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

15. Chapter 15

Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Trigger Warnings at the End of the Chapter

Beta by FedererEx

Chapter 15

Draco tapped the muggle driver's license on the ornate hand mirror as it lay flat on his bedside table, separating the fine powder into a pair of nearly identical thin white lines. His hands trembled as he picked up the purple straw, already cut down for this purpose. One long sniff and the first line vanished off the glass. He sniffed a few more times to keep it from falling out, then exhaled through his mouth and repeated the process for the second line, up the other nostril. The rush went through him as he struggled to steady his breathing. The stuff played havoc with his sleep schedule; he'd done some late last night, then been up past dawn then crashed and slept until afternoon. When he woke, the ache for more was worse than it had ever been. It almost had a mind of its own, the coke, not that he cared because Darren had been right; it made him feel fantastic, if only for an hour or two at a time. The white powder delivered its blessed relief unto him, and his thoughts came into focus almost immediately. He stared at the muggle camera film canister sitting next to the mirror, a small black container with a grey lid, and contemplated tapping out another line or two. He forced himself to save it for later. Where he was going, he didn't need to be jumping out of his skin. Just over a month had passed since his previous visit to Azkaban, and today was the first day he could return to see Father. Draco was many unsavoury things and he truly dreaded the cursed island, but he'd made a promise to his mother; at the very least he could keep his word to her.

Draco placed the hand mirror back inside the night table drawer and stumbled out of bed. Wishing he could hit himself with a scented charm, he settled for putting on clean robes, the first set he managed to grab from his closet. Carefully, he forced his hands to steady enough to roll four joints. He figured three should be enough to get through the trip to Azkaban and back, with one as backup. Three went into an inside pocket along with the small cylinder of cocaine, and the tip of the last joint found its way between his lips. He fished around yesterday's jeans until he found what he was looking for, the shiny new lighter. A quick flick of his thumb brought up a small, blue and gold flame. Alan showed one off at Darren's place after community service one day, called it a zeppo or something, and Draco had to have one. He lit the tip of the joint and took a long drag, then snapped his wrist to close the lid with a satisfying metallic clink, dousing the flame. He alternated tying his muggle trainers and sucking down more weed, then left his bedroom to walk down the bare hallway, where patches of cleaner and newer looking stone told of furniture and carpeting already sold off. He'd all but finished the joint by the time he made it to the fireplace and flicked the stub into the hearth where embers glowed, perpetually waiting for the next handful of floo powder.

"Ministry of Magic," he said, tossing it in and exhaling the last hit in a thin stream of smoke.

Green flames roared and he stepped through to land in the entrances by the Atrium. The stares barely registered with him thanks to the cocktail of narcotics he'd loaded his system with, and he walked directly to Reception.

"Draco Malfoy, Azkaban, visiting," he said.

"Wand?" the middle-aged slightly overweight man asked.

"Haven't got one," Draco said, shaking his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt he probably should be embarrassed to say that, but once again, he didn't care.

"Sign here please," the receptionist said, producing a blank application form. The ink faded into the page once he scrawled his name at the bottom, and a small box spat out a visitor's tag with a soft belch.

"DMLE, level two," the man said.

Draco nodded and made his way to the lifts, affixing the tag on the way to the portkey room that would take him to Azkaban. He finished off another joint as he waited outside the room by the security lockers, ignoring the stares of people passing by in the hallway, then deposited the weed and cocaine in one of them, pocketing the little numbered silver key so he could retrieve them later. Eventually he made his way to the room where the portkey was located as the middle-aged witch with significantly overdone beauty charms called his name. The iron ring pressed against his hand as he gripped it tightly, anticipating that familiar navel pull.

The sound of crashing waves greeted him, and Draco wondered how long the narrow walkway and iron ring portkey had been there, unchanging.

"Binns probably mentioned it in one of his lectures," he thought.

As he started walking, he found it wasn't exactly the same; it was much colder. They were into December, and Draco made do as best he could without warming charms. He walked the path between waves below and icy sea spray above, hyper aware of the long drop. At the small guard hut at the halfway point, he knocked twice, only for the door to open and reveal Brandon Clark, his probation officer, inside.

Draco fought the urge to turn around and walk back the way he came.

"Throwing in the towel, Malfoy?" Clark asked with a shit-eating grin smeared across his face.

"Keep cool, keep cool," Draco thought.

"Just visiting, sorry to disappoint," he replied.

Clark moved so he could enter, and as Draco stepped in and out of the cold and wind, he saw a tall, dark-haired Auror seated at the small table, pointing a wand at him.

"Dunno why you bother, you'll have plenty of time to talk to daddy when I finally nail you," Clark muttered under his breath as Draco passed, just loud enough for him to hear.

Draco did his best to ignore the provocation and entered the utilitarian guardhouse.

"Wand?" Clark asked as he ran his hands over Draco's arms, checking for hidden weapons.

"Haven't got one," Draco replied.

"Sorry, didn't catch that, could you speak up a bit?" Clark replied, even Draco knew full well he'd heard precisely what he'd said.

"I don't have a wand," Draco said, louder.

"And why don't you have a wand, Mr. Malfoy?" Clark asked.

"Broken by muggles," Draco replied.

"Did you hear that Lieutenant?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder at the dark-haired hawk-nosed Auror for a second, "Draco Malfoy's wand was broken by muggles."

"What's this?" Clark asked, pulling out the Zippo lighter.

Draco internally winced.

"Muggle stuff, I'm heading to London later," Draco replied.

"No shit muggle stuff, you don't think I know a lighter when I see one, Malfoy? Don't the terms of your probation have something to say about possession of deadly items? Could start a fire with this. What do you think, Lieutenant?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder again.

"Just check it, Clark. Keep your eye on the visitor," the tall Auror replied, managing to convey complete and utter apathy with tone of voice alone.

Clark jammed Draco in the groin hard enough to make him wince in pain and make him swear bloody revenge on the Auror all over again.

"He won't do anything, will you?" Clark said, looking back to Draco, who only kept his mouth shut by the grace of the drugs in his system. Clark deposited the lighter, the silver locker key, plus Draco's wristwatch, in a tray on top of one of the filing cabinets, then drew his wand.

"Let's go," Clark said, pointing his wand at Draco's back as they exited the guardhouse towards the prison. Draco kept quiet as they walked towards the looming metal edifice, praying Clark would keep his mouth shut for the entirety of his visit. The probation officer summoned a beaver patronus near the top of the dimly lit staircase just as Jenkins had, the little flat-tailed creature roaming about and keeping the swirling, dark-cloaked dementors at bay.

Draco remembered the way well enough, and stopped at the cell block housing the Dark Lord's inner circle.

"Go on then," Clark said.

Draco slid the large bolt open and pushed, soundlessly swinging the heavy metal door open. He entered the block and walked past Dolohov, the skin-and-bones Death Eater's dark, beady eyes tracking him from the rear of his cell.

Draco reached his father's cell to find him sprawled out on his back, possibly unconscious.

"Father?" he asked.

The figure in the cell stirred, and his father's now nearly bald head lifted up, parchment skin stretched over his gaunt face, making him look more like a skeleton than a man.

"Draco," he rasped, "run."

An alarm of dread shot through him, and Draco snapped his head back to the entrance of the block only to see and hear the door slam shut with a resounding and echoing boom. Dolohov burst into cackling laughter and moved to grasp the bars of his cell as Draco sprinted back to the entrance to yank on the door, only to find it locked.

"Clark!" Draco yelled, "you sick bastard, this isn't funny!"

"He's been taunting your father for weeks now," Dolohov said, his voice like sandpaper, "oh, this is going to be a treat to watch."

The wasted Death Eater ran a dry tongue over cracked lips as he stared at Draco, and slowly, Draco felt the warmth of the patronus receding.

"Shit. Shit-shit-shit," Draco thought, trying to figure a way out of his predicament but coming up empty, "because you're locked in a cell block in bloody Azkaban, without a wand, you moron!"

His breaths started to steam even more, and he felt that horrible dread rising up as the dementors' aura returned full force. Desperately, he tried to keep control of himself by falling back on Occlumency, but he knew it was only a matter of time, especially with how difficult he found it to clear his mind while high, stoned, and in close proximity to Merlin knew how many dementors. The little tendril of hope which remained whispered of an unlikely rescue, and he sat himself against the door so at least nothing could get in without shoving him out of the way. Already growing numb from the cold metal leaching the warmth straight through his damp robes, he turned his head as the bolt opened on the other side with a sharp clank. Ahead of him, Dolohov's breath puffed out in rapid bursts; he'd stopped laughing, but he kept hanging on to the bars, pulling himself up to watch Draco, anticipation mixed with dementors' despair written on his face. With effort like an upstream struggle against a massive waterfall, Draco lifted an arm and landed his hand on the door handle, the rod of metal like ice in his palm. He pivoted slightly, jamming his arm between the handle and the door itself up to his elbow, and slung it over the latch, putting his shoulder and now bunched up robes beneath it to prevent it from turning down to open. He sat there, counting the bumps of the door handle against his shoulder for what felt like hours, until he lost himself completely to liquid despair running through his veins.

