Chapter 20: Draco

Penance

"Individuals in private life, meanwhile, had quite forgiven Hester Prynne for her frailty; nay, more, they had begun to look upon the scarlet letter as the token, not of that one sin for which she had borne so long and dreary a penance, but of her many good deeds since." ― Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

Monday, June 25, 2007
Witch Weekly

POTTERWATCH SPECIAL REPORT—SPARKS REIGNITE? GINNY WEASLEY & HARRY POTTER SPOTTED COZY AT LEAKY CAULDRON BASH!

Romilda Vane
Senior Contributor

Is there a reconciliation brewing between The Chosen One and our favorite Quidditch star? In a twist no one saw coming, the Leaky Cauldron erupted into chaos on Saturday night as Ginny Weasley—newly appointed to the English National Quidditch Team—celebrated her triumph with friends and fans. But the real shocker? None other than Harry Potter himself walked through the door and bought the entire pub a round of drinks!

Yes, you read that right. The former flames, whose highly publicized engagement ended four years ago, were seen smiling, embracing, and—dare we say—looking like they hadn't just spent years in the absence of each other's company.

Heroically in his Auror's uniform, Harry stood on a chair and raised his glass in honor of Miss Weasley's monumental achievement. The room exploded in cheers, but the biggest cheer came when the two were spotted in an intimate embrace shortly after. Onlookers report that they looked "extremely comfortable" with each other, and some even claim to have seen Harry whispering something in Miss Weasley's ear that made her blush.

What could this mean for the once-inseparable couple? The Weasley-Potter breakup has long been the source of wizarding world gossip, with neither party ever revealing the true reason for their split. Could this public reunion be the start of something new—or the revival of something old?

Only time will tell, but one thing is sure: wherever Harry Potter goes, Witch Weeklyfollows!

Monday, June 25, 2007
Greenhouses, Malfoy Manor

"This is brilliant!" Neville Longbottom exclaimed for the eleventh time in as many minutes.

Draco glowered, standing near the entrance to his greenhouse, wanting desperately to vanish into the planting beds.

Longbottom, whose baby-plump face was much less babyish and plump than it had been during their school days, crouched down to examine one of the younger aconite plants. He was still wearing his professor's robes made of the thick brown hide of Herbology. He had already informed Draco upon his arrival that NEWTs had just ended the week prior. Otherwise, he would have come by sooner—anything for Harry bloody Potter.

Draco cursed his bad luck. Though Bob had managed to nurse some of the weak aconite seedlings to bloom over the last month, the supply overall had not increased as much as Draco would have liked. In a few months of supplying and brewing, they would run out. Potter—the complete bespectacled git—had followed through on his threat of sending Longbottom to help.

"How'd you manage this?" Longbottom asked. "It's very impressive—such a hard plant to propagate."

The Gryffindor stood up, coming over to examine the glass walls of the greenhouse near where Draco stood, then looking up to the roofline. Draco was unsettled by the fact that Longbottom had several inches of height on him and stood up straighter.

He replied, "I had some to start with. Hadn't thought about it in years until a few weeks ago. I tried making more room, but they're not filling in as much as would be preferred," he admitted bitterly.

"Amazing," Neville murmured, looking around again. "Well, I'd be happy to help."

Draco blinked, wrestling with decades-old disdain and a lifetime of superiority. Ultimately, his desire to succeed won out. He grumbled through his teeth, "What would you suggest?"

Longbottom looked at him with open excitement. What was with bloody Gryffindors and their endless wells of earnestness?

"Well, you'll want to move the adult growths together. The natural growing pattern of aconite increases if there are more plants together, feeding off of their magical energy," he began, walking over to the back corner of the greenhouse, where the most blooms were located. "For the rest, it will be important to open the roof up at nighttime, under moonlight," he gestured upward. "I can see the hinges allow the panels to do that. During the day, you might want to experiment with covering the roof altogether. Avoiding direct sunlight will help, but some researchers believe aconite grows best without sunlight."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, "Most of what I've read focuses on preserving wild blooms."

"It used to be a weed, growing everywhere. Too much to go around, and it's still that way with Muggle versions of the plant—but those have no magical properties, of course," Longbottom commented excitedly, "But now, there's the chance to study how magical aconite grows, and what conditions have the best effects. Could I take a seedling? I'd love to set up at Hogwarts. The plant I have is inches from death."

Longbottom was looking at him so earnestly that Draco nearly retched. "Fine."

"Brilliant!"

Draco sighed. Twelve times.

Longbottom continued, "Harry mentioned how helpful you've been with getting Wolfsbane. That's pretty remarkable, Malfoy—nice, even—"

Draco grabbed a terracotta pot and trowel from the supply table behind him and shoved it into Longbottom's chest. "This work?"

