Worser Angels

Chapter Six

A Week In the Bin

"If you don't start to talk to us, you'll never be able to get out of here."

Draco avoided looking at the muggle man. He had been here for two days (as far as he knew)--and "here" was a muggle hospital.

The staff called it a hospital. The other patients called it a loony bin.

He wasn't sure how he had gotten here. He remembered visiting mother (and wished he didn't), then talking to Snape about a muggle Voldemort. They had been about to go back to Hogwarts.

After that things got fuzzy. He'd woken up in a dormitory room, strapped to the bed. He'd panicked, thinking...thinking he didn't know what. His screams had brought a muggle man who'd poked his arm with a needle. His veins felt cold, and he slept.

The next morning when the others got up, a different man had asked him, "You going to cooperate now?"

He had nodded, figuring something unpleasant would happen if he refused. The man had untied him and given him a set of blue pajamas and a dressing gown, and then he'd followed the other boys in the dormitory to breakfast. Breakfast was porridge, weak tea, and some little purple tablets in a paper cup. He'd tried to give the tablets back, but a tall Black boy sitting across from him had said, "If you don't take them, they'll put it in your arm."

The tablets had tasted foul--fouler than any medicinal potion he'd ever been given. Later, he found out that the others swallowed the tablets without chewing them, which was a good deal easier.

He had pieced together pretty quickly that they thought he was mad. The other boys (and the girls who had joined them for breakfast) didn't seem particularly crazy--but he was far from sure what sanity looked like in a muggle. They didn't scream or thrash about. In fact, they all seemed very sluggish, and a short time after he took the tablets, he found out why. He was only able to stay awake with great effort, and, while the pills didn't exactly make him stupid, they did leave him feeling as though what was going on around him didn't matter very much.

Even though he didn't know much about muggles, he was sure that if he told them he was a wizard and went to a school called Hogwarts, they'd be even more convinced he was out of his wits. But he wasn't sure what he could say that would convince them he was sane. So he said nothing. This was his second meeting with the medi-muggle ("A special kind of doctor who helps people who are having emotional problems," the man had explained); he hadn't said a single word during the first one. The medi-muggle did not seem particularly surprised. Apparently, refusing to talk wasn't all that unusual.

So far, in addition to figuring out that he was in a repository for muggle lunatics, he also ascertained that they were unlikely to kill him or otherwise do him harm, which was a bit of a relief. The muggles hadn't done anything except talk to him and force him to take strange potions. He got by by copying what the muggle children did; he had always been good at imitations. The others were also helpful about explaining things to him ("Nurse Killarney will always come and ask you how you feel if she notices you're not doing anything. If you want to sit and do nothing on her shift, pick up a magazine, and don't forget to turn the pages once in a while." "During the day, whoever sits in front of the television first gets to pick the programme. In the evenings, it's majority rule"). Apparently, it was considered normal to be a little off balance on arrival to the ward, so his confusion wasn't very noticeable to the muggles.

"We're here to help you," the medi-muggle continued. "But you have to help us help you."

They said that a lot.

If only they could. Help.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Draco sat up straight. He didn't know.

"You were found unconscious in an alley. An ambulance took you to Trauma, but the doctors there couldn't find anything wrong. You regained consciousness and attacked the hospital staff. If you would tell us who you are, and what happened to you, we might be able to release you to your parents. You aren't doing yourself any favors by keeping quiet."

Release him to his parents. Hah. The doctor apparently didn't know how he'd ended up unconscious in an alley, which seemed like a crucial piece of information.

"Did you run away from home?" He didn't answer. "When you woke up here, you called the orderly a--" he checked his notes "--Death Eater."

Had he? He remembered thinking at first that he had been captured by Death Eaters. Was there any particular reason he'd thought that?

"What is a death eater?"

Obviously, he couldn't answer that. All he had to do was say the words "Dark wizard," and he'd never get out of here.

"Do you feel that you are in danger from these...death eaters?"

