445Chapter 5: The small things mean a lot
The Boy Who Loved
By
Belle. A. Lestrange
Chapter Five: The Small Things Mean a lot
The house looked exactly as it had on the morning of the incident, pristine front lawn hand cut by Harry himself, and the white picket fence continuously white-washed until it blinded passers-by with the reflected rays of the sun. The front door was newly varnished and the brass knocker shone in the lamplight as the taxi pulled up outside Number Four. Harry shifted awkwardly in the backseat beside Petunia as he gazed out of the window at the house of horrors he was forced to live in. He felt rigid in the seat, unable to physically move to unfasten the seatbelt from around his waist, and shift himself out of the car. His saliva felt thick and sticky at the back of his throat as he swallowed. Petunia was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for him. He took a moment longer to compose his scattered thoughts before tensing his muscles to edge his way out of the car.
The early evening air was sweet and refreshing as his trainers crunched over the almost flat grit that clung to the pavements. He swallowed and shivered, feeling suddenly chilled in the tracksuit bottoms and light t-shirt Petunia had brought with her to the hospital earlier that evening. He didn't want to be here, however he had nowhere else to run to. He shot a weary glance at Petunia as she walked briskly up the front garden path and unlocked the front door. He edged his way up the path and stepped over the threshold of the front door, and closed it behind him, the gold chain rattled against the woodwork as the Yale lock clicked shut. He glanced around at the hallway that looked so familiar and yet felt so alien to him, all the while straining his ears for the sound of Dudley's hefty footfalls.
It was silent except for Petunia shuffling around in the kitchen.
He sighed and stumbled awkwardly into the living room, sighing with relief as the soft cushions welcomed him. They were cool but soft to the touch and he revelled in the feel of his bruised skin getting some form of comfort. "Harry?"
He opened his eyes and frowned as Petunia stood before him on the other side of the room, letting the net curtain drop from spying on the neighbours. "Yes?"
"Would you be able to go down the road for some milk? Just a small pint, for later on, you need some calcium in your bones"
"Why can't you go?" he asked, suddenly feeling dizzy at the prospect of moving around.
Petunia visibly bristled at his exhausted tone but brushed it aside. "I was going to cook you something to eat," she stated in a hushed tone, which surprised Harry. He could not remember the last time Petunia had voluntarily cooked for him. Normally he was the chef. Not that he hated cooking. In fact it was one of the rare things that he was good at and allowed to do. He stole a glance around the room and made up his mind. He could feel the walls breathing around him again, he needed to get out and breathe in some of the musty summer air. His skin prickled awkwardly.
"That's okay I'll go –I think I need some air after being cooped up in the ward" he offered a lame smile, which thankfully allowed Petunia to relax her posture and turn away from the window.
He listened to her heels click away on the kitchen tiles. She came back and placed a ten-pound note in his hand, "get anything else with what's left over and you can keep it in your room so Dudley can't get to it"
Harry scowled at being spoken to like a child, and he very much doubted his secret stash could avoid getting sniffed out by Dudley's blood-hound nose, however he was grateful for the gesture. He took the note from her and shifted awkwardly as he stuff it into his jeans pocket. She disappeared back into the kitchen and Harry was left to roam to the front door alone. Upon opening the front door with as little struggle as possible, he glanced longingly at his jacket. He could not wear it over the sling. He'd look like an idiot. Shrugging with his good shoulder he stepped over the doormat and pulled the door shut behind him.
His legs felt heavy as he inched his way to the end of the garden path and around the white fence before facing the pavement ahead with his eyes, the tunnel beneath the train-track just visibly if he craned his body to one side to peer around the corner. He knew he was going to exert his energy by traipsing down to the shops but he could not stay in the stifling silence a moment longer than necessary. That is why he had loved his work and his jogs.
They got him out.
