Nordstrom Hall :: Where Wild Things Grow :: DraMa

11 August 1922
Nordström Hall
1:00pm

To say that he wasn’t nervous would be a bold faced lie. Allegra had fucked this up royally. Springing the Zdravkova family on Matilda was the worst possible option. Which was the exact reason she hadn’t been invited to this little meeting.

He decided to invite them to the Sweden Estate, Nordström Hall. It was much more opulent and impressive than the London townhouse. It wasn’t a residence they visited often, but he loved the peace and quiet of the country. Poppy had been at the estate for over a week getting the home opened and cleaned. The house elves did a great job, but the windows needed to be opened, fresh flowers picked for around the house, groceries purchased and a detailed eye making sure everything looked perfect.

He needed this meeting to go well.

Matilda had been quiet since the morning after the party. This was a very un-Matilda like quality. He loved her spicy personality, bright, sunny smile, quick wit and ridiculous sense of humor. Those had vacated the premises over the last week. He knew she was thinking about everything. Mulling it over.

What shocked him most was her lack of outbursts. She had been known to fly off the handle when she was passionate about something, but she had been calm, introspective. Unfortunately she also looked so sad. Her light was dim.

It had been an hour since Matilda had come downstairs. She looked perfect, ready for the meeting. She hadn’t said a word, just walked silently into the back garden. He watched from the window as she disappeared among the hedges and winding paths.

It was her safe space. So he let her go. Hopefully, she would come back… lighter.

---

A loud bell alerted him to their arrival. With a sigh, he walked toward the front entrance. Bram straightened, smoothing down the front of his jacket before stepping into the front hall. This needed to go well. Not perfectly, but well enough.

By the time he reached the front door, one of the house elves had opened the door, and voices carried faintly inward from the drive. The deep accent told him all he needed to know. The Zdravkovas had arrived.

Bram stepped forward just as the door fully opened, greeting them with the ease expected of a man in his position. “Mr. Zdravkova,” he said, extending his hand, his tone warm but formal. “Welcome. I trust your journey was pleasant. Please, come in. I’ve had refreshments prepared. We can speak more comfortably inside.”

There was a pause as his attention turned to the younger man. The man who was set to marry his Matilda. “Dragomire, thank you for coming. I’m sorry for the way things unfolded last week. I hope that things go well today. Matilda is in the garden,” he added, his tone casual, though nothing about this meeting was. “She spends most of her time there. You’ll find her just beyond the back terrace. Follow the stone path.”

Bram showed them to the door, leading to the back terrace, then down to the stone path. Tilly promised to participate in today’s meeting. He hoped that would be the case.

“I think,” Bram continued, his gaze steady on Dragomir, “it would do you both some good to speak without an audience.”

It would be very easy to hide in the garden. She knew every corner, every break in the trees, every overgrown hydrangea that would conceal her whereabouts. But she promised Bram that she’d give today a chance.

A chance to meet her fiancé.

Matilda sighed, head back, face lifted towards the clouds. How was this happening? Out of nowhere she was betrothed. Her entire future was taken away and promised to someone she had never laid eyes on.

Until a week ago.

Getting ready for the day, Matilda had some choices. She could go casual, pants and a blouse, or more formal with a long dress. This didn’t feel formal. She settled on a simple green dress that came just below her knees. A lacey detail around the sleeve added some fun. She finished it off with a long string of pearls, stockings that went up her legs, and covered her scar, and a pair of cute brown leather ankle boots. The boots also added a couple extra inches, which would hopefully help her feel less like a toddler.

If nothing else, at least she looked like herself. If Allegra was here, she would be in a tight dress, tight bun, high heels and tons of makeup. If that was what they wanted in a bride, maybe this would be over before it really started.

One could only hope.

Out with her plants she felt settled. Whole. At peace. It was warm, with a nice breeze lifting her long wavy hair off her shoulders. No tight bun for her today.

With no watch, or clock to speak of, she had no idea what time it was. She suspected it was almost time for their guests to arrive. She had no idea how she was supposed to address them. Bow? Curtsey? A firm handshake? Maybe one of those strange double air kisses? She was so far out of her element it was almost hilarious.

Matilda decided to keep walking for a few more minutes, trailing her hand over the velvety rose petals that came in every color under the sun. Stopping, funny enough, to smell the beautiful flowers Tilly smiled at how the simple graze of her finger changed her entirely. The healthy plant, full of beauty and life filled her with a sense of peace and contentment with that one small little touch.

She was so caught up in the feeling of peace and life, she didn’t notice the man walking towards her. The week prior, Tilly was upset and angry with no smile to be found. Today, she exuded happiness standing in the garden with the sun shining on her face and wind playing with her hair. The Matilda he would find, with a large smile on her face, was a different girl altogether.

His father hadn't been happy.

Once their party of four had returned to Harewood House the night of the ball, it hadn't taken long for Oleg to beckon Drago and Nadežda into his study, wanting to hear every single detail. Drago had stood at command — back straight, hands clasped firmly behind himself, his face a soldier's rigid neutrality. Expecting the worst and steeling himself for it. He had known how his father would react and he had known who he'd let his frustration out on.

Thankfully however, Nadežda had done most of the talking.

It had been a somewhat strange feeling, having someone protect him from his father's wrath when usually that role was his to claim. But Nadežda had done it expertly, redirecting Oleg's rising displeasure so slyly he hadn't even noticed.

Away from his son and towards Allegra Nordstrom instead.

Amateurish, he had called it. Clumsy and disgraceful. A humiliation to their name and reputation, on the first day of their entrance to society at that.

Almost an hour of rage had passed before Drago had been finally dismissed, glad to leave the dealings on how to further proceed to Nadežda and his father.

When they arrived before the Nordstrom's residence in Sweden, Drago knew that none of his father's anger would show. Perfectly hidden underneath a mask of smiles and rumbling laughter, portraying the role of the sociable, friendly and bighearted Russian like no other. He never showed his real face, not in public. Not outside the safety of their family's secrecy and loyalty.

But still he was a calculated businessman underneath the surface, willing to let the harsh coldness they all possessed glimpse through if need be. Drago had seen it countless times.

A firm grip on his shoulder halted Drago in place, his father's low voice a careful warning in his ear. "Don't fuck this up."

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. Oleg released him with a hearty clap on the back, smiling his most convincing, pretentious smile as he walked ahead. Drago followed, showing none of the pressure weighing on his chest, or the drop of annoyance stirring his blood.

Oleg rang the bell, and a second later they were greeted by a houseelf. "Zdravkova," his father announced. "Here to meet with Mr. Nordstrom ah—!" A wide smile appeared in his face and he stepped towards the other man, accepting his hand with both of his, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Thank you, it is good to meet you. We have been looking forward to coming and discussing matters."

