Chapter Text
The long, narrow corridor stretched out, the pale patches of light on the walls seeming to extend into infinity. A soft creak rose from the parquet floor beneath his feet. At the end of the corridor, a simple white door stood ajar. The dim light spilling from within felt more like the whisper of a secret than an invitation.
Beyond the door, the scene was like a painting. A woman sat before a vanity table, her figure framed by the soft glow. The emerald green dress she wore accentuated the porcelain whiteness of her skin. Her shimmering golden-blonde hair, reaching down to her waist, flowed like a silken waterfall with every movement. The ivory comb in her hand performed a delicate dance through its strands.
Their eyes met in the mirror's reflection. The serene expression on the woman's face vanished abruptly. She slowly placed the comb down and turned in her chair, her curious gaze settling on Draco.
"Welcome, darling," she said, her voice as smooth as velvet but with an underlying edge of steel. "You made no sound at all."
A bitter smile touched Draco's lips. "I preferred to watch you tend to your hair."
The corners of the woman's lips twitched slightly. "Are you still angry with me, Dragon?"
"I am not a princess," Draco replied, his voice icy. "You cannot keep me hidden for long."
The familiar, artificial smile on his mother's face faded. A fleeting flicker of panic crossed her eyes. "I am aware of that, my dear. Shall we perhaps save this unpleasant conversation for after dinner?"
"There's no need, Maman. I will dine alone." Draco turned towards the door, wanting nothing more than to escape that suffocating atmosphere.
"Draco." His mother's voice sharpened, like a frosted blade.
Draco paused, his hand already on the doorknob. "Yes, Maman?" He didn't turn around. Every fiber of his being yearned to flee.
"One looks someone in the face when speaking to them." Her voice held an authoritative tone.
Draco took a deep breath and slowly turned back. A mocking glint appeared in his eyes. "Forgive me, Mother, where are my manners?" He offered a slight bow, but even in this gesture, there was a hint of defiance.
His mother watched him as she smoothed lotion from a crystal jar onto her palm. "Would you like some?" she asked, her voice still cool.
Draco shook his head. "You're avoiding the subject."
"I thought we'd been doing that for years?" A hint of sarcasm laced her voice.
"That was until you locked me away within these walls." Draco's voice was an angry whisper.
His mother turned, gently rubbing the lotion into her hands. Her eyes met Draco's briefly before returning to her reflection in the mirror. "It's all for your own good."
"Is this 'good' marrying me off to someone I don't even know?" Draco's voice was filled with bitterness and rebellion.
"He is not just 'someone,' Draco. He is your fiancé." Her voice was firm and left no room for argument.
"Mother, don't be ridiculous. I don't even like women." A hopeless expression flickered across Draco's face.
"I am painfully aware of that, Draco. Another flaw inherited from your father, I presume." His mother placed the porcelain jar on the table and stood up. Draco had grown unexpectedly tall that summer; they were almost the same height now.
"But of course, I want you to be happy, which is why I changed your fiancé. It's a pity you haven't asked anything about him until now. He has transformed from a sweet boy into a handsome young man." A note of satisfaction entered her voice.
"Mother, I don't care if he's handsome or not. I don't even want to know who he is. I told you, I am in love with someone else—"
His mother's hand slammed onto the glass surface of the vanity table. "Is this still the issue? I told you, you will marry someone else!"
"I don't love him. He cannot make me happy!" Draco's voice rose in desperation.
"And who could possibly take better care of you than your fiancé?" Her voice was challenging.
"I told you, Harry and I love each other very much, and we will be married soon—"
"It's too soon for that—"
"And what were you thinking when you betrothed me the first time? I was five years old!" Draco's voice trembled with anger and frustration.
"That was your previous betrothal, my dear. Now, there is this young man—"
"I don't even want to hear his name!" Draco's voice was a sharp cry.
"Do not interrupt your mother when she is speaking!" Her voice was like ice.
