Chapter Text
While the office was by no means Draco’s favourite room, he had to admit that it was the one that had sealed the deal when he’d viewed the house two years prior. Just the sight of the fireplace had been enough. It’s stone breast stretching from wall to wall of the comparatively small room, six foot across and well over six foot high. The mantle piece carved from a solid block of marble with dragons etched into it’s corbels, their mouths wide open and flames licking across the facing, up the overmantel and around the shining silver mirror above the spacious firebox opening. It was grander even than the one in the sitting room, and his first act upon moving in had been to add it to the floo network for business purposes.
He’d decorated the rest of the room to fit it as best as he could, with panelled walls and grey, leather chesterfield armchairs positioned opposite one another, a small mahogany table between them, and his desk and chair opposite it. He’d had a vision in mind. Grand and intimidating. The kind of room that made it clear where the power resided in any given conversation: firmly with Draco.
Principally, it served almost as a physical line in the sand, where, upon leaving, he would take off his metaphorical hats of ‘Healer Malfoy’ and ‘the Malfoy heir’, and simply become ‘Draco’. It made it easer to compartmentalise, he found, having a room in his house dedicated to locking away unpleasant feelings.
It was why he had chosen it for this: opening his small pile of birthday post. There was a letter on the bottom, heavier than the others and with painfully familiar handwriting on the front. He’d read it last, or else he’d never get through the rest.
It didn’t matter in the end though. He barely read the birthday messages he had received, he simply flicked his wand and sent the cards soaring towards the window sill opposite the door to sit and be ignored for the next week. The card from his parents he left deliberately unread. Whatever they had to say would only make the final letter sting all the more.
Finally, the rest of his post opened, he turned the final letter over. He contemplated its weight in his hand; he could feel something small and solid sliding around inside it. He knew what it was. It felt almost pointless opening it. He’d seen it coming for a while now.
He lingered dispassionately over his own name written on the front.
He didn’t bother with the letter opener, simply sliding his finger beneath the wax seal and popping it open. He tipped the letter up, and watched numbly as a familiar golden ring with a cushion cut diamond fell out. It briefly span on its end on his desk, before falling onto its face.
He paused, then shoved himself to his feet, ignoring his morning coffee in favour of pouring himself a double measure of whisky from the drinks cabinet. He knocked it back and poured himself another before sitting heavily in his leather chair, and finally reading the letter within.
‘ My Dearest Draco,
I cannot express in words how much it pains me to write this letter. I must first beg for your forgiveness that I was not brave enough to do this in person, but I am writing to you today to officially break off our engagement, and to nullify our marriage contract.
This was not an easy -, ’
That was as far as Draco read. What was the point in reading the rest of it? He should have seen it coming really, from the very beginning. He had a track record, after all, of broken engagements. But he’d thought that Astoria was different. They were marrying one another because they loved each other, not for status or for blood. Apparently he’d been wrong. If it had been his first broken engagement, he might been soothed by the fact that her words were smeared by tears, but as it happened, it wasn’t.
The first had been Bianca Rosier when he was twenty. Their’s had been an arranged engagement, organised between their fathers, and agreed when he was nineteen and she was twenty, and upon meeting they did not find one another objectionable. They had courted for a year, but when it became clear to her father that the Malfoy name was well and truly poison, and that the ill feeling and scandal that surrounded them wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, he had withdrawn. It hadn’t hurt too much; he hadn’t loved Bianca, but he’d seen the flash of concern in his mother’s eyes, and he knew even then that it didn’t bode well.
It was ridiculous really.
In many ways, the Rosier name had been just as entrenched with the Death Eater’s and the Dark Lord as their’s had been. However, any Death Eater with the name Rosier had had the good sense to get themselves killed, and so had freed the rest of the family from any association with their unsavoury activities. But Draco and his father still bore Dark Marks, no matter how faded they were now. There was no escaping the crimes of their family name, even if they had switched sides in the end. The entire resistance would have failed, in fact, if it wasn’t for them. (It was a mantra that had always felt flat to Draco’s ears, and he’d abandoned it when he’d realised that repeating it only had shame threatening to strangle him.)
His father complained vocally about how families like the Rosier’s were perfectly happy to associate with them and their money in private, but that the moment that any connection became public, it was as if they had never met before in their life. The Malfoy’s still held a considerable amount of sway, so long as their name was never mentioned in anything more than a whisper.
