It was nearly eight by the time he was done. He wandered back to Draco's room. He was still sleeping. He, again, wondered how much sleep Draco was getting. He had given him Dreamless Sleep, for his own peace of mind. Harry sat in his chair, staring at Draco's delicate face. He still needed to put on some weight. Nutrient Potions only help so much. The pure muscle inactivity was devastating on his health. Draco had extremely weak muscles already... even from before he was admitted.
                              
He dropped his head. He thought he had become so patient... but he just wanted to ask Draco... everything. It was too soon. Justice would have to wait. Draco needed saving, healing before Harry even considered asking those types of questions. Draco didn't know that he could read and feel each injury that Draco received. Harry continued his tome of the details of Draco's injuries, including his speculations and observations. He wrote nearly twenty more pages and slowly lost the fight on remaining awake.
                              
***
                              
Draco's eyes suddenly opened in a panic, and it took a second to realize where he was. The lights were dimmed, no doubt trying to be nice, but Draco hated it. He liked the bright white walls, nothing like the gray, cold cement of his windowless cell. It was almost pitch black at night... and cold, always cold. He hated the cold. Harry always kept the temperature warmer in his room. He loved him so much for that.
                              
Harry (and he wasn't sure why he kept calling him that) must have given him a sleeping draught. Draco never slept that deeply and that long. Anyone could come in the night. He kept alive on the naps he took, never too deep that he dreamt. Hmmm... it must have been Dreamless Sleep. The bad things didn't come.
                              
He suddenly heard a noise and froze, glancing around the room, terrified that he had missed someone entering, but someone, and he assumed, Harry had put his pillows down. He slowly felt around his neck, and the remote that Harry gave him was there. Draco fumbled with the buttons and the pillows slowly inflated. He checked the corners of the room and then heard the whimper at his side. He could just see the black, ruffed hair of his protector, half on his bed and half on a small table he had conjured.
                              
He inflated his pillows a little higher to get a good view of Harry. He smiled at the sleeping Gryffindor, but then heard him whimper, again. Harry was having a nightmare. He was twitching, and tears were coming out of his eyes. Draco watched, concerned as Harry grew worse, even murmuring a few pleas out. Harry was troubled. He knew that... deep down. Harry never looked fully rested and always sad. He didn't take care of himself: dirty clothes, thin and the slight whiff of firewhiskey. The git never seemed happy unless he was talking to him. It was very bizarre.
                              
Draco first suspected that Harry was just incredibly lonely, but his probation officer's visit yesterday had brought more things to light. Harry had mental issues. He heard him just agree with her... that he couldn't handle the Aurors and that bit about his wand? Was he dangerous to himself? Draco didn't know. He had verified his sleeping problems, at least. As far as his wand, he didn't even bring it with him. Harry just used wandless magic (a feat that Draco had never seen before) to do everything.
                              
He hated wands, now. His eyes rolled back as he fought with his mental guards. They pointed their wands at him. They wanted him to beg. The stupid, prideful part of him resisted... at first. They had had all the time in the world to break him, and break him they did. He took a deep breath, regaining control, again. Dwelling on the past would achieve nothing. He winced as another memory poked through.
                              
"You're stubborn. The others didn't last nearly as long. I like that, Death Eater. We are going to have fun."
                              
They did. They cursed him, broke his bones, and left him naked and open for anyone to take. But Draco still had his mind. He wouldn't lose control; he had that small victory. But they won the war. They wanted him to scream, he would scream. If he had to beg, he would beg. If he had to perform a task, he would. Of course, it took a long time to get to that point. Years, in fact, before he was broken in properly, much to their satisfaction. They had time on their side, and no one came to help him.