Chapter Text
In the time since Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped he had tasted a hell not unlike when the Dark Lord himself had roamed the hallowed halls of his childhood home, although not nearly as deathly terrifying. He'd been used, abused, and pleaded with only to be abused once more as he spat in the face of those attempting to, rather lamely in his opinion, drag him to their side. And while the Dark Lord had achieved most of the loyalty pledged to him through fear, the men who attempted to coerce Draco now had barely a smidgen of the noseless bastard's finesse and inherent menace. Try as they might, those first few days of peaceful conversation had not gone as they'd liked. Once they'd realized he was not to be swayed, it hadn't taken long for them to switch from negotiation to torture. So now, here Draco lay. Trussed up on the floor, his sight stolen from him by the piece of cloth covering his eyes. His arms aching and wrists chafing from the binds around them. His whole body sore with the punishments they had rained on him and his stomach clenching on air now that they'd chosen starvation as their latest tactic. Or maybe they chose not to feed him so as to sap his strength to fight back. He'd lost track of how many weeks, or maybe it was months, he'd been locked up in this room. And yet his spirit remained unbroken. There had been one instance when they'd gotten close. Found and used a deep secret of his to hurt him enough that he'd almost caved in to despair. But that attempt had only steeled his resolve against them in the long run. There would not be a second time.
Draco heard the door open and braced for the next onslaught of violence against his person. “Ron, he's in here.” Potter's voice drifted across the room to him, practically sounding relieved and he scowled at it. The footsteps slid up beside him and he felt himself lifted gently off the floor into a seated position. Draco winced as the pain in his arse spread up his back. He could feel the bruises and scrapes littering his body with new vigor. A feeling that was not at all dulled as the blindfold was pulled from his eyes, returning his sight to him once more. He blinked against the harshness of light, glaring as his eyes adjusted to show Potter, crouched in front of him and Weasley supposedly guarding the door. Green eyes looked him over with concern, undoing the ropes binding him with a swish of his wand, and Draco would have scoffed if not for how raw his throat felt after going hours without water. “Malfoy, can you hear me?” ‘Potter’ asked and Draco being Draco could not resist the chance to piss off someone who deserved it. “Really McTavish, this again?” he rasped through cracked lips, rubbing his chafed wrists. “I’m insulted you think I’d fall for this little rescue ploy a second time.” ‘Potter’s’ brows knit together in confusion. “McTavish? Auror McTavish?” he questioned, recognition flashing over his features. “Harry, we don’t have time.” ‘Weasley’ called over his shoulder and Draco coughed on a laugh. It almost sounded convincing. Almost.
“Right.” ‘Potter’ assented, handing Draco a water pouch that he dared not drink from. “Malfoy, can you walk?” he asked seriously and Draco narrowed cold grey eyes at him. “Is that supposed to be a question?” He snarked, tossing the pouch aside in favor of swallowing spit to wet his throat. ‘Potter’ simply tilted his head at him, confusion and concern painting his features oh so perfectly, and Draco felt something in him snap. “Fine. I’ll play along.” he snarled, watching ‘Potter’ flinch and seeing ‘Weasley’ turn slightly to assess him. He made a scene of leaning forward to wrap his arms suggestively around the raven-haired man’s neck, though pain shot through him at the effort. But Draco was nothing if not a performer, and so he powered through, batting his eyes dramatically. “No Potter, I can’t. You see, my captors saw fit some days ago to polyjuice themselves into you and Weaselbee over there-” “Oi!” ‘Weasley’ protested. “and fuck me unconscious.” Draco continued, smiling dangerously. “And it seems they enjoyed the experience so much that they’ve been back as themselves every day since for another taste. Please, lift me up into your big strong arms and carry me off into the sunset.” he finished sardonically, teeth bared as he waited for the cruel smile to unfold over Potter’s features. He blinked, taken aback, when all he saw instead was the man’s eyes widening, his face twisting in a slowly dawning horror. Even Weasley had gone unnaturally still, and for the first time in weeks Draco felt something like doubt begin to creep in.
“McTavish?” he called, and watched as green eyes went hard. Before he could do so much as pull away, he found himself whisked gracefully off the ground into a bridal carry and he yelped, clutching the auror robes that hung sturdily around Potter’s broad shoulders. “Ron.” Potter barked, striding up beside Weasley and the ginger nodded his affirmation. “All clear.” Draco chanced a glance up at the man holding him and was met with a sharp look. “Did they ever take you out of this room?” he questioned sternly and Draco shook his head, for once at a loss for words. Potter nodded at that. “We have to move quickly. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Draco flinched at the phrasing, pushing away and Potter quickly tightened his grip. “Bollocks. Not what I meant, I- You know what, let's just go.” he said, whisking forward into the hallway, Weasley close beside them.
