Wilfully Chapter 11, a harry potter fanfic

Hello, my wonderful readers!

I've just noticed that this story now has over a hundred reviews and I want to thank all of you for your support. This (pretty long) chapter is for all of you! :)

I hope you enjoy it!

WILFULLY: CHAPTER 11

For Draco Malfoy, this was turning out to be one of those weeks where every confrontation that he absolutely did not want to happen, happened.

Whoever was up there in the heavens writing his fate, deserved a special 'fuck you' for all the trouble he was putting him through.

It was way past midnight by the time Draco returned home. He stumbled into his bedroom, nearly blind by the headache that had been plaguing him for a while now, like a dozen stallions thundering inside his skull. But then again, nearly nine hours of interrogation by those thrice-damned Aurors would do that to anyone.

Potter, that wretched, noble fool, had been there the whole time, spurting questions over and over again, while Draco sat in that uncomfortably hard chair, praying to Merlin for strength to not bash the Great Hero's head into a wall. The other Aurors – Nigel Wolpert and Katie Bell, who probably hadn't forgotten that one time when he had nearly killed her by accident back at Hogwarts – were more than willing to vilify him, and so was Weaselbee, who had made a short but very unwelcome cameo in the interrogation room.

Draco was not sure whether the Aurors had spiked his water with Veritaserum, but he was not much concerned about it; the truth serum was limited by what the drinker's believed the truth to be, and one of the first things his Aunt Bellatrix had taught him was to alter his own perception of truth in times of need. Besides, he happened to be an exceptional Occlumens – good enough to even keep the Dark Lord at bay – and he could hence resist the effects of Veritaserum with relative ease.

The lack of evidence against him had left the Ministry with no option but to let him go in the end. All this unnecessary trouble, only because Potter was a jealous bastard.

Jealous.

Ginevra.

Fuck.

She had seemed pretty worried when he had been taken to the Ministry. No doubt she would show up in his room in the dead of the night once she found out that he was back home. Her concern was touching, but her appearance was something that he absolutely did not want. He could very much do without any conversation for a while.

He grabbed a piece of parchment from his coffee table and scribbled a quick note to her (All is well. Don't worry. I'll see you later. – DM) and had Yugo owl it. He almost asked the elf to bring him some food – he hadn't had anything since breakfast – but his head was pounding and his bed was calling out to him, so he opted to slip into his pajamas and go to sleep.

"That, right there, is Draco." Lucius Malfoy pointed towards a diagram of some sort of stars.

"But I am Draco," Draco protested with a frown. He was five years old at the time and had run away from his governess and the stupid arithmetic lesson she insisted on giving him. He'd been caught trying to hide under the table in the library by his father, who was reading something about Astronomy.

"We named you after the constellation. Well, your mother did. To me, you are a serpent."

He was offended. "Are you calling me a monster, father?"

"You are one, aren't you? Giving us all this trouble." His father pointed out, then reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "A serpent is a magnificent creature, son."

"Am I that, then?"

"You will have to be. You are my heir and the future of the Malfoys will one day rest upon your shoulders, which is why you cannot skip out on your lessons. Iwant you to be perfect."

Draco made a face at the prospect of studying more numbers but nodded obediently; he had to listen to his father, he had to make his father proud.

He walked out the door and ended up entering the Blue Parlour, where the sunlight was streaming in through the large windows, making the refracted light from the crystal chandeliers dance merrily on the cyan and pink tapestry.

Odd. The parlour was in the left wing on the second floor, nowhere near the library. But now that he noticed, that wasn't the only unusual thing that was happening. He was no longer a little boy, but a young man of sixteen.

"There's no cure for paranoia, Cissy."

He turned his head to find his Aunt Bellatrix sitting on the chaise with his mother. "Don't you see what an honour this is? The Dark Lord has chosen Draco," his aunt was saying.

"Chosen him for what?" Narcissa demanded.

"An important mission." Bellatrix shrugged. "The Dark Lord will tell Draco about it today."

Narcissa stood up and started pacing the room, her hands playing with the sleeve of her robe in a rare display of anxiety. "Lucius is already in Azkaban, and it is no secret that the Dark Lord is angry with him for failing to procure the prophecy," she said. "What if – what if this is the Dark Lord's way of punishing us?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he marched up to his mother. His father's failings had nothing to do with him at all. This was his moment. Could she really not see how big of an opportunity this was? "I think the Dark Lord is more than capable of punishing father even inside the walls of Azkaban if he wished so," he said matter-of-factly. "Luckily, he's willing to give us another chance, mother. Through me."

His aunt smiled at him proudly. "You ready?"

This was it: time to meet the Dark Lord and take the first step towards meeting his destiny. He was nervous, afraid even, but he could not back down. He needed this. His family needed this. And if all turned out well, he will have impressed the Dark Lord and brought glory to the Malfoy name. He straightened his shoulders and met his aunt's probing gaze with as much confidence as he could muster. "I am ready."

