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Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve known that he was your future.
You’ve known it down to your bones.
He’s your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first everything.
And he’s your best friend in the world.
You’ve been betrothed since you were 15.
Since his parents were finally convinced you were a proper, pureblood young lady.
Their choice of bride for him cemented your standing as the best of all the pureblood girls in your generation.
You decided then that you would make them proud.
You would make him proud.
You’ve always loved him so much. Sometimes more than you love yourself.
You make it your life’s mission to become a perfect pureblood wife.
Taking inspiration from his mother, because you know he loves her the most in the world.
It’s the happiest day of your life when he actually proposes to you.
He does it during an exclusive gala for the old pureblood families.
You stare in awe at the ring.
It’s a family heirloom.
The significance is obvious.
All your friends are jealous of your good fortune.
It’s like you’re going to marry an actual prince.
He’s very respectful and follows the old pureblood customs, insisting that you save yourselves for marriage.
You’ve only gotten to kiss him a few times since leaving Hogwarts.
But it’s all worth it to you.
You get to marry him and do things with him for the rest of your life.
It’s your wedding day.
You’re getting married at the manor.
It’s already talked about as the wedding of the century.
A merging of two ancient houses.
A merging of your love.
You’re standing at the altar waiting for him. Waiting for the binding ritual to begin.
He’s late.
He should’ve been here first, not you.
You look to his parents for reassurance, but they’re not here either.
The crowd of guests has started whispering.
They’re uneasy.
You start to panic.
Heart in your throat, you ignore your parents’ shouts for you to stop, and run back to the manor.
You hear raised voices coming from the study.
You pause listening from the outside.
Then you hear his voice loud and clear.
He’s here.
You push open the door a bit, and your heart drops.
Blood rushes in your ears.
You barely stop your knees from buckling.
There in the middle of the study stands Draco, your fiancé, your love, your soulmate, with his hands clasped in another’s.
He’s telling his parents that he isn’t going through the marriage today, that he has finally found a way out of your betrothal contract.
The voices are loud again, and someone takes a step towards him and his companion.
Draco immediately has his wand out, shielding her from any threats.
Your world is crashing and burning, but you force yourself to look away from Draco, to see who he is protecting.
You wish you hadn’t looked.
You wish you’d never felt heartbreak so utterly crushing.
Because there in front of you is Draco Malfoy, standing protectively in front of Hermione Granger.
The roaring in your ears is back, your vision blurs, and you barely hear a word his parents are saying.
But Draco’s cold laugh brings you back to the moment.
“You’re more delusional than you think, Father, if you still expect me to marry Pansy. I made sure to soulbond with my actual soulmate as soon as possible. I made sure to do it the old-fashioned way as well; you can’t separate us. In any life.”
The silence following that statement is deafening.
Suddenly, Narcissa starts to sob loudly, and Draco looks momentarily guilty but immediately masks it.
“Why is this a shock, mother? I’ve told you since the very end of the war that I did not want this. But once again, you chose to disregard my wishes. Did you honestly think I’d give up that easily?” His laugh is cold and cruel.
Instinctively, you just know that whatever he says next is the thing that really breaks you.
“I knew you would tighten the leash around me if I objected more. So I did what you expected me to do: I played the perfect pureblood son. I pretended to court Pansy; I even got her a gaudy family ring from the vaults, knowing its significance. I had to pretend to be in love with someone I can barely stand to be around. I had to bring her to events as my date, knowing the woman I actually loved was there and hurting...”
You can’t bear to listen to any more.
So you turn around and run.
You run out of the manor and into the grounds.
You keep running, and running, and running.
Hoping you can run from the ruins of your life.
Far enough for it to stop hurting.