Chapter 1
Draco loved the feel of the wind against his skin as he soared over the grounds of the manor on his broomstick. He’d loved flying since he his father gifted him his first broomstick at four years old. It had only hovered high enough for his toes to brush the grass, but he’d still loved the freeing feeling of being off the ground. He’d begged his parents for a real broomstick every year for his birthday and when he was eight, he’d finally gotten one. It was still geared to children, a ‘practice’ broomstick, but he could take it a few feet up, high enough to get an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t very fast, and he’d broken his wrist trying to somersault in the air, but even the injury hadn’t dulled his enjoyment.
Now he was high above the estate, the crisp autumn air whipping against his cheeks, his vision blurred with tears from the cold wind, and his thoughts far away.
“Hello Draco! Would you be so kind as to come meet me in your study? I have an important request.”
The unexpected sound of Luna Lovegood’s ethereal voice startled him back into the present. Her patronus, a small rabbit, hopped away into the clouds.
Luna was standing in the middle of his study with her hands folded gently in front of her. She seemed to be especially interested in a photo of Draco and his parents picnicking in Italy the summer before he began at Hogwarts. She was watching Draco laugh as his mother’s hat was blown from her head. Narcissa was also laughing, her head thrown back as her blonde hair lifted around her, and even Lucius was smiling at his wife and son.
“I would ask how you got past my wards, into my house, and who showed you to my study, but since I’m pretty sure I just had a mild heart attack on my broom, I’m just going to take a seat and let you ask your question.” Draco dropped himself into the chair on the other side of the desk and waited.
Luna walked over to the coziest chair in the room, an overstuffed navy armchair, and curled herself into it, tucking her feet up under her as though she planned on staying for quite some time. Draco tried not to roll his eyes, but continued to wait for her to speak.
“You have changed a lot from the boy you were at school. I was always so excited to see you become the man you were supposed to be.” Luna smiled at him as she spoke. “I think now is the time for new friendships. Harry Potter has been my friend for a long time, but he needs someone who understands him better than he thinks I can.”
Draco stared at her. He remembered her being odd back in their school days, but he had no idea what the point was of this conversation.
“Mm.”
The smile dropped from Luna’s face, and she let out an audible sigh.
“You should visit Grimmauld Place and speak with Harry. He could use a new friend right now.”
“You think I should show up uninvited at Potter’s house and ask him to be my new friend?” Draco tried and failed to hide the amusement from his tone. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.” He added with a smirk.
Luna stood and walked to the edge of the desk. She was no longer smiling, and her large blue eyes had gone dark. She leaned forward, so there was no mistaking the anger in her features.
“Draco Malfoy, I have never asked you for anything and I am asking you for this. Do not be a disappointment yet again.”
With that, she stood and strode from the room, her blonde locks following behind her. Draco suddenly felt cold and sat silently in thought until the room had fallen into complete darkness and his joints had stiffened.
Draco appeared in a wisp of black smoke, a gift from his Death Eater days, in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. It occurred to him that as the last remaining male in the Black bloodline, he probably still technically owned this property. He felt the wards recognize him as he climbed the steps. He could tell Potter had added additional warding, which would make it impossible for anyone other than a Black family member to enter. It seemed odd that Potter wouldn’t even allow the rest of the Golden Trio access to his home.
Without bothering to knock, Draco opened the door and stepped inside. He was immediately swallowed by the darkness and silence. He stood in the entry, momentarily unsure what to do.
“Potter?”
His voice seemed to echo into the quiet around him. Draco felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something felt very wrong. He crept further down the hallway, stopping at the bottom of a dusty staircase. He listened for any sound of movement from upstairs. A faint creak from above, and Draco made the decision to head to the second floor. When he reached the top, he was greeted with more darkness and a sickly sweet smell. He wondered if there was a dead animal caught in the wall somewhere.
The first room Draco came to was a small bedroom. The curtains had been pulled shut, but there was enough light to make out a small bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The bed was bare, and it didn’t look as though this room had been used in a long time. He continued to the next door and saw it had probably been a very nice bathroom at one time. There was a deep, claw footed tub in the center of the room, a large vanity along one wall, a counter with two sinks below a long, cracked mirror, and a toilet in the far corner. The tiles had likely been bright white before years of grime had built up on them. There was a discarded pile of clothes on the floor. Draco figured that Potter must still live here, since the clothing pile included a worn pair of blue jeans and one white sport sock.
There was one more door on this landing, it was the only one that was shut. As Draco approached, the scent of rot got stronger.
