A/N At end of chapter
"My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed"
Draco swirled the ice in his glass, fixated on the mellow light filtering through the amber liquid. He seemed to be doing this frequently - sitting and staring at things for minutes on end - his acuity and focus utterly shot. He'd also been listening to the same song on repeat for at least 30 minutes.
What had happened to him?
He shook his head once and pushed up, frustrated, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. The deep copper of early autumn lit his window, which looked out over the turrets and long walls of Ilvermorny school. He'd been in Massachusetts for two weeks, observing the muggle integration program here. Figuring out how he could translate it for Britain and Hogwarts.
Hermione may have dismissed him from her life, but he hadn't been able to dismiss her ideas from his mind.
And after he'd gotten over the first white-hot flash of anger (after the truly first thing, which was despair) he'd become very focused, shutting himself away for several days while he wrote out a project plan for a muggle integration program to be split between the Meadows and Hogwarts. He'd emerged with a sort of fevered energy around him, ordering models built, facilities designed, messaging drawn up, press junkets organised, teams hired. He wanted this thing in place before the next school year started — so in less than twelve months.
He'd gone to Scotland after that, met with Minerva and told her his ideas. She had been extremely receptive and suggested this trip to America. Ilvermorny had started a similar program a decade ago, although in Draco's opinion it didn't go far enough. He wanted to do more. Not just explanation and instruction, but true integration of muggle families into their magical childrens' worlds. He didn't want another muggle-borns to have to suffer what Hermione had suffered.
His hand curled at his side. Hermione.
"Had you been more open," her anguished words rang in his ears, as they had a hundred times since the day she spoke them. Because that was what it came down to, wasn't it? At least that was the conclusion he had drawn. Everything she had flung at him, deserved or undeserved. Everything he had written in that fucking opus of a letter. It could have been avoided. If he'd opened himself, been unreserved about his actions and motivations. Truly brought her into his life.
And why hadn't he just done that? If he talked to his professionals at The Meadows, they'd probably say that it had something to do with his cold, love-starved upbringing or the fact that sharing his thoughts or feelings would have cost him his life at one time. And maybe they would be right. It was certainly difficult for him to let people in — much easier to live life at arms' length — and the thought of doing it with someone beyond his trusted circle frankly terrified him to his core.
But she'd already been in. Already been closer to him than almost anyone. He just hadn't shown her that.
He'd lost her over something in his control.
He slammed his glass down on a nearby table and walked toward his closet, pulling his shirt over his head. Wrenching open the door, he grabbed his Quidditch kit and flung it on the bed. Flying was the only thing that could quiet his mind these days. Five minutes later he walked out of his hotel, broom in hand, and launched into the sky.
Wisps of cloud scudded in the dimming slate blue sky and the colors of the trees below were almost surreal - saturated oranges, yellows and reds. He climbed high in a straight, steep line and then pulled abruptly out of his ascent, wheeling over into a backwards dive that was so breakneck he felt gravity pulling hard against him. The ground was rising fast - but the object was to wait it out until the last minute. A good Wronski meant the blades of grass brushed your knees as you pulled up.
He accomplished it once, twice, three times - the steady ascent higher each time, the streaking fall and the last second redemption. But on the fourth, something went wrong. A distraction or miscalculation? Maybe he had been dwelling too much on a memory. All he knew was that he caught something, hit the earth, skidded for several dozen feet and came to unceremonious rest at the base of a very large thorned bush.
He lay flat on his back and laughed mirthlessly. Nothing felt broken, at least - lucky it hadn't been his neck. He picked himself up, swung back on his broom and flew slowly back to the inn.
~oOo~
Openness.
Later at the bar in the hotel, he brooded over the concept. He realised he needed insight, help. Too bad Theo had fucked off with Rafik. Last heard from in Fez, Morocco, his most recent communication had been a muggle postcard (delivered by owl) with nothing but a lipstick kiss on the back. Theo didn't even know what had happened.
Draco sighed. He was happy for his best friend, but he had also never needed him more.
Daph? Jonnie? He stared into his glass. They'd certainly have some insight - Jonnie had been at him for years on this subject - and she definitely owed him. But she was going through her own shit - and what if they were photographed again? He shook his head. And Daph was in the first throes of infatuation with that French bloke. He hated to come in with his sad story just as she was finding happiness.
The one thing he knew was that it was time to leave. He'd been alone and brooding in this remote corner of the States for long enough. Ilvermornay reminded him too much of Hogwarts, yet it was also foreign and strange. The combination was making him feel completely disconnected. Also, he was going to kill himself with the flying he'd been doing if he didn't stop.
He pushed away from the bar and headed up the stairs to his room, his steps heavy. Almost automatically his wand moved to turn on his muggle music player and his fingers reached for the whisky bottle. So it was going to be another night of drinking and listening to sad songs? He blew out his breath in exasperation. When was he going to feel better? Snap out of it like he always had. Even after the war. What had done it then?
Astoria.
Of course. He'd go back to France.
But not to fucking Provence.
~oOo~
"It's such a nice surprise to have you here, Draco." Astoria tilted her head and gave him a sweet smile. She looked better than she had in a long time. Centered, calm. And it seemed like she'd matured in the last month. How was that possible? He regarded her - her hair was different, shorter. And her makeup was darker. She was growing up - the thought pierced his heart with equal parts pride and sorrow.
"What?" she asked, raising her brows.
