Trigger Warnings at the end of the Chapter
Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Chapter 19
The green flames died down as Theo departed through the floo and Draco's hand leapt to his pocket, seeking the film canister. He stabbed his fingernail down into the powder and snorted it up first one nostril, then the other.
"Merlin's beard that feels good," he thought as he took a few deep breaths and wiped his nose with his thumb. He'd been holding off until Theo departed before giving in; the last thing he needed was another lecture.
Over Christmas dinner, Theo informed him he would depart for Italy in the spring, once the weather started warming. He didn't ask Draco to come again, especially as Mother literally sat across the table from them, but the timing was right around when Draco's probation finished, and the invitation was already on the table. Over the entire meal, the baby, the child Mary carried, consumed the entirety of Draco's thoughts. Truly, it'd consumed almost the entirety of his waking thoughts since the day he found out, and a fair portion of his non-waking thoughts as well, evidenced by the number of times he'd been woken by unsettling dreams. He could tell that Theo was concerned by his distracted state, but thankfully his friend didn't press the point. Mother, more stoned than he'd ever seen her, didn't notice at all. Indeed, she'd barely said a word since Theo had arrived.
Draco returned to the dining room and picked up a small plate of scones to carry to his room. He paused at the door and observed his mother for a moment. Draco just watched her silently, sitting at the table, smouldering joint in one hand, staring off into space. Absently, she took another drag and held it, then blew the smoke up into the air, the motion all but automatic now.
"At least she's not drinking 'essence of tranquility'," Draco thought, departing the dining room and heading upstairs, his footsteps echoing on the bare floors.
Alone, his thoughts again turned to Mary and what he was going to do about the baby. Several times he'd considered going back and ending the pregnancy, but deep down he knew he didn't have it in him to follow through with the deed. That left either abandoning her and the child after his probation was up, or bringing Mary in on the wizarding world to raise the child together, somehow.
The child. The half-blood child. He'd be shunned by what few friends and acquaintances he had left, ridiculed. Staying at the Manor with Mother would be an absolute disaster, so he'd have to find his own place, but how to pay for it when nobody would even sell him clothing, much less offer him employment?
"A job," Draco thought as a sneer rose to his face, "no Malfoy has had to work as an employee for at least six generations, probably more."
He'd been down this line of thinking a million times since she'd told him, and it always led him to the same place, back to the canister. Tonight was no different as he tapped out another line on the mirror next to his bed and snorted it up, then polished off one of the scones.
"What in Merlin's name am I going to do…" he thought as his heart raced while he lay in bed, fingers laced behind his head. He turned one way, then another, tapped his fingers on the mattress… Laying still proved impossible, and he stood up to pace back and forth.
No matter which angle he came at the dilemma from, no good option presented itself, not unless he could somehow convince Mother to accept Mary.
"Perhaps… perhaps if I could get her to reconcile with her sister Andromeda first," Draco thought, "they grew up together, surely they have something in common. Father, my grandparents, and aunt Bellatrix are all dead and gone…"
Then he closed his eyes and cursed to himself. He'd forgotten Andromeda's grandson was Potter's godson. The mere thought of being forced to interact with Harry 'The Chosen One' Potter, even on a semi-regular basis, made him want to drink himself into unconsciousness again.
Around and around his thoughts went, until his watch beeped and, still no closer to figuring out a solution to his problem, he snorted another bump and pulled on his muggle clothing to head to the orphanage again. Normally he didn't report in on Saturdays, but this was a special weekend; he didn't even have to report in to Clark. Draco kept his replacement wand held tight in his overcoat pocket as he walked the dark and frigid streets, often glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed.
"No such thing as too careful," he thought, recalling the humiliating beating he'd received a few months earlier.
At the orphanage, it was more or less routine for the first half of the day, until Alan tapped on his shoulder during lunch.
"Darren's here, at the playground," the dark-haired teen whispered to him, barely audible over the usual cacophony of the orphanage mealtime, "better go see him."
Draco turned to look at Alan and was greeted with a serious expression before the younger boy turned away to return to his usual seat.
Draco stood up as casually as he could and exited the cafeteria to walk across the field behind the orphanage to the adjacent playground, the crisp December air cutting right through his sweater. He spied Darren smoking a cigarette, leaning against a fence. The dealer stood up and flicked it down to grind it into the ground with his boot as Draco approached.
"Hey mate, I got a call this morning," Darren said, "Mary's in the hospital, she was beat pretty bad. Thought you ought to know."
Alarm flooded Draco's thoughts.
"What? Why? By whom?" Draco asked.
"I don't know, I'm about to go there now and find out," Darren replied, "seems she's been asking for you but you don't have a phone number for the hospital to call."
"Shit," Draco said, "Is she… going to be alright?"
"Yeah, she'll recover, but she's a mess right now," Darren said, "they're gonna keep her for a few days."
Days?
Then Draco remembered, it took longer for muggles to heal. He shook his head. Who could possibly want to beat up Mary McKay? Draco recalled her slight frame; if someone really wanted to hurt her, she wouldn't be able to put up much resistance.
"Perhaps Macmillian would let me go early today," he thought.
Darren shook his head as if he knew what Draco was thinking.
"Don't say anything to Macmillian," he said, pointing a finger at Draco, "I'll meet you at the hospital after your shift ends."
"It's a short day today, we're done in about two hours," Draco said.
"Right," Darren said, glancing at his watch, "I've got to take care of a few things. Mile End Hospital. Give them her name when you get there."
Draco nodded, resolving to take a taxi so he wouldn't have to figure out exactly where it was.
The remainder of the day passed in a blur as Mary's condition occupied his thoughts, along with increasingly bizarre reasons for why anyone could have possibly wanted to put her in the hospital. The end of the day couldn't come quick enough, and he and Alan raced through cleaning up wrapping paper after the kids tore through a few boxes of donated gifts, delivered a day late. Draco threw on his overcoat and glanced at Alan as they stepped out the front door.
"Are you headed to the hospital?" Draco asked, thinking about sharing a cab.
Alan shook his head.
"I'll meet you there, I've got something I need to check first," he said.
Draco nodded and left without another word, then flagged a taxi down on the street.
"Mile End Hospital," he said, and the taxi accelerated away. The trip took less than fifteen minutes in the light traffic, and Draco handed over ten pounds as payment before stepping out into the waning light of early afternoon. He walked into the nearest entrance he could find, the glass doors slid open on their own as he approached. A sterile smell hit his nostrils as he entered, and he involuntarily inhaled.
"Hi," he said, crossing the chequered floor to the dark-skinned woman at the reception counter, "I'm here to visit a friend of mine, Mary McKay?"
The woman turned to a small monitor on her counter and tapped in a few keystrokes.
"Name?" she asked.
"Drake Malfoy," Draco replied, then handed over his muggle ID. The lady nodded and handed him a visitor's pass along with his ID back.
"Wear your badge at all times, Victoria ward, level 2," she said. Draco nodded and took the steps two at a time up to the second story.
Following the signs, he quickly found the Victoria ward and, after running his hand through his hair a few times, pushed through the double doors. Two rows of hospital beds lined the walls, roughly half of them occupied. Several visitors milled about, clustered around a few beds and speaking in hushed voices. Draco walked between the rows until he spotted Mary about halfway down the right side. The left side of her face was horribly bruised and swollen; the ugly purple colour marred her fair skin. She lay resting with both eyes closed, even though pillows propped her up in a semi-sitting position. A monitor sat next to her bed displaying all sorts of numbers Draco didn't understand, and a privacy curtain on runners mounted into the ceiling lay bunched around the head of the bed.
