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Being there and seeing it all again, after many years of careful avoidance, made Draco feel anxious in a way he hadn't experienced since the last time he put his feet on Hogwarts' grounds. It resonated in him, like a wrong melody, wedding march played at funeral or a silver fork scratching beautiful white dinner plates his mother gave him as part of wedding present.
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He's nerves where shattering for last couple of days, disintegrating more and more, with every moment that brought him closer to this, to facing everything once again. Because is wasn't like he was afraid - Slytherins never fear. They just sometimes strategically retreat.
So Draco decided months ago that he simply would not think about it. Or talk. He left everything to Astoria, which was a good thing in itself. She was busy and they've seen each other sparsely. Their problems with communication, as his mother described whole situation, had been going on for some time. About twelve years, give or take few months. And now Draco had to put on his perfect Malfoy mask, dusted in superiority and sprinkled with love for his wife. They would smile, entwine slender arms and fill passer-bys with envy. Beautiful rich people with their beautiful rich son.
Love he felt for Astoria never evaporated, never disappeared but also never bloomed. Draco loved her in a way that excluded friendship and passion, it was romantic but not fierce. Definitely not this burning thing, that wrapped around you and made you its devoted slave, and surely not something for poets of write about. It just was, lukewarm on his part from the very start. She loved him more, Draco knew that, but could not do anything about it. His love resembled a cup of tea you made and then forgot about. It cooled slowly over time, soon to reach level of coolness that would made it undrinkable and impossible to swallow. Only thing left was his conscious effort in making her happy.
Right now he stood in front of a fireplace in Malfoy Manor, waiting for Astoria and Scorpius, who were finishing their preparations. They still had time.
If Draco was less of a man, he would allow for his muscles to shake, for his anxiety to take over. But he just waited still as statue.
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King Cross Station was, at some level, unchangeable, yet at the same time managed to look utterly different and no different at all. Same muggles, same shops, even if their fronts changed, same noise and same smell. Draco did everything he could to ignore it.
But even if whole station decided to move forward in time, Platform 9 3/4 hasn't changed at all. The red locomotive of Hogwarts Express was present, waiting on the track for it's annual journey. White steam that didn't actually puffed, but kind of leaked from its chimney surrounded everyone on the platform and bathed them in ethereal mist. For Draco they resembled ghosts, but kind of inverted - themselves dark, solid and material but everything around them see-through, other-worldly and glowing in late morning sun. For a moment he could forget that he really didn't want to be there. This view captivated him in the past and apparently still did.
Astoria gently touched his hand, derailing Draco's attention from steamy, crowded platform. She smiled a little bit, raising corners of her lips slightly. They moved towards the train.
His heart stopped. This was it. The moment he dreaded for months and months to come. If Draco was honest with himself, he would admit that low level of fear became permanent feature in his life for the last eleven years. It made no difference in the end, if he tried to ignore it or not, because no matter what mental exercises he did, he still was unprepared.
Not that far stood group of people, who he could easily recognise, or at least most of them. He saw Potter, with his redhead Weasley wife, surrounded by kids of different age and hair. With them stood Weasley and Granger, who, by the look of it, came with kids of their own. But Draco was unable to determinate which child belonged to who, and didn't really want to. He concentrated on Potters while trying to ignore the cold feeling in his stomach.
Potter raised his head, and looked at Draco. They slowly nodded at each other. Easy recognition and the good way to avoid awkward small talk. After almost nineteen years of being out of touch there was no way for their probable interaction of not being a total disaster.
“Oh, Potters” Mumbled Astoria with distaste.
Wife's recognition tightened a cold knot in Draco's stomach and he wanted this whole ordeal to end more than he felt was humanly possible, but unfortunately they still had about twenty minutes to Hogwarts Express' departure. Draco wanted to move his gaze from Potter to somewhere, anywhere else, especially if it meant not looking at Weasleys and, Merlin forbid, they eyes meeting. Courtesy be damned.
