Tie The Knot

The riots had brought Pansy both fortune and problems. The infamous writer had managed to gain herself two front page articles of The Daily Prophet, brought more revenue to her name and further spread her agenda yet there had been a problem, something she couldn't have foreseen. Her own son, Alexander Theodore Nott, had found himself locked within the holding cell of the Ministry for opposing the marriage law. Don't get Pansy wrong for she intended people to oppose the law, but her own son? Pansy had no words, no words what so ever.

In all honesty Madame Parkinson-Nott couldn't exactly be annoyed by this. If it had been the other way around, Alexander agreed to marry anybody less than a pure blood she'd have been most displeased. Alexander being locked away had taught her one thing: her son intended to continue the Nott's pure blooded legacy. However there was a problem, if Alexander opposed the marriage law again then he'd no doubt be sent to Azkaban but there had to be a solution, a solution to avoiding this whilst ensuring he didn't taint the family name. The idea arrived to the death eater one evening when she was writing to Astoria Malfoy. An arranged marriage.


'Allyson, Anastasia, go upstairs. I'll have the house elf bring you some food, you can eat in the upper drawing room.' Pansy had ordered her daughters. The grandfather clock in the entrance hall had chimed half past five, the Mafloy's would be arriving soon. She wasn't expecting the entire Malfoy clan just Draco, Astoria and the most important of them all, Isadora.

Isadora was a year younger than Alexander, she was intelligent, beautiful and knew exactly what it mean't to be pure blood. To anybody within the pure blood society it was a match made in heaven, a match opposing the ministry's marriage law whilst following it simultaneously. The death eater had had to wait for the summer holidays to arrive, but alas they had and hopefully by the end of the evening Isadora and Alexander would agree to marry.

'Alexander!' Pansy called up the sweeping staircase to the landing above. 'Alexander it's almost time for dinner!' Her little Slytherin had no idea what was about to happen, no idea that his Mother had saved him a life from treachery or Azkaban. In an hours time he'd be worshiping her, he'd not have any control over her. He wouldn't be demanding she transfer gold into his Gringotts Vault each month in order to keep his lips shut about an affair he'd walked in on during a holiday two years ago.

'I'm coming' Alexander replied cooly, emerging from one of the doors that led out of the foyay, taking his Mother by surprise.

'Wait here, sweet heart.' The witch instructed, placing a hand on his arm to halt him from advancing down the hallway to the dining chamber. 'We have guests.'

Guests. Guests? Who on earth were the guests? Pansy always told the children whenever somebody was attending, especially if it concerned them as it always seemed to do and even if it didn't their Mother expected them to be present simply to show them off and brag about their achievements.

'Ahh, there here are they?' Theodore Nott had arrived, walking towards the door and opening it to reveal a trio of blondes walking down the long driveway to the grand front door of Nott Manor.

(OOC: Sorry for using Theodore too when he isn't claimed, I figured it would be okay? Shoot me if not )

“Do you want to undermine me, Isadora?”

The hiss of hot, fiery breath against the soft, elfish ear of Isadora Malfoy was a familiar one which she closed her eyes to, instinctively cringing away from the irate figure of Astoria Malfoy, towards the tall, black pillar of her father who did not raise so much as a glance in his daughter’s direction, continuing his slow pursuit towards the household that the Nott family resided in for the majority of the summer season. Had the Malfoy treasury been in more of a fitting state, perhaps he too could have been so frivolous as to open up one of the properties nearer the coast. Alas, that wasn’t to be and if things were to go as planned then Draco Malfoy was about to be docked a further, sizable sum but only, of course, to the benefit of all parties involved.

Tucking the thin satin camisole closer around her body, Isadora looked down and inspected the pure, white dress that she had been stuffed into, squeezing her breasts up into cleavage that they would not naturally form and pinching at her waist in order to accentuate hips that weren’t present. She felt much like she supposed grapes did when being pressed into wine but rather unlike the grapes there was no great advantage to her being pricked and poked at for hours on end to make sure her skin was blemish free and her hair the paragon of perfection – especially given that doing so was for nought for it upset the delicate countenance of her good mother’s ego.

