Author's Note: It's Wednesday! Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 4: Shopping

Draco did find that putting milk on the cereal helped improve its flavor somewhat, and he looked around the flat. He supposed there wasn't anything else for it-the place might be a little more comfortable once he unpacked. Salazar, that was a depressing thought. Unpacking-as if he actually was going to live here for the next 12 months. Only an instinct not to betray his emotions led him to suppress the shudder he felt at that thought, not that there was anyone around to see it if he hadn't. Without magic, he wasn't even important enough for the Ministry apes to spy on him. They were content to leave him sitting alone in this shoebox of a flat.

With nothing else to do but stare at the television, he returned to his bedroom and began unpacking his trunk. It was rather tedious, but in the end is clothes were all put away. There had been only so much that he had time to grab when those damned Aurors had taken him to the Manor. He looked distastefully at all of the wrinkles in them. The house-elves always managed to pack his things perfectly enough that there was never a wrinkle when he unpacked.

He looked ruefully at his favorite robes-a dashing cut in Slytherin green with trim the same color as his eyes. He was certain they'd never looked so disheveled before. Admittedly, he wouldn't be going out in his robes any time soon. He could go to the Leaky Cauldron, but he wouldn't be able to get into Diagon Alley without someone else's help. He wondered if the shops there would even admit him. Had his sentence been publicized as a warning to others?

Maybe today he would buy Muggle clothes. He didn't relish the idea of putting on the same one's he'd already worn twice again, but he'd learned there was nothing to be gained (except comfort) from going out dressed in his own clothes. The physical comfort of his robes however paled when compared with the mental discomfort from the looks he got on the streets. He got dressed with that in mind.

He wondered if Granger was home to show him where the shops were. She probably had a job. Draco wondered if he might need to go get one of those himself. Whatever Muggles could do surely couldn't be that difficult, but it was probably laborious, like that whole business of washing his own dishes.

He grabbed his keys and went across the hall to knock on Granger's door, half expecting her not to answer.

To his surprise, it only took a moment for Granger to answer the door. She stood there in baggy pants and a t-shirt far too large for her. "Malfoy."

"Granger." He waited a moment before adding, "I need Muggle clothes."

She stood there with her arms crossed in front of her, waiting for him to continue.

He almost growled. "Are you really going to make me ask?"

She shook her head and gestured for him to come inside. She started talking as she walked into the room, not looking at him. "I have some more Muggle clothes you could have if you want them."

Draco looked around the room and settled himself standing behind the couch, leaning on it with his elbows. "I was planning to buy new ones."

She paused at the door to her room and turned to look at him. "If you want me to come with you I'll be dressed in a moment." She closed the door behind her.

He waited for her, and true to her word, she was out a moment later in pants and a sweater. She grabbed her bag as she passed the table. Wordlessly, they left the flat.

It wasn't long before Granger helped him buy an Oyster card for the underground and they made their way onto the appropriate train. It was a small plastic card-he couldn't fathom why it would possibly be called an Oyster card, but there it was, printed right on the front. Apparently underground trains were one of the bits that the television had gotten right. Draco didn't bother grabbing onto the rail and nearly lost his balance as it lurched into motion.

There was a twitch at the corner of Granger's mouth that might have been a smirk or a smile, but he decided to ignore it and she merely said. "Better hold on."

He was feeling rather sick from the smell and motion by the time they saw daylight again and went into a shop. He looked at the racks upon racks of pants and shirts on one side and the larger selection on the other side featuring pants, shirts, shorts, dresses, and various miscellaneous pieces of clothing.

"Where's the attendant? Where do I get measured?"

Granger shook her head. "You don't have the budget for a store like that. These are all ready-made, you just try things on and see what fits."

He stalked through the racks, looking at the items. He saw plaid shirts, striped shirts, a hideous polkadot thing, plain shirt, shirts with buttons, t-shirts. There were stiff jeans, black slacks, trousers, and baggy shorts. He muttered under his breath, "Robes are more comfortable." He looked at the tags, and Hermione helped him make a guess at what his sizes might be.

