One Year Later
The rain was pouring down outside, rattling against the tin roof of the apothecary and the glass windowpanes of the little back windows. Draco glanced out of one of those windows, looking out at the peeling gray fence and muddy strip of earth between it and the back door. It was a bleak view, but nevertheless one that he'd grown accustomed to over the course of the last year or so.
When Draco had set out to find a job after finishing Hogwarts, this was not what he'd had in mind. But then, he hadn't known what he'd had in mind anyway. Finding a job had been nigh on impossible what with the unfortunate combination of his last name and the tattoo on his arm. He'd nearly given up when he'd stumbled into the apothecary one stiflingly hot afternoon.
Tired, hot, sweaty and dusty, Draco opened the door, thinking only of the cool, dark interior of the shop he'd passed by year after year on his school shopping visits. His parents had never shopped at the run-down little apothecary, preferring to buy their son "only the best" potions ingredients from a high class, overpriced vendor in Knockturn Alley.
That didn't matter today though. Today, all that Draco cared about was getting out of the blinding sun and scorching heat. He slipped inside quickly, closing the door behind him as though all of the hot air would follow him inside if he weren't fast enough. He stood a moment, blinking in the sudden darkness.
"Welcome, sir. What can I help you with?"
Draco squinted into the shadows to see a gray-haired, bent old woman standing at the till, peering up at him from under the brim of a comically large pointed hat.
"Nothing," he said after a moment. "Just browsing," he added, turning his back to glance at the shelves behind him. The glass of all the containers was dusty, nearly opaque with grime, so Draco had no idea if what the labels claimed the jars and bottles contained were true or not. Surreptitiously, he slid a finger along one of the shelves. It came away coated with dust. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped the dust as best he could back on the shelf it had come from.
"Are you an inspector?" the woman demanded, and Draco turned at the sound of her uneven gait. He looked down at her with part amusement, part disdain.
"No, madame," he said, unable to keep the condescending tone out of his voice entirely. "Merely looking to get out of the heat for a few moments. Your shelves could do with some dusting though," he added, gesturing at the filthy state of her products. No wonder Father never wanted to come here.
"People don't come here for cleanliness, they come for potions ingredients. You don't like it? Do something about it then," she spat. He snorted.
"Right." He turned his back to her again, glancing at a row of bottled potions that looked as though they'd been sitting there since before Draco was born.
"How do you know these have kept?" he asked, pointing at one. "How long have they been there?"
"Awfully nosy for not an inspector," the woman grumbled, not answering his question. She thumped her way back to the counter and disappeared into the back.
Draco looked suspiciously at a tiny vial labeled as pepperup potion. It couldn't possibly still be effective. He straightened up and looked around. The entire shop was in disrepair. The large barrels that had probably once held beetles' eyes and other small ingredients in bulk now stood empty. The dried herbs had shriveled up long ago. The windows were coated with muck. Everything was dirty.
Apparently no one else shopped there either.
Thump. Draco whirled, surprised. The woman had returned, slamming down on the counter a large notebook overflowing with loose papers.
"My records, inspector," she said, glaring at him.
"Why's this place such a mess anyway?" Draco asked, ignoring her. "Everything is filthy. No wonder no one shops here."
"I get enough business to stay open. None of my customers have ever complained. If you don't like it, shop somewhere else."
Draco frowned. "But if you just tidied up a little–"
"I don't see how it's any business of yours. Unless you want to do something about it, or are planning to buy something, you can go now, boy," the woman said irritably.
Draco's chin jutted up indignantly. He turned sharply and left, snapping the door shut behind him. The heat outside had not abated, and sweat instantly broke out on his forehead as he strode down the street. He'd made it halfway to the Leaky Cauldron before his pride got the better of him and he turned around, marching right back into the shop.
"Now see here," he said angrily as he burst in. As expected, the apothecary was still deserted. The woman rolled her eyes when she saw him again. "You can't go around treating customers that way you know. I'd dare say you get precious little business as it is, so you shouldn't be so rude," he told her, walking to the counter and staring down at her.
"I don't see how it's any of your business. You aren't a customer; you didn't buy anything. And you're the one who burst in here telling me my shop is unfit without even bothering with a 'good afternoon' first. So, are you quite finished or is there more you'd like to insult?" she asked.
"No," Draco answered. "I'm not finished. What kind of business are you supposed to be running, letting the place go to the dogs like this? Look at this for Merlin's sake!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands from the counter and showing her the dust covering his palms.
