Chapter three: A week in the life…
Life at Number Four Privet Drive was duller than dull. A week had passed since Draco had darkened the Dursley's doorstep yet it felt like a lifetime. He was utterly bored. From morning to night he had absolutely nothing to do. He didn't even have Potter to quarrel with.
Harry, true to his word, did not sleep so Draco was rewarded the bed, though he imagined that the floor would be more comfortable. Instead of sleeping. Harry did a ritual or sorts. He would first, read and reply to all the letters he had gotten through the course of the day. Draco had snuck peeks at the envelopes enough times to realize that they were mostly from Weasley and Granger, Dumbledore and various others like their ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Remus Lupin.
Then Harry would pull out a muggle notebook and a muggle writing utensil and for hours on end (or it seemed like it too Draco) he would write in it. Never saying a word, just writing. Draco, never known for his patience, couldn't take it much more after the first couple of days. He had to know what it was that Harry was writing. He had to.
"Merlin, Potter what are you writing?" he drawled to the dark-haired Gryffindor after his third continuous hour of writing in the notebook, on the fifth day of his stay. For a long time the only sound that met Draco's question was the scratch of Harry's pencil.
Finally, just before Draco was going to give up on ever getting an answer Harry set his pencil aside and closed the notebook and turned toward Draco.
"Sorry Malfoy. I can't tell you, not yet." He said not sounding apologetic in the least.
"Well, why not?" Draco asked indignantly from his spot on Harry's bed where he was lying on his stomach with a book in front of him.
"Because, no offense, but I don't trust you." he replied hollowly as if it didn't mean anything and turned to start his homework. Though Draco was still irritated and annoyingly curious about Harry's notebook he couldn't argue with that. Harry had no reason to trust him and Draco didn't particular trust the Boy Who Lived either.
So Harry went on with his ritual. He worked on his homework, one subject at a time until it was either too dull to continue for the night or completed. He then buried his nose into some book or the other. And finally drifted off into a light doze about an hour until dawn just to be woken by his aunt's horrid screeches after hardly two hours of sleep.
Draco had stayed awake one night to watch all this and was completely drained the next day. He didn't know how Harry was able to work continuously on that little of sleep.
After dressing Harry would go down to the kitchen to make breakfast which usually was a slice of grapefruit seeing as Harry's oaf of a cousin was on a diet, though in Draco's opinion it didn't seem to be working. But one morning Harry set an omelet down in front of the blonde Slytherin. Well what appeared to be an omelet anyway.
It was actually an imposter. The eggs were a fat-free, sodium-free, cholesterol-free, taste-free substitute that wrapped around vegetarian sausage and turkey bacon, both which tasted nothing like they were suppose to. The cheese was non-dairy, low-fat goat's cheese and of course tons of vegetables; carrots, broccoli, lettuce, tomatoes, and even bits of cucumber.
After eating the whole thing Draco felt no fuller. He might've just have consumed air. It wasn't saying anything against Harry's cooking because really Wolfgang Puck couldn't make this shit taste good.
Through out breakfast, in between running to get more coffee or juice or more thousand grain wheat bread with yogurt-based butter, Harry was pushing his own food around his plate.
Once breakfast was over Draco would go up to Harry's room and do his own homework while Harry did his morning chores. First he cleaned up after breakfast and then he dusted, mopped, vacuumed, swept, and scrubbed every inch of the house. Then he would make lunch.
Lunch usually consisted of nothing more than cucumber sandwiches and ice tea, though one afternoon they did have salad with feta cheese that wasn't so bad. Once again Harry spent his lunch fetching refills for his relatives and pushing his food around his plate.
After lunch Harry cleaned up once again and went out to do yard work. He mowed, trimmed, weeded, raked and hoed. While Harry did back-breaking labor Draco was forced to do more homework or he could spend his time with Dudley. He had vehemently refused that offer which caused Harry to laugh. It had been good to hear Harry laugh again and it caused a whole flock of gigantic butterflies to swarm around in his stomach. This had disturbed Draco greatly.
