Author's Note: Hey everybody! Sorry for the delay. I've been out for the last couple days with bronchitis, a sinus infection, and an ear infection. Clearly I'm an over achiever. Reviews might possibly help speed my recovery?

Anyway, this chapter answers a few questions that people have been asking, about Hermione. Not all of them of course…a girl has to keep some mystery, right? Right.

Chapter 5: Salvation

Draco paced restlessly around his apartment. He'd eaten his cereal and had several cups of tea. He had no desire to stare at the idiot box today. Xavier had come back from another night of hunting and refused to go anywhere near his cage. He'd chosen to make himself comfortable in the bathroom instead. His cage was filthy. It was dearly in need of a scourgifying charm and Draco found himself no longer able to perform one.

He thought about asking Granger for help, but the idea of asking rankled him, particularly when he suspected her response would be the same as it had been yesterday with the bags.

He avoided the cage most of the morning, and decided to try making eggs. He'd tried to do it last night for dinner and ended up with them largely burned and stuck to the bottom of the pan. He'd scraped off what he could and put it on a slice of bread with butter. There was some raw meat in the fridge, but he hadn't quite felt up to tackling that yet. He'd give the eggs another try.

Draco cracked his eggs into a bowl and found himself having to dig through the sliminess to get out a bit of shell he dropped in. He heated the pan and dropped some butter in, watching it melt. He tipped the eggs in and realized with a grimace that he'd missed a piece of the shell. That was going to be an unpleasant surprise in a few minutes.

He pushed the eggs around in the pan with his fork and tried to lower the temperature. It wasn't quite soon enough. Some of the egg was still burned, and stuck to the pan, but a bit more was edible than the night before. Draco ate his eggs and bread, looking out the window. There had to be something out there to do.

He forced himself back into the kitchen and filled the crusted pan with water and put it in the sink, hoping most of the egg would unstick itself. With a grimace, he went back to his bedroom and picked up Xavier's cage. He held it at a little distance from himself, his head turned to avoid the smell and deposited it on the floor of the shower, turning the spray on hot. He prayed it would dislodge the contents of the cage bottom and send them down the drain.

He picked up yesterday's towel-which he'd left conveniently on the floor-and wrinkled his nose. It was still damp and it smelled musty. He certainly wasn't going to use it on his body again. Maybe he'd use it on the cage when it was a little more clear of muck, though if he did that he'd probably have to burn it afterwards.

In the end, he was ultimately forced to get on his knees outside the tub (cushioning his kneecaps on a clean towel), and scrub the bottom of the cage by hand. Once or twice, he thought he might retch. He could imagine how bedraggled he'd look at the moment if he was unfortunate enough to have a spectator. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was on the bathroom floor trying not to vomit as he scrubbed owl droppings out of a cage. No wonder that bloody Auror had laughed at the thought of Draco taking his owl with him into this magic-less exile.

He heaved himself to his feet and scrubbed at his hands in the sink, making sure to get under every nail and in every nail bed until his hands smelled clean. They looked rather pink and raw. When he finally looked up from the basin and into the mirror he realized it was worse than he'd thought. His cheeks were pink from the steam and the expression on his face was extremely unpleasant. It struck him as more Snape-like than Malfoy-esque. He was not calm and collected. He looked repulsed, miserable, and cold. This was not the Draco Malfoy he had cultivated. Where was the brilliant, witty, composed Draco Malfoy he'd striven to be? Surely he had to be more than his magic, didn't he?

He took a deep breath. He was still a Malfoy. He was still a Pureblood. He was still a Slytherin. And above all else, he was still Draco. If he wasn't Draco, he wasn't anything.

With a strength of will that had been lacking the past few days, Draco set to work on himself. He took the cage out of the bathroom and put it near the window in the living room to try to dry. He got a fresh towel and stripped himself, stepping into the shower and trying to wash away everything that was not Draco Malfoy down the drain.

He stepped out and wrapped the fresh towel around his waist. In his room he picked out the best looking slacks and shirt in his closet and put them on. He realized he'd have to learn how to get the wrinkles out. No matter the circumstances he was not, could not, would not be a disheveled person. He was stronger than that.

He combed his hair and put on his shoes.

