A/N: okay I guess updates are coming thick and fast, but they will slow down soon. I think. So another chapter with no slashy times, I do apologise, but it is building. I've got the basis of this story planned out, it's just building it up now. If you're reading this... thanks! Hope you enjoy.
Autumn is for dying
Chapter 3
"Where should we take him?" Harry heard someone ask. Silence greeted the question.
"The Dark Lord instructed-"
"The Dark Lord is not here. I am." Fenrir Greyback's voice was quietly dangerous. Harry felt him turn towards the other Death Eaters. "And he instructed me to make the decisions in his absence." Nobody questioned the werewolf. So, he wouldn't be taken directly to Voldemort? This managed to be good news while at the same time making Harry's stomach clench. He wouldn't be taken to Voldemort but he would be at the mercy of the insane werewolf for the foreseeable future. Great.
"We couldn't take him straight to The Dark Lord anyway." Harry head Malfoy respond shortly. "As we all know, Rodenna, under no circumstances does he take unnanounced guests. Or do you want to be the first?" The faceless Rodenna didn't respond, but Harry could imagine the fear he must be feeling at even the idea of incurring Voldemort's displeasure. "I didn't think so. So we can t-"
"Draco." Greyback interrupted Malfoy in that same quiet, deadly tone. "I think you of all people, little traitor, shouldn't be trying to give orders." He said it softly. "Or do you want to explain to our Lord exactly why you think you should be leading this little...party?"
"I wasn't-"
"Yes you were." Greyback swung Harry around as he turned to face Malfoy. "Were you hoping you'd been forgiven, maybe?" His voice took on a mocking tone and he took a small step forward. "Did you think maybe that mummy's little sacrifice was enough to get you back into his good books?"
Malfoy didn't reply. This was interesting. Dissention in the ranks. Harry listened intently. What had happened to Narcissa Malfoy? Greyback took more steps until he was close enough to the smaller Death Eater for Harry to feel Malfoy's damp cloak brush the back of his legs.
"You are not in charge here, Draco." Fenrir said Malfoy's name like an insult. "I am. And until we can contact The Dark Lord, we'll be taking Potter to-"
He was cut short when a powerful red curse hit him. It sent the werewolf, and Harry, sprawling to the ground. The Death Eaters immediately jumped into panicked action, a scrambled mess of shouts and raised wands.
"Stupefy!" Harry's heart lifted. Hermione's high, sharp voice rang out across the grounds.
"Avor contarte!" A nasty hex, thrown by one of the Death Eaters, shot uncomfortably close to Harry's head. Shit, they were aiming at him as well.
"Harry!" Spells and bodies were flying everywhere, and in his state there was nothing Harry could do but curl into a ball and try and make himself a smaller target as possible.
A muggle, when asked to describe the sounds of a wizard battle, might describe it as an explosion in a firework factory during a busy hour. Screams, bangs, pops and whistles permeated the night. Harry pressed his face into the ground, into the dusty gravel. He could feel the heat from badly aimed curses singe his skin as they passed close.
"Harry!" He heard Ron shout. He didn't dare raise his head to see his friend. There was nothing he could do to help in his injured and bound state, only lie there and hope the good guys won.
He heard a grunt as somebody took a spell then felt a heavy body crash to the floor near him. Okay, at least two Death Eaters were down, including Fenrir Greyback. That left three more against his two friends if Bill and Lupin hadn't appeared to reinforce them. With Hermione on one side, though, the odds felt in his favour.
"Avada Kedavra!" A rough male voice yelled. God, Harry hoped that one had missed. He lay, listening to the sounds of warfare for another second, heart barely beating.
"Reducto!" That was Lupin! Harry had to stop himself raising his head to see the arrival of the Order, hope filling his soul. More voices he recognised joined the cacophony; Bill, Kingsley, Neville...
Another body hit the floor near him, and Harry figured the odds were enough in his favour to raise his head and try and move. Sure enough, there were only two Death Eaters stood over him now, battling the five... six... more Order members were apparating in by the second. It looked like they were only a few feet away from the magical barrier preventing apparation on the grounds, as each new contender popped in and ran a short while before joining the frey.
