Ch. 1

A loud crack sounded in the large dining room of Malfoy Manor as the Dark Lord apparated away in a cloud of black smoke, leaving the young Malfoy heir there, kneeling on the floor alone. Draco's hand was clutching his left forearm that was throbbing painfully. The stories he'd heard about the Dark Lord's inner circle receiving their dark marks were nothing compared to the actual experience.

He'd expected some pain, of course, there would be, but he hadn't expected to lose consciousness because of it nearly. Thank Merlin, he was already on his knees, and all he had to do was fight the urge to slip into that darkness that beckoned him; that was a challenge in itself. Passing out in front of the infamous Dark Lord would not be the best idea, no matter the person. In those snakey, red eyes, he would be seen as weak and would no doubt face the cruciatous curse.

On the cold, tile floor, Draco's mind was racing. I should have gotten away when I had the chance...

Maybe he still had one? Draco snorted dryly. He was one of the marked now, a disgusting image forever branded on his skin. It wouldn't surprise him if the dark mark came with some tracking charm. You would want to keep tabs on your followers, wouldn't you?

There was nothing he could do now. Who would chance it?

The door to the dining room opened, and Draco turned to face his parents slowly. He watched as his mother cringed, most likely at his appearance. The skin around his eyes was probably red and sensitive-looking. They certainly felt like it.

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he got to his feet, moving past his so-called parents and purposefully knocking shoulders with his father.

"Draco!" His father called after him sharply. They followed him into the entrance hall. "Just where do you think you're going?"

Draco scoffed loudly. "Away from here."

His mother was suddenly in front of him, blocking his path to the front door. "Sweetheart, you can't just run away from this," she said pleadingly.

His father, who was still standing behind him, was nowhere near remorseful. "And where exactly do you plan to go?" He sneered. "We are all you have! And I will not have my son be seen as some cowardly traitor!"

The blonde spun around at that, fist-clenching at his side, anger racking through his body with a lot more force than he'd ever experienced. He barely registered the sound of cracking glass on the room's windows. He couldn't believe that this is what his family has become.

"A coward?" Draco repeated in a deathly whisper. "You're calling me the coward?!"

"Draco, sweetie..." His mother started, reaching out to touch his shoulder, only to yank back as if she'd been burned.

"The only coward here is you!" Draco shouted. Tears of frustration began to fall from his eyes, making the raw skin around them to sting. "Forcing your 16-year-old son into this kind of situation. I'm just a fucking kid! Could you think of us, think of your wife? It's cowardly that instead of protecting me, this family, you're just forcing all of us to become some boot licking little followers and--"

The echoing smack that radiated throughout the room was loud and abrupt, and Draco's head was sent to the side, making him stumble back a step. It only took a few seconds for his pale cheek to turn an angry red.

"Lucius!" Exclaimed his mother in undisguised shock.

Draco glared at his father head-on as the older man snarled, "Don't you ever say such things ever again if you know what's good for you. I am doing what is best for this family, and you have no authority to be questioning me. You've forgotten your place. You should be honored to be amongst the marked!"

The young Malfoy breathed in deeply, trying to compose himself like he'd been taught from a young age. It was easy for him now, and that fact made him feel worse than he already was.

"If you honestly believe that I should feel honored," Draco spat, "to have to serve that sick son of a bitch, then you've gone completely insane. I wish that it was you that went to Azkaban that night." He produced a sneer much like his father's. "The dementors would have had a fucking field day."

Without giving his parents any chance to respond, Draco stormed past his mother and out the front door, slamming it closed behind him. The hot summer air of Wiltshire hit his skin, and he began wiping his cheeks dry, cringing a bit when he grazed his cheek. He went towards the side of the manor quickly, assuming that his father would be after him, to punish him for his lip. And just as he'd thought, he heard his name being yelled, making him break out into a run into the woods surrounding the back of the property.

He dodging trees and branches, scaled over logs and small streams as if he were on auto-pilot. He had to get away; he needed to. From his family. From everything, every awful thing that had transpired around him. Even if it was for only a little while.

Draco skidded to a stop, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, panting.

"I have a task for you once you return to Hogwarts," the Dark Lord had told him. The man's--could they even call him that--voice was hissy and snakelike, and it never failed to bring a chill up his spine. "It's a punishment for your father's incompetence; he has failed me one too many times as of late. But it is also an opportunity for you to prove yourself to me, to prove your loyalty, your usefulness. Consider you being marked beforehand as...motivation not to fail me."

Draco wasn't told what exactly his task was, only that he'd be informed in full when September rolled around.

Two months...

He should have left as soon as he'd found about the Dark Lord wanted him marked. He'd known for an entire term, and yet, he did nothing, planned nothing. Maybe, deep down, he believed his father would have protected him. How stupid he was.

But there must be something. Draco's hands gripped tightly to the fabric of his pants, screwing his eyes shut. The ministry was out. As good as he was with avoiding his father's radar (which would be a difficulty of its own considering his high ministry position and reputation), there was no telling who wasn't just one of the Dark Lord's unmarked followers.

One of the Dark Lord's goals had to be to take control of the ministry, attacking from within rather than from the outside. He'd plant spies, and you'd never know if the person you're speaking to is a follower. That was why the dark marks were reserved for the inner circle.

Draco considered the idea of going to Dumbledore briefly but pushed it aside. He didn't want to involve himself with the headmaster, no matter how desperate he became. Besides, he doubted he'd find much help there, considering his reputation.

