Blind - drarry

Chapter 4

Published: November 25, 2020

Updated: September 30, 2021

Two days later, Draco hadn't left the hole. He was getting hungry, and he never would ask the muggles for food. He didn't want to be kicked out, but Murtagh gave him some food, anyway.

"Laddie... yeh've never once stayed 'ere all day... it's bin two. Tell Murtagh, wha's wrong," the Scot said, as he started a small fire. Draco could hear the clanging of the metal pot. He was probably warming water up.

Draco lifted his head, worried. "I'm sorry, I can leave if you want."

"I ain' askin' yeh ter leave, jus' tell me why yeh're still 'ere?"

Draco grimaced. He hadn't told the muggles anything. How could he? Not without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. He had to improvise. "Where I go, someone figured out... that I'm on probation. If others know, they'll kick me out."

"Cause yeh're on probation?"

"I did some... umm... bad things, when I was younger."

"Oh, laddie. We all make mistakes."

"Bad mistakes," he whispered, and Murtagh was just stirring the pot. After a little while, Draco heard him stomp out the fire.

"' Re yeh sure yeh don' wan' ter jus' go ou' wit' me? Raphie can guard."

"No... maybe. Maybe one day I'll try it," he said and made to get up. "But I can go out, if you want."

"No... sta' one more nigh'. Rest," Murtagh said, and handed him a cuppa. "Drink up and warm yerself. Yeh're fine fer tonigh', laddie. Raphie's bringin' us some food. I lifted these tea bags ou' of a 'otel."

"Thank you..." he said, sipping the tea. He had never really addressed him properly. "...Murtagh? Is it?" Names were dangerous. Even if they are muggles, they could always tell the wrong person.

"Aye... yeh're naut big on names, I kno'," he grunted.

"If the wrong people found me," Draco said, shivering.

"Yeh don' 'ave ter tell me tha'. Laddie's fine wit' me," Murtagh chuckled.

The next day, Draco ventured out and went back to Diagon Alley. He hadn't lost anything from the attack and even another swig of his brown hair potion. He didn't want his blonde roots to come back. He found one of his old begging spots on the ground and clinked. Near noon, two sickles dropped in his cup, and he trembled.

"Constable... thank you," he said, bowing his head.

"I brought your favorite: pastrami on rye," Potter's cheery voice declared and dropped the wrapped sandwich in his hand.

He nodded as tears threatened to come out. He dropped his voice. "Sir, it isn't necessary. You know, now. What I am."

Potter sat down in front of him. "I put wards up, Wyvern. You don't have to worry about being overheard. I told you that I don't care that you were a Death Eater and supported Voldemort. I thought all of them fled the country as soon as those crazy laws were passed. I tried to stop it from happening. A few Death Eaters did help me during the war, and I know that it was forced service. Even if that wasn't what happened to you, Wyvern, I'm not going to hold it against you, okay?"

"My parents were ones, too. I didn't have a choice. Death... or slavery," he whispered.

"I'm so sorry, Wyvern."

"Don't be sorry for me. You freed me, all of us. I'd rather be like this than live under that mad... creature."

"You don't have to live like this, though. I can help you," Potter, the biggest Gryffindor of them all, offered.

Draco shook his head. Potter would never take him in if he knew the truth. "You've helped me enough-more than enough. I was on the wrong side. My parents willingly joined, and I thought I wanted it, too. Then I saw what he was."

"That's completely understandable, Wyvern, and why that mark doesn't bug me."

"It should."

"Wyvern, I have to ask, and, to be clear, I'm not going to cart you off to the Ministry no matter what, but are you wanted? Are there charges against you?"

He shook his head. Thank Salazar for that. "I went to Azkaban for a few months. I swear I was released."

"I believe you. You were just so afraid of me when I found out yesterday, and you didn't want to tell me your name. And that's fine. You don't have to tell me! I just was going to offer to help if you did have legal troubles. I know that many of the marked and unmarked teens and younger adults only got light sentences. I also know that Voldemort used threats and violence to force people to obey him. You were one of those on probation, right?"

He nodded. Potter did have the means to get the list of who was released, but it was pointless to deny it. He tensed up and resisted the urge to shake.

"Wyvern, you don't have to be afraid of me," Potter said, sadness seeping in his voice.

He took some deep, uneasy breaths and laid it on flat. "I have to obey any command you give me." And it was any command: sit, stand, say that he was scum, kiss the ground... literally anything. Sure, Aurors could get fired or arrested for abusing their authority, but there was no right to refuse improper orders, just illegal ones.

Potter was quiet. "I won't order you to do anything, Wyvern. I hate those bloody laws. I tried to stop them. Have-Have people hurt you?"

