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A Comparable Status

Part 2 of the 'Comparable' series

The Letter:

July 23, 1999

Two hours after receiving what he was now calling 'The Letter of Doom' from his father, Draco Malfoy was still fuming.

He'd read it over so many times at breakfast that he'd actually run out of time to eat, which, of course, meant that his stomach was making itself known with embarrassing rumbles. He'd then stomped his way to Transfiguration class and read it over about a thousand more times, grateful that the school year was over and that the boring and barely competent McGonagall replacement hadn't cared a jot about what they did on their last day of class.

Now, he was storming his way down to the dungeons to sit through one last Potions class before he was permanently free of this hellhole of an existence known as school, and then he could move on with his life, pathetic as it was. He was in such a foul mood that the other students literally jumped out of the way for him, but he barely noticed. He tried not to notice their reactions to him anymore, anyway.

Ever since it had become public knowledge that he was (had been) a Death Eater and all of the associated acts of violence he'd been forced to do had come to light during his trial, the other students had treated him like he might go mental and start hexing pieces off of them at any given moment. Not even his fellow Slytherins would hang out with him anymore. Pansy had publicly dumped his ass on the first day back to school for their Eighth Year. Blaise wouldn't talk to him even though they'd been best friends since First Year. The First and Second Years of every House ran the other way when they saw him coming, which hurt more than he was willing to admit.

In a school that used to be his domain of power, he was now the pariah.

It was bloody awful.

He would have quit long ago if his father hadn't threatened to disinherit him if he didn't finish the year and pass his NEWTs with a minimum grade of an Exceeds Expectations in every subject.

He had done that and more, at least, thank Circe. (Not quite as many Outstandings as Granger, but he'd given up trying to actually beat her, grade wise, years ago.)

Now, his loving and oh-so-considerate father had given him another ultimatum and Draco was seriously considering taking a portkey to Hollywood, America to audition for a Muggle movie, just to spite him. With his looks and terror inspired, more than well honed, acting skills, Draco was positive he'd easily get a part and his father would probably go ballistic at the disgrace to the family name.

It would be the perfect revenge.

But…

Draco just couldn't do that to him.

Despite all of the poor showings of affection and the pure-blood ideals that had caused Draco years of hell under the Dark Lord's rule, Lucius Malfoy actually did love Draco and only wanted what was best for him.

He just had a crappy way of showing it.

Like this morning's letter.

Which means I'll have to do as he asks, he sighed to himself as he dropped his bookbag on the floor and flopped into his usual seat at the back corner of Severus Snape's potions classroom. Somehow.

Maybe Uncle Sev can help me? He's always full of good advice. I'd be dead a dozen times over by now if it weren't for him.

As other students started to meander into the room in happily chattering groups and take their seats, Draco pulled the many folded square of parchment out of his pocket and smoothed it out on his desk and read it again. (Not that he actually needed to see it to know the contents, which were ingrained on his brain like poisoned ink, but there was always the faint hope that he'd misread it the first thousand times or so.)

Draco,

Last week, I received a very interesting letter from my father's old friend, Nicolai Delakov. It seems he is looking for a match for his youngest daughter. After much thought, I agree that a marriage between our families would benefit us both. As you know, Delakov is expected to ascend to Minister of Magic for Russia when Vasiliev retires next year, and having a strong connection to the Russian Ministry is never a bad thing.

I know this might seem rather sudden, but your future has been on my mind a lot lately.

Ever since our disgrace with British Wizarding society, all of your former possible matches with an English witch of a comparable pure-blood status to our own have disappeared like so much smoke, much to my disgust. And I refuse to taint our bloodline with half-blood or (shudder) muggle-born heirs.

In short, unless you can magically (not literally) produce another witch that I can meet and approve of by the Leaving Feast tonight, I will write to Delakov tomorrow and accept his offer on your behalf. You can spend the summer in Russia getting to know your fiancé and then we'll have the wedding here at the Manor in the fall.

The picture included with this letter is of the woman in question. Her name is Katja and she's 24. I know that's 5 years older than you, but with your maturity level, I'm sure that won't be a problem.

We can discuss any questions you may have at the Feast tonight,

Your father.

Snarling, Draco crumpled up the letter in his fist until his knuckles turned white. Fuck!

His father had literally cornered him with this one. And that bit about his maturity level at the end was a not-so-subtle warning to take this like a man and smile like the emotional kick to the scrotum was exactly what he wanted to happen.

It wasn't.

I'd rather go celibate for the rest of my life than marry that witch. What's so horrible about a half-blood or a muggle-born anyway? They can be just as powerful as the pure-bloods. Just look at Uncle Sev and Granger. I'm sure I could find someone to marry eventually that is willing to overlook my past. Might have to go to bloody America to do it, but it could be done. I'm only nineteen for fuck's sake! I don't want to get married yet! And definitely not to Katja Delakov.

He forced himself to unclench his fist and smoothed out the letter again so he could refold it. Then he shoved it back into his trouser pocket and pulled out the picture that had ended up in a robe pocket. He grimaced and shuddered as he looked at it, and then shoved it back into the pocket, wishing he could Vanish it into oblivion a hundred times over.

Why couldn't the witch be at least half decently attractive? I could live with this if she was, but she looks like a fucking thestral! All bones and long nose and stringy black hair.

Actually, she reminds me of Uncle Sev during the last year of the war when he was on the verge of expiring just from the stress of keeping the students alive and Voldemort happy.

Merlin. I think that's even worse!

I do NOT want to shag a barely female version of my godfather.

No wonder Delakov is scraping the bottom of the barrel to find a match for her. Merlin's balls!

And whose fault is it that I'm now the bottom of the marriage mart barrel?

Father's. Or maybe even Grandfather's. If even one of them had changed sides before the very end, like Uncle Sev, and did the spy thing instead, we'd be heroes instead of outcasts who barely escaped a life in Azkaban.

If only there WAS another pure-blood witch for…

His thoughts trailed off as a soft, feminine giggle wafted from the doorway of the classroom. And then the owner of the giggle strolled into the room backwards, her bookbag hugged to her chest as she smiled at whatever Granger had said to make her laugh. Her autumn red hair shimmered in the light as it fell around her shoulders and down her back, and her brown eyes flashed almost gold as she walked through one of the few rays of natural light that managed to creep in from the tiny windows near the ceiling. Her smile was brilliant and lit up her pretty features in a way he'd never noticed before.

Holy shite!

Draco was suddenly struck dumb as he came to the long overdue realization that Ginevra Weasley was actually quite beautiful.

And… she's a pure-blood! A Weasley pure-blood, but a pure-blood nonetheless.

Merlin's pants! She could be the solution to my problem! She's not attached to Potter anymore, and I haven't heard anything about her dating anyone else.

The only problem will be convincing her that I'm a good match for her in the next… six or so hours.

Ha. Like that's ever going to happen.

My life is over.

Maybe Katja Delakov is better looking in person?

As if. I'm not that lucky.

Draco thumped his head down on his desk and closed his eyes in resignation.

Merlin, please, kill me now.

A/N: I know, this is short. But as an intro to Draco's story, this is what you get. :D

Another, longer, chapter up in 2 or 3 days, I think.