Mr. Nordstrom turned to him next.

Drago acknowledged the words with a dip of his head. "It is no apology needed. I will gladly find Matilda in the garden." With a nod he parted from the older men, not without catching the brief flash of another warning in his father's eye, before following the path Mr. Nordstrom had indicated.

It took him a couple minutes but then he saw her. Bent close to a cluster of roses, her hair down and contrasting with the green of her dress, smiling. She looked different, at ease. Natural. As though she belonged right there and no where else.

He didn't notice but it softened his own features, the tension in his jaw, easing the knot in his chest.

"Good afternoon, Matilda," he greeted as he drew close, offering her a slight bow and a smile. He kept a few paces away, unsure of how she would react. Last time she saw him, she had not been pleased, following her grandmothers bidding more than her own will by spending the evening with him. Now that they were in private, away from Mrs. Nordstrom's gripping hands and piercing looks, she was free to chose.

Her defiance had been palpable, he feared not much of it had faded.

"I hope you are doing well? It is very beautiful garden you have."

"Good afternoon, Matilda," lost in her own world, Matilda jumped about six inches off the ground at the voice. “Oh for fu… ficus sake. Sorry, wow. You scared me.” She said, hand on her chest, trying to breath and calm her heart.

Looking him up and down, Tilly couldn’t help but like what she saw. Which was really annoying, because she was trying desperately to hate the man in front of her. "I hope you are doing well? It is very beautiful garden you have." He drew closer, offering her a small bow.

She still wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Opting for a small wave and controlled smile. “Hello, sorry. I didn’t hear you coming. Ummm, thanks. The garden here is massive. I’ve taken control of a small portion.” She said, nodding her head a bit.

Color rose in her cheeks, for some reason embarrassed by his compliment. While the party had been horrible, there were at least things going on around them. Here, it was just them. Alone. She had no idea what to do. Suddenly her fingers felt too long, her legs felt rubbery and she was pretty sure her nose grew larger. Putting her hands behind her back, she rocked back on her heels and looked towards the ground.

Awkward as can be.

Not one to let silence continue, Tilly filled the void with the first thing that came to mind.

“I LIKE PLANTS!”

Freaking brilliant…

Said with far more exuberance than the situation warranted, clearing her throat, she said in a much more controlled volume, “Uhh, sorry. Didn’t mean to shout that. But, yeah. I help run the greenhouse at school. Both for the school and hospital wing. So, when I moved in with my grandfather he built me a greenhouse and let me take over some of the garden.” She gestured vaguely around them.

“It’s my… happy place.”

For someone usually full of confidence and charm, she was currently behaving like a complete and utter disaster in front of her potential, possible, absolutely not happening, husband..

“If you’d like, I can show you my flower…” A beat. It hit her. Her eyes widened. “FLOWERS. Plants. Garden. Not…” she stopped herself, looking down at her feet. “Cheese and crackers…”

Mortification. Absolute, complete mortification.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this… I swear. I’m honestly not sure what I’m supposed to do here.” A small moment of vulnerability. She had avoided his face for most of her verbal bumbling, choosing that moment to look up at his face, wondering if she would find humor, anger, disgust or some combination of the three.

He took one automatic step back when Matilda jumped, apprehension tensing every muscle as he feared the worst, heart skipping a beat. For one terrifying second he thought she would lash out, scream perhaps and tell him to leave, meet him with angry eyes and refuse his company. Make his father's warning true within the first minute of their encounter.

The words echoed somewhere at the back of his mind, stilling his breath as the phantom pain of a fist hit him in the ribs.

And within the same second it vanished.

Matilda placed a hand on her chest, a gasp on her lips and the reaction he had misinterpreted as irritation became evident as shock, confirmed by her words. Drago released the smallest breath of relief, offering an apologetic smile. "I am sorry. I did not mean to scare." Although his footsteps usually announced his approach all on their own — thanks to his confident, resolute gait — maybe he had to be more careful around her. His own mother oftentimes complained he was too sudden. Perhaps Matilda was one of those women easily frightened as well.

At least she hadn't sent him straight to hell. The shock of that and the possible consequences still echoed through his bones.

Thankfully she did no such thing, mentioning to have taken control of part of the garden. He cast a glance around, eyes gliding over plants he couldn't name, shrubs and hedges neatly trimmed, water spouting from fountains and glinting in the sun. It was nice, serene. He enjoyed a well-kept garden from time to time.

He was just looking back around, about to ask if plants was an interest of hers when it was his turn to jump in surprise.

“I LIKE PLANTS!”

Drago looked at her with wide eyes, frozen for a breath, taken off guard by the enthusiasm and unanticipated declaration. She cleared her throat and then the edges of his mouth wobbled into an almost smile, quickly supressed with a swallow but the slight tilt lingered. Was she nervous? Flustered? Amusement softened his eyes as he listened to her explain, his usual calm ease returning to his demeanour. He couldn't help the sense of achievement warming his chest, a slight nudge towards his ego. She was rambling, a blush on her cheeks, unable to look at him. He carefully hid the smug satisfaction under a layer of polite neutrality.

“If you’d like, I can show you my flower…”

She paused. He blinked.

“FLOWERS. Plants. Garden. Not…”

His brows lowered in confusion. Hadn't she just said that?

“Cheese and crackers…”

Cheese and...crackers? Was she...hungry?

His eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of her babbling, not understanding. The lessons on British culture and language had begun a few years ago, when the family had first planned on sending one of their branches here. He spoke it well enough, knew the most basic outlines of their customs, understood most everything when he spoke to natives.

Yet sometimes it left him stranded.

Like now.

He didn't get the chance to ask, the moment he had taken to try and figure this out had been enough for Matilda to move along.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this… I swear. I’m honestly not sure what I’m supposed to do here.”

A gentle smile replaced his puzzlement. He figured the whole situation made her nervous — after all, she hadn't known any of this would happen.

Drago dared a few steps closer. "Please do not apologize," he insisted, coming to stand beside her. Not directly, there was plenty of room for propriety and comfort. Nadežda had said not to crowd her and he figured that advice still stood strong.

Yet, he was close enough to see her freckles again, sprinkled over the bridge of her nose, running over the round of her cheeks, speckling the stretch of her forehead. He traced the pattern for a moment, a little lost suddenly. With a breath he snapped himself out of it though, finding back to her eyes. They seemed bluer out here than they had in the ballroom. "You can show me your garden," he quickly suggested, reigning the intensity of his gaze back in. "And tell me about the plants. I know not much about plants."

