By Ekai Ungson
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter the series copyright J.K. Rowling. Characters used without permission. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.
She would sit by the firelight, he decided. In a cozy chair with a blanket draped over her lap, she would read to him as he did some last-minute business. She would laugh as she read the news (because then there would be no bad news, ever), and look up at him, and smile.
And in the mornings he would wake up beside her, wake up with her in his arms. He would kiss her cheek before he left her side, and order someone to bring her tea the second she wakes.
And he would spend the day thinking about her; at work as he arrived, and sat down on his desk; as he sipped his morning coffee. And then he would realize that the day had passed, and he could go home to her.
And before he went home he would buy her a little trinket—a pair of earrings, maybe some perfume, or a bouquet of flowers. She would kiss him when he walked through the door, and ask about his day, with soft eyes that meant she was pleased with his present.
And they would talk during dinner of how her day went, of how she pruned her flower garden and expected roses in the spring. They would then go to bed, entwined with each other, and before he drifted off to sleep, he would say to himself that he had a perfect life, here, with her fire red hair splayed across his pillows.
But he would not have those things; and he would not have her, if he didn't make a choice—
And so he told his father, "I'm going to marry Virginia Weasley. And I don't care what you say about it."
His father turned a faint shade of puce; and he took the opportunity to turn and walk away.
"You'll be sorry, Draco!" his father screamed.
He didn't care. He was too busy thinking about his future—his normal life—the one he had now.