"I like your hair," he said. "The shorter length suits you. And I can tell the French girls have been helping you with your makeup." He could feel his mouth quirk up. An almost smile - the first in weeks. It had been the right decision to come see her.
A quick smile of her own. "Yes, my housemates had a bit of fun with me tonight. When they heard we were coming here," she gestured to their fine surroundings - an exclusive restaurant near to the school.
"I'd heard it was good." Draco lifted a shoulder.
Astoria looked at him for a moment, searching his face. He met her eyes steadily, then sipped his wine. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought.
"I'm glad you're here," she finally said softly. "But is there a particular reason why?"
"I wanted to see you."
She inhaled and looked away, suddenly very much a teenager.
"I wanted to talk to you," he conceded, annoyed with himself. "Or more accurately, to let you talk to me."
She looked back and her eyes were kind, but puzzled. "To talk to you?"
He twirled his glass on the table, looking down, "do you think I have a problem with … openness?"
A laugh bubbled from her lips and she answered immediately, almost before he'd finished speaking. "Yes."
He frowned and she reached across the table to cover his large hand with her small one. "It's understandable, Draco. Your upbringing, what happened to you during the war. The way people treated you afterward. But yes. Although I think you're more open with me than anyone. Or most people..." Her eyes cut away.
Hermione, she meant Hermione. The little seize in his heart spurred him. "I'm trying to … change that. And I thought I'd start with you. That's why I'm here."
Her eyes widened. "Ok," she said.
He leaned back. "So I want you to ask me anything. And I'm going to try to answer. Be open." He felt a distinct sensation of bracing himself as her dark eyes roved over his face.
"What happened?" she finally said.
He raised his brows.
"I mean, I know basically what happened. I know you're apart. But what really happened?"
He cleared his throat, blinked — and told her. Speaking through the first course, the second and all the way into dessert.
And as he spoke — about falling in love (those words strangely easy to pronounce), about being happy, and about how he'd still kept some part of it at arms' length, which ultimately fucked it up — he did feel himself growing a very small bit lighter.
Astoria was a good listener, her dark eyes trained on his face the whole time. She asked questions. She made comments that he knew he'd want to mull over later — and at certain parts of the narrative she looked at him with so much exasperation that she reminded him forcibly of her older sister. At the end, when he told her about the letter, she reached for his hand again.
"Oh Draco." Tears glinted in her lashes. "Do you think that's it? Is it over for good?"
He just looked at her, bleakness stealing over him. "I don't know. I assume so. I haven't heard back from her. What do you think?"
"I think," she sniffed and wiped delicately at her eyes with her napkin, "that I'm very angry with her! And with you! She should have trusted you! But you made it rather difficult, didn't you?"
He inclined his head.
She huffed out a huge sigh and looked away. "I don't know. I know what I want and what I believe in my bones should happen."
"What's that?"
"I want you to be with her! I believe that you love each other and that she makes you happy. I'd never seen you like you were this summer." She sniffed again. "And I love her. I want her to be a part of our lives."
He nodded. "You think she loves me too?" This was the most difficult thing he'd said all night.
"I can't speak for her, of course. But I saw her with you."
He leaned back and sighed. Her face crumpled and she dabbed at her eyes in earnest.
It was quite late now and the dining room had emptied almost completely. Draco signaled for the cheque. "Thank you for listening. I hope it wasn't too much. Sometimes it's easy to forget that you're only 16."
She leapt up and dashed around the table, throwing her arms around him. "Oh Draco, of course it wasn't. I'm so glad you talked to me." She pulled back and he grasped her hands. "What will you do now?" she asked, a sad smile lifting her lips.
"Stop drinking too much whisky and listening to the same sad songs over and over." He felt the ghost of a smile cross his face and she gave a watery chuckle. "But seriously, I'm going back to England tomorrow and announcing the Integration Program soon. Work will be very busy for a while."
"And will you try to see her?"
He took a deep breath and blew it out. "She was very adamant when we last spoke. And after my letter, I rather think the ball is in her court, don't you? It's been over a month with no word."
"Mmm. Yes. Although don't discount the fact that she may feel too mortified to respond. And you've been impossible to reach."
He looked at her thoughtfully, then stood up, pulling her with him. "It's late. Let's get you back to school."
"Ok," she leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked out of the restaurant. "It was good to see you. Don't forget I'll be coming home for mid-term break in two weeks."
"I haven't. You can come to Wiltshire and see the Centre plans. I'm hoping Theo will be done with his jauntering by then as well and can stay with us."
"Oh yes, I miss him! He sent me the most droll muggle postcard."
"I'm sure." He hugged her briefly and fiercely against him. "Thank you again, my Astor. I love you."
"Oh Draco, I love you too!" She hugged him back and then ran to the carriage that would take her to school, waving over her shoulder as she went. "And I'll make you a new playlist!" she called.
He almost chuckled as he watched her drive away.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the double chapter this weekend! After this it will be back to one chapter a week as we have less than ten more to go... Thank you all for being with me through this so far. I gave Hermione's pining chapter a poem, so this, Draco's pining chapter, gets a song. And that song is 'Lover You Should Have Come Over' by Jeff Buckley. I listened to this on repeat when writing this chapter and many subsequent ones (you didn't think this was the *only* Draco pining chapter, did you!? hehe). It's really haunting and beautiful and the lyrics are very fitting for the regret our Draco/Darcy is feeling. I will post a more extensive Draco pining playlist on Tumblr at /scullymurphy as well for those who are interested... Xoxo, stay healthy & sane and I will see you next week! ~SM