He paused, hesitating. Habit and manners urged him to offer his arm for her to take, but he thought better of it. "You said it is your happy place." His smile didn't waver. "I want to know more about it."

There were a few things that bothered Matilda about this whole… arrangement.
First, she didn’t want to comply with her grandmother on anything. Ever. Since Allegra had been the one to pick the man standing in front of her, it gave him a rather unfair check in the negative column

Through no fault of his own.

Second, she didn’t want a loveless marriage. Matilda had grown up watching Bram and Allegra, and she refused to believe that was what marriage was meant to be. Surely, at some point, there had been affection between them, they had three children to prove it, but whatever that had been was long gone. The thought of ending up in something like that, with a man she didn’t love… Sounded horrendous.

Third, what if he wasn’t nice? He hadn’t given any indication that a monster lived below the surface, but even the meanest of people could put on a fake smile and call themselves civil. Her grandmother was a prime example of this. Bram would never allow a marriage with an abusive husband, but what if it came later, after everything was signed, sealed, and impossible to undo?

Matilda took a slow breath, watching as he stepped closer. She was making a complete fool of herself. Rambling. Blurting nonsense. Tripping over her own words. This wasn’t her.

Matilda was strong-willed, sharp, not someone who floundered like this. She needed to find that version of herself again.

Dragomire seemed to take in every detail of her face as he got closer. This close, she could see the different browns and golds that made up his eyes. From afar they looked dark and forboding, but up close there was a warmth she didn’t expect.

“You can show me your garden. And tell me about the plants. I know not much about plants.”

That was not what she had expected. Matilda expected a stuffy mid-day tea service with small talk and surface level conversations with polite smiles. Extended, uncomfortable silence. Not this.
Not walking around her garden talking about plants. He had no idea what door he opened…

“You may regret asking.” She said with a small laugh.

“You said it is your happy place. I want to know more about it.”

Something in her softened at that. It was difficult, in that moment, to remember she wasn’t supposed to like him.

Matilda nodded once, a small shy smile forming. “Sure.” She said, relieved the words came out without spiraling into nonsense.

Slowly, she turned to walk down the path, taking them farther into the garden. “Like I said, I love it out here. It doesn’t matter if it’s outside and more sculpted like this, a greenhouse, a vegetable garden or a field of wild flowers. If there is dirt and something growing I’m happy.”

As they walked, the landscape shifted. Perfectly sculpted hedges changed to something more lush. The separation was hidden behind a break in the hedge, revealing rows of vegetables and a large greenhouse. “This is probably my favorite area,” she said, motioning towards the vegetables in front of them. “It takes more work, but… there’s something to show for it.” Carrots. Broccoli. Potatoes. Onions. Cucumbers. The list seemed endless.

The more she spoke, the more she settled. Her shoulders lowered, her smile grew. The words came easier, no stumbling, no blurting nonsense. She pointed things out as they walked, naming plants, explaining their uses, slipping naturally into something she knew.

“Over there is my greenhouse,” she added, nodding to the white metal structure. “That’s where I grow more magical plants. Things for potions, salves, teas, tinctures… It’s probably unbearably hot in there right now, though. We can skip it.”

That, and the fact that some of the plants inside were… questionable. Hidden in the far corner was a rather large Venus Flytrap she had named Scarlet, or reasons she couldn’t explain, which had developed a taste for meat when bugs weren’t available. What had started as curiosity had quickly turned into experimentation. Specifically, playing around with venom from other plants, like the venomous tentacula, infusing the meat with the venom was probably not the smartest idea, but that wouldn’t stop her. Would it kill the plant? It hadn’t yet. Would it create a strange hybrid carnivorous magical plant that eats meat? She was really hoping so….

Stopping along the path, Matilda stepped forward before turning abruptly to face him, studying him with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I haven’t let you speak at all.”

“Can you tell me about yourself?” she asked. “Do you prefer Dragomir, Drago… or Dragon?” A grin tugged at her lips. “My cousin Alice seems quite fond of that one.”

Her tone softened slightly. “I know you’re from Russia. And that you’re seventeen. That’s about it.”

The nerves had faded. Not entirely, but enough so that she didn’t continue to embarrass herself. For the first time since all of this had begun, it was easy to forget what he was supposed to be.

She nodded and Drago smiled a fraction wider, relieved to see her relax a little.

He genuinely cared to know more about her. To hear about the things she liked, what she did in her free time, how she liked to spend her days. He wanted to know who this girl was that his family had chosen, someone he had met only once but that would one day be his wife. A fate he accepted and honoured as the privilege it was, but still — he didn't want to marry a stranger.

Yet on the other hand there was an urgency pressing at the back of his mind. A weight that needed her to accept him just as unquestioningly and duteously as he did, to lay her own desires aside in favour of her familial responsibilities, without complaint and without defiance.

He wasn't sure she would. Liliya had explained to him that arranging partners was not as common here as it was in Russia, that personal preferences were taken into account more naturally than what he'd consider normal. He could sense that Matilda didn't like this, that the values she had been taught were different from his own.

That his expectations when he'd sought her out at the ball were void.

He blamed a great deal of that on Mrs. Nordstrom, for the way she had let them both run into her knife. Still, it didn't change the fact that Matilda didn't view their arrangement in the same light as he did.

So if not unquestioning subordination, he would need her to come to terms with it over time. And he was determined to find a way. A rebellious and reluctant betrothed would only further ignite his father's irritation, already simmering due to Mrs. Nordstrom's fumble. He needed to keep the man's wrath at bay or he'd get to feel it later.

When Matilda turned to walk them along the path, a small smile on her lips, Drago felt how the tension in his own shoulders melted away. The neatly trimmed hedges soon made way for more unruly clusters of vegetation, beds filled with a multitude of leafy greenery that all looked the same to him.

Her favourite area.

Huh. Not typically the part of a garden a woman would even care to step foot in. And then a greenhouse for magical plants. Yet another unexpected bit of information. He had envisioned something more...floral...he supposed.

He regarded the structure with a thoughtful crease between his brows, wanting to ask about her strange interest but his languid walk was abruptly halted when Matilda stepped in his way, curiosity on her face.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t let you speak at all. Can you tell me about yourself?”

His expression softened, that sense of achievement flaring again at her apparent interest in him.

Her cousin's nickname for him elicited a little chuckle, a sound that was foreign to even him, a rare occurrence. The amusement lingered though, light on his lips as he contemplated her question, resting his gaze on her face. "Drago," he decided at last, tipping his head slightly. "It is how my friends call me." A beat passed and then a small grin appeared. "But Dragon is good too if you like. I like dragons."

