Unthinkable Fate

He awakens alone, in a room that he does not recognize, but thankfully on a somewhat adequate bed. He is still filthy, but is grateful to see that someone at least cast a minor cleaning spell over him. Standing is difficult, but he manages. Haltingly, using furniture and walls to keep himself upright, he makes his way to what he guesses is the bathroom.



The room is small, and contains a toilet, a tiny sink, a combined bathtub and shower. Before, when he was young and foolish, he would have distained such a combination. Showers and baths should be kept separate in a proper household. Now he climbs into the small tub willingly, turns on the shower spray and sits there in his torn and filthy clothing, wondering if he dares to remove the few articles of clothing he dares to call his own. If he does so, what would he do should his captors make off with the scraps of clothing, leaving him naked for all to see?



It is a foolish idea. Why should he care if his rags go missing? What does he have left? He removes the sodden things and drops them outside the basin he sits in. He hears a pop nearby, and knows the house-elves are doing their jobs well. Now he has nothing.



-xXx-



Harry paces the room he had been led to by Hermione and Ron. He had wanted to go to the voice that was calling him, but his friends held him back. He knows he must go to that voice, or something bad will happen to someone. Who, he doesn’t quite know.



Hermione casts some spell on him, he knows, and suddenly the voice is blocked. The silence rings in his head. He begins to scream.



-xXx-



Aurors rush into the small room, drawn by the screams of the blond prisoner. They find him in the bathroom, naked, under the shower spray. He is unconscious now, bleeding from his head; a new wound gifted from the bathtub’s edge, when he scrambled to get out of the tub and to get back to the calming presence of his mate’s thoughts.



A pink-haired woman lifts the wet hair from his face, she recognizes the signs. She knew the truth before; now she must tell her superiors. They will not be happy.



-xXx-



Harry is sitting in a plush chair by the fireplace of the Hogwarts room he had been given, fighting a splitting headache and trying to ignore Hermione’s theories on what could be wrong with him.



He jumps as Auror Shacklebolt bursts into the room, the door banging loudly into the wall nearby. “Can you believe it?!” He rants angrily. “Just when we think we’ve got him…!”



The brunettes hand goes up in a halting gesture. “Shacklebolt. I’m in no mood for games. Get to the point, will you?”



“It’s Malfoy!” Ron interrupts. “He’s getting away with it again!”



“Malfoy?” Harry asks, clearly confused. “The older or the younger?”



“The younger, of course Harry!” Ron exclaims, clearly confused by Harry’s own confusion.



“I don’t understand.” The Boy-Who-Lived mutters, leaning his head back against the softness of the chair and covering his eyes with his hand. The headache is not going away.



“He’s practically getting a ‘get out of Azkaban free card’.” Ron snaps, turning even redder then before.



“How so?” comes the reply, but it sounds hardly interested.



“He’s a Veela or some such thing. There are laws against stopping them from finding their mates, and…”



“Apparently there was a claim put in that says his confinement by the Ministry is harming him and deterring his search.” Hermione finished for Ron.



“Oh?” Harry asked, barely interested in what was being said. Somewhere, the voice calling out to him was sending soothing feelings, and his headache was fading from him.



“Just out of curiosity, who filed that claim?”



“Tonks did. She said she felt she had a responsibility to her cousin, even if she does think he is a huge prat.” Hermione supplied.



-xXx-



Draco didn’t know why the comforting presence of his mate had faded, but he did know he was damned embarrassed when he came to surrounded by several Aurors and covered only by a blanket off the bed, even though he was on the floor just outside the bathroom door.



He growled at the people staring down at him, and sent a disgusted look at the two Aurors pointing their wands at him. He managed to get upright, and carefully feeling the bloody cut on his head and clutching the blanket to his waist, made his way to the bathroom once again. He eased himself back into the tub, this time pulling on the handle for warm water, and leaning back to relax while the tub filled. He was grateful that the house-elves were so on task here, because this time some soap, shampoo and a cloth appeared.



No use being filthy when he had a perfectly good bathroom here for his use, and nowhere else to go anyhow.