Monday morning, two days after Harry's last beating, he wakes up early. He always wakes up early on Draco's work days, to make him breakfast.
They had a good weekend. Draco had mostly done work in his study. Harry had been slapped once, for not telling Draco he was running out of whiskey earlier. Otherwise, they'd gotten along well.
So well, in fact, that Draco told Harry he could go shopping today by himself. It wasn't incredibly rare that Harry was allowed out without Draco. Once a month at most, but he was still overjoyed, especially since they're not usually in London when Harry's allowed out. There's an oppressive air in their home that Harry needs out of.
He hums quietly to himself while he makes Draco a large breakfast. It's hard to pin down what Draco's favorites are, so he makes a little bit of everything but is sure to not make too much food. Draco doesn't like it when he's wasteful.
Harry sips on a cup of coffee, black, while he waits for Draco to come downstairs. Harry's already showered and dried his hair. He wears a long-sleeved, loose black tee shirt that covers his thin frame. He tucks it into a pair of blue jeans. It's never too warm in London, thankfully, because Harry hates to show his body.
His face isn't too bad. There's only the faintest hint of a yellow mark under his eye, and two scabbed over scratch marks down his cheek from when Draco had broken the glass. The rest of his body didn't fare so well. He cut the side of his stomach badly enough that he'd had to ask Draco to heal it and the back of his thighs had "cat scratches" from trying to get up and find his glasses.
Otherwise, he could convince himself there was nothing wrong.
Harry sets breakfast at the table and a cup of coffee with one teaspoon of sugar, and a splash of cream in front of Draco's usual chair at the head. Harry makes his own plate because Draco likes it when they eat together. A piece of toast, dry, and an egg. Pitiful next to Draco's plate, but Harry wants to look good for Draco, it's the least he can do.
Draco finally arrives downstairs, freshly showered and in his usual stuffy work robes. Harry isn't entirely sure what it is that Draco does. Something to do with investing and accounts management at Gringotts, but he's also closely involved with the Wizengamot. He's been left a large sum from Narcissa and Lucius, plus all of Harry's money, so Harry's sure Draco doesn't really have to work.
Harry gets a kiss on the cheek from Draco who then digs into his food. "You look cute," Draco remarks, Harry beams.
"Anything interesting you have to do today?" Harry asks.
"Nothing you would get," Draco shrugs in response and Harry nods. Draco's probably right, he doesn't get a lot of stuff Draco talks about doing.
Harry has a question he wants to ask Draco. He mulled over it for most of the previous night. They'd had such an easy weekend, and Draco seems so carefree right now, Harry decides to risk it. "So I was wondering..." Harry trails off a bit, trying to keep the air light. Draco looks up at him with an eyebrow cocked, but it isn't a mean look so Harry's resolve is furthered. "Since I have so much shopping to do today, maybe I could have my wand? Just for the day, so I don't have to carry all the bags around."
Oh, Harry watches Draco's face. I should have known.
Draco grips his fork tightly in his fist. Harry's worried that the whole trip is going to be canceled and he'll have to stay home all day. Like every day.
Finally, Draco eases up on the grip he has and looks sad. "Harry, why can't you have your wand?"
Harry deflates and looks down. "I'll hurt someone," he mumbles.
"Speak clearly."
"I'll hurt someone." He finally says, still avoiding eye contact with Draco.
"Do you want to hurt anybody, Harry?" Draco asks. He reaches out to touch Harry's face and rubs his thumb over the two scratch marks on Harry's cheek.
Harry makes eye contact with Draco and tweaks his lips to the side. He shakes his head, subtly enough to not knock Draco's fingers away. "No. I'm sorry for asking."
Draco, finished with his food, stands. He pulls Harry's glasses off and sets them gently on the table in front of Harry. Harry looks up at him, confused.
The crack of Draco's palm slamming against cheek doesn't really surprise Harry. Oh, he thinks, that's why. The sting makes his eyes water. He forces himself not to cry, that's not how he wants to start his day.
Draco very gently puts Harry's glasses back on. He looks glum and bends at the waist to press a kiss on Harry's forehead. "I hate doing that," Draco says, quietly. "You know that, right?"
Harry nods and leans forward to rest his forehead on Draco's stomach. Draco lets him rest for a few moments.
Finally, Draco pulls away and holds out a hand to help Harry up from his seat. His ears ring a little from standing. Harry immediately starts to gather up the plates but Draco puts a hand on his forearm. "Let's have Remmy clean this up for you, alright love?" Draco offers and the house elf appears instantly at her name, getting to work.
