Title: Blind Hope

Rating: R (violence, a little swearing)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Chapter 1/?

Summary: A boy who claims to be Draco Malfoy is found mutilated, and it's up to Harry to unravel the secrets of the boy who may or may not be Draco Malfoy, and eventually to save him from himself. Will be slash at later date

The room was cold and damp. Patches of mould grew fuzzily on one wall, obscuring the pitted stone. The floor was covered in parts with grass. The air was musty and old, disturbed only by the quiet breaths of the still figure in one corner. The figure was about seventeen, not very tall, and almost skeletally thin. The hair was a pale blond, though it was too dirty to be able to see it clearly. Chains secured his ankles, and his hands to the wall, and his eyes were bandaged, making it unable for him to see at all. A small globe hovered near his head, talking endlessly, some stream of information, and the figure shook its head irritably. "Shut up," it hoarsely muttered, and made an attempt to swipe it away. The thing kept on talking.

"Shut up," he repeated louder, and gestured at it, sending a thin stream of fire from his fingers. It missed the thing by three centimetres, and it continued chattering away.

A hollow clanking sound was heard, and the boy's head shot upright. "What time is it Globe?"

It spoke in its thin tones. "O eight hundred hours, master."

His head fell, "it's too early to be father then. But who could it be."

Many feet pounded down the stairs, and he felt hands pulling at him anxiously, and a rough voice, say hoarsely. "My God the poor boy. Quick McClaw, unchain him." For the first time in seventeen years, the chains were removed from his hands and feet. He felt hands start to undo the blindfold, but attempted to push them away. The hands were taken away- obviously they thought the light would hurt his eyes after so much time, and he felt himself being put onto a stretcher, though his limited experience didn't recognise it as such.

The first voice spoke again. "Can you tell us your name son?"

He nodded. His voice was rusty from disuse and the intonations odd as though they had been copied from someone else. "Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Who is he really Madame Pomfrey?"

"I don't know Harry. I really don't. He's certainly not the same boy. I knew Draco Malfoy well from his time in the hospital wing, and there are a number of things very different about the pair. This one is shorter, and of course much thinner, and he has a birthmark on his thigh that other Malfoy boy never had. Besides sometimes you can just tell, and I'm willing to bet that this boy isn't Malfoy after a few months of neglect."

"Then who can he be? And why was Lucius Malfoy visiting him?" The boy stirred hearing voices, and Harry and Madame Pomfrey quieted a little. "When will he be ready to talk, or his bandages to come off?"

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about Harry. Or rather show you. Please prepare yourself. It is not a pretty sight." The boy felt the bandages being pulled back and didn't protest. They might as well know the truth after all.

There was a horrified pause in the voices, and then 'Harry' whoever he might be spoke in a sickened whisper. "His eyes have been cut out."

"And not only that, this bandage has been spelled to prevent them from healing. After the bandage is removed, they'll probably heal, but judging from the bandage, his eyes were cut out at birth, or very soon after."

"Why?"

There was a sigh from the woman. "That might be the clue to the puzzle Harry. Usually the main way to neutralise a power magic user is to cut out their eyes. Wizards cannot perform magic properly without their eyesight, as they cannot aim, and most wizards do not possess enough co-ordination to judge with any accuracy lengths and distances with their other senses. It seems likely to me that that is the reason he has no eyes. Someone was afraid of any power that this boy might possess. Afraid enough to attempt to blind him forever."

"But surely his eyes can't grow back." Harry said. "That's not possible even for wizards."

"You'd be surprised at the resilience of wizards. But you are right they can't. Look carefully at him though. His wounds have not been healed yet, as can be shown by the bandage. But the bandage has pain relieving spells on it, so it was obviously not to cause pain that healing has not been allowed. I would deduce that this means that someone has preserved his eyes using a preservation spell, and that if we can find the location then we can repair his eyesight in minutes."

There was a slight pause then. "Where would they be?"