He was going to make his father proud.

Draco opened his eyes and watched the remnants of the dream – or was it memory? – fade away into nothing, leaving behind only the sight of the chandelier hanging above his bed. He lay there, motionless, thinking of his father, mother, aunt and his choices until he convinced himself that it was too early in the morning to go gown that particular memory lane. Besides, it would not help his headache, which had mercifully toned down from 'blazing fire' to 'dull throb at the back of his head'.

A quick shower later, he walked out of his room, adjusting his tie in a hurry. He'd been so entangled with the ugly Ministry business that he was behind on his work, which simply would not do. Still, he was nothing if not a good improviser, so he would have his breakfast, get some money out of Gringotts – he'd spent most of the coins in his pockets on those damned potions supplies that had ended up in trash because of the Git Who Lived Twice – and then lock himself in his office until he was satisfied that he had taken care of all the matters that required his attention.

Of course, his plans came to an abrupt halt when he entered the breakfast room and saw his mother standing by the hearth.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Narcissa Malfoy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Am I no longer welcome in my own home?"

"Of course, you are. I only meant that I was not expecting you."

"I am to see your father at midday, so I thought I would stop by and see you too."

"I am glad you did." Draco kissed her cheek.

She smiled tenderly for a moment, but then shot him a look that filled him with a childish urge to shuffle his feet and apologize. That is what he used to do whenever he was caught breaking the rules as a child. "Not that you left me with much of a choice. You haven't written to me since your last visit."

Ah. That he was guilty of, which is why he could not help the sheepish expression that took over his face. "I'm sorry, mother," he mumbled. "The last few weeks have been a bit busy."

"I think the whole country knows by now that you have been terribly busy." There was something suggestive in her tone that made him frown, and she picked up a folded newspaper from the fireplace mantel and handed it to him. "I think you ought to take a look at today's front page."

Sure enough, almost the entire page was covered with a photograph of Potter and him dueling, and Ginevra jumping in between them to put an end to the fight.

POTTER-WEASLEY-MALFOY LOVE TRIANGLE TAKES A VIOLENT TURN
By, Rita Skeeter

People were left shocked after witnessing a violent altercation between Wizarding World's hero, Harry Potter, and ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy at Diagon Alley last afternoon.

The fight seemed to have taken place over Holyhead Harpies' Chaser, Ginny Weasley, who dated Potter for years before their highly publicized break-up over a year ago and has been romantically involved with the Malfoy heir these past few months.

Miss Weasley, who was present at the scene, was seen jumping in between the two men in a rash attempt to stop the duel, but it seems highly unlikely that this feud will end anytime soon.

The Daily Prophet has exclusively learned that Potter dragged Malfoy to the Ministry "for questioning" about a case that was said to be highly confidential. Whether this is a genuine on-going investigation or simply a jealous move on the part of the Chosen One to wound his competition's reputation is unclear as of yet, but either way this incident does not bode well.

Malfoy's relationship with Weasley was met with much surprise from the Wizarding community but seeing that he has already faced much scorn for his blood-purist views (that may or may not still be bubbling underneath that perfectly maintained calm persona) and for being one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, it seems that he is willing to fight Potter when it comes to the matters of the heart.

"For fuck's sake!" Draco seethed as he tossed the newspaper into the hearth. Would that good-for-nothing newspaper ever publish some actual journalistic work?

"Language, Draco." His mother reprimanded him, as she always did whenever he cussed in front of her. "Is it true?"

"That we had fight?" He asked, then gestured towards the photograph in the paper that was quickly being consumed by the flames, much to his satisfaction. "Yes."

"And the part about you being dragged off for questioning?"

He stilled at that. "No one dragged me anywhere."

"I warned you this would happen, did I not?" Narcissa demanded as she grabbed him by the arm to ensure that he would not turn away from her. "Your pointless relationship with the Weasley girl will only deepen this feud, and we cannot afford that."

He could see why his mother was angry. The two of them had worked tirelessly over the last six years to mend the Malfoy reputation, but these damned articles about his love life somehow always seemed to shine a light on his past as a Death Eater. Most of the wizarding community remembered his family's history very well, and those who had started giving him the benefit of the doubt would no doubt be rethinking their decision to do so after reading this particular article, which painted him in a rather suspicious light. That Rita Skeeter sure was a nasty bitch.

"It's the Ministry's usual bullshit, mother," he tried to reason. "The random inspections at work, the weather eye they try to keep on us, the prejudice against the families who wish to uphold the old ways – it's what they do."

"Your actions are bringing unwanted attention onto us, Draco. And not of a good kind. That wasn't the plan–"

"I know what the plan is!" He snapped. "I devised it."

A tense silence followed his outburst as mother and son glared at each other, neither of them willing to back down. "So, you have no intention of ending things with that girl?" Narcissa finally asked.

