Harry dashed to his room and slammed the door behind him. He pulled the small dresser to partially block the door, hoping it would buy him some time. He hurried over to Hedwig’s cage and opened it as fast as possible, fumbling with the key in his haste and fear. He eventually got it open and he threw his window open.

“Go, Hedwig!” he said loudly. She hooted quietly and hopped to the door of her cage, but stopped, cocking her head at him as though asking what he meant. “Fly! Please!”

Harry’s eyes snapped fearfully to the bedroom door when it was shoved hard, skidding the dresser a little. Vernon wasn’t in the room yet, but it wouldn’t be long. He looked back at his beloved owl who was startled by the noise, but hesitant to leave her human.

“Hedwig!” Harry cried again and, this time, she spread her wings and flew through the open window. Harry spun to watch her go, relieved she had escaped. No sooner had she disappeared into the night than Vernon burst into the room, his face a reddish-purple with rage. Harry jumped as the dresser went crashing into the wall, the corner putting a small hole in the wall.

He honestly had no idea what to do as he pressed himself against the desk beneath the window. He stared at his uncle with wide eyes as the man stalked towards him, growling. This seemed different to every other beating at the hands of his uncle. He didn’t know what was different, but there was something and it terrified him.

He gasped and clawed at his uncle’s hand as it wrapped around his throat. His uncle said nothing. He just squeezed and pulled Harry up so he was no longer touching the ground. Harry gasped for air, tears leaking out the corner of his eyes. He was starting to get lightheaded and had small, black spots appearing in his vision when Vernon threw him across the room. He slid across the floor and cried out when he crashed into the door frame. He was gulping in air and coughing harshly only to shout in pain as Vernon grabbed a fistful of his hair and started dragging him down the hall.

Crying out, Harry struggled, not caring if he lost chunks of his scalp if it meant he could get away. It was to no avail, however, as Harry was viciously kicked at the top of the stairs. Yelping at the internal crack he felt from the kick, he went tumbling down the stairs, landing in a pained heap at the bottom.

A sob fell from his lips. He shakily pressed his fingertips to his forehead only for them to come back covered in blood. He’d smashed his head on the way down the stairs, causing a large gash. He ignored the blood quickly coating his face and started to drag himself across the floor in a hopeless attempt to escape.

He screamed when Vernon viciously stomped on his left leg, effectively snapping his tibia.

“You’re not going anywhere, boy,” Vernon spat.

Harry sucked in a breath as Vernon kicked him in the stomach, flinging him against the door to his old cupboard. His shoulder blade hit the small doorknob and he felt yet another small crack in the bone. He let out a choked sob and curled up, wrapping an arm around his stomach. He looked up at his uncle through blood and tears, his entire body shaking in pain and fear.

“You have brought trouble and misery to my home for the last time,” Vernon growled. “I will no longer tolerate your freakiness.”

Harry’s eyes widened as the belt was held high in the air and covered his head with his arms as it was brought down. He screamed and whimpered as the belt tore into his arm, side, and back. He felt his shirt and skin rip and blood begin to flow freely.

He wanted so badly to move, to fight back, to run away, but he couldn’t do anything. Even if he wasn’t too injured to move, he was paralyzed with the fear and hopelessness that he always felt in the face of his uncle’s beatings. He’d never been brave or strong enough to fight back. He was too weak to do anything; that had been proven in the graveyard.

He had no idea how long Vernon had been bringing the belt down on him, but by the time he realized it had stopped, he was barely conscious. He vaguely heard a click behind him and groaned at the door that was slammed against the back of his head as it was opened. He could do nothing as he was roughly shoved into the cupboard under the stairs, releasing a silent cry as his shattered leg was jostled and knocked against the door frame uncaringly. The door was slammed shut and locked, leaving Harry in darkness.

He stared through heavily lidded eyes, one blinded by blood, at the wooden floor under his outstretched, limp hand. He could see something dark spreading slowly but steadily under his hand and he knew it was blood pouring from his shredded arm. He twitched his fingers, letting them ghost over the blood pool. It was warm and sticky and coated his fingertips. Dust hovered around him as his breathing disturbed it on the floor. His shaky breaths echoed in his ears and in the silence of the cupboard.

