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Heir Draco Malfoy leans against the outer stone wall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hidden in shadow, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
Heiress Nephele Longbottom’s hair resembles fresh honey in the afternoon sunlight. There’s a tiny smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, beneath her russet brown eyes. Her Longbottom-Evergreen dress is flowy and feminine, emphasizing the plump curves of her beautiful body.
“She’s a vision.”
He’s too far away to hear what his favorite cousin, Lady Luna Lovegood, says to her with an impish grin, but he can hear Nephele’s full-throated laughter rolling across the Hogwarts grounds, bright enough to shame the sun. As her mirth fills the air, flowers sprout from the grass.
It’s to be expected since Nephele is an Earth Elementalist, rare and coveted.
Draco witnessed the magical phenomenon for the first time when he was only seven years old; when Nephele laughed at his birthday party, flowers grew from the ground in a circle around her. Larkspurs, meaning levity and laughter.
It was as enrapturing then as it is now.
Nephele is soft and gentle and sweet, and fierce and brave all at the same time. She’s— She twists and tangles him into knots without even trying. Without even knowing. The smallest crook of her finger would draw Draco to her side.
He’s—
“Merlin, I want her,” Draco groans.
He wants Nephele as his lady-wife. He wants her to forsake her title as Heiress of the Valiant and Most Ancient House of Longbottom and trade it in for his wife’s title, Heiress of the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. She has two younger brothers; bonding into his family won’t end her bloodline.
Draco is one of the most eligible bachelors in Avalon. He’s literally lost count of how many various magicals have asked him on a Courtship Date or sent a betrothal contract to his parents or attempted to seduce him into bonding. He’s not being arrogant or conceited in thinking himself a very fine match indeed.
It isn’t like him to be hesitant in pursuing what he wants. Draco has always been the type of person to strive for whatever he desires. He doesn’t see any merit in denying himself what he wants. Deprivation is for the poor or those too foolish to figure out how to achieve exactly what they want in life.
And yet … and yet.
“She’s so kind,” Draco says.
He reaches into his pocket and removes the pendant necklace he commissioned with Nephele in mind. The traditional first courtship gift that a Malfoy offers is always a necklace. The pendant he commissioned from The Spindle—the only pureblood jewelry shop that Malfoys patronage for courtship gifts—is an acacia crafted from yellow sapphires.
It means secret love in floriography.
Draco knows himself well. He’s proud, more than a bit of a git on occasion, and a self-admitted snob. He has exacting standards for every aspect of his life. He expects the best service, the best craftsmanship, the best of everything. Malfoys only accept superior quality.
Nephele, in his opinion, is unsurpassed in beauty, temperament, and magical power when compared to the other pureblood ladies of his acquaintance.
“That doesn’t mean she feels the same about me in reverse,” Draco mutters, his fingers curling around the pendant until the yellow sapphires of the acacia blossom dig into his palm.
Nephele’s godbrother is Heir Harry Potter. He’s brave and honorable and amiable whereas Draco is ambitious and vigilant and snarky. Anyone with eyes can see how well she thinks of Potter, though it’s clearly not a romantic interest. It leaves Draco wondering time and time again if it’s worth risking his heart when his main qualities are so opposite those Nephele openly admires.
His mother is a bloodline Black. The vast majority of his heritage and magic comes from his paternal line, but he’s not fully immune to the Black bloodline curse and the insanity that consumes those who suffer a broken heart. His sister Lacerta isn’t fit to inherit the title if something happens to him. And there’s no doubt whatsoever that his youngest sister, Iolanthe, will bond with Master Henry Potter when they’re old enough. As such, it’s his duty to protect himself and his bloodline, which has existed since the time of Camelot.
Draco can’t risk his sanity or—
Peals of laughter roll across the Hogwarts grounds, snaring his attention. Helplessly, Draco turns his focus back to the two pureblood ladies, who are much closer to him now than they were before. Small caladiums sprout in the grass in a perfect circle around Nephele and Luna.
Great joy and delight.
He can’t go on like this. He can’t.
Draco layers his Occlumency shields as he walks out of the shade. He weaves them together, separating his emotions one by one, surrounding them in reason and logic. If Nephele refuses him, his sanity should hold long enough for him to exit the wards, Apparate home, and request his mother’s assistance in having his love for Nephele ritually removed to protect himself, his bloodline, and his future.
“—handsome?” Luna giggles, a teasing, sly smile on her face as she watches Draco approach.
“I don’t know a single magical in all of Avalon who doesn’t think he’s handsome,” Nephele replies with a slight flush to her fair skin. “He’s—”
Draco’s heart clenches in his chest. His footsteps slow.
“Ah, cousin! We were just talking about you!” Luna says, her silvery-gray eyes shining with mirth.
They were talking about … him? Then, he is the wizard Nephele just agreed is “handsome”? Draco’s heart and hope soar higher and faster than the top speed of a Nimbus 2001.
A beautiful, rosy blush colors Nephele’s cheeks and crawls down her neck toward her ample bosom as she spins around and blurts out, “Good afternoon, Heir Malfoy. I didn’t realize … you were there.” She dips into a curtsy that’s elegant despite her embarrassment.
Draco bows without looking away from her flustered face, smirks, and says, “Good afternoon, Heiress Longbottom. I’m honored that a lady as beautiful as yourself considers me handsome.”
She blushes a rosier hue and stutters, “I-I, uh—”
Feeling jubilant—Merlin, he’s going to owe Luna a lavish gift—Draco steps forward and unclenches his fist, revealing the courtship necklace. The yellow sapphires sparkle brightly in the sunlight. “Heiress Nephele Longbottom, I would be truly honored if you would accept this necklace as a sign of my sincere intent to court you,” Draco says formally.
A soft “Oh!” spills from Nephele’s pretty pink lips. She stares at it for several moments before saying, “I accept.”
Entire rose bushes burst from the ground, encircling them, growing until they blossom in enormous pink buds as vibrant as her blush.
The last of the worry fades from Draco’s heart and mind. It can do nothing else in the face of such an overwhelming display and declaration. He’s fluent in floriography. The earth has spoken for Nephele so loudly that he can’t mistake the message.
Perfect happiness.