Chapter 23
Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Trigger Warnings at the end of the chapter.
line
The Fiend smashed him out of slumber. Hands shook and reflexively went for the film canister that no longer sat at the side of the bed. The Fiend roared in frustration and put feet to floor. It demanded a search, high and low, far and wide, for a line, preferably two or three, no price too extravagant, no effort too extreme. As he came to full alertness, Draco fell back on the training aunt Bella had provided him, compartmentalizing his mind and separating the threads of his sense of self from that of the Fiend, the name he'd given the semi-intelligent presence in his mind that craved ever more blessed (cursed?) white powder. With his consciousness so shielded, he carefully teased out the ravenous monster and caged it up again. Slowly, brick by brick and bar by bar, the desperate cravings subsided into a dull throb, still uncomfortable, but not all-consuming.
"Merlin help me if it ever gets out and takes over," Draco thought, "I might not be able to put it back."
While reasonably confident he could detect and repel most intrusions, Draco didn't for a second try to fool himself into thinking he was anything approaching a master occlumens. They could maintain their protection even while sleeping, something Draco had attempted but which completely eluded him.
"Still, thank Merlin for Occlumency," Draco thought. Without the training, he doubted he would have had the discipline or willpower to overcome the addiction. Even with it, the first week had been a gruelling blur of putting one step in front of the other, splitting headaches, struggles to avoid snapping at co-workers, orphans or random muggles on the street for the smallest of slights or irritation, and a complete inability to focus on anything except keeping the Fiend trapped, rattling about the mental cage he'd constructed.
Although he couldn't be entirely sure, it felt slightly easier to contain it today than the first few days, though perhaps that was just practise.
"Get up, distract yourself," he thought, forcing himself to go through the motions of a morning routine despite feeling like he'd been run over by a herd of nundus. A hot shower and fresh clothing usually helped.
Twenty minutes later, he stood at the heavy oak door leading to his father's, now his, study. Brushing aside the scraps of apprehension he felt every time he entered this particular room, a remnant of childhood restriction, he pushed the door open and walked to the desk. A reading chair once sat to the left, indents in the carpet the only evidence it had existed, and the empty space still seemed out of place to Draco. The thick mahogany desk remained unmoved; it had sat in the exact same position all the way back to Draco's earliest memories. He walked across the plush carpet and sat in the high-backed leather chair, and although his feet rested comfortably on the floor, internally he felt as small as he did when he'd been caught in the exact same spot by his father at the age of six. The affairs of the estate, such as it was, were something he'd been putting off for far too long, as evidenced by the nearly two-foot-tall tower of envelopes and parchments that resembled more of a messy pile than a stack.
"If I'm ever to recover and rebuild, I need to properly assess the situation," Draco thought, "no sense putting it off any longer."
He ignored the drawer where they kept the Ministry stipend and got to work. The haphazard pile eventually fell into several tidy stacks, most of which were completely useless to him. The largest stack consisted of letters from property managers in Europe and from Gringotts, probably statements. Towards the bottom of the pile, he spied pure white amongst the more yellowed parchment, a muggle envelope. He picked it up to find a typed address to Mr. Malcolm at PO Box, wherever that was. A flick of a pewter letter opener and the contents were in his hand.
July 16, 1998
Dear Mr. Malcolm,
The liquidation of your shares and closure of your accounts are now complete. Although we wish you would reconsider, we nevertheless thank you for your patronage over the years and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours.
Sincerely Yours,
John C Wentworth
Draco flipped to the next page and found a statement which took a few moments to digest, but from what he could decipher, it was a muggle investment summary, and a sizable amount as well. The date coincided roughly with the period the Ministry had handed down their judgement and confiscated the majority of their assets. He turned to the next page and scanned the liquidated investments. He didn't recognize any until he spotted a name out of the corner of his eye and his brain made a connection, for the exact same name was emblazoned on Bruno McKay's mobile phone.
"Father was investing with muggles?" Draco thought, "impossible."
He mulled it over for a moment, and without the physical evidence sitting in his hand he would have laughed off the suggestion of his father working with muggles as utterly preposterous, but there the words were, in black and white muggle printed text and a signature, not with a quill, but with a pen.
"Father was investing into muggle mobile phone companies and the Ministry forced him to sell everything to pay the reparations," he thought.
Draco could see the value in the mobile phones. Not everyone had them, but whenever Martin wanted to talk to Bruno, he could call him, anytime, anywhere, and Bruno could call him back, no need to find a pay phone, no need to master a difficult patronus charm. Thoughts of the prospects of the muggle phone companies turned to anger at the Ministry for taking everything. Draco set the investment summary aside and focused on reading through the rest of the documents. He took out his frustration on the first envelope by hacking at it with the letter opener.
Several hours later, fingers stiff and mind weary from cutting open envelopes and deciphering the contents within, Draco eyed the neatly laid out stacks on the desk with a deep frown on his face. The rental from the properties in Europe covered the reparations and then some, and that was the source of their monthly stipend. With no savings to speak of anymore, however, they were one bad event away from landing in dire straits. The reparations levied by the Ministry lasted another fourteen and a half years, and while the rental was currently enough to cover them, it was not enough to pay for the long-term maintenance of the properties. The Swiss property was already in need of repairs that would have to be put off. Eventually, they would become unrentable, and their monthly income would dry up. The only option at that point would be to sell, putting them in even worse financial shape as the remaining properties would not cover the reparations. One by one they'd be forced to sell everything, including Malfoy Manor.
Draco slammed a fist onto the table and growled at the self-inflicted pain as he flexed his hand.
"The bloody reparations are designed to drive us into destitution!" he thought.
The Fiend railed and shook at the mental cage. A bump would make him feel better, he knew, but it would only be temporary, and it would only make his problems worse as the weeks slipped by. With a few deep breaths, he fortified the mental prison and refocused on their failing finances.
"Fuck, I should have been on top of this months ago," he thought. Draco gave himself a moment of cursing himself for what he should have been doing, then shook his head.
"At least now I know, the question is, what am I going to do about it?" he thought, "the House of Malfoy will not fall into poverty, not while I'm still alive. I need a way to make money… but how?"
He resolved to think it over, but first, he had questions.
Draco snatched up the muggle investment letter and exited the study.
"Mother!" he called. His voice echoed down the halls but there was no response.
Draco set off to search the manor, and eventually found her on the second story landing as she approached the stairs.
"There's no need to shout, Draco," she said. She didn't look high but one couldn't really tell these days. The hollowness of her cheeks had filled in slightly, and although her appearance was still a far cry from how he recalled her in his youth, at least she didn't look half-dead.
"Mother, did you know father was investing in muggle companies?" Draco asked, holding up the letter.
"Impossible," Narcissa said as she took a step closer, "he would never…"
She trailed off as she read through the letter.
"Did you know anything about this?" Draco asked.
Narcissa shook her head slowly and stared at the paper as if she wanted to burn it to ashes right there.
"It must be some sort of trick or mistake," she said, "he would have never exchanged a single knut into muggle currency, much less given any of it to them."
"Hmm," Draco said.
He knew Mother was wrong, but then what had Father been thinking?
"If he'd gone so far as to go into investment with muggles… but how did he even get started?" Draco thought, "he must have had a go betw-"
Draco's mother pulled out a joint and lit it with her wand, then took a deep drag.
