Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N ~ This is my summer project! This is Beta-ed, by the wonderful Lunacy Scarletsky!
Draco Malfoy was running. Whether running from his past, running away from his present or running away from the group of police that were currently chasing him, he didn't know.
His past - a past full of aristocracy, posh dinners and perfect etiquette. A past bursting to the seams with a perfect façade covering up shady and expensive mishaps.
His future - a future full of scavenging, no security. Begging for money. Rebellion. A future of sleeping on flea-infested damp mattresses or hard pavements.
But right now, he really needed to focus on his present. Which was, hiding in a bush and hoping against hope that the physically fit policeman would give up and just leave him alone. Footsteps. A button being pressed and the crackle of the walkie talkie. A deep, grouchy voice. The policeman was obviously growing annoyed and was only functioning because he had drunk some of the addictive beverage that so many depend on: coffee.
A few more scuffles of the man's boots, and finally, another sound of footsteps, this time retreating. Draco waited another minute before edging out silently (or as silent as he could) out of the bush.
Draco walked down the street and realised that he had just hid in a bush in someone's front garden. What a tramp. His once so highly-polished Italian calf leather loafers were now completely battered, and there was a great gaping hole underneath his left big toe. He hadn't bathed in what seemed like an age and he could distinctly feel the grime covering him, filling every crease and making him want to scrub until his skin was red and raw. He carried on walking listlessly, not caring where his feet took him, as long as it was away from the scene of the crime he'd just committed.
Honestly, it had only been a Snickers Bar. He didn't see what the problem was. And he'd only made the shopkeepers nose bleed - it's not like he had caused a fatal wound. The man was a bastard anyway. Letting a seventeen year old starve, what kind of a person did that? Evidently the type of person to call the police on said seventeen year old.
Draco knew he was average height. Well, he used to be. Ever since he was thrown unceremoniously into a life on the streets, the amount of food that he had had steadily decreased until he wasn't sure when his next scrap would be. And scrap, yes, because he knew that there was no way he was going to get a meal and, dare he think it, even a hot meal anytime soon without going to a homeless shelter.
And the easiest course of action in his situation would be to go to a shelter, where there would be normal, clean bed and hot regular food. Stability. But there was one thing getting in his way. Pride. The goddamned, stubborn ego hasn't diminished no matter what he looks like and what situation's he's put in almost everyday. Every time a person walks by and he is forced to say "Any spare change please?" he can almost feel the crippling blow to something deep within him.
He carried on walking, through the dark streets and occasionally shivering as a sharp wind bit through his thin clothes and penetrates his skin, sharper than a Sabatier knife. He looked up and saw thick and heavy looking clouds obscuring the waxing gibbous. Well, he guessed it was going to rain then. He drew his t-shirt a little tighter around him and cringed when he felt a raindrop land smack bang on the tip of his nose. He looked around him and saw himself surrounded by bleak looking houses, illuminated by the harsh amber light of the lamp posts situated ominously at regular intervals. Or perhaps not so ominously - they were providing Draco with light and protection from the unknown horrors that the impenetrable darkness housed.
Draco saw a square, which was only just visible from the lampposts glare. There were tall towering trees that framed thick wild grass and Draco surmised it as being a good place to stay until morning. He stepped off the pavement and began walking across when a car, way above the speed limit came hurtling at him. The headlights weren't on and Draco, being a wizard and having little contact, despite his predicament, with Muggle machinery didn't move and waited for the vehicle to stop. But it didn't, and Draco was thrown into the air as the car collided with him. He lay on the concrete, his body in inexplicable pain, watching the car ride off into the thick night. Rain began to pummel into his body, soaking him in seconds and he closed his eyes - unable to get up and move to a safer place.
Warm. Soft. Comfy. Cosy. Safe. These were things that Draco thought would be extinct from him for an extended amount of time. And yet, here he was, lying down, covered in warmth, in a soft bed, dressed in something comfortable with a pillow cradling his head, making the whole thing feel cosy and making him feel unbelievably safe.
But he remembered what had happened, and he felt a surge of cold panic sweep through him, silent and deadly. He opened his eyes and instantly felt like closing them again. Light was flooding the room he was in, filling every inch of his vision. But, partially blocking the beams was a figure, facing the window. Judging by the build and stance, they were a man and they had their arms crossed.
Draco tried to speak but all that came out was a dry rasp. The man turned and Draco grimaced as their features became distinguishable. Harry bloody Potter.
He looked worried, but before either could speak, Draco fainted.
Draco opened his eyes for the second time and wished fervently that the previous time he had done so he had opened his eyes to a dream. But, alas; there sitting beside the bed he occupied in an armchair, reading a book, was the former bane of his existence, with his gigantic clothes and glasses that made him look like a bug - Harry Potter.
Draco groaned without quite realizing that he had done it. He only found out that he'd made a sound when Potter's head snapped up, unleashing the sight of two glimmering orbs. Draco shut his eyes tight and turned his head away.
"Are you- how are you feeling?" the question was asked tentatively, the deep melodic voice almost turning it into a song.
"I've - uh, I've felt better." And there was Draco's scratchy hoarse voice. The contrast was humiliating. Draco finally found the strength to open his eyes and turned to face Potter, who was pouring a glass of water using the pitcher and glass that had been on the bedside table. He handed the drink to Draco, who tried and failed to sit up.
