Dearest Harry - Eileen's Story

Thanks kim and tqa for all your help this weekend.

When Harry awoke, he was absolutely ravenous. He was a teenaged boy, so such feelings were not completely new to him. He was also a teenaged boy who had grown up at the Dursleys, which meant that he could ignore his hunger longer than most boys his age, but this hunger was beyond anything he had ever known. He had to eat and soon. He sat up and swung himself out of bed, feeling surprisingly shaky. It was dark still and he wondered idly what time it was as he made his way out of the bedroom and down the passageway on legs that felt like they didn’t belong to him.

He was on the third floor at Grimmauld Place, which pleased him. He saw that there were two other beds in the room and he thought that both were occupied, it wasn’t clear with out his glasses. But, if he were right, that meant that Mrs Weasley had done as he asked and put his Gran in the main bedroom. He wondered idly how she was. He hoped that she was okay; he knew that he had destroyed the cancer cells, that he had cured her, but he also hoped that people were not about to make a fuss, he hated fusses. If he just fed himself now, whilst the house was quiet then he could creep back to bed and no one would be any the wiser.

There was, of course, no food left in the kitchen. There was some bread, right enough, but Harry thought that would probably be needed for breakfast. So he searched in the store cupboard and found various ingredients, including some cheese that had become hard and some stale milk, as well as a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon. The oven warmed up in no time and, quite happy to putter about, Harry began to make scones, humming quietly to himself. He made as many as he could manage, intent on saving most of them for the morning. The first batch was ready and Harry removed them from the oven and placed them on the worktop.

He had taken his pyjama top off by now and draped it over the back of a nearby chair; it was far too warm on an August night to be wearing such a thick cotton top and being in the kitchen, with the heat from the oven, just exacerbated that. Not that there was anyone about at that time of night to see him, anyhow. He did manage to catch sight of himself reflected in the shiny metal kettle though, and was quite pleased to see that he was quite trim still; his stomach was still toned as well, must have been from all the heavy lifting he had done when he was at the Dursleys.

The kettle boiled and Harry placed some of the still-warm scones on the table and turned to fill the teapot. Finally ready to begin his meal, he pulled out a chair and sat down. It was then that he noticed Draco Malfoy standing in the shadows, watching him.

Harry couldn’t help himself, he blushed.

How long had Malfoy been standing there anyway? Had he seen Harry check himself out in the kettle, had he watched him take off his top? His feelings of embarrassment were probably what caused him to snap at the other boy quite rudely.

“What do you want Malfoy?” he hissed, but he felt a hint of shame when the other boy flinched. Malfoy had dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks; he looked worried and Harry couldn’t help himself, he softened.

“Do you want some tea and a scone?” he asked, almost gently. He was gratified when the other boy came over and sat opposite him and for a while they just ate in silence.

“These are great.” Malfoy said, finishing his third scone and then using the tip of his moistened finger to mop up the crumbs. “I don’t remember them from dinner. Did Mrs Weasley make them for breakfast or something?”

“No, you twit,” Harry said. “I made them, what do you think that smell is? Left over from earlier or something?” He rose then to take another batch out and put some more in the oven. When he turned back, Malfoy was staring at him. “You made them?” he squeaked.

“Of course I bloody did,” Harry snapped, “Who else d’you think it was, an invisible house-elf?”

Malfoy looked down at the table and shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said, “It’s just you were always such crap at potions, that I thought that, well I don’t know what I thought..”

He had trailed off. Harry was about to comment that he had done okay at potions when he hadn’t been taught by a greasy, snarky git any longer, or when certain people had stopped throwing things in his cauldron. But he didn’t. Instead he sat back down.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to make snitty comments about Snape any more. The guy had, after all, been quite nice to him lately, and that was quite a novelty as far as relations were concerned; at least in Harry’s experience it was. He also didn’t quite want to launch into a war of insults against Malfoy either, the other boy just looked too fragile for that.

“What’s wrong, Malfoy?” he asked.

