The narrow alleyway connecting Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley was seldom filled lately. The people who dared enter Knockturn Alley didn’t want to stroll into Diagon Alley, seeing as nine out of ten of people who’d see them walking in said alleyway will suspect them for working for Voldemort. Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and the alley connecting the two were all pretty much empty, except for the few people who dared stroll into the streets. The shopkeepers sat behind their cash registers staring nervously at the people walking by, as if any could be a Death Eater and would kill them on the spot. Many of the stores had closed down – apparently the shopkeepers decided their lives were worth more than their businesses (or lack of, considering how few people came to shop nowadays anyhow).
One family, however, did risk the “danger” of walking down the Alley, perhaps because of the large number of them. Arthur, Ron, and Ginny Weasley, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, had business to attend to. There was a rumour of a Death Eater working at Flourish and Blott’s.
Another person risked the danger, not so much as for a reason, just because he had nothing to lose. The people in Little Hangleton had helped the poor, pale blond boy, not caring for his name or business or what happened. They patched him up, kept him for a night, fed him, and didn’t even ask why he was so torn.
“Looks like he’s had the life sucked out of him, eh, Sally?” asked one very made-up lady to her just as made-up friend.
“That’s a good way to put it,” answered Sally. “Poor boy, wonder what he’s been through.”
But they didn’t ask. They all wondered, but they never asked. Even the little five-year-old who’s house Draco Malfoy spent the week in didn’t ask. Yes, a whole week, he spent a whole week in Little Hangleton, but dared spend no more. He knew that the Death Eaters living in the Dark Lord’s father’s house would figure out he was there sooner or later. For now, though, living in the home of Rona and Will, with their five-year-old daughter Rose and their newborn Gene, was perfectly good, perfectly safe.
After their kind gestures, Rona and Will asked where Draco lived. The boy, deciding he had to find people who would help him, who could understand his scenario, knew exactly where he would find his kind. “London,” he had told them automatically.
So it was early that morning, the morning of the day when the three Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry would be scouting out Death Eaters, that Draco came downstairs as Rona, Will, little Rosie, and baby Gene ate breakfast, and said, “Thank you very much for letting me stay in your home.” And he headed for the door.
“Are you going to walk back to London?” said Rona, amused.
“Er…”
“Of course he won’t,” said Will. “I’ll take him.”
“No, you won’t, you have work, you silly man,” said Rona with a smile. “I’ll drive you to London, m’boy. Come, have something to eat, we’ll go soon.”
So that’s how it all came about, that a kind woman and her two children from Little Hangleton drove the blond boy the distance to London. And she didn’t even question when the boy claimed he would find his way from wherever she dropped him off. Thanking the woman again and again, the opened the car door. “Wait!” said five-year-old Rose, stopping him before he could leave. She took a rope necklace off her neck, that had a green button put on. “I think you need this more than I do.”
“I need a button?” he said, amused.
“It’s good luck. It was on my dad’s jacket the day he met my mum.”
Stunned by the girl, he laughed lightly, and looked at Rona, who smiled. “Okay… thanks, Rosie.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, tying it around his neck. “Will you come and visit us?”
“Maybe some day. I’ve got some things to fix.”
“When they’re all better, will you come?”
Draco nodded.
Little Rosie gave him a look, “D’you promise?”
He laughed, “I promise.”
“Good!” she said, and gave him a hug.
“Thank you, again,” he said, smiling at the family, “for everything.” And the teenager exited the car and hurried away.
“Poor boy,” said the woman when she got back home to her husband, “So lost, so alone. I hope we see him again some day.”
It didn’t take long for the boy in question to find his house. He pounded on the front door of the Malfoy Manor, though not expecting anyone to answer. Narcissa Malfoy rarely answered the door, and Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban prison. Taking out his wand, he muttered “Alohamora,” and the door clicked open. Apparently Narcissa didn’t care about security, either.
Draco Malfoy hurried down the familiar hallway, finding the living room, where he saw his mother talking to someone; however, in his angle, looking in through the double French doors, he couldn’t see the person she was speaking to, but he could hear what his mother was saying. Her voice shrill, she sounded disappointed and angry.
“When I get my hands on that child… Lucius will be terribly furious, his own son unable to do his job! When I found out the Dark Lord was disappointed in Lucius, I swore Draco would not be a disappointment… but I apparently, I gave him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t deserve it! He has disgraced mine and his father’s name, and I will never let him under my roof again!”
Eyes widening, he took a few steps backwards and then turned, running out the door.
