Issues

Harry muttered angrily under his breath as he hurried to the still young man lying on the bed. He picked up Malfoy's limp arm by the wrist, searching for a pulse, pressing his fingers into the skin on the inside. With relief, Harry detected a faint but steady beat and so took the time to evaluate Malfoy's physical state.

He was furious with the treatment Malfoy had obviously received since his capture or surrender. The last time he has seen the blond, was just after the last battle, where he had looked tired and exhausted, but ultimately healthy and whole; certainly not beaten into unconsciousness. No one deserved that, not even supposed Death Eaters like Malfoy. Especially seeing as he was a prisoner, there were rules about such things, surely? If not, then there should be. It was just common human decency. The fighting and hatred had to stop somewhere.

There was the deep gash over Malfoy's eye that Harry had seen from the door. The blood had stopped flowing and dried up, so the attack must have happened a while ago. There was bruising and blood from cuts and gashes all over his thin chest. The angle of one arm was awkward and looked, Harry thought with a grimace, like it might be broken. He was more concerned with the trickle of blood from Malfoy's ear, however. That looked dangerous.

Gently, he felt Malfoy's neck and head for anything out of place, but found nothing. Hopefully, the bruising that decorated the face was the cause of the bleeding ear, and not something more permanent. He gave one last appraising look at Malfoy, noticing that his face was peaceful; at least he wasn't feeling the pain anymore. Then he headed for the door, a frown on his face and determined to make the culprits take responsibility for this, but first he needed the first aid kit that each guard station kept for emergencies. He was still astounded that they had beat Malfoy and just left him there.

"Hoxley! Coghill!" Harry roared as he moved quickly along the hall to the station, where the two burly guards sat quietly chatting with each other. At Harry's voice they stood immediately, Hoxley with a grin of satisfaction on his face and the older man with a tight smile that wasn't wide enough to make the trademark crinkles that usually lined his face when he smiled.

"He quiet enough for you then, Harry?" Hoxley asked.

Harry's face tightened and he glared at the man. "Give me the first aid kit!" he demanded.

"You don't want to waste good potions on that piece of filth," sneered Coghill. Harry looked at the man, getting angrier by the second. Had these men no conscience? Hoxley was nodding beside him and a part of Harry wanted to hand out the same kind of treatment to them they seemed to think Malfoy deserved. But, that would solve nothing, he would go through official channels, do the right thing.

"Just get me the fucking first aid kit, Coghill. If you won't then I'll get it myself." They must have heard the anger in his voice, because Hoxley frowned for a second and reached into a cabinet to pull out the box full of potions and creams. All the while, Harry kept his eyes on Coghill, and the man stared back, no flicker of emotion, or remorse, just cool regard.

"Here you are, Harry," Hoxley said as he placed the box into his arms. Harry took hold of it and gave Coghill one final stare before turning and walking back to the cell. He refused to back down before Coghill, but he was dangerous and Harry reminded himself to watch his back. Just because Voldemort was dead, didn't mean that he could relax.

Entering the cell once more, clutching the kit in both hands, he checked that Malfoy was unmoved and set the box down on the table, opening it and surveying the array of vials. The broken arm he would heal first, he knew the spells for that. There wasn't much he didn't know about healing broken bones and cuts and bruises. He'd spent too long fighting and healing the wounds of battle to have not learnt something.

While he worked, the appraisal of Malfoy continued. The dreaded black dark mark was on Malfoy's inner arm and for a moment Harry was disappointed. He was sure that Malfoy had been going to take Dumbledore's offer of protection. Maybe it had already been too late then. As his fingers brushed over the mark, Malfoy stirred and groaned. Harry pulled his fingers back and set again to soothing healing creams over the cuts and bruises on the young man's chest. He was thin, a lot thinner than when Harry had last seen him at Hogwarts that black night. Malfoy's ribs were prominent; his stomach concave and hollow as he gently traced a nasty scratch that followed the line of his ribs.

Horrified at what he was doing, he quickly pulled his fingers away and glanced up at Malfoy's face - embarrassed and not sure why he had touched him like that- only to find his look met with frowning grey eyes.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Potter?"

"Healing you, Malfoy. What does it look like?" said Harry more harshly than he intended to, as he tried to cover his mortification at having been caught out. He held up the jar of cream that he was spreading over the cuts.

"Looks to me like you were enjoying yourself. Like what you see?"

"What? I don't..." Harry sputtered, because he didn't...he wasn't looking like that...

