Carridwen

"Counting all different ideas drifting away,

Past and present -- they don't matter,

Now the future's sorted out.

Watch, you're moving in elliptical pattern,

Think it's not what you say,

What you say is way too complicated.

For a minute thought I couldn't tell how to fall out." - "1901" Phoenix



He set his satchel down, placing it on a dark mahogany bureau in the entrance of his flat.



Walking across the aged cherrywood floors, he sank onto a sumptuous mattress that he substituted for a couch - the living space of his studio apartment was covered by a plush shag rug surrounded by this particular mattress and numerous floor pillows, cushions and chenille blankets in shades of slate, dark pewter and light teal.



The tired young man briefly flicked his wand, activating a modified muggle stereo system that began playing the passionate voice of Diana Ross over a beat from M.I.A.



In the two years after the war, so much had changed in Draco Malfoy's life.



The fall of the dark lord and the concurrent death eater trials had left the Malfoy name in shame. Narcissa Malfoy alone was left with hope in her eyes for the possibility of another chance at societal status.



With so many former "dark" families at a loss, Draco found himself flailing for a purpose in his life. Even Pansy Parkinson, his closest friend through the war and in many non-familial ways his sister, had been forced to denounce her family and move in to Malfoy Manor to escape the toll dark magic had left.



After weeks shut up in his room with too much firewhiskey, curtains closed off from the world, he made a hasty and selfish decision to back-pack across the continent in hopes of finding Blaise Zabini, who he suspected was still hiding in the heart of Italy.



Despite his mothers tears and warnings, Draco left with a small bag, his wand, and a one-way ticket across the English Channel - and without an Apparition License.



Coupling his directionally challenged nature with his complete lack of muggle knowledge, the trip took Draco in directions he had never thought conceivable, and a dark, humid, thunderous night found the young blond in a dirty, sketchy alley in god-knew-where France. It had been just two weeks after his departure from Malfoy Manor's cold, stone walls.



He was worn, haggard, and tired. His feet were wet and his hands fumbled in his pocket, grasping at his wand. Something held him back from using that wand - the wand that the Golden Boy used to murder the most deluded and vicious man who had ever lived.



He stumbled a bit down the road, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Of all the pain he'd been through, the torture from death eaters, the sick mind games of the dark lord, all he could think of now, in his moment of fatigue and hunger, was the warm embrace of his mother.



Finding a small alcove, he ducked underneath the overhang and sat down on the filthy ground as his body broke into sobs; he hugged himself close and closed his eyes from the world, trying to imagine a home that seemed so far away.



When he woke up again, he felt warmth. What? Where am I? He peeked up from the small bed he was lain in, and glanced around the dark purple room that smelled of incense. He heard the low murmur of voices through a doorway to the right, and warily approached, noting that his wand was still in his pocket.



"Bonjour, étranger !" a thin man with a brush of beard called to him from a worn down tweed couch, "Comment vous sentez-vous?"


Draco looked on in shock. Where was he? Who was this man?



The man stared at him curiously, "Euh... parlez-vous français?"



Draco shook his head at this, "Très peu..."



The wiry brunet before him chuckled, "Then english we shall speak. I can see from your accent! How far you have come to this city, then."



A small, lithe, exotic woman walked quickly into the room, hands occupied with a tray of food. "Notre invité! Il s'est réveillé!" She smiled broadly and Draco felt the confusion bubble against his chest uncomfortably.


"No, no Sera, he is englishman. We speak england for him." The man gestured for Draco to sit, and he did so.



"Where... What is this place?" Draco looked around at the dwelling, spotting two more occupants reading in a corner, with dreaded hair and odd piercings.



The woman called Sera looked at him warmly, "We are this place for a hostel. It is for traveling people as you." Her smiled turned to the man at her side, "Aubin my love found you. He made to pick you up and bring you for food and sleep. You can stay as long as it pleases you."



His head spun. What were these muggles going on about? He'd heard of hostels in London... but they were for dirty muggles... He glanced up to see a mirror just over the mantle of a dark fireplace, and stood abruptly, walking to it.



