Disclaimer: I own nothing, I have nothing, nope.
Chapter warnings: This chapter has some rough language. Er, maybe a lot.
Draco woke up slowly, a dull ache setting in as he was pulled from a dreamless sleep. His limbs ached, and he couldn't move even a little. His head felt heavy, throbbing, a million miles away. He could hear voices floating, but couldn't understand them. He had never been so tired in his entire life.
"They do with him, he isn't p-"
"Stop, we don't know there's no use guessing."
"He's been out for days…"
Someone stroked his head and it burned and hurt, and when the hand went to his shoulder, maybe in an attempt to comfort him, the pain swallowed him up.
He dreamed vividly sometimes, and sometimes it seemed a foggy distant world he was dreaming up. Or maybe he was just over hearing things, or the things were mixed.
He dreamed of high laughter, terse words that he couldn't understand, unbearable pain, hushed tones, and snapping, jagged pain puncturing him. And he dreamed about aching, and about crazed eyes, and the hungry baying of the dark lords wolves.
When he finally awoke again it hurt. The world hurt. Everything hurt. He tried to move, maybe just open his eyes, but it hurt, and he yelped. And yelping hurt so badly it winded him.
"Shhh, Draco, just have a sip of water, stay quiet ok?" Blaise's voice wasn't the arrogant icy tones he was used to, he sounded broken, and concerned. He felt himself being propped, pulled up, and felt a cool mug being pressed to his lips. It all hurt, all the moving, some places, his skin felt stretched too thin, and all his joints felt thousands of year old, rusted and screaming at the motions. He opened his mouth, tasting a sour morning breath he hadn't ever tasted before. He slowly sipped at the icy water, even water stung going down.
"How long," he managed to croak, his gut stabbing with pain, and lips cracking dryly. He finally opened his eyes slightly, but found the room he was in was dark. He looked to Blaise's face, and found his long time friend avoiding his gaze.
"Well," Blaise began hesitantly, "Almost a month…"
Just as Draco was preparing to try to ask what the hell had happened what the fuck Blaise goddamit, he heard footsteps.
"Sorry Draco, just, just, calm down ok? Don't fight," mumbled Blaise hastily, easing Draco back down onto the thin mattress and backing out of the room, a panic in his eyes that scared Draco. Blaise was self confident, even a self-centered ass sometimes, but this broken Blaise was not a good sign.
He waited in dread, hearing distant footsteps, wishing vainly that he knew what he was afraid of. He was so sore, so tired, the pain was aching, dull, and hot and inescapable, like a stifling, humid summer. The door burst open, and four figure burst in. Draco's arm because to burn, and then as three of the figures burst forwards, and stabbing ripping pain tore through his legs and abdomen, and he sank back into blissful mind numbing blackness.