Chapter 5: Something That Sticks
Characters - Draco Malfoy x OC
AO3 | Wattpad | Masterlist
Summary - The Ministry deemed it necessary to punish young witches and wizards who had served under the Dark Lord’s command. To reshape their attitudes toward Muggles, the Muggle Relations Compliance Program was established. Draco had been sentenced to five years; after two, he still refused to mingle with Muggles at all. Until his third placement, where a colleague began to change his mind.
Draco leaned idly against the worktop, watching as Lucy cleaned the milk-steam wand he'd forgotten the day before. The pitcher frothed with soapy water; bubbles hissed as they climbed the sides. She released the lever with a sharp burst of steam, then gripped the cloth tighter, sliding it firmly up and down the length of the wand. Her wrist flicked at the end—neat and practised. Heat prickled at the back of his neck, and he tore his gaze away, scowling. Honestly, what was he? A teenage boy?
"Okay, you at least have to know The Beatles, right?" Lucy asked, hanging the rag back on its hook. She'd been quizzing him on random things all day, ever since dinner when she'd learnt he'd never even had Coca-Cola. It turned out there were a lot of things he didn't know, and he couldn't quite decide whether her delight in pointing them out amused him or drove him mad.
"You know, like, 'Let it be, let it be…'" Lucy sang softly, her voice light and clear, catching Draco off guard.
Draco raised his brows, giving her an arch look. "Palmer, I think we've established I'm not going to know what any of this stuff is."
"Yes, but I'm still not convinced." She leaned her elbows on the counter, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "Are you sure you didn't escape some sort of cult… or secret society?" A smirk crept across his mouth. "Yeah, something like that."
"You're taking the piss," Lucy said, rolling her eyes as she dried the pitcher. "Alright then, what's your favourite film?"
Draco scratched at his temple; something unreadable played at the edge of his expression. He tilted his head slightly, as if halfway to saying something, then busied himself with the stack of dirty dishes and made a quiet retreat toward the sink.
"This isn't over!" she yelled after him, but he was already gone, the back-room doors swinging shut in his wake.
His blond hair fell over his face as he peered suspiciously into the brown paper bag Lucy had handed him that morning. His brows knitted as he drew out a bright red cylinder. After studying it for a moment, he rolled his eyes at the name printed on the tin.
Inspecting the top, he lifted the silver tab and twisted it. When nothing happened, he pulled it up instead, flinching as it hissed open. He gave it a cautious sniff, then took a tentative sip.
He sat back, eating the sandwich that had come with it. The air was stifling, and a fan rumbled in the corner atop a metal filing cabinet, the drawers rattling faintly with every slow turn of the blades.
The doors swung open and drew his attention. Lucy appeared, her hazel eyes catching his as she winked before heading towards the supply cupboard.
"So you do like it?" she called, her voice muffled from inside the cupboard.
He glared at her over the top of the tin as he took a sip. "Don't push it, Palmer." He paused. "It does remind me of a drink from home, though."
"Drink from home?" she echoed, emerging with a rickety old ladder and grimacing as she wrestled it free. "You act like you're from another country. What drink was it?"
Draco's chewing slowed as he watched her struggle. "You know," he said after swallowing, deliberately ignoring her question, "I can do it for you if you want. It'd be easier for me."
"Nah, it's fine!" Lucy hefted the ladder again with a soft grunt. "Wouldn't want to steal your break," she said as she hauled the ladder through the doorway into the main café.
Draco hesitated, then shrugged and returned to his sandwich. He sighed through his nose, his mind empty as the hum of the fan blended with the soft clink of glass bottles being placed in the display case.
A sudden crash and a rush of footsteps snapped him out of his daze. The sound ricocheted throughout the building, and crumbs caught in his throat as he coughed, choking on half-chewed bread. He leapt up from his chair, heart jolting hard against his ribs, and bolted from the break room.
He caught a glimpse of a man in a black hoodie sprinting out the door, the bells tied to the handle clattering wildly in his wake before the door slammed shut with a hollow thunk against the door frame.
Lucy was on the floor, palms braced against the wooden boards, wincing as she tried to push herself upright. Draco hurried over, his shoes thudding dully against the floorboards, and offered his hand. She took it, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to stand on both feet, and he steadied her with a light grip on her shoulders.
