Chapter Text
The silence of Malfoy Manor pressed down on Draco’s chest until he couldn’t breathe; its dark incorporeal presence making itself known with every second that he remained within its walls. One could save “lived” within its walls, but Draco wasn't living anymore than he had been post war.
It had been three months since the funeral. Three months since Astoria’s frail body had given out. Four full months since Scorpius came into their lives. He should be grateful that she at least got to hold him, touch him, see him, before the curse took her away. Draco had sat by her, gripping her hands as they cooled, looking from her pale face to the tiny, silver-haired infant in the bassinet, and felt the final, lingering remnants of his family’s ancient pride crumble into ash.
Pure-blood status.
It was bullshit.
A fucking sick joke.
For his entire life, his heart had been policed, curated, restricted. He hadn't been allowed to love just anyone; his affections had been vetted like a business transaction. Astoria had been the only woman he had ever been permitted to care for, the single exception to his family's rigid requirements. He did care for her, deeply and fiercely, only for that same “pure" bloodline to choke the life out of her.
Draco looked down into his drink. He could spend his whole life here in this manor with his son, his mother, himself. Throwing away his life. Or he could throw caution to the wind and get his son the hell out of there. Looking at the ceiling he sighed. He had to protect his son from this idiotic separation between pure and muggle blood. He refused to let his child grow with that pounding through his head. Draco stood and threw the rest of his fire whiskey into the fire and then stalked from the room to his mothers wing. Knocking softly he waited for her answer.
“Enter.”
He walked in, straightening his shoulders for the fight his mother was sure to put up.
Narcissa Black Malfoy, an ever imposing woman, stood working on a flower arrangement for an upcoming social gathering, one she hoped to send a signal to the community that though a member was lost, they were still present. House elves stood near her holding various styles and sizes of flowers and the like being completely ignored as his mother made her selections. Arranging the white lilies, she looked up at her only child.
“My darling Dragon, you look as though something’s on your mind?”
"I'm leaving, Mother," he had said, his voice entirely devoid of inflection.
"To France?" she had asked, selecting a fern leaf and easing it into the arrangement. "The estate in Provence is beautiful this time of year—"
"No. To London. Muggle London." Narcissa stilled her wand freezing gracefully.
“What ever for?” She asked coolly, turning her eyes again to him.
“Mother. No matter what I say here you will argue me down. I do not wish to argue about this. It is settled. I already have a small flat, big enough for Scorpius and myself. Blaise has helped me furnish it. You of course are welcome to visit often as you wish, but I will be leaving the manor.” Narcissa stood silent, still looking over at her son. A flick of her wand and the fern returned to it’s bundle.
“Then there is nothing else left to say other than, how can I help my Dragon?”
“Thank you Mother.” He said releasing the tension in his shoulders as he walked over and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you my darling.” She placed a brief kiss on his forehead and returned to arranging her flowers.
Several days later, and with the help of his three best friends, mother, and the only house elf he agreed to take, Bliss, Draco Malfoy was fully moved into his flat in Muggle London.
The flat in Muggle London was situated above a bustling bakery that smelled of burnt sugar and yeast. Directly next to it sat a 24-hour pharmacy with a blinking neon light that constantly flashed through the night. The whole place outside was loud, gritty, and entirely devoid of magic, and that was just how he needed it to be. He was just another anonymous bloke walking around. No one recognized him, swore at him, shrunk away from him, and most importantly nobody looked at his son like he was the spawn of a Death Eater.
Scorpius was the brightest light in his life. Often they would spend their days walking around London, Scorpious strapped to his chest in a cloth sling. Scorpius was crawling and sitting on his own. His son would screech and shriek and babble to his Papa. He had yet to show any magic, but Draco was not worried. His bright blue eyes were always looking at his father. His smile. Merlin, his smile was all Astoria. When Scorpius first smiled Draco couldn’t breathe. Tears had poured so quickly he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He smiled through the tears that even now prickled his eyes. Looking down he was so grateful that he had that tiny bit of Astoria still with him. She had been his closest friend.
