A/N: I feel awful. I'm sick at the moment and my throat is killing me. And my laptop works against me, just like my kitten. If I missed a typo, please say so. I don't bite ;). And I think I'll make a video with all the Dutch words, etc., so you know how we pronounce it, at the end of this story.
PS: I got my USB back.
Warning: Mentions of violence. And here I tried to make this chapter fluffy *sigh*.
Harry breathed in the soft, sweet smell of all the flowers. He needed to get away from Draco, if only for a few minutes. Draco was suffocating him slowly. Harry growled. It was getting him nowhere. It just would not do to fancy a semi-friend, some one he still didn't know too well. He sighed and kicked away a pebble. When did his life become so complicated?
A week later Harry was watching the rain from his bedroom window. It fit his mood perfectly. Questions were plaguing his mind, for which he had no answers. Answers he so direly needed. But he could wait. Wait and see. Thunder roared in the distance, and lightening lit up the sky. Harry just kept looking outside, tracing the many paths of the lightening with his eyes.
Eventually he was called down for dinner, and so he walked downstairs, his path lit up by the flashes of the lightening. He quickly got down and went into the dining room, the storm nearing too close for his liking. He sat down and frowned. "Where is Draco?" The blond was always seated when they were about to eat.
"He's in the garden. I already called him."
Harry nodded. It wasn't unusual that Draco was in the garden. And Harry knew Draco would keep himself dry with a quickly muttered spell. He filled his plate and chewed on a baked potato part.
Even when they finished dinner, Draco still did not show up. Harry got up from his chair, excused himself, and took the back door outside. The rain was still pouring down, drenching him almost instantly. He could hardly see, since mist tendrils crept through the grass and flowers. He walked forward, wiping his wet hair out of his vision. He could hear nothing over the rain, and wondered if that was the reason Draco didn't come for dinner.
He walked on to where he knew the benches stood, hoping Draco was there. When he arrived he found nothing, and started to shiver. There was one option left, and Harry took a right turn, briskly walking on, until he saw the familiar blond hair. "Draco, why didn't you come inside?"
Draco looked up, shocked to see Harry standing in front of him, soaked to the bone.
"Harry, what are you doing here? It's raining!"
"I noticed," he replied dryly. "But you didn't answer my question: why didn't you come inside? Your mother called for you."
Draco shrugged and stood up, shaking his head at Harry's drenched state, compared to himself, since he was dry. "Harry, come on. We need to take you inside and out of these wet clothes. You could get ill!" he scolded, taking Harry by the arm and took on a brisk pace, dragging Harry with him.
Harry scowled, trying to pry Draco's fingers away. He could walk himself, thank you very much! "Draco, come on, I can walk on my own!"
Draco looked back, seeing Harry's scowling face. "Don't be an idiot. The longer you're outside, the more chance at getting ill!" He barely finished his sentence, or a sneeze made itself known. "So, now get your butt inside and hope you would not get ill, because I'm not about to help you." He pulled him to the left, before walking straight forward, Harry in tow. He opened the back door and pushed Harry inside. He closed the door and tugged at Harry's arm. "Mum, dad," he nodded, before walking to the parlour and up the stairs. He pushed Harry in his room, growling about stupid black haired idiots with green eyes. "Now, get out of those wet clothes."
"Why didn't you bring me to my own room?" Harry asked, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to stay warm.
"Because my room is closer. Now, strip. I'll get dry clothes from your room." Draco walked out, and Harry blushed, putting numb and shaking fingers on his buttons.
In the meanwhile Draco got to Harry's room, pulled out some clothes and walked back. He sighed when he saw that Harry had only unbuttoned one button. "Let me do that," he said, putting Harry's clothes on his bed and moving to Harry himself. He took Harry's shirt and quickly unbuttoned it. He pushed it aside and let it fall to the ground with a wet thump. He strode to his bathroom and got a towel, pulling it over Harry's torso. He moved down to Harry's belt and the button of his trousers, only intend on getting the wet clothes off of Harry.
Harry stepped out of his trousers. "Would you please turn around?" he asked.
Draco rolled his eyes, but did what Harry asked of him. Harry walked to the bed, grabbed his dry boxers, before pulling his wet ones down. He put the new ones on after drying himself, and a shirt and trousers followed soon.
Draco turned back around and saw Harry drying his hair, before he gave the towel back at Draco. "Thank you," he said, before he sneezed again, moving his hand in front of his nose.
Draco shook his head. "Come on, under the covers, you." He gently took Harry by his arm and dragged him over to the bed. He picked up the wet clothes and looked at Harry. "I'll get you some tea."
Harry hoisted up the covers and nodded. "Thank you."
"See if you'll thank me ever again," grumbled Draco with a fond smile, before he shut the door behind him.
