#draco arranged marriage

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious. 

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter. 

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends. 

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly. 

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree. 

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world. 

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you. 

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother. 

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect. 

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing. 

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright. 

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well. 

Best wishes, 

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours  myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable. 

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated. 

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close. 

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms. 

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows. 

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’ 

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were. 

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.” 

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family. 

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?” 

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…” 

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son. 

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy. 

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue. 

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…” 

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger. 

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed. 

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates. 

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care. 

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him. 

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour. 

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you. 

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?” 

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?” 

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.” 

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.” 

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him. 

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence. 

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library. 

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?” 

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red. 

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.” 

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm. 

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.” 

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied. 

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene. 

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up. 

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall. 

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him. 

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read. 

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply. 

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?” 

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered. 

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble. 

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly. 

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?” 

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. 

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer." 

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?” 

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children. 

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less." 

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously. 

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?" 

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you. 

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much… 

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how. 

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune. 

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted. 

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin. 

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.” 

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss. 

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his. 

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!” 

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid. 

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck. 

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes. 

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?”  Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline. 

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled. 

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

[grimoireofhayley]

Hi! First time ever requesting anything! Any chance you could write Draco Malfoy x Reader arranged marriage? Preferably she/her pronouns P.s. loving your scream fanfic right now can’t wait for more chapters 🙏

The Betrothal

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Slow Burn, Language, Implied Smut, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Blood, Eventual Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Marriage 

Word Count: 0.8k

Summary: (Y/n) and Draco have always disliked each other; constant bickering back and forth between and during classes, nit picking about each other’s looks and interests; it only got worse when they were forced to marry. 

A/n: Thank you so much for my first ever request, I greatly appreciate that. It means the world to me. I love this prompt and I was quick to start writing it, lol. Let me know what you think!

CHAPTER I

“I will not tolerate it, Draco!” Lucius fumes, slamming his fist down on the chestnut-coloured desk. “For Merlin’s sake, you are 26 years old and are not married yet.” He scoffs, swiping his papers to the side, flaring his nostrils. “You are a pureblood.” Lucius limps around his bureau, his cane banging on the ground with each step he took, ignoring the frequent protests of his eldest and only son, Draco Malfoy. “I am old and nearly at my deathbed, I will not let this bloodline fail for the likes of you.” He snarls, taking out his handkerchief, coughing into it as copper-coloured phlegm coats the silk. 

Draco rubs the slope of his neck, rubbing at it, avoiding his father’s gaze. 

Lucius took heed at his son’s behaviour and he tsked, his now-white hair, falling at the sides.

Bringing his cane up, he hit the ground with a thud, causing a sharp sound to reiterate around the room. 

Taken aback, Draco stumbled in fear, his eyes glossing, but he wasn’t willing to cry, he wasn’t going to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him so vulnerable; his father scared him, yes, but he always had, however, his father seemed more volatile today than he was before.

“Are you listening to me, boy!?” He screeches, his face a shade of pink from anger. 

Draco nods his head, stepping back, fearing his father may hit him. 

“You WILL marry, (Y/n), and continue the bloodline. If it’s the last thing you do.” Lucius inches closer, his hand placing a firm grasp on Draco’s shoulder. His son trembled, squinting his eyes.

“Do you hear me, Draco?” 

“Y-Yes, father.” 

Lucius’ grip tightened, almost burrowing his elongated fingers into the blades of Draco’s glenohumeral joint. 

Draco winces, the pain sending a burning sensation through his arm. 

“Good.” Lucius’ lips curve upward, a cheshire smile taking ahold on his features. 

The door to the study creaks open, causing Lucius to jolt. He immediately let go of Draco and stood upright. 

“What is all the commotion?” Narcissa steps in, her long whitish-silver and black hair flowing behind her.

“Nothing, Mother. Father was just informing me about the…” Draco clears his throat, adjusting his tie, then flattens his suit, “The arrangement…” 

“Ah, how wonderful.” She clasps her hands together, delighted to hear the news, completely oblivious to what was happening beforehand. 

--

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You growled under your breath, folding your arms over one another, tapping your foot, seemingly aggravated at the news. 

“It’s going to be fine, (N/n).” Your mother smiled, putting an arm around you, hugging you close. “Draco seems like a decent betrothal.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Decent?” You laugh, amused. “He’s far from decent, momma, he’s the complete opposite.” 

“How so?” Your mother glances at you, her emerald hues glazed with curiosity. 