"Honestly Mother?" Draco said.
"Honestly Draco," she replied, blowing a thin stream of smoke, "I don't have all day, speak your mind."
"Actually, that's all you… never mind," he said as he rolled his eyes, "try not to smoke too much."
He left her on the landing to return to the first floor; he needed answers.
Draco stopped in front of his father's portrait to find Lucius still asleep. He knew they tended to do that a lot for the first few months, but he really wanted to know what his father had been up to. His borrowed wand vibrated in his pocket. He was out of time; he'd promised to meet the muggles and humour Darren while he raced his car for the first time. Draco left his father's portrait, changed his clothes, and snatched a preserved ham sandwich on his way to the floo.
An hour later, he rang the intercom for Bruno's flat and Mary buzzed him up. He took the now familiar stairs to find the door already cracked open; he pushed through to find Mary sitting on the stained couch, nursing a cup of coffee. Draco stopped when he saw her, the first time in over a week. Now fully recovered, at least physically, dark makeup lined her eyes, deep red her lips. She'd dyed her hair a similar crimson colour, and both contrasted sharply against both her pale skin and black shirt and jeans.
"Hey Drake," she said, her voice little more than a croak.
"Mary," Draco replied, "you okay?"
"Yeah, just tired," she said with a nod. She drank another sip of coffee.
"You know we don't have to go," Draco said.
"Fuck that, I'm going," she replied with a smirk.
Draco chuckled.
"Well, when you put it that way…" he said.
The bedroom door opened and Bruno emerged from the hallway, and Draco stood up a bit straighter as Mary's older brother entered the sitting room.
"Bruno," Draco said by way of greeting.
"Drake," he said, "you two are riding with me, Darren's picking up Mack. Alan's on his way."
Almost on cue, the chime for the downstairs door rang.
"It's me," Alan said when Bruno asked.
"We're coming down," Bruno replied.
The three of them bustled down the staircase, Mary taking them a little slower than usual.
"Heyo Bruno, Drake," Alan said. Today he sported a dark blue baseball cap, worn backwards as was his custom.
"Be right back," Bruno said as he walked towards a nearby multi-story carpark.
"Hi Shirley," Alan said to Mary as she exited the building.
She rolled her eyes and flipped him off.
"You sick?" Alan asked, more seriously.
"I need a bloody hit," she replied, "but Bruno said we didn't have time."
She tapped out a cigarette and pulled it out with her lips, and offered one to Alan and Draco who both declined. With a few flicks, she shielded the small lighter from the wind as she lit up, and puffs of smoke blew away into the winter air as she sucked down the tobacco smoke.
"Darren said we could stop by his place after, no doubt we'll be smoking there," Alan said.
"Better than nothin' I guess," Mary muttered as she took another deep drag.
A black car pulled around the corner and tapped the horn as it rolled to a stop on the street in front of them. The window descended to reveal Bruno at the wheel. He waved them over and Mary stubbed the mostly smoked cigarette out on the banister and let it fall to the ground, then jumped into the front seat while Draco and Alan slid into the back. The car was definitely older than Darren's and seemed larger on the inside, but that was the extent of Draco's knowledge of it. Bruno pulled his mobile phone from a jacket pocket and alternated looking at the road and looking at the phone, then held it up to his ear.
"Yeah, we're on our way, see you there," he said, then pressed a button and put the phone inside a cupholder.
"How far is it?" Draco asked.
"'Bout forty minutes," Bruno replied.
Mary promptly reclined her seat and threw her jacket over her eyes; no doubt she would be asleep in a moment or two. Draco turned to Alan.
"What've you been doing then?" Draco asked, "haven't seen you since you stopped coming to the orphanage."
"Oh mate, just been absolutely flat out, working," Alan replied as he pulled his cap off for a moment to run his fingers through his hair.
"Working, doing what?" Draco asked.
"My business," Alan replied, "internet stuff."
"Inter… what?" Draco replied.
Alan snickered and launched into an explanation that Draco couldn't make heads or tails of more than half of, something about pages and portals, but taking a fee for putting buyers and sellers together he did understand.
"You're a broker," Draco said, half-asking.
Alan screwed up his forehead in confusion.
"Err. Someone who brings people together so they can do business, and takes a cut for himself," Draco said, "a broker. And also computer stuff."
Alan blinked, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah, computer broker shit," he said, "I set myself the goal to build a new page every day, but honestly that's not even the hardest part. I don't have any angels so it's just me, and everything costs money unless I do it myself. I've been at it 16 hours a day or more, every day; this is the first time I've come out in weeks."
They continued talking the entire journey, and kept going as they entered the car park under the winter sun and walked to the racetrack, a large open area with some stands set overlooking a twisting strip of asphalt. In the distance, Draco registered the sound of engines revving but he was focused on the conversation with Alan.
"It's so important to have multiple revenue streams," Alan said, "if you've got everything riding on one thing, and it doesn't pan out, you're a goner."
They settled into the stands to watch the cars, and Bruno pointed out Darren's blue Lancer. Draco noticed it but turned back to Alan.
"How'd you know what to do?" Draco asked.
Alan snorted.
"I don't mate, I'm just making this up as I go along," he replied, "instead of trying one thing, I figured I'd try several and then focus on what seems to be working better."
"How's that working out?" Draco asked.
Alan blew out a breath and shrugged.
"No idea, I'll let you know in six months," Alan replied.
They talked more and Draco's head spun with topics like cash flow, capital, channels, taxes, revenue, margin, clicks, commission and much more he couldn't quite make sense of, but he felt like it sort of started fitting together in his head.
"One thing's for certain, I need an idea first," he thought.
Darren and Mack came walking up to them then.
"Hello lads, Mary," Darren said, "fancy a few laps? I can take you in turn."
"It's wicked fast," Mack said.
"You think we dragged our arses all the way out here in the cold so we could see your ugly face?" Bruno asked, "me first. I need to see what you've been bragging about for the past month."
The two walked down the stands towards the track.
"Did you ride the bike here?" Alan asked Mack.
"Fuck no, it's bloody freezing," the bleach blonde replied, "can't wait for spring though."
The two started talking motorcycles, and Draco turned to Mary. She leaned on a railing at the edge of the stands as she watched the cars go by, dressed all in black with her dyed crimson hair blowing in the winter breeze as she sucked on another cigarette.
"Working on your master plan to take over the world?" she asked as Draco approached.
"Nah, had enough of that. Going to try and stave off abject poverty for a change of pace," Draco replied.
"Sounds about right," Mary said as she took another drag and then flicked the butt over the railing and down to the empty seats below.
"You have a bump?" she asked.
The Fiend roared. Draco shook his head.
"No, I quit," he said.
"Fuck off. Really?" she replied.
"Damn," she added. Draco wasn't sure she was impressed he'd been able to stop, or upset he didn't have any to offer at the moment.
"Probably a bit of both," he thought.
The two stood quietly and watched the cars, many of them sleeker, lower to the ground, and more brightly coloured than Darren's. Mary leaned into Draco for warmth whenever the sun slid behind clouds. Eventually it was Mary's turn to ride with Darren, and Draco accompanied her down to the ground level where she waved to him as she strapped into the front seat of Darren's modified car. Draco watched as they zipped around the track a few times, and then it was his turn.
