Chapter 1
Harry Potter stirred his hot chocolate in the peaceful seclusion of a Muggle coffee shop. The Football World Cup final aired on the television above the barista's head, but Harry's thoughts were elsewhere. the air smelled of coffee brewing and the reassuring hum of daily existence. The war had left its scars, and peace felt as flimsy as a thin paper. He had thought that shifting back to the muggle world would somehow calm him down but it did not really help a lot.
It seemed that his friends had moved on from the horrors they had experienced. Ron and Hermione were away in the Ministry, putting in endless hours to fix the harm that Voldemort's ruthlessness had caused. Ginny had discovered her ferocious joy playing for the Holyhead Harpies. Harry, however, felt trapped—haunted by the reminders of his history and the hints of his future. A ghostly pain throbbed in the scar on his forehead, it started paining recently since 2 months after 6 years of inactivity.
His phone vibrating on the table jolted him back to the present. As he picked it up, he thought it would be Ginny or one of the Weasley siblings, but Hermione's name flashed across the screen. He swiped to respond and her urgent voice rang in his ears.
"I need your help, Harry. It is important," she said, her tone serious.
He inhaled deeply, forgetting the chocolate's warmth. "Hey Hermione, what is it?"
"It's Draco Malfoy," she said softly and urgently. "He has been missing since months and just now got the intel that a rogue group of Death Eaters has captured him. I know you don't like to get involved with stuff like this but only you can help us right now. Please Harry."
Surprise etched its way across Harry's face. He hadn't seen Draco since the battle, or well, since the trials. "What exactly do you mean by captured?"
The worry was evident in Hermione's voice, but it remained steady,"We have information that he is being held captive by a small group of Death Eaters in an abandoned warehouse outside of London. We think they are attempting to obtain information or use him as leverage. Ron and I cannot go by ourselves. We cannot risk the mission because the Ministry is too involved. the other aurors need not to be involved in this before we find Draco."
Harry's hold on his mug grew more firm. Of all the people, Draco Malfoy. Even with their turbulent past, it was strange to consider him in danger. "What role does the Ministry play in this?"
"Harry, it's complicated, i will tell you later." Hermione said, her voice tense with annoyance. "The group that possesses him is too unstable and erratic for just us two to control without running the danger of a full-scale conflict and getting hurt in the process. We have to move quickly and subtly."
She was right, he knew; he had also seen her wounds from the war. Harry pushed his chair back and sighed, "Alright. Where, and when?"
"Meet us at King's Cross at midnight," Hermione said. "We'll Apparate from there. It's the safest option."
Harry nodded and hung up the phone, his mind whirling. He had promised himself that he would not fight or even enter the wizard world again, leaving battles to those who had been trained and prepared, not him who is still unable to move on from the scars of the past. Yet, here he was, ready to plunge once more into the world from which he had hoped to escape. The mark on his forehead throbbed angrily, as if a warning. He zoned out into the distance, his inner turmoil drowning out the TV's commentary on the Quidditch match as the mug of hot chocolate grew cold on the table.
He knew he couldn't ignore Hermione's request, No matter how much he wanted to avoid going back. Draco was still a person despite their past, and Harry couldn't just stand by while he got into trouble, call it his saviour complex. Still, he shuddered at the prospect of having to deal with Death Eaters once more. He'd killed before and seen friends die, and the thought of returning to that kind of violence was almost unbearable. He inhaled deeply as he fixed his gaze on the droplets that were collecting on the cold window. His hand balled into a fist and the mug's reflection shook. He sighed and got up, leaving the unfinished drink behind.
The weight of his choice settled in his chest as he stepped outside into the cool evening air. He had hoped to escape this nightmare, but the promise he had made to himself felt like a pair of handcuffs pulling him back in. he closed his eyes and he strolled through the streets, lost in contemplation. He could feel the ghosts of past battles whispering about bloodshed and lost lives beneath the cobblestone path beneath his feet.
