The Dragon's Child Bride

Draco awoke to his alarm. He quickly silenced it so as not to wake his roommates. Then he remembered he had no roommates this year. He had made Head Boy. Of course, he hadn’t been surprised. He was the top ranking male student, and had served two diligent years as a prefect. And as a Malfoy, he naturally deserved the best. It still took some getting used to though.

He slipped out of bed despite his aching body’s protest. He had early morning Quidditch practice, and it would look pretty bad if he, the team’s captain, showed up late. He pulled on his Quidditch gear and headed out to the pitch. Only once he got onto Hogwarts green fields did his body start to wake up and his mind become alert. Something about circling the pitch on his broom surrounded by the stands and hoops made him truly come alive. It was the only time he felt anything close to happiness. He hadn’t been really happy since……well, for a long time.

He liked to have at least a good half-hour to practice on the pitch by himself. This was his sixth year as Slytherin seeker, and he was almost at the top of his game. Almost. Except for that blasted Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Piss-Him-Off. No matter how much Draco trained, exercised and studied technique, Saint Potter always managed to beat him to the snitch. Not only that, but the bastard made it look effortless.

Draco hovered in mid-air for a moment as he seethed. Quickly, he shook his head, as if to shake out his thoughts of Harry Potter. Draco spent the rest of his time practicing with the charmed snitch his father bought him for his unaccompanied practicing. It was elusive as a regular snitch, but could be called in once the others came.

And of course that time did have to come. Too soon the other six team members joined the pitch. He made one last lazy circle over the field as they looked on before joining them on the ground. He took a moment to give his team the once-over. ‘Pathetic’ he thought. ‘This is going to be a long season.’

“Crabbe! Goyle!” he barked at the two beaters, “Get your asses onto your brooms and off the ground. You two need to practice your aim with the bludgers if we want to have a hope in hell of a good offence.” He turned towards his chasers, wordlessly dismissing the other two. He began to rip into them for what he considered a poor performance during their last practice. Gods, they were a week away from their first game, and at this rate they were sure to fall squarely into last place.

He was just about to turn his fury on his new keeper, a sixth-year whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember, when he saw an owl he couldn’t help but recognize. It was his father’s black eagle owl and it was heading directly for him. His team mates stared as Draco quickly took the note from the owl and sent it on its way, trying to act completely normal as if it was common for him to get mail before the arranged time. He stuffed the note into his robes. He would read it later. He had a practice to oversee. He insisted on holding himself to the same strict standards he had for the rest of the team, no exceptions. That was probably the only decent thing he did when it came to Malfoy being captain. He was a great leader and made sure his team performed, but the tactics he employed to achieve that were less then honorable.

Practice went on for another two hours before the team began slipping in performance. That was the time Draco would usually end practice, lest he risk the team turning mutinous on him. He called them in, gave them a few instructions and announced the time of the next team practice. As the other six left the field he stood there for a moment, just stood and stared out at the landscape before him. Random thoughts flew through his head and like always, his thoughts eventually drifted to her. She would have loved this place. She would have……

Draco shook his head again. It had been eleven years and he still thought of her every day. Every time he saw lilies, he would think of how he used to pick them for her from his mother\'s garden. Every time there was a storm, he would remember how much they scared her and that no matter how hard she tried to defy her fears she would end up sleeping in his bed with him for comfort. And every time he met another girl he would compare them to her, and that comparison was never flattering.

Mentally he chastised himself for that small part of him that was still sensitive to her memory. But Draco could not seem to let her go. Laylani had been his princess and he, her knight in shining armor. She had been the only one who ever made him feel like he belonged and was accepted just the way he was. Unlike his parents she had never cared if he were to become a great wizard in the Ministry, or just travel aimlessly across the world. She had told him once that no matter what he did, she would be there with him until the end.

He still kept her picture.

The picture had been taken the Christmas before she had turned six. Her father had loved muggle traditions in their kitschy way and had decorated the house to match muggle Christmas decor. He had even put up those gaudy Christmas lights. Draco’s picture was of Laylani and himself sharing an innocent kiss under the mistletoe.

At the thought of that Christmas, Draco’s thoughts suddenly turned bitter. ‘A whole lot of good that muggle hobby did Jonathan,’ he thought, ‘The bastards killed him.’ Draco noticed he had unconsciously begun to lightly finger her chain that he still wore around his neck. It had a silver ‘L’ charm with inlaid gold butterflies. Even he had to admit it was a rather girly thing to have but he couldn’t make himself take it off. He quickly tucked it back into his robes and headed for the showers.

It wasn’t until breakfast was almost over that he remembered his father’s message. He put down his fork and took the piece of parchment out of his pocket. The instant he unfurled it, he knew this was a note out of the ordinary. The parchment seemed to have been hurriedly written, his fathers elegant writing replaced with a hasty scrawl. Draco began to read.

***

Son,

Something has happened at home, and your presence is required for a week or two. I have already discussed this with Dumbledore. You are to gather your homework from your classes. I will arrive to collect you at the end of the day.

Lucius

***

Draco recognized his mother’s feminine writing in the post script.

***

P.S: She’s come back!

***

Draco pondered that last remark for a moment before it hit him. If he had to be at home, he would have to miss his first Quidditch game of the season! He was furious. The change in his demure must have been more noticeable then he thought, because instantly Pansy, informally known as the Slut of Slytherin, was hanging all over him.

“Drakey,” she simpered, “is something wrong? Something *I* could make better?” She leered at him suggestively. Draco nearly lost his breakfast then and there. Her mere presence disgusted him, something he had tried to make as clear as possible. It was that one moment of weakness back in fourth year; he had felt sorry for her and in fact had needed a date himself, and he had foolishly agreed to accompany her to the Yule Ball. He had regretted the acceptance the instant it had come out of his mouth and the delusions Pansy had spun off that one event had made him regret it ever since.

He turned to her with cold eyes. “You have been making that offer for seven years. Have I ever once even come close to saying anything remotely like accepting?” Pansy seemed unfazed by this. He gave off an annoyed sigh as he stood up untangled her from himself and left the table.

He entered the Slytherin common room and noisily sat himself down in a leather chair in front of the fire place. He was still really pissed off about the idea of missing that match. He gazed at the fire as he wallowed in his misery. Didn’t his father understand? Didn’t Lucius know how important the first game was to the team, the season, the entire house? Hell, didn’t he know how important it was to him? Draco’s fury began to boil over.

“Goddammit!” he shouted to the empty common room. Or what he thought was the empty common room.

“Ahem” said a quiet but distinct voice from behind him.

Oh.

Fuck.

Those were Draco\'s thoughts as he turned around. He had allowed himself one moment of anger and it just had to be seen by his Head of House, the only man in the entire school he respected.

“Is something troubling you, Mister Malfoy?” said Professor Snape with a wry smile.

“It’s my father, sir. He wants me to come home for awhile but that would mean missing the first match, and I can’t find a way out of it…” Draco was struck by an idea. Perhaps he couldn’t defy his father, but Professor Snape surely could. “Unless,” he continued “You were to tell him how important it is for me to be there and-” Snape cut him off with a wave off his hand.

“If there were anything I could do for you to remain, I would have. I have already discussed this matter at length with the Headmaster and he feels it imperative you follow your father’s wishes. Some things” he said pointedly, “Are more important than Quidditch.”

Draco slumped dramatically back into his chair in defeat. He was going to miss the first match of his last year. And there was nothing he could do about it.



A/N: yes, I am getting to it, they will meet in the next chapter. I promise. Bear with me, as I am a horrible one for cliffhangers. Thanks for all the great reviews, keep \'em coming!