Born in Frustration

I am glad some of you are liking the story so far. I am quite enjoying writing it so far.


12/11/06 beta corrections

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~Chapter Seven: Just Let Me Help You~


Harry was lying on his bed when Draco arrived back at Privet Drive. Whether he was sleeping or passed out, Draco couldn’t say. But he knew Harry’s injuries needed to be attended to right away. Draco moved to the bed, placing the case of medical paraphernalia he had brought beside it, and sat down next to Harry.

“Potter,” he said quietly. “Potter.” Draco shook the other boy gently. “Potter, wake up.”

Harry groaned softly, and rolled away from Draco. “Buggering hell,” Draco hissed. “Potter, wake up,” he insisted, shaking Harry harder.

Harry groaned again, a bit louder, “Ger’off, sleeping,” he sighed. His eyes flickering open and shut.

Draco sneered and bent his head close to the boy’s sleeping face. “Wakey, wakey, Potty-wotty,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. Raising his hand, he lightly ran two fingers up and down Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s eyes immediately snapped open. Dazed, he rolled onto his back, wincing in pain. His eyes were unfocused for a moment or two.

“Malfoy?” he squeaked.

“Yes, Potty, Malfoy,” Draco snapped. “Now, bloody well wake up.”

Harry found himself quite suddenly, and completely, wide awake. He sat up in his bed with difficulty, a bewildered look on his face.

“Malfoy, what are you doing back here?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Oh very nice, Potter,” Draco snapped. He looked at Harry for a moment, trademark smirk firmly in place. Harry rolled his eyes. Draco’s eyes softened somewhat before he answered.

“I’m here to help,” he said not unkindly.

Harry looked incredulous. “Why? Did you get hit in the head or something, Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged his shoulders. He had realised Potter might not be very trusting and had decided to push aside his own feelings in favour of attempting to reassure the other boy. “I don’t know why, Potter, truly I don’t,” he said, “I just couldn’t….”

Harry’s looked into Draco’s silver-blue eyes, “You, Draco Malfoy, hate me.”

Draco met Harry’s gaze, his heart clenching in his chest as he observed those once bright green eyes, now dulled and nearly lifeless. ‘What the fuck Malfoy, pull your self together. Merlin, next you’ll be waxing poetic over Harry’s silky, softy, black hair…’ Draco winced. ‘Merlin’s balls! You, are a Malfoy. Since when do you call Potter, Harry? You wanker, pull your shite together.’

“Look, Potter, I already told you I don’t know why I came back. Not exactly anyway, I just couldn’t – leave you here, without – I don’t know,” Draco sighed. “I had to come back. Now, shut your fucking mouth, stop asking stupid questions, and let me help you.”

Harry watched Draco carefully. He didn’t understand why, but for some reason he believed the other boy. Something in his eyes and mannerisms told him he could trust Draco, if only for this moment. He could trust Draco Malfoy.

“How?” Harry asked uncertainly.

Draco opened his case. He started pulling out various salves and potions, placing them on the desk beside the bed. Harry watched, not really believing what he was seeing. His eyes drifted from Draco’s face to the items being placed on the desk.

“First things first, Potter,” Draco grabbed a vial of blue potion, “drink this,” he ordered, handing the potion to Harry. Harry looked at it uncertainly. “It’s a Pain potion, Potter. It will be easier to heal you, if you’re not shrieking in pain.” Draco said, a hint of anger in his voice, “Look, Potter, you can either trust me, or not, but I meant what I said. I’m here to help you.”

Harry took the bottle and drank it, never taking his eyes off Draco’s. A warm, comforting feeling overcame him, like being covered in a warm blanket.

“Wow,” he said.

“Good, we’re making progress. Now, your wounds need healing.” Draco pulled out his wand and Harry flinched back, gasping…

“Malfoy, you can’t do magic here!” He exclaimed, “The Ministry will blame me! You can’t!”

“Relax, Harry, I’ve cast a magical concealment charm over the house,” Draco said calmly.

Harry glared at Draco. “You can do that? Hide your magic, I mean…”

“Of course I can, Potter. I’m a Malfoy remember,” Draco said confidently. “You’re such a Gryffindor.”

Harry shot Draco a disgusted look, but before he could protest further, Draco waved his wand over him. Harry had the most curious sensation. It was a bit uncomfortable at first, a tingling all over his body. It was a few seconds before Harry realised that Draco had cast a cleansing charm on him. Harry blushed furiously. He hadn’t thought about how very dirty he must have looked.

“It’s all right, Potter, I don’t expect you were in any condition to bathe,” Draco said reassuringly, his eyes soft with understanding. “Here, you handle the front,” he said, handing Harry a small jar of white cream. “Turn a bit, so I can do your back,” Draco instructed, grabbing a second jar. Harry complied, opening the jar, he sniffed it carefully.

