The burn of the whisky was uncomfortable, yet welcome. This was his third round and he could start to feel the familiar tingle in his fingertips, and the foggy haze move into his ever sharp and precise mind. It was a long day, and he was fully prepared to succumb into an alcohol induced stupor.
He subconsciously glanced down at his left forearm and grimaced. The plastic seal wrap was peaking out from under the crisp white shirt cuff he rolled slightly. He put down his glass and ran a tired hand down his face and through his blonde hair. He caught the bartender's eye and ordered another drink.
"Rough night?" the bartender asked as he refilled his glass. Draco sighed.
"Rough year," he grumbled. The bartender raised an eyebrow but didn't inquire further.
"This one's on me, but I'm gunna need your keys pal," the bartender said. Draco stood and emptied the pockets of his black slacks. He produced a pack of gum and his barely used cellphone that he was still trying to figure out.
"I walked," Draco explained. The bartender gave a stiff nod and went to serve a woman at the other end of the bar. He put the gum back in his pockets but left the cellphone. One click on the home button told him it was a quarter past ten, and that he had now been awake for about eighteen hours.
He put away the useless muggle device and turned his focus back to his now full glass of amber liquor.
For the next hour and forty-five minutes, it will be May 2nd, 1999. Exactly one year since The Battle of Hogwarts, and exactly one year since his life was flipped upside down. It wasn't exactly normal before that either, but once the Dark Lord was vanquished it seemed like everything and anything somewhat normal in Draco's life was taken away.
If he was going to be frank, he didn't remember much of what happened after that fateful day. Up until his sudden departure from London, he felt like he was living in a murky bubble. Aware of his surroundings but could not see farther than a certain point.
October 9th was the day of his trial. Not a real trial, but he basically stood in front of some tentatively appointed Wizgamont members and had to defend his freedom. He really didn't remember saying anything, but apparently that was enough for them. He was released of all "charges" and was let go. His trial was on a Friday, and by the following Monday he was gone.
In the time since the war, Draco could honestly say he has not so much as even picked up a newspaper; magic or muggle. He didn't think he could stomach what the articles would say about him. He stayed out of the limelight and never lingered in one place for more than a month.
He escaped to Ireland first, and since then as has been travelling around living the life he thought he wanted. A life of freedom and ignorance. But it would seem, ignorance was not always bliss. At least not for him.
His mind was plagued by the horrors he had endured during the war, and the pain he had inflicted. Screams echoed in his head during the day, and haunted his dreams during the night. The stupid mark on his arm was a constant reminder of what he couldn't run away from, no matter how hard he tried. He could never run away from himself.
He would always be Draco Malfoy; the spoiled, bratty, vulgar, pureblood son of a notorious Death Eater, who directly followed in his father's footsteps. He would always be someone's enemy. He would always be someone's tormentor. He would always be someone's executioner.
The worst part was that Draco knew that he deserved to suffer. He knew that with every hour of lost sleep and with every vicious flashback that he deserved it. He just didn't know how much longer he could take before it became too much. He didn't think there was enough alcohol in the world to numb his pain.
He was jolted out of his self scrutiny when the bar stool next to him lightly scrapped against the wooden floor. He looked over and noticed that the woman who sat at the other end of the bar had moved next to him. What surprised him the most, however, was how beautiful she really was.
Draco has been with his fair share of girls in his youth, but since leaving London he hasn't met a woman who took his breath away like the brunette next to him did. Her long golden brown hair seemed to shine despite the dim lighting of the pub. Her face was smooth, and she looked so clam and serene. Like she has never experience a bit of woe in her entire existence.
She wore a black dress, matching black shoes with a very distinguishable red sole. Her outfit could only be described as formal and very plain, but on her Draco thought she looked like a goddess sent down to Earth. Her vibrant green eyes flashed towards him, and she gave him a small smirk.
"I figured since I was drinking alone, and you were drinking and sulking alone, we could sit closer so people wouldn't think we were totally pathetic. Just moderately," she spoke after a moment.
The sound of her voice shocked Draco, and shook him to his core. Her voice was light, but confident. She spoke with an accent that he couldn't quite place. She has this aura around her that screamed pretentious but at the same time her manners and tone displayed a carefree demeanor. In one minute, this woman made Draco do something he hasn't done since he was fifteen. She made him feel.
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in question after he didn't answer. "Are we drinking and sulking in silence then?"
He cleared his throat before responding.
