And the Autumn Moon Is Bright

Chapter One: I See Trouble On the Way

Draco woke up on the third day, not knowing where he was. Of course, he didn't know that it was the third day, either.

At first, all he could see was white. It occurred to him that he was dead. He couldn't remember what happened but there were flashes of pain and red that pulsed when he tried to think about it. Perhaps it had been a fitting end.

He was lying on his side, in bed of some sort. Maybe this was Heaven, just rows upon rows of beds where you could sleep all day and rest and never have to do anything at all. Pretty soon the dessert serving would begin, cakes piled high on golden platters supported by dancing girls. Ah, that would be the life. Or the Afterlife, as the case may be.

After a moment, it occurred to him that the cotton sheets underneath him were starched stiff and of disgustingly low thread count. This couldn't be Heaven, he decided. Way too cheap. You wouldn't get a rash in Heaven.

"Malfoy? Are you...are you awake?"

It was a disembodied voice, very familiar, coming from what sounded like the other side of him. Draco didn't think he'd be addressed as Malfoy in the Afterlife.

Draco blinked, but he didn't move. "Yes. No. I'm not sure. I could be dreaming." His body seemed to hum and throb on its own; he felt very detached. "But actually, I think I'm dead."

"You're not dead," said the voice.

"Oh yeah? Care to make a wager of it? I'll bet you 50 Galleons and a racing broom." He rolled over onto his back – a bad move. He almost screamed with the pain that stabbed through him, hot and sharp and piercing, and he quickly flipped back onto his side. What did they do, line the bed with knives? It couldn't be Heaven. He had woken up in Hell.

"Hey! Watch it, you twit, you'll hurt yourself!" In an instant, the owner of the voice was hovering over him. It seemed to have acquired messy black hair, glasses, scar – Potter's familiar face stared down at him, drawn with concern.

Yeah, definitely Hell, definitely.

Draco looked up at him. It looked like Potter and sounded like Potter, but that was the point, wasn't it, to drive him insane? "Hullo demon," he greeted.

The extremely-Potterish being gave him a funny look. "Malfoy...?"

"That would be me. I guess you have my eternal soul to use as you please now." He tried moving again, experimentally, and he felt a distinct stabbing sensation almost immediately, all over his body, some sort of blade twisted in his guts, and he cried out. Maybe he was cursed with Cruciatus every time he tried to move on his own? Interesting. Inventive. He had to give points for creativity to whoever this evil being happened to be, even if he had to take away points for actually choosing to look like Potter.

"Malfoy, stop that! God! Don't you ever listen?"

Clearly not. He tried wiggling his fingers: needles and pinpricks. Ow. He shifted experimentally; someone twisted several knives in his intestines, OW. There were probably tiny demons nested inside him, armed with blades, carving him up like Christmas turkey.
"Ow. Ow. Ow."

"I said stop! I'm...I'm going to get the mediwitch in here. Don't go anywhere."

Go anywhere? He couldn't move without putting himself in serious pain. This demon was just as stupid as the real Potter. Draco took great relish in telling him so.

"Real Potter?" The demon-thing looked confused. "But I am the real Potter."

It was a wily one. Fortunately, Draco was wilier.

"Ha! That is exactly what you would like me to think, isn't it? Well, you may be good, demon-that-looks-like-Potter, but I am good-er." He looked triumphant.

Demonic Potter was looking even more befuddled, clearly, testament to Draco's genius.

"Harry? I heard voices..." Another demon! There were more of them! This one looked like Granger. All he needed was Weasley and then he'd have the complete set in eternal torment. He shuddered, and Merlin damn it, that hurt, too.

"Yeah, Malfoy's up. I think his head got knocked about pretty bad, though..."

Granger gave him an appraising look. Draco looked down his nose at her the best he could, which was difficult at best, given that he was currently lying down on a bed. He thought he managed rather well, all things considering.

"I take it you're here to join in on the torture session," he said. "And you didn't even have the decency to go put on a corset and stilettos. Absolutely disgraceful."

The Potter-looking One blanched.

And my, who would have guessed that creatures of darkest evil blushed? "You're a very sick boy, Draco Malfoy," said the She-devil, "and I mean that in every way possible."

"They must have given him some drugs or sedatives or something. He keeps on calling me a demon."

"A clever ruse to try and distract me from the truth, you Potter-thing! I'm dead and this is Hell and you're both fiendish Hellspawn, here to punish me for my sins and transgressions and what not. I know the score."

"You're right, Harry. They must have given him some painkillers." She paused. "And if they haven't, maybe they should. We need to go get the mediwizard in here."

"Do you always spend so much time talking instead of torturing?" Draco inquired. "No wonder you keep people for all eternity."

"You're in the hospital, Malfoy, St. Mungo's to be exact," said the more female one. "Ugh, go get the Healer, Harry."

Draco contemplated whether female demon anatomy was similar to human female anatomy, or whether the one that looked like Granger had strange bits growing down there, and Potter had an orifice or two. Maybe something with teeth. He scared himself sometimes. Or maybe each one had both, or one had two sets...and did they perhaps lay eggs? He was still thinking up various permutations when they brought in the mediwizard.

This Healer was a young man, somewhat nervous, with thick glasses and patches of stubble, as if he were trying, valiantly, against the odds to grow a beard. He didn't seem to be a demon of any sort at all. He introduced himself as Logios Collins, M.W., which wasn't a very demonic-sounding name.

Listening to him, getting his vital signs taken, Draco was forced to concede that he wasn't dead. When they told him what happened, however, he knew he had been right all along, as he usually was – this was Hell.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

"Does it hurt here?"

"Ow!"

"What about here?"

"Bloody—"

"And what-"

"Don't touch me!"

"Do you remember anything?"

