Why can't I just get on with it already? He'd been standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom inside Snape's quarters at Hogwarts, where he'd been living for the past thirty minutes... where he would be living for an indeterminate amount of time.

The funny thing was, Snape had kicked up more of a fuss than he or Malfoy had. Well, not exactly a fuss... but he may well have stomped his feet if half those long-winded words he'd used on Dumbledore meant what Harry thought they had.

Malfoy's response though, that was the one that had nearly floored Harry. He'd been expecting a full-blown 'Malfoyesque' tirade, but all Malfoy had done was give Dumbledore a measly little nod and glance miserably in Snape's direction. Like he hadn't even heard that in addition to his new living arrangements, Harry would be staying in the room right across the hall.

Malfoy worried him, not because Harry was concerned, no, it wasn't that. It was more of a 'he must be hiding something because no Malfoy would be that agreeing' sort of thing.

That was what he kept telling himself anyway.

Harry himself had seen it coming though. Who else would he stay with? He wasn't even allowed to know where the Dursleys were living, and besides, Harry didn't want to live with them anyway. It was too dangerous for them.

Living with Snape... Well, Harry didn't want to do that either, but it was the lesser of two evils, wasn't it? And besides, when had he ever gotten anything he'd wanted?

He'd been begging for years to not have to go back to the Dursleys each summer, and just when living with them was taking a turn for the better...

Harry sighed deeply, plucking the edge of his t-shirt. He had spent most of the day reasoning it all out. There was absolutely no point in arguing with Dumbledore, and Snape... well, Harry wasn't sure arguing with him was worth the risk. After all, the man could very well poison him in his sleep!

Too bad he couldn't ward his door with magic. Not that he knew how... But he couldn't do any magic at all anyway, so that didn't matter much.

Actually, it did matter, not because he didn't know how to cast wards, but because even if he did, he wouldn't be able to. Not unless he wanted his magic to fight with the cancerous whatevers and create a war inside of him that would most probably result in his death.

At least that was what he'd thought the healer had meant. It was all rather mangled and confusing in his mind. He could ask Dumbledore for more information, or Snape, or Aunt Petunia, but Harry didn't think he wanted to know... not right now at any rate.

He sort of prided himself on not panicking when a situation grew dire, but at the moment, with no one around to witness, Harry's cool exterior was beginning to slip away.

He lifted the hem of his t-shirt... again. He had to have been sitting in the loo connected to his new room for at least five minutes now. But every time he lifted his shirt over his belly-button, he dropped it back to his waist.

Sometimes because his hands were shaking so bad the material slipped from his fingers, other times because he fairly yanked it back down.

It seemed silly to be frightened of his own body, but there it was. Well, not frightened, per se, more squeamish. Yeah, that was it.

Oh if the wizarding world could see him now. Their precious Chosen One, unable to use magic and afraid to look at his own chest.

Harry dropped his hands away from his shirt and stared at himself in the mirror. Was this what his life would be like? And if it was, for how long? How long would he have to live without magic? How long would it take for Voldemort to find out that he was sick and defenceless? How in Merlin's name would they explain his extended absence from school.

How, how, how, why, why, why?

Questions without answers.

As always, he was left floundering in a sea of unanswered questions. His life was made up of them, controlled by them.

Harry clenched his jaw, and his eyes glinted in the mirror, making a split-second choice, he grabbed the hem of his shirt again, ripping it over his head, refusing to be ruled by fear and indecision.

Harry swallowed thickly, his chest rising and falling with each panting breath, his gaze fixated on his reflection.

His hand shook violently as he traced it over the white gauze covering the lump on the right side of his chest, the raised line underneath his skin that lead up his throat, and the other that went downwards through his arteries. It felt... weird. Harry tapped the middle of the bandage where it lifted higher then the rest of the gauze. He winced slightly, Healer Beesely had healed the incision, but she did say it would be tender. After all, his skin was being stretched over a bit of metal inside his chest.

Actually, that was exactly what it felt like, a piece of metal putting pressure on the inside of his chest, his skin felt sort of like it would have after he got sunburn gardening for Aunt Petunia and didn't have any lotion after wards.

Stretched and uncomfortable and weird.

It sort of hurt, but, not really, unless he touched it, though it didn't feel normal, either.

Harry stared at the patch in the mirror, his finger still idly tracing around the edges of the gauze. He probably looked like a royal idiot staring into the mirror like that, but Harry wasn't thinking about that. In fact, he was thinking about anything except the foreign object inside his chest, the way it unsettled him, and just how long he had to put up with it.

