Becoming

Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta for this chapter, Angel. So now that we know Harry's still planning to get married, let's see what Draco has to say about it. (Also, I've changed my profile image to something you all might find more appropriate...

Chapter 10 December 8th, 1999

Of all the idiotic situations I had gotten myself into over the years -and there have been more than I could reasonably count on both hands and feet- falling in love with Harry Bloody Potter had been the most asinine by far. If repairing the vanishing cabinets in sixth year and letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts had been a ten on the moronic scale, then thinking -even for a second- that I could have a life with Potter was a forty-two.

My final dinner with Luke had left my life in even worse shambles than before. The French Minister had deftly ignored my Owls of apology, which I had somewhat expected, and it pained me that I couldn't bring myself to care more. I mostly sent them out of guilt and formality more than actually missing him, though I did miss him. I missed having someone other than my mother to talk to and I missed having someone to share a bed with that might keep my nightmares about Potter at bay -not that it often worked. Luke probably thought I was deeply disturbed based on the amount of times I woke up shouting in my sleep. Nonetheless, I had never been in love with Luke, which I knew meant more than simply being incompatible. The man was nearly a god; if I couldn't fall in love with him I was relatively screwed.

It appeared my best option at this point might just be to marry a woman that I got on with so that at the very least I could produce an heir. A lovely son or daughter might take my mind off of those emerald eyes that still haunted my waking and sleeping hours. Surely I would love my child more than I had fallen for Harry? Even that option didn't appeal much however, simply because I wasn't actually friendly with any women and I knew better than to mention the idea to Mother for fear she would try and find a match among the daughters of her Garden Club or one of the other elite organizations she still belonged to. Thankfully most of the women in those clubs were also Slytherin widows or could at least sympathize with our family's plight. I would hate it if she had become as shunned in the Wizarding world as I had been.

I wasn't sure the best way to move forward, so my life came to an abrupt halt while I worried over what path to take next. I wasn't at a fork in the road, in fact I wasn't certain you could even call what I currently stood upon a road at all, it was more of a winding path made of sharp rocks and thorny plants that kept pricking my feet. There was no fork at the end of my treacherous path; it was just a dead end like an enormous brick wall was erected right where I wanted to go and no passage leading around it. I was most certainly in a rut, dragging myself from bed only when I could no longer stand the brightness of the sun streaming through the curtains, eating the minimum amount at mealtime to keep Mother happy and then retiring to bed where I allowed the darkness to claim me once more.

Every night I felt as if ribbons of despair were working their way around my body, covering me, strangling me until I was left choking for air and release. I desperately wanted out of their hold but I had no way of achieving that so long as thoughts of Harry continued to occupy my mind. The look on his face -a harsh mixture of disappointment and regret- as he left the restaurant all those weeks ago was the current image that haunted my dreams. I couldn't believe I had caused that look; I couldn't fathom the audacity of what I had done. Why was I unable to bow out like a gentleman? Why did I feel the yearning to make Harry as unhappy as he'd made me? I had ruined his engagement and I couldn't blame it entirely on the wine, although that would have been a welcome excuse. Instead I knew it was simply my own twisted fear of having to live without him after he showed me that brief glimpse of what it might be like to have someone like Harry love me.

Fretting and pining would get me nowhere; I was well aware of this fact, but couldn't seem to make myself heed my own advice. Mother had given me a deadline for wallowing, informing me that she wouldn't stand for a sulking boy who puttered around the house as if he were a ghost, and today was the cut off for said behavior. I had no idea as to what her punishment for disobeying would be, but I wasn't foolish enough to find out. Not only was my mother a fiercely clever witch, but she was also my only friend in the world at the moment and I dared not risk her wrath either way.

I actually woke up at a reasonable hour, early enough to take tea and scones with Mother before she left to run errands. Afterward I took a long walk in the snowy gardens and realized it had been the first time I'd stepped foot outside the house in days, perhaps even weeks. The sun felt good on my exposed skin, even though most of me was bundled under several layers of clothing. Invigorated, I decided to go out for lunch, maybe even brave the public in order to choose a Christmas gift for Mother from one of the shops in Diagon Alley.

The café I selected, a little place called Beatroot, was actually just outside Diagon Alley in Muggle London. Lunch went smoothly and though I drew some attention in my billowing black robes, it was by far better than the attention I sometimes got in Wizarding establishments. No one even looked up when I entered the Leaky, and I was able to pass through the secret wall with ease. Behind it was the bustling energy I had been missing for weeks by cooping myself up in Malfoy Manor.

Men and women donning cloaks of every imaginable color filled the streets, flitting from one building to the next with natural ease. All the stores were decorated elaborately with festive ornaments; there seemed to be an evergreen in every window and glittering banners over entry doors announced the close proximity of the holidays. I normally loved Christmas, and part of me still did, but knowing that this year would hold only a somber mother and son under an expensive and sparkling tree dwarfed only by the vast halls we lived in made me feel empty. I missed my father, his booming laughter would fill every corridor over Christmas, he loved to watch mother and I open gifts and drink eggnog by the fire -it was one of the few times I could count on him being in a pleasant mood, otherwise he was rather unpredictable with his emotions -or lack thereof.

