Doing dishes was drudgery, but working in the tea shop was just plain hard work. Draco learned the different kinds of tea and how to brew them, how to serve the different menus of teas, and how to smile to the customers, particularly the ladies. He found out if he flirted enough, he always got a bigger tip.

Eventually he had saved enough to get his own flat. A place little better than the shelter's-and he had to share the toilet-but it was good being on his own. He felt as if things were progressing, and it was on one summer day that he realized he had been living the life of a Muggle for a year.

He celebrated by buying a bottle of bourbon and downing the whole thing over the course of the evening, the frowning picture of Harry Potter on the Chocolate Frog card looking on.

"There's no sense in frowning at me, Potter," he slurred to the card. "If I have to be a Muggle, I'm going to spend it numbed up properly. What do you care? You get to have anything you want. You've got the plum job at Hogwarts-" and the card cv had changed again to reflect that. Potter did indeed have the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. "And you're famous. Again."

Draco tilted the bottle up and slurped the last of its contents. He let the bottle drop to the floor where it shattered. He stared at it, reminding him of his first night as a Muggle and his hopes to kill himself. He stared at the shards in renewed horror and slid his chair away from it. The natural impulse was to wave a wand to clean it up-and he found himself doing that on more than one occasion when he had a pencil or feather duster in his hand-but the feeling subsided, often changing to embarrassment if anyone saw him and then anger when he was alone.

Harry Potter frowned more sternly, crossed his arms over his chest, and turned away.

Draco picked up the card. He was suddenly feeling morose. "Don't turn away from me like that. You're all I've got." He petted the card to mollify and Potter shifted his shoulders as if feeling the caress. He seemed to like it. "Please. A bloke's got a right to feel a little sorry for himself, now doesn't he?" Potter nodded half-heartedly. "I mean, after all, I've lost everything, haven't I?" He ran his sleeve under his nose. Things were threatening to get out of hand. He didn't want to spend the night blubbering. He'd spent far too many nights doing just that.

Potter relented-as he always did. Draco vaguely wondered if the real Harry Potter didn't have some sort of soft spot for Draco-No, that was ridiculous. It was probably more a case of empathy for anyone who talked to the thing long enough.

He decided he had celebrated enough. He was feeling a little sick and the room was spinning a bit, so he flopped down on his bed and just lay there in his clothes. He drifted and realized he was feeling a bit horny. Funny. He hadn't felt that way for three years. Not since getting involved with Voldemort. He loosely unbuckled his trousers and shimmied out of them, lifting his hips to push them down. He handled his cock, which wasn't entirely stiff but not entirely flaccid either. Stroking it soon brought on the unaccustomed stiffness and he sighed into the feeling. A vague figure of a woman took shape in his mind. She was fairly flat-chested-which always suited him. Much like Parkinson. And like Parkinson, she had short, dark hair. But unlike Pansy she had green, green eyes. He pulled on his prick hard, thinking of this short-haired, green-eyed lover wrapping her lips around his cock. "Oh yes," he sighed. After so long a time, Draco was finally relaxed enough to give himself a good long wank with this indistinguishable woman in his thoughts. He stroked, running his thumb over his glans, twisting it and then giving in to rapid stroking. As he raised his hips into the orgasm and just before he lost consciousness, he cried out, "Harry!"

When he discovered himself in the morning he didn't remember the night before at all. But he certainly recognized the leftovers of a wank. With his head throbbing and his mouth tasting like the bottom of a cauldron, he looked down at himself. "Gods, Draco. You disgust yourself." He wiped himself down with his blanket. Wouldn't do to stumble down the hall to the showers in this state.

* * *

In the kitchen of the tea shop he tuned the wireless to his favorite station. Working with Chad back at the mission, he had learned to like music the Muggle had called "Motown" and Draco couldn't seem to get enough of it. Sometimes it was soulful, but mostly it had a beat to keep him moving. The songs were often about men losing women or women losing men or mistrusting the ones they had, but it seemed to strike a chord with him and he played it as often as he could.

Right now he was rolling out dough to "I Heard it Through the Grape Vine." He gave a little spin at the end of the chorus and it was then that Maggie walked in. She was the tart waitress who was always trying to get into Draco's trousers, as if he'd let her.

"It's Fancy Shoes at it again," she said in her nasally voice. What he wouldn't do for his wand for just a few moments!

"Just because some of us have poise and some of us-" he looked pointedly at her-"do not, there's no need for name-calling."

"Wasn't calling you a name, Dra-co." She always said it like that as if she couldn't believe someone who wasn't a rock star would have a name like that.

"Well Mags, have you set out the new linens like Mrs. Roster asked?"

"You're not my boss. I don't have to answer to you."

He shrugged. "I was just asking."

"Well I did. And she rang. Says you're to do the cashiering today."

Draco whipped his head around. "What?"

"So get yourself cleaned up, Dra-co. You're the front man today."

"But...but..." Draco panicked. He didn't know Muggle money. Always got it mixed up. He'd make a terrible hash of it. "I've...er...got these scones to do-"

She tied an apron around her waist and nudged him aside with her hip. "I'll do it. You run along."

