Chapter 4
It has been five days since Draco ran away. Five days on his own.
The scratches on his arm did not heal and the dark mark hurt worse than ever.
Peksy was awful company. She was compliant and didn’t need much, but she was still a house elf. He didn’t even try to converse with her.
He was running around with a house elf, fleeing from the Death Eaters. How weird was that.
Draco already started disliking having to dish out punishments or watching her taking it into her own hands.
It was embarrassing when she began hitting her head against a street lantern.
And he felt kind of bad, not that he would admit it to anyone.
Still, he was not going to deny that Peksy was the reason they were both still alive.
She brought him food and even decent clothes and apparated them to a new location when Draco became too anxious.
He never asked where she got the things from.
As of now, they were hidden in a little hut in the middle of nowhere.
It looked very unassuming from the outside, just a little crooked shack, but the inside was a sight to behold. Not in a good way.
The walls were covered with scratch marks. There was some hay laying around, and dried blood stuck to the floor.
Something must have happened here. A crime scene. Just thinking about it made Draco shudder.
When they first arrived at the hut and saw the inside, Peksy wanted to leave immediately. She apologized profusely for picking this location in-between distressed cries.
Draco cared more about having a roof over his head than whatever happened here. Sleeping outside was incredibly unpleasant, the cold caused him a lot of trouble. He has spent one too many nights shivering on harsh asphalt between dumpsters or under a bridge.
Now, he sat huddled up on the one spot that was not bloodstained, feeling very sorry for himself. He couldn’t help it. He was in a horrible situation. And he couldn’t even see his own hands because it was too damn dark in here. No windows, just the door.
Outside was a thunderstorm. Or else he would have laid in the grass, letting the sun tan his pale face.
It was directly above him. The thunder growled perilously close, the rain hit harshly against the little hut, the wind howled around him. Draco worried it would break down. Fall in on him. Bury him beneath the wood. But minutes and then hours passed, and it was still standing.
He could see the lightning through the little cracks in the planks. It lit up the hut for a short second before everything returned to darkness.
He spent most of his childhood inside, playing with toys. Only Quidditch could lure him out of the confinements of the manor. He used to play by himself, but when he got older, some of the other Pureblood kids joined him. He hung out with Pansy since he was four. Then Theo and Blaise sometimes. Crabbe and Goyle joined them later but playing with them was never as fun. They didn’t own much of a brain.
Draco missed Quidditch. He didn’t get to play over the summer because his mother said he should act like a grown up. Playing quidditch was apparently not a suitable pastime for someone like him.
Instead, he revised the family trees of Purebloods and Blood Traitors, as well as Potter’s family tree because everything always came down to Potter. Stupid git.
His mother refreshed his manners, and he visited his father once, which was draining- never ever did he want to set foot in Azkaban again.
Overall, not a very enjoyable summer. There have been better.
Still, he would work on his manners for a lifetime if it meant he could be with his mother.
Draco almost wished that the school year had already begun.
Although he didn’t know if he could actually go.
Would he be safe? His friends in Slytherin whose parents were Death Eaters should know he ran away. They might not want anything to do with him.
And his other pureblood friends might distance themselves on the instructions of their parents because the Malfoys lost all their influence and power.
On the other hand, he had a task to complete.
Should he still kill Dumbledore? The Dark Lord might let him back into his ranks if he did.
It’s what his father would have wanted.
His dark mark burned in agreement.
Shuddering, he pulled up his knees and rested his head on them. He felt sick.
Draco didn’t know how long he sat on the floor like that.
Peksy was gone the entire time. He had told her to get lost at one point in an emotional outburst and she has not returned since.
When he finally moved again, the storm had quieted down. His sore muscles ached and the silence was blissful on his ears.
Since the hut had no windows, he stood and tiptoed to the door to open it slightly. He put his head out. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness after sitting in the dim hut for hours.
It was almost dawn already. The sun sent her last rays down to earth; the air was moist and cool.
He could see the full moon faintly.
It was a beautiful and unusual sight. Draco detested and admired it all the same.
