“You will see her,” said his father. “You cannot run away from this forever.”

Years of resentment hadn’t enabled him to defend himself against his father’s imperiousness. His knuckles were turning white, yet his lips wouldn’t move to form the answer “No”. Minutes after his father had left, he was still seething in silence.

“Let’s just get this done with,” he muttered to himself at last, walking out of his bedroom. He heard the voices of the Greengrass couple as he reached the living room. A wave of nausea hit him and he stalled.

“Draco?” called his mother.

With a heavy sigh, he straightened his collar and walked in, nodding at the Greengrasses. His eyes scanned the room for their daughter, Daphne’s sister, but she wasn’t there.

Looks like she has left, he thought hopefully.

The introduction passed painfully. Although he didn’t show it, he couldn’t bear shaking people’s hands while wondering what they must think his family’s fallen grace. He couldn’t help the paranoia, the feeling of shame which accompanied him every time he had to talk to someone other than his own parents. He was surprised by the fact that they kept coming, though. His father must have spent far too much gold in his heyday to still have some semblance of a social clout after all that had happened.

“Astoria’s gone out to see our garden,” said his mother. “Why don’t you go see her?”

He noticed Mr Greengrass frowning and his wife giving an uneasy smile; perhaps, the daughter had left against their permission. Suddenly feeling happier, he made a little bow and said, “It will be my pleasure.”

If the daughter didn’t like this, he might be able to get out of a marriage he didn’t want. But when he reached the garden and saw her, something happened.

She was standing by a tree, her plain white robes disappearing into the bright orange flowers that grew in a circle round her. She was looking at something in the distance, unmindful of the fact that she cut quite a striking figure as her hair blew loose in the breeze and her silver hoops dazzled, caught in the afternoon sunlight. After staring at her for a few seconds, he thought he should make his presence known, but he seemed to forget her name and ended up coughing instead.

She turned to look at him.

He couldn’t say anything.

“They are forcing us to marry,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want to. Do you?”

Taken aback, he said, “I �“ er �“ no.”

“We’ll tell them, won’t we?”

All of a sudden, he wanted to declare “no”, but he still said, “Yes, we will.”

She laughed in relief and walked towards him. “You’re not as bad as I thought, then,” she remarked, her green eyes piercing into his.

He couldn’t break the contact. Before he could stop himself, he spluttered, “Could - could- we have a drink sometimes?”

“Maybe,” she answered, smiling. “But let’s go and break the news first.”





It was a month after the botched match-making session of his parents that Draco found himself standing outside Twilfit & Tattings. He was chewing his lips and wondering if he had enough courage to walk in.

“C’mon, you sodding coward,” he muttered to himself, but even self-chiding wouldn’t work. His forehead was getting sweaty, and he had almost decided to Disapparate when she came out of the shop. He gulped and looked away, pretending not to have seen her.

“Draco?” she called.

“Oh … Astoria,” he said mechanically. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she said, smiling as she approached him. “What brings you here?”

“I was waiting for a friend.”

“Ah …” she said. “Are they late then?”

“Yeah.” Draco made a show of checking his watch. “Looks like they won’t turn up.”

“That’s too bad.”

Say something, nagged a voice in his head. “So … uh … did you come here to get your robes fitted?” he asked.

“I work here,” she replied. “Didn’t you hear my parents moaning that day? Or maybe, they did it when you weren’t around.”

Draco’s mother had indeed mentioned that Astoria was working as a new designer for the high-end store. He remembered that she had sounded somewhat impressed, while his father wore a frown on his face. He personally didn’t give a Knut whether Astoria designed clothes or washed dishes at the Leaky Cauldron … No, he said to himself. The latter was a bit unbecoming, but Twilfit & Tattings was a respectable and reputed place, and really, making expensive wizardwear (or was it witchingwear?) wasn’t half-bad when compared to the fact that he was currently jobless, and had the tag of ‘Former Death Eater’ following him everywhere he went.

“No,” he said. “They must have talked about it when I was in my room.”

“Mmm.” Shrugging, she said, “I’m going to Muggle London to order a few things. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah … sure …”

The moment was slipping by, he knew that, yet he couldn’t do anything except pretend to check the time on his watch again. She left, and he stood there for a while, thrilled with the knowledge that he had at least managed to make some sort of a contact, and frustrated that he was so inexperienced at this. Dating Pansy had been easy; he’d never had to even try to impress her. Now that he had to start from scratch, he found that he didn’t understand a thing about courtship.

The worst part, he mused, was that he had no one to turn to for advice. The only friend he had was Gregory Goyle, who Draco wasn’t even sure was interested in girls. In all his years at Hogwarts, Goyle had never approached a single female. Nothing had changed as he was still resolutely single. Not that he would be a lady’s man even if he did have a girlfriend; Goyle was as subtle, attractive and charming as a rampaging cockatrice.

Yet, it was something to have someone of his age who didn’t despise or laugh at him. Draco would pay the price of being Draco Malfoy forever, or so it seemed.

All the buoyancy that Astoria’s brief presence had brought evaporated as he thought of his past. Cursing under his breath, he finally moved from the spot and made his way towards Knockturn Alley, where Goyle worked at a cauldron dealer’s store. At least Goyle has a job, he thought bitterly. I’m the bigger failure.






“What?” cried Draco, jumping up from the cauldron he had been sitting on.

“I have a date,” said Goyle.

Draco stared at his friend, who was currently dressed in the dirtiest coveralls, having hauled Merlin knew how many cauldrons around the warehouse. Huge, bulking, menacing, blundering, thick-headed �“ such were the adjectives which chased each other through Draco’s brain as he furiously tried to process what he had just heard.

“You … you have a date.”

“Yeah,” said Goyle softly, blushing under the grime and sweat on his face.

“Holy Salazar …”

Goyle didn’t seem to be affected by Draco’s rather telling disbelief. “She’s nice,” he said as he shuffled uncomfortably, no doubt embarrassed by what he was saying, “and … I like her.”

“Do I know her?” demanded Draco.

“I dunno,” said Goyle. “She’s four years older than me.”

“Was she at Slytherin?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Chlo-wee.”

“Chloe?”

“Yeah.”

“Chloe what?” snapped Draco.

“Chlo-wee Pucey.”

Draco racked his brain for a mental picture of Chloe Pucey and got zero result. He supposed, a little unkindly but legitimately, that she must have been average in every department to not have been noticed by him. But then he remembered that he couldn’t even recall what Astoria had looked like at school, so he decided not to comment on that.

His curiosity, however, wouldn’t leave him. “When are you introducing me to her?” he asked.

“I dunno.” Goyle shifted yet again, and Draco wondered whether his friend was ashamed of him. “We just started.”

“Well, what does she look like? Where did you meet? How did you ask her out?”

Goyle’s mouth hung open as Draco bombarded him with his questions, but just as he started answering them, his supervisor rapped the door sharply. “Get back to work now,” he growled.

With an apologetic look, Goyle went back inside, but before he had shut the door, Draco stopped him with one last question. “Where are you meeting her?”

“Feeny’s Inn at eight,” said Goyle, smiling in spite of himself. “Down Diagon Alley.”






Draco felt pathetic, but he would have done this a million times over.

He was, of course, at Feeny’s Inn, “down Diagon Alley”, as Goyle had put it. It wasn’t really an inn, just a small restaurant frequented by those who worked late into the evening at Diagon Alley. Draco hadn’t known this place existed until that afternoon when he had decided to spy on his friend.

If there was one thing which Draco was good at, it was being sneaky. He had used a few Disfigurement Charms on himself to change his appearance, understanding that even Goyle’s unwavering loyalty to him would sway if he found out Draco had turned up to observe his dating skills. Spells and curses Draco could dodge, especially if it was Goyle casting them, but he suspected the other boy would be quicker with his fist. He didn’t fancy getting his nose broken at the moment.

Now sporting dark wavy hair and a goatee, Draco sipped his mead and waited for the couple to walk in. One of Goyle’s few redeeming qualities was his punctuality, and sure enough, he entered a few seconds to eight, followed by a short figure hiding under the hood of a rather large, purple cloak.

The first thing Draco was amazed by was the fact that Goyle looked clean and properly groomed. His hair had been cut short, he had shaved, and most incredible of all, he was wearing properly washed dark navy robes. Draco’s eyebrows went further and further up his forehead as he watched Goyle take the girl’s cloak, revealing a plumpy, brown-haired witch who didn’t look as unpleasant as he had hoped she would. He might have even exclaimed “Good God!” or something of that sort, when Goyle pulled up a chair for her.

“What are you having?” barked an irritated voice right next to his ear.

Draco looked up to see the waitress who had provided him the menu a few minutes back. “I haven’t decided yet,” he told her.

She glared at him. “I’ve been standing here for more than a minute now,” she said irritably. “Let me know when you deign to order.”

Normally, Draco would have said something scathing, but he had far more important things to pay attention to than his pride. He quickly returned to Goyle and his girl, who was now talking animatedly, while Goyle just sat and nodded, grinning like he had been hit with far too many Cheering Charms.

“Let’s wait till she sees you eat, you slick git,” Draco muttered, not at all perturbed by his own immaturity. He snapped his fingers and beckoned the waitress who was sulking near the bar.

“I’ll have today’s special,” he said.

Draco drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for Goyle’s order to arrive. Surely, no amount of Scouring Charms could cure one’s rather off-putting table manners. But, once again, he was proven wrong; Goyle was using his knife and fork quite well, although not as well as Draco would have, because the girl helped him cut his steak.

She didn’t seem to mind. Of course, Goyle wasn’t stuffing his face any longer as he used to at school, but she really seemed not to be bothered by the fact that her boyfriend needed her help to eat properly. As far as Draco could deduce, they were heartily enjoying their dinner.

His own order arrived, but Draco hardly glanced at it.

“You pay even if you don’t touch it,” reminded the waitress before leaving him.

The day’s special turned out to be escargots, which Draco enjoyed in general, but somehow he couldn’t work up an appetite that night. If he was really honest with himself, he was jealous of his friend. He wouldn’t have bet �“ not in a million years �“ that Goyle would score with the ladies before he did. Yet there he was, alone and mulling over a plate of delicious food that was going cold at the speed of light, while Goyle had nearly finished his successful dinner.

