Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco tried to beg off of lunch with mother, but she seemed determined to get him in the same room with her—alone; his father was off in France, thank Merlin—and he was too tired from a night of hideous nightmares to refuse.

As they sat and ate, she watched him like a hawk. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were thin and turned down at the corners, an expression he hardly ever saw on her face.

It made him suspicious, so in turn he watched her, which led them swiftly to a staring match that they both took with an air of minor competitive aggression. By the time he’d finished his lunch and drank the rest of the wine, his eyes were dry and his stare void of any real focus besides his mother’s general direction.

She cleared her throat.

He raised his eyebrows.

She shuffled her napkin off her lap.

He summoned a toothpick and started working on the bits he couldn’t reach with his tongue.

Her face cleared of any evidence of a glare, smoothing out in the same way she’d taught him as a child.

“We’re going to America,” she said, off hand, as if it had already been decided and talked through and she was just reminding herself out loud.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, appalled by the thought. “No I am not .”

She smiled, sharp at the edges, and Draco wanted to strangle her, but only a mild strangulation, because he did love her in the end, unfortunately.

“Oh yes we are .”

♣

Draco hated the floo; portkeys were terrifying, but you didn’t hear that from him; and there was no way he was going to fly across the bloody ocean on a broom, so the SeaTran it was.

He had grown up around the hatred of everything slightly new that wasn’t 1) European and 2) based on ‘pure blood’. And so the SeaTran was talked about in “his” (see: his father’s) social circle as if it were a creation of festering filth, therefore disgusting and not worthy of their time—unless, of course, said time was used to complain about it.

Draco knew, however, that his mother was secretly fascinated by magic made by half bloods, mudbloods or even non-magic things made by muggles—a fact that would never leave his mind, and neither his lips.

She’d always lingered in book shops near the inventions section whenever they’d go. She'd spend her time glancing swiftly over the rows of books marked ‘new’, and nothing that was new these days was made by someone with an outstanding faultless bloodline, let’s be realistic. They were too busy celebrating their old victories—if you were to call them that. ‘Oh, my great-great-great-great uncle created the Cold-be-Gone potion in 1790, wasn’t that amazing?’ (queue murmurs from other Rich Dumbasses in agreement,) ‘Anyway we’re rich still so why do anything else except for brag about this one accomplishment some old fuck I never knew did, and eat the free food at annual charity galas, pretending as if we’re seriously worried about these—what was it, again—oh, right, orphans .’

Draco had a bit of pent-up rage up in there about that topic. He knew it, and he was increasingly, irreversibility mad at himself about—just, who he was, is, and will be, as a person.

But enough of that. He didn’t want to think about his own bullshit right now.

So back to his mother’s.

He’d caught her when he was younger, once or twice, with a muggle book or magazine about technology clutched within her grip in the wee hours of the night. She’d burn them once she was done with them, just in case her husband found out. And he’d kept his mouth shut, because that’s what a son does when he sees his mother happy for once.

And then now. After the war...

He hated it, only because it meant he had to use a proxy—Luna—to get his hands on the stuff, such as televisions, electronic clocks, and whatever else for her amusement, thanking Merlin his father was gone for now.

On ‘business’.

‘Whatever business would an ex-deatheater purist have in France?’ one would ask. Probably that girl Hermione, knowing her mouth.

Good question! He hadn’t the faintest idea, and to be honest, he really could give less of a single shit.

Because he was here now with his mother, boarding the SeaTran to America.

The SeaTran went, shockingly, under the sea. All the way across the way to the Americas, where it branched off from its DC Dropoff location to surface in Canada, Mexico, and Brazil.

The whole thing was huge and moved like a snake under water, its body made of gleaming bronze-and-silver coloured steel. You entered through the mouth, and the whole head was that of a snake’s (including fangs, but hopefully you were smart enough to avoid those). The metal beast was created by a team of half blood nobodies, half of whom from America and the other from England. They’d been frustrated by the lack of wizard transportation to and from their friend’s landmasses, so they’d just built a giant snake and called it a day.

At least, that’s what the brochure clutched in his hands claimed, and what his mother quietly nodded to, when she’d read it. He’d seen her just the other day with a book titled ‘The Great Metal Beast of the Seas’, which, now with context, should have raised alarm bells but hadn’t because he’d been too excited about her openly reading something so decidedly Not Pureblood in front of him without shame.

He was the first to admit to himself (and, like, Pansy, but that’s the extent of the word traveling) that these few months alone with only each other and a house elf had them realize how far apart they’d drawn away and how close they had to stick.

They’d done it to protect each other, sure, and that was all fine and dandy, but it hadn’t just been the war’s fault. His father was smart, with the tendency to be rather proud, and both of those combined equal a tyrant, in a sense. He turned away from emotion, from truth, from love, and used all his energy on hating people and things. He’d breathed it all in, the idea that he was better, so much better, than everyone else—that when he was shown he wasn’t, by the Lord of Tyrants himself, he’d crumbled and fallen and let things happen .

They, on the other hand, had just wanted to survive it all, hadn’t they?

A whistle blew and people from their group of First Class riders started to board.

