Title: Punished (5)
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: AU. Characters are entering 6^th year.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Harry’s view.
Notes: Includes graphic scenes of child abuse and molestation.

(Harry’s POV)

 

Even after all these years, I have no idea how that bloody mug spilled. Stupid to obsess over something as minor as that, eh? But I do. At least once a year, I let my mind flow back to that day and try to see just how the hell the mug tipped over. I’ve tried pensieves. Several. Hoping that just one might have caught something that I didn’t see the first time. No matter what angle I approach, no matter which part of the memory I start with…I can never catch that fucking cup spilling.

 

But I digress.

 

I knew the second Vernon let out his first bellow that I would be the one to shoulder the blame. I always was. The premise behind my ‘wicked deed’ was ridiculous though. Vernon said that I’d magicked the mug to fall in order to dirty his precious floor. What kind of idiot do I look like? I was the one who had to clean the bloody floor. I was the one who had to pick up the broken cup, scrub the floor, launder the tea soaked towel and cart the garbage out to the curb. Why the hell would I go to the effort of creating work for myself? In addition, I knew that Vernon would scream himself hoarse yelling at me or even knock me around a bit.

 

It was bloody stupid.

 

So, I just stayed quiet. There was no point in arguing with Vernon when he has the idea in his head that The Freak has somehow made some strange Freak Thing happen in the midst of Vernon’s happy muggle day. Perhaps I should have looked more afraid, but I just couldn’t. I could tell the second I had the audacity to look my uncle in the eye that there would be pain in my future.

 

He jerked me up out of my chair, wrapping a meaty hand in Dudley’s old cast off shirt. The brittle, over washed cotton parted like butter. The ripping noise was a warning bell in my ears. I tensed, as his next move was to grab a hefty chunk of my hair. He had a big enough hunk of it that it didn’t hurt as much as it could have. And anyway, I was rather used to being dragged about by my hair in this house. I’d learned early on how to move to ease the pressure on the roots.

 

As I went up, I noticed Dudley and Aunt Petunia staring at the scars on my chest. For a brief moment, I wondered if they had any idea that their beloved husband and father was the one who put every last one of them there…and if they would care if they knew. My attention was dragged back to the moment at hand as Vernon stopped in front of the stove.

 

He knocked the teakettle off of the stove, narrowly missing scalding his own legs with the hot water, not to mention mine. Of course, I didn’t have to worry about the water swirling around my shoes for long, as he actually lifted me by my hair off of the floor. Panic started when I caught a glimpse of his ugly smile and realized exactly what my uncle had in store for me. I had long enough to suck in a breath of air and then the raw pain began.

 

My back was totally on fire. Realistically, I knew that the only spot burning was where the circular stove burner pressed into my skin. But the pain radiated out over my back, down my arms, down my legs, up my neck and out my mouth in what had to be the most horrifying noise I’d ever made. I couldn’t get away from the searing flames radiating through me.

 

I tried shoving Vernon. I tried rolling off of the burner. I even tried hitting the fat bastard who was pinning me down. Nothing worked. The pain kept increasing. My screams started reverberating through my head, mixing with the pleading and the begging. I could feel tears coursing down my face and noted absently that they were almost as hot as the burner beneath my back. Finally, blessed blackness began to seep into my reality and I let it come.

 

When I awoke, I found myself lying on my stomach on the living room couch. That in itself was a surprise. I was never allowed in the living room. It was too close to the front windows, Vernon said. But even stranger was Aunt Petunia hovering over me with a tear streaked face. She might not have been the best mother figure I’d ever known, but she was here with me now and she was crying.

 

I couldn’t stop myself from apologizing for upsetting her. Realistically, I knew that she should be the one apologizing to me, but fuck, she was crying…over me. She just pushed me gently back down and brought me lunch. I thought her guilt might ebb during the day, but she was there every hour checking on my bandages and trying to make me drink something.

 

I tried to oblige. I was just so exhausted and hurting that I couldn’t. I kept falling asleep. Dudley didn’t force sandwiches on me or spread goop on my back to make the burning ease, but he did take up residence in the armchair tight across from the couch and spent the rest of the day watching me. Every time I woke up, his eyes were still on me. Oddly enough, considering our past, it was rather comforting and I fell back into a restless sleep.

 

Of course, as soon as the front door opened, I was fully alert and prepared to bolt. I never got the chance. Vernon started in on Aunt Petunia about me dirtying up the couch. The glare he gave her gave me pause. I knew he’d hurt me without a second thought. I just had never thought he’d hurt his family. That glare said something else.

 

He dragged me up the stairs by my hair again, ignoring Aunt Petunia’s pleas for him to just leave me be. As soon as we entered ‘my room’, he flung me to the floor and turned to slam and lock the door. When he turned back…I knew I was fucked. Most probably literally. I peered up at him out from under the fringe of my hair, trying to judge just how pissed he was.

 

He was practically quivering. His eyes had narrowed to tiny slits in his pudgy, reddened face. The vitriol that they exuded was nearly acidic. Air whooshed in and out of his nose making him sound like a snorting rhinoceros and his hands were shaking as he began to unbuckle and pull his belt out of their loops.

 

Ah. It’s to be a bit of whipping first. He turned his piggy eyes onto my dirty jeans.

 

No. Not first. Humiliation just wouldn’t be the same if I were clothed.

 

I grunted as he wrapped his meaty hand in my hair again and jerked me to my feet. He fumbled at my own belt for a moment and then Dudley’s oversized trousers were a puddle on the floor. My pants went the way of Dudley’s old shirt and Vernon shook the shreds of them from his fingers. His final act of my disrobing was to get his fingers under the bandage that Aunt Petunia had so carefully placed and rip it away from the weeping burn mark.

 

The pleasure in his face made my stomach turn.

 

Then he had balled up his fat hand and was swinging it towards my face. Why did I not move, you ask? Why make it worse, I answer. I learned early on that Vernon was never happier than when he heard me whimper or beg, or saw me afraid or trying to get away. He was going to hit me anyway. My only pleasure was to be had in denying him some of his.

 

My glasses broke on the first swing and I could feel the broken metal piercing my nose. When Vernon’s hand came back to hit me in the stomach, I bent in half and they fell off. I heard the glass crunch under his feet as he stepped forward to grasp my hair again, placing me in position again to be punched in the jaw. My head swung to the left and I felt the droplets of blood splash out of my mouth.

