Draco awoke slowly. His head was pounding and all he could remember was drinking a great deal the night before. "I need a Hangover Draught," he muttered, tasting the foulness of his mouth. He pulled his goosefeather duvet over his shivering shoulders. But it didn't feel like his duvet. It felt hard and stiff and more like cardboard-

His eyes flew open and he sat up with a jerk. Gone were the friendly bedroom walls of Malfoy Manor. He wasn't in his bed. He was on the street under a bridge and a stained piece of cardboard served as his blanket.

He leaped to his feet and stared about him. Dreary grey men were just awakening in the misty morning light. They, too, were sloughing off their cardboard cocoons and wrapping their dingy coats about themselves.

No. No, it had to be a nightmare. It had to be! But amid the pounding in his head, the memories were flooding back. He had been banished from the Wizarding world. Kicked out. Orphaned. There would be no Hangover Draught. There would be no warm duvet. There was no wand to conjure a morning cuppa, no cloak, no wizards. Only Muggles. Forever only Muggles.

His breath caught and his eyes began to sting from tears. He had survived his one night as a Muggle but what of the next? What of the day? What was he to do? He began to feel hungry. How would he eat? What would he eat?

The men began to drift in the general direction of the street as the traffic began to hum for the day. Where were they all going? Did they know something about being a homeless Muggle that Draco did not?

He hugged himself to try to keep warm and took a halting step toward their exodus. Might they be heading for a rubbish bin? He'd heard that the homeless often ate from bins. But he had dismissed that as one of the many tall tales about Muggles he had heard over the years. Only now it looked to be true. He couldn't eat out of a rubbish bin! He was a Malfoy! But even as that thought formed and almost straightened his shoulders, they drooped again. Malfoys were nothing. They were all dead. Just as he appeared to be to the world. He was nothing. Being a Malfoy was almost as good as being Voldemort. He was now the stuff under one's boot to be scraped off onto the kerb. Ignored. Cast aside.

He ran a finger under his nose to catch the drip. Well, he'd at least see where these Muggles were going. Maybe he could find some money somewhere, though he couldn't quite fathom Muggle money.

The men seemed to be drifting toward a building with a large sign that read "Cheapside Mission." What by Merlin was that?

Out of the propped-open door, Draco could smell coffee brewing and the aroma of food. But he wasn't a Muggle. How could he go in there?

One by one the men disappeared in the door until Draco was the only one left outside. It seemed warm in there. And the food smelled heavenly. He looked up and down the lonely street, brightening with the morning sun. The pavement was damp and reflected vague images of the buildings marching down the lane. Cars and lorries splashed down the street, their headlights blinding him. He looked up to the sign again and hugged himself tighter.

"Oi!"

Draco whipped his head toward the entrance. A young black man with dread locks was looking right at him. For a while Draco began to feel as if he were invisible, but this man was clearly motioning to him.

"Oi!" he said again. "Ain't you coming in?" He approached Draco and in a panic, Draco considered bolting. But his aching limbs just shook instead and he stared forlornly at the man as he got up next to him. He was wearing a nametag that read "Chad."

Some of his Malfoy dignity came back to him and he shook his head. "That's for lads down on their luck."

Chad looked him up and down. "And you ain't?"

Draco shivered. He couldn't help it. It was fucking cold!

Chad drew on a softer expression. "Been thrown out of the house?"

Draco's throat closed. He could only nod.

"Any chance they'd take you back?"

A tear fell. He thought of hiding it but didn't bother. He shook his head again. "None," he managed to croak. "I'm out for good. I've got no m-money. No h-home."

"No friends?"

Draco couldn't stop it. He suddenly burst into tears and hid his face in his hands. This isn't how it was supposed to be. This isn't how a Malfoy was to end his life. Draco couldn't stop sobbing even when the Muggle put his arms around him and held him fast. It felt good to be held and he didn't even mind for the moment that it was a Muggle. At least someone was being sympathetic and kind.

