A/N - It took me a while to get over my writer's block. But now I'm bacaaak! :D

Chapter 8

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There had been whispers around the Manor. There were words mentioned that he didn't understand. But he was determined to gather as much information as he could.

In a place that used to be his home, he found himself casting silencing charms so as not to alert the many Death Eaters that roamed the halls, and especially not to alert him as he moved slowly around, trying to piece together the puzzles that could help him and his family.

He was the one Draco was most afraid of. He who had managed to turn his father from a proud, pure-blood wizard, a leader and king, into a snivelling coward. He who had blood-red eyes that were slit horrendously across his rubber snake-like features. Those eyes gave him nightmares; yet still, he would listen in on the private conversations that his family was no longer privileged to hear. They were no longer holding their positions at the top tier; they had now fallen from grace, only barely considered more important than the Dark Lord's personal Muggle play things. Oh, how he hated to see them being toyed with.

The Dark Lord had barely called Malfoy Manor his own when Draco witnessed his first torture. He was a man not born to wizarding parents and currently held a position in the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord had stayed calm and unaffected as Yaxley and Dolohov burned and berated the wizard until he haltingly, and with chapped lips, told them the plans of the new Minister for Magic.

Draco stood still with his fingers curled at his sides between his mother and father. When the Ministry employee begged "Please," his eyes filled with tears and loss, Draco heard the voice of his father and saw how hopeless he had looked when the Dark Lord had first returned. It was impossible for Draco not to wince with each curse, the slight shake of his shoulders causing his mother to gently place a comforting hand on his arm while she watched the spectacle with a neutral expression.

Draco did what was commanded and watched the man writhe in pain, the blood leaving him just as red as any wizard's. Silently, in his mind, Draco wondered if there really was a difference between his kind and theirs. And silently, in his mind, he called the wizard Muggle-born, a form of repentance, just as the wizard's last breath left him.

Draco was shaking. Never had he seen such pain or heard such screams. A chill ran up his spine and he looked up, feeling that he was being watched. The Dark Lord's eyes were fixed calculatingly upon him, even though his expression was unchanged. Draco's fingers curled even further into his fists, so hard that he nearly drew blood. Had the Dark Lord heard his thoughts?

Shivering, Draco blinked open his eyes wearily. His whole body was wracked with chills, his teeth chattering, even though it felt as if a fever had overtaken him. Feeling the effort of keeping his eyes open, he curled further into himself and pulled the comforter that was placed on him, tightly around his body. There was no pain save for a headache, which felt like there was a monumental weight placed on his head. There were too many sensations to concentrate on, all of them unpleasant.

Draco flinched when he felt cool fingers lightly touch his forehead. They were gentle, but he didn't care. He could hear voices above him, hushed whispers and questions that made him want to yell at them to keep quiet, to leave him in his misery.

But the voices didn't do what he wanted. He felt the weight of another comforter, the dampness of a cold cloth on his forehead, before his head was tipped back, his mouth opened and a foul-smelling potion poured down his throat, the bitterness of which nearly made him wretch. It was constant activity above him, but nothing seemed to make the feelings of utter agony go away.

He shivered, and continued to shiver before finally, with great effort and exhaustion, he fell asleep.

Hermione let out a low breath before she looked up at Harry. "We can't do this again."

Harry frowned, his expression one of deep thought as he looked at Malfoy's curled-up form. Before he could say anything, he turned to the other person who seemed to be just as disturbed by the situation as the two of them were. "Did it work?"

Professor Ryer had the same expression as Harry, his fingers fidgeting with his wand as he looked down at his ward. "Only time will tell, Mr Potter."

Harry looked to Hermione. "I thought Veriteserum would make it easier."

"It did," Professor Ryer answered for Hermione. "Had he not been so willing, I fear that Mr Malfoy would have suffered much worse."

Harry's frown deepened. "Is there any way we could know if it did work?"

"Harry!"

Her friend was unapologetic. "You're thinking the same thing too, Hermione."

"Even if it did work," Hermione said reluctantly, "it's too dangerous to continue. Isn't that right, Professor?"

Ryer looked thoughtfully down at his sleeping charge before he took a few steps towards the table that housed the variety of potions he had brought with him for this experiment. "The potion I gave Mr Malfoy should cure the fever and chills he is currently experiencing. If it doesn't…" He looked through several vials before picking up one that had rose-coloured liquid. Ryer handed it over to Hermione. "Give this to him twice a day. A drop in his food should be more than enough to prevent any more episodes."

Hermione's fingers tightened around the vial. "Does that mean that he will need constant care?"

