Chapter One: The bottom of a whiskey bottle

Alone, I stand—

A broken man...

All I have is one last chance

I won't turn my back on you

Take my hand

Drag me down

If you fall, then I will, too

And I can't save what's left of you...

- Breaking Benjamin: Without you

A broken man wandered dismally down the stone flagged street, its cobbles worn from the thousands of feet that had trodden it, many looking equally as melancholy as he. His blond hair was dull under the overcast sky, and he pulled up the hood of his cloak as the rain began to fall, the soft pattering sound surrounding him as it hit rooftops and stall canopies.

A small child ran past him, knocking into his hip as he shrieked to get out of the rain. His mother followed soon after, apologising to him as she tried to find the boy. He stared after the pair, his eyes downcast, unhappy.

The boy sat at the long, heavily laden table, crossing his arms with disdain as he glared at the plate before him.

"I don't want any." He profusely refused the food, and Draco sighed, placing his forehead in his hand in exhaustion. Standing wearily, he removed the plate, stroking the boy's hair as he left the room. The child stared after him, uncrossing arms in confusion.

"Can I go home now?" He muttered, and Draco nodded, lifting his wand to summon the house elf. She appeared with a crack, her large eyes bowed respectfully, ears folded in. Draco raised his eyebrows at her, and she nodded, disappearing to the fireplace in a hurry. Moments later, another crack was heard, and Pigmy disappeared.

The silence was thick in the dismal room, and the boy jumped from his chair, marching past Draco to collect his trunk. A moment later, Pigmy reappeared, hand in hand with a tall, graceful woman. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high bun at the back of her head, and her robes were of a sumptuous design, brilliant emerald patterns coiling around the sleeves.

"Where is Scorpius?" She asked, and the boy appeared, glaring at his father with a look of disgust. Belittling.

"He made me eat weird stuff. I don't like it here, mum. Can I just live with you?" He pleaded, and Asteria looked at him with a gaze of comfort. Glancing at Draco, she nodded, before turning on her heel, grabbing her son's hand in the process, and disappearing.

Draco stared at the spot where she had disapparated, and slowly sank to the floor, face in hands. Pigmy crept up to him, laying a thin, bony hand upon his shoulder. He waved her away, and she bowed.

"Sir." She murmured, before disappearing, probably to go and inspect the house for dust specks she had missed. As she went, Draco looked up, his eyes solemn, unfeeling.

The silence of the dining hall echoed his feelings, and he began to sob.

"Malfoy!" A voice called behind him, and the man turned around, to see a man he recognised as his work colleague, Terrance Fudge, running up to him. Draco raised an eyebrow expectantly, and the man caught up, bending over to pant in exertion.

"You… pant… move so… pant… quickly… pant." He breathed heavily, and Draco laughed, an unfeeling, high sound that pierced his own ears mockingly. Fudge finally regained his breath, and stood up straight.

"You missed an owl at the office. There is a meeting later on, Lionel has a new job for you." He said, and Draco shrugged, moving on quickly down the alley. Fudge jogged to keep up with him; the portly man was not in good shape, and he was soon out of breath again.

"That means you should probably go and see what said job is, Malfoy." He suggested sarcastically, and Draco turned on him, wand pointed at his nose threateningly. Fudge went white, and stammered pathetically;

"Now, see here Malfoy!" Draco pressed the tip of his wand against his throat, and lowered his voice.

"I'm resigning, Fudge. Gone, absent. I don't need your stupid little office job anymore. I am a Malfoy. Did you really expect me to stay in that flea-bitten hovel, trying to track down Death Eaters to your cause? I'm done. Out. I want no more to do with it. Oh, you worry that I shall tell Kingsley Shacklebolt of your misdeeds, but don't you fret. My lips are sealed." He glared at the other man, before releasing him. He fell to the side slightly, and a woman nearby moved away, afraid.

"Mark my words, Malfoy. This won't go down well!" Fudge shrieked girlishly, and Draco rolled his eyes as he slipped away. As he walked, he lifted his wand, and with an unspoken curse, the hem of the other man's cloak began to smoke, before bursting into flames.

Leaving behind his hysterical ex-co-worker, he swung himself through the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the other patrons glares as he sat himself down in the corner. The wizened old barman appeared immediately at his elbow, looking expectantly at the board of drinks prices on the wall. Sighing, Draco ordered a flagon of fire-whiskey, and the barman edged away, looking warily at the man's barely concealed left arm. Although much of his skin was hidden by his wand holder, a touch of black ink was visible where he had rolled his sleeves up, the mark of his old allegiances.

Noticing, Draco pulled the material lower, hiding his past. His memories. Shrugging it off, he pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet, regarding the headlines with distaste. Something about some muggleborn fool preceding his father as Hogwarts school governor, and some tripe about a fourteenth anniversary of Saint Potter's achievements.

As if it mattered now, he thought disdainfully. The man was long gone, disappeared into the mountains with no trace. Three years had passed since the git had left the wizarding world behind.

Where he had been forced from his child, forced to stop seeing his beautiful Scorpius, Potter had merely upped sticks and left, leaving Ginevra Potter to look after three kids. Draco sneered in disgust, crumpling the paper into his hand. Potter's smiling face folded, patronising eyes disappearing as Draco threw the paper to the seat opposite.

The barman appeared, clutching a flagon of fire-whiskey, and Draco grabbed it from him, downing the golden liquid in one. Grimacing, he threw a galleon on the table, and left the tavern quickly, casting his eyes down.

Outside once more, he moved quickly down the street, pulling himself up a concealed staircase groggily as the whiskey took effect. Reaching a locked door, he pulled a roughly hewn key from his robe, and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. The gloomy interior of the room calmed him, and he threw himself down upon a green leather armchair. Reaching next to him, he poured himself another glass of fire-whiskey, throwing it down his throat with abandon.

Throughout the course of the evening, Draco managed to work himself into a rather good stupor, and eventually found himself barely conscious, and slumped on the floor of the dinghy apartment. A thumping in his ears suggested to him that that pain he was feeling all over was mainly coming from his head, although the pins and needles from his feet weren't helping. The thumping continued, and he rolled over groaning.

This was not becoming of a Malfoy, he thought to himself, and pulled himself up. At least he could enjoy his drunken comatose state in comfort. The thumping continued, however, and Draco realised that perhaps, it wasn't all in his head. Opening his eyes, suddenly feeling much more awake, he heard somebody banging on his front door with a large amount of persistence.

"Oh go away." He muttered, even as he stood groggily to greet whoever had decided to wake him at whatever ungodly hour it happened to be.

"I'M COMING!" He hollered, and the banging relented slightly, though he could still hear somebody impatiently tapping their nails on the frame. Wrenching the door open, he prepared to enter into some rant about how he had been enjoying an evening of depression and drunkenness, and could whatever impromptu visit please wait until the morning of never, when he took in the sight of just who was stood on his doorstep.

"Potter?"