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[alethea naos malfoy]

5 July 1947
2 o'clock PM
Malfoy Manor
London, England

She refused, absolutely refused to come out of her room. She refused anyone or anything to come in or leave. House elves attempted numerous times to leave the young Lady of the house her meals but were quickly turned down, shooed, kicked at, cursed at and had sharp objects thrown their way before they could step a small foot inside. Alethea Malfoy was livid; she was frustrated; she was hurt; she was sad; she was heartbroken; she was happy; she was a million things at once. Her mother tried to come and console her daughter, to point out the good things about having a meeting with her future in-laws; her father just lectured her on what a wealthy family she would be marrying into, and that she didn't have to worry about ever having to work, to do any kind of manual labor; and then her brother, good old big brother Braxy - he just added his two cents that Olander Scabior was a better, a much better, choice than that mudblood Noble Bennett.

Kicking the clutter strewn across carpet floor, Alethea passed around her bedroom, hands clasped behind her back as eyes focused on the oriental design. There was absolutely nothing to be excited about being in an arranged marriage. Why were parents so cruel and predetermine who their child will marry once they were of age? Did they not care about true love? Of course not! True love didn't exist. Or at least that's what Alethea was taught to believe, and she did. She never understood why people put so much time and effort in such a foolish thing as love. "Bah!" The petite blonde blurted out, grabbing a silk pillow from the chest at the foot of her bed and threw it at the wall where it collapsed and landed in a pile of broken glass, spilt water and crushed rose petals.

"Absolutely, utterly, completely, unbelievably RIDICULOUS!!" The young Slytherin yelled at the top of her lungs loud enough for her neighbours (if she had any) to hear as she fell to her knees in the center of the once lavishly decorated room, pounding tiny fist against the ground. "Why me? Why, why, why? What did I do to deserve such punishment?!" Voice was weak, barely above a whisper, directed to the silence around her. It wasn't that Olander, or Grant as he preferred to be called, was a bad guy, nothing of the sort, far from it actually; it was just Alethea had to be with someone she had absolutely no attraction towards, nor feelings for.

Exasperated sigh came from deep within the Slytherin Princess's throat as she pushed herself on to her feet, looking around the pig-sty of a room for her black Mary Janes. Grumbling and kicking pillows out of her way, she slipped on one heel at a time before standing in front of the cracked mirror. Hands swiftly pulled out wand and student murmured, "reparo" and within seconds the mirror had fixed itself. Slender digits ran through mass of dirty blonde tresses, full lips puckering out as the curvy seventh year studied her reflection. If there was one thing that Alethea Malfoy could live up to was her narcissim - something that every person with the last name Malfoy was capable of doing and doing well.

Finally after what seemed to be an eternity, Princess Malfoy found her way out of her room and steadily, rhythmetically, sauntered down the hallway lined by several doors on either side. Blue-green orbs scanned the portraits, sneering at relatives that jumped from one frame to the next, pointing and whispering excitedly as the beautiful blonde descended from second floor to first. Hand gliding along the railing, Alethea tried to remain calm and kept telling herself that today was just a simple meeting between her family and her future family. At the thought of becoming the future Mrs Grant Scabior, her grip tightened and she stopped on the last step, staring at the wall across from her.

[olander grantham scabior]

“What do you mean time to start acting like a man!” his voice roared back towards his father. Olander Scabior and his father had never seemed to see eye to eye. In fact it always seemed a bit of a struggle for dominating power between them. Lip snarled as his spit back. “I have been living like a man, father. My own life. It's not yours. I make my own money and have my own place. I'll do what I like.” Grant remained steady as his father moved closer, closing the gap between them quickly, hand pointing at his face directly. “No! You will still do as I SAY.” Muscles twitched as his father gripped upper arm. For the eldest Scabior bringing out the temper in his father seemed an easy task. All he had to do was defy him, or refuse a situation, and the man became enraged. Talking back in his youth had earned him a few scars. He was a man no afraid to show even his own blood a bit of pain and discipline. Cheeks flecked as he jaw drew tight at his father's looming face. “You will not make me look a fool boy! This union has been long in the making and you will not destroy is, you understand.” Grant took a step back as he was released.

Breath exhaled through nostrils quickly for the recently graduated Ravenclaw. He'd always known he had an arranged marriage. When he was seventeen he'd found out it would be to his younger sisters, fashion idol and friend, Althea Malfoy. She was lovely sure, but in most instances he was reminded of his sibling, and well it wasn't always pleasant. “In three days you will join us for dinner at the Malfoy manor to met with your future in-laws and bride. And Olander,” his father took a dark look his direction as voice seemed to hiss toward him. “There are worse things I could do than simply disowning you if undermine this arrangement.” Sandy haired young man turned and slammed the door of his father's office hard behind him, turning gaze away from his mother, or the prying eyes of his sister from her perch above in the grand stairwell. Grant had always been the type to try and live his own life. Do those things he enjoyed, make the choices he wanted, however he wouldn't have put it past his father to use an Unforgivable on him for disappointment. Long strides of denim clad limbs carried him further through the home and out the door. He needed to get away and blow some steam.

