Update: Chapter's One and Two have been updated. No major plot changes; just thought I'd clean up the prose a bit and make it more consistent with the rest of the chapters. Any questions, feel free to send a pm.
Notes: Thank you all so much for your continued support, especially those who continue to leave comments and reviews. You know who you are!
oOo
Warnings: language, violence, abuse, m/m mature content, dark topics; trigger warning for non-consensual/assault towards the end of this chapter.
Chapter Ten, Exit Wounds
Draco was reluctant to admit to this, but Potter's resilience was astounding.
It was Friday afternoon in the training room and they'd started their offensive-combat training a few hours prior. On the agenda, Auror Savage was teaching them how to effectively dodge and cast a spell simultaneously, and it was proving to be a lot more difficult than Draco had initially anticipated. None in his cohort had attempted the maneuver and been successful at it, although Potter was getting pretty close.
That being said, Draco knew that Potter wasn't faring well, however much his skills in the training room seemed to be saying otherwise. It was hot in there, and sticky. They had all opted to shed their cloaks in an effort to keep cool, but it wasn't helping. It also wasn't helping Potter none that his shoulder wound was still healing, and judging by the grimace etched on the man's face, the wound had become inflamed. Of course, it wasn't slowing the man down; he threw himself at every opportunity to prove himself, and the result? A very irritated Draco because, at the rate he's going, Draco's small stock of Essence of Dittany would run out, and Potter would be left with another horrible, well-deserved scar.
Draco pulled himself away from his dark thoughts, twirling his wand through his fingers as he watched the following scene unfold. The newly established Aurors from the previous year had joined them for practice, providing the four of them—Draco, Potter, Thomas, and Weasley—with some fresh faces to train with. Up next at the 'front of the class' was Potter and Weasley and though normally Draco would've been thrilled to see what would happen between them, there was no way in knowing how Potter would react to another confrontation with Weasley. Potter's magic seemed to be so in sync with his bloody emotions that practically anything could set him off. And remembering the events of last Tuesday, there was a great chance of it happening again.
The training room had gathered; a small, sweaty audience had formed to watch. Savage was adjusting their positions: Potter would be the one running adjacent to Weasley's location, after which Weasley would direct his spell at Potter, who would then try to dodge and cast in retaliation. Simple, really.
"On my count," Savage drawled. "Three, two…" He sent a spark of red in the air to indicate 'one'.
Potter sprinted off, his black shirt, which always seemed to be a size too big for him, flapping around his torso. Weasley raised his wand and directed a stunner at him. Potter ducked and raised his shield in reflex.
"No, Potter! Shields are not allowed during my lessons. Do it again!" Savage shouted, massaging his temples.
Draco distinctly heard the mumbled words, 'It was instinctual,' as Potter walked back to the starting point, wiping away sweat from his forehead. The raven-haired man got into position once again and nodded.
"Three, two…" Another shower of red sparks.
Potter took off again, his rapid footsteps echoing throughout the room. His shirt whipped around his body. Weasley sent another stunner in his direction. This time Potter used his momentum to slide forward, casting his own stunner back at Weasley. Unfortunately for Potter, he slid too late and Weasley's stunner hit him on the side of the torso. Potter was flung sideways and tumbled across the hard ground. Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That didn't look too good; Potter had landed on his shoulder.
"Wrong again, Potter! Keep your eyes on the wand hand. It'll tell you everything! Do it again!"
Draco stopped himself from blurting out something he'd regret. Couldn't he see how injured Potter was?
Potter grimaced as he collected himself off of the ground and walked back to the starting point. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white on the hold of his wand.
Savage didn't bother counting down. The red sparks were thrown up and Potter dashed off. His steps where altered as if he were trying hard not to limp. Weasley sent his stunner for the third time. Potter slid, sending his own spell back and successfully avoiding the attack. Weasley dodged, too, and sent off a disarming spell. Potter, having been caught by surprise, only just managed to dodge away from the spells trajectory. He visibly bristled and turned back to Weasley, raising his wand.
Draco could feel it, small at first but growing steadily stronger: Potter's magic, agitated and frenzied. Draco tensed. The former friends were now battling without restraint. Draco thought of stepping in, to save Potter's idiotic arse. It would only be a matter of time before the other's found out about Potter's uncontrolled magic. Did he really want to be kicked out of the program?
"Enough!"
Savage's command did nothing to stop them.
