Painkiller - A Drarry Fanfiction

Part 004

During the week of preparing for my second ever case, I tried to imagine who Harry Potter could be.

Perhaps he would be academically gifted like his mother—the brightest witch of her age. Freshly graduated from secondary school with flying colors, I could picture him looking forward to a stable—if not greatly successful—adulthood. Or maybe he would be an athlete like his father—the best Seeker Gryffindor has ever had. Going off of the vague descriptions of his dark hair and green eyes, it seemed almost inevitable for Harry Potter to take after James Potter in aspects other than looks, too.

But the boy coldly ignoring my outstretched hand of greetings is... outside of my predictions.

Not so tall and boney, Harry Potter is buried in his own clothes, the density of his head of hair just as overwhelming. His hunched posture makes him seem even smaller. With the lack of flush in his lips, he almost looks ill, the nearly glass-like paleness of his skin adding to the effect. I can barely make out the only vivid part of him—his emerald irises—as he glares at me through his thick fringe. There is a certain sharpness to his gaze which takes me by surprise.

His voice is just as pointed. "Who are you?"

"I—I'm Draco Malfoy. I come from the Ministry of Magic." I say, hoping my slight panic towards such a blunt question isn't too noticeable.

There's a piercing moment. "The what?" Harry Potter says.

My chest tenses. "The Ministry of Magic. I'm a caseworker from—"

"The Ministry of Magic?" he repeats. "You're a—a wizard?"

Mr. Dursley flinches next to me. I try to ignore it. "Yes. Were you not aware of my arrival?" I say.

Harry Potter steps away from me. I didn't think I was standing too close. "Why are you here? What case are you on?"

Mr. Dursley beats me to it. "Harry, what—"

Harry beats him to it. "Woah—Harry? Seriously? What is going on? You let a wizard stay here? And no one told me anything? I don't..." His voice fades from pointed to disgusted, then away completely. Something like confusion and betrayal glosses over his eyes as he looks around at the room.

Trying to stay settled amongst every bit of wrong I'm already noticing, I turn to Mr. Dursley. "The Ministry suggests that the child involved is aware of everything before the caseworker arrives."

The large man's face is burning. "Yes, I was informed—"

"Am I the child involved?" Harry Potter cuts in. "But my parents are dead, I shouldn't—Why am I—"

Mrs. Dursley takes a sharp breath into speech, almost scaring me from behind. "You need to gather yourself, Harry. Everything will be explained."

Hatred fills Harry's eyes again. "Stop calling me that! Since when—What is going—Nothing makes any—" His trembling gazes wonders, lost and terrified. Then, as if decided, he looks towards me.

I find myself bracing. "I don't want it, " he says firmly, staring through my eyes. "Whatever Ministry, whatever case—I don't want it. You can leave."

His sleeve brushes against mine as he walks past me. Just as quick as the conversation tangled around itself, he flies up the stairs. I have always prided myself in terms of quick thinking, but this time, I'm not even sure what I'm meant to be doing. All I manage is to watch Harry Potter disappear to the second floor, stricken in my ground. I can barely process the words coming from everyone's mouths and the looks on everyone's faces.

The sight of shimmering fear welling in Harry Potter's eyes linger before me.

/////

"...he isn't very welcoming to strangers—we apologize."

It takes a moment for my brain to catch onto Mr. Dursley's words. I blink away from where Harry has disappeared. "Sorry, what did you say?"

The Dursleys throw a look back and forth. "It's just that, we weren't able to tell Harry about his parents and magic and all that until very recently," Mr. Dursley says. "We figured if he had to comprehend a caseworker visiting from the Ministry of Magic, he would be too stressed to make well-judged choices. We heard he's going to have to make a lot of those."

"I hope this isn't going to cause issues with your work, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Dursley adds. There is a weak smile on her face, which is more than what Mr. Dursley managed to pull off. Sweat has reached down to his cheeks now.

I would have smiled back, said something along the lines of 'everything will progress accordingly,' but positivity is as difficult for me as it is for Mr. Dursley at the moment. My palm feels slippery on the handle of my bag. "He probably needs some time, then," I say, trying to loosen the tightness in my body. "Can I put down my things in the meantime?"

"Yes, of course," Mr. Dursley says. "We've made room for you upstairs—the first room on your right."

I flash the best smile I can before leaving the room.

/////

The stairs creak under my feet, and so do the floorboards in the second floor hallway. I wouldn't assume the humidity helps the old wood sound any better. It's thanks to it, though, that I'm able to locate Harry's bedroom—muffled squeeks of planks seep through the door next to what is mine.

I stare at the seam of Harry Potter's door, watching for the moving of his shadow or anything to that effect. Seeing the gap in the light thinly spilling into the hallway, I assume he is standing, maybe sitting near the door—to calm himself, probably; to process and understand, hopefully. After all, no matter the number of questions racing through my head, it wouldn't be business of mine to get the answer to them if Harry keeps his current stance of vigilance. As the manual goes—after seven days of refusal from the child in question, the caseworker no longer is permitted to stay within their home.

The walls seem thin. I hold in a sigh as I enter my room.

There isn't much inside. The desk is a touch not even the Ministry can afford for my department, so that part is nice, but everything else is just okay. Which, of course, is fine. At least everything is clean.

I place my bag next to the short wardrobe and sit on the neatly made bed. The mattress makes a similar sound to the floors. I close my eyes.

It's like I can hear him all over again echoing through my head. The way he questioned me, spat his words at his aunt and uncle, seemed so attacked and disgusted... How could this be explained? Did the Dursleys really believe that their 'excuse' was enough? How about the questions I have about their excuse?

If I'm this lost, how lost would Harry Potter be?

Something, whatever it may be, feels... off. Wrong, even. Though without confidence in what I say considering the mere dent I've made in terms of experience in my career, I'm not without certainty considering all that I've learned to notice in my childhood. As caseworkers, we are told to eliminate lenses and see any case as only its facts. But I can't just shake feelings like this—not when both child and caseworker are being kept, intentionally or not, from full understanding. Not only does that make me unable to do my job, but it can't be a pleasant experience for anyone involved.

Something is wrong. And it's my duty as a caseworker to find out what is, and if I can, fix it. A step towards it would be to speak to Harry—explain, answer, listen. Only if he will change his mind and not kick me out of his home, never mind make conversation with me...

I'm not sure how long that would take. It's already been an hour.