A lone figure with pale skin and slick, white-blond hair walked along a dusty, deserted road somewhere north of London. Draco Malfoy walked as if dead, his footsteps heavy and his head bowed as he walked, paying no attention to where he was going, thinking, as his feet took him through the foggy night.

It had been two days since he and Snape had fled from the Hogwarts grounds, that cold night when the Death Eaters had infiltrated the school. And it was all because of me, Draco thought, with a sinking in his heart. He didn’t know whether he should feel pleased or mortified at his betrayal; the part of him that had always been told that the Dark Lord’s cause was a noble one swelled with pride, while the other part of him — the part deep inside of himself that knew the Death Eaters and their master were evil — was shocked. How can things have gone so wrong?

Draco had worked day and night, never resting, to make sure that all would be prepared on the night he had set for the Death Eaters to come. He had planned everything carefully — so carefully! — but that was all over now. The feeling of importance he’d once had was long gone, to be replaced by a deep confusion. He didn’t know, now, if he’d done the right thing. He had caused Albus Dumbledore to be killed just after the man had offered him safety, a chance to turn back. Then, after the deed was done, Snape had whisked him away from the school, giving no explanation for his behavior until they had gotten far enough away.

Even then, Snape had seemed different, somehow. No longer the cold, detached teacher he had been, he had been just short of a breakdown when he confessed everything to Draco. How he wasn’t really a Death Eater anymore, how he was really a spy for Dumbledore, and something called the Order of the Phoenix... how Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him. Kill him. Snape still hadn’t explained that one, although he had mentioned something about an Unbreakable Vow and a deadly potion that sapped Dumbledore’s life force, killing him slowly and much more effectively than any Unforgivable Curse.

Draco hadn’t understood. Snape had never seemed to like the Headmaster, not enough to feel remorse, even guilt, about his death... at least it hadn’t seemed that way.

And then, just yesterday, Snape had sunk into a sort of lifeless depression, a dark despair descending over him as he lost all sense of purpose. Draco had been frightened, then; he had never seen anyone in such a mood before, never, and he didn’t know what to do or say. Now that he could think of something, though, it was far too late. When night finally fell, Snape had wandered away from their hiding place. And he hadn’t come back.

It was nearly midnight when Draco had decided to go looking for him. It hadn’t been long before he found the Potions master’s body, lying on a patch of grass at least a mile from Draco’s starting point. The body was cold and lifeless, the black, still-open eyes seeming to stare straight up at Draco. To his great shame, the boy had been sick right there, unable to hold in the combination of horror and shock. It was obvious that the guilt had been too much for the professor. But that someone would do such a thing to himself, just to escape the guilt...

Snape’s suicide had been the final straw for Draco. Lost and alone, he had started walking. With no idea of where he was going, not even seeing the road he was on, he just concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other, taking one step at a time. One step...

One step at a time.

One step...

His foot caught on something and his body lurched forward, falling face-first. He didn’t bother to try and stop himself. He didn’t even put out his hands to keep his face from getting scratched by the tiny pebbles sticking out of the dirt of the road. When he sat up again, his cheek was covered in something hot and sticky.

But he kept walking.

He kept walking, in spite of the pain of the cuts, in spite of the pain in his heart, because it was the only way he could escape the pain. It was the only way he could stop his mind from taking over and telling him that there was no point in living anymore. Telling him that he might as well just give up, lie down on the road to die. He couldn’t let his mind destroy him.

Snape wouldn’t have wanted that.

And that was why, even when his feet became like leaden weights on the end of his legs, he didn’t stop walking. No matter how numb he felt, he couldn’t allow himself to give up. He walked on, even though he didn’t know where he was headed. There was nothing else he could do.

So when the building appeared, he was taken completely by surprise.

He was abruptly flung out of his stupor when he nearly walked right into a brick wall. He staggered back automatically, not really thinking about it, and made ready to continue around the wall... when it struck him just how odd it was that there happened to be a lone brick wall in the middle of this deserted road. He took a few steps back and looked up.

Draco blinked as he saw a large building looming out of the heavy blanket of mist that covered everything else. It was a nondescript building, painted a dull brown color, with nothing really unique about it.

Nothing except the sign that swung in the light breeze created by the fog, creaking eerily. The sign was painted with the elaborate, sinuous figure of a green dragon. Its long, twisting tail reached beneath the body to spell out the words “The Green Dragon.� Underneath those words was another line of writing, a uniform sort of cursive in black paint. Est. 1683.

Draco looked about warily. He hadn’t even seen the building before it had suddenly smacked him in the forehead. He thought hard. He’d been walking along... there hadn’t been any obstacles in his way... It was almost as if the building had just appeared out of thin air. Plus, there weren’t any other buildings or other signs of civilization anywhere in sight. It was just one building, sitting smack in the middle of an isolated country road that didn’t seem to lead anywhere in particular.

Was it magic?

He walked around the corner and came to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door. He surreptitiously peered through one grimy window, trying to see what was inside. All he could make out, though, were several dark silhouettes moving through the room. Didn’t give him much to go by.

But Draco was tired. He was hungry, he was thirsty, and most of all, he was sick of life. He didn’t have anywhere else to go; he didn’t even know what he would do now that Snape was gone.

He had no other visible choice. He pushed open the heavy door and stood just outside. He blinked around, his eyes trying to adjust to the brighter light inside, as he got a good look at the Green Dragon.

It was a small pub, brightly lit by a roaring fire and several electric lights set in the ceiling. There was a bar at one end, right next to the fireplace, and there were quite a few small tables and chairs scattered about. A flight of stairs heading upwards indicated that the place was an inn as well as a tavern.

The building was bright, well-kept, and impeccably clean, in spite of its nearly claustrophobic size. About half a dozen tenants sat around, each at his own table, not looking or speaking to each other. Only one sat at the bar. They all seemed either depressed or meditative, thinking so hard about whatever it was that occupied their minds that their drinks sat untouched before them.