Sullenly, he took out a few Galleons from his pocket to leave on the table, wanting to leave before Goyle did. He had almost reached the door when he heard Goyle call him.

“Shit!”

He had forgotten about his appearance; the charms must have worn off.

Wishing to be anywhere but there, he slowly turned around, and faced a frowning Goyle.

“Hello, Greg!” he said cheerily, hoping that Goyle wouldn’t make a scene in front of the girl, who was looking at him curiously.

“How come you’re here?” asked Goyle.

“I �“ I was supposed to meet someone,” he lied for the second time that day.

“Funny.”

That was all Goyle said, but Draco could hear the anger, hurt and disappointment which were packed into that one word. He was immediately ashamed of himself, and couldn’t think of anything he could do to make the situation any better.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked the girl, who slipped her arm into Goyle’s. “Even though I already know you quite well, Mr Malfoy.”

Goyle relaxed a little. “Draco,” he mumbled. “Meet Chlo-wee.”

Draco extended a hand, relieved. “Pleased to meet you finally,” he said. “Goyle has �“ uh �“ told me so much about you.”

The girl didn’t seem convinced, but she gave a small smile as she shook his hand. “He has told me so much about you, too, Mr Malfoy,” she said.

Did she mean something by that? Draco asked himself, but he decided that the thing he wanted the most at that moment was to leave them alone. “I suppose you had a great time,” he said to her, unable to look at Goyle, “and … Well, I need to go. It was nice meeting you.”

He didn’t wait for their reply, Disapparating as soon as he had exited the restaurant.




Sleep refused to come that night.

Draco felt once more in the grips of his inner demons as he tossed and turned on his bed. He couldn’t get rid of the image of Goyle’s disgruntled expression, couldn’t help thinking over what the girl had said. What good things could Goyle have to say about him? He tried to find one favour he had done for his friend; there was none.

And then, he had gone and made things worse. He had lost the only semblance of friendship he had left. He was utterly alone.

Unbidden, a scene began to play out in his mind. Goyle was probably shagging the girl now. He felt like a twat for even entertaining the idea, but it failed to give him whatever perverse pleasure he could have hoped for. His own bed was cold, and it would remain that way, unless his parents forced him to marry some rich pure-blood.

He didn’t just want to marry anyone! Apart from the fact that he was tired of his parents trying to make his decisions from him, he craved something which they couldn’t buy with their money. Something that Goyle had. And if Goyle could have that, why couldn’t he? Didn’t Goyle have a similar past?

Besides, Goyle had been worse than him, willingly using the Cruciatus Curse on hapless students. At least, Draco hadn’t done that. He had merely tried to kill his old Headmaster … and done nothing but cower in the shadows as he watched people being tortured and killed in his own house.

When sleep did claim him, it brought the old nightmares with it. The exquisite chandelier was shattering into a thousand pieces … but reforming into the figure of a body hanging above the dining table … then falling over a parapet and into the cavernous jaws of a fiery dragon …

It wasn’t that which woke him up, though. It was the silhouette of someone draped in a purple cloak. When Draco lowered the hood, he saw a familiar face, and his fingers were caught in golden hair that blew in the breeze.

“Astoria,” he mumbled absently when his eyes flew open. Not finding her next to him, he returned to his fitful sleep.

Goyle’s shift ended at five, but Draco had already arrived at 4:30. He was chewing his lips once more. Apologising wasn’t his forte; apologising to Goyle was something that he had never imagined he’d do one day. However, Draco couldn’t stand the apathy of his life any longer. He had to start somewhere, and he figured this was the best place to do it.

Still, if he had known he would end up meeting Goyle’s girlfriend instead, he wouldn’t have come at all.

“Mr Malfoy?”

It was too late to pretend he hadn’t seen her, so he gave her an awkward nod instead.

“Did you come to see Greg?” she asked.

It was so odd to hear someone call Goyle ‘Greg’. Although Draco had made up the nickname on the spot that fateful night, he hadn’t given it a second thought.

“Yes,” he said. “But if you have a date or something, I’ll leave.”

“Oh no, we don’t,” she said pleasantly. “It’s Greg’s off day, didn’t you know? He doesn’t do Thursdays.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t known that. “Then I’ll just go.”

“Would you mind having tea with me?” she asked him.

That unsettled him even more. He wasn’t sure if Goyle would fancy the idea of Draco having tea with his girlfriend, neither could he imagine why the girl would propose this in the first place.

“I have some work …”

“It won’t take long.”

She had a disarming smile, thought Draco, as her face lit up with it. Against his better judgement, he found himself saying “All right.”

They were headed to Feeny’s again. Draco wondered if this girl ate at any other place. That said, he preferred Feeny's, as the other option would have been the Leaky Cauldron, which he would rather avoid. He hated the stares people gave him.

Perhaps, the girl loved talking. She carried on a one-sided conversation on their way to the restaurant. Draco merely nodded and muttered something like an “ah” or “oh” as she narrated the details of her job at the apothecary. Apparently her uncle owned it, and from what Draco could tell, he was childless. He supposed she was angling to inherit it, but she also sounded enthusiastic about her work at the same time.

“Two cups of tea,” she told the waitress as soon as they were seated. Turning towards Draco, she asked, “You remember my name, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Draco, a bit disconcerted by the abrupt change in topic. “Chloe Pucey, isn’t it?”

“Right.” She grinned. “You didn’t call me by my name, so I thought you’d forgotten it.”

Draco smiled �“ stiffly �“ not knowing where the conversation was going. “I tend not to call people by their first name,” he said, and then hastily added, “except for Greg.”

She raised her eyebrows before bursting into laughter. “Now, now, Mr Malfoy. No need to give me a performance. I knew you at school, even though you probably can’t say the same for me. You always called Greg ‘Goyle’.”

Flushing, Draco countered, “I don’t anymore �“ ”

“I said you don’t have to lie,” she insisted. “It’s fine if you call him by his surname. I don’t mind, really. It’s not my place to mind.”

“I’m relieved,” Draco said. He was getting annoyed with the girl, and perhaps, a bit intimidated too.

“You seem to take offence,” she said, her eyes sparkling with challenge.

“Look!” Draco snapped. “If you don’t have anything of importance to discuss �“”

“I do, in fact,” she cut in.

At that moment, the waitress arrived and gave them their tea. Draco didn’t spare his cup a glance, eager to leave, but the girl was taking her time, slowly stirring the drink in her cup and inhaling its aroma.

“You were saying?” he asked her.

“Greg likes you,” she said bluntly. “I can’t imagine why, but he looks up to you. He considers you a friend.”

Although touched, Draco asked, “So?”

She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip. “Have the tea, it’s wonderful,” she said. When Draco continued glaring, she sighed. “Mr Malfoy, I’m not here to start a fight. I just want to request you to let him be for once, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that you were poking into his life,” she answered. “There was no need to spy on us.”

“I wasn’t �“” He stopped when she rolled her eyes. “All right, fine! I was. He was being evasive, and I wanted to know what kind of girl you were for his good.”

“I see you love being dramatic,” she said, laughing softly. “He was evasive, yes, and why do you imagine that was? He was scared of disappointing you, see? I personally don’t think you’re a shining star, but to him, you’re a role model. He wasn’t sure you’d like me.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he picked up his cup, avoiding his turn to contribute to the conversation.

“Basically, I don’t give a damn whether you like me or not,” she continued, her tone still light and unaffected by any emotion other than amusement, “but to him, it matters for whatever it’s worth. So … be nice to him.”

“Are you suggesting I am not?” he asked defensively.

“Have you ever?” she dared him.

Draco looked away. “You … you know nothing,” he muttered.

“I don’t know everything,” she said. “But I know enough. And I was there at Hogwarts, Malfoy.” Draco registered the change in her address, but he didn’t comment, feeling sick all of a sudden. “I saw you. You weren’t exactly a paragon of healthy companionship.”

“Goyle didn’t mind,” said Draco.

“How would you know?” she asked him. “Did you think your bullying made him a better person?”

“I didn’t bully him!”

“Apparently, you don’t fully appreciate the concept of bullying.” She surreptitiously took out her wand and cast a Refilling Charm on the cup before diving into her lecture again. “What you did to Greg, how you treated him, was nothing better than how a wizard or a witch treats their house-elf.”

Draco did appreciate the implications of his actions. He did all too well, but he wasn’t going to cave in to this bizarre girl who had appeared out of nowhere. “You’re taking things a bit too far,” he said. “Goyle had his share of fun.”

“Fun?” she asked. “Well, I can assure you it isn’t fun for him anymore. He has … Sometimes, he can’t sleep, you see?”

“We all have nightmares.”

“You haven’t seen the scars on his body, Malfoy,” she snapped. “You have no idea what he had been doing to himself before he met me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Draco breathlessly.

“I was a Trainee Healer,” she said. “His mother brought him to St. Mungo’s. He had just been released from Azkaban, and he had begun torturing himself, wanting to die because he had these visions at night. I recognised him at the hospital, and you know what, I didn’t feel sorry at all.”

“How did I not know about this?” wondered Draco aloud. Then, he remembered. He had stayed in Italy with his parents for around two years. He hadn’t been aware at all.

“I’m not surprised by this rhetorical question,” she said. “In any case, I helped treat him, helped him get over it. But I left the job… Didn’t like it much. Then, I met him a year ago. I'd gone to order cauldrons from the store he works at. He had transformed to a certain extent. We started talking and I gradually began to like him.”

“Why?” asked Draco in honest perplexity.

“That is an unreasonable question,” she said, not meeting his eye for the first time, “but you may conclude however you wish.”

Draco knew the answer, but his lips wouldn’t utter it. Goyle was, when it came down to it, a simpleton who didn’t mind worshipping people. He wouldn’t have a problem adoring and doing whatever the vixen in front of Draco desired him to.

“He seems happy,” he said finally.

“He is,” she replied, brightening up somewhat. “So, now that we have cleared this up, we can go back to pretending we give a shit about each other for his sake.”