The wizard nodded, fumbling to get a firm grip.

Longbottom collected a specimen and then, to Draco's complete horror, insisted on helping replant the blooms in a more optimal pattern.

They worked silently, Draco digging as fast as possible without damaging the delicate roots. By the time they were done, the midday sun was beginning to dip behind the treetops, casting long shadows across the magical greenhouse.

Draco wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, carefully inspecting the rows they had rearranged. Draco had to admit that Longbottom had a knack for this stuff. He supposed Hogwarts students were in good hands—not that he cared.

"Let me know how it looks after the full moon next week," Longbottom said.

Draco nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The next moon would be at its height on the thirtieth of June—a date that Draco would never forget. Had it been ten years since Draco had almost murdered Albus Dumbledore?

His hand rested in his pocket, fingers brushing the smooth wood of his wand. He was waiting for something, and sure enough, the wand began to vibrate subtly, signaling the time. St. Mungo's was expecting a shipment that evening, and the latest batch of Wolfsbane needed to start simmering soon if he was to finish in time for next week.

"I need to head inside," Draco said abruptly, his tone casual but firm. "There's something I need to take care of."

Neville looked up, his expression curious. "Potions?"

Draco's response was clipped with frustration. "How much did Potter tell you, exactly?"

"I just know you're brewing Wolfsbane, obviously," he replied, following Draco through the exit to the greenhouse. "It takes a week to go through all the steps, so you must need to start soon."

Draco nodded, eager for the conversation to be over.

"Mind if I ask what else you're working on? You have quite a collection of magical plants, and I'm sure you can make some amazing things with them." Longbottom had the audacity to smile. "I was obviously shit at potions."

Draco stiffened slightly, keeping his back to Neville as he walked ahead, composing his answer. "Nothing that concerns aconite, Longbottom. Just some personal projects."

"Interesting," Longbottom said, brushing some errant dirt off his hands. "Are you getting a mastery?"

Draco turned, his expression carefully neutral. "Working on it." Once he reported the news of his anti-glamor potion, the Master's Guild would need to accept him. How could he get the word out, though? Many of the members had stopped accepting his letters. It was an issue that had been increasingly plaguing him over the last weeks since he made the breakthrough. It was none of Longbottom's business, though, so he glared.

Longbottom raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Just curious. You know, a mastery is not something one usually keeps to themselves."

Draco's eyes narrowed more. Longbottom had never met Theodore Nott, apparently. "Some things are better kept private."

Longbottom studied him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "Fair enough," he said finally, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "But speaking of potions, I've been curious to ask you something since Harry came to me."

Draco's irritation flared. He didn't have time for small talk, not with his lab waiting for him. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"It's about one of my students," Neville said quickly, sensing Draco's impatience. "He just finished his NEWTs and is about to graduate. He's brilliant with herbology, and Slughorn has said he's also amazing with potions—I wouldn't know, but he seems confident. Anyway, the student wants to pursue a potions career but needs some hands-on experience outside of school. Since you're helping Harry with this and have whatever other things going on, I thought … well, maybe you'd consider taking him on as a temporary apprentice?"

Draco blinked, caught off guard. "You want me to take on an apprentice? I'm not even a master."

"This student is eager and doesn't have a position lined up. He needs some way of getting experience," Longbottom said—earnestly. Draco sneered. "And because you have the space and money…" Longbottom looked around at the facade of the Manor and blooming hedgerows beside them. They were almost at the exit, blessedly.

Draco frowned, weighing how to reject Longbottom's request. It was the last thing he needed—a curious, inexperienced student underfoot, potentially poking into things they shouldn't. Gossiping about him. But Draco found himself considering the idea. Now that he had succeeded with his experiments, he fell behind on his other commitments. The idea of having another wand around to focus on the basic brews like bruise paste and pepper-up was tempting.

"Why not ask someone else?" Draco asked, his voice carefully controlled. "You want your precious students to work with me? Surely there are reputable potions masters more willing to take on an apprentice."

Longbottom shrugged. "There might be, but you're doing something good here. Harry admires your work, Malfoy, even if I only know this one part of it. And this student can't be picky, can he?"

There was a long silence as Draco considered the proposition. It was risky. He didn't want to reveal the true extent of his potion work, the secret business he'd built over the years. But something in Longbottom's voice, the genuine respect, made him hesitate.

"Fine," Draco said finally, his tone begrudging. "I'll consider it. But only for the summer."

Longbottom's face lit up with relief. "Thank you! I'll let him know."

