Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling.

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Chapter 10:

Fifteen days after the attack on Harry, he listened to Neville as he spoke enthusiastically about his chosen career in Herbology. Hermione was a frequent visitor, usually coming three times a day, even though it had been very awkward at first. There were others, never more than two at a time, and no-one who refused to hand over their wands to the teacher who guarded the door. Neither Ron nor Ginny Weasley came, but several younger students did, including the Creeveys. Ernie MacMillan, to his surprise. He'd never been close to Ernie, whom he'd thought rather pompous. But Ernie had entertained him with accounts of Hagrid's latest lessons, and of his new pet, a Griffin crossed with something else. It was not illegal, but probably only because no-one knew exactly what it was.

There had been insults as well, when a sixth year had come in for treatment for severe burns. He'd been in pain overnight, unable to sleep, so had amused himself by detailing what would happen to Harry as a Muggle slave. "I heard my father speak of it to my mother. She says she doesn't mind him having a toy. Then my father said there was some competition, some bidding going on. It's your name, I think, rather than your looks."

Harry glanced over at him, and the boy added, "Your owner will probably make the collar to match the Bracelets. Some owners share their slaves, you know." Harry made no threats, and there was no indication that he used any magic, but Hadrian Warrington would never sire children. When his father and older brother visited him, and both of them examined him very closely, though from a distance, he made an extra spell. Not only was Hadrian's father now sterile, he was also impotent. He didn't dare make Hadrian's brother impotent. He was only a few years older than himself, and it could be seen as suspicious, especially if they compared notes. But wizards like this should not exist. Preventing them breeding was not as drastic as killing them. Harry felt himself justified.

He was walking a lot more easily now, and was allowed to sit for a total of four hours a day. He was still taking bone strengthening potion twice a day, and still had to take care. His leg was not yet strong. He was looking out the window when Cornelius Fudge assured Professor Kent that he just wanted to say hello to poor Harry, and Henry Steinway wanted to meet him. Steinway was polite to Harry, congratulating him on his success against Voldemort. Harry shivered as he was inspected.

Only a half hour later, Fudge brought two more in, the first introduced as Benson Zabini, who spoke to him cordially, and mentioned he was the uncle of Blaise Zabini. The second was Jessem McLaggen, who was as enormous as his bullying son, whom Harry knew. Mclaggen didn't bother with pretence, but inspected him with lust written on his face. Harry glared at them all, and made Fudge and McLaggen impotent, and Zabini sterile. He may have taken his revenge, but Harry was very afraid.

Poppy glared at the visitors from a distance, but she had her new 'assistant' with her, and did nothing to intervene. Snape wasn't seen that day, but at least the door was still only guarded by teachers.

The next time that Hermione visited, Harry said in a low voice, "I need to escape, urgently. Will you help me this time, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned, "You need to stay here a while longer. I heard Professor McGonagall telling Minister Fudge that your condition is still precarious."

"Some wizards keep Muggle slaves, boy or girl. Minister Fudge is happy for me to go to that fate. I need to leave today, now, before they assign real guards. If you and I stroll out together, just for a walk, I don't think Professor Sprout will interfere."

Hermione hesitated. Harry waited. He didn't think he'd be allowed to simply walk out, but if Hermione was with him… Hermione nodded abruptly, "If that's what you need. I don't believe they'd do that, but I'll help you."

Professor Sprout was surprised and doubtful, but Harry looked at her pleadingly, and Hermione said briskly, that it was only for a few minutes as Harry wanted to stretch his legs. He was already dressed. He'd been dressing for the past few days, just Muggle clothes, jeans, a jumper, and now he wore a light jacket. His money bag was attached to his belt, and so was his knife, but they were concealed by the jacket. He thought himself lucky to still have his wallet and his weapon. He didn't have any other possessions with him, not even anything suitable for the Winter outside.

Once they were out the door, he murmured, "Cloaking Magic to cover the two of us, as strong as you can make it."