"I don't." There was no point in lying about it.

"Despite the fact that I disapprove?"

"It is unfortunate that you do, mother."

His response seemed to anger her. "I'm tempted to tell your father of your folly," she said. "Maybe he will knock some sense into you."

Draco could only imagine the hell that his father would raise once he found out that he was bedding the enemy, so to speak. Well, Lucius could not be kept in the dark forever, so that ugly confrontation could not be avoided. But he knew that his father could not force him to end things with Ginevra, he couldn't force him to do anything anymore. It did irk him though, that he was the cause of his mother's displeasure, and soon he would be his father's too; they were the most important people in his life, and yet he could not bring himself to do what they wanted.

"Mama," he pleaded as he reached out and took her hands in his. It was quite rare for him to address her so, and only happened when he was at his most vulnerable. "I'm happy for the first time in a long time, and I cannot give it up. Please."

Narcissa squeezed his hands lightly, then reached out and brushed back a lock of hair from his brow. "Come," she said. "Let's eat."

Whether this was her accepting his choice, which was very much unlikely, or her simply putting the topic aside for now, which was most likely, he did not ask. They settled down at the small table – the room was only used by the family for meals and had quite an intimate setting, as opposed to the main dining hall that was furnished with a table large enough to seat thirty people – and the meal appeared before them. Poached eggs and sausages with a side of baked beans and toast. And the tea of course, freshly brewed. Draco made a mental note to increase the house elf bonus for the month.

"I was in Paris two days ago," Narcissa told him. "Coline invited me for tea."

"Dare I ask how it went?" Draco smirked. The relationship between his mother and grandmother had always been filled with friction; Narcissa had been Lucius' first and only choice for a bride, but she sure as hell hadn't been Coline's.

"We both came out of it unscathed," His mother said sourly. "But we did see Lukas with Crabbe at Rue du Alters."

That gave him pause. "Crabbe?" he asked. "Vincent Crabbe, you mean?"

"I was just as surprised as you are. And when I explained to Coline why it was so, she was concerned."

"As she should be. Crabbe isn't exactly what you'd call respectable company these days."

Vincent Crabbe had once been Draco's friend, but their relationship deteriorated after the events that took place in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Goyle had died, and there was no way either of them could forget that.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, their friendship had been on a downhill track way before that. Draco had not attended his final year at Hogwarts in lieu of his Death Eater duties and had instead opted to study at home whenever he had the time. He had visited the school a handful of times during that year to speak with one of his old professors regarding the subjects (McGonagall's reaction the first time had been particularly comic) or to borrow a book from the library. He also popped by his old common room to meet Crabbe and Goyle and somehow always ended up in an argument with them; Draco had felt that Hogwarts had become a fucking nightmare, while they insisted it was the glorious utopia that finally granted Purebloods respect that they deserved.

After the war had ended, the Wizengamot had sentenced Crabbe to two years in Azkaban for his role in Goyle's death and his tenure as the Carrows' star pupil during the final year at Hogwarts, which the fat idiot had spent gleefully torturing every Gryffindor in sight.

Draco had met him at a party a few months after his release, where the two of them had ended up fighting a rather violent duel. Crabbe had had no qualms about casting the Unforgiveables; he was bitter about ending up in prison and Draco accused him of siding with the enemy and of being the 'actual blood traitor'. That had been the final nail in the coffin of their friendship. Crabbe had left Britain soon after and lived as a bitter recluse in his family's estate somewhere in North France. Good riddance, Draco thought. The fat bastard could go hang himself for all he cared.

"Do you think Lukas is getting involved in something he shouldn't?" His mother asked.

"It's none of our business," he responded.

"If he does end up doing something stupid, it will reflect badly on us. Perhaps you should speak to him."

"I'd rather steer clear of whatever is going on, mother. Besides, it's not my job to keep Lukas in line." His second cousin once removed was the pretentious sort of git who would jump down a cliff, boasting that he could fly with his arms, and splat to his death. "For all we know, they were just having a drink."

She nodded slowly, then reached out for her tea. "I wonder if Edmond knows what sort of crowd his son is mingling with."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. He didn't care enough about Lukas to ponder over the matter much. Besides, his great uncle Edmond was one of the most powerful men in France and had eyes and ears all over the country. Chances were that he knew and that meant that there was probably nothing to be overly concern–

It happened out of the blue, bringing his thoughts to an abrupt halt: A searing pain burned through his left forearm and he stiffened instantly. A feeling of dread pooled in his stomach, followed with an indescribable urge to apparate to a location he did not know but knew he would reach.

Something must have shown on his face, for his mother eyed him with concern. "What is it?" she asked.

He blew out a breath when the pain abated. "Nothing," he forced a smile and reached for his dropped fork. "Bit my tongue."

