Disclaimer: Yeah so i forgot to say this when i first posted this chapter but NO i don't own anything here and i doubt you wanna try to sue me anyways, the government already owns me thanks to student loans.

AN: Ok so this was a little difficult for me, having never used before, but i am hoping it helps improve my writing. I just hope that my amazing beta, who writes dramione, made my story actually readable. (for some reason this site wont left me write her name)

Chapter One: Midnight Stroll

It was 9:30pm and Draco was getting very restless; which had been happening more and more since the end of the war. Harry Potter had won, of course; but he figured that was for the better. If the Dark Lord had been allowed to win, his family would have been in worse shape than they were now. They were failures to the Dark Lord and would have received nothing from him; that is, if he even allowed them to live. As it stands now, the ministry just took most of their money to help pay for damages from the war. This had happened with most of the pure bloods, save for families against the Dark Lord such as the Weasleys. So, Draco's family had sold some of their lesser used villas and a mansion they owned somewhere in North America to get back the money they had lost.
Most of his friends died in the war, moved to another country, or were sentenced in Azkaban; leaving him with nothing better to do, Draco had taken to roaming the neighboring town.

"Is master to be leaving again?" a house elf asked as Draco got out of his bed.

"Yes, Tak," Draco responded. "Now get my jacket."

"Yes, master," the house elf said leaving the room and returning holding a black leather coat.

"Oh and don't tell my father I am gone," Draco said pulling the coat out of the elf's hands and put it on. He left his room, heading out the front door and through the yard to the uneven, dirt road; leading him to the flavorless town. His family had moved to the country side shortly after the war; mostly because he and his mother were attacked in Diagon Alley by a man with a knife screaming something about Death Eaters and his daughter. Draco really couldn't recall the events exactly, nor did he care to try. The move had been refreshing and allowed the family time to be together; something that was rarely ever done with Malfoys. However, the happiness took a sharp turn for the worse; Draco's mother had taken ill shortly after getting settled in. She passed on only a few short days thereafter, leaving Draco to quiet memories that plagued him at night. These days his father spent most of his time checking the finances and balancing the books or in his study ignoring Draco, thus creating an awkward tension whenever the two happened to cross paths. Lucius never was one to take an interest in parenting; Narcissa had been the doting mother, doing her best to be his mom and dad - figuratively of course.

He could tell he was getting closer to the town by the aroma of newly baked bread being carried toward him via the light, night's breeze. His stomach growled, throwing a tantrum much like a child begging for candy in a grocery store. He had been busy that day trying to get his books and supplies in one trip for the new school year that started in a month; he had involuntarily skipped lunch and dinner. He was beginning to think that he really should have made some time for food as his stomach gave another loud rumble, demanding that he pick up his pace - to which he easily complied. There was one advantage to coming to this muggle town. Most places did not close before 10pm; the hefty majority had operating hours that went to Midnight or later due to the large amount of people that seemed to enjoy staying up at night. He had finally reached the town's boundaries and he could see a fair amount of people wondering out on the street. Most appeared to be about his age, but there were a few that looked like they could possibly be in their 30s. Everyone was nice, as usual, and waved as Draco passed, a few stopping him to talk. He really hated this; they were MUGGLES after all, not wanting to make enemies though, he held his tongue.

The houses on this side of town were aged, dilapidated, and made of wood - most damage came from termites and dry rot. The shops were in better condition, seemingly well taken care of and reconstructed with metal so they did not have to same problems as the houses he had just passed. There were also the hill-top houses that over looked the small town. They were large, modeling the North American Plantation Home style. Members of the town who did not have their own business worked at one of the four houses. Draco had wanted to live in one of them, fascinated by the unique and unfamiliar architecture; but the existing houses already had owners - most likely passed down to families through generations - and his dad said it would bring too much attention to them if they had built their own.
Draco finally stopped in front of Rose Bakery and Pastries; just in time to see a fresh rack with his current favorite pastry, an apple cinnamon bear claw, being put out. He went up to the counter were a short, well build, man was working.

"Hello," Draco said looking over the drink menu, "I would like one of the apple cinnamon bear claws and a pot of tea please." "Ok, well that would be $8.25," He said holding out his hand.

Draco paid with some of the muggle money he gotten from Gringotts before moving - hidden from his father, of course. With food in hand, he walked to a table in the far back corner of the bakery and sat down. It was more quiet than usual; on the average day, Draco could count at least fifteen people in the building, but today, everyone just seemed to want to roam the town and look at the scenery. With only three people in the bakery it left Draco with too much room to think. He thought about how much he wished he could see Blaise, one of the few not in Azkaban like Goyle; but he also thought about what school was going to be like for him. Probably a horrible nightmare, now that everyone thought he was a death eater who got off because he flashed his money. They were only partially right; his dad had given a large sum of money to the ministry, but only to get himself off - not his son. They had only let him off because after going through memory after memory, one a few from Saint Potter himself, they had seen that he did not want the Death Eater life and that he regretted not taking Dumbledore up on his offer when he could.

Finishing off his tea he put the cup on the counter and left the small, cozy shop. The moon was well above his head when he decided he might as well go home and try to get some sleep before his father sent the house elves to wake him for breakfast. Looking at the silver watch on his wrist he found it to be almost eleven o'clock. He turned towards home and started at a brisk pace, hoping to get home before the house elves came to check on him - something his mother had ordered them to do while she was ill. He was almost home when he could see the driveway; it was only half a mile from there. He picked up pace to a jog when he was abruptly reacquainted with the cold, hard ground and smacked his head. He felt something trickle down his head and knew he must be bleeding. Then there was a pressure on his back; when he went to turn around, something whacked the back of his head and everything went black.

AN: Sorry i know a little short and probably a boring but it is just filler to let you know what is going on so stick with me!