Until Death Parts Us... Which Might Be Sooner Than We Think

Chapter 02

When Draco's unconsciousness lifted for the second time, he didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there. After a few moments of looking around, he realized where he was - one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. He was lying on a soft and comfortable bed. His body was very stiff. He was underneath the covers, and when he pulled them off of himself, he saw why. Someone had removed his shoes and trousers and re-bandaged his leg. They had also removed half of his button-up shirt and re-bandaged his arm. The sling was lying on the bedside table. Beside it was a small stack of books, a large stack of new parchment, five bottles of ink, and three new quills. Beside those was a letter, written on a battered piece of parchment. Draco leaned over carefully, picked up the letter, and read:

Dear Master Malfoy,

Your mother sent word ahead of your impending arrival and of
your... condition. She also sent along your book list for the new school
year, a list of other supplies you would need, and a small bag of gold to
cover the expenses, with enough to pay for a room until you will need
to go to King's Cross to catch the train. I took the liberty of picking
up everything you would need for you. The only thing you need to worry
about now is your new school robes, as your mother did not send along
your measurements for me. If you know them, and do not feel up to
venturing out, I would be more than happy to assist you in that as well.
Or, if you do not know your measurements, I can have Madam Malkin
come to your room or, if you are feeling up to it, you can of course visit
the shop yourself. The choice is up to you.

I have had my cook make up a potion to help with your pain; you
can take it twice daily. I will send a supply of it along with you to school,
if you would like. If you do not feel up to coming down, please just ring
your bell and it can be brought up to you.

Please feel free to let me know if there is absolutely anything I
can do for you, and I will be more than happy to oblige.

Yours sincerely,
TOM

Draco managed a very small smile. The toothless old landlord of the inn was really quite nice. Draco had never really noticed before. Of course, he had always kind of kept to himself, unless it was to put up the farce of cockiness and play the bully.

Draco eased himself carefully out of bed, and limped across the room to where his trunk was resting against the wall. He needed to change his clothes. However, the sight of himself in the tall mirror that was leaning up against the wall made him stop dead in his tracks. He was shocked by what he saw.

He hardly even recognized himself.

His right eye had a horrible bruise completely surrounding it, purplish-black in color, with some red thrown in because of the swelling. The cut on his upper lip had widened from a second blow, and the blood that had come from it had dried, leaving it almost black. He had a huge bruise on the right side of his face that reached from his temple to his cheek. He had a thick bandage wrapped around his left leg - he didn't know how he was going to make it around Diagon Alley - and also around his left arm. He shrugged off the rest of his shirt, standing there in just his boxers. What he saw made him gasp in shock. Somehow, his bumps and bruises always seemed to surprise him.

Below the bandages that completely covered his ribcage, his entire torso seemed to be covered with bruises, with only the occasional spot of normal-colored skin. He turned around and closed his eyes for a second. Looking over his shoulder at the mirror, he realized he had definitely been right about the bedpost. Straight up the middle of his back, right where his spine was, his back was so discolored it looked as though someone had painted him. Some cuts from the metalwork on the post were dotted here and there as well. The parts of his sides that weren't covered in bandages were covered in bruises. He put a hand up to brush through his hair, but winced immediately. There seemed to be a large bump on the left side of his head. That must've been where his father had kicked him and caused him to black out.

He sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. He'd better just get dressed and go down to see Tom about that pain potion. Then he'd need to get over to Gringotts, and then to Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions so he could buy some new school robes. Not that he probably had grown all that much, but he always seemed to be wearing his best robe when he came home for the summer or on holiday (he just Apparated straight from the station without worrying about the barrier to and from the Muggle world) and his father always started in on him right when he got home, usually when he was only halfway through the door (he had to Apparate to outside the gates because there were spells and enchantments that prevented anyone from Apparating or Dissapparating into and from the Malfoy's Manor, or even inside the grounds - just like Hogwarts.

Draco turned towards his trunk once again, but decided at the last moment against just outright dressing. He needed a shower first. He went over to his trunk, opened it, and took out his wand. After casting the Impervious charm to keep his bandages dry, he went through the door to the right of his bed and into the bathroom. After stripping off his boxers, he turned the shower all the way on hot, and waited for it to warm up. It didn't take long. Before he knew it, he was standing in the bathtub, the hot water cascading down his body, relieving it of all tension. The water hurt, because of the state his body was in, but it definitely helped. He leaned his head back into the stream of water, letting it run through his hair. He ran a hand through his hair, wringing it out a little bit, and noticed a pinkish tinge to the water on the bottom of the tub, before it ran down the drain, that must've come from the bump on his head. He leaned forward, placing his right hand on the shower wall to hold himself up, and let the water run down his back.

And he thought.

He knew he was being a coward, but he couldn't help being a little frightened about venturing out into Diagon Alley. But he was sure to meet some of his fellow students around, as it was so close to the start of term. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was scared. Terrified, more like. He didn't want to see their expressions when they saw the state he was in. He knew there wouldn't be any sympathy, but he didn't want to see their curiosity. Most - if not all - would probably just shrug it off; he hadn't exactly made himself popular in previous years.

And maybe that's what his problem really was. Maybe it wasn't their curiosity he was frightened of witnessing. Maybe it was their indifference.

He stood in the shower for was felt like at least an hour longer. Finally, deciding to just give it up, he grabbed a bottle of shampoo and started to lather his hair. After rinsing it out, he grabbed a washcloth from a bar that was hanging on the wall right outside the tub. He washed himself off as fast as his battered body would allow, turned off the water, and pulled back the curtain. After stepping out onto the mat, so he wouldn't track water all over the floor, he picked up a large, fluffy white towel from the same rack as the washcloth, and began the slow process of drying himself off. More than once, he winced and yelped in pain as he touched a particularly painful spot. Finally, after almost half an hour, he was done. He sighed, and dropped the towel on the floor, leaving it where it lay.

Leaving the bathroom, he hobbled across the carpet and over to his trunk. It was still open, his wand balanced on the edge of the lid. He picked it up and magically sifted through his belongings, trying to find what he was looking for. Finally he did, and he summoned the objects up into his hands one by one, laying them on the bed as he went: a slightly baggy, but still fitted, pair of dark blue jeans; a long-sleeved, button-up, dark green shirt with a collar; a pair of black, silk boxers; a pair of black socks; and his black tennis shoes. He sat down on the edge of his bed before putting the items on one by one. Everything had to be done one-handed, so it took him twice as long. When he was finally dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror again. As most of his injuries were covered, he thought he looked considerably better.

But he still looked like shit.

You could still see his black eye; the cut on his lip; the bruise on the right side of his face; the bulges on his left arm, left leg, and around his ribcage, made by the heavy bandages. But still... considerably better. Draco sighed again. He was really procrastinating now - anything not to have to leave the room (even if that meant staring at his injuries for another hour). He knew it was his decision, and he didn't really have to leave the room. He could just summon pull the bell and summon Tom, and have him take care of what he needed to do. He knew Tom would be more than happy to do it. But again, that disgusting word floated to the forefront of his mind: coward. Making up his mind, his face set, he went over to his bedside table and put the sling on, then took the note out of the inside pocket of his cloak (it had been lying on the edge of the bed) and tucked it into his back pocket. Picking up the room key he'd found on the bedside table, he headed to the door of his room, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. He had just locked the door, when he heard a small and barely noticeable gasp behind him. But the many years he had spent straining his ears to hear if his father was coming back to inflict more damage on him, had given him an acute sense of hearing. He turned around to find someone staring at him.

A thin, red-haired someone.