"I said I'd consider it, Longbottom. Goodbye," Draco said with finality as they arrived at the open gate. Longbottom began to step through, and Draco wasted no time turning on his heel and heading toward the Manor.

"I'll owl you tomorrow!" Neville called from behind him, and Draco raised a hand in acknowledgment.

Draco's thoughts were a jumble of irritation and something else as he walked away—perhaps anticipation, though he would never admit it out loud. He wasn't sure why he would ever agree to this, but part of him, the part that still believed in second chances, wondered if maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Still, he had no intention of letting anyone—especially not some starry-eyed student—mess up his work.

One Week Later—
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tonks House

When Andromeda opened the door, she burst into laughter.

Draco frowned. Throughout his life, he had collected many instantaneous reactions to his presence—awe, dread, screaming, sexual appreciation, etc.—but laughter was not one of them.

"Draco, dear," Andromeda managed to speak between gasps of giggles. "Are those the only Muggle clothes you own?"

He looked down at his outfit—the same charcoal grey Muggle suit he had worn to meet Potter in his dingy pub. It had worked for that, so why would it not work for whatever Muggle horror Andromeda had blackmailed him to attend today?

"It's Muggle," he attempted.

"Yes, but … actually—you know what? It's perfect," she returned, stepping aside and gesturing for Draco to enter their home. Draco scowled as he stepped through the doorway.

A voice yelled, "Draco!" and then he was hit by a soft force around his midsection, pushing the air from his lungs.

"Oof. Hello, Teddy," Draco managed to reply. The turquoise-headed nine-year-old let him go and beamed with a gap-toothed smile. Teddy had lost both of his canines since Draco's last visit.

"Teddy, we still have some time before we need to leave. Why don't you show Draco your room?"

"Come on!" The boy exclaimed, running up the carpeted wooden staircase.

Draco followed Teddy up the stairs, still trying to recover from the child's enthusiastic hug. He wasn't used to such open displays of affection—especially not from family—and it left him slightly off balance.

Teddy bounded ahead, his hair shifting from turquoise to lime green as he reached the landing. "Hurry up, Draco!"

Draco sighed and ascended the rest of the stairs, his polished shoes clicking against the wood.

Draco was struck by its strangeness when he stepped into the room. The only childhood bedrooms he had ever seen were those of his pureblood friends: Theo, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Astoria.

Teddy's room was a bizarre mix of the magical and the mundane. Enchanted Quidditch posters featuring players zooming about on broomsticks covered one wall. A few shelves were cluttered with toy cars, small electronic devices Draco couldn't identify, and a stack of comic books with elaborate, cartoonish covers. There was also a box with a glass screen that Draco guessed was used for some Muggle entertainment. It blinked in patterns he didn't understand.

The twin bed was a riot of color, with blankets in different shades of blue, a mess of pillows, and papers strewn across the surface. Teddy quickly snatched up a few drawings and waved them in Draco's face.

"Look at these!" Teddy's eyes were wide with excitement as he shoved the stack of papers into Draco's hands. "I've been practicing drawing since you last came over."

Draco glanced down at the drawings, his eyebrow arching in quiet surprise. They weren't half bad for a nine-year-old. There was a drawing of a white and sleek dragon flying over a shimmering lake with three figures on its back. Another showed a man standing beneath a full moon, the shadows of a wolf's transformation just beginning to take shape. But the last drawing caught most of Draco's attention—a simplified face of a woman with bright, bubblegum-pink hair. This must be Draco's dead cousin Nymphadora, Teddy's mother.

He swallowed and turned the pages back over to Teddy. "These are great."

Teddy smiled. "Thanks! Can you help me animate them like you did with my dragon card for you?"

Draco nodded, picking up the portrait.

"What are you thinking of doing with this one?"

Teddy grinned and shifted his hair to match the bright pink in the drawing. "I want the hair to change colors! Like mine does. Can we do that?"

Draco stared at the boy for a moment. "Yes," he said. "I think we can manage that."

Teddy plopped onto the carpeted floor, grabbing his colored pencils, and Draco reluctantly joined him, stretching his long legs out in front of him. As a child, Draco was taught never to sit on the floor by parents, tutors, acquaintances, and even the sterner of his family's house elves. It was undignified. But something about the boy's enthusiasm made it difficult to refuse.

Together, they worked through five different states of the portrait's hair—pink to turquoise to blonde, then a deep crimson red, and, finally, black.

With a flick of his wand, Draco completed the animation, watching as the colors shifted seamlessly from one to the next. Teddy's face lit up with joy, his hair changing to match each hue as he watched the transformation.

"Cool!" Teddy exclaimed. He stood up quickly and dashed to the bed, picking up the drawing of the man and the full moon. "Can we do this one next?"