Draco wiped his mouth as the tepid water ran down his chin and soaked the collar of his grubby t-shirt. He had found out what the strange shiny column in the corner of the playground did, which he had accomplished through a whole day of watching young children step on the small pedal at its base, and bend over to drink the water that shot out of the small spout. Drinkable water had been produced and Draco was practically giddy. He was surprised at what some muggles invented. He vaguely wondered how the strange miniature fountain worked but he was too busy thanking Merlin that someone had offered him a lifeline. At least with the water fountain he would be able to keep himself hydrated throughout the day. He had spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how the fountain worked via the pedal, but having no real knowledge of muggle appliances, was unable to do so. He was currently perched on top of the wooden climbing structure once again, looking down at the brightly lit high street at the bottom of the grassy hill. It was at least an acre or so away but he found comfort in those twinkling lights. He sighed and felt his skin itch. He hated dirty clothes but after being in the exact same ones for almost a week was driving him mad.
That's when he heard it; a shuffling sound over the gravel and small exhausted grunts and sighed filtered through the stiff silence. He frowned and looked up through the deepening dusk. A small dark-haired teenager hobbled his way along the gritty path, his left arm tied to his chest in a strange array of white bandages. He leaned forward on the wooden structure, trying to see if he recognised this person. Draco was almost convinced that it was the jogger he saw almost a week ago –except this person did not wear glasses, a brother perhaps? –When a yelp escaped the dark-haired teen as he stumbled over wavering legs and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Draco's heart clenched as he watched the boy struggle and fail to get himself into a sitting position, his strapped arm providing greater defunct than the boy presumably anticipated. Draco knew it was beneath him to try and help he was a Ma- no. He was not one of them any longer. He could do whatever he wanted. And he wanted to help this boy.
He scooted his body to the edge of the wooden platform he was perched upon and dropped as gracefully as he could onto the spongy flooring beneath. He grunted as he felt his balance waver, before straightening up to his full height. He did not want to alarm the other boy so he walked as casually as humanly possible, though his nerves were jumping with small volts of electricity, towards the gate of the park. Draco trained his eyes on the figure before him as the boy managed to shift himself into an awkward sitting position with his free arm. The gate creaked and the boys' head snapped upwards so that they were looking at one another. Draco could only assume that he looked more of a threat then a stranger offering to help, judging by the way the boy scooted sideways off the main pathway and onto the dried grass, jaw clenched tight and square, eyes fixed like stone. Draco ignored these invading thoughts as he drew closer. "Are you okay?" he asked in what he hoped was a concerned tone, though his voice croaked with the obvious lack of use. Anita helped him with that, but sometimes he spaced out and she fell asleep and no talking would get done.
Harry's muscles were still tense from the shock and impact of the rough ground he had fallen on. Small pieces of grit were still clinging to his skin, but he could not bring himself to care at that moment. All he cared about was the strange in front of him, a crease upon his brow. His hands were stuffed in his jeans pockets, which was okay and meant that no offence was to be taken –yet. His outfit was old and dirty and probably smelled of sweat and over-use, the garments hung off the thing frame in an unflattering manner making the dirty-blonde haired man look emaciated. Harry swallowed thickly trying to find his voice. They stared at one another for a moment, the sound of the distant traffic floating between them. The blonde boy shifted awkwardly as though he wanted to move but did not know what to do. Harry frowned, the pain of his injured arm spiked through him causing him to suddenly his in pain. "Are you okay?"
Harry's head shot up, and then wished he hadn't done it as the throbbing twist on his neck muscles spasmed and made him hiss again. The blonde boy had advanced a few steps, looking edgy. Harry did not know if he was about to be beaten or mugged. He hoped he wouldn't but then he did not have much luck when it came to not being beaten these days. He ground his teeth together and tried to force the pain away. He cracked his eyes open to see the blonde boy still there and still watching him with worry in his eyes. Harry frowned, "I'm fine" he replied bitterly, "just need to get up"
"Do you –need a hand?" the blonde asked tentatively.
