A/N: I am looking for a beta-reader… If anyone wants to volunteer, or can point me in the right direction, I'd be much obliged, thanks.
Chapter 3: Through Glass
The Wronski Feint can, in fact, be executed on any number of vintage broomsticks, though the peril of using older models has been proven time and time again. For example, Forsley Elgard, a successful Chaser for the Chudley Cannons, once lost control on the infamous dive and…
Tap tap.
Harry adjusted his glasses on his nose, the barely audible tap on the window immediately translating to him as Hedwig's return, "That wasn't very long—"
The words died on his tongue as he rushed over to the window and threw it back open.
"My God, Draco…"
He never even took the time to think about the last, bitter words that they had said just before Harry had boarded the Hogwart's Express at the end of term only four-and-a-half weeks ago. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Draco's ribs just in time for the exhausted boy to lose control of his spell. Had Harry been only instants slower, Draco surely would have plunged down to the cement patio below.
Head nodding on a pencil-thin neck, Draco seemed incapable of understanding Harry for a moment, his eyes glazed in intense effort. He didn't respond as Harry dragged him bodily into the room.
"What on earth…??" Harry murmured. Draco looked up at him with the eyes of a wounded beast and opened his mouth, looking surprised when nothing happened. Again, his mouth gaped open, and Harry heard the sickening wet sound of his lungs rasping air in past his abused vocal chords. Looking disconcerted, Draco was about to try again when he began gagging.
"C'mon, let's get you over here…" Harry dragged his silver-haired companion over to an unadorned chair that stood in the corner. Collapsing into himself like a rag-doll, Draco flopped onto the seat, gasping and choking. Harry, attempting to be comforting, tried to rub a hand on his back, but found to his dismay that it came away bloody. Turning back to look at Draco, Harry was shocked to find that blood was slowly trickling down his chin as well.
"You are a mess…" Finally meeting his eyes, Draco stared at Harry for a moment, then merely nodded, a miniscule tilt of his head that looked like it took an immense effort to execute.
Adrenaline slowly ebbing away, Harry took a moment to take in all of Draco's injuries.
It wasn't pleasant.
It looked like he had been tenderized, then filleted, then flambéed. That was too many cooking terms for Harry's comfort. Draco's lower lip was swollen and bloody, his silver hair was ruddy and stained from head injuries, blood trickled in steady streams from his nose and mouth.
That was just his face.
Blood coated Draco's palms, as if he had been forced to clutch handfuls of razorblades. His back was a slick of crimson over a robe that had been slashed to ribbons and his feet…
His leather boots looked like they had been eaten through with acid at some point, the side of one boot and the toe of another were gone. Where Draco's left foot poked through the remains of his shoes, it was a mess of blisters and thick, noxious liquids.
Cautiously, Harry leaned over his companion and lifted his robes slightly, to find that the right ankle had swelled to unnatural proportions. Whether it was from another injury or from poisoning, Harry couldn't guess. Draco didn't seem perturbed by being manhandled. In truth, he had merely gone back to staring up at the ceiling with eyes that only reflected.
He had the glazed look of a man who had nothing left in him… An empty soulless shell.
Harry rocked back on his heels and for a moment, could only stare in dismay. Finally resolving something in himself, he leaned forward and placed a careful hand on Draco's unbruised cheek.
"What did they do to you?" Harry whispered.
Draco turned into his hand and fixed him with his void gaze, "N'thing… I d'n't… d'serve…"