Discussions with his father were never a light affair and Draco, ever since he was a small boy, understood and held such events in that regard. Suffice it to say, that Draco had been considering the topics of the nights discussions with his father for the majority of the day, stopping only briefly to consider a happier thought, that of his fiancé.
As the evening drew near, however, Draco dressed in his fine manor robes; robes that were dressed up enough, but yet still had a bit of a casual, at-home sort of appeal, but certainly were appropriate for meeting with his father and not looking too lax, either. He’d never really talked to the man, and had been raised to uphold the upmost of familial formality when it came to dealings with his father.
With the topics at hand in a variety of potential directions, but the mention of the opening of the 37 year old firewhiskey on the table as well, Draco allowed a slight bit of calmness to slip in amongst the rising stress of talking with his father. He strode to his father’s study and spoke directly to a house elf who was rushing to announce his arrival. “No.” Draco said firmly, “I’ll knock on the door myself. Now, go.” He commanded with a presence and confidence that had been such a rarity for him in the past but now found a new hope within the young man.
Draco strode to the door and stopped, inhaled deeply and gave the door two solid raps before he spoke. “Father, it’s me, Draco.” He drawled astutely.