A/N: I knocked Minerva's age down by about 20 years so the idea of a walk from Hosgmeade to Hogwarts made sense. We'll all be fine if she wasn't alive for Fantastic Beasts. Oh, and the ship name I came up for this was "Ferret and Biscuit." Isn't that so cute. I'm sorry in advance. I'm just having fun with the challenge of writing this.
Draco took a drag of his cigarette, his right hand fidgeting with his shirt sleeve, letting out a shaky breath a moment later. He stood in the alley beside the Three Broomsticks, hiding, but not hiding if someone were to ask what he was doing out there. He just needed a smoke, really, and to get away from the party for a second. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, which he told himself every minute he was out there.
It was strangely foggy in Hogsmeade, the air balmy and clinging to Draco's skin unpleasantly, but it was still better than the party his colleagues were throwing in the Three Broomsticks. He'd hoped this year's party would've been different, but he honestly hadn't expected much from them. At some point in the night, everyone started pairing off, making plans for each other later that night and pretending like they weren't—though for whose sake they were pretending for, he didn't know.
He gave a bitter snort. That was a lie—he definitely knew who they were trying to hide it from. Those pitying looks they shot him when they thought he wasn't looking were enough of an explanation.
He shook his head and took another drag of his cigarette. He could feel the weight of his wedding band on his finger if he focused, but he really didn't want to—especially not today, when it was supposed to be an end-of-the-school-year celebration. Still, most mornings, he debated with himself about whether or not to put his ring on and every morning, he had to put it on .
The sounds of laughter and conversations drifted through the door of the Three Broomsticks when someone opened it. He had a feeling about who had stepped out, so he quickly dropped his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with the ball of his foot.
Sure enough, Minerva came around to the side of the building just a moment later, leaning heavily on her walking cane to support the leg that never quite healed after the war. Draco hoped that he didn't smell too strongly of cigarette smoke—Minerva had expressed her disapproval of his smoking many times.
"I thought I'd find you here," Minerva said, peering up at him mock-sternly, but the gleam in her eye gave her away—until she caught the smell and her eyes narrowed in genuine displeasure. "Have you been smoking again?"
"You caught me,"Draco said, unable to feel too guilty about it when she'd found him smoking every year for the past eight years. Minerva walked over to him, cane wobbling slightly, managing to look menacing even though she was almost a foot shorter than him.
He did frown a bit at that, not because he felt bad, but because he was growing more worried about Minerva's health lately. She was getting older and it seemed as though it was finally catching up with her.
"Draco, you know you're not required to come to any of these parties," Minerva said, not unkindly. He looked away from her for a moment and sighed.
"I know," he said softly. He looked back at Minerva's uncharacteristically soft eyes, forcing a small smile on his face that he could tell she saw through immediately. Fortunately, Minerva was merciful tonight.
"Well, I'm old, and late nights are no longer as fun for me as they used to be. Walk with me back to Hogwarts," she said, not leaving much room for argument—not that Draco really wanted to argue. Minerva was his knight in shining armor right now. He didn't really want to be alone, but especially didn't want to go back inside and face everyone's pitying looks.
"You aren't that old, Minerva," Draco said lightly. He let her loop her arm around his right bicep, and she leaned a bit on him as they walked slowly down the street.
"Oh, I'm blushing," she teased, winking at Draco and making him actually blush slightly as he shook his head. He hoped that she hadn't noticed, but knowing her, she probably did and just didn't say anything.
The fog around Hogsmeade wasn't too thick that they couldn't see, which Draco was thankful for. Minerva's hand was a steady, warm presence on his arm, oddly soothing to his nerves after a night spent with his colleagues. He frowned, realizing that it had been quite a while since he'd had anyone around like this.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, Draco's thoughts wandering, until Minerva hummed in thought.
"How is Scorpius doing?" she asked. Draco couldn't help but smile, glad for the distraction. He thought back to the letters Narcissa sent him every day with pictures of Scorpius. He visited Aunt Andromeda and his mother every other weekend to see them, but Narcissa kept him informed of every little thing that Scorpius did. It was always the highlight of his day to receive those updates.
"He's very excited to receive his Hogwarts letter this summer," Draco said fondly. Minerva breathed a laugh, soft and quiet.
"As am I. Though, if he behaves anything like how you and Harry did, I might have to take an early retirement," Minerva joked. Draco laughed, but sobered after a moment.
"I don't know how you handled us," he said, genuine disbelief in his voice. Now that he was a professor, he couldn't imagine being in Minerva's position.
"Oh, you two couldn't have caused more trouble than the Weasley twins," she said. Draco laughed, remembering all the times that he'd had a run-in with them himself. His smile fell from his face when he remembered that one of them had been killed over 10 years ago.
Minerva seemed to follow his train of thought.
"Fred Weasley was a good man," she said, a sigh in her voice. From what Draco knew, he had been, and he lamented that he was too much of a purist when he was younger to have gotten to know Fred. Regret made his heart tighten painfully.
"We're going to pass the memorial on the way up to the school. Would you like to stop there for a moment?" he asked. Minerva hummed her agreement, grip tightening on his arm. He reached up and laid his hand over hers, hoping it was a comfort to her, rather than an annoyance. He smiled when she sighed quietly, almost sounding content. Comfort, then.
