A Day at the Park
Content Warning: Past Established Relationship Drarry. Estranged Drarry. Flashbacks. Draco’s POV. Pining. Muggle London. Postman’s Park. Depression. Forbidden Love. Ostracisation. Some sad smut. Reconciliation. Angst with Happy Ending. This was meant to be a microfic for the prompt space song over @drarrymicrofic, but it escaped me and is now a one-shot (6.8K words). Thank you to my amazing, gifted friend, @buildyourwalls for the beta! I hope you all give this story a try, xx.
Summary: Draco finds himself back at the one place he'd never thought he'd visit again. Coming back to London to see Harry after several years wasn't exactly the initial plan, either. It’s a funny thing, time.
“We didn’t realise we were making memories. We just knew we were having fun.” —from A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh
A double-decker veers off the Museum of London’s rotunda to speed down Aldersgate street so sharply that Draco nearly trips as he jolts back from the curb. Balanced on one foot, a hand flies to the base of his neck in shock as he swallows down a startled yelp—
It’s his first time on a Muggle bus.
He can feel the hum of the engine in his chest as the bus hurdles down a road that’s unfamiliar. He has no idea where he is. Islington, maybe? A group of drunk girls shriek in the back, and the scent of fried food lingers in the sticky air, burning the inside of Draco’s nose as he swallows hard to hold back a gag. A fisted blow of panic slams against Draco’s chest, and his throat clogs when a Muggle boy bumps into him. Shame spreads through his body, and his chest tightens.
He’s not used to this many Muggles, all their faces painted in various shades of weariness, irritation, and contentment. Can they see how only a year ago Draco tortured their kind for sport? That he’d wished death upon them all, and had nearly gone to prison for trying to eradicate them? What was he doing here, on a bus, surrounded by so many innocent people? Can’t they see he’s not a good person? That he’s not safe to be around?
But, an intrepid smile and a challenging, bottle-green eyed stare convinces Draco to brave the masses. He trips up the narrow staircase and collides with the plastic walls leading to the top of the bus after another wild turn. The warm hand wrapped around his own keeps him grounded.
They snag a seat in the very front, the window a cinema screen to central London’s glittering lights. For a moment, the roar of panic dissolves in his chest, and he feels like he’s flying. An arm curls around his shoulders and he closes his eyes, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. There’s a sense of peace he hasn’t felt since he was fifteen years old that washes over him—
The passing bus leaves a gust of wind in its wake, whipping Draco’s fringe over his eyes.
Well, welcome back to you too, he thinks, his lips curling in distaste. He smooths his hair back, and glances both ways before dashing across the wet road to Pret a Manger.
It’s a funny thing, time.
Read it HERE on AO3.
