Chapter Text
Harry woke with a swear on the tip of his tongue. Seeing your one and only Godfather hurtle towards his death is one thing that would make one swear enough to make a pirate blush, I imagine, and having your door bang open by your frantic relatives. He scrambled towards the head of his lumpy and deformed mattress as they yelled.
"Boy! There are freaks outside, you go handle them now! We don't want no more of that freakishness in our very normal home!" Vernon was more purple than his normal rage color, Harry noted, shooting out of bed and towards the window. There was Wixen outside, and not the type that Harry wants to be around either.
He made his voice steady, watching them from the window, "You guys need to leave, now. Go through the back door and don't let them see you." As he assumed, this brought on a rough shaking that twinges his already broken ankle. "Listen to me, those are Death Eaters, they will kill you on sight."
"Will they kill you?" Petunia asked, face devoid of emotion. It was the expression that she held in her eyes that Harry couldn't name, but it terrified Harry more than his uncle's belt, cane, and body.
"Maybe not-they probably have orders to take me to their Lord-but-" he wasn't able to finish, voice going silent. He looked in horror at his aunt and uncle. "Voldemort just walked through the wards."
It obviously sent his relatives in a flurry of panic, not intimately knowing this Dark Lord but knew he wreaked havoc. They ran to their bedroom together, snatching Dudley from his room on the way, leaving Harry behind. He looked at the room with a growing sense of desperation. The two halves of his now useless wand sat on the window frame. There was nothing here for Harry to protect himself with, and it's not like he could just do it physically. His body is already bruised and battered enough that one good placed curse would have him going down in a coma.
Sighing, Harry stuffed his meager belongings in a magically extended pouch. It was just a few bits of food, a couple schoolbooks, parchment, his broken wand, and a few different ratty trousers and shirts. After placing his pouch in his pocket, he made his way downstairs, not even pausing when he saw Voldemort at the bottom. He could either kill him here or take him to some wizarding place and kill him, Harry isn't sure he would care which.
Harry knew he looked like death. His body was bruised and battered, yellow and blue bruises on every slip of skin visible, and he was walking with a clear limp. He stopped on the stair in front of Voldemort, giving an unimpressed arch of his brow.
"You do not even have your wand out, you foolish boy." Voldemort hissed out, almost in Parseltongue. Harry shrugged and then winced.
"It is useless now, I couldn't beat you in a duel at my best, much less in the condition I am in now. Besides, it was snapped." He tried to make himself seem like it didn't affect him as much as it did, but he knew it didn't work as he surveyed Voldemort's eyes carefully.
"The Ministry has not ordered your wand to be snapped, and you are not daft enough to snap it yourself." Voldemort says plainly. He was staring at Harry in distaste, whether it was the battered flesh or the pieces of cloth that resembled air balloons on his form, Harry didn't know. It could be both, he supposed.
"Correct." Harry sighed and leaned heavily on the rail of the stairs. "I am unsure about what that has to do when I am still standing here, very much breathing."
"Insolent brat," Voldemort hissed, sending a wandless stinging hex at Harry's leg. Unfortunately, it was his one good leg and made him buckle, collapsing and banging his head against the rail as he fell. He heard a sharp intake of breath and huffed. Of course, Voldemort would take pleasure in his pain. He didn't bother getting up, just angling his head and sending an unamused glare towards the being.
Without warning, Voldemort grasped his very bruised shoulder and apparated them both. Having nothing in his stomach, he simply dry heaved. "Holy fucking shit, Merlins tits, give a guy a warning," Harry gasped, chest filling and stuttering on much needed air.
"Come along," Voldemort commanded, already ten steps ahead of the young man. Harry sighed, still cursing in his mind. He drags himself to his feet and limped on after the man. They were making their way to a huge manor, with humongous gates. He very well may be walking to his death but couldn't find it in himself to care too much.
The halls were pristine, something that automatically made him uncomfortable. Everything screamed wealth and 'I am and will always be better than you'. It made him disgusted, with himself or his surroundings he didn't know. Seeing portraits with platinum blond hair that was obviously a clear sign that he was absolutely not welcome here. This must be the Malfoy Manor then, Harry thought, passing by said portraits that didn't bother hiding the sneers on their faces.
