Purely Fanficy

DRAMIONE

Weird huh? How a non-potterhead's first fanfic is on one of the most sailed ships in the Harry Potter universe. Well, the twists and turns of fate and a good plot can be very unpredictable...

    Draco didn't mind Astoria. For once, he actually didn't ingeniously sleep with his eyes open when his mother argued about the perfect wife - quiet, pretty-on-the-arm, easily malleable, quite orthodox , and to satisfy him - one heir's enough ( there were enough blood feuds) and above all,  that she wasn't expected to live long, so he could be all by his lonesome. Just after he ensured the Malfoy line.

   So Draco sipped his tea while his father nodded at his future-in-laws and his mother wept tears of joy at the thought of grandbabies, and cause she finally won an argument against her son.

                 The date was set.

*********************time skip- Brought to you by Aurelius Dumbledore*************************

      He stood staring at the mirror, fixing his robe, emblazoned with the Malfoy emblem. He would have had a best man to straighten his clothes for him, but then, childhood promises never hold. If they had, then Crabbe would have been more interested in the sweetmeats than the groom... and Pansy would have looked really unholy under the veil.

       Draco shuddered at the thought, slightly happy that it was Astoria. He was yet to see her, but her photograph said enough. Despite the magicked picture always captured in motion, her's was very still, almost Muggle like. The curtain by the window, ( "...that she had embroidered", his mother cared to point.)seemed to have more life.

     Life. Bushy hair under the veil came back to mind. Only it wasn't Pansy's. Draco's eyes darted to the sole picture he had of his school days that was not of him sitting in with Snape or posing for a portrait in his Slytherin robes.

    This was the one picture that he cherished the most. One that he would always look at, look back to, and sigh.

      It was at Hogsmeade, when the snow seemed to blanket the ground in a very altruistic manner. His arms were around Crabbe and Goyle, who were sticky with roasted chestnuts. He was in his fourth year or so, growing in mind, heart, body and powers. The picture was of him smirking with impatience at the two beside him, and beside them, out in the snow, with the slightest movement you could almost catch the sight of...

        He looked at it, his hands stilling at the door knob, a moment, and then he was out of his room and shut the door as a man would shut out his wanton hopes and secret dreams, and strode out to the waiting church. He hadn't been looking at the chestnuts. It was never the chestnuts.

It was Gryffindor red that he always gazed at with an 'If...?" feeling.  

That and red, bushy hair.

 Confession : That is my very first fanfiction. Hope it's not too apparent. 

Am looking forward to constructive and criticism and thoughts that are sensible, decent, pertains to my works and possible ideas.

That's all for now folks!