Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I simply enjoy using the story line for my own means.

Petunia turned to Dudley in bewilderment. She had thought things were going fine so far, whatever could have happened in the past three minutes to upset Harry so?

"Diddy?"

Dudley cleared his throat, "He- Harry thinks were, um, pretending…"

"Pretending? I'm afraid I don't understand," said Petunia faintly, dropping ungracefully into one of the padded wooden chairs surrounding the highly polished dining room table.

Fear and disbelief gripped at her, she wasn't quite sure how to deal with all of this, and she positively didn't know how to make amends with her sister's son.

But she knew that she had to try.

"He thinks were only being nice to him because he's- because he's sick."

Dudley swallowed, "Mum, what's going on?" He whispered reaching across a corner of the table to grip his mother's pale fingers.

He was scared.

Terrified, even.

Harry couldn't have cancer, he just couldn't.

Harry had never done anything wrong, he knew that now. And Dudley had wanted to fix things, apologize.

Apologize for every stupid, mean, vile thing he had ever done to his innocent cousin.

And now he feared he wouldn't have enough time to make things right.

Stupid! Don't think that!

Petunia swallowed passed the hardening lump in her throat.

"Harry-" she squeezed her son's hand, "Harry was sick when he came home, you remember? I took him to the doctor's today, and they have some… concerns."

Petunia leveled her voice, she needed to be strong, she needed to be there for Harry, her nephew, she needed to act as his aunt, and not as his slave driver.

And by God she would do it.

"His symptoms are similar to that of a disease called Hodgkins Lymphoma- A cancer." Petunia whispered the last two words, the irrational fear that saying things out loud made them real took root in her mind.

Dudley made a half-chocked whimpering noise, gripping his mother's fingers tightly. "What are we going to- going to." Dudley made a vague gesture.

Petunia looked up from the small scratch she had been studying on the other wise shiny table; her son's eyes were watering.

Dudley was changing, he cared.

They could do this, Petunia was sure of it.

"Whatever it takes."

0000

A little after midnight a young man sat rigidly, nervous tension racking through his body, in a straight-backed wooden chair in front of a matching writing desk, both pieces of furniture made of the finest oak money could afford.

After all, it was nothing less for a Malfoy.

Draco's hand shook as he poised the peacock feathered quill over the blank parchment that lay before him. His heart had moved from his chest and was now beating fiercely against his Adam's apple.

He dipped the quill in the inkpot, forgetting that he had already done so not a minute before. Draco gulped, going against his father… what was he thinking?

You will do as I say!

And here he was doing the exact opposite.

You will contact no one, you will tell no one. If you wish to see the end of this war with a beating heart, you will tell No One!

Draco worried the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth, his hands were shaking so violently the he dropped the quill on the parchment, splattering it with top-of-the-line black ink.

Nothing less for a Malfoy.

Malfoy's do not need help, Draco! Where is your family pride? Malfoy's do not run off sniveling! Get yourself together boy! You are no longer a child!

No longer a child.

It was another year yet before he turned seventeen, but that did not matter to his father.

Neither did it matter to the Dark Lord.

Draco's breath hitched in his throat and he dropped his head in his hands. Surely they would be killed if they refused to accept assistance. Draco choked back a sob, his fingers slid into his hair; he gripped the silvery strands, yanking on them, hard. He banged his head softly against the table before him, it wasn't quite satisfying, he wanted to beat his head against the wall, but Draco feared what his father might have to say if he awoke from the noise and discovered just what Draco was attempting.

Trying to attempt would be more a more accurate description.

As if realizing just how barmy his actions were, Draco released his hair, smoothing it flat as he straightened himself. Closing his eyes, he firmed his resolve.

For his family, he would venture this for his family.

He reached out with a pale, manicured hand to crumple up the ruined parchment, retrieving a fresh sheet from the compartment by his left leg, Draco took up his quill again, and this time, his hands were steady.

There was not a tremor in sight as he wrote:

'Severus,…'

By the time he had finished his back-ached and his eyes itched, but Draco was sure he had never felt so satisfied in his life. Writing to his godfather had always felt like he was lifting a burden from his shoulders. It was oddly… lifting.

