Disclaimer: These characters/this universe do not belong to me. They belong to the respectful parties: J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. as well as her lovely publishers.

Summary: Life isn't fair. Even with a little luck, you may never get what you want. But often, you'll get exactly what you need. When Draco Malfoy finds a helpless Harry Potter, he quickly learns a lesson in not only luck, but love and life. HP/DM Slash, Rated M for Mature audiences. Warning of past abuse.

A/N: Hello again! I am very excited to start another fic with everybody. This one in particular is very much a hurt/comfort. It is also intended to be medium-long in length, so please bear with me. I will be updating a chapter every Sunday, so you can always expect an update then.

Many wonderful thanks to my beta, ArithmancyMaster or as she should be called, Latin Lover – I really am astonished by how much you always seem to know about the English language! Thank you again for making this new story possible.

I hope you all enjoy!

xx, MystyVander.

With a Little Luck
Chapter One

Anxious didn't begin to describe the feeling creeping louder under Draco's skin. As his shoes hit the pavement in unison with his walking stick, one hand curled around its head, his other restlessly flattened his hair pulled back into a ponytail. He reminded himself to breathe; to remain composed but still appear approachable.

Seven years had passed since he saw the end of the war – six years since his release from Azkaban and four from the end of his probation. In his free years he had completed a prestigious training program at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, landing a low security job in the Potions and Plants Poisoning department. But he strived for more. The ward in which he hoped to work had an opening at last, it was the long term Spell Damage ward. However, the chances that the job would be given to a convicted Death Eater were slim despite him knowing he was probably the best qualified applicant.

It was for this reason that Draco paused a block away from St Mungo's entrance, stepping aside from the crowd of muggles, and withdrew a vial from his jacket's breast pocket. The vial contained a clear liquid, not much thicker than water. Although Draco was an astute Healer, he was still an even better potion brewer. It had taken him eighteen months to brew the unstable concoction and this was one of the few purposes he had in mind for it.

There was nothing like a little luck during a job interview.

Draco uncorked the perfected Felix Felicis, tipping his head back and taking two drops from it. "That should last an hour at least," he thought aloud, safely stowing the precious liquid away.

The effects took place within a few moments. His body tingled with a static energy before settling as he started off in the direction of St Mungo's again. Draco felt his confidence grow with each step, his thoughts blurred as an uncharacteristic grin grew on his lips.

At the doorstep of the enchanted St Mungo's, Draco didn't even pause. He walked on, his smile faltering as he did. Only briefly did he question why he was striding past the place of his appointment; but he walked on with sureness, handing fate over to dear old Felix.

It was at the twenty minute mark when Draco's logical mind began to grow louder in his consciousness. 'But my interview!' he frantically thought, eyes growing wide as his watch told him he was already late. 'There is no bloody way I will be getting that position now…where am I?' Draco blinked, becoming aware of where he had suddenly stopped. It was an unfamiliar area and he had come before a shabby complex six stories high.

Draco strode to the front door. An elderly lady was on her way in with several heavy grocery bags. "Here, let me help you," Draco offered, unknowing as to why he felt the strong urge to assist her.

The older lady smiled up at him, unlocking the door. "Oh, young man, how lovely of you," she said thankfully. Draco relieved her of her groceries, stepping into the building alongside her. It was a typical building, ungodly wallpaper in the hall and lights that hadn't been dusted in a decade. "It's not often young people are as courteous as you these days. It makes an old woman wonder whatever happened to standards," she spoke aimlessly as she led Draco slowly up the stairs and to her door just several feet from the second story landing.

"You are hardly old, ma'am," Draco complimented.

The old lady was fumbling with her keys and blushed, swatting playfully at Draco. "Hush now, son, no need to humour an old soul. Are you visiting friends in this building?"

"Yes, actually, up on the fourth," Draco lied, the words coming so easily he was startled by them.

"Oh! You must be friends of Justin and Harry, bless them. Thank you for your help dear, you can just put my bags down here," she gestured at their feet.

The mention of a familiar name perked Draco's attention, he shook his head, 'There are a lot of Harry's out there,' he reasoned. "Why do you say that?"

