Author Note: A bit of a lighter chapter once you get into it, though the beginning follows the same themes as the first two chapters. Gets lighter as I add Harry into the story. Yes, we have Harry! *joy* Also, there are some slight spoilers from book 5. Nothing big, not like anyone dying *cough* or anything like that. However, something like that might come up later. For now, its just a real little thing, thus you've been officially warned. So yeah, I'll actually start writing now... enjoy!
Draco awoke the next morning, his head pounding like he had never felt it ache before, and his chest heaved with each breathe he took. His eyes felt heavy when he tried to open them, and his muscles pulsed beneath his skin with every attempt to move them. He felt cold wood beneath himself, and as he tried to lift a hand from ground, he felt the resistance as a sticky substance was removed as well.
Blood.
And once again that day, Draco remembered. All those moments of suffering, of pain... it came back to him, no matter how hard he fought to forget it. And each moment of pain spilled forth from his mind to his body, making his suffering worsen tenfold.
And the pain was unbearable... but he fought it.
He lifted his head slowly, feeling the muscles tighten within his neck and the blood rushing through his veins as he did so. He leaned himself against the blood stained wall to support himself, and then lifted his body up using what little power remained in it. He nearly slipped and fell, though Draco fell against the wall again, and fought to stand straight as what was left of his world crashed down on him in realization...
My Father raped me.
And his hand began to quiver in thought as the rest of the night flooded back to him. All over he could feel the pain that he felt, as the images flashed through his young mind. As his arm was torn at again and again as he used it to lift himself from the ground, and he felt every small wound on his arm open again, open and bleed. As a longing hand ran across his chest, stroking it softly, and Draco felt every shudder run through his body, one after the other. And...and...
And Draco broke down crying.
He hated himself for it, for having broken the one sense of pride he had left in himself. For having lost himself in the thoughts of things gone past, for letting them take hold of him and grip him tightly, for letting the raw emotion within him drip down his pale cheeks.
Though his body still ached with pain and regret, Draco stood strong then, wiping the stray tears from his face. His eyes had already turned a pale red, and his hands were soaked with a deeper shade of crimson from the pool of blood they had lain in. His tousled hair fell down into his gray eyes, and his face shone with determination despite the pain.
The boy took a step forward, testing his footing against the pure dolor racing through his thigh as he moved, his stomach lurching every step of the way. His limbs felt like jelly; the Cruciatus Curse had bent them in such a way that they had been nearly crippled without breaking. He could hardly use his arms, and even as he leaned onto the walls, and the dressers, he felt the bones curving through his thin skin.
Slowly, he moved towards his closet doors, blood dripping down the walls, down his unclothed arms, oozing out of a deep gash on his forehead. Occasionally a small splatter of blood fell from a stray strand off his silvery hair and into his eye, momentarily blinding him, and he stumbled over one thing after another. He once tripped over his father's discarded robes, having been thrown blindly against the wall in a rush, and they sent the boy back to the floor. He fell hard, his shoulder having been thrust down the hardest in an attempt to soften the fall elsewhere, but he heard a sickening crack as he landed, and pain coursed through his right arm. Draco cursed his father again as he lifted himself once more, though he was barely able to do so.
As he reached the closet door, he picked out his finest robes, pulling them over his bare body. He dressed himself as completely as he could, his right arm still hanging limply at his side. This is it, he told himself, gathering his wand and a few other valuables, and placing them into his robe's pocket. I can't take it anymore. Draco stepped out of his room with a renewed sense of strength. He ignored the pain in his chest as he drew short breaths, ignored the blackness that continually drove into his young mind.
I will stay here no longer. I am not weak, and I am not so stupid as to stay in a house that makes me out to be so. He walked along the long corridors of his fine home, running fragile hands along heavy stone walls. I will fight you in this way no longer, father... No. The blonde came to a halt, pausing in thought. Not father... Lucius. You've never been a father to me, and never will be... Lucius... I will not fight you here. I will fight a battle of wits... He continued to walk again, thoughtlessly, until he reached the front door of Malfoy Manor. And Lucius? Draco sighed as he opened the door and stepped outside. He noted the bloody trail he had left behind him, noted the deep crimson liquid that now dripped off the handle of the front door onto the block of pavement outside. "...I will win..."
*****
"Harry, catch!" A deep red ball whisked through the orange sky, and was caught in the calloused hands of a messy-headed teenager. The boy, Harry, flew through the firmament at his top speed upon his Firebolt, and then tossed the ball into a small, wicker basket at the end of a large field.
"Score!" Cried a small girl standing on the grass at the base of the field, her eyes fixed on her brothers and their friend. Harry flew down from the makeshift Quidditch pitch, and, landing beside her, stepped over his broom handle, holding the bewitched object at his side. Three redheads flew down behind him, landing similarly nearby him, although the last tripped a little as he flung his leg over his broomstick.
"You put up a good game, Harry," said one of the older boys, running a hand through his rustled hair. "Even if you are playing with Ron..." He looked back at the boy who had tripped over his broom, who was now heading towards the other three.
"Nice Fred, very nice..." Ron sighed, and took his spot next to Harry. "But we still beat you, 100 to 70, so I wouldn't talk if I were you."
"Well, Ron... or should I say, my King..." The other older boy, George, trailed off, as he elbowed his obvious twin, Fred. Their features were identical; they even had the same cocky grin glued to their faces.
