Vonne: I am so happy that I've got so much feedback for the first two chapters. Thank you so much, I appreciate it! To show how much I do, I've been working hard on this long third chapter. I hope that you all like it! Thank you so much to all those of you that submitted a review to me!
Thank you: Isabella120, CARL, LeCandeh, Psychic City, MCLanna, Miss. Lila-Russel, Lola La Lola, and Lively McBrighten. I appreciate it so much!
"Was always waiting for the crush, the car to drive right through the shops, to call in sick and late at work, and take a holiday."
Chapter Three
Million Dollar Question
Her face is tucked behind the newspaper that she holds in front of her slumped over torso. Only a massive fluff of frizzy brown hair sticks out from the side of the thing's pointed edges. She tries not to pay attention to the headline that is so obviously calling out to her. "Three More Teenagers Found Murdered," it reads, "An Entire Community in Panic". Thus she sighs, unable to continue to put it off. But that's what she'd here for, isn't it? The teenagers, the murders, the community... With a huff, she sets the putrid paper aside.
It's Hermione Jean Granger behind the roll of Muggle-made parchment. She hasn't changed much over the five years since the end of the War, but she's certainly more tired. Her hair is still rugged and unkempt, her eyes still sparkly and hazel. One of the changes, however, comes in the way that she carries herself. Though she's seated now, she lacks a fraction of the spark she once had. Granted, she's still pretty and intelligent; there's just something missing, but none of the Muggles surrounding her seem to notice it in the slightest.
Where she's sitting is in the uncomfortable seat of an airborne plane. She blends in just like the rest of the passengers who are, of course, none the wiser. She keeps her wand tucked into the pocket of her luggage and every so often, her eyes wander up to the compartment at the top of the seats where she's stuffed it. Though she can't help it, Hermione can't help but feel somewhat uneasy without the protection of her weapon. To keep herself preoccupied, she fiddles with the front pocket of her bright red sweater. She crosses the legs of her yellow trousers. She scuffs the soles of her oxford shoes against the fuzzy floor of the stuffy Muggle airplane. She wishes with a stubborn huff that she could have just flown her broom to England.
Whack.
A hard slam shifts the chair ahead of her and the front tray at the back of the seat nearest her comes undone quickly. With a slight crack, it tumbles out towards Hermione's knees and slaps them through the fabric of her trousers mercilessly. On impact, Hermione snaps out of her anxiety-ridden daze. Swift eyes glance around the aircraft until she finally locates the cause of the scuffle. There, peering through the slits between the three chairs before her, is the face of a wide-eyed child. His fingers grip the the ends of his seat and he stares at Hermione with matching blue pupils. Soft black hair rests closely near his earlobes.
The boy's face breaks out in a massive smile. He clamps his hands over his wet mouth, giggling, and Hermione can't help herself; she giggles back, too. Despite the grievances of the airplane Hermione cannot deny it, she loves children. And that's why she's here, to be honest, she truly is saddened by the murders taking place in the Muggle world. She remembers when she was seventeen and still in school, remembers being nervous and feeling helpless. She looks back at the boy, perhaps not any older than five, and knows that one day, he'll be seventeen too. Wriggling her fingers in a little wave back at him, Hermione hopes that he will live a peaceful adolescence.
When she boy turns back around, Hermione leans against her own stale blue seat again. She shuts her eyes and ignores the raspy voice of the pilot, statically informing her passengers to prepare finally for landing. Hermione thinks about Boulstridge Academy. She thinks about Muggle England. She thinks about getting the hell off of the fucking plane so that she can stretch her aching legs. When the plane finally plummets, Hermione promises to be the first to snap off her seat belt.
The Gryffindor stiffens as she feels the craft's wheels strike the runway of the airport. Her fingernails dig into the armrest at her sides and she offers her seat neighbors an apology for her jitteriness. Nonetheless, the very moment that they are permitted to leave their seats, Hermione bolts. She fumbles with her luggage and walks through the airport on aching feet. No one stops her for her autograph and she is not recognized as one of the saviors of the Wizarding World. She feels warmed and satisfied to find that her face is not on the covers of the magazines lining the racks of the sanitary-looking scenery. When she finally tumbles into the back of a rounded black cab, she can't help but love the sound of silence when the driver does not offer to deliver her to her destination for free.