"Potter-"

Harry dropped his shirt abruptly, whirling around in surprise.

Malfoy stood in the door way, his face tired and worn, but his clothes and stature as impeccable as ever. For some reason, that irritated Harry, like Malfoy's appearance somehow affected his.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed pointedly on Harry's shirt.

Harry scowled irritably and brushed passed him, "Shove off, Malfoy."

"Are you usually this touchy, Potter?" asked Malfoy, trailing along behind Harry (much to his dismay).

"Are you always this irritating?" mimicked Harry perching on the edge of his bed adding, "Oh wait..." with a mock-thoughtful face.

But that didn't get Malfoy to leave, instead, he pulled out the chair at Harry's desk and, nice as you please, sat down. Harry smoothed his hands over the blue-green duvet that covered his bed, "Was there something you needed, Malfoy?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Malfoy leaned the chair on it's back legs, using the desk to stop himself from completely falling over.

It reminded Harry, painfully, of a time when Sirius had done that same thing, only it was in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

"Does it hurt, Potter?"

Harry snapped back from his memories, swallowing past the lump that was building in his throat, he forced himself to meet Malfoy's steel grey gaze.

"Does what hurt?" He asked wearily, using his hands to propel himself further onto the bed, he was rather surprised at his laxness, you'd think after all these years the very sight of Malfoy would have him closing his hand around his wand handle.

Something was different now. Harry wasn't sure if it was Malfoy's half-hearted attempt to hurt the Dursleys on Privet Drive, or that they'd already stayed under the same roof and neither had made an attempt to hex the other.

Whatever it was, Harry no longer felt that Malfoy was someone he need defend himself against. Well, not with wands anyway.

"The thing you were looking at, what else?"

Harry yawned, running his fingers through his hair, noticing that the motion caused a sort of twinge in the skin over the port. Not pain, just...different.

"No, just feels... off." He shrugged not quite sure how to explain... or why he was bothering at all.

Malfoy dropped the legs of his chair back to the flag stone floor with a snap, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his, regarding Harry with a contemplative look. Harry shifted uncomfortably, unconsciously adjusting his shirt, moving the collar closer to his neck, as if his t-shirt allowed Malfoy to see his chest at all.

"What is it exactly?"

Harry pulled his knees up, stacking his forearms atop them and resting his head on his wrist, "To be honest, I didn't really listen to all the details."

Malfoy's mouth opened, no doubt to spew a string of scorn at Harry's actions.

But Harry stopped the stream before it started, "It wasn't as if I knew half the things they were talking about, besides, I got the general idea." He rolled his eyes, "It isn't like I let them knock me out and shove something inside my chest."

Malfoy scoffed, "Sounds like it. You can't even explain what it is."

"It's so that they don't have to stick me with a needle every time I need an injection."

That seemed to give Malfoy pause, "Stick you with a needle?" he asked slowly, "Whatever would they need to do that for?"

Harry shook his head, "It's hard to explain. I don't even get it, really." He lay flat, his back and head supported by the two pillows propped against the head board of his bed frame.

Malfoy was silent.

They seemed to have established some sort of shaky truce. They weren't fighting at any rate.

And for that, Harry was glad. He was far too tired to deal with petty squabbles. Not to mention the much bigger problems that poked and prodded at the edges of his psyche.

"So that was what you were doing at the Hospital Wing, then? Getting that...thing."

Harry wanted to roll onto his side, as it made talking to someone who sat facing his feet less awkward, but he was afraid it might move the skin over the port, instead, he spoke to the stone ceiling, "It's called a port, and no, I had a PET scan," said Harry lifting his head just in time to catch a glance at Malfoy's confused expression. He dropped his head back onto the soft pillow, "It's this test they do to see all the places where the cancer might have spread. They put this...tracer thing into my vein and then I had to wait an hour for it to absorb or something, and when that was done, they did this scanning thing that shows pictures of-"

"What on earth are you on about, Potter?"

Harry laughed aloud, albeit softly, "You see why I didn't ask very many questions. It's all jumbled and- and-"

"Mad?"

"Yeah, mad, that's what this is. Absolutely, effing mad."

Harry sat up abruptly, turning slightly to pummel his pillow into a more comfortable position. Forgetting his misgivings, he turned on his side automatically, shoving the beaten pillow in the space between his shoulder and head just as his body bounced back against the bed.

As he'd suspected, the movement did hurt. Not a lot. But not so little that Harry didn't make any noise. In fact, he cried out a bit, more in shock than pain though.