There was a forest a hundred meters away. He immediately decided to not set a foot in there. It reminded him of the forbidden forest at Hogwarts and he only had bad memories from that place. So, no thank you.
Still, he would like Peksy back. He felt alone.
But a house elf was no company. She was just a servant, a slave. He shouldn’t want her here.
He should be used to the loneliness. He’s been alone for most of his life.
He slowly stepped out of the hut; hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.
There were plain fields as far as the eye can see. He discovered some rabbits in the distance.
The knowledge that the shack behind him concealed something gruesome disturbed that peace. He involuntarily shivered.
Suddenly he heard a loud crack in the distance. It made him jump and he spun around. With wide eyes he searched the plains for anyone who could have apparated here. Why would anybody want to come here?
Could it be Peksy? He didn’t see her anywhere.
Cautiously he crept round the house and stumbled straight into a man.
Draco jerked back like he’s been hit. He was looking at a familiar face. Light brown hair with gray strands. A young face yet interspersed with wrinkles. Shabby clothes.
It was Lupin. Lupin, the werewolf. Lupin, the friend of Potter, an enemy.
He stared at Lupin as if he had grown a second head. Lupin didn’t react much better. He even sneered at him; he saw that.
He knew he reeked, but he didn’t have much of a choice, Mr. Werewolf.
Lupin composed himself faster than Draco.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy?” his hands slid slowly to his pocket where his wand sat.
Draco crossed his arms and glared at him. “You don’t want to know. It will cost your head.”
Something flashed in Lupin’s eyes. “You look awful, what happened?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Professor.” Draco hissed.
“I’m not your Professor anymore.”
“Then I don’t see why you should be concerned with me.”
“Fine. Me neither.” Lupin clenched his jaw. “Look, you need to leave. You do not want to be here tonight.” He looked at Draco forcefully.
“And why is that?”
Lupin motioned at the sky. “It’s the full moon in case you have not noticed. It will cost your head if you don’t go, because I will stay here for the duration of the night.”
Draco’s eyes went wide. Everything fell into place at once. The blood, the hay, the scratch marks. Lupin resided here as a werewolf.
It was horrifying.
Draco opened and closed his mouth unsure how to respond, completely baffled for a moment. Lupin, who observed his reaction closely, fixed him with a hard gaze.
“I will apparate you away- “
“No, no way.” Draco took several steps back. Lupin was associated with Potter. He was on the other side; he might turn him in- but he had no idea he was a Death Eater. For all he knew Draco could just be on a nice little vacation.
“I think I will just. Go.” Draco walked backwards until his back hit the shack. “Maybe I’ll see you around. Hopefully not.” He turned around. “And you just threatened me, by the way!” he shouted over the shoulder. “You should be careful with what you say, werewolf.” With purposeful steps he stalked away.
Why did Lupin have to find him in this state? He clenched his jaw. It was almost dark now. Where was Peksy when he needed her?
And why in the world did Peksy apparate them to this exact shack where Lupin spent his full moons as a werewolf?
He waited until he was further away to call out for Peksy. Almost immediately, she appeared next to Draco looking excited. It sparked a seed of anger inside him.
“Hello, Master Draco!” she squeaked.
“Hi. I need you to get us away from here.” He didn’t stop walking.
Peksy glanced at the shack but didn’t question him. “Where to?” she asked.
“Somewhere safe.”
****
Apparition was always uncomfortable. Draco seriously doubted it would get better with time as he staggered around and finally lost balance. He fell on his side, breathing heavily.
He felt so sick. So sick his stomach churned, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this actually beat meeting Lupin.
After a moment he realized that something cushioned his fall. He felt the floor with his hands. It was soft. So very soft. Like… a carpet.
A sudden voice made him rip his head around. Dusk was falling and he had trouble making out the person talking in the last rays of light that shone into the room through the window.
It looked to be a man with stocky legs, probably red hair. Nobody he recognized.
“What are you doing in my living room?” said the man, his mouth moving. He heard it. He did. However, it was Peksy who answered for him while he couldn’t help but stare at the strange man, finding himself unable to open his mouth.
“Mr. Bill!” Peksy squeaked. Then a shiver ran down her body. “Peksy is so sorry for apparating into your home uninvited, but Master Draco was in danger, Sir, Peksy had to.”
