Non-magic AU, I guess, with some magical aspects. Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter. Warnings for Child Abuse, Torture (Not in main pairing), Werewolves, and even an Attempted Suicide. Triggers, please don't read if you suffer from Depression, Anxiety, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Eating Disorders, or a History with Abuse. I do not want to be the cause for an anxiety attack, or a mental disruption. Please, don't read on if you have anything of the mentioned.
Summary:
On the night that Tom orders him to relieve his family of his burden, through the power of his highly persuasive Element, Harry doesn't just survive the ordeal.
He's saved by the most unlikeliest of people, and in turn, becomes the savior of him as well.
Darkest Part (Of Me)
Book One of the Series 'Running'
Chapter One
Re-establishing friendships
"Harry, come on! You'll be late for school!" Lily yelled, whilst simultaneously bundling up her other teenage son, much to his disgust, to the fullest extent; a brand new beanie, thick gloves and a thick, warm – of course, fashionableblack jacket. She knew Harry was self-sufficient enough to dress himself appropriately in the provided cold weather gear, he'd been doing so since he was just old enough to realize that cold wind made him sick. One stubborn son to care for was hard enough, and she was aware enough to be grateful for such an adaptable, gifted son as Harry. Henry was nearly unbearable to dress. "Harry!" She called exasperatedly.
"Coming, Mum! Almost done!" Harry called back, affixing the rather sad and outdated beanie to his mess of curly raven hair. He checked himself one last time in the hallway mirror, taking extra special care to hide the steadily darkening bruises on his wrists – even going so far as to slide on a few more bracelets Uncle Sirius had gotten him for his birthday. A purpose he didn't think Harry would use them for, but still.
Ron and Hermione were beginning to suspect something foul was at play at home lately, and it made him nervous to think about what they'd think if they saw what he looked like under his clothes – a mirage of blues, blacks, sickly greens and yellows, and the odd scar or two. So he became just that bit more paranoid about where his clothes covered, constantly making sure never to let them see him without proper coverage. Always long sleeved shirts and bracelets, always long pants and knee high shoes, even in Summer. The way He liked him to dress, the way He ordered him to.
He'd long since done away with any other short sleeved shirts and shorts, and with his Mum's offers to take him shopping to get new more revealing clothes. Anything he got her to buy were long-sleeved and full covering, and though she looked at him oddly every time, he rode out the stares and questions without a word and wore them despite it. Hisanger wasn't worth it, and his clothing options weren't worth the trouble it'd cause. She didn't need any more stress, and she wouldn't get any from him – not even if it left scars on him. She didn't deserve it.
"Harry, come on!" Henry cried, annoyed enough that Harry heard him actually stomp his foot. Despite being thirteen and apparently an adult. He smiled crisply at the mirror. "I wanna get there early, Amanda said she'd meet me at the gate! Come on!"
Harry sighed quietly, reluctantly fiddling once more with his beanie, before nodding to his pallid reflection and tugging at his sleeves one last time. He was as covered as he was going to get. "Alright, I'm ready," he said finally, trudging down the stairs tiredly and adjusting the strap of his bag. "Keep your pants on. We'll get there on time."
"We only have ten minutes to get there before the first bell!" Henry hissed angrily, face flushing a brutal red reminiscent of their Mum's hair. "If Amanda isn't there by the time we get there, you're dead meat."
"Henry!" Lily snapped. "Is that any way to speak to your brother? No! I'm sure he just forgot to put something in his bag –"
"Yeah, like his eyeliner and tampons," Henry sneered, glowering when Harry only remained stoic and silent to his taunts. "You sure you birthed two sons? He could be a girl in disguise, looks too much like one to be a man –"
"ENOUGH!" Lily screamed, angrily tossing her work bag over her shoulder and glowering darkly as she snatched her keys from the key bowl by the door. "I cannot – no, I refuse to do this today, twice yesterday was well enough for me! I'm late for work again, and you're both late for school! No more arguments! Zilch, nada! I don't want to hear who has what, or who's fault whatever is. You are sixteen and thirteen years old, too old to be carrying on like toddlers spitting the dummy! Now get out into that car right now, or else you're both grounded for the foreseeable future. Don't test me today, boys."
"But, Mum..!" spluttered Henry.
"Don't even try it!" Lily snapped, shooting her younger son a withering glare. "I don't want to hear either of you. Get in the car. Now."
"This is so unfair!" Henry burst out, but shuffled obediently out the doorway anyway, completely cowed by their Mum's thunderous glare.
Harry followed him silently, sliding into the back seat when Lily unlocked the car and locked up the house behind her. Henry threw himself into the front passenger seat grumpily, glaring moodily out the windshield, as he was wont to do whenever he didn't get his own way.