"Hoe gaat het met Harry?" asked Narcissa worriedly when Draco walked into the living room, momentarily forgetting about not speaking in their language.
"Ik denk dat hij ziek wordt."* He slowly shook his head, before he repeated himself in English. "I think he might be getting ill."
Narcissa hummed. "Should I make some tea?"
Draco nodded. "It's why I came downstairs. But thank you. Would you please bring it upstairs?"
Narcissa nodded, and Draco dropped Harry's clothes off at the laundry basket. He walked back to his room, opening the door. Harry looked over to him when he heard the door opening. "Mum will bring the tea up in a moment."
Harry nodded, sitting against the headboard.
Draco sat down in a chair near the bed, folding his hands in his lap. "Why did you come outside to find me? I probably would've come inside, sooner rather than later."
Harry sniffled a bit, making Draco's eyes involuntarily soften. "Well," he rubbed at his nose, "because I thought you might be hungry." He coughed and covered his mouth with his arm, making him frown. "It's not like I try to get ill."
Draco shook his head, hiding his smile. A knock was heard. "Come in," Draco said, before the door handle was pushed down. Narcissa walked in, a tray in her hands. "Hello, boys. Draco, here's your tea, just like I know you want it. Harry, I wasn't sure what you wanted in your tea, so I brought some sugar and milk." She smiled at him, putting the tray on the bedside table, before she left, but not before she turned to Draco. "I want you to have something to eat, Draco. When you've finished your tea, come to the dining room and have something to eat. No buts," she said after Draco opened his mouth. He closed it again and Narcissa shut the door behind her.
"It must be nice, to have a mother."
Draco cocked his head to his side. "It is, although she can be a bit too protective and smothering. But that's alright, she's my mother, and I love her." He sipped his tea, and barely held back a wince. It was too hot. He put it on the stand, stirring his tea so the sugar would dissolve. Harry put two spoonfuls of sugar in his tea and stirred it, watching the sugar swirl, before it dissappeared completely.
He took the mug in his hands, warming them. He smelled the aroma from the tea and closed his eyes, smiling slightly. "What kind of tea is this?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't know, but there is some thyme and camomile. I think she added more herbs, but I'm not sure. They're all from our garden."
"It smells wonderful. Does your mother often make tea?"
Draco nodded, taking his own mug in his hands. "She does. It is something to do. Her words, not mine. She loves to experiment with different herbs and flowers. She usually tests it on me or father. I still haven't found one that I dislike," he said, blowing off the steam, taking another sip. He closed his eyes, favouring the taste. "You should try it. It's drinkable now. Not as hot anymore."
Harry cautiously put the mug at his lips, blowing off the steam, until he took a sip. His eyes widened and he smiled. "It's really delicious. I should ask your mum what kind of herbs she used." He took another sip, before he put the mug on the bedside table, a coughing fit leaving him breathless and throat aching. He grimaced, wondering how it could come up this quickly. But it did and he hated it. He let his head fall back and he closed his eyes, trying to breathe in deeply.
"Are you okay?" asked Draco in worry. He rushed forward when another coughing fit hit Harry. He made soothing, circling motions with his hand on Harry's back. Harry put his head in his hands, slumped forward. "Next time you're outside, I won't be the one to get you," Harry said, attempting to smile.
Draco chuckled and moved his hand away from Harry's back. "Come on, finish your tea. I'm sure mum put something in it to make you better. She usually does. But it makes you sick the first day." He finished his own tea, before he stood up. "I'll be downstairs. Mum will have my head otherwise," he said, rolling his eyes. "You can sleep here for the night. I'll sleep in the one next to this one." And with a last small smile he pulled the door shut behind him.
Harry did as he was told and finished his tea. He laid back down, covers hoisted up to his chin, not even bothering to turn out the light. Within minutes he fell asleep, lulled into the comforting darkness.
"Does my tea work?" Narcissa asked her son when he finally came downstairs to eat something.
Draco nodded. "I thought you put something in it. What were the ingredients?"
She smiled. "Thyme, camomile and lemon balm. I don't think I've used that combination before this. Strange, those are rather good herbs for in the tea. And the lemon balm is a lovely plant to work with. But let's get you some dinner, hmm?"
She warmed up the leftovers and filled his plate. "Will you keep an eye on Harry? I don't know how much the tea will affect him. I hope he will feel better tomorrow, or the day after that. It's better then having to suffer for a week, which I think he would." She smiled at him. "Now, eat your dinner, and watch that fabulous mate of yours."
Draco nodded and picked up his fork, slowly eating his dinner, sitting at the table, alone. He looked at the clock and cocked his head to his side. Five to nine already?
When he finished dinner he put his plate on the counter, before he walked to the living room, seeing his parents on the couch together, talking softly. "Good night."
They turned to Draco, Narcissa smiling. "Good night. Make sure that you can hear when something's wrong with Harry."