"Who knows. I'd suspect somewhere in Lucius Malfoy's house, but if I were you, I'd get straight on to the Location Department at the Ministry, and ask them to do it for you. They'll be able to far easier, and then they'll use a Recovery psychic to obtain them, if the container isn't heavily spelled." The bandage was gently replaced. "Meanwhile I'll feed him up intravenously. Instant nourishment. He's not malnutritioned oddly enough. It looks as though he ate fairly regularly at most points, and then suddenly he ate less often. Probably the time Lucius Malfoy went on the run and was captured, but anyhow he's not deformed from lack of vitamins, though he might be suffering from anaemia."

Footsteps left the infirmary, and gradually the boy drifted to sleep again.

Harry hit the wall hard. He just couldn't understand how anyone could do such a thing. To cut out a child's eyes. He felt suddenly sick, and the scents wafting from the kitchen were definitely failing to tantalize his senses. He remembered the quiet figure in the hospital bed, and shook his head. There had been an instant sense of connection, when he'd heard of the figure's circumstances- much worse than a cupboard for a few years of course- at least Harry had been able to move around, and had had his eyes, but still there was enough there, that he probably knew how the figure felt more than most. He screwed up his eyes, and considered the boy who claimed to be Draco Malfoy, as compared to the boy Harry knew as Malfoy. There were both strong similarities and differences. The faces were alike- almost as though there was a strong relationship there- maybe brothers or cousins, and the same with the hair. But the expressions were different. This boy was immobile, blank faced, as though he had either retreated from the world, or just hadn't felt enough emotion for his face to have it written in lines, as compared to Malfoy's face. Malfoy's face might be marked with emotions such as anger and hatred, but laughter was there as well. Malfoy had lived, and the other hadn't.

At the Department of Diviners, he found only two people. One was a wizened old woman, dressed in violet, who was staring at a pen which was rotating swiftly on the desk, and the other was a fresh faced boy who looked younger than Harry, currently attempting to capture a memo gone rogue. He was standing on the desk reaching with a ruler, when he noticed Harry. Without a trace of self consciousness, he jumped down and smiled at him. "What can we do to help?"

Harry looked at him oddly. "I need a diviner and a Recovery pyschic."

The boy pointed at himself and at the old woman. "Speaking. What is it? We're only supposed to do ministry work, but the afternoon is slow and we'll make an exception, won't we Janetha?"

The old woman grunted and stood. She was taller than Harry had expected from such a small old lady, and when she looked up, her face was only in her twenties. Her hair melted into a pink wig, and her clothes into a scarlet gown, low cut enough to make Harry blush a little. The boy noticed and laughed. "Ignore Janetha. She's excellent at illusions. I'm Paul by the way. Not quite so good, but I'll do." His form shivered, and a taller, but only slightly older looking man materialized. "This is my real form. Even I haven't seen Janetha's real form yet, so can't comment on whether she really looks like that. So what can we do?"

Harry outlined his ideas, and Paul scribbled down the details. "I have to warn you Harry. We're both juniors, and this is pretty tough. We'll have to bring down the defense walls round Malfoy Manor, or at the very least find a gap." He pointed at Janetha who still hadn't spoken. "She's the locator and I'm the recoverer. She can't do magic."

Harry looked surprised. "Doesn't that make you a Sq.." he bit his tongue in embarassment, but she didn't look offended.

"No actually. Locators are very rare. We're born, not made and the power of illusion comes with the job. Can you imagine a two year old, being able to locate anything in the world and change it? Havoc. So our magic is severly limited. It has to be, for us to be sure that we don't change the thing that we locate. Paul as a Recoverer has to do magic- disable protecting spells etc. So if you'd like to act as anchor Harry we can begin."

She grabbed his hand, and held it close to her bosom. Harry felt a little uneasy, until he realised that she was clasping her necklace, obviously using it as an aid. Her eyes closed and when they reopened they were empty of all thought. Her voice was oddly changed as well. "I'm in Malfoy Manor, in the entrance hall, and I'm walking to the top part of the house. Her pupils flickered. "I can almost see it, almost feel it waiting." She gave a strangled cough, and fell forward. Harry grabbed her, supporting her, looking quickly for Paul.

