𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 // 𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙆

Draco wasn’t sure what he’d expected out of Gregory Goyle’s release from Azkaban; wasn’t sure he’d allowed himself to expect anything. The sigh of his father, pale-faced and worn and frightened, stumbling back into freedom at the Dark Lord’s heels, was forever burned into Draco’s memory – or into the appearance of freedom, at least; for all that the bars and dementors had been left behind Draco’s father had probably been freer in the prison than he was at the Dark Lord’s side. If he had let himself imagine Gregory’s return, he probably would have pictured much the same…but Greg had been in there for five years.

Even the thought made Draco shudder, in part out of sympathy for his old friend and in part out of lingering horror at how narrow his own escape of that fate had been. How much did Gregory resent him for that escape? How much did Gregory resent him for Crabbe?

Draco couldn’t face asking; couldn’t face what the answer might be. Could barely face Greg, and he turned back to look at the tombstone as though it had said something to draw his attention – but much as he wished otherwise daily, there was just the two of them now. But Greg was out sooner than expected; that was something, wasn’t it? “Two years, a month, and fifteen days, in fact,” Draco corrected before he could think better of it; giving Goyle and Crabbe the answers was so second-nature to him still that the words were out of his mouth before he could decide whether he should reveal that he’d been counting down the days.

He looked back at…at his friend? Were they still friends? Would Goyle let them still be friends, after Crabbe and after Azkaban? Another question Draco couldn’t bring himself to ask. It was odd, depending on Gregory for answers and not wanting to know them, both. “I couldn’t,” he said, his voice going hoarse in his throat. “Of course I couldn’t – shake you, I mean.” The tombstone loomed behind him, silent and accusatory; he had shaken off one of them, hadn’t he? Quite unwillingly, but he had. “Wouldn’t want to, anyway.” The admission didn’t come easy, not with how vulnerable making it made Draco feel – but what else could he have said?

No, perhaps on second thought he hadn’t shaken off either of them. It was just that Goyle could turn and leave now if he chose, whereas Crabbe – Crabbe would always be here. Would always be with Draco, silent and accusatory. You let me down. Words that he would never speak, but that Draco would never stop hearing. You let me die. Worse he couldn’t deny, no matter how hard he tried.

two years, a month, and fifteen days. even gregory hadn’t remembered that, given up on time nearly a tenth into his sentence, once it’s all had begun to just blend together. there hadn’t been much difference between night and day. they were kept mostly quiet throughout, only one time was darker and the other wasn’t. sleep helped to blur the lines. keep the hopes at bay even, because the future in azkaban always felt beyond reach. impossible.

draco keeping track had proved heart-stopping. the utterance of the exact timeline had him turned towards the blonde with a mouth gaped and a brow furrowed. caught in awe and shrouded in doubt, his thoughts spilled form his lips before thought could hole them back. “you kept track. i... i didn’t think anyone cared.” who would.... that was left? 

Pansy didn’t quite get what he meant, to be honest. She hadn’t been the one who spent five years in Azkaban - who never really got to live a life outside of Hogwarts before being locked away. “I… think I know what you’re trying to say,” she said slowly, looking at him. “But it’s just not that way for me. People are still so bloody obsessed with the war and it happened five years ago! Like… move on? Isn’t that the whole point of ending a war? To live your life?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged before taking a drink of her Bubbling Fliterwing. It made her giggle again, which was the perfect timing to watch him take a drink. “Oh, you look so manly with that in your hand. All the birds will go ga-ga over the new and improved Gregory Goyle. Bad boy looks good on you. You know,” she leaned in conspiratorially. “You should play up the whole sad, broken down convict thing. Girls eat that shit up.”

This was nice, though. Laughing with Goyle - talking to him… actually getting to know him. They’d been in the same friend group at school and spent nearly every evening together in the common room. And yet, Pansy hardly knew him as a person at all. 

