Chapter Text
Draco owes his life to Harry Potter. If not for him, he and his mother would have been rotting in Azkaban as of now. But they aren’t, and it's all thanks to Harry’s words during that trial. Him and his nobility, which had always irked Draco, because he was sure he did not need any of his help. He fully accepted spending the rest of his life in prison. Potter had all the reasons not to defend them, but he did.
Even going so far as to have his and Narcissa’s names be taken off the Official Death Eaters list. During that trial, everyone’s eyes had no life behind any of them at all, being fresh from the war and traumatized by the sight of watching their comrades fall. Malfoy and Potter weren’t an exception, if anything—they had it worse. The moment Potter made that controversial statement, the court and the audience had their mouths agape, with their gasps flooding the room. Even Draco himself was shocked, but when he looked at Potter, he was unfazed. His eyes remained demanding. And who was the ministry to deny the savior of the wizarding world?
It didn’t take long before the verdict was concluded and given. People had already started leaving the room, but Draco?
He was searching for a familiar face within the crowd. And when he did, he held his gaze, and so did Potter. None of them said a word, waiting for the other to do so. Draco paused in his tracks, his mind debating whether or not he should approach and thank him, but it would badly bruise his ego. Malfoys don’t show gratitude. At least that was what Draco was fond of, he grew up thinking everything was laid out for him without request; therefore, there was no need for a thank you.
But this time was different, because he’s done so much damage to Harry—yet, Harry held his head up high, while Draco held his low. Despite him being the villain and Harry the hero. Despite everything Draco’s done, Harry still did all of that for him. Draco wasn’t sure why. Harry wasn’t, either.
So he left. He refused to embarrass himself any longer in front of Potter, thanking him and being all respectful was so not Malfoy-like. He had already set in his mind that that was the last time he’ll see Potter and look into those deep, mesmerizing, and beautiful eyes of his. It struck him why he was so embarrassed of saying a small thank you, when he wasn’t embarrassed when he let Harry see his most vulnerable state just a few months before. He wasn’t embarrassed of letting Harry graze his fingertips through his hair. He wasn’t embarrassed to lean into his touch. All that just months, years, before.
He let his mother drag him outside of the court room instead, where in a span of a couple of months they would sell the entire manor because it was full of bad memories neither of them wanted to be reminded of. Draco worked hard, because Lucius had almost all his fortune taken away after the final battle. He and his mother had to start from scratch. She was too old to function and had completely relied on Draco. That wasn’t a problem, fortunately, because he was skilled in potioneering. He found a job. That, too, was thanks to Potter, because now people had no excuse to not hire him. He officially wasn’t a Death Eater, anyway. Though, he went through several rejections before settling in a firm, because people were simply afraid of him. Companies thought he would have ulterior motives.
On the bright side; he had a job and that was all that mattered. The pay was fine, he’d live comfortably again, if he ignored the discrimination still lingering. He was already used to it by the time he was in his twenties. He ought not to get disturbed whenever he passed by prying eyes which judged the very bane of his existence from head to toe. That was nothing new to him, anyway, he could tolerate the hate as long as he and his mother were safe and sound.
Until she wasn’t, because she had contracted an illness just a year after the trial. Her medical care was too expensive, so far out of reach for Draco to afford. The endless bills being piled up on him was overwhelming. She had to reside in a hospital far from Draco’s workplace, which caused Draco to have to pay train rides back and forth everyday. The money was tight, and so was his chest whenever he thought about losing his mother. He worked extra just to pay the increasing bills, but it just wasn’t enough.
Despite him working extra shifts, side jobs and even overtime—Narcissa’s body couldn’t handle any longer. And so she perished, and his ears started ringing as soon as the hospital called, before they even said anything. He broke down that night. He no longer had it in him to live. He considered jumping off, but that’s not what his mother would have wanted, right?
Draco was sure she’d have wanted him to live a life that didn’t revolve around her. A life where he didn’t have any more worries. Just live to the fullest until fate decides his time is up. Draco was strong, but that wasn’t until he came home to an empty apartment. The echoes of his mother’s voice calling him still rang in the hallway. He hadn’t slept a wink that entire night.
A few months after her passing, Draco feels as if he should find a purpose again. So he did. He tried at love, hooked up with a few girls—but he wasn’t satisfied, so he hooked up with blokes. He had come to terms with himself that women were definitely not his cup of tea, as much as he denied it, because he grew up finding it odd. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t fancy women.
Perhaps Potter left a permanent print on him.
Because he found himself attracted to brown haired and green eyed men, only agreeing to being led into the bedroom whenever the bloke was a brunette. Whenever one passed, he would quickly turn his head around with his heart pounding against his chest—only to realize it wasn’t who he thought was. He finds himself cursing in his head because it’s so ridiculous. Why was he looking for Potter in every guy he saw?