The SeaTran’s body, from the outside, seemed to breathe as they moved, but it could’ve been... a trick of the light, or something. He stepped inside when his mother did, following her as she muttered to herself about room number and whatnot until she exclaimed, “Right here!” In such an enthusiastic way as she pointed to their door that he had to smile.

Their compartment was brightly lit by modern-looking muggle lights, and had plenty of room to stretch out ones legs. The hallway ran on one side of the body, the compartments on the other, so they had a nice window view to the outside. He touched the glass, and felt a low thrum of deep, strong magic under his fingers. It was reinforced in a way that spoke of a slight paranoia about windows, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or something to worry about.

The whole SeaTran was currently beached, so the view was okay, but not anything new. He turned back to heave their luggage into the shelving above their heads, catching a glimpse of his mother poking at the lights.

“The electricity in this train is purely muggle. They had to figure out how to balance the two—magic and electricity—oh, as you know, they usually short each other out unless the current is made by magic. But they did it, this is pure muggle current, running alongside magic auras, no power surges or flickering... no sparks... Why, isn’t that interesting ?” she asked him, turning to look him right in the eye.

“Devastatingly,” he said, and he found himself truly meaning it. Because—really. It was interesting. “You’re going to make me think about this, you know, and then I won’t be able to sleep.”

“You already can’t sleep,” she pointed out.

He went still, and then laughed. “Touché.”

“Are they getting any better?” She wondered, touching his back gently in reassurance.

“Sometimes,” he said, looking back out the window. “When do we depart?”

She sighed, moving to sit, and he felt a twinge in his chest. She wanted to talk, he knew that.

He knew that, but fuck, he was not ready . Not for that.

“In ten minutes, if all goes  well.”

They started to get comfortable, Draco dragging the stupidly large Wandless Wonders: How to Cast Without Your Wand from his book bag.

The whole book was... enlightening. In the way one might realize a river will not move aside for you, and you must swim up the current as fast as you can before you hit the waterfall and then fall down .

Basically, it was helping him jack shit and he was a thin razor’s edge away from taking a step in his mother’s direction and burning the damn thing, albeit not for the same reasons.

Wandless magic was stupid. It was stupid because it didn’t come easy, and Draco needed it to come easy or else he’d find himself throwing a fit that was very 1991 of him. He was better than that.

Now.

He was better than that now.

The SeaTran started to move, a small sway of the compartment that, when looking out of the window, was extremely disproportionate from the amount of moving the metal body was doing. It made sense to charm the inside to only move slightly, as if it wasn’t they’d’ve been thrown across the room about ten times right about then, but it still messed with his head to see it so he looked away, down to his book, and cracked it open with a determined look.

“Wait, honey, look,” his mother breathed, and he looked back just as the body submerged itself in seawater, the waterline rapidly moving up the window until only water remained as it slid into the depths.

“Sort of reminds me of the dorms,” he mentioned, and his mother smiled and nodded.

He watched some more, but he could only take so much before he began to feel a little sick from the swift and efficient way the train moved, building up speed until the depths were a blur of dark blue.

He settled more firmly in his chair and told himself that he was going to learn wandless fucking magic right the fuck now.

Chapter Text

The SeaTran took eleven hours to traverse through the silent waves of the deep sea. Draco’d fallen asleep with his face smashed into his book like the worst pillow in existence, and he sure did feel it in his neck the second he woke up.

His mother was awake, sitting in her silk nightgown and frowning down at her book, which was some sort of muggle drivel about cars. Or, as Draco liked to call them, Metal Death Traps on Wheels. He shuttered at the thought of his mother behind the wheel of one.

“What’s with the face?” He asked, un-smooshing his cheek from the paper and wincing when the page came with, ripping slightly. Time to burn it, then. He didn’t even know why he tried.

“What do owls do if you’re in the middle of the ocean and they have a letter for you? Do they fly the whole way with you, knowing that you’re down in the water, until you’re on the shore, or do they know where your headed so they fly to your destination?”

“Oh Merlin, mum, you’re about a hundred steps higher in consciousness than I am, obviously. Let me wake up before you pose brain teasers.”

She frowned harder as she looked at him. “You have text on your cheek, dear.”

“Did it—did it bloody transfer ?” He fumed, fumbling around in his bag for his mirror. When he found it, he looked at himself and glared at the ink text on his face, along with bits of ripped paper.

“You might have drooled a bit, I’m afraid,” his mother said, this time looking away to the window, fighting a smile.

“This—” he was going to say that I wasn’t funny, but then he revised his opinion and decided that, if it was, say, Potter who’d done it a few years back, it would’ve been hilarious. “Okay. Fine. I’m going to the loo to wash this off. Need anything?”

“From the loo? I hope not,” she said, innocently.

He shot her a look. “I’ll bring you a bar of soap, then, to remember the first time you rode the SeaTran. Ta.”

He did end up taking a bar of soap after scrubbing is face, but not a used one since he wasn’t a heathen. To get it, though, he’d had to open the small compartment under the sink, which for whatever reason made him feel like even more of a thief. At least it was in a box. The smell of roses was quite potent without it, like it was blasting his nose with fragrance.