Little did Draco know that Narcissa was putting on an act for Bellatrix Lestrange, her sister.
But, that much was true, that Draco did not know the state in which Narcissa had said what she did; and so he tore out of the house, running. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to go. Panting heavily, the boy shakily made his way to the entrance of Diagon Alley, pulling his hood up over his head and, staring at the ground, made his way to a place he knew would be empty. The alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley.
Just as he had assumed, it was empty. He slinked into the shadows, dropping down and wrapping his arms tightly around himself, regaining composure. His mother didn’t love him. She didn’t care about him. The Death Eaters would never take him back and the Order would look at him as a murderer. He was alone in this world.
Ginny Weasley felt a wave of relief as she managed to slip away from the group around her. The arrest had gone accordingly and now she didn’t want to think about Death Eaters anymore. She longed for someone to hold on to her; but of course, she didn’t know who. All through her schooling career, Ginny went from one boy to another, and they all disappointed her. Why? None of them had her eye the way Harry Potter did. Her school girl crush had grown to much more than just that, she realised.
And finally that day came. Finally he kissed her. Finally he saw her the way she saw him. But just as well he broke up with her. For – what was it again? – her own safety. Right.
Well, Harry Potter could go fight Lord Voldemort all he wanted, without Ginny. Because she, disappointed in him, refused to go crawling back to him.
Depressed and lonely, she found refuge in the dark alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley. No one was there, and it was quiet and peaceful. Dark.
But it wasn’t quite as empty as she had hoped – for there, in the shadows – was a heap of a boy, someone she couldn’t quite see in their entirety in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” she gasped, taking a few steps over.
The boy looked up, and moved further into the shadows.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” cooed Ginny softly, taking a step closer; and as she did, he moved away. She stopped, sitting down, tilting her head to the side and looking at the poor, frightened boy. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he said back, in a very small voice, which Ginny vaguely recognised but couldn’t place.
“Ginny Weasley,” she answered, and he flinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Did something… did something bad happen?” Brown eyes wide in wonder, she bit her lower lip. He looked up at her, and she wished he would move closer so she could see him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered stubbornly.
There was a pity in her eyes, a pity that Ginny had never felt before. She said, speaking so softly, so gently, she barely recognized her own voice, “If you tell me what happened, I could help you.” She wanted to help him – he was lost, afraid, and alone. No one deserves that… she was going to find out everything.
Draco Malfoy didn’t truthfully want to spill his life story to Ginny Weasley, but he found himself doing just that. He launched into an explanation of how he did something horrible, something that, at first, he wanted to do, but as time went on, he began to doubt it. He went on how and then the biggest part of the task came, and he, knowing that it was wrong, was unable to complete it, but he was stuck. Because it was either do the task or have your family killed.
“Was it for Voldemort?”
Trying to suppress a flinch, Draco muttered, “Yes.”
He went on about how the Dark Lord was disappointed in him and his family, because, he admitted, his whole family had been followers of the Dark Lord and they expected the same for him.
“But you can think on your own,” Ginny said with a small smile, “That earns you a lot of respect in this world.”
“But the Dark Lord wasn’t happy with me. I managed to run away, and I went to my mother – who I thought loved me, Death Eater or not…” he trailed off.
Ginny wanted to hear the rest of the story, Draco could see it in her eyes – so he added on, “So I went home, and I overheard her telling someone that she was disappointed in me.”
“Oh, that’s the worst!” gasped Ginny, “When they’re mad, it doesn’t matter. I mean, they yell and scream, but get over it. But disappointed… oh, I’m sorry, keep going.”
“That’s it. I came here. I don’t know what I’m going to do, because no one would believe that I’m innocent from what I just told you and the Death Eaters are never going to take me back.”
“If you don’t mind me asking… what was the whole task?”
Draco wasn’t quite ready to tell her who he was, so he just said, “It ended with me killing somebody.”
“Who?”
Draco looked at her – her eyes were filled with pity. There was a moment of silence in which neither of them said a word as Ginny awaited her answer. She understood, and she felt bad for him, and this wouldn’t change… even if she knew who he was. He felt as if he needed her pity and her understanding more than anyone in the world’s right now.
“I… I was supposed to kill… Albus Dumbledore.”
He gave her a moment to register it, and in fact saw the realization in her eyes. They widened more than they were already. Her lips formed a small ‘o’ as her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes shone with tears as she now knew who was sitting there, who she had just felt strong pity for, he was, in fact, Draco Malfoy. She stood there, her eyes filled with tears, unable to say a thing. Draco looked away.
