Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature language and content._

_So... __first: Sorry for the lame Summary but I couldn't think of anything catchy... or good. Second; I'm not sure where this came from, but I had to write it out. I don't exactly know where it's going to go just yet... It's a WIP so I'm not privy to all the details from my fickle Muse. It's going to start out as a Ron/Harry fic (I know... weird, right?!) and end up Harry/Draco. _

_Well, now that I've pimped this story thoroughly: Enjoy! :))_

_Overall warnings: MalexMale Slash (mentions of female/female). Smut. Violence/abuse. Non/con (or rape, depending how you want to phrase it). Mpreg/miscarriage. Weasley bashing (not all, but some). And OOCness (ie: Nice Slytherins, asshole Gryffindors, etc.) I think that covers it... I'll add any other warnings if/when they occur.)_

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Hermione looks up when the floo sounds and gasps with surprise when she sees Harry stumble through and land in a heap on the floor. Too many things happen at once and she's confused and disoriented for longer than she likes to admit.

Harry is crying. Loud, heart wrenching sobs that have him coughing and gasping as he makes soft sounds of despair.

Harry is mumbling something over and over. The only thing she can make out are the words 'she' and 'gone'.

Harry is bleeding.

Just as she gets to her feet to rush to the wizard, Draco is pushing her back onto the sofa and rushing towards Harry, falling onto his knees with a painful cracking sound as he pulls Harry to his chest. Soft, soothing sounds are coming from the blonde as he gently rocks the sobbing man.

She blinks slowly, trying to sluggishly sort out the _whatthefuckisgoingon_ and can only stare as Draco gently picks Harry up, wincing only a little when Harry clings tightly to him, his hands fisting in the blonde's shirt so tightly, there's a soft ripping noise as a seam gives. She takes in the way the fabric is pulled taut over the blonde's back and shoulders and idly wonders if Harry is aware who's holding him and dismisses it as unimportant. Harry doesn't look like he's caring, looking slightly less shaken and soothed by the comforting embrace. She finds herself comforted by this and slowly stands again, carefully stepping closer to her distraught friend. "Harry?"

"Mione," Harry says, his breath hitching and voice quiet and hoarse from his tears. He whimpers softly and buries his face in Draco's chest. He knows it's the blonde holding him even before Hermione spoke. He's too fucking tired and upset to care that he feels relief flood him when Draco's hand cards gently through his hair, landing on the back of his neck and gently kneading. He doesn't know how the blonde knows that calms him and he doesn't care; he's just grateful for the touch, even if he's still sobbing as pain surges through him. He nearly sighs and melts into the gentle caress, having missed such a touch.

Hermione steps closer and gently puts a hand on Harry's arm. She's not sure why she's grateful her friend doesn't flinch away, but she is. She expected him to and her brow furrows in confusion at such a thought. "What's happened?" she asks quietly. She looks up and meets Draco's narrowed grey eyes, seeing anger there. She nearly backs away before she realizes it's not directed at her. Does Draco know what's going on? She wants to ask, but she knows it'll upset Harry. He hates when people talk about him like he isn't there. Ron does it often and she hasn't missed how much it bothers Harry.

"Ron," Harry whispers, unable to say more as fresh sobs wrack his body. He can't believe Ron would do this! He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm and tries not to take comfort in the gentle hand rubbing his back. He opens his eyes, unsure when he had closed them tightly and sees Hermione looking at him. There is concern, fear and a hint of pity and he has the irrational urge to slap her away from him. He closes his eyes again and tucks his face into Draco's shoulder, the scent familiar and soothing.

Hermione looks up at Draco again and he looks away, anger still darkening his eyes and freezing his face in a stoic mask. She looks back down at Harry, dismayed to see him shaking again and crying softly. She can see large wet spots forming on Draco's white shirt and she's a little surprised Draco isn't bothered by it. "What about Ron?" she asks when Harry doesn't say anything else. Dread settles into her stomach like a physical weight and she's suddenly terrified to hear 'what about Ron'.

Harry is silent for so long, both of the other people in the room think he's going to ignore the question and continue in his silent crying. "He killed her," he whispers, his voice muffled by the fabric of Draco's shirt. He feels Draco's sharply inhaled breath and hates himself for telling them. He hates that they know now. He hates that they'll judge and pity him, too. Hermione, Merlin bless her, might be his oldest friend (save Ron) but she's rarely impartial and understanding about a lot of things in his life. He'd think she was bitter about him and Ron if he didn't know she is quite happy in her current relationship.

"Who?" Hermione asks, fearing the answer. She doesn't know many people that they know that would fit in the 'she' that Ron would be capable of hurting or killing, but her body chills and her breathing gets shallow as she thinks the worst. She retrains the urge to shake Harry and demand an answer when he breaks into another bout of deep sobs, his body shaking with them once more and making her body clench with the urge to comfort. She nearly pushes Draco away but she's not stupid, she can tell Harry needs the contact right now. She backs up a step, reluctantly leaving Draco to continue his comforting ministrations, rubbing her arms to rid them of the goosebumps still tightening her skin.

Harry shakes his head rapidly, his forehead scraping along the fabric and buttons of Draco's shirt. He doesn't feel it, though. "Ron... He- Ron..." he breaks off, unable to speak as his throat closes over a painful lump. Fresh, hot tears leak out of his eyes, even though he was quite sure he didn't have any left. He can't breathe for a long moment and panic and relief rush through him in equal, hot dizzying rushes as he tries (and fails) to catch his breath. He feels Draco's arms tighten around him and he swallows with an effort.

"Ron killed my daughter," he whispers, hands tightening in Draco's shirt so hard his knuckles are as white as the fabric. He doesn't feel any better for having said it aloud. Grief, pain and guilt floods though him in a nauseating rush again and a broken sob escapes him.

The sudden crack of apparation sends Hermione sprawling backwards onto her ass with a squawk of surprise. She looks around the room wildly before her gaze settles on the smear of blood on the carpet. The dim memory of seeing Harry's entire lower half covered in blood when he fell through the floo surfaces and she gasps with horror. Realization dawns and she feels the blood drain from her face. Anger surges through her along with a deep feeling of sorrow. Her own eyes prickle and she has to force a few deeps breaths. She apparates to St. Mungo's and stalks up to the head desk. "Harry Potter," she says shortly.

"Family?" The witch behind the counter says and then looks up and blinks, recognizing Hermione Granger. The Hermione Granger. The war heroine and famous third of The Golden Trio. "Oh!" she gasps, a shaky hand coming up and covering her mouth. She's stunned and can only gape. She flinches when the other witch's face lowers and a fierce glare is leveled at her. Wordlessly, she points down the hall before she can think twice and remember she's not supposed to allow anyone that isn't family to see patients at this time of night.

Hermione nods curtly and rushes down, gulping and trying to fight the hot prickling sensation in her eyes when she sees bloody footprints. She knows they're Draco's and she follows the morbid trail until they stop in front of a closed door. She gently knocks on it, jumping back when it's violently wrenched open and she's face to face with a livid Draco Malfoy. His grey eyes are steely and there are spots of dark pink high up on each cheekbone and his fists are tightly clenched. She swallows heavily in the face of his rage and tries peeking around the blonde into the room. "Is Harry OK?"

"No," Draco says shortly. He looks over his shoulder into the room and pushes Hermione gently into the hall, closing the door behind him and practically collapsing against it. His mind is whirling and his hands are shaking with fury and pain. He can't believe 10 minutes ago he was bored, sipping cold tea from his favorite chipped mug (a gift from Harry, that proclaimed "Seekers do it in the air") and reading _The Daily Prophet_, glaring at a photo of Harry and Weasel at a Quidditch game. The poor bastard can't leave his house without reporters snapping pictures and getting in his face. Harry hated it as much as Weasel loved it. "He isn't."

Hermione waits for Draco to continue but he just stands there, breathing heavily as he stares at a spot on the wall over her shoulder. "What's going on?" she asks.

"I..." Draco pauses and swallows heavily. "I don't know if I should say," he finally says, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looks at the witch.

Hermione steps closer and jabs a finger in the blonde's chest. Hard. "I'm his best friend. If you know, I should know."

"I have very little concern for what you want," Draco says coolly, slapping her hand away and glaring down his nose at Hermione. He puts up with Hermione Know-It-All Granger merely for Harry and Pansy's sake. He still doesn't like the nosy, bossy witch and now is no exception.

Who did she think she was to demand personal information about Harry? He only knew because Harry wouldn't let him go while the healers examined him. Just the few details he heard before Hermione intruded are enough to make his blood boil. If he wasn't here glaring down Granger, he'd be hunting a Weasel and using every Dark hex and spell he knew. He sneers when Hermione's mouth opens, obviously to argue again.

"When the healer comes out, if Harry is awake, and if Harry wants to tell you, you'll know."

Hermione glares up at the blonde, pissed because she knows he has a point. "Fine."

Draco merely nods stiffly, settles against the door frame with his arms crossed and waits. It's only a few minutes (which seems like years when having a staring contest with one Hermione I'm-Always-Right Granger) when the healer comes out. He stares at the plump older woman and gives her a searching look. "How is he?" he asks quietly, hoping the woman forgets he isn't family.

"He's sleeping at the moment. I had to force a Sleeping potion down him after I got him patched up," the healer says softly, her eyes warm with compassion and sadness. She doesn't know what to think of the tall, aristocratic young man in front of her but she knows he's not in any way related to Mr. Harry Potter. A name tickles her memory but she dismisses it as unimportant. For now. His caring face and expectant gaze has her patting his arm in comfort. "You can go in, but I have to stress how important it is that he sleeps. He's had quite an ordeal and he needs to heal."

Draco nods rapidly, relieved beyond words the healer isn't immediately chucking him out. "Yes, ma'am," he says quietly. He looks towards the darkened room and swallows thickly. He wants to ask so many questions but he doesn't think the healer will answer. And he'll feel like a hypocrite after the speech he just gave Granger; he doesn't have any more right to know such things than she did. "I can go in?" he asks instead, turning to look at the older woman earnestly.

Before she can answer, Granger is interrupting. Surprise sur-fucking-prise.

"What's wrong with Harry? Is he alright?"

The healer turns her head and pins Hermione with a sharp look. She nods curtly when the young woman backs up a step and blinks rapidly. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger," the witch says importantly. Surely everyone knows how close she is with Harry. She has every right to know how he's doing, despite what Draco said. Her shoulders slump when she sees the healer give her a flat look, plainly unimpressed and probably a little disgusted.

The healer clicks her tongue and tucks the clipboard with Mr. Potter's information on it under one plump arm. She wouldn't put it past the young woman to peek at it. Or make a grab for it, if she truly feels so entitled. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss such things with you, Ms. Granger," she says, eyeing the brunette witch with thinly veiled disdain. She heard the young man tell the woman it isn't her business and she quite agrees. The only contact Mr. Potter has listed isn't here and _he_ won't be allowed anywhere near the poor young man.

"You may wait in the waiting lounge," she says and points in a vague direction to an area down the hall.

Hermione blinks a few more times, stunned. "What? No! I want to wait with Harry," she says after gaping stupidly and trying not to smack Draco upside his pretty blonde head when he gives her a smug, triumphant little look. The insufferable git!

The healer glares at Hermione over her glasses, reminding the young witch of Professor McGonagall and cowing her immediately. "One visitor at a time, miss," she says shortly. Really, two are allowed but she just doesn't want the young woman pestering Mr. Potter the moment he wakes up. She can tell Ms. Granger is that kind if person and won't give Mr. Potter a moments peace until she's wrung every drop of information from the poor man. "Regular visiting hours start up at eight am," she adds. "There are vending machines in the lounge. They take Galleons as well as Muggle money."

"A-alright," Hermione stutters, realizing she isn't getting the healer to change her mind. She glares when the older woman waves her wand, almost carelessly, erecting a ward. To limit the guests, she surmises. "Draco," she says, turning to the still smug blonde. She resists the urge to stomp her foot (preferably on his toes, and hopefully ruining his hand-made, expensive Italian loafers) or stick her tongue out at him. "Please let me know when Harry wakes up?" she asks, just managing not to say it through gritted teeth.

Draco nods, waving a hand at Granger dismissively. He's only going to tell her if Harry wants him to. He swallows a moment of uncertainty, unsure if Harry will want to see _him_ or not. They get on well enough but he can't imagine Harry wanting any visitors right now. He nods when the healer shoos him back into Harry's room with a soft, motherly smile before turning and shooing Hermione down the hall with a stern look, the motherly smile melting off her face the instant she faced the witch.

It's a strange feeling to have someone treating him with respect, especially knowing who he is (was). He absently rubs at his left forearm as he stands in the darkened room, leaning against the door again and staring at the unmoving form on the bed.

Harry looks pale and drawn, even in sleep. His brows are furrowed lightly and his lips are turned down in a frown. Soft snores are coming from him as he breathes regularly and shifts fitfully every couple of moments.

Draco eases into the chair by Harry's bed and slowly reaches out towards Harry's lax, pale hand. He watches Harry's face for any reaction when he reaches out and gently touches the tips of his fingers to the back of Harry's hand. No reaction. He gently shifts his hand until he's loosely clasping Harry's, his breath catching when Harry's closes around his fingers almost painfully. He looks up and sighs when he sees Harry is still sleeping. He settles back in the chair, his eyes still on Harry's face and his hand still clutched in Harry's.

He doesn't know exactly what happened, but what he's been able to piece together has him using his free hand to write a statement for the Aurors. He hopes he can get Harry to add to it and actually file it. His chest aches as he remembers blood and tears and he has to blink rapidly to stave off any embarrassing reactions.

Ron is a bastard and needs to be dealt with. He'd rather choke the air from the red-head with his bare hands but going to Azkaban isn't on his to-do list. He narrowly avoided it once, he doesn't have any desire to flirt with it again. He might make an exception for Harry, though, he thinks as he stares at his pale face again. Getting the Weasel back for Harry would probably be the only thing he'd risk Azkaban for.

The dark circles under Harry's eyes are worrisome. He's thinner than Draco remembers and his lips are chapped and bitten. He tries to think when he saw Harry last and he's having a hard time understanding how he can look so drawn in only a few hours. He resists the urge to pull Harry against his chest again. He did miss him being there, pressed close and accepting his comfort, but he doesn't want to panic the other wizard. He gently runs his thumb across Harry's knuckles, leaning down to gently kiss them and rest his cheek on the back of Harry's hand with a shaky sigh.

"Dammit, Harry," he whispers, gently nuzzling against the back of Harry's hand. He can't understand why Harry would put himself through such things but he refuses to ask about it. He knows Harry will either be defensive or just refuse to talk about it. Or give him that painfully earnest look he gets when he doesn't think he's being taken advantage of.

For the first time, he's glad Harry isn't awake; he would hate to see what Harry's reaction would be to his touches and odd moments of tenderness. They are 'only friends' and he's tried very hard to suppress his feelings for Harry since the other wizard made his relationship with the Weasel known. He had been shocked and thrown, nearly withdrawing from the new friendship he had forged with the Gryffindors. It had been a test of every lesson in control and self-preservation to bury his feelings and get on with his life.

It hadn't been easy but he managed. He realized he'd rather have Harry as a friend than not at all. Being the other man's friend had been a goal of his for years and he wasn't going to throw it away because Harry couldn't be his in that way as well. He took Blaise and Pansy's good-natured teasing, Ron's bragging behaviors and Hermione's know-it-allness all for Harry. He sighs sadly and can't find it in himself to regret it.

Until now.

He knew something wasn't right weeks ago but everyone said he was seeing things. Jealousy was playing with his mind and manufacturing Harry's flinches and hastily hidden pained looks when he sat. Longing made him see ghosts of bruises (and disbelieve each story of Harry's own clumsiness and purely accidental mishaps) and Harry's increasing visits without Ron. He had been pleased for that but the 'signs' happened more frequently then and he hated himself for not telling Harry to stop visiting. Unrequited feelings had him imagining Ron's glares at Harry and increasingly possessive behavior.

He feels like a fool and a terrible friend. He doesn't deserve Harry, really. Not if he'd willingly sacrifice Harry's well-being (and child) for his own selfish urges. He sighs sadly again, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as if it held answers.

He places another soft kiss on the back of Harry's hand and swears to Merlin he sees the corner of Harry's mouth lift in a tiny smile.

.:xOx:.

_Harry gasped as a hard fist landed in his gut. The air whooshed from his body and spots danced in front of his vision as he sagged against the wall. "Ron, please-"_

_"Shut up!" Ron yelled, swinging again and getting Harry on the side of his head. He stalked closer, shoulders hunched forward and a dark scowl on his face. "What have I said about you and Malfoy?" he demanded. _

_He hated when Harry went to see Hermione. Draco fucking Malfoy was almost_ always _there and he hated knowing the blonde even laid eyes on_ his Harry_. He knew the slimy git still had a thing for Harry; making moon eyes at the dark haired wizard whenever he thought no one was looking. He used to get off on lording it over the blonde Slytherin that_ he _had Harry and Malfoy didn't, but that lost it's appeal months ago when Draco no longer looked pained or ready to slam his face into a wall whenever he touched or kissed Harry in front of him. It was infuriating. He knew the bastard has liked Harry for years and he knew Harry had a secret crush on that git their NEWT year._

_Even if Harry wouldn't admit it._

_He still couldn't understand how Harry could like that traitorous, pompous blonde. He really deserved a slap now and then for even thinking the horrible bastard worth talking to, let alone having feelings for the stuck up tosser. Did Harry forget who Malfoy's father was? Did he forget Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore (and nearly killed_ him _in the process)? Did Harry forget that Malfoy had found a way to get Death Eaters into their school? His brother was scarred for life and Fred had nearly fucking died because of that blonde bastard._

_It was infuriating and Harry just. Didn't. Get it._

_Harry blinked, feeling dazed and stupid. "You didn't like us hanging out together," he finally muttered, trying to get his body upright. It was a dangerous position to be in, he had learned that from experience. He cried out when Ron's foot caught his upper thigh, the muscle seizing up and cramping painfully. "We weren't alone!" he hurried to add. "'Mione and Pansy were there. Blaise too!" he blurted out, hoping the fact he wasn't alone with the former Slytherin would help. He doubted it, but he didn't know what else to say._

_Ron barked a short laugh, the sound sharp and hateful. "And that means,_ what? _That you wouldn't do anything with them_ watching?"

