Title: Alive
Author: Lupusdragon
Author's e-mail: lupusdragon06hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Only this perversion of a plot is my own.
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers/Warnings: Contains slash, Ron bashing, and violence
Summary: When Harry is hurt by one closest to him, it will take someone unexpected to lift him from the ashes.
Author's notes: Ron is an easy target. Forgive my abuse of him, but it makes the most sense in my twisted mind.
Archive: If you ask, I'll not say no.

Alive

Say good bye to mister right
Lock the door; turn out the light
Pack your bags; leave this trap
Run away; don't look back
See another day in each new sun
Your life has just begun

He could not suppress the sob that was wrung from this throat as the once gentle hand left an angry red mark across his cheek. Backing himself into a corner, Harry tried to get away from the heavy hands and feet that were trying to connect with his face, his stomach, his groin. It was easier that way. Think about the parts, not the whole. Never think about the person hitting him. Never think about himself as he took the abuse. It was just easier that way.

"You fucking slut!"

Harry cringed as another blow, this time a solid fist, slammed into his abdomen. He tried to relax, knowing deep down that it would hurt less if he accepted the blows instead of tensing against them. Even if he could stave off the physical pain for a few moments, it was nothing compared to what he would face when he finally decided to confront the truth. Maybe that is why it had not happened yet.

How do you face the fact that you have been betrayed by the one person who should care for you more than anyone?

Your best friend.

Your lover.

When Ron finally passed out from sheer exhaustion, Harry took down the silencing and barrier charms from around the bed curtains, gathered his Invisibility Cloak around himself and snuck out of the dormitory as silently as possible. Sneaking through the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry passed the few students still awake at this hour, studying desperately for midterms. He paused, hoping beyond hope that someone was talking about him, worried about Ron's sudden anger. But, no. No one noticed, no one noticed because Ron was too careful. Any mark made that would be visible was immediately healed. It would not do to be accused of abusing The-Boy- Who-Lived.

Choking back the tears that threatened to fall, the boy who never asked for this fate carefully gathered his magical energy, focusing his emotions in a more controlled version of the wandless magic he had inadvertently called upon so often while with the Dursleys. 'One of the perks of being one of the most powerful wizards in the world' Harry thought as he whispered a well-practiced charm that affected only one's short-term memory. No one would remember the portrait that opened itself.

Sometimes he wished he could just Obliviate himself and be done with it. No more Voldemort, no more Ron, no more war, no more pain, no more Boy-Who- Lived, there would only be Harry Potter.

Not knowing exactly where to go, Harry resorted to more or less aimless wonderings of the halls of Hogwarts. It was too cold to venture outside and he could not go to the library, not with all of the memories of late night escapades that it held. Finally, he found himself before the doors of the Great Hall.

Feeling strangely drawn to this place, Harry tested his luck with the door, and found the heavy oak swung open quite easily. He bypassed the Gryffindor table and seated himself at the far side of the Slytherin table. For a moment he allowed himself to wonder what things could have been like had he not begged the Sorting Hat to keep him out of Slytherin. He probably would not be in this mess. With a small whimper, he realized that he had spent too much of his wizarding life listening to Ronald Weasley.

It was certain traits common to those of the Slytherin House that made its witches and wizards turn to the Dark Arts, not the House itself. That much was proven once the war started in earnest. Many parents of Slytherin students began to pull their children out of Hogwarts once it they realized that the school was completely committed to the Light side. However, many upper Slytherins, fifth, sixth and seventh years, chose to defy their Death Eater or Voldemort loyal parents. Too many battles had seen him fighting side by side with Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape for him to believe any longer that Slytherin equalled Evil.

Draco Malfoy was restless, unable to find peace in deep slumber, unwilling to induce it artificially. To seek a remedy would be to admit a problem, and Malfoys did not get insomnia. He was simple restless. So in a last ditch effort to calm his frazzled nerves, the backbone of Slytherin was creeping to the kitchens for a mug of hot cocoa. No one noticed his exit from the Slytherin Common Room, not that there was anyone to notice. Most of the first through fourth years had been yanked out as soon as Professor Snape's true position was revealed, proving that all of Hogwarts opposed the Dark Lord. The remaining Slytherins were forming a new image of the Serpent House. The students were still intelligent and cunning purebloods with a passion for the Dark Arts, however, now those inclinations were being put to better use, excelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was Slytherins that formed most of the defensive forces in battle. Not that Salazar's students were cowards, but self-preservation was ever a Slytherin instinct. Just as it was instinct for Gryffindors to rush in where angels feared to tread.

Draco had been a keystone for his House's support of Dumbledore. Many of the upper class students who picked Hogwarts over Voldemort still looked to Draco as their leader, more so even than Professor Snape. If he were not so sleep deprived, the blond young man would have chuckled at the hero worship he was receiving from his Housemates. No wonder Potter hated it so much; it was a real bother.

Swiftly and silently, much like a snake himself, Draco wove his way through the enchanted castle. He dodged fickle staircases and snuck past sleeping portraits. Not knowing exactly how to get to the kitchen, the slate-eyed boy assumed there would be a way to his destination through the Great Hall and thus worked his way there. Passing through the immense room, Draco almost did not observe the dark figure slowly rocking at his usual seat.

Cocoa forgotten at for the time being, in light of something more distracting, Draco approached in silence, hearing the distraught noises grow louder with each step he took. Standing just behind the pathetic figure, something inside of the blonde clicked. That unruly mass of black hair, even the voice, as nearly incoherent sobs and whispers lurched from an obviously abused throat, was familiar.

"Potter?"

The soft voice, a velvety baritone, devoid of any discernible emotion except confusion, brought the weeping boy out of his miserable reverie. Turning his head to meet cool slate eyes, Harry immediately regretted his action. The look of shocked horror that passed over the usually controlled features was enough to make him realize that no healing charm had been preformed tonight. Gods, he must look awful.

He could not stop the flinch that was his conditioned reaction, an automatic response when he was caught off guard or too tired to erect his façade, as one graceful hand brushed some wayward strands way from his face. The gesture was surprisingly gentle and the look that accompanied it was enough to make Harry crumble once again.

"Wait here, I'll get you something for that."

Delicate fingers caressed his swelling cheek, evidence enough of the black eye that was sure to follow.

Normally Draco would not have resorted to muggle ways of doing things, charms, however, were not Draco's forte. He could do them well enough, and could probably have healed Harry straight away, however, he seemed to remember from a muggle first-aid course that a cold compress would reduce swelling. Since he was going to the kitchen anyway, Draco decided to test the theory. Besides, he did not know if the wounded boy would even let Draco perform the magic on him.

A few minutes later, Draco returned with two mugs of hot coca and a baggie of ice wrapped in a soft terrycloth dishtowel. Settling himself down on the bench beside Potter - beside Harry - Draco carefully pulled the brunette down so that Harry's head rested on his lap. From there, he set the icepack over the swollen eye with a gentleness that any mediwitch would have envied. One hand stroking soothingly at the wild raven hair, Draco sipped his cocoa with the other. Patiently he let the other boy cry himself out before beginning any form of questioning.

When Harry's breathing finally returned to normal, Draco stilled his hand and looked down into one emerald eye, shimmering with lingering tears, the other eye still hidden by the towel. He was shaken to the core by what he saw there. Pain, fear, despair and desperation.

"It is Weasley, isn't it?"