Disclaimer: I don't own this. .
A/N: Well, I think I best address something because I've noticed it affects this chapter more than any other. I am indeed American. I write all of my HP fanfiction in UK standard English though, SO most of the misspellings you might see here aren't really... just deviances and differences from American standard English. I write in it a lot anyway, and sometimes speak in it, so I figured I'd make it official.
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"Potter," Malfoy warned as he sat down on the bike and turned his head to look at Harry, who had finally managed to bring himself to do so. "I am the FrontQuarter." Harry, who was just getting used to the idea of this proximity to the Malfoy heir, just getting used to the intensity of his distrust, the awkwardness of the situation, and his own revulsion and at the same time curiosity that their immediacy brought forth, was struck silent.
The FrontQuarter is a part of the broomstick that Qudditch players are taught to grab onto when about to go into a fast—and usually discouraged—dive akin to the Wronski Feint at a moment's notice and generally it was implicated that they sure as hell better hold on. Harry thought the last part to be the general picture of the message. This was what struck him silent, and silly too, for that matter. The thought of holding onto any bit of Malfoy for anything, even safety, was disturbing. Were he in a clearer mind, he would wonder how he'd gotten into his room or for that matter, back into the house he'd been locked out of. At least they'd let me get away with my prize, Harry thought. "Fine," he responded finally as the motorbike started. He was interested… how was it that Malfoy knew how to operate a muggle vehicle to begin with?
Now came the odd feeling of trying to find a place to put a hand on the boy. He reached out for the shoulder to steady himself, and found that wasn't… so bad. The fair-haired Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh and reached up, seizing either hand. This made Harry's heart pound quicker, expecting an attack he was at present not suited to handle. His hands were suddenly displaced, landing somewhere near his ribs. "Now hold tight," Malfoy chided, and the moment Harry tightened up—though he was struck uncomfortable as hell—he gunned the engine, and the force pushing him backward made Harry hold on all the tighter.
To Harry it was as if he was flying on a badly unbalanced Firebolt. He tried to fight the general feeling of cloudiness in his head for once, trying to examine how he felt about the situation. There was elation. Fresh air, he was almost as free as if he were flying. There was disgust, distrust for the snake being close enough to him to sink its fangs into him. There was curiosity as to why these two emotions were not stronger, almost as if they were hidden by something. Probably had too much to drink, he decided begrudgingly. He was surprisingly clearheaded and had the adrenaline to thank for washing most of his issues out of his system with the alcohol.
Of course, there was another option, that he simply didn't find Malfoy to be as bad a person as he once had.
From that point on he tried to ignore the contents of his head. Malfoy was travelling at insanely fast speeds, speeds that Harry knew were dangerous beyond all recognition and should have the police coming down upon them, not to mention them wrecking into the back of vehicles. Neither was the case. It seemed they always found the safest way through the sea of vehicles, almost as if by magic. That settled it. There were more enchantments than mere flight upon the vehicle and he was damn curious to find out what those were, exactly.
Harry Potter was a lot of things. To say he was a drunkard and a slob would as a rule be considered preposterous, even to his enemies. Draco, as he let the enchantment's magic guide his arms, was free to let his mind decide that it was certainly looking as if the boy had become or was on the road to becoming each. His shape was very unsightly, and the were—Remus, the ex-professor had said to call him—would dislike the sight of how bad off Potter had become. Draco didn't find it particularly alluring either.
Try as he might he couldn't deny that there were some particularly distressing emotions running around his mind. They were feelings he had expected, but found himself disdaining to an extent nevertheless. It was because he couldn't keep up the shields. At age fourteen, Draco had attempted something no one had ever succeeded, and he nearly had. Abandoning his true studies—and while his grades may not have suffered for this he truly had—he had attempted to teach himself Occlumency. How?
