Chapter 3

I'm sorry again. I had every intention of getting this out to you guys two weeks ago, but things have been crazy. It got half written before I got hit with a lot of homework (and hangovers.) But I put off my midterm papers to get this to you guys with the aid of lots of Taylor Swift and Leona Lewis (the music I only listen to when I'm sad.) I did get all your wonderful reviews, but I honestly haven't had time to respond. I will however get those out to you in the next few days. But, until then, just know that I appreciate your support and I'll answer all your questions and/or concerns.

Draco woke up screaming. He clawed at the hand on his forehead and writhed even while a persistent force tried to restrain him. His body shuddered and suddenly froze. There was a pressure against his shoulder and heavy panting against his neck. Then the pressure was gone and Draco was glancing into Harry's emerald eyes.

'I'm sorry about this,' Harry murmured, pushing Draco's hair away from his face. 'You need a bath. If I release the spell will you be able to bathe yourself?' Harry released just Draco's head and neck, and there was silence. 'Well? Can you bathe yourself?' Draco snarled at his completely emotionless face and dead, hollow eyes.

'Let me go, Potter.'

'Can you bathe yourself, Draco?' Harry repeated in the same, steady, irritating voice that seemed to exhibit infinite patience.

'I can bathe myself. I'm not an animal.' Harry sighed heavily and brushed his fingers across Draco's cheek before flicking his wrist and breaking the spell. Draco, now free to turn his head inspected the room.

He found himself tucked into a small bed with neat quilted blankets and embroidered pillows. A lumpy mattress sprawled lazily over a sturdy, oak frame. Worn wood floors were veiled with the occasional hand woven rug. The room itself was snug. There was a dresser, desk and nightstand that smartly matched the bed frame. It was comforting, warm, welcoming with the pale yellow walls and lace curtains. It was-

'What lack of class and taste. What is this? A rustic cottage? It more closely resembles a quarters hut, Potter.' Harry's face did not change or express any hint of displeasure or annoyance at Draco's words and Draco found that this enraged him. He was annoyed and more than a little afraid of this calm, even tempered vision. Potter had been many things in school, but he never was reserved or tranquil.

'Weasellette must love it. I bet she even designed this room. She probably demanded it right after you were married.' Draco sniped while trying to level himself off the bed. Harry only held up his hand showing his ring less finger. 'Not married them? Well, well, well, Potter. I never expected you would be one to live in sin.'

'Ginny and I are not a couple.' Harry said putting a gentle hand under Draco's shoulder, pulling the frail man to his feet where his knees sagged but did not fail.

'I don't need your help. Let go of me!' But harry did not let go and led Draco through an adjoined door into the bathroom.

'Will you be able to handle yourself?' Harry asked and there was no response. The door closed with a resounding boom and Draco jumped – frightened. Clay tiles were chill beneath his bare feet. Draco stumbled forward toward the white porceline bathtub which tapered down to animal claw legs. There was a toilet to his right and a sink to his left. Draco reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He quickly tossed on the ground. His hands dipped to his protruding hips, where he fumbled with the drawstring of his pants. They too fell into the pile. Draco shivered and rubbed at the goose pimpled on his arms. He slipped for a moment while he stepped closer to the tub. He stared at the faucet and the faucet stared back at him. Draco flicked at one of the knobs with a red 'H' imprinted on it. The metal rang lightly in the air.

'Water,' Draco announced. Nothing happened. 'Turn on.' Still nothing happened. And Draco waited, growing more panicked. A knock came upon the door and Draco started.

'Draco, are you alright in there?' Draco flicked at the knobs again, hoping it would spontaneously begin to flow.

'I'm fine. Go away.' But Potter, Draco discovered, was just as stubborn as ever.

'Do you need some help?'

'No, Potter, I'm fine.' There was a pause.

'I'm coming in. Cover up.'

'What? No!' But the door was already opening and Draco just had time to cup his balls before Harry was coming in. 'What do you think you're doing? Get out of here at once.' Harry ignored him knelt beside the tub. Draco watched, transfixed while Harry pulled up his leaves and twisted the hot and cold knobs in turn. The loud rush of water disturbed Draco and he shuffled back until his spine bumped against the wall. Harry tested the water before wedging and unfamiliar white object into the hole at the bottom of the tub. Harry glanced over at Draco as the tub filled, his hands still submerged in the water.

'Come on,' he nodded his head towards the tub. 'You'll catch cold.'

'I'm not bathing with you in the room,' Draco said immediately. Harry watched him for a moment before standing and drying his dripping hand on the front of his jeans. Draco found himself transfixed at the darkening hand prints. Harry rooted around in the cupboard beneath the sink for a moment. Harry righted himself and returned to the tub with a pale blue bottle which he mostly emptied into the tub. Draco watched as the blue gel spread through the water, leaving bubbles in its wake like a disease.

'A bubble bath,' Draco sneered incredulously. He tried to be harsh and insult Harry for his delicate sensitivities' that made him think a bubble bath was what he needed. Instead tears pricked unbidden from somewhere in the fathomless depths behind his eyes.

'Come on,' Harry ushered him toward the tub and Draco saw a gentleness in his eyes and came. Harry helped Draco into the tub, the bubbles pooping soothingly against his skin, hiding his malnourished body beneath the silky white veil of the bath. Harry reached for a wet sponger and wetted Draco's hair. A warm wave of water dribbled down his back and Draco shuddered. And then Draco was 5 years old again, a smiling child with chubby cheeks mismatched to a kinky, thin frame. And it was his nanny bathing him, calling him Master 'Bama and crooning to him in French. Harry was massaging shampoo into his hair and Draco was crying the teas blending in with the suds' that slid down his forehead and harry would chase with soapier hands.