Draco was sitting at Feeny’s for the third time in a week. He had owled Goyle, and he hoped the man would turn up. If the latter didn’t … Well, in that case, Draco would have lost the sole person apart from his parents who wouldn’t lament the fact of his existence. He had courage and willpower enough to ask for forgiveness only once. So, it was now or never for the both of them.

To his relief, his friend lumbered in right on time and sat down on the chair opposite his.

“Anything wrong?” asked Goyle.

Something about Goyle’s conversation starter upset Draco; he sounded like he was almost waiting for an order. It was though he had forgotten about Draco’s recent crime and fallen back into the usual scheme of things.

“Nah, just fancied a drink,” said Draco.

“Oh. Right.”

Goyle looked as though he was at a loss. He was silent and he kept his eyes on his large hands, which were folded upon the table.

“I like her,” began Draco awkwardly.

It made Goyle look up. “For real?”

“She’s … very pretty,” said Draco. To be honest, Pucey did have a wonderful smile, even though she wasn’t really his type. “She looks fun.”

“She is,” said Goyle, who was now positively glowing with happiness.

“So,” drawled Draco, allowing himself to ease into his old self so that Goyle felt more comfortable, “what did you do to get her?”

“Nothing,” said Goyle. “We just talked sometimes at the store.”

“You sure you didn’t write her a rhyme? Like that horrid one which the dwarf delivered for Potter on Valentine’s Day in second year?”

Goyle chuckled; it had been one of their favourite things to laugh at.

“I can think of a perfect one,” said Draco. “Roses are red/Violets are Mauve/ Give us a kiss/ Or I'll shove you in a stove.”

Goyle was now guffawing, and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as well.

“I’m sorry about that night,” said Draco when their laughter had died down.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t! I really shouldn’t have done that.” Deciding to come clean, he added, “I … I like a girl.”

“Not Pansy?”

“For the love of Salazar, no,” cried Draco with a groan. “Did you know Daphne had a sister?”

“No,” said Goyle, puzzled. “I don’t even know what Daphne looks like no more.”

Draco heaved a sigh of relief and said, “Turns out she has one. My parents were trying to get me to marry her over a month ago.”

“If you like her …” said Goyle, confused.

“I hadn’t seen her,” explained Draco. “Besides, the first thing she said when we started talking was that she didn’t want to marry.”

“You … could say yes if you wanted.”

“Yeah, but then…” Draco paused; he didn’t really know what it was that had made him agree with her. “I didn’t want to force her, I suppose.”

Goyle played with the tall glass of mead which had just appeared on the table, his lips moving soundlessly as though he was struggling to say something helpful, but didn’t quite know what.

“I know where she works,” Draco continued. “Twilfit & Tattings. I wanted to go in and see her, you know, but I waited forever. I was too nervous. Then, she came out and I didn’t know what to say at all! Then, she left. I didn’t even ask her if I could owl her …”

Having nothing else to add, Draco raised his glass and downed half the mead in one go.

“I think …” said Goyle at last, still toying with the glass, “that you should talk more.”

“Hmmm?”

“You need to know her better.”

“I do, Goyle, I do.”

“Then go see her. Go to Twilfit and … whatsits.”

“Do I just walk in and start chatting with her?” asked Draco desperately. He finished the remaining half as Goyle took his time framing his response. His glass instantly refilled on its own and he took it up gratefully.

“I dunno,” said Goyle at last. He had some of his mead and then spoke up again, facing Draco. “When I started with Chlo-wee, we just talked about anything. Nothing very important. But … after some time, I knew what she liked. What she wanted. So … I changed.”

Draco drank some more, and said, “But … but you were already changed before you met her… or so I think.”

“I mean,” said Goyle, finishing off his mead, “I became … cleaner and all that. I got some new robes.”

“Right,” said Draco. “Right, I know what you mean.”

“And then … I liked her, so … but then, she asked me out, not me …”

“Wish I were that lucky,” moaned Draco.

“Just … talk.”

“Right, mate,” said Draco after a while. “Right. So, I talk to her. Find out what the hell she likes and wants. But dammit, how do I even begin to talk to her in the first place?”

Goyle didn’t answer as he watched his glass refill in delight. Clearly, the mead was more interesting than the woes of his friend’s non-existent love life. Draco, however, failed to register this loss of interest. He was lost in the excitement of an epiphany that had just hit him.

It was Pucey who had done the courting, not Goyle. He could picture her going to the warehouse every day, pretending she needed new cauldrons, and chatting up the innocent Goyle.

Later, when he got home that night, he opened his closet. He hadn’t bought new robes in a long time, having lost the desire to dress nicely as there were few left to impress. He decided he ought to get a few new ones now, and he knew exactly where to get them.

“Father,” announced Draco, “I need to draw some gold from the account.”

Both his parents looked up at him. He stared at his father resolutely. “I’ve run out of decent clothes. I’d like to get a few fitted.”

“Of course,” said Lucius, pleased. “May I ask if there is some special occasion?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“He does need a few,” Narcissa said to her husband. “I’ve seen his wardrobe. In fact, I was going to suggest he do this.” Turning to Draco, she asked, “Where are you getting them from?”

Hoping that his answer wouldn’t produce any major reaction, Draco said, “Twilfit & Tattings.”

Lucius merely gave him his permission, but Narcissa cocked an eyebrow at him. Draco ignored it.





Draco stood right outside the large store. His nerves were wrecked and his purse was full of Galleons. At least, he had a viable reason to be there, he told himself. Sending a silent prayer to Merlin, he straightened his collar and went in.

The decor of Twilfoot & Tattings had changed since the last time he had been there. The heavy silk curtains were gone; the magenta walls had been painted over with a light cream wash, and the huge velvet sofas had been replaced with smaller, sleeker black leather ones. Draco distinctly remembered small stuffed animals prowling in the corners. They were nowhere to be found. In their place he found tall, cylindrical crystal vases from which grew a silvery plant which he had never seen before in his life.

Having forgotten why he had come here, Draco hovered near the entrance, taking in the bizarre and bare, but also intriguing renovation. As he stared bemusedly at the twirling dummies showing off the latest designs inside glass cases, a salesperson approached him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” said Draco, swiftly regaining his composure. “I want to get a few robes fitted.”

“Certainly, sir,” trilled the salesperson. “Let me get a designer for you.”

“Will it be possible to get Miss Greengrass?”

“Miss Greengrass is a little busy at the moment.”

“Tell her it’s Draco Malfoy,” said Draco. “I’m a friend of hers.”

The salesperson’s eyes widened in recognition. Draco quickly turned away, not wanting to see the rest of the reaction.

“Of course, Mr Malfoy,” the salesperson said briskly before leaving.

Draco began to feel nervous again as he waited. Just play it cool, he told himself. You’re here for business purposes. No need to break out in a sweat. To keep his mind busy, he walked towards a crystal vase to observe the plant. He had earlier concluded they must be artificial, but when he got closer, he found out that they were …

“Authentic,” said Astoria, gliding into his view. She was wearing a pale grey dress made of some floaty material whose name Draco didn’t know. Her hair had been braided intricately, and she was wearing the same silver hoops that he often dreamt of.

“They are breathing,” he said. His voice came out a bit hoarse. Clearing his throat, he said, “What are these plants called?”

“Argenta Rosa,” she replied. “Daphne got them from Venezuela. Beautiful, odorless and they grow anywhere you put them. Very expensive, of course, but the store was ready to shell out the price.”

“They’re rather interesting,” said Draco.

She smiled at him. “So … did you come here for something or just to see me?”

“The latter?” said Draco, trying to be smooth, but he only came out sounding too sincere. “Uhm … not really, I need new clothes.”

“Follow me, then,” said Astoria as she led him towards a smaller room. The door had a small plaque on it which said Astoria Greengrass. “What kind of clothes are you looking for, Draco?”

“Robes?”

“Well, what type of robes would you prefer? Collars? Without collars? Do you want it fitted or loose?”

“No idea,” he said truthfully. “I’ll leave that part to you.”

“Hmmm. Let’s take off your robes.”

“What?”

“You can keep your pants on, don’t worry.”

“But �“ but �“ ”

Laughing, Astoria said, “I’ve seen far too many semi-naked bodies to give a Knut now, Draco.”

Before Draco could protest any further, she raised her wand; he watched helplessly as the buttons flew open and his robes fell to the floor. Thankfully, he was wearing clean pants.

With narrowed eyebrows and puckered lips, she appraised him for some time. Draco wanted to disappear into the air when he saw his own reflection in the mirror. Back at school, he had had a good body because of Quidditch, but the war, and then five years of doing little apart from moping had taken away much of its hardiness. On top of that, there were the scars.

“Are we done now?” he asked quickly as she went round his back.

“Yes,” she said. “You can put your robes back on.”

He thought her voice sounded softer, but it could easily have been his imagination.





The first thing Draco did when he got back home was to undress and scrutinize his body properly.

“I need to get back into shape as soon as possible,” he said to himself. Then, he put his clothes back on and headed towards the broomstick closet downstairs. Grabbing his old Nimbus and a Quaffle, he walked purposefully towards the open field in the back of the manor.

He met his father on the way. “Are you … flying?” asked Lucius.

Draco answered with a nod and went outside the back door. The air smelled glorious. Without further ado, he put one leg over the Nimbus and took off. It was an exhilarating feeling; he had missed this. Quidditch, which he used to love, had been pushed into a musty corner when other far more important things entered his life.

This was one of those many instances which constantly reminded him what an idiot he had been. With a vengeance, he raced towards the hoops that permanently hung high up in the air, and shot his Quaffle through the middle one. It missed by several feet.

He had loved Chasing as a kid, yet when he arrived at school, and Potter became the youngest Seeker in a century, he had happily given up the Quaffle for the little Snitch. He was done Seeking now. Besides, the Quaffle provided more of a workout.

Astoria had promised him the robes would be delivered the next week. Draco had a goal: he was going to lose the excess fat and reshape himself completely. An idea had formed in his head as she was designing for him. On purpose, he chose a tight-fitting style, against her advice. He didn’t think his body would drastically change in the span of a week, but a month was definitely a reasonable deadline.

Astoria would just have to keep altering his robes and get used to seeing his face.