Hermione fishes her wand out from her luggage for safe keeping. She doesn't look up at the cab driver, but instead relishes the sensation of holding her wand close again. Even being away from it for the short plane ride makes her nervous and shaken-up. "Boulstridge Prep," she announces.
There is a slight shuffle from the seat of the driver ahead of her and Hermione squints into the darkness of the closed cab. When she looks up to analyze the man, she is shocked to see that she recognizes him completely. An ample amount of messy dark hair covers the driver's entire head. His green eyes flash behind the pair of wiry spectacles at the bridge of his thin nose. He's got one arm wrapped around the car bench that he's seated at and he's wearing a red and gold striped necktie that catches Hermione's eyes immediately. "Harry?" she cries, jolting forward. He jumps at her shocked reaction and the glasses on his face tilt as he fumbles back in surprise, causing the cab to roll forward several inches before he realizes the movement and slams his foot down hard on the brakes. "What in the bloody hell?"
Looking a right mess, Harry smiles through the shadows created by the darkened cab. He pushes his glasses up at the top of his face and gives the girl a shaky little wave. "Hullo, Hermione," he greets her easily.
Hermione, however, is at a complete loss for words. Though the Ministry had been rather brief in their explanation of the plan, they certainly had not told her that Harry Potter was to be involved. Gaping, she stares at the boy as if she had not seen him in years. Then, lowering her voice, Hermione asks him in a hoarse and raspy whisper, "Harry, what the hell are you doing here?"
Making a face, Harry's smile fades. However, he still manages to appear relaxed when he informs her casually, "I'm taking you to school, of course."
In the blackness, Harry only manages to look collected. He stares back blankly at his best mate, regarding her normally, as if he had been a cab driver throughout the course of his entire life. When Hermione's eyes dart all around the interior of the car, however, he can't help but let his features drop incredulously when she asks frantically, "what have you done with the Muggle cabby?"
"Ron took care of him!" Harry informs her, and Hermione's face reddens. She opens her mouth to ask what, exactly, he'd meant by that before deciding that she truly does not want to know. Though she can't help it, the memory of the three of them casting stupefy on the trio of unsuspecting wizards in order to gain access to the Death Eater controlled Ministry flashes through her mind. Somehow she highly doubts that Ron Weasley has constructed anything differently this time around.
Suppressing her newfound worry, Hermione only gawks back at Harry, who sits nonchalantly at the steering wheel. When she speaks again, her voice is not calm, but instead equally as frantic. "Does the Ministry know you're here?"
Harry glances over his shoulder. He doesn't say anything right off the bat and Hermione knows the answer right away: they don't have any idea. "I'm the newly appointed Head of the Ministry's Auror Office!" he blinks, defensively.
Hermione almost freezes. Her eyes search Harry who, in turn, searches her back. Granted, it has not been long since she's seen him; they're neighbors along with Ron in a quaint little apartment complex a lengthy distance from Hogsmeade. Still, he appears as if he has just rolled out of bed. Even in the dark she can see the sleepless bags underneath his eyes and she decides that, just this once, she can let his brashness slide. Thus, leaning against the back seats of the taxicab, Hermione tries in vain to make herself comfortable. She asks him, "do you even knows how to operate a motor vehicle?"
Looking down at the keys, Harry gives Hermione a quick shrug. He is glad to have been let off the hook. "Well," he tells her, looking calm and relaxed, "it can't be too hard."
"Harry!" Hermione yelps, shocked, but the car jerks to an unexpected start and Hermione is thrown back against the seats. Fumbling, her hands find the seatbelt and she straps herself in, clinging on to the bottom of the chairs with her nails. Nonetheless, Harry steers them through the traffic jammed streets of the airport. He swerves and Hermione thinks she is going to loose her lunch. When he slams down hard on the brakes again for a second time, Hermione jolts forward and her chest presses against the seatbelt so roughly that it pops open the top button of her sweater and she emerges looking completely broken up. When Hermione sees Harry's green eyes look up at her from the rearview mirror, he manages to look immensely apologetic.
"Err..." he starts, drumming his spidery fingers against the steering wheel, "sorry, 'Mione."
Harry turns the car sharply, directing them on the path of the main road. Aside from a few honks from the passing cars, he does it successfully and even manages to keep a steady pace. Hermione then watches his face flicker up into a smile, feeling a bit badly for doubting his abilities to drive in the first place. Of course, she keeps her eyes peeled and her wand at the ready, just in case. "Did you have something you wanted to tell me, Harry?" Hermione asks him after running her hand through her head of hair. She's figured that there is some reason why Harry's posed as her taxi cab driver and, before she's sick from his driving skills- or lack there of- she decides that she needs to know.
