Chapter Text
“I can be good. I can be nice,” Draco muttered, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Tired eyes in a pale face etched with frown lines stared back.
C’mon nowwww don't be a debbie downer! Say it with more feelings, moorrre positive vibes! squeaked the tiny Self-Affirmation Tubbie. It was a new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product made to look like a popular muggle creature with a green fuzzy coat and a spike on its head. Feeling clueless about how to be ‘good’, Draco had bought it in a moment of desperation, hoping it would help him navigate the post-war world.
“I can be -”
Smiiiillle, you have to smiiiilllee.
He cleared his throat and forced a smile on his face. “I can be good. I can be -”
Wanker Wanker you're a wanker
Your mum's a wanker
Your dad's a wanker
“Blaise!” he shouted. “Blaise! Shut your fucking alarm spell.”
The blasted braying just got louder and louder with Blaise’s snores providing background acoustics to the most irritating alarm sound in the world. He stomped over to Blaise’s room and shut the alarm with a slam of his wand. “Spoilsport,” Blaise mumbled from under the mound of blankets and pillows, “we were just getting to the good part.”
“There is no good part!” he yelled in frustration, “Harpies fans are daft and lazy. That's the worst Quidditch chant I've ever heard.”
“You're a right ray of sunshine in the morning,” Blaise said with a yawn.
“At least my whole personality has not been taken over by the redheaded menace.”
“The redheaded menace? You mean my girlfriend who got you a job?”
Draco sighed and trudged to the kitchen with Blaise following. “Sorry. I barely got any sleep last night. Dropped off at half two. That’s less than four hours,” he said, putting the kettle on.
Blaise narrowed his eyes at him. “Seriously Draco, and I say this without judgement but your late night soirees are getting a bit concerning. Where do you even go?”
“I told you, just around. Muggle part of the city. It’s nice not to be recognised.”
“Just … please be careful, alright? It’s great that you’re exploring your sexuality, and I honestly don’t care if you’re handing out blowies in the back alleys, I just don’t want to wake up to news of your murder.”
“I’m not handing out blowjobs in side-alleys,” Draco muttered, but not too loudly, after all, he didn’t have a plausible explanation for returning late at night and it was better to let Blaise believe whatever he wanted to believe. As it was, he’d been so consistently kicked in the nuts by life lately that rumours about whoring around could hardly add to his disrepute.
First, there had been all the drama with Voldemort. Yeah, being deeply involved with a murdering, torturing, genocidal cult was bad. Now that the constant threat of death and torture didn’t loom over him, he could properly recognise how despicable the whole thing had been. Not that he wasn’t constantly reminded of it every waking hour by the general public whose favourite new national sport was to visit his workplace and reprimand him for his sins. His sleeping hours weren’t any relief either, what with the nightmares that plagued him.
His trial had been utterly humiliating. He'd been chained to the dreaded defendant's chair which sat at the pit of the hall, surrounded by judging eyes, of not just the Wizengamot and reporters, but also several Hogwarts professors and a lot of former students. He was so terrified and anxious, he'd almost pissed himself. The worst thing however, was the guilt that he felt in the pit of his stomach while the prosecutor read out his crimes. Surprisingly, Potter spoke for him, which was just another level of humiliation. Draco couldn't even bring himself to look at him.
With the trial behind them at least Potter was now back to normal, playing the part of the indignantly righteous saviour by throwing distrusting and suspicious glares at him daily.
As if all of that wasn’t enough, there was the whole fiasco of his coming out. After a massive drunken argument with his father who had been sentenced to house arrest for fifteen years, Draco came out as gay and was immediately “disowned”. His mother had been assuring him through letters that he wasn’t technically disowned but it definitely felt that way after he was left utterly destitute with nothing but the clothes on his back and all access to his vaults blocked.
Thank Merlin for Blaise with his lumpy sofa and war hero girlfriend.
Work was just a floo journey away, a small mercy, as Draco couldn't imagine having to walk through the streets of Diagon - not while the wounds of the war were still so fresh and he was so easily recognisable.
The fireplace at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was a joke, much like any other object at the shop. It sent occasional and supposedly random bursts of soot at the arrivals. Yet somehow, since the past month he had been working there, he'd been the sole victim.
It happened again that morning, as soon as he arrived at WWW. A cloud of soot descended upon him, covering him from top to bottom, and leaving him coughing.
