This is a story I started writing, inspired by a post on (FF name) livingforfomas' Tumblr (look-theregoallthefucksigive). I don't take credit for the whole idea! I just really wanted to turn that little 20 word post into something epic and tangible and couldn't wait any longer to see if Courtney would do it (please don't be mad livingforfomas!)

Check out her work, she writes amazeballs stuff.

This story is not at its M rating yet, but my stories almost always end up on the raunchy side so later on, so stay tuned for the promised M action down the line ;)

This chapter is sort of the Prologue... so it is a little short, bear with me, I'll have more to come soon!

"And I take you, Harry Potter, to have and hold, in sickies and health, till death do us-"

"Draco?" my mother's voice interrupted me at the most important part of my speech. "Honey, what are you doing?"

I looked away from Harry and up at her from behind the white chiffon draped over my head. I had nicked it from the laundry basket; I think it was Mamma's petticoat or something. Whatever it was, it substituted for the perfect veil for our wedding. She crouched down in front of me, completely ignoring Harry, and picked the material up out of my face. She took one look at the messy attempt at lipstick, the white negligee (also stolen from the laundry) swimming around my body and her silver high heels like clown shoes on my tiny feet - the disappointment was apparent in her stark blue eyes. I wish I had her pretty eyes, instead of my dad's; I think that Harry would prefer blue over boring, colourless grey.

"Again, really?" she sighed, pulling out a handkerchief to rub the red off my face. "Is this how a young Malfoy boy should behave? You know your father does not like it."

"I know," I shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze and allowed her to remove the nightgown as well. "I don't want to make him angry again.""

Harry stood behind Mamma, saying nothing and pretending he wasn't there; it seemed to be working.

"Then you should stop stealing mummy's clothes and make up," Narcissa scorned, but her eyes were soft. "You're turning six tomorrow darling; don't you want to dress more like daddy now that you're becoming such a big boy?"

"But you're so much prettier than daddy." I stood out of the heels and gave them to mother for her to put away. She gave me one of those stern looks that really just try to hide her smirk as I continued, "I want to be pretty too, and the bride always wears the dress!"

"You're a bride?" Narcissa's eyebrows arched slightly, "is that why you keep stealing my dresses?"

"Yes! I'm going to be Harry's wife!" I proclaimed proudly, pointing at my friend.

Narcissa turned to where I was pointing, but said nothing to the scruffy haired boy not even a meter away. She spun back around to look at me and grabbed my hands in her own. Her tone was serious when she said, "Draco, enough of these games. You know you're not supposed to say that name in this house, if your father hears you…" she trailed off and shook her head. "No, none of this now. You're a boy; boys are husbands, not wives, they don't marry other boys, they marry girls. And even if they did, a Malfoy could never marry that Potter boy, do you understand?"

"Mamma don't talk about Harry like he's not here, you're hurting his feelings!" I crossed my arms and pouted up at her; how could she just pretend Harry didn't just hear everything she said?

"Draco, stop this attitude, or I'll tell your father of your insolence. Now go wash your hands, it's time for dinner."

I hesitated for a second but decided it was best not to argue and earn myself another spanking from Father. I stalked out of my bedroom, beckoning Harry to follow as I made my way down to the bathroom.

Harry lay on my bed, his legs up against the wall and his head resting in my lap. It was a cold summer night and in twelve minutes I would be turning eight years old. Harry was still seven for almost two months. I liked being older; sometimes I teased him about being younger by saying that he should have worn the dress at our wedding. I never meant it though; I still liked being a bride.

"Why do you think your dad hates me so much?" Harry asked, colouring on his leg with a texta.

I shrugged, "because he worked for the Dark Lord."

"So?"

"So, you killed him, didn't you?" I poked him in the arm, "I still hear them talking about you, The Boy Who Lived."

"Oh yeah," Harry shrugged, "that's silly but. I'm a hero, I saved everyone! They should be thanking me."

"I think so too," I agreed, thinking about how grateful the wizarding world acted about Harry, "Father doesn't seem happy about losing his boss but."