His eyes swept over her face, tense with worry as he searched for any sign of injury. "What happened?"
He turned with a start. In all the commotion, he hadn't realised Margaret was there. Draco blinked, raising a brow.
"Yeah… some crazy bloke came in waving a stick at me," Lucy said, brushing off her sleeve and glancing toward the door. "Can't expect anything less from London. I must've lost my step or something."
At those words, Draco felt as though he'd been plunged into a bath of ice, a cold ripple running down his spine. Waving a stick.
"Why did he run out like that?" he asked cautiously, glancing between Margaret and Lucy.
Margaret paused. "I told him to leave."
His shoulders eased a little, though the tension in his chest didn't fade. If all it took was a few harsh words from an old woman, then it couldn't be.
Draco helped Lucy set the ladder against the wall, noticing it wobbled. The metal groaned faintly under his hand; the frame was still intact, but the legs were bent just enough that it wouldn't stand on its own.
He caught the slight wince his colleague gave each time she put weight on her left foot. "Well… are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be okay. My ankle might be a little sprained, but I'll be fine," Lucy reassured him, though her voice wavered slightly.
Margaret eyed the ladder and sighed. "I'm going to need to get another one." Her gaze shifted to Draco, studying him so intently that he squirmed under it. For a moment, it felt as though she could read his thoughts. A faint prickle of gooseflesh rose along his arms as he met her eyes; the silence stretched until Lucy cleared her throat.
Maggie picked up her purse from a nearby chair. "I'll be back tomorrow with a new ladder. I'll need your help carrying it in."
He nodded, watching the older woman curiously.
"Let me know if your ankle gives you any more trouble," she said to Lucy, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. "He's going to have to start taking shifts on his own soon anyway."
She hesitated for a moment, her features drawn, then quietly left the shop.
The space fell still for a few moments, the faint creak of the floorboards filling the quiet. Lucy exhaled sharply, tucking her fringe behind her ears. Draco said nothing as he lifted the ladder and carried it into the back room, Lucy following behind him.
"So," he began as he set it down, his tone flat, "shifts on my own, then?"
Draco watched as the girl struggled to find her words, her gaze darting anywhere but him.
"I'm going to be starting culinary school soon, so I'm not going to be working full-time anymore." Her eyes finally met his, curious yet cautious. She was still leaning on her right foot, taking the weight off her aching ankle.
He was silent for a moment. He didn't know why, but a hollow feeling of disappointment settled in his chest—probably just the thought of more work, he told himself. Crossing his arms, he said coolly, "Well, I suppose I'll finally get some peace and quiet."
Her mouth curved slightly, but the rest of her face stayed still. No crinkling eyes. No wrinkled nose. A pit dropped in his stomach, an acidic burn curling low inside him.
"I suppose so," she said softly.
"What exactly is culinary school, anyway?" he asked, the edge in his voice sharper than intended.
She giggled, and his lips thinned, tension flickering across his face.
"You seem to think rather highly of yourself simply because you know a few things I don't," he said, each word measured and clipped. "You've no idea how little you actually know."
The slight pout quickly returned, and her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, you know?" Her eyes kept flicking to him, then quickly away. "I'm just trying to share things I like with you, not put you down or anything…"
A heavy pause followed. His shoulders dropped a little, the fight in him cooling as silence settled thick between them. Neither spoke nor looked at the other. If the little fan in the back room weren't still rumbling away, you might've heard a pin drop.
"I'm going to study to become a pastry chef—you know, like the desserts I make here?" she said, slipping her hands into her back pockets. "The café's sort of going under. Margaret wants to retire and give me full control of the place; she's even paying for my schooling." He nearly scoffed. A pastry chef. If she wanted to spend the rest of her life buried in flour and dishes, that was her choice.
"That's what you want to do?" he said, shaking his head with a faint, incredulous laugh. "What a pitiful little life you're going to have."
That wasn't the response he expected. The corners of her lips turned up when she noticed his jaw drop slightly.
"I mean, baking's all right. I'm good at it; I'm not miserable when I do it—it's just not what I'm passionate about." She paused, eyes narrowing faintly as she gathered her thoughts. "I just wasn't born lucky. Some people are born with everything and lose it all. Some are born with nothing and gain everything. I'm just going to live and hope that somewhere down the line something sticks."
