Ain't it a shame.

Chapt. 1

I have a hypothesis. There are several people who will willingly give up their change. Those who do not wish to be touched by a lazy slob, those who have a conscience the size of Asia, those who have done something that they find they need repentance to… and those who see the benefits of such charity.

My father was the latter. To give to the poor and underprivileged meant that society viewed the family with interest even though it was a known fact that the Malfoy's were an ancient pureblood family and would do anything to stay that way.

I wonder what he would say now if he were here. Watching me on a Muggle street with my filthy hand out to take their possibly even filthier money.

I'm hungry and tired of freezing when the sun goes down. I breathe air that moves through my chest like poison. I don't care if I beg for money, it isn't as though I am going to lower myself to sell my body. Not that it would fetch much considering the damaged features on my face and most of my body.

My once silvery blonde hair has turned dirty blond due to not washing. Not that I can find any place for a proper wash. They talk of a Youth Centre in East London that caters to such things, however I need notoriety if I am to stay alive… or is it pride that keeps me away? Surely no Wizards would inhabit that place.

Better to be safe than sorry.

It's a philosophy that I want to believe works. After all that's what my mother said is what you do when a useless dog is fatally wounded and you throw the Killing Curse just to make sure. My parents have never been what you would call ideal. But they loved me and I idolized them.

What a cruel world it truly is.

I've only been out here for a couple of weeks. Since escaping Spinner's End, I've pretty much was forced to becoming a beggar. The only other option was to go wherever Dumbledore's loyal gang was… but that would mean that my life would become as forfeit as it would have been had I stayed behind for the Dark Lord…

I've earned sixty pence. That it is better than nothing. It'll be enough for a coffee, a bag of chips. I'm impartial to both of them. There's a coffee place that reminds me of one of the anonymous places in Knockturn Alley. For the poor to rest and pretend to be civilized; the poor are uncouth and need to be taught the value of money… my father preached that to me.

I fear what I look like. The filth that clings weighing my body down. It sounds conceited I know but truth is I cannot feel the fear of the Dark Lord or the Wrath of Harry Fucking Potter.

I fear seeing the monster I've been forced to become.

Not that I have become a monster in the normal sense. Not like Voldemort or any the many rivals that Merlin The Great had.

No. I have become a half starved monster whose skin is stretched painfully of the cheekbones. Whose once sharp grey eyes, are dulled and smoking… yesterday I wrapped my hand around my wrist, I could feel the bone pushing out. I look too delicate to begin with… my small stature and rather feminine features (though, I won't ever admit that out loud.) but now I have to deal with it all in a ten- fold. It helps with panhandling, but at night I nearly have to hide in any crook or corner I can in order to avoid the predators at night.

I used to think that the night was only haunted by the creatures that lived in the Forbidden Forest, but now I know that there is more to what I supposed.

Seek to understand then to be understood… who said that?

Not that I care. That isn't how things are done in reality.

It's the conclusion that people are arseholes… I haven't made any money and it's noon. Besides I'm not allowed in the big library downtown because it is so obvious that I am not of financial benefits. So I'm forced on the other side of London in a dingy dark library. Where the books are dying of mildew, and destroyed bindings.

I wonder what the Mudblood would do if she were see all the destruction of knowledge. Not that I believe Muggle's are knowledgeable… if they were they wouldn't have gone mad with all the 'Witch Bitch' business and kept with the Wizarding World. We could've helped each other, but like Potter did to the Slytherin assume one is evil merely because another takes offence… condemn each other to damnation.

OK. I'm willing to admit that that was a bit too poetic.

But when you spend as much time as you can in a shitty library that does at least of internal heating, you can't help but read the poetry… I refuse to read any books on mechanics… mostly because I find it confusing how they come up with such things without the aid of magic.

Though it isn't hard to walk up to the counter and ask the ancient old lady whose unpleasant face reminds me of the Hogwarts librarian. Madam Pince… oh how we had fun on the rumours spread around about her and Filch.

I wouldn't ever dare talk to anyone but another Slytherin back in Hogwarts, but I'm lonely and need for someone to talk back to me. Which she does, as she loses her icy exterior. I like the way her voice clips in nasally clearly instilling that she either is or was a smoker.

I've been told by her to read a bunch of books on physics. I've started to read some. It doesn't really make any sense to me why Muggles would write about the most obvious of things. Like gravity, common sense right? Then it goes into what friction is… like I said I don't really understand why Muggle's insist on studying all of that. Though I do get the big picture. It bothers me that things like this are not talked of in Hogwarts or any of the subjects they teach us.

I suppose it's because it's irrelevant to teach us why the things are the shape and size that they are. To speak of the Beginning of Time as we count it… I like the library if only for the knowledge that would never do me well in a world where I ruled by gold.

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Sometimes late at night when I'm huddled underneath the sleeping bag I nicked off some place, I get scared when thinking of what's going to happen if I get caught. If Potter and his Lame Game will find some way to get a hold of me and break me in that inhuman ways of theirs. Or if Snape and the Death Eater's will come here to make sure that I pay for my abandonment.

What's weird though, I fear the most at being not found.

I huddle and think of Spinner's End and it's many walls of pealing paint. I could see my own breath in the start of the day. I could feel myself wasting and becoming the drone I made Victor and Gregory. I remembered the way that the hexes continued to find their way scar my face.

Or any part of my anatomy.

But it isn't night. And my stomach is growling greedily.

I am Draco Malfoy, The Panhandler…

The Hypocrite…

A/N: I have an idea for this fic. A homeless Malfoy seemed plausible.

After all the Slytherins do anything to survive.