Authors note: this is the first fic I've written that has actually had a plot and I've got a good feeling about it so please let me know what you think. I haven't got a beta as of yet but I'm working on it so please excuse my over-enthusiastic use of commas and italics. Feel free to point out any mistakes I may have made and I'm perfectly open to constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: characters not mine, obviously. Don't sue me.

Warning: torture and later chapters will contain slash

Draco ran faster than he had ever run in his life, the cold night air tore at his body which seemed to be screaming in protest, every breath seemed to shred his lungs. Finally they reached the gates, he flung himself forward as he felt Snape's hand grab his arm and then they were traveling through the air, his insides compressing inside his stomach, he was going to faint, he was going to be sick…

As it turned out he did both. He awoke in a spare room at the Manor covered in his own vomit. His hands were still shaking, his mouth tasted of stale sick, he wasn't sure how long he had been there. He tried the door, locked. Someone had taken his wand, he paced around the room for what felt like hours before curling up as small as possible in the corner, and somehow this made him feel safer.

He had failed. Failed. Malfoys did not fail, but he had, he had failed his family, failed the Dark Lord, and they were not going to be happy about it. He had no idea how long he sat in the corner shivering but it seemed like days. Maybe even weeks. Sooner than he had expected his father was stepping into the room, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

"Draco Draco Draco" he said in that cold, menacing voice, shaking his head. Draco looked up at his father, Azkaban had not been kind to him, his cheeks were hollow and his eyes, his eyes were so cold and empty. But back in his expensive robes and Dragon-hide boots Lucius Malfoy was still a very intimidating figure. Draco cowered in his corner, attempting to shrink even further into himself, he had been dreading this moment. His father approached him, slowly, his face twisting into a terrifyingly cruel expression. "Such a disappointment" he said in little more than a whisper. "I am afraid Draco that this simply cannot be allowed." He saw his father draw his wand as if in slow motion, watched his cruel mouth form the words and then there was pain, it was like his body was being torn apart and then smashed back together again. He screamed, writhing in agony, it was a scream of someone who is completely broken, it was as though his very soul was screaming. He screamed and screamed, but he did not cry.

His father came back day after day, sometimes there were other Death Eaters too, they would not let him see his Mother. They called him a failure, called him a traitor, they spat at him, they tortured him. It was not always Crucio. By the end of the week Draco's back was a web of deep slashes, his arms and legs were bruised and twisted, both his eyes were blackened. All his fingers were broken as well as his left wrist. Sometimes they would heal them and break them again. Draco blocked out the details, by the end of the day he could not remember who he had seen or what they had done but he still felt the pain. It coursed through his body like fire, it ran in his veins, ever so slowly consuming his body and his mind.

By the time Voldemort came Draco thought he was probably more than a little unhinged. Torture will do that to you. It must be a Death Eater meeting he thought, the Dark Lord was highly unlikely to come to the Manor for a social call. He heard the high cold voice ring through the house; "Bring down the traitor". He whimpered, preparing himself for the worst. By the time they had dragged him down to the hall where the ring of Death Eaters stood he was shaking violently, tears coursing down his cheeks. This was the first time he had let himself cry since the night Dumbledore died.

He didn't know what was happening but he was sure Voldemort was doing it. The pain seared every nerve and every cell in his body. It was beyond agony, the pain burnt like fire but Draco could feel the emotion behind it, seeping from the pores of every Death Eater, especially his father, and it was like icy daggers piercing every inch of his skin. He awoke hours later, alone, his body a crumpled heap in the middle of the room. Words that he couldn't remember hearing rang in his ears "You are no longer my son". He looked down at his inner arm, where he had been marked. The mark was still there but blood flowed from it, he closed his eyes and just felt the warm trickle down his arm onto the floor as he clutched it to his chest.

Narcissa Malfoy crept silently into the room and looked down on her unconscious son. He lay bruised, broken and bleeding. He was even thinner than usual, ribs jutted out and his whole body was a patchwork of cuts and bruises. She too was sporting a violet bruise on her cheek, she had refused to torture her son and she had paid the price.