Harry knew he needed help, but if he got help from the blonde now what would happen. He would owe this guy a favour, and Harry hated owing anyone anything. Unless it was revenge for his relatives, then he knew he'd change his mind. He shuddered lightly, before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah –please"
Draco did not know much about helping people to their feet but he knew he had to be careful of the other boys' arm that was still bandaged to his chest. He frowned before bending over the boy and extending a hand. He watched as the tense boy eyed the hand with an unreadable expression. He didn't move; he needed this boy to trust him, like one would train a dog to warm up to them, you had to be patient. He swallowed thickly. Finally the feeling of warm fingers slipped over his palm and encircled his wrist. He tightened his own grip and in one swift movement, he had the dark-haired teens right arm hooked around his shoulders. He exhaled in surprise before shifting awkwardly onto one knee to wrap his left arm around the other boys' waist. He pushed all of his weight into his bent leg, ignoring the other boy's feeble protests of discomfort, and straightened both of their bodies into a standing position. "Are you feeling better now?"
Despite the dull throb in his left arm, Harry nodded, "loads better, thanks" The blonde boy nodded looking down at him, a frown marring his features. Harry flushed with humiliation and jerked his arm from the stranger's grip as if he had been burnt. He hunched his shoulders and ran his right hand through his hair, "thanks for your help but I need to get going"
There was barely enough time for Draco to nod before the dark-haired teen pitifully dragged him dejected body along down the pathway that wound down the hill and out of sight. Draco sighed, "alone again" before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and went back into the park.
~0~
Harry had had no idea how heavy a small bottle of milk and an assortment of sugary goodies for his new secret stash could be in just one hand, and now he was regretting buying so much from the pound shop with his Aunt's money. They weren't all goodies, some were sandwiches, too many sandwiches for a three for two offer, for his lunches at work, when he got to go back at least, and some fruit, also on offer, as well as crisps and a few other things he had just grabbed off of the shelves. He was almost at the top of the hill when he noticed the blonde figure perched on top of the wooden climbing frame one again. He frowned. Didn't the guy have a home to get to? Someone would surely be worried about him –wouldn't they?
He shook his head, It's not my concern what he does with his life –if he wants to sit up there all day, let him.
As soon as the words flittered through his head, he regretted them. His gaze was drawn back up to the blonde. If he had a home to go to then surely he could shower himself. Surely he'd be able to eat and drink –he had looked ravenous, as he had stared down at Harry. A small rumble in Harry's stomach alerted him to the large bag of food he was carrying. He twitched his lips and then stopped walking by the now open park gate. He fidgeted as the bag strap dug a deep crevice into his flesh. Dropping his bag carefully against the railings in the darkness, Harry bent to his knees as steadily as possible and groped around within the bag for one of the pre-packaged sandwiches. He glanced down at the faint writing on the packaging before gnawing on his tongue. He glanced up at the blonde who did not seem to notice anything. Perhaps he was asleep? He pushed his weight into his unstable legs, praying to whoever was watching down on him to give him the strength to stand up. He was scared, he realised, as he gradually began to tiptoe his way over the gritty playground floor, praying that no crunching noises alerted the blonde to his presence. He made it towards the base of the wooden climbing frame where the end of the tunnel jutted out. He hesitated as he watched the blonde shift his position, stretching his pale white arms high over his head before sighing and leaning back on his arms to relax his posture.
Harry forced his muscles to relax as he slid the plastic triangular packaging with the sandwich inside within the mouth of the tunnel, before backing away as quietly as possible. As soon as he reached the gate he bent down to one knee and hastily grabbed his bag with his good hand and pushed himself up to his full height. He turned and walked as briskly and as clumsily as he ever thought humanly possible in his condition, all the while praying that the homeless blonde did not notice he had been there at all –save for the sandwich as a token of his thanks.