Draco entered and stood awkwardly just within the doorway, already having second thoughts about coming in. The door swung shut behind him with an ominous thud. The bartender, a tall, burly man with a shaved head, looked over as he heard the door close. He shot Draco a shrewd, almost calculating look that made Draco feel uncomfortable; then he gave him a warm smile and nodded to him, as if he’d passed some test.

Draco didn’t return the silent greeting. He edged toward the table closest t the door and sat down. It felt so good to sit down... His eyes closed as he thought over his options.

I can’t go back to Hogwarts, obviously. And Snape wasn’t really with the Dark Lord, so going back to him... I can’t. He shuddered to think what the Dark Lord would do to him if he turned up now, after he and Snape had fled from the Astronomy Tower and abandoned the other Death Eaters.

What can I do? He doubted the Order of the Phoenix would take him in now; after all, they knew his history, and helping Snape kill Dumbledore could not have put either of them in a good light. They had no idea of the truth, of Snape’s innocence. The Order would probably kill Draco on sight if he showed up anywhere near one of their members. So trying to go to them was out of the question as well.

Draco ran his fingers back through his hair and left them there, staring down at the wooden tabletop between his elbows. What am I supposed to do? He suddenly felt unreasonable anger toward Snape. Why did he have to go and leave me out here alone? Alone... The word cut deep into his pride, and he smiled a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Alone. There I was, a great arrogant prat, thinking I could do anything I wanted to, but now that it comes down to it, I have no idea what I’m really doing. I’m no more than a child. His wounded pride shied away from the thought, but he clung to it grimly. The despair began to come back., threatening to overwhelm him...

“...Lad.�

A voice grew out of the darkness. Draco thought, What do I do? Maybe I should answer... That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? He couldn’t remember. But perhaps the kindly voice was only a figment of his imagination, after all. Who had he been fooling? Nobody really cared about what happened to Draco Malfoy.

“Lad. Are you alright?�

That voice again. Not his imagination, then. His imagination was rarely so persistent. He slowly dragged his head up out of his hands and stared blindly at the owner of the voice.

It was an old man. A very grandfatherly-looking man at that. He had tangled, ash-gray hair that fell to his shoulders, framing a pale, wrinkly face, which was currently creased into a concerned expression. His eyes were the part of him that caught Draco’s attention, however. One was a light blue color, and the other was green; both were clear and sharp, giving the impression that the old man missed nothing that went on around him. The odd-looking eyes seemed out of place in his face.

Draco realized he was staring, and quickly looked away. But the man’s uncomfortably observant eyes never left his face. “Are you alright, lad?� he repeated patiently, the slightest Irish lilt in his gruff voice.

“What? Oh — I’m fine,� Draco answered shortly. His mind went back to his previous argument with himself. I’m fine? I don’t think so.

The old man didn’t miss the pained expression that suddenly flitted across Draco’s face. “You seem out of sorts, boy. Is there something I can do to help?�

Help? the desperate voice in the back of Draco’s head thought. Yes, help would be nice. You need help. But he ignored it and said quickly, “It’s nothing. Nothing at all, really. I’m just fine.�

“I see.� The different-colored eyes scrutinized him closely. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Would this nosey old man ever go away? Didn’t he see that all Draco wanted right now was to be left alone?

Probably, Draco thought, thinking of the sharp eyes.

But the man didn’t leave. Instead, to Draco’s discomfiture, he sat down in the chair across the table from Draco and smiled warmly at him as he stuck out his hand. “Oh, I’m Blenkinsop Waterbut, by the way. You can just call me Blenkinsop. Everyone does. I’m the proprietor of the Green Dragon.�

Not wanting to seem impolite, Draco shook the proffered hand and quickly let go, sitting back to get a better look at Blenkinsop Waterbut. What a strange name, the judgmental voice that hadn’t quite left spoke up snobbishly. Wherever did he get it? Did his parents piece it together out of the first words that came to their minds? But he didn’t say anything. The tiny, hopeful part of him wanted this man to stay, to listen to his problem. Maybe he could help...

Blenkinsop looked at him, the concerned look back on his old face. “What’s troubling you, my boy? I have a nose for other people’s problems, and it seems to me that you have quite a big one.� He grinned suddenly. “As in a big problem, not a big nose. I haven’t had such a defeated-looking person walking into my inn since... oh... 1766, perhaps?� He flashed another, almost mischievous grin at Draco, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. “How time does fly, eh?�

1766! Draco gaped at Blenkinsop. That makes him over two hundred years old! My God... He’s even older than Dumbledore!

The old man stood abruptly and walked to the bar. Draco noticed he walked with the ease of a young man, not a two hundred-year-old. He strode over to the bar and spoke to the bartender in a low voice. He returned to Draco’s table a moment later, carrying two gleaming bottles of butterbeer. Sitting down, he slid one over the table to Draco, who grabbed it automatically. Blenkinsop nodded toward it as he deftly opened his own. “Looked like you could use that. No charge.�

Draco pulled off the cap reluctantly, then stared into the butterscotch-colored drink moodily. Across from him, Blenkinsop took a swig from his own bottle and then leaned toward Draco, staring intently at him. “So. Draco Malfoy.�

Draco, who had just begun to take a hesitant swallow of butterbeer, choked on the drink and quickly set down the bottle, coughing. He couldn’t remember having told the old man his name. How did he know?... “What — how — what are you?� he spluttered, staring.

The man laughed out loud, drawing the attention of several other tenants, who just as quickly looked away again. “That’s a good one!� he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth. “‘What are you’!� He waggled his finger at Draco in an amused way. “I’ll admit, Draco, even I wasn’t expecting such a good line. Wonderful!� He stood up, still laughing as if what Draco had said was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard.

Draco watched in a sort of bemused shock. He hadn’t been expecting his question to have such a reception; and rather than putting him off, it just made him even more puzzled about this strange old man.

