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“You ready?” Theo asked the moment he barged through Draco’s floo. It had been seven years since they graduated, but Theo looked almost exactly the same. He had the same messy but styled waves, the same reedy frame, the same quiet air of confidence.
Draco, on the other hand, had grown up quite a bit over the years. His platinum hair was no longer slicked back but had a more effortless quiff going on, a direct result of him constantly running his hands through it. He had filled out, no longer looking sickly with his looming height and translucent skin, but instead had grown into broad shoulders and strong legs.
Looking at himself in the mirror now, he was reminded of his last year at Hogwarts. It had been tough going back there and facing the stares, the outright hate from his classmates. That’s not to say that he didn’t deserve it. He’d taken it all, bearing the hexes sent his way and the howlers from angry parents. He’d kept his head down and passed his NEWTS with flying colors, but he was a shell of a person, merely existing and going through the motions.
In an attempt to make amends, he had begun apologizing to those he had hurt the most, starting with Katie Bell. He had written her a timid -honestly quite shitty- letter, explaining the situation and promising it had had nothing to do with her. She sent him a howler in response.
Next, he had shown up at Madam Rosmerta’s door with shaking hands and sweat dotting his pale brow. She had slammed the door in his face, not letting a single word pass his dry lips.
He had even dug up the courage to visit Dumbledore’s portrait one day. He’d had to ask McGonagall, which was positively mortifying, but he’d steeled his shoulders and marched into the Headmistress’s office determined to finish his apologies. That was when things truly began to change for him.
The old man met his gaze with sparkling eyes and a slight upturn of his lips, “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. It’s nice to see you after all this time, my boy.”
Draco’s mouth went dry, the air escaping his lungs in a whoosh as his shoulders deflated. This was worse than he’d expected, the twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes was just as he remembered. He knew it was just a portrait, just paint charmed to speak and act like a person, but still merely a shadow of the real thing. But that didn’t stop his hands from trembling, or the fear and guilt that seized his heart in his chest. He couldn’t force any words past his lips, just stared up at the portrait, that fateful night playing behind his stormy irises.
“I was under the impression that you came here to say something to me, Draco. Go ahead now, you can do it,” the headmaster smiled at him, an expectant look in his eye.
“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed out. As soon as the words passed his lips, he could physically feel a weight lift off his shoulders. Not all of it, but enough to make it easier to draw a full breath.
Clearing his throat, Draco repeated himself, “I’m sorry, Professor. I thought I was doing what I had to do, what I was born to do,” he trailed off, mortified as his eyes began to mist over with unshed tears.
Dumbledore tilted his head in thought, taking in the sight of the boy before him, “Mr. Malfoy, I once met another boy whose entire life had been laid out before him before he had the chance to choose. Today, I will tell you the same thing I told him years ago, ‘It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.’ If you truly wish to make amends to those you have wronged, don’t let them be right about you.”
Draco carried those words with him to this day. He’d even gone on to apologize to the Golden Trio, striking up an unexpected friendship with the Boy Wonder himself. However, despite this, the rest of his life remained in shambles. The stain on the Malfoy name was far-reaching and deep. No matter how many apologies he struggled through, the stares and whispers followed him.
He’d tried to weather the storm, but after three years, it was too much. He’d had to get out of Wizarding London, had to stop being Lucius Malfoy’s son, the Death Eater. He was gone for four years, speaking to no one, not even his mother, as he studied potions, healing, and business. He was determined to make something of himself, to do something on his own with no one’s help. In those four years, Draco had opened Quod Paenitentia, his very own potions distribution company, dedicated to developing and distributing potions to all who needed them. He had since become the UK’s largest potions distributor before the age of twenty-five.
When he returned home, just days ago, the stares and whispers were still there, but he was different. Gone was the arrogant child and in his place stood a confident man. There would always be people that claimed he was irredeemable, a dark soul, but he knew better and so did those he surrounded himself with. At twenty-four years old, Draco was determined to live his life freely and fully, not hide in the shadows.
Draco gave himself one last once over in the mirror before turning to smirk at Theo, “Ready!”
