Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

by Thundercracker-TC

The survivors of the second wizarding war suffer the scars of Voldemort's reign as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Harry is spread thin across multiple responsibilities as he and Ron join the Aurors, where new challenges and mysteries await. Not all is as it seems though, and powerful forces lurk in the darkness, biding their time... Cover art by a.heesher

11. Chapter 11

Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter.

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Beta by FedererRex

Chapter 11

Draco grasped the cold metal ring and immediately felt the familiar tug on his navel, pulling him almost instantly through hundreds of miles as though he were passing backwards through a straw. The icy cold sea spray assaulted him as he landed and took a step to keep his balance. Although it was only early autumn, out here in the North Sea, it felt closer to winter than summer. He turned away from the barren stone wall whose only feature was a large dull metal ring and walked across the small stone platform, the only spot on Azkaban island portkeys or apparition would function. The stone platform narrowed into a walkway stretching off into sea spray and the seemingly ever-present gloom surrounding the cursed island. A distinct lack of guardrails made him extra careful about walking down the exact centre of the narrow stone path. Waves crashed on either side, tossing salt water high into the air and onto the pathway. The chill North Sea wind whipped at his robes, threatening to knock him off and to the rocks or sea below. It was only about a hundred meters to the guardhouse at the end of the walkway, but it wasn't even visible until he was about halfway there. The imposing monolithic prison loomed out of the fog, the same as it always was, shrouded in dark clouds. He approached the small guardhouse at the end of the walkway and knocked on the door. A bald and slightly overweight middle-aged wizard wearing Auror robes opened the door, revealing a well-lit interior.

"Draco Malfoy, to see Lucius Malfoy," Draco said.

The Auror stepped back into the guardhouse. Within the cramped interior, only two windows offered external views, one facing the prison, and one facing the stone walkway. A simple table and four chairs sat in the centre of the room, and three desks lined the walls. Against the fourth wall sat a lone, squat, metal filing cabinet. A third door, slightly ajar, led to what Draco could barely make out as a loo. The wind penetrated through a crack somewhere in the guardhouse, creating an unsettling whistling sound. A second Auror, with slicked black hair, perhaps in his mid-twenties, aimed a wand at him from behind the table in the centre of the room. The bald Auror pulled a file from one of the desk drawers and flipped through it, then nodded.

"Have you done this before?" the bald Auror asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Do you have a wand? If so, you'll need to check it, then you'll be searched," the Auror said, "Jenkins will accompany you into the prison."

"Captain, I've escorted the last two," Jenkins said.

"When you're the senior officer on duty, you can decide who goes," the captain said, looking over his shoulder.

He turned back to Draco.

"Wand?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"I came through the Ministry, submitted my wand at reception," he said.

The bald Auror nodded.

"Hold your arms out to the side," the captain said.

He waved a golden wire over Draco, a probity probe, then stowed it and frisked him manually, ensuring he had nothing concealed beneath his robes. He stopped at Draco's left arm, then jerked up the sleeve of the robe to expose the faded Dark Mark. He sneered in disgust at it and shook his head, releasing Draco's arm. Malfoy immediately pulled his arm back and tucked it back into his sleeve, concealing the snake and skull tattoo.

"Had to see for myself," the captain said, staring into Draco's eyes intensely. Draco kept his thoughts compartmentalized like he'd been taught, and he didn't detect any intrusion.

"Jenkins, he's all yours," the captain said, nudging Draco towards the door facing the prison.

Jenkins walked around from behind the table and stood behind Draco, wand pointed at his back.

"Stay in front of me," Jenkins said, "don't make any sudden moves, I'll direct you to Lucius Malfoy's cell."

Draco led the way up the steep incline to the massive metal prison itself and through a metal door which opened soundlessly on its own as they approached. He entered into the gigantic triangle shaped building and stared at the long hallway in front of him. A doorway at the end opened into what appeared to be a hollow centre of the building. Several intersections crisscrossed the hallway, and the metal itself seemed to glow a dim green, creating just enough light to see by.

"Take the first left," Jenkins said, "then it's up to the top."

Draco followed the instructions and passed a few more intersections before coming to a stairwell at one of the corners of the prison. Draco started climbing, and before long his legs burned and his breath became ragged and they stopped for a break.

"Do you regret it?" Jenkins asked, wand still casually aimed at Draco. Draco was struck by the Auror's youth; he couldn't have been more than six or seven years older.

"Regret what?" Draco asked.

"Everything, becoming a Death Eater, killing Dumbledore," Jenkins asked.

"I didn't kill him, I only disarmed him," Draco said, looking away, "and he was half-dead already anyway."

A moment passed.

"So do you?" Jenkins asked.

"I did not smoke nearly enough for this conversation," Draco thought.

"What's it to you?" Draco asked.

"Just wondering what went through your head, what would make you… anyone, do something like that," Jenkins asked.

"You think I had a choice? Are you mad?" Draco asked, "the Dark Lord was living in my house. He would've tortured and killed my mother and made me watch if I refused. And then he would have done the same thing to me, maybe fed us to his pet snake afterwards."

He shuddered, but Jenkins looked sceptical.

"You never thought about running away?" he asked.

Draco shook his head and kept climbing. He didn't understand. None of them did. Eventually the temperature started dropping, and Jenkins made a complicated wand movement.

"Expecto Patronum," he said.

A small silvery bird, Draco thought it might be a swallow, flew from the tip of his wand and Draco felt the cold recede.

"Not far now," Jenkins said.

The swallow stayed near them, driving away the cold and despair of the dementors as they climbed. The stairwell deposited them at the start of another long hallway lit with the same dim green glowing light as the rest of the prison.

"Go to the end, then turn left," Jenkins said.

Draco walked the hallway towards the centre of the building and the open doorway at the end, only to find a sheer five hundred-foot drop to the frothing sea below. Echoes of crashing waves mingled with each other and the wind, creating a constant cacophony reminiscent of a distant and threatening thunderstorm. He looked up to see the dark wispy forms of at least two dozen dementors circling about, their black cloaks fluttering against grey clouds. Draco took a step back from the edge and turned left, following the inner hallway. Every now and then they passed a metal door on their left, cell blocks, he supposed, and open doorways leading to the abyss of the central hole in the building on their right. Far ahead, a lone dementor drifted towards them, only to duck out of one of the doorways to join his brothers in the air above and around the prison as the glowing swallow approached. The cold on the top floor was perpetual and the open gaps in the inner wall invited the wind to blow freely, mussing Draco's hair.

"Here," Jenkins said, pointing to a heavy metal door on their left which looked the same as all the other doors.

Draco lifted the latch with a loud clank and swung the door open on soundless hinges. A row of cells on either side of the hallway greeted him. A ditch ran down the centre of the hall, and trickle of water collected in it and ran into a small drain at his feet. Each of the cells had bars seemingly transfigured into the ceiling and floor; there were no doors.

"There, third cell on the left," Jenkins said.

The Auror waited by the entrance, his patronus swallow patrolling left and right to ensure the dementors stayed away. Draco took a few steps inside the cell block, and suddenly was seized by the fear Jenkins would slam the door shut and trap him inside, but the Auror merely stood by, occasionally glancing at him.

Draco passed by the first two cells; he couldn't really tell who was beneath the pile of rags in one of them, but a bony foot stuck out, the thick yellowed toenails disgustingly long.

"Traitor," a voice from behind him said.

Draco turned to see the pale, twisted face of Antonin Dolohov, leering at him from behind the bars of his cage. The Death Eater's first stint in Azkaban had already destroyed his body once. Now, not much was left of him except bones and age spot covered skin, covered up in a grey Azkaban jumpsuit already fraying at the cuffs.

"Come a few steps closer, and I'll show you what a real Death Eater can do, what we do to traitors," Dolohov said, smiling and revealing his rotted teeth.

"You're not making a very convincing offer," Draco replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"What'd you do to stay out, eh?" Dolohov said, "oh, it's going to be a treat to see what the Dark Lord does to you when he returns again."

"Silencio," Jenkins said from the hallway, effectively ending the conversation. He turned back to watch the hallway.

Draco heard some rustling from the next cell over.

"Draco?" his father asked, "is that you?"

Draco walked a few more steps while Dolohov soundlessly railed behind him. His father sat a few feet back in his cell, on the floor, as if apprehensive about approaching the bars. The cell itself was barren; a privy and a sink sat against the back wall, and a platform attached to the wall covered in a few mouldy linens served as a bed, and that was it. The cell was barely large enough to lie down in, much less pace or do anything else. His father's once lustrous golden mane had thinned nearly to the point of baldness, and wispy strands of grey and yellow hung about his shoulders. His skin peeled and flaked in places, an angry red and brown patch of hives clearly visible on his neck, scabbed over where he'd torn his own flesh scratching at it. Lucius' cheeks were sunken, and the prison garb hung off his now dangerously thin frame. Worst of all were his eyes, the steely grey that Draco had spent nearly the entirety of his life attempting to find some amount of acknowledgement or praise from had turned leaden, dull, bereft of hope or purpose.

"Draco, why have you come here?" Lucius asked. His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and Draco had trouble hearing him over the whistling wind and crashing waves.

"Happy birthday, Father," Draco said.

"Has it been so long already?" Lucius asked after a long pause, "how… how have you been keeping, how is your mother?"

"Mother is… coping," Draco said, deciding not to mention the near month-long bender she was on, "she's been given house arrest, not sure if they told you."

Lucius nodded.

"They may have, I'm… I'm not sure," Lucius said, "the dementors, they feed on us, suck away our memories."

His old man's limbs started trembling, perhaps at the thought of the Dark creatures' return once Draco departed.

"And you, Draco?" Lucius asked.

"I'm serving probation, in a muggle orphanage," Draco replied, and Lucius' lips turned up in a sneer.

"Animals," Lucius said, and Draco wasn't sure whether he was referring to the Wizengamot responsible for his sentencing, or the muggles. Perhaps both.

"What of your prospects?" Lucius asked.

"Prospects for what… marriage?" Draco replied, "the Malfoy name is ruined. The ministry's confiscated almost everything, including all our properties in Britain except the manor. Only the holdings in France and Switzerland are left, and they're taxing those. There are no prospects. We're pariahs; I can't even get served at a restaurant."

"Draco, listen to me," Lucius said, moving forward and grabbing the bars with his bony fingers, "you're the Lord of House Malfoy now, you have to rebuild, look abroad if you must, find a woman of good breeding-"

"Have you not heard a single word I've said?" Draco interrupted, "we have no social standing, and no gold. There is no pureblooded woman on the planet who would consider a match, because you threw our lot in with a madman who feeds people to snakes."

Lucius looked hurt by this, as if the magnitude of his missteps leading to their fall from power pressed down entirely on his shoulders in that one moment.

Jenkins rapped twice against the door.

"Time's up," he said.

"Draco, the line of Malfoy cannot end with you," Lucius said, quietly, "at least promise me you'll try."

Draco looked down at the glowing metal beneath his feet.

"I will try, Father," he said, "mother sends her love, and her hope that she'll see you again one day."

"There is no hope, not here," Lucius said, then he lay back on the floor of his cell, and Draco assumed the conversation was over.

Before leaving, Draco took a few steps deeper into the block and noted that there was indeed an empty cell to the right his father's. He turned and passed by Lucius, still lying on his back in the cell, and Dolohov, still silently cursing at him from behind his bars, and moved quickly to get out of the prison as soon as possible. Even with the light of Jenkins' patronus, Draco felt the cold bleakness of Azkaban seeping into his bones despite being at the top levels for less than half an hour.

"How could anyone survive in here for a year, much less a decade?" Draco thought. His aunt Bellatrix and cousin Sirius had both survived over ten years inside, as had several other Death Eaters, but after seeing his father, Draco didn't think he would last nearly as long.

The walk down through the rest of the prison was silent except for their footsteps. Jenkins doused his patronus part of the way down the steps, and he had to remind Draco where to turn to reach the exit. Back in the guardhouse, Draco itched to get away as soon as possible, but it seemed the overweight Auror was taking his sweet time writing in the logbook. Draco was out the door as soon as the book closed, striding away across the narrow, seawater-soaked walkway, eyes fixed firmly on locating the platform at the end.

He grabbed the iron ring set in the stone wall at the end of the platform, and it was a moment before he felt the tug on his navel, depositing him back to the Ministry of Magic in the dedicated room for travel to and from Azkaban. He wrote his name in the logbook and passed it to a clerk, who read through it and opened the door leading to the lifts. Draco struggled to maintain his poise and dignity as he walked past the DMLE. When he reached the Atrium, he wanted nothing more than to break into a sprint for reception, but a lifetime of training in decorum and keeping up appearances enabled him to walk calmly, and with perfect posture. He retrieved his wand and turned on his heel for the fireplaces.

"Malfoy Manor," he said, tossing in a handful of powder.

Draco coughed on soot as he landed, something he hadn't done in years. He took a few steadying breaths, then strode up the grand staircase to the second-floor balcony and looked over the forested grounds as he soaked in the autumn sunlight. Almost no green remained; autumn was in full display in hues of gold, red, and orange. He closed his eyes and let the wind blow through his hair and over his skin. The entire cursed island was like something out of a nightmare. No wonder the Aurors were always so touchy these days, having been assigned to patrol the prison after the war. Draco pulled out a joint from his robes, lit it with a wordless spell from his wand, and took a deep drag. He'd only just started to feel the tenseness leave his back and shoulders when he heard the door open from behind him, and inwardly grimaced.

