Hey! Wondering why I didn't write a disclaimer last time? Well, that's
because it's in my bio, gomen ne!!
However, I do need to add a WARNING!! This will eventually get slashy,
yaoi, m/m, whatever you want to call it. Nothing bad right now, nor will
there ever be, for while I dearly love my Fake manga, I do not intend to be
that bold.
Draco had to exercise unbelievable amounts of self discipline to keep that smirk inwards as he let his eyes take in Potter's obvious disbelief. If Draco hadn't known that his fate rested in this Muggle family's hands - yes, indeed, even Potter's hands - his archrival's reaction to the idea that they were about to begin two months living in too close contact would have left the Slytherin wheezing on the floor, despite the fact that Draco himself felt in complete agreement with the horror Potter must have been feeling. Instead, steeling himself for the apocalypse sure to occur when a Malfoy met a Muggle, Draco stepped forward to take Mr. Dursley's pudgy hand, the smile never leaving his face.
"May I introduce myself? Draco Malfoy, aged fifteen years. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Dursley."
Draco was sorely begging to add, *You're the first Muggle I've spoken to in my life, touched in my life.oh, Muggle slime, SLIME!!!*, but he was aiming for charming here. Not to mention that naturally the Dursley's weren't to be let in on Draco's true lineage - the problem mainly existed in convincing Potter to play along.
Despite all these unspoken thoughts flitting through Draco's mind, Uncle Vernon was clearly impressed by the blonde's obviously exemplary upbringing, something about the boy that sang of years surrounded by only the best of society, but the impression was cut back by.other matters at hand. He shook his live-in student's hand, but that live-in student could tell that the man wasn't really into the formality - he would much rather have been using that hand to count the money clutched tight in his other fist.
Well, what was an ignored Slytherin to do? Annoyed at Vernon's lack of interest, Draco settled on another course of action, one that was quite natural to him: Piss the Muggle off. He let his gaze fall on the very alarmed Harry.
"And.is this your son? My new brother.."
Both Harry and Mr. Dursley turned nasty shades of red to rival the Weasley family's famous blush, deep scowls appearing on their faces. Even Snape nudged Draco hard in the ribs for not biting back the comment. Mr. Dursley sputtered a few moments before spitting, "No, he's my orphaned nephew, who works for his board here, and so he'll be glad to do anything for you, Mr. Malfoy, won't you, boy?" This last bit was growled at Harry - a Harry who looked ready to hex the next person who said anything about him being Malfoy's footstool, underage wizard or not. Vernon continued, oblivious.
"As a matter of fact, the boy will bring your belongings up to the very spacious guestroom just waiting for you, my dear Mr. Malfoy, right away."
"Well, that settles it! I'll just wrap this up with you, Vernon, and the boys can go to the spare room," Snape said happily in voice that didn't suit him.
Draco, sidestepping, pointed out to Harry his now enlarged trunk sitting in the middle of the walk. Not daring to look Potter in the face and risk laughing, risk ruining the whole plan, Draco pushed past Potter and stepped into his first Muggle home.
Slowly, he wandered into what reminded him of a parlor, but.it wasn't elegant and breathtaking like any of the ones at the Manor into which his mother always showed guests. Unmoving pictures of a boy who looked nearly as big as that oaf gamekeeper covered the walls and the unimpressive mantle of the pitifully boarded-up fireplace. He felt a look of utter disgust creeping up on his face - no wonder Potter hadn't any proper wizarding pride; and if this was how Potter lived, Draco's opinion of the Weasleys' shared one room just fell a few notches further.
Feeling eyes on the back of his head, he whipped around to see two people staring at him: one was obviously Potter's aunt, blonde and giraffe-necked; and the other was quite plainly that big.thing.from the photographs. *Is it humanly possible for a Muggle to get that big?* Forcing himself to smile rather than sneer was almost as hard a task as smiling at Potter and his uncle had been, but Draco managed to painstakingly relax muscles and make it believable.
Luckily, heavy thuds and scrapings behind him told the Slytherin that his beautiful, precious, heirloom trunks was being dragged unceremoniously into the house, and he had no reason to smile anymore. Silver eyes flashing, he turned to berate Potter for being his usual careless self, but Potter was already heaving the trunk up the stairs with alarming thuds, fast disappearing as he pulled with amazing strength for one of the tinier now- fifth-year boys. An imperceptible nod from Snape, who was discussing Draco's welfare in undertones with Uncle Vernon, told Draco to follow the Gryffindor. Draco returned the nod, a sign of agreement and farewell. This may seem harsh, but despite the bond between the teacher and his favorite student, that nod was all they needed - the most affection they'd ever needed, had been taught to need.
Draco gracefully mounted the stairs, not sweeping, gorgeous stone spirals like those of the Manor. Easily following the thunks of his trunk as he reached the landing, he found himself in the open doorway of a plain room in time to witness Potter carelessly drop the end of his enemy's trunk on the floor, before Harry rounded on his 'new brother'.
