For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

Holyhead Harpies, Beater 2.

Mandatory: Write about someone treating someone else as a consolation prize.

Optional: (word) influence, (color) ruby red

Word Count: 1705

Druella feels her lips curl in clear disgust as her father talks. She keeps quiet, like a good little Pureblood woman should, but she's screaming on the inside.

"Father," she says softly when she's finally granted a moment to speak, "please do not think that I am being ungrateful, but… Cygnus Black? I have already told you-"

Her father waves a dismissive hand. "You love the Malfoy boy. Yes, I know. Good family, but they are nothing compared to the Blacks. The Rosiers need the influence that Cygnus' family holds."

"I don't love him," she protests, tears dotting her lower lashes. She wipes them away quickly, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I will never love him. Surely my happiness-"

"Happiness?" Her father's voice is harder now, dripping with venom. "Love? You are still young, Druella, darling. Still so full of hope. Love and happiness are not important in a marriage. Why do you think affairs are so commonplace?"

Druella draws back, stunned by how casually he can speak of affairs. Her stomach sours. She will not be like that. Happiness and love mean everything to her, and there is only one man who will provide her with that through marriage. "Please reconsider, Father. I'm sure that you would rather-"

"It's done. There is nothing left to do. Cygnus asked for your hand first. If Abraxas loves you so much, perhaps he should have acted sooner."

"Father-"

"Do not speak of love anymore," he warns. "It is your duty to marry into a good family. It does not matter if he is the man you want or not. He will be your husband, and you will be grateful. Think of your family's honor, child. You will be married before the summer ends."

She wants to argue, to persuade him to be reasonable. It has worked well for her in the past. A sweet smile, a flutter of her lashes. Her father always melts and gives in. But she can see the fire in his eyes and feel the air of finality. This is one battle she cannot win.

…

Abraxas grips her hand, pulling her over the wall that separates the Rosier's garden from the rest of the world. Druella winces as the cold stone scrapes her knee, but her discomfort is forgotten the moment she drops to the ground with his strong arms around her.

"You seemed distraught in your letter, Dru. What is it?" he asks, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

Druella glances over her shoulder at the wall. Her home is too close for comfort. She looks back at him, shaking her head. Abraxas doesn't press for more. He understands her silent gesture.

"Somewhere more private," he decides before pressing a kiss on her forehead and guiding her through the woods beyond her home.

Druella has always loved the woods. As a child, she would sneak out and run among the trees, playing silly little games, letting her imagination run wild. Now, at seventeen, it still gives her that same sense of security. It is her hiding place, the only place where she knows she will be completely safe, if only for a moment.

Once they are far enough in, she feels comfortable enough to speak freely. She comes to a stop, taking a deep breath. "Father has arranged for me to marry Cygnus Black."

Druella hates how blunt she has to be, but Abraxas always hated having the blow softened. He would never forgive her for drawing the news out with meaningless apologies that cannot fix the current situation.

Abraxas nods, his icy eyes hard, his jaw tense. Judging by his reaction, Druella guesses that he knew already. "Mine has arranged for me to marry Acanthia Goyle," he says grimly. "I tried to request you as a bride, but he told me that Cygnus has won your father's blessing. I prayed that my father was mistaken, but now…"

Tears sting her eyes. Druella tries to blink them away, but it's no use; they fall freely. Abraxas doesn't seem to mind. Her lover only holds her closer, making shushing sounds and rubbing her back.

"It isn't fair!" she sniffles.

"I know, but we are Purebloods. We follow the old traditions, whether they're fair or not," he points out.

Druella pulls away, glaring at him. She doesn't understand how he can sound so casual about this. They have spent years nurturing their relationship, watching it grow. He should be angry that traditions now threaten to keep them apart.

"Are you not upset?" she snaps.

"Of course I'm upset. I love you, Dru. But there is nothing I can do. I appealed to my father. I wrote Cygnus letter after letter, requesting that he revoke his intent," Abraxas says heatedly. He begins to pace, wringing his hands together, a scowl on his lips. "I even wrote to your father, offering him more than Cygnus could have offered. There is nothing I can do."