"Crazy fast," Mary said to him quietly as they passed each other.
Draco strapped himself into the front seat and Darren gave him a small grin.
"Ready?" the dealer asked, revving the engine.
"Yea-shit!" Draco said as the car leapt forward, slamming him back against the seat. Draco fumbled with his seat belt while Darren laughed as the engine roared and hissed as he cranked them into second, then third gear. Draco finally got the belt buckled and he hung on to the little bar above his window with both hands as the track sped by and they entered the first turn, barely slowing down before speeding up again on the next straightaway. The car was fast, much faster than before. Whatever Darren had done to it had worked. The little car rocketed down the straights and around the turns. It wasn't like flying a broom, at all. On his broom, he had complete control over where he was going and how fast. Sitting in the passenger seat, Draco was completely at the mercy of Darren and his driving ability. After just two laps, which felt like seven or eight, they pulled to a stop. Draco's legs wobbled as he made his way back to the stands. He looked around for Mary but she was nowhere to be found, and Bruno had vanished as well. Alan and Mack were engaged in conversation but Draco had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near Mack Quaid and his stupid fake blonde hair. Figuring he could use the break to empty his bladder, he walked towards the loo, only to encounter Bruno as he exited. The boxer had his jacket slung over one arm and something about the way the he glanced around and spotted Draco before donning the outer garment made the hairs on Draco's neck stand up.
"Don't mind the mess," Bruno muttered as they passed each other.
Draco pushed into the public loo to find a beaten and bloodied dark-haired young man sitting against the far wall. He quickly stood up and turned away, but Draco had already spotted the blood spattering the front of his shirt and winter jacket and the welts on his face. Draco considered turning right around and walking back out the way he came, but his bladder demanded release.
"Screw it, I'll just do my business and get the fuck out," Draco thought.
Draco ignored the bloke and studied a spot on the wall above the urinal as he tried not to listen to the sound of water splashing and hisses of pain. He exited and walked to the stands at a much faster pace, trying to get away from whatever had just happened in there. As he arrived back to where they'd staked out a section of the stands, he saw Darren's car return to the lane built off the edge of the track and park.
Bruno pulled out his mobile phone and pressed a few buttons.
"Let's head out," he said, then paused, "Mack's gonna drive my car. Yeah."
The boxer sent Mack Quaid a questioning glance to make sure, then folded up the phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket. He fished out a set of keys and tossed them to the bleach-blonde, who caught them neatly.
"Darren's invited everyone back to his place, I'll meet you there," Bruno said.
"Actually I need to get home," Alan said, then he turned to Mack, "mind dropping me off before going to Darren's?"
Mack didn't reply except to make a motion with his head, and the two walked off towards the parking lot.
Bruno led Draco and Mary to the pit lane where Darren leaned on the open driver's side door, between it and the car. Mary slid into the back seat and Draco followed, but through the windshield he saw Bruno slide into a bright yellow car, one of the low to the ground speedy ones. He put two and two together.
"That bloke in the loo," he said, "he owed Bruno money and he took his car instead?"
Darren glanced at him in the rearview mirror as they rolled away from the track and towards the parking lot.
"He owed Martin money," he said as looked forward again and steered them between the rows of vehicles and towards the main road, "Bruno just made sure he settled the debt."
Draco sat in silence on the trip to Darren's house while Mary stared out the window; her leg bounced with nervous energy nearly the entire ride. She didn't seem inclined to talk, and neither did Darren, so Draco mulled over the conversation he'd had with Alan on the way over, and continued to think about how he could create a viable business.
They arrived at Darren's house just before dark, though this time the garage opened on its own as they approached and they entered that way instead of through the front door. The drug dealer led them inside where the flickering lights somewhat illuminated the only slightly less dirty looking kitchen, and he pulled a six-pack of beer from the fridge and laid it out on the countertop. A few twists and clinks of bottles later, and Draco had his first swig.
They each rolled a joint and Darren lit the first one before passing it around. He talked about some muggle sports, and Mary complained about her receptionist job, but Draco didn't really care or bother to follow the conversation as he felt the familiar easing of tension in his shoulders. The room filled with a smoky haze, and Darren cracked a window despite the winter chill outside. Then he walked to the counter, opened a drawer and produced a small baggie of white powder.
"Is that what I think it is?" Mary asked, her eyes gleaming.
"Nope, coke," Darren replied, and Mary's shoulders slumped, "whaddya say, Drake, ready for a topup?"
The Fiend, dormant from the weed, sprang back to life and slammed the bars Draco had constructed to keep it at bay, twisting and yanking.
"No thanks. I stopped," Draco replied, his voice much smoother than he felt.
Darren looked at him for a moment, then shook the bag.
"You sure?" he asked.
Draco actually physically felt his Occlumency compartments collapsing, and all he could think about was shoving his nose into the bag and snorting an entire lungful.
"It's only one line," the Fiend whispered, "you can quit again any time you want."
"It's true," Draco thought, "I quit once, I proved I can control it."
He was about to accept Darren's offer but a loud knock echoed from the front door, and like a flash the baggie vanished into Darren's pocket. He walked to the front to let Bruno and Mack enter, and the respite gave Draco enough time to put the Fiend back in its cage.
"Fucking arsehole," he thought as he stared at Darren, "then again, I didn't exactly tell him I quit... fuck, that was close."
Draco knew the best way to avoid temptation was to stay away from the muggles altogether…. But that would mean avoiding Mary too, and he didn't want to do that, despite the fact they hadn't had sex in weeks. Again, the thought crossed his mind that he would eventually need to decide whether to maintain contact with them once his probation was up, or vanish from their lives forever. He shoved it to the background; he still had a month to figure out what to do. Darren returned with the others, passed them beers, then led everyone to the garage. He started talking about the modifications he'd made to the car and Draco looked back to see Mary speaking with her brother in hushed tones, then Bruno turned strode purposefully into the garage.
"Hey everyone, I need to talk to Darren," he said.
Darren stopped mid-sentence, then nodded to everyone else, who re-entered the house, and the door closed behind them.
"What's that about?" Mack asked.
"Dunno," Mary replied as she finished her beer and almost successfully stifled a belch, "need to use the loo."
That left Draco and Mack staring at each other.
"Fuck you," Mack said.
"That the best you got?" Draco replied, "shit, I don't even need to reply to that one."
He turned away, though kept an eye on Mack in case he tried anything. Not that Draco expected him to try anything in Darren's bloody house, but one never could be too sure.
He opened a random door that left the kitchen and descended into a cellar. Air, dryer than the raw London winter, washed over him and tickled his nostrils as he thumped down the wooden steps. In the gloom, he barely made out a switch, and flipped it on. Dim lights flickered to life, much dimmer than the kitchen or garage light, and he heard a whirring from some device, probably a fan. In front of him, the entire cellar teemed with racks, each one with multiple plants hanging upside down. Against the far wall stood shelves hosting row upon row of glass jars. The setup looked not unlike an overcrowded Herbology greenhouse.
"These must be the marijuana plants," Draco thought as he inspected one of them. A small device on the rack in the middle of the room caught his attention. A screen dominated the front of it, but before Draco could figure out what it was, footsteps thunked down the steps and Darren entered the cellar.
"Ah, found the stash," Darren said.
"Merlin no, if he offers me the coke again, I'm done for," Draco thought as he scrambled to fortify his tattered mental defences as much as he could.
