Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Astoria

The smell of dew on a sunny day always calmed Draco down. He loved to stop and take in his surroundings on days like this, when flowers seemed to bloom just a bit brighter, when the grass seemed just a bit softer and greener, when the sky was just a bit bluer, only a few white wisps floating across it.

"I couldn't help but notice there was a Malfoy at church."

Draco kept his gaze forward, taking a deep breath.

"Hello, Astoria."

"Hello... Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," he responded, turning to face her.

"And what brings you here?" He began, "I've been attending for a few consecutive weeks now. I can't say I noticed you."

"Hm, still observant as ever," Astoria paused, coughing into a napkin, politely facing away from Draco, before continuing. "Let's just say recent events brought me here."

Draco raised one pointed eyebrow. "Oh? And what are those?"

"Why have you suddenly come back after so long? If I'm not mistaken, the last time I saw you here, we were bloody second and third years."

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line, and he stepped back from the jibe, understanding when things were not to be spoken about.

"I see. Well, the last time I saw you, you were at my trial."

"That I was," she responded, a smile forming on her lips. "It was history in the making. Say, Harry Potter sure made a compelling case for you and your family. Defended by the Golden Boy. Quite remarkable. I guess the Malfoys never lost their flair for the dramatic."

Draco sniffed defensively, nose high. "We didn't know he would be there. Let alone to defend us."

"Well," Astoria waved her hand dismissively. "That was last year. What about now? What are you up to now that you're a free man? Besides, of course, attending Sunday Mass?"

"Yes, come to think of it, are you not meant to be at Hogwarts right now?"

"We graduated last month. You know, the school felt rather empty, even with students in your year who returned for further study. Come to think of it," and Draco knew she didn't need to think about it, because they had kept semi-regular correspondence throughout her last year, Draco finding the time to send replies somewhere between mourning his mother and hating himself, "I didn't see you last year. Why was that, again?" Before Draco could answer, Astoria turned away for another mild-mannered cough.

"Can't a man live his life in peace? You and I both know there was no point in returning. Not for me."

"Hm... We can agree to disagree."

"If we must."

"Floo me some time, yes? I rather missed you, Draco. Don't turn yourself into a stranger."

He raised an eyebrow at her again, a polite smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Maybe I will floo you some time."

In the coming weeks, Draco found himself speaking to Astoria regularly, which is more than he could say for anybody else he knew at the moment. It began after the Sunday Mass following the first time they saw each other again. Draco admits it maybe wasn't his smartest move, breaking down into tears when the priest told the story from Luke of the Prodigal Son. He couldn't help but think about his father, and how terribly, cruelly different everything was from the story, how he knew he wouldn't be welcomed back into the family by his father, not like the Prodigal Son was welcomed back.