1 SEPTEMBER, 2001
—
recollection pooling in your vision
silver flowed as obsidian stilled
- excerpt from poem #20, "verity" in my poetry book aftertaste
—
For someone raised in such a strict line of wizards, it's no surprise that Draco takes his appearance seriously.
As he stands in the middle of the shower, he's forced to confront what he is walking into tonight. It's been six years. Part of him thinks she'll be the same witty girl he met at 14. Of course, that would be foolish of him to expect; he can barely recollect everything that's changed in his own life.
He has to admit he has thought about what would happen if they saw each other again. He likes to imagine she does the same.
Hot drops of water pile on his skin, singeing it a rosy shade of red. Back at Hogwarts, the other boys in his year used to heckle him about looking like a "strawberry princess" when he stepped out of the shower. By far the most heinous nickname was when Theo said he looked like "a Gryffindor's arse at a Quidditch match." At the time, he wanted to slap them all into the following week. Now, these are just memories he yearns for. Memories of innocence, memories of naïvity, memories of simplicity.
Draco could easily stay under the darting water for another few hours, but he knows better than to be late. Quickly wrapping the towel around his waist after using it to pat his damp skin dry, he steps out, blond hair hanging loosely in front of his eyes. What was once the distinct platinum trademark of Malfoy has now become a warmer, honey-like shade. He only hopes he can reflect that on the inside as well.
Grabbing the pale blue jar that sits on the counter, he scrapes the last bit of moisturizer out, making a mental note to ask his mother when she's going to the apothecary next. It occasionally crosses his mind as he's getting ready that he actually hasn't the slightest idea what he's putting on his face, but it's whatever she uses, and that's good enough for him. But as far as he knows, it could be salamander snot and dragon droppings.
Ironically, if you looked inside his dresser, you would not assume it belonged to someone who saw these dinner parties as nothing more than an obligation. Not only does Draco own a plethora of suits, but they're highly decorative, each uniquely embroidered with metallic thread intricately weaving in and out to tell their own story.
The one he has laid out for tonight is a dark blue, almost black shade. Depending on where he stands in the light, you'd probably miss the deep ocean hues. Along the collar and the lapels, long vines of ivy are sewn in silver thread. If you weren't standing up close, the suit jacket would resemble constellations scattered across the night sky. Inside the breast pocket, a blush-colored silken pocket square sits comfortably. He carefully slips on the suit jacket after meticulously doing the buttons on his freshly ironed shirt, finishing off by clasping on cufflinks that have been pressed with the Malfoy family crest.
A marbled glass ring dish sits near the inner edge of his desk, and he carefully slides the ornate metals onto his fingers. Over the years, the collection has slowly grown larger. First came the signet family ring his father gifted to him on his 15th birthday, which routinely sits on his left pointer finger. That following Christmas, he received a dark titanium band with a dragon engraved inside from his mother; he places this one on his right ring finger. The newest addition to the dish is a thick, black diamond ring with large emeralds paved in the center, which was an impulse purchase a few weekends back when he was on his way back from the Ministry after a meeting for PRIME. It hasn't left his right thumb since, save for when he showers.
Draco is apprehensive about putting his last ring on. It's another signet ring, this time with the head of a snake baring its fangs. All the Slytherin boys in his year bought matching rings over holiday during seventh year to commemorate the formative years they'd spent together. It feels wrong to wear it when Crabbe isn't able to anymore; on the other hand, it feels disrespectful to him if he doesn't wear it. He hasn't even seen Goyle since that day in the Room of Requirement, let alone discussed the ethics of honoring Crabbe's life.
The deciding factor is the chance that he'll run into Blaise or Theo tonight. He thinks he would rather be caught wearing it when the other isn't than be caught not wearing it when the other is.
As a finishing touch, he picks up a crystalline bottle, home to a dark woodsy musk. He quickly spritzes once (his wrist), twice (his collarbone), thrice (behind his ear). Ever since he stopped being active outside and started confining myself inside the manor, he hasn't had to be very conscious of the way he smells. He's been told he doesn't have a very strong natural scent anyway. But knowing there's a girl at the party that he's waited six years to see, he is not taking his chances.
