Draco Malfoy, the notorious ex-death eater, whose own father had recently died in prison, had exited the London robes shop only to find reporters surrounding him. He groaned, and tried to push past them, realizing that he could never disapparate around this many people. Camera's flashed and the reporters voices filled his ears.

"Sir, what will you do know that your father has died in Azkaban?"

"How is your mother handling all of this?

When he didn't respond to those questions, the reporters switched, asking the questions they really wanted to know.

"Mr. Malfoy what will become of your fathers fortune since the Ministry took it when they sentenced him to life in Azkaban?

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Why do you think the Ministry were hesitant to give a job to a known death eater?

"What did you buy in the store?"

"Do you think it is fair that you got off with no time in Azkaban, while your father..."

"How is your relationship with the famous trio?"

That one did the trick, and Draco looked at the reporter incredulously. He hadn't spoken to them since his fathers trial...and although Harry had helped lessen the sentences for both himself and his mother, there was still a grudge. Harry had saved him in the battle as well, and that was shameful enough. Draco, however, had matured, he was 26 after all, and knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was another article about him. The Prophet had not been kind to his family, and especially him, since the war ended.

Shoving through the growing crowd of anxious wizards, he ducked into another shop, a herb shop (with an odd smell), then quickly ducked out the back door. Then, without pausing to see if the reporters had caught him, he disapparated. He ended up in what was now home, the equivalent to the servants quarters in Malfoy Manor. It was in the poorer part of Wizarding London, but for now it would have to do.

"Mother?" he called out, stepping inside the door, waving his wand to shut and lock the door behind him. No one answered, but he hadn't really needed his mother, it was just customary to announce he was home. It was something they had always done at the Manor, before the war, the house had been so large that they called out to each other all the time. Not that was necessary in this two bedroom flat. Setting his small bag on the couch, Draco sat down and put his feet up. This was only his first week back in the London, a new lowly employee at the Ministry, but the media had zeroed in on him. He had been away a few years, traveling with mother, and getting gold out of the foreign banks that Lucius had prepared long ago. Draco had been used to the media before, but that had been when they worshipped his family. Now, they only knew him as the almost murderer of Albus Dumbledore and the school enemy of the Golden Trio. It was bad enough that he was son to an infamous death eater, and he had his own mark as well, but it seemed karma had caught up with him.

After the Death Eater Trials, where his father had been sentenced, and his mother and himself had luckily been excused, his life had just continued to fall down around him. The famous Golden Trio were everywhere, and only too quickly the "Unofficial" bibliography's had started to appear. It seemed writers had nothing better to do then to write sappy stories about Potter and his pals at Howarts. But as with every story, fabricated or not, their needed to be a villain. And although Voldemort (yes, people were beginning to say his name) was the obvious choice, someone had set their sights on something more fun. If this was a story about Potter's life at school then surly he must have had a school enemy. And so Draco became the new puppet for the media. Never before had he received hate mail for getting Harry and them detention in first year (their had been an illegal dragon!), and it never seemed to end. People resented him for abusing their God Potter, and although he couldn't deny that most of it was true, that didn't mean people could change.

The door creaked open, and Draco looked up to see his mother enter their flat. She smiled tiredly at him, then flicked her wand, and bags of food came floating in after her. She sent then into the kitchen, and Draco heard them unpacking themselves. Narcissa Malfoy came towards him and sat in an armchair, her eyes closing.

"I see you finally bought new robes."

Draco looked at the bag beside him, "Yes, two. For work."

Narcissa nodded.

He watched his mother, and realized that being back in London had affected her. The lines on her face were much more apparent, and she spoke less now then she usually did.

"Did you have any trouble today?"

Draco nodded, aware that she wasn't looking. He didn't really need to answer that question, anyway, it was always the same answer.

"Want me to make dinner?" Draco asked, standing up, not waiting for an answer. Narcissa Malfoy nodded, and brushed her long blond hair out of her face, looking gratefully at her son.

He headed to the kitchen, and pulled out his wand. He knew the questioning from her would start soon. It happened every night. Silently he set the knives to chopping the vegetables, and began boiling water on the stove. The bag on the couch would have been too much temptation for his mother to pass up, he was a Malfoy after all, and they must look presentable, even while being tormented. He heard her making approval noises as she went over the second-hand robes. Draco sighed, then pointing his wand to the far counter, he turned up the radio. Loud.

With a wave he tossed the chopped vegetables into the steaming pot, and meanwhile dug a pre-made pie crust out of the cupboard. Then, with a few more flicks of the wand, he added steak into a frying pan, and set that on high. (The recipe usually calls for Dragon steaks -but that is very expensive) Though he couldn't imagine how mugggles managed without magic, he had come to like making his own meals. When the music was suddenly turned down, Draco became intensely focused on the browning meat. His mother sighed loudly from the doorway.

"Draco, what are you going to do? I suppose you didn't read the Prophet today. The media knows too much about you as it is, and now they are accusing you of hiding away! They are even accusing you of being afraid of "the truth" and have decided to hide behind your mother's robes."