The part of telling her about him was much harder to answer.

He was Zdravkova. He was the son of Oleg and the grandson of Aleksandr. It was the essence of his existence, through blood and bone, with every fibre of his being. It was and had always been his only identity.

But that wasn't what she wanted to hear, he knew that. Instead, he offered her the only thing he could. "I like duelling and Kulachniy Boy. It is Russian boxing." His chest swelled just slightly, chin high. "I was one of best at Durmstrang. I do training every day." It was about the only thing he did better than his older half-brother, the only thing that granted him his father's unshared approval and pride. He clung to that with desperate dedication.

Boxing...

One look at his arms and she could see why. Her past boyfriends were always taller then her, not a difficulty, seeing as she only stood at 5'2", but neither Ren nor Evan had a stalkey muscular frame. She had a feeling he could toss her over his shoulder with ease.

For reasons she couldn't pinpoint, this intrigued her... a question for another day.

Tilly started moving again, wandering through the paths, no real destination in mind. He had mentioned Durmstrang, not a shock there. She knew very little about the other magical school, but it did seem to have a reputation for being strict. At least she would have another year at Hogwarts to figure all this out in peace.

She needed dirt on him, something she could bring to her grandfather as proof that this would never work. So far, there was nothing crossing her radar.

They had left the vegetable garden without Tilly realizing it, and had ended up just a short distance from another favorite part of her garden. This one, more secret. "I know I said the vegetable garden was my favorite, but this area is as well... honestly, it's all my favorite." Picking a favorite would be like picking a favorite child.

Tilly led the way towards what looked like an exterior hedge row, dense and foreboding. There would be no way to pick your way through. What you couldn't see until you came up to it was a small alcove with a bench positioned under a large weeping willow tree. At first glance, he may think this secluded spot was where she was taking him, but she didn't sit.

Inching her way through the tree, holding up the flowering branches, just enough room for Tilly, Drago would need to duck. It took a second to find the hidden latch, but then an audible click sounded in the quiet space and Tilly turned to smile.

"Come on, not everyone knows about this spot. Grandfather showed me when he realized I spent more time outside then in." She said with a chuckle.

Matilda walked through the hidden door, opening it up for Drago to walk through. She wasn't sure why she was bringing him into the space, it really was secret, but for some reason she was enjoying showing him things she loved.

She'd overthink that later as well.

Once you walked under the branches and through the hidden green door built into the hedge, the space opened up to a Lush, overgrown space. Wildflowers, tall grasses, flowering bushes, butterflies and birds filled the space. Small paths wove through, creating a magical land completely removed from reality.

As they walked, Tilly filled the silence with rapid fire questions. She wanted to learn what made the man tick. With each question she gave her own answer, it was only fair.

*Favorite color: green (duh)
*Favorite food: anything with Cinnamon
*Favorite music: partial to jazz
*Morning person or night owl: both, she didn't need a lot of sleep.
*Dream vacation: somewhere tropical
*favorite sport: no thank you

The questions went on from there. Thankfully she was fully relaxed and enjoying herself, which both annoyed and thrilled her.

Out of the blue a large whispy blue creature came into view, trotting around the pair. Her grandfather's patronus was a large stallion. "Tea will be served soon." Was all the figure said. A echo of her grandfather's voice.

"Well, I guess we should head in." She sighed. Finally able to be herself, she hated the idea of having to put back on the posh mask. "Thankfully, my Grandmother is not in attendance. Which will hopefully make this less horrible."

Sitting in his study talking with Oleg was as he expected. Neither man was willing to show their cards. Surface level conversation with no real substance.

There was a lot of talk about London Society, who he should meet, who Bram could introduce him to. It was all fine, polite, controlled, but he knew there was one subject that needed to be discussed.

"Oleg, I must apologize for how things went with the kids introduction. My wife made a blunder of things." Bram took a drink of his scotch, draining the glass. Leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, Bram sighed.

"I want to believe my wife had good intentions, but I think we can both agree she went about it the wrong way." He said with a note of disappointment.

Bram wasn't sure what had been shared about Matilda, so he thought it best to start from the beginning.

"Matilda is the daughter of Thomas, my oldest son. She is their only child, and dare I say that she wasn't wanted. He has left the magical community all together. Him and his wife, a Kirkwood, live a quiet life in a rural area down south."

The Kirkwood's were pureblood, but not high society, Bram doubted Oleg would recognize the name. "My son is an angry man and not fit to be a father. During the summer before Matilda's 2nd year her parents signed over all rights to Allegra and I. We gladly took her in, but with my work schedule with the Swedish Ministery at the time, Allegra was the one raising her. My wife..." again, he paused, clearing his throat.

"Allegra is heavy handed in all things. She was not happy with Matilda's upbringing, manners, posture, appearance. Everything about her really. Allegra went about her 'training' in a very abusive manner. Verbally, emotionally, and close to physically. Matilda hates her grandmother. This entire situation needs a certain amount of care. I am doing my best to make her understand, but she did not grow up in our world. I truly believe in time she will see the benefits of this arrangement. That being said, if she saw this as Allegra's idea alone, my granddaughter would do everything in her power to go against Allegra's wishes."

It was a slippery slope. If he pushed Matilda to far he would lose her. He needed to give her the opportunity to fall for Drago on her own. He hoped today was a start to that.

"Matilda is spirited, independent, intelligent. I've never seen anyone with a mind for herbology like her. She can also be impulsive and bull headed." He said with an affectionate smile. "I love my granddaughter more than I ever thought possible and I want her to be happy. I truly believe this union will grant her that, but she will fight us tooth and nail along the way. Please don't hold that against her. It's her grit and determination that will take her far in this world. She seems like a true match for Dragomire. Their personalities will complement each other well. Now, we just need her to believe it."

After a bit more conversation, Poppy came in and declared it neaely time for mid-afternoon tea. The kids had been outside for some time. Neither storming inside in a rage, he took that as a good sign. Sensing his patronus out to alert Matilda, he stood from his comfortable chair.

"Oleg, would you like to join me on the terrace for tea? Dragomire and Matida should be up shortly."

It seemed to have struck her speechless, but the way her gaze dropped to one of his upper arms was enough to satisfy.

He didn't let it on — the affirmed suspicion that she was intrigued by him, despite her initial reaction to him and their match. She might not be fully convinced, but she wasn't entirely averse either. The fact that her eyes lingered for just a fraction of a second too long was prove enough.

Drago supressed the urge to flex his biceps, keeping his arms relaxed where he still clasped them behind his back. Carefully hidden beneath the polite tilt of a smile, he kept the smug prickle of triumph to himself.

