After All TBGC
Updated: April 22 , 2005
Summer 2/Part
A:
July 1, 1991
It had
taken Minerva only two weeks to get the truth from Harry, but it had been a long
two weeks. Two weeks of him waking
up to nightmares like he had in the beginning, two weeks of him shying away
anytime his summer was mentioned, or clamming up when he thought he’d done
something wrong. It had been two
weeks that had taken Minerva so by surprise that when he finally did speak up
and say, in a very small voice that sounded more like a squeak, “He hit me,”
that she couldn’t formulate an immediate response. Then, he had added very quickly, “That’s all.”
That’s
all? She hadn’t given much thought the previous year to the kind
of lasting damage the Dursleys’ abuse might have had. Harry had been so outgoing and so affectionate and so
immediately… normal. It had been
very easy to pretend he was like any other nine-year-old and forget the rest.
So,
she’d taken him to Albus, made Harry tell him, and Dumbledore, with very
somber eyes, had said that it would never happen again. He’d looked sad and concerned, but not surprise and Minerva didn’t
doubt he had known all along and was simply waiting for Harry to tell someone.
She had
sat Harry down later that evening and explained in as calm a manner as she
could, that what the Dursleys had done was wrong. That they shouldn’t have locked him in a cupboard, or starved him, or
hit him and that if anybody ever did anything like that again it was important
that he tell Dumbledore or someone else immediately. He hadn’t appeared to believe her, not really, but had nodded and said
that he understood, which was going to have to be enough for then.
Like
before, however, his shyness was short lived. With returning students fawning over him and, god help her, trying to
corrupt him further, it wasn’t long before he was the same over-energetic
handful that she remembered. The
only saving grace was that he had apparently learned his lesson about eating
things like entire chocolate cakes on his own and did not come down with any
mysterious stomach ailments that year.
What he
did come down with, however, was a severe cold. Severe, only because he had not told anyone he was feeling ill.
In fact, he’d gotten up a little earlier and smiled a bit more. She had noticed he looked tired, but thought he’d had another restless
night. It wasn’t until the next
morning, when he was burning up with fever and had broken into a cold sweat that
she’d known he was sick at all.
When
asked why he didn’t say anything he’d said that he hadn’t wanted to be a
bother and that his Aunt Petunia had always told him if he were well enough to
walk, he was well enough to go about his day without bothering her.
Minerva hadn’t been that tempted to go and hunt down his relatives since
he’d first arrived with that bright bruise marring his cheek.
With
everything that had happened that year it was difficult to look Harry in the eye and explain that he had to stay with Professor Snape again that summer, but
to her great surprise, that was not what he had complained about. He was very docile about the whole affair right up until she told him
Draco Malfoy would be returning again. At
the mention of young Malfoy he’d immediately become agitated, saying,
“I’d rather spend my entire summer locked in a room alone with the greasy
git than have to entertain that… that…”
Then,
he’d used a word that proved he’d been spending far too much time with the
Weasley twins and earned him his first official grounding from Minerva and a
stern lecture on inappropriate language. In
the end, however, Dumbledore insisted that Draco was coming and Harry had gone
back to moping about the castle as summer approached.
If
Minerva thought it possible, she would have requested that Harry be allowed to
accompany her home, but his safety came first and Hogwarts was the safest place
for him. So, instead, she had made sure he had plenty of things to
occupy him during the next few weeks. She’d
even bought him several fictional books that did not fall under the category of
classics and toys that weren’t educational, but looked interesting enough to
keep his attention for more than five minutes.
When it
was time for her to leave, Harry offered to see her to the front, instead of her
having to drop him off with Snape and she was suspicious, but he was nearly
eleven-years-old and there weren’t a great many places he could go inside of
Hogwarts that Dumbledore couldn’t find. She
hugged him goodbye, hoping that she wouldn’t have to return to help look for
him that evening.
