A/N: Set a few years after the war - I picture Draco as being in his early 20s. I'm sure I'll pin down an exact age in later chapters.

These days, Draco Malfoy did a lot of walking. Before the war, it wasn't something he'd much understood - walking without an aim. He'd always viewed his mother's meandering walks through the gardens of Malfoy Manor as the dullest possible pastime, silently thinking to himself he'd know he'd completely lost his way in life when he started replicating them. Now, however, he didn't need the walks to tell him that. Since the end of the war he'd stopped sleeping much, and he needed something to fill the time. Knitting was out of the question, and he could never quiet his mind enough to read the books in the Manor's library, so walking it was. The next dilemma was 'where'. The disdainful looks his family drew in the Wizarding world had yet to die down (despite his parents' resolute insistence that they would eventually, given time - but the years were moving on, and the people were not), and constantly looking over his shoulder defeated the purpose of walking to calm his mind, so the solution was a simple one in the end. Even if he was reluctant to arrive at the conclusion at first.

That was how he developed his evening routine of apparating to the outskirts of different Muggle towns and cities, before proceeding to walk through them until he could no longer feel his feet. And...it was nice. On the weekdays the streets were mostly empty, and on the clear nights with no clouds to hide the stars, it was almost serene.

York was a favourite of his. The Shambles reminded him of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and the Minster cut an imposing figure against the late sunset. He'd been standing in front of it, allowing his mind to wander, from the time the sun had just set until the sky was black and the streets were beginning to entirely empty, when he met her.

"Sean?" He heard a voice call from across the street.

At first he didn't react. Why would he? But then footsteps clicked towards him and he was being pulled into a hug.

"Thanks for waiting for me," his assailant - a woman around his own age with dirty blonde hair - smiled up at him.

"What on earth-."

But something wasn't right. It took him a moment to get over his alarm, but once he did it was easy to see the fear shining brightly in her blue eyes, even as she fixed him with a strained smile. It was a look that was common among the Death Eaters during the war - silent pleas for help drowned out by cocky words of fearlessness that rang more and more false with each passing day.

"Play along," she managed to murmur through her forced smile, practically clinging to the sleeve of his jacket.

Draco had less than a second to make a decision.

"-took you so long? I thought we agreed on eight," he'd just finished his sentence when a dark figure slunk from the narrow side-street the woman had just emerged from.

"I know, I'm sorry, work kept me late," she kept a grip on his sleeve as she turned her head towards her follower.

It was a man - perhaps in his late twenties, it was hard to tell considering he had the hood of his jacket pulled up. Draco didn't know much about Muggle fashion, but he did know it was too hot for such a choice to be completely innocent. Nor was the grimace on the man's face as he took in the two of them. His hand itched to go to his wand. Whether it was the fear emanating from the Muggle woman beside him, or simple survival instincts, he quashed the temptation the moment it flared up. It was ridiculous. The man wasn't such a threat that he had to immediately go on the defensive - he was a Muggle, after all. Fearing him would be like a panther fearing a newborn kitten.

Still, he couldn't help but hope nothing escalated. That was all his family needed - 'Malfoys target Muggles once more' all over the front page of the Daily Prophet. But what surprised him most was his unwillingness to turn and walk away. A year ago he might have - two years ago he definitely would've. So why not now? Was his newfound morality enough to surprise even him, or was it simply because the Muggle clinging to his arm like it was a lifeline was very pretty? Or was it the predatory look on the face of the man who had been following her?

"No, er…" he trailed off, receiving another pleading look from her "No problem. How was your day?"

The look of relief on her face was so strong he thought she might cry - and he dearly hoped she wouldn't. Playing at being a hero was one thing, dealing with tears was another entirely.

"It was good, yeah," she kept the smile on her face, but the twitch of her jaw told him she was resisting the urge to look back "Uh - how was- how was your day?"

The man who had been following her lingered, watching the development. The moment Draco looked at him, however, he pulled his hood up, did a u-turn and stalked off.

"He's gone," Draco said quietly - too quietly to be heard from the man's distance, if he'd decided to eavesdrop out of sight.

