Title: The Well 17/?
Author: eidheann
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,000 (~12,800 total)
Summary: Where there is a wish...
Warnings: angst.
A/N: Many thanks for the comments and support.

Draco received two owls from Harry over the next two weeks. The first was unsigned and from a post owl, though he recognized the handwriting, and contained nothing but a floo address. He didn't reply, but wasted no time in memorizing the address and sharing the note with his mother. The second arrived two days later, delivered by Harry's familiar barn owl, and couched itself as a simple note about a friendly meeting he'd had with Granger. He was uncertain how to respond. He considered a simple thank you, but decided he'd thanked Harry enough. He considered replying with something insulting, but didn't really have the energy or desire to fight. He thought briefly about telling Harry that all was forgiven, but it left a hollow feeling in his chest, remembered pain that had never really gone away over the past year. In the end, he sent nothing.

The next week, the Ministry turned over his father's body, or at least a sealed and weighted casket. It was interred with all solemnity in the family vault, attended only by himself, his mother, Pansy and Theo. The next day, his mother retreated to the Continent in her grief, taking residence with an old school friend who had coincidentally also just lost his wife in picturesque Northern Italy, where she wouldn't face reminders of her life with Lucius. He received a standing invitation to spend a weekend there with her any time he wished.

Draco's life returned to it's old routine, though Pansy seemed to feel that he had spent too much time on his own the previous year and took over many of the demands on his time that had been held by his mother. She had been irate when he came down for breakfast the morning after her reunion with Theo, and had yelled at him for nearly an hour, calling him a hopeless fool for running back to Potter. He let her, she was correct after all, because he was unable to tell her anything about what Harry had done for his father. She had ended her tirade with tears and hugs, and had been keeping a close eye on him since.

All in all, his life felt much the same as it had before the supposed death of his father. He saw his father more, but his mother less. He spent the majority of his attention on steaming and bubbling cauldrons in France. He was worried and fluttered at by Pansy. He still thought of Harry, with the same familiar twist in his chest that left him feeling either blank and dead, or ready to lose himself to anger or tears. Everything about his life felt like waiting, but he was uncertain for what.

Pansy's wedding was swiftly approaching. She was resigned to the fact that she would not be able to marry before she began to show, but she was convinced she could do so before she became nothing but a small head atop a set of voluminous maternity robes. Draco had been enlisted to act as her shopping companion, guest list organizer, and flower arranger. He threw himself into the activity, and between running errands for Pansy and his work toward his Mastery, he found he had little time for anything beyond exhaustion when he collapsed into his bed late at night, only to awaken to more of the same the next morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to maintain the pace forever, his work was already beginning to suffer. He told himself he enjoyed it, enjoyed being busy and needed, and squashed the small feeling of guilt for not sparing a moment to consider Harry's offer has he'd promised.

Pansy was both a blessing and a curse. He found himself wanting to hex her on multiple occasions for her indecisiveness, and wanting to kiss her just moments later for keeping him too busy to think. The leaning moved firmly into the hex category, however, when two weeks out, she began pestering him about his plus-one.

"But, darling, Blaise is only going to be in London another month or two. And he's single again, and coming anyway, so you don't need to redo the seating or food arrangements. It's perfect."

He grimaced, "A month or two is hardly-"

"I'm not saying you should have a relationship! Eighth year was a disaster. But let him take you to the wedding, out to dinner, let him shag you for old times' sake. You need to move on from this Potter-obsession."

Draco fingered his wand, reminding himself he could not hex his pregnant best friend and simply replied, "As you stated so eloquently, eighth year was a disaster. I had my fill of Blaise then and have no desire to... reacquaint myself."

Pansy pouted but did not seem willing to let the matter rest. "Fine. But if not Blaise, let me set you up with someone. Mother's cousin has a son, he went to Beauxbaton, graduated just a couple years ahead-"

"I'll think about it." Draco knew she would keep pressing unless he gave her that much, but he knew his answer already.

She simply looked stubborn, as if she knew what he was planning, but let the matter drop. "Fine. Oh, Draco? Be a dear and go to Diagon Alley and tell the florist I changed my mind. I'd like red tulips instead of roses."

He stifled a grimace and rose from his seat, leaning across and kissing her cheek. "Of course."

He reminded himself he couldn't hex her as he made his way from the apparition point through the crowds to the florist. Pushing open the door with a quiet jingle, he paused at the familiar head of black hair at the counter. Harry glanced back at him standing in the doorway and gave a small smile. "Draco. Good morning."

Draco stepped fully into the shop and gave Harry a stiff nod in return. "Good morning."