He wanted it to end, something to change. He couldn’t handle it anymore; the pain, the fear, the loneliness. Was this really what he deserved, what his life was meant to be, what he was worth? For all he’d been through in and for the magical world to protect it as had been implied was his responsibility, was this meant to be his reward? Was he meant to lose everything, be alone for the sake of the wizarding world? Why was pain all he could have? Everyone had someone, had a place. Where was his? Where did he belong? Would anyone ever want him for him, not for what he’d done or could do?

He forced his eyes back open as they fluttered closed, but was unable to keep them open. He felt his consciousness spiralling and he had no more strength to stay awake.

I want a real home, he thought absently.

He was unaware of the impact his words had on the tentative power that surrounded the home, on the wards around another, and on a prophecy hidden deep in the Ministry of Magic. He did feel a pressure in his chest but attributed it to his injuries as he succumbed to the unconsciousness inviting him to leave behind his pain and despair, at least for a time. He had no idea that the moment he was unconscious, the pressure in his chest grew and he disappeared from Privet Drive with a crack, appearing, astonishingly, on a cold, stone floor.

Draco stood straight but stiff with his head held high, his lip stinging and bloody from his father’s backhand. He stared at Lucius with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. His father’s eyes flashed with angry betrayal. His stomach tightened with every clunk of the man’s sleek cane on the wooden floor.

“You would defy me, my son?” Lucius drawled in a dangerously low and even tone.

Draco said nothing, knowing anything out of his mouth would make his father angrier. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, holding in his building emotions. He kept his gasp as quiet as possible as his head snapped to the side again with the second backhand. He calmly turned his head back to face his father, his tongue automatically touching his bottom lip where the split had grown larger. He inwardly grimaced at the taste of the blood seeping into his mouth and the feeling of it trailing down his chin.

“You will answer me when I ask you a question, Draco,” Lucius ordered.

“Yes, Father,” Draco said in a flat tone.

“Tell me, are you defying me?” Lucius repeated.

“Yes, Father,” Draco said, keeping his tone monotonous. “I do not wish to serve the Dark Lord.”

Draco did his best not to react when his father’s eyes narrowed at him and his grip tightened on the snake head of his cane.

“To serve him is the highest of honours,” Lucius said, his voice tight.

“To you, sir,” Draco retorted, knowing instantly he’d made a mistake.

He couldn’t help but let out a surprised and pained yelp when Lucius swung his cane, and caught him in the side of his head and corner of his eye. His hand flew to the injury and he stumbled a few steps. His heart pounded with growing fear as his father fisted the front of his button-up shirt and yanked him back to his lost position.

“You insolent, ungrateful little bastard,” Lucius spat, pulling Draco so close their noses were nearly touching. “You are a Malfoy and you will do what is expected of you. This is what we have been waiting for your entire life.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but I won’t,” Draco said, trying not to panic as his father’s grip tightened, causing his collar to restrict around his throat.

“You have been promised to the Dark Lord and you will join him,” Lucius demanded. “You will report on Potter and Dumbledore come your return to that infernal school.”

“Father…” Draco gasped out as he began to lose access to oxygen.

Lucius threw him hard to the floor. “You will do as I command. You will not disgrace your father or our name.”

“I won’t,” Draco said firmly, gazing up at his enraged father.

“I will not have a traitor for a son,” Lucius said and pulled his wand, flicking it at his son.

Draco fell against the floor, writhing and screaming as the Cruciatus ripped through his nerves. It ended after what seemed like an hour and he drew in a shaky breath only to fall under the curse again. Tears leaked from his eyes and his throat grew pained from his screams. The agony came to an end again and he fell limp against the hardwood.

“You will obey me,” Lucius demanded.

“I…I can’t,” Draco gasped.

Lucius growled and violently kicked Draco in the abdomen before immediately following it up with a third Cruciatus. Draco’s screams echoed throughout the room, replaced by whimpers when he was released from the curse. He coughed, spraying blood across the floor. He hissed when Lucius took a fistful of his hair and painfully pulled his head back, forcing Draco to look at him.

“Will you walk the path I have given you and serve our Dark Lord?” Lucius said quietly.

Despite knowing what the consequence would be, Draco narrowed his eyes in determination. “I will not be his slave to torture.”

