Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling

Draco's face scrunched with distaste. Why in the name of Merlin's socks did Severus keep so many books in his sitting room? Had the man never heard of a library? Draco picked invisible dust from his sleeves, raising his nose with a disdainful sniff. It was cozy... he supposed, but 'cozy' was not something he was used to, nor was it anything like he had lived in before.

There weren't any expensive pieces of furniture, no state of the art tea tables or sofas. Granted Severus' settee did look rather comfortable, though Draco refused to admit such a thing out loud. The books were not so bad, now that he thought about it, in fact, now that he looked closer, Draco considered the possibility of reading them. He had always liked to read, Father had often let him roam the very extensive library at the Manor. Although, most of those books were so ancient they had to be translated.

Severus collection seemed to consist of, well, everything, there were even authors that Draco had never heard about. Like Emily Bronte' and Elizabeth Gaskell.

Living with at Hogwarts with Severus might not be such a heinous idea after all, and maybe... after a while, Severus might let him fix the place up a bit. Just so that it wouldn't look so cluttered.

A small smile curled around Draco's lips, living with Severus, his Godfather. Draco let out an explosive sigh, at least Severus would not pressure him into being a Death Eater. Relief and a smidgen of guilt flooded through him as he circled the room, waiting for Severus to return. They, Mother and Severus that was, hadn't seen fit to explain to him how they were going to keep it all a secret, but Draco knew, just as well as any other fool should know, that the Dark Lord did not like to be played with... or lied to. If that was what they were doing.

Draco didn't want Severus to be hurt... but he didn't fancy being a Death Eater much either.

Shrugging his shoulders eloquently, Draco returned to perusing the bookshelves, concentrating so hard on a particularly old tome with a bind so faded he couldn't quite decipher the words, Draco didn't notice his godfather's return.

"If you have looked you fill?"

Draco whirled around, his shoulder knocking against the bookshelf in his haste. "Damn!" He yelped, hand flying up to clutch the throbbing limb, forgetting he had an audience as he rubbed up and down to soothe it.

Somewhere to Draco's left, Severus made a tutting noise.

"Honestly." Severus strode over to wear Draco stood, still clutching his arm. With a brief roll of his eyes, Severus removed his godson's pale fingers from the bruised area, pulling Draco's hand away entirely. He ignored the weak protests, prodding the shoulder Draco had smashed against the shelf.

"Ah!" Draco hissed through his teeth and shied away from Severus' hand.

Huh, well, found the bruise... "Let me see it, Draco, and for Merlin's sake, stop your incessant whimpering." Severus yanked Draco to him, and resumed his prodding, though his fingers were a great deal more gentle.

He stopped again when Draco jerked beneath his grip. Hmm... right there. Severus flattened his hand, rubbing the hurt on the back of his godson's left-shoulder. Seemed like the boy had hit it right on the bone, just missing the shoulder blade. Foolish child.

Draco made a whimpering noise, well, not a whimpering noise, per se, more like a strangled moan. Must have hit pretty hard, Severus thought. "It is best to rub the offended area." He said, by way of explanation. Draco glanced up from Severus' still moving fingers, he was awarded with a thin curl of the lips. It could have been called a smile... Draco thought.

"Alright."

Draco let his shoulders slump, he was tired, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his Godfather's sofa and read until the sun set. All this secrecy.

It made Draco's stomach churn, fear and uncertainty plagued his mind. What if Father found out? And what's more, did Father even know? And if he didn't, what then?

"Severus?"

"Hmm?" Severus dropped his hands from Draco's shoulder gesturing towards the settee, and then dropping into it himself. Not dropping... Severus Snape did not 'drop' himself into furniture. More like... slumping with grace.

"D- Does my Father know?" Stuttering, that's what he was reduced to. Disgusting, like a sodding Hufflepuff firstie.

Severus raised a thinly arched eyebrow, "I would have thought Narcissa had told you." Draco sat in the chintz chair adjacent to the settee. "Mother hasn't said anything, but Father hasn't either." He shrugged eloquently, trying to convey his innocence in the manner. Hoping against hope, that Severus would tell him what his Mother would not. Unknowingly, his fingers twisted together in his lap.

Severus scoffed inwardly, how very like Narcissa to shield her son from facts of import. Obviously the boy in front of him knew nothing of their plan. Ridiculous. Draco was the main part. If he knew nothing of what was to transpire... How the devil was the child supposed to act accordingly?