“What- Peksy? Why… Your master is Draco Malfoy??”
Why did Peksy know this man? He turned to stare at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
“Are you going to stay on the floor forever?” inquired the man and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
Draco shot up instantly and straightened his clothes.
“My apologies for bothering you on this fine evening,” Draco spoke, “My name is Draco Malfoy. What is yours?” He extended his right hand to shake.
The strange man took it with a hard grip. “Bill Weasley.”
A Weasley. By Merlin’s beard was this stupid. On his run from the Death Eaters, his former allies, he lands in the home of a Weasley, a blood traitor, an enemy.
Draco cleared his throat. “Would you mind lighting up this… living room?” he asked.
Bill moved his wand and a second later it was bright as day in the room. He squinted shortly to let his eyes accommodate to the change before looking around.
The carpet was cream-coloured and it looked as soft as it felt. There stood a couch at the wall behind Draco and a small table beside it. Other than that, the room was bare except for a couple of plants. It still felt more homely than the mansion ever had.
A closer look at Bill made him realize three things:
One, he looked similar to Ron, which made sense on one hand, but didn’t make him very sympathetic on the other.
Two, he found it difficult to admit, but Bill looked cool. With his fang earrings and his long hair tied in a ponytail he made for a really interesting character.
And three, … he forgot point three. Whatever.
“Fleur?” Bill called out. “Can you come to the living room? We have a slight problem regarding some guests.”
“Un moment!” a woman called back before she appeared in the doorstep seconds later. Upon seeing Draco and Peksy, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Who are you?” she asked in a distinct French accent.
Draco realized that he recognized her. He could recognize her anywhere with her beauty. The woman standing in front of him was Fleur Delacour who participated in the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year.
She was absolutely stunning.
“Uhm…” he said.
Bill sighed exasperated. “That’s Draco Malfoy. You might have seen his mother in the news. It’s also worth mentioning that his father is in Azkaban for crimes he committed as a Death Eater.” His gaze wandered from Draco to Peksy. “I helped Peksy here before, but I had no idea her master is Draco Malfoy.”
Bill almost spit out his name like it was a disease, it made him feel very offended. Nonetheless, he smoothly ignored it in favour of asking about something else that caught his attention.
“What do you mean you helped Peksy before?”
“I found her weeping in a shady alley. She told me she’s looking for clothes and food for her Master who is in great danger and had to go in hiding.” Bill pinched his nose.
“So you were the one who helped me out?” he demanded to know.
“Those clothes,” Bill pointed with one finger at Draco, “are mine. I would have never helped you if I knew- “
“Hey, hey, let’s all calm down, okay?” Fleur intervened, her hands up in a placating manner. “How old are you, Draco?”
“Why does that matter in any way?”
“Just answer the question.”
Draco remained quiet.
“He’s sixteen. Harry Potter is in his year” Bill offered.
Her mouth formed an O-shape and she tilted her head. “I don’t remember you.”
He was not surprised. The Beauxbatons students were not very interested in conversing with Slytherins. It still hurt his ego a bit.
“Why were you in danger?” Bill questioned in a tone that implied he didn’t believe him one bit.
Draco pressed his lips together. He couldn’t tell them anything. Especially not a Weasley, a publicly know Dumbledore supporter. Disgusting.
He wanted to curse Peksy for bringing them here.
Fleur cleared her throat. “How did you end up here, then?”
Peksy shifted nervously, her hands clasped together. “Master Draco asked for a safe place, so Peksy brought him here!” she whispered. “You helped Peksy, Mr. Bill- “
“This is not a safe place, Peksy!” Draco interrupted, turning to her. “You just keep bringing us into trouble! First Lupin on a full moon, now this- “
“Draco, no shouting in our house!” Fleur said sternly.
“You ran into Lupin?”
Draco chose to ignore Bill in favour of glaring at Fleur. “I’m just trying to get my point across.”
“I see. Listen, now that you are here, you can stay the night.” She held up a hand to stop Bill’s protests. “I’m not sending you out on the streets at this hour. But,” she raised her finger warningly, “If you mean any harm, you will be out of here faster than you can count to ten. Is that understood?”