The cafe and restaurant was situated in the middle of the train, so he stuffed the bar of soap in his pocket and ventured his way out in what he hoped was the right way. He’d been right, but disappointed; their cooks had went to bed, one of the night staff told him, so all that was left were bagels with cream cheese or cinnamon rolls. He took both but ate the cinnamon roll on the spot, because he deserved it and cinnamon was amazing.

He ordered some tea to be sent to his compartment, since he'd apparently missed the last scheduled tea time, and then went back to his mother to offer her the bar of soap and bagel.

They’d learned that what they had considered ‘poor people’s snacks’ before were actually Really Fucking Good, so she ate the bagel with little complaint. She also pretended to hate the bar of soap, but it ended up in her book bag anyway.

The tea was surprisingly alright, and once an hour had came and went the window started to lighten up from the never ending void-like blackness it had been sporting for quite a length of time.

They surfaced another hour later, eleven hours after boarding the train. He could hear people in the surrounding compartments clapping for whatever reason.

The beach looked like a beach, because it was, but less rocky and more sandy than the one they’d started out with. The SeaTran wiggled its way out of the water and up into the sand with surprising grace, and stopped moving once it's tail was at least twenty feet from where the waves lapped at the shore.

People were waiting for some of the passengers, a few holding signs that simply read a name (most likely drivers of some sort), and one twelve-year-old girl waving a sign and screaming. The sign said ‘WELCOME BACK DAD!’ in big, bold glittery letters. It was cute, if you liked that sort of thing, but it just made Draco inwardly cringe.

Likely at himself, though, for wishing he’d had that kind of relationship with his father.

Yikes.

They were allowed off first, and mother had decided he was a pack mule now. She gave him all her luggage and topped it all off with one of her severe gothic wide-brimmed veil hats right on his head.

He was about to protest and maybe even just let go of all the bags and shit and allow them to fall where they may, but she started moving, fast, towards the trail off the beach. He had to make a decision, which was A) try and use magic to juggle all of the luggage and fail or B) possibly eat sand in front of a few hundred people as he tried to keep up.

He chose B, which sucked, but was more realistic.

One thing Draco did not know, at all, and was quite a shock of you asked him once he saw, was his mother had people waiting for them , and they weren’t drivers.

He was not in any shape or form for keeping company, even if that meant he was technically the company being kept. So he was a little ticked off when he caught up with her, turning to glare at her when she gestured to him.

“This is Draco! Draco, this is Wendy and Auriga; Auriga is your distant cousin, Wendy is her mother, she married into the Black side of the family.” she said, gesturing to both of them.

“Call me Auri, please ,” the younger of the two said, looking a bit pained at the mentions of her full name.

“Sorry, she drove us here so she’s a little tired ,” Wendy stage whispered, eyeing her daughter.

Wendy was a redhead, a blazing redhead at that, with rabbit-like teeth that didn’t look too bad when paired with her heart shaped face and freckles. But she just looked too.... Weasley , for his personal tastes. Her hair was curly and wild, cut into a bob that complimented her face shape.

Auri had a mane of curly, jet black hair that went past her shoulders, wide, bright hazel eyes and a pierced nose that looked as if it’d been broken before. It wasn’t crooked, but the ridge of it looked a bit hooked. She stood there in a hoodie, sweats and huge tan work boots, as if that wasn’t dreadful. She was also quite tall, maybe and inch or so taller than Draco himself, and he was a full six feet.

The most notable thing, however, was that she had dark, olive toned skin.

Draco knew that, way off in the family tree somewhere burnt to shit from a great many disownments, the Black family had some roots in America, because one of his great aunts had married a Native Hispanic man. But to see proof that that side of the family did in fact still exist was sort of eye-opening.

He had family somewhere else.

He had family members that hopefully weren’t crazy.

Hopefully .

“I’m not tired, I’m hungry , mom.” Auri sighed, in a tone that said they’d had this conversation before. She turned to his mother and said,  “Nice to meet you,” and then eyed Draco and smiled. It was a nice, wide, toothy thing that showed off her pushed-out k-9’s. “I like your look, very gay.”

He sputtered, trying to glance down at his attire (he already knew what he was wearing but now he wondered his his mother tailored in new lace frills or some nonsense when he was asleep) but his view was blocked by one of the bags he was carrying very close to his face.

So he just dropped all the bags like he he’d wanted to before.

He was just wearing a suit! A tailored suit! At least he wasn’t wearing her overly stuffy getup! How was a suit gay ?

Auri laughed, waving her hand casually as she stuffed the other in her hoodie pocket. The luggage lifted off the ground and hovered out of the way, moving behind her.

He all but shrieked. His mother looked much paler than usual, and both of them were staring at Auri with a look of shocked surprise. His mother’s hat fell off his head, and he nearly slapped himself in the face—that’s what was gay.

Or was it? Maybe he was just a walking Ponce at that point in his life.

Not that his gayness was really at the forefront of his mind at the moment. He could hardly blink as he stared at his cousin in awe, and a tad bit of growing jealousy.

“Oh dear, what’s the matter?” Wendy asked, worried.

“Er, wandless, wordless magic, then?” His mother tried, sounding half strangled. “How old are you, again?”

“What?” Auri asked, brow furrowing. “Uh, I’m almost 19, just a month to go, I think. I’m terrible with dates,” she added apologetically, as if that were the most pressing issue.