In front of him, a small purple hex, cast by Hermione, hit one of the hooded Death Eaters in the head, sending them falling backwards into Harry.
"...fuck..." The man grunted, raising a pale hand to push his hood back from his face. Draco Malfoy. He glanced back at Harry, who noted a fresh, painful looking red burn standing stark against the white of his forehead. Harry, taking the opportunity, headbutted the other man.
"Fuck!" Draco reeled back, stumbling to his feet. Harry laughed.
"Fuck you Malfoy! You've lost!" It was seeming that way. The other hooded figure was holding their own against twelve Order members now, having cast a rather impressive and powerful shielding charm that was covering the three of them.
"Draco!" The other Death Eater was a woman, who, hands shaking as she held the charm up, looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. "Draco, there's a portkey in my pocket! Take it!"
"Arella-"
"Take it Draco!" She shouted, panic in her eyes as one of the curses Hermione threw visibly weakened the shimmering shield. Malfoy took a step towards her, then looked back at Harry. Harry, seeing where this was going, struggled to sit up, using his aching shoulder muscles to push himself back.
"Don't you fucking dare..." He spat. Malfoy frowned at him, then seemed to make up his mind, shoving his wand into his waistband and striding back towards Harry.
"No!" Harry yelled as the pale Death Eater leaned down and grabbed him under the arms, half dragging and half carrying him over to where Arella was still stood, staring back at them with a pale face. Harry kicked and twisted but he was still weak, everything hurt.
"Where will it take me?" He heard Malfoy ask as they reached her. Harry fought against the bindings on his wrists, ignoring the burn as they tightened.
"A safe place. Wait there, someone will find you and bring you back to him. Go now, Draco!"
Malfoy released Harry, letting him fall hard to the floor, then reached a hand into Arella's cloak pocket. Harry could hear shouts from the other side of the shield.
"Hermione!" He shouted back. "Ron! They have a portkey! They have a portkey, quick-"
Malfoy brought his hand from the woman's pocket, clutching what looked like a thick, silver pin.
"How-"
"Portis!"
As Harry opened his mouth to once more desperately plea for his friends, Malfoy gripped his shoulder. The portkey activated and the world dropped away.
He landed heavily, a lance of pain shooting through his shoulder. The first thing he noticed, besides the pain and nausea, was the cold. If he'd thought it was cold on that autumn night in England, he was wrong.
He was lying in snow, his bare skin burning where it touched.
"F.. fuck..." It was also a lot lighter here. Wherever they were, they'd changed time zones.
"Potter..." Harry turned his head to see Malfoy, the black of his cloak a stark contrast to the white of snow, kneeling a few feet away from him. Unfortunately, the motion sent his head spinning, and, just as the world dropped away from him when they'd portkeyed, it fell away as he blacked out.
When he woke the cold was gone, but the pain remained. He was lying on what felt like wood, his hands still tied behind his back. Harry groaned as he tried to move and an intense heat radiated from his shoulder. He opened his eyes. The sunlight from earlier was gone too. He was inside some sort of a wooden room.
"God..." His shoulder hurt a lot, enough to make him try and modulate his breathing to disturb it less. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. "...damn." Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Harry tensed his abdominals and sat up.
"Mmmmmm." Harry pushed down a scream through clenched teeth. "Fucking hell."
The room was small, and furnished only with a small bed against one wall. White sunlight shone through a small window, blocked only by some old looking lace curtains. There was no carpet, and no paintings hanging on the wall. The door, made from the same wood as the rest of the room, was shut and presumably locked.
Harry closed his eyes to listen carefully. He could hear nothing from outside the room.
The floor was very uncomfortable beneath him. The bed looked inviting, a soft, white cushioned blanket covering it. Harry didn't know whether or not he could get up to walk to the bed. His head was still spinning, and every single part of his body hurt. He looked down at his feet.
"Shit." They looked terrible. Red and swollen around the cuts and scratches, the skin was taut and shiny. There was probably still little pieces of wood and stone embedded in the soles. He was only thankful that they were relatively numb. The back of his leg was also swollen around a thick, ropey welt which had stopped bleeding but was looking uncomfortably purple.