"This all weed?" Draco asked, trying as hard as he could to avoid thinking about the baggie with white powder most likely still in Darren's pocket.
"Yeap, this how it goes from a regular plant you find growing in the dirt into toke worthy blessed ganja," Darren replied.
"You're curing it," Draco said, more of a statement than a question.
Darren narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Yeah, you know about curing MJ?" he asked.
Lessons in the greenhouses and passages from Herbology textbooks appeared unbidden in his mind's eye. He welcomed the distraction, and focused on as many lessons as he could. Draco excelled at Potions, and Herbology was one of the foundations of the discipline.
"I know a decent bit about plants in general," Draco replied as he inspected one of the hanging branches.
"Hmm," Darren replied. They stood quietly for a moment.
"What's this?" Draco asked as he picked up the small device with the screen.
"That's a hygrometer," Darren replied, as he took it from Draco, "shows the humidity."
He pressed a button, and with a chirp, large black numbers appeared on the screen: 52%.
"Handy," Draco said. Of course, any halfway decent Herbologist would use magic to keep the humidity at the proper level, but he had to hand it to the muggles for developing a device that could do the same thing.
"I need to burp the jars, could use a hand," Darren said as he replaced the hygrometer and moved towards the shelves at the rear of the cellar.
"Burp the jars?" Draco asked as he followed.
"Yeah, need to open the caps-" Darren said.
"To exchange the air and let the moisture out, right," Draco said.
Darren gave Draco a quizzical glance and nodded, then turned to the jars.
"Just open them up and leave them, we'll seal them up again in a few minutes," he said, demonstrating.
Draco followed along; he flipped the metal clasps one by one and let the caps rest against the side of the jars.
"This is a lot of weed," Draco said as he started another row, "who buys all this?"
"People," Darren said.
Draco did some mental math as he continued opening jars.
"No way you're selling all this to individuals; there aren't enough hours in the day," he said, "you're supplying Martin O'Donnell."
Darren rolled his eyes in frustration.
"Yeah but bloody hell, don't say it out loud you fucking chimp," he replied with a chuckle, confirming Draco's suspicion, "I need to move it soon, got to figure out a better place than my own cellar to do this."
"I could do this," Draco thought, "plenty of space in the Manor, or on the grounds. I could grow it and cure it myself. 'Herbivicus' and Curing Solution would make it go faster too, much faster than any muggle could do it."
He started on the last row.
"But how would I get it to the Manor and back?" he thought, "maybe I could shrink them all? I need to be careful. Even chancing a Statute violation is risky."
"What's going on in that banged up head of yours?" Darren asked.
Draco popped another jar open.
"What if I could grow some, would you buy it?" Draco asked.
Darren scoffed.
"Dunno if you've noticed, but I'm not really in the buying business mate," the dealer replied with a smirk.
"Martin then, would he?" Draco asked.
Darren turned with a sigh to give Draco his full attention and regarded him thoughtfully, all signs of humour gone.
"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, "Martin don't fuck around."
"No idea," Draco said, "I'm sure I could use the money though."
"Yeah you and the rest of the bloody world," Darren muttered. He stared at Draco appraisingly, then he sniffed, as if coming to a decision, and walked to a bureau standing in the corner against the back wall.
He opened a few drawers and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for: a worn paperback book and a small, sealed jar.
"Here, instructions on how to grow and cure them, and some seeds to get started," Darren said, "bring me back some samples to prove you actually know what you're doing, and I'll see if Martin is interested in another supplier."
Draco looked down at the jar of seeds.
"This could be a way to earn some gold," he thought, "but Sanguini is working with Martin somehow."
It was unlikely Martin knew what Sanguini really was; vampires were just as bound by the Statute as wizards were. Still, it was an unknown factor, and a risk, and Draco would need to tread carefully. He shifted his arm slightly and felt the reassuring presence of the wand in his pocket. He wasn't as helpless as the last time he'd seen the vampire at Martin's party, but life favoured the prepared. He made a mental note to acquire some additional defences.
"I have some time," Draco thought, "I could have the weed grown and cured in a day at most, but I imagine Darren will be expecting a week at least."
"Drake! We're leaving!" Mary called from upstairs.
Draco glanced up from the seeds he'd been studying while his mind wandered and saw Darren watching him.
"Thanks mate," Draco said, "let me try a few things, I can almost guarantee we'll have some interesting flavours."
Darren snorted.
"Try getting the curing process down first before you start experimenting," he said.
Draco nodded.
"Drake, come ON!" Mary called from upstairs.
"Go on, I'll finish up here," Darren said.
Draco placed the jar of seeds and the book into his jacket and climbed back up out of the cellar. He met Mary at the front door and they walked to Bruno's car together. Mercifully, Mack had taken the front seat and Draco shared the back seat with Mary, who took the opportunity to rest her head on his shoulder. The ride was mostly silent as Bruno dropped Mack off first.
"Did you really quit?" the boxer asked. Draco glanced up to see Bruno looking at him in the rear view mirror.
"Yeh," Draco said, "over a week now."
"Hm. Good," Bruno said. He dropped Mary and Draco off in front of the run-down apartment complex and pulled away to park the car.
"Come up for a bit?" Mary asked as the tail lights turned the corner.
Draco nodded, hoping to finally get laid, but when they arrived in her room, Mary locked the door and went straight for the bottom drawer where she kept the small container holding her stash of smack.
"Been waiting all bloody day for this," she said as she lit the flame under the spoon. She glanced up at him, the small flame reflecting in her eyes.
"Can cook you some too," she said.
Dirty blood.
Draco shook his head.
"Dunno what you're missin'," she muttered as she refocused on the task of preparing the hit.
Mary finished up and sucked up the liquid into the syringe, then tapped the bubbles out and rolled her sleeve up. Draco couldn't help but notice the ugly purple bruising that marred her pale skin on the inside of her elbow.
"Mother fucker," Mary muttered as she searched for a vein to use. Eventually, hands shaking, she rolled up her other sleeve and wrapped the tourniquet around that arm instead.
"You can stay the night if you like," she said absently, not looking up at Draco as she tapped her opposite elbow, "I don't mind."
"I'll um… I'll think about it," Draco replied.
Mary found what she was looking for and depressed the plunger. Draco saw the familiar bliss wash over her expression as her eyes glazed over and she slowly fell back onto the bed. This time the needle still protruded awkwardly from her arm, and Draco opened up one of the alcohol swabs and pressed it down after he removed the metal from beneath her skin, just like he'd seen Mary do before. He placed the needle back onto the dresser and regarded his completely oblivious girlfriend? Lover? The recent dry spell had Draco finding himself once again contemplating taking advantage of her while she was high out of her mind. Instead, he fled the room and found Bruno sitting on the living room couch, flipping channels. The boxer glanced over with a slightly confused expression as Draco entered.
"Mary high?" Bruno asked.
Draco nodded.
"Fecking hell," Bruno said.
He returned to watching the telly for a few seconds.
"You need to get her to stop," Bruno said.
"Me?" Draco replied, confused.
"You bloody deaf or something?" Bruno replied, fixing Draco with a stare that, even sitting down, promised pain and suffering. Draco's hand drifted towards his jacket pocket and his wand, but Bruno went back to watching the telly and flipping channels. The audio flipped between muggles speaking as part of an interview, to a crowd of people laughing at some joke or other, to music, and on and on.
