The night seemed to drag on forever. Harry opted to sleep on the sofa downstairs, Ron and Hermione were in their room, and Neville had transformed two chairs into a sofa to sleep in the hallway upstairs while Luna took the last bedroom. The townhouse was getting rather full, Harry reflected as he tossed and turned on the sofa. Ron, Hermione, himself, Neville, and Luna and then Draco and then Snape. Seven people under one roof.

Of course, Harry reasoned, at one time past generations of the Black family might have had seven people or more in the townhouse, what with parents, multiple children, and cousins or a spinster aunt. However, that kind of family might have felt the townhouse quite roomy, especially with the parents sharing a room and the small children bunking up together. But seven grown adults, all independent with different schedules and concerns and one under house-arrest and another snuck in at night - they were all doomed.

Harry rolled on his side, trying to think. He only had a few more hours until he had to get up and go to work, just for a half a day since it was Saturday, but he had to sort his thoughts out. He wished he had Hermione's knack for thinking things through logically and calmly. Harry knew he wasn't good at that - he was best in the heat of battle, dodging curses and reacting to danger. In crisis, he always came through. But with the day-to-day living, all its petty trials and chores, he was not exactly good at normal living.

He was damaged.

The thought came to him in the silent darkness, and it began to repeat itself over and over again. He was damaged, he was damaged, he was damaged, damaged, damaged.

"Stop it," Harry whispered to himself. "Just stop. I'm alive - I didn't die. I'm alive, and I'm going to be all right."

He closed his eyes, but he could not sleep.

He wished so bad he had someone to talk to. Ron was great, but he was busy with Hermione and work. Hermione would listen, she always listened, but she looked so sad when she knew he was hurting. He could already hear her "Oh, Harry," and the shadow that came over her face as she watched him. He could not bear her pity.

Neville and Luna both had suffered so much over the last year; Harry would feel pathetic complaining to them. He really wanted Ginny, Ginny lying beside him, listening to his worries in the quiet, black night. But again he would feel ridiculous telling her, "Oh, by the way, the man that wants to marry you - he's feeling low and depressed all the time. Do you mind listening to him whine for the next few hours?" Stupid, stupid, stupid to feel that way, especially when he was supposed to be the great hero.

The clock chimed two, and Harry flopped back on his back. He was so tired, tired of keeping himself together.

That was one thing they didn't tell you about growing up, the fact that you had to always keep yourself together, keep a stoic face no matter how weak and frightened you felt. You had to make money, keep track of a home and lots of possessions, always think about the future, make responsible decisions, and do it all with a calm face and no emotions. Harry knew he had made and acted upon adult decisions for years. Ever since he went after the Stone in his first year, he knew that he would have to behave like an adult, making adult choices that would affect other people beside himself.

Of course, that knowledge seemed easier when he was gearing up to fight evil. It was much less fun and exciting when he had live each boring day like an adult, pretending to be concerned with the bills and the tedious parts of his career. The trials were awful in their own harrowing way, but Harry could not imagine what he would do when the trials ended and they stuck him in a desk in a back office, burying him alive with tedious tasks and paperwork. How did Mr. Weasley do it all these years, going to the office and then going home to a family over and over again, trying to live a safe, responsible life?

Harry wondered if indeed he did have a death wish. Or maybe he had had a death wish, all those years of reckless stunts and rushing into action without thinking. Had he craved the excitement of that life, hating the fear he felt, but hungering for the danger, the way his heartbeat spiked as he raced for his life?

He was damaged.

"Stop it," he commanded. "You're just worn out from this week."

Harry turned again and forced his eyes shut, concentrating on the ticking of the clock, marking each second of the dark night.

------

"All right, look," Harry said as he came into the kitchen the next morning, "we just have to make it through today. Let me go to work and -"

"No, Harry," Hermione told him. "You're tired. You look exhausted and stressed, and I don't think it's good for you to be there today."

"The jury was going to meet to talk about new proceedings," Harry began, but Ron cut in.

"Come on, you can call in sick just today. Really, is it going to make that big a difference? They're just going to vote guilty with or without you."

"Then I should be there," Harry protested, but he knew in the end he would let them persuade him to stay. It was Saturday after all, and he was so tired his bones seemed to hurt.