His mother wordlessly walked up next to him and leaned on the balcony railing, a bottle of sherry in one hand.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

Draco looked down at a green and blue peacock strutting through the garden.

"Alive," Draco replied, "but not in good health."

Narcissa nodded.

"I don't want to go back," Draco said.

Narcissa took a deep breath.

"I can't go, you're the only other who would visit him," Narcissa said.

"Mother, I can't," Draco said, shaking his head, "I can't go back there, I don't want to see him like that."

He took another desperate drag from the joint, but it wasn't nearly enough to dull the terror rising in his chest at that moment, so he grabbed her bottle and took several large gulps.

"Okay, okay," Narcissa said, easing the bottle down, "we'll talk about that later. Did he say anything else?"

Draco almost snorted.

"He wants me to get married," Draco said, "good breeding, he said, and he wants me to rebuild our standing."

Narcissa stood still for a moment, then placed her hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, he's your father and the head of the House. And you're the son of a Malfoy and a Black, I believe in you," she said.

"Well I don't," Draco said, shrugging off her hand, "all my life all I wanted to do was follow in Father's footsteps, but look where that got him, tossed in Azkaban, twice. You, house arrest and drinking yourself into oblivion, our name destroyed, the fortunes and heirlooms passed down to us for centuries confiscated, first by the Dark Lord, then by the bloody fools who took power after him. And me, stuck in muggle purgatory; Merlin knows how much more I can take of that."

The truth he'd come to realize though, that he kept buried deep and would never, ever give voice to, was that he didn't even think the muggles were that bad anymore. They were still inferior certainly, but they weren't the magic stealing monsters they'd been made out to be, and even he had to admit they'd done reasonably well for themselves without magic. The weed on its own was a gift from Morganna herself. He didn't dare voice this opinion aloud though, especially not to his mother.

Narcissa shivered in the breeze and drew her silk robe tighter about herself.

"Mother, go back inside before you fall ill," Draco said, "honestly, you couldn't put on shoes, or at least a warming charm before coming out here?"

Narcissa leaned towards Draco with a half-hearted sneer on her face.

"Maybe I like to remind myself I'm still alive," she said, grabbing the bottle again and turning to walk back into the manor.

Draco stayed on the balcony and continued smoking, refusing to allow what remained of his tenuous hold on his temper to be completely destroyed by his mother. He spotted an owl flying towards him over the trees, and when it flapped to a stop and alighted on the balcony banister, he recognized Theo's mottled brown and black eagle-owl. Draco unfolded the letter.

Draco,

Daphne is in town, drinks tonight, my place.

Theo

Draco opened the balcony doors, summoned a quill to respond in the affirmative, then rolled up the note and reattached it. The well-trained owl fluffed its feathers as it stuck out its leg.

"Alright, off you go," he said.

Draco finished the joint and vanished the remains, then followed Narcissa back inside, though she was nowhere to be seen. He walked to his room, changed clothes, apparated to Diagon, then set off into muggle London through the Leaky. Draco walked the now familiar path to Darren's apartment and pressed the buzzer for the door.

"Who is it?" Mary's voice answered after a moment.

"It's Drake, want to head out?" Draco replied.

"Sure, I'll be down in a minute," Mary said.

Draco leaned against the stone banister flanking the steps while he waited. The door opened a few minutes later and Mary exited wearing jeans and a red jumper. She practically skipped down the steps and landed on the sidewalk with a smirk.

"Where should we go today?" she asked.

"I was thinking somewhere outside," Draco said, "seeing as we get exactly one bloody day of sunshine a month."

Mary nodded.

"I know a good place," she said, leading him down the street.

"How's it been, now you're done with the orphanage?" Draco asked.

"It's been good. If I want to get up to eat in the middle of the night, I can. If I want to go to the cinema, I can," she said, "finding a job has been tough, but I'm not too worried about that just yet."

Draco nodded.

"How've you been?" Mary asked.

"Shite, but I don't really want to bore you with all that," Draco replied, "let's play while we walk. Tell me how an electric light works?"

"I told you already, the electricity passes through the bulb and makes it glow," Mary said.

"I know, but how?" Draco asked, "can anyone do it or can only a special mu… person, get it to work?"

Mary smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Honestly Drake, you ask the strangest questions," she said, "you just need the right material, one that glows when you run electricity through it. Carbon something, I forget. My turn. How many bedrooms does your house have?"

"Nineteen," Draco replied.

Mary stopped walking for a moment and Draco turned to see her mouth slightly open.

"Is it larger than the orphanage?" she asked.

Draco thought for a moment.

"That's another question, but yeah," he said.

"Damn," Mary said, and she kept walking.

They strolled through the streets of London for a time until they arrived at a park with manicured green grass, and areas of thick forest with leaves turned all brown, red, and yellow, and orange. Mary led them over to a set of stone steps where they could sit and watch people similarly out enjoying the day. A family threw a red frisbee around the grass, and a few people flew kites or walked dogs, or simply jogged around the park. Draco reclined on the steps and watched the muggles enjoy their lives. They looked happy, uncomplicated. Disdain for his father simmered in his gut. It was the same old story. Expand the family influence, find someone suitable to produce an heir. For a time, it had been the younger Greengrass. After the battle they'd, unsurprisingly, broken off the betrothal. She had been pretty, too. He needed something to take his mind off his shitty life.

"My question then," Draco said, "how does a car motor work?"

Mary looked at him and laughed out loud.

"Drake Malfoy, how is it possible you've got a driver's license but you don't know how a car works?" she asked.

"I know how a car works," Draco said defensively, "I'm just a bit fuzzy on the specifics, like how does the motor make the wheels go?"

Mary frowned.

"You know, now that I think of it, I know the petrol goes into the motor, and it burns it up somehow, and that makes it go, but I don't know exactly how it works," she said, "maybe you can ask Darren, he loves cars. Or maybe I'll ask him while you're in the room and you can listen in."

She gave him a sly smirk.

"My turn, who are your other friends?" she asked.

"What other friends?" Draco replied.

"The people you grew up with, your friends who aren't Darren and Alan and me," she said.

"I don't really talk to them much anymore," Draco said.

"They all went to that boarding school?" Mary asked.

Draco nodded.

"So they're rich like you too?" she asked.

"I'm not rich," Draco replied.

"Drake, you live in a bloody mansion," Mary said.

"I know, but… we've had some problems lately," Draco said, running a hand through his hair, "might lose it all, actually."

Merlin's pants, he wanted to stop thinking about his Wizarding Britain problems.

Mary nodded.

"You know I'm not friends with you just because you've got money, right?" she said.

"That's another question," Draco said, "on top of the three you already asked me. I think you owe me now."

They traded questions like that, or comments on the people in the park. Draco thought it was a better way to pass his day off than sitting at home with his mother, and he finally started feeling relaxed until Mary brushed a strand of hair from his face and he froze.

"Then again, it's been months now and I haven't picked up any diseases, unless I count that cold a few weeks ago," Draco thought.

He gave it a mental shrug and tried to let the moment pass, but decided to smoke up instead. As he pulled the joint out of his pocket and lit it, Mary looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"Drake, what are you doing?" she asked, looking around, "you can't smoke that in public!"

Right, illegal. He'd forgotten. Well, can't let her know that.

"Like I care," he said, feigning nonchalance and taking another puff.

"Put it away, you maniac," she said with a grin.

Reluctantly, he stubbed out the joint and stuck it back in his jacket. They talked a bit more, and eventually left to walk to one of the restaurants near the park for a late lunch. Draco paid with cash and they wandered the city, chatting about whatever they happened to come across. Mary dragged him into a cinema and she shushed him repeatedly as he tried to ask questions about how it worked. The film itself was relatively simple, centring about an ant who was upset with his station in life, but once again, it was better than staying at home. Finally, they returned to Darren's apartment in the late afternoon.

"I had a really good time today, Drake," she said, fiddling with the lapels of his blazer as they stood on the stone steps leading up to the foyer.

"Yeah, it was uh… well, it wasn't completely shite," Draco said, "are you going in?"

Mary nodded.

"Do you want to come up for a bit?" she asked.

"No," Draco said, "I've got to get home, make sure my mum hasn't set the place on fire."

Mary nodded, looking down at the steps.

"Well, good night," she said.

"Night," Draco said, already halfway down the steps.

He walked back to the Leaky through the deepening dusk and dropping temperature, then apparated from Diagon to the Manor. The front doors swung open and Draco stopped at the threshold. He could very clearly hear the sound of dripping water and walked to the grand staircase to find a steady trickle running down the steps. With a growing sense of dread, he took them two at a time and followed the trail of water down the hall, into his mother's bedroom. The sound of a running tap came from the bathroom; his shoes squelched on the flooded bedroom carpet as he walked to the massive bathroom. He found his mother in the large tub, head leaned back against the lip and cushioned with several towels. Water ran freely over the lip in a small waterfall, and her eyes were closed, mouth open. A dark green potions bottle sat uncorked on the counter. Draco splashed over to the tub and felt for a pulse in his mother's neck and sighed when he felt the steady beat of her heart. Relief poured through him as he reached for the tap and shut off the water, then he checked the potions bottle. It was one of the owl-order potions she'd been dosing herself with. The label proclaimed it as 'essence of tranquillity', and he turned it over in his hand to read the ingredients.

"Asphodel, wormwood, this is a variant of draught of living death!" he thought.

He pointed his wand at his mother.

"Rennervate," he said, but she didn't even twitch. Probably not surprising, given she'd downed the entire bottle. Merlin knew how long she'd be sleeping it off.

He levitated her out of the bath and tried to ignore that he was, once again, seeing his mother's naked body, and floated her to her bed.

"Aquosiccin," he said, drying her with a quick drought spell before letting her settle there and using his wand to float the large comforter over her form. He sighed and set about cleaning up the flooded carpeting, bathroom, and anywhere else the water had gotten to with liberal use of the drought charm.

"If she had drowned, would you even have cared?" he thought.

He washed up in the bathroom, reliving the panic when he realized she was unconscious in the tub.

"Probably would have just been relieved, then fucked off and gone with Theo to Italy," he thought, "what kind of son doesn't care if his own mother dies?"

Speaking of Theo, Draco realized he was already close to exceeding the boundaries of casual lateness and dangerously encroaching on rudeness. He turned and apparated to Nott Manor.

While not quite as large as Malfoy Manor, Theo's home was stately nonetheless. A large gravel walkway led from the front gates around a white stone fountain, and a dozen white marble steps led up to a large front porch which ran around the right side of the building. Draco stepped up and knocked, merely a formality. A house elf answered the door, reaching up to the doorknob to open it.

"Master is expecting Mr. Malfoy," the being said.

"Inform Theo I've arrived," Draco said.

The elf bowed and popped away, while Draco made himself home in one of the drawing rooms, one with thick cream carpets, several comfortable looking armchairs and couches of shades of green and blue, interspersed with dark stained tables, some with glass tops. A blank canvas sat on an easel. The wood frame stood next to a window ledge where a palette lay, barely visible in the fading dusk. A richly varnished drinks cabinet sat against one wall, holding a silver platter and set of crystal tumblers and glasses all sitting atop a white cloth. A low crackling hearth dominated the opposite wall. Draco sat down and slouched in one of the overstuffed armchairs.

"Look what the kneazle dragged in. Where in Merlin's name have you been?" Theo asked from the doorway, "I stopped by the manor twice earlier this week and you weren't there."

"I was…"

"Getting high with a bunch of muggles," he thought.

"Taking care of things," he said.

Theo snorted.

"You should know by now you can't lie to me," Theo said, "anyway, that's not important. The good news is she's not here yet; you still have some time to clean up."

"I'm fine," Draco said. The armchair was comfortable and couldn't really work up the motivation to move.

"If you consider smelling like a troll and looking like you just broke out of Azkaban fine," Theo said, "get up or I'll aguamenti you."

Draco knew Theo wasn't joking, so he took a dramatic breath and stood.

"Prat," he said. He walked to one of the guest bathrooms, the one he most preferred, and took a quick shower. Draco gave himself a rough shave using his wand, and returned to the drawing room to find Theo with his head stuck through the floo. Nott stood up and turned to face him.

"Better," he said, "she's coming through now, and Pansy too."

"Bollocks," Draco muttered.

"Not my fault, I didn't know she was visiting Daphne and her mum today," Theo said.

The flames roared and Daphne stepped through, her long blonde hair pulled back into a French braid. She wore rich brown robes with crimson trim and dark leather boots, perfect for fall. Pansy followed shortly afterwards, her dark hair free down to her back, pug nose as prominent as ever. Her robes were unremarkable black and cinched about her waist, and in her hand she held a bottle of Ogden's finest.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Theo said with a bow and exaggerated flourish.

"Good to see you Theo," Daphne said, stepping forward to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Good evening Theo," Pansy said, holding her free hand for Theo to kiss. Theo bent over her knuckles but didn't make contact.

"Do you have any glasses?" Pansy asked looking around.

"Do you have to ask?" Theo replied, moving to the liquor cabinet and selecting four crystal pony glasses and setting them about one of the tables. He held out his hand for the bottle, and Pansy obliged, handing it over for him to pour.

Draco cleared his throat.

"Oh, hi Draco, I didn't see you there," Pansy said.