Blenkinsop’s laughter abruptly came to an end, and he regarded Draco seriously. “‘What am I?’� he repeated, smiling slightly. “I’m afraid I’m just as human as you are, Draco Malfoy. As for who I am —� He put his finger along the side of his nose, reminding Draco irresistibly of Santa Claus. “That’s quite a long story, and you’re probably very tired after your long journey.�

How does he know I’ve been traveling long? Draco wondered. He was about to open his mouth again, but to his surprise found that he really was tired. He let out a great yawn, then frowned down at his still-full bottle of butterbeer.

“There, you see?� Blenkinsop smiled again. “You need rest. We have several empty rooms upstairs; you can use one, no charge, until you find your feet again.� He turned away and walked in the direction of a small door that Draco hadn’t noticed, hidden in the corner. The old man paused with his hand on the doorknob, then turned. “Good night, Draco,� he said, a crooked smile on his face. And then he had disappeared through the door, which swung shut with a soft click.

Draco stared after him. He noticed that the bartender didn’t even bat an eye at the sudden arrival and disappearance of the Green Dragon’s proprietor. Instead, the bald man looked at Draco and made a gesture toward the stairs with one callused hand. “Choose any room you like.�

Draco shook his head and, after casting one last glance at the small door in the corner, stood and headed up the winding staircase.

Draco awoke after what felt like minutes.

He felt lost and disoriented, confused. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. After a few moments, he became vaguely aware that he was in a bed. The ceiling he stared up at was a muddy yellowish color, with a strangely familiar print of faded green dragons. What the hell...?

He frowned up at the odd ceiling, waiting for his mother to call him down for breakfast. Whenever he was at home from Hogwarts, he would sleep in, only getting up when Narcissa Malfoy came up and, peering around the door to his bedroom, tell him that the breakfast the house-elves had prepared was getting cold. Funny, he mused, how one could miss such a homely thing, when one was far from home or any familiar people... when one was stuck in a drab inn with an insanely old owner...

Draco shot upright in the bed and flung back the covers as it all came rushing back to him. He had tried to kill Dumbledore, had been spirited away from Hogwarts by Snape, but Snape was dead, he had killed himself... And now Draco was stuck in this inn, with only depressed drunkards and a mad old man named Blenkinsop Waterbut for company.

Draco realized he was still in his filthy robes. He sank back onto the bed and groaned, his face in his hands. What am I going to do? Tears started to flow, unbidden, down his cheeks, and he didn’t try to stop them. He sat that way for a while, giving himself over to the misery and despair that was on the verge of completely overwhelming him.

After many frozen minutes of time, he stood up and wiped his face dry. Not allowing himself to think about anything for the moment, he walked over to the closed door and, quietly opening it, slipped through into the hallway on the other side.

Draco was soon softly creeping down the stairs, not wanting to awaken any other occupants of the inn. As he made his way down the spiraling staircase, he ran his fingers through his unwashed, tangled blond hair and tried — unsuccessfully — to smooth it back. A far-off part of his mind vaguely wondered if he’d ever get it clean again, but Draco easily ignored it. It’s odd, he thought wryly. I can remember a time when that kind of thing was all I ever thought about, and now... Now I can block them as easily as if I’d never had a selfish thought in my life.

Funny, how a healthy dose of humility could clear his head like that.

When at last he reached the bottom of the steps and the tavern half of the inn, he was astonished to see that the same scene awaited him. The same people were at their same tables, staring forlornly into their mugs and glasses as if they’d never moved since Draco had gone up to bed the night before.

Draco looked around at them all uneasily before settling into what seemed to be the exact same chair he’d sat on last night, when he’d had that strange conversation with Blenkinsop Waterbut. This time, though, he had no free bottles of warm butterbeer. He didn’t even have any money.

Butterbeer... butter... His stomach growled, as though reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat in almost two whole days. Great... Now not only am I lost, but I’m going to starve to death as well.

The very instant he thought that, however, a large wooden plate appeared on the table before him. As he stared at it in mute amazement, it seemed to look up at him almost quizzically, as if it were waiting...

An idea suddenly came to Draco, and after a few minutes of studying the plate from all angles, he decided to test it. He looked around furtively, then stared intently at the dish and let his mind wander to old memories of home. He remembered breakfasts, made specially by the house-elf cooks: crispy slices of bacon and steaming sausages, accompanied by eggs, and sometimes a warm piece of toast...

He smelled something sweet. He opened eyes he hadn’t known he’d closed and stared down at the plate, which was suddenly filled with hot food. Everything he’s imagined was piled onto the plate, having appeared out of supposedly thin air. A fork, knife, napkin, and glass of juice had also materialized in their proper places around the plate.

Draco grinned at the ceiling. Good service. He then turned his attention back to the hot breakfast and dug in, already feeling a fraction better about everything.

“Good, isn’t it?�

Draco choked on his mouthful of eggs and spun around in his chair to face the speaker whose voice had startled him so badly.

One blue eye and one green eye framed by long gray hair looked down at him in amusement. Draco, wiping his mouth off with the napkin, realized with slight irritation that this was the second time that Blenkinsop Waterbut had made him gag on food or drink.

Blenkinsop grinned cheekily at Draco as he made himself at home in the chair across the table. “Sorry for the intrusion. Did I scare you?�

“Uh... no,� Draco lied. He glowered at Blenkinsop, picking up his fork again and hoping that the old man would get the hint. “No, I was just having some breakfast.�

“Ah. Yes, I can see that. Care if I join you?�

Every inch of Draco’s brain screamed, Yes, I do care! But he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and said, “Not at all.�

Blenkinsop’s grin grew wider. He then pulled a long, dark brown wand out of his pocket and gave it a little flick. Draco watched in interest as a round mug appeared in front of the man. As he watched, he could have sworn he heard him mutter, “No, two creams, how many times...?� as he waved the wand once more.

