Draco sat on the ground until the gravel digging into him hurt too much to ignore. He stumbled to his feet, legs half numbed and eventually mustered the strength to go back to Diagon Alley. It was quieter at midday with only a few people left on the street. Draco ignored his empty stomach and headed straight to the bookshop.

It took what felt like an hour to find a copy of Bellund's Peerage. The book listed all the old magic families and bloodlines of Europe. The Malfoys took up several pages, they had families all over France, but only one in England, one that listed his grandparents and parents, but not him. After Narcissa (née Black) and Lucius Malfoy was nothing.

Draco went to the history books next. There had been quite a few books written about the war, but Rita Skeeter's had been the worst of them. He flipped through the pages, looking for the numerous mentions of him but finding them missing. Hogwarts had been breached by death eaters, Dumbledore had still died, nothing had changed. He was there, just erased. It was as if an obliviate had been cast over the entire world, but it had only removed him.

Draco shook his head, he wasn't going to panic. Oblivates could be reversed, no matter what sort of book he had cast the spell from. He had a few galleons on him, and he always carried the key to his small personal vault. He didn't know if the goblins would let him into his vault with no way to identify himself, but he had to try.

He went to Gringott's and gave them his small silver key. The vault was registered to no one but Draco managed to convince them that was their error, not his and that he had just moved to the city. 

The vault was disappointing. It only held about three hundred galleons and a dusty trunk filled with some of his old school books and supplies.

Draco took enough money to get something to eat, though he barely remembered eating it. He spent hours asking around for places to rent, but space was precious. What few flats were available cost three or four hundred galleons a month and if he wanted to buy anything else to live off of, Draco couldn't afford even the cheapest one.

He stood in the street, looking up at the buildings around him as the cold dread he had been carrying in his gut began to spread and fill him until Draco felt like he was slowly drowning inside himself. He was alone. It was sixth year all over again, an impossible task with no help, alone. But back then he hadn't been truly alone. Greg and Vince had helped, and his mother had always, always been there. His mother never said it out loud, but the knowledge that they could run, escape to anywhere else if things got too bad, kept him going when things were darkest.

He didn't know what he was going to do. The book lost to him, he couldn't go home to even look for it. And Mother... if he saw her and she didn't know him, it would break him in ways he didn't dare contemplate. She had been all he left in the world, and now he had nothing.

"Hey. Hey, mate? You alright? You want me to, uh, fetch someone for you?"

Draco looked up. It was dark out. He had sunk to his knees on the stone cobbles without realising. Weasley was standing across the street, looking as tall and red-headed as usual, but with a look of concern on his face which was very unusual when it came to Draco.

Weasley appeared to be closing up the Wizard Wheezes shop, charming the pavement signs inside.

Draco looked around, "...I was... no... I'm- I'm fine."

"You say that, but you've been standing there for ages. You got hit by a obliviate or something?"

"Something like that," Draco staggered to his feet, his knees stiff.

"I could side-along you to St Mungo's?" Weasley offered.

Draco shook his head, "No- No. I was looking for a flat or somewhere to rent, but everything is so expensive, and I was... overwhelmed."

"Yeah, that's London for you. It doesn't matter if you're a muggle or a wizard, it costs a ton to live here. Hogsmeade's a bit cheaper, but there aren't many rentals there. Your best bet is to rent muggle in a small town or split a rental with some mates," Weasley said.

"Right," Draco looked down the street, "I'll... I'll look into it. I'd best see if I can let a room in one of the pubs for the night." He hesitated, "Thanks... Thank you."

Weasley smiled in confusion, "No problem. Just- y'know, common courtesy."

Draco returned the smile hesitantly, "I haven't had a lot of that recently."

"You new in town? A distinctive bloke like you, I'd think I'd remember seeing before," Weasley said.

"Distinctive?" Draco said.

Weasley pointed to his head.

Draco reached up and touch his own head before the realisation hit him, "Oh. You mean my hair?"