Thankfully, the portraits ended soon enough, and Voldemort led him into an obvious meeting room. It was blissfully empty other than standard furniture like a table and multiple chairs. After Voldemort takes a seat, he motions for Harry to seat himself. Glad to be off his feet, Harry sat in one closest to the door, which made Voldemort roll his eyes and wave a hand that had the door shutting just loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry shrugged and feigned indifference, it wasn't like he could run anyway. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the movement, but he didn't curse or hex him again. "I assume you have gathered where you are currently?"
"A meeting room at the Malfoy Manor?" Harry guessed, sitting straight up despite feeling that he could fall over at any given moment.
"Correct. You will remain here without difficulties, until I figure out what to do with you, am I clear?" Voldemort says, staring deeply at Harry in a way that makes him want to run. He couldn't understand why Voldemort was being like this with him, as if he was something.
"Why don't you just AK me and be done with it? It would make mine and your lives better, or are you naturally hard on yourself? You won't have to chase a teenager around every year, and I won't have to hide for my life every year from a deranged Dark Lord." Harry asks, looking around the room because the intensity of Voldemort's eyes was unnerving him.
"Potter, do you want to die?"
The question threw him off, and his gaze snapped back to the wizard sitting elegantly at the head of the table. He didn't really know how to answer the man's question. No one had ever asked him that. The Dark Lord was staring very intently at Harry, waiting for the boy to provide an answer. An answer he didn't know. Harry was reminded with rising panic of his first ever Potions lesson, he had been very excited for the class, despite the dour man, and his hopes had been crushed almost immediately. The man clearly did not like him due to some unknown reason, but he had never been so immediately hated by anyone except the few people he had been exposed to.
"Well, I thought my death was a given, since you know, you've been trying to kill me this whole time." Harry tried, fingers tapping a fast rhythm on his leg beneath the table. He didn't know what else to say, he didn't know what the man expected of him. Was he supposed to say no? Was he supposed to say yes? Is there ever a clear answer for that question?
"I know what I have been doing, but that does not answer my question. Do you, or do you not, want to die?" Heart racing and nerves jittering, Harry picked at his cuticles feeling blood rush forward towards the broken skin.
"I-I don't know.." Harry finally admitted quietly. His head was bowed, watching the blood bubble up from his fingers. He could hear Voldemort's breathing quicken and braced himself for whatever that is about to happen. Nothing does though, they sit quietly for a while, Harry determinedly not looking up as Voldemort stands and leaves the room. He lets his shoulders slump when he hears the click of the door shut. His eyes were burning for a reason he could not name.
He pressed his bloodied fingers against his eyes underneath his glasses. So much shit happened in the past few years that he had never properly allowed himself to work through, probably because everything happened one after the other. After years of abuse, Harry knew he was obviously malleable as fresh putty for manipulating hands to do as they please. Give him a brush of kindness, he would be under your control. It wasn't something he could help, but it was something he was intimately aware of.
He was aware that in First Year, the Stone was definitely too easy to get, especially for three first years. Second Year, the Diary may have been Malfoy Sr's fault but why didn't the wards keep dangerous artifacts away, and how did none of the adults' notice? Third Year as well, there was two unregistered Animagus on the property and a full-grown Werewolf, along with soul sucking Dementors. Did they not realize that most of the students' families had perished in the war? Fourth Year, he was entered in a bloody tournament he had wanted nothing to do with and then, during the Third task, was Portkeyed to a graveyard where he revived Voldemort himself. Fifth Year was definitely one of the worst years of his entire life. Being tortured with a Blood Quill, something he knew was illegal except on legal documents and the like. (He checked.) He was being tortured both awake and unconscious, by awful people. Mr. Weasley was attacked, and Sirius ended up dead just like Cedric. Then he was forced back to his Muggle relatives that abuse him and ended up abducted by the one and only Lord Voldemort himself.
Harry sighed, looking up sharply when he heard the door open. The beautiful Lady Malfoy stood in the doorway, looking as if she had just stepped out of a Muggle fairytale. If it hadn't been for the horror quickly spreading across her face, Harry would have believed her to be a statue.
"Uh, Ma'am?" He asked, hesitantly standing and shifting his weight off of his ankle. She cleared her throat and schooled her face in a blank expression but he could see the rage and horror in her eyes.
"The Dark Lord requested I bring you to your personal room and administer Healing processes." She spoke, voice prim and proper, only a bit shaky.
