Aside from the recurring nightmares, Draco lived a good life.
He worked painstakingly long hours as an auror, specializing heavily in the investigation aspects of criminal cases, with his colleagues joking that he wouldn't leave the office even if he had a wand to his head. He sent his mother once a week, visiting her for lunch twice a month. His mortgage was paid, food on the table any time that he wanted, and kept decent communication with his friends from school. To the outward eye, Draco wasn't just living a charmed life, he was living a happy life. Anybody who was in his immediate circle though could see that he had changed from the arrogant, boisterous young adult he was before the ending of the war 8 years prior.
As he lay in bed, eyes screwed shut in what could only be described as agony, Draco re-lived the life that he wished he had never set foot into. Images of his friends fighting to death on the grounds as bits of ash floated through the air played over and over, the bodies of his classmates across the grounds. Their eyes were never closed; glassy and staring straight ahead. It wasn't until all these years later that the knowledge that they were just kids slipped into place. These were standard for his nightmares. As the scene changed, he watched in third person as Hermione Granger's body writhed on the ground in agony, his aunt delighted in her suffering. The screams were something that could bring a chill down his spine to this day, and sometimes induce nausea. Sweat and blood clung to her brow, and she could hear the crack of bones as they painfully ground against one another. When he awoke, gasping for air and soaked in cold sweat, all that he felt in his bones was regret. He had lived like this for 8 years, and it didn't get a shred easier as he got older. Sometimes, the nightmares felt as though he was floating through fog; dulled, slow, able to be fought off. For most though, it was like sticking his head directly into a cauldron of pensive, unable to pull away even for a moment.
As Draco peeled himself from the soaked sheets, wrinkling his nose in disgust, he pushed his damp hair back and thought of what to do. A cursory glance at his clock showed that it was well past 2 in the morning, and there was no use in trying to sleep at this point. Instead, he picked up a small box that lived in his dresser, filled with photos and memories from the years. They ranged from things as simple as photos of him and his mother, to memorabilia that his friends had sent him. On the top of the stack lay the newest photo, of his long-time childhood friend and ex girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had changed from the greasy, aggressive snob that she had once been into someone who looked like they could model every single day of their life. She grew into her features, her face that was once described as being "flat" sharpening out into high cheekbones and a button nose. Out of all of his friends, she had remained the closest, and they often exchanged snap shots of their life to each other. He grinned at the photo of her, her eyes bright and skin flushed, likely from the bottle of firewhisky she held in her grasp. The one thing that he could never get over, however, was her profession. Pansy Parkinson had grown from the uppity, cold girl who everyone swore would be involved in politics, turned into a girl that was paid to be the life of a party: an exotic dancer and sex worker.
Draco didn't pry too much. It wasn't that he didn't care, or was prudish, but that this was a girl he grew up with, and even when he saw pictures of living what she called "her best life", he couldn't forget the booger eating 10 year old he knew stepping onto platform 9 ¾ decades ago. What he did know was that she was paid well and made good money doing what she did. Exotic dancing wasn't her only area of work, and she dabbled into photographs (sold at high rates) and escort work. He wasn't a stranger to this world; sex work was legal,wasn't the taboo that it was 10 years ago, and he was the last person to be judging. Draco knew only the facts: she had been working at The Chateau for two years, offered a selection of services, and was fiercely private about her co-workers and clientele.
His fingers ran along the edges of the photo, a small smile tugging at his cheeks and causing the corners of his eyes to crease. Of all the people who deserved to be happy after the shitshow of a war, Pansy was the one. Something caught his eye in this particular photo, a detail he hadn't noticed before. While Pansy was obviously the main focus, a girl stood in the back of the shot, a sense of deja-vu pouring over his mind. Something about this girl was familiar, not from her outfit, but from her stance. The woman stood with her back to the camera, shoulders square and her high-heeled clad feet spread, black pants hugging her slender frame. Movement gave him partial clues to the identity of this mystery woman, someone he had not paid any mind to in the many times he had seen her in the background of shots with Pansy. Maybe it was the nightmare fresh in his mind, or the concentration, but it finally came together who this woman was. The curly brown hair that hung wildly into the small of her back was undeniable, and after 8 years, Draco Malfoy finally realized where Hermione Granger had been all of these years.