His desire for normalcy and a life free from Voldemort's shadow drove him to make the promise of never returning back. But it seemed like the promise broke. The scar on his forehead burned as he got closer to King's Cross. Harry arrived to find Hermione waiting for him, her steely resolve reflecting the same that had gotten them through their darkest moments. Ron was there, too, his usual jovial demeanour replaced by a somber resolve. They gave each other a sharp nod.
The trio vanished into the night, and appeared on the city's periphery. With its broken windows and rusting metal structure, the abandoned warehouse towered over them. Anxiety and the lingering whiff of magic permeated the air. Harry withdrew the wand which he hadn't used since six years from his coat.
The warehouse was filled with shadows and echoes. Their footsteps remained silent on the dusty floor as they moved. There was nothing to break the silence except the occasional creak of a floorboard or the rustle of fabric. Harry's scar grew hotter with each step, as though pointing him in the direction of something.
They had to be cautious; any misstep could alert the Death Eaters of their presence. With her wand in hand, Hermione guided the way, illuminating just enough of the area to be able to navigate without giving them away. The light danced softly around the edges of their vision. Ron trailed behind, his eyes darting around in the shadows for any hint of movement.
There was a lot of old machinery and crates scattered throughout the warehouse, and the air was heavy with dust and the lingering smell of rotting wood and rust. The only sound in the silence was their breathing; Harry's heart was pounding in his ears like a muffled drum line. Harry's scar began to pulse more rapidly as they made their way farther inside the warehouse.
Hermione stopped them with a wave of her hand as they neared a corner. Aiming her wand at the ground, she muttered an incantation under her breath. A trapdoor beneath the cobblestones became visible. Even the most perceptive eye could have missed this disguised entrance but that's why Hermione was one of the best aurors. She gestured to Harry and Ron and opened it, revealing a flight of stairs that led down into the building's basement.
They went down the stairs, the sound of their steps resonating like a funeral bell in the large, empty room. The smell of magic grew stronger and the air got colder. Harry sensed the Dark energy tightening like a noose as it coiled around them. Following the stairs, they emerged into a dank, dimly lit hallway with spider webs lining the walls.
They moved as one. Every corner held the possibility of an ambush, and every shadow could pose a threat. After the hallway divided in half, they stopped and listened for any signs of life. The only sound in the still air was the distant trickle of water. With his eyes closed, Harry concentrated on his scar's throb. It pounded louder; synchronising with his pounding heart. When he opened his eyes, Ron and Hermione were staring at him with anticipation.
"We should maybe go this way," he muttered, gesturing to the hallway on the left.
They moved quickly, the darkness falling away in front of them like a drawn curtain. The air became colder. And then they heard it—the sound of muffled voices and the clinking of metal. Someone was near.
Hermione nodded, and they turned the corner, only to be confronted by a wall of figures dressed in black, their wands ready and pointed. Harry's scar pulsed as a warning, but it was too late. The fight was on.
Spooky shadows danced on the damp walls as a flood of red and green light filled the air. Harry cast disarming spells and shield charms, ducking under a rope of light that would have severed his head. Ron and Hermione fought side-by-side, their combined strength and precision complimenting. Though taken by surprise, the Death Eaters quickly gathered strength and numbers.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron engaged in back-to-back combat with a fierce determination, and their spells protected them in a tapestry. One by one, the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, defeated, their curses vanishing into the damp air.
The black robes of the Death Eaters stood out against the filthy floor as they fell one by one. Harry's arm was a blur, his eyes narrowed as he focused intently on each one. Hermione's spells were quick and cutting edge, slicing through the darkness like a knife through butter, while Ron's were forceful and relentless, pounding through stone like a hammer.
The three looked around as the final Death Eater fell to the ground. The hallway was a field of corpses and the remnants of their struggle. The metallic tang of spilled blood and the pungent smell of burnt robes hung heavy in the air. The last of their curses died away, leaving only the sound of their panting breaths and the dripping of water in the distance.
