Chapter Text
The dirty fluorescent lights flicker above the second-floor landing of the three-floor walk-up. The carpet on the steps smells like dirt and mildew and is as old as the building itself, having ground itself down to be one with the foundation of the stairs. Cobwebs decorate every corner, and it always seems like someone in this building is screaming. Tinny music pours from the walls and the foundation is one bad storm from crumbling into oblivion.
It’s the last place Draco Malfoy ever thought he’d call home.
But as he rounds the landing and sees the golden 2 on the door, he can’t help but feel a sense of relief that he’s made it back and a sense of dread at what he might find.
He doesn’t need to use a key to get in, but it makes enough noise not to startle her and helps keep up appearances for the muggle neighbors.
He pushes the door open to see her standing there, in her favorite blue sundress at the stove, flipping cheese toasties in a frying pan.
She’s alive, and she’s lucid, and she’s happy. He can breathe a sigh of relief and thank the universe for rewarding him with a quiet evening.
Alive
Lucid.
Happy.
She smiles, and she's so thin he can see the muscles shift under the sharp cut of her cheekbones and the skin, drained of its natural golden hue from lack of sunlight shifts with it.
To him, she’s still as radiant as the sun, still as beautiful as any work of art in a museum.
She’s still in there.
“Welcome home, love.” Hermione greets him. Happiness spirals through his tired soul at her voice. “I made us dinner. It’s not much, but it’s warm-” her expression tightens.
“I get paid tomorrow, don’t worry about it, this is perfect.” It’s true and not because a cheese toastie and half a can of tomato soup will fill him for the night, or even her for that matter, but because she’s here really here. He kisses her gently, running his thumb over the crest of her cheek. She leans into his hand and kisses his palm.
She sets the food on their tiny, tiny kitchen table that came with the place and sets out a stub of a candle with it, lighting it with a match.
“For ambiance,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.
The layout of the flat is all one open space except the bedroom and bathroom. The wallpaper is a dirty, used to be yellow color, the floors are dark and uneven wood panels that creak and moan with every step. It’s hardly a place for ambiance, but he knows it means something to her.
He presses her into the countertop, and she melds to him, tilting her chin upwards so he can trail lazy kisses along her throat. His fingers skate up the hem of the dress as she braces herself on the surface behind her, eyes closed in bliss and thighs shaking slightly at his featherlight touch.
“Did you remember the potion?” He asks, sucking on the juncture between her neck and shoulder.
“I remembered all my potions today. I don’t know how we afford them all, though…”
There it is.
Reality crashing down around them.
We don’t. I steal what I can from work or botch inventory to brew more when I have to. He thinks to himself.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.”
He pulls away and uses his wand to send the rest of the food to the table and revives the withered looking roses in a vase. Holding out a hand, he leads her to sit down across from him.
Dipping her sandwich into the soup, she lost herself in thought for a moment. “I also remembered to feed Crookshanks today, and I took the laundry downstairs, and while I was waiting for it to dry, I read...I read…”
Draco leans back in the seat, pretending to stretch and looks into the open bedroom door. On the wrought iron bed, the cat was sleeping contentedly next to a folded pile of clothes with Hogwarts; A History resting on the top.
“I read Hogwarts; A History,” she says proudly, finding it in her mind and taking a bite of sandwich. “How was the ...Apothecary?!“ Her eyes flash with excitement at remembering it so quickly. “Did you get to make anything interesting yet?”
He shakes his head and sighs deeply. “No, just more of the basics, a cure for boils, hair thickening potion, all the things that sell out fast. Boss still doesn’t want me near the complicated potions.”
Because he doesn’t trust me. But we don’t need to get into why not when she’s doing so well.
Her brows come together in contemplation. “You were always good at Potions. You never had to ask for help or an explanation. During the war, you brewed us Felix Felicis. And then…”
You gave your portion to Potter, saying he needed it more.
“Potter won.” He supplies, swallowing all the other things he wanted to say.
“So it must have worked.” She finishes her meal, still thinking hard about something. “Why don’t you find another job?” She asks, looking down at her empty bowl.
