Summary: Upon his reluctant return to the Dursleys after the events of his 5th year, Harry becomes depressed and ill. After an unexpected visit to the doctor Harry discovers a new challenge that he must face. AU 6th year. WARNING! Cancer! fic, and mild language.
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Petunia, Remus
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 7th summer
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 20 Completed: No
Word count: 107054 Read: 87738
Published: 27 Sep 2011 Updated: 02 Apr 2014
Story Notes:
I hope everyone likes this :) It's already on Fanfiction.net, but I thought I'd put it over here.
1. Disease...? by MarieLewis
2. Attempted Explanations and Hurried Assumptions by MarieLewis
3. Of Possible Breakthroughs and Unsettling News by MarieLewis
4. Too Much, Too Soon by MarieLewis
5. Future Arrangements and Surprise Announcements by MarieLewis
6. Mothers and Sons I by MarieLewis
7. Mothers and Sons II by MarieLewis
8. Awkward Conversations and Letters Between Family by MarieLewis
9. We Recieve... What We Least Expect From Those We Least Expect It From by MarieLewis
10. Potter, Snape, and Malfoy by MarieLewis
11. Chapter 11: It Didn't Hurt? by MarieLewis
12. Discretion Amongst Snakes by MarieLewis
13. Chapter 13 by MarieLewis
14. Snape's Expectations, and an Appointment I by MarieLewis
15. Snape's Expectations, and an Appointment II by MarieLewis
16. A Bit Like Trust by MarieLewis
17. Where It Starts by MarieLewis
18. Sometimes You Have To Prioritize Your Worries by MarieLewis
19. It's Bonkers, But It's Theirs by MarieLewis
20. Harry's Haircut by MarieLewis
Disease...? by MarieLewis
Chapter One: Disease?
Harry shivered beneath his sheets, certain that his fever had escalated since earlier that night. He drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he stumbled across the hallway to get to the bathroom.
He had only been at Number 4 Privet Drive for two weeks and already he was sick of it, literally and figuratively this time. His fever had started out as a cough that had occurred before he had left Hogwarts for the summer; it had grown steadily stronger until it had settled in his lungs, making it difficult for Harry to breathe. Harry had left his cough unattended, allowing it to fester into a cold, and now a fever. Harry wasn't quite sure why he hadn't asked Madame Pomfrey to give him a potion to get rid of it. After all, he'd been in the hospital wing almost every day during those last few weeks of term.
What with Hermione and Ron recovering from the….
The Ministry… Sirius.
It had all been his fault, his own stupid fault.
Harry washed his face, leaning against the bathroom sink and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he let out a shaky breath, refusing to cry over his own mistakes. He splashed his face again, trying to cool himself off, drying his face; he chanced a glance at the mirror.
He looked awful.
His face looked drawn and worn, deep purple bags were under his eyes, and his skin stood out pale and waxy over his bones. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed it before, but he was losing a lot of weight.
He looked down at his clothes, well, Dudley's hand-me-downs anyway, (though his clothes had always been a little big), they now looked positively huge. When was the last time he had eaten a proper meal?
Harry couldn't recall.
Knock, knock, knock…
He started slightly, that was odd, who would be knocking on the door at this hour, and he was sure that the Dursley's weren't exactly the 'knocking type'. But then again, maybe it was Dudley, who, when he wasn't avoiding Harry at all costs, was being strangely civil, or at least he wasn't bothering Harry at all.
Breathing deeply, Harry pulled out his wand just in case, he thought vaguely of how paranoid he was getting. Oh well, he shrugged, 'Constant Vigilance', and he pulled open the door, leveling his wand with his chest.
There was a sharp gasp of surprise, and Harry lowered his wand, hastily stowing it in the waistband of his flannel pajama bottoms.
It was Aunt Petunia.
"Put that thing away! What do you think you doing!" she some how managed to screech and whisper at him.
"Sorry, sorry." Harry yanked his shirt back down over the stick of holly.
He looked back up at his Aunt face; she seemed to be steeling herself to say something unpleasant.
"You're sick," she said, almost accusingly.
"It's just a fever or something." Harry thought it best to answer honestly and finish this conversation, lest she wake the whole house, the last thing he needed was to have his Uncle blundering down the hall to yell and spit in his face, he had quite enough germs as it was, thank you very much.
Aunt Petunia sniffed, raising her nose into the air as though Harry smelled. Come to think of it, he probably did.
"You've had that fever since you came here." She pointed out quite unnecessarily; Harry knew just how long he'd been sick without her help.
"I know, it just isn't going away," answered Harry, refraining with difficulty, from rolling his eyes. Why she felt the need to corner him at 2:30 in the morning to point this out was beyond him.
Aunt Petunia seemed to be struggling again, finally she said, "I'll take you to the doctor tomorrow, Vernon will be out on a business trip, so I'll have enough time to do something about your incessant coughing."
Harry's mouth would have dropped open, but he caught himself just in time.
Turning away from him she added, "I won't have my Dudders catching any dirty diseases from…" she trailed off, but Harry knew what she meant.
Diseases from freakish people, people like him, wizards.
This time he did roll his eyes, he doubted his fever had anything to do with the wizarding world. Harry's Aunt was rounding the corner towards hers and his Uncle's bedroom, how she managed to offer him help and still appear disgusted by his very presence amused him.
"Aunt Petunia,"
She paused, but didn't turn, "Thank you." A slight nod of her head and she continued on her path.
Harry was feeling considerably worse later on that morning, his back hurt, his neck felt swollen and itchy, and his headache had apparently taken a permanent residence behind his eyes.
His stomach jumped, and Harry's eyes flew wide open.
"Shite!" he whispered, before running full tilt towards the loo, hoping against hope that he'd get there in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet instead of on the floor. Harry stormed through the door; he stumbled over the rug in front of the sink and bent quickly over the toilet, the sense of nausea, overwhelming his senses.
Harry waited, now kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl; his body didn't seem to be capable of expelling anything. Harry groaned, his stomach was roiling, but he couldn't seem to vomit the bile that pressed against his throat.
Giving up on the toilet, Harry sat back against the wall behind him and pulled his knees to his chest to rest his forehead on them. His throat tickled, the only warning he had prior to a coughing fit, Harry brought up a hand to smother the sound. Coughs racked through his body, searing his throat, and straining his chest and back. It was starting to feel like fire whenever he coughed. The doctor definitely sounded like a good idea right now, though he would prefer to heal himself the magic way, it was much faster.
But seeing as he had no way of getting any healing potion to him, Harry had settled for second best, which was better than nothing at all. The coughing subsided and Harry heaved himself of the tiled floor.
"Might as well shower and dress now," muttered Harry, putting a hand against the wall he had just got up from to steady himself.
0000
Petunia Dursley had never been able to truly hate her sister, envied and mistreated, yes, but never hated. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't bring herself to and Petunia Dursley nee` Evans knew exactly why.
Lily had never done anything wrong, her once beloved sister, had been perfect. Lily always looked for the best in people, always did the right things, always made her parents proud, and most of all, Lily was magic. Though Petunia would never admit it to anyone, and had only just accepted it herself, she was jealous, she had always been jealous.
And from the moment she had seen him on her doorstep, Petunia had used her nephew as an outlet for her jealousy.
Her nephew, her sister's darling son, Harry.
Petunia could remember the way Lily had spoken of him in the few perfunctory letters they had exchanged during those last three years. At the time Petunia had put on a façade of disgust so well-practiced that nobody would ever realize how much she envied her sister of her perfect life, home, and family. After Harry had been born, Lily's letters had become so full of love that Petunia had to take breaks between paragraphs to reassure herself that she had come out with the better end of the stick.
And in the end, maybe she had.
Standing outside the examining room Harry was now in, and listening to Doctor Edward Eccles, Petunia Dursley looked back on her behavior over the years, only just now accepting her faults, did Petunia allow the wave of grief and guilt that she had fought against for so long wash over her.
The tears that had been threatening to overflow since Doctor Eccles had asked her to step outside the examination room spilled over, ceaselessly tracing down her swallow cheeks. The Doctor was asking her questions now, and Petunia found that she didn't know the answers.
"When was her nephew's last meal?"
"Had something happened at school?"
"How long has he been sick?"
"For how long have his lymph nodes been fluctuating?"
The last question brought a pause to the anxious habit of wringing her hands.
"Lymph nodes?" She repeated, her voice several octaves higher than her natural tenure. A solemn nod from the doctor.
"Fluctuating?" She asked faintly, a fuzzy childhood memory returning to her.
"Mummy, I don't feel well."
Nine- year- old Lily Evans lay in bed, her red hair fanned across the pillow and usually vibrant green eyes, cloudy and unfocused from headache and fever. Blonde haired, grey eyed, Petunia Evans watched her sister and mother through the bathroom doorway in the bedroom she shared with her sister.
Mrs. Evans brushed the strands of hair from her daughter's sweaty forehead, allowing her palm to rest on the heated skin for a moment.
"Hmm, you're heating up darling." Another brush of her hand, this time down the side of Lily's face. "Is your throat itchy? Is your head hurting?"
Ten-year-old Petunia watched as Lily nodded pitifully, and she couldn't help but be a bit annoyed and more than a little resentful of her sister for taking up all her parent's attention this past month. Far be it from Petunia to know why Lily couldn't keep herself from becoming ill every other week for days at a time.
But Petunia couldn't seem to keep the niggling concern for Lily from gnawing at her the next week Mr. and Mrs. Evans had taken Lily to the doctor to find out why their daughter's sickness persisted so.
Petunia could still recall the looks on their faces and the extra hugs and kisses both girls had received that night, and every night, for a month to come.
She remembered the conversation she had overheard between her mother and father who had been talking in the kitchen late one night when Lily's sickness had been particularly bad.
Petunia tiptoed out of the room she shared with her sister intending to fetch herself a cool glass of water to soothe her parched throat, she had been snoring, she knew it, not that she'd ever admit it. After all, Lily never snored.
'Perfect Lily'
Petunia scoffed, she couldn't see why they were making such a big fuss over Lily's constant babyish whining, but trust Lily to milk it for all it was worth. Petunia wrinkled her nose in distaste, in her opinion her sister should just buck up and stop whinging about her damned (a word she had learned a year prior from her father when he had come home angry one day after work) throat and swollen lymphy thingies. Didn't the doctor say the lymph what-evers shouldn't hurt?
More than likely Lily was just pretending.
Crossing through the sitting room Petunia paused outside the kitchen door.
Voices?
Why on earth (a phrase often used by her mother) would her parents be awake at this hour?
Petunia placed her ear on the door, quieting her breathing as much as possible; in order to hear the faint voices through the swinging door that divided the kitchen from the sitting room.
"-swelling should have gone down."
"-hasn't the fever broken yet?"
"-starting to get nervous."
Broken sentences made their way through the door, Petunia held her breath to her more, she was certain they were speaking of Lily.
"-Doctor says it could be-"
That was her mum.
Petunia pressed her ear more firmly against the door.
"Lymphoma!"
Definitely her father.
Petunia wondered for a minute what lymphoma could be, but brushed it of a moment later as nonsense her parents were concerning themselves with in response to Lily's pretending.
If someone had asked Petunia why her sister was always ill, she would have promptly replied that Lily had picked up some disease from the Snape boy from Spinner's End. He was always so dirty and scruffy looking, he could have been carrying some kind of virus, but Mr. and Mrs. Evans never turned their noses up at anyone, and besides, he was darling Lily's friend.
Snapping herself back to present she preceded to ask the doctor some questions of her own.
"How can we be certain that he does indeed have…?" she trailed off, forgetting the name Doctor Eccles had given her just moments before.
"Hodgkin's disease, Mrs. Dursley, I can give you a pamphlet for different types of cancers." He replied, blue eyes warm and full of sympathy for her current situation.
"Yes, that would be much appreciated." She drew a kerchief from her handbag, dabbing at her eyes with it and discreetly wiping her nose. Doctor Eccles turned away to give her a moment to collect herself. "Thank you." She said softly, eyes on the white lacy kerchief she was now wringing between her fingers.
"If you would like Mrs. Dursley, we could explain this to your nephew now, but I find that most parents or guardians find it easier to tell their children or young charges themselves."
"Yes I, -yes, I understand, we'll, -Harry and I will talk about it at home." Petunia swallowed thickly, she wasn't quite sure why she had just done that, but somehow, she knew it was the right thing for them to do."
Doctor Eccles nodded his head in agreement, "Well, that should be all Mrs. Dursley, just let me give you the names and numbers of the clinics for young Harry's testing. Then you may collect your nephew and sign out with Ms. Margaret at the front desk" And with that he left her standing in the small hallway outside of Harry's door.
Petunia wiped her eyes again in a futile attempt to cover up all crying evidence. She knew it was no use, crying had always made her pale faced and red eyed. Sniffing as she drew a deep breath through her nose, she knocked on the green door, and upon hearing a weak "come in," from inside, entered to face the biggest of her mistakes.
To be continued...
End Notes:
I admit, my first two or three chapters weren't the best I've written... but oh well. I have up to 8 chapters already. Read and Review! Thanks!
-Marie
Attempted Explanations and Hurried Assumptions by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
I do not own Harry Potter :)
Chapter 2: Attempted Explanations and Hurried Assumptions
Harry was beginning to feel anxious.
Aunt Petunia hadn't said a single word to him since they had departed from Doctor… Eccles, that's what it was, Doctor Eccles' office, and when she had finally come back into the examining room she looked very near tears. He couldn't fathom why, but anything that brought Aunt Petunia to tears that wasn't Dudley was bad in Harry's book.
Walking through the Pharmacy car park after picking up the prescriptions the doctor had written them, she had put her hand on his shoulder, as though she was leading him towards Uncle Vernon's company car. Harry had jumped violently at the unexpected touch causing Aunt Petunia to withdraw her hand just as suddenly as she had placed it.
They were in the car now, Aunt Petunia eyes wholly focused on the rode ahead of her, but Harry had seen her cast glances at him through the rear view mirror. Harry yawned loudly, covering his mouth at the last minute for manner's sake. He heard a very distinguishable sniff and cast his own glance in the rear view mirror. Aunt Petunia was blinking fast, it seemed like her eye was irritated, but Harry saw her bring up a hand to wipe an escaped tear.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called tentatively, he hadn't felt this unsure of talking to her since he had asked why he hadn't gotten a birthday present when he was four.
"Hmm?" her chin was twitching, and Harry could tell she was holding back sobs. But what in Merlin's name was she crying for; it couldn't possibly be… him, could it? Harry almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
"Are you, er, all right?" asked Harry uncertainly.
"Of course Harry, why wouldn't I be?" Now that was the Aunt Petunia he knew, denying the blatant obvious, like the fact the Dudley looked like a whale out of water or her beloved son's horrible eating habits.
But she had used his name.
Harry didn't think he could ever remember a time when she had.
Harry tapped the fingers on his right hand against the leg of his trousers, contemplating what to say next without causing an impromptu fight. Besides, he didn't want to upset her anymore then she already was, as weird as that sounded.
"You just-"
He tried again.
"You seem upset; did the doctor say something about Dudley?" He spoke the last part of his sentence in a rush, glancing up at her through the rearview mirror apprehensively.
They made eye contact for a second and Harry was shocked to see something akin to pity and sympathy in her swimming eyes.
Now Harry was positive he'd lost it.
He shook his head perplexed and promptly groaned and clutched his now pounding cranium. He couldn't help the small groaned that slipped through his gritted teeth and out of his parted lips. He hoped to Merlin there was a pain reliever in that pharmacy bag. Leaning back in his seat he lowered his head to the head rest as gently as possible.
"You can recline your chair, if you'd like," said Petunia after a moment's hesitation.
Harry's eyes popped open, Aunt Petunia's was determinedly keeping her eyes on the road and a foreign blush bloomed on the back of her neck. "Erm, yeah… I- thanks," said Harry blinking owlishly as he tried to make certain that it was really Aunt Petunia talking to him.
Really Aunt Petunia…
Oh no.
Harry held back a groan, it all made sense now.
Why Aunt Petunia was being so nice, the doctor visit, her hand on his shoulder, the tears, they were fake, of course! Why the hell hadn't he seen it before?
Aunt Petunia was being impersonated, he was sure of it, and now he was alone with the 'fake' Petunia in a car, miles from anyone that would help him. Discreetly as possible he checked to see if 'Aunt Petunia' was watching, seeing that she wasn't, he twitched his forearm to make his holly wand hidden there slide into his hand.
Harry tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched in his throat, he was going cough. Barely having enough time to raise his eyes towards the heavens demanding the reason as to why it was always him, loud, dry, painful coughs racked through chest, burning their way up his throat. He saw the fake Aunt Petunia glance at him in the mirror, as his coughs subsided Aunt Petunia pulled into a petrol station that wasn't quite far from Privet Drive but far enough that Harry was sure he couldn't make a run for it.
Clearing his throat and wincing Harry tightened his grip on his wand as Imposter Petunia opened her door and slid from the front seat making her way around the car to open his side. Harry's breathing quickened; a hundred different scenarios running through his head. Unbuckling himself, Harry slid across the row of car seats until his back hit the opposite side of the car. Cursing the stupidity of vans with only one door entrance and exits, Harry braced himself, his Phoenix feather wand brandished in front of him; he swallowed the fighting stance reminded him horridly of the fight in the Department of Mysteries.
Fight? If he wasn't trying to keep quiet he would have scoffed, it was more breaking, entering, running, and hiding then anything else.
The sliding door opposite him was pulled open and Aunt Petunia appeared on the other side biting her lip worriedly, a timid expression on her normally pinched face.
Aunt Petunia gasped in shock, "What do you think you are doing, boy! Put that…that thing away, quick! Before someone sees it."
Harry almost sighed in relief this was most definitely the Aunt Petunia he knew, and shocking as it was he was beginning to miss the familiarity. Still, he should check, no need for another run in with an imposter, he'd had quite enough of that during his fourth year.
Keeping his wand tip level with her nose, Harry squinted through his glasses at Aunt Petunia who still had her hand clutched at her throat and eyes wide and bugging, he watched her expression carefully, looking for the slightest flicker of hesitation.
"Where did you and Uncle Vernon go for your second honeymoon? And where did you leave me and Dudley."
His Aunt seemed to be frozen, but it didn't seem like hesitation, more like bewilderment.
"Answer me," commanded Harry in a tone he only used when in the midst of a battle.
"Now!" Harry gripped his wand tighter a spell already waiting on the tip of his tongue.
"I... I-" stuttered his Aunt the hand clasped over her throat fluttering against her collar bone.
Harry opened his mouth to bark another command, dimly wondering what this must look like to other muggles.
"I- we, you stayed with Mrs. Figg Wisteria Walk and Dudders stayed with Yvonne at Number 4 while Vernon and I stayed in Liverpool for two weeks or so."
Harry blinked in surprise, his wand lowering a fraction; he hadn't expected her to answer so quickly nor so carefully. Perhaps she had thought he was going to curse her. He lowered his wand the rest of the way, stowing it in his sleeve again. There was no longer a doubt in his mind that this was indeed his mother's sister.
He remembered those two weeks quite clearly, he had been six and Dudley had just turned seven, after receiving the news of his Aunt and Uncle's plans his naïve little heart had filled with hope that he'd be able to have just a little bit of happiness and be without constant chores, only to have the spark of flame stamped on harshly when Uncle Vernon handed him a long list of jobs he was to complete everyday despite the fact that he was staying with stinky cabbage, cat hair everywhere Mrs. Figg, as he had so dubbed her.
Dudley had been whining and crying and stomping his feet for the next two days because they had denied his demand to be taken along. Harry's overweight cousin had even packed a suitcase (with nothing but snacks, mind) and set it at the door, stomping his feet and yelling at his parents with all his might, it had all ended of many promises of presents and sweets for him while they were gone.
Harry had watched with a forlorn expression as Aunt Petunia hugged her son, showering him with kisses all over Dudley's puffy face and slicked back blonde hair while Uncle Vernon pat his son proudly on the back his broad chest puffed out as he bellowed about Dudley knowing how to make a proper bargain and how proud he was of him.
Harry had gone back to his cupboard after that with a heavy heart, someone to love him, that was all he wanted. He hadn't cried, but he had stayed up most of the night drawing an imaginary family with a crayon and scrap paper he had nicked from a bin where Dudley had chucked them after he'd gotten bored.
Thinking about it now, Harry realized just how pathetic he'd been, though it did make him wonder whether or not the drawing was still there.
"Sorry Aunt Petunia, I had to check," he said apologetically, scooting forward to get back to his original seat. His blonde Aunt eyed him warily, "I- apologize… for frightening you." She said somewhat hesitantly. Harry stared at her. Maybe he should have kept his wand out, but a niggling at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite identify drove him to give her a chance.
"It's alright, I'm just paranoid a bit lately," Harry phrased his sentence carefully, not wanting to say too much or letting something about the Wizarding World slip. "What are we doing here anyway?" he asked, as he looked around the petrol station, they weren't parked where they could fill the car, so Harry assumed that she must have wanted to by something in the small store inside.
"I was wondering whether you might like something cold," said Aunt Petunia, somewhat stiffly as though determined to get the sentence past her teeth.
Harry frowned at her bemusedly but answered anyway, and feeling confident that this was the real Petunia Dursley, he thought it best to enjoy this strangely kind Petunia while he could.
Nodding her head Petunia stepped away from the door, giving her nephew space to get out. She was still feeling somewhat panicky from her experience, but strode quickly after Harry as he made his way a bit shakily towards the shop's door.
Grasping the handle of the glass door before Harry could and holding it open for him to walk through first, Petunia caught the look of surprise on his face. She offered him an apologetic glance, not quite ready to make open mouthed apologies for shrieking at him in the car for having his wand out.
"What would you like?" Petunia gestured to the row of assorted bottled juices in front of them; Harry looked completely baffled, and his facial expression and body stance screaming uncertainty. "Erm, Raspberry Lemonade sounds good," he replied, self-consciously reaching out a pale hand to pick up the bottle. Petunia hand darted out at snagged the glass bottle before he could get it, her nephew cast her another bewildered before shaking his head, a slight smile on his face as he turned away to walk to the counter.
Extending the hand that wasn't holding the juice bottle, Petunia brushed her fingers lightly over Harry's head. Harry stilled at the touch, but didn't shake her off when she awkwardly brushed her fingers through the hair on the top of his head.
Turning back to his Aunt, Harry eyed her critically, "Aunt Petunia, what did the doctor say?" Harry couldn't understand why he hadn't asked earlier but it seemed to have slipped his mind, most likely due to the head ache that couldn't seem to decide which part of his head it wanted to stay in.
Petunia hesitated, "I- he," she stuttered. "We'll talk about it at home. Is there anything else you'd like?"
Frowning in consternation Harry shook his head no. She offered him a small smile before proceeding to the counter to pay for his drink.
Surprised at himself, Harry questioned no further, and found that he rather liked the way Aunt Petunia had said home. Throwing caution to the wind Harry allowed a small smile to form on his face, deciding that he was going to enjoy this kindness while he had it, he followed Aunt Petunia out of the store.
The rest of the ten minute ride to Number 4 was spent in a strangely comfortable silence. By the time they had gotten to the house Harry had dosed off and on, his head ache had receded somewhat and all he wanted to do was get up to his room and have a lie in. The raspberry lemonade from earlier had felt heavenly sliding down his blistered throat, though the soreness made swallowing uncomfortable the lemon had made it slightly better.
Harry turned his heavy-lidded eyes toward the window, the clouds were grey and thick, looks like rain, he thought idly, sliding his eyes from the sky to the houses on Little Whinging.
Number 1, Number 2, Number… ah, here we are.
Feeling disconnected from the world and all things troublesome, Harry unbuckled his seat belt and pulled open the car door as Aunt Petunia shut of the engine and picked up her hand bag. A twinge in his bladder reminded him of the consequences of drinking an eight ounce bottle of juice all at once. Slamming the door shut Harry made his way to the front of the house unconsciously walking all the way around the yard on the pavement instead of just trudging through the well kept grass.
Kept by him, Harry snorted.
Walking through the hall, Harry was surprised to see Dudley already positioned in front of the telly. After all darling Diddy was usually beating up little kids with his 'gang' at about this hour. Shrugging Harry continued down the entrance way to the stairs, which he vaulted quickly as his needs became more urgent. He distantly heard Dudley ask Aunt Petunia something but automatically assumed it was about when the next meal would be.
Though to be fair Dudley had lost quite a bit of weight, huge as ever, but no longer obese. Shaking his head to rid it of idle thought Harry yanked his fly down just as he swung the door to the lav shut, sighing in relief as he completed his needs. Vaguely he wondered how long he'd been holding it. He wasn't sure. No matter, he had been to busy analyzing Aunt Petunia anyway.
Aunt Petunia. His sickness, they were going to talk about it.
Anxiety setting in as he washed his hands, Harry checked his fly twice and smoothed his hands over the back of his head before walking out of the loo in an attempt to maintain confidence and composure. Reassuring himself that there was nothing to worry about and Aunt Petunia just didn't want to discuss sickness where people could hear her, he walked determinedly down the stairway and towards the brightly lit, perpetually sterilized kitchen.
He looked dead on his feet in her opinion, eyes ringed with bruise like purple smudges, face paler then usual, and eyes cloudy with fever and headache. Petunia eyed her nephew critically.
"Go ahead and have a lie in, I'll call you when supper's ready."
"Erm, Aunt Petunia, you said we were going to talk about. Um, what the doctor said?" it came out as more of a question than anything else.
Petunia stilled her cutting motions; squeezing the potato she had been slicing for the beef stew in her hand, she took a deep breath calming her suddenly thumping heart. "We'll talk after supper Harry, if that's all right? Try not to worry yourself, hmm?" it sounded far less casual then she would have hoped, but she felt as though telling Harry everything finalized the doctor's suspicions.
Petunia turned back to the potato, she heard a sigh and then her nephew's receding footsteps as he made his way toward the stairs. Letting out a sigh of her own she continued with supper, filling the pot with all the ingredients and setting it on the cooker, before pulling out three bowls and spoons.
Dudley was still on the settee in the sitting room and he had asked her earlier if she had needed any help, she had denied him but couldn't help the pride that filled her heart at his offer. Dudley was changing, she could see it, and maybe one day, she wouldn't have to lie to herself about him any longer.
Supper was a quiet affair.
Harry was his usual quiet and Dudley kept his head down, and Petunia's gaze flitted between the two worriedly. She wondered how Harry would take to the news. After all, he never complained about anything, but that was due to her and Vernon's treatment of him, she thought bitterly, smashing a small carrot with the back of her spoon. Guilt ate at her insides as she spooned more stew into her mouth, despite her sudden loss of appetite.
Harry cleared his throat nervously, he wasn't quite sure what to do, eating supper with Aunt Petunia and Dudley when his Aunt was being kind to him, and Dudley was being civil, needless to say Harry was at a loss of what to do.
"I'm finished Mum," came Dudley's deep voice as he pushed back his chair and picked up his bowl from the table, clearing his mess. Harry stared, since when did Dudley clean up after himself? Harry shook his head as he scrapped the last of his meal out of his bowl. He was glad he didn't feel nauseated; Aunt Petunia's cooking actually tasted quite good.
"Actually darling, will you stay here a minute? There's something I wanted to talk to you and Harry about." Aunt Petunia was forcing calm, Harry could tell. His breathing quickened.
What had he caught? It couldn't be that contagious or his Aunt wouldn't have allowed him around them.
"Mum?"
Petunia's gaze flickered to her nephew; she could see pending panic in his eyes though his face remained stoic.
"I took Harry to Doctor Eccles today sweetums, you remember?" her hand clenched around the silver utensil in her hand before she set it down. "Harry, I- I'm not quite sure how to explain." She looked at him uncertainly.
"Just start from the beginning."
Petunia nodded, "He, Doctor Eccles says that you have the flu, but you've had it so long that we fear it may be something else. He'd like to have you tested at a clinic sooner rather then later." She paused searching Harry's face gauging his expression, his jaw clenched and unclenched but he otherwise seemed unmoved.
"What does he think I have?" Harry dreaded the answer.
"He say's that your symptoms are similar to that of a disease called Hodgkin's-"
"Cancer?"
Both Petunia and Harry turned to Dudley in surprise.
"What?" asked Harry staring at Dudley who had turned white and was clutching the end of the table.
What the hell was cancer and how did Dudley know about it?
"Dudders?"
Dudley glanced between the two, "It's a type of cancer, we learned about it in health class." He explained cautiously.
"Wait what is it?" Dudley pays attention in class?
"You don't know?" asked Dudley incredulously, Harry stared at him clueless. "Well, I can't give you a word for word explanation-"
"That's quite alright Dudley darling, the doctor gave me a few pamphlets, we can all read through them together, we may have to learn a bit more about…" Aunt Petunia trailed of biting the corner of her lip and wringing her fingers staring at Harry.
"I'll just…" Harry watched his Aunt stutter before she turned and headed for her room where she had left her handbag. He looked at Dudley who had dropped his gaze to his hands pink spots blooming on his slightly chubby cheeks. It had been the first time Dudley had spoken to him since last summer.
Dudley cleared his throat, snapping Harry back to the present. "I wanted to say, um, I just-" Harry quirked an eyebrow, what in the ruddy hell was going on here?
"I just wantedtosaysorry," his cousin blurted before turning pink and averting his eyes.
Harry blinked, once, twice, had Dudley just apologized to him. I must be dying, thought Harry dimly thinking of how melodramatic he sounded.
"You don't have to say anything, I just wanted to say it for a while now and I wasn't quite sure how to say it." Dudley was speaking to his hands, cheeks still pink with embarrassment.
"I'm dying aren't I, that's why you're saying this?" asked Harry, he glared at his cousin, how very like the Dursleys to start feeling sorry for their wrongdoings when they knew the person they had wronged would no longer be there. Disgusting.
Dudley's eyes widened with shock, but before he could reply Aunt Petunia returned to the kitchen various papers and pamphlets in hand. Wordlessly she handed them to Harry, laying a bony hand on his shoulder in what Harry supposed she thought was comforting. He jerked his shoulder out from under her skinny appendage. She had treated him so nicely because she thought he was dying, though he shouldn't have expected any different.
What was he thinking? That after all these years they would suddenly start to feel differently towards him?
But what if they had?
No, he couldn't that, he'd spent far to many years trying to gain their approval.
But Harry couldn't help the betrayed feeling that crept up his heart.
Pushing out of his chair he stormed down the hall and up the stairs, taking care to slam his door loudly causing the locks on the outside of his door to jingle. The sound angered Harry even more.
They had locked him up, starved him, treated him like dirt, and never gave a damn about anything he had to say, and now, now that he was sick and dying with some kind of disease, they wanted to feel guilty about it. His eyes pricked but Harry pushed the sadness he had buried long ago back down into the recesses of his mind.
Snape would be proud, he thought bitterly, giving his chest of drawers a good kick before sitting down heavily atop his unmade bed.
He looked down at the papers in his hand, ignoring his nervousness and focusing his mind on the new challenge at hand. He calmed his tremulous breath.
Different Types of Cancer and Possible Treatments.
To be continued...
End Notes:
:) Reviews are lovely! :)
Of Possible Breakthroughs and Unsettling News by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to Wands and Orchidellia, my unofficial beta's :)
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.
To be continued...
End Notes:
I hope you liked it! Let me know! ;)
-Marie
Too Much, Too Soon by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Wands and Orchidellia! My unofficial beta's. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter.
"-must have a refuge, my boy. Where else can he possibly stay, he requires a guardian... of a sort."
Severus scowled, slouching even further, in his overly stuffed chair like a petulant child... Though he would never consider it that way.
"Severus, was it not on your behest that we offer young Draco our assistance?"
"Albus, I-"
"And, was it not you who spent year after year, attempting to lead Mr. Malfoy away from his Father's path?"
Severus glowered at the Headmaster from the depths of his chair. Trust Albus to turn his own good intentions on his own person. Severus slumped a bit more before rising to his feet with a defeated sigh. He paced, irritatedly, in front of his employer's desk.
"It is not that I do not wish to take Draco in! It is too dangerous. For we know this is another clever ruse created to suss out the Dark Lord's unfaithful! Lucius has been attempting to return to our 'Master's' good books since his stint in Azkaban." Severus scoffed, pausing in his pacing to scoff deprecatingly, "However brief."
He turned to Dumbledore, a sudden thought shedding light on the Headmaster's words. "You wish for me to discontinue my services?" he blurted incredulously. "And what of the Order? What of the-"
Albus raised an age-wizened hand, effectively stemming any further statements.
"Severus, my dear boy, your surprise is unfounded. You have known my opinion of your situation for many a month."
"Headmaster, I must protest! Without the information I provide the Order would be in far over their heads, and what of the plot to capture Potter before the month is out? I admit, the Dark Lord refuses to share very many details, but-"
"All taken care of, Severus."
Severus stared aghast at Albus, floundering for words as he stared.
"Now, to the matter at hand, young Mr. Malfoy may not have much time. We must ensure his honesty before we take action of any sort. You can meet with him this night, I trust?"
Severus nodded, wordlessly dropping to the edge of his seat.
"No need to fret, Severus, my boy." Albus leaned over the furniture separating them to pat Severus' hand. "All will come to pass in time."
Severus regained use of his voice, taking a moment to berate himself over the obviousness of his emotions. "And what of Potter? Will we 'spirit' him away as well?"
"Why Severus! It almost seems as though you are concerned for him! Careful now, you mustn't give yourself away."
Severus scowled, ignoring Albus's teasing for the moment. "The Dark Lord grows anxious, Albus, he will not accept another failed attempt. Tonight the watch begins, Yaxley will be stationed just off the boy's property, I suspect. My night will not be until next week, I'm afraid, and I do not know who will be enlisted for the task between now and then. Yaxley only gave way after a considerable amount of Firewhisky. I went to great lengths to retain this information, Headmaster. I would hate to see it go to waste because of your faith in 'Blood wards'."
"Harry will be removed from his Aunt and Uncle's in due time Severus." said Albus sharply, and Severus knew he had hit a nerve. Minerva had often argued with the Headmaster over Potter's placement every summer, but far be it from Severus to understand the Gryffindor head's views, nor why Albus appeared saddened and offended, each time she voiced them. "We must be cautious. Voldemort may be watching for spies, as you suspect, we must not lead this back to you. Harry will be removed from the blood wards at the last possible moment, for that is where he is most safe."
Albus' tone brooked no argument, but Severus had none to voice anyhow. He rose from his seat before the Headmaster.
"I will contact Mr. Malfoy, Albus." And with a final nod of his head, he departed from the Headmaster's office.
0000
Remus Lupin sat frowning where he leaned against a short brick wall, beneath Alastor's invisibility cloak. Just a short way from Harry's current residence.
Harry was clambering into the back seat of a muggle automobile, his Aunt and cousin already within. This would be the second time in the span of one week that Harry would be leaving the safety of his Aunt and Uncle's home, though there hadn't been any sign of the latter for ten days or so. Nymphadora had informed them after her watch that Harry had been taken out by his Aunt, and returned an our or so later. She had also reported that Harry seemed to be ill, and when she had gotten a closer look it appeared to be a mild head cold.
The Order hadn't taken the news to heart, after all, no one could be expected to stay in one place everyday for three months. Harry's Aunt had probably just taken her nephew for a day out on the town.
Molly had gushed about Mrs. Dursley finally taking proper care of "The dear boy".
But Remus knew better.
Well, not hard facts, but Harry had dropped hints every so often about his life away from Hogwarts, however inadvertently. It was no secret to certain people that Harry hated leaving Hogwarts every year, and Hagrid had told many a harrowing tale about the night he rescued Harry from "Catchin' his death or summat in a muggle hut!". The others had laughed and perished the very thought of such a thing from their minds, but Remus had stayed after the whole affair and talked with Sirius, Molly, and even Minerva about the possibilities of truthfulness in Hagrid's claims.
They had all agreed after various inputs of scenarios and opinions, that Harry's relatives were something to be concerned with. Remus and Sirius both had cornered Albus and questioned and wheedled him for information, but the Headmaster would not be swayed.
Harry would stay with the Dursleys.
No matter their suspicions.
Remus scuffed his already worn shoe as he weighed the pros and cons of intercepting Harry's Aunt before she pulled out of Number Four's drive.
"To hell with it." he muttered, and broke of into a sprint, careful not to be seen or heard.
"Harry." He whispered, just as Harry stepped into the car.
"Shit!" Harry jumped, bashing the crown of his head against the top of the doorway.
"Shh!" Remus grabbed Harry's arm, shaking him a bit. "It's Remus! Shh!"
"Harry! What on earth-"
Remus shoved Harry, none to gently, into the vehicle, simultaneously slamming the door shut behind him. He whipped of the invisibility cloak, noticing with a burst of pride and a bit of apprehension, that Harry wand was already in his hand, and pointing straight at him.
"It's me, it's Remus." He raised his hands in surrender, purposely leaving his wand lying on the seat behind him. Briefly he registered the other two occupants of the car were staring at him in shock.
Harry gripped his wand tighter, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, "Prove it! Now!"
Remus complied readily, "I, Remus John Lupin, former teacher of Hogwarts, Werewolf, and one of those who collected you after a Dementor incident last summer to bring you to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Have come to ask you, Harry Potter, why in Merlin's name you are leaving the house?"
Harry was still eying him speculatively.
"Not enough?" Questioned Remus, he smiled indulgently, another burst of pride coursing through him. "I also taught you to produce a corporeal patronus which takes the form of a stag, after your father James' animagus form, Prongs."
Harry lowered his wand, somewhat grudgingly, Remus thought.
"Oh alright, I had to check though, didn't I?"
Remus smile widened as Harry peered at him through over long fringe. "Yes you did, and I have to admit, I'm quite proud." Harry face lit up, and he grinned. Remus couldn't stop himself, completely ignoring Harry's Aunt and Cousin possible surveyors, he wrapped his arms around Harry's too thin form, pulling him into a warm hug.
Harry stiffened at first, but responded wholeheartedly after over coming his initial surprise. Remus let out a breathy laugh as Harry gripped the back of his robes and buried his face in his shoulder. Remus held his young friend tightly, rubbing one hand up and down his bony back, in a comforting gesture. He ignored the quiet sniffles issuing from his threadbare robes, he placed his hand against Harry's neck.
"I was worried about you." He whispered against Harry's hair, his breath ruffling it slightly. "I was-"
Remus pulled back sharply, frowning when Harry jolted from his arms like he feared he had overstayed his welcome. "Are you ill? You feel a bit... warm." He laid the back of his hand against Harry's neck, "You're burning up! He retrieved his wand, warding the car from prying eyes. "Come here."
Harry inched closer, eyebrows scrunched in consternation.
Remus laid his palm against Harry's forehead. The skin beneath his hand felt uncomfortably hot, like Remus himself usually felt around the time of the full moon. He looked his young friend over, disregarding the inevitable 'I'm fine'.
Harry did not look well at all.
His eyes were clouded and watery from headache or fever, probably both, his cheeks were flushed, and his nose was red from blowing. Remus' eyebrows drew together, tapping Harry's neck with his wand twice, he checked his temperature.
104
Anger roiled in his stomach. Remus turned to Harry's so-called family, the wolf inside him twitching and growling in irritation, "Are you aware, that your nephew is running a very HIGH FEVER!" Thankfully he had remembered to apply a silencing charm.
"What the HELL is wrong with you- you, if I were-"
"Remus, Re- Remus!"
Harry tugged him 'round by his sleeve.
"They're taking me to get checked! And I'm fine, really, we're going to a muggle doctor, and besides, it isn't a big deal, just a fever."
"Just a-" Surprisingly, the outrageous toned words came from Harry's Aunt, but Harry shot her comment down with a warning look, that made Remus feel distinctly uneasy.
"Harry, who is this man?" asked the horse-faced woman. Remus turned back to her, he had met Petunia once or twice before, she didn't look much different in his opinion, and she never held a candle to Lily's beauty. Pale, rheumy, grey eyes swept over his face, and Remus watched as recognition dawned on Petunia's face.
"Your that boy, L-Lily's friend! The one that came over with her husband." Petunia Dursley recoiled, visibly.
"Remus Lupin, I'm a friend of Harry's... and his parents. Lily and James. We saw each other once, in passing, though I don't believe Lily got the chance to introduce us as she couldn't seem to locate you."
It was a bold-faced lie and he knew it. He had heard Lily and Petunia fighting upstairs because Petunia had refused to associate with 'freaks'. He and James had only seen her when she had entered the kitchen to inform Lily in a snooty voice, that she would not be in the house, but at Vernon's for the remainder of the afternoon.
Remus watched as two pink patches appeared on Petunia's swallow cheeks. Good! She deserves to be embarrassed, after all the things she's done... hasn't done.
His gaze switched to Harry who was still clutching his sleeve and watching the scene before him with an anxious expression. He smiled disarmingly when Harry's eyes swiveled to his. "I'm afraid I must accompany you-" Remus ignored the whimpers from the front of the automobile. "You're not to leave the house actually, why didn't you write the Order?"
Harry flushed, ducking his head to stare intently at his knees.
"It's complicated, Remus." He muttered quietly, still staring at his knees. Harry relinquished his hold.
Remus frowned, and using his thumb and forefinger, turned Harry's face back to his. "Go on..."
"Erm, uh- Last week Aunt Petunia took me to the doctor and he said I might have..." Harry turned his head awkwardly in Remus' grip to glance at his Aunt.
"Hodkin's Lymphoma, it's a cancer."
000
Harry watched as Remus face remained frozen in confusion. He wondered vaguely if that had been his expression when Aunt Petunia and Dudley had explained it to him.
"I don't think its common in the wizarding world, it's a muggle disease, Remus."
His ex-professor's eyes jumped between Aunt Petunia and himself. "What does it... do?" Harry chuckled lightly at Remus' expense. "It.. well, I'm not too sure, actually. I've only just learned of it myself last night. Aunt Petunia got papers from the-"
"Mum, it's almost two." Dudley interrupted his jumbled explanation. "Oh! Oh, dear, we'll miss the appointment." Aunt Petunia twisted in her seat to peer into Harry's face. "We really should be going, we want to be sure of this, and you told us the swelling hadn't gone down."
Harry got the feeling she was trying to act as normal as possible, despite the fact that a full grown wizard sat in the back seat of Uncle Vernon's company car. He appreciated her effort.
"Remus, we have an appointment at a clinic to find out if I actually have... it, we're not sure. Do you think we can," he gestured toward the drive way.
Harry watched as Remus thought it over. This whole cancer thing was just to surreal, and Harry just didn't want Remus to know to much... come to think of it he didn't want anyone to know about it.
They would all treat him like some charity case! And besides, they weren't even sure if he had it.
Never the less, Harry had read the symptoms and he had quite a few.
"I can send a message to Tonks, she should be able to get here and watch the house. She's off duty today, I think. Just a moment." Remus rolled the car window down to about an inch, raising his wand. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye, both Dudley and Aunt Petunia flinch.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A silver shape erupted from the wand tip before disappearing completely, two seconds later there was a quiet pop, and what must have been a disillusioned Tonks, made her way up the drive.
Two sharp raps against the car door, "Wotcher Remus, got your message." she didn't remove her disillusionment, nor did she speak above a whisper.
"Harry's sick," replied Remus in an equally quiet voice, though he rolled the window down a bit more. "Some kind of muggle disease, Limera, something or other."
Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Good, Tonks was a half-blood, she might have known what it was and told the others.
Harry was sure Tonks was frowning, "Limera... ain't nothing I've ever heard of. Maybe you've got it wrong. Ah, well, you go on, I'll watch the house, is that Harry behind you?" Tonks let out a low whistle, "Better hurry, looks like he's gonna drop any second. Bye Harry!" There was a kissing noise, a blowing sound, and Harry realised that she must have blown him a kiss.
If his cheeks hadn't already been fever flushed, he was sure he would have put Ron's Weasley blush to shame.
Harry faced forward in his seat, suddenly feeling very tired. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were still craning their necks to stare at Remus and the now closed window, he would have laughed at their expressions, but the very thought of it made his head hurt. He hoped motion sickness wouldn't set in, he just could not handle that just now.
Harry closed his eyes, a small groan issuing from his mouth. A hammer was pounding inside his head, between his eyes. Harry let his head fall sideways against the window, shivering because of the air conditioning vent above his head that was now blowing on his neck.
Petunia turned the key in the ignition, wrinkling her nose as the engine revved. She had always hated that sound.
She glanced up to check on Harry through the review mirror, wincing in sympathy when she caught sight of his shivering form. He looked grey almost, well, aside from the unnatural flush on the cheek she could see. He had lost weight... too much weight. That was one of the side affects.
Harry had eaten a full meal three times a day, but despite her best efforts, he still looked half-starved. Her nephew's arms were wrapped around his middle, and Petunia feared he might be sick in the car. She worried her lip, shifting her foot to put more pressure on the gas pedal. The sooner they knew what Harry had, the sooner the could help him.
The man- Remus, seemed to know Harry very well, Petunia could not have helped the flash of jealously she felt when they had embraced. She had had years and years to do that, but she hadn't, she pushed him away. Blaming him for all the hardships of her life.
She looked up again, catching Remus' eye in the mirror. She wasn't surprised by the look of disgust he was directing at her, and she couldn't fault him for feeling that way.
She was disgusted herself. Disgusted with herself. Disgusted by the very thought of what she had done.
Petunia swallowed past the stickiness in her throat, suddenly feeling quite parched. Harry was running his hands up and down his arms, rubbing them. She cursed herself for not remembering sooner.
"Dudley dear, can you reach the blankets I brought for Harry? They're in the pocket in back of my seat." She was proud to note that her voice hadn't wavered.
Remus was fingering a wooden stick between his fingers, watching Harry with nervous concern, and Petunia had to resist the urge to screech at him to put the abnormal object away. She wasn't sure how to change her views of magic, but she was trying.
Harry deserved so much more from her.
Petunia kept her eyes on the road as she pulled into the busy highway, listening as Dudley and Remus tucked the knit blanket around her nephew.
000
Draco gulped nervously, following his mother's lead as she navigated them through a dingy neighborhood, he wasn't sure what he found more disconcerting. The neighborhood, or the fact that his mother seemed to know her way around quite well.
"Mother!" Whispered Draco urgently after narrowly avoiding another puddle of grimy looking water. Buggering hell! His shoes were made of the best dragon hide a person could buy! Not that he couldn't buy another pair instantly.
"Where the devil are we going?"
His mother waved her hand behind her, both beckoning him closer and shushing him. Draco resisted the urge to throw a fit. He hadn't thrown one for three years, and besides, mother had been rather short with him lately.
He blamed that on Father though, it looked to Draco as though he was picking the constant fights with Mother.
Honestly
Anyhow, Draco couldn't see that he cared one way or another, it wasn't like his parents had been brimming with love for each other. The didn't even sleep in the same room, for Merlin's sake!
Not that he knew of anyway, and they wouldn't file for divorce either, too disgraceful. The very thought made Draco reconsider the usefulness of three hour showers.
"Ugh! Honestly Mother what is this place, and who in all things magical would even consider living here!" Draco kept his voice low, speaking in scathing tones he usually saved for Potter and other dunderheads of the like.
"Hush, Draco, we're here."
Narcissa opened the short picket-like gate, ushering Draco forward. She herself could never understand why Severus chose to live so simply, but as she was asking for favors, situation called for discretion of opinions.
Narcissa raised her fist, and rapped on the door twice. She despised all this secrecy, but if the Dark Lord knew... Narcissa did not want to think about what the their lord would do if he discovered her actions.
