Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

To Find The Missing Lifeline	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 37353 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
1. Uninvited And Not Welcome

     Harry was glad to go back to school with his two closest friends. It was their last year and he already felt sad about it. He knew that his life would never be the same again after school. Once again he had to admit that the place was magnificent. He shared his thoughts with friends.

"Maybe we should do so badly on the lessons that they wouldn't have a choice, but to leave us here for another year?" Ron joked.

"Oh, I'm sure, it wouldn't be difficult for you to do, Ron," Hermione said, making him roll up his eyes.

     The only thing that darkened Harry's joy was his fame. He hated all those rapturous gazes, he hated to be harassed, hated the reporters, hated all those people, who took his pictures wherever he went, without even asking his permission. He hated the fact that a lot of baby boys, that had been born recently, were named 'Harry'. 'Harrietta' was some kind of a new name for the girls, but it was uncommon, thankfully. He hated the sacs of love letters he received every day. He'd stopped reading them long time ago. 'I did what I could. Now why can't I just enjoy my life with the people who care about me not because I'm a Saviour and a Golden Boy? And why am I the one who should suffer? I wasn't the only one who fought the war,' he thought angrily. He also never forgot that some people, who adored him now, had flanged mud at him before, when he'd been just 'The Chosen One' and had had to fight the war. And now they tried to impose their 'friendship' on him and gave him their fake smiles. Dissemblers... And at school some kids, especially the younger ones, looked at him with such awe and adoration as if he was god, no less. He was sick of that fanaticism. 'No. I'm here to enjoy my last year and I won't let anyone screw it up. They just have to get used to see me every day and everything will be okay.'

     Harry was surprised to see Malfoy in the Great Hall. He had never thought he would see him in Hogwarts again. Harry couldn't help but feel sympathy, knowing what terrors he'd had to endure when he'd fallen into disgrace of Voldemort and his own father. And, even worse, his mother had been murdered. Rita Skeeter's article was full of details about it. She had gained an access to the confident information about what had been happening during Malfoy's interrogations. She'd also mentioned that he'd been mute because of the emotional trauma, and wouldn't talk even under the effect of Veritaserum, so the interrogators had been watching his memories (not that they wouldn't have watched them, even if he could speak). Harry wondered if Malfoy was still mute. He was sitting at the table of the Slytherin, but aside of the others with his eyes looking down; listless and apathetic.

     Harry found out that the blond Slytherin could actually speak when he answered during the lessons. He never heard him speaking of anything that didn't concern studying. But, of course, he didn't see him often enough to know if he really was as taciturn as he seemed to be.

     First weeks were tolerable enough. Draco couldn't avoid the scowling glances and whispers behind his back. Some glances were spiteful and some even expressed fear. Not that he cared much, but it was still uncomfortable sometimes. But who was he now to complain? Everyone tried to avoid him, and he thought that it was even better this way. He still was a Slytherin, of course, but he didn't live in the Slytherin's dorms. He had his own room not far from Snape's chambers in the dungeons. Severus insisted that that was for Draco's own good and the blond never argued, since he often wanted to be left alone, so the place was exactly what he wanted.

     Time went by and Draco's life became more complicated when some students realised that he was an easy aim for jokes and mockery. He was alone and no one would stand up for him, except Snape, of course, but the Potions Master couldn't be around all the time. And Draco never complained to him about the stupid antics of the other students. Most of them were the Gryffindors; and again, it wasn't surprising. There were verbal insults, taunts and intimidation.

"You know, the Death Eaters killed my aunt and cousins. I wonder if you were there!"

"Where are your friends now, ferret? Are they smart enough not to turn up here, huh?"

"What are you up to? Preparing another murder, since you've failed with Dumbledore?"

"You're a fucking wimp, Malfoy!"

"Why were you allowed to come back at Hogwarts in the first place? Where's the justice? You must rot in Azkaban."

"Where's your daddy? Oh, sorry, I forgot, he's dead and he repudiated you."

"Is it true that your daddy killed your mum right before your eyes? Is it something common for the Purebloods? Go ahead, enlighten me, - I'm a mudblood."

"You got what you deserved!"

"It was very stupid of you to come back here. I promise you'll be out of Hogwarts long before the school year ends."

"Have you swallowed your tongue or are you mute again?"

     And many, many other hurtful comments or just the unpleasant jokes. He tried not to react and most times just walked away when he wasn't surrounded.

