A/n: Thank you everyone for the support and reviews! I loved it!
And I feel like thanking J.K. Rowling today too. I don't know what my life would have been like without the wonderful world she created.
Chapter 6
Christmas to Remember (part 2)
It was the most horrible Christmas' Eve the raven had ever had to suffer through.
This one phrase pretty much said it all.
Uncle Vernon had been absolutely furious at Harry when he'd found him on the floor, despite the fact that it was him who was lying at the bottom of the stairs, moaning and clutching his arm, and not 'Dudders'. Vernon Dursley's moustache had bristled as his complexion went from red to a kind of purple. The colour had reminded Harry of the wine his parents had sometimes drunk at dinner. He'd once told them he felt left out. They'd said they would buy him his very own wine.
It had taken him a few weeks to find out the wine they poured in his glass was actually grape juice. When a classmate brought some to school for his birthday, he recognized the taste instantly. He'd intended to tell his parents when he came home, but for some reason, he hadn't said a word about it.
It was nothing but a memory though. It didn't even feel real to Harry anymore, and certainly not while he was lying on Aunt Petunia's rug in the hallway. It felt like his life with his parents had been a story, a long story he'd plunged into deeply. But in fact, he'd always been locked up in a bedroom at the Durlsey's.
"What have you done this time, boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed from high above the raven's head. A large bloated hand swooped down and grabbed Harry's collar, lifting him up and choking him momentarily, until he stood shakily on his feet again, keeping a tight grip on his arm. His shoulder was hurting so much he felt his eyes beginning to water.
Harry bit down hard. He knew that crying in front of his family would not help him in the least, quite the opposite. And the humiliation would make everything worse.
"You got blood on the rug!" Aunt Petunia screeched as she spotted a tiny patch of scarlet on the floor.
The raven glanced down. Indeed, there it was. He was confused for a moment. He wasn't sure where it could've come from. Then he lifted his uninjured arm to the side of his head. His fingertips came away with the same colour.
It was Dudley's robot. The hard plastic edge had pierced the soft skin of the raven's forehead. It was a very superficial wound, and Harry didn't even feel it. The pain of his shoulder was overshadowing everything. It was more intense than any pain he'd felt before.
"Our guests are coming tomorrow! I don't have time to clean up blood!" Aunt Petunia raged on as Uncle Vernon decided what to do.
"That's it, boy!" He thundered, he never addressed Harry in any other way. "Go to your bloody room and don't you come out until after Christmas!"
Uncle Vernon's eyes stayed fixed on Harry, waiting for him to obey the orders. But Harry couldn't move. He had to ask, he had to do something. His shoulder felt like it had been pulled out, and he didn't seem to be able to breathe properly, no matter how much he inhaled. The shock of the fall and the pain and the strange feeling of his shoulder not being in place were making him shaky on his legs. He desperately needed help.
"I…I…" He stuttered, clutching his injured arm, for he had no control over it.
"What?" Aunt Petunia asked before Vernon could speak again. Her voice was dimmer, but it was much sharper, colder.
The raven stood there, with Dudley on the stairs, Petunia Dursley on one side and Vernon Dursley on the other, all looking on impatiently, while he tried with all his might to keep his composure. If he'd been at home with Lily and James, he would have burst into tears a long time ago, and his mother would have already taken care of him, whispered sweet words and kissed his bruises or cuts.
Obviously, things had changed. So much had changed. Anger, loneliness, hatred, loathing even, had found their way into his heart, had burdened him with more than physical pain ever could. In a way, he'd had much worse. If it meant he could get some things he wished back, he would gladly suffer through this kind of pain every week.
"It…it hurts." He whimpered. His voice was shaky from the threatening tears. How could it be that it hurt so much!
"What a sissy!" Dudley yelled in triumph, thinking his aim had done the job and his cousin was complaining from his head wound.
"Dudders!" Aunt Petunia hissed immediately. "Watch your language! I don't want any of it when our guests come tomorrow. And you," she turned back to the hunched little figure in the hallway, "don't play such comedy! It's just a scratch. Get it cleaned up before you make any more stains!"
