A fic written for my lovely mother! But I guess you guys can read it, too.
Little in the world scared Draco Malfoy as much as rejection. He'd experienced it so much growing up that it seemed he'd be immune, but facing the neat blue door before him, fear knotting his stomach, it seemed evident that he wasn't. The handle gleamed silver and he wondered at how anyone really thought this house blended in. The rest of the muggle houses, all lined up in the strange grid suburban muggles seemed to prefer, offered scrubby doors at best. In most cases, the perfectly trimmed hedges and shock of green grass of this house stood in direct contrast and he couldn't help thinking muggles were so…clueless.
There was a small button to the side of the door but he wasn't entirely sure what it would do if he pushed it, so he settled for knocking firmly instead. He supposed the occupants were probably home, since there was a vehicle in the driveway. But of course, the occupant he was hoping to speak with wouldn't need a car to get around.
When no one answered, he began feeling particularly foolish. He hadn't been welcome at most of the homes he'd visited in his quest to apologize to everyone he could think to individually, but most of them had at least opened the door to tell him off. Perhaps she wasn't home after all….
Just as he was thinking of giving up, the nagging sensation that he was being watched settled against his neck. If his upbringing had taught him anything, it was to be aware of such feelings, and react carefully. He preferred to think that's why the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin—there was a certain carefulness that accompanied a house known for its cunning. If one truly desired to achieve anything, one must make each decision with great care. In this case, he truly desired to leave, but knew he should give the occupant of the home a second chance. After all, that's what he'd come for, too.
Knocking again, he settled into a familiar pose, with one hip cocked and his arms crossed sourly. He knew apologizing was the right thing to do; people didn't have to make it so bloody difficult. When he'd made his public apologies, he hadn't assumed it would be enough, despite what others seemed to think. Despite the Ministry's forgiveness of him and his family's actions, he felt a certain responsibility to make his confession more personal.
He'd saved this door for last, and just before he could truly give up on it, it opened. Much like the neat exterior, the inside of this home revealed a comfortable cleanliness that would be impossible in the busy life of a muggle. Even from his stance on the porch he could see that there was a warmth to the simple decorations and soft colors of the house, and he hoped terribly that he'd be allowed to come in.
"Malfoy?" a soft voice asked, drawing his attention to the face that stared at him. She looked shocked, even offended, but at least she'd opened the door.
"Hello, Cho," he responded, coughing a bit to clear this throat. In the heat of his frustration for being kept out, he'd forgotten entirely what he'd planned to say. Of course, her gorgeous brown eyes didn't help him focus.
"Why're you here?"
"I- well I-" He coughed again and took a steadying breath, straightening his purple vest with a firm tug. "I want to apologize."
Cho's expression hardly changed. The same confusion and anger that seemed to have bubbled to the surface when she'd first seen him on the other side of her door were matched, except perhaps in intensity, by her feelings towards his words. Her mouth and eyebrows both formed straight lines; a face of distrust. He supposed that was justified.
He opened his mouth to say something, although he wasn't entirely sure how to justify himself, but she beat him to it. "Come in then," she responded, standing aside as though he should've known he was welcome.
He cocked his head, eyeing her curiously, and nodded. "Thank you," he chirped, stepping over the threshold and into the happiest house he'd ever been in.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, leading down the hall. "You can take your shoes and coat off there if you'd like. Or leave them on, either way."
A barrage of scents greeted him and his mouth watered as he identified homemade soup, warm baked cookies, and the distinct smell of freshly brewed herbal tea. Gentle music flitted through the air, a single violin swaying with careful precision. "No, thank you," he replied reluctantly, answering her first question as he stepped out of his shoes. He kept his jacket on; despite the Dark Mark having faded, he rarely found that it helped him win anyone over during an apology.
Stepping into the softness of the main part of the house, where the kitchen, dining room, and living room blended seamlessly into one area, Draco couldn't help seeing that this was a perfect home to raise children in. He wondered idly if that's why they'd chosen it, and was confronted with proof when Cho approached a tiny violinist.
"Very good, darling," she murmured, bending down on one knee and smiling at a young girl who looked incredibly like Cho. "Why don't you go practice in your room, okay? Or rest? Mummy's got company."
The girl nodded. "Do you really think it was any good?"