“It’s the best I can do without my N.E.W.T.S,” he says, not meeting her eye.
“There must be away- “
“There isn’t Granger-”
“It’s because you’d have to leave, isn’t it? And I would have to stay with Harry or in St. Mungos until you were done-”
Rage boils right beneath the surface, and it takes everything to tamp it down in his voice. “I’m not putting you away in the fucking hospital, so I can go back to Hogwarts and grovel at some test officials’ feet. Potter can’t be bothered these days. Besides my father can’t live forever and when that day finally comes, I’ll just buy my own apothecary and put that one out of business. “
A familiar spark flashes in her eyes. His heart rattles in his cage.
Fight with me. Tell me I’m wrong. Call me arrogant and slap me. Hex me. Come on, come on.
But as quickly as it comes, it leaves again, the fire dies.
The cat comes slinking in from the bedroom, winding around her feet until she reaches down and scratches his head. He gives him a look of “ good going arsehole.”
Her vinewood wand sits on the shelves with a notice-me-not charm on it.
“Do you want to try using magic for dishes?” His voice so small so painfully small, and he hates even the pinprick of hope he can hear in it.
Shaking her head quickly, she gathers the bowls up. “No it’ll be much faster to just- sit down-” he drops himself back into the chair. “I’ll take care of it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.” She rushes to the sink as Draco waits, staring at the wand.
Brightest and Bravest witch of our time. Scared of her own wand.
Crookshanks winds in and out of his feet too. The cat’s another mouth to feed, but he’s worth it; A touchstone to reality for them both when the noises of the building blend with the paranoia from the past. Kills the bugs and mice that come with the building, and Draco will swear until his dying day he saw the cat turn off the tap when Hermione left it on and wandered away.
Taking a minute to close his eyes, he occludes everything in his behind, deep underneath impenetrable walls. All the rage that lies just beneath the surface, the frustration, the hopeless... there’s no space for it...no time for it.
To give in is to lose her.
He can hear his own voice from far away, sobbing.
“I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you, just stay. Stay.”
When it’s all boxed away, he stands and goes to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.
This is what the war couldn’t take away.
The way she fits into him, the way they move so in sync within each other, it’s like they were two halves of a whole person. The way his hands span over the top of each hip, bringing her closer in. Her touch ignites something in him, something more than just lust within him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t go.” It’s a litany against her skin. He twists his fingers in hers like it’ll keep her from slipping back under.
“I’m here. I’m here, Draco. I’ll get better, I promise. It’s happening, just hang on. Hang on for me, please?”
The question at the end is so apparent it physically hurts. He needs her, more than anything, and he’ll go without just like this until he gives out.
“Always always always.”
***
That night they are curled in their too-small bed, her back to his chest. Dreamless sleep is dangerous in large quantities, so they try to save it for the genuinely awful nights. He runs his fingers through her long curls as her breathing slows, and the tension melts away from her shoulders.
“Tell me a story,” she says sleepily.
“Like what?”
“Tell me how...tell me how this all happened again.”
He sighs into her hair. “You were there -”
“Yes, but use your own words. Please.” She shakes his hand in hers.
“Fine. The war was dragging on -”
“Ugh couldn’t start with Once upon a time?”
“That’s not how this started, and you know. Now hush if you want me to tell you the story.” She didn’t respond. “The war was dragging you, and Potter and Weasley were on the camping trip from hell. Potter broke the taboo and -” he swallowed hard as he did every time he had to repeat this part “I was… with the snatchers...they brought you back to the manor…”
“But you got us out.” It was so quiet he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it.
“Yeah. I did. I made Potter bring me to the whole Order. I swore I wasn’t going to be a double agent like Snape. So I reset the blood wards on that hole in the wall Potter inherited and brewed potions for you lot.”
“I didn’t trust you for a long time.”
“You always were the smartest person in the room, Granger. Eventually, you figured out I wasn’t going to poison you, though. “
“After that ?” her voice was heavy with sleep.