 

The next hit was to the underside of my chin. I knew that Vernon was going for my throat. Watching me gasp as he cut off my air supply was only second on his list to watching me whimper for him to stop. I moved just a fraction of an inch and the hit landed firmly on my lower jaw. I heard a crack and felt a lance of pain go through my jaw that had nothing to do with Vernon’s heavy hands.

 

Fucker had just broken a tooth.

 

He landed his next punch directly on top of the previous one and I heard that crack and felt the pain again.

 

Make that teeth.

 

I pulled my tongue back as far into my throat as possible. If I bit it off, chances were I’d choke to death on it or drown in the blood. As it was, the blood from my teeth was filling my mouth and I swallowed rapidly to keep from spitting. Merlin only knew what Vernon would do if he thought I were spitting on him.

 

A half a dozen punches later, when I couldn’t see for the swelling around my eyes and the blood dripping off of my forehead, Vernon stopped. I barely repressed the snort of laughter that threatened as Vernon began bitching about hurting his hand. Poor fucking baby, I wanted to scream. But instead, I stood swaying to the thrum of blood through my beaten flesh.

 

A hand in my hair again and I was thrown facedown onto my bed. I turned my head to as not to suffocate in the pillow and felt Vernon begin to lock my hands and ankles down. How convenient was it that he had installed handcuffs and ankle straps to my bed? I nearly snorted again. Dear Vernon, always thinking ahead.

 

When I was effectively spread eagled and trapped, I felt him move away. I caught the whir of air a half a second before the strip of fire erupted across my back. Whipping me occupied him for nearly 10 minutes. After all, he didn’t want to miss a single piece of unmarred flesh, did he? My breathing had gone from pained hiccups to wheezing gasps, but I refused to make a sound. The worst came when he began whipping the burn. Over and over as though the wound itself was begging for more.

 

Tears escaped my eyes and I rubbed them into the pillow.

 

When the whipping stopped, I tensed. I only relaxed after the cracking thud of what I assumed was Dudley’s Smelting’s stick had begun to make its way across my ribs. It was what was to come afterwards that I was dreading. All too soon, the hypnotic pain of the beating stopped and I heard the most horrifying sound in existence.

 

Vernon’s zip going down.

 

The tears flowed faster and I bit into my lips to keep from whining like a kicked dog. Meaty fingers pried my arse cheeks apart and I felt a swipe at my bloody back that told me he’d learned from his last attempt at fucking me. Unlubed penetration hurts the rapist as much as the raped. However, that was the last bit of ‘kindness’ that Vernon showed me.

 

I’d see his cock before. Dozens of times it had hung heavy and dripping in front of my face. I flinched away from those memories. His cock wasn’t small. It ripped into me and I swear it went straight through my stomach. He pulled out, taking my rectum with him I’m sure, and then thrust back in with a sickening groan of pleasure. Vague words came to my ears. “…hot…tight…fuck…slut…” I turned my head and let the blood fill my ear rather than hear a diatribe of how ‘fucking sweet’ my arse was.

 

One good thing about Vernon Dursley is that he has no stamina. Less than a minute later and he was shooting his disgusting fluids up my arse. He collapsed on me and, for a moment I had a brief panic attack that this was to be the way I finally died…buried under a mountain of flab with cum dripping out of me. Soon enough, though, he rolled off of me and slapped me upside the head for good measure.

 

I listened to him getting dressed again and then I felt a finger prodding at my hole again. Then, a hand in my hair. Vernon snickered as he smeared a fingerfull of shit laden cum into my mouth. I could hear his laughter as he shut the door behind him, locked it and padded heavily down the hall. I spat over and over again, prodding at my ruined teeth to garner a bit more blood to wash the taste of humiliation out of my mouth.

 

Succumbing to my misery, I cried until I fell asleep.

__________________________________________________________________________

 

The door opened and I couldn’t help but tense up. Vernon usually didn’t come back after one of his ‘special treatments’, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. After all, Vernon had never thrown me onto a red-hot burner in front of my cousin and aunt before either. The lights flicked on and I squinted to see what the bastard wanted, hating that my glasses were gone. I felt even more naked without them than I did without my clothes.

 

“Harry?” came a fearful whisper. My eyes widened in shock and then squinted again to see Dudley hovering at the door.

 

“Dudley?” I croaked.

 

“Yes,” was the answering whisper as he took a step towards the bed. “It’s me.”

 

What the fuck? Why the hell would he be in here? What the hell did he want? He’d never joined in his father’s games before. I don’t think he even knew about them. That meant that he was here for something else. Something that wouldn’t please Vernon at all.

 

“Get the hell out, Dudley,” I hissed. “He’ll hurt you if he finds you in here.” No need to explain who he was. Instead of leaving, the bloody idiot came and knelt at the side of the bed and raised a hand to my head. I couldn’t help the flinch any more than the tensing up. Dudley’s hand dropped.

 

“I brought you some water. And some bread,” he offered them up like sacrifices.

 

I sighed. Poor, idiot Dudley. Sweet, clueless Dudley. I closed my eyes briefly as my heart twisted. “I can’t sit up to drink, Dudley,” I pointed out.

 

“It’s okay. I brought a straw as well.” The smile he gave me stretched the skin of his stiff expression until he looked like he was grimacing at me. He arranged the glass near my mouth and stuck the straw in it. He then carefully slipped the straw in-between my swelled lips and gently held it until I could take a few sips. The cool water felt amazing on my tongue…and like icy fire against my broken teeth. I had to pull away.

 

He set the glass in the bookcase and held up the bread. “Would you like some bread as well?”

 

I shook my head. Raked it across the pillow I was tied to, rather. “I can’t get my mouth open that much,” I explained. “And Vernon broke a couple of teeth out. I couldn’t chew very well if I wanted to.”

 

“Oh,” he replied, a look of embarrassed mortification on his face. He sat there silently for I don’t know how long. Eventually I broke.

 

“Dudley, why are you here?”

 

“I…I just…I didn’t know he’d hurt you like that,” he whispered, misery showing in every glance he gave to me.

