Title: The Last Voice
Author: 
malachic
Team: Team Epilogue
Prompt: The Lovers
Wordcount: About 5,900
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Infidelity, cheating, angst
Summary: Who knew a single letter could change so much?
Author's Note Hugs to Team Epilogue, especially N and L, without which this fic would be considerably worse. Interpretation of card is literal and tarot.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and all associated characters from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. The author is making no profit from this story.
During the war, every night, Hermione and I would talk about something . Sometimes they were just bits of advice, and whether or not they made sense. Sometimes it was horcruxes and Voldemort. But... I remember this old quote she told me, just because I thought it fit. She said that sometimes you mourned the loss of something that was never truly lost – either because it was never yours to lose in the first place, or because you imagined a loss where there was none, a tragedy in replacement of pressing, grim reality. In reality, you were so constantly worried over its loss, checking nearly every second to see if it was there, panicking for a moment if you couldn’t feel it... so often that you wished it would be lost, just to prove that your paranoia had a just cause."I think I’m in the second group... no, I hope I am...
That was how the letter began.
~~~
Their relationship started four years ago, if there was a start, if there was anything to be started in the first place. Draco liked to think that there was, that this wasn’t only a delusion of his. Sometimes, he thought that it was. That it wasn’t important, that it had never been important. Then he remembered.
~~~
When you first changed... I don’t know. I want to say that there was a specific start, that I could put my finger on when it started to change, when you started to change, but I can’t... after the end of the war, that’s all I really know.
After the end of the war, it was chaos. No one knew what to do anymore... they had to be there. That without Death Eaters to fight and slander, life wouldn’t be the same. It was insane, how old everyone looked. The innocence was gone. There weren’t any more fairytales at night or Prince Charming. The first years no longer looked up in fear and wonder at the elders and asked about the teachers. They didn’t ask was it really true that Filch had whips in his room, or that McGonagall turned bad students into mice and ate them? It didn’t matter anymore. They’d seen death, and nothing else mattered.
~~~
Then... then you came up with this bloody brilliant, bloody insane idea, and goddamn, it shouldn’t have worked, but it did... it did...
Draco still remembered how he started it. He remembered sitting in a room, just waiting, and hating himself, despising the fact that he couldn’t do anything. He remembered Pansy’s scared, tired look in the middle of a meeting... he remembered Granger’s accusatory face, as if it was his fault, and he remembers Potter saying, in a calm, cool tone, "Everyone’s scared. This was all they had, and no one knows what’s happening... apparently, Voldemort was involved more than we know."
He remembered wanting to do something, change something. Just hold this whole bloody thing together, just a little longer. Just until it’s over. Just hold on until everything’s straightened out.
He remembered Lovegood smiling and saying, "Well, no one knows what’s going on. That’s the problem."
The Last Voice was born.
~~~
Your ideas are always insane, though, aren’t they? The newspaper, and... and us, if there even was an us...
At first, no one wanted to do it. They said it was stupid or insane or a waste, or all three. Then Lovegood just smiled, and said that surely her father would be proud of her if she helped. Then Creevey piped up and said that... that maybe, he could do justice to his brother’s memory this way. Bones said that she could do an how-to column. Pansy just smirked and said naturally she’d do the gossip column, darling and Chang said she could do an advice column, because who would know better than a Ravenclaw? Granger smiled at him a bit, giving in, and she said she’d write about the new government. Then the Weaslette said she’d write a Quidditch column, and Weasley leapt in and said no way was she doing that, that was his, and then Potter sighed, and said that he’d write about the Aurors, and maybe the interesting cases, and definitely Voldemort, since people couldn’t forget.
They began working the next day.
~~~
Everyone loved it. Nothing mattered, after that. It was always about the newspaper. We had something to do, finally... finally we could all be normal... even me , the Boy Who Lived...
Draco had spent more money than he cared to think about, more hours than he could even comprehend. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except for the fact that somehow, this was really working. Dennis Creevey was a photographer for the newspaper, and Lovegood would pull out one insane story a week about some sort of animal, and Weasley would always write every single move of the most recent Quidditch game, and Granger would update on every movement of the government, and Potter would tell them about the recent Auror cases.