Blackmailing his father's most dangerous and least trustworthy ally with information he never should have used. What no one outside the Malfoy family knew is that the Dark Lord had dissension within his own ranks, a small group of lower grade Death Eaters that the Dark Lord never particularly met with, lead by two members of his inner circle, one a moderate Occlumens who his Lord had no reason to distrust, and the other, possibly the greatest Occlumens of all time. This man's name was Avery. He was but a year younger than their Lord and had been at his side all of his life, only visibly faltering during the Dark Lord's time of disposal. He had denied willingly working for Voldemort.
Avery had had a plan that Draco knew because his father had been part of it. In one foul move; a long, long ritual—things that no one had used when the Dark Lord had been at Hogwards—learned from Avery's grandfather, who had served under Grindelwald in his old age, Avery had planned to steal Voldemort's intense magical stores, and then lock him up permanently until he learned the source of the Dark Lord's apparent immortality, while capturing the title of Dark Lord for himself.
His blackmail had been stupid, he knew now. The only reason he had survived threatening to leak word to Macnair at the age of fourteen, was because of his name and his gumption. Avery had actually found something admirable within him. Draco had at the time, thought it a good thing. Now he wasn't sure it was something he cared to remember. A ton of books on Occlumency, some handwritten by Avery himself found their way to him throughout his fourth year. For two years now, he had been working and nearly pulled it off; a solid shield around his inner mind to help fend off the growing confusion of life.
Draco was jerked back into reality as the enchantment faltered, meaning there was some source of magic nearby, and to top that off, it was a powerful one, meaning not residual energy. It could mean only one thing; wizard was in the vicinity that wasn't on the bike. He felt the spell take solid control again and urged it onward with his mind and his emotions, looking over his shoulder to see if Potter noticed.
Saint bloody Potter's face was contorted, and for one appalling moment, Draco thought the Gryffindor would vomit. That fear quickly passed as he saw the look on Potter's face. It was pure, untainted pain. He gunned it, as he considered whether or not he could risk this.
Suddenly a flash of light flew over his head. It was green. Punching the button immediately as it passed by him, the bike suddenly turned nearly transparent, and so did its riders. The second button pushed brought him airborne. A spell came flying at them that Draco attempted to manually dodge, though he had not enough time. There was a sickening crack as the spell hit Potter, that emanated from somewhere on his midriff. Draco didn't know, didn't want to know what it was.
Harry, for his part, reeled in pain and held onto Malfoy for dear life. His whole world was rocked to the core as he felt the snap and pain ran through his body from the midriff to toe, back to his head. They were flying, and quickly now. His head spun as details about the situation vanished behind the veil of pain, and it was all he could do to focus on keeping hold of Malfoy, forgetting perhaps, exactly who the form in front of him was. Then something else happened. He, Malfoy and the bike, suddenly turned upside down. A spell or enchantment held them in place but it didn't stop gravity from pulling, sending fresh waves of pain through his body as something green flew by them. A moment later something else hit, this resulting in another snap within Harry's body, and Malfoy cursed. And so vanished Harry completely into the world of his pain, so completely that the rest of the journey was lost to him.
He was jolted back into reality an hour later. Malfoy was standing from the uncloaked bike, the alley they were in was dark and wreaked of a trap. To his surprise, when Malfoy stood, he didn't go for his wand but instead turned around and looked into Harry's eyes, calling loudly, "Potter, answer me, damn it!" He sounded as if he'd been trying to get Harry's attention for a long time, then. "Come on, you have to say something." Harry couldn't react for some reason. "Come on Harry!"
Jolting slowly back into a clearer head than he remembered leaving—and he had left it—that was only crowded by pain, he registered what Malfoy had called him; not Potter, but Harry. "Where are we?" he finally managed, confused and nervous. He wanted his head completely clear in this situation. He wish he could cast or something.
