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The Worst of Two Evils


Chapter Two

"Sometimes I think of letting go

And never looking back

And Never Moving Forward…

So There'd Never Be A Past."

- Linkin Park


Harry's fingers were wrung in a rather hopeless way at his sides. The comforting feeling of his blue ball was sorely absent from his clutch and he wished that he had had the nerve to walk into that pond to get it back. It never occurred to him that he might stand up to Dudley for once in his life. He didn't very much like to even think of what would happen if he did.

He glanced up at his surrogate family and grimaced at his cousin's slowly increasing voice. The slow flush of Dudley's neck began to spread towards his face and reached the tips of his ears before the child stopped completely and stomped his feet. Harry gave the boy a bit of room so as not to become the familiar victim of his cousin's temper. The familiar sound of Aunt P'tunia's high pitched pleading tone sent shivers through the young Potter boy and soon, the screams and fake tears and whining began to fade.

"You again!" came his Uncle's unexpected cry. Harry's bright green eyes darted up to land upon the tall man who stood leaning patiently against the door of Number Four Privet Drive. His ethereal, platinum blonde hair brushed gracefully against the fair skin of his face as he languidly stood up, his fingers lightly twirling a strange wooden stick. Grey eyes danced with what seemed so much like warmth as the young man regarded the family of four, but somehow he retained an expression of superiority at the same time.

At Uncle Verwon's exclamation, the other man's lips curled into what could only be described as a perfected smirk. The twirling stick in his hands came to a stop to be held with what seemed like a more than just a familiar grasp. Harry took a slight step backwards and dropped his gaze as the strange man's own stare landed upon him.

…

Draco sighed, his amusement escalating with every new color that decorated Vernon Dursley's face. "Get away from our home! We don't need you here!" hissed Potter's aunt, miniscule droplets of saliva spraying from her mouth. He watched as she glanced around quickly, as if to make sure that no one saw her in Draco's presence, and he took a step back from the offensive woman. Thank Merlin they were the only ones on the street at the moment – he couldn't bear it if anyone spotted him with this circus of a family. Hell, there was the bouncing ball of a boy who waddled instead of walked, the horse of a mother who spoke and sprayed water all at once, and a fat walrus of a father who could change color; not to mention Potter who stood there like a lump on a log.

"I never thought that you'd be one of them," said Vernon in revulsion. Draco assumed that the man was referring to the clothes he wore. He bloody well shouldbe recognized as an aristocrat of society! Yet he couldn't seem to feel any bit of warmth at the thought of a man such as Dursley recognizing him as such. "Go back to your own little world. We don't need any of – of yourkind here!"

My kind indeed.

Draco's fingers imperceptibly clenched his wand as the last of any hints of expression leaked away from his face. He took one last glance up and down the street before whispering, "Alohamora!" The sound of Vernon's infuriated and frightened growl and his wife's gasp made Draco's eyes glint dangerously. He turned again to face them and pointed with his wand at the house. The mere thought of yet more magic sent everyone scurrying to follow his orders. The round boy that was Potter's cousin was trying his best to stay hidden behind his stick of a mother as they made their way in and the sight almost sent Draco into a bout of laughter.

Potter was the last to enter and Draco followed him inside. It was immaculate, to say the least. There was no sign of anything out of place and it made the young man feel as if he had stepped into a place much like home.

And he hated it upon sight.

He set a stern hand upon Potter's shoulder and looked at the boy's three family members with a cold expression. "I don't want to hear a sound," was all he said before he looked down at the familiar face of the boy he knew from his own timeline. "How about you show me to your room?"

Potter looked at him with those eyes that seemed too big for his face and Draco felt rather than saw the fear that made the tiny body tremor just a bit. It radiated off the child in waves and Draco loosened his hold on the future Gryffindor's shoulder just a bit.

"Go on, then," said Draco.

With a small sigh and a mistrustful glance, Potter unlatched the lock to the side of the staircase and opened the small door. Then he proceeded to gently tug off his worn looking shoes and pick the horrid things up. Green eyes met grey once again before they disappeared into the darkness of the little cupboard. Draco frowned with impatience and opened the door a bit more so that he could look inside. Potter tugged on a white string that hung from the ceiling and, much like magic, there was light. "Ekelticity," muttered Draco knowingly.

