This is my first attempt at writing a Fanfiction after reading them for so many years. I would appreciate any advice or constructive criticism you have to offer. I hope you enjoy my story

Chapter 1

The day was cold and wet, much like any other day in England, the sky was the usual colour of grey and as the rain continued to fall and the puddles grew, cars drove by and people scurried along the street in attempt to avoid being drenched. Although the streets were marginally empty of people due to the downpour that accompanied most days in September, one small group of people ventured down the street looking incredibly out of place somehow managing to stay dry in the reasonably wet weather. Clad in bright clothing that stood out in the dreary colours of London. The three friends continued down the street and somebody that was paying attention would have been puzzled by their sudden disappearance into a boarded up pub.

The building was rundown and would be left unnoticed by anyone passing by. That is, those that were not looking for it. Across the street watching was a young man. He was tall, striking, some would say aristocratic in his causal jeans and pressed, black, V-neck jumper. Somebody looking past him outside demeanour would notice the slightly uncharacteristic ruffle in his hair or the dark bags under his eyes. The longing in his eyes would probably have been hidden if anyone had been around but as the blond stood in his little alcove at the side of the street he stood without a guarded expression as he observed the disappearing family.

I was alone. I had been for a while now. Once the battle had come to a close and my ashamed family and I had retreated to the manor, things began to change. There was no point in running. It would have been futile, so we waited. We sat and we paced and we argued, for days. It was two days later that that the Aurors arrived. We surrendered, hands on heads on our knees on the floor. A pitiful sight. The great house of Malfoy, fallen, it would have been hilarious, had I not have been arrested. I deserved it. I picked the wrong side. What followed was a series of trials and dirty cells in the depth of the ministry. My father was sentenced to life in Azkaban; my mother was saved from the dementors due to her heroics in the final battle and me? Well as a teenager I couldn't be sent to Azkaban and thanks to my lack of bravery and Slytherin self preservation I changed sides in the battle leaving me to be pardoned on account of my age and lack of serious and unforgivable curses. My name was my punishment. With a name like Draco Malfoy and Malfoy genetics I was easy to identify and lacked the ability to blend in. And so I spent my days alone in the manor. Occasionally I would venture out into the world, after months of solitude in the manor it was easy to forget that solitude was better that the looks of the magical community. Everyone hated me, myself included. Rightfully so I might add. I was a monster.

Eventually I figured out that the muggles wouldn't identify me and so I went out. I learnt, and then I understood. I realised that my blood was not superior, well I had already known that, but I realised that I could make my self a life. A life without the judgement of those around me. I could just be Draco. Not the death eater or the Slytherin or the Malfoy boy. I was free. I read and read and read, learning everything I could, integrating my self into muggle society. Until I felt at home and dependent not on my wand but on my muggle skills. I bought an apartment in London, in a muggle neighbourhood with a washing machine and a dishwasher. I still kept my wand on me but it was seldom used. I was still alone.

The muggles didn't know, didn't understand me. I was unable to forgive myself. I made friends with my neighbours, with the coffee shop attendant but they were too normal, unstained by the blackness of war. I envied them. I hated my life and myself but I kept going. On a spur I began to write a Colum in the local paper. It wasn't about anything per say but it was popular, and so I continued to write, it eventually became a weakly occurrence in the London Evening Standard, until one day I got a letter from the Sun, a popular national newspaper and my Colum moved and eventually became daily. I kept to my self, writing from home and sending it in via post, similar to the owl system in the magical world. Some days when I was feeling rather bored I would venture into the city and hand my work in in person. The office would usually be filled with the usual muggle reporters, clad in suits, running around or sitting at their computers typing away at their stories. The secretary at the front of the office would sit in her usual space with her orange face and heavily layered mascara in a blouse that varied in colour that was always buttoned just a little too low for my liking, highlighting her less that refined self. As I arrived she would often sit up straighter and primp her hair before greeting me with a smile that I would return before handing in my column and brushing off her requests for coffee and leaving as fast as I could ignoring the blatant staring that came from the other members of staff that were intrigued by my somewhat mysterious character.

I was walking back to my apartment when I saw them. They looked the same as they always had. The Golden Trio. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Something had changed, it was hard to tell what. Harry had lost most of his usual weighted persona, he looked happy, and I had to admit he deserved it but I was still jealous, he had everything I didn't. Weasley, well he was exactly the same except for what could be his renewed and strengthened self-confidence. He smirked, which was new for him. I watched as he moved to take Grangers hand and she subtly pulled away as though to adjust her blouse, clearly in avoidance of Weasley. I couldn't help but laugh at that. Who knew? Maybe the muggleborn wasn't quite as enamoured with the red head as the Prophet had led the public to believe. The picture painted by the newest Rita Skeeter, Hilda Bloomer depicted love struck war heroes but the scene in front of me suggested otherwise. A small victory, I hated my self for being happy about it but Granger always was a secret fantasy of mine. Nothing serious, but the muggleborn had always been rather enticing, her stubborn untouchable character, making her an unachievable goal, and therefor appealing to my overly large ego. Looking at her then reminded me of this. She really was quite beautiful. Her dark hair bouncing as she walked, her slightly sun kissed skin contrasting with the dull weather that England so often provided. Her jeans and blouse that whilst modest fitted her perfectly. She was beautiful. She was out of my league. I found it hilarious really. A muggleborn out of a Malfoys league, my ancestors were rolling in their graves.

