A/N: This is something I just whipped up really quickly. It's not meant to be anything fancy, but I'd still appreciated your reviews. I was just reading the epilogue of HP7 again for another short story I'm thinking about writing, and, like before, the epilogue scene with the four and Draco struck me. After all they've been through, just a curt nod. But sometimes that's all we can manage, and that's enough.
A Curt Nod
As usual, King's Cross station was bustling. Unbeknownst to the Muggles, there were magical crowds in their midst as well. No one even seemed to notice the people disappearing occasionally into the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The platform between them, the one hidden from the non-magical folk known as Muggles, was even more crowded. There were families and children everywhere.
Indeed, it seemed as though there was always someone calling out a greeting to someone else, a fact that seemed to grate on at least one person's nerves. This was the first time in several years that he had been here, and it made him feel almost as though he were still going to school himself. He gritted his teeth as some younger kids ran by him giggling loudly, then turned to look down at his own young son, getting ready to go off to Hogwarts for the first time. A satisfied smirk briefly crossed his face; his son was behaving as he should. Pride flowed through him, and he rested his hand on his son's shoulder – an unusual show of affection, but one that his son greatly appreciated.
Draco Malfoy's eyes scanned the platform, knowing that he would see people he recognized from his school days, some of whom he didn't particularly want to see. Sure enough, his eyes soon came to rest on four of his former schoolmates who also had basically been four of his sworn enemies. Draco gritted his teeth again and glanced over at his wife. She didn't seem to notice anything; she was gorgeous but wasn't exactly the brightest star in the sky and for once Draco was relieved about that. He didn't want any awkward questions.
A second later, he realized that the four of them were all looking in his direction. A swarm of memories came back in overwhelming force, not the least of which was that he basically owed them his life. If not for them, he wouldn't be standing here today with his wife and son. Draco stared back at them, time stretching in his mind as he unwillingly pondered this. There had been several occasions throughout their school years that they had helped him in some way, even though he had never deserved or wanted their help, let alone thanked them for it. None of them had liked him, and the feeling was mutual.
Funny, at one time Draco would have quite willingly killed them all, but now he was glad he hadn't, in a funny way. An unfamiliar feeling of guilt coursed through his conscience; any decent person would have at least tried to make amends. But Draco had never really been considered decent, and he didn't know how to be decent even if he wanted to. It was too late now, there was too much in their pasts to overcome to try to start over now. There weren't any words that could be said, really. The past yawned between them, separating them as completely as if they were total strangers.
Draco unconsciously raised his chin slightly, his old need to exert his superiority showing through as he considered these things. He still believed that he was thoroughly superior to all four of these people, but maybe not to the same degree as he had during his Hogwarts years. Admittedly, they were people, too – even the Mudblood and the blood traitor she had married. The one who had defeated the Dark Lord still tended to make his blood boil, but that was the one above all the others to whom he owed his life.
With these mixed feelings, Draco slowly lowered his chin again. What do you say to someone like that? What do you say to someone you used to hate, and still hate, but at the same time begrudgingly respect? What do you say when you owe someone your life? Are there any words for such a time?
No, perhaps not.
So – instead of walking toward them, instead of speaking, instead of simply turning his back and walking away – Draco nodded curtly. That nod spoke a thousand words and conveyed a hundred feelings, the uppermost being thanks and respect. He knew that the one it was directed to would understand, and that was all that mattered. It was all he could manage.
With one last brief glance in their direction, Draco turned and steered his wife and son in the direction of the train. Time, which had seemed to pause for a moment, sped up to the normal speed again. For a moment, Draco had been the teenage boy back at Hogwarts, dealing with those four that he loathed. Now he was the adult Draco again, with a firm rein on his emotions, setting an example for his son.
Life was lived. Things happened. Things that made it so that sometimes the only thing that could convey even the deepest gratitude was a simple thanks.
Or a curt nod.