Notes: So this story is one that I started a few years ago. I recently found it on my hard drive and decided to touch it up and continue on with it. It's going to be much darker than what I usually write, but I found it really fun to write. Reading it while listening to the soundtrack for Deathly Hallows part 2 will really set the tone for the story, as it was what I was listening to while working on it. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Chapter One

It seemed even the sun couldn't bring itself to shine upon the dreary, desolate world anymore. A never-ending overhang of clouds blocked the sky from view, casting a gray shadow down upon the unfortunate residents of London. Most people no longer bothered to raise their heads to the sky. The fresh feeling of sunlight was quickly turning into a long forgotten memory.

Draco wished he could remember the sun. He wished he could remember feeling confident and carefree. He wished he could remember a time when his biggest worry was going a day without bullying the famous Harry Potter and his friends. But that felt so long ago that he often wondered whether it had all been a dream and he'd simply woken up as a twenty-seven year old Death Eater.

He knew the state that the Second Wizarding War had left the world. Most people wondered why they bothered trying to forage for food when they'd only end up going to bed hungry. A person could wind up with a broken nose just for fighting over a moldy piece of bread. And that was if he was lucky. Most times the streets were filled with the chorus of rumbling stomachs. Draco supposed it was better than the sobs of despair he usually was greeted with.

Even in the state of the war, Draco knew he was one of the lucky ones. He still had a home. It wasn't much, but being a Death Eater did have its perks. He might've had to lower himself to doing the cooking and cleaning himself, but he refused to lower himself to that of many of his colleagues and engage in the practice of owning a slave. Slavery had quickly become legal under Lord Voldemort's regime. Most of the slaves were Mudbloods and Muggles, as there was not much else they were fit to become. At least that was the stance Voldemort and his followers took in regards to their welfare. Draco knew he was often suspected of being a blood traitor because of his unusual stance on slavery, but he'd surprised even himself in his adamancy against them. It left him with no other choice but to do his own chores for the first time in his life, but it was the decision he'd made and so far he did not regret it.

This night was turning out just like any other night. He'd relieved Goyle over an hour ago, and now stood outside what had once been Flourish and Blotts, acting as sentry to the remains of Diagon Alley.

Not that there was much need anymore. Hardly anyone bothered to come here after Voldemort won the war. Hogwarts was only open to the children of two pureblooded parents, which eliminated most of the children. Only pureblooded wizards were even allowed to venture into Diagon Alley unaccompanied. Half-bloods needed permission from their local Death Eater representative, and Muggle-borns were not allowed at all. Those who were lucky enough to escape slavery had quickly gone into hiding after Harry Potter's body had been taken back to the castle as proof that he'd lost the duel against Voldemort in the forest. He remembered one foolish Mudblood who had tried soon after the war. He vaguely recalled seeing the boy at school, but had never bothered learning his name before, and had watched in silent disgust as two of his fellow Death Eaters had branded him with the letter 'M' on his right forearm and carted him off to wherever it was Mudblood slaves were taken upon capture.

He never brought up the pointlessness of patrolling Diagon Alley to the Dark Lord, though he'd wished to on more than one occasion. He knew his colleagues felt the same way, but there was little any of them could do. Most didn't even bother patrolling anymore and simply ventured into the Leaky Cauldron for a pint and only left when it was time for their shift to be taken over by someone else.

Draco was tempted to do just that, but he didn't want to get hammered so early into his shift. There would be plenty of time for that later. Instead he forced himself to patrol the streets, careful to keep his wand in full view of the street in case anyone tried to attack him. It was highly unlikely that he would, however. Only the most desperate would attack a Death Eater.

So far the only people in Diagon Alley were fellow purebloods. They all nodded once in acknowledgement when he passed them. No words were ever exchanged, which Draco preferred over mindless chatter. Though sometimes it only added to his loneliness. The only people who bothered to talk to him anymore were Crabbe and Goyle, and they'd never been good conversationalists.

Draco carried on, making sure he met the eye of those he passed. After a while he grew tired of his patrol, as he did every night, but he refused to lower himself to the Leaky Cauldron just yet. Somehow it just felt wrong to do so. He forced his legs to keep walking and tried to think about happier times.

Just as he circled back around Diagon Alley for the second time, he noticed something he hadn't before: a dead body. He blanched at the sight, but forced himself to investigate. This was, after all, his job.

Though impossible to tell just how long he'd been dead, Draco knew it hadn't been all that long considering the lack of decay. It was easy enough to tell the cause of death. His ribcage was clearly visible through his thin, pale skin and his face was hollow and shrunken in. Starvation marked its victims in the cruelest and foul way.

