Out of twenty-two names, I had finally reached the last one. In a few hours I would be able to return to the comfort of my home and sleep for the rest of week, as the extent of my travels weighed heavily on my shoulders. I had spent yet another sleepless night strategizing and agonizing over this final task. I had been labeled as a coward late in my Hogwarts schooling, but it was enough to cement the idea that my words were almost meaningless to the people who mattered. I had been spending the greater part of the past three months tracking people down to prove otherwise.
I collected the few items of clothing I had and placed it in the large leather travel bag I carried with me everywhere. Before placing my wand in the inner pocket of my trench coat, I shrank the bag slightly to a more manageable size and slung it over my shoulder. I searched the room briefly, looking for any traces I may have left behind before turning towards the door.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my way out. I had always prided myself on my immaculate appearance; a trait, which I had believed, was hereditary. Now, I seemed to have aged much quicker in the years following the war, and my face resembled my father's more than ever. My cheeks had grown gaunt from poor eating habits, and dark shadows lay beneath my eyes. The paleness of my skin and eyes contrasted horribly; I was reminded of the ghostly figures that haunted the halls of Hogwarts. I hadn't shaved in the while, despite having an antique kit in my bag for just that purpose. I used the blade to cut my hair shortly after my encounter with Neville Longbottom. It now grew back slowly and unevenly, a blond version of Harry Potter's hair on a bad day.
I didn't even bother to hide under a hat anymore. I was sure people wouldn't recognize me on first glance. It would take them a moment to process who it was that brushed by them on the streets, especially after my hermit-like tendencies immediately following the war. People wouldn't notice that the ghastly paleness indicative of only one family had reentered their lives for a moment until the moment was over. I was sure that Draco Malfoy wouldn't be discovered.
This explained why I found myself in a distinctly muggle part of London in which I had never traveled, in the middle of a rainstorm no less. I had always limited myself to neighborhoods with a majority of wizards residing there. A metal box on wheels, which I had been informed, was called an automobile, sped past as I waited to cross the road. A bit of murky water splashed up and landed on my shoes. I grimaced and looked to see if any more of those muggle contraptions were approaching before dashing across to the row of townhouses. I found the one I had been looking for and climbed the stairs. There was a list of names hanging by the door with little black boxes next to them. I scanned it quickly and found the listing I had been searching for, "H. Granger – No.7." I grabbed the door handle but it was locked. I stood for a few moments trying to guess what to do next (and thinking maybe this was a sign I shouldn't be doing this) when a woman walked up behind me. She fumbled with her massive grocery bags as she closed her umbrella. I stood in the puddle of water I was creating and watched her expectantly.
"Locked out, eh?" she smiled. There was something very familiar about her. I tried to place her, but I couldn't so I smiled and explained that I was trying to visit someone that wasn't expecting me. She asked which flat and I promptly replied, "Flat 7."
"Well you're in luck. I happen to live there. You must be going to see Hermione; unless, of course, you're here to see me, which would be unfortunate because frankly I don't know who you are," she blurted. Her honesty was somewhat of a comfort. I later realized that her honesty was actually a result of her absent-minded and air-headed behavior that led her to forget simple things such as common sense and etiquette.
"Actually I am here for Ms. Granger, and honestly, I don't know you either," I replied, half in jest. She grinned briefly before wincing at the pain inflicted by her awkward handling of her umbrella.
"Allow me to remedy the situation. I'm Laura Madley," she stated, stretching her hand out despite the amazing balancing act she had been performing. The paper bags that contained the groceries were soaked and dangerously close to ripping at that very moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar, and I was finally able to place her as a Hufflepuff who was a few years below me in school.
I thought of what her reaction would be if I introduced myself. I looked her carefully in the eye before assessing that the girl was bit dim and probably would not make the connection anyway. I smirked and stated my name, and as predicted she replied that it was a pleasure to meet me before opening the door and leading the way into the building. I then asked if she needed help, which she brushed off saying she was used to it.
During our brief chat, it seemed she had forgotten she was running late for a dinner meeting with members of her department in the Ministry. She became increasingly flustered as she stomped up the stairs fumbling with her bags in desperate search for keys. Why the keys to the main door and her flat weren't together was enough of a puzzle to occupy my time as I followed her, listening to her ramble on about the date she had after work tonight. After several long flights of stairs, she stopped on the fourth landing and started to pound on the door in front of her.
