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More Than Nothing	By : Qestral Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8583 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The
last morning at school for Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts dawned with
both optimism and dread.

This
summer would be spent blessedly free of Uncle Vernon and Dudley,
hence the optimism. Dudley had become something of a boxing prodigy,
and Uncle Vernon had more than happily signed up for a chance to have
his son compete in the U.S. over the summer holiday—an offer
made after Dudley won an amateur competition the previous summer.
While Harry didn't much like the idea of Dudley being rewarded for
pummeling the daylights out of people (professionals or not), he was
not opposed to a Dudley-free summer.

The
dread knotting in his stomach was, he knew, related to Draco, though
what it meant was still hazy. In truth, Harry's feelings were very
mixed. Of all the days he'd suffered through over the past few
weeks, this was Draco's final opportunity to do his worst, to pack a
summer's-worth of torment into one day. It was also, however,
Harry's last opportunity to see Draco until the start of their
seventh and final year in Hogwarts.

He
was reluctant to admit it to himself, but a part of him would miss
being able to see Draco every day over the summer. The time without
Draco's presence would probably be good for him—a fact Harry
reminded himself of as often as possible—since it would give
them both time to get over what happened without constantly having
the other's presence as a reminder. But there was something
comforting about seeing Draco's face, a strange, painful reassurance
that Draco was still a constant part of his life, even if the way
they related to each other had changed once again to hatred.

Though
I suppose it's a bit one-sided,
Harry thought ruefully. I don't think I could hate him
even if I tried.

Trying
would be easy; Draco had given him enough reason since the night
Harry told him they had to stop meeting. It had been more subtle
than earlier years, at least; rather than outright insulting Harry
and his friends or sabotaging school work, he had cast glares and
sneers filled with a rage Harry had never seen. It was very painful
to be on the receiving end of this treatment—though he hadn't
yet figured out what made it seem so much more intense.

He
suspected it was because his own feelings towards Draco left him open
and vulnerable to anything the other young man did.

As
raw and frustrated as Harry felt because of recent events, he still
refused to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened between Draco and
him. It hurt not telling them—they were, after all, his
closest friends, and this last school year had been made all the more
difficult because of his secret. He had considered finally telling
them what had happened, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind,
he thought of several other reasons not to.

One
being that Ron would consider this a sick sort of payment Harry was
making to Malfoy just to get him to leave them alone. In a very
indirect way, Harry supposed this was true; it wasn't until after he
and Draco had started to fool around that Draco had lightened up on
the others. But that wasn't why it had started, and in fact wasn't
even a factor until later.

Harry's
vexation at his current state of affairs, however, still left him
wanting to lay his thoughts out somewhere, which was why he decided
to send Hedwig off very early that morning with a pouchful of
galleons and a note:

To
Flourish and Blotts

Diagon
Alley, London

Please
send the best lockable blank book the enclosed amount can afford.
The owl has orders on where to deliver it to.

Though
Harry respected Flourish and Blotts' establishment, he didn't trust
that they would be able to resist advertising whatever book they sent
him as “The very same quality of book used by Harry Potter
himself!” He didn't exactly mind being used as a sales ploy;
he was more worried about the people who would want to know what the
blank book was being used for.

There
were certain things Harry did not want the greater wizarding world to
know about, and his tryst with Draco Malfoy was high on that list.

He
sent Hedwig off, telling her to meet him back in Little Whinging.
She nipped his fingertips affectionately, which Harry took to be an
acknowledgement of his directions, then she flew off, presumably
towards London.

At
the breakfast table, Harry was greeted by an unfamiliar quiet from
Ron and Hermione. They both offered him a “Good morning”
and smiles, then sank into eating in a manner so subdued that at
first Harry was sure something had gone very wrong and they weren't
telling him.

“What's
going on?” He asked, his eyes switching from one to the other.
“You're both being way too quiet.”

“Oh,
well, you know, it's just the last day of school and we'll be
spending two months of hardly seeing each other and then next year we
have the NEWTs we'll be studying for and it just seems like we won't
be able to see much of each other anymore and it just seems so sad,
you know...”

Harry
stared at Hermione, then looked at Ron, who was also staring at her
in a sort of alarmed fashion.

“Hermione,”
Ron finally cut in, “Take a breath, will you?”

Hermione
stopped speaking almost as abruptly as she had started, shooting Ron
a very brief, dirty look.