Draco stiffened slightly, recognizing the implications of the image. The man beneath the moon, mid-transformation, could only be Remus Lupin. His throat tightened as he took the drawing from Teddy's hands.

"What do you want to do with this one?" Draco asked, keeping his tone even.

Teddy shuffled his feet, his earlier excitement dimming. "It's my dad. He was a werewolf. I wanted to show him becoming a wolf under the full moon."

Draco nodded slowly, unsure of how to approach the delicate subject. "Alright," he said after a pause. "I'll cast the charm, and then, you can draw the wolf. Then we can spell them together."

He performed the spell quietly. To break the tension, Draco cleared his throat. "You're a very good artist, Teddy. Would you maybe want to show a cloud passing over the moon? And when it's revealed, the transformation begins?"

Teddy's face brightened again. "Sure!"

Draco vanished the moon with a flick of his wand, giving Teddy room to work. As the boy bent over the drawing, carefully adding the clouds, Draco's eyes wandered around the room again. His gaze landed on a signed poster of Viktor Krum, the Seeker glaring at him with a familiar scowl.

"Do you know Viktor Krum?" Teddy's voice pulled Draco from his thoughts.

"I've met him," Draco replied.

"Cool! My Auntie Hermione introduced us at the World Cup last year!" Teddy's face lit up again as he proudly pointed to the poster. "He's nice. He owled me that poster after I met him."

Draco nodded. "Very … cool."

Teddy grinned. "I thought Hermione should date Viktor. He's way cooler than Terry. Terry was boring. I'm glad she isn't dating him anymore."

Draco chuckled softly, but he couldn't help the tiny spark of curiosity that ignited in him. Granger had dated Terry Boot? He had no idea. Not that it was his business, but the thought lingered.

Teddy handed Draco the finished drawing, which now included a cloud hiding the moon. As he cast the final animation spell, Draco watched the clouds drift away to reveal the transformation beneath. The werewolf emerged, his body growing and his fur sprouting in time with the moonlight.

Teddy smiled at the drawing, but this time, Draco noticed the smile tinged with sadness.

"Do you like it?" asked Draco.

"Yes," Teddy said. "It's just like I imagined."

Good, thought Draco. They could move on. But then the boy spoke again.

"I don't think it's fair that my dad was a werewolf. My godfather says he was happy, but I think you can be happy and sad at the same time. I think it's cool to turn into a wolf but also hard because you can't control it."

What was happening? Draco had stumbled into what seemed suspiciously like a fatherly conversation. If Draco knew anything, he knew he was not the right person to have that conversation. Look at the father Draco fucking had.

But something inside Draco could not let Teddy's words go unanswered.

Draco cleared his throat. "I knew your father—a little. Not as well as Potter. He seemed like a good man." Better than Greyback, for sure, he didn't say.

Teddy nodded and continued looking at his drawing.

Something tugged inside Draco's chest, and he sighed. "People don't like werewolves because they're afraid of them. But there's no reason to be afraid of a werewolf more than any other wizard. It's about the kind of person you are, not what happens to you uncontrollably once per month."

"That's what Hermione says, too."

Draco frowned, but his voice was gentle when he said, "I'm sure she does."

"Can we do one more?" Teddy chirped as if he had not been morose a moment earlier, jumping up to grab the last drawing from the bed.

He brought it over and sat directly next to Draco, his short legs stretched out, touching Draco's longer ones. Draco shifted slightly, struck by how comfortable the boy seemed in his presence. No one ever seemed relaxed in his presence.

"This is Harry and Uncle Ron and Hermione when they rode a dragon out of Gringotts! I love that story—do you know it?"

"Yes," Draco grumbled, scowling. Of course, he knew the story—it all had come out in the months after the Dark Lord's death. The bank heist, the escape on dragon back, the infiltration of Hogwarts, and then the battle. All in the same day.

Bloody overachievers.

"I want to show them jumping into the lake. Because they got onto the dragon but didn't know how to get off!" Teddy laughed, a stuttering light sound. "So they had to leap into the water from mid-air. So scary! But brilliant!"

"Three heroes," Draco commented.

Draco waved his wand, charming the three figures to disappear, and then handed it back to Teddy to draw the final stage of the animation.

Their work was soon done, and Draco watched as the three pencil figures fell into the lake and the dragon flapped its leathery wings.

"I like it! I can't wait to show Harry," Teddy said, smiling. "Thanks, Draco!"

"No problem," Draco said, standing up and brushing off nonexistent dust from his trousers. He turned toward the door, wondering where Andromeda had disappeared.

"Do you want to play a game?"

