d r a c o

Draco was staring at the sky. He had been standing there in his bedroom, staring, for at least thirty minutes now. His forearms were starting to cramp from where his hands rested against the windowsill.

He sighed heavily, and moved to lie down on his bed. He decided to count to one hundred before he would allow himself to look at the sky again.

He had recently gone furniture shopping, so his room was fuller than he had become used to. He had given himself one day to expend his energy: one day to get everything he needed, before he was allowed to shut himself in here again. His haul had included a bed frame, two nightstands and a couch for the living room. He had thrown in several desk lamps too, and liked to leave them all switched on, along with the overhead lighting.

He was quite impressed with himself, to be honest. He didn't have much use for material objects - he never really left his head - but at least his apartment actually looked like someone lived in it now. It looked grown up. Sometimes, he would imagine Belly beside him, head nestled into his neck, one arm across his chest. He liked to imagine it was their apartment, not just his.

When he wasn't living in a world of daydreams, or otherwise feeling sorry for himself, he was overwhelmed with a restless anger.

He was angry at the cards the world had played him; at the life he had ended up with. He was angry at himself - furious - for being so senseless to have left Isobel's side in the war. He was angry at his younger self, too, for forcing something that had always been wrong. If he'd never spoken to her - if he had ignored the constant, overwhelming urges he'd always had to talk to her, to annoy her, to get her attention... If he had never fallen in love with her, and she with him, she might still be alive.

Mostly, right now, he was angry at his mother, who had decided that one year was time enough to move on, and was now trying to organise his marriage to another girl. Was forcing him to meet her, soon. And to buy her stupid flowers that he didn't have a clue about.

He didn't do anything with this anger, of course. Just lay there and let it brew.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said loudly, not moving. The only person that ever knocked on his door was Blaise, who liked to show up without warning every few weeks or so. Most of Draco's friends from school had distanced themselves from him a bit. They seemed to feel uneasy around him, now that he wasn't wearing a mask of snark and contempt. But Blaise had shown an unexpected compassion to Draco's situation, and, somewhat forcefully, had made it his mission to ensure Draco didn't spend all of his time lying in bed.

"Freezing in here," called Blaise, in lieu of a greeting. His footsteps sounded across the living area. "Can I close a window?"

"No," mumbled Draco. But Blaise seemed either not to hear him, or to ignore him, because the sound came of a window clicking shut. The London bumble dimmed to a faint hum.

"Well." Blaise appeared at the door frame. "How are you? Bright in here, mate. Christ." Squinting, he flicked off the lamp closest to him. "Most depressed people like the dark, you know." He wrinkled his nose. "And what is that smell? It's like - burnt sugar -"

Draco rolled his eyes. On the nightstand beside him sat a pink, glass bottle - Isobel's perfume. He motioned towards it. "I think it's caramel."

"Why do you have that?" asked Blaise - then his expression fell. "It was hers?"

Draco lay back, saying nothing. He quite liked the perfume, actually - it wasn't sickly sweet, but a deep, kind of musky smell. Although, he supposed, it could have smelt absolutely terrible and he would still spray it all over his room.

"Sorry, mate," said Blaise. "It's, uh - it's not that bad." He looked pained. "Sweet that you still have it."

"This exact bottle wasn't hers," said Draco gruffly. "Just - she always used that. So I bought one." He looked at Blaise defiantly, daring him to laugh, but Blaise shrugged. Draco hadn't bought just one: there were two more in his wardrobe. He had only recently realised that the bottle of perfume Belly had used probably wasn't the only one that existed. He had found the perfume in a tiny, dusty fragrance shop that stood in a corner of Diagon Alley, and slammed three bottles on the counter, leaving the cashier looking vaguely frightened. It smelt like her. He didn't care what Blaise thought of it.

"The lights are a bit much," said Blaise. "Don't you feel - I don't know, overwhelmed?"

"My senses feel overpowered," said Draco, "if that's what you mean."

"And you like that?"

Draco nodded.