Severus knew how to help him, he always knew. Draco could trust him with this, despite what his father might think. Severus would not tell the Dark Lord or Lucius of Draco's deceit.

He wouldn't.

Rising from his chair as he rubbed at his gritty eyes, Draco breathed in deeply, he could sleep now, or as soon as he sent the letter he would. Draco yawned, stretching his arms above his head in an attempt to get some of the kinks out of his back.

No matter, he'd get a potion for it in the morning if it was still sore. Turning back to his desk, Draco rolled the freshly dried missive into a tight scroll, binding it with a ribbon bearing the customary Malfoy insignia.

Draco muttered a Lumos as he crept out of his bedroom; he checked the hallway before he turned to his right padding his way to the owlery upstairs.

Malfoy honor be damned, Draco refused to give up his life and family for honor. He was not his father, no matter how hard he had tried to be.

Draco was going to do things his way now, approval or no.

He was no coward, and he refused to stoop to something that was akin to house-elf slavery. There was no glory in that.

Despite what his father had told him.

And Severus would be there, just like he had promised.

Draco bound the letter to the leg of his eagle-owl. He ran his hand down the birds back. The black and gold accents were beautiful.

Only the best for a Malfoy.

So enraptured by his new resolution, Draco's eyes did not catch the slight movement to his left as a body retreated into the shadows.

0000

Harry had not left his room at Privet Drive in a week, well, that was if one didn't count the bathroom breaks and sketchy showers.

He had not seen his aunt or his cousin either; in fact, Harry avoided them at all costs.

At meal times Aunt Petunia would knock on his door before she poked her head through the crack, at these times Harry would feign sleep and his aunt would come in, leave a food tray on his desk, pause by his bed for a moment, then leave with an audible sniff.

Harry would clench his eyes shut and turn his back to her. He could not see them, would not look at them.

Would they never stop?

Lies. That's what it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

He was not sick, and he would not read those stupid papers from the doctor's.

Lies. Nothing more. Nothing less.

As if it wasn't enough that they had ruined his childhood. They hated him, treated him like dirt, stuffed him in a cupboard, called him names, and made him their slave.

What was one more thing? Why did he still care?

Harry yanked his shirt over his head.

He did not care. Not one bit, simple as that.

What was it to him if they thought he was dying? What did he care if their sudden change of heart towards him was all a lie? Harry scoffed, his relatives had probably discovered his fortune, and now that he was 'dying' they thought he would be giving it to them.

Harry chuckled dryly as he yanked of the rest of his clothes and stepped under the steamy spray of water. Trust the Dursleys to grovel for money… not that they were groveling, but being nice to him was close to it.

In their book anyway.

Harry rolled his eyes as he lathered a wash cloth. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. As if he would ever give them anything. Harry scrubbed viciously at his neck with the wash cloth. Knowing the Dursleys they probably thought they deserved gratitude.

Sick, twisted bastards.

Well, conceded Harry as he rubbed the soapy material down his arms, this summer hadn't been too terrible; Uncle Vernon's absence was a definite plus, hands down. Harry shook his head, where were all of these thoughts coming from, and what the hell was he thinking about the Dursleys barmy schemes for?

Harry's hand continued in circular motions, he concentrated on the familiar routine.

He hadn't written Ron or Hermione since break started, Harry frowned, but they hadn't written him either. Harry scrubbed harder, ignoring the persistent niggling in his mind. Ron and Hermione were probably just waiting for him to write first, he was sure of it, they were just being wary.

After all he had been an unstable mess last year.

Harry made up his mind to write them before he went to bed, Hedwig should be back from hunting by then.

Harry nodded to himself, it would be good to talk to his friends again, and he needed them to keep him sane. Harry smiled slightly as he washed the soap from the cloth in his now shriveled hands.

He hummed tunelessly as he stepped out of the shower, hot water still dripping from his hair. Picking up his towel and wrapping it around his hips Harry shuffled towards the sink to brush his teeth.

Feeling quite relaxed after his shower, Harry sat atop the down turned toilet lid as he brushed his teeth.

Chuckling lightly to himself, Harry sang a tune he remembered from a film he watched in primary school around his tooth brush.

Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!

I'm street wise

I can improvise

Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!

I'm street smart

I got a New York City heart.

Harry could barely recall the words, but it had been one of the few times he had seen anything on a telly so the memory had stayed with him all these years.

"Why should I worry? Why should I care? I got… something or other, I've got street…. Something, something, faire."

Harry laughed again; hurriedly he clapped a hand over his mouth to stop the tooth paste from dripping on the furry peach rug beneath his feet. Quite an ugly rug in his opinion.

Unexpectedly his scar gave a twinge; Harry dropped his tooth brush in surprise, accidentally inhaling some of the tooth paste in his mouth, he stood up quickly to spit up into the sink.

Turning the tap to let the water run through the basin to cleanse it of the white, frothy, peppermint flavored substance, Harry peered at himself in the mirror above the sink, his skin was an unnatural pale, and his scar looked red and inflamed, timidly he touched his bath-wrinkled fingers to the mark on his forehead wincing slightly when it gave another twinge.

He hadn't had a vision since Voldemort had possessed him at the Ministry. Needless to say, Harry was nervous. Biting the inside corner of his lip, Harry pulled his pajamas on, his body tense with anxiety, he needed to get to his room before a vision actually did hit.

Harry did not even want to imagine what his relatives would think if they found him screaming on the lavatory floor. Opening the door he glanced out at the hallway, all clear. Harry gathered his toiletries, checking the loo to make sure it was clean before slipping out of the door.

Harry made it about half way to his bedroom door before his scar surged and he slumped to the floor, knocking his head against the wall increasing the furious pounding headache he was currently experiencing.

Harry let out a loud groan; his forehead was on fire, he was sure of it.

His vision was blurring.

"No, no, no," he chanted as his eyes slid shut of their own volition. "No, please! Not again," moaned Harry against the carpet. His face pressed into the scratchy material, his hands gripped his hair, and Harry pulled his knees to his chest.

He had to fight it, no more visions, he couldn't take it.

The pain peeked… Harry succumbed.

0000

He glared at his servants as he twirled the yew wand between his pale fingers. Bella was ranting again, it was no matter, she was always complaining about something.

Lord Voldemort sat at the end of the table, his most loyal Death Eaters seated before him. Lucius, slippery though he was, Bella, Antonin, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Yaxley, Nott… and Severus. All, his most faithful, and all had failed him in the Department of Mysteries!

Except Severus, his little snake.

But Severus was quiet today; he did not join with his fellows in their mundane discussions.

Severus, his sneaky, little snake.

But they had received their punishment.

Voldemort smirked malevolently as he drew his pale hand across Nagini's head.

The screams had been scrumptious, and it was almost too tempting not to torture them again.

But, regrettably, he needed his servants lucid for this meeting.

Voldemort observed his surroundings lazily, the pathetic Order would never find them here. He almost laughed outright, but settled for a quiet chuckle, too long had he been thwarted by Dumbledore and his little tricks, too long had he waited to destroy the meddlesome leader of the light and the foolish boy both!

"Dear friends," he extended his arms in a magnanimous gesture, "Tonight, we plan the capture of our long awaited guest, Harry Potter."

Red eyes glinted as he watched his Death Eaters eyes widen in surprise and malevolent smirks take place on their faces. There were jeers and cries all around in response to his pronouncement.

Severus remained quiet, his face impassive, but Voldemort did not miss the slight glimmer in his eyes.

"Severus."

The name whispered like a caress.

My sneaky, little snake.

Voldemort turned away from his most beloved death eater, returning his gaze to his other followers.

"You will be mine Harry," he whispered, "Mine!"

0000

Harry shot up with a gasp. His heart hammered in his throat and his body was slick with cold sweat. Green eyes darting around frantically, he realized that he was back in Dudley's, second bedroom, and he wasn't quite sure how he had gotten there.

Only then did he notice the presence of another body beside him.

Harry jerked his head around so fast he was sure he had just given himself whiplash. His eyes widened as his brain registered his Aunt Petunia, staring at him with a worried expression on her face. She held a gray wash cloth, her hand slightly extended as though she had just been dabbing his forehead just before he had been shocked back into consciousness.