If he said yes, he'd sound crazy. "No" was obviously the right answer, but if he said anything, they'd expect him to say more. He'd do well to keep mum for a little longer, until he could come up with a plausible story.

"Why don't you start by telling me your name?"

Muggles didn't have names like "Malfoy." Or "Draco." He knew that from the way muggle-born students reacted to his name. The only muggle name he could think of was "Harry Potter," and he didn't think he could quite stomach that. Besides, what if they contacted those muggles he lived with? That would be out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"Don't you think your parents are worried about you?"

He was absolutely sure that they weren't. Perhaps Snape was. If Snape hadn't left him in that alley on purpose.

"Whatever sort of row you may have had with your parents, I'm sure they want to know you're safe."

They really didn't. He wished the man would stop talking about his parents. He didn't know them.

For a moment, he entertained a brief fantasy of what would happen if Father was still alive and found out these muggles were holding him prisoner. He'd sweep in like black death, mow down the muggles and take Draco home.

Where he'd tell him how stupid he was to have gotten himself into this mess in the first place. And to need to be rescued. A real Malfoy would be able to get himself out.

But they had taken his wand, and they kept the doors locked.

"Are your parents Death Eaters?"

Draco glanced up at him, startled. But the muggle was just guessing. He didn't know. Still, the question reminded him of his interrogation by the ministry. The day he'd learned of his father's death and his mother's defection.

"We have to sit here for the whole hour. It'll be more interesting if we talk."

That it would.

"We can talk about anything you like."

Draco tugged at a lock of his hair. They really couldn't.

#

Finally, his hour was up, and he was allowed to go back to the common room.

"Hey, man of mystery." A black-haired muggle girl flopped onto the sofa beside him. "How's Doctor White? Still trying to get you to talk?"

He nodded.

"He's such an asshole." She took a lolly out of her pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it in her mouth. "Want one?" She asked around the sweet, taking another one from her pocket.

He accepted.

"So what'd you do?" She pushed back one sleeve of her jumper, revealing a cross-hatching of cuts and scars on her forearm. "I cut myself." She pushed the sleeve back down. "They caught me doing it, and they freaked. They thought I was trying to kill myself. I was like, if I wanted to kill myself I'd be dead, but they didn't believe me."

"Why'd you do it, then?" His voice was a little rusty from disuse.

"Hey, you can talk! Don't worry, I won't tell the wardens. I did it because I love the sight of blood." She stroked the lolly across her tongue. "Makes me feel...alive."

Death magic.

"Don't be all shocked. I'm not violent or anything."

She was a muggle. It wasn't death magic. It wasn't magic at all.

"You don't go to the comprehensive, do you? I think I'd remember you."

He shook his head.

"A private school, then."

"Very private."

"Private school, public hospital. You run away?"

He didn't answer.

"I've thought about that. But it's harder for a girl. You end up spreading your legs for a fiver and putting it up your nose."

The first part of that made sense. But if a fiver was money, which he thought it was, why would somebody put it up her nose? It would be uncomfortable, to say the least. Even with muggle money.

"Hey, Jenna, come and sit with us." The black-haired girl waved to a heavy blond girl. "This is Jenna. Pills," she stage-whispered behind her hand. "Mystery-man and I are having a chat," she told Jenna.

"Really." She sat down. "So what's his real name?"

"Oh, who cares." She waved that away.

"I'm Jenna. Jenna Bilkens." She extended her hand.

Draco hesitated before taking it. It was the first time he had willingly touched a muggle. "Nice to meet you."

"Jenna tried to killer herself because the kids at school made fun of her for being F-A-T."

"Hey, Lydia, I can spell!" Jenna protested.

"Well, it's true." She shrugged.

"That wasn't the real reason."

"Oh, tell it to Doctor Asshole."

Jenna laughed. "Yeah. I have repressed...sumfing or other."

