Blind - drarry

Chapter 2

Published: November 18, 2020

Updated: September 30, 2021

Draco woke up the next day, donned his blindfold and finished his sandwich. He packed his bag, leaving his blankets and took a swig of the hair potion to keep his hair be brown. His blonde was too recognizable, too. He couldn't hide all day again and crawled out the hole. He made his way slowly through Knockturn and went to a different spot in Diagon. He sat on the ground and clinked his cup. The constable showed up at noon. He dropped two sickles in his cup and gently handed him a sandwich.

Draco tried to keep calm, but his fear of being found out wasn't likely to leave him soon. "Thank you, sir. You don't have to...."

"It's not a problem. I just had Kreacher make another sandwich in my lunch," the Auror said amicably.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Draco didn't ask about it. Quiet was easier..

"Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. I swear I was just saying hello. Well, I'll drop by tomorrow! Bye!" he said, and Draco heard his footsteps walk away.

Draco felt the sandwich and stowed it away. What a strange man, he thought. He also hid the sickles in his pocket, not that it stopped anyone from summoning them. He didn't leave when the constable left this time, nor the next day when his local constable dropped off some coins and a sandwich.

"It's beef brisket, today. Thought you'd want some variation. Anything you don't like... or want?"

"Umm... no... it's fine..." Draco mumbled, taken aback by his generosity.

"Alright, see-um-talk to you later," the Auror said, before leaving.

Draco held the sandwich for a long time and had to wipe some tears away. He was starting to like the friendly constable, but he was still afraid of the Auror finding out that he was a former Death Eater. He ate his sandwich and even stopped at a gruel shop on the way home for another meal. He was starting to feel better than he had in a long while. He hadn't starved, but he never really ate a full meal. He even brought back some biscuits for his muggle holemates, who grudgingly accepted it. They had given him food many times.

His constable brought him a corned beef sandwich the next day, and he mumbled a thanks, as he hid it in his tattered robes. He kept his head lowered, not to draw out the conversation.

"It's really not a problem," the Auror said and sat next to him. "It's just me and the house elf... so I got plenty of food. Anyone giving you a hassle?"

"Not recently," he muttered. "Sometimes, the shopkeepers don't like me loitering, but I'll move if they request it."

"They don't have the right to demand that."

Draco resisted the urge to snort. "They get angry and yell sometimes. I don't like that."

"I'm sorry about that. Have any of them hurt you?"

"I can't exactly identify them, can I?" Draco muttered, and his voice broke a little. It wasn't that he was blind that hurt him. It was the helplessness.

"I'm sorry. Can I ask what hap-"

"No," he interrupted. What would he say? That he was cursed, couldn't reverse it, because he's not allowed magic, and he can't go to the hospital, because he's a former Death Eater. That'd go over well. The Auror wouldn't help a piece of scum like him. He tried to keep from leaning away from him, but couldn't stop the trembles.

"Okay, sorry if I overstepped."

"S'okay," Draco mumbled, lowering his head. This was the most interaction he had ever had outside of his... home.

"Is there anything you need? Snacks? More galleons?"

"No, thank you. You don't have to keep helping me. It's not necessary, really."

"I want to, though... umm... I'm sorry... I didn't ask your name," the Auror said, and he tightened up. "I'm Harry."

Draco felt his stomach drop. Holy-Bloody-Salazar. It was Potter. His familiar voice, his never-ending hero complex, his righteous drive. Crap, crap, crap. Draco forced himself to remain calm as he whispered, "As in... the Harry?"

"The Harry. In the flesh."

Bloody hell. Draco tried to breathe normally and play it off. "They put you on... patrol duty?"

"Everyone is supposed to do it. I wasn't going to skip steps with my training for my fame."

Stupid selfless prat. "And you spend your time comforting homeless, blind beggars?"

"Well... the crime rate is pretty low. Kids stealing candy is the biggest threat, and the shops have theft charms on. I'd rather lend a helping hand, but if I need to stun 'em I will. Plus, I needed a break from the politics."

Draco nodded, frowning.

"So...." Potter prompted, but didn't say anything for a few seconds. "What's your name?"

Draco's hand trembled. He was so glad that he didn't use his real voice. "I don't have one anymore."

"What it got cursed away?" he chuckled.

"No... it's just cursed." By everyone, and he didn't want to be spit on anymore. No one would call him Draco. He would always be Malfoy, a loyal servant to the torture-crazy, Lord Asshole.

Potter seemed confused at that but recovered. "I see. Well, you can pick a new name, ya know?"

"What?" he muttered.

"You can pick any name you want... how about Bob?"

"Bob?" Draco sneered. No way.

"Well, until you give me a name, you're Bob. So, pick one," Potter insisted.

He grumbled. He wanted his name, not a fake one. But maybe something similar. "Wyvern."

"Hey, Wyvern. Nice to meet, yeh! Can I shake your hand?"

Draco shakily put his cup in his robes and held out his right hand.

Potter gripped it and said, "Just call me, Harry."

"I... don't think that's wise. You're the constable... an Auror... the Chosen One. You shouldn't be talking to me," he whispered, and Potter wasn't letting go. He was probably examining his dirty, calloused hands.

"I don't care what people think. I can talk ten or fifteen minutes out of my day to talk to you."

"Please don't burden yourself with me," Draco pleaded.

"You're not a burden. The war was hard on everyone."

"It didn't happen during the war."

"Really? Good to know, but you're still homeless. The war didn't cause that?"

Draco frowned. "Technically."

"Then there you go."

"Can I have my hand back?" he said, quietly, unable to keep from shaking.

"Sorry, you seem a little underweight," Potter commented, as he let go.

He jerked his head toward him. "Was that based on an analysis of my hand, or are you scanning me with your wand, since I can't see?"

He laughed. "Well, you're smart, that's for sure."

Potter didn't deny it, though, and Draco tightened up. "Thank you for the sandwich."

"I apologize if I overstepped."

"It's fine."

"No... it isn't. I just wanted to make sure that you didn't need medical attention. You have a lot of bruises," Potter commented.

"I bruise easily and fall a lot," he huffed, finding it stupid to explain that to him. He'd run into bins, benches and people and had no way to heal his injuries.

"You know there are Ministry shelters that will take you? They could help you out."

"No, thanks. I don't need them or help," he said, and added mentally, not to mention I would be refused anyway.

"Is there anything I can do...?"

"I'm fine, P-Harry," he said, almost slipping. Hardly anyone called him Potter but him.

"Alright... I'll talk to you tomorrow, then," Potter promised.

Bloody hell. "Okay."