It took a massive amount of control to not roll his eyes, but Harry managed it when he saw how flustered Mum had gotten in the last ten minutes. She was dressed to the nines in her work gear, flaming red hair curled and pressed neatly in an artistic bun atop her head. She wasn't wearing any make-up, despite looking so classy in black slacks and a white blouse. She worked at the local Hospital, as a surgeon and doctor, and she oft wore make-up only when she was assigned to desk work and was going out after for drinks. Today she looked incredibly harassed, an angry tint to her natural cheeks and her eyebrows thrust together in an impressive scowl.
Harry felt bad for the trouble he caused her.
"You're so gonna get it," Henry muttered darkly, kicking his feet up on the dashboard, despite their Mum's constant reprimands not to. "If she's not there when we pull up... you'll wanna run."
"Just shut up, Henry," Harry mumbled, and not to his surprise, Henry did. He was still his older brother, after all.
-oOoOoOo-
"Hey, so what's with Henry today, Harry? He looks a bit pissed at something," Ron commented, though not without taking his eyes from his food tray.
It was lunch time, the one time of the day that Ron was most lively and energetic. Other times he was lazier than a snail, doing the bare minimum and scraping by on his school work. He loved food so much, he even voluntarily ran to the lunch line, a feat which not even the Physical Education professors could coax him into. It was also a time where the most trouble happened, as the most volatile people mixed with the peaceful and neutral students. Active elements, some dubbed them, for they had the most unpredictable and somewhat brutal abilities, and one wouldn't know when they were accidentally targeted next.
Harry thought that was rather silly. There were two types of people in the school that would be 'accidentally' targeted. One, would be if their ability was a natural rival for one of the Active elements, and the other, were those that deliberately taunted them into a fight.
Harry himself hadn't been identified with any abilities yet. An oddity, considering everyone had one element or another by the time they hit Elementary school, and one needed an element to attend Hogwarts. There were those who didn't have any abilities whatsoever, but they didn't attend Hogwarts - the abilities here could kill them in an instant if they accidentally messed with the wrong person. And there were more than enough people here like that.
Harry was short for his age, but he was lithe with toned muscles and quite compact. He was also very quick, fast enough to outrun any slow building elements, and certainly fast enough to beat the other person to the punch. He was quite good at that, not that it happened much. But there were always some out there that wanted to show their worth and superiority over others, and picked him as the one that would help them.
He'd never lost any fights, and no one really ever tried anything for years. It was a rumor that his ability was to be faster, stronger, and quicker than any opponent that faced him, and he supposed that was the thing that stopped anyone from attempting to take him down.
"Amanda said she'd meet him by the gate this morning," Harry told him wryly, smirking slightly as he popped the seal on his salad and began picking at the tomatoes. "And he had his heart set on seeing her, I guess. I don't think he slept all night, probably too busy thinking about her."
"Amanda Pettlecorn?" Ron burst out incredulously. "Isn't she that bird that plays all the guys? The one that thinks she's too good for anyone here? That Amanda?"
"The one and only," Harry said dryly, nodding. "And can you guess how this morning played out?"
Ron scoffed and shoved in a forkful of macaroni and cheese, ignoring the extras that dropped onto his shirt. "Obviously it was a no-show," he said thickly, snorting indelicately. "Serves him right for thinking he could get a piece of that. Everyone's been trying since she came here – she's as loony as that Luna Lovegood!"
"Oi, Luna isn't that bad!" Harry said hotly, and glanced over at the tiny blonde girl that always sat alone, always reading a book, and always ignoring the Active people that used their abilities around her like they weren't even there. Today it was a Dr. Seuss book, and she was reading it upside down. "She's just a bit – eccentric, different. And there's nothing bad about being different. She's like Einstein."
"Or yourself," put in a very smug voice.
Harry rolled his eyes and grunted. "Yeah, yeah, like me too, I guess," he muttered. "Hello, Hermione."
"Harry, Ron," said Hermione primly, dropping gracefully into a seat opposite them and sliding her tray of food and bag onto the tabletop. She gave Harry a sympathetic smile. "I heard about what happened this morning. Amanda hasn't stopped talking about it since Chemistry, I hear. Bragging that she had one of the Potter boys wrapped around her finger. I thought it was horrible of her to do it, yet again, and even more so as it's your little brother. Poor Henry, I bet he thought she was sincere this time."
"Henry must've heard about it from someone, then," Harry said grimly, and looked over at his brother - sitting alone with his arms crossed, moodily chewing on a sandwich and glaring glumly around him. "That's probably why he's sulking over there."
"Well, it serves him right! Hopefully it'll pull his head out of his arse," Ron remarked, eyeing Hermione's apple and slices of oranges intently. "Maybe he'll finally realize that the world doesn't revolve round him. No offense, Harry, but your brother's a spoiled little shit."
"None taken," Harry said dryly, and slowly picked at the salad, nibbling on a piece of lettuce and cheese consecutively. Ron was right of course, Henry was a spoiled little shit. He got whatever he wanted almost immediately, and even more so since Tom entered the picture. But he was still Harry's younger brother, and he had to protect him no matter what. Even if a cuff round the head would do him a bit of good, the so-called punishments Harry went through wouldn't. He couldn't afford Henry to derail even more, now more than ever.