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Poor, blind, clueless Dudley. “And you felt guilty.” He nodded. “Well, don’t,” I wanted to rage that Vernon was the one who should be here feeling guilty. But I knew that was never going to happen. “He’d have found some other reason if it weren’t the tea.” I tried to smile. “He always does.”

 

Dudley looked alternately disbelieving and terrified. “He…he does this…often?”

 

I snorted a painful laugh, air rushed over the broken stubs of my teeth and out my swollen nose. I flinched at the sting. “Yeah, Dudley. He does this all the time. Why do you think the chains are permanently installed on my bed? Or the locks on my door?”

 

He looked sick. “Or the scars on your chest?” he whispered.

 

Poor, epiphanied, horrified Dudley.

 

“Or the scars on my chest.” His pain was making mine worse. “Dudley. I appreciate that you came in here tonight. Really. But it would be best now if you just left.” I looked at him pointedly. “Before Vernon catches you here and punishes us both.”

 

He nodded and picked up the glass of water, making his way to the door. I watched him go. What was it that changed for him? Was it watching Vernon in action? Seeing his mum cry over me? Finally noticing how much of a punching bag I was? What was it that brought him here tonight? He turned once as he reached the door. Poor, sweet, confused Dudley.

 

“Thank you,” I whispered. And he shut off the light and closed the door behind him.

 

Great Merlin, Dudley. What the hell were you thinking? Vernon isn’t one to suffer betrayal well and having the fruit of his loins coming in to soothe the freaks troubled brow definitely counts as betrayal. But, I thought, I’d never seen Dudley acting more bravely in my life. A small part of my heart warmed at the tiny bit of loyalty he’d shown me. Then that warmth was covered in ice as I wondered what Vernon had done to Aunt Petunia for her part in healing me up.

 

I’d pondered that notion, wondering if she’d make an appearance as well, far into the night. I didn’t have much else to do except hurt and doze and hurt some more. Finally, dawn broke and I turned my head away from the painful beams. Just in time to see Vernon waddling into the room for an early morning bout of ‘exercise.’

 

He forewent the whipping. Probably realized that blood was damn hard to get out of leather. He went straight for the Smelting’s stick. Apparently, my back and legs didn’t provide him with the greatest amount of amusement this morning. After one particularly rousing jab that triggered my aching bladder to release, he changed his mind about body shots. He aimed most of his blows for my head.

 

I buried my nose in the pillows to avoid the stick. Vernon didn’t seem to begrudge me that. He simply began raining the blows to the back of my head. At one point, the clout I received turned my world into a sparkling sheet of stars and I slipped into darkness. When I came to, I could feel Vernon at my arse again. Oddly enough, he was also at my head, sneering obscenities.

 

After a moment, I realized what the hell was happening. He had decided to use the Smelting’s stick to rape me. Bastard probably didn’t want to have to shower again before leaving the house. The problem with the stick was that, though it was decidedly thinner than Vernon, it was a great deal longer. A fact that Vernon exploited. I think I felt it bounce off of the inside of my ribcage, but I can’t be sure. I had passed out again.

 

When next I came to, Vernon was just closing the door. I shifted slightly and grasped that my humiliation was further added to by the continued presence of the stick up my arse. I could feel it sliding around my guts as I moved and the feeling made me nauseous. About that time, I noted that my head was spinning like a top and the shining stars hadn’t really gone away so much as they’d retreated to the outskirts of my vision.

 

I threw up.

 

I scooted as close to the edge of the bed as I could, but there simply wasn’t enough chain. I watched the puke roll off of the coverlet, pink tinged bile that smelled fucking horrible, and I wished I were just fucking dead.

 

When the door opened the next time, I was pretty sure who it was. I didn’t move when the lights came on. To be truthful, my eyes were so swollen that the light barely made it through my lashes anyway.

 

“Harry, are you…?”

 

Dead? No. Not yet anyway. “’M awake, Dud,” I managed. I heard him scootching closer to the bed. Absently, I wondered if I should warn him about the vomit, but then, I figured he’d probably already smelled it even if he didn’t see it. I cracked open my eyes. “Wha’ are you doing back ‘gain, Dud?” I was surprised I got that much out. My mouth hurt like a bitch.

 

“I…I brought you some more water.” He held out the glass as though he were offering me the Holy Chalice. I smirked. Sort of. Actually, I think my mouth might have twitched a bit.

 

“Though’ I tol’ you t’ stay ‘way.” Fuck talking hurt.

 

“I know. I couldn’t though,” he whispered, his eyes falling to the floor. When they came back up again, I nodded in understanding. He moved closer and eased the straw between my lips like he had the last time. Fortunately the last time I had the energy to suck the liquid up. This time…I just didn’t. I wanted to. I knew that the cool water would be like heaven against my parched throat. But I just couldn’t.

 

“Harry, you have to drink,” Dudley whispered.

 

“I know,” I said. It came out as a moan.

 

“Please, Harry. Drink. Just a bit. Please?”

 

With a surge of strength that came from somewhere deep inside, I managed to take a pull at the straw. The strength gave out as the water hit my lips, though, and the water ran out the side of my mouth to pool with the puke. I wondered how Dudley would take it if I started crying? He convinced me to take another drink and I felt his hand on my throat.

 

I wanted to panic, but I hadn’t the energy. And anyway, after he began softly stroking my throat I understood that he just wanted to help me swallow, not to follow in his father’s fist prints. Finally, I stopped drinking and he offered me toast. I wanted to laugh. I just shook my head and dropped back down on the puke-covered pillow.

 

“Harry? I brought the first aid kit. I’m going to—“

 

“No!” I shot up off of the bed, ignoring the pain for the stab of fear that lanced through me. “If you do anything, he’ll know you were in here!” I faded off into coughing and dropped back to the bed again. “I’ll be fine. Just…thank you for the water, Dud. But just go. Please.”

 

I would beg for this. Not to stop Vernon from hitting me, whipping me, fucking me. No. That I would endure. But this…this I would beg for.

 

“But…”

 

“Please.”

 

He went.

 

I was shortly lost in the darkness again.

____________________________________________________________________

 

I don’t really remember the next family visit from my dear Uncle Vernon. I think my body was shutting down. I vaguely remember the stick being ripped out of my hole, pulling off the scabs that had knitted the wood to my flesh. I remember the sounds…cracks, snaps, roars of anger. Somewhere in there, I recall hearing someone shrieking at the top of their lungs, high pitched whining shrieks, but no words. I think that was me. How embarrassing.

