He waited a week but no one came for him. There were more pressing matters, he knew; so many bodies to bury and prison cells to lock up tight.

They wouldn't be long.

When he was still free on the sixteenth - two whole weeks after everything had happened - he considered turning himself in and giving the Auror's one less thing they would have to do, one less offender for them to have to track down.

However, as he readied himself to leave home for the last time the next morning, he changed his mind. "They've had fifteen days." He rationalised. "If they really wanted us they would have been here by now."

And with that knowledge he altered his plans.

Packing the essentials into a bag, he took one last look around his room before slipping out into the hall and soundlessly making his way to the front door.

Standing on the top step outside the Manor, he said goodbye to the only way of life he had ever known and started down the street, leaving Draco Malfoy behind for good.

After hours of walking he found himself sitting in a bar called the Alchemist in Muggle London, nursing a pint of beer and wondering if there were any spells he could tweak to soothe aching yet otherwise uninjured limbs.

If he'd had any idea where he was headed he would have Apparated, but that was a dangerous method of transportation without a specific destination in mind.

It was then that a nearby conversation caught his attention.

". . . Appeared out of nowhere, I swear!" One man insisted. "No warning, nothing. Suddenly the whole park's full o' tents!"

"Have another one mate. Then you can tell me about the dragons again. Seen any of them lately?" His friend replied, chuckling, but the first man refused to let his friend ignore his claim.

"How can you say I'm making this up? They're right there, all of them, pitched right across the street from my flat!"

"'Course they are. Now if you see any of those little goblin-creatures while I'm in the loo, you make sure an buy 'em a drink, oright? I'm keen to meet one of those fellows."

As the second man staggered off to the restroom, his drinking companion shook his head, grumbling into his drink.

"Excuse me?" Draco found that he was standing beside the first man to have spoken, leaning in closer to address him. "Could you tell me where those tents were?"

"Great! Now people I don't even know are makin' fun o' me. Look, I'll admit, it probably wasn't a dragon, ok? Happy?"

"No. I just wondered about the tents. In the park? What did you say they were for again?"

"Some kind o' circus looks like. Why d'you wanna know?"

"Just curious, and where did you say this was?"

With the necessary information, the young fugitive paid his bill and left the bar, heading west in search of Wandsworth Common.

The first thing he had done when he found the sea of black and white striped tents spread throughout the public garden was bring the face of the man he had spoken to in the pub to the front of his mind.

Wand in hand and fervently hoping he wasn't about to blow his own head off, he'd aimed for his face and spoke two words. "Mutare apparentiam."

For a moment, it felt as if someone had poured candle wax on to his head and it had hardened into a shell but that also meant that, thankfully he still had a head. So, conjuring a mirror, Draco glanced into the reflective glass to see how he had done at making up his first spell.

The man blinking back at him looked nothing like he had a moment earlier. His hair was jet black; his eyes had turned from cold steel to a warm brown and he had a light peppering of freckles marring his once pale clear skin. He was also shorter than he had been originally and slightly stockier.

Draco was gone. His disguise was perfect.

After Vanishing the mirror, he'd emerged from a cluster of trees, with his new face, and made his way towards the attractions across the street. In no time at all, he had found himself before the fortune teller.

"Welcome," she'd greeted him warmly as he shifted in his seat opposite her in the muted light of her small space. "I've been expecting you." The room had a similar feel to his paternal grandmother's drawing room. While he'd been a little hesitant about coming in, he was put at ease with the faint smell of her perfume in the air.

"You have?"

Divination had never been his strong suite. He'd found the whole subject and especially the professor very woolly. But he also knew that there had to be some true Seers out there. Whether this one was or not still remained to be seen, it was possible that that was her standard was of receiving visitors.

"Your disguise is clever; no one will know the truth for quite some time. But she will sense it."

Until her last remark, he'd been hopeful. Of course, she could see through it; it was her job to know such things. But who was the other woman she spoke of? Would she expose him? Would he be forced to silence her?

Hexing people, cursing them to keep quiet or to get information from them were aspects of the life he hoped to leave behind. He didn't want to resort to that sort of thing. Knowing that she probably wouldn't say, he still had to ask, just to be sure.

"Who is she?"

"You'll choose when to show her of course, but you will show her," was the only reply he received.

"Who?"

"It won't happen for some time. But should you choose to join us, in time she will find us too."

"Who is she? When?"

"You'll know. When you see her, you will know. Mister Clarke awaits you."

That had sounded like a dismissal, but he hadn't even had a chance to ask anything, not really and the information she had given wasn't any help at all.

However, it had been clear he wouldn't get any more from her so he'd fished out some of the Muggle money he had on him and placed it on the table before wandering off to find Mister Clarke.

Now he had a job.

For the first time in his entire life, he was in a position to make his own money; in a far more honest way than the rest of his family ever had he was sure.

Bailey Clarke had been quick to warn him that there wasn't a great deal of money in their line of work and that the work would be hard – running errands for the performers, cleaning up after the animals, making sure everyone had what they needed – but that wasn't a concern.

Considering the position his family would no doubt be in when the authorities caught up with them following the end of the war, a job fit for a house-elf was probably the best he could hope for.

So he leapt for it.

