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

30. Chapter 30

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 30

Draco stood still as steady rain pattered against his black umbrella. Despite the heavy drizzle, bicycles weaved between bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic amidst car horns and the sound of squeaking lorry brakes. He glanced back at the orphanage looming behind the closed iron gate, then ran his hand over the lumpy backpack slung awkwardly under his shoulder for the third time in five minutes to reassure himself its contents were still intact. He pulled the straps tighter about his arms for additional safety. A week ago, he'd met Michael Baker at a coffee shop and somehow managed to get himself invited to dinner at his house, though he suspected it had more to do with the rugby player wanting to show off a new grill than anything else. Now, he waited in the waning light for either Michael's car to show up, or for Pam to emerge from the orphanage. He shifted uncomfortably, touched the bag again, and resisted the urge to open it and check the bottles stashed within. Pam arrived first; her statuesque frame unmistakable even though her face was obscured by a light blue brolly.

"Hi Drake," she said as she approached beneath the large blue umbrella, "how've you been?"

"Doing well," Draco replied, "how are the kids? How's Callie?"

"Same as always," Pam replied as she closed the gate behind her, "I don't see Callie much, but I haven't heard anything alarming."

Draco nodded. A horn beeped from up the road, and through raindrops illuminated by scores of headlights, Draco spotted Michael's silver Porsche, stuck in traffic. Pam led the way and opened the door then pulled the seat forward. Draco got the hint and quickly ducked into the back, folding his umbrella as he went.

"No rear doors on this one," he thought as he struggled to find a comfortable position for his legs in the cramped rear seat. Pam sat down, closed the door, and leaned over to give Michael a peck on the cheek.

A rather loud song featuring an electric guitar reverberated from the car's sound system as they fought the sea of red brake lights in front of them, and it wasn't until they hit the dual carriageway that Michael floored the accelerator, the roar of the engine drowning out the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

"It has some jump, not as much as Darren's modified car, but still," Draco thought.

They talked about the weather for a few minutes until Michael switched to football and cricket clubs and their chances, and Draco had no idea how to even begin to respond. Luckily, Pam picked up the slack and Draco stared out of the window at the lightening drizzle as husband and wife chatted. They reached the suburbs as the sun set and pulled into a residential neighbourhood of rows upon rows of similar looking grey semi-detached houses. Michael steered them deftly into a parking spot and switched off the engine, the low rumbling dying as he pulled the keys. The rain had stopped but the pavement was still wet as Draco followed them into a small and cosy place with a kitchen to his right, carpeted steps disappearingup to his left, and a den straight ahead with a sliding glass door that led to a small patio in the rear. A large television sat in one corner of the den, and an empty glass aquarium lay on top of a table against the far wall. An open wall between the kitchen and the den allowed for plates to be passed back and forth, and several stools crowded beneath so people could eat right there, rather than at the table. Michael flicked on some lights and set his keys down.

"I'm going to smoke a bowl; do you want some?" Pam asked Draco as she climbed the stairs.

"I'm sorry, what?" Draco asked.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, amusement in her voice as she rounded the corner.

"She smokes?" Draco asked Michael.

"Yeap, usually to unwind after work," Michael said as he flicked on the telly.

The rugby player puttered around the kitchen for a minute then laid a trio of slabs of meat on the chopping board.

"Ever grilled a proper steak before?" he asked.

"Can't say that I have," Draco replied, still completely gobsmacked that perfect Pam Baker regularly got high; he had had no idea.

"Watch and learn," Michael said. The rugby player pulled out a few small shakers, and the aroma of spices filled the air as he took turns rubbing salt and a few ground peppers into both sides of the meat, and let them 'breathe'. All the while, talking heads on the telly went through the day's sports, showing highlights and interesting plays, while they conducted post-game reviews and analyses.

"The trick is to let the peppers seep into the meat," Michael said. He rinsed his hands in the sink then led Draco out into the back yard, where the temperature had already dropped significantly. It was a small space, maybe three metres by four metres square. The barbeque, a squat black contraption with a white tank beneath it, sat on a wheeled frame on the grass near the door.

"Going to get good use out of this over summer," Michael said as he flicked on a light switch to illuminate the garden. He turned a knob on the grill that started a hissing sound, then pressed an ignition button that caused flames to spring into existence with a clack and a low whoosh. Draco immediately felt the heat radiating from it, and took a step back.

"We'll let that warm up a bit," Michael said as he closed the lid. The rain that had collected on top was already starting to evaporate as they returned indoors. Michael sat on the couch and focused on the sports analysis program. Draco found he was actually able to follow the commentary about a late blooming football star, and thought he recognized a few of the other football players as well. When a commercial break hit, he saw his opportunity.

"What's the doctor say about your knee?" Draco asked, nodding towards the brace.

Michael grimaced.

"Maybe another six to eight weeks," he replied, "I was hoping to get back for the end of the season and playoffs, but now… now that's probably a long shot."

He frowned, got up from the couch, and walked to the kitchen.

"How about a beer?" he asked.

"Actually, do you have anything stronger?" Draco said. Michael raised an eyebrow, then produced a glass bottle of amber liquid from a cabinet: whiskey. Draco nodded with a grin, and Michael dropped ice cubes into two glasses, followed by a measure for each of them.

They clinked glasses and took a swig.

"It's a shit situation, actually," Michael said, "I thought I had one more season in me, but the way things are going…"

He trailed off, but before Draco could respond, Pam returned with a glass bong and a lighter.

"Let's get these steaks on the grill," Michael said, immediately perking up. Draco helped carry a plate out, and made sure to bring the whiskey with him, while Pam got set up at a small metal table and wiped down the matching chairs with a hand towel. She flicked the lighter and took a hit first, then offered to him, and Draco nodded his thanks.

"And after all that talk about not coming to work stoned," Draco said. He inhaled through the bubbles.

Pam smirked as she reached for the bong.

"I never do; be pretty stupid to risk getting sacked, don't you think?" she said.

Michael laid the steaks on the grill, and within a few minutes of sizzling, the scent of seasoned meat reached Draco's nostrils and his mouth started watering; it smelled glorious.

"You only want to flip them once," Michael said as he wielded a pair of metal tongs, "still haven't got the timing quite right, but that won't stop me from trying. How well do you want it?"

"The usual," Pam replied.

"Medium rare," Draco said.

"Good man," Michael said, "Pam likes hers burnt, which tells you something about her taste."

"Love you babe," Pam said.

"And that's her saying, 'I married you, wanker," Michael said.

Draco smirked as Pam blew Michael a kiss.

"I'm going to fry the scallops," she said as she stood up.

She took the bong back into the house and the rugby player transferred two steaks to plates, but left the third on for considerably longer. While it was cooking, Draco's mind filed away that Pam smoked regularly, and whirred with how he could broach the topic of getting Michael to accept the potion and try it. He decided he needed reinforcements and poured some more whiskey into Michael's glass.

By the time Pam's steak was 'done' according to Michael, the sky had gone completely dark and Draco had started to shiver, but the cold had him and Michael both drinking, and Draco currently had a strong buzz going. They re-entered the house to find Pam in the kitchen, scallops sizzling in a frying pan.

Draco poured some more into both his and Michael's glasses and clinked them again to get him to drink some more to loosen him up.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something," Draco said quietly, "I think there's a way you could get your knee fixed up and be ready to play again."

"Ready? I'm starving," Pam said loudly from the kitchen before Michael could respond. She brought the whole pan over and deposited some of the fried molluscs onto their plates next to the steaks. Then she returned with a bottle of red wine and poured herself a half-glass.

"Too bad I have work tomorrow, otherwise this would be at least a glass and a half," she said, "how've you been, Drake?"

"Fine. School, you know, and a few other things, trying to keep busy," Draco replied. He sliced off a small cut and bit into the steak, and flavour flooded his mouth; Michael and Pam apparently both knew what they were doing when it came to cooking. They chatted about nothing, the weather, politics, plans for the summer assuming Michael couldn't get back to playing, and Draco grew increasingly annoyed as he desperately wanted to get back to making a deal with Michael. Finally, Pam excused herself to go to the loo, and Michael started clearing plates. Draco stood up to help him.

"What if there was a way to cure your knee," Draco said, "interested?"

"Mate, what are you on about?" Michael replied dismissively.

Draco followed him to the kitchen.

"I'm saying I have something the government uses on their soldiers, the elite ones, to help them heal up after being wounded," Draco said as he deposited the dirty dishes and utensils in the sink, "have it here with me now."

"Use that to dry them," Michael said as he motioned to a towel sitting on a plastic dish rack.

"If there was a legal way to fix it, I'm pretty sure my doc would have tried it. Now I don't know you, and I don't know what you're pushing-" Michael said.

"It's not illegal, if that's what you're worried about. It's government stuff," Draco said, "expensive."

Michael laughed as he scrubbed.

"I knew it, how much are you charging for this 'miracle cure'?" he asked.

"Nothing up front," Draco said, "ten percent of your future contracts and sport related endorsements, if you get to play after taking it."

The rugby player paused; he obviously hadn't been expecting something like that, and Draco tried to press his advantage.