Wafts of steam instantly began to rise from the mug, and Blenkinsop picked it up with a satisfied smile. “I’m simply terrible if I don’t get a nice cup of coffee in the morning,� he explained to Draco, who was still staring.

Well, at least there’s one thing normal about him, Draco thought. But there was something else bothering him, and he was able to put his finger on it as he watched the old man drink over the rim of his own glass. I guess... I didn’t expect him to have a wand. He’s the kind of person you would expect to be mysterious and all-seeing, revealing no secrets to us common mortals, yet...

He lowered his eyes and instead stared at the muddled pile of bacon and egg. I suppose I didn’t expect him to be something... He grinned at the next thought. ...Something so ordinary as a wizard. If you can call that ordinary, anyway.

“So,� Blenkinsop said, apparently done with his coffee for the time being. “Draco. Did you have a good night’s sleep?�

Draco’s mind spun back to the night before, and he wondered if the butterbeer had been drugged. But... he hadn’t drunk that much of it... had he? He frowned. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t really remember —�

Blenkinsop waved that part aside. “Oh, I’m sure you did. No-one who’s gone through so many hardships as you would be able to stay awake long after a day like yesterday. Running away from the troubles you yourself are responsible for — not that I’m blaming you, but it was terribly careless of you; you left quite a mess behind — then your guardian committing suicide...� He made a tsking noise with his tongue. “Given the circumstances, I’m amazed you were as lucid as you were when you showed up here.�

What? Draco gaped at the old man. How did he know about all that? How did he know about the fight up on the Astronomy Tower, the flight from Hogwarts, Snape’s death...? “H — He wasn’t my guardian,� he muttered, confused.

Blenkinsop stared at Draco’s face, as if seeing the confusion written all over it. Then he chuckled. “Oh, I know he wasn’t. But Draco, you see I’m —�

He was cut off as a large man suddenly burst into the room from what seemed to be a side chamber leading into the main bar. He was burly and barrel-chested, with a huge brown beard and mustache that covered half his face. With what might have been a roar of glee, the big man propelled himself all the way across the wide room in ten steps and enveloped Blenkinsop Waterbut in a bear hug. “Ah, mon ami, tu m’as sauvé!� the man boomed, in an excessively loud voice that made Draco cringe. “Je ne savais pas ce que j’allais faire, mais tu m’as rescué! Tu et ta magie! Merci beaucoup, mon ami Blenkinsop!�

Draco rarely wished he had taken those foreign-language classes his mother had always railed on about, but now was one of those times. He couldn’t understand a word of what this man was saying; the only thing he was sure of was that it was French. ‘Merci’ was ‘thank you,’ he knew, and ‘mon ami’ was ‘my friend,’ but apart from that... the man might as well have been speaking gibberish for all Draco knew.

But Blenkinsop seemed to get the entire message. He grinned and nodded in just the right places, and then, after having been released and called ‘friend’ for the second time, he interrupted with, “Qu’est-ce que tu as decidé, allors?�

The huge man seemed to puff up even bigger with excitement. “J’ai decidé que je vais retourné chez moi, pour parler avec ma femme. Nous allons résolver nos problémes concurremment...�

“Tu es sûr?� Blenkinsop asked, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Est-ce qu’elle va t’accepter?�

“Je vais me trouver un travail bon, et nous allons quitter la ville en fin. Elle va être tres contente.�

Blenkinsop nodded and said something else, but by that time Draco had blocked it out. There was no point in listening to the triumphs of others when you were in the gutter yourself; especially when those triumphs were told about in a language few people in the room could understand. Several of the other tenants had looked up and listened for a few minutes when the big Frenchman had burst in, but they quickly lost interest and were back to staring broodingly into their goblets.

Finally, after a while longer of jabbering away in French, Blenkinsop grinned a surprisingly youthful grin up at the man and said, “Eh bien. Bon voyage, Francis.�

The boisterous man — Francis — quickly left the Green Dragon after saying an eloquent goodbye with words that Draco found impossible to follow. Blenkinsop seemed to be having fun, however, and when Francis had finally gone, he sat back down with a sigh. “It’s going to be awfully quiet around here without him,� he said wistfully.

Indeed, the silence felt like it was weighing down on Draco, and he glanced around uneasily. None of the other occupants of the inn seemed in the least bit disturbed by the big man’s loudness.

As Draco turned back to face the table, Blenkinsop easily read the question in his expression. “Francis Dupont, another guest here,� he explained. “He had a rough situation at home — out of a job, four children to feed, a wife constantly railing at him... A shame, really. Not enough men like that in the world. He was lacking direction in his life and had no idea what to do when the Green Dragon found him.�

“But...� Something in the story didn’t make sense to Draco. “He spoke French.�

Blenkinsop’s eyebrows rose. “Yes...�

Draco bit his lip. “And the inn... when I found it, it was on a road in the English countryside. So how did he —�

“Ah,� Blenkinsop interjected with an exaggerated sigh. “And so we come to it now. I was wondering when you would finally catch on.�

“Catch... on, sir?� Draco asked hesitantly.

Blenkinsop stared intently at him, then said suddenly, “I’d like to tell you a story, Draco. If you don’t mind.�

The former Slytherin had no idea what he was supposed to say, so he just nodded slightly.

“Good,� Blenkinsop said. “This story happens to be about me. About my life. About... well, about this inn, as a matter of fact.�

His life’s history! Draco knew from experience what was coming next. All old people did the exact same thing. He’ll ramble on about how things have changed since he was a boy, and I’ll never be able to get away politely... He felt a twinge of disappointment. Funny, I didn’t think of him as an ‘old person,’ not in that way at least...

But to Draco’s surprise, the old man began in quite a different way. “I was born in the summer of 1660, in a small village in Ireland.�

This time, the date didn’t even make Draco blink. Was he actually beginning to get used to such things? It’s about time, as I lived around Dumbledore for almost six whole years, he thought wryly, before returning his attention to Blenkinsop, who continued speaking.