“You are no son of mine,” Lucius spat and threw Draco’s head away from him, hard enough to make it bounce off the floor.

Draco groaned at the pounding in his head and the black spots in front of his eyes. He cleared his vision just enough in time to see his father’s black cane come down on him like a switch. He cried out as the cane bruised and broke skin everywhere it landed, calling forth rivulets of blood that soaked into his white shirt. Lucius was hitting wherever he could though it ended up mostly being Draco’s back as he curled up to protect vital organs.

Eventually, Lucius seemed to tire of physically assaulting his son and switched to magical methods. The Cruciatus was the most common, eventually causing blood to pour from Draco’s ears and nose. Cutting Curses, Burning Curses, and Oxygen Restricting Curses were interspersed in the Cruciatus, adding agonizing variation to the boy’s torture. Draco’s throat officially tore itself apart when he was hit in the right shoulder with a Bone-Breaking Curse. His shoulder and collarbone shattered.

He didn’t know how long it went on for, but he was breathing hard and shaking when it ended. He laid on his back despite how torn up it was. His vision was tunnelling as he stared up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, glinting in the light of the flickering fire. His barely open eyes slid to Lucius as his father stood over him. One would hardly know the man had just spent the last however long beating and torturing his supposedly beloved son.

“You will join the Dark Lord,” Lucius said. “You will do as the Malfoy name commands. You will not betray the life I have gifted you.”

Draco wanted to respond or even just glare, but he was unable to do anything. With a sneer, Lucius swept from the room. Draco moved his gaze back to the chandelier as he laid in a puddle of his own blood.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t live in the Dark. He couldn’t stay on the path his parents had set him on at birth. He wanted to be more than his name. He wanted his life and choices to be his own. He was tired of pretending, tired of hurting…just tired.

Was this what he was destined for, a life of pain and death? Was this all he was good for, ordered around and controlled? Could he be more than the Malfoy name and all that came with it? Would he ever have the chance to try?

His fingers twitched against the floor and he felt the blood they sat in. He slowly dragged one finger in a tiny circle absently, feeling the warm, sticky blood build up against his finger as it was swirled around. He could feel his consciousness leaving him, making his thoughts light and fuzzy.

It would have been nice to experience a real family, people who actually cared about him and wanted him around. A family that didn’t care about their name or status, and didn’t want to sell him off to the Dark Lord. He’d never had that and he wondered what it was like. He just wanted to be himself and wanted for the same thing, not what he could do for people.

His breathing hitched and his entire body jerked, jostling his shattered shoulder. He gasped in pain and felt a pressure build in his chest as he quickly lost the fight to stay awake.

I want a real home, was his last thought before everything went black. He was unaware of the impact his words had in conjunction with another’s on a special place and a relatively unknown prophecy sat deep inside the Ministry of Magic.

He was unconscious as the pressure in his chest peaked and he disappeared from Malfoy Manor with a crack. He appeared, impossibly, on a well-known stone floor beside another

Severus looked up from his correspondence when his fireplace flared green and an envelope popped out. He put his letter down and gazed at the floating one as it opened itself.

“Severus, could you come to Hogwarts, please? There is an urgent matter in the Hospital Wing that could use your assistance. Albus,” the voice of Albus Dumbledore said, reciting the letter before it fell to the floor in front of the fireplace.

Severus sighed, irritated. What could possibly be at Hogwarts that would require his attention? Summer break had started a week earlier, Order meetings were taking place elsewhere, and he had not been summoned since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. He wanted to be left alone, only forced to interact with anyone at meetings.

Shaking his head, he put his letters aside to continue later and Flooed to the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was sat at his desk, a serious look on his face that made Severus frown.

“Ah, Severus, thank you for coming,” Dumbledore said, giving him a smile that, for once, didn’t reach his eyes.

What was going on?

“Of course, Albus,” Severus said. “What is this matter you mentioned?”

Dumbledore stood and rounded his desk. “Come to the Hospital Wing, my boy.”

Severus rolled his eyes slightly at not just being told what was going on, but inclined his head and walked with the headmaster.

“There are several unanswered questions, but they will have to wait until the boys awake.”

Severus frowned deeply again, confused. “Boys?”