"I wanted to see you off," Harry explains, looking up at her through the mirror before Hermione nods back instinctively towards the road. Following her directions, Harry positions his face back down and levels his emerald eyes. "Ron did, too, of course, but we didn't need an extra passenger and... well," Harry made a face, scrunching up his nose like a dissatisfied bunny rabbit, "he's absolute shite at driving."
Hermione sighs; she recalls. Back when she and Ron were dating, Hermione had tried to teach him numerous times how to drive a car. He could never quite get it right. Of course, Harry is a bit of an exception. With substitute parents like Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry had never truly been taught how to drive. Nonetheless, Hermione had to admit, Harry was a bit better- even if it was only by a fraction. "Besides," Harry continues, "I just wanted to make sure you made it to the school alright."
In the back seat, Hermione shuffles. She chews down steadily on her bottom lip and glances up at Harry's shoulders. Over the past five years, the lot of them have gone through plenty of stressful situations. But Hermione, she can handle herself. She tells Harry this properly, a twinge of a sympathetic smile playing at her lips. It's not his fault he's worried, but by now he should know- she's twenty-two years old. She's a big girl now. "I'll be alright," she tells him, and they merge into a new lane safely.
"I know you will, 'Mione," Harry smiles, though his eyes are sad and scared and Hermione does not miss the solemn expression on his gentle features. He means well and Hermione knows it. "It's just that... I'm worried about you, you know? Ron and I will miss you not being around for the year."
"Aw, Harry," Hermione scuffles, "we'll be in touch."
There is a bout of silence and Hermione leans forward. Despite herself, she unbuckles her seatbelt and places her chin like a loving friend on his slouched over shoulder. Softly, she whispers, "why don't you tell me what this hijacking of my taxi cab is really all about?" When her eyes find his again, she offers him an expression that is almost all-knowing. She cocks up her brow and pats his shoulder with a pretty little smirk.
Defeated, Harry lets out a little sigh. "Was I that obvious?" he asks her, peering around the road before he switches lanes again. Hermione is glad that it is not raining so that the swoosh of the car's wind shield wipers would not have distracted him.
"Unfortunately so," Hermione informs him sweetly and Harry clears his throat nervously.
"It's just that... this is dangerous, Hermione- no, it really is." Harry looks almost too pained to admit it out loud. "It's not that I don't think you can handle it, 'Mi, but they really are out there..." as Harry speaks, his face reddens. He's having a hard time getting out what it is that he is trying to say, but Hermione understands. She does not interject, but instead listens to his stammer through it. Mostly, she's heard what he's saying before; both Harry and Ron have told her countless times what it is she has gotten herself into. "They're out there and... you just have to be careful and keep an eye out for yourself, okay?"
"I'm an Auror now, Harry," Hermione tells him, and she's told him the same thing a million times before. "I can handle this by myself, I hope you know that."
Nodding, Harry breaths out. For just one second, he looks away from the road. "I know that," he tells her.
Hermione nods and therefore lifts her chin up from Harry's shoulder. Despite the grim expression that he wears, Hermione is going to carry out the mission that she's been given nonetheless. When she settles back down into the backseat, she pats him once again on the forearm and smiles. He's a good friend, and she knows this. Both he and Ron, they're only looking out for her best interests. However, Hermione somewhat wants to get away. It's not that she does not like living near her best friends, but she has to admit that the stress of being a famous witch has gotten to her.
There is not a street that she can walk down on where she is not being recognized. She cannot sit at a table in a restaurant without being asked for her autograph. People want her picture, men that would have never given her the time of day before want her home address. It's at the point where she feels as if she cannot escape. Though it has been five years, Hermione knows that, despite the risk, her trip to the Muggle world will be a vacation, a getaway. She needs this, she's always needed this.
In the middle of all her thoughts, Hermione realizes that it has been a good ten minutes since the two of them have talked. In the silence she stirs, smoothing a hand across her trousers and crossing her legs slightly. "It's nice that you're worried, Harry," Hermione admits reluctantly, despite truly wanting the subject out of the air completely. "Thank you."
"Course, Hermione," Harry offers, "and I know you can handle it. Don't listen to me... I'm only concerned and rambling."
