Author Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I opened up my e-mail today and saw 5 reviews for this, all of which, I am proud to say, made me smile. Though I wasn't sure on the one that just said "o.O" which probably means I scared someone ^^;; Which isn't bad, because I like scaring people XD Also, I changed the secondary genre, for those of you who didn't notice. I decided it was going to be more Drama-ish than Angst-ish in future chapters, though I promise to still deliver loads of Angst ^^ As for this chapter, the first page or so isn't the best I've written, though I think the second half came out pretty well, but then, I guess that's up for you to decide ^^ Enjoy
***
"We ask you to get the Quaffle, and you come back with Malfoy!?" Ron hissed, glaring at Harry, still unable to believe the sight before him. On his tattered couch lay a tattered Draco Malfoy, covered in blood and sweat, taking quick, shallow breaths. "I mean, yeah, there's not many differences... They both float around looking pretty, and they're both full of a bunch of hot air... But really Harry, really... Malfoy?"
"Ron, do you honestly think I wanted to carry that bloke back here?" He nodded toward Draco then, who remained flat on his back and simply groaned in his unconscious state as he clawed at the air. "He needs help."
Ron let out a low grumble; though he'd never been fond of Malfoy, he couldn't deny that he'd never seen him looking as pitiful as this. Blood still dripped from an unhealed gash on his pale forehead, running down the bridge of his nose and dripping off his chin onto his chest. He was bruised and battered, his arm hung limp at his side, and still they hadn't seen the injuries beneath his bloodstained robes. He continued breathing hard, with a pained expression on his face as Harry and the Weasley family stood around him.
"Should we take him to St. Mungos?" Ginny asked halfheartedly, running a hand through her long hair.
"No," replied Mrs Weasley who, unlike the others, took pity on the beaten form of Draco Malfoy. "They'd require a family member there, and the last person we want to deal with over this is Lucius Malfoy." Mr Weasley nodded in agreement, for he shared Mrs Weasley's views in protecting the boy.
"The second Lucius becomes involved in this is the second I lose my job over 'beating his son' to this point." Mr Weasley sighed, gesturing towards Draco. "It doesn't matter whether I did this to him or not. And look at him, he looks awful... We'll have to keep him here for now, I suppose."
"WHAT!?" Ron cried, his eyes expanding in a moment of shock. "You can't be serious, right Dad? He's a bloody Malfoy! He can't stay here..."
"Come on, Ron," said Harry, sighing as he did so. "Look at him."
"No way, too ugly."
"Ron..." Ron looked towards him then, running his eyes up and down his twisted form. "He needs this, Ron. He needs us." Harry felt his stomach plunge as he spoke; he'd never expect to be supporting Draco as he did now.
"Listen, Ron, he can stay here until he heals, should he wish to." Mrs Weasley took a step towards her youngest son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've got no other choice; we can't just leave him out there alone, we'd be just like a Malfoy if we did that."
"Fine then, Mother," Ron said, looking disgusted. "If you're all so against me..." He looked pointedly in Harry's direction. "But he is not sleeping in my room."
"All right then, Ron. Harry, would you mind if he stayed in the guest room with you?" Mrs Weasley looked towards Harry as well, who quickly covered up a look of disdain when Ron opened his mouth to speak.
"That would be..." Harry paused, looking back towards the wounded Draco Malfoy. "Wonderful, Mrs. Weasley, just bloody wonderful..."
*****
Draco awoke the next morning, pulling a soft blanket up to the base of his chin. He opened his eyes slowly, and rolled his shoulders back as he stretched. A sharp pain shot through him, and the realization that he wasn't in his own bed, not even his own room, hit him as he opened his eyes wider.
The room, messy as it was, was quite comfortable. A small chair was set next to an empty bed across the room, and the pure white sheets were tangled as though they had just been slept in. next to the bed lay a stack of random belongings: School robes, Quidditch robes, muggle clothing, a broomstick, a large cage, and an old trunk which Draco was sure contained many more items.
The floor was of a dark wood, with several cracks that ran great lengths down the small room. The lighting was decent; a small light bulb was suspended in the air with nothing holding it at all, and it shone brightly, displaying the cobwebs in the corners of the room.
Draco then looked down onto himself when he noticed the faint tinge of blood on the covers of the bed. He'd been stripped down to his boxers, and his side was bandaged by a long piece of gauze that had been tightly wrapped around him. It had turned a pale red, and the smallest amount had leaked out onto the blankets surrounding him. His arm was in a tightly bound, makeshift cast of sorts as well, and it lay at his side.
There was the sudden pounding of footsteps from outside the oak door, followed by the rushing of loud voices. Draco shut his eyes quickly as the sounds approached him, feigning sleep as he continued to wonder where he was and who he was with.
The door burst open, and a fit of laughter was broken as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley remembered that Draco Malfoy lay only a few feet from them. They took light steps towards Harry's bedside, and Harry bent over the pile of clothes next to it, tossing a second set of Quidditch robes on top, and then pulling a deep red sweater over his upper-body.
