A/N - it's a been a while since I posted, but here's a quick update. More up soon! X

5b

It took a shamefully long time to pull himself together. Terrified, mutilated and wandless he might be, but he didn't have time for self-pity. The Muggles would be back, to inflict more horrors on him - he refused to sit there quietly and wait for them.

When he'd pulled himself free of the machines, the steady bleep bleep bleep had turned into a continuous, high-pitched squeal that had the same effect on Draco as fingernails scraped over a blackboard. He twisted knobs and flicked switches, trying to shut off the noise.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The voice was female, and somehow managed to mix kindness with indignation. As he turned around, he saw it belonged to a blonde woman in a white coat. She crossed her arms and gave Draco the kind of patronising smile he associated with nannies and healers. "While I'm glad to see you conscious and apparently feeling so well, you shouldn't be out of bed." I know best, so stop being such a naughty boy. "And you certainly shouldn't be playing with the ECG."

Draco presumed 'the ECG' was the machine; its noise was really starting to get on his nerves now. More than that - it felt like the noise was somehow getting inside him, merging with his panic. The woman didn't look very dangerous, but -

He groped around on the bed behind him, found the long needle. "What are you going to do to me?"

The woman raised a eyebrow. "My name's Alison Tyler," she said. "I'm an infectiologist, and I don't intend to do anything to you - except maybe help you."

"If sewing up my flesh is your idea of 'help', I don't think I want any more of it." Draco pulled the needle away from its tube - it wasn't much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

Damn woman - why is she blocking the bloody door?

That smile again. "You may not have a choice. Analysis of your blood has delivered some very interesting results."

He didn't know what the hell an 'analysis' of his blood entailed, but the idea of these Muggles having a part of him like that made him feel sick.

It was one of the first things drummed into children by their parents, right up there with 'don't go off with strangers'. Don't let anyone take a part of you, whether it's hair, skin or bodily fluids. And of all those 'parts' that could be stolen and put to use against someone in a spell or potion, blood was the most potent.

She stepped forward. "Get back into bed, Mr - I suppose you do have a name? What is it?"

Names were potent, too. Draco backed away from her, gripping the needle as if it was a magical sword. He shook his head.

"Look - all we're trying to do is help you!" She sounded frustrated.

She stepped forward again, and Draco told himself it was just a trick of the light, that stepping into the bright beams of sunlight coming through the window had just made highlights and shadows on her face where there were none before. Her face hadn't really changed, hadn't really become thinner, harder…familiar…

"I want to help you." Her voice had changed too.

The pain in Draco's back, the weakness of his legs - none of it mattered anymore. He didn't even pause to wonder how the woman from his nightmares could have stepped out into the real world. He dodged her outstretched hand and ran.

"So, what are you saying? We've lost?"

Harry was rapidly getting sick of Ant. Not only did he insist on sauntering along, as if he hadn't a care in the world, when Harry really wanted to run, but he kept asking stupid questions.

"We haven't lost. Not yet."

"But things are bad?"

"Voldemort has the Ministry. Yes, I think that's bad."

A nurse gave them a sharp look. Harry tried his best to look innocent. Just going for a little stroll with my visitor.

A stroll down to Intensive Care…

"That's not just bad." Ant said as they stepped into the lift. "It sounds like it's all over."

"There are lots of people who'll keep fighting."

"Like you."

Harry shook his head, and was relieved to find the movement no longer left him shaking and nauseous. "Not really. I mean, I will keep fighting - I just don't have a choice about it. Other people do."

Ant looked at him. He had the black box cradled under one arm, and his knuckles were white where he gripped it. Harry felt suddenly sorry for him. Ant lived his life as a Muggle, but he didn't have a Muggle's blissful ignorance. He knew about Voldemort, what he and his followers were capable of. He knew what would likely happen when the Death Eaters tightened their grip on the Wizarding World, and their leader was free to look towards the Muggles. But Ant had no magic, no way to defend himself or the people he cared about. He must be terrified.