It was working. People knew, now... they knew about how Voldemort had his paws into the Auror department, and how it was being cleaned out. They knew about the elections for Minister of Magic, and that Kingsley was predicted to win by a sixty percent margin. They knew that the Chudley Cannons were still doing just as well, and that nothing had changed, not really.
They knew that the war was over, but they were all still here. They would always be.
Draco just watched, putting the newspaper together every week.
~~~
hen... then everyone at Hogwarts started breaking away... then everyone started fighting, but you kept it together, somehow, throughout Hermione and Ron’s numerous break-ups, and them getting back together, throughout everything...
No one could quite see them, but you could feel them. There were little divisions, everywhere. There were fractures, growing steadily between everyone. The Ravenclaws would sneer derisively every time someone said something that they thought was stupid. The Hufflepuffs recoiled the first few times that it happened, then striking back, insulting them and asking them what gave them the right to act like that. The Slytherins would just watch, mocking slightly, as the Gryffindors told them to shut the hell up, and either help or not say a bloody word. Then Granger and Weasley broke up, and there was another fracture, until all the Gryffindors were turning on themselves. Even in Slytherin, you could feel the sides forming. Zabini or Malfoy. Everywhere, there were the sides, the fractures... good or evil. White or black. Granger or Weasley. Zabini or Malfoy. Chang or Lovegood. Smith or Bones. Pick a side.
Draco made them work together. He made Chang and Lovegood partners whenever he could. Then he shoved Granger and Weasley into a locked room, and told them to sort out their romantic issues, because it was messing up his newspaper, and he wouldn’t stand for that, and told Blaise that he had just better shut his mouth, cause he knew a hell of a lot more Dark Arts spells than Blaise did, and if Blaise started messing with this, he was going to use all of them on Blaise. He slapped Smith around, told him that sure, he was allowed to be a cynic and a skeptic, and no, he didn’t have to trust Draco or Potter or anyone else, but if he was working for Draco , he was going to behave, and he was going to make peace, because if he didn’t, Draco was going to kill him.
It worked.
~~~
It was funny. Everyone thought that you were doing this for the greater good... goddamn. You had... had only a few hundred Galleons when this began, and soon enough you were the richest man in the Wizarding World. Not like that was new, or anything.
That was the one thing. That was the one silver lining in the whole mess. After the war... they took away everything as soon as they could get their grubby paws on it. The oh-so-noble Aurors, grabbed valuables from Malfoy Manor, running off with them.
Spoils of war.
What they didn’t take, the government did. They said that the money was earned using illegal methods, that it was Death Eater money, that it was tainted, that it was stolen or fake or whatever else they could think of. They took it all, everything but the Manor, and some stashes that Lucius had hidden in case of emergencies.
Draco took it, put in every single Sickle and Galleon to the newspaper. It worked.
After a year, he bought every last thing back. You never steal from a Malfoy.
~~~
Then everyone started getting jobs... I was the first, I think, then Ginny, and Hermione, and Ron, but everyone still wrote for you, and not just for the money. It was something normal, because it was ours. You might have started it, but we were all part of it, and we’d rather cut off our own arm than stop.
Then Potter left, and no one knew what would happen. People thought that maybe the Gryffindors would leave, or maybe the newspaper would just stop. He knew how it worked. Potter brought half the Wizarding World with him, whether or not Draco claimed to run the newspaper or not.
When Draco got Potter’s next article, neatly typed, he thought he might explode from relief. Even... even if Potter hadn’t, if Potter had said, no, I’m too busy, I can’t, he would have kept it together somehow. Everyone needed this – something to believe in. No matter who you were, no matter what you did or wrote or edited... every word in that paper, printed in clean, perfect black and white, sent the same message.
We’re still alive.