_"Of course not!" Harry said, shocked. He wouldn't do anything with Draco;_ period_. They were friends and only friends. The brief infatuation he had with the blonde was in the past and he couldn't understand where Ron's jealousy and rage came from. Draco didn't think of him _like that_ either. "Ron, please-" he started, getting cut off again with a open handed slap to the side of his face. His ears were ringing and he couldn't tell what Ron was saying anymore._

_ He saw the purpling face and cowered, memories of his uncle assaulting him as he slid down the wall, covering his head with his arms as Ron's angry words and numerous hits rained down on him._

_Ron paused, hand still raised, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself down. He had hit Harry twice in the face and he couldn't believe he had been so careless. He stared down at the cowering wizard and sneered, ashamed and triumphant in equal measure to see Harry in such a position. No one else had been able to do that to Harry bloody Potter since he was a scrawny, defenseless kid. All of his accusations have gone unanswered and he wanted answers. Now. "Answer me," he said lowly, kicking at Harry's knee and making the other wizard yelp and scramble away on his ass._

_"What?"_

_Ron kicked out again, smirking when Harry cried out and clutched at his side with watery green eyes. He hated and loved seeing the man cry. It set off a certain feeling of dark pride to see the emerald eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Did you or did you not let Malfoy fuck you?" he demanded for the third time. "I'm getting real tired of asking, Harry."_

_"No!" Harry yelled, backing up in panic and fear. He couldn't believe Ron would ask such a thing! Draco wouldn't..._ he _wouldn't... "No," he said again, shaking his head rapidly. He saw Ron's foot aiming for his stomach and he rolled with a whimper of dismay, taking the hit on his side with a muffled grunt of pain. "We're only friends, Ron!" he pleaded, looking up at the red-head and trying to find his best friend. Trying to find the man he loved and was going to marry. He tried to blink away tears when he couldn't._

_Ron shook his head, feigning sadness and regret. "I don't know if I can believe you, Harry," he said quietly, crowding Harry in the corner he had stupidly backed himself into. It was ironic, he found himself agreeing with Snape (of all people) that Harry was an idiotic dunderhead; he didn't seem able to learn from these occurrences. He grabbed a fistful of soft black hair and yanked. _

_"How do I know you aren't lying, love?" he asked, stressing the last word with mocking and disdain. Harry was grabbing at his hand so he tightened his hold and shook sharply before forcing the other man, face first, against the wall._

_Harry stilled, fearing what would come next. He squirmed, stopping when he felt Ron's hand slip down the back of his head to clutch warningly at his neck. He stilled again, tears stinging and collecting in the corner of his eyes. "I promise, Ron. Nothing happened! Ask Hermione!"_

_"I'm not asking that bitch," Ron said angrily, his eyes roaming Harry's cowed posture before lading on his ass. "We'll just see," he muttered and roughly cupped the flesh, noticing Harry flinch and try to press himself into the wall. "Aw," he murmured, leaning close and biting at Harry's neck, right where his shirt covered. "Does that hurt?" he whispered harshly, pressing against the firm flesh._

_Harry shook his head rapidly. "No," he said in a rush. "You surprised me." He cursed himself for flinching, bitterly wishing he was stronger and braver when Ron got like this. He hated himself for cowering, unable (or unwilling) to fight back and feeling like a scared 12-year-old again. No matter what Ron did, he kept seeing his best friend and couldn't bear to hurt him. He hoped Ron would stop before it got worse, but so far it had_ only _gotten worse. _

_He tightly closed his eyes when he felt Ron's hand slide around the front of his body and roughly undo his pants. He bit back a whimper when his pants and underwear were shoved to his ankles. "Please, don't. I haven't done anything," he whispered, turning his head just enough so Ron could see his honest expression._

_"Right," Ron snorted and roughly kicked Harry's legs as far apart as his still bunched garments would allow. He stepped back enough to see and grabbed each firm cheek in hand and pulled harshly. He grunted when he realized Harry was telling the truth; he didn't look recently fucked. Not even healing charms erased all traces. He leaned against Harry, firmly pressing his growing bulge against the small of Harry's back. He wasn't sure why it got him hot and bothered seeing Harry cowering and whimpering, but fuck, it did. _

_"Maybe_ you _fucked _him, _hmm?" he growled and bit at Harry's ear. Hard. He couldn't really see it happening that way, but anything was possible. Harry did occasionally still show his bold side and he could almost see Malfoy spreading his legs for Harry eagerly. Malfoy was enough of a slut to not care how it happened, as long as he got Harry._

_Harry shook his head rapidly, his fingers splaying in an effort to keep himself from smashing his face into the wall when Ron pressed against him forcefully. "No, we only talked, Ron," he said softly, well aware by this point Ron was beyond reasoning. He grit his teeth together when Ron forced two fingers into his hole without lube. Merlin, he hated this part. If he was lucky, Ron would just finger fuck him until he felt he had suffered enough. _

_He clenched his eyes tightly closed then Ron's fingers wiggled and pushed, deliberately avoiding his sweet spot and stretching forcefully in the most painful way. "Don't. Please," he begged, hating how weak and quiet his voice was. He couldn't help it though, he could only hope Ron would listen. He never felt like having sex like this, even if Ron enjoyed it. He closed his eyes when he heard the rustle of fabric and the increased heat of Ron's naked lower half pressing against him. _

_"No, Harry," Ron grunted, shoving a third finger in. He didn't really care how stretched out Harry was, but unless he prepped the other man a little, it was almost too tight and nearly painful for him. Harry's needed lessons didn't mean he had to suffocate his dick. Harry's ass was still tight and he rarely held out very long after the first few thrusts into the tight heat, the friction of little to no lube adding to the intense pleasure. "You know I can't stop now," he chided, pulling his fingers out and grabbing his cock firmly. _

_He slapped at Harry's thigh, grunting his approval when Harry moved it to press against the wall, opening himself up and making it easier. "You can't say no, Harry," he said softly and forced himself inside. "Fuck," he grunted as he pushed into the tightness. He moaned as his cock was firmly nestled and squeezed perfectly. He pinched along Harry's hips and ass, smirking and chuckling when Harry jerked and wiggled, his body shifting to slide his cock deeper. Pleasure spiked through him and it was times like this that almost made his _ thing _ with Harry worthwhile._

_Harry bit his lip, refusing to make any sound. He was pretty sure Ron had come to enjoy his sounds of pain and the way he fought against the red-head. He was also pretty sure he_ could _say no. Ron wasn't owed his body. His forehead came to a hard rest against the wall with a particularly hard thrust from Ron and he was forced onto his tiptoes. He closed his eyes again, praying that Ron would be quick as he usually was. _

_He stiffened when Ron's hand wound around his stomach, his slim freckled fingers splaying out over his fluttering muscles. It wasn't a rough touch but he still cursed himself for reacting. _

_"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron grunted, his hips stuttering as his orgasm approached. He held Harry tightly by the hips, pulling the other man flush against him as he came, filling Harry's body with sharp little jerks. He pulled out, grimacing as the movement was eased by the come he watched trickle out with a blank expression. He panted, resting his face against Harry's neck before he pulled back, a scowl on his face. "What's wrong?" he repeated, slapping at Harry's abused ass._

_Harry jumped, pressing his body against the wall and shaking his head. He again cursed himself for giving himself away. He should have known Ron would notice and he should have known Ron would be suspicious. He felt so stupid. He bit his lip so he wouldn't blurt out anything. "Nothing," he muttered.  
_

_"Don't lie to me, Harry," Ron said lowly, grabbing Harry painfully by the shoulder and spinning him around. He watched Harry stumble, only just managing not to land on his face. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Harry, his gaze wandering his body. He saw Harry's hands twitch when his eyes settled on his stomach and he sneered. He tore at Harry's shirt and stared at the small rounded protrusion of the other man's stomach and stepped closer. He pointed at the offending area and hissed, "What's this?"_

_Harry shook his head rapidly, his hands coming to rest protectively over his stomach. He hadn't wanted Ron to know. He knew it was stupid to try to hide it but he had been so careful up until now to conceal any evidence of his pregnancy. "Nothing!" he cried, trying to slide away. He wished desperately for his wand, annoyed he'd let Ron 'put it away' for safe keeping. Merlin, he was stupid._

_"Is it even mine?" Ron asked coldly, his eyes riveted to the bump Harry was trying to cover. He should have known Harry fucking Potter would be a Carrier. He sneered and slapped at Harry, enjoying the way he flinched and tried to get away even as he glared defiantly. Ah, his bravery was trying to come back to protect his child. How cute. "Is it?!" he yelled when Harry made no move to answer him._

_Harry gaped. "Of course it is, Ron!" he said, anger trickling in for the first time since he floo'd home and Ron approached him with The Look. He hadn't known Ron was actually seriously asking until he saw the way his forehead creased and the vein in the middle throbbed. "I haven't slept with anyone else." _Ever_. And Ron _knew_ that.  
_

_"_Sleeping _isn't the issue, Potter," Ron spat and grabbed Harry's upper arm. "You better hope that thing is mine."_

_Harry nodded, trying his best to choke back a sob. He had been sure Ron wouldn't be thrilled with the news of a baby but he never imagined the red-head would question the child's parentage. He hadn't ever slept with anyone but Ron and the accusation hurt more than he thought it would. He briefly toyed with the idea of mentioned the affairs Ron had (he knew Ron slept around, usually with witches, claiming he missed a 'wet pussy' sometimes). He bit his lips on the thought, knowing he'd only further enrage the red-head and he wasn't in the position to defend himself. His pants were still around his ankles, for fuck's sake._

_"One way to find out," Ron said thoughtfully and raised his wand. He smirked at Harry's panicked expression and waved it, casting a paternity charm. He didn't spare a moment to wonder if he cast it properly, not caring that a wrongly done charm could harm the thing. A dark red light shot from Harry's stomach and waved around lazily before circling him. _

_A positive response; he was the father. _

_Anger and panic flooded him. He hadn't planned this. He barely could go through with marrying Harry, he_ knew _he wasn't going to be able to have fucking kids with the man. That just hadn't been part of his plans and he wasn't changing them now. Options and ideas flickered through his mind, sending an icy shiver run up his spine. He looked at his wand before tossing is carelessly to the side. He stepped closer to Harry and nodded shallowly when he saw Harry's posture go defensive and his expression go wary. He was right to react that way._

_Harry tried to sidle away, not liking the expression on Ron's face, but his ankles were still restricted with his pants. He liked the calculating expression Ron wore moments ago even less. He had learned to _hate_ that fucking look. He gasped in surprise when Ron's fist flew, the blow landing right in his stomach. Pain exploded through his body, radiating in a slick, hot wave and he fell to his knees with a pained gasp. Any thoughts to defend himself vanished with his panic. _

_"No," he whispered. It couldn't have happened that easily. Another fist landed followed by a foot and the pain grew sharply, stealing his breath and making his eyes water uncontrollably. "Ron, please... don't," he gasped out between sharp, jabbing pains shooting through his stomach and lower body. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus his magic, praying it would reverse any damage Ron might have done. He made a strangled sound of grief when he felt no response._

_"Sorry, Harry," Ron said, not really sounding it. He landed a last kick to Harry's lower stomach and stood back, watching impassively as Harry writhed and cried. He didn't know if it would work or not. He might have to find other ways if it didn't. He saw a trickle of blood run down Harry's thigh and he smiled. He shook his head and wiped a finger through the blood, holding it up in front of anguished green eyes. Horror and realization dawned, making the tear-filled green eyes spill over and he figured maybe Harry wasn't so stupid after all. He carelessly wiped his finger off on Harry's shirt, grimacing slightly. _

_Harry shook his head, his arms wrapped around his stomach as pain shot through him, locking the breath in his throat. He didn't bother holding back the teary sobs any longer when he felt the warm, slick wetness practically flooding down his legs now. A soft wail sobbed out and he clamped a hand over his mouth. He couldn't believe Ron would do such a thing, especially after he saw it was_ his _baby. He cried out when another shooting pain stabbed through him and he looked up to see Ron watching with a tiny smile, but otherwise emotionless. _

_"You bastard," he whispered. Anger seared through him, making his vision go spotty, and he focused his magic, aiming for Ron's heart. His eyes widened in shock when Ron staggered backwards, clutching his chest with disbelief etched onto his face. He didn't bother checking to see if Ron was hurt or not and rolled onto his knees, struggling to pull his pants up as he tried to stand._

_He staggered towards the floo, giving Ron's twitching body a wide berth. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and called out the first name he could think of, landing painfully on his knees in front of a stunned Hermione and Draco. "Draco," he whispered, his voice inaudible. Draco still came though, he was still there even if he hadn't heard Harry. He relaxed in the blonde's arms, trying to catch his breath as the sobs wracked his body and stole his breath._

"RON!" Harry gasps, green eyes wildly looking around for any sign of the red-head as his arms come up and cover his face protectively. He flinches when a hand tightens around his and he tries to pull himself free. His hand jerks up, the other hand releasing him immediately and almost making him topple over in his surprise. He hadn't expected to be let go.

His eyes adjust to the dim room and his breath stutters in his chest when he catches sight of pale hair and worried grey eyes. He nearly sobs with relief but settles back onto his pillow, looking around warily instead and pulling the thin blanket up to his neck.

"Where am I?" he asks in a hoarse whisper. His throat is dry and throbbing and he jumps when a straw is pressed to his lips. He darts his eyes towards Draco and tries a grateful smile before taking a few sips of the cool water, sighing and settling back.

He thinks he knows. Not many places are so... white and cool. He closes his eyes slowly, a resigned sigh leaving him as he takes in the private room at St. Mungo's. Tears threaten and he clutches at his chest as pain settles there, memories flooding back and nearly choking him.

"St. Mungo's," Draco says quietly, aware Harry already knew. The defeated slump of his shoulders and recognition in his eyes told him that. Dim anger surges through him when he realizes Harry is too well acquainted the hospitals and infirmaries. "Uhm. The healer didn't tell me much, but she'll be in in a moment since you're awake." He pauses and worries his bottom lip, scooting closer slowly so he doesn't startle Harry. "Are... are you alright?"

Harry swallows thickly and shrugs, unsure how to answer. Physically, he feels almost fine. There's a subtle, lingering pain in his lower stomach; the only reminder of what happened earlier. Anger and indignation squirms through him; it almost seems unfair the only reminder of the life lost is a slight twinge behind his navel. Besides the gaping void in his chest, grief and pain is still humming through him.

He shrugs again when Draco gives him a questioning look. "I don't know." He looks around the room, surprised to see only Draco. Surprised and relieved. He can't handle seeing Hermione right now... He gives Draco a small, grateful smile, sure the blonde is responsible for keeping Hermione at bay. The tiny smile drops off his face and he stares intently at the blonde. "Did you... do you know what happened?" he asks in a terrified whisper.

"I..." Draco says then shakes his head. "I have some guesses, but I don't know." He scoots forward, smiling reassuringly when Harry doesn't flinch or back away. He slowly reaches out, clasping Harry's hand again and resists the urge to kiss it again. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly.

Harry looks away, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly a few times as he swallows around the lump that has come back and brought with it the urge to cry. Again. He feels so fucking pathetic. He closes his eyes and sighs softly. "No. But I should, yeah?" he asks, looking at Draco from the corner of his eye. He can't quite make out the expression on the blonde's face and he drops his head, his chin resting on his chest. He can't bear to see pity or a knowing understanding in those grey eyes. The knowledge that Draco might think he deserved what happened makes everything tighten with misery.

"Harry," Draco says softly. Harry doesn't move. "Please look at me," he continues in the same soft tone. Reluctantly, he sees Harry lift his head only enough to see him through his dark bangs, his emerald eyes shiny. "I'm sorry," he whispers, offering a small, but warm and heartfelt smile.

Harry nods dully. He can't manage to smile back and he can't say anything for a long moment as he tries to rein in his emotions. "You know," he says, but it's almost a question.

"I can guess, but I don't _know_," Draco says again and gently squeezes Harry's hand. He scoots closer again, enfolding Harry's hand in both of his as he looks intently at Harry. He pauses, unsure if he should bring it up..."You said he killed your daughter."

Harry's chest hitches and his eyes clench tightly close. "Yes," he whispers. He didn't _know_ it was a girl, he only had a feeling. Intuition sort of thing. He leans into Draco when the blonde edges a hip on the side of his bed and clutches at his wrinkled shirt again. He almost loosens one hand to let it rest on his stomach but he can't. He won't. He's empty now and he clenches his hand in Draco's shirt tighter, trying to will the feeling away.

"He did it on purpose," he chokes out, the words almost inaudible even in the silent room. He feels Draco stiffen against him, the words heard and understood. "He... I can't, Draco," he says, taking a shuddering breath. He sags against Draco when he feels a hand slowly settle against his neck. The touch is comforting and he sniffles wetly. "I'm sorry to blubber all over you."

"It's quite alright, Harry," Draco says and chuckles weakly. He turns when the door eases open and he sags with relief when it's the healer. "Harry, this is Healer Olivia Fuller."

Olivia eases into the room and gives Harry a warm smile. "Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Please call me Harry."

Olivia chuckles softly and nods in acceptance. "Harry, then," she says and smiles gently, inclining her head. "Right-" she says and slowly takes out her wand. Harry only watches her keenly, but makes no move to stop her or show any fear as her wand moves around him. She waves it around, performing a few diagnostic charms and spells. She nods, happy to see everything is relatively normal, and charms a Muggle pen to take notes.

"Any concerns, Harry?" she asks, watching the pen finish writing before turning towards the wizard. She politely ignores the presence of Mr. Malfoy on the bed and the way Harry is clinging to him. But she does feel a certain smug satisfaction in knowing it was the right choice to allow the blonde wizard to stay.

"I lost the baby..." Harry says softly, almost making it a question but it's mostly a statement. He knows that already and the healer's slow nod has him closing his eyes briefly and leaning into Draco a bit more. He had held a dim hope the healers could work miraculous magic. "Can I..." he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. "I've heard a miscarriage, especially for Carriers, can later affect fertility. Is that- Can I still- Is there a problem?" he finally manages to ask in a soft whisper, fearing the answer. He'd probably kill Ron himself if he stole his chance for a family.

Olivia shakes her head, offering an encouraging smile. "None of my tests indicate that your womb was affected by the trauma." There had been minimal damage but she had been quick with a charm and a specialized potion, saving his ability to conceive. She wishes she had been able to save the fetus as well. She doesn't see the point in telling him he nearly had a problem, refusing to upset the man any further when it was no longer an issue. She looks at Harry, offering a smile and getting a small, relieved one in return. Her eyes dart towards Draco for only a moment. "Would you prefer privacy?"

"No," Harry says quickly. He can't bear to be alone and Draco won't make fun of him. Hopefully. He can't imagine what else the healer could say that Draco hasn't already heard. "It's fine, Healer Fuller."

Olivia nods and flips through some pages. "I set a few broken fingers, healed the internal damage but the bruises will take a few days to fade. I also found evidence of past trauma... Harry, how-" she cut herself off at Harry's panicked look. Old breaks and scars had her worried, especially since there were no records of Harry being treated at any Wizarding hospital. His school records were rather startling as well once she looked into them. "Are you still comfortable with Mr. Malfoy being here?"

"Yes," Harry whispers. "And I experienced abuse as a child," he answers, averting his eyes from Draco and Healer Fuller. He had given very vague details about his childhood and he feels bad he's essentially lied to Draco and wishes the blonde hadn't been blind-sided with the information like this. "I was raised by close-minded Muggles that didn't like me."

Up until his fifth year at Hogwarts, he was essentially left alone by his relatives; he did his chores and they just pretended he didn't exist. He still doesn't know why things changed that summer but he barely made it through that year alive. Between the actual beatings and his grief about Sirius... He's just surprised he hadn't done something stupid.

Olivia nods, saddened by the news. She doesn't understand how a person could harm a child. She edges closer and pauses, unsure how to bring up the next issue. She looks at Mr. Malfoy again, wondering how he'll react. So far, he's been the picture of caring support. "Harry, there are also signs of sexual abuse."

"What?" Harry blinks. "No?" he says, confused. He winces when his hand is squeezed and glances at Draco uncertainly. Draco looks livid and he shrinks away, freeing his hand from Draco's. Again, he's released immediately and nearly grabs Draco's hand back with gratitude and relief. He doesn't know what he did to make the blonde angry; sex with his fiancé isn't unheard of or something he's going to apologize for. Ron might get a little rough but he doesn't think anything further about it. He avoids the narrowed silvery eyes and looks expectantly at Healer Fuller.

Olivia hesitates and makes a note. She knows what the test indicated and she's saddened by the knowledge that Harry doesn't realize he's been raped. Probably repeatedly, as she doubted this was a first time. He looks truly puzzled and she doesn't know how to continue. She makes a note to send a Mind Healer down to speak with Harry in a few hours and shifts uncomfortably, knowing how Harry will take her next words. "In cases such a these, we usually submit a report to the Aurors."

"No," Harry whispers. He can't bear the thought of the ministry reading such a report. He'd be mocked and made fun off. The front cover of _The Prophet_ would gleefully proclaim him as a wimp that can't defend himself or his unborn child. He's shaking and gasping for breath, unaware of Draco's hands trying to sooth him again. "You can't. They'll laugh at me," he says in a choked, agonizing tone.

Olivia shares a look with Draco and sighs sadly. She can't force the issue, much as she might want to. "Alright, Harry. I still have to write it in your records, though. And they are private and confidential. Privacy charms keep anyone from discussing what they've read," she assures the panicked young many. She places a gentle hand on Harry's arm, giving him a warm smile when he looks up at her.

"Please reconsider talking with the Aurors. They won't laugh, they're required to help you. They'll get whoever did this to you far away and you'll be safe." She notices Draco's expression turn positively murderous, a lowly hissed 'fucking Weasel' and she nearly staggers with the knowledge Harry's fiancé is responsible. The pair are a very well know, public image. Sorrow sags her shoulders slightly.

"No," Harry says again. The idea of Ron being sent away makes him break out in a cold sweat. All of the Weasleys would hate him. He shakes his head vigorously and trembles. He looks between the Healer Fuller and Draco, his hands gripping Draco with panicky tightness. "Please, no. I'll... move out. I'll leave him. I can't-" he chokes on a sob.

Draco leans forward and gently shushes Harry, having a good idea where his thoughts are and cursing every single red-head Ginger rat to Hell and back. "Harry, they won't blame you." He hopes he's not lying and Merlin help those bastards if they prove him out to be. He can't believe they'd accept Ron's treatment of Harry and turn their back on the other wizard.

"Maybe not," Harry mumbles after a long pause. "but they'll _hate_ me. They'll leave me," he says, his chest hitching at the very idea. They were his only family; he can't lose them. He suddenly knows this is one of the reasons Ron has been so horrible to him and he can only sob brokenly and cover his face with his hands.

.:xOx:.

Draco watches Harry sleep fitfully again.

After Healer Fuller left, Harry took another sleeping potion –putting up no argument when Draco had insisted. Harry is currently curled into a tight little ball and muttering in his sleep. He sighs, rubbing a hand tiredly down his face. He glares at the half-written (and most likely to be trashed) report for the Aurors. Anger surges through him as his gaze settles on certain words. He hates that Harry probably won't file it, but he can understand it.

Having to admit, as the Boy-Who-Lived, the man who defeated Voldemort, was abused by his fiancé (and one time best friend) has to be daunting and humiliating. Embarrassing. Terrifying. He hates that Harry keeps refusing, fearing for the Weasley brood's reaction. He understood they are a surrogate family for the other man but Harry can't let Ron saunter away from this, scot free. He wonders if murder charges would stick, as well... He hums thoughtfully and makes a note on the paper, even if Harry will probably _Incendio_ in the morning. He silently hopes Harry will fight for his unborn child, if not for himself.

