Chapter 3
Draco Malfoy hated summer.
In truth, Draco Malfoy despised most seasons.
He held a particular disdain for a multitude of things. Especially the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. It represented the end of his peace and anonymity. No one cared who he was in the muggle world. Where he once craved any and all attention in his youth, it was quite the opposite for him in his adult life.
As the heavy door swung shut behind him, a few patrons glanced up, only to quickly avert their eyes, returning to their drinks and idle chatter. Draco strode purposefully across the dimly lit pub, heading toward the entrance of Diagon Alley. Suddenly, his heart leaped as multiple blue, opaque snakes flew toward him from all directions. It took a moment for him to recognize them as Adders, bearing the urgent message from Astoria: “Draco! Please come to St. Mungo’s as soon as you can.” The message echoed as each serpent coiled around him before vanishing.
Without a moment's hesitation, he dashed to the Floo, grasping a handful of powder tightly in his palm. “St. Mungo’s!” he declared, voice steady despite the rising anxiety.
Upon arriving at the reception desk, he barely had time to catch his breath. “I’ve received an urgent message from Astoria Greengrass. Can you tell me where to find her?” His voice was clipped, urgency fueling his words.
The elderly witch behind the desk scrutinized him, her eyes narrowing. “And your name…?”
“Draco Malfoy,” he replied, irritation lacing his tone.
“There is no Astoria Greengrass here.”
Malfoy scoffed at the theatrics. “Astoria Zabini. And I know for a fact you know exactly who she is. You—”
“Thirteenth floor,” she interrupted, cutting through his indignation with efficiency.
His blood ran cold at the mention of the children's ward. He sprinted toward the lifts, his pulse quickening with every step.
When he reached the thirteenth floor, dread gripped him. Down the hall, he spotted his two oldest friends. Memories crashed into him like waves; he was transported back to another dark day years ago. Blaise was slumped in a chair in a hospital hallway, his head buried in his hands, while Theodore Nott crouched beside him, offering what little comfort he could. Only then it was Astoria in the hospital bed. Why was he always the last to arrive when his friends needed him most? Pulling himself from the memory Theo glanced up, his eyes meeting Draco’s. He whispered something to Blaise, whose gaze darted up, wide with worry.
“Draco!” Blaise rose and hurried toward him, his expression a mixture of relief and despair. But Draco found no words; he felt as if the walls of his mind were crumbling under the weight of memories. Desperate to regain control, he reinforced those walls, sealing away the fear that threatened to consume him.
“Mate, relax,” Theo said, his voice steady, offering reassurance.
Blaise embraced Draco tightly. “I think she’s going to be okay.”
“Mr. Zabini, your wife is asking for you,” a mediwitch said, poking her head out of the room. Blaise grasped him by the shoulders before saying reassuringly. “I’m glad your here, shes been desperately asking for you.”
Once the door closed behind Blaise, Draco turned to Theo, incredulity etched across his face. “He thinks? He thinks she’ll be okay? What the hell happened, Theo?” He demanded, his mind racing.
“She has some kind of infection. It nearly killed her, but they caught it in time,” Theo explained, the gravity of his words hitting Draco like a punch to the gut.
Relief and terror surged through him, but he slammed his mental walls into place with a force he hadn’t summoned in years.
“Shit, mate, relax. She’s out of the woods now.”
Draco’s eyes shot to Theo, confusion mingling with anger. “What the bloody hell was she doing in the woods?”
“It’s a figure of—look, never mind. She’s on the mend. We need to be a bit more chill before Astoria will allow either of us in to see her. Why do you think Blaise got kicked out into the hallway?”
Theo patted Draco's shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in. I’m going to head in and see Ember. Just take a minute to compose yourself. The last thing she needs is another bloody uncle causing a scene and upsetting her again.”
Draco nodded, inhaling deeply. “Bloody Weasley,” Theo muttered as he stepped into the room.
