A/N: I do not own Harry Potter and I hope you enjoy this little drabble.
Tagline: How could a Malfoy – my Malfoy – fall in love with a mudblood?
"And you must be Miss Granger. Young Draco has told me so much about you," I had said, my voice cold and chilling as I looked her up and down, sizing her up, a butcher gazing over a new delivery of fresh, dead, meat. She was everything Draco had told me of – her long auburn hair, those big, innocent brown eyes glaring with despise.
She had looked angered by our presence but I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes darted to his, locked on, optical magnets. He sneered at her, of course, but there was a small moment – that I know he hoped had gone unseen – where they had smiled at each other. But Lucius Malfoy sees all, knows all – especially in regards to young love.
They reminded me rather much of myself when I was young and in love with Narcissa. Of course, like Draco and Hermione, we didn't get along right away either. We even despised each other, too trying to beat out one another with our marks. I would score a B, she would score an A. She was perfect in everything she did. Our differences, and our unknown likenesses, brought us together – just as they had done with Draco and Hermione.
That day, I had no idea that I would be sitting here right now, front row of the cathedral, watching them take their vows. She looks so beautiful and he, my son, so handsome. Now of course, I didn't approve of their love at first. In fact, I almost hated him for liking her, loving her. How could a Malfoy – my Malfoy – fall in love with a mudblood? Seeing her now in that dress, just graduated highest of her class at university, I know she is no mudblood. It took me some time, it takes any father time, to realize that their son must leave and start a family of his own.
I know I have not been the best father to my Draco. I have been everything but loving, protective, and understanding. I hope that my acceptance, my blessing, of their marriage will make him see that I do care about him. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be allowing him to marry the woman he loves. And he does love her.
Their vows are spoken, they share a kiss, and we are all whisked away to the reception. I have never been one to enjoy parties, at least parties where the subject isn't centered around He Who Cannot Be Named, but this party is different. Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy look so happy dancing across the floor, their first dance as husband and wife. He shall be good to her, I know – I have raised him well in that regard – and she, too, shall be good to him.
What a beautiful couple. And Narcissa, looking so lovely in that gown, beaming with pride. And why shouldn't she? Our son is dashing, his wife a beauty, and they are happy for the first time in a long time. I cannot help but notice, however, how lonely Narci looks standing there by herself. I long to be there, to take her hand and ask her to dance, but I know I cannot. Death is my damnation. And I suppose I do deserve it.
I have done evil things in my life, horrible, evil acts that duly deserve to go punished. Now I must look on, like I am watching a movie or a play being performed, as my son enjoys the first bit of joy since I have no idea when and while my wife smiles for the first time in years.
At least I can still keep my eye on them and know that they are happy. Their joy, their happiness makes my death bearable. I smile down as Draco gives Hermione a shy kiss. She excuses herself and heads over to Potter and Weasley – who invited them anyways – and Draco looks up and smiles.
"I am happy, Father. I hope you can understand that, wherever you are."
I do, son, I do. You deserve this happiness – enjoy it.