"Your contract is up this year," Draco said quietly, "If you're not back on the pitch by the end of the season, it's retirement for you, isn't it? What's next, kids? Kids are expensive, and you're going to want a bigger place than this. What would it mean if you could play another two, three, four seasons? What if you had a late career renaissance like that bloke we just saw on the telly, what would that mean for your future?"

The door to the loo opened.

"The both of you," Draco added quietly.

"What's going on?" Pam asked.

"Nothing," Michael replied, "was just asking Drake if he had a ride home."

"Dammit," Draco thought.

"Err, I can call a taxi," Draco said.

"That's ridiculous, why don't you stay in the guest bedroom; we'll drive you back tomorrow morning," Pam said.

"If you're sure it's not an imposition," Draco said.

Pam waved her hand as if to say 'no big deal'.

"Relax, I'll make up the bed later," she said.

They moved into the den and Michael turned down the lights and put on a film, something about Italian gangsters in America. Draco couldn't really follow everything, but he got the gist, especially the parts about the coke. Pam made them martinis and by the end of the movie, the room had a healthy spin to it when Draco stood up to use the loo. After the film ended, Pam went to bed, saying she had to be at the orphanage in the morning, and Draco and Michael sat down at the kitchen table with the remaining whiskey and set about finishing it.

"Alright," Michael said after a few more glasses, "how's it work?"

Draco grinned internally as he carefully withdrew the corked potion out of his bag.

"Drink this, at least a full sip, every day for a week," he said, "then go try some training and see your doctor."

"That's it?" Michael asked, turning over the small bottle in his large hands.

"That's it," Draco said. Truthfully, just one dose would probably be enough to fix up Michael Baker's knee, but Draco had to make it seem more realistic by muggle standards.

"What's in it?" Michael asked.

"Not sure, but it works," Draco said, "used it myself after I got mugged last year. Couldn't put any weight on my leg at all, and then after a day or two of using that, I was fine."

"No shit," Michael said, "where'd you get it?"

Draco snorted.

"Do we have a deal?" Draco asked.

Michael continued looking at the bottle.

"What have you got to lose?" Draco asked.

Michael nodded, then reached over to shake Draco's hand.

---

"Tilbury," Darren's voice said from the muggle phone sitting on the drawing room table. Holding it against his ear while talking gave Draco a headache, but he'd found a useful function that allowed him to set it down and still talk.

"Tilbury, how the fuck am I supposed to get it there?" Draco asked.

"Well maybe if you told me where you are, I could help you out," Darren said.

Draco stayed silent.

"Suit yourself," Darren said, "I'll give you the exact address later."

The line went dead.

Tilbury. It wasn't anywhere near the usual entrances to the muggle world, and the amount of weed he was supposed to bring would be almost impossible to carry on his own without magic.

"I suppose I could shrink it and then enlarge it there, wherever I'm supposed to bring it," Draco thought, "but what if they're already there?"

Maybe he could arrive early? He tapped his finger on the table as he thought, then glanced up at the portrait of his great-grandfather Septimus, glaring down at him. He ignored his ancestor and set the problem of transporting bags full of weed to the muggle world aside for the moment; he needed to get back to Hogwarts before curfew.

"Hogs Head Inn," he said as he stepped into the green flames.

He spent the walk up to the castle pondering his numerous problems, and fell asleep without having solved any of them.

Early the following morning, Draco's wand buzzed, rousing him from slumber. His still groggy brain went through the motions of pulling on his jogging outfit and tying his trainers.

"Once I get outside, it'll be fine," he thought as he blearily stumbled through the corridor to the common room.

Unfortunately, someone was already there, and they stood up when he entered. A short someone. He reluctantly engaged his mind and forced it to wake up further. He squinted in the gloom and identified a pale faced dark haired girl, maybe third or fourth year.

"Hi, are you Draco Malfoy?" she asked, "can I train with you?"

"Do whatever you want," Draco replied, his voice scratchy from having just woken up. He rubbed his face with one hand; he'd forgotten to shave. He exited into the dungeons and made for the stairs.

"My name is Esther," the dark-haired girl said as she trotted to keep up with his longer stride.

Draco grunted.

"I'm the Slytherin seeker," she said.

"So?" Draco replied.

"So, you were seeker for years, and we're absolutely atrocious this year," she said.

"Not my problem," Draco said.

They arrived at the entrance to the castle, and Draco set off at an easy pace into the pre-dawn gloom without warning. Dew quickly soaked his trainers, but he didn't care. Esther sprinted to catch up and then fell into step next to him beneath the barely lightening sky.

"Please, come join the team again, I'll even give up my spot so you can have yours back," she said.

"No," Draco said. He increased his pace as he ran towards the Black Lake, and he heard Esther's breathing become laboured, and then she fell behind him.

"Finally, peace and quiet," he thought. He ran through the dawn and turned back to the castle, only to groan when he spotted Esther waiting for him, sitting on the steps leading up to the massive double doors. He almost turned around, but he had classes to attend, and shower and breakfast before that. Instead, he tried to ignore her has he passed by, but she was undeterred.

"If you're not going to rejoin the team, at least give me some advice," she said.

"Bloody hell girl," Draco said as he wiped his brow, "if I help you, will you leave me alone?"

"Only after you come to a practise session," Esther said.

Draco growled. He couldn't hex her; that would get him in trouble with McGonagall.

"I suppose attending one practice session as a spectator won't hurt; I can work out the potions formulae just as well outdoors as well as indoors. Plus, the weather is definitely improving," he thought as he glanced at the pristine, azure sky.

"Fine," Draco said, "now go away."

"Wednesday after classes," Esther said as she made a fist pump, "see you there!"

She walked off towards the Great Hall with a spring in her step, no doubt for an early breakfast, while Draco returned to his dorm to shower and change first.

Two days later, he found himself sitting alone in the quidditch stands as the Slytherin team went through their drills. This high up, the chill Scotland wind whipped his hair and robes, and forced him to use a warming charm despite the bright afternoon sun. Draco watched the team for about ten minutes in between working out potions formulae before he decided he'd seen enough, and devoted the rest of the session to determining whether he could reduce the ginger root for wit-sharpening potion to save on ingredients. He shifted his cane, used as a makeshift paperweight, and rolled up the parchment to stuff it into his mokeskin pouch, only to realise practice had ended. Draco took the wooden steps back down to the pitch and spotted Esther, already changed back into robes, walking towards him.

"So, any advice?" she called once she was within earshot.

"The entire team is absolute shite," Draco replied.

"I know, are there any drills we could work on-" Esther said.

Draco shook his head.

"Forget it, drills are a lost cause," he said.

"That bad?" Esther asked, "Think we could win even one match this year?"

"Well, the only halfway decent flyer is you," Draco said, "Your chasers are shit, your beaters can't swing a bat without losing their balance, and your keeper is actually a reserve chaser. Your only hope is to slow the game down to a bloody crawl; play keep away. Get the quaffle to your fastest chaser and don't even try to score or attack with bludgers. Just keep possession of all the balls if you can, defend whoever has the quaffle, and that will give you a chance to catch the snitch before the other team scores one hundred and fifty points."

Esther looked almost offended at the brutally honest assessment of their house team, but somewhat mollified at being described as the best flyer of the lot.

"She asked for advice, don't know what she's so upset about," Draco thought.

"Any chance you could tell that to our captain?" she asked.

Draco scoffed.

"You're on your own there, I've already more involved than I wanted," he said as he started walking back to the castle. He half expected her to follow him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he spotted her in the distance, alone on the quidditch pitch.

He managed to avoid any further unnecessary social encounters until Friday afternoon, just after his last class of the day. His thoughts filled with the various tasks he had to take care of in the next two days, and he found himself very much looking forward to an evening or two with Mary. Aside from having not gotten laid in some time, he also wanted to see how his coacto was holding up and whether she'd been able to resist her cravings for the week. He let his feet guide him along the familiar corridors, his mind somewhere else entirely, when a warm sticky substance splattered across his back and neck. Draco spun and thrust his cane out, too late, and of course didn't see whoever had thrown whatever it was. A hissing sound came to his ears, and his robe started loosening.

"Shit, it's dissolving my clothes!" he thought.

He dropped his outer robes right there but enough of the sludge had penetrated through and splattered down that he didn't have much time. Draco broke into a run past the snickering students and barrelled through the common room door, just barely holding what remained of his trousers up with one hand as they rapidly disintegrated. Most of the Slytherin students raised an eyebrow or sniggered, but as he ran to the dorms, he spotted Astoria pointing and laughing out loud.

He slammed the dormitory door shut, discarded what remained of his clothing onto the stone floor, then vanished them and whatever cloth dissolving sludge was on them. Not even his shoes had been spared; he'd have to wear the muggle trainers until he bought new ones, but thank Merlin the mokeskin pouch and leather glove had escaped unscathed.

"Another bloody expense, I swear if I ever find out who did this…" he thought, but almost immediately he knew it was futile. Plenty of students in all four houses had a reason to take a shot at him, and he was already on probation with McGonagall. He tried to shove the image and sound of Astoria laughing at him away, but only partially succeeded.

"I'll show her," he thought as he grit his teeth and swallowed his pride yet again, "I'll show them all."