"What the *hell* are you doing here??!!" he hissed through gritted teeth. Draco briefly wondered why no one had realized before second year that the last Potter could talk to snakes, as his voice took on a serpentine quality when angered. Amused, Draco let the natural smirk show at last. For some reason, the sight of the silver-eyed boy's quirked lips had a calming effect on Harry - as if Draco's open display of lack of hostility toward the Muggles was leaving Harry wanting to scream, *"Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy??"*
Draco instead whispered, "Dear, dear, Potter, that mouth of yours is going to get both of us into serious trouble this summer, I fear. Your ears aren't much better, obviously. I do recall you having opened the door, surely you heard what Professor Snape said? I'm a live-in student for the next two months." Draco's eyes narrowed, giving Potter a withering look. "So get used to it. Now leave, I have to unpack."
Judging by Harry's expression, he was fuming. Draco could practically see the steam pouring out of Harry's ears, as if the raven-haired teenager had just been force-fed a huge mouthful of Madam Pomfrey Pepper-up Potion. And those dark circles under Potter's eyes, slightly magnified by his glasses, didn't do him any favors. For a moment, Draco actually entertained the question of just why Potter had those rings, but when he opened his mouth to voice the opinion that Harry really looked the part of a servant, he was interrupted by a shout up the stairs -
"BOY!! The carpet isn't finished!!"
With a glare of snakelike venom emanating from his emerald orbs, Harry stalked past Draco and out the door. At the threshold, he paused, turned, and said, "Stay out of my way, *Malfoy*."
**
As Harry's retreating footsteps faded away, enhanced by a loud creak as he hit the bottom step, Draco sighed, quietly shutting the door and applying himself to examining his trunk, only to be relieved that no scrape marks or dents existed. He pulled the chain on which dangled the trunk's key out from under his sweater, and bent down, stiffly, to unlock his only linked to civilized life. On top now lay his Nimbus 2001, still shining with the polish he had carefully applied a few days before school ended. A few days before his life had come crashing down on him. A few days before he was stuck in a Muggle home with no one but a Mudblood lover for company. Resisting the overwhelming memories of the night he'd returned from Hogwarts, just last night, he picked up the broomstick and let it go. It floated gently in midair, ready for him to mount it. Draco had to admit, he was lucky - imagine if *he'd* hurt Draco so badly that he would never be able to play Quidditch again, never have another chance to ruin Potter's nearly perfect record.
Scowling at the thought of his enemies, both Dark Lords and Mudblood lovers alike, the Slytherin grabbed the Nimbus and laid it carefully on the bed before pulling out the armfuls of robes and assorted clothes, placing them in the drawers of the bureau, all green, black, and silver, the traditional Malfoy colors. Next came schools books, which would look quite out of place should one of the Dursleys invade his private spaces; thus, these too were shoved in drawers. When the last book had disappeared from within the massive trunk, Draco lovingly rested his Nimbus 2001 on top of his cauldron and lunascope before closing the lid at last and turning the lock.
Slipping the chain back under his sweater, he himself slipped out the door and down to the main room, as his stomach was begging for whatever meager meal these Muggles could provide. Meandering into the living room, or parlor, as he thought of it, Draco didn't notice the leg sticking out from behind an armchair until it sent him sprawling ungainly to the floor. Pushing himself up from the still damp carpet and rubbing his smarting nose, Draco's eyes located the culprit, one still scrubbing the floor by hand and snickering to himself.
"Toldja to stay out of my way, Malfoy, especially when I'm cleaning, cooking, repairing the house, taking care of the lawn, washing clothes.oh, wait, that's all I ever do, isn't it? In that case, it means that you stay away *all the time*. Obviously, I don't need a bludger to break your stuck- up nose."
*So Potter wants to play dirty*. Two can do this. A noise from within the dining room startled Draco - someone reading a newspaper. Game. Match. Set. "You say you cook, Potter." he whispered. Harry looked up, disbelieving and ready to kill, not only Malfoy, but himself for his slip. Draco put on a whiny tone he'd learned from Pansy Parkinson, and in a raised voice said, "Oh, am I ever so hungry! All that traveling, you know." A high-pitched shriek rent the house. "Boy, make him lunch!! And don't you dare let it burn!"
Draco sniggered into his hand - manipulator was his middle name. Harry refused to look at Draco as he quickly stood up, abandoning his rag and bucket, and stomped into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia came into the living room as the last wisp of the Gryffindor's flyaway hair disappeared around the wall. *Might as well wait.* Draco lowered himself gingerly into the very armchair which Harry had been hiding behind (as Draco convinced himself - childish was a synonym for anyone who spent time with the Weasel) while Aunt Petunia smiled her usual misty smile at him and began to engage her guest and now second son in conversation.
"Such a handsome young man! Where do you go to school? You must have attended an excellent school to have produced such a cultured gentleman!"
A buzzing filled Draco's ears. *Bloody hell!!* Snape hadn't told him what to do in the event this happened!! The plan to get Draco to safety had been so rushed.and besides, these people were Muggles!! They were supposed to be thick!! Thinking quickly, he replied, "France.I go to school in France." A loud snort came from the general direction of the kitchen, but the silence after it was covered up by the banging of various cooking utensils.