Over the next seven days, Draco was often out in the manor grounds. He jogged in the mornings and practiced with the Quaffle in the afternoons. He even began to control his diet. His parents were curious, he knew that, but presently they stayed away from interrogating him. He supposed they were relieved in a way.

The parcel arrived by owl when he was having lunch.

“What is that?” asked Lucius.

“Delivery from Twilfit & Tattings.”

Without finishing his dessert, he ran upstairs to his room and shut the door. He proceeded to ripping the cover off and then taking off whatever he was wearing. His heart thumped wildly as he put the new robes on.

When he looked at the mirror, he saw that he was smirking. The robes were loose around the middle.




“Hmmm.”

Astoria was biting the end of her quill, perplexed. “Did you lose some weight during the last week? My measurements are never wrong.”

“I started playing a bit of Quidditch,” said Draco, having decided to be honest to an extent.

“But even so…”

Draco shrugged. “You could alter it, couldn’t you?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just … I didn’t know anyone could lose that many inches in a week.”

Their eyes connected; Draco was the first to look away.

“Tell me, Draco,” said Astoria, and she sounded amused, “you didn’t do this on purpose?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if you’d wanted to lose weight and you were looking for motivation?”

Draco laughed. “Good one,” he said. “But I really do need them for this party at the end of the month.”

“No problem.” The amusement in her eyes hadn’t completely disappeared yet. “I shall just have to measure you again.”






The next time Draco tried the robes on, he discovered she had changed the cut around the waist and tailored in a row of light elastic bands. There was a note attached to the package.

“So that you won’t have to take the trouble of coming to me again. Enjoy your Quidditch!

Astoria”

He cursed fluently under his breath before pocketing her note in defeat.





Draco felt like a moron teetering in front of Twilfit & Tattings and not being able to waltz in. Up until the moment of Apparation, he had been sure of the next stage of his plans. So what if the last robes didn’t need any more fittings? He could always get new ones.

But now that he was facing the cold, white façade of the store, he felt uncertain. Was her note, which was currently in his cloak pocket, meant to be a sign of dismissal? How could he cope with it if she rejected him? What did he have going for himself, other than the healthier body which his rigorous exertion had produced?

However, fate acted faster than him on that day too. Before he could Disapparate, Daphne Greengrass, Astoria’s sister, strolled into the scene, smoking a cigarette.

“Draco!” she called.

Draco hadn’t been close to her. Rather, Daphne hadn’t been close to anyone, except maybe Zabini, whom she had dated for a brief spell in sixth year. He had never warmed up to her at school, although he couldn’t now remember why.

“Daphne! How have you - ?” He couldn’t finish his sentence as the stench of the smoke entered his lungs and he started coughing.

“Fantastic,” she said, flicking the cigarette to the ground and rubbing the light out with the tip of her high heels. “You?”

“I’ve been better,” said Draco.

“No doubt.”

Draco tried to gauge what she meant by that. Then he wondered if he was paranoid.

“What brings you here?” he asked her.

“My sister works here,” she said with a jerk of her head in the direction of the store.

“Oh! I know. I �“ ” Draco hesitated.

“You’ve been here before?”

“She made a few robes for me.”

“Ah.” Daphne scratched the back of her head. “Are you going in?”

“Well …”

Leave, the voice in his head said. She’s going to be trouble.

“Oh, come in,” said Daphne, and to Draco’s surprise, she pulled his arm and led him into the store. As soon as they had reached inside, she asked, “What do you think of their new décor?”

“It’s certainly interesting.”

“Is that the only adjective you can find?” said a familiar voice.

Both Daphne and Draco turned to find Astoria standing behind them with a spray in her hand. She was grinning.

“Ria!” cried Daphne. “I told you not to water it.”

“It’s not water, Nee.” With a roll of her eyes, she handed the spray to her sister who opened the lid and checked if it contained water. “She’s a bit insane when it comes to her precious plants.”

“Water makes them droop,” explained Daphne. “Anyway, Draco here was waiting outside the store for Merlin-knows-what, so I brought him in.”

Draco could feel Astoria staring at him. “She’s joking. I’d just arrived.”

“No you hadn’t,” said Daphne. “You’d been standing there for at least fifteen minutes.”

Flushing, Draco asked, “How would you know? You just got here.”

“I was sitting in the café opposite the store, darling,” said Daphne.

She was smiling, and Draco, who could feel himself flushing, was suddenly reminded of why he hadn’t liked her at school. He felt uncomfortable around her because he didn’t know what to expect from her.

“She’s pulling your leg,” said Astoria as Daphne began to laugh. “There is no café opposite the store.”

“Ah.”

As Daphne went on laughing, Draco stole a glance towards Astoria, whom he hadn’t been able to face in the seconds that had passed recently. She had some colour in her cheek, too.

“Anyway,” he said in an attempt to salvage the situation, “I was wondering if you could make another set of robes for me.”

“Sure,” said Astoria, “but I have something to do right now. Could you give me ten minutes?”

Draco had no choice but to sit with Daphne. He loathed the sense of helplessness she inspired in him as she sat there watching him, one long leg draped over the other, both exposed in a thigh-high slit which hadn’t been noticeable before. He supposed she was attractive, but in a way that was different from her sister. However, no amount of good looks and shapely legs would make him warm up to her at the moment.

“My sister is responsible for the renovation,” she told him, waving her hand to indicate she was talking about the interiors of the store. “She despised the stuffiness of the previous style, but then, who didn’t? It’s just that no one had the balls to suggest that it was high time they had a makeover.”

“She has great taste,” said Draco.

“Ria has never been a fan of wizarding décor,” she said. “She actually got the idea from Muggle magazines.”

There was no mistaking it; Daphne was baiting him. Her tone was nonchalant, but her eyes were lit up.

“Then, Muggles have great taste, too,” replied Draco.

She smiled. “Who would have thought, eh?”

Draco didn’t reply.

“You wouldn’t believe what she did if I told you,” she said.

“What did she do?”

“She got a Squib to put this together.” She leaned forward a little as she went on. “His name is Ewan Delaney, and he’s quite big in the Muggle world. They’re pretty thick.”

Draco was suddenly having difficulty breathing. “How �“ how did she meet him?”

“He’s the cousin of a friend,” said Daphne. “Ria has always liked fashion, and she has apparently been exchanging letters with him since Hogwarts. I was shocked when I found out. Imagine, a girl in Slytherin, corresponding with a Squib who is so completely absorbed in the Muggle world.”

He knew he shouldn’t probe any further; he knew he was playing into her hands, but Draco had to find out. It seemed like a matter of life and death to him. “Are they dating?” he asked her.

“I suppose,” said Daphne, who was leaning back on the sofa now. “I don’t mind, of course. The guy has wealth, success, and being a Squib, he’d have little trouble taking Astoria into his life.”

“And what does your parents have to say to that?” demanded Draco at last.

Daphne shook her head slowly, as though she was disappointed in him. “We don’t do everything they tell us to. Never have.”

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Mumbling about some work he had to do, he got up.

But she wouldn’t let him go so easily.

“That was why my parents were so eager to set the two of you up,” she said finally. “She was so thrilled when you agreed not to play along.”

Somehow in the back of his mind, doubt had persisted, though he had kept tuning it out. He didn’t deserve a normal life; neither did he deserve love. He had done far too many wrongs, committed too many fatal errors, and he would pay for them throughout his lifetime.

“Aren’t you flying out today?” asked his mother, when she found Draco lying on an armchair. “If you want to take it up seriously, you can ask your father to buy you a better broom.”

“No,” said Draco. “I’m not interested anymore.”

“You cannot stop abruptly like that,” chided Narcissa. “It’s bad for your health.”

“Watch me.”

“Draco �“ ”

He got up and left, breathing easier only when he had locked the door of his bedroom from the inside. But when he turned around and surveyed the long, rectangular room with the tall ceiling, he felt shut in. This place enticed him with its deceptive grandeur, pretended to offer him solace, but in reality, it made him more miserable as the days passed. How had he missed all those cobwebs of the past which hung from every corner? How could he breathe in the dank miasma of guilt?

He would never be free unless he was free of this.

As though possessed by an alien spirit, he furiously started to pack. There were luckily a few Galleons in the drawers of his dressing table; he threw them into the bag. Where was he going to go? Goyle appeared to be the only option, as Draco didn’t want to risk staying at a public inn.

In his note to his parents, he told them he needed some time alone, that he would be safe wherever he was going, and that they weren’t to look for him.





“I’m sorry about this,” he told Goyle as the latter brought him some bed linens. “I promise I’ll leave as soon as I find a job.”

“No worries,” said Goyle, who had manually arranged the room for Draco. “This was my Ma’s room.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Draco. “You cleaned it up really well.”

Goyle nodded awkwardly. “Time for work,” he said.

“Yeah, you go. I’ll be fine.”





The faded mauve sheet which covered the late Mrs Goyle’s bed was creased, not because it needed ironing, but on account of Draco’s utter failure at making beds and household chores in general. Too tired to bemoan his inadequacy, he jumped on to it and lay quietly.

Goyle’s flat was small. It consisted of his room, his mother’s room, and a guest-room, which was smaller than the broom closet at Malfoy Manor. There was a kitchen and a drawing room as well. The place didn’t have many furniture in it, and it reeked of disinfectant everywhere. Draco supposed Goyle was taking his new self rather seriously.

What was he going to do now?

The obvious answer was to look for a job, but having grown up the way he had, waiting to inherit serious money some day, he had never considered having a career. Even now when he thought of it, there was nothing he wanted to do.

Another problem was that, while his marks were decent, they weren’t good enough for any of the high-profile jobs which might bring some respectability back into his life.

“What the hell am I doing?” he finally cried aloud.

The only source of comfort he had was this: once he knew what he wanted, he wouldn’t stop at any means to get it. He was a Slytherin, after all. As long as he could sort out what his goals were, he was fine.

His other goals, he reminded himself, apart from getting Astoria. Although, the latter was beginning to looked like a futile endeavour now.

Hugging a saggy pillow, he went to sleep with the hope that his vivid dreams might provide him an answer.