He turned on his back to find that Malfoy had risen from his chair and was halfway across the space between his seat and Harry's bed.

His face was a mixture of panic and confusion.

If he wasn't trying not to move so much, Harry might have laughed.

Malfoy seemed to regain control of himself, for he sat back down, using a pale hand to smooth his hair down... Not that it needed any smoothing, thought Harry dryly.

"I forgot for a second," explained Harry, chagrined.

Malfoy gave him a weird look, but said nothing.

Harry counted a row of flagstones.

"I'm... I, er-"

Harry lifted his head, Malfoy's head was down, but he could see the sides of his pink tinged cheeks, what was that all about?

"About your, erm, relatives, on that street- I'm, um-" Malfoy stuttered, the color in his cheeks darkening.

Harry frowned, was Malfoy trying to...apologise?

Unbelievable, bloody hell.

"You don't have to..." Harry sat up even though his muscles creaked in protest.

"Listen, Malfoy, Voldemort-" he ignored Malfoy's glare and plowed on, "There was nothing you could have done. Voldemort was standing right there. It's not like you had much of a choice, especially after-"

He cut off, eyeing Malfoy warily.

It seemed like the other boy was doing everything he could to distract himself from the subject, including talking to Harry. Next he'd be asking to tag along to appointments. If he didn't feel sorry for Malfoy, he would have snorted.

Malfoy stood abruptly, his eyes glittering oddly as he advanced toward the bed, "Not much of a choice? I could have done what you did! I could have made my own choices instead of cooling my heals like a child and watching my Mother stick up for me!" Malfoy's voice was raw with pain. Harry got the feeling that over the next couple of months in the other boy's company, there'd be a lot of outbursts on Malfoy's part.

But Harry didn't hold it against him.

He knew better than anyone what it was like to have guilt pressing on your chest like a blacksmith's anvil.

"You've never had to live in a Death Eater's house, Potter. I told myself all along that I never had any choice. But I did! I could have told my Mother that she needn't argue with my Father anymore. I sat around like a sick weakling instead of telling to stop." Malfoy pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and Harry watched, eyes wide, as Draco Malfoy came completely unraveled right in front of him.

"I- I wanted her to take care of it for me. I was too weak- to weak to-" His voice broke and his shoulders shuddered as he drew in a breath.

Harry sat, absolutely speechless.

Malfoy lifted his head, his eyes and nose turned red no doubt from the effort not to cry, "And she's dead," he said fiercely, nearly yelling the words at Harry as though it were his fault, but his next words counteracted his actions, "Because of me, she's dead." Malfoy pressed his forefinger in his chest, his eyes wild and glinting.

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly.

"Draco."

His head whipped 'round so fast it popped.

Snape stood in the doorway, a pained expression on his face, his hand extended towards Malfoy.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy went willingly. Harry was sure he'd been about to flee the room, but instead, he allowed Snape to take him by the shoulders, and lead him away from the doorway. Leaving Harry to stare opened mouth at the bit of hall way that was visible to him.

0000

"You'd do well to stay away from Potter if he vexes you so."

Draco blinked sluggishly, beginning to expect that Severus' measure of calming draught was a bit more than the normal dose.

"He doesn't...actually."

Severus raised his eyebrows his expression doubtful.

Draco put his elbow up on the lab counter, and leaned the side of his face on his upturned hand, "He doesn't," he insisted, not quite sure why he was talking about Potter at all, but his mind felt like mush and his tongue loosened.

Severus nodded, his eyes boring into Draco's. Sometimes, when Severus did that, it unsettled him, made him feel like Severus could see into the depths of his thoughts, unraveling his every secret.

But now, Draco didn't mind it, nor did he avert his gaze. Having Severus' undivided attention was comforting, somewhat.

"You enjoy conversing with Potter?"

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say I enjoy talking to him..." Draco shifted on his stool, yawning behind his hand, "I mean... it distracts me. Sort of." Draco shrugged his shoulders, feeling strangely detached from his depression, he was in a state of... tranquility.

Though he knew on some level that his mind and heart were in turmoil, a blanket seemed to be hiding those emotions from him, leaving only peace and serenity.

It was a nice feeling.

Severus' hand weighed comfortingly on his shoulder, dark eyes glinting in the light from the three orbs floating in midair above their heads.

"Perhaps getting along with Potter is for the best," said Severus in a resigned tone, "We may very well be residing in each others company for the duration of the school year."

Nonsensical thoughts floated through Draco's head, and he rubbed his eyes blearily, "What's cancer, Severus?"

