I posted the third chapter of my childhood Drarry fic A Little Seashell and a Small Captain
G, WIP
Summary: Harry was a lonely eight-year-old boy. When summer came around, the Dursleys left him with Mrs. Figg while they went on a trip. Harry expected a week of utter boredom, but then, he met a blond boy who would change everything. Excerpt:
She was upset, surely. He went out without her permission, coming back like a wet dog, making a mess everywhere. And now, he’d have to take a cold bath and she’ll call the Dursleys, and Aunt Petunia will be so, so upset that he’d made trouble. And then…then, it was the cupboard, maybe; it was his Uncle’s belt, maybe; it was like usual but worse, certainly.
So he shook, even if somewhat dry and warmed by the house. He trembled, and his eyes glistened and prickled.
Harry followed her into the small bathroom, but kept a good distance between them. She turned the knobs, and water started to fill the tub. She gave a little groan as she stood back up.
He darted his eyes down, aware of her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it came out all wrong, all cracked up, and he hated himself. She would just get more angry if he starts acting all pathetic. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
She didn’t say anything for a while, and he became more and more tense. Until finally, “you should undress, dear, you’ll get a cold at this rate.”
And so, he did, and she turned off the tap and left the room.
Harry wanted to go after her, and plead for forgiveness—even if he knew he was unforgivable, really—and it would just make things so much worse. But what else could he do, when all he wanted was to stop the inevitable from happening? to not have anyone be angry at him? Instead, he stepped into the warm water, curled up real tight, and cried.
But silently, with just small sniffles and a chest that seem to spasm with each muffled sob.
Not like Draco, who would have made loud wails, like last time. Harry would never cry like that, that was pathetic and asking for trouble. Once again, he was reminded that Draco was trouble—he would have noticed the time and the sky and the rain if it wasn’t for him. Harry was careful like that. Or he tried to be.
