Well, You Irk Me So
It seems unreal, when he is told that his freedom depends on being wed to a boy he has despised (or so he told himself) since he was eleven years old. It seems like a cruel joke, almost. He had spent the last ten years being away from the Wizarding World and all the crap that it came with only to be shoved back into it and with— with this?! Draco Malfoy did not give up his pureblood way of living to sacrifice himself to the corruption and vile incompetency of the Ministry again.
He did not, and yet, here he was, before the Ministry— like a puppet on their strings.
“We need peace now, more than ever,” says Shacklebolt, “A union of marriage between you and Mr Harry James Potter will assure the public of a new era, and this wedding will assure this peace. You must adhere to the Wizengamot, if you wish to attain your freedom.”
Draco swallows. Narcissa’s grip on his arm tightens. She ushers him to speak up, to obey.
”I respect the law,” he says, “And I agree to go through with this marriage.”
But it’s not as if he has any other choice, does he?
The court hearing comes to an end, but not without the same murmurs and whispers Draco had to flee from years ago. He exits the courtroom with his mother and wishes he doesn’t have to listen to what she has to say next.
Narcissa looks at him with apparent lines of worry showing on her forehead. “You know where we have to go next, don’t you?”
Draco hesitates before speaking up. “Yes, mother.”
He knows.
The Weasley Manor.
The two apparate before Harry and Ron’s residing place and Draco cusses himself silently before knocking at the door. His mother’s silent touches of comfort cease to put him at ease as he prepares for his impending doom. Will he be greeted with undeniable anger, wrath and fury? Of that he is sure. And yet, he doesn’t want to be.
They are greeted by a scowling Ron who encourages them to come inside. Draco’s eyes search for Harry’s, but he is nowhere to be seen. He is grateful for his absence despite knowing he would have to face him eventually. They all take a seat and Narcissa takes in a view of the house.
”You have a lovely house, Mr Weasley,” she says, smiling.
Ron nods, still without any expression on his face. Draco swallows and clears his throat. This is hardly the time or place for complimenting houses or small talk.
“Ahem,” he starts, unsure where this is going himself, “About the matter at hand—”
”Yes,” Ron cuts in, pouring himself a glass of scotch, “The matter at hand, indeed.” Then, looking coldly at Draco, he continues, “You’ve always had an eye for my husband, haven’t you?”
Husband.
Draco shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Narcissa urgently looks between his son and Ron and speaks up.
”Mr Weasley,” she starts, her fake smile still smoothly on display, “The Ministry has informed us that you and Mr Potter have long been—”
“Divorced?” Ron challenges, taking a huge sip from his glass, “Yeah, and quite against our will.” He looks directly at Draco and points a finger at him. “Because of you.”
Narcissa’s smile threatens to fade away. “Mr Weasley, that is hardly fair! Mr Potter is—”
“HE’S A WEASLEY!” Ron barks and gets up from his seat, ready to attack the woman at any moment, and is stopped when Draco comes between the two.
“Now, Mr Weasley,” Draco says calmly, “I understand that this situation is less than ideal for both the parties involved, but it gives you no right to threaten my mother. Besides, if you do not agree to this marriage, you must know, your family is equally at peril.”
And it is true. If Harry and Ron did not agree to the Ministry’s proposition, they could exile Ron for not complying with political duty, or strip Harry of his right to practice magic, or send the two to Azkaban for disobeying the new Wizengamot. Knowing the Ministry, they could do a lot worse, and all of it could easily be swept under the rug.
So, they can do nothing but obey, and agree, in fake gratitudes and quiet disdain.
Ron huffs and sits back down. So do Draco and Narcissa.
Soon enough, upon hearing footsteps slowly descending down the stairs, Draco turns to face the direction of the staircase.
And there is Harry Potter, drowning in his newfound melancholy, holding a baby in his hands.
Draco’s eyes only sparkle at his entrance.
He did not expect to see Harry— histhe Harry— like this, after a passage of ten whole years.
And he looked so beautiful, like he did, all those years ago.
For a moment, all of Draco’s despair seems to disappear.
For a moment, everything seems to be okay.