~~~
Ginny started working with the Harpies, just after I got promoted. You met Astoria. Pretty, cunning, smart Astoria. You loved her. I could tell. You’d always be with her, and Ron would joke about it... that it was the only time that a Malfoy would act like a puppy.
Draco remembered that moment. He didn’t think he’d ever forget it. He was talking to Ginny, asking her about her next article, as it was a few days late. He spotted Astoria, just off the pitch. Her long black hair was tumbling down her back, full lips slightly parted in the middle of forming a word. Her blue eyes flashed, her upper lip quirked up in a sneer s she spoke. The wind ruffled through her hair, blowing it about.
He cut off in the middle of his conversation and went to introduce himself at once.
Astoria smiled, and asked him if he’d like to have coffee with her.
The rest, as they say, was history.
~~~
You know what’s funny? I have no idea when it happened. When we became friends. Somehow, we did. Between Astoria holding all those dinner parties, and you at her arm, between all of the games in which we were sitting right next to each other and pretending to care, between all of the encounters in Diagon Alley... somehow we did.
Draco thought that he should know. He knew that there are always beginnings – that things are not suddenly in the middle without transition. He thought he should be able to put his finger on the exact moment.
He remembered the first dinner that Astoria held with Potter there. He remembers rolling his eyes, barely controlling his tongue. He remembers almost provoking Potter to punch him, before Astoria kicked him.
He remembered the Ministry dinner that they were both invited to as a point of honor, and sat together as a point of insult. He remembers sneering at all of the Ministry officials, deriding their policies, disrespecting their titles and honors... and being surprised when Potter agreed with him.
He remembered meeting Potter in Diagon Alley, almost smiling at him, and helping him pick out an owl that wouldn’t look too much like his old one, while telling Potter off for being too bloody sentimental. Then he dared Potter into Knockturn Alley, dragging him into as many "questionable" shops as possible just to see him squirm, and then assigned him to write an article about Dark artefacts.
He remembered Potter coming into his office once a week, in the morning or evening, and bringing him coffee. Or sometimes, he brought take-away when Draco was working late, although Draco would always say with a withering glance, that he had a secretary, and didn’t need another one. Potter would just shrug and say poor Finnigan needed a break.
He remembered all of this. But he doesn’t remember when Potter became Harry.
~~~
Somehow... somehow. See, I’ve always hated that word, Draco. I’ve always thought that there was a reason for everything, that things didn’t just happen. I hated it when they did just happen. It meant I wasn’t in control anymore... that I didn’t understand what was going on. I suppose "somehow" is the only word I can use for this... for us... because I still don’t understand it.
Rain, pounding down on the rooftops, sliding down the windows, leaving traces in its wake. The wind howling, thunder booming. They didn’t notice, did they... Potter’s clothes were on the floor, still dripping wet, the plush purple carpet sucking it up... the bedsheets were tangled on the ground, Astoria’s favorite dark blue ones, but he didn’t care. By this point, he didn’t care about anything except for Potter, and what his mouth was doing and how he was moving...
Hundreds of miles away, in Spain, up late after a Quidditch match, Astoria and Ginny sat up and talked about how wonderful their boyfriends were.
~~~
Then Astoria proposed, or you proposed... there are still bets on that one. It was over. Whatever we had... whatever the hell that was, it was over. It was supposed to be. I asked Ginny out the next day. I said that all of the proposals had gotten me wondering why I was still alone. I gave her a dozen red roses. Needless to say, she was thrilled. It should have ended, this whole mess, right then and there.
There wasn’t exactly an option. Draco couldn’t say no – he loved Astoria ... he just wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t say yes, because it would be cruel. After he got engaged, Potter would just cut this whole thing off because of his Gryffindor honor or chivalry or whatever.
Astoria was... she was witty. She could talk to him for hours, and he wouldn’t get tired. She could help him when he really needed it, stop him from thinking too much about the war. She could understand him, in the sort of way that only Slytherins could. She cared about him, and she showed it. She could be... she was ... his normal life. She was his rock. He couldn’t lose her.
So he said yes.
The next morning, he saw Pansy’s gossip column.
