Chapter Text
I used to think a wedding was a simple affair.
Wizard and witch meet, they fall in love, he buys a ring, she buys a dress, they say I do.
I was wrong.
That's getting married. A wedding is an entirely different proposition. I know—I've just been through one.
Not my own. My daughter's, Annie Malfoy-MacKenzie.
That's her married name. MacKenzie.
I'm told that one day I'll look back on all this with great affection and nostalgia.
I'd better.
You fathers will understand. You have a little girl, a beautiful little girl, who looks up to you and adores you in a way that you could never have imagined. I remember how her little hand used to fit inside mine. How she used to sit on my lap and bury her head into my chest. Then, before you know it, the day comes when she wants you to drop her off alone, in Diagon Alley, and only a few short steps away from bloody Knockturn Alley Of All Places.
From that moment on, you're in a constant state of panic: you worry about her going out with the wrong kind of blokes, the kind of blokes who only want one thing. And you know exactly what that one thing is, because it's the same thing you wanted when you were their age. Then she gets a little older, you stop worrying about her meeting the wrong guy, and start worrying about her meeting the right guy. And that's the biggest fear of all, because then you lose her.
And before you know it, you're sitting all alone in a big empty Manor, in your expensive Muggle tuxedo, wondering what the bloody hell happened to your life.
It was just six months ago, that it happened. Here.
Annie had been studying for her Double Masters in Transfiguration and Magical Architecture for the past semester, in Rome. I remember I was at work, walking through one of my factories. I'd taken over as the head of Malfoy Enterprises in the stead of my father—whom lately, along with my mother, were now chronic globetrotters—for some time now, manufacturing brooms for distribution all over the Wizarding World.
Anyway, I remember how preoccupied I was that day…
.......
A witch levitating a cart full of walnut-stained twigs bumped into my shoulder.
"My apologies, Mister Malfoy!"
"My fault," I muttered. I was flipping through a financial dossier distractedly in-between pacing back and forth. The main floor employees had been shooting me nervous glances all afternoon; Annie had never been that far from home by herself before, and she was due back any second.
"Mister Malfoy?"
My gaze snapped up. My assistant, Olivia, was holding her wand to the base of her throat, and the Sonorus charm traveled easily through the glass window of my second level office. She was smiling.
"She landed."
I nodded shortly, but my chest unknotted in relief. I had been a tense bloody mess all day long, doing nothing for my reputation. Salazar knows why she had insisted on taking a damned airplane. I mean, we still owned one, and yes, Floo-travel was never good for long-distance—especially to Italy, where you could just as easily end up in a wood-fired pizza oven if you weren't careful. But I didn't see anything wrong with taking an International Portkey except that she insisted it was 'all about the experience.'
"Is Hermione picking her up at the Muggle airport?" Olivia asked when I reached my office.
"Yes, I'm heading for home right now." Wallet, wallet...God knew they were cracking down on random Apparition license checks, lately.
Olivia knew what I was searching for and tossed it over. I had one foot in the Floo when she shouted after me.
"Bring her by!"
Nodding, I stepped into the grate and out into another.
Ahhhh.
Malfoy Manor—home.
For security reasons, my ancestors thought it prudent to not advertise the Manor's true location, so the narrative that we lived in Wiltshire was purposely spread. The Malfoy estate was actually in Devon, aways outside a small coastal village on the Bristol Channel. We owned the village, the beaches, and the surrounding county, not that the Muggles who lived there knew it. The British Muggle Government was aware, of course, but left us be because our economic impact was too great to contemplate evicting us in good conscience. In turn, they ensured our privacy, so little had changed in a thousand years.
Annie was the most recent in a long line of Malfoy heiresses to call the Manor home. She was twenty and was already an incredibly powerful witch. We really couldn't have asked for a more perfect daughter: she was beautiful and charming, ambitious but easy-going, popular but still unendingly kind. I'd been quite surprised she hadn't ended up in Hufflepuff because of her gentle tendencies, but she had taken after her mother scholastically and graduated from Hogwarts as Head Girl from Ravenclaw, the first non-Gryffindor in seventy years.