He wished she'd shouted—anything, so he could write her off as emotional and call it a day. Her words pressed against his chest like a weight. He thought of himself now compared to how he'd started. Then Potter came to mind: the boy who'd begun with nothing and ended up with everything.
The thought made his stomach twist, a bitter taste rising at the back of his throat. Perhaps Muggles had more wisdom than he'd once imagined. The notion felt like poison. "And what did you hope would 'stick'?" he asked, his tone softer now, almost cautious. She tilted her head, thinking. "Music."
He rolled his eyes, but the spark in her features only intensified—bright and entirely unshaken.
"Okay then," she challenged lightly, "what's your idea of a proper life?"
"I don't think I know anymore," he admitted at last, his voice barely above a whisper. For once, he wished a customer would walk in. Both stared off into the empty space, lost in thought. A car outside honked its horn, knocking the pair out of their individual dazes.
"So, what is your favourite movie?" Lucy asked, her lips quirking slightly. After a moment to process, Draco exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, eyes closed, as if trying to smother a laugh.
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. Removing her hands from her back pockets, she grabbed him by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. Draco grimaced and leaned away from her. "You're going with me to one. I don't care if I have to kidnap you."
His face burned, and he shook her off his shoulders. Even without having paid much attention to Muggle Studies, the concept of Muggles having moving pictures did pique his interest slightly.
He remembered the lesson clearly. He'd been sent out of class for calling Professor Burbage a liar. Thoughts flashed to her suspended in the air above his dining room table, begging for her life. His stomach flipped.
Lucy stared at him, her eyes soft. "Only if you want to be kidnapped, of course." "By you? Of course."
The rest of the shift passed easily enough. Lucy stayed on the till because of her ankle, and Draco handled the drinks during the so-called rush hour, which brought in about ten customers. By 4:30, they had closed up and finished the last of the cleaning. The day was over.
A few drops of sweat slid down Draco's forehead, tracing a warm path along his temple. The air was thick and heavy with the late afternoon sun, the sort that clung to skin and made his shirt stick to his back. He squinted against the light as he started walking in their usual direction, the quiet hum of traffic blending with the distant chatter of a passing crowd.
"Actually—" Lucy's voice stopped him mid-step. "I drove today."
She fished a ring of keys from her pocket, the metal jingling softly. Draco said nothing, his gaze drifting instead to the tiny stuffed bear on her keychain, its once-plush fur faded and threadbare. The corners of his mouth twitched, his brow quirking in mild amusement.
"That's probably better—don't want to walk on that too much," he said, nodding toward her ankle. He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement before lifting a hand in farewell and turning to go.
"Wait." Her voice caught him again. He turned to find her chewing her lip, sunlight glinting through strands of her auburn hair. "Remember, at dinner I said I'd help you out with cooking? Would you want to take those cooking lessons now?"
"Now?" he echoed, caught off guard. "I mean… I don't have an—"
A dry lump caught in his throat and refused to go down. The air suddenly felt warmer, heavier. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he looked at her, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes.
Lucy wiped her palms on her jeans. "My brother and father live with me, so we might be cooking for them as well," she said with a small, nervous laugh.
"Oh." He swallowed again, this time managing to clear the lump. His fingers twitched at his sides. "Er… yeah. Sounds… good."
She led him to a small car park around the corner, where only a few cars were scattered about. The heat radiating off the tarmac shimmered faintly in the air. To his surprise, she stopped at the largest one — a white pick-up with a few dents along its side and a faint rust bloom near the wheel arch. She rubbed the back of her neck, eyes briefly avoiding his.
"My father's a contractor," she explained, unlocking the door with a key. Anxiety prickled in his chest at the thought of stepping into the thing, yet when she unlocked his door with a subtle click, he hesitated only a moment before climbing into the passenger seat. "You've got no idea what a contractor is, do you?" she said, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she spotted the faint pout on his lips. "He builds houses."
Draco nodded, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
He gripped the door handle as the engine started with a roar. "Rather manly for you, don't you think?"
Lucy laughed. "I've got no other option."
The blond pressed his lips together, lost in thought. His knuckles turned white as they drove off.
His parents had never approved of any sort of magic-enhanced Muggle transportation. Even the train ride to Hogwarts had made them uneasy. If it hadn't been a long-standing tradition, he was sure they would've caused a ruckus over it. He'd agreed with them, to an extent. Why enhance Muggle technology when wizardkind already had far more efficient ways to travel?