#

Gradually, Draco got used to the hospital routine. It was a lot like school, really, only instead of lessons they had therapy. Group therapy. Individual therapy. Art therapy. Dance therapy. In between they sat in the common room and talked. He got to know the muggles--there were eighteen of them, ten girls and eight boys. There were other wards in the hospital, with adult crazies, but they only saw them occasionally, which was fine with Draco because they, unlike the kids, seemed really crazy. They talked to people who weren't there, screamed, and wet themselves. The kids seemed fairly normal. For muggles, anyway. There was Cyril, the tall, thin Black boy ("Drugs," Lydia told him, "and his parents are assholes."), Jonah ("Depressed. Parents are assholes.), Mike ("Skips school. Defiant. Parents are assholes."), Christine and MaryBeth, two girls who sicked up everything they ate (Because, according to Lydia, their parents were assholes) and Lucas (who claimed to hear the voice of God. If his parents were assholes, Lydia didn't mention it).

He learned to play checkers and gin rummy, a muggle card game. He watched television, with Jenna and Lydia explaining the plots of their favourite programmes to him. He thought it was stupid at first, but after a few days he was as fascinated as the rest. He learned that the muggles were sort of, almost, like friends. He could only understand about half of what they said (a percentage that rose to ninety when the girls were watching television, and the conversation consisted of things like "I can't believe how he looks in this. I actually used to sort of fancy him when he was in that thing, not the one with so-and-so, the other one." "You mean the one where he--" making a gesture toward her body. And then there would be a lot of giggling). Luckily, they generally put Draco's abject ignorance down to the fact of his being a boy. He also learned that he could safely ignore most of the things that didn't make any sense. When they referred to someone by name, without explaining who it was, it was probably a muggle celebrity. Remarks about things that had happened at school were often prefaced by an explanation that the incident had happened in Chem or Language Arts, but he didn't need to understand what those subjects were to follow the story (which often had to do with either a teacher being blatantly unreasonable or another student embarrassing him or herself in a spectacular way, both of which happened often enough at Hogwarts that Draco had no trouble understanding).

When he got through the first three days without attacking anyone, they gave him his own clothes back. Muggle clothes he vaguely remembered Snape conjuring for him outside the prison. His handkerchiefs, some muggle money, and a coaster he'd pocketed in the pub were still in the pockets, but not his wand. The handkerchiefs were monogrammed with his initials, but fortunately Snape's efforts at verisimilitude had not extended as far as identification. Lydia tired of calling him "Mystery Man," and he acquired a variety of nicknames.

His old life receded into the background. He expected, at first, to be rescued at any moment. Snape or Dumbledore would come in, put memory charms on everyone in sight, and take him back to school. But they didn't come. He thought that if he could only get outside he might be able to find the pub where he and Snape had had lunch, and have the wizard landlord get him back to school, but without his wand, there was no getting out. He tried to do some wandless magic, but nothing worked, and when Jenna saw him whispering "Alohamora" to the ward door, she looked at him funny.

A few times, he even caught himself wondering if he was crazy, if Hogwarts and Voldemort and the wizarding world were nothing but figments of his imagination.

Foolishness.

He was careful never to speak of his past in any kind of detail, and still didn't talk to the wardens.

Except one day in Group the others were talking about their parents ("assholes") and he blurted out "My father's dead."

Everyone looked at him.

"Well, he is," he said defensively.

"How did he die?"

That was one of the things he couldn't talk about.

"How do you feel about that?" The doctor for this session was a young Indian woman. Reki--something. Draco had been here long enough to recognize the question as a cliché, and so had Doctor R. She smiled to show that she knew.

"Ambivalent," he answered. "He was...not a nice man. But he was my father, right?"

"How was he not nice?"

Where to begin? Even leaving out the things he couldn't talk about, there were a lot of answers to that question. "He...well, for starts, he looked down on people who weren't from our...background." Let them make of that what they would. "I grew up believing he was right about...things. I didn't realize until he died that..." He felt a tear run down his face, and rubbed at it with the back of his hand. "Sorry, I..."

"It's all right. It's good to cry."

The others certainly did enough of it around here. They couldn't get through a single Group session without somebody bursting into tears.