“I’ve never even implied that I want your help!” he said exasperated.
“You do look like you need it.” She claimed with furrowed her eyebrows.
“You should not-” he broke off. “Well, do not involve anyone else, or I promise you-!”
“Who should we not involve? The ministry? The aurors?” Bill poked.
“Just- nobody” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I won’t give you any trouble and you will return the favour. Do we have a deal?”
Neither of them answered.
“I believe I asked you a question.”
“And I believe we don’t owe you any answers” Bill fired back, “considering you are in our home.”
Fleur sighed. “Calm down, okay? Draco, we won’t involve anyone, if it makes you feel better. You can stay for the night, but tomorrow you’re gone. And do feel free to… uhh… what is it called?” She threw Bill a questioning look, “prends un bain.” It was silent for a second before she snapped her fingers. “Take a bath before you go! C’est ça.”
Draco did not move an inch, but Fleur threw Bill another look, turned around and left the room. Now it was only Bill, him and Peksy.
Nobody said a word.
Bill sighed and pinched his nose again before plopping down on the sofa. He still looked furious, especially because he didn’t seem to agree with his girlfriend.
“I don’t trust you,” Bill announced finally, “and I don’t want you here. But if it’s true you need help, we won’t turn you away, under one condition.”
“Which would be?”
“The truth. What you’re running from. I don’t like your family’s background and I don’t want a Death Eater’s kid in my house. Especially after what your mother has done.”
Draco bristled. If only he knew Draco was a Death Eater himself. Lucky for him, his mark was securely hidden under his sleeve, he couldn’t know. And the Death Eaters killed his mother in her own home, it was not possible that word got out.
“What- what are you implying?” he asked slowly. The light above them flickered once. Bill sighed.
“I need to fix that” he muttered under his breath. “What I’m implying is…” he faltered, “I get this is your mum we are talking about, but murder is horrible. I don’t care that she is your mother, she should not have done that.”
Draco’s mind fell apart. Nothing made sense anymore. He blinked.
“What are you talking about?” he crossed his arms and stared Bill down.
Bill followed him with his eyes, a sad look crossing his face. He moved over. “Would you like to sit down?”
He didn’t. “The public knows about her murder?”
Bill leaned back. “It was all over the news.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s her fault. I would have thought a gormless Weasley like you would have more compassion.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see Peksy shuffle back into a corner, looking very uncomfortable.
Bill’s face was stony as he mustered him. “You seem to be confused. I have compassion with murder victims, not with murderers.”
They weren’t getting anywhere. Bill was just a two-faced git.
“I would like to take you up on your offer to take a bath” Draco said stiffly, changing the topic.
Bill sighed deeply before standing up and brushing past Draco. “Follow me.”
Draco complied.
The flat was small. As far as he could see, it consisted of the living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. The bedroom was the only room with a closed door, so Draco could only assume.
He caught a glimpse of Fleur in the kitchen as they were walking by. She truly looked stunning. How did someone like Bill managed to catch her attention? Let alone get together?
“Are you coming?” Bill called out impatiently. Draco rolled his eyes internally and caught up.
He was given a towel. “Put that over the radiator there when you’re done.”
“Thank you.”
Bill left him alone shortly after that. The first thing he did when he was truly alone was to lock the door. Real privacy was a treasure. That had become very apparent after the Dark Lord settled down in his own house, or after travelling with a house-elf. He never really had a moment for himself, and if he did, he was lonely.
Shaking his head about his thoughts he took off his clothes. They stood stiff with dirt. Oh, he’s never been happier to take a nice bath.
He turned on the water faucet and let it fill the bathtub before sliding inside. The hot water burned on his wounds, but he relished in the stinging pain. It proved that he was still here, after all. It wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t over with him.
His mind was absolute chaos. So many questions shot through his brain at hyper speed, so fast he couldn’t even grasp most of them. None of them made very much sense. He was almost overwhelmed with his feelings screaming in his chest, he couldn’t hear anything else.