Potter, even in his injured state, somehow gained the upper hand. He disarmed Weasley, the wand flying out of the blood-traitors hand. But Potter didn't stop there. He sent a warning spell near Weasley's feet, making him step back. Weasley looked outraged. Potter sent another one, and another one, ignoring Savage's commands to stop.
Draco had just taken a step forward, but Savage acted first. Potter's wand came flying out of his hand and he turned furiously to see who had cast it away.
"Potter, what the hell is the matter with you!" Savage demanded.
Potter's lips thinned, his eyebrows furrowed in deep frustration.
"I expected better from you, Potter. Do not come back to my lessons until you're ready to train properly. You're dismissed. Same goes for you, Weasley. Get out of my sight."
Potter opened his mouth as if to say something, but he shut it closed. Draco could just make out the shaking in his shoulders. The top of his black shirt was damp and Draco had the suspicion that it wasn't all sweat. Potter went to pick up his wand and left the room. Weasley followed soon after.
"Malfoy, you're up!" Savage barked.
Draco didn't care that he was admitting it—but he was worried. Just as he came to the conclusion that he'd much rather check to see if Harry was alright, he got into position. The red sparks went up.
oOo
"Heard what happened yesterday," Oliver said to Harry the following day. He moved Harry's wand arm to a proper defense position, his hands lingering to steady him.
"Did you?" Harry sighed. It hadn't been his proudest moment, he had to admit. But what could he do about it now? He'd lost control of himself and he reflected on how often that seemed to be happening. He really needed to get a hold of his magic and soon. He gnawed on his lip for a second before saying, "Got carried away, I suppose."
Oliver nodded in sympathy and moved away. Malfoy stood a few yards in front, facing Harry. Their task for the day was simple. Partners would be battling against each other (on orders, this time). One of them would be acting in offense and the other defensively, all the while incorporating the defense techniques Oliver had been teaching them over the last few weeks. It was Harry's turn to be defense. Ron and Dean, whom Harry was carefully avoiding contact with, were doing the same thing at the opposite end of the room.
"Are you ready, Scarhead?" Malfoy asked him, an eyebrow cocked in challenge. Harry fought his urge to smirk. They'd been teasing each other with names all afternoon and though Harry knew that it bordered on immaturity (and some level of weirdness since it all lacked the usual venom), he was enjoying every second of it. After all, he had no one else to joke around with for the past month. Harry found himself telling the quiet voice of his conscience to kindly 'fuck off'.
"I'm always ready, Ferr—" Harry flung his shield up just in time for Malfoy's powerful Reducto curse. Instead of getting angry for that foul move, Harry grinned and let out a laugh. "You've got to try harder than that."
Malfoys lips twitched upwards and he obliged, sending another Reducto and an Expelliarmus in his direction. Not having time to marvel at Malfoy's speed, Harry raised his shield and followed it with a modified version of a rebound spell; it would have worked in his favor if Malfoy hadn't been expecting it and offered his own reflection spell as a counter. Harry managed to dissipate it, mid-way.
They went on like that until evening, switching roles every so often. Harry's hair, as usual during training, was damp and clinging to the sides of his face. He ran a hand through it to keep it out of his eyes. Occasionally, Oliver would offer advice and new spells for them to practice and soon enough it was time to go home. Harry and Malfoy, however, continued their game of cat and mouse, reluctant to break their concentration. Harry was defense again and he darted across the room, through various obstacles, trying to keep the blonde at bay. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of red, Ron's hair, disappearing through the doors. Idiot, he thought with a flash of annoyance. The moment was enough to distract him and Harry, who was just about to jump over a solid hurdle, was caught in the back by Malfoy's jinx. Harry flew forward, his wand flying out of his hand, and landed hard on the ground
Harry coughed as the wind was knocked from his lungs and he turned slowly onto his back to better catch his breath. "Ow…" That hurt. He took in another breath.
Malfoy appeared above him, blurry, and Harry lifted his hand to find that his glasses had gone flying somewhere, too. He let his hand fall back to the ground.
"Potter, I've never seen anyone with less grace than you. It's admirable."
"Fuck you," Harry said. He closed his eyes, feeling his muscles aching from the onslaught of training. Maybe he'll stay at Headquarters for the night. He didn't think he had the energy to make it back to Grimmauld Place. There was the sound of footsteps retreating and coming back to him. When he opened his eyes it was to find Malfoy offering back his wand and glasses. He mumbled a 'thanks' and accepted them.
"How are you feeling?"
Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, having never heard Malfoy ask such a thing before. The blonde's cheeks went a bit pink, but that could've been from their training.