"Mary," Draco said quietly, and one of her eyes fluttered open, horribly bloodshot. The other remained swollen shut.
"Drake," she said, holding out one hand. He moved to her side and enveloped her hand with his.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I was an idiot," she said, her voice raspy, "Drake, I'm sorry."
She closed her eye and swallowed.
"I lost the baby Drake, I'm sorry," she said, tears sliding out from beneath her eyelids as she sniffled.
Relief flooded through Draco, and he took a step to steady himself. Severe disgust with himself almost immediately followed his initial reaction.
"Mary's in a hospital bed beaten half to death, your child is no longer alive, and all you care about is you don't have to deal with it anymore," Draco thought, "what in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"
He gripped her hand tightly and he felt her grip back.
"Do something," he thought to himself.
He leaned over and planted a light kiss on her forehead.
"What happened?" Draco forced himself to ask.
Mary opened her eye again and leaned back.
"I was trying to score some more E, and Darren wouldn't sell it to me, so I asked someone else to get it," Mary said, "I thought… you know we had such a great time the first time we did it. Anyway, I made a promise to buy some, then I found out I was…pregnant, and I told her I didn't need it anymore, but she said I had to, and I guess we argued a little, and then this morning, some guys got me on the way to work to try and collect, or send a message, or whatever."
Draco's mind whirled.
"Who?" he asked.
"You don't know them," she replied. He got the feeling she wanted to keep it that way.
She took a deep, laboured breath, coughed weakly and winced.
"Drake, after you got mugged, you fixed yourself up quick, do you have anything that can help me?" she asked, "please? It hurts, and the stuff they gave me doesn't do shit."
He could. He could probably heal these mundane injuries by himself, with the wand in his pocket.
"But should I?" he thought, torn between self-preservation and helping his lover in her time of need.
"I…" Draco replied, "no, I told you, it looked worse than it was, and the rest was just painkillers and makeup."
Mary's expression hardened.
"I cleaned out those cuts myself and the next day they were just bloody gone, so don't fucking lie to me," Mary said, as she glared at him with her one good eye, her voice coming out as a raspy whisper, "I lost our baby, I've had the hair beaten out of me, why are you holding out?"
"Fucking Merlin," Draco thought. He glanced around to make sure they weren't drawing unwanted attention and jerked the privacy curtain closed with a swish of metal rings on runners.
"Alright, alright," Draco whispered, just to keep her quiet, "I'll… see what I can do."
"What was it, anyway? That you used to get better so fast?" Mary asked, somewhat mollified, "Darren said you've probably got connections to a pharma company, or maybe stole some military supplies or something, like SAS stuff."
Draco shook his head and pursed his lips. Another look at her ruined face and he found himself actually contemplating what he could get away with without breaking the Statute.
"Look, it's nothing I can talk about," Draco said quietly, shoving any decisions aside until he could mull it over properly, "like I said, I'll see what I can do. Where is Darren, anyway?"
"Here," Darren said from the other side of the curtain, pulling it open again, "seen Alan yet?"
Mary shook her head, then winced.
"No," she replied.
"I know who they were," Darren said.
There was a pause as Mary looked at Darren, and Darren stared back at her.
"Don't get hurt," she said.
Darren snorted but didn't reply.
"Oi," Alan said, out of breath as he walked up to the bed, "Konstantinov and his mates are at his flat now."
He bent over, flipped his baseball cap backwards, and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
"Good," Darren said as a steely expression crossed his face, "how many?"
"Three," Alan replied, then put a hand on the foot of the bed and half stood, half leaned as he turned to Mary.
"Hi," he said in between pants, "sorry to say, but you look like shit."
"Fuck you Alan," Mary replied, but she managed a smirk.
Darren started striding towards the exit, and Alan rolled his eyes and took one more deep breath, then trotted to catch up. He almost ran into Darren as the dealer stopped and turned to look back at Draco.
"You comin'?" Darren asked.
Mary's hand, her middle finger clipped onto some kind of wire, latched onto Draco's wrist.
"You don't have to," Mary whispered, looking up at him with her one good eye.
Draco blinked and the decision only took a second. If he didn't do this, he'd probably lose all of them. Sure, Mary said he didn't have to, but he didn't doubt for a moment he'd be diminished in her eyes if he didn't, and he most certainly would in Darren and Alan's, especially if they put themselves at risk and he didn't. Plus, if he didn't even take revenge on whoever murdered his unborn child and did this to Mary, the woman he'd shared a bed with for months, what did that say about him?
"Yeah I do," he said, shrugging her hand off. He kissed two fingers and touched them against her forehead, then turned to follow Darren and Alan downstairs. Darren and Alan dropped their hospital ID badges in the bin on the way out, and Draco followed suit. In the parking lot, Darren led them to a blue car and unlocked it to slide into the driver's seat.
"This a Lancer Evo?" Alan asked as he hopped in the front and Draco sat in the rear.
"Yeah, good deal too, only ten thousand on it," Darren said, pulling a strap from over his shoulder and plugged it in near his hip as Alan followed suit. Draco never wore seatbelts in the taxis and he struggled with his own as Darren started the car and revved the engine, flicking the headlights on as they exited the lot and pulled onto the road.
"What were they doin' when you saw them?" Darren asked.
"Playin' video games," Alan replied.
Darren nodded. They drove for about five minutes as Draco stared out the window, then pulled over and parked on the side of the road in a run-down neighbourhood. Darren reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something metal and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Draco exited to the sidewalk and watched as Alan, now without his hat, went round to the boot, popped it open and pulled out a pair of metal bats. He slammed it shut and held one of the bats out to Draco, along with a dark brown wool mask that covered the entire face.
"They're really going to pummel these guys," Draco thought, grabbing the mask and the bat and hefting it a few times, "Correction, we'rereally going to pummel these guys. Good. They bloody deserve it."
Darren started walking down the road, the lone nearby streetlight casting dark shadows against the adjacent apartment buildings. A dog barked in the distance.
"How do you know these guys?" Draco asked, trotting to catch up, the leather grip of the metal bat held tight in one hand and alongside his leg to make it more difficult to see from a distance, the way Alan was.
"Konstantinov's dad was a rival of Martin's father's back maybe five or six years ago, but after the Russians all got locked up or deported we took over their territory," Darren replied, "Dmitri Konstantinov's a small time dealer now, and we mostly leave him alone out of respect for his dad, but this is way out of line. I don't think he knew who Mary was; she wasn't buying directly from him, but that doesn't bloody matter."
Draco nodded, somewhat impressed Darren was able to find out who they were in just one afternoon.
"I saw them from the back window, they were all in the front of the flat when I checked," Alan said. Darren nodded.
They entered an apartment building with flickering hallway lights and paint peeling from the walls. Darren led them up to the second-floor corridor, about halfway down. Darren and Alan both pulled masks over their faces, and Draco quickly did the same, the material itchy against his skin.
Alan covered up the peephole while Darren withdrew the metal strip from his pocket and affixed it through his fingers and gripped it tightly, and Draco grasped their purpose almost immediately; getting hit with those would hurt. Sweat made Draco's grip slick on the bat and his heart raced in anticipation as he glanced up and down the deserted hall. The stolen wand lay in his jacket pocket, only to be used as a last resort. Darren rapped sharply on the door three times. There was a muffled voice from inside as he lined up with the door, taking a few quick steadying breaths. As soon as it started to open, the stocky drug dealer launched himself at it, driving through the portal and knocking back whoever was on the other side. Alan was right behind him, bat primed for swinging. Draco heard a sickening *thunk* of metal colliding with flesh, followed by a yelp of pain. Then he was through the door as well and into the small, dark, apartment, right behind Alan. A couch faced a TV set on a bookshelf, and a small window could be seen beyond the door at the far end of the unit.
