Chapter Text
« Gabrielle! Gabrielle, I don’t know how, but I know this was you, » Draco snarled as he stalked through the front door of Bijoutiers Herbeverte, a sparkling flurry of the powdery snow that covered Place Cachée gusting in after him.
A curtain of blond hair swished out from the back room, and big blue eyes turned too innocently to focus on him.
« Me? » she asked. « But I do not know what you are talking about. »
« Don’t give me that, you beastly girl, your brother-in-law wrote to me! » He shook the letter at her. « George Weasley, whose beloved twin brother I as good as personally murdered, has written an extremely complimentary and actually quite interesting and just- just-, » he stuttered into English, “just- nice- letter to- to- well, not actually to me,” he faltered, frowning, “to Monsieur Herbeverte, a man who does not exist, as it happens.”
« That is not my fault, » Gabrielle said as she came fully out of the back room to lean over the glass counter. « I only told him the name of the shop, and he made his own assumptions. » She scoffed lightly at his dismay. « And, you did not murder his brother, in fact, and you can just tell him you are you when you reply. »
“Hah,” was all Draco had to say to that, because obviously he couldn’t. “Hah,” he said again, helplessly. “Haaah,” he said a little bit frantically, because Astoria had just come in and was looking at him with a puzzled little frown.
« So, what are the ‘hahs’ about, then? » she asked Gabrielle as she fished parcels from her pockets and laid them out on the countertop. Gabrielle gave a very French little shrug.
« George was very impressed with the charm bracelet I gave Fleur for Christmas. Everyone was, really. She took the little dragon off and let Charlie and Harry play with it all day. I have never in my life seen two grown men so besotted with a piece of jewellery, » she declared. Draco choked. « And so!» she continued, « he had many technical questions that I could not answer because I am only a lowly apprentice, so I told him to write to the Master I work under, who made the piece and is very generous with his knowledge, » she finished sternly.
« So he wrote a professional enquiry to Draco? » Astoria snorted.
« No, he addressed it to Monsieur Herbeverte, and the questions are actually very thoughtful and I can’t write back because he doesn’t know I’m me and he’ll Incendio the letter and possibly Gabrielle as soon as he finds that out, » muttered Draco.
« Hmm. Tante Juliette would have been a bit offended that he assumed the Master Jeweller was a man. I don’t think there’s been a Monsieur Herbeverte running the Paris shop in, oh, a century or more. »
Draco suddenly brightened.
“Oh, Tori, now there’s an idea!” he said, switching to English in his excitement, “Let’s get married. I’ll take your name, of course. Then I can write back as Monsieur Herbeverte and he’ll never have to know.”
Astoria sighed.
“Darling, you know I love you, but I am not going to marry you so that you can avoid your apprentice’s in-laws.”
“Oh, but it would be fabulous!” Draco said, warming to the subject, “we have the same consumptive Victorian waif aesthetic, you know. We could be tragically beautiful together, lounging on chaises and sighing across the moors-“
“First, you’d have to step foot in Britain again to sigh across a moor,” said Astoria, “second, you’re technically my employee, so there’s probably something unethical about that; and third, you’re a raging homosexual, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“That’s hardly a reason to stop a pureblood marriage,” replied Draco sullenly.
“Oh don’t tell me you’re going to let George Weasley of all people drive you back to being a good pureblood,” said Astoria, rolling her eyes. “Write back to him- no, as yourself for Merlin’s sake- and come look at this absolutely marvellous tourmaline I brought you.”
—
So Draco did write back, because doing what Astoria told him to was almost always the right decision. He wrote a long, detailed reply with helpful diagrams and a list of useful references. Then he wrote a long, detailed apology in a post script that covered everything from his role in the war to making fun of Ron’s pet rat, and ended with:
…but of course I can only apologise further that you reached out to a strange French jeweller and found me instead. Should you ever wish to write to me again, know that sharing my expertise with you is quite literally the least I can do. If you, understandably, wish never to hear from me again, Gabrielle should be able to answer any of your questions as she has spent every school recess since she was 14 working at Bijoutiers Herbeverte and is actually a complete swot for Charms, regardless of what she may have led you to believe.
And that was how he began a somewhat baffling epistolary friendship with George Weasley, in the post scripts of an otherwise completely technical correspondence.
—
P.S. Merlin, Malfoy, don’t Crucio yourself over being a twat as a kid. Let’s just say I accept your apology and never mention it again. Go back to being a bit of a twat, even! Your emotional maturity is making my skin crawl.
…
P.S. I was not a twat, I was literally a Death Eater. My most sincere thanks for the sample you sent, incidentally. Your rejection of maturity is impressively thorough. It would have been quite the prank were I not so angelically handsome as a ginger. Botticellian, my flatmate called me.
…
P.S. Botticellian, like the Beans then? Tripe flavoured, maybe? Can’t believe you have a flatmate like a normal sodding person. By the way, I know I said I never wanted to mention it again, but hope it’s alright I showed that letter to Ron. You apologised to him in it too and I needed a second opinion on whether thinking you might really be an alright bloke means I’m going senile in my old age.
…
P.S. I may have a flatmate, but the flat itself is quite grand, naturally. Additionally, Gabrielle says it’s your birthday. Please find enclosed a small token of my esteem. I’ve been tinkering with some new charmwork; wear it out and let me know how you like it. And show Ron whatever you wish, of course, but that letter hardly covers the apology I owe him.
