𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 ➤ ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ

𝐨𝐧𝐞

January, 1996

When my father told me I was to marry Draco Malfoy in the summer, it didn't come as too much of a surprise. My mind cast back to our contemporary childhoods; the forceful play dates and routine soirées at Malfoy Manor. We were never as close as our parents may have desired, perhaps we already knew, in an innocent, childlike manner, that our fates were destined in the stars, which made us disfavour each other in an enigmatic sort of way. In any case, we both always knew in our shallow hearts that we weren't made for each other, yet that we'd spend the rest of our lives together either way.

He told me in our third year at Hogwarts that he was in love with me, to which I replied hastily that I loved him too. Both attempts at affection were honest lies; an involuntary exchange, puppeteered by our fathers, who plotted and pressured us to fall in love from the minute we could talk.

People at school are somewhat scared of Draco, and for good reason. Being his fiance doesn't have the perks you would expect - we rarely talk, yet people seem to associate me with him, and him only. I don't have many friends, which is easily presumable. Nobody wants to be seen with a Slytherin who may as well be marrying into the Dark Lord's own bloodline, or so it seems to the other students here. My father's rapacious thirst for power deprived me of the many fundamentals of a healthy childhood; friends, happiness, stability, and love.

Love is the thing I crave most, and knowing that I'll never feel what I desire the deepest is something that no person should feel, let alone a sixteen-year-old girl. I'll never love Draco, and I suspect he'll always have eyes for Astoria, who I assume has no idea that I caught onto their not-so-scandalous affair. It hurts more knowing that while I sit alone with the legacy I never wanted, my husband will have experienced the irreplicable love that I always yearned for. I do not hold him accountable for his actions against me, I can only imagine how strong their love must be, as he seldom knows what his father would do to them both if he found out.

I think, on some level, Draco secretly despises me, for our views are too different for us to coincide happily. It doesn't work in my favour being one of few descendants of the Sacred Twenty-Eight who does not believe in pure-blood supremacy. Draco knows of my controversial views, but he would never tell his father. We may not love each other, but we have an incredible amount of respect between us. I do not oppose his opinions, and in exchange, he does not oppose mine.

Someone who I've recently found defies the above, is George Weasley. An unexpected alliance indeed; the ginger-haired class clown, his life an abundance of family and joy, and me, a dark-haired academic, with no friends, and a future just about as sinister and lonely as it gets. Our stolen conversations began not too long ago, when we were assigned to work on a project together in Potions.

"Hey, you're Elsia Nott? I don't think we've ever spoken before," his voice, like honey, seeped through the air and instantly softened my nerves.

"Yeh, I don't think we have," I smiled a smile so small I doubt that he even noticed.

"Are you any good at potions?" He grinned, "I can't seem to crush this herb properly."

"I'm okay at it, I think you need to use the knife, not just crush it in between your fingernails," I gestured towards the knife, stifling a giggle.

Is this what having friends feels like?

"Oh yeah," he grins again, "well, we've only been here for two minutes and you're already much better than me at this."

And with something as small as a Potions assignment and a kind smile, I found that I had something real and genuine; the seedling of what I hoped could be a friendship.