Lumos Obscurum

Chapter 4 - The Fight

"No... no..."

The light murmurings made Harry stir slightly from his slumber on the floor.

"No... please... no..."

Harry's eyes opened slowly as he hazily woke from his sleep, and stared up at the patterns in the ceiling high above him, thinking vaguely that he had heard a strange noise.

"No, father, please..."

Wait, there it was again. It was coming from above him, along with the creaking of bed springs. Harry sat up and looked over at the bed. Draco was rolling around and thrashing at the bed sheets, becoming tangled in them.

"Please, I don't want to.... Don't make me, father..."

Harry got to his feet and hovered over the other boy. A sheen of sweat covered his pale forehead. "Malfoy?" he asked uncertainly.

His eyes were still closed; he wasn't awake. He's dreaming, Harry guessed.

He let out a whimper, which struck a chord inside Harry. He had never heard Draco whimper before. Then his voice grew in intensity and his face twisted into an expression of fear. "I'm scared..."

Harry grimaced. This wasn't just a dream, it was a nightmare.

"Malfoy," he said again, this time louder. "Malfoy wake up, you're having a nightmare."

Draco whimpered once more in his sleep, and kicked at the covers.

Harry reached out and shook him steadily by the shoulder. “Malfoy!” he said firmly.

Draco sat up abruptly, his eyes wide and his breathing strained. He looked around at Harry through sweat soaked hair that was hanging over his forehead. “Potter? What...?”

“You were having a nightmare,” said Harry. “I woke you up.”

Draco looked around the room, seeming to calm down. He blinked as his limp hair fell into his eyes, and reached up with one hand, trying to brush it away.

“Hold on,” Harry said, hurrying over to his closet and grabbing a small towel. He went back to his position at the side of the bed and handed the towel to Draco. “Here.”

Draco took it silently and wiped his face and hair with it.

“Malfoy...” Harry started hesitantly, once Draco had finished cleaning himself up. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said curtly, tossing the soaked towel onto the floor.

“Malfoy-”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Draco said harshly, laying back down onto the bed. “Just go back to sleep.”

Draco rolled over so that his back was to Harry and soon the room was once again filled with his snores. Without, Harry thought resentfully, one word of gratitude.

Harry sank back down to the floor, but didn’t fall back to sleep until a long time afterward. He kept thinking about the fact that Draco too had awful dreams, and was, for some reason, oddly calmed by that.

***

The next time Harry woke up daylight was spilling through his window onto a sleeping Draco laying stomach-down on the bed. Harry threw the blankets off himself, grabbed some relatively clean clothes, dressed, and went down to the kitchen, where the Dursleys were nearly finished eating their morning meal.

"Finally up, are you?" Uncle Vernon barked at him.

"Yes," Harry responded coldly.

"Hurry up and eat," Aunt Petunia snapped, banging a bowl of cereal down in front of him, a few drops of milk splashing out.

"And wake David up before you go outside for your chore," Uncle Vernon continued.

"He sleeps all day, that boy," Aunt Petunia sniffed from the sink. "Never lifts a finger. Just lounges about as if he owns the world."

Uncle Vernon nodded feverishly.

Harry flicked a droplet of milk from the tip of his nose. "Make Dudley go wake him," he said before spooning some cereal into his mouth.

"Don't you dare start giving me your lip again, boy, or you'll regret it," Uncle Vernon growled, his eyes narrowing.

Dudley tore his eyes away from his cereal bowl and looked at Harry full on. "Besides," he simpered. "Don't you want to go wake your boyfriend yourself?"

"My... my what?"

"Your boyfriend. You are sleeping in the same room with him, after all," Dudley sneered while Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Sleeping in the same room was not my idea," Harry said furiously, his grip on his spoon rather hard. He glared over at his uncle.

"Now now, Dudders's just having some fun," Uncle Vernon chortled. He picked up the morning paper and started reading it, a smile still spread upon his huge face.

"He is not my boyfriend," Harry hissed to Dudley, the very idea disgusting him.

"Now cousin, you don't have to hide it from me," Dudley whispered back, a delighted expression growing on his plump face.

Ignore him, Harry told himself. Just ignore him.

"I don't know why you even came downstairs without him...," Dudley continued softly, enjoying getting a nice rise out of Harry. "Perhaps you were too embarrassed to looking him in the eyes after a night of lustful - Argh!"

Dudley's cereal bowl just exploded, dousing the large boy with cereal bits and milk.

Aunt Petunia screamed and clutched at her face while Uncle Vernon furiously heaved himself to his feet. "You...you..." he sputtered at Harry, his face purpling.

Harry also stood up. "I'm sorry!" he said quickly, although he found that he was not very sorry at all.

