Draco wasnât sure what to expect from Arcturus. He didnât exactly have many positive associations with either side of his family, save for his mother, but he knew better than to judge quite this early. Arcturus deserved a chance, something heâd been working on over the years. And really, he would be lying to himself if he said he wasnât curious about what the Blacks were like so far back in their history. Just recently, Night Vale had seen fit to gift him a book entailing the truth about the Malfoys. Perhaps Arcturus had insight into his lineage that no one living could provide, something Draco was eager to learn more about.
He felt a bit protective of him, too, but he knew that was partially their shared ties to Slytherin, not to mention his instincts as a healer. Arcturus had asked for a salve that only someone who had encountered a very nasty curse could want, and just thinking about that unearthed memories of his own trials during the war. He firmly pushed those aside. Now wasnât the time to pick at and ruminate on old wounds long since scarred over. It was nice to have something productive to focus his efforts, and Draco made short work of creating the salve from a few newly obtained ingredients.
It was when he heard the knock that he ensured his appearance was in perfect orderâhelped, in small part, by a charm that kept his dark clothes and hair neat and tidyâbefore answering the door. âDraco, please,â he answered by way of a greeting, accepting Arcturusâ hand to shake. âWeâre family, after all. Come in.â Draco stepped aside and fought the urge to stare. It felt like forever ago and yesterday all at once to see the Slytherin robes. He felt terribly nostalgic, and that wouldnât do.
âTea?â He offered instead, closing the door behind them. It was a clean space, filled mostly with books on Muggle medicine and local plant life, a small cauldron set on a large table, and a shelf laden with potions bottles and ingredients. He clearly preferred keeping busy.