She glanced at her son, Draco seemed unnaturally subdued now, as if he knew subterfuge was their game today. He was always a clever boy. Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. He moved a little stiffly, but stood beside her all the same.
"Ah, Narcissa, come in. Quickly." Severus opened the door a bit wider, giving Narcissa a view of a carpeted hall with a doors on either wall and a staircase at the end. The inside of her son's godfather's home didn't look nearly as devastating as the outside. It made her feel a smidgen less guilty about her deceit.
Draco resisted the urge to run from the room, books lined the shelves (granted they looked very interesting), the sofas were positively garish, the wall to wall rug, abhorrent, and he didn't even want to think of the horribly ancient looking coffee tables.
He shuddered, imperceptibly of course, Severus was helping him, and somewhere in Draco's mind he knew he was grateful.
"-shall see, Narcissa, if that is all? You must understand the risks in question for me to undertake such a, ah, task."
Draco's nose flared, the only visible sign that his Godfather's statement had affected him. A task? A million insults came to mind, all of them crude and derogatory, words Draco was sure spewed out of Gryffindor slime on a regular basis. He held them in, Mother had warned him to keep quiet and he would.
But Draco couldn't ignore the hurt blooming in his chest.
"Then it is settled, Draco will stay with me. I have quarters at Hogwarts, of course. We must bide our time Narcissa, and wait until the last possible moment."
"I understand." Draco watched his mother clasp Severus' hands and press her lips to them in gratitude.
000
"Now if you'll just step up here, there we go, that's it. Hmm, 7stone, 152.56, alright love, go ahead and step down."
Harry stepped of the scale, grabbing his shoes from the floor and taking a seat beside the counter, while the nurse took notes on the back of his sign in form. He held in a sigh of disappointment.
152.56cm
He hadn't even grown a little bit!
And he's lost wait, but Harry chose to ignore that.
"Arm, dear."
Harry extended his left arm, watching interestedly as she wrapped a sleeve around his bicep to check his blood pressure, and trying not to flinch when it constricted. The machine standing in front of the small computer counter, beeped when it finished and the pressure was gone.
"A bit low, but nothing to worry about..." The nurse murmured to herself. Harry glanced at her face, he hadn't quite seen her before because he'd been alternating between staring at his shoes and the floor. But now that he looked he had to admit, she was quite pretty. Like Tonks minus the barmy faces.
She looked down at him, smiling brightly, but Harry promptly turned pink and averted his gaze.
"Just one more thing, love, go ahead and rest your arm on the table, there we go." The nurse, (Harry wished he knew her name), placed two fingers over his wrist, right beneath his thumb, tapping her watch and counting under her breath as she checked his pulse.
"All done, go on, back to the waiting room." She smiled again. Harry was beginning to think it was the nurses job to make the patients feel as comfortable as possible... before the other shoe dropped. "Your name will be called when Doctor Farris is ready for you."
Harry yanked his shoes on, foregoing the laces. Suddenly the nurse did not seem so appealing, Harry paused in his shoe yanking to cough into the arm of his shirt. She was playing with him... they weren't telling him yet, they were lulling him into a false sense of security.
Harry stood, all but stomping back into the waiting room where Remus, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were sitting. He shoved his hands in his pockets, scowling when the constant tickle in his throat intensified. Harry yanked his arms back out just in time for another coughing fit.
This time Harry did sigh.
Miserable. That's what his life was. Miserable.
One big, fat blob of miserableness.
Was that even a word?
He flopped into the plastic chair between Remus and Aunt Petunia, slouching as far as possible and leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes. Willing everyone around him to shut up. His brain was pounding in his damn ears for God's sake.
If Harry's eyes were open he would have seen Aunt Petunia and Remus exchange concerned looks.
But they weren't, and Harry was already drifting, losing his grip on reality. He curled in on himself, floating.
"Harry... Harry."
"Unnggh." Why couldn't he be left alone. Harry tried rolling over, patting around with a hand in search of a blanket. Tried...
He fell right of his bed, onto a strangely soft pillow like surface... it was a bit hard, scratchy even. Someone was shaking his shoulder, and Harry tried to yank himself from the irritating grip. He rubbed his face against the scratchy material beneath him, yawning.
"Harry, it's time to wake up."
"M' tired," he mumbled, but opened his eyes anyway. As it turned out the scratchy, somewhat soft surface was Remus' trousers, and his bed was an uncomfortable plastic chair. They were still in the clinic, much to Harry's displeasure.
He avoided Remus' eyes, choosing instead to glance awkwardly at Aunt Petunia, who returned his look with an equally awkward smile.
"The doctor is ready for you, H- Harry." She was still knew to saying his name, if Harry wasn't so out of it, he would have laughed.
Dudley stayed in the waiting room, but Remus and Aunt Petunia followed to room three where the nurse led them.
The chairs in here were definitely more comfortable, thought Harry idly as he took his seat beside another computer occupied counter, the same nurse from earlier typing away on the keyboard. He supposed she was updating his file... or creating a new one. Harry wasn't quite sure how these things went, one way or another.
He just wanted them to hurry up and tell him the truth.
The door opened, revealing a tall, middle aged man, with neatly combed brown hair, the man wore a white over coat like thing, with two pockets and a stethoscope around his neck. He looked much like Dr. Eccles, and Harry wondered why they couldn't have done all this during the last trip.
He supposed they specialized in cancer here. The thought made Harry's throat run dry and his mouth turn cottony.
He did not- could not, have it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Remus' hand slip into his coat pocket, his hand, no doubt, forming a fist over his wand. The sight made Harry smile, relief, he thought it was. Remus still liked him, even after what Harry had done to Sirius.
"Ah, you must be Petunia," the doctor extended a hand to grip Petunia's in a hearty shake. Brilliant, just what Harry needed, another jolly soul. "And this must be Harry! Hello, lad." Doctor Whatever-His-Name-Was, Harry noticed, did not shake his hand, instead he pat Harry's shoulder in a somewhat bracing manner. It made Harry feel slightly better, maybe the doctor wasn't going to be all smiles and watered down stories. Or maybe he just did not want to catch Harry's germs by shaking his hand.
"Doctor Farris, I'm a specialist, also a cousin of the pediatrician who sent you here." Ah, well, that explained the resemblance, Harry thought as Doctor Farris shook Remus' hand as well.
The nurse, this time Harry caught her name, Elaina, was briefing the doctor on Harry's file. It seemed that he hadn't had a file, which was why it was taking so long to dig up his medical history.
"Alright, well, it seems were going to have to start from the beginning." Doctor Farris took a seat before the computer, Nurse Elaina having exited after the briefing.
"Full Name?"
"Harry James Potter." His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy as it had been for the past month. Proof that there was something wrong with him that wasn't just a cold.
"Parents or Guardians?"
"Petunia Evans Dursley." Harry looked at Aunt Petunia in surprise, she hadn't said Vernon's name so he supposed she must have whole guardianship. He stiffened when the doctor eyed Remus curiously, but relaxed a bit when he went back to questioning.
"Age?"
"Sixteen, this July." Sixteen, Harry decided, sounded much better than fifteen.
"Date of birth?"
"July 31st, 1980."
"School?"
Surreptitiously, Harry glanced at Remus, but was again surprised by Aunt Petunia's quick response. She must have been thinking about this in the waiting room, he mused silently.
"A boarding school in Scotland, he spends the year there which is why I haven't any records here. Harry is seldom sick, you see."
For once, Aunt Petunia's lies didn't make his blood boil, she hadn't said anything about Saint Brutus's and for that, Harry would be eternally grateful.
"Ah, I see. Is there anyway I can receive this records. It helps to know what a patient has been through, a little history of past injuries and ailments." Doctor Farris nodded to himself, his fingers drumming the letters on the keyboard.
Aunt Petunia looked perplexed, but Remus cleared his throat, scooting forward in his seat a bit. "I am sure I can obtain them for you, when would you like them exactly?" he asked cordially.
"Sooner rather than later, thanks. And you are?"
"Remus Lupin, I'm a counselor from Harry's school."
The doctor frowned but said nothing.
"You look like you've lost quite a bit of weight there, Harry. It says here you weigh seven stone. Ninety-eight pounds is a little under weight for a sixteen year old and growing teen." Doctor Farris peered at Harry, blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, and Aunt Petunia shifted in her chair.
"I- I've been eating regular meals, I just don't seem to be gaining anything." he mumbled quietly. That was one of the symptoms, it was on the brochure.
Harry was more than a little peeved when the doctor looked to Aunt Petunia for confirmation. He could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much!
Harry could feel Remus' gaze burning in the side of his head, but he steadfastly ignored it. Remus must be very confused about all this, but Harry just did not think he had the strength to enlighten his friend.
Bloody wuss, he was. A bloody tired wuss.
"Hmm, for how long have you been sick? Can you tell me exactly what you've been feeling?"
Too many bleeding questions.
"Ah, about three weeks. Erm, dizziness, sore throat, head ache... er, oh, cough, runny nose, nausea. I think that's it." A featherlight touch on his arm made Harry turn from Doctor Farris' thoughtful expression. Remus was staring at him, brown eyes wide with concern and sympathy. Harry managed a weak smile, sniffling a bit. Remus pulled out a hankerchief, handing it to Harry, and rubbed his back comfortingly.
The Doctor swiveled in his chair, facing Harry full on, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He propped his chin against his clasped hands.
He appeared to be considering something, the look made Harry nervous.
"Your lymph nodes are swollen, aren't they?"
Harry's heart pounded in his throat, he nodded silently.
"Nightly sweats? Fever? Stomach or back hurt? Itchy skin? Unexplainable fatigue?"
Harry's throat constricted, how did he know?
"Harry, shh, it's alright, shh..."
Remus was rubbing his back more vigorously, his hand dancing between massaging his neck and needing the knots in Harry's shoulders.
Only then did Harry realise he was well on the way to hyperventilating, his hands clenched the sides of his seat, his breathing coming in erratic pants. His vision was cloudy around the edges, and Harry couldn't decide whether or not he was going to upend his stomach on his shoes or on his lap.
Aunt Petunia was kneeling in front of him now, the doctor and Remus at either side of him. They were closing in. Whispering in his ears. The blood was draining from his head, his aching, pounding head. Millions of tiny hammers slamming behind his eyes.
Too close, too close.
His vision blurred over completely.
"Oh God-"
Shoes it is then.
Harry slumped forward pitching off the chair, barely managing to fall on his hands and knees as his stomach turned itself inside out, and he heaved bile all over the tiled floor.
His throat seared, but coughing and vomiting didn't seem to mix very well.
Tears stung in his eyes.
He didn't hear Aunt Petunia's unearthly shriek, nor did he see the Doctor cross the room and yank the door open, shouting for a nurse.
He didn't feel Remus' hand on his back, the quiet support withstanding even this.
Harry heaved one last time before collapsing sideways into a coughing, sniffling heap in Remus' steady arms. The world disappeared, and Harry's eyes slid shut.
0000
"Do you think he'll be alright?" fretted Petunia, wringing her hands, worry etched in her pale eyes.
"I'm sure he'll be fine, Mrs. Dursley I understand this came as a shock to him, he may have been in denial." Doctor Farris placed his hands on Petunia's shoulders, ducking his head to look straight into her face. "This happens often, Mrs. Dursley, but it's under control, your son will be fine."
"Nephew."
Both Petunia and Doctor Farris turned to Remus, who had just entered the room adjacent to Harry's. "He's her nephew. Not her son."
Remus watched as Harry's aunt turned red, whether it was embarrassment or shame, he didn't know.
"Ah, my apologies Mrs. Dursley, I didn't-"
"It's fine doctor." Petunia stepped away from the awkward amendment and the man speaking. She'd never considered Harry her son, she barely considered him her nephew. She didn't deserve him anyway.
Much less hysterical, Petunia asked, "When will he wake? Doctor Eccles said there would be some tests... to be certain about the, ah...?"
"Cancer? If you won't come to terms with it, Mrs. Dursley, neither will he."
"That's just it! What the bloody hell is this all about?"
Petunia closed her eyes, willing herself not to say something scathing. Did the man have no sense of discretion!
"Sir, you're going to need to calm down, your... student is lying in the next room, do you want to wake him?" Remus breathed deeply, dropping into one of the coloured chairs in the corner of the room. He needed to contact Albus, right after he figured this whole bleeding mess out.
"Now, am I to assume that neither of you are fully aware of what type of cancer Harry has or the possible treatments?"
Both Remus and Petunia shook their heads, eyes wide.
Doctor Farris frowned and gestured towards Remus' current seat, "Have a seat Mrs. Dursley."
Petunia sat.
"Well, from Harry's side affects, the fever, sinus cold, weight loss, they all point to a cancer called Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma."
Remus wasn't sure what to think, it was all so confusing... he knew he should have taken muggle studies.
"There are different stages, and we won't know exactly what Harry has until we test him. He may not even have Hodgkin's at all, but I warn you, from what I've seen that possibility is highly unlikely."
"When you say test...?"
Remus did not want to ask, but he had to know.
"First there would be a physical exam, checking for swollen lymph nodes in the neck, arm, and groin-"
The doctor paused when Petunia squeaked, his brows drew together, but he refrained from commenting.
"As I was say, if we find that Harry's lymph nodes are indeed swollen, a biopsy, an extraction of tissue from his lymph nodes, is one. There are several others and even more we have to do if we find that it is cancer..." The doctor let out an explosive breath.
"I'll just tell you right now, Mrs. Dursley. None of this is going to be easy, not for Harry, not for you, not for any of Harry's friends or other relatives either. But you need to remember, Harry is going to be sick. He is going to be weak, and you and your husband are going to have to support him."
Doctor Farris was leaning forward, ticking off a finger for each thing listed.
"Every step of the way."
"What is it that happens... if he has Hodg- Hogdkin's. What does it do, exactly?
Some remote recess of Remus' mind considered how stupid he must sound, he had never thought himself brilliant in school, but now he sounded down right idiotic.
Doctor Farris was quick to answer.
"In non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma or NHL, either abnormal cells in the lymphatic system divide and grow without order or control, or old cells don't die normally. You see, Lymphatic tissue is present in many areas of the body, so it can start almost anywhere. We just won't be sure until we run through a couple of tests."
Remus nodded, at least some of this was making sense.
"Now, it may occur in a single lymph node, or it may occur in a group, it can spread to your bone marrow, your spleen, and your liver. So I would say the sooner we test young Harry the better. Over time lymphoma cells may replace the normal cells in the bone marrow. Bone marrow failure results in the inability to produce red blood cells that carry oxygen, white blood cells that fight infection, and platelets that stop bleeding."
Petunia felt like she had just taken a crash course in health, but she did her best to absorb the information anyway.
000
The physical exam, Harry thought, was decidedly disturbing. The doctor probed and poked him all over. Or it seemed so to Harry anyway. As it turned out, the only swollen bits he had were in his left armpit and the two in his neck.
He currently sat waiting atop a sterilized table, swinging his legs as he waited for Doctor Farris and the nurse Elaina. They said something about a bubopsy, or something equally barmy. When they'd explained what it was, Harry had been to focused on the fact that they were going to shove a needle into some part of his body.
Needles... he hadn't had a shot since the primary school, and that was only because it was required.
The only thing Harry could recall was the sharp sting and the quiet tears that had slipped down his cheeks. The nurse who had given him the shot hadn't seemed to care that nobody in his 'family' had stayed with him. Harry had cared, in fact he had cried about it later, when he was alone in his cupboard.
Harry kicked his feet again, gritting his teeth against his annoyance. Sometimes he wanted to rail at Aunt Petunia. She sat across from him now, right next to Remus, not even a tremor betraying any fear of wizards she had.
It made him sick most times, other times he just wanted all of it to work out.
Remus smiled at him encouragingly, he had told Harry earlier that after the test they would contact Dumbledore. Much to Harry's dismay, but it had to be done. After all, if the 'Boy-Who-Lived' was dying of some muggle disease, the head of the Order must know.
Harry held back a snort at his own melodrama, Snape would be happy, I'm finally living up to his expectations.
Harry sighed, he was convinced the bloody clinic was driving him out of his tree. Thinking of Snape during summer, what the effing hell was wrong with him.
Harry sat up straight as Doctor Farris walked in, Nurse Elaina beside him holding a little green tray with a needle and syringe on top.
"Now this will only take a second, then we can send in the sample. The results will be here in about a days time, and you can go home and have a nice sleep, hmm?"
Sleep
That was exactly what Harry wanted.
He watched warily as the nurse prepped and the doctor washed his hands, both donning a pair of white, rubber gloves before coming towards him. White masks already covering their faces. Harry swallowed convulsively, he breathed deeply, another break down was not something he wanted right now.
"Just remove your shirt, dear." Nurse Elaina's voice came out muffled, but her words were entirely too clear in Harry's opinion.
Tentatively he reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up and sliding the soft cotton over his head, shivering as cold air blew against his bared skin. He wrapped his arms around his middle, self-consciously.
"Lay back now, there we go, left arm up."
Harry was beginning to wonder if this whole experience would get anymore humiliating. Nurse Elaine leaned over him, swiping the skin over his swollen lymph node with a alcohol soaked cotton swab.
Apparently it could.
"All ready?"
The nurse nodded to Doctor Farris.
"All right now Harry, just relax, it'll be over before you know it."
Remus and Aunt Petunia stood from their seats to stand by his side, Remus gripped the fingers of his right hand, Nurse Elaina was holding down his left.
Needles, Harry decided, were an absolutely abhorrent creation.
But the doctor was right, and it was over before he knew it. Though it seemed long during...
No matter, it was over now.
Uncle Vernon's company car rode smoothly over the asphalt, Aunt Petunia had reclined his chair, Remus sat at his side, still holding his hand, the knit blanket from Dudley was soft and warm, and Harry slept.
To be continued...
Future Arrangements and Surprise Announcements by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to Wands and Orchidellia :)
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.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Hope you like it!
-Marie
Mothers and Sons I by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to Wands and Orchidellia!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Chapter 6 - Mothers and Sons I
July 30, 1996
Harry blinked, snapping himself back to the present. Cold water seeped through his mismatched socks, odd, he thought, I hadn't noticed they weren't the same when I put them on.
The wetness in his socks dried abruptly, and the glass on the carpet righted itself and rose, whizzing past Harry, dropping on the glass coffee table beside the sofa with a soft "plink". Harry raised his eyes, wiggling his toes in his now crispy-warm socks.
"Harry?" Remus was watching him, an all too knowing expression on his scarred face.
Harry shifted in his seat, damning himself for acting like such an idiot. "Sorry, I lost my grip." He tried not to wince as his face heated.
He could hear Dumbledore and Aunt Petunia, talking about him again. Dumbledore was saying things like 'muggle and magical treatments' and 'plausible options' , but mostly, Harry tuned them out. Dudley had returned from the dining room, and, to Harry's surprise, had seated himself right next to him. Harry sighed inaudibly, very aware that Remus was still scrutinizing him, it would seem that his time with Aunt Petunia and Dudley would soon come to an end.
Well, not really an end, it just wouldn't be bearable any longer. Uncle Vernon was to return from his business trip, and surely that meant his aunt and cousin would go back to being their old nasty selves. A most curious feeling bloomed in Harry's chest, almost like what he'd felt after accepting Sirius was gone. Almost.
Loss.
That's what it was. Harry would have snorted, but decided drawing attention to himself was not worth it. Ridiculous, he was sad to lose the new Aunt Petunia and Dudley. And he hadn't even had much time with them. But, he supposed, it wasn't completely unnatural, who wouldn't miss having relatives that actually treated you like a human being.
Harry slumped in his seat, oblivious to the fact that Dudley was actually attempting to have a conversation with his former Professor. It was not often when Harry let his relatives get to him, he hadn't let anything they did affect him too much, not since he'd started Hogwarts.
It bothered Harry, and it bothered Harry that the Dursleys bothered him at all.
"-dinner."
Harry jerked his head around, catching the last of his aunt's words.
"Ah, no, I'm afraid not Mrs. Dursley, and I do believe Remus and I have imposed on you for far too long. I thank you for your hospitality." Dumbledore said, nodding his head benignly as he rose from his seat beside Harry. Remus, Harry, Dudley, and Aunt Petunia stood as well, the latter two standing awkwardly to the side.
Harry dropped the conjured purple blanket from his shoulders, stretching his arms above his head. He brought them down with a shiver, goosebumps rising on the skin of his stomach when his shirt lifted enough to expose it. With a yawn, he showed the Headmaster and Remus through the entryway.
Just as they reached the door Dumbledore stopped, and reaching into the pocket of his robes, withdrew a very thick looking letter. "Your O.W.L. results." He said, placing the missive in Harry's hands. "I dare say one of the school owls will be quite happy to be spared the three day journey."
Harry stared at Dumbledore, his mouth agape, and his letter dangling from numb fingers. Remus chuckled and Harry snapped his mouth shut, colour rising in his cheeks. "Thanks Professor," he muttered, shoving his results into his back pocket.
Dumbledore pat his shoulder kindly, "I shall see you soon, my boy. Everything will unfold in due time." And with that the Headmaster turned on the front step, apparating away with barely a "pop" to signify his departure.
Harry stared at the spot his Professor had just disappeared from, if that was another wizard travel, he had never seen it before. Hopefully it was better then portkeying or flooing.
"I'll be seeing you soon too, Harry." said Remus, drawing Harry's attention away from the doorway, "I can't return tomorrow, but perhaps I might visit you later on, and celebrate your birthday at a later date?"
For a moment Harry stared at Remus, shock written all over his face, before it was erased and replaced with a jubilant expression. "I- sure! Well, I have to check with my Aunt and Uncle, but that sounds great, Pro- Remus." Harry grinned, a genuinely happy bubble bobbed around in his chest. The happiest he'd felt since the fiasco at the Ministry. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Remus chuckled, "Then I'll see you then. Now I really must be going, and do take care of yourself, Harry." Remus pat Harry on the shoulder, before he too twirled and disappeared, producing a much louder crack than the Headmaster before him.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was pacing.
In his study, -painfully aware that he did that a lot-.
But this time, Albus Dumbledore's pacing resulted to more then whimsical ideas and sudden strokes of brilliance. Today his pacing brought back memories.
This very study was the one that Harry James Potter had attempted to rip to shreds just last year. This same study that Harry James Potter had sat in and relayed the tale of Voldemort's rebirth.
It was almost too good to believe, and there was only one way to know for certain.
Albus crossed the length of floor to the floo powder, and throwing a hand full into the fireplace, he called, "Severus Snape's Quarters!"
Severus had just conveniently forgot to put the actual healing aide into the Dark Lord's Pepper-Up potion when he heard it. Albus' voice, calling him from the floo. Severus repressed an irritated sigh, simply settling for annoyed scowl.
"What is it, Albus?" he asked upon arrival, one arm crossing over the other.
"Severus, I require your presence in my office. Will you step through?"
The Headmaster had posed it as a question, but his tone brooked no argument. "I shall be there in a moment, allow me to set a stasis charm on a potion." Severus turned on his heel and returned to his lab, the whoosh of the floo sound behind him signaled Dumbledore's departure.
What on earth could be so blessed important. There hadn't been a Death Eater meeting the night before. Just the Dark Lord telling him that he required a Pepper-Up for his sudden illness. A cold, or something of the like.
Only the Malfoys and he had been there. And the former only because it was their manor in which the Dark Lord resided.
He had not heard of a death within the Order, or a muggle raid from the Death Eaters, perhaps Albus had discovered something completely off the charts. Severus refused to think of the possibilities. If the Dark Lord had any more hidden forces... Merlin save them.
Stasis spell effectively placed, Severus inhaled deeply and flooed to Albus' office, mentally preparing himself for what he was sure to be, yet another, jarring discovery.
July 31, 1996
Harry groaned irritatedly, rolling over in his bed and tugging the pillow over his head. Sunlight streamed through his bedroom window, making it obvious to Harry that it was already late in the morning.
Harry burrowed deeper into his covers, trying to hang onto the last vestiges of sleep, but they slipped through his fingers. He sat up with a huff, his pillow dropping to the floor beside him. It was hopeless to try getting back to sleep now, not with the bloody sun shining straight into his face. Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, opening his mouth to breath properly.
"Bloody stuffy nose," he muttered to himself, stumbling out of the bedroom door to get to the loo. At least his headache had abated, though it was probably due to the aspirin Aunt Petunia had given him after dinner the night before.
Night before.. It was the next day! And that meant Uncle Vernon was due to be picked up at four. Harry scowled as he entered the loo, Uncle sodding Vernon, just what he needed. Harry paused, casting a deliberative glance between the shower and the sink. He felt sweaty, and the hot water from the shower might help him feel a bit better... he opted for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was patiently awaiting Uncle Vernon's blustery ire. He buttered his toast silently, the clinking and murmurs from his Aunt and Cousin's side of the table, completely ignored. He didn't need them. They had never wanted him. And whatever sick charade they were putting up would end the moment Vernon Dursley walked through the front door.
Harry cut a piece of his egg with his fork, resolutely avoiding the pale grey eyes that peered at him from across the table.
He didn't need them, and they had never wanted him. Harry could live with that... He could.
Suddenly feeling like he would sick up if he ate another bite, Harry pushed himself away from the table with a murmured excuse. He kept his head down as he turned for the stairs, and in doing so, he missed the confused glance that passed between Aunt Petunia and Dudley.
Up in his room, Harry realised something; today was his birthday. He couldn't understand how he'd forgotten. He usually stayed up...
Oh, that was why. Aunt Petunia's pain relievers had put him straight to sleep. Harry fingered the packages and letters on his desk on his desk, not quite sure how the owls had even gotten through the window, he was certain he'd closed it last night. Harry glanced at Hedwig's cage, it was empty, and the little door stood open. Someone had let her out.
He turned back to the window, it was open. Harry's breathing quickened. Someone had been in his room. They had touched his bird. Opened the window. And now Hedwig was missing.
All sense of rationality deserted him.
Harry sat down hard in the chair in front of his desk. His heart beating in his throat. The window was open, maybe they had come in through the window... But why would they take Hedwig? So distracted was he, he did not notice the white blur from afar, nor did he see it when the blur became a brilliant snowy owl with a frog in its beak.
Harry attempted to calm his breathing, he was being ridiculous, he knew, but the thought of losing Hedwig... He shuddered and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes before dragging his fingers through his hair.
Hedwig was fine. She probably just wanted to stretch her wings. Maybe he hadn't closed the window the night before, yeah, that was it, he hadn't closed the window. Simple.
A muffled, hooting sound extracted him from his inner monologue. Harry raised his head. "Hedwig!" he exclaimed, jumping up and knocking his chair over in the process. He pushed the window wider, allowing Hedwig to fly through.
Harry followed her to the still open cage, watching as she flew inside, and landed gracefully on the perch, dropping her to the cage floor below. Hedwig blinked at him, large, amber eyes regarding him carefully.
"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured, extending an arm to pet her through the cage opening. "Silly of me, I know."
He drew the pads of his fingers over her feathers, "But then, can you blame me? If I had lost you, who would keep me company while I'm stuck here, eh?" Hedwig hooted, quirking her neck and peering at him side ways.
"Right."
Harry returned to the presents on his desk. Already he could see Ron's untidy scrawl and Hermione's neat practised cursive. Something warm settled in his chest.
Dear Harry,
Happy Birthday! How are you? And the Dursleys? I hope they're treating you well.
I wasn't quite sure how to get this to you, but Ron had just sent me a letter with Errol so I sent it to him to send it to you.
I really should get an owl.
Otherwise communicating during the summer is rather hard. Anyway, I hope you like the present! I stumbled across it when I was out shopping with Mum. I thought it suited you well.
Love From,
Hermione
Harry grinned happily, and opened the package with Hermione's handwriting on the top. To Harry's surprise his friend had departed from her usual tradition, and had not given him a book. Instead, grey material slid from the wrapping paper and landed on his lap, Harry lifted the cloth curiously, "Well done, Hermione," he muttered under his breath, and it was very well done of her indeed. She had sent him a grey t-shirt with a sea blue color lining the sleeve holes and neckline. It was even his size.
Harry smiled happily and setting the shirt aside, he pulled parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from his desk drawer to reply to Hermione.
Next Harry opened his gift from Ron, which was accompanied by a small note that read:
Happy Birthday Mate!
Hope the muggles aren't too bad. Mum says you can come stay with us as soon as Dumbledore says it's alright. Hope you like the gift! Fred and George payed me for working at their shop, and I saw these in a muggle sweet shop in London. Some sort of wonky looking licorice. Tastes alright though! Oh, and the cakes and sweets are from Mum and Ginny, they made them all last night. Mum says she doesn't think the Dursleys feed you enough. She won't be happy until you're wobbling instead of walking. See you soon!
-Ron
So Fred and George's shop was a success, it had to be if they could afford to hire Ron already, all the same, Harry wasn't surprised, the twins were brilliant. Inside the wrapping paper, Harry found a tin full of red licorice, mince pies, and a small birthday cake already cut into triangle shaped slices. Still feeling full from breakfast, (which was an experience in itself), Harry swiped his forefinger through the white frosting covering the top of the cake before setting it aside for later. He wrote out a thank-you note for the Weasleys as well.
Next he found first-rate Owl Treats from Hagrid, a leather wand holster from Remus, and - surprisingly- a note from Dumbledore bearing well-wishes and a promise to visit that day. Harry sent heart felt replies to them all.
A little while later a knock on the door distracted Harry from his licorice chewing, "Er, come in?" He wasn't quite sure how to respond, no one at Number Four, Privet Drive had ever knocked before entering. They usually just barged in. Harry sat up on his bed, cramming the last of his licorice into his mouth just in case it was Dudley.
It wasn't.
Aunt Petunia stood in his doorway, wringing her hands, and looking very much like she had gotten lost on her way to the loo. "I, erm..." Harry watched with raised brows as she struggled for words, unconsciously sliding his tin of sweets further behind his back.
"Did you need something, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, and, to his surprise, he actually wanted to know. Aunt Petunia seemed to steady her resolve, and Harry watched torn between amusement and confusion.
"I just wanted to let you know we will be leaving a bit early today, I'd like to make some stops before we pick up Vernon," she said, the bones showing in her horsey neck bobbed up and down as she swallowed.
Harry's stomach wriggled unpleasantly.
So she had come up here to gloat about how she and Dudley were going places while he, Harry stayed home and wallowed in self-pity on his own birthday?
Like he had on all his other birthdays with the Dursleys?
Harry clenched his fists, he was tiring of Aunt Petunia's game, and if it didn't end soon he was going to spontaneously combust!
"Fine." He bit out before turning away from his aunt entirely, and laying on his side facing the sickly peach colored wall.
A minute passed, two. Then, "Oh! I didn't- No, I only meant... Oh dear, I wanted you to know you were coming with us, and that we were leaving a bit earlier than we would have if... I just thought I'd let you know to get ready a bit sooner."
Harry turned over in surprise, and misjudging the position of his body, fell from the bed with a resounding thud. Harry groaned, if his back had been sore before, it was nothing compared to the thrumming pain he now had in his left hip.
Aunt Petunia rushed forward, her bony arms snaking though his and around his back. She hefted him to a sitting position, then pulled him to his feet and seated him back on the bed. "Are you all right? You-"
But Aunt Petunia stopped speaking when Harry lifted his shirt above his hips, and craned his neck to peer at his left side. "Urgh." Already, a bruise was forming, a horrible purple-ish bruise that looked deep and felt painful.
"Oh my, Oh, oh!" Aunt Petunia was practically gasping for air beside him. Perhaps all those fits and dramatic episodes his aunt had thrown whenever something happened to Dudley were more real than he'd imagined.
Harry ignored the warm feeling in his chest. It was ridiculous to feel pleased over something like that. Aunt Petunia didn't care about him. Not one stitch. And Harry didn't feel as though entertaining the possibility that she might would do him any good.
"It's fine, just a bruise," he said, dropping his shirt and pretending that his hip wasn't throbbing in time with his heart beat. Aunt Petunia recovered herself quickly and stopped clutching at her neck, "I'll just get some ice for you," she said, rising to her feet once more. Harry sat frozen for a moment before he regained the ability to speak. "Thanks," he said. And he meant it.
0o0o0o0
Draco sat behind one of the marble pillars that stood beside the grand staircase within Malfoy Manor. His breath hitching in his chest with every other inhale of oxygen. His parents were fighting again... Well, not fighting, having a disagreement in hushed tones, as though they were afraid the very walls would tell the world of their actions.
Draco wrapped his arms tightly around his knees, one pale cheek resting against the trouser clad joints. They were talking about him, or at least, the mess he was in.
The Dark Lord had called Father to him the night before, and Draco had been informed that he was to accompany Father to the next Death Eater meeting. To prove his worth.
It made him sick to his stomach.
And no amount of begging had swayed his Father's decision.
Decision. Draco scoffed in quiet scorn.
Once, he had thought his father to be the epitome of power. And now. . .he was a mere slave to a wizard who was barely a man. And barely a wizard either, if the rumors were true and the Dark Lord truly was a half-blood. It sickened Draco, the very thought. His father, the man who had the Ministry in the pocket of his robes, and wizards and muggles alike sniveling at his feet, grovelled on his belly every time the tattoo on his arm burned.
Once, Draco had believed that tattoo was a sign of power and honour. But he knew what it was now, a mark, burned into the skin, a sign of slavery...and weakness.
Lucius Malfoy was a man ruled by fear. As was every other man in service to the Dark Lord.
The voices in the dining room rose in pitch, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut as his Mother's somewhat shrill tone filtered through the small crack between the double doors.
"I cannot lose my son! He does not wish to accompany him! Explain to the Dark Lord, tell him Draco is too young, tell him-"
"Tell him what? That our son is a coward! That he has not the strength to fulfill his duties!"
"His duties! It was you who failed him! It is because of you that we are punished! It is you who is at fault and you alone! Your family suffers the consequences of your-"
There was a loud smacking noise, the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Draco leaped to his feet, his heart pounding in his throat. He stood beside the pillar, frozen in shock, one thought sliding through his mind.
No!
Draco forced his legs to move, one foot in front of the other his pace quickening as his body registered the urgency of the situation. Unconsciously his hand slipped into his trouser pocket, and he drew his wand, clutching it tightly.
He shoved both of the heavy doors wide open.
Long ago, Draco had learned how wrong it was to physically strike a woman, and that hexing and jinxing, while impolite, were not considered in the same context. Almost three years ago, when Hermione Granger had socked him a good one on the cheek, Draco had discovered that if a woman physically struck a man, it was no scandal or serious offense.
And today, Draco prayed it was his Mother who had struck his Father and not vice versa, but even as he wished, he knew it was a fruitless effort.
Narcissa Malfoy stood in the centre of an extravagant dining room her right side to Draco and her body angled to the left. One delicate hand rest upon her right cheek, covering up an angry red hand print that just barely peeked out from between trembling fingers.
Blood was roaring in Draco's ears, he couldn't think, couldn't move. His Father had struck his Mother.
Slapped her across the face. Bruised her.
And there he stood, hand still raised, a murderous expression marring his features.
Cotton seemed to fill Draco's brain, rendering him useless. A tiny sob penetrated the thick silence.
A sharp intake of breath.
And his Father retreated, his raised hand lowering slowly.
The fog cleared from Draco's mind, and he stepped further into the room. "Mother?" He whispered weakly, his voice cracking with anxiety.
His legs regained feeling, and he rushed forward, gripping his Mother by the arms and whirling her around to face him, completely ignoring his Father.
"Are you all right? Let me..."
Draco's voice trembled pitifully as he spoke, but he ignored it and pulled Narcissa's hand from her face.
"I- I am fine, Draco, I-" Narcissa's voice quivered then petered out when Draco touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. The tops of his nails skimming over his Father's hand print. Draco shut his eyes, bile rising in his throat. "Mother..." he whispered again. Narcissa reached out to hug her son, but Draco stepped away, turning slowly to face his Father.
His wand arm rose automatically, though it trembled violently and he nearly dropped his wand. Draco stood his ground.
"You hurt her," he said, barely able to believe it himself, but the red mark on his Mother's face robbed him of blissful denial.
Draco watched as his Father's features went from mild shock to hardened anger, and before he could react, Lucius had grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm until the slim stick of hawthorn slipped from his now numb fingers.
Draco tried not to moan as pain shot up his arm. "Let me go," he said, just barely containing a frightened whimper.
Something changed in Lucius' pale grey eyes and instead of releasing his son, he gripped by the upper arm.
"You shall do as you're told, Draco, and uphold the family honour." He hissed, the hand wrapped around Draco's bicep tightening painfully. "Father, you're hurting me," said Draco through gritted teeth.
The maniac gleam in his Father's eye became more pronounced, and if he could have, he would have recoiled. "Lucius! Lucius let him go! You're hurting him... You're hurting your son!" Narcissa lunged forward pulling at her husband's arm, but her efforts were for naught. Lucius used his free hand to grab her as well.
"Come, Narcissa, watch your son assume his duties."
And with that Lucius Malfoy dragged his wife and son from the room and out of the house, disapparating from Malfoy Manor with a loud crack.
0o0o0o0
Two hours after the scene in the bedroom, Harry found himself buckled into the front seat of Vernon Dursley's company car, his new shirt crinkling against his back as he shifted uncomfortably.
"Erm, where are we going, exactly?" Harry shifted again, the seat belt across his waist and chest, expanding and retracting as he moved.
Aunt Petunia glanced at him for a second, then turned her eyes back to the road. She looked nervous, Harry thought, raising his head a bit to peer into the review mirror, Dudley looked nervous too.
"I thought we'd go out to lunch, I passed by a nice place the other day," said Aunt Petunia, cutting a sideways glance at him, her fingers squeezing the steering wheel. "It's closer to London than to Surrey, but we have to meet Vernon at Kings Cross anyway." She added, turning the steering wheel to the left as the light switched from red to green.
Harry's stomach did a funny little flop. Kings Cross Station. Merlin, how he wished he was back on the train to Hogwarts. This whole stupid, confusing, frustrating summer behind him. But alas, it was not yet September 1st. And further more, Harry wasn't even supposed to be away from the house.
He'd forgotten Dumbledore said that, but maybe Dumbledore knew he might leave. After all, Aunt Petunia had said Uncle Vernon was coming in today. And the Headmaster had no reason to believe that Harry's Aunt and cousin wouldn't bring him along with them.
Despite his self assurances, Harry still felt more than a little uneasy, and it didn't help that his scar had begun tingling not long after they had left the house.
He just hoped they got back soon.
Not much later Aunt Petunia parked beside a semi-crowded side walk a ways away from a tall tan brick building with huge glass windows that read Spaghetti House in large white letters against a red setting.
Harry unbuckled himself, staring out the window in silent awe. Red canopy like canvases ran from the sides of the building to poles in the ground, creating a shady outside area where some people were already sitting. Over each window there were little roof like things that blocked out sun, but still let in light. There were people pretty much every where, walking along the sidewalk, entering or exiting the restaurant, and sitting around the small tables outside. Harry had never thought Aunt Petunia had taste, but it seemed she did in some things.
Before he knew it, they had entered the restaurant and were seated beside a window over looking the street and sidewalk, menus spread out before them. Aunt Petunia had said for them to order whatever they liked, and this time, Harry believed her.
Halfway through his Pesto Pasta, his eye lids heavy and his stomach already feeling pleasantly full, Harry's scar, which had been steadily prickling, flared with pain. Harry stifled a cry, clapping a hand to his forehead, and dropping his fork with a clatter.
A sick, maniac, happy feeling, that most definitely did not belong to him, ran through his body, and Harry shuddered violently. A picture flashed in his mind, a street, an oddly familiar street, but at the same time, not. All at once, Voldemort's thoughts and emotions receded, leaving Harry suddenly cold and shaky. His uneasy feeling from earlier returning with a vengeance.
We shouldn't have left the house.
"Aunt Petunia," he whispered, leaning across the table so that she could hear him. For some reason, speaking any louder than a whisper unnerved him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled along with his scar. He felt like as if... almost as if they were being watched. His heart thumped loudly against his chest.
"What happened? You... It was like last time, with your... scar, but you didn't pass out."
Aunt Petunia leaned across the table as well, just barely murmuring the words. She seemed to understand the sudden urgency Harry was feeling.
"We need to leave," He said, raising a hand to hail their waitress, "Now."
Dudley stopped eating his salad, watching the exchange with rapt attention. It seemed Dudley had learned to listen when Harry said something. After last year... Well, Harry couldn't fault him for it, and cooperation made things a bit easier.
"Alright." Aunt Petunia murmured in reply, rummaging through her handbag for her wallet. Harry had finally caught the waitress's eye and beckoned her over, his heart rate seemingly rising with every wasted second. And they still had to fetch Uncle Vernon.
"All finished then?" Katie, the waitress, chirped when she reached their table.
"Yeah, thanks, we'd like the bill." Harry tried to make himself at least sound coherent, and he supposed it worked because Katie turned immediately to fetch the bill. Sweat beaded on Harry's temples, and he tried to clear his mind. To think. What would he do if a death eater had followed them out here?
They were surrounded by muggles, but what did one of Voldemort's followers care. The more they killed the better, in their sick, twisted opinion.
And his aunt and cousin? Would he be able to protect them?
Harry slipped his hand up the left sleeve of his jumper, he'd put it on just before they exited the car, the sleeves of his t-shirt being to short to hide his wand holster. It was cold in the restaurant anyway, so it didn't look suspicious.
His fingers slid over the handle of his wand, and it warm beneath his touch. It comforted him a little. Made him feel as though he wasn't completely helpless.
Katie came back, a little black, book-like shape in her hand. "Here you go. Would you like me to pack these up for you?" She placed the bill on the table and flashed Harry a cheery smile. The oddest thing, all through lunch, she'd been looking at him with bright smiles and twinkling blue eyes.
Dudley had noticed, for he had exchanged a glance with Harry after Katie had given him a glaringly obvious, flirtatious wink. It made him feel self conscious, and his cheeks uncomfortably warm.
He heard a chuckle to his left, and resisted the urge throw Dudley a few good barbs. "Erm, no, it's fine, we're in a hurry." He managed to say, averting his eyes, and struggling to maintain the blush from creeping up his neck.
"Aw! That's too bad. Do you live in London? Maybe we could meet up some time... Tell you what, here's my number."
Harry's head whipped around, his mouth dropping open in a most unbecoming manner. An odd sensation flooded his body, he wanted to laugh. It felt mad, but the very idea that someone was asking him out at a time like this...
He glanced between the paper napkin with a cellular number on it to Katie's receding figure. She had left as soon as she had shoved the napkin into his hand. All he could see was the back of her head, and a long blonde ponytail swishing to and fro across her back. Harry avoided the Dursley's gaze as he stood, shoving Katie's number into his pocket, though he knew he'd never call her.
"Let's go," he muttered, lifting his head, to glance at them, before making his way through people and tables. He hoped no one noticed the tip of his wand which peeked though his sleeve and brushed against his palm, waiting for him to twitch his arm a bit and allow it to slide away from the jumper completely.
"How long does it take to get to Kings Cross from here?" he asked the minute Aunt Petunia started the car. "Ah, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."
Aunt Petunia turned into the highway, waving to the car who had granted her pass. "Harry, what's going on?"
"In the restaurant, my scar started burning, and it only does that when something's happening with Voldemort. I told you about it the other day, remember?"
Aunt Petunia nodded hesitantly, and Harry took it as a good sign to continue.
"Now I don't know what it is exactly, but I know that he's happy about something. I shouldn't have left the house. Dumbledore, you met him last night, told me not to go to far, I don't know what I was thinking."
"But we aren't even sure if anything is happening... And what is it that could happen?"
Dudley leaned forward to ask his question, his head, sticking out from between the two front seats.
"I don't know," answered Harry, biting the inside of his lip and frowning. "But whatever it is, it's going to be big. We need to get back to the house, that's the only place he can't get at us."
Silence fell after Harry spoke, each of them thinking about the situation they were in.
Harry clutched his wand, forcing himself to remain calm. Voldemort wasn't going to jump out beside them and rip him from the car. He was overreacting. Yeah, that was it.
Just overreacting.
Less than ten minutes later, Aunt Petunia pulled into the Kings Cross station car park.
Harry tensed, turning to his aunt and cousin who seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
"All right, we'll go in, find Uncle Vernon and come right back out as soon as fast as possible. And..." Harry hesitated, unsure of how to state what was on his mind.
"Er- I don't think we should say anything about, well, you know..."
To his relief, both Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already nodding.
Almost there, almost there...
Thankfully, picking up Uncle Vernon had not resulted in a chaotic event, in fact, it went quite smoothly. If one didn't count Vernon Dursley's blustery manner and obnoxiously loud voice. But Harry was used to that, he had expected that.
They were almost to Number Four now and they were officially on Privet Drive, but Harry was still holding his breath tensely as he looked out the window... Watching, for any sign of a disturbance. So far, everything looked normal, painfully normal. And it was far too quiet... In Harry's opinion anyway, but maybe he was just paranoid. No matter, he kept his hand closed around the handle of his wand and his mind alert.
Aunt Petunia was almost to the driveway, she was turning the steering wheel to the left, the car inching onto the cement...
Harry felt the explosion before he saw it. His forehead, already pressed to the glass of his car window, rocking back and then slamming forward again as the car lurched around them.
Someone was screaming, cursing, lights flashed, and Uncle Vernon's company car was rolled completely over. Harry and the three Dursleys hanging upside down inside, held to their seats only by the belts across their waists and chests.
Wetness trickled into Harry's hairline, his vision blurring over, and his head pounding. Someone... Aunt Petunia, was screaming, she was saying something, but Harry couldn't make out what it was.
Another voice, a man's voice was yelling over his aunt's, cursing and swearing loudly. The sound grated on Harry's eardrums, the voice, Uncle Vernon's, was cut off. Harry blinked repeatedly, trying and failing to clear the fogginess from his brain.
The screeching sound of metal scraping against asphalt reached his ears, and he tried and failed to clap his hands over his ears and block out the sound.
The car lurched again, a sense of vertigo, then they were right side up.
Harry couldn't hear, couldn't see. The flash and the noise from the blast had temporarily blinded him. He blinked again, the world around him turning and swirling. Some of the cotton wool had receded from his brain, and he clenched his right fist, expecting it to close around the handle of his wand.
It didn't.
His hands were empty.
My wand! Where is my wand?
His vision was returning, and the bright spots stopped flashing behind his eyelids. Immediately, he scrabbled for the release of his seat belt, missing the small button several times before he actually pressed it.
Wand. Wand!
He bent forward, his hands patting around on the car floor. Aunt Petunia was yelling something, his name, Dudley's, but Harry couldn't think about that now. He needed his wand, or they were all doomed.
His fumbling fingers glided over something, something smooth, something... His wand!
Harry grabbed it sitting up straight just in time to see his door opened and a hooded, black figure reach in and pull him from the car.
No!
Quickly, Harry shoved his wand up his sleeve, praying to Merlin that whatever Death Eater had him, hadn't seen it in his hand.
His glasses fell from his face as he was thrown to the street, the tall cloaked figure kicking him right in the ribs.
Harry groaned as the boot clad foot connected with his stomach, he rolled over, placing his hands on the ground to lever himself into a standing position. Sharp pieces of what could only be broken glass pressed into his palms, and Harry stood, panting and sweating as he faced his foe.
He couldn't see the face behind the mask, but without his glasses he could barely see the mask either. Just a big, blurry blob. He needed his glasses. Fighting like this was impossible. He twitched his wrist, his wand sliding straight into his cut and bleeding palm.
"Accio glasses!"
The death eater in front of him lunged forward, realising his mistake, but it was too late. Glasses in hand, Harry shoved them on his face, his wand held before him, "Stupefy!"
