What Comes down [PG-13] for withdrawnred (3/3)
Title: What Comes Down
Author: paranthelion
Rating: PG-13
Recipient: withdrawnred
Disclaimer: The characters and situations portrayed in this story do not belong to me. No money is being made and no copyright/trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: swearing, minor sexual situations
Author Notes: Post-Hogwarts. Epilogue cheerfully thrown out the window. Lyrics from Pact With the Past by Poverty’s No Crime. With a broken umbrella, flannel, and a metaphorical Atlas. withdrawnred, I hope you like!
Summary: “Why would you help me?” Granger demanded.
“Because I want something from you,” Draco said.
Part 1
Part 2
Two days before the Gala - not that anybody was counting - Draco was playing a vigorous game of exploding snap with Goyle, when Pansy Apparated into the middle of the room. Goyle slapped down a ten of spades and the deck promptly exploded. Cards were still raining down on them when Zabini popped into the room on Pansy’s heels.
“-think it’s about bloody time you stopped messing about with Muggles and think of your future. How about you do a Tarot reading for yourself?”
“Sod off! Nobody invited you here!” Pansy screamed, tearing off her yellow turban as she stormed off to her room. She slammed the door so hard in his face that the windowpanes in the parlour rattled.
Zabini hit the door with his fist. “For fuck’s sake, Pansy.”
“We really should put up some Anti-Apparation wards on this place,” Draco commented wryly, pulling a card from the collar of his robes.
Goyle grunted.
“You can’t hide from the wizarding world forever.”
“I’m not hiding from anything! Get out of my house!”
A tapping on the window distracted Draco from the spectacle. A tawny owl was rapping impatiently, fluttering against the glass. Draco unfolded his legs and got up.
“Should we make ‘im leave?” Goyle asked.
“No,” Draco answered as he opened the window and wrestled with the restless owl for its letter. “Stay still, you damn featherduster. Pansy can look after herself. Argh! Fine! Goyle, get the bird a biscuit or something. Or where’s that mouse?”
“You aren’t honestly going to live with Muggles forever, are you?”
“Rasputin ain’t for eating,” Goyle said reproachfully, lumbering over with an owl treat from Merlin knew where.
Draco wasn’t paying attention. His name was on the envelope. It was for him. Tearing it open, he stood by the open window and skimmed through it. Somewhere in the periphery he heard Pansy jerk open her door and Zabini stopped shouting. There was a loud bang and Pansy slammed the door again. Zabini careened into the parlour, clutching his face.
“What did you do?” Draco asked, amused, folding the letter.
“Bight hab imblied she’s a blood traitor,” Zabini muttered thickly through a rapidly swelling nose. It was oozing something bright orange.
Draco laughed, falling into the armchair. “Genius, Zabini. You always were the charmer.”
“What are you so bloody cheerful for?” Zabini grouched. “Gib me a hand here.”
“This.” Draco waved his letter in Zabini’s direction and rose to help with a flourish of his wand. “Granger’s invited me to the Gala.”
* * * *
Dear Mother,
How are you? I’m glad to hear the Eglantine is doing well.
Please send the Venetian potion bottles. I’ve learnt that the wife of a certain influential Ministry employee has a collection. I’m sure she would greatly appreciate the gift. Please also include my grey dress robes. I have received an invitation to the Ministry Gala as somebody’s plus one.
Do we have any pro-goblin literature in the library? Griselda Marchbanks is going to be at the Gala and we all know she’s partial. Did you hear she got re-elected to the Wizangamot along with Tiberius Odgen? I’ve heard he’s an avid hunter. I’m sure he’ll be very interested in father’s yeti hunting expeditions.
Love,
Draco
* * * *
The ballroom positively glittered, with fairies floating above the crowd, their lights reflecting off the great ice-sculptures and crystal champagne glasses. Great red velvet drapes hid the private balconies lining one wall and kept in the warmth. Witches and wizards in their finest dressrobes stood chatting around the tables, or else dancing in the centre of the room to the lively music of the band.
“Oh, yes, we used to go every year. We have a holiday house in Switzerland - there’s a great yeti population in the area. I’m sure my father would be more than pleased for you to join us there next year. Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I need to attend to my date, Hermione Granger. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Odgen.”
“Hermione Granger?” Mrs Odgen interrupted, before Draco could take his leave. “Harry Potter’s young friend?”
“The Muggleborn?” another middle-aged witch, dressed in blue, inquired.
Draco almost smirked. “That’s right. She’s …” What was she? “She’s a great girl. So … brave. And passionate - about her convinctions, I mean,” he added hurriedly, feeling the heat rise in his face. The witch in blue tittered knowingly behind her hand. “I think she cares about everybody. It’s witches like her that are going to turn the wizarding around. For the better. Speaking of which, I really should find her. We haven’t even had a chance to dance yet.”
There. Let them chew on that.
Draco swiftly excused himself to the rest of the group and eased his way through the crowd, eyes darting constantly to the door to the entrance hall, where he had just seen Ron Weasley come in. He was having a good night. He didn’t need Weasley to interrupt it.
Granger was talking to Luna Lovegood when he found her. Everybody who had earned an Order of Merlin in the year had been invited to the Gala - the place was positively teeming with people from Dumbledore’s Army. Fortunately, Draco had managed to avoid most of them so far. Largely by pretending to be too drunk to notice them.
“Granger, come and join me for a drink outside,” Draco said, putting a hand on her bare shoulder. Maybe he was a little tipsy.
“You were a Death Eater,” Lovegood interrupted, in a weird, dreamy sort of way. She had what looked like Christmas tree decorations hanging from her ears.
“That a problem?” Draco asked tersely, scanning the crowd over her should for Weasley. There were far too many redheads for polite society here tonight. It was making him twitchy.
“You locked me in your basement.”
“The Dark Lord did. Not me,” Draco said, glancing at Granger. She frowned disapprovingly at him. Well, what? At least Lovegood hadn’t gone the way of the Muggle Studies professor. Draco still had nightmares about snakes swallowing people. “I suppose I am sorry, though.”
He’d much preferred the cellar when they’d used it to store wine and Dark Arts artefacts.
“That’s all right. Hermione likes you, so you can’t be that bad.”
Draco glanced at Granger, amused. She looked mortified. “Is that so? Would you mind if I borrowed her for a while? I haven’t been a very good date so far.”
“No, go ahead.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Luna. I’m sure Dean will dance with you if you ask again,” Granger said and added in an undertone to Draco as they moved away, “Poor Luna. Her date is avoiding her.”
“I’ll dance with her, if you like,” Draco offered without thinking. Definitely drunk. At least Pansy would never hear of it.
“Really?”
“Mmhm. This way.” Draco took her elbow and steered her towards one of the balconies, snagging a bottle of champagne along the way.
It was cold outside, but Draco had had enough to drink not to mind. Granger conjured a shawl to wrap around her bare shoulders. Draco was sorry to see them go. She really had rather pretty shoulders. She was quite a sight out of her bulky Ministry robes. He wished she made the effort more often - she was as pretty as Pansy with her hair tamed and with makeup on, though in quite a different way. Whereas Pansy exuded sexiness, trying to cover her hard edges with girly lace, Granger was effortlessly feminine and touchable.
And Draco had certainly had enough to drink. Conjuring up a pair of glasses - what a relief it was to have his wand back again - he poured champagne for both of them and handed Granger a glass.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to look up at the stars with a faint blush on her cheeks. Draco supposed he had been staring.
It was almost forbiddingly quiet with the curtains muffling the sound of the party. Draco wondered vaguely if they’d been charmed that way.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Very much so.” Draco leant his elbow on the balustrade, watching Granger’s profile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he hadn’t felt so comfortable in his skin since the war ended. This was where he was supposed to be. A part of wizarding society. He’d always enjoyed a good party. “I still owe you a dance, though. I saw you dancing with Potter. Well, I say ‘dancing’ - it looked more like he was trying to knock people over with you. But he does have those violent tendencies.”
“Malfoy-”
“Does he know I’m your date?”
“Yes. He knows we’ve been working together. He told me - you know, of course, that Harry had a Horcux in him, which created a connection between him and Voldemort. Sometimes he could see through Voldemort’s eyes during the war. He saw him forcing you to torture someone. He saw that you didn’t want to.”
“That’s … creepy,” Draco muttered.
“And he was there when you tried to kill Dumbledore, under his Invisibility Cloak. He knows you couldn’t do it. He knows you aren’t a bad person.”