Harry
almost felt the light bulb of understanding flick on over his head as
he realized what had been so unsettling. “Since when do you
two not fight over breakfast, anyway? Or any meal, for that matter?”

Hermione's
cheeks turned a charming shade of rose, and Ron blushed from nose to
ears.

“We
don't always fight!” he defended. “What's wrong with us
being quiet over breakfast? Is that really such a bad thing?”

Harry
wasn't listening; their embarrassed faces told him enough. “You
two are dating, aren't you?”

If
it had been quiet before, deadly silence had now overtaken their end
of the Gryffindor table, and Harry suddenly became aware of the
people around them listening in.

“I-it's
not exactly dating,” Hermione started. “It's more
like... Well... We haven't been on a date, so it doesn't count as
dating, but...”

Ron's
face looked like he'd washed it with beet juice, and the way he sunk
his head low to the table gave the distinct impression that he'd
rather be under it than sitting at it, but Harry was beaming broadly
at them.

“I'm
glad for you two,” he said honestly. “Why didn't you say
anything?”

“DidnwantyoutertellMum.”

Hermione
rolled her eyes. “He thinks his mother is going to kick up a
huge fuss over this and start making wedding plans if she even hears
we think of each other in a 'more than friends' way.” As she
said it, the blush on her cheeks broadened a little. “And it
hasn't been for very long; we only finally talked about it last
night. You went to bed early, and there was no one else in the
common room...”

“D'you
have to tell him ALL the details?” Ron muttered. Hermione
looked at him in annoyance.

“Well
why shouldn't I? He's only been our best friend since we started
school!”

“I
know, Hermione, that's not what I meant.” Ron looked up enough
to make eye contact with her, then glanced along the table as an
indicator. “It's just that he's not the only one listening,
and I really don't feel like telling the entire house what happened.”

“Oh...
Right.” Hermione turned to cast a stern glare along the
Gryffindor table, and everyone who had been listening—which was
just about everyone—immediately turned back to their meals and
began talking like nothing unusual was going on.

Harry
stood up, still smiling at his long-time friends. “You can
tell me about it on the train,” he said. “I've got to go
and do some last minute packing, anyway, and I need to take a quick
shower. I'll catch you later.”

He
turned away from the table and hurried out of the Great Hall, back
towards the dormitories.

Once
in his own dormitory, he sat down on his bed, his smile quickly
fading from his face. He glanced at his trunk, wondering if he
really had left anything out, patting down the bed covers to check
half-heartedly. Hedwig's cage sat, empty, on top of the trunk. He
stared at it, wondering how long it took for an owl to fly from
Hogwarts to Diagon Alley.

Then,
sighing, he went down to the student bathroom, chose the shower stall
at the end of the row, and turned on the water, giving it time to
heat up while he undressed.

After
less than a minute of standing under the water, Harry felt the safety
catch on his thoughts start to deteriorate. He thought about Ron and
Hermione, and how nervous they were about each other now but how much
they obviously liked each other in spite of it. He wondered for a
moment how he could've missed it, then remembered that he'd spent a
lot of time lately focused on Draco, either on his presence or the
lack of it. Harry felt bad for not noticing what was going on
between his friends, and worse that he was jealous.

It's
not fair, he thought. I
want someone to be with. Then
he thought of Draco, and of how close he wanted to be with him--for
reasons other than sex--, and wondered if he would still feel alone
if he hadn't ended their twisted game. Would that hollow feeling
have stayed the same instead of getting worse? Or would it have only
tripled and become painfully overbearing?

There
was no love there, he reminded
himself. It was just about getting off.
In his head, he ran through all the time he had watched Draco, seen
the other boy receiving Harry's administrations with closed eyes and
an indifferent air. This was followed up by scenes of Ron and
Hermione looking at each other nervously, smiling or blushing,
memories Harry didn't even remember having made. He had no problem
imagining them gazing at each other with love, whispering
endearments, but he couldn't transpose himself and Draco over the
imagined visages of his two closest friends.

Water
from the showerhead ran over his face and eyes, temporarily blinding
him. He closed his eyes against the steady stream, wondering if his
bad luck with love and romance was a permanent condition that would
end up with him dying cold and alone. He felt a dark, hopeless
self-pity that refused to go away, and in spite of the water rushing
over his features, Harry knew he was crying.