'Lean back. It's ok, I have you.' And he did. Draco felt the pressure behind his neck that held his head above water while Harry's other hand raked through his hair. Draco stared into his eyes, but Harry did not return his gaze. Instead he watched the blond hair that floated on the surface of the water, just beneath the darkening suds.

'How old am I,' Draco asked. Harry took his time to respond, first lifting Draco out of the water to begin to wash his hair a second time.

'You're 20 years old, Draco,' Harry said, the gentleness gone from his voice to be replaced with that same lifeless tone.

'20 years old,' Draco repeated. But he wasn't, he was five and Harry was just another nanny who almost

(But never quite)

Loved him.

Again Harry asked Draco to lean back and rinsed out his hair again. This time the soap came out clean. Draco watched with more than a little concern as Harry reached for yet another bottle and began rubbing that into Draco's hair. Draco was so entranced for the rich smell of lavender that he didn't notice when Harry began to soaping his back.

'Hey! What do you think you're doing,' Draco shrieked, jerking away from Harry's hand, sending a wave of sudsy, warm water to break on the tile floor.

'I need to clean these scars before they get infected.' Draco felt hands move across his back and bit his lip and repressed a shudder. Magic tingled across his back, sticking together his torn skin and erasing the blooming purple bruises under his skin. Harry's hands sunk lower. Dipping beneath the lapping bathwater to wash Draco's lower back. Draco did shudder this time, his eyes slipping closed. It was, after all been a very long time since someone had touched him gently. Those hands moved up his back again, scrubbing his shoulders and down his arms, first the left then the right. Draco moaned lightly at the gentle caress and felt something stir in the depths of his stomach. There was moment of confusion before he panicked.

'Potter, give me the soap. I am perfectly capable of bathing myself.' There was a moment of hesitation where Harry continued to draw idol shapes across the bump at the nape of his neck.

'All right,' was the short answer. And then Harry's warm hands were gone and Draco wanted to beg for them to be back on his skin, working away the past years. Harry handed Draco the soap and leaned back on his heels. 'Well?' Draco scowled and grabbed at the soap, angrily scrubbing at his thighs, the way he had the few times he had been permitted to shower in Azkaban.

'You're going to hurt yourself,' Harry mused. Draco paid no attention until a gentle hand wrapped around his and slowed his furious pace. 'Alright?' Harry asked again, but Draco thought he could see some humor in his eyes. Draco swallowed and finished washing his legs and chest. Then there was a pressure behind his head and Harry was dipping him back in the water to rinse away the conditioner that smelled of lavender. Harry pulled on the chain connected to the odd white plug, there was a gushing sound and the water began to drain away.

'Come here,' he ushered, tugging Draco to his feet. Draco was only half away of his slightest of erections as Harry reached for the towels wrapping one around Draco's shoulders and the other one he preceded to washing him off with.

'Where are my cloths?' Draco said stupidly, looking for his soiled jersey and pants.

'They're gone.'

'What do you mean they're gone? Those were my cloths! I can't walk around in a towel.' Harry ignored him and contented himself with drying Draco's hair.

'You have new cloths,' he gestured over to the counter where a pair of slacks and a pale blue button down waited for him. Draco swallowed thickly.

'I can't wear those.'

'And why not?'

'Because they aren't mine, Potter,' said, nearly hysterical.

'Neither was your Azkaban issued attire.' Harry grasped Draco's hands, forcing the blond to look at him. 'These cloths are yours now, Draco. Everything I give you is rightfully yours and no one can take them away.' And Draco believed him. He berated himself for believing him, but he still did. 'There now, let's get you dressed.' Draco thought to protest for being treated like a child but found he didn't have the heart to and instead helped Harry dress him, thankful that his erection had subsided in his panic. Harry led him out of the bathroom and bedroom into a quaint kitchen.

'I would assume you're hungry?' Draco could only nod as Harry ladled soup into a plain white bowl. A door bang open and Draco glanced up to see George standing in the door way.

'Harry, a word?' Harry nodded and handed Draco soup and a spoon.

'I'll be right back,' he said, sweeping past Draco through a door that presumably led him out of the house. Draco felt fear settle into his stomach. The kitchen grew progressively more frightening without Harry. Still, he began to eat, the hot soup feeling exquisite on his tongue. He was hungry, oh, so hungry.

Then he heard it.

George said something angrily. Harry was pleading. Their voices grew louder, and Harry grew progressively angrier.

The spoon trembled in his hand and Draco felt his stomach churn, threatening to up ends itself at the slightest movement. Harry was screaming now, his words hard to discern.

Draco heard his scream from outside of himself, his ears disconnected from the mouth screaming. The chair fell out from under him and the soup slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor with the shattering of china. Draco screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Footsteps were approaching, but he couldn't stop. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and Draco could see blood running when where the broken china had cut his palms.

'Draco,' Harry was calling to him. But, like a man possessed, Draco couldn't stop himself from screaming. Then Harry was whispering something and the world melted away.

Another thing I should probably note is the party about Draco felling 5 again is a shameless lease from the Dark Tower, and in fact, does not have anything to do with our current president here in the U.S. So, reviews are love! And I will respond to them ASAP. Thanks for reading! Things will make more sense soon. Oh! Another reason this took so long is because I realized there is no way its going to be 5 chapters long, it will be at least 10, so I needed to change a lot of my notes.