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Her boots crunched on the freshly fallen snow as April made her way toward Malfoy Manor. London at Christmas had always fascinated her. Despite living in New York for the past few years, London still felt as timeless and mysterious to her as it had when she first arrived. She had been strangely drawn to it. Despite not having good memories there, she still loved the city.
New York had been different—sleek and chavvy, brave and reckless. London was more reserved, wiser, bearing the weight of all it had witnessed and endured.
That day, the city had felt alive.
Her steps faltered. She hadn’t exactly wanted to go, although she knew she wouldn’t entirely dislike the party. Harry and Hermione, two of her closest friends, were there, and it had been a while since she’d seen them.
She had savored the crisp bite of winter for a moment before apparating.
Despite doing this for five years, April still marveled at the beauty of the spell. Back in her school days, she had doubted her ability to master apparition. Her hesitation had made it all the more difficult to learn how to apparate her entire body instead of leaving parts of herself behind. She remembered Pansy Parkinson calling her an "idiot bitch" when she’d managed to apparate just her torso a meter away.
Years later, she could apparate to places hundreds of miles away.
Pansy would be there that night, and although Hermione insisted she had become much more pleasant, April still hadn’t wanted to see her.
She appeared in front of a heavy oakwood door, standing at the entrance of a mansion. It was her first time at Malfoy Manor. Despite knowing Draco for five years and being part of his friends’ group for three, she had never visited Draco’s childhood home. The design and aura of these old wizarding homes bore a stark contrast to the modern apartments her colleagues in New York preferred.
While her colleagues had easily embraced 21st-century culture, the British seemed to cling to their old ways. Magic permeated the air, and as she showed her invitation card, the wards let her enter.
It had been four years since she’d last seen most of them. She had only kept in touch with Harry and Hermione, but she had followed the news. All of them had done well for themselves.
She told herself she could do this. She wasn’t nervous—nor excited to see them. Who was she fooling? She conjured a mirror to check her appearance once more. These were her old friends and classmates, now highly successful wizards and witches in society. Even if she didn’t particularly like it, she knew she had to make acquaintances with them.
The door led her to the living room, and despite its enormity, it seemed lived in. A blazing fireplace roared to the right, long soft brown sofas surrounded an ornate coffee table, and group and family photos decorated the mantelpiece. Soft white lights hung from a Christmas tree near the bookshelf. Draco Malfoy had changed—she’d known that from Hermione and the Prophet. Rita Skeeter had done a thorough job reporting Malfoy Corp’s success over the years. Now, further evidence supported her belief.
Would he still mock her or laugh at the scalding jokes Pansy made at her expense? Surely he no longer harbored those prejudices. His string of Muggle-born girlfriends was testament to that. But it hadn’t been her blood status they mocked—it was her personality, her capabilities. They had always made her feel like an outsider.
That girl was long gone.
Walking past several rooms in the long corridor, she heard faint voices and music at the end of the passage. Taking a deep breath, she entered.
The ballroom at Malfoy Manor was grand. Pillars adorned with intricate carvings supported a ceiling from which a magnificent chandelier hung. The place looked as though it belonged in a fairy tale.
More than two hundred people filled the room, men and women dressed in extravagant attire. Pansy seemed to be quite the famous designer; April spotted more than a couple of witches wearing her creations.
April felt a little self-conscious. Although her ice-blue dress—gifted by Miura—looked stunning, she couldn’t help but recall how she’d been mocked in school for her outfits.
She spotted Hermione talking to a couple of boys from their year. Hermione looked beautiful in her silver dress, her hair styled in an intricate half-bun, with a sleek necklace ending above her cleavage. Pansy’s work—and she’d done a good job.
Hermione’s eyes lit up when they landed on April. Excusing herself from the conversation, Hermione made her way toward her. April watched as the two men turned, surprise etching their faces as they recognized her.
Engulfing her in a hug, Hermione said, “April, I’m so glad you came!” April knew she meant it. Hermione had been the closest to her in their old group—if April could even consider herself part of their group.
“Yeah, me too,” April replied—and she meant it.
A gala guaranteed gossip, stories, and connections, which had been her main purpose there that night. It was how she had made her way up the echelons in the American Ministry of Magic.
“You’re a bit late. Draco already made the toast,” Hermione said apologetically. “The rest of them have already arrived. Come on, let’s meet them.” That had always been one thing April hadn’t particularly liked about Hermione. She acknowledged their past but always seemed to believe that all of them could get along, despite their “differences.” And for a long time, April had tried, but even she had reached her limit. With all Hermione’s friendliness and willingness to stay in touch, she had never asked why April had moved to America in the first place. All she knew was about her failure to secure a job in Britain and the invitation from the American Ministry when it seemed she would have to return to her parents.
“Yeah, there’s a lot to catch up on. Gonna be fun,” April replied.
Searching her face for any hesitation, Hermione nodded, a smile on her lips.
