Chapter II – An Unusual Guest
Harry shot straight up in bed, his hand automatically rising to his scar. He realized seconds later that it didn't hurt. It didn't even itch. He looked at his hand wonderingly, as if it would somehow give him an explanation about his strange dream. 'Visitor...' The girl had said something about a visitor, hadn't she? Harry kicked off his blankets and lowered himself to the floor, being careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards as he made his way to the window of his dingy little room. It had been made far more livable by the addition of a Chudley Cannons poster that Ron had given him for Christmas, but it was still in the Dursley's home, and that made it one of Harry's least favorite places on earth.
A look outside revealed nothing. Normally, his visitors arrived through magical means, and usually came directly to his window. For a moment Harry considered the notion that it had been merely a dream. Everyone had strange dreams every now and then, and his scar hadn't hurt, which he took to mean that the dream had nothing to do with Voldemort. 'Maybe it was just a dream...' Harry thought, pondering the notion some more. But still, he reasoned, it wouldn't hurt to check. Perhaps the dream had been sent by someone in the Order, though he wondered why they would send him dreams instead of coming to talk to him directly.
Cautiously, Harry made his way down the hall and stairs and to the front door of 4 Privet Drive. He opened it just a crack and cautiously looked out. He couldn't see anything. Slowly, he opened the door further, placing a hand on the wand that was tucked into the waistband of his pajamas. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted the figure propped up in the corner of the Dursley's small porch, leaning against the wall with wand in hand, and looking up at him with the best look of annoyance that someone who had been beaten to a pulp could muster.
"Hello, Potter." Draco Malfoy managed to get out, sounding more tired than Harry had ever heard him. Of course, he was also looking much more bruised than Harry had ever seen him as well. Harry gaped at him for a moment. Draco's normally pristine clothes were in shreds, and the pale, luminescent skin of his upper torso was almost completely black and blue, with some purple thrown in for good measure. His lip was split and bleeding, and there was a cut on his upper forehead that was matting his blonde hair with blood. Harry couldn't see much else in the dim light, but he was sure, based on the blood he saw on the other boy's clothing, that he probably had more open wounds elsewhere as well.
Draco waited patiently for Harry to finish looking over him, then coughed experimentally. He determined that it would Bad Idea to do it again in the near future. "If you're through gawking," he croaked, his voice cracking slightly, "You could invite me in. It would only be polite." Harry chuckled a little. Even when he looked like he had been put through a meat grinder, Draco was still capable of being rude and obnoxious.
"Well, it's good to know you're an annoying git all the time." Harry commented, kneeling down beside the other boy. "Here." He looped Draco's arm around his shoulders, then slipped his own behind the blonde's back, supporting most of Draco's weight as he helped him to stand. "Is that alright? Do you think you can make it up the stairs?" Draco nodded hesitantly, then rethought himself.
"Of course I can make it up the stairs, Potter. Does it look like my legs are broken?" Harry assumed that the statement was supposed to be in Draco's ordinary snotty tone, but, if the bruises on his throat were any indication, he wouldn't sound normal for several hours, maybe even days. But he didn't think Draco would want to hear that.
"Right, of course." Harry agreed amicably, still supporting most of their combined weight. Draco winced as they set off, pulling his body away from Harry's. Harry stopped. "Something wrong?" Draco shook his head.
"Nothing. Just..." Harry looked at him until he continued. "Careful, alright? I think a couple of ribs might be broken." Harry nodded, giving him a sympathetic smile.
"Come on. Once we get you upstairs, I'll get those cuts cleaned out." They began walking again, slowly, so as not to jar Draco's ribs or put too much pressure on already-damaged flesh. They had to stop several times on the way, but eventually the pair made their way back up to Harry's dingy little bedroom. Draco looked around in astonishment.
"You LIVE here?" He croaked out, apparently horrified at the conditions. Harry personally didn't think his room was all that bad. There were a few t-shirts on the floor and it might have needed a little dusting, but it was far from deserving of the horror in Draco's voice.
"Yes, and?" He answered impatiently, wondering why he was putting up with complaints from a boy who had not only tormented him for five years, but had also shown up in the middle of the night beaten to a pulp and expecting help.
"It's.... tiny." Draco finally decided, his voice still scratchy and uneven. Harry sighed. He could imagine what Draco would've thought of his old "room" beneath the stairs.
"It works. C'mon. Sit down here." Harry maneuvered Draco down to sit on his bed, leaning against the headboard and the wall so that he could see the entire room. "Comfy?" He asked with a smirk. Draco glared at him, but didn't say anything. "I'll go get the first aid kit. Wait here, I'll be right back."