Well, that was news to Draco. At least she hadn’t mentioned the whole sobbing in the bathroom thing. But then, everybody always overlooked the attempted murder on Golden Boy’s otherwise untarnished record. Whereas one could make a mindmap of Draco’s rather public indiscretions.
“And you say he’s not a stalker. What about Weasley?”
Granger hesitated. “We haven’t really spoken lately.”
Just as well Draco was avoiding the Weasel then. “Why did you ask me here? Why not one of your Order friends?” Why not Weasley, he really wanted to ask.
Granger blushed. “We spent half a year sleeping in a tent, Malfoy. There weren’t really a lot of opportunities to meet boys.”
“But why me?” Surely she could have found something. There were half a dozen Weasleys apart from hers to choose from, for starters.
“Well, quite a few reasons, really.” Her voice took on a lecturing type of tone. He wondered if she’d made a list before she owled him. “First of all, I knew you would know how to handle yourself at an event like this. Secondly, I thought it would do you good if people saw how you’ve changed.”
“I’ve changed, have I?” Draco couldn’t decide if the assumption annoyed him or not. It was sort of amusing that one of her reasons were so close to his.
“Of course,” she said simply, looking up at him with big, earnest eyes. “When you took the Dark Mark, you agreed that Muggleborns should be exterminated. If you still felt that way, you would never have come here with me. You never would have even suggested working with me in the first place.”
How naïve. Draco broke her gaze to sip at his champagne. He had been overzealous when he first knelt before the Dark Lord. It hadn’t taken long for him to realise that. But more than that? More than that he didn’t know. Except that he should probably stop drinking. It had been too long since he’d really drunk anything, and one forgot one’s limits. Probably - probably not since Goyle’s birthday, and he’d ended up sleeping with Astoria Greengrass that night. He emptied the rest of the glass down his throat.
“And I kind of - kind of got the impression that you wanted to come,” Granger finished in a rush.
Draco met her eyes and felt suddenly aware of his body. Granger was undeniably beautiful tonight in those robes. With the curtains drawn shut, they might as well have been all alone and the dark made it feel ten times more personal. Compared to the vastness of the night, of the stars, they were standing very close together. Draco set his champagne glass carefully down on the wide marble balustrade, and then didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and as dry as if he hadn’t had a thing to drink all night. “I wanted to come.”
She gazed up at him as he took a step closer. His fingers were trembling, and his heart thundered in his chest. It was a strange, overwhelming feeling. He hadn’t felt like this since the first time he’d slept with Pansy when he was fifteen. And all this was just for a kiss.
When his lips touched hers, she shifted slightly towards him. Draco felt like he was on fire. With one hand sliding to her waist, he fumbled with the other to take her glass from her and put it on the balustrade without looking. But he set it too close to the edge, and it tumbled off and smashed at their feet. They started apart.
Breathlessly, they stared at each other. Draco didn’t know what to think. This was Hermione Granger, Mudblood and sidekick to Undesirable Number One. Making out with Harry Potter wouldn’t be any worse.
He took a step backwards.
“I think - let’s go inside,” Draco said, and had to clear his throat. Her face hardened and he grabbed her hand, putting on a smile. “I owe you a dance, remember?”
When he stepped inside, he almost wished he could go back to hiding in the dark with Granger. There had been enough people when they went out to the balcony, but now it seemed everybody had moved to the dancefloor and the room felt crowded. These people, with their goblin rights, and their Orders of Merlin for services during the war, and the way they slipped Muggle culture into their conversation like it was fashionable - they weren’t his people. There was Percy Weasley, and Katie Bell. Worse, Lavender Brown with her high necked dressrobes not quite covering the scars where Fenrir Greyback had tried to tear her throat out. Worse still, Neville Longbottom, with his left ear and eyebrow melted from when the Dark Lord burnt the Sorting Hat on his head. And Potter himself, of course, trying to dance, but mostly just stepping on Ginny Weasley’s toes and bumping into people. Awkward idiot.
This wasn’t a Ministry function - it was a parade of war heroes, because what else did the Ministry have to show for itself this year? Death Eaters behind bars didn’t make quite such an attractive centrepiece for the table, though more than a few here would be viciously satisfied to see Dolohov or Greyback now, vacant and soulless, dribbling on the tablecloth. Most of the people that had sentenced them to the Dementor’s Kiss were here tonight, chatting gaily over champagne.
“Malfoy? Are you okay?”
Draco shuttered away his useless fury and despair, and smiled at Granger. “Of course. We can take the next song. I need a drink.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Draco ignored her, letting go of her hand to shove through the crowds, not sure if he cared whether she followed or not.
Ron Weasley almost smashed into him out of nowhere. He grabbed Draco’s arm to steady himself and then snatched it away with a scowl. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get a drink,” Draco snapped, rubbing his arm. He almost spat in disgust. He was not in the mood for repartee with the red headed dunce. Particularly not when there wasn’t a single person here who’d take his side. “Get out of my way.”
“Who’d invite you?” Weasley suddenly looked over Draco’s shoulder and exclaimed, “Hermione!”
“Good guess,” Draco sneered.
Weasley glanced at him and frowned. “Get lost, Malfoy.”
“Ron …” Granger began in a small voice, drawing up beside Draco.
“Is that any way to talk to your best friend’s date?” Draco asked maliciously. He was starting to enjoy himself.
“Malfoy, please-”
“No way! Hermione, tell me he’s joking. You came with Malfoy?”
“Ron, there’s no need to be so loud-”
“I’ll be as loud as I bloody want!” Weasley exploded. “You turned me down for him?”
“You never even asked me, Ron.”
“Yeah, I did! I owled you a week ago! And you just ignored me!”
“I - I never got an owl.”
“Isn’t the owl post just so unreliable these days?” Draco drawled, to nobody in particular.
Weasley shot him a glare, then turned back to Granger, pointing at Draco. “He’s a scum-eating little toad!”
People were starting to turn around to watch.
“You don’t even know him, Ron. He’s really not that bad. I’m sorry I didn’t get your letter, but I’m not going to apologise for inviting Malfoy.”
“He’s a Death Eater, Hermione! It’s his fault Dumbledore was killed. He stood around and watched like a pathetic, snivelly little coward while his aunt tortured you in his house!”
“Keep your damn voice down, Weasley,” Draco hissed. Everybody seemed to be watching now. Listening. Merlin, this was going to be all over the gossip columns tomorrow morning. This was not how he needed people to remember the Malfoys right now. “We’re not in a barn.”
Weasley rounded on him, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I’m sick of putting up with your shit about my family. What about your family, huh? Bunch of bleeding Death Eaters! You should be in Azkaban with the rest of them!”
“Yeah, and what does that say about you, that your girlfriend would rather come with a Death Eater than with you?”
“Malfoy, don’t-” Granger started, but Weasley spoke right over her.
“Shut the hell up, Malfoy!”
But Draco was angry now. He’d been having as good night and Weasley was ruining it. He was ruining all Draco’s hard work at charming this crowd to look past his father’s indiscretions. “You’re the one who’s yelling, you great ginger lummox. I’d be embarrassed to take you places too, if I were Granger. I suppose your mother never taught you any manners.”
With a giant roar, Weasley leapt at him. Draco was reminded briefly of the troll he and Granger had faced, but this time she didn’t jump in front of him. He didn’t have time to react. Weasley punched him squarely in the face and Draco crashed into the table behind him, stumbling between the chairs to the ground. He flailed for the tablecloth as he fell and it ripped off the table, raining wine glasses down on him.
He hardly noticed Weasley being dragged away - with Granger berating him - through the throbbing of his face. He touched his fingers gingerly to his nose and stared at the blood on them. Scrambling to his feet, he pushed through the crowds amidst murmurs of “Well, I never!” and “Shameful!” The moment he reached the entrance hall, he spun on his heel, Disapparating with his head reeling and his cheeks flaming.
* * * *
When Granger rang their bell the next morning, Draco was locked in the bathroom, staring bleakly at his reflection in the mirror. He was feeling particularly sorry for himself. Forget the horrifying black eyes - he felt decidedly ill and he wished he could blame it all on alcohol. What had he done last night? What had he been thinking? He didn’t like Granger. He couldn’t like her. She was … self-righteous and annoying and … and she was bossy! And a house-elf liberator. She was entirely beneath him.
She was a Mudblood. What else mattered, beside that?
