Love from Hate

The Engagement Party

“My son, please come here,” came the gentle voice of his mother.

The boy bounded into the room, gripping his rapier (or fencing sword) and dressed in his full fencing costume. “What is it, Mother? I have lessons shortly,” came the voice of her beloved son, looking much like his father.

The boy’s mother looked upon her young son wistfully before averting his eyes. Turning her gaze back to him, she spoke. “My son, your father has sent me here to tell you that you are betrothed.” The words hung in the air for a moment.

Suddenly, the young boy threw his arms around his mother in a very un-gentlemanly manner, dropping his rapier in the process. When his mother looked down, she was very surprised to notice that her young son was actually crying.

“Oh, but mother, do I have to leave you so soon?” the boy sobbed into his mother’s breast. He was nearly as tall as his mother now, standing at about five feet tall, but that mattered little.

The boy’s mother had to restrain herself from laughing. “My dear boy, you will not marry this young. You will marry when you are eighteen, and the young woman will be seventeen. You will receive half of your father’s estate, and your own home,” she explained to her still sobbing son. “The rest you will receive when he is gone.”

The boy’s sobs became fewer and fewer, until he finally stopped crying. “Mother, who is this young woman? I am anxious to meet her,” the treble voice said, large blue-green eyes never leaving his mother’s face.

“You will meet her when we feel you are ready. The lady is the young Isabelle Argonian, of a very noble Italian family. She is the definition of a lady, and will be a good wife to you. Now,” she said, straightening her son up and picking up his rapier, handing it to him, “go to your fencing lessons. Lord Slytherin will meet you here in an hour, after your lesson.”

The boy nodded. “It is as you say, Mother,” he said obediently, heading out of the room, looking very much the innocent ten year old that he was. His mother stared after him sadly for a moment before exiting the room in search of the boy’s father.

* * * * *

Six years later

Alexandre Malfoy sighed inwardly as he greeted yet another overly enthusiastic guest. This one said the same as everyone else. “Good evening, young Master Malfoy. I am very much anxious to meet your future bride. My wife, Elizabeth,” the guest said, smiling as Alexandre kissed the lady’s hand.

In truth, the youth was beginning to become quite bored with the whole thing. He absolutely detested parties that involved nobility, which normally included a lot of gossiping with people he didn’t know, and wearing his tightest, most expensive clothes. He much preferred the parties he attended with his companions, which involved a lot of ale and visiting the more upscale pubs.

He himself was also anxious to meet his future bride, whom he would marry in a little over two years. He could vividly remember the day his mother broke the news to him. A whole mix of emotions had gone through him, mainly fear. Fear of marriage, fear of commitment, fear of the unknown.

He felt in his pocket to be sure the ring his father had given to him was still there. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, made of the purest silver, a diamond set in the center. The Malfoy family crest, a dragon curled around a rose, was engraved on one side of the diamond. There was no inscription engraved on the inside, for that was to be added later. This ring was to be his betrothed’s promise ring, to be placed upon her right hand. This would be changed to the left hand on the day of their wedding.

Having been deep in thought, he was startled when everyone started clapping. The butler called in a loud voice, “Isabelle Bianca Argonian!” He was announcing Alexandre’s fiancée!

Alexandre looked up, and started to push his way through the crowd in order to get a better look at his betrothed. His breath caught in his throat when he laid eyes upon her. He could tell she was short, as he estimated she was somewhere in the vicinity of five feet tall. She would look tiny upon his five-foot-six frame. She was wearing an exquisite gown of a periwinkle blue. Her large eyes appeared to be of a hazel color, her chestnut colored hair done up in intricate curls around her head. Her dark cheeks were flushed, her hazel eyes looking around at all the people shyly. She was being escorted by her father.

Isabelle glanced around the crowd uncertainly, trying to guess who her betrothed was. She inwardly was frightened. The party was a cross between a big sixteenth birthday for her, and an engagement party. She swallowed nervously as she allowed her father to lead her to a table on the side of the room, which was meant for the family of the two young people. She politely greeted the Malfoys, gracefully taking her seat.

