The Death Eater

Draco Malfoy had just sat down to lunch in the Great Hall, watching with barely-concealed delight as Granger and Weasley eat despondently, pale and sad and tired. Dumbledore and McGonagal, and the other teachers had the same look, dark eyes looking at the empty space at the Gryffindor table where Harry should be sitting. The other Gryffindors left the seat open as a mark of respect to their leader, and there was none of the gay chatter among them of children. Loss had touched their House and left all of them changed.

The Hufflepuffs were going around in terrified packs, looking just as upset as the Gryffindors, and the Ravenclaws spent even more time buried in their books than before, using the dusty tomes to hide red-rimmed, scared eyes. Harry was their saviour and he was gone. Harry was the first casualty of the War from Hogwarts, and few knew what had happened to him. The ones who did looked by far the worst.

Even his fellow Slytherins looked drawn and worried, and more than a few were spending more time with Snape than they should be. Far from the victorious who believed they would win with Potter out of the way, his House were facing for the first time what victory truly meant, and were facing the scorn from the other three Houses who laid the blame for Harry’s loss squarely at their door.

It was an open secret now that Draco had Harry, those who didn’t know (and there were more of them than there ought to be, some parents had been talking) guessed or assumed. Especially with his little dissapearance this weekend, and his return looking like the cat that has gotten the cream, the milk-cow and the aviary. Even now he was walking a little bow-legged (and wondering with a shiver how Harry must be walking) and giving wicked little smirks unconsciously whenever he thought of Harry. Like now, and more than a few people were shooting him glares. Zabini, who had been coming to sit near him, saw the smirk and casually moved on to sit at the other end of the table.

Draco lowered his head a little to his his self-satisfied smile and began piling food on his plate, missing the delicious fare at the Manor, and the far more delicious company. He was already eagerly anticipating the weekend.

His good mood was broken in a horrified instant by the loud crack of apparation and the terrified cries of a desperate House Elf behind him. He whirled around to find Yuna, sobbing and scared. There was blood on her tea-towel and just by her appearance and inability to prevent the perpatrator of whatever horror had driven her here; he knew it was his father. The blood drained from his face as terror twisted his gut. He grabbed the Elf’s shoulders tightly.

“Yuna, calm down this instant! Yuna, what has happened? What has Father done?”

“Master Harry, Master Lucius hurts Master Harry! Master Harry screams for Master Draco!” The Elf cried in her high-pitched fear. She could not have stopped Lucius, and the guilt would be driving her crazy.

“Take me there, right now.” He ordered, his Wand in his hand and his heart in his throat.

He arrived to the worst scene he could imagine, a scene from his nightmares. He could see little of Harry but a bloody smear beneath his Father’s wasted alabaster back, his hips pistoning in a rapid, vicious motion that was unmistakeable. Harry wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t capable any more. The blood-stains on the wall and the slumped forms of his House Elves gave mute testament to the fact that this had been going on for far too long already.

His Wand rose against his Father and the words slipped past his lips before he’d even thought of what to do. His Father had spend weeks trying to make him learn, had brought a little Muggle-born Wizard-boy that he’d kept in the Dungeons for Draco to practice on. The Cruciatus had been completely beyond him, although the boy had learned very, very fast that if he faked it, the terrifying blonde man wouldn’t know, would smirk nastily then leave the room, give the boy a reprieve. The Imperius had come easily to Draco, however. He knew that while under it the boy would feel no pain, and endeavoured to keep him under it as long as possible. His Father, he knew, believed Draco had used the pliable boy for his pleasures and Draco kept him believing that for as long as it meant he had time with the boy, and his Father accepted that the boy was left immaculately clean.

This particular curse, Draco had never had the chance to learn. His Father had tried for several days, but Draco had always begged off, telling him he’d practiced enough on animals (a lie) and that he was enjoying the boy too much to want to kill him yet (another lie, but for a different reason). Then Father had gone to Azkaban and Draco had healed the boy’s body, wiped his mind, and tried to send him home only to find that he’d been an orphan. His Aunt Andromeda had been glad of her new Ward, and had said nothing of the strange marks on his back, or the way that Draco would not look at him.