One young blonde muggle lay on the ground near the door, clutching his elbow, and another one, this one with dark hair, had just stood up from the couch when Darren caught him with the brass knuckles. Even a glancing blow caused the Russian to nearly fall over, cursing in pain. Emerging from the back room, however, was a much larger muggle. Draco's eyes widened as the meaty muggle's features clicked into recognition in his brain. The slightly overweight frame, the bent nose… this was the muggle who'd snapped his wand. Without questioning why he was here with one of the group that'd assaulted Mary, Draco let out an incoherent roar and launched himself across the room, adrenaline spiking and vision tunnelling until all he could see was the meaty muggle stumbling back and raising an arm to defend himself. Draco struck with all his might, swinging diagonally down and smashing directly into the muggle's forearm with a dull cracking sound, not unlike a direct bludger strike, the kind that ruptured internal organs. A high-pitched scream came from the muggle as he fell backwards, his forearm bending at an impossible angle as he tried to catch himself and break his fall. Draco took another step and slammed a two-handed overhead swing straight down into the muggle's ribs. The muggle grunted and curled up into a foetal position, and Draco tossed the bat aside to step over the muggle, knelt down, and started pummelling his face, raining his fists down again and again. With his arm already broken, the overweight muggle couldn't defend himself at all, and it wasn't long before he was completely unconscious. That didn't stop Draco though, and it wasn't until Alan dragged him off that he came to his senses.
"Alright mate, he's had enough," Alan said, "Oi! He's had enough!"
Draco glanced back at the muggle as Darren handed the bat back to him. He lay on his back and his arm bent at an awkward angle, and his face was a mangled and bloody mess. Draco's chest roared in exultation even as he flexed his fingers. He resisted the urge to spit on the chunky bastard.
The dark-haired muggle, Konstantinov, Draco surmised, lay on the floor in front of the couch, still conscious but already bruising around his jaw where Darren clipped him.
"What the bloody hell," Konstantinov said with a distinct Russian accent, the words coming out a bit funny as he clutched his injured face and pulled himself up to sit.
Darren responded by pulling a knife from a pocket, extending the blade with an audible *click*. The Russian froze as Darren knelt down and put the blade to his throat, yanking his head back by the hair.
"The girl you and your boys roughed up earlier today, you know who she is?" Darren asked.
"The fuck? No, just some whore who owed Tanya money," Konstantinov said, wincing as Darren pressed the knife a bit more.
"That 'whore' is Mary McKay, Bruno's little sister," Darren said.
"Oh, shit," Konstantinov said quietly, his face going ghost white.
"Yeah, 'oh shit'. You ever touch her again, I'll fucking kill you, assuming Bruno doesn't get you first," Darren said.
Konstantinov nodded.
"I swear I didn't know," he said.
"I believe you," Darren said as he stood up and folded the knife, "otherwise this would have been a whole different conversation. Stay the fuck away from her."
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small white baggie.
"Just in case you get any bright ideas about calling the cops," Darren said, untying the small plastic bag and dumping the contents all over Konstantinov and the carpet, even as Draco's mind screamed 'NO!' at the wasted cocaine.
The muggle by the door flinched out of the way as they exited the apartment, with Alan closing the door behind them and Draco pushing away the urge to run back and snort some of the cocaine right off Konstantinov's nasty carpet. Darren quickly walked the street, nearly jogging he moved so fast. A few door slams later and they were back in his car and driving off. Draco pulled off his mask, the December air cold on his skin, and he examined the torn skin and bloody skin on his knuckles by the light passing street lights.
"Must have hit a tooth," he thought, resolving to let this one heal naturally and avoid any further questions.
Draco had never beaten another person so severely with just his fists. It was such a muggle thing to do, but there was a certain intimacy to the act, to overpower another human so completely.
"Drake, what the hell, you were like a completely different person," Alan said once they passed the first intersection. He twisted around to face Draco, his mask also off and the backwards hat back in place.
Draco shook his head. He was coming down off the adrenaline high now and his hands wanted to start shaking. He made an instant, almost unconscious calculation of whether to bring up how he'd been mugged by that particular large muggle, but concluded that it would remind them of his weakness and possibly bring up questions again about how he'd recovered so quickly.
"That asshole put Mary in the hospital, in case you'd forgotten," Draco replied, putting considerable acid in his voice.
"They fucking deserved it, and he'll live, so it's alright," Darren said, "how's about a few drinks?"
"Yeah, I need a few after that," Alan said, turning back to the front, seemingly satisfied.
Darren nodded.
"You lads want to see my new place?" he asked.
"You finally closed? Sure," Alan said, as he fiddled with the radio. He settled on some thumping electronic beat and turned the volume up until the windows rattled.
The trio cruised the dark streets and through several intersections for a few kilometres, Draco willing his heart to slow down and his hands to stop shaking. Eventually, they turned onto a residential street in a slightly less seedy neighbourhood than Darren's old apartment.
"There she is," he said, turning into the driveway of a run-down single-family home. Paint peeled off the side of the house and several of the shutters and a few shingles were missing. Darren pulled up to the closed garage door and switched off the car, ending the techno soundtrack of their journey and plunging the exterior into darkness.
Draco followed him and Alan up the short, weed choked path to a front porch with a step up to the door.
"It's not much, but it's mine," Darren said as he opened the door, "don't mind the mess."
He flicked on a switch and a hall light illuminated a dirty linoleum floor with a wooden staircase and banister to their left, a broken step about halfway up. Mismatched, obviously second-hand furniture decorated an unlit sitting room to the right, and Darren led the way to the kitchen, dropping his keys on a round table set by the rear window. He flicked another switch and a single bulb hanging by a wire over the table flickered to life with a low buzzing sound. Draco cautiously walked over and sat on the edge of one of the hard chairs as Darren poked his head into the fridge and emerged with a six-pack of green bottles sporting a red star on the label. He popped the caps off three with a bottle opener and passed them around.
"Cheers," he said, as they tapped with a few clinks.
After taking the obligatory swig, Draco glanced around again. The place obviously needed a lot of work, but it might be comfortable if it had the right lighting and furnishings.
"No offense mate, but this house looks like it should be condemned," Alan said. Draco couldn't help but agree.
Darren snorted.
"It's shit now, but I'm gonna fix it up and sell it," Darren replied.
Draco took another sip as he pondered exactly how much of the money required to purchase this broken-down house had come from himself. He took a larger gulp as he decided he didn't really want to know.
"Best part about it though? It has a garage," Darren said, motioning Alan to follow. He opened a door to the left and flicked on the light.
Draco followed them into the annex, apparently a late add-on to the structure, judging by the wall adjoining the house. The garage smelled of old oil. A few shelves with parts he couldn't identify lay against the back wall, and a counter and cabinets sat against another. Wires and more parts and tools he couldn't identify lay scattered on and dangled from the countertop.
"Nice, are you going to mod the car?" Alan asked, looking around the inside of the garage.
"'Are you going to mod the car?'" Darren mimicked, "the fuck do you think? Yeah I'm going to mod it, otherwise what's the point of buying an Evo?"
"I want to add a turbocharger," Darren added, "could use a hand with some of the maths, actually, if you're around next week."
"Hell yeah, long as I get to drive it now and then," Alan said.
