Debauched 2

• Chapter Two: The Wood Wanderer

Unaware of his mother's predicament, Draco sat for a time at the base of the tree where she had left him. He knew she had healed him best she could, but he was still far from alright.

His vision was slightly blurry. He had to concentrate hard to bring things into focus and this was rendering him a headache. He wondered if he would need glasses, but he discovered he could see clearly sometimes.

No, he thought, this is probably neural damage.

He knew exposure to the Cruciatus for a long period of time resulted in unpleasant after effects. He had no idea how long he had been tortured under it-the days had blended in together and he lost count after the second.

He only knew that the curse had damaged his optic nerve cells and probably destroyed those in his left leg. If the stiffness and pain he experienced every time he moved his leg were any indication, Draco guessed the damage was extensive and that he had suffered some to that side of his hip as well.

Needless to say, walking proved difficult. It didn't help that he was barefoot and completely naked under his mother's thin robe. He had cast a warming charm on himself and it lasted as long he kept going. Draco didn't know what he would do come night. He supposed he could build a fire, although he was in no hurry to attract unwanted company in his current condition.

He followed Narcissa's directions, climbing the hill with some difficulty and coming down to the said river's banks. He stayed a little inward-concealed in the foliage-as he began to limp along its winding path.

The sun sank over the horizon by the time he stilled, utterly spent from his excursion. His feet were bleeding and numb. Draco huddled between two giant tree trunks, shielding himself from the wind before using the wand to heal his feet. The pain was nothing. He had suffered worse, but he couldn't risk an infection.

He crawled to the bank of the river for a drink before hiding again. His mind did not even think to satiate hunger. He had been hungry for days, but it was too late and dangerous to search for food now.

Making up his mind to look tomorrow, Draco closed his eyes and fell in a fitful sleep. He woke up several times in the night-startled by unfamiliar sounds and tortured by his own nightmares.

When the sun did rise, Draco hardly felt awake. He pushed himself to his feet nevertheless, clutching his stomach which was beginning to cramp.

For a few minutes, he limped onward before exhaustion and his injuries dragged him to his knees. He flopped onto his back in the dirt and lay panting, eyes closed. Sweat glistened on his pale forehead and his cheeks were flushed despite the morning chill. He shivered uncontrollably and curled onto his side, hugging the robes about his slim frame tighter.

Muttering warming charms he tried to regulate his breathing and calm his overstressed nerves. His vision was foggy again and his hands were shaking like a hypothermiac. Vaguely, he became aware of pain in his left hip and leg, and turned onto his back to lessen the pressure, wincing visibly as he did.

Tentatively, he brushed back his damp bangs and felt his seething forehead, cursing under his breath. It would not do to have a fever now. He pushed himself up again and blinked fast as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

Bleary-eyed, he scanned his surroundings, looking for a safe hideout to hole away. He spotted a well shaded space between the trunk of a enormous tree, hollowed out it seemed from some natural phenomenon. The bark looked burned. He tried not to think of who or  what could have lurked here before him, and willed his body to accommodate the cramped space.

Draco had no trouble squeezing in. He had never been a bulky boy, and the recent starvation diet hadn't helped his already skinny frame. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head against the black bark, reveling in the woodsy scents for some time. They calmed him somewhat. The earthy scents soothed his jittery nerves and he was able to relax for a time.

He was still in pain and the fever had made him considerably weak. He thought about how much longer he could survive out in the open with no shoes, clothes, food, or shelter. He had his mother's wand, but given how weak he was, Draco didn't think his store of magical supply would last long.

It was already difficult to move. He sighed and drew his knees to his chest, winching when the movement sent pain shooting up his left leg. He rubbed his sore calf and mustered enough energy to cast a numbing spell on his left leg and hip. He knew it would hurt like hell later, but if being in pain meant he could live a day longer, Draco would endure.

He hadn't survived torture and risked his mother's life only to freeze to death in a pathetic forest. No. Draco would not give up on his promise to his mother. He would not die.

**

Weeks passed. Draco lost count of just how many days he spent wandering aimlessly amidst the trees. The promised village never came, but Draco refused to lose hope. His mother would never lie-perhaps the villagers had gone elsewhere.

In the days since, he had adapted a bit to his wild surroundings. He knew what plants and berries were edible-knew how to look for clean water and locate safe shelter. Needless to say, he hardly looked like the handsome boy he once was.

His mother's robes hung in tatters around his starved frame. His once milky skin was smudged with dirt and mud with numerous scratches and bruises marring  every inch. His feet were a calloused, bloody mess and his lips bled every time he opened his mouth. His hair was crusty and hung limp in soiled disarray.

Draco had pondered about taking  a dive in the river, but he didn't want to risk it. He didn't trust his bad leg or weakened body to keep him from drowning. He did wash his feet as often as he could though to keep the infections at bay. He had long abandoned magic-he was simply too weak.