Just thinking of my father made my heart ache for him. Mother would most likely go to see his body, vacantly staring out of his cell door, at some point over the holiday but I couldn't bear to see it, not after Harry took so many pains to keep me from it at his funeral. Thinking of Harry had been the wrong thing to do when depression already licked at my gut. I wasn't sure who I missed most, Harry or my own Father.

I took a deep breath and continued along the street, nodding politely to people as they passed and trying to hold my calm against some of the sneers and dirty looks I was given in return. It wouldn't do to cause a scene on the first day I reemerged from my self-imposed seclusion. The first place I stopped was Madam Primpernelle's for a few of the items I knew would be of practical use for Mother. She favored their moisturizing potions and hair glossing serum, so I picked out a few of those as well as a lovely perfume that smelled of berries and African vanilla. My journey continued on to Arcturus' Apothecary where I selected a few of the Potions ingredients I'd been running low on.

Overall it was panning out to be a pleasant trip, as nice as it could have been given I was alone, shopping for my singular Christmas gift recipient and continuously scowled at by other shoppers. Still, it was winter, my favorite season, and I was out of the Manor. Baby steps, I suppose. By the end of the day I had picked out a new set of silk robes for Mother, a jeweled wand holster to match and a beautiful antique necklace in icy blue tones that I knew would compliment her eyes. It wasn't until I stopped in at Flourish & Blotts that my world spun back into that dark despondency.

There on the sidewalk, before I was even able to enter the store, was a rack of usually mundane magazines. Every single one of them, no exception, was covering the Potter-Weasley wedding in the coming spring. It was horrid; Magical Architecture had a picture of the lopsided Burrow on the cover and an article on what improvements were being made to the home in preparation for the big day. Muggle News Weekly had a four page spread on what additional wards would be put in place to keep the Muggle population in ignorance of the large event and even Broom & Rider had an advertisement for the newest broom model -The Crimson HP- which was specifically designed as a gift for the groom and had a very limited number of units available.

News on the wedding was everywhere, but worst of all was Witch Weekly, which had a beaming Harry and Ginevra on the cover waving to an invisible audience. I nearly fell right there in the entry, suddenly bereft of air as I watched Harry smile, his green eyes twinkling, with his arm around his fiancé. I knew it was sick even as I did it, but some masochistic part of me picked up the periodical and quickly stuffed it into my coat pocket. I threw a sickle in the bin, more than enough to cover the cost of the flimsy magazine and Apparated home with a sharp pop.

I immediately sequestered myself in my private quarters and flipped through the glossy pages in a frenzy to locate the article. Information about the 'event of the century' could be seen on nearly every page but I saw that there was an interview with the groom and I desperately wanted to read it. I knew it was far too much to hope for to see him mention me in the plain black script, but part of me wanted to know that he still thought of me. I was sure Ginevra wouldn't have forgiven Harry for his trespasses, but it just went to show how charming Harry could be and how magnanimous his future wife apparently was. Perhaps they were better suited for one another than I had thought.

Page sixty-two gave me what I sought and I slumped further into my chair when I saw a picture of Harry looking tousled and offering a slightly uncomfortable smile. He looked so vulnerable that I wanted to reach into the article to pull him safely into my arms -but then he would probably feel equally uncomfortable there with me, so instead I just started to read.

Harry James Potter, known all over the world for his part in ridding our citizens of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has officially announced the date for his impending marriage to one Ginevra Molly Weasley. We've known about their engagement for months and rumors recently circulated that the wedding had been canceled, but it appears all the speculation was false.

WW: Our readers would like to know, Mr. Potter, how did you manage to choose Miss Weasley from the hundreds of suitors I'm sure were lining outside your door?

HP: She's one of my best friends. It was a natural choice.

WW: Is there any truth to the rumors that your fiancé called things off several weeks ago?

HP: Every couple fights. I'm sure something was just taken out of context.

WW: What was the aforementioned fight about?

HP: That's quite personal. Just suffice it to say that everything is smoothed out and the wedding will go off without a hitch.

WW: You sound very confident, are you really? No cold feet?

HP: Something very important happened a few weeks ago and I realized that there was no need to stress over my decision. I'm confident in my choice to marry Ginny, now more than ever.

WW: Fair enough. Now let's talk details, who are you having cater the event?

The interview droned on in the same manner for nearly three pages. The interviewer would ask a question about the wedding, most of which Harry couldn't answer, and then she would drum up more mundane questions to ask. I felt a chill at Harry's words, even in print they seemed to burrow straight through to my core, making me nauseated and slightly dizzy.

I sent Harry over the edge. Was it really possible? Could Harry have been teetering, unsure of marrying Ginny? But then of course in true Malfoy form, I come along and shove him in the wrong direction, straight into Ginevra's open arms. I was such an idiot. I was a loudmouth prat and I would pay for it the rest of my life.