"Voldemort won't win," Harry said. "I promise."

Ant looked at him as if he was a hero; Harry wished he hadn't said anything.

The lift doors opened. As they stepped out into the corridor, a nurse pushed past him, followed by a big man in a security guard's uniform. They'd come out of the corridor's one open door. And from that door came the sound of a heart monitor. Someone was flat-lining.

Harry told himself that there was nothing to suggest that Malfoy was in there. But the continuous wail of the heart monitor was a chilling sound, and it drew him over to that door. His mind painted pictures to go with that noise - Malfoy dead, or being worked on by a resuscitation team. He didn't want to look, but couldn't help himself.

No Malfoy. But no other unlucky patient either - the bed was empty. Someone had obviously been in it, though - the sheets were thrown back and a saline drip, which had apparently been attached to someone until very recently, dribbled liquid onto the mattress.

By the window, two doctors were having a low-voiced but heated discussion. One of them looked up. Harry quickly pulled his head back, but she was already running to the door.

"I just wanted to see my friend," he said. "I got told he was down here."

"Blond kid?" she asked. Something about the intensity of her expression made alarms ring inside Harry's head, but he nodded. "He's run off. We've got people looking for him, but if you've any idea where he might be headed, you have to tell us. It's very important we find him as quickly as possible."

"I don't know where he might go." And that was the truth. "He's not from around here." So was that.

Her eyes glinted. "Where is he from?"

Harry stared at her. "Um, Egypt?" She frowned, and Harry decided it was time to feel ill again.

He sagged against the wall, feigning faintness, and Ant was suddenly at his side, completely the attentive brother. "I knew this was a bad idea. We should get you back to your own ward, bro."

"Wait a minute -"

"If you want to question David any further, it'll have to wait until later," Ant said firmly, steering Harry away from the doctor. "Can't you see he's tired?"

The burst of energy, powered by fear, had passed. Draco hid in a cupboard full of the pastel-coloured garments, which rustled like paper as he collapsed amongst them, and tried to decide on his next move.

His lack of a wand was his biggest concern. Until he'd solved that problem, all the others, like where to go and who he could trust, weren't even worth pondering.

Why couldn't Potter have dumped him at St Mungo's? While that might have been as good as handing him back to the Dark Lord, at least he'd be amongst his own kind - and being treated by healers with a more civilised idea of medicine.

He didn't really blame Potter for leaving him. Given the same circumstances, Draco would probably have done the same thing - when you were running for your life, a badly-injured companion could only be a hindrance. If I hadn't been under very strict instructions from Snape, I would have left him in the Ministry, rather than dragging him -

Oh. Right.

Considering the state Potter had been in when they had escaped the Ministry, Draco would hardly have slowed him down that much. In fact - Draco shrunk back amongst the robes as he heard footsteps stop outside his refuge - Potter was very likely somewhere in the same building.

Not that that meant Draco was going to go looking for him. I might be going mad, seeing my ancestors in the faces of random Muggles, but I'm not that mad. Not yet, at least.

I have to get out of this place -

The cupboard door opened. Draco stared up at the person in the doorway. He was with some Muggle, and he was wearing the most hideous pair of pyjamas Draco had ever seen in his life, but in that moment, Harry Potter looked glorious.

For a moment, Harry stared at the boy sitting amongst the scrubs and didn't recognise him. His eyes took in the hospital robe hanging loosely from thin shoulders, the dishevelled hair falling into a face that was all shadows and angles, pale eyes made brighter still by the dark smudges beneath them - then all that was in his arms, hugging him so tightly it was almost painful.

"Ah - so it's like that, then?"

Harry heard Ant's comment, but ignored him, because painful was, in a strange way, rather nice - as his arms closed around the slim, strong body, his fingers twisted in the thin fabric, then unexpectedly slid over hot, smooth skin. Malfoy flinched and pulled free.