Draco turned around to find Teddy standing there with an earnest, hopeful expression. He was undoubtedly spending too much time with Potter and Granger. Draco was increasingly beginning to believe that he had a weakness for openness and honesty that he was not yet ready to contemplate.

"Okay."

Teddy hissed a quiet "Yes!" under his breath and rushed to the corner of his room with the glass panel and Muggle electronics.

"I got this for Christmas," Teddy told Draco as he hunched over some odd-looking knobs and wires. "It's called a Wii."

Draco watched as the screen flickered to life—and then fizzled into blackness.

"Shoot," Teddy mumbled. "Hold on. Sometimes, if there's a lot of magic around, it doesn't work." Teddy climbed onto his bed and heaved open the wood-paned window, flapping his arms as if fresh air could dissipate magic.

Draco stood there, unsure of what to do or how to help.

"You can sit there," Teddy told him as if reading Draco's mind. He gestured toward a wood-backed chair at the small desk by Teddy's wardrobe, and Draco pulled it out to face the black glass screen and sat, waiting.

Eventually, Teddy decided his flapping had been enough and returned to press the knobs and buttons again. This time, the screen flared to life and remained alight. Draco watched with reserved interest.

A black screen flashed the words WARNING—HEALTH AND SAFETY, which alarmed Draco, even more so after Teddy clicked a button on a white rectangle to make the screen disappear and change. The boy then plopped on the carpet beside where Draco had placed the chair.

"So, have you watched Tennis before?" Teddy asked as the glass screen turned bright and began to sound out a light tune of chimes.

"No," Draco replied. "What's that?"

"That's where we're going!" Teddy exclaimed, looking at Draco as if he were dumb and not merely uninformed due to Andomeda's evident enjoyment of tormenting him. "We're watching Tennis at Wimbledon."

"What is it, then? Some performance?"

"No," Teddy laughed. "It's a sport."

Draco's eyebrows raised. "Ah." Why would Andromeda drag him to a Muggle sport, of all things? He frowned.

"It's not as cool as Quidditch," Teddy admitted, using the white object to make the screen change again. "But it's fun, and Wimbledon is the biggest competition in Britain."

Draco wondered if he could get out of the rest of the day's outing, but then Teddy exclaimed the nonsensical phrase, "We get to make your Mii!"

The boy pressed some more buttons, and a jaunty tune began to sound out. Some text appeared that read, "Start from Scratch" or "Choose a look-alike."

"Here!" Teddy said, holding up the white rectangle to Draco. It had a little string hanging from one end.

"Oh, I don't think—why don't you do it?" Whatever it was.

"Okay! I think there's one that looks like you," Teddy replied.

Draco leaned forward in his chair.

Teddy tapped the button labeled "Choose a look-alike," and a gallery of cartoonish figures appeared on the screen. Draco's eyes narrowed as he scanned the options. These odd little people had round faces, exaggerated features, and blank, lifeless expressions. Nothing about them remotely resembled him.

"See, that one!" Teddy pointed excitedly at one of the figures—a pale one with blondish hair. "That looks just like you!"

Draco recoiled slightly, examining the caricature. The figure had a sharp jawline, sure, and the hair wasn't far off, but the absurd simplicity of the face made him cringe. He resisted the idea of being reduced to such a ridiculous form.

"That looks nothing like me," Draco muttered unhappily.

Teddy snickered and quickly clicked on the avatar. "Close enough! We can change it." Draco remained silent as Teddy selected a much more appropriate Slytherin green for the electronic Draco's shirt and sped through a few more options. The nose became thinner, the eyebrows more angled, the jawline more precise. This Muggle device was quite clever, all things considered. Draco thought the ridiculous image looked like a sentient aubergine but remained silent so as not to disappoint Teddy.

He handed Draco the white rectangular controller with a string dangling from it, which Draco took with apprehension. "You'll get used to it. Now, let's play Tennis!"

Teddy caused the screen to shift again, this time to a small court—albeit a strange, animated version with soft, bright colors and two little avatars standing on opposite sides of what appeared to be a net. One of them was the newly minted "Draco." The figure stood still, holding a racket in one hand, waiting to be commanded.

Draco stared at the controller, his confusion deepening. "How exactly do I make it move?"

Teddy grinned, holding his controller and swinging it through the air. "Like this! You swing it! It's like playing Quidditch as a beater—well, not really, but kind of!"

Draco tried mimicking Teddy's motions, feeling distinctly out of his element. He flicked the controller with a slight, hesitant movement. His Mii half-heartedly swung the racket on the screen, missing the ball entirely.

On the other hand, Teddy's Mii served the ball with ease, sending it soaring across the court. Draco's avatar didn't even flinch.