"Stay here with Luna," Neville urged. "That way you can see about Snape and our prisoner and Luna will be safe. I have to run to Diagon Alley to do some shopping and I haven't seen my parents in forever."

Luna smiled kindly at Neville - she seemed to smile at him at lot ever since she moved in - but she said, "Actually, I was hoping to look for a job today. I could put it off until next week, but if Harry were to stay here today, I could leave without feeling guilty."

"No," Harry said quickly, "don't feel guilty. Go out - I'll be fine here."

"Ron and I are going to visit his family and do some shopping of our own. But before we all go our separate ways,' Hermione grabbed another cup of tea and sat down, "we need to discuss room arrangements, seeing as how we have another person living here."

Harry looked up, sure she was criticizing him, but Hermione seemed completely honest and willing to discuss it.

"I can sleep downstairs," Luna spoke up. "I don't have many things, and if I slept on the sofa in the main room and used the top drawer of the bureau for my clothes -"

"You're not sleeping on the sofa," Neville told her.

"Yeah, it's not comfortable," Harry agreed.

"All right, four bedrooms," Hermione held up her four fingers. "Snape is in the smallest, and let's say that he stays there for the time being, alone. That's one room," Hermione tucked her pinkie finger down, leaving three fingers upright.

"Hermione and I share," Ron put in.

Hermione pulled down her ring finger. "Draco's in one."

"I could room with Draco," Luna spoke up. "That way Harry and Neville could have the last room."

"You're not rooming with Draco," Neville said sharply.

"You're kind to worry, but I promise you that -"

"No, Luna," Neville said, his face and voice stern, "you're not rooming with Draco. You room with Harry, and I'll share with Draco."

"Forget it," Harry said reluctantly. "You and Luna share - I'll room with Draco."

"But -" Luna began, but Harry shook his head.

"No, I'm the one that keeps bringing people home. I should be the one sharing with Draco. You all go on about your day, and I'll get the rooms set up by the time you come back. No, really, this is my house, and I'm going to share with Draco."

"What about Snape?" Ron asked as he glanced towards the clock and started cleaning up his breakfast dishes.

"He'll stay here today," Harry opted. "I don't think he'll be awake for long - but once he feels better, we can decide what to do with him. For now, I'll just keep everything quiet."

"Make sure he eats," Hermione said. "Some strong broth should do, maybe toast later. Don't let him up, and keep him still if you can."

"I can handle Snape," Harry said with a confidence he did not feel. "Let me write a letter to the jury members, and if you could drop it off, Luna -"

"Sure," Luna nodded and skipped off to get paper.

As Harry scribbled down a message, claiming to feel very sick and would they please excuse him for the day, the others began to get ready to leave. Hermione smiled kindly at Harry, Ron clapped him on the back, Luna kissed his cheek as she took the letter, and Neville told him to alert him if anything went wrong. Harry put on a brave face, but once they were all gone, he slumped down at the table and put his head in his hands, leaning over his teacup for a moment of peace.

He had almost dozed off when he heard someone coming down the stairs. A moment later, Draco appeared in the doorway. Draco looked a little better than he had yesterday - his hair was still shorn short, but it was clean, and his face had been scrubbed clean, his cheeks slightly pink. Kreacher followed close behind and pointed to a chair at the corner of the large kitchen table.

"Sit," the house elf ordered, "and Kreacher will find food for our prisoner."

Draco sat down, and Harry looked uncomfortably at his hands. He wanted to leave the kitchen, but that would have seemed weak because it was his house, so Harry just sat there. Kreacher began banging around pots, but Harry felt like he could not talk while Kreacher was there. So they sat in silence.

Kreacher finally slammed a bowl of something mushy and pale in front of Draco. Harry guessed it was porridge, but there were specks of burned grains throughout, and it was probably bland without honey or cinnamon for flavor. But Draco grabbed a spoon and took a huge bite.

He winced (Harry guessed the food was still too hot) and blew over the porridge before spooning into it again. Harry watched as Draco devoured the food, gulping down every bite and scrapping his spoon over the bottom several times before looking up.

"Kreacher," Harry asked, "can you go upstairs and see if - uh, you know?"

Kreacher nodded solemnly, understanding what Harry meant. "If Master needs Kreacher, he will call."

"Yeah, I will," Harry nodded, and Kreacher hurried off.

Harry got up from the table and headed for the stove. "There's more porridge, if you like."

