A/N: I read somewhere that writing is supposed to get easier as you go along. For me, it keeps getting harder. I spend most of my time rewriting the next chapter because I thought of something better. Why couldn't I think of it the first time.

My thanks to everyone who has taken their time to read ths story.

Chapter Four: London

It was a long walk to Nigel's garage. Draco could have gone straight to the Leaky Cauldron as he had planned but then he would have to take his guitar along. Not a good idea if it all worked out. One thing he had was enough time. And he even had money. Not much, but enough to last if he was careful.

The garage was almost as he remembered. Both bays were open when he arrived, and Nigel could be seen working on another bike. Draco almost laughed when he saw it. The front fender looked almost like the squeezed hood of a Rolls Royce. Nigel looked up and waved. He pointed with one arm to indicate the living area. Draco took his cue to put his things away.

It was almost a homecoming as Draco put his belongings in what was once his bedroom. It looked the worse from lack of use but it was still serviceable. He opened the window to let it air out. Then he went back downstairs to make his excuses to Nigel.

The living room/den looked almost the same as he remembered, but it did look cleaner. And it smelled different. When he last stayed with Nigel, there had always been a stale smell. Draco peeked in the kitchen out of curiosity. That was cleaner as well. No dishes left wanting. No bin filled with empty bottles.

His eyes widened as a sudden thought hit him. He opened the refrigerator to confirm his hunch.

Last summer, Nigel had been shot. Even though he was a muggle, he was taken to Saint Mungo's Hospital. And Draco remembered what they told him. They had taken out the traces of drugs in Nigel's body as well as healed his wound. Last year, there was always a minimum of twenty bottles getting cold. Now there were four. And that explained the smell. Less beer meant less beer smell.

"Yeah," Nigel said as he looked into the kitchen at Draco, "Don't know wha' happened but when I hit me head, must've knocked somethin' back into place."

Draco smiled. Hitting his head was a made up story. Nigel didn't remember Saint Mungo's.

"You don't drink as much."

"Don't get the urge to. Miss the taste sometimes. But them feelings don't come anymore. Least they ain't as bad. More like bad memories. And you? Mick came around early on the summer, said you 'ad to work as part of your schoolin'. You could've come 'ere."

Draco smiled. "Din't t'ink of it. Found somethin' near to Janice, where she an' Mick are livin' now."

Nigel smiled at memories. "They got two kids now. Can't believe it. Not really."

"Got plenty of pics, if you're in'erested."

Nigel grinned and said later. Then he dragged Draco into the garage proper to show off his latest project. The garage looked the same except there was a car over in the far bay, covered in a large tarp. Behind it was a motorbike, also covered with a tarp. But in the middle of the near bay was the bike that Draco had spied earlier. His guess had been correct. The bike looked like someone squeezed a Rolls around it. And the way Nigel designed it, it looked ritzy instead of funny.

After pointing out every thing he had done, he dragged Draco over to the corner and pulled off the tarp covering the other bike. It was a brilliant chrome with streaks of gold. It looked pretty but nothing fancy. Nigel had him step back several feet and it became obvious. The gold streaks gave the outline of a galloping horse when seen at a distance but step too close and they were only pretty lines. It was a skillful trick.

That led the conversation into what other projects Nigel was working on and what plans he was making. And he wasn't sitting around when things were slow. He pulled out a sketchbook to show plans that he made. Drawings of fantastic things: A black Dragon with flaming eyes; A giant scarlet she-spider; A space fighter that looked like it could whip anything from Star Trek or Star Wars. A second folder showed sketches of designed bikes. A handful at the beginning had photos on the opposite page of the finished bike. After that were drawings of what future bikes could look like.

"Cor." As the shop darkened, Draco noticed the time. The sun was setting and there were less than two hours before the Quidditch World Cup began. He hadn't even left for the Leaky Cauldron yet. But he had been enjoying himself. Then Nigel asked him if he'd like to see something great. He walked over to the car and pulled off the tarp. Draco was willing to forget the match.

As Draco's eyes bulged, Nigel explained that this was what he had done over the last year while "someone else was goin' to school".

It looked beautiful. It was bright blue with white stripes trimming the bottom edges. It was obviously a Mini, but Draco had to ask. Nigel, enjoying his friend's reaction, told him it was an Austin Mini Cooper, Mark III. He had found it abandoned and rusted. And he even made a few of the parts in restoring it. Some things he couldn't make but it was only a matter of time before it was running proper.

The blond boy nodded in appreciation. He had never seen this model in the shop when he worked here with Mick. Or on the road for that matter. This car was extremely rare.

