9. ...former affections wither

Draco needed some time to himself after the disastrous dinner and he managed to avoid Blaise and his family for three full days. He filled his time going through paperwork that might help with the second hearing, which was scheduled for the upcoming Friday, and he pretended this meant he wasn't really avoiding anyone, but just too busy to see them.

On Wednesday morning, however, Blaise visited the Lodge after breakfast.

"What have you been doing with your time? We've hardly seen you at the Manor," he said, his tone between complaint and rebuke. Draco smiled and gestured at the desk in the corner of his sitting room. "I've been going through some business papers for Goldstein. I cannot say too much about it because I do not want to jinx our endeavours. But I'll be able to tell you more soon, I promise. How have you been?"

Blaise smiled, a goofy, happy, blinding smile that made Draco's stomach drop. "I've been spending time with Miss Granger," he said, with a happy little sigh, "Draco, she's so wonderful. So funny and smart, and so adorably… Gryffindor! She's so passionate about what she believes is right, and when she launches into an argument about something she cares about, her eyes start glittering like amber in the sun, and her hair almost crackles with magic… I think I'm in love, Draco."

Draco's face was frozen in a too tight smile. One hand clenched into a fist, but the rest of his body was so consciously relaxed his muscles strained with the effort. "I cannot believe you fell for her so quickly," was all he said, in as casual a tone as he could muster.

"How could I not," Blaise exclaimed, oblivious to the tension in Draco's shoulders and the gritting of his teeth. He continued extolling her virtues and recounting all the times they had met for walks, or to practise duels, or just to talk, and Draco made all the right noises and faces, while inside, his heart seemed to be suffering from a Cruciatus Curse, all on its own.

Only years of pureblood upbringing allowed him to hide his true feelings so completely that not even Blaise noticed he was teetering between murder and suicide with every word the other man added to his story. And when Blaise happily told him he would not join Draco and Harry that evening because Hermione would be visiting his mother, and he wanted to spend time with her, Draco knew this flying session would be as lethal as the previous one had been.


Draco met Mrs. Zabini on his way to the Quidditch pitch and of course he stopped to greet her. Soon the subject changed from the usual niceties to the one Draco had been hoping to avoid.

"Did I not tell you Miss Granger and Blaise made a handsome couple? They have been spending so much time together, and they get along so well. Oh, I'd be so happy for my son to finally settle down, and she is such a wonderful woman. Do you not think they'd be so happy together? Oh Draco, caro, I cannot tell you how it satisfies my motherly worries to finally see my son serious about a relationship. I'm sure he'll initiate the traditional courting soon; he's probably just gauging how she would feel about that. She's Muggleborn, after all, she might not be familiar with our customs."

"I'm sure Miss Granger has knowledge of all Wizarding customs, Signora. After all, she was brought up by the Potters," Draco reassured her. Then he tried to make his excuses as fast as he could, because he could feel the emotions start to bleed through his mask of polite interest.


Harry met him on the Quidditch pitch, carrying two brooms.

"I believe this one is yours, Draco," he said, tossing Draco's own Starlight at him. Draco caught the broom on reflex and looked surprised. "It is mine," he confirmed.

"Good," Harry said, "Then you can have it. Brooms enough at that gloomy old manor, I'm sure one will not be missed."

"Can you just do that?" Draco asked, unsure, but unable to stop himself from stroking the sleek wood, enjoying the comfortable weight and feel of a broomstick that was as much an extension of him as his wand.

"Well, the Ministry gave that Manor and all its contents to Ron and me, so I think that means I can give you one of my possessions. Consider it an offering of friendship."

"You do not need to do this. Not even as an offering of friendship."

"I know," Harry interrupted, "but I want to. To make up for Ron's behaviour. He did not know about the trial, but that is no excuse. It was out of line."

Draco snorted, swung his leg across his broom and pushed off, ascending slowly. Harry joined him within seconds.

"How could he not know? The Prophet was filled with articles about my trial for weeks," Draco wondered aloud.

"He and Hermione were abroad at the time. It takes a long time for news to travel to the colonies, if they even choose to report on what happens here," Harry explained.

"What were they doing in America? Chasing Death Eaters?"

