AN: sorry about the long wait for Chapter four. I've only just got my PC back from its doctor and I am posting this post haste. It hasn't been checked over properly yet. So all the mistakes I'm apologising for in advance.
Anyway… on with chapter 4:
Awakening.
The room was a perfect creamy white with skirtings of a deep, calming blue. It was a large, warm, gentle and soft room that was designed to give a home-like feel no doubt.
Positioned in the centre and pushed to the wall was a large, polished mahogany, king-sized bed. Its tall, ornately carved posts, with poles stretching between the tops of each, so curtains could be hung, if desired, almost reached the white plaster ceiling. Hung from said ceiling and falling to the outside of the poles, was a silky white fly-curtain that gave the bed a real 'fairy tale' feel. The bed's equally ornate headboard, resting against the wall added to this feeling. Directly opposite the bed, against the other wall, was an old, polished mahogany, vanity with a large, gold trimmed, mirror and a small mass of small, ornate, containers filled with make-up and perfumes as well as brushes, combs, other miscellaneous objects and some handheld mirrors made of silver and gold. To the vanities right was a creamy white door with blue trimmings; this led to a large en suite and wardrobe. To the left of the large bed was a heavy, deep mahogany, door that led to the main upstairs corridor and to the right was large glass sliding doors that led to a small balcony. There on the balcony was a small table and two chairs and had miniature rose creepers, with buds of pink and white, wrapped around the white painted, iron railing.
This, however, was not visible due to the thick, heavy, deep blue curtains that, presently, were only letting in a small stream of light in through a crack where the velvety curtains met. This light was all that was needed to wake one tired, pained, and lightly sleeping Harry Potter, small compared the large bed that seemed to engulf him. Well that and the increasing heat from thick, heavy blankets draped over his sore and battered body.
Blearily Harry opened his eyes, his mind, that had shut down some time around midnight, rebooted as his eyes acknowledged the fact that he was no longer in Dudley's small, second bedroom, lying atop that tiny, hard, moth-eaten bed with one cotton blanket and no pillows. No, now he was in a large, comfy, soft, almost unbearably hot bed with large white and blue pillows that were cushioning his head gently. Obviously he had died. This must be heaven.
'Or Hell' Harry thought.
He quickly sat up and instantly regretted doing so, as sharp, stabbing pain ran through his chest. Face and general 'body' area. He would be lucky if a couple of broken ribs were all the damages he had.
He gently patted the bed down, in search of his glasses; gnawing violently on his bottom lip, for both pain and in concentration while he tried to figure out how he had ended up, well, wherever here was.
Finally giving up on his hunt for his glasses, he leaned back against the pillows. 'Last night? What happened last night?' he pondered silently.
'I remember being in the cupboard, I think, but why am I in this much pain? Where are my glasses? And where the hell am I?' He was still wondering about these things, when exhaustion overcame him, and his wounded body demanded rest, causing eyelids to fall and sleep to take him.
Meanwhile, Draco was downstairs in the large kitchen, pondering a much different dilemma, well dilemmas really.
The first dilemma was about what one was supposed to do, when one has virtually kidnapped the world's biggest hero and not to mention, one's father's Master's Biggest enemy all rolled into err…one. Draco didn't have an answer to that yet.
The second and most predominate dilemma for Draco at the moment was: How does one go about making lunch? The kitchen was fully stocked and the food had non-perishable charms all over it. The stove was working, the cooler was functional. So, what else did one need to do?
Draco was at more then a loss. Beside him, barely reaching his knees was a small, amazingly ugly, green-y-grey house-elf, wrapped up in an old brown pillowcase with a long faded floral pattern just visible. It was banging its head against the cupboard doors, stationed under the sink bench.
"Missy is sorry Master Malfoy!" the elf screeched between bangs, "Missy is being sooo sorry Master, and is beggin' the Master's forgivin'ness! Missy is bein' so sorry for not be knowin' how to cook sir. But Missy in bein' a gardener-elf yer sees. A gardener an' a cleaner Master Sir." It wailed mournfully.
Draco scowled down at the distasteful thing. "Well what good are you then?" he growled, "What's the point of having a house-elf if it doesn't know how to cook. I should give you clothes and be done with you"
The creature wailed again, tears dripped from its eyes. "Oh no Master please, please don't be doin' that Sir, Missy is a good gardener Sir, she is tryin' very hard Sir. But Cober an' Teery are not bein' 'ere Sir. They bein' dead since jus' afta madam die." Missy sniffed loudly and blew her nose with her pillowcase, then went back to banging her head against the doors.
"Stop that!" Draco growled in annoyance, and then sighed.