Draco sighed and transfigured the body into a pile of ashes, which he put into a vase he conjured up with his wand. He buried the body in a small patch of dirt near the vacated shop of Ollivander's and gave a quick thought to who the man might've been in another life. Maybe a Ministry worker. Maybe a Hogwarts professor. Whoever he was, he didn't deserve his fate. None of them did.

After giving himself a few minutes, he pushed all thought of the man out of his mind and decided that he deserved that drink from the Leaky Cauldron.

He walked in and paid no heed to the fear in the bartender's eyes as he ordered a butterbeer. He couldn't afford anything stronger while on patrol, and if the Dark Lord found out he'd abandoned his post for a drink he'd be in for much worse than a trip to the Headmaster's office.

He threw himself into a chair at a table in the far corner of the pub and tried to pretend he was anywhere else but where he found himself as he drank. What he'd give for a good old-fashioned bantering with Potter! He'd even settle for Weasley at this point, but he knew Weasley had died sometime after Potter.

The loneliness felt stifling. He honestly didn't know how he'd managed to go on for ten years like this. His miserable existence was one he shouldn't complain about, he knew, but was difficult when he saw the utter devastation all around him. If he was suffering in his position, he almost couldn't bear to think what those less fortunate than himself were feeling. At least at the end of the day he could go home and try to imagine himself somewhere else as he lay in his relatively comfortable bed. What were the half-bloods and Mudbloods doing? How were they getting on with no wand, no magic, and no prospect of a better future?

It was almost to dreary to imagine. Sometimes Draco thought that if he pinched himself hard enough he'd wake up back in his dormitory and find himself ten years younger with his whole future ahead of him still. Maybe he'd follow in his father's footsteps and join the Ministry of Magic. Or he'd become a Healer at St. Mungos. He'd never voiced this ambition to anyone, but he'd sometimes fancied himself as a Healer, helping people who couldn't help themselves. It was a noble ambition, and he knew that if his parents had ever found out about it, they'd drill that desire right out of him, but it had been fun to imagine that life sometimes.

Draco blinked, and was somewhat startled to find himself at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd let himself go back to his childhood imaginings for a moment and had almost believed he was back in that time. How foolish. He felt wetness start to prick the backs of his eyes, but he furiously rubbed it away. Stupid man, letting yourself get emotional! He chided himself. At least no one had been around to witness his moment of weakness.

He finished his butterbeer and considered going back for a second, but thought better of it. He couldn't risk getting lost in thought again in case a senior Death Eater decided to check up on him. It was rare, but it happened, especially with the rumors about him becoming a blood traitor. He couldn't afford to let that happen.

He left his empty mug on the table he vacated and proceeded to leave out of the back entrance. Let the bartender go on thinking he was still inside the building. His fear would keep him out of trouble, as well as out of Draco's sight.

He found himself in a small, narrow alley. An empty dumpster sat at the end, picked over from the desperate people looking for any scrap of food they could get their hands on. The discarded wrappers and empty cups were clear indicators of the last visitors the dumpster had received. Draco began to walk again, wanting to be out of the alley in case more vagrants showed up, but he became distracted when a flutter of movement caught his eye.

Draco turned around, but saw no one. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was he seeing things now? Annoyed, he turned back around and began moving again. It was probably just a group of people trying to hide from the Death Eater in their midst. He had no desire to corner them if he didn't have to.

For a moment the alley was quiet, but then he heard the movement again. He whipped back around, his eyes scanning the area carefully before finally settling on a small silhouette which was trying to hide behind the dumpster. As he turned around, the silhouette coughed. It was a soft cough, as though the person behind it had been trying to stifle it. It was the complete helplessness of that cough that prevented Draco from moving.

Though impossible to know for certain, the cough had sounded female. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a woman alone in a deserted alley. In his experience it only led to trouble. Most girls knew better than to venture out alone in this world, or at least he thought they had until now. What was she doing out here alone?

He knew he should keep moving. He was a Death Eater, and if it was found out that he'd left his post he would get the Cruciatus Curse for sure. There was just something about that cough that stopped him. It was so pathetic, so helpless, as though whoever had made it had given up on life and was simply waiting for the inevitable. Cursing his bleeding heart, Draco turned and ventured back into the alley.

Draco tried keeping his steps as quiet as possible, but he knew he'd been noticed when the person hiding behind the dumpster let out a frightened whimper. Shit. He'd been spotted.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Draco said softly, or at least as softly as he could with his rough voice. It had been a while since he'd last spoken.

No answer.

Draco took another cautious step forward. He could hear the person behind the dumpster shift as he did so, as though trying to get as far from him as possible in her limited space. As he approached the dumpster, he turned a cautious head around to peer behind the dumpster.

The sight that greeted him nearly tore his heart in two.

The girl's long, tangled dark hair hid her face from view, but he could tell she was young, at least his age if not younger. Her body, from his limited view of it, was frail and emaciated, but still held the curves and breasts of a woman. Despite the heartbreaking circumstances, he felt some relief that he wasn't scaring some poor, frightened child.