"Thank you, Draco." Harry is grateful but his mood is soured from the pain in his cheek.
Draco pulls Harry into a hug. "I hate to see you like this. I have to get to work, but have a good day alright? Here's your money, there's extra so get yourself something you enjoy," Draco pulls a coin pouch out of his robes and passes it to Harry.
"I love you," Harry says, not wanting to pull out of the embrace. He puts the coin bag behind them on the table blindly.
"I love you too, now come on, no more moping." Draco pulls away. "I'm sorry you have to carry all the bags around, but it'll be good for you, the exercise." Draco pinches at Harry's stomach, which hurts. He nods.
Draco gathers his bags and leaves through the Floo after taking some of the spells off the house so Harry can leave as well.
Harry goes back upstairs to his bedroom, making sure that he has everything he needs. He pulls a light jacket on over his shirt so he has a big enough pocket for the coin pouch.
There's a red mark on his cheek and one of the scratches split open. It's not a big enough cut to really bleed, but he has to dab away from droplets that formed at the edges before he can leave. Overall it doesn't look too bad, he can blame the injuries on being clumsy.
It's really nice outside for late July, just cool enough for his outfit and not a cloud in the sky, a rare sight.
Harry is recognized as he walks around central London, he's always recognized and it doesn't bother him too much to smile at people who walk past. Thankfully it's not as bad as it used to be. Every kid under ten used to come up to him like he was a celebrity. I guess I am.
Harry sees the time on a clock in a storefront. It's only 9:30 in the morning. Draco usually doesn't get home until around five. Harry suddenly feels giddy at the prospect of having all day to do as he pleases. As long as I get home by four to start dinner, or maybe I'll even get us takeaway and I won't have to cook...
The first store Harry goes into, surprising himself, is the Broom Shop. The shopkeep recognizes Harry instantly and they talk brooms and Quidditch for at least an hour. Harry makes it clear to the man that he isn't here to purchase a broom, but he doesn't mind.
It's nice, talking about Quidditch again. He hasn't followed any teams in over a year, much like he doesn't read the paper. The new brooms that are out would have had him and Ron raving at Hogwarts. Everything is faster and quicker now. Harry even entertains the possibility that Draco would have seekers match with him sometime this summer. That thought is quickly soured by the fact that Draco is a sore loser. They haven't had a match since they first started dating. It was around this time, well, September, a little less than two years ago.
They didn't date very long and were married by June of the following year. Just a few days after Draco's birthday. That had been a really good day.
Harry leaves the Broom Shop, finally. He probably could have talked for another few hours but he wants to make the most of his day.
His next stop is Flourish and Blotts. He's been more studious than Hermione since losing his job. There's not much else to do than sit at home and read most days, and he's starting to exhaust the townhome library. The main Malfoy residence has a seemingly never-ending library, Harry is quite sure he'll never make it through that.
Harry drifts through the sections. He's tired of history books, Harry could probably explain the history of Wizards and Witches from the dinosaurs to 2001 at this point, with accurate dates and names.
He's drawn to practical applications of magic, things he used to be good at. The transfiguration books draw his attention first. He thinks about McGonigal, he didn't respond to her letter. Couldn't bare to. What could he possibly say? Yes, professor, I do want the job, but my husband has convinced me that if I touch a wand I'll kill myself or others. Probably best that I stay far away.
It's true though. I would hurt someone.
Harry has to pull himself away from the transfiguration texts, he's only spiraling by looking at them and it's not like Draco will let him practice his magic anytime soon.
There's a charms section next, then a herbology section toward the far back corner, next to the potions. Harry looks between the two sections. Draco would probably let me have a garden... But do I really want to garden? Harry decides that he's not bored enough with his life for that (yet) and looks through the potions tomes.
He was never very good at potions. Having Professor Snape's textbook made him marginally better for a while, but he's never applied himself to learning.
Harry thinks about the little shop, 'Severus Snape. Appointment Only.', then selects a book called Practically Potions, a beginner's guide to the most common household potions with very, very detailed instructions. It's probably a little below his level. Harry's pretty sure he can manage a Pepperup Potion or a Sleeping Drought, but he hopes that Draco will let him brew simple ones at least.
Feeling bold, Harry also grabs a book titled Herbal Experimentation: Endless Ingredients Explained. Harry has an image of himself taking notes and actually going back to learn the fundamentals of potion-making. His hopes rise. Maybe I can be good at something? Maybe Draco will let me make money if it's something I can do from home.
