Chapter 21.

Anna Karenina

Two small and frail figures crouched in the front yard, which was flooded in grey, early spring light. It felt like it would rain again soon, and wind was making itself known. The kitchen and dining room were both at the back of the house, but in case someone came into the living room again, which was in front, they had to stay low. It was also much more fun and exciting that way.

A blond and a black head moved swiftly between the low shrubs of Petunia's garden. The earliest flowers of the season were starting to bloom. But the weather was still wet and cold, and Harry had not taken anything with him. No coat, no toothbrush, only his shoes and the clothes on his back.

The two children had soon exited onto the street and ran quickly out of sight of the house's windows, preparing to sigh in relief at their victory, when…

"Draco Malfoy! Would you please tell me what it is you are doing?"

They stopped short, Harry bumped into Draco in front of him, his glasses almost falling from his nose. When he realised who had spoken, and who was coming to them from across the street, he felt his cheeks inflame, and his eyes dropped self-consciously to the ground.

"Well, I talked to him, didn't I?" Draco defended himself nonchalantly. "It wasn't fun there, so we got out."

Mrs. Malfoy had now reached them and threw nervous glances at number 4 Privet Drive. "Did you ask permission?" She demanded.

Draco started pouting slightly, but then retracted his lip and lifted his chin, offering a proud and rightful look. "No."

Mrs. Malfoy lowered her head for a moment to sigh, then rubbed her eyes in one of the most non-elegant gestures Harry had ever seen her make. "You always have to ask permission, Draco." She lectured. "Otherwise they won't know where Harry is and they'll be worried. And they might have made other plans, you know. You have to respect people's schedules. And lastly, it is very rude not to ask permission in someone else's home!"

Mrs. Malfoy stood up straight and turned to walk back towards the Dursley's house, but before she had made a step forward, she turned back again, her eyes lowering to Harry's gauze-covered hands. She had not yet noticed them before, and the sight of it unsettled her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Are you hurt, Harry?" She asked very sweetly.

The raven looked at his own hands, somehow ashamed, though he knew not for what. "It's my fault." He explained, remembering Petunia's order to make sure he said it wasn't their fault. "I…uhm… hit a door."

The raven felt even more embarrassed. There was something strange to hitting a door, he now realised. People didn't usually do that, it seemed. Why had he even done it? Was he in fact abnormal, like the Dursleys had always claimed? Were they right after all? This doubt hit him as unexpectedly as a snow storm in June. But being confronted with the somewhat awe-inspiring Malfoys had the effect of making him think more about his own appearance and behaviour.

"Why didn't you hit your cousin instead?" Draco asked as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

"Draco!" His mother immediately chastised.

"I'm just saying!" He shrugged. "A door doesn't fight back, so it's kind of boring."

Narcissa was hopelessly discouraged. It felt to her as if she had not been able to teach her son any manners and morals at all. Sneaking out, inciting others to fight… She hoped very much that not too many people had heard him say things like this. Of course it was too late for the teachers. The school had had to deal with a lot from Draco. It was only since Severa was teaching there that things had somewhat calmed down. The bright side was that Draco was in his last year of elementary school. The next year would mean a new start for him, and hopefully, a better one.

"Don't listen to him, Harry." She hastily corrected as she crouched in front of the boy and took a closer look at his hands. She didn't like this. It was the second time she saw him with a serious injury. Whether there were more she didn't know of, or whether Harry spoke the truth or not about the cause, she did not know. But it seemed strange to her that such a calm, shy and polite boy would get so worked up that he would injure himself like this. It worried her, if nothing else.

It made her change her mind, and she hesitated to bring Harry back now. Would he be safe? Had her own son been safe in that house alone? She decided she would not let that happen anymore, just in case. So she took everyone to her home again, and sent them upstairs with some sandwiches and sweets, for she had something serious to consider.

For an hour, Narcissa walked around the coffee table in her living room, her wireless house-phone in hand. She had work lying on her desk, but it would have to wait. At some point she sat down at the edge of the sofa and dialled a number she knew well.

"Severa?" She began immediately after the person on the other side picked up. She explained her problem.

Narcissa wanted to do what was right, she wanted to help a possibly troubled boy. But it was just that: a possibility. She was nowhere certain of it, and she didn't want to upset the harmony and good relations with her neighbours. If these things got out of hand, it could put up entire neighbourhoods against each other. And if she gathered any curious enemies, anyone might find things out about her past. It would mean the end of her career, and much more importantly, it would be a serious burden for Draco to carry through childhood.