By this time, the silence that had reigned as the lady had been introduced to the crowd was broken. The orchestra began a lively tune, and people started to dance. Alexandre wended his way through the crowd over to the table where his betrothed was seated.

Bowing to Isabelle, he spoke. “My dear lady, would thee care to walk with me for a spell? The night is lovely.” She suddenly knew who this was, and agreed after some hesitation.

“Thee has my consent, good sir,” she agreed, not noticing the furtive looks she was receiving. They were being painfully formal with one another. He offered her his arm, and she accepted, allowing him to escort her from the room.

Once outside, he led her to the trellis in the garden. Now she was able to get a good view of him. She silently thanked her parents for choosing such a good looking partner. There was no doubt that he was handsome. Standing at about five foot six inches, his pale, white-blonde hair shone in the moonlight. He had fair skin, and thin yet inviting lips. His aristocratic nose was of an average bridge, and his eyes were of a blue color, with random flecks of green throughout.

Bowing to her yet again, he spoke. “My dear lady, I am Alexandre Gwyn Malfoy, thy betrothed and only heir to the Malfoy estate,” he began. “Firstly, I must begin by saying that I have brought thee a birthday and engagement present.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the ring. The diamond glittered in the moonlight. Isabelle looked nervously up at him, knowing what was coming next. Her mother had spoke of it often. “This ring is a symbol of our engagement. It will let the world know that thee belongs to me,” he explained, showing her the Malfoy crest that was engraved on one side.

“I know not words that can express my gratitude to thee, kind sir,” she said politely. In truth, she was anything but happy to be marrying this lad. She was an ardent daydreamer, and dreamed of marrying someone of her choice, for love. These dreams had been shattered when the news of the engagement came to her sometime before her tenth birthday. She was hesitant about the engagement, for though he was very handsome, she did not know him very well. “Time will change that,” a small voice in the back of her mind sang. She pushed the thought away.

“And now, to seal this betrothal,” he continued, taking her small, feminine right hand in his larger ones. He slipped the ring on her fourth finger of her right hand, and leaned down. The tradition was to seal the engagement with a kiss. Isabelle was nervous about kissing someone she had just met.

She stood on tiptoe, while he leaned forward to kiss her. The kiss was soft, and tender. Her mind was screaming at her to pull away, for she didn’t love this man. Her body, however, was a different story. She marveled at the warmth of his lips, how soft they were. He put his arms around her slim waist, lifting her up a bit, never breaking the kiss. It was she who finally broke the kiss, regretting the need for air. She hated how he could make her feel this way, when her mind was made up to have as little contact with him as possible.

During this kiss, she had a sudden flashback.

* * * * *

"Sweeting… Come here." Her voice was soft, edged with joy and something utterly foreign to her young daughter. She was also speaking in English, which she only did when absolutely necessary, when her point wouldn't come across clearly without speaking in her vernacular.

The little girl placed her book on the settee, and stood, her back ramrod straight as always. Wide hazel eyes, a dreamer's eyes, regarded her mother with the quiet dignity that often startled her companions. She walked daintily to where her mother stood, staring out the window, clutching a letter in her graceful hands.

"Yes, mama?" She said quietly, staring intently at the letter, wishing she could tear it from her mother's grasp. "Papa… He has not been injured, has he?"

"Your father is in perfect health. And he has news." A smile was breaking the perfect control her mother had. "'Tis wonderful news, poppet. I am sure you will be pleased."

Her eyes widened with delight, and for once her mother saw the happy innocence of childhood in her demure daughter. She really was only nine, though the eve of her tenth birthday was rapidly approaching. "Papa agreed to let me learn fencing? I never thought…"

"No…I'm sorry, sweeting, he remains firm on that. 'Tis not the art of a lady." Her mother murmured, smoothing a hand over her daughter's chestnut curls. She put a slender finger under her daughter's chin, lifting her heart-shaped face so that her eyes were level with her mother's. "Papa has given your hand in marriage, to-"

"No!"The cry was not that of a young lady's or even the very young child that she was. It was a feral shriek of pain. She pulled herself away from her mother, switching to rapid Italian when she spoke again. "No, no, I will not marry him, I can not… Mama, I want to choose! Oh, mama, how could you let him?"

