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

27. Chapter 27

Harry Potter is owned by JKR

Trigger Warnings Listed at the End of the Chapter

Beta by FedererEx

Chapter 27

"Seems our time is up. Any final thoughts?" Macmillian asked as he glanced at his watch.

As always, their session had flown by.

"It's been… enlightening," Draco replied. He and Macmillian looked at one another in silence for a few seconds.

"Well, I'm sure you're eager to get back to your life," Macmillian said.

The director stood up and Draco followed suit, and they shook hands firmly.

"I hope our sessions have helped. Any time you'd like to stop by for a chat, my door is always open," Macmillian said.

Draco got the distinct sense the squib fully expected to never see him again.

"They have. And I may just take you up on that offer," Draco said, "mind if I make the rounds and say goodbye to the staff?"

Macmillian made a gesture as if to say 'by all means' and Draco reached out to open the office door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned around to face the squib.

"Thank you," Draco said, forcing the unfamiliar words out, "for… helping… me."

Macmillian, still standing behind his desk, gave a small smile.

"That's what we do here, Mr. Malfoy," he said.

Draco quickly exited the office before he lost his composure and let the door close behind him with a loud click. His occlumency worked wonders on containing the Fiend, but it was still there, and anything that caused him to lose concentration made it harder to keep it locked away. He headed to the playground behind the orphanage where Pam refereed a game of football. The shouts of the orphans echoed off the buildings around them and drowned out the traffic beyond.

"Hi Drake, I thought you'd left already," she said.

"I'm on my way out," Draco replied, "actually I was hoping we could stay in touch, I wanted to catch up with Michael as well."

"Oh really?" Pam asked, her eyes still on the game, "what for?"

"Just to chat, you know," Draco replied, "about rugby."

Pam blew a short blast from a silver whistle that left Draco partially deaf in one ear.

"Corner!" she shouted, then turned back to him and pulled out a small pad and a pen.

"Please do, then I don't have to listen to it as much. What's your number?" she asked.

"Err… I don't actually have a phone right now, why don't you give me his and I'll call him," Draco replied.

"I need a phone," he thought, and mentally added it to the list of purchases he didn't have enough money for.

"Here's our house number," she replied as she scribbled the digits and tore off the paper. She handed them over with one of her very practised picture-perfect smiles.

"I was going to say goodbye but I suppose this is more of a see you later," she said.

"Hopefully," he replied.

She smiled at him again.

"Call me," she said, though he could tell she was already focusing on the game.

"Cheers," Draco replied, and he folded the scrap of paper and made his way back through the orphanage.

He arrived at the front entrance to find Callista McKay waiting for him by the reception desk.

"Here he is now," Madeline the receptionist said to her, then turned to him, "she refused to go back to arts and crafts until she saw you."

The little blonde girl looked up at him with a serious expression and glassy grey eyes, though they weren't quite filled to overflowing.

"You're leaving too," she said.

"Damn, I never thought it would ever be difficult to walk out this door," Draco thought.

"That's right, today's my last day," Draco replied.

"Take me with you, please?" Callista asked, "I can stay with you and Mary. I'll be good, I promise."

Draco frowned and knelt to get to eye level.

"I can't. It's not that I don't like you, it's that I'm in no fit state to… I can barely take care of myself," he said.

Callie nodded, then held her arms out wide for a hug, but when Draco embraced her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"Callie!" Madeline said loudly.

"You can save her," Callista whispered into his ear, pleading, "do you understand? You can save her!"

"Callie, come on, that's not nice," Madeline said. She'd moved out from behind her desk and gently prised the girl from Draco.

"Sorry about that, they get like this sometimes, and she's always been a little bit off," Madeline said to him by way of apology, but Draco was frozen in shock and his mouth hung open stupidly. His skin crawled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he watched the little girl with the blonde bob being led away.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he thought.

He absently retrieved his light jacket from the closet near the reception desk, slipped it on, and stepped out onto the street. Just after midday, the traffic was lighter, but he still had to watch his step when he crossed the road. With the warning fresh in his memory, the hike to the Leaky Cauldron was a blur of rebuilding the Fiend's prison, but by the time he arrived, he had almost managed to convince himself that Callie's outburst was just the ramblings of a deranged and attention starved child. He tapped his way into Diagon, then apparated to the Manor, where he retrieved a small wooden box filled with the results of his efforts over the past month or so; a half-dozen small baggies of, if not perfectly, then excellently cured, marijuana. After the first batch, he'd experimented with adding flavours. Currently he had vanilla, apple, coffee, mint, and butterbeer. He stuffed the box into a backpack and headed straight back out into the chilly March afternoon. Another hour later, he pressed the button to ring Bruno's apartment.

"It's Drake," he said when the speaker activated. The door buzzed without a response and he let himself in. He found the apartment door already cracked open when he arrived at the landing.

"Ay!" Darren said when he pushed the door open, "a free man. How's it feel to be done with that shite?"

"Just glad to have my bloody life back," Draco said, though he didn't really feel much in the way of anything.

"Your probation's done?" Bruno asked from the hallway. The boxer carried a black suitcase in one hand.

"That's right," Draco replied.

"We going to see ye around then?" Bruno asked.

"I'm… I'm heading back to school for a few months, going to try to straighten my life out and work on a few projects, but yes, I imagine I'll be by at least semi-regularly," Draco replied, "weekends, at the minimum."

Bruno nodded with a grunt.

"Fuck off with that," Darren said to Bruno, "this calls for a celebration."

Darren moved to the kitchen while Bruno dropped the suitcase off near the front door. The clink of bottles issued forth, followed by the hiss of caps being leveraged off.

"Cheers," Darren said as he passed a bottle to Draco, who tapped the bottle and took a long swig. Darren offered a bottle to Bruno, who declined.

"You're travelling to Dublin tonight?" Draco asked.

"S'right, fight's on Sunday," the boxer replied. He vanished back to his bedroom, probably to pick up another suitcase.

"I have the samples," Draco said quietly to Darren.

Darren finished another swallow and made his way to the stained couch.

"Brilliant, let's see 'em," Darren replied as he turned off the telly and stacked up a few dirty dishes to make some space on the coffee table. Draco produced the box, set it down, and opened the lid to display the baggies, each one neatly labelled.

"They're different flavours," Draco said.

Darren looked unimpressed.

"Right, we'll do this by the book, start with the smell test," Darren said.

He started sampling the product, and Bruno returned with another suitcase.

"Bloody hell, do you have to do that now?" he asked.

"Would you relax, we have time," Darren replied as he sniffed another bag, "damn."

"I'm going to fill up, then I'll meet you downstairs," Bruno said, "be ready or I swear I'll leave without you."

The door closed behind him.

"What's this one… butterscotch?" Darren asked as he ignored both Bruno and the label on the bag and inhaled deeply.

"Something like that," Draco replied, "interested?"

"Maybe," Darren replied, "needs the ultimate test."

"Drake?" Mary asked from the hallway.

Draco looked up to see her standing at the threshold to the hallway, stifling a yawn with one hand, coffee mug held in the other. Clad in a dark long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair was clearly recently slept on. Draco found himself wondering if she wore anything underneath and shifted uncomfortably as his body decided what it thought of the situation. It'd been weeks since the they'd had sex, and he purposefully, with great effort, avoided thinking about it so he could focus on the task at hand.

"Perfect, you're up. Go get your bong," Darren said.

"Morning to you too," Mary said as she set her empty coffee mug on the table.

"It's afternoon, and some of us are on a schedule, yeah?" Darren said.

"Fuck's sake," Mary said as she vanished into her room again and returned with the blue glassware.

"Only if I can have some," she said to Darren.

"Fine, need your expert opinion anyway," Darren said, and Mary set the bong on the table.

Draco pulled some of the vanilla flavoured weed out from the baggie and packed it in, then flicked his zippo and held it to the plant while Darren inhaled to the sound of bubbles and air sucking through the pipe. He blinked a few times as he held his breath while passing the bong to Mary.

"Can really taste it," he said, puffing smoke as he spoke, "not bad."

"Bloody hell, this is fantastic," Mary said. Draco suppressed a smile as he scooped out the unburnt weed from the filter to prepare for the next sample. Darren and Mary took turns sucking the flavoured smoke up through the bubbles until they'd sampled all six. They were on the last one when Darren's phone lit up and vibrated.

"Bruno's downstairs," Darren said as he tapped out a response.

"How'd you get the flavours so rich?" he asked.

"Trade secret," Draco replied with a small smirk, "interested?"

"I've got to run," Darren replied, still tapping, "hundred and fifty for the lot."

"Fuck off, you're going to sell it for four times that," Draco said, "four hundred."

Darren shrugged.

"I'll go as high as one eighty, unless you've another buyer lined up?" he asked.

Draco sneered, but the truth was he didn't have another buyer, and he needed the cash, and Darren knew it.

"Fine, but you set up a meeting with Martin, there can be a lot more where this came from," Draco said, "more than what you had in your cellar."

Darren regarded him seriously. His phone buzzed again.

"Alright, I'll talk to Bruno on the way up and we'll see," Darren said.

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a roll of bills, then peeled off several notes and handed them to Draco.

"This couldn't come soon enough," Draco thought as he counted them up and stuffed them in his pocket.

Darren's phone rang and he pressed it to his ear.

"Don't get your fucking knickers in a twist, I'm on my way down now," he said as he picked up his jacket with one hand and held the box in the other, and used his shoulder to keep the phone against his ear. He waved to Draco and Mary as he stepped out the door, leaving them alone in the apartment, and Mary locked the door behind him.

"So, your community service is done," Mary said as she crossed the room to pick up the dirty plates and walked to the kitchen.

"Yeah, feels odd," Draco said.

He picked up the coffee mug and the beer bottles and followed her to the sink, where she ran some water over the plates without actually washing them. He suspected she wanted to tell or ask him something, but all he could think about was how they had the apartment to themselves.

"Fuck this," Draco thought, and he stepped close to wrap his arms around her stomach from behind, and bent down to kiss her neck.

He felt her smile as she tilted her head to allow him better access, then she turned to face him and snaked her arms around his neck to kiss him on the lips. When he felt her tongue flicking against his lip, testing access, he lifted her up onto the counter, and she started fumbling with his belt.

"Contraceptive charm!" he thought.

He pulled back and looked into her blue eyes, filled with longing.

"Bed," he said, "but, loo first."

She nodded and gave him one more peck on the lips, then hopped down off the counter. Draco quickly shut the small toilet door behind him and fumbled as he pulled his wand out of his jacket pocket to cast the all-important charm. He then returned it to his jacket and thought about hanging it up on the hook by the door, then on second thought threw it over his shoulder and brought it with him to Mary's bedroom.

"Better to have it and not need it…" he thought.

He opened the door to see Mary now bare legged from mid-thigh down, her sweats thrown across the top of her dresser. She all but ambushed him when he entered the room, and his jacket dropped to the floor, followed closely by his shirt. He lifted the hem of her t-shirt up only to feel the bare skin of her ass, and paused. She gave him a smirk as he caught her eye. A flurry of activity followed as Draco ran his hands up and down her body beneath her shirt and she helped him out of his trousers. Draco stopped her shimmy up the bed long enough to lift her shirt over her head. He paused at the sight of her ribs; she'd always been slim, but had clearly lost even more weight.

"Sex!" his body screamed at him, and he pulled her shirt all the way up to expose her pink nipples, already hardened with the chill, and ducked down to take one into his mouth. She moaned as she scratched her nails across his scalp, then took a good grip and pulled his head tight against her chest. She opened her thighs and pulled him up to kiss her. Even though it'd been nearly a month, it felt so damn right to be there, with next to nothing between them as he pressed his stomach and chest against her warmth.

Just as he started to position himself at her entrance, they were interrupted by a loud banging from the front door. Draco and Mary both froze.

"Police, open up!" a male voice shouted.