The conversation escalated from there. Draco understood most of the words as English, but it was almost like they were speaking a different language, talking about cams, turbines, intercoolers, and intakes, and Draco completely lost the thread. He picked up a set of red and black wires with clips on the end, then set them back down when he felt grease on his fingers.
"So all this'll, what, make the car go faster?" Draco asked.
The conversation stopped dead as Darren and Alan stared at him. Darren looked at Alan and cocked his head towards Draco as if to say 'do you believe this guy?'
"Yeah, it'll make the car go faster," he said with a patronizing grin, and drained his bottle. He took the point though, and led them back inside, where they got to work polishing off the rest of the six pack.
"I don't think we'll hear from Konstantinov again," Darren said, "especially since Bruno's out next week."
"Are we having a party?" Alan asked.
"Eh, I'll let you know," Darren replied, "probably."
"Drake, don't you live in a bloody mansion?" Alan asked, turning to him, "why don't we ever drink at your place?"
The image of his mother vanishing the corpses of both Darren and Alan while muttering about an infestation crossed his mind.
"Ehm, my mum's there and she can be… volatile," Draco said, "it's not a good idea."
Alan grumbled into his beer.
"Bollocks, I always wanted to party in a mansion," he said, tilting it back and finishing it off.
"Think you're going to have to start some crazy internet company and buy your own mansion," Darren said, then snapped his fingers, "I know, mansionparty dot com."
"Working on it, mate, working on it," Alan mumbled as he tossed the bottle in the trash, "got a few ideas tossing around, better than bloody mansionparty dot com, too."
"You can tell me about them on the way back," Darren said, picking up his keys, "let's go, I'll drop you boys off."
Draco nodded, polishing off his bottle as well. Darren locked the front door behind them and as they piled into the car again.
"How did you know it was those Russians who beat up Mary?" Draco asked as Alan fiddled with the radio again.
He saw Darren smirk in the light of a passing streetlight.
"Just got to know the right people, mate," he replied.
"Darren fucking knows everyone," Alan added, "I swear we can just be walking down the street and random blokes will stop and say hi. Bit creepy actually."
Draco nodded as Alan settled on another thumping techno beat.
"Thanks," Draco said, "for finding them."
"Wasn't for you, but don't mention it," Darren said.
Draco again reflected on just how much he didn't know. He felt as if there was a world within the muggle world that he'd just gotten the barest taste of, and only because it reached out and struck someone close to him. The entire conversation in the garage, completely beyond him... If he didn't already know they were talking about cars, he wouldn't have been able to make a first guess at what they were discussing.
"Darren's not even the smartest snidget in the flock and he knows all about these things," Draco thought, "and what do I know? The motor burns up petrol and makes it go."
Part of him wanted to learn more, to throw himself into books and into Darren and Alan's car enhancement project to absorb as much as he could. If what he understood about muggle technology was correct, anyone could learn it, so long as they were clever enough. Another part of him couldn't be fucked. He was gone in a few months anyway, back to the wizarding world where things made sense… and where pretty much everyone hated him.
"Dammit, I need a hit," he thought as his eyes followed the streetlights as they came and went. His fingers went to the canister again.
Draco pressed the intercom.
"Yeah," Darren's voice answered.
"It's Drake," Draco replied, and was rewarded with a long buzz.
He climbed the steps and entered the dingy apartment to find Darren frying sausages in the kitchen. Grease splattered everywhere and the fire occasionally flared up towards the hood.
"Mary around?" Draco asked.
"Sleeping," Darren replied.
"Again?" Draco asked.
It was ridiculous how long it took muggles to heal. What would have been cleared up with some wiggenweld or a semi-competent healer in a matter of seconds, or a minute at most, had kept Mary in the hospital for two and a half days, and even after they discharged her, she was still bruised to the point she demanded extra-large sunglasses before she would consider leaving the building. Draco felt bad for muggles in general, but he felt especially bad for Mary. Not only had she lost a child, but she was still recovering nearly a week later.
"I'll go see how she's doing," Draco said. Darren nodded.
"I'm heading over to the house in a bit, need anything before I go?" he asked.
"Could use a top up," Draco replied.
Darren didn't even bother turning off the fire as he walked to his room, so accustomed were they at exchanging cash for weed and cocaine at this point. The buy was completed in less than thirty seconds and Darren went back to stirring, and then eating the sausage straight off the pan, while Draco carefully refilled the film canister right there in the living room. He resisted the urge to take a bump off the top or chop a line on the glass coffee table, and instead stuffed it into his trousers before knocking gently on Mary's door. There was no response so he quietly pushed in.
Mary lay sleeping in bed, and even in the dim light filtering through the blinds, Draco could still make out faint bruises on the side of her face. He'd seriously considered healing her injuries, but practical considerations won out in the end. No matter how he played out the likely course of events, Mary being the beneficiary of a miraculous recovery didn't end well. Someone else would be injured, Mary or Darren or Alan might tell someone to look for him to patch them up quickly, and there would always be something, a sick family member, a freak injury, a fever… Word would very quickly get around that he had some cure or some method of healing people. With muggles having absolutely no way to heal faster, it would spread like fiendfyre, and Draco would be powerless to stop it. Eventually it would lead to questions, and he might be brought up on charges for violating the Statute, which he definitely couldn't afford. As much as he would have liked to help, he forced himself, and Mary, to wait while nature took its course and her body repaired itself on its own.
He sat in a chair near the door, placed specifically for this purpose, and watched her sleep peacefully, her deep, slow breaths calming him. He distinctly heard the front door open, then close, easily audible through the shitty walls, and he and Mary were alone in the apartment again. Although her bruises were healing up nicely, her mental state was another thing entirely. Losing the baby seemed to have done something to her, and she hadn't really been her normal, sarcastic and overly confident self since returning from the hospital. In fact, every time he'd come over since then, she'd been in bed.
"Wonder if she's still mad at me for not healing her," Draco thought, "if that's the case, it's just too bad, she's going to have to get over it."
He'd told her he wasn't able to get any more of the 'stuff' he'd used to help himself, intentionally keeping it vague. He wasn't sure if she believed him but it didn't matter, he couldn't take the risk and she'd make a full recovery even without magical healing.
Mary stirred, taking a deep breath and opening her eyes, blinking a few times as she looked over to him.
"Hey, you're here," she said, raising a hand and motioning him over.
Draco stood up and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. He moved the chair closer as she half-grinned with a mischievous glint in her eye. Draco smiled back; he recognized the familiar expression from her, one he hadn't seen since the attack.
"I've got something for us," she said, sitting up and scooting back against the headboard.
"I've felt like shit ever since the… you know," she said, turning on the lamp on the night table.
She flipped the covers off, stood up, and walked past him to the dresser, wearing only red panties and a black t-shirt proudly proclaiming 'Garbage' across the front. His cock made a little twitch as he froze where he sat. They hadn't had sex since she was injured and apparently part of him had already decided it'd been well long enough.
"I figured we could have a little fun," she said.
"Fuck no, Draco, that's what got you into trouble in the first place, and you can't just whip your wand out and start firing off contraceptive charms in front of a muggle," he thought.
This line of thinking was immediately followed by a second thought as she bent over to rummage around the bottom drawer.
"Maybe I could make a run to the loo…" he thought.
He swallowed as his eyes roamed over her pale thighs, down to her bare feet and back up to those red panties.
Mary pulled out a small plastic container with an orange lid, set it on the dresser, then popped it open and started removing items one at a time: a spoon, a small plastic bottle of some clear liquid, what looked like coke in a baggie, a few cotton balls, alcohol swabs, a brown rubber hose, a metal needle, and a lighter. After laying them out side by side on the dresser, she looked over at Draco, an excited gleam in her eye. He stood up to get a closer look at what she'd placed down.