An uncontrollable shiver reminded him of the chill of the dorm and he reached for his trunk, only to pause and douse himself with an aguamenti to wash off any remnants of the sludge before picking out muggle clothing to wear under a spare set of work robes. On his way back through of the common room, he spotted a notice on the board.

'Worried about being ambushed between classes? Sign up for our free escort service!'

Draco pulled the flyer down, folded it, and shoved it into his pocket. He was loathe to admit he needed help from anyone, but he definitely couldn't afford to continue losing clothing and having to purchase more. Draco ignored the quiet snickering as he passed through the Slytherin exit again on his way out of the castle. He kept his wits about him this time, ready to counter any additional ambushes, but nothing happened. The unsettled feeling of potentially coming under attack persisted as he apparated from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley, just outside the Leaky. Draco walked through the bar and, on a whim, peeked out through the dirty window to see the street beyond, and he had to do a double take. Across the street, leaning against a street lamp, bleach blond hair clearly lit in the dying sunlight, stood Mack Quaid.

"What the fuck?" Draco muttered as he watched Quaid for a few minutes. Every now and then, the drug dealer's eyes wandered past where the Leaky Cauldron stood. Draco knew the muggle repelling charms would keep him from seeing the place, but he clearly knew something was there.

"Careful, there's been muggles standing around all day," Tom the barkeep said.

"Thanks for the tip," Draco replied quietly, all his attention still on Quaid as his eyes swept past the street again.

"I can't go out there," Draco thought, "there's only one person Quaid would be waiting for here. How the fuck did he find… hang on."

"You said muggles? As in more than one?" Draco asked.

"Yep, almost like they're taking it in shifts," Tom replied, "if they keep it up, I'll have to call the obliviators."

"Right, better safe than sorry," Draco said.

One thing was certain, he was going to have to be far more careful in how he came and went to muggle London. He exited back to Diagon and considered his options. The nearest entrance to the muggle world that he knew of was St. Mungo's, but it was definitely too far to walk from there to Mary's flat. He considered apparating, but he knew Mary sometimes spent time on the roof to be alone, and who knew how many other muggles did the same thing.

"Muggles manage the Tube every day," he thought, "it can't be that difficult."

He floo'd to St. Mungo's reception and ignored a wizard who had somehow transfigured his hands into feet and vice-versa while another groaned in pain, a watermelon sized bulge straining the seams of his trousers.

"Biggus dickus charm…? Did he actually believe it would work?" Draco thought as he shook his head.

He exited into a closed muggle department store and stopped by the glass doors to check the street first. Noting only muggles rushing wherever they needed to be, he quietly exited and slipped into the crowd. Twenty minutes and two stops for directions later, Draco finally managed to find a Tube entrance. He struggled with the ticket machine for a few minutes as he realised he didn't know which stop was closest to Mary's flat, then he was waiting for a train, switching platforms, and waiting some more as the stops went by and the muggles crowded around him.

The fact several muggles had taken shifts watching the Leaky Cauldron only meant one thing.

"They must have followed me there, and were waiting for me to come out, because they know I'll be by to visit Mary today… they're trying to figure out where I go," he thought, "but why?"

By the time he climbed the steps to get out, the sky had grown fully dark. He had to find out how serious things were. Once clear of the Underground, he orientated himself quickly thanks to the many walks he'd taken with Mary, and pulled out his mobile phone to call Darren.

"Hello?" Darren asked.

"If you wanted to know more about me, you could have asked," Draco said.

"I don't know what you're-"

"Cut the shit, Darren, I saw Quaid waiting, and I know people have been taking turns watching that little stretch of road," Draco said.

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line.

"Okay look, Martin told us the address on your driver's license was bullshite, and he asked us, very politely I might add, to find out where you live," Darren said.

Shit.

"Why? …how serious is this? Is the deal still on?" Draco asked.

"Far as I know," Darren replied, "as for how serious, that I don't know."

Draco paused, and his footsteps on the pavement seemed abnormally loud as he thought.

"You can't trust him right now," Draco thought.

"I'll call you later," he said, then folded the phone.

"Is what deal still on?" a voice slightly behind him asked.

Draco spun, his hand already on the wand in his jacket pocket, and immediately recognized the smartly dressed, pale faced, dark haired individual standing not more than four feet away from him. His stomach clenched as if a heavy stone had just dropped onto it.

"Sanguini," Draco said, much more smoothly than he felt.

"Malfoy," the vampire replied without moving an inch.

Draco quickly noted at least a dozen muggles walking on both sides of the street out of the corner of his eye. The witnesses gave him a small amount of comfort that he wouldn't be attacked in the middle of the street, and while he wished he had his cane, he did have his wand, glove, and the garlic spray… the lightning in a bottle was still in his pouch though.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked. They were only a hundred yards away from Mary's flat, far too close for Draco's liking.

"I eat here," Sanguini replied, the faintest hint of a smile passing by his lips, "I think the real question is, what are you doing here? Trying to cut yourself a side deal?"

Draco's mind raced.

"Did Sanguini confuse me with someone else?" he thought, "No, he called me by name. Is he assuming I'm involved in something I'm not?"

The situation was extremely serious, if Sanguini talked to whoever he thought Draco was working with…

"Oh, that's it, isn't it," Sanguini said in a silky voice Draco imagined a spider might use to speak to a fly, "don't worry, I won't say anything, not if you give me a little bit of information in exchange."

Draco's mind raced furiously as he tried to sort out what was going on.

"What's he planning with all that gold?" Sanguini asked.

Shit. He decided to pretend to play dumb, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Who?" Draco asked.

Sanguini looked disappointed.

"Who do you think?" Sanguini asked, then his eyes narrowed, "wait… you really don't know? You're not with the others?"

"Others…" Draco thought, then he remembered Halloween, Sanguini dressed in a bright red outfit and wide brimmed hat, tapping his arm where the Dark Mark resided on all-

"Death Eaters?" Draco whispered.

He tried to pull his wand, but in a flash, the vampire grabbed his forearm, squeezing like a vice. Draco made the mistake of looking Sanguini in the eye; his surroundings faded, and found himself falling, falling infinitely far, into infinite darkness. Numbly, Draco realized his mind had been hijacked, and he felt his training sessions with aunt Bella take over. Rather than trying to fight the ensnaring attack, he let the gaze of the vampire continue to bewitch part of his mind, but he rapidly sealed it off and isolated it, allowing him to regain control of his senses and limbs even though part of him still felt like he was falling into the abyss. Sanguini had pulled him into a dark narrow alley. Instead of trying to free up his wand, Draco clenched his other hand, and drove his fist directly into Sanguini's chest, right where his heart would be. Magical energy exploded and ribs shattered with a sickening crunch as Draco delivered what would surely have been a fatal blow to any mortal. Sanguini's body flew back and drove through a cinderblock wall with a thundering crash of dust and falling bricks, onto the bonnet of a car, spiderwebbing the windshield with cracks.

Draco drew his wand and, after quickly scanning the car park he'd made a new entrance into to make sure there were no muggles nearby, clambered over the wreckage as Sanguini coughed up blood and chunks of flesh, staining his chin.

"Occlumens," he gurgled, as if the word itself were an insult. Draco responded by pointing his wand down at the vampire.

"I should kill you for attacking me," Draco said. Sanguini weakly raised his hands up against the broken windshield in surrender. His fangs were now fully extended, and Draco could see dark veins stark against his alabaster skin, but where an injured human would be struggling for breath, the vampire was still as a statue, unnervingly so.

"What are the Death Eaters doing with the muggles?" Draco asked.

"I don't know exactly," Sanguini replied, his voice still hoarse, "only that they have some kind of scam, and it's making them millions."

"Bullshit, Death Eaters and muggles? Working together?" Draco said.

"And yet, here you are," Sanguini said, "He's different. He keeps them all in line."

"He who?" Draco asked.

"You really don't know? Rookwood," Sanguini replied.

Draco remembered the greasy haired Death Eater and gripped his wand a little bit tighter.

"Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, is leading the remaining Death Eaters now?" he thought.

"What are you doing with O'Donnell then?" Draco asked.

"I'll tell you, in exchange for a pint of your blood," Sanguini replied.

Draco let a puff of air out through his nostrils and let his wand point drift slightly higher, ready to cast.

"You're not exactly in a position to bargain," Draco said.

"I have something you want, you have something I want," Sanguini replied, "seems the perfect position to bargain."

Draco narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out what Sanguini was up to, but then the vampire suddenly transfigured into a small bat and took off flying. Draco's wordless incendio missed and scorched a black mark onto the dented bonnet of the car.

"Shit, he was stalling for time to heal!" Draco thought as the squeaking rodent twisted and juked through the car park, putting support pillars between itself and Draco. The wizard thought for a split-second about trying to fry him with another incendio but held off for fear of any muggle witnesses, and then the bat was gone, up to the second story.

Draco looked around and, not wanting to take the risk of walking around in the dark again, apparated directly to Mary's roof. He quickly checked to make sure it was deserted, then aimed his wand at the lock securing the roof access door.

