It all started before the first light of the New Year.
Draco Malfoy's first awareness was the pounding in his head, making him groan aloud before he even cracked his eyelids open in the dim grey that precedes dawn.
'You're a bloody idiot," he thought to himself fiercely, annoyed with himself that he'd over-imbibed again.
The second thing he clued into was a deep, even breathing coming from his left. He turned his head slowly and breathed out in shock as his stomach roiled.
"Ava," he thought, and could have slapped himself.
It was one thing to have a one night stand, but another thing altogether to have a one night stand with a receptionist who worked for one of the partners of his company.
His father's company, really, but Draco inherited everything three years ago when his father was thrown into Azkaban for war crimes.
The witch beside him was facing him as she slept, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow where she was resting her head.
"Fuck," Draco groaned, praying fervently for her to stay asleep long enough for him to escape. Not even sleeping together after the company New Year's Eve party would have stemmed the utter loathing Ava had felt for him since he'd first shown up to work.
He had no idea how he'd even ended up with her the night before; the last thing he clearly remembered was three fingers of Old Ogden's firewhiskey at the bar, watching his employees enjoy themselves while skirting around him. They'd probably thought their avoidance was subtle.
He'd heard them whispering though, and as he thought about it more he remembered hearing them talk about all the women in the office. He had learned that Freya was currently seeing a muggle man and that Blakely was currently dating a Lord. He had also heard that Ava had been with many of the different men at the office, but apparently she'd had a not-so-secret little fascination with Draco for quite some time.
He had assumed at the time it was all talk, but then had a flashback, remembering her standing in front of him, her painted red lips curved into a coy smile as her pointer finger dragged down his chest slowly.
He let out a breath and rolled from his bed slowly and carefully, the movement causing his head to spin even after he planted his feet firmly on the floor.
He just needed to get to the bathroom, then he could cast a silencing charm and really berate himself for making such, stupid, poor choices.
He stumbled with uneven steps into his closet and grabbed the first hanger his hand came into contact with, retreating the room quickly with hunched shoulders; shuddering as his stomach did backflips.
Draco accidentally fumbled the bathroom door shut, slamming it behind himself loudly as he all but tripped over his own feet, clumsy. His head felt too big for his body and he could hardly focus on being quiet and controlled in his movements.
"You're a fucking idiot, Malfoy," he said to himself with another groan. He just needed to take a hangover potion and then he could figure out what, exactly, he was doing with himself. He needed to make a change, and quickly, or he would end up a lonely old drunk, hated by the world.
"No," he gasped aloud, as he opened his potion cabinet and realised he was out of the potion. "Shite." It was the only thing that would get rid of a hangover this bad without an entire day of suffering.
He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, remembering that the morning before, he'd taken the last one and told himself to make an owl order before going into the office. Clearly, he hadn't.
"Fuck."
Okay, he'd have a lukewarm shower and hope that would at least help until he could make an owl order.
"It's New Year's Day, numbskull," his brain reminded him. There wasn't a business that he knew of that would be fulfilling owl orders. Most holidays, shops ran a skeleton crew for a few hours in the morning and that was it.
He'd have to step foot into Diagon Alley for the first time in three years and hope there was an open apothecary.
Draco stepped into the tepid water with a shudder, breathing deeply to try to dispel his nausea. He stood there for a moment completely still before the anxiety started on him, his brain going a thousand miles a minute as he thought about the line he had obviously crossed the night before and how he was going to have to go to Diagon Alley today.
"How could you be fucking stupid, Draco? What if she tells the entire company and you're even more of a laughingstock? What if everyone hates you even more, now? And Diagon Alley? Everyone fucking despises you. You can't go into public and expect to be treated decently. Just suffer at home with the hangover and don't show your face at the office until the next board meeting."
He turned up the heat a little more in his shower and tried to ignore his thoughts. He had to go into town today for the potion, there was no option. He couldn't spend his day sick like this.
He stepped from the shower and dried himself quickly, still trying to stifle his anxious thoughts as he dressed and attempted to comb his hair with shaking hands.
He let out a breath and cancelled the spells on the bathroom, ready to sneak out of his house and hope that Ava was awake and gone before he got back, but when he finally built up the courage to open the bathroom door, his bed was empty.
He breathed a sigh of relief that lasted only a moment, as he scanned his room he realised that Ava hadn't, in fact, left. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, pulling on her wrinkled red dress that she had worn to the party the night before.
They stared at each other awkwardly as she used her wand to pull up the zipper at her back, her face reddening more with each passing moment.