"What the fuck?" he thought.
"Alright, I give up, what is it?" Draco asked.
Mary snorted, a half-chuckle.
"Only heaven on earth," she said, "you cook it in the spoon and then you inject it."
"Inject," Draco replied, his brow furrowing, "what, into your blood?"
"That can't possibly be it," he thought.
She turned her arm out and he saw it, a tiny bruise on the inside of her elbow.
"Yeah, it's the best way," she said.
"Merlin's balls," he thought.
He shook his head slowly.
"What's it called?" he asked.
"Are we playing?" she asked with another familiar smirk.
He nodded.
"Heroin," she replied, licking her lips.
"And you put it in your blood," he asked.
Dirty blood.
She nodded.
"I know it might seem a little crazy at first, but trust me, it's better than anything, better than coke, better than E," she said, "I scored some for us, to use together."
Draco looked down at the equipment laid out in front of them and swallowed. Smoking up or snorting some powder was one thing, but this...
"And this'll make you feel better?" he asked.
She nodded.
"More than better. My turn. Do you trust me?" she asked.
Draco hesitated.
"Drake, it was the best…" she said, sighing, "the only thing I could think of was I had to share it with you."
Draco looked at her, studied her face. The swelling was gone, but the bruise still hadn't fully healed. Neither had her smile, as she forced the expression without it reaching her eyes.
"I already feel more like myself," she added, "come on, let's just try it together once, and if you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. I promise."
Draco blinked a few times, weighing his options. Mary seemed really into it and it was true, she was acting more like herself for the first time since she'd left the hospital, even if she was still a bit out of sorts.
"Only to be expected, she lost a child for Merlin's sake," he thought.
"Alright," Draco replied.
Mary's face broke into a victorious grin, a real one this time, and she started setting up, squirting the liquid from the bottle into the spoon, then tapping out some of the powder into it. A citrusy smell filled Draco's nostrils as he watched her work. Next came the lighter, as she held it under the spoon to help the powder dissolve.
"It's worth the wait," she said, the small flame reflected in her eyes as she glanced up at Draco.
It wasn't long before only liquid remained in the spoon. Mary placed the lighter back down on the table and picked up the syringe and one of the cotton balls. She peeled a small bit of cotton off and dropped it into the spoon, then carefully sucked up every drop of the solution through the makeshift filter. She held the needle up to the light of the lamp on the nightstand, flicking it a few times as she stared, mouth slightly open in concentration.
"You have to do this to get the bubbles out," she said, depressing the plunger a bit, then placing the syringe back down on the dresser.
"Here, put this around your bicep," she said, pulling his sleeve up, revealing the faded dark mark, and wrapped the rubber hose around his arm, then pulled it tight.
"Hold it here, make a fist, and flex your arm a few times," she said, demonstrating, and Draco numbly followed suit, bending his knees to place his elbow on the top of the dresser, and pulling the hose tight. His hand felt heavy as blood filled the limb, trapped by the hose.
Mary tapped the inside of his elbow, the same spot where her bruise was.
"Your blood's pure, you can't be muddying it up with this poison," a tiny voice said inside his head.
"You tap it to get a vein to pop up a little, makes it easier," she said.
She wiped a small patch of his skin down with one of the alcohol swabs, the liquid cold on his arm as it quickly evaporated. Mary went for the syringe next, the light of the lamp reflecting on the silver needle.
"Just hold still," she said, tip of her tongue out in concentration. The sharpened needle tip approached his elbow as she bent over, auburn hair partially obscuring his vision, holding his arm with one hand and the syringe with the other.
Something inside of him revolted at the thought of the metal piercing him, a visceral, guttural rejection, straight from his core.
"Fuck no," Draco said, jerking back just as the tip of the needle was about to hit the inside of his arm.
"No fucking way, Mary," he said again, ripping off the rubber hose and flexing his hand a few times as he shook his head.
"Drake, don't worry, it'll be fine," she said, her eyes convincing, still holding the syringe, "I swear."
Draco crossed his arms and took a half-step back.
"Mm-mm," he said, shaking his head, "nope."
"We can't just let it go now, we've already cooked it," she said, an ounce of frustration entering her voice.
"You can still do it," Draco said, "but there's no way that is going in my blood."
"Please, Drake?" she asked, brow furrowing, begging with her eyes.
Draco hesitated for a split-second.
"No," he said, shaking his head, "no, I can't."
Mary huffed and rolled her eyes.
"Fine," she said, ripping open another alcohol swab.
"Bloody waste," she muttered as she dragged it over the inside of her elbow, then gathered up the hose and wrapped it around her own arm, using her teeth to keep it tight. Flexing a few times, she tapped her arm and scooted to sit in the centre of the bed.
Draco watched half in fascination, half in horror as the needle broke her skin and she released the hose, a drop of blood spilling into the chamber before she depressed the plunger, forcing the liquid out and into her vein. She pushed it halfway down before stopping.
"Oh fuck," she said, exhaling in what Draco assumed was shock. She barely got the needle out of her arm before her eyes rolled back and she slowly, quietly, lay back onto the sheets.
Draco watched as she took a few shuddering breaths, then seemed to settle down into a completely unfocused state, half-lidded eyes blinking or a deep breath every now and then, but otherwise completely removed from reality.
"Mary?" he said. He tapped her foot, ice cold from the floor, and her only response was to mumble something incoherently. He lifted up one of her legs by the ankle and let it fall back to the bed, with almost no reaction from her.
"What the fuck," he thought, "thank Merlin I didn't inject myself with this shite."
He observed her for another moment or two as she hovered on the edge of unconsciousness.
"She's so out of it I could cast a contraceptive charm and she would never know," Draco thought.
When he found himself actually contemplating pulling off those red knickers and having sex with her while she lay there almost completely unresponsive, he mentally slapped himself.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he thought. He picked up the syringe, still half full, and placed it back on the dresser, then pulled out the film canister and snorted a quick bump. He shook his head as the coke brought focus to his thoughts, and Draco paused at the bedroom door to spare a glance back at Mary McKay, completely off in her own world, before he turned away, set the front door to lock when he closed it, and shut her in to start the long hike back to the Leaky.
Draco walked through the open doorway into Darren's shitty apartment, noting the small duffel bag propping it and preventing it from closing.
"Hello?" Draco said.
"In here mate," Darren's muffled voice came from down the hallway.
Draco followed the voice and, ignoring Mary's closed door, entered Darren's bedroom for the first time. Slightly larger than Mary's, blues and greens on the walls, carpet, and bedspread gave it almost an underwater feel. A large muscular man held a heavy black bag in both hands, lifting it up with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, while Darren stood on a chair attempting to loop a chain at the top of the bag through a hook in the ceiling.
"Got it," Darren said, then stepped down from the chair. The large man let the bag down slowly, letting it hang from the hook, then took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his trousers. Several tattoos adorned both of his arms, and only a quarter inch or so of dark hair covered his scalp and formed a goatee about his mouth.
"Bruno, this is Drake, I mentioned him earlier?" Darren said.
"Right, Mary's boyfriend," Bruno said, with only the barest hint of an Irish accent.
He held out a hand for Draco to shake, and Draco grasped his hand, then resisted the urge to wince in pain or flex his nearly crushed fingers afterwards. Bruno McKay stood slightly taller than Draco, but with massive biceps and rippling muscle beneath his thin white shirt.
"Just one more bag from the car, you two get acquainted, I'll be right back," Darren said, taking the chair with him as he departed.