“I grew up learning my father’s trade — he was a blacksmith. But as I grew older, I set my sights higher than my parents intended. Between you and me, Draco, I was an obstinate young fool back then. I left home when I was just your age, and made my way toward the closest city — which was rather far away — to become whatever I could make of myself.

“Along the way, I happened to meet a beautiful young woman named Isabelle.� Blenkinsop’s eyes took on a far-off look, as if he were watching something only he could see. “Isabelle... was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. When she smiled, it was as though the sun had exploded, she was so dazzling... Before I knew it, I was in love.

“By this time, I had reached the city, accompanied by Isabelle, who had run away from her own home to try and demolish the opinion that a woman could never amount to much. She was a strong thing, stronger than I ever was...� He trailed off, then grinned at Draco apologetically. “Anyway, we reached the city. I was confident, back then, and I was stupid. City life was too fast for me; it went straight to my head, intoxicating me as thoroughly as it would have had it been a bottle of wine. I was welcomed into the fast pace of the city, but I was still unable to find a job, the craft I’d always dreamt of. Isabelle went off to work as a maid for some wealthy old woman, and I did any odd jobs I could find... I wanted to marry her, you see, but at the time I didn’t have the means of supporting a family. So I decided to put it off until I procured a job.

“I remember that last morning... the last time I saw her glorious, smiling face... so clearly.� A note of pain crept into his voice. “I was running an errand for someone, I can’t recall who, when I passed a crowd of people standing in the street. Someone passed me, saying how terrible it was... that such a pretty girl had been killed.

“The rest of that day is a blur. I remember seeing her face... her cold, perfect face, never to smile at me again... Hearing people muttering around me that she’d been run over, by somebody’s escaped stallion or something like that... But none of that mattered. I ran. I ran and never looked back, I ran until I was on a road much like the one you found yourself on yesterday, Draco. No one else was traveling on that road, so I was able to give myself over to my grief. I felt torn into pieces. I didn’t have anything to eat, not that I would have been able to eat anyway; I couldn’t sleep; all I could do was run. Then walk. I slowly became weaker and weaker, but I didn’t care. I remember thinking that even death would have been better than this cold, empty void she had left, where my heart used to be.�

Draco saw a glint of moisture in the old man’s eyes, but he didn’t point it out. A lump came to his own throat as he realized just how selfish he really was. Thinking about my own stupid little problems instead of...

“But then I came upon another traveler. Another man, younger than I was, who was wandering around listlessly, just like I was except in a worse state. After a while on the road with him, he told me that his parents had been murdered, and the only one who could take him in was his uncle, who rejected him entirely. He had been out on the streets for a long time, and after seeing horrors that no human being should ever have to go through, he’d decided to kill himself. He’d run away to die alone... And after only one day with me, he took his own life.�

Draco shivered. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what the “horrors� were that Blenkinsop spoke of, especially if they had driven the man to suicide... Thankfully, he didn’t go any deeper into the matter.

“I myself was quickly nearing the end of my strength. I was sure I was going to die alone; but then, I came upon a little boy standing at the side of the never-ending road. He joined me, in those last few miles, and was a great — albeit silent — comfort in my loneliness. Even though he never spoke to me, I talked to him often, just to talk. I told him about myself, about my life, about Isabelle... And he simply listened.

“But finally, my body decided it had gone long enough without any food or water, and began to shut down. I was dying, I knew, but I felt no pain beside the pangs in my empty stomach and the beating of my ravaged heart. As I dropped to the ground at last, I became aware that the boy was standing above me, just watching impassively, not even offering to help...

“And then he spoke, for the first time, and asked me a question that I will never forget.�

Blenkinsop paused. Draco stared at him in a sort of anxious anticipation to hear the rest of the story.

The old man abruptly changed tact. “Draco... In every person’s life, there is a time when Death himself will come to us and ask us that question. He appears in a different form to everyone: an old woman or a young child; a beggar or an aristocrat. Death can take on any shape, but when Life flees, when all that matters is that one final breath, he comes. Then and only then does Death come to us, and ask the question that he asked me so long ago, in the form of that little boy:

“‘What would you do, Blenkinsop Waterbut? If you had all the time in the world, what would you do to make it last?’

“The question caught me off-guard, and as I lay upon the ground, curled up into a ball of my own misery, I considered it. What would I do? When the answer came to me, it was so ridiculously obvious that I nearly laughed aloud at myself.

“‘I would help them,’ I told the waiting Death. ‘I would help all the ones who ever needed help, like the others on this road... like me. I’d do everything in my power to keep them from the fate that I always had coming to me.’

“The boy regarded me solemnly, as if weighing my answer.

“Then I lost consciousness, and the world suddenly turned black and crumbled in around me.�

Blenkinsop fell into a brooding silence. Draco waited, his mind a tumultuous storm of questions that he didn’t dare voice. “Sir?� he said at last, looking at the quiet old man. “Blenkinsop?�

The man looked up and once again smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, lad. Got myself in recollections for a moment. Where was I?�

“You lost consciousness,� Draco prompted, a trace of his old impatience rising from its grave. He forced it back down, knowing that impatience would get him nowhere in this inn.

“Ah. Yes. I woke up, to my great surprise, and didn’t feel sick at all, much less as if I were dying. I was completely alone on the road; the boy I now recognized as Death himself had disappeared. In his place, however, I discovered a pile of tools and various building materials, on top of which rested a note. The note was written in a flowing script that contained only two simple words:

“‘Help them.’

“I immediately understood what the planks and bricks were for, and I set to work at once. I wasn’t much good at building things, but my strange project on that lonely road attracted others. They were drawn from their dark, nightmarish lives to help create something great; so in a way, I suppose, I was doing my job already.