"Where exactly would I go, Potter?" Draco drawled, or at least tried to, as Harry walked out the door, apparently headed to the bathroom that they had passed as they came up the hallway. Left alone, Draco took another look around the room. Harry's small desk was piled with schoolbooks, summer homework assignments, and a stack of books about Quidditch that Draco thought he might have a look at later. Harry's school trunk was tucked inconspicuously into a corner, which of course made it stand out even more. On the far wall was the Chudley Cannons poster, which Draco regarded with a sneer. There were a few pieces of clothing on the floor, which Draco also viewed with distaste. Of course, he really didn't expect much better, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He could imagine the "welcome" that he would get if he returned to Malfoy Manor. He just thanked his lucky stars that his mother had made him his own account at Gringotts- at least he wasn't homeless and poor.
Finally, Harry returned, carrying with him a small white case with a red plus sign on the side.
"What's that?" Draco snapped, looking on the case with mistrust. Harry looked down at it, then back up at Draco, holding the case up for his inspection.
"This? It's a first aid kit. Haven't you seen one before?" Draco shook his head.
"No. I don't spend much time around Muggles." Even in his ragged state, Draco nearly spat the word. "Besides, our family physician was always on call if something should happen." Harry snorted. He could imagine the Malfoys having their own personal doctor hanging around should one of them break a nail. He down on the bed next to Draco and set the case down between them. Harry looked at Draco for a moment, reexamining his wounds under proper lighting. It was worse than he had thought. There was indeed blood on the remains of Draco's shirt, from the myriad of small but deep cuts on his upper body. They made a criss-crossing pattern of gashes across his ribs and stomach, extending down below his waistline. He was also fairly certain that there was a matching set on Draco's back that he couldn't see with Draco leaning against the wall. Draco watched the expressions that crossed Harry's face with interest. The shock, horror, and disgust all passed, and he was left with a peculiar expression of anger and curiosity.
"Where do you want me to start?" Harry asked cautiously, unsure if his nemesis of the past five years would take kindly to being touched. Draco shrugged, then winced as one of the broken ribs moved.
"I don't care. But can we hurry it up? I think I've lost quite enough blood for one evening." Harry just smiled. Apparently, Draco was unaware of Muggle healing methods, and, as he was being an obnoxious git, it was clearly time to introduce him to peroxide. 'Or maybe not...' Harry looked him over once again, and felt rather guilty about momentarily wishing to cause the boy more pain. 'Well, he has been insufferable for the last five years,' his subconscious filled in, 'You're at least partially entitled.' Harry told his subconscious to shut up.
"Alright," Harry held up a damp washcloth. "Can you sit up for a second if I help you stay upright? I need to clean off the blood so I can see all the cuts." His tone was almost apologetic, and Draco shrugged in response, making an effort to pull himself off the wall. Harry silently slipped a hand behind him again, helping him support his weight so that he could scoot forward on the bed. Draco pulled off the remains of what had once been a rather expensive designer shirt, hissing as it tore open newly-formed scabs. "You okay?" Harry's voice sounded softly behind him. Draco nodded.
"I'm fine. It just twinges a bit." Harry had a hard time believing that so many wounds only 'twinged a bit', but kept quiet about it. Instead, he began to slowly and gently clean the blood off of Draco's back with the damp cloth, which soon became a reddish color. He could feel Draco's muscles twitching as he cleaned the surface of some of the nastier cuts, but the blonde didn't let out a single sound. Harry worked his way over Draco's shoulders, then helped him to shift back on the bed so that he could lean against the wall again.
"Really," Harry commented as he began cleaning the blood from the front of Draco's torso, "I should just run you a bath to get all of this off. But that would wake up my aunt and uncle, and I don't think that's a good idea. So, I'll do the best that I can, but you should really see that doctor once you get back home." Draco looked down at his hands and mumbled something. Harry wiped off the cut on his forehead and the split lip gently, then sat back. "What was that?" He asked, trying not to sound too pushy, but wondering what exactly the blonde had said. Draco looked decidedly nervous.
"Actually, I was wondering..." He looked up at Harry quickly, then averted his eyes again. Harry decided to busy himself in the first aid kit and give the other boy time to answer. He did. "I was wondering... if I might stay here for a while..." The only noticeable reaction on Harry's part was that the small bottle of peroxide slipped from his grasp and onto the bed. Draco looked at him, small lines of worry etched onto his face that he simply didn't have the energy to disguise. Harry gulped, and picked up the peroxide and swabs again.
"Why?" he finally voiced, helping Draco shift so that he could reach his back again. The Slytherin's normally proud head drooped miserably. When he spoke, it was so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear.
"I don't have anywhere else to go." Harry wisely said nothing, just let Draco continue when he felt like it. Eventually he did, and explained what had happened.
