A/N: This is my first DHr fic -- the result of my boredom, craziness and insomnia. I've been working on this for months and only had the courage to post it publicly last week. Hope you'll like it. Great thanks to my beta, Edenvirg for all the help.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and its characters. J. K. Rowling does.

Chapter One: Discovery

He carried the last of the boxes inside the stockroom then set it down on the floor. Sweat trickled down his forehead but he didn't seem to mind. He needed to do more work to take his mind off those things. He needed diversion; he was so tired of thinking. He nodded to himself then went out of the stockroom with that in mind.

"Well, if it isn't our Employee of the Month," his friend, Tom, teased. Tom crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you'll be working overtime again, Drake."

Drake simply ignored Tom, walked past him in the hallway and went back to the grocery store. He still had to place those canned goods in their respective shelves.

"Come on, mate, take a break," Tom said as he helped him with the cans. "It's a Friday and your shift is over, for crying out loud!"

Drake once again ignored him and shooed him off like a fly hovering in front of his face. Tom rolled his eyes then cracked his knuckles.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he said with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes.

Before his friend could protest, Tom dragged him to the workers' lounge and forced him to open his locker. He grabbed his very annoyed friend's backpack and jacket from inside the locker then shoved these onto Drake's arms.

"Go home and enjoy your Friday night, Sir," Tom said with a mock bow and a wink at Drake, who was glowering at him. "I won't do this again next week, I promise," he added as he clapped Drake on the shoulder. Tom turned around and left him alone in the small room.

Drake took a deep breath to calm himself then let it out with a sigh. The past four years had really changed him. In the past, no one, except for his father and that deformed bastard, could force him to do something he didn't want to do. Had this happened prior to those four years, Tom would have been so dead.

He dropped his things on the tiled floor then peered inside the grocery store. There he saw Tom talking with a new employee... a new female employee. He groaned inwardly at this discovery.

"Not again," he muttered to himself.

He sure wanted to have some private time with the petite blonde. Tom was a nice guy and a good friend but he was such an insufferable git when it came to women.

"Go home, Drake," Tom said when he caught him peering at them from behind the door.

Drake. Four years had passed, yet it still sounded somewhat strange to him. He had no intention of changing his first name when he first plunged himself into the Muggle world. He simply got the idea after his first employer cut him off as he was about to finish the last syllable of his name. Since then, he became Drake Patterson to the Muggles.

He gave Tom one last glare before he looked away in exasperation. Now he had to think of another way to entertain himself and divert his thoughts in his flat, which was quite impossible since there really was nothing to do there but think and watch everything shrivel. Next time, he promised himself, I'm going to save up for a television. He only got to watch it in Tom's flat and right now all he wanted to do was maim the stupid git. He took another deep breath then sighed as he opened the door to the workers' lounge. These last four years had softened him, indeed. Had this happened when he was sixteen, he would have clawed his eyes out of their sockets and ground every piece of him — from the tips of his toes to the tips of his messy red hair.

Stupid redheads.

Now, he's thinking about the past again, thanks to Tom. He grabbed his denim jacket from the floor and put it on. He next reached down for his backpack which he heaved over his shoulder. As he was doing this, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror. He brushed away his black bangs from his gray eyes then approached it.

Four years had passed since that horrible day, and yet every time he looked at the mirror, he saw only the ghost of his sixteen year-old self — a wealthy, young, blond, pureblood wizard — staring back at him with gray eyes full of contempt. He blinked a couple of times then saw, instead, a lowly Muggle worker in a blue button-down shirt, a denim jacket, frayed jeans and an old pair of black sneakers. He ran his fingers through his hair which he started to dye black a year ago. While he was doing so, he caught a glimpse of the badly scarred mark on his left arm. He had desperately tried to erase that vile image there four years ago... to no avail. Up to this day, the skull looked up to him with those menacing and contemptuous eyes.

He took a black bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and wrapped it around his arm to conceal the mark. He looked at his reflection again afterwards then shook his head in dissatisfaction. He may look like any other Muggle but even a dumb wizard could tell who he is. Draco Black Malfoy. The self-proclaimed Prince of Slytherin. Son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Follower of the Dark Lord. Death Eater.

"Ex-Death Eater," he spat at his reflection as if it was his accuser.

