Rating:: PG-13
House:: Schnoogle
Ships:: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Characters:: Draco Malfoy Ginny Weasley Remus Lupin Sirius Black Harry and Hermione and Ron
Genres:: Drama Mystery
Era:: Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:: Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:: Published: 04/24/2003

Updated: 01/22/2004

Words: 29,285

Chapters: 7

Hits: 7,795

The Mists of Memory

Kagome-sama

Story Summary:: A life's debt is a life's debt. Even if you're Draco Malfoy. Even if you'd rather be dead than saved by

The Mists of Memory 01

Chapter Summary:: A life's debt is a life's debt. Even if you're Draco Malfoy. Even if you'd rather be dead than saved by him. Even if you find yourself involved in something that's bigger than you. Something on which can depend the future of Britain, and maybe that of the whole world. Year 2002, the prelude to the last battle. Passions, betrayals, mysteries, dangers... all hidden in the Mists of Memory.

Posted:: 04/24/2003

Hits:: 3,473

Author's Note:: Yes, I did it. I started a new fic ... as always the plot bunny was

Chapter 1: The Fugitive.

He ran without a destination through the dark and lonely streets of Muggle London. The rain hit him and wormed its way everywhere, under the neck of his shirt and down his jeans, soaking him. He shook from the cold and at the same time felt a burst of warmth inside. He took the first street to his right then quickly turned left, stopping for a moment to decide between two paths. He picked one and continued to run, trying to find an open place where there were people, where he could vanish into the crowd.

His heart seemed to want to burst out of his chest and his breath echoed throughout the deserted alleyways. The Muggle clothes that he wore were completely filthy and soaked. They stuck to him, annoying him. His feet were frozen inside his wet shoes that squelched with every step he took. His fists felt like blocks of ice.

How he hated to have to dress like a Muggle. How he hated to always have to be in contact with them. How he hated to have to sleep in hotels that were smelly and too full of people, often sharing the bed with someone. Not because there was no space. Nor because he didn't have money ... but because he had to.

He couldn't do anything else. Why did it happen to him?

*Mr. Malfoy, good evening. Mr. Malfoy?* the smiling face of a girl with brown hair appeared, urgent in his mind.

No, it's impossible, it can't be true. Go! Don't follow me! He brought his hands to his forehead while he continued to run and shook his head. No, he didn't want to remember!

*Mr. Malfoy, look ... it's snowing!*

Faster, hurry up! He had to succeed in finding a shelter, a place where he couldn't be found; a place where memories didn't attack him.

Damn! Why did they have to find him today? Why was it that today he couldn't manage to find a place in one of the many hotels in London? Why was it that today there wasn't even a single bloody person on the street with whom he could be confused?

*I have always loved the snow, Mr. Malfoy. But my family moved to Miami, in the last few years. This is the first time that I have seen snow in a while!*

Turn right, to the left ... no, a blind alley! Go straight. They can't catch me ... they can't catch me ... they can't catch me! His heart seemed to echo his thoughts with tumultuous beats in unison with his temples where the blood pulsed furiously. His heart seemed to want to establish itself in his throat while his legs began to yield to the hard work. They felt heavy, rigid. He wavered.

NO! I must find some people. Damn, why isn't there anybody around? He tripped and fell. He got up, tired and gasping for air. He looked around, granting himself the luxury of a short rest.

It was eleven o'clock in the evening on that mid-December day. The rain was pelting his skin like a whip; only a little colder and it would have been hail instead. His breath was a dense cloud in front of his face. His knees ached under his soaked clothing. His frozen feet hurt him. He coughed tiredly while his eyes continued searching feverishly. The darkness that enveloped London's alleys did not help when you wanted to watch behind you during an escape. He saw a flash in the shadows and his heart once again felt like a drum beating.

*Mr. Malfoy, do you know what becomes of snow when it melts?*

*Well, sure ... water? Vapour?*

He had finished Hogwarts four years ago and he had passed the last two years in this manner, running away from the Dementors who hunted him everywhere he went. They tormented him because of resentment, pain and remorse--because of hate.

*No, Mr. Malfoy. You are mistaken! It becomes spring!* A luminous smile he'd received had warmed his heart, he remembered as if it had been yesterday. He remembered the tiny girl who he had met at the Ministry of the Magic. Marion was her name. Marion....

No, stop ... Why must I remember her, why? I don't want to remember. I can't ... allow myself ... He looked around, terrified.

Every angle was illuminated by the spectral street lighting, all looking like they were hiding some kind of trap. A Dementor could be ready to suck his soul. No! He'd like to hold on to his soul, thank you very much. Losing it was the last thing he wanted.

He resumed running, even if his legs could not resist any longer, even though his eyesight was becoming clouded. Even though his heart was bursting in his chest and the pain at the back of his throat was stretching his endurance to its limits. He felt his lungs with raw precision. His knees shook and his feet slid around in his gym shoes; they were too wet to stick to the slippery pavement.