Draco yawned, too tired to even cover his mouth.

Severus hand on his shoulder gripped him, hauling him off the stool, "You need to rest, trauma is notoriously tiring." He chivvied Draco through the door, leading him down the hall and to his bed room.

Through the crack in Potter's doorway, Draco could see that he too had fallen asleep, even if it was not yet gone 5:00pm.

Severus leaned against the door jamb, "In a general sense, cancer is a disease cause by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body," he said, his fingers steepled together and his lips pursed as though he were in deep thought.

Draco slid between the sheets in all his clothes, his eyes sliding shut as soon as his head hit the pillow, "Do you... do you think my father-" he cut off, anxiety prodding at the corners of his mind despite the calming draught. Severus pulled the chair from Draco's desk, setting it at his bedside and sitting down.

"Your father?" he prompted, leaning forward slightly, his hands on his thighs.

Draco yawned, "Do you think he blames me?" he asked in a small voice, picking at the dark blue duvet covering him, "He didn't- he never- I don't know if he ever... cared.. about me."

To his surprise, Severus scooted to the edge of his chair, reaching out and grasping both his hands in his own, "Your father will some day realise his follies, let us hope he comes to terms with his mistakes before all is lost."

Severus' words confused Draco, but he supposed it was a round about way of saying that his father did care for him, but was making a mistake by putting other things first... It was hard to sort things out when with every second that passed Draco slipped a little bit further into slumber.

"He used to say I- I wasn't any better than that mudblood Granger... because she always got the highest marks," mumbled Draco, his eyes closing fully.

Just as consciousness slipped from his grasp, Severus' squeezed his hands and he said in a low voice, "Your father cares for you very much, Draco. And soon, he will realise just how much."

0000

The next morning dawned bright and early for Harry. It would seem, going to sleep in the middle of the afternoon caused one to wake up before it was six in the morning. Harry lay in bed staring up at the stone ceiling, having already given up going back to sleep.

He was still terribly tired though... and his stomach, urgh. Harry rolled onto his side, not his left though, because that was were the port was. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd avoided rolling over in his sleep -as he wasn't exactly a still sleeper- but he had remained on his back throughout the night.

Yawning widely, Harry dragged his body into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand and patting around his bed side table for his glasses with the other.

He slipped the wires over his ears, blinking in the semidarkness, apparently, there were three small orbs of light were in every room varying in brightness and size according to the room and the time of day.

The flagstones were freezing against his bare feet, and Harry cursed himself for not having the forethought to put on socks. He was living in the dungeons for Pete's sake!

Harry made his way to the chest of drawers he had filled with his clothes just yesterday after he had returned from the Hospital Wing. As quickly as he could -without toppling over- he pulled on a pair of thick red socks, ones he usually reserved for especially bitter nights.

After washing his face, brushing his teeth, and contemplating and cancelling on taking a shower (for obvious reasons), he peaked his head out into the hallway, a knot of tension lodging in his stomach.

Malfoy's door was closed, and there wasn't any light streaming under the door either. Harry moved all the way into the corridor, feeling a bit like an idiot for being so anxious, but he couldn't help it, Snape was around here somewhere.

Harry proceeded cautiously down the hall, the knot in his stomach loosening somewhat when he reached the living room and still there was no sign of Snape. Harry sat down in an armchair, lifting his socked feet onto the seat and massaging the numbness away.

There was no fire, and the lights were dimmed considerably, Harry could barely see his hands in front of him, but he supposed they'd get brighter when it wasn't six in the morning.

Harry closed his eyes, dropping his head on his knees, he had been trying not to think about it, but out there, in the empty sitting room, with nothing but cold feet and an empty fireplace to keep him company, his mind drifted towards the turbulent emotions he had so carefully tucked away in to recesses of his mind.

Harry wrapped his arms tightly around his shins, pressing his eyes against his knees until orange burst of color appeared behind his eyelids. His breath caught in his throat, and Harry forced himself to inhale deeper, passed the catching lump.

He lifted his head from his knees, blinking several times and swallowing, grappling for control of his emotions. Almost involuntarily, one hand rose towards his chest, his fingers brushing over the thick bandage beneath his shirt, Harry shuddered and his control slipped.

All of the fear and worry he'd so carefully tucked away cascaded through him, bubbling in his stomach and creeping up his throat.

Harry panted with the effort to keep from sobbing aloud, but that didn't stop the blurring of his vision. He slipped his thumb and forefinger beneath his glasses and pressed against his closed eyes, his fingers slipping a little from the wetness.

