Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling & Warner Bros & various others own the whole HP world. Not me.

WARNING: This story is Post-HPB! Meaning, there will be HPB spoilers.

A/N: I apologize for poor grammar. I don't have a beta, and my native language sure as hell isn't English. Try to bear with me.

Chapter 2: Daybreak

It is rather admirable, really, how the first morning sunlight can make even the most unattended of gardens look beautiful and inviting.

Draco silently pondered this fact, looking down at the Manor's wild, unruly lands through one of the library's windows. The overgrown grass was covered with morning dew and the flowers were sleeping in the mist. His mother Narcissa had once loved the gardens. She had loved to spend time just looking over the lands, just like Draco was doing now, inhaling the fragrance of roses that rose from the gardens on warm summer evenings.

Of course, back then, there had still been roses that were willing to blossom.

Draco looked down, taking in his own state of undress. He was still wearing the grey trousers from the night before and little else –if Harry Potter's blood wasn't counted as 'little else'. Draco realised he sould probably take a shower and get properly dressed. The reddish, dried gore that was plastered all over his chest and arms and hands was rapidly starting to feel uncomfortable.

It had probably been the worst night of his life. Correction –it had almost been the worst night of his life. Because, honestly, there was really nothing that could ever compare to the horrid, dark memories Draco had gathered during the War, spending more time than was healthy for anybody with Lord Voldemort and his sinister crew. But, in all truth, fighting a seemingly futile battle against a curse that was consuming Potter's life had come very near to those excruciating moments of the past.

Especially since Draco had yet to decide why he had bothered in the first place.

Potter had been unconscious the whole time Draco had worked his magic on him. Moment by moment, he had come weaker and weaker when Draco had tried to remember how the curse would have to be broken without causing additional damage, and at some point all of them –Tonks, Lovegood, Longbottom and him- had thought they had lost the precious Chosen One. Yet, some kind of miraculous power had held its grip on Potter –and had made him survive.

During the first morning hours of the new day, Draco had brewed an antidote of dittany, belladonna, mallowsweet and unicorn blood. It had been very difficult to make, mostly because there had been no unicorn blood to be found anywhere. Luckily for all of them, Draco had been clever enough to raid the guest room where Professor Snape had usually spent his nights during his visits to the Manor, and thus he had found the secret stash of potions ingredients Snape had kept in one of the guestroom closets.

It was another question whether Potter would be pleased to find out he now owed his life to Snape, but that was neither here or there.

In any case, Draco had indeed managed to prepare the antidote. Naturally, he had needed concentration while brewing it, which is why Longbottom had been immediately chased away from the room; there had been indisputable reasons against his presence in the room that dated back as far as their schooltime years at Hogwarts. Lovegood had been very displeased, but no-one had cared for her opinion much. Draco had pushed a wet sponge in her hand and told her to make sure Potter would be well provided with water.

Cousin Nymphadora had been Draco's best assistant. She had done whatever she had been told, and without question or hesitation. This particular feature in his cousin had pleased Draco exceedingly; more so when they had suddenly been forced to act as a nimble and smooth team when Potter had started to spasm uncontrollably. Cousin Nymphadora –or Tonks, as she wanted herself to be called- had proved to be an effective, resolute woman, despite her obvious clumsiness in many other things.

At sixteen past two in the morning, Potter had been fed the antidote, and Draco had finally been able to calm him down. Not before Potter had coughed up a tremendous quantity of blood all over him, just for the kicks of it, but still. He had fallen into a reckless slumber, which Draco thought was better than unconsciousness, at any rate. The antidote had begun to recreate his bloodshells and, after a while, the only evidence of the curse actually having once been there was a high fever.

Draco had been satisfied.

Longbottom had crashed into the room to see his friend as soon as he could. He had dragged himself a chair from the parlour and settled firmly next to Potter's bed, ready to bite off everyone's heads, should he be denied this privilege. Draco had let him be; after all, his own job was now done, and he really had no energy left to argue with useless squibs like Longbottom. Lovegood had been ready to collapse with tiredness, despite the obvious fact she hadn't really done much anything except hold a sponge in her hand, and had excused herself to one of the guestrooms. Draco had heard her mumble something about nargles before her voice had luckily been drowned by the thick walls of the house.