He cried into his shoulder a long time before his embarrassment intruded. Draco tried to pull away but the man held him. He repositioned his arm across Draco's shoulder and slowly steered him inside.

Okay. So what. Let him. I'm done for no matter what I do. Might as well let this Muggle have his will of me.

But it was warm inside and it felt so good. Better than anything Draco had ever felt before. Chad never let go of Draco, but he managed to get him a tray with bread, a steaming bowl of oatmeal, and a mug of tea and directed him to a table in a far corner all alone. He set the tray down and then gently pushed Draco onto the bench and sat opposite him, leaning forward on the table.

"Eat up, man," he said in a Jamaican lilt. "Go on. No hurry."

Draco slowly picked up the spoon and dipped it into the grey porridge. He ate it and felt instantly better. He drank the tea-a marvelous sensation-and devoured the warm roll.

Chad talked while Draco ate. He talked about the shelter and how men who have difficulties sometimes need to come here. He told Draco that he could get a hot shower and maybe ring someone on the phone-whatever that meant-and stay out of the cold for a bit.

Draco ate and listened. So. They had facilities like this when other Muggles were in the same straits as Draco. It made him feel better that Muggles were sometimes in the same situation. But it surprised him that Muggles could be so caring of one another. Of strangers. He hadn't known that about them.

Draco was nearly finished with his meal and deliberately slowed his eating. As soon as he was finished, he reckoned he'd be out in the cold again. After all, he wasn't like these other Muggles. They looked raggedy and he was still in fairly clean clothes of a much higher caliber than the lot of them.

Chad smiled. His teeth were gleaming white against his darker skin. "You don't look like this lot," he said confidentially. He looked around and leaned into Draco. "I'm not supposed to do this, but like I said, man, you ain't like these men. I can tell. You are smart man, no? How'd you like a job? Not like you're used to, I bet. But if you want a job, we need someone to wash dishes. 'Tain't much pay, but there's a cot in the back to go with it. Just something to get you off the street and back on your feet"

Draco stared at him and dropped his spoon. No one, but no one had ever been this nice to him. And the man didn't even know him. Didn't know what Draco had done, what he was capable of doing.

It was then that Draco realized the man must be toying with him. He sneered his best Malfoy sneer and started to move away from the table. He didn't need this. He didn't need more mocking.

But before he could get away, Chad grabbed his arm. "This way, man." He dragged Draco to a door into the kitchens. And instead of house elves all around, there were men-black, white, foreign-working side by side, stirring large pots, making coffee in large urns, and mopping the floor. Then he led Draco into a small back room with a cot and a basin. "This would be your room, mate. Not the Savoy, but not cold and damp neither. Food and board and a salary. Not bad for a homeless man, eh?"

Draco looked around the filthy little room. But he thought again of the bridge, the cold, the loneliness. Thought again of the Wizengamot who declared he was now a Muggle and he slowly nodded his head. If Muggle he had to be, then he would start at the bottom and work his way up. He wasn't stupid. He could manage to do something. If this was his start then so be it.

"All right. I'll do it. And...and...thanks."

Chad smiled broadly. "Then you start now." He ushered Draco back to the kitchen and showed him the sink. He handed Draco an apron and then Draco froze. He didn't know the first thing about doing dishes. The closest he had ever come was cleaning his cauldrons in Potions. But that had been with the flick of his wand. There were taps and long hoses and all sorts of things he didn't understand at all.

"I…I don't know how to wash dishes," he said lamely.

He looked at Draco as if he'd turned green. "What the bleeding hell do you mean? Everyone knows how to wash dishes!"

"I don't. I've never done it. We had…had servants."

He laughed. Loudly. "Well, your majesty," he said with a flourishing bow, "as you can see, things are a bit different now."

"I can see that!' he snarled, a bit of the old fight coming back. But Chad ignored it.