"Yes," Draco said sullenly, refusing to look at Harry.

"Okay," Harry spooned some more porridge into a clean bowl. "Um, I wanted to - well, I mean, last night I didn't say -"

"I get it," Draco said dully. "I'm your prisoner. The house elf gave me a long talk about it - while he was sanding the skin off me. And this morning he said the same thing while getting me scoured and dressed. I can get ready myself - I don't need to be tortured by the house elf."

"His name is Kreacher," Harry said before he could stop himself. "And he's in charge of this house when I'm not here so . . . you know."

Draco's flashed with rebellion for a second, but he said nothing.

"Oh, yeah," Harry went on, "one more thing. Snape's alive."

"What?" Draco's eyes grew big.

Harry put down the bowl of porridge in front him. "Snape's alive. We found him last night. He's upstairs, in bed."

"He's alive?" Draco whispered. "He's alive and he's upstairs? I have to see him."

"No!" Harry objected. "No, not yet. He's badly hurt, and I don't want -"

"I know Snape," Draco stood up. "Snape made an Unbreakable Vow to my mother. I have to see him."

"You can't," Harry told him. "We brought Snape back - we found the Owl asking us for help.'

"His Owl came here?" Draco looked furious. "Then it was probably meant for me. Snape would try to find me before anyone else, and he would never talk to you. So get out of my way, Potter."

Draco put a hand out to push Harry aside, but Draco suddenly fell back against the floor.

Kreacher stood in the doorway, his hand out towards Draco. "The prisoner will not harm Master. For that, the prisoner must be punished."

"Kreacher -" Harry began, but Kreacher had already stalked towards Draco, his ugly little face set.

"The prisoner will respect Master, and for his disrespect, the prisoner will suffer."

"Just put him to work," Harry told the house elf. "Don't hurt him. How's Snape?"

"Still asleep," Kreacher snapped his fingers and a bucket and rag appeared. Kreacher snapped again, and the bucket filled with soapy water. "Now, the prisoner will start to scrub the floor and will clean it well or the prisoner will suffer a most unpleasant day. Kreacher knows many ways to make a wizard squirm and holler, yes, he does."

Harry had already headed for the hall. "Can you bring up some soup for Snape?" Harry asked but did not wait for a reply. He did not want to see Draco forced to get on his hands and knees to clean.

Up the stairs and down the hall, Harry walked very slowly. He knew he did not have to go into Snape's room - Kreacher could take care of Snape until the others got home. But Harry went to the last bedroom door and slowly opened it.

The room was dim, curtains over the windows, but Harry could clearly seen Snape in the bed, covered up with a blanket and a quilt, two pillows under his head. Snape looked better; his face was clean and shaven, and his usual long greasy hair had been cleaned and cut, making him look younger and less bat-like. Harry could see the white collar of the pajama top under the covers, and he tried to imagine what Snape would look like without the sweeping black robes.

Harry approached the bed, and he wondered what he should do, especially since Snape looked asleep. When people were badly hurt were you supposed to wake them up to feed them or should you let them sleep as long as they needed?

Fortunately, he did not have to wonder long for Snape stirred. His breathing changed, and his eyes opened to mere slits before closing again.

"Potter," Snape said, barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding even though Snape could not see.

"I knew it was you," Snape murmured, his eyes still shut

"Really?"

"I can feel arrogance idiocy from a mile away," Snape saod.

Harry felt torn between scoffing angrily and giving a short burst of laughter. At least, he knew the man lying in the bed was Severus Snape.

"We got you to the house," Harry told him. "You fainted on the way here. The girls cleaned you up."

"Girls?" Snape still did not open his eyes or try to move.

"Hermione and Luna. They bandaged you up and got you into bed."

"I suppose I'll have to thank them," Snape tried to sneer, but his face would not move.

"They said you were hurt pretty badly," Harry went on as if Snape had not said anything. He knew it was not the time to start arguing with Snape, not while the man was supposed to be resting. "They said you were all scarred and wounded."

"Is that too much for Potter's precious ears?" Snape hissed.

"No, it's not."

Kreacher came in, holding a tray with a bowl of soup, two spoons, and several bottles that could hold medicine or potions. "Does Master need Kreacher's help?"

"No," Harry said as the house elf put the tray on the nearby table, "I can do it."