The only time he’d ever see Potter was on the cover of the Daily Prophet, with something about him being spotted after a while being the title. Draco catches himself staring longer than he would have preferred he would stare.
*
“So what’d you say about being moved into the Auror’s Department?”
“What?”
Draco finds himself sitting in front of his boss of almost six years, the only guy kind enough to lend him a job back when the war was still recent. Draco’s grown some sort of parental attachment towards him, after being robbed of his own, and so the sudden news made him feel uneasy.
“Ahm, let me phrase that again,” The man in front says as he clicks his tongue. “The department requests your help. I was only told that you’d be brewing for them, because, well— they said you were skilled, and you are, but I’m not sure how they’d know that given you’ve been trying to keep your profile low.” He eyes Draco, whose eyebrows are knit.
“Relax, I didn’t tell anyone or offer you to them. They just came in, asked for Draco Malfoy, and left. They didn’t share any more details, but they said they will with you. If you’ve agreed, that is,”
Draco leans back on his chair, his eyes roaming the walls as he thinks of a response—him? Work with the Aurors? The very same organization that used to berate him?
He was so close to disagreeing just because of that reason, but he reassures himself that he’s matured now. He’s left everything else in the past. Turning down such a good offer because of a petty reason would be foolish of him.
“…I’ll think about it,” He replies, but is startled by his boss planting both his palms on the table forcefully, causing a loud thud.
“You’ve got to accept it, Draco! If you excel in their task for you, they’ll come back here again and ask for you, and the shop’s going to be recognized!” He exclaims.
Draco recoils his head back slightly in annoyance. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, isn’t it, Steve?”
His boss, Steve, rolls his eyes playfully. “I forgot to mention, but they expect your reply to be on this day. They said it was urgent.”
With that information, Draco starts to tilt his head and his eyes close as he sighs.
“…I said I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think about it for too long,” Steve says, to which Draco replies with a scoff. He and his boss exchange a few more words of merely casual talk, because despite Steve being almost a decade older than Draco, he behaved like one of his foes. Draco finds himself talking to him the same way he used to with his old peers.
After a while, Steve dismisses him and Draco leaves to start his work for the day. The same routine for five years. Wake, Eat, Brew, Sleep, Repeat.
Though, recently, Draco’s not just been doing that— his libido’s been high. Hooking up with blokes days in a row, and he ends up going to work with a sore back which leaves Steve questioning. However, Draco’s too embarrassed to tell him the truth, instead saying how his back’s been aching from standing too long everyday and it leads to Steve purchasing a stool for Draco to sit on during his shifts. That definitely worsened the situation because Draco’s bottom was the root of all his aching, and now he has to press it down on hard metal which made his back ache even more.
Anywho, today’s just the usual. Draco does as he’s told, and after, he plans on going home to sleep the entire night, sometimes forgetting to eat. That’s exactly what he did last night, and so he now faces the consequences of his stomach embarrassingly rumbling. It was fortunate he was the only potioneer and he shared the brewing room all with himself. He goes ahead to Steve’s office, notifying him about him leaving to grab lunch.
His eyes are all over the place, eyeing every food stand and cafe he passes by to see what catches his eye—his stomach, rather, the most. Though he just finds himself distracted by different clothing brands and the expensive suits they had on display; it reminded him of what his father used to wear back in the day. In fact, that led to him wondering about his father and what he’s doing now, because he refuses to step foot in Azkaban— not like they’ll let him enter. He just sets himself up because he’s now in a bad mood because of it. People are now refraining from walking alongside him, making clear paths for him whenever he went because of the scowl on his face that he’s unaware of.
And if that couldn’t get any worse, he feels something hit the side of his thigh— though whatever it was felt too small and light for it to actually hurt. He stumbles at the impact, hissing in annoyance as he diverts his gaze and darts it towards whatever has hit him.
His eyes lay on a small child. Her head was tilted downwards, and so Draco could only see her head—Hair brown and ruffled, which had him reminded of a certain memory, a memory of someone. He pushes the thought down quickly—he mustn’t let every brown haired person remind him of his sworn enemy.
She lifts her head only to look at him with a familiar gaze, her emerald orbs glistening with tears threatening to spill. Draco feels his eyes widen and he freezes. His mouth almost drops at the resemblance.
She looked like him. No, it was almost like it was him. Her eyebrows were thick and her lips were curled into a familiar frown, similarly to how he used to purse his lips and furrow his own thick eyebrows. The curves of her eyes were so similar to him that Draco almost thought he had just bumped into him himself. Her hair is exactly the same shade as his—because Draco’s seen his so many times that he almost memorizes the length of every lock—and it was wild and carefree, like how his used to be whenever Draco grazed it.
