Chapter Text
December 6, 2001
It was a cold day in early December, and Draco pulled his black coat tighter around him. It hadn't snowed yet this year, even though all the leaves had already fallen from the trees, and Draco wondered when it would finally happen. He missed the silence that snow brought with it and that cozy feeling.
He rarely left the house since the war five years ago. But the glittering and somehow elegant white managed to lure him outside every time. Not today, though. Today it was his love for Quidditch. He knew from Blaise that the new Nimbus would be on display today, and although he could probably read everything worth knowing about it in the Prophet in a few days, he was itching to see it right away.
Diagon Alley was as busy as ever, so he bowed his head and looked down at his perfectly polished shoes. Intuitively, he walked close to the facades of the houses, hoping they would take him in and kindly hide him until he reached his destination. It could only be a few more steps until—
"Malfoy,how good to see you here"
A familiar but not too familiar voice tore him from his thoughts. Shit. Reluctantly, he stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. Hermione fucking Granger was striding Right toward him.
She was carrying a large bouquet of flowers and a cloth bag under her arm. Behind her were Weasel and Potter. He immediately suppressed the burgeoning panic rising within him and concentrated on Granger. At least that wasn't impossible; with her, he was in familiar territory. After the exonerating statements she had made in court, he never thought he would hear from her or her two leeches again, but, much to his regret, she surprised him a second time. She had contacted him and asked to visit the manor, perhaps the bravest thing he had ever seen her do. But no matter, he had to concentrate and finally open his damn mouth.
“Ah, Granger,” he said simply, nodding slightly as he stared intently at her face, careful not to look behind her where Potter and Weasel were stomping along
“It’s so nice to see you here. How are you?”
Granger asked with a warm smile on her lips. Draco wasn’t surprised by her friendliness, and yet he found it hard to accept.
“Fine, thanks for asking,” he said, his gaze falling on her ring finger. “I hope you’re doing well, too?”
He nodded meaningfully at the engagement ring, and when she followed his gaze, she smiled radiantly and pulled Ron roughly to her side.
“I really am, aren't I, Ron?”
The sharpness in her voice left no doubt that she would not tolerate rude behavior from her fiancé, and she was rewarded with a nod from him, which he returned dryly.
“I'm really glad to hear that, Malfoy,” she said, and then, as if she had almost forgotten, “I was going to send out a spontaneous invitation tomorrow for a class reunion next month. It's been three years already, unbelievable, isn't it?”
He nodded, but she hardly seemed to notice. “Anyway, I'd really love it if everyone could come, even if no one had anything planned. I thought we could go to the Three Broomsticks, well, I have to go over everything again, but you're coming, right?”
Draco looked from her to Weasel, not to Potter, and back to her again. She looked so eager, and Weasel looked at him as if he would beat Draco up with his big, thick hands if he did anything to upset his fiancée. So he nodded again and muttered something about checking his schedule.
She nodded cheerfully, squeezed his arm for a brief and panic-inducing moment, and then pulled Ron past him into the shop behind Draco.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and out, and tried to collect himself. He opened his eyes again.
In front of him stood Potter, wearing a thick dark brown jacket and a terribly ridiculous and childish Gryffindor scarf around his shoulders. He still had the same glasses he had worn all these years, and Draco wondered why that thought had just popped into his head. It wasn't as if he didn't know exactly what Potter looked like, thanks to the Prophet. It was almost as if he had fallen straight out of Draco's memory, almost.
“Can I help you somehow?”
Three years, three damn years in which he had had no contact with Potter, three years in which he had cowardly run away from expressing his gratitude to him, because damn it, even after all that, his mother had taught him manners. Three years in which he thought he might never see Potter again, and he decided on Can I help you somehow?
A small, snickering laugh escaped Potter and punshed Draco right in the face. Hard.
“No, Malfoy, you can’t”
Potter said, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as well, mirroring Draco’s stance.
“I just wanted to tell you that Hermione would really be happy if you came to the reunion. She really wants us to be able to put the past behind us.”
“And why should I sit in a room full of people who despise me when I can have one where they admire me?”
Merlin, he was so grateful that his voice sounded as usual, cold, neutral, and not as if his blood was starting to boil in his veins. Time didn't seem to have changed that, and he was almost glad to find even a little familiarity in their interaction.
“I see, admiration over tolerance, a uniquely human decision, Malfoy. Although I must say, the much easier one.”
There was an amusement in Potter's words that Draco couldn't quite place. But the challenge was all too obvious, and he would be damned if he didn't accept it.
“Tolerance is hardly what I can expect, Potter,” he snapped.
“If you don't dare, you'll never find out,” Potter replied, looking down at his shoes with an amused grin before looking up again. “Have a nice day, Malfoy.”
While his brain was still feverishly searching through the endless array of sarcastic responses for the perfect one to give Potter, he was already striding confidently past Draco and toward the store. The bell above the door rang, and then Draco was alone on the street again.