Harry, the foolish Gryffindor, always seems to champion what's right for others' over himself. He'd take a beating without uttering a peep, but Merlin help someone if he saw it being done to someone else. He idly wondered if Harry can be considered masochistic. That level of self indifference has to be considered harmful.

Harry had told him, in broken bits and pieces, what had happened. He nearly bent the chair arm, he had been squeezing it so tightly. His magic had even lashed out briefly, rattling the windows and making a violent breeze blow through the room, something that he hadn't had happen since he was 13. He had felt anger flood through him sharply followed by a deep, painful sorrow for Harry. He hadn't been able to articulate his pain and settled for holding Harry again. Even as he enjoyed the chance to do so, he loathed the reason why it happened. He knows Harry looks forward to having his own family and he loathes Weasley for taking that away from Harry.

He hopes the rest of the Weasley clan, whatever he personally thinks of them, would turn on Ron and hex him within an inch of his life for his actions against Harry. At least, they better. The forced miscarriage (as he's taken to calling it, not wishing to see Harry wince and go eerily still again when he had said 'abortion') was enough to get the red-headed bastard sent to Azkaban for 50 years.

"Draco," Harry whispers, wiping his eyes and looking up at the blonde sleepily. He hadn't expected Draco to still be here. A warm feeling flutters briefly through his chest and he feigns a yawn so he can look away for a moment. "Did you let Hermione know?" he asks.

Draco shrugs. "I told her you were awake but I didn't tell her what the healer said."

"Thank you," Harry whispers, reaching out tentatively and smiling a little when Draco gently squeezes his hand and places it back on the white sheets. "Can you get her?" He didn't especially want to see Hermione just yet, but he knows he can't really put it off much longer. He hopes Pansy is there, the other witch had a knack for reining in Hermione's more... overpowering quirks.

Draco nods and stands, taking his time as he strolls to the door and down the hall. He smirks when he sees Hermione awkwardly (and no doubt uncomfortably) perched sideways in a chair in an effort to rest her head against the back and get some rest. He clears his throat and suppresses an urge to laugh and grin when the witch jumps, her half-empty paper cup of coffee spilling across her lap. He most pouts when he realizes the coffee isn't hot enough to scald.

"Harry's awake," he says shortly, turning on his heel and walking quickly back to Harry's room. He smirks at the hurried footsteps following him, Hermione trying to keep up with his fast, long stride.


	2. Chapter 2

_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature language and content._

_Thank you for the feedback, folks. (Better than I expected, honestly... wow.) I'm cautiously optimistic this will end on a lighter note, but we'll just have to see. Since I have a few chapters all ready to go, here's another one. They won't always come so quickly, so please do not get used to it. Heh.  
_

_Warnings: Same as before.  
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_Er... Enjoy. :))_

* * *

Harry stares out the window, a frown on his face. He's avoiding Hermione's pointed gaze and desperately wishing Draco hadn't stepped out to give them privacy. He doesn't want to figure out why the blonde's presence is calming, he just knows it is. "I don't know what you want me to say, 'Mione." He sighs and glances at Hermione briefly. She's been, politely, trying to get answers out of him for the last 10 minutes. Answers he doesn't know or can't discuss at the moment. He'd glare at her brash attempts but he's quite used to Hermione's ways. He knows she means well.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says with a quiet sigh. "I'm just... surprised. I'm also a bit angry." When Harry flinches and tries to sink into his bed, she wants to smack herself. "I meant with myself, Harry. I hate that I didn't notice there was a problem before now." Though, Harry had taken steps to hide the evidence, she still feels like she should have noticed. Harry is a terrible liar so she really can only blame herself for not taking notice or listening to Pansy (and Draco) when they mentioned, subtly, there might be problems. She hadn't wanted to believe it. It's harder to reconcile Ron being the one who's done such things to Harry.

She feels terrible, but she can't help wonder if she's dodged a bullet by breaking things off with the red-head before they even got started. She averts her eyes briefly in shame; she's not exactly proud of herself. She's only slightly comforted by the thought she wouldn't have ever wished this sort of thing on Harry. He deserves so much better than this.

"Why did you allow it?" she asks before she can stop herself. She winces, hating the way she asked. As if it was Harry's fault Ron is an abusive bastard. She could only sort of blame Harry for allowing it, but then again, he was almost designed from an early age to just accept abuse and harsh treatment. Between his relatives and how most adults (and students) at Hogwarts treated her friend, she's actually surprised he is as well adjusted as he is.

Harry glares out the window, willing Draco to return. "I-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. He has no excuse, not really, but he's still angry and hurt Hermione would even think it's his fault. "I couldn't bear to hurt him back," he finally says miserably, peeking over at Hermione with tear-filled green eyes. He hates that he's crying again, too. He can't control it and he doesn't like Hermione to see him vulnerable.

"Oh," Hermione says quietly and settles back in her chair, smoothing the fabric of her pants over her lap. She could see the logic in that. Well, the _Harry_ logic. Ron (and the Weasleys) represented family for Harry and she knows he wouldn't want to risk that in any way. It's depressing to think he'd take it this far, though. She can't imagine the Weasleys turning their backs on Harry for anything. "Can I ask how long it's been going on?" she asks after a few quiet minutes. Looking back, she's sure it's been a few months. Shame makes her cheeks warm and she focuses on smoothing her pants again.

Harry worries his bottom lip and counts the leaves on the nearest tree outside. "A few months," he says softly. It had started small; slaps, pinches, none-too-playful arm punches. Even when he would be nursing a swollen lip or a black eye, he never thought Ron capable of such cruelty as he displayed earlier. He chokes back hot tears, wondering what he did to anger Ron so much. He always did what the red-head asked without complaint.

_Is_ this his fault? It had happened so gradually, he almost can't remember why he never fought back. He just accepted the escalating violence like it was _normal_. None of his friends had mentioned anything being abnormal, if they even noticed, so he just figured that's just how it was. He saw his uncle use a heavy hand with his aunt enough times, he just didn't know any different.

"And you were still going to marry him?" Hermione asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. She stares at the pale strip of skin on Harry's left ring finger and feels a burst of pride for Harry. Good for him; she hopes he shoved the ring up Ron's ass until it came out his nose.

Harry nods slowly. He was. He had foolishly hoped marriage would prove his love and devotion to the red-head. He had hoped Ron's jealousy would diminish (or, even better; disappear) once he knew he was Ron's legally and magically. He shudders when he realizes he very nearly had been magically bound to Ron and has to close his eyes as nausea rolls through him. He sits up, a warm, happy feeling banishing the nausea, when he sees Draco poke his head in the narrow opening of the door.

"Everything alright?" Draco asks, his eyes flicking between Granger and Harry. He lingers his gaze on Harry, frowning slightly at the harassed look on the man's pale, drawn face. He silently curses; he knew he shouldn't have left Harry alone with Granger. He fights the urge to stalk in and kick the witch out. If he knows she wouldn't fight like an enraged kneazle, he probably would.

Harry nods slowly, hoping Draco will come in but scared to ask. He doesn't want to overwhelm Draco with his neediness and his urge to cling to him. "Yeah," he says at the same time Hermione says 'Yes'. Well, at least they agree on that. "Did you... Uhm. Are you finished?" he asks, referring to Draco's excuse of needing breakfast as his reason for leaving earlier. He appreciated the blonde's attempt to give him some time with Hermione.

"I am," Draco says and steps into the room. He doesn't miss Harry's relieved body language or Granger's slightly annoyed expression. He smirks at the glaring witch and raises a folded white bag. He sees Harry's eyes widen with surprised pleasure as the warm, sugared greasy smell hits him. He had hoped it would cheer up Harry. The spark of happiness in the guarded green eyes was worth the trip.

Harry sniffs deeply, his gaze flicking between the dangling bag and Draco's face. The blonde looks rather pleased with himself. "Is that... for me?" he asks softly. A small smile flickers across his lips when Draco nods and hands him the bag. He notes the small grease stains with a detached sort of joy and clutches the bag tightly. It's probably silly, but the gesture means more than Draco just getting him doughnuts. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry," Draco says, inclining his head and trying not to noticed Granger's narrowed gaze. Nosy witch. He settles into the chair closest to Harry's bed and rests his ankle across his knee as he lounges casually. He would apologize for interrupting but he knows he won't be able to make it sincere. He's not sorry at all and by the look of relief on Harry's face when he popped his head in, he came at the right moment.

Harry slowly unfolds the bag and inhales deeply again, his eyes fluttering shut at the warm, sweet aroma drifting from the bag. He carefully pulls a glazed doughnut out and stares at his stomach when it gurgles noisily. Huh. He's hungry and he hasn't realized until now. He looks up, feeling his cheeks warm when he catches Draco watching him closely, a small smile on his face. He clears his throat and holds the bag up. "Did either of you want one?"

"No, thank you," Hermione says, trying not to scowl at the unhealthy treat slowly being picked apart and nibbled on. She doesn't say anything, though, quite relieved and happy to see Harry eating anything. Even if it's deep fried sugar and fat. She watches Harry enjoy his doughnut with soft little sounds of pleasure and reluctantly shoots Draco a grateful smile. Honestly, it's not like Harry can't use the calories and it's heartwarming to see him enjoy something.

Harry feels terrible, but relieved, when Hermione stands and makes her excuses to leave a few minutes later. He accepts a kiss on the cheek and sighs quietly with relief when the door closes behind the witch. He's quite glad Pansy is forcing her to have brunch with her mum. Hyacinth (or something like that, he can never remember Pansy's mum's name, except that it was a flower as well) Parkinson isn't the warmest woman and she didn't especially like Hermione since the couple got serious about each other.

He didn't know if it was because Hermione is a Muggleborn or what. He doesn't really care; Pansy hasn't buckled under her family's pressures and the couple couldn't be more besotted.

"Harry."

Harry jumps and gives Draco a sheepish smile. He had been lost in his thoughts, wistfully pondering his lack of a relationship like Hermione's. "Hm?"

"I asked how long things were... like that?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't rightly know for sure now," he says quietly, staring off and thinking. "Not long, but I don't think Ron was ever truly happy with me," he admits, avoiding Draco's eye. He feels terrible admitting it, for even thinking it really, but he's had time to think and it feels true.

"Why do you think that, Harry?" Draco asks, leaning forward with curiosity. He truly didn't understand; how could Ron not be happy with Harry and stay with the man for nearly three years. It doesn't make any sense.

Harry shrugs again. "Just... what I think."

"Why?" Draco asks again. He has his own theories, but he's interested to hear what Harry has to say. He never understood how the couple got together; Ron hadn't ever been interested in blokes before and Harry had often looked miserable. He hated the idea he might've been right, the fact really making him feel nauseous, not victorious.

Harry sighs and gives Draco a flat expression. "We didn't have sex for the first time until we were together nearly a year. He always hated going out anywhere with me that was Muggle. He's not affectionate," he adds in a pained voice. At first, he thought it was just how Ron was. But seeing him with their friends and his family, he knew Ron just had a problem with giving or showing affection towards _him_. He hates that he wanted to be snuggled, have his hand held or just have Ron sit close enough to feel his body heat. Especially now.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting affection," Draco says softly, watching Harry's face and reading his thoughts as if they're printed on the other man's face. He feels another surge of rage towards Ron; how could he not cherish Harry on a daily basis? "How did you even get together?" he blurts out, curious. He only found out recently that they had gotten together during their 'make-up' year at Hogwarts.

He felt rather stupid for not realizing, and reluctantly admired both men for having been successful in keeping it between themselves for so long. The sad, longing looks he caught Harry giving the red-head across their common room made sense, of course, but he felt irritated the Weasel had subjected Harry to such a thing. He certainly wouldn't have hid Harry like some dirty little secret.

Harry grins sheepishly, a little embarrassed by what led up to his and Ron first getting together. "Uhm."

_Harry paced the dorm room, his socked feet whispering across the stone floor. He knew he needed to talk to Ron but he didn't know how to say it. How did you tell your best friend that you didn't want his little sister? The little sister said best friend had you practically married to, complete with a gaggle of kids? _

_How did you tell your best friend the reason you didn't want his little sister? He felt his palms slide together as he pressed his hands together, as if praying, and pressed the sides against his face, his thumbs pressing against his throat. He jumped, whirling around when he heard the door creak open._

_"Hey Harry," Ron said, toeing off his shoes and flopping onto his bed. He nearly hadn't bothered coming back to Hogwarts for his NEWTs, he was a bonafied hero -work wouldn't be hard to find. But it seemed stupid not too. Harry and Hermione did, so he went along. It helped he got to share a dorm with just Harry instead of a random other Gryffindor he didn't know. And the semi-privacy was nice. "What's up, mate?" he asked, noticing Harry looked pale. Pale and a bit scared. He sat up on his bed, fearing the worst. "It's not... Vol-"_

_"No!" Harry said quickly, waving his hands around. He didn't know why Ron's thoughts immediately when to Voldemort. He was dead, nothing more than a pile of ash the ministry had divided and spread out across various wizarding communities (which he thought odd, and incredibly creepy -but whatever). "No," he said again, a bit more on the calm side. "I just..." he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling it lightly. This was _Ron_. Sure, he might explode and yell but he'd eventually understand. He flopped onto his own bed. "I'm not getting back with Ginny."_

_Ron blinked a few times, letting the information settle. He didn't understand. "Why not?" he finally asked. Did Harry find out that Ginny wasn't always faithful? Maybe Mum was making them wait until Ginny graduated next year._

_"I... We're just not suited for each other. We're better as friends," Harry said slowly, avoiding the real reason. _

_It was true, though. Ginny hadn't taken the break-up badly. She actually seemed relieved, truth be told. Harry hadn't been able to lie, confessing that he liked someone else. A bloke. A _blonde_ bloke. Ginny had been surprised for about 5 seconds before bursting out laughing and punching him on the shoulder, a cheerful encouragement to go after the snarky Slytherin if that's what 'did it' for him. _

_He still flushed violently with the mere thought. He was quite sure he had zero chances. He'd only just started getting along with Mal- Draco; he wasn't going to cock it up by making an unwanted pass at the bloke.  
_

_Ron narrowed his eyes. "What else?" he asked, knowing there was something Harry wasn't telling him. Why was Harry blushing all of a sudden? _

_"I'm gay," Harry blurted out. His eyes widened but he didn't try to take the words back. He watched Ron nervously, expecting a blow up and the red-head to either hit him or storm out. He gave the calmly thinking red-head a curious look. "Ron?"_

_Ron _was_ thinking. He was thinking hard. If Harry was gay, that meant he'd have to get into their family through one of his brothers instead of Ginny. Bill and Percy were already married. Charlie was off with his dragons, and not likely to be interested anyway (he rather thought his brother could marry a dragon if it were allowed). The Twins might... but they called Harry their little brother, so he didn't think either (or both) would be able to pursue Harry in that regard. It only left him. He looked at Harry, cocking his head slightly. _

_Could he do that? Was it worth it? _

_It might make him a bastard, but it was. The Weasleys have been connected to Harry Potter for too long to let the bloke wander off now. He knew Harry had at least two filled vaults, too, not that Galleons were all that important. The wizard couldn't piss without being in the Prophet. Another thrilling perk. He knew Harry wouldn't abandon him as a friend, but he needed a deeper relationship with the Boy Who Lived. Friendship just didn't offer enough perks.  
_

_He stood and crossed the room, perching himself right in front of Harry on the other man's bed. "Do you fancy me, then?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. Harry did have nice eyes. And his lips looked almost as soft as a girl's. He gave Harry another curious look and leaned forward more, hoping the other man would take the bloody hint. He nearly sighed when Harry only leaned back unconsciously.  
_

_"Uh," Harry muttered and stared incredulously. He hadn't... Did Ron want him to _kiss_ him? He wasn't exactly against the idea. Ron wasn't that bad looking but he was his best friend. He didn't want to mess up their relationship. Plus, he really liked Draco. The blonde git wasn't that bad to talk to and they actually got along a bit better as long as they didn't talk about the war, their families and they kept their wands secured. It thrilled him to think they could get along even better. He sagged a bit, he was quite sure he stood no chance, though. He didn't even think Draco liked blokes in that way.  
_

_Ron scooted forward. "I won't be mad if you do." He nodded encouragingly when Harry's eyebrows rose with confusion and curiosity.  
_

_"Uh," Harry said again, his body reacting against his wishes to Ron's closeness. He hadn't had more than a hug in _weeks,_ he was almost literally starved for any sort of affection or contact. Apparently, enough to react to his best friend. Who didn't seem to mind. He stared as a pale, freckled hand slid onto his knee and pressed down with a soothing, but firm warmth. _

_"Maybe," he said slowly. He looked up and smiled a little at the blue gaze studying him again. He wondered what had Ron thinking so hard. He felt like a chess piece and he squirmed a bit against his wishes._

_Ron shifted closer, moving his hand up and allowing their knees to overlap a little. Harry was quite thick and he was having an increasingly harder time with the more intimate touches. "Maybe? It's a yes or no sort of question, Harry."_

_Harry could only nod, his throat feeling hot and tight with a lump of nerves. And pleasurable sensations. Ron's hand was nearly on his thigh now and it was getting harder to think. He looked at Ron's lips, they were quite pink really. He darted a look into blue eyes and saw acceptance there. He leaned forward and slowly, giving Ron a chance to pull back or refuse, brought his lips to rest against Ron's. It was warm and quite nice. _

_"Hmm," Ron hummed, rolling his lips together once Harry pulled back from the chaste kiss. He looked all kinds of nervous and insecure and it was almost adorable. "So." He shifted closer still and pressed his leg up against Harry's. It wasn't too horrible touching the other wizard. He was bonier and more... firm than he was used to, but it wasn't terrible. And Harry didn't kiss all that bad either. He could probably stand to further things. He smiled and made himself raise a hand and move some of Harry messy hair around with his fingertips. _

_Harry smiled back and leaned into the touch. "So."_

_"So, we can be more than friends, now? Is that something you'd like to try?"_

_Harry nibbled his lip, feeling torn. How could he say no to Ron? He couldn't. He felt himself nodding and felt a bit better about it when Ron's smile grew and he shifted closer still. _

_By the time they were 'dating' a few weeks, Harry was wondering just what made Ron his boyfriend. They slept in separate beds. They rarely kissed and they didn't go past anything than a slightly heated snog. He wasn't even allowed to let his hands roam below Ron's waist. Not that he only wanted sex, but he was starting to worry Ron wasn't really interested. _

_"Ron," he said, sitting down next to the red-head on his bed. Ron glared up at him and he nearly stood up and moved to his own bed. But he didn't._

_"What?" Ron grumped, trying to focus back on an essay for History of Magic. What a useless class. He couldn't rely on Hermione's help either because the witch was decidedly distracted by some unknown mystery lover. She only put enough time aside to do her own work before disappearing for hours, until curfew usually. It was irritating. He was mildly curious which bloke she was seeing but he could wait -he'd find out eventually._

_Harry fidgeted, unsure how to bring up what was bothering him. "Do you still like me?"_

_"Sure," Ron said dismissively, going back to his essay. He couldn't remember which wizard invented what charm or who was the first brave soul to attempt potion brewing and didn't blow themselves up. It was tedious and boring._

_Harry felt relief for all of 5 seconds. "Well, then... how come we don't... do stuff?" he asked quietly. He flinched a little when Ron glared up at him and slammed his books shut with a soft _whump_. _

_"Do stuff? So, what, you want to snog and stuff?" Ron asked, after a moment of studying Harry. Great. Just his luck. He had hoped Harry wouldn't bring it up for awhile yet. He was still adjusting to kissing a bloke. It was weird feeling hard muscles and another cock brushing along his when he went to press closer and deepen the kisses. He didn't want to tell Harry he usually had to think of Lavender or Hermione just the few times they had kissed. Harry's large, firm hands sliding and caressing down his body had shattered the illusion and he hadn't let the kisses get that carried away since. _

_Harry nodded shyly. "I'm not saying... uhm... sex, or anything. But, you know..." he trailed off, feeling incredibly stupid and embarrassed. Did all blokes have to beg their boyfriends to touch them or spend time with them that didn't include Quidditch talk or homework? He didn't know and he had no idea who he could ask._

_"Right. C'mere then," Ron said, crooking a finger at Harry. Once Harry was close enough, he pulled him down and closed his eyes as he kissed him. He didn't pull back when Harry pressed in closer, climbing into his lap, and he forced himself to relax when Harry's hands started to slide around his back and sides. It felt pretty good, really. A tongue was gently prodding his lips and he tried not to sigh as he allowed the kiss to deepen. _

_It was odd to feel Harry press against him firmly, and he pressed back enough to have them rolling so Harry was under him. He refused to be dominated by the kiss. He didn't exactly enjoy it but he wasn't going to just go limp and let it happen, either._

_Harry moaned softly, bringing a hand up to fist in red hair. He didn't expect to be doing this now! He felt stupid for not bringing it up sooner if it would have made Ron pin him to a bed and kiss his breath away. He moaned again when Ron pressed against him, forcing him deeper into the mattress. He went willingly, heat sparking and pooling in his body. He arched up against Ron, moaning again when he met with his solid body and a light burn of friction. He blinked rapidly a few times when he felt Ron pull away._