"He's just a sore loser," the younger boy dropped the marker on my bed and turned over so he was kneeling. He pressed his lips to my cheek, like Father would do to Mamma whenever he left for work in the morning.

"Promise we'll always be friends?" I asked, scooting closer to Harry so that our noses touched.

"I promise!" Harry grinned and his eyes twinkled like the green stones in Mamma's wedding ring.

The door opened and Father stood there, his gaze sharp and curious. "Son?" he questioned, taking a step inside my room and glanced around, "who are you talking to?"

I exchanged guilty looks with Harry- he knew as well as I did that he wasn't supposed to be here. Mamma had resigned to my (according to her) strange behaviour but still forbade me to have Harry over when Father was home. "No one Sir, just talking to myself."

"It's late, you were sent to bed hours ago, in you go now," Lucius softly commanded, waving his wand and throwing my room into darkness.

As his footsteps disappeared down the hallway I whispered, "Good night, Harry."

"Happy Birthday, Draco," Harry replied, moving to the head of the bed and pulling the covers up over both of us.

If I sat still and closed my eyes, I could imagine the bickering was coming from a crystal ball or a howler – not from my parents. They had been fighting all day and hadn't even realized I had left the mansion; it would still be ages before they came looking for me –if they did at all. Harry sat beside me, his arm around my shoulders comfortingly.

"You know they won't hear you from this far away Draco, we're on the other side of the garden," Harry said, nudging me softly.

"I know that."

"C'mon, don't be sad, I'm here."

"You're the only one that is ever here for me," I mumbled, sinking deeper into my own knees tucked up against my chest, "my parents don't even know I exist half the time; all they do is fight."

"I'm the only one you need, silly," he smiled and his grip on my shoulder tightened.

"Do you think I'll make friends when I get to go to Hogwarts next year?" I asked, rubbing the toe of my shoe in the dirt.

"You'll make millions!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. I panicked slightly, grabbing his hand and pulling them back down, making a 'shush' noise.

"But," his tone got serious, "you're not allowed to forget about me okay?"

I looked into his eyes, surprised. "How could I possibly forget you, you're my husband. You're my best friend Harry, I love you."

"I love you too, Draco." Harry smiled, and rest his head on my shoulder.

"It's here!" I bellowed, skidding around the doorway to the kitchen in just my socks and boxers. "Mother! Father, it's here! It finally came!"

The stern look from Father quelled my yelling as I entered, waving around a tea coloured envelope with a burgundy wax seal. The address read:

Mr Draco Malfoy
Second Master Bedroom
East Wing
Malfoy Manor

"Is that how we have taught you to act Draco, and dress?" Lucius raised his eyebrow at me, nodding at my nearly naked form. "Really now, put some clothes on before you approach adults – and never raise your voice like that, it's embarrassing."

"Sorry Father," I apologised and adjusted my tone, still grinning from ear to ear and looking at Mother. She smiled and flicked her wand wrist, making a pair of track pants and a singlet float in from down the hall. I plucked them out of the air and put them on before sitting down next to Father at the kitchen table. A plate of French toast and freshly cut oranges was already waiting for me.

"Look, Mother," I repeated, holding out my letter. She unfolded it, quickly scanning the contents.

"A standard acceptance letter Draco dear, you knew it would be coming this year."

"I know but," I couldn't help but feeling like a hundred butterflies were trying to escape from my belly out of my throat, "it finally feels real! I'm really going to Hogwarts in September!"

"You already use magic here," Mother said, sitting down opposite me and reaching for a slice of orange, "it will be no different at Hogwarts, except you will be around new people."

"And Harry will be there too."

It was the wrong thing to say. Father stiffened and Mother's eyes widened in silent reprimand.

"I mean, you know I'll finally get to meet this prat who ruined our lives," I quickly added. "I bet he'll be in stupid Hufflepuff."

