Breakfast at Natalie's

Malfoy wandered aimlessly through the streets, not really caring where his feet were taking him. The wind was picking up now, blowing through his thin shirt. He didn't have his coat; he had given it to Charlie when he'd been shot. But it didn't matter because he couldn't feel the cold. All he felt was the anguish coursing throughout his body. He stopped at a convenience store to buy aspirin and bottled water. He took the aspirin, feeling the water slosh around in his empty stomach. He hadn't eaten since the night before, and he really wasn't hungry, but he knew that he would have to eat something or else he would faint. He grabbed a random granola bar and paid for it at the register, unwrapping it and gnawing at it.

He walked as he ate, tossing the wrapper into a garbage can when he was finished.

"Charlie, why did it have to be you?" he muttered, chucking the empty water bottle against the cement where it made a crunching noise and rolled away into the street where a passing car flattened it. He stood there for a moment, just observing. A bus roared past, followed by a string of cars. He felt as if the entire world was moving, and he was the only one standing still. He stuck his hands in his pockets and began walking again, turning corners. His feet maneuvered him inside a building and up a few flights of stairs. When he stopped, he found himself standing in front of the door of his old apartment. He lifted a hand, stiff from the cold, gently brushing his fingertips against the smooth wood.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. There was a young woman standing behind him, a canvas tote bag slung over her slim shoulders. The bag was covered in buttons that had slogans on them. He could make out a couple that said "I Love England" and "Hug A Tree." He hadn't even heard her coming up the stairs.

"Um, can I help you?" she said, looking at him curiously.

"I..." Her hair was an unnatural orangey-red, pulled back into a messy bun. A pair of sleek, tortoiseshell patterned glasses were settled on the bridge of her lightly freckled nose.

"If you're looking for Phoebe, she lives in that one over there," she said, pointing down the hall. "I don't know why she keeps giving people this address..."

"I'm not looking for Phoebe," he said, finally finding his voice. "I used to live here. In this apartment."

"Oh," she said, breaking into a smile. "Nostalgia?"

Malfoy nodded, even though nostalgia was one of the last feelings on his mind at the moment.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked, holding open the door.

"Oh, no, it's okay...I don't..."

"Please, really. Come in," she said pleasantly. He followed her into the kitchen, which was familiar in size but completely foreign in decoration. The tiny space had been painted magenta, barely visible beneath the layer of posters and paintings. Sculptures peered down from atop the refrigerator. He blinked, wondering if he was mistaken, if this was actually the place he had lived in just a few short weeks ago.

"I was just about to have tea," she said, bustling around the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder and saw him standing there awkwardly. "Sit down, sit down...sorry for the mess...haven't had time to clean lately..."

Malfoy gingerly lowered himself onto an intricately beaded cushion.

"That one's from Africa," she said, pointing to his cushion. She set down a plate of scones and poured tea. "I went there just a few months ago. Gorgeous weather there."

Malfoy took a scone for himself at her insistence and then willed his eyes to see past the bright bursts of color. He saw a desk near the window, littered with shining glass beads and wire. A half finished painting was propped up on the windowsill.

"I'm an artist," she said, following his gaze. "I mostly make jewelry, but recently I've been trying my hand at painting. I'm absolute rubbish at it though." She laughed, showing her white, even teeth.

"You're really good," said Malfoy, sipping his tea, which was strangely minty.

"You think so?" she said.

"Sure," he shrugged. He drank his tea, aware that she was staring at him.

"So," she said, when he set down his cup. "Tell me a bit about yourself. I don't usually invite strangers into my apartment, but you looked liked you needed a good chat. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm...I'm a banker," he lied. A banker? Why did he say that? It was too late though. He would just have to go along with it.

"A banker." She looked at him, her eyes probing. "Well, that's nice."

"But I just quit," he blurted. "Um, yesterday."

"Ah, so you're in between jobs. I know that feeling quite well." She laughed again. She really was quite pretty when she smiled. Not necessarily beautiful, but her carefree demeanor gave her a happy glow that was infectious. He couldn't help feeling relaxed around her. "Any idea what you want to do next?"

"None whatsoever," he admitted, thinking about the current state of his life. Wanting to take the focus off himself, he asked, "What's your name?"

"How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm Eve. My real name is Evelyn, but I think it makes me sound like an old woman."

"I like Eve," he said. Then, realizing that she was waiting for him to introduce himself, he added, "My name is...Christopher," he said, reading a name on one of the newspapers piled on the small table.

"Christopher," she said, her lips twitching as if she were hiding a smile. "Well, I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance."

Soon enough, he found himself freely spewing the (fictional) details of his life as a "banker" to this complete stranger. It felt strangely liberating not to have to worry about measuring up to any prejudgments she would have if she had known him better. He was also surprised at how easy it was to fabricate anecdotes about his made-up life. He had just finished rambling about going fishing with his father and was feeling quite content when Eve suddenly interrupted.

"That's funny," she said, her warm brown eyes focused on him. "But who are you, really?"

"I'm Christopher," he said, taken aback. He felt so at ease with his new identity that he almost believed it himself.

"Now, both you and I know that's not true," she said smoothly. "And you're not a banker, are you? Or at least most bankers don't walk around with bloodstains on their shirts."

Malfoy looked down at himself, feeling his cheeks flush.