And suddenly she ran over, bending down beside him, wrapping her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder, letting out the tears that had been hiding in her mind for what seemed to be forever, and he cried, too – it was devastating and depressing, yet so incredibly remarkable. She finally had someone to cry with.
One family, however, did risk the “danger” of walking down the Alley, perhaps because of the large number of them. Arthur, Ron, and Ginny Weasley, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, had business to attend to. There was a rumour of a Death Eater working at Flourish and Blott’s.
Another person risked the danger, not so much as for a reason, just because he had nothing to lose. The people in Little Hangleton had helped the poor, pale blond boy, not caring for his name or business or what happened. They patched him up, kept him for a night, fed him, and didn’t even ask why he was so torn.
“Looks like he’s had the life sucked out of him, eh, Sally?” asked one very made-up lady to her just as made-up friend.
“That’s a good way to put it,” answered Sally. “Poor boy, wonder what he’s been through.”
But they didn’t ask. They all wondered, but they never asked. Even the little five-year-old who’s house Draco Malfoy spent the week in didn’t ask. Yes, a whole week, he spent a whole week in Little Hangleton, but dared spend no more. He knew that the Death Eaters living in the Dark Lord’s father’s house would figure out he was there sooner or later. For now, though, living in the home of Rona and Will, with their five-year-old daughter Rose and their newborn Gene, was perfectly good, perfectly safe.
After their kind gestures, Rona and Will asked where Draco lived. The boy, deciding he had to find people who would help him, who could understand his scenario, knew exactly where he would find his kind. “London,” he had told them automatically.
So it was early that morning, the morning of the day when the three Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry would be scouting out Death Eaters, that Draco came downstairs as Rona, Will, little Rosie, and baby Gene ate breakfast, and said, “Thank you very much for letting me stay in your home.” And he headed for the door.
“Are you going to walk back to London?” said Rona, amused.
“Er…”
“Of course he won’t,” said Will. “I’ll take him.”
“No, you won’t, you have work, you silly man,” said Rona with a smile. “I’ll drive you to London, m’boy. Come, have something to eat, we’ll go soon.”
So that’s how it all came about, that a kind woman and her two children from Little Hangleton drove the blond boy the distance to London. And she didn’t even question when the boy claimed he would find his way from wherever she dropped him off. Thanking the woman again and again, the opened the car door. “Wait!” said five-year-old Rose, stopping him before he could leave. She took a rope necklace off her neck, that had a green button put on. “I think you need this more than I do.”
“I need a button?” he said, amused.
“It’s good luck. It was on my dad’s jacket the day he met my mum.”
Stunned by the girl, he laughed lightly, and looked at Rona, who smiled. “Okay… thanks, Rosie.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, tying it around his neck. “Will you come and visit us?”
“Maybe some day. I’ve got some things to fix.”
“When they’re all better, will you come?”
Draco nodded.
Little Rosie gave him a look, “D’you promise?”
He laughed, “I promise.”
“Good!” she said, and gave him a hug.
“Thank you, again,” he said, smiling at the family, “for everything.” And the teenager exited the car and hurried away.
“Poor boy,” said the woman when she got back home to her husband, “So lost, so alone. I hope we see him again some day.”
It didn’t take long for the boy in question to find his house. He pounded on the front door of the Malfoy Manor, though not expecting anyone to answer. Narcissa Malfoy rarely answered the door, and Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban prison. Taking out his wand, he muttered “Alohamora,” and the door clicked open. Apparently Narcissa didn’t care about security, either.
Draco Malfoy hurried down the familiar hallway, finding the living room, where he saw his mother talking to someone; however, in his angle, looking in through the double French doors, he couldn’t see the person she was speaking to, but he could hear what his mother was saying. Her voice shrill, she sounded disappointed and angry.
“When I get my hands on that child… Lucius will be terribly furious, his own son unable to do his job! When I found out the Dark Lord was disappointed in Lucius, I swore Draco would not be a disappointment… but I apparently, I gave him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t deserve it! He has disgraced mine and his father’s name, and I will never let him under my roof again!”
Eyes widening, he took a few steps backwards and then turned, running out the door.
Little did Draco know that Narcissa was putting on an act for Bellatrix Lestrange, her sister.
But, that much was true, that Draco did not know the state in which Narcissa had said what she did; and so he tore out of the house, running. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to go. Panting heavily, the boy shakily made his way to the entrance of Diagon Alley, pulling his hood up over his head and, staring at the ground, made his way to a place he knew would be empty. The alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley.
