Chapter Text
Harry stared out of the window of the house at Number 4, Privet Drive. The night was drawing in, and the world was getting too dim to see anything but the halo of light around the streetlights in the fog, and so Harry pulled his attention back inside.
It had barely been a week since he had arrived home, and Harry was… well, he was handling it. This was fine.
He was pretty sure they were starting to doubt his assertion that someone would be coming to visit him though.
Harry was sure that it was this weekend that Severus would come. Draco had plans with his mother — Harry was sure he remembered — and so this was when Severus was going to come and make sure that he was alright.
And he was alright. More alright than he’d expected to be. They’d mostly left him alone. Of course, his books and wand had gone straight into the cupboard under the stairs, but he was back in the smallest bedroom where he had enough space to do his stretches every day, carefully taking off his braces and checking they were alright every evening. He was sure that Severus would be able to take him to get them fixed if anything happened, but just in case…
Just in case, he was careful that they were in as good condition as he could manage. He didn’t dare be without them.
Harry was amazed that the worst he was experiencing now was just boredom. The Dursleys seemed to have learned how to manage without him, and the threat of a wizard coming to the house and seeing him seemed to have persuaded them to, for once, just leave him alone.
Harry had never been so grateful to be bored, but that didn’t take away that he was bored.
The worst, Harry thought, was that Hedwig was banned from the house. She had stopped by the previous night and presented Harry with a dead mouse, but that was the most that he’d seen of her. At least she was free — Harry wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if Hedwig had been forced to endure this captivity with him.
Harry got three meals a day — let out into the house to eat them in the kitchen — and then he was sent back to his room. There he was tasked with making as little noise as possible, and pretending he didn’t exist.
He had eleven years of practice at that one.
It chafed more, now, than it had back before he’d known about Wizards. Before he’d known about Hogwarts and the world out there where he was interesting, important, even on occasion actually wanted by the people around him. He was missing it.
He was missing Severus.
Harry was already in his pyjamas — threadbare and loose, but his own that he’d gotten from Severus rather than Dudley’s castoffs— and so as he pulled the netting back over the window, he only had to take off his glasses and put them on the desk that he could just about reach from his bed. They sat just in front of the two braces that went on his arms, laid out on the desk where he could easily reach in the morning. Next to the bed lay the brace that wound up his legs and onto his hips, propped up where he could reach it without any stress as soon as he was up in the morning. Petunia would come and beat on the door as soon as she was up, and he didn’t really want to know what would happen if he wasn’t up and dressed by the time she barged in twenty minutes later.
Harry settled himself into the lumpy mattress, his head against the thin pillow, and let himself drift off. It was Saturday tomorrow. Perhaps Severus would come.
The morning brought with it a bang and a clatter that had Harry leaping from his bed, before he entirely remembered why that was a terrible idea for his feet.
“What on earth are these things? I thought we told you no magic in your room.”
The door was wide open and Petunia was standing silhouetted against the frame. Harry blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked up at the window. The sky was bright, but it was almost midsummer, so it could be six in the morning for all he knew. He was tired, but he’d gone to sleep late. Had Harry slept through Petunia’s usual wakeup call? He didn’t think he would have but—
“Boy! Are you listening to me? What do you have to say for yourself? Vernon? VERNON!”
Harry scrabbled to sit up and he grabbed for his hand braces, putting on the short brace that held his right hand and wrist before his aunt stepped forward and snatched the other off the table, holding it with two fingers like it was about to jump out and bite her.
“Aunt Petunia, please. I need that.”
“Why you think it’s acceptable to have this… this nonsense in the house is quite beyond me.” Petunia was clearly working herself up to have a proper go at him, but Vernon was in the doorway and he looked at the offending item in Petunia’s hand, a great looming shadow that grew in the frame of the door until it almost totally blocked the light coming from the hall.
“Magic? Toys? Boy, where were you hiding these? You think you can just flaunt the rules of this house like that? I won’t be having it. Petunia get the other one and we’ll lock it all away.”
“He’s got another one. Some kind of magic glove.” Petunia pointed at Harry, a strange glee on her face.
“It’s not a glove it just helps me—” Harry tried to say, but Vernon steamrolled over him.
“I don’t care what it does, it’s clearly magic and you know that’s not allowed. Why, you’ve been here a full week, befouling our home with your nonsense. No, it goes with the rest. Petunia!”
