5 years later
Sawbridge Close was a wizarding hamlet nestled into the countryside just outside of London. Its high street was a quaint, winding cobbled road lined with grocers and trinket shops: apothecaries with bubbling, fragrant cauldrons and shelves laden with jars of potions and ingredients; boutique clothing stores selling robes of all colours and fabrics and bookshops with shelves stacked as high as the ceiling with spell books. Witches and wizards would stroll down the streets, coming in and out of the small inn, The Snitch and Seeker, for a pint of their home-brewed butterbeer, or else they'd be lining up outside the bakery for one of the famous cinnamon-spiced pumpkin pasties. They would greet each other as they went past – perhaps discussing the latest policy changes made by Minister Shacklebolt, or else asking how someone's child was getting on at Hogwarts during their all-important O.W.L year.
Beyond the bustle were quieter roads of terraced houses stretching far beyond the high street in every direction, all with overflowing gardens of blotchy splashes of reds and purples, and identical bay windows framing warm living rooms with plush sofas and broomsticks stacked by fireplaces. And in one of those houses, on the corner of Mellowsweet Road with the bright red door, lived the Malfoys.
Long before they lived here though, the Collins family had occupied it and Amelia and Henry had grown up inside the four walls. The house had changed now – the Malfoys had made it their own – but there were still whispers of that childhood all around the house: the etching measurements marked 'A' and 'H' climbing up the kitchen doorframe; the crack in the living room wall from when Henry had ridden his first broomstick inside the house. Amelia could still hear her father's footsteps coming down the creaking stairs and her brother's laughter echoing through the walls; her mother's baking filling the kitchen. All of it made Amelia feel close to her family, and in a way she really was. Perched on a high hill overlooking the entire town was the small graveyard, where Henry lay beside her parents.
Beyond the red front door photographs lined the corridor: Amelia in a flowing white wedding dress, laughing as Draco, in regal midnight-blue dress robes, twirled her around; another with Draco wedged between Andromeda and Narcissa, standing side by side with their arms around each other, shy smiles on their faces; and a photo taken from their time in the resistance where some members were punching the air while others slung their arms around each other as they beamed at the camera. In this particular photograph, Henry was stood next to Amelia, playfully ruffling her hair as they both chuckled. And the rest of the photos all had the same subjects – a small boy and girl aged 2 and 4. Fletcher had sandy blonde hair – the perfect mixture of both his parents – whereas Felicity had long wavy chocolate coloured hair – a true imitation of her mother.
It had been five years since Voldemort was defeated and the war had been won, but the wizarding world was still healing. After the birth of Fletcher, Amelia began to train properly as a Healer at St Mungo's and she now ran the 'Creature Induced Injuries' ward at the hospital. Draco was one of the Minister for Magic's most trusted advisors.
The war had left a lot of scars, a lot of which still felt fresh. Draco still experienced nightmares, albeit less often, but at least once every few weeks he would wake in a gasping sweat. There would be times that he would disappear into himself as he churned the hangover of all those years around in his mind.
It was his two children who would bring him out of this though. Seeing how much they both loved and needed him as their father gave Draco strength in those darker moments. The fear of repeating the parental failures his father had made with him had mostly vanished. Him and Amelia nurtured a completely different environment for their children; they knew just how loved they were. When he looked in the mirror now, Draco didn't see any of his own father staring back at him.
It was a life that Draco would never have imagined for himself, and a life which he often felt undeserving of, and so he did his best to give back. Every day he tried to live up to the promise he made Henry the night of that final battle and give Amelia the best life he could. He worked tirelessly to try and mend the damage that the Death Eaters had done to witches and wizards around the country. He even helped to draft the policy which was passed by the Minister for Magic shortly after the war ended which made any ill-treatment of someone based on their blood status a formal and serious crime. All of this helped to keep the monsters at bay.
As Draco stood in the kitchen, having just flooed home from the Ministry, he chuckled to himself at the idea of living in such an idyllic countryside town. When he was younger, he had always assumed he would eventually take up residence in Malfoy Manor, destined to while away lonely years in the cold, aristocratic house and eat every meal at opposite ends of a long dining table to a wife he could barely stand. Of course, Malfoy Manor had long been completely gutted after being seized by the Ministry, all of its belongings destroyed and the building itself boarded up and perhaps never to be set foot in again. He imagined it would become almost like the Shrieking Shack outside of Hogsmeade and lend itself to the spooky tale of the atrocities that were committed there by the Dark Lord and his followers.
