Part 2
The thestral landed in the courtyard behind Draco's estate, its hooves clopping sharply on the cobblestone walkway. Draco shoved Harry off onto the ground where he landed with a grunt, then gracefully dismounted and sent the thestral off to its stable. After taking a moment to make sure all of his wards and traps were undisturbed, Draco turned his attention back to his prisoner.
"I see starvation and torture haven't marred your body," he said, inspecting every inch of him. He nudged Harry with his boot for a better look. A few scars crisscrossed Harry's skin, but they only accentuated his looks. "You look as fit as ever. I daresay that with a little rest and a decent meal, you might actually be able to fight again."
Draco knelt beside him, running his gloved hand over Harry's stomach. He smiled as the muscles rippled under his touch.
"And you're still a sick pervert who gets off on other people's pain," Harry spat. He squirmed around until he lay on his side, then maneuvered himself onto his knees. The effort left him too spent to sit up, but at least Draco wasn't touch him anymore.
"True," Draco said, not insulted at all. "I'm looking forward to keeping you for my lord. You should provide plenty of amusement."
Not allowing Harry time to reply, he fisted his fingers in Harry's hair, then slowly forced him to stand. Bent at an angle, Harry tottered beside him into the large house. Thick white carpeting greeted his bare feet as they went through a library with a fireplace out into the hall. Beautiful mahogany furniture, china cabinets and porcelain vases filled the house, but the fine decorations made his torment feel worse than any dungeon might. Dungeons and dark places were familiar. Draco's house, despite being stolen from the dead, felt grotesquely intimate, as if he had been drawn into Draco's own little world. Thick curtains covered the windows so no sunlight broke the gloom. The shadows made the house feel smaller, like an extension of the young Death Eater that slowly wrapped around him.
"You'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with the house," Draco said conversationally, as if Harry was not naked and recovering from torture. "But I need to make sure you can't escape before we do anything else."
More crucio curses, Harry guessed, and he hid his shiver. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him react. He didn't know how many crucio spells had been cast on him. Enough to make him tense in expectation before he even saw a wand.
Draco took him up an elegant stairway with banisters polished to a near mirror reflection. The second floor was as palatial as the first, and the bedroom they entered looked like a master suite. If he hadn't expected pain in the next few seconds, Harry would've taken a little time to appreciate the soft bed that Draco threw him on. Towards the end of the war, beds he could afford to sleep in had become a rarity as houses crumbled, allies grew fewer and fewer, and Voldemort's reach extended across the country.
"We can do away with those ropes now," Draco said with a wave of his wand.
The ropes vanished from around Harry's wrists, but before he could try to take advantage of it, he heard the rattle of chains. Much like the chair in the Wizengamot, this bed had been spelled to restrain anyone unfortunate to rest on top. The heavy iron snapped shut around his wrists and ankles and drew him taut across the mattress. The metal edges bit deep into his ankles and wrists.
"Can't keep anyone in bed without chains?" Harry said, forcing a laugh through grit teeth.
Draco didn't respond. He tugged on each chain to make sure there was no slack in them, then leaned over Harry's right arm. His intent focus worried Harry more than anything else. Draco was a seasoned death eater. Casting simple Unforgivables wouldn't take this kind of concentration.
"Don't speak," Draco whispered. "If you distract me, this could become excruciatingly painful...and irreversible, I might add."
Harry frowned. Draco's hand, icy and bone-thin, closed over his wrist and he lay the tip of his wand a little above Harry's elbow. He whispered something Harry couldn't hear, then drew his wand in a straight line across Harry's skin.
At first Harry didn't know what had happened. There was no pain, no discomfort. Only when he realized there was no feeling at all did he understand what had happened. His arm was free, and he raised it slowly, already knowing what he would see. Or rather, what he wouldn't see.
His arm ended an inch below the elbow in a smooth, rounded stump. Still locked beside his head lay his hand and his forearm, neatly severed from his body.
Draco removed his right leg at the knee before Harry recovered from his shock enough to breathe again. By the time he could speak, Draco stood over his left arm, his only remaining limb.
"Malfoy, no..."
Draco met his look. For once, there was no laughter in his eyes, no arrogance in his voice.
"It's the only way to make sure you can't fight or escape," Draco said softly. "If you get loose, the dark lord will kill me and give you to someone like Fenrir."
