Title: Sorrow has a Human Heart

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, The Dursleys, The Weasleys, Hogwarts Students, Hogwarts Staff

Tags #1: Angst, Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers
Tags #2: Slytherin!Harry, Chronic Illness, Parseltongue, Blood Magic, Manipulation, Trust Issues, HP: EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Beta: TheSupernova

Chapter 1: Magic Begets Corruption

Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters.

— Albert Einstein

"You think we're horrible?" Petunia's sharp voice whispered to him through what sounded like gritted teeth. He couldn't see her through the locked closet door. "We treat you with the decency and respect you deserve; we don't hide our motives from you. You see us as we are, and we are no different from every other family out there. It's the nice ones, the ones who think they can be your friends, you can't trust."

Petunia huffed, spitting her words in anger. "Magic folk can't be trusted, Harry. That community of theirs, they think you're special but that's not true, is it? People use each other, although you won't always be able to see it. If you were a good boy, like Dudley, we wouldn't have to discipline you but it's your magic, you see? It can't be trusted. Don't trust anything you see or hear."

There are two types of boys in any family unit. Those who are obedient, born to serve the family needs, and those who are free. The good boys who get what they want, spoilt and headstrong. Always craving more. Greedy. Dudley, his cousin, is an example of the latter.

Harry has never particularly cared for people like his cousin, but neither does he hate them. He's never envied that type, although he will occasionally admit to wishing he had been born that type of boy. As it is, wishing will do no good, and it's best to accept and emerge yourself in the role you were handed. This is how the world is supposed to work, though it doesn't extend to every family dynamic (as the shows and movies on TV have long since proven). Those family units are the abnormal kind which is why they are shown so frequently in the media; mainly for the entertainment value. Watching those units make fools of themselves, in both a private and public setting is not only embarrassing (for them) but humorous (to him), because they embrace and encourage such disgraceful (clownish) behavior.

Harry would never engage in such behavior in public, insisting on going against social norms, not even attempting to fit in. Of course, some of the boys are like Dudley or himself, but it's always mixed in with the black sheep children.

Everyone seems to have one of those in their family unit (immediate and/or extended). Hell, they are such problem children that Harry is glad they aren't present in his unit. He has enough to deal with without having to worry about the troublemakers of the family. Horrible black sheep, them.

"The hardware and garden storehouse will be delivering the fertilizer for the yard today. We'll be out for the day as Dudley needs some new clothes and I don't want to miss the delivery. I'll leave money for a tip on the table," Petunia said, not bothering to address him directly. She was busy making tea, adding the proper amount of sugar and lemon. It was strange to see his aunt making her own tea; that was normally his job. "Our yard needs to be fertilized before I order some new plants; summer is coming, and I'm considering entering the local garden contest this year."

Harry ran back to his closet, directing his attention to his erasable monthly planner. Grabbing the pen from the top of the board, he added a note to watch for the delivery man (or woman) so he wouldn't forget.

"I'll have to hold off watering the garden until after I'm done," he said absently, adding a small note about the tip, in case he forgot. "I'll try to finish it by tonight."

Petunia took her tea to the living room, placing it on the coffee table before making herself comfortable on the couch. "You'll have three days to get it done, which should be enough time. Do it in sections, I want at least part of the garden watered."

Done with the calendar, he put the pen back and walked over to the kitchen sink. The delicate dishes needed to be cleaned by hand, but most of them could go in the dishwasher. "The wheelbarrow still needs its wheel fixed, and I don't think I'll be able to carry the bags very far on my own."

She started flipping through the TV channels as she talked. "We'll order a new one from the store and have the delivery man bring it over with the fertilizer. They said he'll be here around 2pm, which is why I'm giving you an extra day because I doubt he'll be here on time. I just hope he gets here before dark."

"The idiots never keep proper time," Vernon said as he walked down the stairs. He headed for the living room couch. "Don't know why they're always late. We're paying them enough. You think they would treat their customers with better manners."