"They're the only young folks here, dear. Refreshing, really, but I'm sorry lad, I saw Justin down at the market, and he was on his way to work."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, Felix was urging his feet to be moving again. "It's actually Harry who will be expecting me. Speaking of which, I believe I am late. Thank you for the company," Draco inclined his head politely.

Upstairs he went, his feet carrying him before he could even think twice about it. Before he approached the door, he felt the push of its wards against him as he landed on the fourth floor. The reality that Felix had led him here and the aforementioned Harry was the one he was dreading to see was dawning on him. "Divellere," he murmured, wand in hand. 'Even though I know I shouldn't be here, or that I should even knock accordingly, I know I have to…' Draco's thoughts trailed off as his body was moving of its own accord, wordlessly unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Hello?" He wanted to call out but as he did he noticed his throat was suddenly dry.

The flat was quaint and nearly void of natural light. Everything looked normal; nothing out of place or askew. Draco found himself moving further into the apartment, looking around for any indication of who were its inhabitants or for something amiss. 'The potion would not have led me here without good reason,' he reminded himself as he continued inward, past the kitchen, the pantry and then he stopped as he came to the small hallway that led to the more intimate rooms.

A picture hung on the wall, painted a putrid yellow hue, and in it a boy and his family stood smiling and waving at the camera on the ruined steps of Hogwarts. It was dated 1997 and Draco recognized the boy as Justin, from his year, but he couldn't place his house or last name. Justin had been but a speck on his radar while he attended Hogwarts. Another boy always outshone Draco's social interests.

Draco continued down the hall till he came to another ward intruding upon him; it was on a room accompanied by four separate padlocks on the door. Without hesitation, despite the feeling of Felix Felicis wearing off, Draco lifted the wards and cast a whispered, "Alohamora," on each lock. Draco took a deep breath to prepare himself knowing that if a door were locked its contents must be either of value or dangerous. But nothing could prepare him for the sight that beheld him.

There he was. Broken, bruised, bloodied and unconscious. There he lay; a pale shadow of the man Draco had last seen. Shackled at his wrists, lying on a soiled mattress on the floor: no shirt, no trousers, no wand and no dignity.

Fourteen years of biases, preconceived notions and altruistic abhorrence vanished in a moment. Draco's luck had run out, and apparently so had the man's before him. "Harry-fucking-Potter," he muttered, astonished.

His words stirred Potter. From his fetal position, he mumbled incoherently and moved his head. Draco reacted immediately. He was kneeling at his side, his hand tentatively reaching for him to further rouse Potter. As his skin made contact with Potter's shoulder, the man woke with a commotion.

Potter yelped and scurried back on the mattress, his arms raising to his head as if to shield himself. "Potter, calm down!" Draco snapped, the scared man flinching with each word. "I am going to get rid of these cuffs, okay? Just hold still, I need to identify –"

"Please," came the croaking, fragile whisper. "Please," he reiterated.

Draco felt his heart sink; his stomach was somewhere in the pit of his bowels. Potter didn't just sound weak or broken…he sounded irreparable. "No more. Please, sir…" his voice dropped with his head into his hands, defeated.

The proper, respectful pronoun instantaneously enraged Draco. He wasn't naïve to not understand the situation. The verbal gesture of subservience disgusted Draco to his core – especially coming from Potter. "Alright, that's it, you're coming with me, Potter," he said decisively, wrapping his hands about Potter's wrist in an attempt to pry them from his face.

At the contact, Potter violently responded. He began to scream shrilly at the top of his lungs. "Merlin, Potter!" Draco swore, unhanding him. He immediately calmed although his breathing remained erratic. "Would you just look at me? I'm not him, I'm not Justin. It's Draco Malfoy," he attempted to explain, all to no avail. Potter seemed to refuse to lift his head, his eyes had yet to see Draco.

A pulse of magic hit him like a gentle wave. Draco blanched as he recognized it and the resounding crack that accompanied it. "Harry! What the fuck do you think you're up to?!" Came the thunderous, guttural and angered voice along with heavy footsteps.

The urge to use a number of Unforgiveables was only suppressed by Draco's quick prioritization of Potter and his safety. Draco scooped Potter – far too light for his build and age – into his arms despite his wailing protest. Holding tight to the flailing man, Draco closed his eyes and apparated with a crack.

