Harry made himself walk resolutely through the halls and upstairs until he came to the corridor leading to Draco's room. He saw the other boy as soon as he turned the corner. Draco was sitting huddled by the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his head bowed against them. His arms were wrapped tightly around his legs. He was the picture of abject misery and Harry couldn't help but feel a tug of empathy.

Norie was standing beside him, wringing her hands in distress and talking softly, but Draco gave no sign of hearing her. She fell silent and withdrew as Harry approached.

Harry hesitated, but finally knelt beside Draco. He tried to keep his voice neutral and quiet. "Are you all right?"

For several long moments the only sound was Draco's ragged breathing. Harry had almost given up on him answering, but then he spoke, his voice low and raw with pain that he could no longer mask.

"I see them every time I close my eyes...Dolohov and Greyback hurting my mother. She was all torn up; her blood was everywhere, all over the room. And then...then Dolohov raised his wand, and he killed her. And I couldn't do anything to help her. I dream about it every night."

Draco began trembling, his thin frame racked with tremors. Harry couldn't see his face so he didn't know if the other boy was weeping, but he couldn't blame him if he was.

He didn't want to feel sympathy for the Malfoys, but he couldn't help it. What a horrible fate, not even Narcissa had deserved that. And for Draco to have had to witness his mother's torment and murder...

Vague images and memories flashed through Harry's mind...his own mother's dying screams, the stories he had heard of James' and Lily's courage and sacrifice. He knew how painful it was for him, to know that his parents had died, to remember the echo of his mother's death, and to imagine the whole horrific scene in his mind.

But it had to be even worse, much worse, for Draco. After all, Harry had only been a baby when he had lost his parents. He really couldn't remember, except for the one memory the dementors had dragged from his subconscious. But Draco was sixteen. He had definitely been old enough to know what was happening and to remember. Every moment of agony must be permanently burned into his mind.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said softly.

Draco raised his head. He was not crying, but his face was drawn with pain and his silver eyes were haunted. He and Harry stared at one another. For once there was no enmity in their gaze, but only a shared anguish.

Finally Draco nodded and mumbled, "I guess you would."

He dropped his head again. There was a pause, while Harry wondered what he should do next, and then Draco spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

Harry stared at him. Draco could not possibly have said those words...his ears must not be working properly. Malfoys would never apologize for anything, he was certain. It was probably against their family code or something like that. "What?"

But Draco raised his head and looked directly at Harry, his expression still pained. "I'm sorry I cast that spell on you and I'm sorry I told. You said I hadn't learned anything, but...that isn't true. I know that what I did to you was horrible. I've known it for a while, deep down, but I didn't want to admit it. How could I? I hated you. But I think I knew even way back when Dumbledore first mentioned that there was a possibility that you could have been killed or hurt, you know, permanently. I was actually very relieved when he said that you were all right, because then I wouldn't have to feel guilty."

"But I am hurt permanently," Harry said in a flat voice. "And don't tell me you feel guilty. You ran straight to Rita Skeeter when you found out."

"I shouldn't have," Draco admitted quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I know I shouldn't have, and I am sorry. I just..." He shrugged helplessly and looked back up at Harry. "Severus was the only one who ever cared anything about me, and after...what happened, I needed him. And he hated me and loved you. I blamed you and I was angry. When I found out about the slavery spell, I just wanted you to hurt as much as I did."

"But then Severus said that you were the one who let me come here and kept me out of Azkaban, and you wouldn't let your friends mock me, and then you saved me today, even after all that I'd done to you. Dammit, how am I supposed to keep hating you?"

Draco half-turned and pounded his fist against the wall, hard. It would have hurt, Harry knew. But Draco didn't seem to care. He hit the wall again, and then again.

"Stop it." Harry caught his wrist on the fourth try. "You're going to break your hand and I don't know any healing spells."

Draco made a sound which seemed to be halfway between anger and a sob. "Why should you care if I hurt myself?"

Harry wondered that himself. He settled for saying, "Just don't do it. It doesn't help anything. I know."

Draco looked at him, an appraising look. "How do you know?"

But Harry was not about to tell Draco about his own suicide attempt. He let go of the other boy's wrist. "I just do."

"Have you...?"

"Drop it...just drop it." Harry sighed. "Look, you need to get back to bed. Can you stand up?"

Draco nodded wearily, but before either of them could move, there was the sound of someone clearing his throat and then Severus came and knelt before them. His black eyes glimmered warmly at Harry for a second before he turned his attention to Draco. Severus laid a hand on his shoulder and started to speak, "Draco...

But before he could go any further Draco broke down and began sobbing. He moved towards Severus and grabbed onto his godfather's robes, holding on to him as if to a lifeline. Severus froze and was still for a moment, but then slowly wrapped his own arms around Draco.

He held him for a moment before saying, in a voice that was more gentle than he had used with Draco in a long time, "Come, you need to lie down... and we need to talk."