The woman in front of Draco didn't seem to have noticed her nephew's sarcasm, but rather was quite pleased with her guest's background. She began to gossip happily about all the wonderful places she'd traveled to in France - Paris, Chatres, the Loire Valley..Draco tuned her out completely, instead waiting for Potter to call out that lunch was ready. The blonde boy hadn't ingested anything since the Dreamless Sleep Potion around five thirty that morning - Snape, well versed in the art of Potions, knew that should Draco consume anything too soon, it would have disastrous effects on the numerous other healing spells on Draco, making him even weaker than he already was. And once again, Draco's thoughts returned to just *why* he was weak, in pain, in his nemesis' house.
"It's ready."
Harry's voice, trembling with ill-suppressed anger, rang out and snapped Draco from his disturbing reverie. Potter was glowering from the dining room, holding a tray bearing a stack of grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. Draco could smell the still sizzling butter, the melting cheese.so this was a meal for Muggles?
Harry set the tray on the table and stalked away, returning to the kitchen, most likely to clean. Aunt Petunia (*Horse-face*, as Draco thought of her) shooed her guest into the dining room, where he got a view of Harry's backside as he stood at the sink scouring the griddle. At the kitchen table sat the Whale, shoving handfuls of carrot sticks into his mouth with practiced precision as he kept his eyes glued on a box from which noise was coming. *Wait.black thing.noise.black thing, noise.is that a.a.television?* He'd only seen them in books, but he feigned disinterest. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
The scent of his lunch (or breakfast) diverted Draco's attention, and so he concentrated on the sandwiches. Picking one up, Draco had to marvel at Harry's ability - it didn't smush in his hands, but it didn't feel crunchy, nor were there any scorch marks. He raised it slowly to his mouth and bit in, savoring the way the cheese just oozed into his mouth..
So Potter could cook as well as a house-elf. Ammunition and blackmail were always good.
**
He told himself that it was those big red numbers that were keeping him awake. He assumed it was a clock, but it made no ticking noise to lull him to sleep(nor to drown out the thunderous snores coming from the Land- Whale's room), had no hands moving around in rhythm. Just big red glowing numbers, currently reading 1:04 with a dot next to the light saying 'AM'.
Was it really only twenty four hours ago? Those hands, those eyes, that curse..And that whimpering!!! If Potter didn't shut up and stop that creaking noise, he'd find himself on the wrong end of Draco's wand *very* soon! But then.*What the--? Whimpering?*
Curious, Draco slid out of bed and out into the hall, feeling his way in the dark to Potter's door. Although he hadn't been in there yet, he knew which one it was, even in the gloom, it being the one with all the locks on it and a cat flap on the bottom. Cautiously, he pushed the door open, and inhaled sharply at the scene which greeted his eyes.
Harry was doing far more than whimpering, rather thrashing around in his cot, covers thrown off as he twisted and writhed in obvious pain, hands clutching his head and face. Draco had heard of Potter's freak convulsions, but he'd never seen them, nor knew what caused them. Without thinking, the Slytherin crossed to Harry's bed as quickly as he could without making too much shuffling noise that might alert the Dursleys, though how they could be sleeping through this Draco had no idea. However, once he reached Potter's side, Draco found himself at a complete loss of what to do, and his panic only doubled when he saw exactly why Harry was whimpering - the blood flowed down his chin in a steady stream from the point at which Harry's teeth were digging into his lip.
*Damn!! How do you solve a problem like a berserk Boy-Who-Won't-Frickin'- Die?!*
His hesitation cost him, as said Boy twisted himself right out of bed and onto the floor with a smack that was sure to have woken the Dursleys. Swallowing a groan, Draco knelt down, intent on waking Potter up - but then again, didn't they always say never to wake a sleepwalker? Well, upon hurried reflection, Harry wasn't exactly in any position to be walking. Draco leaned over his archrival and grasped his hands, trying to wrench them from Harry's abused face. Naturally, Harry's instinct revved in - he was being attacked, and his body's reaction became painfully clear to Draco when one of the Gryffindor's legs connected with Draco's still wounded back. Harry's 'attacker' drew back sharply, and with him came one of Harry's hands, revealing why Harry had been clutching his head.
The infamous scar was pulsing there, an angry, throbbing red. *So that's what curse scars do.* Draco stared almost pityingly at Potter. *And the Daily Prophet said that it was just a plea for attention*, he thought, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face.
For some reason, Draco hadn't released Harry's hand, yet this fact had not yet dawned on either boy consciously. Had Draco realized, he would have felt repulsion, for in his utter loss of action, he caressed the work-worn hand exactly the way his mother had done to Draco's hand in his youth when he'd had a nightmare. That always calmed the youngest of the Malfoy clan down, and it had the same effect on Potter. The convulsions slowed, becoming less aggressive, the whimpering quieted; the bleary eyes opened, and emerald connected with silver, recognition flashing only slowly. Silver lost the battle, and lowered its gaze, withdrawing the hand. Emerald too looked away, and Harry's pained voice broke the silence.
