A/n: This is my new story. I'm not sure how it's going to be taken but hopefully you at least enjoy it. It's somewhat lighter than my others and the rating is lower, but I have no idea where its going. It's just something I thought I would try. Thanks to my new beta Hunter's Heir!

He grew up in an ancient Manor, decorated with exquisite artifacts, acres upon acres of land at his disposal. She had a much simpler childhood, but one adored with love and coddled in warmth.

Abigail knew these things. She read about the two every day, wandering the streets looking for food. Sure, she could stay at the orphanage and eat the bits of food that could be provided, but she chose not to. Her friends could eat the meager bites there, and she would substitute her food with what could be found on the streets.

Torn pages tucked under her arm, she ducked behind a dumpster and waited as a café deposited the trash. She knew that some of the fancier places didn't use day old bread or already cooked pasta, and would throw the fresh food away. That's where she would find her food again.

She had all the legends livelihoods with her. Slipping them into the sewn-in pocket of her coat, she closed her eyes and shoved her broken glasses up her nose. She would imagine she was Harry Potter for a moment, braving the forces of evil to save someone- in this case, to save the unwanted food.

The girl knew all about the famous boy-who-lived. Harry Potter's defeat against the Dark Lord was nearly five years old, and in the years since poverty had attacked the lower class families in England. Stricken by the damage left behind by war families found their pockets empty when a scattered Ministry demanded part of their wages, attempting to rebuild a desolated land.

She thought it was awful. Abigail was three when the war was won- a child sitting in her aunt's lap. During the final breakouts of the war, those following few weeks when enraged Death Eater's took to the streets and slaughtered as many innocents as possible before being caught, she lost her aunt. Later at the age of seven the orphanage owner, Annie, would tell her that she knew her mother, but the father was never around. Since that day, she lived as one of the many faces inside the orphanage. She wasn't quite aware of the circumstances that Annie knew her mother under.

Truth be told, she didn't hate it there. The beds had enough covers, even if they were frightfully uncomfortable and cramped, and she had lots of friends that she could spend her time with. Once she hit eleven though, she would be able to escape the place and actually have a bit of fun. Hogwarts loomed in the distance for all of them, the token to finally having a life. It would be expensive, but all the elder children before her got to go. The school did not make the orphans pay for school supplies or tuition, merely the robes. Although it did cost a lot to them, it was merely a silver of what the overall cost would be if they were in a different situation. But the staff at Hogwarts would not jeopardize the children's possibility to learn.

Once the employee finished throwing out the food, she scrambled forward and searched for something decent. A bit of noodles here, some bread there. A cup of sealed water weighed down one side of a worn coat, and it would be with those few meager things that she had for her dinner. Though not the only child at the orphanage that decided to brave the outside world and search for her own meals, she supposed she was the only one that knew of this specific place.

Sitting in the shadows of the alley, she began to eat. While doing so, small yet nimble fingers found their way back into the coat and removed the torn pages from books, something she wasn't proud of but couldn't help.

There they were; the legacies. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, all those Weasleys, Albus Dumbledore and the like. She was illiterate though, and couldn't read the stories herself. One of the older children at the orphanage occasionally read the articles to her, and now she knew them by heart.

The few slivers of paper on the other side of her coat represented a different set of heroes. She knew these people weren't really good, for they had fought with Voldemort. Yet in the end, they became turncoats and did something marvelous with their lives. Draco Malfoy, the one who in the end sent battle plans to the Order and was almost killed. Pansy Parkinson; a spy for a year who was killed trying to report to one of the Order members during the final months of war. Blaise Zabini, who assisted in the murder of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, a set of names that Abigail didn't really understand, but she knew were important. These were the dark angels, the ones who peaked into the light at the right time and helped bring down a tyrant.

She picked up the one of Draco Malfoy. Despite his amazing change, despite his decision to change sides and give away the biggest piece of information of them all, he was sentenced to Azkaban for a year. Though her knowledge was limited, she knew Azkaban was a terrifying prison that they only ever sent truly evil beings to. She didn't understand why the world saw him as one of them.

Her other favorite person within the two stacks, despite having similarities with the world-famous Harry Potter, was Hermione Granger. She was famous for so many things, but what stuck out to Abigail the most was the fact that she was born without magical parents, just like her. Everyone in the orphanage told her she wouldn't be special because she didn't have the right magical properties in her, but Abigail believed otherwise. Hermione was the same, and she achieved many things.

These were the legends; the prodigies. Alongside so many other faces, they would go down in history; the faces of people that would never be forgotten. The heroes of their time, the greatest of the great.