With that, she turned on her heels with her Dudders. Uncle Vernon backed her order, and then Harry had to move out of the way for he lifted the rug from the floor and took it into the basement for cleaning.
The hallway was suddenly empty and silent. Darkness had fallen outside, and Harry could see lights through the glazed glass of the front door. The beautifully twinkling Christmas lights. Everyone was looking forward to the next day, to the holidays. He imagined Ron in a big house filled with loud redheads, running after each other and throwing snowballs; Mrs Weasley screaming in horror and telling them to go outside.
And Hermione, she would probably be looking forward to getting new books for Christmas, or a new day planner. Harry wasn't sure if she had a lot of family, but two parents was more than he could wish for.
At least, the agony he felt in his shoulder was keeping his mind off his deeper ache. Though for once he'd actually really needed Aunt Petunia's help, the one time he was prepared to beg for it, and she'd turned him away like every other time. Hadn't she seen his situation?
No. She'd only looked at Dudders, made sure her own son wasn't injured or displeased. And of course, the little blood spot on the carpet was enough to make her forget everything else.
The raven steadied himself and walked up the stairs. Now that no one was looking or listening, he allowed himself to cry quietly. He couldn't move his arm, and when he tried, it hurt even more.
He went into the bathroom and twisted around in front of the mirror to see what was wrong. His shoulder felt so strange. His eyes widened in horror when he saw it was slightly deformed. There was something sticking out under his skin, a bump at the back of his shoulder. What is that? He panicked. Was his arm going to fall off? What was wrong with it?
The blood on his forehead had partially dried up already. He cleaned it quickly with his one available hand, and then cleaned the cloth too. After that, he had no choice but to go to his room.
The night was horrible. The raven barely slept. Aunt Petunia had brought him some sandwiches at dinner time, and surprisingly, a pain-killer. Well, maybe not that surprising. She simply wanted him to shut it and not bother them. Thinking that he only had a little headache, she'd thought a pill would do the trick.
Despite the painkiller, he wasn't able to lie down properly. He could breathe at least, but any movement or slight touch to his shoulder sent pain through it like an arrow. The sharpness of the ache often surprised him at such times and he cried out before he could stop himself. To not get himself in trouble, he lay face down on his pillow, so that sudden outbursts would be stifled by it. And that was pretty much all the raven could do.
Harry was exhausted the next morning. Of course, the painkiller had worn off during the night, and his shoulder was acting up again. He imagined the pain was caused because it was slowly rotting, decomposing, turning black and green. But he didn't dare look in the mirror again. The sight of his deformed shoulder had shocked him too much.
Around noon, Aunt Petunia brought him some food, for he was still not allowed downstairs.
"A…a…aunt." Harry managed to choke out. He'd never addressed any of the Dursley family, not by name or any other way. And they'd only ever called him 'boy' or 'brat' or 'bloody brat'. He hoped she would notice his efforts. He still hated every one of them, but he just wanted the pain to stop, only that, nothing else. He wanted to be relieved and go to sleep. He'd sleep through the entire holiday.
Yes, that sounded very good to the raven.
Petunia Durlsey did notice the change in her nephew's behaviour, but did not have enough time or interest to give him. She only had a few hours to bring the finishing touches to her big Christmas dinner plans.
"What?" She snapped. "If you got blood on your sheets, hurry and clean it up."
"No." Harry moaned. He was slightly rocking back and forth on his bed. He'd been doing it since four in the morning, to try and push back the pain. "I…can I go to the emergency room?"
He didn't want to tell his aunt what was wrong with him. He was scared she would accuse him of lying and try to look for herself. He was afraid she'd touch his shoulder, knowing she would not bother with gentleness. If a butterfly landing on it hurt, he would crumble if she touched him. Maybe she'd allow him to walk by himself to the hospital. He could do that. Anything for a little relief, anything for some help.
"Are you still complaining?" Aunt Petunia looked like she was seeing a rat, crawling around her kitchen, desiring nothing more than to smack it dead. "Why would I let you go to the emergency room? So you can say how horrible we are, how you are such a little victim, while we took you in when your…mother got herself killed?" She spoke the word 'mother' with obvious disgust. "I never should have let that social worker guilt me into this. I tried to get some manners into you, to undo the damage your parents have done, but you're just like that James, aren't you." Her face contorted into an ugly grimace. She took something from the pocket of her apron and put it down on Harry's small desk (which was more like a wobbly table). "Here! And don't you dare leave this room tonight! I cannot have my guests lay eyes on you."