So he didn’t really pay much attention at all when Pansy stomped barefoot across the wooden floor from her bedroom to open the front door, though they rarely had visitors. The one time their neighbours had come round to ask if they had a ‘corkscrew’, Pansy had been rather rude. Draco quite agreed with her attitude. He had no idea what a corkscrew was supposed to be, but it certainly didn’t sound like something you asked your neighbour for. Muggles were so vulgar.
It was only when he heard Granger’s voice that he froze, toothbrush in mouth. Strain as he might, he couldn’t make out their words. Their tone, on the other hand, was quite clear. Draco spat and hurriedly rinsed out his mouth.
His reflection caught his eye, and he hesitated. Draco was all for making the most of a wound, but a puffy nose and two black eyes would do nobody any favours. Besides, his head ached as if he’d been using it to sound the Bow Bells.
He picked up his wand and gingerly prodded his nose. With his skin smoothing, and the discolouration fading, it was like last night had never happened. He wished it hadn’t.
When he opened the door, Pansy’s voice made him pause.
“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here. I saw what you did to Draco. This is exactly why I can’t stand Gryffindors. Only they would go to a Ministry function and start a fist fight. You’re as civilised as a bunch of Muggles - oh, wait.” Draco could hear the sneer in her voice. “How could I forget? You are one.”
“Look, I just want to talk to Malfoy. Is he home or not?” Granger broke in impatiently.
“Draco doesn’t want to see you. He never cared about you. He was just using you to get to the Ministry Gala. Having a Mudblood on your arm is the latest fashion, and Draco’s always up to date with the fashions. I bet he spent half the night talking to Tiberius Odgen. Well, the party’s over now. He doesn’t need you anymore. So you can stop littering up our front porch and go home now.”
Draco stepped into the room before they could decide to draw their wands. Pansy had one hand on the door, ready to slam it, with a vicious sneer on her face. Granger stood out on the porch, red in the face but, oddly, not less attractive than she had been the night before, with her hair back to normal and her makeup removed. When both girls turned their glares on him, he sort of wished he’d stayed in the bathroom though.
“Is she telling the truth?” Granger demanded.
“Of course I am,” Pansy said. “You didn’t really think Draco could like somebody like you, did you? He was a Death Eater, in case you forgot.”
There had been far too many reminders of that lately for Draco’s tastes. Granger made as if to enter - to try and slap Draco again or something, he supposed - but Pansy blocked the doorway.
“Sorry, we have a strict No Mudbloods policy,” Pansy sneered. “I’ve just cleaned the carpets, you see.”
Granger ignored Pansy entirely, turning her fury on Draco instead. “You know, I came here to apologise for last night, but forget it. I never want to see you again!”
“Ooh, what a great loss your company will be,” Pansy called after her, as Granger wheeled away and stomped off. Pansy slammed the door and met Draco’s gaze, ready for a fight. “What?”
“I’m going back to bed,” he muttered, turning away.
It was for the best.
* * * *
It was 03:27. The numbers glowed red in the pitch dark of Draco’s room. Five hours and thirty three minutes until his father’s trial. Five hours and thirty two minutes. Thirty one. Had he done enough? Had he put out enough bribes? Too many? Had Tiberius Odgen liked him? Had his comments about goblin rights gone down well with Griselda Marchbanks? She had seemed impressed at the time, but then there had been that thing with Weasley. Maybe he should have stayed to smooth things over afterwards.
Five hours and twenty seven minutes.
Draco wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
Throwing back his blankets, Draco dispelled the Tempus Charm and got out of bed. If he stayed in his bedroom for five more minutes he was going to be sick. He needed to move. He needed air.
Only, he wouldn’t have walked around Muggle London in the middle of the night even if it weren’t raining. The city always made him a little uneasy. And Goyle was asleep in the parlour, so he couldn’t go there. Which left the kitchen.
The bright, electric light hurt his eyes. He hated it so much. He hated this whole place, but this room more than anything. He had never even been inside a kitchen before he moved in here. Why would he, when a snap of the fingers could summon a house-elf? Why did he have to live like this?
Snatching up a glass from the rack, he flung it against the far wall. The sound it made as it shattered was almost satisfactory. Why had things turned out this way? He smashed another glass. Why did nothing in his life turn out the way he wanted? Another one. Another. He wanted to scream.
“Draco? What are you doing?”
He spun around to see Pansy blinking sleepily in the doorway, her bare toes curling away from the cold tiles. She was wearing a plain white nightie - she kept the lacy things for the nights Zabini stayed over - and looked uncharacteristically unkempt, with no makeup on and her hair sticking out. She had her wand in her hand.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Draco explained.
Pansy surveyed the mess. “Okay.”
She crossed the floor on tiptoes, stepping warily around the broken glass, and stretched for the bottle of Firewhisky on the top shelf of the cupboard. Draco could almost see her knickers. Then she flicked her wand to repair a single glass - leaving the rest shattered on the floor - and sloshed the alcohol into it. She held it out wordlessly to Draco. He shook his head. He’d throw up if he drank anything.
Pansy pulled herself up onto the table and took a sip of the Firewhisky herself. “Your father’s going to be fine, Draco. He didn’t even fight at Hogwarts. And the Dark Lord took away his wand, so they can’t pin anything on him for the whole year.”
“He broke out of Azkaban though. And there’s still that whole Department of Mysteries thing with Potter.”
“He’ll be fine,” she repeated. “You did everything you could. It’ll pay off.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will, Draco.”
For a moment Draco stared at her, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Then he took one of the chairs at the table. They sat in silence for a while, Pansy calmly sipping Firewhisky like it was water, Draco fidgeting in his seat. He wanted to put his head on the table and sleep. He wanted to smash everything still whole. The entire world. Himself.
Eventually he said, “I still can’t picture him in prison. My father.”
“I guess.”
“I can’t believe this is how it ended. All we wanted was to keep the wizarding world pure and now it’s completely ruined.”
Pansy stared into her glass, swilling the Firewhisky around.
“It was such a stupid thing to have a war over,” Draco said finally.
At that Pansy looked up, surprised. “Blood purity?”
“Yeah. I mean, people died for it, Pansy. It just seems so stupid. What difference does it make? They can use magic. How different are they from us really?”
“They come from Muggles, Draco.”
“So what? They aren’t Muggles.”
“Yeah, but …” Pansy trailed off, staring at him wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen him before. “They don’t know our customs. You said it yourself: they’re ruining everything.”
“And we’re just standing aside and letting them.”
“We already fought, Draco. They won. What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Not just run away. Just because they won the war doesn’t mean they can throw us out. It’s still our world.”
Pansy shrugged wordlessly. Draco didn’t know what else to say.
“Granger told me they made you help clean up, after,” he said finally. He didn’t have to say after what. By Pansy’s sullen expression it was obvious she knew exactly what he meant.
“Granger’s a nosy cow.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I thought you already knew. She doesn’t exactly try to hide it.”
“Pansy.”
She shrugged again, her small smile sliding away, and played with the glass in her hands. “What’s there to tell? I didn’t do anything. Daphne and I stayed away from the school. Professor Snape told us to. When we went back in the morning-”
“You saw Snape?”
Pansy nodded tersely. “Before he - before. Potter brought him back. Him and Finnigan. I was out on the grounds, helping that boy from Potter’s fanclub find his brother’s camera. Um. Dennis Creevey. Anyway, I saw them coming. I thought Potter had killed him at first, but he said the Dark Lord did, and I just … He was supposed to be on our side.”
Draco looked down at his hands. Snape was all a jumble of emotions in his head. Snape had been a model for scathing comments they all tried to emulate in the common room, and the only person who favoured the Slytherins and saw Potter for what he was. But then Sixth year had come along, and Draco had been so angry and jealous, because Snape didn’t have to work for the Dark Lord’s favour, and then angry and relieved because Snape had snatched his glory. And now, now Draco didn’t know whether to feel guilty or betrayed, because Snape had been killed for the Deathstick, when he’d never even touched it. It had been Draco’s.
“The worst part is,” Pansy continued, “If I hadn’t seen him, I could pretend it never happened. You know, I think more about Dennis Creevey’s brother than I think about Crabbe. It’s stupid, but …”
“Is that why you won’t go back? So you can pretend nothing’s changed?”
“I don’t know. It’s just … things didn’t really turn out the way we expected, did they? I’m scared if I go back I’ll hate what they’re doing to everything. Fuck. Why would I want to go back to a place where they hate us all now? They were supposed to be …”
“In awe,” Draco supplied.
“Nobody could ever envy us now, Draco,” she whispered.
