Chapter 1 – Waking Into Darkness

He couldn't open his eyes, something tight over them keeping them shut. A blindfold? Oh Gods, what happened? The last he could remember was a flash of brilliant light, that smug pug-faced git leering over his body- Oh! That bastard! No, no, no! Mouth grimacing and heart racing he strained his ears, whole body tense as he waited for the final blow. But nothing. What was happening?

Lifting his arm took a lot of effort but eventually he felt his fingers connect with a smooth material on his face, covering his eyes. Bandages? Felt like it. But he couldn't be sure. Groaning, he dropped the heavy arm again, now feeling tight bands over his chest as well and a cool kind of paste underneath them pulsing slightly. Yep. Bandages. He was lying on something soft, a bed perhaps? What had happened? It definitely didn't seem like he'd been captured. The surroundings lent themselves more to a hospital: warm room, comfortable bed and no restraints. Trying not to move his bound eyes, he gulped trying to moisten his dry throat as he registered the ache of his whole body, every muscle throbbing and twingeing. His legs were especially weak and he could barely even move them. He thought vaguely about attempting to call out and ask for help, but he was so tired, giving up the losing battle he fell into unconsciousness.

Sometime later, a soft murmuring pulled him back into reality and the darkness. He was still blind and tired, so tired… Fighting, flashing lights, twisting bodies, in danger, knocked to the ground….What had happened? His ears struggled to pick up the sounds next to him. He didn't know what had happened and couldn't understand the words, the voice too quiet and soft; but he recognised the soothing tone and so let the stream of sound lull him back to his weird dreams.

Was that a male voice? He was losing track of how many times he'd heard that soft voice beside him. It seemed like he'd been waking and then falling back into troubled sleep for months though he had no way of knowing. Drowsily, he recognised a few words but forgot them almost instantly. His hearing must have been affected by…by what? The last thing he remembered was taking out a group of Death Eaters in one of their rank lairs. He'd been doing quite well, managing to take out all three before a yell and flash of light from behind him had reminded him of the fourth. Lying weakly on the floor he'd cursed himself as he'd remembered who it was: Nott! As darkness had engulfed him he'd thought that he was dying and wasn't sure how to feel about it. Looking back, he knew that he'd been scared, but sad about dying? Not really. His life wasn't unbearable but that didn't mean it really had a point. Back in the unknown location with the unknown guardian, the murmured reassurances came to an end and then he heard footsteps leading away and a door creaking before the footsteps faded. His body twitched, rising a little to call the footsteps back before he decided to wait until next time.

Laying back into the soft mattress he felt his muscles relax and his lips twitched upwards a little. There would be a next time, even though he didn't know who the voice belonged to, he knew that he could trust them. Now he'd finished panicking about what had happened he started to notice things about the room he was in. It was quiet, very quiet. In fact, all he could hear was his own slow breaths and distant clinks from somewhere outside the room. Was he in a private ward? But no, even in his own room he'd be able to hear the hospital outside, wouldn't he? The door opened and the footsteps returned.

"Oh good, you're awake! Hungry?" Stomach rumbling, he caught the smell of chicken and his mouth began to water. He heard the sounds of someone sitting down in a squeaky chair beside the bed and concentrated on understanding the irritatingly cheery voice. "Now I'm sorry about this but I'll need to feed you, being blind and all." Snorting a little at the indignity, Draco opened his mouth regardless, just grateful for- Wait, he knew that voice! Wrinkling his forehead in concentration he finally recognised it. Weasley! Weasley was his Healer? But why? What on earth was that loser doing playing nurse? Who authorised it? So many questions began fighting each other for his attention. But then that stupid voice asked him to open wide and he swallowed pride and indignation in favour for delicious chicken soup. It was quite hard eating without seeing, even if someone else was putting the soup right up to your mouth so all of the blond's concentration was taken up with not appearing stupid; his face burned as some of the soup dribbled down his chin but he silently thanked the weasel for not commenting, simply wiping the drops of soup off his face gently. After he'd eaten he felt so weary, he decided just to relax for a moment before demanding the fool explain himself. But then that voice began to fade and he surrendered himself to asleep.