Three days later his tall stature stood stoic upon the stylish front entry of the Malfoy manor. His parents standing before him, dressed lavishly in dress robes and cloaks. Hanging from his hand a bouquet of beautiful and exotic flowers. As it was refused to allow him to leave without some token towards his future wife. Arranged marriages were a pain in the ass. The only often came with some kind of trouble or another. Living a life that you're parents dictated for you, with the spouse of their choosing, even a job in most cases. His father had been pleased enough when he started working at the Ministry of Magic on his own accord. Still, it was never a pleasant experience. Though out school he'd known both siblings of the Malfoy name. Abraxas was his age and the same year through out. However it could hardly been said they were best friends. No he preferred the company of the Longbottom twins. Shift of weight changed the position of his stance and the flowers hit against leg. To which his mother chided at him to lift them presentably. That's when the door opened by a house elf who bowed deep to the company.

His parents entered in with that elitist air, turning their noses up towards the small servant who was meant to simply do tasks and not be seen nor heard. Flowers had been tipped back up against his chest as steel blue eyes scanned down at the little creature as he entered. Dressed similarly to his parents in his own way. Black tailored suit, hue of matching tie and a crisp white shirt. Italian leather loafers shuffled over the delicate marble ground as he entered. As his parents whisked away to the parlor for their first stiff drinks of the night his gaze turned towards the young woman standing upon the stairs. Her gaze was a million miles away from his own. From the corner of his eye he could see his father turn back to bore that cold glare into the back of his head. Finally movements brought him forward toward her. Like him, she must have felt less than pleased at the turn of events, and wished to be left be. “You look lovely, Thea...” Stopping softly before her husky voice remained low as he leaned in allowing lips to brush her cheek in a greeting that both parents were likely expecting. “...and these are for you.” As he stepped back to extend the flowers gray orbs held a bit of an apology to them. She was forced into this just as he.

[alethea naos malfoy]

As her future in-laws made their way towards the open door that led to the parlor, Alethea forced a small, wry smile, keeping blue glance on them until they were out of sight, being warmly greeted by her parents. As soon as she heard her mother's faint voice telling their guest to have a seat and her father asking Mr. Scabior to join him in the den, the petite blonde dropped her smile and averted her gaze to the approaching former Ravenclaw. "Thank you, they're lovely." She said, taking the extended boquet of multi-colored flowers and taking a quick whiff of their sweet aroma. "You, you look dashing Grant." Again another smile but this time a genuine one. She shook her head abit noticing the apologetic look Grant's eyes held; taking the final step down, she closed the gap between them, tip-toed and kissed his cheek before turning towards the tiny creature that appeared by their feet. "Put these in water." She ordered, handing the boquet over to the house elf that immediately dashed down the hall that led to the kitchens.

For a few seconds the two stood in awkward silence before the seventh year Slytherin tucked her hair behind her ear. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Something to eat perhaps?" She took a step away from the towering man and rested the small of her back on the end of the hand rail; her face tilted down, avoiding any eye-contact with Grant. In the back of her mind, she wished Roxy had tagged along, the presence of the younger Slytherin could have possibly lightened the tense feeling that Alethea felt in the foyer. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she let out a heavy sigh not too sure on what to do next. 'Where's Abraxas when you need him ...?' Baby Malfoy questioned herself, with Brax around she felt she could relax a little, the day would go smoother and faster, and the awkwardness would be ... Actually, since she knew the boys didn't hang in the same social circles, having both of them together would probably increase the awkwardness.

Hearing a sudden outburst of laughter coming from the women within the parlor, Thea couldn't help but roll her eyes. Knowing that she would be called in for her thoughts and ideas about the colors for the wedding and the style of her wedding dress. Blowing several strands from her eyes, she cocked an eyebrow and looked at the grandfather clock - five minutes hadn't even passed and she was ready to crawl into bed and go to sleep, try to forget this day ever happened. Finally she muttered, "I'm sorry..." Not knowing whether Grant had heard her ot not, Alethea pushed off the railing and made her way towards the den and settled down one of the leather chairs facing the fireplace, crossing one leg over the other.

As the seventh year sat quietly watching the flames dance inside the chimney, she thought about ways she could possibly get out of the arranged marriage - but could she actually go through with whatever she planned to cut Grant and herself loose from, what could possibly be, a disastrous marriage? Massaging her temples, she waved over a house elf and ordered it to bring her a glass of fire whiskey. She desperately needed someone to talk to; someone to give her some advice; someone who could act as some kind of distraction; someone to tell her most of all that everything was going to be okay. Thea blew her bangs out the way again when she saw the house elf appear with her drink. Taking the wine glass, she held with the stem between forefinger and thumb, rolling it slowly back and forth, eyes focused intently on the brown-red liquid swirling around.

