Harry had been vaguely aware for days now that this was not a dream, or if it was, he was in a deep coma somewhere, probably in the Hospital Wing or a loony bin. He felt colorblind almost, one day blurring into the next as Snape... his father? Severus? brought him warm, wholesome food, fed him medicines, fluffed his pillow now and again, and even tucked him in (he swore it was true) even though the man did it when he believed Harry to be asleep.

Harry felt overly weak and Snape explained to him that he had contracted the wizarding influenza, a long feared disease in the wizarding world that with proper care would dissipate after a few weeks and he would be well again.

"Why did people fear it so much?" Harry asked one day when he felt able to speak without throwing up all over the floor, as he had done on his first day there.

"Because before these potions it wiped out much of the wizarding population throughout the world. From millions to thousands, perhaps even more."

"Oh," Harry said, throat dry.

Severus looked around the spartan room that was Harry's now. "You may unpack your things when you feel able, and may decorate as you see fit provided nothing inappropriate or disrespectful of the female kind is found here." Packing Harry's things in Gryffindor tower had given him some insight into his son's life, which Quidditch teams he rooted for, what some of his grades were, the overlarge and faded clothing he owned, but he had not seen anything derogatory towards women there. Just in case, it was a good rule to start off with seeing as he was soon going to be a 17-year-old boy.

"If you wish to read, I will unpack some of your books, or bring something to you from the library downstairs."

"There's a library?"

"Yes."

Harry sighed. This was probably the most they had spoken to one another in the four days since he'd been there, mostly because Harry was too ill to think too much about what to say.

"I want to get out of bed... aside from the bathroom," he clarified. Snape had been helping him to the bathroom since Harry didn't yet have his balance. At least the man had some sense of privacy, Harry thought, remembering how he would leave him alone once he was there.

"When you feel able, you may move freely about the house and grounds as you like. You may even visit Malfoy manor two properties down if you so wish. I believe there is a path that connects ours and theirs through the back of the Haworth's and Calgary's properties."

Harry cleared his throat. "Ours?"

Severus frowned, uncertain of what the question entailed at first until he remembered saying that the property was theirs. "Being my son, this property and home is also yours. Please treat it with respect as I have done, and it will stay in good repair for your children."

A long sigh escaped Harry's lips, and Severus suddenly felt the need to get up and do something. "I will be back with lunch in an hour if you feel up to eating. Until then," he reached into Harry's trunk and withdrew a Muggle novel Hermione had once given him about a boy named Brian whose plane had crashed in the woods. Setting it on the table, he gave Harry a last look and left the room.

Eying the novel for a few moments, Harry decided he didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel like much of anything in fact. He really wanted to attribute it to the illness, but he couldn't deny that he had been feeling this way for months now, depressed and lethargic and unwilling to do much of anything, let alone try to comprehend what was happening right now.

It had taken him almost dying, followed by him becoming very ill to get his father's attention. What would happen when he got better? Wasn't Snape just taking care of him because he had to? Harry was uncertain because for somebody only doing what he had to, he was certainly being very nice to him. He didn't complain once when Harry barfed all over his shoes, twice, or when Harry was unable to eat the meals the man had prepared for him, or even that Harry hadn't yet been able to get up out of bed to do chores. Normally by now he'd be back with the Dursleys scrubbing floors, weeding the garden, and getting the snot kicked out of him by Dudley and uncle Vernon.

Body aching from laying in bed for so long (6 days now since his father had rescued him from certain demise on the tower), Harry was unwilling to lay there any longer. Head pounding as he pushed himself up off the bed, he waited for the room to stop spinning and then stood slowly, trying to remain steady. He didn't feel like putting posters up on the walls, he didn't feel like putting his clothes in the wardrobe, and he didn't feel like putting his books away in the desk. "What then, you stupid oaf?" he scolded himself aloud. Why the hell did you get up?

Spying one of the two windows across the room for the first time, he crossed hardwood floor and barely caught himself from flying face forward when he tripped over his own feet. Steady once again, he made his way to the window and sat on the edge of the desk as he looked out. There were pale yellow fields beyond the house, and beyond that there was a thicket of dark green woods which looked like a tempting place to go and hide.

