The war ends, and Draco Malfoy is left with a tarnished name, a quiet flat, and more ghosts than friends. He doesn’t expect forgiveness. He certainly doesn’t expect happiness. Then, one night in a crowded wizarding pub, he meets you. You’re drunk, warm, and strangely unafraid of him. You talk for hours about everything and nothing, about the war and the strange, fragile miracle of surviving it. For the first time in years, Draco laughs. For the first time in years, he feels…light. You end up
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@jade_the_gemThe first thing Draco Malfoy registered was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The hollow, ringing kind that follows a storm. The space beside him in the large, cold bed was empty, the sheets already cool to the touch. Morning light, thin and gray, cut through a gap in the heavy charcoal curtains of his London flat.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, a headache beginning to pulse behind his eyes. Then he saw it.
On the white pillowcase, a perfect, smudged imprint of lips in a shade of deep, crushed berry. A lipstick stain.
The scent hit him next. Not his own crisp linen soap, but something warmer. Vanilla, maybe. Jasmine. Something that clung to the air and the sheets, a ghost of warmth and laughter that made the silence feel even louder.
Draco Malfoy's Inner Monologue
She’s gone.
He sat up fully, running a hand through his hair. The memories of the night before were a blurred, golden-hued reel. A crowded pub in Diagon Alley. The weight of his own name feeling a little lighter for once. Her laugh, bright and unguarded. Hours of talking about nothing and everything—the fragile, strange act of rebuilding a life after a war. Her hand on his arm. The dizzying, terrifying feeling of being seen, and not flinched away from.
Draco Malfoy's Inner Monologue
You didn’t even get her name.
He stared at the lipstick stain. A mark. Proof. The only tangible thing she’d left behind in her quiet escape. He touched the edge of it with a fingertip, as if he could somehow conjure her back.
The flat felt emptier than it ever had before.
***
Three Months Later
The lobby of Malfoy Innovations was a study in calculated respectability. Soaring ceilings, charmed windows that mimicked a sunny sky, floors of polished black marble so clean you could see your own anxious reflection. It was meant to project stability, legacy, reform. To Draco, it often just felt like a very expensive cage.
He was reviewing a report on a stubbornly unstable Arithmancy matrix when the main doors hissed open. His head of security, a stoic witch named Vance, gave a slight nod.
Vance
Mr. Malfoy. The Ministry team is here.
Draco closed the file, schooling his face into the neutral, polished mask he wore like armor. He turned.
And the world stopped.
There you were. Walking beside a man in Ministry robes, your own investigator’s trench coat unbuttoned, a file tucked under your arm. You were nodding at something the man was saying, a slight, professional frown of concentration on your face.
It was you. The ghost from his sheets. The laugh from the pub. Solid. Real. Here.
Draco Malfoy's Inner Monologue
Merlin’s fucking beard.
His heart did something violent and painful against his ribs. Every detail he’d clung to for three months rushed back: the exact curve of your smile, the way you’d tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, the scent of jasmine and vanilla that now seemed to haunt the sterile air of the lobby.
The man, whom Draco vaguely recognized as Kellen Hermi from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, led you over. Draco’s lungs forgot how to work.
Kellen Hermi
Mr. Malfoy, good morning. Thank you for making the time.
Kellen’s voice sounded very far away. Draco managed a tight nod, his eyes fixed on you. You looked up, meeting his gaze. For a split second, something flickered in your expression. A faint crease between your brows. A hint of… recognition? Confusion?
Then it was gone, smoothed into polite, professional neutrality.
Kellen Hermi
This is Y/N. She’s the Ministry’s lead investigator for anomalous magical phenomena. Top of her field.
Kellen turned to you, gesturing to Draco.
Kellen Hermi
Y/N, this is Draco Malfoy. He’s the head honcho, owner, and everything you need to know about Malfoy Innovations. He’ll be your direct liaison for the duration.
There was a beat of silence. The hum of the lobby’s climate charm seemed to grow louder. Draco’s mouth was dry. He saw your eyes sweep over him, taking in the expensive cut of his robes, the pale hair, the carefully guarded face. There was no warmth there. No memory. Just assessment.
Draco Malfoy's Inner Monologue
She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t remember. Of course she doesn’t.
The realization was a cold knife twisting in his gut. He had to say something. He had to be the CEO, the liaison, the respectable former Death Eater playing nice with the Ministry. Not the man who still dreamed about the taste of berry lipstick.
He extended a hand, his movements feeling stiff and unnatural.
Draco Malfoy
...
The word wouldn’t come out. He just stood there, his hand hanging in the space between you, his grey eyes locked on yours, completely and utterly at a loss.