Wordlessly she continued their walk, and he followed as she took him deeper into the garden.

"I know I said the vegetable garden was my favorite, but this area is as well... honestly, it's all my favorite."

He raised an intrigued brow, curious for whatever could be better than the vegetable garden. A tease he kept to himself, not yet sure how she'd react to a comment like that, however well-meant it might be. She seemed comfortable right now, at ease, and he couldn't afford to lose that.

Matilda led them towards a willow tree hiding a bench beneath its drooping branches and another jesting comment pressed at the back of his throat, one he pushed off his mind before it could accidentally spill from his tongue. He followed, ducking under the branches and through the tangled mess.

A click sounded and ahead a door opened ajar. A secret garden then, one she was showing him of her own free will. He mentally noted that piece of information down as well.

Once through the door, an entirely different atmosphere surrounded them. Like a fairy tale it spread out before him, a paradise for bees and butterflies, feeling like he'd stepped into another world. This one seemed like an appropriate favourite part of a garden, and somehow he was glad about that.

Their conversation eased into a comfortable flow, almost natural. Matilda kept bombarding him with all sorts of questions which he answered with dutiful diligence. Dark blue. Caviar. Jazz too, but don't tell anyone. Morning person, his daily run is scheduled for 5am. Anywhere where there's snow. Sparring, boxing, anything physical. He let her shower him with whatever minor fact she wanted to know, finding his own enjoyment in watching her reactions.

At one point her interrogation was cut short when the misty blue whisps of a patronus appeared, informing them that tea was soon set to be served.

"Well, I guess we should head in. Thankfully, my Grandmother is not in attendance. Which will hopefully make this less horrible."

A smirk played on the corners of his mouth as he leaned in slightly, giving her a mischievous look. "What a pity," he said in a low tone, as though careful to not be overheard. With a lift of his brows he offered his arm after all, thinking that maybe he could take advantage of her bettered mood. Again, he refrained from flexing.

Oleg's expression never shifted from the polite stretch of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, legs crossed where he lounged opposite Bertram, scotch in hand.

The flow of their conversation had been casual, touching on matters that easily classified as small talk rather than actual dialogue, the pretence of friendship before business. A list of names he had committed to memory, the offer to be introduced that he had accepted with humble appreciation. All useful things but coasting around the elephant sitting in the room and staring right at them.

He didn't plan on bringing it up himself, instead he waited for Bertram to acknowledge the Nordstrom's disaster of an introduction. Waited to see whether he had the decency to apologize.

As it turned out, he did.

Oleg listened attentively, lips slightly pursed as he swirled the contents of his glass. It was a foreign concept to him, giving control over something as important as this to a woman. Within his own branch of the family, Oleg organized every detail himself, delegating parts to his son but keeping a watchful eye even on that. To be so foolish as to let his wife be in charge of handling the arrangement of his child was ludicrous.

Women had their places and it wasn't amidst business. The fact that it was Nadežda who had been tasked by his uncle to tie their name into Britain sat like a thorn in his side. He understood — she had been the one to make connections during their first tentative appearance here, when they had first planned on settling half the family over. Society had already known her, opposed to his entirely new presence and it made sense to send her first. And still, it was ridiculous. A woman with power.

It should have been him.

Had it been him, he would have already known all the information Bertram was giving now, and it would have been enough to eliminate Matilda Nordstrom off his list of suitable options right away. A girl raised by people choosing to live absent of magic — away from manners, responsibility and an upbringing appropriate for a pureblood. A girl with a mind of her own.

It left a sour taste on his tongue.

Silently he agreed with Allegra's dismay for the girl's apparent lack of grace and fealty, her methods of teaching. Some children only learned one way. He had seen it first hand on his own cousin Liliya.

But Bertram appeared like the sort of man allowing independent, unruly behaviour such as his granddaughter's, praising her for it even. Soft, it clung to the back of Oleg's throat like acid, and he washed it down with a swig of scotch. Weren't it for the man's undeniably valuable connections not only into the British, but also the Swedish ministry, Oleg would have appealed to his uncle for a change of plans. As it stood however, Bertram's contacts were unparalleled, something that was sure to become useful one day. Worth the trouble.

Oleg hid his disdain under a practiced mask of measured politeness, smiling as he allowed a moment of silence to stretch, the words settling like dust throughout the room. There was an edge to his smile when at last, he hummed. "I am certain my son will be able to make her see reason." He'd make sure of that. "After all, we do not want a defiant, reluctant bride, do we?" The dip of his voice held only the subtlest hint of a warning.

This arrangement had been agreed upon. A disobedient child would not stand in the way of that. Despite his own aversion for it, his uncle's decision stood.

When the time for tea drew close, Oleg rose from his chair. "It would be my pleasure," he replied to Bertram's invitation.

He wanted to meet this girl that was allowed as she pleased.

It was hard to read the man in front of her. Stoic, quiet, both seemed to fit well while puzzling him out in her head. Then there were times a smirk would cross his lips. Or a smile, lighting up his face. It was a weird mix, strong and light. Matilda hoped in time she would uncover exactly who Dragomire Zdravkova really was.

If their… relationship, no… that wasn’t right. If their ‘arrangement,’ even lasted long enough to figure him out.

He offered his arm, she hesitated before taking it. Besides the dances they shared, this was the closest she had been to Drago since they met. The dances were tainted with memories of betrayal and anger. She would never look back on that party in a positive light.

Her arm, lightly cradled in his felt... good? Silence had descended once they began walking back to the house. It wasn't unpleasant or strained. For once she didn't feel the need to fill the quiet with her voice. Typically she would feel awkward in the silence, but walking with Drago, listening to the birds chirp and the bees buzz was relaxing. Without realizing it, more of the tension in her body melted away, causing Matilda to lean into him just a touch.

An unconscious action.

Walking up the steps to the terrace, her nerves and tension began to return. She could feel her shoulders bunching up, her back became ramrod straight, her posture returning to an uncomfortable, yet proper position. She could see her grandfather and Drago's father, Oleg standing around talking.

Taking a deep breath, steeling herself for the next portion of the day, Matilda took her arm from Drago's and walked a few steps forward. Extending her hand to Oleg, she shook... Then awkwardly did a half bow, curtsey... thing. The look on her face when she realized her mistake was filled with fear and embarrassment, very unlike the typically fiery confident ginger.

"Sorry, I... Well, I have no idea how I'm supposed to greet or address you Sir. That was an unfortunate mix of everything I'm afraid." Color rose in her face, not wanting to make a fool of herself flew right out the proverbial window. While she hated the idea of this arrangement and loathed her grandmother for putting this together, she also didn't want to disappoint Bram.

