Draco has always liked being born into privilege. It meant that he never had to put much effort into anything to get what he wanted. Being born into generational, and most probably dubious, wealth allowed him to buy whatever his heart desired. Even after paying a hefty sum for post-war reparations, he has enough money to comfortably last at least eight more generations after Scorpius. Coming from two of the most ancient houses in the Sacred Twenty-Eight allowed him respect he never had to earn and friends he never had to make. So he doesn't understand why Granger's definitely not earned kindness and friendliness towards him make him feel uneasy, and he has this sudden urge to apologise to Granger. It has been more than a week since their outing and seeing as he hasn't received any howlers, he supposes everything is under control and nothing is expected of him. Although, she had promised Scorpius that she would write to him and not that he was looking forward to a letter from her or anything but he never pegged her as someone who would break a promise to a five year old. Maybe he could write her one instead. And what would he say? Sorry to have bullied you in school Granger? Or better yet, why are you being nice to me, it makes me feel weird? How would he start a letter to her anyway? "Dear Ms. Granger" makes her sound like a stern Victorian governess, but he can hardly address her by her first name, can he? Not with their history. It irritates him to no end when every problem he seems to have nowadays ends up being related to his pompous younger self. If past Draco had a bit of foresight and decency, he would have never been in this situation. Frustrated, he gets up from his chair. He won't be able to get any work done until he resolves whatever this is.
He needs a distraction and supposes he could use some advice, and decides to write to Blaise to see if he can meet up with him for dinner. He doesn't usually ask him out, Blaise prefers to come over to his house so that he can spend some time with Scorpius before he goes to bed. So Draco knows that whatever plans Blaise might have, he is going to make time for him if asks. And he doesn't have to wait long for his answer to arrive. Blaise's grey owl flies in through the open window with a flourish and nips his finger while he tries to get the note. He is certain that Blaise tells the bloody bird specifically to do that, but the nips have been losing their hostility since he's started to keep high quality owl treats in his office. He affectionately pets the owl's head, gives her an extra treat to keep the peace and sends her on her way. He also writes a quick note to his mother, telling her he'll be later than usual. He doesn't want to send his eagle owl out for delivery again so soon. Ulysses is 20 now, and he knows that eagle owls live long, but he still doesn't want to exhaust him unnecessarily. So he leaves his office, tells his secretary to take care of it and to clear rest of his day. He knows that he has nothing lined up for today, but he likes to play the powerful busy businessman.
Because their headquarters is close to the Leaky Cauldron, he decides to walk. He greets some of his employees on his way out and puts on his Malfoy armour. He may be a free, changed man, but not everyone agrees with his lack of punishment. Even after all those years, some people, muggle-born and pure-blood alike, are suspicious of him and some are even downright hostile towards him. That's why he always has his thick skin and poker face on. Words can't hurt him. Curses might. So he always holds onto his wand inside his robes just in case.
The walk to the Leaky doesn't take long, but Blaise is already sipping on some butterbeer when he arrives. Blaise raises his glass in recognition. "Something must be eating you alive if you ask me to meet you here before your work day's ended," he says as greeting. Draco hates that Blaise knows him so well. "Let me grab a drink before you start laying it on me" is his response. They rarely use hellos and what's ups in their relationship; it is as if their conversations never end, they just continue where they left off. Plus, they just love hating on each other. Draco doesn't remember when the last time Blaise has said anything nice to him was, could very well be at Scorpius' birth and he can't take all the credit for that.
They both order something to eat and wait for their orders to arrive in silence. He doesn't like the look Blaise is giving him over the pint glass, but he decidedly ignores it. It doesn't take long for the food to arrive, the Malfoy money still holds its weight after all, and once he's eaten quite a bit and halved his butterbeer, Blaise starts again: "Are you gonna tell me what's got your knickers in a twist or should I start guessing?" Draco doesn't answer him right away. He is trying to come up with a good way to explain everything. "What happened," continues Blaise, "did one of your peacocks die? I told you to have the greens chopped in smaller pieces."
"Very funny," interjects Draco. What if he is a bit touchy when it comes to the peacocks? He loves them, they have always been at the Manor. "They are fine. My mother's been caring for them."