The meaty sound slapping sound wet sound the heat of his breath it smelled like meat like rot the back of my neck is wet is it saliva or blood

"No."

"Nothing at all?"

Mother screamed and Father didn't want to scream but they made him scream in the end didn't they not so proud now are you they laughed now as for the boy

"No."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Everything hurts it hurts so bad they tore chunks out chunks and flesh and my back is all ribbons red red

"I already told you, I don't remember anything!"

They had heard of the attack at Malfoy Manor right after it happened. It was chilling news in the afterglow of their celebrations, cold as the grave. It was proof that while the war may be over, there was still plenty of fighting left to do.

"No survivors," was the report that the Order had first given.

When Harry had heard the news, something sank deep inside of him, like a stone slipping into dark waters. The Malfoys were dead. Narcissa, who was a mother who loved her son, just as his has loved him. Draco. Even Lucius, who probably deserved every horrible thing that happened to him. Draco. Harry couldn't explain the feeling, but he lay awake for a long time that night, staring at the ceiling.

A day later Draco Malfoy was found, collapsed on the steps of St. Mungo's, ravaged and covered with blood. Mauled. That was the word for it, wasn't it, when you were all torn up like that. Perhaps he had Apparated there with the final reserves of his strength. Or perhaps some anonymous Good Samaritan had found him and left him there. Or perhaps, and in a more ominous perhaps, whoever did it to him had wanted him to survive, for whatever reason.

Draco Malfoy, Survivor Extraordinaire.

"Like a cockroach!" Ron had offered, helpfully. "Or a cold. No cure for it."

What was the use of saving someone's life if they were just going to get themselves nearly killed the very next day? It was ingratitude at its worst. Harry decided to go to St. Mungo's and tell him exactly that; somebody had to reprimand him.

They had placed him in Intensive Care; the ward was locked. A pretty, young receptionist sat at a desk with REGISTRATION in glowing letters across the front. She wore bright blue eyeshadow and was chewing gum.

She was reading the latest issue of Witches' Weekly. Harry saw, with no small amount of horror, that a photo of him was on the cover: battle-worn and covered with dirt, blinking nervously at what had been the photographers' flashing bulbs.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I need to see somebody. I have reason to believe that he's a patient here."

"Are you family?" she asked, without looking up from her magazine.

Harry hesitated. "A...a friend," he finally replied. It sounded lame. "A close friend," he amended. "The closest."

"Patient name?" she asked, still reading her magazine.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Sorry, family only," she replied in a bored tone. She turned the page.

"You don't understand, it's very important."

"Family only. Rules are rules."

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I don't think you understand..."

"And I don't think you understand—" she began, irritated from having to put down her magazine. And then she looked at the cover of Witches' Weekly. And then she looked at Harry. Back at the magazine. Back at Harry. "H-Harry Potter!" she stuttered.

"Yes," confirmed Harry, slightly abashed.

"Can I get your autograph?"

Harry sighed and was about to refuse when it came to him.

"Can I get into the unit?"

"You know, we're really not supposed to..." She bit her lip coyly, looking up at him through the lashes. "You're a lot taller in real life than in your pictures."

"Yes, well..." He cleared his throat. "I'm a lot bigger, too." She gave him A Look and he blushed, not exactly sure what that implied. "C-Could you possibly let me in?"

"Oooh, what are you going to do for me?" For a moment Harry wondered vaguely if she had been in Slytherin. She leaned forward, putting her breasts on the desk. She squeezed her elbows together, making her cleavage even deeper. "Hm, I know. How about a kiss?"

"What!"

"Just a little one, okay?" she pouted.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut and dropped a reluctant kiss on her cheek. She squealed with girlish delight, her voice reaching a pitch intended for canine ears, but not for humans'.

"Go on in, then, Mr Potter," she said happily."Don't be a stranger."

"Urm...yeah. See you later, then."

But it turned out that he wasn't a stranger, after all.

The first day he saw Malfoy on the hospital bed, unconscious. He somehow looked paler than should have been possible, small and fragile on stark white sheets. His face was pinched together, a frozen expression of pain, as if some cruel hand had taken his features and pulled them all into points. One eye was swollen shut, his cheek bruised. Harry had never seen that colour before – a literal purple, the colour of an eggplant. He didn't look like himself at all.

And were those imprints of fingers on his throat?

His chest was bandaged – so were his arms, and one leg up to the calf, both thighs. Some of the bandages were red or brownish in spots where the blood had leaked through.

Malfoy didn't move. His chest rose and fell, but just barely.

Harry left right away.

He was back the next day, however. And the day after that, and the day after that Malfoy woke up and accused him of being a demon.

The words were clinical. Victim. Assaulted. Question of amnesia. Post-traumatic. Lycanthrope.

Logios Collins, M.W., was a young man who was probably only just learning how to break bad news. Fortunately for him, he would get a lot of experience, these days.

"As you probably already know, this means that, from now on, you will be...ah..."

Howling at the moon.

"You...ah..."

Could get fleas.

"erm..."

Need to be taken on walks.

"I'm going to be cursed for the rest of my unnatural, wretched, wolfy existence," Draco supplied helpfully.

The Healer's mouth was a grim line as he simply nodded.

Draco threw back his head and laughed. Life was too funny. He'd have to invest in a good razor and some shaving cream. He could even maybe give Logios Collins, M.W., beard-growing tips.

This idea amused him so much that he laughed and laughed and he was still laughing when the Healer, afraid, put him under sedation.

It wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for him, Harry knew.

It was all his fault.

His shoulders drooped with the blame; it felt like stones piling up on his back, heavier and heavier. Harry wanted to put his head in his hands and wonder when it was ever going to end. If ever.

There had been three of them, with probably only one wand among them. If even that. Although they were powerful in their own right, wandless magic can only get you so far, especially if you're faced with an entire army of-

"Who's his next of kin?" the Healer had asked him, on his second visitation day.

