A special thanks to Sansa who is a selfless beta and wonderful friend.
Pesky legal disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K.R., her assigns, agents, licensees and all others to whom she grants her wonderful dispensation. Sadly, I am not on that list, nor do ever expect to be. I write this purely for fun and guilty pleasure and make no money from this.
CHAPTER 2: I'LL FLY AWAYHarry woke the next morning and jumped from his little cot, remembering that he'd been invited for chocolate chip pancakes. He'd never had chocolate chip pancakes, but anything with chocolate had to be good. Truthfully, he'd never been invited anywhere before, either. He was afraid that he would mess everything up, that he wouldn't know what to do, what to say, that he wouldn't be helpful enough. Deciding that he didn't want to lose his one and only friend so quickly, Harry dug through the drawers of his secondhand dresser to find his best clothes.
After getting dressed, he dashed out of his little windowless room that had served the previous owners as a storage closet, and ran to the bath. He brushed his teeth furiously. He then spent the next fifteen minutes valiantly trying to comb his hair into some semblance of order. He really didn't want to look like a ruffian. Aunt Petunia always said his hair made him look like a ruffian and that no one wanted to be seen with such creatures. Sighing, he watched as his hair poked up once more and hoped against hope that the Malfoys wouldn't turn him straight out.
Harry trudged from the bath and started down the stairs when he stopped. Gifts. He'd forgotten gifts. From the little metal grate on his cupboard door, he'd seen dinner guests bring flowers and bottles of some sort to his aunt and uncle when they'd come for dinner. Harry quickly scrambled back to his room and dove straight for the floor, his little arm reaching under his cot for a familiar coffee can that held his vast treasure store. He quickly turned it over on the floor and began sifting. His fingers hovered over a large marble before moving on. He fingered the soft cardinal feather he'd found last winter and quickly passed over the oft-viewed photograph of him as a baby. Finally, he spied what he knew would be perfect for Draco—a small, smooth, silvery stone he'd found in a creek bed he'd explored one day last summer. It reminded him a bit of Draco's eyes.
Dropping the stone in his pocket, he dashed down the stairs and was surprised to find Aunt Petunia waiting for him at the foot with a curious looking knapsack in her hands. She kept glancing at the kitchen door as she shoved the knapsack in Harry's arms and hissed, "Remember what I said. And, don't come back before tomorrow!"
Harry nodded and skipped across the threshold, hardly daring to believe that he was actually free. Before heading to the Malfoys, though, he wandered into the back garden of the Dursleys' house, intent on picking a few flowers for Mrs. Malfoy. Harry hadn't made his way to the back garden yet, and he recalled seeing some particularly striking bits of color in the far corner. He spied what he was after and quickly set about gathering up the brightly colored flowers. He loved plants. He'd even learned the names of many of them from the nursery man who delivered to their old house. He was kind and had even given Harry a few packets of seeds now and then.
When Harry felt he had enough, he trotted over to the Malfoy house and stood in front of the door. He was terrified, he realized. Taking a deep breath, he shifted the knapsack to the crook of his arm and knocked. Within seconds he heard what sounded like a herd of buffalo running through the house only to be nearly knocked backward when the door flew open and Draco bounced onto the porch.
Draco's face split into a huge grin. "He's here! Mum, Harry's here!" he began shouting as he grabbed Harry's free hand.
Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline and he gasped as Draco grabbed him and began pulling him through the house at breakneck speed. It was all that Harry could do to keep from falling.
Narcissa turned from the cooker as Draco barreled into the kitchen with a bewildered Harry in tow. She shook her head slightly and smiled. "Draco," she admonished lightly, "not so loud. Breakfast in a few minutes, I think," she said.
Draco released Harry's hand from his grip as he scrambled to the table, ready for his pancakes. This left Harry standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding his knapsack in the crook of his arm and the small bunch of flowers in his hand. Harry bit his bottom lip, not sure what to do.