"It's time for Narcissa to get a hobby that does not include coddling spoiled creatures, she's done that long enough. Maybe she can take up party planning—" "I met up with Hermione Granger," mumbles Draco. Whatever answer Blaise was expecting was obviously not that and he chokes on his beer. "You did what?" he exclaims, in a very uncharacteristically high voice. Draco just looks at him. "When did this happen? No wait, how did it happen?" asks Blaise. Draco knows that it must sound crazy coming out of the blue and it also feels crazy that it didn't feel crazy in the moment. Does he even make sense? "The other weekend," he answers. Blaise's eyebrows threaten to leave his face altogether. "Shit, Draco. When were you going to tell me this exactly? After a picture of Potter punching you square in the face gets published in the Daily Prophet for daring to talk to his precious golden girl?" Draco has to give him that, Potter might still punch him for daring to talk to Granger, he just needs to not run into him in anywhere public. He takes a deep breath and an even bigger sip of his drink and tells Blaise the whole story.
Being a good listener has never been Blaise's strongest suit, but he lets him finish without interrupting. It must be a good story to listen to. If it was Blaise who'd told him that he met up with—well he didn't really have any enemies for this analogy to properly work, but yeah, Draco gets it. It is so out of the blue and random that it almost sounds made up. Who would have believed the wizarding world's darling Granger had become an ordinary children's author? She was supposed to become the minister or save all the poor beasts. Well, apparently Blaise would. Because apparently Pansy, who heard from an inside source, told him that Granger quit her job at the ministry with a bang and has since kept a low profile. Draco never really kept tabs on anyone. He enjoys gossip as much as the next guy, but he was too busy wallowing in self-pity and trying to raise his son alone without problematic indoctrination to keep up with the Golden Trio. Once he finishes his story, all Blaise asks him is "so what is the problem?" That is the question. Nothing is wrong, except for his unquenchable thirst for making his past transgressions right. That, Blaise finds hilarious. "You've always had flair for the dramatic. Just because she had coffee with you because she promised your son, doesn't mean you have to go on a soul-searching, sacrificial quest. Take it as it was; a nice gesture on her part and move on." He doesn't like that answer. He has already done his soul-searching, thank you very much. "I don't know," replies Draco "she was so nice to Scorpius despite me, and I don't think I deserved such courtesy on her part." Also she promised she'd write Scorpius and didn't, that poor child had been waiting for an owl to drop by since then. Maybe if he reached out first, then she would remember her promise. "Draco, mate, I really think you should let her do this on her terms. If you thought it was crazy, just imagine how she must have felt to have met up with her childhood bully. Wait for her to reach out, and once she does you can start your atonement face to face, without Scorpius around." That's fair, Draco supposes, and makes a lot of sense. He's never really thought about her in seven years, he can easily wait a bit longer.
He picks up the tab, is begrudgingly forced into a bear hug and apparates home. Although it is nowhere near midnight, it's way past Scorpius' bedtime. He doesn't like missing bedtime stories, but knows that his mother actually does a better job. She isn't downstairs when he arrives, so he goes up to Scorpius' room to check up on him, where he finds his mother reading in dim light. He goes to Scorpius first, gives him a soft kiss and adjusts his blanket just so and then focuses on his mother. Narcissa Malfoy is as regal and majestic as can be sitting in an oversized lemon yellow armchair. Draco can't make out what she is reading, but he is not sure if he really wants to know. He greets her with a kiss and a whispered "sorry I'm late." In response, she rises from the armchair and gestures towards the door. Once outside Scorpius' room she answers: "It's nonsense. You know how much I love taking care of Scorpius. And going out once in a while won't kill you, you know." Draco really appreciates his mother and her commitment, now doubly extended to her grandson. "Was everything alright? Did Scorpius give you any trouble?" he asks. "Oh no, not at all. That boy is an angel. I don't know where he gets it from." Draco loves the mischievous tone and the spark in her eyes.
After thanking her profusely, he sends her on her way, he doesn't want to impose on her more than necessary and he really wants to take a shower. She gives him a big, long hug and before she leaves tells him that some letters had arrived for him while he was gone. Before heading to the shower, he decides to take a look at them just in case and among a heap work related memos, finds a neatly written letter addressed to his son.