Draco closed his eyes, conjuring the image of Malfoy Manor in his mind, fighting against the urge to compare the current crisis to the one from six years ago when he had been the last to arrive at Astoria’s bedside. Ember is fine. Astoria is fine. He fortified the crumbling walls surrounding those memories, layering them with renewed determination, more barriers than necessary—more force than should be needed.
“Jesus, if you occlude any harder, you’re going to pass out,” a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.
Draco’s eyes flew open, and he found himself face-to-face with a ghost from his past. Hermione Granger stood a few paces away, holding a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming liquid.
“Hermione Granger, always a pleasure,” he deadpanned, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone as he closed his eyes again, desperate to block her out.
“Draco Malfoy, always an arse,” she retorted, her voice laced with annoyance as she brushed past him and entered the room where his goddaughter lay. Confused, he followed, just as Astoria emerged.
“Oh, Draco!” Astoria exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and pushing him into the hallway once again. “Where the hell have you been?”
Draco hugged her tightly, his heart aching for the distress she must have felt. “I’m so sorry, Tor. I stayed in Muggle London for a few days. All of your Patronuses reached me once I crossed into the Leaky.” He lamented the failure of magical communication; after the war, the Ministry had imposed strict regulations on the Statute of Secrecy, causing wizarding forms of contact to falter in Muggle areas.
“Gods, I thought we were going to lose her,” Astoria said, her eyes glistening with tears.
“What happened?” Draco asked, concern etched into his features. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “And why the hell is Granger here?”
“You know she’s the reason I am alive. I couldn’t think of anyone more qualified to help Ember.” They both paused, recalling the harrowing. “She was so sick we couldn’t move her. Hermione came right away, and whatever she did helped. Ember was strong enough for us to get her to the hospital. They’ve been treating her for two days now, and they said she should be fine by next week.”
Draco pulled Astoria into another tight embrace. “That’s great to hear. Can I see her now? I swear I won't overreact.” He held her at arm’s length, his brows furrowed. “What happened with Weasel?”
Astoria snorted, a mix of amusement and embarrassment crossing her features. “Oh, Salazar, you should have seen him. A right state he was in—must be impending fatherhood, I’d say. Daphne actually had to stun him!” She laughed incredulously, but the smile faded. “It was frightening, I’ll admit. He and Daph are home now that Ember is doing better. Thankfully! You know my dear brother-in-law—best in small doses.”
Draco couldn't understand the sentiment; he thought the Weasleys were best in no doses at all.
He followed Astoria into the hospital room, magically extended to accommodate the many charms and spells that filled the air with warmth and light. Theo was seated next to Ember’s bed, reading to her, the four-year-old clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly. Draco's heart plummeted at the sight of his sickly goddaughter. The little girl who normally illuminated any room with her laughter now lay curled up, her face pale against the colorful diagnostics softly blinking around her.
When she spotted him, her eyes lit up momentarily, a spark of the usual mischief shining through. “Uncle Draco!” Ember exclaimed, but her excitement quickly turned to a fit of coughing. Theo rubbed her back gently, coaxing her through it. Draco’s heart shattered all over again. He fortified the walls of his mind, seeking stability amidst the chaos.
“Hey, little fire sprite. Did you miss me?” he asked, settling into the chair opposite Theo. Ember lay back, sheepishly nodding her head. He squeezed her hand, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
From the doorway, honey-brown eyes met silver for a fleeting moment before Hermione slipped out of the room.
****
The day after Ember was released from the hospital, Draco stepped through the floo of the Zabini estate, his ears catching hushed voices. He intended to join the conversation, but he froze mid-step, struck by the sight before him. Blaise and Astoria lounged on one couch, but across from them sat another ghost from his past that he wasn’t ready to confront—Harry Potter.
Draco slammed his Occlumency walls up so fiercely that he stumbled back a step. The shock overwhelmed him, drowning out the sound of the floo behind him, and he didn’t even notice the witch approaching until he collided with her. He instinctively threw his hands back to prevent her from falling.
“Christ, Malfoy! I told you that would make you pass out.”
