9.

His duffle bag dropped heavily on the creaking wooden floor as soft lights flared on in the small flat. Above, sounds of children's feet could be heard, somewhat muffled by charms but still apparent. Below, a classical composition from an old gramophone filtered through, a nightly occurrence that wasn't altogether unwelcome. Shadows flickered against bare walls, a disused kitchen, and a narrow hallway that led into a dimly lit bedroom. Draco fell face first onto the narrow cot, asleep before he could let out a sigh. He had had one of the most difficult days.

And he slept soundly for the first time in a long time…

His life had changed drastically since the war. Gone were his privileged days in the Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa were imprisoned for their role in the immense destruction caused by Death Eaters and for harboring Lord Voldemort. They were stripped of their wealth. Restitution, the Ministry had proclaimed. They owed at least that much to the families who had suffered through the brunt of the war. That's what the Minister had said, sullen and direct. The public wanted swift justice to be dealt. So swift in fact, that Wizengamot held trials day in and day out for a year straight. The Malfoys had shuffled in and out of the courtroom within a matter of two hours, their verdict written plain on parchment. Before the ink had even dried, Draco's parents were taken away.

He had been alone since then.

He had spent the first few years in hiding and spending what Galleons he had left in the bank on heavy drink and occasionally food. His life felt worthless. He couldn't show his face without feeling threatened. He had no family. He had no friends. He was left to himself. And he hated himself. His mind swirled with self-pity and rage and contempt and sorrow. He spent days in bed, lapsing between consciousness and unconsciousness depending on how much liquor he had remaining in the bottle in his hand. He was the most unpleasant company.

He was so unpleasant that he drove himself crazy enough to actually venture out and look for employment just so he could get away from himself.

He started off working in back rooms of shops where no one could clap eyes on him. Unsavoury shopkeepers took advantage of his plight, but he did manage to get paid enough to keep renting the dingy basement he had found for himself. He stocked and cleaned shelves mindlessly because busywork meant he wasn't drinking himself to death. His survival instincts would never let him go that far down the dark path. He had tried to get rid of the Dark Mark using all means at his disposal. None worked, so he simply resorted to wearing long sleeves. He wanted no reminders of his indiscretions, more for the sake of others than himself. He spent eight hours at work and the rest in his flat where he read. He faded into the background of memories. He shut his past firmly away from his present and turned a blind eye to his bleak future. It was the only way he could keep going, every day, every month, every year. He kept to himself and under the radar, so to speak.

But Malfoy ambition and intense boredom eventually got the better of him.

When he had turned twenty-three, he responded to an employment advertisement in the Daily Prophet for the British and Irish Quidditch League.

Ministry initiative to reintegrate stigmatized population into the workforce worked to his advantage. He was one of the several hundreds of men, women, and creatures hired on at various innocuous departments in the Ministry of Magic. His job entailed busy paperwork that even a trained monkey could do, but he was not going to complain. This job was legitimate and wholesome with opportunity to grow. A government job was highly sought after, especially after the major facelift it had received after the war. Draco knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kept his head down once again and shuffled around papers for Quidditch teams all across the country. He was just another peon in the large, stuffy office on the seventh floor of the Ministry of Magic, diligent and quiet.

Working at the Ministry also meant hearing 'Harry Potter' quite a lot.

Potter joined the Aurors at the ripe age of twenty-one and was the poster child of the British Ministry. That was hardly a surprise for Draco. In fact, deep down he knew Potter deserved the attention. The man had 'single-handedly ended the war'. And now he was fighting the good fight with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was awarded prestigious medals for his work with reforming Defense Against Dark Arts curriculums around the world. He was speaking out against unlawful treatment of house elves and vampires and werewolves and whatever else got him facetime with the press.

Yes, Draco was bitter.

But that was life now. So he toiled on, nursing paper cuts and enduring snippy employers from nine to five. He delivered work on time. He did as he was told. Because this was where his actions had led him - obscurity. And that was where Potter's actions had led him - visibility.

So imagine Draco's shock when, just a little over ten years later, he reads that Harry Potter has resigned.

Only to join a third-rate Quidditch team.

It had infuriated him.

Quidditch is his world. And that world was so much larger than himself. Press conferences, massive sold-out stadiums, year-round practices, and rabid fans. That world was rich and glamorous. It was a bubble of entertainment, a cash cow for the Ministry. For the past decade, Draco had worked his way up in his department until he was part of the auditing committee. He visited various parts of the country, evaluating team spending and budget allocation. He watched practices and friendly matches and brutal tournaments. He met with coaches, presented at year-end meetings, and made a quiet name for himself. His life revolved around his work. Quidditch was his world.

How could anyone expect him to stay on the sidelines now? How could he sit back and just watch Potter take over this world too?

He wasn't going to get left behind again.

When he awoke at the sound of his alarm in the morning, he felt a surge of purpose for the first time in a long time…