“Pass me the ornament,” your mother smiled softly as she took the golden flower ornament that you had handed her, so she could attach it to your hairdo. It had been in your family’s possession for generations, had been passed down from mother to daughter whenever the time came where she would leave her sheltered household to serve as a dutiful wife. You could see the light reflecting on its shiny surface before it vanished out of your sight.
You then tilted your head a bit, putting on the pair of earrings that your parents-in-law had given you as a wedding gift. It was just as fancy and expensive as the rest of your outfit as the Malfoys were extremely wealthy, the gems sparkling and glittering like rain droplets in the sun
You let yourself be helped into the extravagant and lavish pearl white dress, after slipping into the tights that you had borrowed from your best friend. Chiffon and satin brushing over your smooth skin, like cool water drops. A maid carefully assisted your mother while she was working on the zipper with her magic. It was of utmost importance not to touch your hair, as it was skillfully done by the best hairdresser that could be found here in England. Your dress was long, smooth, yet a flowy with complicated, laborious stitches on lace, the cloth that covered most of the upper body part
The cold, flat metal touched your warm skin as the small sapphire necklace – probably the only “decent” thing that you wore on your body today. It was made from the finest silver with only one rather small sapphire stone in the middle; like an amulet; like a charm.
You fumbled with the clasps, helplessly, before your mother’s fingers took over, precisely closing it for you.
Slipping into the shoes that were matching your dress, you didn’t forget to put the little silver coin in as well; hoping, now that these items were on your body – that they would bless you with a good, fortunate life as the tradition promised.
A silver sixpence in your shoe
“You look beautiful,” she whispered with a proud smile on her face, standing beside you as you looked into the mirror where a strange, unfamiliar woman stood, staring back with empty, dull eyes.
“Thank you mother,” you averted your eyes, creating the false image of abashment. But the truth was that you weren’t able to look at yourself, were simply not capable. This woman wasn’t you, she was beautiful, was perfect with her cherry blossom cheeks and rose coloured lips. But you were nothing of that.
“I am so proud of you. You will make a good wife.” The first tears were falling, gliding over your mother’s slightly wrinkled but still soft skin. But she didn’t mean it, because she was insincere.
“Of course mother. You have raised me well and accordingly,” you answered with a smile. She carefully kissed both of your cheeks before standing back to once again look at you with a moving expression.
Things were all in a blur. You remembered being led over the soft carpet of the big church along with your father’s steady steps, as you walked through the light that broke through the colourful glass and dancing dust particles in the air.
It was a beautiful, sunny day. The best day to let two loving people tie their knots. Whispers and awed murmurs went through the crowd when you first stepped into the holy room, drawing all eyes and all the attention on you. With your head held high, you carefully placed one foot after another, balancing out each step so you wouldn’t trip while the strong tunes of the organ accompanied you. Back straight, chest out, chin up, arms close to our body.
Your fiancé stood in front of you, miles away it seemed. In just a few moments and he’d be more than that. He was going to be the person you would spend the rest of your life with. He was so handsome in his pitch black suit. Sleek blonde hair perfectly styled - as if every single strand of his hair had its own place. Beautiful anthracite eyes, like molten metal.
Draco Malfoy was a handsome young man with fair, pale skin and thin full lips. He had only inherited the best of the best features of his parents even though he seemed to be the spitting image of his father with his straight aristocratic nose, chiselled cheekbones, and the light blonde hair. He was standing there, waiting for you to come, waiting for you to finally become his bride.
Your eyes met with his cold grey ones when your father gently placed your hand on Draco’s. He returned the small smile that you had managed to muster up in all your nervousness.
The ceremony started with only the slow, meaningful words of the priest. Vows were spoken, bringing smiles on faces and tears into eyes. Somewhere someone was sniffling.
Your heart gave a thump when he reached out to lift the white, translucent veil that separated his mouth from yours. The barrier was gone; had vanished out of your sight. And all that mattered was his little sheepish grin as he leaned in for the kiss that would metaphorically seal your bond.
Thin lips were softly pressed against yours while cold fingertips slightly supported your face, oh so gentle. Unintentionally, you had to smile against his lips. When parting, Draco softly caressed your cheek before the two of you turned towards your applauding guests, the audience of this show.
Nobody noticed your little almost invisible flinches or how your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Because this marriage was forced; was planned and set up - simply arranged - like some diplomatic, conventional business meeting.
They had sold you off and all you could do was helplessly watch how you once again turned into their marionette, into the property that they traded for prestige and money.