The war may have ended a year ago but he was still a wanted man—in both sides. The Light wanted him punished for joining the dark forces. The Dark, on the other hand, wanted him punished for being weak... for failing.

"Thanks very much, Tom," he muttered in disgust as he put on a blue baseball cap he got from his backpack. "I love reminiscing a lot."

After he was convinced that he wouldn't be easily recognized, Draco — Drake to his muggle acquaintances — left the grocery store through the backdoor, lest he sees his friend Tom again. He might lose his control over himself and his rising temper and hex him till there was nothing left of the stupid Muggle. He took more calming deep breaths to banish these thoughts.

As always, he walked back to his flat. He lived in a small room in an old concrete building not too far from the grocery store. It was a pleasant spring day, a great time for walking, yet the beauty of his surroundings was not enough to calm the turmoil inside. Nothing was, for the past four years. Not even living among the Muggles all these years could make him forget. Nothing could. Save, maybe, for amnesia.

He might feel good — no, wonderful, amazing, magnificent all at the same time. If he could only let go of the burdens... He might be finally able to feel real peace and tranquility if he could actually be forced to let go... and forced to lose those horrible memories from his past.

He could still vividly recall everything as though it was yesterday. They were about to kill him after they got rid of Snape, but he managed to escape. He was badly wounded, yet he continued to run until he found himself in a small farm in a rather remote countryside. Since that day, he started living as a Muggle. He only used magic to defend himself. After only a few months, however, he was on the run again. He transferred from one place to another, where he took on different jobs for food, money and shelter. It was a sickening cycle for three long years until finally, peace was restored in the Wizarding world.

No one had bothered him in the past year. Maybe they were busy with other things. The Light with the restoration of order and the few left of the Dark with the plotting of revenge. But Draco never put his guard down. There was no room for complacence. He just never knew when they would come to ruin his peaceful life again. Everyday he took precautions. Sometimes he even spied for news. He was able to live and survive the past four years. He was able to endure every hardship. There was no stopping now.

He passed by a small jewelry store and the riches on display reminded him of the lavishness of his past life. He wondered what the people from the Wizarding world would think had they found out that Draco Malfoy, a wealthy pureblood wizard and an ex-Death Eater now lived in a dingy Muggle apartment in a small Muggle town, worked in a small Muggle grocery store and got paid with a Muggle's minimum wage. Surely, they would laugh at him and mock him — him who used to hate and look down on these Muggles and whose life is now very much filled with them. Surely, she will mock him the most.

"Now where did that came from?" he muttered to himself as that girl from the past crossed his mind.

He shook his head and pushed all those thoughts away. He was tired. So fucking tired of this sickening nostalgia. He simply focused his eyes on the dull grey pavement as he thought of what to have for dinner. Yes. Life goes on. He had to live and survive.

His flat was on the third floor of the five-story building where people cramped themselves. The rent was very cheap but Draco thought even a small tremor could send the poor old building down.

As usual, he took the stairs to the third floor. The elevator had been out of order for the longest time, probably even before he was born. When he reached the third floor, he gripped for his wand inside his jacket. Every single day, he took precautions before leaving and entering his flat. He slowly walked down the empty hallway and as he was about to take a turn, he heard a familiar crack followed by a resounding thud on the floor.

He backed away from the bend in alarm and with a shaking hand, revealed his wand. He gripped it tightly with a sweaty palm and he stretched his arm. He was ready to defend or attack, whichever came first. He had not heard that sound for years but he was dead sure that it was the sound of someone Apparating. Someone had found him. Fear gripped him and his head spun. He waited for a while before taking another step then slowly walking out of his hiding place.

The hallway was empty — save for a disordered heap on his doorstep. His heart was beating so hard now, he felt as if it would jump out of his rib cage. He wiped cold sweat off his brow then slowly approached the unmoving figure, his wand still pointed towards it.

Draco saw that it was a girl bundled in an oversized black cloak. She was unconscious and lying on her side on the cold concrete floor. On her arms and legs were several scratches. Wand still in hand, he crouched down then carefully turned her on her back. Blood freely flowed from a wound on her side and also trickled down from the left side of her forehead, the crimson liquid staining the brown hair that partially covered her ashen face.

Mudblood. Dirty blood.