The door slammed shut behind her. But Harry didn't hear the lock turn.
His heart was beating fast. His aunt's expression, her words, her attitude… he had never expected much better from her. But the little raven was in a vulnerable position. He was young, lost, inexperienced and scared. He'd turned to the only person he could think of, hoping that somewhere, his aunt was a little bit like her sister, and would find some kind of sympathy, or even pity in her heart.
But no. There was nothing. When the raven had turned to her, his heart heavy, his wings drooping, he'd been kicked in the stomach. She'd insulted him and his parents, right there, without scruples and remorse. He cried some more.
After an hour or so of shedding tears, the raven remembered she'd left him something. He got up to take a look at it. It was another pain-killer. He almost choked on it in his haste to swallow it. It finally relieved him a little; enough for him to lie down carefully and rest for a while.
The blanket of night had covered Little Whinging, and downstairs, the voices of the guests could be heard along with some Christmas carols playing over the expensive stereo in the living room, when the raven was pulled out of his shallow slumber by the ache in his shoulder. He moaned again, not pleased that the relief was over.
He began rocking back and forth again, the trance the movement put him in had helped a little before. He was able to listen to the voices for a long while. Until the faint smell of roasted turkey and oven-baked potatoes wafted up the stairs and into his room. His stomach felt empty because he hadn't been able to eat much. He still couldn't bring up much appetite despite the wonderfully tasty smell. The pain took up too much of his energy and attention. But he had no pain-killer anymore. And if he dared set a foot in the living room or even the kitchen to ask for one, he was sure aunt Petunia would skin him alive.
The young raven did not feel capable of living through another night like the previous one. It was too awful for him. He craved his mother's warm arms, his father's reassuring grins. But he knew that if he took out the pictures from under his floorboard, he would only cry more. There was no solace in them.
Who could he turn to then? Mrs. Weasley? Harry was certain she would gasp at the sight of him, take care of his shoulder and stuff him full of food. And though he would enjoy her motherly warmth, he didn't think he could handle the questions she would certainly ask and the critique she would give about his parents who, she thought, weren't taking care of him. After aunt Petunia's mean words, Harry didn't want to hear one more bad word about Lily and James.
And what if Mrs. Weasley insisted to bring him back to his home herself, to meet his parents and tell them exactly what she thought of people who let their child wander around the streets on Christmas' eve with a wrong shoulder? Harry would have to explain to her he only had the Durlseys. And the Dursleys would be furious with him.
It occurred to Harry then, that there was another woman who had helped him in his hour of need, who had not asked any questions, and who had respected his wishes. The problem was that he wasn't really supposed to go back there. It was his enemy's territory. Malfoy would never accept it. And Mrs. Malfoy had only taken him in because she'd had no other option. Would she do the same if he showed up on her doorstep? Or would she send him home? Would she bring him home and have to meet the Durlseys?
If anyone brought Harry home while aunt Petunia's long-expected guests were there... How would she explain to them that they actually had a skinny nephew who hadn't been allowed to join the dinner party and had wandered the streets alone at night?
Well, she'd probably say he was a delinquent or something along those lines. It was what she seemed to tell the neighbours in any case.
Enough thinking! Harry was hurting too much to waste time on 'what if's. He stood up, careful to keep his arm immobile, and slipped out of the room as carefully as he could, then tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the creaking ones (thanks to his nightly expeditions to the cellar, he knew which ones to skip over). In a matter of minutes, he was through the hallway and out the front door, into the cold wintry air.
He wasn't sure what time it was, but he thought it wasn't past dinnertime yet. SO there was a risk that he would be interrupting an important family dinner. Maybe the father would be there this time, Harry thought. It wouldn't make things easier. If Mrs. Malfoy's husband was there, maybe he would throw Harry out when his wife seemed too gentle to the stray child.
It was solely the pain that drove the raven to gather up his courage and make his way to the grand house's front door. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't have gone to Ron's house anyway, he had never been there and didn't know where it was. This was really the only place he could go.