One afternoon while Harry was doing the work outside, Dudley and his gang decided they were in the mood for 'Harry Pounding'. Apparently the rules to this game were to hit Harry as hard as you can, as much as you can.
Draco watched as Dudley and his four-or-so 'friends' crowded around the Gryffindor. Dudley said something that caused Harry to look up from his work in the garden and retort.
It obviously wasn't something Dudley wanted to hear as he swelled with anger and began to swiftly punch and kick every inch of Harry he could reach. Dudley's friends soon joined in on the 'fun' and Harry lay on the ground and took the abuse. Draco had been outraged.
Just like a bloody Gryffindor. Lie there "bravely" as five people kick the shit out of you he thought angrily as he rushed from the room. It was one thing to take Harry on face-to-face in a wizard's duel and it was even another thing to use sneaky tactics to gain the upper hand but it was completely another to gang up on a boy five-to-one.
"Oi you pigs. Leave him alone!" he shouted as soon as he was out of the backdoor. He could not be heard over the cheers and laughter of the boys. Draco made his way to the circle and called again. "Hey! I said 'leave him alone' you bloody gits." He called.
This time he was heard. All six boys (counting Harry who was peering up at Draco from the ground) turned to look at the newcomer. Dudley plastered a sickly sweet smile onto his fat lips.
"Why, hullo there Draco." He called in an equally as disgustingly sweet tone. "We were just playing a game with Harry here. Care to join?"
Draco was positively seething inside but he kept his cool, indifferent Malfoy mask in place. He looked past the five boys standing before him to the one glaring at him on the ground. Green met grey with such intensity you could almost feel the sparks flying between the two. And the disconcerting thing was that they were not hostile sparks. But rather sparks of a different kind. A kind that neither boy wanted to dwell on too long.
Draco finally pulled his eyes away form Harry's and fixed them on to Dudley's fat pink face, small squinty blue eyes and straw-colored hair. He allowed some of his anger to seep into his stone-grey eyes.
"You think it's sporting to gang up on a boy five-to-one?" He asked coldly his eyes flashing causing the smile to slide of Dudley's face.
"W-well y-y-you see…that's not…what I mean to say…" Dudley stuttered taking a step back from the enraged blonde.
"Well why not take on me, hmm?" He offered sending his patented Malfoy Death-Glare at the group of boy.
"B-but its j-just Harry!" Dudley blurted out, turning to a pile of jelly under the glare.
"Oh? 'Just Harry'? "Draco mocked coldly. " How bout we make this 'game'…" he spat out the last word with such venom in his voice that it caused the other boys to jump as if a viper had just struck out. "…more fun? Why don't I go get my…stick and we'll see what kind of game we can make of this." At this offer Dudley's eyes widen in terror. His friends looked confused but were obviously intimidated. If their 'fearless leader' was scared then they should be too.
"Th-that's not n-necessary. W-we'll just g-g-go now." Dudley sputtered and then quickly fled as fast as his fat little legs could carry him. Once Dudley and his gang were out of sight Draco turned back to Harry whose gaze was fixed on him questioningly.
He was sporting a bloody lip and several bruises but Draco had seen worse after Quidditch practice so he deemed him healthy.
"Well, sit up Potter. No use lying around all day in the garden." He smirked at the other boy. Harry just stared at him. "Come on Potter. Where are your manners? It's impolite to stare." He drawled.
"Why did you do that?" Harry finally asked never taking his eyes off of Draco. The complete attention of that green gaze was causing some uncomfortable reactions in Draco's body. He fought to keep his mask in place.
"Surely you're not that stupid Potter." He said thinking furiously for an answer that didn't consist of snogging the boy in front of him. Harry's stare was unrelenting.
"Enlighten me," he said with a hint of a challenge in his voice. Draco couldn't help but smirk at that.
