reasons to never let me write anything: this
#tw for abuse?? Has a good ending tho
Draco heard it coming before he felt it.
It wasn’t unusual, the head of his Father’s cane was hard, and it made a faint whistling when it was swung. He knew this personally, which is why he flinched when he heard the sharp whistle, bracing himself for impact. Bracing himself was more just for peace of mind, and it didn’t really stop anything from happening. He still ended up face first on the floor of Borgin and Burkes’, blood pounding through his ears and his head ringing. A sharp pain blossomed from the back of his head, and he suspected that there was blood getting into his hair. Phooey, he thought, remembering faintly the hour he had spent getting ready today, preparing himself to look his best. He knew nobody would take him seriously with blood staining his good robes. He knew he shouldn’t have touched anything, this was all his fault.
He felt a pressure on his spine, and he turned his head, focusing on the disappointed face of his Father and ignoring the black clouding the edges of his vision.
“What,” he hissed, tapping his cane harshly on his spine, making Draco wince in pain. “Did i say, Draco?”
Draco was about to reply, when multiple things happened at once. A sound came from near him, and he tried to lift his head, but white spots clouded his vision and his head began to hurt, so he lowered it back to the ground. He heard something smash, and he heard his Father yell out in pain. A hand appeared in his field of vision, grabbing onto the front of his robes, and he noted the dark skin and bony fingers. The hand looked familiar, and he looked up, following the arm up to the face of Harry Potter, who was frantically pulling at him. His mouth was moving, and he appeared to be talking to Draco, but his ears were ringing too much to hear anything.
He saw Potter look over, eyes wide, and Draco turned his head, following Potter’s gaze and wincing as pain blossomed in his skull. He saw his Father walking towards them, blood blossoming up the side of his forehead where small pieces of glass appeared to be stuck in him. Was that what smashed? He decided to himself that it must have been, and Potter could have been the only one to have thrown it.
“Malfoy, let’s go!” He heard Potter say faintly, pulling him to his feet, and Draco didn’t have much choice as he wobbled after Potter, the Gryffindor pulling him out through the front door of Borgin and Burkes and down through Knockturn Alley. Draco could see the fear in Potter’s eyes, and he recognized the look in them as the same fear he often felt when his Father was mad. Though he had never thrown anything at him, his Father often got mad at him when he did things he wasn’t supposed to. Like touching things in stores he shouldn’t, or sneaking out of bed to ask the house elves for something to eat, or tripping and knocking over one of the many priceless heirlooms scattered around Malfoy Manor. He was quite familiar with his Father’s anger.
Draco glanced behind them as they ran up a street, darting through people on their daily shopping trips, and he saw his Father, pushing through the crowds with fury in his eyes, and his stomach dropped. His head was pounding, but he turned and looked at Potter, who looked lost. Fortunately, Draco recognized a sidestreet coming up, and grabbing Potter’s arm, turned and pulled him down the sidestreet, taking control. His heart was in his throat as he ran down the street with Potter, looking for a place to hide.
“This way!” Potter said, turning into a dingy little alley and pulling him along with him. They ran down, taking cover behind a large dumpster along the side of the brick buildings. The moment they were stopped, Draco fell over, leaning against the dumpster as his head felt like it was going to explode. Potter was peeking around the dumpster, watching the bustling street for signs of his Father. Draco closed his eyes, trying to will the pain in his head to subside.
He opened his eyes a few minutes later, to find Potter staring at him intently. He looked into the other boy’s deep green eyes, and he saw an overwhelming amount of pity. Draco attempted to sneer at him, but he had trouble keeping a sour face as his head pounded. Instead, all that came out was a whimper and a soft whisper.
Potter nodded, and he relaxed, pulling his knees up and sitting in silence, Draco feeling the blood beginning to dry in his hair. It was disgusting, and his entire skull itched, but he could barely muster the energy to raise his arms, much less thoroughly inspect his head. So instead, he sat in silence.
They continued to sit in silence for a while, what could have been minutes or hours passing, staring at each other. Suddenly, Potter spoke up.
“Why did he hit you?” He asked quietly. It made Draco uncomfortable to be in such a vulnerable position, talking about what had just happened with his sworn enemy. What was even worse was the level of pity in his voice, as though he felt sorry for Draco. That made his chest puff up indignantly, and he used what little energy he could muster to sound annoyed as he said,
“It was a family matter, Potter, and it would have been fine had you not interfered.”
Potter stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before tilting his head back and full out laughing. Draco huffed and glared at him while Potter attempted to catch his breath.
“You aren’t in much of a position to get defensive with me, Malfoy.” He said simply, and Draco shrunk in on himself, feeling impossibly small as he realized it was the truth.
If he returned to the Manor, or to his Father, he would be in immense trouble. Not only was he humiliated in front of people he knew, but Draco had run off with the enemy, and hid from him. If he made the mistake of returning home, Draco feared he might not be allowed to leave any longer. The thought sobered him up, and he felt small, hiding beside the dumpster next to Potter.
He felt small and vulnerable, his head was hurting and blood was still welling up from the wound, the concrete he was curled up on was making his rear hurt, and he had nowhere to go. For the first time in a very long time, Draco felt like crying. He felt like letting loose and crying into Potter’s shoulder, and he was sure the other boy would understand, it’s not like he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing.
But he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn’t cry, even if they only happened to be 12 years of age and have a bleeding wound on the back of his head. So instead of crying, he simply shrugged his shoulders at the other boy.
“He told me not to touch anything. It would have been fine if I had listened, but something caught my eye and i couldn’t help myself. It was my fault, not his,” He tacked on to the end as he saw Potter’s face configure into disgust, taking a breath and about to reply. But at that, all the wind was knocked out of him for some reason, and he looked at Draco with a kind of understanding.
“It’s not your fault,” He said quietly, and Draco scowled. Had Potter not just listened to anything he had said? He went to protest, but instead, Potter held his finger up to Draco’s mouth, silencing him if only in surprise. “If there’s one thing i’ve learned,” Potter said slowly, sounding older and wiser than the scraggly 12 year old he was, “It is never, ever your fault. Now turn around, and let me see your head, yeah? I’d rather you not die of blood loss in front of me. Might be hard to explain to the Ministry how they found me with the dead body of a Malfoy.”
He smiled at Draco, obviously trying to crack a joke, and to his own surprise, Draco smiled weakly, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a small, uncharacteristic smile. Potter’s words echoed in his head, and while he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, he felt unusually safe as he shifted around, feeling Potter’s scrawny fingers sift through his blood dried hair and inspecting his wounded head.
He wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, but a small, hopeful part of him whispered that it could get better.
and he let himself believe it.
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