Runaway

by Jiwwy
 
 

Chapter 1
Draco's Away
 

"Goddamnit," hissed the enraged father upon entering his son’s room. The bed was bare, as was
the chair by the fireplace, his son’s favorite sulking spot. The room was freezing cold and few embers
were left burning in the mantle. This really was no hint as to how long the boy had been gone; the
room was always cold, the fire always meek. "He’s run off again."
 

***

The best part of running away, thought a panting Draco Malfoy as he went down the street away
from the muggle train station, is finding a spot to hide.

He of course knew that wherever on earth he tried to conceal himself his father would always find
him. Lucius Malfoy had always been an expert hunter, but Draco had had a lot of experience in hiding.
This was a landmark occasion, his twentieth bout for freedom. His farthest so far had been his
seventeenth, when last summer he’d managed to hide away in different parts of Muggle London for
a week.

This time however, his allowance had bought him a ticket on the train to a smaller town near southern
Liverpool, again mostly inhabited by Muggles. He wondered now where he might go. Usually he went
for a park or some other public place, but Lucius had long since taken to looking there first, so
Draco’d thought he might look for a Muggle home to actually stay in. A beautiful idea really, Lucius
would never guess that his prejudiced little boy would even think of such a hideous thing. Draco
might make two weeks this time before he was apprehended.

He looked up and down the street, not only thinking of who might take him in, but how he might
convince them to take him in. Muggles might be savage and disgusting, but they weren’t completely
stupid. Draco seriously doubted someone would take in this aristocratic fifteen-year old, with his
smooth hair, condescending smirk, and handsome tie and jacket set with long black cloak. Hmm.

Okay, yes… he’d been stolen from… on the way to his sick grandmother’s house! Eh, no, too
cheesy.

Wait, yes, he’d been stolen from and… Ah… he’d been beaten? Yes…. Good God, Draco,
I love that mind! He grinned to himself, allowing a mental pat on the back. He grinned to himself,
allowing a mental pat on the back. No, not only beaten, he had amnesia!

He grinned quite smugly, proud of himself for reading Ways to Cure Simple Muggle Ailments…Or
Make Them. With this foolproof plan, he dirtied himself up and went as far as to make a few small
rips in his expensive cloak. With some fancy wandwork he conjured himself tear streaks and with a
lot of good acting he worked himself up and starting hiccuping and coughing pitifully as though he’d
been crying for hours straight.

What poor muggle could resist?
 

***

Lorelei Granger was rather pretty for a forty-five-year-old mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter.
She had dark brown eyes and light brown hair that was always up in a loose bun. Being a dentist,
she couldn’t have her long, bushy hair down and in her work area.

Carl Granger had dark brown hair that was graying a little at his balding hairline, warm blue
eyes, and a warm, white, straight smile.

Their daughter, Hermione, was away for a week at the home of Arthur and Molly Weasley.
She’d be home tomorrow afternoon, and this couldn’t come too soon for Lorelei and Carl.
Hermione was all they had, and even though the long terms at boarding school for Sorcerers
was nearly unbearable to them, they knew it made her happy, which was really all any parents
could want for their only child, their pride and joy.

Suddenly there was a knocking on the door.
 

***

"P-p-please. Let me in, good people." Draco called in a croaking voice that made him grin
inwardly. He got a kick out of himself.

The door opened slowly and a woman opened the door. Her eyes had soft laugh lines next to
them and she looked to be wearing no makeup. Both of these attributes would have made
Narcissa Malfoy scream.

"Miss?" He smiled meekly.

"Oh god, dear boy, what’s wrong?"

"I-" Draco paused. If one got amnesia in a fight would one remember being in a fight? "-I don’t
know."

The woman gripped the door frame, watching him closely. "You don’t know… Dear, do you
have a home?"