Narcissa looked unconvinced but she didn't say anything, for which he was glad. He did not wish to lie to his mother more than he had to.

This was the second time in the last three days that his Dark Mark had burnt, and he could not, for the life of him, understand why this was happening. As far as he knew, the Dark Lord was the only one who could summon his Death Eaters in this manner, and he was dead. Unless… No. No. He was dead. Potter made sure of it. There was absolutely no way that Voldemort could be alive.

Then why was his Dark Mark burning?

He couldn't talk to anyone about it, which was perhaps one of the worst parts of his situation. Blaise wouldn't know anything about it. His father was in Azkaban so speaking to him about this sensitive matter amid all that security would be nearly impossible. His mother would just worry, and it was the last thing he wanted. Potter already suspected him; even the slightest indication that something was up with his Dark Mark would have the Aurors back on his case. And Ginevra… no, he couldn't tell her either. Her trust in him was only recent, and she might just start believing that he was lying.

Perhaps the best thing to do was to simply ignore it. He had decided long before that he had no interest in either being a hero or a villain, so it would be best if he just minded his own business. Whatever this was, would pass.

Hopefully.

Draco breathed out a sigh of relief when he entered Gringotts; Diagon Alley was not much crowded that morning but the people there openly stared at him, as if they expected him to somehow summon Potter there and resume their duel. Vultures.

The goblin who led him to the cart was a disgruntled little creature who clearly didn't give a damn about him. Draco liked him instantly. What he did not like was the other passenger who would be accompanying him on his journey to his vault: a certain know-it-all bookworm. In all fairness, Granger didn't seem too ecstatic to be sharing the ride with him.

They reached her vault first, which made sense since the Malfoy vaults were much deeper and much more protected. After the loss of their guard dragon, the Gringotts management had doubled the enchantments in the building and built so many traps that a couple of forgetful goblins had actually gotten themselves severely injured. Of course, over time everyone became accustomed to the new security measures.

Draco's own visit to his vault didn't take much long. He had had the brilliant idea to bring a small vial of the shrinking solution he had brewed, and a few drops later he was carrying a couple of thousand Galleons in his pocket with relative ease. He paused thoughtfully on his way out, then got himself an extra couple of hundredn gold coins. He had yet to buy a gift for Daphne's birthday, which Blaise had been so kind to remind him:

Drake,
Daphne's birthday dinner is day after tomorrow and your pretentious arse better be in attending. Her sister will be coming, and you are NOT abandoning me with her. I will come and drag you to the damn restaurant by the balls if I have to.
Friday. La Nuit. Half-past-six. Sharp.
– Blaise Zabini

He smirked to himself. Daphne's younger sister, Astoria Greengraas, was a quirky girl who just did not get along with Blaise. At all. One would think that the fact that Blaise and Daphne had been married for over a year now would have lessened the snarky arguments and the glares, but apparently love could not solve all family drama. It was a worrying thought.

As the cart started on its way back up, Draco noticed that Granger was staring at him. He tried to ignore it for the longest time, but it just reminded him of all the people out on the street. He was annoyed. By Salazar's blood, was it too hard to mind one's own business? "Didn't your mummy and daddy teach you not to stare, Granger?" he asked icily. "Though I should hardly be surprised at your lack of etiquette, considering where you come from and what sort of company you keep."

Her cheeks turned red with what he hoped was embarrassment but was really angry. "I don't get what Ginny sees in you. You're just as horrible as you used to be."

"Perhaps." He said carelessly.

"You won't even deny it!" she scoffed with a hint of incredulity. "The things you've done, Malfoy. Even worse, the things – the right things – that you didn't do. You haven't apologised for any of it."

"Nor will I," Draco told her flatly. But her words had triggered a memory of that horrible day. Of her blood and screams, and of the numbness he had forced upon himself. "For what it's worth, I haven't used or thought of that word since the day I watched my aunt carve it into your skin." The words came unbidden to his lips, and he made no attempt to keep them at bay.

A flicker of surprise flashed across her face but then it passed, only to be replaced with weariness. No, that was not it. She looked haunted, as if just the remembrance alone weighed down upon her soul. It was a feeling he understood all too well. Who would've thought that a day would come when he would find himself being able to relate to Hermione Bloody Granger, of all people?

The cart came to a halt at the main floor of the bank with a rather annoying screech. The goblin hopped off, thanked them for visiting and then scurried away, clearly very glad to be rid of his duty. Lazy wanker.

Draco got off next and, for reasons that will be beyond him till the day he dies, held out his hand to help Granger. It was some relief that she seemed just as surprised at the gesture, and she accepted his help.

He expected her to thank him, as proper manners demanded, but instead she spoke of something else entirely. "Ron and I are getting married this Saturday." That was not news to him; Ginevra had mentioned the preparations a few times, and his PA had gushed quite a bit after reading a feature about the upcoming nuptials in Witch Weekly. "You should come to the wedding."

