Forsaken

Here's the next part of it. This has a plot, I swear!
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*FLASHBACK to THREE MONTHS PRIOR to Harry's entrance.*

"Mother... I've really got to protest," Draco said, eyeing the clothes she'd laid out for him. "For one thing they're much too small." He tried to keep the whiny petulance out of his voice, but he couldn't help it. She was asking the impossible of him.

"They're dead, Draco, they're not going to need the clothes any more." Narcissa's cool smile said that they probably weren't dead twenty four hours ago. Sometimes Draco was deathly afraid of his mother, and with good reason.

"For another," he continued on, ignoring her. "This shirt most definitely belongs to a girl, and I'm not about to spend the next few years of my life as a girl."

Narcissa's smile evaporated and she sighed, visibly fighting anger. "You spoiled brat," she started. "You have no idea what dangers you would put us in. Just take the polyjuice, and change your clothes. We're apparating tonight, and you are not showing up like that. You stick out too much."

It was Draco's fault they were on the run, and the both of them knew it. Instead of facing the Dark Lord and receiving his punishment for failing to kill Dumbledore, he'd fled, hiding out in Ireland until his mother finally tracked him down. Lucius had been killed in Azkaban, and Narcissa had barely escaped with her life. "We are going to lay low for a while. A few months at the least, but it could be more like years. Until the Dark Lord has been defeated, or has forgotten his anger at the Malfoy family."

Draco sighed, realizing that he'd lost the fight before he'd even begun it, and picked up the bag. "Do I even want to know what's in here?" he asked, poking at it distastefully. Another, bigger bag was off to the side, leaning drunkenly against a third.

"Well, if we're going to be spending a few years in polyjuice, we're going to need a few years worth supply of hair, don't you think?" Narcissa asked sweetly, and Draco dropped the bag. Another bag flopped out of it, a plastic muggle thing filled to the brim with fiery red hair. Draco nudged it out of the way, and pulled another plastic thing out, this one filled with not quite so much darker red hair. NARC. was written on the darker one, and DRAC. on the first, in thick black lines. At the bottom of the bag was a sealed over cauldron, just a tiny one, which presumably held the first of their polyjuice. Narcissa turned away from her son, and dropped her robes. Draco squeaked, turning his back, and listened to the shuffle of clothing being exchanged behind him.

"Ugh, that's nasty," Narcissa mumbled to herself, and Draco imagined her pinching her nose up in distaste as she swallowed the potion. There were a few moments of sickening not-silence, and then when Narcissa spoke again, Draco nearly had a heart attack.

"Alright, Drake, your turn," said a man, and he turned, staring down at his once-mother. "You'll call me dad from now on, understand?" His voice was gravelly, slightly accented.

"Um... alright then... Dad." Draco said, taking the proferred cup from him. He added a tiny bit of red hair from his bag, and wrinkled his nose before drinking it. There was the usual disorientation that came from becoming someone else, but unlike Narcissa, he didn't have the control over his stomach to stand there and let it happen. He dashed for the bathroom, feeling as though he would throw it right back up out of his stomach, and when the nausea passed, he screamed after looking in the mirror.

A gaunt-faced red-head stared back at him, and it took him a few moments to realize that that was him now. Her. She. Oh no.

"Moth... Fa...er... Dad?" he called, and slipped out of the bathroom. Draco's trousers, which had fit him perfectly not ten seconds before, now hung so loose they threatened to fall. Draco held them up stoically, and marched back outside.

"Our new name will be Madden. Jacob Madden. Do you have a name in mind?" Narcissa - now Jake - rifled through one of the larger bags, and pulled out a pair of jeans, socks, and a shirt. He picked up a bra and underwear, too, and threw it all at Draco. "Put that on while you think about it."

He turned his back, and Draco finally let the clothes fall off him as they had been threatening to since he shrank. The bra was a piece of work, but he finally got it on by clasping it in the front and twisting it around his body. It took a few moments to adjust to the pressure around his middle, but he liked the way it pushed them up a bit, making his tiny breasts seem just a little bit bigger than they were. Muggle magic at work, he supposed, and finished dressing. Slipping on the black sneakers that looked as though they'd fit, he thought about a name. The only red-heads he'd ever known in his life were the Weasley's. Molly was a horrible name, but he couldn't remember the Weaselette. Ginny? No, it was something... Jonnie was a boy's name, couldn't have been that. Jennie, that was it. "Jennie," she said. "Jennie... Madden."

"Alright then, Jennie. You dressed?" Draco murmured his affirmative, and Narcissa turned around. "Still skinny," she said, taking in 'Jennie's' half-starved form. "I think he hit her, that bastard. Pick up the bags, Dr.. Jennie. Jennie, Jennie Jennie.."