She blinked at him, unimpressed. "Like I said, none of my customers have ever complained."
"Maybe you'd get new customers if everything wasn't drowning in dust," he suggested.
"Fine. Come in tomorrow morning and you can get started," she said abruptly. "Good?"
"I- what?" Draco stared at her.
"You want to clean this place up? You want to brew fresh potions? You want to restock the old ingredients? Be my guest. Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock. I'll even pay you if that's what you're after. Now go away, you annoying little twat. I've had quite enough of your cheek for today." And with that, she turned and went into the back room, slamming the door behind her. A shower of dust fell from the doorframe.
Draco flinched as a raindrop fell on his neck. Even with the new roof, somehow water was getting in. He held his hand out and sure enough, another drop fell into his palm. Grumbling, he climbed up onto the worktable and prodded at the ceiling experimentally with his wand and left hand, muttering drying spells and repairing charms.
The apothecary had experienced a complete turnaround since Draco had reluctantly begun work there. He hadn't intended to take the old woman up on her offer, thinking her a bit batty, but once he'd told his mother about his encounter, she'd done everything but sit on his chest with her wand to his throat threatening to kill him if he didn't take the job.
So, loathing every second, he'd spent the entire summer working for Augusta Bane. He'd done more physical labor in those three months than in his entire life, scrubbing shelves and washing windows and building new shelves and repairing the rafters and replacing the crumbling shingles with a solid tin roof. His muscles had hardened, his skin had tanned, and by the end of the summer, he'd hardly looked or felt his normal self.
He had meticulously gone through every ingredient on the shelf, checking and rechecking for freshness and vitality. He'd rebottled and relabeled those still suitable for potionmaking, throwing out that weren't. He'd scrapped all of the old potions entirely, not trusting any of them, and rebrewed all of them and then some.
Augusta taught him the order procedure for new ingredients and how to do the figures at the end of each day – which, in the beginning, usually consisted of adding and subtracting nothing at all.
And gradually, grudgingly, Draco had grown fond of Augusta. She was definitely batty, but also snarky and witty and incredibly knowledgeable about potioneering. She taught him shortcuts and alternative ingredient uses. She showed him the different results one could get with a potion simply by brewing it in a cauldron of a different kind of metal. She let him experiment with more advanced potions and dangerous ingredients on his off time. He grew to enjoy himself there.
They were an odd pair, Draco and Augusta, but after the initial rows and disagreements and general resentment, they'd discovered they worked excellently together. Augusta manned the counter out front, taking orders and helping customers and tidying up during lulls. Draco stayed in the back, taking inventory, brewing potions, bottling and labeling and pricing ingredients, sorting herbs, and generally running everything behind the scenes. He never ventured into the main shop if he could help it. He'd found out early on that he wasn't at all cut out for customer service.
That, and the Dark Mark on his arm tended to scare off business.
He glanced at his left arm, raised above his head as he felt the ceiling for any lingering dampness. The tattoo had faded considerably, no longer the vivid, angry black it had been, but it was still incredibly distinctive. He normally wore long sleeves to cover it, but he'd pushed his sleeves out of the way earlier to cut up some roots.
He remembered how positive he'd been that once Augusta realized who he was – what he was – he'd be fired. After all, he'd hardly been in the position to give her his name the first time they'd met.
"Before I start," he'd said after she had given him a long lecture about messing with her organization system, "you should know–"
"Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. Yes, yes, I've heard nothing but the gripes of the other shop owners for days about you scaring off business, looking for a job. I don't care. As you so kindly pointed out, no one shops here anyway," Augusta had said with a shrug. "Do your work, I'll pay you, we're both better off. Yes?" And that had been the end of it.
Sometimes she asked him questions about his role in the war. After opening up to her, he'd told her everything over the course of several weeks. She'd listened patiently each time the conversation came around, now and then commenting on how idiotic he was or what a stupid decision he'd made or laughing at his embarassments. He'd long since learned to accept that from her.
"Draco?"
He jumped, slamming his head into the ceiling as a result. Cursing, he shook his head to clear away the black spots swimming before his eyes and climbed down from the table, satisfied with his repair spells for now.
"Yes," he answered when his feet were safely on the ground. Augusta was fighting a smile, and he scowled at her for finding amusement in his pain.
"Is this all the boomslang skin we have? We're all out in front."
Draco looked at the package in her hand. "That's all?" he asked, turning immediately to the shelves lining the room, eyes searching. The space carefully labeled, 'boomslang skin' was indeed empty.