Darren left the two of them in the room together and Draco and Bruno stared at each other for a very long moment.
"So what's this then?" Draco asked, nodding to the bag.
Bruno gave him a funny look, like Draco was a complete moron.
"Punching bag, for practice," he replied, "sometimes I don't have time to get down to the gym."
Draco nodded.
"You punch a lot of things then?" Draco asked.
"Sometimes," Bruno replied, "listen, I heard how you helped take care of the fuckers who put my sister in the hospital, so I don't think we're going to have a problem..."
Draco opened his mouth to say something but Bruno kept going.
"But just so we understand one another, if you hurt her, you'll be eating through a straw for three months," he said.
The pure, matter-of-fact way he said it made Draco certain this man was no stranger to violence.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied drily, "is she here now?"
"Sleeping," Bruno said as he started pulling articles of clothing from a suitcase on the bed and placing them into a dresser at the far side of the room.
Draco nodded.
A moment later, Darren returned, carrying a small suitcase in one hand and the black duffel bag that was holding open the front door. He hefted them onto the bed next to the larger suitcase.
"That's everything," he said, "dinner?"
"Yeah mate, I'm famished," Bruno said.
"Drake, pizza?" Darren asked, "Bruno's got his own special diet."
"Sure," Draco replied.
They headed to the kitchen where Draco took a seat while Darren busied himself unwrapping their dinner and manoeuvring it into the barely large enough microwave. Bruno started pulling out pots and pans with several loud clanks.
"When's the last time you cleaned the stovetop? It's bloody disgraceful," he said.
"I was saving it for you," Darren replied, pulling out a pipe and packing it with weed as the pizza slowly rotated.
Bruno muttered to himself as he set up a pot and a plate.
"Can I interest you in a welcome home toke?" Darren asked.
"No, and don't you dare light that up," Bruno said, glancing over his shoulder, "I don't need a pre-fight piss test coming back positive because you're stoned all the time."
Darren shrugged and put the pipe away.
"He takes his boxing seriously, thinks he's the next Steve Collins," Darren said quietly to Draco as Bruno set some chicken steaming.
"If you're gonna do something, do it right," Bruno replied.
"So have you spoken to Martin yet?" Darren asked, changing the subject.
Bruno glanced at Draco, then back to Darren, who nodded almost imperceptibly, as if to say 'he's alright'.
"Yeah, we had a few drinks last night," Bruno said, stirring the chicken a bit, "welcome back and all that, you know. Reckon he'll have a job for me soon enough."
Darren nodded. The microwave dinged, and he shuffled the now steaming, molten cheese and oily pepperoni covered meal to the table, where he and Draco tucked in. Bruno joined them a few minutes later, steaming white chicken loaded onto his plate.
"Dunno how you can eat it plain like that," Darren said in between reverse-blows on the too-hot pizza.
"Not everyone likes a shot of pure sodium to their veins for dinner, and I need the protein," Bruno replied, "try eating right sometime and stop smoking up, you'll feel a lot better."
Darren shook his head and snickered.
"It's good to have you back, mate," he said.
A chirping sound started, and Draco looked around for the source. Bruno pulled a small device from his pocket, opened it up, extended a small antenna, and held it to his ear.
"Hello? Yes. Yes, okay," Bruno said, "twenty minutes. Right, bye."
He folded it up again and placed it on the table, then continued eating.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Draco asked.
"That, was a mobile phone," Darren replied with a smirk, then glanced at Bruno.
"Drake's head is a bit funny, memory loss from an accident a few years ago, got a wicked scar from it too," Darren said.
Bruno grunted and kept shovelling food into his mouth.
"What, just like a regular phone, but with no wires, and it works anywhere?" Draco asked.
"Yeah, long as you can get a signal," Darren replied.
He looked back at Bruno.
"He want me there too?" Darren asked.
"Yeah," Bruno said, cramming the last of the chicken in, "let's go."
Darren picked up a slice of pizza to take with him.
"You staying here?" Bruno asked Draco.
"Might for a bit, keep an eye on Mary," Draco said. Bruno nodded.
"Take care of her," Bruno said, holding his gaze for a moment, then threw his coat over his shoulders.
Draco stood up and shook his hand again, then closed the front door behind them and cracked Mary's door open quietly. She lay sprawled out on the bed, the covers a complete mess, sleeping quietly, drug paraphernalia nowhere to be seen. Draco entered fully and watched her for several long minutes, captivated by the sound of her peaceful breathing and her chest rising and falling in time. He thought about waking her, but figuring she needed her rest if she was to recover, he left, closing the door quietly.
"I had it first!" the little blonde boy said. Charles, Draco thought his name was.
"It's mine!" the dark haired one, Michael, shouted, attempting to pull the toy dump truck away from Charles.
"Stop," Draco said half-heartedly, "let go."
The two started scuffling and eventually fell to the floor, the truck forgotten, and Draco, once again more stoned than was strictly advisable, thought it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. He started giggling as Michael started pulling on Charles' hair, followed by Charles clamping his teeth down on Michael's arm. The screaming intensified from there while Draco watched on, thoroughly amused.
Until Director Terry Macmillian swept in and forcibly pushed the kids apart. He glared at Draco.
"My office, now," he said as Steph arrived and led the two boys away, scolding them under her breath. She spared a glance back at Draco then turned to focus on the boys.
Draco's high evaporated almost immediately as he followed in Macmillian's wake. A lump of coal formed in his stomach as Draco sat down before the director's desk and studied the scratched brown and golden name plate in front of him, while Macmillian took his seat across and folded his hands on the desk.
"Why didn't you break up that fight?" Macmillian asked.
"I dunno," Draco replied, not making eye contact.
Macmillian eyed him appraisingly.
"Do I need to send you for a drug test?" he asked.
"Drug test?" Draco asked, looking up.
Macmillian shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"You don't know what that is? It means the muggles test your pee for illegal drugs," Macmillian replied.
Draco recalled something Bruno had mentioned the day before that hadn't made sense at the time.
"They can do that?" Draco asked.
"Yes, they can do that," Macmillian replied as if explaining to a young child, "there's a lot they can do, though it's merely a formality at this point since you've been coming here high as a kite for over two months now. Honestly, did you think I don't know what weed smells like? I lived through the 60's, Mr. Malfoy."
"What else does Macmillian know?" he thought.
Draco felt panic starting to rise at the thought Macmillian might know about the pregnancy or the coke, but he forced it back down and forced himself to think.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Draco asked.
"I wanted to see if you could snap yourself out of it, but it appears that's not going to happen," Macmillian said.
The director stood and walked to a filing cabinet, rifling through for a moment before pulling out a folder, placing it on his desk, leafing through, then scribbling a few notes.
"You're going to come in here, every week, and we're going to talk about your issues," Macmilian said.
"I don't have any issues," Draco said, "none that would make any sense to you anyway."
Macmillian closed the folder and stared at Draco for a moment.
"Mr. Malfoy, I've worked with teens for over twenty-five years," Macmillian said, "the oldest children in this orphanage are only a few months younger than yourself. As I was saying, you're going to come here every week and we're going to chat about your issues."
Draco made to speak again, but Macmillian raised the volume of his voice to forestall any interruption.
"We're going to chat about your issues, or we can end this community service today and I'll submit my final report three months early. I can send for the Aurors to come pick you up this afternoon," he said.
"No, you can't!" Draco said, panic rising again, unchecked this time.
"I most certainly can, and perhaps I should," Macmillian said, "you've broken the law and put innocent children in danger as a result."