"Narcissa," Severa Snape interrupted her explanation, "whatever I say, you will do what it is you please. You think it's because of his father that Draco is so horribly stubborn, but I suggest you look in the mirror. Do what you want, as you always did." And then she was gone.

So much for the help and support.Narcissa thought, but she was not angry. Her cousin Severa had done much more already than could ever be expected. She had raised her own child, and still tutored him and held him in check. She must be in the middle of important research. Narcissa concluded. It was during those times that Severa was the least amiable and patient.

It left the single mother to her own devices to make a decision. It took another hour for it to come. After that time had passed, she took the phone again, and dialled.


"Mum must be busy again." Draco thought aloud as he contemplated a piece of cucumber on his sandwich, and carefully picked it out.

Harry said nothing. He was confused. He had come with the Malfoys once more, and again, he was not certain why. Draco was one of the most unpleasant people he knew, and he knew quite a few. But inasmuch as he remembered all the bad times, he also remembered the rare good times. There was only one good time, actually, the night they'd spent fantasizing about Hogwarts.

Alone in his room, or even in boring classes at school, the raven had secretly continued to fantasize, to build up a world in detail. Together they'd established what wands would look like, and where one would buy them, but Harry had spent quite some of his own time inventing spells, their incantations and effects. He did not need to write any of it down, like Draco had done in his notebook. He could not forget them.

And all the time that the raven had thought about these things, he had felt nostalgic, as if that world he was thinking of was missing something. It was missing someone to share it with.

The reason he was sitting on Draco's bedroom floor, despite all the reasons against it, was the hope that such moments would come back; that the world of Hogwarts would once more open to the both of them, and they could fly through it in perfect freedom.

"Aren't you eating your sandwich?" Draco interrupted the raven's thoughts.

Harry looked at his plate, and the cucumbers on his sandwich. He hadn't liked cucumbers either in the past, but now he ate anything. As long as it was food and it filled his stomach, it was good. He took a bite, then remembered what Draco had said before.

"What is your mother busy with?"

"She's a publisher. But she writes lots of articles too, about politics and such." Draco made it sound important. Harry was impressed. He would not have guessed that such was Mrs. Malfoy's job.

There was silence while they finished eating. Grey-eyes then put his plate away and crossed his legs, leaning forward.

"I didn't tell."

"Why do you keep repeating that? I know already." Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you believe me." Draco narrowed his.

The raven formed knots with his fingers, interlacing them with the sleeves of his very large sweater. "I think I believe you." He managed to get out.

"What kind of answer is that!" Draco complained.

"What?"

"First you're angry at me, and when I try to explain myself, you just keep blaming me."

"Wait, I'm not…"

"Yes, you are."

"Draco," and here followed the hissing sounds of the raven's feelings bubbling up to the surface. Instead of banging on doors, it seemed that in Draco's presence, he always used words, his own special words. He told his grey-eyed mate exactly four words this time. And those four contained a mix of many meanings, but all merging together to form one feeling. They meant: "I'm trying, so let me do or say what I want", "this is getting old", "I don't trust you" and most importantly he meant "you're missing the point" and "you don't understand".

In this way Harry was always rebelling, protesting. He had never known unfairness when wrapped in the cocoon his parents had made for him. Now that he did, he never stopped having to defend himself against it. Curiously, depending on the one he protested against, it was expressed in different forms.

Draco had listened very carefully. His ears seemed to hear a hundred times better whenever they caught a glimpse of these unknown sounds. The most unusual aspect were the hisses. It reminded him very much of slithering snakes. The words were fluid and quick, and very accurate. They aimed so precisely that they never failed to reach the right spot in him, and made him understand. It confused him, because he didn't understand the words, but he did understand the meanings. It was as if there was a direct connection between Harry's mind and his, just for a moment.

And what Harry had told him now was that he had lost sight of the actual problem here. It wasn't about Draco this time. For once he was not at the centre of it. He was involved in someone else's life and past. After the raven's four words, Draco realised that, and he felt embarrassed. Harry's in trouble. He remembered thinking before. And well, they were friends… kind of. And his mother had told him what friends did for each other.

Unfortunately, Draco had no clue how to go about it. How did one act as a friend? The blond head was puzzled.

"You heard what some at school are saying?" He asked Harry.

Harry nodded. He had done his best to ignore it, but the different rumours had registered within his mind anyway, whether he listened or not.