The woman never ceased to amaze him. Although, allowed Severus, black eyes narrowing. To anyone else it would have seemed as though Severus was studying the bluish-grey pattern covering the carpet, but in all actuality Severus could not even see the colour at all. He was lost in thought. Narcissa's asinine actions may have some merit... for example, the Dark Lord had no way of discovering their act. Well, not unless he broke through either Severus or Narcissa's occlumency shields. And that was highly unlikely, at the moment there was no reason for the Dark Lord to suspect anyone of anything. Even less likely were Lucius Malfoy's chances in uncovering his wife's subterfuge. Narcissa was obviously an expert in discretion and misdirection.

But Draco, her one weakness, could have destroyed everything with but one question. Narcissa was stupid to not have warned her son to say nothing to his Father. Severus eyed his godson, immediately he spied the twisting motions upon his lap. "Stop that," he commanded, leaning sideways to slap Draco's hands lightly. Draco jerked in surprise. Apparently the boy had not realised what he had been doing.

"Sorry," he murmured, lowering his blond head and staring at his shoes. "Habit." He added, still staring at his shoes.

Severus frowned, Draco was not usually so... submissive. Was that the right word? It was worrisome. It showed just how much toll this whole ordeal had taken on the boy.

Being left in the dark while people made plans about you was probably a contributing factor to Draco's stress. Severus made up his mind.

"Your Father is currently unaware of the going ons of this past week. We, that is to say, your Mother, the Headmaster, and I, would prefer things be kept that way. Lest... someone discover plans that are best kept secret." Severus speared Draco with a pointed look.

"Understood, sir."

"Come, child." Severus ignored the face Draco made, and stood from his seat, "I shall show you to the room where you will be staying while you are here." If, Merlin willing, everything went according to plan.

Draco wondered briefly why exactly he had to see his new living quarters now, but immeadiately lost his thread of thought when he caught sight of the bedroom, his bedroom.

0000

Thump, thump, thump.

Harry curled in on himself, fisting his hands in the soft quilt covering him. Go away. Go away. Please, please, go away!

"Harry? Harry, dinner's ready."

Harry screwed his eyes shut and pulled the warm quilt up over his head. Please go away.

"You need to eat, Harry." Aunt Petunia waited a beat before trudging on, "Your friend, that man, Remus... he said he'd come by to see you after you've had your dinner."

Remus was coming, Harry knew that. He'd gone to tell Dumbledore about Harry earlier. Harry had convinced him to wait until the test results came in... and Remus had. But after the Doctor called, Remus had gone straight to Hogwarts.

Harry's throat had gone dry, and he'd pleaded with Remus not to tell. But Remus had been adamant, and had even taken the time to explain to Harry that they needed to see what the magical world knew about cancer.

Cancer

Harry shivered, it made him sick just thinking about it. Aunt Petunia had held her own after the news, and rang the doctor immediately to schedule for an appointment. Remus had stopped her just as the phone started to ring. Apparently, muggle medicine did not mix very well with magic.

Which was another reason as to why informing Dumbledore was of great import.

Harry hated it. Hated that people might know. He wasn't sure why, but the very thought of having some kind of disease, a disease with no cure, made him feel dirty.

No more denial though. Not even that could comfort him.

He had seen the symptoms for himself. Hell, he had felt them.

Even now the headache from his recurring fever, was present behind his eyes.

Why, why, why?

Why him? He didn't even understand much of what Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma was. How could he? All he knew was that it had something to do with his swelling lymph nodes and it could only be treated, not cured. Well, the doctor had said there were some patients who had gone into things called recession... at least he thought that's what it was called.

He had blocked out most of Aunt Petunia's stuttered explanation.

"Harry..." He heard her sigh. "You need to come out. I know... it's hard- accepting. But, I'm trying, Dudley's trying, we're all trying." The soft thunk that followed, made Harry think she was resting her forehead against the door. "I really am- trying, that is. About m-magic and the cancer. I- I have something to tell you. If you would speak with me. I understand if you won't. But-" She was whispering now, and Harry had to strain his ears to hear, his interest piqued. "I... I need to speak with you, Harry, please. I'd like to fix things. I've done a lot of thinking this past year. I- we, I'm not sure where to go from here. I've never... I've never tried fixing things between my sister and myself. I pushed her away, and now, suddenly, I can see now... what I've- That it was all my doing. All of this... all of the... The damage I've caused."

