Love You Forever, Like You For Always

Harry's toes felt like they were going to freeze off as he stood at the window, watching all the people walk by without glancing in his direction. His hair, still wet from a recent shower, formed icicles that melted against the warm skin of his neck and dripped down his back. Shivering, he continued to watch the unsuspecting people, his face emotionless. His breath formed foggy circles on the glass in front of him, and he absent mindedly drew designs in it with one finger.

With a sigh, he turned away from the frigid window and glared at the awaiting kitchen. 'I need to get married so someone can cook for me,' he thought with a half hearted smile. He shook his head and tiny droplets of water flew onto his surroundings. Still grinning to himself, he went about filling a pot with water and setting it on the stove to boil.

*-*

Unbeknownst to Harry, someone else's toes were frozen to the point of falling off as well. Draco Malfoy trudged through the snow, his bleeding, split lips pressed tightly together as his only defense against the biting wind. His fingers, nose, cheeks and ear tips were red and raw, and his eyes were blood shot. Every step he took was a shivering, hesitant one, betraying his exhaustion. His once glorious hair hung raggedly about his thin face.

As he walked, his feet left deep footprints in the mounds of snow that he somehow managed to climb through. His breath rattling in his throat, he turned to examine the progress he had made. Desperation drove him to greater distances, forcing him onwards. He had to escape from the darkness that loomed behind him, from his father's shadow. His very veins pulsed the mantra that repeated in his head: get to Harry. Get to Harry.

*-*

His spaghetti finished, Harry flopped onto the couch of his muggle apartment and grabbed the remote to his television, boredly flipping through channels of cooking shows and news. At the same time he used his left hand to twist his fork through the yellow-golden noodles and scoop them into his waiting mouth. Finally, he settled on a Nascar race and leaned back to watch, shifting his plate into his lap. With a flick of his wrist he managed to toss a blanket over his freezing feet and, content, continued to feed himself.

*-*

-Flashback-

Draco sat in the darkness, his aching body held against the wall by clanking manacles. His left eye was swelled shut from a well aimed punch that left a purple mark over much of the left side of his face. His chafed wrists bled slightly where the metal had rubbed them raw, and blood trickled slowly from the corner of his mouth. Burn marks covered his feet from when his father had touched them with a red hot fire poker.

A hidden door to the right of Draco's limp form opened, allowing a single beam of light to appear on the grimy cell floor. Lucius Malfoy stepped in, his gleaming blonde hair gleaming in what little light there was. With an elegant, practiced sneer he stalked over to his son's body and stroked the boy's chin in a nearly loving way. "You've been staying in this room for nearly a year now, haven't you?" he asked in what he imagined to be a fatherly tone. Draco groaned, and Lucius laughed. "You'll die tomorrow, foolish boy."

Draco summoned up the last of his strength. "With me the Malfoy line will die, and the world will be rid of our pitiful existence," he choked. Fury was instantly stamped on Lucius's features. He viciously backhanded his only heir.

"Ungrateful swine!" he growled. Then his face softened, and Draco cringed away from the madness that appeared in his eyes. "You'll be staying in your own room tonight, as a... going away gift," Lucius declared. Draco's eyes glowed with hope, but the crazed man that was his father did not notice.

That night, as his father and mother slept, Draco called his ghost servant, Gavin, who brought him an invisibility cloak that his father had bought ages ago. Gavin, having been present during Draco's childhood, had become attached to the boy and agreed to help without his father's knowledge. Draco snuck away and crossed miles of snow and land to reach the one person who could help him.

*-*

Harry, having finished his dinner, stuck his dish in the sink and leaned against the counter thoughtfully. 'I wonder how Ron and Hermione are doing in America,' he mused, his lips unconsciously pursing the way they did when he wasn't paying attention. One hand went to rub the little hairs that grew on his chin, subconsciously pulling at them and rubbing his jaw. Still thinking of his far away friends, he headed to the bathroom and stripped down for a shower.

Stepping under the water, he heaved a great sigh and allowed the steaming liquid to saturate his skin. He stood there for a moment, blissfully accepting the scalding droplets that burned his flesh. Then he reached for a washcloth and the soap and began scrubbing his body from head to toe.