So starved and in pain, Draco somehow still trudged along. He didn't know how far into the forest he had wandered. The air was cooler here and he could tell it was the beginnings of frost. He had managed to build fires for the past couple days or he would have frozen.

On the morning after the week he had mastered the warm flames, a light snow fell. It blanketed the ground in two feet deep of white. From his hollow perch wedged between two tall boulders that blocked off the cold wind, Draco marveled at the serene beauty that was winter. He had never thought about it before, but he liked how the snow seemed to wipe away all the traces of the seasons before. He wished he could erase his past so easily.

He had had a lot of time to think, being alone and aimless. He thought of his childhood, so innocent and carefree. He thought of his mother and remembered the long fights she had had with his father when that monster came back. She had never wanted Lucious to return to that vile thing, but once a Death Eater, it was impossible not to answer the summons. Draco turned his own hand to trace the ugly mark, now bruised and caked with dirt.

He felt the calling sometimes, but it was easy to ignore after all the pain he had been through. Sometimes, if he ignored it for too long, the skin turned red and bled. He could only curl up and moan in pain then, waiting for the pain to end or kill him. Once or twice, he had thought about going back if only to escape everything. What more could Voldemort do to him? But then he thought of his mother, and the urge to live became stronger.

He had promised her he wouldn't die. If noting else, he tried to do this one thing for her. He had always followed in his father's footsteps and this was where it got him. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to give his mother a chance. So thinking, Draco lived on.

**

It was the fourth month of winter that Draco at last came across hope. By then, his spirit was as tattered as his cloak and he was only able to move his mangled body through sheer will power. It was just after sunset and he was looking for a safe place to hole away for the night when he heard a wonderful sound: voices.

He stopped dead in his tracks, listening intently. There were two voices: a male and female. They were arguing...distressed. He crept closer to the sounds and peered over a small of mound of snow. He could see them. They were dressed in coats and the girl was leaning over someone, talking fast. Her hands were covered in blood. Her hair….

Draco's eyes grew wide. There was no way he could ever mistake that hair. He searched the surroundings frantically till he located the boy who was digging furiously through a bag, his hands shaking.

"Hurry!" Granger cried and Potter whipped out his wand, summoning a bottle that he carried to her.

She uncorked it, speaking softly to the twitching boy on the ground. Long legs, gangly arms, a shock of red hair…Weasley. Draco watched them in alarm. What were they doing here? He heard Granger muttering about apparaition and splinching and the ministry. Wealsey had stopped twitching and appeared to be sleeping.

Draco held his breath when Potter drew away and began setting up a tent. So they were staying. He bit his lip. As glad as he was to see them, he didn't know how he would be greeted. He didn't care that these were his enemies-he didn't know who to trust anymore. He had no side now, so did it really matter?

Draco looked down at himself, disgust and humiliation coursing through him. He steadied his nerves, taking a deep breath, and pocketed his wand. If Potter wants to hex me, he thought, he's welcome to it. It was better to die by his hands than the monster's anyways. At least Potter would make quick work of him. The less pain, the better.

So thinking, Draco cautiously stepped from his hideout and took a few tentative steps toward the preoccupied boy. It was Granger who noticed him.

"Harry!" she cried, "behind you!"

Potter whipped around so fast, Draco marveled he didn't twist his back. He had his wand out, pointing directly at Draco's throat. Draco raised his arms, trembling despite himself.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Who're you? What do you want?"

"Potter…" Draco managed to whisper. The effect was instantaneous. Potter's green eyes grew wide in recognition.

"Malfoy?" he spat, taking in his horrid state, disbelief evident in his features. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Taking a stroll," he quietly bit out, not amused in the least. He glanced at Granger as she abandoned Weasley's side and joined Potter, her wand drawn.

"The truth, Malfoy," Potter snapped, poking the wand tip against his throat.

Draco tried not to squirm under it as he replied, "I was tortured. I escaped. And here I am. Is that enough for you?"

"You were tortured," Potter slowly said, his eyes taking on a new light as he surveyed him once again.

Draco fought the urge to sneer and simply stood as still as he could, although his legs were beginning to protest.

"Harry," Granger lowered her wand, looking directly at Draco as though afraid he would do something the minute she broke eye contact. "He needs help."

"I don't trust him," Potter remarked, wand still firmly pointed. "He's a Death Eater." His hand shook as he spoke, anger coursing through every syllable.

"Take my wand if you have to," Draco said. "In my pocket…" Potter only stared, furious. It was Granger who darted to his side and dug the wand out of the tattered cloak. Stepping away from him just as quickly.

"Harry…" she began and he lowered his wand, taking Draco's from her.

"We can’t court you, Malfoy," he bit out. "Tell us what you need and get out. "

Draco had hoped, somehow, that at least Potter might sympathize-that he would understand. But, he had changed, or perhaps he really did hate him as much as he showed. He turned to Granger instead.