Harry buys both of the books, Draco gave him extra money, after all. The clock outside says 11:45 now and Harry realizes he should probably get a move on with purchasing the things they actually need for home.
He finds himself with two large bags. One has mostly whiskey in it, the other is various ingredients that Draco said he needed. Harry struggles with the weight of the bags, plus his books, and almost wishes a helpful Seamus Finnegan would appear again.
It's not very late, only one, but Harry starts to feel anxious about being gone for so long. He heads back to the townhome.
He walks through Knockturn Alley and doesn't have to hide the fact that he stares at the sign. Severus Snape. Appointment Only. The building is tall, Harry wonders if Professor Snape lives above the shop. He can't tell if a light is on or not.
Harry's been past the shop for easily five minutes when he finds himself turning around.
I have time. And it's Professor Snape. How could Draco be mad? It's his Godfather. Harry chooses not to think about the fact that Snape wasn't even invited to their wedding, so it's not like he and Draco are close by any means.
He sets the heavier bag down in front of the door to Snape's shop and knocks on the sturdy red door. A few people glance at him as they walk past. He can't tell if it's because he shouldn't be knocking on Severus Snape's door, or because he's Harry Potter. Probably a fair mixture of both.
After a few minutes, Harry feels silly and picks his bag back up, cursing himself for prolonging the amount of time he'll have to carry it.
He's a few paces away when the heavy door creaks open.
Harry spins on his heel.
There he is. Professor Snape, starring down the bridge of his nose at Harry.
"Mr. Potter," Snape says, raising one eyebrow.
Harry is suddenly very anxious. He doesn't know what to say or do. His mouth is dry and his hands are clammy around the bags.
"I see you've mastered the language arts since leaving school," Snape remarks, "it's a shame you never learned how to read, though. The door does say Appointments Only."
By this point, Harry realizes it's been an obnoxiously long amount of time since he's said anything. Snape is clearly starting to think he's some kind of idiot.
"I, uh, sorry Sir, I really didn't expect you to answer." He says, finally.
"Me neither, I'm rather busy."
"Oh, I'm sorry to bother you, I was just walking home," Harry says and makes a motion as if to say he'll continue on his way and leave Snape alone.
Snape sighs, "I suppose you've already done the bothering, you might as well come in." He steps back to allow Harry to walk past him into the cramped shop. Harry doesn't even realize how strange it is until he's standing inside and the heavy door closes behind them.
The shop is nothing more than a cubby, clearly never meant to be a real storefront. There's another room in the back, Harry can spy a cauldron, the brewing room. The opening is to the right, and next to it, right inside the front door, there's a narrow set of stairs that lead up to a closed door. Harry doesn't know what to do with himself.
"I've just started a potion, set your bags down, and don't touch anything," Snape motions for Harry to follow. He sets his bags right inside the front door and follows Snape into the brewing room.
It's much larger and the lighting is nice. There's a window at the back wall that lets a gentle ray of sunshine in. Snape has one great cauldron near the center of the room and two or three organized by the back wall. The wall directly to Harry's left is a floor-to-ceiling cubby and ingredient storage area. Everything looks meticulously organized.
"You can take a seat," Snape motions to the red Victorian-style couch to Harry's left. It faces the window and the cauldron. There's a plush rug under the couch, black. Harry takes an awkward seat, perched right on the edge.
Snape goes back before the cauldron and stirs it clockwise twice, which fills the room with a maple smell, it's pleasant.
Harry notices finally that Snape isn't wearing robes. It's the most dressed down Harry's ever seen him. Black slacks and a blue button-up shirt, tucked in, with a dark gray jumper over it. He looks good. Younger. How old is Snape? Harry has no idea. When he was at Hogwarts he just assumed all of his professors were ancient, but Snape doesn't look like he could be over fifty, maybe even early forties. Still no gray hairs.
"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Snape asks. He props a hip against the sturdy brewing stand, taking a break from the potion.
"Well, I noticed the shop a few months again and today I was out shopping, and- Oh, I bought some potion books at Flourish and Blotts, so I was already thinking about potions and then I thought I'd just knock because you know, your door doesn't say how to get ahold of you and-" Harry finally stops, he could have kept talking forever.
To his surprise, Snape doesn't look annoyed or put off that Harry had just spoken a paragraph at him. He's just standing there, listening.
"Potions? Don't tell me you're finally going to learn." The statement doesn't sound like a joke at all, but Snape curls his lip as if smiling to himself.
Was that a joke? Did Snape just make a joke to me?
