Note: with the exception of Christopher I don't own the characters. They
all belong to J.K. Rowling.
The Orphan: Chapter 3
Harry had just started setting the table when his guest made his way into the dining room. The effect was uncanny. The boy was perfectly dressed and his blonde hair was slicked back in a perfect imitation of the boy that Harry had gone to school with many years before.
"Good morning Christopher. Sleep well?"
He didn't know what kind of response he'd expected but what he got was a look of pure hate that seemed to flow in waves from his young guest's eyes. 'If looks could kill,' thought Harry to himself, 'I'd probably be dead right now.' He shook the feeling off. This wasn't Draco, this was a young boy who had had his whole life torn to shreds, he was probably angry at the whole world at present.
"I slept fine, sir."
Harry noted the emphasis on sir, but decided to let it pass. Obviously his young charge had a lot of repressed anger to deal with, not that he'd expected anything different. Losing your parents was a very traumatizing thing after all. He reflected on his own past life. Nobody had been there to comfort him when he'd lost his own parents, but at least young Malfoy wouldn't have to face things alone. The old phrase time heals all wounds wasn't completly false, just misleading. Time couldn't actually heal a loss like this one, but in time, and with a lot of patience on Harry's part, the pain would lose some of it's intensity. He'd promised Dumbledore that he'd do what he could for the boy and he was determined to keep his word. Besides if there was one thing he had in abundance it was patience.
"Good. Why don't you set the table while I finish making us some breakfast." He turned back to the stove and so missed the glare that the boy gave him before turning to the task at hand.
The Orphan: Chapter 3
Harry had just started setting the table when his guest made his way into the dining room. The effect was uncanny. The boy was perfectly dressed and his blonde hair was slicked back in a perfect imitation of the boy that Harry had gone to school with many years before.
"Good morning Christopher. Sleep well?"
He didn't know what kind of response he'd expected but what he got was a look of pure hate that seemed to flow in waves from his young guest's eyes. 'If looks could kill,' thought Harry to himself, 'I'd probably be dead right now.' He shook the feeling off. This wasn't Draco, this was a young boy who had had his whole life torn to shreds, he was probably angry at the whole world at present.
"I slept fine, sir."
Harry noted the emphasis on sir, but decided to let it pass. Obviously his young charge had a lot of repressed anger to deal with, not that he'd expected anything different. Losing your parents was a very traumatizing thing after all. He reflected on his own past life. Nobody had been there to comfort him when he'd lost his own parents, but at least young Malfoy wouldn't have to face things alone. The old phrase time heals all wounds wasn't completly false, just misleading. Time couldn't actually heal a loss like this one, but in time, and with a lot of patience on Harry's part, the pain would lose some of it's intensity. He'd promised Dumbledore that he'd do what he could for the boy and he was determined to keep his word. Besides if there was one thing he had in abundance it was patience.
"Good. Why don't you set the table while I finish making us some breakfast." He turned back to the stove and so missed the glare that the boy gave him before turning to the task at hand.