Finally, after what seemed like a year and a day, the hopelessness receded, and Draco slowly returned to himself. There was no mistaking the comforting, reinvigorating warmth of a patronus charm as the dementors retreated. Draco stood up on shaky legs, pulled his numb arm from the handle, flexed his fingers a few times, and yanked hard on the door to find Clark standing there with his beaver patronus hovering over one shoulder.

He looked at Draco for a moment.

"Time's up," he said.

"Clark, what the bloody hell," Draco said.

Clark raised an eyebrow.

"Better watch that tone, Malfoy," Clark said, his expression hardening.

"Fuck my tone, you left me for dementor food," Draco said.

Clark stared at Draco for a split-second before painfully jamming two fingers into Draco's chest.

"Get one thing straight," Clark said, "if I wanted to leave you for the dementors, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I left to give you privacy; I hope you made good use of it. Time's up."

Draco stood and stared in slack-jawed shock as Clark turned and walked down the hallway, back the way they'd come.

"I'm not opposed to leaving you here, Malfoy," Clark called from up ahead, and Draco came back to his senses as the light of the patronus started to leave him behind. He glared daggers into Clark's back, but the rational side of his mind took over as they descended the dark green stairwell. There was nothing he could do. He could file a complaint but it would be Clark's word against his. For a few seconds of insanity, he contemplated a more direct approach, but even if he could take down the Auror and steal his wand, he'd probably never even make it off the island. The fight went out of him as he realized not many, perhaps not even one, would shed a tear if he'd been Kissed just now. Clark could make up whatever story he wanted and would probably get away with it. By the time they stepped onto the walkway, Draco'd begun to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. In a daze, he followed Clark to the guardhouse, shoved the lighter, locker key, and wristwatch into his robe pocket, and navigated the path back to the wall and the portkey ring at the far end of the walkway.

He gripped the wet metal ring and almost immediately felt the tug on his navel, depositing him back at the Ministry. Still shaken up, it took him three tries to get the silver key in, but eventually it lined up with the lock and Draco scooped up the contents. He lit a joint with shaking hands on his way to the lift and bypassed the reception desk entirely on his way to the floo.

"Diagon Alley," he said, barely pausing for the flames to die down before he stepped through. The crisp late autumn wind slapped him and would have frozen his wet hair if it wasn't covered with salty seawater. An overcast sky had already begun to slip into dusk as the nights came almost absurdly early this late in the year. He chose a direction at random started walking, sucking down the joint as quickly as he could. The biting wind had him wishing he owned a wand so he could cast a drying charm or a warming charm, preferably both, but then he decided the bitter cold was worth the discomfort for the clarity it brought.

"Shit, did I almost get Kissed, or did I just imagine the whole thing?" he thought, "would Clark really have done that, or was it some kind of sick prank?"

He nearly burned his fingertips as he reached the end of the joint and tossed it into the gutter with disgust.

"That didn't help one bit," he thought as he fingered the canister containing the cocaine within. This wind wouldn't make it easy though. He ducked into Flourish and Blotts, quickly walked between two of the bookshelves and, with a quick glance around to ensure he wasn't being watched, produced and uncapped the film canister. He'd grown out a single fingernail just for this purpose, and now he dipped his pinky nail into the powder, scooping out a small bump. He sealed one nostril with an index finger and snorted the powder straight off his nail, sniffing again to make sure as much went up as possible.

"Fuck," he whispered as he capped the canister again, dropping it back into his pocket and placing both hands on the shelf in front of him as he let the small high run through him. A long exhale escaped him. The whole situation was absolutely mental and he hadn't even been able to talk to Father. Thinking back, Father didn't look good, at all.

"I'll be surprised if he even makes it to Christmas," Draco thought. He waited for the weight of that realization to hit him, but nothing happened.

"Perhaps I've already come to terms with the inevitability of Father's death in prison," he thought.

He sniffed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he exited the bookstore and returned to the street, pausing on the walk as he considered his next stop. He knew he shouldn't visit Mary, that he should really stop sleeping with her, but it seemed every time they'd finished and he convinced himself it would be the last time, he was wrong. The day before yesterday was no different, apparently, a reflection that brought a half-smirk, half-sneer to his face as he climbed the steps to Darren's run-down apartment about an hour later.

When she pulled the door open, he greeted her with a deep kiss to the lips. He thought it was a great way to say hello, and by the way she let out a small gasp when he pulled back, Mary apparently agreed.

"Glad to see you too," she said with a small smirk. She wore jeans and a dark red sweater due to the shitty fitting of the windows; the heat constantly leaked out of the place.

"Is Darren here?" he asked, looking around.

"No," she replied, and he grabbed her by the wrist to lead her to her bedroom.

She laughed and put up token resistance.

"Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" she asked.

"No. Got something better," he replied, producing the canister with the cocaine inside and giving it a little shake.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Mary said, all playfulness gone as she eyed the black and grey plastic bottle. She locked the door behind them and dug around her dresser looking for straws they could use, while Draco tapped out a decent amount onto the small hand mirror on her night table, then produced his muggle driver's license to chop it into several lines.

They took turns snorting and fell into bed together, Draco losing himself in the high and the sensations it brought as they fought for supremacy and who could strip the other of their clothing first. It wasn't long before he looked down at her face, Mary welcoming him again as he penetrated her. They'd spent about as much time in bed as out of it over the past month, but he still relished the way she made him feel.

"This is possibly one of the only things keeping me sane," he thought as she entwined her ankles about his.

Their rhythm increased until he climaxed inside her again, the warm slickness mingling with her juices and enveloping his manhood. Draco paused for a moment as the last shudders went through him, then withdrew and rolled off to face the ceiling, still panting from the exertion. Mary nestled into his side and drifted a few fingers across his chest, tracing the edge of his scar.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" she asked.

"Not really," Draco replied, "kind of want to take my mind off it. Alan said you found a job? How's that?"

Mary rolled halfway over to open her night table and pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Draco, who shook his head, before popping one between her lips and lighting it.

"S'alright," she replied with a puff of smoke, "they don't let me smoke inside but it's better than working a register."

"Hmm," Draco said, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at a water mark on the ceiling, "and that's something that'll, you know, pay enough to live off?"

"Survive, more like. At least I can get Darren off my arse about paying some of the rent," Mary said, taking another drag, "I'm sure Bruno will help if I need."

Draco nodded. Mary's half-brother was due to be out of prison perhaps before the end of the year. Draco also got the impression she wanted him to say something like he would help her out, but he was in no position at all to be offering help to anyone, much less this muggle orphan, so he kept silent.

"What about you," she asked, "what are you going to do after that shit sentence at the orphanage is up?"

"Fucked if I know," Draco muttered, "honestly it'll be a miracle if I make it that long."

"Don't talk like that," Mary said, holding him around his chest again and leaning close to his ear, "I'm sure you're going to be fine."

"And just how in the fuck can you be sure about something like that?" Draco thought, but he wasn't really angry with Mary, more like… disappointed she'd resorted to such an empty statement.

"What about you then?" Draco asked, "what are you going to do?"

Mary snorted.

"I'll just be happy if I can get out of this craptastic neighbourhood," she replied.

"Will the… what was it, clerk… position allow you to do that?" Draco asked.

"Administrative assistant, basically a secretary, at a vet's office," she replied, "not really, but maybe I can make some money on the side. Darren seems to think it's easy."

"Hmm," Draco replied, then decided he wasn't ready for the conversation to end just yet, "where would you go?"

"I dunno," Mary sighed, "maybe southern France. Seen the post cards, supposed to be beautiful."

Draco's thoughts turned to the Malfoy property on the French Riviera, multiple stories with white columns and perfectly manicured greenery, looking over sun drenched white beaches and sapphire blue Mediterranean waters.

"It is," he said. Perhaps when his probation was finished, he'd take a relaxing vacation there, maybe invite Theo or Daphne. Assuming he could find a few days between tenants, of course. Fucking Ministry.

"I really should start paying more attention to the affairs of the estate," he thought, and resolved to do so, starting the following week.

"You've been?" Mary asked.

"Of course, we have a proper-…" he said, cutting himself off.

"You own a house in the South of France?" Mary asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look him in the eye, her dishevelled auburn hair striking him as extremely sexy. Apparently, part of him agreed wholeheartedly as he felt blood start flowing south again.

"More or less," Draco responded reluctantly, "it's a bit complicated."

"Oh, I wish I could go one day, just to see the beaches," Mary sighed.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deep. Just thinking about the vacation home relaxed him. The image of Mary laying out topless on the top balcony or on the beach, sunlight turning her dark red hair into a fiery halo, came unbidden to his mind's eye.

"Maybe I'll take you one day, when things settle down," he said.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, what in the fuck are you saying?" he thought.

"That would be amazing," she said, drifting her fingers down below his waistline again to finish bringing his hard-on fully back, "I'm sure we'd have a great time."

He smirked.

"Show me what you'd do to me if we go," he said, pulling her on top of him to straddle his hips.

She definitely made him reconsider taking her instead of Theo, muggle or not.

line

After a night of cocaine fuelled sex, Draco dressed shortly after dawn to make his probation appointment with Clark, then returned to the Manor to pass out for the remainder of the day and sleep off the drugs in his system. He awoke with a horrible headache to find the silhouette of his mother standing over him and shaking his shoulder in the darkened bedroom.