"Pardon?" He must have heard it wrong.

The corners of Granger's lips curved with amusement. "I said that you should come to the wedding," she repeated slowly, as if to ensure that he would comprehend the words correctly this time. "It would mean the world to Ginny."

If someone wanted to describe his reaction in that moment, the word 'dumbfounded' would probably serve both as an accurate description and a gross understatement. Hermione Granger was inviting him, Draco Malfoy, to her wedding. Sweet Merlin's buttocks! The world was indeed turning upside down. "I… um, I thank you for the invite." He paused to clear his throat awkwardly, then continued in what he hoped was a much more composed tone. "But I'm afraid I must decline. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be there."

"As you wish." She did not try to convince him to change his mind, which was something he was almost grateful for. "The invitation is there, in case you change your mind."

He nodded politely and walked away, utterly bewildered. As he walked out of Gringotts, Draco could not help but pinch himself in the arm to ensure that he was not stuck in some bizarre dream. He wasn't. It was all real.

Which was even more bizarre.

Friday night was chilly but not uncomfortably so, which was a blessing considering that it was the first week of December. Still, good weather meant that the dinner on an open balcony of La Nuit would be a pleasant affair.

Draco straightened the jacket of one of his best navy suits as he walked into the lift. It was going to be a gathering of Slytherins, dressing in anything but the best would simply not do, not that he was ever dressed badly. His sense of style was one of the things he was most proud of.

His impeccable dress sense could not have kept him for halting in surprise when he entered the balcony. The furniture had been rearranged to form two long tables, and the longer one was occupied by the Weasley gang. He spotted Ginevra instantly. She had noticed him too, as had the rest of her family: Her parents, Bill, Fleur and their daughter, the brother who worked with dragons (what was his name, again?), the remaining twin, Angelina Johnson-Weasley and their son, Weaselbee and Granger, and Saint Potter, of course. Great. Just what he wanted, a night in their presence.

Actually, now that he thought about it, why were they here in the first place?

"Draco!" Daphne Greengrass exclaimed happily as she walked over to greet him.

Draco turned his attention on his old schoolmate with a smile, appreciating how appealing she looked in that sequined dress of hers. "Happy birthday, Daphne." He kissed her cheek and handed her a small gift-wrapped box.

"Thank you, love," she smiled, then gestured towards the other table. "Why don't you go take a seat? I have to see where Astoria has gone off to."

"Maybe she drowned in the toilet," Blaise suggested as he came up to join them.

Daphne was blessed with a knack of arguing well, which had earned her a place at the International Office of Law at the Ministry, but instead of using said skill against her husband, she resorted to shooting him a glare that would have had most men cowering. "Put some sense into him while I'm gone," she requested to Draco, then sauntered into the building.

Draco clapped his best friend on the shoulder, which was their way of greeting each other, and said, "It's your wife's birthday. Be nice to her sister for once."

"I'd rather go and snog Weaselbee over there," Blaise grumbled. "Speaking of, Daph had hoped to have the whole place booked only for us, but I suppose the management didn't want to say no to Potter."

Wasn't that the tragedy of this world, Draco wondered sourly, that people just wouldn't say no to that spectacled git. He eyed the Weasley table and then Daphne's – which was smaller because she'd invited half the number of guests – and realised with a jolt that there were no other people present in the restaurant. Which made sense, since there was no more room on the balcony to accommodate any other guests. He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or bad.

Still, there was nothing that could be done about that and it wasn't as if he was afraid or even uncomfortable to be in the presence of the Weasley gang. Fuck them, he was going to enjoy a nice dinner with his friends; Montague, Vaisay and Tracey Davis were already seated at the table, heads joined in conversation that he wanted to be a part of as well.

By unspoken consent, he and Blaise started towards their table, but then for whatever reason, his eyes flickered over to Ginevra, only to realise that not only was she looking at him but that she had also stood up, as if to greet him.

A small detour then.

"Hi," Ginevra said softly when he reached her. She leaned forward as if she was about to kiss him, then hesitated as she realised that they were under the scrutiny of her entire bloody family and then finally opted to hug him.

"Hi," Draco murmured. He found himself relishing the closeness between them; he hadn't had a chance to see her since the day of his so-called arrest, which was less of an arrest and more of Potter's rude desire to question him on things that were not at all important. Or real, for that matter. "What are you doing here?"

"A family dinner before Ron's wedding," she told him as she pulled away, her hands coming to rest on the lapels of his jacket. "You look dapper."

"Don't I always?" he asked cheekily, then gestured towards his best friend, who had decided to obnoxiously stand by him rather than continue on his way to the table. "You remember Blaise Zabini?"

"Vividly."

Blaise nodded at her politely. "Miss Weasley."

"I didn't know you were married," Ginevra said, indicating that sound travelled easily between the two tables. This was going to be one interesting evening.

"It's a long story."