It would take a lot of effort to go from a purely magical upbringing to living among Muggles, but Draco – who had introduced himself to his new employer as Castor Burrows – was determined.

He wasn't going to return to the manor, he wasn't going to allow himself to be carted off to prison; he was going to make up for his past, even if he had to do that from within a traveling Muggle circus.

For eighteen months, he worked his way through a variety of positions within the company all the while doing his best to be a good man, unlike the child he'd always been up until that point.

When Bailey Clarke called him to his train car as they made their way through a few of the Midwestern American states, Castor worried that he'd slipped up. Perhaps he'd been careless and someone had seen him performing magic to speed up a few of his more tedious tasks.

The look on the older man's face as they sat across from one another wasn't one of a confused or frightened Muggle though. It was of someone who knew things, and who had long ago stopped being shocked by just about anything.

"Ah, Castor, good, take a seat,"

"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and unable to shake the thought that this man shared a few similarities with his former headmaster.

"No, no problems at all. I just had a few questions to ask, perhaps a proposition for you."

"Yes?"

"You like it here, with us, don't you?"

"I love it here."

"You enjoy your work, get along with the others?"

"Very much so,"

"And you intend to stay, for quite some time, I hope."

"For as long as you'll have me, yes."

"I wonder, have you noticed any… irregularities, while you've been with us?"

"Irregularities, sir?"

"Yes, ah, I'm certain you would have seen… just think a moment. I'm sure you know what I'm referring to."

Again, Castor felt certain this man was a lot like Albus Dumbledore, in more ways than just his demeanour. He knew things.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" he whispered after a moment, leaning forward in his seat.

"Unfortunately not, but, this circus does exist on the magic of some very talented people. You, however, you are, aren't you? I'd wager that it was no accident that you came to us when you did."

"I… I needed to get away. But I swear to you, I'm not the same person I was when I left my life behind. This… this life that I've been allowed to have, this is who I was truly meant to be. I'm sure of that."

"Yes, yes, so am I. Which brings me to my next question; have you ever given any thought to management?"

Castor was floored.

Bailey Clarke had always seemed aware of far more than a normal person should be. If some of the longer standing members of Le Cirque were to be believed, he, along with his wife Poppet, were over one hundred years old. Neither of them looked a day past their thirtieth birthdays, however. With his disclosure that he knew of magic, it all made a lot more sense.

Castor had been unsure if he should believe the legend about Bailey's age, but something in the older man's eyes had him ready to swear it was true.

Now it appeared as if he was offering his circus, his life and everything he had worked towards over to a nineteen year old he barely knew.

"I would… I don't think I understand sir. Do you mean that you're looking for someone to assist you?"

"For the moment, yes, but given time I intend to hand over the night to night running of the circus. I would of course, remain with that person as a sort of, advisor, if you will, for as long as they require. But I mean this as a way to step down.

"I'm an old man, Castor, older, than probably anyone you've ever met, despite appearances, and I'm tired. I love this circus dearly. I always have, ever since I was a young boy. But I'm in need of rest. And I believe that you would care for our colleagues, our animals, our entire way of life, just the way that they all need."

"I couldn't possibly… I mean, I'm only-"

Bailey seemed to know what was about to come out of the young man's mouth because he interrupted him at that precise moment. "Have I ever told you how old I was when I took responsibility for all of this?" he asked, making a sweeping gesture to indicate all that was around them.

Castor imagined he was seeing the same thing that Bailey was – the many different rooms that made up the labyrinth, the beauty of the equestrian show, the potions and the pool of tears.

"No."

"I was just eleven years old. I was asked if I could do it, and there were only a few minutes time in which to decide. But I knew in my heart that I could. Now I am asking you, could you care for my home the way that it needs? The way that it deserves?"

Castor sat, contemplating the last few minutes of conversation. Baily made no move to hurry him, but instead, sat quietly, pretending to inspect his fingernails. He gave the impression that there was no need to rush and they had all the time in the world.

It was true that he loved his new home. It gave him a freedom he'd never dreamed of as a boy. A freedom he'd never known he could or should dream of. And while they travelled to far off places, they often returned to those he knew.

In his younger years, his parents had often taken him on trips all throughout Great Britain and over Europe. Now with the Circus he could return to those places and see how they measured up to his memories.

There had even been a stop not far from Hogsmeade and when he took leave for the day to the Wizarding village, he'd caught sight of a few of his former classmates as well as a gaggle of underclassmen.

Glancing up at the man who was probably close to the age that Dumbledore had been before his death, Castor knew that he'd never actually had a decision to make.

The moment he stepped in to the fortune teller's tent just over a year and a half ago, his fate had been sealed.

"It would be a great honour." He replied to the man sitting across from him. Bailey smiled.

"Wonderful."

There was so much that Castor needed to learn in order to assume control, but Bailey was patient explaining everything with great care. When the night arrived, the young protégé felt sure a terrible mistake had been made. But Isobel was close by as she'd always been since he first arrived and she assured him this was the right thing to do.

And so he became proprietor of Le Cirque des Rêves.

More than ever, he relied upon the advice of his fortune teller, who informed him that before the year was out, the woman who knew him from his previous life would have found them.

It wasn't long at all, after that announcement, before everything shifted once again.