Author's Note: Hi, guys! I'm on my first proper vacation in a year, and you know what that means? Time to write! So I'll post this now, and get to work on the next chapter.

Chapter 14: Surname

Draco groaned. His back ached. One of the dishwashers had been out this evening and he'd been told he was filling in. Not asked. Told.

"What about the tables? Someone's got to clear the dishes."

The assistant manager had stared him down. "There won't be any dishes on the table to clear off if you don't get them washed. Get going!"

Draco had never scrubbed so much in his life. Even with a machine to wash some of it, there was still a good deal that he had to wash by hand, or carry. His back ached from bending down to load and unload it all repeatedly during his shift. He might have been tempted to refuse to do the work, but he'd already seen people fired and held back his usual tendency to argue. He was replaceable. He could be fired, and if he didn't do as he was told, he would be. It was a new feeling for him in life. He'd never been replaceable before. He didn't like it.

He unlocked his door and settled into his armchair. August and September were done. Ten more months and life could go back to normal. That's what he kept telling himself.

It was a load of hippogriff crap.

He might get his magic back. He might get to see his mother again. He might get to move back into the Manor where he belonged. But nothing was ever going to be the same as it had been. The powerful Malfoy family name—the name that had got him anything he wanted at school and should have opened a thousand doors when he left school—now meant nothing but disgrace. His father was in Azkaban. His mother was in exile. And Draco himself was living like a Muggle and washing dishes. Salazar, that was a depressing thought.

No, once he went back to the wizarding world, he might have his magic back, but he'd be in a whole new area of hell. At least he couldn't expect the Muggles to give a flying flobberworm about who he was, or who he was meant to be, but it would be so much worse from wizards. Wizards who ought to be his friends and allies. Wizards who hadn't even tried to reach out to him this summer.

Maybe he'd be better off washing dishes.

He let the melancholy mood settle over him for the rest of the evening, too lethargic to even bother getting up for a mug of wine. He didn't give in to these feelings often. He'd mostly done his best to remind himself that he was acclimating to his circumstances rather well, rising above them, and to keep in mind that it was all only temporary. Granger had it worse—all of her changes recently were permanent. But on a night like tonight, where he was sore and had no potions to take his mind off things, the worst thoughts seemed to take him, and it was like it had been the first few days of his sentence, when he was too filled with self-pity to carry himself with Malfoy pride and do anything useful about his situation.

What good was Malfoy pride going to do him anyway?

It was a vicious circle, and it drug him down as if there was a heavy ball and chain on his ankle.

He needed to do something. Anything. He needed to dig himself out of this pit. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was late, but he doubted Granger was asleep yet. He dialed her number.

"Hello? Malfoy? What's wrong?"

He snorted. "Not much. I should look at something other than my flat. Do want to go find a pub? Get a drink?"

Hermione's voice was uncertain. "I have wine here. We don't have to go out."

"You don't have to come. I just want to go out. See people. Thought you might want to come. Never mind."

"Why don't you come here instead, Malfoy?"

"I said never mind, Granger. I just want to be somewhere else." He hung up the phone. If she didn't want to go, that's fine. He'd go out by himself. Just as soon as he found the energy to get out of the chair.

He was still in his chair a few minutes later when there was a knock at the door. "Malfoy?" came the muffled question.

He sighed. "Come in. You can unlock it yourself."

There was a pause as Hermione performed an unlocking charm and the door opened. She was wearing jeans, and top, and sneakers. He would have already expected her to be in her slippers and dressing gown this time of night. It wasn't as if she never came over in her pajamas—especially early on, when there were days where she couldn't bear to get dressed. There was also a bottle of wine in her one of her hands, and her handbag in the other.

She raised an eyebrow at the way his body has practically melted into the couch. "Yes, you clearly seem eager to go out and see the world." She huffed, and then twitched her lip in half a smile. "Well, I did come prepared."

"I do want to go out," he protested, but the closest he got to getting up was to feebly wave one of his hands.

She shook her head, went to the kitchen for a couple of mugs, and came back to settle herself on the couch. "Rough night at work?"

He took the mug she offered and had a long sip and closed his eyes. "Very." It was unlikely that he'd get out of this chair the rest of the evening.

She waited for him to elaborate.

He cracked an eye open and saw her sitting there expectantly. All his miserable feelings of displacement were on the tip of his tongue. He wondered if she might understand them. Instead he said, "I filled in for Robert tonight. I've never touched so many dishes in my life."