Petunia stepped forward and held her hand out to Harry. He looked at her for a long moment, a pleading on his face. Surely she could see that it wasn’t a toy. Or a weapon. Or really anything that could be used except to…
No, she handed his left arm brace backwards, then the leg braces, and then she advanced on Harry. He hadn’t even been able to put his glasses on, so the low light made her advance seem all the more ominous where he couldn’t see much of the features of her face, just the whites of her teeth and eyes as she loomed over him. She grabbed up his right hand, pulling it roughly toward her, and then flicked the catches that she’d just watched Harry do up, releasing the brace. She pulled it off roughly, catching the edges on his bent fingertips, and then stepping back smartly as soon as it was free. This, too, she passed back to Vernon, and then the both of them stepped back onto the landing, as though just being in his room was somehow going to infect them with his magic.
“I think today you’ll be back doing chores. No more lazing about for you, boy. And whoever of your kind come by will just be told that you’re being punished for impertinence. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
That’s right. Severus will come today. He’ll get them back. He’ll tell them that I need them. It’s fine, they’ll be fine by this evening. I’m sure.
Severus didn’t come that day. Nor the next. By the end of Sunday, Harry was sure that he’d never ached so much as he did, climbing the stairs at last to fall, face down, on his bed. Everything hurt - most especially his feet, which had twisted back in on themselves without the braces to train them straight. Harry stretched them as he had been all year, but they stubbornly turned back inwards, the pressure of his standing on them seeming to immediately undo a year of hard work.
Harry stared out of the window again. The bright sunshine that had accompanied his day out in the garden was poking through the small window, low on the horizon as sunset finally came. There was a chill in the air — he was pretty sure he’d heard on the radio that there was a summer storm of some kind on its way in, but that barely registered against the cold that had settled in the pit of his stomach.
Severus hadn’t come.
Severus hadn’t come.
He’d promised, and he’d been lying. Harry had seen the look in Vernon and Petunia’s eyes when three o’clock had come around and there was still no sign of any oversight of Harry. More than a week and nothing.
Harry knew that tomorrow would be worse.
Severus wished that he could hit something. But there was no wall that he was coming up against, no physical barrier.
Harry just… wasn’t there.
He knew that Harry had to be somewhere. He knew that the Dursleys had a house, that it was in Surrey. But he’d done everything he could to find the place — even looked them up in the damned yellow pages — but it was as though they’d never existed.
Draco was due back in a matter of moments, and Severus let out his frustration by slapping the stone at the top of his fireplace and growling at it.
That done, he took three deep breaths and tried to centre himself.
He wouldn’t be angry when Draco got back. He knew better than that, at least. He let out a last, long breath and then let himself sit on the sofa tucked under the window, summoning a book from the shelf opposite that tucked under the stairs, and tried to relax.
Draco was due back any moment, and he wanted to be here to receive him, reassure him that he was expected and welcome. Severus’ summer reading so far had been a rotation of his usual potion journals, the small collection of warding books that he’d managed to accrue at the end of term, and some choice volumes by Poppy that shared tips and tricks for dealing with traumatised children.
All those books were notably muggle.
Severus found that he couldn’t focus on the book he’d picked up — the most recent edition of the International Potioneers Club — but instead was gazing around at his childhood home in contemplation.
From where he sat he could see the open side of the staircase through the full-height bookshelf that dwarfed most everything else in the room. He’d had to expand the fireplace slightly to accommodate a floo, but since Draco had been away he’d also removed the slight step that went up onto the hearth, leaving it a smooth ramp of tile. He’d also slightly rearranged the room, pulling the coffee table to one end so that Draco could more easily manoeuvre. He’d not really thought through the practicalities of having Draco try to get around Spinner’s End in his chair, but the same hovering charm that got him around Hogwarts at least got him up the stairs, and the bathroom just about fit Draco and his chair inside, even if it was a squeeze. Severus had never really considered just how small his house was, and if he was honest with himself, he should really be looking for somewhere else for him and Draco to live. Especially if he wanted Harry here as well.
Why can’t I find him? Why does nobody know where he lives? And why won’t the boy reply to any of my owls?
Severus knew that beating himself up about it wasn’t going to solve anything, but he couldn’t help but feel like he’d let the boy down already. How was Harry ever supposed to trust him to take care of him if he couldn’t even visit when he said he would?
Severus was prevented from getting too caught up in his head when the floo burst to life, and he stood ready to receive Draco. Draco walked through, his mother close behind, and stood at a kind of attention in front of the hearth, as though waiting for some kind of inspection.
“Draco. Narcissa. How was your weekend?” Severus stepped forward and took the shrunken bag that he knew contained Draco’s things from Narcissa. The weekend had been partially an opportunity for the two to spend time together, let their magics mingle as much as they needed to, but this afternoon Lucius was supposed to be out of the manor, and so they’d intended to take the opportunity to get whatever else of Draco’s was remaining there that he wanted to keep at Severus’ house.
Severus looked at Draco intently as Narcissa answered.
“All went to plan. We had a lovely time shopping in Bruges yesterday, and then this afternoon’s little adventure went off without a hitch. Didn’t you think so, Draco?”