Paul had ignored the fallen Janetha though, and grabbed the necklace. He pulled on Harry's hand. "Don't worry it's normal for her. I'm going in now. He opened the necklace, and seemed to inhale whatever was in there. A thin spiral of silver smoke, looking a lot like a memory strand curled into his nose, and he also coughed, a deep cough. When his eyes opened, Harry almost bit his tongue in shock. He could see a small jar, on a shelf, in what was obviously Malfoy Manor. Paul spoke, his voice deeper. "The spells are seventeen years old, easy to break." Harry could see fingers close around the jar, and lift. "Be ready Harry." Harry was prepared this time, and managed to lower Paul gently into the chair. Paul was now clutching a heavy glass jar, thickly wrapped with the remnants of visible protective spells, that prevented him seeing inside. Janetha was awake already, and seemed unaffected in the slightest. She pinched Paul, and shot a mischevious look at Harry.

"Don't tell him I did that."

Paul stretched. "I knew it already dear. Did I get it Harry?"

Harry hefted the jar. "Yes," he paused awkwardly. "If there is ever anything I can do for you both, please don't hesitate to ask. This is very important, and your help was very kind."

Paul smiled at him from the chair. "No worries Harry. I just hope everything goes well for you."

Harry reluctantly smiled and left. Outside of the warm cosy room, it felt much colder and darker. Watching Paul and Janetha at work, he'd felt a bit envious, both of how well, they managed to get along with each other, and of a job which though obviously not simple, was still enough to give them satisfaction, and of a lot of importance as well.

Back at Hogwarts he went straight to the infirmary. Before he opened the doors though, Hermione and Ron accosted him. "Where have you been?" Hermione asked, with anxiety in her eyes.

Harry debated on whether to tell them, and made a conscious decision not to. He couldn't explain at this point, why it was so important to find out about the other boy, and he didn't want questions asked that he had no answers to. Maybe he'd tell them once the other was cured. So he lied. "I've been answering some questions of the Ministers. I've got to check on the progress of that person they found. I'll talk to you guys later." He shut the door almost in their faces, and locked it with a quick flick. Part of him was wondering why it was so important that he get to the bottom of this mystery, but he ignored it's questions and turned to Madame Pomfrey, and the middle aged woman beside her.

Madame Pomfrey introduced her. "Systia." She gave no last name, and Systia glided round and removed the jar, holding it up and peering into it. "It might be wise if you were to go Harry, or at the very least look away. This will not be a pleasant sight in the slightest, and certainly, you'll still have to wait a couple of days until he can talk to you."

Harry considered. He didn't think he could face watching the operation, but on the other hand, it felt like betrayal, to leave the younger boy to the pain that was coming. So he sat down, and took the limp hand with his own, and closed his eyes tightly.

A scream rocked the room, filled with agony and a peculiar kind of terror. Harry clenched his eyes shut tighter, as he felt the hand within his own spasm and contort into a rictus of pain. He held on tighter, and gradually the muscles began to relax.

Systia spoke. "The worst part is over now. The eyes have been replaced, and there is every indication that they will remain. It'll hurt him for a few months to look at any bright lights, and certainly for the next few weeks, keep his eyes lightly bandaged. After a week, remove one layer, and so on, to gently accustom him to normal amounts of light. He'll need a lot of support of course, everything will confuse him at first, until he matches objects with their names, but I'm sure you and your friends will help him when you have time Mr Potter." It was a statement.

"Of course," murmured Harry looking up. The other boy's eyes were bandaged again, but already Harry fancied there was something different about the face.

In the next few days, Harry alternated his time between the infirmary and meetings with Aurors, and other members of their side, as well as keeping up as much attention that he could on the problem of the Horcruxes. On the fourth day after the operation, the boy spoke. Madame Pomfrey was talking in another room, so only Harry was there.

"Is your name Harry?"

Harry hardly dared to breathe. "Yes. Is yours Draco?"

"Yes. But I don't really have a name I think. Not properly. Draco doesn't feel like my name."

"Can you tell me about yourself?"

"I'll try, but I find some words strange. I'm not an excellent speaker. My first memory as a child is the place in which you found me. I don't remember seeing. I always wore bandages on my eyes. I asked Father once about them. He told me that I was too dangerous to be allowed to see, but that he didn't have the heart to kill me, so he kept me alive where he thought no-one could find me. I learnt to speak through his visits and through the Globe that was always with me. The Globe became my teacher, and despite everything I cultivated my memory enough that I could recall anything, after I heard once. I know lots of spells, and think I can cast them. But they always missed the Globe which was my only target, so I'm not very good obviously." He fell silent.