The man reflected was indeed different than he had last seen. A short, grimy blonde beard splashed across his chin, and his gray eyes were so... tired. He managed to lift his chin and an eyebrow, recalling the power he once commanded in striking terror or awe with one such look.



Yet he found he had no energy to uphold any grudges against these muggles. He was now one of them.



"Here, mon petit, it is soup and bread for your hunger. And you call yourself?" Sera pushed the tray towards him onto a small table.


"Draco... My name is Draco. And..." He sat once more in the sinfully comfortable chair, "...Thank you... So much."



For the first time in too many years, he lacked the fear to cry in front of strangers.



With the help of Aubin and Sera, he was able to figure out the muggle technologies and mapping systems to get himself to Italy. He found a listing of hostels along the way, and they assured him to simply state his name at each establishment, and they would handle the rest.



He felt nothing but gratitude, staying with the loving couple for several weeks, as they showed him the joys of an underground muggle lifestyle; meeting strangers, truly taking pleasure in a hot bath - for sometimes the water ran cold - and making kosher treats, enjoying the allure of illicit herbs, and traversing one night to a dark party in a broken-into basement of an abandoned warehouse. It was haunting and mystical, with the most beautiful noises he'd ever heard coming from the muggle devices that a young man was controlling, spinning and flicking buttons and orbs.



"Wow." Draco's eyes went wide as he commanded every action of dancing throughout the underground chamber with simple wrist flicks, pulling low and long beats and blending them expertly with melodious vocals in a language Draco hardly understood.



The sandy-haired man looked up to see Draco's rapture, and smirked, gesturing with toned arms for Draco to join him behind the crudely constructed booth, and the blond could do no less than follow the instruction offered to him.



""Savez-vous mixer?" The man asked softly against his ear to insure he could be heard over the heavy bass, the tone of his voice causing Draco to shiver.



"Ah..non, je ne sais pas"



The taller man grinned, placing his hands over Draco's and gliding them to the assortment of dials and discs in front of them, "C'est facile, mon ami..."



The buzz Draco experienced in creating the musical composition surpassed any ecstasy he'd ever known, and soon his entire body was swimming with power and pleasure.



When the DJ took his break, he pulled Draco by the wrists to a corner by under a web of colored lights and pressed him to a smooth stone wall, trapping the smaller man between his arms.



Draco found he didn't mind one bit when this stranger pressed his lips to his own, hungrily devouring his very soul. The fair few times he'd ever kissed a person - the fortunate girls of Hogwarts - he'd never found lust to be so... so satisfying. The way his lips reacted to the man's stubble, the press of his need grinding against Draco's thigh... none of this was unwelcome. And he decided there that if he was gay tonight then so be it. And if he was gay forever, then so be it.



As the days passed, Draco found himself feeling energized and strong, ready to continue his trek south, and bid a heartfelt goodbye to his gracious hosts, both of whom he promised he'd write.



He made good on his promise, and with them in mind he blazed a path across the continent, making acquaintances along the way and trying his hand at DJing when he could, ears perking at every opportunity to expand his knowledge of his newfound love for the underground music scene.



As he finally reached his destination just five months after his journey began, he discovered he was once again feeling whole.



Rome, Italy, was full of highly perceptible magical activity. It was often overlooked by the muggle world because of common religious superstitions - the broad, bustling, warm marbled city was a perfect place for a wizard to hide out.



Blaise Zabini waited patiently at a cafe - specified in a note that he believed to be of Draco Malfoy's handwriting, though received via muggle mail - that opened into a stone courtyard, a small fountain just barely spraying his Armani blazer. He felt strangely anxious, as though an impending weight was soon to be placed on his shoulders, for if Draco had been hardened by war, what would he say to his carefree Italian counterpart? Blaise barely noticed the street straggler that strode behind him to pull it's dirty gloves off and wash it's oddly pale hands. The gutter punk continued to remove it's scarf and splashed water into it's face, rubbing roughly at it's mop of hair and short beard - in it's fervor, Blaise felt water hit the back of his neck.