"Then kill me or lock me up or...or..." Harry stared at him in disbelief. "Not like this."
"This is why you're here," Draco said. "I have to keep you safe. By any means necessary. It's the only way wars are won."
"It didn't have to be like this," Harry said, watching Draco lay his wand across his arm. "Malfoy, no, please no--!"
His voice dwindled as he watched Draco gather up his arms and legs and take them to the closet, kneeling in front of a chest on the floor. He carefully arranged them inside on the red velvet lining, storing them neatly on top of each other, then closed it with a heavy thump, and Harry knew he wouldn't see himself again for a long time. Draco used his wand to lock the chest, then put it on the highest shelf of the closet and closed the door, locking that as well.
"It's just a controlled splinch," Draco explained, facing the closet instead of Harry as he spoke. "I can put them back on any time. They won't die or anything like that."
Harry didn't respond. Draco looked over his shoulder and found him staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. The Boy Who Lived looked so much different, he thought, and would have looked different even if his body was whole. Draco had expected anger or fear, perhaps even indignation. This blank slate left a cold sickness in his stomach.
As Draco turned, the soft scuff of his foot on the carpet made Harry flinch. Draco froze. Although he'd seen people without limbs before, the sight of Harry's crippled body moving unnerved him. It made no sense, but seeing his rival like this frightened him more than the few times he'd come close to death in battle. Harry looked like a broken doll, something that resembled a human but missed the mark by a hair, and thus became all the more inhuman. He had the strange fear that Harry's truncated body might suddenly spring up at him.
Draco forced himself to walk back towards him, but he froze again as Harry turned his head to look at him. Draco swallowed once. Flat, emotionless eyes.
"Can't stand your own handiwork?" Harry asked in a low voice. "Still a coward?"
How could Harry think to speak? Why wasn't he in shock? Draco frowned. Unless this was how Harry reacted to suffering, he thought, to block out his hurt until there was nothing left. Nothing of himself, and nothing of his fear. Harry potentially grew stronger the more he was hurt. Draco filed that information away for later.
"I used to be," Draco replied. He edged closer to the bed. "I was so afraid I couldn't move sometimes. Not like you. Killed a basilisk, fought off dementors and Death Eaters, stopped the dark lord even..."
If he focused on Harry's eyes, he could forget how he'd mutilated the other's body. He noticed that some stray hair had fallen across Harry's face, and almost absently he realized that the other boy couldn't sweep it away himself. It had grown ragged since he'd last seen Harry. Draco wondered if it bothered him or if he always ignored it.
"You were the hero of the story," he whispered. "Now look at how the story's ended."
"Not ended," Harry said. "I'm still alive. I don't care what you do to me, I'm still alive. I'll still win. I'll still--"
Draco brushed Harry's hair out of his eyes with his fingertips. The simple motion cut off Harry's voice as if it had been splinched away as well, and his eyes grew wide for a moment. Draco recognized the look. Reality was setting in.
The blankets were folded at the end of the bed. Draco unfurled one and set it over Harry, pulling it to his shoulders as the other boy's breaths came faster and faster. He smiled in relief. Covered like this, he couldn't see that Harry was helpless.
"Coward," Harry whispered, refusing to look at him. He whispered insults over and over as if they were a shield. "Liar. Little snake."
"A little snake that found its fangs," Draco whispered back. He smoothed Harry's wild hair again, then stood straight, speaking to himself since he didn't think Harry was listening. "I'll let you rest now. Later on I'll help you off the bed so you get used to moving around like this. Once you get used to crawling, I think it'll be safe to give you run of the house. Not like you could open any doors."
Harry didn't reply. Draco watched him for a few more moments to make sure he wouldn't hyperventilate, then headed for the door.
"Malfoy."
Surprised, Draco paused and half-turned at the door. Harry didn't look any more composed, but the frightened eyes focused steadily on him.
"Why?" Harry asked. "You could've just locked me in chains. There's no one to save me now. You didn't have to--"
"Yes, I did," Draco said. "I have to keep you safe. You're very important to us."
"Malfoy--"
"Plans within plans, Harry," Draco said over him. "Maybe you're right. Your story might have a few more chapters yet. But you won't be the one writing them."
TBC...