"Alohomora," he said, and the way to the stairwell was clear. Draco quick-stepped down to Mary's flat and knocked loudly on the door.

"Mary? Are you in there? Open up, it's me," Draco said. Sanguini was far too close to the flat; it could just be coincidence he was hanging about nearby, but it could just as easily not be. Draco pounded on the door again.

"Drake, what the hell?" Mary said as she opened the door, "shut the fuck up, the neighbours are a pain in the arse about noise."

"Fuck 'em," Draco said.

He pulled the door closed behind him, bolted it, and started pacing up and down the cramped living room, then remembered to tuck his wand away.

"That pale faced bloke in red from Halloween, has he ever been in here?" Draco asked.

"What?" Mary asked, clearly confused.

"The guy in red, Martin's friend, has he ever been in this flat?" Draco asked.

"No, I mean, I don't think so. Drake, what's going on?" Mary asked, wide-eyed and with her fingers fidgeting with each other. Draco could tell his agitation was worrying her, but he didn't care.

"Do not under any circumstances invite him in. Where's Bruno?" Draco asked.

"He's out for a run," Mary said, "what the fuck is going on? Are you tripping?"

Draco didn't reply, pulled out his mobile phone instead, and flipped it open. He knew he couldn't fully trust Darren, but right now he didn't have a choice. He didn't even let his 'friend' say hello.

"That bloke we ran into on Halloween, the one in red," Draco said, he switched to speaker so Mary would stop making hand motions at him.

"What?" Darren asked.

"The bloke, wearing red, at Halloween at Martin O'Donnell's," Draco said, speaking painfully slowly, "who called me a special friend, what's he doing for you?"

"Sam?" Darren asked, and Draco nearly put his fist through a wall at how slowly the conversation was progressing.

"Sure, 'Sam', what's he doing with Martin?" Draco asked.

"Darren! Drake is freaking out, tripping or something," Mary said loudly, "get your ass over here!"

"Fucking right I'm freaking out, I just got jumped, and 'Sam' grilled me for information," Draco said, "I want answers."

Mary's mouth dropped open at Draco's mention he'd been in a fight.

"Okay okay, hang on, I'll be right there," Darren said, "where's Bruno?"

"Out for a run," Draco said when Mary stayed silent.

"Right. Stay there, we'll get this sorted," Darren said, and hung up.

"Drake, what's going on?" Mary said, dusting some debris off his shoulder, "you got into a fight?"

"Yeah, luckily I came out on top this time," Draco said.

"Or I'd probably be dead," Draco thought.

"But what did he want?" Mary asked.

Draco shook his head and was about to reply when the flat door unlocked. His wand was in his hand in a flash, but it opened to reveal Mary's half-brother, wearing jogging pants and a sweat-soaked t-shirt.

"What's going on?" Bruno asked as Draco stowed his wand again.

"Nothing, lock the door," Draco said as he motioned Bruno inside. The pungent smell of sweat hit his nostrils, and he schooled his features to not pull a face.

"Someone jumped Drake," Mary said.

"Who?" Bruno asked, his face hardening.

"Darren said his name was Sam," Mary said, her hands twisting her fingers again.

"Sam…" Bruno said slowly, then shook his head, "no idea."

"He works with Martin," Mary said, and Bruno rounded on Draco.

"What did you do?" Bruno asked, his expression deadly serious.

"Nothing, I swear, he thinks I know something I don't, and he was looking for information," Draco said, "listen, he's… dangerous. Mary, remember what I said after the party?"

"Yeah… you were tripping out," Mary said.

"I'm not…. Fucking tripping!" Draco said, "Martin is mixed up with…"

"Fuck, I can't say anything, not really, not without breaking the Statute," Draco thought. He threw his hands in the air and sat on the couch in a protest of overworked springs.

"Martin is mixed up with who?" Bruno asked, but Draco just shook his head.

"Darren's on his way now," Mary said.

"Alright," Bruno said as he wiped his brow, "alright, just… take a breath, okay? Drink some water. Is anyone hurt badly?"

Draco accepted the glass and shook his head.

"He's fine," Draco replied, "I'm fine. We're all… fucking… fine."

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, what else could he do?

"Right, I'm going to take a shower, why don't we all just relax until Darren shows up," Bruno said.

Draco nodded from the mouldy couch. Mary asked a few questions while Bruno showered, but he just shook his head at them while he tried to figure out what he wanted to do, and waved her off when she offered to smoke some weed. The situation had just become very dangerous, and his gut instinct was to cut all ties, but there were two issues with that: First was Mary, he didn't want to stop seeing her. Second, he owed Martin a lot of weed, and since the none of the properties had sold yet, he needed the money. Bruno emerged from the shower and started fixing up some supper when the intercom chimed.

Mary stood up and pressed the button.

"It's me," Darren's voice said. She buzzed him in.

The stocky drug dealer knocked on the door less than a minute later and locked it behind him.

"Alright, let's have it," he said.

"Who is this 'Sam' guy, he's working with Martin somehow, what are they up to?" Draco asked.

"Whoa whoa, slow down," Darren said, "Sam doesn't work with Martin, he's Martin's father's… ehh.. associate."

"Fuck," Bruno muttered.

"What?" Draco said, and he thought back, "…shit, I said 'O'Donnell' when I was talking to him; he must have assumed I meant Martin's father… Still, what's he doing with him, and what's he want with me?"

"I need to find out how much Martin and his father know," Draco thought.

"I dunno really," Darren replied, "he has some political connections or something, that's how I got my probation reduced."

Draco rubbed his hand over his face.

"Drake, what the fuck did you do?" Darren asked.

"Nothing," Draco said again, "we need to talk to Martin. I know Sam, not very well, but I know of him. He's dangerous, very dangerous. He might come after any of us next."

Draco deliberately looked at Mary, whose eyes widened in realisation. Bruno flipped open his mobile phone and pressed a few buttons to make a call.

"Yeah, we need to talk," Bruno said, "someone jumped Drake. …because it was someone who works with your da."

Bruno nodded.

"Right, call you back," Bruno said, and he snapped the phone shut.

"We need to call him from a pay phone," Bruno said.

"Fuck," Draco said. He did not want to go back outside until dawn. As Darren and Bruno both threw on light jackets though, he didn't see that he had much choice. Mary stayed in the flat as Bruno led them to a nearby bank of pay phones outside a supermarket. On the way, Draco tried to sort out what he was going to say, while he kept his head on a swivel, constantly looking around everywhere for any sign of either a vampire or a Death Eater. Bruno dropped a coin in the slot and dialled.

"Yeah," Bruno said as Draco motioned for him to pass the receiver, "yeah, Drake wants to talk to you."

Both Bruno and Darren leaned close to hear what Martin was saying.

"…better be fecking good."

"Hi Martin?" Draco said, "the guy Darren calls Sam jumped me today near Bruno's flat."

"Yeh, what the feck did ye do?" Martin replied.

"Nothing, I swear," Draco said, "Darren says he's a friend of your father's. I need to know I'm safe."

There was a burst of static as a puff of air from Martin hit the receiver on the other side. "Who the feck do you think you are?" Martin said, "I'll ask you again, what the feck did ye do."

"I didn't do shit," Draco said.

"Bullshite, what's he want wit ye then?" Martin asked.

"He thinks I know something I don't, and we both know some of the same people, dangerous people," Draco said, "I can't… I can't work like this, it's not safe for me. You've got to talk to Sam or your father, get Sam to agree to leave us alone, me and Mary. And Darren and Bruno."

"You mother fucker, we've got a deal, you'd better feckin deliver," Martin said, "an what feckin people are ye talkin' about?"

"Dangerous people…" Draco said. He considered his next words carefully… he didn't want to let anything slip that he shouldn't, but at the same time, he had to let Martin know he knew something of the people they were working with, whether or not Martin or his father knew the truth.

"Let me ask you, does anyone ever just vanish around Sam, no explanations?" Draco asked.

He took the silence from the other end as admission he'd hit close to the truth.

"I don't want to be next," Draco said, "he told me he's working with your father somehow, and you need to talk to him and get him to back off from me and Mary."

"What do ye know?" Martin asked.

"The real question is how much you know, Mr. Muggle," Draco thought.

"Nothing, and I want it to stay that way," Draco replied, "just get him to leave us alone, and let me fulfil my end of the bargain, pay me, and that'll be the end of it. If you can't… I'm gone, and so is the weed, and I promise you'll never ever find me."

"Just like you couldn't find my house, and couldn't follow me to where I was going," Draco thought. He had a strong suspicion that Martin's thoughts followed a similar vein.

"Put Bruno on," Martin said at last.

Draco handed the receiver over. Bruno nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. Got it," Bruno said, then he hung up and the coin clinked through the pay phone.

"He's going to talk to his father," the boxer said, "and he wants us to wait at the flat until he calls us, just to be safe."

Draco nodded, and the three of them walked silently back to the flat. Draco kept one hand on his wand and constantly looked over his shoulder, but despite the tingling at the back of his neck, he didn't see Sanguini or anyone else from the wizarding world.

Mary ambushed them as soon as they opened the door.

"What happened, what did he say?" she asked.

"Relax," Bruno said, "Martin's going to talk to his da, and then we'll see."