Just as he moved his eyes from Potter, trying to covertly turn back to his family, Hermione Granger turned her head a bit, like as in reaction to something Potter said to her, and looked. Draco froze. Seeing her eyes again was the thing he dreaded the most. And now he could do nothing else but remember.
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Dust had yet to still in the ruined castle and first rays of morning sun were highlighting the subtle movement of fine, delicate particles floating through corridors and classes. Their slow dance was accompanied by cries, moans and sobs. The wounded were grinding their teeth in pain, those left alive wept and buried their wet, red faces in those cold and still. Those who could stand were tending to others.
Draco doubted that they would let him go in any other situation, but he could not stay there with his parents, contained by the Order, even if not very well. His mother protested and held his hand so tight Draco thought it may break. But the slipped away from her, stumbled over his feet and words of love and run to help people. And they let him. Apparently Hogwarts could not afford not taking him on his offer. Beggars can't be choosers. They gave him little tasks – bringing things, holding people while someone else reset their bones, checking on sleeping ones. Everything has been breaking around him, but he was okay.
Up until moment he was not. The news of his godfather demise hit him while he was on another run to bring Madame Pomfrey some of her things from infirmary. He simply overheard and this, this he could not ignore.
Draco stumbled into the wall without even noticing, his vision greyed on the corners. Snape and himself have never been particularly close, but he still was a semi-permanent presence in his household and always tried to protect him and his mother. Best friends in the shadows, his mother once described their uncanny relationship. She's going to be devastated.
He slid down the wall, heavily sat on the floor, put dirty hands on his face and worked on slowing down his erratic breathing. It took him some time, and he still could hear this ragged sound quietly resonating through otherwise empty corridor. After a moment Draco realised that this wet, broken sound was not coming from him but could be heard through not fully closed doors he unintentionally sat by.
Gathering himself up was not as easy as it should be for a seventeen year old boy, but the managed, just with burning pain in muscles and joints. Leaning heavily on the wall, Draco cracked the door a little bit more and peaked inside.
He still could hear the sound, that he only now recognised as haggard sobbing, and the room happened to be just one of the classrooms, nondescript and dark.
A lone figure has been standing in the middle, hands supported on a desk, leaning heavily, shoulders shaking with cries. Even through dimness of the room, dirt and grime covering clothes and skin, Draco easily recognised who was standing before him while also having a mental breakdown.
“Granger” Draco heard his voice disturbing stillness of the room. It sounded like he was swallowing gravel, ragged and choked.
She turned abruptly and automatically started to wipe tears from her face with dirty hands and sleeves, but that only made the mess on her face ever worse. She was a mess and looked as he felt.
“Malfoy” Granger gritted through her teeth, but instead of sounding angry Draco could easily hear resignation in her voice. “What are you doing here?” She gripped her wand tightly. Draco couldn't blame her.
“I was having a mental breakdown on my own” he stated truthfully, because, at this moment, there was no point in lying “but then I heard someone else crying ant I thought 'the more the merrier'” One does not simply stop being a sarcastic bastard, just because his whole world felt apart. But Granger was far more gone than he previously thought and simply scoffed, looked to the side and started crying again.
Year ago Draco wouldn't do anything nice, or even simply humane, but now, when everything ended and they came back living, but not quite alive, he felt this strange kind of need inside. It was tender, like newborn lamb, and fleeting, as warm air in early spring. But it was there, something he shouldn't accept. But Draco was past everything that made him before, and the obvious fact of Granger's blood status at this particular moment was simy meaningless.
Draco acted on this feeling. Took couple steeps to a weeping girl and, a bit awkwardly, put his hand on her shoulder in, he hoped, comforting manner.
Granger hadn't shaked his hand off, or fell into his arms wrecked by sobs. She just stood there leaning a bit more on Draco's hand and cried.
She was strong, Draco realised. Hid herself from grieving eyes to fall apart in silence of those walls, get herself together and go back and be there for those who needed her. She was stronger, for she had been in a war that painted her as not only a target but also, in most abhorrent manner, as a cannon fodder or some dirty, disgusting animal, depending on which side you were on. But she persisted and survived all those things kids their age should never witness. Betrayal, torture, death.
