Made it! There was no reason to worry, I guess. Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing.

As you can see, this is starting to focus a bit more on the Draco/Harry relationship. Finally. And, also finally, you find out why Draco saved Harry's life back in the first chapter.

Caught in the Rain

It took a while for Harry to pinpoint what was off about Malfoy, why he had stopped looking him in the eye. In fact, he didn't figure it out by himself. The next time he saw Malfoy, he bullied the information out of him.

And then he wished he'd never asked.

He and Ron were in Diagon Alley when it happened. They had the afternoon off because the senior Auror teaching the Potions and Poisons class was ill. After having a drink at the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate – they were both absolute pants at that class, and the instructor had not exactly taken a shine to them –, they decided to take advantage of the opportunity to stop by Weasley's Wizard* Wheezes and see how George was doing.

George seemed to be doing all right, actually; much better than Harry had expected. But how could Harry know what losing a twin brother was like? He had never had any siblings. The only family he had ever known, he had hated. He couldn't even try to relate. George had been a walking shell at Fred's funeral, and Harry had sat in a corner and tried to deal with the fact that it was all his fault, even though none of the Weasleys would ever admit it.

The shop seemed to be keeping George busy, taking his mind off things. The work managed to keep his grief at bay, pushing it into a far corner of his mind. So soon after the war, everyone seemed to want to laugh. Harry had never seen the shop so crowded. And George moved so fluidly between customers and Verity the assistant was so efficient you could hardly tell Fred was missing. But there were clues, here and there. The way Verity kept looking at her boss. The way George's hands shook when he picked up a box of Canary Creams, one of Fred's inventions. The utter absence of joking around, as though a laugh without Fred wasn't worth anything.

But George put up a good face, smiling and friendly, apparently not destroyed by loss and grief. It came as a relief to Harry, a sort of guilty relief because he couldn't ignore the voice in his head that said that Fred – and Colin, and Tonks, and Lupin, and all of them – had died because of him.

That was one of the things he and Ginny had argued about before she left.

Ron bought a box of Extendable Ears ("For a laugh"), some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder ("You never know, might come in handy") and a small packet of Nosebleed Nougat, which he promptly offered to Harry ("Maybe you could give some to Malfoy next time you see him."). Harry bought nothing, because George refused to take his money and Harry refused to take anything without paying for it. Aurors were paid during their training, as civil servants of sorts. It wasn't much, but with what he already had in his vault and the additional sum he was going to receive for the Malfoy thing, Harry doubted he would ever be in need. Not that George would, either. The shop had to rake in far more Galleons than any Ministry employee – civil servants – would ever make.

They left the shop smiling. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still the kind of store that made you laugh, and Diagon Alley was lively and cheerful. Bright windows winked at Harry from every side, and colourfully-dressed wizards strode purposefully up and down the alley, hardly sparing him a glance. Perfect. Here and there you could see a trace of the war that had just ended, an unusually closed shop: its windows shattered, or grey and dusty; the door either bolted or broken down and splintered. These struck an unsettling contrast with the rest of the shops. Harry felt a pinch of regret when they passed what had once been Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Florean had been killed by Death Eaters, though no one knew why. The shop had been left untouched since then, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before someone bought it and – most likely – set up a new business.

"Why do you reckon they did it?" Harry said minutes later, as Ron stopped abruptly in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies to peer inside. "Florean, I mean."

Ron glanced at him. "I don't know. No reason, probably, except that he was a decent bloke."

Harry thought that was strange, but he kept quiet. Ron guessed what he was thinking, though.

"There are a lot of things like that that you don't know, aren't there? About the Death Eaters."

"Yeah."

"Won't the ones in prison talk?"

Harry shrugged. "They have nothing to gain. We can't promise to release them if they tell us what we want to know. We could never do that, and they know it. Besides," he said, looking at a broom on display behind the window, "some of them seem to think that Voldemort will return again."

"But he won't."

Harry shot Ron a sharp glance. "No. He won't. You know that."

"If the Death Eaters in Azkaban won't speak, why can't you ask Malfoy?"

Harry almost laughed at the idea. Technically, it should have been a viable option. In practise, though, it was simply impossible. Malfoy was just too defensive, too closed off.

"He wouldn't tell me even if I bothered to ask," Harry said. "Even if he did know anything, which I doubt."

"I didn't mean Draco Malfoy. I was talking about his father."

Harry snorted. "You're joking, right? I haven't even spoken to the elusive Lucius Malfoy once since the trial. And to be honest, I'm not looking forward to it."

"Don't tell me things like that," Ron groaned. "I might have to report it to Kingsley. I'm honour-bound to the Ministry, you know."