Before Hogwarts, we made sure she had a picturesque childhood, determined to give her the worry-free experience we had been deprived of. And by Salazar, we succeeded, but for a long time, she was an only child. When Annie was a Second Year in Hogwarts, though, our son Scorpius was born. He was our surprise baby, but it had been instantly impossible to imagine life before it was the four of us. Sweet and quiet, Hermione and I had been delighted with him, and while he was Annie's "baby" from the moment we put him in her arms, nobody had been as pleased as my father, who was simply relieved that we were having a son to save the Malfoy name from extinction. Regardless of the shock of his arrival, he still had immediate rights to enjoy a magical childhood like his sister had before him, and the Manor had been perfectly complete ever since.
"Oh, you're home early!" Hermione smiled, carrying a vase of fluffy purple flowers into the Entrance Hall. She stretched on her toes to kiss me on the lips as she passed.
"Hi," I murmured. "Where is she?"
"Oh, she's unpacking!" She set the flowers down on a narrow side table next to the big double doors. "She looks...Draco, she looks fabulous, really. Different," she mused. "Anyway. She can't wait to see you."
"Different?" I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?
"Buonasera, Dad," Scorpius greeted behind me on the stairs.
I turned and grinned at my First Year self's twin in every way but personality. "Hey, mate. You practicing your Italian?"
"I surprised Annie with it when I saw her," he confirmed.
"Did you go with Mum to pick up your sister at Heathrow, then?" It was already September, and even though Scorpius was newly eleven, he had just missed the cut-off date for Hogwarts, so he would still be home for another year, which was why he was still here to be able to greet Annie.
"No, I just got back from Uncle Greg and Aunt Ginny's," he shook his head. "Graham got a new owl and he wanted to introduce her to me so she knows who to deliver letters to."
I hid a fond smirk. We had offered to purchase him a cellphone on multiple occasions, deeming him more than mature enough for it, but Scorpius was surprisingly old-fashioned and always declined, preferring traditional wizarding correspondence. Hermione called him her little Nicholas Flamel.
"How is Aunt Ginny doing?" I asked. Ginny was pregnant with their second and had almost instantly been stricken with all-consuming nausea, so she was virtually unable to keep anything down. Goyle had turned into an overprotective nightmare, but I know I would personally be a wreck, so I understood.
"I didn't see her. She had another healer's appointment today."
"Poor Ginny," Hermione sighed. "Draco, remind me to send her some flowers. Is Graham excited for the new baby?"
Scorpius nodded thoughtfully. "He's worried about his mum, but I think he's looking forward to being an older brother."
"Why don't you write to him and invite him over for some pick-up Quidditch next weekend? Perhaps a movie after dinner, too?" Hermione prompted. "Give his owl an opportunity to learn the route to the Manor, hm?"
Sometimes I took for granted just how clever Hermione was. By inviting him over, she was killing two doxies with one spell: Graham could get a little bit of one-on-one attention, while Greg could focus on Ginny and the baby without worrying about Graham. Luckily, Graham was also in the same narrow pre-Hogwarts age-window as Scorpius, so he wasn't without support from his best friend.
"That's a good idea. Do I have time to write the letter before dinner?" he asked.
"You should," Hermione reassured. "But be quick though, Annie should be done unpacking soon."
"Okay," he nodded decisively. "Thanks, Mum." He beamed at her like she'd hung the sun in the sky, and she winked at him.
"Scor," I called, and he turned back to face me expectantly. I reached inside my cloak pocket. "New broom saddle."
I flicked the little strip of leather off my palm, and he caught it effortlessly with one hand, where it enlarged upon contact with his skin. I smiled quietly with pride. He already had the makings of a fine seeker.
He inspected it, then nodded formally. "Grazie."
"You're welcome," I shook my head, amused, and he disappeared back down the hall. "He's so bloody serious, Hermione, sometimes I think Mungo's gave us the wrong kid."
"Please, he's your clone right down to the gelled hair," she laughed. "Besides, you're just jealous he's a mummy's boy. Just like you were, might I add."
I shrugged, not denying it. "I can hardly blame him. He has the greatest mum in the world, after all."
"Don't let Narcissa hear you say that," she stage-whispered, dramatically looking around for eavesdropping likenesses of her mother-in-law hiding in the portraits.