You frowned, seeing how her reaction was.

“Oh, it’s nothing…” You twiddled with your thumbs, “Just forget about it…” You sighed, looking down, kicking at air, not wanting to soil your mothers happiness as you got lost in your head.

You haven’t seen Draco in several years, not since the battle of Hogwarts, though, you couldn’t help but wonder how he’s been doing.

(Y/n), dear, you okay?” Your mother shakes you slightly, deterring you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine..." You look away, averting your gaze.

Your mother smiles, a mischievous glimmer in her expression.

"Good because you're getting married tomorrow."

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

NAH NO ABSOLUTELY NOT TELL MEEE TEEEELLLLL MEEEEEEE WHY I WAS PEACEFULLY SCROLLING TIKTOK AND I SEE ONE COMMENT SECTION FLOOODEEDDD WITH SHIT LIKE "astoria greengrass hate club lol" "astoria haters ⬇️⬇️⬇️" "I can't stand astoria" WHAAATTT WHAT THE FUUCCKK WHAT ARE YOU EVEN ACTUALLY FUCKING TALKING ABOUY WHTA THE VBGAGSJSLW I CANNOT EVEN COMPREHEND WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE ON ABOUT IM GONNA FUCKINGFHFHFJFUFKM WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEEAAANN SHUT THE FYCK UPP OH MY GOD WHAT WHAT DID SHE EVER DO?????

anywayz number one astoria greengrass defender love her so much I will skin your whole body with my teeth if you try and fuck with her that is MY GIRL <3<3<3

[followtheleider]

Help please! I lost track of an AO3 Drarry Fanfic. The first chapter involved the OotP/Wizarding World and Voldemort coming to a truce, and Harry marrying Draco as a Symbol of Peace. Add in one-night public marriage consumation with Virgin Harry that leads to Harry basically living by himself in a wing of Malfoy Manor.

Neglected, Hurt, Angry and Lonely, Harry only sees a house elf that hates him for a long time. (There's a scene where Harry asks for Galleons to through over the balcony, and the House Self says that he ,"was being facetious.") Eventually, Harry gets sick, can't eat the spicy food and is hiding in a closet. The House Elf gets Draco to help Harry. Draco realizes that Harry is pregnant. (not ABO, just magical secondary genders) Naturally, Harry had no idea that this was a possibility.

Featuring pissy and petty Lucius, semi-decent Narcissa, regretful Draco realizing he has FUCKED UP, and a Harry who is tired of the morning sickness and everyone's bullshit. Plus vindictive Parkinson or Greengrass who was ready to become Draco's Mistress to provide a "Malfoy Heir" who is no longer needed (or wanted) by Draco since Harry apparently has the Heir Department covered. I really really really would be grateful if someone knew where it was or where it went!

[aniimamundi]

Married to a Brute Chapter 2 now up!

"So, did you read Night Terrors? Howlingoblin’s latest Golazar that I owled you?"

"Uhhh....yeah."

"Did the snake part absolutely blow your mind?"

"Yeah…yeah the snake. That snake killed so many people."

"Killed so many people?? What are you talking about? The only snake part in the whole story is when Sal has tied up Godric spread-eagled on his bed and then he commands the snake in parseltongue to....you know.."

Gregory looked a bit green in the face.

"How did you miss that part? That story is famous for that part."

"Actually Draco, I've been reading Golga fics lately. I really like those."

Draco was gobsmacked. "Golga? Surely you don't mean Godric and Helga Hufflepuff!"

His instinct was to savagely make fun of that pairing because who even read Golga fics?? There was no contention, no dilemma, nothing to make the plot interesting. Godric and Helga probably just held hands and skipped around a field of daisies with a litter of crups on their heels. He managed to temper himself though. Gregory's friendship was important to him and he didn't want to hurt his feelings. He didn't want to be like Pansy, coldly dismissing what your friends said.

"Oh!" he remarked, "But...isn't that...you know..boring?"

Gregory's face had lit up. "No. They're really sweet, and romantic. Plus, Golazar fics are so dark. I feel really uncomfortable reading those.”

“What do you mean?”

Greg looked a bit scared, so Draco tempered his expression. “What do you mean?” he repeated in a sweeter voice.

“It’s just..the last three stories you sent me had Salazar holding Godric prisoner in a dungeon and manipulating him into having sex.”

“That’s just one type of stories. I thought you liked those. There’s all sorts of Golazar fics. There’s one in which Sal sacrifices his life to save Godric and Godric only realizes after he’s dead. It’s a real tearjerker. I’ll owl you that one.”