"I guess so," he answered himself. "I'll order more." He made a note of it on a scrap of parchment, pinning it to the small corkboard leaning against a stack of books. It was covered in similar notes to himself on variously shaped ripped-off pieces of paper, resembling a haphazard mosaic.
The bell above the door out front jingled, and Augusta hurried away, only to pop her head back in a moment later. "I need three starter kits," she said.
Business had been picking up coniderably so far this summer. Ever since term had ended at Hogwarts, students and their parents had been in and out periodically, and other patrons of Diagon Alley had taken notice. All of them had wrongfully assumed the place was a new business, having never noticed it before tucked away in a side street as it was and previously so coated in grime that it had probably been thought to be abandoned.
Draco grabbed three of the Hogwarts starter potions kits and took them out to the counter. He set them down next to Augusta, who cast him a quick grateful smile before turning to the customer waiting to purchase them.
"Oh!" the woman said in surprise, and Draco turned to find her eyes were trained on his left arm. He glanced down to see he'd forgotten to pull his sleeves down. He yanked the fabric down over the tattoo and turned abruptly to return to the back room. "Oh," the woman repeated. She grabbed her handbag off the counter and backed away.
"I-I don't think I'll be needing these after all," she stammered. She gave a nervous laugh. "Silly me. I've already bought some!"
"No you haven't," her son said, looking at her as though she'd gone mad.
"Yes, yes I did Jamie, you just forgot. We're so silly, forgetting things."
"But Mum-"
"Right, come along kids, we have books to buy!"
She shepherded her children out of the shop hurriedly, casting a frightened glance back at Augusta as she exited. A moment later, Augusta appeared in the back room where Draco was busily mixing a new potion. His right sleeve was still pushed up to his elbow, his left conspicuously still pulled down to his wrist.
"Draco," Augusta said, and he grunted in reply, not looking at her.
"Now, don't be that way," the old woman chided gently. "Not your fault one bit. Idiots, all of them." He didn't answer, focusing on the task at hand and refusing to look at her. She sighed and returned to the front of the shop.
He tried to forget the encounter entirely, busying himself with bottling some new ingredients and restocking the shelves out front and making up the order forms for the next shipment of ingredients. He ignored Augusta's probing looks and kept his head down for the rest of the day. Whenever the bell jingled, he made sure he was in the back room. By closing time, all he'd accomplished was building up his frustration.
"All done then?" Augusta asked, her head appearing around the door. He nodded, scooping the last of the unbottled ingredients back into their bulk containers for storage. He cleaned the work table with a flick of his wand and straightened up the empty vials, jars and bottles in the center of the table.
"All done," he agreed. He turned to look at her and noticed her fleeting glance toward his arm and back to his face. He'd pushed his sleeves up again so as not to drag them in the herbs he'd been working with.
"You should just sack me," he said, pulling his sleeves down once more. She snorted.
"Why should I do a stupid thing like that?" she asked. Draco lifted his left arm in response.
"I'm costing you business," he added.
"Nonsense," Augusta snapped. "One idiotic customer isn't going to be the end of me. You'll be here tomorrow or I'm sacking your arse."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled, realizing what she'd said. "I'm not sacking you. And you're not quitting. I'll see you tomorrow."
She stared up at him fiercely until he nodded. Then she smiled. "Good. Have a lovely evening then." He shook his head as he gathered his cloak and wand. Sometimes he was sure that old woman was off her rocker. But as he spun in place and Disapparated, he realized he didn't care. He liked Augusta Bane, and that was enough for both of them.
What's that? And update? Do those still exist? Am I still alive? Yes and yes. So obviously I didn't get this updated before the end of Christmas break, as it's now February. Eh, my bad. So, this wasn't entirely what I had in mind when I set out to write this chapter, and it ended up being longer than I planned on, but I think it turned out for the best. The original was too brief in its explanation of how Draco ended up at the apothecary and attempts at a different plot point entirely just nosedived. So this is what you get.
As you can see, I kind of got around the whole 'gradual change' thing by skipping ahead, but that's only because I couldn't think of a way to drag it out without being horrifically boring. But he hasn't changed that much. He's still proud and moody and generally clueless about other people. I actually had to edit a couple places of conversation so he wouldn't have too much progress - I think I had him saying sorry at one point, and that was just too much change for Draco Malfoy. So he's changed, but not substantially.
Like it? Review! Don't like it? Review! Still sitting in bed at one in the afternoon? Review! Oh wait, that's me.
Review!
Always,
Megan