Draco got to his feet. He took the glass from her hand and set it on the table. Then he wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t just give up,” he murmured fiercely into her hair.
Pansy laced her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and stretched up against him, pulling his mouth down to hers. Draco needed … he needed something. He cupped her jaw and she bit his lip, hard. Grabbed the front of his pajamas, she jerked hard, ripping the buttons open. He slid a hand up her thigh, shoving up her nightdress and dug his fingers into her hip. She exhaled heavily against his mouth, slipping her hands under his shirt, around his shoulderblades, and raked her nails down his back as she pulled him on top of her.
His elbow cracked against the table as he shifted to support himself, and he bit off a curse. Pansy huffed a laugh and kissed him hard. Draco grinded against her and she hummed a small, satisfied sound.
Being with Pansy felt right. No. Not right. Comfortable. They’d dated for two years back in school. They’d been each other’s firsts. He knew her, mind and body, better than any other girl in the world. So he knew that if he brushed her stomach - so - she would shiver and if he bit her neck here she would moan and dig her fingers into his skin.
But did he want comfortable? Did he want convenient? Or did he want a challenge? Heart-pounding, mind-racing, nerve-wracking difficult. He didn’t care that Pansy was a bitch, or that she always put her own pleasure first, because there was something viciously satisfying in being able to be his absolute worst himself. He didn’t have to be nice or considerate. He didn’t even need to try very hard.
They’d get bored of each other eventually.
Draco pulled away from Pansy, raising himself on his elbows. His eyes darted between hers. She followed him with a hand curled around his neck, coming up for another kiss and Draco gasped out, “Wait, wait - I can’t do this.”
“Then get off me!”
Draco let himself be shoved off the table and stumbled back against the counter behind him. Pansy sat up on the table, looking like a centrefold out of the Wicked Witch magazines that boys kept hidden under their beds. Her dark hair was a sultry mop hanging in her eyes and her lips were red and swollen, parted and panting for breath. Her nightie hardly covered her underwear, baring her smooth legs almost to the hip. Draco was still hard. Merlin, he felt sick with himself.
“What the fuck’s your problem?”
Draco swallowed, glancing away. “What - what about Zabini?”
Pansy tightened her lips in that way that made her look like a sullen bulldog. “It’s just sex, Draco.”
He hesitated, unsure whether she meant the current situation or her relationship with Zabini. Either way: “No. It’s not. I know that you like him, Pansy.”
“This is about Granger, isn’t it?”
Draco shook his head. He couldn’t say it. “You’re my best friend. I-”
“Fine,” Pansy spat, cutting him off. “Go fuck your Mudblood. You’re anyway worth nothing anymore, Malfoy. You might as well be a blood traitor too.”
Draco let her storm out of the kitchen without saying a word. She slammed her bedroom door behind her and in the darkness of the parlour, Goyle swore heavily, couch springs squeaking loudly as he turned over. Draco shifted, glancing towards the doorway, but a muffled whipcrack told him Pansy had Disapparated. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fix her. Maybe Zabini could.
“Blood traitor,” Draco repeated experimentally under his breath, surveying the mess he’d made of the room. Did that even mean anything anymore? Anybody it mattered to was dead or in Azkaban, or otherwise shoved to the fringes of society. Fingers trembling, he refilled Pansy’s glass and gulped the Firewhisky down.
He wouldn’t allow himself to be shoved aside. Anybody who thought they could dismiss the Malfoys would learn to regret it.
* * * *
Draco sat in the long, empty corridor, shoulders shaking. He wasn’t sure if he were laughing or crying. All that hard work. All that hard work. The blackmailing, the bribing, the cajoling, the charming. All of it for this. It was … amazing.
“Malfoy?”
Draco froze, and looked up cautiously. “Hi. Granger.”
“I heard your father’s trial was today. Is it over?”
Draco nodded. Unstuck his throat. “Yeah.”
“Is he …?”
“He’s free.”
It was only because Draco had been watching closely for her reaction that he noticed the flicker of her brow. She was surprised. Or she disapproved. But her face cleared almost instantly, and she smiled at him so genuinely that he could forgive her for wanting his father to go insane in Azkaban.
“I’m glad. I don’t like your father, but I know it means a lot to you. And nobody deserves the Dementor’s Kiss.”
“They broke his wand,” Draco told her, mouth twisting at the irony. Just when Draco had been given his own back. Then he remembered his father’s expression - as if they had ripped his soul away from him after all - and his humour evaporated.
“He’ll learn it doesn’t make him less of a wizard. I’m sure he’ll find a way to live with it. You did.”
Secretly, Draco suspected that his father’s method of coping would have more to do with procuring an illegal wand than with learning to make do with Muggle means, but Granger didn’t need to know that.
“I was going to come find you afterwards. I wrote you a letter,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s - I forgot it at home.”
“What did it say?”
“That I’m sorry.” Draco looked up at her in time to catch her surprise. He had never apologised to her before. He hadn’t believed that he had anything to apologise for. “Pansy can be a real bitch when she wants to. What she said wasn’t true though. I mean, yes, I wanted to go to the Gala, but I never pretended with you. You know I didn’t. We argued every five minutes. And if I were just using you I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Then why did you just stand there when she was saying those things?”
“Because I thought it would be better if they were true.” Draco’s eyes skittered down the corridor, trying to find a way to explain. He hadn’t actually finished the letter. He hadn’t known how. “Liking you makes me a blood traitor.”
Granger shifted impatiently. “Malfoy-”
“I don’t care though. The wizarding world is changing. I can’t pretend that I like it - Muggle trousers really are appalling, I don’t know why anybody wants to wear them - but-” Draco gestured helplessly. “You know. I have to adapt. I can’t just run away from everything like Pansy. And - you’re interesting, and you make me laugh, and I enjoy arguing with you. I think - I think in this new world, it’s okay for me to like you.”
“That’s - I don’t think that’s a good idea, Malfoy. I came here as a friend today. I don’t think I could trust you enough for more than that.”
Draco got to his feet. “I don’t want to be your friend. I have friends. Look - I’m attracted to you. I don’t know what else to say. I told you, I wasn’t using you. I told you on the first day what I wanted from you.”
“It’s not just that, Malfoy. You were a Death Eater. You wanted people like me dead. I can’t just overlook that.”
“For fuck’s sake! We’ve argued about this a hundred times. I thought we were over all that.”
“I don’t think that we are,” Granger said stubbornly.
“What, did Weasley remind you that I’m not good enough for you?” Draco sneered.
“You didn’t need to provoke him.”
“He didn’t need to provoke me,” Draco shot back. “Don’t try and pretend that was my fault. Don’t try and pretend that you didn’t kiss me back.” He took a step closer. “You know I’m not the bad guy anymore. You enjoyed it.”
“Maybe - maybe I did. But the thing is, I don’t actually know that you’re not the bad guy anymore. Your fight with Ron and what Pansy said reminded me of that. Are you sorry for anything that you did?”
“I don’t believe this.” Draco wasn’t going to apologise to her for the decisions he’d made when he was sixteen. He’d never pretended to be anything he wasn’t. He’d fought against her in the war and he’d paid for it like everyone else. But then he thought of his father’s face when they pronounced his sentence, and he thought, what had it all been worth? “Yes - I am sorry. I regret what happened every day of my life. But I can’t take it back. I’m always going to have the Dark Mark on my arm. Just like your parents are always going to remember that you Obliviated them every time they see you. Everybody has a past. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“I don’t believe that. I think if you’re sorry, then it changes everything.”
“Then I suppose I’m a changed man.” Draco flashed a small, self-depreciating smile.
Granger blushed, and broke his gaze.
Draco knew a golden opportunity when he saw one. Besides, there had been quite enough personal growth for one morning. He closed the distance between them, putting a hand on her jaw to tilt her head up. She made a soft sound, the beginnings of a protest, but when he paused for her to voice it, she didn’t. Draco’s eyes darted between hers, his heart pounding, and whispered, “Give me another chance. I’ll prove myself to you.”
“Will - will you be nicer to house-elves?” she asked stubbornly.
Draco laughed incredulously and dropped his hand. “If it makes you happy.”
“What about my friends? Will you try not to aggravate them?”
“I will if they will.”
“You’re going to have to get along with them if this is going to work.”
Draco grimaced. “I’ll try.”
Granger stuck out her hand. Draco quirked a smile and took her hand, only to tug her closer. He put his free hand on her neck and murmured, “I’d rather seal this one with a kiss, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t mind at all.