"Oh, thank you Mrs. Malfoy. Or do I call you Lady Malfoy?" He asked, just to talk and dispel the awkward tension in the air as he limped to her. Lady Malfoy's fingers twitched at her side.
"Proper etiquette would be Lady Malfoy, or Mrs. Malfoy to be respectful, but Narcissa is fine, dear." She led him upstairs and waited patiently as he made his way. "Perhaps when you are healed, I shall get someone to give you a proper tour. Draco, perhaps? I was informed the two of you were in the same Hogwarts Year, no?"
"Yes, Ma'am, you would be correct." He doesn't say anything about how Malfoy absolutely hates him, or how he has to act like its mutual. He could have honestly just shaken the boy's hand and corrected him, and maybe they wouldn't act as they do.
He doesn't walk side by side with her, more inclined to walk behind her in respect. He knew the bare minimum of etiquette due to Hermione and his hateful aunt. They arrive at a pale grey door that the woman instructs him to place his hand on and push his magic forward. The outline of the door glows and swings open. Inside there is a pristine room with white and grey coloring the whole room in a tasteful fashion. At least everything wasn't Slytherin green.
"I insist you shower beforehand in the adjoining loo and change into one of the robes that will allow you to be healed more delicately." She said, Healer voice intact that made Harry like her a little bit more. It was professional and inspiring.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded and she left the room, door shutting softly on its own. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Harry limped over to the loo. Inside there was more grey and white and there was an elegant robe that he assumed was the robe that Mrs. Malfoy had mentioned.
"Um, can I get a House Elf in here, please?" Harry asked the air nervously, flinching when a pop sounded right beside him. It was a girl house elf by the looks of her. She had too large eyes and a brush of hair.
"Mister Harry called for House Elf?" The tiny elf asked, looking at him hesitantly.
"Yes, um, hi. I just wanted to know if this is the robe that helps with the healing process? I'm a bit new." He chuckled nervously, only easing his shoulders down from his ears when the House Elf relaxed and nodded.
"That would bes correct, Mister Harry."
"Okay, thank you, um, can I get your name?" Harry asked, crouching down in front of the Elf even as she tutted.
"Emmi, it bes, sir. Yous need to get off the floor," Emmi said, crossing her arms with an adorable pout. Harry instantly liked the elf, so he grinned and done as told.
"Alright, Emmi, I think that is it for now." She nodded and left as fast as she had come.
Not eager to find out how far the Lady of the House Malfoys patience lasted, Harry washed himself quickly, washing off all the dried blood, dirt, and sweat. After he felt he was clean enough, Harry tried a wandless drying charm. It worked only slightly so he dried manually anyway. He figured it would be easier if he had his wand but quickly brushed off the thought. He slipped on the robe and Harry was surprised at the softness of it beneath his fingers and on his body. He kept his pants on and grabbed his pouch to hide somewhere as he was unsure how long he would be here.
There was a hamper, so he folded his clothes and lightly placed them in there as to not give the loo a sloppy look. Exiting the room, his first look was the wardrobe, so he placed the pouch in the obviously extended back. That being finished, Harry stepped back and just stood tenderly in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with himself. Intending to pursue the little corner bookshelf, Harry made his way over just to be stopped by a knock that sounded all too prim and proper.
"Uh, enter?" He called out, making his way back towards the door. It swung open and Draco Malfoy stood. Harry paused, mind blanking. Outside of his Hogwarts uniform, in his own clothing of choice-deep green robes with silver accents, because of course, Slytherin to his core-Malfoy was simply enamoring. if Malfoy was surprised to see him, he didn't show it.
"Potter, I see you are ready for the healing process." Malfoy commented, surveying Harry's lithe body. He eventually nodded and sighed at Harry's hair. "Mother said she will be along in just a moment; she was caught up with something."
Harry nodded, "Whenever is fine, if she's busy then all of it will heal eventually. It looks worse than it is."
Malfoy looked appalled. He took in the battered body before him and questioned once more how the young man was still standing. Especially with that ankle. "You should sit down and get off that ankle."
"Right, of course." Malfoy blinked, clearly have been expecting a fight. Harry perched on the edge of the bed tenderly, looking at Malfoy. "You can sit down, if you like? I don't really know what I'm doing right now, if you couldn't tell."