He supposed it was his turn.

"What would you say to him, if he were here?" Doctor R. was looking at him.

They did this a lot. Sometimes the doctors even made them act the parts of each others' families. He shook his head. "I don't have anything to say to him."

"Think about it."

He did. "I'd say...I don't want to be the kind of w--of man you want me to be." He was still crying.

"What kind of man is he?"

"Cold. Violent. Emotionally unavailable. Pretty much like everyone else here's." It had come as a surprise to learn that muggles had parents like his.

Only theirs weren't murderers.

"He has a...reputation I can't get out from under. It's a problem, at...my school."

"Maybe when you get back to school you can tell people you aren't like that," Doctor R. suggested.

He shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"I didn't say it would be easy."

#

He had been there far too long. If he was starting to talk in group, it would only be a matter of time before he said things he shouldn't. He had to get out.

"Lydia." He'd been waiting for her beside the telephones. "Can you...Can you show me..." They'd "worked" on asking for help in Group, but he still wasn't any good at it.

"What, my tits?"

He blushed. "No! How to make a telephone call."

"You don't know how to make a telephone call? What, are you from outer space? We had a guy in here before who was from outer space."

"Really?" Their Astronomy teacher had never mentioned anything about there being people in outer space.

"So he said."

"What happened to him?"

"He admitted he was from Leeds, and they let him go home."

"Oh." Best not to let himself be distracted. "So, will you?"

"Oh, all right." She dragged him into the booth. "First you pick up the re-cee-ver." She demonstrated. "Then you punch in the num-ber." She mimed it. "Then you say 'Allo! Allo!' That's all there is to it."

He knew she was being silly with the "Allo! Allo!" business. "How do you know what number to punch in?"

"The number for the person you want to call."

"What if you don't know it?"

She took a thick, dog-eared book from a shelf under the telephone. "Look it up."

"Oh." This was stupid, anyway. Hogwarts wouldn't have a telephone.

Bu maybe they did. With all the muggles Dumbledore let into the school, they ought to have some way to contact the place if there was a family emergency.

"A little privacy, please." When Lydia left the booth he opened the book. It was alphabetical--like One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, he thought inanely. There was no entry under "H" for Hogwarts. Or "D" for Dumbledore. He tried "S" for Snape. Nothing.

The pub would probably have a telephone, but he couldn't remember the name of it. His coaster only had an advertisement for something called Guiness on it.

Who in the wizarding world would have a telephone?

The Weasleys, if anyone did. The last people in the world who would ever want to help him.

Not the last. Voldemort was the last.

He looked them up. Nothing.

Weasley. Granger. She was muggle-born. She'd have a telephone.

There was a listing. Granger, William and Beatrice. Before he could lose his nerve, he picked up the receiver. Then he punched in the number.

"Granger residence." A woman's voice.

"Uh...Hello. This is...Is this Hermione Granger's mum?"

"No, she's not our daughter."

He was almost relieved. "Oh, I'm--"

"She's our niece."

He stood up straight. "Oh. I, uh, I lost her telephone number."

"Well, I have it somewhere. But I think she'd away at school."

"That's...could I have that number, please?"

"Hold on."

His hands shook as he copied it down. "Thank you. Thank you. I..."

"You're welcome."

He sat and stared at the number for a while. Hermione's parents. Would they help him? He wouldn't, in their place. But she had to have gotten all that Gryffindor nobility somewhere.

Picking up the receiver, he punched in the number.

"Hello, this is the Granger residence--"

"Hello--"

"We're not able to answer the 'phone right now. Please leave your name and number after the tone."

Damn.

He replaced the receiver and left the booth.

"Well?" Lydia asked. "Did you reach your girlfriend?"

Draco was horrified. "She's not my--"

Lydia stomped off.