     Every day after lessons he retreated into his room just to be alone. It was a very cosy and comfortable place with the large stained-glass magical window. It was a fake window though. It could be opened and there was a wonderful garden with flowers in flower-beds, bushes (some of them were blossoming), trees and a beautiful fountain. The fountain was a statue of a woman and a child. The woman was dressed in long robes, and a little chubby boy was sitting near her leg, holding the hem of her robes in his small hand. She held a jug on her shoulder, inclining it forward with her hand, and a thick stream of water fell down from it. The statue was made of grey stone. There was a stone bench not far from the fountain with the round flower-beds on each side of it. Draco had been impressed when he'd first seen this garden and he'd wanted to know how big the illusion was. Of course, it couldn't be endless, even though he could see the forest not far away. He'd found the invisible barrier right where the garden ended and the garden wasn't really big. And still, it was an outstanding work of art and magic: the birds were singing on the trees, he could touch the cool water in the fountain, sit on the bench, reading a book, smell the scent of the flowers and even feel the fresh air, caressing his skin. The illusion was perfect, but not too perfect to seem unnatural. When he tried to bring a flower into his room, it disappeared, just as he'd expected, and reappeared in the flower-bed where he had picked it. The place wasn't too bright or colourful. In fact, it looked rather melancholic sometimes. But it looked good and calming without the screaming, ridiculous colours, so nothing irritated Draco's eyes.

     Sometimes the days of the illusion were sunny, so the sun shined upon the stained-glass window, made of blue (dark-blue and light-blue) and yellow pieces, and the thick rays of light of the said colours penetrated the room and created a warm and luxury atmosphere inside of it. There was always a pleasantly warm summer. Some days were even rainy. The time of year never changed, but the time of days and nights matched the time in reality. Whoever created this wonderful illusion, Draco was grateful to that person. It was his private retreat and it made him feel safe. But he didn't spend much time there. He was afraid that it could make him forget where he really was. So he decided to spend more time in reality even if it wasn't kind to him.

     Some boys never missed a chance to shove Draco with their shoulders and elbows or just push him when they walked passing him in the corridors. When Severus once found his godson surrounded by a group of the Gryffindors and a couple of Ravenclaws, throwing insults and stupid jokes at him and pushing him into the corner, he gave them all two weeks of detentions and took sixty points from both houses. That restrained their ardour for some time, and Draco was left alone. Unfortunately, it didn't last. He had some incidents after that, but he never told Snape about them. It was his own problem and he didn't want to hide behind his godfather. Just as Draco had anticipated, he'd become a scapegoat.

     Once, after the Divination lesson he was forcefully pushed in the back and fell down the stairs. Thankfully, he got away with the bruises and skinned palms and knees. The spiral staircase was steep enough to fall head over heels and break a good amount of bones. He didn't know, who had pushed him, but he heard someone said with the irritation in his voice: "Watch your step, Malfoy". This incident made him even more paranoid. He watched his back constantly and couldn't stand when someone was standing behind him.

      Ron was in an awful mood. It wasn't enough that he'd had another bitter quarrel with Hermione for some stupid and insignificant reason, but he was also seized with a feeling of inferiority. He asked himself, what his place in the Golden Trio was now after the end of war. Harry was a hero and a Saviour, Hermione was utterly clever and talented witch. And what about Ron? He felt as if he was a weak link, sometimes he felt useless and that made him angry. When he had once asked Hermione why she liked him and what was his place with her and Harry, in her opinion, she, of course, had told him that they all were best friends, that he had done a lot during the war with Voldemort, and that his most admirable trace was that he was funny and could cheer up people in the most desperate situations. 'Am I a clown or something? I'm growing up, I've become a man, and she, like many other people, still treats me like a first-year school-boy. It's just unfair,' he sighed to himself. Something had changed in him. He knew that it was the consequence of war, and he'd become more serious and mature since the last battle. He knew he was just distressed and everything would go back to normal. But right now he felt bad and wanted to be alone, away from his friends.

     He entered some random pub with the banal name on the signboard: 'The Golden Cup'. The pub was almost empty, and so the blond head immediately drew his attention. The owner of this so familiar blond head was sitting at the counter. His face and shoulders looked dropped as if these shoulders carried the weight of the world on them. Malfoy. For a few seconds Ron shifted from one foot to the other, and yet, he approached the counter.

