Pacing. Ariella found this to be extremely helpful as she anxiously awaited Vlad's arrival. Anna, her youngest sibling, was staring at her as though she'd suddenly gone mental and her mother was eying her curiously. The seventeen year old wasn't usually this nervous when someone came over, but Vlad was an exception. He'd sent her an owl instructing her to pack, though for what she wasn't entirely sure. It was her birthday and apparently her thoughtful boyfriend wanted to surprise her. Ella wasn't a custom to surprises. Of any kind. She was usually the one surprising others, either with a prank or just something off the wall that she might've said. Needless to say she'd had to bust out her signature charm-induced, ratty over the shoulder bag.

She'd previously stuffed a spare set of clothes, her money (wizarding and muggle alike), and a few other accessories into the bag. It wasn't any bigger than a clutch but it was bulging despite the extension charm. There were probably all sorts of things in the depths of that old, parchment colored bag that Ariella herself was unaware of. Her mother hadn't failed to comment on it when she'd walked into the Moretti sitting room after staring at her appearance for what seemed like an hour. Though she was certain she hadn't been there that long. In order to calm her nerves she'd stood in front of the full length mirror in her room and entertained herself. As well as her spying sister. She'd been trying out all the noses of animals she'd been practicing and changing her hair color accordingly. Sometimes being a Metamorphmagus was calming. Or maybe that was just how Ella thought of it. Unfortunately, it didn't really work this time.

"Ella, that purse is awful. Haven't you anything else to use?" her mother had called out to her from the chair she was firmly planted in. Directly in front of the front door. No doubt anxious about meeting her middle daughters boyfriend. Ever since Alessia left her mother had starting butting in on Ariella's life. More so than usual. Like she were a foolish animal incapable of anything without her guidance.

"No, I don't." she responded, shooting her mother a look of complete indifference. She was lying actually. Ella had a mountain of other bags and purses that she could've chose from but none of them were as special as that one. She'd had it since her first year of Hogwarts, probably longer now that she was thinking about it, and it had been through a lot of things between her and Vlad. It just seemed right for it to accompany her on this special date between the two. She'd never in a million years tell her paranoid mother any of that. Lucky for Vlad her father was at the Ministry working. "Could you please find it in your heart to not hound him with questions?" she pleaded, clasping her hands together and putting them out in front of her for effect.

Before Francesca even had a chance to answer (which would've been equally as questionable and annoying as before) a knock sounded throughout the room.

"Okay, alright, here it goes." she muttered to herself with a sense of slight hysteria. Ella was panicking. There was no way around it. She looked over at her mother with weary eyes and pointed her finger directly at her. Signifying that it was go time and she'd better not pull any funny business. After receiving a nod of approval and watching Francesca stand with a smile on her face, Ariella cleared her throat and took a deep breath before walking over to grab the door knob. Giving it a sharp turn, she opened the door.

When she saw Vlad for the first time, her heart immediately squeezed in her chest. All the nerves and worry faded as she caught his eye. It hadn't been all that long since they'd seen each other but if felt like ages as she stood before him now. Looking him over, she took it all in and smiled. "Hey you." she said coolly, not wanting him to spot the small blush that crept into her cheeks. Then, ignoring Anna's giggles and the feeling of her mothers eyes on the both of them, Ariella took a step forward to place her arms around him.

"You'd better come in and say something. I'll never hear the end of it otherwise." she whispered into his ear. Really wishing they could just apparate right there on the spot. "I'm really excited." Telling him made the flutter in her stomach cease a little. The anticipation was killing her. Stepping away from Vlad, Ariella grabbed his hand and lead him into the house.

This was the part she'd been worried about the most. Considering the fact that Anna was now hiding behind their mother and staring right at him made the birthday girl feel slightly at ease. At least she knew the eight year old was enjoying the view. "Mother, this is Vlad. Vlad, this is my mother Francesca and that little mouse behind her is my sister Anna." she said as she introduced and affiliated the three. After years of both sides just hearing stories about the other, this was the moment of truth.

