A/N: Thank you again for so many wonderful, wonderful reviews. The author's cup is definitely overflowing. Thank you.
As far as whether anyone will discover Harry's abuse . . . I'm not telling. He's quite skilled at hiding it, as are the Dursleys. As you soon shall see.
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 3: THE PRICE OF LOYALTYPetunia snatched back the curtains in disgust. Draco Malfoy was once again playing with her mangy little nephew. Despite her best efforts over the last month to get Draco and Dudley to play together, the stupid little boy preferred Harry's friendship. She'd had to hire a man to come take care of the garden, had been forced to purchase a few sets of brand-new clothing for the little brat and had, on occasion, carefully warned Vernon about his behavior towards the boy. She did not want nosey questions. There had been far too many of them from some of the neighbors on Privet Drive—she was determined that it would be different here. Narcissa Malfoy's favor was the key to ensuring that success.
Harry was having the time of his life. It had been nearly a month since he and Draco had started playing together and he couldn't believe how much fun he was having. He'd desperately wished things would be different here, and was starting to believe that they would be. He had fewer chores than before, a few sets of clothing that fit and even a friend. One that had sneered at Dudley's bumbling attempts to force his way in. Harry had been most happy about that.
"Want to spend the night?" Draco asked casually as he continued fashioning a "knight" out of sticks and twine. They were going to play fairy castle as soon as they had their little diminutive village set up.
"Can't," Harry said as he added a thatched roof made of bark to a round stone "house." "Aunt Petunia says I've been spending too much time at your house. It's impolite, she says."
"That's dumb," Draco said as he placed his little stick knight in the ground. A blue jay feather had joined the errant knight as his banner and coat of arms. "Wish we had some paint or something."
"Hmm," Harry agreed as he finished off several more little stone houses. "We need something for the treasure," he said as he began casting about the ground for something.
"How 'bout this?" Draco asked as he fished in his pocket and withdrew the small stone Harry had given him.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. "You still have that? You have it with you?"
Draco snorted. "Of course. You gave it to me and it's genuine pirate treasure."
Harry felt the flush of true affection for his friend. He smiled. "Yeah. 'Course."
"Boy!" Aunt Petunia's nasally voice cut through the distance.
Draco rolled his eyes. "It's like she doesn't know your name or, something," he joked.
Harry smiled weakly. "Yeah. Or something."
"Looks like we'll have to play fairy castle tomorrow," Draco said, not anxious to get to his feet and go home.
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling glum.
"Boy! Where are you?" Aunt Petunia called again.
"I've got to go, Draco."
Draco nodded. "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See you," Harry said as he trotted off to his house.
Draco heard Harry's aunt say something. She sounded cross, but when did she ever sound anything but? The back door to Mr. Culpepper's—no, Harry's house, now—slammed shut. Draco got to his feet and trudged home, letting his own back door slam closed behind him.
"Draco, what have I told you about the door," Narcissa said without looking up from the newspaper.
"Sorry, mum." Draco flopped into one of the kitchen chairs.
Narcissa looked up. "Why so sad, dragon?"
"Harry can't spend the night."
"Oh." Narcissa hesitated. Harry had practically lived with them over the course of a month. He was such a delight that Narcissa hadn't minded in the least, but she did think it was a good idea for the boys to spend some time apart. Otherwise, they would tire of each other eventually. "Well, I'm sure you'll get to play tomorrow. And, the Dursleys have invited us to dinner tomorrow. You'll get to see him then as well."
Draco's face lit up. He'd yet to go into Harry's house. He couldn't wait to see his room and play with all of Harry's toys. He must have very unusual ones, Draco had decided, because he always seemed awed by Draco's mundane things.
"We'll have to stop by Mark and Spencer and pick something up for Dudley," Narcissa said as she continued reading the paper.
"Why would we do that?"
"Mrs. Dursley let it slip that it was Dudley's birthday last week and that they hadn't had a party for him, as he didn't know anyone."
"Well, we should get something for Harry, too," Draco demanded.
Narcissa looked up from the paper with a questioning expression.
"Remember? He said that his birthday was soon. Maybe the Dursleys are having a surprise party for both of them."
"Maybe so. Well, then, my little dragon, what do you propose we get them?"
Draco screwed his face up in thought. "Dudley doesn't seem to do very much. A book of adventure stories?"
"All right. And for Harry?"
Draco thought, and thought, and thought. "I know! He really likes my bath toys. Maybe his own set of little boats? Oh! And, we can get soap crayons and all sorts of other things."