Malfoy motioned his head to the side so as to remove the stray platinum blond strand that had fallen in front of his eyes and said tentatively, "What I meant by that is… did you hurt your shoulder again?"
Embarrassed for a reason he didn't quite know, Harry sat up and shook his head, securing his glasses back on his face. "No, your Dittany has been helping a lot. Thanks for that, by the way…for yesterday…" Malfoy had managed to find him in the infirmary the night before after Savage had dismissed him from his lesson, with a fresh vial of Dittany. Out of all the things that Malfoy was being lately, thoughtful was something Harry didn't think he could get used to.
Malfoy didn't say anything after that. He leaned against the hurdle that Harry had tripped over and they trailed off into silence. After a moment, Malfoy summoned a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
"Not that it's any of my business," Harry observed, leaning back with his hands on the ground behind him, "but that can't be good for your health."
"You're right," Malfoy agreed.
"I am?"
"Yes. It's not any of your business."
Harry rolled his eyes and Malfoy honored him with a smirk, exhaling the smoke in an elegant cloud above him. Harry glanced down at his thighs, feeling heat pooling in his cheeks for some reason or another. To distract himself, Harry stood up and dusted his hands off.
"I can feel it, you know."
"What?" Harry asked, alarmed and wondering if Malfoy had felt whatever feeling Harry had felt just a second ago.
"Your magic. The force of it," Malfoy said quietly, his silver eyes locked on his. "It's too much for you isn't it?"
Harry swallowed but didn't look away. Of course he knew. Malfoy had been there on all the occasions that his magic had gotten the better of him. But should Harry be worried? Would Malfoy tell Robards how much of a problem it was and get him kicked out of the program? He panicked. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Malfoy didn't roll his eyes, but he might as well have for the expression that crossed his face. "Don't insult me by pretending that nothing is the matter with you. It's so bloody obvious; you're screaming for attention."
"What?!"
"I said—" Malfoy began.
"I am not!" Harry said, affronted.
"You're not? Is that why you were so blatantly losing control of yourself in front of the entire Headquarters yesterday?"
Harry reddened. "I-I wasn't thinking…not everyone's perfect for fuck's sake…"
"If only the Wizarding World would believe that," Malfoy replied, looking away.
Harry was just about to retort, thinking that Malfoy was taking a jibe at his status, before realizing he might not be referring to Harry at all. Harry pursed his lips and they fell once more into silence.
Malfoy took another long drag before turning back to Harry. "I can help."
"What?" Harry asked.
"Seriously, Potter. This hearing problem of yours—"
"Why would you want to do that?" Harry interrupted. "What would you get out of it? What would you want in return?"
There was a hint of impatience on Malfoy's face when he flicked his cigarette on the ground. He crushed it with his most-likely-Italian-leather-inconvenient-for-training-soled shoe. "Maybe I just want to help, Potter. Is that so fucking hard for you to understand?" He'd said this in a rush, no longer looking in his direction.
Harry considered the offer, as strange as it was, chewing on the bottom of his lip. Finally he blinked and sighed. "How do you know you'll be able to help? Hermione hasn't even been able to figure it out. And you saw how dangerous I can get. I'll end up hurting you in some way or another."
"Granger relies on books for her answers. I get mine through experience," Malfoy said simply. "I can help you control your magic. Simple spells, a few potions. You'll get a proper hold of that power in no time."
Harry stared incredulously, not daring to believe…not allowing himself to believe that Malfoy was telling the truth. He ran through all the different possible motives behind the offer. Was it to get Harry into a life debt? Or to poison him when Harry least expected it? Harry frowned. Those all seemed too juvenile of a reasoning. So then, what? Was he telling the truth? Was he really simply just trying to help? Harry considered it. He'd finally have a hold of his magic. No more outbreaks. No more loss of control. Harry could feel the tension inside of him build up; the swirling of barely contained magic. He studied the blonde who was now patiently waiting for a response. Was that nervousness Harry felt emitting from the other man? Malfoy was unconsciously pulling down the sleeves of his shirt, not once having rolled them up even through the heat of the training room. Then Harry thought it might not be such a bad idea after all. He nodded.
"Alright," Harry said finally.
It was Malfoy's turn to stare incredulously. "Alright?"
Harry bit back a smile. He nodded again. There was only another moment of incredulous staring before Malfoy broke into one of his rare smiles. Not having ever been at the receiving end of such a sight, Harry's breath caught.