…
P.S. Thanks for the tie pin, you absolute wanker. Crawled up my chin and started picking my nose for me in a very posh restaurant in front of a bloody gorgeous witch. I cried laughing and she threw her drink at me, so I guess you saved me some time there. When I said you could stop being so sickeningly nice, this isn’t quite what I meant, but I’m honestly relieved that you’re still a prat underneath it all.
…
P.S. Ever so glad you enjoyed it! I wish I could take full credit, but my flatmate, Astoria, is demanding that I tell you it was her idea to put the Glib-Gab Charm on it as a decoy. She’s rather smug about it.
…
P.S. I have attached chocolates to show my appreciation for a prank well played, please share them with the lovely Astoria! Also, any chance your swanky flat has an international floo? Ronniekins is in the market for an engagement ring and, now don’t go getting a big head here, your stuff is brill.
Draco grimaced at the latest post script and dashed off a quick note before he could think better of it.
Weasley,
Of course, the address is The Greengrass’ Montmartre Residence, Paris, France. Let me know when you want to bring him by and I’ll clear the shop for you.
-D
P.S. We both know better than to eat anything you send, thanks all the same.
—
“Malfoy.”
“Weas- oh, hang on, no- George is my Weasley now, not sure who that makes you.”
“Oh, for the love of- just use our bloody names, Draco,” said George, “we’re not at Hogwarts anymore.”
Astoria grinned across the counter at him from where she stood with an arm linked through each of the redheads’ elbows. “Can I have a Weasley, too? I found these ones in my sitting room, you know.”
“No,” said Draco.
“Yes,” said George at the same time.
“Eugh,” said Ron.
“So, hoping to lock down the Brightest Witch of our Age at last, Ronald?” sneered Draco. Ron bristled,
“Malfoy, if you-“
“No, right, sorry,” said Draco. “I’m just… reflexively awful. Here, I wrote it out because I know I can’t trust my stupid mouth,” he said, thrusting a folded sheaf of parchment into Ron’s hands. “You don’t have to look at it now if you’d rather get on with choosing a ring for Grang- Hermione,” he grimaced.
Ron unfolded the parchment and blinked a few times.
“No, I…” he trailed off, “Malfoy, what the fuck is this?”
“Ahh haaaah,” said Draco, “it’s- it’s an apology. Let me just- as you can see, there’s an appendix to section 7f,” he said, leaning over the counter to point, “about the poisoned mead- and you can see from this diagram here that there’s a justifiable case for a second-order life debt since you technically saved me from killing you and-“
“Erm,” said Ron, “I actually think that was Harry, what with the bezoar and all. Anyway, er, thanks Malf- Draco. I’ll just take a look at the rings and- and read this later, shall I?”
Draco tried to smile at him, but felt it probably came off a little manic. Astoria and George were giving him pitying looks. Draco tried to recall that he was a professional and stood primly behind the counter while Ron browsed. He also tried not to be annoyed that Ron had become quite fit in the last five years. His hair was pulled up in a sporty little ponytail and his lanky frame had filled out. Auroring probably involved frequent feats of strength, didn’t it? With one’s muscles? And wasn’t Potter an Auror now, too?
“Cor, did you really make all these?” Ron said, at last. “Course you did,” he grumbled, seemingly to himself. “Well, what about that one, with the big diamond?”
“Oh!” Draco said brightly, then frowned. “Actually, for Hermione… but you know her better than I do…”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Just tell me. Circe’s pigs, Malfoy, I don’t know anything about jewellery.”
“It’s just… well, Astoria sources all of our materials herself, so it’s not an issue with these… it’s just that diamonds in general have a somewhat unsavoury reputation among activist circles, and Hermione is always showing up in The Prophet for one cause or another…”
“And it’s too flashy for her anyway, yeah,” Ron said, frowning.
“So, I have some really lovely but understated sapphires here. This peachy one is actually reclaimed from the workings of an antique Sneakoscope, and this one is all powdered moonstone, even the band, sintered with the light of the full moon so it has a sort of calming effect…”
Astoria and George had murmured something about negronis and been missing for several hours by the time Ron chose a ring- a delicate cluster of deep blue sapphires that reordered themselves in pretty mathematical patterns, lightly enhanced acuity, and felt like chewing fresh mint leaves when you focused on it. Draco boxed it up and refused to accept Ron’s Galleons.
“Look, Draco, thanks-“
“Don’t, Ron-“
“No, not just for this,” Ron said, fiddling with the ring box. “George… it’s just been a long time since I’ve seen him this, erm, light? I guess? He… he hasn’t had someone to talk shop with since Fred… well, and it really meant a lot to him when you pranked him with that tie pin, I think. Anyway. Thanks.”
Draco blinked.
“Oh- yeah, of course.”
They started the walk back to Draco’s flat in awkward silence, and ended it bickering companionably about Quidditch. George and Astoria were back already, quite tipsy and flirting violently with one another while they attempted to mix more cocktails.
“Oookay,” said Ron, shoving a shoulder under George’s armpit and heaving him toward the fireplace. “Oh, Draco, actually, nothing’s nailed down yet, but we’ve been talking about bringing Mum and Dad to France for their 35th next year. Mind if I write you about it? I was going to ask Fleur , but I’m honestly a bit scared of her.”
“I’m scary!” huffed Draco, indignantly sipping a margarita that Astoria had shoved into his hands.
“The whole of Clan Weasley in Paris!” announced George, affecting a Scottish accent apropos of nothing.
“Right, well, I’ll write, then, thanks,” said Ron. “International Floo Terminal, London, England!” he called, tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.
“The whole of the clan! Laird and Lady Mum, Sir Ronald, Lady Ginevra, Sir Harry…” trailed George’s voice as he was dragged into the Floo.
Draco choked.