- The End
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post the gifts. It has not created any of the gifts.
Author: paranthelion
Rating: PG-13
Recipient: withdrawnred
Disclaimer: The characters and situations portrayed in this story do not belong to me. No money is being made and no copyright/trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: swearing, minor sexual situations
Author Notes: Post-Hogwarts. Epilogue cheerfully thrown out the window. Lyrics from Pact With the Past by Poverty’s No Crime. With a broken umbrella, flannel, and a metaphorical Atlas. withdrawnred, I hope you like!
Summary: “Why would you help me?” Granger demanded.
“Because I want something from you,” Draco said.
Part 1
Part 2
Two days before the Gala - not that anybody was counting - Draco was playing a vigorous game of exploding snap with Goyle, when Pansy Apparated into the middle of the room. Goyle slapped down a ten of spades and the deck promptly exploded. Cards were still raining down on them when Zabini popped into the room on Pansy’s heels.
“-think it’s about bloody time you stopped messing about with Muggles and think of your future. How about you do a Tarot reading for yourself?”
“Sod off! Nobody invited you here!” Pansy screamed, tearing off her yellow turban as she stormed off to her room. She slammed the door so hard in his face that the windowpanes in the parlour rattled.
Zabini hit the door with his fist. “For fuck’s sake, Pansy.”
“We really should put up some Anti-Apparation wards on this place,” Draco commented wryly, pulling a card from the collar of his robes.
Goyle grunted.
“You can’t hide from the wizarding world forever.”
“I’m not hiding from anything! Get out of my house!”
A tapping on the window distracted Draco from the spectacle. A tawny owl was rapping impatiently, fluttering against the glass. Draco unfolded his legs and got up.
“Should we make ‘im leave?” Goyle asked.
“No,” Draco answered as he opened the window and wrestled with the restless owl for its letter. “Stay still, you damn featherduster. Pansy can look after herself. Argh! Fine! Goyle, get the bird a biscuit or something. Or where’s that mouse?”
“You aren’t honestly going to live with Muggles forever, are you?”
“Rasputin ain’t for eating,” Goyle said reproachfully, lumbering over with an owl treat from Merlin knew where.
Draco wasn’t paying attention. His name was on the envelope. It was for him. Tearing it open, he stood by the open window and skimmed through it. Somewhere in the periphery he heard Pansy jerk open her door and Zabini stopped shouting. There was a loud bang and Pansy slammed the door again. Zabini careened into the parlour, clutching his face.
“What did you do?” Draco asked, amused, folding the letter.
“Bight hab imblied she’s a blood traitor,” Zabini muttered thickly through a rapidly swelling nose. It was oozing something bright orange.
Draco laughed, falling into the armchair. “Genius, Zabini. You always were the charmer.”
“What are you so bloody cheerful for?” Zabini grouched. “Gib me a hand here.”
“This.” Draco waved his letter in Zabini’s direction and rose to help with a flourish of his wand. “Granger’s invited me to the Gala.”
* * * *
Dear Mother,
How are you? I’m glad to hear the Eglantine is doing well.
Please send the Venetian potion bottles. I’ve learnt that the wife of a certain influential Ministry employee has a collection. I’m sure she would greatly appreciate the gift. Please also include my grey dress robes. I have received an invitation to the Ministry Gala as somebody’s plus one.
Do we have any pro-goblin literature in the library? Griselda Marchbanks is going to be at the Gala and we all know she’s partial. Did you hear she got re-elected to the Wizangamot along with Tiberius Odgen? I’ve heard he’s an avid hunter. I’m sure he’ll be very interested in father’s yeti hunting expeditions.
Love,
Draco
* * * *
The ballroom positively glittered, with fairies floating above the crowd, their lights reflecting off the great ice-sculptures and crystal champagne glasses. Great red velvet drapes hid the private balconies lining one wall and kept in the warmth. Witches and wizards in their finest dressrobes stood chatting around the tables, or else dancing in the centre of the room to the lively music of the band.
“Oh, yes, we used to go every year. We have a holiday house in Switzerland - there’s a great yeti population in the area. I’m sure my father would be more than pleased for you to join us there next year. Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I need to attend to my date, Hermione Granger. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Odgen.”
“Hermione Granger?” Mrs Odgen interrupted, before Draco could take his leave. “Harry Potter’s young friend?”
“The Muggleborn?” another middle-aged witch, dressed in blue, inquired.
Draco almost smirked. “That’s right. She’s …” What was she? “She’s a great girl. So … brave. And passionate - about her convinctions, I mean,” he added hurriedly, feeling the heat rise in his face. The witch in blue tittered knowingly behind her hand. “I think she cares about everybody. It’s witches like her that are going to turn the wizarding around. For the better. Speaking of which, I really should find her. We haven’t even had a chance to dance yet.”
There. Let them chew on that.
Draco swiftly excused himself to the rest of the group and eased his way through the crowd, eyes darting constantly to the door to the entrance hall, where he had just seen Ron Weasley come in. He was having a good night. He didn’t need Weasley to interrupt it.
Granger was talking to Luna Lovegood when he found her. Everybody who had earned an Order of Merlin in the year had been invited to the Gala - the place was positively teeming with people from Dumbledore’s Army. Fortunately, Draco had managed to avoid most of them so far. Largely by pretending to be too drunk to notice them.
“Granger, come and join me for a drink outside,” Draco said, putting a hand on her bare shoulder. Maybe he was a little tipsy.
“You were a Death Eater,” Lovegood interrupted, in a weird, dreamy sort of way. She had what looked like Christmas tree decorations hanging from her ears.
“That a problem?” Draco asked tersely, scanning the crowd over her should for Weasley. There were far too many redheads for polite society here tonight. It was making him twitchy.
“You locked me in your basement.”
“The Dark Lord did. Not me,” Draco said, glancing at Granger. She frowned disapprovingly at him. Well, what? At least Lovegood hadn’t gone the way of the Muggle Studies professor. Draco still had nightmares about snakes swallowing people. “I suppose I am sorry, though.”
He’d much preferred the cellar when they’d used it to store wine and Dark Arts artefacts.
“That’s all right. Hermione likes you, so you can’t be that bad.”
Draco glanced at Granger, amused. She looked mortified. “Is that so? Would you mind if I borrowed her for a while? I haven’t been a very good date so far.”
“No, go ahead.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Luna. I’m sure Dean will dance with you if you ask again,” Granger said and added in an undertone to Draco as they moved away, “Poor Luna. Her date is avoiding her.”
“I’ll dance with her, if you like,” Draco offered without thinking. Definitely drunk. At least Pansy would never hear of it.
“Really?”
“Mmhm. This way.” Draco took her elbow and steered her towards one of the balconies, snagging a bottle of champagne along the way.
It was cold outside, but Draco had had enough to drink not to mind. Granger conjured a shawl to wrap around her bare shoulders. Draco was sorry to see them go. She really had rather pretty shoulders. She was quite a sight out of her bulky Ministry robes. He wished she made the effort more often - she was as pretty as Pansy with her hair tamed and with makeup on, though in quite a different way. Whereas Pansy exuded sexiness, trying to cover her hard edges with girly lace, Granger was effortlessly feminine and touchable.
And Draco had certainly had enough to drink. Conjuring up a pair of glasses - what a relief it was to have his wand back again - he poured champagne for both of them and handed Granger a glass.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to look up at the stars with a faint blush on her cheeks. Draco supposed he had been staring.
It was almost forbiddingly quiet with the curtains muffling the sound of the party. Draco wondered vaguely if they’d been charmed that way.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Very much so.” Draco leant his elbow on the balustrade, watching Granger’s profile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he hadn’t felt so comfortable in his skin since the war ended. This was where he was supposed to be. A part of wizarding society. He’d always enjoyed a good party. “I still owe you a dance, though. I saw you dancing with Potter. Well, I say ‘dancing’ - it looked more like he was trying to knock people over with you. But he does have those violent tendencies.”
“Malfoy-”
“Does he know I’m your date?”
“Yes. He knows we’ve been working together. He told me - you know, of course, that Harry had a Horcux in him, which created a connection between him and Voldemort. Sometimes he could see through Voldemort’s eyes during the war. He saw him forcing you to torture someone. He saw that you didn’t want to.”
“That’s … creepy,” Draco muttered.
“And he was there when you tried to kill Dumbledore, under his Invisibility Cloak. He knows you couldn’t do it. He knows you aren’t a bad person.”