The man fell mid-leap, his body dropping like a stone before Harry's feet. Harry turned away, finally getting a good look at the chaos around him.
One look at Uncle Vernon's car told him the Dursleys were no longer in there. Another glance around told him they were surrounded, but where were his relatives? Harry tried to focus, there were at least ten death eaters, all of them with their wands drawn standing side by side in a circle formation. They seemed to be waiting for something. But for what? Harry turned slowly, and spied three figures trussed together like Thanksgiving turkeys. His stomach lurched... Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley sat at the far end of the circle, their mouths moving silently. Obviously whatever death eaters that dragged them from the car had gotten tired of their terrified screams.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Ickle Baby Potter."
A shiver ran down Harry's spine, Bellatrix Lestrange, he knew that voice anywhere. He could hear her foot steps behind him, and he whirled around, wand at the ready, intense hatred pulsing through his veins.
"Aw...Does Ickle Harrykins feel like fighting me?" She cooed. It would have been almost funny were it anyone else. She was taunting him, baiting him, just like she had done at the Ministry.
But Harry knew better now, she wasn't going to get a rise out of him. He'd let her taunt him all she liked, see how she liked the frustration.
Harry breathed in then out slowly. Then he felt himself inhale sharply at her next words.
"You think you can do better than my mangy oaf of a cousin, boy?" Her voice had scaled up into a hiss. "You? Barely able to hold a wand the right way, fight me? I don't think so!"
"Now, now, Bella, we mustn't lose our tempers. The Dark Lord shall be here soon enough and we will be rewarded for our conquest." Drawled a voice Harry couldn't place in memory.
Against his better judgement Harry snapped, "Conquest? You really think dear old Tom is going to be impressed by your conquest? You captured a fifteen year old wizard in training and his muggle relatives!" He put on a mock high pitch imitation of Voldemort's voice. "Well done my loyal followers, have a gold star." It was more hysteria than anything else driving him right now, he knew it.
There was a hiss of rage from Bellatrix. "How dare you befoul the dark lord's name in such a manner!"
"What? You mean Tom?" Harry sniped. "Hasn't he told you that's his real name? That he was given a muggle name? That he's a half blood? Just. Like. Me?"
Lestrange let out an almost incoherent shriek of rage. If he had to guess, Harry thought it was, "Insolent Whelp!" But he couldn't be sure.
Neither could he be bothered to figure it out.
Suddenly, Bellatrix darted forward, her left hand outstretched and her right holding her wand level with his face. She looked as though she was planning on wringing his neck and stabbing out his eyeballs. But she never got close enough.
A loud crack made them all whip 'round. Any taunting and baiting Harry had in mind fled as his scar burned white hot. Voldemort had arrived.
Harry's left hand flew to his forehead, his right clutching his wand like a life line.
"Harry Potter, at last."
Voldemort stood just outside of his circle of followers, but he wasn't alone. Draco Malfoy stood beside him, held fast by Lucius Malfoy, who appeared to be muttering something into the boy's ear. On Voldemort's other side stood Draco's mother, who was being held by Voldemort himself, a stricken expression on her face.
"Oh, god," murmured Harry, how were they going to get out of this. He needed to think, he needed a plan. All they had to do was get to Number Four. The house wasn't too far away, but being surrounded by death eaters, the house might as well be a million feet away. We're going to die out here, and it will be all my fault.
"Imagine my surprise, Harry, when in the middle of a meeting I was interrupted. Only to find that my faithful servants have you and your muggle family surrounded on the street."
Voldemort's high, cold voice was incredibly loud in the quiet street. Chills ran up and down Harry's spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He bit his tongue and remained silent. He needed to think, not exchange pre-battle barbs and taunts with Voldemort. He needed to get the Dursleys out of here. But how?
Voldemort stepped forward, into the circle, closer to Harry, dragging Narcissa Malfoy along beside him. Briefly, Harry wondered what had happened to her face, which sported a very large greenish bruise.
"But it is of no matter, for I can continue my meeting here. Can't I, Draco," said Voldemort, turning away from Harry, and advancing on Draco.
"Step forward."
Lucius shoved his obviously terrified son, causing Draco to stumble his way towards Voldemort. Harry stood frozen, watching the scene before him, what the hell was happening here?
"Your arm."
When Draco hesitated, Voldemort reached out, grabbing the boy's left arm.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place in Harry's mind. Draco was being forced to be branded as a Death Eater.
"Please, Father please." Draco was whimpering now, but no one listened to his words.
Voldemort pressed his wand against the skin of Draco's forearm, and when Draco's agonized screams pierced the air, no one moved.
Minutes passed, and when Voldemort released Draco's arm, Harry watched as the boy slumped to the ground. His breath coming in sharp gasps, tears streaming down his pale face.
"Let that be a lesson to you," whispered Voldemort, but apparently, he wasn't finished, "And to you."
Voldemort trained his wand on Narcissa, who had rushed to her son's side. Harry could see the terror on her upturned face. Her nose less than an inch from Voldemort's wand. Harry knew what would happen just seconds before it did.
"Avada Kedavra!"
And Narcissa fell, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"MOTHER!"
Harry's eyes slid shut as Draco's scream rang out in front of Number Four, Privet Drive.
Less Than One Hour Earlier...
Severus stood stock still inside Albus Dumbledore's office, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You cannot possibly believe..." It was far too simple.
"I do, Severus. You say that Voldemort has been unwell?"
"I- Yes, today's pepper-up potion makes the fourth this month." Severus recovered his composure, and seated himself in the chair before the Headmaster's desk. He watched as Albus' eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Perhaps... "Albus, surely-"
"Severus, I assure you, this is a very strong possibility. Harry, as you know, is tethered to Voldemort, even more so after that night in the graveyard when he took Harry's blood. And now both show signs of having the same illness... It is entirely plausible, my dear boy."
The reasoning was sound, Severus had to admit, "It is... plausible," he admitted stiffly, "But how are we to know for certain? I can't imagine that the Dark Lord will allow me to conduct muggle tests upon him."
The Headmaster smiled benignly, and Severus grit his teeth, the man was entirely too irritating with his knowing looks and kind smiles... and those blasted twinkling eyes! It made him feel as though he were a stupid fool, sitting before an omnipotent man who laughed at Severus' assumptions, wordlessly indicating that he knew more than you ever could.
"My boy, you forget that cancer is not only a muggle illness, the children of muggles or of a muggleborn parent can contract it as well, as it is hereditary. Harry Potter is not the only child to have inherited such a disease, but he is the only child to have had his blood used in a potion to return Voldemort to his body."
"Bloody Potter," he grumbled, damned child was at the base of every problem in the wizarding world. Severus ignored the inaccuracy of his thought. "How did the idiot child end up with the disease in the first place? I suppose one of his muggle aunts or uncles passed it down?"
Trust Potter to inherit a sickness that went back an entire generation.
"Actually, Severus, it seems to have been passed directly from Harry's-"
But the rest of Albus' state was cut off, for the mark upon his left arm burned savagely, and Severus shot up from his chair.
Severus sucked in a breath through his teeth, closing the fingers of his right hand over his left forearm. He and Albus exchanged a worried look.
"I must go," said Severus, forcing himself to release his burning flesh and draw his wand to switch himself into death eater robes and mask. He glanced at Albus again, taking note of the troubled look upon his face, "You think it might be about Potter?"
"Harry knows not to leave the house, but, I must admit, something does not feel right. Voldemort does not usually call you in the middle of the day. I shall wait here for your word. You have the emergency portkeys, Severus?"
Severus had already made his way to the floo, intending to return to his home and apparate from there.
"Always," he replied, and threw down a pinch of floo powder, calling for his destination.
Albus was right, something was indeed amiss.
0o0o0o0
Harry peeled his eyes open once more. The street had gone eerily quiet. The usually so nosey neighbors, hidden, within their houses. Harry wondered if they could see what was happening, or if the death eaters had warded the area in the hopes that no one would be able to get word that Harry Potter was trapped just outside his realm of protection.
He hoped they had. One murder committed right before his eyes was more than he could handle. Almost two years ago, when Harry had been tied to Tom Riddle Sr. grave, he had prayed and wished that somebody, anybody, even the muggle police, would come. But now, he wished he were alone.
Alone so that he would not have to watch anybody else die.
Not the Dursleys. And certainly not Draco Malfoy's mother.
Of whom was still strewn across the asphalt like a doll dropped from a small child's fingers.
Harry swallowed convulsively, and tore his gaze away from Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, his stomach clenching and twisting violently. How many more would he see? How many more people would die before his eyes? Cedric, Sirius, his own mother... and now, the mother of his school rival.
Would he see the Dursleys slaughtered as well?
"You see, Draco, how your family's follies have been punished?"
Voldemort's high cold voice filtered through Harry's thoughts, bringing him back to present. Harry wiped the blood from his forehead to keep it from dripping into his eyes.
"You would do well not to make the same mistake."
Harry watched disgustedly as Voldemort used his foot to turn Narcissa's lax face from side to side. Draco still frozen in his position, half his body on top of his mother's, his fingers still gripping her shoulders.
Harry tried not to look at Malfoy's face, sure that if he did he would see the type of sadness no one would want to see upon an 'enemies' face. He truly pitied Malfoy, and he was certain that if he lived he'd never be able to properly despise the other boy's existence again.
Ron would be disappointed.
Hermione would nod her head decisively and tell Harry that he was right to be the better person.
"Get up, Draco, and prove your worth," sneered Voldemort, removing his foot from Narcissa's face, and turning his back on Malfoy, who was being hauled to his feet by his father.
Harry breath came in short pants as he watched the scene before him, he couldn't think of one possible way to get the Dursleys out. To safety, within the wards.
"And now, Harry Potter, we have come to your end. There will be no escape this time. No Albus Dumbledore to save you now."
Voldemort spread his arms, laughing at Harry, his servants snickering in answer.
Harry gripped his wand, raising it more purposefully in front of him, "Where I may need Dumbledore, you need more than ten persons to corner a boy not even seventeen and his muggle relatives. You're pathetic," he spat, edging slowly to his right to stand in front of the Dursleys. His aunt, uncle, and cousin were still silenced and tied together, guarded by a squat, robed man... or at least Harry though it was a man. He couldn't be sure with the robe and hood.
Perhaps if he were quick enough-
A small flash of light behind Voldemort caught Harry's eye, causing him to both halt his train of thought and miss Voldemort's next words.
The death eater directly behind his master had his wand out, and Harry could just barely make out the movement of his lips. Harry followed the wand's tip, to see where it was pointing... A bush.
What the-
But Harry's attention snapped back to Voldemort before anything came of it.
"Do it, Draco!"
Lucius Malfoy shoved his son forward, apparently Voldemort was not finished putting the Malfoy family in their place. Malfoy stumbled to the side, skittering around Voldemort and closer to Harry, who swished his wand between the two, nervously.
"Back away, Malfoy," he said tersely, his wand and his gaze switching from Malfoy to Voldemort, and back to Malfoy who was getting nearer.
"Back away or I swear I'll hurt you!"
But Malfoy didn't stop and Harry didn't make good on his threat.
Malfoy was about three yards from Harry now, his wand arm shaking so violently, Harry was sure he'd drop the slim stick from his fingers.
"I have to do this, I- I have no choice," Malfoy whimpered, but to Harry's surprise Malfoy's wand was not pointing at him. It was pointing to a spot almost just behind Harry, it was pointing- the Dursleys!
Harry twisted around completely, just in time to see Malfoy's lips part and his wand directed precisely on Aunt Petunia. Harry lunged forward waving his wand at the space between Malfoy and his relatives.
"PROTEGO!" he shouted.
And all hell broke loose.
To be continued...
A/N: I apologise for the wait! I hope it lived up to expectations. Please review and let me know what you think! Many thanks to Magicia and Orchidellia! Please check out my latest addition to my one-shot series! It's a Lily and James one. :)
Regards, Marie
To be continued...
End Notes:
Reviews are like chocolate! (And I'm low on sugar at the mo... ;)
Mothers and Sons II by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to Wands and Orchidellia!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of J. K. Rowling
Mothers and Sons II
At a later point in time, Harry would never really be able to recall exactly what happened first, that day on Privet Drive. Perhaps it was his Shield Charm blocking Malfoy's half-hearted Cutting Curse, it could have been the loud 'cracks' that sounded when several Order members appeared in their midst, or maybe it was the rustling of the bushes as Mundungus Fletcher sprung from behind it.
"Get Potter!"
The world was chaotic around him, but Harry's mind was clear.
He rushed towards his relatives, pushing and shoving Death Eaters as he went, firing a spell or two when he could. Number Four was close, if he could just get them across the street and onto the lawn...
"Harry! Harry!"
Somebody grabbed his wand arm, and Harry swung his left fist with all his might, ready to crash it into his offenders jaw. He stopped short when he saw who it was pulling on him.
"Tonks?"
"You have to get to the house now! Move!" she yelled, slashing her wand at the death eater in front of them. The man's mask and hood fell off as he was blown back, revealing dark brown hair and a face that Harry could not recognize.
He tugged his arm out of Tonks' grip, "I can't, my relatives!" he shouted, all ready running away from her. He'd apologise to her later. He hoped.
Finally he spotted the Dursleys, but instead of the feeling of relief he had expected, dread swelled inside him instead.
Dudley was missing.
Harry knew Aunt Petunia sobbing, even though he still could not hear her. Uncle Vernon's mouth was opening and closing at a rapid rate, he was cursing, Harry was almost positive. Harry stepped forward, his throat was dry, and his hands shook horribly as he untied his aunt and uncle. Taking a deep, calming breath, he cancelled their silencing charm.
"Where's Dudley?" he asked immediately, barely registering that he was right about Uncle Vernon's swearing.
"They took him!" His aunt sobbed, "That dirty man with the blond hair! They took my Dudders!"
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed in his face, his fat fingers scrabbling to wring Harry's neck.
But Harry didn't have time for this, he needed to find Dudley... now. He pressed his wand into Uncle Vernon's throat, leaning forward menacingly. "If you want your son to live, I suggest you tell me which way they went," he hissed, eyes narrowed as he stared directly into his uncle's. "Now."
It was Aunt Petunia who answered him, Uncle Vernon, far to busy spluttering and turning puce.
"That way," she whimpered, pointing a shaky finger, Harry turned to look. She was pointing directly into the middle of the battle, and from where Harry sat he could see both Remus and Tonks dueling ferociously with three Death Eaters. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, but there was no sign of Voldemort, and more importantly, no sign of Dudley.
Harry tried not to think of what happened to his cousin, instead putting all his focus on getting his aunt and uncle out of the street and into their house. Then he'd come right back and search for Dudley.
"Come on."
Aunt Petunia stopped blubbering, "W-what?"
Harry didn't give her time to protest, "Come on! Move!" He hauled her up by the arm, prodding Uncle Vernon with his wand to get him moving as well. "We've got to get back to the house, it's the only place you'll be safe. Stay close by me. We're going to have to make a run for it." He tried not to send a skeptic look toward Uncle Vernon, who was already huffing and puffing from lifting himself of the asphalt.
"Ready," he said, mentally running through all the defensive spells he knew. "Now!"
Aunt Petunia and Harry took off, Uncle Vernon lumbering close behind them. The were a yard from Number Four, two feet, one... Harry breathed again.
Uncle Vernon stumbled to the front door, yanking it open and throwing himself across the threshold. Ridiculous, Harry thought, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. He glanced at Aunt Petunia, noting that her lips were pinched with worry, and her nose red from crying. He felt the need to reassure her.
"I'm going to find Dudley, get inside, keep quiet, and stay down."
Harry turned to go, but his aunt stopped him by laying a bony, long-fingered hand on his shoulder. He peered at her curiously, and to his utter surprise, she leaned forward and hugged him, wrapped her arms around his somewhat stiff back and pulled him to her. The blood from his forehead got on her shirt, but she didn't seem to mind. "Be careful, Harry," she whispered against the side of his head. Harry's eyes burned and his throat clogged up, "I will be," he whispered thickly, stepping away from her and towards the sidewalk. "I'll find him, Aunt Petunia. Go back inside." Harry turned away, breathing deeply, he'd find Dudley, and if it was Lucius Malfoy who had him...
Harry made his way into the thick of things.
"There you are, Potter. I'm afraid the Dark Lord has some unfinished business with you." A hand clamped down on his arm, yanking him around.
Antonin Dolohov raised his wand, an ugly sneer on his equally ugly face.
"Sectumsempra!"
The shout came from behind him, and when Dolohov's grip loosened, blood pouring from the man's forehead, Harry yanked his arm from Dolohov's grip, turning to thank his savior.
But no one was there.
No one that would have saved him at any rate, instead Harry saw the unmistakable form of his unconscious cousin being dragged along by none other than Lucius Malfoy. But Dudley wasn't the only one with Lucius, Draco Malfoy was being dragged as well, though from what Harry could see the other boy was fully awake.
Not bothering to think, Harry charged after the trio, already shouting the first spell that came to his mind, "FLIPENDO!"
Though his spell may not have been what one might use when fighting Death Eaters, it did the trick. Lucius flipped over, his robes and hair swinging in mid-air, before he crashed in a heap on the street, cracking his head on the side walk.
Harry dashed forward, completely disregarding Malfoy, who was was staring at his father in shock. He knelt by Dudley, checking him for injuries, it didn't appear as though Malfoy Sr. had had much of a chance to do anything.
"Ennerverate," he muttered waving his wand over Dudley's prone from. His cousin's eyes flickered open, he sat up suddenly, nearly plowing Harry over.
"You're fine, Dud, but we've got to get you back to the house. Your mum and dad are there already," he added, patting his cousin on the shoulder before he pulled his cousin to his feet.
Almost involuntarily, his eyes wandered to Malfoy. He was still standing there, staring at his father, grey eyes strangely vacant. Harry felt sorry for him, he really did, but he couldn't just leave Lucius Malfoy lying on the ground unconscious. He pointed his wand at Malfoy Sr., muttering, "Incarcerous," and watching as thick snake-like ropes wrapped around the man.
Harry glanced at Malfoy again, only to find that the boy hadn't moved at all. Harry swallowed past his suddenly parched through, and extended a hand to tap Malfoy on the shoulder. He supposed he wasn't too surprised when Malfoy did not respond.
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped closer to him, "Malfoy," he shook his shoulder a bit, "Come on, you're going to get hit by a stray curse or something."
Malfoy turned to him, eyes still vacant, he looked as though he wasn't all there, but that was to be expected, Harry supposed. If his mother was killed before his very eyes he would have lost some of his marbles as well.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Dudley, his eyes switching from Malfoy to Malfoy Sr. and back to Malfoy.
"I'll explain later, Dudley." said Harry in an undertone, he didn't much fancy the idea of blurting that the woman still lying in the street was Malfoy's mother.
Deciding that he couldn't just leave Malfoy standing in the middle of a fight, though it did seem to be winding down (there were at least five of the original ten death eaters bound and stunned on the street), Harry closed his hand around Malfoy's arm, pulling him away from the still flashing lights and his father's body. Malfoy stumbled along beside him, and seconds later they were back on Uncle Vernon's lawn.
Several loud cracks interrupted Harry's hastened progress into the house, and all three of them whirled around.
Remus, Tonks, Professor McGonagall, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shaklebolt, and Albus Dumbledore stood in the middle of the street, confusion written on each on of their faces. All of the Death Eaters were gone, including the ones that had been bound and stunned.
Harry shook his head, "Your parents are inside, Dudley, and they're worried. Go on, then." He gave his cousin a little shove towards the front steps, watching as he nodded dumbly, and tripped over the Welcome mat and through the front door.
Malfoy's breath hitched oddly from beside him, and he glanced over to see that Malfoy was stumbling his way across the grass and back to his mother's body, which still lay off to the side in front of house Number Three.
"Malfoy... Malfoy wait."
But the boy in question ignored him, just as Harry ignored the Order members now rushing towards him. He watched as Malfoy dropped to his knees beside his mother, and encircled her limp shoulders with his arms, sitting back on his heels, and pulling Narcissa onto his lap.
A sharp intake of breath was heard behind Harry.
"Oh, Albus, is that...?"
"I am afraid so, my dear."
Harry felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, turning him around and pulling him against someone's chest. "Thank God you're all right!" Remus breathed against his hair, holding Harry tightly against his chest. A display of affection Harry had never witnessed from the man ever before. His eyes burned again, and suddenly, he felt very tired, and the headache that had been temporarily blocked by adrenaline, returned with a vengeance, pounding mercilessly, right between his eyes.
He dropped his head against Remus' shoulder, breathing shakily. He didn't think he had ever been so tired in his life.
"Let's get them inside," murmured Tonks from beside him, Harry felt her hand rub his back lightly, "We'll sort it out later, eh, Harry?"
He pulled away from Remus, nodding to Tonks and turning around again to see McGonagall gently prying Malfoy away from his mother, and Dumbledore pat the boy on the shoulder as he passed.
Remus wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and Harry allowed himself to be lead into the house behind Malfoy and McGonagall. He made it all of two steps before the ground rushed towards him as he pitched forward in a dead faint.
0000
"Crucio!"
Severus writhed in pain, a thousand white hot needles stabbing through his skin and grating against every bone in his person. He was not the only Death Eater being punished tonight. Lucius Malfoy had long since lost his wife, son, and consciousness. Severus drove his teeth into his tongue, tasting blood as he bit through the flesh. Abruptly, the pain stopped, and Severus panted for breath, every muscle in his body achy and sore from being tensed up.
He bit back a groan as he rose to his knees, gritting his teeth and bowing his head.
"I trust you will not make this mistake again."
The Dark Lord's voice rang in the silence.
"Never, my Lord," swore Severus, bowing further, his body screeching in protest. "I swear to you."
0000
"Here on the sofa, I'll go fetch a blanket." Petunia rushed up the stairs going straight for the linens just inside the wall closet.
The man, Remus, had come in carrying Harry in his arms. Her heart had nearly stopped when she saw how pale Harry was, and the bruise-like cut congealed with blood... Petunia shuddered, stopping in the kitchen to fetch a tea towel and a bowl filled with cold water. Balancing everything in her arms and making her way back to the sitting room.
Harry had been laid out on the settee, his eyes flickering open, Remus and the pink-haired woman who had come in with him breathed identical sighs of relief.
"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"
Remus leaned down over Harry, and Petunia set the bowl of water down on the small coffee table beside them. She shook out one of the blankets, laying it gently over her nephew's form.
"Remus?"
"He's right here, kid." The pink-haired woman she had met at the King's Cross after Harry's last school year, propped herself up on the back of the settee, sending a look at Petunia that clearly stated that she was not moving.
"Gave us quite a scare there," Tonks, leaned over further, using a hand to brush the fringe from Harry's eyes, "Heart nearly leaped straight out of my throat when you fell forward like that. Good thing Remus here's got so much practice catching people, eh?"
Harry chuckled lightly, coughing a bit as he did so, "Where's...?
"Dumbledore's with him, your Aunt set him up in the upstairs guestroom, Minerva put a sleep spell on him. We weren't sure we could travel until you woke up, and we didn't think he should stay up any longer." Remus answered.
Petunia stepped closer, thankful that both Dudley and especially Vernon had already gone upstairs. Vernon had blustered and yelled until Petunia explained that they might be caught again, then Vernon had quieted. She wrung the tea towel in her hands, using it to dab at the dried blood over Harry's head wound.
Harry glanced up at her, smiling a little when he saw who it was before turning back to Remus. "Is Malfoy, you know... alright?"
Petunia saw Harry wince a little as the words came out, and she wondered why.
Tonks answered him, "He hasn't said a word since he got here, feel sorry for the little blighter... No idea what happened though. You saw the mark on his arm."
"He killed her, his mum, right in front of him. Right after he'd branded his arm." Harry shuddered. Petunia couldn't blame him, she had watched herself, though she still did not understand exactly what exactly had gone on. It was a scene that would haunt her when she slept.
"I don't really know why Voldemort did it though-" mused Harry blearily, "But... I don't know, maybe- maybe Malfoy doesn't want to fill his father's shoes after all."
Petunia swabbed the last of the blood from Harry's forehead, listening as Remus tutted reprovingly.
"I don't believe Mr. Malfoy ever understood what his father really was until Voldemort returned. The only good that will come of this is that Draco will no longer have Lucius Malfoy around to influence him," said Remus decisively, pushing himself up from the floor. "I should check on the mess outside, and relieve Bill, Molly's probably biting her finger nails off sitting in front of that clock of hers."
Harry frowned, "Do you have to go?" he asked before he could stop himself. Remus smiled at him kindly, "I'll be back in later," he paused glancing up at Petunia, "If your aunt doesn't mind too much...?"
Petunia cleared her throat, "I- of course not, we will be... happy, to have you."
Harry smiled up at her again, and Petunia decided that she would spend a lot of time putting that kind of a smile on his face.
"I'll be in later than, Harry, and I know Albus will want to talk to you once he's finished upstairs." Remus reached down to pat his shoulder. Tonks yawned beside them, "I should go too." She stood, stretching her arms into the air above her head, "Bloody Death Eaters, did you get a chance to see the state of that car..." Tonks voice faded as she followed Remus out the door.
Petunia traced her fingers lightly around the edges of Harry's wound, it was a rather nasty bit of work, the skin right in the middle of his forehead was an ugly purpleish-green and right in the center of the bruise there was a wide slice, though it wasn't deep.
"This is from the crash?" she asked quietly, brushing her fingers through his hair, his eyes slid shut.
"Mhm, I had my head against the window. Doesn't hurt too much though..." he murmured in reply. Harry cracked one eye open to peer up at her, "You didn't get hurt did you? Or Uncle Vernon?"
Petunia shook her head, "We should clean this up a bit," she murmured, brushing her thumbs across the sides of his forehead, deflecting the question. They hadn't been hurt at all, but Harry had. And all Petunia could think about was of Vernon ranting and raving about Harry being unnatural. How had she ever agreed? And how could Vernon still think that after Harry injured and sick as he was, had gone off and saved Dudley, again.
Petunia, straightened, swiping her damp cheeks with the pads of her fingers, exiting the sitting room and making her way to the loo. The mirror above the sink in the lavatory was stocked, as always, with different sorts of medicines, antiseptics, band aids, gauze pads, and ointments... Not to mention Vernon's four different types of heart medication pills.
Petunia reentered the sitting room with a tube of antibiotic, a rather large band-aid, and hydrogen peroxide, cotton swabs, and a fresh cloth. She intended to empty the bowl she already had and refill it with clean water.
She set everything down on the table, and retrieved the bowl, glancing at Harry as she did so. He had curled on his side, one hand pressed between the arm of the sofa and his cheek, the other clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
A smile flitted across Petunia's face before she retreated to the kitchen.
0000
Draco awoke in an unfamiliar bed, in a unfamiliar room, it what was sure to be an unfamiliar house.
He sat bolt upright in the bed, any lingering sleep cobwebs torn away abruptly. Immediately, his hand flew to his pocket, delving inside to close around the handle of his wand. It wasn't there. Draco's heart leaped into his throat, throbbing painfully in the area just behind his Adam's apple.
Frantically, he pat the bed around him, throwing off bed sheets that he had never once seen before in his life. It was dark still, and the room was nearly pitch black, the only light was a sliver of yellow that streamed through the window through a crack in the drapes.
Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed... or he tried to anyway. They collided painfully with a piece of furniture with a flat surface that jolted all the nerves in his heals when they landed too heavily.
"Bloody effing-!"
Something crashed on the floor, and Draco heard the distinct sound of a rolling object just before it bumped against the side of his ankle.
He breathed in and then out, blinking away tiny spots from behind his eyelids as the pain in his heels subsided. Sliding his feet from whatever they were on and down to the floor more carefully this time, Draco reached forward, patting his hands along the spot his feet had previously occupied.
It was a bed side table, he realised, tapping his fingers along the surface, a table and his... wand?
He plucked the stick from the table, running his fingers over it. It was his wand. He could feel the ridge around the handle, the length, the smoothness of the wood. Draco sighed in relief, his heart, returning to its normal place.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to consider his situation... Foreign room, a sudden urgency to use a lavatory he wasn't sure existed, his mother...
The events of the past day flooded his mind, and Draco's throat closed painfully. It was his fault... all his fault. His eyes pricked with un-shed tears, and temporarily, he forgot that he wasn't in his own home, on his own bed, in his own room, and gave way to his sorrows, pressing his face against one of the odd smelling pillows propped up behind him.
Draco curled on his side, his throat aching and sore, a dull thump hammering against his left temple, and his nose so clogged he was positive he'd never be able to breath through it again. He felt... well not better, but the suppression that had once been present, had lessened, allowing his lungs to inflate freely.
When he was younger, his mother would read him a story before bed, even though his father had greatly disapproved, she had been there, every night, without fail. Or she was, until Draco had told her he was far to old for his mother to come to his bedroom and tuck him in every night.
To have the knowledge that he would never have the chance to be tucked in... or read to, by his mother ever again, made tiny desperate sobs escape from his throat. She had always been there, but now, she was gone. And she would never, could never, read to him again. Keening moans escaped Draco's lips, sounding very loud in the dark, unfamiliar room in which he lay. He pulled the pillow closer to his face, using it to muffle his hitching breaths. His heart was tearing apart, breaking into tiny little pieces that he'd never be able to put together again.
Unfortunately, nature did not stop for heartbreak.
The ever more pressing need to use a lavatory as soon as possible returned to him suddenly. But he had no idea if there was a lavatory here... In fact, he had no idea where here was. And what was more, his throat was horribly dry from all the crying, he needed water, badly. But thinking of water made getting up to find a lavatory even more necessary then before.
A truly awful predicament.
There was nothing for it, decided Draco, pulling himself into a sitting position, wincing when his headache throbbed in response to his movements, he'd have to find it himself. He patted blindly around the bed, keeping one hand against the mattress, lest he trip on something he couldn't see.
He reached the door, creaking it open slowly, and poking his head out, looking from side to side. What looked like an oddly flat lamp connected to the ceiling lit the hallway, and Draco saw two doors opposite him on the right, and two more on his left, one a... slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light escaping the doorway.
Draco stepped out into the hallway uncertainly. Someone groaned just inside the doorway, and a toilet flushed. Draco resisted the urge to step back into the room he came from. Instead, he moved forward, his wand raised in front of him.
Running water sounded as the person inside the lavatory (he was sure it was one), twisted the tap. His heart hammering against his rib cage, and his breathing some what irregular, Draco used his foot to slide the door open wider.
For a moment, Draco thought he was still sleeping.
A rather skinny, pale, and completely real, Harry Potter, stood in front of a mirror, picking at his forehead.
He dropped his wand...
0000
Harry awoke not much later after he fell asleep. He was still on the sofa, a thick blanket spread over him and a pillow behind his head, both of which had not been there when he'd fallen asleep.
Must have been Aunt Petunia, thought Harry, smiling even as he yawned. He sat up, the blanket sliding from his shoulders and pooling around his waist, Aunt Petunia had left the lamp on, it cast a dim light over the sitting room. Which, Harry realised when he plucked his glasses from the small table and shoved them on his face, was not empty but for him. Remus slumped in the arm chair on the far side of the room, his wand held loosely in his hand. He looked greyer, and even asleep he looked overtired.
Full moon was two nights away, Harry realised with a jolt, Remus was probably aching and sore, and now he had fallen asleep in a most uncomfortable position just to keep an eye on Harry. Sympathy twinged within him, but at the same time, Harry couldn't help but feel more than a little bit happy with the way things were turning out this summer.
Despite what had happened yesterday...
Another twinge of sympathy, but this time, it was for Draco Malfoy, who still slept in the guest bedroom upstairs. Ron would burst a vein if he knew, mused Harry swinging his legs to the floor with a quiet chuckle. He stood, swaying a little as he did so, an unexpected wave of nausea swept through him.
"Urgh," Harry groaned, and clapping a hand over his mouth, he bolted for the loo, fully intending to release the contents of his stomach the moment he bent over the toilet.
Harry groaned as he sat back on his heals, ripping off a strip of toilet paper to wipe over his mouth. He flushed the toilet, getting up to rinse the abhorrent taste from his mouth and give his teeth a vigorous brushing.
He twisted the cold tap, cupping his hands beneath the faucet, and then slurping the accumulated water into his mouth. He gargled before spitting it out, cupping his hands again to wash off his face before replacing his glasses.
Belatedly, he realised that he'd just splashed water over the patch on his forehead. Harry sighed twisting off, and bracing his hands against the sink, leaning forward to peer at himself in the mirror.
The bandage was at least two inches long and one inch wide, thankfully Aunt Petunia had put first aid tape over the entire patch, instead of just on the sides. It was odd, he thought, poking experimentally at the gauze, jerking his hand away when the motion caused an ache in his forehead, Aunt Petunia cleaning up his cuts... obviously she'd never done that before. It was... nice, sort of like when Mrs. Weasley cleaned his knee when he had scraped it during his stay at the Burrow in the summer before his second year.
Harry prodded the bandage more carefully this time, he felt an inexplicable urge to pull it up a bit to take a look at the cut beneath. Pinching one corner of the tape, he peeled it up slowly, keeping in mind how much it would hurt were he to rip it off too fast.
Movement flickered in a corner of the mirror and Harry's eyes flicked up instantly, catching sight of a tall boy with blond hair standing in the door way of the loo. Draco Malfoy's wand dropped to the tiled floor.
Harry jumped violently, simultaneously ripping the bandage completely off of his forehead, cracking his knee against the sinks porcelain under belly, and yelping, "Malfoy!" very loudly.
"Ouch! Bloody- " Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, hopping up and down on one foot. Unfortunately, his now bare cut got the brunt of his slap and pain surged through Harry's head, and he overbalanced crashing to the floor at Malfoy's feet, the back of his head narrowly missing the toilet seat.
His clumsiness, apparently, spurred Malfoy into speech, and he watched as the other boy bent quickly and snatched his wand from the floor.
"What the hell is going on here!" shouted Malfoy, pointing his wand right between Harry's eyes. And that was when Harry remembered... Uncle Vernon slept right across the hall.
He scrambled to his feet at a pace much slower that he would have liked, but it seemed smacking his cut, bruising his knee, and being taken by surprise, brought nausea, a head ache and severe pain with every movement he made with his right leg.
Bloody Malfoy.
"Shut up!" he said sharply, listening for lumbering steps and huffing breaths... none. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Don't tell me to shut up, Potter! What are you doing here? And where the hell is here?" spat Malfoy, just as loudly as before. Harry cringed, waiting for the inevitable.
It came.
"BOY!" Thudding foot steps made their way down the hall way, followed by much lighter ones. Harry threw Malfoy a contemptuous look, right before he stepped forward, taking the boy by surprise as he shoved him inside the loo. And none too gently either.
"Whaa-?"
"Stay there!" ordered Harry sharply, surprised when Malfoy listened and backed into the loo. Harry stepped into the hall, preparing himself for Uncle Vernon's inevitable onslaught of verbiage. But it never came, instead Uncle Vernon's puce face came into focus for less than a second before he caught Harry's arm and dragged him down the hallway.
"I've had enough of this claptrap magic nonsense!" snarled Vernon, bypassing Dudley's second bedroom and shoving Harry down those stairs.
Harry stumbled and tripped, but the painfully tight grip his uncle had on his arm kept him from breaking his neck.
"I will not have it! NOT FOR ONE MORE RUDDY MINUTE!"
Harry tried to tug his arm from Uncle Vernon's grip as soon as the reached the level flooring, "Let go of my arm, you're hurting me." He tried to remain calm, "Uncle Vernon, stop, think what you're doing-"
"I'M THROWING YOU OUT ON YOUR ARSE! LIKE I SHOULD HAVE DONE WHEN YOU FIRST ARRIVED ON OUR DOORSTEP! I. WILL. NOT. HAVE. YOUR. UNNATURALNESS. HERE!" He jerked Harry around to face him, bellowing, spittle flying from his mouth and onto Harry's cheeks.
"Vernon! Vernon! Let him go!" screeched Aunt Petunia. Harry spied her running down the stairs, her hand clutching her throat, usually perfectly styled hair in wild disarray. Malfoy was right behind her... Harry avoided his eyes. Her hands scrabbled against the back of Uncle Vernon's shoulder, but Uncle Vernon ignored her, tugging Harry further from the stairway and closer to the door.
Fortunately, he never made it passed the kitchen.
Vernon's yelling had awoken Remus, whose wand was currently driving into what little of Uncle Vernon's neck that could be seen. Remus' eyes were bloodshot and wide, the expression on his face scaring even Harry. Aunt Petunia shrunk away, and Uncle Vernon's piggy little eyes were darting between Remus' face and the wand driving into his skin.
"Let. Him. Go." growled Remus, "Now."
Uncle Vernon's grip slackened, Harry wasted no time in yanking himself out of reach. "Wait in the sitting room, Harry. Petunia, go with him. Make sure your lump of a husband didn't hurt him." Remus' eyes narrowed at Harry's uncle, who whimpered slightly."And you, can get up those stairs before I curse you ten ways to next year!" Remus shoved Uncle Vernon forward, towards the stairs Harry had nearly tumbled down.
"Downstairs, Mr. Malfoy," said Remus upon seeing the boy still standing in the shadows on the second floor. Aunt Petunia lead the way into the sitting room, and almost instantly, Malfoy crossed the floor to the farthest chair from the both of them.
Harry dropped on the settee, thoroughly wishing he had never gotten up from it in the first place. He made to lie down, but Aunt Petunia sat beside him.
"Are you alright?" she asked immediately, her eyes wide with worry. "I'm-"
"Mum? Mum!" Dudley lumbered into the sitting room, his expression frantic.
"That m-man, he's got Dad upstairs! He was threatening him-" Dudley stuttered lowering his hulking form onto the settee on Petunia's other side.
"He's not going to do anything to him, Dudley," intoned Harry from the other end of the settee. "He's just... shaking him up a bit," he added, not quite sure he believed what he had said himself.
Remus reentered the sitting room, raising a hand for silence when both Harry opened his mouth, "Dursley is fine, I merely put him back in his room," he said ominously.
"Put him...?" asked Aunt Petunia tentatively.
Remus fixed her with a look, "I did nothing to hurt him, Mrs. Dursley. Which is more than he can say, I am sure."
He turned to Harry, "Are you alright?"
Harry nodded, "I'm fine, just wasn't expecting it." He could tell by the look on Remus' face that the conversation wasn't over. But Harry easily warded off Remus' inquisition jerking his head at Malfoy, who still sat silently on the other side of the room.
"Mr. Malfoy-" began Remus, but the boy in question, interrupted him.
"Why am I here?" he asked, knuckles whitening around the handle of his wand.
"Mr. Malfoy, your mother-"
"I know about my Mother!" Malfoy cut in sharply, his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Why am I here. And where is here anyway."
Remus sat down in the arm chair on Harry's right, rubbing a hand across his forehead, "You-" but it seemed Remus' sentences just weren't going to be completed tonight.
"You are in Harry Potter's summer home in Little Whinghing, Surrey."
Harry's whipped his head around so fast it made a horrible cracking noise. Snape and Dumbledore stood just inside the sitting room, grim expressions on their faces. But it wasn't that that Professor, greasy haired, bat-like, Snape, was standing in his relatives' house... it was his voice.
"Sectumsempra!"
It was him!
Harry's mouth dropped open as he stared. Snape's eyes swiveled to him for a second, and Harry was sure that Snape knew what he had just now figured out. The man's lips tightened briefly, he turned away from Harry again.
"Draco, get your shoes, we must hurry," said Snape, Draco stood immediately, though he looked down at his feet as though he had not realised his shoes were missing at all. He hurried from the room.
Snape's gaze returned to Harry, "And you, Potter," he began, an ugly sneer on his face, "I suggest you pack your things as quickly as possible, we do not have time to dawdle."
Comprehension dawned on Harry's face, and his mouth dropped open to protest.
"Harry, you must leave Privet Drive in all haste, Voldemort's attack was not only troubling, but entirely unexpected." said Dumbledore, and not unkindly, "Severus will be taking you to a safer location, at this time I believe it is prudent to remove you from your mother's protection."
Harry's eyes flickered to Aunt Petunia's, "But what about...?"
"Your relatives shall be moved as well, several order members are reinforcing protective enchantments there as we speak. I apologise for the inconvenience, Mrs. Dursley."
"I- it's-" Aunt Petunia's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. "I'm afraid time is of the essence in this situation, an Order member will return for your things." added Dumbledore, "Please, Harry, get your things. All will be explained in due time."
Harry hesitated.
"Move, Potter."
He threw Snape a scathing look, but went up to Dudley's second bedroom all the same.
Packing took less than five minutes anyhow. All of his things were still in his trunk, except Hedwig, and the pile of fresh laundry Aunt Petunia had placed on his bed yesterday afternoon.
Harry opened his trunk, ignoring the mess inside, and shoved his clothes in, closing the lid again. Thankfully, Hedwig's cage was mostly clean, and she was still inside. He didn't think it was safe to let her fly away just yet, and besides, she didn't even know where Harry was going.
Harry made to pick up both the cage and his trunk, but they rose into the air by themselves. Remus stood in the hall just to the side of Harry's door, directing his trunk and owl down the stairs. A thud and Hedwig's affronted hoot signaled their safe landing.
Remus stepped forward, leaning his shoulder against the door jamb, "It isn't indefinite, Harry, it's just for now," he said, a kind smile crinkling the skin his eyes.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, puffing out a breath, "Yeah," he muttered, trailing his sock clad toes across the carpet, "I know... I just think that putting Snape, me, and Malfoy together is a really bad idea." He admitted in a rush, glancing up at Remus before dropping his gaze back to his feet.
Remus chuckled, stepping further into the room, and closer to Harry. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders, leaning down to look him in the eyes, "You'll be fine, Harry... Just try not to get into too many arguments with the Slytherins, eh?" Remus' laugh was infectious, a small smile appeared on Harry's face.
"I'll do my best." he promised solemnly, but his playful mood dropped, "What about Malfoy? We can't send him back to his dad, and his mom is..." Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, it was weird, feeling pity for an 'enemy' he wasn't quite sure how to explain it.
"I don't know," answered Remus, "Perhaps you should try talking to Mr. Malfoy, he may not be any different, but he isn't bad."
He ignored Harry's open mouth.
"He just never thought about being good."
Harry's mouth opened and closed several times before he answered, "That makes absolutely no sense."
Remus laughed again, "It will, eventually. Give him a chance, and maybe he'll give you one." Remus pat his back lightly, "Come on then, they're waiting for you."
Harry took one last look around Dudley's room, before he followed Remus back to the sitting room.
0000
Potter looked disappointed when he found out his muggle relatives had left without saying goodbye. Draco embraced the anger he felt, he hadn't gotten to say goodbye to his mother either. At least Potter still had relatives to say goodbye to at all.
Draco sighed heavily, it didn't matter now anyway, he thought, slumping against the wall in what he assumed would be his bedroom at Spinners End. Potter was staying in the room right across from him. Draco slid away from the wall to lie flat on his bed, blue, cotton, sheets wrinkling beneath him. His throat tightened painfully, and he swallowed passed the lump lodged there.
Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and the only thing that kept them from falling was the sound of foot steps ascending the rickety, creaky, staircase that lead to the second floor.
Hastily, he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, settling himself on his side just as Severus appeared in the doorway. He stood, somewhat awkwardly, and Draco sat up, painfully aware that his eyes hadn't stopped watering.
"I am sorry, about your mother, Draco," he said quietly, "If there was something I could have done to prevent it, I assure you, I would have."
Draco nodded, tears trailed down his cheeks, he wiped them away, but more made their way down the erased path. "I know." He sniffed, not that it was much use, his nose was once again clogged passed usable abilities.
A white handkerchief appeared before him, and Draco took it, nodding his thanks. He swiped the cloth under his nose, bunching the cloth in his fingers, his gaze affixed to one of the buttons on Severus' robes.
He started when the man's hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it briefly. "Never the less," murmured Severus, "I am sorry."
And he left, leaving Draco, curled on his side, quiet sobs hitching in his chest, staring disconsolately at the wall beside him.
0000
Severus entered Potter's current residence with a growing sense of dread. The last thing he wanted to do was attempt to teach the boy Occlumency, now he had to live in close quarters with him as well.
His lips tightened as he knocked once before entering.
Potter lay on his back, staring dismally up at the ceiling. He sat bolt upright when he saw Severus, his eyes going wide.
"You will be resuming your Occlumency lessons, Potter," he said, without preamble. "The Dark Lord has not yet discovered your condition, and it would be to our benefit that things remain as they are."
He sneered at the boy's gaping expression.
"H-how did you-?"
"Albus told me, and if you had any sense in your head at all you would realise why your lessons are of such import." He turned to leave.
"Wait!"
He looked back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.
"Professor," added Potter hastily, "I just wanted to say... thanks. For, you know."
Potter gestured vaguely.
Severus stood stock still for a moment, then, inclined his head slightly, and left the room.
To be continued...
Awkward Conversations and Letters Between Family by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Many thanks to Wands and Orchidellia!
For anyone who would like to receive chapter/new story updates and spoilers, please visit me on LiveJournal or Twitter. The links will be posted on my profile!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series
Draco's eyes opened slowly, closing again almost immediately after. He did not want to wake up. He did not want to eat or drink. And most especially, he did not want to face every day knowing that his mother's death was his fault.
He curled into a ball beneath the cotton bed sheet, wishing that every single second of the last day had all been a terrible nightmare. And that the bed clothes around him were the expensive silk of his own bedroom, and not the normal yellow cotton that they really were. He wished that every time he breathed in he would smell the scent of his own home, and of the breakfast the house elves made at exactly nine o'clock every morning. And most especially, that his mother's hand would brush over his hair when she passed him to sit at her side of the table.
Draco pulled the sheet over his head to block out the sun light, he could hear movement downstairs, but despite the normally curious person he was, he stayed underneath the blanket, willing time to stop and life to end.
Footsteps descended the stairs, a quiet voice acknowledged someone in the kitchen, and Draco gave up his efforts to bury himself. The yellow sheet wouldn't block out the sun properly anyway. He raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing it backwards, and for the first time, he caught sight of a black smudge peeking out from underneath his pajama sleeve.
His heart nearly jumped straight out of his throat when he remembered what it was. The pale, trembling fingers of his right hand pinched the edge of his sleeve, ready to tug it all the way up to his elbow, and reveal the tattoo. But Draco's fingers wouldn't- couldn't complete the task. Or more, he, Draco, could not.
His breath came in gasps as he swung his legs down from the bed and bolted from the room and down the creaky staircase, straight into the kitchen. Severus sat at one end of the table, the Daily Prophet help up in front of his face, a steaming mug beside his right elbow and an empty bowl pushed slightly forward on his left. Draco barely registered Potter's awkward presence on the other end of the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bent over his own still half-full bowl. He stumbled towards Severus, eyes wide and gasping for breath, his left arm held away from body.
Severus dropped his newspaper, an odd look momentarily crossing his face as he looked from a wild-eyed Draco, to the arm held out in front of him.
"Take it off," he chocked out, shaking his left arm to articulate -not that he needed to-. "Take it off," he demanded once more, yanking the sleeve away from his forearm, keeping his eyes averted. He heard Potter inhale sharply behind him and the clatter of silver hitting glass. Draco kept his eyes locked on Severus' face, pleading and desperate.
A strained silence settled over the small kitchen, in which Severus sat up straighter, and Potter shifted uncomfortably. Severus cleared his throat, "I cannot. The mark is permanent, Draco," he answered evenly. The silence pressed on Draco eardrums, "Permanent?" his voice cracked. He shook his head, backing away from the table, yanking the sleeve back down over the mark, his right hand closing over the marred forearm, "There must be some way! There has to! I can't-"
Severus stood from his seat, "It is, Draco. There is no way to remove it."
