Why He Wakes Up
He wakes up, dresses, and walks to Diagon.
He hears the slurs, feels the stinging hexes. He walks on.
He enters the ministry, rides the lift. Slips inside the conference room, gets to work.
"Update me on the Avery case," Potter orders, not looking up from the file in his hands.
"Last spotted in Norfolk. I know of 3 safe houses in the area. My best guess is the place on the Fawley property. I have a team looking at the blueprints today. Should have a plan in place for extraction in the next 24 hours."
Potter nods. "Make it 12 hours. We don't want him catching wind."
"Yes, sir."
He walks to lunch.
She's there. Her hair is up today. He wishes it was down, with the sun playing across the golden-brown curls. They don't speak. Not here.
He and his team strike that night. They disillusion themselves, silence their steps, and move like phantoms, taking out the safe house one DeathEater at a time. It's methodical: Approach, incapacitate, disapparate the body.
Again.
And Again.
They reach Abernathy Avery. He's ready for them. The green streak of his Killing Curse arcs straight for Draco. "Scumsucking blood traitor," he yells from cracked, crusty lips. His greasy hair falls in matted clumps as he throws his head back, cackling. Draco gets his Protego up just in time. The deadly magic is deflected.
Abernathy crumples to the ground, his body a heap. Worthington, a man Draco trained himself, appears behind Avery. His wand still pointed at where the man had stood.
"Thank you, Worthington."
The man nods.
They finish the job.
Draco fills out the paperwork.
He heads home as the sun rises.
He slips into bed with her. And it's all worth it.
He wakes up, dresses, and walks to Diagon.