Severus helped Draco to his feet, and they went back into the bedroom. Draco curled up on his bed, moving slowly and cautiously, and Severus tucked the blankets around his shoulders and then pulled a chair up to the bed.

Watching them, Harry felt a painful little jolt inside. He bit his lip, not even sure exactly what the emotion was. He wasn't jealous, was he? He didn't know how he felt about Draco now, but he didn't think he hated him anymore. The other boy obviously needed some help and comfort and Severus was the only adult around to provide it.

Harry wasn't going to resent that. He wasn't. No, he was just going to go back to his own bedroom and go to sleep. It was late and he was ready for this day to end.

***

And yet he ended up sitting on his window seat for a time gazing up at the night sky, rather than going straight to bed. A gusty wind was blowing away the thick clouds of earlier in the day, and now and then a thin crescent moon and twinkling stars peeked out from behind the dark grey mist.

Harry always thought of Remus now whenever he saw the moon, even if it wasn't full, and he wondered where the last Marauder was tonight, and if he was remembering another Halloween night of long ago. He had written letters to Remus, several of them in fact, but he still had not found the nerve to actually send them. He didn't know if he ever would. He just couldn't bear it if Remus blamed him for Sirius' death. And Remus probably did, didn't he? Wouldn't he have contacted Harry by now, unless he hated him for killing Sirius?

Everyone leaves me...my parents, Sirius, Remus. What if Dad leaves me too?

But Harry pushed that thought away at once. Of course Severus wasn't going to leave him! That was ridiculous. There wasn't much danger anymore and Severus was a powerful wizard, and always very cautious. He would never send Harry away either. Well, he couldn't even if he ever wanted to, for that matter, not with the slavery spell binding them together.

But what if he starts loving Draco again? What if he loves Draco more than me?

Draco was Severus' godson after all, and they shared years of fond memories. Harry's memories, until this past summer had changed everything, were of Severus and Draco uniting against him. He couldn't bear for that to happen again, either. He had promised Severus that he would not attempt suicide again, but if Severus ever turned on him again, Harry knew that he would not be able to go on living.

I'm being stupid. Dad loves me. He would never start hating me again. Would he?

Harry sighed. Of course his father loved him. Hadn't Severus told him so, like about a thousand times by now? And he had promised that his loyalty was to Harry, not Draco, that he would always put Harry's needs first.

So there was nothing to worry about. He was just being foolish.

So why couldn't he stop worrying?

It was very late when Harry finally dragged himself to bed, and even then, he lay awake for a time, staring into the darkness and remembering how Severus had taken Draco in his arms and held him, and how gently he had spoken.

***

Grey clouds were still blowing across the sky when Harry opened his eyes the next morning, but he could tell by the amount of light in the room that he had overslept.

"Darn," he muttered under his breath as he jumped up and hurried over to his wardrobe to pull out a dark blue jumper and a pair of khaki trousers. "Why didn't someone call me?"

He usually woke up early on his own, but he was rather surprised that his father or one of the elves had not come to fetch him when he had not shown up for breakfast. For a second, Harry's mind flashed back to his first day at Prince Hall...Severus telling him in harsh, clipped tones that he would not eat if he were late to meals. Thank goodness those days were over.

He was further reassured by the small parcel resting on the side table by the bed. His father still always left him a small gift in the mornings, though Severus still insisted that it must come from Hedwig, that he himself was not the type to indulge in such silliness.

Late though he was, Harry couldn't resist opening the parcel to see today's present. Usually the gift was just some trinket, but for some reason, that made it all the more special to Harry. Receiving presents for Christmas or his birthday was wonderful and Harry would never take that for granted; he had spent too many years being denied anything with the Dursleys. But for his father to love him enough to spoil him everyday with little luxuries like pieces of candy or a new pair of gloves...well, that always left a lump in Harry's throat.

Today's gift was more than a trinket though. Harry caught his breath when he saw four tickets for the national Quidditch team's opening match on Boxing Day. They were playing their first match near Boscastle in Cornwall, against the Portuguese team which had won the Quidditch Cup back in August. It ought to be a good game.

You stupid oaf! Harry chided himself. How could you ever doubt Dad?

Then he froze. Going to the game would mean leaving Prince Hall, facing the outside world again. Harry wasn't ready for that, and not even the national Quidditch team could entice him into it.

Severus knew that and he had promised not to pressure Harry into leaving. He had promised. How could he dangle these tickets in front of Harry now, tempting him and knowing that Harry would be disappointed even if it was his own choice not to go? Harry wanted to, but he just couldn't face everyone, not now that they all knew he was a slave. It almost seemed as if Severus were trying to trick him.

Harry scowled down at the tickets in his hand. All the happiness and relief he had felt just moments earlier changed to bitter dismay and a sense of betrayal. He flung the tickets back down on his side table and stalked out of the room to find his father.