"Draco" she whispered, shaking him urgently. He stirred and peered at her through swollen eyes. "Come on, up you get", she led him across to the room and pointed her wand at the floor where a trapdoor appeared. She opened it and helped him into the passage below. "Draco you have to escape, they'll kill you… they'll kill you… I won't let that happen! Run, just run. Get away from them, as far away as you can, I love you". With this she kissed him on the cheek and forced a wand into his hand before pushing him forward into the passageway and charming it shut.

Darkness closed in around him and Draco began to scrabble forward through the passage, feeling the walls. He stumbled more than once but did not light his wand, he did not what spells there might be on this old tunnel and he did not want to alert anyone of his presence.

He didn't know how long he walked, well, staggered for, in the past few days (or weeks, who knew?) he had lost all sense of time, this was one of the reasons for his strong suspicions he had a screw or two in his head loose. When he finally emerged it was very early in the morning, it was misty and a watery sunlight lit his surroundings. He was on the other side of a muggle village several miles from the Manor.

Draco felt lost, in the tunnel he'd had a purpose: get to the end of the tunnel. That was simple enough, but now he had no solid plan. He had nowhere to go, all his friends would turn him over the Death Eaters before you could say 'Crucio'. There was no one he could turn to, Dumbledore was dead, Snape was a Death Eater and he didn't know any of the other teachers. In fact he didn't really know anyone who wasn't on the dark side, apart from…Harry Potter. No, that would never work. Potter would never help him. He'd been the reason for Dumbledore's death. He'd tormented Harry for years. He was a Death Eater, or rather, he had been. But there was no one else and if he didn't move they'd find him and kill him, basically it was Potter or death. Right then, Potter it had to be. Draco set off with a new determination. For some reason he knew Potter's address, he wasn't sure why since he couldn't recall anyone ever telling him. He knew Surrey wasn't many miles from the Manor, it was just dawn now, about 5 o'clock, he could probably make it there by morning. He set off purposefully, albeit wincing a little and stumbling every now and then, in the direction he hoped was south, praying that he would be able to make it without passing out from the pain, praying that Harry Potter might have a fit of madness and have mercy on him.

It was about 7 o'clock in the morning when Draco made it to Privet Drive, he had been in the area since about 6 but had got very lost trying to find the unremarkable cul-de-sac were the Dursleys resided. He staggered across the neatly manicured lawn, the long hard walk had opened up old wounds and his tattered shirt was soaked with blood, his feet were bleeding too since he had no shoes. He knew now that Harry was mere meters away from him, but he had no way of reaching him, he couldn't use magic, this was a muggle neighborhood, and he certainly couldn't just ring the doorbell. He didn't know which window was Harry's but he just had a sort of feeling that it was the one at the back of the house, on the left. This was probably something to do with the fact that he had gone a little bit mad, but he went with this feeling none the less. He hobbled around to that side of the building and stared forlornly up at the window wondering how on earth he was going to manage to get up there with no magic and a broken wrist.

After about 10 minutes of staring at the window, willing Harry's face to appear he decided there was nothing else for it, he was going to have to climb, broken wrist or no. He traced his path with his eyes, from the bin… onto the windowsill… up the drainpipe then from the roof of the conservatory he would be able to reach Harry's window. He hesitantly clambered onto the bin, trying his best to be silent, he reached out and held onto the drainpipe with his good hand to steady himself as he edged across the windowsill. Still hanging onto the drainpipe as best he could with only one useful hand, though even that had broken fingers, he adjusted his body to climb up to the window. He gripped the pipe with his legs and hung on with his forearms, since his hands weren't doing much good. Praying it would hold his weight he gradually shimmied up the pipe. Although the pipe groaned and creaked in protest Draco managed to reach the top of the conservatory. He collapsed onto the glass roof, panting, his bruised limbs were aching from what he had just put them through and bleeding again from gripping the sharp guttering. He managed to drag himself across to the window, he looked through the open curtains to see, thank Merlin, a sleeping Harry Potter. Draco would never have thought he would be so pleased to see Potter in his entire life.

"Potter" he croaked, his voice hoarse from screaming, "Potter… Harry… please, please wake up". He tapped delicately on the window, willing the boy on the other side of the glass to wake up.

