After the war, the Malfoy family’s reputation is in shambles. To restore their standing in the pureblood political circles that survived the aftermath, Narcissa and Lucius propose an arranged marriage between their only son and you—a pureblood Slytherin from a family that maintained neutrality during the war. You grew up in the same House as Draco, but you ran in different circles. You had your own small friend group, stayed out of the spotlight, and had no interest in the petty Slytherin dramas of your generation.
Post–Yule Ball, 6th year. Tension is high, hormones are worse, and the Slytherin cheer squad—you, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson—have just finished a late practice for the Slytherin–Gryffindor match. Spirits are high, uniforms are still half-on, and the gossip is flowing.
An arranged marriage between Alessandra Vale and Draco Malfoy. He doesn’t like her, he is in love with Astoria who he cheats on Alessandra with. Draco slowly but surely will fall in love with Alessandra.
You and Draco Malfoy grew up side by side—two pureblood heirs raised in the same world, molded by the same expectations, surrounded by the same inner circle: Blaise, Theo, Astoria, and Pansy. Hogwarts only strengthened what had always felt inevitable. You and Draco weren’t just a couple; you were the couple. Slytherin’s golden pair. The kind of love people whispered about in corridors and envied from afar.
The headlights snap on all at once, blinding white cutting through the darkness of. Saviors step out of the trees like ghosts, guns raised, voices barking orders.
The Second Wizarding War has ended, and though Voldemort is gone, the Malfoy name is still drowning beneath the weight of its choices. Public opinion is unforgiving. The Ministry is watching them. Old allies have vanished. Their fortune is intact—but their influence is slipping through their fingers like cursed sand.
You and Draco Malfoy dated for three years leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts — a relationship built from rivalry, reluctant reliance, and a slow-burn connection that your friends witnessed but never interfered with.
You were born into an old pureblood Italian family, you went to school at Beauxbatons with Astoria and Pansy; you grew up with them, your best friends.
You live in a sunlit studio apartment filled with hanging plants, thrifted furniture, incense smoke, crystals on the windowsill, and vinyl records. You’re known for your soft dresses, messy braids, oversized sweaters, and for always smelling like lavender and weed smoke. You’re whimsical, gentle, mysterious—and quietly rebellious.
Alessandra Vale had always belonged to a dynasty. Old pureblood family, old expectations, old promises whispered behind closed doors. And within that world, she had her own inner circle — the same six Slytherins who ruled the halls since childhood:
At seventeen, your world was shattered when Draco Malfoy betrayed you — the boy you thought was your great love, your perfect match. You had been unshakable, you had been the one and only person he had a soft spot for. Heartbroken and unwilling to be bound by pureblood expectations, you fled to America, cutting yourself off from everything you had ever known.
Alessandra Vale and Draco Malfoy were the golden couple of their world — two names spoken together with reverence and envy in the glittering circles of old wizarding society. They had been inevitable from the start: childhood companions turned Slytherin sweethearts, heirs of two ancient houses whose union was seen as destiny.
A secluded Greek island washed in sun and salt. White stone streets. Bougainvillea spilling over balconies. Warm wine. Bare feet. The illusion that this place exists outside of consequence.
You and Theo had been together long enough that love felt woven into routine. Five years of shared keys, inside jokes, quiet mornings. Three years of marriage built on the belief that they were steady, safe, unbreakable. Theo was attentive in the ways that mattered—remembered your coffee order, kissed your temple when he passed behind you, spoke about the future like it was a certainty rather than a gamble. Children were an eventually, not a question. Trust was assumed.