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Expectations 2/?

Posted on 2008.01.12 at 17:58
Current Mood: happyhappy
Tags: ,
Title: Expectations 2/?
Author: Dragley
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own the characters.
Rating: Pg13 (future chapters maybe rated R)
Pairing: D/OFC though not graphic, eventual H/D
Spoilers: Set post DH, so many spoilers

Summary: Post DH AU- Settling down, happy families, warm Christmases and sappy anniversaries – it all sounds a bit beyond the likes of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Part Two

Lucius roared, as Draco had predicted he would. Words like inheritance and bastard were bounced off the walls and the dragon bone tea cups rattled on their saucers. Narcissa was silent and pale in the next room, her thin hands folded neatly in her lap, making no move to comfort Astoria who was once again weeping into her handkerchief.

"… with some Irish trollop, from a family of no-marks …"

"They're Celtic purebloods," Draco said, a tad desperately. Lucius paused, making a visible effort to rein in his anger, and sat back down behind his desk.

"Draco, son," he said finally, "times have changed – whether it's for the better remains to be seen, but we … our family was disgraced, our name abused by those we trusted. And now our name has finally been cleared and yet you seem determined to sully it again. Your … that girl," he stopped again, seeming unable to speak. It was just as well, as Draco felt as though he were going to throw up with the shame roiling in his stomach. He knew then what he was going to do – what he had to do.

"I'll … father, I'll marry her."


"Typical, just bloody typical," Hermione fumed from behind a copy of the The Prophet.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked before he noticed Ron, who had a mouthful of toast, shaking his head urgently.

"Draco sodding Malfoy, that's what," she muttered. "He would choose today to announce his wedding plans. The gossip columns are buzzing about it when they should be buzzing about your appearance at the benefit!"

Harry hadn't heard the last part, he was still marveling at the first. "Really? When was he engaged? I thought he was a …" he waggled his hand and made a strange face. "You know, a …"

"Poof," Ron supplied, nodding, "I’ve heard that as well."

"Who's the woman, then? It is a woman, right?"

"Of course it is. Worse than gossipy hags, you two," Hermione said with roll of her eyes, checking the article nonetheless. "Astoria Greengrass - her sister was in our year," she said, the blood curdling fury of three minutes ago already forgotten. "Daphne was in Slytherin, though. Astoria was in … Hufflepuff, I think."

Harry wondered how she managed to remember things like that – most days in Hogwarts he'd barely remembered his own name, never mind anyone else's. "A snake and a badger," Ron said with a frown. "What is this world coming to?"

"She's very pretty," Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him. "I think she wanted to be an actress. She started that theatre group in fifth year – I remember everyone was so upset when Umbridge shut them down just before their first performance of A Witch's Tail."

Harry was startled – he hadn't known there were clubs other than the DA in fifth year. Some days he wondered whether he'd gone to school at all.

"The wedding's next month. Bit soon, isn't it? We were engaged for ages," Ron said, reading over Hermione's shoulder. "Harry, you and Gin …" Ron halted abruptly and stuffed more toast in his mouth as his neck flushed red.

"At least you hadn't married, Harry. That would have been … worse, in a way," Hermione said gently. The silence that ensued was awful.

"Where are the Magpies in Quidditch league?" he said instead of: no Hermione, nothing could possibly made me feel any worse than I already do, so why don't you stop talking about it and leave it alone.

"Turncoat," Ron said, obviously relieved to have the subject changed, "the Cannons are a far better team than those twittering idiots you follow."

"They're not even in the first league anymore!"

Hermione chose to do The Prophet's Saturday crossword puzzle as they argued the finer points of league politics vs. team ability and Malfoy's wedding, amongst other things, was forgotten.


"I am not paying for Elven silver," he said for the third time. For the third time, he was ignored.

"… and that will follow the theme of reflection and clarity, you see, as the silver will catch the light at some angles, and look invisible at others …"

Draco cleared his throat, quite prepared to hex the woman's face off if she didn't start paying attention. Astoria seemed to notice and caught his gaze, her full lips smiling sweetly – she really was quite stunning. A little vapid, perhaps, but at least their wedding portrait would be lovely.

"Thank you, but I think Draco would prefer we used Goblin silver," she said, interrupting the wedding planner - Ms. Doyle, with eyes like polished black buttons, who would be sacked in the next fourty seconds if she didn't play her cards right. When Ms. Doyle noticed the sharply tapping foot and dangerously thinning lips of the groom to be, she quickly changed tack.

"Of course, of course, you're just such a lovely young couple that a silly old woman like me gets carried away. Goblin silver – a good choice, Mr. Malfoy, very traditional. Now, about the invitations …"

"They will be taken care of."

"Well then, the napkins …"

"Tomorrow," Draco said, already standing. Ms. Doyle sniffed haughtily and gathered her papers, following Flossy out the room without another word.

"Did you have to be like that?" Astoria asked as he poured himself a generous brandy. Pretty or not, Draco could barely look at her.