He propped open the window, longing to be free of the stiflingly hot room, and breathed in deep as cool, refreshing air rushed in. He wasn't sure where they were, but he thought that for the start of June it should have been warmer.

Head out the window Harry realized he was on the second floor of the house. Spying the window on the other wall, he slid off the desk and wobbled on unsteady legs towards it before propping it up as well. Out this window he could see more fields, and in the far distance a single large house and perhaps even a road.

Feeling weak again, Harry thought about trying to make it back to the bed, but before he took a step his legs buckled and he crumpled, landing heavily on the floor under the window. "Fantastic," he breathed, and set to work trying to get back to the bed.

* * *

Severus was uncertain. What did he say to the son whom he had so callously treated? How did he give comfort to the boy who was ill because of him? What did you want your father to say to you, he asked himself, trying not to recall the shabby house on Spinner's End in London. All he'd ever wanted was confirmation of love and some sign his father cared, but it never came. Hands on the counter to hold himself steady, Severus cursed himself. He didn't think about it because he didn't like to feel like that little boy all over again. And then he cursed again knowing that Harry felt like that because of him. It was as if Tobias reincarnate had taken over his son's body in order to torture his grandson, and Severus was suddenly determined not to let it happen.

A loud thud from upstairs drew his attention, and he hurried out of the kitchen to see what had happened. Up the stairs and into Harry's room, Severus saw his son struggling below an open window to get up off the floor, but his strength had failed him and he was frustrated with himself for not having control over his body. At least anger was worth something, he told himself, something more than depression.

"Do you want my help?" Severus asked from the doorway. He did not want to deprive the boy the dignity of getting himself up if he could do it, but if he could not then he would help him back to the bed.

Harry looked up suddenly and the anger left him, leaving his face blank once again as it had been before, depressed and empty. He nodded, and Severus moved over to him and lifted him under the arms and carried him back to the bed.

"It is good that you were able to get up on your own, but you must try not to over do it or the recovery will take longer."

Harry nodded, and Severus brought Harry's wand to him and set it on the small bedside table. "When you want to close the windows, try this. Perhaps after breakfast tomorrow you will have regained some more of your strength. He left Harry alone again, and Harry closed the windows with his wand with a loud thud, suddenly angry for some reason he couldn't pin down.

* * *

Over the next few days, more of Harry's strength returned and he was able to move about his room for longer periods of time. Severus helped him down the stairs so that Harry could start eating in the kitchen with him, and showed him to the library and other parts of the house such as the living room, the den, the back porch, and even the secret entrance to Snape's lab behind the bookcase at the end of the downstairs hall.

Harry really wanted to feel as if he were enjoying this new, tidy, cozy house that he was not required to clean like a house elf, but could not bring himself to feel anything other than melancholy. It was almost as if he had hurt for so long that he did not how to feel anything else now. Even his momentary little bursts of anger from a few days before had vanished, and he felt empty all over again. Just as Harry was wishing for some other company than Snape, who seemed to be feeling as awkward as Harry felt nothing at all, a visitor appeared one afternoon, asking for Harry.

Draco walked into the living room where Harry sat on the couch looking out the window, and Harry was suddenly grateful that he had decided to wear jeans and a t-shirt today instead of pajamas from breakfast until dinner.

"Hey," Draco said, standing still as if he was unsure if he were wanted there or not. Snape had let him in but had gone to do something else instead of watching the awkward exchange.

"Hey," Harry replied, taking in the boy's casual summer clothing. At school Draco wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of shorts, even the khaki ones he was in now. When his eyes moved up to Draco's green polo shirt, Harry almost snorted, thinking that even in the summer holidays Draco held true to Slytherin colors.

"What?" Draco asked, hands in his pocket.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Your shirt's just green is all, like Slytherin."

Draco looked down and then shrugged. "And? Yours is red like Gryffindor."

Eyes widening a little, Harry looked down to realize it was true. Without thinking about it he had put on his favorite shirt that morning, the deep red one that reminded him of Gryffindor.