"They're looking for you."
**
Draco had not left Harry's room, rather spending the night wide awake lying on the floor under a thin blanket stolen from Harry's bed, as well as a pillow. Neither had spoken since Harry's vision and his announcement, despite the fact that they both knew the other was awake. Draco kept repeating Harry's words in his mind, fighting to keep that mass in his stomach where it belonged. No matter how safe Dumbledore thought that this Muggle home was, he could not have reckoned with Voldemort's power, power Draco had experienced for himself. And if they were looking for him, nothing would deter He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - it would only be a matter of time before he came knocking politely on the Dursley's door. Lucius' words drifted out of time back to him.how they'd punish Draco.
Harry called him back to reality, whispering in a hoarse voice.
"I'm cold. Either give me back my blanket or get up and shut the window."
"I'm sleeping on a wood floor. Either get me a decent bed or shut your mouth."
"There's a bed in your room, Malfoy, go use it."
"No way in hell am I spending the night alone - if the Dark Lord finds me, I'm making sure he takes you along for the ride."
"I don't think you have to fret about that." Harry paused, feeling hesitant. Dare he ask Malfoy? Well, Harry usually left everything to impulse, so why not this? And so, he voiced the knottiest question.
"Why are they looking for you anyway?"
Draco let out a derisive laugh before replying, "Think I'd give you the pleasure of knowing? It would only make your head swell with more hope than can be afforded to be sucked out of the wizarding world now. Hope for the side of the Light, for which, I must say, there isn't any."
"You're forgetting Dumbledore," Harry reminded him sulkily. Draco tore into a furious tirade at this.
"You actually think - *you* of all people - think that Dumbledore is invincible? Potter, we've been at Hogwarts four years now, and every year Voldemort has managed to deceive even the best! Must I really remind you?" Without waiting for Harry's "yes, by all means, go on", Draco continued. "In our first year, Voldemort had the audacity to be living in the bloody castle! So you managed to save the Philosopher's Stone, lucky chance. Next year, the Weaslette falls under a trance via Voldemort's bewitched diary-"
"Thanks to your father," Harry interjected.
"-and starts attacking Mudbloods. So you killed the basilisk, got lucky again. Third year, you've got a mass murdered on your ass, but you still managed to sneak into Hogsmeade AND get away unpunished.all the same, that mass murderer breaks into the castle at least twice, and almost kills your faithful little sidekick!! And then just last year, our," Draco shuddered, "DADA teacher turns out to be a Death Eater!! Voldemort managed to snatch you right out from under your precious headmaster's crooked nose!! And thanks to Dumbledore's shortsightedness, which his glasses aren't helping, we've got a deranged Dark Wizard running amok. How safe do you really think Hogwarts is? How safe do you think it will be?!"
Harry's only response was, "He is innocent."
"Hell, yes, Dumbledore is innocent and naive and worthless and-"
"Sirius Black."
Draco sobered slightly. "I know. Pettigrew - what did Voldemort call him? Wormtail? - I've seen him, seen how alive he really is." Draco trailed off, shivering. "Potter, I'm cold."
"Demanding, aren't we?" The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, and Draco sat up before creaking springs revealed that Harry was moving over, making room for two small boys to fit into on twin bed. "Get up here, and bring the blanket. And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll do exactly what I did to my cousin Dudley-"
Draco snorted, "Whale. How did he get so huge if all your aunt feeds us is carrot sticks?"
"- and set a boa constrictor on you."
"You're really not good at threats, are you? I myself do have a reputation to uphold, and I'm not about to go telling anyone that I shared a bed with a Mudblood lover. Besides, if I hadn't summoned that snake in second year, you'd never have had any real idea that you could talk to them anyway." With that, Malfoy cimbed into the small bed and threw the blanket on top of himself and his nemesis. Harry smirked uncharacteristically and made more room for Malfoy to get comfortable in, before adding, "I thought I told you to shut the window."
"You told me to give back the blanket OR close the window. Can't have everything in life, Potter," he argued.
"Coming from you, Malfoy-"
Draco stiffened. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a perfect life, not like you and the rest of the Golden Trio. If I did, I most certainly wouldn't be here, which I'd rather not be." His voice dripped with enough sarcasm to power an Oakshaft 79 for a few hours. "You take too much for granted, Potter, did you know that?"
Draco rolled over so that his back was to Harry. The boys lapsed into silence as Draco drifted into sleep, but it was some time before Harry followed suit, having good reason for not wanting to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
All right, this is actually a repost. I had my first review, and the main thing that came up was that the format on her computer was screwed up. So, I took everything down, and am now trying to reupload it. Please remember I'm using a Japanese computer, and everything looks fine on my end, but if you have problems, TELL ME!! Right now, I'm more concerned as to whether or not the story is legible, but it's an added bonus if you like it. Actually, it's a lie when I say everything looks fine on my line -- quite often, when I read here in Japan, letters on the pages turn into kanji. Weeeeiiiiirrrrd..........