Her smile grew soft again when he started talking about the amortenia. Getting lost in the way he spoke - in the way he almost seemed to be drifting off, going to a place unknown. “I’ve never smelled it,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ll tell me when you smell that mysterious third scent, right? I want to be the first one you tell.” She bit her lip - she knew what she was doing, had done this with men before. “You have to promise, though.”

gregory was quiet for a breath, possibly two or three. of course, he understood where pansy was coming from. the war had, supposedly, ended. they were meant to move on. so why was it that so many people looked at him the way they did? like he’d pull his wand and utter the worst? “maybe they can’t.” the words more fell from his lips than formed as an actual thought. they were there, out in the open, unable to take back. “if i learned one thing it’s that time moves differently for everyone. maybe... some people can’t detach yesterday so well from today.” though they both knew there’d been so many yesterdays. still, he nodded, attaching to one thing pansy had said with a smile. “think i’d like that, ‘ya know? living more.” 

tomorrow did always sound better than yesterday.

he practically giggled into his glass, all due to the bubbles he was sure. “is that so?” he asked, interest piqued at the idea he’d somehow transformed from a sub-standard apish bully to some intriguing bad boy with something more to offer than a criminal history.  “well then you got ‘ta tell me how because one of us is an expert in aesthetics and it clearly ain’t me.” greg laughed again, cracking a smile as his fingers played with the stem of his drink’s glass. look wise, goyle was stuck between his old closet and the leftovers of his father’s. how he wanted to be seen was an entire question mark in and of itself.

it had been a few years since he’d been able to smell it. but it was one of those memories that stuck, a lesson that had sat much differently than draught of peace or even felix felicis. didn’t need a drink, only took a sniff and the power was there. powerful enough to have him thinking quietly about what it all meant— the smells, who they might belong to,if it might mean something. call him romantic but it’d been a positive to hold onto in those years away. something to latch onto. to look forward to.

gregory lift his glass without a word, first speaking in the way his eyes met hers, the giggle he was stifling from that drink she’d had them ordered (unsure still if he’d regret it, pink and all). “’course i promise,” he answered, his words softer than he’d intended. soon after he wet his lips and gave a short shake of his head. “you should smell it for yourself sometime. bit much but... nice. definitely recommend a drink after though. feel like that ought ‘ta be a requirement. ‘lot to put on some sixth years.”

cho was quiet for a moment, contemplating. part of her wanted to take it back now that she saw who it was, resign her offer. he looked like he might actually go if she asked him to. not that she had anything against gregory in particular, but everyone involved in the wrong side put her on edge. the selfish, hurt, broken part of her sometimes wished they could be locked up forever, that maybe if she didn’t have to see things like this it would be better. 

ultimately though, that side didn’t win out. maybe it was because she was still coming out of her interview and was feeling professional, or maybe it was because she knew he couldn’t be that bad if he was allowed out in public again, that she knew sometimes people got stuck in difficult situations and did bad things. but none of that felt right. mostly she just didn’t want to risk starting a scene. the comforting cup of tea in front of her was more important than worrying about distasteful company, and she had no basis for attack other than the way memories and familiar faces made her stomach churn. “well it’s all yours.” she said evenly, nodding at him as he sat down. “though i didn’t think you were the type to wind up in a shop like this. it doesn’t quite look like your style”

she nodded again, some tension dropping. she still felt guarded, but talking about herself, her life, that was familiar territory and she considered herself quite the professional. “i suppose you’ve been a little out of the loop.” she’d heard about him being released early, paid very close attention to anything coming out of news sources that it was hard for her to miss anything, though clearly that hadn’t actually prepared her emotionally for seeing him. “i’ve kept busy. i’m presenting quidditch now, have a popular book as well. i’m sure i could get you a copy.”  

she wasn’t wrong. looking at aesthetics, gregory goyle was a far ways away from the tea shop with his dark pair of denim and a shirt that now fit two sizes too big, stained even now from his old sloppy eating habits. it was as if he was a shadow in the light that was the pink, awful frilliness that surrounded them. not that he’d ever hated pink— but the that combined with the ribbons, the bows, and especially the hearts had him focused all too much on that cup of tea in front of him. brown. nice.