I'm a coward ... an idiot. An egotist ... he thought as he desperately looked for a place to hide. Anything would do--a gate ajar, an open pub door--anything that took him off the street and took him among people where the Dementors couldn't find him; where the Dementors could be distracted.

Perhaps it would be better to end it, he thought, slowing down. To die was probably more dignified than to continue living as he had. He wouldn't be able to resist for much long anyway. But something prevented him from letting go. Was it a survival instinct? Was it a will to hold on to life or at least a memory? Or was it, perhaps, his pride?

Of course not ... the truth is that I'm a coward! he thought, hurrying his steps. I don't have the courage to die.

Unexpectedly he turned left without looking where he was going. He found himself on a treacherous street. He felt the squishing of his feet in the puddles as if they were far away and came from another world.

He bumped against someone and uttered an excuse while he turned and struggled not to fall and continue running. A car stopped in front of him all of a sudden. The headlights hurt his eyes, which by now were accustomed to the dark, and it bothered him. In order to avoid it he stepped to the right and continued straight, his eyes still dazzled from the headlights. He did it without watching where he was stepping or where he was going. This alley was just like any other alley, right?

He reached a dead end.

He spun around. Still blinded, he blinked as he observed the road he had left, trying to focus his eyes on it. At the end of the alley, just ahead he saw his only way out ... there it was!

The Dementor.

He tripped over his shoelaces and fell.

*Father, what are you doing?*

*Father, let Marion go, what has she done to you?*

*Marion ... now she has become Marion. We have arrived to this?* The dark and angry face of Lucius appeared in front of his eyes. It wore a fixed look loaded with contempt, a contempt that hurt him in the deepest parts of his soul. It made him feel like a Mudblood. Even worse ... he felt less than a human being.

No, no ...

The Dementor was slowly approaching. Draco was completely still, kneeling on the ground, his arms on the soaked asphalt. His breath created dense clouds when he gasped for air in the cold of the night. He was exhausted. He couldn't do anything other than observe death approaching. He'd be worse than a dead man. He knew it ... a being without a soul.

Like his father.

And what distressed him more was the knowledge, no, the certainty that he deserved it.

*Crucio!*

*No, Father! No!*

*Draco! This whore is taking you for a ride. Do you not understand that she wants to trick you? Do you not understand that she wants only your money?* Lucius' hard eyes had sweetened in the veiled sarcasm of madness. He looked as if he were trying to convince himself of the truth of what he was saying, because it was the only truth possible.

*It isn't true!* The painful howl of the only woman who had succeeded in melting his heart echoed in the air.

No, please, please ... By now he was trapped in the memory. He could not move, did not want to move. The Dementor was approaching, slowly, enjoying his terror and nourishing itself on his anguish, on his pain, his disgust towards himself, his sense of guilt. He was drowning in guilt. He felt guilty because of himself, and guilty because of Marion.

He couldn't remember how to get rid of it. He cursed himself, in the last dim light of lucidity that remained, for not having paid attention to those lessons of Defence against the Dark Arts in his seventh year. But by now it was too late, much too late for stupid regrets.

*It's true! This woman is lying to you! Do you want to tarnish the Malfoy name!?* The look on Lucius's face would've frozen an erupting volcano, but it had not intimidated him. No, he wanted to defend the woman that he loved.

Lucius had slapped him and was ready to hit him again if he objected. And, in that moment, he hated him. For the first time in his life, he hated his name, from the deepest reaches of his heart. He hated his lineage and all it meant.

But what was worse, he hated his father.

His idol ...

His model ...

The one who represented everything he had intended to become.

The utopian image that had been forged in his mind since his childhood had broken into a thousand pieces in a moment, and this had made him feel devastated even more so than Marion's shouts.

*NO!* she howled, between the spasms of pain. *Mr. Malfoy, I'm not lying! I'm not lying ... * But her prayers could hardly be heard between her screaming and sobs. Draco, with his hand still on his aching cheek, had approached Marion. He placed himself in front of her, preventing his father from torturing her further. His pale eyes were glaring fixedly at the man he had, at one time, considered a god.

No!

*Leave.*

*No. I won't allow you to keep hurting her.* Draco's look was firm, hard and cold. It was the first time in his life that he had felt true hatred towards someone. Not even towards Dumbledore, not even towards Potter. He had never tasted hatred so dark and penetrating. Therefore, he was ready to do anything in that moment, also to kill his father.

NO!

*Leave. If you don't leave, I'll torture you as well,* his father threatened.

I'm begging you, NO!

*Try it... * he started to say while a hand ran automatically to his wand in his pocket. But he didn't do it, the words died in his throat.

*No, Mr. Malfoy, don't do it! It ... It's true. It's true ... I ... I have tricked him. I have taken Draco for a fool. I have done it only for the money. My family is drowning in debt and I ...* she said, with pleading look. He turned and watched in disbelief. It couldn't be true. He saw in her eyes that it was not true, but that moment of uncertainty had been his ruin.

