445Chapter 2: Not a One
The Boy Who Loved
By
Belle. A. Lestrange
Synopsis: Draco gets disowned and lives as a homeless person in Surrey, near where Harry lives, though neither boy knows it. This story is set in the muggle world however Draco was a wizard. Harry was never introduced to the wizarding world and works as an employee at his local supermarket. When he finds a young blonde living rough he gradually helps him out and later sneaks Draco into his house to live. Unfortunately, Harry's relatives get suspicious and try to throw both boys' out, all the while Lucius has men set out to find Draco and kill him, lest he exposes their world to Harry.
Chapter Two: Not a One
Click.
Harry sighed wearily as he wiped his forehead, his eyes burning from the intensity of the florescent lighting used in 'Tesco's' and winced, the strong scent of bleach still clinging to his skin like a leech that was insistent on draining him of every last droplet of blood. He shivered. It had rained that afternoon, he had not been expecting it, but this was England. The weather would turn with the blink of an eye and people would just have to bow their heads to the wind and get on with their life. And Harry had to do it without a jacket. The rain had stopped but the damp wind was aroused and aggressive as it rattled the windows in the sides of the building. The clouds were hanging low over Surrey and the puddles would make the bottom of his trousers damp and irritate his skin. He did not need more irritation today. He had already dealt a double-shift in the presence of Clover, something he could live forever without.
He grabbed his phone from his locked and shoved it quickly into his back pocket. It pressed coolly against his buttocks, through the thin trousers, and made him grind his teeth together. He rolled the combination dial on his locker padlock, yanked it to make sure it was fastened securely, before turning to the staff entrance to leave, the straps of his waist-wallet cutting into his hipbones already. He moved the belt upwards to his waist. He wasn't looking forward to going home just yet but what choice did he have? He prayed that an alternative would turn up. "Harry!" He cringed at the voice. He glared at nothing as flat shoes smacked along the linoleum towards him.
Thanks, he sneered at whomever was up in the heavens glaring down at him, thank you for ruining a horrible day for me.
He turned sharply on his heel to look down at Clover in a disinterested manner. Her smile made the dimples in her cheeks looks like twin gorges breaking into her face. "What do you want, Clover? I have to get home"
Clover rolled her eyes, "I'm sure your up-tight family can spare you for a few moments Harry" she grinned, smacking a piece of pink gum between her teeth. Harry grimaced. She reached around and placed a fake friendly arm around his shoulders.
He tensed immediately.
Physical contact was a no-go area for anyone and everyone who knew him. Even his poor boss, whom had patted his shoulder for a job well done, had gotten a swift punch in the abdomen. Harry was most apologetic but it had cost him the employee-of-the-month title, when he really needed it, and earned him a meeting in his boss' office where Harry had to endure the excruciating experience of divulging his home-life to his boss, Eric. Eric had been sympathetic about his own injury once he knew the full story behind it, however Harry had been suspended for a week and put on the night shift for washing the floors for a month as punishment. To Eric's, and even Harry's surprise, the young dark-haired teen and flung his arms across the desk and hugged his boss with everything he was worth, grateful that he still had a job to escape to every day. Eric and Harry had been close friends since that day, despite the circumstances from which they had occurred. Eric was only a few years older than Harry, but he was a successful and ambitious young man who knew what he wanted and when he wanted it.
At one point he had even wanted Harry.
It had been at the Christmas party; Harry had been late attending as he had been at a small party at his school with one of the school junior prefects called Cho Chang. She had tried to kiss him several times, however Harry had been thinking rationally. Cho had cried for the last month as her boyfriend, a Royal Marine, called Cedric had disappeared, presumed dead. She had then flung herself at Harry in an unholy fashion and Harry had freaked out, using Cedric's possible death as an excuse to run from her. In truth, he feared the female anatomy. He was weary of it, he knew how it all worked, everyone did, but he still feared it. He preferred the male anatomy; he understood how that worked from first-hand experience. He had informed Eric of all of these thoughts, tears running down his flustered cheeks, and was shocked when Eric's lips had fallen down upon his own. Harry could still taste the mixture of beer and brandy on Eric's breath as they kissed hungrily in the cloakroom. Harry, being the smaller and weaker of the two, had been pushed against the wall and dominated by the kiss and Eric's intoxicating scent, Harry had lost himself and somehow even allowed Eric to administer Harry his first blowjob. Harry could still remember how, at the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor, they had sprung apart, Harry zipped up his jeans and Eric adjusted his jeans to hide his boner, as a tall Polish man had rounded the corner a wide, semi-drunk grin on his face. Eric pretended that Harry was drunker than he actually was, and had pulled him to his feet, introducing Harry to his boyfriend, Klaus, as he did so.