Theo was one of the only friends that stuck by Draco’s side when everything blew up. Without him, Pansy, and Blaise, Draco would’ve had no one in that first year after the war. Despite disappearing for four years, Theo had floo’d directly into Draco’s living room after hearing he’d finally returned and picked up right where they left off. That led them to tonight, the first Saturday after Draco’s return.
Theo had insisted they go out, “Make a grand reappearance, if you will,” is how he’d phrased it, earning an eye roll from his blond friend.
Draco stumbled a little as they landed in the alley behind the Whyte Hart, out of practice with side apparating. Looking up, he took in the familiar bar sign, a white doe surrounded by pink camellias, his heart lurching slightly as he opened the door.
Draco sat in the corner of the small pub, swirling the last bit of Firewhisky in his fifth -sixth? - glass. Next to him lay a crumpled letter, letting him know that unfortunately, the Ministry was not accepting Potions interns at this time. Utter bullshite is what it was. See, he knew for a fact that they had just accepted Justin Finch-Fletchley, having just witnessed the celebration a few hours ago in this very same bar.
Letting out a self-deprecating snort, he tossed back the last of his drink, choking on it when a light voice asked, “Rough day?”
Coughing to remove the burning alcohol from his lungs, he drew in several harsh breaths before he focused his blurry vision on the woman before him. There stood the ‘Brightest Witch of Their Age’, Hermione Granger herself.
“Draco!” Pansy squealed as he threw her tiny frame at him, almost knocking him over as he tried to move out of the way of the door.
He chuckled, “Merlin, Pans, let me in the door at least.” He took in the small woman as she pulled back. Over the years, she had grown into her features, her nose still upturned but in a more refined way, her face a tad bit softer than before. Her hair was still in her signature jet-black bob and her sense of style was as impeccable as ever, even as she cradled a very obvious baby bump.
“Woah, where did that come from?” Draco breathed, gesturing to her belly.
“Contrary to popular belief, life didn’t stop when you up and ditched us,” she bit back, before softening her scowl, “We’re due in February.” Her hand shot out to grab onto a tall dark-haired man with a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders.
“Longbottom?” Draco asked incredulously as he recognized the man, “Really?”
“Hullo, Malfoy,” Neville smiled, offering him a hand despite the gaping look still on the blond’s face.
Draco finally shut his mouth, taking Neville's hand and shaking it as Theo pushed him out of the way of the door.
“Yes, yes Longbottom has gone and put a little wizard in our Pans, I’m just as shocked as you. Didn’t think he had it in ‘em,” the other boy winked, dodging a swat from Pansy as he passed them and headed for a table.
Draco was just taking his seat, still mulling over Pansy and Longbottom, when he heard Theo order drinks for the table, “One butterbeer, and three tequila shots, mate.”
Draco’s head snapped up, “Actually, just two tequila shots. I’ll take Firewhisky, please.”
He ignored the strange look Theo shot him, and leaned in towards Pansy, “So how long have you two been together?”
“How long have we been married or shagging?” she quipped, her plump lips pulling into a grin as her husband's ears lit up bright red and Draco recoiled, faking a gag at her vulgarity.
“We’ve been married two years, but together for four,” the raven-haired woman finally said, a soft smile settling on her features as Neville took her hand on top of the table.
“Wow,” was all Draco managed, a slight shame settling on his shoulders as he contemplated how much he had missed in his best friend’s lives since he had left.
“Yeah, well thanks for asking about my sex life, mate,” Theo remarked, thankfully lightening up the mood and pushing his lips out in a pout when Draco rolled his eyes.
“Am I to believe that you of all people have finally settled down as well?” Draco asked disbelievingly, noting the way Pansy’s shoulders shook with silent giggles.
“Oh, of course not,” Theo waved off the suggestion like it smelled bad, “How could I deprive the entirety of the Wizarding World of such a masterpiece?”
“Ah, yes, the eighth wonder of the world, our dear Theodore’s cock,” came the unimpressed drawl of Draco’s other best friend, Blaise Zabini.
“That’s precisely what I’m saying!” Theo shouted in agreement as Draco stood to shake the other man’s hand.
“Good to see you, Draco,” Blaise offered, taking the last remaining seat at the table. For anyone looking in from the outside, this scene could have taken place eight years ago, minus Neville’s presence. Draco felt his shoulders relax with the familiarity of the moment as Theo started bickering with Blaise and Pansy fussed over his hair. This was his family, what more could he need?