"Firewhisky," he ordered without thinking twice, and the next moment he noticed that Malfoy was taking the same strong drink. Few seconds later the owner of the pub, - the middle-aged man with the dark-brown hair, put the glass of firewhisky in front of Ron. The red-haired Gryffindor sat down at the counter almost next to Malfoy. Only one empty chair separated them. It seemed that the Slytherin paid absolutely no attention to him, absorbed in his drink and in his own thoughts that were obviously joyless. It wasn't hard to guess that he was brought here by the same reason: a wish to forget his troubles. Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw that Malfoy's eyes looked empty and not entirely sober already. Just for one moment Ron thought that there was a kindred soul next to him (he mentally laughed at himself for this thought). Malfoy was an outcast. Even if he hadn't been thrown in Azkaban, even if he was a victim of the war himself, people hated him. Not that Ron pitied him very much, but still he felt some sympathy; many things felt different after all he'd been through.

     He emptied his glass and asked for more. After three more glasses he felt tipsy and decided that it was time to stop or he would have to return at school on his four, and it was stupid to hope that no one would notice. Malfoy was in the same condition already, he was just drinking slower, prolonging the doubtful pleasure.

     For some reason Draco didn't care that the red-haired Gryffindor was sitting next to him. Since Weasley had sat down at the counter, he secretly expected to hear the insults and decided that he wouldn't react anyway. Not outwardly, at least. He had already got his portion of mockery and insults earlier this day from the other Gryffindorks. 'Who cares? There's no way he'll make me feel worse than I already do. And if he's going to inform the teachers of my drunken state, I won't keep silence about his. Obviously, he's not here for pumpkin juice,' the Slytherin thought. But there were no insults, so Draco wasn't paying much attention to his neighbourhood. He noticed, however, when Weasley stood up, slightly drunk.

"Thanks," Weasley said calmly. It was unexpected. At first Draco thought that those words were addressed to the owner of the place, but the man was away and the redhead was looking directly at Draco.

"For what?" the blond asked gloomy without looking back. Draco still half-expected some mockery. Weasley had a perfect chance to pay him back for every squabble they had had in their earlier years.

"For your company," the Gryffindor replied.

"Oh? So that's what they call it? I'm not drunk enough not to remember that we didn't say a word to each other," Draco murmured quietly, a little annoyed.

"It doesn't matter," Ron shrugged and left the place with the unsteady walk. Draco just shook his head.

     The next morning Draco woke up with a terrible hangover. He didn't remember well the way he'd sneaked into his room without drawing attention to his state. But he remembered that, before leaving the pub, he hadn't forgotten to drink the Polyjuice to take some very commonplace appearance. No, he hadn't forgotten to do it even being drunk. Last summer he'd been taught a cruel lesson when he'd finally decided to go to Wizarding London, he'd ended up on some back street beaten up by a small group of people who'd recognised him. They hadn't even used their magic against him, preferring to deal with him with their fists and words full of hatred. He hadn't been damaged terribly, but he'd learned his lesson well, and now he had a vial of Polyjuice with him almost every time he left Hogwarts.

     He got up. His head hurt terribly and it made him sit back on his bed with the pained moan. In addition, his unhealthy heart made itself felt with ache again, so he promised himself not to try his weak health anymore without strong reasons. And firewhisky wouldn't make it better by any stretch of imagination. He looked through some of his books and found the recipe of the simple hangover potion. He brewed it right in his bathroom. And then, after drinking it, he took a bath and came back to bed with a book. 'Thank goodness, it's Saturday,' he thought, feeling relieved.

     It was Monday. Draco hated to roam about the school after the end of the lessons, for a certain reason, but he needed to go to the library. He spent there about half an hour, studying a book with the ancient magical symbols, which had been used for some rituals many generations ago. He was making notes on a parchment, absorbed in an interesting subject when two familiar Gryffindors showed up. Both of them were among those pricks that made his life miserable. They were from sixth year, like most of his stalkers, but they were bigger than Draco. The way they were gazing at him didn't promise him any good. No, they hadn't come here for him on purpose and they wouldn't get at him in the library, but when he'd leave they'd follow him for sure. He tried not to look at them. A paper bird landed on his table and unfolded itself. 'You're dead, Malfoy' was written with a chicken handwriting, which was hard to read. 'It's getting old,' he smirked to himself. He had already done what he'd come here for, but he simply couldn't leave now. 'All right... What's wrong with getting some more bruises?' he told himself. But he couldn't make himself get up. It was stupid to hope that they would leave before him and just let him be. And then the Slytherin noticed Ronald Weasley, playing the wizard's chess with himself, aside from the others. 'Couldn't find a better place, could you?' Draco thought. He noticed that the redhead Gryffindor was in a foul mood again just like he'd been in a pub three days ago. Draco could guess that it was all about know-it-all Granger, who sometimes was going a little too far in her intentions to show her intelligence. Perhaps, it made Weasley suffer from the inferiority complex.