Draco closed up and had to keep from shaking. He tried not to think about the time after he was released where he went to the reconditioning center. It was before he lost his eyesight, and it was worse than prison. The harsh, controlling nature of the laws was firmly embedded into him by the Parole and Probation department of the Ministry.

Potter sighed, loudly. "I guess that's a yes. I'm so sorry that people have hurt you. Please don't think I'll use those laws against you or use you."

"I know you're a good person, P-Harry. But other people aren't, and you don't need to keep talking to me. If people found out...."

"They won't, and I won't let them...."

"Let them? You can't always be there. Do you think those kids were the first? And they didn't even know what I am. I live in Knockturn Alley. You think they have any hang-ups about roughing me up?"

"I'm sorry. I can...."

Anger boiled through him, as he took out his frustration and helplessness on the one person who didn't deserve it, but he couldn't stop. "Do what, Chosen One? There's nothing you can do! I'm stuck here." Tears tried to fall, but were thankfully stopped by his blindfold.

Potter let him calm down a little. "I can get you a place in Diagon, Wyvern. There are some cheaper flats, and people here will listen to me and not hassle you. I want to help you."

"I can't afford even a day of rent," he muttered.

"I can help."

"I'm not going to allow you to dish out hundreds to thousands of galleons on me for flat."

"I could help you get a job. At the Apothecary, maybe, but there have to be jobs that you can do."

He shook his head at Potter's ignorance and motioned to his arm. "You forgot about this mark already?" The fourth law guaranteed him a life of poverty and the worst jobs. All former Death Eaters are required to inform their employer that they are marked. It was followed by the fifth law. Any business, group or institution may refuse service, employment or goods to any former Death Eater. Any former Death Eater must to leave immediately upon request.

He heard a light slap, like Potter had clapped his hand to his face, probably in disgust. "Right. I can't believe they passed those awful laws. Well, you could stay at my house if you wanted?"

Draco's jaw dropped, and turned his head to where he thought Potter's face was. "What? No... are you insane?"

"It's a big townhouse. There's plenty of room," he said, nonchalantly.

"I can't just come over to your house! Holy f'n Salazar. You're crazy. I'm-I'm a Death Eater!"

"Former Death Eater."

"And you're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Defeater of Dark Wizards."

"I am. I like helping people who are in trouble," the Savior said.

What the hell was wrong with Potter? "I fought against you in the war. No, just let me be. This is where I belong." On streets with the other rats, he thought, derisively.

"No one belongs in this situation," Potter growled.

He jerked his head toward Potter. The stupid prat couldn't get it through his thick skull. "I tortured people and watched them kill muggles in front of me, Chosen One. I deserve a lot more than this."

Potter was quiet for a long time. Draco almost thought that he did leave, until Potter asked, "Did you enjoy it?"

Tears welled again behind his blindfold. "I hated it."

"Then you don't deserve it. You didn't exactly revel in it like the Bellatrix, Greyback, Dolohov or Malfoy, did you?"

Draco had such a hard time controlling his reaction to hearing his family name. It hurt so much to hear coming from Potter's lips. He just looked away and rubbed his arm. He wanted this conversation done. Potter hated his father and m. Even his testimony at his trial was straight and to the point, as though it was hard to admit. Potter only said that he hadn't killed anyone and did not identify him when Fenrir brought him to his house during the war. Potter might have saved him from the kiss or a life sentence in prison, but there had been no kindness in his voice then. Once Potter found out who he really was, he would hate him.

Potter seemed to notice his distress. "Hey, Wyvern, it's okay. I'm sorry if this is upsetting you."

"Just... go. Leave me alone. Forget about me."

"I can't do that. Who am I going to eat lunch with?" Potter responded, dryly.

Draco didn't talk to him anymore. Maybe that was the key. This all started because he talked back to him. No, from now on, he'd just thank Potter and then ignore him. It kind of worked, and Potter eventually went away. Draco managed to keep it up for the next week, refusing to talk to him. Sometimes, Potter left easily but, quite a few times, he just stayed on and pattered about nothing. But Draco kept to the plan and didn't respond.

One morning, Potter excitedly announced, "Hey, I brought you something! Hold out your hands."

Draco slowly complied at the semi-order, and Harry dropped an object in it. It wasn't heavily, no more than his cup. He felt the shape and it was a cube. Muggle plastic if he had to guess. The sides had different surface textures and lines on the sides. It wasn't anything he could identify, and it wasn't edible, so he wasn't sure what use it had.

"Thanks," he muttered, automatically.