“What’s the matter??” Wendy asked again, with more urgency.

“Well,” Draco said, after his mother shook her head and snorted rather inelegantly, losing herself in the shock. “That’s really hard to do, is all.”

“What?” Auri said, and then burst out laughing. Her mom chuckled too. “No, it’s not. My idiot neighbor kid can do it and he’s six.”

“Hey, now, he’s not an idiot . Just a little... loud.” Wendy corrected.

“Accidental magic is different than—” his mother tried, only to be interrupted by Wendy.

“Why do you say it’s hard? Don’t you use magick all the time?” She said, confused. “All I hear about the wizarding community you guys have is how dependant you are on it.”

“Well,” his mother started, then stopped short and gazed at Nothing for a short time.

“Er, right. We use wands, it’s more powerful that way, you see—don’t you?” Draco offered.

Wendy snorted rather loud. “Of course, but that’s just a tool. Do you really bring that thing everywhere with you? Can you not cast spells without it?”

“I’m so confused,” his mother muttered, rubbing her temples and looking just that.

“Oh, god, dude, this is a cultural thing, isn’t it. Like, you legit think wands are the be-all, end-all.” Auri said, looking genuinely empathetic, which was just weird because he didn’t understand what in Merlin’s balls was going on. “Man, that sucks.”

“Look,” Draco said, raising his voice and hands before both mum's could start talking over each other. “I don’t have my wand, someone took it. I’ve been studying wandless magic for months , and I can only do—” he felt his cheeks color, but he had to tell the truth, he promised he’d try to always tell the truth, “—three spells.”

There was silence.

They looked horrified. Just downright stunned, as if what he said was terrible. And while, yes, it felt bad, quite a lot of the time to not ever really get the hang of it, and it was frustrating to all hell and back, if he said ‘I know more than one wandless wordless spell at eighteen’ to someone who was from the UK, they’d say, ‘dang, mate’ (or something equally as british, because hearing Auri say ‘dude’ made him very aware of his accent and how stupid he probably sounded to them).

Auri’s expression morphed into something else, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

Wendy turned her horrified face to his mother. “How long can you stay?”

“Do—do you wish for us to leave, er, early—” his mother sighed, looking resigned.

“What? No! I was asking because Auri here has the whole summer and winter to kill, and she’s taught a few kids things here and there and is looking to possibly become a teacher... We could help Draco with his wandless magick, she has a solid grasp on the way it works, I know useless facts about it, we’re the perfect team.” She all but gushed, alight.

Before they could agree or protest, Auri said quickly, “Please,” and Draco found himself staring into her eyes, which were scarili sincere. “Your core must be so small. It can be built up, just let me help, dude.”

His mother put a hand on the small of his back and told him, “I should get back before your father gets home, in a few weeks or so... but if you wish...”

You could stay.

It was tempting.

Chapter Text

He was tempted.

It would solve about all of his current problems, except the ones that had to do with other stuff. Like his father still being insane (but in secret—aren’t they lucky), the ministry watching him like a hawk for infractions they could exploit and use to send all of them to Azkaban (he hoped his father slipped up on that front, and he waited impatiently for the day he got a notice in the mail), or the fact that he wasn’t sure how he’d survive after all of this, anyway.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

He kind of hoped he wouldn’t.

His mother was busy being social with Wendy once he decided to check in mentally. Talking about her husband, about the ride here, and then zeroing in on the muggle lights used in the compartments, which Wendy tried to explain but couldn’t without using terms they didn’t know.

Auri was packing their trunks and bags into a ragged looking chest—which seemed to have a rather hefty expansion enchantment inside. She crammed everything in, swung the lid and then snapped the locks shut. She sat on it, drawing her legs up to cross them and settling down so she could watch their mums talk. She seemed content to just sit there, soaking up the sun, and he felt a yearning for that same sort of ease she wore so comfortably.

She blinked up at him when she noticed him looking at her. “Are you excited to be in America?” she said, the tilt of her mouth taking a teasing turn.

He scowled, folding his arms. “Not at the slightest. Although to think Americans use wandless magic on the daily is making my head hurt.”

She mirrored his scowl and folded arms, then amped it up to a thousand. It looked ridiculous and he felt his own frown loosen involuntary, which made her grin in response.

“Us Americans are sort of lazy, y’know?” She admitted, openly. “We don’t want to go out and buy a wand when we could just as easily do it ourselves.” Draco wished Pansy was there alongside him, if only to witness this being said. She had a grudge against anything yankie.

“Plus, yaknow. Gotta work those muscles. Including your core.” She squinted as the wind picked up, blasting them with cold air, a healthy amount of sand mixed in. It stung his hands and got into his socks. “That doesn’t cancel out the laziness, though. We balance it all out with lounging around on couches and eating microwaved ramen while watching Jerry Springer.”

“It just doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Draco argued, for the sake of saying something back that wasn’t just endless sputtering. “Why would the ministry use wand magic, if you could be stronger without it? And who—who’s Jerry Springer ?”

“That’s not exactly what I said, but I’ll roll with it, she laughed, looking to the sea for a second in thought before shrugging. “Why do Europeans drink so much tea?”

He gave her an offended look. “Because we have taste, Auriga.”

She made a face but moved on nonetheless. “No, it’s not that. Think harder.”

