Yes, that's right - I'm completely rewriting this story. You'll find the original has been deleted. To put it plainly, it was irritating me - for one, I'd introduced original characters, who were, while admittedly fairly ordinary people, completely unnecessary. For two, it had a tendency to... drag on, in places. With luck, I'll be able to make it work a little better this time.

Draco stumbled as the man holding the chain linked to his wrists tugged on it. 'Hurry up, pretty-boy,' the man snarled. 'You wouldn't want to miss your party, would you?'

Draco flinched, stumbling forward in an attempt to keep up with the taller man. This can't be happening, he thought desperately. This is a dream. Slavery is illegal, this can't be happening. The man yanked on the chain again, this time causing Draco to fall flat on his face, hitting his cheekbone on the cold stone floor. A jolt of pain shot through him, effectively crushing the dream theory.

Draco pulled himself to his feet again, and continued to stumble after the man in the Ministry uniform. He could tell the man was an Auror – not just because of his official robes, but also through the way he moved – never off his guard.

It was almost ironic, Draco thought, thinking back to his first and only meeting with Voldemort. Absentmindedly, he tried to move his hand to rub his left arm, where his Mark had been. The chain around his wrist stopped him, snapping him out of the past and into the present. Voldemort had promised him slaves then.

'When the Potter boy and that fool Dumbledore are dead,' he had hissed. 'Then those foolish Muggle-lovers shall be ours – and yours Draco. Think of it. Obey me, follow me, and you shall have your every wish'

Draco hadn't been fooled. He'd seen his father stumble through the front door, showing all the signs of the Cruciatus Curse far too many times. He knew how Voldemort treated his followers. But he also knew how Voldemort treated those who refused him. And he had no wish to be one of those who suffered after Voldemort won.

Who would have thought Potter would kill him, Draco asked himself, tripping forward as quickly as he could. Potter, of all people. On his own. Without Dumbledore.

Draco felt a pang of guilt. It was his fault Dumbledore was dead. Sure, he hadn't held the wand – that had been Severus. But he'd disarmed him. He'd lead the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. And then he'd been too afraid to finish the job.

The next year had been a living hell. Draco had been brought low – lower than he had ever dreamt. And then it had ended. And Draco had ran.

He had ran, out of the arms of his mother, away from the celebrations and fireworks. He'd left his wand, his life behind, in order to escape the memories that still haunted him.

And Potter had found him.

'I'd thought I might find you here,' the boy had growled, wand pointed at his head. Draco had faintly recognised it as his own.

I probably should kill you. No-one would blame me, you know. Not after what you did.' Then his eyes had narrowed, dangerously. 'But you saved me once. And you resisted him - I saw you. Azkaban will do.' Draco had blacked out after that. Potter had Stunned him, he'd later discovered. And then he'd turned him over to the Ministry.

Draco had been delighted when they'd told him there wasn't enough evidence for a proper conviction. Ironically, he had Granger to thank for that. In the aftermath of the War, the Wizarding World had been reduced to metaphorical rubble. The scattered remnants of their government had been too few to govern – not to mention that many had owed their allegiance to You-Know-Who. Instead, the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix had tacked together a Provisional Government, to restore the Wizarding World.

And Granger, one of the Golden Trio, a hero of the Wizarding World, had been appointed to lead it. Few had been surprised – in the absence of Dumbledore, with the most powerful and honourable of the Ministry dead, there had been few others competent enough to take the role.

Draco had to admit, she'd done a good job of it. The Ministry had been in a state of total disarray that could be only described as a cesspit of corruption. But Granger had been faced with far worse dilemmas.

Firstly, the muggleborn and halfblood wizards – mudbloods, a voice in the back of his head supplied – had been scattered to the four winds, or wrongfully imprisoned. To rebuild the Wizarding World, she'd had to first reunite it and compensate the victims of the War.

Then there were the aggressors. With the death of Voldemort, the Dark Marks had vanished, leaving no way to identify Death Eaters except for eyewitness accounts, which were few and far between. Unable to simply fling all of the suspects into Azkaban until evidence could be found, she had resorted to packing them into the holding cells in the Ministry basements, until a more permanent solution could be found.

