A/N: Happy Sunday! Here's the next chapter, as promised. Please leave a review if you like it!

PS, Guest: yay I'm glad you enjoyed! This chapter is a bit darker, but Astoria will continue to brighten things up :)

*Also, starting in this chapter, things Draco writes in the journal will be bold AND italics (like this) and things Astoria writes will be bolded (like this)!*

TW: abuse ahead, please don't read if that's upsetting to you

xXx

Two of the statements below are false.

The password is contained within this sentence.

The password is not in this statement.

The correct password is only in one of these statements.

At least one of the above statements is a lie.

Draco's eyes stared at the page without truly seeing it, thinking hard. What was the point in saying two were false, but one was a lie? He shook his head, although he was smiling slightly. He enjoyed having something to ponder; to keep his mind engaged. Well either the second or third statement has to be false. Unless the password is password. He considered this for a second. No, because that appears in all three middle hints. Unless the statement that's a lie is the statement saying two are false. He realized how convoluted his thought process sounded and decided to lie back and gaze at the ceiling to think better. The sentences were already burnt into his brain. The password could be the word one. Or the word the. He paused for a moment. What was to stop him from guessing? He decided to ask the journal as much, because despite his enjoyment at being faced with a riddle, his Slytherin brain was telling him to take the path of least resistance.

What if I just guess?

The journal was still for a moment, but then almost immediately, words began to appear again.

Nothing, I suppose. There are multiple answers, but the password I'm looking for is the strongest.

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

The password is "the strongest", then? he wrote back quickly. He imagined Astoria shaking her head in exasperation upon reading it.

Don't be daft, that's nowhere in the riddle.

Draco smiled again, in spite of himself, and went to reply. Fine, fine ba-

But the unmistakable sound of a door slamming very, very hard caused his hand to jerk across the page, creating an ugly black line through their banter. Draco paled considerably as he heard the angry steps of his father stomping through the foyer.

I've got to go. Don't write back for a bit.

Despite his written request, he heard the journal hum, indicating Astoria had penned another line. Draco didn't dare to reopen the book as his father's footsteps drew nearer. He tossed the journal into his nightstand drawer, cast a Silencio charm on it, then shoved the drawer shut. Despite the force he had used, the drawer didn't make a sound, indicating it had worked. He grabbed a book from atop his nightstand, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and flipped to a random page. He intently stared down at the picture of a violently neon mushroom, eyes unseeing, and hoped against hope that his father's angry footsteps would carry him past Draco's room. He had not, however, drank Felix Felicis for breakfast, and seconds later his door was thrown open. Lucius Malfoy stormed in and slammed the door behind him. Not good.

Lucius regarded his son coldly, eyes examining the book his son seemed to be engrossed in. Draco forced himself not to fidget under his father's calculating gaze.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a wizard, Draco."

Draco hadn't noticed until now, but the slight slurring of his father's words revealed he was intoxicated. Even if his father hadn't been drunk, Draco wouldn't have known how to answer that accusation. So, he continued to stare silently at his father, who interpreted this as an invitation to continue.

"You're a pureblood wizard, for Merlin's sake" Lucius drawled, his eyes not focusing on one spot for too long, "and you spend your time studying plants and potions. It's an embarrassment, really. Your magical prowess could be used to accomplish much more." Lucius paused for a moment, as if he was admiring his own little speech, before tacking on "I'll teach you, Draco. I'll show you how a wizard from our lineage is supposed to act if it's the last thing I do."

Draco's heart was beating rather fast and he felt as if the oxygen in the room was no longer enough to fill his lungs. His mind was racing, anxiety fueling an unstoppable avalanche of panicked thoughts, but Draco could only make sense of one of them: I'm trapped. He's blocking the only exit.

He continued to stare at his father in silence. His self-preservation had kicked in, and not knowing how to make the situation better, he decided he would limit the words he used to not make it worse, either. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to meet Lucius' enraged ones and choked out "yes, sir".

Somehow, though, this was the wrong thing to say. Lucius' face contorted in anger and he crossed Draco's room in a few menacing steps. "Up. Now."

Draco jumped to his feet, hating the way he complied without a second thought. Fear is very similar to the Imperius Curse.

Lucius grabbed his arm roughly, with a grip that was sure to leave a bruise, and dragged Draco out of the room. As Lucius led Draco toward the stairs, Draco caught a glimpse of his mother poking her head out of her bedroom. His distressed eyes met her cool ones. Narcissa's face was stony and she didn't even blink as her husband dragged her son toward the staircase. Draco forced himself to rip his eyes away from her, and not a second later, he heard the distinct click that meant she had shut the door. They reached the top of the stairs and paused. Lucius' eyes glinted malevolently and a chill shot through Draco's spine. What is he waiting for?