Severus only saw because he was watching intently, but there was a flinch from Draco as Narcissa mentioned their afternoon. Severus had considered that it could go so many different ways when Draco returned to his family home. But Draco was back now, and Severus could be absolutely sure that Draco was going to stay safe in this house. They’d barely had time to settle in over the previous week, but now there was a full fortnight before Narcissa was next able to find time away from Lucius and make sure that she was there for her son.
Severus just hoped that it would be enough for all of them. For the magical connection that Draco and Narcissa shared and needed to nurture, and for Draco to get the distance in order to heal…
And for Severus to find and take the time that was needed to sort out what was happening with Harry.
“Thank you, Narcissa. Can I interest you in a cup of tea before you go?” Severus asked out of politeness, but he was still looking at Draco’s face, and the colour was fading from his cheeks. Severus wanted him to take a seat, but the tension in Draco’s shoulders and being so recently at the manor meant that he was still holding himself like he was back there, and it would take more than a moment for him to uncoil enough that he could relax again.
“Oh, thank you Severus, but it’s been quite a day. Anyway, I’m expecting my husband back shortly, and I want to be sure the house is in order.” Narcissa gave a weak smile to Severus, and she turned to face Draco, crouching down to be at his height.
“I’ll see you again on the seventeenth, Draco. Be good for Severus, now, and let me know if you think of anything that you left behind. I’ll send it on as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, mother,” Draco said, his tone wooden. Severus sighed internally, realising that he was going to have to tread carefully in the next few days. It truly astonished him the change that came over Draco when he was thinking about his parents and his own home, but Severus couldn’t just stop Draco and his mother visiting. Not if he wanted Draco’s magic to develop as it should. And Narcissa, for all her failings, had only ever hurt Draco through inaction. Draco was clearly ready to forgive her for that, even if Severus wasn’t.
The two Malfoys finished their goodbyes, and Narcissa stepped back through the floo, the echo of her passing lingering in the room as the silence stretched between Draco and Severus.
“I’ve… I made some changes to your room.”
“Oh.” Draco’s voice was flat, and he still hadn’t moved from his stiff position.
“I was thinking, though… maybe you should be in my room instead. A bit more space to move. Easier for you to get in and out as well.”
“So I’d… I’d have your room?” Draco’s face creased in confusion, and finally, Severus saw his body relax from the tight posture it had been holding. There was tension around Draco’s face still, which said he was stressed, so Severus pulled the shrunken form of Draco’s chair out of the bag Narcissa had handed him and enlarged it into the centre of the room. Draco’s eyes flicked toward it, but he made no move to sit.
Well, Severus could live in hope.
“I don’t need all that much space,” Severus expanded, “and I think you’ll be more comfortable if you can get your chair in and out when you need to go to the loo in the night. I was thinking we could do the swap now and then you can unpack straight into your new space?”
Severus didn’t like to sound like he was asking a question, but the books had told him that it was all about the three Cs: Choice, Commitment, and Connection. There was only so much that Severus could do for the latter two without the injection of a significant amount of time, but he could always make sure that Draco had choices. Severus wanted Draco to take the room, but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force the matter.
“I think… maybe?” Draco looked up at Severus sheepishly. “And then would Harry and I share?”
“Very possibly. But that’s not going to be happening yet.”
“Oh. Is he coming? Did you guys have a good time?”
“I wasn’t able to contact Harry, unfortunately. I will try again in a week, and so we will be going together. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, sure. I don’t want him to be left either. And he should be able to come to my birthday.”
Severus smiled. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Draco. But! For now, let’s see about switching the beds around and getting you settled.” Severus started toward the stairs, and did his best not to look back and check whether Draco decided to sit or walk. Draco would make his own way.
Nothing about this was ideal, but something had loosened in Severus now that Draco was back, even if he couldn’t let go of his worry over Harry.
I’ll keep looking. I have to find him. I won’t let him down again.
On Monday the storm started.
There wasn’t much that changed for Harry — it was always cold in his room, the cracks in the frame of the window letting in every breeze, while the glass was too dirty and small to let the sunshine warm him much. The wind howled, the trees outside bending and almost breaking with the force of it, and Harry was stuck inside.
He wasn’t to go outside. The Dursleys had seen the way that he had hobbled, wincing and grimacing in pain the whole time, on Monday morning when he came down to get breakfast, and the looks of combined disgust and despair on their faces told Harry that this was the opposite of being inconspicuous. They couldn’t ignore him when the consequences of their so-called care were so obvious.
So that, alongside the fact that they couldn’t send him out to the garden without getting even more questions from the neighbours about their wayward nephew, meant that he was now banished to his room. Not locked in, but Harry was under no illusions that he was not to be seen in the rest of the house.