"Thought you were an old man at first. You don't see hair that white very often. You must be like Norwegian or Swedish? Finnish? A ton of them are pale as salt." Weasley said.

"Most of my family is... was from France," Draco said and grimaced in pain as he remembered his mother.

"Was...? Like was and now you're on your own?" Weasley asked.

Draco nodded, it was as true as anything, he was dead to- to everyone now. 

"Oh..." Weasley frowned and scratched his chin in thought. "Alright... Alright, so I'm Ron, Ron Weasley," he walked over and held out his hand.

Draco was dumbfounded for a moment then shook Weasley's hand. He had a tight grip. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm- I'm Draco."

"If you're dead set on Diagon I can rent you the place above the shop," Weasley said.

"Pardon?" Draco blinked.

"It's a bit sparse and the bathroom's tiny, like small small. There's no oven, just a cooktop and you'll have to take your laundry out if you want more than cleaning spells," Weasley said.

"We- We've just met!" Draco said in dismay.

"Yeah, but you seem alright, and you're in a bit of a tight spot," Weasley said. "It's not all peaches and cream, I'll need you to do an unbreakable vow not steal anything from the shop, and if someone broke in, I'd need you to call the Aurors. Not that it's ever happened, but just in case. Oh, and the only way into the flat is through the front door so after we lock up, you'll only be able to use the floo. But there is one, a floo I mean, so it's not the worst."

"How- How much? For a month," Draco grimaced, "or maybe longer..."

"Say a hundred galleons?" Weasley said.

Draco nodded automatically, no matter how small the flat was, it was an absurdly good deal. Money was exchanged, contracts signed, and Weasley gave him a perfunctory tour of the building.

The first two floors were the shop proper with all its strange and exciting products. Many of the displays moved, some glowed, whistled or shot coloured sparks of light into the air. The third floor was a workshop, shelves filled with products and the ingredients of products to be. Desks were lined with cauldrons that stirred themselves, filled with pink, yellow and other brightly coloured concoctions. And the final, narrow staircase led up to a tiny attic flat.

Right at the top of the stair was a door leading into the smallest bathroom Draco had ever seen. It was a closet that happened to have a sink then a toilet in it with hardly enough room to stand in front of either one. A small shower stall was jammed into the corner, though the room was so small it was all corner.

 The flat itself had a tiny kitchenette along the wall, with a small fridge and a range top and one piece of countertop that was hardly big enough to hold a cutting board. There was an old metal bed frame by the window with a thin bare mattress on it and a small table with one chair. There wasn't anything else. There wasn't room for anything else.

"Sorry. I told you it was shit. George, my brother, he used up all the extension space on the shop. If we tried to push for more room it might pop," Weasley said.

"No, No this is, fine, perfect even. I just needed a chance to get back on my feet," Draco said.

"Don't thank me yet, you haven't tried living here yet. Both me and Ginny crashed here a bit after school just to try living on our own, it was awful," Weasley said with a grin. "Oh and tomorrow George may give you a hard time, seeing as I didn't ask him first."

"Will it be a problem?" Draco asked apprehensively.

"For me, yeah, but you already signed a contract for a month, I can't break that any more than you can pilfer the merchandise. As long as you don't cause trouble, George'll be happy to let you stay on as long as you like," Weasley said.

"Okay. Thank you, again," Draco said.

"Sure thing," Weasley said, "I, uh, I was locking up. The floo is on the third floor, so you can go pick up your things. Just call 'Wheezes Potioneering Wonders' to get back. I didn't pick the address. Just close the grate after you use it."

Draco gave Weasley a nod. And Weasley headed back down the stairs leaving Draco alone in the small room.

There was one thing the room had in its favour, across from the stairs was a window nearly as big as the wall, in the shape of a triangle.

Draco unfastened his cloak and dropped it over the back of the chair. The wide unfinished wood floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked over to the window and looked down at the street. The buildings were closed and dark. Only a few people wandered through the pools of lamplight below, colouring them and the cobbled street in a yellow glow. He leaned against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

Draco woke as the sun rose over the buildings and streamed through the large window. He lay in the cold dawn light, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket until he started to hear noise rising up from the street below and made himself get up.