"You know how much my reputation means, don't you?" Hurting his son has sobered Lucius up and he was speaking more clearly than he had been in Draco's bedroom.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied. What else could he have said?

"And if it were to get out, how disappointing you've turned out to be, it would certainly hurt the Malfoy name, do you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Lucius grinned, smiling a cold, intimidating smile that did not reach his eyes. "A tarnished reputation can lead to a fall from grace, would you say?"

Where is he going with this? This time, Draco didn't answer fast enough, confused by the turn of events this conversation had taken. Quick as lightning, the elder Malfoy flicked his wand at Draco. A curse akin to the jelly-legs curse hit him, and his legs gave out abruptly, causing him to land hard on his left ankle. Probably sprained if not broken, he thought detachedly. "Do not make me repeat myself," Lucius reprimanded, and Draco could once again see how alcohol had loosened the man's usually firm control over himself. Lucius never harmed his son where witnesses could possibly watch.

"Yes, sir" Draco replied automatically, not even registering the sharp, radiating pain emanating from his left ankle as he shakily rose to his feet.

"Good boy," Lucius said silkily, and the words made Draco's insides squirm. "Now, since we're in agreement, let me show you how it will feel if you disgrace the Malfoy name".

Draco barely had time to process these words before his father raised his wand and whispered "Impedimenta".

Draco suddenly felt frozen. He tried to move but couldn't. This wasn't too alarming until his father reached out a single, long finger and pushed him backwards. Which again, wouldn't have been too bad, if he hadn't been positioned right at the top of the stairs.

Draco had never been more terrified in his entire life. He was powerless to stop himself careening down the stairs, the unstoppable nature of gravity occurring to him for the first time in his life. His shoulder connected hard with one of the top steps, then his head smashed into the one below that. He saw stars and heard ringing, and although he distantly knew he was still falling, he wasn't really aware of it. One minute, he'd been suspended in air over the first few steps, and the next, he lay in a heap at the bottom of them. He could hear nothing over the blood pounding in his ears and distantly realized he could taste it as well. You can't taste blood unless you're bleeding, he thought confusedly. Oh. I'm bleeding. He felt oddly disconnected from his body. None of his limbs would move despite his best efforts, and he briefly wondered if they had fallen off. Can limbs do that? Fall off? He almost giggled at the thought of a slug-like entity with his face and torso, but then he remembered the seriousness of his situation. Wait. Where am I? What happened? What's so serious? He opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized were closed, to see his father surveying him. He didn't look upset, or angry, or happy. Just calculating. Draco almost asked him what had happened, but a twisting of his gut held him back.

"Let that be a lesson" the elder Malfoy said coldly. He walked up the stairs without so much as another look at Draco, cloak billowing behind him and making him look like a storm cloud.

Draco didn't move; wasn't sure he remembered how. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, now realizing he was on his back. I taste blood, he thought in alarm. Am I bleeding? Something about that thought set off warning bells in his head, but he couldn't place why. He was having a very difficult time understanding what his body was trying to tell him, and with a bit of frustration, realized it might be because his body was trying to tell him a lot of different things at once. Oh, I'm probably in shock. Wait. Shock from what? Draco was getting irritated by his thoughts, but he couldn't specifically say why. They just…weren't cooperating. I should get up while I'm in shock. With some effort, he forced himself into a semi-standing position by holding the stairs above him. It wasn't because he was in pain, however; his limbs seemed quite reluctant to listen to him at all. He managed to crawl up the stairs and dragged himself to his room, leaning on the door to open it and then shut it behind him. He landed ungracefully on his bed, face down, and continued to stare at his dark comforter. Staring meant not thinking, and not thinking eased the thick fog swirling in his brain. He felt a bit like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton and replaced his limbs with the fluffy white substance as well. He couldn't explain why, but he suddenly felt the need to relay his concerns to someone. Something was very wrong and he couldn't figure it out with the way his brain was swirling. But who can I talk to? Draco did not have time to wait for an owl and his parents were not an option. Tiki's worry would only exacerbate the dreadful feeling that something very bad was going on. Almost on instinct, because he had very little conscious thought to guide him, he reached for Astoria's diary, grabbed his quill, and opened it. His eyes scanned the page, seeing the squiggles she had wrote without processing they were words.