Aside from wondering about and learning more about the muggle world, Draco had a weekly Slytherin night. Theo, Pansy, and Blaise would come over and together they would all explore various events in the muggle world. His mother had come over several times a week at first, however, the manor was too quiet, too large, and France, France was beautiful.
Once Draco and Scorpius had moved, Narcissa locked up the Manor and moved herself into the Malfoy French estate. Draco fully encouraged her. She deserved happiness. Lucius would be in Azkaban for the remainder of his life. Despite her great love for him, she knew he would not return, and she knew he would not approve of Draco's recent choices. However, she was not a Malfoy by blood. She was a Black. So to France she went, returning occasionally for a weekend visit, holiday, or when Draco called for her help.
Friday night like all the others started off loudly! Theodore Nott kicked in the door open and backed into the flat, his arms piled high with several large square cardboard boxes.
“Clear the way! I have obtained the greasy wheels of Heaven!” He yelled dodging Draco's outstretched arm as he reached over to slow Theo down.
“Theo watch out!” Draco shouted, gesturing towards Scorpius who was crawling on the floor. Theo slid the boxes onto the counter and then bent up and gathered Scorpius into his arms.
“My little Scorpius I would never trample over you!” He said in mock offense. Pansy Parkinson rose smoothly from her armchair, her posture impeccable and her expression utterly unimpressed.
“Theodore, you would absolutely trample him if there was a rare manuscript or a decent bottle of Firewhisky on the other side of the room,” Pansy said, her voice smooth but laced with venomous affection. “Now give him to me my Godson before you corrupt him.”
“He’s my Godson!” Theo said, pulling away from Pansy. A slow, amused throat-clearing echoed from the living room. Blaise Zabini was leaning against the mantle, a glass of amber liquid held loosely in his hand, looking entirely too smug.
“Actually,” Blaise purred, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “He is my godson. And unlike the two of you, I don't have to screech like a Mandrake to get him to like me.”
Pansy narrowed her eyes, Theo scoffed, and the familiar, comfortable bickering of the Slytherin common room resumed. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, long-suffering sigh that practically radiated the weight of centuries of Malfoy martyrdom.
“He won't have a godfather, after I end both of you idiots. Draco said, his voice dropping into that dangerously quiet, lethal tone he used when his patience was entirely spent.
Theo, sensing that Draco was precisely one octave away from a formal hex, gently set Scorpius back onto the plush rug. The toddler immediately screeched and reached towards Draco. Draco’s expression softened for a fraction of a second as he scooped the boy up, settling him securely against his chest with an ease that still surprised the others. Draco was a deeply gentle and loving father, which none of them had experienced before.
“The pizza is getting cold,” Pansy observed, already drifting toward the kitchen counter with the casual grace. She flipped open the top box, sniffed daintily, and raised an eyebrow at Theo.
“Please tell me you didn’t let the Muggles put pineapple on this, Nott. I will banish you from the premises.”
“I am an eccentric Pansy, not a psychopath,” Theo scoffed, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “It’s double cheese and pepperoni. Classic muggle pizza, yet brilliant.”
Blaise pushed himself off the mantle, setting his glass down with a soft clink.
“Brilliant" is a strong word for grease on bread, but since Draco insists that we experience the Muggle way of things, I suppose it will have to do.” He walked over, smoothly reaching into a box to snag a slice before Pansy could claim the best one.
“Hey! Fuck off Zabini,” Pansy snapped, slapping his hand away but he snagged it anyways.
“First come, first served, darling,” Blaise murmured around a bite winking at her and looking entirely unbothered by her glare.
Draco watched his friends. They were older, the world outside was still recovering from the war and they were all attempting to overcome family pressures, and all the scars that didn't show on the surface but in this flat, on a Friday night, they were just themselves. No one to impress. They were healing.
Draco followed the others into the next room. The greatest crown jewel of his home was his dark green dragon hide Italian sofa.The next would be the monstrosity, Muggles called a Television, that Theo had discovered, purchased, and a paid Muggle had just completed installing. It took up an entire wall's worth of space.
“I really think we should have gotten the smaller one.” Pansy said, looking at it.
“Nah. I think this may have been your best idea yet, Nott.” Draco stated as he whistled at the size. He had watched a few Muggle sports on boys nights out while his mother visited.
