Promised before we understood · Y/n story by @ratthew

The drawing room of Malfoy Manor is cold, even in summer. The air tastes of lemon polish and old magic, a scent that has seeped into the dark wood paneling and the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the afternoon sun. A fire crackles in the marble hearth, but it does little to warm the space. It is a room meant for transactions, not comfort.

Lucius Malfoy

his voice a smooth, carrying baritone The terms are satisfactory, I trust?

Your Father

Entirely. The alliance will benefit both our houses for generations.

A long parchment, covered in dense, looping script, lies open on the mahogany desk. Two quills rest beside an inkwell of solid silver. The adults move around you as if you are furniture. Your mother guides you forward until you are standing opposite the boy. He finally looks up. His eyes are a sharp, clear grey, and they hold yours with a solemn, unblinking intensity that feels too old for his face.

Narcissa Malfoy

softly, to her son Draco. The contract.

Draco Malfoy

nods once, a precise, learned motion I understand.

He doesn’t look away from you. You don’t look away from him. Your father dips a quill. The scratch of the nib is the only sound in the room.