“it helps the tea’s good,” he finally responding, doing so just before bringing the floral china cup to his lips. they were still a bit chapped from his time away but the warm liquid soothed them as it passed through, small smile forming.

quidditch. fuck, it’d been a long time since he’d seen a broom. he’d joined the team in his fifth year as a beater, mostly because others had wanted it. he fit the bill: large, threatening, able to hold a damned bat. okay: that summed up his skills well enough. and his love for the game. quidditch had never been for him. he’d cheered and participated mostly because that’d been expected. “wait, so you’re like one of the people in the box? the announcers? like narrating who’s got the quaffle and all that?” he scrunched his eyebrows just for a second before also tossing out, “what the book about? you know, besides quidditch... i assume. you know, specifically?”

she nodded, despite not fully understanding how he went from having to two years to suddenly being out. still, if he was sitting comfortably having a drink there was no way he was on the run. they must have reduced his time for some reason. but that was a good sign right? meant he had been good enough to be let go. no matter what it had been he didn’t seem bad now, but maybe astoria was just naive. “have you worked out what you’re doing now then? it sounds like you’ve just been thrown back into the real world.” and she didn’t need to know anything about time in azkaban to know that that had to be difficult to a certain degree.

“not sure how they’d test that or if it’s even ethical. what would the test be? would we set you up with a bunch of the best people they can find and see if the exposure turns them to crime?” she was grinning slightly, saying it all as a joke, knowing no one would be looking to do tests like that anytime soon. it was a slightly amusing idea though. “it’s fine. i’m not all that good at knowing how conversations are supposed to go either, so if you do something weird i probably won’t even notice.” it was admitted with a small shrug. maybe because he had already apologized it felt easy enough to say. at least goyle had a good excuse, astoria had just been all too antisocial. “here’s not that bad anyway, nice drinks and always people to talk to. you wouldn’t be doing that bad if you were just here.” 

what was he doing: the was the big question. before, he’d had school to occupy his time, struggling enough that finding a suitable career to aim for kept getting pushed back and back until war took over. now, his schooling not even finished, where was goyle to go? to do? aside from pitter back and forth in an empty house until his family’s vault ran out of galleons. “um, not really?” greg answered honestly, shaking his head. “i mean, looking into a few things but nothing solid at the moment. starting slow.”

gregory shrugged before nodding softly at the idea. though a joke, it also felt entirely real, or perhaps just something he’d like to put his money towards. then maybe he’d come with proof to defend against the stares and judgements. part of why he’d picked this place. “worth suggesting. plus, think they can always have ‘em sign those wavers or whatever. after all, it is for science or whatever, yea?” he rose an eyebrow at the other before taking a sip of his drink, humming softly as a sort-of exhale. “good to know.” a hint of a smile graced his lips. “here’s easy. it’s the white wyvern. knockturn alley. this is my crow, ‘least meant to be. you know, i tried the leaky first,” greg admitted, finger tapping against his glass of whisky. “lasted a full three minutes. i didn’t need that many eyes on me.” he’d just wanted a damned drink.

It was incredibly rare— practically unheard of— for Daphne Ophelia Greengrass, heiress to the Greengrass estate and pureblood socialite, to be caught dead subjecting her precious Loubutons to spot like The White Wyvern. The place was a drive, dark and dreary riddled with sweaty, drunken patrons, a far cry from the swanky lounges and exclusive clubs she was used to, but necessary to finding what she was looking for— who she was looking for.

Daphne need not search for long, all intentions of marching straight up to a face she hadn’t seen in five years with an unwavering resolve and damn near icy demeanor, only to come to a screeching halt when she reached the man’s periphery, drinking him in for first time since his return from Azkaban. Easier said then done.

“I can take a seat if I want?” Daphne spat his words straight back at him, scoffing through her painted lips as she placed a steady hand just above the designer belt on her hip. It was the perfect accessory. “You have been out for days— perhaps even weeks at this point— and I have to come track you down in a rundown, shabby old pub.” 

