Chapter 4

Draco could feel the intense magic before it hit him. If he wasn't so concerned about protecting himself from what was coming, he would have been more impressed at the wandless magic Potter was able to execute—it took a very strong wizard to perform wandless magic.

Draco reached into his robes as the wave of magic hit him, pulling out his wand as he flew through the air and muttered, "Arresto momentum," while pointing his wand at himself. He slowed down as he approached the pavement, landing softly. He stood quickly and brushed himself off as he looked after Potter. He met the gaze of Potter's friend before the dark-haired man took off after him, "James! James!"

"James?" Draco questioned out loud. He looked around at the crowds. Muggles were staring at him with their mouths gaping open while the witches and wizards were whispering to one another about the Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord. "Was that really him? The Harry Potter?"

Draco smiled sheepishly to the muggles, "Nothing but a bit of fun!" he spoke to the staring crowd and laughed nervously before walking quickly to the nearest payphone.

He stepped into the booth and reached into his pocket. Granger had given him some muggle currency in case of emergency. He felt this was an emergency. He put all of the silver coins into the little slot like Granger had shown him and pressed the numbered buttons in the order she had made him memorize.

"Draco?" Hermione answered with concern in her voice. "You called the emergency phone line, what is going on?"

"It's him, Hermione." Draco didn't realize it until now, but he was panting a little. His adrenaline was coursing through his veins.

"Draco calm down, him who?" And then she realized that Draco called her Hermione. He only did that when something big was about to happen and she needed to be calmed. Him… could it be? "Harry?!" She exclaimed, causing Draco to pull the receiver away from his ear. "You saw Harry? Is he okay? What did he say? How is he? Did he talk to you? Of course he did. How is he? Is he with you? Is he okay?" She rambled on, her voice trembling a little.

"Hermione, he acted like he didn't know me. He… well he seemed to recognize me, but he was terrified of me. Like I was going to murder him. And then he… he used wandless magic and sent me flying through the air…"

"He used wandless magic? Harry doesn't know wandless magic… unless…" she mused. "He used to lose control of his magic sometimes, when he was scared or really upset. Maybe that's what happened, Draco. Where is he now?"

"I don't know. He ran away."

"YOU LET HIM RUN AWAY?!" Hermione shouted into the phone, Draco dropping the receiver as a few expletives were exploding out of it.

"Granger," Draco hissed into the receiver, "What was I supposed to do? He took off before my feet hit the ground again."

"Go after him, Draco. Now. And you are not coming back until you have Harry James Potter with you!" With that, she hung up the phone.

"Granger… Granger? Dammit." Draco slammed the phone onto the receiver, ignoring the muggle coins that dropped into the coin return. What was he supposed to do now? Hermione just put him on the most ridiculous mission. There was no way he was going to find Potter. First, Potter seemed to hate him. He doesn't hate you, he was scared of you. Draco corrected himself. Second, where would he even start? It's not like London was a quaint little village. And what would he do if he found him?

He shook his head, leaving the phone booth. He should just go back to the office and talk to Granger calmly about all of this and hatch a plan. Despite that sound reasoning, he stared in the direction Potter had run off in. "Dammit, Potter… you better be worth it…" he muttered to himself as he made his way in that direction.

His feet were moving rather quickly—like he was born to run. He wasn't thinking about his lungs pounding against his chest or his heartbeat echoing in his skull. He just ran. He shoved past crowds of people without any regard to their well-being. His mind had shut off completely and he just ran.

At some point, he could hear someone calling his name. It was Liam, he was sure of it. He was also sure that he could outrun Liam. Liam worked out, sure, but he did not have the stamina that James had. He did not have the motivation to run like James did either. Eventually, he stopped hearing his name and when he felt his legs start to give out, he stopped, slumping against a tree in the suburbs of the city.

His head was pounding and while he tried to convince himself that he was dehydrated from the run, deep down he knew that something was not right. His mind was fighting itself, trying to explain what happened. His body was telling him to run—to keep running and to not stop. Yet, somewhere in his soul he was grounded and he knew he wasn't in true danger.

He looked down at his hands and realized he was shaking. These hands were just hands a few hours ago, but even though he had no proof for it, he knew they were the cause of that strange, but familiar man flying through the air. He could feel whatever force caused that reaction building up inside of him as it did and he could still feel it coursing through his veins.

James wasn't sure what his body was trying to tell him, but he knew that it was trying to tell him something. Something was happening—something that would change his life forever.

Draco ran as far as he could, but he wasn't really the athletic type. While he wanted to find Potter, he wasn't that concerned. True, most of Draco's hatred for Potter wasn't real—it was feigned as a result of his family's association with Voldemort—but when pretending to hate someone for most of your life, it becomes hard to separate those feelings. Potter had always been a huge focus of his life, especially when he became a pawn in Voldemort's army. In those years, Draco had spent much of his time thinking about Potter and he was glad to have a break from the Chosen One when the young man essentially disappeared after the war. Though, even then, Draco found himself thinking about his peer; it was because of Harry Potter that Draco was free.

June 2, 1998

"We call upon Harry James Potter, Conqueror of the Dark Lord." Harry stood up and approached the podium in the center of the room and stood waiting for the questions he had prepared to answer.

"This is the trial of one Draco Lucias Malfoy for crimes against the Ministry and one Harry James Potter in conjunction with the rise and fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry, please state your relation to the convicted."

"Mal—Draco," he corrected, "was a classmate of mine at Hogwarts." Harry stated simply.

"And is it true that you and Mr. Malfoy were foes during your years at Hogwarts."

"Yes. That is true."

"So, would it be true in stating that Mr. Malfoy had just reason, along with his commitment to the Dark Lord, in his actions and crimes against the Ministry regarding your murder?"

Harry thought for a moment before speaking, "While I believe Draco had just reason in aiding the Death Eaters and Voldemort—" there was a small gasp amongst the courtroom as Harry continued, "I do not believe that the reason was as malicious as you imply." Harry's eyes met Draco's for just a moment as he continued. "You see, Draco and I did not get along, but that was mere childish prejudice. When Draco became a Death Eater I believe that it was not due to desire, but rather due to family obligation. His actions during the rise of Voldemort and the Battle at Hogwarts were not consistent with someone who wanted me dead or wanted the Dark Lord to conquer. He had ample opportunity to turn me in or murder me himself and yet, he didn't."

Draco had been walking for a few hours, eventually ending up outside of the city and into some of the suburban streets. Instinct told him that Potter would not have been of right mind to try and cause a diversion to lead Draco off of his trail. Potter was afraid, Draco could sense that, and that would mean that he would just run.

It wasn't long before Draco saw Potter, hunched against a tree, staring down at his hands. Draco could sense the fear and uncertainty radiating off of the young man and a small pang of guilt and sadness tugged at his heart. What had caused the Chosen One to fall so hard?