Silver and Cold

A Harry Potter Fanfic

HarryXDraco (and other side parings)

Warning! This story is currently rated T and will probably increse as the story goes on. If you disagree with Gay relationships or Yoai if you know the term, do not read this because I don't want your crappy flames. ME NO LIKE FLAMES!! So don't say anything if you can't say something critical or nice. This story IS Yoai and it's not going to change. I will try to keep updating, but only if you review. This story will most likely involve some limeyness, so please be aware.

Oh... And the disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter Characters, but I do own an imagination in which they are trapped for all eternity. Tee Hee... And I do own a plastic figurine of a whale, which resembles Vernon quite a bit.

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Chapter 1: The Whales and Pencil

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A sharp banging on the cupboard door brought 19 year old Harry Potter to an unwanted conciousness. It was followed bythe squaking voice of his "beloved" aunt Petunia giving him a "caring" wake up call.

"GET UP! GET UP YOU LAZY WORM OF A BOY!!" She screeched through the grate.

Harry had heard the grating voice so many times before that the shock at how annoying it was only caused him to wince. It was in the same demeaning context as it always was and probably always would be, unfortunatly enough, but he dare not sigh at the tradgedy. Harry Knew he was not loved, which made it only easier to except the fact that he did not love the Dursleys. Although, the did give him something to dislike, which made life in a cupboard a lot less boring as it would have seemed to any optomistic child.

Harry groaned quietly, hoping that would suffice for a reply. In truth, if he didn't fear for his life, he would have rather made that a long paragraph of many words in many tongues that would put the most rude of people to shame. And he would enjoy it very much. But since he didn't want to die that day, he decided a groan would suit the occasion just fine.

Petunia called him lazy, a worm, but on one count worms were very hard workers, on a second and more important and bitter point, Harry was the one that cleaned, cooked, and took multiple beatings for crimes he did not commit. Harry almost had to wonder how they survived without his constant manual labor over the time he was at school. Did the house fall into disarray? Did they move to a hotel?

Harry sat up, wincing at his constantly sore muscles and bruised blotches of skin and muscle and bone from his dear uncle and cousin and his cut and needled hands from cooking and yard work.And all of this had happened in the passage of just two days!

It was christmas break, which lasted for two consecutive weeks at his school, and he had already suffered the consiquences of going "home" for the holiday, more like the dooms day. It wasn't much of a holiday for Harry when at the Dursleys. Harry wished he had never agreed to go home when Dumbledore had called him to his office, saying that Harry had to return to the house on Private Drive for the bitter cold holiday. When Harry had asked, rather incredulously, for a reasonable explaination, Dumbledor had simply replied "Well, Mr. Potter, you will be needed there, of course, why else would I ask such a thing of you?" It angered Harry imensly, what reasonable task could possibly make him miss out on a warm christmas with Ron and Hermione or his Godfather for the cold glares and hard fat fists of his "guardians"?

Harry shook his head silently. He respected Dumbledore more than the headmaster could understand, but what could have made Dumbledoreso worried to send Harry back home. No, this wasn't home, Hogwarts was his home. What catastrophy needed his attention so desperately?

A banging echoed through the stairs and the cupboard and stairs rumbled like the belly of an angry Hungarian Horntail dragon. Dudley had awoken and emerged from his dirty black cave.

"C'mon Potter!" He yelled in his loud, boistrous bellow. And not a good boistrous, an abnoxious droning tone with a high pitched undertone which didn't suit his wide, stout form.

Harry stood, or more so croutched, careful not to disturb any of the spider webs above him. He wasn't upseted by the spiders' existance. He never swatted at the eight legged creatures and in return the little things never bit Harry. It was sort of a mutual agreement. But of coarse it could have also been that the cupboard was full of little creepy crawlers that could sustain the little hunters. A smile creeped onto Harry's face. Ron would be ashamed of him.

Harry pushed and strained against the door, having to shove it with all of his might to loosen the rusty hinges. Being half starved didn't help, either. Harry ate very little while at the Dursleys, and the food at Hogwarts was made in some way that it did not make a person build fat even if you stuffed yourself to the rim. It was very popular among and probably started by the women of the school. So Harry was skinny as ever, but also now hungry and haggared.