Sit down, witches... you don’t want to hear about this.
Both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are currently off the market, ladies. Master publisher Draco Malfoy came into work this morning, sporting a shiny silver ring on one finger. How many of you want to bet it was his girlfriend, nay, fiancé, who put it on him, and not the other way around? Harry Potter's long-time on-again-off-again love Ginny Weasley says she and the boy hero are finally getting serious. Soon you'll see them out on the town, and it won't be long before she, too, has got a ring on her finger...
Draco didn’t read the rest of the article. He grabbed it, tore it into pieces, and reveled in the feeling of paper tearing under his hands, until Astoria came and whispered into his ear, first sweet nothings, and then that he was being ridiculous. She said that he should have expected something like that. At least it was his newspaper.
~~~
It didn’t, did it, Draco? Chalk it up to Gryffindor stubborness or Slytherin cunning – or perhaps you just being a spoilt brat that wanted the world, which to me is still the most likely option. Whatever it was, it made this – "us" – keep on going.I’m not sure whether to thank whatever the hell it was or not.
It only took five days. Five days until he was back in Potter’s bed. Draco thought he had better self-control – no, he didn’t, he knew he didn’t. Even if he had, Potter... it wasn’t about self-control or not or anything else except for pure, sheer raw need. It was the sort of need that drove people to murder, the sort that could tear a person apart. The sort of need that wasn’t pretty or nice or kind or anything else, but was just there and that wouldn’t go away and that you couldn’t replace with anything – or anyone else.
Astoria, for all of her beauty and charm and wit... she wasn’t need. She was want, sweet and gentle and most importantly, not needed. She was... he wanted her. Oh, he wanted her so much. He loved her, he knew that. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and spend every day of his life with her and wake up with her in his bed or already making breakfast. He wanted to go to her games and cheer as she scored yet another goal, see her wink at him and grin. He wanted to spend all of his mornings talking to her about politics, and be in awe every time that she saw something that was so bloody obvious, so perfectly, wonderfully obvious... that no one else saw it. He wanted to laugh along with her, wanted to see her in the library, nose deep in yet another old book that he had never even bothered to wipe the dust off of.
He wanted her.
He didn’t need her.
~~~
You remember the routine, I’m sure. It was the same thing, day after day, night after night... the same habits. I was Potter in the day, Harry at night. Love and lust obliterated with the dawn’s rays, replaced with hatred and scorn. The same game that we would play every day, our game.
Draco remembered. He remembered the nights in which he thought that he wouldn’t go back to Astoria, that he’d stay here forever in a dingy flat with Harry and never go back to the Manor. He’d never leave because they were wizards, they didn’t have to... and the mornings in which he left, just as coolly as ever.
He remembered smiling and joking with Finnegan in the day about Potter’s love life. How he was so obviously, bleedingly gay it was ridiculous, but hey, allow people their delusions, yeah, and just hope a family never enters into it. He remembers the fury, every time he saw Ginny with Potter, every time they would smile or she would peck him chastely on the cheek...
He remembers Potter’s desk, and how much he wanted to smash that picture... one of the Weaselette, looking smug and happy, her long red hair in a falling down her back. She was wearing her best dress, it seemed – a pretty, slinky black one. She looked gorgeous, with her eyeliner and makeup and mascara... her brown eyes perfectly shadowed, her lips full and perfect. She looked elegant, like a queen, almost, a ring on her finger... a single golden band, a diamond on it. That single ring that messed everything up... the reason everything was different. Potter was on her arm, looking uncomfortable in a tuxedo with his hair gelled back, a small, forced smile on his lips, in contrast to the Weaselette’s bright, beaming smile.
Draco barely managed not to smash it.
~~~
You remember your wedding, don’t you, Draco? I do. Pansy was your maid of honour, and I was your best man. I think you had too much to drink, maybe wedding nerves or whatever, but you came up to me, and shoved me outside, right after you finished saying your vows, and kissed me. Over and over. I resisted you, but barely.You spent the night with me.