"My father thinks this is a good opportunity to mend bridges, so I will be overseeing the invitations. Draw up a list of those whom you want to attend the ceremony, with their relation to you beside each name. If it's not done by tomorrow, I'll do it for you," he spoke to the papered wall behind her, to the family crest he'd had mounted there, and ignored an uncomfortable twist of familiar revulsion deep within him. He hadn't felt it since a Lord had lived in the house he could no longer set foot in.

That night he ate alone, in the attic of all places, amongst the hoarded toys and treasures of his childhood. He ran his fingers over his first broom, dug around in a small dusty box of weird muggle things he'd picked up as a child. He still hadn't the faintest idea of what most of them were, but he and Theo had spent hours in the Malfoy gardens trying to work out what they did as their fathers discussed politics and business in that shadowed world of Grown Up that, to this day, eluded him.

He understood duty, though, all too well. The guest list had already been drawn up, expertly weaved by his parents. Everyone from the Abbots to the Zamojskis were invited, many old friends deliberately eschewed for fear of drawing attention to an old circle, a Marked one. One small comfort was that when the Owls bearing invitations were released, Potter and the Weasleys were going to get the shock of their lives.


"What are we doing here?" Ron asked as they walked down the path towards an enormous white and silver tent set up in the middle of the snow covered field.

"Ensuring we don't die at the end of Hermione's wand? Malfoy made a huge donation to the LD … what's it again?"

"League of Disenfranchised Members of the Magical Community," Ron replied miserably, pulling at the collar of his robes.

"Right, that. The least we could do for Hermione is show up since she's stuck with bed rest."

"The ceremony will begin in a few minutes, gentlemen," a woman at the door told them, smiling as their invitations fluttered from their pockets to their assigned seats.

"Wow," Harry murmured as he looked about the tent – the interior was that of a castle's, with roaring fires along heavy stone walls and great entwined tapestries of the two family seals hanging from the ceiling. At the top of the room was a stone flight of steps leading to a large stained glass window of stars which swam across the glass forming different constellations. Austere music seemed to leak from the very walls and an actual river of wine snaked its way down the steps to a fountain.

"That bastard," Ron hissed as he watched Malfoy slip through the crowds, smiling and laughing, dressed in green and black dragon hide with his hair braided and knotted at the nape of his neck. "He can afford to donate ten times the amount he did."


"Hullo Malfoy," said a very familiar voice. Of course it was Potter. Who else could it be, at this specific moment in time when Draco was breaking down behind the firs? Who else would wander into the forest when everyone else was merrily getting smashed, singing and dancing, enjoying the spoils of generations of corruption?

"Potter," he replied, dipping his head. He didn't look around yet, didn't dare, he just gripped his ceremonial cane a little tighter and dropped his cigarette into the snow. After a long pause he turned, his smile too wide, showing too many teeth. He was faintly surprised as Potter was taller than him, and his face had angled into that of a man's. He looked as he always did – uncomfortable. "Glad you could come."

"I … congratulations," Potter said a bit stupidly, offering a hand. Draco shook it, like they were friends.

"You know – I offered to shake your hand once before. A very long time ago," he said vaguely. Potter looked a bit taken aback, he thought. A bit shocked. Draco was shocked. In shock. Stunned, even. Because over there - in that tent just over the hill, stood his wife. His wife. Absurd.

"Yeah, I remember," Potter was saying, "you warned me about making the right sort of friends."

"That would be funny if it wasn't so tragic," Draco snorted, rubbing his arm. The move was not missed by Potter, who seemed fixated with his sleeve.

"You regret it, then?" he blurted.

"Regret what, Potter?" Draco asked, suddenly tired and cold, and wanting his life back very, very much.

"Who you chose as your friends. How you treated us."

'Oh, right,' Draco thought 'that's why I hate you.'

"How I treated you, Potter?" he repeated, almost laughing. "Oh Merlin, of course, I've never slept a wink since that first night I called you a nasty name, back when we were eleven. I am simply burgeoning with regret! And oh, if only I hadn't sided with the friends I had known since birth and shuffled to my rightful place behind you, oh Boy Who Lived Again, our glorious savior, champion of blood traitors …"

Potter was already walking away, back towards the tent.

Draco sighed and patted the pockets of his robes for more cigarettes. Old habits died hard.



thrnbrooke at 2008-01-12 18:44 (UTC) (Link)
Oh Draco! That was stupid!!! *sigh* I hope Draco knows what he's doing.
chrisvel at 2008-01-12 23:05 (UTC) (Link)
You know, I really feel sorry for Draco and I can perfectly understand his lashing out at Harry in that moment.
Really, I guess this was not the life he had planned on.
I like this story so far ... hope there's more soon.
alaana_fair at 2008-01-13 18:21 (UTC) (Link)
Oh, Draco! Old habits do die hard, don't they. *sighs*
disarming_smile at 2008-01-15 04:02 (UTC) (Link)
Their situation is so unpleasant, but somehow I fell a humourous undertone. Quite endearing.
Love this Draco.
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