Their appearance had made me pause. They hadn't seen me. If they had maybe we would have awkwardly nodded at each other. Weasley no doubt would have gone red and stormed off or shot his mouth off. It didn't matter they hadn't seen me. Usually I would have avoided the leaky cauldron but that day I hadn't. I don't know why. Maybe I was longing for my old life. Maybe I was just bored and looking for some excitement, it happened sometimes. As I stood in the rain in my little alcove I contemplated making an appearance in Diagon Alley. It was never a pleasant experience. The stares, the wide berth I was given, someone even threw food at me once. I avoided any place that included other wizards. And so I left. Back to my empty apartment and my empty life.

I couldn't get a moment alone. The war had ended and that was fantastic and awful at the same time. The mourning began, the arrests, the trials, and the guilty celebration. We had won so much but lost so much at the same time. We were free but at the cost of so many. The day it happened was a blur and then it was over and the week that followed was even blurrier. We held the funerals, too many of them and then we went back to life, which was difficult. A life without threat and Voldemort was something that we hadn't known together. We were eighteen. Even now he was dead it wasn't over. We had our names. We were recognised everywhere and I was just bored of it. I wanted to live my life, without being in the paper, without the pressure of the ministry. I had never wanted the fame, to be dubbed 'a third of the Golden Trio'. Hermione Granger. It wasn't exactly a name that blended in and so I avoided the wizarding world. Not that it stopped the stories in the Prophet.

Ronald, he was another issue. We were in a strange place. The battle ended and we were together. It was unspoken but we were together. We needed each other, him more than me; we were lost but as my wounds began to heal and normalcy returned somewhat to the wizarding community things changed. Ronald took to the fame I recoiled. His self-confidence and he irritated me and my reluctance to accept fame irritated him. We were at a crossroads. But neither of us could let go and we were pretending to be happy, or at least I was. I made a trip to Australia to find my parents. I found them and convinced them to move back to England with the use of my wand. Unable to bring my self to risk their sanity in attempt to give their memory back.

Life was boring. It was better than before, nobody wanted to go back but I was left to continue life as if everything was normal. I didn't know how to deal with it. The past. It was a place I shouldn't visit but I lived in. I was wrapped around the pain of those lost and my guilt. I could even understand why I felt guilty but I did. I began my new job. Kingsley had offered me any position I wanted. I decided on the Department of Magical law Enforcement. I hated it. What I was doing was brilliant, worthwhile, and helpful. It was the people I hated. The staring, the ass kissing. I wanted to be a normal employee, to work my way up. I was the centre of attention. I was everything I never wanted to be. There was nothing I could do about it. At least I was doing good at work. And so I was working, harder than I ever had before, before going home and sleeping. I had temporarily moved into the Burrow. Once I returned from Australia. I took up driving again, cooking, anything that would take my mind off everything else. Ron and Harry were worried about me, I could tell by there constant presence. I was grateful for their company but they both had more important things going on. Each was involved with the Aurors rounding up death eaters. The Weasleys were in morning and needed Ron, the loss of Fred was a wound that was unlikely to heal anytime soon and Ron's attention to me was just adding to my guild. Harry understood my issues with fame better than Ron. He was already used to it, if that was possible, perhaps it would be better to say he was more adjusted to it. I was in a dark place. Nobody else seemed to notice. Which was how I wanted it. And so I continued, working, sleeping, and watching my estranged parents from afar.

The day was cold and wet and it was my birthday. September the 19th, Nineteen years old. Older than both Harry and Ron. I wasn't in the mood for celebration but Harry and Ron were determined to cheer me up, which left me on a trip to Diagon Alley, the last place I wanted to be. We apparated into London and began to make our way to the Leaky Cauldron, another place I didn't want to be. As we walked Harry and Ron laughed and I followed smiling my usual partially fake smile. This was my life now. Survivor's guilt. Ron reached for my hand and I pulled away quickly without thinking, attempting to cover it by adjusting my blouse. Thankfully seemed too wrapped up in whatever Harry was talking about to notice. And so we continued into the Leaky Cauldron where too many people I didn't know greeted me.