"She would agree with you," I mumbled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Hermione smoothed her hands down my stomach. "Well, I happen know someone who missed you more than they missed me."
"Who's that?"
She glanced away from me, her gaze drifting over my left shoulder. I followed it.
Annie stood waiting at the top of the stairs. If Scorpius was my twin, she was Hermione's. Her honey hair was gently curled and held out of her elfin face with a velvet headband. She wore an elegant black dress, a thin strand of pearls, and silver hoops.
She was absolutely beautiful.
My smile nearly split my face in half. "Annie."
"Hi, Daddy!" she sang—and her voice echoed in the huge space. Per tradition, she immediately mounted the stone staircase and slid, side-saddle, right into my arms. Catching her by her waist, I twirled her in a full circle and a half before setting her down and hugging her tightly.
"Merlin, I missed you!" Annie crowed.
"You look all lit up inside," I observed. She was glowing like a candle.
"I feel all lit up inside," Annie agreed laughingly.
Hermione looked up at me thoughtfully. "Maybe we should go to Rome for a couple of months, Draco."
"Oh, you would love it," she guaranteed, clasping her hands over her chest and closing her eyes briefly. "It's the most romantic place on Earth."
Hermione hummed into my shoulder, and I reminded myself to look at Portkey prices after she'd gone to sleep. Then I caught a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume. It wasn't Hermione's cashmere cream.
"You smell good, too," I told Annie, hoping I was right and that I hadn't been snubbing Hermione all day. But Annie brightened even more.
"Ooh, you like it?" Sniffing her own wrist, she shot me a serene smile. "It was a present."
"Doesn't she just look incredible?" Hermione gushed. "I almost didn't recognize her!" She began to usher Annie toward the dining room. "Come on, then, dinner's on the table under a stasis."
I frowned thoughtfully and followed after them.
.......
"Alright—now that we're all back under one roof, we have something very important that we have to discuss." I skimmed a copy of the Daily Prophet through my reading glasses. Unsurprisingly, Hermione sometimes encouraged reading at the table. "First order of business, who wants to go the Falmouth Falcons match on Thursday?"
"Definitely," Scorpius accepted instantly.
Hermione laughed, but grimaced. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't. I have a Floo conference call with an American company about broom patents that night, and the time difference is six hours."
"Hm," I grumbled. Hermione wasn't exactly what I'd call a diehard fan, but I had still looked forward to her being there.
"Thursday, sure, absolutely," Annie agreed.
I moved on, pleased that at least both of my children were interested in attending. "Number Two, The Weird Sisters are coming to Exeter, yes or no?"
"Um, yeah, sure!" Annie nodded enthusiastically—suspiciously so. I peered at her skeptically over the rims of my glasses.
"'Um, yeah, sure?'" I parroted, looking between Hermione, who simply cocked her head at her interestedly, and back to Annie. "Is that a 'yes?'"
Annie smiled sheepishly and nodded.
"Alright..." I narrowed my eyes playfully.
"Dad, wait, um…" Annie interrupted. "I don't know."
"You don't want to see the Weird Sisters?" I checked incredulously, pulling my glasses off my face to peer at her more closely. They were her ultimate favorite band. Her reaction was far too bland for tickets like those. Something was off.
"No, no, I do, it's just...um…" she trailed off uncertainly.
Quietly, I summoned our head house-elf, Perdita. "Bring us that bottle of wine we were saving for Annie's homecoming, please, Perdita. Thank you."
"Of course."
"What is it?" Hermione coaxed gently. "Annie, is something going on?"
"Yes," she breathed, almost like she was relieved to have been found out. "Yes, it is, Mum. Oh, Merlin, this is a hard thing to tell parents…especially when they're my parents…Oh, Merlin…"
Perdita re-appeared with the wine. I accepted it, nodding to her, and conjured three wine glasses.
"Poppet, just say it—what's the big deal?" I was starting to get genuinely worried, and Hermione's expression read the same as I passed her a glass.
"Okay," she relented, and took a rather large breath in preparation for her announcement. "I...met somebody, in Rome. He's an American. He's from Los Angeles, but he lives in Exeter right now, actually! I was so surprised! What are the odds, you know? And, um, his name is Bryan MacKenzie, and…" Annie clenched her hands into fists, and I was surprised at her show of ferocity. "He's this…completely wonderful—wonderful—amazing man, and well, we started seeing each other...A lot."