"Behind the motel, someone made a deal with the guy running it. As soon as we pick up the key to the room, he's going to put the bike in the back office." Draco now proffered his right hand to Potter. There was all the hesitation of a wounded lion—to the pleasure of Draco's irony centre—and it was all Draco could do to wait. Finally, seeming to deem him untrustworthy, Potter struggled and rose to his feet on his own. Sighing in defeat, Draco backed off. Did I expect anything different from the hard-headed lion?
He turned and strode off; throwing his hands up in aggravation so quickly that Harry nearly went for his wand. Harry for his part, wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Draco Malfoy was sulking. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his normal pace and fell behind Malfoy quickly. In his haze of irritation, Malfoy didn't notice and kept walking. Grunting against the pain, Harry continued the trek. The edge of the building wasn't that far away. By the time he made it, of course, Malfoy stood waiting for him. While still looking huffy, there was something that Harry might mistake for remorse there. "Sorry Potter," Malfoy said, restrainedly. "I forgot." There was an uncomfortable pause before the blonde gestured to a door. We're ground floor, room 10."
The motel, Harry notice, was small, two floors, and maybe thirty rooms on each floor, curling around in an U-shape. In the middle was the parking lot they stood in, a gated area around a swimming pool, and several plastic chairs lining he wall in between the doors to the first floor rooms. Harry followed Malfoy—who moved at a much slower pace—toward the room at the end of the wall closest to them. At this slower pace, Harry noticed that Malfoy seemed like a vial ready to burst from being overfull. He was clearly fighting hard to not break into a quicker movement, and Harry wondered why.
Until his memories came rushing back.
Shuddering and panting he stopped suddenly, leaning against the brick wall as he realized the amount of pain going through his ribs and back. Malfoy noticed and turned back. Fighting off the urge to match the blonde's gaze he stumbled forward, trying to ignore the pain that wracked his body. Room ten wasn't far from the front desk, but it felt like forever to Harry.
His companion reached it and slid the key in. Without carefully considering all of the possible results of his action, Malfoy threw open the door, only to be struck down a moment later. A man fell upon him, snarling, wand drawn and at Malfoy's throat. A call from the back of the room scolded the man, calling Malfoy "friend." That could only mean one thing.
Death Eaters.
Woefully unprepared, Harry drew his wand and began to back away. A face appeared in the doorway, and he stopped. Remus Lupin stood over the two untangling forms as Harry gazed at him. He didn't meet the professor's eyes. He wasn't sure what he might say, do, or feel if he did. "Come on, Harry, get inside." Hesitation broke against weariness, and he stumbled into the room, not missing Remus's worried look.
Snarling the moment the door was shut, Malfoy stood tall and pointed at one of the beds. "Lay down before you fall over, Potter." Harry felt a sneer rise to his face before he realized the boy was not insulting him but chiding him into taking care of himself, and whatsmore, the sneer was directed at a man in the back of the room, the man who had knocked Malfoy down. Harry wandered to the bed, wondering absentmindedly if Malfoy had used this Command on him. He sat, but did not lay down.
Malfoy gazed about the room regally. His first mission complete, he found a chair at the table in the room and sat, glaring at the form in the back. This form stood up and moved toward Harry.
Harry could now see the man. He was about Remus' age without as many grey hairs, and a long, thin scar moving from his hairline to at least the visible part of his neck, and likely beyond on the left side. There was something about this man that reminded him of Sirius, but at the same time, of Remus. Green eyes pierced his own green, and chestnut brown hair framed the face of a warrior. The more he examined the man, the more his comparisons became between he and Moody. Harry could see a slight haze over the man's face, though he didn't know what it meant, it was obviously magical.
"The boy's drunk," the man declared in an Australian accent. There was American in there, too. "Gonna have a nasty hangover in the morning, mate. That's what ya get for underage drinking unsupervised of course. I'd know, I got it plenty myself" And then very suddenly the joking vanished and he became once more like Moody in body and—expect for having both of his—eyes.
Remus opened his mouth to speak but this man raised a hand, and the professor stopped.