He threw his hands up after a minute of trying to figure it out. Tea was good, tea was yummy, tea was the only thing keeping him calm at night after a particularly raw dream. “Enlighten me.”

“Because of tradition , dude. You drink tea when there’s like, so many more better options out there now! Wands are traditional over there. Here, not so much. Or like, anywhere else in the world. Canada likes them, but they’re Canadian, so. They get a free pass. Plus they’re sort of French.” She scratched her chin. “I think.”

What in the world was she talking about? Draco shoved his hands in his pockets before he could start picking at his cuticles, a habit that he was trying to break.

He noticed, belatedly, (and with a hint of shame), that he was nervous. Nervous of the girl before him, how she could be so at ease while harboring such a large amount of magic within her. He couldn’t fathom it, really; why would his end of the world parade around with wands when they could just as easily lift their fingertips? Or maybe it wasn’t easy , per say, but stronger instead?

When he thought about it, really put his mind to it after a few months of ignoring it, he could feel his core. The sensation was reminiscent of drinking too much water and needing an urgent visit to the loo, except the queue was long as Merlin’s testicles and all he could do was stand in line as he felt every breath slosh around his insides...

On second thought that metaphor meant his wand was his dick.

And in this case, then... Harry Potter had his dick.

Maybe not, with that one, he thought; ignore that idea, for the love of all that was holy.

(For the record, his dick was not at all traditional. It liked a multitude of things that ranged from mildly shameful to Pansy is Banned from Mentioning It Anytime, Anywhere, Forever, Including on Sundays During Tea with Blaise.)

He saw Auri do something with her hands right in front of his face.

Waving at him. To get his attention. Because he was spacing out.

“I killed him, Mrs Malfoy, I think,” Auri called out.

“Shut up.” Draco hissed. He could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. He needed to get his thoughts in order. The Okay Things to Think About in Company box went over there, at the front —Harry Potter and his Dick at the back.

Wait.

Oh, Merlin. His mind did so like to play with words.

“Draco, dear, you might want to tune back in to the here and now,” his mother said, amused. She turned to Auri. “You must forgive him, he’s a little scatterbrained after all that’s happened in the past few years.”

More like all my life, mother , he didn’t say.

“I am curious, however... explain to me how wands hinder our magical development?” His mother asked, drifting closer with an enamored Wendy in tow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Wendy said, standing up straight. She pushed her curls back from her face and smiled sheepishly at her daughter. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Auri said, a small smile on her lips.

“Your core is like an extension of your soul, in a sense,” Wendy explained, “if you reach out and work with it, though, it acts more like a muscle that produces energy. It only grows stronger when it gets a workout.” She waved at Auri, cheeks heating. “I can’t think of how to explain the wand bit, though...”

“When you use a wand, you’re literally poking your magick with a stick,” Auri continued on. She shifted forward on the chest, letting her legs free from under her to slip her boots half into the sand, which looked mighty uncomfortable to Draco. He could already feel grit at the bottom of his oxfords. “it draws some magic out but it’s deluded. It makes it more precise, in a dueling situation where you’re hitting a very specific, moving target. But that stick usually has a mind of its own, so it can be very inconsistent, picky, moody, and just a big ol’ pain in the ass otherwise—pardon my language,” she hastened to add at her mother’s warning look.

“You have to find a wand that works,” Wendy added, “but even then, it’s still not the same as getting the raw power straight from the source.”

“You get it faster!” Auri said, putting her hands up as if admitting a compromise. “I don’t argue that. It takes less concentration, in a way.”

“A wand is a middle man, then?” He offered, raising his eyebrows.

Auri snapped her fingers and pointed at him, nodding vigorously. “ Yes , that!”

“Huh,” Draco muttered, wincing when another gust of sand hit him in the face. “Ugh.”

His mother turned back to Wendy and started asking her questions about running a house with such magick, and as much as Draco found magical houses interesting, he had more pressing matters to figure out, such as his current wandless state.

“Do you use words, like Lumos ?” Draco asked.

Auri looked confused. “Um, what?”

“That—that’s a light spell,” he offered, tripped up by the thought of not knowing such a basic fact of magic. “Something you cast in dark areas to see?”

“Oh, right. Light .” She spoke the last word normally, but it felt heavy to his ears. Laden with intent, or something wanting. And then suddenly there was a sprite of white light in front of him, bouncing around in the breeze.

He stared at it, all but open mouthed with surprise. It didn’t look like Lumos at all; the spell was freeform, imperfect in its shape and bright as all hell. He narrowed his eyes to study it, moving closer.

“Oh, sorry, here,” she said, sounding a little embarrassed, and the sprite dimmed, becoming smaller in size as it did so. It glided over to him, hovering just few inches below his chin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Er, green,” he said offhandedly, not really paying attention to the question as he looked the light over.

It turned a startling shade of bright, neon green as he watched.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Can I... can I touch it?”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging. “Just be aware that it’s gonna feel pretty freaking weird, because it’s mine.”

His fingers grazed what looked like the surface of the light and jerked his hand back swiftly, eyes wide. The sensation was lukewarm, clammy even; like mist in a cooling jungle. He could taste a hint of mint on his tongue and smell the sharp scent of grass in his nose. He’d never felt more awake in his life.