Draco's back hit against the counter, his head still shaking though now it wasn't in denial. He ground his teeth, the mark would remain forever. A daily reminder of how far he had fallen. He had lost both his mother and his father, and was left with nothing but an ugly tattoo -a sign of slavery- to show for it.
"The mark will fade," said Severus quietly, stepping closer to him. He sent a sharp look at Potter, and Draco saw the other boy's eyes widen behind his glasses, Severus turned back to him, "In time."
Draco gripped his arm tighter, barely realising that it still ached a bit, "No it won't," he denied despondently, "I saw Father's, it looks..."
"Brand new."
Both Severus and Draco turned to see Potter standing, half empty bowl in hand, "It faded when Voldemort-"
Draco flinched violently.
"Potter!" snapped Severus, "How many-"
"Sorry, You-Know-Who, disappeared. I don't know if it'll go away," continued Potter, walking around the table to set his bowl in the sink. "But it won't stay like that," he gestured to Draco's arm, "Forever."
Draco was tempted to say something scathing, but Potter had already retreated from the room. He turned back to Severus, his lips tightening when a hand dropped on his shoulder.
"Potter is telling the truth, much as I hate to admit it. The mark faded before."
He didn't add, 'it will fade again', and that was fine, because Draco wouldn't have believed him anyway. Harry Potter would never be able to defeat the Dark Lord, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world realised it. The only difference now was that Draco wasn't sure how he'd survive the new regime.
0000
Harry trudged back up the stairs to the room in which he stayed... a room that was in Snape's house. Snape's house!
He shuddered slightly, entering the room and closing the door behind him. Hedwig hooted in greeting, batting her wings against the bars of her cage. Snape had said not to let her out -she was too obvious- and that he was to send her to Hogwarts when Dumbledore came later that day. Snape had also informed him that he had an appointment with a healer from St. Mungo's on Friday, tomorrow, in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore was going to tell him more about it when he flood over.
Snape hadn't said much else, and Harry had said next to nothing at all. There hadn't been a single deprecating comment that whole morning, the only sign of distaste from Snape was the sneer had on his face when he had handed Harry a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of pumpkin juice upon his entry in the kitchen, then he had hidden behind the Prophet, for the remainder of Harry's meal.
Or he would have, thought Harry, had Draco not come barging into the kitchen brandishing his left arm like it was some sort of infected species he wouldn't allow to touch the rest of his body. Harry slumped on what he supposed he should call 'his' bed, though he couldn't shake the image of this being Snape's bed, and that he had slept in Snape's room. But then again, it could be Malfoy sleeping in Snape's bed and room, so Harry couldn't be sure.
And that was another thing... Malfoy. If he kept wandering about like a lost puppy Harry wasn't sure what he would do. So torn between pity and irritation was he. That was uncharitable, Harry supposed, but it was hard to feel anything other than irritation towards the other boy. Imagine whinging over his bloody arm when his mother was dead, thought Harry scornfully.
Now he knew that was uncharitable. Having Voldemort's sodding sign burned into the skin wasn't some walk in the park, he was sure, and to find out it was going to be there for the rest of his life...
Harry sighed, directing his thoughts away from the muddled mess of a situation that was Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately his thoughts strayed to the Dursleys, of whom he knew no more about then Malfoy. Hell, he probably knew more about Malfoy then he did about his own relatives at the moment.
Harry groaned softly, he could feel an ache blossoming in his lower back, and he dropped his head on the pillow, leaving his knees hanging off the side of the bed, kicking his feet out aimlessly, allowing his trainer clad heels to smack against the bed frame.
He considered, albeit briefly, writing to his aunt... and cousin. But what was the point? He hadn't a single smidgen of an inkling about what to write.
Dear Aunt Petunia,
How are you? I know, it's all my fault you were almost killed right in the street in front of your house. Oh! And that you had to uproot your lives and shift off to live in God knows where because I attract a pack of mindless murderers and their master.
Love, Harry
Harry snorted, yeah, because that would go over well. Uncle Vernon had probably already burst the pulsing, purple vein in his temple. Perhaps things were better this way... mused Harry, kicking his feet out again, they'd be far safer away from them, and even if he were miserable with Snape, school wasn't to far off... and then he'd be with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and all his other house mates again.
It was hard to believe he'd turned sixteen just yesterday... Hard to believe anything about yesterday. Hopefully tomorrow would be better, despite the appointment.
Another problem, he couldn't ask Aunt Petunia questions anymore. Harry kicked his feet with a little more force then he had meant to, he cringed when the bed frame creaked loudly, almost positive he could hear Snape's footsteps on the stairway. His body stiffened as he listened... nothing, not even a peep.
Harry allowed himself to relax.
What the hell was he doing in Snape's house anyway?
Irritation at always being on the blind side spiked inside his belly, Dumbledore always kept him in the bloody dark. Insufferable old man that he was. But according to his oh-so-powerful headmaster, it was because he cared too much. Harry didn't know if that was supposed to make him feel better or what, he was rather busy holding in his anger after Sirius' death and refraining from trashing Dumbledore's office -any more than he already had- to listen properly.
Harry allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a few moments, as a late birthday present, he told himself, slipping his fingertips to rub his eyes briefly. His situation was untenable, as it always was.
Harry pushed himself from the bed and paced restlessly about the room. What was he supposed to do here? He couldn't go downstairs, Snape was down there, he couldn't explore the house, it was Snape's house, and aside from that, Malfoy could be lurking about, and Harry didn't want to run into him either.
He circuited the small space between the window and the bed once more, passing his trunk. Misjudging his step, his pinkie toe crunched against the corner of his trunk, sending waves of pain through his foot and up his leg.
"Argh!" Harry stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face, he limped to the bed, sitting down and lifting his foot up to rest atop his knee. He pealed off his sock and cautiously pinched the abused toe, it twinged, but it didn't seem broken.
He eyed his trunk contemptuously, stupid sodding thing, he was always stubbing his toes on it. The longer he glared at the offending trunk, the more he thought. Maybe writing Aunt Petunia wasn't such a mad idea... Besides, what else have I got to do?
Nothing, absolutely nothing. He didn't want to lay about like some sodding wanker, might as well do something.
Harry leaped from the bed, striding over to his trunk and flinging open the lid, the contents were more then a bit jumbled, but it wasn't to hard to find a quill, inkwell, a spare bit of parchment, and a book to write on top of.
He settled himself back on top bed, mindful of the blue sheets beneath him lest he stain them with droplets and splatters of ink. Dear Aunt Petunia...
Harry finished his letter twenty minutes later, cracking his knuckles and blowing on the ink to make it dry faster.
"Magic is permitted in a home where an adult wizard resides."
Harry jerked around, nearly flinging himself off of the bed. Snape stood stiffly in the doorway, arms crossing his chest, each hand gripping the opposite elbow, and an ugly scowl upon his face.
Harry's mouth opened and closed repeatedly.
"Shut your mouth, Potter, or are you trying to appear as gormless as you are stupid?"
Harry's mouth snapped shut, so much for Snape not saying anything. He would have glared, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be staying with Snape, so he thought twice about his angry retort as well.
"Sir?"
Snape's lip curled unpleasantly, "The Headmaster awaits you in the sitting room." And with that, turned on his heal, seconds later Harry heard a door close further down the hall.
Harry cleared his throat to announce his presence, he leaned his head inside the door way, "Professor?"
Dumbledore turned on the worn looking brown leather settee upon which he sat, "Ah, Harry, do come in. I imagine you had a bit of trouble finding the sitting room?"
Harry didn't answer, but he had, he'd gone back to the kitchen and sort of peeked into the rooms he passed. There weren't many, but Harry had found one door that was bolted shut that made his fingers itch to unlock and explore. But this was Snape's house, and he, Harry, had not gone completely bonkers. Suicide wasn't one of his top interests. And that was just about what mucking about in Snape's house lead to.
Harry sat stiffly in the armchair across from Dumbledore, acutely aware that Snape himself could have sat here at one point in time or another. It was enough to make anyone nauseous, Ron would laugh his arse off if he could see him now. Actually, Harry was quite looking forward to sharing this particularly harrowing tale with his best mate. Then they'd both be able to abuse Snape and laugh about it to their hearts content.
"Your relatives are safe and settled, though I can only tell you that they are no longer in the country." Dumbledore was saying.
"N-no longer in the country?" stammered Harry, so much for writing his aunt.
"Yes, I thought it best to relocate them all together," said Dumbledore, taking a sip from a cup of tea that seamed to have appeared out of no where. "Your Uncle, it seems, concocted the whole idea himself," he continued, giving Harry a significant look, "He came up with the idea shortly before your school term ended, thus leaving you alone, and them all the better for it."
Harry couldn't help chuckling and then he thought, "But what about Aunt Petunia, and Dudley?" Might as well rip the bloody letter to shreds.
"Alas, it was your lovely Aunt's idea. She asked it of me on the grounds that Vernon had a weak heart." Dumbledore tutted sympathetically, and Harry's jaw dropped.
"She also asked me to pass this onto you," Dumbledore pronounced, withdrawing a small folded paper from within his bright turquoise, moon decorated robes.
He reached across to pass it into Harry's numb fingers.
"And now, to more important matters, but first, you must excuse an old man's forgetfulness Harry, would you like some tea?" Dumbledore lifted a small porcelain tea pot from the tray on the table beside the settee. Harry nodded dumbly.
"I do hope you enjoy it," added Dumbledore, pouring Harry a cup, "It's one of my favourites, chamomile, very relaxing. Sugar?"
"I- yeah," said Harry, slowly regaining his ability to speak, he shoved Aunt Petunia's note into the pocket of his jeans, "Two please."
Dumbledore dropped two sugar squares into Harry's tea, stirring them in with a small silver spoon before he handed the cup over.
"Now," Dumbledore set his own cup down, twinkling blue eyes shrewd as he looked at Harry.
"I must have your account on yesterday's most unfortunate events."
Harry squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly feeling very hot and prickly, "I know I shouldn't have left the house..." He muttered into his tea cup, blowing on the liquid to give himself something to do.
"And yet you did," replied Dumbledore, and not unkindly, "Might I inquire?"
Harry gave up blowing on his tea and returned his Headmaster's gaze, "Aunt Petunia asked me to go along to pick up Uncle Vernon... And I didn't think to say no. It wasn't until after we had left and I realised my scar was prickling that I began to feel uneasy."
"Ah," murmured Dumbledore, "And after picking up your Uncle?"
"I just thought if we got home fast enough we'd be fine. But, well, Voldemort got there first."
Dumbledore leaned forward, "Tom was waiting for you to return?"
"At first? No, he came later, with the Malfoys... Just the Death Eaters were there. I didn't recognize most of them, but I saw Antonin Dolohov, Lucius Malfoy, and-" Harry hesitated, anger rising inside him, he grit his teeth, "And Lestrange."
Dumbledore nodded in understanding, "It is-"
"Hang on," interrupted Harry, remembering something suddenly, "Was there a massive Azkaban break out that I didn't hear about? I thought Dolohov and Malfoy were caught at the Ministry."
"Yes, they were. The new Minister decided that the Wizarding world needn't trouble themselves with such matters."
"Another useless Minister then," said Harry dully, though he supposed he should be grateful they weren't spouting that he was a raving lunatic any longer.
Harry was just about to voice these thoughts when he remembered something else, "Professor, yesterday, there was a Death Eater standing right behind Voldemort, and he shot this weird light at the bushes almost right before the Order showed up. It wasn't..."
"Severus? Yes, yes it was. I am afraid I owe you an apology, my boy," said Dumbledore gravely, holding up a hand when Harry's mouth opened, "You see, your guard, Mundungus Fletcher, failed to inform us of your departure, and in so doing..."
"Oh."
"Severus sent a Patronus that informed me of the events on Privet Drive, and put himself in great risk by doing so. We are all indebted to him." He gave Harry a look that made the skin on the back of his neck prickle unpleasantly.
Dumbledore smiled kindly, "Are you anxious about your appointment tomorrow?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly.
"I'm not sure," answered Harry truthfully, "I don't know what to expect..."
"I dare say all your questions will be addressed tomorrow then," said Dumbledore rising from his seat, "But alas, I must go, being the headmaster of a most prodigious school does involve quite a bit of paperwork, I am afraid to say."
Harry stood as well, the half-empty cup of tea in his hand vanishing with a pop, "Sir, how exactly am I to get to Hogwarts tomorrow?"
"You and young Mr. Malfoy will floo over tomorrow with Severus." Dumbledore pat Harry on the shoulder, "Do try to put your differences with Professor Snape aside Harry," he said, voice suddenly urgent, "Your Occlumency lessons are of the utmost importance, and I have already spoken with Severus about them."
Harry nodded, not sure what else to do, he couldn't exactly say no now could he?
"I'll try..." he muttered, even though the very thought of lessons with Snape made him sick. He'd never forgive the man for what happened with Sirius, no matter how bloody irrational it was.
"I shall take my leave then."
Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder before crossing the small space of floor to the fireplace. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushing against Aunt Petunia's note.
"Professor, wait!"
Dumbledore paused in the act of stepping into the fireplace.
"I have something, for Aunt Petunia, if you can send it to her..."
"Best get it then, my boy, I shall see that she gets it," said Dumbledore merrily, his blue eyes twinkling brightly.
"Right."
Harry left the room, returning moments later with his letter rolled in a tight scroll and tied with a string he'd ripped off one of his ratty second-hand shirts.
He held it out mutely.
"I shall arrange for an easier way for you to correspond with your relatives. Good day, Harry."
And with that, Dumbledore whirled away, in a flurry of bright green flames and scattered ash.
0000
Harry,
I am sorry you can no longer stay with us this summer, a fact that surprises both Dudley and myself very much. I feel as though I have wasted the time I had to spend with you, and that I am cowardly for feeling relief at being able to write this in a letter rather than speak about it with you in person.
Your Headmaster says I am not to tell you were we are, and that you cannot tell me where you are. But I thought I should say... That man, Snape, you probably already know this, but he was a friend of your Mother's, and our neighbor when we were children. He's the one who told your Lily that she was a witch. I never liked him because he was a wizard, and I suppose he and I never got along because I was always frightfully jealous of the pair of them.
There, I admit it. I was jealous of Lily... and of the shabby, wizard boy she preferred to play with over me. But I am to blame for that as well. I drove my sister away.
And her son as well.
I am sorry Harry.
If we do not see each other until next summer. I hope that you can forgive me. And perhaps, if it is not to much to ask, we might make up for lost time. I wish your birthday had gone better for you, I meant to order a cake at the restaurant. We have made all your birthdays awful, I wish I could make up for it.
-Petunia
Harry stared at the lined paper in shock. Snape had known his mother. Snape had been... friends, with his mother.
There had to be some mistake. But Harry knew there wasn't, he had read and re-read Aunt Petunia's letter multiple times. His parents, Sirius, Remus, and Snape had all been in the same year at Hogwarts, he knew that, but Snape and his mum had been... friends?
Impossible.
He had heard Snape call her a mudblood, to her face! And she had called him Snivellus. How in hell could they have been friends?
Perhaps they'd had a falling out? Maybe Snape had stopped associating with his mum when she'd been sorted into Gryffindor... Or maybe it had been the other way around. Harry hoped not. Oddly, it felt better to think that -if his mum and Snape had been friends at all- it had been Snape's fault they did indeed have a falling out.
Harry crumpled the letter in his fist, only to open it up again and smooth it out against the blue bedsheets. His very first letter from Aunt Petunia... his very first proper letter, he amended, he didn't count the one in first year that had said to see if he couldn't stay at Hogwarts for the summer as well as Christmas.
What did he care if Snape had been friends with his mum? They weren't friends anymore, and it wasn't like Snape would tell him anything about it, he thought resentfully. If Snape weren't so foul, perhaps he could have told Harry loads of things about his mum from the moment Harry started Hogwarts. Instead of leaving him to lie in wait until Sirius escaped from Azkaban and Remus started as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
It didn't matter, Harry told himself, bounding from the bed to slip the somewhat crumpled sheet of paper inside his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages for safe keeping. He'd compose a reply to Aunt Petunia later, at the moment, he felt rather tired. Which was odd because he had literally just gotten up a couple of hours ago. Harry curled on his side under the thin blue blanket, attempting to drive all thoughts of Snape and his mum ever knowing each other from his mind. And as his eyes drifted shut he pushed away the bitter feeling that rose in his chest when his mind wandered to the idea that Snape could have told his lost, eleven year old self, about his mum.
Damn Snape anyway.
Harry awoke sometime later, slightly fevered, horribly groggy -which was exactly the reason he preferred to avoid afternoon naps- and a touch nauseated. He sat up, realising belatedly, that he had forgotten to take off his glasses, which had been digging into the side of his face and nose.
He let them dangle by the earpiece from his fingers as he rubbed at his gritty eyes before slipping them back on his face, and laying flat on his back, distorting himself to stretch and yawn in absurdly odd positions.
Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, stumbling a bit as he tried to right himself and shake off the last sticky cobwebs of afternoon sleep. He felt... incredibly sore. His neck had an awful crick, and his throat was scratch, not to mention the dull, thumping pain in his lower back. Harry scratched an itchy spot on his arm, teetering out of his bedroom and into the hall. He needed the loo something awful, and his arm itched abominably.
He took two more steps before he was seized by a coughing fit, and, wheezing as it stopped, he realised that he had absolutely no idea where the toilet was.
He scratched at his arm again, red welts appearing on his skin where his nails scraped, he couldn't understand why he was so itchy, and what was more, he thought savagely, beginning to get irritated with his unfortunate situation, he was feeling disgustingly hot and sweaty.
Oh where was Snape anyway? Thought Harry, thumping down the stairs, causing loud creaking sounds with every stomp, he was too annoyed to care though. Harry stumped into the sitting room, a scowl on his face, he scratched at his arm again, and looking down at it he saw that he had just about turned the entire inside of his arm bright red.
Bloody, stupid, buggering-
"Potter!"
"WHAT!" Harry wheeled around, incensed beyond all possible comprehension, for reasons that certainly did not suit his reaction.
Malfoy stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide and mouth open, "What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?"
Harry fairly growled, desiring nothing more than to insult and degrade Malfoy until he was blue in the face, but he needed the bathroom, and Malfoy just might know where it was, "I'm looking for the loo," he ground out, his teeth, gritting against each other as he said it.
Malfoy's lips curled unpleasantly, "Is that why you're stomping around in a strop? You couldn't find the loo?" he asked mockingly.
"Look, Malfoy, do you know where it is or not?" If he hadn't needed to go so bad he might have repaid Malfoy in kind. Unfortunately, verbal sparring wasn't on the top of his to-do list at the moment.
"It's upstairs, you depraved fool, the third door on the right, after your room I believe. Oh, and Severus says to stop prancing about like a wounded Hippogriff, he's working in the potions lab, and if he makes a mistake because of you..." Malfoy stepped aside as Harry brushed -none too gently- passed him.
Bloody Malfoy, thought Harry, rinsing the soap from his hands, looking in the dingy little mirror above the white porcelain sink. His arm had stopped itching, but now there were ugly red marks from his fervent scratching.
He wasn't quite sure what had made his arm so itchy, and he'd already thoroughly examined the abused flesh for a bite of some sort. At least it wasn't itchy anymore.
Harry existed the bathroom, looking left to right anxiously, the last people he wanted to see were Malfoy and Snape. Malfoy because he probably knew something was wrong with him. And Snape because of Aunt Petunia's letter.
He had absolved to avoid making eye contact with Snape at all costs. An almost impossible feat considering. He wished tomorrow night wasn't a full moon, then maybe he could've gone with Remus to Hogwarts.
Harry went back into his room, and bent over his trunk, unlatching and flipping it open with a disheartened sigh as he pulled out his homework. He couldn't think of anything else to do, and it was probably only one in the afternoon! This had to be the most tedious day of his life. At least at the Dursley's he didn't have to ask to go outside. But here, the last thing Harry wanted to do was warrant an onslaught of Snape's abusive verbiage by asking him if he, Harry, could go outside.
Harry trudged down the stairs, his steps, a great deal quieter than they were earlier. He was still too hot anyways, though he was beginning to suspect it was because of a fever and not because of the sun that streamed through the windows. Harry plopped in a chair at the table in the kitchen, there wasn't a desk in his room, and he wasn't about to abuse his aching back by trying to do homework laying down on the bed.
Snape or no Snape.
Harry piled his textbooks on his right, and his sheets of parchment on his left, quill and inkwell set out right next to the textbooks as he contemplated what to do first. An essay for Herbology, two essays for Potions, and one for Transfiguration, all of which had to be two to three feet long.
Harry rubbed his eyes beneath the rims of his glasses before picking up his Transfiguration text and settling down to read and write about human transfiguration and the possible risks in being a participant.
Four hours and six feet of parchment later, found Harry sitting back in his chair cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck from side to side. His eyes burned, and he felt... oddly full. Like he had just eaten a five course meal for lunch. Only, he hadn't eaten lunch at all.
Snape hadn't come down, or even passed by the kitchen, neither had Malfoy.
Maybe they had eaten lunch while he had been sleeping, and hadn't bothered to wake him up. Not that he cared much. He'd gone without eating loads of times at the Dursley's. Harry gathered his things, stacking the freshly written Transfiguration and Herbology essays on top of his books.
He turned and left the kitchen, completely missing the plate of food under a pot cover, sitting on the stove.
Up in his room, Harry put away his school things, pulled off his socks, slipped into bed, and fell asleep for the second time that day.
0000
Draco shifted on his lab stool beside Severus, who stood stooped over a bubbling cauldron.
"What's wrong with Potter?" he asked abruptly, searching for something to talk about that wouldn't lead to his mother or the Dark Lord.
Severus stood up straight and pulled his own stool closer to the counter before he too sat down. He cast Draco a calculating look, "I do not know the details. Potter will be leaving as soon as the Headmaster finds somewhere safe to put him," he replied stiffly, and turned away from Draco, tapping the side of the bronze cauldron with his wand twice.
"He looks ill." Draco commented idly, pretending to pick uninterestedly at his nails. The truth was, he was burning with curiosity. Ever since he'd seen Potter downstairs, flushed with fever and scratching his arm like a deranged animal... he'd wondered. Not to mention the croaky voice with which he spoke.
Dumbledore had come earlier as well, Draco had listened a bit, at the door, only a bit though. Not nearly long enough to learn anything, and he knew they were going to Hogwarts tomorrow because Potter had to do something.
"He is ill." Came the measured reply.
Draco contemplated his next sentence, "He was scratching his arm like mad when I saw him downstairs... He isn't... contagious. Is he?"
Severus breathed in deeply, "No."
Draco opened his mouth to ask another question, but Severus cut him off.
"I neither know nor care what Potter is or isn't doing. And if you would like to know, I suggest you ask him yourself," Severus' lips twisted wryly, as he tapped the cauldron once more and the spoon inside stopped stirring, he added what looked like flobberworm mucus, and Draco scowled at his back.
Severus knew more than he was letting on, Draco knew it, and Severus knew that Draco knew. It irritated Draco, who needed something, anything, even Potter, to distract him from his own misery.
"Did you tell Potter his lunch awaited him?" asked Severus, crushing sprigs of lavender inside the mortar.
"I-"
"Forgot?" Severus turned to look at him, his right eyebrow arched mockingly.
"I- yes, but it isn't my fault. He shouted something about needing the lavatory, and took off right after I told him how to find it," he retorted indignantly. "I meant to tell him," he muttered sullenly, when Severus scoffed and turned back to his cauldron.
"What are you brewing anyway?" he asked, leaning forward to peer over Severus' shoulder.
"Sleeping Draught," said Severus, adding previously crushed lavender with a small measuring scoop.
"For the school?"
Severus nodded.
Draco sat back, lifting a hand to cover a wide yawn.
"See if Potter found the plate himself. I don't want him complaining to the Headmaster."
Draco slid from his chair, grumbling and scowling, but it was better than doing nothing... and it was certainly better than thinking. Severus knew that, or Draco had thought so when Severus had come to his room asking if he'd like to follow him to the potions lab.
Draco stopped at Potter's room, the door was ajar, and he could see Potter's open trunk sitting right beneath the window. He considered knocking, but soft snoring sounds were coming from inside the room.
Draco stepped in, catching sight of Potter, curled into a ball in the middle of his bed, blanket pulled up to his ears, and mouth hanging open as though he couldn't breathe through his nose.
Unbelievable.
Potter had just woken up not five hours ago, how the devil could he be asleep again? Feeling as though he was tempting fate, Draco stepped closer, peering at Potter's face interestedly.
The fool had left his glasses on, and he was indeed breathing through his mouth, Draco could tell by the way the air whistled past his teeth... and he was- Draco recoiled. Potter was drooling! All over Severus' bedsheets!
If he hadn't remembered to be quiet he'd have crowed triumphantly. Potter's trunk flitted through his peripheral vision, and Draco bit the inside of his cheek, involuntarily stepping closer to the opened trunk.
"Draco!"
Draco started guiltily, whirling around to see Severus standing in the doorway, eyebrows half-way up his forehead, wordlessly asking Draco just what he thought he was doing.
"I wasn't going to look..."
The eyebrows rose further, and Severus regarded him with a supercilious expression.
"Potter's asleep," snapped Draco, annoyed at having been caught. He made to leave the room, but Severus still stood in the doorway, looking at Potter, a frown creating lines between his eyes.
"What is that on his arm?" asked Severus, though he didn't move any closer or remove his gaze.
Draco glanced at Potter, whose right arm was the only visible part of his body besides his hair and face, lay beside his head, palm up. Across the forearm there were long dark red scratches from the elbow to the wrist. Obviously, that was where Potter had been scratching earlier.
"I told you he was scratching his arm," said Draco, his tone suggesting an eye roll, though he didn't dare to actually do it.
Severus closed the distance between himself and Potter, looking the latter over closely. Draco stood, shifting from foot to foot.
Severus straightened suddenly, extending a hand to beckon him nearer, Draco proceeded with caution, nearly jumping out of his skin when Potter inhaled with a gasping snort. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, his face forming a disgusted expression.
"Are you sure he isn't contagious?" he asked, still keeping his distance.
"Quite."
Severus prodded Potter on the shoulder with his fingers, but the boy on the bed did not wake.
"Potter. Potter!"
Potter blinked blearily, rolling onto his back with a groan, drool trailing across his cheek.
Draco grimaced.
"Boil some water Draco," murmured Severus, shaking Potter's shoulder roughly, "For tea. And fetch a De-congestion Draught, it's the blue vial, in the third overhead cabinet in the kitchen. There should be a Pepper-Up there as well."
Draco retreated hastily.
A silver teakettle sat atop the stove, but Draco didn't know how to light a stove, and he didn't think Severus would mind if he used a little magic. So he tapped the kettle twice with his wand, filling it with water and making it heat up simultaneously.
Not five minutes later the teakettle was whistling loudly.
Draco tapped the kettle again to stop the shrill noise, and stared at it contemplatively, realising, that for the first time in his life, he had to make a cup of tea.
How did one even go about making a cup of tea? And Severus hadn't said what sort of tea either.
Draco glared at the teakettle for two seconds more, before he gave it up as a bad job, and rummaged through the appointed cupboard for the potions Severus had asked for.
"Got it," he murmured, his hand closed around a squat glass vial filled with blue liquid, a skinny vial of Pepper-Up clutched in his other hand, and he walked back up the stairs to Severus and Potter.
He wasn't two feet away from the door when he heard Potter coughing, but not just any cough. Deep-throat coughs that were almost painful to hear, Severus' stuck his head out of the door, no doubt to tell him to hurry it up.
He nodded upon seeing Draco, moving aside as he entered the room, handing the potions to Severus.
Potter was sitting up now, glasses off, and his arm held across his mouth to smother his slowly subsiding coughs, not that it did much help... but less germs would spread that way Draco supposed.
0000
"Take these, Potter."
Two bottles clinked together beneath his nose, one that he recognized as Pepper-Up, (the grey, sluggish liquid sloshing, unappetizing, inside its vial was unmistakable, glasses or no) and the other some sort of thin, light blue coloured potion he had never seen before.
He took the vials, eyeing them warily, "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, his throat burned unbearably, not to mention that he was now horribly thirsty.
"Pepper-Up and De-congestion," answered a voice impatiently, "Drink them."
It was a testament to how sick he was that he uncorked both bottles and downed them with no more argument or questions asked.
"Bleeargh..."
"There is tea for you in the kitchen, and your uneaten lunch," the same voice said tightly, the words coming out sharp and brusque, as though it tore at the person's very soul to utter civil words to Harry at all.
Harry resisted the urge to grab the blanket pooled around his waist and swipe it across his tongue. His ears felt steamy, but at least he could breath through his nose now though he was still thirsty.
"Er..." He pat around his bed for his glasses, squinting short-sightedly at the black blob standing in front of him, his hand brushed over wire frames, and he picked them up, giving the lenses a quick clean on the hem of his shirt.
Harry slipped his glasses back onto his face, blinking away sleepiness as his surroundings became clear. He nearly fell of the bed when he saw both Snape and Malfoy standing right beside him.
Harry scooted back a bit, not sure if he cared if they noticed, and if they had, neither said anything.
"Do you have an allergy, Potter?" asked Snape, looking pointedly at his right arm. Harry glanced down, momentarily surprised to see red marks and partly scabbed scratches all along his forearm.
He lifted his arm closer to his face for a proper inspection, "No... I'm not sure why it was itchy."
He glanced up to see Malfoy frowning confusedly, Snape did not comment other than to say,
"Hmm."
"You missed lunch, Potter, it is downstairs. See that you eat it." And with that, Snape left the room, leaving Malfoy and Harry to stare uncomfortably at each other.
Well, Harry was uncomfortable, but Malfoy seemed to have reaffirmed his former sense of hauteur, and crossed to the other side of Harry's room to lean against the wall.
Harry slid his legs from the bed, swaying unsteadily as he stood.
"Is there something you wanted, Malfoy," he asked trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, as he pulled the blue blanket from the bed and began to shake it out.
He chanced a glance at Malfoy, who's arms were folded across his chest casually.
"Actually," commented Malfoy, shifting against the wall, "There is."
Harry folded the blanket with routine precision, pausing his initial response to tell Malfoy to bugger off. "What?" His tone clearly stating just what he had wanted to say anyway.
"Severus said you were sick."
Harry stopped in the act of straightening the bedding, Snape knew? But instead of blurting that out, he stood up straight, regarding Malfoy with a contemptuous look, "And...?" What does that have to do with you? He arched an eyebrow, noting with some small pleasure that Malfoy appeared to be frustrated, if the clenching of his jaw meant anything.
"Nothing." Malfoy's lips tightened, "Look, Potter, what's wrong with you any-"
Harry snapped.
"There is nothing wrong with me, Malfoy. And if there was, it's none of your sodding business so why don't you just shove off!" he hissed abandoning his post by the bed to stalk across the room until he was a foot from Malfoy's face.
"It's just a question, Potter! You don't have to get all up in arms-"
"Up in- Just where do you get off asking me anything? It's none of your damn business-"
"What is your problem, Potter? You sound like a bleating girl who's got the painters in!"
They were nose to nose, and Harry had no idea why Malfoy was causing him to be so irate. It was like a button had been pressed the moment the prat had opened his mouth.
Harry opened his mouth to voice just exactly what he thought of Malfoy, but he changed his mind at the last minute, shaking his head to clear it, he stepped away from Malfoy and ran his fingers through his hair, breathing in deeply.
"Listen, Malfoy, it's not something I want to talk about." To you or to anyone else.
Malfoy nodded, backing up to lean against the wall again, trying to appear unfazed, "I wouldn't even bother asking," he said disdainfully, crossing his arms over his chest, "There just isn't anything else to do here."
Malfoy's sullen comment reminded Harry of something, "What are you doing here anyway, Malfoy?" he asked crossing the room back to his bed to finish straightening the sheets and pillow.
"What are you doing here?"
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, "Dunno. Dumbledore said I had to stay somewhere safe, apparently that meant here." Harry couldn't resist scoffing.
Malfoy's eyebrow raised and his lips quirked, "Maybe not for you," he conceded dryly, before continuing, "I was already supposed to stay with Severus, but at Hogwarts later in August before the school year started..."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, why would Malfoy stay with Snape? And when the hell did he start calling him Severus?
"You stay with Snape during the summer?"
"No."
"Then why...?"
Malfoy's eyes lowered to stare at his feet, "I was supposed to join-"
"The Death Eaters?" asked Harry his tone accusing, "Bit young aren't you?"
Malfoy's eyes snapped up to glare at Harry, "D'you think I wanted this? I never had a choice!"
And they were fighting again.
"Everyone has a choice, Malfoy! Don't make it seem as though you didn't love using your little pure-blood status to demand things and treat everyone like crap!"
"That's not even what I'm talking about! I'm talking about becoming what amounts to nothing more than a servant, and living in fear of being murdered and tortured every time he 'calls'!"
Harry shook his head, "You don't get it do you, Malfoy? It's all the same! That's what Voldemort wants! The only reason you don't want to do it his way because you're scared for yourself!"
Malfoy jerked away from the wall, striding across the room to tower over Harry, "Not all of us can be like you," he hissed, practically vibrating with anger, "Not all of us can stand there in front of him and not be scared for our lives!"
"You think I'm not scared for mine?" asked Harry incredulously, standing up and pushing Malfoy back, "I'm not some bloody fearless hero, you prat!"
"Sure looked like it yesterday," muttered Malfoy, resentment apparent in his tone.
Something occurred to Harry, "Malfoy... Listen, your mum's death wasn't your fault. It doesn't matter if you could have done something-"
"You don't know what you're talking about Potter," said Malfoy quietly, he was no longer glaring at Harry, "It was my fault."
Malfoy left, leaving Harry to realise that the conversation between them had probably been the longest one they'd ever had. Harry wasn't sure what that meant, but it seemed like from now on there would be some sort of unspoken truce.
And Harry wasn't sure what he thought about that either.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Hope to see you all soon!
-Marie
We Recieve... What We Least Expect From Those We Least Expect It From by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
I am so sorry for how long this took! October has been a busy month. Between my brother leaving for California, my sister taking a two week vacation, planning my brother's and my going away/bday party (I'm 16 now), and reading the latest books and watching the latest episodes. By the way, if you're a Psych or Office fan... Freaking awesome episodes! Rick Riordan's newest book, The Son of Neptune took me an entire day to finish, but it was on Audio so I typed at the same time. AAAANNNDDD! I had my first article published! Hear that guys? At 16, (it came out ON my birthday) I am a published writer!
Thanks a ton for being so patient! You guys are the best! And I loved those reviews and favorites!
Also, I did to other pieces while I was writing this one. One will be coming out soon. The other was for a fandom that doesn't exist here. It was a present for my friend who asked me to write it. She cried when I gave it to her... Mission accomplished!
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Regards, Marie
Disclaimer! So on and so forth...
"Your belongings. Your... Mother, saw fit to have them portkeyed to my quarters at Hogwarts."
Severus directed Draco's trunk into his room, and Draco watched as it glided through the door, landing with a thump beside his bed. He fiddled with his bed sheet.
"Albus sent them through the floo for me this morning," said Severus, settling himself into a conjured hard-back chair beside Draco's bed and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
"Thanks," muttered Draco, his gaze directed at his still fidgeting fingers.
"Draco-"
"I'm sort of tired," he interrupted abruptly, shifting on the bed to lie down, pulling the blanket up passed his chest, "I'll just where these for now, if you don't mind, that is."
Severus breathed in deeply, lifting his hands to swipe them over his face. He looked rather worn out, Draco thought, but he couldn't be sure, Severus almost never showed emotion on his face... unless it was disgust or anger.
"Draco, Narcissa's death was not your fault."
Draco's head snapped up, his cheeks tinged pink, "I never said it was," he replied stiffly, well aware that he had told Potter of all people that it was. But he was certain Severus hadn't heard him.
"Speech would be, in this instance, irrelevant," Severus folded his fingers together, pressing his lips against them as he thought, "But, I heard your argument, with Potter. And though I did not hear you say it, I would be a fool not to know why he responded so."
Draco swallowed thickly, trying to look anywhere but at Severus.
"You will find that these walls conceal nothing unless charmed and warded." Severus added, his tone somewhat bitter. At any other moment, Draco would have wondered, but not just then.
"Draco..."
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Draco's slid his eyes shut against the sudden prickly sensation.
"It was not your fault."
Draco opened his eyes again to stare at Severus, his expression one of pain, "How do you know?" he whispered desperately, "How do you know that if I hadn't just- just-"
"Joined the Dark Lord?"
To choked up to speak, Draco nodded.
"Because if you had, he would have killed her anyway."
"I- What?"
"The Dark Lord meant to punish your family, Draco. Not because of you, but because of your Father. He had planned to murder Narcissa after he had degraded Lucius completely and set you a task you would be sure to fail."
An unbidden tear ran down Draco's cheek, Severus passed him a snowy white handkerchief.
"She meant nothing to him. Narcissa knew as much, and she wanted you, her son, to be safe. The majority of you belongings were charmed to be transferred to Hogwarts at last years end. She expected it Draco."
The words were said so forcefully that Draco could not help but believe it.
"The fault does not lie with you."
Severus squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, "You may wear those tonight," he said, standing and nodding towards the shrunken pajamas that Draco wore. "Tomorrow will have to start early, I'm afraid. Potter's appointment begins at ten, and I have papers and lessons to complete before another school year begins."
Draco nodded, pressing Severus' handkerchief against his eyes, "Thank you..."
"There is no need for gratitude, Draco, I am only sorry that I could do nothing to prevent your situation.
Draco nodded once more, his breath hitched in his chest, and he knew he could say no more without losing control of himself.
"Sleep well, Draco."
0000
Harry plodded down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily. Despite the fact that he'd washed his face and brushed his teeth, which normally would have him wide-awake, he was feeling heavy with sleep, and abominably nauseous because of the smells wafting up from the kitchen... Not that they were bad smells, oh no, if he was feeling normal, the scent of eggs, toast, and bangers would have had him bolting from the loo at top speed. But no, he didn't even feel hungry, which, Harry thought, was completely barmy seeing as he'd barely eaten any dinner the night before.
He entered the kitchen, trying and failing to wake himself up a bit more by blinking rapidly and shaking his head as though he were a dog. He gave up and dropped into the chair farthest from Snape.
"It is deemed impolite to sit slouched over at one's table."
Harry nearly rolled his eyes, Snape's 'politeness' tended to sound as though the man had a rather long stick shoved up his arse, and Harry would have said so, but he did have some semblance of self-preservation... and the begrudging gratitude he found himself feeling, helped keep his mouth shut.
"Aren't you going to eat, Potter?" asked Malfoy, his eyes on his own plate, which contained his own barely eaten meal.
Harry shook his head.
"How can you not be hungry, Potter, all you did last night was peck at your food like some sodding bird," snapped Malfoy, rounding on Harry, his eyes bloodshot and his face unnaturally pale.
"I wasn't hungry," replied Harry coolly, slumping further in his chair and picking at the calluses on the palm of his hand.
"Though your lack of appetite is uncommon for someone of your age, Potter-"
"Yeah well..." Harry shrugged, not sure what to make of it.
"Do not interrupt me, Potter!" Snape cut in sharply, dark brows drawn together in an ugly scowl, and his hand clenched around the handle of his mug, "As I was saying, Albus informed me yesterday that eating before your appointment is not permitted. Such a demand is usually only required if there will be an operation of some sort."
Harry did not know why Snape had felt the need to add that last bit, and he wasn't sure if he liked knowing it either.
"O-operation?" he stuttered, voice, an octave higher than his normal.
Snape merely shrugged his shoulder unconcernedly.
Harry would have questioned further, but bodily functions often got in the way of a persons desires.
Overwhelmed by scent, nervousness, and now full on anxiety, Harry's stomach lurched, and he wasted no time in fleeing the room to drape himself gracelessly over the toilet.
Harry pulled the chain to flush, unraveling a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth, and sat back on his heels, his throat sore and tender.
Visions of needles and doctors with masks loomed over him. But maybe... maybe, wizards didn't use needles... or maybe that was just for stitches?
All in all, Harry would rather not have another encounter with a needle wielding doctor. Nope, not at all.
"I never figured you to be squeamish, Potter."
Harry's head jerked around, and he stood quickly, "D'you enjoy watching people sick up, Malfoy?" he asked irritably, crossing the short distance to the sink to wash out his mouth, and perhaps re-brush his teeth.
Harry saw Malfoy scowl through the mirror.
"No," said the other boy shortly, "In fact, it makes me sick myself."
Harry turned around, leaning against the sink, and raising an eyebrow as if to say, well?
Malfoy got the hint, "I wasn't watching you, imbecile. Severus asked me to bring you this."
Malfoy passed over a glass of water, "He also says not to drink to much and to tell the medi-wizard who treats you that you drank water this morning."
Harry scoffed, but drained the glass all the same, "Why d'you call him that anyway?" he asked once he'd caught his breath.
"Call who what?"
"Snape, who d'you think?"
"I think, Potter, that if you want your questions addressed appropriately, you should ask them properly."
Harry laughed mockingly, brushing passed Malfoy as he left the loo, "There's only you, myself, and Snape in this house, Malfoy, and your the one calling him by his first name. Any fool would know what I meant without me having to ask properly."
He didn't bother waiting for Malfoy's inevitable scathing reply, instead he returned to his seat in the kitchen and waited for Snape, who remained reading a book that looked rather care-worn (in Harry's opinion), to announce their departure.
The silence grew awkward, and Harry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze, alternating between staring at Snape's potions-stained finger nails, and Draco's less than half eaten plate of food. He shifted again, sighed a bit, fidgeted, scratched at the itchy spot on his stomach, and shifted a bit more as he began to sweat.
Finally, Snape lowered his book, glaring at Harry with black pools that Harry supposed could be considered eyes.
"Cease your infernal habits, Potter. It is 9:30, and we needn't be at Hogwarts until at least fifteen past then. So for Merlin's sake, find something to do!"
"There isn't anything to do."
"Have you finished all of your summer assignments?"
That gave Harry pause, "Not all of them..."
Snape raised an eyebrow, "You have less than a month remaining."
Harry sighed and braced his elbows on the table, rubbing at both his eyes with the heels of his hands, "I know...
Snape scoffed derisively, "I take it you will complete them at the last minute in the sloppiest form possible?"
Harry propped his chin up on one hand, letting his free arm fall to the table with a thump. He glanced at Snape once before looking away again, trying to gage the man's mood by his expression. It was useless, Snape's expression was unreadable.
"No- I haven't had much time."
Snape shifted in his seat across from Harry, placing his newspaper down on the table, he cast Harry a scornful glance, "Two months is not a sufficient amount of time? Well well, Potter, it seems you are slower than I had originally-"
"I was sick!" interrupted Harry indignantly, "I wasn't exactly lazing about."
"Indeed. However, despite that you are sick, it is still no excuse. Being sick, you would have had plenty of time to complete your assignments."
Harry planted both palms on the table, glaring at his Snape, "It's sort of hard to write essays when you've got a splitting head ache the moment you open your eyes!"
"I am sure."
Snape's tone was level, unnerving. Usually Harry would already have been belittled and abused by the man's tongue, but Snape was acting almost... civil, towards Harry. It baffled the mind.
"I- uh, yeah."
"Eloquent as always, Potter," Snape sneered lightly and crossed his arms over his chest.
Harry frowned, suddenly remembering the question that had been niggling at his mind, "How did you know I was sick anyway," he asked, adding a hasty "Professor." When Snape's eyes narrowed.
"Albus."
Harry huffed. "It wasn't his right to tell anybody."
Both of Snape's dark brows rose a fraction, "Seeing as it is my home in which you now reside..."
"I guess..." muttered Harry, scratching the side of his neck.
"Hmm."
What was 'Hmm' supposed to mean?
An idea occurred to Harry, a stupid one, but it was worth a shot, "You wouldn't happen to- to know, anything about- erm, cancer. Would you?"
Snape fixed him with a look, "No. I wouldn't," he answered shortly.
Harry heaved a sigh leaning forward on the table again, "I suppose that's a stupid question anyway, considering..." Harry shrugged.
"Considering?"
"Well, you're not muggle-born are you?" asked Harry as though the answer was obvious, "And you probably weren't raised by muggles like I was either, and this is sort of a muggle disease."
Snape arched an eyebrow, the fingers of his right hand tapping his left arm, "And just what makes you an expert on my heritage?" he asked sardonically.
Harry had the good grace to flush, not quite sure why he was being so loose tongued, he muttered "Nothing... I'm just-"
"Spewing your usual drivel? No? Well then, it seems you are laboring under some misconceptions, do allow me to rectify them."
When Harry did nothing but scuff his feet against Snape's wooden floor, the man continued.
"I, Potter, though it is none of your business, was raised in this very house by my muggle father and my pure-blood mother. Right here, in the muggle world."
Harry's head snapped up, his mind whizzing to last year's Occlumency lessons "This is the house from your-"
"Memory? Yes. If Draco were to look up the next time he enters his room, he would find the singe marks on the ceiling."
This was no doubt one of the weirdest conversations Harry had ever had, but as it was distracting him from the spreading itch on the skin of his stomach he wasn't going to complain.
"Who's room-"
"No one's. It was formerly a study, I had no use for it," answered Snape dismissively.
"Oh, well... thanks," replied Harry, who was by now, feeling quite bemused.
Snape opened his mouth, but before he could reply a gonging noise sounded, "It is time we be off. Go and wait in the sitting room," he said, standing from his chair and waving his wand to banish breakfast. "I will fetch Draco."
Dumbfounded, Harry nodded.
0000
Aunt Petunia,
Er, hi...
I'm not quite sure what to say, or even what I want to say that is. I feel sort of muddled about everything.
I suppose I can't tell you where I am, but I will say that I'm somewhere in England and I haven't been shipped off to school yet.
My professor, the one you met at the house, is housing me for the moment, but I'm not sure how long he will be. At least it isn't an awful place, and school does start soon so I'll be going back.
How are you and Dudley and Uncle Vernon, I hope you know that I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It's my fault you had to shift off to where ever you are now. I should have warned you that I couldn't leave the house. I forgot and that nearly cost your lives.
The boy whose mother died, Draco Malfoy, is staying here too. We're classmates, though I must admit, I can't stand him a bit, I suppose I'll try and make nice with him. Can't exactly avoid him if I'm staying here much longer.
I'm not quite sure why I'm writing to you about this, I'm sure you don't want to hear anything about my school, or what goes on there, but there isn't much else to do here, and I kind of thought... nah, never mind.
I wanted to say thank you, by the way, for everything you've done for me this summer, it's been a great summer, despite the ending. And maybe, I'll be able to visit you and Dudley soon, or maybe you could visit me. Or we could just write letters... or not. I don't know. I'm don't know anything anymore these days.
Well, I should do some homework... I didn't get any of it done at Privet Drive and there's quite a lot.
I hope this finds you well,
Harry
Petunia folded Harry's letter again, realising that she had just taken it out of her apron to re-read it for the fifth time.
She smiled to herself as she swept the kitchen. Harry's note weighed heavy in her pocket ever since it had popped onto the grey marble kitchen counter. She'd nearly had heart failure when it had appeared, innocent as you please, right beside her hand as she wiped away the crumbs from breakfast.
A small scrap of paper with loopy, slanted handwriting that read;
My Dear Petunia,
I shall return soon and establish a way for you and your nephew to correspond.