“Potter?” Draco put his hand on the cool metal doorknob and listened intently. The rapid thumping of his heart was the only sound he could make out. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.
He was hit immediately with the familiar smell of death and decay. Draco gagged and stumbled back.
“Fuck!” Casting a lumos, he held his wand up and steeled himself to look at the source of the smell.
Harry Potter’s once vivid green eyes, now covered by the grey gauze of death, stared up at the ceiling above his body. The bed he was laying on was unmade, the floor was littered with his dirty laundry. A quidditch magazine lay open on the floor next to him. His broomstick was propped in the corner next to his closet, one door open just enough to see a few pairs of muggle jeans still hanging inside and a pair of raggedy trainers resting below.
Draco moved closer and saw the empty vial clasped in Potter’s hand. A single piece of parchment, covered in Potter’s messy scrawl, was on the pillow next to his head. Draco read the despondent words of goodbye, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Topsy!”
With a pop, a small elf appeared next to Draco.
“Oh dear! What does Master Draco need?” The little elf was staring at the dead body, wringing his small hands together.
“I need you to find Hermione Granger and bring her here, but not to this room. Tell her something has happened to Potter. Do not let her come up these stairs when she gets here, understood?”
The small elf nodded in understanding and disappeared with another pop. Draco pocketed the letter from the pillow and left the room. He hadn’t used his occlumency much since the war, but he was relieved to find he hadn’t lost the ability. With a few deep breaths, he returned to the main level, turning on lights as he wandered through looking for a sitting room. He found the kitchen first, and with a few flicks of his wand, had prepared a pot of tea and summoned two teacups.
Hermione had been in her office at St. Mungo’s attempting to catch up on her patient notes for the last three hours. Her eyes were dry and her shoulders ached. She dreamed of a hot bath and cup of her favourite tea when she finally made it home for the night.
She hadn’t even had time to acknowledge the sudden appearance of the house elf beside her chair before she was suddenly apparating to another location. The moment the squeezing sensation had passed, her eyes fell on a shock of platinum blonde hair and perfectly tailored, expensive robes.
“Malfoy! What the fuck? You can’t just – wait, are we are Harry’s?” Hermione looked around the familiar kitchen. She hadn’t had time to visit in quite a while. Between her work as a healer at St. Mungo’s and her work with the Muggleborn Integration Program, a visit with her oldest friend had kept getting pushed back.
“Please, sit.” Malfoy gestured at the chair beside her. She frowned as she took in the blank expression on his face and the tension in his body.
“Why are you at Grimmauld Place? How did you even get in? Where is Harry?” Hermione started toward the doorway, calling for Harry as she went. She felt Malfoy’s hand grip her arm and whipped around, her wand at his throat in seconds.
“Granger, if you’d stop shouting questions, I’d be able to explain what’s going on.”
“Fine.” Hermione put her wand back in her wrist holster and moved to the chair Malfoy had pulled out for her. He didn’t speak immediately, and she could see him searching for words. Hermione shifted nervously, suddenly unsure if she really wanted to know what he was about to say. The mood in the room was off, and the house seemed far too quiet.
“When was the last time you spoke to Harry?”
“Um, I’m not exactly sure. I had to reschedule our plans a few times.” She felt her face heat at the realization it had been over a month since she’d actually spoken to him. Even longer since they’d had a proper visit.
“How did he seem the last time you spoke with him?”
Hermione studied Malfoy’s neutral expression. She thought back, trying to remember what they’d talked about. The conversation had been rushed, he’d been in the elevator at St. Mungo’s over a month ago. She’d offered to send him some Dreamless Sleep potion when he’d mentioned not sleeping well. Harry had gotten off on the next floor and they had made promises of catching up soon.
“He was a little pale. Said he wasn’t sleeping well. It was a bit rushed because I was working.” She stopped when she saw Malfoy run his hand over his face.
“Luna came to see me about a week ago. I have no idea how she even got past my wards, but she suggested I should befriend Potter. Rather, she demanded it. I wasn’t going to, but something about how insistent she’d been stuck with me, so I came today. I don’t even know what I was planning on doing. Apologize for being a Death Eater, maybe.”
“Okay. Luna’s suggested a visit with Harry every time I’ve seen her since the war ended. I know she did visit him quite a bit, so maybe he said something to her?”
Malfoy sighed again and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. Hermione recognized Harry’s terrible handwriting from across the table. He slid it towards her, giving her a few minutes to read it.
Hermione,
I’m so sorry. I wish our last conversation could have been happier. I know that you gave up everything during the war to keep me alive long enough to defeat Voldemort. Knowing you would have walked with me to the forest that night means more to me than you’ll ever know. I just wish I could have returned the favour.
