Chapter Text
The Ministry of Magic is thrilled to announce the progressive, forward-thinking solution to promote the growth of magical bloodlines and ensure the continuation of witchcraft and wizardry as we know it. The law set forth, approved by a unanimous decision of all presiding members of the Wizengamot, has been officially ratified today, this twenty-third day of June, 2010. Each eligible witch and wizard will receive their coupling assignments by the end of this week.
More details to follow.
Pansy Parkinson slams the crumpled newspaper onto the tabletop with a huff. “I can’t believe it’s passed. I honestly cannot believe it. Shacklebolt does nothing for ages and then slaps us with this heap of hot rubbish in the final year before his retirement? What a fucking wanker.”
Blaise winces and leans over to scan the copy of The Daily Prophet she discarded. “Don’t say wanker, it’s gross.”
“You say it all the time,” she shoots back.
“Yes, but I’m not a prim and proper witch. I’m a known degenerate,” Blaise shrugs. “It’s expected.”
“Oh, sod off, it’s a double standard,” she adds.
Blaise turns his attention from Pansy to the other man seated beside him. Draco’s long, silver-ringed fingers idly shuffle through the pages of a book, a bored expression on his chiseled face. “Draco, any thoughts about the new law? Or do you prefer to brood in stoic silence while your friends have a conversation around you?”
Draco pauses his leafing momentarily and cocks one eyebrow. “I don’t have an opinion.”
“You don’t?” Pansy cuts in.
“No,” he all but growls. “Wouldn’t matter if I did.”
Blaise shakes his head incredulously. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“That it’s never mattered before,” Draco answers plainly, continuing to flip through his book once more. “I just do what I’m told.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. Baby boy and his mummy issues just loves to be bossed around,” Pansy remarks with a roll of her eyes.
Draco’s glare is piercing, the silvery-blue hard on his friend. “Shall we call on my mother to let her know her precious Pansy speaks such vile things of her?”
Pansy drops her head back, exasperated. “You are so irritating. And she’s basically my mum, too. She’d probably agree with me.”
“Yeah mate,” Blaise adds, “we all know Pansy is Narcissa’s favourite kid, genetics be damned.”
“Gods, you are both annoying,” Pansy huffs. “Stop trying to change the subject. You can’t seriously tell me you’re okay with being bound to a random individual for marriage? For life?” Her gaze moves from Draco to Blaise, then back again.
The men exchange a glance and shrug. “It does take a lot of thought out of the process,” Blaise says.
Pansy waits for Draco’s response, but none comes; he simply flips through his book, looking cool and bored as ever. She tosses her hands into the air, frustrated with her oldest friends who are, in her opinion, completely underreacting to the news. “You’re both mad. I have to go.”
“Going to see someone special?” Blaise asks with a wiggle of his brows.
Pansy remains silent as she slips on her cloak and begins rummaging through her handbag.
“Ahh, it makes sense now. That’s why her knickers are in a twist.” Blaise elbows Draco gently in his side. “She’s got a boyfriend.”
“I do not have a boyfriend,” Pansy scowls as she pulls a small metal tube of lipstick from her bag.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you prefer the term ‘lover’? Romantic partner? Dray, what’s the male equivalent of a mistress?”
“Why would I know?” Draco asks.
Pansy swipes a coat of cherry red onto her lips and presses them together. “Who said it’s a man?”
Both heads snap to Pansy, shit-eating grin stretching across Blaise’s face. “Pansy’s got a girlfriend.”
“I’m leaving. Meet me at the Leaky Friday evening. We can drink our sorrows after the Ministry seals our fates.” With a loud crack of apparition, she’s gone.
“So dramatic,” Draco mutters.
Blaise shakes his head and conjures two crystal tumblers from the bar cart tucked in the corner of the room. The glasses fill with sticky, amber liquid, and he offers one to Draco. “I’m starting early. Why wait?”
With a sigh, Draco reaches for The Daily Prophet that Pansy left behind. Below the headlining article is a photo from Saturday’s gala, The Emerald Ball. It was an ostentatious event where affluent witches and wizards gathered to throw exorbitant amounts of galleons at lost causes in a show of philanthropic martyrdom. In the photo, a witch in a glittering gold dress smiles wide, long dark curls framing her pretty face.
Blaise shoves the glass of whisky into Draco’s hand with a knowing look. “Come on, mate, no time for longing stares. Let’s get drunk.”