Draco stopped again, looked to be searching above his head for the answer. He responded
slowly. "I don’t know. I can’t remember much. I just woke up across the street in the park there
and found my wallet gone…" No, no, Draco, you don’t know if you had a wallet. "I mean to
say, there was a wallet tossed to the side… of me… and there was no money in it, but… but
there was…" He fumbled for his real wallet with both hands in his now worn pocket. As he
pretended to have trouble taking it out he slipped the fifty pound note he had exchanged earlier
with a few galleons from his father’s desk before he made off, out of the wallet and into the
pocket. He then held out the wallet with a picture of his father and himself riding horses on the
fields of the manor. "There was this picture in it?"

The woman studied it, and his face. "I’m afraid you’ve been mugged, love." Muggled? thought
Draco. "You sure you don’t know who you are? Who… Who this man is?" She pointed to his
father and he shook his head fervently and she nodded. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh could I really, Madame, I’d appreciate it so." He spoke with a lot of effort behind his words,
sounding a bit cheesy and like Little Orphan Annie.

She finally opened the door wider and let him in. "Carl, honey, there’s a boy out here, he’s been
robbed! Doesn’t know where he is!"

A balding man got out of the armchair next to a blazing fire and took off his spectacles.
"Gracious, is he alright, Lorelei?"

"I suppose." She patted Draco’s silver-blonde locks down as if he’d had a cowlick and smiled
solicitously as he fought down an urge to reach in a hidden pocket of his cloak and curse her on
the grounds that no person but himself and maybe his father could touch his hair. Not that
Lucius would ever want to but the thought of even the thought of Lucius Malfoy meant life in
the chambers under the drawing room floor, and though it was close not even Draco’s hair
was worth that.

"Boy?" Carl said softly to Draco. "You don’t remember your name at all?"

Draco sighed and looked to be thinking hard. "Er, um, I think… I think… It was Neville." He
half laughed at himself for being so stupid. Neville Longbottom was the first name to come to
his mind. God forbid these people knew a thing about the Neville he knew and associated him
with that. "Erm. Yes, that’s it!"

Carl beamed proudly at Lorelei and back at Draco. "Great, that’s good Neville, and… I’m
just a dentist, I wouldn’t know what to do in a case of amnesia… But it doesn’t seem too
serious if you could recall your name so fast then, does it. So, if you feel nice and well-"

Lorelei looked worried and cut in. "Carl, what shall we do? He still hasn’t an idea where he
lives, do you love," Draco nodded again, "and I couldn’t bear to let him back on the street,
look at the condition of his coat, he’s asking to be mugged again!"

Carl sighed. "I suppose… If you’d… Well… I suppose he could sleep in here tonight? Just
to make sure he’s alright, until he gets back his memory?"

Draco grinned broadly. Ten minutes later Lorelei and Carl were bustling about him, getting
blankets and readying the sofa. Lorelei treated him far more like a son than Narcissa ever had
done at home, patting his shoulders and bringing him hot chocolate. He supposed she might
have tucked him in if Carl hadn’t murmured it was time for them to go to bed and good night.

Draco lay on the sofa, which wasn’t quite his huge bed at the manor but was still soft and
comfy to him under layer of thick comforters (Lorelei has insisted he must be freezing after
staying in the park for God knows how long), and chuckled happily at his exploits. Muggles
were so damned trusting… but Lorelei was more than just accepting him, she actually
seemed to like him. He was startled as he realized how alien this feeling was. Soft touches,
warm smiles, friendly gestures… How unfamiliar that this was all so unprovoked. Yes, he
could get this after a few galleons were flashed normally, but…

But? Erm…

How much funnier it was to get this reaction by a prank!

A swooshing sound made him jump and he whipped his head around in reflex to the sound
coming from the fireplace over his shoulder. It seemed he jerked too suddenly and he hit his
head and shoulder on the coffee table as he fell off the couch. He yelled as he slid between
the low table and the couch and was buried alive by the pounds and pounds of comforters.
 
 
 

Chapter 2