"Mother? What time is it?" he asked, eyelids glued shut despite his mental commands to open them.

"It's after six," she said quietly, "are you sick?"

"No," he said, wondering if it was after six pm or six am, "maybe. Whazzit?"

Clearly, he was far from even partially awake.

"You saw your father yesterday? How is he?" she asked.

"Not good," he replied, rolling over to face away from her and closing his eyes again.

"What did you speak about?" she asked.

"Nothing really," he replied, already falling asleep.

"Clark is a maniac," he mumbled, but he wasn't sure if she understood what he'd said.

She must have let him sleep then, or been unable to rouse him, because the next time he awoke he felt much more rested, but much more uptight at the same time. He needed food, but more importantly, he needed a hit. Now. Rifling through his robes (and noting he still wore his muggle trainers), he came up with the last joint he'd rolled before heading to Azkaban. He smoked it as he descended through the increasingly barren manor, only to be confronted by Narcissa, dressed in burgundy robes, as he attempted to enter the foyer with the floo fireplace.

"Draco," she said, "as I'm sure you've noticed, more than half our furniture is now gone. Although most of it was horrid and it's not that I cared overly much about it, I do want to know what you're spending all the gold on."

"Nothing, Mother," he replied, taking another drag and attempting to step around her.

"It's this, isn't it, what you're smoking," she said, pointing with her wand and blocking his path.

"What? No," Draco replied, then thought better of it, "well, yes, partially."

"I want some," she said.

"Absolutely not," he replied.

"Draco, I am your mother, and I am not an idiot. You're smoking this to help cope with going out into muggle infested London every day, do you deny?" she asked.

Draco stayed silent and waited for her to continue.

"I want some to help me with being trapped in here," she said, "just… help me, please?"

Draco closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He couldn't say no to Mother. He glanced at his watch.

"I need to depart in twenty minutes," he said, "we have until then."

Unfortunately, he'd all but finished the last joint, so he led her through the manor until he found one of the few remaining standing tables in one of the smaller drawing rooms. There, he produced the plastic baggie and wrapping papers and started rolling another two.

"What is it?" she asked, watching him as he worked.

"Muggle weed," he said, "makes you care less about everything."

Draco eyed his mother's hollowed cheeks and now delicate frame, and decided the hunger inducing qualities of smoking up would probably do her some good. He kept one for himself and passed the other to Narcissa, flicking the lighter to burn the tip. She coughed the first time just as he, Daphne, and Pansy had, only this time he didn't find it amusing at all.

"Try again," he said, glancing at his watch, "it takes a little getting used to."

"Thank you, Draco," she said, her voice hoarse.

"I've got to go," he said, stepping away, "if it works for you, I can roll some more when I come home."

She nodded and took another drag, and the absurdity of his mother standing alone at a table smoking muggle weed made him chuckle.

"The entire world's gone barking mad," he thought.

line

With work at the orphanage now more or less routine for Draco, his body operated without much input from his mind, which focused solely on getting to Darren's later in the day. He and Mary had gone a bit overboard the previous evening, and he caught himself multiple times during the day reaching for a bump only to recall doing the last line the night before.

"I just have to get through this day, then I can get a hit," he thought, fingering the empty canister in his pocket and staring at the clock, "fuck, I don't know if I'm going to make it."

He visited the loo and splashed some cold water on his face to try and shock himself into alertness, with marginal success. On the way back to the arts and crafts room, he heard quiet voices ahead. He looked up to see Steph kneeling down, looking very cross, holding the hand of little blonde Callista McKay, Mary's younger sister. Callista appeared to be upset about something and shaking her head, and Draco watched as Steph turned over Callista's hand and smacked her, not violently, but hard enough he could hear the slapping sound from where he was. Callista was full on crying now, though she tried to keep her voice down.

"What happened?" he asked as he approached.

"Callista's been stealing again, and lying about it," Steph said, glaring accusingly at the little girl. Draco noticed a golden wrapped sweetie of some kind in Steph's hand.

"I wasn't, I swear," Callie said, her eyes pleading, "it was the monster."

"Callista, there's no such thing as monsters," Steph said, "stealing from the other children is wrong. Lying about stealing is wrong. You're going to the director's office until dinner."

"I'm not lying Steph, I'm not!" Callie said as Steph started moving.

The little blonde leaned back and dug her heels in, forcing Steph to literally drag her towards Macmillian's office.

"I told it to stop but it doesn't listen to me-" the little girl sobbed.

"Callie, you're too old for this. I don't know what's got into you, but it's time to start growing up," Steph said, jerking her arm and throwing Callista off balance enough to get her to continue moving.

Their voices faded down the hallway as Draco looked on.

"Hey mate," Alan said from next to him, startling him.

"Sorry," the dark-haired teenager said, "you comin' back? We need help with arts and crafts."

"Yeh," Draco said.

"Oh, before I forget," Alan said, lowering his voice, "Friday, after work, Darren's scored tickets to a rugby match and he's going to take you, Mary, and me. Bring a hat, it's gonna be cold. And ditch the you-know-what, we might get searched."

"Alright," Draco said. He was a bit apprehensive about going out without the drugs, but then again, he'd never physically attended a muggle sporting match; he reckoned it would be something like attending a quidditch match, and Alan seemed excited about it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of routine. Wake up, snort some coke, head to the orphanage, muddle through the day, walk to Darren's, maybe eat, do some lines with Mary, have sex once or twice, go to sleep, walk back to the orphanage the following day, occasionally stop by the Manor to switch out clothing. His mother liked the weed, and he showed her how to roll them herself and left a baggie and some papers with her.

On Friday morning, Draco left his illegal items at the Manor, and by evening, he was craving a hit like nothing he'd ever felt before. After clean-up, he and Alan walked to the exit to find Darren and Mary there, chatting with the plump receptionist, Madeline, probably to escape the bitter December evening chill. Draco's cheeks numbed almost immediately as he exited, and he pulled a black wool hat over his hair and ears. Mary hooked her arm through his and leaned into him the second they left the orphanage grounds, and he pulled her close to help keep her warm.

"Damn, these are good seats," Alan said, inspecting one of the tickets as they descended into the Tube. Muggles everywhere, but Draco found he didn't really care anymore… except for the stain where a drunk or homeless bloke pissed against the wall, that was bloody disgusting.

"Where'd the tickets come from?" Alan asked.

"Conor and some of his mates were supposed to go," Darren replied, "but something came up and they couldn't make it. Lucky us."

"Damn, and they just gave them to you?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, I reckon business has been good lately," Darren replied as the train arrived, cutting off the conversation.

The woman's voice over the intercom grated on his ears as it instructed them to 'please mind the gap', and then they were off, Mary still leaning heavily on Draco.

"You alright McKay?" Darren asked.

"Just bloody knackered," Mary replied, stifling a yawn, "I'll be fine once we get outside again."

"Oh, I almost forgot, Mack Quaid's meeting us there," Darren said as he casually reached up for a handhold.

"Bloody hell Welch," Draco said, "all the useless shites in the city and you had to invite him?"

Darren held up a hand.

"Oi. Look, I know you don't get along but that's my mate you're talking about," Darren said.

"And I have no weed, and no blow to take the edge off, perfect," Draco thought.

Draco groaned and considered bailing, then thought better of it.

"Alright, I'll ignore him if… just keep the wanker away from me," Draco said, "I make no guarantees I'll be able to keep my mouth shut if he starts up like he usually does."

That seemed to mollify Darren. The train car steadily grew more crowded with other fans attending the match, until they were pressed against one another in the final stop. The entire Tube car emptied and they followed the crowds out into the frigid night air. Draco spotted their destination immediately, a massive oval shaped building on the far side of a small canal. Huge floodlights stretched above the top of the stadium proper, the refracting glow lighting up the air above the stadium. An almost palpable anticipatory energy filled the air as they walked through the parking lot. Draco recalled a ritual spell conducted by his father in the Manor, before the Dark Lord's return, and the feeling was similar: the sense of something approaching. They proceeded through security checks, Draco thankful Alan warned him in advance. Then they were through and into the stadium itself, a massive multileveled concrete structure hosting dozens of small food stalls selling the kind of greasy and salty treats Draco had come to associate with munchies. They followed Darren around the inside edge of the stadium, through the yammering crowds, and passed by several tunnels leading into the stadium itself. Eventually, they veered into one and emerged from the dim lighting into the seating area. Draco couldn't help but stare at the lights, rows and rows of them, brighter than any he'd yet seen in muggle London, shining down on the pitch and lighting it up as if it were midday. The building itself was massive; not as large as the one constructed for the quidditch world cup of course, but nearly half the size.

"And they built it all without magic," Draco thought.

"First time in a stadium?" Mary said quietly as they lagged behind the others.

"Far as I can recall," Draco said.

"You're in for a treat, these are Martin's seats," Mary said.

They climbed about halfway up the first tier, Draco embarrassingly out of breath by the time they reached. They moved past Alan and Darren to sit in the two farthest seats, Draco on the outside. From here, he had an excellent view of the pitch; in the muggle world, it appeared the best seats were near the bottom. The voices of the individual muggles around him taking their seats blended together into a low background buzz, and Draco leaned back and soaked it all in. They even had massive screens on opposite sides of the stadium, hundreds of times larger than Darren's telly.