Rubbing his palms over his lids in disbelief, he nearly gawked at the image; after all this time, he hadn't even realized who the woman was; or even noticed her to begin with. The curls hadn't been smoothed in the slightest, and in fact, they appeared to have grown wilder and bouncier, as if she had embraced the textures. A thick flogger hung from her left hip, almost blending in with the leather had it not wound on its own; magic really was one hell of a thing, and it waved slyly to whoever was out of the shot of the camera. This was not real; this was not happening, and he couldn't help but laugh as the nervous energy bubbled through his chest and up to the knot that was quickly forming in his throat. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he zoomed in on the edges of the photo and snapped a quick photo. "Call me" was all the text he sent to Parkinson read.
o-o-o-o
It took Pansy a few hours to respond, and while he anxiously waited, he went about his business making his morning tea. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep, and the mountain of paperwork on his desk from a drug trafficking case wasn't simply going to vanish (no matter how much he wished it would; there were more important crimes out there than some idiots selling Buffalo Brain elixir). The harsh sound of ringing cut through the whistle of the kettle, and he snatched his phone quickly.
He could barely get a word in, as Pansy was already screeching at him over the music he heard in the background. "What's got your panties in a wad at 2:30, Malfoy?" He could hear her laughing, likely at another girl in the club; it just made him more irritated. "Cut the shit, Pansy, you know why I called". A huff on the other line, and the music was starting to fade a bit. She must be going somewhere quieter. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You can't send a picture like that with no context and expect me to drop what I'm doing," he could hear the smugness in her tone as she finished, "some of us actually have to work instead of being a desk jockey." While he knew it was in good fun, the comment did dig at his insecurity. This was a fight for another day. "Does Hermione Granger work at the Chateau?"
She answered quickly, too quickly, and there was no longer any background noise except for some faint words echoed on the other line. "I have no idea what you're talking about". Draco gritted his teeth, balancing his phone on his shoulder to pour steaming liquid into his mug. "Don't fucking lie to me right now, Pansy, or I swear to God-" Her deep laugh sounded on the other line. "Ooooh, I like when you threaten me! What are you gonna do, treat me like a very bad girl?". Discomfort pierced through him, she knew how to push all his buttons. Everything was innuendo for her, fair game, and while the idea of a night with the "Vixen" as she called herself was tempting, she would always just be his Pansy Parkinson, nothing more. "I'm not in the mood, god dammit! Just fucking answer the question!" He spat into the phone.
Silence met him, for about 10 seconds. The voices in the background also seemed to lull and he hoped she wasn't on speaker. Her voice returned to its normal timber, almost a little flat. "I cannot give information about the members here. I will lose my job, and I sure as fuck won't lose it because YOU are nosy." His pale fingers gripped the teacup a bit harder, though he slowed his breathing. "Can you just tell me if I'm right? For fuck's sake Pansy, the girl all but dropped off the face of the Earth. You can't expect me to just forget her or the Golden Trio after- " he stopped himself, almost finishing after all we've been through. They didn't owe him anything.
"Leave it alone, Draco. Please. She doesn't need you barging into her life and ruining things like a twat."
The line went dead, and Draco was left to stare once more at the leather-clad Hermione Granger, the whip beckoning him to make a visit to the Chateau. At a surface level, he didn't know why he wanted to see this ordeal in person. Maybe it was the absurdity of the prudish woman he once knew working alongside his boisterous best friend. Subconsciously though, it was clear what he wanted: Redemption. A chance to clear the weight off his shoulders. An opportunity to one day rid him of the nightmares that came like clockwork every single night.
(Hi friends! I originally published this story on my other account, PatientPixie. I cannot remember the password for the account or email so I am having to republish on my main account, with some edits of course :) Excited to get this story going again!)