"Uh," Draco said, because his brain had clearly stalled and left his head completely. He was embarrassed by the situation but tried to pull himself together, automatically falling back on his upbringing. "Can I get you a coffee?" he asked, trying to be polite when really he didn't want her around for one second longer than was necessary.
She had been fiddling with the strap at the ankle of her shoe, trying to do it up, but seemed to give it up as she pulled it from her foot and held both tightly in her fist.
"No, I do not want a sodding coffee, Malfoy! I want to reinvent the bloody time turner so that I can go back to last night and talk myself out of shagging you! Merlin, I don't know what I was thinking!"
Draco felt like he'd been slapped. He didn't care one whit about Ava, not at all, but her blatant regret was a little harsh.
"Oh, like I wanted to bed the office slag?" He asked, his tone sharp.
"I think you'd take whatever you can get, Malfoy, and like I care what a Death Eater like you has to say about me."
"You didn't think I was just an evil Death Eater last night while you were screaming my name," he said, a sneer on his lips. Truthfully he could remember very little from the night before, but he did have a few flashbacks that told him he was correct.
Ava reddened further.
"This was a one time thing," she demanded, grabbing her purse and making her way to the bedroom door in bare feet.
"Obviously," he sneered in response.
"Don't mention it to anyone," she said as she turned to him from the doorway. "I'm serious, Malfoy. Not a word to anyone; pretend this never happened."
"My pleasure," he snapped before the door slammed behind her.
He had no intention of telling anyone, he already knew people would assume that he had somehow taken advantage of her. What was a little rape for a known Death Eater, anyway? That's what they would all think, he just knew it.
"Po!" He called as he started to make his way down the hallway outside of his bedroom.
His elf appeared almost instantly, dressed today in a tiny muggle inspired suit, complete with a cummerbund.
To his credit, Draco didn't allow any of the amusement to show on his face.
"Please have my bedding changed immediately, I must run out for a bit."
He wished he could just send his elves to an apothecary to buy his potions but they weren't allowed, by law, to purchase potions of any sort.
Draco employed three elves; Po, his personal elf, Kit, the landscaper, and Gus, his chef, but he was only present a few times a week to teach Draco something new.
He closed his silver eyes for a moment as his head throbbed. He really needed to get a handle on his drinking.
Draco finally gathered his resolve and left his house, apparating as soon as he was free of the wards. He swore under his breath as he hurried down Diagon Alley, swinging his eyes left and right to try and find an open Apothecary as he clenched his jaw in pain, self-loathing, and disgust.
There weren't many people out and about, but those people who were braving the early morning after a holiday were all giving him a wide berth, passing him with sneers of disgust and glares.
Just ignore it, Draco, old boy. You should be used to it by now.
He tripped over an icy cobblestone while stumbling down the streets. His nose and fingertips were starting to get numb from the weather, but the cold also seemed to help his hangover better than anything else that morning.
And then it showed itself, a port in the storm, so to speak. It wasn't a large shop, but it looked warm and inviting. A little gust of wind blew and the snow swirled around the sign like a beckoning hand, inviting him in.
"The Cure-A-Torium", Draco mumbled, squinting his eyes in order to read the name printed in purple on the only window, which was large and almost the entire front wall.
"Here goes nothing, let's hope it's someone who will sell to me," he thought disparagingly as he came to a stop.
A bell chimed merrily as he staggered through the wooden door, causing him to wince at the sharp sound.
The Cure-A-Torium was too bright on the inside, sunlight charms beating down onto the wares from golden globes hovering near the ceiling. The sudden sunshine made him squint in an attempt to shield his eyes as he slowly made his way past rickety shelves in the middle of the room, approaching the counter.
Draco shaded his eyes with a hand as he shuffled forward, his head pounding and his stomach roiling uncontrollably now that he was out of the cool, sharp, winter air.
He stopped in his tracks, scant feet from the counter when a woman who obviously worked there turned to him.
Shite, shite, shite.
It was Hermione Granger, standing behind the counter looking at him warily. Well, he was already here, standing in front of her; he might as well try to buy the potion. When she told him no, he would retreat to his house and pour himself a large drink.
"Do you have any hangover potions for sale?" He tried to sound polite, but he felt like shite and was pretty sure his tone was, if not precisely rude, more terse than necessary.
"Of course I do, Malfoy; this is an apothecary."
Of course, of course, but that's not the pressing question, now is it?
