Once the Internal Healing Potion cooled, Draco tentatively approached the professor.

“Sir? Are you awake?”

Severus jumped up, gathering his robe tighter about him. He surveyed the room, searching for threats.

“What’s Potter doing here?” he asked distractedly.

“He helped with the potion, sir. It’s finished.” Draco held out the vial.

“Didn’t I tell you to go back to bed?” Snape smirked, deeply grateful to have the draught straightaway. Draco didn’t catch the levity of the question.

“I’m, sorry I disobeyed you, Professor Snape, sir.” The boy began to shut down, tense up.

Severus caught his hand, patting it abstractly. “I’m pleased you disobeyed me, foolish child. I was teasing you. Stop worrying!” He was in a rare mood this morning. He took the potion bottle, gathered some clothes, and returned to the bathroom.

Harry busied himself cleaning up the narrow hardwood table. He ignored the sobbing coming from the lavatory, didn’t flinch when a pained yell reverberated from behind the closed door. He knew he shouldn’t be hearing this.  There was no Death Eater meeting the previous night; he would have felt it. Did Voldemort give private audiences?

Snape slammed the door open, stomping half-dressed into the room. Harry couldn’t believe what he saw. The man was scarred; every inch of his skin had raised, white marks snaking round in criss-cross patterns. A hideous bruise shone over his shoulder blade, and his right arm hung limply at his side. Harry’s fingers went automatically to his scar as he gazed upon the Dark Mark.

“I can’t even get a bloody shirt on!” Severus shouted, enraged.

There was a polite knock at the door. “Severus? Everything on the up and up?” asked Mr. Weasley.

Severus pulled a face. He’d forgotten the silencing charm. “Yes, Arthur. A bit too much firewhiskey last night.”

Weasley chuckled, and the sound was intensely surreal to Harry’s ears, given the situation.

“I see,” said the eerie voice from beyond the door. “You’re coming down soon, I trust? Everyone’s pouring in.”

The professor had entirely forgotten about the Order’s impending meeting. Glancing at the clock he noted he had quarter of an hour to collect himself.

“I’ll be right down, Arthur,” he sighed, and cast the neglected silencing spells, strengthening them so they’d linger after he’d gone.

“Dislocated shoulder, sir?” Harry timidly inquired.

A defeated nod was given in response. Harry noticed it was the professor’s wand arm; he wouldn’t be able to repair it himself. He certainly didn’t trust the man and, after Draco’s admission, didn’t really feel inclined to help him. ‘He did fix our ribs,’ Harry’s conscience griped.

“I can fix it for you if you’d like,” Harry ventured.

“It’s too complicated a spell to do with another wizard’s wand,” Snape informed him.

“I meant the muggle way, sir.”

Snape digressed. “That would be helpful, Harry.”

“It’s really going to hurt, though. You might want a pain potion first, sir.”

“There isn’t time. And I assure you, I can handle the pain, Mr. Potter.”

“Right.” Harry directed him to lean against the wall and forcefully maneuvered the limb into socket. He was a bit cowed that Snape didn’t make a sound or even quiver.

“Masterful, Potter,” Draco vociferated. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Necessity,” Harry deadpanned darkly.

Doing up a myriad of buttons, Snape turned back to the sinister-haired child. “How are you doing on potions, Mr. Potter?”

“I’ve got plenty of Skele-Heal, sir.” Harry didn’t elaborate.

“And the others?”

“I’m out of the others, sir.”

Snape inwardly groaned. The boy was entirely too humble for his own damn good!

“And you were planning on telling me this when . . .” He waited expectantly for the boy to finish his sentence.

“Er – When you asked, sir? I don’t mean to be cheeky, sir,” he sped up, trying not to sound insolent. “I just – I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Yes, well, please keep me informed. There’s no reason for you to go without. In any case, I had planned to ask if you three could handle making your own potions this time round. You’ve proved yourselves a competent team with more complex potions for me as of late.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure we can manage,” Harry replied. Was this a compliment from the great bat?

“Right, then. I’ll be in Diagon Alley most of the day once the Order’s meeting finishes. The password to this room is Sangtus Specialis Plurimus. Repeat.”

“Sangtus Specialis Plurimus,” intoned Harry, this time impressed with himself.

“Good. Be certain no one sees you enter, and especially that no one sees Draco. If anyone spots you – and they’d better not, Potter – tell them Hermione’s tutoring you in potions. The silencing charms will remain intact all day. Only the two of you are allowed, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus had finished dressing, and sat close to Draco on the bed. His face was resigned and sorrowful. “Draco, you need to study today. Chapters four, five, and six will be tested this weekend.” Catching the boy’s fallen face in strong hands, he softly reassured, “I don’t think it will be as bad this time, my boy. Chin up.”