“The Green Dragon Inn was completed on the day I turned twenty-three. From time to time, as we began getting in more customers, we would add on more rooms and things, but there always seemed to be enough materials and supplies to keep us on our feet. Our bartender, Andrew, was one of those who gave up his old life and helped us out... I think about ten years after we’d gone into business.�

“Then, er... He’s quite old, too, isn’t he?� Draco asked, glancing over at the tall, muscular man who was quietly talking with one of the men at the bar.

“Yes... Some time after he came to us, we began to notice something odd about our inn. All of the people wandered in from a deserted road or trail in the middle of nowhere, yet... it was never the same road, never the same place. One day we got a young woman from Italy, who spoke only one or two words in English. Another time, we had Francis Dupont come in, from France. Ten minutes later, an Englishman walked in.

“We soon realized that there was something magical about the Green Dragon. It seemed that we were able to travel freely through Europe, to help anyone who had lost their way — emotionally, spiritually, mentally. At first, I was ecstatic. That made my task that much easier, you see.

“But something else became evident, as the years passed: We didn’t age normally. Those of us who remained in here for a long period of time — like Andrew — aged only one year for about every five that flew by. Andrew has seen at two full centuries turn, but his body is just over fifty years old. It’s been even worse for me, though... Somehow, when my life was spared that day, it was also prolonged... I recently celebrated my three hundred thirty-sixth birthday, Draco.�

Such a blunt declaration of his age made Draco’s jaw drop. He stared at Blenkinsop, and all he could think was, Wow... He looks really good for his age.

Blenkinsop chuckled, but there was a sad note in his voice. “Yes, not bad for three-sixty-three, am I? People are envious of me, saying that I’ve achieved man’s greatest dream: immortality. But I know better. No man was ever meant to live forever. I’m sure I will die someday; it’s just a question of when. The only thing that keeps me going every day is the thought that all these people would be lost forever without me. When you have seen a year pass in the blink of an eye as I have, living is just a burden. That’s why I’m afraid I never understood your Lord Voldemort.�

Draco froze at the sound of the name. It seemed that the wizard was not unknown even in a disconnected place like this; but he hadn’t expected to hear it here... especially when the rest of the Wizarding World usually considered it taboo when speaking about him.

“I’ve never understood,� Blenkinsop continued, “why he wants to live forever, when that in itself is far worse than death. If he is so foolish as to believe that immortality would be the greatest treasure in the world, then he will never gain it. It is more a curse than a blessing, and if he were to realize that, he would immediately destroy all his —� He stopped, as if he had almost mentioned something he was not supposed to. Then he sighed and continued. “But I don’t think he ever will. His eyes are blinded to the truth, and not even God can hinder him now.�

Draco sat in his chair, stunned into silence, as Blenkinsop looked out one of the small, square windows and stood. “It’s getting dark.�

Draco looked too. It was dark; he wondered where the whole day had gone, then realized that he was starving. “It’s almost night,� he said with faint surprise.

“Yes...� Blenkinsop murmured, staring out the window. Then he glanced at Draco and smiled. “How time does fly, eh?�

“...Yeah.�

Draco ate a quick dinner, then headed back to his room to ponder his conversation with the old owner of the Green Dragon, while Blenkinsop himself once again disappeared through the small door in the corner.


~*~





Here's the translation I promised!!

Francis: Ah, my friend, you have saved me! I didn't know what I was going to do, but you rescued me! You and your magic! Thank you so much, friend Blenkinsop!

Blenkinsop: What have you decided, then?

Francis: I've decided that I'm going to return home, to talk with my wife. We're going to solve our problems together...

Blenkinsop: Are you sure? Will she accept you?

Francis: I'm going to find a good job, and we will finally leave the city. She's going to be very happy.

Blenkinsop: Alright. Goodbye, Francis.

Draco paced up in his room, thinking about all that he had heard that day. Many questions had surfaced in his mind during his conversation with Blenkinsop Waterbut, and he didn’t know which — if any — he should give voice to. He had so many... He wouldn’t know where to begin. How do you know so much about the Dark Lord? Do you know something even I don’t? Are you really that old? What’s behind that little door you go through every night? What is the Dark Lord really up to? Immortality... Why are you so bitter about living forever?

He suddenly remembered the sad, wistful way Blenkinsop had spoken about how it felt to live forever. The lively sparkle in his eyes when he described Isabelle, the woman he had loved. The anger that had emanated from every fiber of his being when he condemned the Dark Lord’s goal.

Do you wish you had died that day?

That one he would most definitely never ask. In fact, most of the questions he had for the old man — the very old man, he corrected himself — seemed forbidden. But... there was one... And he didn’t even have to ask about it.

He could do a bit of spying...

“No,� Draco told himself sternly. “Don’t you even think about it. Blenkinsop’s inn took you in; he even told you almost everything about himself. Don’t ruin his trust like that.�

The last sentence seemed so strange, so utterly foreign to Draco that he stopped his pacing. He walked over to a cracked mirror that hung on the wall and stared at his wide-eyed, pale face. “What is wrong with me?� he wondered aloud. He laughed humorlessly. “Since when have I ever cared about such a trivial thing as trust? I’ve always done what I wanted, no matter what anyone else said... So why should I start caring now?�

He knew the reason why. Somewhere, along that deserted road, he had lost everything that made up the old Draco Malfoy. He had lost himself. He’d become this quiet, meek, delicate person who trusted and listened to people. A person that he didn’t even recognize. He wondered where his old self had gone: the loud, arrogant, sneering Draco who didn’t give a damn what the world thought of him. The change was both frightening and thrilling. He missed his old self, which had given his fragile soul the shelter it needed from the world’s cruelty. And yet, at the same time, he was glad to be so open to others. He felt more like the boy he’d been meant to be.

The trust issue was a tricky thing to get his mind around, so Draco moved on to another matter: consequences. Really, what difference would it truly make if he did choose to sneak downstairs and see what lay beyond that door? The worst Blenkinsop could do was kick him out of the inn, wasn’t it? He seemed to be such a harmless old man. But that bartender, Andrew... Draco imagined that the muscle-bound man could do quite a bit of damage.

