Many seemed to rejoice after the war. Celebrations were made, of course, after all the mourning had passed for those who gave their lives away to save everyone else. Draco used the word passed rather loosely, because in all honesty, it was quite obvious that the cloud had not passed yet. It was still looming above the Wizarding World, large and grey and gloomy. It still hung above the head of many of the others that survived their loved ones. Survivor's guilt, Draco could only assume. Survivor's guilt; something he could silently truly relate to. The cloud lingered heavy above his own head, no matter the time that had passed, and it seemed to have swallowed his entire family name and topple them all down from their thrones. Aching thoughts ate at his brain at every waking moment. Why had he lived? Why hadn't he died along with the others? He surely deserved it, didn't he? So many innocent lives lost, yet here he was. As guilty as he ever was, with the horrors of serving The Dark Lord replaying in his nightmares every night he found some sleep, or at least attempted to.

The events of that night would haunt him forever, and the Death Eater's mark upon his forearm would always be there to remind him of the things that he had witnessed, the things that he was forced to do. No one knew the story. No one understood the truth. No one would care, honestly. Not even Harry Potter stepping forth and asking that they be pardoned for their crimes would fully change the situation. His father was still trialed and sent to Azkaban, but luckily his mother and himself were saved from the punishments. Not all, however. The Malfoys wealth at Gringotts was frozen and locked away as a light punishment for their war crimes. They had to be punished somehow, didn't they?

Rumours flew around immediately that they were penniless, and that Narcissa had gone into a deep depression after her husband's execution. They were so close to losing the Malfoy Mansion, so close to losing it all entirely. His family was going down and faster than he had ever thought they would. Yet, to his confusion, he and his mother had received an invite to a very important event; the Ministry Gala. Draco thought that the invitation was simply some way to make them a public joke and humiliate them, but the fact that he had been hiding away in his home with his mother for so very long now, really made him want to attend. As well as his prideful nature, of course. This was the sort of event that he had always dreamed of attending someday, and here it was in his hand. How would it look if he denied going?

And so, here he was. Alone, however. Narcissa had refused to attend and Draco didn't press the issue on. His clothes wasn't as extravagant as they usually were. He couldn't really afford what he used to have anymore. They weren't exactly poor yet, his mother had some money left hidden away in the mansion, but it was all he could find. It was still rather posh, of course. It was Draco Malfoy, even if he was covered in mud, it had to still appear to be high class and ornate. Yet, honestly, he didn't wish to call that much attention to himself tonight. Although, he knew he'd get it nonetheless. Although he stood up straight and kept his usual arrogance, anyone who would truly look at him would notice the shadow underneath his eyes and the paler than usual look to his skin. He was literally being eaten alive by his own thoughts, behind the smug mask that he hid behind of. There was a glass of champagne within his grip, in which he took  gulps of every few seconds, this was the fourth one he had this night and his head was beginning to feel the effects.

He was alone for the most part, but eventually was surrounded by a few people approaching him for conversation. Conversation that he wished didn't come his way; it was all so prying. Questions about his father, about the rumours, where they true? How was Narcissa? How was he? Draco attempted his best to answer the questions as vaguely as he possibly could, but was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable with the situation. Perhaps he should've just simply stayed home and hidden away? That's when his head had turned to the left, and that's when his cold grey eyes made contact with the ever so green ones that had become so familiar to him now.

His breath hitched within his chest and his mouth hung slightly ajar. His stomach churned and his heart sped up within his ribcage. Draco licked his suddenly dry lips and gulped down the huge knot that had formed itself within the bottom of his throat. Harry Potter was here. How long had he been here? Had he seen him before this moment? Would he attempt to come speak to him? The people around him continued to speak, but their voices sounded distant to him now. A plethora of memories, both good and bad, and a million confusing emotions all hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes wandered along Potter's body, noticing the wardrobe that he was currently wearing. It was rather flashy, not exactly how he'd ever imagine Potter. It was more of his style. Not to mention, it looked utterly ridiculous on him. Far too big, and that messy hair of his. Immediately, a sneer appeared upon Draco's lips and he snapped himself out of his daze, turning to the people speaking to him and giving them a quick, "Excuse me," before storming off and out of the ceremony. He couldn't stay here any longer. The thought of Harry being there with him shook him. It had been a year since he had seen him. Draco wasn't ready to face him.

Things only seemed to get worse that night for Draco Malfoy. Upon arriving home, he had discovered his mother's lifeless body, cold and pale, sitting upon his father's favorite arm chair, by the warmth of the fireplace. A small and empty vile of arsenic was found upon her lap and a glass of red wine was chattered upon the wooden floor beside her. Hot tears swelled up within Draco's eyes and he cradled his mother's limp body within his arms. He cried and screamed in anger and in pain. He was alone now. All alone. And so the darkness in his heart grew, and Draco retreated back into his bitter and hateful shell.