They made their way through the medley of guests attending. Hermione rattled on about her work, how Malfoy Corp had successfully moved the new law about werewolf rights in the Wizengamot, about Draco, and her part-time roommate Ginny, who spent half the year roaming the world for her Quidditch matches. April soaked in the new information. She knew she would soon have to talk to these people and, for all her uncertainty, face Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.
Halfway through their conversation, they spotted Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley. According to Hermione, they were in an on-and-off relationship. Not for the first time, April wondered how that worked. How did people get together and break up so many times yet remain friends? But she knew several who did this and understood. It was hard to let people go when you got so deeply attached. It became even harder when the friendships stretched back to childhood.
“Ginny, Blaise, April is here. Do you know where the rest of them are?” Hermione drew their attention to April.
She met their gazes simultaneously—Ginny’s genuine grin and Blaise’s not-so-subtle scrutiny. She wanted to raise her eyebrows at him but chose instead to completely ignore him and engulf Ginny in a hug first.
“Oh my god, you’re here. How’s America? The Ministry? Is old Andrews still up your arse?”
April laughed. No, Andrews was no longer the undersecretary. She was.
It was a recent development, only a week had passed, and the announcement was set for tomorrow along with the election results.
“No, but I ensured he had a remarkable farewell.” The incident still made her laugh. The prank she and Carlie had pulled had been enjoyed by most of Andrews’ former colleagues, including the minister.
Ginny had visited America two years prior when the International Quidditch World Cup was held in Los Angeles. April had never been much of a Quidditch fan, but she had enjoyed it regardless. Ginny’s company had been delightful, with all her rambunctiousness and wild stories. April looked forward to spending more time with her.
As she released her, Blaise extended a hand. “It’s good to meet you after so long. Hope you’re doing well, April.”
Forward but polite, Blaise had grown into his looks—high cheekbones, dark hair artfully messed, and a smirk on his full lips.
“Yes, I am quite well,” April greeted him with a polite smile. On her heels, she was as tall as him. She no longer felt fuzzy when Blaise looked at her, as she had in school.
His eyes, were sharp and analyzing. Slytherins. He didn’t know her and would love to dissect her.
“Draco, come here,” Hermione called from beside her.
Turning, she found Draco Malfoy, now having grown out of his lanky limbs, drawing the attention of more than one woman. His impeccable white suit with silver specks complemented Hermione’s dress. Damn, that would be an interesting development if it were true. Hermione hadn’t told her if they were together, but April would ask her about it later. Years really did change people.
“Greetings, April. I hope you’re doing well in the Ministry of Law Enforcement,” Draco said with a polite nod.
April looked at him. Relaxed and courteous, his eyes no longer held the mocking gleam of their school days, but it was hard to decipher something else.
“Draco, thanks for inviting me,” she replied. She wasn’t vindictive, never had been. It was easy to forgive people when you gave them less importance in your life, but she hadn’t forgotten. Not their last interaction, when he had told her that she was her own limitation and could never grow if she stayed the same. That had been true, and April had learned well.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said.
The five of them spoke some more about their work, Malfoy Corp’s success, and the American Ministry. Never once did they talk about their school days. A couple of guests greeted them from time to time, eager to ingratiate themselves with Malfoy. April found that people knew of her and her work. The sneers on their faces had turned to respect.
“Enjoy the night. It would be my pleasure to talk more, but some of my clients are waiting. I’ll be back soon,” Draco said.
“Should I accompany you?” Hermione asked.
“No, it’s fine, Hermione. Show April around. It’s just a few proposals with the Harringtons. Meanwhile, do make good use of the wine.”
Blaise raised his flute in a mock salute before downing his full glass in a single go. Draco rolled his eyes and walked away.
“Let’s get going, then. Ginny, do you know where Ron is?”
“He’s probably with Neville and Dean. I heard Luna narrating something about thestral curse a while ago. Have fun, April.”
“See you later, ladies,” Blaise said, flashing his signature grin that, a few years earlier, would have made April swoon.
Hermione lightly pulled her away, still holding her hand as if April might Apparate if she was out of sight.
Amidst the glowing lights and mass of suits and bejeweled gowns, April spotted them. Hard to miss, really. Pansy’s orange gown stood out against the more muted colors, and Tom’s height made him even more noticeable. Pansy was laughing at something Harry had said. Even Tom was smiling.
He spotted them first. It was difficult to gauge his reaction when his eyes landed on April. His expression remained neutral, but he straightened, a charming smile making its way onto his face. April knew this smile. Tom had used it plenty of times to charm teachers and students alike—and later, in the ministry. It wasn’t genuine, and April hadn’t expected it to be. They had never been close, and Tom had already told her he didn’t want to stick with her.
“Hello, April. You look wonderful tonight. How have you been?” Tom’s voice was smooth and relaxed. He extended his hand.
When she raised hers to meet his, Tom’s lips lightly brushed her knuckles, never taking his eyes off her.