No more was said on the matter much to the heady relief of the sixteen year old who came up to stand beside her father on the doorstep. There was a little bit of fluttering, general stomping and poorly concealed disgust emanating from Astoria who, flushed, strode up onto the doorstep as collectedly as her humidity-frazzled hair would allow for. Isadora’s elves had the intelligence about them to set a de-frizz charm on her hair and thus showed a glaring difference between herself and her mother. While Isadora was arguably collected and cool, her mother was strewn about, scarlet permanently and equally as irate. If Isadora was to close her eyes again, just for a second, she thought she could well imagine already the imprint of her mother’s hand across her face when the evening came to a close, the jealousy within Astoria bubbling over like a failed potion, unable to control itself any longer.

“Do try to be pleasant, Isadora,” Draco intoned with a heavy sigh, raising a fist to knock upon the door.

When the heavy doors were pulled open, Isadora noted the way her father’s eyes lit up upon finding the thin form of Pansy Parkinson – or, rather, Nott, in fact. Hanging back a little from her parents, desperately wishing she’d been left at home, Isadora watched as her father strode over to Aunt Pansy, embracing her tightly, pressing a kiss to each cheek. He settled for a handshake with his contemporary, Uncle Theodore, who was then bombarded with nonsense talk by Astoria who inquired after the business and all of the rest of it. Isadora averted her gaze, shame riding up on her cheeks the colour of the Hogwarts Express.

Draco cleared his throat pointedly and Isadora turned her head, stepping in a little further. She looked up underneath her lashes at the tall form of Mr Nott – her godfather – and she wondered when there would come a time when he didn’t seem so imposing. Exchanging polite pleasantries with him she moved to Pansy who equally terrified the young Malfoy girl. She smiled as brightly as she could manage, finding more kinship in her godmother than in her own biological mother who looked interestedly around the foyer, inquiring after a painting mounted on one of the walls, Draco joining her by her side. Licking her lips hesitantly, Isadora reached for the pendant of her necklace and passed it through her fingers before addressing Pansy.

“It’s so lovely to be here,” she expressed sincerely. “Thank you for having us.”

Then, of course, there was Alexander who stood calmly in the doorway to one of the adjoining rooms. The elder Malfoys had passed over him, more interested for now in their painting which seemed to be reflective of a wealth which they lacked most desperately. To lose Malfoy manor was bad enough. To then be in such a dire situation that admiring a friendly rival’s painting as considered a highlight of a visitation to another manor house desperately left Isadora feeling inadequate. She had still, regardless of her parents’ situation, wanted for nothing thanks to Lucius and Narcissa. She lived a starkly different life than her parents, just as the other Malfoy children did. She knew him from school though, albeit vaguely – Alexander, that is. He who led a rather similar life. He who was still protected, kept stable and afloat by at least, outwardly, a comfortable pair. The Notts were impenetrable now. Much like the Malfoys must have been in the preceding decades.

“Hello Alexander,” Isadora greeted hesitantly, raising a smile to her lips. “I trust you’re well?”

Formal. Correct. Sincere. It was the right package, indeed, and her eyes hadn’t even strayed to the painting, yet.

Pansy greeted Draco most affectionately, stroking his bicep as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks. The death eater had always been fond of Draco, for starters he'd been her first love and if he hadn't ran along with Astoria then perhaps Isadora here would be siblings with Alexander... Maybe it's best that things worked out this way for who would be there to secure the Nott pure blood status was upheld if not Isadora?