Draco wanted to take a shower but had no towels or change of clothes. He was going to need sheets for the bed or a blanket at least. And since he had no idea how to make anything outside of a cup of tea, he would have to eat out most of the time. All of it would cost money. Money which he would quickly run out of. He had to get a job as soon as possible.

Draco settled for splashing water on his face and smoothing his hair down with damp hands. He cast a cleaning charm over his clothes and managed a passable ironing charm to remove the wrinkles, though he'd never cast it himself before.

As Draco came down the narrow stairs, he heard shouting from below, growing clearer as he got closer.

"I can't believe you! You let a random bloke you've never seen before just live here?"

"Yeah, well, he was in a tough spot, and I thought-" Weasley said.

"That doesn't make it better, Ron! That makes it worse, Ron!" George Weasley shouted. Draco hardly remembered him from school except that he and his twin brother were pranksters who delighted in causing as much trouble as possible.

"He had the money, and he signed a contract, a proper one that says he won't steal or break anything," Weasley said.

"Yeah?" George said sarcastically, "And what about snooping? You know how many things we make that Zonko's would kill to get their hands on?"

"I think-" Draco interrupted carefully, "-stealing intellectual property is still stealing."

"Ha! See!" Weasley said triumphantly.

Draco walked around the displays to the front of the store. The two red-headed siblings were standing right inside the door, glaring at one another.

George sighed and looked Draco over critically.

Draco stood a little straighter under the scrutiny and, remembering that George Weasley didn't know him, tried to put on a friendly smile, though he didn't have much practise at it.

George snorted at his awkward expression and grinned, holding out a hand, "You seem alright."

"See. I'm a good judge of character," Weasley said.

George rolled his eyes, "There's a first time for everything."

Draco went to shake his hand but mostly just had his hand shaken vigorously.

"George Weasley, this is my shop," George said.

"Hey!" Weasley protested.

"And my little brother Ron helps out," George said.

"I'm Draco," Draco said.

"Draco, huh? You got a last name?" George asked.

Draco hesitated, admitting to his last name wouldn't help. Even if they thought him a distant relation of the Malfoys, they might be less likely to trust him.

"What? Were you really obliviated?" Weasley asked.

"No, no I know, I just... lost it," Draco said weakly, cursing himself for not thinking faster and making something up

"Lost?" Weasley frowned.

"Oh. You were disowned? Like proper disowned?" George asked.

Draco nodded, grateful for the excuse.

George sighed at Weasley's confused looked, "He had his last name stripped off. I knew another bloke it happened to, he was gay, and his parents were homophobic pricks who didn't want him carrying the family name. You can't inherit anything after it happens, not a single knut."

"He's standing right here, George," Weasley said pointedly.

"Sorry, mate," George held up his hands. "It explains a lot. Sorry I didn't trust you at first."

Draco nodded, "It's fine. Your response is very reasonable. Wea- Ron's was the unusual one."

"Hey!" Ron said.

"I do appreciate it, though," Draco said.

"Well, alright then," Ron said mollified.

George tossed a ring of keys from one hand to the other, "I'm pretty sure you need to go to the Ministry to register a new name; otherwise, you don't really exist anymore."

Draco shuddered, his throat going dry.

"George!" Ron scolded him.

"I meant legally!" George said, gently cuffing Draco on the shoulder, "Relax, mate."

"R-right," Draco said faintly.

"I'm gonna start opening up!" George called, heading to the till.

Draco nodded and silently left the shop. He had thought to start looking for work... somewhere, but George was right, he'd need an identity of some sort. Being a ghost wouldn't work for long.

After a quick breakfast of the cheapest most filling thing at the pub, he went to the Ministry. Draco spent the day waiting on hard plastic chairs, filling out paperwork, speaking with clerks in black robes and filling out even more paperwork as he did more waiting.