"Draco, you're looking well," Daphne said.

"Cut the crap, I look like shite," Draco said.

Pansy sniggered while Daphne and Theo exchanged a look and nodded.

"How's probation?" Daphne asked, "Theo told me the basics."

Draco stepped forward and took a glass and the bottle, pouring himself a half-measure.

"That is a conversation which requires alcohol," he said.

He poured for each of them and they raised the crystal. It was then Draco realized he had no idea what to say.

"Family," he said.

"May they sort themselves out because I certainly can't," he thought.

"To family," they repeated, then downed the firewhiskey. True to its name, it burned a path down Draco's throat and sat like smouldering coals in his belly, warming him from within.

"I work with muggle orphans," Draco said, "cleaning up after them, entertaining them, keeping them from killing themselves by accident. Muggle lives are shite, and the orphans' lives are even worse, but none of them seem to realize it. Except me."

Pansy huffed and wrinkled her nose as if she'd smelled something truly odious.

"Fucking Ministry," she said with a look of disgust plastered across her face. She downed a second glass.

"Where've you been?" Draco asked Daphne, "I heard you left the country."

Daphne nodded.

"The three of us, Mother, myself, and Astoria, left after Father's sentencing, travelled around a bit. We're staying in Berlin now," she said, "Tory's back at Hogwarts though. I suppose I'll find out how she's doing this weekend."

Draco nodded.

"Do you think you'll come back to Britain?" Draco asked.

"Don't see why we would, it's impossible to find work," Daphne replied.

"Bloody impossible," Pansy said, "stupid Ministry and their quotas. Might as well just take everything we have and give it to the mudbloods and blood traitors. Say what you want about us, but at least we were always honest about what we thought of them."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Draco said.

Draco realized this was the wrong thing to say as Pansy gave him her most indignant glare and her voice started rising in pitch and volume.

"None of the purebloods from our class can find gainful employment, not a single one," Pansy said, "it's not bloody fair, I spent seven years at that bloody school, and now nobody will hire me. Not everyone has a massive vault they can live off of forever."

Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as she continued. Pansy's patented screeching was one of the things he absolutely did not miss about Hogwarts. He produced the plastic baggie and paper from his blazer pocket and started rolling a joint right there on the table. He stopped when he realized Pansy had gone quiet and looked up to see all eyes on him.

"Draco, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Pansy asked.

"Well," Draco said, licking the paper shut, "your screeching was killing my buzz, so I'm self-medicating."

He lit the end with his wand and took a long drag, held it, then exhaled a stream of smoke. He took another hit and then motioned with his hand.

"Please, continue," Draco said.

"I think I'd rather talk about what it is you're smoking," Pansy said, "it smells like something Trelawney would have burning in the corner to help us open our 'inner eye'."

She held her hands up around her eyes to mimic the Divination professor's massive spectacles.

"What you seek will be yours, but you will lose something dear to you, I'm so sorry," she said in an apt imitation.

"This, is marijuana," Draco said, holding it up, "you smoke it and it makes all your worries and cares evaporate. Also makes you hungry."

He looked over to Theo.

"Maybe you could have your elf bring us some nibbles?" Draco said, "I'm going to have the munchies soon."

"Where's it from?" Daphne asked as the elf popped into the room.

"Muggles," Draco said, "cost me a pretty knut too. Want to try?"

He held the smouldering joint out to Daphne.

"First of all, it's muggle," she said, wrinkling her nose, "Second, you had your lips on that."

"Wasn't too long ago you'dve jumped at the chance to say your lips touched something after mine," Draco said.

"In your dreams Malfoy," Daphne said, but she took the joint anyway.

"First one's free," Draco said, the corner of one lip threatening to twitch into a smirk, "just take some into your mouth and then breathe deep."

Daphne coughed as she tried to inhale, and Draco giggled like a madman.

"Happened to me too, try again," he said.

Daphne got a good lungful on the second hit, and Theo snatched the joint from her hand.

"Is this what's been keeping you out there all the time?" Theo asked.

Draco shrugged, the weed already mellowing him out.

Theo took a hit and sucked it in, holding his breath, fighting to keep the smoke down until his eyes watered and his face turned red.

"You look like you've been hit with a strangulation jinx, Theo," Pansy said with a barking laugh.

Theo coughed as he exhaled and he looked at Draco triumphantly, but Draco just stared back at him and gave him a thumbs up.

"Bet you would know what that looks like, Parkinson," Theo said, holding the joint out to her. She gave him a sneering look then took it tentatively. She coughed the first time the same as Daphne, but managed to get the second one down.

The four of them took turns smoking Draco's weed and drinking Theo's booze. Theo's elf arrived with miniature sandwiches, all of which were eagerly gobbled down in minutes. Before long, a smoky haze filled the room, and the four of them were giggling and pontificating like blithering idiots.

"Why is it, if someone has two portraits done of themselves," Pansy said, staring at vacant portrait on the wall, "then they're in one and one is vacant? Why couldn't I have two portraits done, and then I could visit myself and keep me company?"

"Keep yourself company," Daphne said, "admit it, you just want to know what its like to spend a night in bed with yourself."

Pansy gave a half-shrug and nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"Maybe they do and they're just invisible, and the portraits don't tell us," Theo said, "kind of like the Statute of Secrecy for portraits."

"Statute of Secrecy for portraits?" Daphne said, "who enforces that, the Portrait Patrol?"

She started giggling at her own joke.

"Yes, this is a good evening," Draco thought as the conversation escalated from there.

Draco awoke the next morning with a splitting headache, made all the worse by the irregular sound of clinking bottles. He cracked one eye open to see Pansy crouched down, rummaging through the cabinet. Grey, early morning light filtered in through the unblocked windows; it looked like yet another overcast day was in the offing.

"Pansy, I can always count on you to raid my liquor stores at the appropriate time," Theo said from across the room. Draco sat up slowly on the couch and worked out a kink in his neck. They'd ended up falling asleep around one or two in the morning.

"Do you have any hangover potion?" Pansy asked, shoulders deep in the liquor cabinet.

"No, though I could definitely use some," Theo said.

"Then it is absolutely the appropriate time, because I need a drink," Pansy said.

"Tempus," Draco said, "bollocks, I've got to go."

"Wait, Draco," Daphne said from another couch, robe wrinkled and blond tresses still wavy from being in a braid the night before, "last night was honestly the most I've laughed since the war. Think we can do it again?"

Draco grimaced.

"Only if you bring the gold. We smoked at least twenty-five galleons worth last night," he replied, "maybe thirty."

Daphne looked hurt, like her pet cat had just been eaten by a hag, then looked to Theo.

"Nah, not really my thing," Theo said. Daphne pouted, then nodded.

"This'll do," Pansy said, pulling a dark blue bottle out, "Theo, I'm taking this."

"It's not like I'm going to stop you," Theo said, "can I convince you to stay for breakfast?"

"I should get home, Mother is probably worried," Daphne said. She stood up, stretched, slipped her shoes on, and walked to the fireplace.

"Thanks for last night," she said as Theo approached to see her off.

"I'm going to tell everyone you said that after spending the night at my manor," Theo replied.

She playfully smacked him on the shoulder before ducking through the floo in a roar of green flames.

"See you, Theo," Pansy said. He smiled and nodded at her before she left as well.

"Hopefully not," he muttered.

Draco finished tying his second shoe and stood up.

"Hey mate," Theo said, a serious expression on his face, "this smoking thing, try not to get in too deep."

Draco looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing good can come of it," Theo added.

Draco shook his head.

"That stuff is the only thing that keeps me sane enough to tolerate this muggle probation," Draco said, "I'd go mental without it."

"That's what concerns me," Theo said.

"What cheek, sitting in his mansion, inheritance relatively intact, free to come and go as he pleases," Draco thought.

"Theo, I'm only going to say this once," Draco said, holding up an index finger, "you know about fuck all of what I'm going through, so I'll ask you to keep your bloody opinions to yourself until I bloody well ask for them."

Draco took a few deep breaths through his nostrils, then ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'll stop as soon as the probation's over, just another four months," Draco said.

Theo nodded.

"I've got to get going," Draco said, "thanks for the invite, and the food."

"Anytime," Theo said.

Draco apparated home, checked to make sure his mother was still breathing, opted once again to forego showering in favour of a few scented charms, and went to change some more money at Gringott's. After getting ripped off by the goblins again, he hiked to the orphanage through the grey London morning. When he arrived at small pitch behind the orphanage, he found the statuesque Pam Baker placing orange cones, setting up a game of what looked like capture the flag.

"Morning Pam, where's Steph?" he asked.

"Hi Drake," Pam said with a dazzling smile, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth, "Steph's on holiday, so I'm covering for her."

With Darren somehow having gotten out of completing the rest of his probation, it was just himself, Mack, and Alan working as 'volunteers' with the pre-teen kids. Pam normally looked after the teenagers and was older and more experienced than Steph, so with her in charge things would be easier. Mack and Alan had yet to show up when the cafeteria doors slammed open and disgorged a horde of screaming muggle children.

"Okay everyone, single file on the centre line," Pam called, pointing to where she wanted the children to go.

The children fell in and Pam counted them off by two's to make teams, and blew a whistle to start the game. The air filled with the sounds of laughing, shouting children. Draco noticed one of them, a little boy that reminded him of a shorter, pudgier Neville Longbottom, sitting out the game on a chair in the shadow of the orphanage, something thick and blue around his arm.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.

"He broke his arm over the weekend," Pam replied, scanning the game, "the cast'll be on for six weeks or so."

Six weeks. For a broken arm. Draco sneered. Any decent healer would have that fixed in under ten seconds.

"I don't know why he's so sad," a little voice said from beside them, "it was his own fault it got broke."

Draco hadn't even noticed little Callista walk up to them.

"Callie, that's not a nice thing to say," Pam said without taking her eyes off the game.

"Well it's true," Callie mumbled as she rolled her eyes. Draco didn't think Pam heard.

"Pam, can I use the loo?" she asked.

"May I use the loo. Drake, take her?" Pam asked.

Draco nodded and walked behind the little blonde girl before opening the back door to let them in. The boy sitting by the doorway flinched aside as Callista walked past him.

"Odd," Draco thought.

"Callista, do you know how that boy broke his arm?" Draco asked.

"He fell down the steps," Callie answered.

"Do you know how he fell?" Draco asked.

"No, but everyone saw him fall," Callista said, looking straight ahead, "I was already at the bottom."

Draco looked at the golden hair of the little girl walking front of him. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that almost sounded like she'd had something to do with it. They arrived at the loo and Draco waited outside while Callista finished up. She smiled at him when she emerged.

"Drake, are you going to marry Mary?" she asked.

"Are you mad?" Draco said, "No. Why?"

"She likes you, I can tell," the little girl said as she walked towards the rear of the orphanage again.

"I like you too," she added, "you talk to me like a person, not like a pet animal or something."

"How's that for irony," Draco thought, considering that until very recently, he considered all muggles barely better than animals.

"If you get married, you can be my dad," Callie said.

"What the-" Draco stammered.

"I'll be good, I promise," the little girl said.

They were at the field now, halfway between the orphanage and where Pam Baker stood watching the game.

"Absolutely not," Draco said, "first of all, I'd be a shite father, and second, I'm not having this conversation with a seven-year-old. Get back in the game."

Callie stared up at him with a serious expression, her steely grey eyes reflecting the skies above, before turning and skipping back to the game.

Draco shook his head and resumed his spot next to Baker.

"I just had the strangest conversation with Callie," Draco said, "what's gotten into her?"

"She's had a rough time since Mary aged out," Pam said, "hopefully she'll get over it soon."

Pam blew her whistle to call a time out and switched a few players around before returning to the sidelines.

"By the way, you reek of weed," Pam said.

Draco's heart nearly stopped.

She turned to look at him, and he stared back to see a serious expression on her sun-kissed face.

"I don't know what's going on, but I think you need to settle down a bit," she said, "I'm not going to say anything to Macmillian, but you can't come here stoned out of your mind and be responsible for watching these kids."

Draco nodded.

"Okay," he said, "thanks."

Part of him wanted to tell perfect Pam Baker to go screw herself, the stupid muggle. Another part was grateful for her looking out for him. In the end he just stayed silent and watched the muggle children chase each other around the pitch, shrieking with laughter. His eyes sought out Mary McKay's blonde-haired younger sister, but she seemed just as normal as all the others, chasing after green tennis balls and dodging the other kids.

Mack and Alan showed up midway through the game, right before it started drizzling. Pam clapped her hands and ordered everyone inside. Draco and the others ushered the children into the darkened assembly room, where they sat on the floor and watched a movie projected on the wall. Draco stood near the doorway, caught up in the story of a lion who took the privilege of his station for granted then struggled to live up to the legacy of his father. He identified with the lion cub a bit, the carefree attitude of his youth and naïve entitlement. Then later, the weight of the expectations of his name, his pure blood status, it always seemed no matter how good he was, he was never good enough. Then as the movie progressed, he realized with a sinking feeling he wasn't the lion cub in the story… he was just one of the hyenas, and probably not even one with a name.

His ruminations were broken by Mack nudging into him.

"Hey, you lot smoking later? Mind if I join this time?" he whispered.

"Yes, and yes, I mind," Draco replied.

"Come on, you share with my mates, what gives?" Mack said.

"They're my mates, and you're not," Draco said, "it's mine, and I can share it with whomever I wish."

