Stand By

    Harry’s soft whimpers woke Malfoy sometime before three the next morning. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he rolled over to glance at the thrashing boy, careful to avoid any stray limbs. “Can’t let me sleep, can you?” Malfoy growled, moving carefully towards the boy. He paused momentarily to ensure the silencing charms were still intact before attempting to wake Harry.

    “No more, please,” Harry mumbled, turning away from Malfoy as the blonde reached for him.

    “Potter, it’s alright,” Malfoy hesitantly touched his shoulder, half-expecting Harry to flinch away from the touch. The boy sniffled slightly, but seemed to arch into Malfoy’s hand instead. “Wake up,” Malfoy murmured.

    “Mum?”

    Malfoy winced at the weakness in Harry’s voice. “It’s Malfoy. Wake up, Potter.”

    “Please…make him stop. It hurts mummy!”

    “Damnit Potter. It’s really hard to hate you when you say stuff like that,” Malfoy groaned, “Would you just bloody wake up?” He gave the boy’s shoulder a soft shake.

    “Stop…him. Please.”

    “Potter!” He shook him again, harder, unable to listen to another sad, pitiful cry from the boy. .Slowly, Harry’s eyes fluttered open.

    “Where am I?” he asked when his eyes focused.

    “My room.” Malfoy wondered briefly if Harry would remember asking to stay with him. He didn’t fancy explaining it to him if he didn’t.

    “Decided to let me stay?” Harry smiled sleepily.

    “Why not? Bed’s big enough,” Malfoy said. Harry suddenly scooted closer to him and Malfoy was surprised when he didn’t instinctively move away.

    “It’s cold. Is it always this cold in the dungeons?” Harry asked. Indulgently, Malfoy threw an arm across Harry’s chest, surprised to find him shivering slightly. Harry seemed thankful for the touch and moved closer, until his face was buried in Malfoy’s chest.

    “That better?” Malfoy asked when the shivering stopped.

    “Thanks.” Harry pulled back enough so that he could look Malfoy in the face. “For everything, I mean.”

    Malfoy simply nodded, smiling softly. It was an oddly intimate moment. For the first time he noticed the gentle vulnerability coloring Harry’s emerald eyes. It brought back a memory of the only other time he had seen Harry’s eyes look like that. The only other time he’d ever thought of Harry Potter as vulnerable.

    “Can I ask you a question, Potter?”

    “Of course,” Harry said graciously.

    “Did your uncle…did he ever hit you?” The question was out before Malfoy could stop it. Instead of trying to backtrack, he watched Harry carefully, gauging his reaction to the question.

    “Hit me?” A wild fear began to dance behind the emerald light as a slightly hysterical lilt slid into Harry’s tone. “Of course not! May hate me, but never laid a…” There was a slight pause. “…hand on me. Why do you ask?” He shoved himself into a sitting position.

    Malfoy shrugged casually, also sitting up. “Figured it’d be the perfect flaw for poor Harry Potter. An abusive family.”

    A harsh laugh ripped itself from the boy’s throat and Malfoy saw a shiver run through him. “Yeah, abusive.” Harry took an unsteady breath.

    Suddenly, completely against Malfoy’s will, he leaned forward and took Harry’s hand in his own. “Potter, I know. About Vernon…hitting you,” he said softly.

    Again, fear lit up the emerald eyes. “He doesn’t. Never has. Leave it be, Malfoy.” Harry pulled his hand from Malfoy’s grip, another shiver rushing through his thin body. Malfoy almost winced at the sight.

    “I bloody heard you Potter,” Malfoy sighed heavily. “That night, when the numbing potion wore off. You were mumbling about it. Asked me to protect you from him.”

    “No.” Harry shook his head violently.

    “Potter, don’t lie to me about this,” Malfoy instructed softly.

    A sigh of defeat escaped Harry’s lips and he slumped weakly back down. After a moment of silence, Harry turned to meet his gaze. Then he began to speak. “I was four the first time he hit me. I’d burnt the toast for breakfast and he…threw the toaster at me. It caught me here.” Harry tilted his head to the right, revealing a pale scar running the length of his cheek. Malfoy had never noticed it before. “When he realized I wasn’t unconscious, he beat me till I was. I woke up a week later in my little cupboard.”

    “Oh man,” Malfoy breathed.

    “The beatings got worse each year. Eventually he started using his belt, a paddle, anything that could bring blood after I was hit enough. He nearly killed me when I got my first letter from Hogwarts. They had to rush me to the hospital claiming I got beat up at school.” Harry ran a shaking hand over another pale scar against his collarbone. “He found a knife that time.”

    “Did he ever…touch you? I mean…in that way.” Harry winced, but his gaze was steady.

    “When I was ten, I got out of the shower to find him sitting there. I was surprised, but not scared. I was too naïve to see anything wrong. He was smiling so I thought he was having a good day. But then…” Harry trailed off, his emerald eyes glazing as his mind raced back to the day.

    “Potter.” Malfoy almost reached for him again, but stopped, his hand paused in midair. “Why didn’t you tell someone? Dumbledore, Hagrid, the Weasley’s? They would have gotten you out!”

    “I don’t know.” Harry looked thoughtful. “I guess, they all saw me as this kid, innocent and just plain good. Knowing that would have changed their opinion and I couldn’t stand it if they hated me. It was bad enough to go home to it every summer, but if at school I was treated like a leper, I couldn’t stand it. I’d go insane.”

    “They wouldn’t have hated you.”

    “Maybe not. But I’d always be…different to them. They already treat me like china. I couldn’t stand another concerned glance or soft word.”    

    “So you’d rather stay there? You‘re going back to that? You‘re not going to tell them?”

    Harry sat up quickly, turning to Malfoy, eyes wide with horror. “Malfoy, you can’t tell them.”

    “Potter, keeping your godfather secret is one thing, but you could be seriously hurt. This isn’t a game.” Malfoy stared intently into Harry’s emerald eyes.

    “I know, Malfoy,” Harry said sharply. “But it’s my life. Do not tell anyone, understand?”

    “And let you go back to that? You’d be better off with Voldemort; at least he has some mercy.” Harry laughed softly at that. “I’m not kidding. I can’t let you go back to that, Potter.”

    “Since when do you care, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his voice thick with emotion.

    Refusing to be baited, Malfoy fixed Harry with a cool glare. “Either you tell, or I will. Understand?”

    “Damn you. Leave it be, please!” Harry looked up pleadingly. “I just have a few more summers and then I’m out for good. Please, Malfoy. Just leave it.”

    “But…”

    “Look, I promise if it gets any worse I will tell someone. But really, summer holidays are months away! I am fine!” Harry sighed. “Please, don’t tell.”

    “Fine,” Malfoy shrugged softly, “If you insist.”

    “Thank you,” Harry sighed with relief.

    “You should head back to your dorm, Potter. I’m sure you’re friends are going to go crazy with worry when they find you missing,” Malfoy said after a moment of silence. “Think you can find your way out?”

    “Shouldn’t be too hard. And thank you, Malfoy. For everything.” With a small smile, Harry clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and then turned to leave, sliding off the bed soundlessly.

    “Potter?”

    “Yes, Malfoy?”

    “Sweet dreams.”

    Harry laughed softly before answering, “You too.”

    Malfoy listened as Harry quietly made his way from the room, the door shutting with a gentle click behind him. “What are you doing to me, Potter?” he asked the silent room. There was no answer.