“What.” He said, looking at the little unassuming light swaying in front of him blankly.

“ Green ,” she said, shrugging. “Everybody has their own associations with certain things, and that tends to carry on to the end result... Light has many meanings, y’know, so when you mix a color with it, it becomes something... a little more. My green tastes like mint leaves and smells like freshly-cut grass, right?”

“I—yes,” he said, and that sort of made sense, in a way, if you didn’t think about it at all. The more he tried to think about it, the he quicker realized that what she knew, and what he had been taught, were completely, and utterly different.

And it was... exciting. And daunting.

“Here’s my favorite color,” she said, and the light turned a pale purple.

His hand grazed the surface without asking, and he was going to apologise but then the sensations hit him, and he felt displaced, too calm and relaxed to be natural.

Cold and wet, it felt exactly like a fresh damp compress on ones sickly forehead does during a fever; perfect. He tasted blackberries on his tongue, just the right side of bitter and sweet, followed by the soothing smell of lavender.

Circe, it was so good . His mind was blank, his dreams were unhindered and his future was so, very bright—

“ Oh, ” he sighed, moving his other hand to hold onto the other side of the light, bring it closer... only for everything to whip away from his grasp.

He found himself staring deep within her hazel eyes, and there was something there that he couldn’t quite puzzle. They looked weary, and deep, and aware all at once; he knew, right that moment, she’d figured something out. It was clear she didn’t know what to do with whatever knowledge it was, at least for now, as she just stared back at him, her brows creasing in something akin to worry.

The light was gone, and he was on the beach once more, in America. In reality.

Damnit.

“Kids?” Wendy called, and they turned to look as one. Both mothers were standing near a muggle van not six yards away, looking impatient. “We have to go, I left the crock pot plugged in.”

Draco couldn’t understand a word of that last bit, but he got the idea that they wanted to leave.

He helped Auri load up the trunk, her lifting it with a wordless levitation charm and him pushing it here and there until it was in the boot snugly enough that she could close the latch.

They did so wordlessly, and he did not know if that was good or not. Whatever she’d seen in him had caused a tonal shift in her demeanor. She wasn’t any less calm, at least from what he could tell. But she looked comprehensive, and he didn't like it much. When the latch was closed and they moved to the other side of the car, she turned to him for a second and gave him a small, gentle smile that made him want to hit something.

Chapter Text

There was plenty things Draco was scared of. To start off, he was absolutely scared shitless at the idea (or, his perceived reality) of dying alone and unloved. Based on his 2am mirror conversations with Pansy, though, that was a given when it came to pretty much any Slytherin his age that wasn’t a deranged lunatic.

Another fear of his was that he’d never get over his father’s bullshit—in whatever form it took. At the moment, it ranged to dirty looks from passersby to literally getting admitted to St Mungo’s for a life-threatening curse minutes after being let out of Ministry custody following his trial (that had been such a joyous week for him, according to the Prophet ). The only reason—he’d concluded after being stuck in a bed for over a week alone left to his thoughts—he had even been in this Death Eater bullshit in the first place, was his father. And if that meant he’d never get to live his life normally, then his father could go suck a troll’s nasty dick and then die from ingesting deadly dick cheese or whatever.

He was so unbelievably fucking tired of everything being horrible all the time. He was angry, so fucking angry at his father for what he’d done, what he’d let happen to him, his fucking own son . And—and his own wife ... But that anger was nothing compared to his fear.

At least for now.

Less intense in childhood trauma was his least concerning fear (which used to be up there on the list as a kid); if when bending over to pick something up, his slacks rode down and he mooned whomever was in the vicenty.

Still rather terrifying, and half the reason why he always got his pants tailored with anti-slipping spells.

Anyway, he was about ready to wet his pants with how fucking fast Auri was driving the van down the highway, and she wasn’t looking at the road. He was so, so terrified that he was rooted to the spot, clutching the seat in a deadly grip.

“This can’t be safe,” he squeaked out, trying not to panic. “This cannot be bloody safe —”

“Oh no, it’s perfectly fine,” Wendy chirped, unphased by her daughter’s terrifying driving habits.

The van was apparently modified to drive like a smaller version of their Knight Bus, but had anyone told Draco this at all when the contraption had hurled itself down the highway at blurringly fast speeds? No. No they had not.

Where they were going, his mother told him (seemingly unphased by the fact they we're going to crash and die , instead spending her time asking a million questions about how it worked) was all the way across the whole country.

“Which would take about five or six days if we drove normally,” Wendy had added, cheerfully patting the car’s front dash. “With magick, we’ll get there in two hours!”

Great . Just fucking fantastic.

Auri, for her part, had drove at what he could only guess were normal speeds at first, stopping at red lights and the like (lulling Draco in a false sense of security), up until they hit the highway. She’d violently pulled a crank in the middle of the console with a simple, “Might wanna hold on, yeah?” and they’d shot off like a curse through the mess of traffic.

Draco might’ve screamed—a little bit. Maybe.

The car weaved and swerved without so much grazing the other cars on the road. Once they hit a certain speed, Auri had pulled the crank once more and then fished out a book from the glove compartment, putting one of her feet up on the dash near the driver’s side door, steering blindly with her other knee.

