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Hollowed	By : dirtydarella Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6987 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Beta'd by the wonderful tari_sue *hugs her*

Takumi Fujiwara: Thanks for the review!

Jilliane: Yes, there will definitely be more er... attempts at justifications later on...

linagabriev: Thanks. I wasn't sure what constituted as an AU so I originally put it in there just to be safe, but now I've gone ahead and put it in the slash category.

I think Draco's going to be doing a lot of hiding from people until he feels more acclimated to his new surroundings, but slowly he'll come out of his shell. ;)

***

Eventually, as always, Draco's hunger grew too strong to ignore and he ventured down to the kitchen. He could hear the clang of pots and pans from halfway down the stairs, but for once he was just too fatigued and hungry to care if the whole fucking Weasley family was down there. Hopefully they'd let him get a bite to eat before hexing him.

It didn't turn out to be the whole family, just the Mother Weasel who appeared to be cooking up a storm. He pushed open the door and stepped in, making sure she heard him in hope of preventing any startled stunner spells from flying at his face.

“Bill is that– oh.” She said, turning to see just who had walked into the kitchen. Draco straightened and looked to the side, feeling extremely awkward. It was never very pleasant being around any Weasleys, especially since he'd been told all his life how inferior they were to the Malfoys. There was no doubt about who was at the bottom of the hierarchy now.

“Are you hungry, dear?”

Draco's eyes snapped back to her, surprised. The 'dear' had been said in such an automatic way he was sure there was no true endearment behind it, but still, that one phrase of mothering had something painful welling up inside.

He missed his mother.

“I–” His voice cracked like he was thirteen again and his mortification couldn't be any worse. It gained the full attention of Weasel Mother, who turned around and looked him over with a frown.

“My goodness, you're nothing but skin and bone. Why don't you have a seat and I'll fix you up something nice to eat.” There was a stiffness to her words, as if it was a pain for her to speak to him. Not that it came as a surprise to him.

“That's okay, I can see you're busy.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a wooden spoon in his direction. “Have a seat and I'll fix you up something.”

Trying to hide his frown, Draco took a seat down at the table, consequentially where Harry had been last night. While he was no stranger to being waited on, it was awkward to sit there as the red haired woman hustled around the kitchen. Like Potter had done the night before, she somehow managed to produce bread from who knows where and sliced two pieces.

By the time she was done, Malfoy was happily munching on a turkey, cheese, and tomato sandwich with a warm bowl of steamed carrots and a glass of pumpkin juice. Years of ingrained manners prevented him from just shoving everything in his mouth and devouring it, but he did eat faster than usual.

As he stood to leave, feeling full and content, Mother Weasel came over to stand in front of him, her eyebrows raised as if she was waiting for something. He looked down sheepishly at his dirty dishes and proceeded to carry them over to the sink, all the while feeling her eyes on his form.

“Thank you for the food,” he said graciously, bowing to show his respect. When he straightened and started for the door, once again he was stopped.

“Wait a minute, dear,” she said, waving an eggbeater in his general direction. “Why don't you help me with dinner, it's not healthy for a young boy to be hidden up in that room of yours all the time.”

Draco refrained from reacting to the 'young boy' comment, he'd seen plenty of horrors no man would ever witness in his entire adult life. He did, however, not completely refrain the snarkiness in his voice when he said, “I'd hardly be any help, seeing as I have no wand. You might want to try asking that dirty house elf of Potter's if you want help with such matters.”

Mother Weasel put her hands on her wide hips, elbows sticking out like she was some sort of chicken. “Now don't give me that attitude. You've taken Potions at Hogwarts, have you not? Surely you know how peel and chop without the use of your wand.”

“That's hardly–”

“It's settled then. There are some carrots over there that need tending to. Chop them up nice and thick for the stew.”

Draco tried not to look too horrified as he glanced over to the small mountain of carrots on the cutting board. Was this woman serious? He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake, he didn't do house elf work.