"Potter, you've just won yourself a private tutor. We'll meet tomorrow, study room Six." With that, Malfoy strolled away, leaving Harry to wonder what the fuck he just got himself into.
Despite his aching muscles and throbbing injuries, Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place that night with his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long while. The fact that it might've been Draco Malfoy, his longtime rival, who had brought on the feeling was being carefully ignored, as was the voice telling him that he'd regret his decision come tomorrow.
Despite all of this, Harry was smiling to himself when he entered the kitchen, and was then startled to find that someone was already there, sitting at his table. He felt the smile slide off his face.
"Hermione…what, erm, what are you doing here?"
Hermione must have noticed Harry's quick change in mood and she looked nervously down at the table, before glancing up at him again. She tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear and explained, "I just came for a visit."
Harry's jaw clenched and he grew unreasonably annoyed. "Couldn't have visited me any other day in the last three weeks could you?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself, and so it came out sounding harsher than he'd intended. He turned away from Hermione's expression and started on making tea.
"I was busy with Healer training, Harry," she replied, successful in not letting her words sound like an excuse. Harry bit down his guilt. "I'm sorry I couldn't…visit sooner," she continued. "How are you holding up? How is your magic?"
"Fine," Harry told her as he prepared two cups of tea. He handed her a cup before leaning on the counter and taking slow sips out of his. "I'm taking care of it. What about you? How's training going?"
"That's good. My training is going well, also," Hermione said, and she elaborated on the past few weeks of her training that Harry had missed out on: how her internship with one of the best Healers in Britain (a really handsome man, apparently) was going and how they had offered her a position in the Spell Damage department and also in the Artifact Accidents department for when she finished her basic training, because she was really good at detecting tampered-with muggle artifacts, but Hermione hadn't made any promises yet; she reckons it would be to her advantage if she broadened her exposure in the different fields before coming to a decision and settling on one. All the while Harry listened patiently, watched as his best friend talked; he smiled and laughed when it was called for, nodded when Hermione directed a statement towards him…all the while he tried to ignore the unspoken issue between them. The rift that Harry was beginning to see because there can't be one without the other and would it ever go back to how things were before? Just the three of them?
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Looks like I've talked your ear off again," Hermione said, setting down her long since empty cup on the table before her. "I just haven't seen you in ages is all." A small, sad smile formed on her pink lips.
"Yeah, ages…"
She stood. "It's getting late. I should probably go…"
"When will you visit again?" Harry asked, hearing the hope that had slipped into his voice.
It was a small movement, tiny. The smallest crease in her eyebrows; the flash of conflict behind her gaze and Harry understood. He looked down, placed his empty cup on the table—it shook in his hand.
"He's gone too far…" Harry said under his breath, his anger and magic bubbling inside of him.
"Harry. Harry, he hasn't…Harry, wait!"
Harry only half registered Hermione shouting for him not to go as he left the kitchen and entered his sitting room. His fist clenched tightly. So is that what Ronald was doing now? Trying to convince Hermione not to speak to him again? Is that how far he's willing to go? He barked his destination when he threw the Floo powder in the fireplace, and appeared in the living room of the Burrow a few seconds later. He didn't bother to dust himself off, and he didn't bother to answer the alarmed questions of the Weasley parents—who were sitting on the couch—before he began to climb the stairs.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice came from the fireplace.
When he entered what was once their shared bedroom during the summers, he had to pause. Little had changed: there was still a poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall, faded, and peeling at the corners. The window was wide open, the night air drifting lazily inside. There were still two small twin beds, one at each end, their blankets folded neatly on top. A desk had been added in the middle of the room and Harry had to wonder how it had fit in there in the first place.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Harry glanced to the only corner of the room that didn't hold furniture, where Ron was standing and staring at him with a fixed glare. Harry swallowed and tried to collect himself from the nostalgia at seeing the old room. He opened his mouth and said with as much calm as possible, "I know there is some unresolved issue between us, Ron, and I honestly don't even know how we've let it come this far but I will tell you this only once: Hermione is as much a part of my life as she is yours so don't you dare try to convince her otherwise."
Ron stood still, drinking in his words, the tips of his ears and the top of his neck slowly reddening as it did whenever he was growing angry. "You think…," he started and stopped, shaking his head, his eyebrows creased in a harsh line. "If you think that I would ever stoop so low as to do something like that then it's a miracle we've remained friends for this long."