Daphne shuddered, her deep emerald irises scanning the bar in feigned disgust for dramatic effect. “Gregory, I’m not sure if I should shove you into that bar counter right there or…” she paused, her signature pout beginning to soften. Daphne’s answer was decided before she could even finish the question. “or hug you, you— you— oh come here.” 

greg hadn’t known what to say — not once he’d come home and not now. of course that didn’t excuse his silence and so he took daphne’s anger full-on, knowing he deserved it. he stilled listening to her. her hurt pained him but his heart leaped as she stammered and then finally gave him the opening to rise from his seat, abandoning his drink on the bar to instead wrap his arms around her. his friend. he paused for a moment, as his head tilted against hers, to ponder one simple fact: for the first time in five years, this was the first time he’d been able to hug someone else.

“i didn’t know what to do,” he admitted in a soft whisper, before slowly drawing back. his hands lingered on her shoulders, squeezing just once before falling to his side. “it’s stupid, i know, but i got home...” gregory pressed his lips together, swallowing harshly. his mind flooded with the imagery of the manor, now vacant and full of echoes. it’d never been the most lively of places but it’d never been silent. there were at least footsteps. at least distant chatter down the hall. now even the grandfather clock refused to tick. silent. more. silence.

“things were different,” he answered, trying to start again. “i wasn’t sure how much had changed. if ‘ya even wanted to see me.” goyle shook his head, eyes cast down as a pair of shoes he hadn’t worn in ages. somehow they still fit, like they hadn’t forgotten. worn just right. “you got every right to be mad, daph. i’m sorry.”

alicia frowned a little, finding that a weird statement. when she squinted, however, and saw who was really talking to her, she instinctively took a step back. “hm. don’t know if you can say if something’s excessive or not.”

goyle’s head cocked back at the response. the step back, that was expected— it was the whole excessive thing that caught him off guard. if azkaban had taken any right from him, deciding if something was a bit much seemed far down on the list. still he shrugged, giving his opinion anyways. “maybe i don’t need to say it, it just is. i mean,” goyle paused, head tilting to one side as he raised an eyebrow, only to draw his hand up and point down at the item in question, “that’s a mountain of cream, ain’t it?”

cho always preferred to do interviews in public. not that she was too worried about being harassed by the press, they could be a lot, yes, but she was in their good graces at the moment, so they treated her well. really she just didn’t know how to interact well one-on-one with people anymore. she avoided it whenever she could. it mattered especially now with the recent events, the hysteria, the questions leading back to the second war. was there another war coming? would cho fight again? what did she think about all of it? it was all absolutely blown out of proportion for the sake of a good story but she answered the questions all the same. they were questions she could answer here, in public, where a certain level of persona was so natural it might as well have been cho’s personality, but left more isolated she wasn’t sure how she would have done.

the interview was over now though and she found herself sitting alone, a mostly full cup of tea still in front of her. it was all a little too nostalgic really, remembering the horrible valentine’s day once spent in the shop, a memory she didn’t sit on long. dwelling on memories never seemed to do her much good. it wasn’t quite as appealing as it used to be when she was a teenager, age finally showing her some of the gaudy decorations, but it did have drinks she still liked, and the cramped nature meant she never felt like she was too alone when she met with other people.

speaking of never feeling too alone she was fairly confident she could feel someone lurking. “the seat is open if you’d like.” she offered, focused mostly on her drink rather than turning to fully face the person. “though i just gave my statement on the recent news, so i might not be the best conversation partner.” it was a bit of an excuse, to already prepare to maintain her image no matter what she said. “but this place is so small, it can’t be comfortable just standing there.”

the first time goyle had set foot in madam puddifoot’s had been on a dare. the second an attempt at impressing a girl— unsuccessful, clearly. but the few trips he’d had made it clear that the tea was top notch. the breakfast one reminded him a bit of home. and so he’d gone back each hogsmeade trip, more towards the end in an attempt to be late rather than be caught. pinks and frills hardly matched his stature and reputation.