Hermione made the complicated motion with her wand, and said, "Now what?" Harry had also made the Charm, hoping to increase the effectiveness.

There was snow on the ground, and a bitter wind blowing, so there were few people around once they left the castle. Those whom they'd passed had not seemed to notice them. Draco Malfoy did, and turned his steps to follow them outside. Once away from the castle, he made some Cloaking Magic of his own, and joined them. Harry was watching him with a wary alertness. His hand was on his knife, but he was not threatening.

Draco said casually, "Leaving, Harry? Good idea. I suggest you hide yourself very well, and never be seen among wizards again."

Harry nodded curtly, "It is what I intend."

Hermione asked, "Are you going to raise an alarm, Draco?"

"No, I don't think so. I find it hard to think of my old enemy as a mere toy for Henry Steinway or Benson Zabini. My father would have been in the bidding once. He liked pretty Muggles."

Hermione asked, "Are they really bidding for him?"

"Fudge is selling him to the highest bidder, Blaise tells me. And Snape is suddenly ill, with an Auror at his door. They say it is for his protection."

"He would have liked to protect me."

Harry skidded on the snow, and swore, barely managing to recover himself. Draco took his arm, "From what I hear, you can still break your leg again. It's why you're not already bending over for the highest bidder."

Harry said fiercely, "I'll kill anyone who tries."

Draco laughed, "No Muggle has a chance against a wizard."

"Will you help me then? I need to apparate away."

"I can apparate with a passenger."

Hermione said regretfully, "I never learned, but maybe I'm safer."

Harry turned to Draco, "Will you help me escape, or lead me to a trap?" He was looking into Draco's eyes, looking for the lie.

Draco shrugged, "I'll help you escape. Just tell me the destination."

"That big railway station in Edinburgh. Do you know it?"

Professor Sprout crossed to Poppy, "Harry's a long time. He said he was just going for a walk."

Poppy hissed her to quiet, and said, very quietly, "We will not raise the alarm, will we, Pomona."

Professor Sprout asked, but in a low voice, "Why not? I thought he still had to be watched carefully."

"Don't you know what wizards do to Muggle boys?"

"But Harry's a wizard." She blanched, "Surely not!"

Poppy nodded, "I was planning to try and smuggle him away tonight, but I'm hoping he's already gone."

"Where's Jake?" Jake was the 'assistant.'

"Sleeping. I let him see me give Harry a sleeping potion, so when I suggested he take a nap, he did. He was awake most of the night."

Harry dropped his Cloaking Magic in Edinburgh, bought a ticket to Glasgow, and made the opposite spell when he did so, commonly known as 'Remember Me,' as opposed to 'Don't Notice Me.' The one who sold him the ticket would remember him, and so would one or two others of the rail staff. They saw him board the train, but didn't notice him leave again before the train left. Then he went to Potter Manor, profoundly relieved to see there was no snow here. He slipped again, but twisted, and came down on his left side. There was a sharp pain in his right leg, but he waited, and it went away. No harm done, and he gave a sigh of relief.

Once in his own room, he lay on his bed, very weary. Home safe, and without breaking his leg again. He'd only fallen once, though several times, he'd been very grateful for Draco's strong arm. Fancy Draco helping him! He'd seen Ron in the distance, tobogganing with the other Gryffindor seventh years. It had hurt. Once he would have been one of them, now he had to flee to avoid a fate as a slave. He felt the bitter humiliation, - that he was thought of now as no more than a pretty boy with an intriguing history.

After a while, he wearily rose again, and called, "Bandehm!" The house-elf popped into his presence, nearly falling over himself to bow as low as possible. Harry sighed, house-elves were really rather tedious. They were not company. He asked, "Are you able to procure ingredients for potions?"

"Oh yes, Master Harry."

"Thank you. I'll give you a list."

"Will Master Harry be here for long, Sir?"

"About a week, I think."