Draco squinted so he'd appear asleep, as he was curious as to who had taken him in, in his bloody form. Through his blurred vision, he saw two figures moving back towards the door, speaking in hushed voices, and occasionally taking a quick look in his direction.
The first figure was a somewhat short, scrawny teenager, with a messy head of jet-black hair, and what Draco thought looked like a pair of thick black glasses. The other one was much taller, and was wearing tattered muggle clothing, with bright red hair that shone from the magically suspended light bulb. Oh, it's just Potter and Weasley...
Draco's eyes shot open in a split second of realization. "Potter and Weasley!? What the hell!?" Harry and Ron turned abruptly at the sound of the familiar voice.
"Yes, because see, Harry, he's in such pitiful condition..." Ron nodded towards Draco, who was attempting to push himself up of the bed with his one good arm. "We just had to take him in..." He watched as Draco fell down to the bed with a thud when his weakened arm could no longer hold is heavy body, and mumbled a bit as he did so.
"Why the hell am I here, Weasley?" He spat bitterly in the boys' direction, still trying to push himself up off of the warm mattress on which he lay. He fell again, and quietly cursed his weakened form under his breath. "Where am I anyway...?" He asked more calmly, though a strong sneer was still spread across his face.
"Well, for one, you're in my humble little home. Welcome to the Burrow." Ron turned away quickly after he spoke when he saw the sneer on Draco's face play into a deep frown. "As for why you're here, I'd suggest you ask 'Potter.'" Ron then walked straight through the old oak door, and the distinct sound of pounding feet was heard, followed by another door being slammed shut down the hall.
"Well then, Potter... Again, why the hell am I in the Weasel's house?"
"Because, I was stupid enough to bring you here," Harry said with a sigh.
"And what in the wizarding world drove you to that? Did you find the need to pull off another random act of kindness? Not seeing your name in the paper enough lately?" Draco made his last attempt at raising himself from the mattress; he fell once more and groaned in disgust, then shifted himself so he could get a good view of both the room and Harry.
"Oh, don't act like you don't remember, Malfoy," Harry said glumly, running his hand through his hair in his umpteenth attempt to straighten it. "You moaned and groaned when I found you out there. You practically begged for my mercy." Harry knew he was twisting the truth in this case, but he knew he needed to take what chances he had to insult the pureblooded wizard. "I found you out in the fields, covered in blood, and you whimpered when I touched you..."
"I never!" As Harry brought back the details of the previous day, Draco's mind supplied his memories for him. True, he remembered groaning at the touch, but when you have a hole pierced in your side that's pouring out blood, it's the least to be expected.
Harry sighed, unhappy with the thought he'd been able to break Draco's confidence for the day. Still, he went on; "Well, I brought you back here, since you were dying out there. Seeing as how you dropped unconscious on the flight back, we all just decided that it'd be best if you stayed here until you recovered. That is, except for Ron. I think he wanted you left out for a hungry herd of Hippogriffs to find."
"And why didn't you drop me off at St. Mungos instead? Didn't you want to get me out of your hands?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thought it best not to get your father involved, and if we left you there..." Harry trailed off, watching as Draco's eyes sunk at the mention of his father. For a second, Harry saw his outer shield crack and break down, and the iciness in his eyes melted away. But just as swiftly as it had disappeared, the shield was back again, and Draco glowered at Harry, who simply stood watching the quick, seamless transformation.
"All right."
All right?, Harry thought to himself. He'd expected another witty comment about how, maybe Harry had secretly wanted him here, or how he wanted to say that it was him who'd cured an awful ailment to the son of one of the richest, most respected wizards of the day. He didn't understand the calm reply that just accepted the facts as they were. Nor did he understand the breaking of his shell at the mention of Lucius, though he dare not tread down that path at this time.
"Well then, I'm sure if you need anything, you won't hesitate to ask..." Harry said, taking a step back from the side of the blonde.
Draco, feeling defeated at the mention of his father-no, Lucius,- simply nodded, though he continued to glare in Harry's direction as he walked out the door he had entered through. He listened as Harry's footsteps echoed down the long hallway of the Burrow, much lighter than Ron's had been, and then a door was shut in the same vicinity of the one that Ron had slammed.
Draco heaved a heavy sigh, not entirely sure as to what he should think. The pureblooded Malfoy inside of him longed for escape. Surely it's better to die in a field as you bleed to death, a voice inside his head said to him, than to live from the help of 'The Boy Who Lived' and a poor family of Weasels.
However, another voice rang just as clearly, the voice that had always rebelled against the Malfoy traditions that Draco was forced to believe in. A voice that Draco knew longed only to be accepted by his father, and the people around him, albeit the students at Hogwarts, or the poised and classy children of the businessmen who attended either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. You should at least give a thank you to someone, Draco, the voice told him cheerily.
Draco, who had quickly realized he was intently listening to a conversation between two arguing, invisible voices within his head, placed a hand to his forehead and sighed once more. He slid down, laying his head against the soft pillow, and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to gain sleep and lose the voices, and more importantly the memories of Lucius by Harry's talk of St. Mungos...
