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**