"And salary-bound," Harry said. "Go ahead and do it, then. Maybe he'll put you in charge of the Malfoys instead of me."

As Ron put on a horrified expression, it began to rain. Sometimes rain starts with a few small drops, giving you enough warning to run for cover. But this rain fell all of a sudden, like a harsh curtain of water. The sky had been grey and heavy all day and was yearning to get rid of the water. Ron and Harry didn't even look at each other before wrenching the door to Quidditch Quality Supplies open and hurtling in.

"Well, I needed a new pair of gloves, anyway," Ron said, wiping the water off his face. "Let's wait here until the rain calms down."

As Ron headed for the back of the store, Harry went down the aisle, keeping his back to the window. He eyed a box of six Snitches, taken aback by the price.

"Harry," Ron called, "Do you think real dragon hide is worth the price?"

"Lasts longer," Harry said absent-mindedly. "Looks cooler, too, but my old gloves were more comfortable."

He didn't realise how obvious Ron was being, with his height and red hair, raising his voice and calling out Harry's name. A few heads turned to see who was speaking so loudly; Harry turned and ducked his head. He wasn't exactly assaulted in the street every day, but when people looked at him he felt the way he had the first time Hagrid had brought him into the Leaky Cauldron and everyone had been tripping over themselves to shake his hand. The attention made him uncomfortable.

He pointedly looked out the window, knowing he wouldn't be recognised from the back. Out of the corner of his eye, a movement caught his attention. A flutter of black, then a flash of white-blond. Harry snapped his head to the side to look directly at Malfoy, who had just entered the street. Now there was someone Harry could recognise from the back of his head, even among a thousand. His hair was plastered to his head by the rain, showing how long it was – in places, it touched his shoulders. His black robes were soaked through, he was walking quickly with his head down, and he had just come from the dark side alley known as Knockturn Alley. The most infamous street in Wizarding Britain.

Harry moved quickly and was out the door before Malfoy had gone ten steps; he stood under the battering rain and called Malfoy's name. He might have believed the wind had snatched the words from his lips if Malfoy hadn't quickened his pace suddenly. It was the only reaction he got.

"Malfoy!"

This time, Malfoy turned his head. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, Malfoy's narrowed in defiance – and then he turned away again.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered under his breath, and broke into a run. "Malfoy, wait up," Harry called, but of course Malfoy didn't.

Malfoy wasn't allowed to Apparate. It was in the contract. So he tried to run, but Harry ran after him and caught up with him, taking his arm to stop him.

"Got you," Harry said as he caught hold of Malfoy's sleeve. "Merlin, you're soaked."

"Did you follow me?" Malfoy's tone was hard; he looked straight ahead into the rain.

"What?"

Malfoy turned to him suddenly, freeing his arm, eyes flashing; he had to shout his next words to be heard over the rain. "Did you follow me when the wards told you I was leaving?"

Harry shook his head. "The wards didn't tell me anything. They're linked to the Auror Office. I check them every night, but I'm not always behind you, watching your every move. You don't have to be so paranoid." He had told him he wouldn't ask.

"When the one time I go outside, I come across you, you can't blame me for thinking –"

"Then you can't blame me for thinking what I thought when I saw you coming out of Knockturn Alley." Harry's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing there?"

"Guess you'll see next time you do your routine check at the Manor, won't you?"

"Malfoy, I'm serious. If you bought anything, the Ministry –"

"Concerned, are you? Don't worry, Potter. This is nothing that will affect your career."

"This isn't about my career," he snapped. "It's about your freedom."

"Why do you even care, Potter?"

There were a thousand things Harry could say to that, but he didn't, because he wasn't sure which answer was the right one. "Just tell me, Malfoy – what were you doing there?"

"What business of yours is it? I thought you said you wouldn't ask where I went."

That brought Harry up short. He had, hadn't he? He'd sworn not to bother Malfoy about his whereabouts; that probably included not inquiring about the reason he had left the house.

"I..."

"Forgot, did you?"

"No! But Knockturn Alley... Malfoy, if you bought something, anything, then I need to –"

"I didn't."

"Sold, then?"

"Why would I tell you? Unless you're really going to take out the Veritaserum, I'm not saying a word, Potter. So either you let me go or you force me to tell you, but don't let's pretend to have an honest conversation." He shook his arm free and glared at Harry. "So? What's it going to be?"

Harry was quiet for a moment. The only sound was that of the rain pouring down all around them. Drops of water slithered down Malfoy's cheeks, making it look for all the world as though he were crying. But his eyes burnt with anger, and Harry backed down.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up.

Sorry? Draco stared at Potter, wondering what his game was. He acted all aggressive and official one moment, and the next he was apologising even though he wasn't in the wrong. Draco knew he was the one making this difficult. After all, he was doing it on purpose.