*-*

Hours later, his fingers shocking red and his lips blue, Draco stumbled in the first building he came upon. It was a muggle post office, with a concrete floor and bad heating. Draco gasped as the sudden heat flooded his body and smiled at the aching sensation it left him with. With a smile, he fell to his knees.

Someone shook his shoulder and he looked up into the worried eyes of the post master. "You alright, son? Does y' need to go to th' 'ospital?" he asked, his brow furrowing. Draco began to laugh hysterically, and the man stepped back a little. Finally, he stopped laughing and looked at the balding fellow again.

"No. No, I must.. must find Potter. Harry Potter. How can I find him?" he said between breaths. With a concerned glance, the man reached behind the counter and took out a thick yellow book.

"Look 'im up in 'ere. I'll let you use me phone when you 'ave 'is number," the man explained. Draco, confused but warm, nodded and opened the book. It was filled with name after name and befuddling numbers next to them.

"Dealey, Doris," he read allowed. The post master grinned.

"Your 'Arry Potter fellow will be under 'Ps'. Turn ahead a bit and you'll find it," he said helpfully. Draco nodded, still dazed, and began to flip through the book, wincing as his raw fingers rubbed against the pages and then wincing again as his lips cracked and bled.

"P," he whispered. "Peters, Peterson..." He scanned down the names and flipped a few pages. "Potter Avery, Potter Carl, Potter Gregory... Harry Potter!" Draco nearly collapsed with relief. The man, who was now leaning on the counter, grinned again.

"You found your friend, then? Come over 'ere and call 'im up." Draco looked at his legs and then at the distance between him and the counter. He laughed again to himself, a quiet, bitter chuckle.

"I don't think I can make it over there. Could you call for me?" he pleaded. His own words tasted sour on his mouth. He had never pleaded with anyone before- except his father. Grimacing, he shook the thought of his father from his mind. The friendly post master came and took the book from him, still looking faintly disturbed.

"Alrighty, then. What should I say?"

"Tell him... tell him Draco Malfoy begs for him to come... to come here and rescue him. Tell him I'm desperate." The man nodded, and another look of concern crossed his face. He was gone for a few minutes, and Draco could here him talking quietly in another room.

"Yes... Yes, Draco Malfoy. Yes, I'm sure. E's sittin' on my floor right now, can't even get up. You'll come and get 'im, then? Right. See you in a few, then." The post master reappeared smiling. "Your friend 'll be 'ere soon." Draco nodded and lay back on the ground, allowing his exhausted neck a rest as his head lolled about. As he lay there, a song he remembered from his childhood began to loop in his head.

I'll love you forever

I'll like you for always

As long as I'm living

My baby you'll be

The words swam in and out of his mind until he thought he would go half mad. Suddenly, someone was standing over him. Harry Potter. "Hello, Potter," Draco rasped. Then blackness reigned.

*-*

When Draco woke up, it wasn't the way he was used to. He was tied to a wall or a cold stone floor. He wasn't shivering or shaking or aching. He wasn't groaning, and he wasn't yawning from lack of sleep. When Draco woke up that day, it was the oddest experience of his life.

He woke up comfortable.

He woke up swathed in warm, fuzzy blankets that kept him safe all through the long night. He woke up with numerous fluffy pillows under his head. He woke up relieved and relaxed.

He woke up in the bed of Harry Potter.

*-*

Harry bustled about the kitchen in a little white apron, attempting to cook a normal breakfast through the fuzzy haze of anxiety that clouded his mind. Draco Malfoy is asleep in my bed, he thought to himself as he scrambled his eggs with a spatula. Draco Malfoy had someone call my house and beg me for help. Draco Malfoy, prince of darkness, is sleeping in my bedroom! With a sigh, Harry went back to his eggs.

Draco chose that moment to appear in the doorway, still dressed in the tattered black pants and shirt he had worn as he escaped from his home. His eyes glanced at Harry with the most pathetic, endearing look he could muster, and Harry was bewildered for a moment at the lack of hatred he saw there. "You need better clothes," he said gruffly. "Go get some from my closet." Draco nodded and disappeared again.

Still confused, Harry attended to his breakfast, vigorously chopping and hacking until everything near him was a pulp. He never did handle chaos well, and chaos was just seeping into the calm little world he'd created for himself. Draco Malfoy was not supposed to call your house in the middle of the afternoon and beg for help. That just didn't happen to Harry Potter.