Bone-strengthening potions morning and afternoon, this time made by himself. To buy it ready-made could be a possible clue to his whereabouts. Graded, cautious exercises, trying to remember Poppy's instructions as carefully as he could. She'd explained how she expected his treatment and recovery to progress, more clearly than she would normally have done. There had even been a prominently marked bottle of potion left on his bedside table, which he'd left behind as too conspicuous if he was seen with it.

The following day, he made a brief trip to Glasgow, very careful in case they were already searching there, and bought himself a few items, some black Muggle clothes, plus copies of some of the school books he was using that year. He was falling behind. In a couple of places, he made the 'Remember Me' Charm.

He rested afterward. His leg wasn't strong, and he felt shivery and fatigued after the excursion. Still, in the cause of having the search concentrated in Glasgow, he returned in the evening, found one of the seedier districts, and showed himself in a few bars, as if looking for a client. They would also remember him. That was enough. He planned never to return to Glasgow again. He didn't like the city, and every moment he was there, he'd been afraid. He'd told the Creevey brothers he lived there, as well as Hermione. They might not intend to betray him, but there was Veritaserum. He expected them to trace him quite quickly to Glasgow.

Snape didn't leave Hogwarts. He'd been threatened with Azkaban, and he was terrified of Azkaban. He was quite sure he was being watched. If it hadn't been for his practice as a spy, he would have been unable to conceal his fury when Vance McKenzie had explained coldly that the Minister for Magic was not to be defied. Cornelius Fudge had nodded, satisfied, and it was only later, some days after Harry had disappeared, that McKenzie visited him, glanced at the walls with a significant finger to his lips, then written a note to say that he'd visited Kreighley, and reminded them that if strangers appeared with photographs or descriptions of Harry, they should deny all knowledge. Snape nodded, mouth set.

McKenzie added, You should keep right away from him. Don't even communicate. Your mail is not secure.

Snape took the paper, and wrote, The story is that I have never known where or how he lived. He only contacted me once he turned seventeen. McKenzie nodded, and vanished the paper.

Ross Davies stood up at dinner the night after McKenzie's visit, and said carefully, "I've been informed that Ricky is no longer in the hands of his enemies, but is still in grave danger. If questioned about a boy answering to his description, deny having anyone like that here. If anyone at school asks about Ricky, he's in a London hospital. He is ill." He finished, "I know some of you are only young, and some may not even like him, but he is one of you. I know you will do your best to protect him."

Ian asked, "What happened to him, Sir?"

"All I know is that he's on the run. The ones who had him don't know him as Ricky. That is his only protection. Be very careful what you tell anyone."

The following day, Ross heard whistles, but when he investigated, it was practice. Every boy was there, and Chris was demonstrating to one of the younger ones the variations that indicated direction. Ross watched. Chris gave him a glance, and ignored him. The whistle system pre-dated Ross's appointment, and he knew that the previous manager had not been privy to the meanings of the whistles.

Chris crossed to him afterwards, and asked, "Do you want to know about it?"

"Very much."

"It started with the warden two before you. He used to touch up the boys, may have gone on to more, but there was one here then, a middle-class boy, a bit like Ricky. He said we had to look after each other. So whenever he was alone with anyone, the boy would whistle, and we'd come. No-one does anything with a half dozen witnesses. He left, and then there was Wentworth, who was pretty pathetic, and then you came."

"The whistles indicate direction?"

Chris nodded, and gave a short two-burst whistle. "That says we're only practising." And then he proceeded to demonstrate the different whistles. Ross paid attention. Chris nodded his approval. "If you find yourself in trouble with the mongrels who took Ricky, give us a whistle. No-one picks a fight when they're outnumbered."

There was no enquiry for a few days, as the searchers were concentrating on Glasgow. But then a benign looking man came, photograph in hand, and asked whether he knew anyone by the name of Harry Potter, or had seen this boy. Ross studied the picture of the sleeping Ricky, and said thoughtfully, "Certainly not recently. I think I remember someone looking a little like this from several years ago. But he was not called Harry. John Carr, his name was, and he went back to his mother, as I recall."

The man shrugged, "It can't be our Harry then. If you do hear anything of him, please call this number, and ask for Cornelius."