Harry blinked and tried to look as though that statement hadn't hurt him as much as it had. "Then tell me why it's been weeks since I've last seen her, as if this hasn't driven her to choose between us—"
"It's not like you've made yourself available for fuck's sake! You drove her away, you drove us all away, like you always do, Harry. Don't blame Hermione if you're the one who's not letting anyone in. If she doesn't want to see you, then she probably has a valid reason. As do the rest of us! Either way, I'm not going to sit around and wait for you. And neither is Hermione!"
"You know what? Fuck you. You can't take her away from me! You shouldn't—does our friendship mean that little to you?"
"Now that I've come to think of it, you don't even deserve our friendship anymore! Especially since you've started to hang about with that fucking Death Eater!"
Harry's blood drained from his face. "You…" Harry stopped, feeling his shoulders start to shake. "How dare you…" There was movement at the entrance of the room.
"Harry."
Harry didn't need to turn around to see who it was. He raised his hand and forced the door closed with his magic. He ignored the yelling behind it. Ron for once looked uneasy and Harry felt a sick satisfaction at seeing his best friend that way. "You can say anything you want about me, Weasley. But don't you ever say anything about him again."
"What?" Ron said with an incredulous, crazed laugh. "Do you even hear what's coming out of your bloody mouth, mate?! Do you remember the Malfoy we're talking about here? The one who made your life hell for seven years? Death Eater, who nearly killed Albus Dumbledore? Who nearly killed us all in the Room of Require—?"
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, Ronald. You don't know anything!"
"I know enough to say that you've gone completely mental!" Ron said harshly.
The next few seconds passed as though in a blur. Harry flew forward, trapping Ron against the wall and swinging his fist. The walls around them shook. Ron was just as quick to react and Harry felt something collide with the side of his head. If Harry were to look back on this moment, as the both of them struggled to gain the upper hand, he would think that it was a good thing that neither of them had reached for their wands, because as much hate as they were feeling in this small space of time, their frustration was much better expressed through their fists; and after everything was over, Harry could go on believing that things would go back to normal, to what they once were before life had gotten so complicated. Neither of them noticed, as they wrestled against the wall, that the poster that had hung in their room for years, had finally unstuck, had fallen, drifted to the ground, the folded edges waving slightly in the breeze of the open window.
oOo
Draco recalled the times he had ever felt happy. Genuinely happy. There'd been many of them when he was little, when his parents had still been there. When they'd gotten him his first broom, for example. Or when they'd all gone to Italy on a whim because Draco had really wanted gelato before the summer ended. And there'd been some happy moments in the first years at Hogwarts, too, though those were sometimes hard to remember. Lately though, there wasn't anything that Draco could look forward to, and there was much less that could bring a genuine smile to his face. Which is why it was such a wonder to him, as he made his way home from training that evening, that the corner of his lips remained tilted slightly upwards.
He tried to blame it on anything else. On the fact that he'd successfully disarmed Potter during their practice battle. Or on the fact that Katherine was able to restock the lost ingredients in his potions lab. But, no. The fact remained that Potter had accepted his help today. Despite Draco's past, despite all the shit that has happened between them, he had accepted. And this small step forward meant more to Draco than he dared to admit.
Soon enough he arrived in front of the tall gray building that was his flat and he walked up the stairs that led to his rooms. When he opened the front door, he froze. The smile quickly slipped from his face.
"Pansy."
"Draco." Pansy Parkinson stood in the middle of the room and she turned towards him quickly, a look of guilt and warning on her face. In her hand she held a small glass filled with what he hoped was alcohol. Draco held back the urge to slap it away from her fingers.
"Drake. Bit early for you to be coming back home, isn't it?" Blaise asked from his casual sitting position on the couch. A bottle of Ogden's rested on the coffee table in front of him.
Draco swallowed his rising anger and schooled his features into the mask he usually wore. He closed the front door behind him and ignored Pansy's stare. He directed his question at Blaise, "Thought Borgin's was open late today?"
"I managed to leave early. Had to, since dear Miss Pansy here had an urgent message for me," he sneered and looked her up and down. Draco glanced at her too, finding it hard not to be annoyed at what she'd gotten herself into. Pansy winced and tried to seem apologetic.
"Well if you're done," Draco reached out a hand for her to take.
"Ah, don't rush, Drake. We'd just been about to have a drink. Why don't you join us," Blaise said.
"No, thank you. I'll walk you out," he directed at Pansy.
Blaise stood up then and walked up just behind Pansy. His gaze never wavered from Draco's. A small sadistic smile formed at the corner of the other man's lips when he laid a hand on Pansy's shoulder and if he hadn't been so close to her, Draco would've hexed him for the nerve.