Draco picked the bags up, and tried to convince himself to call the large man 'dad' or 'Jake' instead of 'mother.' Narcissa-Jake took her arm once she had everything, and they disapparated with a crack.

*PRESENT DAY*

Harry spent the next three days in Jenne's company whenever he could manage it. They talked of school, and love, and life and death, and Harry started to wish that he could stay with her, and date her like a proper young muggle man. They didn't speak of the stars any more, though she showed him the library she loved. It was on the third day, when Harry was preparing to leave, that they ran into Jenne's father.

He appeared, menacingly tall, in the warm sunshine outside of the library as the pair was leaving, on their way to the small grocers. "Dad!" Jenne said, startled to see him. He glowered at Harry.

"I thought I asked you not to speak to strangers, Jennie," he said, frowning at Harry as if it was his fault. Well, Harry thought, maybe it was, but she didn't need to get him out of his hotel room at the crack of dawn to talk to him.

"Jenne, dad, Jen-nuh! Not Jennie. Not Jenn. Not Jennifer. Jenne." Her tone was almost petulant, and her father gave a slow nod. It was obviously an old argument.

"Er, my name is Harry ... Evans, sir," Harry said, stepping forward. "I'm leaving shortly."

"Evans, eh?" He leaned down, using his height to his advantage. Jenne glowered at him, and tugged Harry to the side.

"You heard him," she said, again sounding almost nasty. "We're going to the market, and he'll be on his way. No need to go all parental."

If Harry had dared speak to Vernon Dursley in such a tone, he'd've been backhanded and locked away to starve. Apparantly it was normal interaction for Jenne and her father, for he did nothing more than turn and stalk away in an angry movement that was reminiscent of Snape. Jenne took a discreet sip out of the small bottle, and flipped off his retreating form.

"He's such an asshole," she muttered angrily, jamming the bottle into her pocket. Harry had asked about it, and been told to fuck off. Later, she apologized, and told him that her doctor had prescribed it for things like mood swings. She was bipolar, she said, and had an emotional range like a rollercoaster. There was no telling what would set her off, and Harry had more than once seen her retreating in tears after handing her a particularly nice flower or finding a dragon in the clouds. Flowers and dragons reminded her of her mother, she explained, and Harry was more careful about what he mentioned from then on.

"Jenne," he said as they were walking out of the grocers. He had his backpack on again, and was fidgeting nervously with his glasses. "I told you I was on a quest to save the world, right?"

She nodded, walking him to the edge of town. "I still don't believe you," she said, sniffling already.

He gave her a soft smile. "Well, I like you." She blushed, and he pressed on. "I don't know if I'll ever come back this way, but is it alright if I... write to you?"

"Write... like... letters?" She asked, sounding a little curious.

Harry nodded, then frowned. "Would it be too much of a stretch if I sent you letters with owls?" He bit his lip, wondering if he'd just made a colossal mistake. She knew he wasn't normal, but now he was just announcing it for the whole world.

To his great surprise, she nodded. "Owls would be great. I love owls. Do you have a trained owl, then? Like the pidgeons?"

He had no idea what she was talking about, but went along with it. "Yeah, a trained owl, like the pidgeons. You can write back to me, too, if you want, that way."

"Send you a letter with the owl?" She laughed, but Harry thought it was a little forced. "Well, alright! If you never get it, though, don't be too surprised. Maybe I'll make copies of the letters, and keep them here, and give them to you when you come back."

He'd already tried explaining that he might not come back - he didn't want to come out and tell her he was expecting to die on his quest - but she'd just laughed it off.

"Alright," he said softly, and she hugged him.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she murmured. "I like your company. It'll be lonely out here now that I know what I'm missing."

Harry smiled, putting his arms around her a little awkwardly. "I'm sure you'll manage. And I promise I'll write."

*

Dearest Jenne,

I've been gone only two days, and yet it feels like my whole life has passed since I last saw you. I miss you, as banal as that sounds. I wish I'd had longer to talk. Now that you're not right in front of me, I find that I can actually speak freely, because if you start crying, I don't have to worry that you'll run away. I should start with the truth. You deserve no less. My full name is Harry James Evans Potter - Harry Potter. I'm famous where I come from, even if you've never heard my name before in your life. Well, since I've got time, I'll tell you all the things about me that I wanted to while I was with you. You'd never have believed me, though, so I'll just write it, instead, so you can laugh.