"Shit," Mary said, and she all but threw Draco off of her, leapt to the dresser and pulled her shirt down, "shit!"

It took Draco a few more seconds to unfog his mind from the almost sex.

"Police, they're like muggle Aurors. Two days of probation left, I can't get arrested now," he thought.

"Open up, we have a warrant!" the police shouted from the front of the apartment.

"Shit!" Mary said. She had the little orange and white plastic box she kept her heroin stash in under one arm, and was glancing between the window blinds, "they're outside too."

"The drugs are illegal, remember?" Draco thought.

Mary looked around with the container held in both hands, panic etched on her face, a mouse caught in a trap.

"You can save her," Draco thought.

"Give me that," Draco said as he took the container, "stall them, and bring me the bong too, and anything else that shouldn't be here."

He took the container out of her hands and she ran, barelegged, to the living room.

"Just a minute!" she called as the pounding continued, and Draco forced his still rock-hard member painfully into his trousers and picked up his jacket.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly as she returned, bong in hand.

"Just stall them for me," Draco said. He picked up her sweatpants from the dresser and traded them for the bong, he then shoved her out of the room and locked the door.

"Open up or we'll break the door down!" the police said.

"Coming! Coming! I need to get dressed!" Mary said.

Draco glanced to the window to make sure he was out of line of sight of anyone looking in, then he fished his wand out of his jacket.

"Evanesco," he whispered, vanishing both the container, the bong, and everything inside them. He heard the lock of the front door of the apartment open, followed by a large commotion, and considered apparating away right then and there.

"But Mary would have questions," he thought, "and maybe the muggle police were watching to see who came and went. You can't risk it."

"My boyfriend's just getting dressed, give him a minute," Mary said from outside the door. She sounded fairly calm and collected, all things considered, but Draco could hear the slight strain in her voice.

He stowed the wand back in his jacket and laced up his trainers, then unlocked the bedroom door. The second he turned the knob, it was roughly shoved open, throwing him back, and three uniformed muggles stormed into the room and immediately started going through drawers and moving the contents of the closet onto the bed. Mary slid in on bare feet and slipped her hand into his.

"Where is Darren Welch?" one of them, a muggle with a brown moustache, asked.

"You're wasting your time, he doesn't live here," Mary replied with one arm across her stomach.

"This apartment reeks, where's the stash?" the policeman asked.

Mary sniffed a few times.

"I don't smell anything," she said as the police continued to search the room.

"Don't be cheeky," the policeman said, "let's see some ID."

Mary went to a knapsack that had been pulled out of the closet and dropped on the bed, and fished around for her student ID. Draco produced his muggle driver's licence.

"McKay," the policeman as he looked from her ID to Mary, "what's your relation to Bruno McKay?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Mary replied.

The officer frowned.

"What's your story then, Mr. Malfoy?" the muggle said as he turned to Draco.

"Nothing special, just visiting my girlfriend," Draco replied. He felt Mary squeeze his hand.

"What's this about?" Draco asked.

"How do you know Darren Welch?" the policeman asked, ignoring Draco's question.

"You don't have to say anything," Mary said.

"Quiet you," the policeman said, then turned back to Draco.

Draco kept his mouth shut and offered a small shrug. He glanced around the room, which was now a complete mess.

"Feel free to conduct your search, you won't find anything," Draco said.

"I'll be the judge of that," the police officer said as he returned their ID, "turn around, hands on the wall."

The police frisked the both of them and soon enough they found his wand.

"Empty your jacket please," he said.

Draco drew his wand and handed it over.

"Conductor's baton," Draco said, "I'm in the arts, as it were."

Draco held his breath as the policeman inspected the wand, then tried to hide his relief as it was handed back to him. The cash in his pocket drew much less scrutiny. Finally, after what seemed like aeons, the muggle police gave up on finding anything that incriminated either of them, shoved the contents of the drawers more or less back where they were, and filed out of the apartment. The moustached officer turned around to face them as his colleagues left.

"You should be in school," he said to Mary.

"I'm sick today, but I'm studying for my A-levels," she said.

The policeman shook his head as if he were too weary to call out an obvious lie, gave each of them a long look, and followed the others out.

Mary closed the front door and locked it, put her back to it and breathed a heavy sigh, full of relief. She looked around at the apartment. While it wasn't a complete mess, it was certainly worse off than before the police arrived. Magazines were strewn about the floor and the couch no longer sat in exactly the same position, with its cushions rearranged in the wrong spots. All of the pots, plates, utensils and cups had been emptied from the kitchen cabinets and drawers, and not all of them had been replaced. In the bedrooms, the mattresses and sheets had been searched and not tucked back in. Even Bruno's guitar had been placed on the living room coffee table, and the picks and packets of extra strings now lay on top of the case instead of inside.

"Holy shit I thought we were dead," Mary said, her voice quavering.

She stopped herself, unlocked the door, and peeked out to make sure all the police had left, then she closed and locked the door again.

"Okay, where in the bloody hell did you hide it?" she asked with a small astonished smile on her face.

"Yeah, that was close," Draco said to buy himself some time.

"You really should have transfigured them, then you could un-transfigure them back," he thought, "how are you going to explain a plastic container and a fucking bong just up and disappearing?"

He took a deep breath and sighed.

"Look, Mary," he said as he put on a serious expression, "you need to stop the smack."

She half-snorted, half-laughed.

"After that stress? No thank you. I'll proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs please," she said as she padded to the bedroom.

"I'm serious," Draco said as he followed her. He spotted her textbooks on the bed, left there by the police.

"You said you wanted to be an animal doctor, right?" he asked as he flipped through one of them, "have you even started looking through these?"

Mary opened a few dresser drawers.

"Obviously it's not there, the police just searched it," Draco thought.

"Where is it? I'm serious," Mary said as she continued opening various drawers.

"And I'm serious too, you need to stop," Draco said.

"Fuck, you sound like my brother," Mary said quietly as she continued opening random drawers.

"Where is it?" she said as she turned and stalked right up to him; Draco wasn't exactly intimidated as he stood head and shoulders above her.

"Gone, and you'll never find it, so don't even try," Draco replied.

"Fuck you, where is it?!" Mary shouted.

She slapped him in the chest, hard, and although she was small, it stung at the point of impact.

"Ow," he said as he furrowed his brows.

"Give it to me Drake, I need it. Please!" she said. Draco just stared at her as her expression went from enraged to desperate; it was almost like she'd transformed into an entirely different person.

"I just need one more, then I'll quit, I swear," she said, "just… just one more, you can fuck my brains out, just tell me where it is."

"It's the Fiend," Draco thought as Mary's voice grew muffled as she continued to plead with him. His own fiend rattled around in its cage, but he had it fairly well under control by now.

"But Mary doesn't know occlumency," he thought, "she has no defence; it's her Fiend talking right now."

"That shit was bloody expensive!" Mary said, breaking through his internal monologue.

She was getting angry again, and she hit his chest once, twice, then he caught her arm. She raised her other arm and he caught that one too. It was almost comical, her trying to fight him physically… then she tried to knee him in the crotch and he managed to turn enough to avoid a direct hit, but now anger blazed through him as well, and he drove her against the wall to pin both her wrists against it.

"Are you crazy?" he asked.

"Please, you don't know what this is going to do to me," Mary said as she started to tremble and tears dripped down her cheeks.

"You don't know what it's doing to you," Draco said.

The tears had him loosening his grip, enough for her to pull one hand free suddenly and rake her nails across his face in three burning lines. Rage overtook him and he grabbed her by both biceps and shook her as he squeezed.

"You stupid bitch, this shit is going to kill you!" Draco said.

He saw fear in her eyes, wide and round. Then the words started tumbling out of him.

"I was at the absolute shittiest point in the most miserable sodding year of my miserable sodding life and you made me feel like I was worth something," he said, "I still can't figure out why but it doesn't bloody matter. I never… I never would have made it through this probation if it wasn't for you."

"You can save her"

"So…you're going to get clean and I'm going to help you, because if you die with a fucking needle in your arm and I could have stopped it, I'll never forgive myself," he said, "I love you."

The words just sort of fell out of his mouth.

"What the fuck?" he thought.

The effect on Mary though was immediate. She stopped and just stared at him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was worried you… I love you too. Oh, I'm so sorry."

She stared at the marks he felt forming on his face, hot where she'd scratched him; she tried to reach up, and he let her slip free of his grip to lightly brush her fingers across his cheek.

"Well, in for a knut," Draco thought.

"I can show you how I beat the coke," he said quietly, "there's techniques."

"I'll… think about it," she said, "you're really going to stay?"

Draco nodded.

"I'm going back to school on weekdays, but I should be able to get away on weekends," he said.

"To make money," he thought.

"To see you," he said.

She jumped up to pull him down into a kiss, then showered kisses all over his face.

"Oh my god, I was so worried," she said, "I love you so much."

She caught Draco off guard for a second, then he responded in kind and they fell into bed together. Gone completely into hibernation during the stress of the police search and the fight with Mary, his loins reawakened with a vengeance, seeming to pick up right where they left off. She pushed him off and tore off her t-shirt and sweats again, going completely naked in about four seconds. Draco stood up and did his best to ignore the dark marks on the inside of her elbows as he fumbled with his trousers, struggling to get them off his legs. When she grabbed the base of his cock and wrapped her warm lips around the tip it didn't help matters at all. Somehow, he got his clothes off and pushed her back onto the bed, then pressed into the enveloping warmth between her legs.

Right then and there, he decided, he wasn't giving this up.

After weeks of celibacy, he didn't last long, with a shudder he finished inside her after just a few long and feverish thrusts. He paused, then before he'd fully softened, started a slow rocking motion amid their mingling juices. Having just emptied himself, he took his time, savouring the sensation of each stroke and trying to gauge Mary's reactions. He felt the familiar sensation build, and deliberately slowed himself to let her finish first, before he increased the pace and came a second time.

Now completely spent, he withdrew and they slid under the covers together, the pungent scent of sex in the air. Despite it still being early in the evening, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

"Where's my bong, I could use a hit," Mary said.

Draco shook his head.

"Stop asking, you're not going to get them back," he said.

"Ok the 'H' I understand, but I like that bong," she said, "why won't you give that back at least?"

"I can't," Draco said, "I'll buy you a new one. After you kick the heroin."

"You can't, or you won't?" Mary asked.

Draco made a low rumbling noise.

"You should be glad it wasn't here when those police searched the room," Draco replied, "thank God or your lucky stars or whatever you like that I took care of it, and stop asking questions."

Mary propped herself up on one elbow and looked down into his eyes, and Draco ran an occlumency exercise, just in case. Even though he knew there was no way she could read his thoughts, it certainly looked like she was trying.

"Fine," she said.

She laid back, crossed her arms, and looked up at the ceiling, but Draco ignored the gesture at first… then he put his arm around her, and eventually she softened up and snuggled in close, sharing their warmth.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Now, I go back to school; they have some supplies there that I need," Draco said, "and then I have a few ideas to make some money, we'll see how that works out."

"I meant with us," she said.

"We'll see each other on weekends, maybe some weeknights, depending," Draco said, "and… one step at a time, I suppose."

Apparently satisfied with this, she nodded into his chest and quietly fell asleep, leaving him awake to reflect on how he truly felt about Mary McKay.

---

Draco awoke the following morning to the room lit up by the sun against the drapes. He slipped out of the apartment, but not before making a fresh pot of coffee for Mary. With Sanguini hanging around Martin's organisation, it was only a matter of time before he ran into him again, and Merlin knew if there were any other blood suckers working with him. He'd managed to mostly avoid walking around alone at night, but it was high time he made a few purchases to protect himself, especially as his current wand wasn't as responsive as his original.

"First things first though," he thought as he stepped into a Tandy electronics store. Fluorescent lighting made the interior feel sterile and alien, Draco glanced at the beautiful morning sunlight he had just left and shuddered at the difference.

"Bring me a candlelit apothecary any day," he thought.