A headache was blooming in his left temple, no doubt from the suppressed tears.

Harry tried to take a deep breath, to calm himself, but he couldn't seem to get the air all the way into his lungs. He dropped his legs from the chair and bent forward, slipped off his glasses, and pressed his hands to his face.

His throat burned, his stomach and head ached, but Harry knew that if he really let himself go, he'd never be able to stop. It was just.. momentary lapse. He felt full to the brim. With everything.

Oddly enough, what hurt the most, was the absence of Aunt Petunia. Her hugs -the few that he'd received- made his heart hurt knowing that he wouldn't have them anymore. It was funny how that could happen. In earlier years, he had done his best to make Aunt Petunia love him, but by the time he'd turned ten and realised it was a futile effort, he hadn't felt much loss.

But now Harry knew what he was missing. Like when Mrs. Weasley had hugged him after the Third Task... It just hurt so much more that way. Harry couldn't decide whether he like it better the other way, and if that counted as cowardice or not.

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there, bent over his thighs, hands sandwiched between his knees and his face, on an arm chair in Snape's living room, but when his his breathing evened out again and he sat up, the room was considerably lighter... and his scar was beginning to sting.

Not a full out burn, but the possibility of being helpless in Malfoy and Snape's company wasn't something he relished. Not that he could use magic anyway.

Harry pressed himself deeper into the chair cushions and slipped his glasses back on.

Maybe Voldemort's unwelcome visions wouldn't knock him unconscious this time. Harry's attempt at optimism fell flat in his own mind.

The rustle of cloth down the hall roused Harry from his musings, he sat forward slightly, craning his neck to see who it was.

Snape, in a dressing gown, house slippers, and his hair slipping forward over his face, had obviously not seen Harry, whose eyes and mouth were as round as galleons, and was continuing on his path to the... kitchen?

Harry sat back hurriedly, hoping that Snape wouldn't catch the movement. Perhaps he could sneak back into his room after Snape had enter the kitchen.

No such luck.

Even as he slumped in his chair, Snape's footsteps quickened, heading straight for the sitting room. Harry suppressed a heavy sigh.

"What are you doing up, Potter?"

Well, Snape hadn't quite snapped, but he did sound tired and irritable.

"Couldn't sleep," said Harry, shrugging a little and trying not to squirm under Snape's scrutiny.

Instead of barking a command like Harry expected, Snape merely sighed and said, "Come, Potter," before turning and striding toward the swinging door that lead to the kitchen and dining room.

"What sort of tea do you take, Potter?"

Snape tapped a gleaming, silver kettle with the tip of his wand, and immediately it began to whistle.

Harry slid into one of the four empty chairs surrounding a polished, wooden table, "Er, doesn't matter, sir."

He waited for the derisive reply, but it didn't come. Instead, Snape passed him a white tea cup and saucer. Harry stared at it stupidly for a moment, but shook himself mentally before taking the objects from Snape's hand with a muttered, "Thanks."

Harry sat awkwardly as Snape set down a pot of tea and a bowl of sugar.

What on earth was he supposed to do anyway? Certainly not make conversation... did he pour his own tea? Or wait until Snape poured his..

His silent inquiries were banished when Snape slid Harry's cup and saucer closer to him and filled it with tea that smelled suspiciously of peppermint and lemons.

Harry closed his cold fingers around the cup, blowing on the steaming liquid. Peppermint. Definitely.

Who knew Snape drank anything but black tea?

Casting around for something to say while his tea cooled, Harry glanced up at his professor, "Erm-"

"Contrary to what appears to be your belief, one does not need to begin or litter a sentence with those ridiculous-"

Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but Snape's deep voice and brusque tone was a little to loud for his headache, "Alright, I get it."

Harry ducked his head, his face probably red as the rubies in the counters, "Sorry, I have a-"

This time he did shut his mouth. What was he doing anyway? Crying to Snape? Why the hell would he tell Snape, of all people, he had a headache.

"There are ways to rid yourself of a headache, Potter."

Harry's head snapped up, he was surprised.. and then angry, "Were you-"

Snape's eyes narrowed, "It does not take legilimency to garner that you have a headache, imbecile. You have been rubbing your left temple this entire unpleasant conversation."

Harry had thought Snape had realised his scar was climbing towards a burn, and little flashes from Voldemort's mind were seeping into Harry's... feeding his headache. Now he felt like an idiot on top of being miserable. His hand itched to rub his scar, but he'd rather Snape not see.

Harry sipped his tea, "Oh.."