"Off with your shirt, boy," Harry blinked. "Come on, now!" There was an order in there, for sure. Despite everything about him saying to deny it, Remus' curious gaze was as good as a second command. With two people requesting it, for seemingly a good reason, he could hardly ignore this. Begrudgingly he lifted his shirt over his head, and heard several people hiss in response. He cried out in pain before the shirt ever unclouded his view as someone reached out and prodded his side, then his back.
"Broken ribs, been some damaged to his back, possibly his spine, broken ankle," That was why, Draco thought, "and he's bled recently from at least twenty places. Someone did a number on you boy." The man suddenly drew his wand and thrust it at Harry's skull, spitting out a spell. A slip of paper shot from the end of it into his outstretched hand. Despite the spell having come out sounding like a curse, Harry figured it was medical magic, by the fact that he was unharmed. "And he's got a very very minor concussion, meaning the only reason he made it here is because of his magic."
"We got attacked on the way over," Harry said, before an absolute roar of anger overtook his ears.
"Bullshit," Draco cried, standing. "You took two spells, maybe they're to blame for the back and the ribs, but you know well who did this to you, and it's not right! Open your damn mouth and tell them!" The blonde's hair flew wildly as accidental magic began to seize him, something that he had thought his father had beaten out of him at age four. A pot of coffee began to boil on the dresser, Remus stepped back as if in pain and even the man bent over Harry recoiled. The others in the room moved to one side to avoid it. "In the Wizarding world they'd be executed at dawn by hanging or curse, at least two of them!"
Shocked by the torrent of emotion being put out, Harry couldn't even form anger. "What?"
"It's his bloody bull of an uncle and his cousin who're doing it," Draco said, pointing at Harry. "You were about to let them go free! Are you stupid?"
"Shut up," Harry managed to say, gathering his anger.
"Now, boys, be quiet," Remus finally said. "Both of you." There was a silent pause.
"There's nothing we can do but let him heal, I know none of you have any medical talent, and the most I can do is set bones, medic stuff. I'm just someone that makes someone feel better as they die." Remus nodded in reluctance to the man bent over Harry in examination.
"With the current state of things…" Remus looked ruefully down. "We can't send for help from anyone. I'll owl Dumbledore when we get where we're going though."
"No!" Harry almost lunged off the bed, but was held still by his examiner. "Dumbledore doesn't deserve to know shit about me." The snarling Potter seemed to put a damper on the dingy room.
"Look," Draco said, softly as possible. "I'm sorry for pushing you. But they need to come to justice, violently."
"What would you know about Justice?" Harry spat.
"He'd know that he delivered his father and mother to the Ministry by hand one morning," Remus answered.
"I'd also know what it feels like to be in your position." Draco admitted quietly.
There was a reigning silence in the room once more. Finally the man drew back from Harry. "No more time for any of this," he grunted gruffly, reminding Harry more than ever of Moody. He drew from his pocket a wand which he brought out. "I'll do my best for your ribs, boy, but it won't be pretty." Thirty seconds of mind numbing pain later, the wand was away.
His ribs newly wrapped and set, Harry felt with every breath the constriction the wraps lay on him. Laid slowly back by the man over him, Harry tried to keep himself from becoming too disoriented. Remus approached, almost bashfully, as if afraid of what Harry might say or do and managed to get a set of covers around him.
"Harry," Remus said. "We're going to have to go now."
"This is true," the green-eyed man said, reaching into his pocket for something else. "Hurry up everyone."
"I've got to get moving with Auror Dearth now."
Harry nodded. So this man was an Australian Auror?
"Jayden Dearth, at your service," the gruff man said to him, as a manner of parting. Odd, Harry decided, since that was usually only said at the outset of a conversation or meeting. "Now move it everyone." The group gathered around him (some odd ten witches and wizards) and place a finger on the object in his hand. "1…2…"
"Take care of each other, you're the only ones who can," Remus called.
"3."
The group as a whole twitched, paused, and then vanished into light.