"Go!" Uncle Vernon finally managed say. "Room... outside... I don't care... just GO!" he roared.

Harry hurried out of the room, sliding a bit on a puddle of milk.

He met Draco just outside the kitchen door, still dressed in his night clothes and running a hand through his sleep tousled hair. "What's going on?" he asked.

"You don't want to go into the kitchen right now," Harry said, taking hold of both Draco's arms and trying to push him back up the stairs.

"Get off, Potter!" he said indignantly, pushing the other boy away. "I'm hungry!"

"Trust me on this," Harry panted. "Let's just go upstairs before the Dursleys decide to try to chuck me out again."

"You go," Draco said impatiently. "I, unfortunately, am in no danger of being 'chucked out' as you so eloquently put it. Now get out of my way, I require nourishment."

Draco shoved passed him and went into the kitchen.

Harry frowned after him. What's got him all in a huff? he thought. Then, thinking that it wasn't a wise idea to remain inside the house after he had lost control like that, he decided to go out into the yard to do his chore.

Thursdays entailed mowing the lawn, which was one of the worst of the chores Harry was required to do. It was even worse than the weeding, because the only mower that the Dursleys owned was an ancient push-mower that was becoming rusted through. But as Uncle Vernon still considered it perfectly functional (probably because he wasn't the one that had to use it), he saw no need to purchase a newer model.

Harry opened the garage door and dragged the old, nearly broken down mower from a dank corner beside Uncle Vernon’s company car. He hauled it out into the Dursley's yard and squinted as the bright sunlight pierced his eyes.

He sighed and dutifully started mowing the lawn, hoping that if he went quickly enough, he would finish before the harsh sun reached his peak.

However, soon after he had that thought, he felt the sun's severe rays beating down onto him. Already he felt a few droplets of sweat trail down far right of his forehead, narrowly missing his eye. Nevertheless, he kept going mowing, anxious to get this tedious chore over with.

By the time he was approximately halfway down with the lawn, a dozen more drops of sweat had gathered at his brow, and the back of his throat was becoming raw with thirst.

It should be considered illegal to do yard work on a scorching day like this, he thought.

A little while later, when he was about two thirds finished, his oversized shirt, considerably darker in certain places, was now sticking to his back, and his arms and legs were burning with fatigue. Almost done... almost there... soon you'll be able to go back inside into the cool air conditioning, he kept telling himself.

"All right there, Potter?" A voice called, carrying over the big lawn to Harry.

Harry paused in the mowing and looked up, wiping some sweat away from his chin with the back of his hand. Draco was standing a couple feet away on the patio, near an old picnic table the Dursleys never used anymore, holding a glass of what looked like ice water in his left hand.

Harry let his hands drop away from the mower, giving his aching arms a short rest.

"What is it, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged. "Nothing, really. I was bored."

"If you're bored, then come lend me a hand."

"My hand isn't coming anywhere near you, Potter," he sniffed. He took a lengthy drink of water.

Harry crossed his arms and watched Draco gulp the water, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow. Harry's eyes followed a small stream of water that missed his mouth crawled down his chin and pooled in the hollow of his neck. Finally, Draco lowered the glass, making a satisfied sound.

"Oh," he said then, in a tone that indicated he had just thought of something. "I bet you'd like a nice drink of ice water, wouldn't you?" he said, gesturing to the glass with his other hand.

"Maybe," Harry said, trying to feign indifference.

"Well that's too bad, really," Draco said as he lifted his drink once more to his lips and took one long swallow. "As I've just finished it."

Harry felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "Funny," Harry said flatly. "Very witty."

"Really? You thought so?" Draco asked, delighted, setting the empty water glass onto the table. "It may surprise you, but I wasn't too pleased with it actually. I didn't think it was one of my better comments-"

"It wasn't," Harry said, his voice still flat. "Now what do you want? I've work to do, and I'd like to finish soon."

Draco waved a hand. "Go on then, finish. I've told you before that I like to watch the servants work."

Harry gritted his teeth at the servant comment and, strongly repressing an urge to hex the Slytherin, turned back to the unpleasant task of cutting the grass.

A couple minutes later, Draco decided that it'd be fun to further add to Harry's discomfort by taunting him with various insults and the like.

"Hey Potter," he was saying at one point. "You missed that patch of grass over there. Yes, right there. There we go, there's a good house elf."

Harry was annoyed at these remarks but managed to ignore them for the most part.

Then came a comment that Harry could definitely not brush off so easily.

It happened when Harry had just finished cutting the lawn. He started lugging the old mower back to the garage, not able to stop a flood of cool relief moving through him. He wouldn't have to deal with that chore again for another week.