"Tea, Master Draco," squeaked a small voice behind me, pulling me from berating myself. I turned to see Lugo, one of our House Elves standing in the doorway with a large silver tray.

"Thanks," I muttered. "You can put it over there," I added, gesturing to a small table near where I sat.

The House Elf did as instructed and hurried from the room. They had all been terrified of my Father's wrath, and apparently saw Lucius' same coldness when they looked upon me. I couldn't blame them really, he was ghastly to them all, but at the same time it gave me a pang of longing for my lost Father. I would relish even a heated argument with him now, anything really. He wasn't the best man, not even the best Father by any stretch of the term, but I loved him more dearly than I ever thought possible before the day they marched him to the front of that prison for his public execution. Now my father's death was closely associated in my mind with Harry's strong yet trembling hands, which only served to symbolize another kind of death for me.

With a sigh I pulled myself from the cozy chair I had been occupying, and padded over to the tea. I could use the fragrant warmth flowing down my throat to comfort my otherwise cold body. Not cold from the weather, though the temperature in the Manor was actually cooler than normal today, but cold from the emptiness I held within my body. Lying next to the sterling tea set was a stack of scrolls and parchments, all addressed to Lord Draco Malfoy. After I poured the tea I grabbed the stack of mail and went back to my chair, flipping through the documents distractedly. An invoice for my latest purchase at Elbadora Threads, an advert for that blasted broom I had seen on the cover of Broom & Rider that afternoon and loads of other rubbish that I incinerated right off, all until I reached the end.

The last item was a pristine white envelope with lacy detail. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly and took a deep breath before letting it out with a shudder. It couldn't possibly be what I thought; Harry wouldn't be so insensitive would he? After a few minutes debate I slid my thumb beneath the seal and pulled out the translucent white card inside.

You are invited to take part in the most happy occasion of the marriage between

Harry James Potter & Ginevra Molly Weasley.

The ceremony will take place at the Burrow on March 19th at Midnight, followed by the reception.

Formal Wizarding Attire Required.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even think straight enough to form the motions it would take to begin breathing. What the hell was that man thinking sending me an invitation to his wedding? How vindictive, how spiteful, how infuriating! What did he intend to do, wave at me from the altar right before he kissed his bride? What was the arse playing at?

I screamed. I hadn't even known it was happening until my throat began to protest, but a long guttural cry escaped my lips as I shouted my fury and sorrow along with all the other confusing emotions I'd been bottling up, out into the stagnant air of my room. I'm not sure how long I screamed, but it must have been loud enough to send my Mother into a panic. I quieted when I saw her in the doorway looking frazzled and generally unwell.

"Draco, love, what's wrong?" she asked, moving at once to my side as she checked my forehead for fever.

I merely thrust the invitation into her hand and she skimmed it briefly before pulling me close. "I'm ever so sorry, dear," she cooed softly. "Perhaps there was a mistake. Your name may have made it to the guest list before he had an opportunity to delete it."

It was reasonable, but I didn't buy that for a moment. Harry knew how I felt about him; he knew that I wanted to be with him. I spitefully attempted to ruin his engagement at dinner that night and this was apparently how he returned the favor. An eye for an eye, heart for a heart. "I'm certain it was purposeful," I replied bitterly. I could feel it emanating from the card as if the magical signature on the item wanted to ensure I would receive it.

"I'll be fine," I sighed, knowing what she wanted to ask me but knew better to say aloud. "I just need to be alone for a moment."

"As you wish, Son. I'm always here if you need me," Narcissa replied easily. She was used to the solitary existence of the Manor, even before Father died he was distant and I was almost always in school, but I still felt guilty for sending her away so abruptly. I couldn't break down in front of her though; I couldn't let anyone see, not even my own mother, how torn to shreds I was over a tiny scrap of pretty parchment.

"Are you going?" she asked softly from the doorway.

"I can't," I sobbed, nearly choking from trying and failing to keep the emotion out of my voice. "I can't watch him marry her. I can't watch him marry anyone else."

Part of me wanted to go, wanted to show Potter a strong face, prove that he couldn't hurt me, but it would be a waste. My countenance was not so strong that I could hold my indifferent mask in place under his careful scrutiny. Father would consider that a failure, Mother would think I was stronger for it, and I didn't know whom to agree with. I so desperately wished that I could summon the icy exterior of Lucius Malfoy and waltz into that ceremony and applaud the bride and groom, but I knew I was far weaker than him. I would crumble and Potter would know that he had won.

"Life is unexpected, Son. I know this better than most, but I feel this isn't the end of your journey toward love, Draco," she assured me. I could only hope she was wrong. More than ever I just wanted to bottle myself up and keep everyone at a distance. If a broken heart felt this wretched then I wouldn't live through it happening a second time.

Author's Note: So, I know a few of you already have hunches as to where the invite came from, some are correct and others not so much, although I'm curious to hear what the rest of you think.