Well, that was news to Draco. At least she hadn’t mentioned the whole sobbing in the bathroom thing. But then, everybody always overlooked the attempted murder on Golden Boy’s otherwise untarnished record. Whereas one could make a mindmap of Draco’s rather public indiscretions.
“And you say he’s not a stalker. What about Weasley?”
Granger hesitated. “We haven’t really spoken lately.”
Just as well Draco was avoiding the Weasel then. “Why did you ask me here? Why not one of your Order friends?” Why not Weasley, he really wanted to ask.
Granger blushed. “We spent half a year sleeping in a tent, Malfoy. There weren’t really a lot of opportunities to meet boys.”
“But why me?” Surely she could have found something. There were half a dozen Weasleys apart from hers to choose from, for starters.
“Well, quite a few reasons, really.” Her voice took on a lecturing type of tone. He wondered if she’d made a list before she owled him. “First of all, I knew you would know how to handle yourself at an event like this. Secondly, I thought it would do you good if people saw how you’ve changed.”
“I’ve changed, have I?” Draco couldn’t decide if the assumption annoyed him or not. It was sort of amusing that one of her reasons were so close to his.
“Of course,” she said simply, looking up at him with big, earnest eyes. “When you took the Dark Mark, you agreed that Muggleborns should be exterminated. If you still felt that way, you would never have come here with me. You never would have even suggested working with me in the first place.”
How naïve. Draco broke her gaze to sip at his champagne. He had been overzealous when he first knelt before the Dark Lord. It hadn’t taken long for him to realise that. But more than that? More than that he didn’t know. Except that he should probably stop drinking. It had been too long since he’d really drunk anything, and one forgot one’s limits. Probably - probably not since Goyle’s birthday, and he’d ended up sleeping with Astoria Greengrass that night. He emptied the rest of the glass down his throat.
“And I kind of - kind of got the impression that you wanted to come,” Granger finished in a rush.
Draco met her eyes and felt suddenly aware of his body. Granger was undeniably beautiful tonight in those robes. With the curtains drawn shut, they might as well have been all alone and the dark made it feel ten times more personal. Compared to the vastness of the night, of the stars, they were standing very close together. Draco set his champagne glass carefully down on the wide marble balustrade, and then didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and as dry as if he hadn’t had a thing to drink all night. “I wanted to come.”
She gazed up at him as he took a step closer. His fingers were trembling, and his heart thundered in his chest. It was a strange, overwhelming feeling. He hadn’t felt like this since the first time he’d slept with Pansy when he was fifteen. And all this was just for a kiss.
When his lips touched hers, she shifted slightly towards him. Draco felt like he was on fire. With one hand sliding to her waist, he fumbled with the other to take her glass from her and put it on the balustrade without looking. But he set it too close to the edge, and it tumbled off and smashed at their feet. They started apart.
Breathlessly, they stared at each other. Draco didn’t know what to think. This was Hermione Granger, Mudblood and sidekick to Undesirable Number One. Making out with Harry Potter wouldn’t be any worse.
He took a step backwards.
“I think - let’s go inside,” Draco said, and had to clear his throat. Her face hardened and he grabbed her hand, putting on a smile. “I owe you a dance, remember?”
When he stepped inside, he almost wished he could go back to hiding in the dark with Granger. There had been enough people when they went out to the balcony, but now it seemed everybody had moved to the dancefloor and the room felt crowded. These people, with their goblin rights, and their Orders of Merlin for services during the war, and the way they slipped Muggle culture into their conversation like it was fashionable - they weren’t his people. There was Percy Weasley, and Katie Bell. Worse, Lavender Brown with her high necked dressrobes not quite covering the scars where Fenrir Greyback had tried to tear her throat out. Worse still, Neville Longbottom, with his left ear and eyebrow melted from when the Dark Lord burnt the Sorting Hat on his head. And Potter himself, of course, trying to dance, but mostly just stepping on Ginny Weasley’s toes and bumping into people. Awkward idiot.
This wasn’t a Ministry function - it was a parade of war heroes, because what else did the Ministry have to show for itself this year? Death Eaters behind bars didn’t make quite such an attractive centrepiece for the table, though more than a few here would be viciously satisfied to see Dolohov or Greyback now, vacant and soulless, dribbling on the tablecloth. Most of the people that had sentenced them to the Dementor’s Kiss were here tonight, chatting gaily over champagne.
“Malfoy? Are you okay?”
Draco shuttered away his useless fury and despair, and smiled at Granger. “Of course. We can take the next song. I need a drink.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Draco ignored her, letting go of her hand to shove through the crowds, not sure if he cared whether she followed or not.
Ron Weasley almost smashed into him out of nowhere. He grabbed Draco’s arm to steady himself and then snatched it away with a scowl. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get a drink,” Draco snapped, rubbing his arm. He almost spat in disgust. He was not in the mood for repartee with the red headed dunce. Particularly not when there wasn’t a single person here who’d take his side. “Get out of my way.”
“Who’d invite you?” Weasley suddenly looked over Draco’s shoulder and exclaimed, “Hermione!”
“Good guess,” Draco sneered.
Weasley glanced at him and frowned. “Get lost, Malfoy.”
“Ron …” Granger began in a small voice, drawing up beside Draco.
“Is that any way to talk to your best friend’s date?” Draco asked maliciously. He was starting to enjoy himself.
“Malfoy, please-”
“No way! Hermione, tell me he’s joking. You came with Malfoy?”
“Ron, there’s no need to be so loud-”
“I’ll be as loud as I bloody want!” Weasley exploded. “You turned me down for him?”
“You never even asked me, Ron.”
“Yeah, I did! I owled you a week ago! And you just ignored me!”
“I - I never got an owl.”
“Isn’t the owl post just so unreliable these days?” Draco drawled, to nobody in particular.
Weasley shot him a glare, then turned back to Granger, pointing at Draco. “He’s a scum-eating little toad!”
People were starting to turn around to watch.
“You don’t even know him, Ron. He’s really not that bad. I’m sorry I didn’t get your letter, but I’m not going to apologise for inviting Malfoy.”
“He’s a Death Eater, Hermione! It’s his fault Dumbledore was killed. He stood around and watched like a pathetic, snivelly little coward while his aunt tortured you in his house!”
“Keep your damn voice down, Weasley,” Draco hissed. Everybody seemed to be watching now. Listening. Merlin, this was going to be all over the gossip columns tomorrow morning. This was not how he needed people to remember the Malfoys right now. “We’re not in a barn.”
Weasley rounded on him, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I’m sick of putting up with your shit about my family. What about your family, huh? Bunch of bleeding Death Eaters! You should be in Azkaban with the rest of them!”
“Yeah, and what does that say about you, that your girlfriend would rather come with a Death Eater than with you?”
“Malfoy, don’t-” Granger started, but Weasley spoke right over her.
“Shut the hell up, Malfoy!”
But Draco was angry now. He’d been having as good night and Weasley was ruining it. He was ruining all Draco’s hard work at charming this crowd to look past his father’s indiscretions. “You’re the one who’s yelling, you great ginger lummox. I’d be embarrassed to take you places too, if I were Granger. I suppose your mother never taught you any manners.”
With a giant roar, Weasley leapt at him. Draco was reminded briefly of the troll he and Granger had faced, but this time she didn’t jump in front of him. He didn’t have time to react. Weasley punched him squarely in the face and Draco crashed into the table behind him, stumbling between the chairs to the ground. He flailed for the tablecloth as he fell and it ripped off the table, raining wine glasses down on him.
He hardly noticed Weasley being dragged away - with Granger berating him - through the throbbing of his face. He touched his fingers gingerly to his nose and stared at the blood on them. Scrambling to his feet, he pushed through the crowds amidst murmurs of “Well, I never!” and “Shameful!” The moment he reached the entrance hall, he spun on his heel, Disapparating with his head reeling and his cheeks flaming.
* * * *
When Granger rang their bell the next morning, Draco was locked in the bathroom, staring bleakly at his reflection in the mirror. He was feeling particularly sorry for himself. Forget the horrifying black eyes - he felt decidedly ill and he wished he could blame it all on alcohol. What had he done last night? What had he been thinking? He didn’t like Granger. He couldn’t like her. She was … self-righteous and annoying and … and she was bossy! And a house-elf liberator. She was entirely beneath him.
She was a Mudblood. What else mattered, beside that?