Snape glared, and sipped his as well, "Indeed."

Silence reigned once more, broken only by sips of tea and clinking of glass.

After a few more minutes, Snape set down his cup, "Tell me, Potter, how long have you and your been getting along?"

Harry's mouth dropped open.

Snape's teeth barred in a feral grin, "Your attempts to block me out were so pathetic, Potter, it astonishes me that you would think I would not have seen."

Harry's mouth closed with a snap, he'd forgotten that Snape had been able to see everything, everything. Damn it!

Harry glared, It's none of you damn business! he wanted to scream, but instead he bit out, "Not long," and then looked away, hating the way his cheeked warmed.

There was a pause, then, "And I suppose you welcomed her with open arms," said Snape, the mocking tone in his voice irritating Harry more than the fact that Snape knew at all.

Maybe it was because Harry had accepted her that way. So quickly. How was he to know that any of it was real?

No! Harry shoved those thoughts away. He couldn't doubt Aunt Petunia. If he did, then what would he have?

"She's changed," he said stiffly, So keep your bloody nose out of it.

"Hm."

What was that supposed to mean?

Harry opened his mouth to voice his question, but before he could, Malfoy came gliding into the room, impeccably well coordinated and dressed for someone who had woken up at, Harry turned his wrist to check the time, 6:30 in the morning.

It put a bad light on Harry's mused hair and pajamas. But he wasn't Malfoy, was he?

And his head hurt to much to even think of going back to his room and dressing for the day. Imagine bending over to pull up trousers with the hammer that was beating on the inside of his head... Harry very nearly moaned just thinking about it.

Malfoy took his seat in the chair furthest from Harry and closest to Snape. Despite his clean look, Malfoy's face was pinched and grey, like he'd slept but hadn't actually gotten any rest. Well, Harry supposed that was understandable, considering.

"The elves will be sending breakfast along shortly," said Snape, though neither Harry nor Malfoy had indicated any hunger.

Harry didn't know about Malfoy, but his stomach still had that oddly full feeling, and with the burnt feeling in his throat, the last thing he wanted to do was eat. Drinking would be all right. But eating... It sort of made him want to sick up.

The tea helped though, so Harry took another sip.

Five minutes later, Harry was picking at his plate of scrambled eggs and cranberry muffin, barely noticing that Malfoy was doing the same, and that Snape was watching them.

Harry smashed another piece of egg with the tines of his fork, grimacing as the yellow substance seeped between the spaces. He wanted to eat it, he did, really. But... even thinking about putting it his mouth made him want to puke.

Not because it was gross or anything, he knew from experience that the Hogwarts House-elves made the most amazing food, and -aside from when Mrs. Weasley was cooking- Harry always ate best when he was at Hogwarts. He just felt... full.

Horribly full. Uncomfortably full.

Like the kind of full where you feel sloshy and gurgly, and if you put one more thing in your mouth you'll be sure to explode.

That kind of full.

And he hadn't even eaten anything!

Harry bit back a sigh and lay down his fork, he picked up his cup of pumpkin juice, sipping on it and holding back his winces as it passed through his sore throat.

Five more minutes passed, and still, the only person who ate anything was Snape. Which, in and of itself, was an interesting sight. Harry had seen Snape in the Great Hall, but watching him eat breakfast, at a table, in a kitchen was almost... unnatural?

Harry wasn't sure. But the word that came to mind was human, Snape seemed just like anyone else, eating breakfast in his kitchen, reading the Prophet, and drinking tea. At least he didn't do that thing Aunt Petunia did when she held her tea cup. Harry nearly snorted aloud imagining it.

Snape. Holding a tea cup with by the handle with only the very tips of his fingers, his pinkie sticking out, pointing away from the cup.

Aunt Petunia always did that. It was sort of.. irritating. To be completely honest.

Harry held in another sigh, he actually missed being irritated by Aunt Petunia silly little 'high class' gestures. Harry felt like banging his head against the table.

When had that happened?

Harry mushed another bit of his egg, his eyes glued to the mess on his plate, wondering if every meal would have to be endured in silence.

Just when he was beginning to think that uncomfortable silences and awkward fidgeting was worse then Snape snapping at him, Harry's scar flared.

Harry's fork clattered to his plate, and he clapped his hand to his forehead, sucking in a sharp breath, all at once he felt a flash of irritation and saw a room with plush furnishing and marble floors, a man with long blonde hair, images and feelings that were not his own. Just as quickly as the pain and the scene had come, it receded, leaving Harry breathing harshly, sweat beading on his forehead, and a dull thump in his scar. His stomach churned.