Just as he was about to decide on a more distinctive look, he noticed a change and looked around. He had been so focused on talking to Potter that he hadn't even noticed it had started snowing.
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He had walked home and decided to let the snow do its job and let the silence settle in his head. But as soon as he had walked through the heavy door and the cold entrance hall into the library, there was no silence at all. He had to think, he couldn't make a wrong move now.
With a wave of his wand, he lit the fire in the large stone fireplace his mother loved so much and sat down in the armchair in front of it. What the hell had that day been? Before he could begin analyzing his encounter with the oh-so-golden trio, he hastily grabbed a parchment and a quill.
„Blaise, are you going to the class reunion this year?
DM“
He summoned an owl and tied the message, which was very short and lacking in context even by his standards, to its leg. Then he closed the window and sank into the heavy armchair again. Can I help you somehow? Merlin.
Everything had been going so well, so why had that Granger girl approached him? Well, he knew why. When she had sent him the request to visit the manor, he thought she might have gone mad after all. The war had done that to quite a few people. He wanted to refuse, but didn't. And so, a few months after the battle of Hogwarts, she stood at his door and hesitantly entered when he opened it for her personally.
He remembered exactly how she walked through the high halls and how she asked him to show her around the house, even after he told her she could have the house to herself. How he had walked silently with her from room to room until they stood where Granger had been abused by Bellatrix. Everything in him had resisted standing there with her until she turned around and spoke to him.
“I don't blame you for what happened here, Draco“
He hadn't replied, what could he say? After the war, for many months he couldn't find the words to say anything more than was necessary to communicate. He had just stared silently at his shoes, crushed by the weight of what had happened here. What he had allowed to happen.
Afterwards, she wanted to see the garden, and he showed it to her. At some point, she began to say that she hoped that both of them, that even the entire wizarding community, could learn something from all of this. That from now on, they would work together to heal the wounds that had been torn open. Although he remained silent, she continued to pour out her absolutely disgustingly good heart to him. It was one of Draco's weakest moments, and one of her strongest.
Later, when she left, she thanked him for the visit. She didn't explain why she had come, but Draco knew anyway. He remained silent, and she let him. After that, he received an invitation to the annual meeting she organized every year, and he did not break his silence there either. And that was despite the fact that he had long since been able to find the right words again.
They had seen each other once or twice at public events, and she had gotten him to make small talk with her, which, surprisingly, he didn't hate.
But today she had brought Weasel and Potter with her, and that had made everything much, much more complicated.
The encounter with Weasel had probably been a best-case scenario for him. No fists, no bloody noses on his part. He was sure that Ron had learned everything there was to know from the visit to the manor and the other fleeting encounters.
He was sure she had told Potter about it too. Had she?
Draco sighed and sank deeper into his armchair, where he spent most of the night. As night gave way to morning, he gathered all his thoughts and reflections and crept into bed with them.
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December 8, 2001
Almost two days passed before Granger’s invitation actually arrived. He was standing in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea when the owl tapped on his window, and he gave it a little treat as a reward. It was a short and sweet message, just like the ones from previous years. This year, she had again written a few personal lines, and he was already prepared for another display of her terribly perfect nature. How she would try to persuade him to come and finally let the past be the past. Merlin, she was so naive. He was surprised when he saw the scribbled words in the margin of the card.
“Malfoy,
I hereby announce a new tactic. Most people didn't have time this year, so it will be a rather small gathering. Besides, other Slytherins have already agreed to come, so you can spend your time in extremely distinguished company if you prefer. So pull yourself together!
Granger.”
At least that was an offer! He closed the card and placed it on the kitchen counter. He had already made up his mind, even without Granger's message. But he had to admit that it made things easier.
He had used all his powers of persuasion to ensure that Blaise would come too. Although he had gone last year and Draco had only reported positive things, he didn't want to go this year. He and his husband were still in the honeymoon phase and they just became fathers, so they hardly ever left the house.
Come to think of it, where was Blaise? They had agreed to meet a quarter of an hour ago.
He had just finished thinking the thought and was on his way to the library with his extremely hot cup of tea when Blaise stumbled through the front door. The wind pushed him and a few snowflakes into the house, and Draco couldn't get angry, no matter how much he wanted to. Blaise was the only person besides his parents who could get through the manor's powerful protective spells and had a front door key.
“You're late.” Draco went ahead and sat down in his usual chair in front of the fireplace.
“Shut up, Lissi just wouldn't sleep.”
Blaise followed him into the library, taking off his scarf and jacket as he went, dropping them on the small sofa and sitting down directly in front of the fireplace. Sometimes Draco was amazed at how comfortable Blaise felt here. But then he remembered all the months he had spent here after the war.
“It's noon, why should she sleep at noon? Merlin, let the poor child be awake.”
“She has to take a nap, Draco, she's only a few months old.” Blaise rolled his eyes and held his hands to the warm flames. Then he got up and went into the kitchen.
