A healing period
The morning dawned grey and heavy, mirroring the lingering tension in Draco’s penthouse. He stirred slowly, his head throbbing, a dull ache that pulsed with each heartbeat. He glanced around the groom, the events of the previous night flooding back in a rush. Hermione. The sheer amount of firewhisky he had downed trying to numb the pain.
Draco threw on a pair of black pyjama trousers and a cashmere grey jumper, making his way to the kitchen where he was surprised to find Hermione sitting at the counter holding a cup of tea. “Morning,” she said, her voice gentle. “How are you feeling?”
"Like I've been hit by a Bludger," he admitted, wincing as he sat down at the kitchen island.
She snorted, “that’ll be the firewhisky,” she said, placing a small bottle of pepper up in front of him. “Drink this, I brewed it fresh this morning for you.” He reached out, gratefully taking the bottle and downing it in one, feeling the immediate effects.”
“Theo’s made some inquiries about mind healers, so we have a few options for you.” She watched him while she sipped at her tea. “There’s a cup under statis just for you there too.” He took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through him. "Options?"
"Yes," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "We need to find someone that you’re comfortable with.”
They spent the morning reviewing the profiles of several mind healers, each with their own specialisations and approached. Draco found himself surprisingly receptive to the idea, especially as Hermione and Theo shared they both had monthly appointments with one themselves. A flicker of hope ignited with him, he had always felt too proud to consider a mind-healer. He landed on a woman named Eloise Vance, who was known for her gentle, empathetic approach and she was an expert in grief counselling.
Hermione sent an owl off to Eloise, who replied with an appointment for the following morning. Draco was more nervous than he anticipated feeling, he had never been one to openly discuss his feelings, let alone delve into the depths of his grief. The thought of exposing his vulnerabilities to a stranger was daunting.
The first appointment was scheduled for the following day. Draco was a bundle of nerves. He had never been one to openly discuss his feelings, let alone delve into the depths of his grief. The thought of exposing his vulnerabilities to a stranger was daunting.
Clothes were like armour to Draco, growing up in the pureblood world, he had been dressed in the finest robes handmade in France by the families personal tailor, but as he grew up and embraced living in the muggle world, his tastes had changed. Draco’s eyes fell on the rack of bespoke suits, each one made to measure, there was Savile Row suits, of course, their impeccable craftmanship a testament to the legendary tailors of London. There was also some from lesser known but talented designers like Richard James and Huntsman.
Today, Draco thought to himself, was a Savile Row day. He picked out his favourite dark grey, almost black wool blend suit, and a pair of Church’s loafers, their polished leather shining under the light. Of course, they weren’t normal leather, they were made from dragon hide, but to a muggle, they looked like any other pair.
As he slipped on a crisp white oxford shirt, he glanced in the mirror. His eyes were still rimmed slightly red and his skin hasn’t yet regained any colour from his days drinking, he regretted it already. Hermione was waiting on him outside his closet when he appeared, dressed head to toe in his finest and she raised an eyebrow ‘Draco’ she smirked, and held her hand out to him, ‘a tad overdressed don’t you think?’.
He scoffed at her comment, “have we met Granger? This is practically loungewear to me.” Draco took her hand, kissing it softly, “Hermione, I just want to say thank you for being here, for helping me when I probably don’t deserve it.” Her eyes were sad, and he hated the look of pity she gave him “always Draco.”
Hermione accompanied him to the clinic, a serene, calming space that was filled with soft lighting and the scent of calming herbs. She dropped him off at the door, with a kiss to his cheek and a wave goodbye. ‘I’ll see you in an hour, but will you be okay if Rose is with me?’ she looked concerned, and he brushed a hair from her cheek, ‘I’d love that.’ Draco kissed her softly on the cheek, an unspoken thanks on his lips as she walked away.
Elara Vance was everything he had hoped for, she was calm, her voice soothing and she listened attentively as he stumbled through his story, his words often punctuated by long silences and choked sobs. She didn’t interrupt once, simply offering him space to speak.
"Grief is a complex and deeply personal journey, Draco," she said, her voice gentle. "There is no right or wrong way to grieve. It's a process, and it takes time."