You are my best friend, and I love you.
I’ve made arrangements for everything in my vault to be transferred to you. Kreacher is working at Hogwarts again, but I’ve let him know that he can work for Malfoy if he wishes.
Please don’t be angry.
Harry
“I don’t understand.” She whispered. Hot tears burned her eyes, the parchment shaking in her hands. “This sounds like…”
“He’s upstairs. It looks like he took poison. I’m sorry. I wish I’d come sooner.”
Malfoy’s words hit her like a knife. She shook her head. Wanting to scream at him for lying, but suddenly unable to breathe.
“Maybe I can fix it.”
Hermione stood up quickly, knocking the chair to floor, and the clatter stopped her long enough for Malfoy to get his arms around her. She screamed, thrashed, and begged him to let her see her friend. He couldn’t possibly be dead. She could fix this. She had to fix this. She struggled against his grip until the sobs overtook her and she collapsed against his chest.
“You don’t want your last memory of him to be what’s up there.”
Malfoy arrived back at the Manor hours later. Hermione had insisted on calling for Shacklebolt directly in an attempt to keep the story from the Daily Prophet until all the arrangements had been made and the Weasley’s had been notified. Although he and Ginny had ended their relationship years before, she knew the redhead would be devastated at the news. She’d tried and failed to send a patronus to Ron, her grief too raw to cast the spell. Malfoy had sent his elf to fetch him as well. He’d been questioned for hours on why he’d been in the house, how he’d managed to get past the wards, and if he’d touched anything apart from the letter when he’d found the body. He’d had to continue using his occlumency throughout the night and his had had been pounding by the time he’d finally apparated home.
He went directly to the bar in his favourite sitting room and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. He gulped in down immediately and poured another before falling, exhausted, into the closest chair.
He had barely been home for an hour before he felt his wards activate and Pansy Parkinson came storming into the room. She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, and her cherry red lips pursed in annoyance. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and sheer black blouse with red polka dots on it. A thick red belt accentuated her tiny waist, and her dark hair hung straight to the middle of her back. She was tapping the toe of her black stiletto.
“Are you going to explain how you ended up in Harry Potter’s house with his dead body?” She pulled the empty tumbler from his hand and trotted to his bar. A moment later, she had floated his full glass back to him and perched herself on the couch across from him, her shoes discarded on the floor and her feet tucked under her lap.
“Luna Lovegood suggested I visit him a week ago and I guess I got curious as to why.” Guilt prickled in his chest. Perhaps if he’d gone when she’d told him to, Potter would still be alive. He hadn’t been there more than a few days, according to the wizard who had come to take the body.
“I’m glad you got there before Granger. She’s a mess.” Pansy took a long drink from her glass. “She called me an hour ago asking me to floo over. Leave it to the Golden Girl to be worried about her responsibility to The Muggleborn Integration Program when her best friend just offed himself.”
It was Malfoy’s turn to refill their drinks, but instead of going to the bar, he summoned the bottle and left it on the table between them after topping up both their glasses. He’d originally found it odd that Pansy and Hermione were working together, but after the war, Pansy had grown up a lot. She had jumped at the chance to throw her support behind Granger’s initiative to help Muggleborns and their families acclimate to wizarding society. He knew they’d developed somewhat of a friendship the last few years.
“Do you know what happened that she warded the Weasel from her flat?” Pansy peered at him over her glass.
“You’re being crass, Pans.”
“I didn’t ask Hermione. I do care, I just also love to know what’s going on. You should have expected I’d want details.”
“They argued at Potter’s, but I was busy being interrogated, so I didn’t catch what they were fighting about.” Malfoy shrugged. He had expected Granger to run straight into the arms of the annoying red headed Weasley, but instead they’d almost immediately had a heated exchange and Weasley had disapparated, leaving her standing there looking like her heart had been ripped from her chest. It had bothered him, but when Kingsley had finally finished questioning him, she’d been gone.
The two sat and drank in silence until the remainder of the bottle was finished. She stood, taking his glass and setting it with hers on the bar for the house elves to clear later.
“Do you want me to stay?” Pansy had known him a long time, and although she could be cruel when she felt like it, she was a viciously loyal friend. Malfoy knew he would have nightmares tonight. The smell of decomposing flesh brought back too many horrible memories from his time with the Dark Lord in his house for a peaceful sleep.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take a potion.”
Draco stood, wrapped Pansy in a tight hug, and walked her to the floo.