Chapter Text
“We should open a coffee shop.” Luna’s soft voice drifted across the garden as Draco took another round of blueberry scones out of the oven. “Your way with the french press is divine, and if other people could taste your baked goods...” she hummed in delight as she popped another morsel of the flakey pastry with clotted cream into her mouth. Draco let a slow smile cross his face as he maneuvered the tray of hot, fresh scones onto the cooling rack before brushing his hands off on the tea towel tucked into his waistband. He never imagined that he and Luna would become so close, but here they were at Draco’s gardenside flat, enjoying each other’s company and indulging in the fruits of their labor.
“Oh yeah?” He turned the oven off and gathered the mugs, carrying them out into the garden before sitting next to Luna and pouring them both a healthy measure of the strong coffee he had just brewed before adding their favorite mix-ins - a splash of milk, and a drizzle of homemade caramel sauce for Luna, and two sugars for himself. “Where would we open this coffee shop, Luna? What would we even call it?”
“Lovegood Cafe and Arabica.” He should have known she already had a name in mind. Luna may come off as eccentric, but when she had an idea and voiced it, she almost always had all of the schematics in mind. “We’d open it in Diagon Alley, of course. Just a small shop. We could have a garden out back for the fruit and you could make the jams and jellies and scones and muffins and…” Draco held out his hands to stop her outflux of ideas.
“Sounds like I’ll be doing an awful lot of work!” He tucked a stray bit of hair behind his ear before settling back and taking a sip of his coffee. “When did this idea come to you, anyways?”
“I dreamed of it!” Luna turned and her large, blue-grey eyes stared into his silver ones. “It’s such a good idea, Draco. There’s not a good coffee shop in Diagon Alley, and all you do is stay at home…” she trailed off, looking serene even as Draco’s face hardened and the Malfoy Mask attempted to come to the surface. He felt it and did his best to relax - that wasn’t him anymore. It was 2004, for Merlin’s sake. The war was over, he had made his peace, he even had friends… okay, maybe acquaintances via Luna, but it was still more than he could have ever hoped for six years ago. No one outwardly hated him anymore, and that was as good as he could have wanted it.
“Luna,” he exhaled, breaking their eye contact and staring up at the overcast London sky, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I like baking here, at my flat, with you. Who would want to come to a bakery where a Death-- where I worked?” He changed his phrasing, knowing that his Mind Healer would flay him alive if he had continued the sentence the way he originally planned. The war may be over, but he still struggled with his old identity. Though the Dark Mark had faded to a barely-there grey smudge on his arm, he knew what he had done in the past and still felt the need to repent for it.
Luna didn’t make him feel that way, however. Luna’s friendship had come as a complete surprise. One day, he was window shopping in Hogsmeade, thinking about buying his mother some of the Chocoballs from Honeydukes she liked, and Luna had all but ran headfirst into him, claiming to be “following a Demiguise”. He had caught her arm and helped her regain her balance, and when she saw who he was, she didn’t lurch away in fear or disgust. She simply smiled up at him with her wide, knowing eyes and exclaimed, “Draco! It’s been a while. How are you doing?” Draco had spluttered out some nonsense about being fine and really needing to go, but she had linked her arm with his and proclaimed loudly that she thought his mother would love those Chocoballs he was eyeing, and what was he waiting for?
After they had parted ways that first time, Luna had given him her Floo address and told him that he was welcome to call at any time. Draco hadn’t been sure of that, but a fortnight later when he had awoken from a nightmare that was worse than the others he’d been having, he threw the Floo Powder into his fire and called out the address she provided. He was whisked away and into an extremely round room, full of all sorts of different plants - and had found Luna curled up on a fluffy couch with her arm around a rather large fern, reading the Quibbler upside down. She seemed unsurprised to see him, and patted the spot next to her that wasn’t taken up by the fern. He had sat next to her and she sat with him, quietly humming, as his heart rate returned to normal and he was able to breathe easier. “I have them too,” she spoke quietly, “the nightmares. I know what it’s like. You don’t have to be alone.”
It became easier after that. She had helped him find a Mind Healer who didn’t bat an eye at his past, and they had fallen into an easy, comfortable friendship. Luna would get him out of his flat more often than not; whether it was to catch Freshwater Plimpies, harvest random fruits and vegetables from these things called “Pick Your Own” farms, or to walk around outside, not saying much, but just enjoying each other’s company. Draco loved his time with Luna. She was like the sister he never had. She never brought up the past, and was always full to the brim with interesting ideas and tidbits of information.
Luna had been the one to suggest the muggle cooking class, and Draco had agreed to it after laughing at the idea, thinking she was winding him up. She just stood there, looking at him placidly, before his laughter died down and he realized she was serious. “And we’re almost late, we need to go now!” She had tugged him, sputtering, into a side-along apparition that spit them out in the alley behind the college the class was held at. It was here that Draco discovered his love of baking (and Luna’s absolute ineptitude at it), and the rest was history. Luna would bring him different fruit from her garden room, and he would transform them into tarts and scones, muffins and puddings, and even jams and jellies. They did this once a week and indulged together - it was a special time, one where they got to unwind and not worry about anything else that was happening in the world around them.
