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There was a wedding scheduled for that Saturday. Another cousin or aunt or some other third generation relative Draco hadn't even bothered to learn the name of being passed off to a random gent from some well-to-do family he also hadn't bothered to learn the name of. And, of course, Draco was expected to be there; to offer his perfect smile, to speak in charming sultry tones, to know all the latest tid-bits bound to be popular mouth fodder, to stand tall and proud, and to be the over-all pure-blood son he was expected to be at every social gathering involving the Malfoys.
And Draco's father would make damned certain of it, despite being faced with two almost quelling problems:
To begin, Draco hadn't bothered to procure a date. One of many taboos among the higher set when it came to special events. He hadn't bothered because he hadn't expected to actually be forced to go. Now in his twenties with his own flat, his own job, his own bank account, and his own social circles (consisting entirely of Pansy and Blaise, which is how he preferred it--thank you very much), the idea of his father still forcing his attendance to these... shindigs... was almost surprising.
Almost, if one did not count the fact that Draco's father was one of the most controlling, determined men alive--where his son was involved.
Lucius refused to leave his offspring be, and no matter what path Draco took to try and convince him away from choosing the course of his son's life (reasonable arguments, graphs, magical slide-show, sock puppets, whining like a brat, bribing, blackmail, threats to Lucius's hair, and attempting to just ignore him for long periods of time) did little to nothing. Lucius, apparently, could not be stopped.
It didn't help matters that Draco wasn't married and was currently avoiding any kind of relationship that did not involve a quill and scroll or the occasional drink with an old school chum. It worked for Draco quite well (his life was solid, quiet, and all his), but it also meant Lucius had to involve himself to an almost maddening level of interference, having apparently convinced himself that Draco needed help.
“How about the white, satin shirt there? That tunic just left of you? It's fairly formal, deep neck, has nice shoulder stitching, good curve over the hips... Pair it with a dark vest or thin coat and trousers and I'll be golden.”
“If it has the name 'tunic' attached to it in any capacity you shouldn't own it,” Lucius said in that pleasant tone he knew annoyed his son. He vanished the shirt with a casual flick of his wand.
Draco rolled his eyes as Lucius continued to dig through his closet, which meant he would be forced to shop later that week for clothes--again--once he was done. Lucius had been there an hour and already half his favorite tops, two pairs of boots, and even some delightfully fuzzy socks that Lucius thought were, “too immature for a Malfoy, what an embarrassment," were gone; lost to the clothing underworld.
A long, suffering sigh escaped Draco's thin lips and he leaned back over his palms onto his bed where he sat witness to his father's criticisms. He slumped onto his hands and locked his elbows into place as his quicksilver eyes regarded his father's back with a displeased frown. He was sorely tempted to kick out one of his bare feet and shove it right into his maker's arse--perhaps lock him in the closet, cast a silencing charm to avoid the enraged screaming, and take a long nap. But despite his age and how fit he had become as he grew into man-hood he still found that Lucius Malfoy was incredibly intimidating. So instead, he sat there and imagined drawing a ridiculous clown face onto the butt of Lucius's white trousers or shaving his head as he slept as his ever endearing father continued to peruse.
Then, a sudden pause came as his father seemed to snag his foot on something. Lucius was about to grab another article of clothing he was certain to hate, but the distraction was enough to offer the hapless fabric a temporary reprieve as he bent forward into the nearly hollowed closet.
“... What the hell is this?”
The sudden tone of angry disapproval immediately jerked Draco out of his somewhat dazed stupor. His eyes widened.
Uh oh...
Draco blinked as a number of rather unfortunate things Lucius could have found swam into the forefront of his mind. He hadn't time nor memory to hide a lot of his more personal possessions away before his father had invited himself into Draco's apartment and immediately set about wedding day preparations. Of course, being as this was the second time his father had done exactly this he supposed it was bound to happen. That didn't stop him from biting his lip to relieve some of the tension building toward his head or the furrow of panic in his brow, however.
Please not the brown box, please not the brown box, please not the brown box...Why didn't I put that stupid thing under the floor or something!
Lucius walked out of the closet with a number of what appeared to be old magazines in his hand. They were haphazardly held in a tight grip. Lucius thrust them toward Draco's face with an accusatory jab.
“Mind explaining what these are and why they would be in your closet?”
Oh, thank Merlin... I totally forgot I even own those!
“They're called porn magazines, father. They're for private debauchery. You see, when a boy's testicles begin to drop--“
“Draco, do not--"
“Oh, please... I'm certain at least two of those I stole from your room when I was twelve. Don't try and admonish me about it! Also, does mom know you have a thing for men? Certainly surprised me. Maybe we have more in common then we think?”
Draco smiled innocently, wide enough to show his teeth, and quirked his head to the side as Lucius's face turned stony and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
“I know those weren't my stains on page eighteen with that very fit Maxwell Chainwall,” Draco practically sung. “You know, the guy who looks suspiciously like a very fit Severus? Did you two do anything when he visited or was it unrequited? Hanky panky at the school when you were supposed to have meetings?”
Lucius took the entire stack of magazines, rolled them up, and smacked his son over the head with them. It was with as much force as one might use to toss a pillow. Draco laughed and fell onto his back, and the resulting whining dramatics of pain and abuse that followed only resulted in Lucius rolling his eyes while he delivered several more whacks to his son's head and shoulders before he finally tossed the stack onto the bed and returned to his task of depleting Draco's hangers.
“Once I'm done with this... and possibly shopping for something suitable (I am rather disappointed in you. As I recall you used to have such taste) we'll need to arrange your date. Perhaps your lovely friend Pansy could attend? It might be a good time to revisit the subject of your former engagement... She is a lovely girl and well bred. Better than anything you can find on your own, I imagine.”
The laughter that had loosened Draco's whole body, a rare occurrence these days between father and son, immediately escaped at the mention of “date” and “arrange” and "engagement" and was replaced with an uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach that made him nauseous followed by an annoyed groan.
Save me...