He was close to either a heart attack or throwing up, or maybe both, by the time she’d finished the first page. His breath was ragged and shallow, his heart somewhere up in his temples with how loud the rapid thumping seemed to echo in his ears.

His mother eyed him with the same distant worry she’d been trying to relearn how to show in public; watered-down as it might’ve been, it was better than the flat mask she’d had to wear for so long.

Auri glanced behind to look at him, brows furrowed in a less subtle flash of concern.

“Ma,” she said, and Wendy turned from her conversation with his mother on the riveting topic of highway construction to see what her daughter was pointing out.

“Feeling a little barfy?” Wendy asked, smiling kindly. His mother, on the other hand, smirked at him, an age-old argument they’d never settled probably at the forefront of her mind (six-year-old Draco was a pain in the ass and refused to admit he had motion sickness, and he’d half-heartedly defended it to this day.) She rummaged around the glove compartment and then came up with a vial of something gray and sparkling. “Here, I brewed this for exactly that.”

Wordlessly (he would say thanks but he felt if he opened his mouth his stomach would find its way out) he took the vial and uncorked it quickly, gulping it down. It tasted like straight vinegar and chocolate pudding, which would make him hurl all by itself but the potion kicked in before he could.

His mother gave him a sly smile, and he was tempted to throw the good ol’ two finger salute her way—but she was perturbed, he could tell. He scoffed at her and chose to fix his eyes somewhere else.

Auri took off her boots and socks before they vanished into thin air, replaced with flip-flops that she slipped on. She settled even lower in her seat as she continued to steer without looking . He still couldn’t get over that.

Everything about the situation was giving him anxiety.

“Not that I know much about driving heavy muggle machinery, but shouldn’t you be looking at the road ?” He finally blurted.

She looked up distractedly from her book. “Huh?”

“Fucking Merlin,” he muttered, resisting the urge to smack his head on the window several times just so he could black out and not have to deal with this.

“He gets a bit uncomfortable with anything speedy that isn’t a broom,” his mother finally piped up, and he would gladly take the pointed look she shot him if it meant the torment would end. He would also not say anything about the fact he’d secretly (secretly as in, he’d not even told Pansy) hated heights, so brooms were a certain type of torture he’d learned to endure at an early age.

“I’ll see if I can illusion the windows for him,” Wendy said, like an angel, turning around to place her palm across the side window glass. “Can I have your hand?” She asked, reaching back her other hand and wiggling her fingers.

He snuck a look to his mother, who inclined her head in curious acceptance. Hesitantly, he reached over and slipped his fingers within hers.

Suddenly everything slowed down, and they were driving across a flat grassy plain.

“Did it work?” Wendy asked, letting go of his hand.

“Er,” he said, blinking around at the windows and watching the grass sway in the wind soothingly as they rode by. “We’re driving through a grass field?”

Auri cracked a smile. “No. We’re in the middle of really bad Chicago midday traffic—” his expression must’ve morphed into something drastic, because she winced and hurried on to say “—um, I mean yes, totally . Just get a load of all that wheat.” she gestured with her book to the front window with a grand sweep that almost hit her mother in the face.

“Thank you so much,” he told her wryly, frightfully close to internal combustion.

“I just tried to get a soothing scenario going,” Wendy muttered when her daughter gave her a dirty look.

Americans were insane, he concluded, and it ran in the family.

The grass was nice, though.

♣

They arrived two hours later on the dot. It seemed that they’d chased the sun, because it looked as bright as ever. He wanted to flop down in the dirt of the driveway and sleep.

Feeling groggy and half-dead, he helped Auri drag the trunk out the boot of the car. He spent that quality time telling her how fucking dreadful of a driver she was.

“I’m fairly certain you broke at least sixty-five laws,” he finished, tugging the trunk with too much force and bumping it into his pelvic bone hard enough to bruise.

“Thanks,” she said, as if he'd paid her a flattering compliment. He sputtered.

Once they had the trunk out of the back and on the ground, their mothers poked their heads around the car.

“We’re going in,” Wendy told Auri. “The Crock-Pot awaits.”

“Be nice,” his mother told him, giving him a warning look.

He scoffed. “I’m quite offended,” he yelled at her retreating form, “I can be very pleasant, mother!”

She laughed harder than his words warranted and waved at him as they went inside.

Turning back around, he winced at his cousin. “She’s charming, isn’t she?”

Auri shrugged as she positioned the chest this way and that without any magic aid. “I hope my gay comment didn’t settle wrong with you,” she said offhandedly, and quite randomly, might he add. “I’m not exactly in the closet, myself.”

He didn’t know what to do with that . He hadn’t even thought since it had come up—a habit, he knew. Ignore, ignore, ignore...

“Er,” he said, for lack of a better retort. “ Why are you telling me this,” he asked, a little desperate to get off the topic she decided they were suddenly on. Something deep within him wiggled about uncomfortably. Ignore, ignore, ignore...

“I donno, why am I?” she said, and then stood up. They stared at each other; perplexed, but for different reasons. “Maybe because I want you to know—” she cut herself off and looked away, frustrated. “ Anyway .”