Anyways, keep reading, keep writing, bai bai!!
Draco had to exercise unbelievable amounts of self discipline to keep that smirk inwards as he let his eyes take in Potter's obvious disbelief. If Draco hadn't known that his fate rested in this Muggle family's hands - yes, indeed, even Potter's hands - his archrival's reaction to the idea that they were about to begin two months living in too close contact would have left the Slytherin wheezing on the floor, despite the fact that Draco himself felt in complete agreement with the horror Potter must have been feeling. Instead, steeling himself for the apocalypse sure to occur when a Malfoy met a Muggle, Draco stepped forward to take Mr. Dursley's pudgy hand, the smile never leaving his face.
"May I introduce myself? Draco Malfoy, aged fifteen years. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Dursley."
Draco was sorely begging to add, *You're the first Muggle I've spoken to in my life, touched in my life.oh, Muggle slime, SLIME!!!*, but he was aiming for charming here. Not to mention that naturally the Dursley's weren't to be let in on Draco's true lineage - the problem mainly existed in convincing Potter to play along.
Despite all these unspoken thoughts flitting through Draco's mind, Uncle Vernon was clearly impressed by the blonde's obviously exemplary upbringing, something about the boy that sang of years surrounded by only the best of society, but the impression was cut back by.other matters at hand. He shook his live-in student's hand, but that live-in student could tell that the man wasn't really into the formality - he would much rather have been using that hand to count the money clutched tight in his other fist.
Well, what was an ignored Slytherin to do? Annoyed at Vernon's lack of interest, Draco settled on another course of action, one that was quite natural to him: Piss the Muggle off. He let his gaze fall on the very alarmed Harry.
"And.is this your son? My new brother.."
Both Harry and Mr. Dursley turned nasty shades of red to rival the Weasley family's famous blush, deep scowls appearing on their faces. Even Snape nudged Draco hard in the ribs for not biting back the comment. Mr. Dursley sputtered a few moments before spitting, "No, he's my orphaned nephew, who works for his board here, and so he'll be glad to do anything for you, Mr. Malfoy, won't you, boy?" This last bit was growled at Harry - a Harry who looked ready to hex the next person who said anything about him being Malfoy's footstool, underage wizard or not. Vernon continued, oblivious.
"As a matter of fact, the boy will bring your belongings up to the very spacious guestroom just waiting for you, my dear Mr. Malfoy, right away."
"Well, that settles it! I'll just wrap this up with you, Vernon, and the boys can go to the spare room," Snape said happily in voice that didn't suit him.
Draco, sidestepping, pointed out to Harry his now enlarged trunk sitting in the middle of the walk. Not daring to look Potter in the face and risk laughing, risk ruining the whole plan, Draco pushed past Potter and stepped into his first Muggle home.
Slowly, he wandered into what reminded him of a parlor, but.it wasn't elegant and breathtaking like any of the ones at the Manor into which his mother always showed guests. Unmoving pictures of a boy who looked nearly as big as that oaf gamekeeper covered the walls and the unimpressive mantle of the pitifully boarded-up fireplace. He felt a look of utter disgust creeping up on his face - no wonder Potter hadn't any proper wizarding pride; and if this was how Potter lived, Draco's opinion of the Weasleys' shared one room just fell a few notches further.
Feeling eyes on the back of his head, he whipped around to see two people staring at him: one was obviously Potter's aunt, blonde and giraffe-necked; and the other was quite plainly that big.thing.from the photographs. *Is it humanly possible for a Muggle to get that big?* Forcing himself to smile rather than sneer was almost as hard a task as smiling at Potter and his uncle had been, but Draco managed to painstakingly relax muscles and make it believable.
Luckily, heavy thuds and scrapings behind him told the Slytherin that his beautiful, precious, heirloom trunks was being dragged unceremoniously into the house, and he had no reason to smile anymore. Silver eyes flashing, he turned to berate Potter for being his usual careless self, but Potter was already heaving the trunk up the stairs with alarming thuds, fast disappearing as he pulled with amazing strength for one of the tinier now- fifth-year boys. An imperceptible nod from Snape, who was discussing Draco's welfare in undertones with Uncle Vernon, told Draco to follow the Gryffindor. Draco returned the nod, a sign of agreement and farewell. This may seem harsh, but despite the bond between the teacher and his favorite student, that nod was all they needed - the most affection they'd ever needed, had been taught to need.
Draco gracefully mounted the stairs, not sweeping, gorgeous stone spirals like those of the Manor. Easily following the thunks of his trunk as he reached the landing, he found himself in the open doorway of a plain room in time to witness Potter carelessly drop the end of his enemy's trunk on the floor, before Harry rounded on his 'new brother'.