Oleg was intimidating. Tilly kept her eyes downcast as the four moved towards the table set for tea. She didn’t want to see the disappointment, since she could feel it radiating off him in waves.

As Matilda approached her chair Drago beat her to the punch, pulling it out for her to take a seat. Nodding her head in acknowledgment, with a soft smile, she sat down.

Her lessons came back like a kick to the gut. Putting her hand on her belly, she let out a quiet settling breath. Everything came flooding back in a wave of memories. Sit up straight, ankles crossed and tucked back. Tilly took her napkin and placed it on her lap softly, keeping all her movement slow and fluid. Her hands went to her lap, below the edge of the table so no one coils see her thumbs twiddling to expend some anxious energy.

Bram could sense her nerves, giving her a smile of reassurance. “Oleg, I hope you like the assortment we have for you. As I mentioned, Matilda is proficient in all things Herbology. She created a few tea blends for today. Matilda, why don’t you tell us about your selections. Then maybe after you can show Dragomire your potion room.”

Well fuck a duck…

“Sure,” she said with a small tremble in her voice. She hated being judged, and she was sure that was exactly what was going on around the table.

“I wasn’t sure what type would be your preference, so I put together three blends. This is a traditional English Breakfast tea made with Assam, Ceylon, and Kenyan tea leaves. I also have Lady Grey, with notes of citrus. And, umm, this one, I hope, is a traditional Russian tea blend. It’s made with Lapsang Souchong, Keemun, Oolong, and Assam.”

She allowed herself the briefest of looks around the table, but only Bram showed his cards. At least he looked happy. “I’m sorry to say, we don’t have a Samovar. I hope it’s to your liking.”

At that point Tilly shut her mouth and let Pip, one of their house elves, serve the tea, cakes, scones and clotted cream. There was also a platter of Russian treats that Tilly wouldn’t be able to name: Sushki, Pirogi, Pryankik, Blini and Russian Tea Cakes. After the fiasco of the party, they were trying to make an effort.

It was hard to wrap her head around the day. In one way, she wanted to send the men packing. Yet, she also wanted to make a good impression. For now, she would stick with trying to smooth things over. If it came to pass that she hated Drago, she would work with Bram to get the arrangement voided.


**All Power plays approved by the author**

She took his arm after a beat of hesitation and he kept the relief that rolled through him neatly tugged below the surface.

There was no need for her to know how badly he relied on her show of compliance or how her actions would dictate the course of the hours following this meeting. Not that she would ever know — these were the things he'd been taught to obscure from outsiders with perfectly composed masks and a body language that was so void of anything it was almost eery.

A hint of his smile lingered however, as they made their way back towards the estate in silence. Matilda seemed to relax too, a little, the arm around his losing some of the tension and melting more into ease rather than uncertainty. Although it didn't last long.

The moment Mr. Nordstrom and his own father came into view the strain seemed to soak back into her body. Drago straightened too, face smoothed into blank neutrality, his solid exterior back into place. He didn't acknowledge the miniscule hint of approval in his father's eyes, and it did little to ease the inner tension wrapped around his every organ. But he noted it. Despite it all, it found a mark in a deeper part of his chest.

Matilda stepped forward to greet Oleg, a clumsy combination of every possible option and none quite the right choice. Drago could feel the disapproval like a wave to the face, his own gaze darting to Matilda with slight confusion. That might have been the most inelegant introduction he'd ever been witness to. Was she just nervous? Was this a British thing? Or did she really not know the proper etiquette?

Drago swallowed against the lump of discomfort lodged in his throat, looking back to his father. The strained smile and too-still posture told enough of what this first impression had made on him.

"No matter, girl," Oleg said with a voice that suggested otherwise. "It is the nerves. It has been turbulent events, no?" His gaze swerved to Mr. Nordstrom, a chuckle void of humour filling the space.

As they reached the table, Drago pulled Matilda's chair out before finding his own seat, table manners that had been drilled into his body from the moment he could sit on his own. Mr. Nordstrom directed the conversation to his granddaughter's Herbology knowledge, urging her to explain the apparent choice in tea she had made for today.

Drago noted with relief that his father seemed pleased with that. "It is very kind of you to make so much effort," he said as though he didn't expect exactly that. "I will try your Russian tea blend and see how good your studies have been." He grinned at her across the table, gaze like boring spikes of ice. Drago indicated for the English Breakfast blend when a houself appeared to serve, knowing his father would expect him to go with his betrothed's culture instead.

"I hope my son has been good company for you," Oleg continued, tossing Drago a glance before focusing on Matilda once more. "I have heard the garden is one of your special interests?"

Matilda was having a hard time deciding how to act while drinking her tea. It wasn’t lost on her that if she wanted to piss off Oleg, now was the time to do it. Spilling her tea, chewing with her mouth open, forgetting all manners and using the wrong spoon.

Oh the horror…

She just couldn’t do it. No, she didn’t want to marry the man sitting next to her, but she also didn’t want to embarrass her family or herself. Ending this farce of an arrangement would have to happen in a more civilized manner.

Like running away from home! She smiled at the thought, sipping her tea.

"It is very kind of you to make so much effort, I will try your Russian tea blend and see how good your studies have been." Matilda nodded at the compliment, butterflies in her stomach wondering if he would like it. He seemed to enjoy it, which she was happy about. It was a blend she wasn’t confident in, never having tried Russian tea.

Matilda made her own cup of the Russian blend, almost to prove a point. The girl sitting at the table wasn’t afraid of a fight. The men at the table might see it as compliance, when in actuality it was her own way of saying, underestimate me at your own peril.

"I hope my son has been good company for you," Oleg said, Matilda nodded at the question. Putting her tea down, before speaking, as was polite. She was both proud of herself and annoyed at her ability to remember all the rules. Put your cup down after every sip, so as to not spill or dribble. Stir your tea with the spoon slowly, then put it on the saucer at the back of the cup. Hold the handle with your index finger and thumb, keeping your pinky down, lifting it was a common misconception.

As she answered his question, she kept her back straight, head held high, looking the intimidating man in the eyes. Thankfully, her hands were in her lap strangling her napkin, where no one could see.

“Yes Sir, your son has been excellent company. It has been nice to learn more about him while showing him around the garden.” Taking another sip of her tea, she again returned it to the saucer to answer yet another question. She felt judged by everyone at the table

"I have heard the garden is one of your special interests?" A real, bright smile lit up her face. This was something she could talk about for hours, but she reigned in her excitement as much as she could.