The woman deflated, her hands trembling as she pulled away from him.

"Good," she breathed "I'm really sorry about that. Normally I duck into a shop or something but they're all closed by now and - anyway, thank you."

"This happens a lot, does it?" He asked.

Why was he even asking? Why was he entertaining this more than he absolutely had to? The moment she let go he should've bid her a good day and been on his way. Or just left without a word entirely. But...while he didn't envy Potter (certainly not in recent history, anyway - petty childhood envy aside), he had to admit, there was something about being looked at like he'd just solved world hunger that made him feel a little bit better about his night.

"A few of the other girls from work have had...issues with him. But it seems I'm his favourite. Lucky me."

"So tell the authorities."

What was it they called their Aurors, again? Muggle Studies had always been a chance to slack off or nap, in the years before he'd been allowed to drop it entirely.

"The police can't do anything. Not over a few creepy comments and walking down the same street as me," she said ruefully "Somebody needs to actually get hurt before they'll lift a finger."

And the Wizarding world thought the Ministry incompetent.

"But look at me, venting at you like you're a therapist," she gave a bashful laugh "Thank you again. You're a good soul."

Draco had no idea what to say to that. Both because of the level of sincerity it was said with, and the fact that he was almost certain it'd never been said to him before.

"Bit much, yeah?" She flushed, mistaking his silence for embarrassment "I'll be off then."

The look that she shot in the direction where her would-be stalker had walked off in replaced any earlier bashfulness with fear, and before Draco could question how clever what he was about to say was, it was leaving his mouth.

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

He had a strong suspicion that if he hadn't offered, she'd have sprinted all the way home the moment she was out of sight. She'd barely taken a handful of steps away before the question was out, but she paused and took a step back towards him all the same.

"I…" she trailed off, eyes flickering between him and where she'd last seen the dark figure.

Probably weighing up the risk. Being unknowingly followed home by a strange man, or allowing another equally unknown one to walk her there. He was just about to say an awkward "nevermind", already cursing himself for asking, but then she gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh.

"You wouldn't mind, would you?"

And so the choice was taken out of his hands.

They walked more or less in silence. Nerves rolled off of the woman beside him in waves, her arms hugged tightly around herself in such a way that seemed to have little to do with the cold. He understood it perfectly, too. How did she know she wasn't just bringing a bigger, badder monster directly to her doorstep? There were plenty who would argue that was precisely what she was doing. Although the looks she kept shooting over her shoulder told him it wasn't a fear of him that preoccupied her mind.

He could hardly fill the silence himself, for he had no idea what to fill it with. What did Muggles talk about, anyway? Their way of life seemed so foreign to him that he was amazed he'd gotten through their earlier conversation without making some sort of gaff. So they walked the streets at a brisk pace, with only the occasional comments on how cold the night was or how quiet the streets were breaking the silence. But it wasn't too awkward - just purposeful, if anything.

They hadn't walked for too long, perhaps around fifteen minutes, when she stopped at a terraced house in the middle of the street, its door a bright blue. Draco watched with curiosity that reminded him of his old Care of Magical Creatures classes as she rooted around in her bag before producing a set of keys, much smaller and more angular than any he'd ever seen. It was what he noticed as she rummaged that really caught his attention, though. Poking out of her bag, lodged between a wallet and a tube of lipstick, was a wand. His surprise must've been plain on his face, for when she found her keys and looked back up at him, she quickly followed his line of sight and snapped her bag shut hastily, tucking it under her arm, a blush colouring her cheeks.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Marilyn," she gave a smile, extending the arm which didn't have her bag tucked beneath it "Marilyn Baxter. And yours?"

"Draco," he said it like he was admitting to a crime, shaking the hand she offered.

Ordinarily, had they met the way he usually met women his own age - through their parents - manners would've dictated that he kissed her hand instead of shook it. But with how nervous she was, she'd probably think he was going to bite it off...especially given the furrow that overtook his brow when she heard his name,

"Draco?" She echoed doubtfully.