Setting the glass down gently, Potter helped him up. Draco's whole body felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't suppress the gasp and moan of pain that blurted from his mouth. Potter was, if possible, even gentler after that and handed him the water. After Draco had sipped some cautiously, not knowing whether or not it was poisonous, he questioned,
"Why am I here?" he voice was less scratchy, but still hoarse.
"You got run over by a car right outside my house. I carried you into my house and did basic first aid. After I realised that it was you, I healed most of your injuries magically. I'm no healer, and I haven't got any potions, so you're probably still in a lot of pain. I'm sorry for that by the way." Potter paused, and seemingly struggled to say the next part. "I am wondering, however, how you even came to be in London. I thought you live in Wiltshire?"
"I used to. Can I go now?" Draco asked rather curtly. For a moment Potter looked taken aback, but then grim resignation crossed his face until his expression finally settled to polite indifference.
"Of course. You can borrow some of my clothes if you would like, but I also washed yours." Draco looked down and noted with surprise that he was wearing soft cotton pyjamas which were emerald in colour. He felt a blush light up his face.
"Mine are fine." Draco absolutely refused to say thank you. Despite how much the former Gryffindor had done for him, his ego had infuriatingly made itself known. Draco flung the duvet away from him, and slowly and unsurely he got up. As soon as he was standing on his sore feet, he began to sway dangerously and his vision swam. Before he knew it, he was on his ass on the hard wooden floor. He looked up at Potter and saw the other man purposefully looking at the door. It was payback for his rudeness. Sneaky. Gritting his teeth, he placed his elbows on the bed and hoisted himself up. For a second time he felt himself collapse, this time on his face however, before two strong arms held him.
"Are you sure you should leave?" The voice was right next to his ear and Draco cringed away and stood by himself.
"I'm fine Potter, can you just show me where my clothes are?" Draco spat, angry that he had showed weakness in front of his enemy.
"Listen, I think you should-" The Gryffindor began,
"Seriously Potter? Listen, I have places to be and me and you aren't, never have been and never will be, on good terms. So can you just show me where my clothes are?" Draco snapped.
"Places to be? What, you mean skulking around the streets? I know that you're homeless Malfoy, so stop trying to hide it! I'm offering you some sort of shelter and although the company isn't great at least it's something! You'd be a fool if you turned it away!" Potter hissed.
"I'd rather be a fool than owe you anything more than I do already! Listen, if this is about payback than so be it-"
"Of course this isn't about payback! Malfoy I just want to help you, You're skin and bones, homeless, probably hadn't had a shower in a while before I healed and cleaned you and obviously without anyone that you know around here!"
"Why do you want to help me?" Malfoy shouted, his throat killing him and embarrassed beyond repair. "I don't like you, I'm always horrible to you and I never miss an opportunity to humiliate and hurt you!"
Despite the situation, Potter laughed. "I think you think we're still in school. Malfoy, school's over, we're both adults now, so why not treat each other like ones? And I don't believe that anymore. I think you don't mind me, I think that you never wanted to be horrible to me and that you were pressured into hurting and humiliating me,"
"I still did it! Potter, I killed Albus Dumbledore, it's because of me that Bill Weasley is forever scarred and not to mention the fact that I did terrible, terrible things during the war. Stop pretending that you are above that, because you're not! Nobody is, so leave me alone!"
There were a few moments of silence, filled only by the loud breathing of Draco.
"In the kitchen."
"What?"
"That's where your clothes are. You change in there, no-ones going to interrupt you. Once you've changed you can get the hell out of my house." Potter said calmly and walked out of the room. When he slammed the door hard, Draco jumped.
After a few minutes, Draco ventured outside the room and saw a flight of stairs leading down at the end of the hallway his room was on. He went down them and saw another hallway, identical except from the pictures hanging up. Draco could tell that the place was newly renovated. He could smell the magic in the air, and he relished the scent, knowing that it would be a very long time before he would smell it again. The colour scheme seemed to be the same throughout, a glorious redcurrant and nutmeg white, with dark woods. However, the red wasn't garish, quite the opposite, it was passionate and if Draco was one of those pretentious interior designers, he would describe it as thought provoking.
The hallways were littered with photo's and Draco could recognise almost every single person on them. Granger, the whole Weasley family, the werewolf Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Potter's parents, the deranged murderer Sirius Black. There was a photo of a baby with bright turquoise hair, which Draco was intrigued by.
He finally found the kitchen and there on the table was his battered, though clean, clothes. Next to them was a folded pile of new looking clothes, which looked warm and inviting and definitely Potter's.
As Draco pulled on his holey jeans he wondered if he really was being stupid, but decided that it was Potter that was being the stupid one, just as he always was. He pulled on his socks and frowned when he couldn't find them. Looking around the room he saw that near the door there was a pair of new sturdy walking boots, with a note lying on top.
I took the liberty of throwing out your old shoes. They were broken beyond even magical repair, so you can have these. They won't need to be broken in, I've already spelled them to be.
Draco scowled but pulled on the shoes anyway, revelling in the comfort before finally setting off to find the front door. He looked around the kitchen and found, to his surprise, painted a soft sage colour and decided that it was most definitely a green kitchen, very Slytherin.
He walked out of the room and finally found himself at the front door. He looked around and noted glumly that he was a fool.
A/N ~ So, uh, that's the first chapter. Let me know if you like it or hate it, but constructive critiscm please. Next chapter is in the process of being written ;)