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Hermione laughed, settling into her now customary bar stool next to Draco’s.
Lips quirking up in a smirk, Draco took a sip of his Firewhisky before replying, “Not my fault you’ve acquired a drinking problem, Granger. They do say it’s always the smart ones you have to watch.”
“Oh, shove it, Malfoy,” the brunette laughed, bumping her shoulder into his as she waved down the bartender.
“Two shots of tequila, please,” she ordered, digging a few galleons out of her pocket and sliding them across the sticky bar.
“What in Merlin’s name is Ta-key-la,” Draco asked, his nose wrinkling as the bartender slid the shots towards them, a pungent smell hitting his nose.
“Tequila,” Hermione laughed, “is a delightfully Muggle liquor, it’s made from a plant usually found in Mexico.”
“Smells like dog piss to me,” Draco bit out, watching Hermione grab limes and a saltshaker from further down the bar.
“Come on, you prat, you’ll like it. Plus, we’re celebrating!” she exclaimed, putting his shot in front of him and explaining that he should lick the salt first, take the shot, and then suck on the lime.
She was right, they were celebrating. It had been four months since he had sat in this very bar and mourned the loss of a future in Potion Mastery while she sat across from him mourning the loss of a doomed relationship with Ron Weasley. In the last four months, they had continued finding each other in this bar until it had become a sort of routine. They both showed up on Friday night, ready to blow off the steam of the week and complain about the idiot’s they were surrounded with. Hermione had just started a job in the Department of Magical Creatures in the Ministry, while Draco continued to apply to programs across the globe that continued to turn him down.
However, just yesterday, he had received notice that he had been awarded an interview for a program in South Africa. It was farther than he had ever gotten before, and he had immediately owled Granger. Ironically, she was the only person he told about his application struggles and she was really the only reason he kept applying. The little harpy could be quite insistent.
He was pulled from his reminiscing as she threw back her own shot, grimacing as it hit her throat.
“Come on, bottoms up!” she choked out at him.
Rolling his eyes, he followed her directions, licking the salt from the back of his hand before downing his shot. His eyes opened wide as the taste hit his tongue, a kind of smoky yet sweet flavor, enhanced by the salt on his tongue. As he swallowed, she was shoving the lime past his lips and smiling.
“Did you like it?” she asked, bouncing in her seat excitedly.
“It... wasn’t horrible,” he conceded, watching as her eyes sparkled in the dim bar light.
“I told you!”
“--Potter will kill you if you miss work Monday,” Blaise chastised as Theo explained his plans to take Cormac McLaggen to Muggle London tomorrow night.
“Not bloody likely, that arsehole owes me for covering for him last week! Called off to take care of mini Potter while Mrs. Potter and Granger went dress shopping!” Theo bit back, rolling his eyes with no real malice.
“Aye, have you decided who you're bringing to the wedding yet?” Pansy chimed in, directing her question at Blaise.
Draco’s head snapped up at the mention of Granger and a wedding, the skin around his eyes tightening infinitesimally as he gripped his glass. Willing himself to calm down, he brought his gaze to Blaise as he answered, “I haven’t even decided if I’m going, Pans.”
“Of course, you’re going! You cannot miss the wedding of the year! Plus, we’ll obviously be there, and you’ll have to save me from this tosser’s horrid date I’m sure,” she whined, shooting a glare at Theo while he stuck his tongue out.
Draco had received his own invite to the Weasley/Greengrass wedding just two days after he’d arrived home, though he had no intention of attending the event, especially if Hermione would be there. Clenching his jaw, he waved the bartender over and ordered another drink, effectively ending the previous conversation.
Hours later, Draco found himself stumbling through his floo absolutely hammered. He never should have agreed to that last shot… or the three before it. Being back in that bar, hell back in this country, had dredged up more memories than he’d thought it would.
Sighing, he pulled his jacket off and undid the buttons of his shirt, stumbling blindly through the room until he remembered how to turn the lights on. Pulling open his top drawer to find a clean pair of pajamas, he stopped short at the sight of a dark blue box shoved towards the bottom.
