Several weeks had elapsed since the night that Lucius had brought Draco inches from death. It was the same night that Draco had found the twisted beauty in a razor. Lucius said it was a "disgrace to the Malfoy name." and "a waste of pure blood; something only a mud blood should do," but Draco didn't care. He didn't care that his father had disowned him; nor did he care that the bruises hadn't healed either. The raised bruise of a serpent from the ring Lucius had been wearing was still evident on his left cheek.
His father hadn't said a word to him upon walking into his room with the shard of glass held in between his fingers. He merely looked at him before turning to leave, disgusted, the door still open. Draco was stunned by the lack of an outburst or a beating. He was sure his father would beat him to death that night. If only...
What happened is still unclear to Draco. From the time Lucius walked in on him, to the time he was woken up by the sharp crack of the back of Lucius' hand was never told to Draco. Lucius did not want to touch his son that night. For one, Lucius was a very clean man, and refused to dirty himself with his son's blood. Secondly, he was well aware of how forceful he was, and knew that if he were to hit Draco again, he just might kill the boy.
He had no respect for his son, but he was still the boy's father, and had to pretend to care for him. What would the Minister think if Lucius killed his own son? Surely he would not be allowed to keep his position if he were charged with murder. Lucius had chosen to let Narcissa, his wife, deal with the boy. He had had enough of him, and refused to look at him again that night.
--
"Narcissa, I'm telling you, the boy has to go. I refuse to let some useless child feed off of my success. If he wants to be a Malfoy, he needs to grow up, and act like he's one of us. I'm not changing my mind."
"Lucius, that boy is your son. You're the reason he's here, Lucius. You're the one that offered to bring me home from that pub. You're the one who insisted I go to your place instead. 'It was closer,' you said. You're the one who told me that we would have to share your bed, even after I insisted on taking your damn couch. You're the one who kissed me that night, and you're the one, Lucius, that would not stop, even though I asked you, told you, countless times to stop. This is your fault, Lucius. You're fault."
Narcissa had begun screaming at her husband throughout the latter half of her accusation. Her eyes had welled up with tears, and her long thin index finger was pointed directed towards Lucius' throat, as if she were ready to kill.
"Now," she breathed, "I love Draco, Lucius. He is my son, and because of that, my love for him is unconditional. Love for him that I have never had for you. The only reason I married you was because our parents had had it arranged from the day I was born. How convenient it was for you to take me home that night. How convenient it was for you to rape me, Lucius. To get me pregnant with our son two months before we wed. He's my son, Lucius, and because of that, I cannot, and will not, throw him out of my house, just because you aren't man enough to do it yourself. I may not have planned for him to come into my life, but I cannot change the fact that he is here, and he is mine. Go Lucius. I want nothing to do with you. I am finished with you."
The outburst of his wife had shocked Lucius. He hadn't thought that the night Draco had been conceived was a mistake. He thought that Narcissa had asked him for it, or at least that's what he had convinced himself. Maybe after twenty years of telling himself that he hadn't done anything wrong had finally convinced him that he hadn't been at fault... Maybe his mind had actually begun to believe that he hadn't raped Narcissa.
He wasn't going to do anything tonight. He couldn't risk doing anything after Narcissa's outburst. He was far too angry, and feared that if he were to strike Draco, he would be acting out against both Draco and Narcissa. He cursed as he was dismissed from his own master chambers, and shuffled his way to one of the seven guest rooms in the manor.
It was early morning when Lucius awoke. He had been unable to sleep in the stone-like bed that he provided for his guests, and paused to ponder whether or not that was the reason no one seemed to stop and stay more than a day.
His anger had, unfortunately for Draco, failed to subside and he trekked his way through the manor to his son's room, where the door was closed, but unlocked.
Silently, he turned the silver knob until a soft click was emitted, and the door swung open without sound. Lucius paused to thank Merlin that the house elves kept the doors nice and oiled. He saw his son lying in his bed, curled up tightly, as if he slept in fear. In reality, Draco had been afraid that Lucius would return and murder him. He had merely passed out, not by choice, but from exhaustion. A look of disgust took over on Lucius' face, and he looked down at his son with a look of rage, of disapproval, and of failure.