"I'm not sulking, exactly. I may not be in the fairest of moods, but not sulking,"
"Oh please," she snorted in an un lady like fashion that dispelled her previous behaviour, "I swear the lights kept dimming with every drink you took." Draco gave the bar a once over and noticed it did seem a little darker. "One more round and you'll put half the city out."
Draco put down his half empty glass, and watched as she ran a perfectly manicured nail over the rim of her martini. She looked over and nodded towards his forearm, where the plastic wrap was showing again.
"New tattoo?" she inquired harmlessly. But to Draco, it brought a new wave of despair. What would she think, he thought, when she found out what this mark was, and more importantly, what it meant.
"No," he whispered while shaking his head. "Tried to remove it, actually."
Indeed, Draco had spent the last week in New York City trying various methods to remove the damned snake off his arm. All he had succeeded in was marring the skin and scarring himself permanently. The plastic was from his recent attempt at a muggle laser, which only seemed to make the Dark Mark more defined than ever.
She hummed in response. "Nothing a little magic can't cover," she said nonchalantly. Draco choked on his drink, and his grey eyes shot towards her. She gave a little laugh and offered him a napkin. He accepted it silently.
"Your wand is sticking out of your pocket. At first I thought you were just happy to see me, but I'm not that exciting," she drawled.
He quickly looked down and realized that the top of his wand was half out of his pocket from when he was conversing with the bartender. He quickly stuffed it back inside. He scowled and reprimanded his foolishness.
She brought her index finger to her lips, and make a silent shh sound. She grabbed an empty glass from behind the counter and started spinning it around in circles. To his utter amazement, the once empty glass was now full of water. She slid the glass over to him.
"Drink that, it'll dull the whisky's effect. You know, maybe," she whispered the last part before standing gracefully from her stool. "I quite fancy a walk, how about you?"
Draco nodded dumbly, and with only a moment's hesitation, downed the mysterious water without a second thought. He really had nothing to lose at this point. He joined her at the door and they both stepped out into the oddly deserted New York street.
She introduced herself as Maddeline Reyins, and she was indeed a witch. Pureblood, to be precise. Although when she used the term, she did not say it in the snotty and arrogant way every other person he knew did. She said it loosely, as if it held no meaning to her whatsoever. England born, her family moved right before Voldemort was killed the by the infant Potter.
"My father never fully explained the situation to me, all I knew was there was a bad man making people do bad things. My mother and father didn't want to do those things, so we left," she explained. Draco could feel his stomach drop as she continued to speak.
"Anyways, in the mean time they taught me about magic and taught me how to control it. But my magic kept growing, until I didn't really need a wand. Still felt cool using one, though." Draco struggled to swallow.
Here he was, walking in the dead of night with what he thought was the most beautiful and rare creature to ever grace this lifeless Earth. And when she would ask him about himself, he knew all he would see is her soft features contort into disgust, and the back of her head as she ran away.
They walked for what seemed like hours, and Draco never wanted the night to end. This was the happiest he has felt in a long time.
"What was it like, serving him?" she asked. He stopped and felt the blood run cold through his veins. His wild grey eyes stared at her incredulously.
"How did you – wait," he spluttered. She gave him a small sad smile, and nodded towards his left arm again. Somewhere between sitting at the bar to now, he had pulled up his sleeve to fully show the Dark Mark and hadn't even realized. Stupid!
"That's how I knew you were a wizard, the wand I noticed after. I may not know everything about He Who Must Not Be Named, but I don't live under a rock," she explained. "My father is a very rich and influential man, and those who tried to recruit him had marks like that on their left forearms."
He looked down at his arm with hatred. Suddenly, her small hand lightly touched his arm. He looked up into her clear eyes. There was no disgust, no pity and no judgement. Just an endless sea of green he was sure he could get lost in forever.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to you think I was judging you in anyway. I'm sorry if I offended you. I just figured…" she paused for a moment before choosing her words carefully, "I just thought that since you had this mark, and didn't look very happy in the bar, you didn't have a lot of people in your corner at the moment."
She gave his arm a light squeeze before releasing him. His arm tingled even after she let go, and the remnants of her presence lingered on his shirt. She reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He didn't move as she put her name and number into a blank contact page. She then slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"Call me sometime, if you ever need anyone on your side," she murmured. She hesitated, then slowly kissed him on the cheek. "Bye, Draco."
It took him all of five minutes of standing alone on the corner of W 55th St. and 8th Ave to remember that he never gave her his name.