"Then Kreacher shall return to the kitchen and see if the prisoner needs help remembering to keep working."

"Prisoner?" Snape croaked as Kreacher left.

"Draco," Harry began unfolding the napkin.

"Draco!" Snape opened his eyes, the black pupils staring straight at Harry.

"I brought him here yesterday. The Ministry wanted to give him the Kiss, him and Narcissa. They wanted to execute Lucius. I convinced them not to."

"Of course, ‘Prince Potter'," Snape muttered.

"No, not Prince Potter," Harry felt the bowl to make sure the soup was not too hot. "Just Potter trying to keep more people from being killed. They sent Narcissa and Lucius to Azkaban, but I got them to let Draco come with me. They took his wand, and he's under house-arrest here, but at least he's alive."

Snape watched him with cold eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to feed you," Harry replied, picking up the spoon in his other hand.

"You are not feeding me," Snape growled.

"Can you do it?" Harry asked, his voice short. "If you can raise your hand out of the covers and hold this spoon, I'll let you do it."

Snape glared at him, but said nothing, nor did he move.

"You need to eat something," Harry awkwardly draped the napkin over the covers, under Snape's chin. Harry thought he would rather face ten Dementors than spoon-feed Snape, but he bravely dipped the spoon into the warm broth and tipped it off on the side so it would not drip.

Harry slowly brought the spoon over to Snape, but the man kept his mouth shut, refusing to open it. Snape even looked away from the spoon.

"I can wait all day," Harry announced. "I have nothing else to do. I'm not going to work - I told them I was sick today."

Snape opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of "How dare you play sick?" or simply "Truancy!" Harry took advantage of Snape's outrage to push the spoonful into his mouth. Snape nearly choked on the broth, but he finally swallowed.

Harry pulled the spoon back. "Too hot?"

"I swear, Potter, once I get my strength back -"

Harry pushed in another spoonful. "Just eat the broth."

It was slow going, but Snape reluctantly ate the rest of the soup, one spoonful at a time. Harry felt tempted to match Snape's sneer with his own, even comment on how weak Snape looked, fed like a helpless child by the great hero of the Wizarding world. However, Harry stayed quiet, concentrating on his task.

When the bowl was finally empty, Harry set it aside and reached for the largest bottle and the other spoon. He guessed that Kreacher meant for Snape to take a spoonful from each of the bottle, and Harry poured out the thick, gooey stuff from the first bottle into the spoon. He was about to give it to Snape when the man asked,

"Do you even know what that is?"

"No," Harry admitted, "but Kreacher put it on the tray, so . . ."

"It's amazing you haven't been poisoned yet," Snape looked absolutely disgusted. "Even after the last seven years, you're still an idiot with potions."

"Maybe, but this idiot is giving you your medicine so you can either take a dose of each or two doses of each," Harry told him. He felt a twinge of satisfaction when Snape took the dose and winced at the taste. Harry poured out a dose from every bottle, and Snape seemed to find the each taste revolting. But after he was finished taking the medicine, Harry held up a cup of water which Snape drank from thirstily.

However, the effort of eating and taking the medicines seemed to exhaust Snape, and he leaned back against the pillow with heavy eyelids, straining to keep his eyes open. Harry took off the napkin and pretended to straighten the tray as he said,

"Just go back to sleep. It's still morning - I'll come up with more food later, and everyone will be home this evening."

"I'm leaving this afternoon," Snape told him. "You can't keep me here, and I have no desire to stay with a bunch of goody-two-shoed, smart-mouthed, arrogant children."

Harry waited for more to come, perhaps a long diatribe about how they really were the worst company Snape could possibly imagine, how he would rather be dead than spend a single moment at Black's old home, how he loathed everything about them, but no more came. Harry glanced to the bed.

Snape's eyes were shut, and already he breathed deeply.

"We'll see," Harry countered, glad Snape couldn't reply. "But I think we'll be lucky if you make it to the loo by yourself."

Snape still had not explained how he survived the snake bite or where he had been, but Harry knew the questions would keep until later. Leaving the bottles on the side table, Harry took the tray and headed for the kitchen. He was half-way down the stairs when he heard Draco's protests and Kreacher taunting their "prisoner" in the kitchen.

Though he wanted to go lie on his bed, maybe get some sleep himself, Harry headed for the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.