Gregory was avoiding eye contact and looking guilty. “I’ve tried others but they all have a dark vibe. It makes me feel weird.”

He was beginning to feel offended. “Well it’s just fiction. You don’t have to be so judgmental about it.”

“No Draco No! I’m not being judgmental. I’ve always thought you had great taste. It’s just not for me personally. Honestly, I can see the appeal of the ship though. It’s so intense. It’s like you and Potter.”

Draco felt himself go red in the face. He gave an embarrassed laugh. “No it’s not. Godric and Sal are friends to enemies to lovers. Potter and I were never friends. And now we’re…we’re just enemies.”

“Golazar isn’t real though, but you’re going to marry Potter,” replied Gregory, sincerely, without any hint of irony.

[octopussoap]

Dramione marriage law AU —update

Draco swallows, stepping closer to her. “Tell me something, Granger. Anything, as long as it’s true.”

[weeklydrarryficrecs]

You'll Still Find Stone by flightinflame

Summary:

Draco had to marry Potter to stay out of Azkaban. Narcissa told him he’d be safer there. But he doesn’t  know what Potter expects from him - this marriage is nothing like he had been prepared for. Potter’s acting kindly, and he knows it’s all a trick. He’s just about coping, but trying to keep Potter happy becomes more important than ever when he realises he’s carrying the man’s child.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 42,536

Link to Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38211916/chapters/95469379

My Thoughts: A very sweet fic!!! I really enjoyed seeing a loving, tender, and sometimes awkward Harry. Draco is also quite soft, and I was pleasantly surprised by how fluffy the story became. This is certainly a good Drarry fic for mpreg lovers.

[iliveonteaandbooks]

please help

guys...

im looking for a draco malfoy x reader arranged marriage series

i cannot remember the name

but i do remember the reader loves plants😊

i believe it's also a slow burn

please help me find it 🙏

thank you!❤️

[oh-my-bindery]

I imagine Draco would scream sing to ‘Guilty As Sin” by Taylor Swift, whilst showering and thinking about Harry.

[thelashjedi]

you’re safe with me

Dramione | Completed | 4.7K words

Also available on AO3! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43323165

As quietly as possibly, Hermione crept inside the library at Malfoy Manor. It was as good a place as any for to catch her metaphorical breath, before she’d need to plaster on a fake smile and rejoin the ball — to keep up appearances. Maybe she could find the book on the origins of arithmancy Draco mentioned the last time they were here?  Hermione doubted she’d be back at the Manor any time soon, if ever. Not after this evening has gone exactly as she’d feared, To her great surprise, despite her fraught wartime history, the Manor had somehow become one of her favourite places in the world, with the exception of one permanently sealed drawing room. But alas, Malfoy Manor had once again become ground too dangerous for Hermione Granger to tread, though this time the reasons for it were vastly different.

Hermione idly fiddled with her beaded bag, wondering if the Malfoys would even notice if just one of their many books went missing for a bit. Probably not. She would return it later by owl, of course. 

Making her way to her favourite spot in the back corner, Hermione was surprised to find Draco Malfoy collapsed in one of the wing-backed chairs, a hand wearily rubbing his eyes, the other gripped tightly around an empty glass, notes of firewhisky lingering in the air. He hadn’t noticed her.

Recovering as best she could in the circumstance, Hermione deliberately kept her voice light. “Malfoy? Why on Earth are you hiding in the library? This is your Engagement Ball. Shouldn’t you be out there accepting the fawning praise of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for doing your part to keep the Malfoy family tree as devoid of branches as possible?”

Her voice startled him, causing Draco to look momentarily panicked. Though he regained his customary smirk so quickly, perhaps it was only  her imagination. Or a trick of the dim light. 

“Ha, Granger. Very droll. As a point of clarification, this is my Betrothal Ball, nothing to do with an engagement. And secondly —“ Draco sighed deeply. “Fuck. I just need a break from it all, you know?”

Hermione blinked. She knew. After all, that’s precisely why she was here, but it was conveying to see Draco struggling when he ought to be celebrating the ostensibly happy news. “I do. And you’re safe with me, Auror Malfoy. As always.”

Her partner made a non-committal noise, as he put his empty glass on the side table. The reality of her presence caught up with him and his gaze sharpened. “Why are you here, Granger?”

Hermione laughed softly, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with him, full stop and she especially did not want to have it now. “Well, Ron’s not accepting the end of our relationship as well as I’d hoped. He’s out their hitting the champagne pretty hard, whilst making eyes at me. Seemed like a good idea to hide out for a bit.” 