"I insist," Blaise said dangerously.
Draco weighed his options. Either he could blast the bastard and risk hurting Pansy also, or he could give in to the man's sick games. Either way, neither would end without one of them getting hurt. With an internal sigh he came closer to the pair and, keeping his gaze locked on Blaise, took the glass from Pansy's hand and drank the liquid without a second's hesitation. He shoved the small glass towards Blaise's chest. Blaise took it, and Draco ignored the grin that was spreading on the other man's face. Quickly, for he felt his insides beginning to burn, Draco grabbed Pansy's hand and led her to the door.
"Draco," she started.
"I'll owl you," was all he said as he pushed her gently out of his flat and closed the door on her anxious face. He left his hand on the door for support, his breathing growing labored. Fuck. The world was drifting, tilting, and Draco tried to fight the effects of the mild poison. He recognized the smell. Asphodel. Lovage. A disorienting draught? "Zabini, you sick fuck." He stepped away from the door and it was as if his limbs weren't his own anymore; they were lethargic. His strength seemed to have diminished to something equivalent to that of a child. Draco remembered now. A simple potion that Severus had shown him years ago, draining the strength of the drinker. What exactly had he been planning to do with Pansy with her in this state? He thanked Merlin that he'd gotten there just in time.
"Just wanted to make things a little fun for Pansy and I," Blaise said with a malicious smirk, before stepping forward and tugging Draco harshly towards him. Draco, not being able to catch his balance in time, fell into him. "You know what she did, Drake? She actually had the nerve to threaten me because she says that I don't treat you right." He laughed as he held on to Draco. "But you arrived just in time. Wouldn't have wanted to fuck that bint anyway."
Anger surged through Draco and he pushed Blaise away with all his draining strength but he stumbled back against the wall and before he knew it, he was trapped. Blaise crashed their lips together and Draco gasped when the other man ground his hips hard against his own. Draco struggled again, but his muscles burned, and his mind was foggy. He felt for his wand but Blaise was restricting his movements. He began to panic. He laid his hands on Blaise's chest and pushed with all his strength. I don't want this.
"Let me go," Draco heard himself say vaguely when they pulled apart. He urged himself to say more but his throat had become useless. I don't want this, he might've said this out loud.
"Are you sure about that?" Blaise asked, reaching down between them and palming the front of Draco's trousers. "You seem to be enjoying this as much as I am."
Draco could hear the laugh in his voice. The twisted smile against his lips. Draco's eyes closed, his heart thumping unnaturally in his chest, and he found he couldn't speak anymore. He breathed with difficulty, and he made no sounds of ascent. He tried again to push him away, grabbed Blaise's wrist which had snuck under his shirt and beneath his waistband, despising the burning touch that they left on his skin. But he had no strength left. His clothes were torn away; he was exposed. When his knees buckled, Blaise held him against the wall, held him by his legs, his waist, his neck; he was shaking when Blaise entered him. He tried again to pull away, and cried out at the unbelievable pain that came next. He bit the insides of his cheeks, clenched his lips together to not give in.
"You don't know how much it turns me on to see you like this, Drake," Blaise breathed into his ear. "Powerless."
Draco's insides churned in disgust. When he was placed on the floor, Draco moved away and he reached for the glass bottle that had been placed on the coffee table. His ankle was grasped and he swung the glass with all his remaining strength. Blaise growled in anger as it shattered at his shoulder and just as quick, Draco felt a heavy fist slam against his temple and his vision wavered. He fought to stay awake. His wrists were grasped and placed over his head and the pain in his lower body returned but it was dull. Numb. He drifted.
When he regained consciousness, he was alone. The room was silent. His skin had grown cold. With an unpleasant lurch Draco twisted onto his side, his stomach emptying itself onto the floor. He dry heaved for minutes after, his body shaking in pain and shock.
When the tremors subsided, he looked for his wand.
He redressed.
He left.
oOo
Harry didn't know where exactly he'd apparated to. His mind had sort of been preoccupied when he stormed away from the Burrow. But his surroundings were strangely familiar, as though he'd been here once but couldn't remember when. The moon was high above, illuminating a tall, gray, building that lay before him. He didn't linger for too long. His muscles ached. And he could feel the fresh bruises on his face from his fight with Ron, along with all the rest he'd gotten from training. He sighed and followed the sidewalk down the road. He figured he'd officially fucked up his relationship with the Weasley's but for now he didn't want to be bothered by it too much. He had his magic to think about and he didn't fancy another outburst in the middle of god-knows-where. Maybe they could forgive him sooner or later. He rubbed at his face and hair in frustration.