Hermione and Ron looked at each other then, and Harry could just sense what was going to happen. He'd expected it, sooner or later. It was inevitable when one had a curious know-it-all around all the time, they were bound to pick up something unusual some when. Harry just wished he knew what he'd done to make her suspect anything untoward.
"Harry?" Hermione asked hesitantly, ever the first one to ask a question or broach a taboo subject. Harry almost smiled, a barely there quirk of his lips. "We've been noticing some things lately, and well... Since you quit the swim team, you've been a little... off. Different. Why is that?" She very cautiously asked.
He gave me one too many bruises and scars to hide, it would have been too obvious when I showed up all black and blue.
Harry shrugged indifferently instead of saying that though. "Just didn't feel like swimming anymore," he lied, rather unconvincingly.
"But you're the best swimmer this school has! You've won more races than Malfoy has clothes!" Ron said, almost pleadingly, and it was almost like the floodgates had opened. "You've changed, mate. You've changed so much, I can hardly remember what you used to be like anymore. You wear these bloody Emoclothes constantly, you wear loads of bracelets, you don't ever change in the locker room – hell, you're not even comfortable in your own skin anymore!"
Harry scowled darkly, suddenly feeling that the small salad he'd gotten was as unappetizing as plated dog shit. "I'm fine," he lied again, somehow even more unconvincing than before, clenching his jaw and shoving the tray away.
"And that!" Ron unexpectedly snapped, jabbing a harsh finger at Harry's chest. "You never used to do that! You never lied to us before you quit the bloody team – ever since that prat, Riddle proposed to your Mum, you've gone all weird! You never used to be like this!"
"Yeah, well people change all the time! I'm fine, guys," Harry snapped, clenching his jaw even tighter despite the smacking pain in his teeth. His hands curled into fists on the table. "Honestly. You've nothing to worry about, so just drop it."
Hermione lunged over the table as if sensing how close he was to leaving and grasped at his hands, almost too tightly. "Harry, please, are you suicidal?" She asked desperately, eyes drilling holes into his skull.
"NO!" Harry snarled at them, and almost immediately regretted it. They stared at him with wide eyes, as if he'd said a clear and resounding yes. The idiots. He growled and stood up, throwing Hermione's hands from his and flinging his bag over his shoulder angrily. "Just leave me the hell alone!" He snapped at them, and stormed away before the urge to throw something welled up any stronger in him.
Some unfortunate soul lingered in his path, and even that was too much for him. He shoved them aside with a snarl, hardly noticing as they almost stumbled to the floor. He'd feel bad about it later, but he wouldn't remember whom it was he'd pushed, and no one would step forward to tell Harry Potter off.
A sea of eyes watched him go, but most obvious were the wide eyes of Henry, his innocent little brother. The anger had long since been drained from those hazel eyes and replaced by a pout, but now they were identical pools of unwavering interest and shock. Harry supposed that should be right – he hadn't ever snapped like that before. He'd suppressed nearly all emotion when Lily introduced them to Tom nearing three years ago, for an especially good reason.
And now that dam was breaking, and he needed to disappear before almost four years of pain and fury were released onto innocent students - his suspicious, but well-meaning friends most especially. He needed to leave.
"Harry! Are you alright –?"
"Not now, Colin!" Harry barked, not looking back once at a floored Colin Creevey, and booked it from the main hallway before anyone else could follow him.
What was the one place that relaxed him – that brought back only happy, good memories? Untainted from the bloody bastard that his Mum was dating? It could only be one place still in the school. The one that he hadn't entered ever since he'd quit the team, on Tom's orders.
The Pool room.
-oOoOoOo-
Unsurprisingly, he wasn't the only one to take refuge here. But it was for an entirely different reason for them, nothing at all like his own need for escape.
Draco Malfoy and his odd group of cronies acted like they owned the school, and thus were above anyone else that attended it. They mainly congregated in the Pool room, using it as a common room or a place to bully others without any teachers watching them. Ever since Harry had quit the team, thus ending a two year competition with the blonde, Malfoy had grown arrogant and even more egotistic about his skills on the team. He was good, perhaps even the teams best asset, but Harry had been better - more at home in the water.
Harry forgot about them when he stormed in, forgot about everything else but the sound of the water. It was at complete odds with the turmoil welling up deep within him, his heart its own raging ocean. He slammed his bag down on the concrete podium, regardless of the things in there, and practically threw himself down beside it to stare down at the water with an uninhibited view. He was still steaming, yes, but now it was tinged with an unhealthy amount of fear and panic, nearly as powerful as the rage inside him.
What was He going to do when Hermione and Ron went to Lily about all this - and it was doubtless that they would, they were the sort of people that went straight to the source. The agreement specified that no one would ever know about what went on in his room when Tom slept over. No one was supposed to know - they couldn't, or else. Was Tom going to kill him? Would he go after Lily and Henry, like he said all those years ago? Harry was his punching bag, his release for all the violent tendencies in him, and if he was locked up somewhere else or put into Carers, what would he do?
