TITLE: And You Thought a Top Floor Could Replace Heaven
AUTHOR: Aviatrix
PAIRING: none
RATING: R for language and innuendo
SUMMARY: After the war, Hannah Abbott runs into Draco, who isn't quite Draco anymore.
DISCLAIMER: Rowling's, blah blah blah. Entertainment only, blah blah blah. Don't sue, blah blah blah.
A/N: Written for a challenge by Liebling. Titled after the song of the same name by City of Caterpillar.
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"Draco...Draco Malfoy, is that you?"
He turned around. There was a blonde girl in front of him, her arm half-raised in greeting, a quizzical look on her face. She looked familiar (obviously she's familiar, he thought. She knows who I am, she knows who I am), but he couldn't quite place her. Anna something?
"Draco, what are you doing here?" She was smiling a little nervously now, not-quite-panic rising in her eyes. Draco is the boy who killed the Boy-Who-Lived, and she knows that if this is him then she's in danger too. She held her purse a little closer to her body, and in a pocket, her hand fingered what must have been a wand.
"I'm sorry. You must have me confused with someone else, Ma'am."
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Abbottt.
Her name was Hannah Abbottt. Hufflepuff. He had a hazy memory of a frantic little girl with pigtails and chocolate frog cards, nervous and, well, Hufflepuff.
He knows that she's Hannah, but he's not so sure that he's Draco anymore. The "Malfoy" was quickly lost after the war, down in the backstreets where they don't ask your name and what you were doing when Voldemort was killed. They don't care why this boy with expensive, ripped clothing and an upperclass accent is working in a dirty-neon club, waiting and fucking and lighting other people's cigarettes.
They don't care. He doesn't care. The bad guys lost the war, his father is dead (along with all the rest of the Malfoys and Crabbes and Parkinsons and Goyles and everyone else he cared about), he is alive and alone and his name and heritage are locked safely away.
His coworkers call him "Blondie". His customers just wink and nod, and for 10 galleons each they can call him whatever they want.
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"I'm sorry, it's just... You...you look just like...like someone I went to school with, once."
He shrugged. "I'm not him, Ma'am."
Her expression said that she still didn't believe him, but still she shook her head and, with a final look, turned and started to walk away.
"You were with him, weren't you, Ma'am?" he called out after her.
She stopped dead in her tracks, and tilted her head over her shoulder. "With who?" she asked in a choked voice.
"Him. Potter. You were going out with him. When he, you know. Died."
She turned halfway around, and drew her arms tightly across her chest. Barely audible, she whispered through her teeth: "What's it to you?"
Draco pulled a pair of ugly black-plastic National Health glasses out of his pocket, and held them up for her to see. "Polyjuice session, 10 galleons. I've been told I do an excellent Potter."
She laughed, a short disbelieving bark. "Fuck you, Draco," she said, and walked quickly away.
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end
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