*

Harry
regained some semblance of control over his feelings between
showering and dressing, reprimanding himself quietly for letting his
thoughts get so out of hand. He reminded himself that all was not
lost, he wasn't even seventeen yet, and he had plenty of time to find
someone who would love him and whom he could love in return. After
all, he thought, with a level of
cheer unbecoming the rest of the statement, I'd have better
luck waiting until after Voldemort is defeated.

On
the way out to the carriages, Harry felt his heart stab with pain as
he looked at the thestrals. When he'd seen them at the beginning of
the year, it had hurt worse, and he supposed it was some comfort that
it was duller this time.

It
was the thestrals that had inadvertantly been the tools of Sirius'
demise.

Harry
didn't blame them, though part of him wanted to. It was the same
part that wanted to blame everyone else for what happened, however
illogical it might've been. Rational thought always brought him back
to the same conclusion, however; in the end, it was really his fault
more than anyone's. If he had only praticed Occlumency harder
instead of blowing it off, if he'd remembered that damned present and
known about the communication mirror, if he'd told Snape first,
even...

Harry
shook his head free of those thoughts, running his fingers
unconsciously through his hair, then tried to straighten the tangled
mess out again. He'd had these same thoughts over and over again for
roughly a year, and the only thing he had learned was that there was
no point in going over it one more time; it wouldn't change anything.

In
the carriage, Ginny and Neville were having some sort of biology
oriented debate (an interest Neville learned of when she created the
stinksap equivalent to a dungbomb; Harry didn't know the details of
how, but it was apparently very difficult), Luna gazed out the window
in her usual fashion, and Ron and Hermione sat in a nervous silence,
the backs of their hands touching but otherwise completely still.

Harry
was tempted to snap at them, to tell them to either hold hands or
stop looking so awkward, but thought better of it. Compassion was a
practice he had been trying to work on whenever given an opportunity,
which was often. Professor Dumbledore had suggested it to him in a
conversation at the beginning of the year:

“Part
of compassion,” the elder professor had informed him, “is
accepting people as who they are, flaws and misconceptions and
hurtful actions as well as their perfections, and their
understanding, and loving them for all of it.”

The
word 'love' was a little strong, especially since the headmaster had
gone on to request that Harry exercise some compassion with Professor
Snape in order to continue Occlumency lessons. It had certainly been
easier to be compassionate in every situation but
during Occlumency, though moments like this certainly came close to
that level of difficulty.

They're
new to the 'being together' thing,
he reminded himself. They're going to be nervous for a
while, especially since they've been friends for so long.
Harry wondered what it would be like to go from 'Just Friends' to
'An Item' with someone, and for a few minutes considered what it
would be like if he were dating Hermione instead of Ron. I
guess they've got reason to be nervous. I bet they haven't even
hugged as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Harry
had started to gaze out the window in a similar fashion to Luna when
he noticed a very tiny movement out of the corner of his eye, and he
looked back to where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

Ron
had shifted his pinky finger to hook with Hermione's. As Harry
watched, she curled her finger a very little in reciprocation. Both
of them were blushing crimson once again.

Harry
felt very suddenly grateful that they were going to be on break in a
few short hours. He wasn't sure he could put up with the two of them
acting like this over the entire summer.

*

Harry's
general silence of late hadn't gone entirely unnoticed; while
dawdling outside the train hoping to catch site of Draco, Hagrid
lumbered over, friendly smile not quite hiding his concern.

“'Arry,
m'lad! 'Aven't seen much of you these past few weeks, where y'ben?”

“Studying,
I'm afraid,” Harry responded, putting on the most convincing
smile he could muster. Hagrid nodded understandingly.

“Ah
trust ye did very well on yer final exams, then?”

“I
think I did,” Harry said, honestly enough. “It helped to
have so few problems distracting me from classes.”

Though
he'd said it intending problems related to Voldemort, as soon as the
words were out of his mouth he thought of Draco. As the thought
occurred to him, he found himself struggling to maintain his cheerful
features.

Hagrid
sighed, satisfied with Harry's response and not noticing anything
amiss in the boy's expression. “Et's ben a quiet year, 'Arry.
Ah'm grateful; et wouldn't do to 'ave another bad year, 'specially
after th' last one." Don't think of Sirius, don't
think of the battle, don't think about any of that—"An'
I hope yer summer's just as peaceful.”