"Alright, clear out, move over," Theo commanded, plopping himself down on the sofa. "The bloke at the shop said this is the pinnacle of Muggle storytelling."
The screen flickered to life, bathing the dim flat in a blinding wash of cinematic blue light. The audio boomed, a deep, rumbling bass that made the floorboards vibrate.
"Turn it down!" Draco hissed, his eyes flying to Scorpius who was snuggled on Blaise's chest. "You'll scare Scorpius!"
"Relax, mate, I've got the remote wand," Theo grinned, frantically mashing the volume button. Pansy pulled a blanket over her legs, taking a slice of pizza with a look of high-society resignation. Draco watched Scorpius as the movie started. His tiny hand clinging to Blasie shirt in a way that said sleep was coming soon. His little coffee bean butt up in the air. Blasie patted the boys back gently. For Draco the grief for Astoria was still an open, bleeding wound. It probably always would be. As Draco took a seat on the edge of the sofa, watching Theo argue with the television screen, he knew he had made the right choice. His son was going to grow up differently. His son was going to be free.
Friday nights were not always about pizza and movies. Some days they were filled with chores. Draco decided to attempt to use a Muggles clothing wash. Gathering all of Scorpius’s clothing and the supplies he read he needed, the Slytherines made their way to the nearest laundromat.
"You're doing it wrong," Pansy said in her stark white tench coat and sunglasses, looking more like a spy from the ministry than a patron in a muggle laundry.
"I am not doing it wrong," Draco muttered, shoving the clothes into a massive metal drum. "You put the things in, you close the circular door, and you wait."
"You didn't add the blue sludge, darling," Pansy pointed out, tapping a manicured finger against a plastic jug of laundry detergent Draco hadn't opened yet.
"And if you don't use the softener of fabrics, your sheets feel like straw. I’m very sensitive to that.” Theo input.
For the next hour, three former Death Eater associates sat on plastic chairs under buzzing fluorescent lights, intensely watching a spinning cylinder of soapy water. Blaise figured out how to operate the vending machine, triumphantly producing a small foil bag of crisps, which they ate in silence while Scorpius snoozed happily in his fabric carrier against Draco's chest, comforted by the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the dryer and the neon lights of the surrounding stores flashing reflections on the windows.
A few Fridays later Theo declared a temporary hold on pizzas.
"The flat smells like a dairy farm, Draco," he said, dramatically sniffing the air as he adjusted a surprisingly well-fitting Muggle blazer. "We are going out. Real Muggles sit in real establishments with laminated menus and tiny candles in red glass. I’ve picked a place down the block. It’s called a 'bistro'."
Pansy, who had spent the last hour perfecting a sharp, Muggle-style winged eyeliner in the bathroom mirror, readily agreed. "If I have to eat off a paper napkin one more time, Theo, I’m going to hex you into the next century. Draco, grab the pram."
Ten minutes later, the group was huddled around a dark wooden booth in a dimly lit, bustling neighborhood restaurant. The air was thick with the scent of garlic, rosemary, and sizzling steak. Scorpius was attempting to grab anything his hands could reach from the table.
"Look at this," Theo whispered, leaning over the table and pointing at a small chalkboard. "They have an entire list of wine that wasn’t elf made. And the prices! It’s practically free."
"It’s not free, Theo, you just don’t bother to care about the exchange rate," Blaise said smoothly, taking the menu out of his hands.
Before Theo could argue, their server arrived. She was a Muggle girl in her mid-twenties, with dark straight hair pinned up casually and an apron tied tightly around her waist. She carried a small notepad and a pitcher of water, but the moment her eyes landed on Draco, her professional posture vanished and she immediately struck a pose.
Draco was leaning back against the vinyl booth, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, uncovering a pristine expanse of pale skin, no longer bothering to conceal his mark. Muggles just thought it was some sort of body art. His silver-blonde hair caught the amber glow of the candlelight, and his sharp, aristocratic jawline was softened by a faint shadow of stubble. He looked tired.