Narcissa smiled. "Perfect."
Harry stood in the kitchen and watched as his aunt paced to and fro. She'd said hardly a word since calling him in from playing with Draco. She started every time she heard Uncle Vernon lumber about upstairs. Eventually, she thrust a piece of paper in Harry's hands. It was a list of chores. Inside chores. Harry was surprised. It was a rare occasion when Harry Potter was permitted to touch the Dursleys' "precious" things.
"The Malfoys are coming for dinner tomorrow night. To help celebrate Dudley's birthday."
Harry refrained from pointing out that his birthday had come and gone with nary a whisper.
"This house is to be spotless if you want to even think about being allowed to attend."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry murmured automatically, as he scanned the list.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Get to work!" she snapped before leaving the kitchen.
Harry sighed and got to work.
Several hours later, Harry was serving dinner. He was bone weary, but had come close to finishing everything on his list. He'd seen Aunt Petunia washing some of his "good" clothes, so he was sure he was going to get to join the dinner the next night.
"What do we know about these Malfoy people?" Uncle Vernon asked, as he stabbed his roast pork with his knife and fork.
"They are wealthy and, for the most part, very well regarded. It will be good for us to curry favor with them."
"Fa," Vernon said, wishing the dinner wasn't going to take place. "They can't be right in the head to have taken up with this little blighter," Vernon said, his head jerking back towards Harry.
Harry's face colored with anger. Not on his behalf, but on behalf of Draco and Mrs. Malfoy. They were kind and nice, they made sure he had plenty to eat, they didn't yell at him, and they made him feel happy.
"Vernon," Petunia snapped. "Lapse of judgment, I'm sure. They just haven't had a chance to really get to know our sweet little Dudders. Once they do, the boy will be forgotten."
It didn't occur to Harry to be upset that they were talking about him as if he didn't exist.
"Fine, fine, fine," Vernon groused. "You know, Pet, I've heard things about that family. Did you know Narcissa's husband was brutally murdered just a year ago? Most people think he just got caught in the crossfire. Sounds fishy to me. I bet he was in deep with those crooked men."
Harry's hands stilled. He kept his head down, waiting to see what would be said next.
"Yes, I heard something about that," Petunia said archly. "If it's true, I'm sure Narcissa was involved. One can only imagine how she escaped prosecution."
Vernon chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure we can imagine."
Harry didn't know what that chuckle meant, but he knew the tone of voice. His aunt and uncle both were saying mean things about Mrs. Malfoy. An uncharacteristic flash of fire bubbled up in him—a sense of loyalty to the Malfoys that he'd never felt for the Dursleys. Before he could stop himself, he screamed, "That's not true! Don't say such things!"
Vernon turned with such startling alacrity, that Harry was sure it hadn't been real. His uncle's face began turning that particular shade of purple that always spelled trouble for Harry. Harry cowered, wishing beyond hope that he could take back his words. Even though he meant them.
"What did you say, boy?" Vernon growled as his hands curled into fists, clenching and unclenching.
"I—I . . . nothing. I—I said nothing, sir," Harry whispered, feeling very small.
Vernon stood, shaking off Petunia's weak protests. He charged up to Harry, who had backed into the wall. "Who gave you permission to speak? No one, that's who. And, how DARE you speak such filth. Think you're better than me, do you?"
"No, no sir. No I don't. I'm sorry," Harry said pleading, wishing—desperately wishing—that Uncle Vernon would overlook his lapse.
"Mind your place, boy. You seem to be forgetting it lately. Is it because the neighbors feel sorry for you and give you their scraps? Is that it? You need to be reminded. Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Vernon roared as he took Harry by the shoulders and shook him roughly.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could fly away or disappear. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," Harry said over and over as tears slipped from his closed eyes.
"Not yet, but you will be," Vernon whispered.
Harry took one shuddering sob, and closed his eyes even tighter.
Draco was up, washed, and out the door the next morning in record time. He scrambled to his backyard and was relieved to see that their fairy village hadn't collapsed overnight. He put more knights in the ground and fashioned a princess out of a small stone, twine and soft fern while he waited for Harry.
The sun moved a bit higher in the sky and still Harry hadn't come. Draco made a few more stone houses and fortified the castle while he waited. Still, Harry didn't come. Draco shifted nervously, wondering why his friend hadn't come to play. He sighed and decided to go to the Dursleys' door and ask for Harry. Maybe he'd forgotten?
Draco trudged to the door and knocked. A few moments later, Harry's aunt came to the door.