At that moment of realization and recognition, it seemed as if Draco's heart stopped. He felt like he was reliving that horrible day all over again. Even after four years, he could still tell who this girl was in a large crowd, or even from afar... and she meant great danger to him. He gaped at her then blinked a couple of times, wishing fervently that his senses had simply failed him this time.

Why her, of all people?

You have to hurry. She needs help immediately.

She is the last person I want to meet here and now.

She needs your help.

I can't. I will be discovered.

You need to help her.

Draco felt dizzy as his mind reeled and his inner self struggled for the right decision. He stood up then looked down at the girl as if she was a monster from a nightmare... And she was... Sort of.

Lying there wounded and unconscious on his doorstep was Hermione Granger.

The clattering of his wand on the floor awoke him from his trance. He needed to decide now. A part of him wanted to ignore the girl and throw her out, yet another part of him commanded him to bring her in — to help her, to heal her. The latter was definitely winning.

He looked around the hallway. It was still empty but soon someone would come and see them. He should not be discovered with her lest they think this was all his doing.

He picked up his wand from the floor and noticed that it was stained with her blood.

Mudblood. Dirty blood.

"Shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth.

He took several deep breaths. He had to get her inside first and clean all the mess on the floor. He pointed his wand at her and for the first time in four years, he actually used magic to help someone else other than himself.

"Mobilicorpus," he said. Slowly, her body floated in the air. He opened his door then set her down on the bed.

Using magic, he also removed her muddy shoes and the horrible oversized cloak that was covering her. After this, he ran back to his door then looked out to the hallway. Still empty. He looked down on the floor and saw a mess of her blood and the mud from her shoes.

Mudblood. Dirty blood.

He ignored the hissing voice in his head and pointed his wand on the mess.

"Scourgify," he said in a low voice so that the mud and blood disappeared. It was then that he noticed her wand on the floor. He picked it up then placed it inside his pocket. He took one last peek outside and closed the door softly behind him.

He sighed then walked toward Granger. He dragged an old wooden chair from his dining area, placed it beside the bed then sat there. He muttered a spell and saw that nothing else was wrong with her except for the wounds on her side and on her forehead. He had to stop the bleeding first. Although he was not able to finish school, he had read a lot of books before and he was quite skilled with healing spells.

He carefully raised her bloodied blouse and saw the nasty gash.

"What have you been doing, Granger?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

He winced as he imagined what she had possibly gone through. He pointed his wand at the wound and concentrated as the yellow light from his wand slowly sealed it.

When he was done with it, he was covered in sweat and gasping for breath as if he did something physically laborious. He took several deep breaths then proceeded with the wound on her forehead and the scratches on her limbs.

After he was finished, he stood up and rummaged his closet for anything she could temporarily wear. She was quite small, and one of his large shirts could definitely cover her. Using magic once again, he took off her outer clothing, cleaned her up then covered her small body with his shirt. Finally, he cleaned the sheets then wrapped a blanket around her. He was done... Almost.

His eyes moved towards the pile of her dirty clothes in the corner. He cleaned them first then mended the torn parts. Lastly, he folded them and set them down on the bedside table. He also cleaned her shoes which were caked with mud. He did all of these using magic.

"It actually felt... good," he smiled to himself as he stared at the wand in his hand. He had not used magic for quite a while.

He felt quite drained after everything he had done and decided to take a shower. Granger was not to wake up anytime soon. He looked around his room and when he saw that everything was in order, he kicked off his shoes then went to the bathroom with both his wand and Granger's.

He wondered why she came here, of all places. Had she known this place before? Had she discovered that he was here prior to this incident? The questions whirled around his head and even the cold water spraying down on him from the shower could not wash them off.

He had to come up with a plan, something to say once she woke up. Maybe he could bargain with her. He saved her life and she owed him that. Maybe he could ask for protection or something. Not necessarily recognition, although that would be good.

Maybe this time he could go back...

He swept his dark hair away from his eyes then shook his head. He could never go back. There was nothing to return to. Most of his friends were either in Azkaban, like his father, or six feet under the ground, like his mother. He could live alone, yes, but in that world, his reputation was already marred. He just could not go back. He'd rather stay here and ask for protection. That way no one will bother him anymore. He could live peacefully. Yes, yes he could.

He walked out of the shower then took a towel from a nearby rack. Granger was still unconscious when he emerged from the bathroom clad only with a towel wrapped around his waist. He got himself dressed and prepared his dinner. He also made something for Granger, just in case.