They're dead, Harry thought. They're all dead. Mother, Father, Aunt, cousin...With the possible exception of...

"Yes, I most certainly am family," he heard a woman's voice saying. He turned to see Andromeda Tonks in front of Malfoy's room, speaking to a nurse.

"Mrs. Tonks?" he asked hesitantly.

Andromeda Tonks turned at the sound of his voice; her face looked puffy, eyes bloodshot from weeping. She wore all black, from head to toe, black shoes, black gown, black robes, a hat with a veil. It made sense, after all – she had a lot of mourning to do. A widow's garb, a widow's sorrow. The wrinkles showed in her puckered brow, the lines around her eyes.

"Oh, Harry!" she said. "What a surprise to see you here. Are you here to see...?"

"Malfoy. I mean, Draco."

"Oh," she said. "I never knew that you were friends."

Harry thought of disabusing her of the notion, but then couldn't find a good reason to explain why he was there. "Guilt" didn't seem good enough. "Ah, yes, well..."

"It's really a shame, what happened...Such a horrible shame..." Mrs. Tonks stifled a sob and rummaged around her bag for a handkerchief. "Excuse me." Unable to find one, she tore the leaf off a potted plant and Transfigured it into a box of tissues.

"Mrs. Tonks?"

"I...liked Cissy, you know. She was my favourite sister. Even after I met Ted...Of course, she didn't speak to me anymore, as nobody did, and I didn't care; I was young and in love. And she never answered my letters..." The idea of unanswered letters seemed to set her on another crying jag, and she sobbed into her tissues.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. He wondered if he should try to soothe her or not, if he could even comfort her at all. "Yeah," he mumbled. "It's difficult..."

"B-but sometimes she wrote. A postcard here and there. A Christmas card. Several pictures of Draco." She lifted her face to smile wanly at Harry. A teardrop slid down next to that thin, fragile smile. "He was a cute baby, you know. Precious."

The idea of Draco Malfoy ever having been a baby, never mind a cute one, bothered him so much that he shook his head. Mrs. Tonks mistook it for sadness and nodded sympathetically.

"Do you know that for years I have been hoping that we could bury that old hatchet?" She sniffed loudly, dabbing her eyes. "And it seemed...possible. Feasible. Now that things are the way they are now. Now that...things are over now. The way things are - have changed so much. We have been through so much. But now..."

The 'we'll never get to' hung unspoken in the air, or perhaps it was lost into a tissue. Harry swallowed again and awkwardly placed what he hoped to be a comforting hand on Mrs. Tonks's shoulder.

"I don't think Cissy ever hated me. Not the way Bella did," she sighed, wiping away tears from her reddened eyes. "And even Bella and I, we used to have our good times...The way that she used to catch the bunnies to make me laugh...She Transfigured the funniest things out of them! A lot of furry hats and garters." Mrs. Tonks smiled at the memory.

Harry smiled at her and tried not to be too disturbed.

"But now they're both gone, they're all gone, I just don't- I just can't—" She broke down into tears again. The used tissues hovered magically in the air as she discarded them, like a flock of crumpled little birds.

"I'm sorry," Harry managed.

"Oh, don't be, don't say that, it's not your fault –"

Yes, it is.

"And you saved us all, didn't you, Harry? You're such a good boy." She sighed, using a Vanishing spell on the small mountain of used tissues she had created. "Let's go in to see him, now shall we?"

They had stood at Draco's bedside for a while, neither of them speaking. Harry couldn't help thinking, at the time, that Draco didn't look too much better, and was seized with the thought that he would never wake up.

It felt cold inside Harry's chest.

"He's eighteen years old, you know? And this is the first time I've ever seen him," Mrs. Tonks said quietly. She laughed bitterly. "I don't even know the first thing about him."

They both watched him, slowly breathing. Harry could feel his own breath caught in his throat, matching each rise and fall of Malfoy's bandaged-up chest, bobbing slowly, sadly, up and down.

"He likes Quidditch. He's really very competitive. He stands out. He has a short temper," Harry said suddenly. Once he started, he couldn't stop, babbling to fill the silence, anything but that awful, suffocating silence that had filled up their throats: "People followed him around. He makes them laugh. He was the Seeker for Slytherin since his second year. He was a brutal Quidditch Captain. He excelled in Potions. Snape was his favourite teacher. He took Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball fourth year. They were together for a short time, in sixth year. He was a Slytherin Prefect..."

Mrs. Tonks smiled at him, a beautiful expression in its sudden and genuine happiness. "Thank you, Harry. You two must have been good friends."

"Well...er..." said Harry, who hadn't mean to go quite that far.

"You know so much about him."

"Yeah," Harry said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

"Is Draco nice? Cissy could be ever so sweet, sometimes...when she wanted something from you." Mrs. Tonks laughed a little, and the laughing looked like it was about to start another round of crying.

"Uhhhh..."

A knock at the door saved Harry from further awkward conversation. They turned to see a young mediwizard with a clipboard. He had spectacles and the beginning scribbles of a beard on his chin.

"Draco Malfoy's family?" he queried.

"Yes," affirmed Mrs. Tonks.

He nodded. "Hello, I'm Logios Collins, M.W."

"Andromeda Tonks," said Mrs. Tonks. "Call me Andy. Or Dromeda. I'm Draco's aunt." He reached out and shook her hand.

Then he looked expectantly at Harry, and Harry realised that he was being included in the term "family."

"Hi," Harry said, "I'm –"

"Yes, I know," the mediwizard smiled back at him and shook his hand firmly. "Don't you worry, Mr. Potter, I'll fix up your friend right and proper for you."

Harry managed a smile back.

