Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Only the general plot/setting is my own. All characters and other references to 'Harry Potter' are solely the property of J.K. Rowling.

The Boy Who Loved


Belle. A. Lestrange

Synopsis: Draco gets disowned and lives as a homeless person in Surrey, near where Harry lives, though neither boy knows it. This story is set in the muggle world however Draco was a wizard. Harry was never introduced to the wizarding world and works as an employee at his local supermarket. When he finds a young blonde living rough he gradually helps him out and later sneaks Draco into his house to live. Unfortunately, Harry's relatives get suspicious and try to throw both boys' out, all the while Lucius has men set out to find Draco and kill him, lest he exposes their world to Harry.


It was futile. Everything around him was smeared in the delusion that the world was now in safe capable hands. The sky overhead presented a starless sky. Only the moon shone down like a beacon on the four tables that faced the teachers' table, and they watched as he stood to speak. Like obedient soldiers, they heard the crack as he parted his lips to speak encouraging wisdom to them all. Wise words that would be taken to heart, even by the coldest of people who had their necks craned in attention.

"Another year has gone!" announced the dusty voice of Professor Dumbledore as his robes flapped around his old wizened frame, his long, snow-white beard bobbing as he spoke. His pale blue eyes twinkled as they scanned the sea of faces that hung onto the anticipation of his up-coming speech. "I am pleased to announce that now that you're stomachs are full, and your results have been handed out, that we can now award the house cup to the house with the most points!" Many a student held their breath as Dumbledore unraveled a short piece of parchment from one of the many pockets within his robes. The paper crinkled loudly in the silent hall. "In fourth place Hufflepuff with three-hundred, and seventy-two points!" The table that was nestled in between Slytherin and Gryffindor cheered themselves on a job well done. Hufflepuff's were idiots, loyal, but idiots nonetheless. "In third place, Gryffindor with four-hundred, and ninety-three points!" A flurry of cheers came from the table beside Hufflepuff. Anything was better than coming last, after all. "In second place, Ravenclaw with five hundred and seven points!" The Ravenclaws applauded themselves, but made hardly any ruckus compared to the offensive Gryffindor table. There was only one place left. That could only mean- "And first place goes to Slytherin house, with five hundred and thirty-three points!"

A flurry of green and silver ties erupted skywards as the Slytherin students jumped out of their seats to congratulate one another and sneer at the Gryffindor's. Only one person did not seem as enthusiastic as his fellow students. He merely sat near the front, brooding deeply. So intense was his gaze on thin air that he did not appear aware of his surroundings. Professor Dumbledore did not seem to notice as he handed the house cup to Severus Snape, who took it without a readable expression on his face. However, Severus Snape had a keen eye. On pain of death he had sworn that he would protect and direct his godson where his parents could not, or had appeared to fail, and by the Order of Merlin he would do it. He would do it if it killed him.

The students were excused from the Great Hall in order to return to their dormitories and pack their essentials. The train would depart at exactly 11am the next morning and they had to have everything prepared. Draco Malfoy opened the door to his private room and drank in his surroundings not really taking note of anything that was in there or that was possibly missing. He felt numb. It had started up earlier in the week when their results had been dispatched among them, but now he felt virtually hollow. He couldn't think of any reason or cause, and he could safely say, with no hint of melodrama or exasperation, that he simply didn't care anymore.

He sighed and crossed the room to where his four-poster bed stood with its glistening green silk duvet cover and the white satin sheets tucked underneath. He looked at them without seeing them and yet, he could see nothing beyond them either. He closed his eyes and licked his dry lips before scanning the room again for his trunk. It was standing upright against the foot of his bed. He picked it up and dumped it on its side on the bedspread, before unfastening the heavy silver clasps and flipping the hard wooden casing covered in black dragon skin over, so as to open his trunk. The green duvet cover rippled vaguely with the impact but otherwise; there was no reaction from Draco himself. He ran a hand over his forehead and inwardly winced at how cold his skin had become since descending down into the dungeons. That was the problem with being in Slytherin; to survive you had to be cold-blooded. And he was. Now.