He noticed several young men, teenagers really, identically dressed watch him as if he was prey. No one moved until a hidden signal caused one to approach him; Draco strived to not stare at the out-of-control acne which pockmarked his face.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asked.

"Yes, I need a mobile phone," Draco replied.

Twenty minutes later, Draco exited the store with a sleek black foldable mobile phone in a cardboard box, a contract with a mobile phone company, an extended warranty, and a promise to pay for it all in instalments over the next two years. It had cost him almost all of his muggle currency from the weed he'd sold Darren, but this little device was going to be his lifeline to the muggle world. With it, he could call any muggle who also had a mobile phone and talk to them instantly, and be contactable by any of them at any time.

"The charger is going to be a problem," he thought. He'd asked for an option that used normal batteries, but the sales boy had looked at him like he was a complete idiot and explained it could only be charged by plugging it into a wall outlet.

"I'll be at Mary's every week, surely it won't need to charge more than that," he thought.

He stopped by a restaurant that hadn't opened yet, sat down at one of the al fresco tables, and emptied the contents of the box between the knife and fork. Draco stowed the muggle contraption and legal paperwork in his inside jacket pocket, then walked the rest of the way to Diagon Alley and apparated to the Manor. It took him several minutes sitting with the phone and reading the instructions to figure out how to more or less operate it, and he'd only gotten the Bakers' number saved in it when he heard a faint "hello?" from somewhere else in the Manor.

"Theo's early," Draco thought.

He dropped the phone and the latest stipend of galleons from the Ministry into a pocket and shoved everything else into the top drawer of the massive desk. He locked the door behind him, then walked to the front entrance to find Theo had already let himself in and was admiring his reflection in the mirror in the hall leading to the drawing room.

"I'm going to take you off the wards, just for a laugh," Draco said.

"Good morning to you too," Theo replied, "so, last day of probation, an appropriate time for a drink, I feel. Shall we commiserate?"

He pulled a bottle of amber liquid from a small satchel.

"Ogden's extra finest," Theo said, "you'd think they could have come up with a better name."

"Probably didn't want to mess with success," Draco said, "let's save it for later, I want to get a move on."

"Oh come on, it's early yet; we can share a glass with Auntie 'N'," Theo said, but Draco started steering him towards the front door.

"Twat," Draco said. Theo knew damn well that the reason Draco wanted to get a move on was because he didn't want to see his mother.

"You try to be nice…" Theo said, but he stowed the bottle all the same.

"You're sure about this bloke?" Draco asked as they walked under the overcast sky to the main gate.

"Yeah, he'll sell to anyone, has just what you're looking for, too," Theo replied as the black iron gates swung open of their own accord when they approached.

"See you at the entrance to Knockturn," Theo said as he drew his wand and popped away, leaving a swirl of mist in his wake. Draco followed suit, but a hissing, popping noise from his robes followed him as he apparated.

"Is that an exploding snap card in your pocket, or are you just that excited to actually spend some galleons?" Theo asked as he pointed to Draco's side. Draco looked down to see fire and smoke from his robes.

"Shit!" he thought as he contorted himself and his robes to empty the pocket without having to reach inside. The muggle mobile phone, sparking and fizzing, clattered the ground where it continued smoking and melting itself.

"Bloody hell," Draco thought, "but I wasn't using it, and I apparated with it just fine on the way to the Manor!"

"What is that?" Theo asked as he bent over it.

"Muggle stuff," Draco replied.

Theo glanced at him with a look that was half disgust, half disbelief.

"Muggle stuff," he repeated, "is it supposed to do that?"

"No," Draco replied as they continued watching it spark and fizzle, though much less vigorously than before.

"It was turned off when you apparated to the Manor earlier… you can only apparate when it's off," he thought, "probably the same for any other decently powerful spell cast nearby. Bloody hell, defeats the entire purpose if you can't turn it on. At least you bought the warranty."

"What's it supposed to do then?" Theo asked.

"It's a mobile phone," Draco replied, though he felt a tickle of irritation growing, "looks like it doesn't work around magic though, so, pretty worthless to us."

"Well honestly, what did you think was going to happen?" Theo asked.

"I don't know, figured it was worth a try," Draco replied.

With its power reserves apparently spent, Draco nudged the ruined phone with the toe of his shoe to test it first, then picked it up, still warm.

"Well, that's twacked," he said as he dropped the hunk of metal and melted plastic into his pocket again, "nothing for it though, let's go."

They entered the crooked and narrow passages of Knockturn Alley, and Theo led him past the dark clad witches and wizards. Nobody insulted him here, but he felt more than saw eyes on him from multiple directions, regarding him cautiously, as one might a wounded but still dangerous animal. They stepped up to a shop nestled between an apothecary and a used quidditch supplies store. A small wooden sign hung over the street proclaimed this as the entrance to J's Emporium. A bell tinkled as they pushed their way in.

Draco had to duck beneath a vine that reached for his head as he entered. For a split second he thought it meant to attack him, but then he realised it was only looking for a hat to grab. The shop itself was long and narrow, and dimly lit. Despite this, they'd managed to fit three rows of shelves crammed with mostly junk. On one shelf, small silver balls orbited lazily around a central pole, while a pair of black pouches sat on another. 'Peruvian Instant Darkness' the label read.

"I'll be right there!" a man called from the back.

A slight Asian, looking to be in his mid-twenties, wearing dark trousers and a half-tucked in white button-down shirt jogged up to the register near the middle of the shop.

"Yes, how can I help?" he said, then he caught sight of his patrons, "ah, hello again, Lord Nott."

"Kim," Theo replied, "this is my classmate and good friend, Mr. Malfoy. We'd like to see the products in the back room."

Kim raised an eyebrow.

"Malfoy?" he said as he looked Draco up and down, "I don't know, I heard he's fairly close to the Ministry these days."

"If by fairly close you mean they're a pain in my arse, then yes," Draco said.

Kim chuckled.

"He's okay," Theo said, "we're looking for some extra defence and protection."

"Hmm, alright then, if you say so," Kim replied, and he went to the front of the shop, ducked away from the vine, locked the door and put up a 'closed' sign, then led the way through the shelves. He reached between what looked like two bowls of bubbling brown fudge and found a catch, then pushed. The wall swung inwards, and magical lights flickered on inside. They filed in and found themselves in a cluttered room, perhaps ten feet across. To the left and right, screwed into the walls, stood shelves crammed with various magical oddities, all neatly labelled, but the far wall had individual items on display. Draco's eye was drawn to a very familiar looking snake-headed walking stick, resting on two pegs near the right wall.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, pointing, "that's my father's cane."

Draco shut his mouth two seconds too late, then internally cursed himself.

"Idiot, now he'll know you want it," Draco thought, "good luck getting that price down, ever."

"I make it a point not to ask too many questions," Kim replied as he firmly closed the door and tapped his wand, sealing them inside, "it's still for sale, if you're interested, though I couldn't say for how much longer."

"Bastard, putting the pressure on..," Draco thought, "I know the cane was confiscated; how did it end up here? Bollocks, I can't even threaten him with reporting him to the Ministry because Theo vouched for me."

"How much?" Draco asked.

"Couldn't let it go for less than two-fifty," Kim replied.

Draco grimaced. While high, it wasn't a completely unfair price, especially if one considered the emeralds set in the silver snake head, but that was almost everything he had on him. Again, he lamented selling almost all of his remaining possessions on muggle cocaine. He set aside the sentimental value of the cane for a moment, and focused on what he came to do.

"We'll see, what else do you have?" Draco asked.

He and Theo poked around the back room, inspecting the wares and asking questions. In the end, Draco stared at three items set on the shelf next to the cane. One was a small green glass bottle with a rubber stopper. An occasional movement drew the eye, small and faint like a glow bounced from side to side, as if a firefly were trapped inside. Another was a single black leather glove with a strap that wrapped around the wrist. The last was a small metal container with a nozzle on top, labelled garlic spray.

"Is there any way to get more use out of the lightning in a bottle?" Draco asked.

Kim shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied, "it's risky enough catching one in the first place, imagine if there was a partial misfire? While it was in your pocket? Doesn't bear thinking about."

The three men paused at the thought and Draco suppressed a shudder.

"Would certainly be interesting though," Theo said, "if messy."

"Mind if I try on the glove?" Draco asked as he ignored Theo.

The proprietor responded by simply holding it open so Draco could slip his hand inside. He then pulled the strap tight around his wrist. Draco immediately felt the weight of the glove increase.

"It's heavy," he said.

"Yes, that's the enchantment working," Kim replied, "it will store up a little bit of weight whenever you move, as long as you're wearing it."

"And then make my punches stronger," Draco said as he made a fist.

"To a point; it can only hold so much," Kim said, "and if you double clench your fist, it'll activate the rune on the inside to discharge everything the glove has on the next punch. Err, don't do that too often, or you'll burn a hole through it."

"Triple clench to deactivate the rune if you change your mind," Kim added.

"Right," Draco said as he removed the glove, "how much for the lot, all three plus the cane, and a mokeskin pouch?"

Kim almost completely suppressed an excited smirk, and they got down to negotiations.

---

"Done," Kim said, and Draco, very painfully, counted out the galleons, and was left with sixteen for the rest of the month.

"Fuck it," he thought, "I'm going to have to sell a property to afford the ingredients I need anyway. And that cane might just save my life; no point in counting knuts if I'm dead."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Kim said as he tucked the coins away into his own mokeskin pouch, "anything for you, Mr. Nott?"

"Just these three," Theo said as he held up a trio of rainbow coloured coutal feathers.

"Thirty-five," Kim said.

"Thirty," Theo countered.

"Done," Kim replied, and they exchanged gold.

Draco stowed the bottle and garlic spray in his pouch, then picked up the cane from the wall and held it in both hands. The emerald serpent eyes sparkled just as he remembered. He shook the Korean's hand and they exited the back room into the shop proper. The hidden entrance sealed itself back up as if it was never there.

"Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," Kim said as he followed them to the front, "do drop by again. Just so you know, we also handle special orders."

"Like what?" Draco asked.

The slight shopkeeper shrugged.

"Whatever you need," he said with a smile, "all with discretion, of course."

"Of course," Draco repeated.

Kim held the door open for them and they stepped out into the overcast cobblestone alley.

"Did you know my father's cane was there?" Draco asked. He still held onto the wooden portion of the walking stick as they made their way towards Diagon. Theo stayed silent for a moment.

"I saw it the last time I was there," he replied, "I figured I should at least give you a chance to purchase it yourself before I bought it."

"How magnanimous of you," Draco said with a small sneer. Then he looked down at the polished silver and emerald staring up at him. How would he have felt if Theo had purchased it and then given it to him? Would he even have done such a thing? Despite being friends from birth, in Slytherin as well as old pureblood society, you were only as good as what you could provide, and Draco couldn't provide much these days.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't get all mushy on me, it's the least I could do," Theo said, "are you sure I can't convince you to come to Italy?"

Draco shook his head.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm returning to Hogwarts, at least for a time," Draco said.

"Ah well, a few weeks of that and perhaps you'll change your mind," Theo said, "drink?"

"Errands," Draco replied, "I'll owl you."

Theo nodded.

"Cheers," he said, then drew his wand and apparated away. Draco did the same, appearing on the Manor grounds and walking up the front steps. The doors opened on their own and he made straight for his father's portrait.

This time, the portrait was awake, staring out into the room.

"Draco, you've looked better," his father said as he looked down on him.

"Father's voice, before it was destroyed by Azkaban and disgrace," Draco thought as the sound brought up a torrent of memories, "it's just a portrait."

He held up the cane.

"I know there are defensive enchantments on this," Draco said, "how do they work?"

"It is enchanted with a shield spell. One simply grasps the wooden portion of the cane and wills it into existence," the portrait said, "while in place, it will protect against weak spells from all directions, or it can create a very temporary shield against stronger spells, by thrusting forward."