A. Dumbledore.
Thank the Lord Vernon had already left the small, pleasantly quaint, yellow kitchen, to sit in front of the television set to watch the news. Petunia quite liked their new house. It wasn't big by any means, certainly not as large as their house on Privet Drive. But Petunia liked it.
There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, the kitchen, an office, and the living room, and although they were small, they were spacious. It made Petunia see that their big house in Little Whinging, though luxurious, was a lot of work to maintain and clean. Especially when it was just she who was cleaning.
Well, that wasn't strictly true, she'd made Harry do quite a bit as well.
Petunia resisted the urge to wring her hands, and continued to sweep, her movements almost frantic.
She couldn't wait, couldn't sweep or clean, or launder. She wanted to reply to Harry's letter, right now, not wait until Vernon went to bed. Petunia stopped sweeping, stalked briskly over the refrigerator and placed the broom in the nook between the counter and the side of the fridge.
"Petunia?" Vernon craned what little of his neck was visible, to glance at her over his shoulder. Petunia continued on her path towards their bedroom.
"Petunia where are you going?"
"No where, darling. I'm going to lie down for a bit, I feel faint."
Vernon huffed and puffed as he hefted himself sideways on the couch to look at her without hurting his neck. "It must be the air in that tiny little kitchen! Those agents were lying when they told us about this house!" Her husband exclaimed balling his hands into fat, meaty fists.
"Hardly enough space to turn around, the types of hooligans that pass of for-"
"Yes dear, but I am tired." Petunia turned away, once again heading toward their bedroom, "Supper will be ready at six, and I left biscuits in the bread tin on the counter."
That should keep him busy for a while, thought Petunia as she opened a drawer in the small desk by the window, in search of pencil and paper.
Dear Harry...
The wind mused her hair, and the smell of salt water wafted around her as she sat on the screened in porch, looking out over the sea. It was so very beautiful. Her mind drifted as she sat, to inane things like curtain colors and table cloths, her eyes were closing, she knew, but Petunia couldn't bring herself to return to bed. Even though it was quite early, almost ten, and neither Dudley nor Vernon were up yet.
She lifted a hand to smother a yawn, a tear falling from her eye as they sometimes did when a yawn was forceful enough.
"It is a beautiful thing isn't it? The sea?"
Petunia whipped out of her chair, whirling around in the same instant, Vernon's name hovering on the edge of her tongue. But she swallowed the terrified scream when she caught sight of the intruder.
A man in a ludicrously colored, dress like out fit, with long snow white hair and beard stood before her, smiling benignly.
"Professor Dumbledore," she breathed, her heart still thumping in her throat. "W-why-?"
Harry's professor stepped closer, "As it happens, Harry's first appointment is tomorrow, at Hogwarts, I thought it best if you would be in attendance."
Petunia's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, "I y-yes," she stuttered as soon as she regained use of her tongue.
Dumbledore clapped his hands together, "Excellent, excellent! If you'll just come with me?"
Petunia stumbled in her bed slippers, "But what about-"
"Vernon and Dudley will be just fine until you return, I assure you."
"A-alright. I just need to-" Petunia gestured to her robe covered sleeping clothes.
"I shall wait in the sitting room."
Not five minutes later, Petunia and Dumbledore were standing inside the fire place, Petunia's fingers gripping the older man's arm like a vice.
"Not to worry, Mrs. Dursley, just close your eyes," said Professor Dumbledore soothingly, and Petunia listened.
There was a flash of heat against her skin, but not burning heat, mind, more like a warm burst of air. A spinning sensation, and then, nothing.
Petunia cracked her eyes open, they were standing in another fire place, it seemed, one that was in a white room with rows and rows of beds covered in pristine white sheets, one bed surrounded by curtains suspended in midair.
Petunia's eyes were as round as golf balls as Dumbledore helped from the fireplace and she took in the blindingly white room they had somehow managed to enter.
"How, we- I just-" she stuttered, her body quaking uncontrollably, and her mouth horribly dry as she was panting and the cold air filtered through her open mouth instead of her nose.
"The Floo," Dumbledore gestured to the fireplace, "Is a form of Wizard travel, it is a bit jarring at first, yes."
Petunia's mouth worked soundlessly before she gave up trying to articulate and nodded, breathing deeply to calm herself.
"Where are we?" she asked, after her breathing was once again under control and her heart rate likewise.
She had to hold back a frightened squeak and the urge to retreat several steps when Dumbledore withdrew his wand from his robes, waving it with a flourish and causing a chair -very much like the one's pushed against the kitchen table- to appear right in front of her.
Dumbledore pushed the chair towards Petunia a bit more, and once again, she successfully refrained from stepping back, instead she steeled herself and sat down, albeit gingerly, on the edge, her entire body taut.
"This is the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, your nephew is just behind those curtains," said Dumbledore in soothing tones, patting her on the shoulder as though she were a small child.
"Mrs. Dursley, I must request that you calm yourself before you go in to see him, I dare say Harry has enough to deal with on his own."
There was a warning in the man's voice that made Petunia gulp convulsively, could he know?
Maybe Harry had told about his troubles at home... Petunia's fingers fluttered as she restrained the urge to clasp a hand to her chest, her heart thumping wildly against her rib cage.
"I- yes," she said faintly, her lips trembling.
Dumbledore switched back to velvet tones and shoulder patting, "There, there, Mrs. Dursley, mistakes will lie peacefully in the past once all is made up for."
This time Petunia barely flinched when he waved his wand once more and a glass of water appeared beside her. Flashing Dumbledore an uncertain look, she plucked it from the air and took a wary sip. And then another, and another. Until the glass was empty and her body relaxed.
She stood on slightly shaky legs, but her jaw was set in determination.
Mistakes will lie peacefully in the past once all is made up for.
Once all is made up for.
Dumbledore flicked the slim stick in his hand and both the chair and the glass clutched in Petunia's hand disappeared before the wand was pocketed once more.
"Shall we?"
Dumbledore held out his arm, allowing Petunia to proceed.
Five feet away from the curtained bed Petunia could hear voices, one she immediately recognized as Harry's and the other she could not place, though the deep tones did sound familiar.
"Stop scratching, Potter, you are likely making it worse."
"Yeah? What would you know?"
"More than whatever you possess in that pitiful excuse for a brain, I am sure."
"Just because I'm not an expert in Potions doesn't mean there's something wrong with my brain, Snape!"
"It is-"
"Sir or Professor when you are addressing me, Potter! Well I'm sorry if I forget, but in case you've forgotten, I'm the one who's about to have a fucking needle shoved into my back!"
"Your hip, Potter, and, your disgusting obscenities aside, the medi-witch explained that you were to be numbed, did she not?"
"Yeah, she also said you can't numb bones. And then she said to just relax and wait to be prepped. What the hell does she mean by 'prepped' anyway? Argh! Why am I so itchy!"
"Healer Hemmingway explained that as well, you would know if you had listened instead of sitting there with your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. What's more, she said that you would not be having that operation today."
"I don't care if it's today or tomorrow! And, what's more, I wouldn't have been gaping like a fish out of water if you hadn't-"
By then Petunia had reached Harry's bed and the heated voices within quieted the moment Dumbledore cleared his throat and swept back the white curtains.
Harry sat atop a turned down hospital bed, his knees pulled up to his chest and his face set in angry lines as he glared at the man in the straight backed chair in the corner of the make-shift room. Of whom, to Petunia's utter surprise, was Severus Snape of the playground, with the grimy clothes and greasy hair.
Only now, he was none of those things.
Well, aside from the greasy hair.
Their eyes met and Snape's eyes glittered momentarily before he averted his gaze, choosing instead to examine the wall behind Harry's bed.
"A-aunt Petunia!" Harry spluttered, his legs falling flat on the bed, "What- what're you doing here?"
Petunia stepped back. Horror creeping up her spine with cold feet, Harry didn't want her here.
Of course he didn't.
After everything that had happened, how could a week or two of kindness change things?
She had thought, perhaps, Harry had forgiven her. But Petunia could see now that it would take much more than a week to sway Harry's opinion of her.
Tears filled her eyes and her formerly fluttering fingers rose to press against her collar bone and the fine bones of her throat. She took another step back, watching as a series of emotions flitted across Harry's face.
Surprise, joy, confusion, and now, sadness.
"Articulate as always, Potter. Obviously you are rude to everyone."
Snape's scathing tones had Petunia blinking back tears faster than she already had been. That man didn't know anything! Why was he speaking to Harry that way?
Harry was never rude to her, and if he was, it was because of her own treatment of him.
Harry turned to glare at Snape, his hands balled into fists at his sides, "That's not what I meant," he said through gritted teeth.
Snape's mouth opened to retort but before he could Dumbledore cleared his throat for silence.
"Severus, if you would?"
Dumbledore inclined his head and Snape nodded sharply, rising from his chair, he swept past the Headmaster and left the make-shift room.
Offering a small smile and patting Harry's knee, Dumbledore left as well, leaving Petunia and Harry to stare at each other awkwardly.
It was Harry who broke the pressing silence, "Er, I really didn't mean it like that, Aunt Petunia..."
Petunia nodded, reaching out to push Snape's previously occupied chair closer to Harry's bed. She sat down, folding her hands tightly in her lap, so tight that her knuckles were white.
"But," Harry wriggled down until he was on his side, propped up on one elbow, facing her, "What are you doing here, I thought you and Uncle Vernon and Dudley were in hiding?"
Petunia relaxed a little, glad that Harry was initiating the conversation, "We are. Your professor came this morning and told me you had an appointment today. He said it was alright if I came along."
Petunia looked up from her twined fingers, sometimes it still shocked her how much his eyes resembled Lily's, a perfect match really. It could have been a nice reminder, but Petunia had resented her sister, and then when her sister was no longer there to resent, she had aimed her ill-feelings at Harry.
"-nice of him."
Harry was saying as he stretched out on his bed a bit more, pulling the bedsheets out from beneath him and tugging it over his shoulder, turning fully on his side, knees pulled to his chest.
Petunia lifted a hand, and before she could stop herself, laid it on his shoulder, rubbing up and down his upper arm.
Harry shivered, pulling the blanket closer to his chin.
"Are you cold?" asked Petunia, even though she already knew the answer, but somehow hearing Harry offer information about how he was feeling made her feel better. Or at least less horrible...
Harry peered up at her through the lens of his glasses, his mouth opening abruptly as he yawned, "Yeah... And tired."
Petunia continued to rub his arm, up and down, up and down, hoping that the movement warmed him somewhat, "Do you want me to ask for another blanket?" she asked, leaning forward so that her face was closer to Harry's.
Harry yawned again, burrowing into the thin hospital bed sheet, his eyes drifting shut, "It's fine."
Harry shook his head, his hair rustling against the pillow, and his eyes opened wide. He blinked blearily, "I can't seem to stay awake anymore," he muttered in explanation, bringing up both hands from under the blanket to remove his glasses and scrub them over his face.
Petunia nodded, not sure what to say.
Harry settled back in, "The moment I start to relax it sort of creeps up on me, the fatigue."
"I read that it's a common symptom," supplied Petunia, she removed her hand from his shoulder and plucking his glasses from his lax fingers, but only after a moment's hesitation to make sure that Harry didn't mind.
"That's what Snape said," mumbled Harry, still blinking rapidly to keep his eyes from closing.
Petunia's lips pursed in disapproval, despite her change of feelings toward her nephew, she really had no reason to treat Snape any differently.
"He was always a disagreeable sort," she said with a somewhat haughty sniff.
Harry tilted his head up against his pillow, "Yeah?"
"Professor Dumbledore gave you my letter?"
"Yeah... To be honest I still find it hard to believe. My Mum and Snape-" Harry shook his head as though to banish the very thought.
A small smile crept onto Petunia's lips, "It's true. They were as thick as thieves, especially when they got to talking about-"
Harry's eyes narrowed, "Magic?"
Petunia pressed her lips together as she tried to overcome her long time jealousy and hatred for all things magical. It was hard. But Harry with his sparkling, emerald green eyes narrowed in determination, just like Lily's used to when she really, really wanted something.
"Yes- magic," she whispered, almost missing Harry's encouraging smile.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, "I am trying, Harry," she said, her voice wobbly with suppressed tears.
Harry's hand landed on top of her suddenly twisted ones, "I know. Thank you," he said urgently, propping himself up on one elbow again and leaning closer to her, "I can see that you are, Aunt Petunia."
Petunia pulled her hands from beneath his hand, pressing the tips of her fingers into the ridge above her eyes. "I'll make up for it, Harry, for everything," she cried, suddenly desperate. So very desperate. She wanted, no needed him to understand that she was sincere, and that she wasn't just trying to make amends so that she would be at peace with herself, but because she knew her actions were wrong and that she wanted Harry as her nephew.
Wanted.
She wanted Harry to know that he was wanted, not simply tolerated or borne.
Harry sat up completely, leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, "I understand," he whispered into her ear as her arms came around his back to hold him just as tightly as he was holding her, "I really do."
Harry pulled back, blinking rapidly, he brought up a hand to rub at his eyes, "Something in my eye," he mumbled.
Petunia nodded.
Harry settled back into the sheets, "So where are Dudley and Uncle Vernon?"
"I can't-"
Harry waved a hand dismissively, "Oh I know all about that, I mean, how did you get here without Uncle Vernon pitching a fit...assuming he didn't?"
Petunia frowned, "I'm not sure... Professor Dumbledore said it would be fine. I thought maybe he did- something."
Harry nodded, covering his mouth belatedly as he yawned, "Sorry."
Petunia shook her head, dismissing his apology. "Did you get my letter?" she asked, scooting her chair closer to Harry's bed.
"Yeah..." Harry shifted, "What you said, about Snape and my mum..."
"You didn't know?"
Harry smiled ruefully, "Snape and I don't get along much."
Petunia frowned, "Why ever not? I thought he'd worship anything remotely related to Lily." Petunia considered her words, "Well, except non-magical people."
"Muggles," offered Harry.
Petunia nodded, memories of when she was a child sitting at the dinner table listening as Lily told stories about her school to her parents returning to her, "Muggles."
The curtain surrounding Harry's bed was pulled aside, both Harry and Aunt Petunia looked up.
A young woman with dark brown, curly hair pulled back into a pony tail, square rimmed glasses, and sunny yellow robes stood in the opening, a gleaming 'Medi-witch Hemmingway' tag on her chest.
She smiled brightly at the pair of them, and Petunia refrained the urge to sniff disapprovingly at the display, after all, the woman couldn't have been more then twenty-five!
"You must be Harry's aunt, Petunia?" she chimed in a cherry, bright voice. Petunia briefly noted that Harry had gone pink in the face, "Yes."
The nurse -medi-witch- held out her hand and Petunia shook it hesitantly.
The medi-witch turned to Harry, and what Petunia decided was a simpering smile, said, "It's time, Mr. Potter."
Petunia returned her gaze to Harry just as her nephew gulped loudly, she took his hand. Harry glanced at her briefly before answering, "Alright."
0000
Draco watched as the potion before him bubbled away, a roiling sound emitting from the cauldron as steam billowed around him. It was time to put out the fire from beneath the cauldron and stir the purplish liquid inside, past time by now, but Draco continued to watch as though in a trance.
His wand was in his hand, but it was pointing aimlessly at the flagstone floor of Severus' private lab in his quarters at Hogwarts. The half-finished calming draught rose as the roiling sound became louder and the bubbles grew larger, and still, Draco stared unseeingly, his eyes transfixed.
His wand slipped from numb fingers and clattered on the floor. The potion spilled out onto the scrubbed wooden table spreading like blood might from a large enough wound.
And still Draco sat.
The potion dripped onto the floor, and with each drop came a small splashing noise.
His hands shook where they sat in his lap, his eyes were wet, but he wasn't crying. He couldn't cry. Not anymore. Just like he couldn't sleep. Or eat. Or live. But somehow, he managed that last one.
But Draco couldn't help but hope he wouldn't for much longer.
He slip from the lab stool, his body moving fluidly, almost subconsciously, as he walked from the lab into the sitting room and lay down on the settee there.
Draco curled on his side facing the back cushions of the worn couch. He drew his knees closer to his chest, trying and failing to breath in deeply. A weight had planted itself on his chest, right on top of his lungs, pushing the air out of his body. The ever-present lump in the back his throat throbbed constantly, the pressure waiting, waiting to be alleviated. But it wouldn't be.
Because Draco could not cry.
He could do nothing. Nothing but pretend and think. And thinking was the last thing Draco wanted to do.
He was tired, oh so very tired. But every time his eyes slid shut, he would see that same flash of green light, and his mother's body falling, falling, falling. The image seemed to be engraved on the inside of his eyelids. Burned into them. A permanent reminder.
Just like the mark on his arm.
The finger nails of his right hand dug into his left forearm. Sometimes he felt like scraping his skin off. Other times he considered burning it off, just as it had been burnt on. But most times, he would think about the knives in Severus' kitchen. Think and think and think, until the only way he didn't take the largest one and scrape it over his skin was by fleeing the room.
Draco breath was coming in gasps now, his chest moving up and down with each ragged inhale.
He removed his finger nails from his forearm, and raised his arms to press the heels of his hands into his eyes until orange colors burst behind the lids.
His chest still jumped as air hitched on its way in and out. It was as though her were sobbing without tears. He had gone too far for tears. The whole in his chest was too deep and too painful. Crying was supposed to make you feel at least marginally better. Crying helped you get it out of your system.
And maybe that was why he couldn't.
The potion in the lab continued to drip from the table onto the floor. The fire scorched the cauldron until it was black instead of copper coloured. And Draco's wand remained where it had fallen.
His eyes drifted shut, a flash of green, his mother's face, and then, nothing. His body had won out, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.
"Draco."
Draco stirred, raising a hand to bat away the source of the shaking.
"Draco, wake up."
With a tired groan, Draco rolled over carefully so as not to fall off the settee, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.
Severus stood up straight, his lips pinched and his expression irate, Draco waited.
"You left the fire burning under your cauldron," bit out Severus. His jaw clenched and unclenched consistently, obviously the man was restraining himself.
But Draco couldn't bring himself to care much, not about being on the receiving end of Severus' ire, not about anything.
"If I hadn't decided to return these rooms may well have been on fire!" Severus paused, crossing his arms one over the other across his chest, "Well?" he demanded of Draco who sat staring up at him. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"
Draco swallowed passed his parched throat, "I'm sorry, Severus, I must have forgot."
"And let the potion boil over and spill all over your wand and the floor as well?"
Draco didn't respond other than to slump further into the cushions surrounding him.
Severus sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "Draco, you musn't-"
The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up as he leaped to his feet, suddenly feeling that leaving the sitting room and Severus just had to be done; now.
But Severus was having none of it.
Just when Draco was about to slip passed him, he grasped the boy's shoulders, returning him to the settee, and pushing on his shoulders to make him sit once more.
Severus sat beside him, one hand still had a hold on Draco's forearm to keep him from bolting.
"Draco-" Severus released his arm to pass his hands over his face, "There was nothing you could have done to prevent Narcissa's death."
Draco picked at the skin on the side of his nail.
A hand landed on Draco's shoulder.
"I would prefer not to tell you, but, the Dark Lord had already planned to kill your mother. He was just waiting for the- most opportune moment."
Draco sucked in a breath, the corners of his eyes pricking, the hand pressed lightly, turning him around. Severus' expression was blurred by his tears, but Draco could see the sympathy there, and it helped, a little.
Draco let out a shaky breath, "Severus I-"
Severus gripped both his shoulders comfortingly, "It was not your fault," he said firmly, "Nor was it a result of your actions."
A tear slipped down his cheek despite his efforts to blink them back, "If I had-"
Severus shook him a bit, "No, Draco. Do you understand? There was nothing, you or anyone could have done to swerve the Dark Lord's decision, nothing."
Another tear escaped his eye, Draco sniffed as more tears fell in rapid succession, "B-but aren't you in his inner circle? If you knew, why didn't you try to save her?" Draco sucked a harsh breath through his mouth, his nose too clogged to breathe through. Severus had said the Dark Lord had planned his mother's death, wasn't there something he could have done?
Severus' hands dropped from his shoulders, "There was not."
A sob caught in Draco's throat, his breathing, uneven and harsh.
The weight of Severus' arm around his shoulders caught him by surprise, but after a moments hesitation, he leaned towards Severus, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and beneath his chin.
Severus' other arm encircled him, and Draco leaned further into the impromptu embrace, gasping for breath as he swallowed back his sobs.
"I d-don't know w-what t-t-to do," he stuttered, all semblance of decorum and propriety had long since vacated his mind.
Severus rubbed his back, "You don't have to do anything, Draco," he whispered against Draco's ear, his breath tickling his skin, "You will stay here, as planned. It is what your mother wanted, no?"
Draco nodded.
0000
"It has to go w-where?"
"In your chest, dearie, right underneath the skin."
Healer Beesely's cheery tone didn't make him feel one bit better, never mind that she was bent over a metal rolling tray that had not only a clip board with his entire medical history on it, but there was a syringe in a little container beside it. Not to mention the metal pole on wheels with transparent tube like wire and a baggie full of clear liquid attached to it.
Just looking at it Harry felt queasy.
"The IV catheter will be just inside the vein, and we'll even put you to sleep through the entire process -Rachel put that right here please- you won't feel a thing," said Healer Beesely, looking up from her charts to smile at Harry.
Aunt Petunia's hand squeezed his, "Is it easier this way, for Harry?" she asked.
Healer Beesely came to stand beside them, her assistant Healer Hemmingway bustling around behind her.
"The port is generally used in muggle hospitals for children who require IV access for longer than three months. Because Harry has cancer, it will be used for a majority of his needs that would otherwise require injections," explained Healer Beesely, "Mr. Potter, the port allows more stability than a catheter would, and though it leaves a larger scar, after you are through with your treatments and the port is removed it can be healed by magic in a jiffy. One of the only things that magic can help with in this situation."
Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair, "So it'll just... be there. I won't feel it or anything?" It won't... hurt? Was actually what Harry had wanted to ask, but he remembered that Snape and Dumbledore were standing just off to the side of his bed, listening to every word that was said.
"You may be a bit sore at first, but it will heal within a couple of days, again, magic is all but useless in this case, otherwise I would heal the incision straight away."
Harry nodded jerkily, ""When can I use magic again?"
"When we are completely certain that it will not speed the progression of your cancer."
Snape, apparently, had been listening well. According to Dumbledore, Harry's magic tied in with his cancer and they grew together compatibly, something about his magic developing before the cancer.
His mum, as it turned out, had cancer before her magic had made itself known, thus when the accidental magic started in it was not under her control and fought with the cancer until the former won.
When Harry had inquired as to why it was different for him, Snape had cut across Dumbledore's explanation and drawled that 'obviously, his magic was already under his control, so it wasn't likely to begin fighting a disease that was lying dormant in Harry's system'. The two had tied together in order to grow, now if Harry continued using magic not only would his magic become stronger, but the cancer would grow right along with it.
Not for the first time that day, Harry cursed his luck.
Healer Beesely nodded her approval, "Once we finish the PET scan and we know what stage of cancer you have, we can get right to work on treatments." Then, seeing the despairing look on Harry's face added, "There, there, Mr. Potter, I dare say you will come through with flying colors."
Optimism should be illegal, thought Harry savagely, as he stripped down to his boxers and donned a pair of yellow and purple striped hospital pajamas. In his opinion, optimism was right up there with giggling girls, Death Eaters, and Voldemort.
Harry sighed mournfully as he looked down at himself. Yellow and purple? He'd never seen those colors on hospital wing pajamas before. He blamed Dumbledore for asking Snape to fetch them from Madame Pomfrey's well kept linen cupboards. His sneer had been extra vicious when he'd handed them over, mused Harry as he swept back the privacy curtain.
Aunt Petunia held out her hands for Harry's bundle of clothes, and he passed it over to her, pausing before he slid back into his bed to glare hatefully at Snape who looked a tad too smug for Harry's taste.
If only Dumbledore hadn't insisted that the man stay. What the bloody hell was he playing at anyway?
Actually, Harry knew what he was playing at. Dumbledore wanted Harry to stay with Snape or the duration of the summer. The idea made Harry feel furious, irritated, and queasy all at the same time. Living with the man whom had tortured him for five years? Not bloody likely. Not only would Harry protest, but Snape would as well, he was sure.
Harry ignored the fact that he felt nervous as well as those other things. But how could he not? The memory of Snape's face when he pulled Harry out of that pensieve last year... well, he considered himself lucky that throwing a jar of cockroaches was all Snape had done to him.
"Alright then," said Healer Beesely as Harry settled down beneath the sheets, pulling them purposefully up to his chin to cover his horrendous pajamas. She bustled over in a way that reminded Harry very much of Mrs. Weasley. She even had wisps of hair falling from her bun and into her face. She swept them back behind her ears, and if her hair hadn't been dark brown, she might have looked exactly like Mrs. Weasley.
"You just relax, Ms. Hemmingway is setting up in the office. When she's finished we'll begin the staging process."
Harry sighed and made a mental note to write Hermione, it was rather tiresome hearing all these phrases and words he had no idea about. Hermione probably knew... Harry just had to tell her he had cancer first. Her and Ron.
He didn't know why he felt nervous about it, but he couldn't shake the tainted feeling that creeped on the edges of his thoughts.
Instead of asking what exactly 'staging process' meant, he moved onto another subject, "In Madame Pomfrey's office?"
"Poppy is away with relatives for the summer, Harry," piped up Dumbledore from the corner, "She has kindly offered her office for our use."
Healer Beesely nodded, "Yes, lovely woman, Poppy, we've been friends for quite a long while, trainees together." Her expression turned nostalgic. Harry picked awkwardly at his blindingly white sheets.
"Er, how are you going to put me to sleep?" Funny that he hadn't thought to ask that first...
"Anesthesia, dear."
Was it going to be breathed, injected, swallowed?
Harry would have asked, but he decided that having a clear idea about the whole port thing was a better idea.
"So, what about the- uh, port?"
Healer Beesely conjured a chair and sat beside him, "I'll need to lend you a book, I think. I suppose this is to be expected," she said kindly, "Not many children who grow up in the wizarding world know about cancer, at all."
"I guess not..." What did she expect him to say?
She pat his leg.
Definitely a Mrs. Weasley.
"The port is a round, little, metal access device." She launched into her explanation, sweeping back more fallen hair. "We're going to insert it right here, underneath the skin," she leaned forward taping the right side of Harry's chest through the blanket, "and put in a tiny plastic tube, about eight inches long, and thread it into a whole in your vein."
She was good at explaining, too good maybe. Harry's stomach roiled unpleasantly, thoughts of tubes and things under his skin filtered through his mind, accompanied by sickeningly vivid images.
"What's the tube for again?" he stuttered, shoving away his squeamishness.
"For the chemotherapy, ultimately, but today we're going to use it for the staging."
Staging again, at least she was going to give him a book.
"Today will just be the PET scan, we'll start in on some more once we receive your results." Continued Healer Beesely in bright and optimistic tones that would have grated on Harry's nerves if she wasn't so nice.
"Not today though?" asked Harry, just to be certain. He felt beyond overwhelmed already.
"No, not today, tomorrow, perhaps the day after, no need to worry dear." She reached out and pat his leg,"After all this is over you just relax and get some sleep. If you have any questions in the morning, your aunt will have all the answers."
At Harry's confused look she elaborated, "It's customary to ensure that parents or guardians of a minor patient has all the information."
But Harry wasn't living with Aunt Petunia anymore. He could tell his aunt was thinking the same, for she squeezed his hand and offered a small smile, mouthing, 'we'll talk later'.
"Right." Harry muttered, irritated for the first time in his life that he'd have to live somewhere other than with the Dursleys.
Just his luck. As always.
If it wasn't basilisks in the bloody walls, it was cursed trophies, Voldemort filled cauldrons, fake teachers, and stupid ministry hags.
It could have been hours... it could have been days. But when Harry awoke the first thing he felt was a warm hand holding his and the first thing he saw was the top of Aunt Petunia's blonde head.
It was the first time he'd woken up in the Hospital Wing with actual family beside him. Not that he didn't love the Weasleys... But there was something different about blood-related family being next to you when you were sick and in the hospital.
And that sort of made up for how sore his chest was.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Hope you guys liked it!
Potter, Snape, and Malfoy by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Repost.. I forgot to put in Harry's catheter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
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...
To be continued...
End Notes:
A/N:REPOST! Sorry everyone!
Thank you everyone for the favorites and reviews! You've all been great!
Special thanks to my friend Orchidellia, without whom, this story probably wouldn't be getting anywhere...
Regards, Marie
Chapter 11: It Didn't Hurt? by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
I know, I know! It took forever, but this chapter is a serious step forward for our characters. I hope you all like it. Thanks for being so awesome!
Harry breathed harshly as he opened the parchment, his fingers trembling violently, his knees practically knocking together.
To Mr. Harry James Potter,
Regarding one, positron emission tomography (PET) scan.
Results:
Harry shut his eyes, forcing himself not to panic. It was fine, he was fine, everything would be fine. These were just test results... results that would determine his entire life for the next year or so.
"Sit down, Potter, before you faint."
It was a testament to how unsettled Harry was that he didn't object to Snape's hands on his arms, guiding him towards his previously abandoned seat.
His stomach was writhing with anxiety, his hands shaking like mad, and his throat, parched.
Snape plucked the scroll of parchment from his fingers.
"Read it," he croaked, pushing himself further into the chair, gripping the armrests.
Was the rest of his life to be a schedule of tests and treatments? Pain and weakness?
"Mr. Potter," Snape read,"Your cancer, Diffuse Large B-cell Lymphoma, is in the Non-Hodgkin's form. Your B-cells grow in an uncontrolled way and may develop in various parts of the body. In your case, the cancer is largely located inside your spleen and liver, it looks to be a standard Stage II. The cancer may spread to other organs inside you body, but it is not contagious."
Snape's voice circulated inside his head, echoing and reverberating. A tiny hammer seemed to be beating the spot between his eyebrows along with his speeding heart rate. Harry slid his slightly sweaty hands up over his face, taking his glasses off as he went, his fingers tangled in the front of his hair, spectacles, pinched, between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed his eyes to his jean clad knees, his breathing shallow.
"-loss of appetite and fatigue..." Snape trailed off, pausing before starting up on what was surely a different section of the letter, " Additional 'staging' tests will be performed before your treatments can be scheduled..."
Harry rested his chin on top of his drawn up knees, the knot in his stomach tightening, it sounded like Snape was surmising whatever was written, and then giving Harry a more understandable version.
Harry appreciated it. The medical terms and phrases were no doubt to complicated for him to even comprehend.
Snape's dark eyes skimmed across the page once more, then, "You are to go up to the Hospital Wing later today in-," he paused, checking the slightly worn watch strapped to his wrist, "Four hours. Tests are to be scheduled, your port checked, and papers filled out."
And still, Harry said nothing.
"Are you not curious, Potter?" asked Snape, his eyebrow quirked, "I daresay this must be a first."
Harry turned his head sideways on his knees, ignoring Snape's barb, "D'you know if D- Professor Dumbledore will let my aunt come again? To fill out papers, I mean."
Funny how out of all of that, the most that bothered him was his lack of parent to sign his forms. He'd felt like that once before, when he had to ask Uncle Vernon to sign his Hogsmeade form... but then, Sirius had come to his rescue.
Harry swallowed past the burning sensation in his throat. Sirius wasn't here anymore.. and neither was Aunt Petunia.
"I do not."
Snape sat down in the arm chair adjacent to Harry's, crossing one leg over the other and pulling the legs of his trousers up a fraction as he did so.
Harry couldn't bring himself to find any amusement in that. His Potions Professor sat with the same precision he used while brewing... once, he and Ron would have had a laugh over it.
But now, Harry didn't feel as though he could ever laugh again.
No parents to sign his form.
His eyes stung and his face burned, but he refused to cry in front of Snape.
And because he had nothing else to ask, "What do you think is going to happen with V- You-Know-Who, Professor?"
Snape didn't answer right away, and Harry didn't turn to look at him, afraid that his face showed signs of suppressed tears.
"I-" Snape hesitated, which, in and of itself, was an odd occurrence, "The Dark Lord aside, you appear to have enough on your plate as it is, Potter."
That was enough to snap Harry out of his despondent state, his head jerked up, "Wha-" he began, headache pounding in protest to his movements.
"Mmrrrmm."
Malfoy shifted on the couch, rolling over and nearly falling off the edge. He would have too, had not Snape rose in time to prod Malfoy gently in the other direction.
Watching made Harry's heart fall a little further down his chest, his short time with a caring relative seeming even shorter somehow. Images of himself being embraced by Mrs. Weasley rose, unbidden, in his mind, except Mrs. Weasley shaped into Aunt Petunia, who, after less than a moment, completely disappeared, leaving him alone in a churning sea of sadness.
Harry got up quietly, backing away as Snape brushed his fingers over the despicable tattoo on Malfoy's arm, probably checking to see if the skin was still inflamed, or if the mark itself was dark from Voldemort's call.
Harry closed the door to his room as softly as possible, then, turning, climbed under the covers of his bed, curled up, and pulled the duvet right up to his chin.
He was shivering. But not from the cold.
Though it may not have been the first time he had experienced it, Harry felt as though he were truly alone.
Alone, tired, and sick.
And now, more than ever, he wanted his mum.
When Harry woke less than an hour later (though it felt as though he had been asleep far longer), his skin felt hot and tingly, and his sore throat more scratchy then ever. Perhaps that was what had woke him. After all, it couldn't have been the lights, for though Harry had gone to sleep with them blazing brightly, they were dimmed enough that it looked like the sun was going down.
Harry knew it wasn't though, someone had place a small, analog clock on his bedside table. Some part of Harry knew it was Snape, but the dominant, defiant, and sort of belligerent part disregarded the notion, chalking it up to magic.
If he thought of it that way, he felt as though his mind wasn't deteriorating along with his health.
Harry rolled onto his back, the soft sheets sliding across his fevered skin, making him shudder at the uncomfortable sensation. It was arguable that the worst part of having a fever was the hypersensitive skin. Harry couldn't decide between the achy, watery, burning eyes and the skin that hurt with the slightest touch.
It was a toss up really.
With a sigh that turned into a cough when it was half-way out of his throat, Harry shimmied to the edge of the bed, his limbs heavy and sore.
Another thing about fevers that he despised.
Everything hurt. Muscles, limbs, nails, fingers, throats, .. even hair.
Practically dragging himself to the loo, Harry yawned widely, slipping through the door and taking a seat on the lid of the closed toilet. Who knew walking a yard or two could be so tiring.
The sparkling clean, white tub looked terribly tempting... A warm water bath was a sure fire way to feeling a little bit better. Well, in usual cases, anyway. Harry couldn't be certain if it worked with..this.
Harry reached out with one arm, latching onto the silver, hot water tap, and twisting it until heated water gushed into the tub. He pulled up the small lever between the two taps and above the facet, effectively plugging up the drain, then turned the cold water tap to even out the temperature.
Three small bottles of soap, a wash cloth, shaver, and all the toiletries that Harry would ever need, sat in a basket beneath the sink inside a cupboard, beside which was a stack of white, fluffy towels.
Harry shut the loo door, fully intending on soaking for at least an hour.
0000
"Do you think this one will work?"
Draco winced as Severus cleaned yet another numbing salve off of his forearm, or, more specifically, his -he gulped even when only thinking about it... Dark Mark.
"The intensity of the Dark Lord's call renders most of these useless, never the less, I shall endeavor to find one that offers you relief," murmured Severus leaning forward, his wand alight and poised over Draco's forearm, "The trouble however, is finding one that works. These are the strongest numbing agents available, some are my own creation, however, as this last one isn't it either.. I may have to revise my recipe."
Draco recounted the row of jars they'd already tried, trying to distract himself from the burn in his arm. Unfortunately, to find a salve that worked, he had to be awake, and his arm, burning.
"Only two more jars," he said quietly, beginning to lose hope. With each salve they tried, his arm felt the same, as though he hadn't even applied the numbing agent at all.
"Yes, I fear it was necessary to start with the least strong and work our way up. Numbing agents are notoriously dangerous. We do not want you to lose feeling in your arm all together," Severus replied, glancing up at Draco, his eyes for once displaying an emotion, this one, regret.
Draco sucked up the urge to moan, "It's fine." My arm is on fire. But it's fine.
To his surprise, Severus scoffed, "You are beginning to sound like that-" and odd pause, "Potter," he finished gruffly.
Draco frowned, Severus had deliberately cut out an insult there, he could tell. And he wondered why..
Casting around for something to distract him from the current state of his arm, Draco seized on the subject.. even if it was his least favorite. What was better than talking about unpleasant things while experiencing something equally unpleasant, he reasoned.
"Where is Potter, by the by? I haven't seen him since this morning. Feels like it's been hours..."
Severus smeared the second to the last salve across his skin, Draco stilled as the cold, lotion like paste covered the mark.
"It feels.." He breathed a sigh of relief, his arm felt like nothing. Not even a tingle of pain.
Immediately, Severus closed the jar, labeling the top with a flick of his wand and storing it in his pocket.
"No pain, are you certain?" he asked urgently, looking up from Draco's arm, eyes roaming over his face as though to make sure Draco wasn't hiding anything.
"Positive."
Severus nodded, satisfaction obvious in his movements as he banished away all of the other jars, "Remember, you must tell me instantly if you feel the slightest-"
"I know," cut in Draco, "Thank you."
Severus' lips tightened briefly.. maybe that was a smile? A, 'you are welcome'?
Draco couldn't be sure.
Leaning back in his chair, Draco remembered his question, "Potter can't be sleeping already, can he? It isn't even two in the afternoon yet," he said, somewhat incredulous, even if he himself had been sleeping not three hours before.
Severus stood from his chair beside Draco, "Mr. Potter will be sleeping at odd hours of the day due to his illness. Come, Draco, you asked that I bandage your arm. We shall move into my lab, it is more suited to your needs."
Severus lead him from the kitchen with a hand on his shoulder.
Draco wondered why Severus was suddenly uncomfortable speaking of Potter, but he didn't ask. He'd seen the way his eyes had shuttered, and his expression grew tense. Perhaps Severus did like him, but that did not mean Draco was completely immune to the man's ire.
Not wishing to bring that down on himself, he let the subject alone.
Potter came stumbling into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, just after Severus had subtly persuaded Draco into having a few spoonfuls of his chicken soup. Instead of just sneering at the other boy's appearance though, Draco took note of Potter's face, which was pinched and pale, with wet fringe plastered to his forehead.
Potter had actually lost enough weight for it to show on his face, Draco wasn't sure what to think about that. And it irked him that he'd noticed at all.
It seemed distracting oneself from one thing, brought all other -unwanted- notions into light. What a bother.
Severus' voice snapped him out of his musings.
"Are you fevered, Potter?" he asked, his tone not exactly a snap... but not kind either.
Potter, for his part, didn't even blink at the change, instead, he dropped into his chair -rather gracelessly- propped one elbow on the table, one hand supporting his face, and the other stirring around his soup.
Abominable manners. Awful, really.
But Severus still did not comment, he thought incredulously, turning wide eyed to look at the man, who merely continued to eat his own meal, calmly awaiting the answer to his inquiry.
"A bit, yeah," said Potter, his voice scratchy and gravelly. He scooped a bit of soup into his mouth, and from the way Potter grimaced as he swallowed, Draco could tell the other boy was suffering from a sore throat.
Unconsciously, Draco scooped up a bit of his own soup, mirroring Potter's actions.
With a rather irritable huff, Severus dropped his spoon into his now empty soup bowl, rose from his seat, and rummaged through what Draco had now dubbed, the medicine cupboard.
Turning away from the cupboard with a vial in hand, Severus made his way back to the table, sitting down again before passing the potion to Potter with a look that said 'take it, now.', and Potter did. Without so much as a whiff of protest.
The sigh of relief that came from Potter's mouth signalled the potion's success.
"Almost forgot what is was like to breath through my nose," said Potter, chuckling lightly.
Draco nearly scoffed aloud -as if there was anything even marginally entertaining about such a thing.
Without even realising he was doing it, Draco continued to scoop soup into his mouth, breaking his self-imposed fast. In fact, he was paying so much attention to Potter and his soup, that he missed Severus' approving look as his spoon scraped against the bottom of his -now empty- bowl.
Draco looked down in surprise. How had he not noticed how hungry he was? He shook his head, picking up his glass of pumpkin juice with one hand, and lowering his spoon with the other.
0000
Harry sat on the settee, his feet tapping against the sitting room carpet. The four bites of soup he had eaten had settled, uncomfortably, in his already too-full stomach. He wished Ron were there, well, not with him with Snape and Malfoy, more like, he wished he could be with the Weasleys at the Burrow.
Distractions weren't hard to come by there.
And more than anything, Harry wanted to be distracted.
He picked at the skin around his fingernails, resisting the urge to bite at it. What the hell was he to do all day? Homework, said a voice in his ear that sounded suspiciously like Hermione. Harry scoffed aloud, if he had to look at another piece of parchment.. well, he couldn't be held responsible for the out come.
Harry pushed himself further back onto Snape's sofa, pressing himself more firmly into the space between the back cushion and the arm rest. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Baths were all well and good, he supposed, but they always allowed one time to think... and thinking was the last thing Harry wanted to do.
He could write to his friends... but that required thinking, writing, and urgh, parchment.
With only one two-foot essay left -for Herbology-, Harry couldn't even stand the thought of writing a single word.
Harry scratched idly at a spot on his stomach, letting his head fall against the plump, back cushions. He stared up at the stone ceiling, trying to remember what the sky looked like, and when and if he'd ever see it again.
Pulling up one leg and tucking it beneath the other, Harry closed his eyes and decided that the best way to distract himself was to daydream... about Quidditch. The way the wind felt, ruffling his hair as he zoomed around. The adrenaline that coursed through his veins with every stunt. The sun...
Merlin, how he missed it.
He was probably even whiter than normal, with nothing but artificial light to keep him company. With a sigh that was more of a groan, Harry picked of his glasses before laying his forearm over his eyes.
Restlessness.
He needed to get out, walk around, see something... other than Snape's rooms and the bloody Hospital Wing. Which was where he needed to be in an hour or so.
He'd never been good at being sick... especially when he had to stay in the Hospital Wing, staring at blindingly white sheets, stone walls, and Madame Pomfrey bustling to and fro between rows of patient laden beds.
It made him feel ill just thinking about it.
Harry yawned widely, sort of forgetting for a moment that it was Snape's sofa on which he sat as he settled more comfortably into the overstuffed cushions, laying his head on the arm rest, and pulling both legs up to his chest.
Why on earth was he so tired?
Didn't matter, he supposed, he was already drifting away.
When he next woke, it was to someone shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
"Mrrmmph-?"
He reeled back a bit when he realised Snape's face was less than a foot from his.
"Your appointment, Potter, you have ten minutes," said Snape, in his usual brusque tones.
A couple more bit out commands and Harry thought he'd lose it. Honestly, didn't the man ever speak normally?
"Yeah," sighed Harry scrubbing a hand over his face before shoving his glasses back on.
Snape straightened, pulling briskly at the cuffs of his sleeves, "We will be flooing," he commented offhandedly, leaving the sitting room, effectively missing Harry's bemused expression.
Back in his lavatory, Harry splashed cold water on his face repeatedly, dragging his wet fingers through his sleep mused hair when he was finished.
He braced his hands on either side of the white, porcelain sink, glaring at himself in the mirror, internally berating himself for his cowardice.
Breathing in deeply and then letting out the air with a whoosh, Harry left the confines of his corner in Snape's Hogwarts home, clenching his fists in grim determination.
Harry looked around in awe as he stepped away from the floo, barely noticing as Snape, then Malfoy stepped out behind him.
"Wh-"
Harry was positive they were in the Hospital Wing, after all, there was no mistaking that pristine, white bed with the perfectly fluffed pillow in the far corner. But that was just it. There was only one bed. Not a row of them against either wall. Just the one. And it was in a room Harry had certainly never seen before.
Harry stumbled a bit on the navy blue carpet as he stepped further into the room, turning in a circle as he stared, wide-eyed at machines and things that one would usually find in a muggle hospital. He was in the Hospital Wing, but... not. He could even see the place he usually stayed in, the small, close to the ceiling windows that let rays of sunlight beam over the beds. Unconsciously, Harry moved closer to that room, straying away from the single bed and navy blue carpet, somehow, he was divided from the other room, and he got the feeling, even though he could see out, no one could see in.
"This is-" he breathed, not even knowing how to complete his sentence.
"Quite amazing, the things we can accomplish with the wave of a wand and a spot of magic."
Harry turned from the weird barrier dividing him from the rest of the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the navy blue carpet, his hands clasped in front of his midnight blue robes, looking completely out of place amongst the muggle machines and gadgets.
When Harry continued to stare at him with a bewildered expression on his face, Dumbledore continued, "You will be visiting the Hospital Wing rather frequently throughout the course of the year. I thought it best to set up a private room for you here, in order to maintain privacy... as well as secrecy."
That settled it then... he wasn't going back to school this year.
Harry bit the inside of his lip, shoving away the sadness that creeped through him at the thought. Not complete his sixth year with Ron and Hermione and everyone else? It would be worse than staying with the Dursleys the entire summer used to be.
Harry's gaze strayed to where Snape and Malfoy stood, looking equally surprised to be in this newly created place. He wondered what living with Snape and Malfoy year round would be like... Of course neither were likely to be there with Harry very often, not once the school year started anyway.
It wasn't fair. But then, not very many things in Harry's life could be described as 'fair'.
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, but not because they were sliding down, actually, it was more out of habit... and something to do besides twiddle his thumbs.
He crossed the room, stopping by the edge of the bed, he sat on it, hesitantly, feeling strangely mindful of the neatly tucked sheets, "So, I'm just going to stay in here- or, where is here, exactly?" he asked, "I mean, I know this is the Hospital Wing, but..." He gestured wordlessly around him.
Dumbledore took a seat on one side of the small sofa that was positioned in a corned on the far side of the room beside one of those contraptions in a doctor's office that weighed and measured you.
"Madame Pomfrey's quarters," said Dumbledore, gesturing around the room with a wave of his hand, "After a floo call, she agreed to have a room added on to hers."
"I-er, that was, nice of her," stammered Harry, shifting back on the bed until his back hit the stone wall.
Dumbledore nodded, "Nearly time," he said tapping the small silver watch on his left wrist.
Harry craned his neck a little, trying to catch sight of the face of Dumbledore's watch, only to find that instead of hands, there were a series of moons rotating beneath the glass.
He couldn't tell the time, but it did remind him of something, or rather, someone.
"Professor, do you know how Remus is doing?" Harry asked, barely able to believe he'd forgotten all about his friend, especially after what happened on Privet Drive. His chagrin must have shown on his face a little, for Dumbledore tutted, "No need to feel bad about it, Harry, you've had a lot on your mind as of late. And, as it happens, I visited Remus earlier today. He is quite well."
Then why isn't he here? "That's good," said Harry, only half his enthusiasm genuine. He saw Snape roll his eyes through his peripheral, but was robbed of the chance to scowl at the man for just then, the floo flared.
Healer Beesely and her assistant stepped through, one after the other, brushing the soot from their hospital robes with one hand, heavy looking, black cases held tightly in the other.
Dumbledore stood, followed by Snape, but Malfoy stayed seated, and so did Harry, who had had his fingers crossed that it might be Remus or Aunt Petunia (as unlikely as that was) who stepped out of the fireplace.
"Ah, Margaret, right on time, my dear girl," said Dumbledore, extending a hand to shake the one Healer Beesely or 'Margaret' had already extended.
