Painkiller - A Drarry Fanfiction

Part 009

Internally, I let out a tight breath as I hear the wizard's footsteps disappear up the stairs. But his steps are quickly replaced by Vernon's.

"Five plates." His voice keeps a distance from me.

"Five?" I say, keeping my eyes on the eggs in the pan.

"Didn't you see the five chairs?" he says, already disappointed as if I didn't say a single word. "Yeah, five."

I think, why? I say "Okay."

"Also, whatever happened."

I bite my cheek. "I'm sorry. My hands just..." What did happen? Hands just slipped? Really? Am I that flimsy?

"I don't care what happened," he says simply. "Next time, at least try not to act like you want to kill the guy, got it?"

My grip around the pan's handle is tight as Vernon drags back to his room.

/////

I didn't make quite enough food for five. I never make food for five. I make food for three, maybe three and a half. But five it is, I guess.

At the slightly sparse table, Vernon and Petunia seat themselves first, as per usual. Dudley is next to join them. That leaves two seats—one between Petunia and Dudley, one between Dudley and Vernon. I stand behind the sink, drumming my fingers on the counter, watching them not begin to eat. My eyes hover around the three, all of them stiff, Dudley with a dash of impatience. Did they have me make food to not touch it or what?

Petunia darts a glare at me. "Well? Why cook for five if three are eating?"

I blink. "What— Bring the... the guest?"

"You gotta feed the damn guy, cousin," Dudley says. "Starving a person you don't like is a crime."

It's the second time being told to keep my murder contained in sixty minutes. It takes a lot to not roll my eyes.

"Language. Dudley," Vernon says. Then he turns to me. "Move it."

And so I land on the second floor, in front of Dudley's spare room. I raise a hand, guessing I should knock, but, Christ, why do I have to do this? I thought Dudley was on it yesterday, why—

The door opens. I almost trip on my own foot as I back away.

"Breakfast?" the wizard says. No longer in pajamas and ready for the day, he looks at me as if he didn't do whatever he just did. I didn't know wizards could see through doors.

I don't answer, but he smiles anyway and heads downstairs before me. Keeping a few steps between him, I follow.

"Good morning," the wizard says, taking the seat between Vernon and Dudley. His voice is significantly brighter than when he was talking to me before. Though smooth and objectively pleasant, the shift in his tone is eery.

"Good morning," Vernon says, his voice equally eery. "Breakfast, as you saw, is usually Harry's chore since Petunia's a bit busier in the morning."

There's a moment—a very awkward one—before the wizard nods. "I see," he says. He clearly doesn't care, hence why he didn't ask.

But I care. Breakfast is my chore? As if anything else isn't? What am I doing—volunteering to help because Petunia can't take care of the house on her own? Since when? Why the lies?

Someone lets out a dry cough. I blink.

"Not going to eat?" Petunia says. Everyone's tones are eery. She nods towards the empty chair next to her.

I have so many questions, it's a hassle to put them into sentences in my head. But it isn't like I'm actually going to ask them, anyway—not after yesterday morning—so what does anything matter. I just sit my ass down.

/////

Petunia and Dudley are too close to me. I have too much food on my plate. The silence is unwelcome for once. I'm uncomfortable. Everyone seems uncomfortable.

Except the wizard.

He's smiling at his food, at the Dursleys, at me. He eats like the food was personally puked up by God. I can't imagine anything else happening to him since leaving the kitchen and returning now than hearing of his arch nemesis's death or something. His joy is bothersome.

At least the meal's almost over.

Or not.

The wizard starts, putting down his fork. "I assume everyone will be busy—it's still a weekend and rest is deserved—so I thought it would be best to get some things out of the way now rather than later in the day. Is that okay?" Just going off of the professionalism in the way he said it, you could convince me he wasn't the one who sliced my hand open by a dumb mistake.

"Of course." Vernon says. "Anything we can offer."

I feel like sliding under the table and sinking into the floor.

The wizard smiles. "I won't beat around the bush—I respect all your time," he says calmly. "Am I being lied to?"

I don't know why I got chills—I'm not doing any lying. It's Vernon, and in turn, probably his wife. Glancing around the table, I realize the 'joy' was only a clever ruse on the wizard's part. Things have suddenly escalated.

"Lie?" Petunia says, way too quickly. She does that a lot. It's pathetic. "Why would we— We would never—"

Vernon cuts her just right. Such a match-made-in-heaven, these two. "What makes you say that, Mr. Malfoy?"

The smile on the wizard's face doesn't even flinch. "I spoke to Ha—your nephew," he says, "and his claims don't quite line up with his family's. I simply wonder which side could be lying to a representative of the Ministry."

There's a moment. I can hear the gears turning in everyone's head. My gears are turning, too. What did they say? What did I say?

"What are you talking about?" Dudley breaks.

Petunia glances at her son nervously. Sweat drops form on Vernon's temples. And yet the wizard still smiles. "I'm not sure, Dudley," he says, "Your parents seem stumped—what about you?"

Vernon is really acting the hero today. "He knows nothing." He eyes the wizard with violence in his glare, which is confusing. Not to be salty and keep repeating it, but he is the one lying about Petunia getting her hands dirty.

The wizard crosses his arms, like preparing for a long battle. The patience that kept him grounded seems to tremble. "Someone has to know something."

"What did Harry say to you?" Vernon says.

"Do you need to know?" the wizard says.

"To answer your question, yes."

"...Alright."

Vernon nods.

"He says that he isn't magical."

"We told you, he's still new to this part of himself. Of course he's in denial—"

The wizard pushes his chair back. He stands, towering all of us. He's snapped. "I see what you're doing, and, honestly Mr. Dursley, your nephew really does not have the time to deal with it."

"Wha—"

"He's dying, Mr. Dursley," the wizard says. "Your very magical nephew is dying because of you."