"Why are you such a twat?" Mack whispered.

"Because you were a prick to me when I showed up here, and the only reason you stopped is because you want something I have," Draco replied.

Someone in the crowd shushed them and they fell silent. Draco could practically feel Mack stewing next to him, and although he knew it was petty, he delighted in having power over someone again, even if it was some pathetic muggle delinquent.

It rained on and off the rest of the day, a typical gloomy fall day in London. They watched movies and Pam led the children in ridiculous skit games to keep them occupied, before ending with arts and crafts like they usually did. Finally, after clean-up, Draco set off alone for Darren's apartment. The nights came earlier in late October, and it was fully dark almost before he left the orphanage. Draco drew his blazer closer about him and hunched his shoulders as he walked the wet pavement, looking down at his feet to keep the drizzle out of his eyes. He heard some people up ahead and looked up to see three young men in leather jackets walking towards him, jabbering about something or other in rapid fire muggle slang. He thought about crossing to the other side of the street but convinced himself he was just being paranoid. He kept an eye on them as they split apart and he was forced to pass between them, then without warning, a sharp blinding pain erupted in his temple and he saw stars.

Draco fell to the ground, dazed, while all three men kicked and punched him for a few seconds, and he didn't even have time to realize what was happening, only to curl up into a ball to protect himself as best he could. He tried to go for his wand but couldn't manage defending his face from a muggle trying to stomp on it while pulling up his trouser leg.

"He's got a knife!" someone yelled, and someone grabbed his arms from behind and hauled him to his feet, pressing him against the wall, while another pulled the wand from his leg holster.

His arm was roughly twisted behind his back and he cried out in pain until someone clamped a meaty hand over his mouth. Draco twisted his head around a few times until he was able to get a sizable chunk of flesh between his teeth and bit down, hard. He was rewarded with a yelp, followed by a fist slamming into the back of his head, causing his forehead to smack against the wall with a dull thud. Dazed, he dropped to the ground, where once again kicks and punches rained down on him until he was a bruised and bloodied mess lying in a foetal position on the pavement. Semi-conscious, he felt someone rifling through his pockets and, with a bit of effort, worked the wad of cash from his jeans.

"Yeah!" someone said, holding up the bag of weed pilfered from his blazer.

"Just what the hell were you going to do with this?" the meaty guy said, holding up his wand. Draco made a grab for it but the thug lifted it up out of his reach.

"This a shiv or something?" he asked.

"Give it to me and I'll show you," Draco slurred as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

The muggle tried to twist the wand like a container, then started bending it.

"No, don't!" Draco said, holding out a hand.

"Don't what," the thug said, then deliberately bent the ends of Draco's wand together.

*snap*

Draco's eyes widened, and he saw red. With a roar, he launched himself at the thug, catching him by surprise and tackling him to the ground. Draco landed two satisfying punches on the muggle's face before he was pulled off and pummelled again by his buddies. Vaguely he felt his head being pulled up by his hair. His vision blurred and he saw double, but managed to make out a fist coming at him and he turned his head at the last instant, probably saving his nose from being broken. He heard more than felt the wet pavement smacking him in the cheek before he blacked out.

Draco woke up shivering. He was numb and sore all over at the same time. One of his eyes refused to open, and he was pretty sure he'd cracked or broken a rib, considering the way each breath hurt. Gingerly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and waited for the dizziness to stop. He looked around and spotted what remained of his wand lying next to him. The muggles had broken it a few more times, and it now lay in a half-dozen pieces like garbage on the broken pavement. He tried to swallow the tears down but they refused to obey his wishes. What was he without his wand? No money, no social standing, almost no friends. He was little better than the pathetic muggles he mingled with every day.

He lay there for several minutes, still coughing and trying to find a way to breathe that wasn't excruciating, while the chill rainwater seeped through his clothes. He got into a kneeling position, very slowly, and touched his cheek with his fingers, wincing when he saw them come away red with blood.

He tried to mumble something about his predicament, but all that came out was a pained groan. Fucking London. Fucking muggles.

With blurred vision, he scooped up the fragments and deposited them into his jacket pocket.

"Pathetic. Couldn't even take a few unarmed muggles," Draco thought.

Thoughts of what he might have done differently flashed through his head, from carrying his wand out in the open, to bringing Alan with him, to apparating from a loo directly to Darren's rooftop, risks to the Statute be damned. All that was hindsight though. His wand, the wand he'd learned to cast his first lumos with, was shattered, along with any sense of feeling good about this probation, or his life in general. Plus, with Garrick Ollivander having been an unwilling prisoner in his cellar earlier in that same year, he doubted very much the wandmaker would be willing to craft or sell a new one for him. Ever. To top it all off, he had no more weed, and no easy way of purchasing more. Shakily, he stood up, wincing as his left knee gave out with enough pain to blur his vision, and he leaned against the wall for support. He tested taking a step or two and found he could walk, barely. It was nearly an hour's hike back to the Leaky, and Darren's apartment was only a few blocks away. Slowly, painfully, he limped to Darren's. He hopped up the steps to the buzzer because his bloody leg wouldn't support his weight.

"Yeah," Darren's voice said.

"It's me, open up," Draco said.

The door buzzed, and Draco pushed his way through the vestibule, then sighed at the foot of the staircase. He continued hopping his way up, leaning heavily on the banister, every twist of his body and breath burning with pain, then knocked on the apartment door.

Darren threw it open, only for his jaw to drop open when he saw Draco.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, moving aside so Draco could enter.

Draco stumbled into the apartment and half lay, half fell onto the couch.

"Mugged on the way here," Draco said, leaning his head on an armrest of the couch and extending his injured leg across the other one.

He closed his eyes.

"Money's gone, weed's gone," he said, "listen mate, if ever I needed a hit, it's right now. Do you think you could front me, and I'll pay you tomorrow? What about that stronger stuff you mentioned, got any of that lying around?"

Darren looked torn.

"Drake, I-" he started, but Mary chose that moment to open the hallway door and enter the room.

"Oh my god, Drake what happened to you?" she said, rushing over to him and making to touch his face but holding off, "hang on, I'll get some alcohol."

"Some firewhiskey would be good, McKay," Draco said.

"Not for drinking, you prat," Mary said from the kitchen, where she opened a metal case and poured some clear liquid out of a plastic container and onto a few cloth pads.

She returned and started dabbing at the scrapes and abrasions, the cold liquid stinging something fierce despite her gentle touch.

"Sorry mate, can't do it," Darren replied, "I feel like shite about what happened, but business is business. Money first."

"It's okay Mary," Draco said, "you don't have to-"

"Shut the fuck up and let me clean these out," Mary said.

"O…kay," Draco thought, stunned into silence.

Draco lay there quietly while Mary worked on his face. If he could just get home, he'd be able to patch himself up.

"Okay, I understand about the weed, but can you spot me for a cab? I'll pay you back tomorrow, but right now I can't walk home," Draco said.

"Yeah, I guess that would be alright," Darren said, "do you know who they were?"

"I don't," Draco said, still with his eyes closed, "there were three of them. I don't think I've ever met them before."

Darren furrowed his brows in thought while Draco tried to take shallow breaths.

"Darren, please, mate, I need whatever the fuck that stronger stuff was," Draco said.

"I can try to score you some blow, will that work?" Darren asked.

"Will it make me feel…"

Like less of a complete and utter fuckup.

"better, and less like my entire life is shite?" Draco asked.

Darren nodded.

"Should," he said.

Draco nodded.

"Go get it," he said.

"Two hundred quid," Darren said, "and I need it up front, then I'll try to see if I can score some. And you have to buy some new clothes."

"Clothes?" Draco asked.

"Look mate, normally I make it a point not to comment on another man's fashion sense, but if you keep dressing like you're from Oxford, around here, you're just asking to get jumped," Darren said, "that's not good for you, and it's not good for me."

"Okay, makes sense," Draco thought. He didn't really have the strength to get the words out so he just nodded once.

"Mary, can you take him shopping later this week after he gets off from the orphanage?" Darren asked.

"You're not really going in, are you?" Mary asked.

"I have to, I can't miss a day," Draco said, "that's why I need to get home, I have…"

Potions.

"Something that will help me recover faster," Draco said.

Darren walked to the kitchen and picked a magnet off the fridge, then started dialling, the snip and clicks of the phone's rotor almost lulling Draco to sleep until Darren started giving his address.

"You're sure you don't want to stay the night, you can have the bed in my room," Mary whispered.

Draco just shook his head. One bloody potion and he'd be right as rain.

Darren hung up the phone.

"Ten minutes," he said, pulling out a wad of bills from his pockets and counting out thirty pounds and handing it to Draco.

"Thanks," Draco said, taking the cash.

He sat up and concentrated on breathing for a moment, then stood up. In just the few minutes he'd spent on the couch his knee had already started to stiffen up, but he forced it to flex through the pain.

"It's going to take me ten minutes to get down the bloody stairs," he said.

Darren grabbed a light jacket from a hook near the door and pulled Draco's arm over his shoulder.

"Thanks, again," Draco said as Darren helped him down to the ground floor while Mary cleaned up. Once they were outside Darren shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You're sure you don't need me to come with you," he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"No, trust me, it's better if you don't," he said.

Darren nodded and waited until the taxi arrived. Draco crawled into the back seat and waved to him as the car pulled away. He gave the address for the Leaky Cauldron and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He must have dozed off because the cabbie had to shout at him to let him know they'd arrived. He paid for the ride with Darren's money, then limped through the bar. At the brick wall he reached for his wand and froze. Cautiously he pulled out the stub end of what remained and tapped his way in, giving a sigh of relief when the brick doorway rolled back. It was a long, painful walk to a public floo, but soon enough he was home, stumbling out of the fireplace.

"Mother?" he called, but there was no response.

"Typical, the one time I actually need her," he thought.

Draco limped his way to the cabinet where they kept the potions, and moved them around until he found what he was looking for, wiggenweld. He popped off the stopper and downed the entire bottle. Almost immediately he began to feel better. His rib popped back into place, and he could put weight on his leg normally again. Then he walked to his father's study and opened the drawer where they kept their ministry provided allowance, only to find it empty.

"Bollocks, that's right. Nearly a week until the next payment," Draco thought, "no way am I going to wait that long."

He needed money, fast. Long strides took him to a standing cabinet in one of the drawing rooms, and he opened the polished stained wood doors by the brass handles. Several sets of ornate gem encrusted goblets and silver plates greeted him, a gift from one of their family members long ago; he didn't even recall which one. Draco went to draw his wand but with an emptiness in his gut, realized he no longer had one. He turned about, looking for some way to transport the plates and goblets, and ended stacking them together on the table, along with a pair of silver candlesticks, and tying the ends of the tablecloth together. He hefted the makeshift parcel, the weight nearly throwing him off balance, then slung it over his shoulder and walked to the fireplace to floo to Knockturn.

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea to walk through Knockturn Alley dressed as a muggle with a sack full of clanking silver plates and goblets, but luckily he only had a short way to go. He shouldered his way into Odds and Ends, the dimly lit pawn shop. All sorts of bits of jewellery, cutlery, paintings, carpets, and other knickknacks cluttered the shelves. A Sweet Tooth gnome in a birdcage lunged at him as he passed by on his way to the counter, screeching obscenities and begging for sugar.

Draco reached the counter, deposited the makeshift sack on the ground, and looked up at the shopkeeper, a tall, lean, middle-aged man with long greying hair, a squarish face, and overly large nose. A wrinkled brown suit jacket with a patch on one elbow hung off his shoulders, and his trousers rode so high his belt sat just below his ribcage. The man's name was Slump. Whether that was his real name or not, Draco had no idea, but that's what everyone called him. He looked almost exactly the same as when Draco had last seen him, in his fifth year, when he and Theo had stopped in while window shopping during winter hols.

"Late is the hour, and the scion of the house of Malfoy comes knocking," Slump said, "times are tough these days, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Spare me," Draco said, "How much for these?"

He opened the tablecloth and produced the plates, candlesticks, platter, and goblets, and placed them on the counter.

The old man picked up a goblet with his gnarled fingers and held it up to the light, looking at one of the rubies embedded in it.

"I think… fifty galleons," he said.

"You're joking," Draco said, "the platter alone is worth more than that, and the whole lot is worth ten times that, maybe twenty."

"It's like I said, times are tough, Mr. Malfoy," Slump replied with a serious expression on his face, "unless I've missed my mark, you need gold, and you need it badly."

Draco couldn't really argue with that. Only a certain type of person showed up at a pawn shop late in the evening with a half-dozen cups and plates wrapped in a tablecloth.

"What about… two-fifty?" Draco asked.

They haggled back and forth finally settling on one hundred twenty galleons.

Draco felt slimy as he stuck the pouch into his pocket, having just sold some of his family's belongings for a relative pittance. Still, one hundred twenty galleons should be able to last him for a while, especially since the next allowance was only a few days away. He made it back to the manor safely, split the gold in half and stuck half under his mattress, then passed out into bed. The next morning he woke up and had to walk through half the manor to find a clock and make sure he wasn't going to be late. After taking a shower, he considered bringing the pieces of his wand, but settled on just the stub end so he could tap his way into Diagon when he returned. A quick visit to Gringott's (bloody goblins!), and he was off to the orphanage again.

The day dragged, and Draco found himself continually checking the clock.

"You're looking well rested today," Pam said, flashing him a smile, "keep it up."

