*This* would be the crazy scary chapter. You have been warned.

Chapter 4: La Douleur yet Pulchra

Harry Potter was a self-proclaimed idiot.

Thinking over it in his mind, he realized that the appropriate retaliation for being asked to clean Dudley's room was not to yell obscenities at his Uncle. No, that had been a very bad idea. But how was he supposed to know that the walrus had a bull-whip? Come to think, where in the hell had Uncle Vernon found a bull-whip?

Harry had always known that his Uncle hated him. That he had anger management problems, and that he was pretty much a sadist. But this?

He remembered every single one of the three dozen strikes. On the first, he was in shock. Uncle Vernon had never really been this bad, not nearly this bad, so why now? By the third, he couldn't breath. He could feel the stinging, the blood that was dripping to the floor of the basement, were his Uncle had dragged him, muttering about not staining the carpet. If only he knew what he meant before, maybe he would have had a chance to run... At number six, he was praying for the strength not to scream. It would be considered weakness to scream, and Harry hated weakness, because weakness was what made his aunt and uncle hate him, and made him try and force his dull problems on others. However, at this moment he hated his Uncle even more. Nine, he was just praying. Would someone get him out of here? Did anyone even care any more? He started blacking in and out around twelve, the blood loss starting to get to him, but it was at eleven when he saw their faces.

Blaise and Draco.

They were the only people who Harry thought might care and so, for the rest of the slashes – the searing pain, the dribbling of blood, the feeling that his back was being torn apart – he imagined the thing he wanted most.

To be held.

Just to sit with someone – anyone, really – and be held. He had wanted it in the cupboard when his uncle had used the belt on him the first, at four. He had wanted it when Aunt Petunia screamed that she wasn't his Mummy, and that no one would want him near them, let alone to be his parent. He had wanted it when his Hogwarts letter came, and when he was in the Chamber of Secrets, and in the Graveyard, and when he'd lost Cedric…

And now Harry was hanging by his wrists in the basement. The basement. How clichéd was that?

He was taken down here around four or so… Harry estimated it was around five now.

Only two hours left, he encouraged himself weakly, fighting the pain that we still very much there. Surely Blaise and Draco will look for me…I hope.

"Is this it?" demanded Draco impatiently, nearly running to catch up with Blaise.

The Italian laughed, reaching back to ruffle Draco's hair playfully. The blonde scowled at him.

"Calm down, Draco. We'll be there soon." Blaise soothed, searching the dark street. Number ten, Number nine, number eight…

"There it is!" Draco suddenly cried, pointing at a house identical to the others around it.

Both of them couldn't help smiling as the noticed the place where Harry lived. Nice lawn, good paint job…but why did one of the windows have bars?

The boys exchanged a glance, then shrugged. It was probably nothing…but as they neared the home…

Both Draco and Blaise gasped simultaneously, doubling over as if they had been punched.

"What – what was that?" breathed Draco, looking around. Several nearby neighbours were looking at the boys curiously.

"I…I don't know…" said Blaise, glancing up and down the block warily. "An attack?" But it hadn't felt like an attack at all…

Both of them had to be on their guard; not just for themselves and Harry – just a few yards away! – but for the surrounding Muggles too. They couldn't afford to meet any stray Death Eaters here…

Draco shook his head. "Doesn't fell like it…it reminds me of that time…" but the blonde's voice trailed off at the memory, and he and Blaise looked at each other in horror.

Harry.

It took them less than five seconds until they were on the front step of Number Four, and both raised a fist and banged unceremoniously on the door.

No one answered.

"Maybe they're not home…maybe Harry's not here." Suggested Draco half-heartedly, wanting to believe it. "He could be in trouble somewhere else…"

Blaise shook his head. He wasn't one to beat around the bush. "No, we can feel him. He's here." And with that the Italian – shaking slightly from anger and feelings that belonged not to him, but to their Third – pulled out his wand and blew the door open.

Draco raised a brow as the red door fell down with a crash.

"Alohomora not fancy enough for you?"

There was a loud BANG from overhead, and Harry flinched, coming back into consciousness and wincing painfully. He had never hurt so bad; not Crucio, not Polyjuice potion, not even Basilisk venom. It was different. It was worse.

He knew it was either Blaise and Draco, coming to look for him, or his uncle. Both options made him want to cry, but he was too dehydrated to do so.

His voice had gone long ago, and Harry decided to save the rest of his energy. If they weren't able to find him…well, he didn't want to think of that.

"Where could he be?" Blaise wondered as they entered the normal-looking house.

Draco ran up the staircase, and Blaise heard him call Harry's name. No answer. Seconds later, the blond walked worriedly back down the stairs, shaking his head at Blaise's questioning look, and glancing into the kitchen while the Italian checked the living room.

Suddenly, both boys felt a stab of pain in their stomachs again, only worse this time.