Privately, as much as Draco longed for the rehabilitation of their family image, he thought they had it coming. The Dark Lord would never have risen to such great heights without the Malfoy family at his back, and he wasn’t sure they could ever atone for that in all truth. He hoped that they could though.
It was only with his engagement broken, that Draco had truly appreciated for the first time the badge of shame that his name had become. And so he’d left the country - to Paris. He’d trained as a healer with some of the finest minds in Europe, and found himself a profession he not only enjoyed, but that he excelled at. Not that his parents approved. They had wanted him to remain in the country, and take up his father’s mantle in the ministry, and his hereditary position in the Wizengamot. He hadn’t of course. And the Wizengamot wouldn’t even have him, even though his father had deferred in his favour.
They wouldn’t until he was married and could truly assume his father’s role, or until his father’s death. He was slowly beginning to believe his father would die long before he could find someone who would consent to marry him.
At twenty three, living in the wizarding quarter of Paris, he had met Sophia Perrot - a French pureblood. She’d recognised his name - it wasn’t that long ago that there had been french Malfoy’s living in the country - and after a year of casual dating, she had introduced him to her family. They had approved of the the match immediately. When they were on the verge of booking a wedding venue and signing contracts however, her family had discovered who he and his family were. She had broken off the engagement less than a day later.
It was his own fault really. He should have been honest from the beginning. They might have forgiven his reputation if he had been, and he would have certainly saved them a wasted year if they hadn’t.
Having just turned twenty five, and after moping about for another six months, he had finally returned home, bought the house he lived in now, and gotten himself a job at St Mungo’s. Again, it had been difficult despite his excellent references and the fact he was vastly overqualified for the job he had applied for. A junior position in spell damage. It was enough for him though. He was slowly, very slowly gaining the respect of his colleagues, even if he was sure it would take an act of God for them to promote him.
And then he’d met Astoria.
Brushing away the stray tear that had escaped without his permission, he reached for her returned engagement ring, and rolled it between his fingers. It wouldn’t have even fit on his little finger, her hands were so slim and delicate.
Of the three broken engagements, oh ! This one hurt the most by far.
He’d loved her. He’d loved her so much, and part of him loved her still.
Her family hadn’t even been opposed to them until he had actually proposed - proposed with their blessing as well. Though the act had clearly shocked them (he still didn’t understand why; he had asked for her father’s permission only weeks earlier) it was only when they were drawing up an actual marriage contract that they got cold feet, and began placing huge pressure on Astoria to break it off.
She’d held strong for a long time, and for a brief moment, Draco had thought that maybe they would work out after all. But they hadn’t spoken at all in nearly a month, and he’d seen it coming for a month before that when she suddenly started avoiding any discussion of weddings or the future.
It left him feeling… helpless. He hadn’t loved Bianca, and though he and Sophia had been very fond of one another, and he imagined it would have turned into more eventually, he hadn’t loved her either. But Astoria? Oh, how he’d loved her. And if love couldn’t overcome the poison that was his family name, what could?
He was drawn from his melancholy mood by the hearth ten feet in front of him suddenly bursting into vivid green flames. He reacted only to drop the ring again, and sip at what remained of his whisky as Pansy stepped clear of the grate. She had a wide grin on her face, a gift bag in hand. She took a visible deep breath in - he could practically see the words ‘ Happy Birthday ’ on the tip of her tongue - but then she caught sight of his expression, and she froze. Her face fell.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” She said anxiously, rushing forward to sit opposite him at his desk, dropping his birthday present at her side, “Have you been crying?! ” She looked faintly horrified at the prospect, “And why are you drinking whisky at,” she paused to check her watch, “half nine in the morning?!”
Draco smiled tightly at her, and lifted the letter to read from it, “Dearest Draco, I cannot express in words, blah blah blah, I must first beg for forgiveness, blah blah blah, but I am writing today to break off our engagement,” he let the letter fall, and then set it alight with a snap of his fingers.
“Ah,” he heard Pansy say as he rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars, “I see,”
He sighed wearily, “This is… this is ridiculous Pansy. I can’t keep doing this!” He let his head fall back against the seat, “The first time, fine, it was arranged anyway, whatever, and the second time I wasn’t as honest as I should have been perhaps, but this time?!” He exclaimed incredulously, “What more could I have done?”