 

More fire erupted over my body in places that I thought weren’t able to feel anything anymore. My chest started to hurt, I thought I heard gurgling but I could be mistaken. I recognized when my body gave up trying to hold itself together. The overwhelming smell of urine and shit filled the room and Vernon became angrier. The stick penetrated me again, but I had ‘lubed’ my own rectum up quite nicely. I snickered at that.

 

The snicker only gained me the belt. Seemed that Vernon wanted to see a bit more blood. The belt flailed everywhere. In his fury, he lost control of the thing and it slashed me about the face, the legs, the back. It hit the bed more often than not and rather than have him catch me laughing at him again, I let the dark claim me once more.

 

I only came conscious to puke again. And again. And again. Each time made Vernon more infuriated. Each time, I paid for my sins with my pain. Finally, it was even too much for Vernon and he slammed out of the door, hissing about cleaning his shoes.

 

When the door opened again, I began praying. Please, please just let me die. Please let me die.

 

Then I heard retching. I tried to lift my head to see, but that was an exercise in futility. And I didn’t really need to, did I? After all, Vernon had caused the damage. Why would he be vomiting over the results? And so I called out.

 

“Dud?”

 

I heard him drop to his knees and he crawled to me.

 

“Harry?” he managed through the tears. “Oh, fucking God, what has he done to you? Oh, God…”

 

He reached out to me. I didn’t move until he actually touched me. It was so gentle. So completely different from Vernon, that I flinched. When I did, he began to sob harder. “Don’ cry, Dud,” I slurred out.

 

“Please, Harry. Tell me what to do. I’m not smart like you. I don’t know what to do. Please tell me how to help you!” His babbling was beginning to get loud enough that I started worrying.

 

“Shhh,” I hushed him. What the hell should I say now? Call the police? Pull the stick out of my arse and beat the fucker to death with it? What the hell was I supposed to tell him? What could I say that would get him and Aunt Petunia the hell away from here? Because as soon as Vernon finished with me…and I was pretty sure that one more go around would do it…he would start on them.

 

“You have t’ tell someone at Hogwarts,” I forced out. “You have t’ convince them t’ come get me.” Fuck talking hurt. But Dumbledore would help them. He wouldn’t let Vernon hurt them. Just me, a quiet voice rebuked.

 

“Okay, Harry. I’ll do it. I’ll try. You have to tell me how.”

 

Frankly, I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting Dudley to be so willing to interact with wizards. I must really look like shite, I snickered in my head. But how the hell was he going to get a message to them? Ahhh….

 

“I sen’ Hedwig t’ Ron’s. You’ll have t’ call the Knigh’ Bus.”

 

“The what?” He sounded panicky.

 

“You take n’ wand and hold it up ou’side. Th’ bus’ll come to you,” Or not, I thought, the words spinning round in my head. I felt my eyes slipping closed as the darkness snuck in again.

 

“Wait! Wait, Harry!” Dudley nearly shrieked. “I don’t know where your wand is! I don’t know how to use it!”

 

My eyes shot back open. It’s okay, I said in my head. It won’t work for you anyway. Don’t know what I was thinking. No one ever gets away from Vernon Dursley. But I couldn’t say it out loud. Instead, I told him where it was and watched as he crawled to the hidden floorboard and pried it up. I saw him shove it in the back of his trousers and place the board back when a scream came from downstairs.

 

“Shit,” he cursed, “Father’s back.”

 

“Go, Dud,” I ordered. “Go before he—“ Fuck. Too late. The door flew open and Vernon stood in the doorway. I couldn’t make out his features, but his presence was enough that had I any fluid left in my body, I would have wet myself again.

 

“What are you doing in here, boy?” he snarled at Dudley, advancing on him.

 

Dudley just stared in horror at this new version of Vernon Dursley and began stuttering. Vernon lifted his hand to hit his son.

 

“He came in to hurl more Dursley abuse at me,” I called out nastily. “You’ve taught him well, Vernon. He’s almost as much of a bastard as you are.” Oh, goody! It worked! Vernon was no longer glaring at his son; he was coming after me again.

 

“You little freak. You haven’t learned to shut up yet? I suppose you need another lesson.”

 

Oh, yes. Please. Another lesson. That’s just what I need. Actually, another lesson should put me out of ‘school’ completely. That didn’t sound so bad at all. I glanced over at Dudley as Vernon was undoing his belt again. Go! I mouthed.

 

He went.

 

I was alone with Vernon again.

___________________________________________________________________________

 

I had faded to a comfortable place where the pain was just a nagging thought in the back of my mind. I was on my broom, floating high above the air, zooming around the pitch with the wind in my face.

 

I was nearly free.

 

Then I heard the door open.

 

I nearly cried.

 

Gagging noises punched holes in my fantasy and I came back to reality in time to hear Dudley bitch, “Damn it, no light.” I heard him shuffling about and felt him lean on the bed. “Harry?” he called softly. His hand met my hair. “Harry, wake up. I brought help. Harry? Please, Harry!” He was starting to sound frantic. I wanted to beg for him to just go away. Let me die.

 

“Harry? Please don’t be dead. Don’t let me be too late!”

 

Well, fuck.

 

“’M okay, Dud,” I answered resignedly. “’M not dead. Tha’s jus’ wishful thinkin’,” my attempt at humor resulted in a cough that seemed to last forever and left a decidedly metallic taste in my mouth. The taste of blood spurred on my gag reflex and the next thing I knew, I was puking again. Fuck I hated puking. Finally, it stopped. Dudley was petting my head.

 

“So, the Knight Bus thing actually worked, eh? Didn’t think it would.” I smiled under his stroking hand.

 

The hand slowed. “Why did you tell me to try if you didn’t think it would work?” he demanded.

 

“I w’s trying to keep you occup’d. So you’d stop comin’ here and puttin’ yourse’f in danger,” I rebuked him.

 

“Lumos,” called a strangely familiar voice, and a dim light pierced the darkness. “Same old martyr complex, Mr. Potter?

 

What was I thinking? I’d know that voice anywhere. I rolled my eyes as he stepped forward. “Fuckin’ Christ, Dud. Di’ you have to bring one of the pe’ple who hates me more than Vernon does?”