"Good morning Harry," Narcissa said, thus relieving him of having to start the conversation. "I hope you're hungry. I've made loads of pancakes."
Harry brightened at that and stepped forward. He thrust the flowers at Mrs. Malfoy and tried to remember what the guests always said who came to his aunt and uncle's house. "Thank you so much for inviting me," he began formally, "these are for you," he said, waggling the flowers.
Narcissa smiled. What an odd little boy, she thought. So formal and soft-spoken that it made her want to snap him up and tickle him until he crowed with laughter. "Why Harry, these are lovely," she said as she took the flowers. "Thank you. Hydrangeas are my favorites."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Those are lace caps," he said excitedly as he pointed out the unique shape of the hydrangea blossom. "And, I thought you might like this red anise I found. I added the var—varieg—var-ie-gat-ed pitto-spo-rum for a bit of green," he said, proud that he'd only stumbled over the word variegated. He'd remembered that one from the nursery man. He'd raved about the beauty of variegated pittosporum. Harry equally enjoyed the way it sounded when he said it. He'd practiced it over and over until he could say it correctly.
"Why, Harry, you know an awful lot about plants!" Narcissa exclaimed, both truly surprised that he was as knowledgeable as he was and happy that there was something that would get this demure child to chatter. She turned to find a vase for her little bouquet and asked, "How did you learn so much?" She was surprised that when she turned around Harry had a pensive, almost wary expression on his face.
"I spend a fair bit of time outdoors," he said softly. "I work—I like to work in the garden," he said, emphasizing the word 'like,' as if reciting something by rote. He shrugged. "I love plants," he said genuinely.
"Well, that certainly explains your play clothes, then!" Narcissa said brightly as she gestured to Harry's outfit, happy to have solved the little mystery of his overlarge, thread bare clothing. The child obviously wanted to be comfortable and didn't want to dirty his better clothes while digging in the garden. Narcissa herself had a whole "garden" wardrobe and it was similar to Harry's.
"Err, yes," Harry said as he smoothed his best pants self-consciously.
Draco, disliking the fact that he was being ignored, banged his little fist on the table, demanding pancakes. "Mum, we'd like our pancakes, now," Draco said with a little sniff. "Harry, you sit here," Draco demanded as he patted the seat next to him.
"Draco!" Narcissa admonished while bringing everything to the table except the pancakes. Harry hopped into his seat and smiled at Draco, as he pushed the small, silver stone into his friend's hand.
"Cor! What's this?" Draco whispered excitedly while Narcissa busied herself with final preparations.
"A gift," Harry said simply. "You know, to thank you for inviting me."
Draco turned the stone over and over in his hand, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.
"Where'd you get it?"
"I found it last summer. In a creek bed behind the Dursley's house."
Draco's head snapped up, his eyes glittering. "Do you think it's treasure? Do you think a pirate left it there?"
Harry looked at Draco carefully before responding. He hadn't known his new friend for very long, but he knew Draco was fixated on buried treasure and pirates and other flights of fancy. Harry found himself reluctant to destroy that, even though he already knew there was no such thing as buried treasure. Not for him, at least.
"Well? Do you?" Draco asked.
Harry smiled. "Yeah, maybe," he said in a whisper. "There, er, is a river not far from there. Maybe the pirates, uh, dropped it on the way to bury their other treasure."
Draco nodded enthusiastically, his tantrum all but forgotten.
Of course, the smell of the warm pancakes could have accomplished the same thing, Harry thought. As soon as the platter was on the table, Draco dropped the stone in his pocket and attacked the pancake platter with relish, heaving three, no four, huge, squashy pancakes onto his plate with his fork. Harry watched as Mrs. Malfoy sat and gracefully took two pancakes for herself. Draco and his mother began chattering about something, leaving Harry to his own devices. Not sure how many he was allowed, Harry hesitantly reached out and took one pancake. It was quite large, actually. Not sure what to do next, he watched through the fringe brushing his forehead as Draco generously buttered all of his pancakes before smothering them in syrup. Mrs. Malfoy poured a bit of syrup on hers as well and started cutting them into neat little bites as she listened to her son chatter about Mrs. Figg and her suspicious cats.
