Picking Up the Pieces - Ch 1, Poverty
AN: I do not consider interviews canon; Rowling has changed her mind about things she’s said in theme before. The last word of book 7 wasn’t scar, after all! Therefore I will use material from interviews when it suits me, and won’t when it does not! This fanfic begins 12 months from the end of Deathly Hallows.
Chapter 1- Poverty
“Well, little dragon, I’ll miss the pleasure of your company, but, as of this moment, you’re a free man!” The Azkaban guard (not an Auror, but rather an Auror washout) had yellow teeth and spotted bald pate.
Draco Malfoy responded to the guard, entirely insincerely, “I will miss our times …together… , but freedom calls, you know”. In truth Draco was ecstatic about the prospect of getting away from Azkaban and its guards. Minister Shacklebolt was above using dementors to guard his prisoners- or rather, Draco suspected that the Dementors had proven themselves too untrustworthy- but the bulk of wizards and witches Shacklebolt had hired to replace them seemed to be the light-side counterparts of Crabbe and Goyle, and the ones that weren’t were the light-side counterparts of Auntie Bella.
The memory of Commandant Boot’s whisper of “relax, little dragon, this will only hurt for a moment” rose in his mind, as did the less then gentle touch of the Commandant’s hands. Malfoy thrust these unpleasant thoughts away. He was free now, and his mother was waiting. And it wasn’t as if Boot’s torments and humiliations were worse then Voldemort’s, after all.
As soon as the little boat reached the worn Azkaban dock, Draco ran to his mother and hugged her, decorously, for he was a Malfoy, but with tears of joy in his eyes.
“Draco, it’s good to see you again”, said his mother, Narcissa. “Good heavens but you’re skinny child!” she added after a moment.
Draco could do nothing more then grin at his mother. The trauma that the Malfoy family had gone through had done nothing to impair his mother’s lovely looks or perfect manners.
“I have a flat in Edenbourough” she added. Hesitantly, she went on “it’s in a Muggle part of the city, but it’s close to Pattern Alley- I’ll take you there by side-along apparition”.
“Well, then, let’s go! No sense waiting around here!”, Draco drawled, and the two Malfoys vanished with a sharp *Crack*.
***
The Malfoy family, less one member, arrived at their new home with an equally sharp *Crack*.
Draco remarked to his mother “Isn’t it a rather bad idea to be apparating right into a Muggle apartment?”
Narcissa made a most unladylike noise, and said “It would be a lot more conspicuous to apparate right into a Muggle street, wouldn’t it? Everyone notices people appearing from nowhere, but .”
Draco surveyed his new home superciliously. The only good thing he could say about it was that it wasn’t Azkaban. The room Draco and his mother had apparated into was dominated by a battered silver sofa and a pair of worn-thin green armchairs. A threadbare Persian rug covered a puke-brown shag carpet, and the far wall was dominated by what had been the sideboard at the Manor, and on top of the sideboard… “What is that weird thing?”
“It’s a muggle invention, called a welly-vision or something like that. It’s as close as you can get to proper comic books and portraits without magic. It can be quite soothing sometimes.”
“Oh, ok”
“Also, I’ve ensorcelled the odd thing so that if you fiddle with it the right way you can talk to all our portraits through it”
“That’s useful Mum, and quite clever smart indeed.”
“It’s obvious what side of the family you get your brains from, isn’t it”, Narcissa said, in a tone that plainly indicated that she was teasing.
“Father’s still stuck in that horrid Azkaban place, you know”, replied Draco, changing the subject.
“I know, Son, but he’s been sentenced there for forty years, and it will be a very long time before he’s even eligible for parole. Unlike you and I, he couldn’t claim that he was coerced into serving Voldemort. And people were looking for someone to blame for the way the Ministry was so slow to take action against the Dark… I mean, against Voldemort, and the Ministry certainly wasn’t going to blame itself!”
“Yes, Mother, but I still shudder to think of Father in the hands of either Boot’s guards or his former ‘friends’ the Death Eaters.”
“So do I, Son, so do I.”
***
Later that night, Draco awoke with a scream! “AAAHHH! MOTHER THERE IS THIS AWFUL THING CRAWLING OVER ME!”