Technically, everything she’d said was true, but only to a point. It was Hermione’s own inability to stop staring at the future bride’s left hand that prompted her to seek refuge somewhere else. If Ron had been her only issue, she could have drawn on a wealth of experience to simply endure it. But being forced to confront the reality of a future where she would never get what — who — she wanted? That proved to be too much.

Draco snorted. “Really, Grange — the library? It’s your natural habitat. If you wanted to hide almost anywhere else in the Manor would be better than — wait. Did you say the end of your relationship?”

Briefly wondering how much firewhisky he’d had, Hermione plastered that bloody fake smile back on, responding in a falsely bright tone. “Um, yes. Ron and I broke up.”

It was Draco’s turn to blink. He sat silently for a moment, his thinking face — the one he adopted when they were working on a case together — firmly in place. Then he rose from his chair, standing before her, his eyes boring into her own. “When?”

Hermione tried — and bloody failed — to sound breezy. “Oh, late last month.” 

Malfoy Heir to wed Miss Astoria Greengrass. 

The headline in the Daily Prophet, accompanied by a photo of Draco next to a smiling, beautiful, perfect pureblood witch screamed at Hermione from the front page. She felt as though all the air left her flat, leaving her underwater, unable to  her breathe as her carefully crafted illusions about her own feelings disappeared into the ether the very instant she realised she was too late. It was only then Hermione registered just how deeply she was in denial over the extent of feelings for the pale wizard who was definitely not just her co-worker, no matter how many times she’d angrily shouted at otherwise at Ron.

Draco’s expression was inscrutable as he studied her face. “Before or after my betrothal was announced?”

The question was so prescient Hermione did not have her features schooled enough to prevent her jaw from dropping a fraction. She made a hasty correction, though Draco’s narrowed eyes told her she wasn’t quick enough, blast him. “What? That’s not — Malfoy. That has nothing to do —”

“Granger.” Her name was an interruption and a plea. 

Unable to pretend any longer, Hermione sighed. “After.”

“Why?” Draco asked in a pained whisper.

“Ron and I were never right for each other — okay? Not really. But when my close friend and partner getting engaged sent me into an emotional tailspin, it really didn’t seem fair to Ron to keep pretending otherwise. Not after assuring him for years I only admired you as a colleague, because we got along so well and we had such a good working relationship.” Keeping her gaze on her shoes, Hermione blinked back tears. “To be fair, I didn’t realise I was lying to him until it was too late.”

Draco’s bitter laugh prompted her to look up and she took in the stunned disbelief in his grey eyes, as well as the undercurrent of anger. Her heart broke just a little bit more.

Hermione swallowed. “I don’t find this particularly funny, Draco. And I think I should just go home.”

“Oh no you don’t, Granger. “ Draco grabbed her wrist, pulling her close as he pressed her hand over his heart, his eyes blazing into hers. “I only agreed to this damned betrothal because you were still bafflingly with that unworthy tosser and I couldn’t bear to continually hope you’d eventually see that he wasn’t right for you. That you’d eventually see me.”

Hermione blinked back tears, unsuccessfully trying to pull away from Draco’s grip, overwhelmed by his intensity and nearness. “I always saw you, Draco. But I never thought you’d see me as anything more than what we already were.” Unable to look at him, she used her free hands to point in the direction of the ballroom, where his betrothed was currently holding court and Draco flinched, dropping her hand. Summoning her resolve, Hermione spoke again, the words like ash on her tongue. “Given our inability to effectively communicate,I will be requesting to be transferred out of Magical Law Enforcement. The Unspeakables still try to recruit me a couple of times a year — I’ll see if I can move there.”

“No.” He looked stricken, his voice pa whisper as he shook his head.

Hermione’s voice broke. “Draco, working with you the past three years has been hard enough. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing it now.”

“You think it’s been hard for you? I’ve watched the only witch I’ve ever loved be with someone who takes her for granted, does not appreciate her and has the unmitigated gall to incessantly complain about her to me whenever I’ve been forced to speak with him.”

“Ron was likely trying to convince you I wasn’t a very good girlfriend because he was jealous of us — of our working relationship, I mean. We fought about it constantly, Malfoy.”

“And his way of coping was to try to diminish you at every opportunity?”

“Oh lay off of him, Malfoy! He’s not the one who spent the entire time being in love with someone else.”

