Chapter 25.

Back home.

December 1998

Draco POV.

"Look! It's Draco Malfoy! Is it true that he took the Dark Mark shortly before the war?"

He tensed as the hissing whispering voice reached his ears, while he was browsing Flourish and Blott's for new and interesting books. He had ventured out to buy a Christmas present for Narcissa, and it had to be something an owl could carry, as she was still recuperating in Romania. For some reason whispering carried surprisingly well through the store, despite the tacky Christmas music and quiet conversations. He lifted his eyes from the cover of the book he was holding, and spotted the source of the whispering, which was a boy with his mother.

"Hush," the mother half whispered. "He might hear us."

You're absolutely right about that, bitch!

Then the plump woman straightened her spine, turned her head and glared at Draco, while she continued talking in a louder voice.

"But you're quite right, my boy. Draco Malfoy is a known Death Eater, and if there was any justice left in the world, he would be rotting away in Azkaban right now instead of roaming the streets."

His first reaction was one of profound shame. He burned with humiliation from being exposed as a former Death Eater in front of everyone at the shop. He did not belong here; he should have stayed at home instead of ruining other people's Christmas by reminding them of the war by his mere presence. But then anger swelled up in him. He had done nothing to offend anyone, had only been minding his own business, yet some people felt compelled to treat him like a pariah, even though he had been tried at a Wizengamot Hearing and found not guilty. His expression hardened and trembling with fury he abruptly put the book back onto the shelf. If he stayed just one more minute in the shop, he would end up hexing the menace of a woman and that busy-body son of hers into oblivion, and that would send him straight into Azkaban, which everyone in the Wizarding community quite obviously thought would serve him just right.

He strode out of the shop sneering, "And a good day to you too, madam," to the plump woman and her son.

Still seething, he walked briskly down Diagon Alley. The nerve of that woman, insulting him like that in public! He reached the end of the Alley and entered a neighbouring Muggle street, which looked mostly abandoned with several closed stores and graffiti on the walls. Halfway down the street was a battered red telephone box, which he stepped into. The telephone box took him to the atrium of the Ministry of Magic in less than a minute. From the atrium he took a lift further down to level two and marched down the corridor to the third door on the left side. He pushed the door open dramatically and barged inside.

Blaise lifted his head from a pile of documents at his desk and arched his brow inquiringly. "Draco. What a surprise! Most people have to work at this time of the day!"

"I can't stand it any longer! It's the fifth time this week I've had random people insulting me openly into my face, when all I do is minding my own business."

Blaise pushed his chair back and paid full attention to his friend. "Try to calm down, Draco! Give it time. In a year or two the war will slide into the background and they will forget about your role in it."

"TWO YEARS! If this continues for two years, I'm going to snap, and it won't be pretty." Draco roared.

"By Salazar, stop yelling. Where are your manners?!" Blaise hissed, and closed the door behind Draco with a flick of his wand.

Draco took a calming breath and continued in a softer voice. "It's just that... I feel like a villain most of the time because of the war and the things I did... And being confronted with it every day... I just can't..."

"What do you plan on doing then?" Blaise said, rubbing his forehead.

"I want to live in the Muggle world. I lived in Muggle London for about a month before the Battle of Hogwarts, and it wasn't so bad. I was raised to believe that the Muggle world was horrible and depraved, but in all honesty it's quite harmless, aside from the many non-magical machines. And more importantly, nobody knows me."

"I think you're romanticizing Muggles a bit. As far as I remember from Muggle studies, there were two World Wars earlier this century; not to mention the Salem Witch Trials."

"Nobody's perfect," Draco replied dryly and continued. "Anyway, living amongst Muggles can't be worse than the things I experience daily. Judged by the amount of hatred and contempt I face; I'm convinced that someone will throw an avada in my direction in a near future."

"Are you going to leave the Wizarding World for good?" Blaise asked, his shoulders slumping.

Draco shook his head. "No, no, nothing that drastic. I have no intention of actually becoming a Muggle, I just want some peace and quiet, and I don't want to subject myself to derogatory comments on a daily basis. I can't live in Diagon Alley any longer!"

Since he returned from Romania last month, he had stayed at a small flat in Diagon Alley above Madam Malkin's. The Malfoy family fortune and the Manor were still confiscated by the Ministry, and despite Blaise's efforts to speed up the legal procedures, it could take several years before he gained access to his ancestral home again. How ironic that his own trial was conducted less than two months after the demise of the Dark Lord but regaining his home and his fortune would drag on forever.

"I'm going to look for a flat somewhere in London, but I could really use some help figuring out the tenancy agreement and setting up a monthly payment," he said hesitantly.