"Certainly, Cornelius."

The man shook his head, smiling, "Oh, I'm not Cornelius. He's the one in charge of the search."

"His father?"

The man smirked, "Not his father, no."

Harry was in trouble. The cramps had made a resurgence, frequent and excruciatingly painful. Magic was easy for him normally, but making a spell while in the midst of screaming agony, was just too difficult. Instead, he tried to brew a potion. So far, he'd ruined five batches, twice because he was not good at potions, in spite of Voldemort's memories helping him, and three times because he'd been interrupted by an acute cramp and subsequent fall. He had his right leg in a sort of magical splint now, in order to protect it from fractures. So far, he'd been lucky, though it was covered with deep red and black bruising, from the cramps, it appeared, rather than any bumps. He needed a healer, but going to any healer was rife with danger.

His sixth attempt at a muscle relaxation potion seemed to work, and he took it every hour, the bone strengthening potion night and morning, and pain relief potion whenever it seemed too much. He knew that too much pain relief could cause problems. The cramping eased and disappeared, but it was a further few days before he felt confident to go out.

The Potter Manor had been in the Potter family for generations, but luckily Lily had made some changes. It was equipped with thoroughly modern plumbing, and it had electricity, accounts being paid automatically from the Household Account. There was even a working TV, though it looked very old-fashioned by the standards of the day. Two cars were in the garage, and Harry took the opportunity to practise stealing a locked car, and then driving it, though not going off the property. The telephone was connected, and there was a current phone directory, presumably delivered automatically by the phone company. The house didn't seem to be hidden from Muggles, and once a farmer had raised a hand to Harry as he walked the boundary, trying to get his leg back into working order. Three and a half weeks after he'd been tempted to Diagon Alley, he made an appointment to have his black hair cut and dyed blonde.

He looked at it afterward, finding the sight comical. The hairdresser had done a thorough job, to the extent that his eyebrows were also made more pale. He'd suggested that his eyelashes be bleached, but that had been refused because of the danger to his eyes. Instead, he'd had her cut them, very carefully, so that they appeared less black. She'd shaken her head afterward, and told him it was a mistake, that his eyes had been stunning, and now they appeared ordinary. Harry peered in the mirror, and laughed, "I daresay they'll grow back."

The brief moment of merriment was rare. He felt ever more lonely, and longed for home. Home was not in this deserted house, where his own voice and footsteps were the only sound he heard, unless he switched on the TV. He thought maybe he should watch the news, just in case there was something about him missing, but after ten minutes he switched it off again, irritably, and went for another walk around the estate. The bruising on his thigh seemed to be very deep, and was even now yellow, in spite of the regular application of anti-bruising lotion. He hadn't had to make that. It was common and easily available, no betrayal that he might be somewhere close.

One day he studied the Binding Bracelets. For wizards, it was an identifier. He'd thought that being known to be without magic would make him safer, but it hadn't. He made a severing spell, and the right one fell off. Another, and they were both gone. It felt odd. For two years he'd worn them. He'd so hated them at the start, but once the magic in them was gone, they hadn't worried him. He could buy himself a watch now.

It was not until early February that he decided it was time to go. The bruising appeared to be mostly gone, maybe a trace of yellow here and there, a few blacker ones on his left leg and both arms, where he'd fallen and tried to protect the vulnerable thigh bone. The bruises would support his story, or lack of story. This time, he was not going to deny he'd been used for sex. He was just going to say nothing, and let them draw their own conclusions. Allowing them to assume it was sex meant they would stop looking for other explanations. And anyway, it was true. No-one had seemed concerned any more that he could be a danger to them.

He waited for midnight even before starting to dress. The next day was Sunday, so if it was safe, he could sleep in. Any hint that his home was no longer secret, and he'd return here, and then try and work out what to do next. He didn't even have his birth certificate and passport. He hoped Snape had them safe. He no longer had that pendant that could call for help, as it had disappeared while he was in St. Mungo's. He wasn't sure he'd dare call for help in any case, not knowing what sort of 'help' he might get. As far as he knew, the Aurors had made no effort to protect him from Scrimgeour, or later from those other inspections.