"They're going to send me to Azkaban!" Draco said.
"Maybe that's where you belong!" Macmillian replied, almost glaring.
Draco's eyes darted about as he considered his options. His wand was in his coat pocket, in the hallway. He could make it there before Macmillian caught him, and then… then he could run. Perhaps find a way to Europe… Blaise was in Italy… But that would mean leaving Mother behind, and without him supplying her weed she might go back to potions and accidentally kill herself...
"Or, you can come here once a week to talk," Macmillian said.
Draco looked back to Macmillian and took a long steadying breath.
"I guess I'd better come talk then," he said, not really seeing any other options.
Macmillian nodded, then stayed silent.
"What, right now?" Draco asked.
"No time like the present," Macmillian replied, leaning back in his seat.
Draco let out a half-chuckle. Where to even begin?
"Why were you reeking of weed today?" Macmillian asked.
Draco almost laughed again and glanced around the room, but there was no way out. He had to go through with this or Macmillian was going to send him to the dementors. He sighed and started peeling some dead skin off a knuckle, then forced himself to stop when he realized what he was doing.
"You wouldn't understand," Draco replied, still glancing around the room.
"Wouldn't understand what?" Macmillian asked.
"I smoke because I need to, because otherwise I'll be reminded every day about how shit my life is," Draco replied, now looking the director dead in the eye, "you wouldn't understand, because House Malfoy used to be the most powerful family in Britain, and now I can't even get served at a restaurant. My wand was broken by muggles…"
Draco cut himself off and looked away before he got in even more trouble.
"I wouldn't understand the loss of status because I'm older than you?" Macmillian asked, "or I wouldn't understand loss of magic because I'm a squib?"
Draco grimaced at the term. Calling someone a squib was thought to be offensive to them, even if it was a true description of their magical ability.
"I can't possibly know what it's like to be you, to have no magic because your wand was destroyed, because I never had any to begin with, right?" Macmillian said, "Don't forget who I am, Mr. Malfoy. The Macmillian family is also one of the sacred twenty-eight. So when you say I wouldn't understand, you're going to need to be a bit more specific, because perhaps you meant to say I can't possibly know anything about a difficult life, despite being tossed out, at the age of twelve, into a world I knew nothing about. I don't know anything about having to learn about the muggle world all on my own, starting from zero, or about building myself up through trial and error, with no money, no family, no friends, no skills. About founding a business and a service and keeping it going for decades. Perhaps you're trying to say you're the only one who's ever experienced trials in his life. Because what the hell do I know? I'm just a squib."
Draco looked back to the director with a sullen expression. He knew it was insolent, but when Macmillian put it that way, it was all the more impressive to Draco what he'd built, and his own inadequacy loomed large in comparison. The orphanage had probably helped hundreds, if not thousands, of otherwise vulnerable and helpless children over the decades, when no one else would help them. Knowing what Macmillian had accomplished, all without magic, only made Draco feel worse about himself and he stewed in his misfortune.
"Your piles of gold aren't as big as they used to be, boo hoo," Macmillian added while Draco reflected, "you don't have skills? You don't have talent?"
"Aren't you a Malfoy? Shouldn't you rise to the top regardless of your circumstance?" Macmillian asked, "that's what my father told me, at least before he cast me out and pretended I'd never existed."
"It's bloody impossible," Draco said finally, raising his voice, "they broke my wand, my magic will never be as strong as it should be."
Macmillian frowned.
"Yes, your wand was destroyed," Macmillian said, "but then again, that wand landed you here, didn't it? This could be a chance at a fresh start, if you tried opening your eyes a little bit. Yes, it was the wand you learned magic with, but is there anything you did with that wand that you're not proud of?"
Draco's thoughts automatically went to the days he spent repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, cursing the necklace that injured Katie Bell, using it to cast the Imperius on Madam Rosmerta, using it to torture Rowle.
"Draco, start by talking, about anything," Macmillian said, "whatever we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence. It's one of the oaths we take as counsellors."
He gestured to the certifications mounted on the wall behind him.
"Talking can help," he added.
Draco looked up at Macmillian again at those words, words that Mary had echoed to him, he now knew. Mary. Would she care if he died or vanished from her life forever?
"Who am I trying to kid, she'd be crushed," Draco thought.
Draco started talking then.
"It all started at Madam Malkin's, err, a clothing shop in Diagon Alley, that's when I first met Harry bloody Potter, though I didn't know it was him at the time," Draco started.
Once he began, the words started tumbling out. Over the next few hours, Draco laid out a summary of highlights and lowlights from his Hogwarts years and the role he'd played in the second wizarding war, the horrors of hosting Lord Voldemort, especially when not in his good graces, in bringing about Dumbledore's defeat, watching his crazy aunt torture his former classmate, how Harry bloody Potter saved his life, twice, once in the room of Requirement where Vince died and once at his trial, and how ultimately the Ministry confiscated almost everything they owned. Through it all, Macmillian barely spoke a word, nodding at certain parts, but otherwise remaining almost entirely silent.
"And that's how I ended up here," Draco said, choosing to omit the parts about how he was now selling off furnishings to feed his cocaine habit.
"That's… an almost unbelievable story, you're lucky to be alive," Macmillian said, "In my estimation, you've definitely experienced major trauma. The first thing you need to understand, Draco, is that none of this is your fault."
What the…
"It is though, didn't you hear a single word I said?" Draco said, gesturing forcefully with one hand.
Macmillian shook his head.
"You made mistakes, yes, but what you need to understand, what you need to accept, before you can begin to heal, is although you bear some responsibility for your actions, at the end of the day, you were a child," Macmillian said, holding up his hand as Draco started to interrupt.
"A child, during a war, doing the best you could with the tools you had. I've helped children of war in the past. I can try to help you. But it will only work if you're willing to try and help yourself. You need to take an honest look in the mirror and make that decision, and really mean it," Macmillian said.
Draco nodded, his voice hoarse from talking so much.
"And you need to find a way to stop the drugs, they'll only weaken you, dull your mind, ruin your judgement, and make you dependent on them," Macmillian said, "they'll destroy your finances, your relationships, and then your life, I've seen it happen, more times than I'd care to count."
Draco nodded again.
"We'll see about that," he thought as his mind rebelled against forsaking the coke.
"It's well past lights out, so, I'll see you tomorrow," Macmillian said, standing up, "I look forward to our meeting next week. Think about what I've said."
Draco also stood, his legs stiff from sitting for so long.
"Thank you sir," he said, feeling like he needed to say something for the second chance he was being given. He shook Macmillian's hand and saw himself out of the deserted first floor, the bulge of the wand in his jacket pocket more comforting than he remembered as he slipped on the outer garment. He shifted it from the inside pocket to the exterior and kept his hand on it as he walked the streets of London. Groups of muggles wandered about and a sense of revelry permeated the air, breaths visible in the frigid night as they laughed and talked and drank.
"Of course, New Years'," Draco thought.
At least it would be easier to avoid getting mugged with more people on the streets, so long as he kept his wits about him. The first thing he did was duck into a pub and snort a pair of bumps in the loo, then it was back out into the cold.
Now that he thought about it, Macmillian's office was the first time he'd told his whole story to anyone. Everyone and anyone he could think of in the wizarding world either saw him as a traitor, a Death Eater, or was his friend and he definitely wasn't going to open himself up like that to Theo or Blaise. Macmillian was probably the one person he could tell his story to. As a squib, he knew about the wizarding world, yet didn't have contact with nearly anyone there, and he didn't have any preconceived notions.
