Chapter Text
In the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, time didn’t seem to be passing properly.
In all honesty, Draco had been blurring the line between sleep and wakefulness since the summer before his sixth year. Nightmares would not be confined to night when the Dark Lord claimed your home, your family, your youth.
But in the days following the Dark Lord’s death, Draco truly began to wonder whether he would ever be fully conscious again.
His days wore past him eerily dreamlike, decisions apparently happening without his remembering when or how to make them. Now, he left the battle, and no one stopped him. Now, he escorted his mother to the front step of the Manor, and she did not argue when he kissed her cheek in leaving. Now, he waited in a sea of blank eyes to give his name to the wizard at the large refuge tent, and the man only briefly paused in recognition before passing him a small bundle of essentials and waving him along.
His nights were, of course, sleepless. If the restless sounds of grief and panic throughout the tent didn’t keep him awake, his own restless grief and panic would.
It was in this state of slow response and foggy details that Draco found himself at the reception desk of a small hospital for magical creatures. He’d been sent by a petite, authoritative woman from the refuge, who had run out of bandages for curse-wounds, and apparently thought Draco had a willing enough look about him. She’d directed him here, saying the little hospital would not be as overwhelmed as St. Mungo’s, and would more likely have supplies to spare.
The witch at the reception desk wore a simple beige uniform and a smooth badge that read Mindy. His lagging mind registered dimly that she seemed to recognize him, and she wrinkled her nose.
“A Death Eater in my shop… not eight days have passed… has no one any shame?”
He dropped his eyes to the counter before him, and wordlessly handed her the note from the refuge. She read the request, but continued to mutter as she retreated to the back to gather the bandages.
Staring absently at a plain clock above the counter, Draco noted that he wasn’t sure he could really distinguish between seconds and minutes, lately.
Then, at a quiet shifting behind him, Draco turned.
Near the entrance of the shop, looking neutrally up at him, was a dog. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it, but then, he supposed he wasn’t really at his most observant.
Draco wasn’t actually very familiar with dogs. As they watched each other thoughtfully, he considered that it was rather larger than a cat, its height nearly reaching the table beside it. It also appeared too thin, he thought, its ribs and joints oddly prominent. The dog held his gaze rather seriously.
A sharp tut sounded behind him, and Mindy piled an armful of bandages on the counter. She shook her head at the dog.
“It’s disgraceful, the things your lot did. What you all broke and ruined. And it’s the innocents who suffered for it, and it’s the innocents who still suffer in the mess you left behind.”
She was gesturing at the dog as she spoke, and Draco was too blank to process what she meant. She scoffed again.
“This poor creature belonged to a young couple. Just married, just bought a house. Word of their blood status got to the wrong people a few months back, and they were found dead in their front garden within the week.”
Draco blinked down at the counter again.
“The neighbors put out food for this little love, but she hardly ate for grief. Someone brought her to us two days ago, hoping she’d find a new home now the war’s ended.”
Draco looked over his shoulder again, and found the dog still watching him. Waiting.
“Alright,” he said, to the dog. He straightened.
“Alright,” he said, to Mindy.
Mindy squinted at him. “Alright?”
“I’ll take her,” he said.
~~