"Well, not like I have to explain myself to you, but I can hardly pass up a chance to threaten a muggle. What would my father think?" Draco replied adding the last line for good measure. "Besides, Potter I am a Malfoy, we do not share well."
"Are you saying that I am your property?" The darker boy asked his voice took on a bit of a dangerous edge.
Draco was bit taken back; he didn't expect such a reaction.
"Of course not Potter. You can never be mine." He said sounding much too depressed even to his own ears. "You belong to the Dark Lord." He added quickly with a sneer.
Harry didn't seem buy it, but thank Merlin and all that is wonderful for the sudden arrival of Harry's Aunt Petunia.
"Stop lying about you lazy boy and get in here and make our dinner." She ordered.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry intoned and pulled himself to his feet with a weary sigh. Draco watched as Harry made his way back to the house. Ugh, what is going on with me!
But Draco wasn't given much time to answer that and the many other questions going on in his head. He followed the black-haired boy into the house.
As part of Harry's daily routine he would, after doing the yard work, make dinner. It usually was boneless, skinless and tasteless chicken with Brussels sprouts and white rice. The chicken was always dry since spices weren't allowed.
Draco found himself often wondering what Harry's cooking would be like if he was allowed to cook what he wanted and how he wanted. He got a taste of his answer the night after the incident with Dudley and his gang.
That night the dinner table was much quieter than usual. Dudley kept his eyes focused on his plate, only lifting his head every once and a while to take a drink before catching Draco's hard stare and fearfully dropping his eyes once again.
Draco had taken a bite of his chicken and knew immediately that something was different. It was moist (he suspected butter) and seasoned. It was really good (compared to what he had been eating over the last week). He shot a look to the other boy. But Harry was too busy rolling a Brussels sprout around his plate to notice.
Draco sighed. Though he loathed admitting it, even to himself, he was concerned about Harry. He wasn't himself, or at least he wasn't who Draco had always thought him to be. He didn't know what he expected Harry's home life to be like, but this wasn't it.
He had heard rumors that Harry's relatives were awful to him but he had assumed it was just a lie. There were so many rumors about Harry floating about that it was hard ,if at all possible, to sort the truths from the lies. Though some were blatantly untrue, like the one that Harry had a sordid affair with Professor Harrington the DADA professor who had to leave at the end of the year for 'unexplained reasons'.
Draco knew the real reason. She had been a Death Eater spy who was trying to recruit the students and learn what she can, seeing as Snape hadn't provided anything useful in a while. Dumbledore had known all along but he needed her to slip up so he could 'legally' use Veritaserum on her for information. Besides, not even the Boy-Who-Lived could get a fully grown woman who looked like she did. She was a knock-out, for a Death Eater that is.
But now seeing that Harry's life wasn't all fanfare and red carpets, it left Draco feeling rather strange. He had always let his vision of Harry living the easy life while he was being trained and tortured, to fuel his animosity for the boy. But now, he didn't have that anymore and all these unwanted feelings and thoughts were popping up.
After dinner Harry went on his nightly walk/jog of the neighborhood and Draco was roped into watching the telly, which really was fascinating for a muggle device, with the Dursleys. First they watched the news, which was fairly boring it was just information on what happened that day in their town. Then they watched what was called a 'game show' where muggles did totally mental things for money. And then they would watch what was called a 'sitcom' which basically seemed to be nothing more than the lives of random muggles. After two hours of that he was allowed to go to bed.
That night Draco lay in Harry's bed (the irony of that wasn't completely lost on him either), staring at the ceiling and he thought about his feelings over the past few days. He always had a sort of…obsession with Harry that much he knew and would admit, because he always thought he was obsessed with giving the little prat what he deserved. But that no longer seemed like the case.
His obsession for the boy changed from childhood rivalry to something else a long time ago. Draco had told himself that it had just flourished to hate but he didn't think that was true. Now that he thought about it there had been several hints to what his obsession had changed into.
