Introduction

Draco Malfoy sat on the window seat in his room and peered, unseeing, out the window of his latest hideout. He had seen the war tear apart the world he had known and now that it was over, he was running while the rest of the wizarding world was healing. He found it just a tad funny, but he wasn't having a terrible time. It was refreshing sometimes and crazy sometimes, and terrifying sometimes, but it was infinitely better than life during the war. Still, he missed his mother and, if he were honest with himself, he missed Hogwarts, and if he were really truly honest with himself, he missed the idiots that populated Hogwarts. He tried to keep his mind off the past though, and running was a good way to do that. It also kept him alive.

His betrayal of Lord Voldemort in crucial moments during the war and his family's threatened demise lead the members of the Wizengamot to pity him. Informing on most of the Dark Lord's closest followers lead the members of the Wizengamot to rule an acquittal of all charges against him. He was glad he retained his sense of self preservation, if nothing else. While he didn't exactly love the fact that rogue Death Eaters across the Isles were hunting for him, it did give him a smug sense of self satisfaction. For once, he was the one turning the screws and they were the ones reacting. If he could, he would have testified at every single Death Eater trial. The Wizengamot, however, was processing Death Eaters with too much alacrity to require the presence of many witnesses. Thus unwanted and without a shelter or sanction, as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was too busy to assign him any protection, his haven became whatever secret lodgings he could secure. Preferably ones with a window.

Draco would often sit and stare out windows. He rather liked windows. They were good for so many things. For planning his next step, for instance. For getting some much needed sun, for another. For imagining the future and, in his weaker moments, remembering the past. Only rarely was it to really look out the window. Sometimes during these meditations, his face would fall into a frown that seemed to make him look quite the gargoyle. Indeed, if there were any passerby on the lonely street outside the Deshayes Tinctures and Wares shop at 44 Helgamma Road, then that's exactly what they might remark if they should happen to see him through the upstairs window.

Upon becoming aware of his surroundings, Draco sniffed disapprovingly at the muddy lane beneath him and the muddy window panes and the musty smell of the rented chamber. He seemed to disapprove of things by habit but he found that for some reason, people who made money on the side by hiding hunted ex-Death Eaters really didn't keep their hovels in the best condition. The only things he disliked more than hovels was paying for them. He thought vaguely that if he were one for fresh air and exercise, he could have gone on the lam in the country and slept under the stars every night. He then thought vaguely of fleas and ticks and vile things with many legs and suddenly knew he enjoyed hiding in this decrepit hole, paying an exorbitant fee to the shopkeeper to keep his mouth shut.

Standing up from the window seat, Draco's stomach gave him a pang, reminding him that he hadn't eaten that day and it would behoove him to see if he might squeeze the owner for a meal. he peeked under the door to ensure that no one was in the hall before slowly opening it and quietly padding down to the ground floor. The shopkeeper, Mr. Toff, was busy examining something behind the counter and Draco was glad to see that there were no customers at the moment. He'd have been very surprised if this shop attracted more than a handful a week. It was not the kind of shop one considered visiting much if one wanted to appear to stay on the right side of the law. Even so, a place like this was none the less very valuable to many a witch and wizard. This shop would ordinarily be fascinating to Draco, knowing that it was most likely home to some very old, and highly illegal, dark artifacts. However, his stomach did not let him forget why he had descended into the shop.

"Mr. Toff, I wonder if I might have a word." The said Mr. Toff jumped and clutched his chest and Draco was secretly proud of how startled he had made the man.

The shopkeeper was a hunched figure of average height, very lean and bony and just a bit...unsavory. His hair was tied back with a ribbon, probably to give customers a better look at the caved in portion of his left cheek. His cheek bone was missing, probably from a transaction gone wrong, and as a consequence, his left eye hung rather lower on his face. Intimidation was a big factor when you were in his line of work. He regained his composure and turned to look at Draco so that his left side was in good view. "What is it, lad?"