He was dressed.

He was ready.

For what?

What was he supposed to do now?

He sat at the table and brooded. He needed an action plan.

Draco needed a reason to get up every day. He needed something to do. He needed to remain himself. Who was he? What skills did he have? He began to make a list in his head.

I can fly a broom.

I have a knack for fixing broken spells.

I can brew potions pretty well.

My charms work is pretty good.

My transfiguration isn't bad.

I could probably do herbology if I cared enough to do it.

Of course, all of those involved magic. They weren't going to be much used to him for the next twelve months. What else could he do? He tried to remember the things he did before going to Hogwarts. What did he do before he'd gotten his first wand?

He had taken dancing lessons as a small child. He still knew the steps to a dozen dances he'd rather not know. He was out of practice, except as it applied to fractions of ingredients for potions, but he knew his arithmetic. He could write. He was in good physical shape. Admittedly, he probably couldn't run as fast or as hard now as he could when he'd been on the house team. Spending more than a year away from the pitch cooped up in the Manor hadn't exactly helped his level of fitness.

He looked around the room, hoping something would inspire him to remember some brilliant skill he'd over looked. He certainly wasn't brilliant at cooking-he didn't doubt that if he wanted to, he could eventually become brilliant at it, but he certainly wasn't there yet. He doubted anyone would consider watching television a skill. He could operate the Lumos switches. There was nothing else.

Standing up, he strode toward the door, only just remembering his keys. He knocked on Granger's door. He was surprised to find himself waiting a couple of moments. Where was Granger? Had she gone out? He supposed she must have some sort of life. Parents to see, or Potter, or the Weasels.

He was just about to turn and go back to his flat when the door finally opened to reveal a rather red and puffy eyed Granger standing there. She was in her pajamas, as though she hadn't bothered dressing today. Her hair was inflated to half again it's normal size. Maybe she wasn't the person to ask about this. But who else was there? What would Blaise say if he sent him Muggle post? And if he was even willing to try to send Blaise Muggle post, he'd have to ask Granger how first.

"Hi, Malfoy."

"Granger," he said, nodding. He paused, feeling a little as if he were intruding. Maybe he should go. "Never mind."

"No. Stay. What is it?" They stood on either side of the doorway, both of them attempting to ignore her appearance.

He took a breath and let it out. He composed his face, his voice. He was in control of himself. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys were always in control of themselves. Granger didn't seem to notice the delay. "I'm going to end up smashing something if I stay there all day every day. I need something else to do. I'm going to get a job."

After a moment she blinked. "I can help you figure something out. Let me just get my keys."

Now it was Draco's turn to be surprised. "You're not inviting me in?" He arched an eyebrow.

"I need to get out for a bit. See a different set of walls. Just a moment." She turned and let the door close behind her, leaving Draco in the hallway. She came back a minute later wearing her dressing gown and dropping her keys into the pocket. She had a notebook and pen under one arm.

They went back to Draco's flat and sat at the table. Hermione had the notebook spread in front of her and was making a list of Draco's magical and non-magical talents. He shortly noticed that the list was longer than the one he'd come up with and turned his head to try and read it.

"Good-looking, charming when you need to be, articulate, graceful..." he said, reading aloud the things she'd come up with that he hadn't. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes. "Really, Malfoy. I'd think you'd give yourself more credit than that."

He gave a gentle snort, more of a puff of air out of his nostrils than anything as inelegant as a snort. "Of course I do. What surprises me is that you do."

"I can't believe I left your overwhelming sense of confidence off the list." She let her eyes roll again. "Well, you don't have a university education, and you haven't graduated from any sort of upper school or even lower school that anyone who might hire you would recognize. I assume you want a job in the Muggle world, and you don't want to just go wash Tom's dishes by hand at the Leaky Cauldron?" she asked.

"Merlin, no. Washing the dishes here is bad enough. I couldn't convince you to do them for me, could I?" he asked.

She chuckled, just a little. "You're not that charming. Don't let it go to your head. I think the best fit for a job for you would be for you to be a waiter in a nice restaurant. They tend to prefer to hire attractive people when they can. You're articulate and charming when it suits you-and if you want to stay employed, it better suit you."