At this awful caterwauling, Narcissa burst into the apartment’s small living room screaming lumos. It was too late and too urgent to bother with muggle “light snitches”. After a bright ball of light burst from her wand Narcissa was nonplussed to discover that their home had not in fact been invaded by Voldemort returned from the grave. Or Aunt Bella. Nor was an Auror raid in progress. There was no full moon, so a werewolf attack was right out. Narcissa looked around for subtler threats, and saw a large bug crawling up her son’s arm. Narcissa was nonplussed. “Draco, that’s a cockroach. It looks gross but it won’t hurt you. Brush it off and squish it.”
Draco did as his mother suggested, with an expression on his face that suggested that he had just bitten into a lemon. The cockroach made a sickening crunch when it died, and its insides were warm and wet against Draco’s bare foot.
“Eww.. that was disgusting!” said Draco.
“I know. We’ll do another fumigation charm tomorrow but the blasted vermin always come back. You’re lucky my last anti-rodent charm hasn’t worn off. Oh, and Draco, one other thing. Never leave a dirty dish in the sink again! And don’t wake me up at two in the morning if it’s not a real emergency or I will hex you! I would have thought that you would have gotten used to vermin in Azkaban", said Narcissa.
"Yes, and if I ever see another cockroach again it will be too soon", said Draco, with a pained expression.
***
Meanwhile, in London, a certain scarred brunet made an introduction.
“Kreecher, meet Winky. Winky, meet Kreecher. You’ll be working together from now on.”
“I is pleased to be meeting you, miss,” said Kreecher as the two house-elves shook hands. Winky simply blushed. She felt unworthy to even be in the presence of a hero like Kreecher. “Really”, continued the older elf, “I’m an ordinary elf, and I am having my faults. In a week your hair you will be pulling out. You fought at Hogwarts too, miss.”
“No you is a hero” said Winky, “I is just an ordinary elf doing my best.”
“So is I.”
Harry sympathized with Kreecher; he’d be in this situation before.
***
Several weeks later, over a breakfast of cold, burnt porridge, which had also been last night’s dinner, Narcissa told Draco an awful truth, “Son, one of us needs to get a job, swiftly. The little that remains of our savings is almost gone, and we’re slowly starving to death. Both of us need to find jobs.”
“Jobs…” Draco crooked an eyebrow at his mother. Malfoys did not work for a living. Draco informed his mother of this fact.
“Do Malfoys starve to death in filthy bedsits, then? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we keep trying to live off an inheritance we don’t have!”
“Well… when you put it that way, I guess we do need money, but neither of us knows how to do anything useful!”
“We will have to manage somehow. One of us needs to become a better cook, as well; I think both of us are sick of burnt porridge.”
“Well, yes, I certainly am, said Draco, as he took the dishes to the sink. He turned on the tap, and began directing the charmed brush and towel to wash them. At the same time, Narcissa shrunk the table and put it back into its drawer.
***
The Daily Prophet did have a “Help Wanted” section. It defaulted to displaying all available jobs. Draco tapped it with his wand and it displayed all the jobs that he was qualified for. The list was much smaller. His OWLs were decent, but had never even attempted a NEWT level course, and had been convicted of Dark Magic related offenses. Not the sort of person people were just rushing to hire. In the end there three jobs that seemed like possibilities to Draco.
Wanted: 1 waiter or waitress, Bombay Palace Indian Cuisine, #4 Pattern Alley, Edinburough. Must possess a basic knowledge of domestic magic and be willing to work hard!
Draco set that possibility aside for if he got really desperate. It was close, and he was qualified, but being a water was like being a servant, and he’d die of embarrassment if he was reduced to that.
Wanted: Agent for Johnstone’s Magical Pest Control. Must possess at least an E in OWL Defense Against the Dark Arts. Must not mind filth, dirt, dust, or doxies. Apply at No 2, Diagon Alley, London.
That seemed like a real possibility, even if it would mean finding a flat in London. Destroying doxies wasn’t what he’d ever imagined doing with his life, but he could eat off what he made from it, and the job did not sound too difficult.
Wanted: Used Cauldron Salesman. Apply to M. Fletcher, No. 18 Knockturn Alley, London. Discretion an absolute must.
“Used Cauldron Salesmen… Discretion a must” And the job was in Knockturn Alley. No Slytherin worth his snakes would fail to investigate that particular set of euphemisms. If they didn’t produce a job they might very well produce some excellent blackmail material. This was worth investigating first.
***