Chapter 2

"It is Weasley, isn't it?"

The utter certainty of that question, more of a statement really, startled Harry out of his contemplation of the enchanted ceiling. It was a declaration that needed no affirmation, and Harry did not know if he was entirely comfortable with Draco knowing so much about him. The stars really were relaxing, though, almost as good as actually being outside. For a moment, he let his mind wander back, wondering if enchanted stars could tell the fate as well as real ones. Would he have been able to see this coming if he had only paid closer attention?

Blinking his eyes hard to keep the tears from falling again, Harry nodded, finally confirming Draco's assessment. His throat was too sore, raw from sobbing, to answer vocally. As if sensing this, the blonde helped him rise and offered the second mug of hot cocoa. Gingerly, Harry sipped at the hot beverage, the warmth easing his ravaged throat. The drink went far to relieve his tension, nearly as much as the hand gently rubbing circles on his back. Finding his voice, Harry related as much as he dared to Draco, trusting him more now than he did even when they had fought side by side.

"I – yes, it was Ron," Harry finally admitted vocally. Still, despite the admission, he could not bring himself to blame the redhead. He should have not flirted, knowing how possessive Ron was. "He is not usually like this, though." He begged, as though trying harder to convince himself than to convince Draco.

It was no secret that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were an "item." They had flirted damn near shamelessly for two years before finally getting together over the summer between fifth and sixth years. For a few months, everything had been bliss. At first, Ron had had a sort of sweet possessiveness that had made Harry feel appreciated. As the relationship evolved, however, the possessiveness had become extreme jealousy and suspicion. Harry, who had always tried to be friendly with his housemates, especially the other boys in their year, had suddenly found himself under attack for those same actions. Ron had not like Harry talking to anyone else. Without that distraction, Harry had sunk completely into his own troubles. Soon he was practically prohibited from even speaking to the other Gryffindors. Laughing with Seamus or Dean had been met with consequences comparable to when Neville used to blow up potions in Snape's class, violent overreaction.

Which is more or less what had happened that evening. Harry explained to his companion that he had been playfully flirting with Seamus, who, for a straight guy, was taking it all rather well. Harry would say something so flagrantly gay that it verged on insulting, and Seamus would just start laughing. They had not been touching and there had been the space of the table between them. There had been obviously no threat, since the Irish lad was not at all interested, but Ron had not seen that. All he saw was his boyfriend laughing and talking to someone else. He had worked himself into a red-hot rage and then taken it all out on the emerald-eyed brunette.

It was little conciliation that Ron never became sexually abusive with Harry; the physical abuse was more than enough. The brunette was never quite sure exactly what injuries were done, not that he ever passed out after the first time. He was just always too involved trying to minimize the damage that he did not have time to actually pay attention to what damage was being done. It got rather difficult trying to protect all of his vital organs. One could not protect the stomach and kidneys at the same time. It took most of Harry's magical abilities to cushion some of the blows. Afterwards, Ron always charmed away anything that could not be attributed to clumsiness or Quidditch. Since his wand had been repaired, Ron had become quite good with charms.

Harry recounted the evening and through it all, Draco remained silent, offering nothing but the comforting hand on his back and a handkerchief when the depression over came him. Surprisingly, when he was finished, Harry felt better than he had in weeks.

Draco was not really surprised by the surge of sympathy that coursed through him. Since his supposed betrayal of his father, Draco found himself drawn to the charismatic teen, seeking a sort of companionship that was unsatisfied by his usual company. The closer they worked together, the more Draco discovered that he actually enjoyed spending time with Harry. It was not long before the Slytherin stopped seeing the Boy Who Lived and stared to see the frail boy who was the true Harry Potter. And to his utter shock, he felt the urge to protect that suffering creature and a fondness for him that was most un-Malfoy.

The boy frowned as he noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere of the Great Hall but could not place it. When he realized that he was still stroking the soft midnight locks, he discovered that Harry was falling asleep. Torn between the desire to let the exhausted young man sleep and the knowledge that sleep might not be the best thing for him as injured as he seemed to be, Draco opted to escort the inadvertent hero back to his dorm as soon as they took care of his injuries.