"Shut up," Harry said, a little embarrassed, but it wasn't rude and Draco didn't take it as such.

"You want to go out in the fields and catch pixies?"

Harry shrugged, and said, "I guess." He stood up, making sure his legs were steady, because he'd never forgive himself for stumbling in front of Draco, and then followed him out of the room and out the front door.

The sunshine felt wonderful and improved Harry's spirit marginally because he hadn't been outside in so long.

They walked in silence for a while before Draco stopped and pulled out his wand and started shooting gusts of air into the tall wheat around them. They heard a few small giggles, but other than that nothing happened. Harry had never been pixy hunting before, so this captured his interest in a way nothing had since what he had perceived to be his last few days on earth.

"So, did he stick you in the secret dungeon yet?"

Harry frowned. "The secret dungeon?"

"You know, the one he puts naughty children in before he eats them." Draco laughed then at the frown on Harry's face to let him know he was joking.

"When I was younger and I would come here in the summer, uncle Severus would threaten to stick me in his secret dungeon when I wasn't being good. He said he'd feed me to my parents and they wouldn't like the special stew he made out of me because I would taste sour like my attitude."

Harry gave a little laugh then too at the absurdity of it, but remembered similar stories he had believed as a small child.

They were quiet for a short while as Draco continued to try to rouse the field fairies out of hiding, and then asked, "So it hasn't been too bad, has it? I mean, rotten luck being sick for the start of summer, but he's not terrible, is he?"

"I have my own room," Harry said in thought, realizing that it had been given to him freely, and not begrudgingly such as Dudley's second room had been when he was 11. "And he told me I could roam around when I wanted."

"Are you allowed to come visit us?" Draco asked hopefully, and Harry nodded.

"Come on, I'll show you the path then." He motioned for Harry to follow, and they went at a slow pace so that Harry didn't use up too much of his precious regained energy.

"See here," Draco said when they reached the thicket of trees. "This path leads straight through to our house. It's three stories and white with big pillars, so you'll know it when you see it. My room is on the side on the second floor. I'll put a green banner out the window so you'll know which one it is," Draco said in a hurry, as if he expected Harry to sneak over there in the night sometime just to find him.

"Why?" He suddenly had to know.

"Hm?" Draco turned to him, eyes bright, and Harry wondered how he could hide such a friendly face at school all the time when he was trying to be rotten to Gryffindors.

"Why are you doing this? You... watched me at school, and now you're being nice to me."

Quiet for a moment, Draco said, "Maybe because you needed a friend, and nobody was kind enough to be one to you."

"But you've always been so mean before," Harry pressed on, not wanting Draco to get mad, but feeling the absolute need to know.

The blond boy looked ashamed all of the sudden and said, "I was rotten, and I'm sorry. I don't know if I can explain to you the pressure other Slytherins put on you to be like that when you get into the house, but when you're a first or second year, you think it's cool to do, to put others down. It's not until you get older that you realize it's not so great anymore, but by then you're supposed to keep up to their expectations. I am sorry though."

"So, you didn't have to change," Harry said quietly, kicking his shoe into the dirt.

"Dad asked me if I wanted to turn out like Uncle Severus, all angry and alone like, feared and hated."

Harry looked up then, and Draco finished, "And I said no."

Trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as Harry realized yet again that the Malfoy's were perhaps not who he had thought them to be, he said, "Thanks," before swaying on his feet alarmingly. Draco stepped forward and grabbed Harry's arm to steady him.

"C'mon. Better get you back before Uncle has a fit over you."

"What, don't want to carry me back?" Harry teased, the hint of a smile on his face.

Draco laughed as they walked and said, "Nope, and he'd have a fit over how dirty and bruised you were from me dragging you."

It was meant to be a joke, Harry knew, but as they walked, he realized that Draco probably would drag him all the way back, because he wasn't strong enough to carry him as his father was. But isn't that what a real friend did? Dragged you back to reality, even though it was a struggle? And Harry suddenly realized what a real friend was, for the first time, and he looked like Draco.