Hello everyone!

Chapter Two, new and improved! Sorry this is taking so long, I will get back to where I was, promise!

I don't own Harry Potter.

Enjoy!

~Angelia Reader

Chapter One: Diagon Alley

Draco's POV

Pain arched his back, causing him to strain against the chains that bound him to the damp stone.

"Crucio!" His father's voice rang in his ears, and again he cried out, his voice raw from screaming.

Blood dripped from deep cuts on his chest, pooling on the stone below his hanging body. Draco had been there since the night before. His father had returned home, drunk as was his usual state. He had turned first on his mother, leaving a large bruise on her cheek before Malfoy stepped in, taking the worse of the torment.

At last the pain faded, and his father lowered his wand. Malfoy's head hung nearly to his chest, his face hidden by chunks of his sweat soaked hair. His chest heaved every breath agony. He could see his father's feet through a curtain of blond. Hands grabbed at his hair, jerking his head up so that he had no choice but to look into his dull grey eyes.

"You did this," he hissed into his son's face, "You turned on us," his fingers tightened in Draco's hair, making him whimper.

"I did what it took to keep us alive," he croaked, and was rewarded with a blow to the face.

After their master had fallen, the young wizard had known the war was lost for the dark. Draco had turned on his former brothers and sisters of the dark, and fought instead for the light. It was the only reason he and his family had been spared the persecution that came after. They had lost a great chunk of their fortune, yes, but it was better than being in Azkaban.

Lucius waved his wand and the chains vanished, causing his son to crash painfully to the ground.

His grabbed his hair again, and shoved his wrist into his face, "You see this," he snarled, "This is what you are," Draco could see the Dark Mark on his wrist. "Not some blood traitor. You will regret your betrayal when the Dark Lord returns to take back his throne."

Malfoy could see the deranged look in his father's eyes so the boy remained silent. This is how these sessions always ended, with Malfoy on the molding stone of his manor's dungeon, bleeding and broken, while his father insisted that their Master was going to return. He could only lay there as Lucius walked away, leaving him alone in the dark. It hurt too much to move, every breath sent pain through his broken ribs.

After what felt like hours, Draco heard the door creak open again. Soft footsteps approached him; he painfully turned his head to see his favorite house elf beside him, lightly dabbing his face with a cool cloth. Her fingers were gentle where his father's had been cruel. As she gently bathed the blood from his body, she sang to him softly. When she had finished, she pulled a blanket from the basket at her side, and draped it over his naked body.

"Does Master Draco need help standing?" she squeaked.

"No Millie," he whispered, "I think I can get up," he struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support, "Thank you Millie, how is my mother?"

"She is well thanks to her brave son."

Nodding, he croaked, "Thank you."

His mother's safety made the hell he went through almost worth it. Without another word he began his painful walk to his room. He passed no one on his way, the servants either busy or hiding, so there was no one to watch and whisper at his excruciating journey. He closed and locked the door before continuing to his private bathroom. It, like his bedroom was done in greens and silvers. He leaned heavily against the sink, his chest heaving from the effort it took to get here. He stared into the mirror, letting the blanket drop to the floor.

Scars crossed his arms and chest, some old and faded white - while others still were red and healing. He knew there were more on his back and legs, while his own Dark Mark was a black brand on his wrist. He grimaced, for nearly a year his father and aunt both had been on the warpath, unable to accept the death of their Master, and he had taken the brunt of their anger. He had done what he needed to do in order to save all of their lives. Had he not, they would have been slaughtered with the rest of the Death Eaters; it had been the only way.

Draco shook his head in disgust, and grabbed a bottle from the counter, taking a gulp of the potion inside. Immediately the fresh wounds on his chest closed, leaving behind angry looking scars. It was the best he could do for now. The once proud wizard collapsed weakly into his bed, to exhausted to do anything more than close his eyes. He lay there for several minutes, letting his mind go blank when he heard a knock at his window. His eyes flew open, and he glanced at the window to see an owl clutching a letter in its beak.

Frowning, he stood, throwing open the window to accept the letter. His confusion deepened when he saw the seal. His teeth sank into his lip as he tore it open to read.

Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy,

I am pleased to inform you that Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be opening this coming school year. We expect to have you join us for this coming term to complete your final year with us. Please do not bother writing back; I will know if you will be attending.

