A/N: One last new story. Yay for me. It has a similar beginning to another story but after the first sort of similar beginning, totally different stories! Oh how I've missed writing! Hopefully this is enjoyed!
Full Summary: 16 year old Draco Malfoy would never have considered turning to Harry Potter for help. That's why Dumbledore did it for him. Forced to accept having his world turned upside down, Draco struggles to find a way to exist somewhere between the Death Eater's clamoring for his blood and the Order who trusts him about as far as they could throw Hagrid. By the time he gets back to school, Draco seeks relief, but all he finds is more chaos. DMHP
Warnings: Violence, slash, mistreatment, lies, secrets, candy. Okay well maybe not candy.
Disclaimer: don't own it. Too bad really.
Dust fell from the newly created skylight, blocking sight of the hall. A teen was being jerked roughly down the hall, the hand of a larger man wrapped in his pajama shirt, the teen's bobbing blond head a beacon through the fog.
Draco squinted, trying to make out the two figures he knew were dueling at the end of the hall. Flashes of light were the most he caught of what he knew to be his mother and her sister flinging curse after curse at one another.
Not ten minutes ago he had been asleep, head resting on a downy pillow, dreams of escape from the hell that life in the wizarding world had turned into dancing through his mind. A blacked cloaked man had dragged him from his bed, cracking his head on the edge of the nightstand as he fell from the silken sheets.
Before he knew what was going on, he was yanked out of the room, wand clutched in his hand. He had had enough drills as a child, woken in all sorts of ways by his father, to know that to not think to grab the magical stick would be suicide.
Head reeling he had been shoved out of his room and into the cold hall. Gray eyes blinked sleep from them as his head hurried to catch up to what was going on around them. His mother was down the hall, her long blond locks dancing around her as she twirled in her lavender nightgown, deflecting a hex sent shooting at her by her sister as if it was no more than a pesky fly.
Before Draco could process anything else or be dragged away by his mystery assailant, there was a loud sound, cracks appearing in the ceiling above their heads. Narcissa spared a glance for her son, shooting a spell at him that shoved him off his feet, away from what he assumed to be a death eater, and sliding down the hall just as the roof caved in where he had been standing dumbstruck.
The wards seemed to be down as more and more cloaked figures kept popping into existence. Some in black cloaks and masks and some wearing varying different cloaks. The Malfoy heir relaxed in his captor's grip and when the other took that as a sign of compliance, he jerked away, spinning and shouting Stupeify, the spell catching an auror full in the face. The grown man collapsed and Draco plunged into the choking cloud of dust and debris.
He felt one other pair of hands on him once but shrugged them off, disappearing into the gray cloud. He could hear his mother's voice up ahead, hear his aunt's crazy laughter bouncing off the walls. "Mum!"
"Aw, is dat itty bitty Dwaco?" Bella called.
"Draco, leave," his mother commanded, a hex shooting straight by his ear. He heard a sound of flesh hitting flesh and his aunt cursing. "Shame you never learned any other methods of fighting," Narcissa drawled, staring at her sister sprawled on the ground, rubbing her cheek.
"At least I don't have any distractions," the woman sneered back, shooting a jet of red light right the blond teen's head. Draco rolled to the side, coming to stand a few feet away from the pair.
"You can't have him!" Narcissa snarled and began her fury fueled attack anew. Without warning a hand grabbed him roughly from behind, slapping over his mouth as he tried to exclaim. Another arm wrapped around his body, pinning the arm with the wand to his side, pointing at the ground.
He was dragged through the dust, away from his mother, the last one he had left. He struggled, kicking at the shins, hearing a woman's voice cursing. The last thing he was sure of before another explosion rocked his home was his mother's icy blue eyes meeting his own in the middle of her duel, and a red bolt of light crashing into his chest as a green one hit her's.
Seconds, minutes, hours later Draco woke, chest heaving, trying to force all the dust and tiny bits of stone from his lungs. He was in the midst of a group of wizards, having been dumped on the lawn in front of his once beautiful home. They were battling with a fire, growing rapidly out of control.
As he watched, another wall collapsed, sending a cloud of dust and sparks spinning towards the sky. Draco's eyes took it all in as his mind once again struggled to keep up. He wobbled but forced himself to stand.
His mother…his mother…his mother had stupified him…had left him..she was still inside. There was something he wasn't remembering, but some flash of green was obscuring the memory as he burst out of the midst of the witches and wizards of the ministry.
The few that realized what he was doing tried half heartedly to stop him but their heart wasn't in it. They weren't willing to risk more of their men to save the heir to a family that maybe ought not to be saved.
Thus Draco was able to shove his way through the front door, the heat rolling over his body. Smoke quickly filled up his already abused lungs as he crouched low, hoping the air would be clearer lower to the ground.
He crept inside quickly, heart racing, edges of his hair beginning to burn. His blond skin was lobster red as he ran more quickly now, arm covering his mouth and nose as best as he could. He raced up their grand staircase, up to the second floor where the fire had had more time to take hold. Tapestries and portraits burned on the walls, the screams of the inhabitants adding to the chaos that was his manor home. His eyes darted about, trying to take it all in and yet not absorbing a thing. He took a few hesitant steps onto the second floor before tripping over something on the floor, sprawling across the cracked marble.
A body. He didn't look to see whose it was, he didn't want to know right now. Not sure he could have found the strength to stand he crawled across the floor, trying to find his mother. He knew she was here, she had been fighting Au-Bella. But there his mind blanked again and he shook his head to clear it.
They would have left her, the aurors, he thought. They wouldn't risk their lies for a Malfoy, not after all the trouble his father had given the ministry. Just like no one would risk their lives for a death eater's offspring, Draco thought.
His lungs were wheezing now, and he wasn't sure he could continue. His head was spinning, sweat pouring from his body. He dragged his body a few more feet before he collapsed, his eyes struggling to focus through the haze of heat and dark cloud of smoke and dust, the clutter of debris and a few lifeless forms.
He caught sight of his mother's face one time before his eyes slid out of focus again, mind protecting him for now. He was on his back. He didn't remember rolling over. His chest heaved as he tried to force air past his throat into his scorched lungs. He saw a dark shape moving through the flames, coming closer.
"Draco!" it called. He couldn't find the energy to reply. He couldn't do anything but struggle to point his wand. Auror or Death Eater, he was pretty sure neither were his friends. The figure paused by his side, crouching down. When it got closer he could sort of make out greasy hair and a hooked nose. Another figure was there too, pink hair, bubble gum?
He hadn't had bubble gum in years, since he was little and he sneaked a piece from the store when his parents weren't looking. It hadn't been all that interesting but for some reason he found it hilarious. His laughter turned into coughs and it felt like he was breathing underwater.
His head spun as he was gathered from the ground like an over grown child, and his head lolled against a man's chest as he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of something cold in his hand and a hook digging in, pulling him through space. Then there was nothing, and it was wonderful.
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