"Not really," Draco piped in. "I think 'drunken elopement' sums it up quite nicely."

"Thanks, mate," the dark-skinned man muttered, then turned to Ginevra. "He doesn't approve."

"Why?" Ginevra asked with a frown. "What's wrong with eloping?"

Draco stifled his laughter at the instant reaction that met her words. Her family had stiffened, their expressions filled with dread as if they expected her to disapparate with him any moment and then return a few days later with a wedding ring on her finger and the Malfoy crest branded onto her skin.

"Drake is a traditionalist," Blaise spat the last word, as if he found it to be derogatory. Slimy git. He had been that himself until only a few years ago. "You ought to know that by now."

"Of course! Silly me," Ginevra seemed very amused. "How could I have forgotten that about Drake?"

"It's Draco." Draco corrected with an icy look that promised retribution should she repeat this gruesome sin. "Just because Zabini insists on molesting my name doesn't mean you are allowed the same liberty."

Whatever the redhead's response was going to be was drowned by a couple of odd things happening simultaneously. Behind them, Tracey Davis let out a loud squeal of joy, as if she had found out that she would be appointed queen of the world. And next to them, Blaise swore under his breath.

"Shit," Blaise said. "Daph sent the invites. I-I didn't know, Draco."

Bewildered, he turned around. "What are you…" The question died in his throat, for the answer to it was before him.

Pansy Parkinson – he supposed it was Pansy Parkinson-Weiss now, or just Pansy Weiss – was standing less than twenty feet from him, happily greeting the others. Of all the possible turns this evening could have taken, this was clearly the one he had expected the least.

He hadn't seen her since that horrid fight nearly five years ago. He hadn't heard much about her either; the few friends he socialised with at the time had had the good sense to not bring her up in their conversations. He'd seen her wedding invitation at Blaise's house some eight months after they had broken up and well, that had been it.

"Draco," Ginevra murmured.

"Your family is waiting for you," he said to her almost mechanically. "You should return to them."

"Draco," she repeated, and he felt her fingers wrap around his arm.

He looked at her then, noticed how her eyes were filled with apprehension. "We will talk later," he promised, then left her to go over to the table that he was actually expected at.

Greetings were as interesting as any conversation with a bunch of Slytherins could be, which was a lot. Draco and Pansy very casually ignored each other entirely, but both simultaneously glared at Montague when he, being the twat that he was, very loudly bet ten Galleons that the two exes would be shagging each other by the end of the night.

"What?" Montague asked with a shrug, clearly not intimidated by the icy stares sent his way. "That's how you two have always been, shouting one moment and snogging the next. I'm sure we'll find the two of you going at it in some corner soon."

Draco found himself wondering how offended Daphne would be if he broke this arsehole's jaw. Mercifully, he was interrupted by the re-entry of the birthday girl and her sister, who had clearly not drowned in the toilet. Blaise's rather audible groan was a good distraction and conversation moved onto other more amusing banters.

It was after they had all finished the main entrée and were waiting for dessert – which would take some time because Daphne had declared that there would be no birthday cake (apparently it was too common a practice) and had ended up ordering something overly exotic from the menu – that his eyes wandered to Pansy once again.

Unlike Ginevra, who was garbed in a mustard jumper and plain blue jeans, Pansy wore a silk dress that hugged her curves and bared her shoulders – the chilly weather had never kept her from looking her best, and that clearly hadn't changed. Her chestnut hair was tied into an elegant bun and those beautiful, luscious lips were painted in the colour of blood. By Merlin's magic, Pansy was bold in her beauty and unapologetically so.

"I'd hoped Joseph would come too, Pans," Daphne was saying.

"He wanted to very much, but he had was called back to New York," Pansy replied. "That ugly business with the wizard killings in Paris has most governments concerned."

"And Sophia?"

"She's with my dad," Pansy replied with a smiled that softened her features in a way that he hadn't seen before. "She's managed to wrap him around her tiny little finger – a task even I failed at."

"Oh, yeah. I heard that you had a daughter," Vaisay piped in. "Congratulations."

That was when it hit Draco: Pansy was here, before him. Pansy Parkinson, his childhood friend, his first kiss, his first… other things. But most importantly, his first love. Merlin, they had a history that would forever bind them together. It was unexpected, perhaps even more so than her presence itself, how his mind had become a whirlwind of emotions upon seeing her. Anger, heartbreak, joy, shame, hatred, love, guilt, nostalgia.

He tried to partake in the conversations going on around him – Vaisay, being the talented photographer he was, had pulled out his camera and was offering to take a few pictures of the girls, who all seemed very excited at the prospect, while Blaise and Montague were engaged in a debate about whether the loss of their star Chaser would cost the Ballycastle Bats the League – but all of a sudden, a haze of countless, confused thoughts had descended over his mind. He felt detached and he longed for more detachment, just for a while, so he left the table silently.