With a groan, he pulled the box out and collapsed on his bed, gingerly pulling the top off. Inside, the flashing eyes of Hermione Granger stared up at him from a mess of newspaper clippings. One was from when she was promoted to head of her department, another from last year’s Remembrance Ball. He rustled through them, his fingers lingering on her face when he found what he was looking for. She was laughing in this photo, her head thrown back, curls tumbling wildly down her back, eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked on at Potter proposing to Ginny Weasley. Ginny had apparently tackled Potter in her haste to say yes at the exact moment this photo was taken.
Draco had already been in Romania when this happened, having left England six months prior. He’d never forget the way his own lips had curled up at the sight of the joy in her face before he remembered he’d likely never be the source of that joy again.
Though he had ceased contact with everyone when he’d left, he’d still maintained his subscription to the Prophet. He couldn’t bring himself to cancel it, knowing that it was likely the only way he’d know what was happening in her life now.
Draco sat there, thumbing through the photos as he sobered up, wondering what she was doing at that moment. Was she reading, hair tied up of her neck and biting the corner of her lip in concentration?
Hermione Granger was single-handedly the most infuriating woman he knew. Not that this was anything new, but Merlin help him.
“Just one more minute, Draco, I have to have this report ready by Friday,” she breathed distractedly, while he pulled her hair down from the bun she’d been wearing. He’d been trying to get her attention for the last half hour, but it was no use. She was buried in a book about magical law and the disparities centaurs faced when he’d floo’d over and she’d barely spared him a glance since.
Deciding he was done waiting, Draco leaned down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, slowly inching his way up her neck and she read. Finally, when he reached the sensitive spot behind her ear, he had her attention.
“Impatient,” she chided, turning to meet his lips with her own.
He smiled into the kiss, not bothering a retort as he laid her back on the lounge, hands sliding up her shirt and caressing bare skin.
Weeks passed as Draco settled back into his life. Business was fantastic, his mother was thrilled to have him home, and he enjoyed having his friends back in his life. Things were going so well he could almost ignore the feeling that something was missing.
That was until one very pregnant Pansy Parkinson cornered him in his office, “I’ve tried to be patient with you, but what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Gaping at her as she wagged a finger in his face, her swollen belly butting up against the edge of his desk as she leaned over it, “Excuse me, what in the blazes are you on about?”
“You know what! Why haven’t you contacted Granger?” she asked him outright, hands on her hips.
Draco immediately stiffened, his hackles rising. Just yesterday, he had been counting his blessings that his friends had seemed content with ignoring the elephant in the room. The elephant being the girl he’d left behind four years ago. Hell, even Potter hadn’t brought it up when they got lunch the other day. He’d figured everyone had forgotten their brief romance, not that he ever could.
“It’s been four years, Pansy. It’s in the past, no need to open it back up. Also, how do you even know I haven’t?” he bit out, dragging his eyes back down to the paperwork in front of him and ignoring the witch.
“Bullshite, you’re a coward,” she huffed, ignoring his question and throwing herself into the chair, clearly not intent on letting it go.
“Sure, Pans, should I send her an owl? ‘Hullo Granger, remember when I left four years ago, and we never spoke again?’ No, she’s moved on and so have I. Let it go,” he grunted, rubbing a hand across his jaw.
“Have you moved on?” Pansy challenged, her dark eyes boring into his.
“Granger, I have to go. I can’t do this anymore,” he sighed, running a hand through his already mussed hair.
“No, you don’t! You can do this! That woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” she yelled, throwing her hands up and stomping across the room towards him, “you are not a Death Eater, not anymore. You are better than she will ever be.”
“It’s not just her! You don’t know what it’s like to be me! Every goddamn day there’s someone spitting at my shoes or sending Howlers! I can’t even get a goddamned job, Hermione!” he yelled back, “and don’t think I don’t know about the ones you receive. I’ve seen the pieces in the garbage, Granger. I won’t drag you down with me. I have to get out of here.”
“That’s bullshit! Don’t use me as an excuse to run away from this!” she bit out, “you think I don’t know what it feels like to be hated for something I have no control over? I fought a whole goddamned war over it!”
“But you won! You were on the right side! You’re the goddamn Golden Girl!” he roared back, dropping his hands and heading for the Floo.