      And it wasn't far from the truth. Ron had come to the library to do his homework on his own without the constant and sometimes annoying tips from the girl he really cared for, so they wouldn't argue anymore. After all, he wasn't a fool and he was perfectly capable of doing his tasks without any assistance. He just needed more time for it. When he'd finished his homework, he wasn't in hurry to go back in the Gryffindor tower, so he'd decided to play chess for some time on his own.

     Draco got up and gathered his belongings. He knew that his tormentors were watching him and waiting for him to leave. But, instead, he approached Weasley hesitantly.

"Do you need an opponent?" he asked quietly. Draco was fond of chess and it took him only a few seconds to realise that Weasley was a good player, good enough for a worthy and interesting game. Ron looked at him with suspicion and that look made Draco regret that he'd approached him at all. 'Of course, you don't,' Draco thought. 'Why would you ruin your reputation by being seen with an outcast? And, most assuredly, our rivalry in the past is not forgotten.' He already intended to turn away and leave to face his waiting offenders. But Ron answered surprisingly calmly:

"Well... Sure. Why not?"

     They were playing almost until the very curfew. It was enough time for them to play two exciting games. One of them was won by Ron and the other one by Draco. They both admitted to themselves that the other one was a worthy opponent, but nothing was said aloud. Once they finished, they just nodded to each other and headed to their rooms, separating their ways. Two pricks were long gone while their scapegoat had been busy, playing chess with the famous Saviour's friend from their own house. 'Well, thank you, Weasel, for saving my day,' Draco smiled to himself, 'I haven't really used you, have I?'

     The very next day they found him after lessons when he was heading to the dungeons alone. Most students and teachers were still in the Great Hall, eating their supper. Suddenly Draco was dragged into the empty classroom by his collar. It happened before he knew it. When his shocked mind fully realised the gravity of the situation, it was too late and he was helpless. They locked the door and he swallowed nervously. Somehow he knew that this time he wouldn't get away with just insults. They took his wand away just in case. There were five of them and there was no way to escape.

"Well, Malfoy, have you changed your mind? Do you still want to stay at school?" one of them mumbled. Draco didn't answer. He hardly ever answered them.

"They say, blondies are stupid, so they never get messages," the other one mocked. "Let me explain more eloquently."

     The Slytherin was hit hard in the face. He gasped and pressed a palm to his sore cheek. He was trembling and shocked. They had never hit him in the face before. Two of the Gryffindors exchanged worried glances, a little surprised by their friend's actions, but they weren't going to stop him anyway. The next punch was in Draco's stomach. He fell on his knees, trying to find his breath. The only girl among them tried to slap him across the face, but he managed to hide his head in his arms. It was that same girl, whose aunt and cousins had died in the hands of the Death Eaters. And Draco was the one to pay for it. He was writhing and shaking when they were hitting him again and again.

"Why don't we talk about the purity of my blood?! You're fucking nazi scum!" one of the Gryffindors growled hatefully, hitting Draco's face so hard that the blond wasn't sure at first if his jaw had withstood. He tried not to scream, not to entertain them even more, but he yelled at the top of his lungs when the girl hit his groin with her shoe. His body convulsed in sharp pain.

"All right, that's enough... Enough for today," one of the boys said, getting his breath. His words promised more pain later.

"Now crawl into your goddamn dungeons and lick your wounds," the other one said coldly. He threw Draco's wand at him and they left him curled up on the floor.

     He lost track of time, lying there in some kind of a prostration. But finally he managed to pull himself together, got up, wincing in pain, and sneaked into his room, hoping that no one had noticed that he was pressing a hand to his sore crotch under his cloak. 'I'm not going to cry. Worse things used to happen to me. I won't cry...' he kept repeating to himself.

