Chapter Text
Damien Rice - The Blower's Daughter
Draco finishes his studies at Hogwarts by owl. The Second War ends with a whimper, not a bang. He distances himself as much as possible from the Death Eaters. He does as much as he can (within reason) to salvage the Malfoy name, donating ridiculous amounts of money to whatever cause Shacklebolt supports.
His father was tried and found guilty, and would spend the rest of his days in Azkaban. After his probation, his mother and he quietly left for France. They had a smaller manor there in Lyon, and left the Wiltshire Manor to be taken care of by their house elves. Too many bad memories. Torture, death, and too much blood seeped into their marble floor, contaminating the Magical ley lines of the house. The walls pulsed with tortured spirits now. No amount of washing could make it clean.
His parents and the Greengrasses write a betrothal contract between him and Astoria. Draco doesn't fight it, because he always knew his life would end up this way. But he barely knew the young girl. And a girl she was, just completing her studies at Beauxbatons. In an effort to move into the 21st century and atone for their past sins, the parents decide to let them court at their own pace without pressure from them, as long as they knew the destination.
Draco is much too mired in insecurity and self-hate to move much beyond perfunctory hellos and mandatory meet and greets with the young girl once a year, who was merely 15 when they first met. He has little to no interest in her, but it is a foregone conclusion that they would be wed. She is pretty, sweet, wellread, and articulate. Everything a Pureblood wife should be.
In Lyon, Draco lives a quiet existence. He moved out of the Manor there as well, too haunted by his past ghosts that wouldn’t leave his dreams alone. He buys a modest flat in Fourvière. Adopted a stray, orange cat. He perfected his French. Kept his head down. He could pass for a local except for that white-blond mop of hair that makes him instantly recognisable as a Malfoy. But for the most part, people leave him alone. He prefers it that way.
He quietly completes his Potions Mastery, and works for a private company that sources rare ingredients and potions. He doesn't need to work, of course. But those precious few hours allows him to get out of his head. He still sees a Mind Healer regularly.
Almost 10 years have passed. Much changed, and much stayed the same.
Draco still leads a quiet existence. He visits his Mother once or twice a month. He wears glasses now, and blends in well with the Muggle world. He learns to get by with only one elf, who Apparates in once a week to clean his flat. But that was pretty much it.
Some nights, Blaise and Theo would Floo to his place, or he to theirs, and have a–what would pass as–a raucous night of firewhiskey, Wizard poker, and careful reminiscing. They know which topics they could talk about, and which to avoid.
On a nondescript day in a nondescript month, Draco walks through a crowd of people. Across the street, a beautiful woman walks towards him. She wears a slight quirk on her lips, hair cut into a blunt bob. Straight dark hair. Pale skin. Deep brown eyes. High cheekbones. Thin and small-framed wearing a light blue dress that complemented her skin tone. She is familiar but he couldn’t place her for a second. Passerbys block his view of her. He is enamoured. If he believes in love at first sight, this might have been it.
They catch each other’s gazes, and both offer a shy smile. They pause at opposite ends of a crosswalk.
Before Draco could ruminate on this any further, she crosses the street and heads toward him.
SCREECH.
THUD.
Draco panicks at the body that laid fallen in front of him on the street. There is not a lot of blood. That was good. He runs towards her, eyes wide and panting. A small group of onlookers crowds around them. He crouches down to gently touch the young woman on her shoulder. Her ankle at a slightly strange angle. Scratches along her knee and face.
Her vision, at first, fuzzy, then focuses on the blond Wizard in front of her. Her voice is slightly husky, “Hello, stranger.” She gives him a small smile.
It's Astoria.