He watched as Potter hopped onto the little cot squished into the corner of the diminutive space. The boy folded his hands in his lap and looked at Draco without even a hint of expectation.

Draco's frown deepened, but not with further irritation. He saw a rickety wooden shelf across from the cot with broken figurines and neatly folded pieces of material that Draco wouldn't even consider calling clothing. He turned to looked back at Potter who immediately dropped his gaze. "Your room?" wondered Draco. The boy bit down on his lip and nodded, still staring at his folded hands. The young aristocrat felt like laughing as he entered the room.

And then he hit his head on the low ceiling.

A long stream of profanities slipped from his lips with the ease of practice as he rubbed the aching spot on his forehead. Bloody wonderful. His beautiful pale skin would be marred by the eve with a hideous blue and purple spot. He hated bruises – they contrasted too brilliantly with his fair skin to be considered masculine in the least. Draco was nearly crawling as he entered the room and shut the door. He took a seat on the floor in the tiny space between the side of the cot and the door.

"This is your room?" repeated Draco as he crossed his arms on his knees and looked around, an expression of disbelief upon his face.

Potter looked at him patiently and nodded his head. He pointed at the splintered wood that made up the shelf. "That's – um – that's where I keeps things," said the small boy in a soft voice, his eyes searching Draco's. Then he slipped of the cot and padded over to the shelf. Rather than taking one of the toy soldiers or dogs, he pushed them away to pick up what looked like a horse instead. He looked very little, even in the small space that was his room, and the top of his head, messy hair and all, only reached the tip of Draco's, who was seated upon the floor. Potter looked at the man before him and held out the trinket to Draco.

The blonde headed man looked at it for a moment before holding out his hand, palm upwards, to take the toy. What he saw was a tiny unicorn. It was beautifully crafted, though one of its legs was missing and the paint was chipping. The horn, however, remained fully intact, the golden paint still shining mystically in the dim light of the ekeltic glass gadget stuck to the ceiling.

"It's – it's a unicorn," said Potter, breaking the focus of Draco's concentration.

"Mm," was the almost inaudible reply.

"I found it. In – um – in – under the sink. Aunt P'tunia din't like Dudley looking at it," explained the child, holding his hands behind his back, looking at Draco as if for approval.

Draco regarded Harry silently, his eyes peering above the unicorn's back to survey the young boy he was supposed to hate. He looked once more at the figurine in his hand then, abruptly, he slammed open the door and on hands and knees, left the cupboard. He stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. Draco scowled as he flicked a spider of his now dirty boot and caught Potter's bright gaze as he slowly stood up. His lips tightened into a fine white line as he stared at the little boy standing in the doorway of the little room that one would never know was there – and then he turned and walked out of the house, slamming the door on his way out.


What had he been thinking? His orders specifically instructed him to terminate Potter from the past, yet would he be able to do so? He had witnessed murders before, but he had never taken his own part in the dirty deed. He remembered the painful heat of the bile that rose in his throat as he saw others watch the murders of traitors with morbid fascination. Though he may have fooled his father with his mask of cool indifference, inside he felt torn – and he hated how he couldn't fool himself.

I'll get used to it,thought Draco.

It was a familiar mantra that now seemed like a continuous voice in the back of his mind. Sometimes it helped to hear it, to think of his shameful terror as yet another obstacle. He had many of those – and he always overcame them. But now, after so many years, he was beginning to lose that wall of confidence that had supported him his entire life.

Would that very wall crumble to ash when he needed it most?

He was branded a beast of society, and if his mask was to slip, he would be hunted down like the monster he was. Wasn't it enough that the burden ate him slowly from inside as his wall gradually collapsed?

It was only when his hand became slippery with wetness that he noticed he still held the ceramic unicorn figurine. The jagged edge of the broken leg had cut into his palm from the vicious force with which he held the small creature. Draco stopped walking completely and looked at the smeared red of his blood that now coated the unicorn's white body. He pulled out his handkerchief and placed the unicorn inside it. He stared at his bloodied hand.

