Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!


It was a sunny, spring day. Chirping birds rested in tree branches rich with green leaves. Flowers of all colors were beginning to bloom. Children ran and jumped through puddles left by the morning rain. Their laughter drowned out their parents' shouts to be careful.

A hooded figure dressed in black robes was the single blemish on the street that day. The form's dark aura conflicted with the world around it. The others on the street were too absorbed in their surroundings to pay the figure any mind. The hood hid the scowling face of a young man. His long hair blonde, almost white, and facial structure aristocratic.

Draco Malfoy wasn't having a good day. Well, he hadn't experienced a 'good day' in years. Not since The-Dark-Lord-with-No-Nose barged into his life, destroying any future he'd planned. So, he had a valid excuse for his sour mood.

He felt mentally drained. And the extended time spent in the isolated manor hadn't helped. A persistent gnawing, restlessness built under his skin. He'd hoped going on this impromptu walk would clear his mind and relieve him of cabin-fever.

Despite the declaration of Draco's innocence, the rest of the wizarding world weren't as forgiving. There had been many occasions where his infamy had brought trouble. Before long, Draco had to wear a disguise to navigate the streets unharmed. Learning the hard way that people only cared about the mark on his arm.

But on this day, the nasty taste of the Polyjuice potion seemed remarkably more unappealing. So, he left the Manor with only a large hood to obscure his features.

In a way, Draco knew he was lucky. With Potter's testimony, he had avoided a permanent stay in Azkaban. In fact, the court hardly gave him a slap on the wrist. And with a life-long sentence in Azkaban, Lucius was no longer the head of house passing the title to his heir.

The Ministry had no claim to the Malfoy's fortune or properties once Draco took on his birthright.

Unfortunately, Draco's brain, like brains tend to do, could only focus on the abysmal events. His mother fell sick while awaiting her trial, dying soon after. Draco was informed of his parents' fates only after his own trial had concluded. Then, the Ministry tossed him out leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth knowing that he was now alone.

He spent most of his time in the Manor wandering from one room to another in a daze. Trying to recognize his childhood home from the ruins that were left.

Mood worsening once he'd heard that most of his classmates returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year. The golden trio included. Even Slytherins, that weren't killed or jailed, had the opportunity to go back.

Only a single letter from his friends was delivered to his door since he'd been released. It stated, on no uncertain terms, all correspondence with him would stop. They feared the backlash if they continued interacting with the fallen Malfoy.

This letter broke the proverbial camel's back. A viscous anger rose up inside of him. Draco would prove that he can move on; he didn't need them.

He used the next few months to renovate the manor. The daunting task helped him power through the fear and despair that threatened to overcome him. Many bad memories were associated with each room. But as the dark artifacts were thrown out, rooms repainted, and furniture replaced, the weight on his chest lightened. Until the manor looked less like a prison and more like a home.

The laughter of children interrupted the young man's reminiscing. This by itself was not unusual, but Draco recognized the certain tone in the sound. He had heard often enough with Death Eaters living in his house; cruelty.

Down the alley, a group of boys were gathered around a sobbing girl kneeling on the ground.

The nasty expression on the three boys' face marred their otherwise handsome features. A strong sense of nostalgia bubbled in Draco's chest when he saw that look. After all, it was an expression that he had caught sight of in the mirror often enough, not too long ago. Memories from Hogwarts assaulted him. All if his mistakes and arrogance thrust to the forefront of his mind.

Cuts adorned the girl's hands from their rough meeting with the ground. They were likely caused by a rough meeting with the ground. One of the boys forced her head upward by grasping a handful of her long, dark hair and giving it a jerk. A pair of scissors glinted viciously in his other hand.

The girl's eyes were frantic as they searched for any form of help, until they met with his grey ones.

It felt like a train collided against Draco's chest at the sight of her green eyes. Ones that shared such similarity with a boy once forced to kneel before him, both pleading for his help. It was one of the few times Draco had made the right choice. A brave decision. And without much more thought he stepped forward.

Before Draco could reach the group, a single movement of the scissors freed the hair grasped in the boy's fist. The rest fell limp against the girl's face, causing sobs to escape from the child with more force.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Draco yelled, jogging toward the group. His shout startled the older children, the sliced hair and scissors dropped to the ground.

"Her parents are Death Eaters, so she deserves to pay," a boy replied looking down his nose, pride radiating from him. He paused, awaiting praise for his actions against someone born of evil. There was still so much hatred in this world.

"If you three don't leave this instant, I will show you what it means to pay," Draco threatened. He doubted anyone would do much to punish the three miscreants for bullying the girl.

"Let's go!" said the shortest of the three. And with one final sneer at the girl, they dashed out the alley, laughing and joking all whole way.

Draco stopped next to the child. He shifted from foot to foot unsure of what to say while the girl sobbed, clutching her unwanted haircut.

"Um. Excuse me... what's your name?"

More crying was the only response. Draco tilted his head until the sky was all he could see. He'd never been around children before, let alone a crying one.

"Where are your parents?"

Still nothing.

"Fine. Stay here and cry."