 Draco’s mouth was on hers before the last syllable left her lips, quickly swallowing her startled gasp. One hand cradled her chin as the other pulled her hips flush against his and Hermione whimpered, losing herself in the feel of his tongue gliding against hers as her body pressed into him. Her blood sang as she grabbed fistfuls of his robe, desperate to pull him closer still — the years of unspoken, mutual longing becoming thoroughly unmasked with the worst fucking timing. She stiffened, as she recalled why she was at the Manor in the first place. 

As if hit with the same  realisation, Draco abruptly let her go. She instantly stepped back — keeping more than an arm’s width away as they stared at each other, panting.

Draco spoke first, his words full of quiet desperation. “I can get out of it, Granger. If you’ll have me.”

Hermione’s heart clenched. “I feel really bad about that for her sake, but not so bad I’m willing for us both to be perpetually miserable over it. I was having a hard enough time when I thought it was just me. How badly will your parents react?” 

As far as Hermione was concerned, this was an open question. Over the past few years, she’d become far closer to the Malfoys than she would’ve ever dreamed possible. Narcissa was quite fond of her, frequently insisting they take tea together — just the two of them as Draco was deliberately not invited. She ate dinner with the family once or twice a month. While it took longer for Lucius to come around on her, he had reluctantly admitted she was just as talented and capable as his son, even though it clearly pained him to say the words aloud. Hermione harboured secret affection for the still somewhat vainglorious older man— particularly after l realising he was too much like his son for her to ever truly dislike. But the elder Malfoys acceptance of her was in her role as Draco’s partner at the DMLE — a role where she frequently saved his life. There was an enormous gulf between accepting Muggle-born Hermione Granger as their son’s colleague or even close friend, and accepting Muggle-born Hermione Granger permanently into their family, particularly when such acceptance would ultimately end the Malfoy family’s status as a purebloods. 

It had not been lost on Hermione that outwardly both of Draco’s parents appeared delighted at the prospect of Astoria Greengrass becoming the future Lady Malfoy — something that hurt Hermione more than she’d expected, even when she has no right to that pain.

“I do not fucking care.” Draco’s voice was iron. “And for what it’s worth, this is a love match for Astoria either. It’s a business arrangement made by our respective families. I’m not saying she’ll be happy about it. But I won’t be breaking anyone’s heart.”

Oh. That was a relief. Hermione chewed her lip. “How long?”

“Tomorrow — by the end of day. I’d do it tonight, but that seems unnecessarily cruel.”

“Right.” Hermione thought quickly, her mind still reeling from the kiss and the fact she’d just admitted out loud she loved him. Although assuming she hadn’t misheard, Draco technically declared his love first. “I’m going home and I will stay there for the rest of the weekend. My floo will be closed to everyone who isn’t you. If I don’t hear from you by Sunday, I will put in my transfer request at the Ministry on Monday morning.”

“You will hear from me, Granger. You have my word. I intend to tell my parents tonight.”

“Tell her first.” Hermione blurted out the words before she could stop herself, apprehension working its way up her spine.

Draco was nonplussed. “Why? Honestly, Granger, as I said the entire thing was arranged by our parents anyway. They’ll have to be involved.”

“Tell her first and have someone else you trust —  like Theo — with you when you tell your parents.”

“Hermione, I don’t —“

Her fears overtook her and she cut him off. “Every time your parents have invited me to dinner over the past six months, Lucius has been unsubtle in telling me he expects you to wed soon. Then at the office, you’ve been telling me about how much they were pressuring you into accepting a betrothal arrangement that you said you didn’t want. I’m not accusing him of anything, truly — but while I can most likely live with you deciding to proceed with your existing betrothal, not without some assurance it was your decision in truth.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as he grasped her meaning. “Point taken. I don’t think Father would do that, Granger. But I also don’t feel certain enough to say he’d never do it. So some precautions wouldn’t hurt. I’ll speak with Theo before he leaves tonight.” Draco tucked a curl behind her ear as he spoke, before leaning forward — clearly intent on kissing her again, stopping when he felt her hand pushing him back.

“Draco, I feel enough guilt over the earlier admittedly bloody amazing kiss, especially seeing how your Betrothal Ball is still on-going as we speak. To say nothing of how bad I feel about the emotional affair I didn’t quite realise I was having while still with Ron.” 

Hermione had already been tempted to beg him to shag her against the bookshelves during visits to this part of the library. And that was while she was still trying to convince herself constantly thinking about the wizard before her was merely an idle fantasy that wasn’t hurting anyone. She had no confidence in her ability to resist sharing that desire if he kissed her like that again. “I’m going to leave now, before I do more things I regret. But I expect I to see you soon, Malfoy.”