Pansy pursed her lips, her expression pained and sympathetic, “Not a lot more, I don’t think,” she admitted, “I… I’m sorry Draco, I don’t know what else there is to say. I’m so sorry,”
“I thought I’d be married by now,” he muttered, “I thought… I thought… I don’t know what I thought,”
“You know,” Pansy said gently, “it’s okay to be alone, Draco. You don’t need to be married,”
“I know that,” he snapped without meaning to, only to follow it up apologetically, “I’m sorry, I- I know that. You’re right. But I… I want to be married, I want to be…,” he took a frustrated breath in, “I want to be part of a family unit. My own family unit. And you have to admit, that being married would be very advantageous,”
Pansy sat back in her seat opposite him, and folded her hands in her lap, “How so?”
“For one, it would go a long way to helping to elevate the Malfoy name out of the gutters,”
“I think you’re just deflecting Draco,” Pansy said gently.
“From what?” He grumbled.
“From the fact that you loved Astoria very much, and that you’re very sad that you’re not going to be husband and wife after all,”
“It’s not just that,” he said harshly, “I- I’m not denying that I loved her,” he wished he could, but it was impossible what with the gaping wound where his heart had been just moments before, “But it’s not just about that. I’m the Malfoy heir, Pansy. I need to marry,”
“To carry on the family name?” Pansy said cautiously.
He snorted, “To repair the family name first - I couldn’t in good conscience pass it on to some poor child. If I were able to marry into a good family - actually, no, if I just married someone with a good reputation, never mind their family name, then it would be a good start towards repairing things,”
“Not a pure-blood?” Pansy said, visibly surprised, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she rushed to add on, “It’s just… even when your parents weren’t picking your matches, you still chose pure-bloods,”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” he mused, “They’re all just as invested in their family name as I am,”
“I don’t follow,” Pansy said slowly.
“I need someone who doesn’t care about the reputation of their name - or someone who’s marrying without a name that matters. Or maybe… someone with a name bigger than mine with an iron clad reputation,” he waved the idea away immediately, “No, anyone like that would never marry me anyway - there’d be no advantage for them. Though, advantage or not, it doesn’t matter I suppose, they just need to not be concerned about my name or reputation. Though perusing pure-blood matches may only be making things worse - it buys into the pure-blood rubbish that’s followed me since school,” he rubbed at his face, “It’s as if people can’t possibly believe that I might have changed in a decade. That I might not be the pure-blood bigot I was raised to be,”
“It’s not just you,” said Pansy reluctantly, “I hate to admit it, but the longer you stay your parent’s unmarried son, the longer you’re seen as an extension of them, and they’ve hardly taken steps to rehabilitate their image. They’ve just hidden away living in the shadows of the past and their former glory,”
“ Exactly !” His bark took her visibly by surprise, “Exactly! Being unmarried, I don’t have my own household. I’m still viewed as the heir - a child, rather than a grown man. No one thinks of you as being synonymous with your parents anymore, do they? Not since you married Ernie,”
“No,” she agreed reluctantly, “If anything, things have gotten significantly easier for me since I shed my last name,”
“See! Until I’m part of my own family unit, it’s almost impossible for me to improve the standing of the Malfoy name when I’ve got Father weighing it down by simply breathing,” he grumbled, “I need to start a family of my own. The Malfoy name used to mean something, and while I don’t want it to mean what it did before, I do want it to be something to be proud of again by the time I die,” he said sadly, imaging a future where the name of Malfoy died with him, and the world was glad for it.
“But… surely you can achieve that on your own Draco?” Pansy said carefully.