"Please," Draco tried again. "I won't hurt you. I only want to help."

Why? He thought to himself as he stared at the frightened girl. Woman. He hadn't quite decided which it was yet. Why do you want to help? You have yourself to think about.

And while that was true, he couldn't bring himself to turn his back on the girl who looked like she could literally die of fright.

She'd seemed to give up on her attempt to get away from him, and brought her skinny legs up to her chest, wrapping her frail arms around them in some attempt to hide herself. She kept her head down and surrounded by her curtain of tangled hair, and the only telltale sign that she was crying was from the teardrops falling on her knees. She began shivering, and he knew it wasn't just from the cold.

"Um…miss?" He hated how difficult she was making this for him. "Can you get up? If not I can try to carry…"

He trailed off as it was obvious the girl wasn't paying him any attention.

Draco sighed. How he wanted to give up and leave the girl to her own devices. He was about to get up, but his conscience got the better of him. No matter what his previous misdeeds were, he knew he'd never be able to live with himself if he left her alone.

"Okay…I'm going to find some food for you. Just hold on." He stood up and immediately began rummaging through the dumpster. He hated himself for not going into the Leaky Cauldron to buy her something fresh, but he knew that if he did, she'd bolt the moment he was out of sight.

When his fingers found the first thing that felt like food, he pulled it out and discovered a half eaten apple clutched in his hand. He went back to his previous position right outside the dumpster to find that the girl had not moved.

He held the apple out to her, hoping that she'd be able to smell it. Though far from appetizing, he was banking on her being hungry enough to want it anyway.

"Look what I've got for you. A nice, half-eaten apple. You can have it, but only if you come out."

Finally the girl lifted her head a fraction of an inch. Just enough for Draco to see a strikingly familiar pair of dark eyes latch on to the apple in his hand.

"That's it. Just come out of there and you can have it."

He hated talking down to her like this, but he didn't know what else to do. Short of just reaching in, grabbing her and pulling her out, he didn't know how else to get her to come with him.

"I promise I won't hurt you. All I want is to help. I promise."

He didn't know why the girl decided to trust him. Maybe she didn't really. Maybe her hunger and desperate were enough to make her go against her survival instincts. Whatever her motivations were, he silently thanked whatever diety still looked over them for her deciding to come out on her own.

Slowly, hesitantly, she crawled out from behind the dumpster, and as soon as she had done so, she grabbed the disgusting apple from his hands and began chewing.

And that was when he saw it.

A red 'M' marked on her left forearm. The mark of a Mudblood slave. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. Unfortunately she noticed where his eyes had traveled, and she immediately dropped the apple and made to go back to her former hideout.

Draco was too quick for her. He latched on to her arm, which he noticed too late was her left, and she immediately began to struggle in his vice-like grip.

"No. I promise I won't hurt you!" He exclaimed as he tried in vain to get her to settle down. But the girl did the opposite. She opened her mouth and let out the most desperate, terrified scream he'd ever heard anyone make. She screamed for one second, which was one second too long for his liking. He clamped a hand over her mouth, ignoring the pain that greeted him moments later as a sign that she'd bitten him.

"I'm going to take you home with me. I promise it's not what you think. I'm not going to hurt you or hand you over. I'm simply going to take you home and give you a safe place to sleep."

Her continuing struggles were his only indication that she didn't believe him. Not that he'd expected her to.

He sighed and whispered, "You're going to have to trust me."

And with that, knowing he was taking a very big gamble with his life for a mere Mudblood slave, he Disapparated back to his home with the girl still struggling in his arms.

Once they were in the living room of the moderate house he called home, he quickly deposited the girl on his sofa. She'd stopped struggling, and once she realized that she was out of his arms, she curled herself back up into the protective ball in which he'd found her and began whimpering.

"No. No, please. I can't go back. I c-can't," she sobbed into her knees. She rocked back and forth, and Draco could only watch, hating how helpless he felt. He continued to stare at her, knowing he was being rude, but unable to take his eyes off her. She evoked a sense of familiarity in him that he hadn't felt in ten years. Why did she seem so familiar to him? He knew he hadn't come across this slave before. As he visited other Death Eater homes, crossing paths with a slave was inevitable. Though he'd never be able to recognize one from the other as he'd paid very little attention to them in his career, he couldn't help but think that he would have remembered this one if he'd seen her before. And yet he knew he'd crossed paths with her before. But where..?

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks to the head. He took a step back from the suddenness of it, but he knew he was not wrong as he continued to stare upon her curled up form. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. And yet he knew it to be true. How could he have missed it before? This wasn't just any Mudblood that he'd taken into his home.

This girl, this woman, this Mudblood slave, was Hermione Granger.