The witch steadied herself by grasping his arm. The first thing he noticed was the comforting smell of warm vanilla; the second was that she was drenched, her hair dripping water. She wore black joggers and an oversized gray sweater emblazoned with an H.
Hermione Granger stepped around him and made her way into the living room, plopping down beside Harry on the couch. “Sorry, an intern exploded a morphius potion on us all. I had to wash it off or—never mind, sorry I’m late.”
Draco reinforced his walls, moving to stand behind Blaise and Astoria. “What’s going on?” he asked cautiously.
Blaise stood, offering him a glass of what appeared to be firewhiskey. He accepted it with a nod of thanks. “We need you to take a vow, Draco,” Astoria said.
Draco nearly choked on a sip of the fiery liquid. “Excuse me?”
“Mate,” Blaise began, “I know it’s unnecessary. I know you would never do anything to hurt us.” Draco’s disbelief was palpable. “Just please, it’s important.”
He could hardly believe Blaise was asking him to take an unbreakable vow—not because of its nature, but because Blaise thought he would ever need to take one to keep any secret they asked of him.
“I—” Draco started, glancing around the room. No one else seemed surprised. “Okay,” he conceded.
Once everyone in the room had taken the vow, Astoria began to explain. “When Ember was sick, something happened, and she… well, we think she may—” she faltered.
“We think she may have uttered a prophecy,” Blaise finished, his gaze shifting to Potter, Draco recognized the clear shock on his face as well as the absence of it on Grangers. Turning to her, he snapped, “Why do you know about this already?”
Hermione turned in surprise, her expression a mix of annoyance and defensiveness. “I was there when it happened.”
“Draco, please! Shut it,” Astoria urged.
Blaise continued, “Potter, you’ve had experience with prophecies, right?”
“Erm, well, sort of. There was a prophecy regarding both Voldemort and me, which led to—” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “a lot of unfortunate things.”
“Do you have a history of seers in either of your families?” Hermione asked clinically.
“Not that we know of,” Blaise replied. “We’ve researched both family trees, and nothing stands out.”
“You used to joke all the time about it! You said your mother claimed to have the gift.” Draco interjected.
“My mother was unstable and never spoke a lick of truth to me. Nothing in our family tree suggests that we have any history of seers.”
Hermione stroked her chin thoughtfully.
“Has anyone else heard this possible prophecy?” Potter asked.
“No, just the three of us initially,” Astoria pointed to herself, Blaise, and Hermione. “And now you and Draco.”
“And I strongly advise against telling anybody else,” Hermione said sternly.
“Hermione, I know you didn’t want us to tell anyone, but Potter has dealt with this before. And you know why we involved Draco; we’ve been through this.”
“I’m sorry, were you advising that I, Ember’s godfather, and the closest and oldest friend of these two, with infinite resources at my disposal, should have been kept out of the loop?” Draco glared at Hermione, incredulous at her audacity. “And what do you mean she knows why you involved me?”
“Do you know what happened to the person who spoke Voldemort's prophecy?” she snapped, not missing the way half the room flinched at the name. “She needed to be protected at all times; she had to remain for years under Dumbledore’s watchful eye, behind Hogwarts’ wards, or she would have been murdered in cold blood.”
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
“I would never hurt her or my family,” Draco seethed.
“Maybe not on purpose.”
“That's enough!” Harry shot up. “Hermione, Blaise and Astoria have the right to decide who knows, as Ember is their child. Malfoy, I’m asking you to keep an open mind and listen to us. I’ve been dealing for years with the aftermath of a prophecy that was made before I was even born. We need to figure out what it means and who is involved.”
Astoria recited the prophecy to them. “I don’t know how we could possibly dismiss a mention of a dragon when her godfather is literally named Dragon.”
“It could literally mean a dragon; we just don’t know,” Hermione replied.