"It's a muggle toy. Here let me show you," Potter said, and his hands were on his. He recoiled at the unexpected contact, but Potter was determined as he sat down in front of him on the ground.

His larger, rough hands encompassed his and directed his fingers on both hands where to go. He spread them to the edges of the cube, and then pressed slightly down and turned them in opposite directions. The cube separated and turned as well. He could feel its top spin strangely on something like center point. Then Potter straightened it out, changed directions and spun it on its other side, separating in a completely different way. Potter guided him through the motions several times, until Draco did it himself.

Potter seemed excited. "See how it moves? Circle up, circle down and side to side?"

"Yeah... it's weird."

"It is, I'm sure! Let me show you something else," Potter said and, again, guiding his trembling hand to where he wanted. "It's a cube with six sides and there are nine smaller cubes on each side. Each can separate and turn to go to a different side. If you put your finger on this square, and rotate the row, now it's over here."

"Okay?" he stated, still uncertain of what it was.

"Right, feel the ridges? Each small square has a different symbol. This one is a circle, then a square, triangle, dots, lines, and some with nothing. The object is to get all the symbols together on their own side. See how these two triangles are together?"

"Yeah?"

"You got to get all nine triangles on this side by rotating the cube around."

"Umm... why?"

"It's a puzzle, just something to keep your mind active. You said it's boring at night. I just thought, well, you'd like a distraction."

Draco tilted his head up. An emotion he couldn't identify spread through him. Gratitude was part of it, but this cube wasn't about a need for survival. It was a gift, a possession. Something Potter had explicitly gotten for him.

"Thank you," Draco breathed, bringing it closer to him.

"You're welcome, Wyvern. Any chance you can start talking to me, again? I know you're scared and the about war and the laws, but I want to be friends."

Draco lowered his head back down. "You wouldn't want to be friends if you knew who I was."

Potter groaned. "Yes, I would. Give me a little credit, okay?"

Draco gripped his present and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" the Savior said, happily. "That's great! Would you mind sitting on the benches, again, too? Seriously, you don't have to avoid them cause I'm being an annoying git."

"You weren't...."

"I know, Wyvern. You were doing it out of some misplaced notion that you should suffer for your crimes and all that BS. But stop it. They're here for anyone and everyone to use. Besides, my back can't take it. I'm getting old."

Draco smiled a little and let Potter lead him over to a bench. He fiddled with his gift, while he listened to Potter complain about nothing of consequence for hours, occasionally interjecting his opinion. Potter did go back to patrolling, but returned to talk some more at the end of the day. He brought him dinner and walked him to the entrance to Knockturn, but didn't press to go further.

Was Potter becoming more perspective? He didn't know, but he walked back to his hole under the bridge and played with his toy. He had managed to get three symbols in a row.

"Whacha gat there?" Murtagh asked.

"I... umm... a toy someone gave me."

"Huh... can I see it?" the Scot asked.

Draco felt oddly protective of the cube.

"I ain' gonna take it laddie," he assured him, and Draco handed it over. "A Rubik's cube... wit' shapes on it. Tha's a perfect gift fer yeh. Someone was bein' nice." He gave it back.

"Yeah, he was," he declared. He hadn't figured out what that strange emotion was.

Murtagh seemed to debate asking, as Draco had never really opened up before. "Is this the one who's bin givin' yeh food an' clothes?"

"I... umm... yes?" he said, wondering how he knew.

"Yeh 'ren't as skinny as before an' yeh bring back extra fer us. I'm naut stupid. You've gat a friend."

"He's been helping me a lot lately," Draco stated, though it was more than just helping, now.

"Why'd he give this ter yeh?"

He frowned and said, "I think to be kind, and show that I can trust him."

Murtagh humphed. "Do you?"

Draco nodded. "I know he'd never hurt me, physically anyway. He's a... umm... cop. A hero."

"' Ero?" Murtagh scoffed.

"He saved a lot of people. I went to school with him a few years ago."

"He knows yeh?" he exclaimed, clearly not expecting that.

"Not really. He hasn't recognized me."

"Bu' if he knew who yeh're?"

"He'd hate me. I hurt him and his friends, a lot. I was a bastard when we were at school."

Murtagh snorted. "He harbors tha' muc' of a grudge?"

"I hurt him that badly," he whispered and the Scot sighed.

"He's gonna find ou' eventually, laddie."

"He'll be gone in a few months. He's only got patrol duty for a few months." Then Potter would be out of his hair.

"Yeh should tell 'im... before 'e goes."

Draco shook his head, though, as it was too risky. He'd never get the words out, anyway. But he fell asleep, clutching the cube, like it was the only thing he had. Because, frankly, it was.