He heard someone coming down the stairs and turned to see Amelia – his wife – bustling into the kitchen. She was fiddling with an earring.
"I was beginning to think you were trying to escape tonight," she said with a coy smile, reaching up to peck Draco on the cheek.
Draco shrugged off his coat and sat down at the kitchen table.
"I thought about it," he said with a small smirk.
Tonight the Ministry were holding a New Year's Eve gala event five years on from the liberation of the wizarding world, to celebrate the progress made and commemorate the important date. Draco was to receive an award for his bravery during the final ambush of Malfoy Manor, something which he felt unreservedly embarrassed about. The only consolation was that he would be amongst others receiving awards – Harry and Michael Corner were also being recognised for their work.
Amelia frowned and came to sit next to Draco, taking his hand in hers. She sighed, "They just want to say thank you, that's all."
"Do they have to do it so publicly? Can't they just send me an owl?"
Amelia smiled. "Well, without it being public there wouldn't be any free champagne, and this is our only night this month without the kids… So just think of it as doing me a favour."
Draco laughed and squeezed her hand. His expression dropped though as he imagined having to receive an award in front of so many of his peers – half of whom were on the battle lines alongside him. "We all took the same risks. I just don't see why I should be singled out," he mumbled.
Amelia's face softened and she leaned in closer to her husband. "You deserve this," she said pointedly, chasing Draco's lowering eyeline. It was a conversation they'd had about a thousand times since the war.
Draco conceded: "Thanks," he said with a small smile. "How long do I have?"
"Fifteen minutes until we have to leave."
"The kids?"
"Already with your mother."
"Then I suppose there's just about no excuse," Draco said half-jokingly.
It wasn't that he was ungrateful, quite the opposite really. Every day he was grateful for the community that had first allowed him in when they had no reason to trust him. It was hard though; sometimes when he looked at himself he would still see that 15 year old with slicked back hair wearing a Slytherin tie, disdain in his grey eyes, and hateful thoughts swimming in his head. When he met new people now he worried about what they knew of him, whether they had a preconception about what he would be like. It was hard to reconcile the fact that the world saw him as some war hero, when his past felt so complicated and there was so much to feel ashamed of. Amelia knew all about these thoughts, of course. There was no hiding anything between them; they couldn't if they tried. Whenever his ghosts came back to haunt him, Amelia reminded Draco of all the good there was in him. Not as a hero but as a father, a husband, a friend.
Ten minutes later he came back down the stairs wearing some dress robes that Amelia had laid out on the bed for the occasion. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, buttoning up her coat. After spending so much time in various tents on the run together, with nothing but what they had stuffed into a small rucksack, Draco was always taken by surprise at these sort of events that required them to dress up. Seeing Amelia with hair falling in gentle curls around her shoulders, with red lips and dark lashes, always captivated him. Even so, he cared very little for the opulent lifestyle he'd grown up with, and even wearing dress robes made his skin feel itchy and uncomfortable. When he looked back at his time living in a tent with Amelia, he realised now that that was who his true self was. Not a Slytherin, not a reformed Death Eater, not a Malfoy. Just somebody trying to do the right thing.
"Have you got your speech?" Amelia asked.
Draco patted the pocket of his trousers. "Well, I hope that you're prepared to be equally as embarrassed by the limelight tonight, " He said as he tied a bowtie around his neck. "I'll be dedicating that award to you, Collins." His tone was teasing and he smirked as Amelia crinkled her nose.
"To me?!"
"I don't know where I would've ended up without you in Hogwarts, but it certainly wouldn't be accepting a bloody bravery award for fighting with the Order of the Phoenix."
Amelia smiled and put a warm hand to Draco's cheek. "You were always going to figure all of that stuff out. I was just along for the ride."
As Draco took her in his arms, he felt the familiar warmth of the silver ring hanging around his neck press against his chest; a token he'd never taken off since Amelia first gave it to him. He felt the anxiousness bubbling in his stomach subside as her arms snaked around his middle. In these quiet moments, he would often cast his mind back to times in the resistance when they would dream of a life even half as good as this one. Draco smiled to himself and kissed his wife on the top of her head. He knew there would be more struggles throughout their lives, understood that as their children grew older the world would warp and change again and again and that he and his family would have to change with it. But for now, they had all the time in the world.
.
.
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That's it - all finished! Hope you enjoyed if you've read this far. Don't forget to leave a review :)