They continued in comfortable silence, the sound of their footsteps hitting the cobblestone the only thing between them as they walked to the Battle of Hogwarts memorial. Draco couldn't stop himself from thinking back to that day and to the days that followed—the trials, Lucius sentenced to life in Azkaban, being under house arrest when Aunt Andromeda visited them with Teddy in tow, returning to Hogwarts for his eighth year…
"Don't think so hard, Draco, it'll only make your night worse," Minerva said with a squeeze of his arm. His lip quirked up slightly.
"You're right, as always," he said.
"You'll do well to remember that, too," she said, nudging him teasingly with her elbow. He grinned and shook his head in amusement, coming to a stop before the memorial.
They'd somehow made their way to it, just inside the gates of Hogwarts, without Draco really realizing it. It was beautiful, all carved marble, a statue of the castle on the night of the battle. A plaque was placed in front that listed the names of the fallen. Above the names was the quote, "The song is ended, but the melody lingers on." Naturally, Dumbledore's portrait had chosen the quote when he was asked if he had an opinion.
Fog hung close to the ground, making it look as though the memorial was floating a few feet off the ground, but the towers rose up high above Draco's head. It was magnificent, the best way they could've remembered the Battle, but Draco wasn't focused on the statue itself. His eyes were glued to the plaque of names.
Draco could see Vincent's name, one of the first on the list, and he shut his eyes against the memories of Fiendfyre and Vincent's screams. It had been 12 years since the war, but it was still hard for Draco to walk on the seventh floor corridor because of those memories.
Minerva's hand tightened on his bicep as they stood there. She let out a shaky breath, obviously remembering her own traumas and losses, the sound making Draco's heart clench painfully for her. He reached up and laced his fingers with Minerva's, squeezing gently. She squeezed back after a second, their wedding bands catching on each other's, but he didn't pull his hand away.
A lump settled in his throat, his vision blurring slightly. Astoria stood exactly in this spot every time she visited the memorial. He could almost see her on the day the memorial was opened for visitors, her dark brown hair flowing in a gust of wind, dressed in all black for the occasion.
Minerva cleared her throat and gestured for them to continue walking. He gave her a grateful smile that she returned as they continued. Trust Minerva to always be there to stop his thoughts from spiraling. He hesitated before opening his mouth.
"What was your husband's name?" he asked eventually, hoping that the question wasn't unwelcomed. He looked down at her and caught a glance at the small smile on her face, probably at whatever memory had crossed her mind.
He quickly looked away, feeling a horrible pang of jealousy over her ability to smile at the memories rather than being sad. It was awful, and Draco reprimanded himself for it. Minerva had had longer to grieve and move on from her husband's death.
"Elphinstone. He proposed to me so many times, and I turned him down every time," she said fondly, pulling him back to the present.
"Almost every time," Draco corrected, and Minerva laughed a little, a sound like delicate wind chimes clinking in a breeze. Draco was struck with the thought that he much preferred her laughing than stern-faced and serious. He was grateful for accepting her offer to teach potions all those years ago, for more reasons than one.
"Yes, almost," she said, eyes glimmering in happiness as they met his own. He broke the gaze first, going back to looking at the ground, suddenly terrified of the leap his heart gave at the weight of Minerva's hand on his arm. He hadn't felt that in years, but it was very different now than it had been—so much had changed, for the good and the bad.
They fell into silence again, walking past Hagrid's hut, up to the doors of the castle. He stepped away from Minerva for a moment to open the doors,
"I'm sorry about Astoria, Draco. She was a great wife, a great mother," Minerva said gently. Draco took in a sharp breath at the sound of her name.
"I know," he said simply. He held out his arm for Minerva to grab again. Instead of grabbing his bicep, she reached for his hand, staring at him expectantly. He blinked in surprise for a moment before allowing for his fingers to slip between her small, soft ones. He was grateful for her, for her softness and straightforward company. He understood suddenly that it had been a while for her since she'd felt her heart leap because of someone else, too.
"I wouldn't be able to do this with anyone else," he said, not sure where the words came from, but feeling as though he had to say them. Minerva hummed.
"I know." She didn't have to say anything else, not really, because Draco knew she really did know. He was sure that she was still mourning the loss of Elphinstone, just as he mourned Astoria. He liked to think that somewhere, wherever they were, they understood as well.
They walked together slowly, hand-in-hand, to her office, silence stretching between them like a blanket. She flicked her wand once they stepped off the staircase, teapot springing to life, tea starting to brew immediately. She led him into her sleeping quarters with a reassuring smile, to two comfortable armchairs beside a window overlooking the grounds. They sat there in silence, drinking tea, hands connected between them as they took in the view of the Black Lake and Forbidden Forest.
He had no words to say, feeling no rush to fill the quiet between them, because he understood that comfort didn't always need a voice. It was there in the small things, like the way Minerva rubbed patterns on the back of his hand, the way the tea warmed him from the inside, the sight of the fog hiding some of the trees, and the sound of Minerva's easy breaths.
If Draco listened very carefully, he could almost hear wind chimes clinking, as if on the porch of a home where a man once loved a woman very much.
Minerva squeezed his hand and—suddenly—Draco was finally, finally here.