Blaise sighed deeply. "I would love to help, but wouldn't it be better to have someone Muggle-born assist you? I'm as unfamiliar with Muggle customs as you are."

"I'm not exactly popular amongst the Muggle-born, and you of all people should know that," he spat.

"No need to get angry, I'm just trying to help. What about Granger? She owes you one, after you rescued her from the Manor."

Though several months had passed, the memories of the frilly haired witch still felt like being stabbed repeatedly in the chest. The short yet intense time they spent together. The intimacy they shared. Her hazel eyes filled with betrayal as he left her that day in the woods. Every time he remembered, he was flooded by guilt.

Closing his eyes, he said. "Considering the entire situation at the Manor back then, I don't think she owes me that much. Furthermore, she has sort of vanished into thin air. Nobody knows where she is, or if they do, they're not telling me. I wanted to make sure she was all right when I returned from Romania, but she's just… gone."

Blaise studied him closely and said: "I'll help you then to the best of my ability. But right now, I have got to prepare for a meeting in court. Could we do it tomorrow afternoon?"

"Thank you! You're the best! And I apologize for barging in on you like that; I've taken up too much of your time already."

"No problem. And Draco, you should really consider finding something to do, a job, that is. I know that Malfoys tend to think that something as mundane as a day job is way below them, but it can really do wonders for one's mental health to have something useful to do every day. From my own experience I know that it leaves you with less time to ruminate."

Draco curled his lips into a lopsided smile. "As a matter of a fact I do need to find a job within the next months, depending on the length of Narcissa's in Romania. So, you might get your way with me soon."

Blaise tensed and gazed at him with dark, almost hungry eyes.

"See you tomorrow then," Draco said and left Blaise's office, closing the door behind him, careful not to slam it. After having calmed down somewhat, he was a bit embarrassed about his theatrical arrival.

He didn't hear the dark and handsome wizard murmur to himself: "Way too deep into the friendzone," as he put his head in his hands with a sigh.

(*)

Less than two weeks later he moved into a tiny flat in the suburbs of London, right next to a subway line. All though it was a rough neighbourhood with lots of graffiti, broken windows and burned cars, he felt safe by being anonymous. The subway line was noisy as hell, which took some time getting used to. However, it was a big improvement from fearing an avada most of the time. Blaise had wrinkled his nose in disgust when he first laid his eyes on the flat and the surroundings, but it was the only affordable place he could move into on such a short notice.

At Christmas day he was slouching in his armchair studying his small pile of gifts while nursing a bottle of Fire Whiskey. It was late in the afternoon, and outside it was already getting dark due to the heavy grey clouds and the drizzling rain. He was not in the mood for seasonal celebrations. Blaise had stopped by a couple of hours earlier to exchange gifts and had repeatedly tried to talk Draco into joining him and Mrs. Zabini for Christmas dinner. Draco had likewise declined repeatedly, politely at first, but in the end he had almost thrown a tantrum to make Blaise shut the fuck up about the very tasty roasted turkey, that the house elves were preparing or about how sad it was to be alone on this particular evening. At last Blaise gave up, and took his leave, hissing "Suit yourself!"

Draco planned to get pleasantly buzzed, to make this horrible day disappear as quickly as possible, and he would not want to subject neither Blaise nor his mother to his brooding thoughts and moodiness. No need to ruin Christmas for everyone else.

A small voice in the back of his brain questioned the rationality of consuming alcohol when he was sad and alone. After all, the Medi-Wizard had warned him, that he was more susceptible to developing an addiction after his intake of Serene Pacifier last summer. But he quenched said voice, convincing himself that it was only to get through Christmas with its memories of his lost relatives and friends.

Narcissa was unable to make it home to England this year. Even though she was doing much better, both mentally and physically, than when they arrived in Romania last autumn, she still did not feel strong enough to travel so far and, more importantly, face everyone back home. And even though he missed her like crazy on this time of year, he was relieved that she chose to stay in Romania. If she had to face just a tiny bit of the hatred and disdain thrown his way, it would set her back several months.

By Salazar, he missed the people he had lost so very much today. His throat tightened as he remembered the many Christmases as a child, when Lucius made the entire Manor sparkle with silvery witch light, which made it look ethereal and otherworldly, like a fairy-tale castle. He missed the old blood purist so very much, notwithstanding his cruel disciplining at times, and the fact that his ideas of the world had been severely misguided. And yet he was also angry with his father for dragging the entire family into the bloody Death Eater business, angry that he took the cowards way out when everything went south, leaving Draco alone to deal with the mess he left behind. And finally, he was heartbroken, that his father obviously did not love him enough to want to stay alive for his sake.