They were so different, Draco thought as he started mindlessly stroking her arm, because when faced with a choice, she would never relent, she would walk through fire and death for the mere principles she believed in. Because for her some things were wrong, and some things were right. And she would always made a right choice. Simply, she was brave, braver than she should have any right to be.
It was the very first time for Draco Malfoy to see Hermione Granger in a different light, or rather without always present prejudices. She was strong, brave, covered in filth, blood and tears. Draco was just a scared, broken boy and she was beautiful. He simply shuffled closer and leaned a bit into her, just as she was leaning into his hand. Granger never stopped crying but buried her face in his neck. They held each other, seeking comfort and finding it in someone unexpected.
Draco often wanted to turn back time, especially those last few years, but this was the moment, when he wanted to start over, for the sake of relationship. He wanted to know her, wanted her to forgive him, wanted to create something from the wreckage that their life became.
“I'm sorry” Mumbled words came out of his mouth straight into her mangled hair. Granger went rigid but hadn't moved away. Instead she craned her head up and looked Draco straight in the eye.
“That does not change anything”
“I know” Because he knew. Words were meaningless. “But I still want you to hear it.”
She kept looking at him with glassy eyes and stone expression.
“Why are you saying it now? What does it do for you?” She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I thought you didn't knew the meaning of the word.”
“In my world” and there had been different worlds “apologising always meant showing weakness. And, well, showing that you lost, that someone else has an upper hand.” It sounded terrible, spoken out loud.
“That's terrible.” She looked sad on his behalf, and Draco couldn't stand it.
“Maybe. But at this point, I don't really care.” His hands were touching her arms, and when that happened? “I'm still saying I'm sorry. Just don't tell that to Potter and Weasel.” She scoffed.
“You are full of shit, Draco Malfoy.”
Looking back Draco knew that this was the point of no return, the moment he made a decision which defined rest of his life. But right now it was just an impulse, some strange kind of need, to press his own lips to the corner of her mouth. Not really a kiss, but nothing indifferent.
Soft gasp warmed Draco's cheek, and she pressed into him, just a little, just so her lips rested close to his. They stood there, embracing, connected in childish parody of a kiss, not daring to do more, living it, and crying. Feeling that filled him was something profound and tender, warm and fulfilling. He skewed his head a little, his nose nudged hers and their lips touched more firmly.
It was some time later, when they moved apart, covered in grime, sweat, tears and blood. Awkward and unsure. But in her eyes Draco could see the same things he felt at this moment. They could not take cover, they were raw, they were broken, their feelings were a flood that could only suffocate. He needed to breathe.
“Do you forgive me?”
“I shouldn't” Her calloused hand caressed his tear stained cheek. It was more than he hoped for.
“Do you think we can...” start over he wanted to say, but sound of rapid footsteps on the stone floor made him stop. Granger moved away from him at lightning speed and started frantically wiping her face. Footsteps ebbed, but damage was done and the moment was broken.
“I have to go.” Granger's voice was full of uncertainty. She moved to the door. Draco could not leave it like that, unresolved and grabbed her hand.
“I regret a lot of things, I regret what was before between us, but I don't regret this, right now. Do you...” He was unable to finish, to afraid to hear her answer. But when she looked at him, fully in the eye, she was resolved, and spoke without a doubt.
“We all regret things, but I don't think I will ever regret you.” She moved past him, and Draco let her go, too dumbfounded to do anything. But she stopped with a hand on a doorknob and continued in small voice. “See you around, Draco.”
Only minutes later, hidden in dark, empty classroom Draco realised that your heart can be at the same time broken and elevated.
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In next nineteen years Draco Malfoy learned many things about himself. He learned he could forgive some people while damn others to hell. He learned how to love a little bit more openly and hugged his mother and son. But he also learned that he probably would never be happy. Because for years he battled his unhappiness, that no one knew about. That was perfectly fine with him. I wasn't like he was depressed, no. Just unhappy. Draco Malfoy was a true Slytherin, and as any good Slytherin he knew how to hide insecurities well. He could hide almost everything, his feelings, his dreams, his struggles. He hid them under cold demeanour, superiority and hate. He could be perfectly unhappy without anyone's knowing No one knew what he really feel, not even Astoria.