“Haha. Never ceases to brighten my day.” Ginny Weasley sounded amused.
“If you remove the enchantment,” he grumbled, “I'll do a humiliating little jig for your entertainment every day upon arrival.”
“Hmm yeah tempting, but this is better,” she grinned at him. “Plus, I told you, there is no enchantment, the glitch is totally random. Better make yourself presentable, you've got front desk duty today. Ron’s gone off to procure some factory supplies.”
Draco sighed and stalled, hoping she would think of some other task that needed doing in the stockroom.
“Chop chop, Ferret. Time's money,” she cheerfully called out, whilst flipping the pages of a Quidditch magazine.
There was a time when getting orders from Ginny Weasley would have hurt his pride, but he didn't have the energy to care anymore. Besides, her position as Blaise’s girlfriend had created a truce of sorts between them. He refrained from riling her up and she didn't fire any bat bogey hexes his way.
Was he mad jealous of the fact that she had been selected for the Holyhead Harpies and would start training in a month? Yes, but he tried to avoid all thoughts that sent him into a depressing spiral of how disappointing his life was gearing up to be.
What he really resented was being called a ferret. One unfortunate (and abusive) instance of being forcibly transfigured into an animal and now he was a ferret? Ferrets had a weird jiggly body and they ran in an unhinged manner. Whereas he was the epitome of gracefulness and elegance. He -
Someone knocked wildly on the front door. A whole horde of young children on the loose. They stuck their little faces to the window, knocking and pulling faces. It was just two minutes away from opening time. Draco closed his eyes, muttered his self-affirmation mantra, plastered a polite smile on his face and unlocked the door before they broke the window.
“Hello! Welcome to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Are you kids with someone?”
The little gremlins rushed past him into the shop and invaded the shelves. “Be careful,” Draco followed them. “Just don’t touch -”
One of the kids climbed a table to reach an upper shelf with delicate glass figurines. Anticipating disaster, Draco grappled for his wand but before he could cast a levitating charm, a figurine crashed. Although he put the pieces together with a spell, the delicate musical charm work on it could not be repaired.
A middle-aged witch and a wizard, who appeared to be their guardians, entered the shop. They were busy chattering amongst themselves, making no effort to control the children.
“Excuse me.” Draco hesitantly approached them. “Erm, one of the children broke this. I’m afraid you’ll have to purchase -”
“Just put it on the counter,” the wizard replied brusquely without sparing him a glance.
With the children a bit subdued in the presence of the grown ups, Draco busied himself with the register and catalogue. A few minutes later he heard whispering containing the phrases ‘Malfoy’ and ‘over there’ from the couple along with surreptitious glances thrown his way.
When it came to the billing, they feigned surprise at the glass figurine. “What’s that? It doesn't look broken,” said the witch.
“I tried to repair it but the charm work it contained was delicate, so it's spoiled now. I'm afraid we have a policy.” He pointed at the ‘You break you buy’ sign.
“Looks like he's trying to pass on a defective piece to you, Stella,” her companion remarked.
“What? No. Why would I do that? I'm just an employee,” Draco protested.
“Maybe you broke it yourself and are trying to pass it on to us.”
“Yes, else why wouldn't he have shown it to us when it broke.”
“I did inform you,” he insisted, “and you told me to put it on the counter.”
“Well, I never,” the wizard huffed, “Stella, do you remember anything of the sort?”
“Certainly not. He's lying through his teeth, conning us. Not surprising, considering who he is.”
“Is there a problem?” Ginny stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her waist. “Draco you’re needed down in the stockroom.”
He made to move downstairs but stood behind the corner watching them. While the children were too young to understand Ginny’s celebrity appeal, the demeanour of the grownups immediately changed.
“Oh! Ms. Weasley! We’re such huge fans,” they gushed, which was a tad weird considering Ginny hadn’t played a single match for the Harpies yet.
“Errr … thanks?” Ginny seemed just as confused.
“You and Mr. Potter make a beautiful couple, just lovely.”
Ginny visibly grimaced, but they didn’t seem to notice.
“The Daily Prophet ran a special about the two of you. I cut out the pictures to frame!”
“I do have a boyfriend and he’s not Harry,” she insisted.
The words fell on deaf ears. “Lovely, just lovely. Take good care of our hero, Ms. Weasley!”
