Blind - drarry

Blind - Chapter 1

Published: November 15, 2020

Updated: September 30, 2021

Clink. Clink. Draco rattled his cup as he heard shoppers pass. Most ignored him, but a few dropped a knut or two in his cup. He didn't bother rasping out pleas for coins. He noticed that it rarely helped and elicited scathing responses. He upset their perfect image of what the new wizarding world should be. Beggars, especially blind beggars in tattered robes, didn't fit in the picture. So, Draco found a different spot every day, because the shopkeepers hated his presence.

Then two coins, sickles he guessed from the sound, dropped into his cup, and he uttered a contrite, "Thank you," in his rough voice. He never used his normal voice, as people might recognize him. It was why he used a blindfold, too. His grey eyes were very unique, as was his name.

"You're welcome. Is there anything I can help you with?" a man's soft voice said. It sounded familiar, and he hated lacking sight to identify this person.

Moreover, he was not used to people initiating conversations with him, except when they ordered him to leave or die. He usually considered both options. Though a few just spoke to him because they wanted to hear more of his praise.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the coins," Draco whispered in suitable subserviency. Voldemort loved his slaves to cower and preen for his attention. He was well used to bowing for scraps, now.

"It's not a problem. You're not hungry?" he said.

He was not used to this much talking. "I will use the coins for food, sir. I don't use potions."

"No... I mean... I have a sandwich here. You can have it," he said and gently nudged it against his fingers.

Draco grabbed onto it. It was wrapped in a layer of cellophane. "Thank you," he said, accepting it.

"It's ham and cheese," his philanthropist explained.

"It's perfect, sir. Thank you," he said, bowing.

"You don't have to call me, sir. I'm going to be around here for the next six months on my patrol rotation. I've seen you the last few days, when I was getting trained, and my trainer said you didn't cause any problems."

Crap. An Auror. It might be a junior Auror, but still a badge-carrying member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"You're the new constable?" he whispered.

"I guess that's not an inaccurate term."

"You want me to move? I can leave, sir," Draco said, ready to run.

"No! No, you're fine! I just wanted to say hi."

Draco took in a deep breath and was trying not to shake. He was afraid of being found out as normal, law-abiding citizens didn't want a convicted Death Eater roaming the streets unchecked. He technically had to follow any orders given to him from a Ministry officer, too. He didn't want to say anything else, or the constable might ask him more questions. His identity had to stay under the cloak.

"Are you alright?" the friendly constable asked.

"I'm fine, sir. Thank you for the sandwich," he said, trying not to act suspicious. Draco could hear him kneel next to him.

"Hey, you tensed up. It's okay. I'm not going to be a prat, alright? I don't want you to be afraid of me."

That did not reassure him at all. He took carefully controlled breaths and didn't move as he had no defense. The constable had all the power in the world over him.

But the man just whispered, "I see I'm causing you distress. I am sorry for that, okay. I'll see you... I'll be around, alright? If you have any issues, please don't hesitate to tell me about them. I'm here for you, too, not just the patrons and shopowners."

With that, the Auror said good day and left him alone. Draco tried in vain to calm down. He needed to leave, now, though he still had a few hours of daylight left. He was shaken by the conversation with the chatty Auror. The last constable only talked to him when there was a complaint, and Draco always left immediately. Begging, thankfully, isn't a crime that he could be arrested for.

Draco shoved the sandwich into his bag and picked up his stick. However, many people were in the street as it was rush hour, which made it difficult to navigate the crowd. He had to use his stick to test that the area was clear and count steps in his head. Back the one-o-eight paces he had counted this morning, then a right turn, sixty-seven paces, and twenty to the left got him to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. By now, he memorized the path through Knockturn easy enough and got to the sloping street that drained down into a small stream that eventually connected with the Thames.

There was a muggle car bridge over the stream, with a low walkway under it that Draco had to crouch for. About twenty paces in, there was a small opening that he had to low crawl to get into. Inside was bigger, but he still had to crawl to his corner. Several other beggars took up residence in the crawl space as well. They were muggles, near as he could tell, who came from the other side of the bridge. Thankfully, they allowed him to stay and didn't steal his blankets or stuff when he slept. His handicap seemed to make him more enduring to them.

They checked on him often, even offering him parts of their meals, if he had nothing. Murtagh, the protective one of the group, came over when his nightmares or panic attacks hit. The fact that he was young helped, too, and that he was new to this. They often tried to get him to go to a muggle shelter or to their spots on the other side.

"Oio, laddie. Yeh're early taday," the Scottish one, who went by Murtagh, commented.

"I got spooked. Someone gave me a sandwich, though," Draco explained.

"Tha's good. Yeh sure yer okay?"

"Yes, thanks."

He unrolled his ratty blanket and crawled under it, clenching it close. He was not looking forward to winter, again.

"' Re they messin' wit' yeh, again?" he asked.