"Harry can't play today," she said sharply, scanning the street.
"Why?" Draco asked, full of the impetuousness of youth.
Petunia was startled by the question. She looked down into Draco's earnest face and sighed. "He's sick. He's told you about getting sick, right?" she asked with an edge of desperation in her voice.
"Yes, ma'am. Can I go up to his room, then? I promised I'd play with him, even if he was sick."
"Er, no, he's sleeping. He probably won't want visitors for a few days."
"Will he be okay? What about dinner? His surprise party?"
"What are you talking about, boy?"
"Dinner tonight. Isn't it for Dudley and Harry's birthdays?"
Petunia blanched. "Is that what the b—Harry told you?" she asked through clenched teeth.
Not noticing Petunia's demeanor, Draco shook his head no. "I just figured, since I know his birthday's soon."
Petunia relaxed a bit. "No, the dinner is not for Harry's birthday. Though it is for Dudley." Petunia hesitated. "Why don't you play with Dudley today, Draco? Harry won't feel up to playing for a few days I think."
Draco sighed. He really didn't want to play with Dudley. He didn't like Dudley. But, maybe Dudley could tell him more about Harry. "Sure," he said.
Petunia beamed. "Wonderful! He'll be right over," she said as she closed the door and screeched for "Dudders."
Playing with Dudley was awful, Draco decided. He'd destroyed his and Harry's fairy village within a few moments of seeing it, he refused to look for treasure or spy on Mrs. Figg's cats, and had demanded snacks from his mum.
"So, what's it like living with Harry?" Draco asked, hoping to salvage the afternoon.
Dudley shot him a dirty look as he took another large bite of his sandwich. His third. "What you care about him for," he mumbled in between bites.
"He's my friend," Draco said, finding Dudley horribly rude and common.
Dudley shrugged his shoulders. "He's a little freak," he said, as if that explained everything. "Don't you have anything fun around here? Do you have a video game system?"
"Er, no," Draco said.
Dudley snorted. "Not so fancy, then, are you? I've got two game systems, a computer, and loads of games," Dudley said as if these were impressive things. Draco was not impressed.
"Why would you want to spend all day inside playing computer games when you could be outside exploring?" Draco asked, his nose wrinkling in disgust as a glob of mayonnaise from Dudley's sandwich landed on the edge of the kitchen table.
Dudley snorted and said something that sounded like, "You're just a freak like him."
Narcissa walked into the kitchen, ready to be quit of Dudley Dursley. He was loud, inconsiderate and obnoxious. How he and Harry belonged to the same family, Narcissa would never know. "Dudley? I think it's time you went home to get ready for dinner."
Dudley shrugged, dropped what remained of his sandwich on the table and got up without so much as a goodbye. When he'd left Draco asked, "Do we have to go tonight? Harry won't be there and I'm not sitting next to that whale."
"Draco," Narcissa warned, though she found it hard to put anything behind it. "Come on, love, let's get ready for dinner. It's one night, and maybe you can sneak upstairs and visit for a moment with Harry. I bet he'd like that."
Draco brightened. "Okay," he said as he ran to his room to change.
At precisely seven o'clock, the Dursleys' doorbell rang. As practiced, Dudley opened the door and smiled at Mrs. Malfoy with patent falseness. "Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy." His piggish little eyes roved over the brightly wrapped gifts. "Can I take those for you?" he asked.
"Thank you, Dudley," Narcissa said with an ingratiating smile. Appearances were everything. She knew how these games were played. "This one," she said pointing to the larger of the two packages, "is for Harry. I understand he has a birthday sometime soon as well?"
Petunia stepped in when she saw the murderous expression on her son's face at the thought of Harry getting a larger present. "Why thank you, Narcissa. I'm sure Harry will enjoy opening this when he's feeling better."
"Yes, Draco mentioned he was sick. Poor thing. How is he feeling?"
Petunia and Vernon exchanged glances. "Better. But, we've been through this a number of times. It will be a few days yet before he's able to play again."
Narcissa hesitated a moment before turning to Draco. "You know Draco, of course."
"Hello," Draco said, flashing the charming little smile he'd learned from his mother.
"Well, shall we?" Petunia said, as she gestured towards the living room.
After everyone was settled, the topic once again turned to Harry. Much to the Dursleys' disgust.
"Harry told us he often gets sick. I, well I, I don't mean to be rude, but what precisely is wrong with him?" Narcissa asked, wanting to get to the bottom of the little mystery named Harry Potter.