He frowned a bit.

"I know you can do it. Smile at people when they come in, pull out the lady's chair for her, take their orders, bring their food."

He gave her a look. "Do I have any other options?"

"Not many. You don't have the experience, education, or connections that would make any offices want you. I suppose you could sell tickets on the underground, but mostly that's done by machine. You-"

He raised his hand to stop her and was surprised when she actually stopped. "I get the point, Granger. I better be on my best behavior because it's all I've got left at the moment."

She shrugged. "It's your best asset just now. You'll develop other skills, but in the meantime...you'll be able to afford to live a little better than you would on just what the Ministry is giving you, though I'm sure it won't be up to Malfoy standards." There was almost a twitch of a smile at her lip. Almost. Then she was back to business. "I'm sure it won't take long to come up with a list of upscale restaurants for you to apply to. The trickier thing is going to be getting you through an interview."

"You already said I'm charming. And any idiot can take orders and bring out food."

She glared at him. "Maybe anyone can carry a plate, but not everyone can do it well or with poise. You sneer at one person and you could be out on your ear. And I already said you're not that charming. If you want to be obnoxious you can work at an all night diner or kebab shop if you'd like and work rotten hours for less money."

He closed his eyes and tried to center himself again. She was right. He generally knew how to get what he wanted, he just needed to be disciplined enough to do it. "Good point."

"We'll have to do some practice interviews to prepare you for questions they might ask. And employers want a want a way to contact you, so we'll have to get you telephone service. Usually people just have phones in their homes, but I hear that mobile phones have gotten more affordable lately and I was actually considering getting one, so I can look into that option. They're supposed to be extremely convenient, and they say in a few years, everyone will be using them. I don't know if I'd really want to be that available all the time though. Granted not many of my friends have phones, so maybe it's a moot point."

Draco noticed that she was chattering along at close to her usual speed and let her chatter on for the moment. It was better than the look that had been on her face when he'd gotten to her door before. All the same, it was slightly weird to see her here in her dressing gown-not that she seemed terribly conscious of it. Which reminded him... "I also need to know how to get the wrinkles out of my clothes," he interrupted.

She paused. "You can borrow my iron if you'd like. I have one, but I don't use it very often. You plug it into the wall-like the TV and the refrigerator-and it heats up. You lay your clothes on a flat surface and push the iron over them."

He nodded. Another task that was laborious, if not difficult, to do the Muggle way. He'd have to get used to it for the time being.

The two of them decided to start on another task-making dinner. Much to Draco's displeasure, Granger insisted on making him touch the raw chicken. "That wasn't that bad, was it?" she asked, when they'd dropped the last slice of raw, pink meat in to the pan.

"It's slimy and it smells funny."

Despite his protests against having to touch the raw meat, it didn't take long for them to put together what ingredients Draco had and cook up something edible. "I have to admit. I don't have a lot of practice at cooking, just the holidays, but I manage," Granger told him, as they sat down.

"It tastes fine," Draco said, thinking it was a considerable improvement over burnt eggs on buttered bread. "I would like to borrow a recipe book if you have one, and maybe take a look at it before the next time I buy groceries."

She nodded. "Excellent idea. I keep trying to come up with new things to make. I'm a bit limited at the moment. I'd love to learn more of my mum's recipes." Her throat hitched just a little and she continued. "I haven't heard back from your mother yet, but I'm sure Athena will be back any day now. It's a long trip across the channel."

Draco nodded in response, not sure how to respond. He had a feeling he was supposed to thank her. He wasn't good at that sort of thing.

The silence stretched a moment, and then Granger stood up. "I'll help with the dishes, but I won't wash them all myself," she offered, getting up and going to the kitchen.

He looked amused and waited a couple of minutes without moving. She stuck her head back out of the kitchen. "Are you coming to help or not? I'm not doing these all myself."

He couldn't help smirking just a bit. He had a feeling he could stay right where he was, and the odds were, all of the dishes would be washed. Or quite possibly she'd lose her temper and smash them. Ah well, probably best to get up. He didn't have enough dishes that he could afford to have any of them smashed. Besides, he'd need her goodwill on this job search. He pushed away from the table and got up to join her, silently drying the dishes as she washed them.

