Somewhere, wedding bells were ringing

Somewhere, wedding bells were ringing.

Somewhere, wedding bells were ringing.

Draco stared moodily at the cup of coffee before him. Damn Muggles couldn't get anything right. He tasted it again but couldn't bring himself to drink it. Instant coffee. Disgusting. Didn't they realise that someone of his status would only drink coffee freshly ground from the finest beans available? A quick glance round the Soho café made it clear that instant coffee was a luxury. Oh well, he had chosen the are based on the fact that his father would never set foot in Muggle London and would certainly never be seen in this particular area.

It wasn't fair, he told himself, it just wasn't bloody fair. Here he was, pretending to be a bloody Muggle, hiding from his father and everyone he knew, and all because of a stupid girl.

He didn't want to get married next week. Especially not to her. Arranged marriages were so medieval - shouldn't he be given in choice in who he married? He was only twenty-one after all...why should he have to be forced into it? Why couldn't his father let him make his own choices?

The door tinkled as it opened and familiar footsteps crossed the floor. Draco didn't look up; he'd know that tread anywhere. Damn. The chair opposite creaked as someone sat in it, and Draco could feel a gaze boring into him.

"Instant coffee? Why on earth are you drinking instant coffee?"

Draco shivered slightly at the voice. Warm and lightly teasing. Any misery or anger carefully filtered out.

"It's taken me weeks to track you down. No-one else even thought of looking for you here. Your father's spitting feathers - there are a dozen spells primed to locate you the minute you use your wand."

"I'm not using magic," Draco muttered sullenly.

"Obviously. It took me a while to figure out that you would be using a false name, just in case. I spent hours traipsing round the Muggle hotels, asking after a tall young man with pale hair and silver eyes." The chair creaked again and there was a snort. "And then finally, the girl at the White Lion told me that yes, there was someone staying of that description."

Another snort and a bark of laughter.

"Drake Mallory."

Draco jerked his head up irritably as the young man sitting opposite dissolved into giggles.

"All right, all right, it's not that funny."

"Quack quack...quack quack quackquackquack..."

"It was the first thing I thought of. I started saying my name and then realised that even if father didn't come, he'd send people looking for me."

"QUACK QUACK QUACKQUACKQUACK!"

The accompanying duck impression forced a smile to Draco's lips and soon he was laughing too. He could never stay serious when his fellow Slytherin was clowning around.

Abruptly, the laughter stopped and the man leaned forward, completely serious.

"It's good to see you laugh, Draco."

Draco sighed bitterly and stared at the only person who knew him well enough to find him. Blaise Zabini was tall and more heavily built than Draco, with tawny skin and thick, dark brown hair currently tied back in a small ponytail. Deep brown eyes were watching him carefully, filled with all the emotions lacking in his face.

Confusion. Misery. A little fear.

Lust.

"Why did you leave like that? Just vanish from my bed in the middle of the night...I was scared, Draco. Really scared."

And that was the real reason he didn't want to marry the girl.

***

The old ways still ruled the pureblood families and so engagements were made when the children hit puberty, by way of a contract between parents. Such a contract had, for a time, existed between Draco and Pansy Parkinson. She was certainly a good match in terms of blood; her family were both ancient and noble and had been notorious for Muggle-slaughtering in their past. Pansy had assumed that she would be the next Mrs. Malfoy from the moment she entered Hogwarts and for five years no-one doubted it.

Until Draco brought her home to meet his father.

It was apparent by then that her unfortunate resemblance to a pug was not a phase she would grow out of.

Lucius had not been pleased.

Pansy had been devastated when the contract was ended. Draco was the most eligible heir available - he would have given her wealth, prestige and power. She had sobbed for weeks and Draco, while relieved, had felt some pity for her. Her chances were now totally ruined. Bad enough to lose the Malfoy match, but to lose it because she was too ugly for Lucius' son...no-one of any real worth would ever consider her now. She would be lucky to marry a Crabbe or Goyle.