"This is the soap, this is the sponge, there's the tap. And it's hot, so mind it. Clean goes there, dirty there. Anything else?" Draco shook his head, feeling like the biggest fool. "What's the name, mate?"

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Draco? What sort of name is that? Sounds spooky."

"It's a very old family name and I rather like it!"

"Don't get all hairy. If you need me, Draco, I'll be out in the dining hall."

Draco waited till he left before he donned his apron. He approached the dishes as if he were staring at a Hippogriff. He slowly took a dish and placed it into the sink. He took the nozzle in one hand, turned the tap, and it sprang to life like a large snake. It sprayed hot water at the dish, on the wall, and on Draco before he managed to subdue it. He picked up the sponge, frowned at it, and then silently began to scrub the dish.

It took hours. And after, his hands were raw and red. His feet hurt from standing so long, but the other blokes in the kitchen all grabbed plates and made sandwiches so Draco felt he could do it too. He followed them as they made their way to one of the long tables in the dining hall, a mocking memory of those fine tables in the Hogwarts Great Hall.

The men talked together and after they ate pulled out little white sticks, thrust them in their mouths, and lit the ends until they smoked. They inhaled the smoke and blew it out their nostrils. Draco stared and stared until they turned to him with menacing expressions. He lowered his face and said nothing, until the man across from him looked up. "Oi. What's your name, mate?" His accent was thick and low.

"D-Draco."

Another laugh and the man told the others Draco's name. They looked at him curiously.

The man across from him nudged him with his foot. "What's your problem? Mummy and Dad not paying for Cambridge no more?"

"Yeah, kicked out of University?"

He didn't know what they were talking about. He decided shaking his head was best. "No. Just kicked out. Of...of the house. No family anymore, all right. Can't you leave me alone?"

Chad showed up and the others ceased their prying. He sat down next to Draco. "Going all right? These lads getting friendly?"

"Oh yeah," Draco sneered. "Friendly."

"Mustn't mind them. They'll most likely stay here. Not much growth, if you know what I mean. Not you, though. You're not the type. I bet you can get a better job in no time."

"Yeah?" For the first time in twenty-four hours, Draco's hopes grew.

* * *

Over the next few months, Draco's skill level rose. He learned what a telephone was and how to use it. He learned how to do the dishes properly and did it swiftly with little breakage. He even learned how to smoke the white sticks which he learned were called "cigarettes" or "fags" but he didn't much like it. His hands were still raw and red but he used lotion on them he bought at a place called a "chemist" and learned to make coffee in the big urns. He learned how to cook for himself-and that the little switch below the burner actually made the flame come up or down; that the oven also required the turning of a knob; that hot water could run out when one was in the shower; that messes were much harder to clean up without a wand but that a mop could be employed with alacrity if one was careful.

Draco lay on his cot smoking a cigarette and reading the Guardian. He was looking in the adverts for jobs. He had to get out of the shelter. Not only because it was depressing, but he actually felt he owed it to Chad to make room for some other unfortunate. After all, it had been his salvation, his start. It was time to give some other bloke a chance.

He saw an advert for a tea shop and pulled out his mobile that he had saved up for. It had taken almost all his last pence to get it, but it seemed like the essential thing to have if you were to be a Muggle. Everyone talked about being connected; they talked of something called "computers" and "the internet" but he still wasn't certain what that was.

He snubbed out the cigarette against the basin and tossed the butt in the bin. "Well, Potter, what have we today?" He really didn't know when it started-possibly it was brought about by his loneliness or his missing the Wizarding world-but Draco had started talking to his Chocolate Frog card. His eyes scanned the adverts. "Here's something." The card lay on the bed beside him and the picture of Harry Potter looked up hopefully at him. Draco vaguely wondered if that image of Harry Potter was different with different people, because with him, the Boy Who Lived Again never drew his wand anymore to send his killing curse to Voldemort, but instead always smiled upon greeting Draco and always looked interested in what he had to say. Potter only looked like that in real life when he was with his Muggle-loving friends-

Draco sighed. He guessed that he was a Muggle-lover now, too. After all, he didn't feel the same way about them anymore. They were no longer like an exhibition in a zoo or distasteful creatures little better than chimps. For the most part-at least in the shelter-they had been kind to him and gave him much more leeway than wizards would have. He guessed-all in all-they weren't so bad. Not really.