Fuck, she looked like Potter. She looked like Harry Potter.
“I—I’m sorry, mister!” And so she shouts, voice high pitched and sorry. Draco feels his ears ring and he’s suddenly taken note of the people glancing over. He looks around, then at the little girl weeping before him. Had it been some random kid that didn’t look like Potter, he would have left her there. But he didn’t, because she, in fact, looked just like him.
He kneels down, ruffling her hair that somehow sends a warm feeling into his chest, because he remembers how used to do the same with Potter’s hair.
“It’s okay, you’re all good,” he reassures.
And the girl blinks rapidly, and her tears come to a stop. She must have braced herself for whatever rudeness she would receive—instead, it was the opposite, because Draco’s suddenly picking her up and hugging her tightly.
Amidst the crowds of people, Draco feels as if it’s just her and him there. Before he could even contemplate, he’s already burying his head into her shoulder, caressing her back in smooth, slow strokes that leave the little girl speechless; but she leans into the touch regardless, sobbing lightly into his shoulder.
“It’s all right. I’m here.” He whispers into her ear. She pulls back enough to get a good look of his face, and Draco does the same, studying her features. There was no doubt, she was a carbon copy of Potter. The same man he hated, the
same man he bullied, the same man he swore was his enemy.
The same man he once loved.
He caresses her cheek, “What’s your name?”
She sobs lightly, “…A—Amber,”
Draco feels the sides of his mouth curl upwards. He’s surprised at himself, because it’s been a while since he’s felt a warm feeling in his body, the warm feeling that makes him smile uncontrollably.
“Amber, why’re you alone? Where are your parents?” He asks, and ridiculously—deep inside, he’s wishing for her to lead him to her father.
She simply shakes her head in response before burying her face into Draco’s shoulder again, this time she answers with her voice muffled, “…I don’t know.”
“Well… I was just about to eat, do you want to come with me?”
With that statement alone, Amber springs back up which has Draco almost dropping her in surprise. Her face lights up, though her tears and red cheeks were still evident, and all Draco could think about was how her cheeks stained red whenever she cried like he did.
“Yes! I’m really hungry!” She says with joy. Draco smiles, “All right,”
He carries her across the town until he finds a restaurant with a menu that catches the liking of his empty stomach, but he’s also making sure the menu has fries or chicken, something he knew children liked.
It’s not long before they find one, and they find themself sitting down, with Amber across from Draco. He places his elbow on the table and plants his cheek on his palm, staring at Amber who's busy roaming her eyes over the entirety of the restaurant. It was almost as if it was the first time she’d been out in a while, judging from how mesmerized she was by everything.
Draco’s eyes are studying her features, swallowing in each and every detail, because it would probably be the last time he’ll see his face once her parents come looking for her. He almost forgets to blink because of his focus.
It hasn’t been an hour since he’s met the little girl, yet, he feels a strong urge to be around her at all times. To protect, embrace, and love her like she was his own.
“Amber,” he calls out, grabbing her attention. “Do you know how you ended up out there?”
Amber pouts in response as she looks up, looking for the answers in her little toddler mind. “Well…” she pauses. Draco waits patiently.
“My… My Daddy doesn’t let me out most of the time… and…” She twists a lock of hair using her finger, “And I wanted cotton candy… Because he forgot to bring me last night,”
Draco nods, “Yeah? So you ended up running out into the streets?”
She replies with a sly grin, “Yep! When Daddy turned his back, I ran!”
Draco laughs at her enthusiasm. She was so childish, and the way she smiled made Draco want to squish her chubby cheeks. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” He jokes.
“But you know, you shouldn’t do that often. You could get lost or hurt. Not everyone is going to welcome you,” Draco says, keeping his last sentence as light as possible for a little girl, because despite the world being a cruel one; he wanted her to have some sort of naiveness like every child should. Amber doesn’t reply, instead, she nods with a frown.
“So, ah, how old are you?”
Amber seems to hesitate at the question, holding her hand out and sticking her fingers up one by one until she stops at whatever she remembers—and she stops at four fingers.
“Four?” Draco raises his eyebrows. Amber nods, “I think, that’s what Daddy said,”
Draco smiles warmly before he notices the waitress nearing them with food in hand, placing the tray onto their table and Draco can’t help but giggle slightly when he sees Amber’s expression light up. Before he could speak, Amber was already stuffing several french fries into her mouth, and Draco could only worry about the possibility of her choking.
He seems so focused on her that his food’s almost untouched, despite him being starved back at the shop. He only snaps out of focus when he sees Amber stop munching, now looking at him, she asks, “Mister? Why aren’t you eating?”