With Potter’s hands firmly full, he deferred to the ginger to navigate them through the twisting tunnels that made up the maze Draco had been captive in, peeking around corners and announcing “clear” before moving on at a steady pace; all while his wand remained in position to cast at anyone who got in their way. As Draco watched his wide back leading them through the hallways, he could faintly make out the sounds of dueling coming from afar. Potter cocked his head to the side as the sounds caught his ear. “Looks like the raid has started.” he commented. Weasley glanced back at them over his shoulder. “All the better. It’ll provide us cover to get him out.” Draco trembled at the implication, clutching the fabric in his hands tighter and watching Potter flinch as his overgrown nails caught the man’s skin through his robes. Green eyes looked down at him curiously and he fought back the tears misting in his own.
“It’s really you?” he questioned, his voice sounding small and fragile to his own ears. “This isn’t a trick?” He was aware that he sounded more vulnerable than he had since that night on the astronomy tower all those years ago. But he was tired, exhausted really, feeling the smallest most negligible speck of hope for the first time since his capture and he needed to know if he should squash it right then and there. A familiar determined look crossed Potter’s face and he leaned in to whisper “We’ve got you Malfoy.” in that smooth cadence Draco had only ever heard him use with select company. He buried his face in the strong chest underneath him, taking in the familiar soothing scent that was Potter and clutching onto him like a lifeline. Only when a door opened with a bang and he felt the breeze on his skin did he look up into the blinging bright of the outside world. His wonder was short-lived, however, when he felt the telltale pull of a side-along apparation whisk him away to an unknown location.
His world tilted and he felt his head spin as they landed on the other side, pitching forward and willing the bile to stay in his roiling stomach. He recognised the low groan that met his ears as his own, but he couldn’t be arsed to care what kind of scene he was making at that moment. Strong arms held him firmly, waiting patiently for him to right himself before moving. He kept his eyes firmly shut, lest opening them cause another dizzy spell or wave of nausea. The familiar tingle of warding magic washed over him with the sound of footsteps on cobble stone. A door opened, then shut behind them and soon he was being placed gently down on a soft loveseat. Draco blinked his eyes open, taking in his surroundings warily until the layout made clear to him that they’d arrived in the livingroom of an auror safehouse. Relief, despair and anger all crashed down on him at once as the last weeks finally caught up with him behind the realization that he was safe. He shoved it aside to deal with later, though not before he found himself choking briefly on his own breath. Weasley stood in the doorway eyeing him wearily, while Potter crouched in front of him assessing his state. When he saw that he had Draco’s attention, a soft pained smile graced his features.
“I have to check in with Robards on the status of the raid, but we have a healer coming to take care of your injuries.” Potter informed him kindly. Draco felt a vice grip his chest as the list of available DMLE healers close to his saviours sped through his mind. “Is it Granger?” he asked panicked, and the look on Potter’s face only confirmed what he already knew to be true. “Please.” he begged. “Anyone but her.” He heard Weasley scoff at that and turned to see a thunderous look on the redhead's face. “Why?” he snarled. “Don’t want her ‘filthy hands’ touching you?” Draco snapped, not for the first time today. “No, you unfettered moron! I don’t want the woman I tormented for years, who was tortured in my home, to know I was raped!” He shouted back, throat aching at the strain. Only for his words to catch up to him. He locked up, realizing that this was the first time he’d said the word aloud. The first time he'd truly acknowledged what had been done to him. He felt his chest begin to seize. Heaving breaths overtook him, too shallow for any semblance of air to make its way through to his lungs and he clutched his shirt at the chest, straining the already worn fabric to the point of popping the seams. Distantly he heard a button hit the floor through the rushing in his ears and Potter's warm hands grabbed firmly but gently at his thighs.
He flinched, a rough cry of protest working past his lips and Potter merely leaned into his space. “Malfoy breathe!” he commanded, and Draco fought to obey. “In with me, that’s right. One, two, three, four. Okay now hold it. One, two, three, four. Good job, now out slowly. One, two, three, four, five, six. Once more. In.” he continued to count and Draco did his best to match the pacing as Weasley looked on, shock and guilt marring his features. Once Draco had his breathing under control, Potter shot Weasley a withering look. “You heal him. I’ll go check in with Robards and call off Hermione.” he commanded, and all Weasley could seem to do was nod dumbly. Potter redirected his attention to Draco and the blonde found himself overwhelmed at the sheer amount of care and concern in his open gaze. “I'll be back soon.” The raven said soothingly. Then he stood and strode from the room, leaving Draco alone with nothing but Weasley and his own thoughts. The redhead rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as Draco stared at the spot Potter had once been, desperately attempting to keep his emotions in check. He was free. He was free. Safe and secure in witness protection if his surroundings had anything to say about it. The thought was all encompassing, threatening to bowl him over with the intensity of it. So strong was the feeling that Draco was actually grateful for the distraction when Weasley slowly bumbled his way over to him.
