DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. 'Sides, you'd get more blood out of a turnip then you would money out of me! HA!

AUTHORS NOTE: Yo.

SUMMARY: Harry feels like he's in hell, Draco's living through a nightmare. Can they help each other before it's too late to save either one?

FROM THE LAST CH. "It's really no big deal, I just ran into Malfoy."/ "Oh," Ron replied. "Is that all? Got him good, didn't ya, mate?" The both of them shared a grin. / "Ugh," Hermione exclaimed in disgust. "Boys!"

Tainting the Innocent

Chapter Six

"Stupid Potter…Show him…Ouch, ouch, ouch!" Draco stood beneath the steady spray of hot water, letting the near scalding temperature soothe his many cuts, scrapes, and bruises. During the walk down to the dungeons, blood had crusted on his left eyebrow and it was stubbornly resisting removal. He hadn't been sure, at first, that he would be able to take a shower. Removing his clothing had been a most painful experience.

Draco heard footsteps on the tiled floor. He turned to ward off a nosey housemate and nearly had a heart attack. "What the hell," he yelled. "Pansy, this is the boys shower. Get out," he finished, beyond mortified. There were no curtains, or even stalls, to separate one shower from another, just a wall of showerheads. He felt vulnerable, being on full display like this, without even his clothing for protection.

"Oh, Draco, darling, I just saw Potter and came right away." She stopped walking, suddenly, and just stared at his poor body. She winced when she saw a purple tinge covering his torso almost solidly. "You look like a dragon chewed you up and spit you out. Are you alright?"

"Yes, and I'll be even better once you GET OUT!" His back was against the wall now, the coolness a sharp contrast with his steaming skin.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You don't have anything I haven't seen before. I have three brothers, if you'll remember."

"Yes, well, no doubt living with that many people in one house gave you a warped sense of privacy, but this is an invasion by normal standards."

"Oh, you poor baby," she cooed, completely ignoring him. Picking up a towel, she closed in on the embarrassed boy and opened her arms towards him. "Let's dry you off and get you to bed. Come now, we still need to treat those cuts; don't want them infected."

He threw her a death glare and exhaled forcefully. He started forward to grab the towel, but she had opened it, expecting him to step into her arms. Pansy always did things like this, trying to touch him or hold him. Though he knew it was a joke, this tendency was annoying. "Pansy, just give me the towel."

She shook her head childishly. "Uh-uh."

"Pansy, I'm not in the mood for one of your little games. Give me the towel."

"No, Mr. Cranky. I just want to give you a hug." She batted her eyelashes. If you ignored the deformed nose, product of a hex tossed at her years ago by a younger sister, she was quite pretty.

He glared at her hard, but then rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Fine, but be careful. It hurts just breathing so I don't want to think how one good squeeze would feel." He stomped towards her, arms out, and hugged her neck. Her arms went around his waist gently, the towel along with them. She gave a squeeze and seemed happy with his reaction. "Aaah! You heartless bitch, what did I tell you," he yelled through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I needed to see if you had any broken ribs. Your chest and back are already badly bruised, so it wasn't an unreasonable concern. I also knew you'd never let me inspect you outright, so I had to use a little Slytherin guile." She beamed a smile but pouted when that failed to wipe away his scowl. "Drake, you don't think I would purposefully hurt you without a damn good reason, do you?" He stared at her thoughtfully for so long that she began to feel insulted. Before she could work herself into a righteous tiff, however, he shook his head and smirked.

"No, you wouldn't, and you're right; I never would have let you examine me. Please, though, never do that again."

"Deal," she said with a smile. "Now, let's go to your room, clean you up, and get you to bed."

He shuffled after her, hand holding onto the damp towel as it tried to work itself loose. They finally made it to his private room, all Slytherins had one, and Pansy went digging through things like she owned the place. "You should probably wear only bottoms tonight, since I don't think you fancy the idea of struggling into a top. Could prove most painful."

"No, thank you. It was bad enough getting my damn clothes off. The bottoms will be fine."

"Good," she threw them at him, almost hitting him in the face. "Once you have them on I'll doctor you up and that'll be that."

He slid the green silk pajama bottoms on and sat on the edge of his bed. Pansy stood at his open door, using the Accio spell to get the things she needed to take care of him. Although it could get irritating, having her fuss over him constantly, it felt good to know someone here cared enough to do so. He could vaguely remember his mother acting similarly when he was very young, but that had been before Lucius decided his son should grow up. He was careful, however, to never reveal that Pansy reminded him of his mother. He didn't think her delicate system could handle it. Or his head, incidentally; Pansy hit you, hard, when you seriously pissed her off.

"Alright, darling," she sang out, swaying happily towards his bed, vials and bandages levitating behind her. "Drink this." She handed him an acid green concoction that smelled like it could peel corns off of an ogre's foot. Didn't taste much better either, but at least the pain had begun to fade. "Now this." This one was an icy blue, and faintly sweet, that was meant to fade the bruises. "And this." A dark violet, and slightly salty, this one gave a jumpstart to the healing process on his broken nose. It should be good as new within the next few days, with nary a bump to mar his profile. "Okay, lie down and close your eyes. You don't want this ointment to get into those beautiful peepers; wouldn't be pleasant." He obeyed and started to relax, with the occasional wince when she'd find a tender spot, as Pansy administered to his battle wounds. His last memory before falling asleep was of her rolling up his pants legs so that she could tend to the scrapes on his knees.

The whole school was buzzing with news of the Malfoy/Potter brawl in the halls. They kept a careful watch on the doors to the Great Hall, determined that neither boy would enter without someone seeing them. When Harry walked in, flanked by Ron and Hermione, people whispered amongst themselves about how horrible he looked, and began betting on whether Malfoy was better or worse off. Then, when the hubbub over Harry had begun to die down, Draco sauntered in proud as you please with barely a scratch on him.

Voices in the room soared, trying to figure out what had happened to the composed Slytherin. Eye witnesses, Harry among their number, had seen him plodding to the dungeons, looking as if he were about to die. Now, however, he seemed to be in perfect health. If his gait was a bit stiff, and his movements a tad guarded, no one noticed; his face was barely marred and, on a Malfoy, the face was everything. Who knew Pansy made such a good nurse. Look out Poppy, Parkinson's gunning for ya!