Glancing around, they peered into the shadows, looking for any indication of Draco. They had followed Harry's intuition from his scar all the way here, but now it was silent. The hallway that greeted them was empty.
Harry turned to see one of the Death Eaters they had defeated lying in the shadows, groaning in agony. He approached cautiously, pointing his wand at the man's chest. The Death Eater's face was a mask of anguish and hate, and his robes were bloodied and torn. Harry leaned in and met the other man's gaze. He asked, his voice firm despite the slight tremor in his hand, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"
Harry felt a chill go down his spine as the Death Eater let out a wet, gurgling laugh. "Potter, it's too late," he growled, his icy eyes glistening. "He'll be nothing more than a memory by the time you find him."
Knuckles white with rage, Harry's grip tightened around his wand. He snarled, his voice low and menacing, "Tell me where he is."
A bubble of blood formed at the corner of the Death Eater's mouth as he coughed. His eyes glowed maniacally. "He's already paid the price for his treachery," he grumbled. "When our lord returns, he will feast on people just like you."
"What price?" Harry snarled, gripping the wand tighter until his knuckles cracked. "What did you do to him?"
With a twisted smile on his lips, the man's eyes rolled back. "You'll see," he said quietly, before his body fell still. Harry felt a cold rage rise within him, and for a brief moment, he considered to bring that man back to life just to avada kedavra him.
Harry said in a tense, urgent voice, "We need to split up. There is not much time left. Ron, go right; Hermione, take the left corridor. I'll check the rooms up ahead."
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances expressions a mix of worry and determination. They had never liked the idea of splitting up, especially after the horrors they had experienced together, but they knew Harry was correct. It seemed Draco's life was in peril because the warehouse was a maze and it was getting difficult to find him. they nodded at each other and departed, vanishing into the shadows of their individual hallways without exchanging another word.
The only sound in the aftermath of the fight was the echo of their footsteps through the hallway. Harry thrust open the first door, the light from his wand cutting through the shadows. Other than a few barrels and crates covered in dust, the room was empty. The silence was deafening, and each second felt like an eternity. His heart thumping in his chest, he went on to the next.
Harry experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach as the third and second rooms were the same. The corridor stretched on in an endless loop of despair. However, something changed as he got closer to the final door. The scent of magic grew stronger and the air got colder. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.
There he was.
Harry's gaze settled on Draco Malfoy—or what remained of him—in the gloomy light. His clothes were in tatters, and his body was a canvas covered in cuts and bruises. He had grime and swelling covering his handsome features, and his eyes were sunken into his skull and closed. Rough, infuriating marks were left on his skin by the ropes binding his wrists and ankles.
Harry briefly thought the worst—that Draco had given in to the torture. But then he noticed it: the tiniest flutter of life, the smallest rise and fall in Draco's chest. The sight of him, broken and helpless, fueled Harry's rage more than any spell. This wasn't the arrogant, mocking and petty Slytherin he had known; instead, this was a hollow shell of a man, a victim of the very evil that Harry had sworn to vanquish.
He broke the bonds with his quivering wand he ran to Draco's side. Draco moaned in his unconsciousness as Harry pulled the blood-stained ropes free. Harry stepped back, surveying Draco's mutilated body as the final rope came loose. He needed to get him out of here so he could be taken care of safely.
"Hermione! Ron!" Harry's voice echoed down the corridor, the urgency in his tone clear. "I found him! He's alive, but we must act quickly!"
they ran towards him with their wands alert, the sound of their footsteps growing louder. Their reactions to Draco's state mirrored Harry's horror. "Merlin's beard," Ron exclaimed, his hand moving to his mouth. Hermione's eyes widened.
"We need to get him out of here," Hermione said, her tone clipped and professional. "We cannot stay in one place for too long. There may be more of them coming."
Ron nodded, his face pale from surprise. "We cannot use any healing spells here. It will alert them.”
"I know," Harry replied, his voice strangely empty. "We'll need to carry him."