"See?" Teddy beamed. "It's easy!"

Draco frowned.

Teddy, suppressing a laugh, gestured at Draco's controller. "Here, you try serving."

Draco mimicked Teddy's earlier motions, this time with more force. His Mii swung hard, sending the ball bouncing awkwardly into the net. Teddy cackled.

"Alright, I'll get the hang of it," Draco said, now frustrated. He tried again, managing a weak serve that crossed the net.

They played a few more rounds, Draco becoming visibly more angry as his Mii failed to respond how he wanted it to. The little avatars on the screen flailed about as if possessed, and Draco, despite his best efforts, couldn't quite understand the game's flow.

"I don't get it," Draco muttered. "Is all Muggle tennis played through electronics?" He waved the controller in frustration.

Teddy burst out laughing, nearly dropping his controller. "No! This is just a video game!" He wiped at his eyes, still giggling. "Tennis is real—on an actual court, with real people. This is just for fun!"

Draco's brow furrowed, feeling utterly foolish. "Of course," he said, primarily to himself.

Teddy grinned as he explained further. "In real tennis, they use rackets and hit the ball over the net just like we're doing here, but the scoring is weird. Like, instead of numbers, they say things like 'Love' and 'Deuce.'"

Draco frowned. "Love? What does that have to do with tennis?"

"I don't know!" Teddy shrugged. "It's just what they say when someone has zero points."

Draco's confusion deepened. "So, when you're losing, they call it love? How absurd."

Teddy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! But then it gets even weirder. After 'Love,' the points go '15,' '30,' then '40.' And if both players get to 40, they call it 'Deuce.'"

Draco stared at the boy, trying to wrap his head around it. "That's ridiculous."

Teddy laughed again, clearly enjoying Draco's bewilderment. "It's just how it works! You'll see when we go to Wimbledon. It's really fun once you get into it!"

Draco sighed, swinging the controller again. This time, his Mii managed to return the ball properly, and Draco felt a glimmer of pride for a brief moment. But then Teddy's Mii swiftly sent the ball back, winning the point.

"Game point to me!" Teddy announced with a grin.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're far too good at this."

Teddy just laughed. "You'll get better."

They played a few more rounds, with Draco steadily improving, though Teddy still won every match. Despite himself, Draco found that he didn't entirely hate the game. Its simplicity was satisfying, even if it made no sense. Teddy's laughter and enthusiasm made the experience far more enjoyable than expected.

By the time they finished, Draco found himself loosening up, the earlier awkwardness of the day forgotten. As Teddy cheered his victory, Draco set the controller down, feeling less resentful of the strange Muggle device.

"Well, I suppose it wasn't the worst thing I've ever done," Draco said, earning a wide grin from Teddy.

"I told you it was fun!"

Andromeda's soft knock on the door interrupted their game. "Draco, Teddy, it's time to get ready for Wimbledon."

Teddy jumped to his feet, still brimming with energy. "Come on!" he said, bouncing toward the door. Draco hesitated momentarily, setting the controller aside, feeling a strange mix of relief and mild reluctance that the game was over.

As they stepped into the hallway, Draco glanced at Andromeda, who was dressed in Muggle clothes—something he never quite got used to. It looked even odder considering her resemblance to Bellatrix. She smiled at Draco, but her eyes showed a hint of mischief.

"How exactly are we getting to this … Wimbledon?" Draco asked, trailing after Teddy, who had already descended the stairs.

"There's an Apparition point not far from there," Andromeda explained, leading him toward the front door. "It's the fastest way. Is it alright if I side-along you both?"

Draco suppressed a grimace. He'd never been fond of side-along Apparition—the squeezing, disorienting sensation always left him uncomfortable—but seeing as he had no idea where they were going, he supposed it was the only option. "I suppose," he muttered with a shrug.

They reached the foyer, and Teddy, ever the bundle of excitement, darted back upstairs to grab something. Draco lingered by the door, eyeing the bright day outside. When Teddy returned, he wore a crisp white cotton jacket that contrasted with his black trousers and blue shirt. The boy looked rather put-together, Draco had to admit.

Teddy also slipped on Muggle spectacles with dark, tinted lenses. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, then glanced at Andromeda, who wore a similar pair.

"And what are those supposed to be?" Draco asked, frowning at the odd accessory.

"Sunglasses," Andromeda replied. "They're helpful for bright days like this since we won't be able to cast a shade charm in the middle of a Muggle event."

With a quick flick of her wand, she duplicated Teddy's sunglasses, adjusting them slightly before handing the pair to Draco. He inspected them, unimpressed, but put them on anyway. They were a bit larger than Teddy's, perfectly fitted to his face.