He ended up standing by the edge of the balcony, much closer to the Weasley area than he would have liked but they were paying him no heed, and he was perfectly alright with that. Besides, a sudden gust of chilly wind had filled his lungs with an enormous amount of oxygen and it was a glorious feeling. His thoughts, however, returned to Pansy. For a long time, she had been the most important woman in his life, then things had gone awfully wrong. And here she was now, not only as someone else's wife but a mother to a little girl. It was all so odd.

A minute or two of silent contemplation passed, then a feminine hand came to rest on the railing, right next to his. There was a small tattoo of a pink peony by the wrist, which he recognised instantly and turned his head in surprise to ensure that he was indeed right. Which he was.

"Don't think this is about you," Pansy told him. "I've only come over so that Montague thinks that he is right about us and raises the stakes of his stupid bet. It will be much more fun crushing him, don't you think?"

Her words almost made him smirk. It was good to see that she was still the cunning bitch that he had grown fond of. But she was not just that anymore. "You have a daughter," he said in wonder. In another world, in another lifetime, that daughter would have been his. It had been their plan to end up together once upon a time, before darkness had descended upon their lives.

"I do."

"What's that like?"

"Sophia is my heart's joy." Her hazel eyes turned warm and happy as a doting mother's often did. "But she also wakes up in the middle of the night and expects to be entertained. It's a rather conflicting feeling, parenthood. You'll see."

"Oh, I have no intention of producing any Malfoy heirs for at least another decade," he assured her. "Maybe two."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Lucius will be disappointed."

"Yes, well," he muttered dryly. "What else is new?"

Her lips curved into a small smile, and Draco realised that his own expression mirrored hers inadvertently. Their gazes remained locked with each other for a few moments that seemed to last a lifetime, until he noticed a little sparkle from the corner of his eye. She was playing with the wedding band on her finger.

"Did you know, Blaise wanted me to gate-crash your wedding and try to steal you away," he told her. Merlin. He needed to stop talking. There was no point in bringing this up. Besides, the Weasleys were sitting nearby; who knew how much Ginevra could hear? "He's always full of horrible ideas."

The smile slipped away from Pansy's face, and a cloud descended over both of them, bringing back a harsh reminder of what they had once been and of all the things that had gone wrong. "Did you know," she began slowly. "On the morning of my wedding, I sat in the bridal room, all dressed up, and waited for you to show up like the dramatic bastard that you are."

"If I had, would you have come away with me?"

"In a heartbeat."

The world seemed to still at that. He blew out a shaky breath, trying to grasp all the now-dead possibilities that lay behind the three words that he had just heard. They could have spent the rest of their lives together, living in luxury, acting like the spoiled geniuses they both were. They could have had a family.

"I am eternally grateful to you, Draco," Pansy murmured.

"For what?" he asked.

"For not showing up at my wedding." Pansy said. "Because no matter how unsure I may have been back then, I know now that I belong with Joseph. He's the love of my life, and he is twice the man that you will ever be."

His heart began to ache; she did always know how to hit him where it hurt. But he realised with a jolt that his heart was not aching for that old love. Even though he cherished those memories and hated them at the same time, he was certain that it was not Pansy's love that he craved – it was her friendship. A connection that had been there since they were toddlers and had been broken by him in the most ruthless of ways.

The last fight they had had at Pansy's townhouse had been an ugly affair. He could recall every word of it, clear as day, and he wished that he had kept his cool back then. There were better ways to end a relationship, for that was what he had intended to do from the beginning; he had been in no condition to be anyone's boyfriend at the time and she just wouldn't leave him be. But perhaps, he could have let her down without shattering her entirely.

"That day," he began slowly, knowing full well that she would understand what he was talking about. "I–"

"I know," she cut in, her voice almost understanding. "But I cannot forgive you, Draco. I just can't."

He supposed that was fair. Forgiveness was something that Slytherins never gave anyone lightly. It was better to withhold their mercy than to give it to someone who did not deserve it. He knew that his own behaviour that day had been wrong, too wrong, so he could not fault her for not being able to move past it. He could make his peace with it. In fact, sometimes it felt like he already had.

"I'm glad you're happy," he told her, and he meant it. No matter what had happened between them, he would always wish her well.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, then placed her hand on his arm.

It was as close as they could get to being friends. The close bond that had existed between them once, romance or no, was gone. And now that the haze of the heartache was fading away slowly, he realised that he was alright with it. Not being friends was something he could cope with – he had already lost so many things in his life, what harm could another loss do to him? – but it was a relief to know that he was not hated by Pansy. Not loved, not liked, not forgiven, but at least not hated.

And then, out of the fucking blue, a searing pain lanced through his Dark Mark. Caught off-guard, his arm twitched jerked unceremoniously.

Pansy removed her hand, startled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," He mumbled quickly, resisting the urge to rub at his forearm.