 

“Lumos,” came another familiar voice and I watched as another beacon of light glowed around the blondest hair I’d ever seen.

 

I started to laugh. “Oh, much bett’r! Two people who hate me more’n Vernon!” I couldn’t stop laughing. Of course that meant that I couldn’t stop gagging or puking again. My chest and stomach exploded with every retch and I didn’t even hear Snape Alohamora the locks. I just realized that my limbs were free for the first time in days.

 

I curled around myself protectively and immediately regretted that. The pain was exponentially worse the further I bent into myself.

 

“We are leaving,” I heard Snape say. “There is no one qualified to help the boy at Hogwarts at the moment. Poppy is at a conference in France. I will be taking Potter to Snape Manor.”

 

“Wait!” I wheezed. “You have t’ bring Du’ley an’ Aun’ Petun’a.” Snape glared at me as though I’d requested he infest his home with fleas. “Please,” I found myself begging again. “Vern’n will kill ‘em if he fin’s me missing.”

 

Snape sneered and rolled his eyes. “Very well, Mr. Potter. If it will force you into silence until I can get you drugged unconscious, I will take them as well.”

 

Relief flooded through me, better than the strongest sleeping draught. “Than’ you, Pr’f’ssr,” I managed before the darkness fell again.

____________________________________________________________________

 

I can’t remember much of what happened next. I’m pretty sure that Snape made good on his promise and doped me up on every potion he could find. I do remember the strange feeling of someone running their hands through my hair. Someone holding my hand. I don’t know who it was; I just know that I felt so safe. Like that touch was a lifeline to my sanity.

 

I also remember feeling Snape's magic wending it’s way through me, touching the most painful spots on my body and soothing them with a sharp coolness that I knew was Snape. It too made me feel secure, and for the first time in several days when I fell asleep, it was because I actually fell asleep. Not because I was dragged into unconsciousness by a need for survival.

 

When I awoke, I could see the morning sun peeking through drawn curtains. I squinted a bit and heard movement beside me. My head jerked that direction and I could see, vaguely, Dudley sitting in a chair next to me. He leaned forward and helped me sit up, plumping pillows behind me. He then offered me some water. It was then that I found my teeth had been repaired and the swelling around my lips and jaw had gone down.

 

I still felt a bit sore, but considering what I had felt beforehand, I was quite content in my soreness. I thanked Dudley and gestured for him to sit closer. That way, I wouldn’t have to squint to see him. We got the obligatory ‘how are you feeling’ out of the way and I began badgering him for information on where we were, if Aunt Petunia were there and are we all safe from Vernon.

 

Color me amazed that we were in Snape Manor, Aunt Petunia had commandeered the kitchen and Vernon would never touch us again. But then, I thought wryly, this is Snape we are talking about. I can hardly see Vernon in all his righteous anger causing Snape to do more than quirk an eyebrow and sneer a bit. After a while, the door opened again.

 

I couldn’t see much, but that hair was unmistakable. Draco Malfoy was here. My stomach started a strange roll that had nothing to do with any injury. He made his way to my bedside and pulled out his wand.

 

“Feeling better this morning, Potter?” he asked, full-blown Malfoy at the helm.

 

“Yes, thank you,” was all I could manage. I watched him like a hawk as he cast some diagnostic spells and mumbled to himself. Fuck he was a beautiful man.

 

“I’ll have a house elf send you up some broth. You couldn’t handle anything else and I’m quite tired of cleaning up your vomit.” Of course, he was also a bastard. I flushed, whether it was from the fact that the man I had a ridiculous crush on had seen me in such a horrible state or the picture of Draco Malfoy cleaning up my puke, I couldn’t tell you.

 

Dudley looked pissed and I tried to diffuse the situation. “Thank you, Draco,” I forced a smile. “Not only for the broth, but for helping me last night.”

 

He looked as though he’d eaten a bug. His face twisted and he shuddered. “Whatever, Potter. Don’t be thanking me too much. Severus was the one who healed you. If it were up to me, you’d still be back in that muggle rathole.”

 

I could feel things in me break that Vernon Dursley had no access to. While I tried to hold my dignity and my heart intact, Dudley leaped from his chair, ready to commit murder. I grabbed his sleeve. “No, Dud,” I whispered. “Let it go.” The rage flowing off of my cousin was almost palpable, but eventually, he allowed me to guide him back to his chair.

 

I stared up at the pale blob that was Draco Malfoy and said, “Well, I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t up to you then, Malfoy.” With that, I couldn’t keep his gaze any longer. My own had begun to fill up with tears. He gave a final sneer in my direction and then slammed out the door.

 

I smiled wanly at Dudley to let him know how I appreciated his defense of me. Dudley just stared at me with a sorrowful expression that said he understood much more than I wanted him to. Much more than I had ever given him credit for. I told him I was tired again. That I needed to sleep. I suppose I did. So I could get better. And leave this house. And try to piece my heart back together as far away from Draco Malfoy as I could get.

 

Dudley just nodded and gave me a kiss on the forehead. And then he followed Draco's path out the door. I cried myself back to sleep.

________________________________________________________________

 

Dudley came back later. By that time, I’d gotten myself together. We chatted for a while, talking about anything that didn’t involve Vernon, my injuries, Draco or Dudley’s newfound obsession with protecting me. I introduced him to the idea of Quidditch, took him on a verbal tour of Hogwarts and actually talked about my friends with him. He seemed quite eager to meet them and I made a mental note to drag him along with me on my trip to Diagon Alley. After all, without Dudley’s interference, I might not have ever been able to make another trip at all.

 

He left again to allow me to sleep and I dozed off to the smell of baking chocolate wafting up from the kitchen.

 

When next I awoke, Dudley was back again. I thought about asking him if he hadn’t been offered a room, but I knew he had. Snape was too much a snobby gentleman not to offer each guest their own quarters. So, Dudley was here of his own accord, fulfilling his own agenda. I decided to just let sleeping Dudley’s lie in their recently transfigured chairs. That must have killed Snape. Transfiguring a chair into something more comfortable for a muggle. But once again, I bet his inner host balked at the idea of a guest practically living in an old hard oaken chair without even a pillow for cushioning.

 

I had to snicker at that.