The end of the tunnel must have been a bit further away, for Draco was still without any bright ideas on his fifth day at Goyle’s place. However, he had persuaded Goyle to let him clean the place and do the chores as a return for his generosity.

He didn’t stick to his word all the time. He found that no matter how hard he tried, the stains on the stove wouldn’t go and the dust on the floor would always return. His wandwork, when it came to such matters, seemed to be no better than Goyle’s. Frustration began to eat him from the inside, and he dealt with it the best way he could: unflinching lethargy. Goyle often had to clean up after he had returned from work. Draco felt guilt piling up on his head, but he found more peace in retreating into his shell than in tackling it head on.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking of Astoria. Draco hadn’t ever felt about anyone the way he did about her. He couldn’t understand it because it wasn’t like he knew her well and they had spent a lot of time together. Maybe, it was the way she made him feel different. She didn’t appear to judge him. She wasn’t like Daphne. She treated him as just another wizard, not the younger Malfoy.

Besides, she was very attractive, and in an understated manner that Draco found surprisingly pleasant. Whatever he happened to be doing, whether it was scrubbing the floor (for he had found that doing it by hands was proving more effective), or just lying without purpose on the rickety bed, his thoughts wandered to her. He thought of how she might be in bed, how her skin would feel, how her body would move under his. He was almost thankful Goyle didn’t bring Pucey home with him. He would implode from jealousy and longing if that happened.

Living with Goyle was calming. He minded his own business, asked no questions and left Draco alone. If he had to spend the night with Pucey, he let Draco know, and even got him food before he left. It was a perfect arrangement, and like all good things, it came to an end.

Draco had hauled his arse out of the bed to wash the dishes when the door rang. He opened it to find an apologetic Goyle and the fuming face of his father.

For some reason, Draco felt a kind of sick pleasure to have his father find him like that: unshaved, unkempt, and wearing an apron.

“Hello, Father,” he said.

“Get your wand and clothes. We are leaving right now.”

“I’m sor-” began Goyle, but Draco overrode him.

“It’s all right, Goyle.” He slowly took off the apron, handed it back to the owner, and said, “Thanks for everything.”




“Are you out of your mind?” asked Lucius, voice shaking with anger. “Leaving the house without any warning, running off like an idiot. What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Draco was back in the Manor, back to facing his father’s domineering control over him. His mother was sitting in a sofa and looking pale. He felt both young and aged at the same time; the scene was so achingly familiar, and yet profoundly unbearable and stupid.

“Did you think we would be proud of you if you just took off like that?” went on Lucius. “And cleaning Goyle’s room! Cleaning! How could you bring disgrace and shame to your family’s name?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Family’s name, Father?” he asked. “What family pride are we talking about here?”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” said Lucius, whose face had gone red, “the Malfoys are the one of the oldest, purest wizard- ”

“Oh give me a bloody break!” snapped Draco. It effectively shut up his father; his mother’s mouth was hanging open by now. “You have a problem with me cleaning Goyle’s mess? Well, I’ll tell you what I feel, Father! I’d rather be known for Goyle’s toilet than for harboring murderers in the house.”

“Draco!” cried his mother. Lucius looked too stunned to speak.

But Draco wasn’t going to hold back. It had finally come, the moment that had been slowly building in the house over years, the moment that needed to happen.

“I’m sick of it all!” Draco shouted. “I’m sick of this bloody house and this bloody life. I’m sick of having to live with my past. I can feel the hatred and the disgust everywhere I go, and I’m fucking sick of myself.”

He could hear his mother, who hardly cried in his presence, giving into her emotions at last. Perhaps, she had known it all along. Perhaps, she had been waiting for this day just like him. But he felt possessed yet again by the same force that had made him leave the house over a week back.

“You go around town and drop Galleons and pretend as if nothing happened,” he raged on, “but it isn’t enough, Father. Don’t you understand? Don’t you see the disapproval everywhere? Don’t you know we are unwanted, we’re outcasts, and life will never be normal again?”

Lucius didn’t say anything, but the glass of whiskey in his hand was going to break at any moment. It was his mother who spoke up.

“What would you have us do, Draco?”

He took a deep breath before answering. Now was his chance.

“Let me go,” he said. Ignoring the look of shock and hurt on their faces, he went on. “Let me make my own life. I can’t live here anymore under your shelter. It’s killing me.”

The room was silent for a long time.

“Very well,” said Lucius. “I’ll set up an account in your name and get you a proper house�“”

“I don’t want it,” said Draco resolutely. “I’ll need to borrow some money from you �“”

“Stop being ridiculous!”

“No, you listen to me, Father,” said Draco. “I don’t want any favours from you. I need money to pay the rent while I’m looking for a job, and when I do land one, I’ll eventually pay it back.”

“But the money is yours, Draco,” insisted Narcissa.

“I don’t want it,” he told her. “I don’t need it. I don’t need … you.”

It was only when he had left the room that he heard the glass shatter at last.






It was Pucey who got the flat for him. The landlady was a witch who lived on the ground floor, and rented rooms to both wizards and Muggles. Draco’s was an Unplottable one situated on the top floor between Room Number 11 and 12.

The flat was even smaller than Goyle’s, but Draco knew it would suffice. He didn’t want roommates, and he didn’t expect any guest to drop by in the near future. The best part was that it was situated in an area of London where very few wizards lived. The anonymity was definitely welcome to him. Besides, it had a balcony, which provided a lovely view of the huge park nearby.

He spent the first few days cleaning it up. It had come dirt cheap, and it had come with a lot of dirt, too. To his surprise, he wasn’t repulsed by the grime; the greater shock was the fact that he didn’t mind the manual tasks involved in making the place inhabitable. It took his mind off things, even Astoria.

Goyle dropped by the first Thursday and helped him paint the walls. Draco decided not to think too much of why he had chosen the same shade of cream that brightened up Twilfit & Tattings so well. Then, he got a Cooling Box, a product of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes which was a small cupboard charmed with multiple Cooling Charms to keep foodstuffs fresh. Goyle persuaded Pucey to buy it for Draco as neither of them was welcome at the ginger twats’ store.

Gradually, the flat began to look presentable. Small pieces of furniture were added. Pucey even gifted him a few plants. Draco supposed it was her manner of extending the olive branch, and he accepted them gratefully. Apart from the fact that she was useful at times, he desperately needed friends.

Two weeks after Draco had moved out of Malfoy Manor, he had a home of his own. For the first time in ages, he felt proud of himself.





“Play to your strengths,” said Pucey, who was perched on a sofa.

“If only I knew what they were,” said Draco.

“I thought you were good at Potions.”

“When old batface was teaching us,” answered Draco lightly. “The walrus was not so keen on my talents. Besides, I have no intentions to spend the rest of my life healing ghastly wounds caused by incompetent spell casting.”

Numerous pages of the Prophet were laid out on the floor, all of them featuring the Job Vacancy sections. Draco had managed to circle only three ads so far.

“Quidditch,” suggested Goyle from the kitchen, who had been put in charge of cooking. He was no gourmet chef, but he was better than his girlfriend and Draco at any rate.

“Yeah, because all the clubs can’t wait to get their hands on a former Death Eater,” said Draco. “I’ll get clobbered during practice, forget the matches.”

“What have we got so far?” asked Pucey.

“Assistant at Flourish & Blotts, librarian at the Central Magical Library, and … Personal Assistant to the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

“The first will pay the least, the second will be too boring, and the third will suck the life out of you with its hectic schedule.”

Draco looked up and said, “Those are my prospective careers. Be a bit nice, will you?”

She shrugged. “Just giving you the facts.”

“You’re probably right.” He sighed and went back to fishing.

“You know, Draco,” said Pucey, “I can’t help but wonder. Why didn’t you think of starting your own business? You have the money, don’t you?”

“Not ready for it yet,” he told her evasively. The thing was that Draco wanted to build credit with people first, show them he could be trusted. Eventually, he would do something profitable.

“Oh here’s one!” she cried, picking up a page. “Nimbus is looking for Quality Testers for their products.”

“What?”

“Here!”

Draco practically snatched the paper out of her hands. Nimbus, one of the most popular Quidditch gear suppliers, had a vacancy. Draco didn’t have any experience whatsoever, but he had a feeling this was the best chance he could have.

“I can do this,” he told himself.

“Draco always has the best Quidditch stuff,” said Goyle helpfully. “’Course he’ll know all about the quality.”





“So,” said Mark Winters, the manager of Nimbus Pvt. Ltd., London. “You have no experience to speak of.”

“But plenty of knowledge,” said Draco. “I’m familiar with a variety of brands, and I’ve used each and every product that has to do with Quidditch. You could quiz me on any Quidditch-related topic right now, and I’d give you the answer.”

Winters crossed his fingers and propped his chin upon them. “You have some guts, Mr Malfoy,” he said. “I’ve already interviewed five pros �“ two of them with five years’ experience, and the other three are actually retired players. Why should the job go to you?”

Draco took a deep breath. “Because I understand quality better than anyone does,” he said, his voice all seriousness. To be honest, he had begun to lose hope when he heard who he was up against, but now was not the time to show his despair. “Sure, you have players. I’ve played, too. I admit I’m not a professional, but I was selected as my house’s Seeker during my second year at school, and I played in every single match.”

He decided not to mention that he had bought his way into the team, or that he had missed a match in sixth year. In fact, he didn’t give Winters the time to question his skills. “As for gears, I never repeated brands, and I often changed them. I know what failings each model had, and suggestions as to how they could have been improved.”

“How good are your detection charms?” Winters asked.

Draco wanted to laugh; he knew more detection charms than anyone in the world needed to. “I could give you a demonstration now if you wanted it.”

Winters wasn’t a fool. He took Draco to one of their supplies room and asked him to test a few broomsticks for hexes. Draco took a mere ten minutes to strip down all five broomsticks and identify the spells that had been cast on them. Then, he was made to examine Quidditch gloves and see which models were better. From gloves, they went to cleaning kits and balls.

Draco slipped up only once. He forgot that a potion was missing in the cleaning kit. He hadn’t done much cleaning back in school; Crabbe had always been happy for any excuse to touch his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Apart from that, everything had proceeded smoothly enough.

