Draco had always been accustomed to being noticed. His name, his looks, his attitude; it all demanded attention. He'd basked in that in his youth. His father wasn't always there physically and rarely emotionally and his mother was in a constant war to conceal her unhappiness from her son, but their family links had bought him the beginnings of power from an early age. He'd craved the attention. Now, however, every glance had a judgemental element to it, an assessing quality. Everyone was sizing him up to determine whether he was a threat and whether the approval of Lord Malfoy was worth the scorn of others. He had subsequently taken to avoiding crowds whenever possible. Since his release from his brief stint in prison, he'd spent half of his time doing his duties in England and the other half in France with his mother, where they were far less recognisable and had far greater freedom of movement. It was demeaning to have his movement tracked and approved like a terrorist every time his Portkey application was processed, but it was worth it for the scraps of normality he had when he got there. He'd never taken Potter seriously when he'd expressed distaste at attention, instead thinking that playing coy was never a good look, but could now empathise. He was beginning to see that fame could be as much a curse as a gift, as much a hindrance as a door-opener.
So he'd taken to using Polyjuice Potion whenever the prospect of entering a crowded area overwhelmed him. At the moment, he was wandering through Diagon Alley wearing the appearance of a Muggle his mother had met in France who looked rather like a Black. His mother always kept an eye out for such people, wanting to turn their masquerade into some sort of ode to House Black.
As he shifted his grip on his shopping and considered where he would dine for lunch, he spotted a familiar-looking woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes sitting on a bench and looking rather forlorn. He couldn't quite place her for a few moments, as removed from wizarding politics as he'd tried to become. It was only when she met his eyes, catching him frowning at her, that he recognised her as Astoria Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin alum who was two years younger than him. It was strange, he suddenly realised, that he hadn't seen her at any functions recently. He knew that Daphne was seeing Potter, so he would have assumed that Lord Greengrass would have been focusing on Astoria finding a suitable match.
"Can I help you?" she asked. "You look lost."
Only a fellow Slytherin would recognise the subtle amusement and warning in her tone. Draco was, however, surprised to also hear genuineness. He considered letting her think he was just a simpleton admiring her or plotting to get her to marry him, but something about the genuine niceness, which he hadn't heard from a British person for a long time, tethered him to the spot. Impulsively, he assumed the French accent that he had taken to using as part of his disguise. "Please. I am visiting here. My mother came long ago and found product she loved. I am here to get more for her."
He could see her face light up as soon as she heard his accent and apparent lack of ulterior motive. "Do you know which shop you're looking for?"
"The parfum…the…the shop that sells perfume."
"We just call it a perfume shop," Astoria said with a laugh. She stood up and picked up her handbag. "I'd give you directions, but it's a bit complicated and it's easy to get turned around in the crowd. I'll show you the way."
"Thank you. You are most kind. My name is Benoît."
She started to walk towards the perfume shop – the long way, Draco noted. "I'm Astoria. Where do you live, Benoît?"
"Marseilles. It is located in…"
"Southern France, I know. I've been there with my family a few times. It's lovely there."
"It is indeed. It is nice here too."
"It wasn't, for a while," Astoria said softly, her face grim. "It still isn't, for some." She suddenly looked at Draco. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so morbid. It's just that it's hard not to be, sometimes. You probably don't want to hear Britain's gritty secrets."
"Not at all. Ignorance is dangerous."
"I just don't think that Britain has recovered from the war yet. So much has changed, but then there is so much that is still the same, and what has or hasn't changed isn't always what you'd want. People are still on edge and you still don't know exactly who believes what. People don't want to give second chances to the people who deserve them but then people who were routing for or financing You-Know-Who but were able to keep up appearances of neutrality are able to slip by unnoticed and it just seems so hypocritical. But people just want to cling to the image that they're successfully rooting out all of the Death Eaters because the alternative terrifies them."
"You think that sympathisers deserve second chances?"
Astoria suddenly flinched and looked around them before pulling him into a corner and casting a quick series of concealment spells. "We shouldn't speak of such things in public. I shouldn't have even said what I did, really, but…" She eyed him speculatively and he could tell that she had been enjoying having a supposedly uninvolved pair of ears to talk at so much that she hadn't been paying attention to their surrounds. "You must understand that my family were around during the war and so are naturally part of the public gaze. The people who matter know where our loyalties stand and would not be convinced by idle chatter. But at least half of the people on that street would socially and even physically lynch us if they heard me discussing this with you."
"If you can't even speak freely, have you considered just leaving Britain?"
"Yes," she admitted. "However, that option is not feasible for me. I…I do not know how it is in France, but it is expected that I marry well and young. My father has been lenient after the war – he knows that my sister and I are still dealing with issues and doesn't want us tethered to someone only masquerading as innocent – but it is expected that we will eventually marry a British wizard and continue our family line. If I left Britain permanently for a reason other than marriage, it would make returning incredibly difficult. So fleeing overseas is an alluring but ultimately transient solution."
Draco wanted to tell her how much he understood her situation. Even for him, he who had no familial connections or responsibilities outside his mother and imprisoned father, it was a difficult move. Upper British society already frowned upon him for his actions during the war. For her, it would be a damning move. Given that her parents and sister were still firmly entrenched in upper British society, the option was virtually impossible. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to let her know who he really was.
"We should keep moving. We're almost at the shop."
"Wait." He didn't like the idea of them reaching their destination and them returning to their separate lives. He'd envied his classmate's ability to play the game while retaining a sense of genuineness at school, and her younger sister appeared to have also mastered the art of balancing those states. His mother had that knack as well and he had always coveted it, even as he constantly shifted between being too cold and letting his dislike overpower his common sense. Furthermore, although he was loathe to admit it, Draco hated the loneliness of constantly shifting back and forth between France and England with only his mother for company. He appreciated Astoria's thoughts and found her to be one of the few witches he could actually see himself growing to care about. She was also one of the even fewer witches who might want anything to do with him. He decided to test that theory. "Why don't you have a holiday? You could visit Marseilles. I live with a family friend who moved from England after the war; she has not been back often and I am sure she would love to see someone from home."
Astoria looked thoughtful. Regardless of his assurance, it would be rather improper for her to visit a virtual stranger overseas. However, and he hoped that this consideration would win out, she did want an escape rather badly. "I might know her. What is her name?"
"Narcissa Malfoy."
She met his eyes steadily, her thoughtful expression deepening. "Does her son live with you?"
"He visits."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose that, while it would be scandalous for me to go to Marseilles to visit you, it would not be inappropriate for me to visit Narcissa Malfoy. I was, after all, acquainted with her before her departure and it would be lovely to see how she is. A distant cousin of mine lives in Nice; I can stay with her and Apparate to Marseilles from there. I assume that your friend would rather wizarding Britain not know of her whereabouts."
"I daresay you are correct."
She nodded, her expression satisfied. "I will consult with my father and owl Lady Narcissa about arranging the visit. Now, if I may show you to the shop…"
He started telling her about Marseilles as they removed the concealment charms and continued along their way. She seemed interested, but kept glancing at him curiously.
"Here we are," she eventually said. She smiled at him and added guilelessly, "Oh, and your English has improved."
As she walked away, he wondered when she'd worked it out and whether this meant he should appear as Draco or Benoît when she came to visit. He supposed he should talk to his mother about it. She'd be pleased to finally have reason to discuss a girl with him.