“And don't think you'll be skipping dinner again,” she said as she flicked her wand in time with the spell that was currently kneading dough. “Won't have you wasting away any more than you already have.”

If he had known this was going to be the cost for that sandwich he just had, he never would have eaten it, hunger pains or no. Well, okay, maybe he might have still eaten it, but he never would have expected Mother Weasel to be so sneaky.

After rolling up the sleeves to his robe, he grabbed a knife from the counter and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the house one after the other, each appearing equally exhausted. Harry was sure that if they hadn't hesitated when they had, they might be currently rushing off to the next horcrux location. Sometimes he wished he could take a few more risks without Hermione always talking him out of rash behavior.

Ron's hand was fidgeting with the Deluminator, another reminder to Harry just how clueless they all were with what the hell they were suppose to do next. There were no doubts that Hermione had memorized her book by now and was just as confused about it as when she had first got it. There was just nothing they could go off right now.

Regardless, he was glad to be back, feeling the tingle of the new wards as he walked past Mrs. Black's screaming portrait. He could smell Mrs. Weasley's cooking and his stomach growled appreciatively. He needed a hot meal and a bath to hopefully refresh his mind and prepare for the next morning's early start to who knows where.

While Ron and Hermione made their way upstairs, fighting over something trivial, he was sure, Harry made a beeline for the kitchen. He was hoping he could sneak a little bit of a snack, dinner was probably still a little way away and he was positively starving. He was even a little surprised Ron wasn't right next to him with his tongue out panting like a dog while he sniffed the air.

He pushed the door open and stepped in, only to crash into someone much to skinny to be Mrs. Weasley.

“Sorry,” Harry said, righting himself and his victim, gripping them by the arms for support. When he realized just who he was holding – the smallest glimpse of gold-blond hair gave that away – he immediately dropped his grip of Malfoy's arm and stepped back.

What he saw made his jaw drop. Malfoy's robe sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and there was a full-bodied, white apron tied around his waist, ties wrapped around twice to emphasize his frame. God, was Malfoy really that thin? Mrs. Weasley's “welcome back” sounded oddly far away as his eyes took in the sight.

Draco's heart rate had tripled the moment he crashed into Potter's chest. Merlin, Potter must be doing something right because just that little touch revealed how firm and strong it was. That definitely wasn't going to help his newfound attraction to the brunette. He tried to muster up a sneer, but Potter was too busy looking like an idiot to notice.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Ron and Hermione's voices murmuring through the wall, doubtlessly coming down the stairs. It was only then that he realized Malfoy was holding a small peeling knife in his hand. Wanting to prevent a scene, Harry reached for it.

Draco's breath caught when Potter leaned into him, his hand wrapping around Draco's own as he slipped the knife out of his grip. He let it go without resistance, too shocked by the sudden proximity.

Potter smelled kind of nice.

“Here, let me have that,” the brunette said quietly into his ear, and he really hoped that miniscule shiver down his back wasn't noticed. “Ron's kind of a hot head, and if he sees you with this near his mother, he might overreact.”

Then the warmth and smell of Potter was gone, and thankfully Draco's sanity was coming back to him again. This time he knew Potter saw his sneer, and made sure to put as much loathing as he could muster at the moment. He watched Potter shrug and walk over to the counter where he proceeded to pull out his wand and conjure up an apron for himself. Where he learned that spell, Draco didn't want to know. He dropped the wand onto the counter and then proceeded to take over Draco's task of peeling.

Harry was halfway done with his first potato when the sound of the door bursting open rang through the kitchen, followed by Ron's cheerful greeting to Mrs. Weasley. He could picture in his mind how the redhead's face probably fell the moment he spotted who else was in the kitchen.

“Nice apron, Malfoy,” he taunted, just like Harry thought he might. It was the same reason he had transformed his own undershirt to be an apron. Ron's eyes darted immediately to him and he blushed. “Looks good on you though, mate.”

Draco snickered.

“Thanks Ron,” Harry said, turning back to his work.