"I can't find my keys," she howled against the wood. The door flew open to reveal a slightly cluttered apartment that was obviously owned by women. There were feminine touches everywhere, from the framed artwork to the abundance of fresh flowers. Even the bright colors of the furniture and walls screamed, "Woman." The precision of the clutter (magazines carefully grouped together despite the fact that someone always tossed them around carelessly) seemed to match the obsessive tendencies I would've associated with someone as anal-retentive as Granger.
I glanced down the hall into what I supposed was the living room to find Hermione
Granger sitting curled in a plush armchair. At second glance found her wand poised in the direction of the door. Laura bustled in and rested the groceries on the counter, while Hermione quickly cast drying spells on her flatmate and the groceries that supposed to sustain them for the rest of the month. From her chair she continued to clean the wet floor before the front door, while Laura started to unpack the now dry groceries.
"Oh Hermione," she called from the kitchen, "there's someone here to see you."
Granger of course had noticed the tall figure behind her flatmate. At first she focused on saving half a paycheck's worth of groceries, probably mentally scolding herself for allowing Laura to buy the groceries this month, but now her attention was fully on me. I watched as the brief second of confusion flickered in her eyes before it was replaced by her hardened disdainful stare she perfected during her latter years at school. I became painfully aware of the fact that her wand was still clenched tightly between her fingers. Before I could even reach for the wand in my coat pocket, she would have me in the corner of the hall writhing in pure agony.
That cold mask of hers was so familiar I suddenly felt I was back at school heckling the young schoolgirl while she quietly plotted ways to seek revenge. I stood silently, noting how in the five years I hadn't seen her she hadn't changed much. She had always been pretty in her own unassuming, quiet way, well as pretty as one about to hex someone can be. There wasn't anything extraordinary about her looks (that was unless you counted her bush of curly hair that was extraordinarily massive) except the promising memory of our fourth year where the entire wizarding world witnessed her potential to be a great beauty. I always knew she would never again reach that peak. She was too distracted by her causes to spend that much effort in maintaining her appearance.
Now, the features, which might have been considered attractive in her youth, were downright terrifying with years of confined anger hiding behind them. I could feel my heart beating faster as she stood and approached me. A house full of Weasleys had been terrifying (somehow my impeccable timing had led me to their decaying home during one of their massive family dinners), but this moment made me pray for a quick death. At least Potter and She-Weasel took pity on me and then demanded the rest of the Weasley clan follow suit. Here I was alone with Granger. Well, Laura was still here, but from what I could tell, saving my life wasn't high on her priorities tonight. I looked for anything that could aid in saving my life. There was a mirror on the wall perpendicular to the door, which could be used to deflect smaller curses and hexes. I paid attention enough in school to know that a wizard or witch's power rested in their mental concentration. Any spell she sent my way would have years of anger and frustration aiming to kill or at the very least cause great bodily harm. The mirror was no match for that.
I decided to start talking in attempt to prolong my life at least for the next five minutes. "Hello Granger," I stated, hoping she didn't hear the tremble in my voice. She glared so hard her eyes were almost completely closed (not that her momentary blindness would be a comfort, if she wanted me dead, I was sure she could do it if she was completely incapacitated). I mentally kicked myself for coming up with something so affable and clever as 'Hello Granger.' If I dropped to my knees and groveled for my life, she might take pity on me… or she might back hand me with that brass model of a muggle ballet dancer over on the bookcase.
I spent years evading aurors and death eaters who were searching for ways to incriminate or murder me. Now I was facing someone who had more reason than anyone else to see me dead. I did the first thing I could thing of. I pulled my wand out and placed in front of me. With a flick of her wrist, the wand was in her free hand and tucked safely away in her back pocket of her pajama pants. I watched her do away with my only form of protection when I thought, "I am absolutely terrified of a woman half my size and in her night clothes." Never before had pink polka dots looked so menacing.
I waited for one of the questions: "Why are you here?" "What do you want?" "How did you find me?" Or my personal favorite contributed by the Weasel king (probably Granger's boy toy now), "Where in the bloody hell did you come from?"
Instead what I got was a curt, resolute, "Leave." I blinked lamely, struck dumb at her reaction. Laura had emerged from the kitchen laughing at Hermione with a cheery, "That's no way to treat a guest Ms. Granger." I followed Laura with my eyes as she practically skipped across the flat to get dressed for her work meeting; I had forgotten she was even here. The only sound I could hear anymore was the heavy thudding of my heart in ringing loudly in my ears.
