Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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What happens to the heroes after wars?


They get their  trophy  girl, and their white picket fence and all their dreams come true, they get their hour and a half after midnight strikes and their cheesy love songs,  they get their starry nights and true lover's kiss , they get their money and respect and admiration -


What happens to the  villains  after wars?


They go to prison  or  they die.


Or atleast they should. ' Should ' being the keyword here, because Potter's never been known for following the goddamn rules, and Draco knows he should be grateful, but its still so,  so hard,  all the spiteful glares and the taunting comments and the pure hatred dripping from people as they refuse him any service and the random hexes which  he can't retaliate to -




Scum, filth, freak , the man yells as he spits on him, throwing a stinging jinx behind his shoulder -




Its on that last evening as his mother moves to their French Villa, the place they don't own on papers, but have all authority over, just with their blood, the same day that Draco's six months of House Arrest end, the same day he decides that he wants to do something so unlike himself, something to  spite everything he's ever been taught.


Its not that hard, because everything he's been taught can be fit into  a box.


A box which belongs in  Britain .


Infact, if he zooms out and thinks about it, he knows exactly what to do. And its  painfully  easy.


He's been selling ancient, and highly valuable Malfoy antiques for quite some time, clearing Dark Artefacts, removing any signs that someone like the Dark Lord once lived in the same place where ninety percent of his nostalgic  childhood  memories were based.

He has too much money at hand, because the fact about being house arrested, having trained house elves who don't require wizarding money to do any of the necessary jobs, having a father who may have had a murderous streak but was still the best manager of gold -  black or white -  that you could find - and having no more than five friends, all with their  own  problems and barely any time for him -  well .


He sits down in his father's study on one long, mind-numblingly boring evening and calculates and realizes that if he had a heir and  his heir had a heir,  they could all make do well without jobs, even after all the Malfoy vaults that the Ministry's seized as reparations.

The thought is very  comforting , on a fundamental level.



Draco Malfoy goes to the Wiltshire muggle village, buys a muggle world map and in a half drunken state, throws a muggle dart right at it. 

It sticks on a side with a loud, smacking ping.


So, what  does  happen to villains after wars?


In Draco's case, they disappear.







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He would have bought an International Portkey, if anybody would deign to sell it to a Malfoy. It would have taken him the family solicitor and atleast three bribes to acquire one. So instead, he packs two suitcases, with only the bare minimum, connects his Vaults to an Extendable Pouch which he can retrieve Muggle and Wizarding money from at all times and goes to an  Airport .

Its nerve wracking, the fact that he's in a place all alone, with no idea what to do - just sort of following the security guard's incomplete and accidentally given instructions.


Well. That's not true.


He did contact Millie before leaving, Millicent Bulstrode is a half-blood, and she did give him small flip notes, which in block letters, tell him what to do. The first on them was to go to Blaise and get his documents forged. That had sounded fairly illegal,  but since when was Draco an expert on that matter?


Blaise said as much with a smug smile, and handed him the perfectly done documents, a  VISA  and a passport and something called a  Driver's License  for one  Drake M. Black,  overnight, as Draco crashed on his sofa and ate something called a  pepperoni  pizza with Pansy.

"Its a muggle experience, Drake," she said, laughing and drunk. "The best one. Except weed, of course."

He had laughed along like he understood why muggles were apparently  eating garden flora.

The Airport was a fairly impressive place, with the ostentatious kind of building and decor that he could appreciate, if not like anymore. 

And his taxi driver played nice muggle songs the whole way, so he didn't feel that bored either.  "Give me a shout for your return journey, sir, if you need to,"  he added, hastily handing him a card with a bunch of random numbers, and Draco wondered whether he was even returning and if he was, how was he supposed to call the guy.  Did he just have to yell and he would appear?  It didn't sound doable.




( - TELL ANY LADY WITH A TIGHT BUN AND A WHITE UNIFORM THAT ITS A NEW EXPERIENCE FOR YOU - )



So he manages his  Check In , somehow - what kind of a name is check in, anyway? - and watches with a faint kind of horror as muggles allow other muggles, who they don't know at all, to touch them, to check their bodies for weapons. Its a  scary  kind of thought.



( - DON'T FREAK OUT WHEN HE INVADES YOUR SPACE, HE'S BEING PAID TO DO THAT - )



The muggle who checks him, asks him why he has a piece of wood in his pocket and so he spins quite a tale about it being from a  holy hawthorn tree and that he needs to give it to his spiritually taoist grandmother who's currently dying  in Byron Bay, Australia. The guy concedes and sends him off with a,  "That's a nice tattoo you have there."


He doesn't correct him.


Instead, he goes to the busy area, food court, they call it and orders himself another pepperoni pizza and a carbonated drink. He would never admit it, but Pansy was right. It was quite good. Its even better in his sober state.





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"Are you a fairy?"  the no-older-than-six-years girl in front of him asks immediately, her hands going towards his hair, before her mother pulls her back, apologises and then, makes her apologise too. Its such a familiar routine, that Draco wants to sob.


When her mother sleeps, she jumps out of her seat, popping up again in front of Draco's. "So, are you?"


"I assure you, I'm one hundred percent  human ," he says seriously. "Fairies are much  smaller  in size."

"They are, aren't they?" she says, so knowingly that Draco wonders for a moment if she's actually seen one. "Why're you dressed in a suit? Are you going somewhere for an  off-ici-al  meeting? 'Coz that's when  my  daddy wears his suits."