“So, we don't have much planned this week, but the customer is important,” he called from the kitchen as Draco heard water being heatet. “Do you remember that Egyptian sheikh? He wants a new line of suits and traditional wizard clothing.” The water stopped boiling and Blaise returned to the room, now also with a cup of tea in his hand.
He plopped down on the small Couch and pulled a file out of his bag, which he handed to Draco without a word before making himself more comfortable. Draco opened the file and couldn't help but snort contemptuously.
“This color scheme is awful, what am I supposed to put together for him? Blaise, you know how much I hate it when they don't have good taste,” he grumbled, dropping the file on the floor next to him.
“Business is business, and I'm just the messenger,” Blaise replied, looking extremely pleased with himself.
About a year ago, Blaise had asked Draco for a favor, and since then he had been dressing rich people and advising them on their wardrobe. He didn't quite understand what Blaise did, but he also didn't really care. They worked well together, and it gave him something to do that he actually enjoyed and was incredibly good at.
“Okay, I know I said I'd come, but why do you want to go?” Blaise asked, pulling him out of his thoughts about the horrible orange cloaks the sheikh apparently had in mind.
“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The annual meeting, Draco. You haven't said why you want to go this year.”
“Courtesy won't allow me to do anything else.”
“uh, fuck that?”
“Okay okay, I met the holy trinity. In Diagon Alley.”
He tried to sound condescending, but that was difficult in front of Blaise.
“Okay, so? Did you guys fight? I mean, except for Granger, of course. She's still such a tiresome do-gooder, isn't she?”
“Of course we didn't fight.” It wasn't that easy. “And yes, Granger is a nightmare, which is why I'm going”
Blaise nodded. He himself was a victim of Granger and her tireless determination to reintegrate her entire clan of assholes into society. Although, to be honest, it had worked well for Blaise.
“Okay, so let's get through this together this year,” Blaise sighed. “I'll have to find a babysitter for Lissi.”
“What about Leo?” Draco sipped his tea.
“You think I have such a hot husband and then hide him from the world?”
Draco could only nod. Right.
They spent about two more hours like that, Draco in his armchair and Blaise, the child that he was, sometimes on the sofa, sometimes in front of the fireplace, and sometimes stretched out on the floor. They discussed the plan for the terrible sheikh, made appointments for fittings and measurements. They talked about Lissi and Leo and about Draco's mother, who was getting worse and worse.
As Blaise was leaving, he paused. “We're having Indian food tonight. Want to come?”
“I think I'd rather go over everything one more time, but thanks. See you around?”
Blaise replied with a brief nod and hugged him quick but tightly. Then it was quiet again, and he almost regretted not going to dinner with Blaise. It was strange that after all this time, they were closer friends than ever. When Draco thought about it, Blaise was no longer the boy he had been at Hogwarts. Although, if he was honest, that wasn't true; he had just always hidden it behind the same mask that Draco still struggled with today.
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December 13, 2001
He woke up and immediately felt a twinge in his stomach. It felt like anticipation at first, but then turned out to be a strong urge to throw up. Fucking hell, he would pull himself together. He was a Malfoy, after all.
So he got up, brushed his teeth, and disappeared into the garden. The brand-new Nimbus had arrived yesterday, and he had to test fly it, even if he hadn't admired it in the shop window.
He flew for almost two hours, far beyond the boundaries of his property. The snow beneath him enveloped him in its soothing silence, and he enjoyed the painfully cold air on his cheeks.
Around noon, he started turning his wardrobe upside down. Suddenly, he didn't have a single item of clothing to wear that evening, even though he had spent the last few days thinking about it. Frustrated, he threw another sweater on his bed, which now had more clothes on it than were still hanging in his closet. Why was he even worrying about this? They were going to a shabby old bar from their youth. They would drink butterbeer and reminisce about their oh-so-wonderful school days.
With a heavy sigh, Draco got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over his body. Would Potter talk to him again? He reached for the soap and began to rub his body thoroughly. Very thoroughly. Too thoroughly for a casual evening at the Three Broomsticks. But he pushed the thought aside and took meticulous care not to skip a step in his elaborate routine.
Twenty minutes later, he was back in his room, staring at the mountain of clothes piled around him.
Then he gave up and dug out the outfit he’d planned to wear from the start. Black pants that weren’t fancy enough to be overdressed, but definitely enough to stand out from the clothes of the usually not-very-stylish Gryffindor crowd. To go with them, a dark blue, form-fitting turtleneck sweater, topped off with a silver ring and his, as always, perfectly styled hair.
That was good. That would work.
At least that was what he told himself before leaving the Manor. It was cold outside, the honest snow had not yet left him, and he found comfort in knowing that. He wrapped his scarf tighter around himself and buttoned up his coat.
He took a deep breath, then apparated to Hogsmeade before he could stop himself.