A smile curled from the edges of the reporters lips as Astoria headed towards the nearest painting hanging between two porcelain vases each home to the darkest orchid. Despite not gaining the man Pansy had chosen wisely to marry Theodore, primarily choosing him simply because of his brains. She knew he'd go far, which by her means mean't make a lot of money. More to that both his parents, and her Father, were rotting in Azkaban whilst they'd inherited their wealth. The tables really had turned for the Nott's.

'Thank you for joining us, Isadora.' Pansy replied with a sickly sweet smile, a hand placed on the blonde's shoulder. 'I'll be one moment.' And with that she followed her husband to the painting leaving both Alexander and Isadora to become acquainted.

'I'm good thanks. How about you, Isadora?' He answered, stepping closer to her, his eyes narrowing pleasantly and a smile emerging from his face. The pair had never been exceptionally close, they'd played together on occasions as children but Alexander had never gotten to know Isadora beyond formal greetings. Something he wished he had done given how her beauty had blossomed the past year... Not that he was one for thinking about attractive teenagers.

'Yes, Astoria. Cornelius Agrippa, celebrated fifteenth century author. We're descended you know, been in the family for generations - hand painted by Belgian house elves too.' Alexander heard his Mother bragging from across the foyay. He rolled his eyes. He was used to Pansy and her desire to outdo everybody she ever met, not that he hated it, in fact he was secretly fond of the uppity rivalry between pure blood families.

'How did you find sixth year?' He asked, a smile quirking across his face as he heard his Mother name drop a few other ancestors.

It was quite unclear what amused Isadora more, though the quirk of her lips was imperceptible on her face: the fact that her parents were quite openly fawning over a painting that they would not care a whit for had they possessed one of rivalling price or the fact that Pansy was so clearly going out of her way to make the point that what was on the wall was far more than wood, canvas and oil – no, indeed, it was something to be treasured as it was painted by Belgian House Elves, no less. Terrific, dahhhling.

Looking up from her parents and godparents, Isadora turned her gaze to Alexander, a polite smile forming on her mouth. She shrugged her shoulders a little, inclining her head left to right before finding her words which where gradual and languorous, clearly demonstrating a slight hesitation on her part and the betrayal of perhaps the belief that she was not so interesting as to merit that inquiry. Nevertheless, she managed her reply, albeit a slightly delayed and, indeed, belated one.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she dropped her gaze to her shoes, only half listening to the titters of their parents.

Looking up again when he addressed her, she felt herself find a smile and she opened her mouth again, endeavouring to speak but before she could, Astoria called out that she desired something to drink and thus Isadora paused, glancing out of the corner of her eye at her mother as she snatched at Pansy’s hands, impressing upon the dark haired woman just how parched she was and that Draco, “the abominable tyrant”, had been denying her a holiday to the vineyards of southern France.

“Fifth,” Isadora corrected finally, turning her gaze back to Alexander. “Sixth year is in September. I just finished my O.W.Ls,” her smile grew stronger at this and she stood up a little taller, showing how proud of that fact she actually was. “But you’ve just graduated, haven’t you? I expect that’s exciting. What are you thinking of going into?”

Of course. How could Alexander have forgotten Isadora was the same age as Ally, and they were in the same house meaning the pair shared a dormitory. Alexander wondered if they were friends, if they were then why was Allyson not invited to dine with them tonight? What exactly was his Mother planning? His brown eyes scanned her suspiciously as she let off a high pitched laugh, slapping Draco on the arm girlishly.

'Oh yes, you're the same as Ally.' Alexander, too, corrected himself. 'Well, I guess it's a little exciting. Sort of nerve racking at the same time. I've managed to get myself several job interviews for the different roles within the Ministry. I'm leaning more towards the Being Division and work my way into the Goblin liaison Office.'

Alexander needn't have gone into as much detail as he did, a simply 'I want to work in the ministry' would have done but a part of him was mimicking his parents. A role in the Goblin Liaison Office was well respected, it would take a while to achieve such a role, but if he succeeded he'd be working directly with the magical economy, something of high importance.