"You're her brother though," Draco said.
"Yeh and I told her to get rid of it, but she don't wanna listen," Bruno said, "so you're gonna get her to stop, if you want to keep seein' her that is."
Draco felt his hackles rise. The nerve of this muggle, trying to order him around, threatening him to keep him away from Mary. Draco stood silently and watched the boxer. He noted the tenseness in his posture, the way he purposefully focused on the tele, even though he wasn't really paying attention to it at all.
"He's worried," Draco thought.
"You hate all that stuff, don't you," Draco asked as he sat on the stained chair opposite the couch, "the coke, the pot, everything."
Bruno nodded.
"It's good you stopped," he said, "that's smart, and ain't easy I know."
"Can say that again," Draco muttered as the Fiend rattled around its cage.
"Some can manage, most can't," Bruno continued with a half-shrug, "seen too many people fuck themselves over."
"Why are you working for O'Donnell then?" Draco asked, "he's the one selling this stuff isn't he?"
"I really need to find out what O'Donnell is doing with Sanguini," he thought.
Bruno grimaced.
"Martin's a… friend of the family, and he has connections to the Boxing Union in Dublin," Bruno replied, "if it weren't for him, I'd never even get a whiff of a shot in the ring."
Anger bubbled up from somewhere inside Draco but he tamped it down as best he could.
"So you'll work for O'Donnell and let Welch sell to Mary?" Draco asked, "she's your bloody sister."
Bruno looked away from the telly again and pointed the remote at Draco.
"First of all, remember who yer feckin' talkin' to; don't you ever take that tone with me again. Second, you think I'm a fecking idiot?" he said, "I told Darren and everyone else not to sell to her, but she's bloody stubborn and who knows if she'll be able to get more from somewhere else."
He held Draco's gaze for a moment, and Draco stared right back; no way was he going to let this muggle intimidate him.
"I've half a mind to just toss it all and chain her to the bed for a week," Bruno added as he turned back to the tele.
Extreme, but Draco could see the merit in doing it.
"Why haven't you?" Draco asked.
"Thought about it. But I can't be here twenty-four seven. Say I toss it and she runs off to whoever is gonna deal to her? Can't keep her chained up forever. Seen it happen," Bruno replied, "We're not there yet."
He flipped another channel.
"Still time for you to make yourself useful," he added.
Chagrin filled Draco, both from the order and from Bruno's insulting words earlier.
"Fuck this muggle goon, he thinks he can order me around?" Draco thought.
The thing was, Draco did want Mary to stop. She hadn't been in good spirits lately, and the lack of sex had grown from distracting itch to burning need. He suspected the drugs were the cause, and he did feel healthier and clearer now that he'd stopped for a time, despite the constant cravings he needed to keep locked away. Draco stewed for a moment trying to figure out how he could agree without seeming like he was acquiescing to Bruno's demands, when the boxer abruptly turned off the tele.
"Goin' for a run, you stayin'?" Bruno asked.
Draco shook his head.
Bruno nodded and retreated to his room, ostensibly to change clothes. Draco left the apartment and kept a grip on his wand under his jacket on the walk back to the Leaky. He put Mary's habit on the back burner for the time being and set his mind to figuring out what he was going to do.
"At least I have some sort of plan now," he thought as he fingered the jar of marijuana seeds. A vague idea was a far cry from actual galleons in his pocket, but it was a start.
line
"Finally," Draco thought as he exited the orphanage. He'd set the seeds aside when he returned home after the day at the track. The following night, he'd read through the book Darren lent him. Aside from a few unfamiliar words, it appeared to be a basic curing process, something he'd covered in third year Herbology. Last night he'd visited three different shops trying to purchase a vial of Curing Solution and a Zippy's mist sprayer. He'd ended up having to drop by Knockturn Alley just to buy these simple things, and by the time he arrived back at the Manor it was too late to start. Tonight, at last, he was ready to test them out for the first time.
He walked straight for his rooms and retrieved the seeds and the solution and mister, then to the kitchens to secure a bowl. A quick walk to the grounds and a few waves of his wand, and the bowl filled with soil from the rose garden.
One of the primary purposes of herbology was to create ingredients for potions or rituals. Normally, using magic to speed the growth or curing process spoiled the properties of the plant in question and rendered them useless as reagents, but Draco had no such restrictions for what he intended; muggles would have no use for pot as a potion ingredient. He brought the soil down into the cellar and locked the door so he wouldn't be disturbed, then laid the bowl down on the surface of a wine rack, pressed one of the seeds down into the soil, and drew his wand.
"Herbivicus," he said.
A jet of curling green energy shot forth from his wand into the soil, and a fully grown marijuana plant sprung up and trailed bits of green magic energy from its leaves until the spell faded.
Draco carefully sliced the plant from the soil then laid it on the surface of the rack, then uncorked the vial of Curing Solution and fed several drops into the mister. He held the nozzle a foot or so away from the uprooted plant and squeezed the handle a few times until a fine mist settled over the plant. Almost immediately, Draco heard a faint crinkling sound, like someone crumpling parchment in the next classroom. He tapped a few of the buds and smelled them, then sprayed another dose and waited for it to take effect. Fifteen minutes later, he separated the buds from the leaves and flowers, and had a small pile of cured pot, ready for smoking. At least, it smelled ready for smoking.
"Only one way to find out," he thought as he pulled a few wrapping papers from his pocket and rolled a joint. A quick light from the tip of his wand and a puff or two later, and Draco nodded to himself. It wasn't perfect, but it was damn good for his first try. He'd be able to experiment more later to increase the potency or to add flavours.
"It might be a good idea to research a few Bertie Botts products," he thought as he inhaled another mouthful and held it.
"Hmm," he thought as he held up the vial of Curing Solution, "this could be a problem."
Curing Solution, while not exorbitant, was not cheap. On top of that, the Ministry regulated sales of the stuff; if he bought too much, it might raise unwanted attention.
"Maybe I could brew it," he thought, "but I'd still have to acquire the ingredients somehow. I suppose there's always the muggle way; that only costs time, but it's so damn inefficient."
He lamented selling off all the furniture to buy coke. If he had that money now, he could purchase enough ingredients and equipment to brew the stuff in one of the cellars. He'd have to think on what to do. At any rate, he had some time; Darren wouldn't be expecting a first batch for several weeks.
line
"Who plays footie in weather cold enough to freeze sea water?" Draco thought as he jogged in place between the goal posts and clapped his gloved hands together in a vain attempt to keep his limbs from going numb.
He would never take warming charms for granted again. The kids, on the other hand, didn't care about such things as ambient temperature. Merlin, half of them didn't even have proper jackets, but they weren't going to miss football. There were an odd number of kids today, so Draco ended up playing keeper for one team, but he hadn't seen much action as the pitch seemed slanted towards the other goal. Finally, Stephanie blew the whistle, ending the match.
Of the three others who'd been working at the orphanage when Draco started, only Mack Quaid remained, and tidying up took twice as long with only two of them. Draco tried to avoid eye contact with the other delinquent as much as possible. On his last chance with Macmillian, he couldn't afford any incidents at all. Fortunately, Mack seemed to be of similar sentiment.