Harry's
mind tumbled over all the nights he'd left his dorm to meet with
Draco, having near-misses with Argus Filch and his red-eyed cat Mrs.
Norris, and on a few occasions barely avoiding the decidedly
insomniac Professor Snape. When it had started, it had simply been a
risk he was willing to take once in a while because his hand wasn't
doing enough for him, or because Draco had sent a meeting place and
time—give and take, as was fair.

Now,
in the aftermath of the end of it, he could almost pinpoint when it
had become about seeing Draco instead of about getting off. Sometime
shortly after New Year's...

“Thanks,
Hagrid," Harry said, speaking as if he genuinely believed this
year had been so calm. The lie rolled off his tongue with an ease
that surprised him. "It'd be nice for things to be as peaceful
as they've been.”

In
a sense, he admitted to himself, this year had been one of the most
turbulent for entirely different reasons than the usual.

“Aye..."
Hagrid replied, and there was a momentary pause in which both seemed
caught in their own, less cheerful thoughts. Hagrid's expression
brightened a moment later, though, and gleamed jovially as he
added,"Now, if those Dursleys give ye any trouble...!”

If
Hagrid said anything more, it was overcome by the sound of the train
whistle warning Harry that the train was about to leave. Hagrid gave
Harry a pat on the back that almost knocked him over, and sent him on
his way towards the train.

In
the hallway, Harry called for Ron and Hermione.

"Down
here, Harry!" Ron was leaning out of the compartment, waving,
Hermione at the other side of the doorway adding "We've saved a
spot for you!"

Harry
dragged his trunk and Hedwig's still-empty cage down the hall behind
him, entering the compartment in hopes that Ron and Hermione wouldn't
spend the entire train ride acting like the same as they were in the
carriage.

They
didn't, in fact; in the compartment, they managed to sit on opposite
sides of the seat from each other, and while it seeemed deliberate
enough, a look of dismay crossed both their faces when Luna entered a
moment later and occupied the space between them. Neville and Ginny
were also in the compartment, though whatever they were discussing
now, it wasn't herbology.

Harry
wasn't listening as he sat down in the seat next to the window. He
didn't care, honestly; he was too frustrated with having missed Draco
during boarding to really pay attention to what was going on around
him.

He
wasn't sure what reassurance he was expecting from seeing Draco. He
ran it through his mind over and over; if Draco noticed him looking,
he would only scowl darkly at him until he looked away. If Draco
didn't notice him looking, it would only serve to make him feel more
ignored and out in the cold than he felt already. Even his best
friends would be paying less attention to him over the summer, since
they were already so caught up in each other. Lucky them, having
someone they cared about romantically responding in turn...

"Thinking
about your summer vacation, Harry?" Luna asked suddenly.

"Yeah,
I guess," responded Harry noncommitally, a little surprised and
annoyed at this intrusion on his thoughts.

"Do
you expect something terrible to happen?" she pressed, her dazed
voice not quite matching the intensity in her eyes as she watched
him. "You look upset."

Harry
cobbled together a response in his head that would make sense while
being as far from his concern of the moment as possible. "Well,
there hasn't been any sign of Voldemort--" Ron flinched as
subtly as possible; he still hadn't gotten used to the name, though
he was getting better--"or anything tragic happening. Every
year, there's been something, so the longer it's quiet, the more I'm
expecting something to go wrong."

Hermione
and Ginny both looked pained in that maternal,
'the-poor-dear-suffers-so-much' fashion. Ron expression was
troubled, and Neville's was, surprisingly, stoic.

Luna
considered Harry for a moment, murmured, "Well I suppose that
makes sense," then pulled an issue of The Quibbler out of the
sleeve of her robe and immediately lost herself in it.

In
spite of Harry using that concern only as an excuse, it gave him
reason to be left alone to brood for a while longer without any
questions being asked. For a few moments, there was silence in the
coach, then Hermione asked Luna if they could switch spots on the
seat. This seemed to be the cue Neville and Ginny needed to go back
to talking, and Ron and Hermione settled into their own nervous
conversation.

Harry
turned to stare out the window, the country rushing past, and he
found himself wondering which side of the train Draco was on, and if
he could see how brilliantly emerald the hills were so late in
spring.

*

"Harry!
The tea cart's here!"

"Ron,
shut up and let him sleep!..."

Harry
had dozed off at some point while looking out the window. The
countryside was now just barely visible through a downpour of rain,
and he wondered idly if it would be this bad at Kings Cross.