Three sharp, evenly spaced knocks rapped at his door. There was a beat of silence in-between each one. Draco sighed, his chest aching dully, as he straightened his back from the tedious form of packing his belongings. "Come in!" he called in an emotionless tone. Once his invitation had been extended, he returned his attention to unloading his crisp white shirts from one of the drawers in his dresser.

The heavy oak door swung inwards and admitted Severus Snape into the private rooms, his smooth black robes billowing about his ankles in a graceful yet deadly manner. Two jet-black pools scanned the room; lips were pursed in a tight line as Draco moved himself in a zombie-like fashion about his packing ritual. "Good evening, Draco," he greeted, his voice a drawling sound of silk. Draco straightened up from his task of packing his school shirts and acknowledged his godfather.

He inclined his head, "Good evening, Professor, I trust you are well?"

"I am," Severus stated in an even tone as he drank in the appearance of his godson. His hair, which was usually well kept and like strands of fine gold, was greasy and vaguely darker with neglect. His features, normally like chiseled alabaster, now had a sallow, sunken appearance. His silvery eyes, which normally shone like two bright sickles, were red-rimmed and vein-cracked within, and with bags beneath them. Draco swallowed under his godfather's scrutiny but said nothing. Severus allowed no thought process to show on his face, "However, you have neglected your own appearance, leading me to believe something is bothering you."

Draco sighed and swallowed again, a nervous habit that Malfoy's should never grow accustomed to. He knew there was no point in lying to Severus. The man was a human lie detector at the best of times. "And what if something was bothering me?" he asked, his voice holding the shimmer of submission and tiredness.

Severus advanced into the room, the door sliding shut behind him, white hands clasped in front of his waistline, contrasting sharply with his black robes. "I would suggest that you talk to someone about it."

"May I talk to you about it –Professor?"

"You may."

Draco invited Severus over to where two armchairs sat facing one another with a small side table perched in between. Severus inclined his head and eased himself into the plush, green velvety armchair and inwardly reveled in its comfort. On the surface, nothing showed. Draco, too, took a seat and entwined his fingers upon his lap, his eyes focusing intently on his knees, as though trying to work out on where to begin in his story. "I –don't know where to begin -Professor."

Severus nodded, "The best place would be the beginning."

Draco wanted to smirk, or even smile, at his godfather's dry humor, but he found he could not. His mouth felt too heavy to move. How on earth was he going to continue talking? "I would like to know your views on … Muggles."

Severus' brows twinged inwards. This was a curious thought process to have such an impact on one as well put-together as his godson. He pondered for a mere moment before speaking, "How exactly are muggles affecting you in this way?"

"I feel as though I should know a little more about them. I don't understand why father has to kill them all. The Dark Lord may be gone, but so many of his followers are still out there." Severus felt nerves knot within his stomach. His left forearm suddenly felt restricted within his long black sleeves of his robes. He swallowed thickly and continued to listen to his godson. "I don't want to become my father, Severus, but he will want me to follow in his footsteps and become a bloody-thirsty fiend like him!"

"And what problems are you having with this?" Severus asked, knowing fully well what the boys' dilemma was. He had been in such a position himself, until it had resulted in him not having any choice at all in the matter.

Draco glanced at his godfather, contemplating him, as though reading through his cool mask of indifference. "I don't wish to kill them. They let us live so why can we not do the same?"

"Touché, Draco, that is a very good question."

Draco felt grateful for his godfather's agreement. Well, he liked to think that he felt grateful, however it was becoming increasingly difficult to feel when his being had gone numb. "I can understand people must not like it for muggles to come into our world, but we always go into their world and they don't know about it."

"They cannot know about it," Severus interjected. "If they did they would feel they would have to wipe us out of the picture –not that I am agreeing with it being the other way around either."

Draco sighed wearily and reclined back into his chair, his hand pressed to his chin as he pondered. He glanced over at Severus who was mirroring his own actions, lost in a world of his own. "Uncle?"