“You will, Granger. I promise.” 

Seized by hope and terror in equal measure, Hermione nodded, managing a small smile before apparating out of the Manor and into her tiny, darkened flat. Only then did she allow the floodgates to open, sliding to the floor as she wept, not even attempting to sort out which of her tangled emotions prompted the tears. 

——————————————————————————————

When her floo roared to life the next evening, Hermione’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. Instinctively hiding her chewed nails, she frantically tamped down the blossoming surge of hope inside her before she has unambiguous confirmation from Draco.  What if he was only coming over to let her know in person that he’d reconsidered?

So when Draco strode directly towards her from the fireplace and kissed as intensely as he had the night before, her soul cried out in relief. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, frantically pulling him, needing him as close as possible. 

After a long moment, he pulled back to look at her, palpable relief etched across Draco’s own features as he stroked her back. Seemed as though he’d also worried she might reconsider. 

“It’s done. Everyone knows. The Greengrasses are not happy, but as it turns out, Astoria wasn’t particularly upset. Especially not after I insisted the settlement for breaking the betrothal go to her and not her parents. Seems like she prefers independence over a marriage to me in any event.”

Well there was an unexpected balm for her conscience, but Hermione didn’t really care about Astoria Greengrass, not that she relished the thought of the witch being hurt. But she didn’t know the witch. 

Narcissa and Lucius were another story. They’d become dear to her and she was terrified about what their reactions might be. “And your parents?” she asked, unable to hid her nervousness.

So she was taken aback when Draco’s eyes lit up with joy. He coughed, attempting — poorly — to hide a smirk. “About that. I have a letter for you from my father.”

Her nerves were stil on high alert as she opened the sealed parchment with trembling hands, frowning as she took in Draco’s poorly concealed grin.

My dear Miss Granger, 

You wound me. After my concerted effort to welcome you into my ancestral home and indeed into our lives, you truly believe me to be capable of acting against my son’s wishes in matters of the heart? For shame, Miss Granger. For shame.

Since my efforts on this front also managed to escape my son’s notice, I will spell it out plainly for you here, just as I had to for Draco in person. I told you I expected my son to wed soon for the very same reason I told him he must either make his own choice or accept a betrothal from his parents. Namely, so you foolish children would realise you are perfect for each other and act accordingly! 

Do not misunderstand me. Astoria Greengrass is a fine witch and she has left Malfoy Manor with more galleons than her parents would have ever deigned to give her and my heartfelt felicitations. But Miss Granger had the match proceeded, she would have been a consolation prize to more than just Draco. 

My dear, after seeing first-hand the lamentable consequences of attempts to force my choices on Draco, I want nothing more than for you to marry my son and make him happy, as I (ahem) was always aware that you are in fact, his choice. I have loved none but my dearest Narcissia, but that is only because the fates smiled on me when I did not deserve it. Draco, however, deserves the world. Seeing as you are his world, I was compelled to act to see him happily settled with you at his side, permanently.

(As an aside, I think it uncouth for me to point out that no one — such as yourself — worthy of a Malfoy ought to be saddled with a Weasley. Further, I fear it would also be uncouth for me to discuss how often I pondered why a witch happy in her ‘relationship’ would spend so much of her limited free time in the home of her ‘colleague’ dining with his parents — occasionally doing so even when my son was unavailable, and Narcissa and I were blessed to have you all to ourselves. One might forgive me for assuming it meant you enjoyed our company. But I digress and as I do not wish to be uncouth, I will say neither of those things.)

While I must confess that your doubt has caused me some genuine hurt, in truth it is only a small injury to my pride and this letter is perhaps more harsh than the injury itself justifies. Narcissa and I are overjoyed the pair of you have finally, as I understand Muggles say, “gotten your shite together” and I expect (and in truth demand) to see even more of you at the Manor than we have in the past. All of the denizens of Malfoy Manor have missed you terribly over the past month — with Bunny left especially bereft by your absence. (In time, I hope you can forgive yourself for hurting a house elf. If it helps, I do not believe she intends to hold a grudge.)

For the sake of moving forward as a family, I will admit that given my history, your caution to Draco that he ought to involve Theo when telling us of his intentions was wise. One might even go so far as to describe it as a cunning choice on your part. (You know my dear, despite how often you claim your hat-stall was between those abominable do-gooders and Ravenclaw, your evasiveness on questioning has led me to wonder if Slytherin actually had the next best claim on you. If you confess this to me, all will be forgiven and I will forget you ever suspected me capable of treachery when in truth I only had the very best of fatherly intentions towards you both.)