"Whoa, are those the new Air Jordans?" Alan asked from his right.

Draco turned to see Mack Quaid standing in the aisle and putting his foot up on the armrest of his seat, showing off a brand new black and red basketball trainer.

"Well, this'll be a good test…" Draco thought.

"Bet your arse it is, feast your eyes, gentlemen," Quaid said, "and lady."

"Damn," Alan said, clearly jealous.

Quaid looked over at Draco and Mary. Draco expected him to say something, but oddly enough, he ignored them both, sat down next to Alan, and started chatting with him.

"But do they make you jump higher," Darren asked.

"Yeah, of course," Mack replied, and he went into an explanation of the technology used in the shoe.

"That's not all though, guess how I got here," Mack said, pulling out a keychain.

"You bought the bike?" Alan asked.

"Damn right, finally took the plunge," Mack said, then started describing some kind of motorcycle. Draco felt completely out of his depth; he had no idea what Mack was talking about. While Alan excitedly asked more questions, Darren appeared to pay attention, but Draco caught him eyeing the sneakers and key with a thoughtful look on his face.

Some activity started on the field, beginning with a coloured flashing lights display to draw the crowd's attention. Draco alternated watching the field and the large screens as the players were announced, and the match began. He knew nothing about rugby except one team wanted to advance the ball against the other, and there was kicking, passing, and tackling involved. Rather than spoil the experience by asking a thousand questions, he merely followed along as the crowd cheered, or stood up, or jeered. The energy of the place, tens of thousands of muggles all shouting in unison at some play or other, infected him, and he found himself having a good time despite the cold and lack of drugs. Darren and Mack departed during an injury stoppage and returned with a round of beers. Draco happily accepted and finished rather quickly, though Mary declined to drink when he offered. She'd been quiet most of the game, content to sit with her arm hooked through Draco's. He was about to ask how she was when Mack leaned over with another paper cup, filled to overflowing with more beer.

"Here, another one," he said.

Just then, the crowd roared, and the muggle in front of them shot up and threw his arms in the air, knocking the cup clean out of Mack's hand and straight into Draco's lap. The pint splattered all over his jeans and onto the floor.

"Quaid what the fuck," Draco said, leaping to his feet, trying to brush as much off of him as possible before it soaked through, to no avail. Mary pulled out the napkins they'd been provided with the pretzels, handed him some, and started helping him blot away the rapidly cooling liquid, but the meagre patches of paper weren't nearly up to the job.

"Shit, it was an accident," Mack said, apology written on his face, "Darren, I'm sorry, I swear."

"The fuck you apologizing to him for?" Draco said, glaring at Mack and waving a soaked napkin for emphasis.

Darren fixed Mack with a cold stare, then turned to Draco with a questioning look. Draco understood immediately; Darren had said something to Mack before the game, to leave Draco alone, and he now wanted to know if Mack had spilled his beer on purpose.

"Sorry Drake, it was an accident, you saw it Mary, didn't you? It was an accident," Mack said.

"Sorry Mack, I nodded off for a second," Mary said, apparently deferring to Draco, "I didn't see it."

It was up to him. He could lie and drive Darren away from Mack, or he could tell the truth and just deal with it. Three weeks ago, he probably would have blown up at Mack and gotten Darren cross with him, but today, staring at Mack Quaid's idiotic fake blonde hair, he found he didn't really care in the slightest, and couldn't be bothered with the effort it took to summon up any false ire.

"What's wrong with me?" he thought.

"Yeah, it was an accident," he muttered.

"I need to use the loo anyway. Hopefully I can clean some of this up before my balls freeze off," he added, standing up and pointedly moving the opposite direction, away from the others. Mary moved ahead of him, and went with him to find the loo. They parted ways at the restroom and Draco pulled out about a dozen paper towels to try and clean up the mess on his trousers as best he could.

"I look like I pissed myself," he thought as he looked himself over in the mirror.

Draco emerged from the loo and, unable to find Mary, he wandered a bit, keeping the restroom in sight. He spotted a blonde at a kebab vendor who looked remarkably like the younger Greengrass, and he observed her for a few seconds, until she turned his way and locked her blue eyes on his.

"Astoria!" he thought as his eyes widened in shock.

"Draco?" she asked, and the young man standing next to her turned as well. He was from Hogwarts, a half-blood, though Draco couldn't exactly place his name.

She wore a long dark green skirt with black leather boots peeking out of the bottom, topped by a brand new looking beige muggle coat with light brown fur at the cuffs. He wore a stylish leather jacket and jeans, his light brown hair combed to one side, and looked much more comfortable in the muggle outfit than she did. Neither of them wore hats, a dead giveaway to copious use of warming charms in the freezing night air. The half-blood glanced down at Draco's damp crotch area and did a poor job of hiding his amusement.

"I barely recognized you," Astoria said, "what are you doing here?"

"Part of my probation," Draco replied, "what are you doing here?"

"The new DADA professor started this program for extra credit if we went and did muggle things and wrote about them," she replied.

"And you just, randomly decided to see a rugby match in the middle of London, in the middle of December?" Draco asked.

"My father used to bring me to matches when I was a boy, I figured Astoria would enjoy the experience," the half-blood said, then he pulled Astoria closer to him. A piece of Draco wanted to smash the stupid half-blood in the nose for daring to touch his (former) betrothed, but a much larger part felt like something had just broken inside of him.

"He's an apprentice at Tilworth and Jones, Draco," Astoria said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"This mediocre wizard whose name I can't even remember landed an apprenticeship at Tilworth and Jones?" he thought.

"Thought they only take purebloods," Draco said.

The half-blood stood up a bit straighter.

"Times are changing, Malfoy," he said, "opportunities are opening up for everyone. I won't lie, it's hard work, but the pay is excellent, and I'm hoping to make full barrister in another a year or two."

He looked Draco up and down.

"Forgive me for saying, but you're not looking very well, are you alright?" he asked.

Draco sneered in response.

"Drake," Mary said from behind him as she slipped her arm through his, "who's this?"

"Shit," Draco thought as his body froze while Astoria mouthed 'Drake' with a confused expression on her face. She wrapped an arm about the half-blood's midsection, holding him closer.

"Nobody, let's go," Draco said, turning away and pulling Mary with him.

"Draco, aren't you going to introduce us?" Astoria asked.

Draco paused and pursed his lips, then turned with a sigh.

"Mary," he said, gesturing to the muggle on his arm, "this is Astoria Greengrass, and… uh.."

"Terry Boot," the half-blood said, making a small wave to Mary, "pleasure."

"Right, that was his name," Draco thought.

"Mary, you attended Beauxbatons, I presume?" Astoria asked.

Mary started to shake her head and reply but Draco cut her off.

"It was a pleasure meeting both of you, enjoy the match," Draco said, steering Mary away again, this time successfully.

"Who were they?" Mary asked once they reached the tunnel leading to the seats.

"Former classmates, I guess you could call them," Draco replied, glancing over his shoulder to see if they'd followed and relaxing slightly when he couldn't find them.

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

Draco nodded as they emerged into the artificial light of the stadium. The roar of the crowd drowned out her next question and Draco chose to act as if she hadn't said anything. They returned to their seats but Draco couldn't focus on anything except the chance encounter he'd just had.

"Would they guess she's a muggle?" Draco thought.

The thought of the embarrassment he would endure if word got around about his 'disgusting' habit made his insides curdle.

Mary was alright, at least he could tolerate her presence and conversation, and that was more than he could say for almost anyone he knew, except Theo of course, and Blaise to a lesser extent. The Greengrass girls were alright too, he supposed. The problem was, none of them would understand. They'd look at him with pity, shake their heads, whisper about him behind his back…

"Oh Merlin, what if word gets back to Mother?" he thought as they sat down again, "she might actually refuse to speak to me again."

After all, she'd never reconciled with Andromeda, his other aunt, after she'd ran off and married a muggleborn, and Draco'd been consorting with an actual muggle, not just a muggleborn. He buried his face in his hands.

"Drake, you okay?" Mary asked.

"Augh, no, I need alcohol, lots of it," he said, vigorously rubbing his face to try to wake up from this nightmare. Only a few seconds passed and a beer appeared in his hand, ice cold from having been left out in the open too long, and he swallowed it down in large gulps, pausing halfway to belch up the gas he'd taken in.

"Bloody Terry Boot, with his Tilworth and Jones apprenticeship," Draco thought, "he ought to be begging me for employment. If the world were right, he would be."

Despite his internal grumbling, Draco had to admit to himself he was somewhat impressed by the apprenticeship. Tilworth and Jones were the top law advisory firm in all of Great Britain, possibly one of the best in the world, and Terry's skills would be in high demand, his reputation increasing in lockstep. The more he thought about it, the more alcohol he wanted. He polished off a second beer in rapid succession.

"And he's dating Astoria," he thought.