"Well, I have some good news for the two of you," he continued, "It looks like Draco here is on his way to a full and speedy recovery."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know that he'd been holding. Mrs. Tonks reached over and gave him a hug, and so he found himself hugging her back.

"Thank Merlin, thank Heaven, thank God..." Mrs. Tonks was saying.

"His wounds are healing exceptionally quickly," Logios continued. "Of course, that is a characteristic of lycanthropy."

"Lycanthropy?" They both said in unison.

"Yes, I'm afraid," sighed Logios. "Draco has been the unfortunate victim of a werewolf attack."

Mrs. Tonks's face went extremely pale. Harry felt vaguely sick, just looking at her.

"He suffered a lot of trauma to various regions of his body...scars on his stomach show where the claws had dug in...And...we have reason to believe...he appears to have been, erm, ah...severely assaulted...in multiple ways," the young mediwizard continued. "It wasn't just an attack, it was...torture."

"Stop...I don't think I want to hear anymore." Harry thought that was a very tactless thing to say, and when would he learn to stop blurting out his feelings, when he realised, a split second later, that it had been Mrs. Tonks who said it.

"Erm," said Logios, going pink. "That's er...quite all right. I imagine this is all rather difficult..."

"That's not an understatement in the least," muttered Mrs. Tonks.

"...but what is important for you to know, as his friends and family, is that Draco has been through massive trauma, both physical and mental. He could be emotionally volatile when he wakes up. He could be...damaged."

"Damaged?" asked Mrs. Tonks, her voice sounding detached.

"Yes," said Logios. "He might not be the same person you know and love. This is the kind of trauma that changes a person."

A stupid part of Harry said that any change in Malfoy would be for the better, but he wasn't so sure that that was true.

"It...may scar him. Deeply,and permanently." Logios cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And, given his new...status...this can lead to many problems." He shifted his tie. "Physically, Draco will be perfectly fine, maybe even in better physical condition than before. He's healing very well, don't you worry about that. However, he is potentially dangerous, considering the circumstances of his attack. He may be of age, but we cannot discharge him without someone to take responsibility for his care. He needs a guardian, a support network, loved ones. Without them..." The Healer looked down, scratched at his small patch of beard, before adjusting his glasses and looking back up at them.

"Well, without them, there is a possibility that he may create more victims like himself."

"I see," Mrs. Tonks said faintly.

"He cannot live alone, do you understand? He cannot be alone. As we know, lycanthropy can be treated with the Wolfsbane potion, but he cannot be trusted to be responsible for himself.

"It would also be very unhealthy for him to be alone. More than anything, he needs emotional support..."

Mrs. Tonks nodded.

"Are you his next of kin, Andy?"

"Yes..." said Mrs. Tonks. "His only surviving blood relative, actually...The Houses of Malfoy and Black..." she trailed off. Harry could almost see the bodies in front of her eyes, the graves and their markers, the filling family plot.

"I see," Logios said. "And, do you think you could possibly take Draco in?"

"Mediwizard Collins, you are putting me in a very difficult position here," Mrs. Tonks sighed. "I have an infant grandson to take care of. I am recently widowed. I have lost...my daughter and my son-in-law."

"Well, if you are willing, there is another option," said Logios. "We could do something with him. Keep him here, under observation. There have been very few studies done on werewolves, which is quite unfortunate...it's all very fascinating, really."

There was a gleam in his eyes now, as he glanced over Draco's body in bed. It was one full of mania and inspiration and you wanted to talk about unhealthy? That was unhealthy. Harry bristled.

"Where would you keep him?" Harry asked, his voice clipped.

"We have a special ward." Logios smiled. It was supposed to be reassuring, Harry was sure.

"A special ward? For werewolves...?"

"No. Not exactly, Mr Potter." Logios smiled indulgently. Maniac, Harry's brain supplied. "For people with unfortunately incurable afflictions..."

Harry thought suddenly of Gilderoy Lockhart, with his simple, confused smile and scrambled brains. He thought of Neville's parents, with their deep, empty eyes.

"No," Harry shook his head vehemently. "That's not an option."

"Oh, it would only be temporary, of course, at least until he's stable and can be trusted to take care of himself. You are welcome to visit him during visiting hours, even every day, if you so choose. He would be discharged once he was determined not to be a danger to himself or to society. Of course, there is always the chance that he will never return to full capacity..."

Logios didn't seem to be as disappointed by this prospect as a compassionate human being should have been. Probably salivating over the thought of having his very own pet werewolf, one to run cruel and sadistic experiments on in the noble names of Advancement and Progress...

Psycho maniac pervert! Harry's brain screamed.

"No. Not a chance," said Harry firmly.

"Ah, yes, well...it is obviously far more preferable to place him in some sort of home situation, with healthy familial relationships and bonds..." Logios backtracked.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He wasn't fooled. "Yes, yes it is."

"I'll leave you two to discuss this, then, shall I? You don't have to make a decision right away. After all," Logios nodded to the pale figure lying in bed, "you may want to wait until he wakes up. There's no telling what he'll be like."

"On a scale of one to ten, one being the least amount of pain, ten being the worst pain you've ever felt, how would you rate your pain right now?"

"Twelve."

"I see. Well, I just need to check on this wound here..."

He's so big so big all claws and teeth claws and teeth claws

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

A thud. Someone cried out. Screams. Panic.

Did you see what they did to Mum and Dad Mum and Dad Mum and Dad Mum Mum Mum Mum yum

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone."

Malfoy had thrown the mediwizard against the wall. It hadn't been intentional. A burst of wandless magic and Logios Collins, M.W., was on the floor, shaking his head, and Malfoy was shaking. Nurses and other staff had rushed in, and Harry ran, as well, having heard the commotion.

"Post-traumatic stress," they said.

"Leave me alone," Malfoy was saying. "Leave me alone."