Harry looked around, eyes landing on the freezer. He'd need to defrost some meat tonight, though he's not sure what they want him to make for dinner tomorrow. Was there anything else he needed to ask before they left? He couldn't think of anything, but knowing his luck, it'd come to him as their car was backing out of the driveway.

"Do you want steak or pork chops for tomorrow's dinner? It'll need defrosting, unless you want to pick up something fresh from the store."

Vernon whispered to his wife before making his decision. "The prime rib. Baked potatoes, corn on the cob and we'll be picking up a fresh pie from the bakery."

Having the prime rib meant he'd need to clean the grill, and dig out the Hickory firewood from the shed. It was a large shed, and he wasn't sure where he put it; the last time he used the grill was August, last year. Fuck. Speaking of firewood, he was pretty sure they're running low on lighter fluid. If memory served, he meant to tell them months ago, but in putting away the grill for the winter, he had totally forgotten.

"We're running low on lighter fluid. Sorry, I forgot to mention it sooner. Maybe they can add it to the delivery order?" Harry paused. Maybe she wanted him to order it from the store himself? He can call them (he's done it before). "Should I call the store?"

There was an extended pause before she answered. "No, I'll do it. Just focus on finishing your chores before the delivery gets here."

Another busy day. He'd also need something for his muscles tonight. Harry had no doubt he'd be hurting by the time he went to bed (no doubt he'd have the fertilizer bags to thank for that). Thank god they gave him a personal medkit for his cupboard. It included (among the basics) a jar of rubbing cream and a bottle of ibuprofen. He wasn't allowed to ask for things he wanted (unlike Dudley) so he had suffered for months before working up the courage to confront his aunt and uncle (and at the risk of punishment) for the rubbing cream (which worked wonders to relax his muscles).

Items to restock his medkit were the only things he was allowed to ask for. Often times, they would give him his preferred brand of medication, which surprised him (because he'd never imagined them catering to his wishes like that). They never indulged him besides, so he coveted each bottle, bandaid, alcohol wipe, bandage wrap and pain cream he ever got. He made sure to use each and every last drop (relatively speaking). It was like a private birthday and Christmas celebration; it was kind of fun, though unnecessary.

Present giving holidays (or birthdays) didn't faze him as important. He didn't deserve to celebrate them, nor did he care; he couldn't see the appeal, but only good boys get presents. Harry found he was happy enough helping out by taking on more chores, a stronger "workload". It kept him busy enough that he didn't have time for anything else.

Everyone has an ulterior motive in wanting to befriend you; his aunt had proven that many times over. Harry lost track of the number of representations in regards to his neighbors alone (the remaining examples directed towards school, peers, businesses and the occasional stranger).

Petunia had shown him the art of peaking through the blinds to spy on his neighbors, and the best ways to eavesdrop when working the yard. His aunt relied on him to help keep watch; after all, if you don't know what the people close to you really want, then you can't protect yourself from getting hurt or taken advantage of.

It was an important lesson to learn. He'd seen his family use the misappropriated information to their advantage, resulting in many beneficial payoffs. Information gathering he was actually good at, although Harry had no desire to indulge in the resulting manipulative pastime—according he was allowed the freedom to actively use the begotten information (to suit his own purposes).

Harry had practiced in front of the mirror before, just to see his potential game face, and quite honestly it wasn't actually that bad. It might come in handy one day, when he was older and living on his own. At the moment, he had no use for that skill and it's just as well. His innate ability at reading people's expressions and emotions really sucked, and without that, there was no point in engaging anyone with a verbal game of cat and mouse.

When it comes to ulterior motives, there is no greater threat than those that call themselves your friends. There is no such thing as trust in this context because everyone has something they want from you; things they hide, using a mask to cover their true motivations. Trust means letting your guard down, and faith? Everyone has their weaknesses. Things they are willing to betray for, to squeal you out, it's just a matter of time. The world is full of fools and magicians.

During school, Dudley had taken the time to explain and to show that friendship is nothing more than a facade.