Harry decided that he mustn't ask for the butter or syrup, as neither were offered to him, and hesitantly picked up his knife and fork, trying to match Mrs. Malfoy's neat cuts. He eyed the speckled little cake before finally taking a bite. Oh, marvel! The taste was magnificent! Harry unconsciously made a tiny moan of appreciation, causing the chatter to stop and Draco and Narcissa to look over. Harry froze mid-bite. He'd clearly done something wrong. He swallowed carefully.
"Have you never had chocolate chip pancakes before, love?" Narcissa asked, amused by Harry's reaction.
A deep blush crept over Harry's cheeks, as he swallowed hard, looked down and shook his head afraid he'd be turned out right away.
"They're really good, aren't they?" Draco whispered in Harry's ear—the sweet smell of chocolate and syrup on his breath. "Better than treasure, I think."
Harry smiled, glad that his friend and Mrs. Malfoy weren't going to toss him out on his ear. Not yet, anyway.
Narcissa looked down at Harry's lone, syrup-less pancake. "I know it seems strange, dear, but they really are quite good with butter and syrup. Try it," she said as she moved the butter dish and syrup in front of Harry.
Harry nodded. He quickly buttered what remained of his pancake and poured a generous amount of syrup over it before Mrs. Malfoy could change her mind. The taste was even better now. He couldn't believe it. He relished every bite of his pancake, sad to see it end. He then gulped his milk, savoring every bit of it as well. When finished, he looked up and saw that Draco had taken two more pancakes for himself and was eating them with just as much gusto. Harry smiled at his friend, finding his antics amusing.
"Harry, would you like some more?" Narcissa asked, concerned that he'd only eaten one pancake. He was a growing boy, after all, and one pancake couldn't possibly be enough.
"Er, no thank you," Harry said softly, afraid to overstep. Struggling to recall the order of meal pleasantries, Harry carefully laid his silverware down and thanked Mrs. Malfoy profusely for such a wonderful meal.
Narcissa really wasn't sure what to make of this little boy in front of her. He was so serious and formal and . . . odd. He was as shy as a toddler but had the bearing of one much older than Draco. He was ridiculously small and thin. "Harry, how old are you?" she asked suddenly. She'd assumed that he was a bit younger than Draco based on his size, but now she wasn't so sure.
"Yeah, Harry. How old are you?" Draco asked while he smacked his lips and cleared away the last of the pancake crumbs.
"Seven," Harry said, "But I'll be eight soon," he added hastily.
Narcissa was surprised. Harry was only a few months younger than her son, then. How fascinating that they could be such different creatures, even at this age. Perhaps he was frail? Maybe that was why he ate so little? It would certainly explain his size and his somewhat pale complexion. She'd have to keep an eye on things to make sure that Draco didn't push him too hard.
Harry pretended not to notice that Mrs. Malfoy was studying him. "Harry, are you sure you wouldn't like a bit more to eat? You're awfully thin. We need to get some meat on those little bones."
Familiar with this kind of scrutiny, Harry decided that it was best to lay the groundwork now for the lies he would eventually have to tell. "I'm fine, Mrs. Malfoy. I—I just don't get hungry," Harry said very quietly. "I get sick a lot," he continued, "and, I have to miss loads of school.
"Are you . . . I mean to say . . . is there a name . . . what makes you get sick, Harry?" Narcissa fumbled, not entirely sure how to ask her question.
Harry shrugged and looked down at his plate. There was a rather large crumb on the left side of the plate that was difficult to ignore. "Dunno. I just get sick," he lied. "Colds, flus, and stuff. I'm usually only sick for a few days," he murmured.
Draco frowned. He didn't like that his boy, his Harry, got sick a lot. Being sick was no fun. He hated being sick. Being sick meant having to stay in bed under too many covers and taking yucky medicine. He put his sticky hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll keep you company when you get sick, Harry. We can play indoors just as well as out," he said solemnly.