The sidewalk eventually led him to a small park which was empty considering how late it was in the evening. He strolled down past the trees, his hands buried deep the pockets of his jeans to shield him from the cold. He soon passed an occupied bench, not fully paying attention to the hooded figure that was sitting there. He did a double-take, however, when a flash of platinum blond hair caught his eyes.
"Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously. It was indeed Malfoy who was sitting there in a black hooded jumper and loose bottoms. Harry's eyebrows furrowed when it took Malfoy exactly five seconds to meet his gaze. His eyes were unnaturally dark and thoroughly unfocused as they tried to meet Harry's. "Malfoy, what…are you alright?" Harry came closer and felt his stomach drop at seeing the state of Malfoy's face. He couldn't make it out too clearly, since it was dark and the streetlights were dim, but the side of Malfoy's face was definitely swollen. Harry tried to recall if he'd seen that at the end of training earlier but he was sure Malfoy hadn't been injured then. His mouth was bruised and several scratches lined his pale, pale face. Harry immediately reached to take a hold of him, but froze as Malfoy winced terribly and stumbled further into the bench.
"No…"
"Malfoy," Harry pulled back, his worry increasing by the second. "It's me. It's Potter."
"Potter?"
"Yeah. Yeah, remember me? Harry Potter," Harry said, scrabbling at the reasons why Malfoy would be in such a state.
"Harr…of-of course I remember you," Malfoy said, clearing his throat and glancing around him as if he were just noticing exactly where he was. His eyes remained unfocused, and Harry detected the small tremors running through the young man's body. When Malfoy said nothing more, Harry came closer. Malfoy quickly glanced at him and Harry stopped his advance.
"Why don't I take you home?" Harry offered. He knew he'd said the wrong thing when a flash of panic passed through those dark gray eyes. "My home, Malfoy. I meant…Would you…Would you like to come back to my place?"
It seemed that Malfoy was considering it, but it was hard to tell since he still looked disoriented. Either way, Harry did not want to take no for an answer. He wasn't going to leave Malfoy alone in this state. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was given the smallest of nods. Harry was about to take another step forward, thought better of it, and extended an arm. "I need you to take a hold of my arm. I'll apparate us back to Grimmauld Place."
Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, stood up with a fair amount of difficulty and reached a hand slowly towards him. He slipped it in between Harry's elbow and without a seconds more hesitation, Harry disapparated.
The second they arrived, Malfoy's hand slipped away and he stepped back, swaying on the spot. He looked too pale, too sick, and the injuries didn't look any better under the ceiling lights. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy so nervous and distressed. Holding back an urge to reach out to him again, Harry stepped out of the room and headed towards his medicine cabinet.
When Harry came back into the sitting room it was to find that Malfoy was exactly where he'd left him: standing in the middle of the room, the sleeves of his black jumper slipping past his wrist and down his fingers. Something inside of Harry stirred at the sight and he walked towards the blond. "Why don't you sit for a minute?"
Malfoy glanced at him briefly before moving the sofa and sitting down. A quiet "thank you" left his lips.
Harry nodded awkwardly and pointed at the seat next to him. "Do you mind if I…?"
Something close to a scoff came from Malfoy before he said rather stiffly, "Potter, this is your house…do whatever you'd like…"
Harry flushed, though he still moved with care so as to not startle Malfoy as he had earlier. He sat down next to him. From his pocket he took out a glass container. He unscrewed the top.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked. His body had tensed and his dark grey eyes swirled with mistrust.
Harry held up the container. "Star-Grass," he said by way of explanation. "The swelling isn't getting any better and we should heal those cuts before they get worse." The blond man hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. Harry scooted closer, appreciating the fact that Malfoy was letting him do this. He moved Malfoy's hood out of the way, which had still been covering part of his face and hair and swallowed as he noticed the extent of his injuries. They didn't stop on his face; Harry could see that there were red marks and bruises forming on the man's neck and Harry had little doubt that they went further down his body. He took a small amount of salve on his fingers and lifted them towards Malfoy. The first touch of skin sent familiar, and not all too unpleasant, tingles down his arm. He smoothed the salve over Malfoy's swollen eye, at his temple where a yellow bruise had formed, and on the scratches on his cheeks. Malfoy's gaze burned through him but Harry was careful to avoid it. He was having trouble concentrating as it was. He moved his fingers towards Malfoys jaw, the salve coating in a thin layer over the purpled skin. A frown had formed on Harry's face. Who would do this to him? Without thinking, Harry reached to unbutton Malfoy's jumper but hands grabbed at his wrists so fast that the glass container slipped from Harry's fingers and fell to the floor. Their eyes met and Harry thought he'd never seen Malfoy look more vulnerable before. Malfoys eyes had grown wide with unease, and shock surged through Harry when he realized how exactly Malfoy had been injured. "I…" Harry began. He didn't know what to say. His wrists burned at the contact.