The brunet stood abruptly, grasping at the thin object in his pocket and readying to curse this hobo.



"Watch it, you fool! This blazer is worth more than you'll--" the sharp Italian hesitated as he gazed into the eyes of the scruffy man before him.



"...Drake?" Blaise's smooth voice wavered, in confusion and odd relief.



The unwashed blonde looked at him with wide, clear eyes, and a slow smile slid onto his face as he surveyed his old friend. Suddenly, the boy formerly known as the Slytherin Ice Prince was laughing in a courtyard in Italy, holding the shocked and awed Blaise Zabini, tears glistening in both of their eyes.



"Blaise... Blaise, mon ami... Mon dieu, I miss her." Blaise lifted himself from the emotional reunion and looked at Draco's red eyes and haggard demeanor.



"Who, Drake?" Pain and sympathy shone in Blaise's azure eyes, attempting to recall the witches they knew through the war.



"I miss her... Ma mère... I miss my mom." Draco sobbed openly into Blaise's shoulder. "I just want to go home, Blaise... I want to go home."



Blaise's body barked out a light laugh, and he held the drastically changed man in his arms.



"I think it's about time. Let's go back home, mio amico."



Draco Malfoy had come back home, bringing Blaise Zabini with him, and having immediately collapsed in his mother's arms. He had found an inner strength while away, and began piecing his future together.



He bought a flat in a chic district of london, wanting to be away from the nightmares he felt when he looked at his Manor. Someday he knew that he would rebuild his memories of the place, but for now he needed to breathe air untainted by the past. He began taking jobs at local clubs to DJ under the alias DJ Aeval - a name attributed to a Celtic sex goddess and faery queen and a name thrown around by his pagan bohemian friends in France - as he had picked up quite a talent for the profession while journeying through europe, and even had a bit of a fan club - a group of fans who followed his shows and attended almost every one of them.



Having brought Blaise back to London, the man had taken a liking to the social circles of club managers and been introduced to the muggle music industry, the different managers all clambering to get their artists or DJs jobs at the hottest clubs. The smooth talking Italian found it easy to talk anyone into giving Draco a gig, and he himself would sit back in the VIP section and enjoy free drinks and mingling with London's posh socialites. Blaise began attending the wizarding university in London to become more knowledgeable of the music industry itself - he wanted to become DJ Aeval's legitimate manager.



But now the Draco Malfoy was settled. Smooth face pressed into a plush mattress. Napping in his meditative studio flat.



Buzzzz!



"Ughhhhh," he groaned loudly against his pillow.



Buzzzzzzzz!



He lumbered up from his comfort zone and dragged his feet to the intercom, pressing the button that unlocked the door to the stairwell.



Does she have to be so early? he wondered wearily.



The entrance shot open.



"Drakeyyyy! Mama's home!" Pansy Parkinson rushed into the room, decked out in a shiny pink one-piece and sheer black tights, purple nylon sash wrapped artistically at her waist.



"Baby, when are we going shopping? You promised I could pick out your outfit for Friday!" She flopped onto a floor cushion and stared at him with large eyelashes and a touch of purple eyeshadow, her short black bob of hair tilting along her neck.



Draco laughed at her display of "cute" and ran a hand through his hair, "Fine, Panz, but can you hold off on the enthusiasm until after morning tea?"



"Oh, sweetheart, you know nothing would ever make me do that!" She stood up and grabbed his hand, pulling him hastily towards the door.



"Wait! Panz! I need to grab my shoes!"



His plea was met with bell-like laughter.



"Ha! Fuck shoes!"



And the door slammed behind them.





A/N: shout outs full of love to my beta, cronikartist.

also, SUPER THANKS to my ONE SINGLE REVIEWER for chapter one. mad props to MonsterOfMalice, you didn't say much but you reviewed!! so i love you.


update: as of 3-18-10 i now have someone helping with the french dialogue used in this fic! many thanks to kry-chan for her amazing help in fixing up this chapter, and hopefully chapters to come!

reviews are appreciated. :)