He was standing there in is dark, uncomfortable apartment. His head resting on the cold glass that looked out on to a dingy street in the middle of muggle London. He reached over to the the other side of the window sill and lifted up his nearly completely burned away cigarette. He brought it slowly to his lips without taking his forehead from the calming cold of the window. His pale white, lanky hair hung down choppy all around his face framing his gaunt cheeks while the color emphasized the lack of sleep he had obviously been receiving. His body covered in very wiry muscles glowed in a heavenly like color that came from the street light that streamed into his room. All in all he looked like a fallen angel while his nearly colorless eyes looked out on to the street where snowflakes fell to the ground, hiding the pollution and trash… while wishing his own soul would start to snow and cover up his life if only for a while.

I was the middle of the second war of the wizarding world against Lord Voldermort. After Snape and Draco fled into the night after the monumental night of the death of Albus Dumbledore, Draco ran the opposite way. He remember it as if it were yesterday. The branches snapped and scratched his skin, his breath was coming out ragged, and he nearly fell over but he kept on running. For some reason Snape didn't try to stop him. It rained that first night of his escape from the Death Eaters and slavery. He didn't find comfort all night, and he still hadn't found it. He felt like a coward hiding out in poverty stricken muggle London, fight neither the good or the bad. He had no home and no one. He picked up odd jobs here and there… he even played with being an actor for small theaters for about three months before he became sick of the lack of predictability of when he would have money and when he would have to reluctantly draw out his wand and steal. He didn't like to use his want… they could track him that way. I didn't matter who tracked him, either side would not end greatly for him.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck that was particularly sore and defiantly did not agree on sleep on the sack of rocks he called his bed. His long blonde lashes fell onto his pale high cheek bones and he knew from a bystanders point of view he knew he could look dead. He sighed and lifted his now numb forehead from the glance and pulled his hand through his hair. He made a mental note to take a shower soon. He was about to turn away from the window when something crossed his vision in the motionless night, a rip in space and suddenly there was person there in the snow mid-shin high. It was a man cloaked in a black robe, and even though Draco had been away from the muggle world nearly a year now he knew a wizard that just appreated when he saw one. The a second wizard popped next to him, this one didn't have his hood up like the other did and his cloak looked more like a cloth Draco was familiar with, silk compare to the warmer look material the other man was wearing.

Draco could hard pay attention to that because before he could try to guess where they got their cloaks they had whipped out their wands and trained them on each other. Very foolish… in the middle of a muggle street. They were already engaged in a heavly battle and all Draco could do was stare. The second stranger turned so that his face, or where his face should have been caught the light, but his face was covered by a mask… a very familiar Death Eater mask. He did know what made him do what he did next but before he could stop himself he let his fag fall to the ground in a fountain of sparks and sprinted down two flights of stairs to the street below. He had his wand in hand but fail to consider anything else as he was shirtless and barefoot, but he could care less. The first stranger needed help, Draco would no longer be a coward he need to do something anything. He needed to make a difference.

There he was his barefeet hitting the snow sending sharp pains up his spine and it was so cold, but he was used to it… he liked being numbed. They were still fighting but then Draco felt in on the air, something unnatural. Then the death eater with a rip was a large raging death eater. It was charging at the first man with a predatory stalk, and the first spell the man sent at it simply glazed off. The werewolf was Fenrir, Draco was sure of it. The stranger need time. Draco lifted his wand as if it had a mind of its own and fired a random spell, expelliriumus. He hadn't fire such a spell in a very long time and it was not very strong, but it was a good time saver for the stranger. Bad for Draco because the werewolf turned to him, and Draco sweared something slid into recognition in the wolf's eyes and his anger raised. It charged at him, fast. Draco didn't even move or try to protect himself, he was numb all over inside and out. Mind and body.

Before the collision could happen he was thrown down and out of the way. The stranger was standing in front of him in a swirl of black. His hood fell down as his jet black matched his cloak perfectly. He didn't have wand in his hand anymore but a large silver sword. He brought it up and Draco closed his eyes as howls ripped thru the night. When it was over he lifted himself off the ground as his teeth chattered. He still hadn't opened his eyes yet but he knew there was a deed human being near by, someone he really hated. He finally pryed them open. He was so cold, so deathly cold. He stared at the stranger in front of him and vivid green eyes, Harry fucking Potter. And then all his world started to get hazy.

"Malfoy? Bahaha…" There is a lot of things he expected Harry Potter to do, but laugh was not one of them. In fact he didn't really look like the same Potter he knew. He looked taller, older, and stronger. He was rugged look with a hair that flowed all around his face and a large scar reaching all the way down his cheek. Ruggedly sexy and with a mischievous look in his eye. No, defiantly not going there. "Well look at all the adventures I can find." Draco's teeth chattered and he could hardly breathe from the cold. "Shit, you going to get hypothermeia like this."

"I can take care of myself." Draco spit between his lips. He tried to move but he started to fall forward as his eyes started to close.

"Damn, is the apartment yours?" Draco shook his head as he tried to push Potter away while Potter insisted on holding him under his arm. "Upstairs or down?"

Draco point up and whispered in a scratchy voice, "Room 5." His eyes were nearly completely closed from frozen tears he did not know he cried. Somehow they were scaling up the stairs, awkward pushing and pulling. Until about halfway up the stairs where Potter huffed and let go of Draco. He thought that maybe Potter have given up, he got him this far why not leave him? More importantly why not just kill him like he should want to do? But instead of leaving him on the stairs, Harry Potter reached under Draco's legs and behind his upper back picking him off the ground. Draco's eyes flutter closed and his head drooped back with his white blonde hair curtaining behind him. Like a curtain of icy beauty. The last thing he heard before he blacked out was, "You sodding idiot, Malfoy."