Draco yawned, and glared at the early sunrise. He thought it would be quite amusing to write a journal entry about the previous night's happenings and mail it to Potter later on, just to remind him to whom he was now indebted. Friends, it seemed, still continued to be the reason why Potter was still alive. Last night, though, this pathetic group of mindless people had extended to enemies, as well, which was slightly disturbing.

Draco didn't think about writing down anything, anymore.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye broke him out of his reverie, and he turned around to find Cousin Nymphadora –or Tonks- waking up. She had fallen asleep on one of the library's couches just a few hours ago, when the anxiety of the previous night had finally overpowered her –and when Draco had finally realised he should cast a sleeping charm on her.

She was sitting by the fire, still exhausted and pale. Yet she somehow managed to look as if she belonged there, as if she were a real descendant of the Blacks, despite half of her blood was tainted with her father's Muggle inheritance. She didn't seem to find it at all awkward to see Draco standing there, under the morning sunlight, looking like the monster of some B-class Muggle horror movie the Weasleys so often liked to watch. Not that Draco really knew what movies were, per se, but the comparison sounded adequately gruesome all the same.

Tonks gave Draco a faint smile. "Morning."

Draco acknowledged her with a nod. "Yes. It is, indeed."

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" There was a half-amused and half-worried expression on Tonks' face.

"Having you, Potter and two other Aurors underneath my roof?" Draco tried to grin, but it probably came out as a grimace. "Certainly not."

Tonks bit her lip, and then stood up. She walked towards him, and upon reaching him, she took his hands in her own. Draco flinched at the unexpected touch, but she would not let him go. "Thanks for letting us stay. Thanks for helping us."

Draco looked away; he had never received any gratitude in his entire twenty and five years of life, and he certainly didn't know how to deal with it now. "Don't mention it."

Squeezing Draco's hands one more time, she pulled away, settling herself by the window next to him. "Beautiful lands."

"Yes. They once were."

"They are still."

They stood there, side by side, staring out of the window for several minutes in silence. Draco's eyes were trained upon a pair of sparrows bathing in the large fountain below. It would be only a matter of time before the grindylow that lived in the said fountain would surprise them and eat them. After all, a grindylow that did not live in the lake had a very limited menu –especially when Draco repeatedly chose to forget to feed it. Draco smiled wryly, and then asked a question that had been bothering him ever since he had left Potter sleeping in his own bed.

"Why did you bring him here?"

Tonks began to play with a pink curl of her hair that was running down her cheek. "I... I already told you last night. St. Mungo's is in ruins and Hogwarts..."

"I wish you wouldn't pretend to be stupid with me."

She fell speechless for a moment, obviously in order to consider her words anew. "Well..." she hesitated. "There wasn't anywhere else we could've gone, really."

"Little Willowbend is just beyond the Manor's southern boundaries," Draco remarked. "A good wizarding village, lots of friendly and capable people living in there. A well-trained Healer among them, too, if I'm not completely mistaken."

"Yes, I know that." She seemed to overcome some kind of invisible obstacle, and finally turned to face Draco. "Harry wasn't unconscious when we found him, you know."

"And?"

"And... It was his idea to come here. I was against it, myself, but an order is an order."

"Potter must have lost his mind at some point during the past few years." Draco shrugged. "Not that he had much brain in the first place, as I recall."

"I don't know about his reasons. But he said you would what to do." Tonks insisted. "And you did."

Draco glared again at the two sparrows that were still playing outside. He was displeased to find them continuously alive. Perhaps the grindylow had died off on him? "Potter can make some very brave decisions, sometimes," he concluded.

Tonks smiled, a tender smile that lightened up her whole countenance. "Yes. He is very brave."

"Am I to hear the story behind his unfortunate run-in with a bunch of dark wizards yesterday, or am I to just accept his being underneath my roof for the next few weeks without any explanation?"

Tonks' eyes went wide. "You think it'll take so long for him to recover?"

"Three weeks, in the very least. We should be very happy if the fever drops in a fortnight." Draco looked smug. "I'm afraid it took me four weeks and three days to recover, myself."

"You have been hit with the same curse?" There was astonishment in his cousin's voice.

"Well, yes. But that's not the point, here."

Tonks gave him a long-suffering look, and then shook her head. "Whatever. But Harry will be wanting to go home sooner than that."

"He may want what he likes." Draco pulled away from the window, and walked to one of the doors that led out of the lofty room. "I'm taking a shower."

...To Be Continued...