[abraxas nereus malfoy]

Arranged marriages were a tricky business, one he could well have done without himself, but that was just the way things were done. It took the pressure off, allowed him to focus himself on something aside from finding a bride. There was more to life than settling down and, if the situation was beneficial in any way, he could hardly complain about his lot in life. Besides that, unlike some of his contemporaries, Abraxas was pleased with the woman his parents had chosen for him. Rochelle was a delightfully devious vixen, always ready for a game or two and more than happy to rise to whatever challenge was presented. He had no illusions about the darling Miss Lestrange. He knew precisely how spoilt, entitled and promiscuous she was. His future wife was by no stretch of the imagination innocent in any way, but the arrangement suited them both. It was a well-made match, ensuring the wealth and purity remained precisely where it belonged. Sometimes he did think the saucy girl was three sickles short of a galleon, but she had the name, the money, the blood and she had one hell of a fine body, which more than made up for her frequent lapses in morality. It wasn’t as though he had a spotless record, so he couldn’t very well fault her for not being a paradigm of purity. Then again, these days, who was?

Aside from his darling little sister of course.

Abraxas glanced up from his book, distracted by the murmur of voices that indicated the guests had arrived. Slipping the book shut on his lap, he tilted his head to the side, stroking the cover of the book with long fingers as he considered interrupting the soirée. He had declined the request from his father to attend, not wanting to spend the night in the tedious company of Scabior. While Alethea’s attachment to the pureblood Scabior was infinitely preferable than her sweeping interest in that mudblood Bennet, he and Grant Scabior had never been anything but passing acquaintances. Social gatherings and the odd class at school had been the extent of his contact with the man, but Abraxas had seen enough to know that he didn’t like the chap, never would, and that was the end of it. Despite his usual tendency to tease his little sister, this was one point on which he would (at least) reconsider doing so. The girl was put out about the business enough as it was – and he didn’t want to do anything that would set her back on the path to the mudblood. The youngest Malfoy was headstrong and impulsive, and generally thought little of defying her parents, despite the potential consequences. He had discussed the issue briefly with his father several times. As much as his father doted on his little sister, when it came to the question of marriage, he was dead set on maintaining his high standards.

Literally.

For his part, Abraxas wanted only for his sister to make the right choice. Or at the very least realise that the right choice had already been made for her and the best thing would be to go along with it. Devoted as he was to his spoilt princess of a sibling, he wasn’t sure that he could risk his reputation and stay at her back if she made the wrong decision. He was snapped out of his thoughts as an annoyingly high pitched voice began to natter on about how “lovely Miss Malfoy is this evening!” and how “handsome and charming that beau of hers was!” and other inconsequential rubbish like that. he recognised the voice. Great aunt Helga something or other, long since deceased but very fond of jumping from painting to painting spreading gossip and nonsense at all hours of the day. Occasionally her chattering was bearable and informative since she had a portrait at Auror Headquarters at the Ministry, but for the most part it was simply annoying. Abraxas looked up at the portrait of his grandmother and grandfather that hung directly opposite the chair in which he sat, and said in a low, quiet voice, “Take the conversation elsewhere, ladies, if you would.” He paused. “Now.”

After the usual waspish comment – “Watch your mouth, young man,” Grandmother Malfoy huffed, her nose high in the air. “Respect your elders or we’ll hex your chops off.” – the ladies in the portrait disappeared, much to the relief of the wizened Grandfather Malfoy, who promptly fell asleep in his portrait.

Now utterly distracted and curious as to what was conspiring in the parlour, Abraxas set his book on the table and moved silently out into the hallway, smoothing down his lapels as he did so. No point in making a bad impression, even if he wasn’t supposed to be in attendance. He recognised his mother’s voice coming from the parlour and expected that Thea would have been forced in there as well. He was in time to watch his sister disappear into the den sans fiancé, and his eyebrow rose. Trouble in paradise already, he thought wryly, a small smirk curling at his mouth. Without more than a cursory greeting nod to Scabior, who still stood at the base of the stairs like a demented guppy fish, Abraxas followed his sister into the den. He lingered in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the frame, watching as the glow of firelight bounced off the dark liquid in her glass. “Feeling antisocial, Thea?” he remarked lightly, breaking the silence of the room, laughter dancing in his eyes as she jumped slightly at his presence. “Pity, I thought that you’d at least make it to the hors d'œuvres before you ran away from your fiancé. Surely he hasn’t had enough time to insult you quite yet, has he?”