“You have given us quite a performance, Mr Malfoy,” said Winters finally. “However, there is this thing nagging me.”

“What is that?”

“Why are you even applying for this job?”

He had hoped this question wouldn’t come. Now that it had, he didn’t know what the best answer to give was. Winters sounded like a reasonable man, though. So, he decided to be earnest.

“I wanted to do something with my life,” he said. “And this job is one that I’d definitely enjoy and be successful at. It’s an attractive package, you see.”

Winters nodded. “Well, you can go now,” he said, holding out his hand for a shake. “We’ll owl you on Monday.”






By Sunday, Draco had lost all hope.

“I know I’ve fucked it up!” he wailed, clutching a bottle of Firewhisky to his chest. “I was too arrogant. And I couldn’t remember that effing potion in the kit because I never bothered to clean my bloody gears myself.”

“You’ll be okay,” said Goyle, who was getting up to leave.

“Where are you off to?” Draco asked irritably.

“Chlo-wee’s.”

“Yeah, go to her, you sodding traitor!”

“Draco �“”

“JUST GO!”





A sharp pain on his wrist woke him up.

“Argh!”

He forced his heavy eyelids to open so that he could see what had attacked him. It was a tawny owl.

“Whoyoo?”

The owl screeched and ruffled its feather.

“All right!”

Draco took around five minutes to untie the letter which the owl had come to deliver. With an annoyingly loud hoot, the owl took off. Massaging his forehead, Draco opened the letter. It had the Nimbus letterhead on top.

“Frigging Merlin!”

He hastily shot a jet of water on his head using his wand, cried out in pain, and then tried to focus on the words on the letter.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that your application has been approved, and you have been accepted as our new Quality Control Inspector. Please report to work at 9 a.m., Tuesday, 15th May, 2003.

“Bloody Salazar!” he shouted. “I have an effing job.”

For the umpteenth time that month, Draco was trying to dodge Marissa Marlowe.

He was well aware the other men must think he was a fool. They didn’t say it to his face because he didn’t really talk to them, but he could tell from the shaking of their heads whenever he successfully escaped the clutches of Marissa.

Marissa was absolutely beautiful. She had perky breasts and a perfectly rounded arse that she showed off in short, tight dresses, which usually reminded him of Muggle girls on the huge posters that could be found everywhere in London. Her face was no less appealing; she had large blue eyes, bright blonde hair, and lips that pouted as though they were perennially asking for a kiss.

And yet, Draco didn’t want her. She reminded him of both Pansy and Astoria; Pansy, because they were similar, and Astoria, because they were polar opposites. Currently, he didn’t want to think of either girl, so Marissa was as desirable as the tattoo on his left forearm.

“Draco,” she purred, thrusting her chest towards him, “take me out for a drink some time, won’t you?”

Summoning the sneer which used to appear so naturally on his face in another lifetime, he said, “I’d rather you call me Mr Malfoy, Miss Marlowe. Have you finished your paperwork?”

“I can do that in a jiffy,” she said.

To Draco’s further annoyance and incredulity, she took out a lollipop from her skirt pocket, unwrapped it and slid it suggestively into her mouth. All of this was done without breaking eye-contact.

He yawned. “If you don’t wrap it up by the end of the day, I’ll make sure you get a salary cut,” he told her. “Now, excuse me.”

She giggled in reply.

It would be a complete lie if Draco were to say that he wasn’t physically attracted to her. Although her tactics were too obvious and ill-chosen for his tastes, he was still a man, still young, and he had gone without sex for years. Sometimes, he wondered if he should have a one-night stand with her, a sort of “shag you tonight and forget you tomorrow” affair.

But Draco wasn’t a reckless idiot. Having gone through Pansy, he knew exactly what Marissa was after; like a leech, she would stick to him and suck him dry. That wasn’t the kind of woman Draco wanted to come home to.

And yet, he had his needs. If he didn’t go out with someone soon, he would eventually succumb to the dizzy clerk’s wiles.





It transpired that he wasn’t the only one worrying about his not-really-self-imposed abstinence from sex and romance. Pucey cornered him in the kitchen one night as he was doing the dishes.

“You need a shag,” she began without preamble. “Or are you gay?”

Draco spluttered. “Excuse me?”

“Look,” she said in a businesslike manner, “you got the job, you live away from your parents now. What’s stopping you from going out there and getting a girl?”

“I can’t just grab any girl!” he said. “I need to like her, and then think of a way to make her like me, and then- ”

“Stop being so last century.”

“But �“”

“You don’t have to be so elaborate.” Rolling her eyes, Pucey continued. “D’you think that girls wait for stuff like that these days? There are plenty who don’t want commitments, just a bit of fun.”

“And how do you know, Miss Settled for Life?” asked Draco sarcastically.

“Because I used to be one.”

“All right,” said Draco, taking off his gloves. “Where do I find these girls?”

“Have you never been to a club?”

“I may have heard of them.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Let’s just concentrate on the more important topic here.”

“There are plenty of wizarding pubs in London. Greg doesn’t fancy them, so we don’t go there. But I can give you the directions to a few if you want. Only thing is that you’ll need someone to go with you.”

“Is that mandatory?” asked Draco.

“Not mandatory, no,” said Pucey. “But you don’t want to turn up alone, do you?”

“Unfortunately,” said Draco, “I have no choice.”





Draco had been apprehensive about the club in Knockturn Alley, mainly because he had a feeling it would be swarming with people he knew from school, but as soon as he stepped inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. The place was packed with people; he recognised a few, but none of them was the type he’d expect trouble from. Thanking Merlin, Morgana and the rest of the legends featured on the Chocolate Frog cards, he went further in, heading towards the bar.

The pub was a hazy blend of swirling lights whose sources weren’t really visible. Music seemed to blast from every corner, and many of the partiers had emptied into the dance floor. When Draco looked up at the ceiling, he saw a few people floating among what looked like purple clouds; they had beatific grins in their face which suggested they were airborne out of choice.

I can happily get lost in here, he told himself.

The bar was nearly fully occupied. Squeezing into one of the empty seats left, he ordered a cocktail.

“In no time at all,” Pucey had said, “someone or the other will be asking you to buy her a drink.”

Draco waited for twenty minutes. Not a soul seemed to want him to buy her drinks. Everywhere, he saw happy pairs enjoying the night; those on the floor were dancing so close their bodies threatened to merge, while each corner was filled with couples who were kissing with such force that they were in danger of rolling off the sofas and falling flat on the ground.

I can happily get lost in here if only I manage to grab a bloody partner, he corrected himself.

As though he had spoken the magic words, a girl appeared out of nowhere and took the seat next to him.

“Hi,” she said.

Draco appraised her quickly: tall, brunette, pretty, dimpled cheek, and great cleavage.

“Hello,” he said.

She leaned towards him. “Fancy buying me a drink?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

The girl flashed him a dazzling smile.

“What would you like to have?”

“Poppy’s Cocktail.”

“Two Poppy’s Cocktails here,” he yelled at the bartender.

It was amazing how effortlessly his confidence had sprung up. Draco supposed it was the place … or the fact that his body was making urgent demands. Either way, he was feeling his old swagger returning.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“You can call me Trixie.”

“Are you really Trixie?”

“For tonight.” Yet another smile. “What’s yours?”

“Vincent,” he replied without thinking. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”

“Nope,” she said.

She was perfect.

Poppy’s Cocktail turned out to be the most marvelous drink Draco had ever tasted. It reminded him of Firewhisky, Butterbeer, his father’s favourite mead, and lemonade �“ all at the same time. Within ten minutes, both he and the girl had finished three glasses each.

“D’you wanna dance?” he asked her.

She nodded and pulled him towards the floor. Draco soon found out that there wasn’t much room to manoeuvre to dance properly. However, neither he nor the girl was complaining. His arms were around her waist, while hers encircled his neck. All that mattered was that they had an excuse to gyrate against each other’s body.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked him.

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Pucey, he thought, you should be teaching Divination at Hogwarts.

“Sure,” he said.

“Let me just tell Ewan first.”

“Ewan?” asked Draco. The name sounded familiar. “Ewan who?”

“Ewan Delaney.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Yeah, I came with him.”

She took his hand and led him through the crowd. Draco tried to concentrate: where had he heard it? That voice in his head was telling him it wasn’t good.

“Ewan!” yelled Trixie. “I’m leaving with him.”

Draco saw a young man with slick, nicely-styled hair sitting on a red sofa, looking extremely Muggle. He was wearing a black shirt with his collar open, and he had paired it off with tight black leather trousers. Draco had never seen him before in his life, but instantly, he knew he was supposed to despise him, not just because he was wearing those outrageous clothes.

When he saw the woman sitting next to the fop, he realised why.

It was Astoria.

“Hello!” she cried, looking as though she was genuinely thrilled to see Draco.

“Oh, do you know Vincent?” asked Trixie, pulling Draco over to the semi-circular sofa and sitting down next to Astoria.

After the briefest of hesitations, Astoria said, “Of course. He’s a friend.”

Draco felt a sudden surge of wrath rising in him, which only increased when Delaney stood up and, extending his hand towards Draco, introduced himself.

“I’m Ewan,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Vincent,” said Draco, ignoring Astoria as he gripped Delaney’s hand a little too hard.

“How are you?” asked Astoria.

“I’m �“”

He couldn’t continue as Delaney sat down and put an arm around Astoria.

“Leaving,” finished Draco. “Let’s go, Trixie.”

“She came with us,” said Delaney.

“And I’m taking her with me.”

“It’ll be fine,” Astoria insisted. “You want to go, don’t you, Trix?”

“Yeah I do!” said Trixie. “I like him.”

“Let me drop you then,” asked Delaney. “I brought a car, and both Tria and I are leaving right now �“”

Tria? It sounded like a stupid name.

“That would be lovely!” cried Trixie, but Draco said, “No, thanks. I’ve never been in a car.”

“Ohhh!” said Trixie excitedly. “Are we going to fly into your place on a broomstick? That would be amazing! I’ll go even though I’m a bit scared of heights.”

“No, I �“”

It was only then that Draco realised the girl must be a Muggle. Shocked, he sat still, unable to go on.