"Here's something," he said to the card. The image of Harry Potter scooted closer to the edge of the card and strained to see. It still bothered Draco that the photos in the paper didn't move. Every time he looked at them it gave him the creeps that they would remain stubbornly motionless. The first time he picked up a paper he thought that something had gone wrong. He had shaken it until his mates at the shelter eyed him strangely and it was then that Draco figured out that they weren't supposed to move. After a few months, the other blokes got used to his strange ways and knew he liked being on his own. After his unsuccessful attempts to accumulate a cadre of henchmen as he was used to with Crabbe and Goyle, he gave up. After all, there was nothing to back up his power with now. He hadn't any riches, hadn't any magic, no father to threaten them with. They were more amused by him than frightened.

"Look, Potter. A tea shop and within walking distance. I can get a job there, talk Chad into letting me stay until I can scrape up enough for my own flat, and go on from there. Sound like a plan?"

Harry Potter nodded. Draco smiled down at it. He liked this Harry Potter. He couldn't talk, after all, and always looked at Draco with a smile instead of that frown Potter always wore when looking at him. Of course he couldn't really blame him. Draco was always rather beastly to him. Draco himself frowned at that thought. Deep down he sort of wished they had been friends instead of on opposite sides of a war. If Potter had been a sport and took his hand when he introduced himself in the train in their first year maybe none of this would have happened... Draco snorted. Who was he kidding? Draco was still Draco and Potter was still Potter and never the twain shall meet, right? Some people were just destined to be heroes while others... Well. What did that make him? Villain, he supposed. And villains never triumphed in the end. Every hero saga told him that. Tyrants are deposed, the good shall overcome, etc, ad nauseum. Potter was probably living the high life now. Honours, riches, trophies, medals. Girls hanging from each arm. Probably one of them was that Weasley girl. She should have died in the Chamber of Secrets, if there was any justice in the world, but there was Potter again, being a hero.

He glared at the card and Harry Potter cringed back. Draco managed a smile. "Sorry. Just reliving my past." He picked up the card and looked at it. There was seventeen-year-old Potter. Probably the youngest hero on record. Of course, didn't it start when he was only a baby? Draco turned it over and read the cv again. He didn't know why he bothered to read it. He had it memorized at this point. Except something had changed. At the bottom, instead of it saying "...Currently studying for a possible teaching position at Hogwarts" it now read, "Studying to take up his post as teacher at Hogwarts."

"Well now. So you're going to be a teacher. I'll bet every last knut I ever owned that it's Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing you won't last a year." Had anyone? Not one teacher of Defense in his memory had stayed for more than a year.

The Harry Potter on the card sneered at Draco, crossed his arms over his chest, and marched out of the picture.

"Hey!" He shook it but the image would not return. "Don't leave me, too," he said, voice with more emotion than he thought merited it. But he couldn't stand the idea that this "friend" would abandon him as everyone else had.

A head poked back in the picture. Harry Potter looked distressed and he suddenly came back into the picture and smiled a conciliatory smile.

"I'm sorry I said that, okay? You'll stay, won't you?"

The image nodded and sat on the ground.

Relieved, Draco went back to looking at his paper. He found the advert with the nearby tea shop and picked up his mobile. He punched in the number and made an appointment for later in the afternoon.

Dressed in his new Muggle clothes, Draco thought he cut an impressive figure. He smoothed out his white blond hair, tucked the Chocolate Frog card into his wallet, and started down the street to the tea shop.