"'Tis my job, Headmaster," replied Healer Beesely, a tad too jovially for Harry's taste. Honestly, how could she be so merry when the last time they'd met she'd been shoving tubes and things down his insides?
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to appear as sulky as he suddenly felt. Maybe it was the smiling healer, or perhaps it was the pitying look Healer-in-training, Ms. Hemmingway, had just sent him, or possibly, it was that the only two people that were in this room -besides Dumbledore and the Healers- were Snape and Malfoy. The last two people he'd want with him anywhere.
Even so, with the way things were looking, Harry figured he was entitled to a little sulking every now and again.
Healer Beesely set her things down on the floor beside the steel table that stood between the weight/measuring thing, and a pole with a coil of clear tube hanging from it on wheels. She popped open the latch on her bag, taking out little plastic bags, boxes, bottles, and other odds and ends that Harry assumed would be used on him at one point or another.
On the other side of the room, where things were a lot less medical, was a desk with a chair, the couch, and the armchair where Malfoy still sat, looking a little more than shell-shocked.
Healer Hemmingway was organizing paper work and quills on the desk, looking up at Harry when she was finished, offering a small smile that Harry couldn't return.
He felt he had a right to be grim too.
Opening and closing draws and putting away her things in the compartments that made the steel table look almost like a short dresser, Healer Beesely emptied the entire contents of her bag. Harry had now figured out what they were doing. He was going to be here so long, and so often, they'd decided it was best to just keep everything here instead of going to St. Mungo's at all.
Standing up straight, Healer Beesely brushed her hair back behind her ears, "Well," she said, a little breathlessly, "That's that. I just need to-" she looked around, "Ah, here we are."
Harry watched as she strolled over to a door he hadn't even noticed -it was on the left of the fireplace- actually, there were two doors, one either side of the fireplace- and the one Healer Beesely had just entered was, Harry craned his neck, a lavatory.
"Alright," she said upon returning, drying her hands with a paper towel and then dropping it in the bin beside the silver table when she was finished, "Let's get started."
She beckoned a very reluctant Harry forward, "Up on the scale then," Healer Beesely gave him a little push, -a push Harry thought wasn't at all necessary- and he stepped onto the scale.
"Wait a minute," said Healer Beesely, her hand on Harry's shoulder, "You've got to take off those trainers first, dearie."
Refraining from groaning, Harry stepped down, toed off his trainers, then stepped back on. The steel plate on which he stood felt cold through his socks, but he tried not to shift as Healer Beesely weighed him.
Healer Beesely muttered to herself as she shifted the metal bits on the see-saw like metal bar, squinting her eyes as she adjusted the pieces once more, nodding her head decisively when the bar evened out.
"Catherine," she called out suddenly, causing Harry to jump slightly, jostling the metal plate and making it squeak, "Bring over the clipboard, we need to monitor everything from this point."
Ms. Hemmingway walked over, clipboard in hand, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a pair of reading glasses and sliding them onto her nose and behind her ears, "His weight?" she inquired, a quill poised over the paper chart on the clipboard.
"Six stone and 12 pounds," replied Healer Beesely, her eyebrows drawn together in thought.
Harry looked over his shoulder, watching as Ms. Hemmingway wrote out his weight. He'd lost some -weight, that is. When he went to the muggle doctors they'd said he was seven stone. It wasn't much, sure, but it was something. And that something worried him.
"-have to keep an eye out for it." Healer Beesely was saying to her assistant. Harry wondered how much longer he'd have to stand on the scale.
"Now for the height," she muttered, pulling up the metal rod with inch marks on it.
"I'm probably still around five feet and seven inches," offered Harry, getting rather tired of the constant silence -with the exception of the healers- he glanced over his shoulder at his companions. Dumbledore, Snape, and Malfoy still sat, the former to reseated on the couch, muttering in low tones about something that appeared to be rather serious.
But the latter, he was staring right at Harry. And for a moment, they made eye contact. Before Healer Beesely tapped his shoulder, smiling at him and instructing him to stand straight and tall.
Her fingers brushed against the top of his hair as she tried to flatten it, and despite his mood, his lips curled into a small smile.
"170.18," called out Healer Beesely, she pat Harry's cheek, "Looks like you've still got a bit a growing left, eh?"
That perked Harry up considerably.
Five minutes later, Harry was back on his bed, only, it wasn't really a bed anymore, apparently, it could be adjusted to look like an armchair. Healer Beesely said that because he wouldn't always want to lay down, and for his tests he should be sitting upright, there was a small lever beneath the bed frame. Harry had tested it out and discovered that by pulling the lever one way, it could go as far up as he liked, or back to being a bed again if he pushed the lever in the opposite direction.
He wished he had a curtain though, like the ones Madame Pomfrey always put up around his bed so he could change. He didn't have that here, so Malfoy was free to gape like a fish as Ms. Hemmingway peeled away the bandage covering his port so that he could be prepped for a blood test.
There had to be some sort of rule against random people being allowed to see him like this, thought Harry bitterly, wincing a little as the gauze came away completely and it pulled at his already too tight skin.
"How does it feel, dear?" asked Healer Beesely, who stood behind her assistant, watching the proceedings.
"Er, it's sore, and," Harry looked down cautiously, "And red, why is it red?" he asked, shifting self-consciously and painfully aware that the not at all bad looking Ms. Hemmingway was in close proximity to his partly bare, horridly scrawny, flushed red, chest, "I mean, it doesn't hurt, or I d-don..."
Ms. Hemmingway had just snapped on a pair of gloves, drawing Harry's attention away from his stumbled explanation, he stared as she dripped a clear substance onto a cotton ball before returning to his side with the cotton ball held out in front of her.
"It's because of the operation, Harry," explained Healer Beesely, distracting Harry from Ms. Hemmingway, who was now swabbing the cotton ball over the irritated skin around and on his port.
"I'm just going to clean the area," she had murmured, leaning over him.
Harry shivered a little, goosebumps rising on his skin as air blew over what he now realised must have been rubbing alcohol.
Ms. Hemmingway retreated to the silver table again, Harry sat up a little straighter to try and catch sight of what she was doing, but Healer Beesely had returned to distracting him.
"-anything to eat?"
Harry turned away from Ms. Hemmingway, "Huh? Oh, er- sort of," he replied, shrugging his shoulders a little.
Healer Beesely nodded in understanding, "Yes, loss of appetite or feelings of fullness is a side effect, Harry. Not to worry, we'll have you all fixed up in no time."
Not knowing what else to do, Harry gave a nod and a small smile.
Seemingly tired of simply standing at his bedside, Healer Beesely conjured a chair and sat down. "So Harry," she said, "Tell me a little about yourself."
Harry blinked, staring at the healer as though she had cat hair growing from her face, "A-about myself?" he stammered. When had anyone ever asked him that?
"Yes, dear."
Harry frowned, actually considering what to say. He didn't even notice that Ms. Hemmingway was pushing the entire silver table and all it's drawers and compartments closer to where he sat.
"I'm, er, sixteen." Wow, not only was that a pathetic attempt, but he'd almost said fifteen instead!
All Healer Beesely did was nod though, so that was alright.
Harry tried again. "I play Quidditch.. I'm the seeker for the Gryffindor team. I've got a Firebolt," he added, "It's the best broom out there," he clarified, sounding more than a little bit proud as he thought about it... Only thinking about his broom reminded him of Sirius. So he switched to safer subjects.
"I- er, I've always wanted to be an Auror," he said, rather sheepishly.
"An Auror?" repeated Healer Beesely, leaning closer, her eyes alight with interest, "Now isn't that a noble profession? Rather dashing, hm?"
Harry's cheeks colored. He hadn't been thinking of it that way...
"Ok, Mr. Potter, you'll just feel a pinch-"
Harry's head snapped back towards Ms. Hemmingway, "W-what?" he squeaked, his voice several octaves higher than his normal tone.
Ms. Hemmingway held a small, triangular shaped thing with an even smaller silver, glinting needle at one end.
Healer Beesely was patting his hand, "Relax, Harry dear, here," she reached over and plucked the needle-thing from Ms. Hemmingway's hand. She passed it to Harry, using her free hand to close his fingers over the yellow plastic part connected to the tiny, silver pinprick.
Harry refused to admit that his hand shook as he turned the object in his fingers, "So you're just going to..."
Healer Beesely closed her hand over his again, pulling apart the yellow bits, she revealed a small, plastic tube, obviously made for having something inserted into it.
"The needle goes right," she tapped his chest, "Here. It'll be over before you know it," she said, giving him that 'and it won't hurt a bit' smile that he never liked to see on anybody's face.
"Erm, alright, yeah," he passed the needle back to Ms. Hemmingway, shifting on his bed and tucking his hands beneath his thighs. Every single muscle in his body tensed.
Ms. Hemmingway and Healer Beesely shared a glance.
Harry's heart was thudding against his ribcage, his Adam's Apple bobbing with every dry swallow.
Merlin, he hated needles.
He felt skittish, like at any moment he would take off at a run and hide inside the nearest cupboard. The pressing blackness that cloaked you when the doors were shut tight had always been quite soothing, Harry thought.
"Are you ready, Harry?" Healer Beesely asked gently, her dark brown eyes were warm with sympathy.
Harry swallowed audibly, "Uh- I.. yeah, um, okay..."
Stringing words together to form a coherent sentence had never seemed so hard before.
"Here, you can grab hold of my hand," said Healer Beesely, pulling one of Harry's hands from beneath his leg and clasping his cold fingers.
"Just take a deep breath," she murmured, rubbing her thumb over his palm. Her voice was so soothing, Harry couldn't help but listen.
"That's it. In and out, Harry, deep breaths..."
Harry shut his eyes as Ms. Hemmingway's gloved fingers closed around his port, sort of pinching it to hold it steady.
Unconsciously, he gripped Healer Beesely's hand tightly, holding his breath.
"Let it out, dear," Healer Beesely was saying, "There you go, in and out."
And just as he was letting out his second breath; the needle touched his skin.
Less than a second later, Harry realised he'd been waiting for a pain that didn't come.
His eyes popped open just as Ms. Hemmingway pressed a piece of clear tape over the entire area. Harry let go of Healer Beesely's hand, frowning in confusion, he turned to her.
"Well, you're very stoic," she commented lightly, "It's alright to show pain s-"
"It didn't hurt," cut in Harry, shaking his head bemusedly, "I couldn't feel anything..."
Now Healer Beesely and Ms. Hemmingway were frowning as well. His stomach clenched, "Is- is it supposed to do that?" he asked worriedly, pushing himself to sit up straighter and angled himself towards the healer.
She hesitated. Harry swallowed.
"It is normal," she began, "To feel a prick or a sharp pain..."
"But I didn't," interjected Harry, "Not a thing, I mean..." he looked down, raising a hand to tap the needle through the spell-o-tape, "It's like, I dunno... numb?"
Healer Beesely exchanged a glance with Ms. Hemmingway, then, standing, they moved a little to the side and spoke in whispered tones. Harry caught small bits like, "what must have happened" and "proceed with the test, Catherine", but that was it.
"Harry?"
He moved his gaze from the healers, looking up at Dumbledore, "I don't know what happened... The needle didn't hurt," he said, vaguely aware that he wasn't making any sense.
Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, long fingers resting next to Harry's neck, "I am sure they will work it out, Harry," he said, the usual kindness and quiet certainty coloured his voice.
Healer Beesely jerked her head imperceptibly toward Harry, and their hushed conversation ended. Ms. Hemmingway was coming his way, but Harry wasn't paying attention to her. And how could he? When Healer Beesely had just set her jaw determinedly, and beelined towards Snape.
"Alright, Mr. Potter, I'm just going to attach this here."
Ms. Hemmingway held up a syringe. Not a normal one, this one didn't have a needle. She connected the needleless-syringe to the short plastic tube on the end of the needle in his chest.
Harry's eyes slowly slid away from Snape and Healer Beesely, feeling rather care-free as he lay flat against the back of his bed/chair.
He yawned widely, "Mhm," he hummed, blinking as Ms. Hemmingway glanced up at him worriedly.
He could feel it, the slight pulling sensation. He could literally see his blood, red and thick, as it was drawn into the tube of the syringe. It should have made him sick... it would have, actually. But Harry couldn't be bothered to be sick just now, not when he was feeling so pleasantly relaxed and... cozy?
"If you could just hold your breath for five seconds, Mr. Potter?" asked Ms. Hemmingway, her eyes glued to the operation she was conducting, "It makes it easier.. and quicker."
Well, in that case.
Harry inhaled before he held his breath, counting backwards from five.
"And... we are finished."
Ms. Hemmingway reached back, plucking a yellow cloth from the steel table behind her. She placed it on his chest, directly beneath the connected tubes. A tiny droplet of blood dribbled as she disconnected them. Harry realised what it was for then, and silently berated himself for being so slow.
"You are quite the trooper, Mr. Potter," said Ms. Hemmingway, placing the tube of blood inside a transparent tupperware, "Not many people can take a blood drawing without so much as a wince."
Harry nodded. He wasn't tired, but he did feel a bit.. hazy. Muffled about the edges.
"I- yeah. It's easy when you can't feel it."
Ms. Hemmingway snapped off her gloves, "Is that so?"
"Mhm."
"Why do you think you didn't feel anything, Mr. Potter?" she asked conversationally, trashing her gloves and wiping her hands on a wet towel.
"Dunno," said Harry, shrugging a little. Who cared how it happened anyway? No pain was a good thing, wasn't it?
"I suppose it's alright for now," said Ms. Hemmingway. She conjured a chair and sat down beside Harry, "We won't have to fill you with numbing drugs.. well, maybe not until tomorrow. I'd say the potion -if it really is one- will have worn off by then."
What was she talking about? What potion...?
Harry scratched his head, trying to concentrate, "I haven't had any potions... have I?"
She raised her eyebrows, "We'll find out, won't we?"
Harry nodded solemnly.
Ms. Hemmingway sat back in her chair, "So how have you been since we were last here?"
Harry scratched his head, thinking about the past day, "Erm.. I had a fever earlier, I think. Loads of headaches," he pursed his lips, "Oh, and a sore throat. I hate those."
"So do I."
"D'you know what they're talking about over there?" he asked suddenly, gesturing to where Snape and Healer Beesely were standing by the door. They looked to be in a very intense discussion.
Ms. Hemmingway pursed her lips as though contemplating whether it was right to tell Harry anything. "Well... I think your professor there," she jerked her head in Snape's general direction, "Spiked something you ate or drank with a potion."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. He'd always known Snape would try to poison him at one point or another, but honestly, was the man so daft as to try it right before a medical appointment? He leaned closer to Ms. Hemmingway, "Is there a way to suck poison out of a person?" he asked, and quite seriously too.
Ms. Hemmingway gave him a weird look, and in return, Harry gave her a meaningful nod. She'd probably had Snape for a teacher too, of course she knew what he meant.
"Why would we need to suck out poison?"
Or maybe not...
"You mean I'm not poisoned?" inquired Harry, marginally surprised by this new development.
"No, of course not!" exclaimed Ms. Hemmingway, as if the very idea were ludicrous.
Apparently she didn't know Snape.
Harry laughed it off with her though, but mentally resolved to keep an eye out all the same.
"He gave you a potion that relieves pain, and as I think I've just discovers, loosens your tongue as well!"
She was chortling now, pressing her hand to her lips. Not sure what else to do, Harry chortled too. Somehow her laughing had him doing the same... even if he couldn't see what was so bloody funny. Snape would poison him... but he had to agree with Ms. Hemmingway there, the idea that Snape would do it so conspicuously, well, quite frankly, that was absurd.
"It does not loosen the tongue, Ms. Hemmingway," cut in Snape, who had glided over unannounced and was now towering over them, "It fools the mine into believing that absolutely nothing is happening to the body... Perhaps his relaxed state is what makes him blather on so, but to my reckoning, Potter never had trouble with that when he wasn't -to quote a phrase- 'drugged'."
By then Harry's eyes were round as Galleons. If he'd wanted a ruddy vocabulary lesson he'd have asked for one. Snape's last word stuck though, Harry seized upon it, "I'm drugged?" he asked curiously, looking up at Snape and then at Healer Beesely (who was red in the face and wisps of hair seemed to have escaped her bun) for confirmation.
"To state it plainly," said Healer Beesely with a harrumph, she turned to Snape, practically swelling with suppressed emotion, "I trust it will not happen again, Mr. Snape?"
Snape raised an eyebrow, "Consider me effectively chastised," he replied, then, with a curt nod, he went to sit on the couch once more. Only then did Harry notice that Dumbledore had returned to his seat there, cleaning his nails, seemingly oblivious to the scene around him.
With one last huff, Healer Beesely returned her attention to Harry and Ms. Hemmingway, "All went well then, Catherine?"
Ms. Hemmingway nodded, "Blood sample's on the table."
"Alright," Healer Beesely looked at Harry contemplatively, "We have two more tests, dear, and then we're finished. How are you feeling?"
Harry didn't like the sound of that, but he told her he felt fine anyway.
"Catherine, can you prep while I explain to Harry?"
"Of course."
Healer Beesely sat in the conjured chair beside Harry, who sat up and listened with rapt attention as she explained the doings of a bone marrow biopsy and a spinal tap.
"Just a sample, we want to make sure there aren't an abnormal types or numbers of white or red blood cells or platelets on a complete blood count, it also helps us see how far the cancer's spread. But before we do all that, we have to get your current guardian to sign the consent forms."
Even if he was 'drugged' Harry could still feel a sense of sadness, "But she isn't here," he said quietly, "I thought she was going to come... but she didn't."
Healer Beesely held his hand in her own, "I'm sure she'd be here if she could," she said kindly, squeezing his fingers, "But Professor Snape is the one that needs to sign your forms, Harry, he will be caring for you by proxy."
Snape.. caring for him?
Poor Healer Beesely had been deceived.
"Snape can't take care of me," said Harry, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "He doesn't even like me."
It was fact. Common sense, really.
Healer Beesely smiled, though Harry could tell this one was for reassurance only, as her eyes had strayed to Snape, who was flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet, "He's signed all the papers, dear, and Professor Dumbledore approved. You will be staying with him for a while, they're just trying to do what's most convenient for you."
And her reasoning made so much sense, Harry didn't argue.
"I guess..." he shrugged.
Thirty minutes and two very thick stacks of paper, two quills, a hundred medical questions, and several signatures later, Harry lay on his side with his knees pulled up toward his chest, biting his lip and trying not to glance over his shoulder. He may not have been able to feel anything, but he was sure as hell he'd freak out if he saw any needles.
As it was, when something touched his back, just above his rear, he stiffened and screwed his eyes shut.
"Relax, Harry," Healer Beesely was saying, "Just breathe. In, out, there you go, come on."
Her voice was soothing, but Harry could feel the needle entering his skin. And it wasn't a normal needle either, in fact, they weren't even just sticking him. They were boring it in, it didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good either.
Harry bit his lip, "I c-" he was just about ready to arch his back away, but someone grabbed his hand. Without opening his eyes, Harry grasped it tightly, and focused solely on breathing.
"Is it hurting?"
"N-no, it just doesn't feel right," mumbled Harry, still working on relaxing his muscles, another hand -he assumed it was the other hand to whomever's hand he was currently crushing- was massaging his neck, slowly working away the tenseness and leaving Harry so lax that he slipped away the moment the uncomfortable needle was pulled out of his skin.
He was so deep in sleep, he didn't feel Snape's hand retreat from his neck, nor the one that was pulled out of his grip.
To be continued...
End Notes:
I am so so so sorry this took so long! But Happy Christmas, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait.
Thanks to my lovely friend, beta. info source AND supporter Orchidellia! She's the best, really.
Thanks to all my reviewers, you've been absolutely corking. Love you!
-Marie
Discretion Amongst Snakes by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
He had to get out. He couldn't bear it. Sitting there, watching that woman shove needles into Potter's back...
Draco didn't care how weak he'd looked as he stumbled across the floor and wrenched open a door on one side of the fireplace. It didn't matter much how he looked anyway, all that was in the next room were two rows of meticulously made beds pushed against either wall.
The Hospital Wing was empty except for Draco, and he preferred it that way.
Draco sat shakily on one of the beds, passing a hand through his hair as he tried to regain control over himself. His breathing was loud even to his own ears, and his mouth had gone dry.
He hadn't even seen anything, actually. Just heard one healer talking to Potter, and the other putting on gloves and picking up what must have been the largest needle Draco had ever seen. The sight had made him queasy... though now that he thought about it, the healers probably would have pulled a curtain around the bed for Potter's privacy.
But still.
He didn't care who it was laying on that bed. He'd rather not see anyone stabbed with needles if he could help it. And besides, it bothered Draco to see Potter in that sort of state... he wasn't sure why. But it did.
"Curious, isn't it? How we with hearts cannot endure to watch a supposed enemy in a weakened state?"
Draco nearly jumped three feet off the bed -though he'd deny it if anybody asked- Dumbledore was standing right in front of the door Draco had just come out of... only, there was no door. The wall was smooth, well, as smooth as a wall could be. How...odd.
Dumbledore didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary though. He sat down on the bed opposite Draco's, bouncing a little and chuckling when the bed-springs creaked in response. Draco's eyes were likely as wide as Galleons now, and he had to clench his teeth to keep his mouth from dropping open.
"How are you, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco's eyelids fluttered, "I- uh- I'm f-fine," he stammered. Dumbledore had just asked him how he was. Unbelievable. What was he even supposed to say? How did one conduct a conversation with a headmaster he was known for disliking?
After all, Dumbledore would have heard all the things Draco had said about him.
And when someone was asked how they were after the death of a parent, what was the expected answer? He couldn't exactly say that he could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror, let alone function like the world was normal. He couldn't say that more than anything, anything, he wished his father would contact him.
It had been at least four days since his mother had died, and Draco hadn't heard a word from Lucius. No one had said anything about a funeral either.
He couldn't ask. Every time the thought crossed his mind -which was more often then not- he choked up. The words froze in his throat and tears pricked in the corners of his eyes.
To his utter shock, Dumbledore leaned forward and pat his knee.
"As impossible as it may seem at this moment, Mr. Malfoy, time heals all wounds," said Dumbledore. He was looking straight into Draco's eyes, the sincerity in his words so strong that Draco couldn't help but believe him.
Didn't stop him questioning though.
"How do you know?" he asked, quite stupidly, for if he'd actually given it some thought, he would have realised that if anyone were to know how long it took something to heal, Dumbledore would. The man had to be... a hundred?
"I have lived through many things, Mr. Malfoy," began Dumbledore, "I understand the pain that comes from losing a loved one."
Draco lowered his eyes and picked at the leg of his black trousers.
"My sister, Ariana, died when she was very young," Dumbledore's voice sounded very tired now, and, chancing a quick glance up, Draco saw that his eyes were no longer twinkling. "Sometimes I wonder, if she knew how much I loved her..."
It didn't seem as though Dumbledore were talking to him anymore.
"W-what happened to her?"
Could Dumbledore possibly have anything in common with him?
When Dumbledore didn't continue, he looked up, catching sight of the small smile on the headmaster's face.
"A story for another time, perhaps?"
Draco nodded, sorry he'd asked.
With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore stood, his knees creaking beneath his luridly colored robes, "Come, Mr. Malfoy, I shall escort you home."
He'd said home meaning Severus' home. But Draco thought of his own instead. He wondered if he'd ever go back. If he'd ever see his room. If he might take something of his mother's. Just a small thing... a keepsake. Or perhaps the Dark Lord had been there with his father? What if they had burned all his mother's things?
Draco couldn't bear it if they had. He had nothing of hers. And, as irrational as it was, he feared that he might forget her.
Not forget her in the way where he couldn't remember her at all, but in the sense that slowly all the little things would fade away.
They seemed more important then ever now.
Like the way her lips curved into a small approving smile when she looked at his grades from school. Or what her hair felt like as it tickled his nose if she kissed him goodnight when he was younger... and the way it smelt too. Like vanilla beans and sweet cream.
If he could just have a photograph or a handkerchief with her initials embroidered into a corner. It would smell of her. He knew it would. It would make him miss her more than ever, but it would be worth it, oh, so worth it.
Dumbledore was pushing him back through the door that wasn't there, passed Severus who stood by a motionless Potter, passed the two healers that stood over a silver table, and straight into the fireplace.
Draco closed his eyes, the warmth of the floo enveloped him for a moment, and then he was cold again.
Dumbledore's hand was on his shoulder blade, but he wasn't pushing, just sort of guiding him to Severus' settee. Draco sat, not really thinking about anything. Just sitting.
The cushion beside him weighed down as Dumbledore sat beside him,
"I think, the person who understands best what you are experiencing," Dumbledore paused, "is Mr. Potter."
Draco's mouth opened a little. He wanted to say that if Potter knew anything at all, he wouldn't have the smallest idea about this. But his own thought gave him pause, because the truth was, Potter probably knew everything about it.
"I am afraid Harry has lost someone very dear to him earlier this year. The pain you are feeling is no different than his." Dumbledore stood, giving him one last pat on the shoulder, "I daresay you and Mr. Potter will call a truce of understanding soon. There is no need to fight against those who are no longer your enemies."
He crossed the rug and took a pinch of floo powder from the square box atop the mantle, "Rest, Mr. Malfoy, Severus shall be back soon. And I urge you not to close up... talking and time are both quite essential."
And with that, he floo'd away, and still, Draco sat. Only this time, he was thinking.
0000
It was the pain, not the sunlight, that awoke him. His back, his head... Merlin, his entire body. Harry groaned before his eyes were open. Cautiously, very cautiously, Harry cracked his eyes open and rolled from his stomach to his side.
He whimpered, his eyes already swimming with tears of pain. The small of his back felt like a million hammers were banging away directly on his hip-bone, and his head, ooh... a normal headache paled in comparison.
Harry brought both hands to his face and pressed the heels into his eyes, moaning quietly. Tiny bursts of orange color sprung behind his eyelids, but Harry didn't move his hands. He was too busy figuring out how to breathe without having to move his body. It was quite hard, especially because his ever-present runny-nose-and-sore-throat-cold made his breathing wheezy and heavy. Which, of course, equaled more body movement.
He hadn't even realised how hard he must have been pushing on his eyes until two hands closed around his and pulled them away. Harry snapped his eyes open reflexively, but without his glasses, all he could see were blurry shapes of color.
Blinking owlishly as he turned his head as slowly as possible to squint at the black blob that was closer to the top of the bed, Harry sucked his breath in through his teeth.
How could something be so sore.
"You need medicine, Potter, wait."
Well, he couldn't see him, but he'd know that voice anywhere.
"Sir?" His voice sounded gravelly and foreign to his own ears.
"Wait," replied Snape briskly.
Harry lay his head back down flat on his pillow, he could hear things clinking and shifting, but without glasses, his eyes were useless.
Snape pressed a heavy glass into one of Harry's hand and a rubber button-thing in the other.
But Harry didn't move the glass to his lips, "I need my glasses," he murmured, resting the glass -which he assumed had water- on the bed, his hand still enclosed around it.
"I can't see."
Snape took the glass back, slipping Harry's glasses into his hand, "I wasn't aware one needed to see to sip water," he said dryly.
Moving carefully, Harry slipped his glasses onto his face and tried to sit up.
It was a mistake. A very, very big mistake.
He didn't even make it half-way up before pain surged up and down his back.
Snape's hands were on his shoulders, gently laying him back down, "That was very foolish, Mr. Potter," muttered Snape.
Instead of answering, Harry grit his teeth, helpless to stop the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye.
"Let me help you," Snape said, he didn't wait for Harry's answer though. Plucking the glass from Harry's grip, Snape slid a hand behind his neck and supported his head, helping him sip the cold water.
Harry lifted the hand that still held the rubber...button, was it? "What's-" he cleared his throat, "What's this for?"
"It's for the pain. A muggle drug called morphine," Snape informed him, "You are supposed to press it to inject the drug through the IV and into your veins." Then, with a slight scoff, "I am told that it is made so that overdosing is impossible, no matter how many times you press it."
Harry had taken his glasses back off, after all, what was the point in wearing glasses when all he was doing was laying on his side? He squeezed the pump -which clicked as he pressed and released it- and started counting back from one hundred.
There was a problem though; all that water had gone straight through him.
If he could just hold out until his body didn't feel as though the slightest movement might do him in... he'd be safe. But Harry didn't think he could wait that long. Harry bent his legs at the knee and circled his arms around them. It hurt to move, but this position was better then the other.
He heard Snape shift in the chair next to him.
"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice sounded small and pathetic to his own ears, but it couldn't be helped, he needed a distraction, and Malfoy was it.
Snape shifted again. Harry cracked an eye open out of habit.
"The Headmaster returned him to my quarters," said Snape, his own voice quiet, though not because of weakness like Harry's. Harry called that sort quiet 'hospital quiet' because whenever he was in the Hospital Wing, people tended to keep their voices lowered, even if he was the only resident. Maybe it was the suppressive atmosphere. Like the way all the properly made beds and stark clean walls and floors made one feel dirty; the pressing silence made one feel loud.
That was Harry's reasoning anyway.
He closed his eyes again, "How long have I been here?" he thought to ask, surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. Maybe the thumping pain in his back had drawn his mind away.
"It is now ten in the evening," replied Snape, his tone as though he hadn't checked the time before then, "You passed out shortly after the operation."
Harry grimaced, leave it to Snape to mention that.
"You try having needles shoved into your back and just see if you don't pass out," he snapped, opening his eyes to glare at the blurry black figure that was his potions professor.
Snape, to his credit, did not rise to Harry's irritation, instead, he merely crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Harry with a rather dry look. Not that Harry could tell, but his next words gave him the impression that Snape was doing just that.
"I was not attempting to deride you," he stated in a most stilted manner, "I myself having never endured any muggle procedures, know little to nothing about the happenings of such an operation. Though from my viewpoint, it was neither comfortable nor painless."
Was Snape implying that he would have fainted too?
Harry couldn't be sure. But at least it wasn't an insult. That was something, wasn't it?
And if Snape was trying, why couldn't he?
"Er, it wasn't all that bad..." he attempted, then scoffed at his own words, "Actually, it was awful, I mean, it didn't hurt then, but now," Harry groaned, "I never knew my back, neck, head, and throat could all hurt so horribly."
"I was assured that the muggle medication would alleviate the pain and soreness," commented Snape, sounding almost... well, not sympathetic but, understanding.
That was new.
Harry released his knees in favor of folding his arms together and squeezing his biceps with his hands, "It takes a while to work," he explained, gritting his teeth. It seemed like he wouldn't be able to wait after all. "Muggle drugs aren't instantaneous like potions."
Breathing deeply through his nose, Harry released his arms, he'd have to go to the loo now or he'd never make it.
Slowly, he straightened out his legs and used his arms to push himself up into a sitting position. He wasn't half way upright when his arms started shaking from the pain in his back.
Snape's long fingered hands closed around his upper-arms, no doubt to lay him back down, "What the devil are you doing, Potter?"
Harry couldn't struggle, but he didn't let Snape push him back either, "I need the loo," he said, despising the waver in his voice. His eyes were beginning to water too.
Snape let out a sharp breath. Hah, as if he had anything to be sighing about.
"Wait a moment, I'll help you."
Harry's eyes must have been as round as galleons.
Snape laid him back on his side effortlessly, and before Harry could protest, adjusted the bed until it was upright. Harry slipped his glasses back on, blinking as everything came into focus. He turned until he was sitting sideways and his feet were touching the carpeted floor.
Snape was on the other side of the room, propping open the door to the loo and reaching inside to turn on the lights. He returned to Harry's side and extended his arm.
Harry gaze swiveled from Snape's arm, to his face, then back to his arm.
"I'm not three," he blurted, his need for the loo momentarily forgotten.
Clicking his tongue impatiently, Snape reached down and pulled Harry -gently- from the bed, "I am aware of your age, Mr. Potter, and it is of little to no consequence."
Harry began to splutter a protest, but his bladder and the ache in his lower back sealed his mouth. He found himself clutching Snape's arm in one hand, the steel pole he was connected to with the other, and dragging his feet as they made their way to the loo. He only let go of Snape's arm when the door jamb was close enough to act as a substitute, he glanced back at Snape, who stood with his arms folded over his chest and his lips pressed together.
"I've got it from here," Harry informed him.
Snape widened his eyes ever so slightly, "Indeed."
Harry took two steps into the loo, rolling the silver pole he was connected to, and then latched onto the sink, he made to close the door and lock it, but Snape stopped him.
"It would be unwise for you to close this all the way," he stated, pulling the door until there was only a fraction of space between the jamb and the door itself, "Fear not, Mr. Potter, I do not intend on barging in unannounced."
Great, thought Harry irritably, now he was being mocked.
It was harder to use the loo then it had ever been in his entire life, but Harry finished in record time. It was getting back onto the bed that was the hard part. The trip was grueling to say the least, and by the end of it, Harry was clutching Snape's arm and panting as he was lowered back onto his side.
Snape sat back down in the chair beside him, this time, Harry kept his glasses on.
"What are you doing here, Professor?" asked Harry. The question wasn't rude, he just wanted to know.
That didn't stop Snape from regarding him with a rather irritated look though. "Was I to leave you here unattended?"
Harry hated rhetorical questions. Especially when they came from Snape.
He pulled his pillow so it fit more comfortably into the crook of his neck, which was rather stiff, for some reason, "I was just asking," he said, doing his best not to roll his eyes. Couldn't the man just answer a simple question normally?
Snape's lips thinned, like he was trying not to say something insulting. The silence pressed on Harry's ears.
Lifting his head with a grunt, Harry adjusted the pillow again. His neck was really sore.
"I would advise that you not move so much," said Snape, watching Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry ignored the advice, "My neck is stiff," he replied, repositioning his pillow.
"It is a side-affect. The muggle medicine isn't working?"
So that's why...
"Not sure," said Harry, sighing, "I mean, it still hurts..."
"Unbearably so?"
He considered that for a moment, "I guess not, it's just... sore. Really sore."
Snape nodded, "I was told that was to be expected."
"Great," said Harry dryly. Experimentally, he pressed the button again. The clicking noise was extremely satisfying. "At least I didn't have to feel the needle going in," he said, chuckling a little. But not because it was funny, because he was relieved.
Oddly, his statement made Snape look uncomfortable, almost... guilty.
Unable to stamp down his curiosity, he inquired, "Professor?" After all, Snape wouldn't murder a sick kid, would he?
"I gave you a potion, before your appointment," began Snape, but Harry interrupted before he could get any further.
"What do you mean you 'gave me a potion'? he asked incredulously, his voice far louder than he'd meant it to be, "I didn't drink any potions!" The only thing keeping him from sitting bolt upright and drawing his wand was his aching back. Despite that though, he propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring the throbbing pain that came in consequence.
As fierce as he was sure his glare was, Snape didn't looked moved at all. That same unreadable expression had taken place, but Harry could see something stirring in the dark eyes, he just wasn't sure what it could be.
"I mixed it into your drink-"
Harry very nearly clutched at his throat.
"It was designed to manipulate the mind into believing that the body felt nothing."
"...What?"
Snape clicked his tongue impatiently, "You felt the needle, but experienced no pain."
He said it as though it were the most simple thing in the world. Harry didn't think so though.
"You gave me a numbing potion?"
Snape scoffed, "The properties of a numbing potion are far and away from what I dosed you with." Then, as though taking pity on Harry's sleep and drug addled mind, "If the potion were a numbing agent you would have felt nothing at all, you wouldn't have been able to function, or walk, or speak. Potions of that type are generally used for severe burn cases or surgeries in which it would be dangerous to be unconscious. The potion you imbibed merely tricked your mind into believing there was no pain to feel."
Slowly, it was all making sense. Snape had helped him. Without being forced. As crazy as it seemed, Harry couldn't even be angry that he'd been slipped a potion unawares. Actually, it was all rather... improbable.
Taking Harry's silence as a prompt, Snape continued, "As the medi-witches and yourself realised during the blood test."
Harry nodded, though something was bothering him about the whole situation, "But.. Why didn't you just tell Healer Beesely when we first got here?"
"And listen to you rant about the dangers of living with Slytherins? No, I would rather the discretion of a quiet word with your healer after."
Snape's reasoning was sound, if not a little sneaky, in Harry's opinion.
"I suppose..." muttered Harry, but there was still something, "Healer Beesely was talking to you about it after, what did she say?"
He waited for Snape to bark that it was none of Harry's business what went on in conversations that he was not a member of, but the onslaught didn't come, in fact, when Snape did speak, Harry had to concentrate on keeping his jaw from falling onto the floor.
"It was remiss of me to give you a magical medicine when I knew little of your current situation. Your healer was most insistent that I not give you anything with the smallest relation to magic because of the affect it may have on your cancer," Snape said, his voice pitched very low, sounding, to Harry's ears, regretful.
Snape was admitting a wrong. A wrong he'd made against Harry. And it seemed as though he were actually sorry. It was almost too much for Harry to accept, but his thoughts were put on pause when Snape went on, "As I was informed by your healer, magic affects the growth of your cancer, which, in turn, affects you."
Harry sucked in a breath.
" I-" Snape swallowed, "Apologise for the oversight. I can assure you, it will not occur again."
"But nothing happened, right?" Harry asked, the waver in his voice more prominent then he would have liked, "I mean, the potion didn't do anything to me?"
Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and the weight of his upper body on his forearms, "According to your healer, no, but you aren't to have anything magic related anymore."
Harry sighed, this was starting to feel like summer at the Dursleys'... only it was worse here. Because here, he had to watch everyone else use magic while he couldn't. As awful as the Dursleys' had been, at least they had no wands to wave about when he didn't.
Realising he was sinking into self-pity, Harry turned his thoughts back to the predicament with Snape, "Thanks for the potion, Professor," he said honestly, sinking back into his pillow, Harry ignored Snape's derisive snort.
"No, really," he began, more insistently, "If you hadn't given it to me, I probably wouldn't have made it through all those needles." Harry shuddered, wondering how many more he might have to endure.
"Nevertheless," said Snape with a vague gesture which Harry took to mean that the apology still stood.
That sparked something in Harry's mind, something he'd rather not think about at all, but popped up whenever he was around Snape. Harry picked at his sheets, just thinking about it made his face burn.
But if Snape could do it... couldn't he?
Harry opened his mouth to speak, though his gaze was still fixated on the blanket covering his legs, "Uh, I- er-" he stuttered, his teeth clicking together as his mouth snapped shut. His face must have been on fire by then.
"What is it, Potter?" asked Snape, sounding rather urgent, "The healer said she would be back to give you a different pain reliever. Is the pump not working?"
"No, I- wait what?" Harry's brow furrowed.
"Are you still in pain?" enunciated Snape as though Harry were very slow indeed.
Harry scowled, "I'm fine."
"Do not insult my intelligence, any fool would know that you are indeed not'fine'."
He said it as though Harry's pain and his concern over it were the most natural things in the world. Which, in point of fact, they weren't.
But Snape's unexpected consideration only made Harry's previous thoughts return to their previous train. Biting his lip, Harry decided now was better than never... especially because he'd have to spend so much time in the dungeons with Snape anyway.
"Um, Professor? I was- Well, that is... I just wanted to say," Harry stopped himself and took a deep breath, "Listen, Sir, I'm sorry... about last year, when I, erm-"
"Invaded my privacy and proved yourself to be a meddlesome little brat?"
He wanted to protest, hell, he wanted to rant about how Snape had plied through his own personal life, but the difference between the two were clear to Harry. The only reason he'd delved into that pensieve in the first place was to satisfy his curiosity. Except, instead of finding out what the Order had been keeping so secret, he'd gotten a front row seat to watch the three men he admired most behaving at their worst.
So, instead, he settled for nodding and picking at his sheets, feeling thoroughly chastised.
Snape cleared his throat and shifted beside him, "I think, Mr. Potter," he began, causing Harry to look up, "That it is time we leave the events of last year behind us, and come to an agreement, of sorts."
Harry stared.
Snape wanted to call a truce?
Un-bloody-believable.
Was this how their infamous rivalry would end? With a truce based on the fact that last year had taken a turn so far down the road to hell that neither one wanted to even acknowledge it? But even if that were so, was Snape expecting Harry to forget every single infraction the man had made against him? If that were the case, Harry would have refused, point blank.
Fortunately, before he could open his mouth and tell Snape just what he was going to do about that truce, the man went on to explain his reasoning.
"As I am sure you realise, we will be residing beneath the same roof for some time."
Harry's sigh stopped him from continuing. So the living arrangements weren't just for now, then...well, Harry had sort of expected that. But it was a bummer, none the less. Having nothing to say, he waved his hand a bit for Snape to go on -ignoring the way the man's eyes narrowed at the less than polite prompt.
"As such, some sort of understanding needs to be had in light of our mutual, ah," Snape paused searching for a word less offensive than what was no doubt 'hatred', "Our mutual antipathy for one another. However-"
At this point Harry was ready to accept the truce if it meant that Snape's long-winded testimony would end, but the way those piercing, black eyes were now fixed upon him caused him to clamp his mouth shut and pay attention.
"I am neither suggesting nor requesting that you change your opinion of me, Mr. Potter... or mine of you, for that matter. I merely believe we ought not to be at each other's throats at such a point in time. Especially when cooperation is such a must at this juncture."
Snape settled back into his chair, his expression grim. In Harry's opinion, the man looked as though he'd said a great deal more than he'd wanted to... Not that it would have made any difference to Harry, who had barely gotten two words out of the expertly phrased jumble of words he'd just had laid out before him.
Well, that wasn't strictly true, considering. But Snape's speech had been a little much... actually, more than a little, Harry thought.
Nevertheless, Harry extended his hand towards Snape, "Truce it is, then," he said, his voice every bit as grim as Snape's expression.
After their brief, but significant handshake, Harry went back to withholding moans and grimaces, and Snape flipping through a book.
It wasn't until around 12 o'clock in the morning that Harry began to drift off again. He figured he'd rather be asleep when his medication wore off.
When pain woke him again a little after two in the morning, Snape pressed the button for him; twice. As soon as the aching in his lower back and neck seeped away, Harry fell asleep once more, and didn't wake up again until daylight streamed through the window above the couch, bathing the room in sunshine.
Harry lifted his head a bit, blinking because of the brightness. Everything was blurry again, but he couldn't remember removing his glasses before he fell asleep. Squinting as he looked around for his glasses without moving more than just his head and arms. Unfortunately, just as his finger tips brushed the earpiece, he knocked them from the small table beside his bed.
"Damn," grumbled Harry, dropping his head back to his pillow with a thump and shut his eyes.
It felt like the room was spinning around him, and keeping his eyes open just made that worse. There was a noise beside him, like someone inhaling sharply, then, "Harry?"
Despite how light-headed he felt, Harry turned towards the voice, which sounded exactly like... "Remus? Is that you?"
The sound of a muffled yawn came next, "Yes, yes it's me, how are you feeling?"
He'd been about to say 'fine' but he doubted Remus would believe him.
"Oh, well, I never much liked hospitals..." he edged, gesturing with his hand to the room around him.
Remus chuckled, "I didn't like staying here much either, when I was in school. Something about the smell."
Harry grimaced, "Yeah, I know," he replied, then, remembering what he was doing before Remus had spoken, "Say, Remus, could you summon my glasses, I dropped them somewhere."
Beside him, Remus shifted in his chair, "Accio Harry's glasses," he said, handing said spectacles to Harry seconds later.
He slipped them on, blinking as things became clear, he looked at Remus' scarred face and smiled, "It's good to see you," he said.
"Likewise."
Harry tried to push himself up on the bed, but the room spun around him and the sensation of falling sideways took over the minute he moved. "Whoa..." murmured Harry, swaying as he dropped back down.
Remus tutted beside him, "You should try and keep still for a bit, the painkillers will make you dizzy."
"Right."
"Do you need anything, Harry? Anything at all?"
"Nope, nothing at all," replied Harry, popping the p in his nope, then he reconsidered his answer, "Wait, Remus, can you make the room stop spinning? I think I'm going to sick up... No, maybe not, but still."
He didn't even notice the alarmed look Remus gave him.
"And Remus," said Harry, completely oblivious to his former professor's worry, "Did you know that Snape's been housing me?"
Remus let out a breath, "Yes, Harry, I did. In fact, he was here earlier, he left when I came to see you."
Harry thought about that, "Snape's been acting funny," he said decidedly, "Not funny... weird."
"Professor Snape, Harry, how so?"
"Um, sort of... nice? I think that's it," Harry chortled, "Snape's being nice to me," he hooted, "Something must be wrong with him!"
Remus frowned, "I think he's just beginning to see you for you Harry," he commented.
"Dunno," admitted Harry, "D'you think I'll have to stay in here very long?"
"Stay where?"
"Here, in the Hospital Wing!"
"No, I believe you're to be floo'd back to Severus' quarters in an hour or so."
Harry sighed, "I guess that's alright then."
Remus pat his shoulder, smiling kindly, "You've grown up, Harry," he said, a quiet sort of pride in his voice, "A year ago I do not think you would have been so accepting of the matter."
Harry pursed his lips, "Oh but I'm not, Remus," he beckoned Remus closer, whispering very seriously, "I just don't want to show it."
Remus sat back, "Is that so?" he inquired, an eyebrow arched, "And why is that?"
Well, come to think of it, he wasn't sure, "Dunno," he shrugged.
He yawned, "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm really tired, y'know?"
"Hmm, maybe you should close your eyes," remarked Remus.
Harry closed his eyes, "You'll stay though, won't you?"
Remus' hand covered his, "Of course, Harry." And with that, Harry was slumbering once more.
0000
"I just want to go for a walk... I feel like I can't- breathe, down here."
Draco picked at the arm rest of the arm chair in which he sat, "Please, Severus?"
Severus was examining him over the lip of his coffee cup, his eyes dark and calculating.
Draco licked his lips. He wanted to get out, even if just for a bit. And the fact that he planned on taking his walk in the direction of the owlery had absolutely nothing to do with the roll of parchment tucked into the pocket of his trousers.
Placing his cup down on the short table before him, Severus gave Draco one more once over. The look made Draco shift uncomfortably, the parchment in his trousers beginning to burn the skin of his leg. He tried not to appear guilty, but the shrewdness Severus regarded him with told him that he looked just that.
"I need," he licked his lips again, "Some fresh air. I- I won't be gone long," he rushed to say, desperation seeping into his words.
What if his mother had been buried already. What if he'd missed her funeral... his last chance to say good-bye?
The thought made him sick to his stomach.
"Severus," he implored once more, "Please."
Severus sighed, "It is unwise for you to be out alone, Draco," he said regretfully, "I would accompany you myself, but Potter is due back in another thirty minutes or so."
It took great effort to reign in his initial retort, which was something along the lines of Potter always being the center of attention. Sure he'd regained control, Draco went on, "I won't be long," he repeated, "I won't even leave the castle."
And he wasn't going to either... besides, walking to the owlery only ought to take about fifteen minutes at the most.
Severus' eyes were narrowed again. How in the wizarding world did the man know he was hiding something? Draco licked his lips nervously, his mouth was dry.
"I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to wander about the castle without a chaperon," said Severus at last, "I am sorry, Draco, but, I will take you with me to the forest, later today, if you still wish to go."
Draco slumped in defeat, "Why the forest?" he asked anyway. The missive in his pocket might not be going anywhere, but he might as well. He hadn't been lying about not being able to breathe.
Standing, Severus plucked his mug from the table, "Potions ingredients," he said, making his way to the kitchen. As he passed Draco, he used his free hand to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.
It wasn't much, but Draco appreciated it all the same.
He sat for a moment longer, tapping his fingers against the armrests of his chair. Maybe he should just tell Severus that he wanted, no, needed to talk to his father. Severus would understand... wouldn't he?