"I...I'm sort of an investigator," he admitted reluctantly.

"Sort of?"

"It's, um, classified." He had been watching Muggle detective shows and that was what they always said.

"I see," she said, nodding. "And I suppose your name is too? Classified?"

"It's...Draco."

"That's a very interesting name. I've never heard it before."

"My parents were a bit unorthodox," he explained.

"Would you prefer it if I called you Christopher?" she said, a smile playing across her lips.

-------------------------

"He's gone," said Hermione, bursting into Kingsley's office. A lot of people had been doing that today, so that he hadn't had even the briefest moment of peace and quiet. As if were ever quiet around here anyway.

"Gone?" repeated Kingsley, stirring cream into his coffee.

"I've just been discharged from St. Mungo's," she explained. "They wanted to make sure I was alright."

"Are you?" said Kingsley, dumping three packets of sugar in his drink.

"I'm fine," she said tersely. "But I don't know if Draco is. One of the nurses said he'd run out on them. 'Bloody crazy,' she called him." Anger flashed across her face.

"Did she say where he went?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Just that he ran outside, screaming."

"He'll be back," said Kingsley, nodding to himself.

"How do you know?" she said, fixing her gaze upon him. He looked away, uncomfortable. All these years working with murder cases and criminals, and yet women made him ill at ease with all their questions.

"What are you afraid of?" he said softly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, what are you afraid of?"

She gave him a hard look. "Everything," she whispered, leaving the room.

Hermione took the lift down to the lobby of the Ministry and then stepped outside the warm boundaries of the building. She was startled by how bitterly cold it was outside. Even though she was wearing a wool coat, she shivered. She began to walk, unaware of the snow that was slowly drifting down. As she searched the streets, she felt lost and alone.

"What are you afraid of?" said Malfoy, treading water in the lake. "The giant squid?"

She stuck her foot in the water, recoiling at its cool temperature. "It's cold!" she complained.

"You'll get used to it," he said, swimming closer to shore. "Come on."

"Alright," she grumbled, shedding her robes to reveal a flowery swimsuit. She looked up and saw Malfoy grinning at her. "Stop smirking," she said. "It's unattractive."

"I'm not smirking," he said, standing up next to her. "You look good."

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "This suit was from two summers ago. I couldn't find my other one."

"Just get in," he said, splashing water on her.

"Hey!" she shrieked, splashing water back.

"I'm already wet," he said, diving under again to grab her ankles. She lost her balance and toppled forward into the water.

"Oh my God," she gasped, coming up to the surface for air. "I don't know how you can stand this, it's freezing!"

"Swim a little," he said, taking her hand. Together they paddled out to the middle of the lake.

"I'm scared," said Hermione, looking down. "I can't see the bottom. Let's go back."

"There's nothing dangerous in here," said Malfoy.

"Oh, right," she scoffed. "And I'm supposed to forget about the Triwizard Tournament in our fourth year?"

"They're only grindylows," he said.

"Yeah, well, I'm cold," she said, kicking towards shore. "I'm going back."

"You're no fun," he said, turning over to float on his back. She didn't answer him, but kept swimming. He closed his eyes, the sun making him feel drowsy. A couple minutes later, the sound of Hermione's voice startled him awake.

"Help!" she screamed. "Draco, help!"

"I'm coming, Hermione!" he yelled, swimming as fast as he could. He could see her head bobbing above the surface, her arms flailing.

"Something's go my leg!" she shouted, as he came closer.

"Where's your wand?"

"I don't have it!"

"Kick," he instructed, looping his arms around her waist and pulling. Something was anchoring her to the bottom. He suspected it was a grindylow. He managed to get his wand out and cried, "Relashio!"

The pressure ceased and he was able to pull her away. Wearily, they swam to shore, not speaking. Hermione crawled to where she had left her robes in the grass, draping them around her shoulders. Malfoy thought she looked beautiful, her wet hair glinting in the sunlight.

"Thanks," she said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she turned to face him as he perched on a rock beside her. "For, um, saving me."

"No problem. But next time, you sink or swim on your own," he joked, leaning down to kiss her.

"Uh, are you alright, miss?"

Her thoughts were interrupted when a man spoke. She blinked, realizing that she had probably been standing in the middle of the sidewalk for quite some time.

"I'm fine," she replied, giving him a placating smile. "Sorry for blocking the way."

"That's okay," he said amiably, ducking into a coffee shop.

Hermione sighed and started walking again. Not five minutes later, she noticed a familiar form emerging from an apartment building. She hurried to catch up.

"Draco!"

Startled, he turned around. "Hermione?" he said, walking towards her. "Why did they let you out?"

"It's a hospital, not a prison," she said. "They let me out after they made sure I was alright."

"And you really are?" He took both of her hands into his, giving them a small squeeze.

"Of course," she answered. Then she lowered her voice. "But are you?"

"I'm dealing with it," he said, shrugging.

Inwardly, he sighed. Hermione was so serious. Sometimes he felt depressed when he was around her. He wished she was more like Eve, happy and optimistic.

"Let's go home," said Hermione. "Natalie must be worried."

As they slipped into the alley to Apparate, Malfoy fingered the folded piece of paper with Eve's phone number on it that rested in his pocket. Had he wasted all these years chasing after the wrong woman?