Draco had chosen to completely ignore Weasley from the moment he had seen freckled-face enter the kitchen and by extension the mousy haired girl by his side. Thus, he was startled when Granger smiled tightly at him and said, “Hello, Draco.”

Her voice was strained as if it pained her to say such a thing, probably only doing so because it was some stupid Gryffindor moral of hers. Now Draco was no fool, he hadn't forgotten it had been Granger who had been entrusted with his wand while he was here, so it wasn't like he was going to act snarky towards her, no matter how great the impulse to do so was.

“Hello Hermione,” he said in the most charming voice he could muster. If she wanted to pretend civility, he could play along. It was entirely worth it, he thought, when he saw Weasley's positively scandalized face.

“That's a nice blouse you have on, such a pretty pattern.” He had grown up a boy of refined dinner parties, and he knew just the right kind of bullshit comments to say to a woman.

Granger actually blushed, and Weasley's look turned murderous. Draco hadn't been around much, but he had seen enough interactions between these two to know the Weasel had it bad for her. He kind of wanted to stick out his tongue at Weasley, but refrained.

“T-Thank you. It's good to see you out and about,” she returned, glancing away from him.

Harry had been watching the interaction that was going on. He did appreciate Hermione's attempt to be civil towards Malfoy, after all someone had to do it. He was especially pleased when Malfoy hadn't lashed out or done something equally stupid. Harry wasn't paying attention enough to the knife gripped in his fingers, however, and his hand slipped.

“Shit,” Harry cursed, forgetting Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were currently in the room, only concerned with the blade that had cut into the palm of his hand. The bloodied potato slipped from his fingers, the knife placed down on the counter as he did what any muggle-raised person would – in a flash went straight to the sink and turned on the water.

Somehow in that single moment of seeing Potter bleeding, Draco lost all common sense and did something completely foolish. He knew, every wizard knew, never to pick up someone else's wand, and yet his hand reached for Potter's on the counter before his mind could even warn him not to. He might have heard a gasp in the background somewhere, but was too distracted pulling Harry's hand towards him and casting a healing charm to knit the flesh back together.

Potter's wand didn't feel the least bit strange in his hand.

When he looked up to see the surprised look on Potter's face, the reality of what he had just done crashed down on him. The wand was still being held at Potter, but the brunette was doing nothing to get it away from him. He glanced over to see Mother Weasel and Granger standing there with matching shocked expressions, each fingering their own wands but not raising them. Weasley stood with Granger's hand firmly gripping his shoulder, his wand halfway raised and a threatening frown on that stupid freckled face of his.

No one had hexed him yet. It was strange to realize that although he wasn't trusted by any of them, he wasn't completely untrusted either. Just the smallest bit of warmth pooled into his chest.

After the initial shock of what had just happened wore off, Harry shook his head and proceeded to flex his hand a few time. Malfoy's healing spell had worked like a professional, all pain completely gone from the cut, and now not even the smallest line scared his palm. The only evidence that he had just been cut was the blood drying on his skin and soaking into his sleeve.

“Er- thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said holding his hand out for his wand. The blond didn't hesitate at all, practically throwing it back at Harry. There was a nervous glint in his eyes, like he was a child just waiting to be scolded by their parents. Feeling distinctively awkward, Harry offered up a small smile and with his left hand patted Malfoy's upper arm before taking a few steps back.

Draco, in all his years of living, was sure he would never admit to anyone how fucking good that little gesture from Potter made him feel. There was the most bizarre urge to grin, but held it in. He cleared his throat and stood to his fullest height, which was a satisfying head length above Potter.

“I'll be in my room if anyone needs me,” he said, strolling out of the kitchen with his head held high. He berated himself the moment he left the room, not only had that been a stupid thing to say – like anyone was going to need him – but he had completely forgotten about how he was helping Mother Weasel cook. It was too late to turn back now though, so he continued up to his room.