"Thanks," Draco said. He didn't mention he'd been beaten to a pulp the night before.

Just before clean-up, Mary poked her head in the door and he went to stand by her, and she just stared at him the whole way.

"Drake, you're… you're fine," she said.

"I am fine, thank you," Draco said, more on instinct than anything else, because he certainly didn't feel fine after having his wand broken and selling off some of his property for knuts on the galleon.

"No," Mary said, "you're not injured, not even a bit."

"Err," Draco said, scrambling for an explanation, "it looked a lot worse than it was."

"What… how…?" she asked.

"Mary!" Pam Baker said, coming over and inadvertently rescuing Draco, "how are you?"

Draco spotted Callie and threw a piece of chalk at her to get her attention as the two women exchanged pleasantries.

"Mary!" Callie said, leaping to her feet and running over, crashing into Mary's thigh at full speed.

Mary knelt down and wrapped her half-sister in a tight hug.

"How's my favourite sister?" Mary asked.

"I'm your only sister. I hate it here now, can I come live with you?" the little girl replied.

Mary frowned.

"You hate it? What happened?" Mary asked.

"Ryan pushed me down," Callie replied.

Draco's eavesdropping of the conversation was interrupted by Pam calling for clean-up. He joined the bustle of dozens of children stopping their painting and washing up. He, Alan, and Mack finished up while Mary went with the children to dinner, presumably to sit with Callista. While they were cleaning up, Mack 'accidentally' spilled some red paint on Draco's trousers.

"Why are you such a prick, Mack?" Draco asked, stepping right up into the larger boy's face.

"Guys, let's just finish cleaning, yeah?" Alan said.

"Why won't you share your stuff with me?" Mack asked.

"You're joking, right?" Draco replied, "I'm not sharing with you and you think ruining my trousers is going to make me more likely to? Do you need your head examined?"

Mary chose that moment to make her return.

"Ready Drake?" she asked.

Mack's eyes flicked back and forth between Mary and Draco.

"Oh, you're going with her now? You do realize she's only interested because you've got money," Mack said.

Maybe a day of not smoking had cleared his mind a bit, or maybe it was seven years of scheming practice with the snakes, but for a moment, Draco had crystal clear clarity of exactly what was going on in Mack's head. He may have been beaten down, he may have almost no hope left, but he would be damned if he couldn't dish out a schoolyard insult to someone who deserved it.

"You fancy her, don't you," Draco said, lifting his nose into the air and summoning every ounce of aristocratic superiority he could muster, "you fancy her, but you've got absolutely nothing to offer. No money, no looks, no prospects, not even an interesting conversation."

Mack's eyes alternated between Mary and Draco again, his expression one of shock and worry.

"No I don't," he said.

"And the best part is," Draco said, almost laughing now, "is you don't even have the stones to tell her."

"Fuck you Malfoy!" Mack said, shoving Draco hard.

"Guys! You can't fight here!" Alan said, but it wasn't necessary because Mack turned to walk out of the room.

"Say hi to lefty for me," Draco said, and Mack flipped him off over his shoulder.

Draco smirked, walked to the sinks, and tried to scrub the paint from his trousers, still snickering.

"You're such a prick," Mary said.

"Yeah I am," Draco said, "trust me, he had it coming."

"Do you really think he fancies me?" Mary asked.

"Sure, what's not to like," Draco replied absently.

The paint had mostly come out at the expense of looking like he'd wet himself, and he and Mary set off from the orphanage. They hopped on a bus and rode it a few stops, exiting at a multilevel shopping mall. Families and groups of friends wandered about inside, including several gaggles of secondary school aged children, perhaps a few years younger than Draco and Mary. They entered a large brightly lit clothing store with annoyingly boring music piped in from speakers he couldn't see. Draco already had several pairs of jeans, so he chose a few shirts which Mary instantly dismissed as too posh. She then proceeded to pick out several t-shirts and hooded sweatshirts, selected a pair of black trainers, and they headed to checkout.

"Hang on," he said, and grabbed a cheap digital watch near the cashier.

"That should do it," Mary said, after the clothing had all been folded into the large paper bag, "Put these on and you'll look broke as a joke. Darren's not going to be home until later, so we have some time."

"What do we do until then?" he asked.

"Let's walk around a bit," she replied.

They wandered aimlessly, checking the various stores. Mary led him up a moving staircase. Despite being well into his probation and more or less being able to get around without completely embarrassing himself or nearly getting himself killed, Draco still often found himself in almost admiration of what the muggles had been able to achieve, all without magic. Then again, if they had magic, they wouldn't have needed to do all of this. Then again, even he had to admit it was easier riding up the 'escalator' as Mary called it, than climbing the staircases at Hogwarts. He wondered why Darren's apartment didn't have them. He was about to ask Mary when she stopped suddenly and grabbed his forearm.

"Tomorrow's Halloween," she said, "do you have plans?"

Draco shook his head. Truth be told, he'd completely lost track of the date. Halloween, when the Dark Lord had been defeated the first time. Practically a national holiday for most of wizarding Britain, though it was anything but in his household.

"There's a party, but you'll need a costume," she said, leading him to a shop with garish masks and outfits displayed. Several muggles browsed the cramped aisles, trying on different masks and generally having a good time.

Draco fell into his own thoughts as Mary jabbered on. He'd never been to a muggle party before, but Mary seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing. Did he really want to go? What was the alternative? Get blind drunk by himself, or with Mother?

"Drake?" Mary said. Draco got the impression it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention.

She held up an outrageous fluffy white shirt, a fake belt, sword, pistol, and boots that weren't really boots, just a bit of leather meant to cover the shoes and shins. A large black overcoat with silvery trim hung behind the whole thing, and the costume was topped off by a stiff black tricorn hat.

"What is that supposed to be?" he asked.

"It's a pirate. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum?" she said, shaking the costume, "twenty quid, what do you think?"

"I dunno, who's going to this party?" Draco asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"That you know? Just me and Darren, but there will be a lot of people there. It's some of Bruno's friends," Mary said, "it'll be wild, guaranteed."

"Well fuck it, haven't got anything better to do, and I definitely don't want to be anywhere near Wizarding London on Halloween," Draco thought.

He grabbed the costume and Mary grinned and clapped her hands a few times, practically skipping next to him as they left the shop. She hooked her arm through his as they walked, and Draco didn't flinch at all. In fact, as he thought back at the moments they'd shared, how much she laughed at his jokes, or brushed his hair from his face or made little touches on his arm or leg, he guessed Mary had something for him. Whether what Mack said was true or not, that she was only interested in his money, he wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter; she was a muggle, and he didn't have any money left anyway.

He let her lead him through the mall and to the bus stop while he meandered through the fucked up landscape that passed for his mind these days. How did he feel about her? He looked down at her and she turned to look up at him, breaking into a smirk before steering him out through the glass doors and onto the busy sidewalk. She wasn't bad looking, with her sky-blue eyes and dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But she was a muggle, and an orphan. And he was to find someone of good breeding, which she was most certainly nearly the exact opposite of. Then again, hardly any witch would even look at him these days, much less entertain a match. That brought him back to his father, stuck in Azkaban, still trying to control his life. He frowned as he felt the resentment grow in his chest.

"Hey," Mary said, tapping him on the side of the head as they sat down on the bus, "what's going on in here?"

Draco sighed through his nostrils and looked up at the handholds, waving with the movement of the bus.

"Just thinking how my life is complete shit," he said.

Mary nodded with a frown and put a hand on his thigh, warm through his jeans. That was the good thing about Mary, she didn't pry, she didn't try to tell him it wasn't that bad, or she had it worse. She was just there for him, and even though he knew it was impossible, he could almost trick himself into believing she understood.

They arrived back at Darren's after ten o'clock.

"Drake," Darren said as he entered, then he stopped, "bloody hell."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Last time I saw you, you could barely walk," Darren said, looking at him with shock.

"Looked worse than it was," Draco said, "I just took some painkillers, and the rest is makeup. Can't go scaring the kids now."

One look at the expression on Darren's face and Draco knew the dealer didn't believe a word he said, but apparently it didn't matter.

"You got the cash?" Darren asked.

"Yeah," Draco replied, pulling out the stack of muggle currency. He counted out enough to cover the taxi and another two hundred for whatever Darren was going to get him. Darren took the money, counted it himself, and pocketed it.

"I'll try to get it tomorrow-," Darren said.

"I invited Drake to Martin's party," Mary interrupted from the couch.

Darren turned to her and looked like he was about to chastise her, but then he just closed his eyes and sighed, then turned back to Draco.

"Okay, you can come, don't do anything stupid," he said, "You got a costume? Good. Meet up here around seven and then we'll head out."

"Alright, I'll leave this here then," Draco said, laying the pirate costume over the back of a chair. No way was he going to be seen wearing that ridiculous getup in Diagon.

Draco returned home and checked on his mother, who slept soundly in her bed. The following day he awoke craving a hit, but he didn't have any, so he forced himself to eat an apple before heading to the orphanage, this time wearing the casual muggle clothing and trainers he'd bought the day before. The previous night, the paid staff had decorated the place with fake spider webs, pumpkins, plastic skeletons, and cardboard tombstones. In the morning, Pam, wearing a blue dress and a wig of long red hair, had them bobbing for apples and running through various races on the pitch. Some of the races saw childrens' legs tied together, some had them hopping in sacks, and some had them walking on their hands, their legs held up by a partner. It was honestly the most absurd thing Draco had ever seen, but the kids seemed to be having fun. In the afternoon, the staff ran a scavenger hunt, culminating in a haunted house in the assembly room. Draco's job was to sit at a booth underneath a hanging skeleton and distribute sweets whenever a group of children came by, which was simple enough, then he and Alan were instructed to don rubber masks and jump out to scare children as they walked by in the haunted house. The oddest thing about the whole experience was the peculiar lighting inside the haunted house. It was a strange purple light that made any white clothing glow in the darkness. Finally, the children, hyper on sugar, filtered into the cafeteria for dinner, and he and Alan teamed up to clear the haunted house, throwing most of the decorations back into storage.

"Hey Alan, you heading home after?" Draco asked.

Alan nodded.

"I got a favour to ask, mind heading over to Darren's with me tonight before you go home?" Draco asked.

"Oh, are we uh," Alan asked, holding his thumb and forefinger near his mouth.

Draco shook his head.

"Probably not," he said, "but I got mugged earlier on the way there, and I'm supposed to meet Darren and Mary tonight."

"Oh shit," Alan said, "what'd they take?"

"Cash. And the weed," Draco said, and Alan winced.

"Bugger," he said, "least you're alright. Yeah I'll go with you."

The two of them departed and hiked to Darren's apartment, making it there without incident, unless you counted the odd costumed individuals they passed on the way. When Draco entered the apartment, Darren was already dressed in a bright green long sleeved shirt and matching pants, both with dark haphazard question marks drawn across them in purple or black marker. A strip of purple cloth with holes cut for his eyes obscured his face.

"Riddle me this," he said, "what kept you?"

Draco shook his head.

"Party at the orphanage, clean-up took a while," Draco said.

"So glad I'm done with that shite," Darren said, handing Draco his pirate costume, "hurry up, we have time to swing by a pub before we go."

Draco changed in the loo, feeling a bit foolish as he donned the white shirt and its overly enthusiastic frills. The fake boots were a bit over the top as well, not to mention the overcoat. He shoved the toy pistol and sword through his belt, affixed the tricorn hat, gave himself a once over in the mirror, shook his head, and exited into the kitchen.

Mary stood up from the couch and only years of schooled indifference kept Draco's mouth closed. She wore dark boots covering her legs almost to her knees, and above that, a tight leather miniskirt. Her jacket, the one she'd worn when he first spoke with her on the playground, matched the skirt. Beneath that, she wore only a lacy red and black patterned… something that left much of her upper chest open and exposed, and ended well above her navel. Draco had no idea what it was but it barely qualified as much more than an undergarment really. Dark eyeliner circled her eyes and a line of bright red dripped from the corner of her lip, and Draco realized she was supposed to be a vampire. She smiled at him, revealing fake fangs.

"Good, let's go," Darren said, grabbing a cane from behind the chair by the door and donning a green bowler hat. The three of them departed and Mary slipped her arm around Draco's as they walked. Darren led them several blocks to a pub, as proclaimed by the blue and red neon sign and arrow pointing to the entrance. They stepped inside, where it was standing room only, and pushed their way to the bar.

"First drink's free for anyone in costume," the bartender said, "what'll it be?"

"Tequila," Darren said.

The bartender set out a tray, poured three shots, and set out a shaker and some cut limes. Darren licked the back of his hand and poured the salt over it, Mary followed suit (staring at Draco as she slowly licked her hand), and Draco, not really knowing what was going on, mimicked them.

"Ready?" Darren said, "one, two, three!"

He licked the salt from his hand and downed the shot, and Draco struggled to keep up. The spirit was horrible, a mix of shoe polish and paint thinner that burned all the way down. He gagged and fought the urge to vomit.

"The lime, the lime!" Mary said.

Draco looked up with watering eyes to see Darren still sucking on the sour green fruit slice. He grabbed the last lime, jammed the fleshy part into his mouth, and bit down, sucking the juices out.

"Augh, that's just vile," Draco said once the gag reflex had passed.

Darren laughed.

"Another?" Darren asked.