"Did you have a wand?"

"What is a wand?"

Harry removed the wand from his pocket, and put it in 'Draco's' lifeless fingers. "This is."

"No. I had nothing."

"Then how could you cast spells?"

"I just thought of what I wanted to do. The Globe gave me ideas, and told me of possible spells."

Harry stilled. He could understand why Lucius Malfoy had been so scared. The power that this skeletal almost-child held in his hands, was frightening in its scale, and in its wielder's utter lack of conception about some things being impossible. He leaned forward a little. "Can you create things?"

"Sometimes." The voice was a little unsure. "But the Globe had to describe them for me in every detail, and I think I got things wrong a lot. I couldn't do food, how do you describe food without seeing it? And anything else I created got taken away from me."

"Would you try doing it for me?"

The voice was unsure. "I'll try, but please be careful. Sometimes I make them appear in the wrong place. What would you like me to do?"

"What can you do?"

"Blankets, I suppose. I can't do live things at all. I'll try a blanket." Harry watched fascinated as the figure's hands trembled, and between them a blanket formed. It was rough and hairy, and the shape was a little undetermined but it was definitly a blanket. Harry could both feel and see it, and he gently put it at the end of the bed.

At that point Madame Pomfrey came in, and Harry noticed the time. He squeezed 'Draco''s hand, and left. Madame Pomfrey began fussing with potions and the changing of the bandages. When he came in next, 'Draco' was sitting in a chair, with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Already he looked better. His hair had been cut a bit, and he'd gained enough weight to cover at least some of his bones. Madame Pomfrey was currently changing the bedclothes, and when she saw Harry she smiled. "You can help him walk tomorrow if you'd like Harry."

'Draco' spoke. "I can walk. I used to be able to walk around the dungeon. There wasn't much point, but I am familiar with the technique. I feel more than strong enough to attempt a few steps, thanks to your care Madam." He sketched a bow from his chair, and Harry laughed, as did Madame Pomfrey.

'Draco' stood. He was dressed in black night clothes and a black dressing gown, not having a house of his own to adopt its colours. He almost toppled, but Harry steadied him a little, and he was able to move a few metres easily.

After that he healed amazingly fast, and was touchingly impatient to remove his bandages. Harry had a brilliant idea. He borrowed Seamus's sunglasses, and let 'Draco' wear them after the last layer was removed. The first time the other boy was able to see, what was a momentous one. He seemed to be holding his breath, then finally uttered a deep wrenching sigh. "It's all so strange," he said in bewilderment. "I never imagined it would be like this. So strange," he repeated. That became his catch word for the next few days- so strange. Everything was excitingly new, even in the limited confines of the hospital wing, even more so when they were revealed in colour. Harry spent hours, giving names to simple mundane objects that the other boy had never heard of.

It had now been several weeks since their discovery of 'Draco' and gradually Harry's days had begun to revolve around the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione worried about him intensely, thinking he was still grieving for Dumbledore. He couldn't explain how marvellous it was to see some-one's sight return gradually, to see their wonderment at the world around them. It gave him a fresher appreciation of what he possessed.

'Draco' was especially interested in people. So far the only people he had seen were Madame Pomfrey, Harry and himself in a mirror. He hadn't attempted magic since the last bandage had been removed, or at least not until Harry suggested it. The way 'Draco' looked at him, made Harry wonder if the other had forgotten in a strange way about his magic, in the face of all these new wonders of sight and colour.

They'd worked together to find out the limit of 'Draco's' powers, Harry hiding his wonder at the source of power he could sense. He took care never to let the other boy see that he found wandless magic not disturbing exactly, but certainly it made him uneasy. Harry could do small spells easily enough, but the width of magic being displayed was beyond his capability. He also didn't show his unease at the type of spells the other could do easily. Fire spells, anything associated with manipulating physical matter were like saying ABC. Same with transfiguration- he picked it up in seconds, once Harry showed him the concept, and took great joy in playing around with the furniture. However any spells that dealt with people, he found more difficult to master. He understood few motivations, and the one time that Harry had attempted to teach him Occlumency, he'd broken out into a cold sweat, and refused to say anything except that it had overwhelmed him. Even the simplest of motive testers, were beyond him. Harry had tried to teach him to use basic school potions equipment, but discovered the other boy was badly uncoordinated still. He could not make even the simplest potion, and in that he was different from the other Malfoy. His hands shook, and though his memory was near perfect, he consistently forgot amounts and instructions. Charms were also far from simple, but the Arithmancy textbook was devoured greedily.