Would he be able to stand it if the blood wasn't his own?

And that was when his wall of support collapsed completely.


The moon shone brilliantly against the inky blanket of blackness that surrounded it. The twinkling of the stars was the only reprieve that warmed his heart in the darkness, but it was only like a match in the Antarctic. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to build a fire large enough to warm his entire body ever again.

His face was drawn into a mask of cruel indifference and his eyes were hard as ice. With shoulders strong and tense and a tightly clenched jaw, he looked like a predatory cat ready to strike with fierce claws and vicious fangs.

"Alohamora!" he growled. The door slammed loudly open and he entered the house without a care if any muggles saw him. His mission was to be completed and he would not fail yet another time in his life.

He was through with failure.

If he was to be marked as a beast, then he would give them all reason to fear him. Let the world shrink away from him and let their eyes burn with hatred, for his own would glint with the fire of the damned.

Because that's what he was, wasn't he? A creature of hell.

He snapped open the lock to the cupboard and heard the soft gasp from inside as he yanked open the door. Footsteps could be heard on the second level of the home and frightened voices, but Draco couldn't care less. He reached inside the cupboard and pulled out Potter by the arm.

"Put on your shoes," said Draco in a calm tone. Potter's face was pale and his eyes wide as he quickly did as he was told.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" came Vernon Dursley's angry shout. Draco whirled around and his wand shot a red arrow of light that struck the man with what looked to be the force of a car. Dursley was harshly thrown backwards against the wall with a sickening crack and he slid down into a lifeless pile upon the ground.

Draco eyed Dursley's wife and large son expressionlessly. When they said nothing and merely stared at him in horror, he turned around and grabbed Potter by the arm once again and tugged him outside. "If you scream or make a sound," he began, but Potter was already nodding quickly in submission before his sentence was through.

He didn't notice the fiery tingle of his own tears that glittered in the dim light of the moon, and he didn't feel the violent tremors of the tiny boy's body under his hand. All he felt was the heat of adrenaline pumping furiously throughout his body with all the anger he felt for the world.

If the world treated him only with cruelty, he would retaliate with fire.

After a moment of looking up and down the street, Draco apparated away, his hand still firmly grasped around Potter's arm.

…

He didn't know where they were going and all he could think was that his arm was turning numb. They were in the city in a sudden instant, but he refused to even think about it. He would have said the "M" word, but he feared that his captor would get angry if he did. He glanced up at the tall stranger and took in the slight flush that colored the man's pale cheekbones. By the look on his face, Harry felt that the stranger was someplace else than where he merely appeared to be. There was a dangerous glint in the cloudy grey of his eyes, like he was a caged animal, ready to attack if provoked – and Harry didn't want to be the one who sparked him into action.

He knew had to get away, but he didn't know how. All he knew was that his arm was hurting and it was the stranger's fault.

Harry tripped over the uneven walkway and fell with a soft cry. He held out his free arm to break his fall, but was painfully yanked up again before he touched the ground. His eyes darted to the stranger's face. It seemed as if the man had suddenly broken out of his stupor – had broken out of some terrible spell.

His grip on Harry's arm slackened a tad more and the child was immensely relieved. He wasn't quite sure how much longer he could have lasted with his arm held under that iron grip.

"We're taking The Tube," said the young man in a strange tone of voice, as if he wondered at the possibility of ever having said such a thing. "The Tube," repeated the stranger and Harry felt his lips quirk into an odd smile at the bewildered tone.

…

To say the least, Draco was surprised when the Potter boy pulled his arm from Draco's grasp. He whirled around to look at the child, but the four year old's hand was already sliding into his larger one. Once again, he found himself looking into Potter's huge and childish eyes. The boy was scrutinizing him thoughtfully, as if wondering if his action was about to bring about terrible consequences or, perhaps, something pleasant.

He would sadly get neither.

Draco's expressionless façade broke and crumbled under the force of his scowl, and Potter dropped his gaze. The elder boy tugged the younger along by the hand like an insolent child, and soon they were nearing the Tube just as it began to rain. The beautiful day it had been somehow disappeared within the two hours that had passed. And Draco missed it sorely at that moment.