Blaise stared. "Like, it makes you forget? Because if you wanted to forget, you could just get drunk, like a normal person. Or, well, I have access to -"

Draco shook his head. Fuck that. He didn't want to forget, he just wanted it to feel all a little less. He wanted the weight of it all to be a little less heavy, but he didn't want to forget her, for heaven's sake. Also, he had tried alcohol. The results hadn't been good. He had taught himself to drink tea instead, and probably drank an unhealthy amount of it now. It was safer than alcohol.

"Christ," said Blaise again. "I would laugh if this wasn't so pitiful."

Draco usually liked Blaise's company; he was the one person that he didn't hate leaving his apartment for. But he didn't like when Blaise showed up like this. It made him feel too seen for his liking.

Blaise leaned back against the wardrobe. He said, gently, "Young wouldn't have wanted you to be like this, mate. She wouldn't have wanted you to be so... Hung up. You're withering away, Malfoy."

Hearing other people speak Isobel's name had used to rile Draco up. But he was okay now; he was learning. "Well," he said. "My mother is already planning my wedding to someone else. So I suppose I can't lock myself up much longer."

Blaise looked away. "Yes, I suppose not."

Draco sat up. Only recently had the thought occurred to him that it might actually be rude to remain in bed when he had guests over. So he moved to the edge of the mattress, and leaned his elbows on his knees. "How's work?"

Blaise made a face. He had recently secured a very junior position somewhere in the Ministry's security department. Draco couldn't quite remember the details. "It's fine," said Blaise. "A lot of reading, not much doing. A lot of boring old men. Anyway -" he grinned. "The reason for my visit is to check in on your flower hunt. How did it go?"

Draco frowned. "My what?"

"You didn't know how to buy flowers... For Daphne's sister?"

"Oh, yes," said Draco. His mother had given him strict instructions to buy flowers for Astoria Greengrass, to hand to her on their entirely orchestrated, inorganic date. He pushed himself off the bed. "I'll show you." Blaise followed him across the living room and into the kitchen area, where Draco pointed at the carnations he had bought. They were lying horizontally in the sink, looking a bit wilted. "They're alright, aren't they?"

Blaise blew out a hard breath, which turned into a loud, long laugh. He slapped a hand on the counter. "Mate. I know you don't have any interest in the girl, but put them in some water, at least."

Draco frowned. "They're in the sink. I didn't have a vase."

Still chuckling, Blaise took a glass from Draco's cupboard and used an enlarging charm to make it vase-sized. He filled the glass with water, used a severing charm to cut the ends of the ends of the flowers and plopped them into the glass. He grinned again. "Not that difficult."

Draco offered a small smile in return. He supposed the flowers had been on the rough side, but hadn't expected Astoria to expect too much from him, given that they didn't actually know one another. The whole thing - having to meet her, talk to her, go on a date with someone that wasn't Isobel - felt a bit overwhelming, to be honest. It all seemed so soon. Apart from the tiny snowdrop that sat on his windowsill, flowers weren't really the first thing on his mind.

As if he had sensed this, Blaise put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You don't have to sweep her off her feet, Malfoy. Just be nice, okay?"

Draco nodded curtly.

"Right," said Blaise. "Well, I'd better be off, I'm seeing my mother for dinner. She's getting lilies - impeccably cared for, I'll have you know."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

As Blaise left, he turned to re-open the window. Then he placed two hands on the frame and leaned on it, to stare up at the sky again.

Narcissa had first mentioned Astoria Greengrass in the November that followed the war - not much longer than six months' after Isobel's death. She had lured him in for tea before springing the topic on him. He had gotten upset, stormed out of the shop, and ignored her for a full month. But in the past few weeks, she had gradually been bringing up the topic again. It would be good for him, she said, to get to know someone new. To realize that Isobel Young hadn't been the only good thing in the world. Besides, she said, everyone else his age was finding a partner now. The wizarding community was small. If he didn't find someone now, he never would.

She wasn't wrong there - alarmingly, a lot of people his age were starting to talk of marriage. Even Blaise was getting serious with a French girl from Beauxbatons. But what Narcissa had wrong was that Draco didn't care if he never found anyone. He had been alone for most of his life, and was perfectly fine doing it all again.

He narrowed his eyes at the sky, looking for movement. Any small, moving thing that might signal an approaching owl. Ginny Weasley, he decided, was a slow replier.