Draco, is everything okay?

He stared at the book, not knowing how to tell its pages that his brain had been replaced by thick swirling fog. Abandoning all pride as his worry increased, he settled on one word:

Help.

He didn't have to wait long for a reply. Or did I?

With what?

His brain spun.I don't know. He decided to keep it short.

Head.

He was sure Astoria would have poked fun at his lack of proper grammar in any other scenario, but his urgency must have seeped through the pages.

What happened?

How can I tell her when I don't remember myself? Then, a voice popped in his head: stick to the facts.

Hurt it.

How?

How bad would it sound to admit I don't remember? He settled instead for Unimportant. This was true, he thought defensively, it really doesn't matter.

I wasn't asking who did this; I meant what physical thing happened to hurt your head.

If Draco hadn't been so distracted, he would've been bothered by her insinuation that someone was behind this, and that she knew who. But the feeling was slowly returning to his body, and that feeling was excruciating pain, so he clung to the one lifeline he had at the moment.

Hit it, I think.

Again, if Draco had been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have added "I think", which made it quite clear he didn't know. He winced as a spasm of pain shot through his left ankle. What was that about?

Do you have your wand?

Yes. Then he paused for a second. Something was really wrong with him, why was Astoria worried about where his wand was. He decided he had to mention something about his head. Astoria, I think I've hit my head.

Draco, cast a diagnostic charm and spell the results on the next page. Her handwriting was a lot messier than it just had been, like she was in a rush now.

Why didn't I think of that? Draco grabbed his wand off his comforter, pointed it at his head, and drew a blank at what the incantation was. Feeling odd, he quickly wrote back saying he didn't know how.

Cast "Diagos" while pointing your wand at yourself. Her messy, rushed handwriting also looked a bit shaky as well now.

Draco read this quickly, and then softly said "Diagos". He felt a warmth spread from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. Once it had dissipated, Draco turned to a blank page and tapped his wand to it. A wall of text appeared, more than he felt like reading with the sudden pain that was building behind his eyes, and so he decided to wait for Astoria to tell him what he needed to do. It took a few minutes, but eventually more text appeared on the page.

Since you're concussed, I'm going to write directions out one at a time. Tell me when you've done each step.

Concussed? Draco did not enjoy being coddled in the slightest, but her proposed steps would make it much easier on him. He sighed before replying.

Okay.

Cast "Ferula" on your left ankle.

Draco did it. Okay.

Cast "Episkey" on your right shoulder, tongue, and left shin.

They carried on like this for a while longer, Draco barely processing how many injuries he'd had. Finally, Astoria seemed to be done listing spells, and instead rattled off some potions.

Take a headache reliever. Is there any chance you have Obtusum Remedium brewed?

Draco took the headache reliever before addressing the second part of her sentence. He found that, while things still felt fuzzy, he felt loads better.

Don't think so. Not in my room, anyways.

Okay. I'm not sure how to treat a concussion without it but brewing with a brain injury would be a bad idea. I can owl you one.

I don't have a brain injury! he wrote indignantly, and he hoped his offense was conveyed by the tight, cramped appearance of the sentence he wrote.

Astoria ignored this completely. In fact, she didn't answer for a few minutes. Draco stared at the paper, having nothing better to do than wait for a response. Eventually, her neat scrawl appeared.

I've owled it; it should get there by tomorrow morning. Now that you're all healed…

Evidently spurred on by the increased length of his utterances, Astoria now wanted details. Only, Draco couldn't really remember what had happened. Her words, however, had triggered a different thought process.

I shouldn't have let you do that.

Heal you? Why not?

He likes to see. Draco shivered at his own words, not really understanding them until they had hit the page. His father had done this, he was quite sure of that now, but how had he dealt this many injuries so quickly? His eyes suddenly felt very, very heavy.

He…likes to see your injuries?

Shit. He had written that down. His mind was so full, and his eyes so heavy, he couldn't think of a way to sidestep that. Deciding he couldn't, he changed tactics.

I'm tired, Astoria.

I know, the girl replied quickly, but I'm worried.

I can't right now, he wrote. Then, hating the desperation he felt, he tacked on a rushed please.

Take a sleeping draught.

Okay.

But Draco? We do need to talk about this.

Draco shuddered. I cannot, will not, drag her into this. He closed the journal without replying, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to be dishonest. Draco had no idea what time of day it was, but nevertheless, he reached for a vial of dreamless sleep. Before his muddled brain could overthink all he had just written, he downed it and drifted off into nothingness.