Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING (reeled off in a robotic monotone).

A/N: I think I may just wind up with a swelled head. Wow, when I've heard stories from beginning authors, they always go on about how they didn't get any reviews until, like, the fourth or so chapter. Haha. And thanks much, guys! I'm already at 7!

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Chapter 2

The nice thing about living in a town as small as Little Whinging is that everything is close. Down the street from the gas station is the place for renting cars and moving vans, and the household item store is next to the grocer. It's a middle-class/upscale sort of place, but it's homey. The day care is next to the grade school, across the street from the upper-level schools. Far enough from London to never get any tourists, but near enough to be considered 'modern' by way of city life.

The strangest thing Little Whinging had experienced any time recently was the sudden surge of what they chose to call 'gang movement' in the last few years. Because the vandalism mostly occurred during the summer, most blamed Harry Potter, a boy they all knew of from those nice neighbors occasional complaints. The Dursleys, while not the most pleasant of company, were still invited around occasionally, and their only complaint seemed to be about that ungrateful brat that had been dumped on them as a child.

Now, however, a new oddity was occurring. As the butcher, baker, and electronic gadget maker stared out the windows of their shops, drawn to a shouting from outside, they noticed that strange local boy speed past holding something large and brown.

Harry tried to ignore the shouting from the passers-by on the streets: someone had noticed that it was a person he was carrying, and naturally, once the cry had begun, others took it up. He sped past, going faster than he had ever even tried while jogging. His speed casually reminded him of the old days, and 'Harry hunting.'

Draco was beginning to nearly stir in his arms, causing him to slow rather than risk dropping the boy. As the blonde's breath hitched in pain, Harry frowned and made a quick decision. Whispering a light "stupefy," Draco quickly returned to his previous comatose state. Harry regretted it, but Draco was in pain, and they needed to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

The hospital was, in reality, only a small care unit staffed with around ten doctors daily. They were some of the best in the business, but if anything truly threatening were to happen, either London or even the next town over would be a better, quicker solution. The inhabitants of Little Whinging hadn't wanted anything large, and it was truly unnecessary. The most threatening things that had happened in the past few years were two broken legs, a broken arm, four pregnancies, and an unfortunately fatal stroke, a woman her aged husband found dead in the study. Beyond that, there were the occasional schoolyard fights, but nothing to be concerned over.

Harry was actually grateful for this when he rushed down the three blocks between his previously-aimed-for grocery store and the hospital.

Bursting through the optionally-automatic doors, he rushed to the information desk and, in between gasping breaths, pleaded, "Please, he's been badly hurt," gasp "there's blood, and cuts, and I don't know-"

"Through that door." The woman behind the desk cut in, gazing at the coat-covered person in concern. She pointed to a doorway behind her, to the left, where the doors were thankfully already propped open by wedges.

Harry rushed through the entryway, gazing a few rooms with small cots inside them, which could be closed by plastic curtains hanging around them on tracks. The mini-rooms surrounded an area filled with desks, whiteboards, and men and women in white coats.

"Help! Please, help! I think he's been beaten!"

Immediately there was a rush, nurses pushing a cot out from a room, doctors crowding around. Harry was pushed to the back, and hurriedly whispered an "enervate" in Draco's general direction, thinking the intent of it reaching him. Harry was unsure what, exactly, the results would be of medical test on someone stunned, but he wasn't about to let it mess up the staff enough to let them think that Draco was in some sort of coma.

Draco immediately shifted, and began to stir with the noise surrounding him. One of the doctors had pulled open the coat, and a gasp went up. Immediately the situation was taken more seriously. Most of the doctors moved out, leaving what was apparently the two most senior members of the staff to handle the crisis. More organized that way.

A woman in one of the lab coats closed the curtain behind her, and Harry rushed up in anxiety. "What are you doing? Let me in! I need to be there for him!"

"Calm down, kid, let them work. Anyone in there would only get in the way at this point. I'm not sure what's going to happen, I'm an oncologist. There was a lot of blood there, though."

A few shouts rang through, echoing calls for water and towels, and some sort of drug. Harry worried, but listened. There was blood on his hands and some on his shirt, which had seeped through Draco's jacket. He hadn't noticed before. He had just seen cuts, and maybe a burn or two, and something odd on Draco's neck… Then he had started running.

Harry paced for the longest time, and at some point a kind-looking woman had come up and handed him a stack of forms to be filled out. Mechanically, Harry put down his information and what he knew of Draco's, in the 'relationship to patient' box writing "schoolmates." He gave it back when it was requested, and sat in a chair in the waiting area he had been directed to.

Around an hour later, a male nurse came out and gave him an update on Draco's condition. Apparently, he had been severely beaten, had some sort of damage to his nervous system, and had been raped more than once within the past few months. Draco had been knocked out with some sort of sleeping drug because he needed to rest and regain strength. Duncan, as he said his name was, gave the news in a soft voice; he had given bad news before.

Harry was shocked, and followed in stunned silence when asked. He was directed to a desk filled with piles upon piles of paper, and told to wait for a moment until someone arrived.

Raped? Draco was raped? Before he was even beaten? How? Who? This just doesn't make sense. Even if he had been captured by some sort of enemies of his father, they would have just beaten him up and left him… wouldn't they? And why here, of all places? How did he get here?

A man arrived and asked some questions on the paperwork Harry had filled out. He gave the truth, and told him to send any bill to his house, addressed to him rather than his guardians. He would take care of anything needed. The man nodded and sent him back to the waiting room.

Two hours later, Harry was being shaken awake from the slumber he had fallen into while waiting for more news on Draco. Duncan was there again. "Hey, kid, Harry, right?" Harry nodded.

"You can go. Your friend is sure to be asleep for at least a few more hours, and he'll need to stay the night anyway. Go home; you can come back tomorrow morning for an update. He should be fine by then."

Harry frowned, worried, but agreed anyway. Visiting hours were nearly over, and if he didn't get home before Dudley, there was a chance he wouldn't be let in at all.

The next morning, a phone rang, jerking Harry from his slumber. Surprised, his gaze wandered to the small desk, it had been Dudley's before he decided that he needed a bigger one to fit a computer; around age six, if Harry remembered correctly. The clock said that it was four in the morning! Who would ever be calling at this time? Shouting came from his Aunt and Uncle's room; Uncle Vernon was telling the 'boy' to get the phone.

Slightly annoyed, Harry rushed downstairs to pick up the receiver before the answering machine picked up.

"Who is it?" he asked politely, rather expecting for one of Dudley's friends to have called when they were drunk, or something similar.

"Is this Harry Potter?" The voice was fuzzy; he couldn't really make it out.

"Yes… what's going on? Why call me at four am?" Harry didn't really think it would be a wizard, because he was far more likely to receive an owl or fire-call from one of 'his kind,' as Vernon would put it.

"Yesterday you dropped off Draco Malfoy at Whinging Hospital. We would have called his family, but they don't seem to be listed, and he isn't exactly in a fit state to give out any information. Look, he's been freaking out since he woke up; the hospital psychologist thinks that we should find someone familiar to talk to him, he won't let anyone near. Our best guess is that he's in shock. You don't have to come, or anything, it's just tha-"

"I'll be right there." Harry hung up without waiting for a response, and rushed upstairs, trying to be quiet.

"It was a wrong number, Uncle Dursley," he called, hoping that they would go back to sleep. A grunt and a shift was his only answer, and he gave a sigh of relief. Grabbing his sneakers from his room, he snuck downstairs and out the door, running as fast as he had the previous day to reach the hospital.

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