Severus' head snapped up, "Yes?"

"Have you ever ... befriended a muggle?"

It was such an innocent question and yet it punctured through all of the barriers that Severus had created over the years. It replaced the burn on his forearm to a burn deep within the chasm of his heart. He drew in a deep, calming breath, emotion glistening in his eyes that startled Draco. "I did, Draco, she was the most remarkable person you would ever have met; she had smooth peachy skin, long, riveting curls of dark auburn hair with the brightest green eyes –like two emeralds –that enthralled anyone who looked into them. They were so beautiful –she was beautiful –she was my only friend. She stole my heart and I ruined what we had."

Draco blinked in surprise at his godfather, "How did you ruin it?"

"I called her a-" Severus broke off, bile rising in his throat at that dreaded day where his sweet had lost all faith in him, "A mudblood."

Draco's numb heart froze in its dull melody of systematic beating. He had never seen anything affect his godfather so drastically. "Did you –did you love her, Uncle?" Draco asked somewhat cautiously. He had never seen his godfather in such a state and didn't know what to do to support him. So he did nothing. Nothing, but ask another question.

"Yes –I did love her"

"Why do you speak of her in the past tense?" Draco inquired although he had a gut-wrenching feeling that he already knew the answer.

Severus drew in a deep breath. He had not been prepared for such emotional turmoil, as he was experiencing now, "The Dark Lord –killed her. She was far too young to die. Only in her twenties."

Draco felt a lump rise in his throat. Severus stood from armchair rather hastily, thought he had now composed himself and showered nothing but cool indifference, with a slight glisten of turmoil in his jet-black eyes, announcing that he was leaving for bed. Draco nodded, feeling the beckon of sleep himself, despite the fact he had to finish packing. Severus had managed to open the door and almost stepped out into the abyss of his own thoughts, when a quiet question from Draco drew his head back into the room.

"What was her name?"

Severus looked over at his godson. He could feel the burning urge to cry boiling at the back of his throat. It was a little harder to breathe. "Lily ..." he managed to choke out, "Her name was Lily."


It was almost 1am by the time Draco was able to ease himself into the feather-stuffed mattress of his bed, and relax into a fitful sleep. His trunk was packed and his outfit for the next day was laid out on the desk chair on the opposite wall. He would stuff his current pyjamas into his briefcase just before he left. However, his eyelids were no longer heavy and begging to close. Instead, his mind was whirring with the information he had managed to get out of his godfather.

He stretched his arms out over the top of the duvet with a sigh. He didn't want to face his father tomorrow afternoon. He wanted freedom. He wanted to live his life the way he wanted, not the way some aristocratic dictator established as the 'right' way. He didn't know why his father was enforcing him this life, when he had not wanted the life when the Dark Lord had done the same. His father was messed up. A whole briefcase full of letters burned at the end of Draco's bed. Numerous threats from his father had made him grow bitter, and eventually numb to the blackmail of losing his inheritance along with the Black and Malfoy estates that were in his name. At this moment in time, he still couldn't bring himself to care about the money. Maybe he wasn't a true Malfoy. If he did not bring himself to care about money, numerous estates, a loveless marriage, and murdering innocent muggles, then perhaps he was not a Malfoy.


He snorted to himself in the darkness. "Nothing is ever simple," he muttered bitterly to himself.

By the time he managed to go to sleep, the dawn had splintered its way through the clouds and cut through the illusion window of his bedroom. He had glared at it and turned away. He hated the thing. The dungeons were meant to be dark and gloomy, like the recesses of his mind, but Dumbledore had insisted on installing the enchanted windows in the dormitories. Now Draco could not escape himself. He groaned as sleep clouded his mind.


Draco held his head in his hands as the students shifted along the aisle on the train in search of descent compartments. Draco just wanted to be left alone, which is what everyone was only too happy to oblige by. He had slept fitfully the evening prior. He figured he could sleep on the train once the bustling outside his compartment door had died down, however he knew he would not sleep. He could not. He licked his lips and replayed the conversation he had had with his godfather the night before, still not quite able to believe it.

