detached
november. 2005
7 years after the battle at hogwarts
A strong wind crashed into the roof of the large, two bedroom flat on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. A gush of breeze coursed through the fire place across the living room, sending a chill through the air of the quiet and untouched apartment. A photo from the table beside the balcony, gently flew with the wind, landing onto the floor. Suddenly, the front door opened, causing the breeze to intensify briefly, before calming.
The man who entered, walked forward, closing the door behind him, and examined the room briefly, before setting down his papers on the kitchen counter to his left. With the sudden movement of his hand, the lights flickered on, illuminating the area. He continued on, noticing the fallen photograph on the floor, and he bent down, picking it up gently. His mother stood beside him in the picture, smiling with the young boy, of only 12, with his school robes on, and Slytherin tie. His innocence was pure, even if his actions weren't as much. Letting out a sigh, he placed it back on the table, and dropped to the chair beside him, settling into the cushions.
His body ached from overworking himself. He had been in New York for only two days, and it's already felt like a lifetime. First it was Phoenix, then Chicago, and now here. Each of these places taking the span of three months of his life. He felt it was a waste of time. He had only found and successfully captured one Potter sympathizer, just outside of Phoenix, in Chandler. But since then, nothing. Yet, he was to remain here in the United States, until further notice.
The best he could do for right now is explore some places to keep from slipping into a madness of boredom, but also, sometimes the best places for hiding, were in plain sight.
Cafes, museums, bookstores, even churches. Anywhere you wouldn't expect a top tier death eater to investigate. But that would begin tomorrow. For now, Draco stood from his seat, with a heavy sigh, and headed to the kitchen. Opening the freezer on the top part of the fridge, he realized he hadn't bought food yet. "Fuck." He sighed, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a pack of smokes, figuring this would hold him over until the morning.
As he stood out on the balcony of the second story of his flat, he lifted the lighter to the end of the cigarette, lighting it up and inhaling sharply. He stared out to the lively city ahead where cars sped by, and people crowded the sidewalks with loud chatter, and drunken demeanors. The ignorance of these people, was truly bliss. And he envied them. Not for their blood status, as that still weighed in his mind as some sort of importance. But just the simple fact that most of them lived their lives with no worries besides what bar to go to, or who their significant other is shagging behind their back.
He wished that were his only concerns. But he was surrounded by a darkness with a void so deep, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to live so blindly. "Hey, mister!" A chipper voice called out with a slur from just below him, breaking him from his thoughts. Draco looked down to see three drunken girls, waiting below. "Could we get one of those? My friend here left hers at home, and we're desperate." She continued. Desperate for attention, maybe. He thought to himself. He sighed heavily, leaving the cigarette hanging from his lips, and reached into his pocket, retrieving the pack.
The tallest girl, with long brown hair, climbed up the beige brick wall, and stood with her hand reaching out in anticipation. He bent down, sticking his arm through the rail and she quickly grabbed one, beginning to wobble a bit. Suddenly, her left foot slipped from its position, just as she reached it, and as she began to fall, the pack went with her. Draco watched in annoyance and trying not to grow angry with her. But now his pack of smokes were laying dirty on the ground next to some drunken slag, who already had her friends helping her up.
"Jesus, Mariana, are you good?" The blonde asked her, as the brunette dusted her jacket off, with a nod and a laugh.
"Sorry, guy!" She looked up to Draco, who was hanging his head in defeat. And with that, the girls were off to enjoy their single cigarette, from Draco's now ruined pack.
"Idiots." Draco muttered, deciding that he now would have to go buy another pack and food. Luckily, money was never a problem for the Malfoy son, but this country sure was. He just wished he could go home. But what waited for him at home was even far worse than what was here. Sadly, he was used to it. He grew accustomed to the tradition of torture and killing. It was his life now, whether he wanted it or not, he had no choice but to endure the violence and come out on top, for his own sake of survival.
Considering his father was crippled, and his mother was aging and with the stress of taking care of Lucius, while also trying to uphold her death eater duties, he was stuck doing the most of it all.
And as he climbed the ranks these past few years, he was one of Voldemort's right hand men. One of his most "loyal" officers, who he trusted more than the others. If only the dark lord knew the truth, but he was thankful that he's hid his true intentions all these years and he wasn't planning on breaking that code of silence anytime soon.