"What the *hell* are you doing here??!!" he hissed through gritted teeth. Draco briefly wondered why no one had realized before second year that the last Potter could talk to snakes, as his voice took on a serpentine quality when angered. Amused, Draco let the natural smirk show at last. For some reason, the sight of the silver-eyed boy's quirked lips had a calming effect on Harry - as if Draco's open display of lack of hostility toward the Muggles was leaving Harry wanting to scream, *"Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy??"*
Draco instead whispered, "Dear, dear, Potter, that mouth of yours is going to get both of us into serious trouble this summer, I fear. Your ears aren't much better, obviously. I do recall you having opened the door, surely you heard what Professor Snape said? I'm a live-in student for the next two months." Draco's eyes narrowed, giving Potter a withering look. "So get used to it. Now leave, I have to unpack."
Judging by Harry's expression, he was fuming. Draco could practically see the steam pouring out of Harry's ears, as if the raven-haired teenager had just been force-fed a huge mouthful of Madam Pomfrey Pepper-up Potion. And those dark circles under Potter's eyes, slightly magnified by his glasses, didn't do him any favors. For a moment, Draco actually entertained the question of just why Potter had those rings, but when he opened his mouth to voice the opinion that Harry really looked the part of a servant, he was interrupted by a shout up the stairs -
"BOY!! The carpet isn't finished!!"
With a glare of snakelike venom emanating from his emerald orbs, Harry stalked past Draco and out the door. At the threshold, he paused, turned, and said, "Stay out of my way, *Malfoy*."
**
As Harry's retreating footsteps faded away, enhanced by a loud creak as he hit the bottom step, Draco sighed, quietly shutting the door and applying himself to examining his trunk, only to be relieved that no scrape marks or dents existed. He pulled the chain on which dangled the trunk's key out from under his sweater, and bent down, stiffly, to unlock his only linked to civilized life. On top now lay his Nimbus 2001, still shining with the polish he had carefully applied a few days before school ended. A few days before his life had come crashing down on him. A few days before he was stuck in a Muggle home with no one but a Mudblood lover for company. Resisting the overwhelming memories of the night he'd returned from Hogwarts, just last night, he picked up the broomstick and let it go. It floated gently in midair, ready for him to mount it. Draco had to admit, he was lucky - imagine if *he'd* hurt Draco so badly that he would never be able to play Quidditch again, never have another chance to ruin Potter's nearly perfect record.
Scowling at the thought of his enemies, both Dark Lords and Mudblood lovers alike, the Slytherin grabbed the Nimbus and laid it carefully on the bed before pulling out the armfuls of robes and assorted clothes, placing them in the drawers of the bureau, all green, black, and silver, the traditional Malfoy colors. Next came schools books, which would look quite out of place should one of the Dursleys invade his private spaces; thus, these too were shoved in drawers. When the last book had disappeared from within the massive trunk, Draco lovingly rested his Nimbus 2001 on top of his cauldron and lunascope before closing the lid at last and turning the lock.
Slipping the chain back under his sweater, he himself slipped out the door and down to the main room, as his stomach was begging for whatever meager meal these Muggles could provide. Meandering into the living room, or parlor, as he thought of it, Draco didn't notice the leg sticking out from behind an armchair until it sent him sprawling ungainly to the floor. Pushing himself up from the still damp carpet and rubbing his smarting nose, Draco's eyes located the culprit, one still scrubbing the floor by hand and snickering to himself.
"Toldja to stay out of my way, Malfoy, especially when I'm cleaning, cooking, repairing the house, taking care of the lawn, washing clothes.oh, wait, that's all I ever do, isn't it? In that case, it means that you stay away *all the time*. Obviously, I don't need a bludger to break your stuck- up nose."
*So Potter wants to play dirty*. Two can do this. A noise from within the dining room startled Draco - someone reading a newspaper. Game. Match. Set. "You say you cook, Potter." he whispered. Harry looked up, disbelieving and ready to kill, not only Malfoy, but himself for his slip. Draco put on a whiny tone he'd learned from Pansy Parkinson, and in a raised voice said, "Oh, am I ever so hungry! All that traveling, you know." A high-pitched shriek rent the house. "Boy, make him lunch!! And don't you dare let it burn!"
Draco sniggered into his hand - manipulator was his middle name. Harry refused to look at Draco as he quickly stood up, abandoning his rag and bucket, and stomped into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia came into the living room as the last wisp of the Gryffindor's flyaway hair disappeared around the wall. *Might as well wait.* Draco lowered himself gingerly into the very armchair which Harry had been hiding behind (as Draco convinced himself - childish was a synonym for anyone who spent time with the Weasel) while Aunt Petunia smiled her usual misty smile at him and began to engage her guest and now second son in conversation.
"Such a handsome young man! Where do you go to school? You must have attended an excellent school to have produced such a cultured gentleman!"
A buzzing filled Draco's ears. *Bloody hell!!* Snape hadn't told him what to do in the event this happened!! The plan to get Draco to safety had been so rushed.and besides, these people were Muggles!! They were supposed to be thick!! Thinking quickly, he replied, "France.I go to school in France." A loud snort came from the general direction of the kitchen, but the silence after it was covered up by the banging of various cooking utensils.