"The young Potter will be in Gryffindor, like all of his family Draco, just as you will be in Slytherin," Lucius chided, "and you would do well to keep away from such a pathetic excuse for the wizarding world's saviour. He isn't a hero, Draco."

"I know, Father," I mumbled, "excuse my ignorance, it was childish of me."

Not long after I received my letter Mother and Father took me to Diagon Alley to buy all of the things I would need for my first year of Hogwarts. I spent no time in getting to the dressmakers, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Lucius chose not to come with us, instead opting to fill out my book list whilst I was fitted. Mother only stayed long enough to tell the lady behind the counter exactly what fabrics and threads she wanted and then told me that she was going to speak to Olivanders about purchasing my wand. This information left me feeling giddy. Remembering I was a Malfoy with a reputation to uphold however, I held my chin high and spoke with the practiced important air of someone deserving of my family's lineage - Father said if i acted anything less I would pay later.

As the old lady was fussing about around me making adjustments to the shop robe, a boy around my own age entered the fitting area and was propped up on a stool next to my own. He was scrawny, and untidy looking. When I looked at his face, however, something about his eyes made my stomach flip.

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" I asked, my voice feigning what I hoped was collected cool and calm.

"Yes."

"My father's next door buying my books and mothers up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms, I don't see why first years can't have their own," I looked down at my feet, wondering if I was being impressive enough. Father liked to brag about his power over people in higher positions than himself… maybe I should try that too. "I think I'll bully father into getting me one and ill smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

"No."

The boy was making having a conversation awfully difficult and I began to wonder why I was even bothering; it probably had something to do with those green eyes. "Played quidditch before?"

"No," at this the dark-haired boy sounded confused, and the skin between his eyebrows creased.

Impress, impress, impress. "I do, father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No."

An absolute dead weight in conversation; I tried to imagine what Harry would have said, I always had the best talks with him at home. "Well, no one really knows till they get there do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin - all our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave wouldn't you?"

"Mmm."

I sighed, resigning to the fact that this boy was a nobody with nothing interesting to say. How could I be friends with someone who only knew the basic yes and no's of English? Someone outside the window caught my eye. He was huge and holding two ice creams; waving and grinning stupidly. "I say, look at that man."

"That's Hagrid, he works at Hogwarts," the boy said, seemingly having found his tongue at last.

"Oh," I nodded, remembering something Father told me about a half-giant living at the school, "I've heard of him, he's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper."

"Yes, exactly," I grinned at the stories, "I've heard he's a sort of savage. Lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," the terse note in the boy's voice caught me a little off guard.

"Do you?" I asked in earnest surprise, then realized the half-giant must be a friend of this nobody. "Why is he with you, where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh, sorry," I said slowly, feeling awkward. Interaction with kids my own age was still new, and talking about dead parents was definitely not something I had any experience on, except that Father said I should only make friends with Pure-bloods. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean."

He was so vague I couldn't tell if he was being smart or was honestly just that ignorant about bloodlines. I decided to resort back to my Father's tactic of persuading company to your point of view through opinion-pushing – it always seemed to work with his house guests.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways - some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts 'til they get their letter, imagine! I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families… um, what's your surname, by the way?"

The boy opened his mouth but was interrupted by the woman fussing around his waist.

"That's you done my dear," she said, and motioned for him to hop down off the stool.

As he did I realized that our conversation was over. I shrugged, figuring I probably wouldn't have to deal with this boy again anyway. Malfoy's didn't deal with nobodies. "Well I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

"I suppose," he replied, and promptly turned and followed the old lady back out to the front of the shop.

"What is taking so long, woman?" I asked, glaring down at my own fussing lady. The nobody had gotten in and out in barely any time at all, "I want the other one, she's faster."

"Now now young master, you have a few more items being made for yourself than he did," she clucked softly, "you're nearly done, just be patient."

I only stayed still and let her continue because I imagined what it would be like to get home to Harry and tell him about that fool I met at Madam Malkins; I bet he would laugh with me too.

Please please please review! I would love to know what you guys think before the next chapter!