Teddy grinned up at him. "You look cool!"

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes. Teddy thought everything was "cool."

Before Draco could make another sarcastic comment, Teddy grinned mischievously, his hair rapidly shifting color to a shade of platinum blonde identical to Draco's. It was startling, to say the least, seeing his signature hair color on the young boy.

Andromeda chuckled. "Teddy, remember—no more changing your hair once we're at the match."

"All set now!" Teddy declared, his face lit with excitement.

Draco observed them for a moment, feeling out of place yet strangely amused. They made an odd trio, no doubt—Teddy's exuberant, constantly shifting personality, Andromeda's calm, measured demeanor, and himself, caught somewhere in between, unaccustomed to the chaos of their Muggle-inspired preparations.

With one last glance around the house, Andromeda nodded. "Let's go."

Two Hours Later—
Wimbledon

Draco found himself unexpectedly engrossed in the spectacle unfolding before him. Switzerland's Roger Federer, with his effortless grace, was sending the ball back to Argentina's Juan Martin Del Potro, and Draco couldn't tear his eyes away. Their seats, high up in the stands, gave him a decent view of the court, though he silently wished they were closer to the action. He would have loved to see the intricacies of the sport up close.

He mused that Tennis was far calmer, organized, and surprisingly civilized than Quidditch. Perhaps a bit boring in comparison, but not everything could be Quidditch. The thought of Muggles being associated with civility had rarely crossed his mind, but he had to admit that the entire crowd was dressed smartly, and his own Muggle suit fit in seamlessly.

He was distantly aware that he had never been in such proximity to so many Muggles in his life.

Sitting on his left, Teddy was following every movement of the crowd with rapt attention, reacting with small gasps and claps when the rest of the audience did. On Draco's right, Andromeda sat serenely, not making a sound but moving her head in sync with the ball's trajectory, her calm demeanor somehow adding to the atmosphere.

Draco leaned toward her. "Are you a fan of this sport?" he asked, half-expecting her to say yes, given how smoothly she blended in with the tennis crowd.

"Not really," Andromeda replied softly, her eyes still following the match. "But Teddy loves it—he's been hooked since his Muggle friends introduced him. I indulge his interests." She glanced at her grandson fondly before returning her attention to the court.

Draco nodded and then groaned, his reaction perfectly in time with the crowd as Del Potro missed a hard shot from Federer. He was secretly pleased with himself, realizing he understood the game well enough to join in the collective frustration.

Andromeda gave him a curious look. "How's everything going?"

"Fine," Draco replied automatically, though he didn't meet her eyes.

"What's 'fine'?" she pressed, her tone light but pointed.

"Everything," Draco muttered, hoping to deflect.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "Everything? Including your secret potions charity, growing aconite for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and—" she paused for effect, "kicking your father out of the Manor?"

Draco blanched, his stomach tightening. "How do you know about that?"

"Don't underestimate me, Draco. It's rude." Her voice had a playful lilt, but Draco could feel the weight of her knowing gaze. He tried to focus back on the match, but the players were between sets, leaving him no excuse to dodge the conversation.

"Who is your favorite player?" he asked Teddy, hoping to change the subject.

Teddy, utterly oblivious to the tension, grinned. "Federer, of course! He's the best!"

Draco nodded, glad for the distraction. "He seems good. Already won the first set and leading in the second."

"He is the best," Teddy repeated confidently, eyes wide as the players returned to the court. "He's won the tournament the last four years."

Draco's moment of respite was short-lived when Andromeda leaned in closer. "I don't understand why you're uncomfortable talking about your life when it seems you're doing good things." Her voice was gentle, but Draco still felt the discomfort prickling under his skin. "And don't worry about your father. He'll be fine. You might want to reconsider for Christmas, though. I have a feeling your mother will want a family holiday at the Manor."

Draco scowled. "I don't know if being named Lord Malfoy was a good thing," he uttered quietly, surprising even himself with the admission.

Andromeda rubbed his shoulder gently, making Draco shift in his seat with awkward discomfort. "You're probably the best Lord Malfoy in a hundred years," she said, her tone sincere, "and maybe ever."

Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks and silently dismissed her words as rubbish. How was she to know?

Andromeda seemed to sense his skepticism. "I know you think that's just a platitude, but it's true. I'm an excellent judge of character, Draco. You've been through more than most people ever will in their lifetimes, and you've come out the other side a full person, not broken. That's no small thing."

Draco absently scratched at the faded red mark beneath his sleeve, his eyes following the ball's rhythm as it struck back and forth. The steady thump of the tennis ball hitting the racket was soothing. Even though Quidditch was more exciting, there was a time and place—and mood—for less action-packed athletics.

