CHAPTER FOUR: Living Conditions
"Well, Potter?" Malfoy said, in his characteristic slow drawl. "Are you going to give me the two knut tour or what?"
Harry still sat, his hands balled into fists under the table. He wanted to yell and scream and send hexes bouncing off all the walls. Over the years Dumbledore had asked a hell of a lot from him and he had never complained – well, at least not as much as he could have – but this was just taking things too far. Malfoy. And the Dursleys. Together. In Privet Drive. All summer. It wasn't fair!
"Not that there's much to see," Malfoy continued snidely. "The whole house could probably fit into my dining hall back home."
"No one asked you to come here," Harry snapped irritably. "And before you decide you're too good for it, just think about what Voldemort's going to do to you if you leave. He'll kill you straight off if you're lucky. But, speaking from past experience, I reckon he'll Crucio you a couple of times first. Maybe it'll send you mad. You should try it and find out– it'd give me a laugh."
Harry felt a brief spark of vindication when he saw terror flash across Malfoy's face. "I'm not going anywhere, Potter," the blonde said, trying to sound haughty about it. "So you better get used to the idea."
"Whatever."
Harry stood up from the table. A quick glance at the Dursleys told him three things. One, they hadn't finished eating yet, so he still had some time before he would have to clean up the dining and kitchen area. Two, Uncle Vernon was still furious, but he was waiting until he had Harry alone before he would say or do anything. Three, his relatives were not going to object to him showing Malfoy around, but they would have words to say to him later.
He was looking forward to it. Not.
"Come on, then," he said irritably. "And bring your trunk – your room is upstairs."
Malfoy looked scandalised. "Me? Carry that huge thing? You've got to be kidding!"
Harry gave him a flat look. "I'm not kidding. It's your own fault for bringing so much stuff if it's heavy."
"I won't do it," Malfoy said stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. "Do you think I want to end up looking like you?"
"Wh-" Oh. He'd said he got the black eye and broken nose from tripping while lugging his trunk into the house. "Oh, of course. It'd be embarrassing for you to reveal that you're even more of a klutz than I am, wouldn't it?"
Malfoy glared at him, but the bait had been laid too well. "I'll do it," he said sharply. "Knowing you, my belongings would probably end up strewn and shattered all over the stairs if I let you try."
Harry smirked. "That'd be a cryin' shame."
He led the way out of the kitchen and into the hall, not bothering to look behind to see if Malfoy followed. He could tell from the grunts of effort that the blonde was making very slow progress.
"With any luck the summer will be over by the time you reach the top of the stairs," Harry remarked.
Malfoy let out a pained exclamation and Harry turned to see that he had dropped his trunk on his foot. "How do you stupid Muggles survive without house elves?" Draco spat out as he bent to seize the handle again.
Harry worked to contain a wince and just hoped that Uncle Vernon hadn't heard. "We can't all be useless lumps like you, Malfoy."
From the kitchen, Harry thought he could make out the sound of Aunt Petunia complaining, "He's going to drag scratches all the way down my pristine floors!"
Harry swallowed and quickly moved to grab the opposite handle of the trunk. "Lift on three," he ordered, trying not to think about the fact that he was helping Malfoy of all people. "One. Two. Three."
They hoisted it into the air together, Harry's ribs screaming at the strain. Don't gasp, he instructed his body silently. Don't flinch. Malfoy will notice and he'll laugh. Don't let him notice.
Each inhalation hurt, but Harry forced himself to keep his breathing regular. In and out. In and out. Don't gasp. In and out. Don't flinch. In and out. Don't drop it.
He wasn't sure how exactly, but they made it up the stairs. "Third door down the hall," Harry grunted out.
Malfoy obeyed without question – his face was red and he was breathing heavily. Harry supposed that house elves, levitation charms and playing no other sport aside from Quidditch meant that this was the most physical exertion that Malfoy had ever experienced in his life. It was almost funny.
With immense relief, Harry and Malfoy entered the guest bedroom and were able to set the excessively heavy trunk down at last.
Malfoy didn't thank him for his help, but Harry was concentrating too hard on stopping himself from wrapping his arms tightly around his ribs to notice.
Once he had finally recovered, Malfoy straightened and eyed his surroundings critically.
"Tiny and horribly plain," he declared.
Harry experienced a flash of irritation. The room was twice the size of his own, with far nicer furnishings, and it didn't have bars on the window, locks on the outside of the door or a cat flap. Harry figured that the blonde should count himself lucky.
"Too bad," he said. "You can get comfortable later, but don't take anything overly-" he nearly choked, instinct screaming at him not to say the next word but logic telling him that he couldn't very well say 'freakish' instead, as the Dursleys would prefer "-magical out of your trunk." He scrambled for an acceptable explanation. "This is a Muggle house. The wards will go berserk if you do."