     His lip was split and bled slightly. He knew he was going to have bruises on his face and body the next day. Draco healed himself as best as he could. He cast a 'Glacius' spell on the water in the cup to freeze it and started his healing with putting the ice where it was necessary. He had some ingredients in his room and, as usually, he brewed potion in his bathroom to make poultices. His hands were shaking, but he hardly paid attention to it. Dispirited, he was looking at himself in the mirror. 'Tomorrow I'm going to need a glamour charm,' he mused almost absently. It had started with just some stupid jokes and threats, and finally they'd started to beat him up. That was just logical, though he had hoped it wouldn't come down to this. 'What have I become?..'

     And again he retreated into the illusion behind the fake window. Recently a new detail had appeared in the garden - a white cat. She always met him with purrs and rubbed herself against his legs, demanding attention. He called her Albine and she always answered to this name. She liked to stretch out under the sun, she cleaned herself, slept, played with something, drank water from the fountain or was just sitting or lying on the bench next to Draco. In other words, she acted like a real cat. This time wasn't an exception; she met him with meows and purrs and escorted him to the bench. He scratched her behind her ears absently and started to read a book to unbend his mind. His body was still trembling.

     Eventually, he started to feel drowsy. He reached his bed and undressed with some efforts.

     ...The taste of blood in his mouth. He's crying and yelling in pain and horror, even if he can hardly breathe. Pain is cursing throughout him mercilessly. His body is almost battered inside as he has endured a lot already. Fragility of soul and mind... Pain is everywhere, driving him insane, ruining him. Tears. Agony... Two ruthless faces in front of him - Lucius' and his Lord's. They won't show any mercy; oh, no, they won't. They enjoy his suffering. Mother's dead body is somewhere behind them on the cold floor. He can't see her, but he knows she's right there. He can't scream anymore. Suffocation... His lungs and throat are burning. He's literally choking with fire, burning inside...

     His own scream woke him up. The potion... Draco had forgotten to take it before falling asleep. He gasped, feeling the warm wetness under his bottom. He closed his eyes in shame. He'd wetted his bed... He felt humiliated and betrayed by his own body. It wasn't the first time though. It had already happened to him several times right after his salvation from the Dark Lord and Lucius, and back then he'd felt distressed and ashamed of himself even when he'd been half-conscious. It had also happened sometimes during the agonizing hours of tortures. And now all those memories had rushed into his mind, and they were enough to make him want to lay his hands on himself. He was beside himself with shame, humiliation and pain. Memories were too much. He'd tried to suppress them for a long time, just driving them into the dark corners of his mind where they seemed harmless. And his dreams had been suppressed by the strong potions, that were stronger than Dreamless Sleep potion; but this time he had forgotten to take it before his sleep. Now that the memories had come flooding back on him, it was devastating.

"I won't cry... Voldemort and Lucius are dead and I'm not. It's over. I won't cry. I won't cry..." Draco chanted again and again. When his breathing had finally calmed down a little, he cleaned himself and his bed. Frustrated, he grabbed a small vial of his Deep Sleep potion and drained it in one gulp. He had to sleep, he had to forget...

     The next morning Draco's body was aching terribly, so he took his time to get up and missed breakfast. The only 'breakfast' he had, was a potion to ease the pain and the other potions he had to take every day due to his weak health. His bruises didn't look that awful, because he'd taken care about them last night, but he still had to cast a glamour charm on them and on the deep split on his lip.

     Another week passed. They didn't touch him. Just the usual insults. His bruises and lip healed. He started to hope that they wouldn't dare to beat him up again, but decided that, if that would happen, he'd strangle his pride and tell Severus everything. He hated to complain to him, but he thought that he would, if they left him no choice. On the other hand, perhaps, they weren't touching him so far, because he tried to stay close to the other students all the time. Of course, no one would try to protect him, he couldn't hope that anyone would, but his stalkers still didn't want to attract the undesirable attention to their deeds, he knew it for sure.

     He was studying a lot and he was doing very well on the lessons. Perhaps, that was the reason for the most Slytherins to tolerate him (the second reason after Severus, of course), - he gained a lot of points for his house. He even thought that it wasn't really that bad to be alone, - he had plenty of time to study on his own without anyone to distract him. Most teachers were impressed. What of his stalkers... Their plan to drive him out of Hogwarts wasn't working. And one of them saw him playing the wizard's chess with Ronald Weasley again. That time Ron had been the one who'd offered Draco a game, and the Slytherin had accepted his challenge with joy, though they both had been taciturn again, focusing on the game and their own thoughts. His offenders, meanwhile, thought that it was a barefaced impudence of the Slytherin to act like that. Well, they probably weren't convincing enough?
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

To Find The Missing Lifeline