Huh, somehow Harry didn't think she knew he was listening. He could hear that she was crying by the way her voice trembled and wavered. It made Harry feel sort of funny, guilty almost. Harry's eyes popped open in quiet surprise. He felt bad about making Aunt Petunia feel bad.

The door bell rang.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

He could hear soft sniffles as Aunt Petunia retreated down the stairs. Something twisted in his gut. Wasn't this what he had always wanted? A family, his family, to love him, or at least act like they didn't mind having their cousin and nephew live under their roof. "Bugger this." Murmured Harry and, threw the blankets of his legs to free them. He slid from his bed, swaying on his feet as the room spun. Must have stood up too fast.

He patted around with his feet to find the jeans he had dropped hours earlier. She wanted to speak with him... to tell him something. What on earth could it be? Harry yanked his second-hand jeans up his legs, grimacing when they nearly fell off of his waist. Sighing sadly, Harry yanked open his trunk, not even bothering to turn on the light, and rummaged blindly for his belt.

He smiled triumphantly, his fingers closing around the thin strap of leather. He stood, sliding the belt through the loops, and tightening it as far as it could go. Harry left his room, taking a deep breath, bracing himself. Dumbledore would be down there... and Remus, but it hadn't been Remus' office he'd smashed to bits. And it certainly hadn't been Remus he yelled and screamed abuse at.

0000

"Ah, Harry. There you are, my dear boy." Dumbledore held out an arm, gesturing him forward. Harry stood uncertainly in the door way, his bare feet sticking uncomfortably to the patch of uncovered tiled floor.

He stared in stunned silence at the scene before him, Aunt Petunia, Remus, Dumbledore, and Dudley sat in the living room, seemingly comfortable. Harry eyed Dudley, almost laughing when he caught sight of his cousin's hands. They were clasped on his lap, so tightly they had long since lost blood. A smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth, Dudley was trying not to jump up and clasp his bottom.

Feeling a bit less uneasy, Harry sidled into the cramped space, folding himself into the sofa beside Aunt Petunia and Dudley. He stared fixedly at the floor, waiting for someone to break the awkward silence.

Somewhere in the kitchen a timer pinged, effectively breaking the loud silence. Not that it lasted long... in fact Harry wouldn't have minded another five minutes or so.

"That's the roast."

Now that Harry was actually paying attention, he could see that his Aunt was looking quite shell-shocked... Like she wasn't quite sure how she had ended up in her current situation. She was wringing her fingers, twisting them together until they turned white, and then shaking them out by her sides. Her eyes were darting between himself, Remus, and Dumbledore... the sight reminded Harry of a cornered animal. It disturbed him, and what was more, he didn't even have the slightest urge to laugh.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on her. Ignoring her and all that. He could see the effort now, it was no use denying it.

And Aunt Petunia could not act that well.

Aunt Petunia left the room, Dudley following quickly in her wake after a mumbled "I'll help." His hands were clenched at his sides now, Harry noted. Remus leaned forward in his seat across from Harry, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hand, leaving the other to dangle between his legs.

"Harry, aren't you going to explain to Professor Dumbledore about what happened?" Remus stared at him intently, but Harry ducked his head, picking invisible specks from his jeans. He could still feel Remus' usually comforting, amber eyes boring into the top of his head.

"No need to feel nervous, my boy, but I'm afraid that you must tell us. After all, Remus tells me you may need treatment of some sort, so you see Harry, we are trying to help you." Dumbledore moved from the armchair on his far right to sit beside Harry, who continue to stare fixedly at his hands.

Remus gave a quiet sigh, and Dumbledore pat Harry's hand lightly. Fully aware that he was acting childish, Harry breathed deeply through his nose, and bent forward, raking his fingers through thoroughly tussled hair. He mimicked Remus' position, but moved the heels of his hands to press against his eyes.

"Do wizards get cancer Professor?"

Harry glanced at the Headmaster over his shoulder, noting the slight crease between his eyebrows with a sense of apprehension. "Not wizards, exactly." Dumbledore seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Harry leaned back against the cushions, "What? Am I some kind of wonky wizard or something?"