Astoria had waited, Draco knew. She had been waiting for hours and hours. He didn’t want to leave. Going back would mean a return to reality, to life as it truly was, with girlfriends and wives. He wanted to stay there, covered in sweat and come. He usually hated being dirty, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in a cheap motel, somewhere in Muggle London – Potter had Apparated them – in a filthy room with horrible bedsheets, sharing a bed with Potter of all people, on his wedding night... and he’d rather be there, pulled roughly into Potter’s arms, dirty and messy and mussed than with his beautiful, perfect, wonderful wife.
God. He was messed up.
~~~
I don’t know how the next morning was for you, but I can imagine. You came back the next night, and the one after that, and the one after that... over and over. Ginny didn’t let me talk to any other women, because she thought I was cheating on her. She was right, I suppose. She just messed up the genders. Do you remember the nights? Every single night...Do you remember?
Astoria... beautiful, wonderful Astoria. Through it all, she still looked the same. Her make-up still looked fresh, just the slightest smudge of smeared mascara at the corner of one blue eye. Her long black hair fell down her back, in the same style as... as the wedding. She was wearing the dress. Her wedding dress... he apologized. Draco fumbled and said that he loved her and that he had lost track of time, and he was sorry, so very, very sorry...
She just looked at him, gave him a sad, sweet smile, and said, "Yes. You are. But it doesn’t matter, does it?"
Later, lying beside her, tired, sweaty, he thought to ask her what she meant. Then he looked into her clear eyes, and knew.
She knew. She understood.
It was obvious, wasn’t it?
~~~
Then ... and then, and then both know what happened that night. It isn’t something that you forget, now is it? I remember. I remember the exact expressions, mirrored on everyone’s faces... I remember how you whispered "Fuck it," and kept on going.More than that, I remember what it caused.
To this day, Draco still didn’t know how he did it. Malfoy training, perhaps? Not that it had usually helped him in the first place. He didn’t hear the door open, but... Potter panicked. Draco could tell when Potter had seen her, because his eyes went wide, and he started gesturing wildly...
Draco just smirked, looking up at Pansy, and asked her whether or not she had something to do, or if she was just going to stand there and annoy them all day. Pansy just shut her mouth and strode out.
Draco finished.
When Potter asked what was going to happen, Draco shrugged, and said that it didn’t really matter. That Pansy would probably tell Astoria, at least, that Astoria might tell Ginny.
That by the end of it, there’d be an article on the whole messy affair.
~~~
You know what kills me?You still blame me. See, I think you remember the day before, when I came to you... you made it clear that you didn’t care. You made it obvious that it didn’t matter, that it never did matter. So... so I can’t understand it, to this day. If it doesn’t matter, if it never mattered, why do you care so much?
Draco still remembered when he fell in love with Potter, for nothing more than the sheer irony of it all. He would remember the next day. Oh, yes. He’d remember it forever. He’d remember the bleak, tired look on Potter’s face as he showed him the ring, the slump of Potter’s shoulders... Potter was just trying to fix things. He was trying to keep his adopted family, keep Ginny and Ron and Molly and everyone else. Potter didn’t know how to fix things, but... this should work? Please tell me it’ll work, Draco, I can’t give her up... he showed him the ring, asking if it was pretty enough, if she’d like it, if it would work... Draco still remembered the desperate tone of voice.
So Draco sighed, and said, yes, it would work.
He didn’t tell him about the day before, about that one moment when he realized he did care for Potter, that he must have for sometime... the time that he nearly screamed at poor Pansy for writing an insulting article about him in the gossip column. He remembered the time that Luna looked at him with an almost accusing glance in her eyes, and asked, "Do you care about him? Do you love him?" He realized he was about to say yes, without even thinking. He didn’t. He just said, "Why would I?"
Why do I care so much... that’s a good one, Potter... Why do you think?
~~~
I do know what Ginny did. I do know that when I came in, she was in her armchair in the middle of the living room, curled up into a little ball. I know that she had tears in her eyes, that she was almost sobbing. She was angry, so angry... furious. That she was too damn tired, too damn sick of everything to even manage to scream at me, although she put a good effort in. She could only go so long without her voice cracking.I proposed. What else could I do? It was... I was just trying to fix things. She let me.