His eyes were large and dark, taking in everything and seeing nothing - wild. One bandaged arm wrapped around himself. He looked lost.

He might be...damaged.

"Get the restraints," one nurse hissed.

"Leave me alone," Malfoy said. "Leave me alone." He was shaking, trembling, and Harry was pretty sure that that nurse was going to end up thrown across the room next. He took in a rush of air but could not say anything.

Malfoy seemed to focus, just then, and his large grey eyes settled on Harry, the only familiar face in the room. Harry never thought that Malfoy would ever actually look relieved to see him, but there was no other word for that expression.

"Malfoy..." Harry said. "Are you okay?"

"He...he touched me," Malfoy explained lamely.

"Wow," said Harry. "What a bastard."

Malfoy looked at him for a moment. Then, suddenly, he laughed. It was almost a pleasant sound.

"I'm his aunt. I'm his only blood relative. I know I should take him in but I can't..." Mrs. Tonks sighed over her cup of tea. It cost a couple of knuts in the hospital cafeteria. It wasn't very good tea. "I don't know, Harry, I just don't know."

"Yeah," said Harry. They sat side-by-side in the Family Waiting Room. It was white, and the walls were covered with abstract shapes in pastel colours that gently changed from time to time. Soothing, slow music played in the background. The coffee table was covered with magazines, some of them with images of himself, blinking back at him.

"I can't do it on my own. Maybe if Ted...or-or even Dora..." she broke off again. "I wish I were that strong." She tried on a weak smile. "Mother always said, Bella is the strong one, Cissy is the smart one, and Andy...Andy is the reckless, emotional one."

"That's not...a bad thing," Harry offered.

After all, you're still alive, aren't you?

"The point, Harry. The point is that I do want to care for Draco and I care about him. He's the only thing left of Cissy. I don't know him, but he is my nephew. I should take care of him, right? I should love him, right?"

She angrily ripped open a sugar packet, spilling the sugar everywhere.

"Oh, Merlin, what a mess," she said irritably. "Clumsy me, again."

She was certainly the most inelegant of the Black sisters. But sometimes she looked dignified, and when she did, Harry could see some of the regal attitude of Narcissa.

"I'm not as young as I used to be, Harry." She sighed. "I wish I had the energy I used to, but I am very, very tired these days...Teddy is my responsibility now, and you know I can't provide for Draco nor should he be in a home with such a young child, given his new...condition."

Harry remembered, how Lupin had been upset, had said something about how Tonks's parents did not approve of her marrying a werewolf.

"No...you're right about that," he slowly agreed.

"Maybe Collins is right. Maybe we could let him stay under the professional care of St. Mungo's staff. It might not be so bad."

She stirred a new packet of sugar into her tea, and then looked into her cup, as if she were trying to convince her tea and not Harry.

"We could visit him every day, you and me. And what about his school chums? I'm sure they'd want to, too..."

His school friends. Crabbe, dead. Goyle, the son of a Death Eater, likely to face trial. Pansy Parkinson, who had wanted to hand him over to the Dark Lord.

Harry stared back into his own blinking, dirty face from the cover of Worldly Worthy Wizards.

"Was he a popular boy, Harry? Lucius had most of the student body and half the staff eating out of his hand by sixth year. And every girl wanted to be Cissy." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "Including me."

"Um...He was very...well-known," Harry finally offered. "And his friends...his friends would follow him anywhere."

Even into the hands of the Dark Lord.

"You're such a very good boy, Harry," Mrs. Tonks sighed. "Draco is so lucky to have a good friend like you."

Harry took a big gulp of his tea. It burned his throat a bit. The stinging pain didn't detract from the burning feeling in his stomach.

Mrs. Tonks looked at him thoughtfully, for a moment, then she turned away, sighing. "I don't suppose...no, that would be asking too much of you."

"What?"

She shook her head, as if shaking the thought out. "No. Forget it. Forget I ever said anything." She sighed again, a drawn-out, mournful sound.

"Mrs. Tonks, what is it? Go ahead, tell me."

"Well...I know, it is asking a lot, but you don't suppose that you could...No, I can't say it."

"I could what?"

"No, it's asking far, far too much."

"I could take care of Draco?"

"Oh, Harry!" Her blue eyes filled with tears. "You're such a noble, caring, very good boy!" Her tea magically disappeared as she threw her arms around him and covered his face with kisses. She pulled back and looked at him, eyes shining and jewel-like. "Do you really mean it?"

"Um..."

"Draco is so lucky to have a friend like you. No, I am so lucky to know you. You have no idea what this means to me. Absolutely no idea." She sighed, heartwrenchingly. "Draco is one of two family members left to me. And now I can relax, knowing that he will be in good, caring hands."

And how could Harry say no to that, how could he say no to her? How could he say that that wasn't what he meant? That it had been the furthest thing on his mind, and was in fact his greatest fear?

Especially when he was the entire reason why Malfoy was in this predicament to begin with?

"Don't you worry about a thing, you sweet, sweet, darling boy. I'll help make the arrangements. You're staying at the Burrow, yes? I'll speak to Molly. I'll take care of everything."

As Harry nodded numbly, he realised how stupid he had been. He had let his guard down. He had been lulled into a false sense of security, and in the emotions, had allowed himself to forget that Andromeda Tonks was once Andromeda Black, sister to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ron and Hermione arrived almost immediately after Andromeda left.

"Harry, are you daft, mate? You-Know-Who hit your head with some sort of damaging curse?"

"Harry, you can't be serious about this..."

"I know! I know! It's not like I have a choice, okay?"

The conversation had been going on in this vein for the better part of an hour. Harry was developing a headache. Maybe he had been cursed with one last thing before Voldemort had died.

"What do you mean, you don't have a choice!" cried Ron. "You always have a choice! You could always owl her and tell her, no, you can't, you changed your mind, your best friend will murder you!"