Draco held up the walking stick and imagined a shield forming around him, and the air shimmered for a moment as something akin to protego sprang up.

He pushed the cane forward and felt the magic form a tighter defence at that particular spot, but only for a half-second or so.

"Better than nothing," he thought.

"Father," he said as he placed the cane on the table, "why were you invested with muggles?"

Lucius' lip curled in disgust.

"After we… fell out of favour, the Dark Lord demanded more and more gold to fund his war effort," he replied, "it was the only place I could think to move it that he wouldn't possibly look, in the event he lost or we needed to flee. It was arranged through an intermediary at Gringotts, though the Ministry found out about it and demanded it as part of our reparation, so in the end, all was for naught."

Made sense. He looked down at the cane. He couldn't take it into London; it would look too out of place, but it would go with him everywhere in magical Britain.

"Bollocks, I still need to pack," he thought, "and now I have to head back out into London to get another phone, and I still need to figure out how to charge it. One thing at a time, get the phone replaced before the store closes."

He brought the cane to the study and locked it inside, then retrieved the paperwork and apparated to Diagon and the Leaky to make the long walk back to the electronics store.

---

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist called.

Draco stood up and glanced around at the empty waiting room before he moved past the reception booth, to Room One. He felt naked without the cane and his wand, but he wasn't going to take any chances on the last day of his probation. Once the restrictions were lifted, he'd doubted he'd ever be without them. Room One was empty, so he sat in the chair and waited; he hated having a door to his back, but he wasn't about to sit in the chair facing the door.

"Who knows what would set Clark off, bloody lunatic," he thought.

Five minutes late for their meeting, the door abruptly opened from behind him and Draco was forced to twist around to see the Auror stood in the doorway, hand on his wand as if he expected crime to have been committed. He strode past, dropped a folder onto the table, took a seat, and began leafing through pages.

"How did you place a compulsion on Terry Macmillian without a wand, hmm?" Clark said as he looked at Draco, "this report is simply too positive, and I find it impossible to be true."

This time, Clark didn't toss the file at Draco, and despite a burning desire to read the Ministry report, Draco kept cool. All he had to do was sit still and do nothing to give Clark a reason to extend his probation, and he'd be done with it.

"What did you do?" Clark asked, and this time Draco felt a slight probe at the front of his thoughts. He put images of cleaning up paint, taking out trash, stacking goals, being buried under muggle children, playing footie, watching films, wiping up snot, and all the other activities he did at the orphanage. If you'd asked him in August whether he'd be able to live and breathe in close contact with muggles for six months, he would have laughed, but he'd done it and so much more, and by the end, he didn't even mind them. Despite his surprise, he managed to keep all the incriminating memories, the sessions with Macmillian, the drugs and the Fiend, the sex, and anything he'd done with Darren or Bruno and their friends, safely tucked away.

"I haven't read it, but Director Macmillian is a great man," Draco said, "he was thrown out of the only world he knew at age twelve, cut off from his family, and managed to work his way up and figure out how to help thousands of parentless children along the way. Even you have to admit that's impressive."

Was he pouring it on a little bit? Yes, but at the same time, Draco did feel a sense of genuine admiration for the man. He doubted he'd be able to do the same thing if put in similar circumstances.

"Spare me," Clark said, "Macmillian has been subsidised by the Ministry for years. He doesn't do what he does out of any charity, he's in it for the money."

"Clark might genuinely believe that, but it's definitely not true," Draco thought, still keeping the orphanage memories front and centre, "he could have thrown me out and had me fed to dementors, but he took the time and effort to help instead."

"Is it really so difficult to believe that the probation actually worked?" Draco asked, "isn't that what it was designed to do, get me to see the error of my ways?"

Clark growled and leapt to his feet and grabbed Draco's wrist. The Auror pulled hard, forcing Draco to lean across the table, then he dragged his sleeve up with the other hand to expose the faded Dark Mark, stark against the pale skin of Draco's forearm.

"This mark," Clark said, "is permanent. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

Draco resisted the urge to slap Clark's hand away. He strongly suspected the Auror was trying to provoke him to some kind of violence in order to use that as an excuse to extend his probation, and Draco would not give him that pleasure.

"Sorry to ruin your betting pool," Draco said, "but unless there's a reason to keep me here, I'd like to go now."

Clark released him, and Draco pulled his sleeve back down.

"Everyone gets what's coming to them eventually, one way or another," Clark said, not even bothering to disguise his contempt, "this isn't over."

Perhaps it was the sessions with Macmillian, but Draco recognized for the first time in Clark, someone for whom an issue was personal.

"What in Merlin's name happened to you Clark?" Draco asked, "why do you hate purebloods so much?"

"Oh I don't have a problem with purebloods, just Death Eaters," Clark said, "my sister-"

Clark closed his mouth suddenly, and when he spoke again, it was like a chill settled in the room.

"She's worth more than ten of you," Clark said, "and I won't stop until all of you are where you belong, behind bars, or preferably cold in the ground. So enjoy your freedom while you can, Lord Malfoy, I assure you, it's only temporary."

Draco took that as a dismissal and left Clark in the meeting room to return to the reception area to wait. Five minutes turned into twenty-five, then fifty, and then one-hundred fifty, and with each passing tick of the clock, and each name called that wasn't his, annoyance morphed into concern, and then worry. Each of the three separate times he'd inquired about his release papers, he received variations on the same response: they're working on it. He was about to ask again when a door opened from behind Reception and a junior Ministry employee entered, probably barely out of school. She handed a file to the receptionist and returned the way she came while the middle-aged woman in the booth started paging through the documents. Draco's heart nearly leapt into his throat when she reached for a stamp, and with a pair of thunks marked the papers. Next was the embosser, squeezing out the Ministry seal onto the documents.

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist called. He glanced around the now empty room and refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Please look over your release papers to ensure everything is in order," she said, "once you leave this room, you must request a new appointment to clarify any irregularities."

Draco returned to his seat to page through the release papers, and as far as he could tell, everything was correct. The most important sections, the automatic imposition of his full sentence to Azkaban should he run afoul of any wizarding law, and the restriction on using any wand other than the one registered at his trial, had been lifted. With one more backwards glance at the receptionist (who was again busy with some other paperwork), Draco tucked the documents under his arm and exited the DMLE to head to the Ministry floo. As the lift doors opened, he took a deep breath, and somehow the air of the Atrium smelled different. For the first time he could remember, there were no lofty expectations imposed by his father, no impossible task assigned by a sadistic Dark Lord, no war. He could go where he wanted. He could do whatever he wanted. It smelled like freedom. Of course, the end of his probation did nothing to alleviate the crushing reparations the Ministry had levied on him, or his mother's house arrest, but it was a very large step in the right direction.

"Mother," he called as he appeared in a flash of green flames and stripped off his outer robe.

"Where the bloody hell is she?" Draco thought.

He went to the study first to retrieve his father's (now his) cane, and the wand, glove, and pouch, then descended into the cellar, into the wine room he'd co-opted for curing weed. Draco dumped out a decent amount from the oldest jar and stuffed it into a resealable muggle plastic baggie, then searched the barren halls as he looked for his mother; he figured he'd start on the second floor.

He found her on a balcony overlooking the forested grounds in the afternoon sunlight, wearing a bathrobe and holding a bottle of sherry in one hand. The first hints of green had started appearing in the trees below, a prelude of what was to come in just a few weeks' time.

"You're leaving me," she said as he approached, then took another swig.

"At least I'm not going to Italy with Theo," Draco said, "I'll be back on the weekend."

He shook the bag of near perfectly cured marijuana.

"I brought you a present," he said.

She turned to him and he noted her cheeks were no longer sunken in; improved appetite had done wonders for her appearance. Then her eyes drifted down.

"Your father's cane," she said.

"Mine now," he said.

"It suits you," she said as she accepted the bag of weed.

"We'll talk again when I return," he said, "love you Mother."

She only responded by shaking the bag of weed, a 'thank you', he supposed, she then returned to staring out at the grounds.

Draco returned to his room and packed his trunk. For his first five years, his parents had purchased a brand-new trunk at the start of each year. This would be the third year he was using his fifth-year trunk. The mobile phone he left in his bedroom; with all the magic in and around the school, it wouldn't work anyway. With a frown, he realised he hadn't gone shopping for his school supplies.

"You're not really going there for classes anyway," Draco thought. Still, he'd have to keep up appearances, and he'd either have to purchase second hand books or find them in the library if he could. The thought of using second hand equipment made his lip curl, but as of this moment, every galleon counted.

With a wave of his wand, he levitated his trunk, put a hand on it, and apparated near to Hogsmeade, just outside the Hogwarts wards. The sun had already set, and the overcast sky in Scotland made it darker much earlier than down in London. Draco paused at the wards and wondered if they would throw him out, but he steeled his nerve and pushed forward, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't encounter any resistance; it seemed, true to her letter, McGonagall had ensured he would be allowed entry. Draco hiked up to the castle and mused as he passed through the deserted grounds.

"Hmm, dinner time, all of the students should be in the Great Hall by now," he thought.

The castle loomed larger and larger above him, and he thought back to the first time he'd seen it, on the boats crossing the Black Lake. He shook his head at how naïve he'd been. He knew he would turn that school into his personal playground. He knew he'd be the top student in his class, for Father demanded it. He knew he would be successful in the task Father had given him, to get close to Harry Potter, because who wouldn't want to be allies with the Malfoys? He'd been so overconfident he'd made his move in front of the entire class, and Potter, Saint bloody Potter, had spurned his handshake and made a fool out of him. From there, it'd been downhill until the bloody nightmare that was years six and seven.

In his introspection, he'd already crossed the courtyard and through the double doors into the entrance hall. The large frame of Professor Slughorn stood in front of the Grand Staircase; he closed a pocket watch and stowed it in his purple robes as Draco approached.

"Mr. Malfoy, as expected," Slughorn said.

"Professor," Draco said.

"This way. The Headmistress has asked to speak with you before you're admitted to the dormitory," Slughorn said, and he set off for the seventh floor. Draco sighed as he stared up at the steps, and to his surprise, found himself longing for an escalator.

"No bloody way muggles would be walking up six stories," he thought, "Merlin, I've gone mental."

He forced his legs to keep up with Slughorn's rotund mass and refused to let his breathing become laboured. The morning runs helped, but Sluggy was humming some sort of happy go lucky tune, and Draco considered falling back on occlumency to block it out.

Mercifully, the potions professor fell silent when they arrived at the stone gargoyle, which rose as they approached. The Headmistress sat behind her large desk beneath the portraits of all the past headmasters, glasses on, and with a pinched expression on her face.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, "have a seat."

He let his trunk sink to the ground and sat in front of the large desk, while Slughorn remained standing by the door.

"I've allowed your re-registration at the school, over objections, I might add, because first, as your father was a governor of the school, your tuition has already been paid through graduation," McGonagall said, "second, and more importantly, while you have committed grievous offences against this school and its faculty, after consultation with previous headmasters, we are in agreement that you were under significant duress, and everyone deserves a second chance."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Draco said.

"However," McGonagall said as she held up a finger, "I must stress to you the precarious nature of your enrolment. Any rule infractions will be dealt with harshly, and if I even suspect for a moment that the Ministry's assessment was incorrect, that you have not reformed, you will be on the train back to London, do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Headmistress," he said, the fact he would likely floo or apparate back to London notwithstanding.

"Great, more probation," he thought.

She eyed his cane.

"That includes possession of any artefacts of a Dark nature," she said.

"This?" Draco said as he held it up, "purely defensive, and of sentimental value. A question though, what about self-defence?" Draco asked, "I have a sneaking suspicion I'm not going to be the most popular individual in the castle."

McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Case by case," she said, "you were a prefect, Mr. Malfoy, you know the rules. There are three months until NEWTs, and given the state of education last year, you have a great deal of material to make up. I expect you to use your time wisely."

"Translation: You're better off staying in your dorm and revising," he thought.