There were other reasons why the Being Division attracted him. Alexander was prejudice. The Slytherin would be working with werewolves, or so much enforcing policies and managing their existence. After the recent werewolf attack at Hogwarts just before Christmas when the Blood pack found their way onto the grounds Alexander felt a new regime was needed, tighter control on them. That was the first of his many ambitious plans upon entering the ministry.

'How did your OWL's go? Do you know what subjects you want to take to NEWT's? Alexander asked conversationally. There wasn't much need for this question, being a Ravenclaw Isadora would no doubt be continuing with most of them, especially the respected subjects such as transfiguration and potions. Then again, who knows, perhaps the Malfoy would surprise him.

It was difficult to say whether Ravenclaws had friends. There were plenty of rivals for them to find in the common room and the hierarchical system was as brutal as it was in the depths of the Pureblood inner sanctum within Slytherin house. The problem with Ravenclaw was that there was no hereditary system. The rising Pureblood family of the hour did not sit on the top of the pile – rather, it was the dirty Mudbloods and Blood Traitors whom she could not trust. However, normally the rivalry was very subject based though conflicts did erupt between the different blood groups and thus, for the case of the former it would be difficult to say whether the Nott offspring that was Isadora’s contemporary was in fact friendly to her and vice versa. Cordial was probably the best way to describe their relationship hence the cool, tempered response of:

“Yes, indeed.” Of course, it was much more interesting for the worldly Isadora to hear about what Alexander intended on going on to do. She envied his independence just as she did her own brother’s and she wondered, perhaps, whether she would be given the opportunity to choose and go onto pursue a career of her own. She suspected, however, that when the time came her father would exercise some control and, at best, submit her to the will of a master for her to apprentice under but once she began to look a little bit long and drawn out, losing her looks or whatever ridiculousness her mother supplied she would be sucked out of the family fold and deposited in another, robbed of her stimulus and left to make heirs for whoever she had to call husband.

“Really?” Isadora enthused brightly. “That’s so interesting,” she expressed honestly. She’d never particularly cared for Goblins – finding them disgusting, disturbing creatures – and could not for the life of her decipher why they had been allowed to look after important Wizarding gold when they themselves were not particularly trustworthy. She swallowed back any derisive remarks she could make towards the Goblins, knowing that her mother’s withering gaze and further irritation later would not be worth connecting potential kinship over disdain for certain magical creatures.

“The exams went alright, I suppose,” Isadora shrugged her shoulders. “All I know is that I’m going to take Potions still, really. That’s what I want to deal with primarily so… oh, and Herbology but … I mean, I’ll probably take them all but I don’t really want to overwhelm myself either so it’s all up in the air at the moment. I’m waiting to see what my grades look like before deciding, I think.”

“Do you know what this is all about?” Isadora asked finally, looking up at Alexander. “They’re being painfully pleasant to each other and though I am all for dinner parties does it not come off as rather odd that it’s just us here?”

Alexander smiled, a somewhat full-of-himself smile. Being a Slytherin it was hard to hide his delight when recognised for his ambitions. Hopefully he would be able to strengthen his familie's growing reputation. What with his Mother stamping her mark across the country with her writing and his Father being a lawyer. Their time would soon be over and when that happened Alexander needed to ensure that he was at the pinnacle of his career and producing pure blooded Nott's to continue the legacy - that's if Anastasia didn't break that. Being a Gryffindor who associated with half bloods and muggle borns he had an inkling she would.

Potions. There wasn't much surprise there. It was a highly complex subject, he knew himself owing to taking the subject to NEWT. Only few could handle the pressure when it came to brewing a complex concoction. Naturally being a Ravenclaw the Malfoy girl would probably enjoy the challenge, find the intellectual stimulant a thrill.

