I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. A thousand times I'm sorry. Oh, did I mention I'm sorry? Because I am. I really, really am. I recently moved into my dorm, and well, you know how it is. My lovely roommate is fun China and she needs all sorts of help with English translations, and classes are wonderful but challenging. And this chapter kicked my ass. I just couldn't bring myself to write more than a few lines a day. So I apologize for my lateness and for any ooc-ness from the characters. I'll make a few notes on that after you read this chapter. Until then, I really hope you like it, are still interested and don't hate me for my erm, lack of dedication?

I should also note the (comments) between the paragraphs weren't really my idea. I've been reading The Dark Tower series (which is amazing) and that's a common thing that Stephen King. And yeh, he's a not a brilliant writer, but he's got a bum load of books published, so he must be doing something right, right?

Chapter 2

Draco drifted in and out of sleep's wasteland, the steady hum of an engine lulling him into an uncomfortable and troubled sleep. At some point he realized he must have been drugged or cursed, he honestly couldn't remember the difference between a sleeping spell and the slumber drought. Things were

(malleable)

blurry in his memory. Alarmed, he struggled to open his eyes. It was night, wherever he was. The dark countryside and twinkling lights of homes sped past. He touched his face. No wind. If he wasn't on a broom then where-

It was then that Draco panicked, thrashing wildly. During his drug induced sleep someone had restrained him with two ropes, one running diagonally across his chest and another clenched around his hips.

'Whoa! Mr. Malfoy please refrain from around quite so much.' Draco continued to tug on the bonds across his chest.

'Where am I?'

'In a car, and if you wouldn't mind. You are making it very difficult to drive.'

'C-car?' Draco stuttered.

'Yes, Malfoy. It's a muggle form of transportation. And if you don't keep bloody still I'll be forced to do it myself.'

'Where are we going?' Draco asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

'You'll see soon enough.'

'Who are you?' His question was met with an amused snort.

'I'm almost offended. You don't remember me?' Draco squinted.

'Weasley? George Weasley? You work for Potter now? What happened to the – the – you did something else, didn't you?'

'Yeh, but that was a long time ago.' A shadow had passed over George's face, but Draco didn't notice, choosing instead to vainly struggle against his restraints. 'Malfoy, knock it the fuck off!' So he did and they drove in silence for many more countless miles.

'Where is Potter, then,' Draco finally said. 'If I'm to be his prisoner next then where is he.' George was quite for a moment.

'Don't talk about things you know nothing about,' he finally said, in a sad strange tone.

'And why do you work for him?'

'I don't. Not exactly. We have a sort of – understanding.'

'What understanding?'

'Merlin, I thought two years in Azkaban would have taught you to shut your trap.' Draco winced and inadvertently struck his head on the window. 'Sorry,' George muttered.

'No you're not.'

'No I'm not. But you're still a murderer, Malfoy. I don't know why Harry busted you out. But you don't deserve it, so don't look for pity from me.'

'I know.' Was the small and pitiful response.

Twenty minutes later the car slowed to a crawl and Draco squinted to see what he thought was a jetty. Several cars were in line in front of them waiting to drive onto a ferry. Draco glanced at the dashboard. It was a quarter to midnight, where could they possibly go at this time of night? He was unfamiliar with muggle transportation, but he doubted there were many boats leaving for France or Ireland or wherever they were going at this time of night.

While he had been lost in thought the car had crept closer to the ferry. Draco shivered and realized that George had opened the window.

'With the car it will be 45 pounds for the both of you,' a tired man with a fading flashlight said, leaning down to talk to George. After a mildly entertaining event of paying the man they drove forward onto the ferry.

'Where are we going?' George glanced at Draco and winced.

'We should get you cleaned up.'

'Don't touch me!' Draco screamed as George reached for him.

'Malfoy, you have blood all over your face! You can't get onto the ship looking like you do.' George reached for him again.

'Don't touch me!' Draco shrieked again. George sighed and moved away from him.

'At least let me put glamor on you. You really do look like a shit.'

'I'm sorry to offend your delicate senses. I've not used a mirror in-' Draco stopped and struggled for words.

'Two years. It's been two years.'

'Two years,' he repeated in shadowed awe. While Draco wondered at the gaping holes in his memory George cast a glamor on him, darkening his hair and tanning his gaunt, pale skin, though nothing seemed to touch his haunted eyes. That could not be changed.

'We need to get out of the car now.'

'The car?'

'Blimey, you can be dense sometimes. The metal leviathan we're in!' George was already opening his door and stepping out.

'Oh, right.' Draco turned and tugged on the plastic lever, and the door remained closed. 'Weasley,' he called. 'Open the door!'

'You have to pull the lever, genus.' Several tired passers-by cast curious glances their way. A woman with long blond hair even went so far as to scowl at George's antics. But it was nearly midnight and there were not 20 other passengers on the ferry. A bit of rudeness would not single out several individuals as wizards. Though, the term had become strange to Draco and flickered in the back recesses of his mind to remind him of some semblance of his worth. He was a wizard, not a muggle. But those terms had grown sluggish.

'It won't open!'

'I'm not your bloody servant, Malf-,' George caught himself, and with an exasperated sigh stormed around the car to do battle with the handle himself. After a few tugs the car door squealed open.