"Don't be concerned," she tells him, lifting up her luggage and moving it around. She does it to give herself something to do. Somewhere in the distance, she can see the peak of the prep school start to take shape. "I'll write. Besides, Kingsley says I've got a partner." She says it to calm Harry's nerves, to make him relax. However, the boy's eyebrows only skyrocket.
In fact, Hermione's comment makes him glance suspiciously over his shoulder. He eyes Hermione and the car rocks slightly; Hermione resists the urge to make a grab for the steering wheel and direct him back into place. "Kingsley's assigned you a partner?" he asks, as if he's never heard the information before. He waits a moment and then, quickly, he clarifies, "why haven't I been told about this before?"
"I dunno," Hermione shrugs, peering over the trees that block her view of the school. She sees that the road has become more steady now and everything looks so prim and put together. There is not a single aspect out of place, despite it being fall. Even so, the orange leaves that line the ground look as if they are placed there on purpose. "Perhaps it was a last minute thing."
Harry's face crumbles slightly. He says quickly, "nothing with the Ministry is last minute."
As Harry pulls around through the trees, a long road of cobblestone stretches out before them. Hermione can only fractionally see it, but the prep school looks like a university. It's made of bright red brick and topped off with large white pillars. A large fountain in the front is made of copper and the school mascot stand poised on the rounded ball beneath it. It is a spread winged eagle and the feathers stretch out into the distance. Beneath it, the school's name has been carved in lovely print. Harry, however, does not stop to admire the lovely statue. "So," he asks, almost blatantly overlooking it, "who are they?" But that's the million dollar question, then, isn't it?
Hermione's watching the eagle. It looks as if its almost trapped in the copper. As Harry slows into the school, he turns around the fountain and surveys the deserted campus. Classes have already started and Hermione's been told that the Ministry has informed the school that their new students will be arriving late. Fake documents and birth certificates have been given out. She doesn't even need a de-aging potion; Hermione hasn't really changed since her own schooldays. "Hm?" she mumbles, caught up in the sight that the school truly is. Boulstridge Prep is certainly something wonderful to look at.
"Who is he," Harry asked, looking down at Hermione carefully. "Or she, I suppose?"
"Who?" Hermione is far too preoccupied with the grand appearance of it all. Everything looks so lovely and it really is a wonder. Big and bold, the kissing doors that lead into the school are massive. Even its little imperfections are perfect. It's just like the schools that Hermione sees in the magazines and on the telly.
A slow exhaling noise sounds out from Harry's parted lips. "Your partner," he clarifies, peering down at her over the top of her glasses.
Shrugging, Hermione is still too busy with the glorious high school. She finds it hard to believe that there have been numerous amounts of murders here over the past couple months. It looks like nothing could even go wrong here. "Oh," Hermione whispers, pushing her hair behind her ears and watching the scene shift as they pull to a closer stop, "I dunno."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Harry asks, his foot is, once again, on the break and he whirls around to face her, eyes wide behind his spectacles.
"I mean Kingsley hasn't told me," Hermione shrugs. She's not too worried about it. Hermione gets along with all the other Aurors in the Ministry anyways, she'd be happy with whomever Kingsley had picked out to accompany her.
For a moment Harry stares at Hermione wide-eyed, his mouth dropped. He can't believe Hermione's casualness. However, once he manages to collect himself, he only breaths out, sighing to run a clammy palm across his pale face. "That man sometimes..." he murmurs before falling silent. "You'll owl me and let me know who he's chosen, then?"
"Harry," Hermione reminds him, bending down to retrieve her bags. She has to stuff her wand back into it so that it is not seen upon her arrival, "Muggles don't use owls to communicate."
Blinking, Harry only shakes his head slightly. "Right," he mutters, and then makes a face, "enchant the fireplace then?"
Laughing, Hermione nods in agreement. "Alright," he confirms, but instead leans over to open the cab door. "I don't know why you're making a big deal about this, Harry," she says to him before she even manages to swing it out, "you know I get along well with everyone in the department." Then she steps out from the car, extending her foot onto the ground only to lug her bags out behind her. They make a loud knocking sound as they hit the floor, but then Harry whisks himself out from the driver's seat to stand at the other end of the car and wait for her.
"I'm not making a big deal about it," he interjects, but when Hermione gives him a doubtful look, he lets his shoulders drop in defeat. "Well," he says slowly, "just let me know, okay?"