Frustrated, Draco turned sharply and walked away from the child. The girl's sobs followed him out of the alley. He took a few more steps before Draco spun around, cursing his altruism.

A discarded can was snagged from the street and a transfiguration spell muttered. The dented can shifted until it molded into hair-cutting shears. With his new tool in hand, Draco approached the girl once again.

"Now, I'm going to need you to stop crying and sit still. So, I fix what those horrid children have done," Draco said, twirling the scissors around a finger.

Spying the scissors in his hand the girl shrunk back, even more frightened. Draco stopped the scissors' movements at her skittishness and sat down next to her.

"Don't worry. By the time I'm done with your hair, everyone will be treating you like the princess you are," he said with a small smile.

The young girl studied him before deciding she liked what she saw. Wiping tears away and with little delay, she presented her back to Draco. With her back straight and head high the unevenness of the haircut was clearer to see.

"You're in good hands. I have been cutting my own hair since I was twelve. My mother took me to the hairdresser once and they destroyed my hair. Let me tell you, little princess, my father heard about it when I got home. Now, I'm the only one that can touch my precious locks," Draco said conspiratorially as he started to fix up her hair.

"When I was in school, my friends had me cut their hair. We were the best-looking kids of our year," he said. His voice growing softer as he reminisced on the days before the war. He finished the cut in silence.

"There you are, Kiki. All done!" Draco said, patting her on the shoulder and stood. She looked at him with solemn green eyes, her hair now just short of her shoulders.

At a closer look at the girl, it was plain that her eyes weren't as green as Potter's. But they were no less stunning. He pushed that thought aside, ignoring the word he used to describe his old rival's eyes. It wasn't the time to resurrect past feelings.

"Kiki?" was the soft response.

She grasped Draco's robes as he sized her up. She was younger then he'd first thought. Her head reached mid-thigh, eyes large in her oval face, ebony hair brushed against a round chin. The clothes she wore were dirty and hung loose on her thin frame. They wouldn't be able to keep a child warm.

"Well, you haven't told me your name. I had to call you something," Draco said, brushing the dirt from his robes. She claimed the older man's hand and proudly announced, "I'm Isabelle and I'm five years old."

Draco flinched from the volume, he hoped that it wouldn't draw any attention to them. Pulling his hood to cover his face once he was sure they had no witnesses.

"Can you talk more quietly?" he snapped. But, Draco had lost his scare factor, because Isabelle wasn't deterred by his tone. Not in the slightest, as she continued to smile at him.

"Where do you live?"

Isabelle's expression fell, and she looked away. "Do I have to go back?" She asked.

"Yes, I'm sure someone misses you."

Her leg kicked out, sending a stone skittering across the ground. She reluctantly led Draco out of the alley, her shoulders slumped weighted down with disappointment. A long stretch of silence fell as they walked hand-in-hand along the pavement.

Unable to stand the stifling quiet, Draco asked, "Why don't you want to go back?"

Isabelle shrugged. "The kids are mean to me and those like me."

"Others like you?"

"Ya. Those with bad parents." Her shoulders hunched further, to make herself smaller.

"What? Who said you had bad parents?"

"Everyone. Mrs. Tally said that if the Ministry hadn't force her to take us in she would've kick us out. And that we were evil like our parents." She scrubbed at the tears beginning to form. "All the kids call us Death Eaters and push us around."

A whirlwind of emotions ran through Draco as Isabelle said those words- anger, pity, sadness. 'Death Eater' isn't a name that should be thrown around, let alone an accusation toward a child.

Isabelle's grip on his hand tightened as they came to a stop.

"We're here."

A large brick house adorned with small windows loomed in front of them. Circling the place was an old rickety fence that had its white paint peeling and missing in a few places. Above the door was a sign that read, 'Orphanage for Wayward Witches and Wizards.'

"This is where you live?" She nodded in conformation.

"Go on in then," Draco prompted, giving her arm a gentle push to spur her on. Her hold tightened once more before loosening, then letting go completely.

"Thank you, Mister, for fixing my hair."

Draco wasn't nearly old enough to be called 'mister,' but it was unlikely he'd ever meet this girl again, so he'd let it slide. With a swift 'Good evening' Draco left Isabelle.

His final image of the girl was of her beside the fence, watching him leave. Her short, dark hair swayed with the wind. Green eyes glistened from unshed tears, and her threadbare shirt hanging off a narrow shoulder. The sight emphasized how tiny she was.

He could still feel her eyes following his trek down the street. The splashes of orange and red painted across the sky alerted him to the late hour. Cursing, he quickened his pace.

He'd started brewing a potion back at the manor and it looked like he wasn't going to make it on time to save it.

Draco apparated back to his place, he didn't even attempt to see if anyone was around. He was in a wizarding area after all.


When he appeared in the Manor, his potions room was his first stop. The potion had turned a murky grey color from overheating. Draco sighed seeing this, the mixture was a lost cause. He bemoaned the three months of wasted work as he vanished the contents of the cauldron. Tomorrow he had to start all over.

As he laid in bed that night his mind drifted from thought to thought. But as sleep was about to consume him Isabelle sprang into his mind. She was standing alone, waiting. Draco drifted off to sleep before he could delve deeper into that image.