Potter was always... was always trying to fix things. Draco always used to say that some things were meant to be broken. And he couldn’t even do it suavely! Most people wouldn’t have proposed right after their girlfriend found out they were having an affair... but not Potter, oh no. Potter couldn’t think straight if he saw someone cry, no matter what it meant.
Bloody hell.
Potter never thought anything through. He wasn’t really expecting an invitation to the wedding. Astoria said that she expected him to stay at the Manor, even if they were invited, but when the invitation came, creamy white manilla paper, so unlike the old, yellowed parchment of his letter, he refused.
So it was bad taste. So what?
It was a final goodbye, he supposed. A sort of funeral, if you’d like.
He wore black, and said it was the only color Malfoy family dress robes came in.
~~~
Do you remember how you would always call me a stupid, chivalrous Gryffindor, when I was trying to be careful, to be sweet? Yeah, well. The chivalry extends to marriage vows... even if you don’t respect them, I do...or I’ll try.Maybe.
I don’t know. I just don’t know anything at all anymore. I don’t know whether I should have proposed, whether I should get married, whether I should have even written this bloody letter...
More than anything, though, I don’t know what to do about us.
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. Four days, he’d had this bloody letter in his pocket. Four days, he’d been sleeping with it beneath his pillow. Enough was enough. You have a life, you know, he lectured himself. You have a beautiful wife, a wonderful house, a job that you love.
Enough was enough.
He took the letter out of his pocket. It was crumpled, folded over so many times, the words on the page already fading, brushed too much, touched too much, as if they would change, somehow...
He sighed again. He’d been abandoning his work... he had about twenty articles to proofread, and they needed to put together a paper for Potter’s wedding... they were getting an exclusive, and with something like this...
He had to send out assignments, to pick teams, to select photographers, to begin advertising, and instead, he was just wishing. Malfoys didn’t wish. They didn’t dream. They got things done. Point blank.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts, placing the letter into a drawer and locking it.
I don’t know, either.
~~~
Goddamn. I was so... so composed when I started this letter, but... I’m close to crying right now. Not quite... but miserable. How pathetic is that? I know you’d slap me if you were here... but anyway. It’s over. I guess.
It was beautiful. It was ideal. It was everything it should have been – for the world, for Ginny, for everyone involved... except for the groom. The grounds were sparkling, the wedding held in a fancy hall that the bride’s mother had rented. There was an elegant, tired cake in the corner, courtesy of Astoria, crystal chandeliers hanging over everyone’s heads, a small string quartet playing. The bride was beautiful, decked out in white, her long red hair elegantly done up in a bun. Her earrings glittered – two blue feathers, set with opals, a gift from Luna. She wore a single gold chain around her neck, and whenever it caught the light, it glittered almost as much as her engagement ring.
It looked like something straight out of a fairytale book. The Malfoys and Weasleys side by side, talking amiably, finally settling on a sort of peace, for just as long as the wedding lasted... the Weasleys agreeing because of Astoria, the Malfoys because of Harry – and wasn’t that ironic? The couple, so wonderfully in love, off to the corner, whispering sweet nothings in one another’s ears. The little orphan hero was now finally taken in by a family. The poor girl, now a princess in the eyes of the world. The perfect fairytale had come to life.
Draco looked closer... looked with the eyes of a reporter, the eyes that he’d cbecome used to over the years. The princess looked almost angry as she spoke to her husband, her mouth turned up in a smile, but her eyes flashing. Mrs. Weasley was sending him death glares when she didn’t think he was looking, and everyone was very careful to sit away from the Malfoys. Then there was Potter.
Potter, looking awkward in his suit, almost uncomfortable, but people only said that he was shy. Potter stumbled while saying "Yes," who paused for a moment and looked about to open his mouth when they asked for any objections. But he didn’t. His famed courage seemed to have died on him, now. Potter, who while seeming to be paying attention to his wife, turned to look at Draco every few seconds. Draco just raised an eyebrow.