"Yes," Narcissa said, picking up the thread and wanting to remove the forlorn expression that had wended its way across Harry's face, "and he'll bring you lemon ices and soup to make you feel better. There's nothing wrong with getting sick, Harry, it happens to everyone. It just happens to you more often sounds like."
Harry looked up at her, his green-eyed gaze startling in its intensity. Narcissa nearly gasped. "Yes, it does," he said softly before shaking his head and murmuring his thanks. Seeing that everyone was done with breakfast, he hopped down from his seat and started taking plates towards the sink.
"And just what do you think you're doing, young man?" Narcissa said playfully, hoping to remove the rather somber mood that had overtaken the breakfast table.
"Cleaning up," Harry said, bewildered.
"You are just the most polite little thing, aren't you?" Narcissa said as she rose and took the plates from Harry's hands. "Cleaning dishes is no business for little boys, now the two of you clear out and have fun playing," she said with a smile and gentle swat to Draco's bottom.
Draco grabbed Harry's hand once again and dragged him out of the back door. "Come on Harry! It's time to play!"
The boys spent all day playing—digging holes, making treasure maps, and spying on Mrs. Figg's cats. Harry did whatever Draco wanted to do. This, of course, suited Draco perfectly. And, Draco was secretly thrilled whenever he could get Harry to laugh, or to run, or to do anything silly. As the sun began to set low in the sky, the melodious voice of Narcissa Malfoy called the boys in for dinner. Harry ate as much as he dared, but he could tell that Mrs. Malfoy was restraining herself from putting more food on his plate.
"Draco, you are a mess," she said, amused by his mussed hair and the ring of spaghetti sauce around his lips. There were smudges of dirt on his elbows and clothing. Harry, she noticed, was in much the same state, save the spaghetti sauce. He ate neatly, almost daintily. He seemed to savor his food. "I think it's time two little boys had their bath and then went to bed," she said with an arched brow.
Draco sighed, but then remembered that he and Harry could play in the bath with his colored soap crayons and pull-string boats. "Let's go, Harry," Draco said, grabbing Harry's hand. "We can play pirates! I've got loads of boats to share."
Harry tried to wriggle free of Draco's grasp. "You go ahead first. I'll help your mum with the dishes."
Draco gave Harry an odd look. "But, I have bath toys. Don't you want to play?"
Harry took a deep breath. He absolutely could not take a bath with Draco. It would require too many explanations—explanations he was never, ever going to give if he didn't have too. "I—I don't like . . . I only take baths by myself," he said softly.
Draco shrugged and let go of Harry's hand. "Okay," clearly not disturbed by Harry's pronouncement. "I'll let you know when I'm done."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
Harry watched as one of Draco's pull-string boats skimmed across the soapy bath water's surface. He giggled softly as it turned in circles and knocked other little boats out of the way. This was by far the best part of the day. Usually, he was only permitted a short, tepid shower in the evening—just enough to wash away the grime, but never enough to feel clean. Here, he'd played with toys and had scrubbed himself twice over already, luxuriating in the feel of the warm water and smell of the soap from the brightly patterned tube.
"Harry! Hurry up! I've got a surprise!" Draco's voice was muffled through the door, but no less enthusiastic. Harry stretched once more and gingerly got out of the bath. Mrs. Malfoy had given him a huge, fluffy towel along with pajamas he'd never seen before. He assumed they'd come from the strange knapsack Auth Petunia had pressed into his hands earlier in the day. After drying himself, Harry looked himself over critically. The bruises weren't so bad. Just a few, mostly around his upper arms and a few others scattered about. He could have explained them away, he supposed. But, he hadn't wanted to. Today had been perfect. He wasn't going to let anything spoil that. Harry dressed quickly, surprised that the pajamas were new, of a good quality and fit relatively well. He felt like he'd fallen into another world.