He shivered, remembering lecherous eyes scanning him up and down. In the Muggle world, only Clark had looked at him like that. Travis Clark seemed benign now, even diffident, compared to those others.

Black clothes, a black beanie over his hair, and then he used some grease mixed with ashes to blacken his face and the back of his hands. Only his eyes shone white now, and his teeth when he smiled at himself. The smile was an attempt to cheer himself up. In the past few days, he'd become convinced that they'd be there waiting for him. And then he'd probably kill someone, and they'd see, and he'd never be safe again. No matter how powerful, if there were enough against him, a wizard would be defeated. Voldemort had only lasted so long because so many had become his followers, and maybe because of that ridiculous prophecy that said he could only be defeated by the Boy Who Lived. It meant that no-one else bothered trying.

Chris squawked when a gentle hand shook his shoulder, and there was an urgent whisper to be silent. Harry only allowed him to turn on the light when he was assured there had been nothing out of the ordinary, and no-one outside the Home even knew that Ricky Drayton had been missing.

When he did, he gaped at Harry, standing with face blackened, and gaped more when he took off his hat, and tossed his head affectedly, "Like the new hairstyle?"

Chris congratulated him, and said, "We'll go tell Davies. He said to let him know, day or night, if you turned up."

"You go then. I'd best wash."

Ross had only taken the time to throw on a dressing gown and push his feet into some shoes before following Chris to the communal bathing facilities. They found Ricky with some paper towelling trying vainly to remove the blackening compound. Instead of greeting Ross properly, he said, almost tearfully, "Boss, it won't come off."

Ross automatically soothed, "It's only a bit of dirt. It'll come off." But the greasy muck only seemed to spread further, and he finally said, "Don't touch anything. Wait here, and I'll bring some turps. That'll cut the grease."

The turpentine worked nicely on his hands, but then Ross started on his face. Harry complained that it was stinging, and yelped when he went close to his eyes. He was whining, even whimpering. For Ross, it was a surprise to see Ricky, always so cool and polite, behaving like an over-tired toddler.

He finally finished, wiped him over with a warm wash cloth, and said, "All gone. You're clean, and it's all over."

Ricky said shakily, accusingly, "You hurt me. I never thought you'd hurt me."

Chris said reasonably, "Ricky, it was only a bit of turps to clean your face. The Boss wouldn't hurt you."

"Is it gone?"

"All gone."

Ross said, "Ricky, it's all right. You've been through something horrible, and it's over."

"Over."

"Gone. Finished. You're safe now."

Harry said shakily, "I thought I'd never be able to come back."

Ross put all the warmth and reassurance in his voice that he could. "You are back. You are home, and you're safe."

"I thought they'd be here, waiting for me."

"They are not here."

"You're sure?"

Ross shook his head, "Trust me, Ricky. I won't let anything happen to you."

Harry turned away, his voice suddenly calmer, and more controlled. "If they come for me, you won't be able to help me. I'm safe only as long as they don't know where I am."

"Are you hurt, Ricky?"

Harry shook his head, very wearily, "I am not hurt. I don't need a doctor or a counsellor or anything else. I'll just go to bed, if I'm allowed."

"Of course."

Quite suddenly, Ross pulled him close in a hug, "It's all right, my boy. We'll look after you."

Harry broke, wailing and sobbing in the boss's arms. Chris watched, appalled. He'd so admired Ricky. He'd become their leader, even though he so seldom put himself forward. To see him go to pieces like this was awful. He didn't go away. It was the teaching of that other boy like Ricky, years ago, - never leave a boy alone with a screw. He waited as Ross held his friend close, rubbing his back, and reassuring. It took a long time before Ricky sniffled and apologised, and then he wouldn't look at Chris when he went to bed. Chris said awkwardly, "I won't tell anyone you cried."

Harry's voice was muffled, "Thanks."

***chapter end***