Enjoy your last week of summer,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Sneering, Draco crumpled the letter in his hand. There was no way he was planning to attend; he would not deal with everyone seeing him as nothing more than a Death Eater.

He moved to throw the letter away, but the sudden movement caused pain to rip through his body. He bit back a cry of pain and caught himself on the footboard of his bed.

"Fuck this…" Anger boiled in his blood, "I refuse to take this anymore. If getting out of this hell means going to Hogwarts then so be it."

Draco went to his closet, grabbing a pair of jeans and a green shirt. Slipping on a robe, he snatched his wand off his night stand, and left the house for Diagon Alley.

Harry's POV

"Don't look around. Don't react. Just ignore them…"

Harry forced himself to continue forward, ignoring the crowd that was gathering behind him. He could hear them whisper, speaking of him, and his accomplishments, his acts in the war. He hated hearing the awe in their voices, hated the feeling of their eyes watching his every move.

One of them got brave. She was a reporter obviously. She shoved herself to the front, her teeth flashing bright and her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. Her quill poised over some parchment, she demanded, "Mr. Potter, it's been months since anyone has seen you in public, where have you been? What have you been doing?"

"No comment," he murmured, stepping around her.

"But Mr. Potter, you have yet to express your feelings on the war and your heroic journey of killing He Who Must not be Named, could I please just have a moment of your time?" She begged, keeping stride with him.

"I said no comment," he continued forward, not looking back.

He had already purchased most of his supplies, but it was taking longer than it should have. Every store he walked in grew immediately silent, as if everyone were holding their breath, waiting for him to act. He gritted his teeth, and fought through the growing crowd of press and fans until he reached the Leaky Cauldron. He shoved open the door and stumbled inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

The moment he did, he could see every eye was turned to him, "Mr. Potter," the new owner stepped forward, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" He smiled his best smile, and gestured for Harry to step inside.

"Bring me whatever your special is," he said softly and went straight to an empty table in the corner to be alone.

He could hear conversation start to pick up, revolving around his arrival and he glared out into the room. He had never wanted to be the chosen one, the attention he got from that was enough, but now that he was, as the papers said, "the greatest wizard that ever lived" the attention was unbearable. Not for the first time, he wished Voldemort had killed him that night; it would have saved him the torment of being a hero.

No sooner than his food was set down did the door open again, and a flash of flaming red hair threw herself into his arms. He gasped, and held the woman at arm's length, "Ginny?" he gasped, looking her over.

"Harry!" The girl squealed. "It's been so long! You should have told us you were coming out today!" She made an attempt to hug him again, but he held her away.

"Ginny, get off him," Ron approached the table laughing, "How have you been mate?" he asked smiling.

"I've been…" Harry shook his head.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You're a hero, the most famous wizard in history. You should be overjoyed," Ron continued.

Harry shook his head again, and looked at his friends without saying anything. They just didn't get it; they didn't understand what this was like, not being able to do anything without the world on his ass. He had more than a strong suspicion that they had only befriended him because of his fame and the Potter fortune.

Ron plopped down in the seat beside Harry, and called over the owner, "Give us your best everything," he exclaimed, "There is nothing too good for the famous Harry Potter," he smiled, enjoying the eyes that looked on him with awe. Harry had seen the interviews he had done for the Profit. He had glorified their journey in finding the Horcruxes, and glossing over the fact that he had complained the whole time, left them halfway through, and came back almost completely by accident. If you went on his account alone, you would think that they had known all along where they were, instead of finding each one having been an accident.

"Listen Ron, I think I'm going to go. I still have a lot that I need to get done," he stood, preparing to leave. He could feel a headache coming on, pounding just behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than the silent emptiness of his home.

"But Harry," Ginny whined. "We haven't seen each other in forever! Why don't you stay?"

'Because you were never my real friends.'

Just before the war, he had heard a rumor that the Weasley children had been made to be friends with him, craving the fame and money he could bring them by marrying Ginny and becoming best friends with Ron. Their actions since the end of the war only confirmed it. He said nothing however, scooping up his purchases and making his way towards the bathrooms so he could put on his invisibility cloak. No sooner did he turn the corner out of sight did he bump into someone. He glanced up and found himself staring into a pair of familiar grey eyes.

Sorry to leave it with a cliffhanger. I'll post as often as I can. Thank you for reading! Please Review!

~Angelia Reader