now, he was a criminal. people had an opinion despite what he did, might as well get some decent tea. and his decision to have it in-house versus out had been impulsive. a change. not like anything he did across the last five years didn’t feel different enough. perhaps deep down, he just enjoyed the busyness against the silence. 

then came her voice, shifting his gaze from the full tea room to the one single chair. had she not offered, greg wouldn’t have considered. likely have changed his tea to a to-go order and found a bench outside. but cho’s offfer was simple and so gregory took it, falling into the seat. “not sure i qualified for it, honestly.” still, even seated, he wasn’t sure. taking a sip, his eyebrows rose, a silent offering for her to reconsider. toss him aside. recall her offer. “seems like you’ve done good for ‘ya self. an interview. impressive.”

He didn’t take her flirting in the same way another might, but it didn’t matter because this was Gregory Goyle - out of Azbakan - and he was talking! Pansy couldn’t remember the last time - if there had ever been a time - where she’d had a conversation with only him. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve aged beautifully. Draco is different, though. Crying about in the Malfoy Manor like the bloody world ended and not just the war.” Pansy shook her head and sighed. “I go see him a lot. Hasn’t offed himself yet, so that’s good.”

She laughed when he repeated the name of the drink. It sounded so wrong coming from his lips and yet, here he was, actually ordering two of them as though it were no big deal. The bartender gave Goyle an odd look before shifting his gaze to Pansy and rolling her eyes. No doubt this was her idea. She just shrugged in response.

Gregory raised his glass to her, but didn’t take a drink. Pansy watched for a moment, waiting - wanting to see that giggle that came as a side-effect to the drink - but Greg just put it down and started talking about potions. “I don’t think I’ve ever brewed those, if I’m being honest. Didn’t they learn it 6th year? I never took that class once we got to choose. Such a bore.” She leaned forward, grinning mischieviously. “What did your amortentia smell like?!”

She pointed at him, then. “And stop stalling and take a drink!”

uncertain where he stood with draco, the brunette opted to skip his mention, focusing instead on the topic in general: growing older, changing. “it’s weird,” gregory started, speaking before he had a chance to ponder the words themselves, wonder if he ought to hold them back, “feel like i’ve aged but also not. like one minute i remember all five years and that struggle but then the next its like i was in class just an hour ‘go. does that make sense?”

her order to take a drink caught him off-guard, eliciting a raise of the eyebrows and then a quirk of his lips. “yes, m’am,” he teased before finally bringing the pink drink to his lips. it wasn’t as sweet as he’d imagined it being. it was pure sugar in looks. taste wise, none too bad that he went in for a second helping. whisky had become his go-to simply because it’d been his father’s drink. he’d been so used to following in footsteps.

already feeling a bit lighter from the drink, greg’s head tilted to the left. it had been awhile since he’d thought of that classroom. for some reason the drink, with all it’s components, had brought him back there— back to stirring the cauldrons at his partner’s guide. it hadn’t been his best subject, nor his favorite, but there’d been a comfort in the room. perhaps it was having someone to lean on. he’d been used to that. “dunno, guess i like the straight-forwardness of it. clear cut, ‘ya know?” greg shrugged, unsure himself.

amortentia. the question had his lips curved, donning a sort-of smile. “honestly, i remember not knowing. it was some flower i didn’t remember— nice though. champagne. could almost feel the bubbles. but that third...” goyle shook his head, lingering in his thoughts long enough to draw his glass to his lips. and there it lingered for a beat, then another, before he finally took a sip. “never recognized the third.”

“you never smell it? amortenia?”

“i know it looks weird. no need to stare. carry on, or ask your questions.”

“is it weird? been a bit out of touch for a bit so not sure i’d really know.” greg tilted his head, looking at her for another moment before shrugging his shoulder. “not an expert in the least bit.... seems a bit excessive though.”