The first time Luna brought Ginny to his flat for their Sunday baking day, he thought the floor would open and swallow him whole. He stood in his kitchen, the oven beeping at him incessantly, as he stuttered out a hello, his face red as the strawberry jam he had simmering on the stove. Luna may have forgiven him, but he wasn’t so sure about any of the other witches and wizards he used to know. Ginny had surprised him, though - she gave him a tentative smile and held out her hand to shake, and when he took it, her face showed nothing unpleasant - no repulsion, no disdain, just curiosity and something Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on at the time. She had sat at the kitchen island with Luna, chatting animatedly about her summer training with the Holyhead Harpies, while Draco canned the jam and made more and more scones. The girls tried one from every batch he made, and praised him and his skills at baking. He had felt something that day he hadn’t felt in a long time - pride.
After bringing Ginny over a few times, Luna began to branch off and bring others with her - Neville was the second guest, and he had clapped Draco on the back as though they were old friends and swore up and down that he had never had as good of an American muffin as Draco’s lemon poppy seed. He had left with a basket full of the muffins and a few jars of raspberry jam for his gran, and Draco felt lighter than he had in years. He may not be able to call these people friends, but they definitely weren’t enemies any longer.
After Neville came Hermione and Ron - they were married, after all - and while it was awkward at first, by the end of the afternoon they were both talking and laughing with Luna and Neville, while Draco baked pastry after pastry for their taste testing pleasure. They had unanimously decided that Draco’s blueberry scones with his homemade clotted cream and strawberry jam was the food of the ancient witches and wizards, and Draco had flushed with satisfaction at the praise. He wasn’t used to it, especially after everything, and he soaked it up like a sunflower soaking up the sun’s rays. It made him feel happy, content; and he looked forward to Sundays even more, to spend time with these people who could potentially become his friends.
He loved listening to their lives: Ginny’s Quidditch training with her team, Neville’s work with the Aurors and as a fill-in Herbology professor at Hogwarts, Ron’s Auror training and Hermione’s slow ascent into Magical Law Enforcement. Every now and then they’d mention someone else he knew from school - Hannah Abbott becoming a healer at St. Mungos, Ernie Macmillan securing a place as the Assistant Director for the Daily Prophet, even Pansy Parkinson’s name came up as they discussed her new line of clothing and fashion. Draco drank these stories in, happy for his old school mates for doing everything that Draco found he couldn’t.
After the war, because of his status as a known Death Eater, he found it hard to find employment, or anyone who would look at him without scorn. With his father in Azkaban for the unforeseeable future and his mother living in France, as she couldn’t bear to be without Lucius, he was left alone in Wiltshire, at Malfoy Manor, with no one for company. Draco couldn’t stand being alone, and the house elves were little to no comfort. He had enough in his personal Gringotts vault to live comfortably for many years, so he had decided to move to London, closer to Diagon Alley. Sure, he could have stayed at the Manor and been safe from the glaring eyes of the wizarding world, but he found he truly didn’t want to be so ostracized. He’d face those glowers with his head held high; he was a Malfoy, after all. He found his small garden flat down the road from the Leaky Cauldron, and as it was owned by a muggle, he had no issues putting money down and moving in as soon as he could. That was about three months before he met Luna.
With all of their talking about past classmates and their own lives, there was one person who was extremely absent from their musings - the one and only Savior of the wizarding world, Harry Potter. Draco realized relatively early on that no one really spoke of Potter, only in extremely brief spurts and only when talking about the past. He had asked Luna about it once, and she had just shrugged with a sad look in her eye. “Keeps to himself, mostly,” she said, “He was supposed to be an Auror, you know… never showed up on the first day of training.” Questions burned in Draco’s mind at that, but he didn’t want to ask these new people who he still didn’t quite consider his friends. He didn’t want to pry, and he didn’t want to seem overly eager. If he wanted anyone to be his friend, still, after all these years, it was Potter - but he definitely felt that ship had sailed. True, Potter had spoken at his and his parent’s trials, and had saved his mother and himself a hefty Azkaban sentence, but that was really the last time he saw Potter. He was basically a ghost, a memory.
And now, here he was, on a bright Sunday afternoon, with Luna in his garden, eating scones and discussing opening a damn cafe. “Do you even know how to run a cafe, Luna?” He asked carefully, crumbling the last of his scone into the grass for the birds.
“I expect it won’t be difficult. We do have magic, after all!” Luna waved her wand through the air, drawing out a leafy wreath with the text “Lovegood Cafe+Arabica” in the center. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” With that, Draco acquiesced and they put their heads together to change the idea into a reality.
