[Waking up is a chock, to put it mildly. Not that Draco was all that unused to waking up in cold places- the past year and a half had been rough. Azkaban and the Ministry holdingcells were never warmed up and really, spending several years living most of the year in a drafty castle in Scotland hadn't really been all that warm either.

Facing the wide expanse of snow in front of him, Draco clenches his hand around his wand in his robe pocket and allows himself a minute to miss home. To miss the Manor and the roaring fires his mother always demanded be built in the heaths as soon as the temperature fell. To miss hot chocolate and warm blankets and his own bed.

And then he sets off down the convenient path, watching the trees on either side out of the corners of his eyes. The shadows on the pristine snow and how the only sound was the crunchy sound of his own footsteps and the rasp of his breathing.

Once he hits pavement, Draco looks around and calls out-]

Oi! Hello there!

[Draco had never been the adventuring kind. Not personally. It had always been far easier to get either the houseelves or Goyle to do the exploring for him. That winding, dark path leading in the forest at the edge of the property? Goyle had been the one to walk through those and report back on what he'd found. Mud and a few frogs, nothing noteworthy. Or that time when Draco had wanted to be like Martin Miggs (those few short months until he learned proper behavior) and had sent an house elf out to get him a none-moving news paper and a rubber duck.

Trying to not find adventure in this, and failing to summon even one house elf, Draco found himself forced to search through the town on his own. The snow crunching under his boots and really, the Point Me had been no help at all. It had flared to life and everything went swimmingly, until it dead-ended at a brick wall that refused to move.

But.

This book shop. Just walking through the open door, and it felt more like home. The wide expanse of books, reaching up impossibly high and stretching down endless corridors. So much more like the library he grew up in, and Draco clears a little of the trash away from the middle isle before going from row to row, just looking at the books. Most have unfamiliar titles and pictures that fail to move, but this is the closest thing to home he's found and even the ... was it screaming?... face in the grimy window felt a lot like being back at the Manor.

Singing softly under his breath, Draco keeps looking through the books, enjoying the feeling of being out of the cold.]

You stole my cauldron. My favourite black hat- mmm mmmm- You claimed that you loved me...

[The bulletin board is a sure sign that other people have been, or are here. The messages tacked up with tiny pins show that other people are also looking.

There's only one that catches his attention, the only one that might be from home. From someone he knows, or who knew his father. The message is followed by a string of random numbers, and even if it was some regional sort of owl address, Draco had seen no owls. Or rats. Even a toad would do, but he hadn't seen any of them either and had an inkling that maybe they went in to hibernation during cold spells. That, or they just died.

He's in the middle of writing a short note to put under the message, scribbling clumsily with a wooden pencil he found at the book shop.]