*-*

Draco hunted through the closet of the one and only Harry Potter in search of something half way decent to wear. He tossed aside jeans that were several sizes to large and kicked sweaters in Gryffindor colors out of the way. He held up a pair of jeans that would slip right off his too thin hips and glared at them with disgust. Is Potter fat or what? He asked himself, wrinkling his nose. Then he realized. Potter's not fat. I'm too thin.

With a sigh, he pulled on what appeared to be Harry's smallest pair of pants and a gray sweater that he was practically swimming in. He turned to the mirror and snorted at the ridiculous reflection he saw there: a tiny, scraggly person lost in a sea of cloth. Shaking his head, he left the room to find Harry.

Harry was now setting out plates and glasses at the little round table in his small kitchen, carefully avoiding looking at the doorway. He scraped eggs off another plate, laying a greater amount on one plate than the other. Than he placed two pieces of toast next to each set of eggs. He took a seat at the place with less food and finally looked into the silvery eyes of the other person in his house. "Sit."

Draco nodded and slid into the seat across from Harry, grabbing the cool fork as he did. With a vengeance he began to eat, filling himself up with the warm flavor of eggs and bread. "You gave me more food," he commented between bites. Harry nodded.

"You looked thin." The meal continued on without conversation until both plates were clear and Draco's face held the look commonly found on the faces on those who have eaten too much after having eaten too little for too long. Harry leaned forward, his eyes determined.

"Listen to me for a moment," he said, and his voice brooked no argument. Draco focused on the sound and nodded his consent, feeling his neck would break from the up and down motion that seemed to occur every other moment. "I don't know why you're here and I don't want to know. You can stay as long as you like, as long as you're civil and respectful. Understand?" His tone betrayed his stern attitude when it wavered every so often, and Draco felt his mind being bombarded with questions.

"I understand," he replied, his relief clear. Harry smiled briefly, a nervous smile the twitched in the corners.

"I have to work today, but I'll show you how to use the telly and we can talk more when I get home," Harry declared. He grabbed up the empty plates and stuck them in the sink to be attended to later. Draco stood as well, stretching his aching back and arms.

"What's a telly?" he asked. Harry grinned lopsidedly, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"In essence, the most entertaining thing that doesn't require an ounce of energy you will ever find. Try to sleep and relax a lot today, okay? And if you feel like reading, my books are on the shelves over there." The blonde haired boy slipped on the blue couch as gracefully as he could manage with his aching body. Harry reached out and grabbed a small black rectangle from the couch and pressed some buttons. Almost instantaneously, the black box across from the couch and there were moving pictures on it. Draco jumped up, amazed.

"What the hell is that?" he asked loudly. Harry grinned wider.

"A telly. It's just moving pictures that are made to show up there to entertain you. Press these buttons on the remote to change the picture to something that interests you." With a quick glance at the clock, Harry tossed the remote to Draco and grabbed his coat off a nearby chair. "Gotta run, I'll be home around 4:00."

Draco collapsed back on the couch and flipped through the channels on this miracle device, this telly. Women wearing scant clothing, men beating each other into pulps, kids vandalizing things and learning valuable lessons... all these things appeared on the wonderbox, as Draco thought of it. A teenage girl eating dinner with her mother and spouting off unrecognizable references appeared on the screen, and Draco was mesmerized.

Draco was still in that position, hunched over, eyes watching the ever moving television, when Harry returned home. Draco didn't look up or acknowledge the other person who had just walked into the room. Harry stared at the immobile man, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. "Draco?" There was no reply. "Draco?"

Finally, with the air of a martyr, Harry stepped in front of the telly.

Almost instantly, Draco leapt up. "I was watching that!" he said indignantly, and Harry laughed.

"Let me guess- you've been watching it all day?" he replied. Draco pouted.

"No... okay, yes. But so what?" the blonde said, hmphing.

"Have you eaten anything?" At Draco's sheepish shake of the head, Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'm betting you've never had Chinese food, right?" Again, Draco shook his head. "Then you have never lived! Wait right here." Harry disappeared into the kitchen and a moment later his voice could be heard, mentioning something General Tsao's something something, and Draco, perplexed, went back to watching the telly.