"I will, Professor," Draco replied, "just one more thing, I need to attend to my mother. Mostly on weekends, but I may need to depart on short notice; she's confined to house arrest but she's been unwell lately. I hope that won't be a problem."

"You're of legal age, Mr. Malfoy, I cannot forbid you from coming and going," she replied, and looked like she might say more, but held off.

"The less time I'm on the grounds, the less chance there is of an incident," Draco said.

Her expression remained neutral, but Draco strongly suspected he'd said exactly what was on her mind.

"Professor Slughorn will show you to your dorm," McGonagall said, "as you are the only eighth year Slytherin boy, you will have your old room to yourself. You are not allowed guests past curfew; I trust you will not abuse the circumstance."

Draco had to stop himself from laughing. As if anyone in Slytherin would want anything to do with him.

"I really don't…" he started, then shook his head, "I understand. Thank you, Professor."

Draco stood up, and she merely nodded to him as he levitated his trunk again.

"How long am I going to be walking on eggshells?" he thought as he followed his overweight head of house down the spiral staircase.

"Until you regain some real influence, and that starts with building up enough capital to be able to throw some around without worrying," he thought back to himself.

They descended down to the dungeons, but unlike when he'd entered, students now walked in the opposite direction; dinner was over. Some stared, some even stopped and pointed, but none addressed him, and Draco kept his eyes straight ahead. All the way down to the dungeons, Slughorn kept up his excessively cheery humming.

"What's he got to be so happy about, anyway?" Draco thought.

"Have you given any thought to re-joining the quidditch team?" Slughorn asked.

"No," Draco replied.

"We could really use the help, you know," Slughorn said, "it's been a dismal year, what with how few returning students we have. I'm sure you would be welcomed back with open arms. You were seeker for six years, after all."

Draco didn't reply, but he didn't feel sure about his reception at all. His fears were confirmed when they entered the common room, and all conversation abruptly died. He did his best to ignore the stares as they crossed the dimly lit green tinted chamber.

"What's he doing here?" a student asked, a voice he immediately recognized.

"Astoria," he thought, and found her blonde hair quickly, an expression of distaste written on her face as she stood up from a couch, hands on hips.

"Mr. Malfoy is here just like all of you, to complete his wizarding education," Slughorn said, almost as if he were telling a joke.

"What's wrong with Sluggy?" Draco thought as he studied the professor for the first time since arriving. He had a relaxed and easy air, completely at odds with the tension in the room.

"He's a bloody Death Eater; he'll just make it worse for us," another student replied, a fourth- or fifth-year student with dark hair, whose name he didn't know. Some rumblings started around the room and threatened to grow.

"That's enough," Slughorn said, "everyone has had a trying time the past few years. You all have, I know, witnessed and been subjected to things you ought not to have."

Draco felt Slughorn's hand on his shoulder and resisted the urge to twist away from it.

"Lord Voldemort was living in Mr. Malfoy's home. Try to imagine the things he witnessed," Slughorn said, "try to imagine the things he was subjected to. Have some compassion. We are all Slytherin, and any rule breaking will be dealt with harshly, especially if it is within my own house."

The speech didn't quite have the effect it should have because Slughorn smiled through the whole thing. Still, the students quieted down and they were able to make their way towards the dormitories. Draco glanced around at the score or so of students in the common room, far fewer than there normally would be at this hour, and didn't recognize anyone except Astoria. As they were about to exit the common room, he spied another blonde, this one standing in the rear corner of the room with a small book held in one hand. Silver prefect badge pinned to her robes, Tracey Davis caught his eye and gave him an almost imperceptible nod as he exited.

He dropped his trunk off at the foot of his old four poster and plopped down to sit and massage his temples. For seven years, there had been five of them, Draco, Greg, Vince, Theo, and Blaise.

"Now Vince is dead, Greg is in America probably, Blaise is in Italy, and Theo is fucking off doing whatever he pleases," he thought.

He glanced at Crabbe's old bed.

"Some first year is going to occupy it next year; they won't even tell him the last person to sleep there died in fiendfyre and his ashes are still in the school. Somehow doesn't seem right," he thought, "probably at the bottom of a long list of things that aren't right. Fuck it, put it out of your head, you've got yourself and Mother to worry about."

He mentally slapped himself, shoved the mixed feelings aside and stamped down the urge to do a line of coke. He twisted his neck to relieve some of the tension, then set writing materials on a desk to start a to-do list.

"NEWTs," he thought, trying to decide where they fit in, then crossed them off entirely with a perfectly horizontal line of ink, "who gives a fuck when there's galleons to be made."

---

"Malfoy, Draco," the Defence professor said.

"Present," Draco said. Granger's head whipped around at the sound of his voice. They couldn't have been farther apart, with her seated front and centre and him in the very last row next to Davis, but they locked eyes for a fraction of a second. Then she was a mass of bushy hair again, facing forward as the professor finished the register. The last time he'd seen her was in the aftermath of the battle, bloody and bruised; she and Weasley had departed the Great Hall together. That thought led to others, and for the terror of war to start flooding back in the blink of an eye; he compartmentalized furiously, locking the panic and anguish away.

"Today we begin the fundamentals of soul magic, please turn to page one hundred and thirty-seven," the professor said.

"Bollocks, I don't have a book," Draco whispered as the sound of creaking leather and flipping pages filled the room, "mind if we share?"

Tracey Davis finished clipping her fringe out of her face and wordlessly slid her DADA book halfway between them. As the lecture continued, Draco found himself drawn in by the words and cadence of the Dark Arts professor; he really was an excellent teacher as far as Draco could tell, and he suspected the professor knew far more on the topic than he let on.

"What's his name again?" Draco asked quietly.

Davis tore her eyes away from the lecture.

"Winthrop, he's amazing," she whispered, "now shush."

Defence class flew by, and despite having previously determined not to be too concerned about his NEWTs, Draco filled twelve inches of parchment with notes. He was first out the door as class ended, and walked quickly to the library, cane tapping on the ground with every other step.

"Maybe they'll have copies of some older textbooks," he thought, "I need to at least make it look like I'm taking my NEWTs seriously."

The shame of having to use someone else's books still stung, but not nearly as much as the first time he realised it. Students gave him a wide berth as he passed, and there were whispers, but no taunts or hexes.

"Hopefully it stays that way," he thought, but he didn't exactly feel hopeful.

The library was just as he remembered, all hushed voices and rows upon rows of shelves holding tomes of all shapes and sizes. He started towards the section where he suspected textbooks would be, but several identical books caught his eye. Actually, it was the symbol emblazoned on the spine of the books that caught his eye, the Dark Mark, the snake repeatedly exiting and entering the skull's mouth, like something out of a nightmare.

"What the bloody hell?" he thought.

He snatched one of the books off the shelf.

"The Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle Jr. aka Lord Voldemort"

An incredibly lifelike photograph of the snake faced Dark Lord, wand in hand, dominated the right side of the cover, while the left was a black and white image of a young man wearing school robes, and as Draco looked closer, he could see a Head Boy badge.

"The Dark Lord, when he attended Hogwarts!" he thought.

Curiosity tugged at him and took the biography with him as he sought out spare textbooks. Thirty minutes and a completely unnecessary negotiation session with Madam Pince later, he had his textbooks, with the agreement that they had to be returned and re-checked out every fortnight.

"Bloody useless waste of time," he thought as he trudged back to his dorm.

He used a free period, the result of an intentionally light class load, to claim a disused potions classroom to test his brews. The one he'd originally considered was locked and warded for some reason, but there were at least two other, smaller rooms he could use.

"To think, these classrooms were once all filled," he thought. He weighed asking Slughorn for permission, but then decided not to.

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission," he thought as he approached the next classroom.

"Alohomora," he whispered, and the tumblers turned over loudly, then the door squeaked open on hinges long deprived of oil. Draco glanced both ways down the corridor before entering. Lit only by the lumos from his wand, shadows jumped across the walls and illuminated cobwebs in the corners. Desks and chairs remained, but the storeroom was open and, as Draco suspected, very empty. It was a smaller potions lab, but it would serve his purposes; the potions he planned with slight modification, at least at first, were not complicated. He ran a finger down one of the tables and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the fingertip of dust he'd earned. His cauldrons and scales from last year would come in handy, but there was more equipment he'd need to purchase or otherwise acquire, like chopping knives and larger measuring phials, items usually provided by the school.

"That will be this week's mission," he thought, "that and putting together a shopping list for every potion."

He mentally added a light to the list of things he needed as he locked the door behind him and returned to his dorm. The common room was empty at this hour; all the other students were in classes. At the desk in his room, he set the list of potions he'd considered on the desk and smoothed the edges of the parchment. The real trick would be figuring out how to make them weaker, and only work up to a point. Mary and Darren were instantly suspicious when he'd returned fully healed in a single day; he needed something that was a marked improvement over muggle medicine, but not enough to appear magical.

"Mary said something about military supplies," Draco thought, "I'll need to find out exactly what that means…"

He studied the list again.

Strengthening Solution

Wit Sharpening Potion

Wiggenweld

Girding Potion

Invigoration Draught

Memory Potion

Veritaserum

"Seven potions, fitting," he thought, "though the veritaserum will have to wait."

He tapped his quill on the parchment. Once he started purchasing ingredients, he was committed; he didn't have enough gold to be changing his mind later, at least not at first.

"How much would that football star pay to be able to run faster and longer?" he thought, "or heal faster and get back to playing?"

The memory and wit sharpening potions were for students. Mary had complained about how difficult her A-levels were. If she was having difficulties, Draco assumed others would be as well.

"What muggle student wouldn't pay for a drug that improved their memory and intelligence?" he thought, "if it can get Mary through A-levels without her suspecting anything, it'll be good for the rest of London."

Then there was the Veritaserum. Although it took a full month to brew, having some could certainly come in handy. He wasn't planning to sell that one at all, not unless someone paid him a bloody fortune; it was for his personal use.

---

By Friday afternoon, Draco tentatively began to hope he'd successfully managed his first week without any unpleasant encounters through a combination of keeping his head down and avoiding common areas as much as possible. Uncomfortable silences abounded, though he could deal with those; Longbottom in Herbology was a good example. Draco ignored the assistant professor entirely, and was entirely ignored in return, so he considered this a win. He'd also purchased what potions supplies he needed to stock the lab and test the brews, either in between classes or in the evenings. Sure, he had only sickles and knuts left for the rest of the month, but he still had some muggle cash and his meals at school were free. He departed straight from the greenhouses and cast a rain repelling charm to ward off the chill drizzle, then made straight for the edge of the wards to apparate home.

"Mother," he called upon entering the Manor, but there was no response.

"Probably napping," he thought, especially given the time of day and the rather large quantity of weed he'd left with her. He changed into muggle clothing, collected his new mobile phone and charging device, and popped over to Diagon.

The days were growing longer, and though clouds covered the entire sky in London, the sun had yet to set when he pressed the button for Mary's apartment.

"It's me," he said when she answered, and he was rewarded with a long buzz that let him through the front door.

He took the steps two at a time up to the apartment, where the door was already ajar and leaking golden light onto the gloomy landing.

"Hello?" Draco said into the empty room as he closed and locked the door behind him.

A faint hint of something horrid reached his nostrils, like piss and faeces and vomit all rolled into one, and then not quite fully cleaned up.

"Mary?" Draco asked as he walked into her bedroom.

She spun and put her back to the dresser, which had been shifted a foot to the left, almost obscuring that the floorboards beneath had been damaged.

"Hi, how was school?" she asked as her fingers clasped and unclasped each other in front of her stomach.

"What happened to the floor?" Draco replied, ignoring her question.

Then he glanced up to a small hole smashed through the ceiling and poorly covered with a pair of wooden planks. She didn't look injured, but Draco was confused, until it clicked in his brain.

"She was looking for her stash," he thought.

"You won't find it," he said.

She rolled her eyes and flopped onto the bed.