"I thought you didn't approve of 'cosy human contact'."

Malfoy curled his lip. "I thought I was stuck among the Muggles. Trust me, I would have been dishing out cosy human contact to Weasley if he'd opened that door." He met Harry's eyes and sneered. "And then I would have had to kill him. Now - give me my wand." Harry looked at Ant, who immediately began searching in his jacket. "You gave my wand to a Muggle?"

Colour flooded across Ant's face. His fingers were tight around the wand as he pulled it free. "I. Am. Not. A. Muggle."

Harry looked at Malfoy, facing the point of his own wand, and marvelled. Ant was red-faced and shaking with anger; Malfoy, shorter and slighter and clad only in that ridiculous robe, should have cut a pathetic figure in comparison, but he stood there, back straight and head held high, radiating anger and injured dignity. When he spoke, his accent was at its most patrician - every syllable dripped with disdain. "Then what are you?" Long fingers curled around the wand. "Certainly no wizard."

Harry heard a sound like bacon sizzling, and as Ant hissed with pain and snatched his hand away, he smelt the sickening smell of burnt flesh. Malfoy hugged his rescued wand to him much as he had Harry earlier. Ant shoved his fingers into his mouth. "No wizard," Malfoy said again, and Harry wanted to thump that cruel smile off his face.

He contented himself with grabbing Malfoy's arm. Just the way he hates it. His fingers dug hard into muscle - too hard. And I hope it hurts. "Ant's helping us."

"Helping you perhaps." Malfoy twisted free, and started tugging at the opening of his robe. "Look what they've done to me, Potter." The tie at his neck gave way, and the robe gaped open, exposing an expanse of white skin - and the red, puckered wound and black stitches that marred its perfect porcelain smoothness. "Look."

"Did you take the dressings off yourself?" Harry said. "Because you really should keep those stitches covered." The words were automatic, almost meaningless; he found himself transfixed by the mutilation. Malfoy snorted.

"Bit hard on the eye, Potter? Believe me - it feels even worse than it looks."

"I bet." And it looks like vandalism. It was a peculiar thing, to see something perfect about someone he'd always detested, and to mourn the loss of that perfection. Those delicate looks had always been so resilient - for all their fights, all the bruises Harry had left on that pale skin, Malfoy always bounced back, nothing made a permanent mark on him. Well, almost nothing. Harry had never seen the full extent of the scarring his own curse had left, but he knew it was there.

Funny how the guilt hadn't faded over time, but just became stronger.

"Bringing you here probably saved your life," Ant said. He glared at Malfoy as if he'd like to add a few wounds of his own. "Be glad I didn't just leave you to bleed to death." Because you'd deserve it, his expression said.

"You? You brought us here? This is your fault?" Malfoy spun around to face Ant, his eyes bright with fury; Harry promptly stepped between them.

"No - this is Snape's fault - all of it. I don't know what's going on in his head, but he's the one who sent you to help me, then cursed you when you were doing just that."

Malfoy didn't deny it, but the way he glared at Harry suggested that, whoever he was blaming for his current state, it certainly wasn't Snape. "He didn't kidnap me, though, did he, Potter?"

"No, but I bet he was the reason you were at the Manor." Malfoy's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. And that's one to me - I'm not so thick as you seem to think, am I? Malfoy looked at Ant, and the box he was carrying. The expression on his face suggested that the box might leap out of Ant's arms and attack him. "And what the hell is in that thing?"

"I don't know - I don't think I want to." Malfoy's shoulders sagged; his posture was suddenly not so proud. "How did you know I was in here?"

"I -" Harry faltered. Had he known? All he remembered was a sudden overwhelming urge to open that particular door, regardless of what might be behind it. He found himself looking at the box. He could smell the sea again, and a slow, unpleasant sensation crept up his spine. "I don't know," he said, echoing Malfoy. And I don't think I want to.