Severus had befriended a muggle and no one, not even his own father seemed to know about it in too much detail. A small smirk dryly graced his lips. Severus had always liked his privacy. With the Dark Lord at large when he was in his mere twenties, it was no wonder he had sought to protect her as much as he could. Perhaps that is why he had driven her away? Draco mused now deep in thought, perhaps he had thought that would be the only way. He was still immersed within these thoughts when his compartment door was drawn back to reveal two of his regular companions; Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Immediately, like any other day, Pansy threw herself into his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck and her mouth pressed to the shell of his ear as he shrill voice squealed, "Oh, Draco you have been in a dreadful mood –let me make you feel better."

Draco winded as his eardrums rattled at the sound. He dumped Pansy onto the compartment floor and pressed the heel of his hand to his ear in an attempt to drown out the ringing. He threw a dry glare down in Pansy's direction as she picked herself up and proceeded to dust imaginary dirt from her school robes. She took a seat beside Blaise and, reluctantly, opposite Draco. She pouted visibly but both boys' ignored her. Instead, Blaise took his time to analyse Draco's dejected appearance. "What's the matter, Draco, did you not get a good grade in one of your final exams?"

Draco merely turned his head to gaze out at the scenery passing by. Just like his life. It was all passing him by, and he found he could not even enjoy the ride anymore. "I did very well on my exams, thank you," he replied nonchalantly. "How about you two?"

Blaise nodded, "I think I was only a few marks below you, so I think my mother will be best pleased with me," he smirked.

Pansy grinned too, "I managed to pass all of them thanks to being paired up with Ravenclaw this year."

Draco rolled his eyes in a bored manner though his eyes appeared vacant, "Normal people can think without help, Pansy."

Blaise snickered at this comment, "Pansy is a special case Draco you know that."

Draco could only give a gentle hum as a response. He was too busy trying to decide which would be his best strategy with his father; marks first and then the rejection of his father's scheme for s new empire? Or visa versa? He could not decide. He had the top grades in his year, so he decided to start with that. It would get his father's attention at least, in a positive way.

They journeyed onward and the main part of the trip was uneventful. When the sweet trolley tittered by Blaise and Pansy had arisen to buy something to satisfy their sweet tooth, however Draco could not bring himself to stand on his elasticated legs. He was too nervous about what was yet to come. As if on cue, the compartment door was thrown open, startling Draco out of his reverie. "Well, well, well look what we have here –a pimp and his two whores."

Draco looked up from the scuffed soles of the persons' shoes and up to the round, freckled face of Ron Weasley. A sneer was plastered on his lips. It did not belong there; smirks did not suit Gryffindors. Just like an iconic moron such as Weasley deserved such an intelligent and well-spoken girl like Hermione Granger, who was cuddled to the redheads body by a strong arm around her waist. She looked unperturbed by the events taken place. If anything, she was waiting for what would happen next.

Draco shook his head in pity. She had been such a smart girl, with witty comebacks, even if she was a Gryffindor, however as soon as she started to date Weasley, she had let her brains go. One would think that she would have enforced her own good behavior and basic etiquette to the Weasel, however it appeared that she had taken up his own idiotic habits instead. It was unfortunate. "Leave us be, Weasley," he said in a bored tone. He didn't want to deal with moronic pairs such as Weasley and the dumbed-down version of Granger. He had enough on his mind already.

Weasley sneered as he lounged on the door-frame of their compartment, "So you don't deny you're a whore?"

"If it means getting you out of here as quickly as possible, then I shan't deny a thing," Draco stated in a monotone. Clearly his nonchalant behavior was bothering the Weasel whom had clearly craved a reaction like an adrenaline fix he would not receive. He was an addict.

"Hear that, Mione? We are now in the presence of a whore," Weasley grinned and Granger giggled at his side.