It was warm inside and smelled of scones. He walked right up to the fat shopkeeper at the cashier and turned on the Malfoy charm. "Pardon, miss," he said, when she was clearly someone you'd call "madam", "but I had an appointment with Mrs Roster."

The old bat widened her eyes and blushed. She giggled-something reminiscent of Delores Umbridge-and Draco knew his flattery had worked. "Oh! I'm Mrs Roster. You must be Mr Malfoy. Aren't you the well-mannered young man. Please. Do sit down."

She led him to a table by the window which was smudged with dirt. "Now I don't know if the position would be beneath you, a young man such as yourself."

Uh oh, Draco. A bit too refined? "Well, Mrs Roster, don't let my manners fool you. I was brought up properly by my mother and father. But I have little experience. I don't mind starting at the bottom. Currently, I am washing dishes for a living. Schooling didn't work out, you see." She looked as if she did see and nodded sympathetically. "Thinking about owning a tea shop myself someday." And even though the lie was easy it also had an astonishing ring of truth. Perhaps he would someday. It wasn't all that far-fetched. He had to do something with himself. "So it would be a pleasure making tea and serving your customers. Must learn to do it myself."

But then her face took on a calculating expression. Perhaps she imagined Draco would take her customers away. "That's far in the future, though," he said hastily. "Haven't two knu-er-farthings to rub together at the moment." She seemed mollified by that and Draco plunged on. "What would the job entail?"

"Well, just as you said. Work in the kitchens a bit, make the tea, serve the customers, clean up. Eventually you might work up to the cashier's job."

"I see. Well, when do I start?"

She giggled again. "I have other applicants, Mr. Malfoy."

Oh. His face fell. Other applicants? He hadn't counted on that. He was about to get up when she gestured him back down.

"But that would seem foolish when you are clearly perfect for the job." She batted her eyes at him. Draco cringed inwardly. "I tell you what, dear, you come back at eight tomorrow morning, and we'll get you started."

"Really?" Draco couldn't believe it. He was so surprised he reached across the table and planted a kiss on her powdered cheek. "Thank you, Mrs. Roster! You won't regret it. Eight sharp!"

He left the shop whistling. Things were finally beginning to look up. A new job in a not-so-depressing place, more money, soon a new flat. He was coming into his own again. He felt one hundred percent better. He strolled down the other direction away from the mission. He wanted a little time to himself and some fresh air. He looked in the shop windows, missing shopping for trinkets terribly and even worse for clothes. He and his mother used to have some truly momentous shopping sprees much to the chagrin of his father, but he would always flatter Narcissa as to how good she looked and would brush off the imaginary dust from Draco's shoulder when he showed off his new purchases and say, "My! What a handsome son I have."

Draco stopped before a shop window, feeling the tightness in his throat and the sting at his eyes. How he missed them! Would they be proud of him, he wondered. Would they think he had given up? Or did his best under the circumstances? "A Malfoy always perseveres. Remember that, Draco," his father had said many a time. Well, he was persevering the best way he knew how. Yes, he decided, swallowing the thickness away. They would be proud. He was being a Malfoy. He was persevering. And he would rise again. He knew he would.

He looked up into the shop and his heart began to hammer. He dived out of the way of the window and cringed against the wall. "Potter," he breathed. There he was in the flesh. Harry Potter himself in a Muggle shop, if you please, merely conducting ordinary business. Harry frigging Potter! Draco leaned toward the window again and peeked in.

His hair was a little longer than in the Chocolate Frog picture and he was a little more muscular, filling out. But there he was; that same messy hair, those awful glasses, that attitude that nothing in the world mattered but what he was doing. And what was he doing? Buying himself some Muggle paper and pencils. Idiot. Why didn't he just go to Diagon Alley? He'd probably get a lifetime supply of parchment and quills for free!