He crawled out of the little hole in the wall which was his only thing close to a sanctuary, and came to a full stand, his bones cracking with the motion. He limped silently to the kitchenbecause of the possibly sprained ankle he had gained while running from the great whale of a cousin he had who had unfortunately come into contact with a large cutting knife and had decided to use Harry to test the edge. With the help of the wall he made it unscathed to the kitchen sink and poured himself a glass of water.

"Well hurry up boy! Get my coffee!" Yelled his "beloved" uncle Vernon.

Harry turned a quick glance on his uncle, hoping it would settle for a submitting assurance. From his uncles next reaction, it was not taken as it was meant.

"What are you looking at me like that for boy?!" Vernon asked suspiciously. His eyes squinted together. If you looked at him the he looked like some pig who had just learned the truth about bacon. And wasn't happy.

"Nothing, sir." Harry reassured mutely, if that was possible. It just seemed like he didn't speak, here atleast. Harry turned so he didn't see his uncles reaction.

His uncle was the gene donor who had so graciously given the world a perfect angel blessed the name Dudley, and had the same huge form only much more developed. The man was a living tribute to the phrase "every diet needs a lttle wiggle room." Except there was far too much wiggle, and the entire house wiggled with his approach when he was hungry. And lets just say the man needed his coffee in the morning. Unless you were a masochist or thought you would very much enjoy watching the apocolypse unfold within your presence.

Harry gulped away the rest of his water and ran to the coffee machine. In doing this, he accidentally put too much force onto his wounded ankle. Harry fell forward with a gasp of suprise at the shock of pain, grasping for anything to stop his descent. The entire scene unfolded in slow motion, his groping hand closed around the top of the coffee machine. The dark contraption obviously could not hold Harry's light but superior weight. It toppled over him and the two objects fell to the floor, Harry and the machine.

The hot fluid splashed like liquid fire over Harry's head and shoulders, crawling in burning streams down his back. Harry yelled a curse, stood, and quickly ripped his baggy t-shirt over his head to get as far as possible away from the hazardous substance.

"Damn it, boy!" Vernon bellowed, standing in a rage that would put a bull seeing red to shame.

His stomach rolled out over the table, gaining small grease stains and dark crumbs from his plate, which for some reason seemed to constantly full. The man was simply repulsive, like sainta gone evil, secretly sex changed, and PMSing. ALL THE TIME. Oh, did that mean he was calling Petunia a man? What revelation had God come upon when he decided to create such a person? Or did God have anything to do with it? Hmmmm... one of the ,many canundrums of this world.

"I'm alright." Harry muttered shakily, leaning back on the counter. Petunia had covered her eyes, as if repulsed by Harry's this, bony structure. Harry wondered how she could be so averted from him when was married to a planet like Vernon. Perhaps they never took their clothes off... EVER. He wouldn't be suprised.

"Don't annoy me with such giberish, boy! Pick it up! PICK IT UP!!" Vernon growled trudging over. Harry's glass on the counter wobbled and nearly fell over. Like in that Jurrasic Park movie he had snuck into the living room to watch from the shadows. Yes, when the Terranisaurous Rex had entered the scene, just like that. Dudley had nearly pissed himself. That was the high light of that day.

Harry hurridly grabbed the now empty and very hot coffee machine and returned it to it's rightful place on the counter next to the other shiny, metallic electronics. He favored his ankle as much as possibe. He turned quickly to see the great tribute to dinosaurs and the king of whales, his uncle, glaring down at him with squinty black eyes. Since Harry didn't have a shirt to grab ahold of, vernons hand came around his throat. He clenched his fist so tightly Harry thought his esofogusesp would collapse.

"Now you listen here, boy." Vernon hissed/growled. Food attempted to escape from his mouth as the monster spoke. Harry almost regretted making the meal yesterday. "One more mess up and you'll be in the hole for a week!"