_"Sorry," Ron said, trying not to wipe his mouth off. "I have to finish this essay," he said apologetically. He smiled at the flushed face of his boyfriend and tried to find something attractive there. Harry looked quite turned-on, rosy cheeked, disheveled hair and slightly puffy wet lips, but it didn't really do much for him. He pecked another kiss on Harry's lips, willing the other man off his bed without having to say it aloud._

_Harry sat up quickly, unsure if he should hide the bulge in his pants or not. It wasn't exactly a surprise but Ron seemed decidedly uninterested. Or he just had to finish his essay. He still felt rejected either way; was it stupid to wish he was more important than homework? He nodded and slid off the bed, heading into the bathroom for a very unsatisfying wank. _

_He toyed with the idea of asking Ron to join him or 'help' but he remembered the essay that interrupted their make-out session and just closed the door behind himself. With a sigh, he stripped, turning on the shower. A wank in the shower seemed to be his fate for the foreseeable future.  
_

_"Ron," Harry murmured, a few weeks later. The red-head glanced up from a text book and raised his eyebrows. "Are we... OK?"_

_Ron nodded, fighting the urge to sigh. He hadn't any idea Harry could be so... needy and insecure. He fought another urge to look Harry up and down, trying to find the strong, capable wizard that was able to vaporize a Dark Lord. "Yeah, why?"_

_"Well, we don't really do much together."_

_Ron sat up and closed his text book, making sure not to slam it and let Harry know he was annoyed. "We do... We do stuff everyday," he defended, even though he had a very good idea what Harry meant. He didn't _want_ to date the other wizard. He didn't _want_ to hold hands and walk down the hallway or snuggle together at their table at meal times. Only Hermione and Ginny really knew they were a couple and he rather preferred it stayed that way. Snogging and skipping about together were kind of obvious hints they weren't just friends. He'd rather keep it to themselves until they graduated._

_"Yeah, but I meant like... dates and stuff. I dunno, just sitting close together. Kissing," he added hopefully. "I don't mind taking it slow," he hurried to add, refusing to rush Ron and take things at his pace. He felt bad when Ron admitted he hadn't like another bloke before Harry and didn't know what to do when it came to kissing and such. He didn't either but whenever Ron kissed him, he just _knew_ what to do; where to kiss, where to rub or stroke. He didn't quite understand Ron's reluctance. _

_They were healthy young men, they should be a little more involved than chaste kisses and one accidental grope in the shower. It was a little frustrating. Frankly, he was tired of wanking when he had a perfectly adequate boyfriend._

_Ron nodded. He knew it would come up again. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've been... distracted with NEWTs." And sneaking off into alcoves with Lavender and any other girl that gave him a second look. Which happened quite frequently once it became known he'd had helped Harry defeat Voldemort. He could barely turn around without some witch throwing herself at him. He hardly had the stamina to shag a witch or two and still try to get something up for Harry (which was -pun intended- hard to begin with). He nearly rethought his whole stupid idea._

_"Oh. Yeah. I know... me too. But..." Harry trailed off, feeling like a right prat now. Hermione had been spending more time with Pansy Parkinson and therefore wasn't around to help him and Ron as much. Which, he was fine with. He hadn't told Ron about Pansy yet, only because Hermione made him swear he wouldn't. He felt like a right ass about bringing it up now. _

_He looked up when Ron was standing in front of him. He barely got out a muffled squeak when he was practically tackled, Ron's body landing on top of his wonderfully. He immediately lost himself and arched up into the kiss, his pants tightening with embarrassing quickness. He missed Ron and he couldn't hide that fact._

_Ron tried not to groan with despair at the way Harry responded. He imagined the filthy way Romilda Vane had pulled him into an abandoned classroom, crawled up on a desk and flipped up her skirt to reveal her lack of knickers. He groaned softly, remembering lip-gloss slick lips ghosting over his and her hand reaching down to boldly cup and squeeze him through his pants. He grunted and pressed down, attacking her lips and neck with his mouth. _

_A decidedly _unfeminine_ moan broke through his thoughts and he slowly pulled back. Harry had his hand on his crotch. Harry was the one kissing down his neck with sharp, pleasurable little nips and kisses. _

_He placed a last kiss on Harry's slightly pouting lips and pushed himself up and off. He fought a grimace as he felt his own cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He idly wondered if it was from memories of Romilda or just the friction of Harry's wriggling and surprisingly adept hand. Either way, he stood uncertainly for a moment, pondering his options. Harry was looking up at him, his green eyes wide and hopeful and he wondered if he could get Harry to do something. _

_He let his gaze dip pointedly to his tented pants and waited.  
_

_Harry swallowed nervously and scooted to the edge of the bed, looking up at Ron again when he slowly reached out to undo the red-heads pants. He saw one red eyebrow raise and took it as a sign to continue. Ron didn't stop him from popping his button or lowering the zipper and he scooted closer with unrestrained excitement. He was finally getting a chance to do something beside wank and stare longingly at his boyfriend. He didn't exactly know what the fuck he was doing, but he'd figure out as he went. _

_How difficult could it be to suck a cock? It turned out, not really hard, but it did require skills he didn't have yet. He idly wondered if he'd be allowed to practice.  
_

_Ron gasped when Harry didn't wait for any other encouragements to continue. His best friend was currently shoving his pants down his hips and gazing longingly at his fully erect cock. He didn't know if he was affected by Harry or the dirty thoughts of Romilda, and again dismissed it as unimportant when Harry's tongue poked out of his mouth and slowly dragged along the length of his cock. He groaned and arched into the wizard's touch, longing for him to skip the licks and teasing kisses and just fucking swallow him. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. If he let images of Romilda overlap those of Harry, no one else had to know.  
_

_Harry took each gasp, moan and indrawn breath as his cues; repeating any action that brought out pleasurable sounds from Ron. He quite enjoyed touching Ron like this. So much, in fact, he was squirming uncomfortably as he grew harder and harder. He wrapped his lips around Ron's flushed, leaking head and slowly sunk down. The low, rumbling grunting-moan that action brought had him twitching and panting. He started a slow but steady pace of sucking and sliding Ron in and out, he was soon able to ease almost all the way down Ron's length. _

_He squirmed again, feeling trapped and ready to start rubbing against anything for relief. He looked up at Ron through his lashes and was a little dismayed to see Ron's head tilted back and his eyes tightly closed._

_Ron didn't bother trying to still the motion of his hips and Harry wasn't experienced enough to know to hold him back. He was able to take over the slow, but tortuously pleasurable, pace Harry had set and he was quickly fucking the wizard's face. Harry didn't protest, even as he gagged a few times, and he tightly grabbed onto the sides of Harry's head as he increased his thrusting into Harry wet, willing mouth. "Fuck," he whispered. He hadn't any idea Harry would be so good at this. Figures, really. Harry excelled in many things. Who knew sucking cock would be on his list of talents? _

_Harry's eyes fluttered closed and he pressed a palm against himself, hoping to either ease the throbbing or at least offer some friction. At this point, he didn't care if he came in his pants, he just needed relief. Ron's thrusts were getting harder and sporadic and he gagged once more, his eyes watering painfully, when hot, salty come flooded his mouth and throat. _

_He sputtered and swallowed as best he could, having no other options with the way Ron's hands were still tightly wound in his hair. He continued to swallow as best he could so he could breath, his chest burning a little as he tried to get air in through his nose. He cursed, the word muffled by Ron's still weakly spurting cock, as he arched and came against his own hand. Stars danced in front of his eyes and couldn't breath for a moment. Panic flaired through him and he finally grabbed at Ron's hands and forced the red-heads fingers open.  
_

_Ron let go quickly, making Harry wobble and fall back painfully. He blinked, still foggy and gooey from his orgasm. It took him a long moment to realize Harry was sprawled on the floor but by the time it processed through his hazed brain, Harry was already righting himself. He cringed at the hurt look on his face. "You OK?" he asked, shuffling forward awkwardly. He realized he had his pants down still and pulled them up._

_"Yeah," Harry rasped. He grimaced; his throat hurt and his voice sounded exactly like he thought it should after being rigorously fucked. He rubbed at his throat and winced. He watched Ron shuffle closer and he idly wondered just what the hell he was setting himself up for, letting himself be used in such a way. But Ron leaned down, grabbed his hand and held him and he melted into the embrace. It was a little awkward, and he tried to hold his messy crotch away from Ron. He flushed and wiped at his face before Ron could pull back and see him. It was embarrassing and he didn't know what to do with the sticky mess on his fingers. _

_Ron patted Harry on the shoulder, gave him a kiss on the cheek and headed down to supper with a spring in his step. _

_Harry looked at the closed door for a solid 5 minutes before he slowly stripped and walked towards the shower. He was sticky with cooling come and he felt quite dirty, everywhere, for some reason._

Draco hums, the simmering rage at the Weasel returning in full force. "And... you..." he trails off, unable to say what he's thinking. He can't tell Harry he was a fool to accept such treatment. He can't tell Harry he did have a chance, even back then. He can't tell Harry any of that, no matter how true it is, and not make it sound harsh and probably ruin any trust the other man has in him at the moment. "Right. So."

"So." Harry says and wants to hide his face. He's blushing furiously now. Embarrassment and shame flash through him and he's not sure how Draco can stand to look at him. He's not exactly embarrassed to describe what happened, he's talked about sex and stuff with the blonde before, but just the way it happened. He knows now how demeaning it was. Ron had used him. Plain and simple. "I know," he says softly. "I was pretty stupid."

Draco slowly shakes his head, even though he sort of agreed with the other man. "No. You cared about him and you thought he cared about you. We all were recovering, Harry," he says quietly. They had just survived a war and it was definitely not an odd occurrence. "I don't think wanting love and affection makes you stupid." Harry looks away and he fights the urge to scream and force the other man to look at him.

"Do you not remember how many weddings there were that year? I'm sure Hogwarts will see it's biggest class in history in a few years time," he says, smiling softly. The Prophet was still extending the birth announcements to a full page, when it normally could get away with a tiny square in the bottom corner. It was impressive to see the Wizarding world go at it like rabbits, as if making up for those lost.

"I guess..." Harry says softly. "I just..."

Draco waits, wondering what Harry will say. When there's almost a full 5 minutes of silence, he starts to fidget. Malfoys do not fidget but he's lost that memo at some point. He does lots of things Malfoys don't do because of Harry; associate with Gryffindors. Refuse an arranged marriage. Fidget. He's not sorry, though. He cuts off his thoughts and studies Harry. "Did he really rape you?" he asks, wanting to clamp a hand over his mouth or hex himself in the face when Harry's eyes slowly roll away to stare at the wall, his eyebrows drawn down and together.

"No."

Draco snorts before he can stop it. He, again, feels the urge to cover his mouth and hex his eyelids off or something. Merlin, he needs to learn how to control himself around Harry better. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just... the healer had said it. They wouldn't lie or have a scan come back incorrectly."

"Well, I don't know what else to say. He didn't," Harry says archly. "I mean, he was rough sometimes and we rarely wanted it at the same time..." he trails off at the enraged expression now clouding Draco's face. He wants to further explain, tell the blonde and explain Ron isn't a rapist, but he can't. His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth and he shrinks back unconsciously from the enraged man.

Draco takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. The look of naked fear on Harry's face helps him calm down. He feels something ache and pang to know _he's_ caused that reaction in the other man. "I see. And did you ever, at any time, say 'no' or 'not tonight dear'?" Harry nods as his shoulders coming up in a careless shrug, eyes still wide and panicked. "Then he raped you," he says shortly.

He narrows his eyes when Harry's mouth opens, almost daring him to argue. He stands abruptly, unable to stand to hear Harry try to convince him he's wrong (or, more accurately, defend the Weasel) and stalks from the room on legs that feel wooden.

"Be right back," he says in clipped tones just before he throws the door open. He leans against the closed door, trying to get himself under some sort of control. He can't... No, he _can_ believe it. He's enraged because it's very fucking believable that Harry thinks Ron can do whatever the fuck he wants with his body and he just accepts it. He wants to feel like a hypocrite, but he's _not_. Sure, he's fantasized about Harry giving himself willingly but he'd never _take it_. He'd never force or make Harry submit to him.

His hands clench a few times. If he imagines a pale, freckled neck between them, so the fuck what; it's better than what Weasley deserves, really. It helps calm him down imagining that red-headed bastards slow death; the gorier he imagines Ron's end, the calmer Draco gets. He pushes off the door and hunts down Healer Olivia. She's the best person to speak to at the moment and she's seen him angry enough to know it's not aimed at her and he won't hurt her. Plus, he's quite sure the old witch could easily take him down a notch or two, if it came down to it. He sighs with relief when he sees her grey bun poking up just past the edge of the nurses' station. "Healer Fuller," he says softly, not wanting to startle the old witch.

"Mr. Malfoy," Olivia says without looking up. She's gotten quite adept at sensing his particular magical aura as well as recognizing his voice. It's so melodious and smooth, she wonders if Mr. Potter often falls asleep listening to the blonde young man speaking.

Draco pauses, unsure for a moment. "Uhm. Ma'am."

"Yes?" Olivia asks, looking up this time. "Oh dear, are you alright, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks hurriedly, standing and bustling around the counter. She fusses at the young man, trying to sort out what has him so out of sorts. Mr. Potter's vitals are all fine, as far as she can tell. All of his monitoring charms are normal. She peers into his pale, troubled face and tsks softly.

Draco pauses, unsure how to broach the subject now that he's stomped down here. "May we speak in private?" Healer Fuller nods and hurries off, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight before he can even blink. He follows, sighing when he catches sight of the older witch pushing buttons and getting coffee from one of the vending machines. He grimaces; he's had the coffee here and he'd rather drink battery acid. It would probably taste better and be gentler on his stomach. He takes the cup with a forced smile and follows the healer onto a hard plastic chair.

"What's wrong, dear?" Olivia asks, sipping the horrible coffee. She stoically swallows, only years of practice having her able to stomach the coffee without grimacing. She pats Draco's knee comfortingly when he still looks torn. "Obviously, it's about Mr. Potter?" Draco nods, muttering 'Harry', correcting her. "Right, of course, Harry. So. Is he doing alright? Under the circumstances," she adds. She didn't expect him to be 'alright' for awhile yet.

Draco shrugs, and takes another sip of the coffee to distract himself. "He needs to see a Mind Healer," he finally says, staring into the black abyss of his coffee cup. He feels like a bastard, like he's going behind Harry's back, but it feels too important to not mention.

"Yes, I've already made an appointment for one to see him tomorrow." Draco nods gratefully, but she senses more. "Is there a specific reason he should see a Mind Healer?" she asks, fearing maybe Harry was becoming violent or depressed. It isn't uncommon in such cases.

Draco sighs and rubs at his forehead, the skin wrinkled in thought. "He doesn't know he's been raped," he says, looking pleadingly at Olivia. "He thinks it's just -and I quote- rough sex at Ron's whims. He... he deserves better than that. He deserves to know Ron was wrong and he deserves the right to feel angry and..." he trails off. Harry deserves the right to castrate the bastard for it, but he can't say that aloud. Even if Healer Fuller is giving him a look that clearly says she's agreeing with his current thoughts. And would probably do the honors with a dull cafeteria spoon.

"I see," Olivia says. She conjures a pen and notepad and makes some notes. "Do you think it's been going on long?"

Draco slowly nods. "I have a feeling since their relationship started to become... physical." If the description of just a blow job was any indicator, he's quite sure it's true. He wants to cry, for some odd reason. It feels wrong but he can't help wondering if Harry would ever look forward to sex again. He honestly wouldn't blame him if he didn't. "How much longer will Harry be here?" he asks. He hopes it'll be another few days; Harry probably won't see a Mind Healer otherwise.

"At least a week. Longer depending on how he progresses."

Draco nods and gets to his feet. "Thank you, Healer Fuller. I need to get back now... I didn't leave on the best of terms." The healer nods, salutes him with her vile coffee and he turns to head back to Harry's room, tossing the coffee in the nearest bin. He's pushing open the door when he realizes Harry might be pissed at him. He couldn't blame him for that either. He had left abruptly after verbally abusing the man. He peeks his head in and his chest clenches when he sees Harry curled up on his side, his arms crossed and pressed tightly against his chest, sniffling softly as he stares out of the window. "Harry."

A wet sniffle and the soft, shifting of fabric on fabric. "Hi."

"I'm sorry," Draco says, easing into the room and lowering himself on the nearest chair. He can't see Harry's face, but he's glad to give Harry that illusion of privacy so he doesn't get too close.

Harry sniffles again and wipes his face on the sheet under his cheek. "It's OK, you're probably right to be pissed off. I'm... It has to be exhausting to be here. With me."

"Not really," Draco says, his fingers clenching together. It _is_ exhausting but not for the reasons Harry is surely thinking. He doesn't know if he should mention the Mind Healer or not. He doesn't know if the shock will surprise Harry into talking or making him shut down and not speak at all. He worries the inside of his cheek as he thinks. "Healer Fuller is having a colleague come in tomorrow."

Harry just nods, uncaring. He's seen plenty of Healers, what's one more? "Are you still mad at me?" he asks Draco, wincing at how small his voice sounds. He resists the urge to hide under his blankets, but just barely. He feels the bed dip behind him and he relaxes. He wishes Draco will reach out and stroke his hair, or anywhere really, but he can't manage to make himself ask for it.

"No, Harry," Draco says quietly, reaching out but curling his fingers into his palm just before he can touch Harry. He doesn't think the other wizard wants to be touched just now. _He_ probably wouldn't. He shifts closer, compromising on his body's urge to be closer, touching, near the other wizard. He wants to ask so many things, but they're all too personal. It isn't any of his business how rough or frequent Harry sex life is... was. It'll only make him seethe with anger and/or jealousy and so far he's only upset and hurt Harry when he reacts in that mindset. Without conscious thought, his hand is on the back of Harry's head, fingers gently stroking his soft, messy hair.

Harry leans into the touch, his eyes closing slowly. "I think you were right." He's been thinking since Draco left and he found himself wondering 'why would Draco be angry?' He's still not sure, but maybe it was just seeing a friend in pain. Regardless of what Ron thinks or what he thought as a child, Draco cares deeply for his friends and loved ones. He feels a warm thrill to be included in that group.

"About?"

Harry just breathes for awhile, enjoying the way Draco's long, dextrous fingers slide and stroke his scalp in slow, calming moves. It sends tingles of warmth through his entire body. He isn't sure he can repeat the word Draco said... even if he's quite sure it's true. "Uhm. What you said earlier. Before you left," he mutters.

"Oh," Draco says, his hand stilling. His fingers curl away from Harry but he forces himself to touch again when the wizard whimpers ever-so-quietly at the loss of contact. "What makes you think that?" he finally asks, trying to regulate his breathing.

Harry shrugs, unsure how to explain without going over nearly every time he's had sex with Ron. He can really only count the number of times, on one hand, that he initiated sex. It never was an important part of their relationship, really. And it's an even smaller number how many times he's orgasmed from sex with Ron. Not that it matters overly, but it's an annoying factor in his sex life with his ex-fiancé.

What the hell had he been thinking?