 

And so it was that I was staring at Dudley, trying to figure out his agenda, when Snape made his appearance. Of course it was Snape. Draco had made it abundantly clear that he was only helping out of respect for his teacher. That if it was up to him, I could just die and everyone would be better off. That pain shot through me again.

 

I glanced up at Snape long enough to acknowledge his presence and then went back to watching Dudley. Perhaps if I could figure out what it was that changed Dudley’s attitude towards me, I could use it on Draco. A potions bottle shoved under my nose interrupted my musings and I obediently drank whatever concoctions Snape handed me.

 

I nodded my thanks and he left, never having said a word to me. I suppose that was better than the acidic hate I expected to come spewing forth, so I wasn’t about to complain.

 

The next day, Dudley wasn’t there. Neither was Draco, but I wasn’t really expecting to see him again during my stay. However, I’d become used to someone next to my bedside, even after only a couple of days, and my sleep was restless. When I finally got to sleep, my dreams were interspersed with memories of Vernon and the feeling of soft hands in my hair and gentle touches on my skin.

 

Once I realized that the soft hands weren’t actually a dream, my eyes shot open. Sitting beside me today was my aunt. I attempted to sit up, trying to show a bit of respect, but my muscles protested. I winced and gave up. Barring rising, I just smiled. “Hi.” Bloody hell, my voice sounded horrid today.

 

“Would you like some water?” Aunt Petunia’s low voice asked. I nodded and watched as she filled a glass for me from the ever-cooled pitcher. She held the glass for me as I drank, just like I’d seen her do for Dudley when he was abed with an illness. “I brought you some cake and milk. Would you like to try some?” She smiled encouragingly.

 

I stared at the cake as though it were gold from Gringott’s. Oh how I wanted it. But I knew that newly grown teeth wouldn’t accept the presence of too much sugar, so I sadly shook my head. “How long?” I croaked. How long had she been here? How long had she waited to come to see me?

 

“Only a few days,” she smiled again.

 

I nodded and attempted to sit up again. Once more, the muscles protested and I sank into the pillow. I looked back up at her and took in her presence. She looked good. She was dressed in clothes I’d not seen before, clothes that suited her more than the flowery prints she always wore at the house. Here, she looked more like a caring mum than a harried housewife.

 

Her face was smoother. The worried wrinkles I was familiar with weren’t there. Her eyes were warmer also. The combination made her look years younger. I smiled. “I’m glad you came with the professor,” I whispered. “I was worried about leaving you and Dudley back there alone with him.”

 

Her smile faded and she winced visibly. “Harry…I…I’m…”

 

I hated watching her stutter. A year ago, maybe even a month ago, I would have been pleased. Pleased that she saw what was happening to me and was disturbed by it. When Vernon broke me, though, he also seemed to have opened the floodgates for these strange feelings about my family. I didn’t want them to hurt. Even over me. Not if I could prevent it.

 

I reached over and covered her hand. It was so cold. “It’s okay, Aunt Petunia,” I interrupted. “He’s the one who hurt me, not you.”

 

She shook her head and looked shamed. “Are you entirely sure about that, Harry. Because I’m not.” Her expression spoke of so much sadness. “In my eyes, I hurt you just as badly as Vernon. I never hit you. But, I never stopped Vernon from hitting you. I never screamed profanities at you. But then, I never really bothered to talk to you at all, did I?”

 

I have no idea why I hated watching her beat herself up over this. I should have been happy. She was finally seeing what her neglect had done to me after all these years. She was seeing that perhaps she could have prevented some of the pain, the sorrow. I should have been gloating. But all I could do was squeeze that cold hand and try to show her that I still loved her. Even though I hadn’t been aware that I loved her at all until that moment.

 

“Aunt Petunia…”

 

“No,” she said firmly. “I will not fall into apathy again, Harry. I neglected you. I emotionally abused you in a manner far worse than Vernon’s fists.” It struck me than that she didn’t know all of it. Didn’t know about the times Vernon’s fat cock was forced between my lips. Didn’t know about the times that cock was rammed into my guts. Didn’t know the full extent of the perversions Vernon visited upon me.

 

And I found that I didn’t want her to ever know. If she was broken about the beatings, what would she do knowing the whole truth?

 

“Bruises will fade,” she continued, not knowing what had transpired in my head in the time it took her to take a breath. “Bones will mend. But I betrayed the trust of a child placed in my care. The child of my beloved sister. I should have loved you with all that I loved her, Harry. I should have been and done so many things that I did not…and for that, I am truly sorry.”

 

She was crying.

 

My chest twisted and I knew that my decision to keep her in the dark was the right one. I reached up and wiped her tears away. “It will be different now,” she vowed. “Perhaps too little, too late, but I swear to you that things will be different. I will be different.”

 

I smiled slowly. “Not too different, I hope. I don’t want you to sacrifice who you are to be who you think I want you to be.”

 

She just shook her head. “No, Harry. It’s who I want to be. Who I need to be. And Dudley, too. He’s…he’s like an entirely different person.”

 

I had noticed that. It worried me. “Is he all right?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she was quick to ease my fears. “Severus believes that he is actually gifted with magic as well!” There was a strange light in her eyes. “Not as much as you, of course, but enough that Severus thinks he should be trained in it.” What was that? What was causing that? “Severus has been working with him the past couple of days. He says Dudley is doing quite well.”

 

Ah ha! It was the name. Severus. Each time Aunt Petunia said it, she flushed. Her eyes sparkled a bit and her lips curled into a tender smile. Could it be that my aunt was developing a crush on a certain Potions Master? I nearly giggled aloud.

 

“Severus does, does he?”

 

She turned bright red. I squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, Aunt Petunia,” I reassured her. And it was. Severus Snape was the most irritating man on the face of the planet. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be romantically involved with him. But he was strong. He was loyal. He was a good man. The thought of he and anyone, especially my aunt, locked in an embrace made me want to hurl, but when comparing Snape to Vernon, there was no comparison. Snape won hands down.

 

“He’s…he’s unique. It takes a special kind of person to see beyond his mask. It really doesn’t surprise me that you managed it.” I smiled at her again and vowed to be happy for her no matter what horrid pictures I came up with of tongues and hands and…ewww. I shuddered. When I dragged my thought back to the pure light of day, I noted that Aunt Petunia was watching me with a tiny knowing smile.