"I said I would," Hermione shrugs, looking back up at him. She is not angry or concerned, but she takes in Harry's saddened facial expression carefully before leaning back against her large luggage. "I really am going to be alright, you know, Harry," she tells him finally, once the silence finally gets to her. "Okay?"
Nodding, Harry pushes his glasses back up towards the top of his face. He manages a sweet little smile and runs his hands through his messy black hair. "I know," he tells her, "I know, Hermione, you're brilliant."
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione beams. She feels a bit different now that she's here and everything is set in stone. However, she leans forward and wraps her hands around Harry's neck, burying her face into the crook just between his neck and his shoulder. It takes not a moment for Harry to respond back, lifting his arms to hug her tightly. They stand there for a moment, the cab's engine still running, and the orange and red leaves pick up and swipe lightly at the back of Hermione's tip-toed feet. "Give Ginny my best," Hermione whispers to him and smiles when he does also.
Harry nods against Hermione's hold. When the two release one another from their hugs, Harry says, "will do." Then, swallowing, he clamors back into the car, pulling the front door shut with a forceful pull. Hermione watches him fiddle with the keys again before reaching to roll the window down. Over the engine, Hermione can barely hear his voice when he asks conclusively, "do you have everything you need?"
"Of course," Hermione smiles; Harry's much like a really great parent, worried sick. She lets it go, of course, because it's true; everything Hermione can possibly need is stuffed neatly into her large suitcase. And additionally, she's placed an extendable charm on the thing.
Winking, Harry puts the car into reverse. "I should I known," he tells her and then, a bit more solemnly, he says, "keep an eye out, Hermione. Let me know if you see anything strange."
Hermione's smile is still persistent on her face. She chews on her lower lip and resists the urge not to leap in the car and steer him away for herself. "Goodbye, Harry!" Hermione waves.
Harry's smile tugs at his lips similarly. "Goodbye, Hermione," he laughs, wriggling his left hand to salute to her. His wedding ring flashes in the sunlight and Hermione can't help but laugh along with him; Harry truly is happy.
She watches as the black taxi cab pulls away from the school. It backs up and then turns back around, making a slight semi-circle around the massive eagle fountain. A bit shakily, Harry pulls the car away from the school and then, finally, drives into the fall afternoon. Hermione does not stop waving until she can no longer see him at all. Then, spinning back around to the gorgeous preparatory school Hermione reminds herself of the same thing that she has been repeating over and over again forever: she can do this.
The first thing Draco Malfoy does when he is released from prison is order a hamburger.
It's a nice, big, and juicy one, too- the type his father would disapprove of. However, considering the circumstances he thinks he deserves it and, for the most part, he's scarfing it down as if he hasn't eaten a single bite in five whole years. Where he's at currently is in the backseat of a black taxicab, luggage at his feet and burger in his grip. It's only been a half hour since he'd stumbled from the airplane and piled into the car, but Draco had set his priorities beforehand. He'd skipped going to the academy straight off- what he'd needed was lunch.
They are just pulling away from the drive thru window when Draco unwraps it. Even the fattening, unhealthy look of it makes him want to cry. After years of prison shite, Draco Malfoy considers his sandwich a great, greasy masterpiece. The cabby only gives him one strange glance which Draco overlooks because he is far too infatuated with his meal. He wants to devour it, to push it in his mouth and eat it whole in one bite, however, he can only stare down at it and he thinks himself pathetic as his eyes begin to well up.
The three days that it took for the Ministry to get Draco out of prison had gone by almost too slowly. The last day, however, had been only strange. They'd given him permission to a long shower and Draco scrubbed his body in rough circles, just to get the stench of prison off of his skin. He hadn't slept a wink during the night, either, and Dolohov, who had heard inklings of his release, had made certain that unconsciousness was impossible. Yet, when morning came, Malfoy couldn't have been more relieved. They'd unhooked the chains around his wrists and shoved a pile of old clothing in his arms. They'd packed a suitcase already for him, led him through the dripping old hallways by his forearms. Draco Malfoy, he hadn't minded much. Once they'd shoved him out into the real world, he was finally able to breathe in the fresh air.
He'd even sat through the entire airplane ride without making the slightest face. Anything, including the cramped and stale craft, was better than Azkaban. He'd noticed the undercover Ministry men watching him as he made his way through the airport, as well- but he only smiled, waving back at them as they peered over their Muggle sunglasses to give him warning looks. They were watching him and he knew; that was okay, he was finally free.