"Ron," Hermione said gently, "Harry is just being noble. You don't need to say that."

"You're right, Hermione," Ron agreed. "I shouldn't blame Harry. Harry, you tell Mrs. Tonks that your best friend will murder HIM! So he isn't safe. There!"

"Ron," Harry sighed. "She's already convincing your mum. And if she talks to her the way that she did to me, I can guarantee that she'll say yes."

"What?" Ron exploded. "Betrayed by my own mother! Letting scum into our house...letting the enemy infiltrate! And what do you mean, the way she talked to you? Did she cast Imperius on you? She did used to be Narcissa Malfoy's and Bellatrix's Lestrange sister, you know..."

"RON!" reprimanded Hermione, absolutely scandalised. "Mrs. Tonks has been nothing but wonderful to us, and she lost Tonks and Remus and her husband! Would it kill you to be a little more sensitive?" She huffed. "Besides, I'm sure if you trace it back far enough, all you Pureblooded families are related somehow anyway. You're probably even related to the Malfoys, yourself."

"What!" cried Ron. "I lost my brother! Don't talk to me about sensitive!"

"Then you should understand!" Hermione countered.

"You should, Ron," Harry said quietly. "Malfoy lost both his parents."

Ron took in a breath, through his teeth, and huffed it back out, angrily, but he didn't say anthing.

"Harry," Hermione turned to him now, her voice a bit more gentle, "I know you want to save everybody, it's in your nature, you're a good person...but you don't have any responsibility towards him..."

"I do..." Harry sighed. "Look, the Elder Wand was Malfoy's wand, and I had it, all right? And his mum's wand was destroyed in the Room of Requirement. That means, at most, they had one wand among them, and then they go home, expecting to be safe, and instead they find a whole horde of Dark Creatures—"

"Harry, there's no way you could have predicted that. You killed Voldemort, we couldn't have expected an uprising of his followers, you can't possibly think—"

"That's exactly it, Hermione, we didn't think! We didn't think about the consequences, we thought that once the Dark Lord was dead the War was over and we would all be okay, because we had won! But that isn't true!"

"Harry, you did what you could! So what if you had given Malfoy the Elder Wand, and then what? What if Lucius had used it against you so he could be the New Dark Lord, or what if Malfoy used it against you, even, or someone had killed him for it...There are so many 'what ifs'! You don't owe them anything!"

"I...I do, Hermione. Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldemort when she said I was dead, and I wasn't. I had the element of surprise on my side. And he might have killed me, right then, when I was lying on the ground...She didn't have to, but she did."

Ron, interjected, "And you saved her son's life in the Room of Requirement. You didn't have to, you don't even like the git, but you did!"

"She saved me for his sake. She loved him, Ron, Hermione, enough to risk anything...J-just like my own mum. And now, he's lost her. His father, too. He doesn't have anybody."

He didn't have anybody at all, nobody to go back to, no home to go home to. It was the sort of overwhelming loneliness that made you feel locked in a cupboard with only spiders and the creaking stairs at night.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "You can't save everybody."

"No, I can't," Harry said, even though inside he could hear the voice that said, I should, I should be able to, I should protect everybody, it's what I have to do, "but I can do this. And I should do what I can, right? If I can make things better, why not?"

"Well," Hermione admitted, "I'm not happy about it, but I do feel bad for him."

"Easy for you to say, he's not going to be living in YOUR house!" Ron cried, unable to deny himself at least one more outburst.

"Oh, Ron, just be quiet okay? We're all doing the best we can."

The best we can, Harry thought. Not exactly. But certainly, the best way that he knew how.

For the past two days, Malfoy had refused to see anybody, sometimes even throwing the Healers out of the room. He didn't want to talk about anything, he told them, and on a scale of one to ten his pain was thirteen and rising, and he wanted to be left alone and untouched.

Harry forced his way in regardless, and refused to leave even when he was screamed at. "Go away," Malfoy had told him, over and over, "I don't want to see you."

Harry had stayed.

The blonde had lain on the bed, turned away from, refusing to acknowledge his presence. He had made it clear that he was in no mood to talk. Harry didn't speak, but sat in the chair next to the bed and watched over him until visiting hours were over.

"I can't believe you're still here," Malfoy had said finally, after another day or so of this. "Go on then, tell me what's so important that it has you haunting me all this time."

Harry told him.

"I'm not a bloody charity case," Malfoy bit out.

The blonde was sitting up in bed now, his system full of painkillers and a draught of pain-relieving potion. They weren't sedatives, however, and Harry wished they were, because Malfoy looked on the verge of attack. Animal tranquilisers would be perhaps be helpful, too.

"I never said you were!"

"Right, and you want to take me in because you like me so much, is that it?" Malfoy sneered. He fixed Harry with a cold grey stare. "Because you care about my health and well-being? Because we're such good friends?"

"..."

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Look Malfoy," Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't have much choice. Your Aunt Andromeda asked me—"

"I have never met that daft woman in my entire life! And to be honest, I don't have a very high opinion of her, if she thinks placing me in your so-called 'care' is a good idea!"

A nurse poked her head in to see the cause of the commotion. She(?) was less a woman and more a human boulder dressed in white - big and muscular, Millicent Bulstrode in about ten, fifteen years, maybe. Her uniform was starched and crisp. Her arms were probably the size of Harry's head.

"NO EXCITING THE PATIENT!" She bellowed at Harry in a deep, booming voice.

"Yes, sir—er, Ma'am!" Harry squeaked.

"AND YOU," she glared at Draco, "DON'T BE SO PRONE TO EXCITEMENT!"

"Yes, Nurse Bottram," Draco said obediently. She looked at them both, glared for a minute more, and then swept out, slamming the door behind her.