Astoria, promised to him in matrimony before he'd even gotten his letter, then snatched away like everything else when their fortunes faded at the end of the war. That hadn't hurt nearly as much as seeing her with someone whose name he couldn't even remember, and apparently happy, proud to be with him. She'd only grown more beautiful as she matured, and Draco's inner voice railed at the injustice of it all. Boot's fortunes seemed to have expanded magnificently after the war; almost everyone else seemed to be at least getting by, even his classmates. Then there was Draco Malfoy, pawning off furniture to buy muggle cocaine, accepted only by the lowest of the low: muggle delinquents and a poor orphan muggle girl. He felt said girl pressing her frozen fingertips firmly into the base of his neck, massaging and kneading in an attempt to ease away his stress. He sighed as the simple gesture reminded him again what a jerk he was being to her.

"No matter what, I'm here for you," she whispered into his ear.

The crowd roared but he'd completely lost interest. The game ended while he still stewed in his thoughts, and he followed after Darren, Alan, and Mack in a well-beyond-tipsy daze as Mary leaned into him while they walked. Mack left them in the parking lot while the rest of them headed for the tube. They needed to wait for a few train cars to pass by before they managed to board one, and Draco stayed quiet, his arm about Mary's shoulders, holding her to him. In Darren's apartment they took turns relieving their bladders, and Draco and Mary retired to her room, where she all but collapsed into bed.

"Bloody hell, I'm exhausted," she said, yawning as she pulled off her sweater, revealing a white t-shirt beneath. She pulled her arms inside, unhooked her bra, and manoeuvred to pull the black undergarment out one of her sleeves, "I don't think I can go tonight, love."

"S'alright," Draco said, "I'm not in the mood anyway."

Draco fell asleep to the drunken haze of disturbing thoughts of a world passing him by, and awoke to the semi-familiar 'click-click-click' of an owl tapping on the glass of the window. Still mostly asleep and with the beginnings of what was sure to be a vicious hangover, he rolled out of bed and struggled with the blinds for a moment in the murky dim before giving up and pushing them out of the way. Condensation on the inside of the glass kept him from getting a good look at the owl before he managed to force the window up. Frosty dawn air flowed into the room, giving rise to gooseflesh where it ran over his bare legs. A brown Ministry owl sat on the sill, its leg already extended. Draco quickly checked behind him to ensure Mary still slept, and quickly pulled the scroll from the case on the owl's leg.

"I don't have anything for you, bugger off," he whispered.

The owl ruffled its feathers but did as he suggested, flapping its large wings twice to clear the nearest rooftop as Draco hurriedly pulled the window down again.

"What in Merlin's name were they thinking, sending an owl when they know I'm serving probation in muggle London?" Draco thought.

Quietly, he unfurled the letter, noting the wax seal and ribbon at the bottom first. He squinted his eyes and read by the light of the coming dawn as it filtered through the dirty glass.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Ministry of Magic
Whitehall, London

December 12, 1998

Draco scanned past the rest of the header to the salutation.

Dear Lord Malfoy,

"Oh shit," Draco thought as his stomach dropped down about to his bowels.

We regret to inform you that last night, your father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, passed away while incarcerated on Azkaban Island. His remains will be delivered to Malfoy Manor today, between the hours of 10am and 2pm.

Your probation appointment at the Ministry on Sunday December 13 is cancelled on account of grievance. Please accept our deepest sympathies for your loss.

Sincerely Yours,

Rebecca Fawley
Head of Magical Law Enforcement
Ministry of Magic, London

Below that was the wax and ribbon seal of the Ministry of Magic. Fawley had signed her name with an extra flourish in the 'R' and the 'F', but the rest was completely illegible.

"Deepest sympathies my arse," Draco thought.

It was starting to sink in: his father was dead. He was the last living Malfoy. Draco needed a hit. Badly. Unfortunately, all his stuff was at the Manor. Draco dressed quietly and left while Mary still slept, stealing down the steps and into the biting cold. He pulled his jacket close as he walked the streets, dodging the odd frozen puddle here and there as he made his way back to the Leaky. The sun rose slowly, casting its wan light over the waking city. He tapped his way into Diagon Alley with his index finger, then flooed home to Malfoy Manor. The large double doors opened for him as he ascended the steps to the main entrance.

"I should probably find Mother, but first things first," he thought.

He took the steps two at a time to his room, pulled out the cocaine canister and snorted two nails' worth, then picked up a few joints and dropped all but one of them into his jacket pocket. He lit up a fat one and, after changing into a pure black button-down collared shirt, slacks, and polished shoes, he threw on a matching robe. Now less unprepared to face his mother, Draco stepped into the hall and started searching.

"Mother?" he called, but only echoes and silence greeted him.

He walked the mostly barren rooms, eventually finding her seated at the large dining room table on the first floor. Several untouched meals lay at irregular intervals, and Mother, wearing a fitted black high-necked sleeveless dress, sat in one of the stiff-backed heavy wooden chairs near the far side. A candelabra floated in the air above her, casting shadows across her face. As Draco approached, he saw a similar Ministry letter spread out on the table in front of her, while she sat staring ahead, hands gloved in black up to her elbows. As he approached the seat next to her, he spotted wet track marks running down her cheeks reflecting the light of the candles above.

"The day we married was the summer solstice," she said quietly, "it was a beautiful day, the wedding of the decade. All of the most influential individuals of high society and quite a few from the Continent as well were in attendance, naturally. I remember thinking about what my life would be like, our life together. The Dark Lord was there, of course, and your father was so sure, so confident that he would save our way of life. All of us were…"

She looked up at him and held out a hand for his joint, which he passed to her wordlessly. She took a few hits, still staring off into space. Already feeling his buzz starting to fade, Draco produced another one and lit up again.

"This isn't the life I imagined for us on that day. I didn't want this for you, Draco," she said, turning to him, "I'm so sorry."

She sniffed a few times and fresh tears ran down her face as she fought to keep it from crumpling.

"Do something, idiot," Draco thought, but he'd never been very good at comforting others, much less his own mother. A tingle at the back of his mind rescued him from having to watch his mother break down in front of him. It appeared the ancestral wards had shifted with his father's death, immediately recognizing him as Lord Malfoy.

"Someone's at the gate," he said, "I'll go meet them."

Draco moved past his mother, through the ground level and out the main doors into the increasingly overcast day, past the ruins of the fountain, to the ornate iron gate marking the edge of the property. Just beyond the dark iron bars stood two men wearing all black, one elderly with a flowing white beard and one middle-aged with streaks of grey in his hair and moustache. Both wore matching top hats. Between them floated a closed black and gold polished casket, and a large, thin box rested on the ground next to it, held upright by the younger of the two.

"Lord Malfoy," the older one said, removing his hat.

"Enter," Draco said, and the gates opened on their own.

"My name is Henry Ekbert, and this is my son, James," the old wizard said, as the younger also removed his hat, "very sorry for your loss. We're under contract to arrange the viewing and internment of your father's remains in the Malfoy mausoleum."

"There will be no viewing," Draco's mother said from behind him.

He turned to see his mother walking down the path towards the gate, the Ministry letter folded and clutched in one hand. She had donned a small black cocktail hat, complete with dark lace to veil her pale face, and looked very much the part of a widow in mourning.

"Lady Malfoy," Henry said, "are you certain? The contract calls for three days-"

"I am aware of the terms," Narcissa said, "I do not wish to prolong this any longer than absolutely necessary. The internment will commence immediately. Leave us for a moment; I wish to see my husband one last time."

"Mother, don't-," Draco started, but a single glance from his mother, through the veil no less, was enough to stop him short.

The casket stayed levitating a few feet off the ground as the two funeral workers walked a respectful distance away. Narcissa approached the casket and lifted the lid, stifling a gasp into a sniffle as she looked down on the body of her husband. Even from several feet away, Draco could see the head and upper torso of his father, dressed in dark formal dress robes with a golden epaulette on each shoulder and a dark yellow braid strung diagonally across the front, crossing the dark buttons on the robe. Although it was clear the Ekberts had done what they could, and his father looked substantially better than the last time Draco had seen him, there was no disguising the hollowness of his cheeks, or the scant remains of wispy hair on his scalp. His mother said a few words, too quiet for him to hear, then kissed two fingers and placed them on Lucius' forehead before stepping back and turning to walk to Draco. She stopped to look at him, and Draco swallowed. His legs felt like lead as he walked to the casket, almost as if he were watching himself approach. Emotion swelled up from within as he forced himself to look down at the too-still face of his father, peaceful in death. For nearly two decades, Draco only wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Not now though, not when he saw so clearly where they led. His father had always been the light showing him the way. Now he was lost in the dark.

"This is it, it's all up to me now," Draco thought, "I don't know what to do. Merlin help me."

"Goodbye Father," he said.

He reached up and slowly closed the heavy lid with a soft thump, then walked back to his mother.

"Ready?" he asked.

His mother nodded, and Draco motioned to the funeral workers who moved to flank the casket again. Narcissa led the way across the grounds, through the forest paths leading to the Malfoy crypt located near the north-eastern edge of the estate, and the casket followed behind Draco. He shivered in the cold; he'd forgotten he couldn't cast a warming charm and hadn't brought heavy outerwear. Still, he resolved to suffer through the discomfort until they returned to the Manor; he certainly didn't want the funeral workers to know he didn't have a wand.