Harry didn't attempt to teach him Defense against the Dark Arts, or Divination, not judging them necessary.

After a hard afternoon's work, when he entered the infirmary he found the other boy staring wistfully out of the window, following his gaze Harry noticed that the gardens looked particularly attractive today, and obtaining Madame Pomfrey's permission, he led the other out into a secluded part of the gardens and summoned his broom. He demonstrated mounting it, and then handed it to 'Draco.' With one easy movement the broom leapt into 'Draco's hand. Harry wasn't surprised. Other Draco had been a good flyer as well, and the likelihood was that the two had been related. The broom hovered above the ground, and anxiously Harry watched. Making a sudden decision, he climbed on himself, and making sure the other was holding on tightly made a short trip around the outbuildings, avoiding the classrooms. He expected the other boy to be afraid, but when he turned his face was filled with pure exhilaration, and for the first time he looked genuinely happy. The expression disappeared when they dismounted, and saw who was waiting for them. The Minister, two scientific looking chaps, and a bewhiskered man who Harry vaguely recognized as an Auror. He was the only one who seemed friendly, and he obviously recognized 'Draco.' Harry remembered where he'd seen him before. His names was Adams and he'd bought Draco to Hogwarts- he'd been the first one to find him.

"The Minister needs to ask some questions Draco." Madame Pomfrey said, wringing her handkerchief nervously.

Harry faced them squarely. "Not by himself. He still needs time."

The Minister gave Harry a cold reptilian glare of dislike. "Under my authority Mr Potter, the boy who claims to be Draco Malfoy, must answer. If you insist on listening, I suppose you must, but I insist myself that you do not interfere." Receiving no answer he took it as consent.

The room was cold, and Harry shifted uneasily. The minister obviously meant business, no niceties like tea. Instead Veritauseum was served. The questions were rapidly fired at 'Draco.'

"Is your name Draco Malfoy?"

"I'm told it is."

"How old are you?"

"I think I'm seventeen."

"How long were you in that place?"

"Seven months. Before that I lived somewhere else very similar for the whole of my life."

"Did you ever talk to anyone?"

"A man who claimed to be my father came a lot for the first thirteen years. Almost every day, sometimes twice. After that, less frequently. Another man also came."

"Did the man who claimed to be your father give a name? Did he treat you well?"

"He called himself Lucius Malfoy. I don't know what you mean by treat well. He fed me, educated me through the Globe."

"What of the other man?"

"He was angry that I was there. He said that it was wrong of Lucius to do it, and he tried to take me away, but Lucius immobilized him, and then cast a memory charm on him."

"Did he give his name?"

"Lucius called him Severus."

There was a shocked intake of breath in the room, and Harry felt his throat constrict with hatred. Other questions were asked, most of which Harry knew the answers to, so he ignored them. He could feel 'Draco' getting upset. After two particularly insensitive questions, Harry exploded. "Is it necessary to know if he remembers when his eyes were removed? Is it necessary to ask him if he was ever raped?"

The Minister's voice was ice cold. "I deem it necessary Mr Potter. It is none of my business whether you do. Now sit down and shut up."

Harry sat fuming impotently. He wanted to grab 'Dracos' hand, and offer some simple comfort, but he didn't want the Minister's snide assumptions, and questions if he did so. He wanted to march them both out, back to the infirmary, where things were so much simpler. He'd covered the political situation with 'Draco,' who had made no comment on it, either to the positive or the negative.