"She's right. Please leave," Granger corrected herself. Her stoic face propelled me to turn on my heel and start for the door, until Laura's voice rang through the flat scolding Hermione yet again. Hufflepuffs were good-natured and friendly, but this was just borderline lunacy.
"Give the man a chance to breathe!" she shrieked.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Hermione hollered back. I could see her patience was wearing thin, only prophesizing an even more painful death for me. The two women began to bicker over how Laura seemed to throw herself and her opinions into everything Hermione did, while Hermione valued her privacy (which explained the remote location of her flat in some obscure muggle part of London).
Her tone reminded me of my mother. In my mind, I was ten and in the process of being tutored and grooming for my Hogwarts education. My mother was standing over my shoulder reminding me to befriend the right kind of people, not that I knew what that really meant at ten years of age. I knew as far as she was concerned, that meant no muggles. However, I had pledged that I was going to do what had to be done, and mother always said that Malfoys are above all else, men of their word.
"I'm here to apologize." There. I had finally found my voice after what seemed like hours of waiting for my heart to give out under the stress. Unfortunately for me, the women had continued to quarrel and neither heard me over the sound of their own voices. "I said, I'm here to apologize." I tried again, only to find that Laura was now standing half dressed in a cocktail dress and unbrushed hair, wagging her dress shoes in Granger's face. Granger's arm flailed around wildly as she continued arguing with her flatmate. The conversation had changed from basic courtesy to Granger's incessant need for cleanliness and Laura's careless treatment of clothing and furniture. The two were obviously used to fighting, as Granger's face seemed to regain some of her sparkle that made the press mad about her.
"Granger shut up for a moment and let the girl go to work. I need to talk to you," I barked. Granger whipped around so fast, I was sure I heard something crack. Her face grew solemn as she looked at me, her brown eyes darkened and her lips were drawn tightly together in the same frown I had been staring at since I had arrived. Her resemblance to McGonagall was uncanny and downright intimidating.
"How dare you. You're lucky I don't call the authorities and leave your sorry arse to rot in Azkaban."
"Well you wouldn't listen to me, and unlike my visit with the Weasleys, I'm not being interrogated. Rather, I've been standing here feeling completely ridiculous and frankly a little terrified," I stammered. Granger seemed pleased to find that before her, I lost all sense of my cocky arrogant teenage self. Instead I would rather kiss her feet if I thought it would make her compassionate towards me.
"What do you want from me?" Granger asked through clenched teeth. It had been one of the questions I had been prepared to answer, but now I feel utterly stupid and incapable of responding. At least, any response I provided would probably make her angrier, as they had been doing already.
"I'm here to apologize," I said firmly, hoping that if I sounded convincing enough both of us might be fooled. I waited for her face to fall into a blank stare of confusion like it did with Longbottom. I braced myself for anything that might've been thrown at me magical or not. The remaining Weasley twin had "accidentally' spilled his cup of tea onto my sock-clad feet, while the Weasel himself tried to punch me in the face. Luckily Potter grabbed his friend's hand and She-Weasel cooled my burning feet. After a few seconds of waiting, I realized that I wasn't in danger of being attacked yet. Instead Granger surprised me as she had collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Well I'm glad my desperation for forgiveness amuses you Granger," I seethed, slightly affronted at her disregard for me.
"Malfoy. I am not a complete imbecile. Surely you don't think I believe you came here for my forgiveness." Laura had reemerged only to find her flatmate in complete hysterics.
"I take it you two are getting on now?" she asked as she put her keys into her purse on her way out. Watching her prepare to leave me alone with this hysterical woman, made me even more anxious. Granger turned her back on me and curled back into her armchair, ignoring me again, shouting a goodbye to her flatmate. I considered asking the woman to stay a while longer, wondering if I could bribe her with what was left of my inheritance. I cringed as I heard the door close behind me, lamenting the almost inaudible click of the lock. I waited for further instruction from the muggle-born. Not hearing anything, I took two steps forward. Granger threw her head over her shoulder and glared at me.
"Come in already," she demanded. I nodded and took a seat near the window furthest from her, although it wouldn't help any if she decided to hex or curse me.
"Nice place," I offered. I wasn't lying. Although it was definitely a woman's flat it was quite artfully decorated. I was particularly fond of the little nook Granger had created for herself, completely surrounded by overcrowded bookcases and a small window to the outside world. Granger however ignored the compliment.
"Why are you here?" she asked quietly. I sighed in relief at the sound of the question I had answered so many times before.