"Oh, manual labor. You poor thing," she said, utterly without sympathy.

He gave her a dirty look and she simply smirked at him.

"C'est la vie."

He changed the subject. He'd found he'd been as introspective as he cared to be for the evening. "How are things going on your quest to get Belby's attention? Any luck?"

"I've visited the Apothecary a few times. And I've written to him. I'm beginning to think it may be time to do something more drastic."

"I say you need to send him an anonymous poisoned muffin basket, and then send him the antidote with your name on it."

"Malfoy! That's horrible!" she said. But if it was so horrible...why was she laughing?

"But it would work."

"It might work," she conceded. "Or it might get me arrested. Thanks all the same, but I'd rather not risk it."

"No sense of adventure," he scoffed.

"Put your mind to thinking of something equally ingenious and slightly less illegal," she challenged.

Draco sipped his wine. "Where is the fun in that?"

Hermione chuckled.

There was a moment of quiet between them. Draco emptied his glass. He finally asked, "Does the permanence of everything ever worry you?" he asked.

"Permanence? There is none. Life is full of change. There is no guarantee that the next day will ever be like the one before. Change is really the only constant in life," she argued.

"You wouldn't argue that you've had some permanent changes in the past year?" he said, a little bitterness creeping into his voice.

She didn't answer right away. "I suppose, some things aren't fixable," she conceded. Her voice got softer. "You're talking about Ron?" When he didn't respond, she continued. "Nothing will bring him back. That is permanent. But it won't hurt this badly forever. It can't. That will change."

"But things can never go back to the way they were, can they?" he persisted, his own future at the forefront of his mind. He'd never grow up to the sort of unspoken position of power and prestige it seemed his father had held as he was growing up. The war, the end of the war, the judgments passed on them; all of that had changed it forever.

"No, they can't," she said firmly. Even a TimeTurner had it's limitations. She had wept bitterly plenty of nights, wishing she could go back at save Ron as they had once saved Sirius. Even saving Sirius had only been temporary—they lost him again two years later.

The silence grew thicker between them, but neither of them moved.

Finally, as if dredged from deep within himself, the words came out of Draco's mouth, and he admitted what had been at the forefront of his mind all evening. "I keep telling myself I don't have it as rough as you do. I'll have my magic, my manor, and my mother back in less than a year." He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. "But when I get them back, nothing will be how it was. Everyone else will have moved on this year. No one will want anything to do with me."

Several emotions flitted over Hermione's face—surprise at his honesty, sympathy at his feeling of displacement. Her features settled on determination. "That's one way to look at it. Here's another: you've got a year to reinvent yourself. Choose who you want to be from this point forward."

"Is that what you're doing? Reinventing Hermione Granger?"

"I suppose you could say we're all reinventing ourselves all of the time. Every day changes us in someway. But yes. I'm working on setting myself up right now, as an individual and not part of a famous trio. As an adult going out to make her mark in the world and not as a student at an institution, who can only hope to parrot back the things she's learned, that other people have created. I think I know who I want to be. Now might be a good time for you to figure out who you want to be. Draco. Not Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater. Not Draco Malfoy, spoiled prince of the Slytherin house. Just Draco, standing on your own."

He stared down into his mug of wine. He'd had enough deep questions and difficult advice for one night. Time for a diversion. He looked up with a wry smile. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"Hearing you say Draco instead of just Malfoy."

She tried the name out by itself instead of with his surname. "Draco. Draco. You've got a bizarre name."

He snickered. "Really? Draco is worse than Hermione? Her-my-oh-nee."

She brushed it off. She'd long since grown used to people making fun of her name. A lifetime ago, she had wished that her parents might have named her Emily or Elizabeth or Jennifer—or anything that someone might be able to pronounce—but over time she'd come to accept it. By comparison to some of the names she'd heard since beginning Hogwarts, Hermione was a perfectly ordinary name. "My parents loved the classics. They found mythology fascinating, just not as profitable as dentistry. Hermione was the daughter of the goddess of wisdom," she said primly. "Why did yours name you Draco?"

"Draco. The dragon."

"Ah, so you were a terror from day one?"

He shook his head. "I was small. A beautiful baby, but small." He hesitated. "My parents never said it to me outright, but I think they were afraid I might not make it. They named me Draco and hoped I'd grow into the strength of my name."

No agreement was ever spoken, but from that night on, they ceased to use each other's surnames when addressing one another.