“I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t live like this…”
What was it about pregnant witches that made them impossible to refuse? Draco grumbled under his breath as he fixed his cufflink, taking in the rose garden he’d apparated into. Pansy had forced him into attending this abominable wedding, even resorting to tears when he had backed out last week. She insisted that he had to attend, Pureblood etiquette and all, ignoring the fact that he had previously been slated to marry the bride herself what seemed like a lifetime ago.
She’d waved it off with a, “Not the first girl you two have shared,” cackling when he threw his pen at her with a scowl.
Though, he couldn’t deny that he was eager to catch a glimpse of Granger again. He knew that she was dating Anthony Goldstein (tosser), but he couldn’t stop wondering what she would look like in her dress, what look would grace her features when she saw him again.
Shaking the thought from his mind, Draco schooled his own features into nonchalance and headed deeper into the garden where he could hear other people milling about.
“You came!” Pansy squealed, tottering over to him on heels despite the massive belly she was sporting.
“Not like you gave me much of a choice,” Draco grumbled, returning her hug while she pinched him.
“Come on, Theo is over here, and you’ll never guess who he brought,” she said under her breath.
Walking with the pregnant witch, Draco felt his jaw drop when he saw Theo with his arm around none other than Dean Thomas.
“What the hell is it with you fools and Gryffindors?” Draco hissed at Pansy while they were still out of earshot.
“You started it,” she bit back with an imploring look that had him grumbling.
The ceremony area was surprisingly beautiful with an abundance of greenery and white flowers of all different types draped across every surface. Draco felt as if he had been dropped in some sort of faerie circle, even the chairs were covered in vines with tiny white flowers sprouting intermittently. He took his seat next to Blaise and waited for things to start. He hadn’t noticed his knee bouncing nervously until the darker man shot him an annoyed look, though he wasn’t able to respond before the music started.
Standing, he physically felt his heart stop as the first person made their way down the aisle. There she was. Four years later but looking exactly the same as he’d left her, all wild curls and toffee skin. Her cheekbones dotted with freckles as her chocolate eyes sparkled while she looked onto her friends. She was making faces at Ron as he stood down at the altar looking like he was going to puke any second. She was about halfway down the aisle when her eyes met his.
He had stopped breathing, though she kept walking like nothing had changed, her eyes continuing to scan the crowd as she walked. Soon he was looking at Ginny Potter as she took her place beside Hermione and Daphne soon joined them. Finally, Astoria made her way down the aisle.
The ceremony was probably beautiful, full of words about love and overcoming adversity, but Draco couldn’t tell you what a single one of them were. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Hermione Granger. She laughed, she cried, she looked happy. Her soft green dress clung to her like it was made for her and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining them both up there, exchanging vows of their own.
He made it about an hour into the reception before he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d tried to stick with his friends, participating in their conversations, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The way she made sure to greet each of her friends, playing with the babies that had been born while he was gone, the laughs she shared, the dances.
She was happy, without him, and as much as that hurt, he couldn’t fault her. But he also couldn’t stand there and pretend nothing had happened. He’d thought he was over it, at least enough to come here, but he was kidding himself.
“Mate, I’m headed out, I’ll see you next week,” he clapped Blaise on the shoulder, breaking into his conversation while Pansy was out of earshot and couldn’t stop him.
“I would run if I were you,” Blaise warned, spotting the pregnant witch making her way back towards them.
Draco didn’t stick around long enough for her to have a chance, practically running for the Floo. Too keyed up to go home and really craving a drink, Draco knew exactly where he wanted to go.
“In for a knut, in for a sickle,” Draco murmured to himself as he looked up at the sign for the Whyte Hart. If he was taking a walk down memory lane, he might as well do it here. Hopefully, everyone else would be too busy at the wedding and he could wallow in peace.
Stepping through the doors, he automatically headed for his old stool and took a seat. Taking a deep breath, he could almost swear he smelt her perfume. He really was losing it.
Shaking his head, he flagged down the bartender.
“What’ll ya have?” the man asked in a thick Scottish brogue.
Draco had just opened his mouth in reply when he heard it.
“Two tequilas, please,” from Hermione Granger who was standing directly behind him, raising one perfectly sculpted brow as he turned to face her.