“We’re old patrons of your shop. Such a lovely family, all of you. It’s no wonder you’re acting out of the goodness of your heart, but your employee,” the word employee was said in a disgusted tone, “the likes of him don’t deserve your pity. The Malfoys are crooks. You’re breeding a viper in your sleeve.”
“Actually, my employee is right. I saw it happen. I understand if you’re confused though. Afraid I’ll have to add it to the bill. So sorry!” she said cheerily. “Do leave your address if you want your purchases delivered by owl mail.”
Draco stepped out from the shadows once they left.
“What's wrong with you Malfoy,” Ginny shook her head at him. “You used to be the king of snark and now? Why do you take abuse from them?”
“I'm just trying to be a good person.”
“Right. Pandering to loopy, bitter customers won't earn you that good deed medal.”
“Well, I'm not going to get into fights with random strangers. Their words can't hurt me,” he said, even though they did, a little bit.
Ginny sighed. “Whatever. You do you. I have to meet Blaise. Ron will be back soon.”
The next few customers didn’t pay him any mind and fortunately, Ron really was back soon. Not so fortunately, he was with Potter. Potter, who after the flurry of post-war mania, had finally found enough alone time to get back to his favourite hobby of ‘finding out what new nefarious plot is being hatched by Malfoy’.
“Alright, Malfoy?” Ron nodded at him, before disappearing downstairs with what looked like an armful of wiggly, winged jelly fish. “Stay at the front. I have to take care of this.”
Potter stayed behind, walking around with his hands in his pockets, seemingly surveying the shop, not looking at Draco but still looking at him. These days, he’d begun to look even more dishevelled than normal. His t-shirt was crumpled and his jeans had a tea stain on it. There were dark circles under his eyes and he desperately needed a haircut. Perhaps that was just him getting cocky in the face of his hero status, Draco thought bitterly. He tried to ignore him, quietly go about his work without attracting Potter's ire.
Potter walked into a pile of bouncy balls charmed to squeal curses when bounced.
Cockwomble!
Gormless Muppet!
Four eyed git!
Potter sharply turned to look at him.
“I didn’t do that. Swear,” Draco insisted. “Plus it wouldn’t have happened if you just watched where you walked, instead of glaring at me.”
Arsebadger!
Draco sighed and levitated the balls back to their spots.
“I wasn’t glaring at you,” said Potter, glaring at him.
Draco reeled in his instinct to snap back and tried to ignore him. Potter moved closer. Like a cat stalking its prey, Draco thought hysterically.
“So, you're still working here?”
Potter was at the shop just the day before, so the question certainly didn't stem from genuine curiosity.
“Why wouldn’t I still be working here?”
“Wouldn’t have thought you’d enjoy this,” he gestured between Draco at the counter and the rest of the shop.
“It’s a job, not a holiday.”
“Right. Got bored at the Manor?”
Of course. Potter didn't know about his disinheritance. That realisation still didn't stop him from snapping back, “I’m working. What are you doing here? Got bored with all the hero worship? No more parties to attend?”
Potter’s glaring doubled down. Draco could imagine the nuts and screws in his head turning to come up with a sassy reply. “Not like you -”
“Oye!” Ron interrupted just before Potter could deliver his retort. “Let’s go. Malfoy, stay at the front desk for a bit, will you? I’ll be back in an hour.”
Potter hesitated, reluctant to leave. “Can’t we just order food and eat it here?”
“What? Here? And get hassled by random fans and journos while we’re trying to eat our curry?”
“We can close the shop for an hour?”
“No, we can’t,” Ron snorted. “Also, I don’t think Malfoy would appreciate your extended presence. Let him work in peace, yeah?”
Potter seemed to take offence at the idea that Draco would not appreciate his lovely extended presence. Thankfully, Ron managed to drag him away, but not before he threw one last unnerving glare in Draco’s direction.
Nothing eventful happened until after lunch hour when there was a sudden influx of customers. Draco managed to stick with a polite smile, despite the judgmental and rude looks thrown his way.
A couple with two well mannered children caught his attention when he heard them talking in French. They appeared to have limited knowledge of English. They were standing in front of the now empty stand that held glow-in-the-dark pygmy puffs and their little girl was near tears.