He glanced up at the top of her head, feeling small even though she was only a tad taller than him. It was probably the bluntness, at least in this case—he knew he’d never be able to be so honest with someone who was essentially a stranger, let alone a close relative, or even his own mum . He’d spent his whole life hiding out behind an act to survive, and he was only recently breaking free of it.

He was starting to worry that the mask he’d worn was who he really was, or became after so long. It had come naturally to him to be an awful prat after awhile. And sometimes, he’d enjoyed it, which disgusted him to no end and didn’t help is self image whatsoever.

He wanted to fix what he could, even if people told him he couldn’t. Even if people refused his apologies. Even if he had to drag his way down into the figurative or literal mud to do so. Even if his pride was nothing but shards cutting deep in his back till the end.

His only comfort in the possibility of recovery was his current attitude towards everything he’d once had to revere to pursue the magnificent feat of living. Which was simple— Fuck off. I’m going to change for the better, and you can’t stop me.

When it came to his sexuality, he never knew how to go about expressing it. Before .

He’d known he was bent before he hit puberty, and Pansy had come out to him that same year, so it just seemed obvious to them they they’d be each other’s beards.

Not that his mother hadn’t known . He had been careful to never say it outright, though, just in case father could hear, or act on it, lest their ‘friends’ noticed. His mother was tactful in Pureblood Decisions (every other type of decision was out in the wind, though) so she kept her mouth shut.

“I’ve learned to do whatever seems right, because waiting to say stuff just... fucks everything up, and telling you felt like what I should do. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, though.” Auri apologized, fixing her eyes over his shoulder to the house’s front porch. Her face looked pinched. “The gay joke, I mean. I didn’t mean for that to be mean-spirited.”

He did feel uncomfortable, but not—it wasn’t directed at her . It was more due to his upbringing, and years of ignoring it for the virtue of other’s knowledge, pretending it wasn’t the case, yada yada.

And he was done with that part of his life! He’d burn it to the fucking ground . All those walls he’d had to build up were getting torn down no matter what others had to say about it!

It might’ve been the loopiness he felt from the trip, or culture shock, or shock in general because his cousin was openly admitting to being a lesbian, or just shocky shock that shocked him, but he was instantaneously pumped up with a large, dangerous spike in confidence.

She said it. Why couldn't he?

He squared his jaw and stood up to his full height and said (rather loudly and with force), “No, you’re right, I’m a raging homosexual,” and then promptly turned around and buried his face within his hands, screaming into them.

“Dude, are you okay?” Auri asked, concerned.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m just in such a state lately that I wish I could just Obliviate myself,” he moaned, slumping against the van and rubbing his face vigorously.

“I think I can understand that,” Auri said slowly, and he let his hands fall from his face to see her eyeing him. “Isn’t Obliviate a European erasing spell?”

“What— yes, it is, it erases memories—don’t you have that here?” What kind of ass-backwards place was America, anyway, with its insane cars and no floo? It lacked the simplest magic words , apparently!

“Sure, but we hardly use them unless we’re in the cities that’re restricted... They take a lot of Mind Wandering, and that’s hard enough as is, just by yourself. Feds do it, typically. After something bad happens. Or... yeah.”

“ Mind Wandering ? Feds ?” Yet more things he had no knowledge of! “I—I’m going to scream ,” he told her, decidedly, mind racing with something akin with rage.

She cracked a huge smile and laughed. “You’re rather dramatic, huh?”

“I’m having a crisis!” He snapped, flailing his hands about, since she didn’t seem to grasp the severity of his situation. “A crisis about the very foundations of magic, which I was raised with, and believed to be reality !” his voice was getting increasingly high and cracked.

“Okay, okay, alright,” she said, leaning against the van and folding her arms, looking at him expectantly.

“What?” He asked, high enough to shatter glass.

She gestured to him. “You said you were going to scream.”

He gave into the urge to give his foot a good ol’ stamp. “ So ?”

She looked deeply, utterly amused. “ So , go on, scream it out.”

“Argh!” He yelled, and then he started stomping around, gripping his hair, making loud noise for the sake of loud noise. He did scream a bit, but not as much as originally planned. Towards the end of what felt like seven years of pure tantrum, he noticed the lack of sounds around them besides his own voice and Auri’s snickering.

“Did you cast a muffling charm?” He asked after a minute of standing and breathing heavily at the sky, back towards her—he didn’t need to see her laughing at him, hearing it was enough, thanks.

“Yes.” She said, simply.

He sighed and slid his hands down his face, resigned and purely exhausted now. “Do you call it a muffling charm ?”

“Yeah,” she said, stifling a chuckle.

“Thanks.” He turned to glare at her. “ However , I hate you.”

She gave him a faux hurt look. “Already? Usually it takes a few days, for most people.”

“I hate you so much.” He said. He stood there with his hands dangling numbly at his sides and his shoes scuffed in the dirt and sand. He didn’t hate her; on the contrary, he was feeling a bit fond of her, what with the letting him scream, if only due to her apparent unwavering patience. “Are you really a lesbian?”

“Fortunately,” she said, tipping her head in a small nod.

He snorted. She sounded like Pansy.

Wait.

“Merlin’s tits, we’re going to get along , aren’t we?” he realized, horrified.

“Unfortunately,” she agreed, “I think so.”