Nigel nodded when asked about it. He said it was his insurance policy if the business failed. He was making enough of a profit from selling the bikes. The problem was, and would always be, selling enough of them.

Draco was looking at the interior when the sound of a fire engine was heard going by. He noticed it with mild interest. Nigel was the one who hesitated when they heard the second one pass. As a third one could be heard, both stepped outside to see where it was heading.

"Looks near Grimauld Square," Nigel said casually.

Draco paused. His paranoia was rising. "You don't think?"

Nigel smirked. No. He didn't think that. But he could make a call to the home. Miss Carmichael could tell them if the fire was nearby. Or they could race after the fire engines. The remark drew a laugh from Draco. Did he really know the number? Nigel laughed in return.

"It's written down, you know." Nigel's grin grew wider. "You don' know. I'll show you."

Now they were walking into the office and behind the counter. Nigel pointed out that it was months before he found it. Called it once, trying to get hold of Mick and was surprised at who answered. They walked to where Janice used to sit and answer the phone, back before Cheryl was born. The phone was still on the wall but Nigel was pointing to the counter. To the old pullout piece of wood. It was supposed to be for a place to write when the counter couldn't be used. Draco had never used it. Had never bothered about it.

Nigel pulled it out. In faded ink was the number for the home. Draco stifled a sudden urge to cry. Above it, Janice had written one word. Mum.

Draco could only stare. All those memories of the home forced themselves on him. Being scolded for fighting. Being warned about stealing. He remembered a time he stole food. He was at Tesco's. Someone had left their trolley to unlock their car. Draco grabbed a bag and kept walking. In and out of the parked cars. No one ever had a chance to catch him. Miss Carmichael frowned when he presented her with the bag. She frowned as she passed it to the new girl in the kitchen. That night, after a larger meal than they usually had at the home, she gave Draco a smile. And a warning to be careful.

"Used to steal asparagus when it was in season," Draco remembered. She loves asparagus. He looked up as Nigel shouted his name. "Whot? No answer?"

"Number's not working." Nigel's face was ashen. "It ain't workin'."

As quick as they could, the garage was locked up tight. Both of them began running. It might be nothing, Draco hoped. Then he tried to run faster as he heard another siren. They kept running until they saw the smoke. If it wasn't the home, it was very close. They slowed as they turned the corner and could see down Grimauld Place. At the far end of the street, just past the Square, the road was filled with fire engines and firemen. At least three hoses could be seen.

Draco saw none of the crowd as he made his way. All he knew was that the home was aflame. All of it. He pushed his way through until he could see clearly. The firefighters weren't trying to put it out so much as contain it. He stood, frozen to the spot, and watched.

Flames shot out from the open doorway he had walked through so many times. He found his old bedroom. It was wreathed in fire as a hose poured water into the open window. And he stared.

There was a loud noise after an unremembered amount of time. Firemen were yelling at the crowds to get back. The hoses were concentrated on the street for some reason. And the noise grew louder. As he watched, the roof collapsed, bringing the walls down with it. Flaming debris shot everywhere, followed by water from the hoses to make sure nothing else caught fire. And all Draco could do was watch with horror and fascination.

A touch. Someone called his name softly. He turned and it was Mahresa. "We're over here," she said and gently pulled on his arm. Half turning away, he followed her to the edge of the crowd, in an open area in the Square.

Her parents were there. The two helpers who worked at the home. Seven badly frightened children. Walking amongst them was a paramedic from an ambulance that sat near to the trucks. She was checking each child, trying to calm them. He asked about Miss Carmichael and was told they didn't know where she was.

Draco found himself sitting on the grass. He was dimly aware of the deepening shadows as the last embers were put out. For some reason, Nigel was there. Talking to the police. Something about having room at the shop, at least for tonight. He almost laughed as one policeman smiled and patted Nigel's shoulder. The idea of cops and him being friends, or even trying to be friends.

Draco was instantly alert. "Miss Carmichael?" In his surprise and shock, he had completely forgotten about her. She must have been harder hit by this than he was. After all, the home was only a place of memories for him. For her, it was her livelihood as well. She had spent more years than Draco had lived taking care of the place.

He jumped to his feet and looked around. He still didn't see her. He looked down at Mahresa, who was sitting next to him. "What happened to Miss Carmichael? Has anyone seen her yet?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Don't know. No one said anything. No one's seen 'er. Tried askin' the medic earlier. Won't tell me nuffin."