"I won't force you," Potter said.

Draco regained his composure and straightened. "Then this conversation is over."

Potter caught his wrist, gripping it firmly through his robes. "No, it isn't." Something in his tone gave Draco pause: an edge of steel and authority he had never expected to hear in Potter's voice. "I'll tolerate your excuses about your parents," Potter said. "And I won't ask you what you do when you leave the house."

"What's that, trust?"

"Hardly."

"Well. If that's all –"

"It isn't," Potter said, his fingers still wrapped tightly around Draco's wrist. Draco thought they would leave a mark. "I have a question. And I want an answer."

"What is it?"

"First promise me you'll answer."

Malfoy shook his head. His wet hair stuck to his face, and he felt – and figured he must look – like a drowned, pathetic rat caught in the rain.

"Why a promise? My word is worth nothing."

"A man is only as good as his word," Potter said, "and we've already established that you're not a bad person."

Draco glanced up at the black clouds, then back at Potter. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know a lot of things about you."

"If that's what you think, then you're an idiot," Draco said. "Fine. I promise, then. A promise not worth a Knut. Ask away, and then let me go. It's pouring."

"Why did you save me?"

Draco started, then laughed at his own foolishness. "I should have known. You're so fucking predictable, do you know that?" He jerked his arm free. "Like I said, Potter. You overestimate me. I am not a good person."

"Tell me," Potter insisted. "If it's not that, then what was it? Why wouldn't you look me in the eye last time I came? You're hiding something, I know you are. What is it?"

"That's three questions, Potter," Draco observed. "But luckily for you, they all have the same answer."

The rain calmed down a little; it was now reduced to a few gentle drops. Draco drew nearer, until he was practically nose-to-nose with Potter, the Saviour's breath hot against his lips.

"Are you sure you want to hear?" he asked, lowering his voice. "You're not going to like this. It's not what you're expecting."

"I want to to hear it. I need to hear it."

"Why? What will it change? What can it change? Would you suddenly stop being so unbearably forgiving?"

Potter looked taken aback. "I'm only trying to help, Malfoy," he said, his voice soft and pained. "Believe me. Trust me."

Draco stared at him. His mother's words came back to him, unbidden. "I'm only trying to help you, Draco. Why won't you let me?"

"Can't you trust that I'm not interested in seeing you return to Azkaban? That I want you to be free?"

Draco shook his head mutely.

"Well, I do. I owe you, Malfoy. You saved my life..."

"Not before you saved mine." The words spilled out of him without warning; he caught himself too late.

"That's not the point."

'Yes, it is,' Draco almost said. 'It's exactly the point. It's the whole point.'

Instead he said, "Can't we just call it quits?"

Potter eyed him. "No, we can't just call it quits," he said slowly, drawing the words out as though he were questioning Draco's intelligence.

"Oh, right, the trial. I suppose I still owe you, then, don't?" He grimaced.

"You don't owe me anything," Potter said in the same way.

"Then that means we're quits."

Potter stared. "You," he said, "are very annoying."

"It's a gift."

"Listen," Potter said, and again there was that indefinable edge to his tone which made Draco shut up and do just that. "What you did – what your mother did – I could never pay you back for that. You were both ready to defy Voldemort to save me – for your own reasons. Nothing I'll ever do could possibly begin to repay the debt that I owe you."

Draco blinked. Potter thought he was indebted to him?

"Malfoy... I have to ask. I know why your mother did it. She did it for you. But you, Malfoy... What were you thinking when you saved my life?"

His expression was avid, his eyes searching, as though he wanted to believe that Draco had done it out of chivalry, a sudden change of heart, maybe even affection for him... Well, he was going to be disappointed. Draco averted his gaze.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah," Potter said. "It does."

Harry watched Malfoy curiously. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the table and his entire body was taut like a string pulled tight. Ready to snap.

"You can't make me buy that it just happened and that you don't know why. It's not like you not to think something through before you do it."

Malfoy raised his head, and his eyes were hard as steel. "I hate you, Potter." The words were said without inflection, without venom, but they rang cold and true. "I always have. I would never have thrown myself between you and the Dark Lord like that, because I hated you. And you don't even know why, do you?"

Harry shook his head silently.

"You were raised Muggle, and I've never known anything but magic; you've always had friends to count on; you couldn't stand the Dark Arts – you and I, we're like complete opposites, and at the same time, it always felt like a fucking competition that no matter how hard I tried, I could never win. Do you have any idea how much of myself was defined by you? My parents made me understand, when I was little, that I was better than other people simply because I was a Malfoy."

