Written for the Magic Begins From Within Flash Fest Challenge on Dumbledore's Armada.
My prompt was 'Reach out to an old friend'.
Many Thanks to my beta, KrysKrossZee for their time.
Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.
Standing outside the clean, but uninteresting looking block of muggle flats, Draco wondered for perhaps the tenth time in the past hour what could have possibly gotten into him when he decided to send that owl. He wasn't experiencing regret so much as the terrifying sense of anticipation that accompanied most momentous occasions when one didn't have any idea of how they might end, but the prospect of a potentially negative experience definitely had him second-guessing himself.
He paced, running his hand through his hair so many times that its unkempt state would make even Potter look tidy. Anxiety was far from a new feeling in his repertoire, it just wasn't as frequently visited these days. Being so far removed from a war that had nearly killed him had the advantage of making most normal daily worries seem somewhat trivial to him. Then again, he wasn't exactly in an every-day kind of situation.
He had concluded days ago that there were two likely ways to consider the invitation he had received in return to his original missive. On the one hand, this man had been a friend to him, once, and might actually relish the opportunity to catch up after years without contact. But on the other hand, Draco had never been a particularly good friend to him in return, and for that, he may have grievances. It was perhaps best to accept he might deserve whatever reception he received and get it over with.
Banishing his concerns to the recesses of his occluded mind, he pulled open the front door and walked with purpose toward the large board full of buttons on the wall. He ran his finger down the list of names, pausing when he found the one he was looking for, reading it over several times, carefully, as though the letters might make the man familiar to him again somehow.
'Goyle, G.'
His jittery nerves attacked, threatening to send him running from the building, but with Gryffindor bravado borrowed from his wife and the pep talk she had given him before he came, he pushed the button neatly labelled 302 before he could sabotage himself. He waited, tapping the toe of his trainer against the worn carpet in a futile attempt to rid himself of the excess energy pulsing through him. The time passing seemed to set him in a strange kind of trance where everything around him slowed to a near-stop.
A loud buzzer sounded, making him jump. Draco grabbed for the door handle and quickly let himself in, opting for the three flights of stairs up to the flat. No matter how many times Hermione insisted muggle lifts were perfectly safe, he could never quite shake the fear of the equipment failing and causing him to plummet to his death somewhere he couldn't use magic. Besides, she'd been telling him he should get more exercise lately, something about resolutions for the New Year and wizards letting magical travel make them lazy and out of shape. It was as good an excuse as any other.
The stairs were conquered surprisingly quickly, leaving Draco feeling far too disappointed about something he should have been glad for. The sight of the number plate on the door before him made him wish he could start again from the bottom. It made him wish he could start again from the year 1991 and be a better friend, a better person, rather than finding himself in the present circumstances.
He raised his hand to knock but the door swung open before he could make contact. Draco looked up, taking in the unreadable face of the man before him. His body filled the frame of the small entrance, but he looked leaner than he had been at the end of the war and a certain ease poured off him in waves. It was obvious he was no longer a misguided teenage boy with a stifled conscience.
"Greg…"
"Malfoy."
The word sounded like a dismissal and Draco's shoulders dropped as his eyes automatically turned down to the tips of his shoes.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded, I'll-"
"Why don't you come in." Goyle's imposing figure stepped to the side as his arm gestured vaguely at the space behind him. His tone brokered no argument. There was nothing for it, Draco would have to go inside.
He shuffled past his former friend and hurriedly slipped off his shoes, leaving them on the mat by the inside wall. Hesitating, he waited for Goyle to move past before following him into a tidy sitting room and taking a seat on the couch the man indicated to him with a tilt of his head before dropping into a worn-looking armchair himself.
They stared at each other. Draco would have probably felt awkward if it wasn't for the fact that he felt terribly uncomfortable instead. Goyle's intense expression was unmoving and unchanging for several tense minutes, until he leaned forward in his chair and a glimpse of open emotion flashed across his face.
"You abandoned me."
There was so much pain in the statement that Draco reeled back in shock. It took only a moment's reflection for him to recognize the words as true. After the war, when he was given a second chance, he had run from his former life and the people in it without a backwards glance. He still wasn't certain if it was an attempt at self-preservation or an irrational fear of rejection that had motivated him, but regardless of the reasons, he hadn't maintained any of those connections.
They should have been friendships, he thought to himself, and in another life, they might have been. As things stood back then, ten years ago, he had only thought of them as connections and not a single one of them had been truly meaningful. They had all tied him to a past he desperately needed to break ties with.
Ten years could feel like a lifetime. He hadn't needed to suffer through that time alone, he'd had the benefit of the single best thing to ever happen to him to help carry him through. Somehow, she had come with a built-in support network intent on adopting and supporting him. He had never even spared a thought for Goyle, who had therefore lost his two closest acquaintances and his last surviving parent all at once on the night of the final battle.
"I did. I'm sorry." Draco barely registered the shock on Goyle's face before continuing his thought. "You deserved a better friend."
He wanted to say more, but the words seemed to lodge in his throat and he swallowed compulsively, trying to calm himself.
Goyle sat back in silence and brought his hands to rest together in front of him, letting several thoughtful minutes pass before speaking again.
"It seems, maybe, you've become the kind of person who might be a better friend now," he said slowly. "We could try again."
Draco shifted in his seat, trying to conceal his surprise. The prospect of a genuine friendship with the man across from him was more appealing than he would have thought it might be in the past.
He nodded.
There was something enticing about the idea of them getting to know someone without having to worry about exposing his past flaws and mistakes accidentally. Everything was already on the table. Except, of course, the ten years they had spent apart which could easily make or break their camaraderie depending on the kind of person Goyle had become. So many things had changed for Draco in the time they hadn't been acquainted.
"I don't believe in the pureblood nonsense anymore, you need to know that," Draco rushed out, before steeling his nerves and continuing. "I won't tolerate it from anyone I associate with, to be honest."
Greg smiled cautiously. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I live surrounded by Muggles, mate. I even work with them. Hardly use my magic at all these days. You won't need to convince me." He blushed then and brought a hand up to the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "My girlfriend's a muggle, actually."
"You should bring her for dinner sometime, my wife would be thrilled to meet her." Draco grinned. "You might have heard of her, Hermione Granger?"
Greg let out a surprised snort of laughter. "That, my friend, is a story I have to hear."