But as more and more suspects were arrested, the cells got increasingly more packed. Expanding charms were applied, until the cells were stretched to capacity. And still, more Death Eaters were captured.

Finally, Granger had been forced into action. The only solution left to her was house arrest, at least for those prisoners deemed to be only minimally dangerous.

It worked quite simply. The more crimes someone was accused of, the longer they could be held to allow for a search for evidence. And since there was nowhere to hold them, they would have to be given to those who had fought against Voldemort. And, as this would be a strain on many of those who had fought, they would have to work for their keep.

Were they found innocent, they would of course be freed and compensated. It was a fair plan, Draco had to admit. Those who had done the damage would be forced to help fix it, and the few innocent bystanders who had been caught up in it would soon be weeded out, as it was part of their "minders" jobs to determine whether they were innocent.

Better, Granger had added the requirement that those volunteering to take in the prisoners pay a small sum to the Ministry. Gathered together, the galleons would cover the cost of compensating those found to be innocent.

A clever plan, Draco had to admit. Hypocritical, but clever.

And so that was Draco's fate. He was to be effectively auctioned off. Those who had fought on the "light" side in the war could offer to take him, and should more than one volunteer; he had the "privilege" to choose who he would go with. Not much of a choice, in his opinion, but better than nothing.

The Auror holding his chain yanked viciously at it, causing Draco to fall over again, this time hitting his head on a wall. The Auror kicked him angrily. 'Up you get,' he growled. He yanked at the chain again, dragging Draco to his knees. The chains dug sharply into his wrists, and Draco attempted to scramble to his feet to take the pressure off them.

The man kicked his feet out from under him as soon as he did so, grinning. Draco's left wrist gave an ominous crack as it was caught sharply by the chain, and Draco felt yet another spasm of pain as he fell to the ground again.

'What's going on here?' an authoritative voice questioned. Face down on the ground, Draco was unable to see who it was, but still felt a pang of gratitude to his unknown rescuer.

'This one was trying to escape,' the Auror growled, yanking on the chain again. Draco let out a cry of pain as the chain pulled at his wrist.

'It certainly didn't look like it,' the other man said, a hint of accusation creeping into his voice. 'You're not to harm them, Rodney, and you can rest assured that Hermione will hear of how eager you were to "punish" the prisoners. I'll take him from here.'

Draco heard the sound of the Auror walking briskly away and breathed a sigh of relief.

'Let's have a look at you then,' the man said, as Draco attempted to get to his feet.

'Potter?' he gasped, staring at the young man kneeling next to him.

'Malfoy,' he replied neutrally. 'I was wondering if I'd see you here.'

He frowned slightly, as if at war with himself, and then sighed. 'Let's have a look at you,' he repeated. 'Rodney's well known for his violence, I doubt you got away unscathed.'

There was a hint of ironic humour in his voice, and Draco wondered as to whether he had a history of dealings with the cruel Rodney. He took a better look at Potter, noting the crisp, official-looking Auror uniform. Draco held out his hands, attempting to point at his left wrist. 'I'm pretty certain my wrist broke when he tripped me over,' he said. 'I don't think anything else is broken though.'

Potter nodded as if he'd expected to hear something of the kind, and reached out to take Draco's left wrist in his hand. He suddenly frowned. 'Care to tell me why you're in chains?' he asked.

'That Auror – Rodney?' Harry nodded. 'Anyway, Rodney just chained me up as soon as he came to get me. I assumed it was procedure.'

Potter shook his head, looking slightly annoyed. 'I'll have to file a report about him,' he said, flicking his wand at the chains to vanish them. 'He wasn't supposed to do that.'

Potter examined the wrist carefully and then muttered a healing spell at it. Draco felt the familiar tingling of the bones knitting back together, as the pain faded away. 'Anything else hurt? Potter asked.

'Just some bruises.'

Potter nodded and waved his wand at him, muttering a general purpose healing charm. For the second time, Draco felt a spasm of gratitude towards the boy for the unexpected kindness. Thank-you,' he murmured.

Potter looked at him oddly for a moment. 'You're welcome,' he said eventually. 'Come on, up you get.' He got to his feet and held out his hand to help Draco up. Draco accepted it hesitantly, half expecting a trick. To his surprise, the dark haired boy simply pulled him to his feet and set off down the corridor, with a gesture for Draco to follow him.