Lily wasn't strong enough to handle all that rage - all that violence, Harry barely could. She was barely making things meet without James's money to add padding to the bills as it was, even as a well-paid doctor. If Tom put her out of action, what would she do without her only source of income? Especially without Henry or himself working? Tom had old money and prestige, but he was cruel enough to cut them off without a thought to their survival.
The house would be taken, Henry's things, his things and Lily's things would be sold to bundle up some money to rent a small apartment. Henry and he would be kicked out of Hogwarts, and Lily would lose her job.
That meant he'd have to talk to Tom about all this. Carefully tell him that he'd have to lay off bruising him for a while so things could calm down. They couldn't lose their only source of money.
"Oh look, Draco! It's Poor Potty Potter! Come for a nice little cool off, Potty? Too hot out there for you in all those clothes?"
"Shove off, Parkinson. I'm not interested in any of your bullshit today," Harry sniped back, not willing to break his stare for the spiteful little twit that was Malfoy's girlfriend. She wasn't worth the air she unfortunately breathed.
His stare was broken anyway by the lean, almost naked form of Malfoy, clad in only very tight swimming briefs. He stood confidently in Harry's line of sight, his most likely bleached blonde hair slicked back and wet from swimming and condensation. His pointy nose was upturned and he looked every bit the pompous little Daddy's boy he was known as. Harry sneered.
"What do you think you're doing here, Potter?" Malfoy asked evenly enough, for being almost completely naked and under Harry's irate and admittedly very intimidating stare. Even from behind those ridiculous round spectacles, his glare was potent. It always had been. "You haven't ventured past those doors for years. What brings you here now?"
Harry bared his teeth in a reflexive snarl, running more on autopilot than anything else. "Can't a guy relax by the pool every once in a while, Malfoy?" He sneered at the blonde.
"Not when one hadn't for years, no," Malfoy answered coolly, a perfect impersonation of Mr. Malfoy, slate grey eyes staring at his face as if intrigued with something. He suddenly quirked a sharp eyebrow and gave a glacial smile. "So I presume something happened between yourself and the two paupers you deign to associate with. What happened, Potter, Granger not spreading her legs far enough to fit you?" He sneered contemptuously.
Harry was on his feet and in Malfoy's face faster than the eye could see, and Malfoy barely had a second to blink before a hand was gripping his throat and he was balancing on the very tips of his toes. He choked, gurgling quietly as that hand tightened even further round his windpipe. He could vaguely hear his friends shouting and running to his aid, and he hurried to stay them with a sharp gesture of his hand. He could handle Harry, even in this uncharacteristic violent episode. The boy was too kind-hearted to attempt to really hurt him.
"Going to - strangle me, H-Harry?" The blonde spluttered thickly, skin turning a dusky red from the heady pressure in his trachea. His eyes still stared at Harry though, at the glowing emerald eyes that were narrowed under arched, thunderous brows. He was simply unearthly, standing there like a Grecian God, holding him as if he weighed nothing and long wild locks of raven hair curling around those gem-like eyes. It would have taken his breath away, if it wasn't trapped in his lungs.
"No," Harry growled out viciously, but then he somehow lifted Malfoy even higher and tightened his grasp until it almost sent Malfoy over the edge into blackness. It almost panicked Malfoy into believing that he would - that he'd actually stand there and strangle him to death. But then, miraculous of the miraculous, Harry slowly began to loosen his grip, and lowered him to the balls of his feet.
The sleeves of Harry's shirt and hoodie had slipped back when he'd lifted the blonde, and as if time suddenly slowed to a snails pace, he watched on helplessly as Malfoy's eyes darted to the finger-made bruises on his wrist, and the tip of an old scar that ran the length of his forearm. Those grey eyes widened in shock, dawning realization blossoming in the fathomless depths, before flitting to look back up at him in horror.
Time returned back to normal, and with it, the loud shouts of Malfoy's cronies, and the sound of the bell ringing for fifth period. Harry cursed every swear he'd ever learned, and shoved the blonde away, hardly caring as he toppled head first into the pool and half-sprayed him with chlorinated water. He didn't bother to check if the blonde had hit his head on the way down, nor did he care that one of Malfoy's friends had sent a gust of vicious spiked ice at him. Nothing ended up hitting him - though he was unsure whether that was down to the fact that the boy had poor aim, or that he felt colder than ice on the inside.
Someone had seen them -the bruises. Draco Malfoy had seen them. Malfoy, the one person that hated him almost as much as Tom Riddle himself.
Sweat beaded along his forehead and back, and his heart thundered heavily in his chest like a War drum, feeling so heavy that it was beating out the tips of his fingers and toes. He was almost feverish with fear, sweating heavily despite the freezing temperature outside. But then, he blinked and looked around. How had he gotten outside his house?
"Fucking hell."