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. "No, they were there on personal business. It's not my story to tell. Ron came back a few weeks after the commotion around your trial died down, and then he was swept up in post-War celebrations and some family issues, and I guess he was never told because everyone assumed he knew, and he never cared enough about you to ask."

"And what did Miss Granger mean when she said he was the last person to talk about cowardice?"

Harry looked even more uncomfortable now. He glanced at Draco in the quickly fading daylight, and then something changed in his face and Draco knew he had taken a decision.

"I'm telling you this in confidence, Draco," he began, and Draco nodded. "When we were hunting for… those artifacts, Ron had a really difficult time. At some point he left us. Hermione and I were alone for months before he came back. She has never forgiven him."

They flew a couple of lazy circles around the pitch and then Draco broke the silence. "Shall we get started with our game then, Potter, or do you want to fly like an old croon for the rest of the evening?"

"Game on, Malfoy. Do you have the Snitch?"

Draco felt around in his robe pocket and produced the Snitch. He spelled it to glow faintly, so they could continue playing in the dark, and let it go on the count of three.

Their game was as wild and reckless as the last, and this time Harry caught the Snitch seconds before Draco. They descended again, laughing like children, and lay down on their backs, looking up at the night sky.

"I haven't looked at the stars in years," Draco said softly.

Harry chuckled. "I saw too much of them for the past years, camping out all the time."

They were silent for a while. Then Draco spoke again.

"The past few years, the War, it's all a blur to me. Some things I remember with absolute clarity, and sometimes there are long stretches of time I can't remember at all. You know what's really so bad about the Imperius curse? You know what you're doing. You know exactly what you're doing but you're powerless to stop yourself. And you remember. Those who pretend they don't, they lie. I remember so much. Too much. And yet those black holes, those empty stretches on the timeline. They scare me. The Cruciatus Curse made me black out, you see. And if my father put me under the Imperius as soon as I woke up, I did things I couldn't remember later. I know it happened, because my mother would refer to conversations I could not recall. It took me a while to realise what was happening."

Harry was quiet, unsure why Draco was speaking and curious to know where this was leading.

"I believe something like that was said at your trial, too," he muttered, encouragingly.

Draco only sniffed disdainfully.

"Saturday, when Miss Granger said you'd been captured, she glared at me, like she held me responsible for whatever happened. Did I… Did I do anything to her?"

Draco swallowed and held his breath as he waited for Harry's answer. He really did not want to know, fearful as he was that the answer would be in the affirmative, but at the same time he had to know, because his nightmares had become worse every night since that evening.

Harry sighed. "You did not. Your aunt, your father, yes, but not you. We were captured and taken to the Lestrange House. Your aunt Bellatrix and her husband were there, and so were your parents. They… they tortured her. Bellatrix carved 'Mudblood' in her arm with a cursed blade. She usually hides it under a Glamour to avoid attracting any attention, but of course she knows it's there. They held her under the Cruciatus Curse until she could no longer scream. She was near death when we finally managed to escape."

Draco swallowed painfully and let his breath escape into the night. "I see."

"She does not blame you, not really. At least, maybe she did, somewhat, but not any more, now she knows about what really happened to you during the War. But you look a lot like your father, Draco, and sometimes she's reminded of him, and by proxy, of Bellatrix and the never fading scar on her arm."

They were quiet for a long time. Draco mulled over Harry's words in his mind, feeling enraged and helpless at the same time. If his aunt had not died, and his father had not received the Kiss, he would have chased them down and killed them himself.

Eventually, Draco was the first to break the silence again. "Why did you reach out to me? There was no need to pursue this friendship as you did. You could have gotten away with being merely civil, even if you did become friends with Blaise. And you have just told me many more details than Miss Granger was willing to share at dinner last Saturday. Why are you doing this?"

Harry chuckled. "I think you deserve a second chance. A real second chance. So I wanted to let bygones be bygones, and extend the hand of friendship that I once scorned, in the hopes of making it up to you. Everything I told you tonight, I told you in confidence, because I trust you will not run to the Prophet with this information."