"Do you have any hangover potions that you would be willing to sell to me, then?" He barely got the words out through his combined dislike and what felt like dragons stomping around his brain. Fuck. All of wizarding Britain hated him, even most of his former housemates. Why would Hermione Granger be any different? She had at least a few solid reasons to kick him out of the store and embarrass the hell out of him in public.
She was looking at him again, but her face had shifted from wary to neutral.
"I do," she answered with a nod before stepping away from the counter and reaching to the top shelf of a stand to her left. "How many?"
"Ten?" he asked, hoping she'd think he was buying them for friends or something after a rowdy New Years' party. Obviously they were all for him; he'd need them if he didn't manage to stay away from drinking throughout the week; if he stayed sober…ish…it was still worth stocking up, before she changed her mind about selling to him.
Glass tinkled as Granger plucked the vials from the shelf, muttering about restocking and brew times and her upset schedule. She kept the irritation from her expression, turning and placing them on the counter gently.
He couldn't help but watch her; he hadn't seen her in years, after all, and she was actually being polite to him. His head throbbed particularly hard again, and he almost groaned aloud as he reached up and pressed his fingers into his closed eyes.
"That's one Galleon, three Sickles, and 13 Knuts, please," she said politely, but she sounded like she was getting a kick out of his current state.
Draco dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out some change. He slapped it on the counter without even bothering to count it and immediately reached for one of the vials. It was cool to the touch as he uncorked it with shaking hands, and he lifted it to his lips and poured it into his mouth in one steady motion.
The effects were blessedly quick. First his headache died down and mouth lost the dry, sick feeling and the tight, sour ache in his jaw. His eyes relaxed with the absence of his headache and the charmed light wasn't so harsh; his stomach settled and unknotted itself. His hands stopped shaking and he took a deep, steadying breath, letting out a sigh of relief.
"Excellent potion," Draco said, glancing at Hermione sheepishly, a little embarrassed that the first time he'd seen her in years, he was sick as a crup.
"Thank you," she said, her cheeks reddening slightly.
"Do you own the place?" he asked curiously, unable to stop himself.
He hadn't seen her since his trial in front of the Wizengamot. She'd bravely told everyone how Draco had inadvertently saved her when she was captured by snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. He'd refused to identify her to his insane aunt. How Draco had begged her and her friends to save him from the fiendfyre – she seemed exceptionally skilled at glossing over the uglier parts.
"I do," she answered softly. "Opened last year and I've done alright so far."
"Good to hear it," he said, feeling awkward. He had never been any good at small talk, and after spending the last three years essentially isolated, he feared it was even worse. He thought he should probably go before he made an even bigger fool of himself.
Hermione packed his remaining vials into a small carrying case that was charmed to keep the potions from breaking, and he couldn't stop looking at her.
She looked slightly different, maybe a little heavier than he recalled, but considering the last time he had seen her she had been so thin he could have blown her down, she looked incredibly healthy. Her hair was the same as he remembered, large and unruly curls that stuck out of the bun on top of her head at all sorts of angles.
Her large, deep amber eyes were focused on settling the vials in the carrying case gently, and Draco glanced down at her full, pink lips for a split second before his eyes jumped to the shape of her ear and the line of her jaw, taking the sight of her in completely.
She was breathtaking. Fuck, where had that thought come from?
"You're welcome here anytime, Malfoy," she told him as he strode away. He stopped for a moment, keeping his back to her, before he nodded quickly and fled.
—-
Hermione was caught completely off guard when Draco Malfoy entered her apothecary, but she had decided when she testified for him in front of the Wizengamot years ago that she wasn't going to hold the past against him.
He was a prick back then, yes, but could she honestly say that she'd been much better?
She hadn't outright bullied people in school, so there was that difference between them, but she had, in fact, bent plenty of rules – lighting Snape's poor robes on fire was not the end of it. She would never forget that she had hexed Marietta Edgecombe so badly she still couldn't go out without layers of foundation covering her skin, or the fact that she had purposely set up Professor Umbridge to be attacked by centaurs and kept Rita Skeeter trapped in a jar, just to name a few things.
So yeah. She wasn't exactly someone who could go about judging others for their bullying and bad behaviour during their teenage years. She was clearly no saint either.
Regardless, when he first entered her shop she was on guard - she honestly expected him to make some scathing remark to her before retreating. She saw him stop immediately on his way to the counter when he realised it was her standing there, she could see the look of indecision in his eyes.