Harry
went to the dungeons the moment Professor McGonagall’s carriage was out of
sight. He had thought about wandering around the castle and putting
it off, but in the end, that was only going to make it worse and he had promised
her he would go straight there. After
an entire year of avoiding Snape and being avoided in return, he was not looking
forward to living with the man for eight weeks. Of course, if he were lucky, six of those weeks would go the same as last
year and he wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time in the dungeons as he
would be with Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or in the kitchens, or the halls; anywhere but
there.
Snape was at his desk when Harry entered, looking over something with a concentrated knit in his brow. He didn’t look up as Harry went into his bedroom and while Harry thought it was incredibly rude of him, he was also relieved. The room looked like it had the previous year, with the exception of a new poster hanging on the wall over his bed and a trunk that he knew was now overflowing with things for him to do.
Professor
McGonagall really had gone all out preparing him for the summer. She’d bought him clothes that were slightly bigger, in case he grew
some more, several pairs of muggle jeans that he could get dirty, books with
titles like ‘The White Mountains’ and ‘The Island of Adventure’ that
were quiet obviously not historical or autobiographical in any way, his own
chess set because she’d seen one of the Ravenclaw’s trying to teach it to
him, exploding snap, playing cards with moving pictures of dragons on them
because no matter how many times he saw it Harry was always interested in
watching pictures move, and more toys than he’d had in his entire life. He’d even gotten a new set of soldiers that weren’t broken like his
olds ones, only they weren’t really soldiers, they were wizards and they hexed
each other in battle instead of fighting with swords.
It had
all been so overwhelming when he’d first seen it, Harry hadn’t known what to
say. ‘Thank you’ seemed a bit
understated, but he said it anyway, for lack of anything better. McGonagall
seemed pleased by it and had hugged him and told him that he was to write her
once a week and tell her everything, no matter how silly it seemed.
Getting up from the bed,
Harry went to his desk and looked at the books blankly. He didn’t even know where to start.
There were too many of them, twelve, actually, but he’d only ever had
five unread books at a time and twelve seemed like such a large number when he
had so many other things to do.
He was so
intent on staring at the brightly colored bindings that he jumped when Snape
opened his door. He sat up straight
and tried not to look as intimidated as he felt. His stomach was all knots, like he was going to be sick.
“Lunch
will be served is ten minutes, Potter, I do not expect you to be late.”
The door
closed again and Harry breathed a great sigh of relief. It was going to be a long summer.
Draco sat
in the carriage with his father, arms crossed over his chest, pouting. He didn’t care if he looked childish and he certainly didn’t care if
it wasn’t Malfoyish because it wasn’t very Malfoyish to spend two weeks out
of every summer with a half-blood orphan, either.
It
wasn’t as if his summers were all that interesting to begin with. He usually spent them following his mother around as she went shopping
and to see various relatives who sized him up, telling her what a good boy he
was. It was all terribly boring,
but the last few weeks of summer, when there were no more irritating relatives
left to see and there were no more clothes to buy him, his mother left him alone
and he was free to spend time with his friends, Gregory and Vincent, or whatever
else struck his fancy. Spending
time with Potter, however, in no way ‘struck his fancy.’
His
father stared at him disapprovingly, “Sit straight, Draco.”
Draco
sighed and sat straighter.
“And
lower your arms.”
He sighed
louder and did as he was told.
“Don’t
sigh.”
He held
in the urge to do it again. “Is
there anything I can do, father?” It wasn’t often he talked back, because Lucius Malfoy was not the sort
of person you talked back to, but Draco was too irritated to care at the moment.
His
father narrowed his eyes angrily. “You
can stop acting like a child.” When
Draco opened his mouth to say that he was not acting like a child, he was cut
off. “You can start behaving like
a Malfoy. Malfoys do not slouch and
they do not pout. I will not have you make such an impression on the Potter
boy.”
“Malfoys
don’t bother with making impressions on half-bloods like Potter.”
“Malfoys
do what they must and they do it with dignity. Allegiances are everything Draco and that boy will be an asset.
If I find you have jeopardized that with your insolent
behavior I will not hesitate to punish you. Am I understood?”