The bartender poured another three shots, but they were interrupted by a voice behind them.

"Drake? Mary?" a female voice said, "nice costumes!"

Draco turned around to see Pam Baker, still in her bright red wig and blue dress from earlier in the day.

"Hi Pam!" Mary said, "what are you doing here?"

Pam gave her a dazzling smile.

"Having a drink, same as you of course. Seems like you guys are having fun," she said, "this is my husband, Michael."

She touched the elbow of the man standing next to her, and he turned to face them. Michael Baker was huge, standing at least a head taller than Draco. His thighs were like tree trunks and he wore blue trousers with a black brace over one knee. His white shirt left the front completely open, revealing a barrel chest and well-defined abs.

"Pleased to meet you," Draco said, extending a hand to shake. He resisted the urge to wince as his knuckles were nearly crushed in Michael's grip.

"Drake and Darren help out at the orphanage, and Mary was a resident until recently," Pam said.

"Ah, it's good you're helping out there," Michael said, "Macmillian's a real stand-up bloke."

Draco nodded, searching for something to say.

"Yeah he is," he said, "so what'd you do to your knee?"

"Rugby," Michael replied, "got another two weeks before the doctors clear me to play again, probably."

Draco nodded.

"Hey, look at the time," Darren said, "nice to see you Pam, Michael. C'mon guys, we've got to go."

He ushered Draco and Mary out the door.

"What's got into you Darren?" Mary asked.

"Look, it's just… nothing good can come of that conversation," Darren said.

"We were just talking. She wouldn't have said anything," Mary said.

"I don't care, it's not a good idea," Darren said, "catch up with her on your own time. Let's find a cab."

It took a few minutes but eventually they were able to hail a taxi from the street. Darren rode in the front and gave the address to the driver, while Draco and Mary sat in the back, Draco having to lay his sword and hat across his lap. Darren twisted around to face them.

"Okay, Drake, I know you're messed up from whatever accident you were in, but please try not to do or say anything stupid tonight," Darren said.

"Darren, would you relax," Mary said.

Darren turned around and faced forward again, and Draco chanced a glance over at Mary to find her staring back at him. The streetlights reflected glitter off her chest and Draco's eyes flicked down for an instant.

"Costume looks good on you," Mary whispered, reaching over and running her fingers over the silver trim of his overcoat.

"I feel like a twat," Draco said.

Mary backhanded him lightly in the shoulder.

"Just take the bloody compliment," she said.

Draco smirked.

"Yours looks good too," he said.

"Bloody freezing though," she replied.

Draco resisted the urge to let his eyes wander down to her exposed navel and thighs again, and after a moment she turned to look out the window.

They rode for about twenty minutes and pulled up at a large house in the suburbs. Cars lined the street in both directions, and packed the long driveway. Several people milled about outside the house, smoking or drinking, or both. The three of them exited the taxi and walked up towards the house, the thumping bass audible even from a hundred feet away. The door was propped open, allowing people to freely move in and out. Draco estimated about a hundred were present already, most of them decked out in various costumes he didn't recognize. Many of them wore masks, either of the cloth or rubber variety. The inside of the house was spacious, upper middle class, with thick carpeting in most of the rooms, and clear line of sight from the front door to a back deck, lit by overhead floodlights. A small fence cordoned off the staircase, sending a clear signal the second story was off limits.

"Let's get some drinks," Darren said, leading them through the crowds to the kitchen. Draco heard distinct Irish accents, lots of Irish men and women. He looked around and suspected the three of them might have been the some of the only ones there who didn't hail from the Emerald Isle.

"Actually, I'm not really sure where Mary's family is from…" Draco thought, "is McKay an Irish name? Possibly."

In the kitchen, bottles lined the counter against one wall, while a large punch bowl and red plastic cups sat on the island in the centre of the room. Darren used the ladle to pour some red punch for each of them then took a sip. It was fruity and sweet, and Draco could barely taste a hint of alcohol.

"I'm going to try and find Martin O'Donnell, be back soon," Darren said.

Draco nodded to him, then let Mary lead him by the hand out to the rear deck, where several muggles played a game over a long table, tossing a small white ball back and forth. Others leaned against the railing and chatted, and the scent of charred meat reached his nostrils, courtesy of a large grill set up at the far end of the deck, next to a table filled with sausages, steak, and other meats.

"I just spotted someone I know," Mary said, putting a hand on his arm, "watch the game for a moment, I'll be right back."

"Wait…" Draco said, but she was gone, off the deck and into the back yard.

Draco sipped his drink and watched the game. It seemed relatively simple: take turns tossing the ball, and drink the beer in the cup when your opponent landed it inside. Draco wondered where Mary had wandered off to though. He stepped to the edge of the deck and spotted her in the yard beyond, chatting with a rough looking bloke with a wild beard. He was taller than Draco, wore a chequered shirt and overalls, and carried a large axe. They talked a bit while Draco appreciated how Mary's leather skirt hugged her form. She passed some money to the lumberjack man and received a small bag in exchange, which she stuck into an inside jacket pocket. Another girl, this one a blonde wearing light translucent clothing and shimmering fairy wings, stomped up to the two and slid right between them, jabbing her finger into Mary's chest. Draco was too far away to hear the specifics but it was clear the blonde didn't like her. Mary gave her the two fingered salute as she walked away.

"Hey mocky, don't think I've seen you here before?" someone said to Draco in a thick Irish accent. Draco turned to see a broad shouldered and clean-shaven dark-haired man, perhaps in his early thirties, sipping wine from a glass. He wasn't wearing a costume, instead sporting jeans and a green and white windbreaker with the Irish flag displayed prominently on the sleeve.

"Nope, first time," Draco said.

"Who'd ye come with, if ye don't mine me askin'?" the man asked.

"Darren Welch?" Draco replied, a sense of unease rising from his gut.

The man took a sip from his glass.

"Never heard of him, so I haven't," he said, "what's your name then?"

"Drake Malfoy," Draco replied.

"Never heard of you neither?" the man said, but just then Mary returned and latched on to Draco's arm.

"Hi Connor, this here's Drake, he's with me," she said.

In an instant, recognition lit up his face, and Connor's demeanour changed entirely. He smiled broadly at Mary.

"Oh my, little Mary McKay, all grown up is it?" he asked.

She smiled up at him.

"Aye, it's been a long time," she said with an Irish lilt Draco had never heard her use before.

"So it has," he said, "you here for anything special?"

"Stoppin' in to say hello, and me friend Darren's here to speak to Martin," she said.

"Alright alright, I'll make mention ye dropped by," he said, "enjoy the party will ye?"

"We will," Mary replied. Connor drained his glass and stepped over to the drinks table to pour himself another glass.

"C'mon, let's go inside," she said, shivering a bit, "I'm freezing."

They stepped into the kitchen, and then into a dimly lit den where a movie played on a large television, and several people sat on couches, chairs, or the carpet, drinking and chatting.

"How do you know these people again?" Draco asked.

"They're my brother's friends," Mary said.

Draco nodded.

"Listen Drake, I know you've been feeling a bit down lately, so I got us something that can help," she said, "it wasn't cheap, I've only done it once before, but it felt great."

"This sounds almost exactly like the kind of stupid thing Darren warned against doing," Draco thought. His hesitation must have shown on his face because Mary grabbed his arm and looked up into his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" she asked. Reflexively he wanted to laugh, but Mary was the one muggle he'd spent the most time around, walking the city, asking questions of each other. He found that he did trust her, at least to not poison him, so he nodded.

"Don't worry about these guys," she said, "Darren and Bruno are friends, but I'm his sister, I'm blood. We'll be fine."

That he understood. Plus, Mary was offering him free drugs… so why not?

Draco nodded.

"Alright, what do we do?" he asked.

"It's a pill, we swallow it," she said, "hold my drink."

She handed her cup to Draco then pulled her arms inside her leather jacket and faced the wall, so she could open the bag without anyone seeing. Picking up on what she was doing, Draco turned to make sure nobody was watching them. He noticed a somewhat older man, dark haired, perhaps mid 30's, with a goatee and wearing a red outfit and a matching wide brimmed hat, even his gloves were red. The man looked away when Draco spotted him, and something about him just seemed… off.

"Okay," Mary said, bringing Draco's attention back. She filled out the sleeves of her jacket again and traded Draco a small yellow pill for her cup.

"We'll both do it, and we'll have a great time, guaranteed," she said, almost vibrating with anticipation. She popped a pill into her mouth and Draco followed suit.

"Ready, one, two, three," she said, then tipped her cup back and washed down the pill, Draco right behind her. The fruity drink went down easily, but he supposed that was the whole point.

He looked around the room.

"I don't feel anything different," he said.

Mary smirked.

"Don't be cheeky," she said, "it could take a half an hour. Let's mingle a bit."

Mary led Draco by the arm to the kitchen, where several bowls of varying dips were laid out, along with crisps, carrots, broccoli, and several other vegetables Draco didn't quite get a good look at. Mary filled up both of their cups with water from the tap.

"Trust me, you're going to want this later," she said, handing him his cup.

They wandered through a dining room where several blokes played cards and smoked, and watched the game for a bit. Draco couldn't make heads or tails of what they were doing, only that it was less interesting than exploding snap. He started getting bored and pulled Mary into the adjacent living room. A few cream coloured couches and chairs sat around a glass coffee table, on top of which sat coasters supporting glasses, as well as a few glass or crystal decanters of what looked like spirits. The view of the front yard and street that would have been visible through the large windows was obscured by the reddish orange shades drawn across them. Music thumped out of several large speakers scattered along the edges of the room, and Draco could barely hear his own thoughts. A group of pale skinned costumed muggles danced to the beat near the speakers, some of them grinding on each other in a lewd fashion he'd never seen before. Draco glanced around and caught the red-clad man staring at him again from across the room. The man smiled slowly, then rubbed his forearm, right where Draco's Dark Mark was, then he tipped his wide brimmed hat and left the room, a large gold cross hung about his neck swinging around as he turned.

"Do you wanna dance?" Mary asked, but Draco shook his head. His mind was foggy, but that man's face was vaguely familiar. Where had he seen him before…? Then like a thunderbolt, it struck him. Slug Club, sixth year when he'd snuck in, the fucking vampire. Santari? San… Sanguini! What in Merlin's name was Sanguini the bloody vampire doing at a muggle Halloween party? Suddenly he didn't feel safe at all.

"We've got to go," Draco said.

"What? We've only just arrived," Mary said.

He looked down at her.

"I'm pretty sure that man in the red outfit is a vampire," Draco said.

Mary blinked.

"I'm the vampire. He was that Cardinal what's-his-face from-" Mary said.

"No Mary, I mean a real, suck your blood and leave you in a ditch, vampire," Draco said, grabbing her forearm, and scanning the room, "we need to go, now."

He didn't have anything with him that could hold off a vampire, and his magical blood would be like nectar to someone like Sanguini. Merlin knew whether he was the only blood-sucker at the party.

"Are you tripping? What the fuck was in that pill?" Mary asked. He half-led, half-dragged her to the open front door and glanced back to the rear of the house.

"Oh, there's Darren and Martin," Mary said, waving to them.

Through the house, out the open back door, beyond the beer pong table, Darren stood with his cane and bowler hat under the floodlights next to a bald stocky man with a dark tattoo running up his neck, Martin O'Donnell, Draco presumed. Darren was in conversation with Martin and only nodded slightly at Mary as she waved. Then Sanguini, his costume lit up in almost glowing red in the floodlights, approached the duo and murmured something to O'Donnell. The bald man looked up and locked eyes with Draco while Darren just gave them a look that Draco strongly suspected was meant to convey 'I told you not to do anything stupid, you idiotic twat'.

"Yeah, time to go," Draco said, waving to the trio before beating a hasty retreat out the front door and down the front steps, tossing his cup into the bushes lining the front of the house. Mary nearly stumbled in her heeled boots and Draco steadied her arm, but he didn't break stride.

"Drake, slow down, where are we going?" she asked.

"Away from here," Draco replied, looking down towards the street. The street lights had halos around them, and his heart was racing, though he wasn't sure if it was from the stress of the magical world crashing into his probation like it just did or the drugs Mary had given him. Frankly, he didn't care.

"Taxi!" he yelled, raising a hand at one of the dark coloured cars that had just dropped off a few party goers. He walked quickly to the street, opened the door, and practically shoved Mary inside before turning to look up at the house. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't see Martin, Sanguini, or Darren as he ducked into the back seat and slammed the car door shut.

"Drive, London," he said, and the driver swung a U-turn, heading for the highway.

Draco turned around and looked out the back window until he couldn't see the house anymore, then sat down in his seat and gave Darren's apartment address to the driver.

"Drake, you okay?" Mary asked.

"Not really," Draco replied, "there was a bloody vampire there. Why the fuck was there a vampire at that party?"

Mary put a hand on his leg, and it sent an electric tingle straight up his spine.

"Drake, relax, I think you're just having a bad trip," Mary said, "maybe there was something else in that pill."

"No, Mary, you don't understand," Draco said, "I know him, he's a fucking vampire."

"Drake, there's no such thing as vampires," Mary said, her brows furrowing in growing agitation.

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then he remembered. The Statute. Vampires were magical beings and couldn't be exposed to the muggles, even if they could mingle among them.