His eyes meet their reflection in the mirror that stretches across the wall next to the door to the bathroom. He has to admit, he looks good. There aren't many days when he sees himself and thinks that. Draco can hardly recognize the person he sees staring back at him, but tonight at the very least, the stranger he makes eye contact with is handsome, perhaps even charming.
—
With a quick pop he has apparated onto the grounds of the Selwyn Manor. He murmurs a quick thanks to whatever deity is listening because the long winding path up to the front door gives him time to go through the mental gymnastics of whatever he's about to walk into.
As usual, the door is unlocked, and he's soon stepping into the grand foyer. Similarly to his own family, the Selwyns have decorated their manor with dark colors and subtle silver accents. He spent much of his childhood going to properties like this, from one dreary house to the next. Usually the Selwyn Manor is cold and uninviting, but tonight it is bustling with life and feels welcoming for once.
Taking a deep breath, Draco slowly walks into the ballroom and draws in his surroundings.
The vast majority of people here he recognizes from other dinner parties. But seeing that the Selwyns are among those with the largest properties, they have the means of extending more invites. Ironically, their eldest daughter Akina, who is his age, hates these parties more than anyone else he knows. He hopes she gets to hide out in her room, but knowing her parents his guess is she's being forced to socialize with other witches and wizards.
Sure enough, he catches Akina leaning against a wall, trying her best to stay hidden. Her dark hair has grown since the last time he saw her, now cascading down her collarbone and covering the top of her deep plum dress. Next to her stands another familiar face, whom he scoffs at when he takes in her ensemble of gold jewelry. She's dressed in a shimmery cream-colored dress, emphasizing her dark skin. He makes eye contact with Celeste Zabini, who smirks back at him. Akina notices and turns towards him, giving him a quick nod. The two women converse in Japanese, so as to not be disturbed by any others. Neither is fluent, but he has to say this is a clever tactic to keep unwanted company at bay.
It dawns on Draco that in a party of maybe 600 people it will be incredibly difficult to find one person, especially when he doesn't know if she looks the same as when they were in fourth year.
He decides to take his time and find a waiter who serves him a flute of champagne. It's not his drink of choice at all, and he'd usually press him further for whiskey, but best wait to save that for when he blows his chances with Anastasiya.
Anya.
—
30 OCTOBER, 1994
"Did you know Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang?" Draco whispers to Crabbe and anyone else who will listen as the feast draws to a pause. "If it wasn't for the fact that Mother would have been worried sick with me freezing my arse off up north so far away from her, I wouldn't be at Hogwarts."
Any remaining chatter dies down as the doors to the Great Hall open and his ears instead fill with the beating of staffs. Students pile in wearing scarlet and chestnut colored uniforms covered in furs. He's mesmerized by their dancing. It's so unlike the ballroom dancing he grew up learning per his parents' requests. The energy is unlike any other movement he's seen from dancers. His eyes fill with the flames that spark and spew out of their staffs.
He's in a daze thinking about what his life would have been like in this alternate reality where he's a foreign student arriving at the magic school in Scotland, when something deep inside him pulls him out and snaps his focus upwards.
His gaze falls upon a few students who stand walking towards the headmaster's podium in front of him -- one boy and two girls. The first girl is loudly laughing at something the boy says to the two of them, while the other girl is busy glancing around and observing the Great Hall. In a split second, she lifts up her crown of black hair and her dark eyes meet his. For a moment there's a sharp pang in his chest, and he's not sure how long they keep their eyes on each other.
"My father told me I should get to know the Durmstrang students, befriend them," Goyle interrupts Draco's thoughts as the hall gets louder with chatter as the Beauxbatons students are seated at the Ravenclaw table and, to his delight, the Durmstrang students are seated at the Slytherin table. "They're highly advanced in the Dark Arts. We should try to learn from them."
In his half-focused daze he mutters out an agreement and turns his attention towards the piece of chocolate cake sitting in front of him after making room for a few younger Durmstrang students. He makes a few cuts into the dessert and savors the softness and the sweetness that fills his mouth.
Draco hears Theo across from him start to ask about the Dark Arts classes to the older student on his right, who he would guess was in their sixth year.
Part of him is sorting through something festering up in his gut — was it jealousy? — as he thought about how these were the students Father aspired for him to be like.
He quickly snaps out of his melancholy musing when he realizes the raven-haired girl he had locked eyes with earlier is nestled on the other side between Theo and Blaise. Interestingly enough, she's managed to carry a conversation with Blaise, who rarely ever speaks more than a few words voluntarily, especially not with this many people around.