When his feet met solid ground once more, Potter scattered from his arms and tumbled to the floor. He looked wildly around at the unfamiliar surroundings, scurrying backwards until he hit Draco's desk. They were in the study of his home outside of Wiltshire, they were alone and safe but the sudden new surroundings awakened Potter's fight or flight response. And he was trying to fly.

"Potter, you are at my home. I apologise for handling you the way I did but I had to," Draco said softly as he approached Potter, his hands open and out for Potter to note his passive intentions.

Wide, bloodshot emerald eyes glazed over as they finally focused on Draco. "M-Malfoy?" he stuttered unsurely and before Draco could respond, he slumped over, lifeless.

Draco swore and hurried to him, catching his head just before it connected with the floor. Potter's breathing was steady but he was unconscious once again. Sighing, he called his only employed House Elf. "Cally, I need you to retrieve me my potions. The kit which is in the kitchen, not the one in the bathroom," he ordered. "Bring it, a glass, and pitcher of water to the guest room."

Cally looked between her master and the guest, her bony features contorted uneasily. "Yes, Master Draco," she disappeared with a bow.

Draco shifted the frail body against him and into such a position that he cradled him as one would a newborn. 'He's certainly as defenseless as a newborn,' he thought idly. It took only a few short minutes to maneuver Potter through the doorway and down the hall into the guest room. Draco lay him on the bed, his body relaxing immediately as Draco's hands left his skin.

Now that he was able to take a moment to assess Potter, his head began to swim as a knot tied itself in his chest. His hair was unruly as ever, the right side of his head had a mass of dried blood caked into it, he had a thick line down his forehead and to his jaw. Potter's left eye had a healing bruise and his cheekbone was jutted out at an odd angle. Around his neck Draco noted thick, grasping bruises with a few lesions. Further down his chest hosted a variety of cuts new and old; some appeared to be burns, others were lashes. His ribs were prominent, obviously he had not been eating well for a while. Just before Draco's eyes fell on his briefs he saw an odd mark, a scar which had healed in a strange shape. Leaning closer, Draco growled as he made out the letter 'F'. 'Didn't that little imp of a man, Justin's, last name begin with F?'

"That fucking bastard," he hissed. Resisting the urge, Draco continued his examination. Potter hosted a myriad of bruises, cuts, lesions and oddly shaped lacerations. His back was the most torn.

As delicately as possible, Draco removed Potter's shackles careful not to wake him. Cally arrived with the potion kit and water. "Towels and cloths, Cally. A bucket of warm water as well," Draco instructed. Although he didn't specialise in this type of healing, Draco believed he knew enough to mend some of the newer wounds and quicken the healing of the others.

With his wand steadied over him, Draco began to do a preliminary survey. He summoned some parchment and his everlasting quill from his study, taking notes as he went along. All of Potter's vital signs were moderate, however, his pulse was fair. Draco assumed this was because of the malnutrition which showed clearly after just a moment of his examination. Not wanting to waste time, fearing that Potter would react to him the same way he had before once he woke, Draco prioritised what needed healing first.

"Bones," Draco muttered to himself. In his training, he was always told to assess any broken bones first – stabilise and set them if possible. Using a full body orthopedic diagnostic spell took concentration, but Draco knit his brows together, took a steady breath, and exhaled as he began the movements over Potter's still body. "Abnormes Os Contritum Revelare."

Potter's entire body became suddenly illuminated, however, it quickly dissipated and only a few points were left glowing a dull blue. One, however, was a bright purple that nearly blinded Draco. He swore again. He had several fractured and improperly healed ribs, three spinal compression fractures from no more than a few months ago, and one healing ankle and tibia fracture, as well as the newest and brightest – his cheekbone. Setting to work, Draco first applied a heavily soothing balm which would numb Potter was he worked his magic, setting the bones.

Slowly, methodically, and careful to heal Potter with absolute precision, it took Draco nearly an hour to set each bone without stirring the man. Taking precise notes of the fractures, how he set them, and which ones would still need care and for how long till they were healed, Draco conjured a chair for him to sit back on. He was perspiring now, he felt drained from the extensive use of advanced Healing spells. He was not used to such magic.