His hand reached out, as if to shake the boy awake, but instead he cracked his knuckles against the boys face, causing Draco to flinch back and cry out in fear. Again, Lucius lashed out, striking the boy twice, and once again. Draco found himself helpless and cowered in the corner of his bed. His eyes were wide with fear – like that of an abandoned puppy. He cried out for his mother as Lucius struck next. The black cane he carried with him at all times was held firmly in his hand by the base, the silver serpent cap nearest Draco.
"You are no son of mine," he hissed at the boy, before raising the cane and beating the boy once, twice, and thrice again with the pewter head.
The cane cut at Draco's skin like a knife to butter. He cowered helplessly in the corner, knowing that if he tried to escape, Lucius would retaliate twice as hard. He was not surprised when he mother refused to come to his rescue. She had attempted to rescue him once, and Lucius hadn't hesitated to lash out at her as well.
Draco called out for his mother, and pleaded for his father to stop to no avail. No one would come to his rescue, and to the best of his intellect, he truly thought he was going to die.
With one final blow, Lucius lowered his weapon, and looked at his son, the disgrace of his family, crumpled up amidst the bloodied sheets and goose-feathered blankets.
"This is what you have earned for disgracing my name, Draco," he spoke coolly.
"If you wish to waste your blood, your own pure blood, so carelessly, you will not be tolerated in this household. Do you understand?"
Draco felt his body cave in feebly, tears streaming down his face. His arms and face were littered with bruises that had begun to turn a nasty shade of purple and a sickly yellow-green. He opened his mouth, but his voice trembled too much for any recognizable words to be distinguished. He whimpered as Lucius moved the cane, fearing him to beat him once more.
"You are to leave this house, Draco. Leave this house and never return. Do you understand me?" the cold, clear voice of Lucius Malfoy sounded. Draco's eyes had grown even larger, and he opened his mouth to speak, but found that he still couldn't talk. He was pierced with fear, not knowing where he would be able to go. He had no family nearby and he was in no condition to apparate safely.
How would he explain the bruises?
--
His father wasted no time and refused to let Draco collect his belongings. As he was herded through his own home like an unwanted sheep, Draco managed to grab his wand, a cloak, and his satin coin purse, containing roughly 85 galleons. He'd always kept a large sum of money, as well as the key to his Gringotts vault in the green satin purse; just in case.
The wrought iron gates of the manor's entrance swung open heavily, bidding Draco adieu, the only good-bye he would receive. Not even his mother offered any words of hope, or strength. She merely watched from the window as Lucius threw his son from the house, kicking him in the back of the legs as he went.
Draco was now faced with a serious issue; where was he to go?
His first thought was to go to Diagon Alley, but could bring himself to do it, for he knew that the looks and stares people would thrust upon him would be too much. He didn't want to have to explain himself or taint the reputation of his family's prestige.
Strangely, as much as Draco feared his father, no matter how badly he was beaten, Draco refused to confess the abuse he suffered by means of his father. He was, after all, Draco's father, and he loved him, no matter how much pain he caused. Right? Wasn't that supposed to be how this all worked?
He walked slowly, trying to think of a place he would be safe, a place no one would ask questions. Without another thought, he made his way towards Knockturn Alley; a place he knew would be filled with people of his own kind He also had the Vanishing Cabinet, in Borgin and Burke's, which Draco could use to sneak into Hogwarts.
He wasn't exactly welcome in the school, not after the death of Dumbledore. It was true that he hadn't been convicted of the murder; Severus Snape had even been named innocent, even after his tragic encounter with Voldemort's serpent; Nagini. The death was placed on Voldemort's name, even though Severus voiced the curse.
Goblins lurked the cobblestone streets, peering out of shadows, for unsuspecting victims they could pickpocket. The goblins of Knockturn Alley attempted to get witches and wizards unfamiliar to the alleyway to follow them to back alleys, where they proceeded to rob them. Draco had witnessed this on more than one occasion.