I expect to see you both at the Manor soon. We intend to proceed with wedding planning, far more joyously now the correct bride is in place. (Narcissa tells me it would not be appropriate to have a second betrothal ball and was not swayed in the slightest when I pointed out it would actually be the first ever Malfoy Engagement Ball. I do hope your heart wasn’t set on that my dear, as I have reluctantly acceded my wife’s better judgement in this regard.) I have instructed my son to ask you himself properly, in the Muggle fashion. The ring belonged to my mother, who would have adored you had she lived in a world where meeting you was possible. Do not fret about the heirloom, it suits you — just as you are. 

By now, Miss Granger, I hope you realise you have stolen the hearts of all the Malfoys. Please take care with them — for though we have a well-earned reputation for ferocity in most matters, our hearts are unaccustomed to the fray and thus, more fragile than you might expect. If it helps, pretend we are similar to house elves and treat us accordingly. (Of course, except for the time you ignored Bunny for a month. None of us could withstand such cruelty from a loved one.)

Narcissa and I love our son very much, and while he is in no way deficient, I must confess we always longed for a daughter. We are waiting for you, my dear. And please be merciful with Draco — as the cleverest among us, he was the first to recognize your true worth and has therefore been waiting for you the longest.

With great love and affection, 

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

P.S., Turn around.

Feeling dazed, Hermione did as the letter bade. She was at turns bewildered, amused, mildly irritated and deeply touched by the words written by Lucius Malfoy. So utterly engrossed by the parchment in her hands, that Hermione hadn’t noticed Draco getting down on one knee. 

He held out a ring — a simple one by Malfoy standards. A reasonably sized emerald, set with smaller diamonds on either side. Lucius was right, it did suit her — far better than the ridiculously enormous diamond which had graced Astoria’s finger the night before, a ring Hermione simultaneously loathed and deeply coveted. 

Over the years, she had witnessed Draco in all manner of precarious situations. Their line of work was dangerous and as partners they had been frequently been in peril together. She was struck by how odd it was — to see fear on his face for first time since she’d acceded to Robards unenthusiastic plea for her to accept Draco as her partner, a request only made after the rest of the department had already refused. Strange to realized she could be the one provoke that fear, especially when she loved him so. 

Draco exhaled before speaking, his voice clear as his eyes never left hers. “Hermione. If this feels too sudden, I’ll tell Father he can go hang and I will wait until you are ready. But you should know I’m not asking because he or Mother or anyone else wants me to. I want to, Granger — me. I want to know you are finally mine. In fact, I want the whole world to know you are mine. Because you — Hermione Jean Granger — you and no one else, are my choice. Now and always.”

Hermine bit her lip, nodding at him as tears slid freely down her cheeks — waiting.

Draco’s anxiety disappeared and his eyes filled with tears as well as the most beautiful smile she’d ever witnessed graced his face. “Hermione, will you marry me?”

“Yes. Of course I will, yes.”

She would have said more, but she was back in Draco’s embrace too quickly and her ability to speak was hindered for a long time thereafter — not that she was complaining. When they finally separated, clothing in disarray and ring on her finger, Hermione took a few minutes to respond to her future father-in-law. After she sent off her owl, Hermone dragged her fiancee into her bedroom without a word — not that he had any complaints either. 

Once there, Draco set upon her like a man possessed, quickly divesting her of everything that wasn’t her engagement ring as he explained in detail exactly how he intended to fulfil every fantasy he had about her over the past three years. Seeing howthey were more or less the same fantasies Hermione had about him, she was more than happy to oblige. 

Happy coincidence, that. 

——————————————————————————————

Lucius Malfoy sat in his study at Malfoy Manor, immensely pleased with himself for finally getting his oblivious children on the right path. He was in the midst of his second self-congratulatory glass of firewhisky when an unfamiliar owl interrupted his reverie.Lucius’s curiosity already piqued and it only  l grew on further inspection, when he discovered the letter was charmed so it could only be opened and read by himself. Quickly confirming there were no dark spells at play, Lucius opened the envelope and began to read.

 My Dearest Lucius,

If you don’t irrevocably and unequivocally forgive me for my unintentional slight to you (as well as promise to never bring the matter up again in the future) I will convince Draco to elope with me within the month. Further, I will — with copious tears in my eyes —  tell Narcissa that your letter is what pushed me to do so, thus laying the blame for depriving her of the opportunity to throw us a lavish wedding squarely at your feet. 