There was music playing inside when he rang the doorbell; also Christmas carols, but they sounded more modern than the old classics aunt Petunia had selected. Light invaded the front yard and bathed Harry when the door opened. For a moment, Harry was unable to see who was standing in front of him, but the voice left no doubt.
"Harry." A young boy's voice. It was strangely void of any emotion. There was not even anger or annoyance. The raven would've expected him to insult him and slam the door in his face, but no such thing happened.
"Harry!" Mrs. Malfoy echoed a minute or so later as she came to see what took so long. She came up behind her son and put her hand gently to his neck as she nudged him sideways. "It's rude to let guests stand in the cold like that." She scolded, but her voice only radiated calm and gentleness. And…was it sadness that Harry heard?
Harry stepped forward hesitantly. Malfoy and his mother were both so clean and neat, their aristocratic elegance surrounding them, to the point that even Draco looked handsome to Harry, despite hating the owner of that pale blond head. It made Harry regret he hadn't taken a look at his appearance before coming. He hadn't changed clothes since his fall from the stairs. He'd tried but had ended up panting in agony, with one arm stuck in his collar with his neck, nearly choking himself. His hair was even worse than usual for he'd just woken up an hour ago. He felt extremely displaced, a black shabby black sheep among the immaculate white ones.
"Don't you have a warmer coat?" Mrs. Malfoy commented as she looked at the one sweater he was wearing, of which the sleeves were starting to get too short. Soon he wouldn't be able to fit in any of his clothes, but he doubted the Dursleys would buy him some, or even notice he'd grown out of his old ones.
"I forgot." Harry lied swiftly. He'd had practice with Mrs. Weasley over the first trimester.
"Let's get you nice and warm then. Would you like some warm milk or tea?" Even if her guest was only seven years old, Mrs. Malfoy was a woman of manners and etiquette.
"Uh…"Harry had never had tea. He felt excited at the idea of trying out something new, and of someone making it specially for him. Would he dare? "T…tea please." He smiled sheepishly.
They entered the living room with Draco sauntering behind. It was still as comfortable and grand-looking as last time, with the addition of a crackling fire illuminating the place. But Harry was surprised to find it empty, except for an old, stern-looking woman sitting in the most comfortable chair. It could only be a grandmother, Harry concluded, but was it Mrs. Malfoy's mother, or her husband's? Was her husband around then?
The raven had stopped in his tracks at the sight of the elderly lady with the same shockingly white hair as her grandson. Draco, who had been behind him let out a sigh of exasperation and walked past him energetically, bumping into his Harry's bad shoulder in the process.
A cry of pain escaped the dark-haired boy's throat. All three people present jumped in surprise and stared at him with wide eyes. The first gaze Harry met was Draco's. There was an entanglement of emotions showing in them, momentarily exposed because of the surprise. It took Draco a few seconds to regain his composure and his impenetrable façade of emptiness.
Mrs. Malfoy was the first to react. "Harry, you scared us!" She exclaimed with her hand flat over her heart. She glanced worriedly at the old lady, to see if she hadn't suffered a heart-attack. Satisfied with the look of indignation on the elderly woman's face, she turned back to the dark-haired child standing in the doorway of her living room. She quickly understood what had happened and her gaze fell on the problematic shoulder.
"What's this?" She demanded with a frown as she approached. Harry stepped back, turning his shoulder away from her in fear that she would touch it. "I'll only take a look, I promise." Mrs. Malfoy said in a practised voice. She'd learned enough from treating her headstrong son.
The woman with the long white braid crouched down beside the boy. "Could you pull your sweater out of the way, Harry?" She asked gently. Green-eyes did as she asked, very slowly and carefully. "Can you move it?" She inquired further.
"No." Harry shook his head. He looked up to see the grandmother sipping a cup of tea, and grey-eyes simply standing and staring in the same spot where he'd turned.
"Your shoulder's dislocated, dear." Mrs. Malfoy informed him gravely. She noticed the boy had no idea what it meant. "It means that the bone of your arm had popped out of the bone in your shoulder." She explained simplistically. Draco made a grimace.