….

He had no idea how long he'd been dipping in and out of consciousness, all he knew was the was now awake, and bored. He'd been hearing noises from downstairs for a while, so knew that it must be daytime, or just an insomniac, he shivered, Weasel. Despite his boredness, however, he didn't call out for the ginger troll; he would have to be dying of boredom before he'd stoop to that! For something to do, he went over his situation with all the information he currently had.

He had been employed by the Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry to assist in an investigation into some illegal potion smuggling. After the War he'd been cleared of all charges of Death Eater activity due to his age and lack of actual war crimes, however, that did not make finding a job any easier than if he had gone to prison. Without his father's connections, in fact, due to his father's connections, he was facing a wall of rejections for work at the Ministry. For the first few years he'd had to pick at the scraps whilst surviving on his mother's savings – all of his father's wealth having been seized by the Ministry. But those had been hard years which he didn't care to ever remember. Eventually it had been Pansy who had inspired him, by suggesting that he use his skills – his knowledge of dark magic objects and practitioners along with his stealth and cunning – to his advantage. So with the last of his mother's money he had set up a small private detective business that only really consisted of himself. He'd got a few jobs and business had been steady until the Ministry had taken an interest. Due to both his informal detective work and knowledge of the underworld, he'd often been asked for information on suspects and soon received an offer to do an undercover job for the Auror Department. Although still fuming at the treatment of him and his mother after the War, he accepted graciously and it went well. Kept on as an informal agent, he'd done a few jobs for them since, meaning that five years after he lost everything he had a semblance of a life, some income, a small place on Diagon Alley and no friends. His pride was now in shreds.

So when a few weeks ago they asked him to do another job, he'd accepted in the contemptuous way he always did. After some tailing and interrogating, he'd finished this particular job after collecting all the available information; he should have reported back and let the Aurors take care of the arresting. But something had drawn him back into the lair and into that battle. One Death Eater in particular who he just couldn't allow to go down without at least punching him once. In the silence of that unknowable room, he shook his head, he couldn't think about that ungodly being without spiralling into an uncontrollable rage. Instead, he recalled the end of the desperate battle in that rank cellar. The first had been surprised and knocked out without any trouble, the next took a few shots whilst simultaneously fighting the other but all in all it hadn't taken him that long to stun them as well. Stupidly, he'd been smirking to himself at his accomplishment, wondering if he should be teaching those Aurors how to do it on a regular basis, when he'd been cursed from behind. Idiot! How could he have forgotten about Nott? That sadistic bastard was the whole reason he'd there in the first place. That high and obnoxious laughter rang from above him where he lay, his insides boiling even as his vision began to fog, mind getting heavier as he was suddenly rasping. He thought he was on the brink of death, a bit dramatic he admitted to himself, but that was what he was thinking in his last few moments of consciousness. Killed by the man he'd been trying to maim, if not completely destroy.

After agonising over it for days on end the only plausible explanation for his confinement was that he was in protection from the probably still loose and angry Nott. Fantastic. His crap life just kept on getting better and better. He thankfully recalled that his mother was visiting a cousin abroad and so out of danger. He had no idea how long he'd been out of it, but was confident that the Ministry would have informed her about the danger and if she had returned, would be taken care of. As much as he hated to admit anything positive about that damned institution, they did look after their own. Fortunately that now included him. Now he'd sorted out that question, he twisted his lip. The only thing that he couldn't understand was why the Weasel of all people was his nurse.