Harry can almost smile. "Yeah, actually, I bought Practically Potions."
Snape laughs. It's a short, clipped thing, but it happens. His laugh is deep and rumbly, like his voice. The maple smell makes Harry think of syrup, and that's was Snape's voice is like. Heavy and thick. Cloying.
"I do hope that my education puts you ahead of Practically Potions." Snape stands from his leaning position and holds up a finger to Harry for him to wait a moment.
The stairs creak as Snape goes upstairs. Harry fiddles with his thumbs. He feels anxious again. Draco doesn't know where he is. This isn't shopping. He needs to go home.
It's like a red alert is blaring in his brain, giving him a throbbing headache.
Snape finally comes back, a well-worn book in his hand. He takes a seat on the couch as well, a respectable distance away from Harry, also perched on the edge.
"This is the book I used for my Master's work," Snape flips to a dog-eared page near the middle. "Start with this one," Snape puts a short, groomed fingernail under the title Blood-Replenishing Potion. "It's difficult, you won't get it on the first try, but it's good for the fundamentals."
Snape closes the book then and hands it to Harry.
Harry holds the book limply in his hands. "I can't take this." He states, without really thinking.
"Nonsense, it's not like I use it anymore. I would like it back at some point, but I won't miss it."
No, I can't have this book in my house. Where will I hide it? What if Draco finds it?
It has an innocuous title, not very wizard-y. It's simply called Potions Mastery Volume I, inside the cover reads Severus Snape in a flourishing all caps. There are notes in the margin of almost every page.
"I don't know what to say, ah, thank you, sir." He finally stutters out. He'll try. He'll try to hide this from Draco.
Harry isn't sure if he imagines the smile on Snape's face or if there really is a tiny hint of emotion.
Snape stands then and walks back to his potion. There's an antique clock hanging against the wall. 1:30. He has time.
"What are you brewing, sir?" Harry sets the book gingerly on the couch next to him and then stands. He takes a step toward Snape, expecting to be told to back away, but the man lets him come up near him and peer into the cauldron.
"Oculus potion. St. Mungo's likes to keep them on hand." Snape responds.
"Is it very hard?"
Snape seems to consider the question. "Not terribly. However, with all potions, when you increase the size of the batch from the standard, you have to be careful that all ingredients and instructions are being changed proportionately. This is a very large batch and I've had to make my own changes to the recipe."
Harry spies the recipe that Snape follows. It's been almost completely rewritten in tight, neat, all caps. There are little notes, some math that Harry doesn't really understand, off to the side of the page.
It's fascinating to Harry that Snape just knows this stuff. It's not like himself, who was born, or cursed, with high levels of magic. Snape taught himself this, it's impressive.
"Do you mind if I watch?" Harry asks, timidly.
Snape quirks an eyebrow again but doesn't say anything or look at Harry. "I'll make you help." He counters.
"Fair enough."
They spend the next few hours working on the potion. Snape has Harry collect ingredients for him and very closely supervises when he instructs Harry to do certain things, such as chop a root or dice a spiky herb.
He starts off shy, afraid to ask questions. It wasn't like they were really allowed to speak up in potions class, but eventually, Harry finds that Snape isn't going to yell at him here, so he begins to question everything. Why this ingredient over that? What's the point of chopping so finely? What happens if you stir anticlockwise six times?
Snape is fairly patient, though he clearly lets Harry know when he's asked something he was supposed to have learned in class.
When the potion is brewed Harry's buzzing. He wants to make another potion. He wants to ask more questions. He wants to talk to somebody, alone, without supervision for the first time in months for a little longer.
The potion bottled, Harry finally glances at the clock. 4:30.
His face pales instantly. He didn't pick up take out, he'll have to make dinner. He has thirty minutes to get home and have dinner ready before Draco is home.
Harry feels sick to his stomach.
"Potter?" Snape questions and Harry realizes that Snape had been saying something to him.
"I'm sorry, professor, I really have to get going I didn't realize how late it was." He says, trying not to let the panic creep into his voice.
Snape looks concerned. Fuck, Harry thinks.
"That's alright," Snape says but seems unsure what to say next.
"Listen, thank you very much, I really had, uh, fun. And thank you for the book." Harry picks up the book and walks back into the front room as he talks. "I'm sorry to rush out, I'm very sorry."
Snape is at a loss for words after the sudden, jarring personality shift from Harry. He simply follows after the boy and opens the door for him.
Harry is about to rush out when Snape finally says: "Mr. Potter," Harry pauses on his way out the door. "No appointment necessary."