Pansy was about to open her mouth to lash out at them with a withering retort, when Draco forced himself from the comfort of his chair and crossed the two-pace gap between himself and the compartment door. Weasley immediately straightened up, flexing his fingers as though readying himself for a fight. Granger was no longer attached to his hip.

Draco glanced at the clenching fists and sighed inwardly. He had had enough fights to last a lifetime. He was going to endure an even worse one in that very evening, and wished to store his energy for if and when he would need a quick escape. "Go back to your hole Weasley," Draco instructed as though he was announcing that Ron was ginger. He glanced down at Granger, "And take the beaver with you."

Granger looked affronted, and where she would have sneered a scathing remark, now all she did was gape between Draco and Weasley, looking for a fistfight at an insult being directed at her. Draco rolled his eyes as the Weasel drew his arm back for a punch. The punch did not land on Draco's face. In fact, it landed in thin air as Draco stepped back and slid the door shut. There was a bang, and rattling of glass as Weasley crashed face-down onto the glass panel. Ignoring the snide remarks from Pansy and Blaise about the Weasel, Draco stared out at the looming hills in the distance, silently contemplating the doom that awaited him at Malfoy Manor.

Lucius was not waiting for him at platform nine and three quarters, for which Draco was eternally thankful for. He needed time to compose himself. He walked through the barrier to the muggle world and shivered slightly. He felt a chill pervade his numb body as he spotted his chauffeur. With a sigh he moved across the platform and inclined his head to the driver, who was almost as stony faced as he felt. "Good to see you, Gladstone, how was the journey?" Draco asked casually as they both turned to face the entrance and walked towards it.

The Malfoy's sleek black limousine was waiting outside. It had a shimmering silver 'M' in elaborate calligraphy on the side doors. No one would dare touch that car; it had many protective enchantments around it. Gladstone reached forward and opened the door and waited for Draco to climb into the seat before closing the door once again. Malfoy's did not slide across their seats. Draco listened as Gladstone walked around the back of the car and climb into the driver's seat. The engine started. Draco could not relax in the back of the car, it seemed wrong to be in the vehicle. He swallowed and started out vacantly at the city passing by. He would not arrive at Malfoy Manor for another hour and a half. He reclined backwards on the leather seat, and closed his eyelids though he did not feel tired. He opted to force himself to have a nap before he had to face his father. He knew he was not ready, but then, would he ever be ready?


The Manor had not changed since he had last been there earlier in the year. The walls and floors were still the same dark granite flagstones, and the dull coloured tapestries still hung on the walls. The wooden furniture was still stained a dark, almost black colour. His heels had clicked along the flagstones as he had walked along the corridors towards his fathers study. He prayed that his mother would be invited in, as well, as he could not go through with it unless he saw one gentle face. His mother was as cold-hearted as the rest of the Malfoy clan.

Draco knew his parents loved him, deep down, under normal conditions, however after the piece of news he was about to divulge to his father, he was not sure who would be there to pick him up once he was beaten down.

He knocked on the door of his fathers study and waited to an invitation. "Come in," came his father's low, husky drawl. Draco grasped the iron door handle and pushed the door inwards, stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. He turned to face the room. His father was sitting in the armchair in front of the roaring fire, nursing a glass of brandy, his white gold hair gleaming in the dim light. His mother was not in the room. Tension pulsated into his muscles as he stood to attention. His father turned his head and acknowledged his son. "Good evening son how was the journey home?"

"Adequate, father, there was a disruption by the youngest Weasley boy and his new girlfriend, but other than that, it was uneventful."

Lucius moved his head up and down a fraction. "You appear troubled, my boy, what troubles you?"

"I have been thinking about some things over the past few weeks father, but I would much prefer to talk about it with mother present."

Lucius scrutinized his son after a while, his cold eyes not giving off any form of emotion. They were just twin pools of iron. "Very well. WOBBLES!" he yelled, causing Draco to flinch inwardly. There was a sharp crack as a house elf appeared. They stammered for what the master wanted. "Go and fetch Narcissa in here at once!"

