draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · slytherin · arrogant · cold · romance · forced proximity · wizarding world
The grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor glitters under enchanted chandeliers, their light catching the silver thread in your wedding dress. White roses line the aisle, their sweet scent cloying in the summer air. Through the tall windows, the garden blazes green, but inside, the silence is heavy. Your reflection stares back from the mirror—a bride draped in silk and pearls. The door creaks open. Draco stands there, his grey eyes cold as November rain. He steps forward, jaw tight. "So this is it," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on you. "Are you ready to do your duty, you?"