-oOoOoOo-
"Harry James Potter, where on earth have you been?!I received a call from the Headmaster of your school, saying you'd left in the middle of the day - where did you go?!" Lily shrieked, flying into the room with an unnatural wind blowing her hair from its messy bun and flapping her coat around her legs. Henry awkwardly skirted the room behind her, but remained thankfully silent, just watching with wide eyes. "Are you doing drugs? Did you get in a fight with the Malfoy boy? Why? Why did you leave? What happened?" She demanded, tossing her bag on the couch so she was free to cross her arms.
Harry stared at her blankly, not feeling anything but a twinge of pain in his chest and an odd twisting in his temples - a headache was forming fast and furiously. She'd only just gotten home from a stressful day - stress he had created. He shrugged carelessly.
Lily's matching emerald eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry grimaced at the sight. She was very close to exploding, and their house couldn't handle another episode like the one back when James lived here. Lily seemed to realize it, for she let her hands dangle into fists at her side and visibly tensed her shoulders, as if that would help to hold back the floodgates of her element. "Don't you dare just shrug at me, young man. I was worried sick all day," she said tightly through pale, tense lips. "You better tell me why you left and where you went, and you better tell me right now. Or you will really regret it."
There was a pregnant pause in which every facet of tension could be felt in the air, which crackled with invisible electricity - like it had been ever since Harry had sat down on the couch. "I... I freaked out and came here to calm down," Harry mumbled. "I couldn't stay there anymore, so I came here instead."
Lily was quiet, just staring at him with a steely gaze. And when she spoke, it was with an intense and equally quiet voice that had shame spiraling right through him. "I didn't know you were feeling like this, Harry," she murmured helplessly. "I thought you were taking the change so nicely, like Henry... I guess I didn't look close enough at you to know different. I'm so sorry, my darling... I've failed you."
"No, you -Ifailedyou, Mum," Harry said, and the first hints of emotion bled into his voice - sadness, and fear. It choked him bitterly, a mixture of serrated and hooked razors lodged high up in his throat. A brittle smile quirked his lips. "I just didn't handle it well enough, and it's my own fault. I haven't given him - Tom, a chance. I guess I just thought he was trying to replace Dad, and I didn't like it. I'm sorry it came to this."
Lily sniffled delicately and wiped under her eyes, as if catching tears that had yet to fall. "No, you kids come first. I should have waited longer before moving on from your father. It was selfish of me to move on so quickly, and to get engaged after only two years!" She exclaimed, shaking her head as if it were such an absurd idea. "No, this is all my fault. You're my children, you both deserve the best, and I should have realized that after the divorce, you'd both be upset. If anyone is to blame, it's me."
"No, really, Mum, it's my fault -"
Harry's words were drowned out by a rather crisp knock from the front door, startling all three from their self-blaming. Henry was first to move, steps unsure and face as equally uncertain as he disappeared from the room. It was almost unheard of for them to have visitors on a Monday night. Whilst Tom was engaged to Lily, he still hadn't moved in just yet. It was apparently hard for a big time lawyer to find a spare day to move into his fiance's house, even if they'd been engaged for two years and together four and a half.
Harry reluctantly stood from his seat and edged round his Mum when Henry hadn't come back, forcefully ignoring the way she seemed to flinch back from him, as if she couldn't handle him coming any closer. It hurt, but he expected no less when he put her through such a panic all day. It should teach him that he really couldn't afford to hurt her any more than he already had. He had to put more effort into keeping things secret, lest she fall to pieces when... No. He wouldn't even think about it, not until Wednesday, when Tom was spending the night.
Henry sidled back into the room before Harry could leave it, and he had such a queer expression on his face that Harry almost thought someone had knocked, only to disappear before they could be discovered. That sometimes happened. "Draco Malfoy's at the door," he said slowly, as if he couldn't believe it.
"Draco Malfoy? Lucius and Narcissa's son?" Lily asked, surprised. "Why would he be here? At this time of day?"
"I don't know," Henry mumbled, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "But he's getting a bit impatient. Says he wants to talk to 'Potter', but I think he means Harry."
Fucking, blubbering hell.
"Well, I'll go tell him to leave, then," Harry muttered decisively, already heading out to do so.
Before he fucks everything else up whilst he's at it.
"Why don't you invite him in for supper, dear?" Lily suggested hesitantly. "We could always use another mouth to feed, and he seems a nice enough boy if he's here on more amicable reasons than to fight with you. I think it'll do you good to reaffirm your friendship with him. Make more friends than Hermione and Ron."
Harry floundered for an excuse - any excuse not to invite Malfoy in. But one look at his Mum, and any reasons were swallowed back from his lips before he could speak them. She was trying. Swallowing back all bitter retorts, Harry smiled brightly at her. "Sure, I'll go tell him then," he said, and hurried to leave them before she could also pressure him into inviting him to stay the bloody night. Perhaps to even move in - he'd probably have his room.