"Thank you," Draco said, quietly. Then, a little louder, "I think it is time for me to go back to the Lodge. Thank you for tonight, Potter - Harry. Sorry, it seems that when it comes to Quidditch, you will always be Potter."

"I can live with that. I suppose I better go find out what Luna and Hermione have been up to. Same time next week, Draco?"

"Same time next week," he confirmed, and he Disapparated with a pop.


Draco cursed loudly. He hadn't slept at all after his talk with Potter. Understanding now what the Trio had gone through during the War, imagining the torture Hermione had endured, had kept him up all night. He'd been in a foul mood that morning, so when Mrs. Zabini firecalled him and asked him if he had time to take care of an infestation of Cornish Pixies in the Winter Garden the house elves could not deal with, he agreed all too readily, grabbing his wand, eager to blast his frustration and anger away at the Pixies.

That had been his intention, at least. The pests were a lot more ingenious than Draco remembered them to be, and although he had managed to blast a number of them into oblivion, somehow they had managed to organise and coordinate an attack on him, during which he'd lost his wand, making him effectively defenseless. They were dragging him up in the air by his ears and nose, some viciously biting into his legs and arms while avoiding his flailing hands and kicking feet.

"Gerrof you cursed creatures! Morgana's tits, let go!" he yelled, knocking another two out with his fists. Then, all of a sudden, the critters froze in the air and he was picked up by a gentle levitation charm and guided back down.

Draco massaged his ears, nose, and jaw, all stiff from the strain of holding his entire body weight, and turned around, fuming at the Pixies and mortified that anyone had seen him in this situation. He blinked when he saw Hermione standing behind him, wand in hand, guiding all the petrified Pixies into a protective bubble, which she then vanished with a flick of her wand.

"Your wand is over there," she said, pointing at the wood sticking out of the mud. "You had better burn the nest or they might come back."

Then she turned around and left. Draco stared after her, equal parts confused and mortified. The mortification soon turned to frustration and the Incendio he cast to destroy the Pixie nest conjured flames that burned brighter than Fiendfyre.


The second hearing at the Wizengamot went better than the first. Though most of the Wizengamot members still regarded him with disdain, they at least gave the impression of listening to Goldstein's arguments, and he and the Ministry prosecutor moved around in what seemed like a carefully choreographed dance. Yielding a little on one subject, then seeming completely unmovable on another, Draco was impressed by the skilled verbal fencing in the courtroom, and even more impressed that the Wizengamot didn't seem to notice the little communications between the two Arguers, a flick of one hand, a touch to the nose or an almost imperceptible nod that made the other interrupt with counter-arguments or give in with exasperation. It was fascinating to watch, and Draco was surprised when the Head of the Wizengamot stood up and announced the date for closing arguments, one week hence.

"That was interesting," he murmured at Mr. Goldstein as they were packing up their parchments.

"Wasn't it just?" Mr. Goldstein said in a non-committal voice.

They seemed to linger for longer than was necessary, and when the last of the Wizengamot members had filed out, the Ministry Arguer came up to them, extending a hand to his opponent. "Brilliant act, Mr. Goldstein. Pleasure, as always. Mr. Malfoy, good luck next week."

Draco shook the hand, a little surprised, but he said nothing.

"I think we can both be satisfied, Mr. Bones," Mr. Goldstein said as he clasped the other man's hand in his. "You will contact me, I trust," he added, with a slight twitch in his left eye that might have been a wink, or maybe was just a nervous tick. And Mr. Bones smiled, nodded, and made his way out of the courtroom.

Draco and Mr. Goldstein left soon after, silently climbing up steep staircases and walking through the endless corridors towards the Atrium. Draco tried to ignore the stares and hostile whispers that followed him around, and with each audible comment about Death Eater spawn and criminals walking free, he stiffened and straightened up a little more, his face a mask of aloofness and disdain. Then he heard someone call his name.

"Draco! One moment!"

He turned around and saw Harry and Weasley walk in his direction. Weasley was scowling but Harry seemed to look surprised yet genuinely happy to see him. Draco noticed that the whisperers had fallen silent as the Boy Who Lived approached the former Death Eater, and everyone was staring at them with apprehension and barely concealed excitement. Even those who had pretended not to notice him earlier were now openly staring, and Draco was sure they were hoping for a confrontation of some sort. He did not need Goldstein's hand on his shoulder to remind him he was in public and that whatever happened now would have repercussions on his case, the Ministry gossip mill being what it was.