Just as he had assumed, it was empty. He slinked into the shadows, dropping down and wrapping his arms tightly around himself, regaining composure. His mother didn’t love him. She didn’t care about him. The Death Eaters would never take him back and the Order would look at him as a murderer. He was alone in this world.
Ginny Weasley felt a wave of relief as she managed to slip away from the group around her. The arrest had gone accordingly and now she didn’t want to think about Death Eaters anymore. She longed for someone to hold on to her; but of course, she didn’t know who. All through her schooling career, Ginny went from one boy to another, and they all disappointed her. Why? None of them had her eye the way Harry Potter did. Her school girl crush had grown to much more than just that, she realised.
And finally that day came. Finally he kissed her. Finally he saw her the way she saw him. But just as well he broke up with her. For – what was it again? – her own safety. Right.
Well, Harry Potter could go fight Lord Voldemort all he wanted, without Ginny. Because she, disappointed in him, refused to go crawling back to him.
Depressed and lonely, she found refuge in the dark alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley. No one was there, and it was quiet and peaceful. Dark.
But it wasn’t quite as empty as she had hoped – for there, in the shadows – was a heap of a boy, someone she couldn’t quite see in their entirety in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” she gasped, taking a few steps over.
The boy looked up, and moved further into the shadows.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” cooed Ginny softly, taking a step closer; and as she did, he moved away. She stopped, sitting down, tilting her head to the side and looking at the poor, frightened boy. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he said back, in a very small voice, which Ginny vaguely recognised but couldn’t place.
“Ginny Weasley,” she answered, and he flinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Did something… did something bad happen?” Brown eyes wide in wonder, she bit her lower lip. He looked up at her, and she wished he would move closer so she could see him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered stubbornly.
There was a pity in her eyes, a pity that Ginny had never felt before. She said, speaking so softly, so gently, she barely recognized her own voice, “If you tell me what happened, I could help you.” She wanted to help him – he was lost, afraid, and alone. No one deserves that… she was going to find out everything.
Draco Malfoy didn’t truthfully want to spill his life story to Ginny Weasley, but he found himself doing just that. He launched into an explanation of how he did something horrible, something that, at first, he wanted to do, but as time went on, he began to doubt it. He went on how and then the biggest part of the task came, and he, knowing that it was wrong, was unable to complete it, but he was stuck. Because it was either do the task or have your family killed.
“Was it for Voldemort?”
Trying to suppress a flinch, Draco muttered, “Yes.”
He went on about how the Dark Lord was disappointed in him and his family, because, he admitted, his whole family had been followers of the Dark Lord and they expected the same for him.
“But you can think on your own,” Ginny said with a small smile, “That earns you a lot of respect in this world.”
“But the Dark Lord wasn’t happy with me. I managed to run away, and I went to my mother – who I thought loved me, Death Eater or not…” he trailed off.
Ginny wanted to hear the rest of the story, Draco could see it in her eyes – so he added on, “So I went home, and I overheard her telling someone that she was disappointed in me.”
“Oh, that’s the worst!” gasped Ginny, “When they’re mad, it doesn’t matter. I mean, they yell and scream, but get over it. But disappointed… oh, I’m sorry, keep going.”
“That’s it. I came here. I don’t know what I’m going to do, because no one would believe that I’m innocent from what I just told you and the Death Eaters are never going to take me back.”
“If you don’t mind me asking… what was the whole task?”
Draco wasn’t quite ready to tell her who he was, so he just said, “It ended with me killing somebody.”
“Who?”
Draco looked at her – her eyes were filled with pity. There was a moment of silence in which neither of them said a word as Ginny awaited her answer. She understood, and she felt bad for him, and this wouldn’t change… even if she knew who he was. He felt as if he needed her pity and her understanding more than anyone in the world’s right now.
“I… I was supposed to kill… Albus Dumbledore.”
He gave her a moment to register it, and in fact saw the realization in her eyes. They widened more than they were already. Her lips formed a small ‘o’ as her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes shone with tears as she now knew who was sitting there, who she had just felt strong pity for, he was, in fact, Draco Malfoy. She stood there, her eyes filled with tears, unable to say a thing. Draco looked away.
And suddenly she ran over, bending down beside him, wrapping her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder, letting out the tears that had been hiding in her mind for what seemed to be forever, and he cried, too – it was devastating and depressing, yet so incredibly remarkable. She finally had someone to cry with.
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