nintendo 64
"Why must you ignore me," Ron angrily exclaimed as soon as Harry answered the video call. He was lying on his bed, his ginger hair messy and sprawled over the pillow, wearing an annoyed expression.
Harry rolled onto his stomach, offering an apologetic smile. “I forgot,” Ron let out a frustrated huff, mixed with a grumble.
"Harry!" he whined, dramatically tilting his camera towards the ceiling as he continued his rant, although the brunette couldn't quite make out the angry words.
While Ron cursed at him, Harry's expression flickered. He desperately wanted to tell him all about what happened in the last two days, but couldn't find the right words.
"I'm actually going crazy," Ron continued, pointing his phone back at his face. "Why can't I have nice things? And on top of that, you're ignoring me… A new shirt really wouldn’t bloody hurt!”
"Mate," Harry began, but it wasn't enough to grab his best friend's attention.
"They put—I don't even know what it was—on one shirt and had the audacity to say that nothing's wrong. Yeah, right, nothing’s wrong my ass," Ron ranted.
"Ron," the brunette tried again.
"Something must be seriously wrong with their heads. Not that it's surprising, though, is it?" Harry let out a soft sigh, turning fully attentive to what Ron had to say.
"And, worst of all, Mum was fussing over it, acting all concerned. Like, oh no, what happened? Yeah, I wonder..."
"Ron."
"And the- What?" Finally, Ron acknowledged him, and Harry let out yet another sigh.
"I need to tell you something,"
"...Okay?"
Resting his face on his shoulder, Harry adjusted his glasses. It couldn't be that difficult to tell his best friend that their arch-nemesis whom they despised would be living with him, right?
"You know about the situation with the Malfoys, right?"
"...Yes? And you still owe me that five bucks," Ron replied, though he sounded unsure.
"And... That Malfoy, like, er, Draco, he's related to Sirius, right?"
"Yeah. Why is this about Malfoy, mate..?"
"Well... He's going to live with us."
"WHAT."
—————————
The following morning, or at least Draco assumed it was morning, he was awakened by a nurse entering his room. With each step, her heels clicked loudly, and she noisily rolled up the blinds, allowing the sun to hit him right in the face.
Before he even managed to get properly conscious, she removed his IV drip, informing him dryly that he no longer needed it. Although Draco didn't entirely agree, considering how much he had eaten the previous day, he kept his mouth shut, just like for the prior days.
She took away the now brown apple slices from his bedside table and replaced them with another tray of food, causing a loud clang.
"You must eat all of it," she grumbled, her expression sullen and bored, emanating hatred toward the entire world. "Don't want to go back on the drip, do you?" Her words caused the boy to instinctively curl up, unsure if it was a rhetorical question or if she expected an answer. Regardless, he nodded meekly just to be safe.
The nurse eyed him with disgust, scanning his frail body up and down. Draco was well aware that he was painfully thin, practically just skin and bones, but there was little he could do about it. His diet was strictly controlled on daily basics, and with the frequent punishments he endured, he often had to skip dinner.
With an exasperated huff about the lack of manners in today's youth, the woman left the room, and Draco felt a slight sense of relief.
Struggling with a grimace of pain, he forced himself to sit up and glanced at the new tray of food. Two plain slices of white bread, cream soup, and a cup of water. It wasn't the breakfast he had anticipated, but he had no intention of causing a fuss, either.
As he reached for the bread, his body ached with exhaustion. He didn't feel like eating at all, more like drifting back to sleep and never waking up. It was only a struggle as he barely had the strength to lift his hand to his mouth.
Looking down at the bread, he contemplated whether or not to take a bite, but the nurse's words made him uncomfortably obedient, so he begrudgingly began to eat.
With caution, he took a bite of the bread, making sure to chew it exactly 32 times before swallowing. His throat tightened, it’s texture blocking his airways. Normally, he would follow each bite with a sip of water to fill himself up in addition and don’t choke in the process, but now he wasn't sure if he had the strength to reach the bedside table again.
It was bread, so of course, as bread does, it crumbled between his fingers. But as it fell on his hospital gown, he felt an uncomfortable itch, his skin crawling. He couldn't help but feel like a very unmannered child, making a mess like that.
Looking at his lap and the tiny particles of bread, his brows furrowed and his lower lip trembled. He felt utterly pathetic, even unable to eat like a normal person. How did he manage to regress so much in such a short time after all those savoir vivre lessons, countless reprimands and corrections?
He longed to finish his meal in a proper manner, to recover and return to his father. But he wasn’t able to do so, because now he was a darn cripple and that surely would only make his father even more disappointed.
He probably shouldn’t have indulged in self-pity and making a fuss, because he hadn't even noticed Ms. Quinn entering the room with a notepad in her hands.