Draco sat on the couch and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

Darren sat next to him.

"You really going to pull a runner?" the dealer asked.

"What?" Mary asked.

"Just negotiating," Draco said as he patted her hand, "I need him to take this seriously."

"I think it's time you levelled with us," Darren said.

Draco stared into the dealer's eyes and seriously thought about it.

"Maybe after this blows over," he said.

Darren threw his arms in the air.

"So much for 'just ask', eh?" the ginger dealer said, "what the fuck. I'm ordering pizza."

He stood up and walked to the phone, while Mary sat down next to Draco and slipped her hand into his.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, just stressed," Draco said, "how are you doing with the uhh… with the cravings."

She sighed.

"They were really bad last week, but somehow I managed to stay on the wagon," she said, "it's getting better, I think."

Draco nodded.

"Still doing the meditation exercises I showed you?" he asked.

She hesitated before nodding.

"Keep them up, they're obviously helping," he said.

"You're a bloody liar, it's the compulsion you placed on her," he thought.

"Shut up, it's for her own good," he thought back at himself.

"How's the revision going?" he asked.

"It's not," Mary replied. Draco could tell from her expression it was the cravings keeping her from focusing. He nodded.

"Perfect trial for the memory and wit-sharpening potions," he thought.

"I have something that'll help," he said as he pulled a pair of bottles from his bag.

"Drink these, they'll improve your focus and memory," he said.

Mary glanced up at Bruno, who was busy in the kitchen, then reached out for them, then hesitated.

"Are they… legal?" she asked.

"Compulsion still working, good," Draco thought.

"Yeah, just expensive," Draco replied.

Mary took the bottles and brought them to the bedroom before returning to sit next to Draco again. The adrenaline from the encounter with Sanguini and the trip to and from the phone bank wore off, and Draco started growing bored with the waiting. Plus, he'd hoped to get laid tonight but that obviously wasn't happening, so they all sat around and watched a film on the telly while waiting for Martin to call back. Mary lightly stroked his hand and Draco found himself almost smiling at the simple comforting gesture. Bruno's phone finally chirped after midnight, and he flipped it open. Draco stood up, heart thumping in his chest.

"Hi," he said, "yes. Are you sure? …ok."

He snapped the phone shut.

"The old man says Sam agreed you both are off limits," Bruno said. Relief flooded through Draco, and he had only a split-second's warning before Bruno's arm flashed out, spun him around, and Draco felt the boxer's muscular forearm curled about his neck, choking off his air.

Shit.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mary shouted as Draco struggled to reach his wand.

"Sorry mate, Martin's orders," Bruno whispered in Draco's ear, "gah!"

Mary had leapt onto Bruno's back and was trying to prise his arm off Draco.

"Get her off me!" the boxer shouted, and Darren leapt over and quickly physically overpowered the petite girl and held her down on the couch.

Draco struggled to get his left hand into a position he could strike at Bruno but his arm was held, and he numbly realised having a glove that could make his punches stronger only helped if he could actually land one. Distantly, he heard Mary shouting something as his vision tunnelled and went dark. When he woke up, he found himself sitting on the floor near the door, his mouth covered by duct tape, and his hands bound behind his back; whatever Bruno had used was painfully cutting into his wrist. His head pounded, but he forced it to move, to look around. He glanced over to see Mary sitting on the couch, and Bruno standing in front of him.

"Drake, you're okay," Mary said, relief in her voice, "listen to me, just do whatever they say, okay?"

Bruno's phone rang.

"Yeah," he said, "okay."

He snapped his phone shut and tucked it into his pocket, then turned to Draco.

"Right, we can do this the easy way, which is you walk downstairs and get into the car on your own," Bruno said, "or I can knock you out and carry you. Nod your head if you want to do it the easy way."

Mary gave him a little nod, as if encouraging him to go peacefully, and Draco followed suit. He struggled to stand up, but eventually managed, only swaying a little bit as the room spun and his head pounded some more. He tried to ask where they were going, but it only came out as a wordless muffle through the duct tape.

"Martin wants to have a chat," Bruno replied. Draco's gut clenched as he wondered at just how often the boxer had heard gagged people try to speak.

"Right, let's go," Bruno said, "you first."

"Mmm mmm-mm," Draco said, nodding towards his jacket, the jacket that hopefully still contained his wand and pouch.

"Right," Bruno said as he gathered the outer garment.

"Wait," Mary said as she stood up from the couch, but she halted as Bruno pointed a finger at her.

"I love you," she said, eyes wide, barely keeping herself from breaking down entirely. Draco had seen the expression before, over the summer between sixth and seventh year, when the Death Eaters separated loved ones from one another, and they weren't sure if they would ever see each other again. Most of them never did.

"Mmm-mmm-mm-mm," Draco replied. He was almost glad for the gag, as it prevented him from actually responding.

"I swear to God Bruno, you'd better bring him back," Mary said as they moved into the hall.

"I'll do what I can," Bruno said. Draco caught a glimpse of her hugging herself as she sat down again, and then the door closed. Draco started down the steps, walking slowly with his hands bound behind his back. He realised he still wore the magical glove as he mentally catalogued where his belongings were, just in case he had a chance to escape. Once they reached the door at the ground level, Bruno pushed him quickly over the walkway where Darren stood next to his modified car, the back door already open. The two ushered him into the rear seat, and Draco cursed to himself when Bruno kept his jacket up front. They drove down the road, and Bruno produced a black cloth sack and pulled it down over Draco's head.

"Mmm mmm," Draco mumbled.

Eventually, Draco supposed the bag was a good thing, as they only would worry about him seeing where they were going if there was a chance he'd be leaving alive. They drove in silence for nearly an hour, long enough for Draco's mind to terrorize him with every possible scenario waiting for him. Eventually, he felt them slow down and make a few turns, and the car rolled to a stop. He heard the front door open, followed by the rear door next to him.

"Out you go," Bruno said as he tugged Draco to his feet. Draco heard the sound of water nearby, and the breeze carried the smell of brine even through the cloth sack; they were near the ocean, or perhaps the mouth of a river.

"Stay here," Bruno said to Darren, then the boxer pushed Draco with two hands on his arm and shoulder, and Draco stumbled blindly from asphalt onto flat concrete. They entered through a metal door, and their footsteps echoed inside whatever dank room they'd ended up in. Draco walked a few more feet and then was forced into a chair and felt metal handcuffs around his wrists, on top of the plastic ties, binding him to the seat. The bag was lifted from his face, and he squinted at a bright lamp that shone on him, and then Bruno ripped the duct tape off his mouth.

"Agh," Draco said as the pain hit him. He worked his jaw in lieu of being able to touch his face, and blinked rapidly to try and get used to the sudden brightness.

"A lot about you doesn't add up, my friend, and I make it a habit not to work with people I don't know or trust."

It was Martin, somewhere behind the light where Draco couldn't see him.

"Yer home address dun exist, ye vanish into thin air," Martin said.

"And then there's this," the stocky Irishman said as he stepped forward and jerked up Draco's left sleeve, revealing the faded tattoo.

"When did ye get this, when ye were eleven?" the gangster asked as he stepped back again.

Draco got the sense that the questions so far were rhetorical, so he kept quiet.

"What do ye know about the people my da are workin' with?" Martin asked.

Draco wasn't exactly sure who Martin was talking about, but he came asking about Sanguini, so that's what he was going to say. Still, he didn't know if Martin or his father knew about the vampire's true nature.

"Err. How much do you know?" Draco asked.

There were a few chortles from behind the lights; Martin wasn't alone. There was a click, Draco recognized it from a film he'd seen at Mary's, a muggle knife snapping open.

"Try again, or maybe ye need some motivation," Martin said.

"Okay, okay, uhh…" Draco said as his mind raced, "Sam is… dangerous, and, he can do things, and nobody has any idea how he does them. Like… convince people to do things and… make people vanish without a trace."

Now there were low murmurs behind the light, whispers back and forth.

"How do ye know about that?" Martin asked.

Draco shook his head.

"I don't… I just know about him, and people like him," Draco replied.

"What about the other blokes, weird fuckers," Martin said.

Death Eaters.

"Fuck," Draco said quietly, and he felt his limbs start shaking uncontrollably. The old fear started coming back, when the Dark Lord was living in his house, and Draco desperately wanted to snort a line of coke.

"Do they know I'm here?" Draco asked.

"How do you know them?" Martin asked.

"Do they know about me?!" Draco asked again, the pitch of his voice rising in alarm. If the Death Eaters, Merlin, even a former Snatcher on the run, found out about him, found out he was in muggle London, alone… found out about Mary… He desperately tried to make out who was in the shadows behind the light, but all he could see were indistinct silhouettes.

"I dun think so," Martin said, "now who are they?"

"They're… we've had a falling out," Draco said, "They're… extremely dangerous. You're not safe, none of you."

"Oh, does that mean yer extremely dangerous too?" Martin asked mockingly.

Draco shook his head.

"No, not like them, you don't understand," Draco said. Damn, how could he convince them without breaking the Statute?

"That's why we're havin' this little chat," Martin said, "now what are they doing with my da?"