"I know," she said with a heavy sigh, "I tried to detox this week. I got to Wednesday and I just… I couldn't."

She tilted her head back to look at him from the bed, while he tried to sort out what she'd said.

"I've never felt anything like that in my life… like my bones were breaking," she continued, "I just… and work says they're going to fire me if I miss another shift."

"You tried to stop the smack," Draco said.

She nodded.

"But you bought some more," he said.

She nodded.

"I'm sorry, I swear it's the last one, I'll detox again this week," she said, "this time it'll work. You said you could help, right?"

Draco moved to the bed so he could sit down and look her in the eye without her craning her neck.

"Yeah," he replied, "I mean, I can show you what worked for me."

The fiend slammed into his mental barriers, but over the weeks, it had grown easier and easier to manage.

"If Mary could get over the worst of it, it would probably be the same for her," Draco thought.

"Show me," she said.

Draco nodded.

"Alright, sit up, get comfortable," Draco said as he kicked off his shoes. He wasn't sure he could teach her occlumency without using legilimency, but he could at least show her some exercises.

"First, you'll need to be able to clear your mind, so we'll start with meditation," he said.

Ten minutes of breathing and heavy sighs from Mary later, she pulled the pillow out from behind her and punched it a few times.

"How the fuck do you think of nothing?" she asked.

She wrapped her arms about her slight frame.

"It's impossible, because all I can think about is another fucking hit," she said as she rocked back and forth a little.

"She might be right, learning occlumency, as a muggle, without legilimency, while craving," he thought, "probably impossible."

He pulled her into a hug where he could feel her shuddering against him, then she pushed back and stubbornly wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Let's take a break," Draco said, "we'll come back to it later. How about if you try to cut back maybe, slow down first and then stop?"

Mary shook her head ever so slightly, eyes glazed, clearly lost in thought.

"Did Bruno win his fight?" Draco asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, knockout," Mary replied, "that reminds me, Darren was looking for you."

"Shit, when?" Draco asked.

"Couple times this week," Mary replied.

"Shit," Draco said. He pulled out the mobile phone from his jacket pocket and unwound the charger, fiddled around with it for a moment, and stuck it into the wall socket. The phone blinked and emitted a little chirp.

"When'd you get a phone?" Mary asked.

"A week ago, but I haven't really used it yet," Draco replied as he tried to figure out the muggle device, "do you know Darren's number? Might as well give me yours and Bruno's and Alan's as well."

Draco typed in the numbers of the muggles he knew as Mary recited them to him, then he jotted down his number for her, and rang Darren.

"Hello?" Darren's voice answered after a few rings. It was a little muffled but clearly intelligible. Draco heard some kind of background noise, then a distinct ticking; Darren was driving.

"Darren, it's Drake," Draco said, "Mary said you were looking for me?"

"Oh, yeah, good thing you called. You're in luck my friend, Martin's agreed to meet with you," Darren said, "tonight, 7pm. Is this your number?"

"Err, I'm talking to you on my new mobile phone," Draco said.

"Heh, right," Darren said, "I'll text you the address. Actually, better if you come with Bruno, are you at the flat? He's on his way there now."

"Yes, I'm at the flat," Draco replied, "shit, I don't have anything to wear."

"It's fine, come casual," Darren replied, "I'm home, need to shower and change and I'll meet you both there. Bye."

The connection ended, and Draco stared at the mobile phone for a moment.

"Incredible," he thought. Even using a patronus to send messages, it would have taken them ten times as long to have that conversation, and Draco couldn't perform a patronus. He immediately began postulating about how he could create a wizarding equivalent, or somehow shield a muggle mobile phone from burning to a crisp from ambient magic. He looked up to see Mary staring at him questioningly from the bed.

"I'm meeting Martin," Draco said.

"O'Donnell?" Mary said, her expression growing immediately concerned, "what for?"

"Going to cut a deal to sell flavoured weed to him," Draco said.

Mary nodded, and Draco thought she was about to ask him if he had any on him.

"Be careful," she said instead.

"Yeah, think that's going to be the motto for the rest of my bloody life," Draco muttered.

"Not that that would be a bad thing if it keeps me breathing and out of Azkaban," he thought.

"Let's try that meditation again," he said.

Another ten minutes of Mary trying and failing to clear her racing thoughts passed, and Draco heard the front door unlock and open.

"I'll try some more later," Mary said as she uncrossed her legs and vaulted off the bed.

Draco trailed after her into the living room where Mary all but jumped up to embrace Bruno.

"Welcome back," she said.

"Good to be back," he replied, then caught Draco's eye over the top of her head and gave him a nod, which Draco returned.

"You still clean?" Bruno asked Mary.

Mary didn't even pause for an instant.

"Yes," she said with a nod.

"Lie," Draco thought.

"Great, I'm so proud of you," Bruno said as he ruffled her hair.

"Congratulations on your fight," Draco said.

"Luck 'o the Irish," Bruno replied with a quick wink. He picked up his bags from the floor and walked to his bedroom.

"Darren said you're riding with me, ready?" the boxer asked through the open door.

"Whenever you are," Draco replied.

Bruno emerged, now wearing a wrinkle free polo shirt.

"Let's go," he said.

"Good luck," Mary said, and she gave Draco a kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you later," Draco said, and Mary nodded as she disappeared back into the bedroom.

The two young men descended to the street and Bruno led Draco to a nearby carpark where Bruno's car waited. Draco slipped into the passenger seat and buckled the seat belt. The sky had cleared, and the sun dipped low in the sky as they pulled out.

"Is it far?" Draco asked.

"Not far," Bruno said as they turned onto the road, "are you sure you want to do this? Martin's not someone who fucks around."

"As long as he deals fairly," Draco replied.

Bruno nodded.

"He's a hard ass for sure, but fair," Bruno said, "mostly. Martin takes after his da. Word of advice, don't try to argue with anything he says. You can steer him and bob and weave a bit, but don't contradict him directly."

"Got it," Draco said. In truth, he wasn't worried so much about Martin as he was any unexpected guests that might be with him. He thought back to Halloween, when he ran into the vampire, Sanguini, at Martin's party, and flexed his hand inside the enchanted glove and felt for the reassuring presence of the wand and the garlic spray in his jacket. He wasn't defenceless this time, but he still had no idea what the nature of Martin's relationship with Sanguini was, or whether he knew he was a vampire.

"One thing at a time," Draco thought.

Bruno drove them out of the city as late afternoon turned to dusk and a light drizzle, and the tightly packed buildings and congested roads gave way to more open spaces. Finally, they pulled into a small town in the suburbs and parked at a pub. Even in the fading light, Draco could see the green colour of the steps leading to the entrance. Bruno led him inside the wooden structure. A large bar dominated one side of the room, several tables sat around the taproom, and a second story overlooked the ground floor. The smell of long-ago spilled beer permeated the air. Most of the tables were already occupied by diners, and Draco noticed one or two of them nodding to Bruno as they passed. Darren stood up from the bar as they entered.

"He's upstairs," Darren said. The boxer gave Darren a fist bump and led both of them between the tables and through a door in the back. The heat and chaos of the kitchen assaulted Draco, but Bruno seemed unphased as he pressed through to a staircase that led up to the second floor. Their steps thumped on the old wooden floorboards as they climbed. A rough looking man sporting a dark beard sat in a wooden chair on a small landing near a door at the entrance to the second story. He nodded at Bruno as they cleared the stairs, and shoved open the door marked 'Employees Only' for them. They entered into a much smaller room, perhaps half the size of the tap room downstairs. Small windows looked out onto the streets below on the far side of the room. Naked light bulbs hung from wires from the ceiling, to help illuminate the room, as the old wall mounted electric brass lanterns were not sufficient. Booths lined the perimeter, almost but not quite lining up with the windows, and only two were occupied. Two men sat at one near the bar, and Draco recognized one of them as Connor, the broad-shouldered man who'd accosted him at Martin's house on Halloween, and who knew Mary. The other man was older, perhaps in his early forties, though no less intimidating, and Draco assumed they were bodyguards. Glasses and plates sat half-filled on their table; they stopped eating to look over the trio who'd entered. On the opposite side of the room sat the mid-thirties stocky man Draco had seen at the Halloween party: Martin O'Donnell. He wore a dark blazer and a light shirt underneath, and Draco felt woefully underdressed. Martin glanced up at the three of them and motioned them over with two fingers.

"No vampires, good," Draco thought as he glanced around. He noted a small door in the back of the bar, probably to a storeroom.

As they approached, he noticed the tattoo running up Martin's neck, now easily identifiable as a mean looking leprechaun in some kind of boxing stance. All three younger men slid into the booth opposite Martin, with Darren going in first and Bruno sitting in the centre. Draco immediately felt the apprehension rolling off both Darren and Bruno, and felt himself involuntarily tense up in response.

"So, how do we want to do this?" Martin said as he cut into what looked like the remnants of a spiced sausage. His accent was significantly stronger than Bruno's, definitely Irish. Draco took his cue from the other two and stayed silent.

"First of all, I don't usually meet with someone I don't know," Martin said, fixing him with a dark-eyed stare, "the only reason yer here is because these two both vouched for ye.'

He paused.

"McKay says ye want to make some kind of deal with me," Martin continued as he took another bite, "so, what've ye got, let's deal."

It took Draco a second to find his voice.

"I can grow and cure weed," Draco said.

Martin snorted.

"You and the rest of the bloody island, don't waste my feckin' time," Martin said, then turned to Bruno, "why the feck did you bring this limp dick to me?"

Draco felt his chance slipping away, and with it a piece of his hope to regain some respect, respect he deserved. Terry Boot's snickering expression came to mind.

"Mine has flavours," Draco replied, "I guarantee it'll be your most popular cannabis product within six months."

Martin stopped his rant before he got started and turned back to Draco.

"No really, it's good stuff," Darren said.

Martin pinned Darren with a stare without replying, and Draco almost felt Darren shrink next to him, then Martin looked back to Draco.

"Let me see some ID," he said.

Draco, a little confused, pulled out the little piece of plastic and handed it to Martin, who placed it on the table in front of him. Martin produced a small disposable camera from his pocket, and took a photo of Draco's driving licence with a click and a flash, followed by a high-pitched tone that quickly scaled up and faded from hearing.

"Go stand by the bar," Martin said as he handed Draco's ID back.

Draco slid out of the booth and crossed the room to lean against the bar as the two bodyguards simultaneously ate their meal and watched the conversation between Darren, Bruno, and Martin. They went back and forth a few times, but Draco couldn't make out the words, so he alternated between studying a small chip in the wood of the bar and the conversation across the room, until Darren finally motioned for Draco to return.

"This isn't some neighbourhood operation," Martin said Draco sat down again, "fifty kilos to start, and just so it's fair all around, you feck this up, it's on your head and his."

He pointed to Darren. Draco glanced to his right and Darren nodded back to him.

"Alright, fifty kilos," Draco said as he turned back to Martin, "make me an offer."

Draco had to practice occlumency again just to keep his face straight and emotions in check as Martin's offer was less than a tenth of what it would sell for.

"It's just negotiation," Draco thought.

They haggled back and forth for several minutes, finally settling on a price that Draco wasn't exactly happy with, but was more than enough for him to start purchasing potions supplies.

"Done," O'Donnell said as they shook hands, "talk to Welch for the details of when and where to drop, once it's ready."

"Pleasure doing business," Draco said as he stood up.

"We'll see, won't we," Martin replied without looking up from his food. Draco, Bruno, and Darren filed out of the room and the bar, and into the chill air of the parking lot, where a few tiny drops of rain still fell onto the wet asphalt.

"Brilliant," Darren said, "how long do you think until it's ready?"

"Several weeks at least," Draco replied, "what was all that about making me stand by the bar?"

"Ah, he just wanted to make sure you're okay," Darren replied.

Draco was about to ask what that meant when Bruno, who'd kept nearly silent the entire time, jingled his keys.