The cupboard had officially been dubbed 'the hole'. For what reason Harry could not be certain. The best he had come up with was that because he was the worm, the hole would be an appropriate name for his dwelling. But Harry never considered himself a worm. No, he more so thought of himself as a stag, like his father and his petronous. Or perhaps something like a spider, something thin and quiet, but helpful to the world from the shadows, and deadly to it's enemies.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry whispered as Vernons hand loosened and let him go, whimpering as the pain settled in. He would deffinitly have internal bruising.

Dumbledore had better have predicted something VERY important, or else Harry would be very pissed. Harry regained his balance, watching for the puddle of cooling coffee. Harry picked up his drenched shirt and threw it into a dirty clothes hamper with a muffled thud, then limped over to make more coffe for his uncle before the man had a fit and got the strange, malicious urge to strangle something again for the upteenth time in the past three days. As soon as Harry got the pot going again he went to get a mug, wondering how he was going to carry a hot mug of coffeefrom the counter to the table with a limp. From the tension in the air, he would have to find out the hard, and most likely painful, way.

Petunia had taken her hands away and had switched to averting her eyes from Harry as if he were the visually transmitted plague. Dudley, being the mindless brute that wold lose an IQ test to a troll, had been much to enthused in his appetite and the little television playing on the opposite counter to notice the scene had even took place and showed no reaction what so ever. Harry couldn't care less, He'd be happy to show them his bruises and scars and starvation, perhaps somewhere in the black hole were their hearts should have resided, they felt some sort of guilt.

"Worthless, skinny rodent of a boy."

Aaaand maybe not.

Harry finally was able to get the bitter liquid into a mug and take it safely, catiously, to the table. He winced as he had to make a step with his right ankle, the bad one, but Harry didn't fall again. He managed to get the steaming coffee to his equally steaming uncle and leaned against the kitchen counter again, picking up his right leg slightly to get the pressure down. He let out a supressed breath.

He had lost his huge appetite, and his skin felt like it was still on fire. His entire neck throbbed almost as much as his other bad bruises did. All he wanted was to go outside, get a brace for his ankle, and find some quiet place to sit down, better yet lie down, his cupboard was to short for him, now. He could run off for the day and stay at the swing set or the tunnel, but it would be at the price of a major beating once he returned to the house that night. He had thought plenty of times about running away, living with Sirius or the Weasely family. But Sirius was still on the run and Harry just couldn't put the pressure on Mr. and Mrs. Weasely. Not to mention it wasn't a very good scene, infact it was very akward with Ginny there after Harry had confessed his homosexuality. Hermione had not been at all suprised by this when he had told her and Ron. Apparently she had known for quite some time. Ron, on the other hand, hadn't talked to Harry for about a month and a half afterwards. Harry had thought his confession had ended their relationship as friends forever, it had been the worst feeling Harry had ever felt, including the cruciatus curse. But they had finally made nice. Even more so when Harry assured he had never had any attraction to Ron. Ron was Hermione's, end of story. Plus red heads weren't his type.

Harry made a final desicion and immidiatly, almost spastically,bolted for the door, using stabalizing magic to help his leg. It It was invisible, and with Hermione's help he had learned how to conjure it without his wand or words. But it WAS magic none the less, and he knew he'd be getting in severe trouble for it with his uncle. He usually didn't get any punishement from Fudge or any of his followers anymore since his false hearing. Any magic he used out of school was for a good reason. Running from two whales and a pencil was diffinitely a good reason.

He heard Uncle Vernon's furious yell and aunt Petunias flighty shreak as they began their persuit. He reached into a bin and found a handful of cloth. Ripping it out he found it was dirty tank tops he had worn while tending to Petunia's garden. He threw it on as he rushed out the door and into freedom. Harry shoved the huge wooden slab painted pristene white closed until he heard the destinct metallic click that meant it was locked in place. He listened, still running, as he heard his dear uncles massive form slam into the opposite side of the door, and his blessed aunts trembling trill of horror. A smirk dominated Harry's featured as he made his way deeper into freedom.

