Draco had to half-carry his mother out of the Ministry and spent five minutes at the fireplaces trying to calm her down enough to trust that she would be able to floo alone. He stepped into the flames as soon as her figure had disappeared and followed her home. When he climbed out at the other end Narcissa was sitting on the huge black leather couch with her head in her hands, sobbing.

Draco stood rooted to the spot for several moments before walking past his mother and out of the room. Guilt pooled in his stomach but he dismissed it, he knew Narcissa was a proud woman and would rather he act as though he had never seen her emotional breakdown.

He dragged himself up the stairs to the third floor of the house and the end of the wide corridor where his childhood bedroom was located. He entered the room and gently closed the door behind him with a soft click and looked around. A large four-posted bed dominated the room, it was made from oak so dark it was almost black, the hangings and bed sheets were bottle green and silver; not dissimilar to those he'd had during his time at Hogwarts. The only other furniture was one bedside table and a wardrobe made from the same wood as the bed. There was also a door to the right which led to his own en-suite bathroom.

The longer Draco stood staring at the four overly familiar walls, the more frustrated he felt. The room reminded him of hours spent trying, and failing, to avoid the murder, torture and plotting that was happening two floors below. It reminded him of his mother crying on his shoulder because his father would not stop drinking. Not one single happy memory could be thought of as he stared and so he decided he would not spend another night in it.

He pulled out his old Hogwarts trunk from the bottom of the wardrobe and heaved it over to the bed, where he flung the lid open. Years of debris left from his days at school lay in the bottom; quills, empty ink pots and a badge that was only half bothering to flash between 'Vote Cedric Diggory: the REAL Hogwarts champion!' and 'Potter Stinks!'. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and with a wave and a mumble of 'scourgify', the contents vanished.

Trunk now clean, Draco began to haphazardly throw in items of clothing from his wardrobe, paying little attention to what he was packing. Once there was, what he assumed to be, a decent number of clothes in the trunk, he turned to the bedside table and picked up a small photograph in a silver frame. A thirteen year old version of himself, and his unchanging mother waved up at him, in a formal rather than friendly way. Draco couldn't remember where the picture was taken but he knew that it represented happier times, before everything in his life had taken a dark turn that could not be reversed. He ran his finger along the top of the frame, clearing dust that had gathered since his father had thrown a shirt at their house-elf in a fit of range, before gently placing it on the top of his clothes and then closing the lid of the trunk. He waved his wand over it once more to make it feather-light and floated it in front of him as he descended the stairs, not bothering to take a last look at his bedroom.

He left his case at the bottom of the stairs and pulled his Nimbus 2001 out of the broom cupboard underneath the grand staircase, placing it on the floor with his trunk before entering the living room. His mother remained in the same seat he had left her in half an hour previously though, much to Draco's relief, she appeared to have calmed down.

"Mother?" he called to her tentatively.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were red and her lids swollen, the small amount of make-up she had applied before their trial was now staining her cheeks; she looked heartbroken but still managed a small smile for her son.

He crossed the room and sat down on the far end of the couch, trying to assemble his thoughts.

"Mother, I-" he began.

"You're leaving aren't you?"

"How did you know?" he asked, perplexed.

"Mother's intuition. You think I don't notice the way you look at this house, but I do. When we came back from…" she paused. "I could see it in your eyes; disgust. You don't want to be here."

"I can't be here Mother. Too much has happened. I need space away from here. You understand?"

"Wholly," she replied simply.

"What will you do?"

"Stay," she answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "There must always be Malfoy's in Malfoy Manor, Draco, you know that."

"But Father is-" he protested.

"Not here," she interrupted him once again. "That does not mean that I shouldn't be. Besides, this is my home."

Draco let out a defeated sigh. He knew there would be no arguing with his mother and simply nodded. "Get another elf though, will you? This house is too big for you to clean and we both know your cooking skills leave a lot to be desired."

She chuckled and it was a sound filled with hope for Draco. He knew that his mother would cope without him and Lucius. She was an incredibly strong woman and it was only now that his father was gone that Draco could see it. He moved up the sofa and pulled her into a hug that she returned immediately.

"Where will you go?" she asked when they broke apart.

"I'm not sure yet. I have to go to London first to draw out some money and then your guess is as good as mine."

"Take care of yourself, and write to me?"

"Of course." He hugged her one last time before leaving the house, picking up his trunk and broom as he did.