He walked in a sort of daze until a few minutes later, he went stumbling to the ground, his foot having gotten caught on something. Draco grunted, already getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his clothes. Glancing down to see what had caused him to trip, his mouth fell open as silver eyes took in the form of Harry Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived lay at his feet unconscious, not seeming the slightest bit disturbed that he'd just been stumbled over. He was covered in dried-up mud and dirt and what looked to be blood in some spots. Potter's skin lacked the usual brown hue that Draco was used to seeing. His dark black hair that had grown longer since the beginning of his 5th year was messier, reaching his shoulders and matted in some places.

Draco's eyes moved up and down his body, taking in the scars, cuts, and bruises covering practically every inch of skin that was visible. They most likely continued underneath the extremely oversized gray shirt he was wearing and the pair of boxers, both of which were just as dirty and stained as the rest of him. His shoes and glasses were missing, he noticed.

Draco looked around before falling to his needs beside Potter and lifted the Gryffindor's wrist. His skin was on the cooler side, but he could still feel a pulse, at least. He got the same results when he pressed his fingers into his neck.

What in Merlin's name was Potter doing in the woods near his manor? How did he get here, more importantly? Are far as Draco knew, Potter didn't know where he lived. He shouldn't. And you had to be keyed into the wards to get onto the grounds or be brought in by someone who was. But he could never be sure with Potter; he was notorious for doing the supposed impossible.

Maybe the wards didn't reach this far out.

Draco stared down at the raven hair boy for a few more seconds before standing, intending to leave Potter there and head back to the manor. Act as if he'd never seen him. Draco paused after a few feet, clutching at his mark and glancing around, looking unsure.

What if...what if he called the Dark Lord? Draco rolled up his sleeve and gazed down at the mark. The Dark Lord wanted him dead, didn't he? And what would get him and his family back into the Dark Lord's good graces better than presenting him enemy #1?

The blonde walked back over. After all, what did he care about what happened to Harry Bloody Potter? This was his rival, for going on six years. He chose Weasal's friendship over his.

Draco shook his head roughly. What am I thinking?

He hated Potter. Everyone knew it, and Draco would be a fool to try and say any different now. But despite what others thought of the Malfoys, Draco wasn't heartless.

At least not cruel enough to send someone off to their death, even if it was Potter. Draco was not like the Dark Lord or his slimy little-death eaters.

He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. Maybe he could use this. Possibly Potter could be his ticket out of this. Draco sat back on the ground.

If he saved Potter--protected him and got him back alive to wherever he was supposed to be--, he would own Draco a life debt. Having the light's savior and Dumbledore's Golden Boy--the Chosen One--owing him would put Draco at some mighty exemplary advantages if he played his cards right, of course.

Reaching over, Draco brushed his fingers against the dark circles under Potter's eyes and trailed down the off-colored cheek. Potter looked like he was on the brink of death, and his breathing was uneven.

Draco couldn't apparate him anywhere. Even if he could, Draco didn't want to make Potter's injuries any worse than they were if they reacted badly to that sort of travel. Leaving him here was, obviously, out of the question. He wouldn't want to risk leaving his wounds unattended for longer than needed, nor did he want to risk Potter being stumbled upon by someone else.

Low-ranking death eaters, those who weren't marked, would patrol the grounds of whatever place meetings would be held, so even if they were outside the words, they could find him there.

But bringing Potter to the manor, that was asking for trouble. Not only for himself but his parents too. Sure he was beyond angry with them, more so with his father than his mother, but he still loved them. If Draco got caught, they would all be tortured and killed. Draco didn't think he'd be able to give up Potter to them, not without that laying on his consciousness for the rest of his life.

If he gave up Potter, there would go any chance of his family getting out of this. And the war would already be over before it began, with the Dark as the victors. Draco didn't want to think about what the Wizarding World would be like then.

Draco groaned out loud, running his hands over his face. He didn't have many options here. He shifted his arms under Potter's knees and around his shoulders and went to stand, bracing himself to support the Gryffindor's weight. It was going to be a long walk.

But Potter was surprisingly light, Draco found out as he lifted Potter bridal style. It was unnerving how easily he could maneuver this soon-to-be 16-year-old boy. Draco pushed that to the back burner of his mind, now wasn't the time. Right now, he needed to focus on getting back to the manor and what he was going to do with Potter when he got there.

Stashing him away in his bedroom would be his best bet until he could get Potter somewhere else. To Dumbledore, or the Weasley's once Potter was better and able to do at least some things on his own. Draco could only hide a teenage boy for so long, so hopefully, with his help, Potter would heal quickly.

Draco's eyes flicked down at Potter. The Gryffindor's head rested on his shoulder, his face practically buried into the crook of the blonde's neck. Draco grimaced and leaned his head away, but that helped very little. It would get easier once Potter was fully conscious and made aware of their predicament; Draco tried reassuring himself. There had to be some form of self-preservation in Potter. At least he hoped. Past actions of the Golden Boy spoke otherwise.

The manor was slowly coming into view between the trees up ahead. Draco hoped only his parents were there; he could sneak past them reasonably easily. He'd done it so many times before, especially nowadays. Anyone else, however, he wasn't so confident. People like Aunt Bellatrix and his godfather, Severus, well, he might as well go ahead and sign his death certificate now.

He made it to the manor, deciding to go around to one of the back doors, making sure to avoid being seen through windows. He looked through the small window that led into the kitchen, seeing the house-elves cleaning inside. His parents rarely went down to the kitchens, and it wouldn't be too hard to keep the elves quiet.

Draco shifted Potter in his arms so he could open the door and quietly slipped inside. So focused on not dropping Potter, Draco wasn't able to catch the door before it swung shut, slamming loudly against the frame.

Draco flinched and froze as the house-elves turned towards the sudden sound, all of them freezing too at the sight of a dirtied, bloody boy in the young master's arms.

Before anyone could speak, Lady Malfoy's voice rang from somewhere further in the manor. "Draco?"