 

“What?” I asked warily.

 

“It’s not only Severus that wears a mask, Harry.”

 

What? Who the hell was she talking about? “Who else? Me? I don’t wear a mask.” At least not that any of you can see through.

 

Aunt Petunia actually snorted. “Harry, love, you have a wardrobe full of masks. You, however, were not the young man of whom I was speaking.”

 

Okay. I admit. That made me a bit uncomfortable. If Aunt Petunia could see through me, what the hell was I projecting to those who knew me best? I dragged my attention back to the moment. “Dudley?” I frowned. No. Dudley wouldn’t even understand the concept of trying to hide what he was feeling.

 

Aunt Petunia gave another snort. I must say I actually liked this new sarcastic lady in front of me. “Dudley has had no reason t wear a mask. Everything he’s ever done, his parents have supported whole-heartedly…no matter how ignorant.”

 

“Then who?” I demanded in frustration. What other ‘young man’ did she know?

 

She sighed. Merlin, was I that oblivious? “Draco Malfoy.” Apparently so. My jaw dropped. Draco? Was she insane? She smiled softly. “He’s not the monster you believe, Harry. He’s just as lost as you. He is just as alone as you. I shudder to think where that boy would be today if he hadn’t had Severus there for him.”

 

I nearly choked on my own spit. This was the ‘nice’ Draco? He could have been worse? And Snape had a good influence on him? I was pretty sure I was back to dreaming. Aunt Petunia sighed again. “I know you dislike Severus. And I know that you dislike Draco—“

 

“Idon’d’sl’keDr’co,” I mumbled.

 

“What was that, dear?”

 

I sighed. Bloody hell. Was I actually going to spill my guts? “I don’t dislike Draco,” I growled. Apparently so. I wanted to jerk my own tongue out of my mouth. “I don’t even dislike Snape. I know how much he’s given up for the cause,” His life, a chance at love, his future, his freedom… “How much of himself that he’s lost. I don’t hate him. I don’t particularly like him,” I added petulantly. “He’s been nothing but a mean, vindictive bastard to me. But I respect him, even for that.”

 

Grrr. I decided I hate share time.

 

She squeezed my hand and gave me a small smile full of understanding, full of appreciation. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Harry. But you’re avoiding the original subject.” Damn. I thought going off on her new interest would derail her.

 

“Draco,” I flushed.

 

She nodded. “If you don’t dislike him, how do you explain your antipathy towards him?”

 

How? How? I’ll tell you how! Six years of torment! Six years of His Bastardness shoving ‘Mudblood’ and ‘Death Eater’ and ‘Potty’ in my face, that’s how! He’s…he’s…

 

“He’s…he’s just such a git!” I burst into words. Aunt Petunia just raised an eyebrow. Did she get that from Malfoy? Or Snape? Had she been around them long enough to take on their annoying habits? Crap. I sounded paranoid. I sighed.

 

“He’s mean spirited,” I tried to explain. “He says things to deliberately hurt my friends and me. He’s following in his father’s footsteps towards Death Eaterdom.”

 

“He’s not,” she interrupted my diatribe.

 

I ground to a halt. “What?”

 

“He’s not going to become a Death Eater.”

 

“How the hell do you know?” I demanded.

 

“Language, Harry,” she reprimanded me.

 

Oddly enough, that reprimand didn’t piss me off. It should have. What right did she have to forbid me anything? She was far from a loving mother figure. But then again…she wasn’t. And the fact that she cared enough about me to correct my language lit a peaceful fire in my soul. I blushed and ducked my head to hide a smile.

 

“Sorry,” I offered.

 

“I know because he told me,” she continued.

 

My head came up. “He told you.” What the hell was Draco Malfoy doing confessing to Harry Potter’s muggle aunt?”

 

“Yes,” she nodded. “We had a long talk over lunch at a lovely little bistro in London.”

 

I resisted the urge to stick a finger in my ear to clean it out. “You had lunch with Draco Malfoy,” I repeated, knowing I sounded like a confused Mynah bird.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you talked.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Civilly?” Perhaps this was the catch. He screamed at her. Insulted her muggleness. Spewed hatred for the Golden Boy and his family.

 

She smiled slightly as though she could read my thoughts. “Of course. He’s quite the cultured gentleman.”

 

“He’s quite something, all right,” I mumbled nastily. What the fuck. He’d talk to her, but told me he’d rather I’d bled to death in that fucking rathole.

 

“Harry,” Aunt Petunia pursed her lips disapprovingly.

 

I sighed. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine Draco Malfoy going to lunch with Harry Potter’s muggle aunt.”

 

“Well, he did,” she nodded. “And he was quite polite. And we did talk. And I found out some very interesting things.”

 

Interesting things? Okay, so I couldn’t resist. “Like what?”

 

“That you’ll have to ask him yourself, Harry Potter.” She seemed very firm on that. I guess she didn’t know how very much Draco hated me.

 

“But he won’t talk to me!” I protested.

 

“He talked to me,” she pointed out.

 

“You’re not Harry Potter,” I answered digging myself into my pillows, hating once again who I was forced to be. Who it kept me from being with.

 

She sighed and squeezed my hand again. “No one else could fill his shoes, though. Could they, love?” she gently chided me.

 

I winced. Fuck. Even my muggle aunt was telling me I was the Chosen One.

 

“I think Draco knows that,” she added in a quiet voice. “I think Draco resents that.” No shit. I resented it too. “I also think Draco would have it no other way.”

 

Huh?

 

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

 

She smiled sadly at me. “Neither does he, love. Neither does he.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

When Aunt Petunia left, I burrowed back down into my covers and thought. Why would Draco tell Petunia Dursley anything about himself? Why would he tell her that he had anything to do with the people who killed her sister? What was it about her that drew Draco? What was it about me that didn’t? I was so focused on the whys that I didn’t even notice when the who walked into the room.

 

Draco cleared his throat and I nearly jumped out of the bed. He stood for a moment in the doorway before stepping inside and gently shutting the heavy door. He hesitated, staring at the carpet, and then moved towards the bed. When he stopped, he continued to stare at the floor.

 

I frowned a bit, confused. “Hi,” I offered.