"Very good. And much better than before! You've really gotten used to that piece." The girl smiled widely and leaned forward to kiss her mother. Her eyes drifted towards Draco and narrowed slightly but she didn't ask any questions, demonstrating a coolness that surprised him.
"You sure you don't want any tea?" Cho asked, stepping into the kitchen and retrieving a mug for herself as the girl left the room. "I made more than enough for just me. Habit, I suppose." Her mouth pulled slightly into a frown before she shook her expression and looked back up at Draco.
"Um, sure. I could take a cup. Thank you," he responded. He glanced around the room, hoping to avoid looking awkward, although he felt quite silly standing in the middle of the room.
"You can sit, Draco," she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. She reminded him distinctly of his own mother, a woman who couldn't help giving out kindness, even when her own life had contained so little.
"Thank you," he muttered as he took a seat at the barstools in front of her. Clear daylight filtered in through yellow curtains and he seemed to take a deep breath of energy as he sat. "Your house is amazing," he hummed.
Cho smiled softly as she set down a steaming cup in front of him. "Thank you. It's been hard keeping it up since Douglas passed away but we do what we can. Hoshiko has been so good." Her eyes graced the door the girl had left through and Draco nodded, understanding.
"Douglas was your husband? I'm so sorry, I had no idea."
"How would you?" she said, leaning over the counter, fingers wrapped around her own mug. "That's okay, though. What did you want to come here for?"
He couldn't help the way his eyes traced her smooth face and rounded features. There was a gentleness to the way her full lips parted curiously and her oak-colored eyes seemed to swirl as they bore into him. He suspected that she could see precisely everything about himself that he hated, and the forced vulnerability of her gaze was more comfortable than he would've expected.
"There are so many things that I've done. Or stood for. Or stood by and allowed. There are so many reasons that you have had to hurt because of me." He took a steadying breath and sip of hot tea, gasping a bit at its heat, although the sweet flavors soothed his pounding heart a bit.
Cho smirked, enjoying the play of emotions across his face, and cocked her head politely, showing she was paying attention. Her eyes were still friendly, despite the tension in her eyebrows, and Draco found himself wishing he could lean forward and place a finger there to rub out any worries.
"I've tried to justify it," he continued, forcing himself to look her in the eyes again. "I've tried to explain it away by my age at the time, by my parents, by the fear that gripped me for so long. But there is no excuse and there is no justification. I can't help wondering how things might've been different if I hadn't been what I've been or done what I've done." A hitch caught in his throat and his voice choked around the tears that built there. He closed his mouth with a snap and looked back down at his tea.
She was friendly, far too friendly, and he couldn't help thinking of her deceased muggle husband. He hated knowing that he'd fought for a man who would've killed her for that marriage. Who would never let that pretty little girl learn to play the violin. He glanced over his shoulder at the spot where she'd been playing, trying not to imagine the horrors he might've caused her.
"She's a witch," Cho said finally, straightening. "And everything is okay now." Her small smile was heartbreakingly beautiful and Draco did his best to keep the blush off his cheeks as he nodded. Tears, too, threatened to burst forth and he breathed deeply, hoping to keep control of himself.
Cho picked her way around the island until she was standing beside him. Pushing an empty stool out of the way, she put a hand on Draco's back and leaned over his shoulder, resting her chin there. "What're you doing?" he muttered, surprised by any sort of friendly touch as much as he was by the kindness that still shone in her eyes.
"Well, it's fairly obvious you need a place to be. It's okay if that place is here, right now. You're not the bad guy, Draco. You weren't ever the bad guy."
Miraculously, unbelievably, her tone was sincere. The weight of Draco's guilt seemed to melt as his pain crashed around him. Her voice held no rejection and he could feel his chest wanting to burst with his gratitude.
That night when he went to sleep on the couch, face still stinging from the tears he'd shed and mouth still aching from the smiles he'd worn, he couldn't help thinking that he'd been apologizing all wrong. It seemed that few people cared as about his actions as much as he did. Indeed, it seemed that he needed forgiveness more than they needed the apology. Cho saw that. She was the first to see that. Instead of taking his apology, she'd granted him forgiveness.
Years later, he'd remember that story, and tell it at their wedding, and then again on their last night together. They slipped peacefully into the darkness of a death that didn't scare him anymore. He wouldn't forget that cup of tea or that warm couch, or the blue door that let him into a house full of happiness.