When he first found this place six months ago, it had been an accident. Some drunks had figured out he was a Death Eater when they saw his eyes, and he had barely escaped. He had darted down the sloped alley, and he found the path under the bridge. He used his stick to find the opening and crawled in, only to be ambushed by the muggles, who didn't like newcomers pushing in on their spot. They pinned him face-down to the cement floor and tied his hands around his back.

"This is our place!" a few growled.

I'm sorry! I was just trying to..." Draco had tried to explain, but they didn't want to hear it.

"We don't let strangers squat."

"Please they're...."

"Wait, lads... look at his stick. Sonnie... 're yeh blind?"

"Yes," he cried, and they immediately let him go with apologies. "I'm sorry for coming in, but some people were chasing me. Please, can I stay here tonight?"

"Chasin' yeh?" the Scot asked.

"They were drunk."

"Course yeh can sta'!" he responded, and another asked, "Do yeh have a shelter you usually go to?"

Draco shook his head. "Just kip in the alley, usually."

"How old 're yeh?"

"Twenty?" he said, uncertainly. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Wha's yer name?"

"I-I don't have one," he said. He had no idea who these people were. Names were dangerous.

The Scot patted his shoulder. "Aye, sum of us don' 'ither. Call me, Murtagh. Lad, 'ow long 'ave yeh bin blind?"

"Just a few months..." he whispered and curled up defensively.

"Wha' 'appened?"

He shook his head and started crying. "I don't know. They wouldn't admit me." St. Mungo's had laughed and told him that they refused to admit any Death Eaters unless it was life-threatening. They had the law on their side this time.

"Card-Nazis... ID! ID! All they want is ID," growled another muggle from a corner, though Draco had no idea what he was talking about.

"Lad... you kin stay 'ere every nigh' if yeh want, as long as yeh don' make trouble."

"Well... I-I have nightmares... attacks...."

"Some of us do, too, lad. Bu' I meant thievin'... from us," Murtagh said.

"I wouldn't."

"Yeh kin 'ave Lester's spot. He gat pinched las' week."

And that's how it went. They showed him his spot, gave him a blanket and his stick back, and never hurt him. He felt safe sleeping in the hole under the bridge, but he couldn't talk to anyone. He didn't understand what they were talking about most of the time. The Scot did seem the most protective of him. Woke him up when he was having a bad one and offered to talk about it. Draco never did or never went too deep. Just some basic stuff... parents gone, no home, arrested, people hurt him, but he didn't go into the details.

Now, Murtagh was asking him to explain why he had come home early. As he never liked to stay inside. Draco shook his head. "No, it was just a... cop."

Murtagh humphed. "Laddie... 're yeh on the run?"

"No, but I'm on probation."

"And yeh walked out on yer PO?" the muggle pressed.

Draco shook his head, again. "No, I just can't get into trouble."

Murtagh snorted. He was surely confused since the muggles didn't have a civil war. The Scot went back to his area of the hole in the wall, and Draco pulled out the sandwich and slowly unwrapped it. He smelled it, and it was fresh. He was glad for that and ate half of it, contently, and saved the rest for later. Draco hated coming back early. All he had was his thoughts to pass the time, and his thoughts were generally not kind. He was alone, blind and trapped, and no one cared if he lived or died. He didn't have a name anymore, a family or a future.

It had been almost nine months since he had been hit with a curse that left him blind. It had been two years since he lost his rights as a wizard and as a human. It had been over three since he lost his innocence and watched someone die. He didn't think he had anything going for him, now. There was no way out of this, but he had to survive. His mother was still alive, though she wouldn't get out of prison for ten years. He had to stay alive for her.

Potter had testified for her, but it came out that after Draco's failure at the tower, Voldemort wanted him to kill a muggle that they captured. His mother had killed the man for him, much to the Dark Lord's displeasure, and he tortured her excessively for it. All because Draco couldn't bring himself to kill a hapless muggle. The Ministry grudging gave her twelve years instead of the Kiss his father received. Potter had testified for him, too, and since his crimes mainly were underage, he got a few months in Azkaban. They stripped him of his rights to practice magic, confiscated his assets, and effectively kicked him out of the wizarding world.

Draco might have been able to handle it. He might have left the country, moved in with Blaise and Theo in Italy, or even transitioned to the muggle world. However, it wasn't too long after he finished his six-month sentence when it happened. He was leaving Gringotts one day in November, confirming that every account had been seized, when he was hit with a curse that he couldn't block or undo. People nearby laughed at his blindness and shoved him to the ground. Some guys even dragged him to an alley, beat him and took everything he had. It was a miracle that he survived the weeks after that.

He was forgotten, now. Name gone. No one would remember him for anything but being a Death Eater. Most probably assumed he was in Azkaban or dead. He felt like he was dead. He pulled off his blindfold and let the tears fall down.