You made your choice, Potter. Stand by it.
Even if it kills both of us.
~~~
I don’t know if we ever had anything to be over, and God, I know it sounds cruel and spiteful and evil but I don’t care, I wish we did. I hope I’m not writing this for nothing. But, anyway. I have to... I want to, I’m going to get married to Ginny in three months, and... and I guess you can run an article on it. I guess you will.
Draco couldn’t stand to go back, after the wedding. He didn’t want to talk to Astoria about how beautiful Ginny looked, or what a perfect couple they were. He couldn’t.
He went back to the office, to work on the article. There had to be an article. It was the biggest wedding of the season – and the Last Voice was the only newspaper allowed there. They had photos, they had everything... except for the article.
He set quill to parchment, and began to write. Everything seemed to disappear. Time might have stopped, or perhaps it went faster than ever. He didn’t know. He knew that all of these were lies, that he knew better, so much better, but... allow them their fantasies, Draco. Potter always used to say that, whenever Draco was on the brink of spilling everything.
Allow them their fantasies.
Allow me mine.
He didn’t know when the door opened. He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching his desk. He did feel a hand on his shoulder, and he did look up.
"Potter," he said.
"Yeah." Potter shrugged. "I couldn’t stay."
"Why not?" Draco asked, setting his quill down.
"I don’t know. Everyone was ... was looking at me. As if they expected me to do something grand and melodramatic, like declare my never-ending love or something. I just don’t know."
"It’s not a good idea to start off a marriage by disappearing, you know," Draco responded.
"Yeah, well. You did it."
"Which is precisely why it isn’t a good idea. Don’t you think your wife will be worried?"
Potter sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I really don’t care anymore. I’m just so... so damn tired of everything. Of trying to be the perfect everything, of being some sort of figurine for everyone to tack on whatever face they’d like." For the first time, Draco noticed the slight smell of whiskey on Potter’s breath.
"You’re drunk."
"Slightly, yes," Potter responded, "but I doubt anyone will notice I’m gone. And... we have a tradition."
"A tradition?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. A tradition. Remember your wedding night?"
Draco looked up, meeting Potter’s eyes, then smiled, grabbing his jacket to leave.
The article could wait.
~~~
I don’t know what I ever thought about you. I think I loved you. I think I love you. I don’t know. I just... I don’t know.But... but for this, let’s say that I love you.
Draco smiled as they lay there, his eyes shut, Harry’s face buried in his hair, hand around his waist, pulling him in tight. Unnoticed, the letter fell from Draco’s hand, crumpled, stained with tears, burnt...
I love you.But that doesn’t change anything.
- Harry.
Only, it changes everything.
~~~
Ten years later
Draco smiled fondly at his son, ruffling his hair. "Don’t worry, Scorpius. It’s really not that bad."
Scorpius didn’t look convinced. "But what if... what if they don’t like me? Or if they put me into Hufflepuff?"
Draco grinned. "Why wouldn’t they like you? You’re brilliant. And I’ll make you a deal. If you’re put into Hufflepuff, we’ll enroll you in Durmstrang, okay?"
Scorpius smiled cautiously. "Okay. You and Mother will send me letters every month, right?"
"Every week," Draco promised.
Astoria smiled down at her son. "It’ll be wonderful, Scorpius. I loved my time here," she stated, kneeling down to kiss him on the forehead.
Scorpius nodded cautiously. "Okay, then."
Draco laughed, taking Scorpius up in his arms. "Don’t worry. You’ll be the King of Slytherin in no time."
Scorpius grinned. "You think so?"
"I know so," Draco said, putting him down, "now go on."
Scorpius nodded, but still stayed there, holding onto his father’s robes.
Draco turned around, meeting Potter’s gaze. He smiled slightly, then nodded, turning back to his son.
He brushed his fingers against the metal hotel key in his pocket. Room 102, Potter had said.
All was well.