The steam from the hot water misted the mirror. His skin felt like it was burning. He might have turned the water too hot, but it was soothing all the same. The last few days have been difficult. Cold and wet at night, not to forget dark. Lonely. He was all alone in this world.
Mother was gone and Father was locked away, and people he didn’t even know already made up their mind about him. They disliked him because he was a Malfoy. It didn’t matter that his mother was killed by her own side. Apparently, nobody cared about that.
But it wasn’t about other people’s opinions. His parents raised him to be a strong, confident man and he would not disappoint them. He would stand his ground, stand up for himself, get out there and do his thing. No matter what people thought of him.
He had no idea what his thing was, though. That was something he would have to figure out soon.
Was it possible to book a room? To rent out a flat somewhere? He ran away, but was he on the run?
He couldn’t continue apparating to random, grotty locations like some street rat. He was worth more than that and his pride has been seriously hurt in the last few days. Time to get an upgrade.
He even looked shaggy. It was awful.
Determined, he took the soap and washed the grime out of his hair and from his skin. Then, he drained the water and climbed out of the tub, used the towel, and hung it over the radiator like Bill said.
Reluctantly he dressed in Bill’s clothes once again. He had nothing else to wear.
A minute later he stepped out of the bathroom and walked down the corridor. Fleur was still in the kitchen; Bill had joined her. On the stove stood one pot with a cooking spoon stirring the food. It smelled delicious.
For a moment he took in the domestic picture the two gave. His parents have never done that. They had house elves for cooking. None of them knew how to cook, he was sure. It made his heart ache for something he had never experienced.
He cleared his throat. They looked up and saw him standing by the door.
“So,” he put his hands in his pockets, “is there any way you can lend me more of your clothes?”
Bill looked like he was about to roll his eyes but passed by Draco. Hopefully getting clothes.
Fleur was watching the food intensely. She didn’t try to strike up conversation, so he didn’t either.
He had to admit though, that the silence was awkward.
Draco caught the grateful look she threw at Bill when he finally came back. He probably told her all about the Malfoys. That they were aligned with the Dark Arts and followers of Voldemort. Of course, someone perfect like Fleur would be put off by his upcoming.
He didn’t blame her, but part of him still bristled at her reaction.
Bill dropped a pile of clothes in his arms. “There you go.”
“Thank you.” Draco said curtly. He stepped out of the kitchen backwards and returned to the bathroom to get changed.
Bill gave him a strange pullover. It had a hood. He could feel the weight of it pushing the front against his throat. How uncomfortable.
When he was done, Fleur awaited him in the corridor.
“You can take some of the food” she pointed at the kitchen. “We’re going to eat now, too.”
Draco sniffed. He itched to storm the kitchen and eat it all at once, but his pride forbade it. His sense of danger as well.
“No, thank you. I don’t need it.” He decided.
In his head, a plan blossomed. Assuming Bill and Fleur lived in the middle of London, Diagon Alley wasn’t far. If he could withdraw money- he would be a free man. Free to do as he pleases. Free to find an apartment somewhere and move in, even. He could have a home of his own, provided the Death Eaters wouldn’t find and kill him.
Fleur smiled faintly. “Just eat something. I promise it’s not poisoned.”
“I’m sure it’s not.” He snorted. He believed her, but one could never be too trusting. His father has poisened him twice in his life. Once on accident, and the second time with full intent to time to get him in line.
“It really isn’t! Why would we do that?”
Deciding to humour her, he stepped closer until he was only a feet away from her face. His gaze locked onto her eyes.
“I’m a Malfoy in case you have forgotten. Many people would like to poison me.”
Fleur firmly held his gaze without blinking. “I need you to back up.” She huffed.
He took a step back, biting the inside of his cheek. An awkward pause arose.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
With a nod at Fleur, he rounded her and went for the door, leaving the delicious smelling food behind.
"Peksy! We’re leaving.”
“Yes Master,” she said miserably from her corner in the living room and fell into step.
“Don’t you want to stay for the night?” she called after him.
He would love to, but it was too great of a risk, so he swallowed and refused to answer. Besides, he’s made enough of a fool of himself.
The front door snapped shut behind them.