Hermione was smiling amazedly, while I was becoming tense. I wasn't Trelawney or anything, but I could already see where this was headed.
"And, um…" She shrugged, and laughed gently. "We fell in love!"
Hermione's mouth dropped open.
"It actually happened! And, um, we've decided to get married." She paused, as if to let it sink in. "Which means, I'm engaged!" Annie slapped her hands softly down on the table, and the movement made her hair bounce. "I'm engaged, I'm getting married!"
I leaned back in my chair slowly. Engaged? I was expecting news of a boyfriend, sure, but a fiancé?
Scorpius raised an eyebrow for a brief moment before his expression smoothed. The action was uncannily reminiscent of my father. "Congratulations, Annie."
"Thank you!"
"Oh, my!" Hermione could hardly contain her dazzling grin. "Oh, so...oh, goodness. And that's your engagement ring, is it?"
"Yes!" She twisted it excitedly on her finger. I eyed it with antipathy. It didn't look like it was made out of any precious metal at all. "We found it at a flea market outside of Rome! The man we bought it from said it was at least a hundred years old."
"What a lovely provenance!"
She turned to me again entreatingly. "So, Dad…What do you think?"
I shook my head. "Sorry, what did you say?"
The little girl on my right could hardly see over the dining table. Her blonde pigtails tumbled over her play-robes.
"Daaaad," she repeated, and her tiny frustrated at having to repeat herself. "I met a man in Rome, and he's wonderful, and brilliant, and we're getting married."
I felt my face turning to stone. Getting married. Wed. Affianced. Hitched.
"Draco," Hermione murmured. Her voice sounded about a million kilometers away. "Draco, what's the matter?"
I finally let out a short laugh and Annie smiled hesitantly. "This is ridiculous."
Her smile fell. "What?"
"You're too young to get married."
"Too young!" Annie exclaimed. "Dad, I'm twenty. If I'm not mistaken, that's two years older than Mum was when you two got married."
"That is not true," I denied.
"Uh, no," Hermione tutted. "You're absolutely wrong."
My face contorted disbelievingly, and I swiveled to face her. "You were this age when I married you?"
Annie's hand slid up to rest beneath her chin, and she smiled smugly.
Hermione threw me a disgusted look. "Seriously, Draco? I was this age when she was born."
"That doesn't bloody matter," I snarled. "Times have changed, we were mature from the war—"
"Pfft!" Hermione snorted.
"I thought you didn't believe in marriage," I reminded, recalling an instance of Annie once writing us in tears after being stood up on a Hogsmeade date. "I thought that it meant a woman lost her identity. I thought you wanted to get a job before you settled down, so you could earn money—not that you need it, like I keep telling you. So you could be your own person."
"Alright, hold on," Annie started to placate. "I didn't think I believed in marriage, until I met Bryan."
To my horror, Hermione was actually nodding along with this tripe. Why was I the only one that saw that it made no sense? Had she been Imperioused? The thought made my blood boil, and I demanded as much.
"No, I'm not under the Imperio! Really! Bryan's unlike any other man I've ever known," she pleaded. "I want to be married to him. And I'm not going to lose my identity with him," she promised. "Because he's like you, Dad!"
I leveled a look at Hermione, but she avoided my eyes, biting down on a smile.
"He happens to love the fact that I want to be an architect, and he wants me to design a house for us to live in. He said he'd move anywhere I got a job. Give me a little credit, Draco."
My eyes blew wide, and I straightened out of sheer surprise. Draco?!
"I'm not going to marry some ape who wants me to wear Go-Go Boots and an apron. I'm telling you, you'll love him," she insisted again. "He's a genius. And sweet. And I love him more than anything in the world."
And I love him more than anything in the world.
"What does Bryan do?" Hermione asked.
"He's an independent communications consultant," Annie rattled off proudly, like she had been practicing—and sounding so much like her mother that it nearly killed me right there.
"An independent communications consultant," I tested the words in my mouth scathingly. "So he's a Muggle."
"Yes, he is," Annie answered.
"What's wrong with that?" Hermione asked pointedly.