Draco brought his hands together, methodically cracking each knuckle even though he knew it was horrible for his fingers. He couldn't seem to help himself... it was like a- a nervous tick, all this fidgeting. Or maybe a side-affect of the constant anxiety he felt. Draco rubbed his hands down over the legs of his trousers, smoothing them until he reached his knees, then picking up his hands, and starting at his thighs once more. He blew out a tremulous breath, trying to get hold of himself.
It was getting harder and harder to do that.
Get a hold of himself. Like his mind actually wanted to be set free.
It piled nervousness on top of his anxiety.
Draco swallowed, running a shaky hand through his hair, wondering at which point he'd completely lost every last shred of his dignity. With that thought in mind, Draco stood, breathing deeply to regain control of his emotions, berating himself for behaving as though he were a Hufflepuff instead of a Slytherin and a Malfoy.
"I'm writing to my father."
Draco clutched the back of the wooden chair pushed into the kitchen table, letting out an imperceptible sigh of relief when Severus didn't snap at him.
Severus dried his hands on a tea towel, his lips pulled together in a thin line. He wasn't glaring at Draco, but the silence that draped over the kitchen after Draco's statement was ominous.
Wiping his hands of one last time, Severus slipped one edge of the towel through the handle, pulling the end until the cloth hung evenly. Draco gripped the chair harder to refrain from wringing his hands.
Just when he was sure his composure would crack, Severus spoke.
"Sit down, Draco," he said tightly, taking a seat himself.
Draco obeyed, figuring he'd have a better chance at appearing levelheaded if he listened to whatever Severus had to say he might appear as though his sanity wasn't dangling over a cliff by a string.
Severus let out a sharp breath. Draco tucked his hands under his thighs to keep from fidgeting.
It seemed like an eternity before Severus finally spoke, but in reality, it was less than a minute.
"You are wise enough to know that missives can be intercepted," he began, the fingers of one hand drumming against the other, "I do not think I need to explain to you the amount of danger not only you, but I as well would be in if any information fell into the wrong hands."
Severus' emotions were inscrutable, as always, but Draco hazarded a guess that irritation wasn't far off.
"You don't understand," began Draco, struggling to keep the plaintive note out of his voice, "He might be trying to find me." That time it was desperation he had to hide. What if Lucius wasn't trying to find him? What if Lucius didn't care? Draco shoved the memory of his last day in Malfoy Manor to the the deepest recess of his mind.
His father hadn't meant to hurt his mother. He just hadn't.
Realising he had removed his hands from beneath his sides and was now gripping the edge of the table, Draco took a deep breath, releasing the wood. "I wouldn't say where I am," he said, "I'm not an imbecile."
Severus raised an eyebrow, "Indeed not."
Draco breathed as sigh of relief.
"However," continued Severus, seemingly unaware of how Draco had tensed up again, "You may not be intentionally let slip vital information-" He held up a silencing hand when Draco made to protest, "Even the most carefully coded of messages can be deciphered."
Draco tried not to slump in his chair, disappointment and resentment coursing through him simultaneously. Why couldn't Severus see how important it was that he speak with his father as soon as humanely possible? Draco glared at his hands where they rested in his lap. He resented Severus for not helping him, he despised himself for resenting Severus, and he hated that he was alive when his mother was not.
He blinked back the tears that pricked behind his eyelids, his jaw working resolutely.
"There are other ways to communicate with your father, Draco." Severus' hands were suddenly on his own, and he looked up to find that the man himself now stood beside him. "You must have patience. For your safety, and those around you. The Headmaster will keep us appraised of any developments concerning your mother," he paused as though considering whether or not he should continue.
Draco shifted, his palms beginning to sweat from the heat of the hands that still rested upon his own. Sighing deeply, Severus went on, "As of right now, her body-"
Draco bit the inside of his bottom lip.
"Is in Ministry custody." Severus crouched beside Draco, his hair swinging forward as he moved. He flicked it back as he studied Draco carefully. "I had wished to keep the less than comforting details to myself," he said, drawing one hand away from Draco's and using it to grasp Draco's chin and meet his eyes, "But it occurs to me that even gruesome information is more comforting then none."
Draco attempted a nod, but as his chin was still in Severus' grasp, the movement was limited.
"I cannot tell you everything," warned Severus, "I likely won't have much to relay on the matter at all."
"But my father..." muttered Draco, "What if he is looking for me?"
"Then it is for the better that you remain hidden."
That brought Draco pause, "W-what?" he stammered.
Severus shook his head, "Foolish child," he chided, standing once more and withdrawing both hands from Draco's skin, "Lucius works for the Dark Lord, do you believe that he is not under orders to bring you to his master the moment he sets eyes on you?"
An almost out of body rage took over Draco. He stood up, moving so fast that he toppled the chair on which he'd been sitting, "You don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed, right in Severus' face, taking a step closer for good measure.
He wasn't much shorter than Severus... well, his head was about the same height as the man's shoulder. But that didn't bother Draco.
"My father wouldn't send me to die! He wouldn't!"
He was shouting now, his face red with rage.
Severus' hands settled like iron grips on his biceps, but without even two thoughts about it, Draco wrenched himself free.
Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously, "Do not be so naive as to think your life is Lucius' priority," he said, his voice deadly quiet. So quiet in fact and with such a level of severity that it drained some of the rage from Draco's mind. "You saw with your own eyes what happened to your mother. Was it not Lucius who brought Narcissa to the Dark Lord? Was it not he who dutifully reported her wrongs? Hmm?"
Draco was trembling now, but not from cold.
"Do you believe that I know not where-of I speak?"
With each barked question, Draco stepped further away. Far enough that his back bumped the stone wall behind him. But even that wasn't far enough. Not to get away from these... these... accusations.
"Your mother's death lies in your father's fault." Severus kept on, eyebrows drawn together and fists clenched at his sides, "Wake up from this jaded dream you continue to believe! Lucius lusts for power, he will not let anything jeopardize his position within the Dark Lord's ranks."
"Stop," croaked Draco, his hands press flat against the stones behind him, "Please-"
But Severus didn't. "Do you understand now, the severity of your situation? Why you must remain hidden? If the Dark Lord were to find that it was I who harbored you, that we would both die slow and painful deaths?"
"Stop," he repeated, a little louder this time, shaking his head, he stepped away from the wall. "I won't send the damn letter then," he ground out, glaring at Severus, "You don't need to keep going on and on about it." Then, almost wishing he could stop himself before he said it, added, "And besides, you're one to talk, the Dark Lord owns you as well!"
Severus' mouth opened, and then shut. Draco swallowed.
"I'm not going to send the letter," he reiterated, "But you have to tell me what happens with my mother. As soon as you hear it." He held his breath as he waited for a reply.
Severus gave one curt nod, before sweeping from the room.
To be continued...
End Notes:
I really hope everyone enjoyed this, and I apologize for the amount of time it took to get it out there!
As always, many thanks to my friend and beta Orchidellia and my readers, couldn't do it without you guys!
-Marie
Author's Notes:
I am soooo sorry. I've been on vacation for the last two months or so. But once I get home, I'll be updating regularly.
As it turned out, flooing was ten times harder when you did it with another person.
Harry was back in Snape's rooms now, his medicine drip still safely connected to his IV port. Remus had had to leave about a half and hour ago, taking the warm comfortableness Harry had felt for the first time since he'd moved in there.
Currently, he was back in his bed, the dull ache in his lower back fading to a distant memory every time he pressed the little button that distributed his pain relieving medicine.
He didn't like the fuzzy feeling the medicine gave him, nor the weird cloud-like fluffiness that coated his mind and scrambled his thoughts. But it did numb the pain in his back, so that made it marginally better.
Harry rolled from one side to the other, tugging his blankets tighter around his shoulders as he stared at the loo door. White fluff surrounded Harry, carrying him far and away... From his bed, from Snape's quarters... Hogwarts, Earth...
He snored as he slept.
It wasn't until the next day, when he could properly sit up with only little discomfort, that the tension became apparent. The floo trip back to the separated room in the Hospital Wing was awkward, what with Snape holding his arm in a vice grip, and Harry clutching the slim silver IV pole, (which was shrunken so that it might fit into the fireplace).
But that hadn't been where the tension lay. Instead, oddly enough, it was between Malfoy and Snape, both of whom had been exchanging tight-lipped looks and short, clipped comments. Harry supposed something must have happened while he was out. He wondered what Malfoy or Snape might have said to irk the other.
He would probably never find out, reasoned Harry as he shook Snape's arm off and made his way to sit on the sofa. The neatly made bed in the opposite corner was tempting, but Harry figured he might as well sit up straight while he had the chance.
Snape sat in an armchair on his right, Malfoy, (after arriving through the floo without a speck of ash on him) sat stiffly in the chair on his left. Harry dragged the toe of his right trainer back and forth across the grain of the carpet, yawning as he waited.
"Did you finish your summer assignments, Draco?"
Back to the stilted politeness. Harry yawned again, leaning an elbow on the armrest on his side of the sofa and resting his chin in his upturned palm.
Malfoy's lips twisted around the edges, "No."
Harry's eyes flickered towards Snape to gauge his reaction. The same tightening around the mouth, the line between dark eyebrows, the muscle that jumped in his jaw. Harry turned his hand so that his fingers hid the slight smile that tugged at his own lips. He'd seen that face on Snape before, only he usually saw it right before Snape would lay into him about this, that, or the other.
It was gratifying -more gratifying than Harry was willing to admit- to see Snape and Malfoy in a 'sort of' tiff about something. A savage pleasure that came from years of watching Snape favor Malfoy and despise him, even if he, Harry, had done absolutely nothing to be put at fault. With the exception of last year, all other loath-Snape related things were done merely in self-defence.
"Time dwindles," Snape was saying, that rogue muscle in his jaw still twitching, "Such a shame it would be for you to start out the year with failing grades."
Malfoy's hands tightened into fists on the arms of his chair, but he said nothing.
Is this how Slytherins argue? Harry wondered. A few strangled comments and tensed muscles? Would this be labeled as discretion or bottling things up?
Harry didn't have any more time to wonder though, because green flames had erupted in the fireplace, emitting Healer Beesely, Healer Hemmingway, and Dumbledore, one after the other.
He sighed as he stood, barely returning the smiles and greetings from the pair of healers and his headmaster. Once more, a curtain was erected between the two halves of the room, leaving Harry isolated from everyone but his healers.
What Harry now knew would be a permanent routine, took place. First, temperature check, second, blood test, third, a million questions about how he felt. It was tiring to say the least.
Apparently, it was imperative that he check his temperature everyday. In order for them to start the cancer treatments, both his blood and his temperature had to be perfect... Well, as far as figuring out what they were talking about went.
It was hard to understand mostly, but Dumbledore had sat next to him the entire time the healers went on about it. So had Snape, though that didn't matter. Harry trusted Dumbledore with his life, if he had any questions (which he most certainly did), he would ask Dumbledore.
0000
The matter of finding a 'suitable, discreet, and trustworthy' oncologist was left in Dumbledore's hands at the end of the check up.
It wasn't until then that Harry remembered. No one knew he had cancer... No one was supposed to know. The realization that he wouldn't be going back to school really struck him then. He'd known it all along really, but he just hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider it... what it would be like.
Now his mind, finally clear of drugs and Voldemort worries, had immediately whizzed to Ron and Hermione. Neither of whom had he written to since his birthday. He missed them. Even the constant bickering, if that made any sense.
Harry bumped his heels against the side of his bed, barely noticing the metal reverberating loudly each time he hit it.
When would he see Ron and Hermione again?
Somehow the two of them visiting him at Snape's didn't seem too probable. Neither did leaving the dungeons to see them, for that matter.
He kicked his leg out again, this time with a considerable amount of effort; his heel hit the metal bed frame harder... Hard enough to hurt... Hard enough to snap him out of his musing to see the healers, Dumbledore, Snape, and Malfoy all staring at him.
He flushed, averting his eyes and stilling his legs.
A weight settled beside him on the bed, and Harry looked up to see Healer Hemmingway smiling at him. He returned the smile, though his was more of a half-grimace.
"It can be a bit much, yeah?" She bumped him with her shoulder, rocking him to the side as she jerked her head towards Dumbledore, Snape, and Healer Beesely.
Harry shrugged, emitting a noncommittal grunt.
She smiled again, and Harry realised her eyes were almost as crystal blue as Dumbledore's...they sort of twinkled too, now that he thought about it.
"I spend a lot of time with kids who have cancer, most of them younger than you," she said, her tone nonchalant, "Some of them are about your age though, they all say the hardest part is learning all the medical terms, and keeping track of their temperatures..."
"I guess so," muttered Harry, not sure what else to say. Why was she telling him this stuff anyway? Was it a, 'Hey, I know it's hard, but all these other people have got it just as bad!' sort of thing?
"It's a good thing you've got the Headmaster, your aunt, and your Professor to look out for you, takes some of the responsibility off your shoulders."
What?
Snape...look out for him? It was laughable. The only looking out Snape did was on nightly patrols of the corridors, undoubtedly hoping to catch kissing couples or Harry under his dad's cloak.
Harry chuckled aloud at the very thought of it.
Healer Hemmingway frowned a little. Harry swallowed the last of his chortles.
"Miss- er, Healer-" he stammered, unsure of how to address her.
"Oh, Lord, you don't have to title me," she protested, "My first name's Margaret, but I prefer Maggie... Don't know what my parents were thinking when they saddled me with such a boring name." She sighed resignedly, mouth tipping to one side in a lopsided grin. A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's lips.
"Oh, you can call me Harry..." He fidgeted awkwardly, "Snape and I, we, -er- , don't get along very well.. so, I wouldn't exactly call this," he jerked his head in Snape's direction, "looking out for. He just does it because he has to."
Margaret's lips pursed as she thought about Harry's reply.
"Well, I'm not sure I agree, but you've still got your aunt, -Petunia, was it?- and the headmaster."
Her attempt to cheer him up worked, if only a little. Something about her voice, and the way she completely focused on Harry as she spoke, prompted him into speech.
"Yeah," replied Harry, "My Aunt Petunia and I, we never got along much either, but something changed this summer... I think Dumbledore might let her visit sometimes. Before term starts, that is."
"I'm sure she'd love that."
Harry glanced down at his toes, "Yeah..." he said slowly.
"Do you have any questions?" asked Margaret after a pause, "You must be the most quiet patient I've ever seen to."
Laughter coloured her words; Harry cracked a grin.
They sat in silence for awhile, Harry kicking his feet out in front of him whenever the feeling struck. It wasn't awkward. It was just... sitting.
Harry felt like he didn't need to say anything. Like conversation wasn't important when another person sat next to you.
He hadn't realised it, but somehow, Margaret had lifted his spirits (if only a bit), and he felt... not better. But maybe... less... less of whatever he'd been feeling before. If that made any sense.
Harry swung his feet, biting his bottom lip as he watched Snape, Dumbledore, and Healer Beesley conversing. Conversing about him. Deciding his fate, he mused, somewhat dramatically. A sense of detachment stole over him, and it was almost as though he didn't mind.
Didn't mind that he hardly had any say in where his life was going.
Thinking about it now, Harry thought that maybe, possibly... Letting this part of him... being sick, living with Malfoy and Snape, maybe it was beyond his control, but that didn't mean he couldn't have opinions.
That didn't mean he, Harry, couldn't construct his own terms of living.
A new resolve. That was it.
And the first thing he wanted to do, for what was surely the first time in his life, Harry wanted to visit his relatives. With the exception of a certain horrendously obese man, named Vernon Dursley.
"-for potions."
He caught the tail end of Margaret's sentence. "Sorry?" He looked up from his trainers, where his eyes had been fixed as his mind wandered, "I didn't catch that first bit." He shrugged apologetically.
Margaret waved it aside, "I was just saying how I had Professor Snape for a potions teacher. He isn't the nicest man, I'll admit, but I think there's something rather... mysterious, about him, don't you?"
Mysterious? Snape? The man positively reeked of secrecy and guile.
Again, Harry shrugged, "I dunno much about him... I guess. I mean, I found out from my aunt a couple days ago that she, my mum, and Snape used to live close to each other as kids... I've known Snape since I was eleven and he never said anything about it."
Why was he telling her this?
Perhaps it was because she was talking to him. To being the operating word. Margaret was talking to him. Not at him. And talking, not commanding or demanding.
So maybe that was why Harry was talking to her the way he'd normally talk to Ron and Hermione.
"Maybe your aunt knows more about it," said Margaret cheerily, then she bent closer to Harry and whispered, "What if there's some sort of grand scandal!"
Harry turned enough so that she could see his skeptical expression, "I doubt it," he told her, though he noted that it did nothing to dim the bright smile she now wore, "They probably just came to Hogwarts, got sorted into different houses, and decided not to speak to one another anymore."
That, and Snape had called his mother a mudblood.
But Harry saw no reason to tell her that... a comment like that would lead to questions about how he'd found out at all.
Margaret opened her mouth, no doubt to spout a ridiculously dramatised theory about Snape's background, but her words never passed her lips.
The sound of a throat clearing brought both Harry and Margaret out of their private conversation.
"If you are ready, Mr. Potter?"
Harry made a face at Snape's snide tone; Margaret let out a sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a cough. He grinned at her.
0000
Four walls. One floor. A gazillion books. A thousand flagstones. Whirling orbs of light. Ticking grandfather clock. Four fingers tapping against a table. Breaths coming out as sighs.
Time. Walls. Floor. Books. Stones. Light. Movement. Breathing.
Words.
Words... spinning through his head. Twirling around in his mind. Comforting him... Mocking him.
But he can't do anything. Not a damned thing.
And it was driving him absolutely mad.
A frustrated groan sounded from across the hall. Apparently, Draco wasn't the only one who was losing it.
He stood from his desk, crossing the floor to shut his door.
Potter's whinging wasn't something he felt like hearing at the moment... or ever.
Merlin.
As if Potter had anything to be whining about. So he was sick... and?
It wasn't as though he'd be sick forever. Draco didn't see why they had to go through all this trouble the bloody idiot in the first place. He glared at the potions text sitting on his desk. Snape was an idiot too. A damned fool. Didn't he see that the Dark Lord would murder all of those who weren't loyal to him?
Draco saw.
He was scared. It would be stupid to pretend that he wasn't. Not that he would let anyone else see his fear. Admitting it to himself was simply a step in realizing how deep in he was in all this war-mess.
And that was why he was here. Sitting at this desk. Pretending to be doing potions homework. When really -really- a missive he'd just finished writing weighed heavily in the pocket of his trousers, waiting for a chance to be sent.
The cold sweat that broke out on his forehead from time to time was ignored.
The shaking of his fingers as well.
After all, he didn't want to betray Severus. He had to. There was no other choice.
Telling the Dark Lord about Severus and Potter, and this whole mess, maybe... maybe that was his ticket back in. His father would be proud. Draco knew he would.
That was the important thing. Staying alive. And making his father proud.
His mother would be proud too. Would have been.
Draco abandoned his desk chair for his bed, trembling.
He felt sick with it sometimes. Not sometimes. All the time.
It played over and over in his head at night. Twisting and turning in his nightmares.
Her body, limp and lifeless.
A bright flash of green.
His own warbling scream.
Draco pulled the blankets up over his body, breathing harshly through his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying futilely to dispel the images.. the sounds... the memory.
His chest felt heavy, weighed down, compressed.
It choked him. The guilt. Chipped away at him. Piece by piece.
The letter in his pocket crinkled as he rolled onto his side, and curled his knees to his chest.
He could set it right.
He would set it right.
Then... when it was all done... then he wouldn't despise himself.
Right?
0000
Harry's hand was beginning to ache from all the letter writing.
Aunt Petunia, Remus, Hermione, and Ron.
It was still a little weird writing to Aunt Petunia, but there had been an empty space where Sirius should have been... having Aunt Petunia there to fill it made him hurt a tiny bit less.
Writing to Ron and Hermione involved more creative editing than anything else. They'd notice, of course... that he'd left things out. Or, Hermione would, and she'd tell Ron.
But Harry wasn't sure if he could tell them anything yet. Not about the cancer, and definitely not about living in the dungeons. That one he knew for certain.
Snape would kill him if he even thought about trying.
Snape would know he'd thought about it too. Harry scowled and dropped his quill, leaning back in his chair as he popped each of his knuckles, dutifully avoiding the abandoned essay to the left of his desk.
He'd just ask Hermione-
Oh... right.
He wasn't going back to school. At least, not for a while yet.
What was he going to do?
Banging about down here while Snape and Malfoy went up to ground level whenever they pleased.
Could it be any worse?
No. Well, yes.
Voldemort.
Harry sighed, pushing back from the desk in his room to stumble tiredly toward his bed. So sleepy... all the time. Just flat out tired, and a little feverish, and... itchy?
He scratched the spot on his stomach, just below his rib cage.
This happened before, he reminded himself, as he tried not to tear at his skin.
Maybe a shower would help.
He got up, perhaps a little too quickly because his head spun and he swayed on his feet. Maybe he'd just wet a cloth and put it on his stomach instead, otherwise he might fall down or something.
Harry returned to bed feeling marginally better, his stomach still itched, but it didn't feel like his skin was on fire anymore. Shifting, Harry punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape, settling down to sleep away the exhaustion he so often felt. Just as his eyes were closing, he heard it. A door creaking.
He sat bolt upright.
Harry retrieved his wand from where he'd placed it beneath his pillow and slid from his bed. He crept to the door, peeking out into the hall before he leaving his bedroom.
Harry froze, his back pressed to the cool flagstones and his wand clutched tightly in his sweaty hand.
Malfoy stood in front of the fireplace, sparkly green powder trickling from his fisted right hand.
Harry stepped into the sitting room, watching as Malfoy stepped into fireplace, fist raised and mouth open. His mouth moved before his brain could.
"Stop! What the hell are you doing, you idiot?"
Malfoy jumped, accidentally dropping the handful of floo powder. He went up in green flames, coughing and sputtering.
What happened next went so fast, it's all a blur in Harry's mind.
One second Malfoy was flooing to Merlin knew where, and the next, he's sprawled out on the rug in the sitting room, hacking like Mundungus Fletcher after he smokes his pipe.
Edging nearer to the sofa, Harry stands just off to the side of the armrest, staring down at Malfoy who is trying to cough up to soot he inhaled and get off the floor. He could help the prat, but that would put him at a disadvantage. Malfoy could easily overpower him if it came to a hand to hand scuffle. Harry hated to admit it, but he had lost a lot of weight, (and with it, muscle) since he got sick.
The wand in his hand won't be much use, either. Harry had already decided he'd only do magic if it was an emergency. If Malfoy tried to curse him, then yes, he would hex the little idiot to Kings Cross and back, (hopefully it wouldn't do him too much damage).
Malfoy had managed to sit up, still wheezing, his porcelain face smudged with ash. He glared up at Harry as though it were his fault the floo spat him out. Harry rolled his eyes and regarded Malfoy with the most scathing look he could muster.
"Trying to escape?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest.
Malfoy scowled, "It's none of your damned business where I go, or what I do, Potter." He stood, brushing off his trousers.
Harry tightened his grip on his wand, just in case.
"I'm pretty sure we aren't supposed to leave the dungeons, Malfoy," said Harry, narrowing his eyes, "Just where were you sneaking off to?"
Malfoy glares but doesn't answer, continuing to pat at his trousers as though Harry isn't worth answering.
Harry would have taken offence, but his eyes catch sight of a piece of parchment sticking out of Malfoy's pocket. Instead of staying back behind the couch, he rounds the piece of furniture, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Snape will know you tried to go somewhere," Harry commented idly, positioning himself on the cushion furthest from Malfoy who scoffed derisively.
"Going to tell on me, Potter?" Malfoy mocked, dropping onto the opposite end of the sofa with an air of nonchalance. "That's pretty pathetic, even for you."
The comment would have bothered Harry a lot more if he hadn't seen the fright in Malfoy's eye when Snape's name was mentioned; that, and the piece of parchment in Malfoy's pocket had wriggled free and dropped onto the sofa cushion.
It took all of Harry's self-control to keep his expression clear and his eyes locked on Malfoy's still-mocking grey ones.
Pushing himself into the corner between the armrest and the back cushions, Harry sneered back at the other boy. "I don't need to tell Snape you tried to leave, this stupid dungeon is probably plastered from floor to ceiling with wards. Besides," he added as an after-thought, "isn't it you that sucks up to the professors? I'm sure Umbridge misses you and your trusty pack of Slytherin cronies."
"Ah yes, wasn't I the one who caught you trying to run away? Knocked you flat on your damn face, didn't I?" Malfoy's hands curled into fists where they rested; one on the armrest, one on the back of the sofa. He looked like he wanted nothing better than to knock Harry flat on his face again.
"Fifth year must have been so upsetting for you," continued Malfoy. But something was different, Harry noticed, Malfoy didn't have the stupid, Yes, my head is shoved so far up my arse I'll never be able to pull it out, look. Harry's eyes narrowed, Malfoy sounded like he was about to drive a particular point straight to where it would hurt most.
"I mean, what with your godfather being murdered because of your own complete idio-"
Harry launched himself at Malfoy, drawing his wand and grasping blonde strands of hair in a fist simultaneously. Then several things happened in the same instant.
One second Harry was screaming obscenities right in Malfoy's shocked face- his wand pressed into the side of his throat-, and the next, he was being dragged by the arm off the other boy, off the sofa, and out of the room.
By none other than Snape himself.
To be continued...
End Notes:
So, I'm in Florida spending copious amounts of time in The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I've had Butterbeers and listened to Moaning Myrtle in a lavatory outside the castle. I just, wow, so amazing. So incredible. Just- wow.
Snape's Expectations, and an Appointment I by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
I am so sorry for the wait, please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own J. K. Rowling's work. Also, the information about Harry's cancer comes from several different websites.
Snape shoved him into a chair at the table in the kitchen, his face contorted in a furious scowl.
Harry slouched away from him as much as he could. Snape towered over him for a moment, seeming to contemplate internally whether he wanted to kill Harry before he tore into him or after.
Instead, Snape straightened, turned away, and whooshed from the room. Harry expelled a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. His heart had barely returned to its normal rate before Snape made a second appearance, this time pushing Malfoy in front of him with a hand between his shoulder blades.
When Malfoy was pointed towards a chair on the opposite table, Harry couldn't help but feel that Snape had been much gentler with the shoving on Malfoy's side than he'd been on his.
The thought made him slouch even further into his chair, glaring over at Malfoy, who was pointedly ignoring the heat that surely poured from Harry's eyes.
"Sit up straight, Potter," barked Snape, who had remained standing.
Harry, at a painstakingly slow pace, sat up.
An ominous silence fell over the kitchen.
Harry glowered at Malfoy, Malfoy fixed his eyes on the stone wall behind Harry, and Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.
A minute passed; perhaps two, before Snape lowered his hand and spoke.
"If I ever witness such complete and utter idiocy in my home again, the Dark Lord will find himself with the both of you before the day is out."
Harry snapped his head to the side to stare at Snape, wide-eyed.
He wouldn't...
But the look on Snape's face said otherwise.
Harry straightened even more in his chair, his lips sealed together. It was no use attempting to explain, anyway, so he'd rather not take chances. Not when he had to stay in Snape's home for whomever knew how long.
Malfoy, on the other hand, (was an arrogant, cowardly, snivelling bastard) did not have the same thought process.
"You wouldn't," he said with a scoff that nearly had Harry groaning, "Dumbledore wouldn't let you dump his precious Potter anywhere that was remotely dangerous, and you promised my mother-"
"That I'd take certain measures to ensure your safety?" Snape arched an eyebrow, his dark eyes glittering; greasy hair sliding forward as he leaned closer.
0000
Draco stiffened his back. He refused to be intimidated by Severus Snape. A man who had lied to him for the most of his life. A man, whom, if Draco admitted, had been his idol for a few years too many.
A liar. A traitor. Snape worked for Dumbledore.
Snape, who had sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord during his first rise. How long had Snape been on the Headmaster's side, and -consequently- Potter's side?
It turned Draco's world on its axis and made him sick to his stomach. But somehow, at the same time, Draco couldn't help but think... if Snape had been working for Dumbledore this entire time, why hadn't he just asked the Headmaster to put Draco's family in hiding in the first place?
Snape had known their position with the Dark Lord after he'd come back. His mother had asked Snape for help; why hadn't he helped?
She was dead. He could have saved her. Severus Snape could have saved his mother.
If he'd just... done something.
Done what?
Draco shut the train of thought down before it could really get going. Snape was to blame and that was that. Not Draco, not his father. Snape. And Potter.
Heat rose in Draco's cheeks with the anger he felt just thinking about it.
"Consider this, Mr. Malfoy, my actions, as per my promise to your mother, are in interest of your safety. Meaning, I set rules, and you-"
Severus paused to glare at Potter as well.
"Are to follow all of them, with explicit care, or otherwise risk your safety."
And because Draco really did not know when to keep his mouth closed, he couldn't help but interject, "You haven't given us any rules."
Potter groaned, and Draco glanced away from Severus long enough to narrow his eyes at him.
"Which is exactly the reason we are sitting here."
Severus drew his wand from his pocket and waved it wordlessly; a quill and sheet of parchment appeared in front of both Potter and himself.
0000
Harry stared at his parchment, quill already in hand, "We aren't writing lines, are we?"
The cuts on the back of his hand tingled; he checked that the quill wasn't black. It's greenish...but there's no ink pot. Harry swallowed and chanced a glance at Malfoy, who didn't look apprehensive at all. But then, Harry was the one who spent a majority of the last year scraping words into his skin.
"Listen carefully - you are to write every single rule I tell you, and follow them."
Harry held in a heavy sigh; he was starting to feel an awful lot like he was back at the Dursley's before Aunt Petunia decided he was worth liking. But really, he was staying with Snape, did he expect anything different? Maybe the fact that he was in the Wizarding World was throwing him off. Hogwarts was supposed to be an escape. Now it was like some twisted, alternate, living with the Dursleys universe.
Only worse because Malfoy wasn't afraid of Harry's wand.
"First: there will be absolutely no, and I mean no, brawling of any kind. Magical or otherwise." Snape pinned Harry with a pointed look, likely because out of the two of them, he was the more obvious culprit for throwing a punch.
"Second: if I catch a single one of you attempting to leave these quarters without my express permission with or without a chaperone, you will find yourselves coming straight back here every afternoon after your classes are through."
Malfoy and Harry spoke at the same time.
"Hang on, what do you mean after our classes?"
"We'll still be here during the school year?"
Completely without his permission, Harry's eyes snap to Malfoy's and they exchanged a horrified look before remembering just who the other person is. Harry looked up again to stare at Snape, mouth agape.
He clamped his jaw shut when Snape rolled his eyes.
"Mr. Potter, if you have not figured out already that this is where you will be staying for an indeterminable amount of time, then you are indeed as dense as I have always believed you to be. The same for you, Draco."
Harry's mouth is dropped open again and Malfoy stammered helplessly beside him as Snape gave each of them irate looks.
"You can't be serious," stated Harry, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
He wasn't staying with Snape the entire school year. He just wasn't.
Snape's eyes rolled again, "Where did you believe you'd be staying, in the Gryffindor Tower?" he asked, tone mocking as though the idea was ludicrous.
Harry spluttered, "Y-yeah!"
"This subject is not up for discussion and is therefore a waste of my valuable time. Cease your gaping, Potter, and write down what I say."
And just like that, Harry was stuck sitting at a table in the dungeons with two of his least favourite people copying down the third rule he was given;
(You will sit at this table for all three of you meals and behave appropriately. Whether or not you spend time around each other otherwise, I do not care. Stay in your rooms and do homework all day if you can't interact without turning into heathens.)
Then they were given rules that applied to each of them separately.
"Potter, if you so much as cast a single spell, I will drag you up to the hospital wing and leave you in your room there to be poked and prodded by healers for a week!"
"If I find you trying to escape these quarters to send a missive to anyone I have not previously given you permission to write to, all of your letter will be screened by the headmaster, Draco."
Harry's eyes widened; how had Snape known?
Just how many spells were actively tracking them?
"If either of you would like to correspond with friends or relations, you are to give them to me and I will deliver them myself."
Harry, who had been scribbling at the edge of his parchment, snapped his head up, "How're we to know you haven't read them?" he protested.
Snape raised a thin eyebrow, "You shouldn't be writing anything that will cause fault if someone else were to read it."
Harry glared, "Maybe I just don't want you reading all of my letters."
"Then I suppose you will have to be careful of what you write."
This shite was Malfoy's fault. Whatever it was he'd tried to send had made Snape wary... and the whole situation worse.
He switched his glare to the boy sitting across from him.
It would be so easy to kick him beneath the table...
"Now, get up, dinner is in an hour, and I'd rather not lay eyes on either of you until then." Snape pushed away from the table.
Harry scraped his chair loudly as he got up and left the kitchen, stalking straight down the hall and into his room without looking back.
Hey Ron,
I'm stuck at Hogwarts for now. It's really weird when it's this empty. Listen, when you and Hermione get here, I have to tell you some stuff.
Things are complicated, but let Hermione know what I said.
I'll see you guys soon.
-Harry
0000
Harry was beginning to wonder if every day would be awkward and strange as he scraped the last of his stew from his plate, completely ignoring the irate looks Malfoy sent him because of the obnoxious noises. Served the rat bastard right.
"Stop that at once," Snape snapped, after Harry's spoon screeched particularly loud.
Malfoy smirked. Harry kicked his shin beneath the table.
"You have your first appointment at 10 o' clock tomorrow morning with the oncologist the Headmaster found, Mr. Potter," Snape said, the minute Harry laid down his spoon.
Draco snorted.
"Got something you want to say, Malfoy," asked Harry, glaring across the table at him. "Well? Spit it out."
Draco took his time wiping his mouth on his napkin, "That is the most ridiculous name for a medi-wizard I have ever heard. Perhaps if they started acting like respectable wizards and stopped dabbling in muggle-"
Harry stood, shoving his chair away with his legs, "What's it matter what their bloody name is, you prick!" He didn't know why what Malfoy said bothered him so much, but maybe he was just irritated with the idiot all together.
Harry snatched his dishes from the table, leaving Snape with two fingers pressed to the skin between his eyebrows, and Malfoy making his most superior expressions. He set his dishes on the counter by the sink, back tense with annoyance at Malfoy being a prat, Snape for not telling Malfoy to shut up so he could finish talking to Harry, and Dumbledore for putting him there in the first place.
With Snape and Mafloy?
Dumbledore has lost one marble too many, thought Harry, as he washed his plate and utensils, that's what Ron would say. Harry stacked his dishes again, unsure of whether he should find a tea towel and dry them, or if he should continue his storm out.
"Leave them there, Mr. Potter. Your appointment is at 9 o'clock in the morning. I will not wake you, be ready on time."
Harry rolled his eyes, as if he had trouble waking up in the morning at horribly early hours.
"Yes, sir," he muttered, and left the kitchen.
0000
"It is in poor taste, Draco, for you to upset Mr. Potter," began Severus, fixing Draco with a calculating stare.
Draco stared pointedly at his plate, pretending to be actually interested in the remaining food on it. "I don't care what is in 'poor taste' when it comes to Potter," he bit out, "And I don't see why I should listen to anything you have to say about it."
He shouldn't have said that last bit, Draco knew, but Severus had been far worse to Potter than he had ever been. Well, maybe not worse, they at least treated the stupid Gryffindor with equal amounts of dislike.
And it wasn't like Potter was helpless, he gave as good as he got.
"It is in poor taste, you ridiculous child, because that boy is the only chance you have at surviving the Dark Lord's wrath," Snape replied scornfully.
Draco looked up from his plate, refusing to be cowed, "You think Potter actually has any sort of chance against the Dark Lord?" he asked incredulously.
"Whether I think that or not has no bearing on your situation." Severus leveled a look at him that Draco wasn't sure what to think of. "At this time, you are in perhaps Mr. Potter is, the Dark Lord believes you to be a liability that your mother was."
Draco bit the inside of his cheek, "But my father-"
"Is not so lucky to be alive. He has been dishonoured within the death eater ranks, he has been spared only to live in shame and embarrassment, forced to do the Dark Lord's will for fear of worse punishments."
Draco paled, "Why can't he go into hiding as well? Can't that old coot hide houses and such?"
Severus stood, clearing his dishes from the table, Draco wondered why the man didn't just call a house elf to do it.
"It is not so easy to hide a person from the Dark Lord," he said quietly from where he stood by the counter, "Especially if that person is not so willing."
Draco got up as well, leaving his plate on the table though. He was not about to behave as though Hogwarts didn't have an entire army of house elves begging to clean up after them. "My father isn't stupid, he'd hide if I asked him."
Severus scoffed, "If he did not listen to your mother's pleas, he most certainly will not listen to yours. I know Lucius Malfoy better even than you, Draco, don't tell me what he will and will not do."
Draco clenched his jaw, "I think I know my own father, Professor."
But the words sounded weak even to his own ears. After all, he'd never thought his father would strike either of them, but Draco remembered all too clearly the bruising on his mother's cheek.
Had that been the first time?
Severus moved back and forth between the table and the sink, leaving Draco standing beside his chair, frozen in thought.
"Your father is a man capable of many things, Draco, but he has always tried to do right by you. Fear can change even the bravest of men."
Severus' hand landed on his shoulder for a moment, then he was gone.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Author's Note: I am so, so, so sorry this took so long. Honestly, I have no excuses besides writing trouble and real life business. I'd like to give a special thanks to my wonderful beta, who has stuck with me throughout my lackadaisical writing habits, and to one of this story's followers, Emily, who's reviews spurred me into action.
I'd also like to thank everyone else who pm'ed me and reviewed this story, and I hope you can forgive me for the horrible delay.
Love, Marie
Snape's Expectations, and an Appointment II by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The day of Harry's appointment arrived with congestion and a new itching spot on his stomach. Bad enough Harry was only able to roll out of bed after Snape's third round of knocking, now he had to deal with watery eyes, sneezing, and coughing too.
The hot shower he'd had did nothing to help, either.
Harry sat, dressed and cleaned, if a little groggy, on Snape's couch, a little nervous and unsure of what to expect. Malfoy and Snape were having breakfast in the kitchen, a meal he'd had to forgo for fear he'd be sick over the toilet later.
Snape had offered to make plain oatmeal, but Harry had declined. He didn't want to risk any food right now.
Today just wasn't a very good day.
Harry's stomach roiled unpleasantly, and he leaned sideways to lie on the armrest. He wondered if he could get muggle medicine somehow. Could the oncologist get him a perscription? Would Snape actually know how to pick it up? To be fair, Harry had only ever gone to a pharmacist twice, he wasn't exactly sure how it all worked either.
And that had been because Mrs. Figg couldn't keep him when Aunt Petunia was running errands.
Harry shook the questions from his head, and closed his eyes, he couldn't do anything about it now anyway. He had another twenty minutes before his appointment, surely he could sleep for fifteen of them. Perhaps he could squelch the nausea, the floo wasn't an ideal when one felt the need to vomit.
Harry must have dozed some, because he woke to Snape shaking him awake by his shoulder.
"Up, Potter, of you'll be late."
Harry nodded to show that he'd heard, still feeling somewhat nauseated, but well enough to take the floo. He rolled himself off the sofa, yawning widely and stretching, "D'you know if Dumbledore will be there?" he asked, through his yawn. He caught Snape's look of annoyance at his lack of manners.
"The Headmaster has informed me that he will not be in attendance, likely due to matters at the Ministry."
Harry shuffled over to the fireplace, ducking inside cautiously, "The Ministry?" he inquired, waiting for Snape to step in as well with the pinch of powder.
Snape squeezed in beside him, "The new minister is curious of your whereabouts," he answered, then he threw down the floo powder and said, "Harry's ward, Hospital Wing."
Letting his mouth fall open in surprise was perhaps not the best idea, Harry thought, as the spinning came to a stop.
He'd nearly fallen flat on his face, coughing and spluttering because of the inhaled soot and the force of their stop, but Snape's arm had shot out just in time to loop around his chest and reel him back in.
"S-sorry," Harry spluttered, his vocal cords overtaken by his coughing fit.
Snape retracted his arm in favor of grabbing Harry's shoulders and steering him out of the fireplace and to the bed where he left Harry, his arm across his mouth, to sit down.
Harry's coughing sputtered to a stop, his chest searing from the effort, and his throat dry.
"Ugh," groaned Harry, flopping backwards on the bed, "This is awful."
"Indeed," Snape affirmed, and a glass of water appeared above him, floating over his nose. "Drink all of it, your aunt will be here in a few minutes, along with your oncologist. I must, however, depart, I'd rather Draco not be alone in my quarters at this time."
Harry sat up, certain he'd misheard. "Aunt Petunia's coming here again? But I thought you said Dumbledore wouldn't be here?"
Snape shook his head as though a particularly irritating bug was bothering him, "Professor Dumbledore is not the only wizard capable of fetching you aunt, Mr. Potter. I must go, see that you do as you're told."
Then he left.
Bemused, Harry finished his water, leaving his cup on the bedside table and scooting further up the bed to slip beneath the sheets.
He wondered if someone from the Order would be with his aunt, or maybe Remus had brought her. Yeah, that made sense.
Not a minute later, the floo flared again, and Aunt Petunia, wearing the yellow dress sprinkled with little white flowers that she usually wore when they were having Uncle Vernon's work-mates over, stumbled out, Nymphadora Tonks right beside her.
Aunt Petunia looked bedraggled and irate, likely because of the floo experience, but more probable was Tonk's appearance today was particularly spectacular.
"Wotcher, Harry!" chirped Tonks brightly, moving to exit the fireplace, but tripping on the small ledge and falling face first onto the cobblestones. Luckily, she caught herself expertly on her hands, no doubt used to such occurrences.
Harry laughed, shuffling out of the bed to help her up. Tonks grinned at him once she was standing, shaking out her magenta, auror robes and patting down her hair. It was bright green today and shoulder length.
"Never got the hang of those bloody things, damned nuisance," she complained, "Why can't they just make 'em flat?" She shook her head, dispelling the fall from her mind. "Anyway, let me look at you." She grasped Harry's shoulders, turning him left and right.
"Gettin' a bit skinny, eh? Better hope Molly doesn't see you, she'll shove you full of food like she did me last time I was 'round there's." Tonks yanked Harry into a hug before he could respond, "I hope you'll get better soon, kid," she murmured into his ear.
Harry nodded against her shoulder.
Tonks pulled back, sniffing and blinking, "Look at me, I'm turning into some soppy, pregnant woman! Anyway, I brought your aunt like Dumbledore asked, and I'll be back in a few hours to pick her up."
Aunt Petunia, who had been standing to the side, out of the way of danger when Tonks fell, cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt primly. "Yes, thank you," she said stiffly, trying to appear unruffled. But Harry could tell by her expression that Aunt Petunia was out of her depth and just barely holding it together.
There was an awkward moment, during which Harry wasn't sure if he should go over and hug her, or stay by Tonks, but Aunt Petunia crossed the small amount of space between them and put her rail-thin arms around him in a short, albeit comforting hug.
"Hello, Harry," she said finally, giving him a look over herself. Harry cleared his throat self-consciously, less than pleased with all the scrutiny.
"Hi, um, thanks for coming," he said, shrugging a shoulder.
Tonks clapped him on the back, "Well, looks like you're all set!" she exclaimed, smiling at both of them, she stepped back into the fireplace, gave Aunt Petunia a less than friendly once-over as she dug in her pocket, then disappeared in a flash of green flames.
Aunt Petunia's stiff posture deflated the moment Tonks was gone. "Oh, what an awful way to travel, so dirty! I thought I'd be sick, what with all the spinning."
Harry laughed, "I know, it's not my favorite either." He moved passed her to sit on the bed. Aunt Petunia pulled up a chair to sit beside him.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, after a moment's pause. Harry marveled at how normal this all felt.
"Um, it sort of depends on the day, I guess," he said, scratching the back of his head as he thought, "This morning was a bit rough, but I was fine yesterday." He shrugged, "I'm always tired though, that never changes."
Aunt Petunia nodded, crossing one leg over the other neatly, "Your mother was often tired. She told me once it was like having a cold."
Harry blinked at the unprompted mention of his mother, that would take some getting used to.
"It is. Sort of like a cold or a fever. Would you happen to know the name of the doctor that's supposed to come here today?" Harry wondered, it was likely a long shot, but Dumbledore or Tonks might have said something to her.
"No, I was only told that he was like Lily."
The confusion must have shown on Harry's face, for Aunt Petunia amended her words, "In that he has no magical family members. I can't remember what your professor called it. Something with an M."
Oh, "Muggleborn?"
"Yes, that's it." Aunt Petunia nodded, "Shouldn't he be here by now? It's almost," she checked her wrist watch, "Ten past-"
A roar from the floo interrupted her, and out stepped the most doddery old man Harry had ever seen.
"I say, sorry old chap, getting away from the office can be a challenge at times, especially with those spell-confused, addle-pated, medi-wizards they let into Mungo's these days, don't know what-"
Harry watched as the man pat soot from his clothes, going on about why he was late. The man wore a white lab coat over slacks and an argyle jumper, his hair was pearly white and sticking straight up all around his head, but his shoes were really what caught Harry's attention. They were red. Not reddish-brown, not maroon. Bright red. Like the red that Aunt Marge thought made her lips look good.
Satisfied with his appearance, the old man looked up from his clothes, his eyes large and sparkling blue behind his spectacles.
"Er, hello?" said Harry, unsure of how he should act. He tried to catch Aunt Petunia's eye, but she was standing and staring at the doctor.
Harry almost groaned. She wouldn't say anything insulting to his face, would she?
"I'm Harry's aunt, Petunia, you must be his oncologist?"
"Ahem, yes, Petunia?" He stuck his hand out to shake hers, "John's the name, John Peters, I'm one of the few muggle-versed medi-wizards over at St. Mungo's, don't know if Albus told you already, but I'll be seeing your nephew until he's in tip top shape again!"
Harry pushed himself off the bed, and stood beside Aunt Petunia, "I'm Harry," he said, hoping that the doctor, medi-wizard, whatever he was supposed to call him, wouldn't make a fuss over his scar.
"Harry! So sorry I'm late, we'll get right down to business, you can call me Doctor or John, none of this Mister, or medi-wizard, or sir nonsense. I'm old enough as it is! I'll just get my paperwork, and we'll take a look at your case together, eh?"
Dr. John pulled his wand and what appeared to be a small object from his pocket, which he set on the desk in the corner. With a quick wave, the object was enlarged briefcase, another, and the desk was in the middle of the room, one chair on the doctor's side, and two on Harry's.
"Sit down, sit down, I'll just take a moment to organize, mother always told me to keep my stuff clean as a child. Never listened, not a whit, shoulda known it'd come back and haunt me." Dr. John kept up a commentary as he organized small stacks of papers on the desk, before sliding his bag to the floor. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he looked at Harry, who sat biting his lip, not altogether certain about what was done in these types of situations.
Dr. John folded his fingers together on top of the desk, "Now, Harry, shall I just give you an overview on what these papers say? Or would you like to go through them bit by bit. I have no qualm with either, but I believe that all the scientific mumbo-jumbo will do nothing good for you. For later reference, you may, of course, have your own copies, but for today, what would you like?"
Harry considered the options carefully, he could feel Aunt Petunia watching him. The whole situation was strange, he didn't know what was right or wrong, and he wasn't sure if Aunt Petunia did either. Did adults just automatically know what to do?
But this was a decision he should make for himself, usually know one was there to look to for advice anyway. "Erm, just an overview, I think."
