Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6697417.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Minor_Drug_Use, Excessive_Swearing, Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-30 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1333
****** I'm Not Dead ******
by slbunnies
Summary
     They are more alike than either of them thought, even though they
     still have their differences. Can Harry and Draco escape their pasts
     and work together? Or will they be left behind in the darkness of it
     all?
Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Harry Potter peacefully stumbled up the
walkway of number four Privet Drive. Never having owned a watch he was
oblivious of the time. Although, had he known that it was four thirty in the
morning - which he should have, considering he had smoked a joint for twenty
past four on the way home - he would not have cared anyway. Mostly because he
was still drunk. The Dursley's had never felt the need to bestow Harry with a
set of house keys. This did not bother him the slightest bit for he knew how to
knock.
Vernon's vociferous shouts could be heard reverberating throughout the house as
he was abruptly awoken by whoever was dim-witted enough to bother him at such
an ungodly hour. Harry tossed the last of his fag into the flowerpot beside the
front steps. Immediately the door swung violently open, gracing Harry with the
sight of his enraged uncle looking like a mad bull, eyes wide and spittle
flecked across his purpled, bloated face.
Lately, Harry thought that these mannerisms were more comical than frightening
and his semi-perpetual state of fucked-up-ness made such things even more
hilarious. With the right combination of alcohol and marijuana he had actually
been enjoying his summer thus far. He had found that a moderately large sized
joint was unsurpassed in aiding his sleep. Mainly because Voldemort usually
frequented his nightmares dressed in full drag. The pimp cane the Dark Lord
bore was the only thing that perturbed him.
Unwisely ignoring his uncle he strode past him and into the house. Glancing
into the kitchen, Harry was amused by the sight of his cousin Dudley seemingly
trying to crawl into the refrigerator in search of something edible. The diet
obviously was not going as planned. Now that his thoughts were focused on food
his stomach grumbled wanting to be placated by munchies. That was until he was
forcefully struck across the face by a large, meaty fist that was recognizably
connected to his uncle.
"Where the hell have you been, boy?" Vernon fumed, looming over Harry who was
now sprawled out on the pristine kitchen floor. His jaw ached as he spit out a
gobbet of blood - a bruise was likely to form. It was a good thing he hadn't
smoked all of his pot the night before. The obduracy he held toward his
supposed guardian made him crack a grin even though it caused him pain.
Petunia was going to be furious about the mess on the floor. Pushing himself
upright he stood tenaciously in front of his uncle, fear being the farthest
thing from his mind.
"Where do you think I've been? Out practicing voodoo and sacrificing virgins on
an altar to Satan?"
This earned him another strike across the face. Luckily he was ready for such
belligerence and kept himself vertical this time. Years of the youngest and
fattest of the Dursley's treating him as a punching bag had enabled him to have
a sort of endurance against comparable physical violence.
"Don't get smart with me! You're an unappreciative waste of existence."
"Oh yes, that is exactly it. You're completely right of course," Harry shook
his head, sighing from the fact that they had to have this argument once again.
"I have much to be grateful for, don't I? The clothes you gave me – even though
they were too large, the food – scraps that they were, the regular punishments,
beatings, and name-calling; all these things I dearly appreciate." The sarcasm
was evident and his uncle wasn't so dense that he could fail to notice it.
Harry would not back down.
"You freak! How dare you say such nonsense," Vernon was looking more and more
constipated as he continued to rage on, "You're an ungrateful piece of trash
that was left on our doorstep unwanted," he screamed as he took a step toward
Harry, "A worthless piece of garbage who acts like he's someone of importance -
when all you do is eat our food, take up space, and go to that bloody freak
school every year… just to come back and do it all over again."
Harry's eyes flashed darkly as he stared up at his uncle. His wand was upstairs
in his room out of reach and before he had even begun to think of retrieving it
he was already flying towards Vernon, more furious at him than he had ever been
before.
Harry abruptly awoke in complete darkness, worried that he had been out for too
long, seeing as it should have been daylight.
The cloying smell of his own blood permeated his senses as he stared blindly
into the darkness. His head felt full of lead and he wondered whether a
stampede of Hippogriff's could have made it into the kitchen for he had no idea
what else might have caused him so much agony. Harry's body ached – his face
felt swollen to the touch – and he believed it was possible that he had
fractured at least a few of his ribs.
Struggling to sit up he gingerly dug in his pockets in search of his glasses.
His fingers grasped two things he was amazed to know were still intact. Neither
objects fit on his face. One did, however, fit nicely between his lips and
before he could even consider what he was doing he found himself igniting a
match and savouring the sweet aroma of the marijuana he had sucked into his
lungs.
Attempting to stretch his legs out further as he began to feel slightly more
relaxed from the joint he had procured, Harry instantly knew his location for
he had been in the exact same position more than a hundred times before. The
bastard had locked him back in the cupboard. He furiously took another drag and
immediately regretted it when a coughing fit reminded him of the pain in his
sides.
Taking a deep breath he simply slowly inhaled the smoke that lingered in the
air, thick and pungent; he had never thought about hot-boxing the cupboard
under the stairs before.
The joint was finished in a matter of minutes and Harry found himself with
nothing to do but stare into the darkness of the cupboard. He used the
monotonous period of time to catalogue his injuries. It was good to know what
was causing him the most pain; knowing to refrain from straining certain parts
of his body before he would be able to heal them himself was only sensible as
it wasn't likely he would be receiving any medical attention while he resided
in this hell hole. That wouldn't be possible until he was at Hogwarts or on the
way to the school at the very least.
Harry rested against the cool wall, taking note of how tender the back of his
head felt and wincing at the likeliness of having a concussion. Usually Vernon
did not take his anger out on him quite as enthusiastically as he'd obviously
done. Harry was used to a getting few smacks around the head every once in a
while but this full body beating was something else entirely.
Closing his eyes he forced himself into an awkward stillness and occupied
himself with imagining the exact moment he would be allowed to leave his
volatile, abusive, so-called 'family' and get back to the only place he'd ever
truly felt was home – Hogwarts. The images of what he wished to occur at their
parting were vivid and satisfying, possibly due to his inebriated state of
mind. It was all wishful thinking anyway.
He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, slumping further down the
wall until his feet hit the other side with a loud thump. Harry winced at the
sound and rubbed at his temples, hoping he would be free of the cupboard soon
so he could make his escape. There was no way in hell that he was staying. They
would have to let him back out eventually.
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