Hermione was beginning to think that Draco's flippant suggestion that she poison Belby to get his attention might have some merit. All of her letters went unanswered. There was no response when she had her NEWT results sent to him. Didn't she deserve any credit for teaching herself the entire potions NEWT material in the span of a few months?

Frowning, she read over her letter to Narcissa again. The witch might have a suggestion that fell somewhere between "keep writing letters" and "poison the man you want to work with." At least, Hermione fervently hoped she did.

She was making a trip to the Apothecary once a week now, and doing her best to engage Mulpepper in conversation, though more frequently she ended up talking with his assistant.

She sealed the letter and sent it off with Athena. Time for her pilgrimage to the Apothecary. She left her letter for Ginny on the table. There was nothing in there that couldn't wait until Athena got back.

Draco mused to himself without humor as he showered, lathering up his arms with a not particularly pleasing soap. The one possible benefit of life without magic was that he was looking quite fit again.

However, no matter how good his back or his biceps might look at the moment, it was no substitute for having a Scourgify charm and not having to scrub the damn owl cage by hand. He grimaced, and kept on scrubbing himself.

With her cloak pulled around her tightly, Hermione made her way through Diagon Alley. She'd just left the Apothecary and was fairly pleased with the conversation she'd had with Mulpepper today, drawing him into a conversation about some of the rarer ingredients she'd encountered in her studies and her desire to continue. She had told hi that she was hoping to continue her studies and wondered if he knew any potions masters who might be taking on students. Mulpepper had shaken his head and said that he knew plenty of potions masters, but that none were taking on students. She tried to get him to promise to let her know if any changed their mind, but the man had only given a noncommittal grunt. Despite Narcissa's original advice two months ago to insinuate herself with Mulpepper over time, it didn't seem to be doing any good.

Sighing, she took Narcissa's letter from that morning out of her cloak pocket and reread it, leaning against the wall of one of the buildings.

October 12, 1998

Miss Granger,

It is good to hear from you again and to know that my son is doing well. I am thrilled to hear that Draco is employed. He may have a chance of surviving in this world after all. I thank you for all of your patience with him, leading him through this difficult time. Whatever assistance I may offer you is yours.

I find it disappointing but not entirely surprising that you've not yet heard from Belby. He was always a difficult man. He has not responded to the letter of introduction I sent on your behalf. I really would have expected some sign of recognition from him, but perhaps, due to my current circumstances, he does not wish to acknowledge any ties with him. On the other hand, he may be waiting for a letter from Mulpepper (as I suggested to you some weeks ago) to see the seriousness of your intentions. Or perhaps he is simply waiting to see whether or not you have anything extraordinary to offer, or whether your celebrity status has inflated the stories of your accomplishments, as sometimes does happen in this world. I do not know.

Regarding finding another means of catching his attention, I do agree that you might benefit from some unorthodox means of attracting his attention. I shall apply my mind to it and see if I might suggest something worthwhile.

If my son inquires about me, do tell him I am in excellent health and keeping quite good company abroad, and that I miss him dearly.

Ever yours,

Narcissa Malfoy

Hermione folded the letter and put it back in pocket. It hadn't been much help. Belby might be ignoring her because she was the Hermione Granger. Or Belby might just be waiting for to demonstrate something impressive—maybe she ought to poison him. Or maybe he really wasn't taking on any apprentices right now. All the same, he should at least have the courtesy to respond and say so.

She frowned at the street. It was a Monday morning, and not nearly as crowded as a weekend might be. She could wander for a little while. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head to shade her eyes and began walking with no particular destination in mind.

Maybe it was good fortune (or bad) that brought her to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Maybe it was a semi-conscious desire. Whatever the reason, she found herself in front of the glass windows of the shop. There didn't seem to be any customers around. With a deep breath as though were about to dive into a chilly pool, Hermione pushed open the door and went in.

The grinning faces of the twins stared back at her from some of the advertising on the walls. All the familiar products lined the shelves. It didn't look as though anything new had been launched in a while.

"Can I help you, miss?" asked a familiar voice.

"Just looking," she said, hood still pulled up.

"Let me know if you need anything."

She made an impulsive decision. She was hear after all. "Lee, is George in?" she asked, pushing her hood back.

He shook his head, dreadlocks swinging. "Hermione Granger," he said softly. "It's been a long time." He glanced at the back of the store. "For anyone else, I'd say no. But for you, he's in whether he likes it or not."

Hermione started to back away. "I don't have to see him if it'll upset him. I just thought I might say hello."

"It'll do him good to see a face other than mine. C'mon," he said, taking her carefully by the hand.