"He probably doesn't want to do anything to get his sentence extended again," Draco thought.
Macmillian had caught him smoking on the grounds again and written a report that earned Mack additional community service. At the time Draco had been torn between seeing Mack suffer more and likewise having to suffer his presence, but now he'd gladly take on all the extra tasks if it meant he didn't have to look at the prick's ugly face. After they hung up their jackets, Draco excused himself to wash his hands after they finished stowing the goal posts. He'd just started rinsing when he heard a loud bang from the girl's room on the other side of the wall.
"Mother Fucker!" a muffled voice, a young girl's voice, shouted, followed by some more commotion.
Draco took three strides and banged out the door into the hallway, but then stopped, hands dripping, at the wooden door featuring the little symbol of a woman in a dress, just above the word 'Ladies'. He glanced in both directions but he was the only one in the hall. If he barged in, it could turn into a serious situation. But someone could be injured inside. He stood indecisive at the door for a good twenty seconds, then it opened to reveal young Callista McKay's platinum blond bob. Draco's eyes moved immediately to her left eye, darkened with a nasty looking bruise which was already at least a few days old.
"What was all that about?" Draco asked as he gestured to the interior of the girl's toilet.
"Nothing," Callista replied.
Draco glanced inside as the door swung shut, then back to the girl.
"What happened to your eye?" he asked.
"I… fell off the swing," Callista replied, her eyes daring him to challenge her.
"Not a bad attempt at a lie, but not good enough," he thought.
"Come on, you know that's not going to work on me," Draco said as he knelt down to get to her height, "does Mary know?"
"No, she never visits anymore," Callista replied with a small pout. She'd be cute if it wasn't for the bruise.
"If she knew you were hurt, she'd come," Draco said as an image of Mary lying on her bed with a needle sticking out of her arm came to him, "what really happened?"
Callista glanced around first to ensure they were alone.
"Ann Lewis said I stole her necklace and yeah it was under my bed but I swear I didn't take it I know it was the monster again but nobody believes me they just say I'm a thief and she punched me in the eye and nobody believes me anyway they think I'm just a liar but I'm not lying!" Callista said, the words spilling out and over each other so Draco had trouble keeping up, "you believe me though, right Drake?"
Tears threatened to spill from her grey eyes.
"This kid has absolutely nothing going for her at all," Draco thought. He actually felt bad for the orphan.
"Yeah, I believe you," Draco said.
"Can you tell Director Macmillan it wasn't me? Please?" she said, hands clasped together in front of her, "then he'll punish Ann."
"He didn't punish her for giving you that?" Draco asked, pointing to the bruise.
"He said nobody saw it, but I could tell. He thinks I'm lying. He thinks I deserve it," Callista said. Her little lips twisted down with the perceived unfairness of the situation.
Draco grimaced.
"Bloody hell, I have no idea how to deal with this," he thought.
"I think I should get you back to Steph," he said.
"No, not Steph, can you take me to Pam instead?" Callie said.
Draco shook his head.
"You're in primary, that means you're with Steph. There's rules; you can't just go to whomever you like," Draco said.
As tears threatened to spill over, he sighed and deliberately softened his expression.
"I'll talk to Macmillian, see what I can do," Draco said, and that appeared to mollify her "come on."
They made their way to the cafeteria for lunch, and the rest of the day went fairly normally until after arts and crafts. The children had been enthusiastically messy that day and Quaid was taking an extra long time in the loo, which left Draco to do most of the cleaning while the brats ate dinner. The door opened to reveal Pam Baker escorting a teenaged boy with dark hair and green paint smeared across his eyes. Unable to see, he stifled a grunt of pain as he squeezed his eyes shut while she led him by the hand to the long sink. She flipped on the tap and bent him sideways to guide his eyes to where they could be flushed out by the streaming water.
"Drake do me a favour," she said as she glanced up at him, "I'm going to be a few minutes with this, let Michael know? He's probably waiting at reception by now."
Draco nodded and rinsed his hands just enough to not smear paint all over anything should he touch it. He passed Mack in the hallway, and the fake blond young man smirked at him as they passed each other. Draco glanced over his shoulder at him.
"That was odd," he thought.
He arrived at reception to find Michael Baker's large frame towering over the counter; apparently Madeline the receptionist had gone for the day. Draco glanced down to note the rugby player still wore the black leg brace.
"Hi Michael, we met on Halloween," Draco said, extending a hand, "Pam said she's going to be a few minutes."
"Ah yeah, something with the kids?" Michael asked.
"It's always something with the kids," Draco replied.
"Figured," Michael replied, "she really loves them. Have to, to work here."
"Yeah, she's really good with them," Draco said as he wondered where the conversation was going. Something about Mack's smirk tickled the back of his mind and unsettled him.
"Where exactly was he coming from?" Draco thought.
"Actually, was anyone else here just now?" Draco asked, interrupting Michael.
"Err, there was another guy, blond," Michael said.
"What was he doing?" Draco asked.
"Messing about in the closet," Michael replied, "why?"
Draco went straight to the closet, found his jacket, and slipped it on. He felt about in the pockets until his fingers landed on a plastic baggie that definitely was not there before.
"Fucking bastard!" he thought.
Panic filled him; he needed to get rid of whatever this was, but Michael Baker stood just three feet away from him, eyeing him with a curious expression. Draco turned towards the closet and worked his wand out from where it was strapped to his arm, beneath his sleeve.
"So long as nobody actually sees me perform magic, I'm not violating the Statute," he thought.
Voices echoed from down the hall, it was now or never.
"Who's that?" Draco asked as he turned to look down the hall. Just as Michael instinctively flicked his eyes where Draco glanced, the Slytherin shifted his body slightly.
"Confundus," he whispered. A glazed look came over Michael's face and Draco knelt down in the closet. He pulled the baggie from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the ground where the reception desk blocked the view from the rest of the hallway. White powder bounced around inside the bag: cocaine.
It wasn't much, but the Fiend wanted it, all of it.
"Dementors! Do it now Draco!" he internally screamed to himself to muster the will to take action.
"Evanesco," he whispered with another wave of his wand, and the drugs vanished into nothingness.
Draco stood up and stowed the wand back up his sleeve just as Macmillian and Stephanie Griggs rounded the corner.
"Michael, how's your leg healing?" Draco asked.
"Hmm?" Michael replied as he turned back to him, "oh. The doctors say the ligaments aren't quite there yet. The muscle is strong, but it's going to take some more time to heal fully. Hopefully I can get back to playing before the end of the season."
Draco nodded.
"Evening Michael, hope you're well," Macmillian said, "Drake, to my office please."
Draco's palms sweated and his heart raced with the close call as he followed Macmillian back to the office. They entered and Steph, wearing a grim expression, closed the door behind them.
"Turn out your pockets, if you please," Macmillian said. Draco complied, emptying the lighter, a few quid, a receipt for dinner a few nights ago, and his muggle driver's licence onto the table as he flipped his pockets inside out. The wand he kept tucked into his sleeve.
"Right, hold out your arms," the director said.
Macmillian ran his hands down Draco's arms and legs and around his belt as if he were searching for hidden weapons. He paused at the wand tucked up to Draco's sleeve but then moved on without a word.
"He's clean," Macmillian said.
"Mind telling me what this is about?" Draco asked as he retrieved his meagre possessions and returned them to their usual spots, all except for the receipt; that went into the bin.