Druella falls silent. She chews on her bottom lip anxiously. As much as she hates to admit it, she understands. It's no use fighting it. She should follow through with the marriage without protest, grateful that she can marry at all, that she has the opportunity to produce heirs to carry the Black family name into a new generation. It is her duty, after all. She should let go of her hopes and dreams; smile because she has a husband from such a noble family, a husband whose blood is pure.

She should, and yet her heart still fights.

"My father spoke of affairs," she says quietly, her cheeks burning despite the coolness of the shade she stands in.

Abraxas pulls his lips into a thin line. It seems that the man doesn't like the idea much either. "We will do that. But only if you are certain that it's what you want."

"I only know that I want you."

With a small smile, Abraxas kisses her. "You can have me," he murmurs against her lips before trailing kisses along her jaw. "No matter what. I will always be yours."

"And I will be yours," she assures him, her eyes closing as he rests his head on her shoulder. "I belong to no other man."

…

Druella gazes at her reflection, taking a deep breath. She is beautiful, as any bride should be. Her blonde hair has been braided and twisted into an elegant knot that even Druella's graceful fingers could never manage. Her lips have been painted as red as rubies, a wonderful juxtaposition against the more subtle makeup elements on her face.

But she cannot bring herself to smile. She's looked forward to her wedding day for so long, assuming it would be Abraxas waiting for at the aisle, not Cygnus.

It doesn't matter if she doesn't love him, she tells herself as the elves rush around her, making last minute adjustments to her dress. All that matters is that she is a good wife. Even if it's the wrong husband, at least she has a husband at all.

"Miss Druella is beautiful," Lolly, her family's oldest house elf, squeaks as she climbs atop a stool to place the bridal veil on Druella's head. "Mister Cygnus is lucky to have such a bride. And Miss Druella is lucky too! She is making her family proud."

Druella tries to smile, but her lips form more of a grimace. "Lucky," she echoes.

She doesn't feel lucky, but she supposes she is. In a way, at least. She will have a husband. Even if Cygnus is not the man that her heart yearns for, he is still a man with pure blood in his veins. That will have to be good enough.

The door opens and her mother steps inside. Her eyes move over Druella. After several moments, the older woman offers her a quick nod of approval. "It's time, dear."

"Mother-"

Druella stops herself. There is no point in protesting now. Calling off the wedding would be scandalous. Her family's name might not recover.

"Back straight, shoulders strong," her mother instructs sharply, gripping her daughter and guiding her to the correct posture. "You are a Rosier. Carry yourself as such."

"Yes, Mother."

…

Druella barely notices her feet moving at all. Everything feels so surreal. The faces in the crowd blur. The small noises are warped and muffled, as though her ears have been plugged.

She walks on, head held high. Abraxas smiles at her as she passes, but she forces herself to keep her eyes on Cygnus.

When she reaches the end of the aisle, Cygnus grips her hands roughly. It takes all her strength to not pull away. His touch is all wrong. Abraxas is gentle and good; Cygnus is harsh and cold.

But he is her destiny. She cannot have the man that she wants, and she will have to settle for him. Her lips twist into what she hopes is a convincing smile as the ceremony begins. The ancient wizard speaks, but she barely hears him as he guides them along until the deed is done.

Cygnus lifts her veil with a grin that chills Druella. It is not a warm grin that tells her he is happy to have her, that they will have a beautiful future together. It is arrogant, victorious— the grin that hunters wear whenever they have bagged an impressive haul.

"You are mine," he whispers before kissing her, his lips rough and demanding against hers.

Druella closes her eyes, swallowing down a whimper. She will not cry. She will keep her head high and maintain her dignity.

When he breaks the kiss, he grabs her hand, and they face the guests as husband and wife. Abraxas catches her eye, and her heart breaks. It should have been him.

"Come," Cygnus says, guiding her along. "The reception awaits."

She has little choice but to follow him. He is her husband now. He will not respect her the way Abraxas does or see her as his equal, but he is hers. Duty demands it.

Druella offers Abraxas a wistful smile as she passes him. Not for the first time, she curses the old traditions as she follows her husband.