*****
Draco awoke again several hours later. Having finally achieved sleep that afternoon, he had slept through the remainder of the day, and now lay awake, gazing at the ceiling and listening to the slow, deep breaths of Harry Potter several hours past midnight.
Again he tried to lift himself from his bed, but fell back again and again. He looked down onto himself with disgust for his weakness. He noticed his bandages had been changed again, as they were now a much purer white than they had been before. Draco placed a hand on his side over the wound, cringing slightly as the pain shot through his thin body again.
He closed his eyes as he grew immune to the pain that coursed through him from the pressure on the puncture at his side. The darkness comforted him as it had since he was a child. He chose blackness in favor of light, as he had grown in fear of the day, fearing the power that his father had placed over him and displayed during every day ever since he was old enough to understand that force and pain could be used in the most manipulative of ways. And since those days, sleep had become his only comfort, a blackness surrounding him and taking away the pain.
But even now the enrapturing sleep was downcast into a fall through nightmares; long passed memories that continued to haunt him to the very day.
Still, in the comforting atmosphere of the Burrow, even the nightmares faded away in sleep, replaced by a deep blackness in which nothing could be seen. Draco embraced the surrounding darkness, falling into it as the world slowly left him again. His mind was clear of all thought or memory; there was nothing being played through his young mind, not a single scarring memory, just an empty bleakness that Draco had always longed for.
After all, ignorance is bliss.
And deep down, Draco knew that he would face his problems another day. He knew he would be forced to face the destruction of all that was left of his crumbling world. But for that moment, it was all nothing to him, simply a melody of cascading notes that played through him like a band. Playing out sad sounds of defeat, soft melodies of emptiness, and occasionally he thought he heard the sound of a trumpet that blew the strong notes of victory. But the thoughts of these he would save to ponder for another day, for now a clear calm sleep was all that stood before him, and Draco nodded off into a land of nothingness...
However, just as he succumbed to the forces that brought him down into the comforting blackness, he heard a pop in the corner of his mind and flung his eyes open in anger. He could vaguely make out a figure across the room standing near Harry's bed, holding a wand in its hand.
Wonderful, Draco thought as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. And little Harry Potter can now add sleep to the list of things he's stolen from... But the thought left him as he looked more intently at the figure. It was not the figure of Harry, but someone else, someone Draco had recognized as having spoken with Lucius before, though in the darkness he couldn't make out who it was.
"Now then..." the figure spoke freely, obviously not having noticed Draco across the room. "Master Voldemort wanted Harry Potter taken back alive..." The voice was shaky and unsure, though it lifted its wand into the air, and muttered, 'Lumos.'
Immediately the room was filled with a dim light, and Draco blinked several times at the new lighting. But, as soon as his eyes had adjusted once more, he knew who the man across the room was.
With confidence that only a Malfoy could possess, Draco spoke. "So that's who you are," he said loudly, with enough force that he saw Harry move and slowly blink open his eyes. The figure turned towards him, noticing him for the first time. "Peter Pettigrew..." He watched as Harry's eyes opened wider and as he reached for the wand that lay on a board above his bed. "Wormtail...," whispered Harry as he stood, but as quickly as he did so, four more pops sounded off, and four cloaked figures stood in the center of the room. Harry took a step backwards at this, though his wand hand remained steadily pointed at Wormtail.
Draco immediately recognized the figures as Death Eaters, as they were covered in a black cloak that covered their bodies and a dark hood that fell over their faces. But it wasn't only the clothing they wore; he could feel them, could feel the heavy aura of their presence. He squirmed, but the tight bonds around his wound kept him from writhing too much, and his weakened arms and legs kept him from rising; kept him from running.
At the sounds of such movement though, the Death Eaters had turned toward him, and he could feel their piercing gaze on him even though he couldn't see their eyes. Through a space between two of them, he could see Harry as he moved toward the small group, though he looked unconfident for the reputation he had as the Boy Who Lived, and the hero who had stopped Lord Voldemort.
But he stopped in has tracks at the sound of Wormtail's voice, frozen at the sound of it. "You know how it goes..." Wormtail raised a hand, flicking it towards Draco in an act of disdain. And in a suddenly more confident voice, he recycled the line that Harry had remembered so well from his encounter with Voldemort in his fourth year...
"Kill the spare..."
Author Note: Hehehe... I like that Kill the spare line way too much... I have a fixation with the unforgivable curses, I think they're spiffy ^^;;; That's probably a bad sign... Anyway, I'm proud to say that I know where I'm going with this fic now. Up to this point, I didn't have a plot yet... I was just rambling... heh... This chapter took me a little longer, as I had zip when it came to inspiration for it, but it's about as long as the first two chapters combined, so yeah. As for future updates: I have band camp starting up in full swing now (XD) so, unless I get a sudden burst of inspiration (which wouldn't entirely surprise me) you should expect about one update a week... I'll try to have Chapter 5 posted by next Monday. Okay, well, I'll clam up now, so please review!!!