"Suppressed immune system," Petunia said tightly. "Born premature. Mother refused to breastfeed," Petunia sniffed. "And now, what is there to show for it? A sickly little thing."
Narcissa's mouth flopped open, and she blushed in embarrassment. "I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude."
"No, no," Petunia said, her gaze softening. "It is I who should apologize. Forgive me, Narcissa. It is a . . . difficult subject. One that causes our family much pain. Ha--Harry especially. He really doesn't like to talk about it. Wants to be seen as normal," Petunia said bracingly.
"Of course," Narcissa said, taking in the pained expressions on the Dursleys' faces. Of course, she mistook their expressions for ones of concern rather than what they truly were. "Well, we certainly won't ask Harry about it, will we Draco?" Narcissa asked.
Draco nodded. He didn't want to bring up anything that made Harry feel awkward or shy. He didn't like feeling awkward.
The conversation turned to much more pleasant matters. The adults chatted for quite awhile about inconsequential things while Dudley eyed the wrapped package with his name on it. Draco daydreamed that he and Harry were knights fighting an epic battle against the evil king, Dastardly Dudders. A timer dinged in the kitchen.
"Oh, that would be the roast," Petunia said.
"Let me help," Narcissa said. She turned and winked at Draco. "Draco, why don't you use the washroom before dinner. We have a few minutes, yet. Right, Petunia?"
"Yes of course," Petunia answered. "The washroom is up the stairs to the right."
Draco nodded and thanked Petunia before scrambling up the stairs. When he was sure everyone had migrated to the kitchen, he began exploring. "Harry," he stage whispered. "Harry? Where are you?" No response. Draco sighed and began opening all of the doors. The first three were two bedrooms and the washroom. He sneered at the pigsty that was Dudley's room. Another door led to a linen cupboard, and another led to a sterile, little-used bedroom that Dudley assumed was for guests. That left one door at the very end of the hall. When he opened it, he heard a soft gasp. "Harry? Is that you?"
"Draco? What are you doing here?" Harry whispered.
Draco stepped into the darkened room, momentarily blinded. He fumbled for a light switch on the wall.
"Don't!" Harry called out. "Er, the light hurts my eyes."
"Okay," Draco said, feeling his way along the walls. He heard the faint rustle of sheets and bumped into what felt like the bed. His outstretched hands touched the wall. "Cor, this is a small room, Harry. And, where's your window?"
Harry shifted on the bed and sighed. "I don't like windows," he lied, "and I thought this was a neat little room. Umm . . . it's like our tent, you know?"
Draco smiled, though Harry couldn't see it. "Brilliant," he said before plopping down at the foot of the bed. "Is it okay that I sit here?" he asked.
"Yeah, okay," Harry said softly.
"So, what's wrong with you?" Draco asked.
The sheets rustled again. "I—I just get sick. Like I said."
Draco bit his lip, thinking back to the promise he'd just made to his mother and the Dursleys, desperately wishing to break it. "Your aunt said it will be a few days before you can play again."
"Hmm," Harry said. "Yeah, it usually takes me a few days until I'm better."
"She said you were sleeping all day."
Harry hesitated. "Hmm," he said again.
"Are you tired now?" Draco asked, hoping that the answer was no. He really didn't want to have to go back downstairs.
"Yeah, sort of," Harry murmured, not really tired, but in no mood for any additional punishment if Draco was found in his room.
Silence passed between the two friends.
"We brought you a birthday gift!" Draco said, remembering the brightly wrapped package downstairs.
"You did? Really? . . . Thank you."
"It's boats and soap crayons and other fun things for the bath," Draco blurted. He couldn't see it, but Harry smiled.
"Perfect," Harry said, knowing that he'd never see the little boats or any of the other things. But, it was enough that Draco had thought of that; had thought of him.
"I know you can't play or anything, but is there anything we can do that's fun? Before I have to go back downstairs, I mean," Draco asked.
The sheets rustled and Draco could tell that Harry was now lying down fully. "Tell me a story," Harry asked, knowing that was Draco's favorite thing to do. And, tonight, a fairy story was just the thing he needed.
Draco decided to tell the best fairy story he could think of—anything to make Harry feel better. "Well, did I ever tell you about old Mr. Culpepper?"
"No, you didn't."
"Well," Draco began, "he used to live in this very house, you see. He was a pirate in disguise. Always wandering around the yard, digging holes at all times of the day and night. Getting strange packages in the mail. Well, one day, Mr. Culpepper . . ." and Draco continued to spin his tale until he was sure Harry had fallen asleep.