All up his legs were little scratches, and a very obvious series of claw marks at the top of his inner thigh where Fenrir Greyback had held him.
Harry couldn't see his wrists, but the pain told him they were definitely lacerated by the charmed ropes. His shoulder, by far the most immediately painful part of him, was dislocated if he was any judge.
Harry was, by any definition of the term, fucked. Wandless, naked and beaten, and being held captive at some unknown location by Draco Malfoy of all people. In all the four years he'd been fighting in this war, he'd never been in a situation quite so hopeless.
He gave up on the idea of standing before he'd even tried, and instead resorted to slowly and painfully scooting himself backwards until he could lean against the wall.
"Fuck me." He closed his eyes, resting his head back. He'd rest for a while and try and figure an escape plan out when he wasnt feeling quite so shit.
"Potter. Wake up."
Harry woke with a start. He'd slipped gently down the wall in his sleep, and was laid on his uninjured shoulder. His hands, still tied behind him, had fallen asleep themselves, and felt like chunks of dead meat attached to his arms.
"Marllr." Harry's mouth, dry and cracked, refused to form a word. Malfoy looked down at him in disdain, an eyebrow raised.
"Here." He placed a glass of water on the floor a few feet away from Harry.
"...'ck off..." Harry closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the other man.
"You need to drink something." Malfoy stated. Harry began to drift off again. He was feeling quite hot now, and with all pressure off of his dislocated shoulder, quite numb.
"Potter."
Harry heard footsteps, then an intense, blinding pain shot through him as Malfoy grabbed his arm.
"Aargh!" He choked, wrenching away, all tiredness having escaped him. Malfoy, shocked at his reaction, let go of him and took a step back.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Was that a serious question? Harry was more than aware he looked like minced beef. His shoulder pain faded slightly and, panting, he rested his head back down. Malfoy stood, staring at him for a moment in silence.
"You need to drink." What was with these stupid statements? Harry's hands were tied behind his back by Malfoy's own curse. "Fucking pathetic." Hah. Insults. Malfoy seemed to get more and more frustrated as Harry ignored him, until he snapped. "Fine. Levicorpus."
Harry gasped as he was lifted from the floor. As he reached knee height, Malfoy used his wand to direct the other man over the floor and to the bed. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the pain of being dropped onto it, but instead the Death Eater lowered him gently down onto the soft wool.
Harry suddenly felt very exposed, lying on his side, hands tied, on the bed as Malfoy approached him, but he had no defence.
"Fuck off." He managed to spit. Malfoy ignored him and leaned over him. Harry's breathing increased and his heart rate span out of control at the proxmity. He could feel Malfoy's cloak trailing over him as the blonde muttered something, wand pointed.
Harry's hands were released. In his shock, he didn't move as Malfoy pulled the ropes from his wrists, stinging and hurting as they dragged over the wounds they'd made.
Malfoy didn't do anything to heal them, but as he straighened up, glancing at Harry's accusatory face, he reached a hand out to lightly touch Harry's dislocated shoulder. Harry hissed as a bolt of pain greeted the gentle brush. As if this was what Malfoy was looking for, he nodded to himself, putting his wand away and looking Harry in the eye.
"This will hurt."
"Fuck you."
In a swift motion, the other man gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand, his arm just above the elbow with the other and jerked it sharply up and back. Harry almost screamed with the pain, burying his face into the blanket to smother it. Then, the intense agony was gone.
Panting, Harry moved his arm slightly to test it. Nothing. Malfoy had relocated it. With shaking hands, Harry slowly brought both arms in front of him, for the first time since they had been bound together in the dungeon, however long ago that was.
His wrists were, as he'd suspected, a mess. Deep wounds encircled them, half burns and half gouges, they were cracked and bleeding where Malfoy had removed the ropes.
"Ow." He looked up as Malfoy moved away from him and retrieved the glass of water from the floor where he'd placed it earlier. Harry followed his motion with narrowed eyes as the blonde walked slowly back towards him and proffered the glass.