The sight of an empty, gaping doorway caught his eye and made him stop in the middle of his race. Across the street from the Dursley's house, a dark, old house had finally been sold. He had seen to for sale sign up for years, even hid in the rickety house a few times, but he had never thought it would sell. It had been falling apart in disrepare, and it seemedand it seemed to have been struck by lightning a few times.

The door swung slightly in the little breeze, the clouds said a storm was on it's way, depending on the temperature which was too warm for the season, it would either rain or snow. The latter was not so likely.

A UHAUL truck sat in front of the horribly dishevled house. Though it contained nothing, and it was far to early for them to have finished unpacking. The house from what Harry could see was deserted and contained no new furnishings, just the ratty old ones. Was the truck there just for the visual interpretation that someone had moved there? Harry could sense a cover up.

It intrigued him, and the open door called to him, shining like a dark beacon against the otherwise dull street. Who would take that house? Some loone? Or someone much more special than the average muggle. Harry found himself moving quickly towards the doorway, knowing very well that Uncle Vernon would recover soon and come out searching for him. The beast would never think of looking in the creepy house, especially not after it was sold, he knew Harry was antisocial and liked to keep to himself when in the muggle world. Why would Harry want to greet the new, obviously insane neighbor?

Harry found himself on the front porch and started towards the door way. He nocked on the dark wooden and time stained brittle doorlightly, not wanting to enter without givingsome warningto the resident. There was no answer, just the creek of the door as it suffered the little impact of Harry's fist. Harry hesitated, he could get in some pretty bad trouble with the muggle law for entering a house uninvited.

The sound of a huge, booming and frustrated yell echoed through the street. Harry paniced and jumped into the house, shutting the door quickly behind him. The echoe faded and the world fell into dead silence, as if the house were far from Private Drive, far from anywhere. Harry turned slowely away from the door to look at the house. At first glance it was as it had been everytime he had entered, ratty, tattered, the plain white sun bleached curtains drapped half hazardly over the windows, the sunken in sofa sitting in the living, or shall we say dying room to the far left, the dust the cob webs, the broken staircase, paint pealing and cracking off of rotting dry wall. but as the scene sunk into Harry's mind, the image suddenly fell away, like a fading dream, and was replaced by the much grander scene of a much, much larger room. The walls were lined with tapestries and moving portraits, the ground was that of alternating black, white, and green marble. just ahead, feet away, was a great staircase ascending from the lower floor to an upper floor, and through out the main hall were doors branching off to other rooms. The closest thing he had ever seen to compare it to was a manssion he had seen while sneek previewing another film. But this was real, this was... AMAZING.

Harry gaped widely at the huge house, it's magnificence startling him. The scene broke his concentration, and the pain flooded back into his unstable ankle. Harry dropped to the floor, yelping at the sudden unexpected pain. The sound echoed through the large main hall, gaining Harry stares of anger or disgust from the portraits. If he had paid enough attention he would have noticed they all bared the snake emblem of Slitherin. Harry gulped away his whimpers and walked a few paces, slowly but steadily pushing away the pain. Harry looked up to the stair case, it being his main goal. The banister looked very welcoming. Harry's vision faltered. His legs and eyelids started to feel heavy. It suddenly felt as if Harry were yanking chains around his ankles, wrists and mid section, the feeling increasing with every small stride, gaining more and more evanescent links. He fell to the floor again, panting, unable to hold the invisible weight. Harry looked up, knowing some spell had been cast on him, and he was falling into darkness fast. A form appeared at the top of the staircase, through his clouded eyes, he could make out platinum blond hair.

"Mal-foy?"

the world fell into blackness.

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Dark: Woo hoo! Okay, so that's the first chapter for you. Cliffy, I know, I'm evil that way. Please review, long review, I need some support if you're a fan. Thank you! Onto the next chapter, but I'll only post it if I get atleast five reviews! Good bye! Sincerely, you're devoted auther, DancerintheDark

Preview

Draco has a secret, one that even he can't except of himself. Harry begins to unfold the mystery behind Dumbledores request. Oh! And Draco is...

Find out next chapter!