Feeling drowsy from a day of play, several good meals and a long, warm bath, Harry stumbled from the bathroom anxiously looking forward to a night's sleep in a soft bed. Therefore, it was with dismay that he found Draco's room had been transformed into some sort of Bedouin tent made of blankets, sheets, shawls, chairs and a creatively placed broom handle.
A little blonde head poked out from behind the "tent" flap. "Harry! Look what Mum and I made! It's a tent for us to sleep in tonight. We can pretend that we're gypsies roaming the lands in search of treasure. Won't that be fun?"
Harry looked longingly at the soft bed and sighed. After having spent several years in the cupboard under the stairs in the Dursleys' last house, he couldn't quite see the appeal of sleeping on the floor inside of a small, enclosed space. He shook his head and smiled softly at Draco. "Sounds like fun," he said.
Draco beamed. "Come on then," he said as he darted back into the tent, waiting for Harry.
Harry got in and found the small space heaped with squashy pillows, sheets, blankets, toys, books and small torches. There was even a small radio in the corner playing some sort of popular music in low tones. By far the best, though, was the fairy lights strung haphazardly along the tent's ceiling. It was a short strand—just enough to give a smattering of soft light. Harry looked up, transfixed.
"Mum helped with that part," Draco admitted, seeing where Harry was staring. Draco patted the line of pillows next to his. "That's your bed. Mum made them extra soft," Draco said as he snuggled under his own blankets.
Harry lay down and found the little pillow bed surprisingly comfortable. The blankets were soft and warm and he thought that he could see the appeal of the little tent. For a moment, he wasn't Harry Potter, the bane of the Dursleys' existence. He was Harry, the gypsy, roaming the lands with his friend and comrade, Draco.
"All settled in, boys?" Narcissa called from the doorway.
"Yes, Mum," "Yes, ma'am," the boys murmured in response.
"All right then, sweet dreams my little dragon. Sweet dreams to you too, Harry." With that, Narcissa switched off the lights and pulled the door closed.
Harry flushed. He couldn't recall a time when he'd been wished sweet dreams. He burrowed deeper into his squashy pillow bed, desperate to hold onto this little fantasy for as long as he could. For a long while, Harry stared at the fairy lights and listened to the faint strains of the radio. He was just slipping into sleep when Draco's voice pulled him back.
"Harry," Draco said. "You still awake?"
"Yeah."
"I had a lot of fun today."
"Me too," Harry said, meaning it.
"I wish you could spend every night here."
"Me too."
Silence stretched. There was an advertisement for toothpaste playing now. Harry could just make out the jaunty little jingle.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
Draco hesitated. "Why do you live with your aunt and uncle?"
"My mum and dad died when I was little, " Harry said softly.
"Oh. Do you miss them?"
Harry thought about that. No one had ever asked him that. "I—I don't know. I didn't really know them."
"Oh."
"I think . . . I think I miss having parents," Harry said softly, his mind replaying all of the wonderful things Mrs. Malfoy had done for him in just one day.
"Yeah." Draco rolled over and rested his head in his hand. "Why is your aunt always so cross?"
Harry blanched. "She's not that bad," Harry said evasively, hoping Draco wouldn't ask any more questions about his relatives.
"I miss my dad," Draco said softly. "He was a brave man. He was the best. I hate that he died. Mean men killed him when he tried to stop them from hurting someone."
Harry swallowed thickly. He may not have known his parents, but he understood the pain of their loss. "I'm sorry, Draco."
Draco sniffed a little bit. "Me too. For your parents, I mean."
There was some sort of call-in show playing on the radio. A canned laugh track spurted through every few seconds, though what was meant to be funny was lost in the radio's low murmurings and faint static.
"I'm glad were friends, Harry. We can look out for each other. Keep each other from getting sad."
Harry nodded, hoping that Draco saw him. He must have, because Draco smiled brightly before rolling back over and burrowing into his covers. "G'night, Harry."
"Night, Draco."