Tuesday was much the same. A slight break in the weather in the morning had left Harry with the hope that he’d be able to head outside that afternoon, but once he’d made the painful journey to collect some food for lunch, he’d looked out to a deep, dark sky from the stairs window and a crash that was the neighbour’s bins disappearing down the road in the wind.
“The Gostlings never did know how to put their things away tidy. Do you see the mess that’s left behind?” Harry listened to Petunia complain about the blown-away bins as his door closed behind him, and he sat in his room on the bed, legs stretched out as straight as he could get them on his bed, and the food sitting heavy in his stomach. Perhaps the storm was why Hedwig hadn’t come back. He’d not seen her at all since the mouse on Thursday, and he couldn’t help but worry.
Harry could wait. At least if she was out there, she wasn’t struggling to find a safe place to perch in Little Winging, or cooped up in the room with him.
It was Wednesday when things really started to go downhill.
Harry hadn’t been able to sleep, the wind pounding outside, and the window rattling in its frame. The three thin blankets that Harry had layered on top of each other as effectively as he could to ensure he was entirely covered were letting cold winds in through the holes, seeming to find their way into his bones. The cold and wet already made his joint ache, even when he was in the relative shelter of Hogwarts, but the combination of the oppressive weather and the cold was making everything ache in a way that was more than just keeping him awake. Harry was fantasising about crawling down to his cupboard and curling up inside his trunk. At least it would be warm there, and Severus had put in some of his pain potions, though not enough for the whole summer. After all, he was going to be coming to see him, to help with his physio and pain management and make sure he was taking the medications properly.
“Why haven’t you come?” Harry muttered into the darkness of the room. He could barely hear his own voice over the racket that was the wind outside, but he still barely let his voice rise above a whisper.
It wouldn’t do for the Dursleys to hear him.
The wind picked up and Harry heard more crashing outside. More bins being flung about, perhaps. The neighbours had a large tree that was making loud smacking noises against the brickwork, and there was a tinkling of glass almost audible. Was that their greenhouse broken? Harry wasn’t looking forward to it being his job to clean that up once the weather had died down.
There was another roar as the wind cut between the houses, and Harry flinched as a loud smack made contact with his window, followed by a shock of damp air that almost immediately spread a puddle across his desk and started to drip onto the floor.
The wind picked up, and for a moment Harry was sure that the whole wall had come off, the wind so violent that he must be outside. There was a thick branch stuck through the window, the thin green of the leaves flapping with a sound that was reminiscent of a flock of birds, and an increased whistling of the wind.
“What is that racket?” Vernon’s shout came through the wall from the next room, and Harry froze in fear. He didn’t know what to do. The door flung open, and Harry saw the way his uncle was pushed back by the sheer power of the wind.
“What have you done, boy? What this time? You’ve ruined my house, you have. What on earth were you doing?”
“Nothing, uncle Vernon. It’s the wind. The tree in next door’s garden--“
“Well it’s your window that it’s come through. And now we’re going to have to pay to get this fixed. Do you think we’re made of money? Block it up. Go on.”
“Uncle, how?”
“I don’t care how, just don’t let the water come in and damage the house. Or it’ll come out of your hide.”
Harry uncurled himself out of the bed, and climbed up onto the desk. He pushed, as hard as he could, at the branch in the window, and managed to get the wood out, listening to it crash its way down the side of the building and onto the lawn below. The branch had been holding back a significant portion of the wind, however, and now that it was free, the chaos in Harry’s bedroom was compounded, and he was almost flung from his perch on the desk and back onto the floor.
“Goddamit, boy. You’re making it worse.”
“Please, Uncle Vernon. Please help. Is there some wood or something I can use?” Harry didn’t know why he was asking, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to fix this.
“Can’t do anything, can you? Worse than useless,” Vernon said, but he was retreating from the doorframe, Harry supposed, to go and get something that would facilitate repair. Harry just looked out at the chaos blowing outside, making every effort not to let it push him off the desk as it rushed inside to spread the madness to Harry’s room.
Vernon returned with a sheet of wood. It looked suspiciously like the panel that had been hastily nailed over the fuse box in the cupboard under the stairs when Harry had learned how he could use it to annoy Dudley, and indeed it still had nails attached to it where it had been roughly removed. Vernon passed it to Harry.
“Hold that, boy. Steady now.” Harry held it up to the window, taking a last look at the outside world before Vernon started to hammer it into the rickety frame, Harry’s hand barely darting out of the way of a few of the hammer blows.
Finally, it was in place, and Vernon stepped back outside.
“I expect this to be cleared out by morning. I won’t have that water damaging the hallway.” With that, Vernon closed the door and retreated, leaving Harry in the pitch black.