Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 25: What Does it Look Like I'm Doing?

Draco POV

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Draco joined the Dursleys at the dining-room table to find it already laden with far too much food. He nodded to Petunia and began to eat, curling his lip at the mountains of food Vernon and Dudley were shoveling into their piggish faces. He felt faintly ill, and wondered if perhaps he should have asked for a plate to take to his room. He'd thought Harry would approve of his effort to be polite, but the coward hadn't bothered to show up for dinner. Come to think of it, I've not seen him since he showed me that list. Draco frowned. The house wasn't that large. He shoved down a twinge of unease. Likely Harry just hadn't wanted to deal with his relatives. Draco couldn't blame him. Still. It wasn't like Harry. Oh, fine. I'll ask.

He cleared his throat, shrugging on his best Malfoy manners like a familiar, if slightly stiff, cloak. "Petunia – I may call you Petunia, mayn't I?"

She practically simpered at him. "Why, of course you may, Master Malfoy."

Perhaps that's laying it on a bit thick. "Er, yes. I was wondering: why isn't Harry eating with us?"

She darted an anxious look at her husband, and Draco was startled to see something like fear flash through their eyes. Dudley didn't seem to notice anything other than the food that was rapidly disappearing into his gullet. It was Vernon who spoke, after laying his knife and fork deliberately aside. "Th-er, Harry was feeling a bit peaky this evening; thought he'd turn in early. Didn't want to make us ill, you know." Vernon forced a chuckle. Draco, who had seen much more believable forced laughter, merely nodded and pretended not to see the relieved look Petunia and Vernon shared.

Draco continued eating, outwardly calm, but his mind was racing. He knew Harry wasn't sick – wizards hardly ever sickened, and Harry had been perfectly fine just a few hours ago. Draco also hadn't missed the way Vernon had stumbled over Harry's name, pronouncing it as if he'd never encountered it before. Nor the way he'd started out saying something else entirely. Nor yet the barely audible cough of Petunia's that had preceded the stumble. Wherever Harry was, Draco was certain that the elder Dursleys at least knew more than they were saying, and that it wasn't entirely Harry's choice that kept him there.

When the male Dursleys had finally shoved away their plates, Draco expected them to clear the table. He knew they didn't have a house-elf to do it, like his parents did. But they simply wandered off, plunking themselves down on the overstuffed chairs in what Harry had explained was the 'living room.' I still don't see why it's better for living than any of the other rooms. Harry had merely laughed when he'd asked, saying he'd just have to see for himself.

Draco glanced uneasily back toward the forgotten dishes as he followed the others. He perched on the edge of a chair, wary of sinking so far into the thing that he wouldn't be able to extract himself, and jumped when a large box in the corner blared to life. A man appeared, pointing at a map. An advertisement for some sort of soap. Another for something Draco couldn't guess. Vernon was pointing a small device at the box – a television, Harry had called it – and jabbing the buttons with one meaty finger. He finally stopped when a football match came on, and sank back into his chair.

Draco watched the tiny men kicking the ball around for a bit, but quickly grew bored. He turned to Petunia, thinking now was as good a time as any to ask about Harry staying with him, but her attention was riveted on the screen. Vernon and Dudley, too, were watching with intense focus.

Draco sighed. Merlin, but these muggles are boring. He checked again to make sure no one was watching him, and then slipped out of the room. He wandered back to the dining room, intending to put his dish in the sink, at least, to make less work for whoever washed them later, only to find them gone. The table had been cleared and wiped. Draco stared. But, if they don't have house-elves, then... Oh. Draco, you're an idiot.