"I - not exactly," Draco says and wonders when he got so comfortable in these that he doesn't even realise it anymore. 

He would wager when he was the girl's age. 

"Not an official meeting."

" My  name is Katherine," she says, without further ado, extending a pudgy hand with a sticker on the back of her palm.


"Drake," he says, shaking it.


"My mummy says I talk too much," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. "Do  you  think so, too?"

"No," he lies. "You talk much lesser than most of my friends."

That sufficiently satisfies her, and she starts off a whole story about a classmate who talks in his sleep and a sleepover and a ghost impression with torches and white sheets.


"You should try it with black sheets," he says, shrugging. "Worked for me."


She speaks and speaks - and Draco learns that muggle kids do know about magic, even if its a little faulty, but they forget when they get older?


That's  Katherine's  theory, anyway.


Draco doesn't know if all muggle kids are like this, but this one is  an absolute hellion.  

She has these plastic things called rubber bands and she spends a whole hour striking people with them. They never catch her. 

She tells Draco about the time a boy called Brandon tried to kiss her, so she bit him and lost a tooth. "Look," she says, proudly, pointing to a gap in her upper jaw. "It broke off and got stuck on Brandon's  face  till he screamed and took it out."


She's obsessed with something called  pterodactyls,  with a 'p!'  - and she insists that they're real and alive - and since Draco knows that everything she's said before this had also been true, he agrees.


He hums and nods and says ' yes ' and ' no ' at all the right places and that seems to satisfy her - a demand which is almost reasonable compared to what everyone else expects of him. They're ten hours in, with a nap and two meals, when the girl says, "Now I'm gonna show you something that I haven't even shown  my mum  yet."


He's just about to protest, when she pulls two actual guinea pigs out of her bag.


They blink at him owlishly and one of them lets out a small sound, which Kathy covers with a loud, fake squeal and her mother doesn't even stir - as she explains how easy it is to sneak past airport security.


"Their names are Merlin and Champagne," she says, haughtily - pointing to each one in turn.


Draco's respect for muggle children zooms up  instantly , even though he's pretty sure this is how hardened criminals start off.

"Merlin is my  warlock  hero," she tells him. "But champagne is my friend. Atleast, that's what daddy says."

Its only after they land and exchange solemn farewells, which again, the mother apologizes for, that Draco realizes he hasn't smiled so much in a day since really long.







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Draco's driver is quite a chatter. But they reach the small villa that Draco's bought soon. There's only one house near his, and he's heard something about muggles socializing with their neighbours.


Why not?


He strides across the road and knocks twice on the door, firmly, plastering a smile on his face.


The woman who opens the door looks really, really familiar. He's not sure why, but her brown eyes and her hair -


"Monica Wilkins," she introduces, smiling confusedly. "You are...?"

"Drake Black," he says, extending a hand. "I just moved in next door. So, I came to - "

"Oh,  hello ," a deep voice rings out from the back and a man appears, and Draco is suddenly sure he recognizes these people, but he can't pinpoint exactly where he's seen them -


"Wendell Wilkins," he says, nodding and smiling pleasantly. "Its a pleasure. Come in, why don't you?"


Are all muggles this  trusting?


He goes inside, dragging his feet on the welcome mat once, and walks through from the corridor to the living room. Its filled with recent photos of the couple and souvenirs from places, none of which look beyond two years old. They must be new here, too, he decides as the lady brings him a teacup and pours steaming tea from a kettle.

"Just moved in, have you?" she asks, with a kind smile.

"Yes," he nods. "Just today."

"Need any help with settling down, dear?" she asks and Draco can't explain that he's settled in already, it took him barely half an hour with his wand, so he refuses politely.


"You have a  British  accent," the man says, abruptly, staring through the window.

"Er - yes. That's where I'm from, originally," he explains. "Needed to get away for a while."

When they nod thoughtfully, he asks where in England they're from, after all,  their  accents are English too.


Draco sees confusion flash through their eyes before they refuse and say that  they've just always wanted to travel to Australia.







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Its in the second week of his stay, he's been sightseeing, travelling around, seeing muggle historical sites - that he realises that something  really  is wrong. 

He's been noticing strange things but they all seem to have an explanation if he sits down and thinks.


Mrs. Wilkins, ' Call me, Monica, dear!'  is sitting in his dining room and they're eating the cookies she baked that afternoon, when she suddenly says, "You know, Draco, dear," she's started calling him that as a nickname, "The sugar in these  exacerbates  the effects of the weakened enamel."


He passes her a quizzical look because he has absolutely no idea what she just said.


She slowly shakes her head and suddenly, her eyes glaze over. Which is when Draco realizes, they were clear only for a second, when she berated sugar, and otherwise, the eye color he's come to think of as her normal shade, isn't actually her true color.


"I just - I used to tell her to not eat them," she said, still shaking her head. "I don't know if she listened, but she usually did -  brillant  child she is, really - "


Draco wonders who she's talking about and whether he should investigate further into this. Its just that - Monica and Wendell are so -  ordinary . There's nothing about them that instantly says foulplay, and they seem happy all the time. 

Nobody is actively harming them, he can tell.

" Oh , have another one," she says, blinking and offering him the tin. "What were we talking about, again?"


He decides to give it some more time.






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In his third week, he comes out of the Wilkins' home and runs straight into  Hermione Granger.


When he gets up, she's fuming, her hair flying wild around her as usual, and Draco realizes  where  he's seen that particular shade of  brown eyes,  as she presses her wand to his neck and demands, "How did you find them?  What did you do?"

 




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