Harry flashes him one of the most genuine smiles he's had in months before nodding his head and scurrying away with his bags.
It only takes him five minutes to get home at the pace he's moving. He lets himself inside and storms into the kitchen. He's been raking his brain for what he could possibly make for dinner in twenty minutes and so far has come up with nothing.
He sets the bags down dramatically in the kitchen and considers ripping all of his hair out.
Then Harry notices an exceptionally short, grey-skinned house elf standing on a stool to grab something to go into the oven. Tom-Tom, the kitchen elf.
"Tom-Tom?" Harry breathes out. The elf doesn't regard him until he's put the pan into the oven.
The little elf has a bit of a smile on his face when he turns to face Harry. "'ello Master Harry." He bobs his head as he speaks.
"What are you doing?"
"Wells, I noticed that Masters Harry hadn't started dinner yet. And I knows how Master Draco is." Is the only explanation offered.
Harry could cry and free Tom-Tom on the spot if that wouldn't get him beat to all Hell by Draco. As it stands he sinks to his knees and pulls the elf into a hug. The elf seems to have no idea what to do about the embrace going on.
"I best be's going back to the manor, master." Tom-Tom finally says. Harry just nods and the elf is gone with a barely audible 'pop.'
There's an egg timer set for 15 minutes, Harry sighs in relief. He bounces around the kitchen, putting the things away that he'd bought. He rushes upstairs and puts his two new books on his nightstand. Snape's book goes in the drawer of his nightstand, tucked underneath everything else. It's not a perfect hiding place, but it will have to do.
The timer goes off right as the grandfather clock in their bedroom strikes five.
Somehow, against all odds, Harry has lasagna plated for both of them, with a simple side salad Tom-Tom also made. Harry gives them opposite proportions, himself less pasta and more salad.
The plates go on the table, two fingers of whiskey poured for Draco, and water for himself.
The Floo roars to life.
Harry should feel good, and calm, he has everything done and actually enjoyed his day. Instead, he feels a boiling dread in his stomach. I've forgotten something, what did I forget?
"Harry?" A voice calls from the living room. "You left the mail all over the place."
His stomach drops. The mail.
It could be nothing. He thinks to himself and stands, walking to the living room. It's probably all mail for Draco anyway.
In the living room, Draco is looking through the letters, delivered by owl while Harry was out. He's sorting through them, there's quite a few. He thinks over the worst-case scenario.
Best case, Draco is just upset that Harry didn't tidy up.
Worst case, there's a letter from Luna.
The mail is the one refuge that Harry has. It's delivered while Draco's at work, so usually Harry has the first look at what's been sent. He's not above flushing letters from his friends down the toilet just so that Draco doesn't question them. He rarely even responds, too scared that some ward on the house will be able to tell Draco that Harry's sent something.
Luna is the one person who keeps sending him letters even though he never responds. They don't even say anything. The last one we got from her was just a big red exclamation point drawn in an angry, scratchy hand. He wouldn't have known it was Luna if it weren't for the fact that no one else would have sent it.
Draco discards letters as he looks, then reaches a nicely sealed envelope at the bottom. "It's for you."
Not Luna, Luna doesn't bother to seal her letters.
Draco doesn't even ask, of course not, he just breaks the seal and pulls the parchment out. It's not very long, Harry can only see a few paragraphs faintly showing through the back of the paper.
His eyes narrow as he reads. Harry considers just laying down and dying.
Draco reads the whole thing, then starts back at the beginning and reads selections of it to Harry. "Dear Harry, I'm writing you this because I can't sit by and watch anymore... I'm really concerned... The bruises on your neck... seem so scared around Draco... Ron thinks I'm overreacting... please just meet with me to tell me you're alright. Love, Hermione." The tone he reads the passages in gets more and more mocking as he goes on.
Harry immediately starts talking. "I didn't tell her anything, I didn't say anything. You've seen me every time I've seen her, I promise, Draco," Hary is instantly shut up with a flick of Draco's wand. He can't even open his mouth.
When Harry finally makes eye contact with Draco, he looks crazy. His eyes are blown wide, his brow furrowed deeply. Harry barely even recognizes him behind the rage.
Dinner is forgotten.
Harry lays in bed that night. His ribs hurt more than usual, his ankle is swollen, his nose has only just stopped bleeding.
He should feel sad, or hurt, or depressed. And he does feel those things, but one emotion rises to the forefront, clouding everything else and making it painful to think.
He's never beaten me while sober before. Harry is afraid.