Care : The Extended Version.
By : S.C.R
Notes: Just a test. It was suggested in the review for my story Care that I should continue with that, perhaps use it as an outline. So I started to type this out. If I get good reviews I'll continue. If not, that's cool too, I'll just leave my other story to stand on its own.
He sat in Grimmauld Place, a magazine opened on his lap, his head having fallen back, and eyes closed. Harry Potter, twenty years old, was now the proud owner of a semi-normal life. Of course, he was still stuck with the hero stigma, but it was to be expected. It didn't help that he also moved on after defeating the dark lord to become the youngest auror in history, and the fact that he played such a large part in rebuilding the ministry with the help of the order. Then there was his god-son, Teddy -- son of war heroes, god-son of Harry Potter, and metamorphagus with werewolf tendencies -- who he played an active part in the boy's life, often allowing him to tag along while he spoke to students at Hogwarts, or oversaw the goings on at the ministry.
Alright, so maybe not normal, but it was close enough.
Tonight though, he felt normal. Drinking hot chocolate, reading the latest issue of the Quibbler (proudly run and edited by Luna Lovegood), or – he had been doing those things, now he was in the process of falling asleep on the sofa to the sound of the rain outside.
Naturally, however, he was not allowed this feeling of normalcy for very long. The moment he began to dream, seeing himself floating – then suddenly hitting a door. Why a door was in the skies of his dream, he wasn't sure, but he could here a knocking from the other side of it. A knocking that eventually made him stir from what he'd hoped would have been a nice nap.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" He called, putting the Quibbler down, and taking a few quick strides to the door. Any questions as to who it was or why they would be visiting him this late, in the rain no less, took a back seat as he caught sight of the figure at his door.
A hand gripped his wand immediately out of habit. In front of him a thin figure stood, clothed in wet, tattered black robes, hood up with bits of platinum blond hair escaping it. Slowly the other's head rose slightly, and Harry found himself staring into the silver-blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. Older, worn, almost sickly, but undoubtedly still the young Malfoy heir. He didn't say anything, but just his being there was a great cry for help. Help, he didn't expect to receive, but if anyone were to give it wouldn't Harry Potter, the wizarding world's golden boy, their great savior be an obvious choice?
"Malfoy?" He couldn't help the distain in his voice, the childish habit of using only surnames, or the suspicious gaze as he searched for a wand about to be pressed at his throat or perhaps even a blade. Under his scrutinizing inspection of the other male he saw that he couldn't have held a wand or blade steady if he'd wanted to. The blonde's entire body was shaking slightly, hand gripping the frame of the door.
He needed help, that much was clear, but even as they stood there, watching each other, waiting… Malfoy wouldn't ask for his help. He could barely stay on his feet, but even now he refused to ask for help because that would be admitting something far worse. That he'd been wrong.
That idea infuriated Harry even now. Dumbledore had tried to help him, Severus had helped him, and they were dead now while he was still here at Harry's doorstep expecting help to be offered once more. A scowl tugged at his features and he moved to slam the door shut, a hand stopping him. Pale, narrow fingers splayed across the door, his whole weight leaning against it so that if Harry should pull back too quickly Draco would tumble forward.
"Potter," He said, barely more then a whisper, hesitant to continue. "Sorry..."
He breathed a sigh and slowly let the door open again, looking to the once Slytherin Prince. Lips parted, ready to speak, to bid the other male to come in, sit down, eat something…Instead, with barely a split second of time to react, Harry opened his arms to catch the limp figure before he hit the ground. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, shifting slightly to pull Draco up in both his arms, carrying him the stairs.
"Kreacher!" Harry called, the house elf scurrying forward. Actually – not scurry, he was a bit too old for that, but he walked to his master as quickly as he could manage. Large eyes fell from his master to the blond in his arms, recognition flickering across his drawn features. "Some hot water and a clean cloth please." Kreacher nodded and vanished with a 'pop' to do as he was bid.
He lay Draco down on his bed gently and for a minute or so he just watched the other sleep.
Harry hadn't expected this.
Hadn't wanted this.
Hadn't cared before about the fate of Draco Malfoy.
How could five short minutes change all that? A stab of pity as he watched him shake in the rain on his doorstep had started it. It was the crack in the dam. Sympathy seeped through that crack when he'd lifted Draco in his arms; not only did the male weigh hardly anything at all, but holding him Harry could feel every rib beneath his fingers. Removing the frayed robes he was flooded with some emotion he couldn't quite name. Sadness, anger, pity – a mixture of the three – maybe something more.
Under those worn old robes the frail form had been hidden, disguising all his different injuries. Once flawless porcelain flesh was littered with bruises and scars, he was half starved to death, and even when he was unconscious parts of him twitched – a symptom Harry recognized as the after effects of being put under the Crutciatus for extended periods of time.
Kreacher returned only long enough to give Harry what he'd asked for then left once more. Harry wet the cloth in the warm water, wringing out the excess before gently wiping the filth from Draco's form. He could have just as easily done the same job with magic and it would have been quicker, but the hot
water and gentle touch seemed to sooth the other's unease and stopped the slight twitches. This way he could go along, cleaning his wounds, applying a salve to the bruises and scars, healing any open injuries. Only to pause half way down his chest, where Draco's arm was cradled; swollen, red, and broken, but that wasn't what made Harry falter. He could heal the broken bone without any problem, what made him stop was the hint of black along the blonde's forearm, black that had once taken the shape of the dark mark, but was impossible to pick out now beneath so many scars. It was as if Draco had tried to cut the darkness out of him, and these scars wouldn't heal, they were done magically with the intent of permanence.
Once he was cleaned and healed to the extent Harry could offer, the Gryffindor conjured him some clean clothes, and pulled the blankets up around him. Fingers played cautiously over Draco's forehead and gently through his hair before he caught himself, shaking his head, and rising to his feet.
Harry left the room considering what had just happened. He should go to the ministry. They'd just assumed Draco had died, no one had seen him after the battle at Hogwarts. Now that he was alive, by every right he should be sent to the ministry and tried for his crimes like all the other death eaters had been.
He couldn't bring himself to do it though, at least, not right now. Harry was too curious as to how the other male had ended up this way. He wanted to know where he'd been the last three years, and how he'd kept himself under the radar for so long. Part of him also felt that he clearly had been punished enough to warrant some rest.
So Harry let him be, allowing the blonde to sleep in his room for the time being, and went to one of the spares rooms himself. He also decided to keep his new house guest a secret for now. Things would only get complicated if he told anyone Draco was here, and if the wrong person found out it would become a scandal he didn't want to deal with.
Harry sent word to work that he wouldn't be coming in for a few days. Nobody questioned him. They never did because Harry still did so much that it was understood that sometimes he needed some time away. He would take on the role of tending Draco until he woke up, which didn't seem to be happening anytime soon, but Harry could wait.