 

He nodded, still refusing to make eye contact. His furtive gaze finally rested on the end table and my wand. In an instant, he had drawn his own wand and was casting several diagnostic spells that I had become familiar with over the last few days. He seemed so grateful to be doing something that didn’t involve looking at or talking to me, and I couldn’t help but relish any opportunity that was offered to view Draco Malfoy when he wasn’t sneering at me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Snape had been in earlier to do the same tests.

 

The helpless look of disappointment was back as soon as he’d finished the spell work and he just stood there, wand hanging limply from his hand. Slowly, he turned sideways and sank down onto the side of my bed. He set his wand back in its holster and then promptly looked as though he regretted not having something to fiddle with. He was back to staring at his hands.

 

When he spoke, I nearly jumped at the break in silence.

 

“I was talking to Dudley a bit ago,” he began in a quiet voice. What the hell? First Aunt Petunia, now Dudley? I felt a tiny bit of jealous anger seething around in my stomach. Just what the hell was wrong with talking to this member of the family? “We were talking about you,” he continued, oblivious to my irritation. “We were comparing Harry Hating.”

 

His wry smile soothed over the irritation. How amazing what one smile from Draco Malfoy could do to me. “Yeah,” I returned, sardonically “You do have that in common.”

 

“No we don’t.” He actually looked up, grey eyes meeting mine. “Or rather, we do have it in common, but it’s not hate.”

 

I frowned. Did that mean that Draco didn’t hate me? No. No, don’t get your hopes up, Potter. Just ask him straight out. And so I did. “What do you mean?”

 

“We don’t hate you. Neither one of us.” While he looked back at his hands, I did a silent leap of joy. He didn’t hate me! “We were talking about the most horrible things we’ve said to you. Dudley asked me what mine was and it started me to thinking.” He clenched his hands together. “I’ve said some pretty horrible things to you.”

 

Well, I could hardly argue with that. What surprised me was that Draco was admitting it. “I’ve said some horrid things to you as well, Draco,” was my lame comeback.

 

Draco snorted. Yeah, well, he apparently thought it was a shite comeback as well. “No, you haven’t,” he shook his head. “You’ve retaliated, yeah, but you’ve never started anything. And you’ve never said the things to me that I’ve said to you. I’ve insulted your parents, your friends, your looks and intelligence, your House, your possessions…” he looked a bit embarrassed at the length of the list. “Well, you get the idea.”

 

“I’ve deliberately gotten you into trouble. And I’ve lied to you; wishing you were dead, telling you I hate you…” he hesitated. “Telling you that I’d have left you there,” he eventually whispered, and then he closed his eyes and dropped his head.

 

He was hurting. And much like I had felt with Aunt Petunia, I couldn’t stand the thought of Draco hurting over me. I reached out and rested a hand on his thigh, the only thing close enough for me to reach. I heard the slight inhalation of air and watched him relax a tiny bit. We sat in silence for long minutes. Finally, Draco raised his head and opened his eyes, though he couldn’t look at me yet.

 

“I guess I came in here to tell you that I’m sorry I said that,” he forced out. “I didn’t mean it.”

 

He looked so sad. “I’m glad you didn’t mean it,” I returned softly. Perhaps if I let him know what he was able to do to me? “I admit, it hurt a lot to hear you say that.” His head whipped around and I could see anguish burning in his eyes.

 

“I hate hurting you,” he bit out. “And I hate that I hate it. I shouldn’t hate it. I should love it.” He appeared almost confused at the words pouring out of him. “ I should want you punished for everything. I should want to see you brought down, made to suffer for my father’s incarceration, my mother’s breakdown, the hungry looks I get from the other Slytherins who can pick up on my vulnerability, the pitying looks I get from the fucking Hugglepuffs and Ravenbrains.”

 

He gritted his teeth and blinked rapidly. “I should want to see you realizing that everything could have been different if you had just taken my hand in first year. If you had just given me a bloody chance. But I don’t. I can’t.” He slumped. “I can’t even hold onto a bloody angry emotion for longer than it takes your bloody cousin to call me a nasty git.”

 

“I hate not hating you, Harry Potter,” he whispered. “And I hate that it doesn’t make any difference to you whether I hate you or not.” He stared off at the door, nearly shaking with emotion. We sat in bewildered silence for long moments. I don’t even think he remembered that I was touching him. Ultimately, he made to stand. And I freaked.

 

I grasped his robes in panic. “It does, Draco,” I hurried to say. “It does make a difference.” He stopped trying to leave, but didn’t sit back down.

 

“How?” he demanded instead, his whole being exuding wariness.

 

I smiled. Oh, you beautiful man. How could it not make a difference? But I said, “At the very least, it makes it easier to tell you that I don’t hate you either.”

 

He looked like an injured animal now, waiting for another kick. “You don’t?” I shook my head. “Why not?” was his next plea.

 

I shrugged. “Hating you doesn’t feel right. It hurts,” I mustered up the balls to admit. “When I finally decided to stop hating you and try to understand you instead, I noticed the hurt dulled down.”

 

Draco frowned, but sat back down on the bed. It was a small victory. “What the hell does that mean?”

 

I smiled shyly. “It’s like I knew I wasn’t supposed to hate you. Like I knew we were supposed to be…” I hesitated and he stepped in.

 

“Friends?” he scoffed.

 

I cocked my head slightly and thought again how fucking gorgeous he was. Even when he was terrified out of his mind. “Something,” I whispered.

 

He flushed. But he didn’t disagree.

 

“So, you want me to suddenly turn over a new leaf and become all buddy-buddy with the Weasel and Granger?” he sneered. “Go skipping down the hall holding hands and humming happily?”

 

I couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of Draco skipping. I’m sure he never did. Even as a small child. “First, I’m pretty sure that Ron won’t be so accommodating. Hermione might, but it will take her a while to forget all those times you called her a Mudblood.” He had the grace to look a bit ashamed. “As for the skipping down the halls, no thank you.”

 

I hesitated, flushed myself, and looked down to where my hand rested on Draco's thigh. “I suppose, though, that I wouldn’t be adverse to the holding hands and humming happily part.”

 

Draco stared down at my hand as well. For so long. Each second that passed felt my heart break a bit more. And then…he moved to cover my hand with his own.

 

Yeah, I smiled sappily. Not adverse to it at all.

 

 

 

 

FIN