Disclaimer: Alas, I still do not own Harry Potter.

"Well I don't want to see you waiting, I've already gone too far away, I still can't keep the day from ending, no more messed up reasons for me to stay." Wasting My Time, Default

Chapter Two

Fights, Fevers, and Fears

That night, or more appropriately called, that day, Mr. Grayson allowed the boy, whose name appeared to be Draco, sleep in his bed upstairs. Mr. Grayson normally slept during the day, but he figured the small boy would need it more than him. He figured he wouldn't have gotten much sleep anyway. The boy had looked a mix between fearful and thankful when he had showed him to the room and allowed him to sleep in his bed.

"Draco," Mr. Grayson whispered to himself. "What an odd name."

He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do with this information? The boy's name was Draco, a rare name, yes, but not enough to get him anywhere. He shook himself, when did finding a child's parents become his responsibility, anyway? The thought was selfish and hard, he knew, which is exactly the image he liked to give to his customers, but to some degree, he knew this boy was more than something he could hand off to someone else. For another today, at least, he would remain in his care.

As the day wore on his priorities once again shifted to his job. He got the pub ready, and cleaned himself off, paid the bills, and ordered more supplies before readying himself for the evening bustle. He opened his doors, and the pub soon filled with it's usual occupants, no small figures pressed in shadow, of this Mr. Grayson was sure.

He knew that the boy would need to be given over to the proper authorities. But the nearest police station was three hour's drive, and his car had broken down months ago. Not to mention the blizzard they'd had two nights ago made travel of any sort very difficult. That would mean the best he could do was keep this boy for a few more days, maybe get him to trust him enough to give him a last name. A last name would certainly do a lot more good, even a 'Draco Johnson' would be easier to find.

The foot ball team had won the previous night, and tonight there was an after party of sorts. The whole of the town seemed to be drinking themselves into a comfortable bliss, and he noted, the normally man-filled pub, had a good few more female residents than normal. He wondered at his luck at having made his pub in what had to be the most alcoholic town in England. Certainly most small villages that had pubs could not have done half as well as his own, and most certainly would have went under. Sometimes he wondered if that was a good thing or not - everyone drinking themselves mad. But then his practical, more dominant side took over, and said, it was his business to serve them drinks, nothing else mattered.

But the fact is that he had something else that mattered greatly now. He had a child in his bedroom, who undoubtedly had a fever, sleeping in his bedroom. He knew he should check on him, but he couldn't leave the pub unattended, and he had never hired help, his pub was busy, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The messes he got himself into! He was tied to the boy because he had let him slip under his nose and into his pub and had neglected to notice. He knew that if he didn't try his best to get this 'situation' on the right track, that he could easily lose his license, and then what would he do? But he couldn't leave the pub, so he pushed the anxieties out of his mind, telling himself Draco was probably still asleep in bed.

Whether from his normal leniency or from the worries that hid in the corner of his mind, he didn't seem to notice that trouble was stirring in the pub that night, not until to late anyways. This time the trouble was a bit more serious.

"I don't know what she wants from me! I mean…" at this point the brown rugged looking man stopped, his words were slurred, and he held a mug in his hand at one of the tables, many more empty ones surrounding that one. He seemed dizzy and had to pause before continuing.

"I go to work everyday, six days a week, back - back - back breaking labor." the man hiccupped. "All I want is a roll in the hay every now and then. But no. She's too tired. The kids could hear…then she just off and expects me to vacuum or take out the garbage…" at ths point the hiccupped. He looked about one drink away from passing out entirely.

The man lifted one thick arm to wipe of his scraggily happen brown beard with a hairy hand, and, through much obvious effort, attempted to continue, "I mean, I work, I do and I do, and she spends my money, and she wants me to do the one job she has. And she could…could…at least put out every now and then."

The black haired man who was much the same in structure and appearance, though perhaps a good deal less drunk, nodded his head in agreement and understanding and raised his drink to him. Now this conversation wasn't much to take notice of but the one happening at a not too far away table was. At this table there sat four men, a considerable amount younger, in perhaps their early thirties, for the most part, another conversation, not at all too different, was beginning to brew.

You see, the youngest man, in only his mid to late twenties, who just happened to be the most hot-headed man, whose blond hair was cut short and had jell running through it so that it was placed just so, overheard this conversation. A mixture of chaos, anger, and drink made him, after overhearing the conversation, change the conversation at his table. He didn't much like the large brown haired man, and he just happened to know something that would give him what he had been wanting for days - a good brawl.

And as it happened, the brown haired man, through his drunkenness, happened to hear the conversation mid-swing.

"Yeah, yeah, and her legs, I mean, for a mother she was hot!" said the blond haired man.

After much cheering and other comments as well as encouragement, the man, whom they were calling Nathan Wilkins, continued quite cheerfully, "Oh yeah, and her body, I mean, you'd never know behind those drab clothing there lied a masterpiece. I mean her chest…And she was so willing. She was so passionate. She said her husband didn't appreciate her and that she needed a real man to fulfill her needs. Her name? Something like Wallers or Walters, yeah, that's it, Walters, Maria Walters."

