Chapter 11: Draco

Draco Malfoy was a solitary sort of person. For all that he had been acquitted of all his war crimes, for his crucial spying role, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs of the world had never really forgiven him. Nor would they ever truly trust the man who had once been so cruel, as if blood and the past were more important than the present. Sometimes, Draco found it ironic, how much even the most egalitarian people judged on blood terms.

But Draco didn't really mind. He had always preferred his solitude, even as a child, though perhaps he had had no choice. And he could think of little worse than to be considered one of the Gryffindorks. Not, he thought snidely to himself, that there were many of them left, now – the war had decimated both sides equally, and it had taken years for Wizarding Britain to begin to recover. Even now, with the first post-war generation soon to overflow Hogwarts, and increased immigration under the changed Security laws, it would be generations before they reached their past levels of population and prosperity.

At least, he thought to himself, Minister Zabini's new legislation was helping to prevent the creation of another Riddle. It had been a bit of a surprise to the community when a young Slytherin was elected, but he had certainly done an excellent job so far. Though perhaps they had Potter to thank for that – in the first few months after the war, before he left forever, he had not only told the world the story of Tom Riddle, but had lead the fight against such anti-slytherin discrimination. And Draco would always be grateful for Potter's defence of his godfather, despite the hatred between the two men.

Obstinately, he tried to turn his mind from the other wizard. But with his mother away, and his few friends busy with their own jobs, he had little else left but thought. And, he began to realise, Harry Potter had always been interwoven into his memories, even when… no, even though he hated him.

Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't betrayed the other's location to the headmistress. It would certainly have made her happy, and Draco had always been fond of the old transfiguration professor, who had determinedly supported he and Severus against the parents in those early days. And, more, it would hurt Potter, something he had spent his entire life trying to do.

And yet, for some reason, he held his tongue. When Tracy asked why he had returned so early, he avoided the questions, or said something vague about muggles or lesson plans. He threw himself into his work and, within a week or so, his lessons were planned and he had begun to search for boggarts, anything to occupy his mind and time. Everything was going so well…

And yet, something was missing. And, as the days went by, he grew more and more unsatisfied.

Draco had been home for two weeks, now, but there had been no change. And, though they would never admit so unSlytherin a feeling, they were beginning to worry about their friend. Ever since he had returned from that holiday, he had been acting strangely discontent, as if he had discovered something essential there. But what could it be? It wasn't as if he liked muggles suddenly, he had made that quite clear. And he still looked down on the 'plebeians' and avoided nature and did everything that Draco Malfoy had always done, with the same attitude he had always had.

But it was there, hiding beneath his affectations and pretensions – a feeling of dissatisfaction, or even unhappiness. He was working too hard… or much harder than he usually did, as he had ever been slightly lazy. He forgot their meetings, when he had always been so punctual and, when they did see him, he had stopped talking about himself and started listening, which had several times stunned Tracy into silence.

Severus had actually seen him make a mistake in his brewing, something that hadn't happened since his sixth year, though the other man was quick enough to realise and fix it. And, for the first time, his flawless appearance was marred by the presence of dark bags under his tired-looking eyes, as if he had stopped sleeping correctly.

And, he had stopped flying.

Yes, they all agreed, there was something very wrong with Draco Malfoy. But what could they do? He steadfastly resisted all attempts to discuss his holiday, and all their spying and cunning plans revealed little to nothing. He hadn't brought any souvenirs with him, or photos, though that was hardly surprising, and he never wrote anyone, though he had burnt several pieces of parchment over the weeks. Tracy was beginning to get disheartened.

Finally, Severus succeeded in doing what the younger Slytherins couldn't. Apparating to Draco's mansion, he found the other man staring dully at a blank sheet of parchment, a cup of coffee growing cold beside his hand. Forcing him to his feet, he sent the other man to shower and dress, before apparating him to the restaurant, where the others had waited for almost an hour.

"What was he doing, Severus?" Tracy enquired, touching his sleeve with he left hand.

"Nothing," Severus replied laconically.

"What do you mean, nothing?" she exclaimed. "We always meet here tonight, for ten years now, and you're saying he was just doing nothing?"

"I am here, you know," Draco interjected, grumbling.

Raising an eyebrow, Blaise replied, "It speaks!" with a faked astonished look on his face. "We were beginning to think you had joined the living dead, Draco."

Looking slightly abashed, Draco took his seat by the others, as each ordered their meals, and slowly they began to draw Draco into conversation. He still refused to talk about his vacation, but the four Slytherins were content to reminisce on past times, and to discuss the current state of the Wizarding world. Severus was beginning to indicate a desire to retire from Hogwarts and return to potions research, as soon as he could find a suitable replacement, while Blaise was considering getting the ministry to subsidise Hogwarts' fees for the lesser off, something which gathered Draco a glare when he snorted audibly at the idea.

Then, eventually, as the conversation turned, Blaise brought up Draco's favourite topic, something certain to get the other man talking like he used to. "Can you believe," he said idly, lifting his glass slightly, "That all around us, wizards are celebrating Harry Potter Day?"

"Ten years since the war," Tracy added, smiling. "Though I still can't believe you named it after that Gryffindor, minister."

"What could I do?" Blaise asked, repeating the old question. "I had to make the proles happy, if I was going to consolidate my position. And some of them are still afraid to speak Voldemort's name."

This was the part where Draco would jump in, ranting about how Potter got all these accolades that he shouldn't, and so on… but as they glanced at him expectantly, he simply sighed quietly and muttered a confirmation, eyes glazing as he seemed to drift into his own thoughts.

The three others exchanged significant glances.

"I mean," Blaise stressed, taking Draco's role to draw him in, "that they are celebrating how that Gryffindork Hero defeated the Evil Slytherin Menace, and single-handedly saved us all. It's not that I'm ungrateful for his role in the war, I'm incredibly glad to have survived, and he certainly helped us afterwards, too. But it's a bit ridiculous, all this hero worship, when he wasn't even strong enough to stay and help rebuild…" he trailed off, bewildered, as Draco got to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Draco began, shocking them all, as Malfoys never apologise, "But I was supposed to meet someone tonight."

And without another word, he apparated away, leaving his confused friends staring at the empty chair.

"Well," Blaise said, articulating their thoughts, "That was strange."