Ch.2

"Draco, is that you?"

Curses flew from Draco's lips, his eyes flicking desperately around the room until they fell on the walk-in pantry. He stumbled forward and shoved Potter inside, and shutting the door. He heard the thud of the Gryffindor's body hitting the floor, and a bit of clattering, making Draco cringe before it fell silent again. He hoped that he hadn't added too much to Potter's injuries.

Draco turned to the still frozen house-elves who had stayed quiet while watching their young master. In any other situation, Draco would have found their expressions hilarious.

"You saw nothing, understand?" Draco hissed out, the famous Malfoy glare falling into place. "You will not speak of this to anyone, nor will you tell anyone about this person's presence in the manor, not one word. Because, so help me, if I get caught because of you, I will be bringing you all down with me. Got it?"

The elves gave collective squeaks of fright, and they nodded in understanding before going back to their tasks. A second later, his mother came in with his father.

His father seemed to have calmed down from the looks of it, but the cool glare Draco was receiving told him that the argument was not forgotten and warned him from testing the rocky waters. His mother approached him, wrapping her arms around him like she did when he was a young child.

"Don't you ever run off like that again, Draco Lucius Malfoy," she said to him.

"I'm sorry, mother," Draco said stiffly. He looked over her shoulder at his father. "I apologize, father, for the way I acted."

The Malfoy Lord didn't respond, his gray eyes simply narrowing even more. His mother pulled away from the one-sided hug, placing her hands on his cheeks. She smiled nervously.

"I'm glad you've calmed down. Don't worry; everything is going to turn out fine."

Draco grimaced at her words that sounded like she didn't even believe them while she looked down at his clothes. A grimace of her own appeared on her face.

"What did you do to your clothes; you're a mess."

"I fell."

"Oh. Well, go get yourself cleaned up." His mother took a step back, brushing her hands over her dark robes.

"You're going somewhere?" Draco asked, noticing his father was in his robes as well.

"A meeting was called at Nott Manor," the Malfoy Lord finally spoke. "You are not required to attend this one, though expect to in the future."

The last statement left no room for arguments, not that Draco cared to pick one at the moment. His heart was racing, blood rushing in his ears. Thank Merlin. There was no way he would be able to get away with this if the Dark Lord held his meeting here like he usually did.

"Of course," Draco said. It was in his best interest to nod and agree. He didn't want to attend any kind of meeting the Dark Lord held, but he'd kill to be a fly on the wall during one. Maybe he'd get to see his father get knocked down a few pegs. Perhaps he was only thinking this now because of his anger, but still.

"Please stay in the house, Dragon," his mother said, kissing his cheek before turning to leave the room. Draco followed them out to the entrance hall and outside, where he stopped on the steps. Once outside the gates and wards, the Malfoy Lord and Lady apparated away.

Draco rushed back to the kitchen, flinging the pantry door open. Like he'd expected, Potter lay sprawled on the tile floor. Draco rechecked for a pulse again, then took Potter back into his arms.

He made sure to repeat his threats from earlier to the house-elves, to be sure he got his message across, then he was off towards his bedroom on the 2nd floor and west wing of the manor. Once there, Draco placed Potter down on his four-poster bed and went to lock the door. No one ever came up to his room beside his parents on the scarce occasion. If his parents needed him, a house-elf would be sent to fetch him. But he didn't want to risk being barged in on regardless.

His bedroom was large and extravagant as a noble heir should be. Only the best for the Malfoys.

There was an array of different shades of green, the primary color being that of emeralds. The walls, and most of the furniture, were a mahogany color, the stained wood floor going down a step into a small living area of sorts with a comfy sofa and a fireplace, which Draco lit.

One the bed, which was step up and to the left of the fireplace area, Potter had curled into a ball on his side against the black silk sheet, looking so small and vulnerable, it hurt to look at. Draco frowned. Where was the headstrong Gryffindor prat he was used to? Draco didn't like this at all.

He sighed. This was a disaster waiting to happen, he thought, trailing his eyes over Potter's dirtied form. He needed to get his wounds cleaned. Draco went into his bathroom and turned on the water in the tub.

It shouldn't bother him; it really shouldn't. But seeing Potter like that...Draco didn't know how to explain it. As the tub filled, Draco called out, "Mipsey!"

A crack sounded behind him, and a small female house-elf wearing a tan-colored dress stared up at Draco with her big tennis ball eyes.

"Master Draco summoned me."

