Malfoy in the Muggle World

Prologue--Midnight Visitor

It was nearly midnight. Narcissa Malfoy stood in the empty street, struggling to hold up her barely conscious son. Her robes were filthy and torn, her once sleek blonde hair now stringy and unkempt. She stared up at the Muggle house, waiting for the lights to go out.

The house was very ordinary looking, made of sturdy bricks with a pleasant courtyard in the front. Narcissa had been watching this house for almost a week now, and as far as she could tell, it was currently inhabited by a lone person: a girl about her son's age. She had eavesdropped on this girl's conversations, gathering that her parents and older brother would be away on summer holiday. So far, the girl had only left the house twice: both times in a noisy car and returning with several plastic shopping bags, probably full of groceries. Otherwise, she stayed inside the house, occasionally coming out into the front yard to water the potted plants. The other Muggles that lived on this same (dead-end) street were also very quiet. There were only three other families: an elderly couple, a snobbish woman in her forties, and a businessman who was rarely at home. None of them seemed very neighborly; they never spoke to each other, in fact, never even acknowledged each other's existence. This was good: the less curious they were, the better.

She wasn't exactly sure why, but she had a feeling that her son would be safe here with this Muggle girl, whoever she was. It was still a terrible risk, leaving Draco here with a complete stranger and a Muggle, no less. She sighed. There was no choice. Ever since Lucius had become disturbed and violent, she'd had to leave Draco in the care of other Wizarding families. There were precious few who could, or would, take him in, and none that she could trust completely. So she was torn between husband and son. She couldn't possibly choose, and yet, she must.

Finally, the lights blinked out. Narcissa heaved another sigh and approached the doorstep. She gently leaned Draco against the doorframe.

"Mum..." He reached out for her arm. "Don't leave...me..."

Wiping away the tears trickling down her face, she reluctantly broke his weak grip. "I swear," she whispered. "I will come back for you..." She kissed his forehead. Then she rang the bell and hid herself behind some bushes.

Emily had just begun to fall asleep when the doorbell rang.

"What the hell?" she muttered, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and slipping on a fluffy bathrobe. "It'd better not be Kyle again. I've told him a million times not to make any unannounced visits, especially at night. Absolutely no respect..."

Grumbling, she went down the stairs. "Kyle Whitmoor," she shrieked, angrily wrenching open the front door. "You stinking--" The limp body of Draco Malfoy slumped against her bare feet. She gazed downward in shock, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The pale, dirty teenaged boy stirred feebly, the front porch light revealing a large gash across his bruised cheek. Emily stuck her head out the door, peering into the darkness. "Hello? Is anyone there?" she called uncertainly. Narcissa remained silently hidden in the bushes. The girl's startled reaction was expected, though Narcissa had no idea who this Kyle Whitmoor person might be. He was apparently not welcome here. The girl squinted again, then proceeded to pull Draco into the house. The door closed and light came on. Knowing that Draco might attempt to escape when he awoke, Narcissa placed spells around the property that would prevent him from Apparating or Disapparating. Giving the house a final glance, she crept out of her hiding place and Disapparated into the night.

Meanwhile, Emily had managed to drag Draco onto the couch. He had fainted and was quite cumbersome to maneuver. Emily stood over him for a few minutes, observing him. He was obviously ill and injured, his breathing fast and shallow. She felt his forehead and confirmed that he was suffering from a fever. But what was she supposed to do? She thought of calling the police. Yes, that would certainly be a reasonable thing to do. This strange boy showing up in the middle of the night...yes, she really should call the police. What if he was a fugitive of some sort, a murderer on the run? She reached for the phone, then hesitated. He certainly didn't look like a murderer. In fact, he looked rather harmless. Well, whatever he was, he definitely needed help. The police could wait until morning. She got up from the couch to retrieve some fever-reducing medicine from the cabinet.

Draco felt something cool and wet on his face, and then a hand against his forehead. His cheek stung for a second; he whimpered in pain and jerked away. He tried to see, but his eyelids were too heavy to open more than a crack. He thought he caught a glimpse of his mother's blonde hair. Something was forced down his throat and he choked, coughing.

"Here, drink this," said an unfamiliar voice, and the rim of a cup was pressed to his lips. He swallowed, thankful for the feeling of cool water slipping into his stomach. His head was spinning...spinning...and everything went black once more.

The poor boy had lost consciousness once again. He'd only woken long enough to swallow some pills and water. Emily removed the cloak he was wearing, wrinkling her nose at the smell. He groaned and shifted onto his back, something falling out his pocket. It seemed to be a polished stick of wood. She wondered why he'd be carrying it around. Perhaps...the murder weapon? No, it couldn't be. It was just some ratty old stick, maybe a good luck charm or something. She carefully set it aside on the coffee table, making sure to touch it only with her bathrobe and not her hands (in case it was dangerous). She still didn't understand why he was here. Who put him here? Why did they abandon him when he was so obviously in need? Why not leave him at a hospital instead? Unless...unless they didn't want anyone to know. But that still didn't make sense. Any normal person would have automatically notified the police right away (and Emily was still considering this option at the moment). Perhaps he was a spy... No, that would be utterly ridiculous. What kind of spy agency would dump one of its members on her front porch in the middle of the night? Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a remotely plausible explanation for the appearance of this mysterious boy. Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep on the carpeted floor.