"Well I gave you the answer already. You don't seem to want to believe me," I answered back trying to sound as sincere as I possibly could. Often times I feel like what I believe is sincerity comes across as haughty. I can't seem to prevent these subtleties of my upbringing. "The truth of the matter is, I can't seem to find peace within myself to move past the war without getting some sort of stamp of approval from you."
"Why me?" she asked. That was a valid enough question; a question all of the people before her had asked. I had thought it was fairly obvious that I was trying to redeem myself in the eyes of people I had wronged prior to the war, but it wasn't. It didn't seem to help that I had requested that people not spread the word along to their friends to allow me the chance to speak for myself.
"Well technically you are the last on the list," I smirked, trying to play off our awful banter from our school years. She was not amused and she still wanted more information. She groaned and waited for me to continue. "You see, I've been going to all the people I feel I've treated poorly in the past. I need to rebuild my life and my reputation, and this is the only way I can see doing it properly. I don't have many friends, Granger. After my little stunt in our 6th year, I was branded a traitor, if you remember. Why do you think I stayed in hiding until after the war?"
I paused to allow her to process this for a moment. "You're trying to atone for your bad deeds in order to fix your sorry life? Isn't that a selfish motivation, then?"
"I—"
"And who else have you spoken to? How long was this list of yours?" She was glaring at me. Her eyes had deepened to a shade of brown so dark; it may have even been black. I have never seen her that angry, and I of all people had plenty of reason to see that anger prior to this.
"All of the Weasleys, Potter, and a few others. It was fairly long, as you would expect."
"Why me last?"
"I just felt you would be the hardest to convince. You're the smartest, thus the least trusting. I figured you'd call bullshit on every word out of my mouth, and see ulterior motives to everything, like you did just now. On top of all that, I think I've treated you the worst. Also, you're supposed to be the reasonable one. The strong one." It was all true. Granger was noted as the one of the best and the brightest, I couldn't just stroll in and state that we were okay, declare a truce and high-tail it out of there. Unfortunately, I knew that Trio themselves would require evidence of my supposed reformation, past, present and future.
"You can't invade people's lives and expect that by saying what you think they want you to say, everything will work out fine. One little compliment doesn't change-"
"I know it doesn't change anything in the past. I'm hoping that maybe something about the future will change."
"Why in God's name should anyone have any pity for you? You were an overprivileged, racist, classist, brat who thought that every word out of your mouth was the absolute truth. You blindly followed your corrupt and horrible family and your vile leader into war, killing innocent people because of this supposed inferior birth. Give me one reason why people should forgive you."
"I was ordered to murder a man who spent six years trying to keep me away from that same life."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Oh poor boy, lost his innocence before his time. We all did. You know, unlike girls my age, instead of studying for exams and getting excited about school gossip and all those stupid frivolous things, I spent my final year at school in a tent, in the woods, tracking down the movements of that same mass murderer you followed, praying that the names of the people I loved were not in the lists of those who died. I was routinely tortured and hospitalized. I never even got a sodding chance to see if I enjoyed stupid teenage girl things."
"I'm sorry for my part in that."
"That's all you have to say. That's really it," she scoffed. She turned to stare out the window. I though briefly of running out of the door while I still had the chance. As I stepped back, she interrupted my great escape. " Ron should be over in about fifteen minutes. You're staying until I hear confirmation from him."
I wanted to ask silly questions that would distract her from the awkwardness of this situation. Instead I nodded and remained stiffly seated in the armchair.
"Can I trust you to sit here for ten minutes and not touch anything, or do I have to immobilize you in some way?" she asked tersely. I reminded her that she still had my wand. She gave me one last scolding look and disappeared down the hall.
I wondered why the Weasel was coming over. Perhaps I was correct in assuming that the two finally got together. I also wondered if this ten-minute grooming and preparation was normal for her. If so, she was correct in saying that she had missed quite a lot of girl life.
Fifteen minutes later, I was still sitting in that damned armchair, glancing at the scrap of paper with Granger's name still unchecked. As I was asking myself whether this conversation would ever fully be resolved, the apartment door flew open revealing a joyous Weasel, he bellowed for Hermione in an exuberant and affectionate way. As he made his way through the apartment he stopped to stare at me.
"Malfoy," he stated. It was the first time he said my name without any anger or animosity behind it. He said my name simply because it was my name. It was foreign sounding and strangely liberating.
"Weasley."
As he turned towards Granger's bedroom, Granger herself emerged. This time she was wearing a simple v-neck sweater and a pair of jeans, suddenly looking very much like the young girl I remembered from school.