Taking the water, which he had requested for Potter's sake, Draco drained the glass and refilled it – just in case the raven-haired man awoke. Unwilling to test the limits of his magic on such a currently frail patient, Draco used the cloths and warm water Cally had brought. With care Draco began to wipe the blood from Potter's head. It took him nearly as long just to clean his front side as it had to set his healing and broken bones. Draco left Potter the dignity of leaving his briefs on, foregoing the area for cleaning at the present moment.

The warm water soon turned tepid; it was stained red when Draco finally stopped his ministrations. Once again, Draco took notes as he would have done a patient at St. Mungo's. "Bloody hell, Potter, how did this happen?" he swore aloud, standing back to capture a full survey of his body again.

Having cleaned him and worked with the bones, Potter already looked improved and yet he was worse than any other patient Draco had ever seen. Casting a tempus, Draco was shocked to see three hours had gone by since he missed his appointment at St. Mungo's. The thought of it angered him, however, he had more pressing matters to attend to at the present moment. His mind was reeling with questions, ones he would be unable to answer, and he was resisting the urge to apparate straight back to this Justin character's flat. 'What kind of sick man does this to somebody? To the bloody Chosen One?' Draco shivered. Nobody deserved this; he had not seen this kind of brutality since the war.

With the last of his energies, Draco had his potions kit splayed out on the bedside table. His hand ran over the familiar concoctions and he was thankful for his obsessive nature in having a sufficient stock always brewed. He pulled out a salving balm and lazily began to rub it over the wounds, once again beginning from his head and working downwards. All the while, he had to stop his thoughts from racing away from him. He did not the distraction of becoming irrational – not now.

"Master Draco, sir," Cally called from the ajar door.

"Quiet, Cally," Draco warned her, to which she bowed obediently.

"Master has two owls, sir, they is not letting Cally take letters. They is in Master's bedroom," Cally informed him, her voice barely even a whisper.

"Thank you, Cally. I'm done with this now, just leave the potions and glass," Draco gestured towards the table of soiled cloths and bloodied water. Cally nodded her understanding as with a few quiet, small movements she was bundling them all up in her scrawny arms and taking them out of the room.

Draco took another glance at Potter, he still appeared to be unconscious. Wary of leaving him alone, Draco stepped outside the room and drew in whatever strength he had left to cast a ward on the room. It would inform him if Potter awoke. With heavy feet, Draco retreated to his bedroom and most certainly did find two owls there waiting for him, giving one another uneasy glares.

Taking a letter from each of their talons, he waved them off. Unravelling one, he sighed at Blaise Zabini's familiar scrawl.

Draco,

Where the bloody hell were you? You missed your appointment! You've been waiting for this for years! Is everything alright?

Owl me immediately.

Undecided as to what he should say, Draco decided against owling his friend and instead shoved the scrap of parchment into his trousers. Opening the other one, he felt dense disappointment set into his chest.

Mr. Draco Malfoy,

This letter is being sent to you on behalf of the Human Resources Department and Committee for New Employees at St. Mungo's Hospital for Injuries and Magical Maladies.

At ten o'clock this Monday, the twentieth of April, the year two-thousand and four, you were absent from a mandatory process in our new hires program. Due to this circumstance, you will no longer be accepted for further consideration in respect of the position which you applied for.

Best Regards,

Secretary of Human Resources,
Ephraim Inglewood.

"Fucking hell," Draco kicked at the corner of his bed and dropped the letter, running a hand through his hair. He had wasted his only chance, completely blown it, and for what? To rescue Potter from the throes of domestic abuse? Why the bloody hell did Draco have to save the bloody Saviour?

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Draco sighed. It was not even dinner time and yet his whole life had been turned around in one morning. Draco now faced the dilemma of what he should do with Potter. Of course he could bring him to St. Mungo's, where at least he had shown enough reputable behaviour that he would not be immediately blamed for the injuries to the Saviour. At least he hoped he would not be.

Calling an auror or bringing him to the Ministry was absolutely out of the question. They no longer trusted veritaserum or legilimency as means of determining an individual's innocence; never since the war when they discovered so many could outsmart such tactics. Draco would have no way to prove that he was not the one who did this to Potter and his history worked against him.