A few minutes later he was joined by the still grinning Harry, who plopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote from his blonde companion. Despite Draco's squeal of fury, he changed the channel to a rather violent seeming sport best loved by American muggles. "What is this? Grown men throwing themselves at each other? How barbaric. Change it back!" Draco demanded. It was Harry's turn to pout.

"Hey, there are tactics to this game, very complicated ones. It's called, in the strangest way, football, but it is not to be confused to English football. It's kinda like Pigskins." Draco, however, was none too pleased.

"This game is ridiculous! I won't watch! I..." he was temporarily distracted, however, by the ringing of the doorbell. "What was that?" he asked fearfully.

"Just the guy bringing our food. Hang on, I'll go get it and pay him." Harry went into the kitchen again for a moment, for that was where the front door was, and reappeared holding several white, squarish boxes with funny red symbols on them. He handed one large one and one small one to Draco, who took them, bemusement obvious on his face. The rest he placed on his seat and he ran off to get plates and silverware.

"This is what we're eating tonight?" Draco asked skeptically. He heard Harry laugh loudly from the other room.

"Don't be silly. Open up the box!" A blush rose in Draco's cheeks and he pried the lid apart on the larger white box. Delicious scents wafted up into his nostrils and he inhaled deeply.

"That smells great!" he exclaimed, earning another guffaw from the raven haired boy, who had reappeared and was now settling himself back on the couch.

"Put some rice- that's in the other box- on your plate first and put the chicken on top. It's best that way." Draco followed the orders, allowing the orangey chicken to spill out on top of the mountain of white rice he had placed on his plate. Grabbing his fork and eyeing the food predatorily, he back to ravenously devour it, to Harry's endless amusement.

"The food's not going anywhere, you can eat a normal pace!" he giggled. Draco looked up, a silly grin plastered on his face, along with some rice and a gargantuan amount of orange sauce.

"But it's so good! What is this?" he asked, spitting little rice pellets between his teeth.

"Yours is Sesame chicken, and mine is General Tsao's chicken. Want to try a bite?" He held out his fork to the starving blonde, who instantly nipped the bit of chicken off it.

"Ooh, spicy, I like it!" Harry shook his head as Draco proceeded to eat all of the Sesame chicken and most of the General Tsao's.

"Hungry enough?" he asked, a smile curving at the very corners of his lips. Draco stopped eating and slowly lowered his fork, looking nervous.

"Is it too much?" he replied, and Harry barely detected a little quaver. His eyes widened.

"Oh, no, go ahead and eat, I don't mind. I was just joking." Draco, however, did not pick up his fork. Instead, he looked away, biting his lip.

"It's just, I haven't really had good food for a while, you know?" he murmured, so quietly that Harry had to lean over to hear.

"No, actually, I don't. Why don't you tell me?" the raven haired boy answered, matching Draco's voice for quietude. Draco laughed, but it wasn't the laugh Harry was growing used to. It was a joyless, empty laugh that spoke of misery.

"I don't know if I can," he replied, and his voice cracked. His eyes began to fill with tears for the first time in several years. Harry reached out and placed an arm on his shoulder.

"It's okay," he whispered. Draco turned back to him, his eyes red rimmed.

"The summer after fifth year, my father tried to enslave me to Voldemort, beginning with my dark mark. I refused. He spent several weeks attempting to beat and curse me into saying yes, into getting the mark, but I never said yes. Finally, he just locked me up in a cell and left me there, occasionally sending down food or Death Eaters to hurt me some more.

"After a year in that cell, he told me he was going to kill me the next day and allowed me to stay in my own room that night. With the help of a servant ghost, I escaped." Until this point, he had spoken mechanically, as if he were a computer just spewing off meaningless information. He turned his head again, and his voice was laden with sadness.

"Until yesterday, I hadn't seen sunlight in a year. I hadn't had fresh air to breathe in a year. I hadn't walked in a year. I spent hours in my room just attempting to stand up. My father never thought I would make it to the door."

Harry scooted closer to Draco's hunched form, reaching out one hand to grab one of the other boy's. When Draco looked up in confusion, Harry merely smiled and wrapped his arms around the smaller, skinnier boy who was sharing the couch with him. Draco leaned back into the warm embrace and closed his eyes.

"I'll keep you safe," Harry whispered, and they stayed that way all night.