“I’ve been trying to,” he pointed out, “I’ve taken up a respected profession, I work at St Mungo’s where I have an excellent reputation, and yet I’m passed over continuously for roles I am more than qualified for, and despite my father deferring to me, the Wizengamot still refuse to allow me to take up the Malfoy seat while I remain unmarried and my father still lives. I want to make a positive difference in the world, Pans,” he stressed, “Not only for my name, but to try and undo some of the harm that I did as a teenager, and yet I feel like I’m being stopped at every turn. If I’m honest, I’m considering returning to Paris at this point and starting a new life there instead,” he made a frustrated noise, tapping his finger around the rim of his glass and staring blindly out of the office’s tall window and into the terraced garden below, “Maybe… maybe if I could marry the right person though… someone to tie myself to, to make me be seen as more than just a Malfoy, but as Draco Malfoy, a man with his own name and legacy… maybe I can start repairing my family’s reputation,”
“So…,” Pansy said slowly with a frown on her face, “What are you going to do then? Start trying to find a new bride right away? I can’t see that going down well with the Greengrass’s,”
Draco sighed wearily, “Fuck the Greengrass’s. Astoria broke the engagement, not me. I’m well within my rights to move on as quickly as I want to,” Pansy hummed, noncommittal, “I hate to say it but… but maybe my father had the right idea in the first place,”
“What? An arrangement?” She said incredulously.
“Yes. To remove the emotional element,”
“But… but Draco,” she looked mildly alarmed now, “I know you! You’ve always wanted to marry for love!”
He sighed, “I think I’m done with love, Pans. I mean it,” he said grimly, “I don’t think it was meant for me, not really, so it’s time I left it behind. Plenty of people get married as part of a contract rather than for love and achieve happy and successful lives. And if I couldn’t stand the person, I wouldn’t marry them just for the sake of my reputation. And… and I have to admit Pansy, the idea of love has lost its shine. After Astoria. It’ll all hurt less if another engagement is broken off if I don’t love them. I don’t want to fall in love again,” he finished firmly.
She pursed her lips, “Well, that is… painfully pragmatic of you, and mildly depressing,”
“I want a life partner, Pansy,” he said simply, “Someone who will have my back, and I’ll have theirs. I don’t need to be in love with them for that to work. I just need them to respect the bonds of marriage in the same ways that I do,”
She looked at him closely for a long time, her eyes flicking between his as she absorbed what he had said and inspected his face, though for what, he wasn’t sure. Finally, she let out a sigh in an explosion of air, “I have to admit that you’re making a decent amount of sense, even if this new attitude towards marriage is painfully robotic and somewhat archaic,”
“Can you blame me?”
“No,” she said gently, “I can’t. Just… just promise me that you won’t rush into anything, okay?”
He nodded seriously, “I promise,”
She nodded in return, and then clapped her hands together, “Right! Right… so… what we need to do, is frame this as a business venture then almost, right? We need to put your cards on the table so to speak,”
Draco gave a half shake of his head, and said, confused, “ We ? What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Well, I’m going to help you, obviously,” she said simply, “You need someone to act as your advocate, don’t you? To introduce you to interested parties - unless you want your father to do it for you?” she said shrewdly.
“No,” Draco said at once, “Definitely not. And I wouldn’t phrase it as a business venture - more of a partnership. I still want this to be an actual marriage, with a contract and expectations. Not just a simple union on paper only,”
Pansy nodded distractedly, and dipped down to pull out a bottle of whisky from down by her side, “Happy Birthday, by the way,” she said as she unscrewed the top and summoned herself a glass.
“Was that my birthday present by any chance?” Draco said mildly, holding out his own glass for her to top him up.
She knocked back the shot from her glass, and said, “Yes! Now, let’s start figuring out your criteria!”
Later, hours later, and after much discussion and with the vast majority of the whisky bottle consumed, they were really quite drunk.
“So… so …,” Pansy slurred a little, half lying in her seat, ink from her quill pooling in a blotch on her parchment, “let me g-get this st-straight. You d-don’t care about blood purity?”
Reclined in his seat, his cheeks pleasantly warm, Draco said, “Nope!”
“Happy for muggleborn, even?”
“Yup! So long as th-they understand what this all means,” he added, “Not sure marriage contracts are… are much of a thing,” he gave a vague wave of his hand, “You know what I mean. With muggles. Marriage contracts,”
“They’re not,” Pansy agreed, trying to banish the pool of ink with a flick of her wand but only managing to banish the nearly empty glass by her hand; for a second she looked horrified, but then her expression turned shrewd, “Probably for the best,” she admitted, “Anyway, I don’t think there are many of them looking to form arranged marriages anyway. It’s not a thing they really do either. So - let me c-carry on. Witch or wizard, either is fine?”