 However, should you graciously accept my terms without fuss (ahem), not only will I enthusiastically allow Narcissa to plan our wedding, I promise on the occasion of our tenth wedding anniversary I will tell you the unabridged version of my initial encounter with the sorting hat. Between us both, I do not think you will be disappointed by the tale. 

Choose wisely.

Affectionately,

The Future Mrs. Hermione Granger-Malfoy

P.S.

I look forward to receiving your reply by the end of business on Friday; failing which, I will be forced to put my alternative plans in motion. 

P.P.S. 

Having said that, please do not feel like you have to rush your decision on my account. For the next few days at least, Draco and I expect to be quite preoccupied.

P.P.P.S.

I love you too.

The very instant Lucius read the last word, Miss Granger’s letter burst into flame, vanishing in a puff of smoke which destroyed all evidence of her affectionate threats. No one was present to witness it, but the brief light from the fire illuminated an actual grin on the face of Lord Malfoy, the likes of which was only rarely seen by his wife. 

Lucius chuckled as he brought the firewhisky to his lips and took a hearty sip from the tumbler. Hermione Granger was going to fit in here beautifully. 

He fervently hoped any future grandchildren would have curls.

[magicalstevengames]

Love seeing stories about the Malfoys, where they're either

A. Hopelessly in love with each other and Draco, Dobby was an outlier and every other elf likes working there.

B. Absolute and complete villains, alternating between being obsessed with each other or a frosty arranged marriage.

C. Great friends but at least one side is extremely partial to their own gender and it's mostly a marriage of convince, spells and potions are what made Draco happen.

Always fun to find out which it is

Also the last option of "insert popular character is actually a malfoy! Dumbledore stole them!"

[dramioneasks]

Bluebird - xoxofiona777 - E, WIP - Hermione suffers from recurring dreams. They aren't explicitly bad dreams. They merely puzzle her, and bring a certain blurriness to the forefront of her mind that she can't seem to shake. Anything can trigger the dreams; a bluebird sighting out the window of her home, the grand Malfoy Manor, being the most frequent. Compiled with dreams of the boy with round glasses and an oddly shaped scar on his forehead, the bluebird taunts Hermione as she attempts to live a normal, acceptable life with her husband. She's happy, isn't she? She has a beautiful life...beautiful opportunity thanks to the Dark Lord's triumph. But Hermione's mind is too logical to accept that the dreams are simply that; dreams. She knows deep down that there is something more behind the bluebird, and when she inevitably discovers it, reality will never be the same.

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I KEEP GETTING RECOMMENDED SO MANY DRAMIONE TWEETS HELP

I don't understand where they're all cOMING FROOMM why do they all HATE ASTORIA WHAT DID MY GIRL DO TO YALL BFFR LEAVE HER ALONE 🗣🗣

[drarry-ficrecs-fanart]

Reading an arranged marriage fanfic and being like “wow, they really went all “lay back and think of England”, huh?”

Like??

[aniimamundi]

Married To A Brute Chapter 7

Excerpt:

“There will be a handfasting ceremony, as per most weddings. However, there will also be avowals which are more typical to traditional marriage bonds where one party submits to the other. Now Draco, we hate it as much as you will, but for Merlin's sake don't throw a fit over it. There's a part of the wedding for which Potter will be standing and you will be kneeling.”

There it was, the humiliation he had been dreading, yet expecting. The only thing that surprised him was the fact that it was being mentioned over lunch, and in mother's presence. Father's vacillation wasn't helping, and he decided to cut to the chase. 

“Will I be required to fellate him?”

Lucius Malfoy choked on his chicken. 

[cluelesspigeons]

This is written for the prompt ‘unconditional’ from @drarrymicrofic

Word count: 134

Drarry microfic: without conditions

Cw: mention of infidelity (but not between Harry & Draco)

“What happened to the unconditional love bit?” Astoria’s voice broke on the last words, her tears leaving dark stripes of mascara behind on her cheeks. “Didn’t we vow to each other to love unconditionally?”

Draco sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair. Though his wife was still standing in front of him, his thoughts were already with someone else. Someone with vibrant green eyes and hair so unruly it looked to be done on purpose. Someone he could love unconditionally. And that someone was currently waiting for him outside.

“I’m sorry, Astoria,” Draco said, his voice low and even. “This marriage has never been without conditions.” He paused, rolling the words he was about to say on his tongue. “It has never been my idea to get married to you to begin with.”

Prompt from October 11th

<< previous microfic

next microfic >>