CHAPTER 3
Several days passed in some sort of a silent equilibrium. Aunt Petunia spent most of her time in the hospital with her husband, Harry's communication with Malfoy limited to "Pass the salt, please" and "Tea or coffee". Harry willingly took care of all the house chores, just not to stay with his own thoughts and his unwanted guest. He taught Malfoy how to handle the TV – Aunt generously allowed them to use it, when she heard that the boy had never ever watched a TV in his whole life. Besides house work, Harry concentrated on books he snatched from the school library; a couple of them were even from the Restricted Section. He still had to find out where the Horcruxes might be hidden. Voldemort didn't invade his mind, and he got three days of rather peaceful sleep.
To Harry's surprise, the Slytherin Prince endured his misery stoically and even with some dignity. He also read a lot – Muggle books, to Harry's immense astonishment, which he borrowed from the Dursley's scanty library, politely asking Aunt Petunia when she was in good mood. He tried to avoid speaking to Harry and being in the same room as much as possible, which was rather difficult, taking into account that Aunt Petunia condemned them both to Harry's tiny bedroom, not allowing them to enter Dudley's premises; the living room was also considered Aunt's private space when she was at home. So Harry spent most of his time in the kitchen, leaving his room to Malfoy, and coming up only to bed.
Hedwig graciously glided through the open window and dropped a much awaited envelop onto Harry's knees. The same evening Harry had arrived he'd asked Mr. Weasley to look what might be done about his uncle and his cousin. That must have been the answer.
Dear Harry,
The letter from Mr. Weasley read,
On your request, we examined the state of your relatives very carefully and I'm absolutely positive that there was no magical interference involved to cause their nowadays condition. As for help, we'd gladly transfer your uncle to St. Mungos', if his family agreed to it, and he'd be on his feet in some days, but on the whole he is not that bad and presumably will completely recover in a month or so. As for your cousin, may it sound cruel, but he is better off where he is now, so we mustn't hide him otherwise from you-know-who.
If something else needs to be taken care of, don't hesitate to let us know,
Yours,
Arthur Weasley
P.S. Best regards and warm hugs from Molly
Further in a different, roundish handwriting was added, Dear Harry, do take care! Ginny misses you much.
Harry smiled. It was Molly of course.
So Malfoy indeed had no hand in this, Harry thought somewhat relieved. And that Vernon stayed in hospital and Dudley in jail for the time being suited him just right. Though for a moment he toyed with the idea of moving Vernon Dursley to St. Mungos. The irony made him chuckle out loud. Probably when his uncle would come to senses, he'd just get another stroke. Anyway, he shared the proposal with his Aunt, which she declined with the same motivation.
It was Thursday evening – Harry took count of every passing day, eagerly awaiting his 17th birthday. They were preparing to sleep, Harry on his bed with the book, Draco on the floor, spreading out the old mattress which the Aunt dug up in the cupboard under the stairs.
"Potter," suddenly started Draco. Harry propped his head on his elbow to listen intently. He wouldn't mind a talk. Or a row, for a change. He was getting tired of almost absolute silence enveloping him; it was starting to drive him mad.
"I was thinking... maybe... you'll let me sleep in your bed. Once in a while. It's hospitality, you know..."
"Let you sleep in my bed?" Harry choked. "What are you hinting at?"
"What?" Malfoy didn't understand. "Oh! No, no, no! You got me wrong! I just meant... You let me sleep in your bed, while you sleep on the floor."
Harry laughed. He laughed long and heartily. "Listen Malfoy, I call it impudence. But it's only Slytherin. Give you an inch and you'll take it all."
Malfoy huffed.
"I thought we agreed on terms," continued Harry.
"You might be still a bit more welcoming. You know, I'm here not on my own will." retorted the blond gloomily, settling down on his mattress and turning his back on Harry.
Harry bit back the reply, feeling somehow guilty. Probably he'd been too harsh with the Slytherin. He didn't have it easy. Father in prison, mother... What happened to his poor mother? Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Voldemort had killed her. Inwardly, he shuddered at the thought.
"Narcissa! Where did that reprobate of yours go! ANSWER ME!" cold voice raged. "TELL ME!"
"My Lord", another voice, silky and ingratiating, interfered. "Poor woman was abandoned by her treacherous son and her unworthy husband, what can we expect from her? But behold, she remained faithful to you, she stayed here, with you, and didn't follow their disloyal paths."
"You! Tell me again, what happened that night? How came you didn't bring that scum with you? I cannot even sense him!"
"My Lord, to my utmost regret, as I told you, Aurors turned up, and I had to fight them, and in the fight I lost the boy. Probably he'd been killed. I'm ready to take my punishment for this, as I already suggested," the man bowed his head in reverence.
There was a flash of green lighting, people running, shooting curses, shouting, blood spluttered on the floor. But the blond head was nowhere to be seen.
The Lord stopped the umpteenth brain-scanning of his most loyal subordinate and turned his attention towards his hostess, or rather prisoner.
The woman stood, her pale face covered with tears, shaking with terror.
"Narcissa, the men of Malfoy family disappointed me severely. I won't endure if you disappoint me as well."
"I've never had it on my mind, My Lord!" she fell to her knees.
"I want to teach you a lesson, for the future!" Thin hand raised the wand.