The other boy wouldn’t look at him.

“No one likes me.” he whispered.

“Someone does, I’m sure, er I think that Pansy Parkinson does, and um Zabini, er and Crabbe and Goyle and oh, er your Mum, I’m pretty sure your Mum likes you Malfoy.”

The other boy looked at him, his large grey eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble.

“Oh fuck it all! Malfoy, don’t start crying again!” Harry said, “It makes every thing so damp!”

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said, his breath hitching on his words, “It’s just that nobody here likes me and I’m lonely and frightened.” The last word was said so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear it at all.

“Look, Malfoy, I am sorry that you are lonely, but I’m pretty sure that nobody dislikes you, well not that much anyway.”

“Weasley does!” Malfoy said looking up at him with wet, accusing eyes.

“Look, you nit, the very fact that you are sitting here without sporting tentacles, or orange and purple skin or warts or something, means that Ron is at least trying to be nice to you. You were a complete shit for all those years at Hogwarts; we can’t like you overnight, just like that. Oh, and stop trying to cause trouble for Ron, cause he’s my mate and I am not going to start bad-mouthing him, just cause he isn’t holding your hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered, looking down at the table again sadly. “I don’t want to cause trouble, I just feel so scared.”

Harry was sure that his jaw had dropped. Malfoy had said sorry to him.

He shook himself. “Why are you so scared? You are safe here, no one will hurt you, not even Ron. If he was going to hurt you he’d have done it by now.”

“I’m not scared of Weasley,” Malfoy hissed. “I’m scared of tomorrow night!”

Harry knew he must have looked gormless because Malfoy continued to explain.

“You know, the full moon.”

“But you’ve got ages yet, the full moon’s not till next week.”

“It is next week, Potter. You have been asleep for six days.”

“Yes Harry,” said a silky voice, “you completely exhausted yourself with your latest escapade, and yet here you are in the wee small hours, sitting in the kitchen doing goodness knows what.”

It was Snape, of course it was Snape. Something about the scene gave Harry the strangest feeling of déjà vu. He could almost have been at Hogwarts, hiding under his invisibility cloak, whilst the erstwhile potions master stalked the corridors looking for him.

“I was hungry!” he exclaimed, somewhat crossly. “And if I have been asleep for six days then it is about time that I got up, isn’t it? I have things to do, after all.” With that he stood up and went back to the stove. “Do you want a cup of tea and a scone?”


Severus smiled. “Yes please, Harry,” he said, drawing a look of surprise from those green eyes. When they boy didn’t have his glasses on, like now for instance, it was amazing how beautiful they were. Severus did not go in for boys; especially boys who also happened to be his nephew. He liked his lovers to be men, or women, and all grown up. But that did not mean that he could not appreciate how stunning Harry had become. Malfoy certainly seemed to be enjoying the view of Harry’s lightly tanned torso. The boy had reached up to get a cloth and then bent down to take more delicious smelling scones out of the oven. Severus was sure that, if he looked hard, he would see a puddle of drool in front of the blonde boy any minute now. He wondered if Harry realised quite what effect he was having on Draco, but swiftly came to the conclusion that the boy was completely clueless about his own charms.

“You should not be serving us, Harry,” was all he said though, but was not surprised to see the boy bristle at him. By Circe, he was prickly! It was not surprising though, was it? Severus was now sure that they boy had rarely ever been praised, and never been looked after; he didn’t know how to cope with people who cared about him, did he?

“I’m fine!” Harry muttered through gritted teeth, though Severus did notice that the boy swayed a little as he put some more scones on the table, along with fresh tea.

“Indeed you are,” Severus replied. “For someone who has recently expended the amount of power that would completely flatten a small team of aurors, you are doing remarkably well; but I think it will never cease to amaze me that, no matter how many guards we put next to your sick bed, you always seem to choose the one moment that no-one is paying attention to wake up!”

To Severus’ surprise, Harry grinned at him, “Yeah, well, sorry about that, but I was hungry and there was no one else about and I am sort of used to taking care of myself.”