It came easily to him now, slipping out on the hate that Draco had never managed to feel, before. The words he’d never spoken, even with his Wand safely tucked away, slipped out on a sibilance that should have been impossible. His Father didn’t even seem to hear him over the roar of his own blood in his ears and the weak cries that had obviously long replaced Harry’s screams. But Harry found another scream as Lucius Malfoy shone green for a shocking moment, then slumped over him lifelessly, crushing him.

Draco took a perverse pleasure in twisting his Father’s still stiff member viciously as he pulled it as carefully out of Harry’s body as he could, kicking the corpse away and leaving it in its own filth. He stroked Harry’s vagina sadly, there was so much blood, and far too much pink come for it to have been the first time. He sent silent prayers to anyone who listened to desperate rapists that Harry wasn’t pregnant by his Father and wrapped his robes around him, lifting him as though the boy weighed nothing (which wasn’t true any more, he’d put on a bit of weight under Draco’s care). He carried him into the bedroom and laid him carefully on the bed, glad to see that Tidus had picked himself up and followed them. Yuna was already getting the Healer, so he summoned Wakka. He gave the limping House Elf his orders and turned away, ignoring both sets of wide eyes as they set about to do his bidding.

Harry was trying to sit up, so he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and helped him. Harry immediately lurched, but a bucket appeared in his arms courtesy of a clever House Elf before he threw up into it. The vomit was tinged with blood, which made Draco panic. He calmed himself by rubbing Harry’s back soothingly, but the boy cried out and pulled away. He removed his hand, and looked down at the damp palm with horror. It was red, already stained with the blood soaking through his borrowed robe. He stripped it away and cried softly himself at the sight of Harry’s back, ravaged and torn from his Father’s whip. The wounds had been further ripped open from being pushed and scraped against unforgiving stone as his Father had laid him against it and fucked him. He found himself hoping for the smallest of mercies that his Father had fucked him the first time before whipping him, but he had a feeling from seeing Harry’s struggles first-hand that his father would have had to whip Harry into submission before getting anywhere near his body, since the collar would have strengthened Harry to fight him off instead of weakening him like it did with Draco.

The Medi-Wizard arrived at last, and Draco knew from the look in his eyes that he’d found his Father and the room that he’d had Harry in before he’d come here. Draco backed away and said nothing as the Wizard worked, but was numbly grateful for the compassionate hand that rested on his shoulder briefly before he moved on to Harry. Draco turned away, unable to watch the Wizard heal Harry. He trusted the other man completely, knowing where his loyalties lay. He summoned Yuna and asked her about the House Elve’s progress, before pulling on a new robe. He was shaking, and subliminally realised he was in shock. Yuna was pressing a glass into his hand, and it was only after he’d choked on the contents that he realised it was the brandy from his Father’s cabinet. He looked down at the half-empty glass, before snarling angrily and throwing it at the wall. He winced in shame when Harry cried at the noise, and stormed out.

He found himself in his Father’s room. This should have been his room, when he’d inherited the Manor, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch it. He’d taking his Father’s belongings from the rest of the Manor and stored them here, but he couldn’t remove his Father from this room, or the Manor altogether. He regretted that now, he should have eradicated any sign of his Father’s presence when he had the chance.

He set about that now, single mindedly piling all of his Father’s things in the middle of the sitting room. The rug dissapeared as he did, shortly followed by the couch. He knew Yuna was here, invisibly removing all of the empty furniture, but the Elf was perceptive enough not to move anything that had actually belonged to his Father. Or perhaps she was old enough to have been here when his Grandfather had died, he thought unkindly.

Last onto the pile were his Father’s robes; fine ermine and silk, cashmere and the best wools. He’d so envied his Father these clothes, his finery and his presence. When he’d been a child he’d coveted it jealously, after his Father’s imprisonment, or maybe before, he’d wanted to be better. Now, the mere thought made him sick. He poured his Father’s expensive perfumes and lotions over the lot with childish glee, before touching his wand to the end of one of his Father’s numerous degrading letters to him. These, too, had been stored here afterwards, out of sight but unfortunately never out of mind. Draco dropped the letter and watched first the perfume; then the finery light up with a malicious pleasure. As it burned on the bare stone floor, the final piece of furniture in the room, his father’s empty armoire, dissapeared. Now it was just Draco and a pile of precious fabrics and beautiful penmanship in a bare room, slowly burning away.