Gathering his courage, Draco left his seat behind the counter and approached them with a smile. “Excusez-moi, puis-je aider?”
“Parles francais?”
“Oui,” he grinned, and went down on one knee to address the little girl. “Tu en veux un, petite chérie? Il y en a plus en stock.”
The parents looked relieved. “Merci.Thank you!” The father shook his hand, and that's when he felt a stick hit his side.
“Get away. Get away from the children,” an old hag screeched, waving her walking stick at him.
“Don't let him come near your children. He's a Death Eater,” she addressed the parents, even when he backed off.
They were clearly confused, looking at each other and at him, and their daughter had started crying, seemingly scared of the old hag.
“Death. Eater. Voldemort,” the woman continued to screech, and the family quickly left the shop without another word.
The half dozen people still in the shop were all staring at him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disgust.
Draco wanted to hex them all, consequences be damned. He gripped his wand through the pocket of his trousers, but took a deep breath instead. “I can be good. I can be nice,” he muttered under his breath, and although the self-affirmation meant little to him just then, it did manage to control his meaner instincts.
Instead of continuing to place himself in an unbearable situation, he ran downstairs.
It took him a few minutes to dry his eyes that were threatening to spill tears and get his breathing under control. He realised he’d left the shop unattended but thankfully there was an anti-burglary ward on the front door.
“I can be good. I can be nice,” he tried again, but it wasn’t working. All he felt was anger towards the crazy woman who humiliated him in front of the only customers who had been nice to him today.
“Fuck it!”
He stopped thinking and just let himself feel. The rational thoughts didn't disappear but they took a backseat to his heightened physical sensations. Agile, feline, sharp claws, sharp teeth.
“Meowwww,” he jumped from the chair and landed gracefully on his feet.
Every time he transformed into his animagus form, it felt freeing. He could still think rationally but the point was that he didn't need to. Human Draco thought constantly, second guessing himself, replaying past events in his head, worrying about the future, but cat Draco just revelled in the beauty of physical existence.
He leapt up the stairs. The surefootedness of being a cat was a joy in itself. Zooming around at a super-fast speed, knowing whatever outlandish manoeuvre he tried, he would never slip, it was a high equivalent to playing Quidditch.
Ginny was back and was talking to the hag. He moved swiftly towards them, staying close to the wall.
“Pwetty kitty!” a toddler tried to pounce on him with his grubby hands but he was too quick for the little menace. He made a swift turn and hid amongst the leaves of a potted plant.
Something something … death eaters … he could hear the old witch blabber. She was still holding the walking stick with which she had assaulted him. Her dumpy pink handbag however, was lying on a shelf in the corner. The other customers were busy with their purchases and Ginny was still held hostage by the babbling woman.
Draco as a cat was a force of nature. He was fast as a cheetah, graceful as a gazelle, and more beautiful than a unicorn with his gleaming, snow white fur and brilliant silver eyes.
He made it to the shelf and leaped up silently, without being spotted by anyone. The bag was half open. He pulled the ties with his teeth and opened it fully, before slipping the lower half of his body inside. He closed his eyes, and strained, concentrating on the pressure, and then let loose.
The smell of ammonia filled the air. Satisfied, Draco jumped off and happily skipped back downstairs.
Ten minutes later, Ginny found him brewing tea, a smile on his face.
“Well, well, well, Draco Malfoy. Got to say, I underestimated you.”
He choked a bit on a biscuit. “Sorry. Sorry about that. I inhaled a few crumbs. Sorry, what were you saying?”
Ginny smirked and grabbed a cup for herself. “I was thinking how to best defend your honour but then I witnessed your revenge and I must say you certainly don't need a knight in shining armour. Well done!”
Draco avoided eye contact. “Don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, sure, let's play that game. Your secret is safe with me. Mostly because it amuses me. However, if you ever pee on my belongings, I'll make you regret it. Remember that, ferret. Oh, I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore,” she laughed.
Draco still couldn't look at her. Maybe a Weasley could find humour in the situation, but what he did in his animal form was undignified, damnit! It should not have been acknowledged for both their sakes.
Ginny turned back and handed him a slip, “Oh! Almost forgot. One last task for you before you call it a day. Here’s the address of the morning customers. The ones who broke the glass. Mark out the deliveries to them, would you?” she grinned and left.
Draco stared at the slip in his hand. It was going to be another long night.
~