"You'll just have to try them on," she finally said, pushing her ever expanding hair away from her face.

She pointed him off in the direction of the changing rooms and took a seat on one of the chairs outside.

Draco close the curtain and found a hook to hang the clothes on. He took off his shoes and struggled out of the jeans he was wearing and into a pair of gray slacks and a shirt. He looked around at the mirror in front of him. "How am I supposed to know if these dratted things fit?"

Granger sounded bored on the other side of the curtain. "Well, come out and I'll tell you if they fit."

Sighing, Draco pushed open the curtain and came out. "Well?"

"Well?" she responded. "Turn around."

Feeling as though he were out shopping with his mother, he turned around. "Do they fit?"

"They look like it. Try on the jeans."

Draco proceeded to try on the rest of the clothes he'd gotten and most of it seemed to fit fairly well. He wasn't sure about the jeans-they just seemed too fitted, but Granger assured him that's how they were supposed to fit. If he didn't know better, he might have thought Granger was using the opportunity to stare at his ass, but when he had looked again, she was looking down and commenting on the length of the cuff.

Laden with his bags, Granger led him on to another store where he purchased a few towels and rags. Over a late lunch, he suggested she shrink the bags down for him or at least make them weightless.

She refused.

"I'll help you carry some of them, but I'm not charming them. Wasn't there supposed to be a point to this whole spending a year without magic thing?" she asked, eating her Caesar salad.

He looked up from his own plate. "Come on, Granger, you can't be serious. There is no sense in working harder when we don't have to."

"But that's just it, you do. And it's not going to harm you. It's not like you're carrying sacks full of books." The truth was, knowing he didn't have a large budget, she'd encouraged him to buy cheap but functional pieces and not go overboard on the quantity.

Draco's sullen mood lasted all the way back through the underground and almost to their building. Granger broke the silence by asking, "What are you going to do the rest of the day?"

"Probably watch the television or whatever else it is Muggles do." He sneered, but it was without malice, just a bit of boredom, perhaps a shade needier than he would have liked to admit.

She laughed, though it was bit hollow. "Well, you could always get a job," she said, passing him his bags as they got to their doors. "Most people do get up and go to work every day."

He leaned against his door. "Do you? You're home every time I knock." He quirked an eyebrow. "Or am I the job? Is the Ministry paying you to babysit me?" That was a thought he hadn't considered until now, but it made sense. Even Granger probably wasn't selfless enough to help him voluntarily. Was she?

Granger snorted, leaning against her own door and shaking her head. "No, I don't have a job at the moment. I'm...I'm still trying to process things." She bit her lip, not quite able to continue in that vein. "I'd like to get an apprenticeship with Damocles Belby. I'm trying, but apparently he wants all sorts of references before he'll even consider anyone."

Draco blinked. "I know that name."

"Well, he invented the Wolfsbane potion."

He would have waved his hand dismissively, but he realized it was still holding the rather heavy bags and all he managed to do was twitch them and feel a bit of pain in his wrist. "No, I know him from somewhere else. I think he might have been friends with my parents."

A light flickered in her eyes.

"I've been ordered not to Owl anyone. My mother has gone to the continent and my father will never be a free man again." He left the words hanging in the air for a moment before adding, "She always admired smart people, Granger. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."

She nodded. "I'll do that." She paused. "Is there anything I can say to her for you?"

He could feel the handles of the bags digging into his palms. "Tell her I'm fine. Remind her to make sure that she spends some time outdoors, under an umbrella. She burns, but the fresh air is good for her."

A door at the end of the corridor opened. "You two kids are making too much of a racket. I have the night shift and I need to get my rest. Go inside and shut the door behind you!" shouted a rather cantankerous older woman.

"Sorry, Ms. Gravis." Granger turned back to Draco. "She works the night shift down at the hospital. I guess I'll go in. I'll be here from now until hell freezes over," she offered, unlocking her door and going in. "Goodbye," she said over her shoulder.