What he really wanted to do was apparate back to Justin's flat and use each and every dark curse he could think of on the man and get the whole story out of him. 'No,' Draco quickly shook his head, his fists clenched on his knees, 'If Justin reported me, it would be his word against mine.' The Wizarding World did not see the Mafloy name as it once used to and Draco would have to be careful.

Once Potter awoke, once he was able to converse with Draco, then the man would ask the patient what he wished to do. For now, Draco would do what he could.

Something tugged under Draco's skin; the ward was going off. Hurrying down to the room, Draco was surprised at what he found once he got there. Potter was on the floor in the corner of the room, the one furthest away from the door, and he was cowering with a pillow tucked into his chest. His eyes were barely visible over the top of the pillow and they were wide, frantic and frightened. The man was shaking violently.

Cautiously, Draco walked into the room, being careful to appear as non-threatening as possible. His hands were outstretched, palms up, to show Potter he once again meant no harm. "Potter," Draco began softly, but at the sound of his own name, Potter flinched. "Harry," Draco corrected himself softly, coming down to his knees now that he was a meter away from the man. Potter did not flinch at the use of his first name and even his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Do you know who I am?" Draco inquired, his voice a whisper.

Potter nodded, his arms tightening their hold on the pillow as he drew his legs closer to his chest. "D-Draco Malfoy," he stuttered. His voice was dry, uncertain, and certainly not the voice Draco ever recalled Potter having.

Draco nodded approvingly, inching his way forward slowly enough that Potter did not seem to notice it. With his injuries, he shouldn't be anywhere but in bed, and Draco still needed to clean and heal the wounds on his back. "Do you know where you are?" Draco asked.

Potter paused for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "A bedroom," he settled with.

A tight, uneasy laugh escaped Draco's throat. "I guess that is all you would know. You are in my home. I live outside of Wiltshire. Nobody else lives with me, just my House Elf, Cally," Draco explained, knowing well enough that with any traumatized patient, it was best they understood their surroundings. "Do you remember how you came to be here?"

It only took a moment before Potter's demeanor changed. His eyes became fearful and he was trembling again, he cowered his head forward, fully burying it in his pillow. "Please don't bring me back! Please, please! I-I don't want to…I-" his voice croaked and all Draco could hear being elicited were whimpers.

'Is Potter crying?' Draco thought astonished. It was certainly a sight he never thought he would see. "I won't, ever," he promised. "You are safe here, Harry. You have nothing to worry about," Draco tried to sound reassuring.

Slowly, the trembling ceased and the whimpering became silenced. Potter poked his eyes over the pillow again and brought it down far enough that his mouth was seen as well. Draco winced at the black eye and the cheekbone – it still didn't look quite right. "I apparated you here. I apologise for doing it in such a brash manner and for handling you when you didn't wish to be handled," Draco said; 'Get the patient to trust you. If you do something to abuse that trust, do what you have to in order to regain it,' he thought, his training sounding in his head.

"Why?" Potter questioned.

Draco's eyes widened at the question – he had been asking himself that very one all morning; why him, why Potter, why on the day he had his interview, and why when he had taken the Felix Felicis? "May I help you back into bed, please? It is not good for your condition to be down on the floor," Draco said, opting to ignore the question. He truly did not have an answer for Potter.

Eyeing him steadily, yet careful not to make direct eye contact, Potter eventually shook his head. "I-I can do it," he said. As he stood, Draco tried to offer his hand by gently grabbing his arm to help him up, but it caused Harry to cry out and pull himself back from Draco's touch.

Putting up his hands in defense, Draco stood himself and backed up. "I apologise. Please, try again and I will not help this time. I will stand over here," he said, moving to the other side of the bed.

Warily, Potter stood and inched his way over to the bed, wincing with every step.

"Can you lie on your stomach? I need to examine the wounds on your back – I will not touch you unless you say it is okay," Draco assured.

