Chapter 1
“Salut, Monsieur. D’habitude?”
Draco nodded, and was handed a bag with baguette and various pastries.
“Je reviens demain” he said to the young woman behind the counter whom he saw every morning bar Sunday, and who always had his order waiting.
“Quelle dommage” the woman pouted, and Draco smiled before walking back out onto the street.
“I go back tomorrow,” he had said to her.
Back.
Home.
What a scary word, home. What a scary prospect.
He ate his tartine and croissant at the little table on his balcony before brushing his hands down his suit to dislodge any crumbs, then set off for the second time that morning, heading to work.
“Bonjour mon coeur” said Delphine, and Draco grinned at her.
“Bonjour ma chou” Draco replied, nodding at her and she winked, before handing him his hot chocolate.
“Je t’adore, Delphine, comme toujours” He said, drinking deeply from the mug before he walked past her receptionist desk and into his little office, and set about the day's work. He pulled the day's paperwork towards himself, and got stuck in.
When the day's work was done, he walked as he always walked along the river, stopping off at the small cafe that he frequented monday through friday.
“Bonjour Monsieur.”
“Claire, s’il te plait, c’est Draco, mon dieu.” Draco said, begging her to use his name as he always did as he took his seat that he always sat in, right by the window, so he could watch life pass him by.
“Un chocolat chaud pour le monsieur.” Claire brought him his drink and winked as she spoke, continuing to refuse to use his name.
“Merci, Claire.” Draco said, pulling the mug and saucer towards him, taking a sip of the rich, velvety drink that he looked forward to at the end of each working day. As he drank he watched.
A young mother and her daughter passed by the cafe, holding hands. They were in matching bonnets and despite himself, Draco smiled. A thought rose, unbidden, of his own mother. She used to hold his hand like that, promenading around the manor grounds, back when he still wore shorts and long socks and had not yet graduated to trousers.
He thought of seeing her tomorrow. What would the manor look like? Was she alone there? Was she allowed elves? When he had left it had been bleak; barren. Dark magic had lingered like a blood stain, following him wherever he went.
Would Wiltshire be the same? The green fields of his childhood, would they be as vibrant? As welcoming? Would they still recognise him as theirs, or had he been gone too long? Would he be a stranger in a familiar land?
His drink was cold. He drained it anyway, and left a few euros on the plate for Claire.
“Souviens-toi, je pars demain, oui? Au revoir, Claire” Draco said as he left, winding his scarf around his neck as he continued his journey home. He arrived at his building, and climbed the many stairs before he reached his front door. It was a tasteful sage green, and opened with one key.
He hung his scarf on its hook, and his jacket beside that. He took his shoes off and placed them on the rack by the front door. He loosened his tie and removed his cufflinks, as per his afternoon ritual.
In socked feet, he crossed the small space to his kitchen, and began to prepare a rich and flavourful tomato sauce to go with the pasta he was to eat for dinner. As it bubbled, he washed his hands in his small bathroom, and noted that he would need a haircut soon.
He then set his pasta water to boil, and set his little table on his little balcony, with a napkin and a fork. He then served his dinner up in an elegant pasta bowl, and sat and watched the sky turn from a vibrant blue to a warm orange as he ate.
Once finished, he washed up and tidied away. Then came the break in routine. Up until that point, everything was done as he always did on a Thursday after work, but now was the time for deviation. He checked the bags sitting at the foot of his bed, ensuring he had packed the right clothes and the correct number- making sure he had as many socks and underpants as he needed plus two extra, making sure he had the gifts he had purchased for his mother at the market.
He ensured he had packed sleep clothes, and his hair products, and toothbrush. Finally, he opened his bedside drawer and removed his wand, feeling his magic thrum to life at the feel of the smooth wood in his hand. It was a French wand, not his old one. That belonged to another, now, and Draco tried not to think of it, tried not to miss it.
A first wand was like a first love, his mother had always said. He had only experienced one, but its loss was painful, no matter how much he liked the replacement. Not that he used magic, much. He lived like a muggle; he worked a muggle job, he cooked the muggle way, he had muggle friends.
If there was a wizarding society in his quaint French town then he wouldn’t know. He never sought them out. He was even flying home, tomorrow, on an airplane. His mother had been shocked. He would still have to apparate from the airport to the Manor, the only concession to magic on his journey, but it hadn’t been enough to placate her.
Satisfied he was packed sufficiently, he stood and changed into his nightclothes, a loose grey t-shirt and white cotton trousers, before padding into his tiny living area, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey and picking up his book as he did so. He settled himself into his armchair, slid his reading glasses onto his nose and arranged his blanket over his legs and began to read. It was Jane Eyre, and he was enjoying it thoroughly.
When the clock on the little table next to him read ten, he rose and returned to his bed, where he placed the book on his bedside table, beside his wand, and his glasses atop it, all to be packed in his hand luggage the next morning. He set his alarm clock for six, allowing plenty of time to arrive for his 9:30 am flight, turned the light off, and closed his eyes.
Sleep took a long time coming.