Harry removed his outer robe without hesitation, revealing a basic T-shirt and jeans underneath. His robe whispered against the cold floor as he carefully placed it over Draco's barely-covered form. Draco's body was limp and frail, in stark contrast to the powerful and witty wizard Harry had known him to be. Harry's arms trembled slightly as he bent down, his muscles protesting the sudden movement after the intense fight. But he ignored the pain, his eyes never leaving Draco's face.
Harry carefully scooped Draco into his arms, feeling the weight of his body like a sack of broken glass. Draco was breathing shallowly but steadily, his head lolling back and his blonde hair matted with perspiration and blood.
Harry muttered, just above a whisper, "This way." As ron's wand's light illuminated the corridor. His scar burned with an intensity that was as hot as hell.
They moved swiftly, Harry holding Draco's frail body with tight arms. Every stride was an effort to resist the impulse to turn around and make sure they weren't being followed. Ron and Hermione stood in front of him, silently protecting him from any oncoming dangers as their wands swept across the night. The silence was broken only by the sound of their footsteps and breathing.
Harry's scar cried out a warning as soon as they arrived at the stairs, but it was too late. A sudden burst of green light emerged from the shadows, just missing him. Draco's weight knocked him off balance, causing him to stumble.
Hermione and Ron whirled around, wands flashing. The last Death Eater standing was a tall, thin man with wild hair and enraged, hateful eyes. His voice reverberated throughout the room as he yelled, "Leave him!"
Ron moved infront of Harry and Draco, readying his wand. He growled, "Why the hell do you even want him?"
The Death Eater gave a sneer, "Since he had the audacity to turn on us. And he'll pay a heavy price for it. You were all saved by him. Even passed the wand to the potter in the end. If he had done nothing, my lord would still be here, but now I will ensure his return."
Anger blazed through Ron's eyes. "You're crazy," he spat, waving his wand.
The Death Eater cackled, his eyes filled with madness. "Crazy? Possibly. But loyal to the true cause," he countered, raising his own wand.
Hermione and Ron acted immediately. They had been through too many battles to be intimidated by a single opponent, no matter how unhinged. They cast a flurry of spells that flooded the hallway with a dizzying array of colors as their wands flashed simultaneously. The maniac had to weave and dodge, his own spells hurled hastily in return, and his smile faltered.
The energy of their duel crackled through the air, with the incantations resonating off the walls. Harry's hold on Draco became more firm as he shifted his gaze between his companions and their assailant. Every second they wasted was time Draco didn't have, so he knew they had to get this over with quickly.
Hermione casts a blur of spells, each one targeted with extreme accuracy. Despite his skill, the Death Eater was no match for the pair when they collaborated. Ron's strength and speed, which came from years of fighting alongside Hermione, complemented her tactics. Harry watched, his mind racing, searching for an opening.
Hermione sent the man down with one last, strong spell. His wand flew from his grasp as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The hallway was silent again.
"Move," Harry insisted, his gaze never leaving the unconscious Death Eater. There was no time to linger. He carefully cradled Draco, his heart pounding with each step. The air inside the warehouse was damp and cold, as if it were a shroud that concealed the darkness they had left behind. Their need to get away quickly was a living force that kept them moving. Harry's scar was a pounding, unceasing source of fear that intensified with each stride.
The trip to St. Mungo's was a blur of color and vertigo, with the three of them arriving at the isolated alley next to the hospital. For an instant, Harry felt as though he could breathe normally again as the chilly night air was a change from the stuffy warehouse. Draco's limp form still cradled in his arms, he staggered forward and shoved through the invisible barrier that shielded the alley from Muggle eyes.
The emergency room was full of activity, but everything stopped when The Boy Who Lived who had been out of public light since years appeared with a seriously injured Draco Malfoy in tow. The healers rushed over, shocked and concerned. Handing Draco over to the closest healer, Harry gritted his teeth and felt his scar burn like a brand. "Help him," he said, his voice choked.