_Harry whimpered, Ron's fingers harsh and painful. "Ron," he tried, only to be shushed with a forceful kiss. He whimpered again when Ron roughly shoved a third finger inside. He couldn't help the way everything tightened, pain lancing hotly through him from his abused lower region. They both read the book together; he knew Ron should be using more lubrication and going slower. He couldn't relax and it was only hurting more, instead of getting better and feeling good. He really wanted his first time to be memorable but not because it was agony. "Ron," he tried again._

_"Shush Harry," Ron chastised. He was slowly losing his erection with each word and low noise from Harry. The whimpers and pained gasps were not arousing. It was hard to get over the hard cock poking his hip or staring him in the face, let alone get into the fact he was about to fuck an ass. Another man's ass. He had finally run out of reasons to put off having sex and now it was becoming more and more apparent he'd need more than a few fingers and spit to get the job done. _

_He hadn't bothered reading any of the books Harry had offered him, refusing to 'share' the learning experience no matter how much Harry gave him those fucking puppy eyes. He did not want to see blokes going at each other. When they'd sat down together with one, he let his mind wander to Quidditch or chess moves. _

_He settled his mind on the image of Hermione, bushy head buried between pale thighs and lapping at Pansy to get himself back in the mood and got himself into position between Harry's thighs. He awkwardly shuffled forward, trying not to see the half-hard cock or Harry's toned muscles contracting with each shaky inhale; it wasn't going to help keep him hard.  
_

_Harry squirmed, about to call it off before it was too late or add more lube himself but he was too late. Ron was shoving himself inside and it was horrible. It throbbed and burned, he nearly jerked upright to check for blood. He bit down on a scream and just clutched at Ron tightly. "Wait," he pleaded but Ron was already thrusting. Each push and pull burned and it felt like he was being ripped open. He bit down on another whimper and tried to relax, distracting himself by reaching up and touching Ron. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to breath through the pain still shooting through him with each move Ron made. He knew his first time would hurt, but he hadn't expected it to be _this_ bad._

_Ron grunted, surprised and overwhelmed at just how hot and tight Harry was. It wasn't all that bad, really. He kept moving steadily, already feeling his orgasm approach, if the familiar warning signs were correct. He couldn't bring himself to reach down and touch Harry. Not only did he not want to, he couldn't quite manage it with his coordination; he'd fall on his face if he tried to move either of his hands from where they were resting on either side of Harry's head. He was too into the pleasure coursing through his body to really care that Harry was still squinting his eyes closed in pain. _

_He had planned to at least _try_ to make it good, but he was coming before he knew it. He jerked and spasmed, feeling like a landed fish as pleasure shot through him and he fell limply atop Harry's stiff, sweat-slick body with a final weak twitch. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about squishing Harry like he did with a witch.  
_

_Harry was shaking. He felt overloaded and jittery, even as he found himself enjoying the intimately heavy press of Ron's sweaty body. He felt tears of frustration pickling his eyes and he closed them again, unwilling to let Ron see such a thing. He had just started to feel pleasure seeping through the pain when Ron came, filling him with a flood of warmth (that wasn't all together gross or uncomfortable as he thought it might be), flopping around and grunting before collapsing with a grunt and going still. _

_He was still hard and wished Ron would either finish him off or get up so he could do it himself. He wiggled but it only got a sleepy sounding snort from Ron. He sighed and tried to will his erection away, knowing Ron wouldn't touch him now that he was sated and half-asleep. He snorted quietly to himself; some first time._

_On the plus side, he could definitely wait awhile before asking for a second time. He was pretty sure it would take awhile to recover. _

Draco purses his lips, unsure how to respond. His first time hadn't started much better, but at least his lover had _tried_ to make it enjoyable. And he had come. "I'm sorry," he blurts. It's true, he is, but he hadn't meant to say it aloud. Not only does he know Harry hates pity but he's unsure if Harry knows how pathetic the Weasel had been as a lover.

"Thanks," Harry says dryly, smiling a little despite himself. He knows it was a terrible first time; he really didn't need Draco to point it out. He wishes it had been better, but he can't change it. Thankfully, they're interrupted by the door opening.

Healer Olivia looks between the two men and nods. "Mist- Harry," she greets, smiling at her patient. He smiles back and wiggles his fingers in a small wave. She takes her wand out and runs the usual batch of spells and charms, making notes as needed. She tsks softly and levels Harry a look that she knows would make even the strongest of wizards whimper and cower behind their mum. "You've not been taking all your potions, Harry."

"Uh." Harry pales. He hadn't. He hates potions. "I don't need them," he tries.

Healer Fuller leans closer, her gaze piercing. "I'm your healer, Harry and I left those for a reason. Are you the sort that enjoys pain?" she asks in a deceptively calm voice.

"No!"

Healer Fuller nods, her arm now held out stiffly with two vials in her palm. "Well, then. You take your potions like a good little boy and I don't have to force you." She waits for Harry to swallow both vials with a grimace and vanishes the empty containers. "Now, I know they aren't that horrible to take, so why are you going against the wishes of a trained Healer, Harry?" she asks. She pours him some water and watches as he sips it, trying to get the taste of the potions out of his mouth.

"I don't know," Harry mutters, unsure of his reasons. Neither potion tasted all that terrible, true. He just doesn't like taking them. "I don't like taking potions."

"Why ever not?"

Harry pauses, unsure again. "Besides the taste?" he asks, with a small smirk. A blank look has him looking away, his hands wringing together in his lap. "I don't know."

Draco watches, unsure why a simple thing like taking potions is so stressful. He doesn't blame the other man for not like the revolting taste most potions invariably had, but you just got over it. After awhile. He glares up at the Healer, unsure what she is doing by making Harry fold in on himself again. He took the bloody potions, what more does she want? He rubs Harry's back gently. "Do you not want to get better?" he asks quietly.

"I do," Harry says slowly. He really does. "I'm just... not used to taking potions for anything other than what's needed. Pain potions aren't needed, so," he ends with a shrug.

Draco's hand pauses and he shares a look with Healer Olivia, 'What the fuck?' on both their faces. "Says who?" Draco asks, concerned and curious.

"Everyone, really," Harry says with a light shrug. "When I was in school, after the first day, Poppy didn't give me a pain potion unless it was really bad," he says. Of course, his version of 'bad' had to be different than most students. She didn't offer because he didn't ask. He had learned to cope with dislocated joins and broken fingers with no pain relievers since he was young so he didn't bother thinking he needed potions for pain for something simple. "I think she figured it wasn't bad if I didn't ask for one. It just... seemed to be how healers worked," he says, thinking of the few private healers he saw over the years. Most didn't bother prescribing anything, especially if Ron was with him.

Olivia feels her blood pressure spike and has to click her pen rapidly a few times to ease the urge to snap something. "Harry," she says, waiting until he looks at her. She can't believe the young man doesn't think he should be comfortable, that he should just accept the pain! It's ridiculous. "Pain potions aren't expensive or hard to acquire, there's no _reason_ to be stingy with them. If you are at all uncomfortable, you need one." Harry nods slowly, clearly not quite believing her. "They aren't addictive, either."

"Oh," Harry says, his eyes widening. "I was told- Well..." He can't remember where he heard that they were and he'd taken it as absolute truth. It had to have been from Ron or Hermione for it to have been believed so completely. Or maybe he just assumed since most Muggle pain medications tended to be addicting. He feels stupid again and he wants to hide from the healer and Draco. "Does it hurt..." he trails off, unable to finish but his hand unconsciously rests on his stomach.

Olivia nods slowly. "It can, but a few ingredient alterations and there are plenty of perfectly harmless potions for a pregnant patient to take with no worries."

Harry just slumps back and nods. He should have expected that. He doesn't make a fuss when Draco leaves with the healer, even if he didn't want him to leave. Draco has a life to get to (as well as real food, sleep and a shower) and he can't begrudge the blonde for wanting to feel a little more human again.

It's boring in the room alone. He sleeps, takes his potions and lets the nurses and healers do their charms and spells on him without complaint. He's not exactly looking forward to seeing a new healer tomorrow because he's pretty sure it's going to be a Mind Healer.

He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to get some sleep. He's cranky when he's tired and he knows it won't go smoothly, or be a wise thing, meeting a Mind Healer when he's cranky and unwilling to talk about everything.


	3. Chapter 3

_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature content/language._

_So... this is where it starts to be a bit less angsty and horrible. Heh. I nearly went into graphic detail mid-way through this, having been inspired from a recent viewing of _Hostel_, but decided against it. I didn't want to overstep the rating and I sorta lost my blood-lust before I really got into it. -sigh- Hopefully, it's still satisfying for anyone that wants Ron to bleed. Heh.  
_

_Warnings: Same... plus some allusions to torture/violence. Oh, and I'm not a psychologist; I'm not even all that confident how accurate the 'healing' and Mind Healer bits are. Hopefully, I don't completely fuck it up.  
_

_Enjoy.)_

* * *

Harry sags back against his bed, wishing he had more pillows as he wiggles against the stiff, flat bed. Even with cushioning charms and soft sheets, it's not very comfortable. He's exhausted and all he did was speak to a Mind Healer for almost an hour.

A long, excruciating, emotionally draining 50 minutes.

He sighs until his breath is used up and rolls onto his side. He hates that Draco was right. And not just because the blonde was _right_ but because it means he is now considered a rape victim. He was before but he's _aware_ of it now and now he feels like one. It's embarrassing and so fucking demeaning, he wishes he never said anything about it. He's glad, though, even if it's horrible. He's tired of not dealing with things. He's tired of 'getting over' something on the surface but having it bubble darkly underneath.

Anyway, he did say something. His Mind Healer, Tabitha Summers, called him brave. And a fighter. And -his personal favorite- resilient. He giggles softly, truly amused by the irony of being called such things simply for going on about his life. Did people shut down after such an occurrence? He could understand why, if they did. He's honestly more upset at the loss of his daughter than anything else Ron has done to him. Healer Summers said she understood that and he unwillingly found himself believing her. He knows he'll be seeing her again and he's not all that bothered by the idea.

His Mind Healer is American; a nice blonde witch with bright blue eyes and a dimpled smile. She hasn't the slightest idea who Harry is, except for what he tells her. It's... freeing to talk to her and he finds himself believing the trite but heartfelt little words she says to him, a warm smile on her face. She doesn't know he's _the_ Harry Potter; she just sees a man moving on from something traumatic. It's amusing to hear her giggle over his accent (apparently still new enough to the area to have not gotten used to hearing it) or ask what certain things meant (his favorite was describing 'wanker' to her). It's probably unprofessional but he thinks it makes her easier to talk to.

He snorts again, amused at his own dramatic inner monologue. He's been around Draco too much if even his thoughts should be accompanied to dramatic music. He tries to find a comfortable spot on the bed, hating that he's stuck in St. Mungo's for another week. He knows it's not required; it's Healer Fuller's (and probably Draco's) sneaky way to ensure he's 'taken care of'. He appreciates it, really he does, but it's annoying to be treated like a child. His eyes fly open when there's a soft knock at the door. "Yes?"

"Hi," Draco says, sticking his head into the narrow crack of the door. "Feel up to company?" he asks. He nearly backs away, regardless of what Harry's answer will be, when he notices how tired Harry looks. He looks exhausted; his hair a fright (more than usual, anyway) and dark circles are just visible under his eyes. He steps into the room, a different instinct kicking in, and he eases over to Harry's bed.

Harry shrugs. "Sorta," he says. He's tired, he'll probably fall asleep the moment he's horizontal again but he's glad to see Draco. He doesn't want to have him leave. He blinks when Draco's hand brushes against his forehead and he looks up. An odd expression is on Draco's face and he can't quite figure it out. He's never seen such a look from his friend before and it's... confusing as much as it is comforting. "OK?"

"Yeah," Draco says, tucking his hand behind his back as he nods rapidly. He doesn't know why he can't keep his hands to himself but he's glad Harry doesn't seem bothered by it. He steps back and plops gracefully into the chair closest to Harry's bed. "So..." he trails off, worrying the inside of his cheek. "How was it?" he asks. He doesn't need to explain what 'it' is.

Harry sighs, shrugs, and shifts around on his bed until he's a bit more comfortable. "It went fine, I guess. I'm... She's very nice. We mostly spoke about the baby," he says quietly, his eyes cast down to his stomach. He's still, in the Mind Healer's terms, grieving. He agrees but he doesn't know if anyone would think him silly or stupid for grieving the loss of something (no, some_one_) he hadn't even met yet. The Mind Healer seems to think so, but he's reluctant to bring it up. He blinks owlishly, once again surprised, when Draco's hand wraps around his. He automatically squeezes when he feels Draco's fingers tighten.

"It's OK to be sad, Harry," Draco says quietly, hoping he's reading the reluctant look on Harry's face properly. "And pissed," he adds when he thinks of the Weasel. He wasn't at all surprised to learn Ron had managed to get himself into St. Mungo's after Harry attacked him. None of the healers can effectively help him, unable to figure out what happened to him, and he is only being made comfortable with pain relieving potions. He still doesn't know how to tell Harry. He hopes the other man won't feel remorse for what he's done but he knows Harry too well to expect him not to.

Harry shrugs but gives Draco a small smile, quite glad to know Draco understands (even if he's only saying it to sooth his nerves). "Did you know they have Americans here?" he asks the blonde. "They do," he says when Draco slowly shakes his head. "My Mind Healer, Tabitha, she's American. Funny little thing," he says with a soft chuckle.

"She was helpful?"

Harry nods and shrugs at the same time, the move making him twitch oddly. "Yeah," he says. "She's quite easy to talk to. She listens," he says, stressing the word with something akin to awe in his voice.

"People listen to you, Harry," Draco says, feeling slighted but trying not to show it.

Harry blinks, realizing how his last words sounded. "Oh! No, no. I mean..." he huffs and turns to look at Draco. "I didn't mean you don't listen," he says. "Just-" he waves his free hand around helplessly, "-people in the Wizarding world in general."

"And Granger," Draco adds, feeling waspish but needing to add the witch in the latter group. Hermione, while well meaning, rarely _listened_ to Harry when he spoke. Usually trying to _give_ Harry his opinion before the man could even form it. Harry took it in stride, of course, which lets him know it's an old habit and something he just accepts as a part of their friendship.

Harry nods, laughing softly. "And Hermione," he says, softly. He loves Hermione but she can be bossy and still tends to mother him. It annoys him a little but he knows it her way of showing she cares. He doesn't usually mind it either; he's had a decided lack of people caring in his life. He rubs a gritty eye and yawns, his legs coming up to a more comfortable position. "'M sorry," he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed again.

"It's quite alright, Harry," Draco says and smoothes Harry's hair down before he can stop himself. He tucks his hand into his lap and watches as Harry's breathing evens out in sleep. He should probably feel offended but he doesn't. It's a relief, really, to see Harry falling asleep without the aide of potions. It's a pisser it's from exhaustion, but it's a step in the right direction, he reckons.

He stays for only another few moments, not really wanting to be the guy that watches people as they sleep, and ensures that Harry's rest is peaceful. He smiles softly, glad to see there is no thrashing or quiet whimpers. He can't stop himself from smoothing a few messy strands of hair from Harry's brow and softly kissing his temple before he eases out of Harry's room.

Draco heads into one of the public rest rooms, squashing the urge to look around as he enters. He doesn't want to be noticed and he's quite sure doing a very obvious look around will do just that. Once inside, he stares at his reflection in the large mirror and takes a deep breath.

Can he really do this?

Of course he can. He isn't a heartless bastard, regardless of what some people might think, but he can easily set aside any sense of 'right and wrong' at the moment for this situation. He probably shouldn't be proud of the fact that he feels little to no guilt or second thoughts. He doesn't, only a slick sense of anticipation.

_Should_ he really do this?

Probably not. Harry wouldn't appreciate it (but who says Harry needs to know?). Regardless, his wand comes up and he casts the strongest glamour he can over his most recognizable features. His hair darkens into something he would call 'mousy' as it shortens, the cut now boring and unremarkable. His eyes swirl from their silvery grey to a muted, muddy brown. His features smooth out and become something... plain and ordinary. His nose is a bit big, but it's fine for his purposes. He turns this way and that, studying his new reflection; he looks positively unremarkable. Boring.

Good. He doesn't want to be noticed. He wants the eye to land briefly and then slide away in search of something more interesting.

Draco walks down the hall, changing his usual confident stride into something a bit more shuffling, hunched and awkward. As he hoped, no one looks at him. He moves his thin lips, as if reciting a room number, and keeps his eyes up to watch the room numbers. A burst of an exhilarating sense of _here we go_ bursts through him and he eases through the door of room 323. His hands clench momentarily; Ron's room is only a few doors down from Harry's. It's quite disgusting, really. He makes a mental note to let Healer Fuller know. He doesn't know what she can do, but she should know either way.

If the red-head was able to get out of his bed on his own, he would've already seen to Harry being moved and placed under protective wards. As it is, the Weasel almost appears to be in a magically induced coma. Pity, if it's true.

He walks across the small room and comes to a stop by the bed, staring down at the unconscious figure of Ronald Weasley. Thankfully, a muted rage and anticipation of what he's been planning are the only things he feels as he stares down at the red-head. He takes a savage glee to note the stark way his freckles stand out; his underlying skin pale and almost transparent. Weasel looks positively frail.

Draco's eyes dart to the door and wishes he could lock it, but he can't. St Mungo's has some rather sophisticated wards that alert the staff (and the Auror department) should an unknown magical signature and/or wand use a locking and silencing charm of any kind.

Apparently, Draco is not the first person to wish to harm a 'helpless' patient.

He's quite glad Healer Fuller told him about that little feature... He wonders why but shrugs it off as unimportant. For now. He snaps on a pair of Muggle rubber gloves, marveling at the ingenuous things. It's a delicious sort of irony that Ron was the one to tell him (well, their group of friends; he was there and listening) of such things as finger prints (a 'new' technology that the Auror department is embracing) and how easy it was to avoid leaving them about. He stretches his hand, his brow scrunching at the annoying _scree_ sound the odd material makes as it moves. Oh well; it won't leave anything incriminating behind (finger prints... magical traces...) so he'll deal with the sound.

He reaches for the medical report at the end of the bed. The medi-witches make rounds to check his vitals every three hours. He smiles, a rather toothy and dark smile, when he notices a medi-witch had been in only 10 minutes ago. He puts the report back and eases over to the side of the bed again, deftly rolling the little gadget that pinches the IV like line supplying a pain potion. It really won't do to go through all this effort if the Weasel didn't _feel_ it, now would it?

Draco pauses for a moment. Harry would truly be upset if he knew he was here, doing this. It's almost enough to have him turn around and leaving, but no. He's still enough of a bastard that he's not going to let this go. Ron _deserves_ this. And not just for Harry; (he feels rather overly-dramatic to think it) but for Harry's unborn child. He can't manage to think it was for the best, no matter how much logical (yet cruel, he can admit) sense it makes. Otherwise, Harry would have stayed with this red-headed piece of dragon dung. Harry would have married him, too.

But Harry had something precious taken away and that can't be seen as a positive thing; in any way.

He rolls his shoulders and pulls out a roll of heavy fabric from an enlarged pocket of his robes. He feels a little giddy as he unrolls it, an array of Muggle knives and other dangerous (and painful) looking instruments twinkling subtly in the dim lighting of the room. He's not sure he wants to know why he found such a thing in his father's study but he's quite glad for it currently. He doesn't know what all of the items do (his eyes briefly lighting on a large instrument that looks like a pair of scissors but with rough, jagged edges and little teeth imbedded in the handle that keep the item from being opened inadvertently), but he has enough knowledge of Muggle things and imagination to put them to good use.

As long as they inflict pain, he doesn't think he can really use any of them 'wrong'.

He spares another moment to lament the quickness of how easily he became alright with, what amounted to, torture. He idly hopes if it was anyone else laying in front of him, he'd have a much harder time with the drive_need_desire to cause pain. Ronald Weasley in is the rare position of being the only person he wants to make _hurt._ He wants to make him bleed and scream for his mum until his throat tears. Ronald Weasley is also, in his opinion, one of the only people who has _earned_ such treatment.

Draco slides a long, thin bladed knife from it's slot and stares at it. It glints with a deadly, muted sparkle in the dim room and he can't help but smile darkly.

It's sharp; very sharp. He knows it's sharp because he's nicked himself with it and it nearly went to the bone with very little pressure or effort. After that unfortunate incident, he found a handy little charm that kept wounds from being healed magically. Applied to the instruments, it works just as well as if he cast it himself. Handy, that. He absently rubs at a still healing slice on his arm. He had to test it and sure enough, no healing charms or any amount of Dittany has sped the healing up past what his body can naturally do. He's never had a scab before, thanking healing magics for the nth time, and it itches like nothing else he's ever experienced.

He softly chuckles and pulls the hospital gown aside. He's curious how many slices and cuts he can make before the Weasel wakes up.

.:xOx:.

Harry wakes up slowly, blinking the fog of sleep away. He blinks some more when he notices he's not alone in his room. "Uhm. Hi," he says.

"Harry!"

Harry's arms are full of Weasleys moments later, Mrs. Weasley being the first one into the massive group hug and therefore nearly chocking Harry with her amble bosom. He coughs weakly and chuckles when he's released with a chorus of apologies and hair smoothing. "It's alright," he says quietly. He's still flushed with warmth and embarrassment. He needed that hug, even if he's suddenly sure it'll be the last he ever gets.

"Is there a reason you didn't let us know you were here? Again?" Molly asks with an affectionate sternness, trying to smooth Harry's wild hair down. It's a wasted effort but it's comforting, nonetheless. She tsks softly, fondly exasperated with Harry. Both with his perpetually unruly hair and his habit of trying to take on too much on his own.

Harry shrugs and tries not to hide in his blankets. Mr. Weasley is looking at him with affection. So are the twins. He sees Bill and Fleur, hovering in the back of the large group, and they're giving him the same look. Like he's just a silly little boy that should own up to his boo boos and ask for a band-aid. He doesn't know whether to be offended or touched. He settles for a little of both. "Uhm... Sorry?" he offers with a small, sheepish smile.

"Sorry," Molly repeats with a sigh and cups Harry face. "We were worried. The healers refuse to tell us why you're here," she says, in the stern yet warmly affectionate tone only mothers seem to have perfected. Honestly, she can accept his privacy but she's concerned. "And where's Ronald?" she asks archly, annoyed her youngest isn't here with his fiancé.

Harry swallows and tries to avoid the warm eyes of Molly Weasley. He can't, of course; she's got a tight, loving hold on him and he can't wriggle away without swatting at her rudely. He doesn't know where Ron is, a vision of him gasping on the floor flashing through his mind, but he's quite happy he isn't here. "They didn't say _any_thing?" he finally murmurs. He knows it's cowardly, but he hopes someone else could be the one to tell the Weasleys what happened. As if answering a prayer, Hermione bustles in the room, followed by Pansy. The dark haired witch offers him a warm smile and a short finger-wiggle wave before disappearing into a corner of the room, the farthest away from any red-heads.