Malfoy let go of his hands and moved away, clearing his throat and readjusting his hood around his neck. "You should use some of the salve on your own face," Malfoy said.
Harry eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he realized that he hadn't taken care of his own bruises from earlier. "Oh," he said and he bent to pick up the container. When he straightened, Malfoy seemed to have recovered himself though he was still pale. "You must be tired. I've got a spare room…and a shower since we both seemed to have neglected that after training." Harry tried to smile but he didn't think he'd succeeded.
"Thanks," Malfoy said and he looked at him. "That'd be nice."
Draco stood still under the shower head, the cold water running freely over his freshly healed bruises and numbing those that he had yet to heal. But he felt the effects of the weakening draught finally leaving him. His mind was clear now, though a million different things ran through it, most of which included a certain raven-haired wizard who had tended to his wounds. He reached a hand up to his temple where Potter had been careful to apply the salve. He sighed and closed his eyes, turning his head up so that the water ran directly onto his face. What in the world was he even doing there? There was no reason for Potter to have shown up and even less for him to have brought him to his own place. Sure, Draco had agreed to it, but that had been the potion talking. Once again Draco found himself indebted to the man, for he would've surely passed out sitting on that bench in the park.
He stepped out of the shower, thinking he'd spent nearly an hour under the water and reached for his wand. He stood in front of the mirror and saw for the first time the damage on his skin; Draco could still feel the imprints Blaise had left there. What was more, there were small circular wounds littering his abdomen and pelvic area. Cigarette burns. He turned away from his reflection, feeling sick again. But there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. He couldn't even remember…not clearly, anyway…
He mended his wounds, tied a towel around his waist and opened the door, only to find Potter standing there with his hand raised as if he'd been about to knock. Potter's hand fell quickly and he said, "Sorry, thought I should…You'd been in there for so long…"
Draco, feeling nervous having to face the man after his display of weakness, scrambled to find something to reply. In the end he went with, "Strawberry scented shampoo, Potter? Really?"
Potter's eyebrows rose and he let out a shaky laugh, "That's not mine. It was Gi—erm, Hermione's."
"Of course, it was," Draco said, but he'd caught Potter's slip, and it confused him a little. They stood at the entrance to the washroom for a few seconds, Draco growing agitated the longer he stood half-naked in front of the man, before finally saying, "You mentioned a spare room?"
"Oh, yeah, it's right next to mine actually. It's, erm, this way."
When they got there, Potter hovered at the door again. Draco found it rather…nice, albeit puzzling, and so he hovered close by as well. There was something behind that emerald gaze. A question that Draco couldn't interpret. Potter reached a hand up to adjust his glasses and ran a hand through that hair. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again.
Draco almost rolled his eyes. "Well, spit it out."
"I know we've had some…disagreements in the past. But I…well, I guess what I'm trying to say is," Potter paused, flustered. "If you ever need to talk…"
Draco cursed his heart, which had flipped unwantedly at the words. "I have nothing to talk about," he said without thinking.
"Oh." Potter said, taken aback. He nodded and looked towards the floor.
Draco frowned and thought he'd better explain, "Not-not now anyway."
Potter glanced up at him.
"But I appreciate…your help…with everything," Draco finished, unable to meet his eyes.
"You're welcome," Potter smiled and Draco felt a miniscule twitch at the corner of his lips.
The next moment had Draco rooted on the spot. Potter reached a hand towards him—Draco had to fight to keep still—and it hovered just next to Draco's face. It seemed that Potter was asking for permission, since he didn't move any closer. Draco blinked, unable to turn away from the penetrating emerald gaze, before feeling the softest touch on his cheek. He could barely contain a gasp at the feeling of Potter's magic; it was different this time, intentional and unobstructed and completely wrong because it made him want more, much more…
He stepped away and the hand dropped.
"Goodnight," Draco said.
"Goodnight."
oOo
End Chapter Ten
Exit Wounds-Placebo