Malfoy huffed out a laugh, "Obviously." but he sat. "What happened to you? I saw you less than a month ago, you weren't like this at all."
"Nothing I can't handle." His finger was twitching against his thigh, Harry noticed as he watched Malfoy. "It was my relatives; it usually heals up a few days after everything."
He didn't know why he had admitted it to the blond. It was more than he had ever told anyone from Hogwarts. "Why would they do that?" Malfoy asked, head tilted slightly.
Harry lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. "They don't like magic and by extension, me." He didn't mention how far back it had actually gone. Before he had started showing accidental magic he was already being hurt and forced to do household chores.
"That's awful."
"It's not always like that," Harry said, knowing he was confirming Malfoy's blood supremacy. "Hermione's parents have never laid a hand on her or gave her any unusual punishments and they weren't warned at all that their child may have magical abilities until her accidental magic started showing. My relatives did. It isn't the same case in every house."
Malfoy nodded but didn't say anything. It surprised Harry that they were kind of getting along. "Can I ask a question?"
"You just did," Harry grinned, getting a small glare with no heat to it. Another pleasant surprise.
"Why did you snub my hand in First Year?" Harry let out a whoosh of air as he thought on how to answer.
"Well, to put it simply, you reminded me too much of my cousin. He's an absolute prat. Ron was my first friend, like ever, and you had just insulted him to his face. I realize now that snubbing you may have not been the best decision, but I was young and dumb and felt insulted."
The two young men just sat together on the comfortable mattress and avoided looking at one another. Malfoy stands and holds out his hand. Confused, Harry stands as well and takes Malfoy's hand.
"I am sorry I insulted you and Weasley, I hope you can forgive me. As you said, I was too young and dumb." Harry huffed out a laugh.
"I am sorry as well, for being rude and not bringing everything to light before immediately snubbing your act of friendship." He shook the hand twice, feeling the silver rings on Malfoys hand.
"Now that the two of you have made up, I want you off of that foot, Harry Potter." Lady Malfoy said sternly, waltzing into the room with a trolley of potions and balms filled in it.
"Yes Ma'am." Harry sat tenderly on the bed again and awaited more instructions.
"I am going to cast a diagnostic scan to see what else is possibly healed wrong or may be very dangerous to you, is that alright with you?" Harry nodded and watched as she wordlessly cast on him. It was a pale blue light that scanned over his body and a worrisome long parchment popped in front of her. Her face was clear of any emotion, but he could see in her eyes that she was displeased.
"Would you like Draco to leave?" She asked, automatically grasping at the potions she would need.
"Um, no he's fine if he wants to stay," Harry said awkwardly.
"Alright then," Lady Malfoy waved her hand and her son went to sit in the window seat, watching with keen eyes. Perhaps he wants to be a Healer, Harry thought. "You need several malnourishment potions, skelegrow, nutrient potions, and obviously to dissolve some bones to grow them back. I have bruise paste that you should apply generously on each and every bruise no matter how old or small. I have a potion that will heal any open wounds. I insist that you be asleep during the duration of the skelegrow under a Dreamless Sleep."
"Alright, whatever you say." Harry nodded, not noticing how she furrowed her brows.
"You are very calm about this all." She commented, her magic placing them all in front of the young man.
"I am not shocked about the damage to my body and have seen the Pomfrey multiple times during my years at Hogwarts, so I am kind of familiar with the potions. Um, and I like your attitude because it's very professional and I'm kind of intimidated. So, yeah." Harry admitted, giving her a small grin, as if to say, 'what can you do'.
The witch sighed and motioned to the first of the lineup. "Take the malnourishment and then the nutrient potion." Harry done as told. "I am going to give you the Dreamless Sleep now and after you are unconscious, I will begin to dissolve your bones that are needed and treat your ankle while they are regrowing. During your recovery period, no one other than me will be able to access this room, including House Elfs unless directly called from you or me. Is this all acceptable for you?"
"Yes Ma'am." Harry downed the potion and took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. Once he was settled, he found the potion kicking in full force. He let out a breath and let himself be pulled from consciousness. He never asked if Voldemort would be able to get in here, but he figured not. He didn't want to know the answer if he was able to though. He may never wake up after this potion. Harry couldn't tell you whether that's a good thing or not.