At last, everything was clean. She'd even wiped down the stovetop. She lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes, adding a few comments about phones and restaurants before heading back across the hall for the night.

Draco settled himself on the couch, turning on the television to distract himself, wondering if there was anything else useful he could learn about Muggles from it. He was only half paying attention to the program he was watching when, an hour or so later, there was a knock on his door.

He was only mildly surprised to find Granger standing there. That she would knock and come over on her own was surprising enough, but given that no one else but the Ministry knew he was here, he didn't expect it to be anyone else. "Granger."

She stood there, still in her dressing gown, and barefoot, with a large book in her arms. "I brought the recipe book."

He moved away from the door and she stepped inside. "Thank you." He wasn't used to saying those words.

She went and set the book on the table, looking around as though she hadn't just been in the room a short time before. "I wanted to see if you needed anything else."

"I'm fine."

She bit her lip. "Are you sure? If there's anything you need, or anything I can do, I'll help. I have plenty of time to kill until I start my apprenticeship. I'd really like to start it soon, but like I said, Belby won't see me without the proper letters of introduction, and I don't have those yet, so I've just been spending my time reading old potions books and trying to practice my brewing. After all, I never did take seventh year potions. I didn't have much of a laboratory of any type to really use last year and I'm rather out of practice, you see, and-"

He interrupted her. She was babbling again. "I'll be okay, Granger. Don't you have things to do? People to see?"

Her silence was the only answer he received.

"I'm sure Potter and the Weasel want to see you." He'd already acknowledged no one would want to see him now. He rather doubted Theo or Blaise or Goyle would visit him here and his mother couldn't.

She closed her eyes, holding herself stiff and turning away from him to go back to her flat—just as soon as she could make her feet move.

He noticed that she was oddly silent. What happened to the constantly chattering Granger? Had she been more subdued this week than when they were in school? Well, hadn't they both changed since Hogwarts? He walked around her in a circle until he could see her face. He was genuinely surprised. It was wet. "Did I hit a nerve?" For a wonder he hadn't meant to. He'd certainly meant to do it plenty of times in the past, but not right now. Right now, no matter how much he hated to admit it, she was his only ally. He couldn't afford to isolate her.

She looked at him in surprise, her brow furrowed. Was he trying to be funny? She couldn't read his face. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what, Granger?"

She dug her nails into her palms nearly hard enough to draw blood. "A couple of weeks ago," she swallowed hard. "Ron was..." She couldn't finish the sentence, but the look on her face said it all.

Draco hadn't read anything about that, but from the time his family was placed under house arrest pending their trials he hadn't read the papers or anything. It hadn't seemed as though any good could come of it. "Oh."

She swallowed hard. "So, no. There's no one waiting for me. No one to see."

"Not even Potter?"

She just shrugged. "He's trying to find his own way through this." She couldn't explain anymore than that.

The Weasel was dead and Potter wasn't holding her hand through this? What was wrong with him? Some friend. Admittedly, none of Draco's friends had contacted him since his sentencing. He couldn't even remember any of them appearing at it, though admittedly parts of that day were a blur. He wasn't sure exactly what to do. Granger just stood there, silently leaking tears. He had to do something, not that the floor would suffer any lasting damage from a little salt water. He grabbed her wrist and towed her none too gently to the couch. He sat next to her. "Let's watch the box." He fumbled with the buttons until something came on.

She pretended to be absorbed by whatever ridiculous thing was on the telly until she drifted off to sleep on his couch.

Draco hadn't given the television any more attention than Granger had, but they could both pretend to have something else to think about other than her pain. He'd given her what she wanted. She didn't have to be alone tonight. He realized that the Muggle clothes she'd loaned him days ago must have belonged to the Weasel. Looking at her, most of the blotchiness had gone from her face. Her feet were bare, and she was curled up on a corner of the couch. He didn't have any spare blankets but he went to the bathroom and took his last two clean towels and spread them over her like a blanket. It was something. He flicked the Lumos switch and went to bed, but it was a long time before he fell asleep.

Author's Note: I hinted about Ron in the first chapter...did anyone catch it? More answers about Hermione are coming, I promise. It just might take a little while for her to be comfortable sharing them.