The woman in front of Draco didn't seem to have noticed her nephew's sarcasm, but rather was quite pleased with her guest's background. She began to gossip happily about all the wonderful places she'd traveled to in France - Paris, Chatres, the Loire Valley..Draco tuned her out completely, instead waiting for Potter to call out that lunch was ready. The blonde boy hadn't ingested anything since the Dreamless Sleep Potion around five thirty that morning - Snape, well versed in the art of Potions, knew that should Draco consume anything too soon, it would have disastrous effects on the numerous other healing spells on Draco, making him even weaker than he already was. And once again, Draco's thoughts returned to just *why* he was weak, in pain, in his nemesis' house.
"It's ready."
Harry's voice, trembling with ill-suppressed anger, rang out and snapped Draco from his disturbing reverie. Potter was glowering from the dining room, holding a tray bearing a stack of grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. Draco could smell the still sizzling butter, the melting cheese.so this was a meal for Muggles?
Harry set the tray on the table and stalked away, returning to the kitchen, most likely to clean. Aunt Petunia (*Horse-face*, as Draco thought of her) shooed her guest into the dining room, where he got a view of Harry's backside as he stood at the sink scouring the griddle. At the kitchen table sat the Whale, shoving handfuls of carrot sticks into his mouth with practiced precision as he kept his eyes glued on a box from which noise was coming. *Wait.black thing.noise.black thing, noise.is that a.a.television?* He'd only seen them in books, but he feigned disinterest. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
The scent of his lunch (or breakfast) diverted Draco's attention, and so he concentrated on the sandwiches. Picking one up, Draco had to marvel at Harry's ability - it didn't smush in his hands, but it didn't feel crunchy, nor were there any scorch marks. He raised it slowly to his mouth and bit in, savoring the way the cheese just oozed into his mouth..
So Potter could cook as well as a house-elf. Ammunition and blackmail were always good.
**
He told himself that it was those big red numbers that were keeping him awake. He assumed it was a clock, but it made no ticking noise to lull him to sleep(nor to drown out the thunderous snores coming from the Land- Whale's room), had no hands moving around in rhythm. Just big red glowing numbers, currently reading 1:04 with a dot next to the light saying 'AM'.
Was it really only twenty four hours ago? Those hands, those eyes, that curse..And that whimpering!!! If Potter didn't shut up and stop that creaking noise, he'd find himself on the wrong end of Draco's wand *very* soon! But then.*What the--? Whimpering?*
Curious, Draco slid out of bed and out into the hall, feeling his way in the dark to Potter's door. Although he hadn't been in there yet, he knew which one it was, even in the gloom, it being the one with all the locks on it and a cat flap on the bottom. Cautiously, he pushed the door open, and inhaled sharply at the scene which greeted his eyes.
Harry was doing far more than whimpering, rather thrashing around in his cot, covers thrown off as he twisted and writhed in obvious pain, hands clutching his head and face. Draco had heard of Potter's freak convulsions, but he'd never seen them, nor knew what caused them. Without thinking, the Slytherin crossed to Harry's bed as quickly as he could without making too much shuffling noise that might alert the Dursleys, though how they could be sleeping through this Draco had no idea. However, once he reached Potter's side, Draco found himself at a complete loss of what to do, and his panic only doubled when he saw exactly why Harry was whimpering - the blood flowed down his chin in a steady stream from the point at which Harry's teeth were digging into his lip.
*Damn!! How do you solve a problem like a berserk Boy-Who-Won't-Frickin'- Die?!*
His hesitation cost him, as said Boy twisted himself right out of bed and onto the floor with a smack that was sure to have woken the Dursleys. Swallowing a groan, Draco knelt down, intent on waking Potter up - but then again, didn't they always say never to wake a sleepwalker? Well, upon hurried reflection, Harry wasn't exactly in any position to be walking. Draco leaned over his archrival and grasped his hands, trying to wrench them from Harry's abused face. Naturally, Harry's instinct revved in - he was being attacked, and his body's reaction became painfully clear to Draco when one of the Gryffindor's legs connected with Draco's still wounded back. Harry's 'attacker' drew back sharply, and with him came one of Harry's hands, revealing why Harry had been clutching his head.
The infamous scar was pulsing there, an angry, throbbing red. *So that's what curse scars do.* Draco stared almost pityingly at Potter. *And the Daily Prophet said that it was just a plea for attention*, he thought, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face.
For some reason, Draco hadn't released Harry's hand, yet this fact had not yet dawned on either boy consciously. Had Draco realized, he would have felt repulsion, for in his utter loss of action, he caressed the work-worn hand exactly the way his mother had done to Draco's hand in his youth when he'd had a nightmare. That always calmed the youngest of the Malfoy clan down, and it had the same effect on Potter. The convulsions slowed, becoming less aggressive, the whimpering quieted; the bleary eyes opened, and emerald connected with silver, recognition flashing only slowly. Silver lost the battle, and lowered its gaze, withdrawing the hand. Emerald too looked away, and Harry's pained voice broke the silence.
