There was something utterly disturbing about being back in a world where you could buy pre-dissected frogs off a street vendor. Draco paused by the gnarled old man and experimentally prodded one of the dead animals. "They'll be three sickles for one, sir." the old man told Draco, leaning towards him. Draco titled away, allowing himself a smile at the 'sir'. It was nice to be reminded that he was still a Malfoy and that the automatic aura of authority he exuded was still respected. It was also nice to know that five years of menial work hadn't damaged it any.
Readjusting the hood of his robes to ensure his face was covered, Draco turned and walked away, absentmindedly waving a hand in refusal of the man's offer. He could hear the vendor's disgruntled mutterings even as he passed Fortescue's, which to Draco's critical eye hadn't so much as changed the colour of it's awning since he was there last.
Some things had changed though. New buildings had sprang up from the charred remains of ones that had stood for centuries before the war had overcome the bustling street. Ollivander's gleaming windows looked strange to Draco, who had always thought that half the shop's disturbing character was found in it's grime coated storefront. Even the paving stones he walked on bore scars from the war, blackened gashes that cut across them in a style, Draco thought wryly, that almost resembled lightening bolts. Draco dragged a foot along one such mark, imagining the scream that must have accompanied the gash as the killing curse that had caused it had hit it's target. His foot stilled as he recalled the screams that had echoed off the buildings as the flames that enveloped the ancient stone walls were sliced through with curses.
Tearing his eyes away from the mark Draco quickened his pace, pushing past indignant witches and wizards in his hurry to get off the street. Staring fixedly ahead, not seeing the present but a cold night nearly six years ago, Draco barely registered the warm body colliding with his until they both fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. "Damn." he muttered, suppressing the urge to yell at the person who had barged into him. The last thing he needed was even more attention brought to him. "Sorry." he mumbled extracting himself and beginning to walk away, not even glancing at the heap on the ground.
"Wow, you're a real gentleman, just leaving me here on the ground with a twisted ankle." the caustic voice emanating from behind him froze Draco in his tracks. He knew that voice, particularly that tone as it was one that tended to be directed at him after he'd gone and done or said something stupid. And that had happened a lot.
Don't turn around, Draco chanted to himself, reciting the mantra as he tried to make his feet work, tried to move on down the road and forget that voice. Don't turn around. He knew what he'd see. A pretty face that was most likely marred with a frown and fiery hair that tumbled around her shoulders. The urge to turn around battled with the urge to run all the way to Gringotts. Hell, to escape this aspect of his past part of Draco was willing to run all the way to Amsterdam. Don't turn around.
And then something inside of him snapped and against his much better judgement Draco slowly span around, keeping his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. She was sat where she had fallen, one hand rubbing what he presumed was the aforesaid twisted ankle. He'd been right about the frown and once again it was directed at him, but in such a way that Draco could barely stop the smile that touched his lips. He'd been wrong about the hair though. She had it pulled up in a simple twist that transformed her from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman. Because of course she was older now, five long years had passed since he'd left her, crying on the steps of the Burrow.
"Are you just going to stare at me or could you possibly lower yourself to helping me get off the goddamn street?" This time Draco let himself smile, she really was angry at him and he'd always found that particularly amusing. He continued to stare at her, taking in the deep blue robes that emphasised curves he was sure weren't there before and noticing the notebook strewn on the ground next to her.
Draco was so wrapped in up in the way that tendrils of her hair had come lose and were framing her face that it took him a moment to realise that she had let out an exasperated sigh and was clambering to her feet. At the look of pain that crossed her features as she tried to put weight on her ankle Draco was by her side, lightly gripping her arm so that her body lilted towards his.
He dragged in a deep breath even as she muttered a sullen "Thank you" The feel of her so close was intoxicating and Draco couldn't help but smell the scent of her hair, exactly how he remembered it. "Damn, that hurts." Her arm closed round his in a delightfully tight grip as she manoeuvred herself till her wand was clutched in her hand. Draco heard the murmur of a quick healing charm and saw the light orange glow encase her ankle.
The feel of magic so close to him, made his entire body tingle, the static in the air feeling so foreign and yet so familiar all at the same time. He glanced down as he felt her arm pull away from him, trying to ignore the even more familiar ache that loss of contact with her brought.
She turned to him then, serious brown eyes trying to see into the shadows enveloping his face. "Thanks for the help." Though she didn't sound particularly thankful. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Though next time you could help a little earlier." The admonishment was gentle with a hint of humour and she sounded so like the girl that Draco had known and for an instant, loved, that Draco didn't trust himself to speak. He wasn't even sure if he could have if he'd wanted to, his throat was so dry at the sight of her standing there, watching him curiously.
"Fine." he croaked out, thankful that the dryness of his throat made his usually smooth tones sound unrecognisable. He turned away then, not daring to watch her any longer, and marched down the street having completely forgotten the reason he was in Diagon Alley in the first place.
*
"You're late." The reproach came with gentle humour from a table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny rolled her eyes and grinned, dropping into the seat opposite Hermione.
"Hermione Granger, Head Girl for life, hey?" she lightly teased, throwing her bag over the back of the chair. Hermione glared, hands clasped round a cup of coffee on the battered table in front of her.
"I was worried," she laughed, "and yes, Head Girl is a role you keep for life." Ginny giggled, knowing her friend was completely serious when it came to her rule-abiding responsibilities. "What happened?"
Ginny rolled her eyes as she gestured to the barman to bring her the same drink as Hermione. "Got pushed over in the street by some creepy idiot, twisted my ankle and had to wait around for him to decide to help me."
Hermione's eyes widened and she leaned across the table to look at Ginny intently. "Creepy? How was he creepy?" Ginny raised an eyebrow at her exuberant behaviour.
"Well, let's see." Ginny began, scrunching up her brow and placing a finger on her chin as though thinking hard. "There was that thing where he was wearing his 'I love Voldemort' sandwich board and ringing a bell that played all the screams of his Muggle victims."
Hermione frowned, annoyed, and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her. "Ginny, don't joke." Ginny laughed and filched a sip of Hermione's drink.
"I just couldn't see his face that's all." Hermione still looked slightly worried as she took her cup back from Ginny.
"That is kind of creepy."
"Yeah," agreed Ginny, her eyebrows drawing together as she remembered the stranger. He'd seemed familiar though. The way he'd walked, the way he'd held her. Even his voice, scratchy as it was, she'd recognised in a indistinct way. She froze as an idea appeared in her mind.
"Ginny?" Hermione's curious voice cut into her thoughts and she shook her head slightly to clear the memories that were circling through her mind.
"Hmm?" she replied, taking a sip of the coffee that had just been deposited in front of her.
"I just asked if you were okay?" The worried look was back in Hermione's eyes and Ginny smiled tremulously to dispel it, her mind elsewhere.
"Fine." she reassured, though Hermione was still watching her worriedly. Ginny's mind swam with the memory of being held in the arms of the stranger and then being held in the arms of someone she'd thought she'd long since given up on. She took a long sip of her drink, trying to convince herself that there was no way that the man who had barged into her in the middle of Diagon Alley was the same man who she had thought she loved. The same man who had left her.
There was just absolutely no way that it had been Draco Malfoy.