He waited with bated breath, but Malfoy just muttered, "Fine."
Harry relaxed a little. "I'll show you the rest of the house."
Malfoy followed him out into the hallway and as they walked along Harry pointed to each of the different doors. "That one's my cousin's room. The master bedroom, where my Aunt and Uncle sleep. And that one there is the bathroom."
"What about the room at the other end?" Malfoy asked suspiciously.
Harry had hoped he wouldn't notice the omission. So much for that.
"My bedroom," he answered sullenly.
Malfoy's face lit up, and he hurried back down the hall with Harry trailing after him reluctantly. "I've got to see this. The bedroom of the Boy-Who-Lived. Bet you it's covered with all your own newspaper clippings..." He skidded to a stop, confusion overriding everything else for a moment. "Potter, why are there so many locks on your door?"
Harry had seen this question coming. "Extra protection," he said. "Just in case."
Malfoy snorted. "Paranoid, much? And you do know that a wizard could get through them easily with a simple Alohomora, right? Or haven't you learned about that first-year spell yet?"
Harry bristled defensively, even though the locks were there for an entirely different reason. "Yeah I have, but it'd take time for someone to undo each one. The warning and the few extra seconds could make all the difference."
"Right..." Malfoy drawled. His expression indicated that he thought Harry was stupid – but that was nothing new – and not that he didn't believe the explanation. Harry figured it was as much as he could hope for.
"And the cat flap?" Draco continued, looking around at ground level as if expecting to see an animal of some kind wandering around. "Do you have a pet kneazle or something?"
Yeah, right, Harry thought sarcastically. Like Aunt Petunia would ever permit something like a cat or dog to live in her house. Harry was quite close enough in the Dursleys' opinion. "We used to," he said out loud. "But it died."
Malfoy snickered. "You seem to kill everything you touch, don't you, Potter?"
Hatred and anger flared up within him like a towering inferno. His fist almost lashed out to punch that smug grin off Malfoy's face.
But then a flood of grief swept over him, even more powerful than his rage had been. Sirius...
His hand dropped limply to his side.
Malfoy was right and punching him wasn't going to change anything. Sirius was gone. Dead. Just like Cedric. And his parents. What point was there in denying it?
"Yeah," he said dispassionately. "So don't get too close."
Malfoy's lip curled. "Why would I want to, Potter?"
He had a point, there, Harry noted dully, as the blonde twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
"What the hell?" Malfoy mumbled to himself. The sight before him clearly wasn't what he had expected.
Harry tried to see the room from the other boy's perspective, so he could explain away any oddities. The bars on the window, reinstalled shortly before Harry came back from Hogwarts, caught his eyes first. "The bars are an extra safety measure, too," he said. "Trying to blast or cut through them would cause a lot of noise, giving me plenty of warning before the attackers actually got in."
"Paranoid," Malfoy muttered.
"I'm not here much," Harry continued as if he hadn't heard, "so it makes sense for me to have the smallest bedroom. During the school year, they use it as a storage room, too..." He gestured vaguely at the shelves of Dudley's broken toys, and shrugged. "I don't mind. I only really use this room to sleep in."
Malfoy gave a quiet snort of disbelief. "On those?" He pointed in disgust at the ragged and faded bed linen.
Ah. "They're too comfortable to exchange for newer ones," Harry said.
"Right..."
Harry thought he might have heard Malfoy say under his breath, "Crazy Gryffindors," but he couldn't summon the energy to care.
"Seen enough?" he said finally. "You already know where the kitchen and dining room are downstairs, and the lounge room isn't really very difficult to work out. I doubt you'll need to use the laundry. Okay?"
"That was a pathetic tour, Potter," Malfoy said, but he exited Harry's room and returned to his own, which had been the desired result. Harry hoped that he would stay there, at least for a while.
In the meantime, Harry had to go downstairs and face Uncle Vernon.
A part of him was tempted to drag his feet, taking as long as possible to return to the kitchen. He knew, however, that with every minute that passed his uncle's anger would only increase and with it the level of pain Harry was likely to be in once Vernon was finished with him. He decided not to delay any more than he already had.
He entered the dining room to discover that the Dursleys had long since finished eating and Dudley had moved to the lounge room to watch his favourite television program. His aunt and uncle were still sitting at the table, but when Aunt Petunia caught sight of him in the doorway she pursed her lips, glanced sideways at her husband and quietly withdrew.
Harry watched her leave, wondering if he should be feeling some sense of betrayal. Uncle Vernon was never as aggressive towards him when she was in the room and she knew it. Maybe she was angry with him, too.