'So, I assume they made you an honorary Auror,' Draco asked eventually, unable to bear the silence.

Potter frowned at him for a moment, and then relaxed.'You really have been out of the loop, haven't you?' he said, an unreadable expression on his face.

'I was in hiding,' Draco responded. 'Both sides wanted to kill me – it wasn't as if I had anyone I could write to for gossip.'

'Both sides?

'You lot were – rightfully – angry at me for trying to kill Dumbledore and letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and the Death Eaters were angry with me for failing – and suspicious, since you'd saved me. Perhaps the Order might have been lenient, but the remaining Death Eaters would have assassinated me. So I fled. I wasn't going to fight anymore.'

Potter stopped and turned to look at him. 'You fled?'

'I'm not a killer, Potter.'

Potter's eyes narrowed for a moment, and he looked contemplative. 'I'll pass that on,' he said eventually, starting to walk again.

Draco walked silently along with him, having to hurry to keep up with the taller boy. They soon reached the lifts, and Harry pressed the up button. Another Auror reached the lifts a few moments later, along with a woman dressed in the same grey shirt and trousers that Draco had been issued with. Draco wondered whether she was guilty. She certainly looked the type, a haughty sneer marring her otherwise handsome features.

The Auror escorting her was an attractive woman in her fifties, who reminded Draco rather depressingly of his aunt Bellatrix. He wondered, absentmindedly, if they were related.

She smiled warmly and saluted. 'Afternoon, Captain.'

Potter winced. 'I've asked you not to call me that, Andromeda,' he said, with a friendly smile. The name rang a bell and Draco realised that she was his mother's sister – the blood traitor, who had married a muggle.

The woman shrugged. Draco got the distinct impression that the discussion had been had before. 'So, what have you got?' the woman – Andromeda, Draco reminded himself – asked.

'Draco Malfoy,' Potter replied. 'I took him from Rodney.'

'Ah,' Andromeda replied knowingly. 'I had to take one from him earlier. Bruises all down the poor girl's right side.'

'Broken wrist,' Potter said, frowning. 'File a report to Hermione, would you? She's more likely to listen if more than one person does.'

Andromeda nodded grimly. 'I'm surprised she hasn't listened to you about him yet,' she said, shaking her head.

'We have few enough Aurors,' Potter replied. 'I don't think she wants to have to fire any more.'

'So, what have you got?' he continued.

'Aminita Vale,' she replied, with a shake of her elegant head. 'To be honest, I'm surprised she's not in Azkaban.'

The woman Andromeda was talking about sneered at her, as the lift arrived. 'You go first,' Andromeda said, crisply. 'Best to follow protocol.'

Potter herded him into the lift. The doors shut behind them, leaving Draco alone with Potter again. 'Why did she call you Captain?' he asked, bemused.

'Because I am,' Potter replied.

'What?'

'I'm the head of the Auror Office. I kept telling them to make Kingsley head instead, but he refused.'

'Oh,' Draco said, surprised. 'I'd assumed it was just an honorary position.'

Potter laughed. 'It almost is. It's more desk work than anything else. I only really get out in the field once a week.'

'Poor Potter,' Draco sneered, but his heart wasn't in it. It was hard to be rude to someone who'd helped him. Potter must have been able to tell, since he ignored him.

Much as he hated to admit it, Potter had grown up nicely. He was a good two inches taller than Draco, and had, from what Draco could see, gained some muscle. Probably Auror training, he thought, surreptitiously examining him.

His hair had grown too, he noticed. The raven locks were falling into Potter's eyes, and Draco had an inexplicable urge to brush them out of the way. He quickly stomped on it. You are not here to correct Potter's appearance, he lectured himself, mentally slapping his wrist. If he has no pride in his appearance, it's his own problem. You have bigger things to worry about. Like how the hell you're going to get out of spending the rest of your life in slavery.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, and Draco soon found himself herded into a court room that had temporarily been turned into a holding room for prisoners. He was shown to a seat next to a young woman who was rocking back and forth and muttering about the Dark Lord under her breath.

Clearly guilty he thought watching as the young woman rhythmically beat her head against the back of the chair in front of her. And crazy, too.