"Harry, nice to see you again," Draco said amiably, stepping away from Goldstein and clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Weasley," he nodded at the redhead, with as much civility as he could manage.

"Are you joining us this Saturday? We thought we'd go explore the countryside around the Zabini estate, take a walk to the nearby village or something like that. Hermione and Blaise have it all planned out," Harry said, as he fell into step beside Draco and walked towards the Atrium with him. Goldstein and Weasley followed them, one glowering, the other with a calculating look.

Draco had no particular desire to spend time with Blaise and Hermione, but he also did not want to suddenly lose the only friends he had, so he knew he'd have to find a way to cope with seeing them happy together. And the best way he could think of was to expose himself to the sight of them as often as possible, so he could become hardened to the pain it caused him. So he accepted Harry's invitation as gracefully and sincerely as he could, especially after Harry had added, very casually, that Weasley couldn't join them because he was visiting his family at the Burrow for his mother's birthday celebrations. And though he had looked very innocent and spoken with such indifference, Draco knew the message was meant to set him at ease, and not for the first time he wondered why Harry was taking such trouble with him, and seemed to be turning away from the redhead who had been his best friend for years. Maybe that was a subject for another post-Quidditch conversation, he thought wryly, as the two of them continued to talk easily all the way to the Floo grates in the Atrium, ignoring the many more people who had stopped dead in their tracks to stare at the company the Chosen One was keeping. Then Harry turned back with Weasley, with a quick wave and smile over his shoulder, and Draco traveled to Goldstein's office by Floo.

"You have not mentioned before that you were friends with Harry Potter," the other man began once they were comfortable seated.

"It's a recent development," Draco said.

"We could use him. If he was sat behind you for the closing arguments next week, it would send a very powerful message to the Wizengamot. Of course your friendly conversation in the Ministry corridors will have spread like Fiendfyre already, and I'm sure it will sway some of the Members of the Wizengamot, but if it remains just a rumour, it may not convince them as thoroughly as if they'd see it themselves. And who knows how this tidbit of news is going to change in a week's time. Ask him. He will not need to say anything, just sit there. I'll get in touch with Bones so we can tune our arguments to each other."

Draco stared at him in surprise. "I noticed you were communicating with him in the courtroom. Was it all completely orchestrated?"

Goldstein sent him a cold smile. "Bones and I go back a long time, Mr. Malfoy. He was the one who told me that certain forces within the Ministry were amenable to making some kind of restitution to you for the unfair impact your father's sentence has had on you. But those forces within the Ministry prefer not to show their hand for fear of public repercussions, and the Wizengamot dislikes being called out on their unfair decisions, so we grovel and beg and argue as they expect of us and make them think it's all their own magnanimity and condescension that allows you some reprieve. We've played this game before, and we've always achieved justice, Mr. Malfoy. We won't fail this time."

Draco shot him a look of understanding and turned back to the parchments he had placed on the desk. "Do you need my help with this?"

"Not yet. I'll get back to you some time next week, so we can discuss the details of the agreement. Go home, Mr. Malfoy, and enjoy your the rest of your day. I hear the weather is quite nice in Hertfordshire."

Draco took his leave and returned to the Lodge, wondering if this endeavour seemed to be going so well only because his heart was in constant agony. At least now he had some time to mentally prepare for the sight of Hermione and Blaise together, and he hoped seeing them often would, indeed, help him accept it.


The time for the dreaded exploration of the village nearby came sooner than Draco would have liked, but he put on a brave facade and was ready and waiting for the rest of the group by the time they arrived at the Lodge. Hermione was walking arm in arm with Blaise, and Draco felt a stab at the thought that he had never had the opportunity - or courage - to walk around with her on his arm when he still had the right. But he shook the thought out of his head and tried to focus on the others in the group. Flora and Luna were chattering about Snorkacks and Dirigiplums, and Potter was walking behind them with a man Draco vaguely recognised as the younger MacMillan boy, who was courting Flora.