He gave a deep nod of his head, “Y-yup. Father might make some token protest about tradition but he’ll cope,” he was interrupted by an enormous yawn, “Gods, I’m tired. Anyway. Yes. Witch. Wizard. Whatever. Father will live,”
“And within your age by a decade?”
“Yes… wait. No . Hang on. Lemme’ clarify,” he rubbed his eyes as he tried to figure out the maths, “Ten years older, some flexibility, five years younger, no flexibility. Otherwise they could be nearly children!”
“Thanks for that,” Pansy mumbled, squinting to amend her notes, “I was worried you were about to turn problematic for a second,” she scratched something else onto the parchment, “Anything else for now?”
“Children!” The word burst out of him in a drunken shout, and he winced at his own volume, “Sorry- sorry, children. On the table. In fact - if they don’t want children, I’m not interested, and they,” he gave a hiccup and a miserable groan, “they have to know that it’s me that they’re approaching right off the bat. Oh Gods Pansy, we shouldn’t have drank so much, I can’t cope ,”
She ignored him though, and spoke hesitantly, “That’s not how it’s normally done, Draco. Names aren’t normally mentioned until loose terms have been established,”
“No,” he said firmly, “ No . No more broken engagements, Pansy. I’m done with it. And if this… if this doesn’t work,” he sighed, “Fuck it, I’ll just go back to Paris after all and see where life takes me - or maybe I’ll join Blaise and Aaliyah in Italy,”
“You could do that anyway,” Pansy said kindly, the only sign of her drunkenness in her slight lean and the careful squinting of her eyes as she tried and failed to focus on him.
“I want to try this first,” he shifted in his seat, and searched for sobriety, “I have to try,”
“Okay, Draco. Let’s try.”
June became July, then August, then finally September, and Draco was already gravitating towards giving up.
So far, there had been three expressions of interest. Not a bad number for many people, he was sure, but downright shameful for the pureblood heir of the Malfoy family. One was a half-blood witch, who he was certain had only agreed to meet so that she could sneer at him. The second, had been another half-blood witch who had been incredibly rude to the waitstaff at the restaurant they had met at, and had been intensely interested in Draco’s financial situation. Despite his wealth being very much on the table as a bargaining chip in his favour, and as unemotional as this whole experience was meant to be, he wasn’t sure he could stomach a partner who literally saw him as a walking bag of gold. The final interested party had been, quite bizarrely in some ways, the Flint family. Marcus had eyed him as if he was something he wanted to eat as he tried to play footsie with Draco beneath the table. The meeting ended with Marcus suggesting that they should ‘try before they buy’ and Draco turning him, and any other further future associations down with a firm ‘no’.
He and Pansy were in his office again, this time sitting in the opposing armchairs. Pansy had her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap, and a painfully sympathetic look on her face, while Draco was near totally reclined and throwing a ball repeatedly into the air. It was unusual for them to meet in this room so often - normally they sat in the downstairs parlour looking out over Draco’s small but exceptionally green terraced garden - but he had decided to confine this increasingly depressing topic of conversation to the office for as long as possible.
“Don’t give up, Draco,” she said gently, “I’ve put out feelers internationally as well, and there’s been more interest in America, but I’m still in opening negotiations at the moment,”
Draco sighed, “American. Father will throw a fit, I imagine,” he said dryly. As far as his father was concerned, American pure-bloods were hardly pure-blood at all as far as history and culture went, “I wonder which father would prefer – a muggleborn, English wizard, or a pureblood American witch,” he said mildly, “We’d have pure-blood children, but he’d have to cope with an American daughter-in-law,” Draco wrinkled his nose, “I’m not sure I could subject this theoretical witch to him. It would be unfair on her,”
Pansy glossed over his words, and said, “Speaking of your father… he found out, by the way,”
Draco jerked in alarm, and missed his final catch; the ball smashed into his face, but he barely reacted other than to hiss and sit himself up, “He what?! ”
“Yes,” she cleared her throat a little and shifted uncomfortably, “He was very happy that you were trying to find a new wife, or he was, until he found out that you were not being discriminating in regards to both blood and gender,” she winced a little, “Sorry. He may have blown up a little. He was certainly more put out about the blood element than the gender one if it makes you feel better though?”
“It doesn’t,” he said with a sigh, “At least he’s predictable I suppose. Why hasn’t he written to me though?”