His heart felt heavy and his conscience was weighing heavily on him, even more so on his painful, throbbing heart. Had that man – Vernon Dursley – been seriously hurt by his foolish antics? He had left so abruptly and without a thought that he had forgotten the simplest of rules.

Do not leave a trail.

His magical signature would be identifiable from Potter's uncle, but he doubted that anyone would really be able to track him down with it. After all, he didn't yet exist. If he made the same mistake again, however, aurors would be pouring down from everywhere to put him in Azkaban. He had stolen Harry Potter from right under Albus Dumbledore's nose and the entire wizarding world would probably be in a state of chaos in just a few days.

They would be after him, soon, despite that. His father had even told him that a few renegade Death Eaters would try to see to his death at one point because of his kidnapping of Potter. But his mission was to be complete by that time. The entire mission wasn't supposed to have even taken two hours – not days, not weeks, not months. Yet Draco wondered how long it would take him to summon up his courage and finish his dirty deed.

He glanced at the tiny boy attached to his hand. Potter was walking along like they were going on a daily stroll. The child's hand was held at a slight distance, as if the boy wasn't quite sure what to do with it, the questionable thing being in a stranger's hand, after all. His face was set forward, yet his eyes were trained upon the ground, his long dark lashes brushing gently against his childish cheeks.

The duo stepped into the train car and Draco gingerly chose a seat in the aisle and let Potter squeeze his way to the seat beside the window. The blonde haired young man pulled his hand from Potter's and held on tightly to the chair before him instead. When the train began to move, he didn't notice how white his knuckles had turned.

The woman in the seat in front of Potter had turned around to see who was grasping the seat next to her so tightly, and caught sight of little Harry. Her face was young and rather attractive, but Draco was too focused on the ridiculous speed of this contraption that he thought of more as a hazard, to notice.

She looked to be around her mid-thirties, and as a smile brightened her features, she said gaily, "What a charming little boy!" to Harry.

Draco's eyes shot towards Potter and he wondered if this was true. He looked a bit too scrawny to be considered "charming" or, Merlin forbid it, "cute." The child's bloody clothinglooked as if it had been handed down from some distant relative the size of a hippogriff, but Draco felt that it was safe to assume that the dreaded things were hand-me-downs from his very round cousin.

Potter blinked at her for a few moments before the side of his mouth quirked up into a little half-smile. The woman was positively thrilled and Draco's eyebrows lifted in amusement as she wiggled in her seat to get a better view at the both of them. "My name's Dorthea Woods, what's your name?" She glanced at Harry, then at Draco – a universal question.

Draco felt Potter's eyes on him, as if the tiny boy were asking for permission. He turned grey eyes towards green and gave the slightest of nods and turned to look at his hands. Quickly, he pulled them back and grasped them tightly in his lap. The blasted train was slowing down, and he felt as if he was going to fall forward at any moment.

"Harry," responded Potter in an almost inaudible voice. He was staring at Dorthea from under his long black lashes.

She clapped her hands together in delight and searched quickly through her purse. "I'm sure I've got a piece of candy in here for you." She pulled out a big lollipop, and then another. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed and handed one to Harry.

Potter looked at Draco once again and the older boy felt his irritation start to burn. "It may be poisonous," said the Head Boy casually, his tone as unreadable as his face. Dorthea smile and chuckled happily, as if were a joke, and Draco's gaze drifted over her.

Idiot woman.

Harry looked at the lollipop hesitantly, chewing on his lip, and then he turned to look at Draco again, a great conflict in his eyes. Draco rolled his own and took the blasted lollipop from Dorthea's grasp. "Just eat the bloody thing," he muttered, and resumed gazing resolutely forward.

Dorthea was looking at him strangely now, but said only, "Would you like one too, dear? You're never too old for a lollipop." She smiled at him encouragingly, holding out yet another sweet. Draco clenched his jaw tightly and barely restrained himself from pulling out his wand and using an Unforgivable on her. Instead, he merely ignored her.