Draco shook his head. He decided to take a different tack.

"I have no idea, and I don't want to know," Draco said.

There were a few more hushed whispers from behind the light. They went around in circles several times, Martin asking what Draco knew, Draco saying he didn't know anything, Martin wanting to know more about Sanguini and the Death Eaters, and Draco professing ignorance.

"You're sure you don't remember anything else?" Martin asked. Draco shook his head. Another figure stepped into the light, Conor, Martin's well-built bodyguard. White rubber gloves adorned his hands, and one of them held a full syringe.

"Well, seems this conversation is at an end, then," Martin said.

"Martin," Bruno said from the shadows, caution in his voice.

"Shut yer hole if ye ever want to fight again," Martin said, then turned to Draco, "last chance."

"I… wait, what is that?" Draco said.

"Unfortunate accidental overdose," Conor replied, "won't take long."

As Conor approached with the syringe, Draco realised that there was another possibility for the bag; that they wanted him to think there was a chance he'd be getting out of this alive, so he'd be more likely to cooperate. He struggled with his restraints as instinct for survival took over; he couldn't apparate without his wand, but if he could just get it…

"Wait… I can show you something, give me my jacket," Draco said.

Conor looked back to Martin, who shook his head.

With his eyes fixed on the point of the approaching needle, Draco realised something else: Martin had absolutely no idea what the Death Eaters were doing with his father, and the chances of Death Eaters cutting Martin in at all on any schemes they were working on with his father were slim to none. Above all else, Martin ran a business, and that was something Draco could understand and appeal to. Conor was less than ten feet away; this was his last chance.

"Wait wait… they're making money, lots of it," Draco said, "Sam let that slip, they're making millions off some scam with your father… and neither you nor your him know exactly how, right?"

Draco's heart thudded in his ears in the following silence.

"You can get a piece of that all to yourself," Draco said, desperate, "that weed is going to sell better than anything else, I swear; nobody's going to be able to put the flavours in like me, I can promise you that."

Conor looked over his shoulder.

"I guarantee you're going to be the premier supplier to the entire island within a year, probably sooner," Draco added, "I just need some time."

"He's a plant, they're on to yer da," Conor said.

"No way," Bruno said from the darkness, "too young. Plus he's done a load of illegal shite already, put someone in the hospital and woulda killed him if Alan hadn't stopped him, according to Darren."

"I don't want to know anyone else in your family or your organisation, just let me supply the weed and give me the cash," Draco said, "there's a shitload more where it came from too. Give me a few months, I can get you… ten times this first delivery."

The echoes of Draco's voice faded into silence.

"Martin-" Conor said.

"Shut the feck up, I'm thinking," Martin said.

Draco decided he would have to try a wandless alohomora if Conor started coming at him again. He just had to hope he could cast it wandlessly, and that it would work on the plastic zip ties, and that he could get to his jacket and his wand before they grabbed him… True, he had the glove, but it was a lot to hope for.

"Ten times?" Martin asked.

Draco nodded furiously.

"Cut him loose," Martin said.

"But-" Conor said.

"Did I feckin' stutter?" Martin said.

Conor placed the syringe down on a table, and Bruno stepped into the light to cut the plastic cords and removed the handcuffs. Draco's arms didn't work properly; he had to force them to move, and he rubbed the red marks where the plastic had cut into his skin.

"Look at me," Martin said, and Draco looked up at stocky Irishman where he'd stepped in front of the light.

"Ye've got three months, and ye better deliver, and it better be everything ye said, or we're gonna have another conversation like this one," he said.

Draco nodded; he believed the Irishman.

Martin made a motion with his head, and Bruno stuck the cloth sack over Draco's head again, practically lifted him to his feet, and marched him out of the warehouse, back into Darren's waiting car. Draco nearly wet himself with relief as they crossed the threshold and into the night air, then he heard the car door open.

"Fuck," Darren said.

"Were you sleeping?" Bruno asked.

"You know what fucking time it is?" Darren replied with a yawn as he started the engine, "so, what happened?"

"I'll tell you later," Bruno said as he pushed Draco into the car, "Drake, keep the hood on 'till we get onto the motorway."

"Where's my jacket?" Draco asked. The lump of cloth hit him in the chest and he felt around until he made sure his wand and pouch were still in the pockets. He slumped down into the back seat and struggled to calm his breathing after this most recent brush with death. The sense of relief didn't last long. Under the cloth bag, he fumed not so much at Martin, but at Bruno for going along with it all. As soon as he felt them accelerating, he ripped the sack off his head.

"What the fuck, Bruno," he said.

The boxer twisted around in his seat to face Draco.

"Calm down," he said.

"Calm down? They were going to kill me!" Draco said.

"Seriously?" Darren asked without taking his eyes off the road.

"Yeah, but you're alive, so stop complaining," Bruno said.

"You were just going to let them do it," Draco said.

"Can we go back to the part where they were about to kill Drake?" Darren asked. Draco and Bruno ignored him.

"Like I had a choice? What the fuck was I supposed to do?" Bruno asked.

"I don't know, punch them in the face or something, isn't that what you're supposed to be good at?" Draco replied.

The boxer pointed a finger at him.

"First of all, I warned ye, didn't I. You're the one who gave him a fake license after I told you Martin doesn't fuck around," Bruno said, "Second, I don't know you. You're just some bloke dating my sister who did some community service with Darren at the orphanage. An that's the problem, innit? Nobody knows anything about you, not even Mary: where you're from, where you live, where you go to school, why you vanish from the face of the earth for a week at a time…"

Silence filled the car as Bruno waited several long seconds for a response, but Draco only sat sullenly and stared out the window. Bruno shook his head and turned around to pull out his mobile phone.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah he's fine, we're on our way back."

He paused, then handed the phone over his shoulder.

"She wants to talk to you," Bruno said.

Draco picked up the phone, warm in his hand, and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" he said.

"Drake? Are you really okay?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it when we get there," Draco said.

"Okay see you soon," she said, "err, do you want anything?"

"Just sleep," Draco said.

"Okay. Okay, I love you," Mary said.

Draco looked up at the two gangsters in front of him as they stared out the windshield.

"I'll see you soon," Draco said, and he flipped the phone shut and handed it back to Bruno.

They started passing more headlights as the sky started to lighten. Maybe it was the stress, or maybe the fact he'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours, but he almost wanted to spill the beans and come clean to Bruno and Darren. He felt he owed it to them, and if he was going to continue to live in both worlds, eventually they'd get tired of his secrets. It got to the point he started imagining himself demonstrating magic to them to prove he wasn't insane, and putting them under a compulsion, forbidding them from telling anyone else.

"But I can't," he thought, "if anyone found out I willingly broke the Statute, that would earn me a one-way ticket to Azkaban for sure."

"I'm going to crash on your couch," Darren said as they continued to drive, and Bruno nodded.

They arrived near dawn at a car park by Mary's flat, and Draco stared as they passed the hole in the wall, now cordoned off by yellow warning tape. He wondered if the muggles had any clue what had happened.

"Self-defence, even if the obliviators had to get involved, I should be in the clear," he thought, "thank Merlin my probation is over."

"Assholes need to learn how to drive," Darren muttered. They parked and the three stretched as they stood up from the trip, and Draco squinted in the early morning sun as they made the short walk to the flat. When they opened the door, Mary came rushing out of the hallway to wrap her arms around Draco and kiss him fiercely.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Umm," Draco said as he ran his fingers through his hair, "how do I even explain this."

"Your boyfriend cut a deal with Martin, and now he has to deliver, or Martin's probably going to have him killed," Bruno said.

Mary looked at him incredulously, as if she didn't believe the words coming out of Bruno's mouth.

"That's more or less accurate," Draco said, "won't be a problem though."

"Right, I've barely slept all night, so if you all don't mind, please get the fuck out of the living room, and we'll talk about this later," Darren said.

"I know I said you could stay, but you know you don't live here anymore," Bruno said.

"Fuck off," Darren said as he pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, rolled up his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out across the worn cushions.

Draco was so tired he felt nauseous, and he stumbled his way into Mary's bedroom, and passed right out on top of the covers. When he woke, the sun was still up, and he felt like his dreams were significant, but no matter how much he tried to grasp them, they slipped away. The sheets next to him were rumpled, but Mary was nowhere in sight. He stumbled out into the living room to find her hunched over the coffee table, a pair of books open. Darren and Bruno had apparently already gone.

"Hi," she said, "this stuff is brilliant; I've been studying for hours and it's really sinking in."

"Ah… right, better keep going then," Draco said, "you can't take it too often otherwise it won't work anymore, and then you'll have trouble concentrating or remembering things without them, so make the most of it now."

Mary nodded.

"Did Darren or Bruno say anything?" Draco asked.

"Darren said he hopes you can deliver, for your sake," Mary replied, "I didn't talk to Bruno after he woke up; we had a row after you went to sleep."

"Ah, was it bad?" Draco asked.

Mary shrugged and turned a page.

Draco went to the loo and then scrounged around the kitchen for some food, and when he returned to the living room with a bowl of cereal and milk, he found Mary asleep on the couch. That was one of the side effects after a memory solution wore off. He closed the books and gently shook her shoulder, but she was out cold. Draco went to his jacket and pulled out his wand.