Curiosity, however, tugged too strongly at the edges of his mind for him to think much about trust or consequences. “I’ll go down and ask him about it first,� he told his reflection decidedly. “Then, if I can’t find him or he’s busy or something, I’ll have a look myself. Can’t say I didn’t try, then.�

“A fine decision, young man.� a deep, gravelly voice suddenly issued out of the cracked mirror, startling Draco half to death. He jumped back and stared at it warily as it continued, “I like having people in here who know how to make up their minds. Sign of good character. You go out that door and stick by it. Oh, and your hair’s a bit mussed in the front.�

“Ah,� said Draco faintly. He reached up and mechanically smoothed back the offending hairs.

“Yes, that’s it,� the deep voice said approvingly. It then fell silent, but Draco got the impression that if it had had a face, it would be winking conspiratorially at him. It seemed just that sort of mirror.

Draco hurried out the door without sparing another thought for the mirror, whose gravelly chuckle followed him down the long corridor before finally fading away. Draco shook his head as he descended the spiraling staircase. Talking magic mirrors in a magic inn... I suppose I really shouldn’t be surprised...

In what felt like no time at all, he was sitting back in his chair, pretending to read some Muggle magazine that someone — Both Muggles and wizards must come in here, he thought with mild surprise — had brought in. But all the while he was really peering over the top to look around the tavern, watching for Blenkinsop Waterbut. He sat there for about ten minutes without catching any sign of the old man. Then, however, he caught a glimpse of gray hair at a table that he knew for a fact was the territory of a young woman with pale hair and a scar running down the side of her face.

Draco stretched his neck a bit further over the magazine and saw that Blenkinsop was indeed hunched over at the table, carrying on a hushed conversation with the woman who sat across from him. Their positions reminded Draco very much of his talk with Blenkinsop earlier that day.

He’s too busy, Draco thought. His heart began to sink, until he realized that had been one of the conditions he had placed himself under. Blenkinsop is busy, so I can try and slip in through that door.

He turned his head to watch Andrew, the barkeeper. He seemed to be busying himself by filling a glass for a customer. The glass was slowly filling with a sluggish green drink that oozed like mud and made Draco nauseous just to look at it. He narrowed his eyes to stare into Andrew’s face. The man had his back to the little corner.

Perfect.

Draco’s time had come. He casually stood up and made as if to head back up the steps. He felt the bartender’s eyes on him, and walked all the way to the staircase to lightly place his hand on the railing. His heart was pounding heavily as he turned his head a few inches to watch the bar out the corner of his eye.

In his peripheral vision he could see that Andrew was satisfied that Draco was really going upstairs, and had unsuspectingly gone back to filling the glass.

Whew. Draco got down on all fours and skidded across the floor until he reached the door in the corner. As he grabbed ahold of the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder to check if anyone had seen him. Blenkinsop was still talking with the girl, unaware of Draco’s deception. The other people clustered around their own tables were too enveloped in their problems to tell on him, if they’d seen him at all. And the two men at the bar were now chatting amiably together. It seemed to Draco that the ones at the bar must be in better shape than the others. Either that, or they were too drunk to think about the reasons they were in here in the first place — though, somehow, Draco suspected that the Green Dragon didn’t allow its guests to drown their sorrows like other taverns.

Not giving himself another moment to hesitate, Draco turned the doorknob and slipped into a dark room, letting the door softly swing shut behind him.

The room was pitch-black. Draco couldn’t see his hand when he held it in front of his face. He fumbled about in the dark for a while before pulling his wand out of his robes pocket and whispering, “Lumos.�

The tip of his wand glowed with a soft inner light, illuminating Draco and part of the room he was in. He raised the wand higher and looked around interestedly. The room was small and square-shaped, with a plain trundle bed in the corner and a short dresser crammed into the corner beside it. There was a desk and a single chair in the corner opposite the bed. Those were the only pieces of furniture in the room; all in all, it was much plainer than the inn’s own public rooms.

But it wasn’t the furnishings that caught Draco’s attention. His eyes were immediately drawn to the long wall opposite to the door. The entire wall was completely covered with pictures. Big, small, tall, long, rectangular, round, moving photographs hung all over the wall. Draco stared in awe; he had never seen anything like it. Hogwarts had nothing compared to this. Each picture was accompanied by its own frame. People looked out from the frames, not moving to visit each other, as the portraits did in Hogwarts, but sticking obstinately in their own places. That was the first strange thing Draco noticed about the wall.

The second strange thing was that there seemed to be an invisible line running down the middle of the wall, dividing the photographs into two sections. On the right, all the people were happy and smiling at the camera, with the same look of subdued ecstasy on their faces as that which Draco had seen on Francis Dupont’s. But then on the left, in stark contrast with the right side, the people looked sad and depressed, mournful-looking even as several of them attempted obviously forced smiles. Most, however, didn’t even bother pretending, instead staring bleakly out from their frames as if the world had ended a day earlier than expected.

Draco was inspecting a photograph that had been hung near the bed when he noticed a lone picture frame standing on top of the dresser. He tried to ignore it, but curiosity once again got the better of him. He went over to have a look at the person inside.

To his surprise, that person was a pretty young woman with long, copper-colored hair and big blue eyes. As he watched, she spun around in a circle with a smile on her lips, laughing at some joke that only she could hear. The woman had a soft, tinkling laugh that was almost musical.

So involved in the picture was Draco that he was totally unaware of Blenkinsop’s presence in the room until the old man said quietly, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?�

Draco started and accidentally extinguished his wand. The two were left in the darkness for a few long minutes before Blenkinsop walked away and silently lit a lamp, whose bright glow soon it up the whole room.