Thus, when Draco scrambled into the taxicab, he'd half expected the cabby to be part of the Auror team. He was grateful to find, however, that the man was no one he had ever recognized before. He'd even given Draco a strange look at the luggage he'd lolled around before putting the vehicle into drive. However, currently Draco could care less about the glances he gets every so often from the man in the rearview mirror. He's only just focused on that damn burger.
"You going to eat that?" asks the cabby when they're back on the road again and Draco hasn't even tried a bite. He's watching Malfoy through the rearview again as if he wants to take it from him. Fat and stout, the man offers Draco a slight smile before returning his eyes to the road and picking up the pace.
Malfoy snorts a little through the sneer he's giving the Muggle. "Of course," he says without any real substance, but doesn't lean in. His fingers drum at the side of the sandwich buns and he furiously pushes the tears from his eyes with one free hand so he does not embarrass himself. When he notices that the driver is still looking, he opens his mouth and takes his first bite.
The burger is absolute heaven. Granted, it is a heart attack on bread, but it is so pleasant that Draco doesn't even slightly care. He's almost frozen to the backseat of the car, savoring every single second that the bite is still wet inside his mouth. Almost helplessly, his eyes shut as he continues to chew it. It's an absolute disappointment when he feels the massive chunk of his bite slide down his throat and, when he opens his eyes again, he is humiliated to find that his vision is fogged over by more tears.
"Bit of an emotional meal, is it, kid?" the cab driver asks. Malfoy's head snaps up again, his blond hair still an absolute mess. Red, he stares back at the driver, who wears a look of humored concern wrinkled across his face. "Been driving a taxicab for seventeen years now, and I've never seen a person shed tears over a fast food burger before. You're the first, mate." Scoffing, Draco turns away from the mirror to fold his burger back up within the crumpled wrappings; he does not want to embarrass himself any further and instead opts upon finishing his meal later in the afternoon when he can be alone.
Stuffing the wrapped burger back into the fast food brown bag, Draco gives a reluctant sigh and presses his blond head against the car's glass window. He breathes out slowly, only just to steady himself, and waits to gain composure. When the man in the front clears his throat, he still does not open his eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you," says the Muggle and Malfoy doesn't say a word.
In truth, he doesn't know what to think about Muggles anymore, since he has wasted so much of his life loathing them. However, with the War done and over with, Draco sees such detest only fractionally different. They're only ignorant, Muggles. He neither loves nor hates them. Only, they remind him of the Death Eaters all over again and a sharp pain at his forearm makes him reconsider the Dark Mark that has not truly begun to fade yet. It's strange now, being in Muggle England and, in turn, being surrounded by the lot of them. Without his wand, the Ministry has done a fantastic job with making him feel like one of them. Thus, exhausted, Draco remains silent. He does not answer the cabby and his ind wanders back to the burger in the bag at his side. He thinks, stupid man; all he'd wanted to do was have a bite to eat.
Nonetheless, the taxi driver clears his throat again. He smoothly turns a corner in the road and sniffs disgustingly a collection of snot in his nose. "Where'd you say you were going again?" he asks Draco, as if he is trying to clear the air.
"Boulstridge."
The very moment he says it, the cab swerves. Fumbling, the cab driver reaches over to the radio and spins the dial down as if he has not heard his passenger correctly. Then, swallowing, he regards Draco curiously, his eyes scrambling all over him from his minute view at the mirror. "The Boulstridge?" he asks, daunted, "the prep school?"
Ignoring the fact that his pale cheek is stuck against the back seat's window, Draco nods up and down as if his destination truly is no big deal.
"The school with all those murders taking place?" chokes the cabby. The car makes another harsh jeer and Draco's head is lifted from the glass only to be slammed back against it in the process. The cabby isn't even looking at the road anymore. He doesn't care that his carelessness has cased Draco a slight head injury and has plummeted his sandwich bag to the ground. Instead, his eyes are wide and owl-like. He's gaping and unbelieving. His knuckles on the steering wheel, they're almost ghostly white.
Begrudgingly, Draco reaches down to whisk his food up from the floor. He peers into the bag, almost crushed to find that the burger has unwrapped itself. There's sloppy lettuce all over the place. The delicious burger looks as if it has been completely massacred. "That's the one," Draco responds.
"Now why on earth would you want to go there?" asks the driver, his large chin bobbing up and down as he questions him. His face is pale and white. Something about his demeanor makes Draco think that, for a second, he desires to turn back.