She shooed him with her hand. Draco untied his apron and tossed it aside. He straightened his tie and found his suit jacket. Fuck. He loosened the collar with a finger and stepped out into the dining room. He was to greet and take their money. He could do it. The money had numbers on it. It was simple. A Malfoy was certainly capable.

He straightened his shoulders and unlocked the front door. He returned to his position beside the little podium. Specials. What were the specials? His mind was suddenly a blank. Why couldn't he remember the sodding specials?

The door tinkled and in walked their first customers, two large ladies who certainly had no need of a mid-morning tea. He smiled. The ladies always liked his smiles. He showed them to a table and stuck his head into the kitchen. "Table six," he said.

"I'm up to me elbows in flour," she said. "You take it."

"Bint," he muttered and grabbed two menus. He sauntered to their table and placed each menu before them.

"Oh we already know what we want," said one, giggling to the other.

"Of course," said Draco, girding himself. They rattled off their orders but he couldn't help but think to himself, I was a powerful wizard once. The things I could do would frighten the knickers off of you two. And here I am taking your bloody tea orders.

He smiled when he left their table and dropped his smile right away once he placed the order in the kitchen.

The day grew busier and Draco did his best at the cashier booth. The ladies always helped him but the students hoped he made mistakes in their favour. He was a wreck by the end of the day, and when he and Maggie counted the till, he was way off.

"What did you do?" she said, looking at him accusingly.

Full panic mode. He felt like bolting. "I'm not good with numbers."

"That's for damn sure. What am I going to tell Mrs. Roster? She'll sack you for sure."

"Don't tell her, Mags. I'll...I'll make up the difference from my own money. Except...I'll need to borrow some from you. Please Mags."

"You sure are bad with this."

"I told her not to put me on the till."

"Everyone's got to take their turn. And I don't want to get blamed for a short fall."

"Please Mags. I'm at your mercy here."

She stared silently at the till a long time when her gaze drew up and slid toward him. "Well...I'd consider helping you out and not telling the Missus...if you'd...you know."

"What?"

She leaned her shoulder into him and raised her face to his. Her mouth was mere inches from Draco's. "A little slap and tickle, my man. My own personal Boy Toy."

He pushed her away. "What? Trying to make a whore of me!"

She frowned. "It's either that or I tell her you stole it."

"But I didn't!"

"Your choice." She slammed the till shut and postured, staring at him.

He couldn't be on the street again. He couldn't! He glared at her. She was rail thin with a pinched face. She didn't interest him in the least. But if she'd keep her part of the bargain, then who cares what he did with his body?

He hoped-wherever his parents were-that they were looking the other way.

* * *

Draco fucked her every night for a week, somehow mustering the initiative. He buried his face in her musky pussy without complaint and did exactly what she wanted. But it did him no good. He was crap at the till. And Mrs. Roster told him flatly that if he couldn't work it he would have to be replaced.

He found another job quickly at another tea shop, and there he didn't have to do till work. Just wait tables. And he didn't have to pry pussy hairs from his teeth anymore either. "Cunt," he muttered when he thought of her.

But now a good portion of Draco's pay went to alcohol. Most nights he drank himself to sleep. And on weekends, he'd spend it in the pub watching some sort of boring Muggle sport on the telly, cheering when the other blokes did, and drinking, until he staggered home and fell to his bed asleep.

And so it went. One tea shop after another and more alcohol. Sometimes he got the days mixed up and failed to get to work, so drunk was he. He was sacked quickly from those jobs. He realized he had to stop drinking but there was no other relief in his life. Was this it? Was this what he was to be for the rest of his life? And wizards lived a long time.

Maybe he would have been better off killing himself like he had planned.

He sat in the dark one evening, fingering the Chocolate Frog card. He ran it between his thumb and forefinger over and over. He was between jobs again and he wondered for the umpteenth time if he should sell the card. But it tore a place in his heart to have to do it. He looked down at it in the dim light.

"Potter. I think I'd really miss these talks if I couldn't have them any more." Harry Potter looked up at him dolefully. "I wish you could talk to me. I wish someone would." He sighed bitterly. "I had the dream again last night." The card looked at him sympathetically. "The one about Mother. God, I feel so useless!"

He couldn't help it. The tears came. He had been good about bottling them up lately. But now they had to come. He had borne too much. He sobbed and threw himself down on his bed. The sobs tore at his throat, racking it raw. His face was a mess of wet and snot. He wiped it on his sleeve and sat up when the worst of it was over. "What am I going to do? I thought this was enough. A roof over my head and money in my pocket. Money! This isn't money. These stupid useless coins and this silly paper! Money is supposed to be gold and silver! It's supposed to count for something! I'm supposed to have vaults of it!" He slammed his fist into his pillow. "Damn him! Damn the Dark Lord! I wish he'd never been born!"

Draco succumbed to weeping again and finally cried himself to sleep, clutching the card, while the image of Harry Potter looked on silently.