"Just a routine check for contraband," Macmillian replied.
Draco nodded.
"Could I have a word, alone?" he asked.
Macmillian nodded to Steph, who quietly left the room.
"It was Quaid, I know it was," Draco said once her footsteps faded, "Pam's husband saw him messing about in the coat closet just before you arrived."
He considered whether he should say anything more.
"Merlin's ballsack, you've already told him everything else," Draco thought. Over the past several weeks in their one-on-one sessions, he'd opened up more to Macmillian than he'd had to anyone else, including Mother. Including Mary.
"I went and found it before you showed up. I had to bloody vanish whatever he planted in my jacket," Draco said as he dropped into the chair in front of the desk and fumed.
"He was a git before, but this is too much," Draco thought, "stupid muggle shit for brains could have really fucked me."
Macmillian moved around behind the desk, sat down, and folded his hands on the table.
"I presume there's no way to prove what you're saying, and if we brought Mack in here, it would be your word against his?" Macmillian said.
"You can't unvanish something once it's gone, and I'm not allowed to force him to tell the truth, if that's what you're asking," Draco said absently as he pretended to study the wires attached to the back of the computer monitor. Macmillian pursed his lips.
"Mack's last day is today," Macmillian said, "I can ensure he won't return to the orphanage once he's gone, so you won't have to worry about him any more, at least not here."
"Except he's mates with Darren, and has a thing for Mary," Draco thought, "I should take care of him permanently, somehow."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Macmillian asked.
The damn squib was perceptive. If Draco didn't know better, he'd swear he was a legilimens. He thought for a moment about whether to talk through what he felt with Macmillian, but he recalled something.
"Living well is the best revenge, isn't it?" Draco asked. It was something they'd discussed in a previous session, when Draco had mentioned Brandon Clark, his probation officer, and how he wouldn't mind if something unfortunate were to befall him.
Macmillian nodded.
Draco thought about it, and it was true. Nothing would make Mack's blood boil more than seeing him living happily and succeeding in whatever it was he was trying to do. A vice put pressure on Draco's heart as he realised there were a mere few weeks left in his probation. Would Mary date Quaid if Draco vanished?
"I'll still visit though, probably a lot," Draco thought, "Conducting business in Wizarding Britain will be damn near impossible, so if I'm to recover financially, it's going to have to be from the muggle world."
The idea, once unthinkable, was now his only option.
"The Statute is the biggest problem," he thought, "if I could get around that somehow, safely, I'm sure I could figure something out."
What about his relationship with Mary McKay though? Would he continue to date her? Was there a long-term future for them, a muggle orphan and a disgraced pureblood? There were a million pragmatic reasons why he should end it sooner rather than later.
"Then again, if I end it now, I might lose the relationship with Bruno, and possibly Darren too," he thought, "or am I just rationalising? Forget it Draco, one thing at a time. Get through your probation and figure out how you're going to save yourself and Mother from destitution. You can worry about your social life later."
"I know what to do," Draco said, "at least, I know what to do first."
"Better get to it then," Macmillian said.
It wasn't until he walked past the now deserted entryway and into the cold night that several images came together almost so fast they almost made him dizzy: The black leg brace wrapped around Michael Baker's knee, the telly in the flat flashing the salary of the rugged looking football star who'd scored on a free kick, Mary's astonishment at his quick recovery after being mugged...
"How much would Michael Baker pay to be able to play again?" Draco thought, "how much would he pay to be stronger, or faster, or have more endurance?"
There was an opportunity here, he knew it down to the depths of his core. Once again, the damn Statute was in the way…
line
"Do you know how much he's paid?" Draco asked.
Mary shook her head. They were on their usual walk asking each other questions as they wandered. The normal dreary London winter had lightened up for the afternoon with spots of sun peeking through scudding clouds, a welcome preview of the spring still several weeks off. Draco glanced over at her and she met his eyes, then quirked her usual smirk and winked. He liked her when she was like this, when she wasn't high, craving, or recovering, but those periods seemed to be getting fewer and farther between as time went on. Still, when the sun or the wind caught her face or hair just right, Draco felt he could almost see a future with her.
"It has to be a pretty chunk of change though. Pam used to be a model; she wouldn't marry just anyone," Mary said, "I know he drives a Porsche."
"That's a car, right?" Draco asked.
Mary nodded.
"Why are you so interested in Michael, anyway?" Mary asked, "almost every question is about him. Do I have competition?"
"Potential business opportunity," Draco replied.
"Oh, now I'm interested," she said.
"Fuck off," Draco replied with a grin, "your question."
"When are you going to introduce me to Theo?" Mary asked.
Draco snorted.
"Never," he replied automatically, then instantly realised he'd made a mistake as he practically heard Mary's expression sour.
"Look," Draco said, "he's very anti-"
"Don't make it worse now," he thought.
"Drug," Draco said, figuring he might be able to kill two birds with one stone, "can't stand the stuff, and you're a heavy user."
"I'm not that heavy of a user; I can stop whenever I like," Mary replied as she crossed her arms.
"I'm sure you can. I'm just saying it won't end well, that's all," Draco said, "not until you clean up."
"Idiot, now if she cleans up, you'll have to introduce her," Draco thought, "whatever, one thing at a time."
"Christ, you're starting to sound like my brother," Mary said. A cloud crossed in front of the sun and the temperature dropped.
"How's the job, the zoologist thing or whatever it was?" Draco asked to change the subject.
"Vet's office," Mary replied after a moment, "it's going well, the vet asked me to sub in for one of the assistants who was out. It was just handing her things she asked for but she said I did well. I think it might be something I could do."
"What, be an animal doctor?" Draco asked.
"Why not?" Mary replied as she gave him a challenging glance, "I'll need to sit my A-levels, but I'm sure I can do it if I really try."
Most of the ailments affecting non-magical animals could probably be treated easily by any proper magizoologist, but without magic or magical remedies? Draco had no idea.
"Is it easy? Becoming one, I mean," Draco asked.
Mary frowned as she thought.
"I looked into it," she said, "it's a five-year university course. A lot of studying… and I'll have to figure out a way to come up with the tuition fees. Well... A-levels first."
She started chewing her lower lip as they walked some more and Draco sensed her mood darkening.
"This way," she said, turning down a road which would lead them back to her apartment.
Draco increased his stride as her steps quickened, until they were at a very brisk walk when they arrived at the familiar run-down apartment block. She took the steps two at a time and Draco found himself struggling to keep up by the time they reached the landing. He hadn't even closed her bedroom door by the time she had the plastic container with her cooking utensils out and open. She rummaged around inside for a second or two, then emptied all the contents onto the dresser. The syringes, spoon, lighter, and lemon juice all spilled out and Mary, hands now trembling, sifted through them. Then Draco had to jump aside as she stormed out of the room.
"BRUNO!" Mary yelled.
Draco paused at the doorway to Mary's room, and took a half-step back into the bedroom as Mary slammed her fist on Bruno's bedroom door.
"Where is it?" Mary screamed at the door.
"Flushed it!" Bruno yelled without opening the door.
"Fuck you, no you didn't!" Mary screamed.