“I think he’ll be taking you via Side-Along Apparating, Trix,” said Astoria. “That’s when you disappear from a spot and appear at another within seconds.”

“Like in Star Trek,” said the girl, laughing. Before Draco could think of some excuse to not take her, she kissed his cheek, told him she needed to go to the washroom and left.

“Ewan,” said Astoria, “could you get me a drink?”

“Sure, Tria,” said Delaney. Brushing Astoria’s cheek lightly with his lips, he got up.

“Have fun,” he said to Draco and walked away.

“Are they twins?” asked Draco scathingly. “Do they have to peck people’s cheek before leaving?”

“They’re just being nice, Vincent,” said Astoria.

Draco wanted to snap back a bit more, but Astoria moved closer to him and he changed his mind. She looked very pretty in her glittery black dress, and she smelled like a heady mix of citrus and musk.

“Why did you leave that day?” she asked him.

“Something came up.”

“Then why didn’t you return?”

“I �“ I didn’t need the robes anymore.”

“So, the designers in Italy are better than me, eh?” she asked him, elbowing him.

“What are you on about?”

“Your trip to Italy,” she said.

Completely confused, Draco asked, “What trip?”

“For Merlin’s sake,” said Astoria, “how many Poppy’s Cocktails did Trixie force you to consume? Your recent trip to Italy.”

“I never �“ ” He understood suddenly. “Did you write to me?”

“Yeah, I did,” she said. “Didn’t Narcissa tell you? It was a week after the last time you were at the shop. My owl returned with a note from her saying that you had left for Italy.”

So, his mother, ashamed of the fact that her son had run away, had lied to Astoria that he had gone on a vacation. Although he resented her, it was certainly convenient for him at the moment.

“Oh yeah,” he drawled. “Yeah, I’d gone there.”

“When did you return?”

“A few days ago,” he lied.

“Aren’t you going to drop by at the store again?”

“If I need robes,” said Draco, “I will.”

“And you won’t if you don’t?” she asked him.

She was so close to him. If Draco lowered his head just a little, their lips would touch. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in his head, or the effects of the realization that �“ maybe, just maybe �“ she cared for his company, he wanted to kiss her so badly at that moment. He would have done it, too, but Trixie arrived, shouting she was ready.

“She’s a sweet girl,” said Astoria quietly.

Without bothering to say goodbye, Draco left the pub, almost dragging Trixie behind him.





Trixie swooned and nearly fell on the floor as soon as they Apparated into Draco’s drawing room. She giggled and before Draco could stop her, pulled him into a violent kiss.

It felt good. Draco responded instantly, grabbing her bum and crushing her against him.

His brain went numb as his body took over. Soon, they were in his bedroom, taking each other’s clothes off and running their hands over whatever they could reach. A part of him kept insisting that he shouldn’t enjoy this, but the hunger in him was too great to ignore. He ran his lips across her neck and along her shoulder and between her breasts, always goaded by her urging moans.

Muggles, witches, they were all the same �“ delightful and warm and full of wonders.

They were on his bed, and she was pushing him down, taking over. He gladly accepted and let the sensations overcome him. Nothing could spoil such a glorious thing, or so he thought until something escaped his lips.

“Astoria.”

It was too soft for the girl to hear, or perhaps she was more drunk than him; she didn’t seem to have registered it. But Draco had gone cold. He abruptly pushed her aside and said, “This is wrong.”

“What the fuck did you do that for?” she yelled angrily.

“I’m sorry,” he said, frantically putting his clothes back on and throwing hers on the bed. “I can’t do this.”

“You dickhead!” she cried, bursting into tears.

Within ten minutes, she was snoring on his bed. Draco went to his bathroom and let the hot water attack his frustration and agony. Astoria was probably with that Delaney wanker right now, and she probably thought Draco had had sex with Trixie, or whatever her real name was.

Sitting down on the edge of his bathtub, he cried. He was tired of everything. He was tired of his obsession with Astoria. He wished he had never met her.

“How are you getting home?” Draco asked the girl.

She just glared at him and walked out of the door, letting it shut with a loud bang.

“Good riddance,” muttered Draco.

He hoped he’d never see her again. On his part, he wasn’t going to go to any clubs in the near future. In fact, there was a huge possibility he wouldn’t ever venture into one again.

Draco was a tyrant at work that day. He sent six pairs of Quidditch gloves back to the glove-manufacturing department just because a few threads were sticking out here and there, something he usually fixed himself. Then, he Vanished all the tail clippings of a new model of Nimbus broomstick because they hadn’t been varnished properly. By the end of the day, he was sending a report to Winters, suggesting that Miss Marlowe had been tardy and would require a salary cut.

Sleep came quicker that night, too, but if he had thought things would improve the next morning, he was sorely mistaken.

Right on the front of the page of The Daily Prophet was the picture of the pub he had been to two nights before. Apparently, the owners had been arrested and fined because of the admissions of a large number of Muggles. Aurors were investigating to find out which wizards and witches had brought the Muggles with them, and Obliviators were being sent out to modify the memories of those Muggles.

“Damn!”

Draco hadn’t brought any Muggle illegally with him, but he had certainly left with one. Did that count?

“Bloody fucking Merlin!” he exclaimed.

There it was. Just another achievement to add to his already colourful history. They would probably accuse him of harassing the Muggle or something equally horrid. He was Draco Sodding Malfoy after all.

He owled Winters, telling him he was too unwell to come to work. If he was going to be arrested or questioned, he didn’t want it to happen in the office in front of everyone.






No Aurors came to his flat that day, or the next, which happened to be a Saturday. He was too terrified to even read the paper. What if his name had been printed on it as part of a list of people who had been on the bar?

Pucey dropped by with Goyle and asked him if he had gone.

“I did,” he said, almost gagging on the words.

She looked sympathetic. “If they didn’t come yesterday, they might not ever,” she said in an effort to console him. “I think most of those people who did bring the Muggles have been caught.”

“Anyone we know?” he asked.

“Avoiding the paper?” asked Pucey shrewdly.

“Yeah.”

“A few Gryffindors,” she said. “I remember them from school. One or two Ravenclaws. Some I don’t know. There was a Hufflepuff with his fiancé, but I think they let him go.”

“Finch-Fletchley,” said Goyle. “Our year. He is a Mudblood himself.”

“Muggle-borns, Greg,” corrected Pucey, touching Goyle’s hand as though in warning.

“Sorry,” said Goyle hastily.

Draco remembered something just then. “Any Slytherins?” he asked.

“None,” said Pucey. “No one either Greg or I know, that is.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.





On Sunday, he decided it would be a bit safer to go out of the house. He needed to pay his rent, as well as for the grocery and foodstuffs which the landlady got for him. Gringotts fortunately never had an off day.

He was just about to Apparate to Diagon Alley when the doorbell rang. He immediately froze.

Only two people ever came to visit him, and both were in Hogsmeade, visiting Pucey’s uncle. The landlady, who had lumbago, preferred to send him an owl if she needed to have a word with him. His parents didn’t know where he lived.

His first thought was to scarper, but how long could he run? The Ministry probably had some sort of a tracking charm on him, ready to activate whenever he was charged with some crime or the other.

He had no choice but to face this. Keeping his chin up, he turned the knob and opened the door.

Astoria was standing outside.





“How �“ how did you find me?”

Staring coldly at him, she walked inside.

“What happened with Trixie?” she asked him.

“What about her?” asked Draco.

“Will you stop playing dumb?” snapped Astoria.

“Well, as long as you remain vague…”

“You didn’t sleep with her,” she said accusingly, as though that was the biggest crime of the century.

Now, it was Draco’s turn to be short with her. “None of your business,” he told her.

It really wasn’t any of her business. At first, he had imagined that she had come there because she was worried about him, but it was becoming obvious she had Trixie’s interest at heart, not his.

“It is!” she cried.

“Did she get caught, then?” asked Draco. “Because if she did, it wasn’t my fault to begin with. It was yours.”

“She didn’t,” answered Astoria. “I made sure of that.”

“What did you do?” asked Draco curiously.

“Memory Charm. I got there before the Aurors and Obliviators did.”

“Did you get my address out from her, too?”

“Yes.”

“And how did you find my room?”

“I told the landlady I am your girlfriend.”

Draco was impressed with her tactics but too annoyed to compliment her on it. “So now you’re scot-free, aren’t you? What’s getting your bloomers in a twist?”

“Did you or did you not bring her here and then reject her?” demanded Astoria.

“What in the bloody name of Merlin is wrong with you? What does it matter to you if I slept with her or not?”

“You rejected her because she’s Muggle!” Draco could only splutter as she flew into a rage. “I liked you because you didn’t agree to the marriage. All my life, I listened to my sister telling me that you were a wimp who would do anything his parents wanted, but you proved to be different, and I thought, I thought you deserved a chance. But no!”

“Astori �“”

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you? You lied that you have been to Italy, but you’ve actually been living here all this time.”

“How �“?”

“Your landlady says you’ve been here for four months, Draco!”

“Yeah, but �“”

“Trixie told me everything!” Astoria went on. “She said you couldn’t do it and that you felt it was wrong. If you really hated Muggles that much, why didn’t you just leave her at the club? Why go through that stupid elaborate drama about wanting to shag her so badly that you wouldn’t even say good night before leaving? What the hell were you trying to prove?”

Draco couldn’t answer.

Astoria got even more furious when he didn’t fight back. “My sister and I had an argument, you know. I told her she could be wrong about you, that people could change because of time and circumstances. But it seems she was right.”

Throwing him one last dirty look, she started walking towards the door, but Draco shut it with his wand.

“You’ll hear me out,” he said.

She pursed her lips and waited.

“That night was the night I actually realised there was little difference between Muggle women and witches,” he said. “I didn’t go all the way because … because I was thinking of someone else. I couldn’t go ahead with it when it was so obvious it was another girl I wanted.”

He could see her frowning, but he wasn’t going to pause now. “I know what another guy would say in my place �“ that it didn’t matter as long as the girl didn’t mind. But it mattered to me then, and it matters to me now. I don’t want a substitute. I don’t want to shag someone just for the sake of shagging. I’m no longer the boy I was at school.”