They met halfway and kissed each other briefly, both conscious of my presence intruding on their private moment. I felt shame for doing exactly what Granger had mentioned earlier. I had intruded on people's lives, disrupting the first semblance of peace they had acquired in their short lives, by bringing memories of war back to their doorstep. I awkwardly cleared my throat to remind them that I was there, though we all knew that no one had forgotten.
"Do you know about this?" Granger asked Weasley seriously.
He glanced at me and shrugged. He apparently had been true to his word, not telling Granger anything about our previous meeting. I couldn't tell if I was grateful for his trust or if I was scared of being left to my own devices with Granger, someone who was far more capable of anything than I was. "You mean Malfoy's quest for redemption?" he asked as he ducked into the kitchen. He was always a bit of glutton.
"Yes," she reply flatly as she waited for him to reemerge. He returned to the sitting room with a glass of cranberry juice and settled on the loveseat across from me. Granger remained standing between the two of us, as if functioning as a mediator, as if she really was neutral and unbiased. "Is what he said true?"
"Depends on what he said," Weasley grinned. She stood in front of him and glared.
"Be serious. A bloody war criminal is sitting in my sodding chair and I want to know why," she spat angrily. Weasley held his hands up in defeat. "I'm not here to be part of this, I'm here because we have plans," he smiled at her affectionately. He then leaned over and took her hand. His kissed her open palm softly, and I watched as she calmed somewhat. Another moment where it was clear I was an outsider. I wasn't supposed to be part moments like these. They were too close and too familiar. They were too loving.
"To my defense, I was never charged with anything," I interrupted awkwardly, twisting the family ring still on my finger.
"Your assets were seized." She clearly had been reading the papers. The slow demise of the Malfoy family was constantly front-page news.
"My father's. One half of his wealth was given to charities dedicated to the rebuilding. However, many people witnessed the fact that we were actually traitors to our own cause. So here we are, loyal to no one, and completely shunned for this," I stated flatly though I was actually terrified of my family's future.
"I still don't understand what this has to do with us. You don't need our affirmation," Granger replied.
"Yes. I do." I was standing now. "I haven't been able to forgive myself for the decisions I made, the decisions my family made, without apologizing to you all."
"It's not that easy."
"We've had this conversation already." I realized early that this was going nowhere fast. While earlier meetings had ended in all out brawls, arguments and me being physically removed from the premises, I had no idea what to do in a conversation as circular as this. "Granger, this is really it. I have nothing else to offer but my sincerest apologies."
"Fine," Granger said. She remained unconvinced or unsure of the entire situation. I didn't blame her.
"'Mione, I nearly pummeled the bloke, but I think he's being sincere. It took serious balls to bust in during a Weasley family dinner. Remember what happened when Ginny said she was moving in with Harry?" Granger cracked a smile at that. Suddenly I realized exactly why Potter and his girlfriend were so sympathetic; they had been in that same position before.
"Fine, but I can't flick a switch and all is forgiven," Granger sighed.
"That's fine. I expect you all to still be angry. I just want you to know that I'm trying." I was begging. Never in my life did I think I would be begging for understanding, especially from this woman. I had spent so long being angry with her for reasons I didn't even know. I understood this anger she had for me in return.
There was a heavy silence as Granger debated this. "Okay. Malfoy, I'll need time. I may not ever actually forgive you."
"I understand."
"Good."
The three of us continued to sit in an awkward silence for a moment. "I suppose I should be going," I said as I rose to my feet. She gave me my wand back (which caused Weasley to laugh), and followed me to the door.
"I'm sorry you didn't get the answer you wanted," she said honestly. I knew then that this was as successful at it could ever be. I wanted to kiss her hands out of pure joy. Instead, I settled for cordial goodbye.
"I did, though. Thank you."
With that, I left. There were no handshakes, certainly no hugs. No great understanding had been reached. It was simply a prolonged awkward conversation that was necessary in beginning my recovery. I had interrupted their lives to ask them to create a space for me. Somewhere in their lives, this would continue to exist. I would be a constant reminder of the war, but hopefully of the good that came from their work.
I saw Granger and Weasley weeks after this meeting of sorts. It was a briskly cold day, and both of them were bundled in long winter coats. They were leaving a café, walking arm, bracing themselves for the early winter winds. As they spotted me, the strangest thing happened. It could've been their general mood or they had sincerely meant it for me. It didn't matter. They smiled.