Of course the man, who we shall now know as Mr. Walters, seemed to jump right out of his stupor at that. He seemed alert and aware, and incredibly angry. He stood abruptly and faced the man whose table was so close and managed to say the majority of what he had come to say without slurring, "You talkin' about my wife? You little bastard! You have no right to talk about her in such a manner, you're going to pay for your stupid filthy lies."

The man threw back his head and laughed, and Mr. Walters inquired hotly, "What are you laughing at boy? Do you think I'm funny?"

"No, just amused at the fact that you thought I was lying. Why, I'd never lie about such a thing," he said and smiled smugly.

"Why you - !" at this the other man stood as well, just in time to be punched back down onto his seat.

At this the whole of the pub was in an uproar. Everyone looked over or began to get up to see what was happening. In all the commotion, the small blond haired child was overlooked. Spotting a piece of bread, and feeling hot and woozy, he slowly made his way over to the table, the same table our young Mr. Wilkins happened to be holding his bruised jaw, and staring angrily and incredulously at Walters.

The fight broke out just as the child got in the middle of it, being roughly shoved into the wall and banging his head not too soon after it began, he gave a short, loud cry of pain, and at this Mr. Grayson looked up and saw the boy laying on the ground, too afraid to get up.

Grayson let his temper get the better of him. Arguing was one thing, fist-fighting was another, and it was always intolerable, though sometimes overlooked. Letting the small boy get in the way was another, and he cursed himself in addition to cursing Walters and Wilkins.

"Knock it off!" he shouted. They took no notice. He picked up a bat.

He walked over to the fight, and the crowd parted to let him through. "I said KNOCK IT OFF!" When they still took no notice, he gave a good swing at their legs, and they both fell back to the ground with bruised legs. "Out of my pub, everyone out, now!"

At this their was much grumbling, and some drunken confusion, but wielding the bat in his hand, people slowly filed out, the two angry parties vowing to finish later. At this Mr. Grayson shouted, "Not at my pub you're not!"

He went over to Draco, his bat still in his hand, and Draco pushed against the wall as though he wished he could become a part of it. "Hey it's ok now, they're all gone," he said quietly, but the boy merely gave a quick and fearful glance at the bat, and crouched further away.

Mr. Grayson noticed this and looked down at the bat, scrunching up his face at the boy's fear. He threw it away and Draco seemed to relax a little, enough to really look at him anyway. He asked Draco if they had hurt him, and he shook his head no. It was then, however, that he noticed Draco's slightly black eye, and bruised jaw. He frowned.

"Look, it's ok now," he repeated. The boy seemed to disagree, but nodded slowly.

It was then Mr. Grayson noticed the good amount of sweat pouring from the boy's forehead, and how pale he was, paler than yesterday. He knew that this was very bad. He moved as to put his hand on the boy's forehead, and the boy crouched away at the attempt.

"Shhh…" he soothed as a mother might, "It's ok, I just want to feel your forehead."

This time the boy allowed it, though still not trusting of the touch. He was burning up. Worried, Mr. Grayson got up and told Draco to follow him. Draco got up and attempted to take a step forward, only to stumble and almost fall before Mr. Grayson picked him up and carried him up the stairs. The fever was much worse than he thought, and it would only get worse.

Once he placed Draco in the bed he fell almost immediately into an unconscious state. He got a thermometer and placed it in his mouth, keeping his mouth open slightly so he could breathe, as it was impossible for him to breathe through his stuffy nose. When it was done, he looked at it, it was much too high.

He called Darla Gourmand, a friend who lived in the village and was a doctor in the closest city. She said she'd be over in an instant. Five minutes later she arrived, medical supplies at the ready. She asked about everything that had happened, and he answered truthfully. After she was done she quietly, slowly aroused Draco out of his sleep and gave him some medicine, which he would have been suspicious of, except that he was very ill, and very near to death.

"Nothing happened to him while he was here, are you sure?" she asked when she was done.

"I swear nothing happened, I made sure of that," Grayson said.

Darla looked at him with an unreadable expression, "He wasn't hurt when he was thrown?"

"No."

"He's been abused, I'll need to take him to social services once he's better," Darla said.

Mr. Grayson nodded. "Thank you so much Darla."

She nodded, and said she was doing her job and then instructed him on how to take care of Draco, and said she'd be back to check up on him. Mr. Grayson nodded, knowing he'd lose a few days worth of pay, but also knowing he'd some how gotten himself into the mess, and admitted the boy's life was more important. Darla turned to look at the small pale haired boy once before she left, a look of sad empathy in her eyes before she left.

Slowly, over the course of a few days, the boy showed signs of improvement. His complexion darkened (though it was still considerably pale), and he was awake more often than asleep. Eventually Darla told Mr. Grayson it was time the boy leave, and they went up together to collect him.

"Hello, Draco," said Mr. Grayson.

"Hello, Mr. Grayson," Draco replied. While he was still a boy of few words, he had learned his name and would greet the man.

"Dr. Gourmand needs a moment with you ok?"