"Wonderful job, Potter!" Draco called out after him. "Bravo! I'm sure your dead parents would be so proud of their baby boy..."

Harry froze. He didn't... he wouldn't dare...

Harry let go of the mower, letting it fall to the side with a dull thump.

He turned slowly on the spot and stared at Draco who was standing only a few yards away. "You did not just say that."

"I think I did," Draco said casually. "What, did I hit a nerve in little Potter's heart?"

Harry's hands curled into cold fists. Forget about hexing, screw any magical means of injuring someone; he wanted to hurt the Draco with his own two hands.

Harry took a menacing step forward. Something in Draco's eyes flickered and a staid expression settled over his face. "You want to start a fight, Potter? Come on then, we'll fight."

Harry didn't need anymore incentive. He lunged forward, and punched Draco directly in the nose. The Slytherin took a startled step back and brought his hand to his nose, his fingers coming back bloody.

"You'll pay for that," Draco stated grimly.

Harry brought his hands up in a defensive posture. "Let's have at it then."

Draco charged at Harry, drawing his fist back and punching him straight in the stomach. Harry stumbled back with a low "oof!" But he almost immediately straightened up and advanced on the Draco. The two boys circled each other, each gauging what the other one would do next.

Then, as if the fight between them was perfectly choreographed, they suddenly leaped at each other in unison.

Harry had never been in an actual fistfight before, but found that he didn’t really need the experience. True, he didn’t know the proper way to punch someone or the correct way to block a swipe, but his anger more than compensated for that. All he wanted to do was beat Draco senseless for that remark about his parents.

The fight was in full swing. Harry dimly registered Draco’s right hook to his jaw but was too busy concentrating on pummelling Draco in the chest to completely notice it. He had Draco pinned to the ground and was saying with every hit, “Don’t - talk - about - my - parents!”

One hand curled around Draco’s neck; Draco choked. Harry leaned forward so that his face was barely an inch from Draco‘s. “Don’t you dare talk about any of my family. Ever. Again.” he hissed.

Both Draco’s hands came up and tried to pry Harry off his throat to no avail. He legs flailed, trying to kick Harry off him. His normally pale face was turning a slight bluish colour, and Harry felt a great deal of satisfaction at seeing that, at seeing Draco thrash about violently.

A feeling of fulfillment swept through Harry. At last, after years of torment, he finally had Draco right where he wanted him. Draco let out a strangled gasp as he struggled for breath and Harry felt a grin spread across his bruised face. I have his life literally in my hands, he thought giddily. Why, if I squeezed just a bit harder, I could crush his windpipe.

The very idea of it was morbidly appealing.

I could end years of endless torture, right here, at this very moment. I'd never have to deal with him again.

Harry straightened, ready to deal the final blow...

When all of a sudden Draco’s grey eyes met his. His eyes were normally cold and eerie looking but now... now they weren’t. There was something else stirring inside them. And it awoke something deep inside Harry, something that brought him back to reality.

Harry‘s grip loosened. What am I doing?

Just as he was ready to let go completely, a large force yanked him off the struggling boy.

He was spun him around and was met with the sight of Uncle Vernon’s angry, purple face.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?!" he roared. "First you do the - the m word right in front of our noses. Then I send you out here to do a simple chore, which is the only thing we ask in return for letting you stay here, and instead you end up brawling like some common street rat! With our guest! "

"I-"

"You could've killed him if I hadn't shown up to put a stop to it! What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

Harry twisted his head to look over at Draco, who had managed to stand up but was still hunched over with one hand rubbing his throat trying to regain his breath. Uncle Vernon's words echoed in Harry's mind. You could've killed him...

I nearly killed someone, Harry thought, feeling sick to his stomach.

Uncle Vernon was yelling something else at him, spittle flying every direction, but Harry could no longer hear his words. He was too consumed by his own thoughts. I nearly killed someone, he thought again. I almost took somebody's life. And I liked it.

He watched as Draco at last straightened up, his breathing back finally to normal. Harry swallowed as he spied dark bruises forming on his neck in the shape of finger tips and he felt his stomach turn over. I did that. I can't believe I did that...

The nausea was now spreading to his whole body. In fact, it was even making his head hurt. He frowned. Hold on.... That wasn't his head aching, that was his-

"Argggh!" He took several steps back from Uncle Vernon and doubled over, falling to his knees and his eyes squeezing shut. His scar, which had only been lightly throbbing a second before, had now exploded with white hot pain.

It was one of the worst scar pains he had ever felt. He clutched at his scar, clawed at it, willing the pain to go away. It was torture... blinding... mind numbing... he couldn't stand another second of it...

Somebody was babbling something that was incoherent to Harry's ears. Then he felt his hands being pried away from his forehead, and somebody heaving him up by his arms. "Come on then, Potter," said a voice in his ears. "Let's get you upstairs."