Doing as he was told, Potter laid himself down on his front with his arms at his sides. Draco refrained himself from swearing and instead bit his lip, suppressing the urge to go off about the state of Potter's back. He wanted so desperately to know how Potter had come to be in this situation, but he knew asking now would be redundant. He needed to build a relationship with the patient first, it was the most essential part of Healing.

From his shoulders down to his hips were slashes. It was obviously Potter had been whipped regularly. Some were old, some were newer, and some were completely settled in scars. They ranged from small to inches long and a few centimetres thick. Some were deeper than others and Draco was amazed he wasn't seeing bone and sinew, yet. Most of the wounds were surrounded with dried blood, some of the larger and newer ones still prickled with it. Something about the wounds unsettled Draco, more than they would have, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I am going to use my wand to examine you now. I will not touch you, but I need to examine you with magic," Draco said, withdrawing his wand, but Potter was shaking his head.

"No, please, no magic," he whimpered.

Wanting to growl in frustration, Draco set down his wand on the bedside table. "Okay, no magic. Can I at least clean the wounds with my hands then? I will just put warm water and a cloth on them, that is all," he explained.

"O-Okay…" Potter trailed off, he did not sound entirely sure he liked either option but he did not seem particularly able to deny Draco both methods, either. He seemed so subdued, so subservient, and seeing and knowing that enraged Draco even more.

With magic ruled out, Draco had to leave the room before he could call Cally to retrieve more water and cloths. Once he returned, Potter had not moved an inch, and he began his work. He was completely careful not to touch his skin with his own and it took quite some time for Draco to clean his wounds. They both remained silent throughout the process, besides when Potter would make a small, protesting noise, every few moments.

Once he was finished, Draco set aside the cloth and settled back on his chair. "Can I not heal you with magic?" he asked quietly, almost with a hint of desperation. Even with the wounds cleaned, they looked terribly painful and they ran the risk of becoming infected.

"No magic," Potter repeated, mumbling against the bedclothes.

Sighing, Draco reached for his potions kit which still lay open from earlier. "Potions, you have to at least take potions, Potter," he exasperated and then swore underneath his breath as the raven-haired man flinched, "Harry."

"Potions? I…" Potter's voice once again became lost but Draco was certain he saw a slow now.

"This," Draco said, retrieving a cloudy vial from his case, "Is a nutrition potion. It will help replenish whatever vitamins and minerals you are currently lacking," he explained, handing to Potter who was still on his stomach and seemed uncertain whether or not he should move. "And this, is a pain reliever," he handed him a second vial. "Take them both and I will give you another in six hours."

With the potions in his hand, Potter still did not move from his stomach, but he was peeking out from the side, looking sidelong at Draco, his eyes bearing into his abdomen. It was as if he were waiting for something.

'He is waiting for instructions. He is waiting for me to tell him to move, again. Bloody hell, Potter, how broken are you?'

"You can move, Harry," he said softly.

Immediately, Potter rolled onto his back again, a strangled whine being emitted from his chest at the pain of moving. Eyeing the potions warily, Potter eventually tipped them back as he propped himself up on his elbows. He scowled at the taste of them which caused Draco to laugh lightly once again – anything to lighten the mood. "They taste wretched, I know. If I had enough time, I think I would discover a way to make every potion taste better than they do," he shared.

Potter didn't respond to his words and instead handed him back the vials, careful not to touch Draco's out-stretched hand as he did. "If you won't let me heal you, you should rest, Harry. You desperately need it," Draco instructed, standing up from the chair and closing up the potions kit. 'Potter is going to be needing a pain reliever and nutritional potion every six hours for Merlin knows how long…I'll need to go brew a large batch of each. He would also benefit from Skele-Gro, I should prepare some of that as well, and-' He had been thinking to himself as he began to leave the room, knowing he would not get any questions answered yet – not until the trust was built, but Harry made a noise again as he neared the door.

Draco looked over his shoulder at the man who had pulled himself under the covers now and was clinging to them. "S-stay?"

The request was so small, so quiet, and Draco couldn't even be upset about it. Potter had been abused, Potter was broken, so much so that he even felt safer and more at ease in the presence of Draco – of all people.

Walking back over to his chair, Draco took a seat. "Of course," he said gently. He was unaware of how long he sat there staring at Potter's back before he himself followed his old classmate into sleep.