There was the way his heart sped up when Harry entered the room, the stolen glances from across the Great Hall, the way his stomach did flips when those brilliant green eyes were fixed onto his, the way he went out of his way to find Harry and initiate the only interaction he could with him, a fight, and then there was the way that his laugh, even though, until recently, he had only ever heard it from across the room, made him weak and his insides melt.
Now that Draco thought about all this he was disgusted with himself.
I sound like some love-sick first-year…Hufflepuff! He raged at himself. But it was true. Not the fist-year Hufflepuff part but he was indeed love-sick. Or maybe just sick.
It didn't bother him so much that he was in love with a boy. Many of his housemates were homosexual, though Draco didn't consider being in love with one boy meaning that you're gay. Even his two cronies, and loyal friends, Crabbe and Goyle were shagging each other.
It wasn't something that was out of the ordinary for the Slytherins. Who you slept with was your business. It didn't matter to anybody. But that's as far as it went. Draco could have his little flings but in the end he would marry some girl from the old, powerful, pureblood family, most likely Pansy, or at least that's how it would've been. Though to the pureblood society, marriage didn't mean what it does to other wizarding families.
It was perfectly acceptable to have affairs on the side. Draco knew that his father had many lovers apart from his mother and half were male and some were even wives of his best friends. He also suspected that his mother was also having affairs but the women's activities were kept much more quite than their husbands.
A woman mustn't appear to love any man but her husband. Mustn't adore or want or need any other man. It would make her husband seem weak for not being able to control his wife, it also said a lot about the man's ability to please his spouse if she had to go knocking on somebody else's door.
No, the problem with Draco's new realization that he was in love with Harry bloody Potter was just that. It was Harry Bloody Potter for Merlin's sake! And not only that but how could he love him? Lust was one thing but love was completely another. Love was for the weak and poor.
He couldn't be in love. Not only was it dangerous to love someone in a time of war but to love someone who was so clearly going to be put in danger during said war was simply mental. Not to mention what Draco's friends would say. Pansy would die from shock and Blasie would hex him spot off.
Besides, he had no chance. He knew Harry hadn't had more than one girlfriend but he still likes girls. And even if he didn't he wouldn't go out with Draco. He thought he was a bloody Death Eater in training!
Ugh, all this is giving me a headache Draco moaned pitifully in his head. He sincerely wished he could turn back time. He would rather take his chances with his father's friends and the Dark Lord than to have to deal with all these disturbing thoughts and realizations.
Not only that but now that he knew how he felt and had owned up to feeling this way for a long time, what was he to do now? How could he look at Harry? How could he keep his cool?
An answer came to him from the most unlikely source, his father. His father had once given him a lecture about strength.
He had said "Draco, to be strong is to be powerful. Now when I say strength I don't mean just physically. I mean mentally as well as emotionally. The best way to become strong and stay that way is to identify your weakness and conquer it. If water makes you weak, than take up swimming. Swim everyday until you're no longer afraid. Fear makes you weak. You got that? Fear makes you weak. Face your fears and turn them from weaknesses to strength. Only when your weaknesses become your strengths will your truly be strong. Only then…"
That had been the only advice Lucius had ever given him that he could use. All the other lectures had been on the vileness of muggles and mudbloods and the superiority of purebloods.
So that was what Draco was going to do. Harry had become his weakness and he had to confront it. He wouldn't avoid Harry. No, he would spend every waking hour with the Gryffindor. He would get to, as the old proverb says "Know thine enemy".
Draco would get to know Harry and he would spend time with Harry, while still keeping his feelings hidden and his Malfoy mask of disdain and cold superiority in place. And in the end he would conquer his feelings for Harry and then he could go one with his life.
With his plan all laid out Draco let himself drift off to the sound of Harry's quill scratching across parchment.
(A/N: what do you think?)