"Harry," rebuked Remus quietly. "It is fine, Remus." said Dumbledore, raising a hand to stop any further comments. "What I meant to say, Harry, was that pure-blooded wizards do not contract such an illness, witches and wizards with parents who have non-magical blood, get the best of both worlds so to speak.

"The oncologist at the clinic said it could be hereditary."

Odd, Harry hadn't noticed Aunt Petunia's return, she stood just inside the doorway, her hands twisting in her apron pockets.

"But, neither James nor Lily had it," protested Remus. "It could have been an aunt or an uncle, or Harry's grandparents." Dumbledore reminded him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Unless..."

The Headmaster trailed off, his eyes roving back to Aunt Petunia, "Lily." He whispered, twinkly, blue eyes widening in surprise.

"Mum!" exclaimed Harry, his expression turning from tired to disbelieving, "But Mum was a witch, she couldn't have-"

"And you are a wizard," said Dumbledore, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"She certainly didn't say anything about it when she was at Hogwarts, not to James, to Sirius, or to me. How could she have hid something like that? It's not- someone would have-" Remus gesticulated wildly, getting up from his chair to pace in front of the telly.

"Lily got better, before anything even came of it. She was eight and the doctors were certain the cancer was there, but when we went back for more tests about a month after she became ill, it was gone." Aunt Petunia stepped further into the sitting room, settling herself in the chair Dumbledore had vacated.

"Curious..." Dumbledore stroked his beard absentmindedly. "Eight years old, hmm."

Harry sat in stunned silence, his mother had had cancer, his mother had passed it down to him. This wasn't making any sense, and the whole idea of thinking it through made Harry's head hurt.

"But, I heard the muggle healers, they said there were only treatments, not cures." Remus shook his head bemusedly. "This isn't making any sense."

"Au contraire, my boy, it makes perfect sense." said Dumbledore, his eyes alight with excitement over his new discovery. All three of them turned to Headmaster.

"It would seem," began Dumbledore, stroking his beard, a benign expression on his face, "that Lily's magic developed around the same time her cancer did."

Harry wasn't quite sure where this was heading, but hopefully it would shed some of his confusion. "I don't-"

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence, "I cannot be sure, but it appears as though Lily's magic fought off her cancer. As you know, cancer is not common in the wizarding world, and only those of non-magical birth or those having one parent who is either muggle or muggle-born, have the slightest chance of getting it."

Harry watched as both Aunt Petunia and Remus' eyes widened, obviously they understood what Dumbledore was getting at. The irritating round about way the Headmaster often spoke was to much for his fever fuzzed mind to decipher.

Harry opened his mouth to voice his complaint, only to change his mind at the last moment, and take in a deep breath of air instead. Too late, he realized that breathing through his mouth, tickled his swollen throat, slapping a hand over his mouth just in time, Harry coughed loudly into the palm of his hand. Seemed like his cold had gotten worse. Ugh, when would it end?

At the sound of Harry's cough, Petunia shot up from her chair, scurrying into the kitchen to fetch a tea towel. The poor boy, she fretted, ignoring how unnatural it felt to be thinking something like about someone other than Dudley. Petunia pulled open the cupboard beneath the sink, picking up the first piece of cloth her hand reached. She filled a glass with water, opening one of the cabinets above the sink and grabbing the lemon juice in a bottle to help soothe Harry's throat.

Lily... she thought. Her once beloved sister had been cured by-magic. Maybe Harry too, could be cured.

Clutching the items in her hands tightly, she made her way back to the sitting room, where Harry's wheezing breaths could still be heard. Upon returning she found that Harry had been wrapped in a thick purple blanket, one she had in fact, never seen before. They must have used... magic.

Petunia repressed a shudder, magic, in her house! She could only imagine what Vernon would think.

Vernon!

Petunia nearly dropped the glass of water as she handed it to Harry. Vernon would be home tomorrow. She had forgotten, with all the fuss and bustle, her husband's arrival had completely slipped her mind.

"Erm, Aunt Petunia?"

Only then did Petunia realise she was standing frozen in place with her hand still extended towards Harry, her mouth slightly open.

"Uh, I-, ah." Petunia shook her head to clear it, dropping her arm back to her side.

"I just remembered, ah, Vernon... will be home tomorrow."

The glass slipped from Harry's hands.