Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (A Drarry Fanfic)

Chapter 3

This time it didn't vanish so quickly. It disappeared slowly enough for Draco to realise he wasn't dreaming. It was early morning when he opened his eyes and the silvery mist was dissolving and gleaming in the darkness.

It was gone in seconds and Draco stared at the place where it had vanished.

He felt better again. He was fairly dry and he had slept in a warm bed. Pomfrey had dragged it next to the fireplace yesterday and pilled heavy blankets on top of Draco. Sleep did help him, damn them all. Drinking all that Calming Draught hadn't been that crazy. Though, Dreamless Sleep Potion might have worked even better. It would have also prevented dreams about a boy wearing white pyjamas with red polka dots, who smelled like apples and wouldn't stop kissing Draco.

Pomfrey appeared shortly and tried to Vanish the cloud again. It didn't work, so she had house-elves bring Draco some dry clothes and breakfast.

Then Draco sat by the fireplace, stared at the grandfather clock's large pendulum and felt miserable for exactly two hours and fourteen minutes. Which was when Goyle strode into the room.

Draco had completely forgotten about Goyle. It was stupid of him to forget. Goyle was at the party. He knew what went on there. He wouldn't have allowed the Gryffindors to make fun of Draco. He'd punch them all in the face. At least twice.

Unless they had confused him, which, admittedly, was rather easy to do.

Goyle dropped cheerfully into a chair beside him. "You look terrible," he said.

"Haven't you been drinking?" Draco asked. Goyle didn't appear to be suffering from a hangover.

"Drank half the crate myself." Goyle shrugged. "I felt a bit dizzy. Gryffindors, though . . ." He grinned. "Such lightweights."

Draco swallowed. "Potter, too?"

"I meant Potter. Can't remember who else used to be in Gryffindor. Well, Granger and Weasley, obviously, but she didn't drink at all and she kept Transfiguring Weasley's Firewhiskey to water."

Potter hadn't been drunk when he had shown up at the courtyard. He didn't look drunk. And Draco would have smelled the Firewhiskey; he would have tasted it. Potter didn't taste like Firewhiskey; he tasted like . . .

"Lovely weather," Goyle said.

"What?"

Goyle pointed at the window. "We could go out flying."

Draco studied Goyle face. "Greg, I'll ask some questions now and I want you to tell me the absolute truth."

"I always do, mate." Goyle looked startled.

"I heard you were playing Truth or Dare, is that true?"

Goyle froze. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry," he moaned. "I picked Truth and the game was hexed. If I hadn't told them, I'd be full of blisters now."

Draco felt like someone punched him in the stomach. "What did you tell them?"

"It was Daphne. She asked me where I was on the night of the Battle; she didn't see me anywhere, she said. And I told them I had been in the Room of Requirement with you and Potter and Granger and Weasley and . . . Crabbe."