The Mists of Memory

Chapter 2: I'm Not a Death Eater!

Harry seemed to notice his condition for the first time, his astonished gaze assessing his companion a little more closely. 'I guess that you won't tell me what made you go out in this weather without an umbrella,' he stated.

'For once, you guess correctly, Potter.' Draco looked at the floor. The only thing he still had left was a little pride. If Potter would find out what kind of life he'd been leading, he'd never dare look at his own face in the mirror ever again.

Draco knew very well that he looked like a shadow of the wizard he once had been. Paler than ever, haggard, dirty; he disgusted himself. There was no need for Potter to make him feel worse. In truth he's already done it...He smiled sardonically at that thought.

'I don't think that you've been having a good time. I remember you more in shape. And I never suspected you liked Muggle clothes,' Harry observed simply. It was obvious that Malfoy was in trouble. Harry wanted to help, but Draco had to open up first. Which, he being Draco Malfoy, was quite hard to believe it was going to happen.

'Actually, I don't like this crap.' Draco glared at the soaked clothes that he wore. 'If I hadn't been forced to, I would never have put them on.'

'The Malfoys have never had money problems. Even if your father received the Kiss, I don't think they'd confiscate all your fortune, so it can't be because of financial issues. I suppose it wasn't your choice to live among Muggles; I'd never think you'd be able to.' Harry sneered at Draco.

'What other choice could I have? Azkaban?' Draco's look seemed to harden, if possible. He was silent for a moment, too busy trying to stop coughing. 'I won't allow you to make fun of me further, Potter. I'm leaving.'

Draco moved to reach the gate, but staggered badly. His head felt like it was going to explode and the shivers that ran down his back, even if they subsided a little after eating chocolate, hadn't gone completely away. This surprised him, but after all, his clothes were still soaking wet and the moisture was penetrating to his bones, freezing him.

'Where d'you want to go in this weather? Do you even have a place to stay?' asked Harry with a frown. For the first time since they had found shelter, he was fully aware of Draco's sorry state. He hadn't noticed it to start with—Draco's arrogance had fooled him. But, when the blond wizard staggered and steadied himself with the wall, Harry saw him shake his head and blink, and he couldn't ignore the way the other man looked anymore.

'...'

Draco tried to put one foot in front of the other, leaning against the wall forcefully. Damn...he didn't feel well at all. And the thought of returning to that storm didn't really please him.

'Stupid question. If you had a place to go to, you wouldn't have been out in the rain, facing the Dementors,' Harry thought aloud.

'Why the hell d'you care?' Draco shouted. While still opening the gate, he turned his head suddenly to watch Harry over his shoulder.

'Because you can't leave,' Harry concluded, scratching the nape of his neck. 'If you weren't Draco Malfoy, I'd take you to the others. But they'd never forgive me if you betrayed us.'

'Potter...' Draco turned fully towards Harry with difficulty, his hand still resting on the gate. 'It'll cost me dearly to tell you this, but I don't want you to get wrong ideas in that worm-eaten brain of yours. A Malfoy would never betray a life debt.' He looked at Harry before exerting greater pressure on the handle of the gate to open it.

I've no choice. If I let him leave, he won't last the night, Harry thought in horror. The temperature was dropping, and Draco was still wearing wet clothes. Harry wasn't dry either, but his clothes weren't soaked; while Draco's were.