He pondered the loss of his godfather as well. He knew that people considered Severus' death heroic and though he admired the courage of his late godfather, he would honestly much rather have had him alive as a villain than dead as a hero. Severus had always been more sensible than Lucius, more pragmatic and capable of seeing things from every angle before deciding what to do. Looking back, he realized that Severus had always had Draco's best interests at heart, even in complicated matters, for instance in his suicidal task of killing professor Dumbledore.

Already feeling a bit tipsy, he decided that it was time to open his Christmas presents. With a wry smile he reached for a gift wrapped elegantly in shiny black wrapping with silver ribbons. Only Blaise would wrap a gift so ostentatiously. Inside was a black silk shirt and a book. He chuckled as he read the title: "Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles by Vilhelm Wigworthy. Then he reached for the next gift. This one was from Narcissa and it contained a pair of silver dragon cufflinks and a letter, with his mother's elegant handwriting:

My beloved son!

Thank you for not giving up on me, when I had lost all hope and will to live. I am currently feeling better than I have for many years. The mountain air and physical activity does wonders for my health. Mr. Weasley thinks that I have a natural talent for care of magical creatures. Since last month I have been responsible for the orphaned dragon cubs, and though it is hard work, it is also very giving. I am truly sorry that I could not celebrate Christmas with you. Blaise told me he would invite you tonight, which is probably a lot more fun than spending an evening with your old mother. Will you send my love to Blaise and his mother?

Narcissa Malfoy.

How ironic that he paid a large amount of money every month just so they could use Narcissa as a simple manual worker. He ought to have a discount, really. But anyway, it was an incredible relief that she continued to mend, there was a time when he had been certain he had lost her for good.

Feeling melancholic, he inspected the cufflinks. They were stylish and elegant, just like Narcissa, but they also reminded him that his closest family was almost a continent away. He still needed to open the gift from Theodore Nott. Theo had moved to New York shortly after the war and was pursuing a career as a magical device inventor. The war had been tough on him as well. Having lost his father during the Battle of Hogwarts, he was now entirely without parents at the young age of nineteen, but in his letters, he seemed happy with his new life in New York.

A loud roaring sound emerged and the floor and the furniture of his flat started shaking. It lasted for a few seconds, as a subway train passed by. And then a realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.

Hermione is in danger!

Despite having consumed about half a bottle of Fire Whiskey, he felt instantly sober, and his skin started prickling.

He had to do something! He had to help! But where was she? He jumped out of his chair and paced up and down the living room, his chest constricting. Knowing someone he cared for (albeit secretly) was in danger and being unable to do anything, was utterly unbearable.

He had to speak to Potter. He did not for one second believe that Potter was unaware of Grangers whereabouts since the end of the war. Damn it, this was the worst possible time to try to get a hold of Potter, right now he was probably celebrating Christmas at the Burrow amongst the entire Weasley family. But it could not be helped; he had to make sure that Granger was all right.

Almost pacing a hole in the floor, he tried to come up with a strategy. At first, he would try to fire-call Harry at Grimmauld Place. If he was lucky, he would catch him alone.

Bloody fucking hell!

It suddenly dawned on him that one of the major disadvantages of living in a Muggle flat was the lack of a magical fireplace. Well at least it was entirely dark outside now and thus easier to disapparate unseen. Grabbing his coat, he left the flat, went down the stairs and onto the street, which was usually busy, but unusually quiet on this particular night. After a short walk, which sobered him further, he found a secluded spot in a back alley, from where he could disapparate.

Apparating while inebriated was generally a bad idea, and while the fresh air had cleared his head somewhat, he was still intoxicated. The pull of apparition made him dizzy and had him retching in a nearby dustbin after arriving.

Diagon Alley was entirely empty, and the vast amount of twinkling Christmas ornaments spewing out Christmas carols made the street feel eerily abandoned. Everyone was obviously busy spending time with their families, having the traditional Christmas dinner. Everyone, but him.

After taking a moment to pull himself together, he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, wished the innkeeper Tom a merry Christmas, and asked if he could use the Floo to make a fire call? He was the only customer now.

"Go ahead," Tom said, gesturing towards the fireplace.

He went to the fireplace in the corner, threw in a handful of Floo powder, while spelling out "12 Grimmauld Place" in a loud and clear voice.

Shortly after he gazed into a large room with old and severely dusty furniture and heavy yellowish curtains, which obscured the view from the large floor to ceiling windows. The entire room looked gloomy and worn down, a far cry from its former glory as the home of the noble and most ancient House Black. At the opposite wall were the famous Black family tree, which was currently being cleaned by an old house elf with bloodshot eyes and a grim expression.

"Is your master at home?" Draco asked.