“Yes. It would seem that sometime in the night, two Hogwarts students somehow arrived at the school,” Dumbledore said casually as though it were common for students to randomly show up at Hogwarts during summer holidays.

Severus raised an eyebrow, silently asking the necessary question.

“As I said, there are many unanswered questions,” Dumbledore repeated. “Early this morning, Hagrid discovered Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy unconscious in the Entrance Hall, both terribly injured.”

Severus looked at the headmaster sharply at the revelation. A dozen questions swirled in his mind, but he kept them to himself as they entered the Hospital Wing. Hagrid was hovering nearby as Madam Pomfrey fluttered between two occupied beds next to each other, working on her unexpected patients. Both boys had been stripped down to their undergarments, revealing the horrific extent of their injuries. Severus stepped up to the foot of Potter’s bed and examined both boys with his eyes.

Both were covered in blood and bruises. Potter had a huge gash on his forehead and large tears in his skin all along his right side. His right forearm was in tatters, skin hanging off and straight up missing in spots. It was clear the same kind of injuries would be found on the boy’s back and was the cause of the blood seeping into the white bedding beneath him. There was deep purple bruising on Potter’s abdomen, indicating severe damage of some kind to the ribs. Severus couldn’t help but wince at the boy’s leg. It was also covered in blood, having poured from his shin where the snapped bone had torn through the skin. His entire lower leg was black, blue, and purple under the blood and was terribly swollen. That would be a long healing process.

He moved his gaze to Malfoy. The blonde was in no better condition. His eye was swollen and black with a deep cut extending from the outer corner to his hairline. His lip was split and still trickling blood. Just like Potter, there were vicious tears in his skin all over his body, though clearly made by a different instrument. Shallow but still bleeding cuts were everywhere as well as several burns. The boy was twitching, a side effect of the Cruciatus that he knew well. Like Potter, Severus couldn’t help but wince at Malfoy’s shoulder. While no bones were sticking out, it was completely black and blue, and was oddly misshapen. It would also be a long healing process.

“Severus, would you be able to assist me?” Pomfrey asked, looking up from treating Malfoy’s lip. Severus sighed quietly. He really didn’t want anything to do with either boy during the summer, but he also couldn’t leave them in their current conditions. So, he nodded once, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped up to Potter’s bedside. He steadfastly ignored exactly who it was he was treating.

It took some time, even between both Severus and Pomfrey, to completely treat every injury on both boys. Nothing was healed to the extent that the injury was no longer there, but they were no longer as severe. The more mild of injuries would heal on their own in just a few days while others would take longer.

Malfoy would continue to tremble from the Cruciatus for at least one more day. They both also had one injury that would take weeks and physical therapy. Malfoy’s right shoulder and collarbone had been completely shattered. He and Pomfrey had done what they could with magic and potions to put the bones and fragments back in place, but the shoulder still had to be heavily bandaged and put in a sling to allow the bones to fully stitch themselves back together. Even with magic and potions, it would likely be at least three weeks before the shoulder would be healed, and, even after that, some physical therapy would be necessary.

Potter was in a similar situation with his leg. His tibia had been snapped and his fibula shattered. They’d put bones back in place, but a Muggle-like cast was still needed for about two weeks, possibly longer. He would need some physical therapy to walk properly and would need a crutch until the cast was removed.

The type and extent of injuries to each boy was alarming. Severus pulled the blanket up to Potter’s chest, pulling out the broken leg to rest on top, then turned to the headmaster.

“Were they attacked?” Severus asked even though he was sure he knew the cause of such injuries. It was just impossible to imagine in relation to these two particular children.

“I honestly do not know, Severus,” Dumbledore said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I do not even know how they got here. I’m afraid we will have no answers until they wake up and can tell us.”

“And what will happen to them then?” Severus asked, crossing his arms. If he was correct in his theory, he knew what the headmaster’s standard response was and he wasn’t sure he could accept it.

“We will see when we know what’s happened,” Dumbledore said.

Severus said nothing as he turned back to the sleeping students. He knew the cause of such injuries, but he was struggling to understand and reconcile that Potter and Malfoy could be victims of such a thing. There was also the curious fact that they had both somehow left their homes and gotten into Hogwarts while unconscious and with no one noticing.

He frowned at the two boys.

What were they hiding?