Three days later, he finally worked up the nerve to text her. He was still slow with the damn muggle technology, but figured it was better than being rendered speechless if he heard her voice again.
Can we talk?
-D
He sent the message around midday, and about an hour later he had his response.
Gapstow Bridge. 8pm. I'll bring the whisky.
He couldn't help the smile that flitted across his lips before his face returned to the regular unimpressed and stoic expression he always wore. That had to be the first time he's smiled since he was just a boy, and this had to be the first time he was excited since his first Quidditch match.
He truly hasn't stopped thinking about Maddeline since the moment he met her. Never has someone invaded his mind as much as she did. But Draco wasn't complaining; thoughts of Maddeline beat his usual brainwork. She was like a light at the end of a tunnel he thought had no end. She somehow knew of his involvement in the war, but still wanted to see him.
A part of him was worried that once she knew the extent of his history, she would leave. That part also wanted her to have no association with him. A disgraced coward, who fled home the first chance he got. He didn't deserve to have this wonderful human being in such close proximity. He didn't want to taint her, since her family was smart and left before Voldemort did any real damage.
The other part of him wanted to grab her and never let her go. He wanted her around for the rest of his life. He wanted to shower her with affection and love, something he has never done and has never experience first hand. He wanted to wake up every morning next to her, and never be alone again. This was the selfish part of him, the part that usually won in the past.
He barely knew her, but he already couldn't imagine his world without seeing her smile or hearing her laugh. She was worth more than he ever could be, but that didn't stop the want. For some reason he couldn't even being to comprehend, she was meeting him tonight. And he'll be damned if he screws it up.
At half past seven, he slowly made his way to Central Park. He took his time to take in some of the scenery, something he has never done in any of the locations he as visited in the last several months. Despite the smell and the noise and the crowd that reminded him of the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, New York wasn't too bad.
At seven fifty, he arrived at the bridge. The air was cool and a little damp from the rainfall that afternoon. The shrubs and greenery were a little overgrown, something that would not be tolerated at Malfoy Manor. He decided that was why he liked it. He sat on the bench near the bridge and continued to admire the nature around him. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that were for once not about the war, he didn't even notice she arrived until she spoke.
"My father used to tell me stories about fairies and pixies and other woodland creatures that lived in the park. Whenever we would go, I would sit on the bench so still and silent that my mother worried my sanity was slipping," she laughed. "In actuality, I was trying to caught a glimpse of the magic creatures my father talked about. Never did, though."
Draco silently cursed his incapability to be aware of his surroundings. He used to be so quick with his reactions, and his reflexes were unmatched. They had to be, living in the same house as Voldemort. But in the last two meetings with this mysterious girl, she has numerously caught him off guard.
He wondered how he could know this much about a person and not offer anything in return, but still feel so vulnerable in their presence. She knew his name and had a slice of his past, while he could now tell you a story her father told her as a child. But for some reason, he felt completely powerless against her. Unarmed.
"I have something for you," he revealed. He loved the way her eyes lit up at the mention of a gift. He pulled out his wand and mumbled a spell behind her. She gave him a suspicious look before turning around.
"There's nothing –" she was cut off by her own gasp. He had misdirected the spell purposefully, and held in his hand a single red rose. She smiled sweetly and accepted the flower. "Thank you."
"You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve," he drawled in his former usual manner. She nodded in agreeance.
"It would appear so." He took a breath before speaking.
"I just want you to know, that anything you think you know about me and the war is probably true. Every horror story you were told about my family's involvement is true. So this is your chance, Maddeline."
"Chance for what?" she asked, still mesmerized by the flower.
"Your chance to run. You won't ever hear from me if you do, I promise." She still didn't look up. He eyed her in bewilderment.
"Well that wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"Huh?"
Seven years of formal magical training and a lifetime of proper etiquette and that was his brilliant response. She finally turned towards him.
"All the stories I've heard were in passing. Whispers in the night of the terror reigning over England. Of a force so dark, that if it wasn't stopped, would bring an end to the world we know. And of a hero, who despite all odds managed to defeat this evil man and free everyone from his control," she admitted.
Slowly, as if asking for his permission, she reached towards his left arm. When he didn't flinch away, she pulled up is sleeve to his elbow. He had removed the plastic wrap, but what remained was hideous. Jagged scars from when he tried to cut the mark off, red and charred skin from when he tried to burn it off. All of his self inflicted abuse was now on display for her, and him, to witness.