"So…how…" Draco had trouble finding the words. "Which is true? I mean…what happened?" He had not thought of asking the question before. But now that he had, he was curious about it, and scared of it at the same time. He could deal with tragic stories, as long as they weren't true.

The dark-haired boy frowned as his eyes glazed over. He was thinking, thinking hard. But there was not much there. So many of his memories were still clear, his last birthday for instance, but that day… In fact, he could not recall much a week before or after. He only knew he'd had his book, his favourite book.

The book functioned as a link to that moment, the time he lost everything. He dared not go back to that time consciously. It was impossible. But through the experience of the book, which he had been reading at that time, he recalled in an unconscious way, because he dared not forget either. He had to keep his parents alive, the last moment of their family had to be carefully kept, but never looked at. It was a tough balance to keep, and it was only thanks to the book that the boy was able to do it.

"I don't know." Was his final answer. It was spoken in a whisper, a kind of defeated sound. It sounded nothing like the usual way Harry talked, and it discomposed the grey eyes watching him.

"When was it?" The blond insisted, not understanding how he could 'not know'.

Harry told him the same he'd told Ron and Hermione. And it was all he could say. He did not even know how he'd fallen into the hands of Rebecca, the social worker. Only that after many nights in strange places, he'd been dropped off at the Dursley's, and the greatest adjustment of his life had begun.

"But how did they die, and why? Don't you want to know who did it? Don't you want to take revenge?" Draco pushed on with questions. But Harry felt more and more distressed with every one of them. And he was unable to tell him to stop, he was unable to do anything but be afraid and confused.

"How can you just let it be? How can…" Grey-eyes stopped mid-sentence. Harry had covered his face with his hands and had started rocking slowly back and forth, his knees pulled up to his chest. The sleeves of his sweater were so large they almost covered his entire head.

The pale-haired boy immediately dropped to the floor of his bedroom and crawled up to the youngster. Stopping before him and watching, not sure what to do next.

"Are you crying?" He asked tentatively.

The grey sleeves of the large sweater parted sideways, and two stunningly deep and wild green eyes looked up at him. Draco's breath hitched and his body tensed. He felt the carpet of the floor under his knees and palms, he felt his own weight press down on them, and he was aware he could not move an inch.

Somehow, the face that had appeared from between the sleeves, framed by the grey fabric and the pitch-black strands of hair, with the two, clearly still dry, and piercing eyes, was mesmerizing to him.

"No, I'm not crying." Harry corrected him somewhat indignantly.

"Then why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm searching. I'm thinking. You're asking too much, and I don't know. And I don't know why I don't know, and you don't leave me the time to think. I'm not even sure I want to think, or know. And at the same time, I feel like I'll go crazy if I don't know. You just… just leave me alone, okay?" He snapped.

Draco nodded submissively. He was disarmed. He had nothing to say. But he stayed exactly where he was, for that was where he wanted to be.

"Is it hard?" He managed to ask after having recomposed himself a little.

The raven kept looking him straight in the eye. This what he seemed to be the one calculating. But not whether he should tell the truth or not. No, he was thinking for a way, a way to make Draco understand.

"Would it be hard without your mother? Without Snape?" Harry did not mention Draco's father. He still did not know who or where he was.

The blond retracted into his own mind, imagining, telling himself a story inspired by Harry's reality. He grimaced. He had his answer.

And now that he understood better, though not completely, now he felt it. His mother had had to tell him before, but now it came as the most natural thing to Draco. He wanted to do something, he wanted to help, to change something, to make a difference. How he had not seen it before he could not understand.

The ten-year old scrambled onto his feet and started going through his closet again. When he was back, he laid something in front of his friend.

"I don't read it. So take it. You can have it." He said somewhat awkwardly.

But Harry didn't miss the meaning behind it. In front of him lay a book that had mesmerized him with its hidden secrets. The symbols had fascinated him, but he had not gotten the chance to study them further. The pages had called out to him, but his curiosity had gone unsatisfied.

In front of him lay the Russian version of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, and Draco was giving it to him.


Here I am with the 21st chapter. Nevar is now old enough to drink in the US ;D (yes, this is the lamest joke in the whole of history)

Anyway, I want to thank everyone who's still reading this until now. I don't know how many of you there are, but I'm grateful to you all :)

And a special thanks to Fireaquila and smak978 for being with me practically every chapter!

You can think that reviews don't really matter. But they really do, a lot. Without them I would not have been able to continue this far. It's what pushes me to take some time to sit down and write. Those few seconds or minutes it takes for you to write a review are precious to me :)