"Yeah, there's no such thing as vampires," he said quietly, then turned to look out the window. The street lights started trailing comet tails, and despite his unfortunate circumstances and the scare at the party, a sense of contentment and acceptance rose up within him, like all was right with the world. He looked over to Mary to see she had pulled her arms inside the sleeves of her jacket and repeatedly ran her hands up and around her exposed stomach.

"I think it's kicking in," she said, "how do you feel?"

"I feel…, happy, but not like happy. Happier than I've ever felt before," Draco said, "oh… this is the best stuff ever."

He was grinning like a fool but he didn't care, and Mary had a matching grin on her face. He hadn't felt this way in… well, ever. Growing up, he'd never wanted for anything except his father's approval, and all the candies and toys in the world couldn't make up for what he most craved. He'd failed to ally with Harry Potter, and forever after that, he'd been good, but never good enough. Anyone else's parents would have been proud their son earned the marks he did, earned a prefect badge, but he was chastised year after year for coming second to a mudblood. He'd become an accomplished Occlumens, repaired a Vanishing Cabinet on his own, and planned well enough to bring about the end of the great Albus Dumbledore. Still, it was never enough, and it never would be. None of that mattered now, because he was here, he was alive, and it had never felt so wonderful to breathe freely, with the burdens of his lineage and responsibilities vanished. He felt as if he could fly without a broom.

"Watch this," Mary said, and she ran her fingertips up the back of his hand, under the sleeve of his outfit and halfway up his forearm. Her touch was golden fire against his skin, and he inhaled as multicoloured fireworks went off in his skull. He opened his eyes to see a little smile on her face as she watched his reaction. With a small smirk of his own he reached out and ran his hand over her stomach as he'd seen her do to herself earlier. Mary let out a soft exhale, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the headrest. Her skin was warm against his hand, and the sensation of just running his hand over her stomach felt amazing.

"We're here," the driver said, interrupting the moment.

Draco paid and exited the cab, the chill air hitting him like silent snowfall, and he stopped and looked up at the large gibbous moon for a moment, admiring the perfect silver serenity, then followed Mary up the front stoop.

"Come upstairs for a bit," Mary said as she opened the cracked vestibule door.

Draco nodded.

"Alright," he said.

They held hands as they walked the steps, her thumb stroking the back of his hand, sending little shocks of electricity through him. Mary let them into Darren's apartment and flicked on the lights, and Draco closed the door behind them. The normally drab carpet and couch appeared bright and vibrant, and all the colours bled over into everything else.

Mary turned to look at him, the dark pupils of her eyes abnormally wide, and reached out a hand to cup his cheek, causing more fireworks to erupt.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

Draco nodded, and Mary slowly untucked his frilly pirate shirt and reached her hands underneath it and around him to slide up his back beneath his shirt. He arched into her as she stepped into him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder; even in heels, the top of her head only came up to his lips. She started running her hands and arms up and down his back, and Draco couldn't help but let his breath catch. She turned her head slightly so he could hear her whisper.

"Drake… I like you," she whispered, "And.. it's not because you have money, you know that, right?"

"I don't have money, actually," he replied, "not anymore."

She pulled back slightly at that and gave him the now-familiar smirk, the drawn-on blood making her look slightly ridiculous, but all Draco could think of was how much he missed the contact. Tentatively, he reached around and into the warm air between her lower back and jacket, and ran his fingers lightly over the skin there. Mary gave a soft moan of pleasure at that and pressed herself into him, clutching his back tightly.

"Do you want to see my room?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"Alright," he said.

She took his hand and led him through the hallway with two doors at the end, to the door on the right, into her bedroom. A queen-sized bed with a green comforter sat against one blue painted wall, with a night table and lamp at one end. A simple wooden desk and chair sat in the corner against the far wall, and a similarly styled wood dresser stood in the opposite corner from the desk. A closet with sliding doors took up the wall next to the door, and a black guitar case leaned against a wall, gathering dust. Two windows looked out onto the street, currently closed with curtains drawn. Mary walked around behind him and pulled his costume overcoat from his shoulders and threw it over the back of the chair, followed by her own jacket. Draco's eyes dropped down to her slim cream coloured upper body, only the black and red lace undergarment partially covering the swell of her breasts.

"Take your shoes off," she said as she lifted one boot onto the chair and zipped down the length before pulling it off and setting it on the ground under the desk. Draco dropped the fake sword and pistol on the ground, practically ripped off the fake leather boots, followed by the trainers underneath while she took her second boot off, his jeans now uncomfortably tight and constraining as he watched Mary undress in front of him. She padded over to him in stocking feet and embraced him again, running her hands up and down his back like she had before. Thoughts flashed through Draco's mind.

She's a muggle.

Are you planning to be celibate forever? Barely anyone in magical Britain will even talk to you, much less consider a match.

But she's a muggle.

She's cute, and she fancies you, and it's been over two years.

She's a muggle, filth, beneath you.

Who would find out?

Father wanted me to find someone of good breeding.

Fuck Father, fuck what he wants. The old man is going to die in Azkaban. Look at that stomach, don't you want to know what the rest of her looks like?

You want this, Draco, you want it, and she wants it, and that's all that matters.

Draco let Mary push him back onto the soft mattress, and she pressed her lithe body down atop him, smoothed his hair back, and pressed her lips to his. If the sensations he felt before were fireworks, this was like fiendfyre. She hmm'ed into his mouth, and instinct took over as Draco returned the kiss eagerly, tasting her mouth for the first time. He pushed himself back and fully onto the bed, drawing her with him, nestled between his legs. She moved from his lips and traced a line of kisses down his jawline to his neck, and Draco just looked up at the ceiling, unable to process the sensations he was feeling. She moved forward a bit more and sat up, causing her skirt to ride up, lifting one leg at a time to straddle his waist. She smirked down at him, her blood makeup hopelessly smeared. Mary grabbed the frills at the centre of his shirt and pulled hard, snapping the cheap buttons open, but her expression changed to shock and she gasped.

"Oh my god," she said.

She traced her finger diagonally down his chest, across his entire torso, nearly to his hip, where Potter had scarred him.

"Is this from the accident?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked. Draco could feel the mood changing and he slipped his hands up under her arms to her shoulders and pulled her down atop him, relishing the sensation of her warm stomach and chest against his.

She took the hint and kissed his earlobe, starting a slow undulating grind with her hips and using her whole body to rub against his, and he responded in kind, rubbing his now rock-hard cock against her through the fabric of his jeans. He reached up and felt for a clasp on her top, but there wasn't one. She sat up, crossed her arms over her chest, and lifted the whole piece up and over her head, letting her pert breasts and hardened pink nipples fall free as she dropped the lacy fabric off the side of the bed. The first hint of shyness came as her hands instinctively went to cover herself, but she stopped them, leaving them in limbo somewhere around the top of her stomach. Her blue eyes watched his seriously and she swallowed as he drank in the sight of her.

"Mary," he whispered, pulling her down on top of him again and into another kiss. This time he felt her tongue probing, and he opened his mouth, granting her access and letting him explore hers at the same time. He'd never felt a kiss this exhilarating before, and though somewhere deep down he knew the drugs were responsible to some extent, his ability to care was utterly non-existent. She started fumbling with the button of his jeans, and he reached down to help, the two of them combining the efforts of hands, legs, and feet to somehow shuck them off without breaking the kiss. Her leather skirt had now completely ridden up, and she ground her hot sex almost directly onto his cock, separated only by a thin strip of fabric, sending him into another wave of mind-blowing sensation. They stayed like that for some time, grinding together, kissing mouths and necks, him palming her petite breasts and tweaking the hardened flesh of her nipples, causing her to gasp and give off soft little moans. Draco felt her knickers growing steadily wetter with every undulation until they were completely soaked through. He could feel the thin fabric of her panties straining as they came together, until finally he couldn't stand it any longer. He grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair at the back of her head, causing her to grunt and pull back. She panted, lips swollen and parted, eyes half-open with desire as she looked at him.

"Take them off," he said, and she nodded, rolling off him to shimmy out of her skirt and pull her panties off down and across her feet, tossing the last of her clothes onto the floor. Draco pulled off the sleeves of his shirt and she took a moment to admire his throbbing cock, already slightly damp with the juices that had previously soaked through. She leaned over and took his shaft in one hand to hold it steady, leaned over, and gave it a long lick from base to tip. His limbs seemingly gone on strike, Draco was helpless to do anything but moan and lay his head back on the pillow. She threw her leg over to straddle him again but held herself up while she kissed him, just barely letting the tips of her breasts caress his chest. The coldness of their distance made Draco groan in frustration and he grabbed the cool flesh of her arse and pulled it down towards him. She ground herself into him again, resuming their previous action, only this time with no barrier, her hot wetness sliding directly against his shaft. Mary pushed herself up on her elbows, her breaths coming shorter now, eyes closed. Draco looked down at her breasts swaying in time to their motions as Mary's breath stuttered; she bit her lip and ground her soft wet folds against his hardness. Her limbs quivered as she grunted softly and Draco felt even more wetness dripping against his groin and dripping onto the sheets. Mary let off a few deep breaths and opened her eyes to look at Draco and ground her hips a few more times against him, sliding forward a bit more with each rocking motion until when she came back down, the head of his cock slipped inside her. She was so incredibly warm and wet, and Draco couldn't help but thrust up into her tightness, eliciting a wince and a moan from her.

"Slowly," she whispered, when he wanted to do anything but. She started rocking again, just taking the tip of him into her at first. He started easing his length into her a little bit more with each thrust, until he was buried to the hilt. They lay like that for a moment, not moving, Draco on the edge of erupting, yet relishing the feel of being fully enveloped by her and not wanting this moment to pass just yet. Then she started again, sliding herself slowly up and down his shaft, increasing tempo, and he kept pace. He put his hands on her hips while she caressed his chest, looking down at him. Draco felt his climax drawing closer and he thought about slowing down again, but Mary kept going.

"Don't stop," she said, and those two words alone nearly drove him over the edge.

She leaned over him again and pumped her hips faster, coaxing him to finish, the two of them reaching a frantic pace until his vision tunnelled and he thrust as deep as he could, pumping his hot seed into her. From the expression of wonder and the small smile that spread across her face, he knew she felt it. Finally, when the last convulsion ended, she lay her head down on his chest with him still inside of her.

"Wow," she said, and he couldn't help but agree.

They lay like that for a few minutes, their mingled fluids dripping out of her, across him, and onto the sheets, until he grew soft and she started getting cold, then they ducked under the covers. He held Mary on his right side with one arm, while she leaned her head against his shoulder and threw a leg over his, the wetness of their lovemaking cool against his thigh. Basking in the afterglow with her finger tracing patterns across his chest, Draco didn't even mind smell of their combined scents; in fact, he felt nothing but utter joy and contentment. He thought he ought to be disgusted with himself, but in reality, he felt an amazing connection with Mary, unique from anything he'd experienced before. Maybe it was still the drugs. He didn't care, sex with Mary was honestly the best thing that had happened to him this year. He slid his hand up her stomach to her chest and traced circles with his finger around her areola, until the flesh crinkled again as her nipple responded to his touch.

"Mmmm," she said, eyes half closed, "don't start something you can't finish."

She reached down and with a feather touch, walked her fingers up his thigh until she found his flaccid manhood and started rubbing a finger up and down the underside and around the head. Draco felt himself twitch and start to harden again, until he was stiff enough for Mary to start stroking her hand up and down his length. He kept playing with her nipple until her breath started coming heavier. Draco felt her squirming and manoeuvring her other hand until she could reach between her own legs, but to Draco, that didn't make any sense at all. He rolled her over onto her back and was rewarded by Mary spreading her legs wide for him. She reached down and gripped his shaft to position him against her entrance and nodded. This time he slipped in easily in one long stroke, and they settled into a slow, relaxed rhythm. Mary started giving off a little moan at every thrust, and Draco looked down at his cock sliding in and out of her, the sight and sounds of what they were doing turning him on even more. As Draco started feeling a second climax building, Mary's breathing and cries grew more insistent, until she was shuddering beneath him and clenched around him like a vice. When the last shudder had finished and she'd loosened up a bit, she pulled him down closer to her.

Draco started up again, watching how her breasts bounced with each thrust, and Mary pulled her knees up to slightly change the angle.

"I want to feel you finish inside me again," she whispered as she lifted her legs further to lock her ankles behind his back.

That did it, and pounded into her as he came again, almost painfully this time as there wasn't really much left to pump into her. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and ended up with Draco hugging her from behind, one hand cupping a breast and the other beneath her pillow, his softening cock pressed against the smooth, pale skin of her arse. He'd never felt such a connection to anyone, and idly wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love. Mary fell asleep first but Draco stayed awake a bit longer, enjoying the sensation of her chest rising and falling against his hand, before he too drifted off to sleep.

---

Draco peeled his eyes open the next morning to the sun filtering around the blinds covering the windows. His skull felt like it was about to crack in half, and his jaw ached fiercely. He tried to swallow but there was no spit, and his whole body felt spent and sore. He realized he was still cuddling Mary and last night's activities came rushing back to him. He scrambled back and out of the bed, staring down at her naked back while she slept. The previous night's sense of divine happiness and contentment had fled, leaving only terror and loathing in its place. He'd fucked a muggle. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?

Shit!

Today was Sunday. He had to report for inspection with Clark, who would like nothing more than to send him to Azkaban. Would probably jerk off to it, come to think. Draco cast about the room for his watch, held it up to the light, and sighed in relief when he saw he hadn't missed his appointment. Then he remembered he couldn't apparate. He yanked his trousers on and tossed the ruined pirate shirt aside before slamming his feet into his trainers.

