Written for the Impress Me competition by Paris In December at the HPFC forum. This is a mixture of the Harry Potter books and movies.

For my three betas who are helping me with this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

For Draco, everything went downhill after the war. He was broken inside, and he knew that. He had been living on the streets in Muggle London as a beggar, and he didn't care. He had run away with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was alone – completely and utterly alone. Here, no one knew he was a Malfoy. Here, his father's name wasn't a cause for shame. Here, Draco was not a traitor.

He sat in his corner with his tin cup, begging day after day. He reeked of vomit, sweat, and urine. He smelled as though he had not taken a bath in a long time, which was true; his blond hair was dirty, his once pristine shirt was no longer white, and his jeans were torn and muddy. People passed him in the streets, ignoring him. At night, he hardly slept. Draco shivered. It was turning from late September into early October. He shivered again; it was then that Draco knew snow was coming, but as to when exactly, he didn't know. His days on the streets had made him lose track of time.

A click in his tin cup let him know that some kind soul gave him money.

"Thank you," he said.

His years on the street taught him to be polite to those who showed they cared. He never glanced up at anyone, due to his pride. He heard the person come back to him. 'Odd,' he thought, 'that never happens'.

"Merlin's beard! Is that really you, Malfoy?" The voice reminded Draco of someone, but he couldn't figure it out. He looked up and squinted his eyes to see who it was.

She stood there before him, wearing a light blue long-sleeved day dress that fitted her perfectly. Time had been kind to her. Her rosy cheeks and pale skin complimented her dress. Something was different about her though.

"Is that really you? What happened to you?" she asked him again, bending down to his level.

"Granger?" He noticed her hair wasn't curly anymore. She had straightened it. She almost looked like the sort of girl he would have gone for once. Almost.

"Come on, I'm not letting you spend another night on the streets." Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders. He didn't try to push her off. He was cold, he was tired, and he was hungry. He also longed for a bed.

Hermione took Draco to an empty alley and together they disappeared to her flat, once in her flat then she told him to sit down at the kitchen table. She went to her spare bedroom, which she kept clean for company, and pulled out a clean long sleeve button up blue shirt, and jeans she hoped would fit him. She came back to him and handed them to him.

"What's this for?" he asked glancing at it.

"If you want some beef stew, you need to shower." She smiled at him.

He noticed her teeth were smaller than they were when he aimed a spell at her in their fourth year. He didn't speak to her, but accepted the clothes, and headed to the bathroom. Draco shut the door once he entered. He took off his dirty clothes and watched them fall to the floor. He then turned on the shower, waited for the right temperature, and stepped in, closing the curtain behind him.

How long had it been since Draco had a shower? He didn't know. He closed his eyes letting the steam from the shower overpower him. He remembered a lot when he closed his eyes. His moments danced between horrible ones where he felt alone, and the few good ones with his mother. His parents divorced right as his father was sent to Azkaban after the war. His mother had received everything in the divorce, including Malfoy Manor. However, she hated the place it had become to them. They had been treated as badly as house elves. Draco realized how important it was to be kind to house elves now, after going through what they had suffered.

He went for the bar of ivory soap after opening his eyes. He didn't want to remember the past, but sometimes it haunted him. The soap felt good on his skin. He watched the dry dirt fall off into the tub. After the soap rinsed off, he relaxed before doing his hair. The water felt good against his skin. The only water that ever touched him was rain water. There was something different about a shower though. The feeling of relaxation flew through him as he rested in the shower. His eye-lids grew heavy as the shower overpowered him. He drifted off to a horrible memory.

He screamed so loudly, and still no one stopped. Yaxley and Dolohov were holding him back. Others crowded around him watching the Dark Lord poke the fire. Voldemort then took the burning iron from the fire place, saw it was good and hot, and turned to Draco. Evil poured through his veins and showed in his eyes which were fixed on Draco.

"Do you see this, Draco? Iron so hot, it will leave a mark on one's skin. Come here, Lucius," he ordered. Draco's father stepped towards their leader.

"Take this – I want to watch you put the mark on your son. It is to show others they must obey me or pay the consequences," Voldemort hissed.

"I hate you! I hate you! Go to hell, Lucius! I hate you, Bella," Narcissa suddenly cried out.

"Bellatrix take your sister out. She is not one of us," Voldemort ordered. Bellatrix ran to her sister, put her arms around her and forced her away. Narcissa fought against her sister. She looked over her shoulder, and screamed for mercy. She started crying as she was forced out of the room.

Draco was scared. He heard his aunt talking to his mother. "Your son should be proud. This is a big honour," she hissed as Voldemort shut the door with his wand.

"Now, back to business," Voldemort nodded at Lucius.

His father took the iron, hands shaking with fear. Draco knew his father had no idea Voldemort would hurt his son. Draco stared into his father's cold eyes. For a second, he thought his father would stop. His father showed no sign of stopping as Draco's heart started to race(Revise). He felt the color drain from his face. He pleaded with his eyes, begging his father to stop. His father ignored his son.

"Father, no!" Draco fought the Death Eaters holding him back. Yaxley punched his face to stop Draco from wriggling. Blood trickled from his eye where he had been struck, and Draco to cried out in pain.

Lucius closed his eyes and opened them again.

"Do it now, Lucius," Voldemort encouraged his follower.

Before Draco could blink, he felt the hot iron against his skin. He screamed, closed his eyes, and felt it burn. The iron hissed angrily against his skin.

He was brought back from his memory when he almost slipped in the shower from the water. He was pleased when his mother announced they were getting a divorce. He hated his father for turning their home into hell. His father had cared more about pleasing Voldemort than caring for his family. At one point, Draco had wanted to join the Death Eaters to be close to his father, but fate had other plans. He turned against the idea, and ended up fighting for his freedom and lost. Draco glanced at his left arm hating the mark that was forever burned onto his skin.

He remembered where he was when the cold water fell upon his skin. Draco opened the curtain, grabbed the towel; wrapped it around him, stepped out of the shower and stared in the mirror. Memories like the one he just had made him hate his father even more. He was glad his father had been sent to Azkaban. It was where he belonged. Dressing quickly, Draco ran his towel through his hair to dry it. He stared at himself again in the mirror for a long time. He had aged with time. Not as nicely as Granger, but he had aged. He now had a beard around his face, which he couldn't stand. He hardly recognized himself in the mirror. Hating how he looked, he turned off the light and left the bathroom after hanging up his towel.

Author's note: Thank you so much to my three betas who helped me make sure grammar and punctuation were correct. Thank you Slytherin Head, Mi Hi-Lover and Paper Pearls. Thank you for your time and patience with me.