They were idols- icons really. And to a little girl living inside a half-collapsing orphanage, they represented a dream.

Draco strode through the alleyway, his shoulders drawn back and his cloak billowing out behind him. His hair was short like he wore it in sixth year, his shoes shiny, and his clothing impeccable.

For Draco, life was good. Despite being sentenced (unfairly in his opinion) to Azkaban- which we won't go into- he had a pretty amazing life. Surprisingly enough, more people were accepting of his change of heart than he expected once he was released from prison, and he speculated that was because of the large bit of information that he provided when crunch time came. Everyone alive knew that if he hadn't given that attack plan away, if he hadn't interfered, the Order would have lost many members. But he did send the document, he did betray his family, his friends, and his bloody Lord, and he changed everyone's destiny. Because of him, a tyrant was stopped before Britain's last defenses fell, and people could overlook some of the bad qualities about him for that single act of good.

That single act of good that saved Potter's, Granger's and Weasley's lives. Without him, they would've been the first to fall. And yet they were alive, living on as legends.

So was he. And although he liked the attention, he wished everyone would stop calling him a bloody hero. He wasn't a hero; he wasn't a saint. His heart was still tinged dark and black, and he preferred to keep it that way. A bit of tough skin, a bit of sharp tongue, and he could still feel like himself. If he started going soft, Draco wasn't sure he could live with himself.

He still had friends, imagine that! Although his time spent in Azkaban was less than pleasant- what with those angry, betrayed Death Eaters always trying to kill him- it was made up for by the warm welcome he received from many people upon his return. Though they might be weary of him, they respected him. No one exactly knew why he decided to do something for the Order at the last moment, but no one complained. And he had no intention of ever sharing his reasoning.

He just couldn't stand being listed among the "Legacies" right alongside Potter and all his bloody friends- for eternity! It was almost like a punishment in his eyes. Bloody public, trying to place us under the same category! None of us are alike.

It was late at night now, and Draco had been wandering for hours. This wasn't something that was necessarily uncommon for him, but it wasn't something he did regularly. He had a lot to think about tonight and he didn't want to stride around his Manor endlessly. That would only stress him out.

Come to think of it, he hadn't really been paying attention to where he was wandering. Glancing around, he realized he had strayed into a tighter side alley and cringed. No stores or restaurants here, just piles of trash. Crinkling his nose, he booked it back out of the alley, nearly creaming a little kid.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, jumping away from the sudden form, nearly crashing into a wall. He steadied himself almost immediately, whirling his head around in search of the person he nearly crashed into. He found the child on the ground, gazing up at him with huge eyes.

"Well, get up then," he said, studying the girl as she stood. She could be no more than eight, and her long curls were completely tangled around her head. Her clothing was less than acceptable, with holes in the knees of her trousers and the shirt so dirty that it was hardly worth wearing. She'd probably have better luck if she zipped up the coat, but he noticed that it was ratty as well, patched up on all sides, and it as about three inches too short in the arms. "Are you alright? What are you even doing out at this bloody hour, don't you know it's dangerous?"

She blinked up at him, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. "You… you…"

"Yes?"

"You… you're Draco Malfoy!"

"Well, yes, thanks for noticing," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You didn't answer my question. This place might have some decent restaurants, but this is not the right area for a little kid to be running around! Where are your parents?"

Immediately, her eyes dropped, and she refused to answer. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he had to run into someone tonight of all nights. He had been in a decent mood when he was winking at admiring women, but now he was just irritated. And having to deal with this random child on top of it wasn't helping.

"What's your name?" he asked at length when he realized she wasn't going to respond to his last question.

"Abigail," she said, keeping her head lowered. He wondered what he had said that upset the girl so much.

"Right well, I can't just leave you out here Abigail. Do you know where you live, or where your parents are?"

Again, he didn't get a response from the child, and he grumbled something under his breath. Why couldn't a parent appear from nowhere and declare this child theirs and run off? That would make life so much easier.

A shuffling noise down the alley a bit caught his attention and the blonde looked over, thinking his prayers had been answered. A figure stepped out of the shadows and he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he could finally get this kid out of his hair so he could continue pondering adult things- like finances and that terrible 'job' word.

"There, that must be-"

"We have to go!" she said suddenly, backing away from the figure. Immediately its head whipped around, but the dark cloak worn hid any facial features. Draco frowned, watching the child retreat.

"What-"

"We have to go now Mr. Draco!" she cried, reaching up to pull on his hand. He was about to tell her that she was being silly and that if anything was wrong he could handle it, until he looked back.