Harry awoke to a soft tapping on his window, at first he thought it was part of his dreams o he simply snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of his bed. The tapping grew louder and more insistent, he cracked open a bleary eye and tried to focus on the face at his window, hang on… face… window… that's not right. He jolted up, pressing his own face to the window and peering groggily at the face on the other side of the glass. The face was pale, very pale, but the white skin was mostly hidden under cuts and purple bruises, the hair was white-blonde under dried blood, grey eyes peered anxiously. Malfoy. "You!" he hissed, he would have shouted if he hadn't been worried about waking the Dursleys up. If he wasn't shocked enough at finding Draco Malfoy at his window he was even more surprised at the state he was in. The ever-immaculate Draco was black and blue with bruises and covered in blood. His expression was strained and he looked as though he hadn't eaten for weeks, his whole body was trembling with the exertion of simply keeping himself from fainting.

Without even thinking Harry opened the window to let his rival in. Even if this was part of some kind of plot to kill him Harry doubted Draco would be in any position to hurt anyone at the moment. Draco gratefully collapsed through the window and landed in a heap on the bed before passing out. "Well!" said Harry, in an odd voice, "Well." He wasn't really sure what to do, before this moment he'd been sure he would kill Draco Malfoy on sight if he ever happened to bump into him, but this, this was different. In fact, now that he thought, really thought about Draco Malfoy, perhaps he wasn't evil after all. I was born the Hero when I didn't want it, Malfoy was just born the villain. That doesn't mean he's evil. But then Harry reasoned, it didn't mean he wasn't evil, it just meant he deserved a chance. Dumbledore would have given him a chance, Harry thought sadly, he had seen the good in Malfoy, had known he didn't want to kill. And he hadn't wanted to, he had cried, and in the end, he hadn't done it.

Harry had to fight back the urge to cast some healing charms on Malfoy since he was bleeding profusely all over Harry's sheets but he knew the Ministry would detect any magic he used and he couldn't take that risk. He could bandage him up though he pondered, before stopping himself. What was he thinking? Sitting there contemplating how best to bandage up his rival, a Death Eater. He needed answers before he would even think about healing Malfoy. He placed a tentative hand on the least bruised part of Malfoy's back and shook him lightly. "Wake up" he said sternly, "Wake up Malfoy, now. I mean it". Draco squinted at him through swollen eyes.

"Oh" he said. "Potter."

"Yes, me. What are you doing here? What happened to you?"

"Oh yes, that. Well, the thing with the… the thing… and I couldn't… what I mean to say is I didn't… well you know what. And they… they…he…" he broke off at this point and began to shake violently, squeezing his eyes closed. Harry stared at him incredulously and asked again, more softly this time;

"What did they do?"

"They… hurt me. Oh Merlin, oh it hurt… hurt so much… it hurts, it hurts"

"Well" said Harry again, "Well. I can see that. But… why are you here?"

"You… you were the only person who… wouldn't send me back to them. My mother…" he drew a deep shuddering breath, "She helped me… helped me to escape. I got out but I had nowhere to go, no one who would've helped me… except my mother and she… she… she's probably dead now. You were the only one I could think of, who might help."

"You want me to help you? Me?" Harry asked, stunned, but not cruelly. Draco didn't reply but made a small whimpering sound as he curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth. Harry thought he saw him nod into his knees.

Harry fought against the part of him that was telling to just bundle Draco up and carry him far away to somewhere no one could hurt either of them any more and forced himself to ask

"This isn't a trick? Some kind of Death Eater plan to ploy to trap me?"

These words seemed to bring Draco back to his senses,

"A trick? Do these look like a fucking trick to you?" he shrugged off the ripped shirt, wincing to reveal his back which was practically in ribbons, he waved his twisted fingers in Harry's face,

"Do you think I would do this to myself? How about this?" he asked pulling up his trouser leg to reveal a deep gash that ran the length of his calf. Harry recoiled, turning his face away from the horrible wound.

"Alright, alright, I believe you. It's not a trick". Although a small voice at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Mad-Eye Moody was telling him that this could still be a trap there was truth in Malfoy's eyes, and Harry just had a feeling that this was for real. Harry decided trusting his instincts had got him through some sticky situations in the past so he would just have to go with them on this one.

"OK." He said, nodding grimly "OK. I'll help you."

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