Chilled Legacy

Chilled Legacy VIII

A/N: I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT. This was going to be a 6k word chapter, but I ended up writing 7k...so I split them in 2. There's a good chance I'll update tomorrow too since I just have to edit it.
IK I promised more interaction between them in this chap, but since I split it...it's actually next chapter...hehe
UM ANYWAY: hope you enjoy !

P.S: Thank you for the reviews. They give me motivation and life 3

-laura

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Chilled Legacy VIII

The room was warm and the smell of alcohol was potent inside the pub. Unlike Draco's attic, the Three Broomsticks felt like a cozy blanket and the aroma—however strong it might be—left a familiar, welcoming taste on his tongue.

Today had felt different. For the first time he noticed the shift in routine; breakfast in the Great Hall with Potter and his friends instead of with Myrtle in that filthy bathroom. Then he'd spend the resto of the day teaching them all he could on heat charms and fire spells.

He'd run out of any crucial information to feed them, but all were pretty excited about the fire curse. Draco went over the basics of the spell by the lake every afternoon.

So far none of them had been able to pull it off, but the topic was interesting enough to keep Draco in their morning conversation for at least ten solid minutes. Draco would then listen to them talk about random subjects—Quidditch, Granger's cat, the time they crashed a car into a tree, the time they broke into Gringotts and rode on a Dragon, how many ice cubes Weasley could fit in his mouth.

He would pretend to concentrate on eating—as exciting as that sounded—and fake legal deafness, having to bite down on his tongue or cough into his sleeve whenever he felt himself about to laugh. Luna quickly caught on to it and winked at him during one of his fits. It should've been obvious that no one smiles in the middle of a coughing fit. Harry did too, but upon seeing the frigid Draco losing it, all he did was laugh harder.

Just as quickly as the laughs came, they faded when he realized he never was part of the conversation. While it was nice having some place to sit, to pretend to be part of something, loneliness wasn't just a person he could hide from. No one ever told him to leave, but it wasn't an open invitation either. The minute he became useless the company would cease. Still, the brief experience of false friendship was better than breakfast with the dead.

Astoria was whole different story.
Right after training he'd rush down to Hogsmead to be with her. They'd met alone together for the first time in ages. To Draco's surprise, she didn't push the subject of the day at potions class. Instead they got to talking about anything and everything. Slowly, and day by day, he came out of his shell when he was around her. It began to feel like old times—the old Draco and the old Astoria.

He couldn't recall the exact moment he'd pushed her away. Back in the beginning of summer, that was the last thing he would've thought to do. Then again, the ice hadn't been that strong. Just bits of frost here and there from holding something for too long, or the occasional snowflake when his hands made rash movements.
No wizard would think twice about it. Out of control magic was common when emotions clouded judgement, and that was a daily shadow after the war. He hadn't really gotten to know Astoria all that well before Voldemort's return.

Sometimes they talked when he was around Daphne in fifth year, and there were a couple group hangouts and parties she had either been invited to or had been forced to attend on accounts of her sister's shitty babysitting skills. Everyone knew she had a crush on him. Draco had thought it was cute then. Now he deemed it impossible.
Someone finding anything attractive in that cold hearted monster that was his old self was unfathomable. But it wasn't until right after the war that they'd really gotten close. Though, it wasn't a night either wished to remember.