Draco nodded. "Good night, Draco," Lucius said, nodding.
Draco smiled and walked up the stairs, opening the door to his bedroom. Harry was lying on the bed, fast asleep, a fine sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He walked to the bathroom and got a bowl and a small towel to wipe at Harry's face. He checked Harry's temperature with his hand. Harry had a fever, he concluded, when his rather cool hand touched burning skin. He sat down in his chair, occasionally wiping a lock of sweat-drenched hair out of Harry's face.
Harry thrashed a bit from side to side, making Draco wonder if Harry had a nightmare. It very well could be, with his fever induced high. He just kept wiping at Harry's face, hoping that it would help somewhat, even if it meant staying up all night.
Harry recalled the numerous times of bullying from his cousin, Dudley. The times where his aunt and uncle called his parents worthless, just like he was. Only good for cleaning and making them food. The rest of the time only a bother; a nuisance.
A memory wrenched itself to the forefront of his mind. He wasn't older than four, begging for attention, little hands coming up, tears in the emerald eyes, when he was denied. Instead all he got was a hard shove from his cousin, who smiled nastily at him, even at that young age. The only thing that happened was that tears started to pour down his cheeks, his young mind trying to fathom why he was so unwanted, being so hated.
The next memory was when he was about five and was cooking dinner. Uncle Vernon gave a shove so he could walk behind Harry, making Harry stumble and burn his hands. Tears prickled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Dudley would only pick on him, and they wanted to eat. So with searing hands he got their dinner. That night he ripped off some strips off clothing and wrapped them over his hands. It would have to do.
This time he was seven. He was doing the dishes, the Dursleys were outside, teaching Dudley how to ride a horse. While he was scrubbing, he trained his eyes intently on the picture. He could imagine his parents being like that. Holding him safe so he wouldn't fall, whispering encouraging words in his ear. But he knew he wouldn't have that kind of life.
At the age of nine Harry was smaller than most boys in the village, making him a laughingstock. He tended to avoid them as much as he could. But he still needed to get some things for the Dursleys. So he braved the taunting, the yelling and the occasional shove.
When he was eleven he was trying to fight back. It only landed him in more trouble and a deep cut in his leg. He limped back home, going straight to his room to clean up his wound. It wouldn't do to let the Dursleys notice he had a weakness. It especially wouldn't do to let Dudley know. He cleaned his wound, so it wouldn't infect. He dipped a strip of his shirt in a bowl with water and tied it around his leg. After that he tried to get downstairs without limping.
His fourteenth birthday dawned bright and early. If only he wasn't ill. He coughed, making him see stars. He was rudely awakened. The Dursleys were hungry. So he dragged his body downstairs, barely avoiding falling off of them. It was one of the worst days ever. But thankfully they only let him attend to the horses before he could go to bed.
The first hit had been when he was sixteen. He couldn't remember what for, but he was busy glaring so much that it didn't matter. He just knew he hadn't deserved it. And he was old enough to go against his uncle. Or so he thought. He had only forgotten that he had a cousin who took pleasure in hitting some one. He was unconscious for nearly a day, before he was put back to work, no questions asked, only heated glares, which earned him a hit on the back of his head.
He felt much better when he was seventeen. The hitting happened more often, but in a few short months he would leave. He earned some money by doing some chores in the neighbourhood. He would show them he could take care of himself. He hadn't been doing anything else in the last few years. And then the Dursleys were all alone, needing to do the things they saddled on Harry themselves. It made Harry grin in grim satisfaction. He had a plan. He would leave, no matter what. Maybe even to another country. He just didn't know. He was pushed forward by his cousin, hitting a horse, which kicked him. He woke up after five days, bruising on his chest, breath coming out in short pants.
He shot up, terror in his eyes, before he recognised where he was. He took in deep lungful gulps of air. He noticed a small towel on his lap, and looked to his side. Draco was slumped forward, arms on the bed, a frown on his face. Harry fell backwards again, not daring to close his eyes. Instead he focused on Draco. After all, Draco was the one who got him away. Out of the darkness that now lay behind.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, his throat sore, temperature high. But as he looked at Draco, his breathing calmed, just like his erratic heartbeat. It had all just been a nightmare. He was in Draco's house now, his bed. Safe. It was what he felt when he was around Draco. Safe, like he had never felt before. He moved his trembling hand to Draco's hair and ran it through the soft locks. He closed his eyes and embraced the darkness yet again, this time providing him happier images; happier times.
A/N: I want to thank all of you who review(ed). It makes my day, reading them.
Hoe gaat het met Harry?: How is Harry doing?
Ik denk dat hij ziek wordt: I think he might be getting ill
Con: Sorry if I disappoint. I try my hardest. Keep in mind that it is AU (not that that is an excuse).
