Sour Grapes

Chapter 1 - Sweat and Contemplation

Draco was sweating

He had underestimated the power of the late afternoon sun, and ventured a bit too far out into the vineyards without first considering his schedule for the evening. He would definitely need to bathe again before making his way to meet Blaise. Not for Blaise's sake, of course, but it wouldn't do to gate-crash a wealthy well-known family party whilst body odor trumped the scent of his cologne. His shoulders were damp and turning red, and his fingernails were covered in dried earth from plucking stray grapes off the ground.

The Black Family Vineyards were located in the South of France, not far from the Delacour estate. Draco had spent many summers here with his Mother's side of the family. He wasn't well-acquainted with the Delacour's (hence the lack of invitation the the event) ...or perhaps they wanted to maintain a healthy distance from his still-sullied family name?

After all, wasn't that what he was currently doing himself, in a manner of speaking?

He wasn't hiding, per-se, he was just keen to allow the post-war fervor to die down before making an attempt to return to proper wizarding society. It seemed pertinent to remove himself entirely following his early release from Azkaban three years prior, and allow for his peers to acclimate to life without his face popping up to remind them of his past transgressions.

He knew his father's thoughts on this course of action, but banished them from his mind as soon as they had appeared. His Father had garnered himself a life-sentence, and his opinion held no true weight in the matter.

After all, there was a line between being smart and being a coward, and he considered himself well on the former side of the equation, whatever his Father believed.

It was easy for Father to talk, he mused, holed up in Azkaban for the foreseeable future.

While the prison surely wasn't an ideal location, it afforded his Father the ability to carry on his business affairs by post while avoiding the taunts and stares of the post-war wizarding community. Draco was certainly not jealous of his Father's predicament, having spent nearly two years in the prison himself after the fall of the dark lord, but some days he envied the forced nature of not having to look oneself in the mirror on a day to day basis that his Father enjoyed.

...not having to stare at one's reflection and wonder at one's own character.

His father was afforded a modicum of freedom from his cold hollow perch in the North Sea, while Draco was trapped in a mental prison of his own creation.

Fleeing... no, vacationing, at the Black Family Vineyards for a time was a design invented so that he could clear his head, and get a break from everything. It just so happened that he was enjoying what was intended to be a brief stint here, and had become a three-year... stint.

It also just so happened that his childhood friend, Blaise Zabini, had a family home not far from the Black Family estate. Blaise had the good fortune of not having taken sides in the war. He also had a good fortune, and was determined to act out his role of international playboy and mischief maker to his hearts content, charming as many witches and drinking as much fire whiskey as he could get his hands on.

Draco feigned enthusiasm for romps such as the one planned for this evening. It was a decent veil for his overwhelming sense of... not loneliness... but out-of-place-ness. He didn't know where he fit in the world anymore. He wasn't sure of much.

Seeing Potter come to his aid at his ministry hearing was... surprising, but not altogether shocking, seeing as how Potter had taken it upon himself to rope Draco into his save-the-world theatrics one too many times already, despite how many times Draco had tried to thwart him. Saint Potter would forever see the best in the worst man. He had even goaded the Dark Lord himself into feeling some remorse for his vile actions. He had felt pity for the man, if you could truly call him a man, right until his last breath. No, Potter's support was to be expected.