"Whatever, Potter, just get on with it," Malfoy sighed and weakly waved his hand, dismissing Harry's protest. He took a moment to calm down, telling himself that this was Malfoy, and if he were to get the answers he required, then he needed to keep his temper.

"You're obviously feeling better then." He smiled tightly as he finished covering the last of the cuts with the healing cream, watching them close and disappear.

"Don't count on it; it hurts all over like a bitch."

Harry frowned, hoping there weren't some internal injuries that he couldn't see. He had no hope of healing those. "Where does it hurt the most? I've healed what I could see."

"My back. I think they worked that over too."

Shit. "Roll over then and let me see. The cuts on your chest are gone now, and I mended your broken arm, you should be able to move."

"Not going to gently put your hands on me to turn me over then, Potter?" Malfoy's weak attempt at humour made Harry smile just a little, and he raised his eyebrow.

"I can always refuse to heal you Malfoy. Who would argue?"

"Right, I'll just turn over then..." He made to lift his leg and swivel his hip, but he broke off with a loud gasp of pain and fell back flat against the narrow bed. "Oh, fuck...I... need help after all."

Harry was beside him quickly to help roll him over. His strong hands guided the slight body until Malfoy was on his stomach and Harry could see the magnitude of what had been done to his back. His own stomach lurched and he almost ran from the room, but he couldn't so he stayed. "Shit, Malfoy...what did they do to you?"

"It goes all the way down the backs of my legs, too. "

There were red angry marks all over Malfoy's back, the darkness of them contrasting glaringly with the normal tones of his skin. They were rounded with blurred edges, some of them, and amidst the blotches heavy blisters had formed. No wonder he hurt all over, Harry thought, sickened. Someone had hit Malfoy with dozens of stinging burning hexes of some sort.

"Alright...wait," he whispered, reaching for a pain potion.

"It fucking hurts, Potter. Why can't I go to St. Mungo's, or get a real healer?"

"Do you really need to ask that?" Harry questioned as he opened the small bottle of potion. "You're a prisoner, Malfoy, you get what they give you, and what they've given you is a short time out of Azkaban because I asked for it. You get me, or nothing. Here, I have a potion that will help with the pain."

"Fine." Malfoy groaned as he lifted himself onto his elbows wearily and wincing at the pain the movement caused his back. Harry held the bottle to his lips and tipped the potion into his mouth, making sure that he swallowed it. Malfoy flopped back down on the bed and looked to relax almost immediately.

"I'll need to get your trousers off if you want me to finish healing you." Harry didn't like having to move him again, but it needed to be done. There was hesitation from Malfoy, and Harry was about to reiterate that he needed help to remove the thin pants, but Malfoy sighed and moved his hips so that Harry could slide the cloth from under them.

He tried to be careful, not letting the distorted elastic from the waistband scrape over the burn marks and blisters. It didn't stop Malfoy's quick gasps though, and Harry hurried to finish as quickly as possible.

Once they were removed, Harry stared once more in disgust at the damage that had been done to Malfoy's legs and buttocks. In some places it looked as if the marks had burned through to the bone, Malfoy was so thin and his arse was so bony. Harry wasn't fussed about seeing Malfoy naked, he'd seen too much to be embarrassed or be anything other than detached at the intimacy. Then...

"Again...like what you see, Potter?" Malfoy's drawl, now laced with tiredness that was obviously the potion beginning to calm him and make him sleepy, cut through his clinical examination. He frowned.

"Don't, Malfoy. I can leave you here if you like, or send you to Azkaban," Harry warned. His sympathy lay with Malfoy's pain and the injustice of his treatment at the hands of those who were supposed to be better than that, but in the end, Malfoy was going to Azkaban.

"Sorry. It just feels weird." Malfoy sighed.

Harry nodded. "Well, if it's any consolation, I am not looking at your bony arse with anything other than complete disgust." He smirked as Malfoy jumped at that and turned his head to look back at Harry with an indignant haughty look on his face.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that my arse is perfect. Highly sought after in fact." Malfoy's face was a picture and Harry could hardly help a small grin as he began to soothe a cooling healing cream over the burn marks.

"Just shut up and let me finish."

"Yes sir," came the muffled huffy reply as Malfoy turned his head once more and let Harry get on with it.

He worked for a while, the pain potion allowing him to not be overly concerned at touching the marks. He studied Malfoy's back as it begun to heal and saw that it really was thin and bony. Harry could see every sharp angular bone and there was hardly any flesh on him. When he reached out to smooth cream over Malfoy's buttocks, he felt the flinching under his fingers, and quickly finished.