"They're looking for you."
**
Draco had not left Harry's room, rather spending the night wide awake lying on the floor under a thin blanket stolen from Harry's bed, as well as a pillow. Neither had spoken since Harry's vision and his announcement, despite the fact that they both knew the other was awake. Draco kept repeating Harry's words in his mind, fighting to keep that mass in his stomach where it belonged. No matter how safe Dumbledore thought that this Muggle home was, he could not have reckoned with Voldemort's power, power Draco had experienced for himself. And if they were looking for him, nothing would deter He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - it would only be a matter of time before he came knocking politely on the Dursley's door. Lucius' words drifted out of time back to him.how they'd punish Draco.
Harry called him back to reality, whispering in a hoarse voice.
"I'm cold. Either give me back my blanket or get up and shut the window."
"I'm sleeping on a wood floor. Either get me a decent bed or shut your mouth."
"There's a bed in your room, Malfoy, go use it."
"No way in hell am I spending the night alone - if the Dark Lord finds me, I'm making sure he takes you along for the ride."
"I don't think you have to fret about that." Harry paused, feeling hesitant. Dare he ask Malfoy? Well, Harry usually left everything to impulse, so why not this? And so, he voiced the knottiest question.
"Why are they looking for you anyway?"
Draco let out a derisive laugh before replying, "Think I'd give you the pleasure of knowing? It would only make your head swell with more hope than can be afforded to be sucked out of the wizarding world now. Hope for the side of the Light, for which, I must say, there isn't any."
"You're forgetting Dumbledore," Harry reminded him sulkily. Draco tore into a furious tirade at this.
"You actually think - *you* of all people - think that Dumbledore is invincible? Potter, we've been at Hogwarts four years now, and every year Voldemort has managed to deceive even the best! Must I really remind you?" Without waiting for Harry's "yes, by all means, go on", Draco continued. "In our first year, Voldemort had the audacity to be living in the bloody castle! So you managed to save the Philosopher's Stone, lucky chance. Next year, the Weaslette falls under a trance via Voldemort's bewitched diary-"
"Thanks to your father," Harry interjected.
"-and starts attacking Mudbloods. So you killed the basilisk, got lucky again. Third year, you've got a mass murdered on your ass, but you still managed to sneak into Hogsmeade AND get away unpunished.all the same, that mass murderer breaks into the castle at least twice, and almost kills your faithful little sidekick!! And then just last year, our," Draco shuddered, "DADA teacher turns out to be a Death Eater!! Voldemort managed to snatch you right out from under your precious headmaster's crooked nose!! And thanks to Dumbledore's shortsightedness, which his glasses aren't helping, we've got a deranged Dark Wizard running amok. How safe do you really think Hogwarts is? How safe do you think it will be?!"
Harry's only response was, "He is innocent."
"Hell, yes, Dumbledore is innocent and naive and worthless and-"
"Sirius Black."
Draco sobered slightly. "I know. Pettigrew - what did Voldemort call him? Wormtail? - I've seen him, seen how alive he really is." Draco trailed off, shivering. "Potter, I'm cold."
"Demanding, aren't we?" The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, and Draco sat up before creaking springs revealed that Harry was moving over, making room for two small boys to fit into on twin bed. "Get up here, and bring the blanket. And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll do exactly what I did to my cousin Dudley-"
Draco snorted, "Whale. How did he get so huge if all your aunt feeds us is carrot sticks?"
"- and set a boa constrictor on you."
"You're really not good at threats, are you? I myself do have a reputation to uphold, and I'm not about to go telling anyone that I shared a bed with a Mudblood lover. Besides, if I hadn't summoned that snake in second year, you'd never have had any real idea that you could talk to them anyway." With that, Malfoy cimbed into the small bed and threw the blanket on top of himself and his nemesis. Harry smirked uncharacteristically and made more room for Malfoy to get comfortable in, before adding, "I thought I told you to shut the window."
"You told me to give back the blanket OR close the window. Can't have everything in life, Potter," he argued.
"Coming from you, Malfoy-"
Draco stiffened. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a perfect life, not like you and the rest of the Golden Trio. If I did, I most certainly wouldn't be here, which I'd rather not be." His voice dripped with enough sarcasm to power an Oakshaft 79 for a few hours. "You take too much for granted, Potter, did you know that?"
Draco rolled over so that his back was to Harry. The boys lapsed into silence as Draco drifted into sleep, but it was some time before Harry followed suit, having good reason for not wanting to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
All right, this is actually a repost. I had my first review, and the main thing that came up was that the format on her computer was screwed up. So, I took everything down, and am now trying to reupload it. Please remember I'm using a Japanese computer, and everything looks fine on my end, but if you have problems, TELL ME!! Right now, I'm more concerned as to whether or not the story is legible, but it's an added bonus if you like it. Actually, it's a lie when I say everything looks fine on my line -- quite often, when I read here in Japan, letters on the pages turn into kanji. Weeeeiiiiirrrrd..........
Anyways, keep reading, keep writing, bai bai!!