"S'alright,
Hermione," he managed, sitting up from where he'd been leaning
against the window. He glanced in annoyance at the face print he had
left behind before adding "I was hoping to get something to eat.
Breakfast was a while ago, after all."

Ron
nodded in vehement agreement, to which Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly,
you two are bottomless pits! Don't you ever feel full?"

The
question had been directed more at Ron, but he was too distracted by
the assortment of treats on the tea cart. Harry started grabbing
items and tossing them to the others, who looked at him in mild
surprise.

"I'm
feeling generous," he said, offering them all a smile before
turning back to the cart and collecting enough snacks to last him the
train ride and the first several days back at Privet Drive. He paid
the witch pushing the cart, who smiled cheerily at the business
exchange and carried on down the hall while Harry returned to his
seat. He tore the wrapper open on a chocolate frog, and—making
eye contact briefly with Ron—cheerily bit the frog's head off.
Ron almost snorted up part of the cauldron cake he was eating at the
sight of the chocolate frog's legs still kicking at Harry's lips and
chin, and proceeded to choke on the bit of cake he was trying to
swallow.

Hermione
began to pound on Ron's back, saying "You shouldn't eat so
fast!" Harry stood up, chuckling to see Ron still laughing
inspite of having difficulty breathing, and said "I'll go get
some pumpkin juice."

He
only got a few feet down the hall before he heard "Watch out for
Trevor!" from Neville, and felt the distinct sensation of
something soft between his foot and the floor. He lifted his foot up
in surprise, tripped, and fell into the neighboring compartment,
landing hard on his hands and knees and losing his glasses in the
process.

That
was graceful, he thought,
annoyed, as he fumbled his glasses back onto his face. His knees
stung, his palms felt a little carpet-burned, and his pride felt a
little bruised. Why does that stupid toad make a scene at
the worst times?

"Potter."

Harry's
head turned quickly to see who spoke, but he would have recognized
that voice anywhere. Oh, bloody hell.

"Malfoy."
He looks like he just woke up. Was he sleeping?
"Sorry about the intrusion. I tripped." And
where's Crabbe and Goyle?

"How
graceful of you." The words slid cooly from Draco's lips, and
Harry found himself feeling annoyed with him for saying almost
exactly what he had thought a few moments earlier. What
business does he have, rubbing it in?

"Right,"
Harry said, unable to hide the irritation from his tone. Why, oh
why, had he been hoping to see Draco again? Of COURSE it would turn
out as something like this, another embarrassing situation. He
stifled a sigh of frustration and turned to leave; he still needed to
get drinks. He had an entire summer to get mad at himself for
repeatedly getting into these scenes, allowing Draco to hurt him like
this—

"Wait!"

Harry
felt his insides turn to ice. Is he going to apologize?
He turned to face Draco, thoughts rushing through his head faster
than he could acknowledge them. Is he actually sorry?
Maybe he wants to talk, maybe he figured out why I told him we had to
stop, maybe he's found it in him to respect that decision—or
maybe he wants me to take it back, he feels something for me, too, oh
god what will I do—

But
as he watched, the expression on Draco's face clouded, and Harry felt
his heart stop for a moment as Draco said the words:

"I
think I hate you more than anything."

As
soon as those words left his mouth, Harry's heart began to pound once
again and drop to the pit of his stomach in something that felt a lot
like despair.

"I'm
glad some things never change," he said dully. "Have a
nice summer, Malfoy."

The
ice that had frozen him in place only moments before seemed to have
finally reached his ability to feel emotions. I don't care
anymore. I just don't care. He
retrieved bottles of pumpkin juice for himself and his companions,
then collected Trevor (who had followed him down the hall). I
can't believe I cared in the first place. How stupid.
When he returned to the compartment, he put on a smile, determined
to not let his friends know of the exchange that had just taken
place. It doesn't matter. It was always a stupid idea.

Ron
took his bottle of pumpkin juice, still a little flushed from choking
but otherwise fine, and said, "Geez, mate, what took you so
long?"

"Catching
Trevor," he said, feeling briefly very guilty for all the lying
he'd done that day. He brushed it aside quickly, not wanting to let
proof of his untruth rise to the surface of his expression, and
turned the focus away from him. "So how did you and Hermione
end up dating?"