“After that...Someone fell hard and fast for the other one. There was a kiss. Then a fantastic shag in a potions lab.” she gave a weak laugh, and her breathing steadily grew to the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. He lays there very still for a long moment, remembering how she was...before…
When she’s deep asleep, he dresses and head for out of the front door again, Re- warding it to hell and back, he mumbles-
“I’ll always take care of you.”
He fishes out a cigarette from his coat pocket and lights it with a covert flick of his thumb, making his way down alleys and poorly lit streets, to a basement side door.
A slot opens, and a pair of beady black eyes examines him.
“Tha’ poncy git is back.”
“Let ’em in, he throws down as good as anyone.”
The door opens with a groan of protest. The concrete basement is filled with shouting men standing around a fighting ring, which is just a few cones and rope. The place smells like blood, sweat, and cigarettes.
“Weigh-in; no shirt, no shoes.” The second man says even though Draco knows the drill by heart now. He toes off his shoes and tosses his shirt and coat onto a grime-covered table. The club owner slides the scale until it balances out himself, trusting no one else to the task.
Honor among thieves.
“B Class. “He looks over filthy glasses at Draco. “You was a C when you started off, son, need to eat better.”
“Spare me the lecture.”
He clicks his tongue. “Just one other tonight so far, but it’s a 100 quid for the one fight.”
“I’ll do it.” he says, tossing his shirt back over his head and stuffing his feet into the worn-out boots. The sickening thump of someone heavy hitting the floor behind him signaled the end of the current fight. There’s a great shuffling around as people left,new people pushed in for a closer seat to the new fight. Draco takes his stop on the opposite side of the ring.
The bloke he supposes is his opponent is a man who looks like he’s halfway transfigured from a bulldog.
Too easy.
The fight starts, and Draco takes a far too casual step forward. He wants to piss this guy off, the angrier they are, the easier they are to beat.
Something in the crowd catches his eye—a pair of glasses, a scar, and green eyes.
Motherfucker.
Bulldog takes the opportunity to grab him by the shirt. Zeroing back in on the fight, he dodges to the right of the oncoming fist.
Wait until the arm is extended all the way. Left over right, over the joint.
Pull down. Hard
Bulldog yells in a mix of surprise and pain. He starts to fall, and Draco grabs the back of his head with his right hand and rams his left knee into the other man’s face. He falls, blood pouring from his nose, too big, to ungraceful to get quickly to his feet. He staggers up.
The club owner holds up the roll of cash.
He only gets it on the knockout.
100 quid is about 20 Galleons. That buys all of Hermione’s potions for a month.
I’ll take care of you, I promise. I’ll take care of you, just come back to me.
He drives his fist into the bleeding face, and the other man crumples to the floor.
The money is his. So is the disgust, regret, and the bitter tang of self-loathing.
Alive and lucid. They’ll be time for everything else later.
Outside he almost runs into Potter in his rush to get home.
“Good fight there, Malfoy.”
“Fuck off.” Dracos sniffs and tries to walk past him and gets cut off. “What are you doing here, anyway? This isn’t a place for the Golden Auror who lived or whatever the fuck you are. “
Potter holds his hand’s palms up. “I was chasing around a lead, but I won’t turn you in, you didn’t do any magic that I saw, and I have no jurisdiction in the muggle world.”
“Then what do you want?” he snaps. Everything down to his soul wants to sleep, to be home, to get back to her and bury the guilt burning his muscles.
“I want to see Hermione. I haven’t had a chance too- “
“Yeah well, you’ve been busy saving everyone else, haven’t you?”
Potter grimaces. “I dropped the ball. I was a shit friend. I want to be better. Let me see her.”
Draco punts a nearby empty can in frustration. It clatters and bounces loudly around the alley. “Fine, come by tomorrow at 6, when I’m done with work. Wait for me outside the door.”
“Thank you, Malfoy. Here- “he holds out a sack that jingles with wizarding money. “I don’t need it.”
“We don’t need your fucking charity Potter.” He steps around the dark-haired wizard and rushes off towards the flat. “Tomorrow at 6. “