With that, he stalked confidently from the room. Harry knew he needed to get back to the others; they’d be pestering after him again, and it was really late this time.

“I’ll be back in a bit to brew, Malfoy. Want me to bring up some breakfast?”

“No,” Draco whispered, eyes glassy and staring, unfocused, at his pile of books.

Harry waded conspicuously through the downstairs crowd to grab a few bites of bread. Molly was shooing the remaining adult wizards into the drawing room. Hermione was waiting for him in the far corner of the kitchen.

“Harry! Is everything all right? I saved you some breakfast.”

“Thanks. Should we trot upstairs to listen with the others?” The word 'listen' was mouthed only; Mrs. Weasley would be furious if she found the remaining Extendable Ears.

“They’ll fill us in. They never find out anything new anyway.” She shut the kitchen door, and made sure no one was lurking about. This was actually a perfect time for a private conversation; everyone else in the house was otherwise occupied.

“What’d you find out?” she asked.

“Well,” Harry began, mouth half full of bangers and mash, “Snape is beating Malfoy, he as much spelled that out. He’s making him study and take tests this summer as well.”

“Was Draco is a bad state?” she asked, fear biting into her chocolate eyes.

Harry pondered a bit. “No, actually, he was better. We spent all morning brewing a really difficult healing potion for the professor.”

“Another healing potion?” Hermione remarked. “Where does that man go?”

“I dunno. My only guess is Voldemort.”

Hermione had begun to pace, clenching and unclenching her fists in frustration. “Well, whatever it is, he deserves it! Evil, greasy, son of a vampire!”

“Malfoy doesn’t seem angry about it, though. He just seems scared,” Harry pointed out.

“I’d be scared, too. I mean, it scares me to be living in the same house as Snape, let alone the same room. And he’s giving him tests? Like school tests?” She had to admit she was a bit intrigued; summer tutoring would be an asset . . .

“Yeah, he told Malfoy to study three chapters for a test this weekend.”

“Three? That seems an awful lot. What subject?”

“Potions, I’d suspect,” Harry drabbled a bit of egg trying to get out the ‘pect.’ “Sorry,” he snorted.

Hermione hadn’t even noticed. She was thinking aloud. “Maybe I could help him study.”

“I’ve got the password. We have to go up there; Snape wants us to brew our own potions while he’s out shopping today. Apparently he’s too busy to do it himself.”

He elaborated on his short discussion with Malfoy while plowing through toast. He ignored the painful protests coming from his stomach. He knew he shouldn't eat so much at once; he'd probably sick it all up, but, Merlin, he was hungry all of a sudden!

Hermione’s face was set, resolved. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Harry gulped down some juice and hurried after her. Checking for onlookers and finding none, he muttered the annoyingly long password, and the two interrupted Draco’s studies. Books were thrown open all over the bed, and innumerable scraps of parchment lay in his lap. After the door was closed, the three just stared at one another for a moment.

Hermione spoke first. “How are you feeling, Draco?”

“Like you care, Granger,” he spat, turning back to his Transfigurations text.

She tried again. “I’d like to help you study. What subject will you be tested on?”

“Tell your little girlfriend everything, do you, Potter?” But this was said without any real malice, and Harry knew it, too. Draco was glad for the offer. He begrudgingly continued, speaking quietly. “It’s over all my subjects, chapters four through six.”

Harry turned from the bookshelves, where he was having trouble locating the instructions for the necessary potions. “Well it’s not as if he can grade you over the summer, is it? I mean, I know he’s the strictest professor at Hogwarts, but —”

“You think Professor Snape’s making me do all this?” Draco laughed for the first time since the holiday began.

Harry flushed, agitated. “Well who is, then?”

Draco’s laughter stopped abruptly. He shook his head and chased fresh memories away, a shiver running down his spine. He adeptly changed the subject.

“What potions are you looking for?”

Hermione and Harry exchanged perplexed looks as Draco fished himself out from under the papers and bedding. After Harry had the instructions in hand, Draco returned to the bed where Hermione now perched, perusing the Potions text.

“How far have you got?” she asked, hoping he’d accept her help.

“I’ve got notes on the fourth and fifth chapters of everything. I’m starting on chapter six in Transfiguration right now,” he explained, passing over the parchments.

“Wow, Draco, these are really comprehensive,” she balked, looking through them. “Our tests at Hogwarts never go into this much detail.”

“Your point?” he sniffed.