I bristled. "Nothing. Have you told him that you're a magical architect, yet?"
"No," she muttered—then visibly steeled herself. "But I will!"
"So he doesn't even know that you're a witch. Were you waiting until you got engaged to break the news?"
"Draco," Hermione hissed warningly.
"Doesn't matter now, since you've already accepted. Never mind the fact that he never once asked my permission." I schooled my expression again. "Independent, you said?"
"Yes," she said.
"That literally means unemployed, Annie. People use the word independent because it sounds good, not because they're specially qualified to work on their own."
"He's independent because nobody can afford to keep him on staff!" she protested weakly.
"Right. This is perfect. You meet an unemployed, 'amazingly brilliant' Muggle non-ape, that I'm going to have to support! It's not like you'll be able to live with the quality of life you were raised with, not on a Muggle salary, and certainly not in the state the Muggle Economy is in right now. No wonder he'll move anywhere you get a job!" Hermione's hand thumped down sharply on the table this time, but I wasn't done. "You're not getting married, and that's final, Annie Malfoy."
Then I remembered something else.
"And I do not like you calling me 'Draco!"
Annie threw her cloth napkin down on the table. "Daddy, what's wrong with you?"
She stormed away, and the cavernous dining room fell silent. I turned to see Hermione gaping at me.
"What?" I looked at her, askance. "You're telling me you're actually happy about this?"
"Draco, will you please stop acting like an absolute lunatic and go talk to her before she runs out that door, marries that boy, and we never see her again?" Hermione implored desperately.
"Fine!" I tossed down my own napkin and stood up from my chair at the head of the table. "And how do you know he's a boy? He could be forty-five bloody years old!"
Hermione only glared harder. I still could still feel it when I exited the dining room, and not for the first time in our suddenly-explosive evening, my chest panged.
In warning, I'm sure now, of all that was to come.
.......
I found her slumped on the long terrace by the ballroom, but she rocketed to her feet when she saw me.
"Just because he's an independent communications consultant doesn't mean he's an 'unemployable non-ape!'" She paused to take a breath. "Bryan happens to be a computer genius. Companies send him all over the world, hooking up these complex systems. Major banks and corporations send him to Tokyo and Brazil and Geneva! He's—he's a genius. Like mum."
"So he's like your mother and I? Why do you need him, then?" I teased flatly. Truthfully, it was a real question. Casually, I tossed her her broom. "How old is this 'genius?'"
She tossed it back roughly, utterly uninterested. "Twenty-six. Not forty-five. You still think I can't hear you when I'm one room away…"
"If you love him so much, I know I'll love him too." The lie wasn't my best work as a Slytherin, but I knew it was a necessary evil. For right now, at least.
Annie looked dubious—then, she smiled, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her forehead into the cloak-clasp on my sternum. She'd stopped growing when she was fifteen, like Hermione had. I sighed shortly through my nose.
"Bryan…?" I prompted.
"MacKenzie," she finished. Her voice was muffled, but the adoration was clear.
"Bryan MacKenzie," I repeated. That was a snob name.
"Yeah," she confirmed. She stepped back.
"I can't wait to meet him." I nearly bit my tongue in half saying so—it was like trying to avoid the effects of Veritaserum.
"Good, because he'll be here in an hour to meet you," she chirped.
Well, that was just bloody great. I couldn't believe she told him where we were located!
But I forced a smirk. "I suppose, then, you're not in the mood for a little one-on-one?"
I let go of my own jet-black broom, and it hovered at my side. Her broom—mahogany—waited tantalizingly beside it.
She eyed it, and then the glowing 'runway' strips Hermione had drawn on the terrace one night with her wand, and smirked back.
.......
We flew until we couldn't see the Manor lights anymore, and the land leached into the sea. There was a terribly fantastic full moon tonight, so we didn't even have to use the headlight charms I'd had installed in our broom handles.
Every time I thought I was ahead, she peeled ahead of me, up until we had to loop back.
We landed without noise—she always touched down first—and I propped my broom over my shoulder. My other arm found her shoulders.
"You're not really getting married, are you?" It wasn't a joke, and I think she knew it, but she laughed anyway. Her good humor had always been Hermione's trait.
"Dad! Stop!"