'Herbology does goes hand in hand with potions.' Alexander commented, nodding slightly with certainty. Knowledge of the magical plants and they're effects was an aspect of potions the Slytherin personally found boring, glad that part of his education was over. 'Are you thinking about becoming a potioneer then, Isadora?'

'I was hoping you might have had an idea.' Alexander replied ominously. His parents had been rather quiet and evasive of his questions throughout the day and they'd completely blanked Anastasia when he'd asked her to scope the situation out for him.

Pansy Parkinson-Nott let off another girlish squeal, her husband however merely nudged her and nodded towards the the children. They were talking, engaging in polite conversation as they always did whenever they met at a family dinner. A delicious smile spread across the reporters face.

'How about we take this into the dining chamber?' Pansy suggested to the Malfoys. 'They seem more than acquainted.'

Had there been an awareness within Isadora Malfoy of what was to come, perhaps she would have felt afraid, upset or whatever multitude of emotions desired to combine within her to make her feel suddenly very nauseous. But, in the arid atmosphere of the Nott home she found herself stoic and intrigued, her mouth moving seamlessly over polite, phatic conversation with Alexander, someone whom she’d known since she’d they had been little but time and diverting interests had served to separate them from now bearing any great and similar tastes. Nevertheless, next to him she felt as though she had an ally. It saved her from her mother’s erratic glare and her father’s testy, weary eyes that betrayed his desire to creep away to whichever mistress he had taken most recently.

“A potioneer,” Isadora agreed belatedly, watching her parents, “yes, exactly. Though I’m not entirely sure whether it would be practical given…”

Before she had chance to really elaborate, to air her fears that there would come a time when her body would be bartered over and she would be claimed, taken by someone who would not wish to have such an ambitious woman for a wife, the call for them to enter the dining hall commenced and Isadora’s feet shuffled across the cool floors, falling into step behind her parents, next to Alexander. Then, before she could really consider what she would have said, they were seated and things were being flown into the room and set across the table for them to pick at whilst they enjoyed their drinks.

“I don’t suppose you’ve thought any more over my original offer,” Draco announced suddenly, breaking the contented silence that they had all enjoyed, Isadora especially with her lips around a strawberry. Suddenly though, it lost its sweetness and she tossed her eyes between her father and uncle Theodore. Licking her lips absently as she brought her hand down to the table, Isadora looked down at her lap and wondered after the offer her father had spoken of.

The offer? Fifty thousand galleons as a dowry payment.

Pansy, placing a hand on her sons back, guided him into the dining room. There was once a time when the Mother would place her hand on his shoulder but now he was much taller than her, like his Father, meaning that his back was the next best place. Not that it was an improvement for the ex-Slytherin. What seventeen year old wanted their Mothers hand guiding them around their own house that they knew perfectly well.

The seating arrangement was rather amusing. Their dining room table was far too long to have anybody at the head of the table (that would be a little bit ridiculous shouting across to each other). Instead Theodore say opposite Draco, Pansy against Astoria leaving Alexander to sit besides his Mother facing Isadora. 

The dinner would be rather fun from the boys point of view. Alexander always enjoyed meals in dress robes whilst listening to the older pure Blood's talk about their pure blooded ways. Most of the time they talked about themselves, attempting to out do one another. Then, as always was the, they would gossip about other pure bloods. The topic of conversation at a meal last week with the Crabbe's had been the Rookwoods. 

The latest news was that the blood traitor Theodore Rookwood's wife had been promoted to an Auror, ahead of her class who were still set to sit the exam. In turn that brought an avalanche of foul mouthed language about the deputy minister promoting the filthy half blood for, what? Because she had lost her leg and felt sorry for her? 'Serves her right for staining a highly recognise pure blood line' Pansy had said, much to the laughter of the surrounding table.

Perhaps to anybody else these meals would have seemed exceedingly boring. Anastasia was prone to growing restless and playing with her food after ten minutes, but Alexander found them most entertaining. However, it appeared this dinner wasn't the same as usual, Alexander soon found himself feeling a tad uncomfortable.