The small stone building appeared slightly off the main path, visible from farther away now the leaves had all fallen. His mother walked straight up the three steps and laid her hand upon the wall, causing the stone door to swing inward with a grating sound of stone upon stone. Torches magically lit as they entered the structure, revealing several bronze and marble busts of Malfoys gone by, and a large spiral staircase in the centre of the room, leading down to the crypt. Footsteps echoed off stone walls as they descended underground, past the long-sealed alcoves where the remains of his ancestors lay, an unbroken line going back ten centuries. They walked the hallway by the light of the flickering torches until they reached the first open alcove. With a wave and nudge of their wands, the Ekberts manoeuvred the casket into the alcove, settling it with a gentle thump.

"Any words, Lady Malfoy?" Henry asked.

"No," she whispered.

"She's barely holding it together," Draco thought.

They looked to Draco, but he only gestured for them to get on with it. The two of them worked together, their wandwork causing the stone to flow and meld until only a small inset remained. With a last spiralling flourish of his wand, the elder Ekbert carved words into the stone above the alcove.

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

1954-1998

The alcove beside him lay empty, and Narcissa spared a moment to stare at it quietly. Assuming she didn't remarry, she'd be entombed there, though perhaps not for another eighty or ninety years. Without a word, she turned and strode towards the exit, the torches extinguishing themselves as they departed. At the entrance to the mausoleum, the old stone doors closed by themselves once they were out in the forest again. They returned to the Manor in silence, Draco now only keeping his limbs from shivering through sheer force of will. Once they reached the main gate path, James Ekbert handed over the wooden parcel to Narcissa.

"The portrait," he said.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, "Draco, see them out."

Draco nodded and escorted the two funeral workers to the gate, where he shook their hands in turn.

"Good luck to you, Lord Malfoy, I think you're going to need it," Henry Ekbert said. Draco didn't detect any sarcasm, just a genuine sense of pity from the old man.

"Probably would have preferred the sarcasm, to be honest," Draco thought.

He didn't reply, only nodded once, and the two funeral workers stepped beyond the gate and apparated away with a pair of identical cracks. He returned to the ruined fountain to find his mother staring at the broken stone.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Bit of remodelling," Draco replied.

She nodded, fingering her wand as if contemplating an attempt at repairing it. In the end she turned towards the garden.

"Walk with me," she said.

"I'll need a warming charm," Draco said, "otherwise I'm going inside."

Magical warmth flowed through his limbs as she wordlessly cast the charm. They walked together around the side of the building and into the rear garden. Overgrown with weeds during the summer, only the hardiest still stood upright between the stones of the path. Fallen, unswept leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked, and the portrait within the wooden frame floated in front of Narcissa, obviously charmed with a featherweight spell.

"Any reason we're strolling about the garden in the middle of winter?" Draco asked.

"The Ministry, in its infinite generosity, has given me three hours leave to roam the grounds to bury my husband," she replied, "I intend to use every second."

They walked among the dead branches of the trees and bushes in the garden for nearly half an hour, until they emerged into a large clearing. Draco knew it was where his parents had made their wedding vows. Narcissa stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking here and there for a moment, probably recalling things that had happened on that day.

"Let's go," she said quietly.

They made their way back to the Manor in silence, towards the rear entrance. His mother stopped just outside the doorway for a moment before crossing the threshold. She led Draco to the dining room and used her wand to open the protective frame around the portrait, then levitated it to sit high on the wall above the head of the table. After muttering a sticking charm to ensure it didn't fall, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Draco looked up at the portrait of his father, clearly made when he was younger, perhaps Draco's first or second year at Hogwarts. His golden hair still fell to his shoulders as he dozed in a high-backed leather chair.

"I've already sold that one," Draco realized.

A fire blazed merrily in a hearth next to him, and his father's old snake headed cane leaned against the chair. A decanter of firewhiskey sat on a table next to the chair.

"Excuse me Draco, I need to be alone," his mother said, and she walked briskly out of the room, her footsteps echoing about the empty manor as she climbed the grand staircase. Draco stayed a moment longer before heading upstairs himself. He'd almost reached his room when he heard a muffled wail from his mother's room, breaking through the silencing charm she'd no doubt placed on the door. The sound nearly tore him in two, and he rushed into his room and slammed the door, the anguished cry still reverberating about his head. He only lasted about ten seconds.

"I've got to get out of here," he thought.

He threw off the robes then chased after them to fish the drugs out of the pocket.

"Mary," he thought, "I'll go see Mary, she'll help."

He tore off down the stairs, humming to himself so he wouldn't have to hear his mother, and flooed to Diagon. He alternated running and walking as the sun dipped low in the sky, fighting the stitch in his side. He reached Darren's apartment and slipped into the stairwell behind an older couple who lived on the first floor. Taking the steps two at a time until he reached the fourth floor, Draco knocked loudly on the apartment door. Darren opened it and gave him a once-over.

"Right on time," Darren said, grabbing his jacket and keys from the pegs near the door, "I'll leave you to it."

The drug dealer made a hasty retreat out of the apartment, leaving a confused and panting Draco in his wake. Mary sat on the frayed couch with used tissues littered across the coffee table, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, clear evidence of a prolonged crying session.

"What happened," Draco asked, stepping in and closing the door. She looked at him for a moment and motioned him to sit next to her, which he obliged.

"Drake, I um…" she started, taking deep breaths as she looked up at him.

She closed her eyes and took another steadying breath, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. Finally, she picked up a small white rod from the table and thrust it into his hands. It was fairly simple; the only distinguishing feature was a panel on one side with two pink lines running across it.

"All right, what the bloody hell am I looking at?" Draco asked, turning it over.

"It's a pregnancy test, Drake," Mary said.

Draco's mind swam about for a moment until it stumbled upon the implications of what she'd said.

"Shit," he said, then instantly realized his mistake and exactly what must be going through Mary's mind at the moment, "I mean… shit."

He tossed the test onto the coffee table and leapt to his feet, pacing back and forth and repeatedly dragging his fingers through his hair.

"I thought you said you were… what was it, that thing that stops you getting pregnant?" he asked.

"The pill, but I missed one, I didn't think it would matter…" Mary said.

"The pill. Is it not a single pill?" Draco asked.

Mary looked at him like he was a complete idiot for a moment, then explained.

"No, you have to take it every day for a month or it doesn't work," she replied.

"You miss one bloody pill out of a month and it's useless?" Draco asked, gesturing with his hands in disbelief.

"Muggle bullshit's practically a guaranteed pregnancy," he muttered, "no wonder there's so many."

"Drake," Mary said, and the tenor and catch of her voice made him pause and look at her, on the verge of breaking down completely.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he said, moving to the couch again and lifting her into a tight embrace. She sobbed and clutched onto him tightly.

"What are we going to do?" she asked into his shoulder.

"We're going to end that fucking pregnancy, because there's no way in Merlin's hairy ballsack I can sire a half-blood son," Draco thought.

He pulled back from her, holding her with one hand on each arm just below her shoulders, and looked down into her beautiful blue distraught eyes. In an instant, he knew. He knew she wanted to keep the child, wanted to stay with him, and wanted him to help raise it. As fucked up as he was, as much of a complete miserable cockup he'd made of his entire life, she wanted to stay with him and raise a child together. A cynical whisper inside him wondered if it was only because she thought he had money, but the fact there was one person in the world who acted like he was actually worth something more than dirt squashed that notion like a bug.

"We'll make it work," he heard himself say.

Even though he knew it was impossible. Even though the reason he said it was because he wanted someone in his life who needed him and that was probably the absolute worst reason to have a child. He knew it was completely selfish and he knew this was going to be a huge problem down the road, but he wanted someone, even if it was some poor orphan muggle girl.

"I am the very definition of pathetic," he thought.

When she threw her arms around him though, for a brief moment, no price was too steep to pay. She clung to him desperately, then pulled his face down to kiss him hungrily, begging with her lips. At first he resisted, but as usual he only lasted a few seconds as desire quickly stirred in him, and hardness strained against his black slacks. They stumbled into her bedroom together, clothes coming off as Draco locked the door. He turned around to see her already completely naked and settling onto the bed, legs spread wide and eyes begging him to join her. He quickly stripped out of his remaining clothing, silently cursing his shirt buttons, and obliged, keeping close to let their body heat fend off the chill of the room. She seemed almost desperate to have him again, quickly reaching down to position him against her entrance, and he wasn't going to turn her down.

"This is what got you into this mess in the first place," Draco thought as her wetness spread and he stretched her to envelop him fully, "then again, isn't this what you came here for?"

All his turmoil, the reality of losing his father, losing Astoria, the unfairness of his situation, he put it all into the intimate act with Mary McKay, holding her down when she tried to move, thrusting into her harder than he ever had before. Her initial moans as he first penetrated grew to cries of pain or anguish or pleasure, he couldn't tell, but she didn't tell him to stop so he did what he liked, slamming so hard the bed slid on its legs with each thrust; the neighbours could piss off.

He unloaded everything into her, a willing receptacle for all the fucked-up shit in his life, grunting and shuddering as he finished. Draco rolled off her, lightheaded and panting. He stepped to his discarded trousers, fishing around for the film canister.

"Fuck," he said, rejoining her in bed and snorting a fingernail's worth as she crossed her ankles and propped up a pillow to lean back against.