She explained the different stages of grief, the ways in which trauma could manifest, and the importance of self-compassion. She introduced him to techniques for managing his emotions, for coping with the overwhelming waves of sadness and guilt.
"We will work together," she said, her eyes filled with empathy. "We will explore your grief, understand its roots, and find ways to heal. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it."
Draco left the clinic feeling a mixture of exhaustion and relief. He had taken the first step, a small but significant step towards healing. He looked up at the sound of his name and saw Hermione with a smiling Rose in her arms waiting for him across the street at the entrance to the park. “Hello little one’ he said as he reached them, his hands out automatically to hold Rose, who met him willingly from Hermione’s arms.
Draco kissed the top of her soft head, her brown curls tickling his face, “the session was good” he shared, knowing Hermione was dying to ask, he looked to her and smiled, “I’m back again in a week, she offered to give me some potions to help with sleep, but I can brew my own dreamless sleep if I need it.”
Hermione nodded, “good, I’m glad it was worth it.” He could sense the hesitation in her voice, she wanted to say more and he knew they needed to have a proper conversation about everything but he feared that what she had to say wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
Hermione led them to a coffee van situated in the park, with Rose happy in Draco’s arms looking around her, taking in the flowers as they passed by. “Coffee?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded, “please, just black for me.” They stood, neither of them speaking as they waited on their order, Draco wandered over to the flower beds letting Rose feel the petals with her soft small hands, kneeling so she could get closer.
Hermione walked up behind him, gesturing towards a bench, “Will we sit?” she asked, and he nodded as they made their way to sit down. “Draco,” she began, her voice low, “we need to talk about.. us.” His gaze moved to meet hers, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He nodded slowly.
“I had a wonderful time with you on our date, and I really like you, spending time with you, seeing you with Rose, it’s been more than I could imagine.”
“For me as well Hermione,” he said, a hint of desperation creeping in. Hermione smiled faintly, “But Draco, I also see the shadows that still cling to you, and I know you’re carrying a weight that’s still very heavy. I don’t want to be a distraction from that, Draco, I don’t want to be something you turn to because you haven’t truly dealt with what you’ve lost.”
He finally met her gaze again, his eyes filled with a mixture of defensiveness and something akin to pain. “Are you saying I’m not… ready?”
“I’m saying,” Hermione said softly, “that you need to be whole, Draco. You need to find peace with your past, with your loss, before you can truly build something new. And I… I don’t want to be the foundation for that new beginning if it’s built on shaky ground.”
Rose, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, wriggled on Draco’s lap and reached up to place her hand on his cheek. Draco’s expression softened instantly as he turned to her, a genuine smile returning to his face. He gently took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her tiny fingers.
“She’s a good distraction,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
“Yes, she is,” Hermione agreed, her heart aching a little for the vulnerability she saw in his eyes. “But she shouldn’t be the only one.”
“So, what do you suggest, Granger?” Draco asked, his voice now laced with a hint of resignation.
Hermione signed, “I’m not putting a timeline on this Draco, I’m just suggesting you allow yourself to feel and process what you’ve been through. I want to be there for you, as a friend, while you do that. But until then, we can’t be more, not until you’ve found that peace within yourself.”
Draco looked away, his expression thoughtful. He didn’t argue, didn’t try to deny it. He simply nodded slowly. “Alright” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I understand.” He turned back to her “thank you for being honest.”
Hermione smiled, a genuine, warm smile this time, “Thank you for listening Draco.” Draco smiled back at her, and settled Rose into the pram in front of them, watching as she dozed off in front of them. “I think it’s time I headed home, it’s been quite the morning.” Draco stood, and Hermione reached out for his hand, “You don’t have to go, I still want to be friends, I’m still here for you.”
Draco sighed, and leaned down as if to kiss her on the cheek, instead whispering in her ear, “Don’t mistake my acceptance for what it’s not Hermione, I still want you and Malfoys always get what they want.” She inhaled as he kissed her cheek, “I’ll be seeing you Hermione.” Ruffling Rose’s curls before he moved to leave. Hermione watched as he headed towards the gate, her heart racing.