"And there goes a whole lot of woman," he remarked. "Exeunt the Battering Ram. I hate it when she's on duty. God, I need to get out of here."

"You want to get out of here?" Harry hissed. "Good, because they won't discharge you unless you agree. And there's nobody else who would take you."

"I can't leave unless I leave with you? Merlin, that's rich. So, you're basically saying I can either go live with you or maybe I'll die on the streets. I'm loving my list of options, here."

"You won't go die on the streets."

"I should certainly hope not."

"The other option is that they move you."

"Move me? Where?"

"To another unit. To those afflicted with Incurable Conditions..."

A man two beds over was moaning. He was missing an eye and an arm. Hit with a barrage of hexes, they said. Outside the room, a stretcher rolled by, with another man twisting on it. His face was covered with bandages, he was bloody all over.

"Stuck in a hospital full of loonies and the disfigured, wonderful."

"It would only be temporary," Harry assured him. "Unless, of course, they decide you're unsafe."

"And who decides that?"

"The mediwizard who wants to keep you and run sadistic experiments for his new research project on werewolves."

"Oh, abso-bloody-lutely! What better way to spend my time?" He looked at Harry now, scrutinising. "What makes you so sure that I won't run away from you?"

"And just where would you run away to?" Harry asked, irritated.

They both thought the same thing, he was sure, crossing off the list of places in their minds. Malfoy Manor: X. Hogwarts: X. Relatives's homes: X.

"I could escape into the Muggle World," Malfoy said defiantly, raising his chin. "Start a new life. You'd never find me!"

"Interesting. What would you do, as a Muggle?"

"Be famous and fabulously wealthy, of course."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy waved the hand of his good arm dismissively. "Whatever it is Muggles worship people for. Selling appliances. Making music. Tap-dancing. Travelling around in fancy cars. Being looked at and admired. I'll be famous for being famous."

"I see," Harry's mouth twisted. "But wouldn't that make you easy to find?"

"You really are as stupid as you look, aren't you? I'd disguise myself, you twit," he paused. "I might even dye my hair. Yes, my wonderful, beautiful hair. It would be a tragedy, for sure. I have loved thee these past years: you have served me faithfully, and well. But it must be a sacrifice that I am willing to take."

"So you would go live with Muggles."

"Yes."

"Whom you hate."

"Yes."

"Instead of coming with me."

"You can't place a price on freedom," Malfoy said.

Harry fell silent.

"Checkmate," Malfoy said smugly, although what the hell he had to be smug about, Harry didn't know.

"You couldn't get very far, anyway," Harry said quietly. It was surprising, how hard the words seemed to be. He didn't feel good about them at all. "They...recorded your new magical signature. It's unique to you. They have these new Tracing Charms now..."

"WHAT?" Malfoy exploded. "You mean they want to TAG me? Like an ANIMAL?" His voice rose with each increasing syllable.

Well...aren't you one?

The nurse burst into the room, slamming the doors open so hard that the walls shook and dust fell from the ceiling. "MR. POTTER, I HAVE WARNED YOU BEFORE, YOU CANNOT EXCITE THE PATIENT! HE NEEDS REST AND CALMING ACTIVITIES!"

"AND YOU. MR. MALFOY! IF YOU INSIST ON GETTING FLUSTERED I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU VISITORS!"

She slammed the door again on her way out, causing the glass of water on the table to shudder.

"She's like the personification of a Howler," said Malfoy, brushing the dust off his hair with his one good hand. "Set of pipes on that one."

Harry would have almost smiled at Malfoy if he could see. Instead he coughed and wiped off his glasses on his robe. When he put them back on he remembered what he had to tell Malfoy, so he took them off to polish them again, concentrating on getting every single speck of dust off, wiping them again and again.

"Not...want to Trace you," he said slowly, wiping the spotless glasses with the sleeve of his robe. "They did." He waited for the outburst and the return of the nurse.

Malfoy took a deep breath, as if preparing a scream. Then he held it. He turned pink. Then he turned purple. And then he turned blue. Harry was about to summon Nurse Battering Ram himself, if Malfoy didn't breathe soon.

And then just when he looked he was about to pass out, he finally let it all out in a long, slow hiss, like steam from a pipe. "What!" Malfoy hissed, low and angry. "Without my consent? Isn't that criminal? That can't be legal!"

"Malfoy," Harry responded, intently now, "The war just ended. Voldemort may be dead but it's clearly not over. Think of what happened to you and your parents—"

"Don't you dare bring my parents into this—"

"Just listen to me, okay! The Ministry isn't taking any chances. They can't afford to. You're...potentially dangerous. Do you want another attack to happen just because someone wasn't watching what they should have been?"

Malfoy shut his mouth and glared. He sat silently for a moment. Harry wondered what he was thinking of, of his parents, maybe, of their twisted and mutilated bodies, of claws tearing through flesh and freshly spilled blood...Maybe that had been a bad tactic.

"I just thought of another option," Malfoy said, suddenly bright.

"What is it?"

"I could always kill myself!"

"Bollocks," said Harry quickly, around the lump in his throat.

"Okay, I won't," Malfoy admitted. "But I will think about it. A lot. And threaten to kill everybody else. A lot."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Sod off, Potter. Aren't visiting hours over yet?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Go away. You're bad for my recovery!"

"Okay, okay. But you'll think about it, then?"

"NURSE! THIS MAN IS EXCITING ME!"

"WHAT'S ALL THIS, THEN?" shouted the nurse, slamming open the door open as they winced and a piece of loose ceiling tile fell down. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT EXCITING THE PATIENT? MR. MALFOY IS IN A FRAGILE STATE AND NEEDS HIS PEACE AND QUIET."

She grabbed Harry by the collar and yelled in his ear. "I REFUSE TO STAND FOR SUCH ROWDINESS IN MY HOSPITAL!"