He held the canister out to Mary but she looked down at it, then up at him.

"I can't," she said, "I'm…"

Her hands moved to her lower abdomen.

"Oh right," Draco said, like a complete arse, "guess this stuff probably isn't too good for the… baby."

"Baby," he thought, "shit."

He did some mental arithmetic, nine months from Halloween was the end of July, at the earliest. He would be done with probation by the end of March. She wouldn't start showing until…

"Damn, when do women start showing pregnancy?" he thought. He guessed it would be about three or four months.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked, "that was… not that I'm complaining, but you were…"

"My father died yesterday," Draco said, "we just buried him."

"Oh my god," she said, one hand going to her mouth and eyebrows coming together in concern, "oh my god, that's why you were wearing black, holy shit."

"Yeah, it's been an interesting day," he said, snorting another fingernail of coke in the other nostril.

"Got to have balance in my life, after all," he thought.

"So… are you okay?" Mary asked, "do you want to talk about it?"

Draco didn't respond.

"It can help," Mary said, looking down at the bed for a moment, "when my dad died I… Well I'm glad I had someone to talk to. We can talk about the other stuff later, I guess."

He sighed deeply.

"It can't hurt," he thought, "and would you rather talk about the baby growing in her womb?"

"He was in prison," Draco said, monotone, "a horrible place. I was allowed to visit once a month. I didn't really want to, but my mother… I went for her, since she's not able to."

Wary of the Statute, Draco had to pick and choose his words carefully. Mary leaned into him and wrapped her arms about his neck as he talked, resting both her legs across the top of his thighs.

"As far back as I can remember, he always had these high expectations of me. No matter what I did, it was never good enough," Draco said, "even when he ruined us and ended up in prison, he was still trying to tell me what to do."

Draco shook his head.

"He's my father, and I'm supposed to feel bad he's gone," Draco said, "but I only feel bad for my mother. I don't care at all that he's gone."

He went quiet for a long moment.

"Maybe there's something wrong with me," Draco thought, "then again, Theo didn't care much when his father died. He almost seemed glad."

Mary laced her fingers with his.

"Someone told me once you feel how you feel, and it's not right or wrong, it just is," she said.

"Yeah well, my life is pretty fucked up because of him," Draco said, "we're basically pariahs now. Makes me feel like shit."

"What about those two we met at the stadium?" Mary asked.

"Astoria," Draco thought. He shook his head.

"They were just fishing for gossip," Draco replied, "and flaunting their… good fortune, I guess, in my face. It's like that with almost everyone I know now."

Mary kissed him on the shoulder.

"Well, I don't care about any of that, and I doubt Darren or Alan do either," Mary said, stroking his hand, "you've got new friends now, and me. And you know I'm amazing, worth more than both of them put together."

"Son of a bitch," Draco thought as he felt his mood lighten, "talking actually helps."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Draco asked with a grin.

"I know so," Mary said, drifting her hand down to his stomach, where she traced a few circles about his navel.

"Are you really serious about wanting to figure this out?" she asked, "with the baby and all?"

"Yeah," he replied, figuring he could always change his mind later.

"What am I doing…" he thought.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay," she said, "Wow. It can be like a new start for both of us, maybe we can even move away somewhere. Honestly Drake I was kind of worried you were going to… freak out and run or something. I should have known you're better than that."

Draco's stomach twisted at her words, but he figured he could defer any decisions until later, after he'd had some time to think about it. He didn't really feel like another round, and apparently neither did Mary, so they ducked under the covers and Draco's mind whirled with the events of the day as she nestled into him and drifted off to sleep, warm against his side. Eventually though, sheer exhaustion made his eyelids heavier, and he slipped into a deep slumber.

line

Somehow, through a combination of alcohol, copious amounts of weed, and a borderline excessive and frequent doses of cocaine, Draco managed to make it to Friday when, after Mary crashed to bed early, he returned home to find a brunette witch wearing a red Gringotts courier uniform waiting in front of the Manor gates.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, standing up and vanishing the chair she'd conjured for herself.

"Yes?" he replied.

"You're to appear tomorrow morning at Gringotts for the official transfer of the Malfoy vault assets," she said, handing him a rolled-up parchment with the Gringotts wax seal holding it shut, "don't be late."

With a crack and a swirl of fog, she apparated away, leaving Draco to walk through the gates alone. He ignored the echoes of his footsteps as he strolled to his room, cracked the wax seal, and spread the letter on his bed as the desk had been sold off the prior week. He needed to be there at 10am the following morning for a meeting with a goblin named Gragnaff. The goblins were a nasty bunch and he'd no doubt they would try to penalize him somehow if he didn't show up on time. Draco fished around his father's desk for the vault key, a little golden thing, then returned to his room and set the alarm on his muggle wristwatch. He also opened the curtains wide, just in case the alarm on the watch failed to wake him, the morning sun would. After smoking one last joint, he flopped onto his mattress and passed out.

The next morning, he awoke to the watch's beeping and peeled his eyes open enough to blearily chop a line of coke. As he started mentally cataloguing the remaining furniture in the Manor in terms of how much cocaine he could purchase with them, the thought struck him that maybe, perhaps, his habit was getting a bit out of control.

"I'll slow down once the pregnancy is sorted," Draco thought, fighting the urge to chop a second line at the thought of the time bomb growing in Mary's stomach.

He shook his head as the coke cleared his thoughts up, and threw on a set of dark blue winter robes. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, he sniffed and wiped at his nose a few times as it dripped from the irritation.

"I look like shit," he thought, staring at his bloodshot eyes and days old stubble, then he exited the room and stumbled his way down the stairs to the floo for Diagon Alley.

Draco walked through the crisp morning air, the low angle of the sun seemingly doing nothing to dim its brightness as blinding white glare assaulted him from both the sky and off the snow-covered footpaths and roofs. He exhaled with relief as he crossed the threshold of the goblin run bank and brushed off a few imaginary snowflakes. Draco approached the first available teller, a disgusting little creature indistinguishable from all the other disgusting little creatures manning the counters.

"Draco Malfoy, I have an appointment," he said.

The goblin looked him over carefully then spoke in a cultured accent completely at odds with its vicious appearance.

"Follow me, Mr. Malfoy," the goblin said. It hopped down from its seat and walked towards the rear of the bank, where the passage to the vaults lay. Draco followed it into a large, lavishly decorated office. An older looking, overweight goblin wearing a purple overcoat sat at a gold gilded desk at the far end and ran through figures on a few sheaves of parchment.

"Draco Malfoy to see you, Gragnaff sir," the teller said.

"Enter, Mr. Malfoy," Gragnaff said in a gravelly voice before turning to the teller, "send Urnok in."

Draco sniffed and wiped his nose again as he sat in front of the large desk as Gragnaff opened a leather-bound book that had been placed to one side. He paused as he looked up at Draco.

"You are bleeding, Mr. Malfoy," Gragnaff said.

Draco looked down at his hand in alarm to see a smear of blood across his knuckle where he'd wiped his nose. He touched it and his fingertips came away red.

"Oh shit," he thought.

"It is convenient. We need a blood print here," Gragnaff said, turning the book around to face Draco. The goblin also offered him a handkerchief, which Draco debated taking.

"Do not bleed on the carpet," Gragnaff said. Draco relented and accepted the small silk square. He swiped his nose again and pressed his bloody thumb in the appropriate place, followed by Gragnaff signing next to it. The goblin studied the book for a moment and then, seemingly satisfied with the authenticity, closed it as Draco dabbed at his nose, the white silk coming away spotted with dark crimson.

A knock at the door preceded its opening, and a shorter, younger goblin entered.

"You called, assistant manager?"

"We're descending to the vaults, transfer of the Malfoy family assets necessitates an inspection," Gragnaff said, standing up from behind the desk.

"Yes sir," Urnok said.

They walked through the back passage of the bank to the cart waiting to take them down to the lower caverns.

Urnok manned the front of the cart to manage their speed while Gragnaff sat in the back, opposite Draco. The goblin didn't seem inclined to say anything and Draco wasn't about to strike up a conversation. He knew there was nothing left in the vault but the goblins were always particular about their little protocols, and he knew better than to try and avoid this trip. After a dizzying ride down to the lowest sublevels where all of the oldest wizarding family vaults hid, carved into the bedrock, they stepped off the cart.

Draco produced the vault key from his robes, flipped up the ancient cover and twisted. The well-oiled goblin made tumblers turned almost soundlessly. He pulled the door open and magical lights illuminated the interior, a massive chamber which once held millions of galleons, now stripped nearly bare. All of the artefacts and gemstones, all the jewellery, the collected wealth of generations, had been confiscated first by Lord Voldemort to buy the favours and influence he needed to wage his war, then by the Ministry to help pay for the rebuilding of their society and to compensate the numerous families that had suffered loss at the hands of the Dark Lord and his followers. Only a few pieces of furniture, several simple moving but silent portraits of various ancestors, and a handful of trinkets or heirlooms remained. Gragnaff followed Draco into the vault sniffing in distaste as their footsteps echoed while they looked around.

"This will be quicker than I thought," the assistant manager said.