As he smashed the cigarette into the small ash tray on the circular table next to him, he walked back inside. Examining the lonely flat once again and feeling the emptiness settle. It had been a long few years, for sure. "Garett?" A voice called out, and his head whipped to the left to see the half naked girl standing in the hall, grabbing at her head in a sleepy, and clearly hungover state.
"You're still here?" He scowled, wishing that she wasn't.
"I didn't know when you'd decide to come back." She rolled her eyes, making herself at home by walking into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water.
"Well, I've returned." He snapped back, seating himself on the chair behind him. She eyed him, lifting a brow in curiosity, and then walked to where he was seated, confidently straddling his lap. Her lips brushed the side of his cheek, as she buried her face into his neck, only causing his irritation to grow more intense.
"What do you say we head to the bedroom?" She whispered, eagerly. Her desperation was nauseating.
"I'd love to." He tossed her from his lap, as she dropped to the floor, with a loud thud and a huff. "You can see your way out, I take it?" He called back to her, rhetorically, while walking down the hall to his bedroom.
"Are you joking?" She shouted, standing herself up, and reaching to her clothes that were laying on the sofa, in a hurry. Following him into the room, she pulled the shirt over her head, clearly very angry. "I waited here for you all goddamn day!"
"Nobody asked you to, love." He sighed, falling onto the bed, and closing his eyes. Maybe if he pretended the problem wasn't here, it'd just go away.
"You're such a fucking asshole!" She shouted again, pulling her jeans up, and staring at him, coldly. He ignored her. "Seriously?" She grew even more mad, if that was possible, while looking at the dresser to her side, and grabbing the first thing she saw on it, which happened to be a book titled 'Quidditch Through The Ages'. And not paying any mind to that, she threw it at him. His eyes opened, as he caught it just in time with his hand, and stared at her. Her mouth agape slightly, and eyes widened in shock that his reflexes were so fast. She should have known that though, from last night.
"You done throwing your little temper tantrum?" He asked, calmly. With another huff, she stormed out, slamming the front door behind her.
Draco sighed, looking down at the book in his hands. She must've pulled it from one of his boxes he hadn't unpacked, because he had hardly touched it in years, only when he was moving to new places. Opening to the first page, he saw the inscribed words of his mother.
'My son, I love you always, and forever. May your matches bring you victory and joy, and your heart be full.
Happy birthday, Draco.
I love you.'
He wished he could go back to the simpler times of only having to suffer from Potter and his friends being prats. But that was long over, and there was no going back.
Sighing, he realized nicotine would be the best solution right now. So with hopes that his pack would still be below the balcony, he stood up and walked out to the kitchen, where he grabbed his house key and left his apartment.
Walking down the stairwell, he exited through the front entrance of the complex and hurried over to where the fallen pack sat in a puddle of water and dirt. Sighing and picking it up, he realized there was no salvaging them. He dropped it once again, beginning to walk back, when a voice stopped him abruptly. "Drop your pack?" The girl asked, as he looked to see who he must've missed on his way out here. Her long chestnut hair hung in a braid that lay just above her abdomen, her hood of her sweatshirt was over her head, and her shoes were slightly dirty. She smiled faintly, as she inhaled a puff of smoke. She leaned against the wall of the outside of the building, casually, as her arms were crossed just over her chest.
"Yeah, actually. Guess that's what I get for helping someone out." He muttered, staring at her, curiously.
"Guess so." She responded, as the two stood awkwardly, looking to one another. The girl then, reached into her pocket, and pulled out her pack, extending it to him. "Take one." She offered. Draco hesitated, before approaching her, and pulling one out for himself.
"Appreciate that." He said, as she pulled out a box of matches, and scraped one against the side of the box. Draco leaned forward, uncomfortable with the fact that a woman was lighting his cigarette for him. The gesture was kind, but he had too much of a male ego to respond to this comfortably.
After lighting it, she shook the match, as the wind blew out the flame, and she leaned back against the wall. "I'm Dru." She introduced herself with a smile.
"Draco. Draco Malfoy."