"Friendship means trust. Trust means loyalty. Loyalty means sacrificing yourself; willingly taking the place of your 'friend' so they don't get hurt. When loyalty—trust—is tested, it fails. If you had to choose between two of your 'best' friends, both trusting you to stand by their side, who would you chose?"

"Trust is evanescent; fleeting. Choosing one over the other—what were the motives behind that? Was it revenge on the person you turned your back on? Was it a test to see where your loyalties truly lie? Don't trust anyone. Use them, instead. It's an exchange. You do something for them, and they own you in return. Or maybe you use and leave them when they are inconvenient. I can save you from their machinations.

Dudley never seemed the quick witted, sneaky, underhanded type at home but seeing him in action at school—now that Harry knew what to look for; it was impressive how he handled his peers. Sometimes Dudley pretended to be a friend, other times more of a bully but either way, he was in control.

And Harry would prefer to avoid that social mess altogether; he lacked the finesse or diplomacy, the tact for subtle or forthright verbal sparring.

Harry's further observations of his peers solidified his cousin's words and thank god Dudley was willing to chase those fuckers off. He found himself enjoying the moments of solitude within the crowd; here, he was able to do as he pleased. Here, he was free of all his chores and expectations, able to relax and be himself. Most of the time it was spent in the library reading various fiction books instead of studying (just because he knew he could get away with it). Besides, reading was totally more interesting than his textbooks.

He asked early on for Dudley's help in the matter, and his cousin was all too eager to oblige and thank god because this way, he didn't need to do anything and Dudley seemed to be enjoying the bullying ways all too much. Dudley seemed to be enjoying himself, chasing people away from him and he grinned because making his family unit happy, that was his job.

Harry was eight when Petunia told him about his magical heritage, and the reality—the truth—behind his parent's death. She had sat him on the couch, switching between restless pacing and being fidgety on the seat cushion beside him.

"They... didn't die in a car crash," she began, refusing to look him in the eye. "That was a lie we told you until we felt you were ready for the truth. Ready to hear just how... abnormal you really are."

Harry listened with rapt attention. This was under the category of things he needed to know. He wasn't particularly upset they lied to him about how they passed; he never knew his biological parents. They were strangers to him. Harry already had a family unit and he loved them. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't curious. His aunt was obviously upset about something. But why did she say he was abnormal? What was wrong with him? Shit. This wasn't a good sign.

So his aunt told him everything she knew. Words like magic, corruption and malignant jumped out at him. Magic? Surely that wasn't how it sounded. Real magic? Seriously?

But yes, it was very real. Harry could remember times throughout the years, when strange things happened to him. Glasses of water exploding, flowers suddenly blooming in the dead of winter, or the sudden column of rain last year that followed a particular group of boys that had been bullying him during between classes, when Dudley wasn't around. Specifically, the rain had been following the boys around inside the building. Luckily, it only lasted a minute or two, but seeing as how the sky had been a cloudless blue, the boys had gotten in trouble for lying (about the rain) and promptly sent home to dry up and get a fresh change of clothes.

Magic that was out of control.

"Magic folk aren't like us," she said, sitting down next to him. She took his hands. "I know you can't help how you were born, but I know you'll do your best to act normal. To be accepted into society. Magic gives them limitless power, to control and dominate us against our will, and slowly rots your soul. It's inevitable. Do you want to lose your soul?"

Harry shook his head. She let go of his hands. "Is there anything I can do to stop it?"

"Learn how to control that magic of yours. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is meant to teach you control; you'll see soon enough how easy it is to fall under their... spell. It won't be obvious at first, but if you integrate yourself into their culture, you'll find the truth. Treacherous and unscrupulous; every one of them believe they are better than the rest of us. Can you imagine?"

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, worried.

His aunt grinned. "Use their magic against them while you are away, and when you graduate you can return to a more dignified lifestyle. Shunning magic—refusing to give in, that's the true test. You can resist them. Do that and you'll have a chance at a normal life."

"I can do it, aunt Petunia. I won't let them—or it—eat me."