As the news that Draco Malfoy was without a fiancée spread, every pureblood family came sniffing round, looking for power. Lucius' response was simple and effective - he threw a party. Every family of sufficient purity with a daughter between 12 and 25 was invited.

Draco had never been so humiliated in his life.

Whilst the parents swapped shifts in sucking up to his father, the unfortunate girls followed him round like a flock of expensively dressed sheep. They had obviously been instructed by their families to act in a manner that would please Lucius - Lucius, not Draco - and so every one was pleasant, deferential and said as little as possible. Every statement was calculated to cause no offence, every opinion a carefully reworded version of Lucius' own views.

He had spent most of the evening hiding in the kitchen.

The next day, Lucius had announced the engagement in the Daily Prophet. Draco had been forced to buy a copy to know which girl had been chosen, as his father had neglected to inform him the night before.

Rosa Bowering.

Three years younger than him, she was undeniable pretty. Small and dainty, she resembled a china doll, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. After trawling through the bloodlines, she was declared suitably pure - though not as pure as Pansy - and, at thirteen, had not so much as held hands with a boy, making hers a guaranteed virtue. No-one would dare touch her now. Her family was respectable and pathetically grateful for the interest in their daughter.

She was also a complete idiot.

Her beautiful blue eyes were completely blank and trying to talk her was like talking to a recording. She reiterated popular opinion, local gossip and banal details of her day, and seemed unable to say anything original at all.

Draco had wondered if this was a ruse - his mother played on the dumb blonde stereotype from time to time - but no, she really was completely devoid of intelligence.

Draco had visions of his future, staying as far away from his own home as he could manage, returning only when he had to, trapped in a bleak, empty marriage and going quietly mad.

When he tried to explain to his father, Lucius had treated him to his most superior stare and pointed out that stupidity in a wife was a blessing and Draco should be grateful that Lucius was giving him such a beautiful girl.

Ah, yes, Draco had seen that look in his father's eyes and shuddered. Rosa didn't know it, but she was bloody lucky. If he had still been engaged to Pansy...his father would have taken poor, pretty Rosa into the Manor, only to throw her out a few years later, her mind most likely shattered by the barrage of spells that would protect Lucius' reputation, making her utterly worthless to the wizarding community. Nobody touched Lucius' leftovers.

So the engagement had been made and Draco had endured two years of Rosa's simpering company before escaping from Hogwarts. They would have to wait three years for Rosa to complete her education, and then the marriage would take place on her eighteenth birthday.

In the days of war, everything was done as quickly as possible. Draco needed an heir of his own, and Lucius wanted to be certain that his line would survive. It was Draco's duty as a Malfoy to continue the dynasty.

Except that he didn't want to marry Rosa Bowering. He didn't want to marry at all.

Draco already had a boyfriend.

***

Blaise Zabini was not from a particularly distinguished family. His blood was as blue as anyone else's - something he made very clear - but they had fallen on hard times recently and, to put it bluntly, were rather poor.

The first night at Hogwarts, Draco had lain in bed, fighting tears of homesickness when his curtains had twitched open and a small face peered in at him. Draco had vaguely recalled the boy's name and lack of connections and had attempted to be cuttingly polite.

It was rather spoilt by the snivelling.

Blaise had whispered that he had heard Draco crying and wanted him to know that Blaise was homesick too. Blaise was used to sharing a bed with his brother and missed having someone there with him. Could he stay with Draco for a little while?

Years had passed and Blaise was still sleeping in Draco's bed.

Draco couldn't quite recall when he had realised that Blaise was more than just a friend to him. He did however, had a perfect recollection of the moment when Blaise, lying next to him on the bed, had given him a long, speculative look and then kissed him with a year's worth of pent-up lust.

They had always accepted that one day Draco would marry. In a world of arranged marriages and vast mansions, live in lovers were common and neither had considered a wife much obstacle to them. Besides, marriage was for grown-ups. They had time.