It was true that he hadn't seen much of any Hogwarts students in a while. His few friends were either dead, locked up or had left the country for better opportunities. Not that he'd miss them much anyway, only Blaise had been worthy of knowing and he was sort of around, trying to rebrand 'Borgin and Burkes' as a respectable antique business, with some success. Of all of his classmates, Ronald Weasely was the least likely to have volunteered to look after him. As far as Draco could remember, they'd never shared one civil word to each other, well, a sincere civil word. All their interactions were based around Potter in some way, always hate-filled. Who would look at that idiot and think, gentle, trustworthy and skilled? It had to either be a very unfunny prank or an extreme clerical error. Weasely looking after him? Insane! Hearing the oaf approach, Draco tried to swallow his distaste and layered on the niceties in order to learn all he could. The door creaked and heavy footsteps approached the bed, the patient suddenly realised that he was holding his breath, body stiff as he faced forward, resisting the urge to turn his head. The endless darkness was so frustrating and if he thought about it, petrifying, that he had to fight to hold on to the low words and try to process them. Although he didn't speak, the urge to ask questions must have been written on his face because his carer sighed and began.

"Well, you've been paid for the Death Eaters you took down…" A small shine of joy came over him when he recalled those idiot Death Eaters, yes, it was very satisfying knowing he'd been paid for getting to see those dumb lackeys knocked out, but his celebrations ended quickly as he remembered that one problem.

"What happened to Nott?" He winced at his hoarse voice but squared his chin to try and reassert power where in truth, he had none. There was a calculated pause; Draco strained to hear the scales creaking in his nurse's head. How much to tell?

"That's why you're in a safe house and not in St Mungo's." The patient sat up a bit from his pillows as he snapped.

"I know that you idiot, what I meant was why didn't he kill me?" More contemplative he went on quietly. "He had a clear shot I was near unconscious, why didn't he just…kill me?"

"Jeez Malfoy, are you suicidal or something?" Gulping down bile the blond breathed in deeply to stop himself from raising his sore voice, making his tone as condescending as possible.

"No Weasel I'm not, although I don't know how I've survived this long in your presence without reaching for the razor!" There was a moment of silence before his nurse began calmly explaining.

"No one knows for sure but the theory is that he was disturbed, when the Aurors came it looked like they'd just missed him. So he hadn't had the time to finish you off." Malfoy blinked, taken aback by this display of self-control from the normally fiery boy. He was so surprised he couldn't answer for a minute, though he managed to close his mouth before it became obvious. Giving up on being witty he grumbled moodily.

"Still managed to fuck me up." It was a bit childish, but he really wanted some reassurance from the un-seeable figure; having not asked any painful questions about what exactly had injured him and if…when it would get better. But there was a small silence, it seemed like the red-head didn't have anything to add so Draco went on, trying to keep his tone uninterested, spewing rubbish he didn't believe. "Anyway, I wouldn't have thought the Ministry would be so thoughtful."

"Just because you're not a Ministry operative doesn't mean they don't' care about your well-being." Annoyed at the placating answer the patient snapped again.

"How nice, so they 'care' about me? That just means I'm useful enough to protect." Ron made a noise that the patient was sure accompanied an ambivalent shrug. And still he said nothing! The blond was picking at straws, trying to get some kind of emotion from the seemingly dead man beside his bed. "So how did you get stuck babysitting? Realised they'd made a mistake at the Academy, did they?" There was a pause before the Auror murmured something about his medication and left the room. Sitting back again, not realising how stiff his muscles were, Draco frowned. It wasn't like the weasel to refuse to rise to any kind of baits, even the weak jabs he'd just offered. That was twice he'd passed up a perfect opportunity to get into a fight. Where had the fire gone? He hated to admit it, but he missed that short and explosive temper. He much preferred it to this new, stoic person. He was so boring! If he had to cope with the filthy tramp as his personal Healer for by the gods knows how long, he might as well have some fun. But the damn weasel had picked now of all times to be mature; typical bad-timing from the incompetent fool. Sighing heavily he tried to relax and let his mind clear, so as to stop the stress that came with too many dark thoughts.

*Can I just note that 'tramp' in British terminology means homeless person, in case you thought Draco considered Ron in any sexual light because he doesn't… yet! :P