"So, tell me what happened..." he asked, hoping that talk would distract them both, because he had to admit that with some meat on him, Malfoy might have a nice arse after all. There was silence. Harry knew that Malfoy wasn't asleep, as he had moved when Harry touched him.

"Malfoy?"

"Oh sorry, I was under the impression that I was to shut up."

"Azkaban..." Harry couldn't resist a small smile though. Since when had Malfoy developed a sense of humour?

"Right." Malfoy heaved a sigh of surrender and his voice sounded tired. Harry knew that he would not have long before the young man fell asleep on him.

"And...?" he prompted.

Another sigh. "There's not much to tell, really." The voice was becoming fainter as the combination of fatigue, the healing creams, and the pain potion, did their work. "After I was...dumped in here, they left me alone. No one came to see me, or...feed me. Until this morning, least I think it was morning...so hard to keep track of time in here..." He sighed once more. "One of them, the big one...held me while the other one beat me until I passed out. I came to on the floor and they were both throwing hexes at my back. I don't remember anything until I woke with you perving over me." Harry could hear the faint smirk in Malfoy's soft voice. But he ignored that.

"Not good enough..." he said, suddenly angry once more.

"I-I don't have anything else to tell you, Potter!" Malfoy was trying to get some annoyance into his tone, but it came out weak from exhaustion.

"No, not you." Harry shook his head even though Malfoy couldn't see it. "We're supposed to be better than that," he added.

"Oh..."

Harry was surprised. He thought that Malfoy of all people would be the one screaming blue murder yet there he was just accepting it. He had not said one word about getting justice for this treatment, or anything like that. It was another puzzling thing about Malfoy, he thought, but perhaps it was just the potion. Once he was healed, Harry was sure that he'd be hearing more about this.

He sat there on the side of the bed, thinking. There was a part of him that was warning him to stay out of it, let Malfoy go to Azkaban as he deserved, forget the abuse dished out here, and get on with his life. But, as he heard Malfoy's breathing become deep and regular and realised that he was asleep, he knew he could never do it. What had he fought and killed Voldemort for, if not to stop this type of prejudice and abuse? If nothing was done to prevent this type of thing happening again, they were no better than the madman who threatened their very existence was. Were they?

Sighing as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair, he knew what he had to do. Fuck! Why did it have to be Malfoy? He still didn't have the answers he came for, and now he had to go and fight to have two Aurors punished for someone he didn't even like! Why?

Because it was the right thing to do.

He collected up the empty potions bottles and creams and repacked the first aid kit and tucked it under his arm. Before he left the room, he took the emergency ration pack from the kit and left it on the table. At least Malfoy would have some food when he woke. As he stepped from the room, he cast some of his own warding spells preventing anyone but himself from entering the room, shaking his head as he did so. Who would have thought that he would be protecting Malfoy? Of all people.

Then he locked the cell and went back to face the two Aurors. They must have heard his approach, because they were on their feet looking at him warily, Coghill still with that intense hard look. Harry kept his eye as he neared and dumped the kit down on the table.

"You'll need to replenish that," he said as calmly as he could manage. "And I have set my own wards on that cell, so no one but me can enter. You will not be able to remove them, so I suggest that you don't even bother trying."

Coghill gave him a sly grin. "Want him for yourself, do you? I hear he is a nice piece of arse."

Harry almost shoved the larger man against the wall and punched his face, but he withheld himself, eyes flashing dangerously. It would do no good for him to lose his cool now; it wasn't worth it, not over Malfoy, anyway.

"You'll both be hearing about this," he snarled instead, and was rewarded by a slight flash of worry in Coghill's eyes, before it was masked by that irritating cool regard. He could also see from the corner of his eye that Hoxley was agitated by the threat. Good.

"No one will do anything! He's Death Eater scum. Who cares what happens to him?"

Harry stared fixedly into Coghill's eyes. "Do you know how much like a Death Eater you sound right now, Coghill? We're supposed to be better than that!" Harry turned and began to walk away.

"It will be his word against ours, Harry. No one will listen to him, no one will believe him!"

"No," Harry replied over his shoulder. "But they'll believe me."

As he continued down the hall, he was followed by the shouts of both men.

"You'll ruin my career over a Death Eater, Potter?"

"He's not worth it, Harry!" this from Hoxley.

"I'll make sure you pay for this, Potter, you mark my words!" Coghill once more.

Harry sighed and continued, wishing for the life of him that he had not requested Malfoy be detained in a Ministry holding cell, all to satisfy his curiosity. It was entirely his fault wasn't it? How did he get himself into these things? Now he had to go and see the Minister and he was not looking forward to that.