"Yes, Master Malfoy, sir, Wobbles is getting Mistress Narcissa!" the elf squeaked.


Silence descended as they awaited Narcissa's arrival. When she did arrive, Draco held his breath. His mother looked miraculous if anything, her glossy blonde hair with her brunette under-layers flashing through the blonde layers, and her pale blue eyes shimmering softly. She acknowledged Draco as she walked past him, her arm encircling his shoulders and drawing him to her chest for a moment, before walking onward to seat herself in the armchair opposite her husband. Lucius turned his attention to his wife, "My dear, Draco has something he wishes to discuss with us."

"Oh!" Narcissa turned to look at Draco and gazed at him, "What is it darling? Have you thought a little more about the marriage to Astoria Greengrass?"

Draco bowed his head. He just knew his mother would bring that subject up. She was obsessed with mating Draco off to a pureblood girl from a wealthy family so that she could mollycoddle a grandchild. He drew in a deep breath. "No, mother, I have not given that matter much thought recently," he tried not to acknowledge his mother's crestfallen look longer than necessary. He needed to focus. He took a deep breath. "What I wanted to discuss was that –I do not wish to embark on father's latest idea to rebuild the empire the Dark Lord started."

He was panicking. He had said it in a rush, barely drawing breath, and now he felt his muscles burning within the confinements of his suit. He was staring intently at the floor. He could feel the weight of his father's angry gaze upon him. It burned through his skull. He trembled slightly. His mother drew in a sharp breath but otherwise made no noise. He could hear his father's erratic breathing as he attempted in vain to suppress his anger.

Draco was focusing so intently on the floor that he did not hear his father raise from his chair and cross the distance between them. In fact Draco had no idea his father was standing right behind him until –



The magnificent burning collision of his father's cane breaking across his backbone sent Draco to the floor on his knees, refusing to howl in pain, as the cane was brought down upon his frail form over and over again. His mother's cries rang out in his ears as Lucius beat him. He could feel his skin breaking with every blow that descended on him. Between the cracking of his bones and the smacking of the cane he could vaguely make out what his father's was spitting down at him.












"Lucius no!" shrieked Narcissa, though she made absolutely no move to go and free her son from her husbands discipline.

It was several strikes later by the time Lucius had grown bored of his abuse upon his son. He was disgusted. He drew his leg back and landed a swift kick into his unconscious sons' stomach.

Narcissa winced at her sons' body rolled onto his back. She watched, trapped in her chair, as Lucius snatched Draco's wand from the floor and swiftly snapped it in half, the dragon heart-string drooling through the two broken pieces. He threw it to the floor. Narcissa had tears in her eyes but she kept her composure. With a flick of his own wand Draco's battered black suit was transfigured into a filthy muggle outfit, before her husband nonchalantly dropped a portkey shaped as a single galleon onto his sons body. Narcissa restrained a strangled cry as her unconscious son was transported away into the muggle world. There would be no way to trace him. The trace from their family had been removed from him as soon as Lucius had disinherited him.

There would be no way at all to find him.

"Lucius ..." she began tearfully still staring at the space where Draco's unconscious form had previously been, "W-what have we become?"

Lucius glared down at his usually dutiful wife and swiftly struck her across the cheek. She gasped and held her stinging cheek, allowing the pent up tears to rain down her inflamed cheeks. "We are Malfoy's!" he spat, "Now start acting like one or you'll end up in the wilderness with your son!"

"Oh he's my son now is he?"


"And why is that?"

"Because Malfoy's never disobey their father's. He has been disinherited, Narcissa, he is no longer a Malfoy."

Narcissa had no chance to retort before Lucius swept out of the study leaving her to her own devices. She collapsed backwards into her armchair and sniffed. Her cheek throbbed horribly and the tears did nothing to soothe her aching heart. "Oh Draco," she whimpered mournfully, staring into the fire, and raising her hand to her forehead, "I have failed you."

A/N: Thank you to drarryh for helping giving me advice on the spelling errors. Now there are corrections.