He had to take veritaserum in the final interview, but he had been given it before. Even before his trials, Professor Snape had given him doses and drilled him on how to answer evasively, giving the potion an answer it was happy with without saying everything.

"What's your name?"

"Draco," Draco said.

The witch on the other side of the table was chewing gum, snapping it between her teeth.

"What's your last name?" she asked.

"I don't have one anymore," Draco said truthfully. If it came down to it, he technically didn't have a first name either.

"What happened to your last name?" The black ministry clerk robes didn't suit her.

"I lost it," Draco ask shortly. He felt the veritaserum pressing for more and added, "It was taken from me. Everything was taken from me."

She smiled sympathetically. Her nametag read Leona. "Where do you live?"

"I've rented a flat on the fourth floor of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes," Draco said.

"Do you plan to stay there long?" Leona asked.

"A few months," Draco said.

Leona blew a small bubble, snapping her gum as she pulled it back in her mouth, "And where will you stay after that?"

"Somewhere with an oven and more than one room," Draco tried for a joke, which made Leona smile faintly, but the veritaserum pressed for more, "A nicer place but still in the UK."

"Do you plan to stay in the country?" Leona asked.

Draco nodded, "Yes. I am going to stay in the country."

"Do you have employment?" Leona asked.

"No," Draco said.

Leona wrote a few notes on the clipboard in front of herself, "Do you plan to acquire employment or do you have funds or other support in which support yourself?"

"I'm going to look for work, but I have enough in savings for... two months if I'm careful," Draco said grimly, unhappy with the answer that had come from his own mouth. It seemed such a small amount of time, such a narrow ledge.

Leona filled out more of the form, "Well, Draco, your situation is rare but not unheard of. Especially after the war, there were a lot of people disinherited, some even did it to themselves."

Draco said nothing, not wanting to give the veritaserum an outlet to say something he shouldn't.

"First off, the fun part," Leona flashed him a smile, "You get to pick a new last name. Feel free to think about it for a bit while I finish your paperwork."

Draco blinked, looking down at his hands. It wasn't important, he didn't need to think too hard about it. He just had to pick an innocuous name to wear until he could reverse the curse he had laid on himself. Yet, the thought of not being a Malfoy... it hurt. And he felt guilty at that pain. The name Malfoy had become a ball and chain, nothing but a burden to him. But it was still his. His family. His legacy...

"Draco? Draco? Have you thought of something?" Leona asked. She looked at his expression, strained with grief and suggested, "I always advise picking something that makes you happy. If you like flowers, Poppy or Rose could be a nice last name..."

Black was a tempting choice but it was too close to the truth, and he had no family resemblance to speak of. 

"If you'd rather something a bit more masculine, Sage or Heather might work? Smith is an easy one if you want something uncomplicated, or Jones. They're both very common," Leona said. "Any ideas?"

"I- I'm rather drawn to Narcissus," Draco said, "But most people would think of the myth of Narcissus, not the flower. It's not exactly a flattering association."

"Narcissus is a type of flower?" Leona asked, reaching into her pockets far far deeper than they actually went.

"It's... a daffodil," Draco said.

Leona pulled a stack of reference books and opened one for flowers, muttering under her breath as she flipped through the pages.

"Okay, daffodils. There are lots of them..." Leona said, "What about Narcissus Thalia?" She flipped the book around to show him a picture of a delicate pure white daffodil. "Thalia might work?"

"Draco Thalia?" Draco said out loud and then nodded, "Thalia will work."

"Are you sure?" Leona asked.

Draco hesitated but... it was only temporary. Once he reversed the spell, everything would go back to normal. He nodded, "I'm sure."

"Okay," Leona said, writing it down on the form.

Draco signed the papers to register the new name and was given pamphlets for the various Ministry programs, food and employment and other things he might need. Then he had to go retake his apparition licencing, which took just as long.

The winter sky already dark and bitterly cold when he finished. He had another bland filling meal and went back to the shop, curling up under his robe for another night of fitful sleep.