The figure in the cloak was rushing at them, a blade in one hand and a wand in the other.

Why me? Why do I always have to handle the terrible situations?

"Fine, we'll go," he relented, quickly scooping the child up as he took off. There went any hope of a peaceful walk, clearing his head or having a normal night. Pulling out his wand, he put up a shield charm at the same instant as a spell bounced off of it, and the kid in his arms screamed.

"Don't scream," he said, rushing out of the alley and onto the main road. It was late now, and most of the places were closed. No one was out on the street, and he cursed his luck. Now he just needed to find a place to hide the kid and deal with this as a logical, level-headed adult.

And if that failed, he was going to fire off a flurry of hexes and see if any of them hit the attacker. One or the other.

Racing down the street, he dodged another attack and felt the child cling tighter to him. Now his hero title would never go away! Searching for a place to deposit her, his luck changed as the door to a bookshop opened.

Without looking to see who it was, he rushed over to the woman stepping out, who was only just beginning to see the scene before her.

"Take her and get inside," he instructed, hoping this random passer-by wouldn't panic and start screaming just like the child. Thankfully the door wasn't locked yet and he shoved both girls inside, slamming the door behind him as he turned back to face the shadowed figure.

"What is going on!?" the woman said, squirming out from underneath the child. The poor thing had a very pale face, and her lips were trembling. "Are you alright? Did Malfoy really just throw a child at me? And what on earth is wrong with him? He acts like he's being chased!"

Abigail remained on the floor, rubbing her eyes and blinking several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She even pinched herself. But no, this was really happening to her.

"Hermione G-Granger?" she said, going wide-eyed again. The woman picked her up and set her on the counter, examining the girl.

"Doesn't look like you're too banged up," she remarked, brushing the girl's hair back. "And you can call me Hermione, sweetie. Now are you alright? Malfoy was a bit careless, just throwing you on me and shoving us through the door like that. I swear, he gets a little worse with every passing year."

Still stunned, the girl failed to answer any of the brunette's questions. "You're… Hermione Granger! And I just met Draco Malfoy!"

The woman fixed a perplexed look on her face. "Yes… yes I am. Honey, what's your name?"

"Abigail."

"Right. Well, Abigail, will you please tell me why Malfoy just threw you at me and slammed the door shut like that?"

Remembering why she had been running to begin with, the girl's excitement disappeared. "We were running from the shadows."

"Excuse me?"

"The shadows!" she cried, pulling the back of her worn jacket up like a hood. "They were looking for me again!"

"I see," she said, nodding her head along with the girl's story. Pulling out her wand, she made a glass of water appear and handed it to the girl, making sure she would remain sitting on the counter. "Drink this honey, okay? I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" she asked, tilting her head. Glancing around, she pulled her jacket tighter on her. She didn't want the shadows jumping out at her again.

"I just have to talk to Malfoy really fast," she replied, smiling as she slipped out the door. Once outside, her expression soured and she flicked her wand, lighting it. "Malfoy!"

"Granger! I'm right here, there's no reason to yell at me," he remarked, lighting his wand as he spoke. He was wandering on the street, swinging his head this way then the other.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't just appear from nowhere and throw children at me! Not in the middle of the bloody night!"

"Well, I didn't want to slow down," he remarked, turning around to head back towards her. "In case you didn't notice, I was running from something."

"You weren't running from anything. All I saw was you throwing a kid at me before you shoved me back into my own shop! This isn't funny!"

"No it's not!" he replied, getting closer to her. They were standing in the street now, wands close together, not a trace of another being in sight.

"You weren't running from anything," she said again, hardening her gaze. "I saw you running up to me; there was no one behind you."

"Yes there was; trust me here Granger, I know that something was following me." Pulling at his cloak, he revealed a spot on the cloak where the fabric had been signed. The edges were still smoking, and it looked slightly orange, like the dying embers weren't completely gone yet. Their gazes met.

"Okay then," she said sarcastically, "If this supposed person was chasing you, then where are they, hmm?"

He shrugged, looking around the street again. "I don't know Granger, okay? Whoever was following us just disappeared into the shadows."

Their gazes met at that, neither willing to give up their point. It had been nearly five years since they spoke, and their unexpected five year reunion was starting off with a bang- in the middle of the night, with an unknown child sitting inside her store.

A/n: This is a very random story that I decided to write on the spot. Yes, it's going to have to do with orphans and supernatural things and all that. Plus there's a bit of a twist with this orphan. Thoughts on the story?

I like writing supernatural things guys! It allows me to do anything.

I don't know if I will continue this or not. It depends on how people take it really.