Draco looked doubtful, but nodded anyway. "Draco," she said talking in the same tone as Mr. Grayson had used, one used when talking to a small child, "where do you live?"

He shrugged, and the doctor sighed. "If you can't tell me where you live, then we can't get you home, don't you want to go home, Draco?" Darla asked, skillfully slipping in the question she was more interested in.

He shrugged again. "Are you happy when you're at home?"

He shrugged. "Listen Draco, if you don't tell us anything, we can't help you, we'll have to take you to a foster home, do want to live in a foster home?"

He nodded 'no'. "Well, you'll have to give us your last name, Draco, you know you're last name, don't you?"

It was weird, for both Mr. Grayson and Darla when Draco gave them an obvious scornful look, for it was especially odd coming from such a small boy whose blond hair and light eyes made him look like an innocent angel. "Yes."

"What is it?" Darla asked.

Draco shot a quick look of uncertainty to Mr. Grayson, whose brow knotted in concern. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy, that's an unusual name, who do you live with?"

"My mum and dad," he replied.

"Do you live with anyone else, any brothers or sisters?" Darla asked.

He shook his head no. "Do you like living there?"

He shrugged, and then said, "Yeah…I guess…It's - kinda boring really."

"Boring? How?"

"I don't know, we live in a large house and no one lives around us. I don't know anyone my age."

"How old are you?"

"Five."

"Are you in school yet?"

"No - my mum teaches me some things though," this reply was accompanied by another shrug.

"Did you get lost, were you going somewhere?"

It was a moment or two before the boy replied. "We were going shopping, in a big city. I don't remember the name. I saw some older boys and went to play, but they beat me up and then next thing I know it's night and I didn't know where I was."

"Do you know the boys' names?"

"No."

"Was it the boys who hurt you, gave you those bruises?" Darla said, doubtful, but not letting it show.

"Yes."

"Did your mother or father ever hit you?"

"Never, no!"

"Will you tell us where you live?"

Draco didn't respond. Darla's doubts were obvious and she sighed. "Look, Draco, since we can't let you stay here - it isn't fit for children, and you won't tell us where you live, we're going to have to put you into foster care."

He shook his head violently, once again refusing to talk to anyone. He gave Mr. Grayson a look that almost broke the businessman's heart. He didn't go easily, and he didn't talk to the doctor once on the way to the city where she worked. They got into town, and she said, "It's called Goldsville, you'll like it here."

She couldn't see from Draco's position behind her but the glare he gave her was almost bad enough to kill. When they got to a large, worn looking red brick building, she got out and went to open the door from Draco. He got out and moved stiffly through his anger, to the door. Darla greeted everyone there kindly, knowing many of whom through a friend.

When she started to fill out the paper work for Draco, there appeared a man in the adjoined room. "Hello," a smooth, almost cold-sounding voice said.

"Hello, can I help you?" said the red headed woman behind the desk. Darla looked up momentarily to look at the man who looked like he was fighting down revulsion, but with a polite tone.

"Yes, you see, my son, Draco - ," the blond haired man began.

Draco subconsciously took a step back toward the desk that Darla was filling out papers at. Darla noticed this but didn't look.

"Well, we were out one day, and the next thing I know he's gone. I'm afraid that he may have fallen into some trouble, but I'm hoping that isn't true, and was wondering if you've seen him. He's five, and has blond hair. My name is Lucius Malfoy," the man said.

"Well, we actually have seen one person meeting that description, he's actually here right now, just go through that doorway," the woman said, not giving it a second thought.

The boy shut his eyes, and tried to make himself a part of the wall. That didn't however, stop Lucius from spotting Darla, who was conveniently hiding him from view. "Hello, have you seen my son, his name is Draco."

At this Darla looked up, for he was speaking to her, and talking about her young charge. She looked at him suspiciously, and said, "Are you in relation to him?"

"Yes, I'm his father. I'm afraid he was lost, but it seems he found his way into to caring hands. His mother and I have been frantic for days. I bet he'll be happy to be getting home," Lucius said.

"Yes, that may be but - " Darla began, her dark cream skin suddenly feeling Draco's trembling body.

"Ah, there you are Draco, it's time we be getting home," Lucius said.

"Look, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure you mean well, but he's in the our custody now, and - " Darla began.

"Is that so, have you done this officially, let me see," Lucius stated.

Darla looked down at Draco, fear evident in his eyes, and he didn't look at her, all his focus was on the tall man in front of her. "No, but we have reason - "

"No, ah, I see. Then I'll be taking him home unless you have some evidence to prove I've done something wrong?"

Darla searched her mind. Draco wouldn't admit to anything but his story, and with no one to contradict it and no papers filled out, and this man, his cold grey eyes staring at her, she began to lose some of the nerve she had attained over being a doctor over the years. "I - I - No. He's free to go."

"Good, we'll be getting home then."

"Goodbye, Draco," Darla said softly, but doubting whether he heard.

Once outside Lucius bent down outside the rental limo and whispered menacingly in his ear, "Your punishment awaits."

He pushed him inside.