The boy looked down sadly when he said these last words.

“Um,” Harry was continuing, “Um Draco and I were having a little chat; I didn’t know that I had slept so long. Erm, tonight, well tomorrow night, or whatever it is, that’s the full moon, isn’t it? Will Draco be alright, Professor?”

Severus caught the astonished look that Draco gave the other boy. What precisely had surprised him the most though, Severus was not sure. Maybe it was the fact that Harry had, certainly for the first time in Severus’ hearing, called the boy by his first name. Or perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to care for his welfare.

Harry was not trying to impress anyone, was he? He didn’t think he impressed Severus, certainly. He didn’t know that Severus had had an epiphany. Severus was very impressed by Harry, very impressed indeed and, considering the fact that just two weeks ago he had been close to despair of ever helping a boy that he had previously considered to be arrogant and somewhat stupid, if the truth were known, that was no mean feat indeed.

Harry had yet to catch up with Severus’ paradigm shift; he didn’t know that the man who had belittled him, despised him, for so many years, now rather admired him. Severus knew that this new relationship between them was going to take time to develop, a lot of time.

“We have been doing our best, Lupin and I, to prepare for Draco’s transformation. I have made a large batch of Wolfsbane, which Draco has already started consuming in preparation. And the brew that I give him tomorrow night will contain a powerful painkiller and soporific. Most werewolves hate to be dopey when they transform but, as Draco is so afraid of the pain, we thought it best to concoct something just for him.”

“See Draco,” Harry said, patting the other boy’s hand, “It’ll be okay, and I’ll come and see you as soon as I can. I mean, I’m not an animagus or anything, but I sort of might try and become one, so that, you know, I can keep you company another time. But it’s not like you’ll be all alone. Um, Remus will be there and I’ll come and see you as soon as you turn human again. You’ll be alright Draco, you just have to try and be brave.”

He was holding the other boy’s hand now and stroking Draco’s thumb gently with his own. Severus was sure that he had not realised that he was doing it. But also, subconsciously, it seemed he was somehow soothing Draco. The boy was looking better than he had for days; maybe there was something to be said after all for scones in the wee small hours?

“Of course you’ll be alright,” Severus told the blonde boy. “We will all look after you.” He took the boy’s other hand in his own now; it was suddenly obvious that Draco was terrified and Severus was not sure how he had missed it over the last few days. But with the worry of recent raids, the worry for Harry, who had seemed determined to sleep for weeks, and the delight of his own mother’s new-found health, he had not really thought about Draco. The boy had become a pest, an inconvenience to them all and it had taken Harry once again to notice. So slow to make demands for himself, he was quick to notice, and try to overcome, the problems of others.

But Harry was looking rather pale himself now, wasn’t he?

“Come along, boy,” he said to Harry, noting him cringe at the innocuous word. “Come along Harry, come along Draco, lets get you both back to bed.”

“M’okay,” Harry muttered, staggering to his feet. “Not tired!”

Severus smiled, “Well, will you at least let me accompany you back upstairs, Mr Potter?” he asked, “I don’t mind helping, I do owe you a great amount, far more than I could every repay.”

Harry looked puzzled, as if he could not work out exactly what it was that Severus owed him. But he was obviously too exhausted to offer up any arguments.

Severus smiled to himself; only Harry Potter could wake up from a six day magical coma and spend the next few hours baking scones and comforting distressed werewolves.

But the boy was swaying even more alarmingly now, and Severus rushed around the table to catch him before he fell. Harry looked at him bewildered when he found himself once again in Severus’ arms.

“Um, Professor,” he slurred, “You’re carrying me again, you always seem to be carrying me these days, don’t you?”

“Indeed I do, Harry,” Severus answered. “Hmm,” the boy said, laying his dark head wearily on Severus shoulder, “S’nice,”

Severus smiled; he almost, but not quite (he assured himself), felt affection for the boy.

“Come along, Draco,” he said to the other boy. “Let’s get you and this young man back to bed.”