Chapter Five: Demons
Now
Draco brushed a sprinkling of ashes from the sleeve of his suit jacket as he stepped out of the fireplace, turning to offer a hand to Astoria, who was just a moment later in stepping out after him. The low glow of the candlelight in the sitting room they had arrived at flickered, casting a mix of shadows and warm light across her soft features.
She gave him a shy smile as her hand lingered in his just a moment longer than necessary.
He broke the contact first.
As he always did.
A flicker of doubt flashed across her perfect features before she skillfully mastered her expression once again. She had grown up surrounded by the wizarding wealthy, like he, and she understood the importance of being in control of every aspect of oneself, also like him.
On paper, Astoria Greengrass was a perfect match for him.
She was from a well-respected pureblood family, who had somehow managed to escape aligning themselves with Voldemort, without repercussions. She was intelligent, polite, and well informed. She understood proper etiquette and manners, how to handle herself in nearly any situation – how to deal with the dragons that lurked and slithered throughout the wizarding elite, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness.
And she was beautiful, truly. Her nearly onyx, brunette hair fell in soft, sleek waves down her back to stop at the small sway at the bottom of her spine. Her brown eyes were wide, and round. The color of freshly tilled soil in the spring. Her voice was like a lilting song – it drew you in and made you want to hear more and more and more of it. A pleasant, floral scent seemed to float after her as she moved, drawing most men to her wherever she went.
On paper, she truly was perfect. In every meaning of the word.
It didn't matter, though.
He preferred wild, untamed curls he could bury his hands and face in.
He preferred flecks of gold in his brown eyes, a warmth and determination that reflected the ferocity of a wild lion.
He preferred a voice that melted like honey, dripping over his skin and sticking to him long after it was gone.
He preferred the smell of leather and fresh pages, reminiscent of exciting worlds and heroes that he could never hope to emulate.
He didn't want "perfect".
But he couldn't have what he wanted.
So for the time being, he could try to settle.
He gave a forced smile to Astoria. She didn't indicate she could see through the facade, but he didn't doubt that she knew.
Everyone knew about his and Hermione's brief romance.
Not the details of what went on at the manor.
But, afterwards. How hard he had fought for her in the battle. The two of them wrapped up in each other in the middle of the chaos.
That they were nearly inseparable for the few months following.
They had been photographed with each other too many times to count, plastered across the pages of every paper and tabloid. The golden girl who had helped turn the tide of the war, and the disgraced prince of the death eaters. She had fallen into fame overnight for her bravery and courage, her intelligence and strength. He had fallen into infamy from his ties to the Malfoy name and his actions done on behalf of the wrong side of the war.
Hermione had tried to tell anyone who would listen of what he had done for her and her friends. She had desperately told everyone she could that he had been brave and good. Most didn't outright argue with her, of course. They nodded politely and quoted her correctly in the printed interviews.
But it didn't matter.
He was too tainted. Too stained.
Her beautiful, golden light couldn't get rid of the shadows that shrouded him.
If anything, his darkness dimmed her shine. Cast a black, looming cloud over her that threatened to storm and rage and destroy any bit of sunshine that managed to push through.
No, he couldn't have what he wanted.
He excused himself for just a moment, leaving Astoria with Bipsy in the sitting room for tea and dessert, promising to return in just a moment.
He walked briskly through the halls of his home towards his room, doing his best to shove the memories of Hermione walking beside him, to the back of his mind. He was intending only to throw his jacket and tie on the bed, then return to the sitting room, but he froze in the doorway when he saw the writing scrawled across the piece of paper sitting atop his nightstand, the ripped edge fluttering softly in the breeze from the open window he had forgotten to close earlier.
He didn't move for a moment. Two.
He hadn't seen any writing on that parchment in months.
When his shock finally faded enough for him to move, he did so slowly, creeping towards his nightstand like it would attack, until he stood right next to it, staring down at the familiar looping scrawl he had come to know as well as his own.
This one seems like a better fit for you.
He stared at the words.
Then he let out a snort that turned into a chuckle.
He grabbed the nearby quill and scrawled a quick note back.
I wasn't aware I needed your approval for who I took to dinner.