He remembered once taking the Knight Bus with Blaise after a night of drinking. He'd been fined fifty Galleons for being sick on the seats. He'd never seen his father so livid.
Their eyes met in the rear-view mirror a few times; he caught a curious expression flickering across hers as they drove through streets that grew increasingly worn down. The road narrowed, lined with rows of red-brick terraces and council blocks whose balconies sagged under the weight of laundry and flowerpots. He'd never been in this part of London before. They passed a few shops, one with a fading sign reading 'Kentish Town Corner Shop'.
When the pick-up finally rolled to a stop in the narrow driveway of a red-brick townhouse, Draco felt a wave of unease in his stomach. Lucy pulled the key from the ignition, and the car fell into a heavy, mechanical silence. After a brief pause, they both climbed out.
A tabby cat darted past them, a twitching mouse hanging from its jaws as it vanished into an overgrown hedge. Draco followed Lucy up the cracked stone steps, the scent of lavender drifting from a nearby planter. She said nothing, the soft jingle of her keys the only sound between them. The lock resisted for a moment before giving way with a click, and she pushed the door open, the knob tapping lightly against the wall behind it.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he certainly hadn't pictured it being so clean. Lucy bent down to take off her trainers, placing them neatly on a rack by the wall before giving him an expectant look. Raising a brow, he glanced down at his own shoes. After a brief hesitation, he leaned over and slipped them off, setting them beside hers.
Opening the double doors to their immediate left, the auburn-haired girl led him into the living room.
The furniture was nothing fancy; in fact, most of it looked worn down. The leather sofas were cracked, with faint cat claw marks along the sides. The wooden side tables were chipped at the legs, supporting lamps with dated floral shades. Yet nothing was out of place. The whole room was spotless, smelling faintly of lavender and polish — so immaculate, in fact, that Draco wondered if this Muggle family might have a house-elf of their own.
He stepped in after her, still feeling somewhat awkward without his shoes. The television was on; Draco stared at it, intrigued by the blur of colour and noise. He almost didn't notice the boy sprawled across one of the tan leather sofas.
Draco turned at the unexpected voice. Spotting the boy, his shoulders dropped slightly. The kid wore a baggy T-shirt and long basketball shorts, lazily draped over the couch, looking at him with a faint sneer playing on his lips.
Lucy shook her head at her brother in amused disapproval. "Jamie, you remember Draco, right? He works at the café with me."
Jamie studied Draco for a moment, looking him up and down with that same sneer. "Ah, right. Nice hair, mate."
Draco's mouth twitched. "Thanks."
His colleague offered a soft look of understanding before turning back to her brother. "We're going to be cooking, so dinner'll be ready at around 6:30," she informed him, stepping beneath the archway to the kitchen.
Lucy went scarlet. Her jaw dropped, and she shot her brother with a murderous look. Without another word, she motioned for Draco to follow, carefully avoiding his eyes.
He did so, brows furrowed in confusion. "Why do we need protection to cook?"
A long pause followed. The silence was deafening. Draco felt the weight of it settle before he realised he'd made a mistake.
"You can't be serious," Lucy muttered, turning halfway to look at him.
"Do I look like I'm joking to you?" He fixed her with a hard stare, still none the wiser.
Lucy stood there for a beat, caught between disbelief and laughter, before shaking her head. "Just… never mind him," she said, sighing as she moved deeper into the kitchen.
She cursed under her breath as she gathered a few empty beer bottles from the worktop of the otherwise pristine kitchen. Opening the small cupboard tucked away in the corner, she tossed them into the bin; the clinking of glass echoed dully in the confined space. The air smelled sharply of cleaning products, undercut by faint traces of stale beer and cigarettes.
He'd never spent much time in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor — there had never been any need. Truthfully, he didn't even know what a proper kitchen was meant to look like. This one, though, he could tell was outdated. The appliances were scratched, the once-white cabinets now tinged a tired yellow. His gaze drifted down to the tiled floor, scuffed and dull beneath the overhead light.
Lucy let out a deep sigh, drawing his attention. "We're out of pesto," she said, sounding genuinely defeated. He supposed she'd had a rough day; a flicker of guilt crept in at the thought.
"I'm gonna walk to the shop real quick."