"Go outside and do your work, I don't want to see you unless I call for you. Understood?"
"Oh, Oh yes Master, very understood Master!" exclaimed the elf happily, and then disappeared with a click of her gnarled fingers
Draco rolled his eyes then turned his attention back to the kitchen, and his dilemma. 'How the hell was he going to eat?' He surveyed the kitchen slowly; in front of him was a creamy white bench and stainless steel sink, above the bench was a long window that gave a pretty view of the right-side garden; filled with a classic cottage garden, including a small pond with lilies growing on top of the water and a small waterfall running into said pond, from one of the many small brooks that littered the garden. Surrounding the pond, a giving shade to much of the side garden, were giant willow trees. Their braches curved down to the pond and ground. Under the trees were small settees; it was a very romantic garden really. Not that Draco cared.
Inside again, Draco turned his attention back to the kitchen, it was moderately sized and the blue and cream colour theme of the rest of the house had been completely disregarded. Obviously Old Bat Malfoy hadn't spent much time in this room because, in his opinion, it was hideous. The bench tops were a cream, which was fine, but the tiles that lined the walls were a gross off white, more yellow, with small pink flower patterns bordering them. The stove an ancient burnt black, pathetic old thing and the noises it made were creepy. Underneath the benches were a row of cupboards that held who knows what, keeping said things hidden was the ugliest doors Draco had ever seen. They were a disgusting Rose Pink, with a darker version of the tile's flower pattern plastered across them. Truly an atrocity! Well to Draco's point of view at least. Most normal people would describe it as cute. The kitchen was open and airy. One of the bench tops divided the kitchen from the informal dining area, the walls were an off white, probably from age, and the oak floorboards were polished to a glossy shine. Over on the far wall was a mahogany cupboard, with glass doors, that held the china plates and what not.
On the walls were paintings of gardens and mountains and other scenic things, many of the paintings had bird flying through them, or deer frolicking passed. On the same wall as the window, were large sliding doors that led to the patio and out to the garden. It was all very quaint. But that didn't help Draco!
Draco frowned in concentration. How does on cook? Swiftly he spun to exit the kitchen. He needed his cauldron! Everyone knew you couldn't cook without it!
+
When Harry next awoke it was to a smell so foul, he thought he'd choke. Sitting up carefully, he turned to the bedside table closest to him, and was surprised to see that he could…well see, his glasses were back.
On the table was a silver trey, with a bowl and glass of water placed upon it. It was what was in the bowl that gave the stench of death warmed over. The substance is what one might call soup, if one were blind, that is. It seemed to be of sludge consistency and was pale grey in colour. The small chunks of whatever they were, were also a grey, only darker. Harry had to wonder what kind of person would rescue him only to poison him. He didn't have to wonder long.
Draco bit his lip as exited Potter's room silently. The boy has seemed so small and fragile lying in that giant bed. His face had been bruised and battered and his body, no doubt had been the same, only his body had been hidden by ratty-tatty clothes that had been, by the look of them, blood soaked many times. Once Potter was up, Draco would have to order that useless elf to wash the bedding thoroughly not to mention incinerate Potter's clothes and get the boy to have a good long shower, he boy stank.
Draco turned and entered his own room, it was opposite Potter's, and sat himself at his desk. He glared warily at his soup-like creation he had placed on the desk earlier; Draco couldn't attest to the deadness of the meat and truthfully the soup was probably poisonous. Maybe Potter would do him a favour and kill himself with the concoction. That would save Draco a lot of trouble.
With a grimace of disgust he pushed the bowl away and pulled out a bit of parchment out of a draw. He may as well get started on his home work, after all there were only four weeks left of holidays, he needed to get cracking.
/\\\\
Harry's stomach growled in discontent, as he glared at the pretty china bowl containing the mixture of death, what the hell was he going to eat? He'd already gone two days without food, and it looked like he'd have to wait even longer before he got anything eatable. He scowled in annoyance, he was positive his ribs were broken and while he could block most of the pain on a good day, today didn't happen to be one of those days, the pain he was in was excruciating and hunger only made it worse.
He sighed softly and laid back into the pillows, it hurt less that way, the pain and hunger only made him tired. He would have to wait for his rescuer, or captor to come and wake him, because Merlin knew, he wasn't going anywhere.
It was at that very moment that Harry was overwhelmed by a vision, his back arched and pain wracked his already broken body, his screams were ripped from his throat as he was pulled into the blackness and a small dark room filled with the stench a suffering and death. Harry was vaguely aware, before the vision took him completely, of two strong arms pulling him into a calming embrace.