Draco lifts his elbow off the table, now reaching to grab his spoon and fork, “I was just thinking about something.”
Amber tilts her head sidewards in a confused manner, but she doesn’t question. She continues eating instead.
—————————————————————————————————————
They go on a few strolls around town before Draco realizes the time. Everytime she pointed at something, Draco couldn’t help but buy it. Whether it was ice cream, cotton candy, or cute little ribbon clips—he bought them all. Her cute face was just too much to resist. He never would have thought he would be good with kids. But with Amber, it felt all too natural.
Draco wonders why her parents still aren’t scattering all over the streets to look for her, and he ends up wondering whether or not she’s doing well at home, given how her parents don’t seem to be concerned enough to come looking for her. But Amber’s a happy child, so his worries are slightly washed away, because a child learns happiness from their parents. She was enthusiastic and lively, opposite to what a child out of an unhappy home would be. Draco knows that very well.
Draco feels her little feet swaying back and forth and he realizes she’s hitting him purposely. She starts hitting his arm with her fists lightly, and Draco gets the hint that she wants to be let down. That, he does, and her little feet start running towards a waffle stand. He follows hastily, because he would have definitely lost her if he didn’t.
People are glancing over, because a retired Death Eater chasing a small child seems odd. Draco doesn’t care—rather, he’s too tired to care. He’s been facing hate comments thrown at him since he was seventeen. So he surges through the crowd anyway, not paying any mind to those meddlesome looks.
Amber comes to sight again, and she’s pointing at the menu. “That one! Mister, I want that one!”
Draco approaches slowly behind, reaching for his wallet. He ends up purchasing it without any more convincing. He hands her the hot, freshly baked waffle as they scurry their way off to a place that Draco knows. Where he always used to visit whenever his feelings felt too heavy.
He could almost smell all the cigarettes he’s smoked there when they neared.
The sun’s already setting as they reach. There aren’t many people around, which Draco is thankful for, because he was growing even angrier the more he felt eyes on him with every step he took.
They reach the peak of the bridge. It gave the perfect view of the horizon, the lake before them, and the faint image of the moon in the sky. He watches as the sun shone on Amber’s tanned skin, her eyes glowing greener beneath the light and it causes Draco to smile uncontrollably again. He watches her figure, hair full of ribbons he bought earlier, and the waffle in her hand that’s feeding her unending appetite.
“Can you tell me about your parents?”
Amber looks up to look at him, her eyes squinting because of the bright orange hue. “Ahm… “ she pauses.
“Daddy’s always busy.”
Is all that she says, leaving Draco with more questions than what he started with. He figures how she might just not want to talk about them, for whatever reason, and he decides not to question further, because he knows how it feels. To be questioned about something you don’t want to answer.
“I’m pretty sure he’s an arer.” She adds. Draco looks at her in confusion,
“Arer?” He asks, but it’s when the words roll out of his tongue that he realizes what she’s trying to say.
“Ah. An Auror?” He asks, but Amber replies by shrugging.
They spend a few more minutes there, and Draco’s definitely sure that Steve’s going to murder the living daylights out of him because he’s been out for at least two hours now. But that was the least of Draco’s worries, because he dedicated every second with Amber to memorizing her features—because Draco’s already starting to forget how he looked.
“Amber!”
A voice calls out from the other side of the bridge.
Draco shifts his gaze from out into the horizon and onto the figure that’s running towards them, but he can’t quite mark out whoever it is—the sun might just be radiating a little too bright today, because Draco can’t see anything despite his eyes squinting.
He rubs his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision, and as he opens them again, he’s greeted by someone’s frame wrapping their arms around Amber’s tiny and frail body.
They’re burying their face into Amber’s shoulder, making it hard for Draco to identify their face—and it’s hard to make out who’s who, because their brown hair is blending in with hers.
“There you are, my sweet girl,” he says.
Draco hears his voice clearer now. It sounds familiar, but he can't point it out.
He lifts his head from Amber’s shoulder, and the bright ray just seems to strike once more as Draco feels himself shutting his eyes instinctively to shield it from the blinding light. He opens them again to see the man cupping the toddler’s face, swaying it side to side as if he was examining her.
Seeing that she was unharmed, he draws her back into his arms once more—yet this time, he does not hide his face.
Instead, he lifts his head, and there he is: green eyes darkened with worry, brows knit tight, lips Draco has known in fleeting moments and stolen breaths. It is a face he has learned by heart over the years, every line etched into memory, every expression memorized.
“I—“ Harry catches Draco’s gaze.
“…found you.”
Draco doesn’t know if that was meant for Amber, or for someone else.