"It's only a few minutes, so it should be fine. It's even feeling a bit better already."
She gestured for him to head back into the living room, though he would have much preferred to stay in the kitchen. Reluctantly, he took a seat on the sofa opposite Jamie, whose eyes were still fixed on the screen.
"I'm going to get something real quick," Lucy said to her brother. She then mouthed something to him out of Draco's view, which drew an immediate, toothy flash from the boy. She left quickly; through the window behind the sheer curtains, he watched her make her way down the steps. He suddenly wished he'd refused her offer.
As much as Draco tried not to, his eyes fixed on the television. Its flashing lights and abrupt sounds drew him in. It was a historical film of some sort. He crossed his arms, glancing out the front window every few seconds in case Lucy returned.
"When the atomic bomb detonated over Hiroshima at 8:15 a.m. on August 6th, 1945, an estimated seventy to eighty thousand people were killed instantly–"
He scoffed under his breath, drawing the boy's attention.
"What? Are you one of those conspiracy theorists?" Jamie asked, brows furrowed, his mouth twitching with amusement as he raked a hand through his already-messy hair.
Draco tightened his crossed arms, debating whether to respond at all. "Well," he said after a pause, "there's no possible way a Mu— person can kill that many people instantly." He kept his gaze fixed on the corner of the room, doing his best to ignore the eyes still on him.
Jamie leaned in, the corners of his mouth pulling higher. "Did you even pass secondary? Because there's no way they'd let you take the GCSEs."
Draco's eyes flicked back to the screen. His chest tightened. If it were true that Muggles could accomplish things even a wizard couldn't… He pushed the thought aside, forcing his expression flat. Then a new idea struck him.
"Actually," he began, glancing back at the boy, "you're right. I've never taken… what's it called again?"
Jamie's grin faltered, his chin dipping as his brow creased. "GCSEs."
"Yes. That. You're taking it soon, aren't you?" Draco asked, wishing he could wipe the smug look off the kid's face.
After a short silence, Jamie laughed. "Waaaay past it, mate. Took 'em early."
"Right." Draco gave a curt nod. "Then you can teach me a few things before I take my test."
"This is just rich," Jamie said between laughs. Draco's lips pressed into a thin line as he resisted the colourful words that came to mind.
The kid quickly sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and eyeing Draco with mock seriousness. "It'll cost you," he said after a moment's thought, glancing towards the corner of the room. "Hmm… twenty quid a sesh."
Jamie’s mouth curled in triumph, but Draco cut him off before he could gloat. "One thing, though — you can't tell your sister."
His words were met with a frown of confusion, followed by a flash of realisation. "You fancy her, huh? Don't want her to know you enlisted her little brother for help?"
Draco's nostrils flared. "Just don't say anything."
"Fine," Jamie said at last, leaning back and crossing his arms to mirror him. "Ten quid extra per session."
Draco couldn't believe he was letting himself be swindled by a muggle child. "Deal." Their attention snapped to the sound of the front door opening.
"Next Tuesday, five o'clock — Camden Town Library," Jamie muttered quickly before the living room doors swung open.
Lucy stepped inside, unaware of the silence that had settled over the house. A clear plastic bag swung from her hand, hooked between her fingers, the faint rustle of it cutting through the soft hum of the television.
"Sorry it took a bit," she said, slightly out of breath. "The first shop didn't have it, so I had to go further down."
Draco's gaze dropped to her ankle — the way she shifted her weight off it without thinking. He frowned but said only, "Yeah. Not a problem."
They slipped back into the kitchen. Under the yellow glow of the overhead light, the counters gleamed, their reflections faint and uneven. Lucy's movements were quiet, methodical; she showed him how to dice the vegetables properly, steadying his hand once or twice with gentle correction.
When she pulled the chicken from the fridge, he stopped short. The pale, slippery flesh gleamed under the light. "I'm not touching that," he muttered, recoiling slightly.
"Oh, come on. It's not that bad." Her voice softened, teasing but weary.
He met her eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching, and relented. The knife felt slippery in his hand as he followed her instructions. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't as revolting as he'd expected either. Soon the meat was in a pan beside the seasoned vegetables, the smell of garlic and oil filling the kitchen.
