Born in Frustration

22, May 2007 - beta'd chapter. Beta'd by Custard-Dragon. Authors Note: I have decided that waiting for beta'd chapters is not fair to the reader so I will be updating new chapters in the next few days, probably by friday, saturday at the latests.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Chapter Two: A Plan of Revenge, Or So He Thought…~


Draco Malfoy had a plan; a wonderful plan, a brilliant plan, a plan to shame his arch rival, Harry Potter. Draco had hated Harry Potter since their first day at Hogwarts nearly six years ago, but he had never hated Harry Potter more then he did now. The bloody golden-boy had landed his father, Lucius Malfoy, in Azkaban prison, discrediting Draco’s family name and placing his entire family in danger. Lucius’ failure in his mission for the Dark Lord placed him in a very precarious position, for the Dark Lord did not accept failure without a price. And this was all Harry Potter’s fault.

Draco had to seek revenge against the spoilt, little prat. His family honour demanded it. Harry Bloody Fucking Potter, the Boy Who Would Not Die, the boy with everything handed to him on a silver platter, the golden-boy of Gryffindor, the saviour of the Wizarding World, needed to be punished. Severely. Draco hated Harry Potter, or so he thought….

Part of Draco’s plan was to find out where Harry lived during summer holiday.

He had some difficulty obtaining this information. It took all his cunning and quick thinking in the last weeks of school but finally he managed to obtain the coveted address. Number four, Privet Drive, Surrey. Now he would need to do some reconnaissance. Spy on the Defender of the Down Trodden, Lord of the Lowly. Draco was certain that if he spied on Harry this summer, he was sure to obtain something he could use against his enemy. He was positive that there was something Harry Potter was hiding; something that could be used to completely discredit and humiliate the blasted do-gooder, for Draco wanted nothing more then to destroy Harry Potter, or so he thought…

On the first of July, at noon, Draco set his plan in motion. He Apparated to Privet Drive under a new invisibility cloak he had purchased just for the occasion. It was a stiflingly hot day to be under a cloak, but the material was light and for this, Draco could suffer the inconvenience. Upon arriving, he saw that the houses were modest detached or semi-detached Muggle dwellings. Not at all the lavish home he expected for the Boy-Who-Lived. Quietly, he approached number four, a rather plain home with a modest front lawn and simple, but well-manicured, plantings. This was not at all what he expected. Refusing to be distracted by a niggling voice in his head, he glanced in the front window –

Inside, Draco saw a rather large, blobby, blonde boy, sitting on a comfortable-looking sofa, watching a box intently, while eating some sort of Muggle crisps. He could see a thin horse-faced woman busying herself in the kitchen, chattering away to the large blob of a boy who was obviously not paying attention to anything she said. Unfortunately, Potter was nowhere in sight.

Undeterred, Draco moved around the house to the back gate, hoping to find a way into the modest home. He could hardly suppress a shout of glee, when he found the gate unlocked. As carefully as he could, he opened the gate and walked into the back garden. Draco came around the corner of the house, into the garden proper, looking around. He froze. There was someone in the yard.

In the very back of the tiny plot was a dark-haired boy, painting the garden shed. Draco narrowed his eyes, and observed the boy for a few minutes, not believing his eyes.

‘It can’t be,’ he told himself.

Oh, but it was…

There was Harry-Bloody-Fucking-Potter, doing manual labour! Draco was shocked. What was even more surprising was the state of Harry-Bloody-Fucking-Potter. Harry had his shirt off in the blazing heat. He was thin, very thin. He was sweating profusely under the noonday sun, struggling with a paint brush. Harry seemed unsteady on his feet to the point of nearly falling over. Draco had to stifle a gasp when Harry turned his back to Draco fully. Harry’s back was ablaze with fresh and old bruises and large welts and cuts some openly bleeding.

‘What the bloody hell?’ Draco said to himself.

Slowly, as quietly as he could, he moved closer to Harry. The closer he got, the more plainly the marks showed up. Marks that clearly did not come from a schoolboy fight; it also became obvious that Harry was too thin, so much so that his ribs were standing proud from his lithe form. His oversized trousers were cinched around him with a belt that had new holes made to fit the boy’s narrow waist. Harry’s hipbones were protruding as the trousers slipped slightly on his tiny frame.

‘Bloody, fucking hell,’ Draco thought. ‘What is going on?’

Just then, the back door opened, and the horse-faced woman poked her head out…

“Boy, haven’t you finished yet?” she called. “I expect the back hedge trimmed today, no excuses.”

Harry turned to face the woman, strain showing on his face.

“Could I have some water, Aunt Petunia?” he managed, weakly.

“Certainly not!” the horrid woman shouted back. “You will not have a thing, you filthy boy, until all of your chores are done.”