"Yes," Draco said. "Bring me a blood replenishing and a Wiggenweld potion; I believe Severus has restocked us. A bruise removing paste, bacitracin, and bandages."

"Yes, Master Draco."

"And some Dreamless Sleep potion, if we have any. If you run into anyone, make sure to keep quiet about this. That is all."

The house-elf bobbed her head up and down like a bobblehead before she disappeared with another crack. Turning the water off, Potter was retrieved and sat on the closed toilet seat, back leaning against the tank. Draco pulled off the boxers and shirt with some difficulty. The dried dirt and blood practically glued the fabric to Potter's body.

Placing Potter into the lukewarm water, Draco took a clear look at the damage. The blonde let loose a gasp and snatched his hands away before having to scramble to get his hold back before Potter slipped under the water. Wide eyes took in the cuts on cuts layer Potter's skin, long gashes lining the length and width of his back, ends curling around his sides and over his shoulders towards the front. Blood caked around and on the wounds, some parts starting to scab over a bit. They all look to be on the verge of infection if they weren't already.

Without the barrier of the clothes, a foul odor Draco's nose. He turned his head away and gagged. They definitely were infected then and had been for a while, it seemed.

He shook his head. Man up. There was little to no untouched area, bruises and cuts traveling up and down his legs and arms. But the worse damage appeared in his torso area and back. What did this? Who did this?

It couldn't have been death eaters. He would have heard about it; there was no way the Dark Lord would keep that silent. Potter would have been brought in, tortured, and eventually be allowed the sweet mercy of death. Potter had looked perfectly fine when Draco had last seen him on the train, aside from the Gryffindor's injuries from his yearly adventure. So, whatever had been done to him had to have happened within the week and a half they'd left Hogwarts.

Potter shouldn't have been able to get away easily, not with this much damage and blood loss. Perhaps he'd accidentally apparated in his state of distress. A witch or wizards' magic did tend to lash out without thought to protect its user, so it wasn't out of the question. It just wasn't entirely probable.

A crack signaled Mipsey's return, holding a basket of the items he'd asked for.

"Young Master Draco, is you injured--" Nipsey squeaked, cutting off her question as she spotted the naked boy in the tub. Draco quickly turned and took the basket from her.

"Thank you. I'll call you if I need anything else."

Placing the basket next to him on the floor, he started going through its content. Draco could feel Mipsey's gaze on him. He wasn't sure whether it was because Draco had been civil towards her or if she recognized Potter somehow. Whipping his head around to strike her with a glare, Draco demanded icily, "What the hell are you just standing there for? I said, get lost."

Mipsey recoiled away from him then disappeared, leaving Draco chuckling in amusement. He grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet under the sink and dipped it into the bathwater. Carefully, Draco began washing away the blood and dirt, the water turning quickly into a mix of pale red and browns. Potter's body twitched under Draco's hands, the first noticeable movements he'd gotten from the boy, but he didn't wake.

The water was drained a moment later, and the tub was refilled with clean water to finish the work. Draco used his own shampoo to wash the mess that was Potter's hair, all the while coming up with different scenarios that could have gone down for Potter to end up like this. None were any good, just speculation. Draco would only know if Potter told him himself. And why would he? He was Draco Malfoy. Typically one did not go to their rivals if they needed to confide in someone.

Then again, Draco didn't think it was too much to ask, considering all he was doing. He deserved an explanation at the very least.

Draco sat Potter back on the toilet seat, drying him off with a pillow-soft towel before applying the bacitracin to the wounds and cuts. The smell was still there, but that was to be expected. But the smell would soon be drowned out by the scents of the potions and creams.

Quiet groans escaped Potter's chest, giving more tiny jerks as the stinging sensations. Draco knew how that felt. He could still remember when his mother would disinfect his cuts and scrapes when he was little. He applied the bruising balm, then wrapped up the more extensive wounds with bandages. Draco didn't know what to do about the more minor cuts. It seemed impractical to cover him entirely in bandages. He figured he'd just keep a close eye on them and keep them clean when needed.

Bandages mainly went around his torso and chest and around one of his thighs, where a large gash went from his hip to the side of his knee. Finally finished, Draco carried Potter back to his bed. He tossed the ruined clothes into the flames of the fireplace. The less evidence, the better. Draco sacrificed a pair of his own boxers and a set of silk pajamas, dressing Potter before climbing into the bed behind him, leaning him against his chest.

He needed Potter awake now, or at least conscious enough to take the potions properly. He was honestly surprised Potter hadn't woken up at any point between the woods and here.