'Fucking piece of shit,' he cursed, slamming it closed after Draco stumbled out. 'Never ran right.'

'I don't remember you being this violent or this angry in school.' Draco scratched the back of his head, his fingers coming away, glinting with sheen of oil. 'I think.'

'You think? I'm tired, I'm cold and I'm stuck with you. I'm sorry if I'm not fucking perky right now. Just find a fucking seat, will you? And stop asking questions. You don't understand shit.' Draco obediently nodded. They sat in silence as the engines sputtered into life and the ferry lurched into life. The horizon was indistinguishable between the sky and the sea. Everything was dark as they crossed the murky waters. Draco shuddered.

He hadn't been able to see anything when he was shoved into his cell in Azkaban, shivering and scared. It had been dark then too. His parents were still warm in their graves. He was 18. 18 and he had already killed. He had already seen his parents killed for his mistakes. I'm just a boy, I'm just a boy, like a mantra it rushed through his hysterical mind. But he already knew it wasn't true.

He counted the days for several months, painstakingly carving on the walls. He still had no concept of eternity. He was a young man, and he would be locked in that room until he died, he understood later. But for the first few months he still had hopes of waking up as a boy again.

Once a month the prisoners' were separated into groups and were sent to socialize for several hours. Draco was a murder and a death eater, but he was too insignificant to be considered 'high security' was therefore had the misfortune of being included in these activities.

The first time he was sent to the community room Draco was beaten unconscious but not before seeing things. He vomited and cried when he was finally returned to his room. He was a Death Eater, worth less than the devil to criminal inmates. So he was beaten. And he was

(saved)

lucky. The following months he managed to sustain injuries violent enough to put him in the infirmary and keep him away from the community room. After several months the guards stopped even trying. And there was silence and solitude and only the madness of his own mind.

'Malfoy, Malfoy, would you listen to me when I talk to you?' Draco started as if he was slapped. 'Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been sharp with you. Truce?' George extended his hand and Draco took it. He nodded, looking up at the Weasly with large eyes. There was a foreign swelling in his chest and a pressure behind his eyes. Was this gratitude and friendship. George ruffled his hair. 'Atta boy,' he gave him a half smile that had no chance of reaching his eyes and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants.

'Truce,' Draco said mildly.

'Right, well, back in the car, shall we?' George stood, ushering Draco back to their vehicle. He helped Draco with the seat belt before starting the engine and pulling off the ferry. 'Only an hour until we get you home.' Draco felt his heart accelerate in his breast.

'Home? The manor?' He wasn't even sure he could stand to visit his family home, let alone live there. Too much had happened.

'I'm sorry. I misspoke. I meant your new home. I'm sorry to say it, Malfoy but I don't think you'll ever be going there again.' He cleared his throat. 'But I think you'll be happy here. You'll love the country. It's,' he paused, 'diverting.'

'Will Potter be there?' George did not respond to him for a long while.

'Be good to him.'

'What?'

'Harry,' George elaborated. 'Be good to him. He – he deserves it.' Draco swallowed.

'Could you pull over?'

'What?' George glanced over at him.

'I – I feel ill, please stop the car.' The car crept to a halt, the engine idling quietly. Draco fumbled with the seat belt but opened the door easily this time. He swallowed his throat and mouth dry as he stepped into the dirt on the side of the road. His head ached and his vision blurred around the edges. There was nothing for miles, but he did not consider running.

'Weasley,' he stumbling back toward the car that swam in front of his eyes. 'George, please, I need-'

And suddenly the ground was rushing up to greet him. From miles away he could hear George yelling at him. Somehow he found himself in the car again, the rocking of the vehicle adding to his nausea and dizziness. He could vaguely hear George yelling from a distance. The words floated past him, but they made little sense. Phrases like 'Please, Merlin' and 'not again' rushed around him as he struggled against the assailing waters of unconsciousness. He feared what he would find if he sunk below.

The car slammed on its breaks and the seat belt caught Draco as he slipped forward in his seat. George was screaming for Harry and a bust of cold hit his left shoulder, the seat belt was gone. And then someone was holding him. Holding him like he was precious and fragile. Like he was worth protecting.

'What happened?' He felt more than heard, from the chest of the man holding him.

'I don't know, Harry. I let him out of the car for a breather and he passed out!' There was a sharp curse from the man holding him, Harry, Draco could only assume.

'Draco,' he crooned. 'Draco. Can you hear me?' Draco tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder to indicate that he had. 'You're safe now, Draco. I'm going to take care of you.' And Draco trusted. And he allowed himself to sink.

You still with me? Yes? Awesome! Ok, this is kind of important. As you've noticed the characters are just about unrecognizable, and defiantly not consistent, sometimes Draco is a brat just like he was in school, and sometimes he's a kicked puppy. And George is, well, dark, mean and not fun at all. Let me explain. The story is going to get less angsty, I keep promising, but in about two chapters it will be less, I just about promise. All of these characters have been through a lot. George lost Fed, Harry lost Sirius and Remus and Draco lost just about everything. So they're all kind of messed up and their really not who they use to be. In that mind set this story is kind of like the cliché post-whatever story. So if you still wanna note how a character is still really screwed up, that's totally fine, I might not always transfer them from my head to the page correctly, but just keep this in mind.

That monologue said, review? Please? I'll love you forever.