Pansy smirked at him. “Am I ever not serious?” She laughed lightly, obviously a joke. She wasn’t serious half the time, which he would know if he remembered Hogwarts at all. She rolled her eyes at the question about if it was robes, though. Honestly, did his mother do his shopping for him back in school? “Robes, accessories, fashion,” she said, as though it were obvious. “I don’t think could, ah, put you on the floor. We have some blokes that work in the back, lugging around boxes and things by magic. You still have a wand, right?” She looked at his trousers with purpose. “Well, hopefully two wands.”

She softened when he called her Pans, though. It had been awhile since she’d heard the nickname slip out from anyone’s lips. It was surprising, talking to Gregory Goyle this much. They’d been friends, yes, but so often Draco had talked for him that Pansy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a one-on-one conversation with Greg. She smirked at the mention of Draco. “Did he look like shite? He’s been looking like shite! He’s really not himself lately.”

Then Goyle offered to buy her a drink and she perked up, downing the glass she had, giggling a bit as the bubbles tended to cause people to do. “Honestly, you can call me whatever you damn well please if you keep offering to buy me drinks! They’re not expensive,” she added at the end, though didn’t explain why she was opting for the cheaper version. It wasn’t as though the Parkinsons were completely broke, but with the business moving the way it was and the vault slowly loses its value, Pansy couldn’t afford to drink rich. Literally couldn’t afford it.

“Oh, you must try it, Greg! They came out with it only a year ago. Has become my favorite drink.” She gave him another sly smile. “I won’t talk to my father for you until you have a Bubbling Flitherwing!” The name itself was absurd and she couldn’t wait to watch him drink the girliest drink on the menu. 

fashion. the furrow of gregory’s brow deepened. that wasn’t a territory he’d say he knew much about, likely next to nothing aside from the categories of robes, shoes, shirts, and trousers. basics were easy. the rest sounded like seventh year arithmancy. the floor. pansy’s mention of it instantaneously had him nodding. didn’t matter if it was knockturn or diagon: no one wanted a bloke like him upfront. “i get it. be bad for business,” greg stated, not as quiet as he once was. “haven’t take my wand yet, though have to get it checked every once in a while.” he paused, lingering on the potential flirtation of her other words. new territory. with a hard swallow, unsure, goyle spoke the next words before he had a moment to reconsider. “don’t get ahead of yourself there. one wand.... it’s a good start.”

draco. he’d hoped to keep that run-in mostly in the past, not because of the blond but because of who’d been missing. with limited knowledge, gregory shook his head. “i don’t know. i mean, i can’t say what he’s been looking like besides different. i mean, that’s stupid. you both look different. fuck, i mean we all do.” a simple shrug of his shoulders. then a tilt to his empty glass, ensuring there truly was nothing left but ice and watered down water, liquor an after thought.

his eyebrows rose. he needed a moment, not to consider the drink but to say it. “a bubbling filtherwing?” he repeated, syllables coming icily slow. his eyebrows has squinted down, adding to his concentration, wanting to get the answer right. wanting to figure out the world around him bit by bit. and this bit, it seemed, he’d managed. “two bubbling fitherwings, yea?” he asked the bartender, leaning forward as he posed his question. 

soon after came the result: two pinkish flutes cluttered with bubbles and specks of pixie dust glittering throughout. it’d never be a drink goyle would have accepted, let alone order, before. but before had seemed to be a place he hadn't wanted to be. so he rose the glass, accepting the change. “here’s to you then.” 

greg brought the liquor to his mouth, nearly drinking it down before stopping. hesitating. “do you remember potions?” he thought of snape, books smacked on the back of the head, ingredients tucked to the back of the closet. none the reason he struggled, simply an attribute. “think i nearly set the room on fire trying to brew felix felicis. definitely did amortentia.”

the struggle for astoria was enjoying pub atmosphere’s while not drinking much. she still had nights where she’d have a drink or two, but the healers seemed to advise against it. since they weren’t sure what she was sick was it was simply safer to avoid alcohol whenever possible. still, it had been a long few days at work, and she figured one drink couldn’t hurt too much. she was trying to indulge herself in the things she wanted whenever she could after all.