"Oh yes," Professor Ryer said quickly. "Mr Malfoy has undergone a tremendous ordeal. If there was a spell or potion that enabled lost or altered memories to be brought to the surface, this would be much easier. Unfortunately, that isn't the case. If there is to be such a method, we would have to invent it." Ryer turned to Harry with a grave expression. "I would understand if you and Mr Malfoy wouldn't want to continue, Mr Potter. I don't know many who would want to go through this again after such a disappointing first time. The mind is a sensitive thing. It would be understandable if you wish not to try anything further."

"If it did work, what would be the procedure then?"

"That I can't say as yet. It depends on how clear Mr Malfoy's memories are and how much damage he has endured as a result of the first treatment. The potion I gave should bring him peace and calm. If it doesn't, please contact me and I will see what I can do."

Harry held out his hand and shook Ryer's hand firmly. "Thank you. We will be in touch."

"It's been a pleasure." Again, Ryer turned to Hermione. "Once he awakes, give him a moment before you question him. Be patient with him. He might not even know if he has a new memory."

Hermione smiled slightly as she nodded her thanks. Once the Professor left, she looked at Harry meaningfully. "He can't stay here."

Regrettably, Harry sighed at the image of his enemy of so long ago. Malfoy's expression was drawn as he peacefully slept on the uncomfortable chair that was given to them from the prison. "I know."

"Any ideas?"

"I have one," said Harry heavily. "He can thank you for giving me the idea in the first place."

The hall was brightly lit. Draco's steps were quick, the sound echoing off the walls. He was running. There were two others chasing him. They were laughing.

"This is not for the faint of heart, Draco," his father said gravely as he rose up to his full height slowly. Moments ago he had been on one knee, at Draco's eye level while his hand held his son's shoulder in a reassuring manner. Now Draco looked up at his father. He was so tall, so strong. Draco was in awe of such power. No one was like his father, and someday, he would be just like him.

Lucius Malfoy smiled. "You are too young."

Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, but once he did, all he could see was white. White walls, a white ceiling, and when he moved his head slightly to the right on a pillow that felt too soft to be real, he saw a lone table, coloured white and empty save for a goblet of water.

He didn't dwell on the thoughts pertaining to where he was, instead focusing on the goblet of clear liquid that his body seemed to crave. His lips were chapped, his tongue felt like rough paper. Eyeing the water, he imagined bringing the goblet to his lips. He was thirsty; so very thirsty. But when he tried to raise his arm, he found that he couldn't. Looking down, he saw a leather strap across his wrist. Panicking, he tried to move his other arm only to find a similar strap keeping him imprisoned. Draco let out a grunt as he gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs. But the straps across his ankles kept him immobile. He was held down by all four of his limbs, and his strength was such that he couldn't fight it. Draco struggled nonetheless, his hands fisting and his body twisting to try to free at least one hand or one leg.

Draco had given up for the moment, his head falling back on the pillow in defeat, when he had his first visitor.

Hermione Granger looked well rested and somewhat surprised by his appearance.

Draco's lips twisted into a sneer. "Disappointed that I didn't die, Granger?"

Her lips pursed in annoyance before she suddenly smiled radiantly at him. "Actually," Granger said in an irritatingly cheerful tone, "I came to see how you were." She strutted in calmly, pulled out her wand and conjured up a chair beside the bed he was securely strapped on before taking her seat and turning her full attention on him. "How are you?"

Scoffing, Draco stubbornly turned his head away from her so he could stare at the blank expanse of wall on the other side of the bed. Her irritated sigh made him feel infinitely better.

"Honestly, Malfoy, quit being so stubborn."

"Stubborn? I honestly don't know what you mean, Granger." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh? You don't know what stubborn means? Let's see. Wilful, inflexible, immovable… Idiotic," she said as an afterthought.

"You would know, Granger. You just listed your best qualities. Besides," he continued, "how can I be stubborn when I'm simply someone who is enjoying not having freedom? It's a pesky thing, I heard. Freedom to move."

He heard the way she let out a low breath, probably to keep her impatience in check, which only made his smile widen. "Why are you being so difficult?"

At this question, he turned back to face her with a glare already in place. "Why am I here?"

She looked at him seriously, her expression apologetic. "Your body went through too much trauma. We had to bring you somewhere you could be fully healed."

"St. Mungo's?" She nodded. "How long?"

"A week, maybe." Her smile was pained and sincere. "But, longer if you're willing to undergo the treatment again."