Both lines of writing disappeared, melting into the parchment until it was again blank. He waited to see if a response appeared and when it didn't, he reminded himself he had a guest waiting for him.
If Hermione wanted to respond, she would. He couldn't sit around like a lovesick first year waiting for her to give him a moment of her attention.
He slipped off his jacket, tossing it across his bed before he undid his tie, admittedly making it take a bit longer than usual as he stole glances at the parchment, hoping he might glimpse another bit of her writing.
He didn't.
And when he couldn't reasonably draw out his time in the room any longer, he finally began making his way back to Astoria.
Though he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to his nightstand, hoping to find an answer from her.
The notes had started before they had broken up. Once Hermione had become so busy she barely had any free time to see him, she had come up with this ingenious solution. The idea had partially come from Voldemort's diary, the one that Ginny Weasley had fallen prey to their second year. Hermione had come across it when she was helping clean up Hogwarts, in the headmaster's office. Apparently, Snape hadn't thrown it out after Dumbledore's passing.
It was destroyed wholly, now.
Just in case, Potter had said as he watched the thing go up in flames.
Draco had suspected he just wanted to destroy any trace of the man who had murdered his parents, and ruined countless other lives.
But, when Hermione had found it, her brilliant mind had lighted on the idea. She combined a protean charm and a handful others inspired by the diary, and had enchanted a piece of parchment which she then ripped in two and gave half of to Draco. It allowed the two of them to communicate while apart and had made the long days while separated fundamentally easier.
One of them simply needed to write something on the paper, and it would appear on the other half belonging to the other. Once the other person responded, both responses would disappear, allowing for the parchment to be used indefinitely.
Initially, they had been writing to each other constantly.
When they broke up, it slowed. They had tried to stay close friends, and initially continued to talk regularly, avoiding any topics that might stray towards discussion of their romantic lives outside of each other.
But as time passed, and they saw each other less, the correspondence had become rare, really only being used for updates on anything important or big.
Why she had decided to write tonight, he had no idea.
But he didn't really care why. He'd take what he could get with Hermione.
Even if it was just a teasing remark every few months.
Especially if it was a teasing remark. It made things feel like they had when they were good, if only for a brief flash of time.
He shook his head, clearing it of all thoughts of a certain tenacious Gryffindor as he stepped back into the sitting room to find his mother sitting in a chair next to Astoria.
They were chatting familiarly, discussing some mutual family friend and only paused once Draco was settling himself into the seat on the other side of his date.
"Draco! I saw Astoria here sitting all by herself and decided to keep her company until you returned." His mother rose from her seat, looking on the surface as beautiful and put together as she always did, though Draco could tell from her weary eyes and the almost imperceptible sluggishness in her movements that she was sleeping as little as he was, struggling just as much as well. He smiled at his mother, who squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she walked by him on her way out of the room.
"You seem close with your mother." Astoria was staring at the open door his mother had just left through.
He shrugged. "We weren't always." Draco took a deep breath and blew it out. He didn't need to get into it with her. He couldn't handle the pity he knew would be shining on her face if he went into detail about the kinds of things his father did. The kind of man he was. "We grew closer more recently."
"I think it's nice."
"Thank you."
The silence grew between them.
Perfect, he reminded himself. She was perfect. He should at least try to make an effort.
"I know that you work with your family's organizations. Do you enjoy working so closely with them?"
"Oh, yes. I'm very fortunate in that aspect. I enjoy what I do and I'm grateful I get to work with family I get along well with."
"That is very fortunate."
Another awkward pause.
"I'm so sorry, Draco. I don't believe I caught what you're doing these days, work wise?"
Draco gave an involuntary grimace that he tried to quickly turn into a vague smile.
"I don't think I said, I apologize. I'm in between positions right now. I'm working on deciding what I'd like to do, and finding a good fit for myself."
It's not that Draco hadn't been trying to find something to do. The manor was so large and empty that spending too much time here simply reminded him of just how alone he and his mother were. But, Draco had gone to interview after interview and everytime the answer was the same.
As soon as they realized who he was, the positions were mysteriously filled.
But she didn't need to know that many people didn't want to hire anyone with his family name. She didn't need to know just how badly his father had fucked his family with his actions during the war and just how far they had fallen.
