Blind - drarry

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Published: November 25, 2020

Updated: September 30, 2021

Two days later, Draco hadn't left the hole. He was getting hungry, and he never would ask the muggles for food. He didn't want to be kicked out, but Murtagh gave him some food, anyway.

"Laddie... yeh've never once stayed 'ere all day... it's bin two. Tell Murtagh, wha's wrong," the Scot said, as he started a small fire. Draco could hear the clanging of the metal pot. He was probably warming water up.

Draco lifted his head, worried. "I'm sorry, I can leave if you want."

"I ain' askin' yeh ter leave, jus' tell me why yeh're still 'ere?"

Draco grimaced. He hadn't told the muggles anything. How could he? Not without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. He had to improvise. "Where I go, someone figured out... that I'm on probation. If others know, they'll kick me out."

"Cause yeh're on probation?"

"I did some... umm... bad things, when I was younger."

"Oh, laddie. We all make mistakes."

"Bad mistakes," he whispered, and Murtagh was just stirring the pot. After a little while, Draco heard him stomp out the fire.

"' Re yeh sure yeh don' wan' ter jus' go ou' wit' me? Raphie can guard."

"No... maybe. Maybe one day I'll try it," he said and made to get up. "But I can go out, if you want."

"No... sta' one more nigh'. Rest," Murtagh said, and handed him a cuppa. "Drink up and warm yerself. Yeh're fine fer tonigh', laddie. Raphie's bringin' us some food. I lifted these tea bags ou' of a 'otel."

"Thank you..." he said, sipping the tea. He had never really addressed him properly. "...Murtagh? Is it?" Names were dangerous. Even if they are muggles, they could always tell the wrong person.

"Aye... yeh're naut big on names, I kno'," he grunted.

"If the wrong people found me," Draco said, shivering.

"Yeh don' 'ave ter tell me tha'. Laddie's fine wit' me," Murtagh chuckled.

The next day, Draco ventured out and went back to Diagon Alley. He hadn't lost anything from the attack and even another swig of his brown hair potion. He didn't want his blonde roots to come back. He found one of his old begging spots on the ground and clinked. Near noon, two sickles dropped in his cup, and he trembled.

"Constable... thank you," he said, bowing his head.

"I brought your favorite: pastrami on rye," Potter's cheery voice declared and dropped the wrapped sandwich in his hand.

He nodded as tears threatened to come out. He dropped his voice. "Sir, it isn't necessary. You know, now. What I am."

Potter sat down in front of him. "I put wards up, Wyvern. You don't have to worry about being overheard. I told you that I don't care that you were a Death Eater and supported Voldemort. I thought all of them fled the country as soon as those crazy laws were passed. I tried to stop it from happening. A few Death Eaters did help me during the war, and I know that it was forced service. Even if that wasn't what happened to you, Wyvern, I'm not going to hold it against you, okay?"

"My parents were ones, too. I didn't have a choice. Death... or slavery," he whispered.

"I'm so sorry, Wyvern."

"Don't be sorry for me. You freed me, all of us. I'd rather be like this than live under that mad... creature."

"You don't have to live like this, though. I can help you," Potter, the biggest Gryffindor of them all, offered.