Throwing an arm out and a leg under, he found his balance and rose to his bare feet. It would be a long walk, though his destination was not far. Aching bones and a ringing in his ears, Draco set off across the grounds. The winding gravel footpath obscured by streams of dirt and debris from what could have been oceans of rain. Splashing across the fields, his robe trailed through the muck and his uniform trousers turned from grey to charcoal to black from cuff to knee. The rain fell with stinging cold that nipped at his ears. His robe provided no protection really - though it dampened the impact of each thimble sized rain drop - dampness was seeping through to his jumper, to his shirt, to his skin.