“ Oh , he has,” she said brightly, readjusting her skirt, “But I’ve been filtering your post, so,” and she shrugged.
For a moment, he considered being annoyed with her for over stepping, only for him to realise that he was actually grateful for her intervention; he relaxed back in his seat, “Thanks Pans - I owe you,”
“Perhaps we need to curate your offer a little,” she suggested, “So far, the only thing you’re really offering beyond yourself as a loyal life partner, is your money, since you don’t really have a position of power to speak of anymore,”
Draco sighed, “ Ouch ,”
“It’s true!”
“It is true,” he agreed reluctantly, “Go on then - other than stupid amounts of money, and the promise to be a loyal and supportive husband, what else do I have to offer?”
“Well…,” she said slowly, looking faintly nervous, “you have a very in-depth understanding of pure-blood and wizarding culture and society,”
He peered at her, confused and not quite sure what she was trying to get at, “So?”
“So… let’s say that someone needed an in into pure-blood culture,” she continued speaking slowly, “A way into politics, to be specific, a way to influence and lobby effectively, and persuade people to make political decisions that they’ve been thus far unable to encourage people to make on their own,”
“Well…,” Draco said, speaking just as slowly, “If I were married, the Wizengamot would be unable to refuse me my hereditary seat in the House. Not with my father having already recused himself. I suppose I could vote on matters on their behalf, so long as it’s nothing heinous,” he added with a grimace, “This is about improving the Malfoy’s reputation, not solidifying it,”
“Yes,” Pansy said, writing down every word he was saying on a clipboard that she had summoned with a twirl of her fingers, though her eyes never left his to look down to the parchment on her knee.
“And I suppose I could advocate on their behalf in other meetings. Finance any lobbying. Introduce them to the right people. Help them learn how to negotiate to get what they want. How to phrase the changes they want to make in a way that’s more palatable to people who are notorious for hating change - teach them how to be more Slytherin, I guess,”
“Yes,” Pansy said again, still writing furiously.
“And if our marriage were to improve my reputation enough that people would actually speak to me again,” he added bitterly, “Then that will increase the influence I could use on their behalf as well. Is this what you’re proposing then, Pans? A political match?” He said warily, already nervous at the prospect, “This is still meant to be a marriage, remember. Not just a simple exchange of power. I don’t want us living separate lives after one failed election,”
She waved him away though, and continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “What if they already have influence, tonnes of it, as much as you in other ways, they just don’t know how to use it effectively,”
“Well, then I’ll teach them,” Draco said with a reluctant sigh, “My name might be mud, but my father taught me well. I know how to schmooze and wine and dine like the best of them - the benefit of a little party here, or a little donation there. Look - Pansy - what are you getting at? It’s clear that you’re thinking of someone very specific,”
She bit her lip, and spoke nervously, “Look, I… I’ve been speaking to Hermione -,”
“ Granger?! ” Draco spluttered, interrupting her; he always forgot that they had once been co-workers at Blishwick and Brown, before Pansy had gone independent, and Granger had taken a job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
“ Weasley -Granger,” she reminded him, rolling her eyes, “And no, I don’t mean marry her, she’s already married remember,”
“Then who?!” He exclaimed, “Whoever it is, if they’re friends with her, I can’t see them being willing to even entertain the idea of marrying me, of all people,”
Pansy took a deep breath, clearly holding herself back from snapping at him, “Look: her and Potter have been trying to make changes in the ministry, but they aren’t getting anywhere. They haven’t been for years now - five nearly,” she said shrewdly, “The pure-bloods aren’t interested, it’s as simple as that. Why would they be on board when the current systems in place work so well for them? Hermione’s getting desperate - she’s starting to think they won’t ever get anywhere, and the election for Minister for Magic is only five years away. If Potter wants to win that election, or even come a close second, they need something drastic to change now, ”
Draco let out a low whistle, “That’s a very steep goal,” he pointed out, “but, either way, as you said, she’s already married, and I can’t see her divorcing her husband who she has children with to marry me. And even if she did, I can’t see that improving either of our reputations,” he added with a snort, “Wizards aren’t exactly known for approving of divorce - they’d never call me her husband, no matter what. So who are you thinking of?”
