Disclaimer: Neither the character of Draco Malfoy nor any of the other characters you recognise from Harry Potter is mine. The chapter title is from the soundtrack to the House M.D. and is sung by Joe Cocker.
Hi.
I didn't plan it like this, but today is the 2nd May which means that it's the day the Battle of Hogwarts took place in Harry's world. It seems an appropriate day to post this chapter, then as it is about Draco's views on the world on the third anniversary of that day. This chapter is for all the characters we loved so much who died in battle.
Hope you all have a good day.
Jenny.
Feelin' Alright.
Draco looked around himself as he walked along through the sunlit street. Diagon Alley had changed so much even in the relatively few years he had been alive.
The earliest memory he had of this street, although he was sure he must have been there countless times before he could remember, was when he was five years old going to get a new broom. Lucius had always bought him the latest model the moment it was released, if he couldn't bribe anybody to get it before.
Even at such a young age, he had not been like the other young children, staring around themselves at the window displays with wide eyes. There was no joy, no wonder at the magic around him as Narcissa pulled him by the hand down the cobbled street.
It was only a few years after the end of the First war. On certain days, the shop fronts of some stores were swathed in black, reminders of those who had been lost. Most days, however, there was nothing to indicate what had passed, other than the occasional plaque. He might have been too young to realise it then, but looking back, Draco knew that a key part of remembering and commemorating the past was to carry on with life, and that meant trying not to dwell too much on the horrors that had transpired but never letting yourself forget them either.
That day was one of those days, those where the shops were bright and open, people laughed as they shopped and there was no evidence that only a few short years before, the people who wandered Diagon Alley had cause to fear for their life and the lives of those close to them every minute they were awake, and woke up after horrific nightmares every night.
The visit was perfunctory. It was a case of going in, getting a broom and leaving, no browsing. There was no point; they had known what they had wanted before leaving the Manor.
Over the years, he had visited Diagon Alley many more times, too many to count. Each time had been for a purpose. Books, brooms, robes, Gringotts. It was never an opportunity just to look around. Nothing so frivolous.
In his early years, the place had changed very little. Only varying window displays and an increase in the ages of the familiar faces that he often saw in the area testified to the passage of time.
After the death of Cedric Diggory, and Harry Potter's repeated insistences that Lord Voldemort had returned, and Cornelius Fudge's assertions that both Dumbledore and Potter were lying, there had been a little change. People had seemed nervous despite the Ministry's reassurance, eyes darting around and not lingering too long in the open. At the time, Lucius had been delighted at the change. He had fed off the fear of others like a leech feeds off blood.
That had been then. It seemed the very real danger of losing his son had somewhat curbed Lucius' sadistic side, switched it from the predominant portion of his personality to the corner of his mind that was full of things better left alone. He had changed, at least as far as it Draco believed it was possible that a person could change. There could be no taking back what he had done in the past, but the Ministry had clearly decided his abandoning Voldemort during the last battle of Hogwarts was sufficient action to avoid his being sent to Azkaban. He and Draco both.
What had happened had happened. There was no way back for any of them and every single one of Draco's choices had been made based upon what he had believed was the best course of action for his own interests at the time. Most of them were selfish, but he couldn't be sorry for those if they helped keep him alive, helped bring him to where he was today.
It seemed beyond incredible that his family should be allowed to stay out of prison, but he was grateful for it. A lot more willing to admit to his failings these days, Draco knew he wouldn't have been strong enough. He'd have gone mad in a matter of days if he'd been made to go there. Died within months.
Fortunately his life had turned out better than that. Better than he could have imagined in those dark days when the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore weighed heavily on his mind.
Draco looked up as he walked past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. This was one of those shops that always bore the evidence of what had passed. George Weasley would never forget his twin, and had taken steps to make sure nobody else visiting the shop would ever forget that his precious brother had existed.
In the corner of the window a life-sized smiling picture of the Weasley twins taken before the war. One of them had their arm around the other's shoulders; Draco couldn't tell which was which. It was a memory, preserved forever, of a time when George and Fred had believed that they were indestructible. They had each other and all was right with the world.
Below the picture, a legend in swirling gold letters, large, impossible to miss.
Fred Weasley.
April 1st 1978- May 2nd 1998.
Mischief managed little brother.
Draco counted himself fortunate that he had not lost anybody who was so close to him. He had seen George a few times in the months following Fred's death and something indefinable had been missing from the red-haired man. Something that had been alive had died, something that had burned inside of him had been extinguished. Even knowing the twins as little as Draco did, he could see the change. Fred and George had come from the same place once, they had grown up together and Draco had never seen one without the other. It seemed inconceivable that Fred could have gone somewhere George wasn't able to follow.
He had seen strangers on the street give George a wide berth in those months when he was lost in grief. They had known, instinctively that something was terribly wrong and it couldn't be fixed.
George would always miss his twin, but he had pulled himself together to carry on the venture that he and Fred had begun together, in his twin's memory.