Back in the kitchen Harry was picking up the dropped potato and discarding it in the trash while Hermione vanished any blood from the floor. Ron was leaning against the food cabinet, frowning as he tapped his wand against his thigh. Mrs. Weasley had returned to task of cooking, busying herself and shooting her son annoyed looks whenever she had to move around him.

“That certainly was strange,” Ron said finally, the only comment that anyone had so far dared to say about what had just occurred. Then he shrugged and turned to his mother, an easy smile fitting on his face. “When do we eat, I'm starving?”

Harry tuned out the others as he rolled his wand between his fingers. He thought he might be able to still feel something different about it, like maybe Malfoy's magical signature, but he couldn't be sure. It was always a possibility he was just imagining things.

Still, he had an idea whispering in the back of his mind, one that he would want to discuss with Hermione, in private, at least until he knew a little more about it. He wondered what shops were still open in Diagon Alley.

***

Dinner was just as awkward as Draco had imagined it. He was sitting between his cousin and Granger, and keeping an eye out for anyone who might find it funny to slip a spell into his food. His eyes were particularly on the Weasley twins. On the other hand, he was adamantly avoiding looking in front of him, however, as that was where Potter sat, smiling and acting so fucking right-at-home with everyone around the table. He even grinned at Draco a few times, but they were always left over smiles, and for some reason that caused something angry to twist in his gut. Not that he should care, it's not like Potter and him were all chumy or anything. It was just a shock to the system because he hadn't seen his rival so open like that before.

The food had turned out delicious, and he was even a little proud of that fact. Certainly, Mother Weasel had done most the work, but he had helped. They were eating his labored over carrots and potatoes in their stew. It felt good to be a part of something again.

Potter really did have a nice smile.

Dammit. He turned his head away the moment he realized Potter had caught him starring, fighting down any signs of a blush. He grabbed for his butterbeer and took a large gulp, wishing it was something a bit stronger. This attraction for Potter was getting completely out of control.

At the other side of the table, Harry's legs were nervously jumping. He was enjoying himself; it had been a while since so many people he cared about had all gathered together for a nice dinner. Even Bill and Fleur had made it to dinner, tucked away together at the end of the table with eyes only for each other. It was nice to see such a love, a hope for the future.

What had his legs shaking nervously were his positively ridiculous thoughts about Malfoy, and more specifically, his wrists.

Harry had not forgotten that he hated Malfoy. In no way had he forgiven the ex-Slytherin for what he had done. Sure he had allowed him to come and take shelter at Grimmauld, but it was only after he had seen how hollowed Malfoy had become. Even so, it appeared as if the teen had only grown worse since his time here – a thinner frame, paler skin, duller eyes.

Harry could see a little of what he had been growing up as in Malfoy. No parents around, stuck in a place where no one cared for him. He didn't like it, and he knew he was probably going to put more energy into getting Malfoy back to normal than he should. Plus a few improvements, if he could.

He decided that it was for this reason that he had become strangely fascinated with Malfoy's thin wrists. It started when the blond reached for the butter, his sleeve falling back to reveal just how thin it was. It was delicate too, the wrist bone rising up to make it appealingly shapely. Harry's fingers itched to reach out and see if the skin was as warm and smooth as it looked.

All throughout dinner, no matter how many times he chided himself for acting so inappropriate – about Malfoy's wrists for god's sake – he just couldn't stop starring. He kind of wanted to see if Malfoy's back was as elegant as them, or if his shoulders were as shapely. He could just imagine miles of milky skin, and that was so bizarrely erotic that it frightened him.

Malfoy must have caught on that Harry kept looking at him. Every once in a while he'd look up from the blond's wrists and see gray eyes watching him. Every time it happened, he looked away quickly, but he knew he'd been seen a couple of times now. He didn't know what it was, but as soon as dinner was over he was going to march up to his room, get into the shower, and get some sleep. He had other, more important things to think about than Malfoy's body.

He cringed at the thought, but pushed it down. Maybe he could blame it all on stress.

****

-TBC
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Hollowed