So he didn’t really pay much attention at all when Pansy stomped barefoot across the wooden floor from her bedroom to open the front door, though they rarely had visitors. The one time their neighbours had come round to ask if they had a ‘corkscrew’, Pansy had been rather rude. Draco quite agreed with her attitude. He had no idea what a corkscrew was supposed to be, but it certainly didn’t sound like something you asked your neighbour for. Muggles were so vulgar.
It was only when he heard Granger’s voice that he froze, toothbrush in mouth. Strain as he might, he couldn’t make out their words. Their tone, on the other hand, was quite clear. Draco spat and hurriedly rinsed out his mouth.
His reflection caught his eye, and he hesitated. Draco was all for making the most of a wound, but a puffy nose and two black eyes would do nobody any favours. Besides, his head ached as if he’d been using it to sound the Bow Bells.
He picked up his wand and gingerly prodded his nose. With his skin smoothing, and the discolouration fading, it was like last night had never happened. He wished it hadn’t.
When he opened the door, Pansy’s voice made him pause.
“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here. I saw what you did to Draco. This is exactly why I can’t stand Gryffindors. Only they would go to a Ministry function and start a fist fight. You’re as civilised as a bunch of Muggles - oh, wait.” Draco could hear the sneer in her voice. “How could I forget? You are one.”
“Look, I just want to talk to Malfoy. Is he home or not?” Granger broke in impatiently.
“Draco doesn’t want to see you. He never cared about you. He was just using you to get to the Ministry Gala. Having a Mudblood on your arm is the latest fashion, and Draco’s always up to date with the fashions. I bet he spent half the night talking to Tiberius Odgen. Well, the party’s over now. He doesn’t need you anymore. So you can stop littering up our front porch and go home now.”
Draco stepped into the room before they could decide to draw their wands. Pansy had one hand on the door, ready to slam it, with a vicious sneer on her face. Granger stood out on the porch, red in the face but, oddly, not less attractive than she had been the night before, with her hair back to normal and her makeup removed. When both girls turned their glares on him, he sort of wished he’d stayed in the bathroom though.
“Is she telling the truth?” Granger demanded.
“Of course I am,” Pansy said. “You didn’t really think Draco could like somebody like you, did you? He was a Death Eater, in case you forgot.”
There had been far too many reminders of that lately for Draco’s tastes. Granger made as if to enter - to try and slap Draco again or something, he supposed - but Pansy blocked the doorway.
“Sorry, we have a strict No Mudbloods policy,” Pansy sneered. “I’ve just cleaned the carpets, you see.”
Granger ignored Pansy entirely, turning her fury on Draco instead. “You know, I came here to apologise for last night, but forget it. I never want to see you again!”
“Ooh, what a great loss your company will be,” Pansy called after her, as Granger wheeled away and stomped off. Pansy slammed the door and met Draco’s gaze, ready for a fight. “What?”
“I’m going back to bed,” he muttered, turning away.
It was for the best.
* * * *
It was 03:27. The numbers glowed red in the pitch dark of Draco’s room. Five hours and thirty three minutes until his father’s trial. Five hours and thirty two minutes. Thirty one. Had he done enough? Had he put out enough bribes? Too many? Had Tiberius Odgen liked him? Had his comments about goblin rights gone down well with Griselda Marchbanks? She had seemed impressed at the time, but then there had been that thing with Weasley. Maybe he should have stayed to smooth things over afterwards.
Five hours and twenty seven minutes.
Draco wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
Throwing back his blankets, Draco dispelled the Tempus Charm and got out of bed. If he stayed in his bedroom for five more minutes he was going to be sick. He needed to move. He needed air.
Only, he wouldn’t have walked around Muggle London in the middle of the night even if it weren’t raining. The city always made him a little uneasy. And Goyle was asleep in the parlour, so he couldn’t go there. Which left the kitchen.
The bright, electric light hurt his eyes. He hated it so much. He hated this whole place, but this room more than anything. He had never even been inside a kitchen before he moved in here. Why would he, when a snap of the fingers could summon a house-elf? Why did he have to live like this?
Snatching up a glass from the rack, he flung it against the far wall. The sound it made as it shattered was almost satisfactory. Why had things turned out this way? He smashed another glass. Why did nothing in his life turn out the way he wanted? Another one. Another. He wanted to scream.
“Draco? What are you doing?”
He spun around to see Pansy blinking sleepily in the doorway, her bare toes curling away from the cold tiles. She was wearing a plain white nightie - she kept the lacy things for the nights Zabini stayed over - and looked uncharacteristically unkempt, with no makeup on and her hair sticking out. She had her wand in her hand.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Draco explained.
Pansy surveyed the mess. “Okay.”
She crossed the floor on tiptoes, stepping warily around the broken glass, and stretched for the bottle of Firewhisky on the top shelf of the cupboard. Draco could almost see her knickers. Then she flicked her wand to repair a single glass - leaving the rest shattered on the floor - and sloshed the alcohol into it. She held it out wordlessly to Draco. He shook his head. He’d throw up if he drank anything.
Pansy pulled herself up onto the table and took a sip of the Firewhisky herself. “Your father’s going to be fine, Draco. He didn’t even fight at Hogwarts. And the Dark Lord took away his wand, so they can’t pin anything on him for the whole year.”
“He broke out of Azkaban though. And there’s still that whole Department of Mysteries thing with Potter.”
“He’ll be fine,” she repeated. “You did everything you could. It’ll pay off.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will, Draco.”
For a moment Draco stared at her, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Then he took one of the chairs at the table. They sat in silence for a while, Pansy calmly sipping Firewhisky like it was water, Draco fidgeting in his seat. He wanted to put his head on the table and sleep. He wanted to smash everything still whole. The entire world. Himself.
Eventually he said, “I still can’t picture him in prison. My father.”
“I guess.”
“I can’t believe this is how it ended. All we wanted was to keep the wizarding world pure and now it’s completely ruined.”
Pansy stared into her glass, swilling the Firewhisky around.
“It was such a stupid thing to have a war over,” Draco said finally.
At that Pansy looked up, surprised. “Blood purity?”
“Yeah. I mean, people died for it, Pansy. It just seems so stupid. What difference does it make? They can use magic. How different are they from us really?”
“They come from Muggles, Draco.”
“So what? They aren’t Muggles.”
“Yeah, but …” Pansy trailed off, staring at him wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen him before. “They don’t know our customs. You said it yourself: they’re ruining everything.”
“And we’re just standing aside and letting them.”
“We already fought, Draco. They won. What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Not just run away. Just because they won the war doesn’t mean they can throw us out. It’s still our world.”
Pansy shrugged wordlessly. Draco didn’t know what else to say.
“Granger told me they made you help clean up, after,” he said finally. He didn’t have to say after what. By Pansy’s sullen expression it was obvious she knew exactly what he meant.
“Granger’s a nosy cow.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I thought you already knew. She doesn’t exactly try to hide it.”
“Pansy.”
She shrugged again, her small smile sliding away, and played with the glass in her hands. “What’s there to tell? I didn’t do anything. Daphne and I stayed away from the school. Professor Snape told us to. When we went back in the morning-”
“You saw Snape?”
Pansy nodded tersely. “Before he - before. Potter brought him back. Him and Finnigan. I was out on the grounds, helping that boy from Potter’s fanclub find his brother’s camera. Um. Dennis Creevey. Anyway, I saw them coming. I thought Potter had killed him at first, but he said the Dark Lord did, and I just … He was supposed to be on our side.”
Draco looked down at his hands. Snape was all a jumble of emotions in his head. Snape had been a model for scathing comments they all tried to emulate in the common room, and the only person who favoured the Slytherins and saw Potter for what he was. But then Sixth year had come along, and Draco had been so angry and jealous, because Snape didn’t have to work for the Dark Lord’s favour, and then angry and relieved because Snape had snatched his glory. And now, now Draco didn’t know whether to feel guilty or betrayed, because Snape had been killed for the Deathstick, when he’d never even touched it. It had been Draco’s.
“The worst part is,” Pansy continued, “If I hadn’t seen him, I could pretend it never happened. You know, I think more about Dennis Creevey’s brother than I think about Crabbe. It’s stupid, but …”
“Is that why you won’t go back? So you can pretend nothing’s changed?”
“I don’t know. It’s just … things didn’t really turn out the way we expected, did they? I’m scared if I go back I’ll hate what they’re doing to everything. Fuck. Why would I want to go back to a place where they hate us all now? They were supposed to be …”
“In awe,” Draco supplied.
“Nobody could ever envy us now, Draco,” she whispered.