Draco
looked down at his lap. Punished
meant the cane and the last time his father had punished him he hadn’t been
able to sit down for several days. “Yes, Father.”
“Head
up, Draco, we’re approaching the school.”
Looking
out the window, Draco saw Snape standing outside, a hand clenched tightly on
Harry’s shoulder in an entirely unaffectionate way. Actually, it looked rather like he was trying to restrain him.
Harry jerked his shoulder, but didn’t try and move away.
Draco bit
his lip anxiously then forced himself to suppress the unrefined gesture. What if Harry said or did something that let his father known they
didn’t get along? Would he be
punished for not having made friends with Harry last summer?
Lucius
stood as the carriage stopped and opened the door, stepping out. Draco quickly followed, holding his head up and his hands firmly at his
sides, watching Harry. The other
boy’s head was down and his fists were clenched tightly.
Walking
up, Draco nodded at him, “Hello, Harry.”
Harry
looked up, his mouth partly open and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. For a moment, Draco thought that Harry was going to make a cutting remark
and he blanched slightly. Harry,
however, didn’t say anything other than, “Hello, Draco,” though he was
looking at Draco strangely.
Lucius
watched them for a moment, his eyes staying on Harry a little longer than was
necessary before looking up at Severus. “Good
afternoon, Severus.”
“Good
afternoon, Lucius, I trust your ride was pleasant.”
“As
pleasant as can be expected.”
It was
always so boring watching his father chat with his associates, they always said
the same things. Looking at Harry,
he tried to catch the other boy’s eye, but Harry seemed more interested in the
ground. His father put a hand on
his shoulder, catching him off guard, but he managed not to look too surprised.
“I’ll
be leaving now, Draco, I trust you and young Mister Potter will have fun.”
The hand on his shoulder tightened minutely, just enough to remind him
that it was not so much a fond goodbye as an order.
He
watched the carriage until it was out of sight, aware that someone had gone back
inside, but assuming it was Harry. When
he turned around, however, he found Harry staring oddly at him again. He looked around as discreetly as possible; reassuring himself that Snape
had indeed gone inside before turning back to Harry. “What?”
Harry
shrugged, “Don’t know.”
“Then
why are you staring? Am I that
interesting, Potter?”
Harry
flushed slightly. “No, it’s
just odd, that’s all.”
Draco
felt his irritation from the previous summer returning, “What’s odd?”
“I
don’t know, it just is.”
Rolling
his eyes, Draco brushed past Harry to go inside and made his way to the
dungeons. His things would be seen
to by the house elves and he wanted to make sure that everything got there and
that it was properly put away. Last
time they had folded his trousers instead of hanging them and he’d had to deal
with creases all summer.
It
didn’t occur to him until he was half there that Harry was following him.
Turning around abruptly, he crossed his arms over his chest, deciding
that it was an appropriate gesture when angry, as his father used it often
enough on him. “Why are you
following me.”
Harry had
an annoyed look on his face, his mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Snape’s orders. I’m
to stay with you this summer as apposed to running off on my own.”
Of all
the… “What if I don’t want you around me?”
“Well,
I guess he didn’t think about that, did he?”
Part of
Draco knew that Harry was as upset about the situation as he was. They didn’t like each other, it was absurd that they be required to
stay in each other’s company. The
other part of him was more than a little upset that Harry found his presence so distasteful.
Draco was a pureblood,
his family lineage had proud history. Harry
was the low class half-blood. If
anyone were to find the situation distasteful, it should be Draco, not Harry.
For a
moment, Draco bit his lip, despite the fact that his father repeatedly told him
not to. Bugger his father anyway, he wasn’t the one having to deal
with a Potter. “So, you’re just
going to follow me around, then?”
“Yes, I
thought I might as you seem like such a nice person to be around.”
It took
Draco a moment to recognize the sarcasm. He
didn’t hear a great deal of it and when he did it certainly wasn’t aimed at
him. He threw his arms back down to his sides
and turned around, storming towards the dungeons. If Harry were going to be a prat, his father couldn’t very well blame
him for simply being one back. In
fact…
-tbc-