Harry received a gracious nod in return. "You have time to prepare yourself. Never let down your guard; their motives won't always be clear to you at first. Be prepared."

No one suspected he was a wizard, and as much as Harry wished he could refuse the Hogwarts invitation, his magic was perilous and it would only be a matter of time before his magic exposed him for what he was. Abnormal.

Yet a part of him—the magic part, Harry suspected—was overtly curious about Hogwarts and its magical society. What made them so different? What was it about magic that was so addicting? Despite the loathing ingrained in him, he still really, really wanted to see magic up close and even dabble a bit, feel what it meant to wield true magic. Not like the trickster magicians with their visual illusions and sleight of hand.

His aunt began pacing again, back and forth in front of the TV. She took long, deep breaths before continuing. "The wizard who killed your parents, his magic had turned dark and corrupt. His soul had completely rotted away. He killed anyone in his path who didn't follow him but before he turned, he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world."

"They'll all turn, sooner or later," Harry said, beginning to realize the danger, the full picture of what his future held. "The only people who would follow him were probably magic folk or magic sympathizers, right?"

"You're beginning to understand," Petunia responded, nodding. "I don't know why he went after your parents, but I do know they died for you, to save you. You are magical, Harry. Your parents were magic and you—you probably have more power than you realize. Like that dark wizard."

"Ugh. Selfish, thinking I would want to side with the magic folk and their dark ways." He was disgusted with himself. "I'm glad the dark wizard was stopped, though, before everything was destroyed."

"If it were up to the magical community, they would prefer to be the ones in power, taking our place. Magic would be everywhere." They both shuddered. "The world would be left a circus; a freak show."

Petunia lowered her voice to a whisper, as if her neighbors might overhear this blasphemic talk. Harry admired the precaution, since he had no doubt some of his neighbors' ears were burning right now.

"You see, it all started when my parents found out my sister had magic. So proud of a witch in the family. They were magic-sympathizers, you see, and thought the world of her. Never mind the normal folk; they embraced her magic, incorporated the magical community and all they stood for into their lives. They never cared about fitting it; shunning normal society. Selfish, isn't it? Not wanting to be normal. That only causes chaos."

The stories of his mother only solidified the barbarity and consequences that came along with practicing magic. Wizards and witches thinking they were better than everyone else, knowing they could do things that went against the laws of nature, of everything normal. Even nature makes mistakes sometimes, and magic was one of them.

"Your mother... the last news I heard of her when she was alive was sad indeed. She was still family, and I didn't wish for her death; I never wished to see her magic slowly eating away her soul and I do not want to see that happen to you." She sat down again, twisting the fabric of her skirt, anxious. "We're glad we got to you first, and were able to raise you in proper society. You've been given the chance to be like us."

Harry sighed morosely. "I'm not good enough to be like you, I won't ever be."

"Mmm." A wordless agreement. Her comforting words were hollow, but Harry appreciated the attempt all the same.

"I can't do anything about the magic, but at least I can try to be normal, like you. I'll learn from her mistakes. Magic is a crime," he said, because that was the truth. He wouldn't deny it, even if it meant incriminating himself in the process.

"Exactly," she responded, proud of him.

Harry nodded and watched as she walked to the kitchen and started preparing her tea, filling the kettle with water. He could survive seven years and when it was time, he would throw away everything he owned, things he acquired that remained as a reminder of a life he didn't want. Sooner or later he would be free to walk away and never return.

The day finally came when Harry received his letter from Hogwarts. He was both excited and dismayed. In one aspect, he really was curious to see real magic because the concept in itself was fascinating. No matter how evil it may be, he couldn't help wanting to learn as much as he could. This would be his only chance, after all, so he might as well make the best of it (it's called giving into temptation). Things could go back to normal after Hogwarts (only seven years!) and in a way, Harry was also impatient to finally graduate because he wanted to be normal (like everyone else).

Vernon wasn't all too happy about the whole thing, but he knew it was for the best. Even Dudley understood that. They dropped him four blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron, afraid to be seen anywhere near the place (Harry didn't blame them). Unfortunately, it had taken them almost two hours to find the damn place (which was twice as long as it should have been) but they'd only been there once so you really couldn't blame them for getting lost.