She allowed herself to be towed through the shop, past all the brightly colored

boxes and baubles.

There was an extra bit of cheerfulness forced into Lee's voice as he pushed back the curtain to the workroom in the back of the shop. "Georgie! You've got a visitor, and a very stunning one I might add."

"I'm not in the mood to see anybody, Lee. Just get rid of them for me, would you?"

"It's a bit late for that, I've already invited her in," Lee said, giving a tug of his wrist to propel Hermione forward towards George.

There were dark circles under George's eyes, visible even in the dim light. His hair was a little shaggy and probably hadn't had a brush through it in a few days. None of the care for his appearance that he'd developed since having the money to buy his own clothes was visible.

"Well, I'll just leave you two to get reacquainted while I mind the shop," Lee said, still trying to sound cheerful. "I think I hear a customer." He walked away and left them there.

George shook his head. "Sometimes he reminds me of Mum. Scary isn't it?"

"I can go if you'd rather."

"No, you're here, stay." He waved towards a stool in the corner of the room and it trotted over. "Have a seat."

Hermione took a seat on the stool and looked at him. It seemed a stupid question to ask, knowing what the answer was, but Hermione didn't know what else to say. "How've you been?"

"Basically just like this." There was no humor in his voice. "You're looking well."

She shrugged. "We've all got our days." She looked around the workshop. There were unfinished projects scattered around—which was normal—but what wasn't normal was that none of them looked like they'd been touched in some time. Usually so many things were in the works that they were bouncing between them all, but most of these looked abandoned. "Ginny came to see me before school started. I actually hid from her in my flat and wouldn't open the door."

"I'm sure she loved that."

Hermione wanted to at least bring something lighthearted to the conversation. Anything that might lift George's spirits even for a second. "She threw a tantrum, and Draco heard her and dragged her into his flat to keep the neighbors from hearing. I thought she'd finally given up and left and went over to Draco's flat and found her sitting there on the couch. She gave a me a dressing down that would have made your mother proud."

There was almost a twitch at the corner of George's mouth. Almost. And then he asked, "Draco? We're not talking about Draco Malfoy?"

"The very same. He lives in the flat across from mine. The Ministry sentenced him to live as a Muggle for a year. He's holding up surprisingly well. Most of the time anyway."

The redhead shook his head. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"You could come over sometime. We make a mean team for dinner—pot roast as good as your mother's, and ice cream for dessert."

"No one's pot roast is as good Mum's," he said feelingly, a little emotion back in his deadened voice.

"Well, maybe not quite as good as hers," she conceded. "But edible at any rate."

He looked up and locked his eyes on hers. "How are you really doing? And how's Harry?"

She shook her head. "I'm…adjusting. It's been lonely without them, but I'm trying to keep busy. I've hardly had fifty words from Harry since Ron…" She bit her lip. "Harry is hiding out. I think probably at Grimmauld Place. He never moved into the flat across from the one Ron and I got. He did send a letter for my birthday though. He'll come around, in time." She shrugged. "Draco's been a big help. Especially that first month without magic, he needed so much help learning to navigate the Muggle world. It was a good distraction. But there have been days when I couldn't get dressed, because Ron's clothes are still in my closet," she admitted.

"I can't look in mirrors," he said quietly. "I just…can't." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I know I must look frightful. But I'd almost…I'd rather not see…until I don't look so much like how I remember him." The words were jumbled, but Hermione understood. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. "Fred and I always knew we might not make it through the war. But we always thought it would be both or neither. I never imagined he'd leave me all alone like this."

She nodded. "Bad enough for me to lose Ron, but to have Harry walk out too…" she trailed off.

"Ron. I wish there'd been more time. He was finally turning into a real person, and not so much a twerpy little brother," he said, dropping Hermione's hand.

"He had his moments," she agreed.

He sat back on his stool, closing his eyes. "I keep thinking about closing this place down. I don't have the heart for it right now, and I'm not sure I ever will." He sighed. "But I'm not sure Fred would ever forgive me if I did. He'd tell me that I ought to bring Percy in to test all the products out on, and Ginny to help create a new line, because no one has a more wicked imagination than she does. And to make sure to keep Lee around, because my sour face won't be any good for generating custom."

"Sounds like Fred has some good ideas," Hermione responded drily.

George shrugged. "He always did. What are you doing with yourself? I couldn't convince you to fill in with some of Fred's brilliance for a while, could I?"

And suddenly, Hermione knew how she was going to get Belby's attention. "You just might be able to."