"Drink." He was not proving to be a man of many words, quite the stark contrast to the mouthy teenager Harry had known in school. Harry reached out and took the glass, taking a sip of the cool liquid. It was delicious on his raw, dry throat. Malfoy watched him drink. The burn on his head where Hermione's curse had hit looked painful, although Harry had a dozen wounds for every one of Malfoy's. He wondered why the other man hadn't healed it. When he finished the glass, Malfoy wordlessly pointed his wand at it, refilling it. Under intense and uncomfortable scrutiny, Harry drank again. Once he finished that too, Malfoy took the glass from his unresisting hands and, without a single word, turned and walked back through the door. Harry heard a lock click into place.
He sat for a second, replaying the encounter in his head. Malfoy, annoyingly, hadn't betrayed much emotion. Harry wished he had. If the other man had looked angry, sad, scared - any of these, Harry could work how to use it to his advantage. But this stoic apathy... difficult.
Harry sighed.
The light through the window had faded to a purple, then darkened to black, and Harry had slept rather fitfully in the comfortable bed.
Morning broke with no birdsong or bright light, just that same pale whiteness as the day before. Harry's injuries still yielded the same pain as before, but his muscles felt less tense and achey after a night spent on the cotton. He felt itchy and dirty however, covered in mud, dried blood and sweat and still in his black boxer shorts.
He breathed deeply, then sat up. He assessed his injuries again. The most debilitating, and likely to hinder an escape attempt, were his feet. Still swollen and possibly infected, even standing up would probably prove to be unbearable. Harry carefully bent his leg, pulling his foot up to see the underside. Yes, he had been correct, there were a number of shrapnel shards buried there. Harry gingerly ran his finger along the inflamed skin next to one. He could pull it out, no doubt, but it would hurt.
Before he could decide whether or not he was ready for that level of pain again, the door clicked open and Malfoy appeared at it. He seemed surprised to see Harry awake and sat up, and quickly pointed his wand at the injured wizard.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"What do you want?" Malfoy didn't answer, simply scowled at him and walked up, quickly depositing a plate on the bed next to him. It held some stale looking bread and a piece of cheese. Harry couldn't help but snort at the stereotypical prison meal. His stomach, however, growled loudly at the sight of food.
Malfoy whipped around and made back for the door, when Harry had an idea.
"Malfoy!" He called. The Death Eater, dressed now in a simple black shirt and trousers, paused and turned.
"What?"
"My feet..." Harry gestured. "They're infected." Malfoy stared at him blankly.
"So what?"
"So... so aren't you meant to be keeping me alive?" Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Not going to stay alive for very long with blood poisoning, dickhead."
Malfoy stared at him, glancing down to Harry's purpling feet. "You wont get blood poisoning from that." Harry could think of no response to this that wasn't a childish 'oh yes I will.' so remained silent. Malfoy left.
Fuck. Well, it had been worth a try.
He ate slowly, trying to make his stomach believe it was feeling fuller than he was.
"Well, you might as well try, you wuss." Harry mumbled to himself, pulling his foot up once more so he could have access to the sole.
Gripping the tiny edge of a sharp piece of stone embedded in him, he gritted his teeth and slowly pulled it out.
"Dont cry... don't cry..." His mantra was not helping, tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes. The little wound began to bleed as he relieved it of its plug, and he breathed deeply, trying to overcome the pain. It took him a moment to gather himself before he could start to work on another piece, but just as he was about to try, the door opened again.
"Sit back and keep your hands above your head." Malfoy had his wand out and some white linen bandages in his other hand. Harry's stomach leapt. He scooted back on the bed, resting his back against the wall, and lifted his hands to shoulder height. Malfoy seemed to reconsider his decision, glaring at the smug looking Boy Who Lived, but then swallowed and advanced on him.
"Keep still." He muttered, kneeling down.
The situation seemed absurd to Harry. His captor was kneeling at his feet. If Harry thought it would get him anything but a more permanent binding charm and probably a boot in the ribs to go with it, he'd kick the blonde bastard in the face and make a run for the door.
As it was, he gritted his teeth as Malfoy leveled his wand on his feet, a look of concentration on his face.
The next few minutes hurt almost as much as resetting his shoulder had. By the time Malfoy was finished, Harry's eyes were screwed shut and his hands clenched so tightly he'd dug little crescents into his own palms. He opened his eyes when he felt warm water running over his feet.