A young woman with a gentle face, the healer, took one look at Draco and sharply inhaled. she recoiled as soon as she saw the Dark Mark carved into his skin, her eyes darting horrifyingly to Harry and his friends. Her voice could hardly be heard over the commotion of the room as she muttered, "You can't be serious."
"What?" Harry's grip on Draco tightened as his eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you mean?"
The healer stepped back, her wand shaky in her grip. Her eyes shifted from Harry to Draco's unconscious body as she stammered, "We can't treat him. He's one of them."
The words felt like a kick to Harry's stomach. He raised his voice above the commotion of the emergency room, "What are you talking about?" Take a look at him! He is barely hanging on!"
The healer retreated further, her gaze darting to the Dark Mark adorning Draco's hand. Her voice trembling, she stammered, "I... I'm sorry. Treating those with... with that affiliation is against hospital policy."
Ron's anger reddened his face. "Look at him; he's half dead! We're not asking you to join his fan club, just to patch him up. We represent the ministry as aurors. You cannot refuse us."
Hermione flicked her gaze to the healer's horrified expression. With a steady, calm voice, she begged. "We need your help. It's no longer about taking sides in this. This is about saving someone's life. Don't worry about the policies, this is a ministry case."
The young healer had a torn expression as she looked between them. She nodded at last, and a trace of compassion appeared on her face. "This way," she firmly stated. She guided them to a quiet chamber while enchanting them with protection.
The room was small and stark, with a faint odour of disinfectant and the hum of magical machinery. Harry carefully placed Draco on the hospital bed. The healer started to perform diagnostic spells, painting the air with a spectrum of coloured lights as her wand flickered over Draco's form.
"He has serious injuries," she muttered, her voice tense with worry. "Broken bones, external wounds, internal bleeding, evidence of the Cruciatus Curse, and more. We have to get moving quickly."
"Can you heal him?" Harry spoke, never taking his eyes off of Draco's motionless body.
The healer shook her head, nervousness in her eyes. "His body has gone through too much. He wouldn't be able to handle the spells required to undo this much damage. He's too frail," she remarked softly.
"What exactly does that mean?" Fear was evident in Harry's voice.
The healer said softly, "It means we can't use magic to fix him right away. His physical state is too delicate. Before we can try any serious magical healing, we'll have to treat him with potions and common medicine to give him some strength back."
Harry nodded, his gaze never straying from Draco's countenance. Remorse, pity, and anger mixed in an odd way.
Draco's robe was gently removed by the nurse, exposing his battered and bruised body. The Dark Mark on his forearm, the snake fading in and out of his skin, took her by surprise. She started chopping off the ragged remnants of his shirt, revealing his chest. In the middle was a complex symbol etched into his skin, encircled by a scar that puckered in anger. Harry had never seen anything like it before.
"What's that?" Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she took in the scene, her voice barely audible. The healer raised her head, her face serious. Her voice trembled a little as she said, "It's a Dark Mark, But not the ones that are familiar to us. This one... it's been altered."
Harry had never seen a symbol like this one before—a twisted, deformed serpent with its fangs exposed in a silent growl. It was encircled by a complex network of scars, each of which revealed a different tale of agony. The mark had the rough edges and seemed like it had just been burned into Draco's skin.
"Huh?" Harry uttered a whisper, his gaze fixed on the horrifying scene.
The healer looked at the new information with equally troubled eyes. She muttered, her wand hovering over the mark, "It's... it's a brand of some sort, maybe there's some magic linked to it. I've never seen one this... fresh and complicated before."
The implications of her remarks weighed heavily on the air. A chilling sense of dread crept into Harry's bones. His voice was barely audible above a whisper as he asked, "What does it mean?"
The healer breathed deeply, her gaze never leaving the mark. She said, her voice tense with nervousness, "I'm not sure. However, it's evident that this isn't your typical Dark Mark. It has... been evolved. twisted."
