CHAPTER FIVE: HEALING AND A GREAT DEAL MORE
Narcissa carried a thoroughly tired Draco to her own bed and hummed a lullaby that never failed her yet. And true to tradition, her precious weight in her arms became a dead weight as Draco gradually slumped deeper into the land of Morpheus. She gently laid out her son, tenderly brushed the straight, shimmering, blond locks off his forehead, and pressed a tender kiss there in its stead.
She smiled as she gently prised the thumb out of his mouth and gently rubbed the pads of her thumb at the corner of his rosebud mouth, coaxing it to relax. And then she cast a deep sleep charm that she had not needed since Draco was three. He would not wake up until tomorrow when the sun was nearly overhead. She called Tilly, the Nanny Elf and set her to watching her son and then hurried out to the guest room.
Lucius had already laid out the child, changed him into one of the new pyjamas that Draco had bought for his new best friend, and tucked the tired child under the blanket. As she lit more everlasting candles with a softly uttered incendio, Narcissa couldn't hold back the shocked gasp that escaped her. For a child same age as her Draco, he looked little more than a toddler. A thin, starved toddler. Children shouldn't have such thin, gaunt cheeks or shoulder bladed that practically jutted out of the skin. The unruly hair couldn't hide his sunken eyes or deathly pallor. She looked askance at her husband, who merely shrugged and watched Severus put his medi-wizard training to good use.
Severus worked feverishly. The child was already cast into comatose slumber as he scanned the entire body and meticulously recorded his findings. It was impossible in the magical world to find a child of mere six summers, and these three feet of parchment long list of damages and trauma to their young bodies. He refused to think of the mental traumas or his own memories of a dingy home in Cokeworth, and the perpetually drunk muggle who was supposed to have fathered him. There would be time for contemplation and self-flagellation but now wasn't it.
Quickly he listed out a range of potions and held it out, and Narcissa efficiently snatched it off and called another house-elf to fetch them all; the Malfoy Manor stocked everything more efficiently than Hogwarts infirmary, and Severus brewed for both stockrooms himself. So the quality of the brews would never be in question. And in less than two minutes, the elf was back with a black Hebridian Leather case stocked with vials upon vials of all that he required.
There was no severe bone damage, although the bone density wasn't as developed as he would like. But the internal organs, the nervous system, and the immune system was badly damaged, as were his kidneys and excretory system. And he wasn't just malnourished; he was badly dehydrated and his lips were chapped and peeling, his skin flaky and crusty. Severus conjured and set up a muggle IV and asked the elf to keep the bag filled with a saline ORS solution continuously. Then he opened the tiny mouth and began pouring potion after potion, drop by drop, and massaging the near translucent, delicate throat.
The child was so tiny, translucent and fragile that Severus felt nearly clumsy and overly large beside him. He willed his shaking hands steady, afraid that a wrong move could utterly crush that paper-thin throat and those barely-there bones. Lily would be turning in her grave at the suffering of this child she had thrown her life away over. James Potter was not even a passing thought to Severus as he feverishly chanted and cast runes and worked potions and blood replenishers and salves and elixirs of all shades of magic, desperately praying to Hecate to spare this innocent life.
Thirty minutes of diligently working potions into the tiny frame, and then rubbing a pain relief salve and a skin rejuvenation potion all over the once again undressed body, they began to see some positive changes. An hour passed before a semblance of colour returned to the sunken cheeks and neckline. And before their eyes, the high-intensity nutritive potions, restoratives and energisers began to gradually fill his cheeks, bringing a healthy luminescence into his skin and hair, and by and by, magic healed the child.
There would be a lot of witches and wizards who would cast them all into Azkaban without a single thought, for the runic rituals, potions and elixirs that they had stocked and used to save this child's life. Much of it was banned, and classified Darke and forbidden. A few of it was actually illegal. Nearly all of the recourse they had opted for was definitely frowned upon and not even made available in St. Mungos. But Severus knew instinctively that neither he nor the Malfoys truly regretted the Darke route they had chosen to save the child.
Had they taken Harry to 's, media would have been all over the child like a bad rash before they even finished diagnosing. From that point on, there were only two possible outcomes. Either the less scrupulous ex-death eaters or their paid henchmen or anonymous assassins would have found a way to the child when he was this vulnerable and weakened and snuffed out his life like a candle in the morning. And then they would have made a big scandal out of the evil muggles who tortured their beloved hero and eventually killed him. The end result would be chaos and a civil war muggles would be dragged into, and that would spell the end of wizardkind.
The other outcome looked just as bad, and it was a bad twist on the old adage that all roads lead to Rome. Dumbledore would come and spirit away the child to a hidden corner of Hogwarts before the Healers at St Mungo's even got a peep, treated him with not even the shadows knowing about it, and send the poor child right back to that hell hole. And who knows? The child may or may not survive a second round of this level of abuse. And Dumbledore could easily have wiped their memories and they wouldn't even know they had once attempted to rescue the child. And if Harry did not survive living that miserable existence again, then the death of their Hero would result in chaos and doom for them all.
The three adults sat discussing the issue round and round, all three of them absolutely sure that Harry simply could not be taken out of the safe confines of Malfoy Manor without it all ending in the tragic end of their entire world, no matter which way they looked at it. And Severus could not stay more than a day. Sure, it was summer holidays and there weren't any classes but the hold of Dumbledore was absolute and his leash, unfortunately tight. He had already expended all the goodwill for the quarter by taking a trip to the Americas with Lucius this past week. Unless he could feign some magical malady and make it convincing enough. Even then, the old man was liable to offer only Poppy's healing skills and nothing more.
But for now, the three of them were satisfied. Draco would not see the nightmarish condition of the child he had idolized. His world views would remain sunny and sweet for a bit longer. The vile stench of evil that walked hand in hand with humanity would continue to keep its distance from their precious little prince and he would never darken his soul with how horrible human beings had the potential to be. As they talked in soft murmurs, they assumed that their patient was fast asleep. But Harry was good at being silent as the air, and still as the fence, and hear more, learn more, and see and know more than the world intended him to.
And he heard their worries and their fears. And their fierce determination to save his life. Their worry over someone called Draco whom they all loved very much. And they were determined to shield Draco from his ugly life too. He understood that he was here and safe and cared for, in this bed soft as clouds and dress smooth and cool as Aunt Petunia's prized chef knives, because this Draco wanted it. And what Draco wanted, Draco got.
Harry watched from between his lashes his breathing unconsciously hitching when the pretty lady got up, gracefully glided closer like a fairy queen, and brushed his hairs and caressed his cheeks tenderly before she turned and walked away. He continued to breathe evenly even when the tall man who fed him strange tasting liquids and soothed his pains and aches away with some kind of balm, stepped up, tucked sheets around him, fussed a little more, and then turned and left. Now there was only an odd-looking creature sitting on a stool near him.
For a long while, he kept waiting for them to come and chop him up and make soup out of his bones. But no one disturbed him and his comfort and ease in the body finally lulled him into a deep slumber. Even if his mind continued to churn what he learned when he feigned sleep and listened.