"What are you saying?" The old woman said loudly and rather rudely from her place in the chair.
Narcissa stood up and turned to the lady. "I'm saying that I will need to make a quick stop at the hospital. This boy is injured." Harry thought the politeness of her tone sounded forced. There was noticeable tension between them. "Would you watch over Draco while I'm gone?"
"Mom!" Grey-eyes immediately whined.
The elderly woman seemed just as displeased. But for Narcissa there was no other choice, and whether they liked it or not, the little boy needed medical attention, which she would make sure he got.
On the way to the emergency room, Harry was forced to explain what had happened. He mixed the truth with lies, telling Mrs. Malfoy that his family was visiting for the holidays (like he'd heard described by Ron, Fred and George, and Ginny on the occasions that she dared speak), and that he'd had a row with his cousin (which was true). He told her how Dudley had thrown his toy at him and how he'd gotten his arm stuck between the bars of the banister during his fall.
Of course, Narcissa had wondered why his parents hadn't taken him to the doctor. It was a harder question for the raven to answer. He managed to explain that his parents were so busy with making sure their visitors were settled in and that everything was ready for dinner, that he hadn't wanted to bother them, thinking it would pass. And when it didn't go away, he wasn't able to tell them either, because his grandmother had felt unwell and everyone had gone to her home to make sure she was all right, leaving only him and his cousin at home. And as he disliked his cousin, who had hidden the parent's phone numbers they'd left behind, he hadn't told him either. And so he had no one to contact, and no one to help him. Mrs. Malfoy was the closest neighbour he knew.
Harry was so surprised after he'd finished his story. It was the most elaborate lie he'd ever invented. It hadn't even been that difficult. It was like inventing his own story. He'd fantasized enough to feed his ever growing imagination.
But what was even stranger to him, was that Mrs. Malfoy seemed to believe him. The boy had told the tale with such conviction, for at the time, he was not really lying, he was momentarily living in that fantasy world, that she hadn't questioned him. She didn't think that a child would be able to spin such a long and complicated lie, so she didn't even consider it.
The doctors also asked a few questions, but the raven clamped up when he had to deal with strangers. Mrs. Malfoy was all right, for he'd spent a whole evening and morning with her and her son. She didn't feel like a stranger anymore. And she was very nice to him, though he knew from how she treated Draco that bad manners and childishness would not be tolerated. She had authority, which was needed with a child like Draco.
After some waiting, a rather painful procedure in order to put Harry's shoulder back where it had to be, and some trouble with the forms that had to be filled in, they were able to head back home. Because it had taken a while for Mrs. Malfoy to explain why Harry had no identity or insurance papers and why it was a neighbour bringing him to the hospital, it was well past dinner time when they entered the house.
The elderly woman immediately began to complain that she had not been taken care of, that an old lady was left to starve and that her grandson was such handful and hadn't been raised well enough. On the surface, it looked like Mrs. Malfoy was undergoing it all patiently, but as she moved around to reheat and serve dinner, Harry suspected that she wasn't even listening. She simply nodded and said 'You're right' at certain intervals, and it seemed enough to please the woman.
The raven still wasn't sure if this meant that the woman was Mrs. Malfoy's mother or mother-in-law. What was certain was that there was no Mr. Malfoy around. At the dinner table sat only Draco, Mrs. Malfoy, grandmother, and himself. It seemed much too few for such a big house. But Harry dared not ask. He knew it would be rude, and he was scared Mrs. Malfoy wouldn't be nice to him anymore, or throw him out.
After the delicious food, which Harry could finally enjoy now that his injury had been taken care of, it was time for the old lady to go to sleep, and he himself felt like he could instantly fall asleep if he laid his head down.
Narcissa invited the boy to stay the night, seeing as his parents would probably not return until very late and that he needed to rest. "But you'll have to stay in Draco's room this time. The guest room is taken up by Draco's grandmother." She added apologetically.
It was then that Harry understood that the woman wasn't her mother, otherwise she wouldn't have called her 'Draco's grandmother'. So it had to be Draco's father's mother. But why was she here, and not her son, Mr. Malfoy?
pfiouf, there goes part 2. It's a long Christmas ^^