She started to clean Draco's wounds with a delicate touch, using fluid, practiced movements. Harry watched with his heart in his throat as she worked tirelessly to save his former enemy's life. Hermione and Ron hovered at the room's edge, their expressions mixed with shock and concern.
the healer asked with firmness, "Please. I have to look into him more thoroughly. It's best for you to wait outside. After I'm done, I'll come get you."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron reluctantly left the room as the door clicked behind them. The cries of pain and the beeping of machines contrasted sharply with the quiet urgency of the room they had just left, and the stark white walls of the corridor felt like they were closing in. They leaned against the wall.
"What in the world is happening?" Ron questioned, his tone tense. "Why would they do that to him?"
Hermione's gaze was distant, and her mind raced. "It's a message," she muttered. "A threat to those who would dare betray them. It's also a means of keeping him under control and ensuring his loyalty so he doesn't betray them once more."
Ron muttered a curse and curled his fists. " What sickos would harm their own in that way?
Hermione cast a contemplative glance. "Ron, they're in a dire situation. They will stop at nothing to hold onto their power because they are aware that they are losing. Draco was merely a trophy to be used and then thrown away.
Harry felt the same rage that burned on his scar. His voice was steely with resolve as he said, "We can't let them win. We need to figure out what they did to him and how to reverse it."
Hermione nodded, her eyes hard. "We'll have to investigate," she remarked. "Learn all we can about this new type of Dark Mark. There must be a method to reverse it."
The healer emerged from the room through the open door, her expression solemn and serious. Harry felt his heart skip a beat as she got closer to them. "He's stable for now," she said quietly. "However, the harm is severe. I worry that it goes beyond mental and physical health."
"Explain please." Hermione asked.
The healer looked into their eyes, "He seems to have experienced other forms of violation as well."
Harry was taken aback by her revelation. "What?"
The healer took a deep breath, her expression heavy with the weight of what she was about to say. "We discovered bite marks, scratches from nails, and indications of a sexual assault on his body."
Harry's face became pale, and Hermione's hand went to her mouth. Ron tightened his jaw.
"What type of monsters are they?" Ron's fists clenched at his sides as his voice grew low.
The healer had an angry and dejected expression on his face. "The worst kind," she uttered while fluttering her eyes. "We'll do whatever we can to help him recover." The healer turned away and went bak into the room.
For a brief moment, the three of them stood silently together.
"Har...ry," Hermione said tentatively, "Ron and I need to return to the Ministry." Her brown eyes met his. "We need to handle the remaining matters. We must file a report on the incident and launch an investigation."
Ron nodded. "We have to figure out who these rogue Death Eaters are and how they're organized."
"You're right," Harry said, his voice heavily marked by fatigue. "Go. I will stay with Draco."
Hermione gave a nod. "We'll make it as fast as we can," she assured Harry, holding his hand tightly before heading out with Ron.
With the couple gone around the corner, the corridor fell silently. Harry's thoughts were racing causing his scar to continuously throb in his forehead. The sound of the healer's words and the picture of Draco's shattered body plauged his mind. Harry had not even considered the horror of the atrocities Draco must have face there.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered himself and pushed open the door leading to Draco's room. The healer was busy preparing potions and arranging various medical devices around the bed. She looked up, her gaze softening as she saw Harry. "He's stable," she said softly. "But he'll need time to recover."
Time. The one thing they were missing. Harry nodded, his thoughts whirling. "Is there anything I can help with?"
The healer gave him a look of pity. "Just be there for him," she stated softly. "Maybe the strongest spell he needs right now is someone's presence."
She then left Harry and Draco alone. He walked over to the bed and looked around at the machines and potions surrounding his former rival's unconscious form. Anger, sympathy, and a fierce need for justice rose in him. He took a seat after bringing up a chair.
Harry watched, his eyes never leaving Draco's face, for hours on end. His chest rose and fell, but that was the only sign he was still alive. The only sounds in the room were the occasional whisper of the curtains as a draft slipped through the window and the gentle beeps of the monitoring spells.
Well, i guess it started once again. What he was avoiding followed him once again.