Ginny's
eyes grew wide, and she smiled with an expression of impish delight
coined by the twins years earlier, and it occurred to Harry that Ron
hadn't said a word about this to Ginny yet.

It
wasn't Ron that Ginny started shrieking at first, though.

"HERMIONE!"
cried the youngest Weasley, grinning madly. "Why didn't you say
anything?! Ohmigosh, you realize that if you two get married, you
and I will be sisters?! Oh this is wonderful!"

Harry
started to laugh, inwardly glad for the distraction from the scene
he'd just played an unfortunate part in. Ron glared at him darkly,
and muttered, "This might be even worse than telling Mum..."

*

Aunt
Petunia did not quite meet Harry at the train station alone, though
she looked like she would rather have. Kingsley Shacklebolt was
standing nearby, and on the other side of him stood Mad-Eye Moody.
Aunt Petunia's coloring was a little grey, and her lips were pressed
very tightly together.

"I'd
better go rescue her," Harry said. "Have a good summer!"

"Oh,
they will," Ginny announced, beaming. "Hermione's staying
at The Burrow while her parents are on a dentistry awareness trip
through Africa."

"Ginny!
Shut UP! If Mum hears you--!"

Harry
laughed and waved over his shoulder, moving as quickly as his trunk
and Hedwig's cage would allow. He kept his face pointing forward,
his eyes focused on his aunt. I won't turn and look for
Draco. I won't. He's not worth it, he's not...

"He's
here, you can go now," Petunia said quickly to Kingsley and
Moody.

"Not
good enough," Moody growled. "We'll escort you home, just
to be safe."

Petunia's
coloring became even worse at those words; Kingsley stepped in with,
"It's precautionary; we wouldn't want anything to happen to you
or the boy along the way. Strictly safety. Once you're inside,
we'll be on our way."

"You
have to wait until then?!" shrilled Petunia.

"We've
been standing here too long," Moody muttered, ignoring her
shriek, and though his bowler hid his magical eye, Harry could guess
it was spinning madly about, looking in every direction and seeing
possible attackers at all angles. "We need to get moving."

Kingsley
took Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage from him, carrying them out to
the Dursleys' car and loading them in the boot.

"We've
got a Ministry car just over there," said Kingsley. "If
you try to drive off before we're ready, we'll have to cause a
scene."

The
warning in his words was not lost on Aunt Petunia; the last thing she
would possibly want was to be seen in public with such curious
people. If someone she knew saw her, what would they think? They
would start asking questions!

Harry
discovered a newfound admiration for Kingsley; the man had done his
homework and knew what sort of muggle Aunt Petunia was.

In
the car, Aunt Petunia was deadly silent, something Harry was inclined
to encourage. He was busy trying not to obsess over Draco, who he
had vowed to put out of his mind. He focused on Ron and Hermione for
a moment; Mrs. Weasley was no fool, and would pick up soon enough on
any inter-relational differences between the two—honestly, the
way they were acting, only an infant would miss that one. All it
would take was one accidental contact, and the pair of them would be
as red as tomatoes.

Harry
glanced in the side-view mirror, and could just barely see the
Ministry car tailing them home. A cheering thought struck him, and
he turned to face Aunt Petunia better.

"You
know," Harry commented offhandedly, "They're going to need
to leave the car for a moment. Probably even come inside."

Petunia
glared at him, the whites visible almost all the way around her
irises. "What for?"

"It
would look very strange for them to stop outside the house, wait
until we were inside, and then just drive off again."

Petunia's
eyes flicked from Harry to the road and back a few times, decidedly
panicked.

"The
neighbors would talk about the strange vehicle that only stopped
outside the house to watch and wait for us to go inside. It would be
very unusual. Abnormal."

"I-I-I'll
just invite them in for tea, then," she stuttered, and Harry
could see her mind whirring as she tried to figure out just how,
exactly, she was going to get out of this.

He
turned to face out the window, trying to hide the smile of delight;
Aunt Petunia would have him doing every disgusting task she could
think of for the rest of the summer, but he, Harry, would have an
afternoon of silent victory. Out of fear, if nothing more, Aunt
Petunia would have to be hospitable to these wizards, both to prevent
suspicion on the wizards' part that something in the household was
amiss, and on the neighbor's part that these men were anything out of
the ordinary.

"Tea
sounds like a good idea..."
- 5
- 6
- 7
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More Than Nothing