The person to whom that voice belonged to nudged him, and his legs moved. Although his eyes were still closed, he managed to walk. Something slammed shut behind him (a door? he thought vaguely) and he was out of the harsh sunlight, the pain in his forehead was ebbing away.

He was walking up the staircase now, alongside the person who brought him inside. "That's right, Potter, one stair at a time..."

He recognized that voice. "Malfoy?" he asked, surprised to find that he was slurring. "Whasts... whasts happ'nd?"

"You almost blacked out from pain, Potter," Draco responded, sounding a trifle amused despite what had just occurred. "Your uncle thought you were quite deranged. However, I, using my cunning wit, reassured him that you told me that you get ghastly headaches sometimes and that all you needed to do was go have a good lie down. Ah, here we are."

Harry hazily heard another door being pushed opened and he was guided into a room that was bright with the light of the now sinking sun. He winced as the dazzling light hit him full in the face, and felt Draco flinch beside him and swear under his breath. "Bloody sunlight."

Draco's footsteps moved away from him and he heard the curtains being drawn closed with a hiss. "That's better," Draco said, satisfied. "The sun is entirely overrated."

By this time, Harry was finally able to wrench his eyes open, and he saw that Draco had led him to his bedroom. The pain was almost gone now and he was only left with a dull ache from his scar

Draco turned away from the curtains and saw that Harry was now standing erect and alert. "Better?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"Good. Lie down, I'll get you some water or something." Draco told him, and he went past Harry and left the room.

Blinking, Harry made his way over to his bed and sat down heavily. Was it his imagination, or was Draco Malfoy actually taking care of him? Perhaps it was some hallucination that was an after-effect of his scar pains?

He distantly heard the sound of the tap running in the bathroom down the hall, and moments later Draco returned with a brimming cup of water. "Here," he said as he handed it to Harry.

Harry nodded his thanks and downed the contents of the cup with a couple of gulps. Draco pulled the desk chair up and took a seat next to Harry. "So am I correct in assuming that that was your scar hurting?"

"Yeah," Harry said, reaching up with the hand not holding the empty cup to tentatively touch his scar, and was surprised to feel blood there.

"You scratched at it," Draco said, seeing his bafflement.

"Oh," Harry said, taking a tissue from a box laying on his bedside table and dabbing away the blood.

"Was... could you feel...?" Draco asked quietly, unable to finish to finish the question.

"I don't think so," Harry said, setting the bloodied tissue on the table. "I couldn't feel anything past that god awful pain. I don't know whether Voldemort - enough with the wincing - was feeling anything or not. The pain's gone now, though."

Draco nodded. "Good."

"Why did you... take care of me like that?"

Draco shrugged uneasily. "I knew what you must've been feeling, that's all.

Harry was confused. "But I thought you said that your dad didn't hit you."

"He didn't," Draco said, bitterly. "He beat my mum, though."

Harry took in a sharp intake of breath at this revelation.

"I took care of her after those times... took her up to bed, brought her food and drink, performed the occasional healing spell," Draco shrugged. "I guess when I saw you doubled over in pain like that, the instinct simply took over."

"I see. Well," Harry hesitated. "Thank you."

Draco nodded once and then a half grin, half smirk came over his face. "Just don't get used to it, Potter. And don't expect that kind of treatment again after another fight like that."

"You're the one who instigated that fight, you know."

"You threw the first punch."

"You provoked it! There was no reason to taunt me like you did with the water and all those smart remarks. You even went so low as to talk about my family," Harry said, some of his anger returning.

Draco's face flushed. "I was angry, all right? I was angry at you."

"Why? We got on okay for the past couple of days, for once. We were actually having civil conversations. What happened with you? Or do you always have these random mood swings?" Harry said sarcastically.

There was a long pause. "I just... I didn't like you seeing me that way last night," Draco said abruptly, not meeting Harry's eyes.

"When you woke up from that nightmare? Are you ashamed? Is that it?"

"I was vulnerable then," Draco spat out, his eyes narrowing. "And I don't like people seeing me vulnerable, least of all you. Now just forget about it and get on with your dull life."

Draco's right hand reached up and rubbed gently over the bruises on his neck. Harry felt his face soften at the reminder of what he had almost done.

"We should do something about that bruising," he said quietly. "And your nose, it's swelling up I think."

"Never mind it," said Draco quickly. He stood up. "Everything'll heal. Just go to sleep," he said as he quietly exited the room, closing the door.

Harry heaved a sigh and laid back onto his bed. He shut his eyes and resolutely pushed everything that had happened that day out of his mind. He yawned and could already feel himself beginning to drift off.