Draco was not mad. No, he felt hurt, right or not, and he never knew how to handle that emotion. Forced politeness worked for him. Well, all right it did not, since Evan and Bellatrix pushed at him until he admitted why he was not his usual sarcastic self (adorable too, he would like to point out). He guessed it was to their credit they realized anything was off in the first place. Still, it felt much like the night Walburga poked at him until he admitted what happened with Sirius. When would Draco learn to just keep his bloody trap shut? Then Regulus...it made Draco's stomach hurt just remembering that tiff.
All right, he was angry. He was bloody aggravated with himself. Two steps forward, one step back, right? He felt guilty too, which was an emotion he became familiar with during the war and could not quite shake. Was Evan right? Would his aunt...he did not even want to think on it. No, he was going to find Tracey. He loved his girls. Crabbe and Goyle were too up his arse to consider them true friends and he felt competitive with Theodore and Blaise, but the girls in his dorm were his. He liked to think so anyway. He adored them. It had been difficult to remember after doing without them for so long, but having Pansy, Daphne, and now Tracey...well, it felt good. It also made missing Astoria more bearable.
He carried his journal with him. Not only was he concerned for Bellatrix (and maybe Evan...a little), but he was never far from it now that his children were in the village. Just in case.
Working in Bookends felt like a lifetime ago, but Draco still found himself critically eying the displays while he waited for his old house-mate. It was strange with Daphne and Tracey being older, but they were still them, which was better than nothing, right?
He shortly forgot everything when he heard the door open. His face broke into a genuine smile as he stepped forward. "You look beautiful," he told her as he swept his lips across her cheek. "About time you got back here."