"Harry"

Draco gently brought the brunette back to full consciousness, being careful not to shake the fragile boy too roughly.

"Harry, do you want to go to Pomfrey or would you like me to perform a healing charm?"

The stricken look on Harry's face did not indicate which fate he thought to be worse. Personally, Draco wondered if he was not daft to even ask. Why would Potter trust him to perform the charm? True, he knew how to cast them effectively, being well versed in emergency field first-aid. It was also true that they fought on the same side now, but years of suspicion and animosity do not just disappear in a matter of weeks. So, he was uncharacteristically surprised when Harry practically begged him not to tell Madame Pomfrey that he was hurt.

A sad smile flit its way across Draco's lips, understanding that Harry was still, despite everything, trying to protect the Weasel. 'Stupid loyal Gryffindor.' The pale-haired teen gave a low groan when he could not find his wand. After a brief moment of panic, during which he went through all of the possible catastrophies that could have occurred while he was unarmed, he calmed enough to remember where it was. He had left the instrument by his bed, expecting only to be out for a few minutes.

"Harry, do you have your wand?"

Harry shook his head slowly, black hair mussing even more than usual. He had not thought to bring his wand with him when he left the Gryffindor Tower. Really, he had been too injured and out of sorts to even think about the possible consequences. Snape would have called him cocky. After all, he had is invisibility cloak to hide him and could perform any minor magicks wandless. Long ago he had learned not to rely so much on the cloak and his spontaneous magic. Yet, dazed as he was, he had not even bothered to consider that, without his wand, he was extremely vulnerable to an attack. Although he could, in actuality, do magic without his wand, it was much easier to focus when the small wooden object acted like a lightning rod for his magical energies, concentrating and directing them.

"Huh." Draco sighed, vacillating between amusement and horror at his thoughtlessness. "Quite the pair we are. After everything we've been through, you would think that we would know enough to bring our wands everywhere. You especially." The blonde gave a half smirk that conveyed nothing but mild disappointment, disappointment at his own failing, in Harry, or in the situation in general, he did not know. "If Snape knew about this he would kill us both."

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, that would hardly do any of us any good."

The slate-eyed boy jumped at the sudden appearance of the man in question. 'What is the saying? "Speak of the devil..."' The brunette in his lap, however, gave no indication that he recognized the presence of the third party, as he was slowly drifting into unconsciousness once again. Eyes wide with concern, Draco gently shook Harry awake for the second time. With a pleading look at his professor, Draco entreated the sombre man to help them first and chastise them later.

He sighed with relief as the Potions Master, shaking his head, glided toward them, withdrawing his wand. There was pity in his voice as he whispered the charms that would prevent any permanent damage that had not already been done. Patiently and compassionately, Severus tended to the various contusions and lacerations, frowning with the knowledge that there were most likely internal wounds that he could not heal with all of the wand-waving.

Harry was barely lucid, as physically and emotionally exhausted as he was, but he followed the muffled conversation enough to whimper pathetically when Snape suggested returning Harry to the Gryffindor Tower. He did not notice the sorrowful expression on his professor's face, nor the angered one on Draco. They changed direction, and the hushed voices continued to lull him. Every once in a while, when he was letting go of the last vestiges of awareness, he was urgently roused back to the highest level of control that he was capable of achieving... and it was really starting to annoy him. Could the not just leave him alone to embrace the comforting darkness? Dimly Harry felt the air grow cooler and more damp, vaguely recognizing the dungeons, the Slytherin quarter of the castle.

On most days it was considered an unfortunate side effect of the war that many students, especially affluent Slytherins, were able to have private rooms, however, at the moment, Harry was not complaining. Dazed as he was, the emerald-eyed teen felt himself laid out onto a very large bed. Instinctively, the injured boy curled around himself as protection against the vulnerability of being so exposed. Nothing good happened when one left oneself so open to attack. Whimpering at the loss of comfort coming from the arms wrapped around his shoulders and waist, Harry did not hear the strangled sob come from one of his supporters. Nor did he hear the blonde boy run to the lavatory to vomit.