Despite the struggle his life had became, Draco could not help but be thankful for it. Thankful that he was allowed to try to piece together what remains he had left, thankful that he wasn't in prison or dead. During the war he had tried to imagine the outcome of it all over and over, both in his sleep and while awake. And not once could he imagine a way that ended with anything except despair or death. And even if that time in his life had been a shadowed one- his judgement clouded by pools of ink threatening to swallow him whole- that was one particular subject he thought about enough that he must have been able to see it with a clear head, at least some of the time. After all, who could have ever expected his mother to lie to the Dark Lord? Who could have expected that Harry Potter could outdo death yet again? And who could have ever expected that because of this simple, small lie, this one word uttered in defiance: 'dead,' that the ministry would grant full pardon not only to his mother, but to his father and himself as well?

Though despite the fact he was glad it all had worked out, he really couldn't comprehend the thought process used when allowing his father to walk free. For his mother, it made sense. She was the one who made the risk, who indirectly saved the Wizarding world; even if those hadn't been her intentions, which they certainly hadn't. And even for himself, he could understand. He had been only sixteen when first commissioned by the Dark Lord and everything he had done had been because of threats and fear tactics. Draco had been a piece in the game, used because of convenience but very much expendable. But Lucius had joined the Deatheaters out of free will, not once, but during both wars. He had committed unspeakable crimes, Draco knew this personally. Yet he had gone unpunished as well. But he supposed it didn't matter, the reasons behind it all. Because he was alive, his family was alive, and though shamed by both sides of the war, things had worked out. The youngest Malfoy was allowed to give himself simple comforts, allowed to attempt to regain normalcy. He was allowed to return to Hogwarts, try to enjoy Hogsmeade weekends, and order a butterbeer on a cold day.

And despite everything else, despite all that he was going to have to endure because of the things he and his family had done, this life he had now was perfect compared to the one he had during the war. Even if he did complain, brood, and pity himself more than he should, Draco knew that this was far better than he deserved. Even if he would never admit it, not even to himself, it was true all the same. And occasionally he would be greeted with these moments of gratitude that seemed to come both spontaneously and in routine. When he was feeling particularly irritated, or lying in bed late at night, or talking to someone he could consider a friend, suddenly all he could feel was he strangest sense of thankfulness. It came and went like a bolt of lightning, but the memory of it always lingered. And once that memory faded it would strike again, always unexpected and sudden.

This was one of those times. Draco sat there, waiting just a moment too long for his drink, and he looked up, annoyed. At the sight of an oddly dressed girl stretching on her toes to reach a glass, he felt that strange feeling come and go, so quickly he was left to remember what it meant only after it passed. The ex-Deatheater was alive and relatively well. Why the hell should he complain about an extra minute of his life spent on waiting for his drink? He was lucky to be alive at all. Pushing away the thoughts best he could and watching as she finally levitated the glass down, Draco's brow furrowed at the sight of the girl. She looked familiar, to the point it couldn't be a coincidence. The fiery red hair, her voice. Granted, the outfit confused him a bit, but once she turned around to face him he remembered who she was. Davis, her name was. Tracey Davis, he concluded, a fellow Slytherin in his year. Well, his actual year, not the year he was in now, making up what he missed during the war. 

It took a moment for her words to register, concentrated as he was, but once they did he quickly took his gaze from her face, instead focusing on what she was setting down in front of him, "It's fine." Draco started, that strange taste of gratitude still remaining as it would for quite a while. Taking a sip from his drink before looking back to her, he asked, "I know you, right? You were in my year, I think. Your name's Tracey?" He still wasn't positive. After all, he hadn't seen her since sixth year and he hardly payed attention to anyone then. So really, his last memory of her was probably from fifth year, and people looked a lot different from fifteen to eighteen. And if he was correct, she was the more shy girl who always stayed in the back. She was neither excluded nor included, which made her forgettable. Or at least, that was the way that Draco remembered her. But he supposed a lot of people acted differently around him then they did around others. He had tended to bring out the worst in some- whether it be cruel, foolish, defensive, nervous or timid. There had been any numbers of ways to respond to him back then, most of them bad. The best seemed to be indifference, but really no one ever seemed to accomplish that.