With that, the horse-faced woman ducked back into the house, slamming the door.

Draco heard Harry sigh helplessly. He turned to look at Potter. His gasp stuck in his throat at the sight of the boy he thought was his enemy. Harry looked awful. His skin was pasty and pale. His eyes, normally vibrant and shining, were sunken and lifeless. Dark circles framed those eyes. His lips were dry and cracked. Harry looked ill, very ill. Suddenly, it seemed to Draco that Harry didn’t need any more enemies.

Harry was still looking at the door, licking his chapped lips. He had a sad look of need on his face, with tears in his eyes. Sighing again, Harry turned, unsteadily, back to his painting.

Draco watched Harry for the rest of that afternoon. The boy managed to finish the painting and had pulled clippers out of the freshly-painted garden shed. He began clipping the hedge that ran along the back fence.

It became apparent to Draco that if Harry did not get water soon, he would faint. Not more than a second after Draco thought this, Harry promptly did just that. Harry took one step back, dropped the clippers, spun once around, and fell heavily to the ground.

Draco was startled. He did not know what to do. He was trying to decide between leaving quickly or helping Harry, when the brutal, horse-faced woman ran out of the door.

“Get up, freak!” she hissed menacingly, running toward the boy.

Draco froze. ‘Freak?’ He could not believe his ears. Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived… Freak? Who the hell did this bitch, think she was? No Muggle had the right to call a wizard a freak. Draco was incensed.

Harry’s aunt ran toward him. She bent down and started slapping the poor wretch about his face. Draco could barely contain his fury. A Muggle bitch, striking a wizard?

“Get up, you lazy boy!” she hissed, “Get up now! What will the neighbours say if they see you lying here? You disgusting freak!”

Harry’s eyes slowly opened, his hands flying up to protect his face. “Get in the house now, and up to your room.” Harry’s aunt said sternly, rising herself. She stormed angrily back into the house.

Draco was now beyond shock; his blood was boiling with anger. How could he have been so wrong about Harry Potter? He watched Harry struggle to his feet and stumble into the house. Draco followed close behind, not wishing to let Harry out of his sight. Harry moved through the kitchen and up the stairs, Draco right behind him and Harry’s aunt right behind Draco.

As soon as Harry and Draco were in Harry’s tiny room, Draco watched, stunned, as the aunt, a look of disgust on her face, slammed the door. Draco distinctly heard a number of locks being turned, essentially locking Harry in. Draco observed Harry, carefully. The boy grimaced, he shrugged his shoulders, and with a resigned look in his dazed eyes, he tripped onto the bed, promptly passing out again.

Draco stood there, unable to move, afraid to stay, but also afraid to leave. He looked around the dingy room; there was a cheap desk and wardrobe, a second hand bed with a shabby mattress and bedclothes, and a threadbare rug just in front of the bed. Harry’s owl’s cage was on the desk, along with a Muggle clock; other than that, there was nothing else in the room. Nothing else, nothing at all, no personal items, no pictures, no Hogwarts trunk, no books, nothing at all, except a tiny calendar above the bed, marking the days from the end of last term, to September the first.

All of Draco’s preconceived notions about Harry Potter were shattered. This boy was not the spoilt, self-satisfied prat Draco had thought him to be. Quite the opposite. For some reason, this changed everything, in Draco's mind.

Draco moved carefully toward the bed, looking down at Harry, making sure the boy was still breathing. He was relieved to see Harry’s chest rising and falling unsteadily, but breathing none the less. Satisfied, Draco moved to a corner of the room and sunk down against the wall and waited. He had no idea what he was going to do. The only thing he knew was he could not leave Harry. He had to do something. He needed to think –

As much as Draco’s father was feared by the rest of the world, Lucius Malfoy never lifted his hand in anger to Draco. A child in the wizarding world was a cherished joy. Rarely, were wizarding children abused in any fashion. There were always the exceptions, but they were few and certainly not a wizard child as important as Harry Potter.

The more Draco sat thinking, the angrier he became. Who were these Muggles, to treat a wizard with such obvious contempt? Why did Harry do nothing? Where were Harry’s protectors? Where WAS Dumbledore? Did Dumbledore know? Did anyone know what Harry was enduring in this house?

The questions kept running through Draco’s mind. He became more and more angry. He was so lost in his own thoughts; he almost didn’t notice Harry stirring on the bed. A sudden cough nearly made him jump out of his skin. It took Draco several minutes to remember where he was. He narrowed his eyes, and watched The-Boy-Who-Lived, wondering to himself, ‘What the hell is going on?’

Deciding that this problem was too much for him, Draco stood noiselessly, preparing to leave, or so he thought…..