But she had seen him. At this very moment, when their eyes locked, just like years ago, she could see everything. Her brown eyes widened a bit when sadness inside him became apparent. And Draco feared.
Hermione Granger never hid her feelings well, even while they still studied at Hogwarts. Her every emotion could be seen on her face. She wore her heart on her sleeve. And Draco knew it so well.
Delicate lines around her mouth, the way she stood - leaning a bit from her husband, a move Draco knew on personal basis, the look in brown eyes. Deeply tired, not sad but unhappy, filling his vision and everything around.
Nothing mattered. Just this one look shared between them. Just loneliness while someone gently cups your face. Just coldness when you kiss someone in darkness. Just a life you have to live while someone else called the shots.
Draco Malfoy regretted many things in his life. People he spent time with at school, people he believed in, people he put his life on the line for. Mainly, he regretted people. But this, this was something else, a different kind of regret. Renunciation. He never fought, never run after her, he never tried. He let go of nothing that could be something, but now probably will never be.
It felt like crying.
Hermione kept her head high, like she always did, even when she was breaking and Draco's hated her for that. A bit. Totally. Not at all. He simply didn't want her to be broken. He never wanted to be broken himself or to break someone else. But that was just how his life worked. Two broken people, who could never heal and crumbled more and more, just not to hurt someone else. Life was a bitch. So he would have only this, from now on, seeing her two, maybe three times a year, until Scorpius finishes school. And then probably nothing. So Draco looked deep into her eyes, just to have this one thing more, and smiled, a movement of his lips that was barely there. But she saw it and smiled back, a little bolder, more obvious and in this moment she looked less unhappy.
Scorpius grabbed his sleeve and pulled.
“Dad, do you think I should dress in my robes now? I mean, I know nobody wears them right now but...” His son kept talking, and Draco poured all his attention on his beloved son and his connection with Granger was broken.
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Minutes later, when Hogwarts Express was just a dot in the distance, and white steam left the platform people slowly started to walk away. Young kids were chatting happily at their parents, dreaming about their own first trip in the future and mothers and fathers of single ones walked slowly, sombrely, openly missing their children. But Malfoys stood there proudly, never ones to let other to see neither happiness nor grief.
Draco knew that without Scorpius at home he and Astoria would drift apart even more. He hoped her love for him would start to wither.
Potters and Weasleys were one of the last on the platform, kids jumping and screaming in excitement. Astoria scoffed and started walking towards exit leaving Draco no choice but to follow.
Hermione Granger looked up just as they moved, frozen for a second in her failed attempt of wiping one of the kids noses. A real smile still on her face. She really loved her children.
Suddenly her face hardened and determined look took over her features. She raised a bit her hand not occupied with handkerchief and while looking straight at Draco, she pulled her fingers and as if she was holding invisible quill she mimicked writing motion. It lasted maybe for a quarter of a second and surely nobody but Draco caught the subtle motion, but the intention was there, visible for him to see. He nodded slowly, not breaking their connection, trying to be as stealthy as possible. She then smiled slightly and fully turned just to catch her kid who tried to use a leap in mothers attention tu run away.
Draco kept walking home with Astoria, not looking back.
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But in the middle of the night, when she was asleep, Draco sat down with a sheet of paper and quill. He held it, just Hermione Granger did just this morning and waited for inspiration to come. He sat there for a long time.
Slytherins are not brave and bold, they do not take leap of faith. Normally. But Draco was not only a Slytherin, he was also a Malfoy. And Malfoys always get what they want.
Words happened on a nondescript paper, written in green ink. There were not many of them, but they said important things, they were precise and to the point. Too formal maybe, but honest.
Draco never thought himself brave, but with proper motivation, he could be.
With flutter of wings his letter went into the night.