Draco, little daunted by the man's face, said easily "I'm rather hungry, I was hoping you might spare some food for a small meal."

"I don't see why I should do that. I barely make enough to keep my own bones together, let alone a lodger's." The man's lips twitched up into a smirk as he spoke and Draco got the distinct impression that the man made more than enough to keep his bones together, especially since he had the ten galleons that Draco slipped to him earlier that day for the room. However, he was willing to play this game, for the time being at least. He pulled a galleon from his pocket.

"Will this do?"

The shopkeeper's eyes gleamed at the glint of gold and his face split into a twisted smile revealing several missing teeth. "I reckon, sir. What is it you'll be wanting now?

"I fancy some lamb stew with bread and cheese. Something decent to drink as well."

The shopkeeper approached and reached for the gold in Draco's hand, but Draco closed his fist over it. "After...the meal."

The shopkeeper's face turned grim as his eyes went from Draco's hand to his eyes. Draco suppressed a smirk of his own. "Not to worry, old man, I'll watch the shop for you while you're getting it ready."

Mr. Toff looked as if he might wish to give Draco a hex or two, but turned and grumbled as he made his way into the back room. At this, Draco did award himself a smirk and sauntered over to the counter where the shopkeeper had been when Draco entered. Sitting on the stool, he lazily let his eyes wander about the room, taking in the rows of bottled potions and jars of dried lord-knows-whats. All manner and kind of thing were scattered about in a way that seemed completely disorganized. His eyes fell to a shelf built into the back of the counter and saw a rather curious quill lying there. It was beautiful and clean, almost shimmering in the relative darkness. It seemed so out of place in the dingy shop and he reached for it almost as much to save it from the dust as to examine it closer.

It didn't really shimmer when he saw it up close, but he was able to tell that it was a Quote-Rite Quill, a quill used by writers and court reporters because of its exactitude. He had always wanted one for taking notes in class at Hogwarts, but they were banned. He supposed that was because a certain number of students had used the quill as an excuse to nod off during classes instead of pay better attention to the professors. Draco ran a finger along the stiff feathers, surprised at how soft they felt. Indeed, holding it in his hand, it felt like the perfect weight and it sat comfortably in his grip. When he commanded it to write a few words on a scrap of paper, it didn't produce a scratchy or irritating sound, but rather had a smooth almost silent glide.

Draco was brought out of his reverie when Mr. Toff walked into the shop, floating the tray with Draco's meal ahead of him. Seeing Draco, he said "I hope you find this satisfactory, sir. Shall I bring it upstairs for you?" His mouth stretched to expose his teeth in what Draco realized was a startling attempt at ingratiation. The display was nothing short of smarmy, but Draco really would rather be a fugitive with money asking for food than a fugitive without money asking for food.

"Yes, but first, I was wondering whether I might have this quill of yours. I have some letters to write this evening."

The shopkeeper looked sharply at the utensil, recognition gleaming in his eyes. "Oh now, lad, that's gonna cost you. That was brought just today from a very wealthy merchant. Sold it to me for...what was it now? Ten sickles?" He smiled expectantly at Draco.

Draco sighed. "Alright, ten sickles…"

"No, laddy, see, he sold it to me for ten sickles. I have to make a profit, now don't I? I wouldn't let it go for less than 16 sickles. Plus tax makes it 17 sickles."

"What, a galleon for a quill? You must be joking, that's absurd."

"Oh hardly. As you can see, I have many responsibilities and I do eat so little these days. It's not an easy world to make a living in, especially now that the war is over." That smarmy expression was back on Mr. Toff's face.

Draco drew back and put his best blank expression on his face, tossing the quill on the counter. "Well, let's see that dinner, then…"

"Oh alright, alright, twelve sickles…..bleeding me dry" His expression was pained, but he turned and floated the dinner tray up the stairs to place at the foot of Draco's door. Draco, meanwhile, picked up the quill and felt satisfaction bloom in his chest. This, despite the fact that the quill was only worth about five sickles.