"All right, all right! I'm leaving! I'm leaving!" Harry said, but it was no good, as he was scooped up by his robes literally, forcibly tossed out of the room. "Ow!" he said as he landed unceremoniously and ungracefully on his arse.

"Get Nurse Bottram to butter your bottom," Malfoy called out helpfully.

Why did he want to save Draco Malfoy, again? Harry couldn't, for the life of him, think of one good reason.

There was absolutely No Choice.

There was quite a lack of hope in those two words, and Draco rather liked it. What was hope for, anyway? It was only for the worse when people died on you and destroyed your chances of ever being happy again.

Hope was nothing when one was lying face down in a ditch, when one's mother was screaming and there was nothing one could do, when one was bleeding to death on a mossy, damp forest floor.

"I just have to ask you one question," he told Potter when he came back the next day. "Why did you bother to ask me to go with you? It's obvious that you could have just ordered me to."

Potter looked confused, as if he didn't know himself. "I'd really rather you come willingly..."

"Give the man with no options an ultimatum and tell him to make a choice. Ask the man dangling from a rope above rabid crocodiles if he agrees to being saved. You have a funny idea of 'consent,' Potter." Draco smirked. "Is that a kink of yours? I wonder about your personal life. How does the Weaslette feel about that?"

He had the pleasure of seeing Potter turn colours. Interesting ones, too, not just red, but also some shade of purple. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

"Don't talk about Ginny that way, you—!"

"Whatever, Potter. Don't worry, your sexual perversions are safe with me." Draco flashed him a knowing smile. For some reason, that shut him up.

He kept his temper, this time, when Healer Collins came to check on his bandages. He fought the bubbles of panic that welled up in his stomach, his lungs, his heart, the need to scream when physical contact was made, how that touch felt - touch, touch, that terrible touch touching - the need to rip away and wash it off and scrub his skin for a million years and scrub the layers off till it all turned bloody and raw-

The pain had subsided to a dull throb. When they unwrapped the bandages, his skin looked pink and new. In some places, it had already completely healed over. It had been raw and bleeding only a couple of days ago. Kind of cool, Draco had to admit.

He healed so quickly that it was easy to forget that he had ever been damaged at all, that it was all a nightmare. As the wounds healed, it was easy not to think that he would never see either of his parents ever again; surely they would be waiting for him when he woke up...

Except that as his flesh knitted itself back together, scar tissue knitted itself over the new skin. On his back, on his stomach, on his thighs and on his legs, the flesh raised in ugly, rough patches, like rivers and valleys on the map.

"You're doing...wonderfully, Draco," Healer Collins said, and there was definitely an audible disappointment in his voice. "Everything looks to be healing... exceptionally well. And Mr. Potter informed me that arrangements have been made. You should be able to leave by tomorrow."

"Well, don't look so pleased about it," Draco said. "By the way, I hope I never see you again."

Logios Collins, M.W., was so flustered that Draco swore he sprouted at least two more hairs on his chin.

Discharge papers were signed the next day. By that time, Draco physically felt perfectly fine. Physically.

"Do you have any belongings?" Potter asked.

Draco had looked around and laughed. There was nothing in the room, not even a bouquet of flowers to take. He had no wand, no money on him, no possessions.

"Potter," he said, "when I arrived, I only had the clothes on my back, if even that. Underneath this hospital gown, I am naked as the day I was born. I suppose you'd like me to take the gown with me?"

Potter blushed furiously. "Umm...I'll bring you some robes. Buy you some. Yeah."

"Well, be sure to get my measurements right. I'm not as fat as you. And don't forget, I'm taller, too." He drew himself up even more than usual to demonstrate – perfect posture as always, even if it caused him to wince slightly to prove his case.

Potter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

"And nothing horrendous, either! I won't wear anything cheap. It'll give me a rash. And nothing that makes me want to throw up at the sight of it."

"Plain black dress robes, is that all right?"

"Fine, if one must be intolerably boring."

"Look, Malfoy, I don't have to do this—"

"Rather live with me naked, would you? I knew it! Pervert."

Potter blushed again. "I'm not dealing with you!" he said as he left. Draco sat back smugly, half-hoping that he wouldn't come back.

Potter, however, was always one to disappoint. He returned later with a set of robes. Draco put them on with minimal fuss: he only complained that they were ill-fitting, complained that they were of poor quality and craftsmanship, and complained they were last season's style.

He finally badgered Potter into taking him shopping.

"Later, okay? Tomorrow," Potter said. "Now let's get Ron and Hermione and get out of here."

The Weasel and Granger, together. They would have hideous, hideous children. He could hear them bickering down the hall. It came to him in snatches whenever one of the two raised their voice.

"Ron, don't say those things! He's been through a trauma..."

"Stupid, sodding git..."

"I don't trust him either but Harry is doing the right thing..."

"Harry's being naive...! He's a snake! Harry will..."

"Ha, werewolf indeed," Draco said, turning to Potter, talking over their voices. "I don't even like dogs! Big, nasty, smelly things that drool everywhere and roll around in garbage. I'm much more of a cat person."

Potter remarked, "I was actually thinking of you as one of those little white yappy dogs stupid bints carry around in their purses."

"What! How dare you! If anything, I am a noble and powerful white wolf. A lone wolf," he emphasised.

"Whatever, Malfoy."

He stared at Potter for a long time. Idiot. Arse. Stupid sod. Twat. Saviour of the Wizarding World. The only person Draco Malfoy had left to him.

The only person in all the world.

He set his mouth and nodded curtly. "Well, let's go, then, shall we?"

Draco Malfoy was a survivor.

Reference:
Chapter titles are from "Bad Moon Rising," of course. I prefer the Rasputina cover for this story.
Listen to it here: youtube .com/watch?v=elvQ4Pgpbfk