Something akin to confusion crossed her features then and he felt himself deflate a little. She was probably wondering what a Malfoy was doing helping people. The role of the gallant hero had been fun to play while it lasted, he supposed.

"Draco Malfoy," he said before she could ask.

It wasn't like there was a wealth of other Dracos in their world, after all.

"Oh."

Well, it was marginally better than screaming and running. Or a look of disgust. He was just about to make an excuse to take his leave when she continued.

"Well that's unique - so, Draco Malfoy, can I offer you a phenomenal cup of tea in exchange for saving my life?"

"I'm not sure I saved your life."

"The tea isn't that phenomenal, either."

It was then that Draco did something that surprised him. He laughed. Marilyn smiled as though having won a great battle.

"I must warn you, though, I have a couple of housemates and a great big brute of a dog."

"...I see."

She scrutinised his bewildered expression for a moment before nodding in satisfaction "Just making sure you're not a psychotic murderer."

Draco grimaced. Maybe she recognised his name more than she let on after all. But before he could make an excuse to leave, she was slotting her key into the door and pushing it open, nodding for him to follow.

"Do I look like a psychotic murderer, then?"

"Well that's the thing about them - they never do, do they?"

It took some rather erratic jerking movements once she got the key in the door to actually open it, but the move seemed well practised enough to tell him it wasn't unexpected. The door opened up to a rather narrow hallway, with a steep set of rickety stairs to the right, along with three doors leading to different rooms on the ground floor - two on the wall to the right, and another straight ahead. Pausing a few steps in to take off her shoes, Marilyn then shot Draco a pointed look, which he belatedly realised meant he should do the same. Nobody ever did such a thing at the Manor, but he supposed it was different for those who didn't have house-elves to clean the floors for them. He would probably be a lot more bothered by people tracking dirt into his home if he was the one who had to clean it.

Once they were both shoeless, she continued into the house. Draco hesitated, closed the door behind him, and trailed after her in his socks - feeling like a prize idiot for it, too. The blonde woman walked straight for the door that was at the end of the hall, opening it to reveal a rather small dining room, and an even smaller kitchen through an archway after that. Both rooms together were smaller than his bedroom. But that wasn't what caught his attention - no, that was reserved for the way she picked up a kettle, filled it with water, and then put it down onto some straight sort of stand, clicking a switch afterwards.

A half-blood, then? Or maybe even a Muggle-born? She was too preoccupied grabbing a pair of mugs from a rickety cupboard to notice the speculative look he was fixing her with.

"You live like this?" He asked slowly.

His question was a mistake - he knew it immediately by the combination of hurt and offense that passed across her face before she schooled it into a careful expressionless mask.

"Well we're hardly rich," she said slowly "But we're not exactly on the poverty ladder, either."

A glance over his clothing told him she had her own ideas about where he was in relation to this "poverty ladder", too.

"No," he made to correct her "Not that. I meant as a -."

He was interrupted when the door to the dining room opened and a woman with short choppy hair wandered in, also in socks, with a small dog that couldn't have even been knee-height fighting to get beneath her feet with every step she took. Marilyn couldn't see her from where she stood, but Draco was directly in her line of vision from where he leant against the archway leading to the kitchen. The woman paused, then frowned.

"Hello?" She said unsurely.

"This is Draco," Marilyn called, dropping a tea bag into each cup "He saved my life tonight. Draco, this is Sarah."

"Oh," Sarah shrugged "Well done. I thought he'd broken in for a moment."

"And took my shoes off?" Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Just because you might've been a burglar doesn't mean you couldn't be polite."

Any further debate on whether he could or could not have been a burglar was cut short by the dog sprinting up to him. Having grown up with dogs, albeit much more well trained ones, Draco couldn't help but crack a smile as he leaned down and allowed it to sniff his hand.

"This is your great brute of a dog?" He asked "A spaniel?"

"Yes, well inviting a strange man into my house with 'my dog is scarcely ankle-height and would sell us all out for a particularly nice bone' didn't seem very clever."

"And I seem so much more trustworthy now, in the five minutes that have passed since?"