"I'm off, early day tomorrow," he said.

"Some of us like to wait until after dawn to wake up," Darren said, "what do you say Drake, a little celebration?"

Draco considered it for a moment as Welch's invitation held the promise of… something…, but then he remembered the last time Darren had tried to sell him some coke.

"Need to get to work," Draco replied, "I'll call you later."

Darren looked like he was about to respond, then simply waved and walked to his modified car. Draco followed Bruno, who was already sliding into the driver's seat. They drove silently for the first ten minutes, the only sound the revving of the engine and the flip-flip of the wipers intermittently clearing the droplets from the windshield.

"What's your story, Malfoy?" Bruno said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

"I mean, a lot of stuff about you doesn't add up," Bruno said, "like where'd you get that scar on your chest?"

"I told you, car accident," Draco replied, but already he knew Bruno wasn't buying it.

"Yeah yeah, I've seen enough accidents, but I never saw anything like that," the boxer said, "where'd you really get it?"

Draco stayed silent for a moment, his mind racing for how he could get out of this line of questioning.

"Someone slashed me," Draco said, letting out some of his frustration at the injustice his world had laid upon him, "someone I can't touch."

"Slashed you, with what, a fucking machete?" Bruno asked, but Draco stayed silent.

"Alright, you don't want to answer me, fine, but somehow Martin knows there's something funny about you," Bruno said, "Mary told me how you hid her stash from the bill, so I know you're on her side, but I also know you've got secrets."

Draco was about to reply that everyone had secrets, but Bruno held up a hand.

"Let me tell you right now, if you're double-dealing Martin, and he finds out, nothing in the world is gonna save you," Bruno said, "and the fact you made me look bad is going to be the least of your problems."

"Believe it or not, this is about as straightforward as it gets," Draco said, "I need money. I can grow and cure weed and give it all sorts of fun flavours. I need to distribute it and Martin can do that for me, though I expect to be well compensated for my product. That's all that matters."

Something had been bothering Draco though. Was he really the first one to have the idea to grow weed and sell it to muggles?

"Perhaps it's happened before and the Ministry shut it down, obliviations all around and no one's the wiser," he thought, "perhaps it's happened a dozen times, who would know?"

He'd have to be careful and grow it all on the Manor grounds behind the wards, where nobody could see what he was doing. Curing could take place in the cellars, especially since they'd been mostly cleaned out. He was still mentally mapping out where he would put everything when they arrived at the parking garage.

"You coming up, or heading home?" Bruno asked.

"I'll pop up, see if Mary's still awake," Draco said.

Bruno nodded and the two of them walked the short distance back to the apartment where the boxer let them in and led them up to the second story. Once inside, Bruno headed for the loo while Draco turned towards Mary's room. Draco knocked twice on the door and then turned the knob, but as soon as it swung open, he knew something was wrong. The lamp was on and the sheets were rumpled, but Draco's eyes flew to the new container and cooking utensils on the dresser, then to the syringe lying atop the sheets, then to a pair of sock clad feet sticking out from behind the bed. Three long strides took Draco to the far side to see Mary lying on her back on the ground, eyes almost shut, weakly gasping for breath.

"Shit," Draco said as he slid down to kneel beside her, "BRUNO!"

He tried lightly tapping her cheek but she didn't even blink. At first Draco thought she was wearing dark lipstick, but then he realised her lips were almost blue.

"She's dying," he thought. Thundering footsteps approached and Bruno burst into the room.

"Shit," Bruno said. He shoved Draco out of the way, and slapped Mary on the cheek, hard.

"Mary! Wake up!" he shouted, then slapped her again.

"Don't you have blood… cleaning… drugs, or something?" Draco asked.

Bruno looked up at him with panic and fear in his eyes, combined with an expression that clearly indicated Draco had said something nonsensical.

"She needs to get to the hospital," Bruno said as he left the room.

Draco glanced down at Mary's near lifeless form.

"She's not going to make it," he thought.

You can save her.

With one hand, Draco pulled his wand from his jacket and with the other, he tossed his phone to the far side of the bed.

Bruno had already entered the short hallway when Draco pointed the wand at his back.

"Confundo," Draco said, and the boxer stumbled.

Draco walked up behind him as Bruno turned around with a confused expression on his face.

"Mary wasn't here when we arrived, and I left," Draco said, "you need to get to bed because you're waking up early tomorrow morning to train."

Bruno blinked a few times and shuffled off towards his room, while Draco quickly closed the bedroom door before the initial confusion faded. He went to pick up his phone, made sure it still functioned, turned it off, then vanished all traces of the syringe and all of Mary's drug paraphernalia. Then he picked up Mary's clammy hand and looked down at her face as she continued breathing, barely. A slight red tinge bloomed on her cheek where he would have expected a perfect hand print, given the force of the blow Bruno had dealt her. For a split second he considered the insanity of what he was about to do, then he shoved that to the back recesses of his mind in order to focus; side-along with an unconscious person wouldn't be easy, even one as small as Mary. He hit her with a featherlight charm, then put one arm around her body, under her arms, to pull her close to him and stand her up as he rose to his feet.

"Destination, determination, deliberation," he thought, and spun on the spot to appear in one of the cellars of Malfoy Manor with a loud crack. Dim magical lighting brightened slightly, enough to see several empty wine racks.

He knelt to let Mary down onto the ground and ended the featherlight charm, then checked to see she was still breathing, barely. He thought about transfiguring a nearby wine rack into a bed, but decided it could wait. He sprinted out of the room and up the stone steps, burst out of the cellar, and ran to the emergency potions cabinet. He nearly tore the door of the hinges and started pulling bottles out, searching for something that would help. He ended up with a blood purification potion, an antidote for poison, and a generic pepperup potion.

"Pepperup first, that will hopefully wake her up enough to get the others down," he thought as he ran back down to the cellar. Even though he'd been jogging nearly every morning, he still found himself out of breath as he skidded to a stop by Mary's prone form. He quickly checked her, and her breathing came even more shallow than before.

Draco pulled his wand again and aimed it at her chest.

"Rennervate," he said, but she barely twitched. He held up his wand in the dim lighting.

"Come on you piece of shite, just enough to get one potion down," he muttered to the wand, then refocused his will and pointed again, "Rennervate!"

Mary stirred weakly and took a deep breath, and Draco pulled her into a sitting position with one hand while uncorking the pepperup with the other. He held the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back. The brew sprayed and dribbled onto her shirt as she coughed and sputtered, but at least some of it went down her throat as steam started trickling, then shooting out of her ears. She took a deep shuddering breath, and opened her eyes half-way.

"Drake?" she croaked and Draco glanced at her glazed eyes, pupils down to tiny black pinpricks in the sea of her irises, even in the dim light.

"Drink," Draco said as he poured first the antidote for poison, then the blood purification potion into her mouth. She managed to swallow, but the initial effects of the pepperup were already starting to wear off by the time she got a few gulps of the second potion down, and her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped back to the ground. Draco held her head to keep it from smashing against the stone, then corked all three potions and placed them on a wine rack. By the time he'd transfigured a bed and levitated Mary onto it, her breathing had evened out and colour had returned to her face, including an angry red splotch where Bruno had slapped her.

"You know, you're not supposed to bring them home with you," Theo said.

Draco whirled to the door, pointing his wand, to see his friend leaning casually against the frame, travel cloak folded over one arm.

"Fuck, I really should have removed him from the wards," Draco thought.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked as his heart thudded in his chest.

"Wanted to make one last try to convince you before I left," Theo said, "only to see you tearing through the manor like your arse was on fire. Seems you're busy, in fact."

Draco's mind raced to find a way to explain why he had an unconscious muggle in his cellar.

"Uhh," he said.

"Smooth, Draco," he thought.

"I'm fairly certain Father had a different one each week, though he definitely didn't have the audacity to bring any of them home," Theo continued, as he inspected his fingernails, "I haven't yet had a need to myself, but then again, I suppose witches will still talk to me."

Draco shoved confusion and panic away to allow a small portion of his mind to focus on the conversation.

"Pretend you know what he's talking about," Draco thought.

"I never actually saw Father, but I'm fairly certain he did as well," Draco said.

"Fairly certain they all did, and why not, right?" Theo replied, "once you're married you can't exactly go around screwing witches anymore, and my father was a decrepit old fuck to boot. Still liked to have his fun it seems. I found his stock of love potions for 'special occasions' while settling the estate."

Draco thought he might be sick to his stomach but kept his expression impassive.

"Hadn't thought of that," he managed to say, "and it's an easy obliviate afterwards."

Theo shrugged.

"Assuming they wanted to keep the muggles alive, I suppose," he said, "I don't think most of them cared enough to risk a botched obliviate, to be honest."

Theo paused.

"Right, I'm off to catch an international portkey," he said, "have fun."

"Hey, keep this to yourself," Draco said as Theo turned to leave. His friend paused, then turned back to face him.

"Your secret is my secret," Theo said with a smirk. With those ominous words, he closed the door behind him.

Draco didn't think Theo would tell anyone; it didn't benefit him in any way, plus they'd been friends since before they could walk. He might have to endure the occasional taunting, but that was a small price to pay. He used his wand to lock the door, then turned back to Mary.

"The drugs aren't Dark magic, so the potions should cleanse them out of her body," Draco thought, "should being the operative word…"

"Won't do anything for the craving though," Draco thought, "and I don't think occlumency is going to work…"

He couldn't watch her all day, so that meant short of locking her in his cellar for a few weeks until she became herself again, she'd be right back out on the street in a week, looking for another fix.

A confundus charm wouldn't last nearly long enough, and the imperius, while certainly powerful enough to force her to do or not do literally anything Draco wanted, carried a life sentence in Azkaban, even if used on a muggle. Fortunately, there was another spell he could use, and since he wasn't hurting a muggle, it didn't run afoul of the Muggle Protection Act. She needed to be able to hear and understand him for it to work though.

He pointed his wand at her sleeping form.

"Petrificus totalus, obscuro," he said.

She went rigid as the body-bind took effect, and a dark blindfold appeared over her eyes.

"Rennervate," he said.

She took a sharp breath, but obviously couldn't move or see.

"Coacto," he said, "you don't want to take any… illegal… drugs any more. In fact, the thought of taking any illegal drug, aside from weed, repulses you. You will refuse to purchase them, or use them, forever. Somnium."

Draco twisted his wand in the counter-curse for the full-body bind, and Mary's sleeping form relaxed as the spell ended. He pulled off the conjured blindfold which vanished into nothingness as it was removed, and brushed some hair, still dyed dark red, away from her face, then touched his wand to her reddened cheek.

"Episky," he said, and normal fair skin spread outward from the wand point until the handprint vanished entirely.

Draco transfigured a wooden chair and sat down. It wobbled a little as one of the legs was a bit shorter than the others, bloody wand, but it was better than nothing.

"That was a close call, very close," he thought.

Draco rubbed his face a few times, feeling the light stubble there, and took several deep breaths as the adrenaline of Mary's brush with death passed. Once his heart stopped thumping, he studied Mary's face, peaceful while she slept, and felt a kind of tugging in his stomach. She was beautiful in her own way, and Draco watched her chest rise and fall for a time. He knew his feelings for her were becoming ever more complicated, and that he needed to sort them out at some point, but not now.

"Should I leave her here?" he thought, "no, that's just asking for trouble, what if Mother finds her?"

Mind made up, he hit her with a featherlight charm again, picked her up with one hand, then turned and apparated back to her room with a loud crack. He paused for a second to listen, then, hearing nothing, he laid Mary down on the bed and cancelled the featherlight charm. She'd likely sleep until morning, but then the cravings would start, probably tomorrow or the day after. He had things to do though, and couldn't sit with her…

He crept out of the living room and into the kitchen, grabbed a notepad and pencil, and scribbled a note.

"Mary had a hit but has recommitted to stopping. She will probably crave this weekend. Please look after her until I can return, probably Sunday.