Andromeda gave his shoulder another affectionate squeeze, and Draco, feeling the need to steer the conversation elsewhere, said, "If you could gently urge my mother not to try and betroth me to every French witch in Provence this summer, I'd appreciate it."

Andromeda smirked in a way that alarmingly reminded Draco of his mother. "I think you can handle yourself around some women."

Draco's stomach dropped. He wasn't sure if Andromeda was joking or not. But then she continued, her voice more playful, "I'll send her an owl."

"Thank you," Draco murmured, genuinely relieved.

Before he could say anything else, Teddy's excited voice broke through the air. "Wow!"

Draco blinked, turning his attention back to the court just in time to see Federer execute a perfect drop shot, sending the crowd into a round of applause. Teddy's enthusiasm was infectious, and Draco allowed himself to clap along.

One Hour Later—

"Brilliant!" Draco exclaimed.

Federer won, and the entire stadium erupted in cheers and applause. He pumped his fists to the crowd and shouted in triumph. Teddy was ecstatic, and Andromeda clapped calmly with a smile.

"Does he get a prize?" asked Draco, turning and looking down at Teddy beside him.

"Not yet, it's not the final."

"Well, when is the final?" Draco inquired, turning toward Andromeda.

"Next week, I think."

Draco looked down at Teddy's smiling face, back at the crowd, then Andromeda.

"… I need to send some owls."

The Next Day—
Friday, June 30, 2007
Greenhouses, Malfoy Manor

Longbottom was right.

Under the light of the full moon, the aconite was thriving. If plants had emotions, Draco might describe the purple stalks as happy. Despite the lack of wind, some of the more delicate tendrils even appeared to sway.

The air was humid. Draco could sense the height of summer upon them. He smelled earth and herbs, and the gentle rustling of leaves was the only sound breaking the night's outside, the moon shone high in the sky.

Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from it. The moon had not been full ten years ago on this night, but the eeriness was familiar.

That night had changed everything, when Albus Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower, the green light of the killing curse still reflecting in his lifeless eyes.

Draco had been so young then—seventeen, a boy navigating a world of violence and darkness far beyond his understanding. He hardly knew what he was doing—desperate. Surviving. But that didn't excuse what he had done. Or rather, what he had tried to do. He had stood on that tower, wand in hand, Dumbledore's life hanging by a thread, and he had wavered. He had faltered. He hadn't been able to go through with it.

But Severus had saved him. With his calm voice and calculating eyes, Severus had stepped in and done what Draco could not. He had cast the Killing Curse, taking the weight of murder off Draco's shoulders. But the weight of guilt remained. It had settled deep inside him, festering over the years, a constant reminder of what he had almost become: a murderer.

Who would Draco be today, had he cast the killing blow? Dead himself, probably.

And now, ten years later, the memories still haunted him.

Draco's gaze drifted from the moon to the plants around him. This greenhouse, this sanctuary of growing things, was like a refuge. In place like this, Longbottom and the more compassionate parts of society nurtured things to life instead of destroying them.

Draco had tried to move on, to build something just for himself despite the ruins of his family's name. But no matter how much he worked, no matter how many potions he brewed, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still running from that tower. Twenty-seven years old, and he still felt like the boy who had been too afraid to choose his own path.

He wondered if Dumbledore had known, even in those final moments, that Draco would fail. The old man had seemed so certain, so calm. It had infuriated Draco at the time—Dumbledore's pity, his understanding. But now, as he stood in the quiet of the greenhouse, Draco felt something else. A deep, gnawing sorrow.

The moonlight caught on the bowl of harvested blooms resting on a table nearby, ready for next month's Wolfsbane brew. Draco enjoyed harvesting the plant each month, watching as the ends of the purple stems turned silvery where his knife sliced through.

Draco was in too deep not to understand—at long last—why he kept indulging Potter, his persistent requests, his letters, why he continued building the Charitable Potions Trust, why he allowed even Neville bloody Longbottom to cross the threshold of this haunted place. It was all penance.

Draco let out a slow breath. He had spent years trying to atone for his sins, to prove—to himself, to the world—that he was more than just a failed Death Eater or a Death Eater's son. But the truth was, he hadn't known if he would ever truly be free of the shadow that hung over him. He still didn't know. And so, he retreated from the world.

He recalled Granger in Diagon Alley, hunched in the darkness, patrolling like a fresh recruit, when she had already given so much in the name of saving the world. Was that her penance? Did she owe penance for her own ambition?

He shook his head bitterly. If Hermione Granger felt she owed the world something, how would he—Draco Malfoy—ever make up for his actions?

Up Next: Hermione adapts to some setbacks at work.