He sounded bitter now, almost self-mocking, as though his pride had been dented enough to allow him to see how pathetic he was.

"Then I went to Hogwarts and you were there and you didn't care. You didn't think I was worth your time. I was rich, but so were you. My family had a certain social standing, but you had the fame and you didn't even want it. You were on the Quidditch team and you'd never played a game in your life. And of course you were a Seeker, and I never, ever won a single match against you, even though I had the better broom in second year, even though I started flying years before you did. I'm a good player, but you were just fucking better. I got decent grades, but they were never enough because of Granger. And the House Cup in first year? That has got to be the grossest, most indecent injustice I have ever witnessed!"

The words were spilling out of him now, fast and unchecked, and Harry doubted Malfoy knew how much he sounded like a child at the moment.

"I couldn't even beat you in a fucking duel, because Harry Potter knew more about the Dark Arts than I did – in second year with that Parseltongue thing, and in fifth year with your curse. It's like I'm the fucking designated loser in advance, here to underline your victories, and nothing I do can ever change that because you're Harry bloody Potter. Even as a Death Eater I wasn't worth your attention. All along I just wanted to know that I mattered – that what I thought, what I did, wasn't completely uninteresting to you. But you just didn't care."

He paused to take a breath. His spiel seemed to be over; his cheeks were slightly flushed, as though he'd just realised how much he'd said. But then his gaze hardened again, and his mouth twisted into a grimace that was half-sneer, half-frown.

"Have you ever heard of life debts, Potter?"

A sick feeling pooled in Harry's stomach. He remembered Pettigrew's end, the way his own hand had betrayed him. His face must have given something away, because Malfoy smiled joylessly.

"You have, then."

Harry shook his head. "I thought they were –"

"A romantic concept? A myth? An old wives' tale? So did I. I only wish they were."

"But how –?"

Malfoy looked at him archly. "The Final Battle. The Room of Requirement. Remember?"

Harry remembered. "We saved your life. Ron and Hermione and me."

"It was your idea, though, wasn't it? Because you contracted a life debt then, and the debt was owed to you."

Harry thought back to the moment.

The scorching heat of the fire, the blinding smoke that forced him to narrow his eyes and made his throat burn. Below him he could see only the flame monsters; Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen. He dived, forcing his broom down to the very tips of the flames for a closer look, but...

A scream, a chilling, desperate scream. Malfoy's voice.

Ron, yelling at him to get out, because it was too dangerous, because they couldn't die in this stupid, stupid way...

Finally spotting Malfoy, not thinking twice before he dived again...

"If we die for them, I'll kill you, Harry!"

"Yeah, it was my idea."

"Typical."

"So that means..."

Malfoy's smile widened, but it was even colder than before. "The reason you got us out of Azkaban... It was based on something I didn't have a choice in. I couldn't control myself when I saved your life. If I had been able to choose, I would never have done it. That's what it means."

Horror filled Harry. "I don't believe you," he said. "It can't be."

"What? Can't admit you made a mistake? You saved a family of Death Eaters, Potter. You should have seen this coming. You wouldn't believe me when I told you I wasn't a hero... You should have listened."

Harry shook his head slowly. "But you're not –"

"Just because we were in the same year at school," Malfoy said, his voice cutting, "doesn't mean you know everything about me."

He had been distant until now; suddenly his glare was unleashed like a tidal wave, crashing into Harry, nearly knocking him over with its force. Venom dripped from his words.

"In fact you obviously know nothing about me, if you thought I would be reckless enough to do something like that. Save your life, Potter, when I didn't even like you? Save your life, when it meant putting my own at risk? Let me tell you, Potter – and believe me this time –, there is no one on Earth for whom I would do that, least of all you."

Harry now knew, without a doubt, that it wasn't bravery that had motivated Malfoy's actions. It was the debt. But Malfoy's last words caught his attention.

"No one? Not even your mother?"

Malfoy's entire attitude changed. He stiffened suddenly, his mouth turning down into a scowl. "Don't bring her into this."

"You're not a bad person," Harry insisted. "Your family didn't deserve to be broken up over this. You love each other. That's what matters. Not why you saved me, or what you did before."

Malfoy's expression was one of disbelief.

"I didn't know you owed me a life debt," Harry added. "I really didn't. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We're even now. And that's good, Potter. That's how it's meant to be. No weird, powerful magic debt forcing me to protect you against my will. Just you, me, and nothing in between."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, though his mind was racing. "Nothing in between. No more debt."

Malfoy gave him one last thoughtful look, as though he hadn't missed the hesitation in Harry's voice, and then he turned on his heel and left.

Harry absent-mindedly rubbed the tiny 8-shaped scar on the palm of his hand with his thumb. No more debt.