The banging continued and Mary's yells and demands devolved into an incoherent garble of obscenities that completely drowned out whatever Bruno yelled back, and all the while Draco stood there, rooted to the spot. Then he heard the sound of repetitive thumping, Bruno slamming his fists into the punching bag while Mary continued to scream through the door.
"It's a family affair, don't get involved. It's a family affair, don't get involved," he thought.
Abruptly the yelling stopped and Mary pushed past Draco again; this time she opened another drawer and pulled out a fistful of muggle currency and shoved it into her jeans pocket.
"Coming?" she asked without breaking stride.
Draco followed along after Mary into the deepening dusk. Whatever warmth the day brought had long since fled, replaced by cloudy weather that threatened snow. She led him through a few streets he'd never been down before, maybe a mile, to another apartment block. He followed her inside, and this one was just as run down as Bruno's. For a brief moment, Draco considered simply letting her go, but there was no telling what she'd do in her current state. He considered trying a compulsion on her, to force her to quit, but that would definitely be a violation of the Statute unless he obliviated her, and there was no telling whether either charm would take over the long term.
They arrived at their destination, a wooden flat door in a long hallway of flat doors that all looked identical to Draco. Mary stepped up and knocked, and Draco heard movement inside.
"Go away McKay," came the male voice from inside.
"Come on, don't be like that," Mary said, but there was no more response.
"Fucking Bruno," Mary muttered as she walked past Draco and he followed along in her wake.
They visited two more run-down apartment complexes and Mary grew more agitated after each one.
"Piss shit fucking motherfucker!" she as they left yet another building, "he's told everyone not to sell to me. Asshole!"
"It's bloody freezing," Draco said, "let's go home."
"No, I know someone who will sell to me," Mary said as she hugged herself.
She led them near to where Bruno lived, perhaps only a few minutes' walk away. Tiny snow flurries began to drift down from the sky, illuminated by the street lights.
"Hang on, isn't this…" Draco said as he looked around.
"Quaid's flat," Mary said.
"No, Mary, I didn't tell you, but that cunt planted stuff on me to try and fuck me over," Draco said.
Mary's steps slowed.
"Do you still have it?" Mary asked.
"What? Of course not! I got rid of it before Macmillian searched me," Draco replied, "if I'd kept it, we wouldn't be having this conversation, I'd've been dragged off to bloody prison."
She stopped, apparently frozen by indecision.
"Just this once," she said as she picked up the pace again.
Mary led him up to Quaid's flat in yet another rundown apartment block, very similar to the last two they'd visited, and Draco took note of exactly which unit it was, just in case. He made sure to stay out of sight and watched as Mary pleaded for a full minute, then she shoved some bills through a crack in the door and received a small baggie in exchange.
"He wouldn't sell to me either, only pot," Mary said, "I'm so fucked."
They returned to her room where she promptly pulled out a blue bong from the closet, loaded it with weed from the baggie, and flicked the lighter a few times before getting a flame. Air bubbled through it as she inhaled, and then she did it again, and again. She offered it to him with her breath held, but Draco politely declined.
"Fucking Bruno," she muttered after about the tenth hit, "I'll find someone who'll sell to me…"
"Look, I don't think you can be shooting up and study to be an animal healer," Draco said, "maybe it's actually a good idea to quit."
"Fuck off Drake, you have no idea," Mary said.
Draco considered doing just that, but then he thought about Mary McKay, how she'd helped him when he was at his lowest, and what her fate would be if she were left to her own devices. He studied her as she sat on the bed and repeatedly sucked down the marijuana smoke.
"She needs help, that's for sure, but are you really in any kind of state to be helping anyone? You're only about one rung lower on the fucked-up ladder yourself," Draco thought, "Could she actually die from this? Should you take away her free will, even if it's for her own good? If you don't, will Darren and Bruno still put in a good word with Martin so you could sell to him?"
"Ugh," she said as she placed the now empty bong on the night table. She lay on her back, still clothed, and closed her eyes. Before long she was asleep, and Draco watched her quietly as her chest rose and fell. She seemed peaceful when she was like this, none of the fire of her personality or cravings of her own personal Fiend marring her essence. Draco heard the front door's deadbolt slide open and he switched off the lamp on the night table.
"She find any?" Bruno asked as Draco exited the small hallway into the living room.
Draco shook his head.
"Only weed," he replied.
Bruno nodded as he hung up his keys by the door. Draco recognized the swishy pants he wore as running pants; Bruno must have been out training again.
"You're always running," Draco said.
"Clears the head. Plus, got to get in shape, fight's coming soon," Bruno replied, "I'm going to eat a little bit, then lift. Are you staying?"
It made sense. Professional quidditch players did much the same, constantly keeping their body in tip top condition to give themselves the best chance for victory.
"No, I've some work that needs to be done," Draco replied.
Bruno nodded.
"When's the fight?" Draco asked.
"End of March," Bruno replied.
Draco nodded. The boxer ignored him and started putting together something in the kitchen; it looked like more chicken. Draco took that as his cue to let himself out of the flat. As he walked through the increasingly heavy snow, his thoughts centred on Mary. She was definitely getting worse, not better, and Draco was at a loss for how to help her or even if he should. His own fiend rattled around in its cage.
"Can muggles even learn Occlumency?" he thought, "perhaps… there's nothing inherently magical about it."
How could he teach it without revealing himself though? Aunt Bellatrix had used legilimency to train him, and he couldn't do that to Mary without violating the Statute. He turned his thoughts around until he arrived home and, legs fatigued from all the walking he'd done that day, he fell into bed and passed out.
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The following morning, Draco awoke having dreamt about an article he'd read, years ago, in another life, about Victor Krum and his training routine. No doubt he'd been influenced by the talk with Bruno the night before, but that didn't change the fact that Krum mentioned a physical training regimen helped with focus and studies. He put on his muggle trainers and scarfed down half a slice of bread from the main dining room, then walked out the front door of the Manor. He started walking at first, then picked up the pace, pouring his frustration and rage into the simple physical activity, until he ran at a near sprint past the dead winter trees. He didn't last long. The crisp air burned his lungs, his thighs itched and felt like lead weights, and it felt like a vengeful fairy was stabbing him in his side, but he ran until he couldn't run anymore, then stopped by a large oak tree, bent over, heaving great gulps of air. When he'd halfway caught his breath, he ran back the way he came, this time at a less frenetic pace.
When he re-entered the Manor, he glanced in a hallway mirror to see red ears and nose staring back at him, but he felt clearer and more in control than he had in months.
"The stupid muggle boxer was right," he thought as sweat beaded on his forehead despite the frigid air outside.
"Wonder if Bruno would pay for some kind of strengthening solution…" Draco thought, "I'd have to make sure it could pass those muggle pee tests though."
He added it to the list of things to do. Potions could give muggles an edge, and they'd be willing to pay for it, he was sure. There was a lot to work out: How would he weaken the potions to avoid making it obvious the muggles were magically enhanced or cured? How would he find the buyers? How would he get it to them? How would he avoid violating the Statute? How would he avoid the muggle authorities?
"First things first Draco," he thought, "you need a potions lab to create and test the brews. Luckily, I know exactly where to find one."
The last living Malfoy, still breathing hard from the run, walked to his father's old study, sat at the massive desk, uncapped an inkwell, dipped, and put quill to parchment.
Dear Headmistress…
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Chapter 23 Trigger Warnings: Cursing, drug abuse, addiction.