"Stupid Potter." Draco's rage at his situation blossomed in his chest and he suddenly wanted to confront the Gryffindor. His hands tightened into fists and his face screwed into a sneer. But almost as soon as these feeling emerged, they vanished. No. It wasn't Potter's fault. Not any of it. Draco had done it to himself, hadn't he? He wanted to follow the Dark Lord, and he rubbed his left arm where the Dark Mark still throbbed now and again. It was he who wanted to torment Potter, and the boy had only reacted in a perfectly natural way. Something like Draco would have done. When he had surrendered to Potter, the boy had been perfectly reasonable, too. He didn't hex him or hit him or anything that that Weasley told him to do. He had quietly put a binding curse on him and told him, "We'll have to wait for the authorities to come, Malfoy. You do understand that, don't you?"

He'd been civilized. Draco hadn't been. Not for months. He'd been too scared to be civilized. Only Snape had kept him sane. And when he saw Potter wield all that incredible power and utterly destroy the Dark Lord, Draco had been so relieved he had wept and jumped out of his hiding place. He threw his wand at Potter's feet and Potter seemed surprised to see him. He fell to his feet and he would have worshipped him in that moment. He had tears in his eyes and streaming down his dirty face and Potter hadn't thrown any of it back at him. He had been...well, a gentleman. There was no other way to describe it.

Draco drew out his Chocolate Frog card and looked down at it and the old picture of Potter. "You were nice to me and I didn't deserve it." He snuck a peek back into the window. What if he got Potter to sign the card? That would make the card that much more valuable just in case he had to part with it. He could get a few galleons for it, he reckoned. It was probably the most valuable card in the bunch now, and with it signed he could probably demand much more. If he had to sell it. Which he hoped he didn't. Sheepishly, he admitted he rather liked talking to the card. It was the last thing he had from the Wizarding world and he was loath to part with it, even if it did have Potter's face on it.

Two boys emerged from the shop and Draco saw his chance. He looked at the image of Potter on the card and told it, "Don't move!" He chased after the boys and shouted, "Oi! You! Come here."

They stopped and looked at each other. "Yeah? What?"

Draco showed them the card. "Would you mind going in there and asking that bloke for an autograph?"

They looked down at the card curiously. "What is this?"

"Oh, it's just a lark. A joke. But he'll really be amused. I'll give you each a pound to do it."

They brightened at that, took the card, and went into the shop. Draco crouched by the front window, looking in.

The boys approached Potter and tugged on his coat. He turned and looked down at them with a smile. But his smile vanished when they showed him the card. He didn't look as if he would take it at first, but the boys urged it on him and someone offered him a pen. Potter raised his head and looked around but at last he took the card, turned it over to the picture side, and signed it. He handed it back and the boys ran out. Potter watched them go and then blushed before he ducked his head and finished his transaction.

The boys came out and Draco handed them each a coin. "Thanks, boys." He took the card and stared at it. There across the top of the picture was Potter's scrawl. "Harry Potter." Draco wasn't certain what he expected him to write. "Slayer of Voldemort" perhaps. But Potter hadn't seemed amused by it. Looked embarrassed, in fact. Wasn't that just like him? Couldn't appreciate the fame he had. What an idiot.

He tucked the card back in his wallet just as Potter came out of the shop. Draco ducked behind the building and hoped the man hadn't noticed him. Certainly the last thing he wanted was an encounter with the Famous Harry Potter. He heard his steps getting closer and Draco pressed himself harder against the building. Potter walked past him. There was a spring in his step Draco didn't remember seeing before. Probably feeling good. Feeling free. Draco wasn't the only one persecuted by the Dark Lord. He supposed Potter had his freedom coming to him...just as Draco had had his just deserts coming to him.

It was a strange world indeed when Malfoys end up on the streets and Potters become heroes.


On to Chapter Five
"Everyday Life at Hogwarts"

Back to Chapter Three
"Hogwarts Eternal"

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