The two goblins started cataloguing, Gragnaff speaking while Urnok wrote in a large book he carried in one hand, while Draco followed a few steps behind. He was craving another hit already, and the goblins were taking their sweet time noting down each item.

"Can't imagine how long this would have taken if everything was still in here," Draco thought. He stared at the ground, the outlines of large heavy objects that had covered it until recently still visible as marks or shadows on the rock. His mind turned back to the pregnancy and the fact he still had no real plan. A yelp from up ahead distracted him and he looked up to see Urnok caught in the grips of an enchanted coat stand, its many appendages overzealously lifting the goblin into the air in their attempt to tear his clothing off after so many years in storage.

"Stop fooling around Urnok, and get back down here," Gragnaff yelled as the inventory book dropped to the ground, forgotten in the chaos.

Draco felt real laughter bubble up from within as the manager continued to berate his unfortunate subordinate. He reached a hand out to steady himself on an old vanity, but as soon as he touched it, he heard a distinct 'click' sound. Draco froze, mid-guffaw. Slowly, he turned to the vanity; the mirror was long gone, but a drawer had popped out near the bottom of the frame that once held it. He realized the drawer was much deeper than the frame itself.

"Undetectable extension," Draco thought as he carefully lifted the bloody handkerchief up off the surface of the antique, "with a blood clavis."

He chanced a look inside, and his eyes widened. There, in the recesses of the small wooden drawer, lay a wand, hidden and long forgotten. Draco glanced back to the goblins without turning his head. Gragnaff now wielded a golden dagger and repeatedly smashed the blade into the base of the stand. Draco slipped the wand out and slid the drawer shut, where it blended seamlessly back into the frame. For a split second he considered his probation and what would happen if he were discovered with a wand, but quickly justified his action to himself. If he needed to defend himself, he'd rather have a fighting chance than wait for the Ministry to come save him. He stowed the wand in the inside pocket of his robes and leaned against the vanity as the enchantments on the coat stand sputtered and died under the assault of the goblin blade, dropping Urnok unceremoniously to the ground.

"You could have helped, wizard," Urnok snarled as he scrambled to his feet and snatched up the fallen inventory book.

"Not my place to interfere in your task, goblin," Draco replied.

"Enough," Gragnaff said, "Gringotts will not compensate you for the loss of your unruly furniture."

Draco sneered in response but said nothing. Gragnaff apparently took that as acceptance and continued with the inventory of what remained. They completed in less than half an hour, even with the distraction offered by the now disenchanted coat stand. Draco used the small key to lock the vault again, for what good it was worth with how little there was inside, and signed the inventory log, completing the transfer. Neither of the goblins spoke during the return journey, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts, the pilfered wand resting inside his robes, next to his heart. He'd picked it up almost on a whim, but now the very real possibility of being caught with a spare wand had him thinking of Azkaban again.

"Then again, with a wand, I could probably end that pregnancy without anyone suspecting," he thought.

When he returned home, he dropped the vault key back into his father's desk.

"Suppose it's my desk now," he thought as he closed the drawer with a heavy clunk.

With his mother probably sleeping off whatever she'd taken, Draco entered the library. Bereft of the reading tables and chairs that had once dotted the room, the shelves were wholly untouched. The knowledge accumulated over the centuries was powerful, and Draco wouldn't part with them unless absolutely necessary. He carefully pulled the wand from his pocket and held it up with two hands, studying the length.

"Wonder whose it was…. Hawthorn, rather flexible, no idea what the core could be," Draco thought as he hesitated for a moment, "Fuck it, it's not like you've got another wand lying around."

"Lumos," he said, and, with an exhilaration he didn't know he was still capable of feeling, the tip of the wand lit up with pale white light. It wasn't quite as bright as his original wand would have been, but at least it worked.

"A little practise and you'll get used to me," Draco thought, looking at the wand again.

He snorted another bump of coke, and, with renewed focus and by the light of his new wand, sought the spell he needed. It only took about forty minutes of alternating between pulling books and sitting cross-legged on the stone floor. In the same dusty tome as a Malfoy family potion for determining strength of blood relation, he discovered a charm to terminate unwanted pregnancy. It was a relatively simple charm; the instructions stated it usually worked on the first try, but might need to be cast up to three days in a row, which wouldn't be an issue since Draco was there practically every day now.

He practiced the wand motions a few times, then turned to face away from the books to try it with the incantation.

"Praesemin extinguo," he said, ending with a small flourish. A pulse of distortion rippled towards the wall. He assumed that meant he'd cast it successfully, but practiced several more times just to be sure. He breathed a deep sigh.

"Maybe I'll keep the wand at the Manor after taking care of this," he thought, "no sense giving Clark any chance to cite me for a probation violation."

The following Monday, Draco completed his day at the orphanage then made the walk to Darren's. He wore a heavy grey trench coat against the biting wind, and kept a hand on his wand inside one of the pockets as he walked. A full fifteen minutes passed before he remembered he could once again cast a warming charm.

Once again, he slipped into the building behind another tenant, but stopped short of knocking on the door when he heard raised voices from within, and paused to listen through the door.

"Listen, Mary, I like the bloke, but he's not exactly father of the year material, is he?" Darren said, "more like a slow-motion train wreck in progress. What are you thinking?"

Mary mumbled something too quiet for Draco to make out.

"You're gonna ruin your entire life," Darren said, "and that guy, when his probation's up, if he even makes it, five to one says he's gone the next day. Fuck, Bruno's gonna kill me."

Mary said something else Draco couldn't catch.

"No, I'm trying to look out for you," Darren said, "you're my best mate's kid sister, you're practically my sister, and so trust me when I say this, it's for your own good and not just mine: Drake Malfoy only hangs about with us, and you, because I keep him supplied. I understand that. Alan understands that. Hell, even Mack gets it."

"Fuck you Welch, you're wrong," Mary said, "you don't know him like I do."

Darren made an exasperated sound, and Draco could practically see him throwing his arms in the air. He decided he'd heard enough, and rapped smartly on the door. Mary opened it, storm clouds on her brow from her recent row with Darren, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you eaten?" Draco asked.

"No," Mary replied, grabbing her jacket and hat from the pegs near the door, "let's go."

They walked to a nearby restaurant that served halfway decent fish and chips, despite the sticky floor, taking turns asking questions like they usually did, perhaps pretending everything was normal when it was so obviously, world-shatteringly not.

"What's your best mate's name, from school?" Mary asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Draco asked.

"If we're going to be parents together, I'm assuming you'll introduce them to me at some point," Mary said, "so I'd like to know a bit about them first."

Draco sighed. This was a bad idea, but then again… why not?

"Well, there's Theo, our parents were…" Draco said.

"Allies, Death Eaters, Pureblood Supremacists," he thought.

"Friends," Draco said, "and we've known each other forever. Then there's Blaise, haven't seen him since he moved to Italy."

"Oh, I've always wanted to see Rome, and Venice," Mary said, "have you been?"

"Of course," Draco replied.

Mary nodded, focusing on her food for a moment.

"What about Theo, do you think we could meet him, maybe over Christmas?" she asked.

"I don't know," Draco replied, "I'll ask him."

"Liar," Draco thought.

"Oh, what about your mother?" Mary asked.

"Mother might actually kill the child, and you as collateral damage, possibly immediately before or after she kills me," Draco thought.

The more the conversation went on, the more Draco forced himself to lie about the potential future they would have together, the more he was convinced he absolutely had to end this pregnancy as soon as possible. The meal felt like ash in his mouth and lay only half finished as thoughts of what he'd planned to do later in the evening spurred his heart to pump faster, adrenaline rocketing through his veins, enough his hands began to tremble. After dinner, they returned to the apartment and went to bed like they usually did. Although Draco didn't take much pleasure from the sex, consumed as he was with what he was about to do, he forced his body through the motions until he finished. Afterwards, Draco did another line to keep himself up while Mary watched with guarded jealousy in her eyes. He almost thought she was about to ask him for some, but she held him tightly and drifted off to sleep instead. Draco waited a good forty minutes before extricating himself from her, and crept to his coat. In the dark of the bedroom, he stood barefoot on the cold wooden floor, completely nude except for the wand in his hand, pointed towards Mary's sleeping form.

"Should I stun her first?" he thought, then decided against it.

He stood there, wand outstretched, at first pondering whether he really wanted to go through with it, then trying to will himself to end the life growing within her.

"My blood, my son or daughter," Draco thought, the unwelcome notion making it all the harder to cast.

Every logical cell in his body told him he was better off casting the miscarriage spell immediately, but just like in the Astronomy Tower during the Battle, he found himself lowering his wand to his side. His shoulders slumped as he recalled overhearing Darren's harsh assessment of him, and found himself mostly agreeing with the drug dealer's opinion. He could always vanish in March. The problem was too many people knew about him and Mary. He couldn't obliviate everyone, and sooner or later there would be a little half-blood running around. At most he would have eleven years until a letter arrived, exposing Mary to the wizarding world, and she would certainly remember being impregnated by a Drake Malfoy who then vanished into thin air, leaving her to raise his child alone.

"Merlin, I am so unbelievably screwed," he thought.

He tucked the wand into his coat pocket and slipped back into bed, deciding to wait a few more days to decide what to do...

Warning: Sex, drug abuse, language, unplanned pregnancy