Once past the albino peacocks that stalked the long driveway and then beyond the huge cast iron gates, Draco fixed the trunk to the back of his broom before mounting it. He could have easily apparated to London but the flight would give him time to arrange his thoughts and come up with some sort of plan for the near future. He kicked off hard from the ground and momentarily basked in the feeling of the wind in his face and the weightless sensation that came with flying, knowing the real reason he was flying to London was simply because he had missed being on a broom.


The first thing Draco did when he arrived in London was to book himself a room at the Leaky Cauldron. The old owner shuffled up the stairs and led him to a door on the second floor, he unlocked it and ushered Draco inside before giving him a toothless grin and bowing out of the room.

It was fairly basic and nothing compared to the standard of bedroom Draco was used to. A small bed covered in moth-bitten sheets stood at one side and he eyed it sceptically wondering if it would actually hold his weight. There was a small dresser with three drawers and a round mirror stood on top of it whistling contentedly.

He lowered his floating trunk to the floor, disturbing the dust that lay there, and leant his broom against the wall before retreating out of the room.

The bar downstairs was quiet, there were only two guests sitting down; a formidable looking witch wearing filthy brown robes who appeared to be talking to herself and a wizard who was eyeing his surroundings though it was the first time he had been there, it became evident when Draco noticed a bowl of greenish-grey lumpy soup on the table in front of him. Everyone who was familiar with the Leaky Cauldron knew not to order the soup.

The toothless owner was now cleaning the bar with a grey rag that looked as though it was doing more harm than good. Distracted by Draco's presence, he scrubbed the same small spot as his eyes followed Draco crossing the room and leaving through the door that led to the courtyard.

Once outside in the welcome sunshine, Draco pulled out his wand and tapped the brick that sat three up and two across from the battered silver dustbin. He stepped back as a tiny hole appeared in the wall and grew in size until it became a huge archway.

The last time Draco had been here many of the shops were closed down, either because they were owned by muggle-borns who had fled for their own safety or been hunted down and killed. A permanent cloud seemed to hang over the street since Voldemort's return became public knowledge. No-one spoke to anyone else and people did not stroll leisurely from one shop to another, browsing the shelves and eyeing the window displays, they purchased their necessary items and went home as quickly as they could.

Now Diagon Alley was as busy and bustling as it always was before; women pulled young children along whilst carrying multiple bags from the different stores the street held; people stopped abruptly to chat to a friend they had spotted, angering those who were behind and in a hurry; and bells could be heard jingling in doorways as people rushed in and out of shops.

Keeping his head down; not wanting to see anyone he knew, Draco walked straight down the middle of the street, bypassing the shops and heading to Gringotts. There were no longer wizard guards at the door now that the war was over but two particularly surly looking Goblins stood there, eyeing anyone that entered with extreme dislike and suspicion.

He handed one of the Goblins at the desks his small brass key that granted him access to the Malfoy vault and suffered a five minute cart ride to get him there. Huge piles of gold, silver and bronze filled the dark cavern as well as family heirlooms that his mother had deemed too hideous to be displayed at the Manor. He filled his money bag with a few handfuls of gold, shrank it and slipped it into his pocket before being driven back to the door that would take him back to the entrance hall.

His first destination after that was Flourish and Blotts bookstore. The many shelves and stands were lined with books on every subject imaginable, Draco passed the section on 'Potions' and another on 'Household pests' before he reached his topic of interest: 'Travel'.

When he left the shop twenty minutes later, he had fewer galleons but a bag full of new information books. Not needing anything else, Draco returned to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, sat down on the bed (which, as it turned out, did hold his weight) and tipped out his purchases in front of him.

The books he had bought were all about international travel and after several hours of reading, Draco had decided that Europe was where he wanted to be. There were plenty of towns across the continent which were mainly inhabited by magical people and Draco planned to experience them all. He longed to be around witches and wizards who didn't know his name, didn't know his family and didn't know his history.

He opened the fold-out map of Europe that came with one of his books and looked at the towns that were circled as wizard inhabited, unsure of where to begin his journey. His gaze landed upon a red circle in the south of Greece, an island by the name of Kos. Draco tapped the circle with his wand and the island magnified, new labels appearing, one of which he was particularly attracted to.

"Paradise beach," he mumbled to himself. "Sounds like my kind of beach."

"Mine too, dear," the mirror told him sleepily.

A glance at his watch told him it was late; past midnight. Draco gathered his books and the map and dropped them into his open trunk, pulling out a pair of pyjama pants as he did. He climbed into bed several minutes later and fell into an effortless sleep filled with dreams of white sands and anonymity. He would leave for Paradise Beach in the morning.