Finally the intrusive questions were finished and Harry led 'Draco' back to the infirmary as quickly as possible, only to be confronted as he locked the doors to be confronted with an angry Hermione. Her eyes were blazing, and her hair almost crackled with electricity, as she snarled questions ignoring his attempts to interrupt. The gist of what she was asking was why he had barely talked to her in the last month and a half. Harry decided it was time to finally tell her. Or rather show her. Motioning her to be quiet, he unlocked the door, revealing 'Draco' reading what was ironically one of Hermione's textbooks.

She looked at him horrified. "What is Draco Malfoy doing here?" she demanded incensed.

Harry attempted to explain. "He's not Malfoy. He goes by the name Draco Malfoy, but this is someone completely different." Briefly he told her of all the events, and watched her eyes change from angry, to a soft pity.

"Why didn't you tell me Harry? I would have helped."

Harry couldn't answer that properly. He'd felt a peculiar reluctance to let anyone else, even Hermione in on this secret precious thing. But Hermione was already bustling forward. "Why doesn't he pick a new name?"

"The simple logic of the question, flabbergasted Harry. "I d-don't know," he stuttered. The more he thought, the more he liked the idea. A new name, a new start, a new life.

When he broached the idea to Draco though, the other boy looked confused. "I don't know any other names. And besides my name is the only thing that I own right now. I don't have anything of my own, nothing."

Harry hesitated. "You do have one thing," he said softly and delved in his pocket. "It was found beside you." He pulled out a tiny silver bracelet obviously made for a new born baby. It was broken as though the wrist it had encircled had grown too big for it. In tiny letters was engraved 'For my darling baby Draco. Your loving mother Narcissa." He read it out- 'Draco' still had difficulty with small print. The other boy was perfectly still and silent.

When he finally spoke it was solemn. "Did you ever see my mother?"

Harry spoke hesitantly. "Yes. She was very beautiful, and very sad looking."

"Did she think I was dead?"

Harry had to be honest. "I don't think she knew."

The other boy turned, indicating he needed to be left alone. Harry waited a moment and left. The real burning question was, who was the real Draco Malfoy? The emaciated skeleton with burnt out eyes, or the arrogant boy Harry had known in school. That question was to be solved faster than he could have imagined, by the eventual questioning of one Lucius Malfoy.

The man was swathed in magical chains, and almost ready to sit trial when he was shown his son. Harry watched, hidden by the pillar near the bed, as Lucius Malfoy took a trembling step towards the boy looking at him with whole eyes. "My son," he whispered through rising tears. "My son, they found you. Thank God."

'Draco' spoke. "Who am I?"

Lucius Malfoy sat. "You're my first born child. Narcissa was expecting, and Lord Voldemort told me privately that it would be twins, and that the one which came from the womb first was to be strangled alive. He would be a wild talent, unfettered and untrammeled, a child who could wreak havoc for Lord Voldemort, or be his greatest support. Lord Voldemort was unwilling to take the risk of the former, so he ordered your death. I agreed, but when you were born you were so whole and so perfect that I could not do it. I could not kill you. But to allow you your magic was too dangerous. You would be discovered in days. So I took the steps I did."

"What of the birth bracelet?"

"Your mother knew she would have a son. So she told me to commission a bracelet with Draco on it. She never knew she had twins- the pain was too great for her to focus properly. So I gave you the name and the bracelet and then took you from her. She named the other son Draco, never knowing you bore the name as well."

"What of him?"

"A disappointment to me. He was a weak puling brat from the moment he was born. His magical talents were large, but he never bothered to explore his potential, preferring to mess around with a broomstick. He was nothing like you, and many times I wished your roles reversed."

"Is he still alive?"

"Yes. Though I almost wish he was not. He's due to be executed. Apparently he changed his mind after seeing Dumbledore die, and decided he was not fit for the Dark. He killed three death eaters, and almost escaped. If it weren't that our Lord had plans for him, he would be dead already."

"And my mother?"

"I do not know. She is not part of Voldemort's Council."

A rough voice sounded. "Time's more than up." Hands pulled Lucius Malfoy away, and desperately, he called to Draco.

"Help me, my son."

Draco stared at him with blank eyes. "Rot in hell father."

When Harry ventured out, Draco was crying, tears running down his face. "Why me Harry? I would have given anything in the world to be without talent, but with my mother and my brother."