I just saved your life, woman,he thought savagely. He found it ironic how he had done exactly that – but he had only saved her from himself.

Beside him, there was the rustle of plastic – it was Potter trying vainly to open his lollipop. "Here, love, let me get that for you," said Dorthea in her sickeningly sweet voice.

Harry watched avidly as she pulled the plastic off and handed it to him. He blinked at it for a few moments before his tiny pink tongue escaped from his lips and grazed over the lollipop. A small smile lit his face as he glanced up at Dorthea. Draco scowled. She was wiggling in her seat again.

The train finally came to a stop and Dorthea jumped up. She handed the second lollipop to Harry. "This is for your brother, dearest, give it to him when he's not quite so sour. And if he doesn't want it, feel free to be a bit selfish and keep it to yourself," she said with a jolly grin. Then she turned and made her way to the exit.


Harry merely watched her go with large green eyes and the lollipop in his mouth. He liked how he could barely get the entire thing in his mouth, and could taste the sweet sugary flavor on his tongue. He was never allowed to get much candy, if any at all. Dudley usually took it all for himself.

Feel free to be a bit selfish and keep it to yourself…Harry's cheeks turned pink at the idea. He could never do such a thing as that. He turned to look at the stranger beside him and tried sticking the white lollipop stick between the blonde man's tightly clenched hands. All he got was a cold stare. Shrugging, Harry concentrated on his own lollipop and held the other in his hand. He would save it, as Dorthea said, for when the stranger was not quite so sour. He hoped that that time would come soon.

A family came in, a woman, a man, and their daughter who resembled Dudley, though she was rather on the skinny side. She looked to be one of those children that can eat everything and never gain an ounce, and her eyes were narrowed as if she was scrutinizing everyone with the most critical of eyes. Her mouth was tilted slightly downwards in a permanent frown, and in this way she greatly resembled her mother, who sat in the aisle seat talking to the father. Harry lowered his eyes as the daughter turned around in her seat and looked first at Draco, then at Harry.

Her frown deepened and she looked at her mother. "Mummy, I want to sit in the aisle," said the little girl. She seemed to be about six years of age, but her tone made her sound younger. "Mummy," she repeated, tugging on her mother's sleeve. But she was continuously ignored. With a huff, the girl bounced around in her seat and finally rested her gaze upon Harry again.

"Are those yours?" she asked, pointing at the lollipops in Harry's hands. Harry pulled his lollipop out of his mouth and looked at it. He nodded. "I'd like one," she told him, a command in her tone. She held out her hand expectantly and her narrowed light brown eyes were trained predatorily on Harry's. She might have been a beautiful child had she smiled more, but at the moment, she looked rather repulsive in the most horrible way – she looked spoiled rotten and very selfish.

Harry looked at the lollipops, and then at the stranger beside him, who was still staring directly forwards. Chewing on his lip, he thought that at one point, he may have given the girl his lollipop – he was never one to hoard anything. But the nice lady named Dorthea Something had given him this lollipop, and one for his stranger. It wasn't in his place to give somebody's anything away.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. He took another glance at his stranger and saw a frown creasing the elder boy's forehead.

The girl looked at him in surprise, and then at her empty hand. "But I want one," she said insistently.

"I'm very sorry," Harry repeated, holding the sticks of the lollipops tighter. He didn't care that his left hand was sticky from licking the lollipop so much, but he really did not want to give any of the candies away.

She scowled. "You're supposed to share, stupid!" she exclaimed, and this time her mother turned to look at her.

"Not so loud, please, Angel," said the woman, then she once again turned around to speak with her husband.

Angel, for Harry assumed that that was her name, quickly snatched the unopened lollipop from Harry's grasp. She smiled smugly at him when he stared at her in surprise. Draco turned to eye the little brat of a girl who sat in front of them, and looked at Harry whose cheeks began to color with a pink flush. The little boy dropped his gaze, but Draco noted that the hand holding the other lollipop was clenched tightly in a small fist.

A perfectly curved brow lifted slightly at the scene. Was Harry Potter submitting to the will of another? he thought mockingly. Too bad no one else was here to see this – they'd get the real picture of their Golden Boy then.