Draco shoots his driver a heated look, thrusting the bag of food next to him bitterly. "Well," he says after a short while, "if you must know, I'm going to school there."
The cabby regards Draco carefully before breaking out into a smile. His face turns vibrant instantly, a warm glow of bright red overtaking his features. And then he's laughing. He laughs so hard that spit flies out from his mouth. He pounds against the dashboard and jolts against the seatbelt. His eyes water up and he makes an absolute spectacle of himself. When he's finally done with his fit, he turns around, glancing over his shoulder to say, "well it was nice knowing ya', mate!"
His laughter starts up again and Draco's face forms into a desolate scowl. It's as if the Muggle driver can't get enough of it, either. He's in the front trying to speak through his words, waving newspapers that have been collected in the front seat back at Draco as if to prove his point. "I'm surprised," he says after a while, "they haven't shut down the school! The dean is getting a hell of a lot of backlash about it, you know." Then, in between hiccups, the cabby tells him, "I'd lock my dorm room at night if I were you, pal."
Scoffing, Draco bends over to collect his things. He lifts the luggage onto the seat next to him with a slight huff and narrows his eyes. "Thanks for the advice," he hisses sarcasticaly.
Regaining himself, the cabby does a double take. It's obvious that he has not meant to offend Draco. Nonetheless, he smoothes out the front of his jacket and wipes the tears from his eyes as he maneuvers the car to the left. Draco can see it, the lovely school in sight. "Err..." chokes the cab driver, "sorry, mate. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."
The rest of the cab ride is taken in silence. Draco doesn't look at the newspaper and he certainly doesn't look at the cab driver. Instead, he regards himself in the reflection of the backseat window. Looking into it, Draco studies his appearance. He's worn and exhausted from the plane ride, but he's happy to find that he doesn't look like an inmate any longer. And, to top it all off, he doesn't really mind what clothes they've given him. In all honesty, it makes him feel nice to wear anything besides his dirty old prison clothes. And he's looking almost strangely presentable, too. He wears a gray sweater over a pressed white button up. The black tie around his neck makes him blend in and he almost appears proper. He'd slipped on a pair of dark trousers and polished leather shoes earlier in the morning. For the first time in a long time, he's not completely disgusted about the way he looks.
Breathing in, Draco smoothes his shaggy blond hair behind his ears. It's getting long now and it falls just an inch below his earlobes. In the front it dangles stubbornly and mingles in to his glossy gray eyes. He's not worried about how he'll do at the school. Rather, all he can think about is the way in which everything feels so much nicer outside of Azkaban. He never, ever wants to go back. And even, when the car slows to a halt, Draco's in too much of a thought to realize that they've even arrived. It takes a moment and the cabby to lean back with his hand outstretched for Draco to come to. "Here you are, kid," the driver says to him, wriggling his fingers to hint for his fee, "here's your school."
Malfoy reaches into his pocket and pulls out what he owes. He says nothing when he piles out of the cab, leaving his destroyed hamburger in the backseat for good measure. He stumbles out of the car to place his feet on the solid ground. The wind around him picks up and its like nothing he's ever felt before. Everything is so perfect and its almost pathetic. Draco smells the fall so clearly, senses everything so easily. It's definitely not Hogwarts, but its definitely not Azkaban and the thought makes Draco's knees feel weak and useless. He gives the school a quick look around to make sure that the Ministry men have not followed him. There's no one- not a soul. He, Draco Malfoy, has been left alone.
For a second he thinks about making a break for it before coming to the conclusion that he really would have no place to go. Draco does not want to live a life hiding out amongst the Muggles and, instead, he decides that he'll do his job at Boulstridge if it means his freedom in the Wizarding World thereafter. His mother needs him and it is enough to keep him going, just the mere thought of it. He'll do whatever it is he has to do and get out of Boulstridge as soon as he can. Thus, Draco steers his feet into action, ignoring the cabby who yells out the window, "have a good year, son!" before speeding off around the spread eagle fountain and off into the distance.
And then he too breathes in to make his way up the grand steps to the pretty, magnificent school. But despite the spoiled burger and the sadistic cab driver, Draco is merely certain of one thing. Though for now it is only temporary, he is so glad to be free.
Vonne: I feel like I'm on a roll with updating lately, huh? Please let me know what you think of the third chapter. I'd love to know all your thoughts and critiques. I do really read them all!