"Only magic folk can see it," Vernon said, exasperated. "Secretive lot. At least they know enough to hide them from the rest of proper society. I can't imagine what a bloody eyesore it would be if we had to look at them and their freaky buildings all day long. Watching them do magic. It's unnatural."

Harry assumed uncle Vernon was either generalizing about what the buildings might have looked like, or Petunia had related some stories she heard from her parents or her sister.

"I've only been here once," Petunia added. "I used to know the area well, but it's been a while; my parents lived nearby at the time, but since I moved out it's become quite out of the way now."

They stopped over near the curb in front of the cheese shoppe. His aunt called out to him just before he stepped out. "Oh, and remember, we'll be downtown in the shopping district, buying new clothes for Dudley. Call us where you're done and we'll drop you off at the station afterwards. Keep an eye on the time; you don't want to miss your train."

They drove off and left Harry to find the Leaky Cauldron on his own. It was supposed to be a straight path to the Leaky Cauldron; the sign was hard to miss. It hung straight out on a pole, attached to a swinging, old wooden sign. The wood was cracked and creaking as it swung gently in the wind.

The building front had an arch top door, grey bricks making up the walls from the door top downwards. Above them the walls were plain white, reaching to the roof. It feet almost medieval in style, an old fashioned pub. Harry could see why it was hidden; it would never have fit in with the modern buildings around it.

Upon entering, he wasn't surprised it matched in style of the building front. A hanging chandelier swung by a hefty chain, attached to a large, hollowed metal ring with lit candles spaced a foot or two apart. The pub was lit mainly by a huge window stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Torches lined the walls and old paintings with—were those pictures moving? People walked from frame to frame, and he quickly looked away. That would take some getting used to. Creepy.

Otherwise, it was thick, wooden tables and similar beer steins. He doubted they all contained ale or beer, because none of the patrons—other than the ones near the bar and its surrounding tables—were intoxicated (if the children drinking from the mugs were any indication). Half of the pub, where the sunlight didn't quite reach, the tables lit by candles placed in standing torches, held shady looking people, dressing in large black cloaks or rough, leather or dark, questionable outfits fit for thieves or the underground, blackmail types. Whisperings filled his ears if he looked too long, and many looked jittery and nervous, or the exact opposite—calm, dominant, and assured of their plight in whatever dealings were being made.

The other half, however, contained the upstanding citizens; the proper type (if the magic folk could be called "proper" in any sense) and were the exact opposite; friendly, open and standing in the light of the window, which reached all the way towards the back of the pub.

A lit fireplace sat off to the side, a roaring fire making the air about it warm, and welcoming. Couches and armchairs sat nearby, filled with animated people laughing and talking, unconcerned with who overheard them.

Harry had no idea where to start; he could ask the bartender, but that area unsettled him, so he decided to try for one of the waitresses or waiters. Before he could get very far a tall, giant man with a long, dark brown and shaggy beard and approached him. His air was just as bushy and thick. Harry was scared at first, the man didn't look too welcoming kindly. Harry narrowed his eyes as the man approached.

"Are ya' lost?" The man asked. A gentle giant, if Harry had to describe him and he released a breath. The man grinned at him pleasantly.

Might as well go for the truth; he had nothing to lose. As this person didn't feel overly threatening, so he decided to be honest. He had nothing to lose, because there were people who might not be so friendly.

"I'm told the entrance for Diagon Alley is around here somewhere? I'm trying to get my school supplies, but have no idea where I'm going," Harry asked, cautiously.

"Ah! A first year, then, right?" Hagrid asked, and Harry nodded. "My name is Hagrid." He reached out a large hand, and Harry took it after a moment's hesitation. "I'm the keeper of keys and caretaker of the Hogwarts grounds, and a professor. I teach the Care of Magical Creatures."

Hagrid let go and Harry took that as his cue to finish the introductions.