D"

He tore off the paper and slipped it under Bruno's door. He thought about walking back to the Leaky. Alone. In the dark. With Merlin knew how many vampires skulking about.

"Fuck that," Draco thought, and he ducked into the loo and turned the knob to close the door as quietly as possible. He drew his wand and apparated directly back to the Manor cellar with a soft pop. After untransfiguring the two wine racks back to their normal form, he set off to find Mother.

He found her asleep in bed. On the night table, his grandfather's old pipe sat next to her wand, and the bag of weed, now noticeably smaller than when he'd given it to her. He decided to hold off until morning as he needed her in as good a mood as possible. Draco returned to the office, locked his thoughts and concerns about Mary away in a corner of his mind, and focused on setting out numbers and dates on a timeline. He had almost finished when he realised he'd left out a few crucial items, crossed the figures out, crumpled the parchment, and started again. Over an hour and several drafts later, he had a more or less satisfactory plan, one he thought was simple enough to explain to Mother.

Martin wanted a LOT of weed, and Draco couldn't purchase curing solution in the quantity he needed without alerting the Ministry. That, combined with wanting to move quickly on the potions once he tested the brews, meant equipping both a proper greenhouse and a makeshift potions lab at the Manor, and that required gold to get started, lots of gold. He wanted to avoid dealing with the goblins if he could (they would try to rip him off at every turn), so outside of robbing a muggle bank, there were only a few avenues open to him. Theo had enough gold, but Draco almost immediately discarded the possibility of asking his friend for help. First of all, it would be bloody emasculating, but second, once money was involved, Theo would no longer be his friend, and he would take advantage of him if he could, out of general principle.

"If I still had furniture, I could have sold that," he thought, "but I don't. Bloody cocaine."

That left their assets in Europe, the properties currently funding the Ministry reparations…

---

The following morning, Draco brought a plate of eggs and hash browns up to his mother's room.

"Mother, thought you'd like some breakfast," he said as he knocked. He opened the door to see her sitting up, bleary eyed, and absently reaching for the bag of weed and the pipe.

"You want something," she said as she started to pack the pipe, "you might as well ask me now."

"No, this should be done properly," Draco said, as he deposited the plate on the night table; the foldable tables used for breakfast in bed had all been sold, "I'll be in the main dining room."

Draco returned downstairs and laid out several pieces of parchment on the dining room table, then bent over them and reviewed while he waited for his mother. Since they were gifted by House Black to House Malfoy when they were wed, he needed her permission to sell the properties. He didn't want to sell them off, but he didn't see another way to raise the funding he needed; he only hoped Mother would view the situation similarly. She entered nearly an hour later, clad in light green robes with slightly darker embroidered flowers running down the length of the garment.

"Alright, what is all this?" she asked as she stood over the ledgers.

"I've spent several weeks reviewing the estate, and there's a problem," Draco said, "the Ministry reparations will bankrupt us in a decade, possibly sooner."

Narcissa scoffed.

"Impossible, we could never go bankrupt," she replied.

"We can, and we will," Draco said as he pointed to where the projections showed forced property sales, and eventually dwindled into the negatives, "but I have a plan."

Draco's mother didn't say anything, so he continued.

"I'm going to brew potions and grow weed, and sell them," Draco said.

Narcissa pulled a face.

"You want to become a merchant?" she asked.

"I've found a market," Draco continued, ignoring her, "and I think we can make enough gold to pay off the reparations early, but it's going to take some investment."

She folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, son of mine, but we aren't exactly swimming in galleons these days," she said, then realisation dawned on her face, "unless you… absolutely not. Those properties have been in my family since before I was born."

"Mother, if we do nothing, the rental income is going to dry up, and we'll going to be forced to sell all of them eventually," Draco said, pointing again, "and then we'll be forced to sell the Manor."

She shook her head stubbornly.

"No, we'll find a way," she said.

Frustration bubbled up from within and he almost immediately saw the issue. Having known nothing but opulence, Mother couldn't fathom losing everything and falling into destitution, despite the evidence he'd painstakingly laid out right in front of her face.

"You're in bloody denial. This IS the way! Could you at least look at the figures?" Draco asked.

She waved a hand dismissively.

"Please, last I recall, you were complaining of being refused service at a restaurant when you had perfectly good gold to offer them," she said, "so who are you going to convince to part with their galleons?"

Draco folded his arms.

"Muggles," he said.

Narcissa's jaw dropped open in surprise, then her face contorted in disgust.

"Muggles," she practically spat the word, "they broke your wand."

"Have you seen them, Mother?" Draco asked, "I mean really seen them? Because I have. Yes, they live shit lives without magic, but they can also accomplish impressive feats if they work together. More importantly, there are a lot of them, and they will spend."

Narcissa still looked like she was in shock that Draco was even considering working with muggles.

"Do you know how much that overstuffed bag of weed you're smoking is worth on the streets of London?" he asked, "that's easily three or four hundred galleons, even after the goblins take their cut."

"Four hundred galleons?" she echoed as she looked at the bag.

"That's right, and I grew that," Draco said.

"Then why not simply grow more and sell that?" Narcissa asked.

"Because I want to move quickly before someone else catches on to what I'm doing and tries to cut in," Draco replied, "plus, every day we delay, we're that much closer to needing major repairs on the properties. We've already had to put off replacing the roof of the chateau in Switzerland."

"But… if we sell the properties, without the rental income, we'll run out of gold even faster," she said weakly.

"We sell the properties, continue to pay the reparations, and use the extra capital to buy the supplies we need," Draco said.

He slid a stack of parchments to her, authorisation to allow him to sell the European properties that were currently funding their reparations and stipend.

"Mother," he said as he held out a quill, "it's the only way. You have to trust me."

Narcissa took the offered quill and held it over the parchment as a drop of ink fell from the tip and splashed next to the signatory line. Then she started signing.

---

Draco stirred clockwise three times, then moved his cauldron from the heat and set it on the table to cool. He'd spent Saturday writing correspondence with property agents in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy, then ran out and purchased a few ingredients. On Sunday, he'd checked on Mary, but she was sleeping, and he'd set up a meeting with Michael Baker for Tuesday night. Now he was back at school using what equipment he had to brew a Wiggenweld cure for injuries while he waited for word from the property agents on any interested buyers. He emptied his cauldron into several glass bottles, corked them, then stowed them in his mokeskin pouch. It was an unmodified, full-strength potion, but what he really wanted to do was test whether it would show up on muggle pee tests, and Baker would be his test subject. He was in the process of vanishing the remains of the potion from his cauldron when the classroom door opened and Slughorn stepped across the threshold.

"Good evening Mr. Malfoy," the potions professor said, "and what are we working on today?"

"Wiggenweld," Draco replied, "for personal use."

"Mr. Malfoy, you do not have permission to use the school facilities for your personal brewing," Slughorn replied with an unnerving smile, "I'm afraid I must ask that you not sneak in here again, or I shall have no choice but to report you."

Draco looked around.

"Nobody else is using it, what's the harm?" he asked.

Slughorn held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"There are rules for these sorts of things," he replied, "though, perhaps I could impress upon the Headmistress to allow you some limited access, if, say, you were to rejoin the quidditch team."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that. He needed the potions lab, but quidditch would be a monumental waste of time. Slughorn held access to something Draco wanted, and he wanted Draco to pay a price for it; it was classic Slytherin behaviour.

"It could be a win for everyone, think about it," Slughorn said, and he waddled off, whistling a cheery tune.

"Wonder if he's made a wager," Draco thought.

He slammed the stirrer down on the table, finished packing up, and stormed down the hall to the Slytherin common room as the lights flickered three times. The green tinted room was deserted except for Tracey Davis preparing to do her first rounds of the evening, once curfew began.

"What's got you in a huff?" she asked as she adjusted her prefect badge in the mirror and pulled her hair back into a less-than-perfect but still serviceable ponytail.

"Bloody Sluggy," Draco replied as he sat on one of the couches, "wants me to join the quidditch team in exchange for letting me use one of the spare potions classrooms."

"So? I thought you liked quidditch. And Merlin knows we need the help this year," Tracey replied.

"It's a bloody waste of time," Draco said.

"Truer words were never spoken," Tracey said.

Then she let out a puff of air through her nostrils and shook her head ever so slightly.

"Hmm?" Draco asked.

"Nothing. It's just that Granger blew up one of the spare labs along with half of the school's potions supplies, and they still let her use it," she said as she made eye contact with him in the reflection of the mirror.

"What?" Draco asked.

"That's why we have to be so careful with the ingredients this year," Tracey continued, "I helped put the fire out, Slughorn was there too. It was a bloody mess. Granger was pretty upset about it."

Draco didn't give a morbidly obese rat's arse how upset she was.

"She blew up a potions classroom?" Draco asked.

"Yup, and is still using it today," Tracey said, "her and that transfer student, Julia White. I love the stench of double standard, don't you?"

"White? Is she pure blood? I thought the White family was extinct," Draco said.

"She's from France. Apparently at least one survived outside of Britain," Tracey said, "I have rounds, good luck with Sluggy."

Draco nodded and she exited through the passage, leaving him in solitude. Draco made his way to his dorm, deep in thought. He didn't need luck, he needed an angle. Then he perked up; the solution was staring him right in the face.

"Life is about negotiation, and negotiation is about leverage," he thought.

The following day, Draco stayed behind in Potions as the rest of the class filed out. He felt Granger's stare as she passed, but refused to acknowledge. It was his goal to successfully ignore her and everyone else he didn't want to talk to all the way through to graduation and thus far, it had worked. He sat at his desk at the back of the room until all the students had left. Apparently Slughorn didn't realise he was there, because the potions professor went straight to a wooden cabinet and unlocked it. Draco chose that moment to approach the front of the classroom, and Slughorn turned around at the movement.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a nervous grin as he replaced the bottle and moved to sit behind his desk, "have you given any thought to my proposal?"

"I have," Draco replied, "I think you're going to give me permission to use the potions lab, and I'm not going to kick off even once."

"And why would I do that?" Slughorn asked, "I'm disappointed, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you're not exactly the calibre of student who deserves such a privilege."

The overweight professor glanced to the cabinet and then back to Draco, and Draco smirked. He knew the signs of addiction when he saw it, and Slughorn had it bad.

"I think you'll find I'm exactly the calibre of student you're looking for," Draco said as he leaned over the desk, "because I'll wager all you can think about right now is your potions cabinet, and your next swig of cheering draught, and Merlin knows what else you're dosing yourself with."

Slughorn swallowed but continued smiling nervously.

"It certainly would be unfortunate if someone were to start writing letters to the school and to parents telling them how their children's potions professor can't stop chugging them down," Draco continued, "and what if they suggested he might be skimming the school supplies to brew them, why, there'd be an investigation for sure."

The bit about skimming supplies was a stab in the dark, but Draco figured it couldn't hurt.

"I wager you'd be put on leave, forced to resign, and that's if you're not sacked outright," Draco said, "your reputation would be ruined, forever."

A long silence ensued, and Draco stood his ground while Slughorn sweated and eventually found his voice.

"Assuming you did have access to a spare classroom, which potions would you be brewing?" Slughorn asked.

"Wiggenweld, wit sharpening, strengthening solution, those sorts of things," Draco said, "nothing dangerous."

Slughorn's lips came together in a narrow line, then he smiled again even as his brows furrowed.

"Alright, you can have your lab," Slughorn said, "but you'll be subject to snap inspections, and you're not allowed to use the school's store of ingredients."

"Fine," Draco said. Once the sale of a single property, or the first batch to Martin came through, he'd be able to purchase his own ingredients. Draco nodded to Slughorn, turned on his heel, and made for his dorm; the sound of Slughorn opening the potions cabinet and gulping down another draught followed him as he entered the hallway.

Now all he had to do was convince an ageing and injured professional rugby player to try a miracle cure…

---

Chapter 27 Trigger Warnings: sex, physical abuse, addiction, dark themes