Head swirling, Harry gazed at Draco Malfoy, who was wandering over to the other side of his own bed. From there he found Hedwig's cage against a wall and lifted it up, setting it on the dresser beside another caged owl, a regal barn owl that Harry figured was his. After rummaging in another trunk lying between the dresser and table, he secured a couple of treats, which he gave to each bird, promising them real food soon.
Harry hadn't expected that kind of thing from a Malfoy of any sort. Malfoy was no longer showing particular fury, concern or weariness, just a cold, ice mask of a face, as if he had no emotion whatsoever. It was similar to the face worn by Snape some days. The blonde turned toward Harry and announced, "I am going to sleep and we can speak about all of this in the morning." Without another word, he moved toward his own bed and slid into it, closing his eyes and turning out the light closest to his bed after a moment of looking for a light switch, and finding a knob that he soon learned could be turned instead of flicked.
Harry reached over, slowly, and found his own light, then turned it off. Without a word—even though he thought he should have one on his lips—he closed his own eyes.
Draco woke first.
It was disorienting, after having spent so much time under the wards of Grimmauld Place, to wake up without that weight on him. He rolled over, found with disgust he was not in pajamas, but yesterday's clothing. Turning, he also found himself in an unfamiliar bed. The memories of the night prior hit him as he turned his gaze on Potter. Something radiated from deep within him, intensified by the nothingness that was accentuated by the fog of the day's first waking moments.
Pity.
Pity filled every bit of him, as the pool fought hard to freeze into a box of ice around his mind. The moments of morning were his worst enemies. He was most honest with himself when he was still under the slight haze of sleep. And it was telling him he pitied the form on the bed across the room more than anything he had ever pitied. Malfoys weren't supposed to have pity—if they had need of it, they were weak; this was Lucius Malfoy's saying—but he had long broken that and many of his father's other rules. Draco shuddered and wished desperately to trap it behind the ice walls that had not yet formed that morning, showing the incompleteness of his training as blood shows a wound.
Or bruises showed a beating.
Potter had literally changed skin colour in some parts of his body that were currently visible due to the state of the sheets he had been lying under the night prior, and the lack of a shirt. The Gryffindor's chest was rife with dark, nasty bruises, so much so that it looked almost as if he had been wearing a purple chest plate. It was only in this half light of the morning that Draco noticed another thing unnecessarily familiar to him. Marked on Potter's left shoulder was what looked distinctly like a round burn, like the tip of a wand searing the skin.
Again he waited for this sentimental mindset to disappear, shaking his head roughly. Potter was skinny as a rail, and had his ribs not been set, they would have been clear as hell. He lay there and continued to stare as thought after thought rose up within him, and suddenly he found his physical body not reacting to them, at his own whim. He pushed and felt the glacial barriers rise around his mind as his defences became established clearly. The one crack in the ice fortress was used as a slot to deposit some painful memories that had gotten loose in his mind.
The crack sealed. When he came to himself, he sighed.
At that exact moment, he caught sight of green.
Potter was awake.
Turning away quickly—he would be blushing were he to let his emotions get the better of him—Draco stood and moved to his trunk.
"Your eyes," Harry whispered.
Malfoy turned back to him, as Harry gazed intently at him. "What?" There was a strange lack of emotion on Malfoy's face, something he hadn't had when he'd erupted at Harry the evening before.
"Your eyes were so focused."
At that moment Harry tried to sit up, and cried out as pain ran through his body. His back cried out the loudest, screaming its protest through the nerves of his body. He didn't want to move, the pain shooting out like a spider web from some point just above the small of his back. He promptly fell onto the pillow, as he registered the other pains he had been receiving as well.
"So much for seeing you on your feet," Malfoy muttered, almost resignedly. Harry was still confused. Why would Malfoy actually care so much? "I'm showering," the blonde added, shaking his head as if as confused as Harry before vanishing into the adjoining bathroom.