A policeman, one who had been talking to Nigel, had turned toward him. He asked if Draco knew her. Draco said she was his mum, well, the closest he ever had to one. A sad look came on the policeman's face. One that the policeman didn't intend. One that Draco recognized. He gulped hard and shook his head. It wasn't an answer he wanted to hear. The policeman looked down as though ashamed to have given him the news.

Later, it would be explained to him again. The officer went over to inform the two helpers. Everyone else was merely listening in.

The fire appeared to start in several places at once. There was a suspicion of arson but the odd thing was that the incident occurred while it was still daylight. The officer did not say so, but it appeared to be a professional job. As for Miss Carmichael, she rushed everyone out, but remained inside to find one elusive child. She did find the child. It was to her credit that she almost made it outside. She was found not far from the nearest window.

Draco didn't care. As far as he was concerned, life gave him another kick in the arse. Another person he dared to care for was gone. And he was crying again. Someone was holding him. Holding him tight. She was speaking in a language he did not understand but in a tone he knew too well. Trying to tell him he was not alone in his grief. Only more open about it. It was Mahresa's mother.


It was with red eyes he finally broke away. It was Nigel, taking him by the arm for the long walk back to the shop. As they left Grimauld Square, Inspector Givens walked up. He merely asked Nigel if there was anything he could do. Draco, for some reason, had to smile. Nigel seemed to be friends with every policeman they met. He was also grateful that Nigel refused a ride. They both knew that the walk would help him more. It would give him time to put his emotions in order. With luck, he might even fall asleep tonight.

And they did walk, neither of them saying a word, until they reached the shop. As they entered, Nigel asked his first question. Would Draco like something to drink? It might help him sleep. Knowing he should say no, he said yes. And he was grateful when Nigel went to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of beer.

He had taken his first sip when there was a knock at the door. Nigel sat his beer down and walked out of the den to the office. He came back with the last person Draco expected. Sirius Black.

"I t'ought you had a match to go to."

Sirius bowed his head. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Wanted to make sure it all went up?" Anger was welling inside Draco. "Did he want to make sure I couldn't make it?"

"I don't think he knows," Sirius said in a mild tone. "I know I didn't bother to tell him."

On impulse, Draco threw the bottle in his hand. It hit the wall, inches from where Sirius Black was standing. He responded by shouting Draco's name. Probably to shock him into calming down but it had the opposite effect.

"You promised to do anything to stop me," Draco sneered. "I guess you wanted to teach me a lesson I'll never forget." He turned his back on the man. "Well, I won't forget. You can leave now." He turned to face him again. "GET OUT."

Sirius shrugged. "I shouldn't have come. I . . . I'm sorry. About what happened."

"GET. OUT."

"NO."

Sirius Black was angry now. But Draco didn't care. He snarled again and made ready to physically attack the man. It wouldn't work but he would feel better for trying. Black might be angry but Draco could only find hate in his heart. For Black. For any wizard. For all wizards. All of the indignities he had been through from the first attack on the train, the insults, the snide remarks, the attempts on his life, up to being forced to work for the summer just to stroke the Minister's ego. And now, his guardian was here to make sure he didn't blame them. Didn't blame the wizards and witches who reminded him everyday how many of them despised him, how many of them wanted him to know how much he was despised.

"GET OUT."

"Maybe," Nigel said in a soft voice, reminding them that he was still there. "Maybe we should talk in the morning?"

Draco did look away from Black. He didn't change his expression one bit. Except to smile cruelly when Black nodded his head and suggested that Nigel was probably right. His smile held as Sirius Black turned around and left.


It was the first day of September, except Draco was not at Kings Cross. He was where he least wanted to be. In a cemetery.

Miss Carmichael received an all-expenses-paid government funeral in honour of her long service. That meant it was as cheap as possible. At least it seemed that way to Draco. He stood on the fringes, trying to avoid everyone. Janice was no problem. She was up front, crying her eyes out. Mick standing next to her, holding her with one arm and the baby with the other. Little Cheryl was crying as well.

It was a large group. Over a hundred. Most of the people were from the neighbourhood. Givens was there, with his family and Dudley. A few people vaguely remembered as coming around the home on occasion. And one man, standing by himself, waiting for the affair to end. He was the official Ministry representative. He was there because he was payed.

Someone began to give a speech, and Draco turned his back. The last thing he wanted was to listen to some hypocrite who never knew Miss Carmichael go on about what a great woman she was. No one noticed him leave.

Draco left the cemetery and crossed the street. He kept walking. All he knew was that he wanted to get as far away as he could. And stay away.