She replied politely before turning to Harry. In his white dress shirt, black trousers, and silver earrings, he looked effortlessly beautiful. He engulfed April in a warm hug. She would much rather have spent the rest of the night with Harry.
“I’m so happy you came, April. How are you? How’s everything going?” His tone was warm and genuine, and April let herself relax, leaning into him. She had missed Harry.
“Cool. What about you? Will you be coming to the States?” she asked.
“Not anytime soon, unfortunately, but I’ll be with you the entire time tonight.”
Beside them, a polite cough interrupted their embrace.
Pansy Parkinson was curiously looking at the pair.
“April, it’s wonderful to meet you after so long. I absolutely love your dress.” She moved forward for a hug, but April simply nodded slightly. She had no desire to hug Pansy Parkinson, no matter how friendly she seemed.
Pansy gave an awkward smile and quickly stepped back. The tension eased when Hermione dove into a discussion about recent mergers. Tom, Harry, and even Pansy contributed their inputs.
It was Tom who brought up the topic of the elections. As it turned out, Tom had submitted his name as a candidate but didn’t know the results yet.
April did.
The results had been announced that day, and Tom Riddle had not been selected. It would be amusing to see his reaction when the results were declared the following morning.
Tom prodded further into April’s work, but she kept her tone light. Not once did she reveal that she had been promoted to the position of Undersecretary or that she had been elected as a candidate for the upcoming elections in Bhutan.
As the clock struck ten, April moved on to other groups. Shaking her head at Hermione’s offer, “Should I come?” she looked around.
Isla Montgomery, Victoria Hawthorne, Thomas Whittaker, Emily Carrow. All pureblood, influential people. In her school days, she would rather have skipped breakfast than sit at the same table as them. Now, she found herself engrossed in their conversations.
There was no hostility, none of the snide remarks, eye rolls, or disinterest. People looked up to her now. After her team developed a technique allowing wizards to use Muggle technology without causing malfunctions, her popularity soared. Wizards worldwide now owned phones, no longer relying on owls to pass messages or newspapers for information. It had been a dramatic leap forward.
People fawned over her, eager to know what had motivated her career, how the American Ministry was faring, and what lay ahead.
Briefly, she wondered what might have become of her had she chosen a different path—had she stayed in England. Not that she’d had much of a choice four years ago. She would have remained a nobody, fading into obscurity. Apart from Hermione’s sympathetic stares and Harry’s rare visits, she doubted she would have had any friends. Society would never have fully accepted her—a Muggle-born witch with no exceptional abilities, no power, and no wealth.
Back in school, her professors had already informed her that she was good but lacked uniqueness. Most of their suggestions leaned toward a career in teaching. “Hogwarts is always open for you,” McGonagall had once said as consolation when April failed to clear the Auror prelims in her seventh year, even when Ron had passed. She hadn’t received any offers from the British Ministry, either.
No, not Hogwarts. She had hated the feeling of being left behind, the haunting memories as she passed through familiar halls.
No, she wouldn’t dwell on it now—or ever. It never served her well to remain stuck in the past.
Around the sea of people, she met Ron Weasley. Despite his years as an Auror, he still carried the same friendly, easy-going air, and April welcomed it. Ron had always been nice to her at school, even standing up for her when he could. April didn’t blame him for the times he stood by as a silent observer. All kids wanted to do was fit in.
As the night gradually drew to a close and the crowd thinned, April spent the remaining time with Harry and Ginny, catching up while Draco and Hermione bid farewell to their guests. Harry had wrapped up more cases as Head Auror than his seniors had managed halfway through their careers. He was exceptional—power and skill blended seamlessly in him.
It still felt strange for April to be here. She was no longer part of their group—never had been. Pansy had made sure of that. “Fat dyke,” she had called April once, after catching her staring at Isla for a beat too long while they were getting ready for the Yule Ball.
When it was close to one, April prepared to leave. She quickly said her goodbyes and retraced her steps through the grand halls.
Surprisingly, Tom joined her. “Let me drop you off at the gates,” he offered.
She nodded, recognizing what Tom was doing. The charm and calculated conversation were trademarks of his rise to Undersecretary in the British Ministry.
Tonight, April had no desire to speak with him. She was running on too little sleep already and had to be at the American Ministry within an hour. Tom and his theatrics could wait.
She let him talk, responding with bland replies to each of his questions. He wasn’t satisfied; the hard line of his lips and the set of his jaw indicated as much. But April couldn’t care less.
“We should keep in touch. Give me your number,” Tom said.
April gave him a number, just not hers. She didn’t even know whose it was, having replaced a seven with a two and a five with a nine.
Before Apparating back, April looked at Tom. For the first time, it seemed as though he wanted to talk more—whatever his reasons might have been. But now, she had no time to spare for him.
She wondered again what life would have been like if she and Tom were together. She would have stayed in England for sure. But now, she knew it wouldn’t have been the life she wanted.
For the first time in what felt like forever, April was truly glad she had left her old life behind.