The Malfoys had suddenly brought up talk about an 'offer'. What on earth was this offer all about? Something was starting to dawn on him, something foreboding. His eyes caught Isadora's. Were they about to find out why only them, out of all six Malfoy-Nott children, had been invited to dinner?

'Yes.' Pansy said, taking the lead on the conversation ahead of her husband. This was always the case. Weedy Theodore Nott had never been as dominant as his wife, one of the reasons for Pansy's adulterous track record. 'The sum is a splendid offer, however.' She paused.

'Given the fact Scorpius is set to marry someone less than pure blood we feel that it isn't enough. We would be saving the Malfoy line from further blood treachery.' 

Blood treachery. Marriage. What in God's name were they- Then it dawned on Alexander. He and Isadora were of a similar age, Isadora would soon receive a letter from the Ministry and Alexander was in dire need of being married into a pure blood family. He'd already found himself in a holding cell for not following the Ministry's intentions. That was why only he and Isadora were invited, that's why his Mother had picked out dress robes for him: Their parents were discussing an arrange marriage. 

Distantly, in another room or perhaps a throwaway corridor, an irregular grandfather clock chimed in the hour. Through the silence that ebbed like a restless seat through the room, Isadora was sure that her ear faintly grasped at the sound. She swallowed, a shaking hand reaching out for the glass of water that had poured itself for her from the large jug of the iced liquid in the middle of the little table setting. She drank it eagerly but did not take any more than propriety would insist, setting it down quickly before tucking her hands back into her lap. She lowered her gaze, inspecting her fingernails, wishing that she could be anywhere rather than in that hall.

Meanwhile, Draco had paled – as though his porcelain skin could even do so – and tried to quash the look of absolute horror on his face. Draco Malfoy did not like the idea that anyone was doing him a favour – certainly and especially not Pansy Parkinson. His jaw tightened imperceptibly and his eyes narrowed a little at the sides. He shifted in his seat, passing a look in the direction of his wife who kept her silence. Another look went in the direction of his daughter and with stunning clarity Draco realised that he was on his own. There would be no counsel. There would be no chance to ask for guidance. It was his choice, alone.

“Not enough?” He asked, inclining his head dubiously. “There is no better blood than that of the Malfoy family, diluted by this painful law or not. Isadora is pure. She would be an excellent asset to your family. Fifty thousand galleons is more than enough.”

Of course, all who sat there with white-blonde hair knew that the Notts would not move but unhelpfully, neither would Draco, you would think, whose resolve was already crumbling. He pursed his lips together, mentally agonising over the half a million pounds that he could throw down the drain in dowry for his daughter. He was unsure as to what the Notts would even do with a hundred thousand galleons – it was not as though they needed it. Crucially also, that was another loan he’d have to get from his father. Thankfully though, this was Isadora they were talking about – not Scorpius or Francesca. Lucius would be a little bit more amiable, hopefully.

“One hundred thousand then,” Draco spoke silkily, ignoring the shuddering gasp of his daughter beside him.

Isadora’s head had snapped up, her eyes glassy with tears threatening to well up and fall. A shaking hand reached out for her water glass then and she drank desperately once more, her mother unconsciously mirroring the action with her own. Swallowing the water deeply, Isadora held out the glass and the jug filled it back up, ice tipping into the flute. She glanced over at Alexander briefly before turning her gaze back to her father, only to be once again shocked pitifully.

“One hundred thousand as long as twenty five thousand acts as a definite dower and you pay for the wedding. One of our Austrian properties. How is that?” He pressed impatiently, keen to let the ladies turn over wedding plans themselves so he could disappear and have a meaningful conversation with Theodore. It was necessary to attempt to mitigate the disaster that the Ministry was trying to make of his line. Isadora would make it better, even if it was sadly a Nott who came to claim Malfoy estates in a handful of decades’ time.