Harry found Malfoy staring down at his manicured nails nonchalantly, as if he'd been doing it the whole time, a little too innocent looking to be natural. His quiet arrival made the blonde straighten up and slide his hand back in his pocket, a self-important smile on his thin lips. It was all too obvious what he'd been doing.
"Eavesdropping is a dirty habit, Malfoy," he told him dryly. "What brings you here at this late hour on a weekday night? Not selling any raffle tickets, I hope."
"If you call six thirty late, Potter, I'd hate to think of what you call a late night on a weekend," Malfoy said sardonically, smirking even as Harry plainly denied him entry into his home. "Can't a friend visit another friend whilst out on a leisurely stroll? It's hardly a crime, I should think."
"You would, if we were friends," Harry said sharply.
"Aren't we?" Malfoy asked, as if surprised. "Why, I thought we were. That friendly hug by the pool certainly said we were, and your mother seems to think we are as well. I do believe she approves of our friendship, as well."
"Enough games, Malfoy," Harry said testily, narrowing his eyes as he readied himself to slam the door in the blonde's face. "What do you want?"
"Are you sure you don't want to adjourn to a more privateroom, Potter?" Malfoy prompted him, eyebrows darting up as if to dare him to say no. "I'm sure what I have to say would be rather pertinent."
Harry stared at him for one silent moment, before closing his eyes and sighing despondently. "Would you like to stay for supper, Malfoy?" He asked wearily, stepping aside to let the blonde pass. "We're having pasta and garlic bread."
Malfoy sniffed delicately and stalked in with a lax gait. "Draco," he said, rather pointedly. "And yes, I suppose I shall. We mustn't walk about on an empty stomach, after all."
"Yeah. Mustn't," Harry muttered, and shut the door.
-oOoOoOo-
"Sothisis where the infamous Harry Potter sleeps," Malfoy drawled, slate eyes gazing around with interest at every knick-knack, crook and cranny Harry's room had to offer. His eyes lit up upon catching sight of the Lord of the Rings movies, sat haphazardly under a television, but otherwise he didn't do anything else. "I imagined it as something more menacing looking, perhaps a stone room filled with torture devices - or perhaps cluttered with displays of every type of razor in the world and...alternativemusic and band posters. I didn't think it'd be anything like this, however. I'm pleasantly surprised."
"That's the second time someone's said I look Emo today in so many words," Harry muttered darkly, and shut the door firmly behind him, in the case of Henry trying to snoop in on them.
"And you wonder why?" Malfoy sniped at him, eyes darting to his black jeans and long sleeved shirt pointedly - lingering just that bit longer on his bracelet clad wrists. "You practically reek of angst and drama, Harry. An impressive feat, mind, considering you have everything you ever wanted right here in this room."
"Not my parents, together and happy once more," Harry sneered heatedly at him. "I'm not as materialistic as some like to think, despite my clothes and jewelry. I'd rather them get back together and be more happy than have half the shit in this room."
Malfoy turned to look at him at that, face almost blank - if not for the pity that seemed more cruel than naked hatred. "Yes, I'm sure you would," he said quietly. "But sometimes it's better for parents to split and go their separate ways than to stay together, unhappy."
"I don't need you to preach to me about divorced parents, Malfoy -"
"I thought I told you to call me Draco," Malfoy suddenly said. "And I'm not preaching to you about anything, I'm trying to comfort you."
"Well you should stop, because you suck at it," Harry told him shortly.
Malfoy smirked at that. "I suppose I should. I suck at comforting even myself," he said, half-amused. "But you should feel lucky. There's only one other person in the world that I'd even consider lending my expert care to, and that happens to be myself."
Harry scowled despite the veiled compliment. "Well, as interesting as this conversation is," he said, in such a way that conveyed the complete opposite. "Is there actually a point to your being here, or are you just trying to test my limits?"
The amused smirk slowly slid from the blonde's face, and he almost seemed to be uncomfortable. Malfoy cleared his throat. "You have bruises on your wrist," he declared. "I want to know who gave them to you and why."
"And how do you know I didn't just fall down, or hit something the wrong way?" Harry asked him sharply.
"Please," Malfoy scoffed sardonically, dropping down gracefully onto Harry's bed and lounging there like he owned the bloody thing. Harry scowled at him. "They were in the shape of fingers, grasping far too tight and far too harshly. I was close enough to see them, remember."
"Henry and I -"
"Don't even try to blame it on that little wimp, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "He's not nearly strong enough to inflict bruises that deep into the tissue. You've ruptured enough capillaries to leave them healing there for weeks."
"I heal quickly," Harry told him stiffly.
"Not the point," Malfoy determined.
"Why do you even care?"
The words were uttered so quietly, Malfoy had a hard time catching them. But when he did, he sat up and stared, looking as if he were actually listening for once. "We were the best of friends, once," he said quietly, intensely. "And I like to think that if I were in your situation, you would do the same thing for me."
