Hi everyone! This short fic has been in the works for a while but I feel the need to push it forward. I've been really put off from reading lately as we've been inundated with dark, and sometimes disturbing, stories. I felt something lighter was due. It's only going to be a few chapters. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please consider leaving a review. Thanks!

The Shop in the Crooked Corner

Draco Malfoy straightened the lapels of his coat as he made his way through Diagon Alley. His dragonhide oxfords bit into the pavement with each step. He kept a brisk pace as he wove through the evening shoppers.

The shop he had his eyes set on was in a crooked corner of the Alley and not frequented often. Uncertainty clawed through his thoughts the closer he came. The blunt edge of his nails cut into his palms as he squeezed his hands. They itched for his wand to apparate home but he knew this was his last hope.

The crowd thinned as he got closer. The building was old and leaning heavily to the right. A battered wooden sign hung from the roof and swung lazily in the wind. He cast a quick look around to make sure no one was watching and quickly slipped inside.

Snow fell from his shoulders as he surveyed the room, or perhaps hovel would have been more accurate. Papers and orbs dotted dusty shelves. Feathers floated through the air above and a cauldron bubbled on the counter in front of him.

Behind the counter sat a snoozing witch. Her robes were the color of fresh cut grass in the spring and brightened her otherwise dull appearance. Wisps of unruly grey hair threatened to escape from her bun and her shoulders lifted and dropped with a slight jerk with each breath she took.

Draco's mouth pulled into a sneer but he forced himself to stay calm. Blaise had assured him that she could help and he was desperate.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and pulled his wand from his coat. He flicked it in the direction of the bell on her counter and it dinged bright and clear.

The witch sat upright and blinked quickly. Her watery blue eyes traveled across the room before they finally leveled on him standing before her.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Zabini mentioned I might be seeing you."

Draco jerked his head in a nod. "Yes, well, I remain skeptical but at this point I'm willing to try anything." He flicked a glance over his shoulder to the closed door. "Though I would appreciate your discretion on the matter."

She cut a wrinkled hand through the air. "Of course, of course." She pulled a simple black wand from within her robes and flicked it at the door. The sign in the window panes flipped over to show closed. "There we are."

She slid off her stool and rounded the counter. Draco followed a few paces behind. Upon further inspection, many of her dusty shelves were lined with potion bottles of various shapes and sizes. Some were labeled, others were not. Some bubbled within the glass bottle and others shimmered even in the dull light.

"Ah, here we are," she announced. She plucked a small bottle from a low shelf. It was round at the bottom and the liquid within was a shade of purple that reminded Draco of the sky at twilight. "The instructions are simple. You will take one large sip right before bed each night until it is gone."

Draco eyed the bottle held between her fingers. "That looks like more than two days' worth."

A foxlike grin transformed her expression. "Indeed. I hear you have two prospects but when I look at you, I can tell there's a third that you are hesitant to consider."

His eyes widened minutely and he wondered just what Blaise had told the old crone. He didn't have time to figure it out though. She pressed the small bottle into his hands and lifted a bony finger to shake at him.

"Now you do as you're told and you'll know which choice to make."

He nodded and slipped the bottle carefully into the pocket inside his coat. "What is the cost?"

She smiled and waved him off. "An invitation to your wedding will suffice. I do so love a good wedding. Especially the sweet elf wine you purebloods are so fond of for special occasions."

If Draco thought her request was odd, he had enough tact not to voice it. He'd been prepared to part with a hefty sack of galleons so he wasn't going to complain.

"Of course," he agreed.

"Be gone with you," she ordered and shooed him with her gnarled hands. "And remember, one each day."

He nodded and stepped back out into the Alley. The sun was setting overhead and once more he checked to be sure that no one had seen him. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he withdrew his wand and struck the air with it.

He disapparated with a loud crack and found himself standing in the main sitting room of the manor. The grandfather clock near the doorway chimed six times and he breathed a sigh of relief knowing he wasn't late.

"See, there's your son," his mother announced when he entered the dining room. She glared at her husband who sat opposite her at the too long table.

"I had an errand to run in Diagon Alley," Draco supplied without being asked.

However, his parents were too busy glaring at one another to register the information as he took his seat halfway between them. He sighed as his dinner appeared suddenly and reached for his fork. Their bickering was becoming old. Ever since his father had been released from his six-year stint in Azkaban, the transition had been difficult.

It was clear that his parents still loved one another dearly but his mother had done much in the way of forming new opinions and changing her social circles. It was something his father had trouble accepting, being half hollow on the inside as it was.

Lucius Malfoy liked his tradition. He liked that his son had been able to repair most of the family's appearance since the war. However, he also had many expectations in exchange for his tolerance of things he still struggled to accept.

He held his tongue whenever Draco entertained friends who were less than pureblood. Of course, that was after he'd literally lost his tongue for the span of twenty-four hours when his wife hexed him for using the dreaded M word at dinner. The elder Malfoy had not chanced it since, realizing he was outnumbered.

Draco had even heard his father concede once that Hermione Granger was proving herself to be of use to the magical world with her efforts to reform Azkaban's treatment of the prisoners and the upstart of her rehabilitation program designed after that of the muggles.

Draco never bothered to ask just what Azkaban had been like for his father and decided some things were best left unsaid.

"I expect you'll have made your decision by Friday," Lucius demanded as he set down his fork.

"Choosing a witch to pursue for marriage isn't exactly an easy task," Draco retorted. His father merely lifted a single brow and he groaned. "Yes, father. But only because I know mother is keen on me settling down."

The elder Malfoy huffed and tucked into his meal again.

"He means well," Narcissa told him after Lucius had excused himself.

Draco finished his last bite of dessert and pushed the plate away. It disappeared on its own and he sighed.

"Maybe so but he ruined his life. I'd like it very much if he kept his hands out of my own."

"Either witch would be a fine match," she continued, and he knew that she had likely already tested the waters to seeing how receptive each family would be.

"I know," he sighed. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I'm going to bed early. I have an early meeting at the Ministry tomorrow."

Narcissa nodded and he turned his back to her. He strode through the maze of halls with practiced ease until he stood before his personal rooms. He closed the door behind himself and nearly groaned aloud.

He shed his clothes as he made his way to his bathroom. With his shirt on the floor behind him as well as his tie, he stopped to survey his appearance in the mirror. The jagged scar from Potter's curse sixth year still ran diagonally across his chest. Where his face was once so pointed and pinched like his father, he seemed to have grown into his features more with age. It was slightly easier to see some resemblance to his mother now than when he'd been younger.

However, the dirty stain of where his dark mark had been still covered much of the inside of his left forearm. It was blurred now and hard to make out the old shape of it but he knew.

A shower helped relieve some of the tension in his body and he climbed into bed wearing nothing but his underwear. The bottle of purple liquid sat taunting him on his nightstand and he was surprised to find a mild tremor in his fingers when he reached for it.

"It's all a load of rubbish," he told himself. "I highly doubt this will help make my choice clearer."

He took his large sip as directed and his last thought before sleep took him was that the witch back in Diagon Alley was going to be sorely disappointed if there was no wedding to attend after all.