"Is there a…village anywhere near?"

She looked at him puzzled. "I don't-I don't think so. This is a muggle forest, Malfoy. I'm surprised you even knew it."

"I didn't. Mother…" he bit his lip. He glanced at Weasley, still on the ground then at Potter, whose hard eyes refused to leave him. He held out his hand and Potter only scowled.

"My wand, Potter," he said, "I'll be on my way."

Potter's scowl deepened, he clutched Draco's wand only to slip it into his pocket. "Get in the tent," he bit out, "You're not going anywhere in that state. I'll see what we can do, but I'm warning you, Malfoy, if you so much as slip a toe  I'll hex you into oblivion."

Draco only stared as Potter marched back to Weasley. He glanced at Granger and she gave him a small nod.

"Go inside," she said, before following Potter.

Draco coaxed his legs to move, half stumbling to the tent. He ducked inside and shivered when a blast of warm air surged over his numb body. Clutching the cloak tighter about him, he sank into a chair in the corner just as Granger and Potter returned, supporting Weasley between them.

He was half out, his shoulder still sporting the vicious scar from the splinching. Draco watched them lower him on a bed and Granger talked quietly to him while she smoothed the blankets.  Potter, satisfied that Weasley was safe, turned to him, his features hard.

He scrutinized Draco enough to make him squirm uncomfortably.  He suddenly pulled off a chain around his neck on which hung a heavy locket. With a sigh, he pocketed it before looking at him again, his eyes seeming softer.

"You're bleeding," he almost whispered. "Do you want to take a shower or clean that off?"

Draco looked at his stained feet and shrugged. A shower seemed wonderful, but he was afraid he would pass out and he wanted to conserve as much dignity as he could.

"Shower first," Granger said as she joined them, having seen Weasley was asleep. "We can't have your  wounds getting infected. Harry, do you mind?"

He looked at her questioningly and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly Harry you don't think he can take one by himself. He can hardly stand as it is-"

"''Mione-" Potter began, but Draco cut in before he finished.

"It's fine. I'll be fine." He didn't want Potter  to see him anyway. Granger shrugged, glancing at Potter who was suddenly staring at the floor.

"Well, the bathrooms that way and I'm sure Harry'll find something for you to wear."

"Yeah," Potter replied, looking sheepish.

Draco didn't care. He limped towards the bathroom , leaving bloody stains in his wake. It was a cramped affair, but merlin he was just grateful for  running water. He was about to unclasp the cloak when Potter came behind him.

"Sorry-I'll just leave these here-" he said, setting down a set of folded clothes and towel. Draco only nodded and waited for him to leave, but  Potter stood there looking a little lost.

 "Do you-do you need help?" he finally asked.

Draco would have laughed in his face if he had any laughter left in him. Too tired to say much, he only shrugged and fumbled with the fastenings on the cloak. His fingers shook, the nerves unsteady under the strain.

"Let me-" Potter suddenly said, stepping forth. Draco let his hands drop, resigned to his fate. Potter deftly undid the clasps and Draco let the cloak fall to the ground.  He saw Potter swiftly turn his eyes away, but Draco was beyond caring. After what he had endured, he doubted if any situation was more humiliating. Grabbing onto the curtains for support, he climbed into the tub and stared at the knobs.

"Potter, the water," he finally murmured and Potter, hurried forward with a small "Oh!"

He let Draco test the water before turning the taps fully. Draco sighed when the warm water hit him. Eyes closed, he leaned against the wall and watched weeks of grime wash away. He was aware of Potter standing just outside the curtain, probably fiddling with his hands, getting nervous about nothing.

"Potter," he called again and received a startled "What?"

"Can you wash my back?" He didn't expect Potter to comply really, but Potter pushed aside the curtain a moment later. Draco turned around so that his back was facing him and waited as Potter lathered the sponge with soap. He was surprisingly gentle for someone with strong arms. He let the sponge drift over his entire back, rubbing in tiny circles and then, when that was done, he began scrubbing the back of Draco's neck gently. Draco tipped his head forward, letting him do as he pleased. If Potter wanted to be nice, he wasn't complaining.

Draco knew there were scars on his back from old sessions with his father and he knew he was a bruised, bloody mess. The water running into the drain was a dull pink from his blood. He murmured for Potter  to stop when he began to feel dizzy and half stumbled out of the tub. Potter wrapped him in a towel without a word and, supporting him with one arm, rubbed him dry through the towel.

He helped him put the clothes on and Draco silently let him steer him out after, feeling on the verge of passing out.

 "I'm going to get Hermione," he said as he directed Draco to another bed. Draco watched him go, feeling extremely sleepy. The bed seemed so inviting. He lay down, his hair wet over the pillow, and briefly closed his eyes. When Harry returned with Hermione, they found the blonde boy fast asleep.