Except that when the engagement to Rosa was announced, Lucius had drawn Draco aside and had a Quiet Chat. This chat had made it very clear that as Draco and Rosa would be living in one of the spare wings of the Manor until Lucius died, Lucius was going to ensure that their marriage was productive. Draco had been slightly confused but Lucius had explained himself with diamond-like precision.

In short, no son of his was going to move his gay lover in the family home.

What Draco did between now and the marriage was up to him, as long as he didn't do it anywhere near Lucius or Narcissa, but it would cease as soon as he was married.

Draco had clung to Blaise for their last two years of school. They had managed to keep their relationship a relative secret - only the Slytherins in his year knew, and they were too much in Draco's power to dare comment - and silly little Rosa had remained totally oblivious to it. Draco had maintained a pretence of a relationship with her, spending no more than ten consecutive minutes in her company before leaving to be with Blaise. Then they had left and in a moment of unselfishness, Draco bought his lover a house and they had moved into it.

Malfoys never did anything by halves.

He and Blaise moved from a light romance into a deep, lasting relationship, Draco continually surprising Blaise and himself by how loving he could be. It wasn't perfect, but it was real and Draco had been happy.

Three years passed swiftly and far too soon it was summer, and the sixth of August approached. Rosa's eighteenth and Draco's wedding day.

Draco had snapped.

***

"I...I just couldn't take it," Draco said quietly, reaching for Blaise's hands and holding them tightly. "Knowing that it would be so soon...I just..."

Blaise squeezed his hands reassuringly. "It's going to be alright, Draco. We've been through this. Your father won't let me move into the Manor, but he can't keep you there permanently. We'll manage...you'll come home whenever you can, and Rosa's too stupid to think anything of business trips every weekend. You won't lose me."

"But I can't bear the idea of living with her five days a week...listening to that drivel, waking up next to her...sleeping with her..." Draco shuddered at the thought.

"But it's your duty," Blaise said gently, "your responsibility as a pureblood heir. You can't just ignore it."

"Why? Why can't I? Why should I be forced into this just because of the family I was born into? I didn't choose it, I don't want it! Why can't I just live with the one I love, like normal people?"

"We're not normal people. You're a Malfoy."

"I'm bloody Draco. Doesn't that matter?"

Silence. Draco slowly realised that he had been shouting and that not a few faces were watching them with interest. He scowled at the onlookers but couldn't help blushing with embarrassment. Blaise just looked at him, eyes shining.

"It matters to me," he said simply. Draco looked into the face of his lover and felt tears gathering.

"Then let's go home."

While he still could.

***

Morning, bright and brittle. Draco shifted slightly, muscles screaming at the sudden movement after hours of motionless. His eyes felt gritty and sore. He hadn't slept at all, couldn't bear to miss a single moment of this night. Of this last night.

Blaise couldn't quite understand. He was upset, yes, but he couldn't imagine the relationship ending. It would be hard and awkward, but they would cope. They would still be together.

But Draco would be married. It would be an affair.

Draco didn't want Blaise to be an affair. To his mind, an affair meant his father's toys, pretty young girls that stayed for a while and then were replaced. An affair meant something shameful and secret, something wrong and dirty. An affair meant he was living a lie.

His relationship with Blaise was everything that was good in his life, and now it would be turned into something else, something dark and twisted.

So, after the frantic sex and words of love, after Blaise had fallen asleep holding Draco as if he might slip away again, Draco had lain awake. He had listened to Blaise's heartbeat, steady and strong, listened to his soft breathing. He had inhaled deeply, fixing the scent of Blaise into his mind, musky and sweet and uniquely him. He had lightly stroked every inch of skin he could, memorising the texture and shape. He had watched Blaise's eyelids twitch and wondered what he was dreaming.

Of course they would lie in each other's arms again. Of course the sound and smell and feel and sight of Blaise would not change.

But Draco knew that after this day, for him it would never be the same.

Blaise stirred and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he became fully conscious. He smiled, but before he could speak, Draco leant forward and kissed him, softly, slowly.

With love, not lust.

After, Blaise smiled uncertainly. "Are you ready?"

Draco nodded.

Somewhere, wedding bells were ringing.