Blenkinsop turned to look at Draco with a carefully blank expression on his face. Draco’s guilty conscience couldn’t help but think that it was an accusing look, and he struggled for an excuse. “I, er, I wanted to find you, sir, and I thought... well... I’m sorry I intruded, sir,� he finished pathetically.

Blenkinsop didn’t seem to hear him. He reached over to pick up the picture frame and gazed at it with unveiled affection. “Isabelle,� he explained. “Beautiful, wasn’t she?�

“Yeah, she was,� Draco said politely. He personally thought he had seen many women much better-looking than Isabelle — his own mother, for one — but knew it would be very unfair to say so. She was quite beautiful, in her own way... “Um, I’m sorry I came in without your permission, Blenkinsop,� he added again, just to be on the safe side.

The old man smiled slightly and waved away the apology. “No, no, in this case I am sure curiosity is entirely at fault.� He carefully set down the picture of Isabelle and with his other hand gestured toward the wall of photographs. “So, what do you think of my Wall of Sheep?�

“Huh?� Draco said stupidly, staring goggle-eyed at Blenkinsop. What’s that supposed to mean?

“I privately call it my ‘Wall of Sheep.’ I am like a shepherd guiding my ‘sheep’ — the guests of this inn — to a safehaven. Their sanctuary. I have taken a picture of every single person who has ever walked through the Green Dragon’s doors and displayed them on this wall. My failures� — he motioned towards the left-hand side of the wall — “and my successes.� Here he pointed to the right. “I’ve had them in equal measure. Some guests I have not been able to help, and that always feels like I have failed in my mission in some way. But then there comes along someone I can help, and they almost make up for the ones I couldn’t do anything for.� Blenkinsop paused. “That’s just like life.

“I’m not here to preach to you, Draco, and I don’t want to. But you have to realize that sometimes in life there are downs. Times when you feel that you’ve hit rock-bottom, and that there is no way you will ever rise up again. But there are ups, too. And more often than not they are pure and good enough to outweigh the bad. Those are the times that make life worth living.� Blenkinsop looked sad for a moment. “Unfortunately, not everyone realizes that in time.�

Draco looked around at all the pictures again. Happy, smiling faces were the neighbors of lonely, desolate faces. It was easy to see who had received Blenkinsop’s message before their departure — and who hadn’t.

For several minutes, he watched the photos, and Blenkinsop watched him. They were both quiet; Draco was thinking. He had heard and seen a lot in the past two days, but he wasn’t sure what he thought of it all. Blenkinsop has spent most of his life helping others, but up until now I’ve only ever cared about myself. What I had, what I didn’t have, what others thought about me, what I thought about them as compared to me... I’m the most selfish person in the world, standing beside the most selfless person the world has ever seen. And I worry about what I am going to do? I’ve had a very easy life compared to most of these people... I’m sure if I just thought about my position logically, from another person’s point of view, I would be able to come up with a solution.

And just like that, he knew.

Draco knew exactly what he had to do. How could I have been so blind?

Blenkinsop must have seen the dawning comprehension on Draco’s face, because he smiled. “I think my work here is done,� he said softly. “You take care of yourself, Draco.�

Draco was suddenly overcome with an enormous rush of gratitude towards Blenkinsop. He flung his arms around the old man, surprising himself and Blenkinsop, who stiffened, then relaxed with a chuckle. “Yes, I’ve done more than enough,� he murmured.

Draco released Blenkinsop and gave him a small smile. “Thank you,� he said simply.

“Go in peace,� the elderly man said ceremoniously; then he broke into a wide grin. “Be careful out there, lad.�

“Thank you,� Draco repeated. He walked over to the door and hesitated, turning back to look into Blenkinsop’s face one last time.

A flash of light suddenly and unexpectedly blinded him, and he blinked several times to get rid of the spots that floated in his vision even after the light faded. When he could finally see again, he saw Blenkinsop, holding a large camera in his hands and grinning. He held up the device. “Couldn’t let you be the only one to get away without a picture, now could I?�

Draco then walked out the door and out of the inn without looking back.

Blenkinsop Waterbut was left alone in his room, staring after the young man with the white-blond hair. After a moment, he looked down at the camera in his hand and chuckled to himself as he bounced it once or twice in his palm. “There goes one more sheep for the good,� he muttered. He picked up the picture of Isabelle and looked down at her. “I think you would have liked him, Belle.�

---

It had all been so obvious. The Order would never just shoot and ask questions later; that was what the Death Eaters did. They would capture, certainly, but they never cursed an enemy who arrived before them willing, unarmed, and alone.

Draco knew that was where he had to go, as he headed down the dusty road, away from the Green Dragon Inn. He would go to the Order of the Phoenix and beg sanctuary from them. He would tell them everything about the Dark Lord and his cronies, and hang the consequences. He would gain the Order’s trust and fight, as Dumbledore had always done, on the side of good. He knew that might mean having to fight his own parents, but if it came to that, then so be it.

It was the right thing to do.

Draco turned around, when he had gone a few steps, for one last look at the inn that had welcomed him like a home. But it was already gone, disappeared into the fog of memory.

Taking a deep breath, and sending one last thank-you to Blenkinsop Waterbut, Draco Malfoy turned to face his destiny.

---

Twenty years later, a man with shoulder-length blond hair and a matching goatee walked down an abandoned street. His black robes were battered and worn, as was the wand he held in his limp right hand. But all this mattered little to the man. He was too busy concentrating to care about his condition.

A large brick building suddenly appeared in front of the man, but he didn't seem at all surprised. The sign that swung from the door depicted a faded dragon whose long green tail sinuously twisted around beneath it to form the words “The Green Dragon: Est. 1683.�

The man’s mood suddenly lifted, and a smiled stretched across his face as he reached forward and opened the heavy wooden door that hid the familiar scene of a tavern.

An old man with one green eye and one blue caught his attention as he entered, and greeted him warmly. “Welcome back, Draco Malfoy.

"Welcome home."