"With my father," Draco said the word nearly the same way he usually said 'Muggle', much to Harry's surprise, "in Azkaban, the Dark Lord decided that it was time for a new Malfoy to take his place, but my mother wouldn't hear of it." He knew Harry would be confused, so he clarified after a brief pause. "She was never really a big supporter of His, but she went along with it for my sake, I guess. Father would have been furious if he knew. She never wanted me to join the Death Eaters, and she finally told them so when they came to get me. I think..." Draco's voice caught, and he paused for a moment. "I think she might have been killed." For the first time since they had met, Harry felt a wave of sympathy for the other boy. He knew all too well what it was like to lose loved ones. Harry gave him a reassuring smile, though Draco couldn't see his face.
"It's alright to cry." he offered softly as he wet a swab with the peroxide. Draco stiffened.
"I am not crying." He said testily, though his voice belied his words. Harry nodded, but again, Draco couldn't see.
"I know, but the peroxide can hurt a lot, so I'm just letting you know it's okay to cry a little." After a moment, he nodded slowly. By the time Harry finished applying the peroxide to Draco's cuts, there were tears cascading down the blonde boy's cheeks. Harry was sure that most of them weren't caused by the peroxide, but he just gave the other boy another smile and didn't comment. Draco was glad for that.
"You know this doesn't change anything between you and me." Draco stated as Harry finished dressing the worst of the cuts and covering the more minor ones with liquid skin.
"That's fine." Harry agreed, packing up the first aid kit and returning it to the bathroom quickly. "But you know," He said as he returned, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard, "That makes you staying here a bit difficult." Draco blinked.
"Am I staying here?" He asked, trying to keep his haughty tone but failing miserably. He was simply too exhausted to even notice that, rather than disdain, his voice was laced with desperate hope. The same desperate hope, Harry realized, that he had felt when he first thought he might get to live with Sirius, several years previously. He felt a pang in his heart at the memory of his godfather, but ignored it for the moment, leaning on the wall beside his bed casually before answering.
"You can if you want to, I suppose. But I'll have to warn you of a few things. First, things can't really stay the same between you and me while you're here. At school, I don't care, but here, well," Harry trailed off and looked at his door with an expression that Draco couldn't read, "Let's just say that my aunt and uncle won't like you very much no matter what, but we can at least stick together." Draco nodded. He didn't exactly understand why they needed to stick together, as he was still under the slightly misguided impression that Harry Potter was treated as a hero by everyone (except the Death Eaters, of course), including his family. It was an assumption that would be altered quite a bit in the days ahead.
"Next, don't talk about magic around my aunt and uncle. Or Dudley, for that matter, unless you have to scare him off a bit." Harry grinned mischievously for a moment. Draco found that it was actually quite a fetching expression on him, and one that he had never seen before. "They don't much like wizards, but they can't hurt us, so don't worry. I have a bit of an... insurance policy, of sorts." The tone in Harry's voice had become so much like a Slytherin's that Draco wasn't sure he was still talking to the same Gryffindor Golden Boy that he'd antagonized for so long. Harry was continuing, though, so Draco tuned back in to what he was saying.
"-anything they tell you, anyway. It makes it a lot easier to get on. And don't complain about the food. I've got plenty of real stuff up here, so just eat it. We'll have real meals up here later on." Draco nodded, though he wasn't really sure if he wanted to stay anymore or not. But, he thought with an internal sigh, there's nowhere else to go. Harry regarded him for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something.
"Maybe you should just stay up here for a couple of days, until some of those cuts heal." Harry finally decided. "It would probably be better that way. And I'll have to find some way to explain you in the meantime." Draco nodded again. He could barely understand what Harry was talking about, and his eyelids were beginning to feel much heavier than they should. With a soft sigh, Harry pulled himself off the wall and turned off the lights in his room, then made his way back to his bed. He helped Draco get situated under the covers (which basically meant lifting them up- hurt or not, Draco steadfastly refused to be treated like a child), then climbed under them himself.
"What are you doing?" Draco hissed as Harry lay down. Harry turned over and looked at him.
"What do you mean, 'what am I doing'? I'm going to sleep." Harry closed his eyes, apparently oblivious to Draco's incredulous stare. Finally, he opened them again. "Look," he began forcefully, "we both need to sleep, and, as you can see, this isn't exactly a four star hotel. We either share, or, hurt or not, you're sleeping on the floor." With that, Harry closed his eyes again, this time with abrupt finality. Draco looked at him for a moment, then decided that sharing was, indeed, better than being shoved onto the floor. Even if it was Potter.
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A/N- Ahhh... The beginnings of plot. Isn't it lovely? I think so. Anyway, please give me feedback! I'm trying a different style than I'm used to, and I've never written HP fics before, so this is an entirely new venture, and I really hope that it's going well! Please, PLEASE, push the little 'review' button!