Yuna pulled him from the room as the smoke was beginning to make him cough and the flames were licking at the edges of his own robes. He wasn’t certain he could have left the room himself, and was grateful for the Elf. He warded the room carefully, making sure that, while the fire would destroy the room, it would not go anywhere else. The walls and ceiling would hold up to the flames as well. He hurried after her as she rushed to his bedroom, where Harry lay on the bed in a healing sleep now. The Medi-Wizard was finished.

“I’ve cleaned him up the best that I could. The wounds on his back were severe, and will take a few days to fully heal. I fear that some of them might scar, but I have left a cream with the Elf that should reduce that. As for his vagina, it was incredibly badly damaged, but I’ve managed to heal that as well. I’ve inserted a healing plug into him, otherwise I fear parts of it might try to knit back together as it is not a naturally occuring opening, and it contains a potion that will seep out at timed intervals to help him heal. He needs to keep it in at all times over the next three days; then it can be removed. If you want to use him there, you should still give him a few weeks, one at least, two would be better.” Draco waved the words away with an angry scowl, memorising them none-the-less.

“Forget that, we should stop trying to pretend I’ll have any say; you saw... Just, did my Father... Did that bastard get him pregnant?” Draco asked; desperation and pain seeping into his rough voice. The Medi-Wizard watched him anxiously for a few moments before shaking his head.

“No. No he didn’t, because Harry was already pregnant. Thankfully, the baby survived your Father’s attack. By the looks of it, Harry’s magic – which would normally have protected him – turned inwards. The baby was protected by a magical shield that repelled all attacks on him. The lashes on his lower back were already healing when I got to them. It looks like Lucius kicked him in the stomach and ribs – two were cracked and three broken but they’re healed now – there were printed bruises on his stomach but they healed before I got to them and there was no sign of any internal damage. He was vomiting blood from the damage to his ribs and such, but it could have been a lot worse. His kidneys, for example, were covered in bruises, but they healed as well because of Harry’s protective shield. You have a very powerful young man there, Draco, if he’d been anyone else your daughter would be dead and he wouldn’t be too far behind.”

“But they’re safe?”

“Perfectly safe, and well on their way to recovery. I already had potions that were safe for pregnant people to use, but he’s going to need a lot of safe pain-killers over the next few days, so you should look into that. Now, we need to talk more seriously. I saw Lucius. You realise, Draco, that I will have to report this?”

“I thought you were on the Order’s side?”

“I am, but I’m also on His side. I’m the primary Medi-Wizard for a large number of Death Eaters because He reccommends me; I tell him what I need to and then I report to the Order. If He finds out I knew this and didn’t tell Him...”

“I need time. And hour, at least. Please, I beg of you.”

“I can’t give you more than that. I’m sorry, Draco, but this is far bigger than you.”

“One hour. I’ll leave Father’s body here; He can use it for His potions for all I care.”

“Where will you go? You can’t go back to Him.”

“No. No, only Albus Dumbledore will save me now.”

“He’ll throw you in Azkaban. For all I know, you might just die accidentally before you even get there.”

“Severus says that they’ll take me in, protect me. And even if they don’t, they’ll protect Harry and our... daughter. That’s what’s important now.”

Draco turned to Harry on the bed before he noticed the surprised, happy look on the other man’s face. He stroked Harry’s cheek gently before calling for Yuna and having her bring him some warm water and cloths, and some clothes for Harry. He set about washing the blood and grime from Harry’s body as gently as he could, drying him and dressing him in warm clothes as he worked.

He didn’t even notice when Yuna showed the Medi-Wizard out, or as wardrobe, rug, side-table and wall-hangings dissapeared. He just focussed on Harry until the room was empty of everything except the two of them and the bed, and the House Elves appeared to tell him that everything was packed up. Draco nodded and helped Harry to his feet, leading him to the Floo and leaving the stone skeleton of his Manor behind. The Elves were already gone to the safe-house, the Elves in the London apartment, French villa and Italian holiday house would meet them there. Voldemort could come after the Malfoys with everything he had; all he would find would be a dead body, a pile of burnt offerings and the desolate skeletons of his inheritance. The stones could be rebuilt if necessary; he had everything that mattered in his arms where he belonged.