"Coacto," he muttered, reinforcing the compulsion. Then he levitated her to bed and returned to finish his meal before going to sleep again, next to her. Some hours later, in the middle of the night, he awoke to Mary kissing his neck and grinding herself against him. He ran his hands down her body to find her already naked.

"Wait," he said, "loo, don't go anywhere."

He felt like a fool running off to the loo to cast a contraceptive charm, but he wasn't going to take any chances of another accidental pregnancy. He stepped through the dark and chilly flat back to the warm bed, and they picked up right where they left off. He and Mary went several rounds that night as he poured the stress of nearly dying into her, alternating sleep and sex until birds started chirping and the window lightened. They got up, made breakfast, and went another round, after which Mary stood up, completely nude, and peeked out the blinds as Draco admired her backside.

"It looks like a beautiful day, what do you say we head outside?" she asked.

They spent Sunday wandering the city like they used to, chatted about everything and nothing, and found a small café for lunch. Draco was a little worried about Death Eaters, but wearing a baseball cap and muggle clothing as he was, he figured they probably would not recognize him even if they stood next to him on the street. A more pressing worry was the huge amount of weed he needed to deliver for Martin, but he couldn't really do much on that front until he got paid for the first shipment. So, Draco figured he might as well enjoy the day, one of the few sunny days of the year, with Mary. She showed him a way to sneak into a university football match, but when Draco started dozing off towards the end of the first half, they returned to the flat to take a nap, and then it was another marathon of sex interspersed with small naps until dawn.

"One more?" Mary asked as her hand wandered below his waist again. His cock twitched in response.

"I can't, I'm going to be late as it is," Draco said in between kisses. Merlin knew how he was going to get through his classes today.

"So, if you're already going to be late…" Mary said.

"Fuck, you're a terrible influence," Draco said as he stood up and pulled his trousers on.

"Am I?" Mary replied with a cute pout, hair all dishevelled and sheets pulled up to her chest.

"Yeah, but I love you anyway," he replied. There it was again.

"What the fuck are you doing, you moron?" Draco thought.

"Love you too," Mary replied easily, "I'll see you next weekend?"

Draco nodded.

He flooed back to Hogsmeade from St. Mungo's and used a tempus charm on the way up from the village.

"Shit, don't even have time to shower," he thought. He made it to his dorm without incident and quickly changed his clothes and retrieved his cane, then rushed to first period, Defence Against the Dark Arts. On the way though, looking at all the other students, fresh from a full night's rest, he realised he was far too sleep deprived to do anything but force himself to stay awake in class. When he walked through the door, he raised his hand without even sitting down.

"Professor, I'm feeling dizzy, I think I need to see Madam Pomfrey," he said.

Professor Winthrop regarded him over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, then nodded and made a motion with his hands. He caught a glimpse of the two girls in the front row, Hermione Granger and that White from France as they twisted around to look at him, but then he was off to the Hospital Wing. He didn't recall much of the trip, except that he clutched the cane as if it were a lifeline.

"What happened to you, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she ran her wand over him and cast diagnostic spells. Draco idly wondered if she could tell just how many times he'd had sex in the past thirty-six hours.

"Tired, lack of sleep," Draco replied.

"You are showing signs of exhaustion... I'm going to ask you to stay in the Hospital Wing for today," Pomfrey said. She led him to an unoccupied cot, where he laid down without taking off his shoes. He'd almost passed out when she returned with a potion of dreamless sleep.

"Drink this if you need to," Pomfrey said, then she moved off to attend to another student who'd entered. Draco uncorked the bottle and, feeling relatively safe in the Hospital Ward, chugged the entire potion and passed out.

He awoke some time later in the evening with a dry, scratchy throat and had to force his eyes to unstick and open. The lights in the Hospital Ward were dimmed, but some sound had awakened him. Was it someone coming to prank him again? He thought he would have been relatively safe in the Hospital Ward, but perhaps not. Quietly, Draco reached for his wand and found his cane leaning against the small bedside table. He heard the sound again; a small tap from a few cots over, barely audible. Carefully, slowly, he edged his wand out of his pocket and kept his breathing as steady as possible. He couldn't see anything by the cot where he'd heard the noise, but Draco had always been fairly adept at spotting invisible wizards.

"Revelio," he whispered as he waved his wand. A dark silhouette appeared two empty cots over; he couldn't make out any features, but someone small was there, hunched over.

"Lumos maxima," he said, squinting his eyes against the sudden brilliance that lit up the entire room. Cries of annoyance went up around him, but Draco spotted his quarry and realised it wasn't even human, not by a long shot. A grey curved body about two feet tall, with chitinous plates and multiple appendages, like a prawn, was supported by two narrow legs. The creature jumped into the air when the light went up and knocked over a metal tray as it bolted, its eyes rolling wildly, and vanished into the nearest wall.

Draco stared after it as his brain fought to make the connection of where he'd seen something like it, very similar… a painting by a small muggle girl at the orphanage, Callista McKay's monster, the one that had stolen the other children's candy. He continued to stare at the spot it had vanished, but there was no trace of it.

"Turn out the light, you wanker!" a voice called.

"Did you see that?" Draco asked.

"Merlin's ballsack, are you deaf? Turn out the light!" whoever it was shouted. A chorus of other voices joined in.

"Nox," Draco whispered, plunging the room back into darkness.

He lay back on his cot, this time with his cane held down the length of his body in one hand, his wand in the other. He strained his ears but all he heard was the breathing of other students, and angry mumbling from at least one of them.

"It's definitely a magical creature of some kind," Draco thought, "Callista saw it, that means she's probably a squib."

He recalled her odd behaviour, strange lines of questioning, and that muggle orphan with the broken arm.

"At least a squib," Draco amended, "probably a muggleborn. Sucks to be her, I suppose. Then again, being a muggleborn is better than being a squib, or a muggle."

He stared at the ceiling.

"Should I tell Macmillian?" he thought, and stared out the roof long enough that the crisscrossing pattern made after-images, "sod it, it's not your problem, Draco."

He rolled over to look at where he'd spotted the creature.

"I've never seen or read about anything like it in Care of Magical Creatures though, what was it?" he thought as he closed his eyes again.

Draco awoke later; the curtains had been opened and by the morning sunlight streaming into the room, he guessed it was after 9 o'clock.

"Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said, "someone mentioned you cast a lumos spell last night? And today there are supplies missing."

"Right, there was some kind of creature or something," Draco said. He briefly described it to the healer.

"I've never heard of a creature like this… though I can't see why a student would want to take bandages and clips," Madam Pomfrey muttered, "if the castle has been infiltrated by something, it would explain where our supplies have been going. At any rate, I don't think you were up to anything malicious, so you're cleared to go, Mr. Malfoy. Try to get more rest."

Draco stretched his stiff muscles as he stood up, and gripped his cane in one hand. He spared one more glance for where the creature had vanished through the wall, then nodded to Pomfrey and set off for the dungeons to shower and change.

All during breakfast and morning classes, he tried to put the prior evening's event out of his mind and focus on what needed to be done, but by lunch he still couldn't concentrate, so he stopped by the library. An hour of searching and a completely useless question and answer session with Madam Pince yielded exactly zero. Draco knew who would be most likely to know exactly what the creature was, but that would mean admitting that oaf Hagrid knew more than he did. For a split-second, he contemplated making the trip down to the half-giant's hut, but then his sanity returned to him.

"Draco, not only does he hate your guts for trying to get his pet hippogriff killed, why do you care, even in the slightest, what this thing is?" he thought.

It took him the rest of the afternoon to convince himself he truly didn't need to know, and that he should be focusing on how to meet the ridiculous quota he'd set for himself with Martin O'Donnell. He spent Charms writing down figures, how much weed he needed grow, how long it would take to brew the flavours and infuse the soil, and how much he could cure given the number of bottles he currently owned… After three iterations, he'd come to the conclusion it was impossible to do it all himself. It wasn't until Thursday evening he realised he knew someone who had literally absolutely nothing to do all day, every day, and who conveniently already lived in his home.

"Mother," he called, his voice echoing off the barren halls and floors of the Manor.

"Bloody hell, where has she gotten to?" he muttered. He found her on the second story balcony again, staring at the crescent moon as wispy clouds skidded by. At least this time she wore slippers with her bathrobe.

"Mother, I need your help with something," Draco said.

She turned around and nodded, and he led her to the basement where almost all of the weed he'd grown so far was still stored in their curing bottles.

"All of this needs to be packed up into these individual bags, labelled, and then stowed in these two larger ones," he said as he pointed at the boxes of Ziploc baggies and the two large ice hockey equipment bags he'd picked up cheap, second hand from a muggle sporting goods store. The labels were already done, but they still needed to be stuck to the baggies.

"You're making it here?" she asked.

Draco nodded.

"I'll show you how," he said, "I'm going to need help soon anyway. We're going to need more. A lot more."

She picked up one of the sealed curing bottles and wrinkled her nose.

"I've never done a single day of labourer's work in my life," she said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Help me out, Mother, help yourself out," he said, "it's better than puttering about all day and wasting away with nothing to do. You can even smoke some, if you like."

