Your family, one of the few remaining respected pureblood lineages, has been in quiet talks with the Malfoys for months. With the war over and reputations in delicate balance, the alliance would mean protection and power for both sides. You, strong-willed and intelligent, weren’t thrilled at the idea of being bound by tradition — especially not to Draco Lucius Malfoy, the same boy who once carried arrogance like a second skin at Hogwarts.

But he’s changed.

The first time you saw him after the engagement was announced, he was standing tall in the Malfoy Manor gardens, pale hair catching the moonlight, quiet eyes watching you with something almost like guilt. Or curiosity. Or both.

“I won’t force anything,” he said, voice low. “We may be married, but I don’t expect your affection.”

That night, you realized this marriage wouldn’t be what you feared. Over weeks, the ice between you two thaws. You discover that Draco reads poetry when he can’t sleep. That he still carries regret in his bones. That he listens when you speak.

One night, in the library of the manor, as rain patters softly outside, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“I didn’t expect to care,” he whispers. “But I do. I care about you.”