Draco simply blinked at her, unable to fully dissect everything that had happened. He remembered the pain vividly—it was hard not to—but his body felt stronger than it had been in months and his back didn't ache from a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with books. Was it worth it to go through so much pain just to live in comfort? Was it worth it to play with his mind using unsafe spells, potions and incantations just to get a few days of uninterrupted rest? And was it worth to give up a cell to be tied to a bed without much hope for movement? He needed time to think. But, he needed water first.

Granger followed his gaze only for her eyes to land on the goblet. Without a word, she picked it up easily and held it out to him. Draco eyed her suspiciously and lifted his head as far as he could. She placed the tip of the goblet to his lips and angled it carefully. Draco drank the cool liquid like he had been in the desert for months without water. It had been so long since he had drunk anything so pure. He had been convinced from the first day in Azkaban that clean water was a rare occurrence. Once the goblet was empty she placed it back on the table. Draco simply dropped his head once more onto the pillow and looked up at the white ceiling. He didn't thank her.

A moment of silence passed before she asked softly, "Do you remember anything?"

"Did it work, you mean."

From the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat. He wondered if it was nervousness or agitation. "Did it?"

Draco blinked up at the ceiling. Nothing felt new. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. "I remember everything that I always did."

"Nothing stands out?"

He turned to face her, his eyes studying her. "What could possibly stand out, Granger? The memory I have of being played like a worthless creature? The way I was blamed for things I had never done, the things I was forced to do, the poor sods who were tortured in front of me? Are they all things that shouldn't stand out?" Her expression made him pause. "What?" he asked, somewhat reluctantly.

She stared at him in surprise. "You never said anyone was tortured in front of you."

"Of course I did. Henry Fern from the Ministry of Magic. You-Know-Who was there, for Merlin's sake."

Granger's eyes brightened just a little bit as she said carefully, "When I asked you if you had ever seen anyone tortured in front of you, you said no."

He looked at her, remembering a piece of his past that he had wished he never had. "Only yours."

Granger looked away from him, her expression darkening. "I meant someone other than me."

"I remember."

"And you said no."

Draco simply stared at her. "I lied." He must have.

"No, you didn't." She sat up straighter, shaking herself out of whatever that had settled on her as a small smile formed on her lips. Draco knew that she was trying very hard to hide her excitement. "Before the procedure we collected every last memory you had of Voldemort."

He flinched. "I don't need a re-cap, Granger."

"I think you do." Her smile was wide now, too big to tame. "You had no memory of having a man tortured in front of you. Especially one Vol—" She stopped. "You-Know-Who," she said carefully, "presided over. This is new."

She rummaged through a small beaded bag that she had brought with her before successfully pulling out a clear vial. "You need to give me that memory. It could mean that this has worked." She stood up quickly with her wand in her hand as she looked at him expectantly.

Draco's jaw locked in stubbornness. He didn't like being tested on. He despised the thought that they might have stumbled on something that might have worked. He hated the fact that he was nothing more than an experiment to them.

Granger's gaze softened in understanding. "If this has worked, all of what you went through wouldn't have been for nothing. You would have gotten part of your memory back. Isn't that amazing?" She paused. "You don't have to do it again, not if you don't want to. But this memory could be useful to us, to you." She leaned slightly over him and placed the tip of her wand to his temple. "Please."

She was looking at him like that again; like she had invested all her hope in him and no one else. Draco realised that he was just as weak as he had always been when he closed his eyes and thought of that moment. When his eyes opened once again, he saw her close the vial and pocket it in her robes. What drew his attention the most was her smile. "Thank you."

Draco didn't smile back; he simply looked away from her and let his gaze rest on the brilliantly white ceiling.

He heard her sigh. "If you promise not to escape, I can try to get them to loosen your bindings."

Draco stopped himself from sighing in response. She didn't get it; none of them did. "Granger," he said finally, his head turning to face her. "I have nowhere to escape to."

Her smile dropped so suddenly that he had an unwelcome feeling in his chest. In a distant memory he remembered a cool cloth on his forehead and soft words coming from lips that looked an awful lot like hers.

Granger shifted from one foot to the other. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she ducked her head and left.

Draco watched her leave. Part of him thought that he wasn't responding well to the kindness she was showing him, while another, larger, part of him thought good riddance. The last thing he needed was someone being kind to him and causing him to accept the situation he was currently in. Kindness was making him weak. And weakness would not help him get through the next few years in Azkaban.

But that night, after he was spoon-fed soup and was given clean linens to sleep on, Draco remembered how he had made her smile mere moments before he fell into a dreamless sleep.