Harry hovered indecisively unsure of how to give comfort. If it had been Hermione he would have embraced her, with Ron an awkward pat on the back. He chose to sit near enough that the other boy could turn to him if he needed to.

Soon however though the tears ceased, and cold fury took its place. "I have to rescue him. It is imperative."

"Your father?" asked Harry, completely confused.

"That piece of scum? Of course not. My brother. You heard father. He's not part of them, I have to rescue him. He's my family, and he doesn't deserve a father like that any more than I do."

Harry protested fiercely. "You wouldn't last five minutes on your own. You don't know where he is, how many people there are, or anything."

There was a hint of a smile on Draco's mouth. "That's why you're coming with me."

Harry had forced their way into the holding cell at the court and located Lucius Malfoy. Draco was swathed in a heavy black cloak from head to foot, but Lucius Malfoy knew exactly, instinctively who it was. "Where is your son being held?"

Lucius Malfoy didn't pretend to misunderstand. Harry gave him a piece of paper and Lucius drew with swift finger movements a map. "Deathcap Cottage," he said. "Snape operates from there, and he will tell you precisely."

Draco took the map, and looked directly at his father. "I understand," he said softly, and Harry knew it was neither absolution nor forgiveness, just a simple acknowledgement.

An hour later they stood outside a cottage. Nothing seemed to enforce its sinister name, and Harry was beginning to wonder if they were at the wrong place, when a well known man left the front door. He didn't appear to see them, and Harry was wondering what spell to use, when Draco walked out in front.

Snape halted completely surprised. "What are you doing here Draco? How did you escape? No matter. Come inside quick, and we'll find a way for you to get out of this mess."

"I'm not Draco." The words were soft and cold, and understanding warred with confusion in Snape's eyes.

"Have I met you before?"

"Yes. A young man in a cell, three years ago."

Snape pressed a hand to his head. "I'm sure I've met you. But I can't remember where." He sounded frustrated and confused.

"That would be the memory charm, my father Lucius placed on you. But no matter I need your help to rescue Draco."

Snape nodded. "I am bound to protect him, by his mother. What do you need?"

Harry walked out to join the conversation. "We need his location, and if possible to be able to speak with him. His wand would be useful as well."

Snape said nothing about Harry's presence, merely nodded tightly. "Location I can give you. Possibly even speech. His wand is broken though, he'll need another." Harry held up his.

"He can use this. I won't be needing it."

"He's only a mile from here. Voldemort wishes to imbibe his soul, and the power it possess, and if possible to take his body, for his own. We'll have to work fast. Draco is magically bound, but not physically, so we can contact him still." He gestured them inside, and directing Harry to light a fire, he shook three drops of blood from a cut on his wrist into it, and a strange yellow powder, that looked like sulphur and smelled like roses. He muttered something Harry didn't catch, and Malfoy's face appeared in the flames. It was bruised and bloodied, and looked hopelessly angry. Snape spoke quietly. "Draco can you hear me? Are you alone?"

A voice replied. Harry almost didn't recognise it. It sounded hard and bitter and hopeless, nothing like the upperclass, sneering voice he associated with the other boy. "Yes Severus, I hear you. The guards are down the corridor right now."

"First, are you injured?"

"Yeah. My left arm is pretty much useless right now, and I'm beaten up. Can move though."

"Listen. We are coming in to get you. Just stick tight, and try to delay as much as you can."

"Don't bother Sev. I swear to you I won't go down easy. I have a knife they don't know about, and before they complete the ritual, it'll be in my heart. Just promise two things. You'll look after Narcissa, and tell her I thought of her, and that you'll tell them I didn't do it for the Light."

"Stop the dramatics Draco. I've got helpers. All I want you to do is not give up hope."

"Please tell me Potter isn't bloody there?"

"Well..."

"How did I ing guess? I have to stop Severus. The guard is back."

The fire went silent. "He's changed." Harry said quietly.

"How couldn't he? Sold to Voldemort by his own father. Watching an old man die in front of his eyes. Killing people himself, and seeing unadulterated evil. Even if he survives Draco Malfoy will never be the same, and I can mourn that. Now let's go."

Reviews would be extremely welcome! And yes this will probably be slash at some distant point- don't like, don't read.