Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy would refute and deny any claims made on his person and his supposed loneliness. Draco Malfoy was blessedly single despite his dear mother’s protests.
And if he had taken home Theo more than any women in his drunken excursions where the copious amounts of alcohol he’s ingested made him ever so slightly (read: very) sappy, it was out of his volition and more so the alcohols fault. And yes, they do sleep together on those nights as Draco finds himself to be very persuasive (a trait he is prideful of) after Theo spends the entire evening listening to Draco moan and groan about.
Not the pleasurable kind though, the pesky kind of moaning and groaning on whatever unfortunate circumstances Draco seems to constantly be in. Not fucking, more so tucking Draco into bed and reassuring him that everything would be dandy and swell despite not being able to guarantee that, more so to placate the outburst of feelings that Draco keeps to himself and only shares when plastered. Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy was a lightweight when under the influence.
Theo was a constant in this volatile world of his. He would have no qualms admitting that yes, it was likely the product of his upbringing. Making friends in Hogwarts highly relied on the influence he believed himself to have, having come from an “ideal” family in the wizarding world–wealthy and pureblooded it was difficult to doubt that people would not desire his company. As arduous as it was to let go of those notions, he finds himself content with his growth. The growth motivated by the painstaking reality of things, the indoctrination of values he was nurtured amid was incorrect and harmful and to a certain extent he had to relearn the world anew. Attempt to redeem himself amongst a society that has largely been disenchanted by him. Well, he has succeeded to persevere which is a feat to be celebrated, somewhat, maybe?
It was easy to cling to Theo, as someone who understood his grievances to a deeper extent since boyhood, yet the way of which Theo dealt with the wizarding society that has welcomed him anew were highly in contrast to Dracos. Where Theo thrived by fucking and flirting his way through the wizarding world, Draco has become closed off. A sort of recluse, this he'd admit. People tended to be tiring anyway. His current predicament and source of all his woes came in the form of a cat. His sole companion in many moments of solitude, who seemed to come and go as they wished, Jinx’s hide nor hair has not been spotted in the past 3 weeks. Usually making her appearance every other day or so to claim pets and treats from Draco as she was a rather amiable cat, he held quite the soft spot for her. His usual stoicity melting at the familiarity of her dark fur, her bright green eyes, he could only hope no harm came her way during this bout of her disappearance.
Silence greeted her as she stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room, the summer sun’s rays dipping out of her curtains, its shards of muted light spilling out into the bookshelf opposite. She could see the little dust motes flying around at her leave of the floo, her flat–warm as she toes off her shoes dropping facedown to the multitudes of pillows on her spacious and somewhat lumpy sofa.
The silence, whilst a welcome reprieve especially during overwhelming days at work, grew melancholic as it came with the overt, bleak and constant reminder that she did not have anyone to come home to. Whilst she was opposed to the Wizarding standards of marrying young, the fact of the matter was she was undoubtedly completely alone or much more lonely than her dearest friends and companions seem to be. Harry and Ginny, amidst Molly’s many complaints at the fact that they live together and have yet to tie the knot, have been dating for a while now. Ron and George decided to live together post-war to be closer to the shop, also to evade Molly’s various complaints on experiments gone wrong in the Burrow and her nagging for them to finally find spouses of their own. Whilst she knew the Weasley matriarch might mean well on that front, it most times didn’t come across that way to Hermione.
She’s been told she’s too uptight more than she could count, near unapproachable despite her best efforts to not construe herself in such a way to be more affable; it had more to do with her role during the war than anything. It was how she found herself so irrevocably lonely anyway, forced to fabricate a new life for her parents that did not include her in it to keep them safe. To defeat a prejudiced, bloodthirsty man who wanted nothing more than to see her and her “kind” dead and stripped from their magic “they’ve so unrightfully earned”.
A soft meow brought her out of her increasingly morbid thoughts, her head turning to meet lime-green eyes and black fur.
“Why, hello Ms. Circe? How are you today?”
Well, her cats were always delightful companions anyway.
“Are you hungry? Shall we go check on Cushion and Puff? Make sure they’re well, yeah?”
Walking over to the warmest corner of her flat, a flick of her wand refilled Circe and Crooks’ food supply. Crossing her legs at where Crookshanks was perched on his little bed, Circe’s quiet munches filling the air as she stroked her hands over Crookshanks’ orange fur, he eventually stretched and trotted over near the open box that she’s placed on its side, two soft blankets and the kittens dozing soundly–milk drunk Crookshanks nose lifting up to motion proudly at his growing children.
The kittens were a welcome surprise, one that she was all too willing to appreciate, two more roommates to dote on and love in these increasingly quiet nights. She watched Circe walk to the kneazle bed, Crookshanks quick to follow molding to her side as sleep overtook the new parents. With the sun fully set, seeking to rest her weary mind, Hermione decided it was time for bed too.