Chapter Text
You and your brother, Draco Malfoy, were definitely not cut from the same cloth.
Narcissa and Lucius really should’ve known from the moment you first opened your eyes. Known when they first ran their hands through tufts of hair that skipped the trademark Malfoy gene: platinum blonde hair. No, you didn’t quite look like your family. If Draco’s eyes were the sky, yours were murky pond water. If his hair were the summer sun, yours resembled dried barley from the fields. Despite these differences, Lucius did his best to instill familial values in you from a young age: you were a Malfoy, you had pureblood, you were superior.
You would roll your eyes and blabber over him when he tried. Draco, being the cunning toddler he was, saw an opportunity to be the favourite child. He listened eagerly to his father’s teachings and practiced them at every opportunity. ‘And turned out the bad apple he is,’ you thought.
When you went off to Hogwarts, the rift between you and your parents deepened. You fell into step with the Weasley twins. For once, your rebellious streak was understood and appreciated. You felt heard and for the first time, loved. And not only were they great friends, your parents hated them which delighted you even more.
But you could care less of what your parents thought of you. You knew deep down that they’d been praying for Draco. Certainly, if he were the first child, they would’ve stopped trying for another. Even though they didn’t express their favouritism outright, you just knew. He was the son that would inherit the estate and carry on the Malfoy last name because of dumb and antiquated beliefs.
“(Y/N), did you hear what your father just said?” your mother asked at the dinner table.
“Truthfully, no,” you responded.
“Then allow me to repeat,” Lucius said, irritation creeping into his tone. “Next Saturday, you’ll bring a suitable man to dinner.”
“Or what?” you asked as you forked your salmon. ‘Go on father,’ your inner voice chimed. ‘Tell me how to live my life like you do a million times a day.’
Lucius cleared his throat. “Or we’ll have an agreeable gentleman arranged for you.”
“Haven’t you tried already?” you murmured. “I’ve cast them all away. All your friends’ sons turned out to be such creeps.”
“Oh, dear, we do think it’s about time,” Narcissa said, trying to get you to agree with Lucius using a gentler approach.
“Why don’t you focus on Draco instead?” you said, attempting to redirect the conversation.
“He has Astoria,” Narcissa responded. “And he’s only twenty-one.”
“And I’m only twenty-three, that’s also plenty of time,” you responded. “For someone who works at the Ministry, father,” you resisted the urge to use air quotes, seeing how Lucius mainly just floated around the Ministry seeming important, “you should read into the trends at the Census Department. Female witches are marrying and giving birth much later because of their careers. I won’t be shackled by your archaic beliefs.”
“Draco,” Lucius said, ignoring you. “Do you reckon there are any friends of yours that you could introduce (Y/N) to?”
“Yes, father,” responded Draco. He was biting his lip to stifle a laugh which was never a good sign. “Vincent Crabbe. He’s informed me he is seeking a companion and would love to meet my sister.”
You choked on your wine but disguised it well with a cough. You couldn’t let your father or Draco get the best of you. No. Not today, not ever. You shot daggers at Draco who look quite pleased with himself for letting that line out so flawlessly. You had a feeling they’d rehearsed this conversation beforehand.
Lucius wore a satisfied smile. “Very well. Invite him for dinner next weekend if (Y/N) shows up empty-handed.”
“Crabbe?” you said a little too loudly to be feminine, throwing out years and years of etiquette lessons in the process. Your mother would surely chide you for it later. “Has he learned to read now, dear brother? Or is his head still buried in Wicked Witches Weekly?”
Narcissa quickly cleared her throat. “(Y/N), that’s quite enough from you,” she said as she set her fork down. “We’ll have no mention of such…. distasteful books at the dinner table.”
“But it’s true, mother,” you whined. “He’s revolting. You could at least find me someone I actually like.”
“There is no one that you like,” Lucius countered calmly. “If you continue being this picky, you will end up alone.”
Your face was red hot with conviction at his words. You wanted to prove your parents wrong, and more importantly, not to end up entertaining Crabbe at the table next week.
“But I do have someone!” you exclaimed. “I’ll bring him next week. There’s no need to call on Crabbe, Draco.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, now amused. Shit, shit, shit. He was reading into you with that devious smile. He knew exactly who you hung out with and knew a little more about your life than you would’ve liked. He knew you didn’t have anyone to bring and he’d caught you red-handed in your little lie.
You didn’t have a lover. It was over…
You clutched the stem of your wine glass and shut your eyes. In the darkness, two bright faces came to mind.
…or was it?
You took another look at Draco who was really enjoying your demise with a side of wine. You knew there was one thing you had that he didn’t: trusty, reliable friends.