The Mists of Memory

Chapter 2: I'm Not a Death Eater!

It took Draco a moment to recover from the shock. He continued to stare at Potter, as the other man re-adjusted his own clothes. He saw Harry remove his heavy cloak with the pointed hood and shake it, to get rid of the excess water. Then, Harry squeezed dry the sleeves of his jacket and the legs of his trousers. Finally, he draped his cloak back onto his shoulders and turned to look at him.

'The last person I thought I'd come across in a Muggle back alley, running away from a Dementor, was you, Malfoy. What happened?' Harry said, staring at Draco with curiosity. He seemed truly concerned. How could he be? And why?

'And the last person I thought I'd find was you, Potter. What made you think that I wanted your bloody help?' The words came out even more bitter than he intended.

'I'd gracefully remind Your Lordship that if I weren't there to save your royal arse, your arrogant little face wouldn't be a pretty sight to behold right now,' Harry snapped back.

A hard smile curved Draco's lips. Well, well. Potter's learned some sarcasm; time hasn't gone by only for me.

'You just can't get it in that minuscule brain of yours, can you? Maybe Your Lordship didn't want to be saved; especially not by you,' Draco snapped. And it was true. He'd rather die than have a life debt to...Potter! His father would never forgive him. But then again, his father was more than dead now. Who would tell him off? Who would even care? His eyes were staring right on his companion, who cocked an eyebrow at him.

Harry stretched out a hand to help him up, but Draco ignored the proffered help; so Harry opened the gate they had just closed behind them. A gust of icy air whisked into the landing, together with some snowflakes that had replaced the earlier rain and now quickly settled to the floor. Harry gestured towards the door with his free hand.

'If it annoys you so much to be alive, the door is open. You can leave,' Harry said. 'I don't think it'll take them much time to find you again. There's nobody around in this weather...' He smiled slyly at Draco's bewilderment.

'I didn't want to be saved, but it doesn't mean I want to go back outside,' Draco said as a shiver ran down his spine.

Nodding with a grin, Harry closed the door. He ran his hands through his hair, approached the steps on his left, which probably brought to the upstairs apartments, and sat down on one of them. Draco leaned against the wall and lowered his gaze.

'Why were you out?' Harry asked, looking at his own shoes. He took a moment to untie his shoelaces and tie them again.

'I'd ask the same of you,' said Draco curtly. 'It's not that easy, nowadays, to run into Saint Potter. Especially in the streets of London.'

This distracted Harry from his shoes, and a pair of green eyes stared at him. The Boy-Who-Lived seemed to think carefully about his words.

It was true.

They had finished Hogwarts four years ago. During their seventh year, they had faced Voldemort using the only weapon that could cause his death, the Green Torch. They had found it inside the Department of Mysteries, hidden inside an enclosed room. They'd used it in a memorable battle, a fight that had nearly killed everyone. Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress after Dumbledore had disappeared in the sixth year, had died helping them. It had been a terrible loss.

They had become heroes. They had ended the year under the limelight, even if their hearts were drowning into sorrow. For a while, things had gone well, but Harry had never liked to be the centre of the attention, and this time was no exception. He'd wanted to be able to take some time for himself, to recover from the blow of the terrible losses he had endured—it was what all of them wanted. Ron, Hermione, Ginny...they had all loved the former Head of Gryffindor House. She had left an overwhelming emptiness in their hearts.