#

He didn't get a chance to try again until later that night. Doctor White heard he had talked in Group and scheduled a special emergency session. He kept his mouth shut, but the session still lasted an hour. Doctor White thought his father wasn't really dead, and spent most of the time talking about why an adolescent might fantasize about his parents' deaths and how it was perfectly normal. After that he had Art Therapy (where he was working on a model of Hogwarts in ice-lolly sticks) and dinner. Then he got swept into a conversation with the others about muggle football. It was near lights-out when he found the privacy he wanted to make the call.

He smoothed the crumpled piece of parchment--paper--with the Granger's telephone number. He dialed carefully.

"Granger residence."

"Hello. Is..." He felt like he was going to be sick. "Is this Hermione Granger's mum?"

"Yes." She sounded puzzled.

"The Hermione who goes to Hogwarts?" he pressed.

"Yes. Who is this, please?"

"Um...I go to school with Hermione."

"Is she all right?" Worried.

"Oh, yes. As far as I know. I, uh...I need your help." This was even harder than he'd imagined. "I know I was beastly to Hermione last year. But I need--" He choked on a sob.

"Never mind that just now," she said briskly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in a hospital. Your sort," he explained. "And I don't know how else to...how to reach Professor Dumbledore. They took my wand, and...I thought they'd come for me, but--" He was really crying now. On the 'phone with Granger's mother. He'd never hear the end of it.

"Well, let me think for a minute. Hermione always sends a letter on Thursdays. We can send a message back with the...you-know-what."

The owl, he supposed. This was Wednesday. He could be back home tomorrow. "Thank you, that would be wonderful."

"Where are you?"

"Muggle hospital." Hadn't he said? He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Which one, dear?"

"Uh..." There was more than one? He looked at the band they'd put on his wrist. "Leeds General Infirmary," he read.

"All right. I'll send a message. What's your name, dear?"

He swallowed hard. "Draco. Malfoy."

"Oh." Coldly. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"No! Please--I'll make it up to Hermione, I promise. Just tell Dumbledore where I--"

"Why did you call here?"

"I don't know any other...anyone else who might have a telephone. You're my only hope."

"Well...I'll tell Hermione to tell the Headmaster. If this is some sort of joke, I'm sure you'll catch it from him, do you hear?"

"Yes Mrs. Granger," he said contritely. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And it's Doctor Granger. Good night."

He hung up the receiver and slid down the wall to sit on the floor of the booth.

#

There was a scuffle at the Gryffindor table. Snape raised his head to glare at them, but he didn't even have the heart to take points off from them.

The Granger girl was approaching the head table, a letter clutched in her sweaty little paw.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

She ignored him. "Professor Dumbledore? My parents sent this letter. I thought you should see it right away." She leaned over the table, drooping her robes in the marmalade, to give it to him. "Right here. At the end."

Dumbledore perused the letter, than passed it to Snape.

Melinda's recovered from her operation.

I have a message for you to pass along to your Headmaster. Last night that awful boy Draco Malfoy telephoned. He says he's in hospital in Leeds. Leeds General Infirmary. If this is his idea of a joke, I don't think it's very funny. But either way, your Headmaster should--

Snape looked at Albus and then at Hermione. "Draco..." he said.

"The whole school knows he's missing," Hermione said. "What he's doing in Leeds, or...Well, I suppose it could be true. But why he'd call my..."

"Albus."

"I'll cover your classes, Severus," the Headmaster told him.

He took off at a dead run.

#

"What are you waiting for?" Jenna sat down next to him. "You've been watching the door all day."

"Uh...Nothing." What if Hermione picked this week to not write home? Or if she got the message and promptly flushed it down the bog? He hadn't exactly given her reason to want him back at school. "Do you think I'm a decent person?"

"Oh." Jenna looked down and flushed. "You're awright." Jenna's family was, in her words, "middle class with airs." She talked in her idea of a lower-class accent to take the piss out of them.

Not exactly the answer he was looking for. "I mean...morally."

"Well, you haven't shagged Lydia. And she would, you know. She fancies you. Is it true you 'ave a girlfriend?"

"No. Not at all." Unless you counted Pansy Parkinson, who had kicked him in the kidneys last time he saw her.