"My name is Harry Potter." He said, taking a moment to look around for any eavesdroppers. None so far, but these were also magic folk so you could never tell what they were capable of.

"My goodness, Harry Potter!" Hagrid boomed and yeah, now people were eavesdropping. Even the creepy, shady looking people. He was the dead center of attention. Glorious, he thought sarcastically. Just glorious.

"You're exactly the person I was wanting to see! I should have known it was you," Hagrid said. "You were the only boy I've seen entering alone. I hoped it might be you. Well, come this way then, there are people who'll be wanting to meet you!"

After introductions to few Hogwarts professors (and a few others who felt it their duty to come up, shake his hand, and proceed to ramble some awe-inspired drivel) Harry was finally able to escape their attention, thanks to Hagrid ushering him out towards the back alley, towards a magical brick wall. Hagrid used his umbrella to tap a rhythmic pattern on the bricks and it opened up, each brick moving off towards either side. Diagon Alley greeted them.

Harry was led down the main throughway, straight to the tall, white building; it towered over the area similar to Big Ben, although it wasn't quite that tall. They arrived at Gringott's bank, an odd place run by goblins, of all things. This bank held underground vaults, accessible only by an ominous looking flat cart, sliding down a railway with wooden bucket seats up front. Harry was magnanimously offer one of the seats, while the Hagrid took the other. The goblin was obviously the driver, standing behind him.

The first vault, 713, was Hagrid's, Harry assumed, taking a small, bagged package before they were ushered off the vault 687, which belonged to his parents (which now belonged to him). The door was just as tall as the inside of the vault, its height dwarfing even Hagrid (who Harry estimated was about 10' or 11' tall). A pile of gold coins rose 3/4 of the vault and it was awesome. He had never seen that much money before. The goblin mentioned the exchange rate between wizarding and muggle currency and yeah, turns out Harry Potter was very, astonishingly rich.

While he had vowed at some point to leave this magical community in favor of returning to the muggle world, if he exchanged it for pounds, then no one would ever know it had once been wizarding Galleon, Knuts and Sickles. Harry was handed a small sack to hold his coins.

Upon returning to the ground floor, once they left through the main doors they were set upon by a large brown owl with white spots who dropped a letter into Hagrid's hands before flying on its way. Harry had seen a few owls scattered throughout Diagon Alley who carried post ranging from rolled up scrolls, envelopes to large brown packages (at one point, he had seen three owls overhead carry a particularly large one). The Owl Post. It was brilliant and definitely more interesting than the local postman.

"Looks like this is where I leave you, Harry. Sorry about tha'," Hagrid sighed, folding the letter and placing it into his pocket. "I have some, uh... important matters to attend to elsewhere." Hagrid patted the pocket containing that mysterious package taken from his vault. "Dumbledore is wanting ta see me immediately about something. I know you haven't been here before, but if you just stay in the area, it's a straight shot between here and the pub and the shoppes shouldn't be too hard to find. You'll be fit as long as ya don' go down any side streets."

"No problem, Hagrid," Harry responded. He had no intention of wandering off and it was sensible advice besides. He needed to leave through the pub regardless, to meet his family a few blocks over so it would be better to keep it in sight.

Before Hagrid turned to leave, he dug out two small slips of paper from his pocket. "I almost forgot, I got you a birthday present. It's a snowy owl, since you'll be wanting a pet. Very useful if you ask me, since they can also deliver your post, unlike a toad or a feline." He handed the paper to Harry. It was a receipt, with his name scrawled on the back. "Just go into the Eeylops Owl Emporium, jus' down there."

Hagrid motioned vaguely towards the shops before them. "Hand this over to the one of the staff an' they'll fetch yer bird. He's a nice one, and healthy; I checked him out myself."

Harry was handed the second slip of paper; it was a train ticket to platform 9-3/4. What the bloody hell?

"Stick to your ticket, Harry. The entrance is hidden inside one of the columns but don't worry, it's easy enough to figure out. You can't miss it."

With that, Hagrid walked off.