“It is so incredibly vague. What if it’s not a prophecy at all?” Harry began. “There are plenty of rich people in the wizarding world. What does it mean, rise or fall? Is this a prediction of the state of our economy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry! Why would there be a prophecy regarding the state of the economy?” Hermione shot back. But then she paused, a quizzical look on her face, followed by a flash of fear.
“What, Granger? What thought just crossed your mind?” Blaise demanded.
“What if,” she hesitated, “well, I say this in the most sensitive, non-accusatory way possible. But most of the Sacred 28 are rather wealthy. Even after the war.”
“You cannot honestly tell me this is about blood status again!” Astoria shrieked. Blaise took her hands, trying to calm her.
“I know I’ve been gone for a few years, but you can’t honestly tell me wizarding Britain is stupid enough to fall back into blood supremacy habits,” Draco said in disbelief. “Right?”
“I can’t imagine that kind of narrative would have any foothold in modern-day,” Harry replied. “Not after all the work that was put in to repair and move on. There hasn’t been anything like that going on in years.”
“You’ve been gone,” Draco heard Hermione murmur from across the room. He turned to meet her piercing gaze; honey-brown met silver as they stared at each other for a moment before she finished, “We should have never brought you into this.”
Anger washed over Draco, but before he could retort, Potter, of all people, chastised her. “That’s enough, Hermione.”
“No, not like that, Harry.” She shot him an angry look before returning her focus to Draco. “Your name literally means Dragon in Latin.”
“Yes, that’s quite obvious, Granger. What are you getting at?” Draco snapped.
“Well, if you’d let me finish,” she stood from her chair, stomping her foot as if to punctuate her point. “Your name also means Dragon when looking at Greek origin, no just Latin.”
“What do Greek origins have to do with any of this?”
“Oh, Merlin,” Astoria breathed, exchanging a knowing look with Blaise.
“What is it?” Draco asked, his impatience growing.
“Ember has been absolutely obsessed with Greek mythology lately. That can’t be a coincidence,” Blaise whispered.
“That’s all she talks about! We’ve gotten her countless storybooks and language books over the last few months because she’s been so incredibly interested in it,” Astoria added, all color draining from her face.
“You’ve been gone,” Hermione repeated, her voice quiet but firm. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in nine years.” Draco’s confusion deepened. “This situation with Ember has led to you and me… well, reuniting. Care to guess the meaning of Hermione in Greek mythology?”
Draco stared at her in horror and whispered, “Messenger.”
Harry, Astoria, and even Blaise gasped in unison.
Draco shook his head, panic rising within him. “Potter, you quite literally just expressed the sentiment that all is right in our world right now how could we possibly have an issue—” he said in a mocking tone.
“When all is thought right,” Harry echoed quietly, followed by Hermione, “Dragon and Messenger shall reunite.”
“Oh gods, Blaise!” Astoria sobbed into her husband’s arms.
“Please, Blaise, Astoria, we still don’t know what any of this means. We won’t take this lightly, and I’m not going to let anything happen to your family,” Draco found himself taken aback by Potter's sincere declaration.
Draco watched as Potter took control of the room, swiftly asking about ward security and staff on the estate. He couldn’t help but notice how Potter shifted effortlessly into Auror mode, discussing logistics and security. Draco surely wasn’t impressed that every question from Potter was an exact question he himself was thinking to ask.
The group settled into a lengthy debate about security measures and next steps and the elves brought tea service.It was late into the evening before the group finally decided to call it a day.
With plans to meet next week solidified, Draco headed toward the floo to leave when Potter called out, “Malfoy, do you have a moment?”
Dread flushed through Draco as he stopped and faced his childhood rival, “yes Potter, what can I do for you?”
“Would you mind accompanying me to the DMLE for a short meeting.” he leaned forward and quietly added, “It's regarding your request.”
Draco blanched “uh, certainly.” He gestured for Potter to lead the way.
****
Walking across the floor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement felt surreal. Most eyes in the bullpen followed the two of them as they made their way to the offices in the back.
Draco settled into a chair while Potter moved to sit at the desk, starting without hesitation. “So you’ll be the first to know outside of those who made the decision: I’ve just accepted the position of Head Auror.”