As he was eating, he studied Granger from across the table. Nothing much had changed in her appearance. Looking at her now, he felt like he was sixteen all over again. This situation was really strange to him. It's actually making him really dizzy and really tired. He had just helped one of his archenemies and had now devised a plan to ask her for protection and peace in return. Four years ago, he would have died first before allowing himself to be at Granger's mercy.

After he cleaned up his little kitchen and checked on Granger one last time, he transfigured the old tattered couch to a small bed. He lay awake in the darkness for a long time. He was dazed and exhausted yet his mind was reeling — weighing his options and studying the possible results of his plan. He realized that he was thinking more like Granger every single minute that it was starting to be quite terrifying. He shook his head and chased the thoughts away. Granger needed to be awake tomorrow or he would lose his mind. Granger regaining her consciousness could both be a good thing and a bad thing, but he just wanted this over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped for a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

He was roused the following day by the annoying sound of his alarm clock. It was his day off from work, and he usually slept till midday. Why did he set the alarm clock so early again? What was so important about today?

Realization hit him. He sat up abruptly in the bed and saw that his new companion was still fast asleep. He turned the alarm off then transfigured the bed back to a couch. He yawned openly then walked drowsily to the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes. He had so much trouble sleeping. He wiped his face dry, and he felt more awake and hopeful that this day would turn out better than yesterday.

After taking a shower and changing his clothes, he made breakfast for two, lest Granger decided to wake up before lunch. He set the eggs and bacon on the table then started to make toast and strong coffee for himself. He made all of these using magic. While he was eating the best breakfast he had in years, Granger suddenly stirred in her sleep. Draco simply gaped at her.

Is she going to wake up now? No, no! She could not see him like this! She would laugh... but then again, he could rub his heroism on her face till she gagged. Then maybe... oh, yes. He still had a plan. A bargain. Right.

He dropped the food on his plate and approached her. This all felt so much like yesterday. His heart was asking to be released from his chest, beating so loud that he could not even hear himself think. But of course, she was pretty harmless. He still had her wand.

Slowly, Granger's eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times and squinted against the light. When her eyes got accustomed to it, she shifted her focus on the man looking down on her.

Draco expected to see hatred, mockery, and maybe even surprise in those brown eyes. Instead, however, he saw the last thing he expected — confusion.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, unable to hide the concern and worry in his voice.

Granger slowly sat up and looked around the room.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Uh, my place," Draco answered. He cleared his throat and sat on the chair by the bed. "All I could afford." He looked at her expectantly. "You can laugh now, you know."

"D-do I know you?" she asked again.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. He could still recognize himself in the mirror, thank you very much. Was there something wrong with her eyes?

"I know I dyed my hair black as a sort of disguise. I mean, that platinum blond hair just attracts too much attention," he said, then frowned when he saw a blank expression on her face. "Have you lost it, Granger?"

"Granger?" she said with uncertainty. "Is that my last name?"

This was just too much for him. Draco stood up then threw his hands in the air.

"Dammit, woman! Stop playing with me. It's not even funny," he said in exasperation.

"B-but I'm not," Granger said, close to tears. "I can't... I don't know what happened."

For the second time that day, Draco gaped at her. It could not be possible...

"Um, let's see," he said slowly. "Hogwarts? Gryffindor? Does it ring a bell?"

A look of confusion.

Draco sighed then continued.

"Ron Weasley? Harry Potter? Oh, wait how about this... Mudblood?"

He said the last part rather painfully. It reminded him too much of his old self and the mistakes he had committed long ago.

"I don't know what you are talking about, mister," she said, rather nervously, then she looked at him as if he's insane.

"You mean... you mean..."

She doesn't remember. Anything. Not even her name. Not even her friends. Or the Wizarding world.

"You really can't remember?" he asked her.

Granger shook her head. She was about to say something but her stomach cut her off and loudly protested.

"You must be very hungry Grang– Her-mi-o-ne, I mean," he said, finding it hard to say her name properly. It was probably the first time he had called her by her first name without spitting it out. "Come, I made some breakfast." He held out a hand to her and smiled again.

Granger looked at him then at his hand. He could see her hesitation, but knew she realized that as of now, all that she had was him. She slowly nodded her head and took his hand.