"Drake, where are you going?" Mary asked sleepily.

"Inspection," he said, "I have to report to my probation officer, or I'm fucked."

He heard her nodding as she sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest.

"Drake, last night…" she said.

"Last night was a bloody mistake, it should never have happened," Draco thought to himself as he stopped halfway through tying his shoe. Bile rose in his throat and he resisted the urge to vomit.

"Drake, look at me," Mary said.

Draco looked up at her and instead of seeing a filthy muggle, he saw Mary McKay, the only person he'd shared a meaningful conversation with in the past two months, who'd taught him everything he knew about the muggle world, who'd smoked with him and laughed with him, who'd cleaned his cuts with alcohol, who'd bought him illegal drugs to try and make him feel better, because she was the only one in the world who'd noticed or cared he was coming apart at the seams, who'd opened herself to him and invited him to her bed. Mary, whose fair face and sky-blue eyes now wore such an expression of vulnerability he couldn't bear to tell her the truth that they could never truly be together, because he was a coward.

Draco stepped to her and kissed her on the forehead, smoothing back her dishevelled hair as he pulled away.

"Last night was amazing," he said, "do you have any more of those pills?"

She smirked at him, the vulnerability gone, hidden again.

"Yes but they won't work again right away," she said, "it'll take a few days, and you'll feel like shite until you recover."

"That would explain the hangover to end all hangovers I'm feeling right now," Draco thought.

He nodded and finished tying his shoes, mentally running through what he had to do and how long each leg of his trip would take.

"I've got to go," he said.

Mary took a deep breath.

"I'll see you soon," she said.

"See you," Draco said. He felt like he should probably say something else but he had no idea what, so he left the room, shirtless, and closed the door behind him. He paused in the hallway to gather himself. He really was a piece of shit. He walked quickly to the kitchen and downed a cup of water they'd poured the night before but never drank, and pulled yesterday's shirt over his head. He was on his way to the apartment door when Darren emerged from the hallway, looked at Draco, looked back down the hallway towards Mary's room, then back to Draco.

"You're here," Darren said, "good news, I managed to get your stuff."

"Keep it for now," Draco said, "I'll come by later this week, right now I've got to go."

"Hang on," Darren said, stepping in front of the apartment door and blocking Draco's exit, "two things."

"Last night at the party, that guy in red, Martin O'Donnell's associate, called you a 'special guest'," Darren said, "and then you took off. Care to explain?"

Draco shook his head.

"Look, I really don't have time for this, but yeah I know him, or at least I know of him," Draco said, "I left because I don't want to be anywhere near that guy, and neither should you."

Darren narrowed his eyes, seemingly not satisfied, but not willing to press the point.

"Fine," he said, "second thing. Look… Mary's a big girl, she can make her own decisions-"

Draco took a breath to interrupt but Darren held up a hand to forestall him.

"If you hurt her, if she tells Bruno, when he gets out, he will fucking flay you alive," Darren said, "fair warning."

Draco nodded, and Darren stepped away from the door and towards the kitchen. Draco yanked the door open and ran down the steps two at a time, his inner thighs sore from the previous night's activities. He burst out onto the street and into the crisp morning air. Birds took off from a nearby tree, chirping at the disruption. Draco turned and started jogging, but before long his breath became laboured, and he had a stitch in his side.

"Fucking pathetic, I'm so bloody out of shape," he thought.

Mercifully, he flagged a taxi down on the street and took it the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron. He entered Diagon Alley with twelve minutes to spare, and sprinted to the public floo.

"Malfoy Manor!" he shouted, tossing the powder and jumping through the fireplace. He landed at the manor and sprinted up the grand staircase and down the hall to his room, where he opened the dresser drawer and scooped the remains of his wand into his hand. Draco turned and yanked the closet door open to grab the nearest robe, throwing it on over his muggle clothing, then shoved the pieces of his shattered wand inside a pocket. Like a whirlwind, he was out the door and back down the steps and to the floo again.

"Ministry of Magic!" he said with four minutes to go.

Draco sprinted through the nearly deserted Atrium to the reception desk.

"Drake… err, Draco Malfoy, wand inspection," he said, panting with exertion.

The receptionist, a balding pudgy fellow, consulted a schedule, nodded, and issued Draco a special visitor's pass indicating he was allowed to keep his wand. Draco ran to the lift and rode it to level 2, pushing the doors open as soon as he arrived. He ran the length of the hallway to the interview rooms and burst in with less than ten seconds to spare.

"Draco Malfoy, room 1," the same bored receptionist called as she filed her nails.

Draco tried to steady his breathing, straightened his robes, and ran his fingers through his hair a few times as he entered the interrogation room to find Brandon Clark already waiting for him.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" Clark said as Draco sat down, still breathing hard, "you don't look so well. Don't smell so well either."

"Maybe I just *pant* don't like wasting time *pant* waiting for someone to call my name," Draco said.

"Right," Clark said, "out with your wand, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco pulled the broken pieces of his wand out and laid them on the table.

Clark looked up at him.

"Is this some kind of joke, think you're being funny?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"I'm sure you'll be chuffed to know I was mugged by muggles," Draco said, "not only did I not cast any Dark spells, I didn't cast any spells at all. They robbed me of everything I had, then broke my wand for fun."

Clark narrowed his eyes at Draco and arranged the wood pieces so they almost fit together.

"Priori Incantatem," he said, but only a garbled mess of mist came out of the broken wand.

He looked at Draco suspiciously, no doubt wondering if Draco could have cast a Dark spell, then broken his own wand to throw off the inspection. It didn't matter, Draco was telling the truth. He'd testify under veritaserum if he had to. Apparently, Clark came to the same conclusion, because he threw back his head and started laughing.

"How pathetic do you have to be to lose your wand to a few muggles?" he asked, "as pathetic as Draco Malfoy."

He roared again at his own (terrible) joke while Draco sat there and took it, because what else could he do? Clark calmed himself down, but he couldn't help grinning.

"You're not allowed to have an alternate," Clarke said almost gleefully, "doing so would violate the terms of the probation."

That was patently ridiculous, he was a wizard for Merlin's sake!

"You can't expect me to go the next four months without a wand," Draco said.

"It's in the terms, which you signed yourself," Clark said with an evil smile, "do we need to revisit them?"

"That was only because it was assumed I already had a… never mind," Draco said with a sigh, realizing he wasn't going to convince Clark.

"The way I see it, having a wand while hanging around muggles is just a Statute breach waiting to happen anyway," Clark said, "so you're actually fortunate to not have a wand. Think about it, you'll be just like one of them."

Draco pursed his lips, not rising to the bait once again.

"Looks like we're done here," Clark said, sweeping the fragments of Draco's wand to the floor, "don't forget to pick up your trash before you leave."

Draco considered leaving the pieces on the ground, but decided he'd rather have them, if only for nostalgia purposes. He felt Clark's eyes on him as he bent over to pick up the pieces of his wand, then he turned and swept out the door. Draco returned to the atrium at a less frantic pace and deposited his visitor pass, then walked back to the floo to head home. With the adrenaline of his mad dash to make his appointment wearing off, the melancholy and despair of the previous weeks returned tenfold, as if his spirit were paying back a debt with goblin levels of interest for the loan of happiness he'd taken out the night before. It felt like a dementor was breathing down his neck, and Draco resolved to get utterly smashed on firewhiskey and then pass out when he returned home, drug hangover be damned.

Draco stepped out of the floo to find his mother, standing and dressed in proper wizarding robes of deep blue for once, waiting for him, wand in hand.

"Mother," he said apprehensively.

"Draco, where's the gold," she asked.

"What gold?" he replied.

Narcissa hit him in the arm with a stinging hex.

"Ow!" Draco said, wringing his arm.

"The allowance gold from the Ministry," she said, "I went to pay the delivery owl for potions yesterday, and there. Was. No. Gold!"

Her voice steadily grew in volume until it echoed around the room, her last few words punctuated with more stinging hexes. Draco twisted and dodged to try and avoid them, mostly unsuccessfully.

"Flagello!" she shouted, and with a loud *crack* Draco's shoulder was struck by an invisible whip. He was pretty sure she'd drawn blood with that one. One look at his mother's crazed expression and Draco decided discretion was the better part of valour. He ducked around another pair of stinging hexes and fled from the room. She chased him through several rooms and Draco overturned furniture and slammed doors to at least slow her down. If he could get out of the Manor, she wouldn't be able to follow. He made it as far as the drawing room and was about to open the door at the far side when she caught him.

"Colloportus!"

The door locked itself and Draco turned his back to it to face his mother with wide eyes.

"Excorio!" Narcissa shouted with a snap and flick of her wand. Draco ducked the dark blue flaying curse and covered his head as splinters and shavings of wood from the door rained down on him. That had been aimed at his face.

"Mother!" he said incredulously.

"Don't 'Mother' me," Narcissa said as she advanced across the room, "that's just a fraction of the hell I've been through the last day and a half without my potions. Accio wand!"

The pieces of Draco's wand flew from his pocket and bounced off Narcissa's robe, falling to her feet. Her expression immediately turned from fury to shock as she stared at the broken fragments on the ground, then sympathy as she looked to Draco.

"What happened to your wand?" she whispered.

"They broke it," he replied.

"The Ministry broke your wand?" Narcissa asked.

Draco fell to his knees and the weight of what had happened crashed over him again. Perhaps it was the aftermath of whatever he'd taken the night before, but full force of their spectacular fall from grace obliterated what little shreds of his ingrained stoicism remained.

"Mother," he said, looking up at her, looking for comfort. Was he being emotionally manipulative? Yes, but at that moment, he didn't care, he just wanted to make the pain stop, or at least blunt it somehow. Narcissa dropped her wand and enveloped her son tightly.

"Muggles broke it, when they robbed me," he said, sobbing into her shoulder and hating himself for it.

He quickly stifled the worst of his tears.

"They caught me by surprise," he said, "I should have been more careful, I could have fought them."

"Shh, shh," Draco's mother said as she stroked his back, "it wasn't your fault, Draco, it was those muggles. Violent. Uncivilized. Barely even human."

Slowly, he began to feel the slightest bit better, and a bit embarrassed that at eighteen years of age he needed to be comforted by his mother. He rose to his feet and helped Narcissa up as well, and he saw that her eyes were wet. For a brief moment of insanity, he almost considered telling her of the revolting thing he'd done the night before. He imagined her reaction and immediately buried the secret deep down within him. No one could know, ever.

"There is a little more gold," he said, "I'll put it in Father's study so you can pay the owl tomorrow."

The look of relief which washed over her face was almost embarrassing.

"Mother, I intend to drink myself into oblivion today," he continued, his tone of voice and cadence falling back into the manners drilled into him his entire life, "would you care to join me?"

Narcissa half smiled, half laughed.

"I would," she said in her formal hostess voice, "shall I select the vintage?"

"By all means," Draco replied. Narcissa retrieved her wand and departed for the cellar, while Draco walked to one side of the room where a portrait of his great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy hung, just above a shield bearing the Malfoy coat of arms. His ancestor looked down on him, superiority and confidence combining for an almost regal stature.

"My wand is broken, we have abandoned our allies, our name is sullied, and our fortune is confiscated," Draco said, "I've already started selling heirlooms for gold. And I don't even care anymore."

The portrait stared down at him silently and imperiously, not even dignifying his words with a response. Draco's eyes traced over the family crest on the shield. Would he be the last Lord Malfoy, a noble line stretching back nearly ten centuries ending with him? It certainly seemed like a strong possibility. He walked to a couch near the centre of the room and sat down, looking at the floor, despondency rising again. A spatter and smear of brown decorated the stones between his feet. Dirty blood, Hermione Granger's, from when he'd watched aunt Bellatrix carve her arm up earlier that year. Whatever his and Granger's differences had been prior to that day, nobody deserved to have his aunt unleashed on them like that. The blood from the cursed dagger wouldn't come out from the stone floor and his mother hadn't covered it with a carpet for Merlin knew what reason. So he looked at it, and it looked back at him, accusingly, because he was a coward, and never good enough when it counted. Mercifully, his mother returned with several bottles and glasses, and he set about eliminating his self-loathing by destroying his mind's ability to form any kind of coherent thought at all.

After several glasses, both he and his mother were sat on a couch, far closer to utterly sloshed than irresponsibly drunk.

"I love your father, you know," she slurred, looking down into her glass, "have you ever been in love?"

"No, of course not," she muttered, not giving him a chance to respond, "how could you have, what with everything going on."

She looked at him, despair written on her features, then down at the floor again.

"One day when you fall in love with some lucky witch, you'll understand," she said, "you'll understand why I can't bear the thought of him in that horrible place."

She looked up again and Draco saw tears streaking her cheeks. His mother was crying, openly.

"I can't even tell him," she said, "that's why I ask you to go. We should have had another eighty years together, but instead, the next time I see him will probably be in a casket."

"It's once a month, Draco," she said, "please…"

Draco closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. Was his mother intentionally trying to guilt him into going? It was difficult to say. In the end, he figured it didn't really matter. If she felt strongly enough to cry in front of him, then it truly was important to her.

"I'll go," he said, "I'll go."

---

Warning: nudity, sex, drug abuse, alcohol abuse