She gave him a quick once-over as he rubbed his closed eyes, and she wasn't surprised to see that he had grown even more handsome over the years. His blond hair was still so platinum that it looked bleached beneath the sunshine charm she had cast in her shop, and he was tall and broad. She thought he may have been quite muscular, but that was mostly an impression, since he was swathed in a thick cloak.
She caught the self-deprecation in his voice when he asked if she would sell her potions to him, and she couldn't help the flash of pity she felt toward him. She knew what people said about him, but — that was years ago. She was startled by the implication that people were still treating him poorly, three years later.
She wouldn't be one of them; she and her friends had fought to end prejudices and that went both ways. He had been tried fairly and found innocent. That was more than good enough for her, Harry, and Ron.
But to be fair, they probably knew more about him than the general public did, since they had known him since they were children. They weren't friends, of course, but they knew enough about him to know that he wasn't evil. He was entitled and annoying, but certainly not evil.
She knew he had just as much choice to be a part of the war as Harry did, which was none. Things were put into action when Hermione and her peers were mere babies, and they had no control over the state of the world by the time they were teenagers.
Now if only the rest of the Wizarding World would agree.
The prejudices really did need to stop.
"You'll never guess who showed up in my shop this morning," Hermione said to Ginny and Harry that night at dinner.
She leaned away from baby James, who was over a year old already and somehow always seemed to be covered in some sort of tacky, sticky substance. Her chair at the table was beside the baby's high chair and she really hoped that James wouldn't start throwing food during this meal.
Harry shrugged at her as he chewed his meat.
"Draco Malfoy."
"Really?" Ginny asked in interest, leaning back for a moment. "Where has he been? It's been years since I've seen him or any of his friends."
"I'm not sure," Hermione replied. "He came in for a hangover potion and looked rough."
"Still handsome though?" Ginny asked, looking at Hermione with a strange gleam in her bright blue eyes.
"Handsome?" Harry spluttered, gazing at Ginny in wonder as a roasted carrot slipped off the prongs of his fork.
"Definitely handsome," Ginny laughed as she wiggled her eyebrows at Hermione, who rolled her eyes in response.
It was common knowledge that Hermione was dreadfully single and had been for years. She had tried to date immediately following the war but unfortunately found that men were more interested in her status than in her. She was not interested in being just a notch on someone's bedpost.
"Yes," she sighed. Handsome was definitely one way to describe Malfoy.
Harry's eyes widened and a faint look of disgust crossed his features.
/
Draco breathed out as he looked at the half-empty crystal glass in his hand. He needed to stop, he knew that, but it was harder than just putting the glass down and walking away.
The way that it numbed his problems, his failures, and the stresses of his adult life was unmatched by any other substance. He felt like, while he was mind numbingly drunk, that maybe he could cope with his life, maybe even carry on as things were.
Then he would wake up the next morning feeling like shit, knowing it had to stop. He would never thrive if he kept it up. He was getting by, but he wouldn't be happy doing so, and Draco really wanted nothing more than to actually be happy. Hopeless as it was.
The weeks passed as he struggled with himself over getting sober, giving himself reasons why he needed to stop drinking and then reasons why it would be fine if he continued.
He was on his own anyway, his friends were in France (he missed them), his mother in Switzerland (thank Merlin) and his father in Azkaban (good riddance), so did it really matter if he drank more than was reasonable?
He made an owl order for more hangover potions, choosing to be a coward and not visit Granger's shop again to restock.
For some reason he didn't want her to realise how often he needed hangover potions, and he certainly did not want to make her uncomfortable with his presence. She was polite to him last time, but he didn't want to push his luck.
There wasn't a woman in Wizarding Britain who would look at him with anything other than disgust, including Ava, who was doing her utter best to ignore him completely whenever he was at the office.
He unfortunately had to see her at work on occasion, but she did an excellent job at pretending he didn't exist. No one wanted to admit they had any contact with a Malfoy — professional or intimate.
She was no different.
Over a month after New Year, Draco was shocked when there was a timid knock on his office door.
"Come in," he said, watching the door curiously. No one ever came to his office, not really. He was only there two days a week to fill out paperwork and make sure everything was running smoothly, and he didn't interact with regular employees, only fellow board members.
His door opened and Ava slipped through, closing it firmly behind her.
His mouth instantly went dry. If she thought she was here for another go, she was sorely mistaken. He had no interest in being around someone who habitually pretended he was more invisible than a ghost whenever they were near each other. He may not have deserved much respect from the public, but he would at least have a little bit for himself.
"I'm pregnant," she blurted before he could offer her a snide remark.
Everything in Draco's life was changed with those two words.