Once Draco returned, albeit ashen faced, but more or less composed, Severus hurried to his office and returned a moment later with a potion for Draco's stomach as well as several different restorative draughts for Harry, some of which would be put to use healing internal injuries. Once again, Draco was thankful for the discretion and vocation of the head of his House. There was no one he could trust more than the Potion Master, both with aiding the ailing boy and with keeping this incident, and Draco's reaction, confidential.

The silver-eyed boy paced nervously as Severus administered the potions to a shivering Harry. The sight was heartbreaking and doing nothing for his frazzled nerves. He was so preoccupied with worrying about the maddeningly fragile boy, that Draco did not notice that his pacing was slowly driving the Potions professor insane. Luckily, the head of Slytherin House was in a particularly forgiving mood, understanding, and in fact, sympathising with the concern for the incapacitated young man.

"Mr. Malfoy! If you do not cease that ridiculous pacing, I will be forced to put you in a full body bind." Forgiving, perhaps, but no more tolerant than usual, the professor's harsh voice immediately halted the frantic movement of the hapless blonde. Despite the spoken threat, Draco could hear the ragged quality of that steady baritone. Deep onyx eyes that usually held some sort of gleam were flat, emotionless with fatigue and a desire to hide the truth from a potentially unstable student.

"Please," Draco pleaded, nearly begged, "please don't lie to me."

He saw the way that the Potions Master looked at him, as sceptical and resigned look reserved for situations of the utmost gravity. Oh that did not bode well, not at all. Draco almost started wearing a trench around the room again. Only sheer willpower kept him rooted in one spot and his gaze steady as he awaited a response to his unspoken question.

"Mr Potter," a small choking noise belied the professional detachment that Severus was attempting to portray, "will require a good deal of rest before he is physically well again. His bodily wounds should heal in a matter of days so long as he does not over exert himself."

It was not a lie, but Draco could tell that it was not the whole truth. The way that the older Slytherin emphasised the physical aspect of Harry's injuries caused the silver-eyed boy to fear the worst. Of course, intellectually he knew that one could not suffer such abuse and not be scarred by it. However, he did not wish to ponder just how this would affect the boy who was supposed to save them all. Instead of voicing his concerns, all of which he was sure the professor already comprehended and most likely shared, Draco simply nodded his understanding.

"Well, I suppose he should stay here for the night," Draco offered, perhaps a bit inanely and unnecessarily. "He was rather reluctant to go to the infirmary."

Snape nodded, trying not to think about the boy laying, for all intents and purposes, half dead on the bed in front of him. He would not worry about tomorrow; they would burn that bridge once they got there.
To the detriment of both Draco's and Severus' nerves, "tomorrow" was actually three days in coming. By some mixed blessing the "incident" had occurred on a Friday, so it was only necessary to fabricate a story that would explain one day of absence from the Gryffindor's classes. While it had been difficult to come up with something sufficiently plausible that would not involve the diminutive mediwitch, eventually the other professors had accepted the excuse at Dumbledore's behest. As much as the two Slytherins had not wanted to involve the Headmaster, it was nearly impossible to keep the man ignorant of what occurred in his castle, especially when it involved the Boy Who Lived.

Silently Draco wondered how the abuse had escaped seemingly omniscient wizard's attention for so long.

During Harry's three-day recovery, Ronald Weasley was carefully observed by two pairs of piercing eyes, one silvery blue, the other deep onyx. It was clear to both that, after breakfast the first day, the Weasel was angry, believing that his "boyfriend" was off sulking somewhere. When the wild haired brunette did not show up for luncheon or supper the redhead was beginning to squirm.

To anyone who knew what to look for, Ron seemed as guilty as sin and, unfortunately for him, cool silver and bottomless coal, as well as steady blue all knew exactly what to look for. While this one student's behaviour was dully noted, the entire school waited for the return of Harry Potter.