"Dudley and I found you out in the hallway, he carried you in here," she mumbled, lowering her hand as he continued to stare at her. When Harry did not reply she continued, "You were shouting out, I thought you were… in pain- you were clutching your forehead… scratching at your scar." Aunt Petunia's voice wobbled and died out.

"I'll just- I will be in the kitchen if you need me… it's almost supper time…" she turned her head away as she rose from the chair she had placed beside his bed. Harry felt like his head was full of cotton swabs; his thoughts, senseless and haphazard in his mind.

Not quite sure what made him do it, his arm shot up and he grasped his Aunt's bony wrist between shaking fingers.

"Stay." He whispered imploringly. She looked at him confusedly, but took a step closer to the bed. Harry tugged lightly on her wrist as she watched him carefully. Acting on an impulse that seemed to have appeared out of no where, he tugged on her arm again.

"I want you to stay."

And stay she did.

0000

Severus Snape did not watch as two owls faded into the early morning mist, nor did he spend much time poring over the correspondence he had just received. He was already striding towards the fire place in the center of his dingy living room at Spinner's End, voluminous ropes billowing behind him.

He ducked his head as he stepped in, his left hand fisted around a palm full of floo powder, "Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts!" and span away in a flash of green flames.

He arrived in the Headmaster's office seconds later and marched straight to his usual seat in front of the desk, sinking into it with all the grace he could muster. Severus thought it was a wonder he could retain any grace at all between last night's imitation whirlpool and the usual trauma of being in close proximity to the dark lord.

Severus sniffed disdainfully as he awaited his employer's arrival, which, of course, would no doubt be soon. Albus had wards all around this place; he would know exactly who had just stepped through his floo and when they had got there.

Severus scoffed scathingly, and the students thought it was because the Headmaster was all knowing.

Please, simple warding spells were nothing to fawn over.

"Ahem."

Ah, the Headmaster.

"You wished to speak with me, my boy?" Albus moved to seat himself behind the desk.

"Yes, Headmaster, I-" Severus' mouth snapped shut as he was interrupted. "My dear boy, please, it is Albus." Dumbledore's fingers fluttered through the air as he waved a hand, gesturing for him to proceed.

Severus grit his teeth, he did not have time for the old man's asinine requests!

"Yes, Albus, I have just received to missives that are, in addition to the Death Eater meeting last night, of the utmost urgency." Severus was leaning forward now, his face expression less, but his eyes mirroring the turmoil going on inside.

Albus narrowed his eyes in though as he leaned back resting his for arms on the arm rests of his wing backed chair. "If I may Severus?"

Severus fished the letters from a pocket within his outer robe; he thrust them into Albus' age-wizened hand.

Though he had only given both papers once-overs this morning, Severus remembered them word for word.

My Dear Severus,

No doubt after last night's gathering you will have expected something like this.

When Lucius and I had made the decision to name you as Godfather to my darling Dragon, I had not for seen the possibility of situations such as these arising.

A poor judgment on my part I am sure.

Severus, I am sure that you, as well as I, has whispered in the secret of your heart that our current circumstance is not what either of us has ever desired.

To go back to the life style we once led has been a harrowing experience as of late for I have been content these last fourteen year.

My family is of paramount significance to me Severus; I can not and will not lose them.

And so saying, I implore you Severus, to take my son away from the position we have found ourselves in.

I have spoken with Lucius earlier this night after he informed me of the "" plans, you will understand why I must refrain from writing certain titles, one should be excessively precautious when dealing with matters such as they are.

As I am sure you well know.

However, my husband refuses to take any action to prevent Draco from falling prey to "".

You understand my predicament.

Help my Draco, any suggestions you have to offer would be accepted with the utmost gratitude. Please Severus, I beg you.

I trust you will understand the need for discretion. I await your reply.

Narcissa

Draco's letter had been much the same, though it lacked the begging tone his mother had used, it contained the same desperate pleas for help, but it was masked under feigned masculinity. Severus was at a loss for what to do, hence his current position in front of the Headmaster.