The clock on the wall ticked toward seven. The golden wash of sunset filtered through the window, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. For a while, there was peace. Only the low hum of the stove and the rhythmic clink of the spatula against the pan.
Then a sharp knock shattered it.
Lucy quickly turned down the heat and hurried out of the room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Draco followed a step behind, unease twisting in his stomach.
In the living room, Jamie sat forward on the sofa, the television frozen mid-frame. "Cops again," he muttered, part bored, part amused.
"Son of a bitch," Lucy hissed. She strode forward and yanked open the door.
Draco lingered in the doorway as two police officers stepped inside, each supporting a slumped man between them. The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, his greying hair plastered to his forehead, his boots dragging over the carpet. Even through the fog of alcohol and exhaustion, the resemblance to Lucy and Jamie was obvious. Draco didn't have to ask who he was.
The officers moved through the house with quiet familiarity, steering the man up the stairs. A third officer lingered behind, a tall, handsome young man. Draco scowled as the man gave Lucy a look far too gentle for his liking.
"I'm sorry, Lucy," he said softly, voice almost lost under the creak of the staircase. "But I'll have to fine him this time."
She gave a bitter little laugh. "You mean fine me."
The officer's eyes darted toward Draco, taking in the stranger standing awkwardly by the doorway.
"This is Draco," Lucy said quickly, her voice tight. "We work together."
The officer gave a polite nod. "Officer Bing."
Draco forced a smile. Bing. Ridiculous name.
He scribbled something on his pad, tore off a slip of paper, and handed it over. The other officers reappeared, offering Lucy quiet nods of sympathy before stepping back into the night.
"You all have a nice evening," Bing said, though his tone betrayed the emptiness of the words. He turned to Jamie, who had appeared again in the doorway. "And you—stay out of trouble, yeah?"
Jamie gave a mock salute, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No promises, officer."
The door clicked shut. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive, the kind that made every sound too loud. Then, the soft click of the remote, and the television flickered back to life.
Lucy turned wordlessly and walked back to the kitchen. Draco followed, uncertain. The smell of cooling food greeted them, heavy and unappetising now. They finished preparing the meal in near silence, the earlier warmth drained from the room.
The pasta glistened under the dim light, but Draco barely tasted it. Lucy ate slowly, her fork scraping faintly against the plate.
Jamie appeared long enough to grab a bowl, flashing them both a cheeky finger-gun before retreating to the living room. The sound of canned laughter soon echoed from the TV.
Draco looked across the table. Her eyes were distant and glassy, as if she were watching something far away. He wanted to say something, anything, but every word felt useless. He struggled to swallow his food, though it wasn't the most uncomfortable meal he'd ever endured.
When they'd finished, he reached for her bowl. She hesitated, then gave a slight nod. He washed up in silence, the running water and clinking of dishes filling the quiet.
When he turned back, Lucy was still seated at the table, her expression unreadable.
"Well," she said finally, her voice low and even. "I guess it's time to take you home." "Are you sure? I can walk."
She shook her head, already pushing back her chair. "I'll pack you some leftovers. Give me a minute."
Draco stepped into the hall, passing Jamie without a word. He pulled on his coat and shoes, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound.
By the time she joined him at the door, the sky outside had turned deep blue. Streetlights flickered through the thin curtains. She handed him a small plastic bowl, its lid slightly fogged with warmth.
He took it carefully. "Thank you," he said, barely above a whisper.
Lucy’s lips lifted slightly, but her eyes remained distant as she opened the door for him.
They stepped out into the cool night air. It smelled faintly of rain and petrol, the sky hazy with the city's orange wash. The pick-up sat beneath a flickering streetlamp, its white paint catching the light in dull glints. They climbed in without speaking, the doors closing with a hollow thud that echoed in the quiet street.
As the engine rumbled to life, Draco's hand instinctively moved to grip the side of the door for dear life. The first few minutes were spent in silence. The hum of the tyres and the low growl of the engine filled the air, while passing streetlights rolled across Lucy's face in fleeting waves of light and shadow.
"So," he began at last, glancing sideways, "what film are we going to see?"
A bright smile spread across her face, sudden and unguarded. He swore her smiles had to be contagious.
She kept her eyes on the road, the tired glossiness in them softening just a little. "There are a few good ones out," she said quietly. "You'd go with me?"
He let out a short breath that might've been a laugh. "Only if you kidnap me."