Draco got to his feet. He took the glass from her hand and set it on the table. Then he wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t just give up,” he murmured fiercely into her hair.
Pansy laced her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and stretched up against him, pulling his mouth down to hers. Draco needed … he needed something. He cupped her jaw and she bit his lip, hard. Grabbed the front of his pajamas, she jerked hard, ripping the buttons open. He slid a hand up her thigh, shoving up her nightdress and dug his fingers into her hip. She exhaled heavily against his mouth, slipping her hands under his shirt, around his shoulderblades, and raked her nails down his back as she pulled him on top of her.
His elbow cracked against the table as he shifted to support himself, and he bit off a curse. Pansy huffed a laugh and kissed him hard. Draco grinded against her and she hummed a small, satisfied sound.
Being with Pansy felt right. No. Not right. Comfortable. They’d dated for two years back in school. They’d been each other’s firsts. He knew her, mind and body, better than any other girl in the world. So he knew that if he brushed her stomach - so - she would shiver and if he bit her neck here she would moan and dig her fingers into his skin.
But did he want comfortable? Did he want convenient? Or did he want a challenge? Heart-pounding, mind-racing, nerve-wracking difficult. He didn’t care that Pansy was a bitch, or that she always put her own pleasure first, because there was something viciously satisfying in being able to be his absolute worst himself. He didn’t have to be nice or considerate. He didn’t even need to try very hard.
They’d get bored of each other eventually.
Draco pulled away from Pansy, raising himself on his elbows. His eyes darted between hers. She followed him with a hand curled around his neck, coming up for another kiss and Draco gasped out, “Wait, wait - I can’t do this.”
“Then get off me!”
Draco let himself be shoved off the table and stumbled back against the counter behind him. Pansy sat up on the table, looking like a centrefold out of the Wicked Witch magazines that boys kept hidden under their beds. Her dark hair was a sultry mop hanging in her eyes and her lips were red and swollen, parted and panting for breath. Her nightie hardly covered her underwear, baring her smooth legs almost to the hip. Draco was still hard. Merlin, he felt sick with himself.
“What the fuck’s your problem?”
Draco swallowed, glancing away. “What - what about Zabini?”
Pansy tightened her lips in that way that made her look like a sullen bulldog. “It’s just sex, Draco.”
He hesitated, unsure whether she meant the current situation or her relationship with Zabini. Either way: “No. It’s not. I know that you like him, Pansy.”
“This is about Granger, isn’t it?”
Draco shook his head. He couldn’t say it. “You’re my best friend. I-”
“Fine,” Pansy spat, cutting him off. “Go fuck your Mudblood. You’re anyway worth nothing anymore, Malfoy. You might as well be a blood traitor too.”
Draco let her storm out of the kitchen without saying a word. She slammed her bedroom door behind her and in the darkness of the parlour, Goyle swore heavily, couch springs squeaking loudly as he turned over. Draco shifted, glancing towards the doorway, but a muffled whipcrack told him Pansy had Disapparated. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fix her. Maybe Zabini could.
“Blood traitor,” Draco repeated experimentally under his breath, surveying the mess he’d made of the room. Did that even mean anything anymore? Anybody it mattered to was dead or in Azkaban, or otherwise shoved to the fringes of society. Fingers trembling, he refilled Pansy’s glass and gulped the Firewhisky down.
He wouldn’t allow himself to be shoved aside. Anybody who thought they could dismiss the Malfoys would learn to regret it.
* * * *
Draco sat in the long, empty corridor, shoulders shaking. He wasn’t sure if he were laughing or crying. All that hard work. All that hard work. The blackmailing, the bribing, the cajoling, the charming. All of it for this. It was … amazing.
“Malfoy?”
Draco froze, and looked up cautiously. “Hi. Granger.”
“I heard your father’s trial was today. Is it over?”
Draco nodded. Unstuck his throat. “Yeah.”
“Is he …?”
“He’s free.”
It was only because Draco had been watching closely for her reaction that he noticed the flicker of her brow. She was surprised. Or she disapproved. But her face cleared almost instantly, and she smiled at him so genuinely that he could forgive her for wanting his father to go insane in Azkaban.
“I’m glad. I don’t like your father, but I know it means a lot to you. And nobody deserves the Dementor’s Kiss.”
“They broke his wand,” Draco told her, mouth twisting at the irony. Just when Draco had been given his own back. Then he remembered his father’s expression - as if they had ripped his soul away from him after all - and his humour evaporated.
“He’ll learn it doesn’t make him less of a wizard. I’m sure he’ll find a way to live with it. You did.”
Secretly, Draco suspected that his father’s method of coping would have more to do with procuring an illegal wand than with learning to make do with Muggle means, but Granger didn’t need to know that.
“I was going to come find you afterwards. I wrote you a letter,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s - I forgot it at home.”
“What did it say?”
“That I’m sorry.” Draco looked up at her in time to catch her surprise. He had never apologised to her before. He hadn’t believed that he had anything to apologise for. “Pansy can be a real bitch when she wants to. What she said wasn’t true though. I mean, yes, I wanted to go to the Gala, but I never pretended with you. You know I didn’t. We argued every five minutes. And if I were just using you I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Then why did you just stand there when she was saying those things?”
“Because I thought it would be better if they were true.” Draco’s eyes skittered down the corridor, trying to find a way to explain. He hadn’t actually finished the letter. He hadn’t known how. “Liking you makes me a blood traitor.”
Granger shifted impatiently. “Malfoy-”
“I don’t care though. The wizarding world is changing. I can’t pretend that I like it - Muggle trousers really are appalling, I don’t know why anybody wants to wear them - but-” Draco gestured helplessly. “You know. I have to adapt. I can’t just run away from everything like Pansy. And - you’re interesting, and you make me laugh, and I enjoy arguing with you. I think - I think in this new world, it’s okay for me to like you.”
“That’s - I don’t think that’s a good idea, Malfoy. I came here as a friend today. I don’t think I could trust you enough for more than that.”
Draco got to his feet. “I don’t want to be your friend. I have friends. Look - I’m attracted to you. I don’t know what else to say. I told you, I wasn’t using you. I told you on the first day what I wanted from you.”
“It’s not just that, Malfoy. You were a Death Eater. You wanted people like me dead. I can’t just overlook that.”
“For fuck’s sake! We’ve argued about this a hundred times. I thought we were over all that.”
“I don’t think that we are,” Granger said stubbornly.
“What, did Weasley remind you that I’m not good enough for you?” Draco sneered.
“You didn’t need to provoke him.”
“He didn’t need to provoke me,” Draco shot back. “Don’t try and pretend that was my fault. Don’t try and pretend that you didn’t kiss me back.” He took a step closer. “You know I’m not the bad guy anymore. You enjoyed it.”
“Maybe - maybe I did. But the thing is, I don’t actually know that you’re not the bad guy anymore. Your fight with Ron and what Pansy said reminded me of that. Are you sorry for anything that you did?”
“I don’t believe this.” Draco wasn’t going to apologise to her for the decisions he’d made when he was sixteen. He’d never pretended to be anything he wasn’t. He’d fought against her in the war and he’d paid for it like everyone else. But then he thought of his father’s face when they pronounced his sentence, and he thought, what had it all been worth? “Yes - I am sorry. I regret what happened every day of my life. But I can’t take it back. I’m always going to have the Dark Mark on my arm. Just like your parents are always going to remember that you Obliviated them every time they see you. Everybody has a past. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“I don’t believe that. I think if you’re sorry, then it changes everything.”
“Then I suppose I’m a changed man.” Draco flashed a small, self-depreciating smile.
Granger blushed, and broke his gaze.
Draco knew a golden opportunity when he saw one. Besides, there had been quite enough personal growth for one morning. He closed the distance between them, putting a hand on her jaw to tilt her head up. She made a soft sound, the beginnings of a protest, but when he paused for her to voice it, she didn’t. Draco’s eyes darted between hers, his heart pounding, and whispered, “Give me another chance. I’ll prove myself to you.”
“Will - will you be nicer to house-elves?” she asked stubbornly.
Draco laughed incredulously and dropped his hand. “If it makes you happy.”
“What about my friends? Will you try not to aggravate them?”
“I will if they will.”
“You’re going to have to get along with them if this is going to work.”
Draco grimaced. “I’ll try.”
Granger stuck out her hand. Draco quirked a smile and took her hand, only to tug her closer. He put his free hand on her neck and murmured, “I’d rather seal this one with a kiss, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t mind at all.
- The End
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