“Erm. Here.” The redhead started awkwardly, fishing a water pouch out of his robes and handing it over. Draco gulped it down greedily, nearly choking on the first few swollows. Weasley opened his mouth to speak again. “I can't heal anything internal, but I'll do my best to get the rest.” Draco pulled the pouch away from his lips with a gasp and shook his head. “Not necessary. They took care of the life threatening stuff. Couldn't have me dying on them before I turned coat, could they?” He huffed bitterly. Weasley stood in front of him, staring him over. Draco raised an eyebrow. “What? Surprised I didn't?” He hissed and Weasley straightened up, anger painting his features. “Should I be?” He shot back. Draco scoffed. “Yes you would think a Malfoy would take the first opportunity to follow the next maniac spouting blood purity vitriol, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, watching the fury stain the man's otherwise handsome features. “That's not true!” He shouted back.
“Isn't it?” Draco snarked. “Because I was cleared of all charges, moved out from my family home and have dedicated my entire career to supplying your department with the best potions this side of Europe has to offer and yet you still take every opportunity to remind me what purist death eater scum you think I am! I can't imagine you volunteered to come save me. Let me guess. Robards thought I sold out and you thought to yourself ‘hey, I'd love to give the git what he deserves.’ Well too bad for you but they never broke me!” Weasley shook his head vehemently at that. “That's not it! I-” Draco cut him off. “Oh, so Saint Potter couldn't resist being my saviour yet again and had to drag his partner along for the ride.” He guessed, proud of himself when Weasley's features darkened once more. “Don't talk about him like that.” He snarled dangerously and Draco felt a thrill course through him. Oh yes. This was much better than dealing with his pesky feelings on his time in captivity. He leaned forward baring his teeth.
“Or what?” He asked menacingly. “Going to put me in my place, Weaselbee? So sorry, but nothing you could do to me could possibly top what I just went through for your precious auror department. And I doubt Potter would be happy with you trying.” Weasley seemed to deflate at that and Draco leaned back smugly. “So why don't you just run along back to the Golden Boy and we can both pretend the other doesn't exist for a while.” Draco finished, offering the other man an out. He wasn't surprised when Weasley, instead of taking it, squared his shoulders and looked at him head on. “Harry told me to heal you. That's what I'm going to do.” He stated, no room for argument. Draco watched him for a while, taking in his unwavering blue eyes before finally relenting with a huffed “Fine.” He waited for the man to move towards him, but all the redhead did was fidget in place, opening and closing his mouth and generally looking like a gaping fish. Draco waited a few more minutes before his limited patience ran dry. “Spit it out Weasley.” He snapped harshly. Weasley looked away, his face going red making his freckles stand out spectacularly. He gestured vaguely to Draco. “I need you to take your shirt off. So I can assess the damage.” He stated lamely. Draco felt his breath catch and clutched at his shirt.
“Why Weasley” he started, willing his voice not to tremble. “Are you asking me to strip for you? What would Granger think?” He watched as Weasley's face became impossibly redder, and the man sputtered before collecting himself with a scowl. “I genuinely don't understand what Harry sees in you.” He spat. Draco blinked at him in shock, before turning away to hide the look of hurt he was sure was on his face. “On that we can agree.” He muttered bitterly, wondering not for the first time why the Savior of the Wizarding World had chosen to befriend him after the war. Memories of drinks at the pub, lunches on duty and Harry returning his sodding wand of all things flooded Draco's weary mind. Potter's soft voice drifted through his head, a long forgotten request of ‘call me Harry’ with Draco's equally playful answer ‘Potter suits you just fine’ right behind it and he had to fight back the tears threatening to spill over.
Weasley, to his credit, chose not to make commentary on the blonde's emotional state. As grateful for that as Draco was, he still felt himself shiver in repulsion when the redhead gestured once more for him to remove his shirt. The idea of being naked and vulnerable in front of anyone right now had the panic from earlier threatening to overtake him tenfold. His fingers shook as he slowly and deliberately undid the remaining buttons. Then he took a deep shuddering breath and pulled the fabric down his arms, casting it off to the side. “Bloody hell!” Weasley cried out at the sight of him and Draco flinched at the sound of it, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists. He was more than well aware of the mess he looked. The bite marks littering his skin; the finger-shaped bruises covering his arms, waist and neck and the large swaths of purple and yellow blooming on his torso. “Just get on with it.” he grit out. When nothing happened he peeked his eyes open. Just to flinch away from the hand reaching for him right as the pads of Weasley's fingers gently grazed a particularly deep set of teeth marks in his shoulder.