Other prisoners were shown in quite regularly, and Draco recognised a few of them. Most shot glares at him, and he knew what they were thinking. Traitor. He bowed his head, staring determinedly at the tiles.

Half an hour passed, marked by the rhythmic rocking of the woman next to him. Potter returned, a bedraggled blonde woman in tow. With a shock, Draco recognised her as his mother.

Potter, with an unreadable expression, showed her to the seat next to him. Draco got the distinct impression that Potter pitied him, in some way.

His mother burst into tears and latched on to him, sobbing into his shoulder. Draco pulled her close, feeling a rush of emotion.

She calmed, soon enough – proper breeding and upbringing did wonders for self-control. 'My dragon,' she murmured, clutching his hand. 'You lived.'

Draco nodded. 'So did you. Father?'

His mother looked at her hands, still clasped around one of his. 'I… I think so. They won't tell me, I've asked. But they didn't tell me they'd caught you, either, so…'

She trailed off. Draco understood – his mother was a proud woman, but a loving one and to not know what had happened to her family would tear her apart.

His mother glanced up suddenly, and Draco looked to see what had caught her attention. A rather battered looking young man had just been dragged in, and Draco vaguely recognised him as Jonathan Yant, a Slytherin who had been in the year above him.

Nacissa started to get to her feet, fists clenched in anger. 'What have they done to him?' she hissed. Draco suddenly realised that the man who had dragged Jonathan in was Rodney and pulled her back into her seat.

'Don't,' he hissed. 'See the man who dragged him in? He's a violent bastard. Let the Aurors deal with it.'

His mother let herself be pulled back into her seat, though she glared at him for his language.

Indeed, one of the Aurors had already marched over and was talking angrily to Rodney. He was soon joined by the woman Draco had seen near the lifts, Andromeda.

Moments later, Potter stormed over to them. Despite the fact that he was sitting a good 15 metres away, Draco could hear every word he said – mostly because he was practically shouting.

'This is the second person I've caught you mistreating, and the selection hasn't even begun yet!' Potter said, backing Rodney towards the wall. 'And that's only me; I've had reports from four others. Four! From this moment on, you may consider yourself on probation. Please return to your office immediately!'

He turned to the shaking Jonathan, who looked about to collapse and began speaking gently to him. A few moments later, he pulled out his wand and cast a few quick spells to heal him. He glanced around, and then led him over to where Draco and his mother were sitting. 'Look after him, would you?' he said gently. 'I think he might be in shock.'

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving Draco to help Jonathan to a chair. The poor man was still shaking, although Draco sensed that he was calming down a bit now that the pain was gone.

Soon, Aurors began to escort people out, one by one. The woman next to Draco was one of the first to go, to Draco's relief. All too soon, it was his turn. A young male Auror who Draco didn't recognise led him cheerfully out of the room, nattering away about how it wasn't too bad, and he was sure he'd be found innocent in the end.

Maybe it was the fact that he'd never seen the young Auror in his life and doubted whether the man even knew who he was, but for some reason, it didn't ring true.

The man led Draco into a larger court room, which was filled with people. He spotted Potter sitting with some of his Gryffindor friends, talking in hushed whispers. Every now and then they glanced towards the back of the room. Draco followed their gaze and saw Rodney sitting there, leering at him. He flinched.

A middle aged woman in official looking robes walked up to the front of the room and listed off the crimes he was accused of. 'Due to the severity of these crimes,' she concluded. 'It has been determined that Draco Malfoy may be held for one year and two months while evidence is gathered. The cost of claiming is set at fifty-six galleons. Are there any volunteers?'

Draco flinched as Rodney rose to his feet. Please, anyone but him, he prayed desperately. Another man rose to his feet, sending a leer towards Draco. Draco flinched. He knew what was behind that leer. He searched the room, hoping vainly to see a familiar face, someone, anyone. Finally his eyes alighted on Potter and his friends. Well, he reasoned. I can't sink any lower than I have already. He shot a pleading look at Potter, who glanced around the room. Understanding dawned on the young man's face and he jumped to his feet, ignoring the looks of shock from his friends.

'Any other volunteers?' the woman asked. 'Very well then. Mr Malfoy?'