Just how badly he had fucked himself and his mother as well with his own actions throughout the years.
Maybe if he had realized earlier just how shitty his family's views were, maybe if he had tried in his years at Hogwarts to be a better person, it would have made a difference. People like Blaise and Theo, who had kept their heads down while at Hogwarts despite their families also being heavily involved in the pureblood supremacy cause, hadn't encountered the same issues Draco had. Their classmates had noticed that they weren't so loud about their beliefs, weren't as blatant as Draco had stupidly been, and their classmates told their families who were involved in the ministry and any other number of professions.
But Draco… well he had exerted his power over his classmates every chance he had been given. He had been an egotistical, selfish prat who was so obsessed with image and putting others down to get ahead that he could never see the bigger picture until it was too late.
He knew this.
He knew he had been wrong.
But that didn't matter to those who didn't know him.
Of course, it was still hard for many of them to believe that he had truly changed.
And that was his problem to deal with, no one else's.
No. Astoria didn't need to know any of that.
She continued the conversation, oblivious of the direction of his thoughts as she did. "Well, I hope you're able to find a good fit soon. If ever you're interested in a non-profit career, I'd be happy to speak with my family."
"Thank you, Astoria. I will keep that in mind."
She smiled, a dazzling, beautiful thing that would have had many wizards melting into a puddle before her.
He felt as cold as the breeze whispering against the windows.
~.~.~
Astoria stayed only a little while longer, citing an early start the next morning and excusing herself gracefully, as she did everything.
He didn't know if he believed she really did have an early start, or if she disliked the awkward silences in between meaningless small talk as much as he did.
"How was the rest of your date?"
He glanced up at his mother from where he was sitting in a plush armchair in the library.
He shrugged. "It was fine."
"She left early."
His mother moved into the room fully, coming to sit next to him as he sighed.
"She has things to do in the morning."
"Ah."
His mother fell into silence, comfortable this time unlike the earlier tense moments he experienced with Astoria. Her gaze was tired, and blank, as if she weren't fully there. He knew the feeling well. How many sleepless nights had he experienced, only to wander around the next day like one of the inferi? Glassy-eyed and unable to focus, like he was one of the walking dead?
"When was the last time you slept?"
Her gaze drifted to his, but he saw a hint of her familiar fire blazing through the fog of fatigue. "When was the last time you slept?" She snapped back. He opened his mouth to retort but closed it again almost immediately. He didn't have a leg to stand on with his accusation considering how much sleep he was actually getting these days. Her gaze softened and she laid a gentle hand atop one of his own. "It seems like we both need to do a better job of managing our demons…"
He sighed, memories of the nightmares he regularly experienced now flashing through his mind. They typically centered around his father somehow escaping Azkaban and exacting his revenge upon his mother and Hermione, forcing him to watch.
Demons, indeed.
He blew out a breath, placing his other hand on his mothers and squeezing softly.
"It would seem so."
He began to turn away, but his gaze snagged on a familiar roll of parchment peeking out of a pocket of his mother's robe.
"Is that Andromeda's letter?"
Her features tightened and she subtly pulled her hand away, folding both her hands on her lap as she gave a small shrug.
"You still haven't answered her?"
His mother's eyes closed and she let out another sigh as she shook her head no before saying, so quiet Draco could barely hear, "I wouldn't know where to begin. I don't deserve a relationship with her. Too much has happened… I've done too much that's unforgivable."
"She clearly doesn't feel that way if she's trying," Draco responded gently.
She shook her head despairingly, "For Merlin's sake, Draco, our family helped the wizard who killed her husband. Our other sister killed her daughter, given the opportunity because of our assistance to the Dark Lord. We've helped in taking everything from her. I… I can't."
He fell silent as he watched a single tear track down his mother's porcelain cheek.
He hated it. Hated the position they were in. Hated that she had no one other than him and still felt she didn't deserve the one person who was trying to be there for her.
But, he understood.
She wasn't the only one who was refusing a relationship with a good person because they felt as though they didn't deserve it. Weren't worthy.
They truly were two miserable peas in a horrible, lonely pod.