Ron frowned at the memories of 'Weasley is our King,' and the taunting he'd received as the Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper. "Ron's improved a lot, George..." Harry sighed, and the breeze blew against his sweat-coated forehead, cooling him. He smiled as he saw Mrs. Weasley moving towards the group with a tray of Butterbeer. "G'morning, Mrs. Weasley!"
The others turned to face their mother, smiling as well. "Morning, mum..." Fred and George spoke together, and Ron and the young girl, Ginny, followed their lead. The woman handed out mugs of the butterscotch flavored beverage, a favorite of wizards everywhere.
"Good morning, Weasley's, Harry..." She nodded toward Harry Potter, who, with a little convincing from Tonks, Remus, and Moody, had gotten his Aunt and Uncle to leave him at the Burrow for the summer. "Well now, aren't you up early. Quidditch training already, and it hasn't even been a week into the summer yet..." She smiled more brightly, giving off a warmer glow than the rising sun over the horizon.
The Weasley boys, Ginny, and Harry gulped down their Butterbeers quickly, eager to get back onto the Quidditch pitch. Ginny, freshly awakened, would be joining Harry and Ron for the new game, as she needed to get the feeling of playing with them if she were to try out for the new team next year; her spot as seeker being reclaimed by Harry now that Umbridge was gone.
Harry finished off the refreshing beverage, and mounted his broom again. He hovered a couple of feet off the ground as he waited for the others. They joined him quickly, full of ambition and readiness. Ron brought the Quaffle up as they rose higher into the sky, prepared to start the second game of the day. Harry vaguely noticed Fred and George smiling gaily from the corner of his eyes, though he paid little attention to it.
"Ready?" Ron asked his brother, as he tossed the ball to Harry, who faced George at the center of the pitch.
"As ever."
With that, Harry tossed the ball into the air, and the game began. Ron mostly remained in the back, practicing his skill at guarding the wicker basket. Harry was right; his skill had drastically improved since the beginning of the year. Though he still let the ball in more often than Wood ever had, and he still had a problem when he felt all eyes were on him, he had adjusted to the game well.
Ginny moved swiftly between Fred and George, catching the Quaffle as her brother reached out for it. She nimbly dodged the rocks that Fred and George had bewitched to act as bludgers as they flew by her, and they came towards Harry then. Harry dodged behind Fred, and the fake bludger was coming towards him, when Harry noticed Fred pull out a bat, and hit the bludger with all his strength.
The rock cracked and broke into hundreds of pieces, which then proceeded to chase Harry, Ron, and Ginny as George flicked his wand at it, targeting only those three. The other bludger fell to the ground as Fred undid the spell whilst laughing with George as their opposing team was bombarded with gravel, as in the olden days when official Quidditch games were still played with rocks.
Ginny, still in possession of the Quaffle, was hit by the small pieces of rock, which then fell to the ground afterwards as the spell placed on them wasn't the most powerful. Angered by the constant pinching feeling she felt as each piece slammed into her, she threw the Quaffle at Fred with all her strength. Fred, still laughing with George as he watched his brother, sister, and friend pecked by the rocks, turned as he heard Ginny make a sound behind him, with just enough time to see the Quaffle coming towards him.
He lifted his bat up, and sent the ball hurling back towards Ginny, who managed to dodge it, and then watched it fly off about a mile into the distance. George quickly flicked his wand once more, and the remaining bits of gravel fell to the ground. He barely heard Fred muttering something under his breath as he flew toward the edge of the pitch. "Fred, you stupid git. I told you to put a wall up 'round the pitch." Once again, he heard Fred muttering something under his breath.
Harry and Ron, anxious to continue the game, flew next to George and looked off into the grassland beyond the Burrow. "Harry, you've got a fast broom and a good eye, think you can fetch it for us?" He looked toward Ron and nodded, and his form grew smaller and smaller as he flew off into the distance.
Harry, using his Seeker instinct, ran his eyes back and forth as he flew over the tall grass outside the burrow. He watched for any sign of the large ball, though he'd flown nearly a mile already without sight of it. He was tempted to turn back when out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark mound that appeared to be moving.
Pulling down slowly as he moved toward the figure, he came to a halt a few feet above it. He could hear heavy breathing from what he realized was a dark cloak, and then landed beside it. He looked down at the figure as he ran a hand through his dark, windswept hair, and saw a dark spot the stood out firmly the gray cloak. He pressed his hand to it lightly, and the figure groaned in response.
He lifted his hand immediately, and noticed his fingers were now coated in a deep crimson liquid. Harry, taken aback with worry for the creature, lifted the cloak from the it, and watched as it sunk back, not accustomed to the incoming light. It groaned again, and muttered a few incomprehensible words.
The brunette was sure he recognized the voice, though from where he did not know. He bent down, and placed a soothing hand on the back of the wizard that lay before him. "Don't worry..." Harry muttered softly, "I'll get you somewhere safe..."
He felt the figure jerk slowly beneath his hand, and then lift itself from the cool grass on which it laid with its left arm. "P...Potter...?" With a quick twist the boy beneath Harry landed on his back, his face covered with blood and an expression of raw shock, which was quickly copied onto Harry's face.
"Malfoy?"
Author Note: Woo hoo! This officially qualifies as the longest chapter yet ^_^ By the way, I just wanted to thank Tweek2 for being my lone reviewer... I really appreciate it! ^^ Well, thanks for reading, please review with comments/suggestions!