The house elf tensed and lifted his head. "Master is not at home. Kreacher is not knowing where he is."

"Okay, thanks" Draco said and returned to the Leaky Cauldron.

With a sigh he threw another handful of powder into the floo while pronouncing "The Burrow".

Immediately he gazed into a crammed and chaotic kitchen, containing a bunch of redheads and a single black-haired bespectacled young wizard. As he cleared his voice to say something, someone started bellowing.

"IT'S THE BLOODY FERRET! WHERE'S MY WAND?! SOMEBODY HAND ME MY FUCKING WAND."

He immediately recognised the voice. It was bloody Ronald Weasley screaming his lungs out at him, and by Salazar he had changed. In fact, he looked quite unwell with heavy bags under bloodshot eyes and long, unkempt greasy hair.

The Weaslette sat across the table, next to Harry, her eyes shooting daggers. "Ron calm down and let the man speak, for Merlin's sake."

Ignoring Ron Draco said. "I'm very sorry to disturb you on Christmas evening, but I need to speak to Potter right away..."

"In private..." he added.

"Really Malfoy?! Today of all days? Can't it wait?" Potter said with a scowl.

"It has to be now! I don't show up here for fun," he said wrinkling his nose in disgust of the chaos that resided in the burrow. "Will you please floo to the Leaking Cauldron, so we can talk?"

Harry sighed wearily. "I'll be there in a minute."

Draco withdrew to The Leaky Cauldron, and shortly after Harry staggered out of the fireplace brushing ashes off his robe.

He faced the blond and said in a clipped voice. "You have my attention. Now, speak!"

Running his hands through his hair in frustration, Draco tried to explain. "I was about to unwrap my Christmas presents when the thought suddenly came to me that Herm... I mean Granger... is in great danger. Or it was more a physical sensation or a sort of hunch, than an actual thought. And I don't know where she is. I tried to find her a couple of weeks ago, to make sure she was all right after the war and all. But no one could tell me anything. I figured that you might know something, given that you are her closest friend."

Harry bit his lower lip. "Sadly no! She's returned to the Muggle world, leaving the wizarding world for good. I don't know where she lives, no-one does."

"After seeing Ron this evening, I think I understand some of her reasons for leaving. Seriously, he looks ghastly. What happened to him?"

"The war happened, I guess... You're not going to make me bad-mouth my best friend, but he's not... well... right now."

The blond paced up and down the floor at the inn. "But what do we do? How can we help her, if no-one knows where she is?"

"And why do you care," Harry said, glaring at him. "The way you left her after rescuing her from the Manor made it quite clear to everyone, that you thought she was beneath you!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose Draco mumbled: "I don't think she's beneath me; in fact, she's too good for me."

"Indeed," the other wizard replied dryly.

None of them spoke for a while, both pondering what to do next. The Leaky Cauldron was still empty, save for the innkeeper Tom, and thus they were able to have a quiet conversation without anyone eavesdropping.

At last Harry broke the silence. "This is an almost impossible task, though no less hopeless than our Horcrux hunt last spring. I would really appreciate it, if you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you now... Scratch that... If you tell anyone about this, anyone at all, even Blaise, I will make your life a living hell. Granger and I write each other occasionally. I know she lives somewhere near London, but I have no clue as to where exactly it is. The situation with Ron wasn't the only reason she left, she had other reasons as well, but those are not my secrets to tell."

He ruffled his hair and continued. "Anyway, I could try to owl her. If she doesn't answer right away, the next step would be searching every Muggle hospital around the capital, provided that she spends Christmas at home."

"Bloody hell," Draco mumbled.

As he contemplated the enormous task that lay ahead of them, a sense of relief washed over him and the heavy feeling in his chest disappeared entirely. It was as if a heavy burden had suddenly been lifted.

The danger had passed.

"It's strange. She's out of danger now. I can't explain how I know but I'm absolutely certain."

Huffing with annoyance Harry said. "Just like that, aye? What is going on Malfoy? If you want to talk to me you can just say so, instead of inventing some elaborate scheme on Christmas evening of all days."

"I swear to you, Potter, I did not invent this. I was absolutely certain that Granger's life was in danger."

"I always presumed that divination was nothing but humbug, but now I know for sure," Harry said with an air of contempt.

Clenching his hands into fists Draco spat, "Never mind, Potter. The next time I have a hunch I will do absolutely nothing about it."

"You reek of Fire Whiskey, maybe you just dipped too deep into the bottle."

"Shut the fuck up Potter!"

"Thanks for ruining my Christmas evening, ferret!" Harry spat, turned around and walked towards the fireplace.

"Sod off, scar face," Draco yelled, as Potter entered the green flames and floo'ed back to the burrow.