"I would, but I doubt you'd be as gracious about it," Harry muttered, and slowly stalked over to his study desk, where he put all important documents. Including his journal. "I'm not admitting to much by mouth, but I have something that I've been putting together for years. I keep copies everywhere," he revealed quietly, and opened the bottom drawer, sucking in a deep, calming breath when he spotted his thick black journal, laying almost inconspicuously against the black colored paper.
"Is that a... adiary?"
Harry slammed the drawer shut with a loud clap, and growled angrily. "If you're going to make a fucking mockery of this, Malfoy, you can just fucking leave and forget all about it, alright?!"
"I'm sorry! Sorry.." Malfoy hurried to say, holding his hands up in an appeasing gesture - as if Harry were some wild animal. "I didn't mean to sound so derogatory, I was merely surprised that you had one in possession! You don't seem the type, dressed as you are!"
"Well how else am I supposed to vent out when no one else can know?" Harry hissed at him, as if he'd something so especially stupid it was almost inconceivable. "I can hardly waltz down to Mum and merrily tell her all about whatHe's done to me, now can I? Bloody think, Malfoy!"
"So it's not your mother?" Malfoy asked abruptly, jumping forward so fast Harry almost had to move back from sheer discomfort. "It's a man, then? It wouldn't happen to be your father, would it? I hardly ever thought about James Potter, but he doesn't seem the type to brutalize his children -"
Harry almost smashed his fist into Malfoy's flawless face, before he realized he was about to do it. He slammed his fist down on the desk instead. "My father wouldn't doanythingof the sort!" Harry snarled heatedly at the startled blonde. "My Dad's a bloody Copper, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me, Henry, or Mum! He'd rather die than touch any of us like that - me especially!"
"It's Riddle then, isn't it?" Malfoy asked shrewdly, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
Regardless, Harry nodded, and relaxed his body from its tense hunch. The injuries still left over from the last visit were smarting from his thoughtless actions, but it was a tolerable pain, compared to when they'd been freshly made.
"Shit," declared the blonde.
Harry nodded stiffly in agreement. "Yeah, shit would be right," he said bitterly, and allowed himself to slide carefully into his desk chair - almost bonelessly. It least aggravated the wounds, but it still brought about a painful sting and pinch feeling. His fingers ached to scratch at them.
"May I see that -" Malfoy began tentatively, only to suddenly pause and look at him uncertainly, as if unsure what to call it.
"My journal," Harry said tartly.
"Right. May I see your journal?"
Harry bent once more to take out the journal from the drawer, breathing shallowly as one of the more brutal bruises on his back twinged in anger. He didn't make as much noise as he would have, because Malfoy was watching him closely, but it seemed just the accelerated breathing was enough to spark suspicion in those grey eyes.
"You're hurt."
Harry exhaled forcefully and sat up, tossing the bulging black book beside Malfoy with nary a care that it tumbled once and threatened to fall out from the leather binding. "Obviously," he muttered, but he continued on before the blonde could say something about them. "I took pictures when I documented the... punishments. Some of them are pretty gnarly, so you'll want to be cautious when looking at them," he said, voice soft.
Malfoy hesitated, bringing his slim hand to hover over the bulging cover of the black book. "Are you certain I can look through it?" He asked lowly, uncharacteristically concerned. "I know I wouldn't want someone else pawing through my personals, especially something as important as this."
"As long as you don't damage it," Harry muttered.
"Right, you mentioned you have others..." Malfoy breathed, nodding shallowly. "Tell me if -"
"Just hurry up and look through it already, Malfoy! I've more than given you my permission to," Harry snapped at him bitterly.
Malfoy glared at him in annoyance and snatched the journal from the bed covers, all sense of concern clearly gone. "If you'd have allowed me to continue, you would have realized that that was not my line of intention. I was merely asking you to tell me when I get to the more vile pictures. I don't have as strong of a stomach as most gentlemen," he said stiffly. "And it's Draco."
"Harry," Harry said tersely, and Malfoy looked at him silently for one short, breathless moment, before nodding and slowly cracking open his journal.
Nerves were already cramping his stomach up uncomfortably, and making a thin sweat break out onto his brow, but he soldiered through it as best as could be expected for having this sprung up on him so suddenly. He hadn't expected anything like this for many years to come yet, whether he allowed someone to witness the marks left over, or not. He didn't feel good, for all that he dreamed of showing his painful history to an unknown savior.
Well, he'd have to get used to someone reading his journal anyway, if things progressed the way he wanted them to. As soon as his Dad came back from wherever he and his friends disappeared to, he'd make a plea to him. Tom would stick around to make a - he grimaced, to make a stand that Lily was his and not James's, and when Harry showed them, they'd be able to arrest him on sight and take him down. And maybe his Mum would see how quick James was to defend his children, and they could -
No, there was no hoping for that. It was a stretch just to hope that James'd come back soon, let alone that.
The only sound in the room was the sound of worn pages flicking by. Harry almost resorted to the age old habit of chewing his nails, if only for the sake of giving himself something other to do than sit there waiting for Malfoy - Draco to eventually stop reading. But he didn't, and instead waited for when the questions would begin about his physical health.