"Goodbye." He fumbled with his bags to try to reach his keys and ended up having to drop the bags to get inside. He growled in irritation and picked them up again, shouldering the door open. He hadn't thought of her much the past few days. Mostly he'd only thought to how much his circumstances bothered him and how wounded he felt by the world at large. He had shoved his mother's circumstances out of his mind. She was in another country where she knew few people, and there was a good chance that those she did know wouldn't associate with her now. French was not her first language, though she spoke it well enough. Her husband was in jail, and she probably didn't know what had happened to her son. Or did she? Had his sentence been in the paper? Or had anyone informed her? He wasn't sure which would be more nerve-wracking for her, not knowing her son's fate, or knowing that he was going to have to survive in a world he was utterly unprepared for and in which most of his skills would be useless.

He busied himself a while putting his clothes and towels away and carefully removing the tags. He changed out of his borrowed Muggle clothes and into his favorite robes, comfortable for the first time all day. He checked the food and water levels in his owl's bowl.

He hated to admit it, but he was grateful that Granger would be checking in on his mother. His mother had always been good to him. She didn't deserve to be fretting needlessly. He'd survive. He was a Malfoy; Malfoys always survive. He turned on the television and stared at it listlessly. Did Muggles really do this all day? Maybe the next time he saw Granger he'd borrow some books from her.

Hermione sat at her kitchen table, stroking Athena. The owl blinked at her with a sleepy affection. It was nice to have someone around who cared about her. She sighed and took out parchment, ink, and a quill. She found herself keeping a stock of wizarding supplies and Muggle supplies. For writing to Narcissa Malfoy, a nice cream colored piece of parchment seemed more appropriate than tearing a sheet of lined paper out of a spiral notebook and scribbled with a #2 pencil.

She turned her attention back to the parchment, not quite sure how to start.

August 3, 1998

Dear Narcissa Malfoy,

My name is Hermione Granger. I'm not sure we were ever really properly introduced, but I'm sure you know who I am as much as I know who you are. I'm not really sure where to start.

I wanted to let you know that your son is all right. The Wizengammot sentenced him to a year without magic. He lives in the flat across from mine. He's eating regularly and I think he's adapting, though I can't say he likes it. He misses you and asked me to remind you to spend some time outside, but stay out of the sun. He got some Muggle clothes today and he's learning how to cook a little. He really is adapting remarkably well.

Draco mentioned today that he thought you were acquainted with Damocles Belby. I'm hoping to secure an apprenticeship with him and I was wondering if you might be willing to make an introduction. I understand if you're not; you don't know me well, and I probably don't have any business asking, but if it makes a difference, one of the reasons I want to apprentice myself to him is to learn how to brew the Wolfsbane potion and give it away to werewolves who need it. I've looked at the recipe, but the side effects of brewing it wrong are severe enough that it doesn't bear risking making it without proper instruction.

I know this will be a difficult year for you, and for Draco, but I'm here if there's anything I can do for either of you.

Yours Truly,

Hermione Granger

She stared at the letter. Seeing the word "Draco" looked strange on the page, but she figured it would be less awkward for Narcissa to read than seeing her son simply referred to as "Malfoy." She read it over again, checking to see if there was anything that she needed to change. The letter seemed to ramble a bit, but she didn't think she could phrase anything any better than it already was, so she let it be. She sealed the letter with a bit of wax. She had a stamp with a lion rearing on it's hind legs and hesitated a moment before pressing it into the warm wax. She printed the woman's name across the front.

She took some twine and put a small hole near the corner of the page, tying it to Athena's leg. She took gave her a treat and stopped off at the water bowl before letting her out of the window.

She thought about how she'd brewed that Polyjuice potion in her second year. Even as new as she was to potion making, she'd brewed it perfectly. Ron and Harry's transformations had been perfect. Her own transformation hadn't gone wrong because of the potion-just the hair she'd put in it. All the same, she knew she was lucky that she hadn't ended up with worse than a little time in the hospital over that incident. If she was going to brew Wolfsbane and give it away to people who needed it, she couldn't risk their lives. Sighing to herself, she settled down to start reviewing her NEWT level potions book.

Author's Note: I'm sorry I had to send Draco shopping, I know it's been done to death...but he needs Muggle clothes, right? Right.