"Oh, poppet, you know 'tis impossible. You are the eldest daughter of Vincent Argonian! You must marry for the good of the family…" Her mother replied sadly, switching easily to her daughter's native tongue. "You will marry in eight years time. When he is eighteen, and you are seventeen."

She gathered her now sobbing daughter into her arms, sinking into the window seat behind them. "Poppet…I am sure you will like this young man. Your father and his have been like brothers for many, many years. His name is Alexandre Malfoy…"

Again, the young girl wrenched herself from her mother's grasp. "No! I do not want to hear of it. I must ready myself for my lessons. Lady Ravenclaw will be here within the hour."

With those words she stumbled blindly from the room, her petite body shaking with sobs. She vowed she would escape this marriage. She would marry for love, and nothing else, even if all of Venice, nay, all of Italy, England, and France laughed at her. And she would extract revenge on Alexandre Malfoy, even if it took a lifetime.

* * * * *

Suddenly, there was a burst of applause, bringing Isabelle out of her reverie. They both looked up, embarrassed. Isabelle’s cheeks flushed a dark red when she saw who was standing there. After they had walked outside, most everyone who had attended the party had watched to see what would happen. Jacques Malfoy stepped forward and patted his son on the shoulder.

“Good work, son,” he said proudly, giving Alexandre an appraising look. Alexandre looked away in embarrassment.

As the crowd started to disperse, Jacques once again addressed his son and his fiancée. “It is traditional for the betrothed couple to lead in one dance during the night. We have requested that it be the last dance,” he informed them, oblivious to the shocked look his son sent in his direction. The shock quickly turned to apprehension, though.

Isabelle saw the apprehension on Alexandre's face and smirked inwardly. Mayhap she was not the only one so effected by that kiss. Smiling prettily, she dipped a graceful curtsey. "I will dance the last dance with thee…Pray pardon my rudeness in leaving thy side so soon, but I am feeling faint."

"Let me escort thee inside. Perhaps something cool to drink is in order." Alexandre said courteously, offering her his arm. Jacques smirked at his son and strolled away.

If Isabelle hadn't been so well brought up, she would have cursed out loud. As it was, she wanted to draw the wand she didn't have. After all, surely her father wouldn't make her marry a toad. None of these uncharacteristic thoughts showed on her lovely face. She merely smiled with what she hoped was gratitude, and took his arm.

"I thank thee for thy kindness." Isabelle murmured as Alexandre guided her to a high-backed chair at their table.

He smiled, genuinely surprised, "'Tis nothing, dear lady…I shall sit with thee, and mayhap we could talk."

That was exactly what Isabelle didn't want. She smiled weakly; trying to look like her friend Katherina did when she was on the verge of fainting. "'Tis too much to ask of thee…I shall sit and watch the festivities until our dance, so that I may feel in the bloom of health when the time comes."

Alexandre knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he was at once hurt and discouraged by it. He smiled, and bowed gracefully to her, then went off into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, Isabelle leapt from her seat, and wove her own way through the crowd, escaping into the gardens that she knew so well from childhood. She needed to be alone, to gather her thoughts, and remember the vow she had made to herself, six years before.

Alexandre endured the rest of the party by going over his potions lesson from the day before. He nodded and smiled at whomever he was speaking with, but inside he tried to remember every detail of the potion. When that failed, he went on to transfiguration. He had seen Isabelle go outside, and she occupied his thoughts, much as he trained them on school. Her beauty enchanted him, but though she had been perfectly polite and charming towards him, he had felt as though he was talking to a wall. The loveliest wall there ever was, but a wall none the less.

The festivities gradually died down as the evening wore on. He danced with the daughters of his father's friends, and each girl walked away understandably envious of Isabelle. She herself eventually reentered the ballroom, but made no move to dance.