“Don't touch me!” He shrieked and Weasley snatched his hand back. “Sorry.” He murmured in a rush. Draco's chest heaved as he pressed himself back into the cushions, staring wide eyed and guarded at the redhead crouched in front of him. Weasley stayed stock still, hands up and eyeing the wound with horror on his face. “You said McTavish did this to you?” He questioned and Draco let loose a manic laugh. “Him and the psychopath he turned for. Donoghue.” He supplied in answer, venom dripping on the man's name. Weasley frowned at that, uttering a soft ‘episkey’ and running his wand down each of Draco's arms, the wounds stitching themselves together and fading to his standard alabaster skin. “You're sure it was McTavish?” He asked as he worked, moving on to the blonde's torso. Draco felt his face go red as fury flooded through him so strongly that it took him some time to speak. “You're right Weasley, the cock must have addled my brain. Perhaps it was an erkling that buggered me?” He snarled sarcastically. Weasley flinched, his eyes going wide. “That's not- I didn't- I mean-” He cut himself off, slumping forward and staring at the floor. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.” He eventually said. Draco's fury only increased. “Don't you dare pity me, Weaselbee.” He hissed and watched as the redhead's hands clenched to fists, the wood of his wand straining under the pressure.
His face screwed up and when he finally looked at Draco it was with cold anger. “Wouldn't dream of it, Ferret.” He announced standing up and storming from the room. Draco stared at the empty space in front of him for a long time, his anger at Weasley slowly dissipating. Once it had gone completely, the complex feelings that came with being free flooded him at full force. With nothing, not even the physical pain left to distract himself with, he crumpled forward putting his face in his hands. “Fuck.” He said to no one in particular. “FUCK!” he shouted his rage into the room, the tears finally spilling over. He reached for his shirt, flung haphazardly over the back of the couch and tore the offending garment to shreds. One of the plush pillows on the loveseat was the next item to suffer his wrath. When that wasn't enough he flipped the coffee table off its feet, sending it crashing harshly to the ground and crossed the room to the bookcase as footsteps thundered down the hall. Potter and Weasley rounded the corner just in time to see him grab the first tome and hurl it at the far wall.
“Malfoy what are you doing?!” Weasley shrieked and Draco grabbed the next book, giving it the same treatment. Potter ducked the third as he crossed Draco's battlezone, shouting “Calm down!” Draco screamed his anger and pain as he grabbed hold of the back of the case, fully intent on pulling the whole thing down. Large, warm hands grabbed him by the forearms and turned him to face a very concerned looking Potter. Draco shoved at him in an attempt to dislodge the burly man, but it was no use. “Malfoy, calm down.” Potter pleaded and Draco only shoved harder. “Let go of me!” He roared. “Draco, look at me!” Potter commanded and grey eyes snapped up to green as Draco stood panting and shaking. “Breathe.” Potter instructed and Draco couldn't help but listen, tears still streaming silently down his face. Potter, sensing the storm to be over, let out a breath of relief. “Are you alright?” He asked gently. Draco huffed a scoff. “No.” Potter winced at that and Draco almost felt bad. Weasley walked over, taking in the state of the room. “Merlin Malfoy, what were you even trying to do?” He asked accusingly and Draco's head snapped towards him.
“What does it matter?” He hissed. “When the raid ends, we'll be free to leave, the department will clean this up, and then we'll all go back to our jolly lives where we can pretend none of this ever happened!” He shouted. Then froze as he caught the look the two aurors exchanged. “What was that?” He asked and neither man deigned to answer him. Draco snarled at the silence. “What happened with the raid?” he demanded, panic beginning to sink its sharp claws into him once more. “Draco.” Potter called softly. “What. Happened.” He snarled. Potter winced. “Most of the neo death eaters were captured.” He said quietly. “Most?” Draco echoed back hollowly. Potter stared at him, looking for all the world like he wished the floor would swallow him whole and Draco steeled himself. “Salazars sake, just spit it out!” He snarled and Weasley stepped forward. “Donoghue, McTavish and a handful of others escaped. We're stuck here for now.” He supplied when Potter couldn't speak. Draco felt an ice cold numb settle over him as the information processed. “No.” He whispered in horror. He pushed himself from Potter's grip and was blissfully let go, able to bring his hands up to clutch at his own blonde locks as his head spun. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” he muttered, his breathing becoming erratic and his vision swimming. “Draco? Draco breathe.” Potter commanded once more, only this time Draco could barely hear him, much less obey. The blonde saw, rather than felt, the floor coming up to meet him. And as he collided with the boards, he felt his world go blissfully black.