I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away

You were a crumbling empire, once so proud, now only reduced to dust.

You were the Pharaoh being- no, you already were- overthrown, and you were the one being broken into seven and scattered around with trinkets of gold and silver as your only mark. You were a king in exile, an exile called Hell that you desperately wanted to end.

(But Death wouldn't take you no matter how much you pleaded in your dark cell.)

You were mocked, and jeered at. Spit hit you in the face, and your grey eyes had gone murky from all the dirt that was kicked into them. Bruises were hidden under ripped clothes, and no matter how much you tried you couldn't feel anything on the right side of your body. Everything was so cold, everything hurt, and you just wanted to leave this place and your torturers, but you were in there forever and you had no way of getting out.

There was a tiny window in your otherwise dark cell (you had been in there long enough to know the small 5 by 5 space by heart even without your sight), and it wasn't even big enough to stick out your hand. They left it there, you thought, so you could smell the petrichor of freedom, so close and yet so far, and you would curse them if you could. You wanted to be furious at them, but after being locked up for so long- how long had it been? Months? Years? You didn't know anymore and didn't care- you couldn't muster up the energy to kick their legs or yell at them spiteful words which only served to encourage them.

You were a broken boy in the clothes of a king and they knew it. They hissed at you and broke your bones and mocked you- for it was their words that did the most damage to you and they knew it. They told you about how they killed your mother and father and how you were going to be there forever, with them forever; because you were a Death Eater and worst of all a Malfoy and you were the lowest of the low.

You sat against the wall of your cell and breathed in and out slowly, ignoring the twinges of pain that always was dominant after a particularly brutal beating. Sometimes you knew who the people were- some came often enough that you could recognize their shoes and their gleeful voices as they smashed them into your face- and others just came and went, but never once did the people who throw you into Hell come by and boast about it.

(You almost wish they did, just so you could hate them even more.)

The door of your cell opened and you kept your breathing even. You didn't know who it could be, coming to see you and send you to the brink of Death and back, but you resigned yourself towards it and slowly began to shut yourself down.

"Percy, this him?"

You didn't recognize the voice, but that didn't mean much to you.

"Y-Yeah." The man sounded almost frightened- no, not frightened, piteous, and damn it to Merlin as if you were going to accept one of them's pity- as he presumably leaned into the cell to catch a look at you.

You let out a small and shaky breath as you tried to move your right hand, but of course that didn't work. You hadn't been able to feel it for a while.

"Okay, watch my back will you? We need to get in and get out."

Percy muttered an affirmative, and the other one stepped into your cell.

You expected an onslaught of beatings. You expected insults and chains and spells. Nothing could ever have prepared you, however, for something warm and soft (a blanket, your mind filled in the blank, and that left you even more stunned) to wrap around you and strong arms to hitch your arms and legs and pick you up.

You tried to open your mouth to ask, 'What?' but the only thing that came out was a gurgle and you tasted blood. The man must have noticed and whispered, "Shh, it'll be alright, we're bustin' you out of here." And you never felt as much hope and oh dear lord pleasepleaseplease as you did at that moment.

Percy shut the cell after you and the man, and you felt the slightly familiar effects of being dillusioned come over your body. You shivered even more then you did after the effects of Crucio, and you leaned in closer to your savoir.

You weren't sure what happened afterwards, as you ended up passing out in your saviors arms only a few minutes after, but you knew that they were looking for you and that they were angry. You tried so hard to curl up in the man's arms and disappear as you spitted blood onto his shirt and whispered, "I… can't… I… can't…" but the man only patted your head and repeated, "It'll be alright," and you fell into a dark and painless dream.

It was warm when you woke up.

You couldn't see anything, but you could tell that it was light out and that you were definitely not in your grimy cell. You tried to move your hands, to use them to protect yourself in case, but they wouldn't budge, and you would have panicked had you not been under a calming draught.

"Mr. Malfoy! Do try not to hurt yourself, we had to completely remove the bones in your arms and legs, and then bind them. Your right half suffered immense pressure, somehow, and was in paralysis. Not only are you blind Mr. Malfoy, but you have been in deadly condition for from my estimate, about six months."

That sounded about right.

"It's a good thing Charlie and Percy were able to save you!" the woman continued, you didn't know who she was but she sounded warm and friendly all the same. "…I'm so sorry dear, we've been planning for so long to get you out of there but we've lacked the information to do so until recently. I'm sorry."

You wanted to tell her that it was okay, that you were so thankful to her and whoever the rest of them were for saving you, but you fell into a coma once again after she slipped you a potion, and you fell asleep at ease for the first time in years.

Voices woke you up the second time.

You were groggy and your body was running almost completely potions. You would have immediately gone back to sleep after you first came into consciousness, but you heard five familiar voices that cleared away most of the fog in your mind.

"How is he?" That was Gra-Hermione, and she was coming from your right. You assumed that the rest of them almost surrounded your bed.

"Doing alright." Charlie replied, and you pictured him shrugging. Callused hands ran over your hair- it must have been cleaned sometime while you were asleep- and you relaxed a little bit at the soothing touch. "He's alive, that's the best news."

Potter- no, Harry- spoke next. "Was he really in such bad state?"

Charlie snorted. "The guy was probably even closer to Death then you were, Harry, and that's saying something."

Harry winced. "Merlin, I'm sorry. Draco, if you can hear me, I'm sorry okay? When Shacklebolt died the Ministry was in uproar after the war and the person who took over, well, ruined Wizarding Britain. None of this should have ever happened."

"I wish it didn't, mate." Ron sighed.

Percy muttered an affirmative, and the warm hands continued petting your hair. You leaned in slightly to the touch and if your throat wasn't numb you would have purred.

"Will he be alright?" Potter asked again.

You think it was Charlie who answered, but you really couldn't tell anymore. "I think so, yeah. He'll be fine."

And then there was the darkness that you loved so much and Charlie's warm hands that were the only things you knew.

Smack me in the face with a stick because dear lord I hate this so much.

I hate this.

Not you Sammie/Laura but this is legit my 13th idea and I'm running low on ideas and soda. Fuckkkkkkkkk.

For HG: Chaco, petrichor, fury, Percy, "I… can't."

I don't own Harry Potter and thank lord for that.