"It's not nothing."

"Leave me alone, Pansy," he growled and walked away from her, his heart thudding in his chest with a fear that he would do anything to be rid of. This was the third time in the last ten days that his Mark had hurt. What the fuck was going on?

He had only taken a few steps when a hand grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. "This is why we would have never worked out, Draco," Pansy raged. "You have too many secrets."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His answer only seemed to make her more furious, and she nodded viciously towards Ginevra. "That ginger bitch may be fooled by your lies, but I am not," she told him. "Tell me."

"Why should I?" he shot back. He genuinely did not understand why she was concerned. And she was making things worse by planting suspicion in Ginevra's – and possibly everyone else's – minds. Besides, he was too shaken up by what was happening that he did not have the time or the patience to deal with this unnecessary drama. "In case you haven't noticed, you are not important enough to be privy to what goes on in my life." He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. "Learn to mind your own fucking business, Pansy."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed back to his own table, where everyone had no doubt witnessed the argument that had just taken place. Just bloody great. No one said anything about it though, which was a testament to the fact that they were all not entirely half-witted. With forced casualness, he started up a conversation about the nightclub that their mutual friend, Theodore Nott, was planning on opening. And when Pansy returned to her seat a few seconds later, she too feigned ignorance about anything remotely tense that might have occurred, and everyone just went along with it.

It seemed to Draco that he and Pansy were back to ignoring each other, and pissed off as he was at her, he was completely alright with it.

He had forgotten how much of a nosy bitch Pansy had been, and how she had never been able to understand his desire for solitude and space. She had idolised this concept of perfect communication between couples, and just refused to understand that Draco was not willing to talk about many things. He might have in his own time, but she wasn't willing to wait and see. Earlier, all remembered all the passion and laughter he had once shared with her, but now he could only think of the fighting and the shouting. Merlin. Had the two of them ended up together, either they would have been very happy or one of them would most certainly have smothered the other with a pillow.

But there was no point in thinking about any of this anymore. In fact, he had no desire to do so. He was just done with that chapter of his life, which is why he pushed Pansy out of his mind and did the one thing that any wise person would do: focus on dessert.

Somehow, Draco ended up in Blaise's study after dinner, where his arsehole of a best friend had tried to gauge his emotions about the whole Pansy thing using not-so-subtle hints, and Draco had teased him about the bizarre 'in-laws' dynamics he had with Astoria using very-much-forward taunts. The two of them had then decided to let their problems rot in hell and instead engaged in a game or two – or maybe four – of wizard's chess until Daphne barged in and very politely kicked him out. It was still her birthday, she had said, and that meant that there was still some time to participate in some naughty, maybe partly illicit activities with her husband.

And so, Draco had apparated outside the Manor.

His evening, the entire week actually, had been a bit of a roller coaster. There was much that needed mulling over, but it could wait. He wished Ginevra would visit, though he was pretty certain that it was unlikely. She was going to be busy with her family until Weaselbee's wedding was done. Oh, well, there would be other nights for them to divulge in some activities of their own. This present night, he could spend in bed, reading. He had recently bought an autobiography of a German witch who had spent thirteen years in an underwater cave.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the hooded man that stepped out from behind the trees and shoot a curse at him.

Almost.

Instincts kicked into action rather quickly, though, and Draco found his fingers wrapping around his wand and his mind already directing the magic in his veins to cast a shield charm. The fiery orange light that he instantly recognised as the blasting curse bounded off his shield and hit one of the trees, whose branches exploded, sending chunks of wood flying in every direction.

The curse ended as quickly as it had started, though the hooded man made no move to attack again.

Draco ended the shield charm silently – he was rather good at non-verbal magic – but kept his wand firmly pointed at the stranger, ready to attack or defend should the need arise.

"Now, now, Malfoy," the stranger said as he slowly pulled back his hood to reveal a pale, twisted face. "Is this any way to greet an old friend?"

Draco froze. He hadn't seen this man in over six years, but there was no denying his identity. There, ten feet from him, stood Antonin Dolohov.

For Draco Malfoy, this was turning out to be one of those weeks, where every confrontation that he absolutely did not want to happen, happened.

Family drama, old nemesis from school and ex-girlfriend he could handle – though just barely – but Antonin Dolohov was another matter entirely.

Who knew why the man was here, and what he wanted. Whatever the reason, Draco was willing to bet his entire fortune that it was not going to be good. And the chances of him making out of his confrontation unscathed appeared quite slim as well.

Fuck.

Da-da-dum!

This chapter was interesting to write. I wanted to keep the Draco/Ginny to a minimum for a change (don't worry, our favourite couple will be back in full swing soon!) and just focus on his interactions with other people. I edited this chapter so, so much and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it (a writer never is, or so I'm told) but I do hope that you all enjoyed reading it.

Please leave a review and let me know!

Until the next time,
Cheers! x