Lovelight

Why Did It Have To Be Me?

Draco Malfoy was... perplexed, to say the least.

His life had been... well, interesting. There was no definitive way to describe it or his emotions as he packed his bags in the small room of his flat. When he turned eighteen, he had it all figured out. He was going to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year mastery program, specialize in Potions, and then start working in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry deconstructing potions. After he and his witch had both gotten settled there, he had an elaborate plot planned to ask her to marry him. She wasn't the type of person to want to get married at the end of eighth year, but he would wait for her. He would always wait for her. And once they were married, they might have kids, if that was what she wanted. They'd live in the Manor so she could have access to the library and their kids could play out on the Quidditch pitch out back and he could finally teach her how to fly and they would be together.

Well, he had waited for her, waited a long time, waited far too long. His mother (and father‒ even though he was in Azkaban) had gone and ruined everything for him by arranging his betrothal without so much as a word to him. She hadn't let him explain, explain his plan, and then she ran. She ran away. Left him.

And when she left, she took his dreams with her.

Eventually, he had done what he was supposed to do, which was to get married; however, it didn't happen right away. No, as soon as she had left, disappeared completely, he had tried to find her, tried to bring her back while also attempting to get out of that godforsaken marriage contract. He had looked for her everywhere, but he couldn't find her. His letters were never answered, there was no activity of hers at Gringotts (he had asked the elves many times), nor had her friends heard from her. She was just gone.

Long story short, he couldn't find her. Nor could he figure out a way to get out of the marriage contract. So, he had ended up married to a woman he didn't exactly want to marry. And then he had ended up divorced from said woman‒ the one he did not want to marry.

They hadn't worked‒ he knew they wouldn't‒ and she had just had enough one day. He had come to a compromise with his parents back when he finally accepted the fact that he wouldn't be able to get out of the marriage, that if he could divorce his wife after seven years of marriage. The whole point of the union was that both houses were supposed to be given an heir‒ a pureblooded, aristocratic, perfectly bred heir‒ and apparently his parents could concede that if that didn't happen in the first seven years of their marriage, when they were young, it would never happen.

She was the one to divorce him, five years into their marriage. His parents were beyond frustrated, but it wasn't as if it was his fault. She had gone away and married another man and had children with him not even a full year later. Draco wasn't surprised‒ he had been using contraceptive charms the whole time, just for spite. There was only one witch who he wanted to have his children, and that witch most certainly was not Astoria Greengrass.

Not that she wasn't a lovely person, she was, it was just that she wasn't the one meant to be with him. No, she was much better suited as Astoria Greengrass-Zabini when compared to Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, especially considering the fact that Blaise actually loved her while Draco hadn't. Astoria was... fine. She was nice enough for conversation, but they could never breach the surface of said conversation. It was all polite and proper, just as someone would have expected it to be if they were courting. They would have their breakfast together, read quietly at opposite ends of the house, and plaster on the look of a beyond content and wildly in love married couple any time they had to attend a social event.

They had been married for five years, 2 weeks, and one day exactly. Saturday, 21 August, 1999‒ the day of Draco Malfoy's downfall. Saturday, 4 September, 2004‒ the day of his resurrection.