How had he managed to lose that bet? He only ever bet on a sure thing and never took a bet that couldn’t be settled by paying a couple of galleons. How had he agreed on such daft terms for a bet?
Two weeks living as a Muggle, without a wand and no non-verbal spells either.
Only a drunk idiot would take such a bet.
And since he had no recollection of either the bet or how he lost it, there was a good chance that he had been very drunk indeed. He vaguely remembered it had something to do with a pregnant pet and gestation periods, but the details were a bit of a blur.
As part of the terms of the bet, he had only been allowed to exchange two galleons into Muggle money. That was less than ten pounds, and the unfamiliar currency looked utterly ridiculous to him. Also, London was bloody expensive. He had already spent half of his money on a packet of crisps and a pint of beer. He didn’t even have enough money to drink his sorrows away. Maybe not having any money, would be one way to clean up his act. He had been hitting the bottle quite hard, ever since he lost the top spot for the most prestigious Ministerial apprenticeship to Granger.
He would have to get himself some sort of job if he was to survive on the few coins he had left. What jobs could he do in the Muggle world? Or in any world, now that he lost the apprenticeship, he thought morosely.
There must be something he could do. He couldn’t give Granger the satisfaction of being right, as always.
He could still hear the mud…, no he promised not to call her that ever again. He could still hear her telling them all that he would not last a day in the Muggle world.
He had been outraged at her words and the disdain in her voice, but at this rate he wouldn’t even last an afternoon.
He couldn’t even get his faaaather to help out on this occasion.
‘A Malfoy never reneges on a bet,’ he would say, and it would just be another thing for him to add to the list of his son’s disappointments.
His ears were still ringing from the verbal abuse he had received when his father had found out that he had missed out on the apprenticeship.
It would have been bad enough if he had missed out to Nott or Zabini, but to Granger of all people…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When he returned to Hogwarts two weeks later he was met with stares, not just from the Slytherin table, but from the entire student body and even some of the teachers stared at him open mouthed.
When he walked over to the Gryffindor table, there was an awkward silence.
Then Ron piped up, ‘What in Merlin’s name happened to your hair?’ at the same time as Hermione asked ‘Where have you been?’
She didn’t add ‘I was worried’, but the slight colouring of her cheeks and tone of voice clearly conveyed the message.
Draco turned to Hermione and said, ‘Turned out that you were right, Granger, I didn’t last a day without magic in the Muggle world, but while I was pretty useless, it turned out my hair was a highly valued commodity. The guy who bought it from me paid me enough to stay at a hostel for two weeks and still have money left over for the train back to Hogwarts. He even gave me his number in case I want to sell it again, once it grows back. So if all else fails, I could make a career out of growing my hair.’
Draco then turned his attention to Harry. ‘How’s that ruddy bird of yours, Potter? Any babies yet? Oh wait, owls lay eggs, I forgot.’
In the past two weeks he had finally remembered what the drunken bet had all been about: guessing the gestation period of Harry’s owl.
There was another awkward silence. At least they had the decency to look chastened.
Draco turned on his heels and walked away.
He had only moved a few paces when Hermione caught up with him and stopped him.
‘Actually I was wrong, Draco. Selling your hair must have been difficult for you, but it was a very clever and resourceful way to deal with your impossible situation. The odds were stacked against you. Surviving two weeks in London without magic and only ten pounds to live on would have been impossible for anyone. That bet was stupid and if you had been sober, you would have realised that before taking it. It was meant to teach you a lesson.
We were all expecting you to renege on the bet and come crawling back next day…’
‘A Malfoy never reneges on a bet,’ he interjected automatically.
‘…or take a taxi to Gringotts or apparate home, or…’
‘But that would have been cheating,’ Draco said appalled.
Had she really thought he would simply pop down to Gringotts and replenish his funds?
Never mind taking a taxi. That notion would never even have entered his head in a million years. He barely knew the concept of taxis or how to go about getting one.
It pained him to think that she thought so little of him that she had assumed he would have simply come back the next day pretending nothing had happened.
Some of those feelings must have shown on his face, because she said gently, ‘Why don’t we go for a little walk in the grounds.’
As she led him out of the Great Hall, she remarked, ‘Two weeks in the Muggle world have done you good. You look healthier, less pale and, I dare say, nearly content.’
As they walked to the lake he told her everything about his first day in London. Having drunk his way through the ten pounds by the end of the afternoon, having walked around London and coming across a sign announcing some sort of meeting with free coffee and biscuits. How he had been hungry at that stage and attended, what turned out to be an AA meeting. How he had told them he had lost all he had in a drunken bet. How he had met a guy there, who had taken pity on him and taken him to a McDonalds for a bite to eat and gave him the name of a shelter, where he could stay the night, and a soup kitchen where he could get food.
How he had gone back to meetings every evening and stayed in the shelter a few more nights. How it had been very freeing to talk to total strangers about his controlling faaaather, who was always quick to voice his disappointment. How his friends were more interested in his background than his well-being. How even his class mates thought so little of him, that they bet him he wouldn’t be able to last a day on his own.
How they clearly had been correct, as here he was penniless, spilling his guts for a free cup of coffee and some biscuits.
But the talking to strangers had helped and he had gone back every night, made some friends, was given the name of a wig maker, after one of the female members mentioned that she would kill to have hair like his.
He told Hermione that selling his hair had been difficult, and how he had cried like a baby that night, but it had afforded him enough money to stay in a hostel for the remainder of the two weeks and still have some money left over to donate to the group, before heading back to school.
There had been several times during this account that Hermione had been itching to interrupt him, but she held her tongue and let him tell her about the past two weeks at his own pace. When he finally seemed to have come to the end of his story, she put a hand on his arm.
‘I’m sorry’, she said softly.
‘It was unfair of me to make that bet, and hold you to it. You were so drunk, you could barely remember your name. I should have looked after you better, rather than leaving you in London with a tenner and holding you to a ridiculous bet.’
He looked at her intensely.
‘You have probably done me the greatest favour in my entire sorry life, Granger’, he said sincerely.
‘I needed to straighten out some things, and forcing me to take a long hard look at myself and live incognito among Muggles for a few weeks, was probably a good thing. I may even try to keep going to meetings when I can.’
Hermione was gobsmacked, but felt a weird pride bubbling up inside her.
‘Good for you,’ she said, punching him in the shoulder. ‘And…if you need a sponsor or anything, I am here for you. I’m proud of you, Malfoy.’
Draco looked at her funny, and not just because it had been a long time since anyone had said they were proud of him.
‘I haven’t been called Malfoy in a while,’ he grinned.
‘Why, what name were you using?’ Hermione asked.
Draco hesitated.
‘I was taken aback when they asked me my name, so I said the first Muggle name that came into my head: Granger. My name is Harmon Granger. So that’s what I have been called for the past two weeks.’
Draco looked at her sideways, but Hermione just laughed.
‘Well, Harmon, I’m sorry about your hair, but the bald head kind of suits you. All that’s missing now is an earring,’ she smiled.
‘Don’t bet on it,’ he laughed and then added, ‘too soon?’
They both laughed.
‘At least you will have no problem with your costume for the ball next week,’ Hermione smiled at him again.
‘Is that your way of asking me to take you to the ball, Granger.’
‘You bet your life it is, Harmon,’ she laughed and linked arms with him, as they walked back to Castle.