He was going to sick up.

Harry was just about to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor beside his chair when he was yanked to his feet and fairly dragged towards the sink. The hand closed around his bicep was tight, but not painful. His stomach lurched, and he leaned forward, groaning as he retched.

When nothing more would come up, but his stomach continued to do little flops, and his throat seared, Harry dropped his forehead onto the faucet, the cool steel comforting to his heated skin. He lifted a trembling hand to twist on the cold water tap, barely noticing that the hand on his bicep hand retracted.

After washing out his mouth, and splashing water on his face for good measure, Harry stood up straight, shutting off the stream of water.

A piteous moan from behind him, had Harry whirling around in surprise. Malfoy, supported by Snape, was trying to scrape the skin off of his left arm.

No, not scrape off his skin... his mark.

Harry stepped closer, still feeling a bit nauseated, the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm was at its darkest, the snake writhing and twisting through the skull engraved into Malfoy's skin.

Malfoy groaned as Snape pulled his scrabbling fingers away from the tattoo, Harry could see that the skin around it was red and inflamed from the scratching.

"Potter, check the cupboard for pain suppressant. Quickly!" barked Snape, not taking his eyes from Malfoy, whose face was contorted with pain and eyes had begun to water.

Harry stumbled back, whirling around and opening the cupboard over the sink. Cleaning supplies. Harry moved to the two cupboards over the counters, tinned foods, cold cupboard, bandages, first aid!

Harry tried not to send vials crashing to the floor as he fumbled through the cupboard, reading labels with tiny, scrawled labels. Dreamless Sleep, tourniquets, Deflating Draught, bezoars, Blood-Replenishing Potion-

"Potter!"

Harry sifted through them faster, but it seemed as though Snape had every potion except..

"Got it!"

Harry snatched up the bottle of sludgy, yellow liquid holding it out to Snape the moment he was in arms reach. Snape took the bottle from his fingers with a nod that Harry took to mean thanks, though it was hardly believable.

He stood, watching anxiously as Snape tipped Malfoy's head back, coaxing the boy to open his mouth and stop gritting his teeth.

Malfoy's harsh breathing evened out as soon as he swallowed the first gulp, and his body going lax once he'd knocked back the third. Snape crouched in front of Malfoy, it was an odd sight, Snape, crouching in front of anybody.. especially with that almost -caring, look on his face.

"Better?" asked Snape, still holding Malfoy's forearms. The tense lines around Snape's eyes relaxed when Malfoy nodded.

"..It still hurts.."

Snape stood up straight, "Yes, as per the Dark Lord's creativity, the pain can only be dulled, not suppressed."

"Urgh," murmured Harry, the sound leaving his lips without his permission. Definitely sounded like Voldemort, he thought with a shudder.

"Indeed," commented Snape, arching an eyebrow as he glanced Harry's way.

Malfoy closed his right hand around the mark, turning his face away from his arm, shivering.

"Come, Draco, it is best you take a Sleeping Draught. Later we will create a better solution," said Snape, hauling Malfoy from his chair with little effort. He half-carried, half-dragged Malfoy back into the sitting room, Harry followed, not sure what else to do.

Instead of taking Malfoy all the way down the hall, Snape stopped by the settee, releasing Malfoy and handing him a throw pillow and the red afghan from the back of one of the arm chairs. Malfoy was practically quaking now, and Harry wondered whether he'd end up having company in the Hospital Wing soon. By the look of it, Harry's assumption wasn't far off the mark either.

"Fetch the Dreamless Sleep, Potter.. If you would."

Harry blinked, his mind slow to process that last bit, it was pretty close to a please, well, in Harry's opinion anyway.

After Malfoy had tipped the entire contents of the vial down his throat, and had drifted off, Snape returned to the kitchen, waved his wand over the table, and banished their attempt at breakfast to the kitchens -Harry assumed that was where it went-.

Harry, not sure what else to do, sat back down in his original seat, Snape, sitting stiffly across from him. Only this time, he didn't hide himself behind a paper, instead, he gazed at Harry expectantly, black eyes piercing.

"What did you see, Potter?" asked Snape, in a tone much lower than his usual, that still brooked no argument.

Harry slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, eyebrows drawn together in deep thought, "I'm not sure, exactly.. I think it was- I dunno," Harry chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully, "It might have been Malfoy, Lucius, I mean. And he's angry- well, not angry.. just, irritated, with something."