Harry had felt the first inhumane stab of jealousy. He had never thought of Eric in a romantic way prior to the cloak-room incident, however to suddenly see Eric walking off, arms slung around Klaus' neck had enraged Harry. He had wanted Eric to finish what he started, despite his brain being fuzzy at the time, along with him not really knowing where to go from there. He had wanted Eric to treat him like a human being, like he always had done. That evening had shown Harry the brutal animalistic forces in even the kindest of people. However, the following Monday when everyone returned to work Harry was surprised to find a beautiful cream rose in his locker with a note reading;
"Forgive me untimely actions, Harry, it shan't happen again and I hope your thoughts of me are only of the good I gave you and not the bad. If you require anything of me, I am eternally at your mercy. Work hard and stay beautiful. ~ Eric x"
Harry knew it was not intended to be romantic, but the note had wooed him to do his best to impress Eric. Not due to a crush or any form of romantic feelings, but for the sheer fact that Eric had faith in him, something that had never happened before. Nor had he been called 'beautiful' but he suspected Eric was only being nice in previously hurting his feelings. He still had the note tucked at the back of his top drawer in his bedside table.
Harry glared at Clover and smacked her arm away with a brutal forced that sent her limb smacking against his locker. She winced and clutched her wounded wrist to her chest. "Sadly they cannot, Clover, unlike yours, my family actually wants me around"
Without another word, he left.
It had been a bitter lie he had spoken, upon telling Clover that his family wanted him. They hated him. Well maybe not his Aunt Petunia but she was Vernon's wife. She would never go against him. As for Dudley, Harry was just a walking punch-bag with free sound effects for his cousin and his gang of friends. His once-upon-a-time daily exercise, when he'd been nine, had been running away from said gang, his thin legs just about able to carry him through the long tangled grass of the field surrounding the playground and under the bridge to safety. Sometimes he was caught under the bridge. One time he even had to climb up the steep sloping banks alongside the bridge, up to the live railway. He hadn't known what the train timetables were, and had run the biggest risk possible; getting beaten by Dudley's gang of run over the rail and onto the other side in vain hope that the oncoming train was not as fast as it looked.
Luckily, he had survived.
Or so he had thought.
He had received a huge beating from his Uncle that evening and been thrown into the cupboard under the stairs straight afterwards. He'd had to sleep on his blood-soaked sheets for over a week, the dried blood irritated his skin and his breathing, and got into his eyes, until Petunia had smuggled the key from Vernon's numerous hiding places, and given him a good meal as well as fresh sheets. She could not do anything about him living in the cupboard at the time but she had promised to sort it out. And she had. They had irregular visits from social services until Harry was sixteen, and the month of the announced visit Harry had been force-fed double his usual meals, and allowed to sleep in the small spare room, which was now his permanent bedroom, until he could afford to move out, of course. He had secretly enjoyed those impromptu visits, he had savoured every morsel of food, enjoyed the showers and baths, was even able to watch some television when, on a rare occasion, the social worker had to spend the night on the sofa due to her car being broken down. Harry had thrived. He had even dared to creep down in the middle of the night and steal a glass of water and a small sandwich and sneak it back up to his room. He would never have dared to if the social worker had not been there.
And he had not done it since.
It had been eight years since that incident.
Harry shivered as he mounted the hill with the playground perched art the top, the prickly blades of grass poking his through the base of his trousers, and the cold wind ripped through his shirt and employee waistcoat, his I.D. badge rattling at it was knocked around against his chest. He glanced over at the park and then up at the darkening clouds. The cool wind whipped his hair into his eyes. He glanced down at his watch.
19:57pm.
Petunia would have already done dinner for Vernon and Dudley by now. He was not needed at the moment. He licked his chapped lips and decided to cross the field of long, knotted grass to the playground and sit there for a while.
~0~
Draco was almost one hundred percent sure that he had developed a form of pneumonia or whatever the damned muggles called it. He had been shivering non-stop since that morning and his teeth would not stop chattering. The playground had been empty that day, which he was grateful for. He felt sick; his stomach had knotted horrifically every time he did not focus intently on not being sick. He whimpered every now and again, his nose was cold and red and felt as though it was constantly dribbling down from his septum. His head was feverish though the rest of him was almost as cold as the plastic tubing system he still resided in. He had not moved but his body temperature had plummeted. He did not even want to try and see if he would be able to see himself. He knew he probably look like he had been dragged through Hades backwards. He had no idea how cold the outdoors could be, especially in the summer. He had always lived in the Manor where cooling and heating charms were always available. Now he was living on the rough side of life without any magic and without anyone to go to for help. He sniffled again. He didn't know what to do, and he had no money to get any muggle pharmaceuticals and would not even know where to start looking for them.
He rubbed his eyes wearily.