"Oh, good morning, honey. It's great to see you're awake," she greeted him with a bright smile, but it only seemed to agitate him more.
The woman’s expression momentarily faltered as she looked at him, her face filled with concern rather than anger or irritation. This puzzled him even more and he furrowed his brows in confusion. "Do you need help?" she gestured towards the meal.
He desperately wanted to dismiss her, to curse, scream, and order her to leave. But his mouth felt dry once again and his body stayed frozen while a cold sweat trickled down his back. He couldn't respond, not even with a simple shake of his head.
"It's okay," she said softly, taking a seat at the edge of his bed. He tensed up, but she didn't seem to mind as she gently pried his fingers off the slice of bread. His gaze remained fixed on her. "It's important for you to eat regularly after receiving drips, proper nutrition helps replenish the body's energy and aids in the healing process. We'll go at your own pace, though, okay?”
He despised her intensely. He wished she would just treat him like scum and leave him to rot. He didn't want her to be so kind-hearted, to put his best interests first.
His mouth stayed shut, sealed tight.
She effortlessly placed the tray of food on her lap, unruffled by the potential spills from the bowl and cup. She dipped the bread into the cream soup.
Draco desperately wanted to keep himself from eating, but that selfish urge immediately started gnawing at him and he felt bad for being an awful brat again.
He should get punished for that kind of behavior, why was she so compassionate? So kind, ignoring the way he acted out?
"Please at least try to eat," she insisted gently. "You'll begin physical therapy today, and you'll need energy for it. If you comply, you'll be walking again in no time, and we can release you from here. Hospitals aren't exactly the most pleasant places, right?" She let out a chuckle, ironically noting her own profession as a doctor.
Draco's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. The hospital felt stagnant, with routines unchanged, except for different nurses caring for him every day. It was peacefully quiet, yet he still desperately longed for his father. If eating meant a quicker return to the manor, he would force himself to do so.
After a brief pause, he nodded gently, plastering on a brave facade, even though the thought of possibly throwing up his organs again didn't sound appealing.
Mrs. Quinn's expression lit up. "Thank you," she said, guiding the soup-soaked bread towards his mouth, and he took a cautious bite.
—————————
Remus stood by the stove, expertly stirring a pan of pasta and bolognese sauce, the aromatic scent enveloping the room. Sirius sat at the dining table, diligently grating cheese for their dinner, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
"The room is still dusty as hell. Do we even have any clean sheets? Or anything at all?" Remus grumbled, stealing a glance at his lover.
They had done their best to tidy up before the social worker's visit, but the sheer size of the house made it a challenge to keep it in a neat condition at all times. Without the luxury of an army of servants busying around like in Sirius' childhood, a decent organization became a bit more daunting, especially considering they only used a fraction of the rooms available. It was a real miracle that there was any functional furniture left in the room intended for Draco.
Sirius shrugged. "Well, we can always make a store run. But I’ll check the storage later,”
"We don't even know when he’s going to arrive," his fiancé remarked, deftly twirling a wooden spoon through the pasta.
Sirius let out a resigned sigh. "No, we don’t. But the sooner we get everything done, the better, I think... What if they call suddenly?..I could go first thing tomorrow, actually. Buy the sheets, maybe some small trinkets to make it feel more like, home. What do you think?" he rambled.
"That surely would be nice.” Remus nodded in agreement. “…Shouldn't we get some clothes for him, too, or..?”
A look of slight disgust crossed Sirius' face, causing his hand to shift awkwardly on the grater. "The agency assured that the manor has been searched and that he has his personal belongings, but I highly doubt that the clothes are comfortable..“
He couldn't help but recall Harry mentioning Draco's sense of style, always looking as if he was to go to a fashion show. Though, Sirius couldn't quite decide if it was a personal choice or another one of the boy’s father’s.
Remus turned off the stove, halting the cooking spaghetti. "..Is he taller than Harry?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
Sirius glanced up at him, attempting to push his unruly hair back without getting cheese all over them. "..Well, probably? I mean, how am I supposed to know?"
His fiancé’s brows twitched in amusement. “You’re a shortie. Just wondering if it runs in the family,” he teased.
Sirius scoffed. "I'm average height, it’s just that you’re a fucking skyscraper," he muttered under his breath.
Remus couldn't help but chuckle. "Ah, of course. Though what I was implying is that if you’re buying clothes for him, you could get some medium sizes? Just, you know, something common."
Sirius crossed his arms and pouted, pretending to be offended. “Fine... And if anything, we can always raid Harry. He has basically everything in his closet,”
Remus rolled his eyes. "And on his floor, desk, and bed. You really should help him clean up sometime." now it was his lover who rolled his eyes. "But seriously, do you really think that Harry, our Harry, would be willing to lend Draco at least a shirt? Just one shirt?"