Draco struggled to mask his shock. He was aware that Potter was on the rise and had heard whispers of his impressive skills, but the news still struck him.
“I’m telling you this,” Potter continued, “because my first official act as Head Auror will be to accept your transfer request from the MACUSA Auror Office.”
“Why?” was all Draco managed to say.
“I’ve done my due diligence, Malfoy. You have an exceptional record and came highly recommended from the MACUSA office. I hold no ill will toward you from our childhood. Conveniently, I now have an Auror in the office that I can trust to assist with the Zabinis in this sensitive matter—if you accept the position I’m offering you.” He looked at Draco pointedly. Draco just stared back, taken aback.
“Look, Malfoy,” he said, swallowing roughly. “Draco.” He paused, shuddering a little. “That was weird. Anyway, you’ve apologized, I’ve accepted. I believe we can manage a professional relationship, and I’m willing to give you a chance to prove yourself. Thanks to nosy reporters, most people already know you were working as an Auror for MACUSA. I don’t expect much pushback regarding my decision, and even if there is, I stand by it and will make that known.”
Draco could hardly believe what he was hearing. He recalled the day of his mother’s trial years ago. Potter had visited him at Azkaban to ask him one question. Whatever he found in that answer influenced the Wonder Trio to testify on his behalf, leading to his pardon and release without repercussions—much to Draco's dismay. It was something he had never been able to come to terms with, as he didn’t believe he deserved it.
“I never asked for this, Potter. I don’t need you and your Wonder Trio meddling in my affairs,” Draco said, frustration seeping into his voice as they stood in the hallway outside the courtroom.
Potter simply looked at him. “You’re welcome, Malfoy,” he replied, turning to walk away.
In that moment, Draco had felt utterly out of control—of his emotions, his circumstances, his magic. He took a deep breath, trying to release his anger.
“I’m sorry!”
Potter froze at his words and slowly turned to face Draco.
“What did you say?”
Draco spoke quietly. “I’m not saying this because of what you did… for me. For my mother. Potter, you deserve an apology from a hell of a lot of people. But I want to apologize for everything I did, my part in everything, and for the way I treated you in school. I’m sorry for all of it.” Just as Harry seemed about to respond, someone down the hall called his name.
“Harry, are you ready to go?” Ron Weasley appeared, standing beside the two wizards. He looked at Draco with trepidation. “Everything all right?”
Draco interrupted whatever Harry was about to say. “I was just apologizing to Potter.” Ron looked between the two, dumbfounded. “Actually, Weasel,” Draco cleared his throat, “Weasley. I’d like to apologize to you as well.” He turned fully to face the redhead. “I’m sorry for how I treated you and for the things I said about your family during school. I’m sorry for the part I played in the war.” Draco was met with shock and silence from both of them. Unable to bear it any longer, he hastily muttered something about needing to leave and turned to flee.
“Malfoy.”
Draco was jolted back to the present.
“My apologies, what were you saying, Potter?”
Harry looked at him, seemingly understanding where his thoughts had drifted.
“I just wanted to understand what brought you back to England.”
“That’s a bit personal,” Draco stated curtly.
“I understand, but your position here has the potential to cause some scrutiny, and I want to ensure all our bases are covered—particularly why you waited months to submit the transfer request.”
Draco scowled at that.
“Is it because of the death of your fa—”
“Let’s call it that and never speak of it again, Potter.” Draco felt himself slipping back into the aristocratic sneer he had perfected in his youth.
Harry paused for a moment. “Fine. Your answer then?”
Draco considered for a moment. Is this really what he wanted? He loved being an Auror and was damn good at it. Was he ready for the constant reminder of the worst years of his life? Should he be doing this, or was he just running from his responsibilities yet again? The split-second image of Ember’s face solidified his decision. “I accept. Thank you for the opportunity.” Draco stood to shake Harry’s hand.
“Oh, don’t thank me too soon,” he smirked. “Wait until you meet your team.”