As if she hasn't surprised him enough, she lightly traced a finger tip over the snake on his arm. The dull throbbing pain ceased, and her finger left his arm feeling cool. For the first time since he got the mark, his arm felt absolutely normal. Her face remained impassive, but after every couple of seconds or so, her eyebrows would furrow together in a way that made him want to reach out and smooth the skin down.
"I've heard stories, Draco. That's it. Stories from bias people who know naught of what they speak. It would not be fair to you to believe them. They weren't there, they didn't see what you saw. They didn't live through what you did. I'll believe your version instead. That is, if you'll tell me," she said, still tracing the mark on his arm.
She brought his hand up to cup her cheek. He lightly traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb, and she leaned her head towards his palm. When he found himself completely at ease, she kissed the Dark Mark on his arm.
Draco gasped and stood from the bench, clutching his arm tightly in his right hand. His entire forearm was now numb from the ice he felt was travelling through his veins. He curled his hand into a fist and bit his lip to stop the cry of pain from escaping. He looked down at his arm and almost fainted when he watched the scars and cuts start to fade.
He watched as his skin molded and repositioned itself around his arm until it was as clear as it was before he joined Voldemort's ranks. The Dark Mark glowed a faint blue colour, before the snake violently hissed and thrashed around as his skin moved again to cover the mark. With a final scream, the mark was gone.
A sound between a gasp and a moan came out of his mouth. He roughly ran his hand across his forearm, but it remained clear. No evidence that is was ever there. His arm still tingled slightly, like the feeling he had when she touched him before and let go. He heard the light clicking of her heels and looked up.
Maddeline stood in front of him, far enough that she wasn't touching him but close enough that he could reach out to her if he wanted to. She had an unreadable expression on her face, and her eyes were unsure. Unlike the confidence they had radiated in the pub the other night.
"You're not the only one hiding, Draco," she said after a moment. When his breathing slowed, he reached out and cupped her face again.
"What are you?" he whispered. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed.
"There's something about you," she began, ignoring his question, "that keeps pulling me back in. I don't know if it's your past, or how broken you think you are, something won't let me forget you. And I don't want to. Tell me you want me to stay, Draco. Tell me you want me."
Here it was again, the inner battle he had been fighting before arriving. The immense desire to have her in his life versus the rational self loathing part of his brain that berated him every time he admitted to such desire. This perfect and whole human being was asking him to decide her fate, and all he could think about was the colour of her eyes.
They were the brightest shade green he has ever seen. They were as deep as the forest and as wide as the sea. When he looked closer, he noticed the tiny speaks of gold around her irises that floated around the green. Like the lights that hung above the Great Hall. He could see himself reflected in her eyes. What he saw not a man he felt was worth much.
He slowly brought his hand down, and took a step back. He needed more breathing room, and her proximity was overwhelming.
"I've only known you for a couple of days, but you somehow managed to completely disarm me and turn my entire world around. But you're right, you don't know what I've lived through. You are so lucky to not know the gruesome reality that I do. I will do everything in my power to keep it that way," he vowed. Her eyebrows furrowed again.
"You are a rare light in this world, Maddeline. I mean, look what you did." he looked down at his unmarked arm once again in amazement. "Your abilities are phenomenal; you have so much potential in this world. I will only bring you down."
She stepped closer to him until their noses were almost touching, her breath tickling his face. "Do you want me?" she asked, emphasizing every word.
"Yes," he breathed without any hesitation.
"Then that's all that matters. Everything else we can figure out,"
"You don't know, Maddeline. You have no idea –" she cut him off placing her delicate finger on his lips. She looked up at him through her lashes.
"I don't care what you have done, Draco. You are not that person anymore. If you were, you would be back in London with all those truly dark wizards, instead of standing in the middle of a park in the dark with a woman you barely know," Maddeline smirked. "I'm not going to take no for an answer."
His grey eyes glanced down at the finger she still had placed over his lips. He lightly kissed it before grabbing her hand with his and lacing their fingers together. In that moment, he made a decision that would change his future forever, although he didn't know it at the time.
He did something that he hasn't done for years. Since he was small boy with slicked back hair and a seemingly endless allowance.
Looking down at his angel, he slowly brought his head down to meet hers. The instant their lips touched, he knew he couldn't possibly ever regret his decision.
He chose happiness. He chose to live out his freedom instead of wasting it. He chose to try and spend the rest of his life healing his pain instead of feeling it.
He chose to be with her.
He chose to be selfish.