The sound of uneven footsteps hastily crunching into the distance alerted Draco to someone's presence. He whipped around to see the hobbling dark-haired teenager scurry away as far as his battered body would allow him, a luminescent white bag clutched in his right hand, occasionally banging against his leg as he disappeared into the growing darkness. Draco frowned wondering what had happened while his back had been turned. He scanned the dimly lit playground beneath him, trying to find a clue as to what had happened. He frowned even deeper, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. He sighed, his shoulder's slumping as he bumped his ankles against the wooden frame beneath him. "I'd better get to bed if I'm going to visit Anita tomorrow" he dropped his body from the top of the climbing frame, his felt smacking heavily into the bottom of the muggle trainers he wore. He hissed as he rose up on the stinging soles of his feet. "Fuck" he cursed, before he hobbled around the perimeter of the climbing frame and sat down on the edge of the tunnel, ducking his head forward so as not to hit the top of the tunnel.
CRUNCH!
He jerked off of the tunnel, startled by the sudden noise and turned around in surprise. Something glinted in the low lamplight. He frowned at the triangular object and the semi-colourful packaging. What could it be? He edged nearer and peered closer so that he could see through the transparent window of the packaging and saw –a sandwich? Why would there be a sandwich there?
It clicked.
He whirled around staring in the direction the injured teenager had disappeared. Had the boy left him a sandwich? And if it had been him, which it probably was, then why did he do it in the first place? Had he done anything do deserve an unrequited token such as this?
You helped him when he fell and he had already looked so broken-down … you did him a huge favour, chirruped the voice in his head that sounded strangely like Anita.
He frowned. Was that the reason? He bent down and picked the packaged sandwich in his hand and swallowed. Were people rewarded in some way for being nice? Had his father been wrong all of this time about everything? "Stupid question" he sneered to himself, knowing the answer already. He peered down at the packet again and managed to read the label in the dim light.
Tomato and ham.
It was not his favourite of sandwiches, but the boy was not to know that, and so for the gesture itself, he smiled. And when he thought of the troubled boy he had helped to his feet, the memory of his skin still engraved into his hand, the lingering of the scent of the boys' clean clothes that had rubbed off on his own was still there –barely. It was sweet, like Lavender. Much better than Draco smelt, himself.
When he thought of the boy, he smiled a little wider.
"I wonder who he is," he murmured to himself as he took a seat on the chain-swings across from the climbing frame. The chains creaked with the added weight. They continued to creak as he slowly pushed himself backwards and forwards with his feet. In his lap sat the sandwich, as he tried to pry the wrapper off of it. He did not mind, it gave him something to do with his hands at least.
~0~
Harry had to stay perfectly still that night as he tried to get off to sleep. He knew it would take him another few hours, it always did and there was nothing he could do for it, however this particular evening he did not mind as much as he thought he would. His mind kept racing to the homeless blonde whom had been hanging around an awful lot recently. The blonde boy was the only unusual thing to happen in his life recently, hence why he had sprung up in his mind as he had tried to sleep. Harry wondered what the boy looked like if he was clean, with clean clothes on and a clean body. He tilted his head at an angle on his pillow and stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth, thinking.
His skin had felt so soft against my hand as he helped me up to my feet …
Harry frowned trying to ignore the voice in his head, mimicking any remote feelings he harboured in his head.
His body had felt so firm and toned underneath his shirt and I was forced to lean against him …
Harry furrowed his brow, staring up at the blank ceiling. There was something off about the blonde, he seemed to be well defined in body and mannerisms so –why had he been abandoned in the middle of Surrey? What was the dark mystery that clouded his aura? Harry couldn't help but snort, his left arm feeling stiff and irritably as it rested straight against his blankets. He felt restless but did not know what to do. He reached over for his iPod on the nightstand and tenderly placed the buds into his ears. He switched the iPod on and began searching through the songs. Finally he selected one and played it.
Sober by P!nk.
She wasn't the typical artist for a normal guy. But Harry was not a normal guy, and he loved P!nk's feisty attitude in her songs and music videos. It made him feel less … weak.
He listened to his rebellious music until he was lulled into sleep by other people's past anguish and heartache and wondered if anyone would be able to write a song about him –plain, weak little Harry. Harry snorted in his sleepy state. "That would be a great song" he growled low in his throat and went to sleep, the lyrics echoing throughout his mind and the tender imprint of a blonde embedded within his skin.