Shaking, Draco raised his hand, pointing at Potter. 'Mr Potter,' the woman announced, gesturing for him to come to the front of the room. Potter murmured something to Granger, who glanced at the other two men, who were still standing and then nodded. Waving to his friends, Potter walked briskly up to the front of the room.

'There's some paperwork that will need to be done,' the woman said crisply, handing Potter a slip of paper with a number on it. 'Through that door on the left, give this to the man at the desk.'

Potter nodded, taking the piece of paper and looking at it oddly. After a moment he slipped it into a pocket and took Draco's wrist, leading him out of the courtroom. Draco flinched at the grip, remembering how it had been broken before – and how much reason Potter had to hate him. To his surprise, the boy released him as soon as they entered the other room, digging around in his pocket for the scrap of paper.

He handed it to the rather old man at the desk, pulled a file out of a draw and gestured for them to take a seat. 'Now then. Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you'll need to read and sign this,' he said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. Mr Potter, you'll also need to sign this, and fill out this.' Another two papers slid across the desk.

'Mr Malfoy, there are also some decisions to make regarding your estate. In your absence, you came of age, and as such, have inherited a portion of your your parent's fortunes – you'll need to sign this, by the way. You have two options. You can entrust your estate to the Ministry until your release, or you can declare Mr Potter your representative. If you take the first option, you will have no access to anything, however if you take the second, you may have access as agreed upon between you and Mr Potter.'

Draco glanced at Potter, who was scribbling his name at the bottom of the third sheet of paper. 'Potter?' he asked, attempting to catch the boy's attention.

'Your estate, your choice,' he said, sliding the papers back across the desk.

'If I nominate you as my representative, can I get an allowance and the right to control my stocks?' Draco asked. I can't believe I'm asking this. Have I sunk so low already?

'What's the allowed allowance range?' Potter asked the man behind the desk.

'None to 15 galleons a week,' the man replied, checking a sheet of paper.

Draco flinched. Even as a five year old, his allowance had been twice that – and that was assuming Potter gave him the maximum amount, which he doubted. It almost didn't seem worth bothering.

'15 galleons a week, and Malfoy has direct control of his estate,' Potter said. 'I assume there's some paperwork that will need to be filled out?'

The man wordlessly slid another form across the table, which Potter quickly filled out and handed to Draco to sign. Draco signed it quickly and more shakily than he normally did. Why was Potter being so nice?

The man nodded crisply, tucking the papers into a folder and removing a shoebox from a shelf behind him. He opened it and pulled out Draco's wand. Draco blinked, and looked at Potter, who didn't seem to notice his confusion. Clearly, Potter had since replaced the wand.

Draco started to reach out to take it. However, the man removed a small silver ring from a tub on his desk, and slipped it over the end of the wand. The ring settled near the handle, and faded into the wand until all that was visible was a slightly paler band of wood.

'This will limit the spells you can do with it to what Mr Potter deems reasonable. Mr Potter, all you will need to do is write a spell on this sheet of paper to add it to the list. If you wish to remove one, simply erase it with this.' He slid a piece of paper and what appeared to be a chunk of chalk to Potter, who picked them up.

He removed a larger silver band from the box and handed it along with the wand to Draco. 'The bracelet goes on your left wrist,' he said. 'It's a tracking charm.' He slid a small metal plate with runes engraved around the edge across to Potter, who added it to the ever-growing collection of things in his pockets.'

'That's the tracker,' he continued. 'Mr Potter, you will be required to organise an appropriate uniform for Mr Malfoy. Here is a list of places which are authorised to design them. You will also be required to file a report on Mr Malfoy once a month, here is a list of the guidelines. Any questions?'

'I think we'll be fine, unless Malfoy wants to know anything,' Potter said, starting to stand up. Draco shook his head at the implicit question, and got to his feet, still a little dazed.

Potter pulled what appeared to be a Muggle calculator out of his pocket. On closer inspection, Draco noticed that instead of numbers, the buttons were marked with series of complicated runes. Potter pressed a few buttons and held it out. 'Re-useable Portkey,' he said, in response to Draco's quizzical look. 'I hate Floo, and the Ministry building has Anti-Apparation Jinxes built into it.'

Draco reached out and touched the Portkey, and almost immediately felt the familiar tugging behind his navel as the Portkey pulled him away to the place that would be his home for the next year.