A/N: I wrote this after seeing the Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince movie for the third time, and after rereading the seventh book for the fifth or sixth time. I never thought the character of Draco Malfoy was all that interesting until I saw how well Tom Felton played the part in the new movie, and was inspired to write this one-shot. Takes place post-Deathly Hallows, pre-Epilogue.

Disclaimer: Definitely not.

Middle Ground

Some years had passed since Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, defeated the evil Lord Voldemort. The wizarding community had repaired itself the best it could in wake of the violent and damaging battle at Hogwarts that preceded the death of the dark lord. Many died fighting, and despite appearances, some scars remained that would never completely heal. George Weasley would never, for instance, regrow his right ear or recover the part of himself that was lost when his twin died fighting the Death Eaters. Teddy Lupin would never remember his parents, who perished trying to create a better world for their son to live in. And Draco Malfoy—he would always bear the faded tattoo of a skull and snake, the emblem of an order to which he foolishly tried to belong, despite never truly finding his place among the rest of Lord Voldemort's servants.

Living as a member of the Malfoy family after the final battle was no easy task. Though the family managed to talk their way out of Azkaban, Draco almost wished he'd been imprisoned, if only because it might have saved him from hearing the derisive whispers constantly directed toward him.

He deserved it. Of that he was well aware. Draco Malfoy might have been a coward, but he was no idiot, and he had long since abandoned the pretension his mother and father preferred to adopt—that Malfoys were better than everyone else, and remorse was beneath them.

Draco regretted many things in his life, not least of these assisting in the plot to kill Albus Dumbledore. The realization that he would not have been able to perform the actual deed in the end was of no comfort to him. It made things worse—if he could convince himself that he might have murdered the old man had he been given just one moment longer on the tower, he could at least find his place among his Slytherin family. As it was, he felt caught in the middle; he did not belong with the victors, or the defeated. He was in limbo.

A memorial service had been held at Hogwarts a month after the climactic war against evil, meant to commemorate everyone who died. Draco had attended, hidden underneath a cloak. He was not quite sure he belonged, but if anyone identified him, they did not comment on his presence. Neither Vincent Crabbe nor Bellatrix Lestrange, of course, was recognized at this memorial—they had been on the wrong side of the fight. But Draco's cousin, Nymphadora, and her husband, the werewolf Remus Lupin, were prominent names in the proceedings.

Draco knew Lupin as his third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but he had never been allowed to meet his cousin. When her name was mentioned, he watched from a short distance away as a woman sobbed, slightly bent from grief. In her arms she clutched a baby.

He hesitated before cautiously approaching the figure. He knew this was his aunt, Andromeda Tonks. Another relative he'd never met—and her grandson. She looked up he came nearer. For a long moment they held each other's gaze, each acknowledging whom the other was. Then Andromeda stepped forward and handed Draco the baby.

Narcissa Malfoy never reconnected with her sister, but her son and his aunt maintained tentative contact in the years to follow.

It had been a decade. Ten years, and the wounds had not gone away.

Draco married a Pureblood because it was what his family expected. Despite the fact that the young man had moved away from Malfoy Manor long ago, he had never been able to leave the wishes of his family completely behind. He loved Aranna, to an extent. They were happy enough.

He had a two-year-old son, christened Scorpius Lucius. The small boy clearly resembled his father—the gray eyes, blonde hair, and pointed face were all Draco's. Scorpius was the one joy in the man's life, and he was determined not to miss the chance to be a better father to the child than his own father had been to him.

On this particular day, only a week or so before the ten-year celebration, Draco and Scorpius could be found eating lunch at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley while Aranna did some shopping. Draco was just finishing his pea soup when several familiar figures walked through the door. He froze and automatically withdrew into the shadows.

Harry Potter led the way, weighted down by two small boys holding tight to each arm—one looked to be around four, the other about Scorpius' age, and they both possessed their father's messy black hair. His wife, Ginny, followed, carrying an infant wrapped in blankets. Bringing up the rear were Ron Weasley, toting his red-haired two-year-old daughter, and a hugely pregnant Hermione.

Draco watched in fascination and trepidation as they chose a table not far away and settled down, laughing and chattering and trying to control their squirming offspring. His contact with both the Potters and the Weasleys had been minimal over the past decade, and so it came as a bit of a shock to him how much they had all changed. No longer adolescent teenagers, they were now adults. Parents.

He sat quite still for a quarter of an hour, watching them. Then Scorpius banged his spoon on his bowl and threw it onto the floor, which made both a large mess and a loud clatter.

Draco was forced to detach himself from the wall to move his son while the owner, Hannah Longbottom, hurried over with her wand, a lollipop, and a warm smile for the fussy toddler.

Of course, the other patrons of the restaurant had all glanced up at the brief interruption. Draco forced his eyes to sweep over to the Potter-Weasley table; yes, they were all looking at him.

He sighed and dropped into a chair, pretending that his pale eyes had only accidentally lingered on Potter's gaze. Absentmindedly, he fumbled with his wand and waited anxiously for the bill. When it came, he paid for his and Scorpius' meals quickly, scooped his son into his arms, and began to weave through the maze of tables to the pub door. He was so intent on the exit that he didn't notice the bag blocking his path until he had staggered over it, sending himself and Scorpius flying into a nearby table. Miraculously, the baby merely hiccuped and blinked up at his father. A few people laughed.

"Malfoy."

Draco turned red instantly and slowly looked around, realizing that he'd tripped over a diaper bag resting next to the chair of none other than Harry Potter himself.

"Potter." he said softly. "Sorry."

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Harry inquired. Without waiting for an answer, the black-haired man stood and led the way to an empty corner of the room. Sighing, Draco hesitated before following slowly.

"What do you want?" he asked, fully aware he sounded rude.

Harry ignored this. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." The other man answered on instinct, without registering the sudden nature of the inquiry. He frowned. "Why?"

"It's been a while, that's all."

Now Draco was completely befuddled. "A while" was an understatement—he and Potter had not exchanged more than a few words in a decade. A sudden suspicion occurred to him, and his expression turned hostile.

"Look, I don't need your charity, if that's what you-"

Harry interrupted. "No! I just...ten years..." He trailed off, but Draco knew what he meant. He, too, had recently felt a strange urge to reconnect with those he had not spoken to since Hogwarts. Even the people he'd never gotten along with would be something. Draco certainly hadn't made any lifelong friends at school.

"Your family's grown," he remarked awkwardly after an uncomfortable silence.

Harry's face relaxed into a fond smile. "Yes. James is four, Albus is almost two, and Lily is three months. Yours?"

"Only Scorpius here."

Harry nodded several times, rocking back a bit on his heels. He seemed to have run out of things to say. Draco resisted the urge to cough. More than anything, he wanted to find some excuse to leave, but he could think of nothing. The scars from the long-ago Sectumsempra spell, aroused to aching at the initial sight of his old school foe, had resumed their dormant state now. He squirmed inside, and Potter thankfully rescued him.

"Well, I should..." He gestured back toward his family and friends.

"Yeah, me too," Draco said at once. He managed a small smile. "See you around, Potter."

Harry nodded and stepped away.

As Draco left to meet his wife, he thought about the fact that while scars didn't disappear and rivalries didn't transform magically into friendships, it was possible for the passage of years to dull what had once seemed everlasting. Maybe this middle ground wasn't perfect...but it was something.

A/N: Well, likewise, this fanfic isn't perfect. Somehow I had pictured it a little differently in my head. But reviews would be very much appreciated. :)