“Yes Sir, tending the garden gives me something useful to do with my hands. I’ve always enjoyed growing things, even when I was little. There’s something satisfying about taking care of a plant and watching it thrive because of your effort. At Hogwarts I help in the greenhouse as well. We grow things for the school, but also for the hospital wing. Different herbs, plants for potions, teas, salves. I enjoy that side of it most.” A slight pause, enough to gather the rest of the thought before continuing.

“I’ve thought quite a lot about becoming a herbalist one day. Possibly working at St. Mungo’s. There are a lot of ways plants can help people, if you know how to use them properly. I think I would like doing something that feels… useful.”

The conversation continued, mostly directed at her. She explained the different houses and being sorted into Gryffindor. How the OWL’s had been this past term, her grades coming back great in most subjects. Runes was NOT her forte. And there was a little incident involving a spicy Hippogryff that they would not be discussion.

Things began to wrap up, much to her relief. Nothing catastrophic came to pass, making her feel like she had won a marathon.

“Matilda, why don’t you show Dragomire around inside while Oleg and I finish our conversation from earlier.” Bram said, giving her a sweet smile. He looked happy, which had been a goal of hers.

“Sure, shall we start in the potions room?” She asked, looking at the handso… guy next to her. Nope, not going there.

---

The potions room was just off the kitchen in the family wing of the house. An addition that Bram’s great grandfather put in many years ago. “I spend a lot of time in this room. I don’t typically do potions outside of school, since I can’t do magic, but I can work on my herbalist stuff.”

As the door opened, a smell wafted towards the two. It was a strong mix of herbs, dried plants and fruit, sulfur and something that just smelled old. The room was filled to the brim It was obvious that the room was used a lot, the worktable holding half done projects. The wall across from the door was a bank of ornate windows looking out on the garden. The other three walls were covered in dark black shelves, and counter tops. Ever jar was filled, each having a small scoop and tight lid. In the center sat two work tables. One filled with plants and other supplies, while the other had an open workspace with two cauldron’s waiting for a project.

“We don’t have a room like this at our London Townhouse, so I spend a lot of my time in here when I can. Most of the ingredients were grown here on site, but anything creature oriented or rare we buy from the local market.” She stopped, leaning against the work table to look at Drago.

“Where do you live now that you left Russia? Do you miss it? Russia that is.”

Drago conversed with Mr. Nordstrom while pretending not to listen in on his father's interrogation of Matilda.

Because that's what it was, there was no mistaking it for friendly chit-chat. The hawk's eye assessing her every move was prove enough of that. To his relief however, Drago noticed the lack of any signs of growing discontent. Not entirely absent, never. But his father's mood seemed to remain stable and from what he could tell, Matilda at least knew proper table manners.

Maybe she really had just been nervous.

Only when she began to express her interest in working as a herbalist one day did the energy tip ever so slightly. The women in their family typically didn't work, only few ever did and for a few years at most. A grace period granted by their husbands, should they allow it, to pursue special interests for a limited amount of time.

But at one point or another, always rather sooner than later, they would have to give up their passions for duty.

Being a wife, a mother, a socialite.

It was probably best Matilda didn't know about that part just yet.

After a while, Mr. Nordstrom split their party into pairs of two once more, tea time appearing to be over. Drago dutifully followed inside the house as Matilda led the way, no glance of warning from his father which he interpreted as a good sign.

The potion room welcomed him with the familiar scent of dried herbs, lingering fumes of past boils, and that woodsy aroma he could never quite place. Comfortable. One of his better subjects.

His gaze wandered over the shelves with deliberate interest, hands behind his back as usual. A small part of him admired her for it. Her fervour. It was clear she loved this, even from these few hours alone Drago could tell. He hoped he could find a way for her to continue, maybe.

“Where do you live now that you left Russia? Do you miss it? Russia that is.”

His gaze found to Matilda, leaned against the work table, back to her earlier ease. That too, stood out as stark as day and night. The difference in her demeanour and posture.

He smiled a little. "I live with my family in Yorkshire. Harewood House." A shrug loosened some of the tension from his shoulders. "It is okay, but I like Russia better, it's my home. Many things are different here." He mourned it still, deep inside, but he wouldn't make the mistake of letting anyone know how much leaving had affected him, not truly.

Yes, he missed it. Sharply.

"Have you ever been there?", he asked mildly, showing none of the ache that twisted his gut, but he dared to step a little closer. "Is very pretty in winter. Maybe I can show you one time. Our palace has a garden and greenhouse too. I think you would like it."

"I live with my family in Yorkshire. Harewood House. It is okay, but I like Russia better, it's my home. Many things are different here."

This she understood. Leaving the small home she shared with her parents to come live in London was a shock to the system. There were days she longed for the easy life she left behind.

She liked hearing him talk. His accent thick, his voice deep. There was a cadence to his voice that made her stomach flip. She wouldn’t be thinking about that at all in the coming days.

"Have you ever been there?" He asked. She held his gaze and shook her head, not moving from the spot she had claimed. He stepped closer, the butterflies in her stomach coming to life. "Is very pretty in winter. Maybe I can show you one time. Our palace has a garden and greenhouse too. I think you would like it."

The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come out, so it was her turn to shrug. She wanted to say yes, please, let's travel to Russia. But that would be giving in. It had been just a couple days since the bomb was dropped that she was to marry the man in front of her. He seemed to have no issue with the arrangement, which boggled her mind.

“Russia sounds lovely,” was what she finally answered with, her voice softer when it came out. And it wasn’t a lie. There was a charged silence in the space. Goosebumps breaking out on her arms as he got closer. It was hard to deny the chemistry, but she was trying her best.

Tilly glanced down at the worktable for a moment, fingers lightly tracing the edge of a dried bundle of lavender before she looked back up at him.

“What was it like?” she asked quietly. “Growing up there, I mean. I have this picture in my head, but it’s hard to imagine you as a little boy running around in the snow.” A small smile tugged at her lips.

Dragomir Zdravkova seemed so serious. So quiet compared to her boisterous nature. They were opposites in the same pureblood world, which in her mind only proved this arrangement would never work.

It was funny how often she had to remind herself of that.

All of a sudden, Drago became aware of the quiet. The stillness of the room, the way it seemed to close out the rest of the world. A small capsule. His father's presence across the estate felt like a lifetime away.

It was only the comfort of Matilda's potion room, the bright sunlight that didn't seem to reach the corners, and the two of them engulfed by quiescence.

And it was nice.

He couldn't have explained what it was. Maybe it was the softness of her voice when she answered that melted something in his chest, just a little. Or maybe it was the way her fingers fiddled with a bundle of lavender, a light movement that drew his gaze, making him wonder what her skin might feel like.

