Hurt by the Father, Saved by the Enemy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (duh). This is my first HP fan-fic and I'm sorry for any OOC-niss that any characters may have. This fanfic contains Dramione (Draco and Hermione) a one sided!Drarry!Rape, also a bad!Dumbledore with the final touch of abused!Draco. Doesn't this story sound like fun?

Hermione Granger entered the astrology tower, staring at the night sky, lost in her thoughts. Gasps of pain, someone struggling for breath, wretched her from them, causing her the twist her body as to catch a glimpse of the pained individual.

She saw a hunched figure, head leaning back, knees drawn to his chest, pained moans were ripped from his lips, the red standing out from his alabaster skin.

"Sh, hey your going to be okay," She repeated softly while slowly inching closer to the hurt blonde, similar to how one approaches a wounded creature. Slowly silver gray eyes opened, tracking her every movement, wary of being caught off guard so many numerous times.

Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin prince frantically dragged the heel of his hand across his eyes, wiping any left overs of his salty tears that stained his cheeks. He mentally berated himself for showing weakness: Malfoys DO NOT cry.

She had gotten closer, arms out reached, moving to place a calming hand on his shoulder, except she failed to notice the fear that plagued the molten silver orbs.

Draco was panicking, he now regretted cowering in a corner. It seemed such a good place at the time, all sides protected from an attack, but now he was backed into it while to hands came devastatingly closer. 'No, no, no, no,' continuously looped through his head, coupled with a chant of 'too close'.

"Pl-please st-stop" the 15-year old whimpered, expecting a blow to land. He frantically pushed himself into the wall, as if he could merge with it given enough pressure.

The bushy haired Gryffindor stopped at this, where was the snarky vindictive git that called her Mudblood? 'Something's hurt him.' 'Badly', she thought detachedly, her mind rejecting the scenario that was laid out before her. "What happened?" slipped unbidden from her pursed lips, and released into the tension filled air.

"I-I f-fell off my broom while practicing for the quidditch tournament." Came his reply, he tucked his chin to his chest, forehead resting on his knees, and one arm wrapped protectively around his head, the other clutched his side. Draco moaned low in his throat in pain and clutched his side tighter. Another wave of pain crashed into the blonde, and the white-hot pain shot up his side even though the pain originated from his broken ribs.

Hermione was not blind to such a blatantly obvious display of pain, and it seemed to be-by the clutching hand- from his ribs.

"Do you need me to heal those?" She asked, pointing to his hand, when those eyes were covered by pale skin, he nodded.

Draco's glamour charm was almost never needed as much as it did at the moment Hermione told him he needed to take off his shirt. He closed his eyes once more; not wanting to see the perfect skin taunting him, knowing that it just hid ugly bruises of purple and yellowish-green, and red ugly lines of healing cuts, and the smooth whiter scars that littered his chest and back, angry welts from after a good whipping.

Had Draco's eyes been open, he would have known the pitying look Granger gave him right before she whispered, "episky". He would've known she had gone to see his back, where scars crisscrossed over each other, where the cane and whip had hit him so many times over his life.

A gasp escaped her hand-covered mouth, her eyes wide with shock, his back was a mess, and when she lightly traced a scar, Draco's eyes snapped open. He grabbed his shirt, a whirlwind of motion as he slipped on the white fabric, neatening his hair and straightening out his clothes.

Once more his icy mask slid over his face. A customary sneer in place, cold, emotionless, nothing like the scared boy she saw earlier, and then she saw a crack, a chip in his armor of ice. His eyes, there was an emotion no Malfoy (or anyone else) should have, an emotion so raw it was scary. Fear.

"Don't tell anyone. Not about the scars nor the broken ribs," he snarled.

Much to her surprise this didn't frustrate or anger her. Maybe it was because she understood that this was his survival strategy, become the Malfoy he was. 'Or made?' but she shook that notion from her brain, 'if taught young enough it's natural' she offered her doubting thoughts.

"He'll kill me! He'll kill me if he found out" Malfoy whispered, and she promised not to tell anyone, and then, he was off.