now instead of drinking though, she was stuck staring. she had never known gregory goyle well. he was the type that her sister might have hung out with while astoria, a year below them, just heard stories, saw him passing by in the dorm. although considering where he wound up that was probably for the better. “i was just surprised. i didn’t think you had been let out yet.” still, she was left unsure about taking the seat.  the life of death eaters and blood purity was the sort of thing she had been trying to leave behind, to lose the minute she stepped out of the greengrass manor. wasn’t being independent supposed to mean she no longer had to sit and tolerate that stuff? ultimately she sat down, mostly to be polite, and maybe out of a strange sense of slytherin loyalty that never quite left. convict or not it didn’t feel fair to just write him off when she had never really interacted much with the him. if it was the sort of company she decided she didn’t want she could just leave, as simple as that. “and i’m not a healer either, but i do work at st. mungo’s, so maybe i’m a little more qualified to say that it definitely isn’t contagious. it would be a never ending crime spree if it was.” 

her honesty had greg tilting his head even further upon nodding. it seemed the daily prophet hadn’t thought to prepare them for his resurfacing. maybe because he hadn’t been deemed dangerous enough, qualified, whatever. not enough for a mark, not enough to cause worry, but enough to know life behind bars. “had two more years so don’t blame you. really only knew it might happen myself ‘bout... i don’t know, maybe a month ago. didn’t seem real.” he shrugged, remembering that moment. remembering first being told it was a possibility and dismissing it like some fleeting dream. greg hadn’t expected it to happen. he’d been wrong a lot as a kid, being proved wrong once more was fine with him.

a hint of smile graced his lips once she took the seat beside him. proof he wasn’t contagious. “well, ‘ya ever need a test subject i suppose you know where to find me.” he paused, head tilting, considering. “here mostly. say home but, really, not sure how long i’ll keep it.” goyle blinked, sitting back, drawing the remnants of his whisky close to his body. “sorry if it’s a bit much. still, figuring out... stuff.” like where conversations were meant to end. and what to keep silent. normal was...new. odd.

Pansy eyed him up and down. He looked much different from his old self - the one that was found following around Draco and fighting the blondes battles. They were friends, way back in Hogwarts, all of them. Even before Pansy’s little relationship with Draco began. Now, he looked empty, though appeared to be happy to see her. Long gone was the wizard who could intimidate someone with a simple stare. “You’ve got the look going for you already. Prisoner-chic. ‘Crazy’ is all the rage in France.”

The way he spoke was careless, easy… but Pansy could see something else in those haunted eyes. He was sad. She could hardly blame him - five years in Azkaban! It was not something she would be able to handle, that was for sure. She’d been smart, after all. Stay out of the battle - keep her life. Simple as that. She stopped the movement of her finger on his hand, keeping it there for a moment. “I’m not sure you’re desperate enough to be a shopkeep yet, but I’m sure daddy could find something for you to help with around one of our stores. You’ll need to invest in some… different robes, of course. But we can make due.” She wasn’t heartless, after all. And this was an old friend. Slytherins had to stick together.

The stores might’ve not been making as much money as they once had, but they still needed people to haul things around or set up displays. She’d convince her father to fire one of the shopgirls they already had, if they didn’t need more help. “Oh things are great with me, but you shouldn’t be surprised, Gregory.” Pansy smiled at him, ignoring the fact that the family savings were slowly dwindling. She wondered how much money he still had in that vault of his.

“I’m designing for the shop. Robes and accessories, mostly. It’s a rather popular line. Have you seen Draco yet? He’s dreadfully boring these days.” 

gregory sat back in his seat, leaning against the creaky wood and blinking at his old classmate. it was one thing to hear the words and then another to interpret them, to accept them as real. “sorry, are you serious?” his eyes scrunched, head tilted. from what he’d tried to calculate, gregory had about a month and a half’s worth before he’d have to sell the manor. after that a few month’s more and change. he’d decided early on, once coming home, that it was one of the changes he could easily make. empty. full. either way it wasn’t home. “can’t lie, i’d consider it. what is it again? robes?” he asked, leaning forward, sliding his empty glass towards the end of the bar. all ice. “not sure how good of’a salesman i’d be.”

back in his hogwarts days, gregory had firstly been known as goyle, for his stature, and then for his lack of vocabulary. words were limited then. he’d found comfort in standing with and behind draco, never sure how to articulate just right. but after years of mostly silence, quiet felt a disservice. it felt restrained and greg had lived that ten fold. 