Draco decided to walk to his apartment, he needed the fresh air and time to think about his session with Healer Vance. He knew he was in for a long road, and while a part of him could understand Hermione’s reasoning for not being with him right now, it still stung. He had come so close to getting everything he had wanted and yet the trauma of his past actions still clung to him.
He thought about Astoria, who hadn’t left his mind for the last few days, her gentle touch, her soft laughter, the way she looked at him with such love. He knew he would never forget her, but he also knew that clinging to the post would only hinder him from moving forward.
And now, Hermione was back in his life and he knew that now he’d had a taste of what life with her could be like, he knew he couldn’t go back. Her intelligence, kindness, her unwavering spirit and that little girl she was raising on her own. It captivated him, challenged him, and he knew he wanted to be a better man.
But he also knew that their history was complicated, their past fraught with animosity and prejudice. He had been a cruel boy, blinded by his family's hatred, and he had hurt her deeply. She seemed to have moved past it all, but had she really?
As he stood at the entrance to the building, lost in his thoughts, Theo approached him, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Draco,” Theo said, his voice soft, “everything okay love?”
Draco looked up, startled, and then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's Hermione," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what to do." Theo raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “The troublesome little witch keeping you on your toes, is she?”
Draco nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips, “yes but she’s decided that we need to hit pause on whatever it was we were just starting.” Theo leaned closer, his voice dropping, “Do you not think that’s a smart decision right now Draco?”
Draco hesitated, his gaze fixed on the cars passing by, “Probably, but it doesn’t make it any less shit. But I’ve told her I want her, and we both know..” Theo interrupted, “yes love, we both know that Malfoy’s always get what they want’ he rolled his eyes, “but this is the right decision, you can’t start something with her right now, that would be unfair on you both.”
Draco nodded his head towards the door, “I have to get back, I’m at Hogwarts this afternoon.” Theo smirked, “nothing better to boost you than students fawning all over their handsome professor,” he laughed as Draco shook his head, “shut up Theo.”
An hour later, Draco Apparated to Hogsmeade, heading towards the familiar entrance of Hogwarts. His jaw set and his robes in an emerald green. He never got over arriving at the gates of the school he had both loathed and loved throughout his life. For the last few years he’s been rebuilding his life, painstakingly, brick by agonising brick. He’d mastered potions, a skill he’s always possessed but now wielded with a quiet, almost obsessive dedication.
When Professor McGonagall had offered him the position he had almost refused, the ghosts of his past lingered on every corner, every classroom, haunting him. But the stubborn part of him wanted to prove all his enemies wrong. He reached the gargoyle at the professors entrance and gave the password, ‘butterscotch’. The stone slid aside, and he stepped into the familiar, cold stone floor of the entrance hall, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint, lingering magic of generations of students. It was both comforting and suffocating.
He adjusted his robes, the dark, tailored fabric a stark contrast to the muggle suit he had worn this morning to his therapy session. As he navigated the corridors, his footsteps echoing the silence. The students were all in class right now, but as potions master he was only here to support students who were about to do their O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts.
As Draco reached his office, a spacious chamber adjacent to the Potions classroom, he looked around, noting for the first time just how cold and sterile it was, absolutely devoid of personality. He’s requested minimal changes when he had gotten the office, but now as he looked at the stillness of the space, he realised he had just been unwilling to remove any trace of his former mentor and friend, Severus Snape.
With a wave of his wand, he lit the fireplace, the flames crackling to life and he set about preparing for his first lesson after lunch. He meticulously arranged his potions ingredients, todays lesson would be Felix Felicis and he knew it would be a favourite with the students. He laid out his teaching notes, and thought back to his own lesson, where he had been outsmarted by hopeless Potter. He snorted, “would never happen again” he whispered under his breath.
A knock echoed through the room. He straightened, his heart pounding against his ribs.
“Enter,” he said, his voice low and steady.
Professor McGonagall stepped into the room, her expression a mixture of professional courtesy and a hint of something he couldn’t quite decipher.