"Maman, please..." This time, Draco's voice wavered. His eyes, filled with tears, pleaded with her.
"You cannot be with someone beneath you, Draco. He cannot provide for you. He cannot give you what you need." Her voice was firm and judgmental.
"If it's about money, he's already wealthy—"
"It has never been about money, Draco. I provide for us adequately." Her voice was dismissive.
"If you met him, I'm sure you would like him." Draco's voice was a hopeless whisper.
His mother walked towards her bed. She picked up a few silken garments and held them up to the light, examining their colors and textures. "I'm sure I wouldn't. Everything is temporary, Draco. This childish infatuation with Harry will pass. Then you will understand that your mother knows best."
"Mother, even if it weren't Harry, I want to marry someone I love. Don't you have any respect for that?" Draco tried to stand as tall as possible, a terrible ache building within him, a desperate urge to flee the room and collapse in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably.
His mother took a white, silken ensemble from the clothes in her hands and moved behind the ornate, silk screen that divided the room. She began to undress. The first thing to fall to the floor from over the screen was a thin, black shawl she had worn over her green dress. The shawl landed silently at Draco's feet.
"Don't tell me you plan to marry for love, Dragon." The green dress followed, falling with a soft rustle.
"I do," Draco said, his voice resolute. At that moment, his mother emerged from behind the screen, wearing a white shirt and white trousers. Her golden hair stood out even more against the light fabric.
"Look where marrying for love got me. Do you want to do that to yourself?" A hint of bitter experience colored her voice.
Draco's eyes welled up with tears. "Maman, I love him."
His mother reached out and took his hands in her delicate ones. "And for that, I cannot even be angry with you. Love is a terrible thing, Draco. It asks everything of you without ever knowing what you truly need."
Draco found himself speechless, his gaze fixed on their clasped hands. A sharp pain pierced his chest.
"Time passes, Draco. You will get over Harry too." Draco blinked rapidly, trying to prevent the tears from overflowing. His mother pressed a feather-light kiss to his hair and stood up, releasing his hands.
"You sound just like Father," Draco whispered.
"Did you see your father recently? Good. Sons should see their arrogant fathers who think they are the center of the world and cannot dream." His mother said this with a cold, impassive expression. Draco forced back his tears.
"Face the harsh realities, Draco. You cannot be with Harry. I know this breaks your heart, but trust your Maman. My love for you is real."
"And you show this love by forcing me to marry someone I don't even know?" A bitter irony laced Draco's voice.
"When you say it like that, it sounds so cruel. Of course not, my dear. But you have made your point. So that you don't feel forced, I think it is time you spoke with him." His mother took her elegant, silver-inlaid wand from the bedside table and slipped it into her inner pocket. She moved towards the door, her steps heavy.
Before she could leave, Draco lunged forward and grabbed her arm tightly. "Mother, please, don't do this to me." His voice was a desperate plea.
His mother wrenched her arm away as if she had touched a repulsive insect. "Your appointment is next Tuesday at three o'clock. Don't be late. And don't even think about trying to run away."
His mother left him alone in the room. Draco looked down at the floor as the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over. His mother was gone, and there was no reason to appear strong anymore. He sank to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, and began to sob uncontrollably. His body shook with each wrenching gasp.
He couldn't beg his mother not to marry him off. The woman thrived on displays of power. She knew how to strike the vulnerable in their most sensitive spots. But his mother was too "civilized" to attack Harry directly. She wouldn't be able to find another weakness in Draco. He wouldn't allow it. He would not marry someone he didn't love and didn't know. No matter what. He would not marry. He wanted Harry. He would marry him. No matter what, his mother would eventually have to accept it.
As his sobs intensified, he leaned further forward until his forehead rested against the cold, polished wood of the floor. Tears fell in hot, heavy drops. He released his arms and brought his hands to his head, tugging fiercely at his blonde hair.
He wanted Harry.