NO! NO!! He brought his hands to his forehead while shaking his head, and began to mumble senselessly. He crouched embracing his knees. He felt tears run down his cold cheeks, reaching his mouth while he sobbed. He tasted the salt and bitterness at the same time, but couldn't stop crying.

*Avada Kedavra.* His heart stopped at the sound of those two words. He looked in the direction his father had moved. They were side by side now ... and he had not been careful. He saw a flash of triumph in his father's eyes, so hard, cold and grey--just like his.

NO!! I'm begging you, enough! Anything you want. Kill me. Strip me of my soul. Destroy my mind. None of it matters, nothing! Nothing! But don't ...

He turned around slowly towards the point where, until a moment before, she was suffering and crying. She was the only one that he truly loved.

... no ...

The only one who had ever loved him.

... no ...

The only one that had made him feel alive.

... I can't see her again!

And he had seen her, lying on the stone pavement. Her hands were still together. She still had tears on her cheeks. Her brown eyes were now open wide with a look between surprise and horror. Those eyes that until just hours before were sweet and full of life. Laughing. Those eyes that had stricken his heart and made him experience so many emotions and so much joy were now cold and empty ... staring at him.

'NO!'

He withdrew into himself, by now unconscious of the rain, of the mud that stained him, of the cold that penetrated his bones and made him shiver. He was unconscious to the fact that within moments he would be worse than dead; the Dementor had by now caught up with him, and he didn't care about anything anymore.

The monster took him with both hands and pulled. It fixed on him for a long moment. He looked Death in the face and found out he could accept it. He deserved it; it was what he wanted now. He wanted to get rid of the pain, to get rid of the anguish, the fear.

I'm soaked, without dignity, will or honour ... dressed in Muggle clothing and hating my name and myself. I'm in a fetid, dark alley ... like a criminal. What a beautiful way to die for the last of the Malfoys ...

'EXPECTO PATRONUM!' The urgent cry of a male voice ripped through the air, echoing around the deserted alley.

Draco turned around suddenly. He was dripping with sweat, rain and tears. His eyes were still red from crying. He could not believe his luck, but he was seeing it, indeed. A beautiful Patronus in the shape of a stag took aim at the dark figure in front of him, ready to kill.

The wonderful creature caught them and enveloped them like a shield between the boy and the monster. The Dementor howled like an animal--an acute and strong howl, enough to freeze the blood--and fled. Draco fell to his knees, gagging, and saw it running towards the dusk of the night. Still, it felt very strange to still be alive ...

'Move on. Quick, before that thing's back with reinforcements!' A voice brought him back to reality. Someone stretched out a hand, and he took it. It was warm. He didn't know the identity of the person who had saved him - he could not see clearly in the darkness. In any case, he would have followed the stranger until the ends of the Earth.

'I ...' he mumbled.

'Questions later ... now run!' His saviour helped him get up and began to escape, dragging him along. Draco still didn't understand the situation, but concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other to at least follow the person who had saved him for a while.

They ran at break-neck speed through the dark roads of London, impervious to the rain that had fallen after the hail. They didn't notice the puddles that soaked them to the bone. Unexpectedly, they saw a gate half open and they entered it, closing it behind them.

They both fell to their knees, gasping for air. Draco was still in a state of total confusion. He felt as if he was living in a dream and did not want to wake up ... But it definitely wasn't a dream, he realized. He was incredibly cold and his teeth were chattering. His feet, still frozen, tingled painfully. There was not a part of his body that was dry and the icy drops that fell from his hair flowed without mercy down his neck and trickled down his back. But .... He was alive! His soul still intact.

'I ...' he started to say, between breaths. He didn't know what to say. He only knew that he now owed a large debt to this person. His life had been saved and Draco knew the Wizards' Code of Honour backwards. He now was linked to someone with ties that were stronger than any Muggle contract.

'Are you feeling better?' he was asked. Draco nodded and finally raised his eyes. The light shone on the ledge where they were sheltered. He was able to see who accompanied him, and his heart stopped.

The jet-black hair was a little dishevelled. The glasses, round and soaked, were covering a pair of shining green eyes that looked at him with a mix of amusement and worry. On his forehead, under the wet and dirty hair, he caught a glimpse of a scar shaped like a lightning bolt.

'I don't expect you're pleased to see me, Malfoy,' his rescuer continued between breaths and an amused grin on his lips, while he removed his glasses and began to clean them with a dry handkerchief. 'It would be nice to hear you say thanks, at least once, but I know you won't.'

He looked at Draco mockingly for a moment, while his hands dealt with his glasses. Then, the amusement vanished and his face assumed a more serious expression. He looked at the ground, putting his clean glasses back on. 'I didn't save you because of heroics, or in order to make fun of you. It's just that ... nobody should die in a back alley in such a horrible way. Not even you.' Draco trembled while his companion glanced at him again.

Potter, yes, that Potter, had saved his life.