“…After picking up a fight and making a fuss about it, maybe?”
Remus let out a soft sigh, scratching the back of his neck. "Right. Maybe. Let's just hope the new ones fit him, then, yeah?” Sirius only nodded.
After a moment, he spoke up again. "...They should. Fit, I mean. He's really skinny," he said quietly. He finished his task and was gently feeling the bumps of the cheese grater with his fingertips.
"Hm?" his partner replied, urging him to continue.
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "He's... Mrs. Sterling, the social worker," Remus nodded as a sign that he knew, glancing sideways and then back at his boyfriend. "She gave me a sheet detailing the condition he was in when he arrived at the hospital, and..." he covered his mouth with his hand, sighing deeply.
His mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and memories. He couldn't help but vividly recall his own childhood; the nightmares still haunted him, reminding him of the darkest moments of his life.
The insults, the bruises, the sleepless nights - it was something every member of his family had experienced, on one side or another. He yearned for something to change, and was fucking proud that Andy had managed to break the cycle of abuse that seemed to repeat with each new generation. He had hoped to achieve the same, to ensure that he wouldn't become an abuser himself, but he couldn't ignore the doubts that nagged at him.
How could he be so naive to think that Cissy would be able to protect her own children, too?
He didn't attend her funeral. The last memory he had of her was that of a pure, innocent girl in the throes of teenage love, unaware of the darkness that lay ahead. Sirius didn't want to spoil that image for his own selfish reasons. The thought of seeing her lying there, cold and helpless, abandoning her only son to the hands of such monsters was too painful. Although, perhaps she had never been there for Draco at all.
Sirius deeply regretted not caring enough to do more than silently watch out for that blond hair from afar at every school event they attended for Harry. Though, she hasn’t showed up even once.
Remus furrowed his brows in concern as he pulled out a chair beside Sirius, settling down and tilting his head to get a better view of his fiancé's face. "..And?" he softly urged, placing his hand on Sirius' knee.
Sirius took a shallow breath, gritting his teeth and biting his lip, attempting to provide a clear response. "He's... severely underweight, actually," he sighed, squeezing Remus' hand. "Currently nonverbal. There were descriptions of broken bones, bruises, and..." the last part went unsaid.
Leaning forward, Sirius closed his eyes. His wonderful partner gently guided his head against his chest, running his fingers through his dark locks.
"It's just... damn it, Moony, I..." Sirius mumbled, and Remus planted a tender kiss on the crown of his head.
"It's not your fault," he whispered, cupping the back of his lover's neck in his warm hand. Sirius let out a content sigh.
"But I could have prevented it."
"You couldn't have possibly known," Sirius lifted his head to argue, but Remus' grip remained firm. “Hush. I know. I know. It hurts me too, so much, just...” he licked his lips. “All we can do now is protect him moving forward, yeah?"
Sirius made an indistinct sound.
"Pads,"
"…Yeah."
—————————
Draco, with pitiful whines, insisted on sipping water after every bite, unnecessarily dragging out the process of eating. However, the doctor didn't seem to mind.
It took a long while, but eventually he managed to consume the one slice of bread. He was about halfway through the cream soup, which Ms. Quinn fed to him with a spoon now, when he finally shook his head, indicating that he had had enough.
The woman encouraged him to eat a bit more, but after he stubbornly turned his head away, she decided to let it go.
"Thank you for your cooperation," she smiled, gathering the utensils they had used for the meal. "You'll surely have enough strength to walk now, won't you?" Draco remained silent, his blank eyes fixed on her. "..Right."
She stood up, her expression brightening once again. "Just a heads up, you'll probably do something similar to yoga; relaxing your muscles and getting them used to movement again." Draco scoffed, not looking forward to it with his broken arm and body wrapped in bandages.
The doctor glanced at her wristwatch. "Mr. Osric should be here shortly to take you to the therapy room. It should take around two hours if you have the strength." Draco didn't budge.
"When you're stable enough to not pass out in the middle of the day, you'll be transported to your temporary legal guardian's house."
Wait, what?
What did she mean by that? Wasn't father coming to pick him up and take him back to the manor?
His confusion must have portrayed itself on his face, because Mrs. Quinn's eyes briefly widened before she placed the tray back on the bedside table. Draco instinctively leaned back against the pillows supporting him, trying to distance himself from her.
"Let me check," she hummed and pulled out her notebook, flipping through the pages for a few seconds. "Ah. Your new guardian is Mister Black, right?" Draco frowned. "..Sirius Black?”
The boy’s breath caught in his throat.