"Oh. You a poof?"

"No!"

"Um, if Lydia isn't your sort..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"Never mind. Fancy a game of cards?"

"Sure." But he couldn't quite keep his mind on the game. He kept wondering. Who would come for him? Had Snape...if Draco had been attacked by Death Eaters, maybe Snape hadn't made it.

Maybe Snape was gone, and no one wanted him back at school.

Maybe he was still there, and still no one wanted him back at school.

Maybe Voldemort had won and there was no school left.

He was being stupid. It had only been a little over a week.

"I said, it's your turn."

"Oh, sorry." Draco looked at the cards in his hand, then drew a new card. Four suits, four elements. Hearts, clubs, spades, diamonds. Cups, swords, wands, pentacles.

He laid down three fours.

"Draco."

He looked up. Snape was standing in the doorway to the common room, dressed in his muggle clothes.

"Professor!" He got up, knocking over his chair in the process, and ran over to Snape. "I thought..."

To his astonishment, he threw his arms around the Professor. He couldn't help himself. They hugged a lot in hospital.

To his even greater astonishment, Snape hugged him back. "I thought those Death Eaters..." He held Draco at arms' length and looked at him. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"I am now."

#

Severus could hardly believe his eyes. After more than a week of expecting to find Draco's broken, lifeless body--and having looked for it everywhere from Death Eater enclaves to muggle morgues--Draco--his Draco--sat playing cards with a group of muggle children. Healthy and whole.

"Draco?"

He looked incredulously at Snape, then nearly flew over to him. "I thought--" he said breathlessly, then flung himself at Snape.

Who, to his astonishment, found himself embracing the boy. "I thought those Death Eaters...." He trailed off. He stepped back from Draco, keeping his hands on his shoulders. He was pale, but he always was. Thin, but, again, he always was. "Are you all right?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah. Are you?"

"I am now," he said without thinking. "Let's get out of here, then." He put his arm around Draco's shoulders.

One of the orderlies approached them. "Sir, this isn't a public--"

"Persuadeo," Snape murmured, waving his hand at the man. His wand was hidden up his sleeve. "It's perfectly all right." The spell would cause the man's subconscious mind to come up with some plausible explanation for his presence.

"That's right, you're authorized." The man nodded, as though he'd just remembered.

That didn't give him any information. "Persuadeo," he repeated, putting a little bit more will behind it. "We'll just be going."

The man's brow creased. "He's being...transferred."

Snape let out a sigh of relief. He could use that. "Yes. To a private hospital. Very old family, you know."

The man nodded. "I thought so."

"His personal effects? And the paperwork?" Snape prompted. Draco had been here too long and interacted with too many people to simply cast memory charms on everyone--removing such a substantial chunk of memory would have permanent effects, and the children here weren't well to begin with. It would be best to leave the muggles with the impression that the proper procedures had been followed.

"Oh, of course. Hey, how did you track him down here? He never told us his name."

Clever boy. "Private detective," he said. "He's been under my care for several years. Very troubled. We were all quite worried." None of those things were exactly lies, either.

"I'm sure. I'll get those forms and be right back."

When he'd gone, an aggressively thin girl with short black hair approached them. "What's going on? Who's this?"

Draco answered her. "He's with me. I'm going home, Lyds. Goodbye. It's been...fun."

She narrowed her eyes. "And where's that, Mystery Man?"

Snape held the spell obliviate on the tip of his tongue, but Draco just smiled gently and pointed at the ceiling. "Home."

She stared at him in wide-eyed wonder for a moment, then snorted. "You lying sod. Bugger off, then, for all I care." The girl stomped off to an armchair and sat in it, arms folded across her chest, looking pointedly away from Draco.

Draco looked after her for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess I had that coming."

The orderly returned with a brown paper back and a clipboard. "Sign at the X's."

Severus signed in a looping, illegible scrawl. The orderly let them out of the ward, and when Severus found a deserted staircase, he put an arm around Draco and apparated out.