The next day he awoke and dragged himself to the shower. He took a quick one because the geiser didn't hold much hot water. He ran back to his cold flat and toweled himself thoroughly, being a bit rough to get his circulation going. Draco decided to go to the library today. He thought long and hard about the possibilities and decided he could try to fulfill one of his ambitions: to be a barrister. Since the Wizarding world was out, perhaps he could become a Muggle lawyer. Perhaps it wouldn't be too hard.

But a few hours in the library told him it was useless. The best he could hope to achieve was to perhaps own a tea shop of his own someday. He was certainly learning the business. Except for the till. That damned till!

Draco managed yet another position and vowed to keep it no matter who he had to fuck. The forty-ish woman who owned the place had a husband who was off at sea as a merchant marine or something and she often turned her eye toward Draco. He shivered inwardly.

* * *

Draco worked diligently. He never dated. He never made friends with his coworkers. He didn't have a life outside the tea shop. He spent some time in libraries and government offices, trying to figure out how to run a business in case he ever saved enough money-though it wasn't likely.

Perhaps it was best just to work for the one place and not worry over improving his lot. Wasn't it enough to get up every morning and make it to work, doing the same thing over and over again?

"Young man," said the old codger at Draco's table. The man always came on Thursdays and always ordered the same thing: Darjeeling with scones.

Draco had been daydreaming as usual and he twisted round to return to the table. "Yes, sir. Was there something you wanted?"

"Raspberry jam, if you will."

"Certainly, sir. I forgot. As quick as I can." Draco strode to the kitchen and absently grabbed a pot of strawberry jam, returning quickly with it to the table. No sooner had he put it down and rushed to help another patron did he discover his mistake. After seating the newcomers, he rushed to the kitchen to get the raspberry jam, but when he returned to the table to exchange them, the old man was spooning raspberry onto his scones.

"What--?" Draco frowned. He was certain he had grabbed the wrong pot. The old man looked up at him and smiled. "I do like raspberry jam. But I think that one jar is quite adequate."

"Oh. It's just that I thought I'd brought you the wrong kind."

"Really? How thoughtful of you. You very well could have left your mistake."

"That wouldn't have been very nice, now would it?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised, young man, the rudeness, the...cruelties...I've seen."

Draco stared at him. There was something familiar about him. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Well, I am here every Thursday."

"No, that's not what I mean. I...well. Never mind. Is there anything else I can get for you? More scones? Another pot."

"No. I am remarkably satisfied." He glanced about the tea shop. "This seems like a very cheery place to work. Tell me, do you enjoy it?"

Draco sighed and wiped his hand down his apron. "It's all right."

"Just all right? You seem like a smart young man. What would you rather be doing? Going to school, perhaps?"

It was the way the man said 'going to school' that stabbed Draco with strange recognition, as if he could almost grasp where he'd seen the man before but couldn't quite summon it. He shuddered. "School and I don't seem to agree. I don't think there's anything else I'm fit for. I'll probably be doing this the rest of my life."

"Well, it can't be all that bad."

"There's always something ugly lurking under the surface of any shiny thing." He said it with a sneer, something he might have said to another Death Eater had he actually been close to any. Death Eaters. Why had he thought of that, for Merlin's sake? He hardly ever thought about that, unless his arm hurt. He rubbed it absently. The man watched his movements.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. I fell down. Way down, and hurt my arm. It's not been the same since."

"That's a shame. I have a touch of arthritis in my left elbow and I'm afraid I've not been the same either."

Draco smiled at the harmless old man. He reminded him of-but no. He wouldn't allow himself to think of him. He had no right to think of him.

He gestured toward the kitchen. "I've got to go."

"Thank you for the chat. Good-bye, young man."

"Bye."

Later when the old man left and Draco was clearing the table, he found a twenty pound note. "Mad old codger!" Dimwitted. And weren't old men on pensions or something? Surely the geezer thought he was leaving a much smaller denomination. Draco certainly knew what it was to scrape by and slipped the note in his pocket straight away. Except... the old man had been kind to Draco and he probably needed the money more than Draco did. With a deep, irritated sigh, Draco grabbed the note from his pocket and ran out the door. He looked both ways and saw the man ambling up the lane. He ran to catch up. "Sir! Sir!"

The old man turned and glanced at him with sparkling blue eyes. "Yes, young man?"

"Sir, you left this on the table." He proffered the note.

"Why yes," said the old man. "It's a gratuity for service well done."

"But sir." Draco waved it at him. "It's too much. It's a twenty pound note. See?" He thrust it into the old man's hand.

The man looked at it and handed it back. "I know very well what it is." He smiled and turned up the road again.

Draco stood looking down at the twenty pound note for a long time. Muggles. Who would have thought they could be so...so...human.

A loud crack awakened him. It was a familiar sound, at least from his Wizarding days, and he snapped his head up and looked around, but he could see no wizard or witch Apparating or Disapparating.

When he looked down the lane, the old man was gone.

Draco always wondered about him, because he never returned for his Thursday tea.


On to Chapter Seven
"A Simple Hogwarts Affair"

Back to Chapter Five
"Everyday Life at Hogwarts"

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