It's not my fault, he wanted to say. I didn't ask for this to happen.
But what point was there in arguing? To the Dursleys, anything unusual, unexpected or unpleasant that happened to them was automatically his fault. Especially if it had something to do with magic.
Perhaps, indirectly, he was responsible. After all, if he hadn't survived the same killing curse that had killed his parents he would never have been dumped here to live with them. There would be no protective wards and no reason for wizards, Light or Dark alike, to come anywhere near them. They would be able to live peaceful, normal lives.
Harry's shoulders slumped. His aunt and uncle were probably thinking along the same lines. No wonder they were angry with him. He was nothing but a nuisance and now they were landed with yet another unwanted burden in the form of Draco Malfoy.
He was beginning to realise that he was lucky that Uncle Vernon refrained from killing him. If Harry was dead, all of the Dursleys troubles would be over and the thought had likely occurred to them more than once. Uncle Vernon had to have remarkable self-control. Harry was almost grateful.
"So," Uncle Vernon said. He pushed back his chair – although due to his weight the table moved just as much – and stood up. "So," he repeated. His voice was low and menacing, successfully conveying his anger without letting the sound carry up the stairs. "You called him, did you? Thought that having one of your freak friends here would make us let you off all your chores and stop us from punishing you when you deserve it?"
"He's not my friend," Harry corrected vehemently, insulted by the very idea. Him? Friends with Malfoy? Never in a million years. "In fact, he might even hate me more than you do. Trust me; he'd be delighted to find out about your treatment of me."
Uncle Vernon paused, an odd, calculating look crossing his features. "You don't want him to know?"
Harry gulped and then slowly shook his head, even though he knew that his uncle might very well let it slip to Malfoy now that he knew it was exactly the opposite of what Harry wanted.
For a brief second Uncle Vernon looked thrilled, but the expression vanished so fast that Harry was sure he must have imagined it.
"But he'll get the same," Vernon said. "With another person in the house there will be even more work to be done than before and I expect him to pull his weight around here just like you do. And I won't stand for any funny business from him. If he puts so much as a toe out of line, he'll have to be punished."
"No!" Harry blurted, panicked. Draco would run complaining to Dumbledore the instant Uncle Vernon tried anything, and then Dumbledore would be disappointed in Harry for failing to protect a guest in his house. Even worse, Draco would know the truth and he would tell everyone and Harry would die of humiliation. "I'll take responsibility for him," he offered suddenly, hoping against hope that his uncle would agree.
"You'll do all his chores?" Vernon asked shrewdly. "And you'll make sure he obeys the rules? You'll accept punishment in his place if he doesn't?"
Harry nodded frantically.
"Okay, then. As long as you hold to your word, we'll keep your behaviour issues between us. The other little freak will know nothing of it."
Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't actually expected his uncle to concede and now he couldn't believe his luck. "Thank you!"
Vernon gave a non-committal grunt. "You know you still have punishment coming for this morning," he said.
Harry's spirits dropped, but he wasn't about to complain.
"Breakfast was cold," Uncle Vernon began to list. "One of Dudley's sausages was singed at the ends. You didn't make the coffee. You failed to turn away the freaks at the door before they could invade our home! You allowed one of them to take up residence the room that is supposed to be reserved for real guests, like Marge!"
Harry cast his eyes downwards. "I'm sorry."
"Apologies don't teach anyone anything, Boy," Uncle Vernon snarled, stepping around the table. "You will never learn if you aren't punished and you should be bloody grateful that I take the time and effort to teach you!"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said tonelessly. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon."
"Remove your shirt. Face the wall."
As Harry turned to do as instructed he heard the unmistakable sound of a belt being unbuckled and pulled free.
His heart fluttered with terror, his muscles tensed, every instinct within him told him to run.
He didn't, though. He pulled the over-large shirt over his head and placed it aside, then stepped up to the wall. He braced himself against it with flat palms, and waited.
Don't flinch, he told himself. Don't make a sound. Malfoy mustn't hear. He can't know.
A swish of movement in the air. A sharp crack. A line of fire streaked across his back.
Don't yell out.
Swish. Crack. Agony flared as leather bit into flesh.
Don't make a sound.
The blow was harder than it had ever been before. Uncle Vernon must have taken a page from Dudley's book and worked out, transforming some of his fat into muscle.
You've had worse. Crucio is worse.
The end of the belt licked around his torso, biting into the dark bruising along his ribcage before tearing away.
Don't look at the blood.
The buckle end hit this time, gouging deep.
Don't scream.
The blows fell faster, heavier.
Don't make a sound.
ooOOoo