Albus cleared his throat as he set the missive he had just completed, down on the polished desk top. "I fear that quite a few of our plans for this year may have to endure a change."

Severus' eyebrows drew together as he eyed Dumbledore contemplatively, "You assume they are truthful?"

"I suspect my dear boy, though I shall know for certain after you recount last night's assembly."

Severus grimaced; last night was not something he wished to recall so soon. He sighed, no chance for it, he would have to explain everything as was his job. "The Dark Lord plans to steal away the Potter boy this summer." He paraphrased with an eye roll. "This meeting was just an update on our next mission, we are to watch the house and search for possible entries."

"Impossible." Albus brushed off his words immediately. "Voldemort does not have Harry's address, nor can he enter if he had some how acquired it."

Severus' lips tightened, "He has found the address, Albus, though I am not sure as to how, but he has it. I, including several others, received the address last night." Dumbledore frowned worriedly, or at least it appeared that way to Severus.

"A troubling development, no doubt. We shall have to revisit the arrangement of Harry's summer home, as well." Said Dumbledore in bracing tones as though this latest issue was nothing out of the ordinary. Which, come to think of it. It wasn't.

A bit sad really, but Severus could not bring himself to feel sorry for Potter. He had enough people to fawn over him.

In his opinion anyway.

"And what did Voldemort have in store for the Malfoys?"

The question brought Severus back to present matters. "Draco is to be branded as a Death Eater in a month's time, between now and then he is required to, ah, deem himself worthy."

Albus raised an eyebrow in question.

"The Dark Lord would like him to accompany us on the raid for Harry Potter."

Severus kept his voice devoid of any emotion, but he could not help the twinge of sympathy that he felt for Potter.

If the Dark Lord's plan succeeded, Severus shuddered at the thought; things for Potter weren't looking favorable.

"For now, we will discuss the possibilities concerning Mr. Malfoy." Albus was saying benignly.

"And Potter?"

The Headmaster's expression turned pensive, "I am sure he will be safe for the time being." He replied, in a voice that birched no argument.

Severus nodded his head respectively, all thoughts of Potter fleeing from his mind. He needed to concentrate on Draco for now; his godson had asked him for protection. A flurry of emotions passed through Severus as he thought of Draco.

It was not very often that his godson requested his help, even less often as he grew older.

It was not often that someone cared for him as he cared for them either. In fact there were only three people in the whole world that had ever cared for him.

Draco, Albus… and Lily.

0000

He was asleep now, actually asleep, not the unconscious state he had been in earlier. Petunia's hand trembled violently as she stroked his hair from his forehead. Harry had fallen asleep before he could explain what had happened, and Petunia had to admit that she had been terrified to touch him.

Dudley had seem him writhing on the floor screaming just as she had, but as she backed away, her son had come forward, hoisting Harry over his shoulder and carrying him to his bedroom.

Ashamed of her actions, Petunia bowed her head, pale eyes filling with tears. She had vowed to change, to treat her nephew like family, and all in one moment she had reared away from that promise.

Harry's grip on her unoccupied hand had not loosened even as he slept, and a little spark of hope blossomed in Petunia as she looked at the calloused hand she held in hers. He was all grown up now, she had missed every year of his child hood, and it was all her fault.

Petunia lowered her head to the side of the mattress; she kissed her nephew's fingers tearfully before pressing her face into the bedding as her shoulders shook with sobs.

Harry's eye lids flickered, there was a strange whimpering noise coming from somewhere close by. His eye lids flickered again as he tried to drag them open, but he felt oddly exhausted and he wasn't sure why.

Voldemort! The Dream!

His scar…

He tried to recall what he had seen, but it was all foggy now. Harry wiggled deeper into his sheets, his scar was no longer burning, and curiously he tried to bring up a hand to feel the mark.

Tried being the main word.

As Harry raised his arm Aunt Petunia's tear streaked face and arm came up with it. He dropped his arm in surprise, broken images floated through his sleep fogged mind.

He had asked her to stay with him.

A smile spread across his dry lips, Aunt Petunia was here with him. The small smile turned into a happy grin as his Aunt stared down at him through red tinged eyes. She smiled back, a confused expression on her angular face.