He glanced up, Snape eyes were searching his face, as though looking for deceit. Well, he wasn't going to find any now was he, thought Harry hotly, nearly rolling his eyes in irritation.. this time it was all his own.

Snape leaned forward, "And then Draco's mark flared, but not my own. Obviously, the Dark Lord only wished to cause pain, not summon his followers."

Harry shrugged, "I didn't know it worked like that..."

He expected Snape make a remark on his lack of knowledge, but he did not, "The Dark Lord's idea are far more sick and twisted then most of us can possibly comprehend," he said, then, with a look at Harry, "Though some of us are unfortunate enough to view the Dark Lord's thoughts first-hand."

Harry was about to blow his mouth off at Snape for insinuating that he, Harry, enjoyed seeing everything Voldemort did or did not want him to see, but luckily, Snape's sentence ran through his mind a second time.

...unfortunate enough to view the Dark Lord's thoughts first hand...

Unfortunate.

Did Snape no longer believe that Harry liked having Voldemort in his head? That was a lot to process... especially in the morning.

Harry pressed his lips together, he wanted to ask, and... Snape hadn't shot him down yet, so,"What do you think it means?" he asked tentatively.

Snape sat back in his seat, "Draco has not returned to his father's side in three days time, it is likely he has realised that Dumbledore got to him first."

That sparked something in Harry's memory. Feeling a little bolder he said, "How come, on Privet Drive, all the Death Eaters disapparated -even the unconscious ones- except Malfoy? I mean, it seemed like Voldemort-"

Snape twitched.

"Er- sorry, the erm.. You-Know-Who, was 'summoning' his Death Eaters. Malfoy already had the mark by then, doesn't that make him a Death Eater?"

Snape drummed his fingers in patterns on the table top, "I would assume it was because Draco was already within the confines of your home, was he not?"

"Er, we were standing in the yard..." But what did that have to do with anything?

"Think, Potter," said Snape, though without the usual barking tone, it was odd to hear Snape speaking to him in a normal voice, "The protection around your home..."

Then it dawned on Harry, "So Vol- You-Know-Who couldn't get to Malfoy because of the wards, right."

Snape tapped his fingers, "Undoubtedly."

Without really meaning to, Harry leaned forward, intending to rest his chest and arms on the table, and his chin atop his hands, he only got as far as his chest touching the table.

"Ouch!" Harry yanked himself back wards, his hand flying to his chest, cupping over his I.V. port.

"Damn," he muttered, blinking away the pain. It was rather like stubbing a toe that was still sore from being stubbed seconds earlier. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his chest sort of throbbing.

"You should take more care, Potter, it would be most unfortunate were that to get infected or reopened."

Right, Snape was still sitting right across from him.

His cheeks heated, "I know..."

Snape nodded, then, "Your test results are due to arrive this afternoon."

Harry tried not to let his fear show, "Yeah.. I'm not sure what to-" Expect? Feel? Do...?

"It is understandable."

This time, Harry's mouth didn't drop open, nor was he surprised. Perhaps he was getting used to this new, well, not new, mellow.. Yeah, that was it, living with mellow Snape just might be endurable after all.

Snape pushed back his chair, "Come, Potter, your Healer lent a book to me yesterday that I think you would find beneficial for your situation."

Harry stood as well, following Snape back to the sitting room, watching as his professor pulled a book about half an inch thick, from a shelf.

He handed it to Harry, who flipped it over to read the title, The Cancer Dictionary. Despite his whirling emotions -the most prominent of which was anxiety- Harry chuckled dryly.

"Thanks, Professor," he said looking up from the book.

Snape lips quivered, "Yes, well, at least now you will not be walking blindly into these muggle illnesses."

Harry suppressed an amused smile, "No, I guess not."

Another lip quiver, it seemed as though Snape was at a loss for how to respond. Harry couldn't blame him.

How did one talk to someone they had more or less hated from the moment they'd met?

"Alert me when Draco stirs, he may need another dose of the Pain Reliever," said Snape changing the subject abruptly. Then, without another word, or even a glance, Snape swept back down the hall, the door to his lab closing a moment later.

Harry situated himself in the chair closest to the empty fireplace, pulling up his knees and opening the book with a swallow.

Hours later, when the book was just beginning to slip from his fingers and his head falling to the side in slow motion as he nodded off. The floo flared, causing him to jump up from his chair just as a scroll of parchment with a purple string wrapped around it, landed neatly in front of the settee.

Harry picked it up with shaking hands, staring at the St. Mungo's seal, his breath coming in harsh pants.

He pulled the string and it fluttered to the floor...