Unable to face her, he started pacing. “Yes, my mother lied to you. She couldn’t very well tell you, practically a stranger, that her son had run away from home. I was staying with Goyle at that time. Father finally tracked me down, but I argued with him and mother and didn’t stay at the Manor. Instead, I came here and got a job. I am currently working at Nimbus.

“As for Trixie … Well, I haven’t had a girlfriend in a long time, nor have I bothered to start anew because, like I said before, there is someone I like and I’m pretty sure she’s unavailable. Trixie came on to me, I grabbed my opportunity, and I’d have happily spent the night without regret if …”

Astoria was silent. When he looked back at her, he saw that her eyes had gone wide, as though she had just realised something huge.

“It is true that I told her it was wrong and that I couldn’t do it, but it’s completely false that I said those things because she was a Muggle,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t even give a bloody Knut about the whole Muggle thing anymore. I haven’t, for quite some time.”

Unbidden, the unpleasant memories of an old teacher hanging above a huge dining table flashed in his mind. Draco automatically winced.

“Draco …” mumbled Astoria.

“I have to leave,” he said brusquely. He raised his wand and sent a Self-Locking Charm towards the doorknob. “This door will lock itself within two minutes. Please show yourself out.”

With that, he Disapparated, leaving her alone in his flat.





When he returned, Astoria was no longer there. He felt disappointment weighing down on his heart, and then he loathed himself for being so vulnerable.

As though in a trance, he went to the kitchen and started cooking right away. He let the WWN play loudly and even sang along to it in an effort to focus on anything other than what had happened earlier. Still there was no blocking his mind from replaying certain words which she had said.

You proved to be different, and I thought, I thought you deserved a chance…
My sister and I had an argument, you know. I told her she could be wrong about you, that people could change because of time and circumstances.

So, she had actually cared for him in her own way. Not that it mattered anymore. She must be embarrassed of him right now. Few things on earth were less appealing than unwanted attention.

Draco felt nauseous. He had exposed his feelings to her, even though he had been right to do it. There was no way he was letting her go with all those crazy conclusions she had jumped to. But now, he must seem like an idiot in love.

The doorbell rang again as he was settling down to eat. Prepared to face whatever it was, he opened it straightaway.

“Hey,” she said.

Forcing his feelings back down, he said, “What brings you here again?”

“Your Self-Locking Charm does work,” she said. “I wanted to return as soon as I’d stepped out, but clearly, the time was up.”

“My question still stands.”

“I waited in your landlady’s room for so long,” she said. “She says she can detect when you’re at home. Finally, I asked her if she’d let me know when you arrived. She agreed and sent me an owl.”

“Think I’ll move out,” said Draco. “She apparently cannot respect my privacy.”

“She thinks I’m your girlfriend.”

“Well, you are not.”

“I’m hungry and I can smell food.”

Pushing Draco aside, she entered his flat once more. “I didn’t know you cooked as well,” she remarked. “What is it?”

“No idea,” he replied honestly. “I just boiled all of those things together.”

It was as though he was in a bizarre but welcome dream. Astoria had settled on the chair opposite his and was eating the broth he had made without complaint. He was too numb to swallow anything, so he just sat there watching her, elbows propped up and fingers knotted together with the tip of his nose resting against them.

“I was going to eat when the owl flew into my kitchen,” she explained after having nearly finished her bowl. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Lost my appetite. You have disgusting table manners,” he said, indicating the few drops which had fallen on her sleeves when her spoon splashed on the watery dish. She gave him an evil look as she removed the stains with her wand. Draco couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Right,” she said, getting up. “I’m going to have a look around your flat. You get on with your pathetic soup.”

Draco found it much easier to eat as he heard her walking around and commenting on the décor. Back when he had just moved in, he had often daydreamed about her visiting him there. He would be ashamed of the place then; it was tiny and bare and without style, and it reeked of the aura that accompanied a life lived on a tight budget.

But now, even as she blasted his choice of furniture and curtains and arrangement, he realised he didn’t mind at all. This was the real him, and he was proud to present it to her.

“The only thing I like,” she said, reappearing in his kitchen, “is the paint on the walls.”

Draco raised her eyebrows at her.

“Say, you didn’t steal the idea from someone, did you?”

His reply was to gather the dishes and put them on the sink. He heard her laugh.

And then, he wanted her to leave. She was humoring him only for some time. She probably felt sorry for him. Although he was a much better person now, he was nothing compared to what her boyfriend was.

It wasn’t pity he craved; it was her, and if he couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t have anything from her.

“When are you leaving?” he asked as soon as he had come out.

“You’re eager to see me go, aren’t you?” she asked him, sounding hurt.

He threw himself down on his sofa next to her. “Listen,” he said seriously, “don’t expect friendship from me. By now, it must be obvious how I feel about you. If I can’t be your lover, than I’d prefer to stay away from you.”

“So,” she said, “the girl is indeed me then.”

“Who else did you thought she would be?” said Draco incredulously.

“It’s just funny because I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Huh?”

“Who’s the lucky guy you’ve paired me up with?”

Draco was dumbfounded. “What do you mean? Aren’t you dating that Delaney wanker?”

“You wish, he’s not a wanker, and he’s gay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you serious?” said Astoria. “It means he likes boys!”

“No, I know what that means,” said Draco. “I’m just �“ what was he doing kissing your cheek and putting his arms around you?”

“Can’t he do that to his best friend?”

“Yeah �“ no!” Draco jumped up in his excitement. “I don’t do that with Goyle �“ or, or �“ well, I have never seen anyone do that!”

“Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean people don’t do it,” said Astoria, rolling her eyes. “I often kiss his cheek and put my arms around him as well. Doesn’t mean I’ve got the hots for him.”

“Daphne said you were dating.”

“And Daphne despises you with all her heart,” she said. “Was she telling you about me and Ewan in the store that day?”

“Yes.”

“Reckoned as much.” Astoria patted the seat next to her, telling Draco to sit down again. He obeyed. “I am single,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, “but … I am not ready for a commitment.”

How did she manage to do this to him? Fill him up with so much happiness and then deflate him the next second?

“Draco,” she said, shifting and turning towards him, “I appreciate what you’ve done with yourself. All these changes you’ve brought into your life … from what I knew of you, I wouldn’t have expected you to be like this.”

“It’s all because of you,” he said earnestly. “If I hadn’t met you, I’d still be gathering fat at the Manor.”

“And it feels great to hear that,” she told him. “It’s a little overwhelming, yes, but if I’ve been responsible for even a single change, I can be proud of myself.”

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I wasn’t actually a part of it,” she said. “I didn’t experience any of it. I may have influenced you, but it happened without me being aware of it, and that … that makes me feel empty.”

“You don’t have to �“”

“Listen to me,” she said, taking his hands into hers. “It looks like you have set me up to be an ideal, but you hardly know me. And I hardly know you. And … I can’t just jump into the middle of it, you understand?”

“So what would you have us do?”

“Start from scratch,” she told him. “See if we really work together.”

On an impulse, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, but he changed his mind and lightly pressed his lips against hers instead. She giggled.

“I promise you we will,” he said.

EPILOGUE


“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

He shook his head as he looked around his drawing room. Only a sofa remained outside; the rest had been packed into his trunk with the help of a Non-Detectable Extension Charm. After having lived there for nearly two years, he was moving back to the Manor.

“You will miss it, won’t you?”

He was sitting on the sofa with his fiancée beside him.

“It’s the only place which has held happiness for me,” he answered.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. Then, climbing on to the sofa and facing him, her legs on either side of his, she told him, “The Manor was where you saw me first. That has got to count for something.”

It would be heartless of him to tell her that the Manor was also where he had had some of the worst times. He said nothing but smiled at her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his and pushing his chin up with her hands, “and I want you to stop thinking like that.”

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “I like you because you broke away from all that. You started afresh. You took a huge risk. That’s something I respect. Now, I love you. I can’t let that change because of things you did years ago, things you regret this night. Neither should you.”

“It’s just …” he began. “There are certain horrors �“”

“Let them be,” she whispered, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’ll be there with you.”

“Always?” he asked her.

“Mmm. We just need to give it a facelift, and it would be like a new home.”

Draco brightened up. “You can change our part of the house however you like,” he said. “You can even have piglets flying around the ceiling, I don’t care.”

“That’s an idea.”

“I know.”

Pulling her closer towards him, he said, “I’ll never warm up to Delaney, but if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Too true.”

“If you want him to do the designs, I won’t mind.”

She laughed. “Nah, it’s our house. I think I’d like to do it myself.”

They kissed.

Even now, after having been so intimately acquainted with her body that he could anticipate every move, pinpoint every tiny mole without looking, and tell exactly where she needed him to touch her, he couldn’t have his fill of it. Nothing made him feel more alive, more rewarded than to be able to hold her, smell her, and just … revel in the softness of her body, the taste of her skin.

And it wasn’t only that. What mattered the most was the fact that she was there in spite of everything. He was no longer alone.

For more than two years, it had been a constant chase. Even when she had told him she was his, he hadn’t stopped pursuing her. Even now, when she was so close she couldn’t be possibly closer, he still couldn’t stop wanting her.

Perhaps, she had got it right that first time she said it; she was an ideal. She was what made him better. She was what drove him to face a world determined to wrong-foot him. It wasn’t just the companionship, the trust, the reliability, the laughter that she provided him; it was also the whole of her, from the person and the body, to their combined presence.

In no time at all, he was standing at a raised platform at the back of the Manor, dressed in dark navy robes, which she had personally created for him. When she arrived, wearing the plain white dress that he knew so well, he felt a lump in his throat. Once, he had pleaded with her to put them on, and she had refused, claiming that they’d gone out of style. At that moment, it was as though only she existed; his parents, her parents, their friends and family, none of them mattered.

The golden sunlight flashed on her silver hoops, sending him back to the first time they had met.

Did he, Draco Malfoy, accept this woman who had caused him to do a few of the most insane things in life, as his lawfully wedded wife? Did he promise to love and cherish her till death did them apart?

The celebrant must be a spectacular moron to even pose those questions.

“I do,” he said.