"Hi there," she said, her voice dropping a full octave as she looked directly at Draco, completely ignoring the other three adults at the table. "Welcome to Enzo's. Can I start you guys off with some drinks, or do you need a few minutes... Sir?” She said attempting to casually bump her hip into his shoulder as she leaned against the booth. Draco glanced at her briefly.
"Just water for now, thank you," Draco said, scooting over a bit, and returning to look at the menu "And perhaps a bottle of the house red."
"Excellent choice," she purred, leaning just a bit too far over the table, her pen tapping rhythmically against her chin. "The house red is actually my personal favorite. Very full-bodied. I can bring you a taste first."
"No need, a whole bottle is fine," Draco replied smoothly, still not looking up from the page. "Thank you."
"Perfect. I'll be right back with that," she said, flashing a brilliant, lingering smile that was entirely wasted on the top of Draco's head. She gave a subtle twist of her hips as she walked away.
The moment she was out of earshot, Pansy burst into low giggles, leaning across the table.
"Merlin, Draco. If she leaned any closer, she would have been sitting in your lap."
Draco blinked, finally looking up from his menu. "What? Who?"
"The waitress, you fucking idiot," Blaise chuckled. "She was practically offering herself as a side dish with the house red."
"She was not," Draco said, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "She was just describing the wine. It’s called customer service. Muggles are like that."
"Darling, she wasn't serving the wine, she was serving looks, and herself." Pansy insisted, an opportunistic glint in her eyes. She reached across the table, tapping Draco's hand. "You should flirt back when she comes back. Seriously. Smile at her. Ask her what time her shift ends."
Draco’s expression hardened slightly, the familiar defensive wall slamming down. "Pansy, I’m not interested."
"Why not?" Pansy asked, her tone shifting from teasing to surprisingly gentle. "It’s been close to a year, Draco. You’re allowed to have a conversation with a pretty girl who doesn't know what a Malfoy is. Look at her, she thinks you’re a mysterious, brooding muggle."
"I am a father," Draco said quietly, his eyes drifting down to the top of Scorpius’s head as he pounded utensils on the table. "I’m a widower."
"We know," Blaise said softly, his voice grounding and firm. "Nobody is telling you to marry her, mate. But Pansy’s right. You’re twenty seven years old. You don’t have to live like a monk in a cave just because the past was heavy."
Draco didn't answer. He looked back down at the menu, but the words blurred together.
Later that night, long after the dinner was over, Scorpius tucked safely into his crib in the adjacent room, his soft, even breathing the only sound in the flat, and his friends had gone back to their own flats, Draco sat in the armchair by the window of his quiet living room. The television was off, leaving the room illuminated only by the rhythmic blink of the neon signs outside.
The loneliness hit him then, the way it always did around two in the morning. It was a cold, hollow ache in his chest that the noise of the day usually managed to drown out.
He thought about what Pansy had said. He thought about the waitress, the way she had looked at him with simple, uncomplicated interest. For a fleeting second, the idea of being held, of holding someone, the weight of them in his arms, of having someone to talk to in the dark, felt incredibly appealing. Draco shifted in his seat to look around the flat, his eyes landing on a framed photograph on the mantelpiece the only magical photo he kept out. In it, Astoria was smiling, her face pale but still radiant, holding their tiny, newborn Scorpius just days before she passed.Draco had cared for Astoria. He had respected her, protected her, and mourned her deeply. Deep in his soul, he knew it hadn't been the kind of consuming love he had always secretly hoped to find—the kind of love he had been denied by a life dictated by bloodlines and arrangements. He had been groomed to care for her, and so he had, with everything he had to give, just short of deep undying love.
He wasn't ready to abandon the memories they had created together. Yet, in this life, in the Muggle world, this freedom he was building for their son, it was his final effort. The only pure thing left of Astoria and himself.
Draco took a slow sip of his fire whiskey, watching the neon light pulse against the wall. He wasn't ready tonight. He wouldn't be ready tomorrow, or even next month. But as he closed his eyes and let the silence of the city settle around him, he realized, for the very first time, that the door wouldn't be locked forever. Someday, when Scorpius was older and the ghosts of the Manor had faded just a little more, he might actually be ready to open it.