“Smells nice,” Harry said out loud.

“Mhmmm,” Draco agreed. “I always add lavender and vanilla essence.”

Harry smirked to himself. Only Draco Malfoy would scent a healing balm.

Harry dipped his fingers in and began applying the lotion tenderly to his injuries. He gasped slightly at the cold cream against his hot skin and he trembled visibly when he felt Draco’s hands gently messaging the cream onto his back. ‘Damn, Harry, get a grip,’ he said to himself, ‘it’s Draco-Bloody-Fucking-Malfoy. Ewwwwww…’

They both worked in silence. Harry finished before Draco; having never been beaten before in such a manner and his uncle having been interrupted, he had fewer welts to cover. He screwed the lid back on the jar of balm as Draco continued to work diligently. Gentle fingers rubbing salve into each wound and over every bruise. Harry was slightly amazed at Draco’s soft touches and concentration. Carefully, lifting Harry’s arms when necessary, apologizing softly when Harry gasped at particularly tender wounds.

“You’re very good at this, Draco,” Harry found himself saying suddenly.

Draco snorted amusedly. “I actually used to want to be a Healer,” he said a bit off handed.

“Used to…?” Harry inquired.

“My father had other plans.” Draco said shortly, the bitterness in his voice barely contained. There was an awkward silence for a moment before Draco realized something. “Hang on a minute, Potter, did you just call me Draco?” he laughed.

“Um – did I?” Harry looked confused.

“I believe you did.” Draco smiled to himself. It sounded nice to hear Harry say his given name. ‘What the fuck, Draco? You frigging ponce.’

“Don’t worry, I won’t let it happen again,” Harry chuckled.

“I didn’t mind, actually,” Draco said, as he finished with Harry’s back. “Turn around now.”

Draco reached over and grabbed a green vial. “This is a replenishing potion,” he told Harry. “Take one each morning. It will give you back some of your strength.” Draco then picked up a pale, purple potion. “This is a nutrition potion, drink it twice a day. There are enough of both for a week.”

Harry nodded. “Green in the morning, purple twice a day.”

“Good. Now,” Draco reached back into his case and removed a pair of pyjamas. He handed them to Harry. “Get up and change into these,” he said as he pulled a clean set of sheet out of the bottomless case. When Harry didn’t move, Draco looked up at him. “Look, Potter, you can’t sleep on that filthy bed. You have open sores on your back and I’m not having my hard work ruined because you let them get infected. Now, get up off your arse and change your blasted clothes.” When Harry still did not move, Draco stood up and dragged the boy off the bed. “I promise I won’t look,” he said, turning his attention to stripping the bed.

Harry moved to the corner opposite Draco. Carefully, he stripped off his jeans and pants and pulled on the soft pyjamas. They felt nice against his bruised, damaged skin. He heard Draco mumble another spell over the mattress; he glanced over and watched Draco Malfoy, of all people, attempting to make Harry’s bed. Harry could not contain his laughter as Draco studied the fitted bottom sheet.

Harry moved over toward the other boy. “Here, let me help,” he said, reaching for the sheet. Then he showed the Malfoy heir how to make a bed.

Satisfied with the clean bed, Draco went to the door and removed the chair from under the knob, placing it back at the desk motioning Harry to sit on it. Then he turned back to his magical bag and removed a container, a thermos of water and rolled napkin. He placed the container and water in front of Harry, handing him the napkin. Harry unrolled the napkin, finding a fork and knife. He looked up at Draco confused. Draco smirked at him as he lifted the lid off the container. Harry’s eyes went wide. A plate of plain rice and boiled chicken, still steaming, was set before him.

“Sorry,” Draco said, making a disgusted face at the plain fare, “but your stomach won’t take anything richer or more flavourful.” He motioned for Harry to eat. “You need to eat, but do it slowly and stop when you’re full.”

Draco moved over and sat on the edge of the bed. Harry looked happily at the plate of food in front of him. He could not hide a genuine smile of delight. He began eating slowly as Draco had said, savouring each mouthful.

Draco watched Harry eat in silence, allowing the boy to enjoy his first, somewhat proper, meal in weeks. When Harry started to feel full, he put the fork down and wiped his mouth on the napkin. He felt much better, relaxed, nearly pain free and very sleepy. Draco stood up, gently prodding Harry toward the bed.

Harry complied without argument. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he murmured sleepily as he climbed under the fresh, clean sheets.

“Because, Harry,” Draco sighed, sitting in the now vacated chair, “because, someone has to be,” he said, noticing Harry was now fast asleep. Draco watched Harry for a moment before rising from the chair and making his way out of the room. ‘Time,’ he thought to himself, ‘to find the fat-man.’

