you have the option to find employment elsewhere.”

The maid pulled out her wand and Draco heard her muttering a spell under her breath as he left the kitchen via the swinging door that had been the sight of his ambush only moments before; he took care to avoid stepping in the pool of blood. He did this not as an act of convenience for the lowly maid, but to avoid the possibility that he might ruin his shoes or his tailor-made pants. The very last thing that he needed on top of his family issues was to appear to be anything less than in total control of his destiny to the outside world. He had far too many secrets to let his veneer of perfection show even the smallest crack...