"Harry's really hurt." Draco moaned when it had subsided. "What are we going to do? Where could he be hidden in a tiny house like this?"

Blaise nearly smiled at the almost-insult. He had to give Draco credit; he hadn't insulted Muggles once since they'd left the Manor, such was his worry for Harry. It was endearing.

"Perhaps an attic, or a basement?" Blaise suggested, rubbing his face with shaking hands. "I saw a door in the kitchen…it could lead to one."

Draco nodded, shivering slightly, and Blaise noticed that his characteristic Malfoy Mask was down. The dark-haired boy could see mostly fear for their Third, whom they hadn't even gotten to know yet, and anger on his behalf at whatever the Muggles may have done to him. Draco was beautiful like this, and Blaise's heart clinched at his own thought: I hope Harry gets to see him like this…

They crept through the eerily clean kitchen, and Blaise cautiously opened the door.

"Don't," he said, catching Draco's hand as he reached for the light switch. "If he's really…hurt, you could throw him into shock."

Not able to speak, Draco nodded.

"Harry?" he called softly into the darkness as he and Blaise started down the steps. "Are you down here?"

The next time Harry woke, he caught snippets of someone whispering: "Don't – you could – shock." And then another voice…saying his name.

Harry nearly sobbed. They were there. They cared enough to try and save him.

Or did they? What if…

But Harry shook his head firmly, making himself dizzy. He could worry about that later…he had to get enough strength to answer…just one word would do…

"Harry?" Blaise called softly as they felt their way to the bottom. It was really creepy, and pitch black. Almost unconsciously, he reached for Draco's hand, but stopped after a second. Harry didn't have anyone to hold his hand down here, and he was hurt, probably bad. Blaise shouldn't have that comfort until Harry did.

"Harry?" Draco whispered, feeling along the walls. "Are you down here?"

"Wait, Draco –" Blaise held out a hand to the other's nearly invisible chest. "I heard something…listen…"

It was quiet for a moment, then they both could hear shallow breathing.

Blaise felt his legs sag in relief, but he forced himself up, and they both moved in the direction of the breaths.

"Harry?" whisper Draco. "Are you –"

And from the darkness in front of them came an almost silent, "Help…"

Blaise didn't remember drawing his wand, or casting the soft Lumos. Draco didn't remember the pained gasp that he and Blaise seemed to breathe at once, but he did remember one thing. He would remember it forever.

Harry was hanging limply by badly bleeding wrists, his back a mass of bleeding stripes, and his head was lolled forward in an unnatural position. He looked…bad. His skin was the colour of parchment, his lips were bleeding, and he was thinner than could possibly be healthy.

"Draco…hold him…I'll – cut the ropes…" Blaise whispered brokenly, and Draco moved mechanically forward, bracing his hands carefully under Harry's arms. He noticed that the raven was terribly skinny – his ribs were clearly visible and, when Blaise severed the roped binding Harry's hands and the boy slumped forward onto Draco – he must have weighed around ninety pounds.

As the Italian carefully untied the ropes, Draco realized that Harry's shoulders were also hurt; being tied to the ceiling and only about five foot five, his toes had barely scraped the floor…

A moan brought both boys' instant attention to him, and Harry opened an eye slowly.

They had come for him. They were really, really, there. Because they cared.

Harry realized it in that moment, looking into their terrified faces. The sentiments were true, the promise was true; they did want to care for him, care about him…

Love him.

He had to make them feel better. Their faces showed nearly as much pain as his, but for a much worse reason.

"'M okay," he murmured gently, smiling and causing his lips to crack and start bleeding. Draco and Blaise's presence seemed to make him feel stronger, and he continued just over a whisper, "Jus' stinez a bit." He promised, trying to keep his eyes open as Draco's pale face swum in and out of focus.

"Harry..." Draco nearly cooed, not trying to hold back tears, brushing away the drop of blood from his lip.

Blaise smiled softly, but he pointed his wand at Harry and said, "Somno...Pulchra."

"What did you do?" Draco demanded as Harry's eyes dropped and he went limp again.

"It'll be easier if he sleeps," informed Blaise. "He won't hurt anymore, and by the time he wakes up, he'll be healing."

Draco grimaced – he had wanted to hear Harry talk, to make certain that he was really alive – but he knew it was better for Harry this way. He cast a stasis charm on Harry's back to stop the stripes from bleeding so much, but he knew he couldn't do much else with only a wand...

"How are we going to get him back, though?" wondered Blaise. "We can't Apparate...or Floo..."

"We'll use a Portkey." Informed the blonde, brushing hair out of the raven's face gently. "Any other way is too slow or would hurt him."

The Italian frowned. "But unauthourized portkeys are illegal."

Draco raised a blood-stained eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

One look at Harry, and Blaise said, "No. It doesn't."