"My Lord", the man interfered again, stopping the inevitable Crucio, "another thought occurred to me."
"Yes, Snape, spit out!" spidery hand lowered its wand.
"The woman here is of a very noble ancient pureblood heritage."
"So?"
"You know how rare pure blood of such old ancestry is. Narcissa is young, we could find her an appropriate match – and they will continue the ancient and most noble line of Black family."
Cold high-pitched laugh reverberated through the room.
"Cunning as always, that's my Snape. Fine by me. But I still want to find and punish that miscarriage of a pureblood line! If he is alive, will he dare not to come when I call for him?"
High pitched voice drifted away, replaced by mournful "Potter! Potter! Wake up! Wake the hell up!"
Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy kneeling at the bed-side. Even without glasses, Harry could see infinite terror in his now dark eyes.
"He is calling for me!" stuttered Malfoy and sobbed.
"What?" Harry didn't want to inform Malfoy about his own connection with Voldemort. For himself, Harry noted, that Malfoy's location was indeed hidden from Voldemort, so he couldn't had sent the boy here. On the other hand, Snape might have plans on his own, he is cunning indeed. He wanted to dwell longer on Snape, but Malfoy urged him, "Potter, do you understand, he IS CALLING FOR ME!"
"Yes, that's because he can't find you. You disappeared from him, so he calls for you."
"What if he knows where I am?"
"Malfoy, if he knew, he'd be right there. Don't be stupid, this place just doesn't exist for Voldemort."
Malfoy winced at the name.
"It burns," whined he. "It burns immensely. It's worse then when I got it."
"He is very angry." Harry knew it didn't sound consoling at all, but couldn't think of something better to say.
"Potter! Do something! Please!"
"Here," the dark-haired boy tugged him on arm and heaved onto the bed. Draco immediately drew his knees to his chin, and embraced them. Sitting like this he looked like a scared child.
"Look," Malfoy stuck out his left forearm. Harry nearly shuddered from repulsion. The ugly mark seemed to be alive, stirring, twisting, shimmering like a parasite upon the white skin. It felt all too wrong.
"Feel it, it burns so much!" lamented Draco.
Harry tentatively brushed it with fingertips. The skin under his touch actually burnt. Malfoy flinched, surprised, and looked into the other boy's eyes:
"Harry! Your hand is so cool, please…."
"Wait, I can bring ice from fridge." Harry jumped off the bed.
"No!" exclaimed Draco hastily, catching him by the wrist. "Please don't leave me alone!"
Harry nodded, took his blanket, seated himself next to Malfoy, and drew the blanket over them both. Then he put his palm over the marred skin. It felt disgusting, not only was it scorching hot, it really stirred. Harry's first impulse was to pull back, but Draco placed his fingers on his wrist and pleaded, "Don't. It feels much better like this." Harry didn't say a thing.
After a while Draco asked in a meek tone, "How long it is going to last?"
"I don't know. He usually looses interest in things too quickly. If it doesn't concern me," Harry smiled sadly.
"Harry," now Harry realised that the blond called him by the first name. Second time already.
"Do kill him, will you? Promise me that you will. Or I have nothing to live for."
"I cannot promise you, Draco." The name sounded very alien on his tongue, but he gave it a try. "You know, I'm just a teen wizard, like you."
"Potter! Don't you dare! Don't you dare to think like this! If not you, then nobody! Then we all are doomed!"
Harry smiled. "Malfoy, I'm flattered, really!"
"Potter, if you win, I dunno what I'll do! I'll... I'll just kiss you all over!"
"Than I better not!" snorted Harry, wondering whether Malfoy is always like this in private or it is just the shock at the sudden assault of his former master.
"Do you think I'm that poor of a kisser?" scowled the Slytherin offended.
Harry shrugged. He found the conversation too bizarre to go into it.
"I'll give you a preview!" Malfoy' eyes glittered wickedly.
Harry didn't even finish thinking 'If it takes you off your suffering – feel free to', when Malfoy swiftly closed the distance between them.
Harry froze. No one had kissed him like this before. Not that he had kissed much. But that felt definitely different from his rare make-out sessions with Ginny, not to mention his awkward kiss with Cho. It was – tender? No, not quite right. As if Malfoy was trying to show his gratitude to him. Not sexual, not sensuous, and definitely not wet, but very delicate and tentative. And promising. It ended before Harry even started to consider how he should react to this.
"Ouch!" the blond boy recoiled, gripped his arm tightly, tears shimmering in his eyes. "It's gotten worse! Potter, hold it, please, it really helps!"
Obediently, Harry took the marred arm in his hand, and snaked his own arm over the boy's shoulder for comfort. Malfoy clang to him, rare tears falling to Harry's shoulder, too exhausted to whine.
'I'm cuddling with Malfoy. In the middle of the night. On my bed. Only think of it!' "And he kissed you!" a small voice inside Harry's head added. 'Yes. But he was under effect of Voldemort's torture. It's war.' With this thoughts Harry slumbered off, still lulling Malfoy's agonizing limb.
When Harry woke up in the morning, Malfoy was sleeping on his mattress, as if nothing had happened. Harry wondered of he'd dreamt it all, but of course he'd never ask. Probably Malfoy was ashamed of his actions, and Harry decided not to bring it up.