“why’d i’d be surprised? can’t say i always knew much but, pans — sorry, pansy.... sorry, not sure what ‘ya prefer?” names seemed simple but when relationships were years old, who knew what the right name was. goyle. always goyle for seven years, even longer. greg. gregory. different but not wrong, just odd on the tongue. his second chance just starting, he hadn’t found a preference just yet. “yea,” he answered, a short nod. “saw him the other day. talked a bit.” crabbe had been the middle man, even still. and a continued struggle for goyle to speak up on.

gregory found himself needing a drink, and when he went to bring his glass up and finding it empty, he frowned softly. setting it down, he rose an eyebrow at pansy. “buy ‘ya a drink? so long you’re not drinking solid gold there. not ready to sell the manor just yet, especially for some bubbly.” he titled his head. “speaking of... not sure, i remember ever having some. weird, ya?”

Pansy’s mother would stay that pubs weren’t exactly the best place to pick up a suitable husband, but Pansy would retort that she wasn’t exactly looking for a husband. It was her mother that wanted that for her! She wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of settling down when she had so much life ahead of her - unless, of course, she found a handsome, older man with a lot of money that she could manipulate.

Still, she liked the drinks and the attention that being in a pub such as this brought her. She was sipping her fizzing, bubbled drink from the glass when her eyes caught a familiar sight. Was that… Gregory Goyle? Well, well… little prisoner must’ve gotten released. She stood up without a moments hesitation and moved towards him with a purpose, grinning as she got close and he saw her, pushing out the chair. “Well aren’t you just the gentleman now?” she said, her voice a low hum. “I did hear somewhere that Azkaban turned people into Gryffindors. If they didn’t go insane first.”

She took the seat, sliding in next to him and tapped his arm with a perfectly painted nail. “Doesn’t look like I’m catching any disease. Maybe your career can be a healer, after all. Though I’m guessing your options are limited now. Poor thing. You look skinny - Azkaban didn’t have house-elf-quality food then?” She pouted out a lip and leaned towards him, propping her head up on her hand. 

his lips curved upward a slight touch, ignoring whatever teasing there was to relish in the victory that she remembered him. after all, azkaban hadn’t exactly been kind to him. once infamous in the corridors of hogwarts for his brute stature, he appeared a shell of that old goyle. sunken eyes, slimmed down cheeks, old clothes that hung far too loosely. he, as he assumed much else had become, was different. “don’t know if i’d go that far. i’ll plead insanity first; probably help if the ministry ever tries ‘ta shove me back in.” goyle tried a laugh to follow but it was a real possibility. his left forearm may have never been marked, but he certainly was. death eater. trouble. eyes were on him now.

manicured nail gracing his arm, his gaze followed it. a simple touch. yet one of the only he’d experienced over the last half-decade. “don’t have the NEWTs; never would’a had the NEWTs though... i mean, barely scraped past OWLs to be honest. job market definitely slimmed down even more. figure i’ll figure it out.” he shrugged, though he paused to drink from his glass. there was a small fortune left in the goyle’s vault. small. slim, much like him now. and with pansy’s acknowledgement of that, greg just shook his head. no point talking about the sorry servings that’d get passed under his door. “long story short it was shite. you though...” he stopped to tilt back the last contents of his drink, setting it down with a soft thud. gregory tilted his head as his eyes fell on her, a soft comfort found in the familiarity of an old classmate. “clearly missed a lot. you seem like you’re doing good at least. care to fill me in? nothing’s too dull. i assure you. four walls not much of a competition.”