Perhaps it was the air of something almost shy, settling around her and pulling him another step closer. A few feet away from her spot, forearm brushing the edge of the work table where he came to stand opposite of her. Not too close to be inappropriate. But close enough to catch a hint of her perfume, something floral, light. Like spring, he faintly thought.

“What was it like? Growing up there, I mean. I have this picture in my head, but it’s hard to imagine you as a little boy running around in the snow.”

His smile twitched wider for a moment. "Cold," he teased lightly, eyes twinkling down at her. "Strict," he added on a more muted note, the humour ebbing out but leaving behind the subtle curve of his smile. "We do not have much free time, there are many lessons even when we are home and not at school. But we sometimes run around in the snow, my siblings and I." He had to smile a little wider at that. "My sister Nataliya and brother Serik love it, my other sister Wiosna not so much. Always complains about her hair when I throw snowballs at her."

He didn't notice but he was rambling. It was easy to talk about his brother and sisters, he loved them more than anything else in the world. Or, at least it was easy in the moment. Somehow it just fell right out of him.

"Do you have siblings?", he asked smilingly. "Or cousins? Besides Alice." The one who called him Dragon.

"Cold," he smiled at the word, which made her chuckle. It seemed the calm, quiet potions room was bringing him out of his shell. Matilda’s head cocked to the side, taking in his answers.

"Strict," she nodded. Oleg gave off the air of a strict father. No warm and fuzzies with that man. Her father was much the same.

"We do not have much free time, there are many lessons even when we are home and not at school. But we sometimes run around in the snow, my siblings and I." His smile brightened, something she hadn’t seen from him yet. The typically stoic man warmed with the simple action. "My sister Nataliya and brother Serik love it, my other sister Wiosna not so much. Always complains about her hair when I throw snowballs at her."

Matilda laughed thinking about Drago and his siblings. It was something she had never experienced.

"Do you have siblings? Or cousins? Besides Alice." Matilda’s smile turned sad. “No, no siblings, unfortunately. My parents,” she paused, not sure what to say, “from what I remember… well, it’s better with my grandfather.”

Her parents weren't abusive or cruel, but they also weren’t present. From a young age Matilda’s father had ignored her, until he couldn’t anymore. Her mother was responsible for the house and keeping Matilda out of the way. She taught her about gardening, for no other reason than it would keep her outside away from her father. When her magic came in, his once cold shoulder and indifference turned into icy glares, rude comments, and the occasional alcohol induced tirade.

“I do have cousins,” she continued after a moment, her tone lifting slightly. “Alice and Everleigh Ravenstone. And Uncle Gannon has four children, though they live in France. We don’t see them often.”

At the mention of Ever, her expression shifted again, subtle, but noticeably sad. “Ever moved away at the end of last term. She went through something… difficult at school. It was decided she should have some time somewhere quieter, with people who can help her properly.”

A small pause.

“She’s being looked after,” Tilly added, a touch more firmly, as if that part mattered most. “We’re hoping she’ll come back to us when she’s ready.”

Tilly sighed, the conversation had taken a turn to the sad. Wanting to bring it back to the happy, she looked up at Drago, which was inevitable since he was so much taller than her. “I always wanted brothers and sisters, but I have some good memories with my cousins.”

Her time with her cousins was precious. Her parents had not been in contact with her grandparents, so she didn’t meet Alice and Ever until she was twelve. They made the transition so much easier.

“Matilda, Dragomir, are you still in here?”

She heard Bram’s voice before he appeared in the doorway, a small smile already on his face.
“Here you are. Dragomir, your father is getting ready to leave. We will meet you in the foyer shortly.”

Saved by the bell. “Thank you, Grandfather,” she said lightly as he disappeared once more.

Pushing herself up from the workbench, Matilda smoothed her skirt unconsciously, turning back to Drago with a composed, polite smile. “Thank you for coming today,” she said, her tone warm but measured. The bubble had popped, allowing in the outside world. She was annoyed how quickly she had forgotten the arrangement that brought Drago here. “I enjoyed getting to know you. And… thank you for listening.”

---

Walking toward the foyer, she could already hear Bram and Oleg in conversation. Matilda stepped to her grandfather’s side, posture straightening just slightly, before turning her attention to Drago’s father. “Mr. Zdravkova,” she greeted with a small, proper dip of her head. “Thank you for visiting. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Her gaze shifted briefly to Drago. “Safe travels,” she added, quieter this time, with a soft smile lifting her lips.

And just like that, the mood shifted. An air of sadness seeped into the room, washing out the subtle thrum of lightness that had build between them, making it dull and bleak instead. His own smile dimmed when hers suddenly turned sad.

What had been meant as an attempt to get to know her better, quickly turned out to have been the wrong question. Somehow he had managed to hit a sensitive topic only minutes into the conversation and it stung like failure. And like confusion.

He had been told about her background.

She had lived with her parents up until a few years ago. They had chosen a life away from wizarding society however, so they had sent her off to live with her grandparents instead. A life with magic, the way it should be, the way she deserved.

Wanting to live away from magic boggled the mind anyway. It had been a matter of doubtful scowling for every single person in his family that had heard of this particular piece of information. Simply confusing, a concept that made no sense. He hadn't thought to think further into it though. If it didn't concern his father too much, it wouldn't concern him.

But the way she spoke of them, her parents, planted a tiny seed of curiosity.

Talking about her cousin Ever elicited the same sadness, almost mournful. By the time she finished and looked back up at him, Drago's expression was void the earlier smile, replaced instead by a subtle draw of his brows.

He didn't like to see her sad. Something made him loath it.

From beyond the door, Mr. Nordstrom's voice called for them.

Drago only looked around when the door opened, giving an incline of his head, pulling his thoughts back together.

“Thank you for coming today." He turned to face Matilda, regarding her measured demeanour with interest. And a little bit of amusement but he did well to hide that part away. “I enjoyed getting to know you. And… thank you for listening.”

"I look forward to listening to more," he returned with a slight bow, and the usual cool composure drifted back into his body.

In the foyer, Drago felt the weight of his father's measuring gaze on him, the promise of an in-detail sit-down already hovering in the air.

“Mr. Zdravkova. Thank you for visiting. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Oleg smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "The pleasure was my own, Miss Nordstrom."

As she addressed him next, Drago almost answered her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. He caught it just in time though, remembering propriety, keeping his face stoic, and so instead, he reached for her hand.

Bowing towards it, he lightly took it in his — smaller than he had expected, softer too — bringing it close to his face, an almost touch of lips against knuckles. His gaze never left hers and as he straightened, he let her hand slip from his. "I am looking forward to seeing you again."

---

fin.