Harry shook his head still smiling; he was starting to think he had gone barmy. Only when Aunt Petunia started to look frightened did his smile finally fade.

"You stayed." He stated by way of explanation. Another little burst of happiness flooded his chest when she smiled and squeezed his fingers.

"I didn't want to leave you, I wasn't sure if you were all right." She replied, unable to stop herself she brought up the hand that wasn't holding Harry's to stroke the fringe that covered his scar.

She let her fingers brush over the lightening bolt shaped mark, "Was it hurting you," she whispered, almost scared to ask.

Harry reached up to catch her lingering hand in his, "Its fine now."

"But why was it…?" she let the question hang in the air.

Harry rolled onto his side, facing her, "Remember the, ah… wizard," he winced slightly, but when Aunt Petunia only squeezed both of his hands. "Voldemort, the one who-"

"Your parents," said Aunt Petunia in a wobbly voice, "Lily told us about him once."

That caught Harry by surprise; Aunt Petunia never talked about his mother, let alone call her by her given name.

"I- yeah, well, sometimes when he does stuff, I can, erm, see what he's doing, uh, its called legilimency, uh." Harry blew out his breath, chuckling slightly; Aunt Petunia's facial expression had gone from confused to outright bewildered.

"I'm not sure how to explain," he admitted, he was completely bollixing this up.

"It's alright, I understand." She was doing her best not to recoil, Harry was certain of it. Abruptly he pulled his hands from hers, and she jerked at the sudden movement. His Aunt was frowning now, but she pulled her bony hands back to rest on her lap, her lips thinning worriedly.

Immediately, Harry regretted his actions.

"Dudley told me what you said, in the kitchen, after dinner that day." She changed the subject abruptly. Harry's face burned, now that he thought about it he saw what an idiot he had been these past days.

"I- I'm not sure how to… I am not asking you to believe me, lord knows you have all the reason in the world to feel badly about us, but I, Dudley and I, would like to… fix things, between us." Aunt Petunia's voice was trembling again, and Harry felt an abnormal urge to hug her.

"I understand- that we do not… I do not deserve your forgiveness, but, I would like to apologize all the same."

Harry could not believe his ears, he was certain now that he had gone barmy. Aunt Petunia was apologizing, to him… him!

"Aunt Petunia?"

"I was wrong to treat you that way!" she burst out, tears spilling down her cheeks, she grasped his hands again.

"I was jealous of you… of your magic, of my sister. I took out my anger on you… estranged you-" Aunt Petunia gasped between sobs. Harry's stared in wild-eyed astonishment, but even as he tried to process, a hopeful bubble had settled in his chest.

"I'm sorry!" she fairly wailed, she brought up both pairs of hands, pressing his to her lips before tugging his arms farther up as she placed them against her streaming eyes.

"I want to help you, I want to understand." His Aunt even as she cried. "This past year, after… Dudley." She let their intertwined limbs fall as she hiccupped herself back to calm. "I realized how unselfish you were, saving Dudders when he'd been awful to you all your life. I saw you for you the first time this summer and I promised myself that I would better myself, and ask your forgiveness." She squeezed his fingers, "I did not know you would be sick, nor did I know about Dudley's decision. Please, if you trust anything I saw this night, believe this. I did not know."

Harry nodded, unable to say anything more as a lump formed in throat and his quivered.

He could not bring himself to doubt her sincerity, and even if he could, he did not want to. It was nice to think that somebody cared about him just for being him. Some other than the Weasleys and Hermione… Actual family, his living breathing family.

"I believe you." He whispered.

Aunt Petunia let out what sounded like a relieved moan, and releasing his now sweaty hands, she gathered him up, one arm wrapping around his shoulders, and her other hand palming the back of his head, pushing it with tender pressure to rest against her shoulder.

Harry allowed himself to be tugged and pushed, relaxing in her sudden embrace.

It was nice, he thought, to have someone like this.

Like a mother, or Mrs. Weasley…

And as Harry closed his eyes, head still firmly held on his Aunt's shoulder, he brought up his arms to wrap her, permitting himself to be coddled.

It was nice.

And maybe it wasn't… just for now.