Draco felt tired, drained, as if he'd just played a four-hour quidditch match and hadn't won. Oddly enough, it didn't feel like he'd lost, either. His thoughts returned to the canister in his pocket as he turned it over in his fingers. Draco's first reaction was there was no way on Gaia's green earth he was going to give up the coke, but he considered his situation again, this time with a clearer head, ironically enough from the hit he'd just sniffed.
"It's illegal, and Macmillian could have demanded a test, and I would have been caught for sure," Draco thought, "hell, that's why I have no choice but to sit in those weekly sessions now." The idea of allowing anyone that much leverage over him was antithetical to his entire being.
"In fact, in retrospect, I'm fortunate it was someone as benevolent as Macmillian," he thought.
"What if someone else finds out, tries to blackmail me?" he thought, "it's not like I've been trying very hard to keep it quiet."
He shuddered as he thought of what Brandon Clark, his probation officer, would do upon discovering his secret.
"Plus it's expensive," Draco thought. He did some quick calculations, and figured he only had enough furniture to last another month or two at the rate he was burning through it.
"And then what? I'll have to stop eventually anyway, or find a way to make money," he thought.
Out of everything Macmillian said, one thing stood out to Draco. He was a Malfoy. His father drilled into him that they were above other wizarding families, that even if their fortunes were exchanged with the Weasley's, for example, after only a generation or two, the Malfoys would be back on top and the gingers would be borderline destitute again.
His thoughts turned to Terry Boot, the half-blood who'd swept up his former betrothed, Astoria.
"Is he really better than me?" Draco thought, his mind nearly choking on the thought. He rejected the notion with everything he was.
"I was second in our class, and there wasn't even another Gryffindor in the top ten," Draco thought, "him and his fucking Tilworth and Jones apprenticeship."
Whereas at the rugby game, meeting Boot and Astoria caused him to wallow in his unfortunate circumstances, tonight, the injustice made him want to do something about it, to right the wrongs that had been stacked up on his shoulders. Something started bubbling deep within, and it spread to fill his entire being.
"Mother was right, I'm the son of a Black and a Malfoy, and I'll be damned if some no-name middling half-blood gets the last laugh on me," he thought.
Embers of competitiveness kindled and ignited, threatening to grow into a conflagration.
"I'll show bloody Boot, and Astoria, and the whole bloody world, that they can knock the House of Malfoy down, but they can't keep us down, because I'll damn well build it right back up again," he thought, "I just need to figure out a way to do it."
He fingered the canister again; he wasn't convinced on the coke. It brought him focus. It kept him awake and made him alert. But it was insistent. Even now, he could feel the urge to do a full line, maybe two. He growled at his dilemma. Deep down he knew it was the coke pulling his strings, demanding he snort more.
"Does that matter?" he thought.
A fire engine blared towards him, seemingly dozens of red and white lights lighting up the night, racing up the street in the opposite direction and passing into the distance.
He knew someone who would have the answers he needed. He made a right turn down a street which would lead him back to Mary's.
A half-hour later, he buzzed the intercom.
"Yeah," Mary answered, after a moment, to Draco's relief.
"It's me," Draco replied.
The door buzzed and he made his way up to the apartment.
"Shh," Mary said as she opened the door, "Bruno's sleeping."
Draco nodded as he entered. Only the kitchen light was on, leaving the living room dim except for the glow of the tele. While Mary's bruises had almost fully healed, the glare of the television made the circles under her eyes seem even more pronounced.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Mary nodded.
"Fine, just recovering. Where were you?" Mary asked, sitting down on the couch and picking up a mug in both hands.
"Talking to Macmillian," Draco replied, sitting down next to her and running his hands through his hair, "he called me out for being fucked up while watching the kids."
"Shit," Mary replied, "what's that mean?"
"He's making me go talk to him once a week until the end of the probation," Draco replied.
"Oh. That's not so bad, I thought he might turn you over to the police or something," Mary said.
"That's what he'll do if I don't go," Draco said, "and if I mess up again, I suppose."
"Hmm," Mary said, taking a sip of the steaming liquid, "don't get caught."
They watched a programme about a new year's party for a few minutes, the live music distracting them from their conversation. Draco found that he couldn't care less about what the hosts were blabbering about. Mary leaned into him and he found himself welcoming her comforting warmth into his side.
"Why's Bruno sleeping, shouldn't he be out at a party or something?" Draco asked.
"He's getting up early tomorrow to run," Mary replied with a roll of her eyes.
"Okay," Draco replied, not wanting to get side-tracked, "listen I wanted to ask about the drugs."
Mary's eyebrows came together as she sat up.
"What about them?" she asked.
"Macmillian said something, about how they could kill you," he said, "is that true?"
Mary almost replied immediately, then caught herself.
"Too much of anything can kill you, even water," she said, "though I never heard of anyone dying from weed. But coke? Yeah, I guess, if you take too much at once, it'll, I dunno, do bad things to you, maybe you'll have a heart attack or something."
"What? Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?" he thought, then almost immediately the answer came to him. He paid Darren a shit ton of money every month, why would he caution him against paying him more? Mary shared with him, and if he stopped, she'd be stopping too.
Draco felt himself about to explode in anger. Mary put a finger to her lips, reminding him to be quiet.
"It's probably common bloody knowledge here," Draco thought, again cursing his lack of basic awareness in muggle matters.
"You didn't know? Don't worry, it doesn't matter, that won't happen to us," Mary said, putting a hand on his chest, "we're drug users, not drug abusers, we know our limits."
It took a moment for Draco to realize what she was saying. If there was a distinction, he wasn't entirely certain of her assertion that they landed on the desired side of that particular fence.
"Actually, all this talk is making me antsy. Fancy doing a couple lines?" Mary asked with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.
"YES!" his body screamed at him.
Draco shook his head, he needed to distract her.
"Haven't got any," he lied, "though it is New Years', maybe we could, you know, have sex instead."
Mary made a 'pfft' sound, blowing a bit of hair up and out of her face.
"You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet," she said.
"That a no?" Draco asked.
Mary smirked at him and shook her head.
"It's not a no," she said, "we'll have to be quiet though."
Draco nodded.
"Just let me run to the loo first," he said.
She nodded and turned off the telly, then walked to the bedroom with a suggestive sway of her hips as Draco watched her go. She left the door ajar and Draco retreated and locked himself in the bathroom. He pulled out the film canister and popped the lid off, staring down into the full ounce of blessed white powder. Even now, he wanted to cram his nose into it and snort the whole thing.
"It's only a matter of time," he realized, "eventually you're going to mess up, take too much, or you're going to have to take that muggle pee test, and that'll be the end of it. And what, are you going to keep coming out here after the probation is done?"
He realized he'd have to do exactly that if he wanted to keep using it. Keep coming into muggle London.
"What are you going to do after the probation is done, assuming you even make it through, say goodbye to Mary forever?" he thought, then shook his head, "forget it, you can worry about that later."
Draco pulled out his wand and considered vanishing the entire container, then he decided it would be better to see the coke destroyed, rather than vanished. He hit himself with a contraceptive charm instead and stowed the wand.
Draco lifted the toilet lid and started tapping out the cocaine, some of the fine powder collecting on the surface of the water. He knew he made the right choice when the urge to scoop it off the surface of the ruddy toilet bowl water and snort it hit him. He flushed. A muffled countdown started in the apartment above, ending in cheers and song as the last of the cocaine washed down the drain.
"Fitting," he thought, staring at his own bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils as he rinsed out the film canister in the sink, "new year, new beginning."
Chapter 19 Trigger Warning: Violence, driving under the influence, drug abuse