\\\\/
Draco frowned, gnawing on his lower lip; his transfigurations ethics essay was giving his jumbled mind too many things to think about. He sighed in disgust at his poor attention span and pushed the parchment away.
He rose from his chair and was about to move to his bed, when a tortured scream broke the still of the cottage. Quickly Draco dashed from his room and into Potter's.
Potter's body was arched off the bed and his pain was obvious. His scream lessened to give way for pleads of 'please don't' and 'stop please!' and other such words along that general theme.
Draco realised, while watching the thrashing boy, that Potter was experiencing the cruicatus, over and over again.
Throwing aside his shock, Draco ran to Potter's side and gently drew him into his arms and murmured soothing words into his scruffy black hair in an attempt to calm the boy.
>>>>>>>>
The room was dark and dank; the smell was of pain and death warmed over. He stood in the centre, surrounded by his minions, all as ominous and dark, as he was himself. He knew that evil seemed to drip from his very being, out of every pore. He loved it. Embraced it; this feeling of power; of absolute control of his world.
"Bring them forth." He called to his darkly clad servants.
Two hooded men dragged a woman and young girl to him; fear was evident on their faces.
"You thought you could escape, didn't you?" He growled, his eyes seemed to glow.
The woman was shaking; tears ran down her cheeks unchecked. "No please we-"
"Crucio" the woman jerked and her nerve endings, erupting in intense pain, her screams echoed loudly.
"No!" shouted the young girl, "Please don't hurt her! We didn't know! Honest! We had no idea Daddy betrayed you, please." The child wouldn't be a day over eleven, and her pleas were that of a child begging for her mother's life. She didn't know yet, how fruitless her pleas were, or how much he enjoyed them. But she will.
>>>>>
"Ahhhhhh!"
That scream of devastation would haunt Draco for the rest of his life. There were no words to describe the pain and horror that filled the boy that he cradled so gently. Draco could only imagine what the boy was seeing,
Draco was sitting on the large, cushy, blue and white bed that Potter was occupying. He was resting against the headboard. Potter, pulled against his chest. Every now and then, between the screams, Draco would dab at the now inflamed scar on the other boy's forehead, with a damp cloth and whisper comforting things in the boy's ears.
Draco remembered back in fifth year, Potter had been said to have, had visions of the Dark Lord and the atrocious things he did. Draco hadn't believed him. He did now. How could he not?
Draco didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, (long enough to have caused his leg to have locked.) but eventually Potter's screams stopped and the boy fell into a fitful sleep. Draco didn't move, he still held Potter comfortably to his chest, still whispered soft things into the dark haired boy's hair. He did this until his own eyelid's felt heavy and then they fell.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, still half asleep he barely registered the fact that his lovely warm pillow, that he was currently snuggling into, groaned softly, as Harry squirmed to get comfortable.
Draco awoke to a warm body atop of him. A warm body that was nestled snugly between his legs. A warm body that belonged to one Harry Potter. Draco could only think two things.
'Shit.' And 'shit that feels nice'
But mainly he thought 'SHIT'
Draco looked down at the currently snuggling Harry Potter; the boy really was quite attractive, if you took away the glasses, washed of the dirt and gave him nice clothes. Yes he really was very good looking.
Harry moaned, he didn't want to wake up. Waking up just meant he would have to deal with the reality of what he had just seen, but no one enjoyed witnessing death, so sleep really was preferable. The only thing was, was that his bed was quite hard, especially that bulge digging into his stomach. He opened his eyes and looked up, right into the silver eyes of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy?" he asked, too stunned to do much else.
"Hello Potter." Malfoy said, with a small smile that changed his features, which Harry had always considered too sharp, into something angelic.
Harry decided that this awkward moment was a good time to pass out; only fate was never so kind.
To Be Continued…
AN: another 'cliffy' sorry 'bout that. Umm so yeah.
Oh many 'thankyous' to you lovely people who reviewed. You know who you are. I am soooo sorry for your long wait. My computer power supply died and so it need the doctor…the doctor needed a part….the part took forever to come in…stupid postage service. I also apologise for my bad attempt at writing the 'English Accent' I'm Aussie by birth, and really have no idea. ; I'm also blonde, so what does that tell you?
Oh BTW here's a small plug for myself…Go and read BELOVED… I wrote it while waiting for my beautiful PC and typed it up at a friends place. It is just a short, relatively sad one-shot… a H/D fic of course. And hey it made me cry.
So any way….love ya all…. I'll update soon. Cross my heart.
PS: to the reviewer who asked; Harry's scar opens 'cos it's dramatic and it adds to the 'oww' look. and for no other reason then that