Harry's eyes began to sting. What was he to do? That girl had just stolen his stranger's lollipop. Was he supposed to take it back? No, no – of course not. He'd just get in trouble; he always did…

At the sudden sparkle in the boy's green eyes, Draco felt his gut clench uncomfortably. He scowled as he watched the little brat ironically named Angel trying to unwrap the blasted pop. Hopefully it was poisoned, he thought.

"What did you say?" said the blasted girl staring at the boy before her in surprise. Draco looked at her, then at Harry who was clutching his own lollipop more tightly than ever.

"That's not yours," said the child again, though his voice was barely audible.

That confounded feeling in his chest was becoming stronger and finally, Draco reached over and plucked the lollipop from the girl's grasp. When she stared at him in shock, he smirked. "Didn't your mummy ever tell you it's wrong to steal?"

And then Angel began to scream. It was more of a banshee shriek, Draco thought, but he merely stared at her coldly. When the girl's mother turned to look at her daughter in surprise, Angel pointed at Draco with a scrunched up face and watery eyes.

With the girl's parents staring at him critically, he stared back at them with the coldest look he could muster. They wanted to play the staring game, did they? Well he'd teach them a thing or two about cold stares…

"H-He took m-my lollipop!" cried Angel, her finger still pointed at Draco.

He rolled his eyes heavenwards and lazily folded his arms across his chest. "You little twit – I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't stolen it first," he replied. The parents gasped in unison and he just smirked again.

The father stood up and looked at him with an expression that clearly seemed to say, "You've gone too far young man," and indeed, he said it soon afterwards. However, his stance seemed to say that he was merely doing a duty, a burdensome duty.

Draco grinned grimly. "And what line would that be?"

The mother gasped and picked up her daughter who continued to wail as if the world was ending. The father's brow furrowed and became drawn into a frown. "Now look here -," but Draco soon became tired of the whole charade and cut him off.

"No, you look here. That brat of a daughter you call Angel needs to attend finishing school. If you allow her to go on as she has been, you'll be dealing with thatfor the rest of your life. Is that what you really want?" asked Draco, gesturing towards the squalling girl.

The father looked from the daughter, to Harry who stared up at him with tear-clouded eyes as he held his lollipop to his chest, and back again. The mother stared at her husband in disbelief. "Roger, you won't let him talk to us in this manner, will you?"

Roger frowned again. "Angel, stop crying this instant or you won't have any dessert tonight."

Angel ceased her tirade in shock and stared at her father. "But, Daddy!"

The train slowed to a stop and the doors opened. "Here's our stop," said Roger curtly and after one last glance at Draco, he stepped off the train. The mother sniffed and Angel stared in surprise at first her retreating father, then at Draco.

When the train began to move again, Draco smirked. Merlin, that felt good.

There was a moment of silence, and then he felt a tug on the sleeve of his jumper. "Are you going to eat it now?" Draco looked down at Harry, who stared back at him coyly.

Draco looked at the lollipop in his hand, then felt the tugging in his chest slowly subside as he began to peel off the plastic.

Author's Notes:

Didge: thanks for your review! You were my first reviewer for this story :o) And you gave me two reviews!

Tati 1:thanks for joining my mailing list!

Gia: I'm glad u liked the length!

Witchblade Hell: I'm delighted that you think this is a creative story. The plot is kind of unstructured at this point, but I'm working on it bit by bit. I've got the Hogwarts part planned out so far. I'm so, so happy you like my writing style, by the way. :o) I'm trying to improve in time for my AP exam for English.

Sapphrine: hehe, I'm glad you liked the part with the marauders!

Shezan: sorry this took so long to get out!

Madame Moony: thanks!

Chang Wumei: Thanks for the review! As for slash…not sure as of yet. When Draco gets back to Hogwarts a ton of chapters from now…we'll see. ;o)

Evanescence55: thanks! As for ItMotN…I've got the chapter pretty planned out…I'm at a hurdle right now. I feel like I'm too short to jump over it…

Arafel2: thanks!

DragongirlG: thanks so much for review! It makes me happy :o)

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Andromeda Snape-Malfoy: thanks!

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