It was then that he felt a sharp tug at his belt. A goblin, no more than three and a half feet, had reached up in attempt to snatch his satin coin purse. Draco pulled back, wand raised. It was a move made out of instinct - a move that should never be made towards a goblin.
The goblin moved its long twisted fingers in the most majestic of patterns, and Draco found himself against the stone of the building he stood next to, his back cracking upon impact. With another movement of his fingers, the goblin seemed to have placed Draco under an Imperious-like curse, and forced him to the ground.
A group of wizards had formed around the two, watching as the goblin proceeded to approach Draco, to take the coin purse without a fight.
Draco couldn't believe his ears when he heard a familiar voice call out a spell that forced the Goblin hurtling backwards through a shop window. His hesitated before looking, and meeting the eyes of his defender.
Several within the crowd gasped as they saw who approached. Draco, who finally mustered the energy to look at who was approaching, gasped and dropped his head once more as he caught sight of the maroon that outlined the robes of his arch-nemesis, Harry Potter.
"Get up, Malfoy. You're coming with me," he said coolly."
Draco bit his lip, and narrowed his eyes.
"What makes you think I'm going to just get up and follow you, Potter? You aren't my father."
"You're right," he said quietly. "I won't beat you half to death."
Draco's eyes widened at his statement, and he picked up his wand, and the coin purse before standing up slowly. He avoided the eyes of those that remained in the crowd, and followed the former-Gryffindor with his head bowed.
"Relax, Malfoy, it's a joke," he said rolling his eyes and leading him out of the alley.
--
The flat was rather Spartan; gray and bare. It was as if it had been deserted for quite some time now, and life had just begun to prosper.
Harry Potter took out a brass key and inserted it into the silver lock. It clicked as he twisted the old key, and the door finally swung open, squeaking softly in the near-silence.
"In," he said softly, holding the oak door open for the former-Slytherin to enter. Reluctantly, Draco stepped into the flat, located in Muggle London, leaving all magical connection on the other side of the threshold.
Harry entered and closed the door, placing several locking spells on the door, to keep any unwanted guests outside. He turned around and was met with a handful of questions he wished not to answer.
"Why, Potter? Why did you save me back there? Why did you bring me here? And how did you know about my father beating me?"
Harry walked towards the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator, looking for something to satisfy his hunger. He found little to his liking, but pulled out a can of Pepsi, and offered one to Draco, who less-than-politely declined. He then walked back to the living room, where Draco stood, and sat in his winged maroon chair. He knew he wouldn't have bought the cover up he offered in Knockturn Alley.
"I saved you because, even though I've been your enemy at school, I've never hated you. And I'm willing to put the past behind us, and start over, on better terms. I brought you here, because I know that your father will never set foot in muggle territory, and that you're safe as long as you're here. I've owl-ed Narcissa and told her you're here, and that she can contact you by Floo if she wishes."
He sipped his soda periodically, and even took time to turn the television, a contraption that mesmerized Draco, on and browsed through channels before he turned back to Draco.
"Thirdly, I always suspected that your father hit you. I just happened to be at the ministry yesterday, and overheard him talking about how he had thrown you out of his house the night before last. I knew you'd be looking for the Vanishing Cabinet to seek refuge in Hogwarts. Unfortunately for you, McGonagall had the cabinet in the Room of Requirement destroyed the week after Dumbledore was murdered."
Draco sat down on the worn couch, his head in his hands. He looked up to Harry, and just shook his head. This was all too much for him to comprehend. There had to be a catch. Harry Potter does not just forgive you over the summer and come to your rescue – especially not after the seven years of hell you had put him through leading up to it.
His eyes wide with disbelief and confusion, he shook his head before placing it in his hands.
"I don't really understand all of this, Potter, but thank you."As the words left his mouth, his eyes twisted and he regretted giving the half-blood any credit.
"You never heard that," he spat quickly. "That never happened, you hear?"
Harry just rolled his eyes and laughed.
"Shut up, Malfoy."