Draco was pulled out of his thoughts when a young boy sprinted across his path, causing him to pull up short. Rather than snap at the child, however, he carried on his way, just strolling down the street, no particular destination in mind.
It was good to come and remember sometimes. Walk down this street and remember it all the ways he had been. Cautious but warily hopeful when he was younger, giving way to complacent assuredness as Draco began to move into his teenage years and wizards and witches everywhere began to recognise their nightmares as simply that: nightmares. They could breathe easily knowing that Lord Voldemort- Draco still had to force himself to think his name, just as Dumbledore had always tried to teach his pupils to say the name- was gone, defeated by a child in a crib, and a mother's sacrifice.
It was now three years after the end of the final Battle of Hogwarts, and the Wizarding World would never truly heal. There were whispers everywhere, nothing you could point to in any definite way, but a feeling, a sense that nothing would ever be calm; a shadow would haunt their world forever.
Lord Voldemort had done too much damage to be forgotten. The fearsome man who had wanted to live forever would, in a way. It seemed too much of a gift to give that monster- for his name to be remembered, but it was too much of an injustice to those who had been lost to forget his name and theirs along with it.
Draco looked around himself at the deceptively cheery storefronts and sighed. The too-bright colours and decorative banners still looked as if they were trying too hard to look normal, particularly as the backdrop to the witches and wizards scurrying around with their eyes down and their faces solemn. They had thought they were safe last time. Draco thought they would probably always be a little nervous when gathered together as an easy target.
Sighing, he pulled up his sleeve to look at the watch on his wrist. He'd better leave. He'd got what he came for; a new quill set and some time to himself to think. Astoria would be getting ready; he was already going to be late picking her up. He smiled when he thought of her, his dark-haired saviour.
She was perfect, he decided as he turned to walk back in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. Maybe not in the way he had been taught was right, not perfect in the way his mother had acted when he was younger and they had to be seen at the right functions. No, Astoria would never be content to be quiet on his arm.
She fought with him on an almost daily basis, she had her own mind and spoke it, she didn't let him get away with behaving like a four year old having a tantrum. At times they made each other so angry that one or the other would have to storm out to allow themselves to cool down. She also made him feel relaxed, made him laugh. She was perfect for him.
It wasn't some Beauty and the Beast story. She hadn't transformed him into a saint. She wasn't a saint herself. He had done too much, they had both had seen too much in their lives to ever be able to go back. The past couldn't be changed and because of that he was forever marked. He could never claim to be a completely good person (but then who could?) but he had redeemed himself in some areas, and hoped to continue doing so.
"You're late." Astoria's reprimand was contradicted by the smile that spread across her face when she opened the door to greet him.
He ran his eyes down her body, appreciatively eyeing her black dress, stopping at her conspicuously bare feet. "And you're not ready."
"I've just got to put my shoes on. It'll only take two seconds." She turned and made her way to the closet door in the hall. "So where are we going? Which restaurant?"
He smiled at the back of her head. She wasn't the most patient of people. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Right." She slid on a pair of black heels and walked back towards him. "See? That wasn't even two seconds. Let's go."
He waited while she locked the door, first with her keys and then shielded her door from unwelcome visitors with her wand, slipping it back into her bag when she was done.
"Come on." He took her hand and started to lead her down the street, past the alley they usually used for Apparition. She hung back a little, tugging on his arm and looking at him in confusion.
"We're not apparating?" she asked quietly, even though there was no one else in sight to hear her.
"No. It's a Muggle place we're going to so-" he indicated the a little way ahead. "I brought the car."
It would have been easy enough to go to a magical place. In fact, it would be easier than having to deal with the confusing currency and waiting times of a Muggle restaurant. But he wanted to put in the extra effort, prove to himself, that he had changed over the last few years. While he was still in Hogwarts, the idea of spending time in the presence of Muggles filled him with disgust, now no such emotion filled his heart. Instead, he looked down at Astoria walking next to him, marvelling at the surety of her steps in three inch heels on cobblestones.
His eyes drifted down, as they had so often recently, to rest upon the hand clasped in his, and the ring. It sat, small and elegant, upon her finger, and he smiled when the three diamonds set into the band were caught by a street light. It had been four months since he had asked her to marry him and still the proof of her acceptance made him fight a moronic grin. The ring was perfect for her which was, of course, why he had chosen it.
He moved his gaze up to her face. Her eyes watched her feet to make sure she didn't step in any of the numerous puddles and ruin her shoes. Finally they reached the car, and he opened the door to allow her to sit down in the passenger seat before he walked around to the driver's side.
He allowed a smile, more common these days but still rare enough to be noteworthy, onto his face as he settled himself. She didn't say anything, waiting in silence for him to start the car and watching a cat meander up the street through her window. He turned the key in the ignition and eased out onto the deserted street, driving them both slowly towards something as close to normality as they could have.