He was losing track of time way too quickly. He drew his knees closer to his chest, curling his body up tighter and then he heard it, the soft crunching of gravel underfoot making its way across the playground. The creak of the rusted Iron Gate as it swung back into place, banging as the wind harassed it, and the harrowing whistling of said wind as it weaved its way through the apparatus in the playground.
Draco felt his heart stop.
His lungs flooded with cold air, like ice lining his internal organs.
He shivered and strained his ears against the howling wind.
A soft whistling could be heard, presumably from the person striding into the playground, towards the tubing instrument where Draco sat curled in on himself. He wanted to be invisible. How could he stand for anyone to see him in such a state? He was a wreck. He sniffled quietly and tugged the hood over his greasy blonde hair. He felt like a layer of filth was layered over his skin. Draco almost wanted to scream as a loud thumping drummed on the tubing overhead. His heartbeat had increased at an alarming pace. However the soothing whistling he heard through the wind calmed his erratic nerves. And then it began; the singing. Draco hadn't much experience with singers, but this person, this man, whomever he was, had a voice like oozing caramel, warm and calming and luxurious.
"…Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me …"
Draco frowned in thought. Why was this young man singing 'happy birthday' to himself? Didn't people usually have friends and family to do that for them, often or not at parties or a social gathering?
"…Happy seventeenth birthday …"
Seventeen? Draco puzzled slightly. From what he had seen, this young man was barely out of puberty he was so small and slender.
"…Dear Harry-y-y-y…"
Harry, Draco thought. It was a nice name. It was soft, sweet, and yet demanded attention and precision. Draco felt another shiver assault his body and huddled even tighter around himself as he listened the sombre singing coming from the man who, quite literally, sat over his head. He swallowed thickly, staring up at the dark section, which was where the boys' body was sitting.
"… Happy birthday to-o-o-o-o y-o-o-o-o-o-o-u"
Draco felt a tug at his heartstrings. There was such a saddening quality to 'Harry's' voice that it made Draco's eyes flood with tears. However these tears were not just for Harry's misfortune but also for the fact that Draco knew exactly how he felt. There had been an incident at one of Draco's birthday parties. He had not wanted any of his 'chosen friends' there, and he wanted to invite some of the people he got along with that his father did not acknowledge. When it came to the day of the part, Draco had been so excited. His mother even dressed him up herself; instead of letting the house elves do it for her. He had been grinning throughout the whole ordeal. He had been ready early and waited at the window over-looking their front drove, bright and ready for the party.
He had waited… and waited … and waited …
None of his friends came.
Draco could see himself now, a mere six-years-old, face crestfallen and the sky growing even darker outside. He had turned and sat, hunched over on the window-seat, hands knotted in his lap and tears streaming down his face. His mother had come in to the room, tried to consol him, but he had ignored her. He had clutched at his hair sulking, and screamed and cried until he was red in the face. And then he had stopped. He could not change the day he had known that, even at such a young age, but he still felt rejected. That was when he realised that he did not have friends. Not one person that he could trust with his life. That is the moment he decided to resolve that problem, he would make sure he had no friends and that he was not reliant on anybody.
He inwardly snorted to himself. Looks like that plan was shot to shit, he sneered at himself. He rubbed his hands together, blew on them, and then stuffed them into his pockets of his hoodie. He listened as Harry muttered to himself; every now and again over the wind, and then the shifting of someone climbing down off the tubing could be heard. Harry's lower body landed in front of the tunnel entrance, the soles of his shoes crunching in the gravel. Draco watched as the dark-clad legs slowly walked away, crunching over the gravel and creaked the Iron Gate before walking out of the playground, and disappearing over the hill of long grass. I'm alone again, Draco sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes. His eyes looked up again at the spot where Harry had disappeared to over the hill and he gnawed on his lips.
"Happy Birthday Harry" he breathed, though he knew that the other boy would not hear him at all. Not now, not ever.
~0~
Harry dried his hands from the washing up water and soap and ran a damp, soapy-scented hand over his features. The Dursley's hand gone out to the cinema for the night once dinner was over, thanks to Dudley's whining, but Harry was grateful that he had the house to himself. He cast a look around the living room where all of his cousins' things were; the opened birthday presents and birthday cards crammed the entire room. Harry swallowed thickly. None were for him.
He had grown used to getting no birthday cards but he had expected one from Eric or the people at his work at least. His heart clenched heavily. He flexed his arm muscles and sighed heavily. Another year had passed by in much the same fashion as the previous ones. He turned to the cupboard and pulled out one of the small birthday candles from the drawers. He grabbed a book of matches and struck one, the acrid scent hung heavily in the air and wafted up his nose. He lit the candle and pocketed the matches in his back pocket. He held the candle up to eye-level and made a wish.
I wish for this year to be unlike any other, he clenched his eyes shut tightly and felt a tremble run through his body. He opened his eyes and sighed, feeling ridiculous.
He blew the candle out.