"Is that what you are wearing?" Hermione asked, her eyes flicking over his robes with disdain.

Draco looked down, then at the others in the party, and realised they were all wearing Muggle clothes.

"We're going to a Muggle village," Blaise clarified with a shrug. Harry stepped up and coughed, embarrassed. "My fault, I forgot to tell him," he muttered, and Draco shot him a grateful smile before sliding his wand out of his sleeve and transfiguring his robes into a woolen greatcoat and his dragonhide boots into black leather ones.

"Better?" he asked, looking at Hermione and ignoring the others. Her eyes flashed with annoyance, and she turned away without answering.

"Shall we go?" Blaise said, leading them all to the gates. Draco put his wand back in his sleeve, and Hermione turned on him again.

"You're taking your wand? We just said we're going to a Muggle village. You can't do magic there."

Draco blinked in confusion. "You're going without your wands? Is that safe?"

"It's not like the big bad Muggles will burn you at the stake, Malfoy," Hermione bit out, stalking away. Blaise shot him an exasperated look and ran after her.

Draco turned to Harry, his face flushed. "I didn't mean… Not the Muggles. Death Eaters still free… People wanting revenge… I just… I don't feel safe without my wand, that's all."

Harry nodded, understanding. "Blaise said the village is still under the Fidelius, just like the Zabini estate, so it should be safe. But I don't mind if you want to take your wand. I've taken mine, you know. Hermione can be a bit… Sometimes it's better to pretend you go along."

Draco stared after Blaise and Hermione, who were now waiting impatiently at the gate. The others in the group were already walking up to them, MacMillan gallantly offering an arm to both Luna and Flora.

"Come on, Draco, they're waiting. Unless you're scared of the big bad Muggles…" Harry said with a smile.

"In your dreams, Potter," Draco snapped, though it wasn't as angry as he would have liked and his lips almost twisted in an answering smile.


The walk to the village was uneventful. The group was overawed by the lovely landscape: yellow, golden, and orange hues, interspersed with the occasional burst of red, and breathtaking views over the hills. Draco enjoyed the walk, though he refrained from engaging in any conversations. They climbed over stiles and jumped over puddles in the path, and eventually arrived at a small Muggle village with honeystone cottages along the streets and a little square with an inn and a milliner's shop. They decided to split up; Harry and Luna explored the village together, and Flora and Tobias Macmillan entered the milliner's shop. Draco had no idea where Blaise and Hermione had gone, and he tried very hard not to think of what they might be doing or saying. He walked around a little, but then his ankle started hurting - an old Quidditch injury that had worsened under the strain of the Cruciatus and occasionally played up - and he looked around for a place to sit. He found a bench sheltered by some hawthorn bushes and sat down, resting his ankle on his knee. He looked out over a lawn where children were running around, laughing carefree and happy, and wished he could go back to a time when he was the same. Voices interrupted his train of thoughts.

"I really thought he'd changed, you know, but then he makes a comment like that and I'm reminded of the prejudiced boy I knew in Hogwarts," said a voice that definitely sounded like Hermione.

"Draco's just Draco, you know, and much as I like him, I don't think he'll ever really change. He's so proud of his Pure lineage and he grew up in such a Muggle-hating society… I don't care much about these things, I mean, of course, I'm proud of my history, but everyone should be. I never despised Muggles, though. That's why we protected the village with a Fidelius. I see it as my duty to protect them where I can."

Draco flinched at Blaise's words.

"I'm surprised he has made no move to start courting your sister, then, if he's so keen on pure lineages."

Blaise laughed at that. "He knows her too well. I believe there was talk of him marrying some pureblooded witch at several times during the War, but they couldn't go through with it, of course. No marriage bond sticks if someone is under the Imperius, and I heard he refused quite vocally when they lifted that curse. I wish he'd had the presence of mind not to go home after Hogwarts, maybe he would have been spared those long years of torture."

"Perhaps he had other options, he just chose not to take them." Hermione's voice was cold, and Draco flinched again. No, she had not forgiven him.

The voices grew quieter as Blaise and Hermione walked on, neither of them having noticed him as they passed behind him, and Draco let the conversation replay in his head.