"Harry!" Hermione says and squeezes in a gentle hug around Mrs. Weasley. She stands back and eyes the mob of red-heads, her eyes narrowing. "Did Harry tell you why he's here?" she asks, her voice edged with anger. And a frosty edge to her tone Harry's never before heard her use to address the large family. There are confused looks and head shakes all around. "Harry?" she asks, looking towards her friend. Did he not want to say? She couldn't blame him, really.

The twins bounce over towards the bed and poke Harry in the shoulder, twin frowns growing on their faces when Harry ever-so-slightly shrinks away and leans into Hermione. It's subtle and they're quite sure Harry isn't even aware he's doing it. "What's up, little brother?" they ask in unison, twin expressions of confusion and concern on their normally animated faces.

"I'm leaving in a week," Harry says instead. Wide-eyes greet his statement, surprise and concern over why he needs to stay so long, and he wants to cry. Just curl up and fucking cry. He finds himself wishing Draco was here and he sighs heavily. "Ron did this, OK?" he blurts out, fisting his sheets tightly and holding them up to his chest. He feels foolish; the Weasleys wouldn't hurt him but he can't help the defensive posture.

Molly is the first to recover and she eases a hip onto Harry's bed. "What did he do?" she asks quietly. She can't see any reason for Harry to be in a hospital bed but she knows that means nothing. She wants to grab Harry and hold him, hug him and smother him with affection but she's quite sure that wouldn't go over well. Her eyes sting with tears when Harry shifts in the bed and looks away, his hands tightening around the sheet.

She hadn't wanted to think anything was going on with her youngest son, and she curses herself for her blindness and foolish hopes. If she hadn't overlooked subtle signs, they might not be here right now. A handkerchief is pressed into her hand and she realizes she's crying. "Sorry," she whispers, dabbing at her eyes.

"Sorry," Harry echoes, feeling terrible he's made Mrs. Weasley cry. "And..." he trails off, unable to voice what happened. He looks up when Hermione comes close again and grabs his hand. A question is in her warm brown eyes and he nods with a sigh. He doesn't care if he's weak; he's glad Hermione is willing to be the one to tell everyone what happened. He'll tell Healer Summers about it and she can either assuage his guilt or agree with him; either way, he'll deal with it _later_.

Hermione squares her shoulders, fully preparing for an argument or at least heated words. "Ron abused Harry," she says, her voice soft but clear. Gasps go through the room and she nods, her eyes flicking to each shocked face. "Quite frequently, apparently." She turns and squeezes Harry's hand, both in support and silent apology for being so fucking stupid and blind before. He squeezes back and closes his eyes. "Recently, he beat Harry badly enough to cause him to miscarry."

The room goes deathly silent and Harry can only sit there and breath. He focuses on bringing air in through his nose and out of his mouth, his eyes pinned firmly on his free hand resting limply in his lap. He can't bear to see their reactions and he's struggling with his own inner pain to really care at the moment.

"Oh my," Molly says weakly. She feels like fainting but she doesn't. She folds Harry into a tight hug, again choking the poor wizard with her chest. She releases him when he squawks breathlessly. "I'm so sorry, dear," she whispers. She ignores the renewed tears coursing down her cheeks and hugs Harry again, gentler this time and rubbing his back in soft circled. "Why... why didn't you tell us?" she asks softly, leaning back and letting her arms drop.

Harry looks away and shrugs. How did you tell someone something like that? 'Oh, by the way, your son is an abusive arsehole.' And really, as much as he feels like an idiot about it, until Ron went overboard he hadn't thought much about it. "I don't know," he finally says. "I didn't think it was important."

"Not important?" Molly asks softly. Fresh tears spring up and she's torn between anger at her youngest and a strange pitying affection for the man in front of her. How can he not think himself important? "Harry, you are important. You..." She pauses. "How long did you know about the baby?"

Harry shifts uncomfortably. He'd known for almost a month, terrified of saying something but doing everything he could to make sure his baby was healthy once he found out. He grimaces a little; prenatal potions are the worst he's ever had to swallow. He still doesn't know how Ron failed to notice them. "A month or so," he admits softly. He feels rather bad now, he's essentially given her the news of a grandchild and ripped it away all in the same moment.

"Oh, Harry," Molly says sadly. The anger at her youngest is back. How dare he! Her hands clench and she has to calm herself. "I'm assuming Ron didn't know?" Harry shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she says softly, knowing the words were useless but unable to say anything else, and grabs his hand. She's experienced a miscarriage herself and she can only imagine how the young man must feel. She gently pets his hand. "Am I correct in assuming you thought we'd side with Ron?" she finally asks.

Harry nods slowly, trying not to look any of the Weasleys in the eye. "Well... yeah. Of course."

"Harry," Arthur says, stepping forward and speaking for the first time since he's entered the room. He's furious with his youngest son and he's grief stricken about the entire situation. How did none of them notice? He can't even think about the whole grandchild issue at the moment; a sick sort of sadness rolling through him whenever he tries. If what Hermione has said was true, Ron would be sent to Azkaban. For the abuse and murder. He can't find it in himself to disagree, either.

He's ashamed and horrified he's raised such a child that would do something so heinous to someone he's meant to love. He shudders and focuses back on Harry. His heart breaks a little to see him sitting there looking so dejected. "You're just as much our son as Ronald."

Harry just blinks, staring wide-eyed as several red heads (and one blonde) bob and nod with firm agreement. He wants to cry, feeling stupid all over again that he hadn't realized such a thing. "But..." he trails off, biting his lip. But how much did that love and loyalty extend for him? He can't imagine it would have them willingly turning their backs on Ron for this sort of thing.

"No buts, Harry," Fred says sternly. He looks at Harry sadly. He feels like shit to realize Harry honestly thought they'd look the other way if they knew Ron was a massive, abusive twat. He's still trying to wrap his head around the horrible things Hermione said he's done; he feels even worse to realize he can believe it as truth quite easily. He can't think of anything to say and leans into the arm around his shoulders when George comforts him. He doesn't even have to look at his twin to know he's thinking the same thing.

"You're our little brother," George says quietly but firmly.

Harry sniffles, unable to stop himself from tearing up. He doesn't look up from his lap. He doesn't know what to think at the moment. He knows they aren't lying but he can't process how stupid he was. Had he really thought they'd call him a liar or chuck him out if he'd left Ron ages ago? He peeks up at the morose group in his room. He still doesn't know... He can't really imagine what else would keep them around.

"Harry, how many times have I said that family is more than blood?" Arther says softly, seeing the heartbreaking play of doubt and fear flitting across Harry's drawn face. "Love and respect, they make a family just as strong."

Harry just nods. He _has_ heard Mr. Weasley say that. He can't bear to say what he's thinking though; all of them were warmer and more loving when he started up with Ron. With the exception of the twins, who had indeed treated him like a brother since his 5th year, the entire family hadn't really accepted him as family until he and Ron came out as a couple. It had been like a dream come true when he announced their engagement. Even with all of these thoughts bouncing around his head, he nods again and mutters "I know".

He blinks, too stunned to jerk away, when Pansy settles herself on the bed next to him and gently takes his hand. He's not surprised that she's offering comfort, just that she'd do it in front of the Weasleys. When she started seeing Hermione, he had gotten closer to the former Slytherin than he ever imagined he would. He's not quite at the place where he'd call her a sister, like he thinks of Hermione, but there is mutual affection and respect for the witch and she's among his best friends. She's bright, funny and quite caring (in private settings). He accepts her comfort, again wishing for Draco. He can't help it; they're practically a package deal.

Harry sees Pansy share a look with Hermione and he's confused. Until Hermione gently starts clearing the room. He's stunned but grateful. "Thank you," he murmurs once it's just the three of them. "I... I feel terrible about it, but I'm glad they're gone."

"I know," Pansy says. And she does. She's even more detached from the Weasleys but she also gets the 'we're like family' bullshit from the Weasley parents. She kind of gets it but it's still weird for her. Hermione hasn't ever been that close to them, not having been closer to Ron than friendship, but she doesn't say anything about the relationship her girlfriend has kept with the red-heads. She leans back on the bed, getting comfortable and unashamedly tucking herself into Harry's side. She hides a smile when he leans into her. "I know you're probably sick of hearing this, but how are you?" she asks quietly.

Harry shrugs. "Fine, really. I feel fine physically. I'm being bullied into staying here because I'm fucked in the head and emotionally damaged. Apparently," he adds, glaring at Hermione. There isn't any heat to it and Hermione's lips twitch briefly.

"I refuse to feel bad about it," Hermione says, sniffing and lifting her chin in purely Pansy move. She had been irritated when Draco recommended the extended stay (and the Mind Healer) but she knew it was a good idea and went along with it. Knowing Harry has seen a Mind Healer and his improved state is a firm reminder that the blonde was right. It should be irritating but it's mostly a relief. If there's one thing she can trust these days, it's Draco's regard for Harry. "And besides, you get breakfast in bed everyday."

Harry snorts, elbowing Pansy when she laughs loudly. "Shuddup," he mutters. "It's breakfast, lunch _and_ dinner in bed. I'm stuck on bed rest," he grumbles and crosses his arms with an irritated huff. He isn't an invalid nor in pain. He doesn't know why he's stuck in bed. And Healer Fuller stuck a monitoring charm on his bed; if he's up longer than it takes to visit the loo, one of the biggest nurses in the entire wizarding world will come in and investigate. He only had to be manhandled back into bed once to learn his lesson.

"True, but it's helping," Hermione says, settling onto Harry's other side, her voice pitched into a soft question.

Harry shrugs. "I guesso," he mutters. He doesn't want to admit that Draco's presence has helped more than Mind Healer Summers. Of course, he's only seen the Mind Healer once... He sighs and lets his head rest on Hermione's shoulder. "Am I stupid?" he asks softly. It's a testament to how serious the situation is when Pansy doesn't snicker or make a joke at his expense.

"No" Both witches say at the same time. "Harry, you're anything but stupid. A bit naïve, ridiculously noble and a little too desperate for affection, yes. But not stupid," Pansy says with as much gentleness as she can. She knows Harry appreciates the truth but she doesn't want to shove it harshly into his face, even if she'd rather not say it at all. She feels a bit like she's kicking the man when he's down.

Harry sighs and lets his eyes drift closed. He can't argue with a single point Pansy has brought up, especially the last one. If he hadn't been so desperate for affection, as she put it, he would've left Ron ages ago. Or at least fought back. He leans into Hermione some more, not at all bothered to feel Pansy do the same on his other side. He idly wonders if it's that drive for affection that keeps him from flinching from their touch. Or maybe because they're women. He doesn't know but he makes a mental note to ask Mind Healer Summers. It'd be nice to know.

"I wonder how Ron is," he muses aloud, drowsy and comfortable in the witch sandwich. He kind of hopes he's still writhing around in pain...

"Why?" Hermione asks carefully, reaching up and playing with Harry's hair. It's fun to do as well as something she knows is soothing for the man. She hopes it's enough to keep him relatively calm with the mention of the red-head; even if he is the one that brought him up.

Harry shrugs lazily. "I think I might have hurt him when I left," he says and yawns. He doesn't feel bad about it, not anymore, but he is curious nonetheless. Purely academic reasons; he hasn't had a wandless magic burst like that before and he's curious how powerful it had been.

"He's here."

Harry's eyes snap open and he sits up, jarring both witches with the sudden move. "What?!"

"He's here, at St. Mungo's," Hermione says, feeling horrible for not mentioning it sooner. She only just found out a few hours ago, though. "I don't know why."

Harry blinks rapidly, his eyes prickling and panic tightening his chest. He feels the blood rush from his face and he fights the urge to tremble. "Oh Merlin," he whispers, bunching the blankets in his hands. It takes a long moment for Pansy's soft voice and soothing touch to register and he chokes on a sob. "Why? Why didn't anyone say anything?" he asks quietly.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says, wiping absently at her face. "I didn't mean to keep it from you, I only just found out. I didn't know how to bring it up..."

Pansy looks between Hermione and Harry and sighs sadly. Both are fighting tears and she feels terrible. "I knew he was here yesterday. I had hoped the knob would die in the night and save me the trouble of telling you, Harry." She shrugs when Hermione glares at her. It's true; she hoped the bastard choked on his own blood and saved her the effort of removing his balls with a melon-baller and choking him with them.

"Die?"

Pansy nods with a careless shrug, even though Harry can't see it since he's staring at his lap again. She honestly didn't care if the fucker lived or died at this point. "The healers had to restart his heart a few times. They don't know what's wrong and last I heard, he still goes into cardiac arrest," she says slowly, the words sounding odd in her mouth. They sound Muggle, actually. "Did you do something?" she asks hopefully.

"Yes," Harry whispers, unable to keep himself from chuckling softly at her hopeful tone. He idly wonders if Pansy will be making a visit to Ron's room and returning with a set of freshly removed balls in her handbag... "I lashed out at him. I don't even know what I did. I just wanted him away from me." He looks up finally, meeting both of their eyes with quick flicks. "Is he... Do they know what happened?"

Hermione slowly shakes her head. "No. You've not given a statement for the Aurors to work with," she says softly, trying not to sound disproving or accusatory. Harry needs neither tone right now. "I think if you did, he'd be under guards or in Azkaban before he could blink."

"Really?" Harry asks softly. He didn't think the Wizarding world was all that concerned with how a personal relationship was sorted behind closed doors. He didn't hear about domestic violence, but it wasn't exactly something people proudly spoke about at afternoon tea. And with potions and glamours, it was easily enough to hide any evidence. "Why?"

Hermione gapes stupidly for a moment and stares horrified as Pansy's hand comes out and smacks Harry upside the head. Before she can scold the witch, Pansy is talking in low, hissed tones to an equally stunned Harry.

"Are you that fucking noble? You honestly think it's _alright_ that he fucking beat you?" Pansy demands. "Are you unaware that what he did was fucking murder?!" Harry gapes and slowly drops his eyes, feeling stupid and ashamed again. Pansy takes a deep breath and slowly brings an arm around Harry's shoulders. "What he did was wrong, Harry. Very fucking wrong and in so many ways. You need to realize that."

Harry slowly nods. He can see what Pansy means now. "I see."

"Do you?" Pansy asks, her tone soft. "I mean, honestly? You just sat there and asked why he'd go to Azkaban..." she trails off. She finds herself equally glad Draco isn't here and wishing he was at the same time. He'd be a bit better at convincing Harry of his self-worth (hopefully) but he'd be enraged at the need for it. "I'm going to be honest with you, Harry; if you don't file a report, I will."

Harry's eyes slowly slide closed and he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to tell anyone else what's been happening. "Why?" he asks quietly.

"Because he deserves it," Pansy says softly but firmly. "What if this happened to someone else?"

Harry sighs and his shoulders slump. He sees her point but it's annoying to have it pointed out like that.

.:xOx:.

The medi-witch stifles the urge to scream and her hand settles to rest over her throat. She feels like a goose for letting the sight bother her, but she hadn't expected it! "Merlin," she breathes, her eyes flicking around rapidly and taking in all the blood. She absently raises her wand to put up a red alert that will call for a healer and walks over towards the bed, drawn in by morbid curiosity. Mr. Weasley has been carved up like some sort of grizzly puzzle. She can't quite see through all the blood, but the random, nonsensical slices and gashes look quite painful. She gasps when she realizes he's awake and groaning softly.

She tries to work up some sympathy for the man, but she can't and she feels a bit bad about it. She's meant to have compassion and care for each patient. Even the fucking bastards that beat their man and kill their own baby. She idly wonders how many others on staff find it hard to care about an abusive bastard that willingly killed his own child.

Well, if the rumors around the ward are to be believed.

And she does. She went to school with Mr. Weasley and she can quite easily see him raising a hand (or fist) to someone. The fact that's it's Harry Potter is just... mind-blowing. She feels bad for him, really. She really really hopes she sees Aurors coming in for the nearly comatose red-head in front of her. Cut up like a piece of meat or not, Weasley deserves to be locked up and tormented by Dementors. She feels a little bad when she hopes he'd go to a Muggle prison instead; the stories she's heard make it sound worse than anything a Dementor would do.

She looks up and moves back when two healers bustle in, gasps and orders being breathed out once they catch sight of the patient and all of the blood. It's quite fascinating to see each healing spell and charm bounce off the man, ineffective and doing nothing to stop the sluggish bleeding or heal the many cuts and wounds. He groans painfully each time and they eventually stop trying.

A panicked call for anyone with Muggle first aid experience is whispered and she looks around, wondering if anyone knows. No one is volunteering and she watches as one of the healers eventually sends out an alert to any healer in the building. The patronus-like alert multiplies and drifts from the room, lazily searching the halls for any healers to pass on the message and room number.

.:xOx:.

Healer Tabitha Summers practically bounces into Harry's room the next day and he has to hold back a groan of annoyance. He doesn't normally enjoy perky people and he's feeling tetchy enough today without the annoyance of a bubbly blonde Mind Healer bouncing around.

"Hello! Cheerios!" Tabitha says brightly, smiling at the grumpy dark haired man slumped on the bed. "How are you today?"

Harry grumbles, annoyed and irritated. "Fine."

"Oh," Tabitha says softly and tones down her bright mood as best she can. It takes almost the entire 50 minutes to sort out Harry's mood but by the time she's ready to call their time over, he smiles softly. "And what brought that on?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows playfully.

Harry ducks his head and wills away a blush. He knows he didn't succeed when he feels his cheeks continue to heat up. "Nothing," he says, hoping the witch will drop it. He also hopes their time is over.

"Tut tut," Tabitha admonishes, smiling. "We've still got five minutes and I'd like to know what brought a smile to your face. Finally." She really does want to know. She's unprofessionally horrified on Harry's behalf and she wishes she was able to speak to the Aurors on his behalf. "Please," she pleads, not at all ashamed to beg. She'll even clasp her hands together and bat her eyes.

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes. He does like Tabitha and he's not sure how big a deal he wants to make of it, so he gives in. "I was thinking of a friend."

"Ah," Tabitha says slowly, smiling. "I'm happy to hear they've stood by you."

Harry nods. He's quite relieved of it himself. He's grateful for Draco mostly; he's sure he would've gone mental by now if it wasn't for the blonde. Not only does he keep good company, he's finally been able to bring Harry some books and Muggle board games so he doesn't die of boredom. "Do you agree with them?" he asks, looking up at her shyly.

"Yes," Tabitha says with no hesitation. "I know you don't like hearing the 'v' word, but you _are_ a victim of more than one serious crime. Protecting him with silence doesn't help anyone. Especially you. You need to confront what happened. And it'll give you closure to see justice done."

Harry worries his bottom lip, his hands wringing each other nervously. He can honestly see her point but he's still hesitant. "You really don't think I'm pathetic; that I deserved it? I mean, I'm the fucking Savior."

"I really don't think you're pathetic and I certainly know you didn't deserve it," Tabitha says firmly. "I'm not familiar with the Savior business, but even then; no. I know it's difficult for male victims to come forward. You aren't weak and you aren't pathetic." She knows their time is up now, but she can't leave at the moment. She doesn't have another patient to see anyway. She chances a gentle touch on Harry's wrist, pleased he doesn't flinch away from her. "I seriously would like you to consider reporting this. Everything," she stresses.

Harry swallows thickly and slowly nods. He'll consider it. "I- I'm really only interested in him paying for what he did to my baby," he admits softly. He knows Ron should be held responsible for what he's done to him but he's more enraged about the loss of his baby. The fact that Ron did what he did deliberately. He idly wonders if the surge of anger is a good thing. So he asks. "I'm angry," he says softly, already used to broadcasting his emotions to Tabitha.

"Good, you should be," Tabitha says seriously. "What you angry at?"

Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Lots of things," he says honestly. He glances at the clock on the wall and gives a sheepish smile.

"I've got plenty of time, Harry. What are you angry at?"

Harry takes another deep breath and nods slowly. "Specifically?" Healer Summers nods. "At myself for allowing it to happen. At Ron for doing it. At my friends for not noticing..." he trails off, feeling a little surprised and embarrassed at the last one. "I'm mostly angry that he took my baby."

"Good," Tabitha says brightly. At Harry's confused look, she giggles softly. "I know it seems odd, but I'm pleased to see you allowing yourself to feel anger. It's a good sign, really. I'm very pleased you aren't just accepting these things. It's also a natural progression of the grieving process."

Harry nods, still feeling confused. "Right."

"There isn't a right way or a wrong way to go about it, Harry," Tabitha adds, seeing his confusion. "Honestly, we all do it at our own pace and in our own way but it's natural to feel these things." Harry slowly nods and she smiles. "Well, anything else?" she asks, seeing that Harry looks ready to pass out any moment. He shakes his head, his eyes blinking slowly. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow?" Harry nods, his shoulders set in a resigned slump. She giggles softly and stands. "One of these days, you'll look forward to seeing me."