“Perhaps you’re wasting time copying all this. You should be concentrating on main points, not memorizing every word. No exam is this detailed.”

“This one is, Granger. Listen, if you want to help, quiz me on the chapter four stuff. If I haven’t got that down by now, I’m in trouble.”

Her first few questions were fairly general, but Draco kept insisting on more and more difficult ones. He knew each answer until they moved on to fifth chapter material. As soon as he failed an item, he got very ruffled.

“Damn! Bloody hell! Let me see that!” He snatched the offending bit of parchment and read through the scribbles, hitting himself squarely in the forehead with each word.

“Draco! Stop it!” Hermione cried.

She was met with a glare, but he did stop. He copied the bit of forgotten information ten times, then passed the page back to his study partner. Hermione scowled at him, brow furrowed.

“You want me to keep going?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah, I’ve got to know this stuff.”

The girl leant closer and lowered her voice. “What’s at stake, Draco? What happens if you don’t know it?”

He just stared at his hands.

“We’re really concerned, Draco. Is there anything we can do to help?” she continued sincerely.

His heart ached, unused to such attention. He briefly wondered why his own friends never treated him this way, before the grim reality of the situation washed over him.

“No, there’s nothing anyone can do,” he said bitterly. “Professor Snape’s really trying, though. I mean, he got me out and all.”

“Out?” Hermione repeated.

‘Shite! I said too much!’ Draco chastised in his head. Covering, he said, “You’d better go help Potter before he blows himself up.”

Hermione gave him a reproachful look, but scurried over to the cauldrons as expected. Harry happily relinquished control, his bevy of sleepless nights taking their toll. He abruptly lay on the floor to try to sleep. Draco sighed and cleared the books from the bed, turning down the blankets. He walked over to a nearly asleep black mop and held out a hand.

Harry half opened one eye and sulked, “D’ya mind? I’m trying to sleep.”

“How many of your ribs were broken? And you think I’m letting you sleep on the floor?” came the sarcastic reply.

Harry thought better than to come back with what he was thinking; ‘This plush carpet is a luxury compared to the cement cupboard.’ Draco pulled Harry up, motioned to the bed, and spread his books on the floor.

“Professor Snape’s bed?” he gasped in mock horror. “He’ll chop me up and make a stew!”

Draco was not, however, amused. “He'll do nothing of the sort. Just take your shoes off first. Really, you two are way too hard on him.”

Hermione spun round, the early morning’s fury reignited. “How can you defend him? He beats you, for Merlin’s sake!”

“You don’t know the first thing about it, Granger!” He was practically foaming at the mouth.

“What’s there to know? Did he, or did not hurt you so badly you can scarcely sit?”

All three of them jumped as the door slammed. Hermione’s startle was decidedly more pronounced than the boys’ though.

“Good afternoon,” Snape drawled, casting Engorgio on several packages he’d been carrying.

“Professor,” Draco began, “I was trying to tell her . . . I mean, I didn’t tell her anything, but I . . .”

“You can tell her whatever you wish, Draco. The truth, if you so desire. I’m certain Mr. Potter and Miss Granger would conceal the knowledge with another Fidelus Charm.”

They both nodded. Draco took a deep breath and began to elaborate.

“You asked me about the test I have to take. Well, it’s from my father. I get . . . I get in, uh, trouble if I get an answer wrong.” He hesitated.

“What kind of trouble? And what does this have to do with –” Harry jerked his chin at Snape, who gracefully left the room to give the trio some privacy.

Draco continued haltingly. “When I get an answer wrong I’m – I’m punished. Sometimes father makes the professor punish me.”

“You mean beat you, don’t you?” Harry asked, with an edge to his voice.

Draco nodded inappreciably.

“But why doesn’t Professor Snape stop him?” Hermione asked, eyes brimming with unspilt tears.

“Why do you think I’m here? The professor sacrificed a lot to get me out of the manor. Where do you think he goes every night?” Draco said, forbidden emotions creeping into his words.

“You mean it’s your father that curses the hell out of him? We though it had to be Vol — You-Know-Who,” Harry ventured.

Quietly, shamefully, Draco admitted, “He takes it so I don’t have to.”

“That’s disgusting,” Harry muttered.

“I know,” Draco agreed. “I’m a bloody coward!”

“Not you, Draco, your bastard father!” Harry’s volume rose with the final words.

“Well, we’re discussing Master Lucius, I see,” Snape said, returning with a tea tray, which he quickly replicated to suit three. He transfigured a dining table and chairs from the pile of books and quite forcefully told the students to eat.

“You’ll all be carried away at the first stiff breeze.” he declared, and tended the healing potions while starting up his own batch.