It surprisingly didn't take too long, considering Draco only began reading twenty minutes prior. But then, the blonde always was abnormally quick at things, reading just seemed to be one of his smaller quirks.
"Do you..." Draco began abruptly, only to pause and wet his lips anxiously. He was just at the beginning of the pictures, if Harry thought he was looking at the right one. "Do you really have a scar on your forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt?" He asked hesitantly.
Harry silently lifted the lip of the beanie from his forehead and swept aside the messy locks that rested there. And there it was, slightly off to the left and above his eyebrow - a jagged looking lightning bolt scar. The beginning of many. He perhaps wouldn't have minded it so much, if it hadn't have symbolized the beginning of his tormented deal with the sick bastard.
Draco was even paler than normal, his skin a waxy color than the normal alabaster, and he seemed to be looking slightly green about the gills. "Everything in this journal is of the absolute truth? Nothing is exaggerated or omitted?" He asked breathlessly, eyes seeming to gain a suspicious glassy look to it.
Harry merely looked at him. "I bought that journal for the soul purpose of recording the interactions between Riddle and I, not to write dreams and fears in," he said lowly. "Everything in there is how it went, and I shit you not, it gets worse."
"How much worse can it get?" Draco asked glumly. "He already beat you and sliced you to bloody ribbons."
"Can you think of nothing worse?" Harry prodded him gently, almost curiousabout his answer.
Draco seemed to pale even more, if that were possible, and tears began welling up in those grey eyes. Harry froze in sheer shock when the blonde launched himself at him, shoving the journal aside and wrapping his arms and legs around him like an octopus. It took him several long moments before he remembered to put his arms around the blonde's midriff, and as if acknowledging them, Draco squeezed him tightly round the neck, where he'd stuck his head and was very obviously crying quietly.
Harry didn't even know Malfoyscould cry.
He began to fidget and grimace when the evidence began to become too much, though. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he grumbled.
"I'm not crying, dolt," Draco denied stubbornly, despite sniffling and dabbing at his eyes with Harry's shirt. "My tear ducts merely experienced an overloading of salt water from the amount of years I haven't drained them, and so I took the time to conveniently drain them on you. Any relations between that and this situation are completely coincidental," he said thickly.
"Alright then," Harry sarcastically agreed. "Can you go drain them over there, then? My legs are cramping up under your fat arse."
"My arse is just as -" Draco cut himself off as abruptly as he'd begun to speak. "Wait, when he - when you two had... Did he, er, do you? Or did you do him?" He asked tentatively, as if trying to measure how badly his words would set him off and attempting to prevent it.
It almost annoyed him, if it didn't show how much the blonde cared.
"I was on the bottom, yes," Harry said, as calmly and patiently as he could. "I was only fourteen when he started touching me. I wasn't matured enough to fuck him yet, though, and he was domineering enough to not want to be on the bottom. Ever. But that doesn't mean he didn't want me to do things to him, he just wanted to command what I did."
"How the bloody hell can you just say it like that?" Draco asked, aghast. "Aren't you traumatized? Broken? A shell of yourself and so on and so forth? I've heard of many stories about people who are raped and just completely give up on life, and yet here you are! Documenting everything and even comforting me about yourexperiences! How on earth do you do it?!"
Harry hesitated a moment, thinking grimly about what he actually did do that held back the pain. Not many good things, apparently, he realized, all too glumly. "I guess I just control the things I can, because when I don't, I feel like things are spiraling out of control," he reluctantly admitted. "I control what I eat, when I sleep, what I say and what I do. I've learned to switch off when things become too much, or else I draw or paint to get everything back into focus. Sometimes I run, and sometimes I just sit still and just... blank out."
Draco stared at him, and Harry couldn't help but think that the blonde was almost afraid of him. "Almost all of those things are bad, Harry," he said softly. "You've most likely developed an eating disorder, or an obsessive compulsive problem. When I said that there are horror stories out there about being raped, these things were part of it. It's partly what drove them all mad, because sometimes they couldn't do what they needed to feel balanced in time."
"Not much I can do until Dad comes back, I'm afraid," Harry muttered. "I just have to hang on long enough for them to get back. I've made sure the extra copies of my journal are in places where only they'd know to look, so if I... If I end up kicking the bucket, they'll be able to put Tom behind bars."
"You won't die," Draco said firmly, and finally climbed off of Harry's numb lap to seat himself back on the bed, as if determined to get to the bottom of Harry's issues. "Because I won't let you. You're still my friend, even if we fought like cats and dogs these last few years. You still seem to have quite a bit of life about you, anyway. You'd live on even if I weren't here to help you."
"If you're sure," Harry said softly, and Draco nodded once, firmly. "But in case I don't make it, I want you to take one of them. One of the journals. In case he gets it all out of me and destroys them before they can be discovered."
"Point me in the direction of one, and I'll take it with me tonight," Draco murmured, and Harry did so, quietly gathering the stack so he wouldn't distract Draco from his reading.