Pansy grimaced a little, and said shortly, “Potter,”
The silence between them was palpable.
“Potter,” Draco said slowly, “You want me… to marry Harry Potter,”
“I mean,” Pansy said with a small hysterical laugh, “You have to admit - he’s the perfect choice. He’s the darling of the wizarding world. He could literally revolutionise your reputation! If the defeater of the Dark Lord married you, then surely that would exculpate you and your name for good, yes? And yes, he is a pretty ineffectual politician, but that isn’t because he doesn’t appeal to the masses - rather, he doesn’t really appeal to the old wizarding families,”
“Isn’t he an Auror?” Draco asked curiously.
Pansy nodded quickly, “Yes, he is. Word is that he’s being groomed to take over from Robards. He’s been lobbying for political reform for years - though, I use the word ‘lobbying’ very loosely here. I mean, he’s being a total Gryffindor about the whole thing - trying to bully things through but getting nowhere. Hermione is at least starting to be a bit sneaky about it,”
Draco snorted, “I’d say, if she’s suggesting marriage to me to achieve his political goals. Have you brought this up with Granger then?”
“ Weasley -Granger,” Pansy corrected him.
“I’m not calling her that,” Draco said impatiently, “Well - have you?”
“We may have discussed it loosely over dinner,” she admitted, “Ernie was away for business and her husband gave her the green light to let her hair down, and we got drinking and talking. Ended up on a bit of a roll, to be honest,” she said with a guilty grin, “Talking about how this could benefit both of you. She brought it up again, a few days later after our hangovers had faded. It’s clearly playing on her mind,”
“And what does Potter think of this? I mean,” he said, something occurring to him suddenly, “Is he even gay?!” He said incredulously, “Or bisexual - attracted to other men. Is he even attracted to men?”
“I presume he is,” Pansy said with an unconcerned shrug, “Attracted to men, that is, or else she’d never have brought it up, surely? She hasn’t mentioned it to him yet - I told her not to until I figured out if you’d even be willing to meet with him, let alone marry him. You two quite famously hated one another, remember?”
Draco opened his mouth to answer her, only to realise he didn’t know quite what to say to that. He worried at his lip (which was beginning to smart from the ball that had smacked him in the face) and tried to seriously contemplate whether or not he’d be willing to be married to Harry James Potter.
He hadn’t seen the man in years - not since the trials at the end of the war. No, actually. That was a lie. He had seen him once, a few years ago, in St Mungo’s, though it had only been the back of his head. Regardless, this all had the potential to be wildly embarrassing when Potter inevitably said no and refused to even meet with him. Though, he supposed, that was what Pansy was there for. An intermediary to handle his rejections for him (he was sure he’d had many). And plenty of people already knew that he was looking for a spouse - the letter he had received from Astoria proved that much. A letter which he had handed over unread to Pansy. He’d watched her read it, and when she promptly set it on fire without returning it to him, he had accepted her judgement.
His final thought on the matter was not particularly eloquent, but he felt it summarised the level of desperation he had achieved.
Fuck it.
“I would be willing to meet with him,” he said slowly, “but I find it nearly impossible to believe that he would be willing to meet with me ,”
Pansy’s face briefly twitched in excitement, but she schooled her expression, “It sounded to me like he was getting pretty desperate to be honest - years of being ignored will do that to you I imagine,”
“Yes, thank you Pansy, for making this sound as if he’s striking a deal with the devil,” he said tightly, rolling his eyes, “You will make sure that Granger understands though? When she talks to him? That I’m looking for an actual marriage,” he stressed, “Not just a piece of paper to unlock doors,”
She waved his concerns away though, “I will, I will,” and she vanished her clipboard with a snap of her fingers, “Right then: I need to go. I’ll speak to her now,” she checked her watch, “I’ve got time before Ernie’s expecting me home. I’ll see if I can set something up sooner rather than later,” she left without saying goodbye, still mumbling her plans to herself.
Draco was near certain that Granger had missed the point in some capacity; there was no way that she would genuinely volunteer up her best friend for marriage to him just to further their political goals. Yes, there was certainly some miscommunication, but that was fine.
If Potter did want to meet up, then Draco would just have to set him straight. He’d make sure that the other man knew exactly the arrangement he was proposing.
Oh God.
What was he getting into?