With his wand, Malfoy cleaned the wounds, then bandaged them. His cold hands were steady and, from time to time, held Harry's feet still as gently as any medi-wizard would. Harry was frankly, surprised that the other man was going to this extreme, but he wasn't about to complain. Anything to get him back on his feet quicker so he could escape.
As Malfoy finished and stood up, a sudden urge came upon Harry.
"Thanks." He muttered shortly. Malfoy stopped and looked at Harry, frowning. Then, as he had every time, turned and left without a word.
Why had he thanked the Death Eater? He was the reason Harry was injured in the first place! He felt stupid. Whatever. Leaning back down, Harry slept again. He needed to get better, needed to heal. He probably had a very limited time in this place before someone came to fetch him and Malfoy and bring them in front of Voldemort.
It was about three days before he could stand up and walk around on his feet. In that time, he and his captor had interacted only when they had to. Malfoy had brought a bucket for him, and it wasnt until that first glass of water made its way through his system that Harry realised what it was for. Relieving himself in a bucket was embarassing but at least he got a small kick every time Malfoy had to walk over to it and, visible disgust on his face, vanish the contents with a wave of his wand.
He ate and drank every crumb and drop Malfoy brought him, anything to get strong again.
On that third day, Harry began to plan.
He walked over to the window for the first time, and drew back the lacy curtains. There was nothing but white outside. He placed a tan hand on the cold glass. He was still barely dressed. Fuck, if there was no other clothes here he was going to have to strip Malfoy before he ventured out into the snow.
He had no idea where he was in the world. A blanket of snow and the faint smudges of a treeline in the distance told him nothing. He could be in Scandinavia, Russia, Canada... he could be in the fucking antarctic for all he knew.
The heat he felt in the room came from all around, the whole building must be artifically heated somehow, although by magic or muggle technology, Harry didn't know.
At about midday, same as usual, Malfoy brought Harry a plate of food. Harry made sure he was still sat on the bed, not wanting to give away his newly found level of mobility. The Death Eater, who Harry noticed was not looking very happy, made to leave the room without a word, but Harry called to him.
"How long are you going to keep me here then?" He asked. Malfoy didn't stop walking, but muttered back.
"Fuck knows."
That was interesting. So Malfoy was as trapped here as he was until someone came to fetch him. Harry sat and tried to figure out how he could spin this to his advantage as he slowly ate the simple meal.
By the fourth day, Harry was sure he had enough strength back to try and make a careful escape attempt. He waited until dark, until Malfoy had been and gone and the sun had set on the small room.
"Fingers crossed." He whispered to himself.
Crossing the room with nary a wince for his once painful feet, he drew a thick, silver pin from where he'd been keeping it hidden in his palm.
The portkey.
Harry had noticed it, rolled under his bed, a few days earlier. Malfoy must have dropped it by accident. Harry had grabbed it and it, alongside that first shard of stone he'd removed from his foot, had formed the basis of his escape plan.
He walked quietly over to the door and knelt in front of the door, staring the keyhole in the eye.
He inserted the pin into the lock alongside the shard. It was fortunate, in a sick way, that such large pieces of shrapnel had found a home in the bottom of his foot, because with a little work, the rock had become the perfect shape for a lock-pick lever.
This was not the first time Harry had been on the wrong side of a locked door without magic to help him out, and whilst Hermione and Ron had been there to help him out the first time, Hermione had insisted they all learn to pick a lock. Thanks, Hermione.
Harry listened carefully for the clicks, then, holding his breath, twisted the pin in the lock. A tiny bit of resistance had him losing hope for half a second, but then it gave and Harry had to stop himself from cheering as the door unlocked.
Straightening up, Harry grabbed the cold steel in his hand and twisted.
The door opened without a creak.
Now was the real gamble. The dark corridor outside the room was inviting, but for all Harry knew Malfoy could have cast a hex on the doorway to catch him as he left.
He suspected Malfoy had been doing that, initially, but the speed at which the man was entering and leaving the room the last few days led Harry to believe that he'd stopped with these extra precautions. Well, only one thing for it. Harry took a breath and stepped through.