Harry chuckles and gives her a sheepish smile. "I hope not," he says softly but she hears him and laughs quietly, not sounding at all offended. He feels bad she thinks he doesn't like her. He does. He just doesn't like _why_ she comes in to talk to him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeap!" Tabitha says brightly, her accent somehow making the word sound lazy instead of sharp, and leaves. She searches for Healer Fuller and waves her over. As soon as they find a private enough spot, she pulls the older woman closer, talking in a hushed tone. "I think he'll be speaking with the Aurors." She feels a bit like a gossip, but Harry is a mutual patient and she's not going to be breaking his confidence.

Olivia's eyes narrow dangerously but not at Tabitha. "Good," she hisses quietly. She's been wanting to call them herself but she can't. She's quite pleased to know Harry is willing to do it himself. _For_ himself. "How is he?"

"He's doing quite well," Tabitha says, pushing a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear. "He's still mourning his loss but he's finally seeing that what happened to him wasn't... right. I don't think he really sees himself as a victim, just mourning his loss and everything else just doesn't seem that important to him." She's torn about it; it helps that he's not mired in a depression about the situation but she's sad about why it's not an issue for him. She knows to fully get to the root of _why,_ she'd need to see him for longer than a week. She highly doubts Harry would be interested in further therapy.

Olivia nods, a short dip of her chin. Good. She doesn't care the young man is the bloody Savior or not, he's a sweet young man and it angers her to know what he's gone through. "I'm glad you're able to help him."

"Me too," Tabitha says honestly. She notices a tall blonde man hovering outside of Harry's door and she nudges Olivia gently when she notices the blonde pacing in front of the door and glancing at it every so often. "Should I worry about that?" she asks, not feeling particularly worried. He looks... confused, not dangerous.

Olivia looks over, following Tabitha's gaze, and smiles. "Oh, no. That's Draco, he's a friend of Harry's. He's quite the nice young man." She tsks lightly when he makes another pass by the door. She's tempted to giggle at the poor man's indecisiveness.

"Oh," Tabitha says, looking the blonde over. He's quite cute. "Is he..." she trails off, blushing and realizing she hasn't any right to ask such a thing. His expression and body language hint at a relationship closer than friendship. Or at least, the desire for such. She doesn't remember Harry speaking about Draco as anything other than a friend, but there was always warmth and affection in his tone and eyes whenever he did.

Huh. She idly wonders if it's unprofessional to get the mental image of Harry pressed against the tall, handsome blonde man, the pair kissing heatedly and hands groping all the good spots. Probably.

Olivia laughs and leans forward conspiratorially, feeling like a gossiping old hen but unable to help himself. "He's completely besotted with Harry," she sighs softly, reminding her self of some sort of gushy teenager. They would make a very handsome couple. "But I don't think either of them are able to admit it, the poor dears. I'm sure he's quite hesitant... after what's happened."

"Oh," Tabitha says again. "Why are all the cute ones gay?" she laments softly. She can't help but smile though when she notices he's finally worked up the courage to open the door and peek his head in. From her vantage point she can just see the soft smile and warm expression on his face as he looks in the room. She giggles into her hand when he visibly hesitates, seems to talk himself into a decision and gently ease into the room. She hadn't pegged him for the nervous type. "Well, I'll see Harry tomorrow and I hope I'm here long enough to see someone taken out in restraints."

Olivia nods, her eyes on the closed door of room 323. She hopes to see that room empty as well.


	4. Chapter 4

_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature content/language._

_Thank you all for the kind encouragement. I truly appreciate each and every favorite, follow and review; do continue! I really couldn't help giving Harry a Muggle hobby and what's better than comic books? Not a damn thing, that's what. XD  
_

_Warnings: Same as before..._

_Enjoy. :))_

* * *

Draco eases into Harry's room. Guilt twists in his belly but only until Harry's eyes land on him and the other man smiles. He forces the bloody images of Weasel out of his mind and sits at the chair by Harry's bed, handing the dark haired man a stack of books. He grins when Harry's cheeks pink. "I took the liberty of getting you some new ones."

"Thank you," Harry says softly, stroking his fingertips down the cover of the new (or not so new, for two of them) Muggle comic books. He didn't realize Draco knew about his secret obsession. He chances a look up at Draco through his lashes and quickly averts his gaze when he meets warm grey eyes. He feels his cheeks get even warmer when an inappropriate flush of warmth tingles through him. He clears his throat softly and makes a show of looking through the comics. "These are..." he trails off, stunned getting a closer look at one.

Draco leans over, nervous. "What? Did I get the wrong ones? The guy at the store said these were good." He wants to worry his lip or wring his hands but he refrains by sheer force of will. He really thought he got good ones, ones Harry didn't have already. Some were a little more expensive than he would normally spend on such a frivolous item but they're for Harry. He feels only a little like a sap, but it's true.

"They are," Harry whispers. He reverently strokes the comic's slightly glossy cover. Leave it to Draco to (even accidentally) get him something so amazing. "Did you pay a lot for it?" he demands softly. He knows he can't refuse the gift, even if he doesn't all together want to; he really really wants them. Draco won't allow him to refuse. But he still feels bad; the one comic in his hand is worth hundreds of pounds. It's in amazing condition, as well. He's surprised to feel slightly irritated it's not in a plastic sleeve.

Oh.

Right... He blushes again when he feels a very slight tingle from a carefully cast preservation charm. The soft thrum of Draco's magic is rather comforting. Even if only because it shows he knows enough to do such a thing.

Draco shrugs, not really caring. "No." He's almost positive the Muggle that sold him the books swindled him, pegging him as someone with money right away and nearly coming in his pants when Draco said didn't care about cost, but he's not at all bothered. The smile on Harry's face is worth any amount of pounds or Galleons, really. He looks away, again feeling like a right sap for his thoughts. However true they are...

He sits up when the door opens and Healer Fuller bustles in. He quirks an eyebrow at her hurried moves and flushed face. The Healer always has an air of efficiency about her, not frazzled and frenzied like she currently is. "Everything alright?" Draco asks, eyeing the wisps of graying hair trying to escape the Healer's tight bun.

"Hmm? Oh yes. There's been a bit of excitement recently," she says. Draco swears she gives him a quick, knowing glance before focusing back on Harry's scans. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Olivia asks, her wand moving easily and fluently in the ornate and complicated sweeps and swirls with long familiarity. She smiles with a hum when everything comes back normal.

Harry gently places his comics aside and offers the healer a small smile. "Better."

"Wonderful," Olivia says warmly. She can't mention Mr. Weasley's condition, however much she wants to, but she can ask Harry a few things. "Harry," He looks up with another small smile. "Did you... attack Mr. Weasley?" She knows he didn't carve the man up but she's curious if Harry is responsible for the original reason Mr. Weasley staggered into their emergency area, pale and trembling.

Harry's shoulders come up defensively and his face blanks. "I did," he says quietly. He doesn't know what sort of trouble he'll be in. _Is_ he going to be in trouble, even though it was in self defense? He really doesn't know enough about Wizarding laws to know. It seems every and anything gets you chucked in Azkaban. A shudder works up his spine involuntarily at the thought.

"I see," Olivia says, sounding non-committal but grinning a little mischievously when Harry blinks up at her, clearly surprised. "I only ask because you had a sizable drain on your magical core when you were admitted. It's back to where it should be now," she says, giving his arm a reassuring pat. She can tell neither man buys her excuse but she can't help that. It's partially true... "And have you thought any more about contacting the Aurors, Harry? We have them on direct connection, you know."

Harry slowly nods. He rolls his eyes and smiles a little when Olivia (and Draco) both blink a few times and then beam proudly at him. "Can I wait until tomorrow?" he asks hopefully.

"No, I'm sorry, Harry. The sooner the better," Olivia says honestly. Mr. Weasley is weakening rapidly. Between whatever Harry did and the mysterious wounds sapping his energy and strength, it'll be a good long while (if he survives) before the man is on his feet. She doesn't wish him to die (her Healer oaths kicking in), especially in a dingy prison cell, but she can't stomach him being a free man longer than absolutely needed either.

Harry sighs. "Can I ask for a specific Auror?" Olivia nods; she can't see the harm. "I'd like to speak with Auror Longbottom."

"Of course. If he's available-"

"No," Harry says firmly but politely. "He's the only one I'll talk to. He'll come," he says with a nod. Neville will come even if he's off-duty. It's embarrassing to have to tell one of his oldest friends but he trusts Neville to handle everything respectfully and as quietly as possible.

Olivia nods. "I'll see what we can do," she says and bustles back out of the room, headed right for the Head Healers office to use the floo. It doesn't take long at all to get Auror Longbottom to come through. She holds out her hand to the tall man and smiles up at him. She's not all that surprised she recognizes his face. "Auror Longbottom, sir," she says respectfully.

"Uhm, Neville, please," he says with a flush. He usually doesn't allow people to address him so informally, especially when he's clearly wearing his dark red Auror robes, but he can't manage to make the older witch in front of him do it. She reminds him of his Gran. "I'm here to see Harry?" Healer Fuller nods, a sad expression in her eyes. "Like that, is it?" he asks sadly. He feels rather bad he hadn't been round to see Harry recently. He meant to pop over tomorrow, intent on talking to his friend about Ron.

Olivia nods. "I'm sure you need any details from Mr. Potter, but I can give you full access to his medical records once he consents and officially files his statement." Neville nods and she smiles a little. "You're that nice young man that helped Mr. Potter, correct?"

"Yeah," Neville says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and flushing again. He doesn't have to ask what she means; he knows she's speaking of the last war and his role in the final battle. What is it about older witches that make him feel like a nervous second year again? "I helped a little."

Olivia snorts delicately; _A little_. She lets it go and cocks her head, bidding him to follow as she leaves the office. "Right, well, thank you. I never thought I'd get the chance to say so in person, so I shan't waste the opportunity." She chuckles softly when he blushes again and nods to show his acknowledgment. "Harry's room is down the hall," she points to a closed door, a small hand-written sign proclaiming it as Harry's room visible from there. "And that," she says lowly, pointing to room 323, "is Mr. Weasley's room. Just in case."

"Right. Thank you, ma'am," Neville says respectfully and hurries off before the older witch can make him blush again. He feels something tighten uncomfortably when he finds himself not really wondering why the Healer would point out Ron's room. He slides his Auror mask on and knocks. A soft 'come in' sounds and he eases the door open.

He's not surprised to see Draco Malfoy perched in a chair by Harry's bed. Nor is he surprised to see Harry with a sizable stack of Muggle comic books on the bed next to Harry. "Hey, Harry." He smiles and nods to Harry and Draco before taking out his wand. He casts a privacy ward and a recording charm before he does anything else.

Harry swallows nervously. "Hey, Nev." He fidgets with the edge of one of the comics, not even checking to see if it's one he can get away with damaging or not. (It is.) He gestures for Neville to sit down with a shaky hand. "Uhm. Do you know why you're here?"

"I'm here for an assault and murder charge," Neville says calmly once he's checked the notes the Healer had given him before he opened Harry's door. Inside, of course, he's raging and just barely keeping himself from storming down to Ron's room and hexing his skin off. "Is that correct?" he asks. He doesn't exactly want to be Official Auror Longbottom but he isn't sure if Harry would be more comfortable with the professional mask or his friendly one.

Harry nods.

"I'm sorry, but I need verbal answers, Harry," Neville says softly. "I have a recording charm on the room," he explains.

Harry nods again. "Oh. Right. Yes, that's correct." He feels something relax at the mention of a murder charge; relieved he's not been over-dramatizing the loss of his daughter. Even if anyone he's talked to about seems understanding, he found it hard to shake the thought no one would agree with him about it. He feels rather ashamed he had thought so little of his friends. But he's still relieved and that much more grateful for his understanding friends.

Draco watches as Neville questions Harry, keeping quiet and just listening. He's horrified (and feels more and more justified in his earlier actions) the more Harry speaks. The more Harry describes what happened. "Neville," he interrupts. Once the Auror glances at him, a slight raising of one eyebrow showing his surprise; Neville must have forgotten he was there. Harry's slow blinks say he's forgotten as well. He almost feels bad for staying. Almost. He wasn't kicked out so the feeling dissipates easily. "Can I ask that you relax?"

"Sure, Draco," Neville says with a soft chuckle, his shoulders relaxing and he moves to perch on the edge of Harry's bed. "I'm sorry if I was making you uncomfortable," he says to Harry.

Harry shrugs. "It's OK. I kinda felt better knowing you were being all professional and whatnot. Uhm," he pauses. "Are you going to arrest Ron now?"

"Yes," Neville says simply. He doesn't give a toss if the wanker is passed out or near death. They've got medical facilities in the Ministry holding cells and Azkaban.

"Isn't he going to get a trial?" Harry asks. He knows he shouldn't care but he's not comfortable with the idea, even knowing Ron's guilt. Too many people have been thrown in Azkaban without a trial, he doesn't want the practice to continue.

Neville shakes his head a little, still surprised at Harry's ability for compassion. "Yes. If he's not conscious forty-eight hours after he's arrested and unable to give a statement, the times in question will be removed from his memories and examined. They'll be submitted towards his case for the trial and they'll most likely decide on his guilt or innocence from that." He quietly hopes the Auror that they have trained in _Legilimency_ isn't overly kind when retrieving the memories but he keeps it to himself. Though a quick look at Draco shows he's thinking the same thing.

"Oh," Harry says softly. He doesn't know what to think about that. He hates knowing that an entire group of people will watch the whole thing happen. He shudders and looks up gratefully when Neville rests his hand over his. "Sorry, I just... I didn't know there would be so many people aware of this. _Seeing it_," he says in a pained whisper.

Neville feels terrible but knows it has to happen. "I'm sorry, Harry. For everything," he says, squeezing Harry's hand. "If it helps, they'll all be under strict privacy oaths and can't say a word about what they see."

"Well that's a plus," Harry says dryly. He sighs. "Is that everything?" he asks. He doesn't want Neville to leave but he can't handle any more talking about this right now. Neville nods and his wand waves, ending the recording charm. "Good. It's good to see you, Nev."

Neville chuckles. "Barring the circumstances, yeah," he agrees. He relaxes in his spot on Harry's bed. "I feel terrible, Harry. I meant to talk with Ron..."

"Really?" Harry asks, wide-eyed. He didn't think any of his friends had noticed. He didn't spend that much time with Neville; they got together to talk and catch up about once a month since the other wizard is kept quite busy with Auror work. Not for the first time, he's glad he didn't go into the same field. "About me?"

Neville nods, his face drawn in misery. He jumps a bit when he feels Draco clap him on the shoulder, an expression on his face that almost looks like gratitude. He feels even worse; he doesn't deserve gratitude. "Yeah," he mutters. "Fat lot of good it did. I'm so sorry, Harry. I mean that as your friend, not some official that has to distance himself from this." He hates that he will eventually have to but he can help Harry more efficiently that way.

"Thanks. And thanks for trying. Really," Harry says when Neville gives him a flat look. "Why where you gonna talk to him, anyway? You never really got along." Even in school, Ron thought Neville some clumsy loser and didn't understand how he could get on with the other Gryffindor. Thankfully, Ron hadn't tried to stop him from spending time with Neville. He's a little sad to realize he probably would've let Ron... but hopefully not for long.

Neville shrugs uncomfortably. He'd had a talk with Draco (and Pansy) and his suspicions were peaked enough he needed to go talk to the red-head before he allowed himself to brush the issue off as 'none of my business what another couple does'. "Draco mentioned something..."

"I appreciate you actually listening," Draco says quietly. "Everyone else just thought I was being a jealous git."

Harry looks up at Draco, confused. "Jealous?" He blinks when Draco stiffens and hurries out of the room with a muttered 'need the loo'. "Huh?"

"Yeah, jealous," Neville says offhandedly. He had thought Draco's motivation was his concern for Harry (that might've extended past simple friendship), not spite or jealousy. "Well, be that as it may, I couldn't ignore it. And now..." he trails off, feeling miserable again. He can't believe his friend was expecting and none of them knew. He's just as stunned about how he lost his baby and he vows to make sure every possible charge is brought against Ron. And hopefully, every punishment possible as well. The bastard.

Harry is still trying to sort out what Draco could possibly be jealous of when Neville stands, halting his thoughts. He doesn't want his friend to leave yet but he knows he's got a job to do. "Thanks, Nev. Visiting hours are until nine if you want to stop by later."

"I'll do that, Harry," Neville says, leaning over and giving Harry a hug. There's no flinching or any other indicator that Harry was thumped around by his fiancé. He's glad to see that his friend isn't going to be affected by that part of it. He gives Harry a sad smile and gets to his feet. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you were expecting. Did you tell anyone?"

Harry slowly shakes his head and lowers his eyes. "No," he says quietly. "I was too scared to. I saw a healer under a glamour, so I made sure I got checked as soon as I found out." He had been rather surprised at the news, getting over the shock rather quickly. And chagrined that he hadn't thought to use protective charms on himself. Rationally, he never would have chosen to have a child with Ron but he had been thrilled nonetheless when it happened. He grabs Neville's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze when the other wizard looks ready to cry. "It's alright."

"No, it's not, Harry," Neville says quietly. "But it will be." He nods with a confidence he almost feels and Harry nods back. "I'm surprised you aren't pissed at us for not noticing."

Harry gives a sheepish smile. "I was... a little. But I mean, I put quite an effort into hiding it, so it's not really your fault. Any of you. Tabitha says it's only Ron's fault and I'm quite comfortable blaming him."

"Tabitha?"

Harry flushes and shrugs one shoulder. "My Mind Healer. She's very nice."

"Oh, I didn't know... Well, good. I'm glad she's helping."

Harry chuckles and nods. "She's American, fit and quite a charming personality. And a blonde," he adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively up at Neville. He laughs when Nev's cheeks pink in a fierce blush. Neville has a thing for blondes. And accents. "She comes by around three..." he trails off meaningfully, eyebrows dancing mischievously again.

"Right, well," Neville says, turning quickly and heading towards the door. He recasts the recording charm with a flick. "I'll get your medical record and I'm sure we'll be taking Ronald Weasley into custody within the hour, Mr. Potter." He nods as he cancels the charm once more, giving Harry a quick, warm smile and leaves. He spots Healer Fuller and just nods, flushing when she grins at him and waves a file teasingly.

He sends a Patronus, glad Dean was on duty so he didn't have to involve anyone that didn't know and personally respect Harry. Dean won't blab and he's never been more grateful for the man's ability to keep shit to himself. He cracks his knuckles and settles in to wait by the closed door of room 323, pulling out a file and filling it out more thoroughly as he waits for Auror Thomas.

.:xOx:.

_Harsh breathing and hands touching him. Pain and embarrassment. _"Maybe _you_ fucked _him_, hmm?"

_Harry rapidly shakes his head at Ron's hissed words. No! But images flood his thoughts. He moans softly; pleasure and humiliation mixing the soft sound. The images are both wanted and unwanted. He doesn't want to think about Draco like that but he can't seem to help it. He can't help it when heat floods his body and pools hotly in his belly -the feeling nearly a forgotten one and quickly embraced against his will. _

_Pale hair spread out on a pillow. Heavily lidded, lust blown grey eyes; darkened and glittering like liquid silver. Soft, pale skin flushed with desire. _

_He skin tightens and tingles with _want_ when he imagines soft words. Gentle caresses. Tender touches. The lust doesn't cool with the tender scene; no, it practically explodes, singeing his nerve endings and he _wants_ so fucking bad._

_He wants it but... Draco is his friend. He wouldn't appreciate being thought of this way. There's no way Draco would want to be lusted over. He feels this, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. _

_He shakes his head but he's still inundated with flashes of Draco; writhing. Arching. Panting. Moaning his name. His hands tingle with the imagined heat and sweat-slicked glide across pale, perfect skin. He can almost _feel_ how Draco's body will grip then relax around his fingers and cock, the blonde begging for each touch. More. Harder. Deeper. _

_He shudders with pleasure when he imagines those long, perfect fingers on him. _In_ him. Moving with only his pleasure in mind. Moving with single-minded determination to sate his need. Draco's quiet, deep and soothing voice whispering tender words of devotion, affection and love.  
_

Harry jerks himself awake, gasping softly. He slowly lowers his head and stares down at his lap, stunned and a little ashamed to see his erection tenting the blankets. What kind of person is he to be thinking such things? He's just lost his child and left the only serious relationship he's ever been in.

Not to mention that Draco is his friend, not some random bloke to be lusted after. Not that this is the first time he's done so... He's embarrassed to remember it happens frequently but he hadn't expected it _now_. Not with... everything. He jumps when there's a soft knock on his door and Draco pokes his head in the room. A soft squeak leaves his lips and he has to fight the urge to cover himself with his hands or a pillow. It'll only bring Draco's attention to his crotch.

"Harry?"

Harry swallows and clears his throat. "Need the loo, give me a minute, yeah?" He sees Draco nod, duck back out and the door closes quietly. He sighs and carefully climbs out of the bed. He doesn't know what kind of monitoring charms are on his room so he doesn't wank; he shudders at the thought of any of the medi-witches (or healer Fuller) seeing and/or hearing that. He has to sit for a moment, thinking of potion ingredients, before he's presentable. He doesn't know how he's going to face Draco, but he can't exactly leave him out in the hall.