“Good morning, Draco,” she said, her voice crisp. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“Good morning, Professor,” he replied, his eyes flickering to the clock on the mantlepiece, “apologies for my lateness today, I had something important this morning”.
She paused, then continued, her voice softening slightly. “I hope you know Draco, that I am always here should you need to talk.”
He nodded, unable to speak. The weight of her words, the unspoken expectations, pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. “Thank you, Professor,” he managed, his voice rough.
She nodded in return, then turned and left, the click of her heels echoing down the corridor.
He was alone. He took a deep breath, the scent of bitterroot and powdered moonstone filling his lungs.
The Potions classroom was a cauldron of nervous energy. Students, a mix of sixth and seventh years, shifted in their seats, their eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and excitement. Before them, on each workstation, lay the ingredients: a small phial of shimmering Lacewing Flies, a bundle of dried Fluxweed Stems, a silver scale, and a well-worn copy of Advanced Potion-Making.
Draco Malfoy stood at the front, his expression impassive. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles and the faint lines etched around his eyes. He surveyed the class, his gaze lingering on each student, a silent assessment.
“Felix Felicis,” he began, his voice low and steady, cutting through the nervous chatter. “Liquid Luck. A potion of immense power, and equally immense difficulty. It is, perhaps, the most challenging brew you will ever attempt.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Even the most seasoned potion brewers knew the reputation of Felix Felicis.
“The slightest miscalculation,” Draco continued, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, “the smallest deviation from the precise instructions, and the result will be disastrous. You will not achieve luck. You will achieve something else entirely.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “And believe me, you do not want to know what ‘something else’ entails.” He gestured towards the ingredients. “You will find the recipe on page 394 of your texts. Pay close attention to the instructions. This is not a potion for improvisation. Precision is paramount.”
The room fell silent as the students opened their books, their eyes scanning the complex instructions. Draco watched them, his gaze sharp and observant. He’d spent countless hours perfecting this potion himself, driven by a need to master the impossible. He knew the subtle shifts in colour, the delicate balance of ingredients, the precise timing required.
“Begin,” he said, his voice echoing through the silent classroom.
The air filled with the rustling of parchment, the clinking of phials, and the soft hiss of bubbling liquids. The students moved with a cautious reverence, their movements deliberate and precise. Draco circulated, his eyes scanning each workstation, noting the subtle variations in colour, the delicate balance of the scales.
He stopped beside a student, a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Margot Everwood. Her potion shimmered with a faint, almost imperceptible, golden hue. “The Fluxweed Stems require finer grinding, Miss Everwood,” he said, his voice low. “The consistency is crucial.” He washed a blush go across her face as he spoke to her, and she muttered a ‘yes sir’ at him.
Hours passed. The classroom filled with the heady scent of brewing potions, a complex aroma of herbs, spices, and the faint, metallic tang of the Lacewing Flies. The air shimmered with the magical energy of the brewing process. Finally, a few students began to achieve the desired result. Their potions shimmered with a molten gold colour, the liquid swirling with an ethereal light.
“Excellent,” Draco said, his voice laced with a hint of satisfaction. “Now, the final stage: the infusion of the Lacewing Flies. This must be done with utmost care. One drop at a time, precisely measured.”
The students followed his instructions, their hands trembling slightly as they carefully added the shimmering liquid. The potion began to glow, the golden light intensifying, swirling and dancing within the phials.
“The consistency should be like liquid sunlight,” Draco said, his voice low and intense. “If it is too thick, or too thin, the potion will fail.”
Draco looked around the room, as more potions radiated a warm, golden light, a flicker of something akin to pride in his eyes. “Congratulations, you have brewed Felix Felicis!’
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the class. “And remember,” he added, his voice laced with a hint of warning. “Luck is a fickle thing. It can change in an instant. Do not rely on it too heavily. Skill, knowledge, and dedication will always serve you better.”
As the students began to clear up their desks, Draco took a seat at his own, thinking about Hermione and how much he already missed her, all the Felix Felicis in the world couldn’t fix things between them right now though if he thought it would, he would down every bottle here.