"Well," she scrunched up her nose in a way he found oddly charming "Not when you put it like that. But you don't have a bone now-"

Sarah snorted from where she stood by the dining table.

"-and he's a good judge of character at times. Aren't you, Koda?"

The dog licked his hand as if in agreement. Draco gave a snort of his own, patting him on the head.

"Which reminds me," Marilyn continued, reaching into her bag.

Draco paused, straightening up as she pulled the wand from her bag. He'd been reluctant to bring it up ever since her housemate showed up. If Marilyn was a Muggle-born, or even a half-blood for that matter, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think she might be living with a Muggle - one who didn't know of her unique background at that - so he'd been hesitant to bring it up. But it seemed not. At least...until what she did next.

"Look what I found for you on the way to work," she turned to the dog, leaning down and throwing the wand from one hand to the other.

Draco was all but forgotten, the dog yapping excitedly and running to Marilyn with his tail wagging. She chuckled fondly and handed him the wand, which he took in his mouth and swiftly ran off with, likely worried that it'd be taken away from him. Draco felt the blood drain from his face. Not a wand, then. A stick. A bloody stick. Which meant…

He took in Marilyn with a look of faint horror. A Muggle. She was a Muggle.

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"He's seen a madwoman who collects twigs for her dog," Sarah teased, gathering up books and some sort of strange slate grey thin box from the dining table "Anyway, I'll leave you two to it, I have an essay to write. Give a shout if he turns out to be a murderer after all."

"Will do," Marilyn called back, waiting until she heard the door to the dining room close before turning to him with a sheepish smile "She's like that, but she was only teasing. Are you okay, though? You look rather pale."

"I, erm," he coughed, looking around as if her kitchen might provide him with an excuse to leave "I feel rather unwell all of a sudden. I should leave."

"Oh," she blinked, hurt crossing her face for a half a moment before she covered it up once again "Okay then. Come on, I'll walk you to the door."

The route to the door was only wide enough for them to walk in single file with Draco leaving the way, and it took all of his willpower to sit down on the stairs to tie his shoes. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he fumbled with the laces, and even he wasn't sure why. Those few minutes where he thought she was a witch had been dangerous. If her friend hadn't shown up, he could've easily started blabbering on about magical schools and spells and wands, and Merlin only knew what else. Then what could he have done? Obliviated her? There would've been somebody who could've twisted that against him in his world. Notified the Ministry? Then they'd ask what he was doing in the home of a muggle woman to begin with - and who would have believed him if he told them of his good deed?

"You're really not well, are you?" She asked softly with a frown "Are you sure you don't want to sit down for a bit before you go?"

"I just need to go home," he shook his head.

"Well, I'd offer to walk you, but then you'd have to walk me back and we'd be stuck walking to and fro until the end of time."

Whether it was just an outlet for his mild panic, or because (whether he liked it or not) there was something oddly charming about the woman looking down at him, concern rampant on her face even as she tried to give him a smile when he looked back up at her, Draco gave a huff of a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. When the Death Eaters had discussed Muggles back in the day, it was like discussing animals in a zoo. Animals did not have a sense of humour, and they were very rarely charming. The woman standing before him now, watching as he struggled with his shoes, was just that - a woman. A person. So indistinguishable from magical folk that up until a moment ago he'd mistaken her for a witch himself. All of that only made him feel worse.

He'd knew he'd been wrong, of course. That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been incorrect in his views. But it was another thing entirely to be confronted with it to such an extent. Even those like his family, who now recognised, however quietly, that the war had been a mistake and they'd been on the wrong side, still hadn't completely lost their view of Muggles. They might not deserve to be subjugated or spat on, but they weren't like them. Or so he'd always thought.

The moment his shoes were on, Draco was up, not even waiting for Marilyn to open the door for him as he unlatched it himself and stepped out into the night.

"Well, goodbye then," she called after him.

She sounded equal parts confused and offended, but he couldn't find it in himself to care much. He had too much on his mind.

...That, however, did not stop him from pausing at the last minute and throwing a hurried wave over his shoulder as he walked back towards the York Minster. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Draco with the night, and his thoughts.