Finally, Vincent Argonian stood, tapping a glass gently for silence. As the host, it was his duty to make a speech before the final dance. "My guests! 'Tis my privilege to present tonight my daughter, Isabelle, and her betrothed, Alexandre Malfoy. They will lead the final dance.”

The whole room turned to stare as Alexandre made his way to Isabelle's side. He bowed low, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. He met her eyes, and in them, saw a hidden challenge. "Wouldst thou care to dance?"

"Yes, thank thee." Isabelle replied, taking the arm he offered. He led her out to the center of the dance floor, as the music began to play. Isabelle recognized the music and suppressed a groan. It was not a merry dance, the sort in which one changed partners every few seconds. It was a much slower one, in which the couples circled together around the room.

Alexandre slipped one hand around her waist, the other taking hold of her hand. With great reluctance, and a smile, Isabelle placed her free hand on his shoulder. Alexandre led her around the room, and she found herself enjoying the dance. He was graceful, and she felt almost as if she was flying. The little voice in the back of her head was smirking, "See, this is easy. He's a nice person. Don't fight what's there."

Alexandre smiled down at her, leaning closer to speaking without being overheard. "I shall enjoy seeing thee at school from now on."

Somehow hearing him speak snapped Isabelle out of her daydreams. You barely know him, she reminded herself. So what if he dances well? You are not marrying him. She smiled blandly back at Alexandre. "'Tis a pity we have different tutors. I doubt we will see each other much at all."

"We would still be quite able to meet each other during the meals. We have the weekends, as well," he reminded her, holding back a smile.

Isabelle looked up at him, not quite sure what to say. Surely she couldn’t avoid him all the time. She repressed a sigh, thinking of all she would have to go through just to please her parents and this so-called engagement. She managed to force a small smile. Her smile got wider, and more genuine, as a thought crossed her mind.

"My dear sir," she began innocently, her eyes widening, "Hast thou given thought to the other lasses in the school who shall be seeking to win thy favor? Or the lads seeking mine?"

Alexandre frowned, not having thought about this. It was the first year he would have to worry about anything like this, for this was the first year that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was to be opened. A large number of witches and wizards would be attending, and were to be tutored under one of four powerful witches or wizards, who’s names were Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. All students would be under the guidance of one of these four, and would spend all their lessons with them. Alexandre was to study under Salazar Slytherin, and Isabelle under Rowena Ravenclaw.

"My lady, I could never fall for another so fair as thyself," he whispered in Isabelle's ear, causing her cheeks to color deeply. She did not open her mouth to reply and put to rest his qualms, which he took note of, saying nothing. He dismissed her subtle rudeness, blaming it on the fact that they had just met that night.

As soon as the song ended, Alexandre dropped his hands from Isabelle's waist, and she put her hands down to her side. He bowed to her, once again grasping her hand in his, brushing his lips across the knuckles.

"Thank thee again, for the lovely evening. I do hope to see more of thee in the future," Alexandre murmured in her ear. Isabelle flushed again, but when she looked up, he was making his way over towards his parents, who were smiling and speaking with him.

Isabelle watched him discreetly, as he donned his cloak. He would need it, as it was the last day of October, and the nights were becoming progressively chillier. As Alexandre looked back over at her, he caught her eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. She broke the gaze first, looking down at the over-polished floor. When she looked up again, he was gone. She sighed a quiet sigh of relief, then headed upstairs to her bedchamber to retire for the evening, not even bothering to see if her parents wanted to speak to her.

Once upstairs inside her chamber, Isabelle stood in front of the vanity, with the large mirror. She gazed at her reflection for a long moment, before collapsing onto the stool in front of the vanity and bursting into tears. Her petite frame was wracked with sobs that had been repressed all evening. She looked down at the ring on her right hand with contempt. She yanked it off and considered throwing it out the window, but realized that would be very foolish. After all, she didn’t want her future husband to hold grudges with her before they were even married.

Quietly, and without the help of her maid, Isabelle managed to get into her bedclothes and climbed into her high, four postered bed. She lay there for a long time, eventually crying herself to sleep.