She must have sensed Draco's gaze upon her because almost instantly, she looks up, the twinkle in her eyes meeting the silver gleam of his. "Anastasiya Oberle," she speaks while holding out a hand. Her voice is rough, but the words spill out smoothly and without falter. "You must be Draco Malfoy," she continues while cocking an eyebrow at him.
"How did you — I mean, how do you know me?" He feels the heat rising to his cheeks and curses the alabaster skin he inherited.
She lets out a breathy laugh, maybe at his reaction or perhaps at his obliviousness. "Your platinum blond hair is a dead giveaway, and that scowl you have plastered on your face doesn't help conceal you either. My father works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the French Ministry of Magic and he's mentioned yours before. He travels a lot to the other ministries but it's still unclear to me what the mysterious Lucius Malfoy does for a living."
Draco doesn't even realize he's been gawking at her until Blaise kicks him under the table. "Oh, er—" Come on Draco, get it together. "He's kind of all over the place in the Ministry." It sounds like he's trying to avoid the question, which he probably is subconsciously, but he genuinely doesn't know what his father does. All he knows is that it's good enough to support the luxurious life he has grown into.
"Well, that's as much as I know too from observing what my father says," she sighs before turning to see her peers slowly start to make their way from the tables and back out to the corridor. "I think I should be heading back to the ship for the night. It's been a long journey."
He blinks rapidly at her before bidding her good night. "Bye Anya," Draco says, immediately wondering where he pulled that nickname out of.
She pauses in her tracks and he can see the wheels turning in her head. "Nobody's ever called me that before," she replies plainly before giving him one last mischievous look and steadily walking out of the hall in the same confident gait she arrived in.
She was brewing a storm of trouble, and he was ready to get lost at sea.
—
1 SEPTEMBER, 2001
Draco continues taking chaste sips of his champagne, already wishing he had just asked for a different drink. It tastes too much like liquid sparkles or fruity air. He supposes it makes him look more sophisticated, but what is the drink doing for him that this suit jacket doesn't already add?
He soon catches a glimpse of another head of dark, curly hair. It's been a year, maybe a little more, since he last saw Blaise. Next to him is a shorter, slimmer woman with long chocolate hair.
Blaise and his wife, Katarina, while the same age as him, have already had a child. While he cannot fathom taking care of a young human at 21, this is normal in the Wizarding World, especially in pureblood society. They've taken time off from these dinner parties, and rightfully so, to take care of their son.
Interestingly enough, they're standing with one other person making their debut tonight.
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he realizes who it is, but his breath stops once more when he sees the satin dark cherry red dress that hugs her figure. The puffy sleeves cuff at her wrists, and a glass of red wine that almost matches her dress sits in her left hand. The top of the dress wraps over her chest, exposing her collarbones. When she turns around to look at a painting on the opposite wall, Draco notices the dress dips low, revealing vines of ivy inked down her back, between her shoulder blades. As one would expect from a magical tattoo, the vines slowly blow with a breeze.
Before Draco's able to contemplate how long he should wait before approaching the trio, Blaise catches his eye and cocks one eyebrow up at him. Blaise sets his drink down at the circular bar table he stands around with the two women, who are both concentrated over their own glasses, as Draco saunters over. Their hands meet in a firm shake and Blaise claps his other hand on one of Draco's biceps.
Draco notices he's also wearing the snake ring, and he mentally lets out a sigh of relief.
"Long time no see, Malfoy." He's always had a quiet, low voice, and Draco knows he's trying his best to remain audible over the noise of the crowd of hundreds.
He gives him a weak smile before saying, "How's the son?"
"He's doing well — really well, actually. We've left him with the Notts tonight. Theo figured he could miss a party or two to let me get back in the swing of things." Blaise takes a sip of his drink, which Draco presumes is rum-based.
He turns to Katarina before asking, "And how's the mum?" It feels so strange referring to someone his own age as a mother, because he knows he certainly could not be a father right now. He can hardly keep himself well these days; how would he keep a child alive?
"Busy," she pipes up. Somehow, Blaise managed to find himself a woman who talks even less than he does. Draco wonders when their son will speak his first word. "But grateful to get out of the manor for once. Certainly glad to be able to drink again," she finishes, gesturing at the glass of rosé in her hand.
