- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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𝕯raco stares blankly, a string of venomous curses lining up on his tongue,
'Draco,
I had afternoon tea with Zinnia Parkinson yesterday, she had some interesting things to say. I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but you must be keeping your options open.
It's only a matter of time until we arrange a suitress that will agree to your hand in marriage and honour our family, Pansy is one to be considered.
I thought you liked the girl? She was your date to the Yule Ball if I remember correctly, and Zinnia claimed that you've discussed a courtship previously. What has changed? We would prefer that you marry a girl that you do feel a connection with, that you feel you can fall in love with.
Is there something you wish to tell me, my sweet dragon? I'd rather hear it now, than further down the line.
I'll be awaiting your response.
Unconditional love, Mother.
P.s. Severus is only trying to help, don't be ignorant, Draco'
His stomach churns, and his heart burns terribly, re-reading the letter over and over, trying to grasp hold of the rush of emotions inside.
Indignation and betrayal hit him first, not only had Pansy told her mother about their current lack of relationship, but also Snape had been exchanging opinions. Then, apprehension and perturbation, because things had changed. Because constantly on his mind was outrageously blue eyes and chocolate hair. And telling his mother would be a dangerous risk. An unpredictable risk.
He pinches the corners of his parted mouth, tugging at his lower lip. His mother was a loving one in their society, always doting on him, always caring, always so giving, but she shared the beliefs of pureblood customs, and she was a pureblood supremacist, just as his father is. Draco didn't know how she would react to his truthfulness.
"Fuck" He swears quietly, now running a hand through his fair locks, sweeping them from his forehead. From either side, Blaise and Theo glanced towards him, arching a brow,
"What does she have to say?" Theo queries, eyeing the unmistakable, majestic script of Narcissa Malfoy, then to Draco as he mutters,
"Parkinson's been whining to her mother about my refusal to court"
Blaise snorts in laughter, peering around the hallways for any sign of the Slytherin princess herself, piping up, "You've got to hand it to her, she's not a quitter"
"Yeah, use that to your advantage. She won't stop until she's given you at least six heirs at this rate" Theo agrees, sniggering at the shade of sickly green that covers Draco's pale skin, jabbing his elbow into the boy's ribs.