Draco knew she'd be sneaking it anyway, so he might as well throw it in as a bonus.

"Just don't smoke all of it. Every joint is money out of our pocket," he added.

"Out of pocket? Exactly how much are you earning from this?" she asked, gesturing at the bottles lining the walls.

"This? I'm going to net about two thousand galleons, give or take," he replied.

His phone buzzed; it was Darren.

"Hey," Draco said as he unflipped the phone and ascended the steps to get a better signal.

"Do you have something to write with?" Darren asked.

"Hang on," Draco said as he walked to the study, "alright, go ahead."

Darren replied with an address in Tilbury.

"See you in an hour," he said, and then he hung up.

"An hour?" Draco thought in a slight panic. They would be cutting it close. He returned to the cellar to find Mother had stuffed a Ziploc full of perfectly cured weed.

"I'm keeping this," she said.

"That was easy," Draco thought.

"You'll have to help then, I need to make the exchange in an hour," Draco said.

He started uncapping the jars and dumping them into piles on separate tables, sorting by flavour as he went. Narcissa opened another one of the Ziploc bags and slowly sealed it up again, checking how it worked.

"Why don't you use a packing charm?" she asked.

Draco looked up at her, but his confusion must have shown on his face because she gave him a look of disappointment only a mother could.

"You truly are your father's son. Sorting and packing charms are somehow beneath your notice," she said, "step aside."

He quickly turned off his phone as she gently pushed him out of the way and started waving her wand in an intricate pattern. Bottles leapt off shelves and started dumping their contents onto the respective tables. When they were all empty, the Ziploc bags pulled themselves from their boxes one by one and started filling themselves up, sealed and labelled themselves, then dropped into the hockey bags. Narcissa kept her wand moving like a conductor's baton as she concentrated, and to Draco, the whole operation turned into something akin to the dances they used to hold at the Manor when he was younger, baggies swirling about and coming together with clumps of floating weed, and then spinning and twisting again into the large canvas bags. It was all done in less than five minutes, and the large bags zipped themselves up and stacked up by the steps, while the empty cardboard Ziploc boxes crumpled up and vanished.

"Wow, thank you," Draco said.

"Better than puttering about and wasting away," she said. Draco wasn't sure if she was mocking him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Right," Draco said, "right, I'll um… I'll write down instructions on how to infuse the soil, get the seeds, grow them, and cure the plants. We can start work on the next batch this weekend."

He hit both bags with a featherlight charm, then shrank them and stuffed them into his mokeskin pouch. Eventually he'd have to come up with a safer, long-term solution for transporting weed, but tonight he didn't have much of a choice.

"Draco," Narcissa said as she stared, "where did you acquire that wand?"

"Gringotts. The vault," Draco replied.

"That was your great-grandfather's wand," Narcissa said as her eyes narrowed, "you should get rid of it."

Draco laughed.

"I'm not getting rid of the only wand I have," he said.

"Find another one," she said.

He looked down at the bit of hawthorn in his hand.

"Why, what did-" he started.

"Never mind, just get another one," she said as she swept up the stairs.

Draco stared at the wand for a moment longer, then strode up to the drawing room, to the portrait of Septimus Malfoy, one of his great-grandfathers. He wasn't sure which one Mother had been referring to, but he knew she had no love for this particular one. Draco looked closer at the painting and saw the same wand held in his ancestor's hand, the one he now held.

"What did you do to my mother?" Draco asked. The portrait only smirked down at him.

Draco narrowed his eyes. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, but he had an appointment to keep. The address in Tilbury ended up being an abandoned warehouse near an old dock. The smell of brine hit him as he exited the cab and paid the fare. He added muggle transportation to the list of things he was going to have to address to make the operation less risky going forward, as he definitely couldn't be paying unknown cabbies to drive him to his illegal rendezvouses. Draco idly wondered if this was the same warehouse he'd been held in, but quickly concluded it was not, as broken glass crunched under his feet when he approached.

"Homenum revelio. Alohomora," he whispered. The old rusted padlock fell away, and confident that the warehouse was deserted, Draco stepped inside with a screech of disused hinges. Martin may have secured an agreement from Sanguini to leave him alone, but Draco was beginning to develop a healthy level of paranoia. The inside of the warehouse was bare, with nothing but a dust covered concrete floor and old, disused hooks and chains hanging from the ceiling. Several of the windows had been broken and never repaired; apparently this particular warehouse and dock had not been used in some time. Draco pulled out the two bags, set them on the floor by the door, unshrank them, then settled in to wait.

Right on schedule, a car he didn't recognize pulled up with its headlights off. Draco held his breath as someone, little more than a dark silhouette, exited the car and approached the warehouse.

"Drake?" he whispered. It was Darren.

"In here," Draco whispered.

Darren entered through the warehouse door and closed it behind him.

"This all of it?" Darren whispered as he nudged one of the bags with a toe.

Draco nodded. Darren pulled out a small flashlight, unzipped one of the bags, opened a Ziploc and took a sniff. Then he opened the second bag and did the same.

"No offense, got to be sure," Darren said quietly as he closed everything up again.

The drug dealer reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of bills bound with a rubber band.

"Here you go," he said. Draco thumbed through the stack; he'd count them later.

"Did Martin say anything else? After?" Draco whispered.

Darren shook his head.

"Do you think he's serious about…" Draco motioned to the bags, "all this, and the next batch?"

"Of course, it's a shitload of weed," Darren replied, "help me carry these to the car?"

Draco nodded, and Darren hefted one of the bags while Draco took the other. The boot popped open as they approached; Draco didn't recognize the vehicle. Darren dropped his bag in first, and the car groaned as Draco dropped his on top. Darren pushed the boot closed, then stopped to look at Draco.

"So, speaking of the next batch, it's a lot," Darren said.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Draco replied.

"Good. Let me know if you need any help, or anything," Darren said, "'cuz you know, we're in this together."

Draco turned his head slightly to one side, questioningly.

"I mean, we're partners, I get a cut of the profit from whatever you bring in, and we sink or swim together mate," Darren said, "don't let me down."

"Shit, really?" Draco asked. He was simultaneously touched that Darren trusted him to that extent, and aggrieved that he hadn't told him earlier. Then again, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about himself.

"Guilt, really?" Draco thought.

"Really," Darren replied, "so if things aren't looking good…"

Draco nodded.

"Right, I'll let you know and we'll try to work something out," he said, "but don't worry, I'll deliver, you just do your part."

Worst case he could always purchase or brew some curing solution, just enough to fill any shortfalls they might have. And now he had enough muggle cash to buy more bottles for curing.

"How'd you get here?" Darren asked, looking around.

"Took a cab," Draco replied.

"Don't be a chimp," Darren said, "use a fake ID and rent a car next time. I can hook you up if you need."

The dealer gestured to the car in front of them. The driver side window dropped down.

"Quit chit-chatting and let's get the fuck out of here," Bruno said.

"You need a ride?" Darren asked.

Draco considered for a second, then decided keeping his distance at this particular point in time would probably be a wise choice.

"No thanks," he replied, "I'll be able to get back just fine on my own. And don't worry, I won't use a taxi, especially if we're meeting here again."

Darren nodded and moved around to the passenger seat; Draco stepped back as the door closed, and the car pulled back out to the access road. Bruno didn't turn the headlights on until they were a ways down the road, and Draco stepped back inside the warehouse to apparate back to the Manor. As Draco counted the money, he realised he'd forgotten one thing; if he wanted to convert any of the muggle cash into galleons, he was going to have to go to Gringotts, and the goblins were sure to charge an exorbitant exchange rate. Plus, there was the distinct possibility they might report his activities to the Ministry. There was nothing for it though; unless he could come up with a way to earn galleons from a wizarding community that actively hated him, they were his only source of gold.

"Bloody goblins," he thought.

---

"Hi Drake," Michael Baker's voice said over the mobile phone's speaker.

"So, did you take it? What did your… doctor say?" Draco asked. He'd been about to say healer.

"He said it's about as encouraging progress as he's ever seen," Michael said, his excitement coming through the phone, "I just had my first practise in eight months, and I'm expecting to be cleared to play any day."

"That's fantastic news," Draco replied, "congratulations, just remember our deal."

"I know, I know," Michael replied.

"While we're on the topic… I have some other stuff you might be interested in, the usual types of things you might expect people of… that background to make use of," Draco said.

There was a pause on the other end.

"Like what?" Michael asked. Draco could hear the unasked question in his tone of voice: 'what's it going to cost me?'

"Let's talk about it in person," Draco said, "I'm thinking I can get you a good price if you're willing to do something for me, say, introduce some other players who might be interested."

There was another long pause.

"I guess talking can't hurt," Michael replied, "and I know some football players, they might be interested."

"Okay, dinner at your place again? Tomorrow?" Draco asked, "I'll bring a gift for Pam, too."

"Sounds good, see you there," Michael replied.

Draco snapped the phone shut and grinned up at the portrait of Septimus Malfoy, and thought he might have seen the slightest smirk in response.

---

Chapter 30 Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, cursing, non-descriptive M/F sex