Finally Anastasiya turns to him, her obsidian eyes fixing stoically upon him. Up close, Draco can't tell if she looks exactly as he remembers or is completely different from what he expected. Of course she looks older, but not just because more than half a decade has passed; the youthful glow that once kissed her amber skin is gone, now replaced with a curtain of melancholic fatigue. Nonetheless, the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips are still there, still her.
A brief, unwarranted wave of panic enters Draco's brain when he wonders if she recognizes him. Obviously she recognizes you, idiot. She recognized you before even meeting you for the first time. His question is quickly answered as she speaks.
"Draco."
"Anya."
Her blank stare is broken with a smirk as she replies, "I haven't heard that name in a while."
Draco doesn't miss a beat. "I bet you missed it."
"I don't think 'miss' is exactly the word I would use, Malfoy. But I will say I'm not entirely repulsed by the sound of it."
"Sounds to me like you just missed me, not the nickname."
"In your dreams."
She takes a sip of her wine, a charming flush spreading across her cheeks. From his peripheral, he sees Blaise and Katarina slowly backing away, perhaps to get some appetizers, but mostly for the purpose of leaving Anastasiya and him alone. He steps up to the high, rounded table and sets his champagne flute down.
"I didn't peg you for the champagne type," Anya laughs. "Especially not after the requests you made to have whiskey slipped into your dorm during fourth year."
"Oh, I find champagne rather repulsive. It tastes like fluffy air with a dash of fruit and pink sparkles. Nothing wrong with that of course, but you do remember correctly that I like my hard alcohol." Draco adds, "I was too carried away in fulfilling my father's wishes of finding you that I didn't bother finding a drink I'd actually enjoy."
She shakes her head at him. "You severely misjudge me if you think I couldn't have waited a few minutes so you could have a glass of Sir Magellan's Whiskey for Whimsical Wizards in your hand."
"I think you owe me a trade then."
"You like red wine? I have to admit, I thought your precious Slytherin ego would have invented green wine by now."
"Well technically white wine is, considering it comes from green grapes."
"So what, you're a sommelier now? Really thought you'd take after your father and join the Ministry."
"I prefer the title of future alchemist with a passion for drinking in the evenings, thank you very much." Draco momentarily freezes after saying this, hoping she doesn't interpret it for a drinking problem, although perhaps that isn't too far from the truth. He decides to shift the conversation back and respond, "And what are you up to these days? I didn't expect you to be in the United Kingdom."
"Surprisingly, I'm the one that works at the Ministry now." She senses his curiosity and adds, "as an archivist. Nothing you'd enjoy, I'm assuming. Lots of files and paperwork, but Merlin is the research I find interesting." She lets out an exasperated sigh before taking a long sip of the dark liquid that sits in her glass.
"Even if I had predicted you'd be at a MInistry of Magic, I would have assumed you'd be located in France, like your father."
"Malfoy, you and I are alike in the sense that we would do anything to keep from working with our respective fathers." She lets out an airy chuckle that's laced with sarcasm before touching the rim of her glass to Draco's, the both of them seemingly saying cheers to something that is rather, well, not cheerful. "Besides, it's a real pain in the arse to apparate in several jumps, which is what my father does to get from the Swiss side of the lake to the French side."
"I noticed you've got ink on your back," he probes, knowing it's been occupying his mind since he saw her.
"It's only one of several." She raises an eyebrow at him, knowing her statement begs more questions.
"Oh don't act so special; you're not the only one with enchanted tattoos." He quickly adds, "I've got a few myself," not wanting her to think about the murky design that sits on his left forearm, which she's bound to have heard about.
She sucks in her cheeks in surprise at him. "Well you'll have to show me then if you're so keen on proving I'm not so exceptional when I stand next to you."
"Considering you can't see them"—Draco pauses purely for dramatics and leans in closer to her—"I think you'll have to take my clothes off to find the evidence you want."
He's met with a very deserved, yet still somewhat unanticipated hit on the back of his upper arm.
—
Well it's been a hot minute hasn't it... I really meant to update sooner than *checks watch* a month later but life REALLY put me through the ringer.
Feedback is appreciated! What did or didn't we like about this chapter?
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Wishing you all a lovely day/night wherever you are!