He was surprised Blaise thought he still adhered to the pureblood ideology, because Draco had stopped believing that drivel around his sixth year in Hogwarts. But it was true that he had never publicly opposed it, either. He also remembered the few marriage offers he had received during the War. Of course he had refused them. There was talk of Pansy Parkinson at some stage, and those negotiations had gone on for a long time, but Draco had steadfastly refused, and then she had disappeared, so the final contract was never signed. Then, of course, the Malfoys had fallen out of favour with the Dark Lord, so their son and heir was no longer a sought-after alliance in their circles, and those families that had remained neutral would not make the mistake of allying with known Death Eaters in the middle of a war that could still go either way. Now, after the Light side had won and the trials were over, his family was still in disgrace, so he did not anticipate any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to sully their families with such an alliance.

Draco shook his head in derision. Good riddance, too. He knew he still loved Hermione, and no woman would ever come close. But he was coming to terms with letting her go, really letting her go, and only hoped she would find the happiness he never could. Everything in her behaviour proved to him that she had not forgiven him, and she probably never would. That made it easier for him to lock his feelings for her far away in the deepest recesses of his heart.


The whole group met again on the square and was just preparing for the long walk back, when Mrs. Zabini bustled up to them, carrying numerous parcels.

"Cari, what a surprise to see you here! I've been to the milliners, I needed some new fabric for a gown, what have you been doing? Oh, yes, lovely weather for a walk, it definitely is. I prefer to Apparate though, there's a nice secluded alley over there, the perfect spot. Oh, you didn't bring your wands? Well, you had better start walking back, then, it gets dark very early these days. Blaise, caro, would you mind carrying some of these back for me? I can't shrink them out here, someone might see, and I've so many I'm not sure I would not lose half my purchases mid-spin." She laughed and started handing over some of the parcels to her son, but Hermione took them away and held them out to Draco.

"You brought your wand, Mr. Malfoy, you could take them and Apparate to the Manor with Mrs. Zabini." Her eyes flicked at his ankle, and Draco flushed bright red.

"I'd be happy to carry them for you, Signora, but I would not want to miss out on a nice walk. This may well be one of the last beautiful days we have," Draco said, turning to Mrs. Zabini and feeling utterly mortified that Hermione seemed to think him too weak to walk back, even if his ankle did hurt like hell.

"Just apparate with the parcels, Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Zabini will be so happy to have all her purchases with her immediately," Hermione insisted, pushing the parcels into his hands and then steering him towards the alley. "Stop being stubborn, I saw you limp when you walked up just now. Apparate and spare your ankle before it gets worse," she hissed in his ear.

Then she turned around, took Blaise's arm and lead the way back to the footpath that would take them to Zabini Manor. Draco watched them go, saw Blaise put an arm around her waist and Hermione smile up to him, and swallowed. But instead of the sharp stabs of pain he had expected to feel in his heart, he only felt a ragged emptiness.

"Miss Granger is so considerate, such a wonderful girl. I'll be happy to have her join our family," Mrs. Zabini said, looking at the retreating the couples herself.

Draco conjured up a smile, offered his arm, and walked her into the alley. They Disapparated quietly, unnoticed by any Muggles. As Draco spun into place at the gates of the Zabini estate, he could not unsee the image of Blaise with his arm around Hermione Granger. He barely noticed the house elf that popped up next to him and took Mrs. Zabini's parcels from him, or that Mrs. Zabini herself was cheerfully counting the days until a marriage proposal could reasonably be expected. He only saw Hermione, and the smile that was no longer his.


AN: I know I promised more frequent updates - and truthfully they will be more frequent - so I want to apologise for not posting last week. I have the best excuse in the world, though, as I spent the whole week pretending to be a contemporary of Jane Austen at the Festival in Bath. I can now say, with Jane, who can ever tire of Bath? Unfortunately real life can only be put on hold for so long. Oh well.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, they absolutely warmed my heart!

Shout-out to my beta hobbit penguin - you're a darling - any remaining mistakes are my own.

A good dose of angst in this chapter, right? I promise it will get better... eventually... I love reading what you think so please review!