"Potter," Draco called, shaking the Gryffindor by the shoulder a bit, "Potter, you've got to wake up."

No response. Shaking him a bit more roughly, Draco called out again and a bit closer to Potter's ear. Potter groaned, shifting his head away from Draco's voice.

"Potter!" Draco impatiently snapped. "Wake up, you git! You need to drink."

The Gryffindor gave another whine before finally cracking his eyes open. Potter blinked a few times, then squinted up at him. Right, his glasses were missing.

"Malfoy?" His voice sounded dry and painful.

Draco tightened his arms around Potter's chest and arms, carefully to not disturb his injuries too much, but enough to keep him restricted. He didn't need Potter trying to run, not that he could anyway.

"Potter, you're badly injured and have lost a lot of blood. I've patched you up the best I can, but I need you to drink these potions, okay?"

Potter just blinked at him owlishly, his jade eyes foggy and dull. He made a move to leave his arms, but Draco tightened his grip warningly, raising an unamused eyebrow. Draco grabbed the blood replenishing potion without allowing any more protest and brought it to Potter's lips, tilting his head back. Potter raised his arms, wrapping weak and shaky fingers around Draco's wrist and arm.

Draco felt a slight tug, but Potter's fingers went slack after a second. And beside some muffled noises and squirming, Potter put up no fight, swallowing down the red liquid.

"Okay, one more," Draco told him, bringing the other potion to his mouth. The vial was drained quickly, and as Draco set the vial aside, he watched Potter struggle to keep his eyes open. Perhaps the Dreamless Sleep wasn't needed?

"You can sleep again now, Potter," Dracco urged. "You're safe."

Dark eyebrows shot up and disappeared underneath his fringe. Draco held in a laugh; he could practically picture what raced through Potter's mind at that moment. But Potter's eyes fell shut, and his body's weight rested fully against him almost immediately. Draco let out a breath.

That went better than I thought.

Potter would undoubtedly put up much more of a fight whenever he was fully conscious and able to get around on his own. It could get physical based on Potter's preference to use muggle ways of fighting. Draco's mind flashed back to that quidditch game last year when Potter had decked him, one of the Weasley twins joining in as well.

Draco flexed his jaw at the memory. Potter was by no means weak, neither physically nor magically, despite his more diminutive stature. But he'd worry about that later. Draco removed himself from Potter and the bed, laying Potter on his back. Potter curled back into that ball position from earlier and seemed to actually relax a bit.

Draco stared down at him for a moment. Was he really doing this? The weight of the situation began crashing down on the Slytherin in an instant, and Draco found himself on the ground for what seemed like the millionth time that day. His body racked with shakes, and he buried his face into his hands and let out a borderline hysterical laugh.

There was no way he was going to make it through this. What in Merlin's name made him think he could do this? Shifting his head to rest between his knees and breathing through his nose, Draco tried to center himself. He couldn't do this, not alone, at least.

But who could he possibly call upon? Draco didn't know how to get in any immediate contact with anyone on Potter's side. And it was common knowledge by now that Potter was raised by muggle relatives, and Draco doubted he'd be able to contact them through magical means.

He could call only families involved with the Dark Lord and hated anything to do with the name Potter. They would rat him out without a second thought, just to get higher up in the circle. So that left his friends out; he used the term 'friends' loosely.

There were the Zabinis, Draco thought, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. The Zabinis' were openly neutral. So was the Greengrass family, last time Draco had heard. Though Draco was closer to Blaise Zabini than Daphne and the others. Probably because Blaise actually knew how to hold an intelligent conversation, unlike Crabbe and Goyle, who followed him around.

The two were great to have around in the early years of Hogwarts; they were good bodyguards and dumbly did whatever Draco said. Now, they were more of an annoyance, and the blonde found himself distancing himself from them as much as he could without cutting them off completely. He couldn't lie and say he didn't crave the experience of having actual friends instead of acquaintances that saw each other for personal and political gain.

Maybe that was why he felt drawn to Blaise the past few years. With being of a neutral family, Blaise didn't see life through the lens of most people Draco was around. Blaise had the people in his life because he genuinely liked them, not because they were beneficial. Draco had learned that the hard way when the dark-skinned boy brushed off the blonde's usual tactics of "friendship."

Draco shakily got to his feet and glanced at the watch on his wrist. There was no telling when his parents would return from the meeting; they could be on their way back now or wouldn't be back for several more hours. He couldn't do this alone. That was irrefutable. And if anyone would at least hear him out on this insane shit, it was Blaise Zabini.