II. BEWILDER

Harry Potter had been sitting on a chair beside his bedroom window for four hours, staring out at the darkening Privet Drive Street with his temple pressed against the cold windowpane. An almost broken clock ticked loudly, showing one minute to eleven.

Gazing around his small and crowded bedroom, Harry sighed in defeat. The letter in his hand that arrived a week ago and which he had read many, many times finally fell onto the cold floor.

The letter which was written by Dumbledore stated that the headmaster himself would come for him to bring him to the Burrow; five days ago as promised. Dumbledore was supposed to visit him five days ago. The sentence kept repeated in Harry's head.

Harry had not packed his belonging. He never did. It just seemed too good to be true that he was going to be rescued from The Dursleys after almost a month of their awful company. Harry had waited with a massive hope that the headmaster or his friends would come and get him. Any of them should have come five days ago. But they didn't.

He should have learnt from countless experiences in his past that no one had ever really rescued him. Adult people always made promises for him but they never fulfill them. He should have learnt from his past to never trust people. But Harry never learnt, because he always believed and never stop hoping that one day, they would fulfill their promises.

Was he even worth their concerns?

And now Harry was tired. Tired of waiting and always hoping good things would come to him. He was tired of trusting people. Inevitably, Harry's heart was broken that night. Warm tears silently escaped from the corners of the fifteen years boy's eyes.

Harry jumped when he heard the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room, his uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the bloody hell is calling at this time of hour?!"

Harry was running down the stairs two at a time. Dumbledore is here! He comes!

However, Harry halted in the middle of the stairs when the person who was standing in the doorway came to his sight.

"Pardon me, Sir, for I've made this uncalled visit at late time. I didn't mean to be impolite, but I seem to have a crucial matter concerning Potter and this cannot wait until a reserve convenient time of day to meet him." Draco Malfoy stood tall with his chin rose, staring at red faced Vernon Dursley.

"Harry?! You must be one of that freaks like him, aren't you?! Do they not teach you manner?!" Vernon spat every word on Malfoy's face and then slammed the door close.

~o~

Draco was bewildered by the man's act. What did he mean by saying that he was unmannered? Didn't he just spoke to the man in polite fashion? Draco was about to knock the door again when he heard the man screamed a rather obscenity words and a moment later Draco heard sound of a heavy object falling followed by a scream Draco recognized very well whom the voice belonged to. Harry Potter.

"What was that?" Draco questioned the event innocently.

If the first time he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw where Potter was residing (seriously, a plain small Muggle common house? This whole time Draco thought Potter lived in a luxury manor, being The Boy Who Lived), his doubt about Potter's residence doubled when that fat muggle called him "freak". Was he visiting the wrong address? Potter lived with a Muggle? With lots of questions in his head, Draco decided to go back to his manor, thinking he might have visited the wrong "Harry Potter".

~o~

Harry opened his eyes and immediately screaming in agony. However, he stopped his scream abruptly, afraid of waking The Dursleys. Glancing at the clock on the wall showing Harry that it was around two in the morning. He tried to move his body from the floor but his fractured left ankle refused to move. It was lucky that he was on the seventh step of the stair when his uncle threw him down the floor. Otherwise, he would have his arms and both legs broken if he stood at the top of the stairs.

Carefully Harry crawled upstairs toward his small bedroom. Once in a while he hissed in pain but held himself not to scream every time his broken ankle bumped the stairs. It wasn't like he wasn't used to pain. He had had it quite a lot before.

With great effort, finally Harry arrived in his bedroom. As soon as he lay on his cold bed, he couldn't hold back his tears anymore. It wasn't a cry of pain –though his whole left leg pained greatly, but he was shedding a broken-heart tears. A lifetime feelings of being betrayed, disappointed and hurt accumulated as one that he couldn't contain it any longer. He was only a boy. He was going to explode.

The silver moonlight was shining through the spaces between the bars on the window, creating lines of natural lighting in the small bedroom.

That night, Harry made up his mind. He would never, ever, believed in everyone anymore.