"All done!" he calls out, rolling his eye and feeling rather ridiculous, and climbs back into bed. He still feels a slight twinge in his abdomen and lower back, but it's nothing a mild pain potion won't help. Thankfully, Healer Fuller has left a few bottles for him to take when he needs them. He's recapping the empty vial when Draco comes in. "Hey," he says, giving the blonde a smile.

Draco nods, unable to speak for a moment. He doesn't want to admit he noticed Harry's... predicament earlier. He can't imagine what caused it and he's hopelessly focused on it. Had Harry been dreaming and unable to help himself? What had he been dreaming about? He snaps out of his train of thought when Harry taps his leg. "Hmm?"

"I asked if you heard anything about Ron?"

Draco nods, unable to stop the wolfish smile stretching his lips. "I did. Apparently, he was conscious when the Aurors came. They forcefully took his memories -Neville says 'thanks' for the specific time and date, by the way- and arrested him. It was quite amusing to see him danging between Neville and Thomas like a puppet."

"Oh," Harry says, blinking rapidly. He's relieved, honestly. He had been a bit on edge knowing Ron was so close... Even if he was quite incapacitated at the time. "Good," he says firmly.

Draco nods his agreement and sits in the chair by Harry's bed. "I asked Healer Fuller if she might suspend your bed-rest for an hour or so. I thought maybe you'd like some fresh air."

"Yeah, that sounds brilliant, actually," Harry says brightly. He's quite sick of looking at the same white walls. He's not quite through his stack of comics and books, but there's really only so much reading he can do without his eyes crossing and he starts getting twitchy. "Where are we going?" he asks, curious.

Draco stands and holds out a hand, smiling when Harry immediately puts places his in it and he helps Harry up. "There's a small garden just off the cafeteria." He helps Harry into a more modest cloak, firmly avoiding the chance to ogle Harry's arse through the gap in the back of his hospital gown. Honestly, who designed those things to be so... revealing?

"I didn't know they had a garden here," Harry says, his eyebrows raising.

Draco chuckles. "Yes, well, you generally don't stay long enough to explore this place, hmm?" Which, in his opinion, is both good and bad. He's quite sure Harry has probably _needed_ an extended stay in St. Mungo's before but generally checked out as soon as he was able to. "Right. Ready?"

"Yeah," Harry says, carefully sliding his feet into the thin slippers Healer Fuller left him. He smiles; now he knows why she had done that. "So," he starts, his arm being folded over Draco's as he's lead from his room. "I'm not complaining, but how are you here so often? Aren't you going to get in trouble at work?"

Draco chuckles again and shakes his head. "No, Harry. I put in for some time off. They were only too glad to grant it, really. I haven't taken advantage of any off time in ages." He's been accused, quite rightly, of being a work-aholic. He can't seem to help it; it's one of the few times he can focus on things he can't change and just work. "Besides, they couldn't actually sack me. I'm too important," he says importantly, grinning when Harry laughs.

"Right. Of course. How silly of me to forget," Harry says through his laughter. He blinks rapidly when they step out into the sunny garden. "Wow," he breathes, looking around at all the greenery. He's lead to a rustic but comfortable looking wooden bench right in the middle. "I've been sitting for days," he mutters under his breath when he's pushed down on it. It's a gentle push, but he sits obediently under the gentle guidance nonetheless.

"Yes, I'm aware. However, it was one of the conditions of your release," Draco says wryly. "Healer Fuller was quite firm in her orders. And... Well, she's a bit scary, so I wouldn't dream of disobeying." He looks around the garden area before leaning close to Harry and dropping his voice in a whisper, "I wouldn't put it past the old girl to have a monitoring charm to ensure that we're good boys and do as we're told."

Harry nods, suppressing a shiver as Draco's breath tickles the small hairs behind his ear. "Yes. Of course," he murmurs. He inhales deeply, enjoying the fresh air. There are plenty of flowers but not so many to make the flowery scent in the air overpowering or cloying. "This is nice. Thank you, Draco," he says quietly, closing his eyes and turning his face up towards the warm sunshine.

"You're welcome," Draco says just as quietly, his gaze unable to leave the serene look on Harry's face. He wishes he'd thought of this sooner but he probably wouldn't have been allowed before today. He scoots his butt forward a bit and stretches his legs out, his heels digging into the grass a little. He lets the silence envelop them, content with the comfortable quiet.

Harry takes a few deep breathes, working his courage up. Without moving his head or opening his eyes he asks the question that's been flitting through his mind since he saw Neville; "What are you jealous of?"

Draco goes still, unable to control his breath catching. Damn. He had hoped Harry had forgotten that. "What makes you think I am jealous of anything?" he asks, instead of answering.

"You said."

Draco hums and smirks a little. "I did not," he says flatly. "I said _they_ said I was jealous."

"True," Harry says slowly, finally turning his head and looking at Draco. "But you ran off quite urgently. And Neville agreed..."

Draco stills again, cursing a blue streak in his head. "Well... I'm not," he mutters. It's quite unconvincing to his own ears and he doesn't blame Harry one bit for giving him a look full of disbelief.

"No?"

"No."

Harry sighs and turns his head back up to enjoy the warmth on his face again. "Alright," he says, his voice heavy with disbelief. Or disappointment. He's not sure which but he feels both. He had kind of hoped... No, of course Draco wouldn't be jealous about anything that had to do with him and Ron. Nor would the blonde think of him that way. Which is alright; he's quite pleased to have him as a friend if nothing else.

"Harry," Draco says with a long sigh. He knows Harry doesn't believe him but he's not all that sure _now_ is the time for such a discussion. Harry's still at St. Mungo's from being attacked by his ex-fiance, for Merlin's sake. What sort of man is he to even _think_ about Harry past friendship right now? He nearly sighs again; he's been having these thoughts about Harry for too long to just stop them suddenly, but he's going to try. It's inappropriate. "Ask me again some other time, yeah?"

Harry just hums, unsure exactly what that is supposed to mean. "OK," he says with a shrug. He enjoys the renewed comfortable silence awhile longer, soaking up the warmth pressed along his side from where Draco is sitting close. He's sure it's only because the bench is so small, but he likes it nonetheless. He blinks groggily what feels like moments later, looking up into Draco's face and automatically returning the small smile he sees.

"C'mon, Sleepy Beauty," Draco says, holding in a laugh, gently prodding Harry's shoulder. "Healer Fuller will have my bullocks if I keep you out any longer than her allotted hour." He helps Harry to his feet, ignoring his grumbled proclamations of not being an invalid and capable of standing on his own. He's as stubborn as Harry, though, and he doesn't let go. "Shut up, Potter," he says kindly, steering him along the hallways and back to his room.

Harry huffs but follows along sedately, secretly enjoying the fussing. He's supposed to resist and complain but he doesn't mean it. It's nice to be fussed over and cared about, really. They pass a sealed room and he unconsciously grabs onto Draco's arm a little tighter as they see an Auror leave the room. He can only guess this was Ron's room... The wards and the Aurors might as well be a Muggle neon sign, flashing in the hallway.

"Harry?" Draco looks over, puzzled by the vise-like grip on his arm. He doesn't try to loosen Harry's hold, only brings up his other hand to cover Harry's in a show of comfort. He looks at room 323 and scowls. He had thought the Aurors were done with Weasel... "It's alright," he says quietly. He's not sure what's going through Harry's mind but it can't be good.

Harry nods and slowly breathes out. "I know. Sorry..." he trails off, trying not to worry his bottom lip. He looks away, not wanting to see if Draco's annoyed with him or not. He wouldn't blame Draco, not really... He's a right mess and it's got to be confusing and annoying keeping up with his wild mood swings. "Healer Summers will be by in a few minutes," he says, hoping to change the subject. And distract himself from the Aurors waving their wands and murmuring lowly amongst themselves.

"Good," Draco says quietly. "Did you ask Neville to drop by?" he asks with a cheeky wink.

Harry laughs a little and nods. "I did. Tabitha is _so_ his type, it's almost scary."

Draco just hums and pushes open the door to Harry's room. He pauses, his eyes sweeping over two Aurors (one of which is Neville) and a few Weasleys. He doesn't know which make him more uncomfortable... He feels Harry stiffen and he's immediately concerned as much as he's confused. "Harry?"

"'Mokay," Harry mutters. He hadn't expected to see Neville with a partner _or_ the Weasleys. He's confused as to why they're here... Unless they want to yell at him about Ron. He knew Neville had taken him to the Ministry and he cringes a bit, expecting anger and accusations. He stares at his feet, relieved Draco is leading him to his bed with a firm grip on his arm. "Do they look mad?" he whispers so softly, he's quite sure Draco can barely hear him.

Draco looks around the room, not even bothering to be subtle about it. "No," he says simply. He feels Harry relax and he pats his arm before helping him into bed, smiling a little when Harry dangles his legs over the edge and wiggles his feet so he can take the hospital slippers off. He smacks at Harry's knee playfully before tucking his legs in. He's able to ignore each gaze he can feel boring into his back. Fuck 'em if they don't like him taking care of Harry.

"Harry dear," Molly says warmly, shuffling over once Harry is settled back in his bed. She spares a brief but warm look to Draco, hoping he gets the look of gratitude she's sent him. A subtly inclined head is the only response but it's enough. She gently hugs Harry around his shoulders and tries to smooth his hair down. She's nearly ready to lick her palm before Harry gently pushes her away with a giggle. "How are you, dear?" she asks, perching on the edge of his bed. It's quite stiff! She casts a cushioning charm and smiles warmly when Harry blinks owlishly at her, a smile slowly growing on his face as he sinks into his bed.

Harry nods, bouncing a bit on his improved bed. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley and I'm doin' OK," he says and shrugs lightly. He still has moments of sadness and uncontrollable tears whenever he thinks about his baby... but physically, he feels good. He wishes he can go home but he's stuck at St. Mungo's for a few more days. "Uhm, not that it isn't nice to see you, but why are you here?" he asks. He blinks, noticing Mr. Weasley as well as the twins don't look mad either.

"We just wanted to see how you were doing," Molly says simply. She's been worried about Harry since they left his room last time and she's relieved to see him looking almost chipper. She sighs heavily and gently takes Harry's hand, hoping he doesn't react badly to her next words. "They took Ronald to the Ministry. Between your testimony and his own memories of... the event, his hearing was moved up to next week."

Harry nods, trying to swallow around the lump that's suddenly in his throat. He's calmed by Mrs. Weasley holding his hand but he can't quite tell what she's feeling or thinking about the whole issue. She just looks... sad, but it could be for any number of reasons. "Alright," he finally says when he's able to speak. He looks up when Mrs. Weasley shakes his hand a little.

"Harry, I don't want you to think we love you any less. We're so sorry," Molly says, reaching for a handkerchief from her sleeve. She dabs at her leaking eyes. "I'm sorry we didn't know. That we didn't see."

Harry looks down at his lap and shifts awkwardly in his bed. He doesn't want any of the Weasleys to blame themselves; it just makes him feel worse about locking their son (or brother) up. "Please don't cry, Mrs. Weasley. I didn't let anyone see, I was... embarrassed." He fidgets a little, feeling uncomfortable with the prospect of talking about his more private matters with Ron's mum. He can almost hear Healer Summers urging him on, almost demanding him to speak his mind and be honest. But he can't. Not about this, not to Ron's mum.

"Oh, I understand, dear," Molly says faintly. She can understand but... not, at the same time. "I didn't know that... but it doesn't change anything, dear. I feel so terrible, knowing my own son could do such things." She wipes at her eyes again. She nearly tells Harry about what Ronald had said, the reason he gave for even dating Harry in the first place, but she doesn't. It would only make Harry feel worse or maybe even try to defend Ronald, the foolishly sweet boy. "Well, I know Neville wants to have a chat with you, so we'll come back."

Harry nods. "Alright, if you can," he says quietly. He sees Arther nod, understanding the subtle request to not come back. Today, at least.

"Maybe tomorrow, if you're up to it," Arther says, softly clapping Harry on the shoulder. He doesn't blame the boy; he's not sure he'd want to see his abuser's family hovering around his hospital bed either. He gives Molly a stern look when she goes to protest and leads her from the room. "We should have lunch out, while we're here," he says. He doesn't miss Molly's shrewd look, and only smiles in response.

Fred and George share a quick look before they approach Harry's bed. They have to step around Draco, and the blonde shifts just enough so they can both fit without crowding Harry. Fred unshrinks the box had in his pocket, handing the gift to Harry with a sheepish expression. "Here, I knew you'd need something more than hospital food..."

"Huh?" Harry looks at the box and slowly opens it, not quite trusting the twins to not booby trap the box -even in a hospital. He feels a warm feeling at the thought; trust the twins to keep things normal even in the hardest situations. He peeks into the box and laughs, pulling out a few chocolate frogs and licorice wands. He paws through the box briefly and smiles widely. It's absolutely stuffed full of candy; wizarding and Muggle. He's tempted to open the lone pack of Mallow Cups right then... "Aw," he coos, waving a candy wand at the still sheepish twins. "Thanks, guys."

Draco snorts softly. Leave it to the Weasley twins to give Harry sugar when the poor man is confined to a bed. The gesture is nice, though, he can admit. Plus, they've packed all of Harry's favorite candies; even a few Muggle candy bars and treats. He blinks when Harry tosses him a Muggle candy bar, some sort of nut bar. "What in Merlin's name is a zag nut?" he asks slowly, pronouncing the name carefully.

"The best candy bar ever made," Harry says seriously, pulling another of the long red packages from the box. "Really, thanks guys," he says, fiddling with the wrapper, unsure if he should open it now or later. He might need the sugar after talking to Neville. Who's still patiently waiting in the corner...

Fred and George nod simultaneously. "You're welcome, Harry," they say in unison.

"We should go-"

"Catch up with mum and dad-"

"Make 'em buy us lunch!"

Harry just laughs, too used to their tandem talking to be confused by it. "Right. Well..." he trails off, looking pointedly at Neville. Both twins follow his gaze and jump.

"Blimey, Nev!" The twins exclaim at the same time.

"What're you doing-"

"Lurking in the corner-"

"Like some lurking... lurker."

Neville chuckles and waves a hand at them, content to wait until they had their visit. He's happy to see Harry smiling and the twins finally relax. He doesn't blame them, not really, for their unease. They might be jokesters at heart, but they still care about Harry and he can tell the past few days have thrown them. "You off then?" he asks, chuckling.

"Yeah," Fred says, raising his chin playfully.

"We know when we're not wanted," George adds, mocking a frown.

Harry laughs quietly, trying to stifle the sound. "You can come back whenever you want."

"Really?" Fred and George ask at the same time, matching delighted smiles on their face.

"I told you, George, bribe a man with sweets and he's unable to resist."

"Sorry I ever doubted you, Fred," George says with an eye roll. He leans down and gives Harry a hug, unwilling to change his habits since Harry doesn't seem uncomfortable with the contact. He squeezes the younger wizard before leaning up, giving Harry a cheeky wink as he rubs his knuckles against his scalp. He laughs when he manages to make Harry's black mass of hair even more a mess. "Don't eat the ice mice, I think Fred's done something to the tails."

Fred gapes, feigning hurt, a hand coming up dramatically to rest on his chest. "You wound me, brother! I'd never do anything to Harry!"

"Would so," Harry defends, scoffing. "You've made me float about the Burrow. For an hour, knocking me about the ceiling and walls. You tricked me into drinking that potion that turned by hair neon yellow. And of course, we can't forget using _moi_ as a guinea pig for the new Skiving Snack Boxes."

Fred pouts, trying to look repentant but failing miserably. "Well, we're woefully short on test subjects, Harrykins. You're the best one; you never try to kill us!"

"On purpose," George adds, winking at Harry playfully.

Harry chuckles and waves a hand and the devious duo. "Sure sure, there's always next time," he says, raising a fist threateningly. He leans into the hug Fred gives him, patting the red-head on the back before he can pull away. He's glad they came to see him, and not just for the candy. He can tell they were wary of being around him, but he can't imagine why. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate the gift," he says, shaking the box a little.

"Anytime, Harry!" The twins say in unison just before they pop out the door.

Neville glances at Draco before he walks over to speak with Harry. "Draco," he says, getting the blonde's attention. "A word?" He sees Draco nod, a blank expression on his face and he gives Harry a smile before he leads Draco out of the room and down the hall to the Head Healer's office. It's small but secured with Auror strength privacy wards.

He waves at the other chair in the small space and waits until Draco sits before he says anything. He eyes Draco critically, his Auror instincts pinging subtly. "Alright, this is off the record, yeah?" Draco nods slowly. "Did you do anything to Ron?"

Draco doesn't answer, just sits and studies Neville in silence, trying to get a read on the other man. He can't, though. He's not sure if Neville's asking as an Auror or as Harry's friend. He'd be honest if Neville merely wanted to know as a friend. Otherwise... he intends to lie through his teeth.

Neville rubs at his face, the light stubble on his chin rasping against his palms. "I did say off the record you know," he says quietly, looking at Draco intently. "I know I shouldn't say this, it probably makes me a bad person _and_ a bad Auror, but I'm glad someone did whatever it was they did to that bastard." In all honestly, he thought Ron got off rather easily. If it were him... well, he'd be without a job and probably in the middle of his own hearing at the moment.

"Well, in that case," Draco drawls, leaning back in his chair and perching his ankle on his knee. "It was me." He has no reason to think Neville will lie about this and he sees a brief flash of something akin to respect and maybe a hint of savage glee go through hazel eyes. "I wonder... did you just assume it was me for some reason or are you asking because I left something to implicate myself?"

Neville chuckles and scootches forward in his chair, relaxing his posture and stretching his legs out as he folds his hands to rest on his belly. "I just figured you'd be the first in line to draw blood," he says plainly, giving Draco a knowing look. He's quite aware Draco's feeling for Harry extended past friendship. He always got the impression Harry's did too, but his fellow Gryffindor seemed determined to stay with Ron. He's not sure where the pair will go from here, though.

"And no, there were no clues or evidence at the scene. At all. Very clever, by the way, using Muggle means," he says, sounding impressed. As far as 'crime scene' investigations went, the Auror department swept for and recorded magical signatures. And that was about it. The wards weren't tripped to record, either, since no magic was detected.

They've only just now started looking into other means of catching criminals, even taking notes from Muggle cops. He's looking forward to visiting a few of the Muggle police stations in the near future.

Draco smiles, unable to help himself. "It was most satisfying, mostly," he says honestly. He clenches his right hand, as if around the blade of the scalpel type instrument he had liked using the most. "I'm not all together settled about what happened though," he admits quietly. He still gets flashes of blood and pain-filled blue eyes and most times he feels a niggle of guilt and discomfort.

"Really?" Neville leans forward, curious. He know Draco isn't a cold-hearted bastard, but he didn't think he'd have any lingering guilt about fileting Ron. _He_ wouldn't.

Draco shrugs, unable to explain it. The feeling always vanishes whenever he remembers Harry, falling through the floo hysterical and bleeding. It vanishes like a puff of smoke and he's back to thinking he should have done _more_. "I'm sure it'll pass." They sit in comfortable quiet for a few moments and he can't help ask: "Are you _really_ alright with this?"

"Yes," Neville says plainly. "I know how it sounds; I'm supposed to uphold the law. I do feel a little conflicted about it but I... I just think of what he did, has done, to Harry and there's a part of me that cheers for what happened." He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I think if it were any other situation, I'd hunt down the person that could do that to another, but..." he shrugs, as if that finished his thought. And, really, it kind of does.

Draco nods, letting his gaze settle in his lap. "It took me awhile to decide to do anything, just so you now," he says, looking up to meet Neville's eyes.

"I'm sure you did," Neville says, seriously. "You're a good man, Draco. I wouldn't expect you to do something like that without thinking it through. Or without cause."

Draco just nods again, stunned to hear Neville say such a thing. They get along, sure, but he didn't realize the other man thought much about him. He's relieved, more than he cares to admit, that Neville knows and is OK with what he did. He's mostly relieved he's not going to be dragged to Azkaban.

"I have to say this, Draco," Neville says seriously, almost reluctantly; "If anything comes up that points to you, I can't ignore it or try to bury it."

Draco nods; he figures as much. "I know, Neville. I honestly wouldn't ask you to," he says seriously. "Its... enough you aren't dragging me out in a body bind."

Neville chuckles and gets to his feet. "Well, I'm glad we got a chance to talk. I gotta see Harry. Privately," he adds apologetically. He knows Draco was there for the original statement but with Auror Perkins with him, he has to be a bit more official. He smiles when Draco just nods his understanding and heads towards the lounge instead of Harry's room.

He watches the blonde settle into a chair and shakes his head, hoping Draco doesn't have to wait long. He's sure that even if he told Draco it would be hours, the blonde would've settled in to wait instead of going home. He wonders if Harry realizes... He cuts off his thoughts as he enters Harry's room and after a quick hello, gets down to business.


End file.

Harry Potter, Hurt-Comfort, Romance