Narcissa made a noise that by anyone else would have been considered a snort. But she watched her sons back anxiously. She knew that he had been hoping to move forward when he got the job at the Ministry, that the War could finally be forgotten, but it was not to be. And as much as she hated to say it, he was hiding away. And Malfoy's didn't hide.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Her son sighed, and with a sharp flick he began making the pie, " Yes, mother, I heard you."

"And?"

"No, I have not read today's article on me. I am surprised that they still find things to write about me. Can't they find anyone else to ridicule?"
She ignored his outburst, "So, what are you going to do?"

Draco set down his wand tiredly, "I said I would find a place, and I will. Just give me time to look. We have only been here a week, for God's sake."

She smiled sadly, but when he turned around with the dinner his mother's face was the cool mask it always was.

"It smells good Draco." She sat next to him at the kitchen table, her wand bringing out plates, glasses and wine.

Draco rolled his eyes and poured himself a glass of wine.

Later that night Draco sat alone in the kitchen, twirling the empty wine bottle with his wand. Narcissa had gone to bed hours before. Tomorrow was Saturday, Draco's first day off from his new job. He wasn't looking forward to it. Free time was a waste of time, in his opinion. Draco knew that tomorrow, unless he thought of something to do, his mother would find some tedious task for him. She was not being vague in her attempts to drive him out of here. She was the one who had wanted to move back, upon hearing of Lucius's death. But Draco knew the truth, she was worried about him, her only son. She kept telling him to find his own life, to let his father's memory become just that: a memory. Draco didn't need to follow his fathers footsteps anymore. But then who should he follow? The wizarding world still hated him, and that it made impossible to move forward. People in the street glared as he passed, so who would possibly rent him a flat?

Stumbling sleepily to the couch, he laid down on it, but Draco's mind was still awake. The reporters voices, the glare he had gotten when the seamstress had seen his mark, his mothers incessant questions, it all spun around in his head. Sighing, Draco sat up, and reached for the book on the side table. But then he paused, beneath it was the strangest looking newspaper he had ever seen. It was certainly not the Prophet. Curious, Draco picked it up, and realized with a shock that it was a muggle paper. Why had his mother been reading a muggle newspaper? With a quick glance down the hall, he slowly opened it.

He couldn't figure it out at first. None of the pages changed with updated info, and none of the pictures moved. What muggles had to live with! Draco flipped further, fascinated by their politics and sports pages. They classified things oddly. Then he froze, and turned back a page. There, in smudged ink, was a listing of rent-able flats in London! Draco read them over slowly, his mind forming a plan, he could live in a muggle flat! There they would not judge him as long as he could pay, and that would be the last thing the wizarding media would expect. With a few spells, he could quite happily live in muggle London, and not be bothered.

He would need to get muggle money, and figure out how to contact them. The adds all listed rows of numbers, but Draco didn't know what they meant. He took out his wand and circled two adds that looked promising. One was in the center of London, so he figured that must be near Diagon Alley, and the other had much more sq. feet available. Going over the list again Draco paused at an add third from the top. It read - Flatmate wanted! Located in the center of London, with access to all the city offers. Must like cats. Offers a large bedroom w/ shared bathroom, kitchen and common room. Must be able to pay rent every month. Walk-In's welcome.

Draco read the add over again, confused. Unlike the others it listed no price or contact info. Nonetheless, Draco circled it. But as his wand touched the paper the add changed. Draco looked at in shock, a smile forming on his lips. A wizard! A wizard had posted an add in a muggle newspaper! Quickly he read the new version - Flatmate wanted! Located in muggle London, only a few blocks from Diagon Alley. Must like cats. Offers a large bedroom w/shared bathroom, kitchen (both muggle and wizard appliances) and common room (with a fireplace). Must be able to pay rent each month - 18 galleons. Please arrive in muggle fashion (no robes and DO NOT APPARATE).

Draco grinned, this was exactly what he needed! A wizard in muggle London, that was beyond perfect. Tapping his wand on the paper, the add changed again, flashing the address he was to arrive at. Draco set down the paper, folding it so he would be able to find the add in the morning. That was what he would do tomorrow, he would get the flat, live on his own, and finally start moving forward like his mother wanted.

With a smile Draco stood, stretched, then walked to his room for a full night's sleep.

----So, for my fifth chapter (it's almost done!) I realized I had several dates wrong. The final battle at Hogwarts, and therefore the end of the war, ended in May 1998. The characters (as we all know) were 17/18 at the time…My story was supposed to take place nearly 6/7 years after the war. So that is approximately 2004/2005. Anyway, that would make the characters at least 25 years old, but in this first chapter I say Draco is 21. So that had to be fixed.

Hope I didn't disappoint anyone thinking I had uploaded a new chapter. I love reviews and feel free to tell me suggestions on what you want to see happen w/ H+D. Thx for believing in me! Enjoy!