Three weeks later, Draco found himself in the most unlikely of places; a park in muggle London, full of sweaty and disgusting bumbling muggles walking around and complaining about the immense heat of the sun beaming down upon them, something that Draco had not to worry about at all. Being able to cast a magical cooling spell was one of the many perks of being a wizard. The poor fools would melt, but Draco Malfoy would remain untouched by sweat and as perfect as he ever was.  Annoying little muggle children laughing and playing around with their water guns while their stupid parents chased after them in attempts to keep them by their side passed by him. The sight was actually not that annoying to Draco, despite the thoughts that ran through his head about them all, but he couldn't be blamed. They were stupid. He was sure that other wizards would agree. But, you see, a lot had changed in the last couple of weeks for the young man.

His mother's death had definitely cemented the end of the Malfoy empire, the Malfoy Mansion was put up for sale and all of his expensive belongings were sold. Even the ones that he held an emotional tie to. His first Nimbus, the stuffed bear that Narcissa had gifted him with on his first birthday, one that he had forgotten about away in his closet and buried within a mountain of other forgotten toys. All of it, sold to the crowd of soulless bidders. None of them feeling a single speck of sympathy for Draco Malfoy. However, it came to no surprise to him at all. Many people disliked the Malfoys, only showing respect and being cordial because they were who they were. Important, well-known. Something that didn't exactly play well when the war happened and they were aligned with the Dark Lord. The Malfoys fell, and many took pleasure in it. Many took this as a time to exact some sort of revenge. And with Draco being the last of the bunch, he took the majority of that.

He stayed with Astoria for a small while and dated her as he attempted to pick himself up from the ground, but things with her didn't exactly work out. It was difficult for someone who was accused of war crimes and had the obvious Death Eater mark upon his forearm to get hired anywhere within the Wizarding World. He was finally getting the attention that Potter was getting. The attention he always wished was his, but nowhere near as good as Potter. Negative attention wasn't better than no attention, he'd honestly rather the latter. There were horrid rumours going around about him, things like people sleeping with him for money. Definite lies, Draco was much too prideful for that. And although Astoria was giving him her helping hand, it just wasn't enough. Things became rocky between the two, with the fact that he had made it a habit to come home late with fire whiskey on his breath. The relationship ended before it could truly ever begin. After that, much to Draco's dismay, he truly had no choice whatsoever than to move himself to the muggle world. Here, they knew nothing of magic, they knew nothing of the Dark Lord, or Death Eaters. It was either this or he'd starve and die in the cold streets of Diagon Alley, a beggar, nonetheless.

It was difficult for him to blend in with the rest of them and not use magic for everything, but he had managed to get himself a muggle job as a bartender in a nightclub in London. Draco Malfoy, serving muggles. What a thought! It was his day off this summer day, and although his mind was clouded with his troubles and he was still attempting to get used to living in this whole new environment, he felt somewhat peaceful and relaxed for once. That was until a familiar voice had caught his attention. Draco didn't turn his head immediately, however. He just listened with furrowed brows and a scoff at the other's words. Draco still didn't dare to turn his head, afraid that he'd feel exactly how he felt that night at the awards ceremony. Afraid that he wouldn't be able to control his impulses. Harry Potter had been the first contact he had made with any sort of link to the Wizarding World in the past two weeks.

He wondered if Potter had even heard of all the gossip, and mentally hoped that he wouldn't pry. Honestly, Draco didn't wish to discuss it with anybody.  He didn't want to talk about his miserable life after the war, and he didn't wish to speak about the night of said war. It was one of the main reasons why he had been afraid of facing Harry all this time. Yet, here he was, sitting beside him. Draco couldn't run away from him now. "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter, Boy Wonder...." Came his usual c*cky drawl, finally picking up the courage to turn his neck to gaze at Harry. Immediately, he felt the pang of confusing emotions hit his chest, the guilt, the fear. His gaze faltered for a moment and fell away to towards Harry's chest, but he took in a quick breath and held his head high in that smug way of his, managing to control himself rather well this time around. His mean demeanor and silver-tongued words would keep him from faltering, as they always did.  "Almost feels like you've chosen to stalk me." He continued, raising a brow, a small sneer curling at his top lip. "And just like that, my day is ruined. Congratulate yourself on a newly achieved level of annoyance, Potter. I'm in a park, in muggle London, surrounded by idiotic muggles, but you are the thing that manages to ruin the day." A smug chuckle escaped his lips, followed by his infamous smirk.