First things first. I'm not like you, Jenne. I can do special things. I can do things you've never even dreamed of, just by saying a few words. I'm a wizard - I do magic. I even go to a wizarding school, or I did until last year. Let me start at the beginning... I was born at the end of July, seventeen years ago, to James and Lily Potter, also magical. When I was a year old, an evil wizard killed them, and tried to kill me. He failed, but I was marked as his equal. He sort of transferred some of his powers to me - I can talk to snakes, you know. My friends tell me it comes out as a horrible hissing noise, but I hear English when I do it. Anyway, because my parents were dead, and this evil wizard was after me, I was sent to live with my relatives. They hated me. They hated anything to do with magic, and they didn't want me mucking up their perfect lives. I was abused, I see that now, but I didn't know any better - I thought all children were made to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and that my cousin was special and got a room, just because he was spoiled. When I was eleven, I got an invitation to the school for magic, and I found out who my parents were. My aunt and uncle told me that they were killed in a car crash....

... And then I met Draco Malfoy. He was awful to me, and reminded me of my cousin, and worse, he made fun of the first friend I'd ever made. And then he insinuated that he only wanted to be my friend because of who I was - I'd 'defeated' the evil wizard when I was a baby, you know, and everyone loved me because of it. Malfoy continued to hate me, and I tried to hate him just as much. I couldn't hate him, though, not after I met his father - a thoroughly unpleasant man, if you ask me. Downright nasty, and Malfoy seemed like a little fly in comparison with the evil wizard, and his own father....

...Suppose I've talked enough for one letter. If you get this, and you don't think I'm a complete nutter, feel free to tell the owl - yes, talk to the owl, Jenne - to bring your response to Harry Potter. He'll find me.

Thank you for listening, in any case. I've needed that for a long time.

Harry

When Jenne set the letter down, she had tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I never knew..." she whispered, and felt the polyjuice potion wearing off. She changed out of her muggle clothes, putting on a pair of pajama pants as the form of Draco replaced the familiar red-headed girl in the mirror. Narcissa poked her head in the door.

"Draco, despite this house being under fidelius, they can still follow owls to us. Who on earth is writing you letters?! No one know -- Potter?"

"Potter," Draco said softly, looking at the small pile of white, blue-lined paper the owl had delivered. The bird currently sat on his dresser, preening and occasionally taking a few bites of the crackers Draco had given it.

Narcissa scowled. "I can't believe you just let Potter walk out. You could have conked him over the head and delivered him to the Dark Lord, and redeemed the family name once and for all -"

"Mother!" Draco snapped. "I'm not joining Voldemort. He's going to lose anyway. I'd rather be on the winning side." Narcissa sighed, retreating without a fight. When they'd arrived in the small muggle town, she'd immediately decreed that they were to avoid all mention of wizards and magic, and secreted their wands away. She - as Jake Madden - had gotten a job at the mechanics, much to Draco's horror, and insisted he get a job, as well. He'd changed his name to Jenne, from Jennie, insisting that he wanted to stand out just a little. Jennie was normal, commonplace, he'd argued. She relented as soon as he got the job as a waittress. Severus Snape had dropped a few hints about supporting Potter, though she'd never quite given up the hope that they'd be somehow able to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Dark Lord. It wasn't that she wanted her son to crawl at his feet as her husband had done, it was just that there was nothing else for her to do. Her families - the Black's and the Malfoy's - had supported Grindelwald when he was in power, and they would similarly support Voldemort. Unlike Grindelwald, however, Voldemort was a little on the mad side, and had less support for his own supporters, using instead fear to control them. It wasn't how she'd imagined her only son spending his life, but at least they knew what was expected of them in Voldemort's service.

"Besides which, I cannot believe you just said 'conked'," Draco continued, sounding a little bit amused. Narcissa turned to close the door behind her, and offered her recalcitrant son a smirk and a wink. He laughed, the sound muffled behind the door, and she smiled. It was good to hear him laugh, after all these months after Lucius' death. It wasn't something they discussed heavily, but she knew it had hit him hard, no matter what a disgusting worm her husband had become in recent years. So, Harry Potter. There were worse people he could be corresponding with.

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I was tempted to have Jenne be Narcissa, just to spite the people who'd guessed Draco automatically ^_~ Still, here's the next chapter. Sorry about the little hiatus, I started reading. If no one's read/heard of A Year Like None Other by aspeninthelight, I demand that you review, and hurry over to skyehawke to read it, and it's wipsequel, A Summer Like None Other. Honestly, one of the best fics I've ever read, and while I keep hoping it will randomly turn H/D, I love it despite it's lack of guns and handcuffs. ^_~ Thanks for reading!