Draco stood outside Harry’s door, getting his bearings. Listening intently, he looked toward the sound of voices. He followed them down a flight of stairs and into a narrow hall. Coming to an open door on his left, where the noise was coming from, Draco glanced around the corner into the room. He saw the fat-man, the blobby-boy and the horse-faced woman, sitting, watching a Muggle box with moving pictures. Smirking, Draco drew his wand and entered the room, clearing his throat as he did so…

Immediately, the fat-man jumped off of a large chair, fists flailing, “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” he demanded. “Petunia, call the police.”

“If any of you moves another muscle, I will curse you into oblivion,” Draco snarled, raising his wand, pointing it directly at Vernon Dursley.

The Dursleys all froze, cowering at the magic wand.

“Oh, very good, I was worried you were all too stupid to follow directions,” Draco drawled as he moved into the room. “Now that I’ve got your attention, we are going to have a little chat.”

Vernon Dursley’s mouth was twisting, itching to speak. His fist were clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You’re one of those freaks!” He declared.

“Freak?” Draco snarled violently. He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Vernon’s head. “Freak?! I should –” Draco cut himself off and took several deep breaths.

“Shut it, fat-man.” he hissed. “Shut your mouth and listen carefully. I am only going to say this once so you had better be paying attention.” Draco looked at all the Dursleys pointedly. “I am a – friend of Harry’s,” he began, all three Dursleys shuddered, “and I am very displeased at the condition I find my friend in at the moment.” Draco walked toward Vernon, waved his wand, sending the rotund man flying up in the air, pinning him, flat, against the ceiling. “Very displeased…”

Vernon squealed, spit flying from his mouth. Petunia and Dudley jumped from their seated positions, grabbing onto each other. Draco smiled wickedly. “I will be visiting Harry every day, for the rest of the summer,” he said sweetly. “If so much as a hair on Harry’s lovely head is disturbed, I shall flay you all alive.” Draco flicked his wand again and Vernon dropped from the ceiling, hitting the floor hard.

“Now, I am not like Harry, no, not at all like Harry.” Draco knelt down beside Vernon. Reaching down he grabbed a fist full of Vernon’s hair. Draco pulled hard, jerking Vernon Dursley’s head up, forcing the obese man to look at him. “You see, I rather enjoy using my magic to inflict pain on others,” Draco said raising his eyebrow. “Muggle torture is a favourite pastime of mine.”

Draco let go of Vernon and stood up. Flicking his wand again, he sent Vernon flying across the room. “You – you – have no right!” Vernon wailed as he slammed against the opposite wall.

“I HAVE NO RIGHT!” Draco screamed, “I HAVE NO RIGHT! THAT’S RICH, COMING FROM YOU, FAT-MAN. I HAVE ALL THE RIGHT IN THE WORLD! YOU FUCKING PIG!” Draco took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself and failing.

Draco stalked across the room toward Vernon Dursley, anger and hatred etched across his face. “YOU WILL DO AS I SAY OR, I SWEAR I WILL LEAVE YOU WISHING I HAD JUST KILLED YOU.” Vernon looked into Draco’s cold, grey eyes. He knew that Draco meant every word he said. Vernon nodded his head in agreement.

“Oh, no, fat-man, say it,” Draco hissed. “I want you to vow to me, right now, that you will not touch Harry Potter. You will make sure he eats and you will not hurt him in any way.” Vernon gasped, his mouth like a giant bull frog, gaping open and closed. Draco grabbed him by the front of his shirt dragging his red, bloated face up to his own. “SAY IT!”

“I – I – I swear, we – we won’t hurt Harry P—p—potter,” he said, resigned to his fate.

Draco let go of Vernon. “Now, see, how easy that was, fat-man?” he said pleasantly.

Draco stalked over to Dudley and Petunia. He gave them his best evil smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Smirking, he left the room, making his way back to Harry.

When he walked back into Harry’s tiny room, his eagle owl was sitting on the desk. He rushed over to the bird to remove the note attached to her leg. “Go home, sweet one,” he told her. Opening the letter he read it carefully, sighing in relief. ‘Good,’ he thought to himself, ‘Good.’

Draco sat at Harry’s desk and wrote the boy a note, telling him he would return the next day and reminding him to take the potions he had left. He took out the clothes he had brought with him and laid them out on the end of Harry’s bed. Satisfied that he had done all he could for the evening, he got up to leave. Before he did though, he moved toward the bed and for a moment, just looked down at the sleeping boy. He reached out and gently brushed Harry’s hair from his forehead, “Merlin, Harry, what have you got me into?” Smiling lightly at the rhetorical question, he got up and Apparated home.