"Excellent!" Dr. John pulled in his chair more, fiddling with his papers. "Well then, it says here in your test results that you have stage IIB Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Now, there are a few different types, but yours in particular is called Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma."
Harry tried to look like he wasn't a complete dunderhead, and that he knew what at least some of it meant.
The doctor, seemingly sensing his struggle, leaned forward a little, "Now Harry, I understand you are new to this subject, and that you haven't had very much time to do any studying of your own, how about I just walk you through what all this means?"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, "Yeah, sure."
Dr. John smiled kindly, "First, Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma is a cancer of the lymphatic system, which is the part of the body's immune system, and helps us fight off diseases. Now, lymph fluid flows through your lymph nodes and filters out anything harmful, and the lymph fluid contains lymphocytes which grow in your bone marrow, which have two types; B-cells and T-cells. Are you following me, Harry? Feel free to ask me any questions or interrupt me, I do tend to babble."
"No, I got it, yeah. Thanks," Harry cleared his throat, he could almost hear Hermione telling him to take notes.
Nodding, Dr. John continued, "Alright, well, Lymphoma is when the B or T-cells grow in an uncontrolled way. Your cancer in particular, Harry, has no known cause, though it is slightly more common in men than in women, it is also an aggressive cancer."
Aunt Petunia held up a hand to pause the doctor's words, "Aggressive? What does that mean?" She'd asked the question before Harry could, but he nodded to show he meant to ask as well.
"Don't be frightened by the terminology, aggressive means that the cancer is fast growing, and that we need to work quickly to treat it."
Harry frowned, "So, to treat it, what do we do?"
Shuffling through papers, the doctor answered, "Ah, there are several different treatments, but the best and most effective for Diffuse B-cell is Chemotherapy."
"Chemotherapy?" Repeated Aunt Petunia, "I do believe that's the treatment Lily received. If I heard right. I was rather young at the time."
Harry looked between her and Dr. John, "Is it like, a medicine or something?"
Dr. John pulled a sheet of paper from the stack he'd been searching through, "More like or something, chemotherapy, or 'chemo' is the use of anti-cancer drugs that destroy cancer cells. It is also the main treatment for Large B-cell Lymphoma. For four to six months, a certain regimen of drugs will be inserted through a vein intravenously."
Through the port in his chest then, Harry realised. He wouldn't have to be stuck with pins multiple times, thank Merlin for small mercies. "Okay, when do we start?"
Dr. John pulled a calendar from beneath one stack of papers, "Let's see, today is August, what is it? Ah, yes, 23rd. A week from today, we'll have a team of nurses come in and set up here for you, I'll be here of course, to talk you through the process and what each drug does." He reached down beside his chair for his briefcase, "Just let me get you a- Ah! Here we are."
He passed Harry a pamphlet, "That there has everything you need to know about chemotherapy, give it a read, and when I see you next week, you can ask me all the questions you like."
Aunt Petunia leaned over to look at the pamphlet as well, so Harry passed it to her, he'd read it later when he was by himself.
Dr. John let out a sigh, "I'm afraid I must take my leave, because I'm due back at the hospital." He stood, "Do take care, Harry, and Petunia, you as well. Oh, and before I forget, a guardian should be present at your next meeting, and I am told you have two, so either will do. What a cheery rhyme!" the doctor chuckled to himself as he stepped into the fireplace. "Have a wonderful day!"
Harry sat back in his chair, completely overwhelmed.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Again, I am so sorry this took so long. Please forgive me. Feel free to shoot me a message if you have any questions about chapter updates or story plot lines. You may also contact me through tumblr at: marielewis.tumblr.com
A Bit Like Trust by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
You can go to my twitter or tumblr for updates and teasers!
marielewis.tumblr.com
@MarieLewis_4
Harry wiped his hands over his face roughly, "This is..." he shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He leaned forward until his elbows were on top of the desk, the pressure from his hands causing bursts of light behind his eyelids.
He needed... he needed to figure this out. Sort through it all and get himself together.
Somehow.
A tentative hand settled between his shoulder blades, fingertips moving lightly back and forth over his t-shirt. "I will ask that Tonks woman if I can come back for your next appointment." Aunt Petunia rubbed from side to side; Harry swayed slightly with the movement.
He didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't Tonks, but Dumbledore who would have to send for her. So instead, he nodded, lifting up his head and resting his chin in his upturned palm. "Thanks," he muttered.
Aunt Petunia's free hand closed around his, and she scooted closer to him. The hand on his back circled around his shoulders as she hugged him.
Harry froze up, then relaxed, blowing out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"You'll be alright," she said, rocking him a little.
A vague memory of watching Aunt Petunia do the very same thing to Dudley when they were children came to mind, but Harry squelched it. Maybe he was too quick to let everything go... But he'd seen the animosity between Snape and Sirius and Remus. He couldn't live his life in bitterness.
He'd take what he could get.
Voldemort was enough to be bitter about.
Harry clenched his teeth. No more, he told himself. No more carrying around hatred and anger. Not after the mess he'd gotten into last year. Maybe if he hadn't been so upset and angry all the time, maybe he would have listened to Hermione about going to the Ministry.
Somewhere in his mind, he knew that part of it had been Voldemort's influence through his scar, but all the yelling and frustration... That was all him.
Aunt Petunia released him fully, "Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?" she scraped her chair back, standing up and prompting him into doing so as well.
Harry stretched his hands towards the ceiling, yawning, when wasn't he tired? "Not really," he deflected. Truthfully, he wasn't sure when he'd see her again, and he'd really like to carry on talking to her. Harry let her chivvy him into the bed and fuss over the sheets.
"Aunt Petunia," he asked, when she finally sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.
Her hands twisted in her lap anxiously, "Yes?"
Tension built in Harry's stomach, maybe he shouldn't ask her, but... "Why d'you- did you hate, um," he bit his lip, "magic, so much."
Aunt Petunia's eyelids fluttered; her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Harry looked away from her, torn between shame and curiosity for her answer. "You don't have to answer..." he said, a mite reluctantly. "Not right now," he added, a moment later. An idea struck him, "You can write to me about it, maybe?"
He placed a hand over hers, stilling the wringing motions.
Aunt Petunia nodded silently, but she wouldn't meet his eye.
Damn, Harry cursed himself, had he ruined today's progress?
He searched for a way to get her talking again. Of course, he suppressed a victorious smile, and asked, "How's Dudley?"
The bed shifted as Aunt Petunia jolted in surprise, "Oh he's fine. He's fine. Misses Privet Drive, I suppose." She angled her body toward him, "I think he misses you, actually, he asked me how you were getting on."
Harry just barely suppressed a snort, "Erm, alright well," he paused awkwardly, "tell him I said hullo, and that I'm fine as well."
A lie, but oh well. He doubted Dudley would understand any of this medical jargon anyway. Harry could barely understand himself.
"I will." Aunt Petunia checked the watch on her wrist, "Nearly noon," she commented, "Is- How is your- that is to say-"
Harry laughed, not accustomed to Aunt Petunia being flustered over saying something to him, "Just spit it out," he advised.
Aunt Petunia's cheeks pinked, "I meant to ask how staying with your," she cleared her throat delicately, "professor is."
It took Harry a moment to realise who she was talking about, "You mean Snape?" he blurted.
Her lips twisted and her expression portrayed something akin to disgust, "Yes, him."
Harry grinned. There was something funny and strangely comforting about Aunt Petunia disliking Snape. "He's alright. A bit stiff, but that's normal for him."
Aunt Petunia sniffed haughtily, "He always was rather snooty."
The irony was not lost on Harry, who let out a bark of laughter. Perhaps Snape and his aunt had more in common than they realised. "He feeds me and everything, so I guess staying with him is fine for now." Something occurred to Harry, and he scowled as he remembered.
"What is it?" Aunt Petunia brushed her fingers over his.
Harry made a face, "I just remembered I have to stay with him all through the school year until I'm better. Malfoy, the bloke I told you about?"
Aunt Petunia nodded, "In your letter. The one you don't get on with?"
"Yeah, him," Harry confirmed, "He has to stay too." He made a face at her.
"Is he really so awful?" she inquired, "Perhaps he's acting out because of what happened with his mother."
The derisive snort he let out voiced his opinions on that presumption. "Believe me, Malfoy being a plonker isn't a new habit. He's always been a right git to me."
Probably sensing Harry's feelings on the subject Aunt Petunia tried to be reassuring, "Well," she began bracingly, "You say school is to begin soon, won't that mean your, ah, friends might visit?"
Harry shifted on the bed to support his upper body on his elbows, "I do have friends, Aunt Petunia," he said wryly, aware that she didn't know because -until recently- she hadn't cared. "Their names are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They're my best friends."
Aunt Petunia nodded, her cheeks pink, "Of course," she murmured. "I didn't mean to-"
Harry dropped back to his pillows, "Don't worry about it," he said, patting her hand, "I know."
She smiled at him. A small smile, but a real one.
0000
Two days.
August 30th was the day after the next.
Two days and Harry was a basket case of nerves and scientific terms.
He'd tried distracting himself with homework. For the first time since he'd started Hogwarts, he'd finished all his summer homework before summer holidays were over. Hermione would have been proud.
Harry had even let Snape look over them. Although... it was less him allowing Snape, and more Snape demanding he hand them over.
Two long days.
Breakfast on the morning of August 29th was tense. At least on Harry's part. Malfoy, who had taken to sulking in his room, had been dragged out by Snape and forcibly shoved into a chair. He now sat twirling his spoon around in his oatmeal, his blonde hair combed to perfection.
Harry bounced his leg beneath the table, the motion fast and nervous. His hands shook as he ate his toast. Plain, no butter. His stomach was trickier than ever with anxiety curled up in it.
Snape flipped through a copy of the Prophet and sipped on his tea, seemingly unconcerned by the adolescents at his table. He did, however, send Malfoy a warning look when the boy had tried to get up.
After another moment or two of reading, Snape folded his paper and set it beside his plate. Harry had already abandoned the remains of his toast, and Malfoy had eaten enough for a dying rat.
Harry moved to rise, but Snape clears his throat pointedly.
"I received an owl from your oncologist this morning," Snape said, "Because of the unusual condition of your case, I must venture into muggle London and visit an apothecary there."
Harry frowned, he didn't have any pounds on him. The only way to get them would be to visit Gringotts first, but Harry got the impression he wasn't to be out in public for the sake of his 'safety'.
"However, I am reluctant to leave the both of you in my home unattended."
Malfoy's cheeks turned pink, Harry laughed. Then promptly shut up because Snape was glaring at him too.
"I think I can manage to control myself, professor." said Harry, rolling his eyes, "Can't make any promises for that plonker, though." He jerked his head toward Malfoy who straightened up in his seat, lips pressed together so tightly they were white.
"I was the one pinned to the couch, you muggle-bred heathen!" hissed Malfoy, leaning across the table in what he probably thought to be a menacing gesture.
Harry opened his mouth to hiss something scathing right back, but Snape cut him off.
"I grow weary of this squabbling, gentlemen." Snape said irately. "Either shut up and learn to live in the same space without the constant histrionics, or I will find something to keep you both so busy your mouths will never wish to open again.
Malfoy spluttered, but another look from Snape had him slumping in his chair with a mutinous expression.
"Now," began Snape, as though he hadn't been interrupted, "To the matter at hand. You may not have realised, but I am frequently in the company of the Dark Lord. Meaning, in order for me to continue my post as spy, I must have my entire mind focused on whatever task I am entrusted with."
Harry leaned his chin on his hand, staring intently at Snape; Where on earth was he going with this?
Snape leveled them both with a look, "I simply cannot be worrying about hearth and home when occluding without revealing that I am occluding while listening to the Dark Lord's narcissistic, maniacal speeches simultaneously. Not to mention my whole purpose is to catch information he may or may not let slip." Snape leaned forward, the end of his speech more snapped than said.
Leaning back hastily, Harry began to realise that perhaps Snape's constant need for order and obedience was more due to stress than an intense hatred for everyone and everything.
"The only way this arrangement will work, gentlemen, is if I can trust you to behave yourselves as I have instructed."
Harry looked across the table at Malfoy, whose usually pale cheeks had flushed pink in what Harry thought to be embarrassment.
Snape sighed wearily, "I realise this will be difficult for all involved," he said, somewhat resigned, "There simply is no other option. We must make the best of our situation."
Harry looked down. This was a side of Snape he'd never knew existed. An understanding... and practically reasonable side.
"Okay," said Harry before his brain could filter in something less compliant sounding.
Malfoy gave a jerky nod as well.
However, it was what remained unspoken that made a difference.
A sort of shift in the atmosphere. A shift that meant, however begrudging, trust.
0000
"I'm-" Draco swallowed. Apologizing... or even merely regretting his actions, was something uncomfortably foreign to him.
Severus pretended not to hear Draco's falter, and merely continued his work on a bubbling potion.
Draco straightened his spine, "I apologize, for my behavior of late. I don't know what came over me."
Severus looked him in the eye, briefly, before standing. "Watch after this potion, Draco, I must run an errand that cannot wait and this must simmer for another 20 minutes."
Draco sighed in relief, only to nearly choke on his spit when his wand flew from his pocket and into Snape's hand.
Without so much as a second glance, Severus swept from the room. Draco sat dutifully on the stool before the cauldron, the book beside it was opened to a pain relieving brew. He found where Severus had left off quickly, but somewhere inside him, a weight had lifted.
Severus was all he had. At least for now. He had trusted the man once, hadn't he? This was what his mother had wanted.
Draco would rather have his nails peeled off then disobey his mother's last wish before the Dark Lord had murdered her.
Yes. Murder.
Call it what it is, Draco, he berated himself, though his hands shook as he stirred the potion.
Slytherins were opportunists, not self-sacrificing idiots. If this was the way to survive, then he'd damn well better do it. His mother had believed it, now so must he.
Flashes from that horrible day in front of Potter's home darted about in his head. His mother's limp body. His father's aloof and uncaring attitude. The way it felt to have his heart ripped in half and his world tilted on its axis.
Draco tried to hold his hand steady as he put in the valerian root, but his hand slipped.
If he hadn't tipped his chair back and fallen in his haste to right the mistake, the explosion of hot liquid would have caught him right in the face.
0000
"What in hell are you doing?"
Harry burst into the potions lab.
Snape had left less than ten minutes earlier, and Harry had just chosen what was probably the only interesting book on all the shelves in the sitting room when he'd heard the ruckus.
"Malfoy?" Harry called, but heard only a small whimper in reply. Carefully, Harry navigated his way around the splatters of yellow mess to the other side of the long counter. There, half beneath the counter, and lying beside an overturned stool was Malfoy. Curled in a fetal position on the floor, yellow spots dotting his blue, button down shirt.
Harry crouched down, "What happened?" he asked, wondering if he should offer Malfoy a hand up.
Malfoy removed his hands from his face and sat up, "What do you think? I fobbed the damn recipe."
Harry stood, deciding against helping Malfoy up, "Snape's going to give you a proper dressing down when he gets back."
Malfoy scoffed, "No he won't," he snapped, though he looked less than confident about it. "Help me clean this up."
Harry backtracked, "I don't think so, Malfoy. You're the git that made the mess."
Malfoy scowled at him, "If Severus comes back here and finds his lab like this, he'll kill us both."
Eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe, Harry leaned forward menacingly, "And why would he do that?"
"Because I'll tell him you came in here and altered it when I wasn't looking." The smirk on Malfoy's face made Harry want to curse him nine ways to Sunday.
No way would Snape believe him over Malfoy. Harry glared, "You are the biggest prat I have ever met," he said simply. Then marched from the room, returning moments later with one of Dudley's rather hideous hand-me-downs.
"Well," snapped Harry, when he saw that Malfoy was still standing where he'd left him, "Get a bloody bucket, git!"
They cleaned in silence for a while, Harry wiping down the counters and Malfoy the walls.
"I can't believe you botched a potion Snape wanted you to brew." Harry sniggered absently, scrubbing at a spot that had already dried and crusted over. "This is disgusting."
"That's rich, coming from you. Tell me, exactly how many potions have you utterly destroyed year after year in class?" asked Malfoy waspishly.
Harry tossed his rag in the bucket and lifted himself to sit atop the freshly clean counter, "You can clean the floor and everything else yourself."
Malfoy sighed noisily, "This would be so much simpler if we weren't cleaning like muggles," he groused.
Huh... it hadn't even occurred to Harry to use magic. Then he remembered he couldn't anyway. Malfoy could though, right?
"Why aren't you?"
Malfoy spun on his heel to face Harry, "Because I don't have a damn wand."
Harry raised his eyebrows at Malfoy's tone. He sounded angry, but somehow vulnerable. Like not having his wand was the worst thing that ever could have happened to him. "Why not?"
Dropping the rag in the bucket, Malfoy bent to rinse it out. "Because Severus probably thinks I'll try to curse you."
Harry hopped of the counter, deciding he could maybe wipe a bit more of the mess up, "Well, I doubt he'd be far off the mark. Wonder why he hasn't taken mine..."
Malfoy gingerly crouched on the balls of his feet to wipe the floor, "You can't use magic, dimwit. Though you'd think he'd realise you don't have an ounce of self-preservation in you."
For that, Harry nudged him in the back with his foot. Malfoy unbalanced and just barely caught himself on his hands and knees.
"You- You blubbering menace! What was that for?" demanded Malfoy, standing. Yellow spots had taken residence on his tan slacks, luckily he hadn't gotten any on his hands. "This could be acidic for all you know!"
Harry rolled his eyes, "I think we'd be burning right now if it were, we've been cleaning this shite for the last 20 minutes."
Draco sniffed in disdain, but ignored Harry's sense in favor of finishing the job.
Soon, the quiet began to press on his ears, and he simply had to speak. It was unfortunate that Potter had to be the other half of his conversation, but one must adapt to survive, he supposed.
"How long do you suppose we'll be locked down here, do you think?"
Potter had hopped back up on the counter and was swinging his feet ridiculously. If telling Severus didn't require explaining the mess, Draco would have done it in a heartbeat.
"Dunno. I'll probably be stuck here for the school year. If what they told me is anything to go by." said Potter, leaning back on his hands.
Draco paused in his cleaning, "What did they say?" he inquired, trying to keep the interest out of his voice.
Potter scowled, "It's none of your business."
Draco made a face and went back to cleaning, "Touchy, aren't you? It's not like there's anything else to talk about," he muttered irritably.
"Let's just say if I'm not puking my guts up, I'll be so sick I won't want to leave my bed anyway." Potter sighed, "Maybe Snape will let Ron and Hermione visit at least."
Merlin preserve him, he hadn't even considered... "I sure as shite hope not!" cried Draco indignantly. He didn't need any Gryffindor idiots lurking about! That was the last thing he needed.
"It's not like you won't get to have those lumps you call friends down here! If you get Crabbe and Goyle, I get Ron and Hermione!" Potter glowered at him, but Draco paid him no mind.
"What makes you think Severus will let Crabbe and Goyle down here? The Dark Lord isn't even supposed to... know where I am." A bit of his bravado faded near the end. Would he ever see the outside world again? Just how determined was the Dark Lord? Was his father looking too?
0000
They only barely wiped away the last of the evidence before Snape came whirling in through the floo.
Harry, who had been lying sprawled across the couch reading like he owned the place, sat up so quickly he near gave himself whiplash.
Malfoy, however, had decided to start in on his summer assignments. Harry had already finished all of his. There wasn't much else to do. Well, unless one counted talking to Malfoy.
Harry certainly didn't.
"I have your prescriptions," said Snape, "Come into the kitchen for a moment, I'd like to discuss them with you."
With a small amount of trepidation, Harry followed Snape.
Snape set a brown paper bag on the table between them, he looked... (Harry tried not to show that he was scrutinizing the man,) hesitant? Or rather, uneasy. As though he was quite sure how to handle the situation.
Harry couldn't blame him, until recently he wasn't aware Snape could talk in a normal and not at all berating tone.
Snape tipped over the bag, "I was told your prescriptions may change over time depending on your body's reaction to the therapy you will receive tomorrow, but as of now, I understand that this," Snape held up a small tube, "Is to be put on the skin covering your port an hour before your appointment."
He handed the tube to Harry with the prescription papers. "I want you to read through everything and follow the directions exactly. It is meant to numb your skin, so it musn't touch your clothes, lest it get spread everywhere."
Harry looked over everything quickly, "Okay, thanks." he said, looking back up at Snape. He'd have to wait until after to decipher some of this. Merlin, how he hated medical speak.
Snape inclined his head, "You are to say something immediately if you feel that it is not working properly. I have also an anti-emetic drug for you that-"
"An anti what?" Harry interrupted.
"Anti-emetic. I understand that it somehow prevents you from vomiting. I have tablets for you to keep here, but they may inject it through your port instead." Snape explained.
Harry felt a little sick now just thinking about all the things he'd have to remember and do. As though Snape knew what Harry was thinking, which, now Harry considered it, he probably did.
He said, "When you finish reading through this, I will keep them for you in the kitchen. I'd rather you not forget a dosage. If all your doctor says is to be believed, it will be much easier for me to simply take care of it for you."
One less thing to worry about, thought Harry, "Thank you, professor. This, um-" Harry didn't know what to say. Here he was, completely trusting a man he'd sworn to hate, and he wasn't even feeling a tiny bit begrudging about it. "Just..." Harry bit his lip, "Thanks."
Snape nodded, "I will wake you tomorrow for your appointment."
Harry got up, recognizing the dismissal.
"Mr. Potter-"
Harry turned in the doorway.
"I am sure everything will proceed accordingly."
….Was that code for 'Stop panicking, you'll be fine'?
Harry gave a half-shrug and left the room, just in time to see Malfoy slip out of the sitting room and down the hallway.
Harry rolled his eyes, but decided to leave it be for now.
He fetched his book from where he'd left in on the couch, making his way back to his own room to finish a couple more chapters before it was dinner time.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Thanks always to my supporters and reviewers, I've had some delightful reviews these last few chapters, and I'm so happy to have the chance to talk to you all!
I'm sorry about the wait, and I'll try to have the next chapter "THE APPOINTMENT" out as soon as I can. I'm finally 90% less busy, so I'm going to start right away. A TEASER: As you've seen in this chapter, Harry and Snape have a sort of shift in their relationship, in the next... well, let's just say they slide into something a little less forced.
Thanks to my beta, who is ever the lovely and wonderful bank of information and reassurance. I love you all!
-Marie
Where It Starts by MarieLewis
Not for the first time, Harry wondered how long he'd be like this. He sat upright on the bed in his room off the Hospital Wing, feet dangling over the edge and dressed in his pajamas. Snape had said it was best not to wear anything that made accessing his port to difficult when he shook Harry out of sleep that morning.
They'd come early, Snape had insisted, and it would be another 30 minutes or so before his appointment started. Malfoy had moaned and groaned about not being allowed to stay home and sleep, but after a look from Snape Harry hadn't quite understood, he'd shuffled dutifully into the fireplace.
But now they were here, and things were like, well, like this! The quiet. The unbearably uncomfortable quiet. Harry let out a sigh, almost wishing time would move faster. Almost. If he weren't so...scared. He was scared.
Alright. He admitted it. He was afraid. Just...scared out of his mind about everything. More afraid than he'd ever been of Voldemort, or Uncle Vernon, or even the green light he'd seen in his nightmares as a child.
He was scared because there was nothing he could do but sit, and wait, and try to understand.
Harry scooted back on the bed shakily, forcing himself to breathe in and out slowly. His hands shook, but he lowered himself to lie down on his pillows. He could do this. He could. Just a couple of needles and a bit of chemicals and everything would be fine.
He'd just be...sick for a while.
Harry pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hands, he was going to miss an entire year of school. An entire year!
Oh Merlin, he was going to be positively ill.
There was no chance he'd be able to keep up with his studies alone in the dungeons, unable to do magic.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing forcefully. Fine, he was fine. He wasn't panicking. He just wasn't. This was just reality hitting him, or something.
He could- If he just-
"Mr. Potter, are you alright?"
Harry snapped his eyes open, "Yeah," he breathed, "Yeah, I'm fine." Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at Malfoy over Snape's shoulder. "Just, uh, just-" Malfoy seemed to be trying awfully hard to get a peek at Harry, and his interested expression definitely rubbed Harry the wrong way.
"Can he leave?" Harry asked, jerking his chin in Malfoy's direction. "No offense, sir, but he really has no business being in here." Harry hadn't bothered to lower his voice. If Malfoy wanted to be rude and nosey, than Harry could be just as bad.
Snape sighed, "I'm afraid I can't leave him on his own outside my quarters just yet."
Malfoy's outraged retort was drowned by the medi-witches exiting the fire place.
All his worries about Malfoy faded away immediately, and in a flare of weakness, Harry grabbed Snape's sleeve as the man made to move away. Their eyes met, Snape's inquisitive, Harry's wide and beseeching.
The moment passed, and Harry pried his own fingers away from Snape's sleeve.
Healer Beesely descended upon him, Ms. Hemmingway just beside her, and Harry didn't protest the poking and prodding that followed.
30 minutes later, he'd been asked several intrusive questions, found out he'd lost more weight, had his port hooked up, and his blood tested. It all seemed to happen so fast, Harry forgot to be nervous. Ms. Hemmingway had drawn the curtain around his bed, blocking Snape and Malfoy, who were sitting on the couch, from view.
Harry could hear Healer Beesely talking to Snape about his eating and sleeping habits as he waited, sitting semi-upright against a stack of pillows in his bed. It struck him how odd it was that Snape was really sort of responsible for him now.
It was actually... well, funny. It hadn't been at first, but now Harry thought of it, Snape was probably having a time of it having to watch out for him after years of mutual hatred.
Harry smiled to himself.
"Something funny?" asked Ms. Hemmingway. She was attaching bags of liquid to the IV pole beside Harry's bed.
"Not really," said Harry, "All the enforced confinement is probably driving me batty."
Ms. Hemmingway laughed, "I know how you feel. I spend more time in my room studying, or at St. Mungo's working than I do anywhere else."
Harry made a face, "I've got a friend who forces me to study because I wait till the last minute too often."
"Sounds like a good friend," commented Ms. Hemmingway, finishing up, and sitting on the chair beside Harry's bed.
Harry fiddled with his covers, "She is. She always helps me and Ron, that's my other friend, even though she spends most of her time scolding us for not knowing any of the material."
Ms. Hemmingway leaned forwards, elbows on her knees, "She must be very clever."
"She is," Harry assured her, "Hermione is... well, she's absolutely brilliant at everything. Except divination," he added as an afterthought.
"Do you like her?" inquired Ms. Hemmingway, an eyebrow raised and a small smile on her face.
Harry frowned, "Yeah, of course. She's one of my best friends."
Ms. Hemmingway laughed at him, "I see."
Oh. Oh.
"No, no! Hermione and I aren't- We're like brother and sister. Siblings! Not-" Harry stammered, trying to make her understand.
"Relax, Harry, I get it." She winked.
Harry's eyes were as round as saucers. "Ron likes Hermione!" he blurted, then realised he'd made it sound as though Harry liked her but couldn't because Ron did too. Ms. Hemmingway pressed her lips together and nodded seriously; Harry groaned in frustration.
"Never mind." He shook his head.
"I'm only teasing, Harry."
Harry gave up defending himself.
"I don't like anyone like that," he confessed, "No time." (And the Cho debacle was enough to keep him from diving into another relationship for a while.)
Ms. Hemmingway smiled kindly. "Well, I'm glad you've got a good pair of friends. I had far too many silly ones during my years here."
"Harry?" Healer Beesley peeked her head through the curtain, "We're ready to start treatment."
0000
Harry had come to understand several things in the hours that followed the start of his first cycle of chemotherapy.
1. He would have gotten very bored if Snape hadn't produced a chess set, and played with him until he fell asleep.
2. Malfoy knew how to laugh when he wasn't making fun of someone.
3. There were 4 drugs that made up his chemo treatments, all of them known to cause side effects.
4. Doxorubicin was the worst thing Harry had ever had the displeasure to come in contact with.
Harry held Snape's arm shamelessly as Ms. Hemmingway prepped his hand to insert an IV. He should have turned away, but his eyes were glued to the plastic piece protruding from his skin..
He'd watched, fixated, as Healer Beesley snapped on a pair of gloves, and Ms. Hemmingway covered the skin surrounding the catheter in his hand. Doxorubicin was an extremely toxic drug that could eat through his skin if so much as a drop managed to touch him.
It caused itchiness, mouth sores, hair loss, weight loss, stomach pain, vomiting, dizziness, and, best of all, it burned as it went in.
Harry felt that wincing and letting the occasional hiss slip from his lips was entirely justified.
A strange sensation came over him as Healer Beesley carefully pushed the drug into his vein. His face had begun to feel heated, and a hot feeling started to build in the pit of his stomach. Harry could feel his self control slipping as the heat crawled it's way up his body.
"Is it-" he drew in a shaky breath, gripping Snape's arm ever harder than before, "Is it supposed to feel like this?" He asked weakly, staring intently at the needle as Healer Beesley removed it.
Harry had been warned about what might happen if even a drop of that crap landed on his skin.
"I'm afraid so, dear," tutted Healer Beesley.
Unable to muster even a look of acceptance, Harry turned away from her and shut his eyes.
"I feel like I'm burning up inside." His eyes watered dangerously.
"The feeling will pass, I am sure," said Snape quietly.
Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut and said nothing.
"I believe the Headmaster plans to escort your Aunt Petunia to your next appointment."
Momentarily distracted, Harry's eyes popped open.
"Really?" he breathed, "But school will have started by then."
Snape rolled his eyes, "Magic tends to allow us to conceal things from others, Mr. Potter. Keeping you from your family during this time would be unfair to all parties involved."
Oh, and that was another thing. His treatments, (bi-monthly), could go on from ten months to a year.
A year.
Harry wasn't sure how he'd endure a year of this. But knowing he might see his aunt put him at ease.
After the chess game, Harry drifted in and out of sleep. Next time he'd remember to bring a book or two. When he was awake, he felt bad for making Snape and Malfoy sit around waiting for him, when he was asleep he had confusing pieces of dreams about Snape smiling at him proudly and Malfoy shaking his hand like they were old chums.
From these Harry would wake up in shock.
At half past 1 P.M., Snape proposed that Harry and Malfoy play a game of chess while he went to fetch lunch and the rest of Harry's prescriptions.
They made it halfway through the game before Harry began to feel too nauseated to sit up.
When Snape returned nearly two hours later, the smell of whatever food he'd decided to bring caused Harry to spend his lunch time over a 'just in case' bowl, and Malfoy to eat in the actual Hospital Wing.
Snape sat with Harry until he fell asleep again.
By 4 o'clock, Harry had deduced that chemo was exceptionally boring.
Ms. Hemmingway came back alone an hour later to unhook his port, and flush and tape the line.
By then Malfoy had fallen asleep on the couch, and Harry and Snape were playing a muggle card game with the deck Snape had bought when he'd left to get food.
It had to have been the strangest day of Harry's life.
But now it was over, and it was all he could see in his future.
0000
Draco hadn't anticipated that. Actually, he wasn't sure what he'd expected at all, but it definitely wasn't that.
He honestly felt bad for Potter.
For the longest time Draco had badgered and hated Potter for having a life Draco thought to be perfect.
Over the short amount of time he'd been stuck with Potter, Draco had discovered that life simply did not exist. And Draco didn't know what to think now.
He and Severus dined alone that night, Potter had retired early, begging off eating supper due to a lack of appetite. Potter hadn't eaten all day though, so Draco doubted the excuse.
"The school year will begin soon," Severus commented lightly, pulling Draco from his thoughts.
He waited expectantly for Severus to continue.
"I have given this much consideration," Severus began, setting his fork beside his plate and focused on Draco, "Originally, I had entertained keeping you out of school, but the Dark Lord is not stupid. If he were to find out your were not in classes, he needn't look far to figure out your location."
Draco stopped playing with his pasta, "What about my father?" Sweat beaded on his forehead. The chances of his father not hunting him down were slim to none. And if the Dark Lord wanted to kill him…
"You will not be unprotected. I have spoken with the Headmaster about the matter, I am merely informing you because it is your choice to make," said Severus.
Draco licked his lips nervously, "My choice?"
Severus pushed his plate away, folding his hands atop the table, "You can either return to classes, we will take precautions, I assure you, or you may remain here. I cannot deny that there will be a greater risk to you outside of my home, however, I understand your dislike for Mr. Potter, and while he may not have a choice in the matter, you do."
Stunned, Draco slumped back in his chair. He was worried, certainly, about living in Slytherin Tower, but he would be branded as a coward if he hid away. Then it occurred to Draco that Severus was willing to put his subterfuge at stake to appease him.
"I'll go back to classes," Draco said finally, for once, he sucked up the cowering fear he felt. "Thank you."
Severus nodded, and the conversation was over.
Later, after Severus had retired, Draco lied awake in his own bed, unable to sleep. He had left his door open, and across the hall he could see a thin band of light peeking from under Potter's door.
He told himself it was curiosity that roused him enough to tip toe to his door in the dark and knock. "Potter," he hissed against the wood before twisting the knob and easing it open. He peered around the door slowly, wrinkling his nose in disgust when he spotted Potter, lying flat on his back in his bed, wearing the same clothes he'd had on that morning.
"I don't suppose you'll get out if I tell you to, will you?" Potter said idly as he stared up at the ceiling, the fingers of his right hand tangling in a loose thread on his bed spread.
Draco slipped inside and shut the door behind him, "No, I won't." He replied snidely. "I'm bored. I haven't done anything but sit around all day, and now I can't sleep."
Potter rolled his head to stare at Draco, who had the decency to feel slightly ashamed of his complaining.
"Sorry," he muttered, crossing the room to sit in the chair at Potter's desk.
Potter went back to staring at the ceiling, "Sure."
Draco leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his palms, "So," he said, struggling for words, now that he was here, he wasn't entirely certain what he should say. How did one speak to a person they'd spent the previous 5 years despising?
As he grappled for words, Potter rolled himself into a sitting position. "What were you and Snape talking about out there, at dinner?" asked Potter, reaching behind him to stack his pillows on top of one another.
Draco scowled, "You were eavesdropping?" he demanded, feeling mildly uneasy. What else had Potter overheard between himself and Severus?
Potter propped himself against the headboard, looking very ill as he did so, "No. I heard sounds and I wondered what they were."
Appeased, Draco shrugged, and trying to sound indifferent he said, "Severus says I can return to classes if I wish to."
Potter tipped his head back, breathing shallowly, "Lucky you."
"I suppose," mused Draco, "I'd rather stay here to be honest." He wasn't sure why he'd said that. Perhaps because he'd needed to tell someone, or perhaps because he had resigned himself to the fact that Potter was the only person he had anything in common with at this point in time.
"Why don't you? You said Snape gave you a choice, right?" Potter said faintly, shifting again until he was on his side, a pillow clutched to his chest.
Draco squinted at him, "Yeah, but he'd be risking his life if the Dark Lord ever-" he cut himself off as Potter began to cough.
He paused, waiting for the coughing fit to end. Only it didn't. Potter had curled up completely, his face buried in the pillow he held against his stomach to muffle the sounds.
Draco's palms began to sweat. "Should I-" he faltered, clearing his throat he tried again, "Should I get Severus or something?"
Potter didn't answer, but Draco went anyway, barely refraining from sprinting the short distance to Severus' room.
He rapped on the door sharply, "Severus? I think there's something-" for the second time that night he was cut off in the middle of his sentence.
Severus had yanked open the door, one hand still holding the ties to his navy blue robe. "Fetch a glass of water, Draco," he commanded, tying off his robe. Draco scurried into the kitchen, his fingers fumbling for the cupboard containing the glasses.
He nearly dropped the glass as he filled it when Severus brushed passed him for the medicine cabinet.
Draco placed the water on the counter, turning towards Severus, who was now holding a small orange bottle and reading the label.
"Take that to him, please," he murmured, still concentrated on whatever that little orange bottle had to say.
Draco picked up the water glass again, forcing himself to hold in his questions for later.
Back in Potter's room, he discovered that the coughing had stopped, but Potter rather looked like death warmed over as a result.
Draco neared the bed slowly, "Here," he thrust out his arm once he was close enough. Potter's eyes slid open, clouded with pain or fatigue, Draco couldn't be sure.
"Thanks," he murmured, painstakingly lifting himself onto an elbow, to take the water from Draco.
Potter sipped it slowly.
Feeling for some reason that he should reassure Potter, Draco found himself babbling about Severus finding medicine.
"It's muggle medicine though, I think. So I don't know how well it will work." he added, despite the heat crawling up his cheeks.
"Perfectly, I should hope." Severus appeared beside Draco, holding two pills in his hand, which he passed to Potter.
"For the pain. You should try to sleep immediately."
There was something strangely gentle in the way Severus spoke to Potter. It made Draco feel as though he shouldn't be there to witness this, but he couldn't very well leave now, could he?
"Thanks, Professor." Potter downed both pills in one go, settling back in his pillows.
"Wait for me in your room, Draco," said Severus, giving Draco a look that was clearly dismissive.
Draco spared Potter one more glance before turning his back.
Outside in the hall, he couldn't resist peeking around the door as he closed it, unsure of what he was expecting to see or hear.
It definitely wasn't Severus helping Potter under the covers though, and yet, that was exactly what he saw.
0000
Harry watched through mostly closed eyelids as Snape placed a small grey cube on his bedside table.
"Should you awake in the middle of the night and need assistance, squeeze this twice," Snape instructed. Harry nodded tiredly to show that he'd heard.
Snape crouched beside the bed, "Do not wait until the pain is too great for you to endure."
Harry made a non-committal sound, too weary to nod again. His body felt… strange. The constant itchy throat and stuffy nose remained, as always, but his throat burned whenever he coughed, and his stomach roiled unpleasantly.
"Do you understand?" Snape prompted, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder to shake him gently.
Harry forced his eyes open, "Yes. Thanks." A different version of himself would never have considered accepting such a favour, but the Harry of today felt much older and wiser.
Snape stood, removing his hand as he did so, "Sleep, Mr. Potter."
To be continued...
Sometimes You Have To Prioritize Your Worries by MarieLewis
August 19th 1996, Day 1
Harry awoke on the morning following his first chemo treatment completely miserable.
Flat on his back, he tried to concentrate on a single stone in the ceiling, hoping that the room would stop wiggling around and making him dizzy.
Cold sweat tingled on his forehead and upper lip, but his body felt strangely heated. His mouth was dry and cottony, but even the thought of moving to get a drink made him queasy.
Harry couldn't have been awake more than 10 minutes when there was a quiet knock on his door.
Should he bother to say come in?
If it were Snape, he'd come in anyway. If it was Malfoy, Harry didn't feel very up to company just now.
The door creaked open, and Harry rolled his head towards it as Snape entered. He was dressed in grey slacks and a dark green button down today, and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Snape wearing so many different outfits that weren't dark and billowy.
Snape drew near the bed, "How are you feeling this morning?"
This new concerned Snape would take some getting used to, but Harry had made a pact with himself to stop stressing over every little change in his life. There were far too many now to cope with anyway. He'd deal with the abnormalities later.
"I think I'm dying," Harry croaked, his voice raspy and parched.
Snape picked up the cup on Harry's bedside table, pulling his wand from his pocket. "I suppose I should have left a pitcher in here," he mused tapping the cup with his wand.
Harry turned his face away. Did Snape have to use magic in front of him?
Out of all the things he'd dealt with -was dealing with- not being able to use magic was positively the worst.
He could take a considerate Snape, a loving Aunt Petunia, even a less than obnoxious Malfoy, but he'd never accept his inability to use what had saved him all those years ago. Magic had made him feel like he'd belonged. Now he had to let it go, at least for a while, lest it kill him.
Snape held the glass over his face for Harry to see, and Harry gingerly lifted himself on an elbow to take it from him.
Harry managed to drink a gulp before he tried handing it back to Snape, only his arm was so weak and shaky, he spilt half the drink down his front. Harry blinked down at himself bemusedly.
Snape tutted, taking the glass from Harry's grasp, and drying his shirt with his wand.
"Breakfast is in twenty minutes, Mr. Potter," said Snape, returning his wand to his pocket, "I am sure you are hungry after fasting yesterday."
Harry looked up at Snape, "Actually, I'm really not. I just feel really…" he paused. Really what? Was there even a word to describe how crappy he felt? Yes. There was. But 'icky' might not be in Snape's vocabulary.
Snape seemed to get it without Harry having to say anything, for he nodded. "Terrible as you may feel, I must insist you eat at least a small amount. We must also take your temperature, and you need to be drink more than just water."
Harry groaned. Whether in pain or in protest, Harry wasn't sure.
He didn't feel hungry. In fact, food sounded entirely unappetizing just now.
"Alright. Just, give me a minute." Harry shut his eyes, listening to Snape's footsteps as his professor left the room.
Harry turned onto his stomach, shoving his hands beneath his pillow, and burying his face in the soft cotton case.
He'd get up in a minute.
0000
12 Days Left
Draco brushed his teeth vigorously in the loo one door down from his own bedroom. He found it unfair, initially, that Potter got the room with the loo inside, while he had to contend with this one.
It was good enough, he supposed. Small and cramped, but he wouldn't be down here for much longer anyway.
He suspected Snape let Potter have the private lavatory because of how ill he was supposed to get. Draco could understand that, especially after seeing Potter yesterday.
In a way, Draco was glad he was going back to classes soon. Watching Potter weak and defenseless wasn't nearly as rewarding as he'd once imagined it'd be. In fact, it made a strange feeling claw at him. A feeling Draco wasn't accustomed to having very much, let alone for Potter.
He felt sorry for Potter, yes, but more than that, Draco felt sympathy for him. Like he ought to stop harassing him, or that he'd feel bad if he did.
Draco spat in the sink, rinsing out his mouth as he stared at himself in the mirror. Surely there must be something drastically different about him on the outside if he was having such a turnabout within.
Draco examined his face, pale eyes and skin, white blonde hair and eyelashes, thin pink lips, and a pointed chin.
The only difference seemed to be the bluish smudges under his eyes.
He didn't sleep very well anymore. Too many nightmares.
Too much guilt.
Draco dried his face, forcibly pulling himself from such thoughts. If he let them wash over his conscious mind the weight of his grief would be too unbearable for him to function properly.
Puffing out a sigh, Draco smoothed his hair down, double checking that his shirt hadn't been flecked with toothpaste foam, before he left the lavatory.
Severus was seated at the table already, perusing the Daily Prophet, a plate of crumbs in front of him. He glanced up as Draco entered, folding his paper in a neat square. "There is toast on the counter under the tea towel, and eggs in the pan on the stove." he said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.
Draco removed a plate from the cupboard and served himself, -something he was still getting used to- and took his seat across from Severus.
"I have arranged for an excursion in Diagon Alley on Wednesday." Severus told him, standing and clearing his plate. "I will accompany you myself."
Draco swallowed his bite of toast with difficulty as his mouth had suddenly gone dry. "What about the Dark Lord, and my father, and the other Death Eaters, what if we-" Draco stopped himself. Severus was staring at him as if he were very daft indeed.
Draco took another bite of toast, "Oh," he muttered. Of course they'd be disguised. How stupid of him not to realise.
"Your anxiety over the matter suggests you are much less resigned to returning to school than you would like to believe." Severus commented, leaning against the sink ledge, his arms crossed over his chest. He fixed Draco with a calculating look. "No one will think any less of you if you prefer to remain in hiding. In fact, it would be a very wise decision indeed."
Rolling his eyes, Draco stabbed at his eggs with his fork, "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed.
Severus sighed, "As I said before, it is your choice. You are nearly an adult, and it would be remiss of me to treat you as a child. However, the danger you may be in is very real."
Trying to appear nonchalant, Draco worked hard to control his shaking fingers as he ate. "You said I'd be safe if I went to school."
"I said we would protect you, but you would not be as safe as you would be here," Snape snapped. "Part of this deal includes your behaviour, I hope you are aware."
"Alright," Draco said grudgingly. He stopped eating and turned towards Severus, "I do understand," he said, hoping Severus would get his meaning without him having to spill all.
Severus nodded, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. "We will leave early in the morning. Charms only work so well. It is best we beat the rush and shop as fast as possible."
Draco nodded, returning to his food. "What about Potter?" he asked, surprised at himself for even thinking to ask at all.
Severus turned to the sink, turning on the water and rinsing his dish.
How very muggle, Draco thought, watching him. There were some things he would just never understand about Severus.
"I will speak to the Headmaster later today, and arrange for Potter's aunt to visit."
Draco made a face. "The muggle one with the shrill voice?" He said scathingly.
Severus made a strange noise, "It would do you well not to speak insults so freely." he said indifferently, but with the sort of finality that made Draco think twice about his retort.
"Where is Potter anyway?" Draco wondered aloud. "Still lazing about in bed?"
Severus turned away from the dishes, drying his hands on a towel. "He should be out here by now. He was awake when I went in this morning."
Draco eyed Severus suspiciously. He sounded almost...worried? No, concerned. Worried was hardly an emotion Severus would show.
Troubled, maybe?
Eyebrows drawn together in a frown, Severus turned towards the medicine cupboard, pulling out a thin box, and a bottle. Draco watched as he pulled two pieces of toast from under the tea towel.
"Are you giving him breakfast in bed?" he exclaimed in astonishment.
Severus ignored the question and placed the bread on a plate. He moved towards the cold cupboard, pulling out a pitcher of milk. Draco mouthed like a fish, floundering in shock.
"Close your mouth, Draco. That look is unbecoming."
Severus poured a glass of milk before returning it to the cupboard. Tapping the glass and the plate with his wand, he swept from the kitchen, the food and drink following after him.
Draco shook his head.
0000
Harry jerked out of his sleep to someone shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
Snape loomed over him, his hair less than inches from Harry's face.
Oh, right. He was supposed to be getting up.
Harry let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes and rolling onto his back, "Right. Sorry. I don't know why I'm so tired."
He yawned as if to prove his point.
Snape sat down beside his bed in a chair he must have pulled from Harry's desk. "It is an expected side effect," he commented.
"Yeah?" Harry inquired, squinting at Snape.
"Your doctor informed us both of the possible side effects of each drug they'd be treating you with," said Snape, "Did you not read yours?"
Harry shrugged, "Sort of." In truth he'd meant to read it during chemo… But he couldn't help but wonder if it were better to be ignorant.
Snape must have read into his expression somewhat, for he said, "It is important information that you must be aware of, Potter. You need to know when something is wrong, or when it is merely 'par for the course'."
Harry hadn't thought of it that way. Chastened, he nodded and sat up.
He felt a little less ill this time around. Not great. But he no longer felt as if he'd been hit by a tractor.
"It is also important that you eat and drink, even when you do not feel hungry or thirsty."
Harry had a feeling he would never feel particularly hungry.
Snape cleared his throat, "I brought toast and milk, but I must check your temperature first."
Harry looked over at Snape's blurred figure, if he wasn't mistaken, Snape sounded vaguely uncomfortable.
Deciding to overlook the unusualness of this occurrence, Harry merely fixed his pillows against the headboard, sitting up straighter. "Could you hand me my glasses, please?" he asked.
Snape passed them to him, and Harry slipped them on.
Harry spotted his meal on the bedside table as Snape passed him a thermometer, "Thanks," he said, nodding towards the food as he put the edge with the silver tip under his tongue.
Snape nodded, "It will beep when it is finished."
Harry flexed his tongue against the stick, "I thought muggle thtuff didn't work in Hogwarth," he tried to say around it, chuckling at his own pronunciations.
"You'd be surprised what a wizard with enough skill can accomplish," Snape said dryly. Harry laughed again, and the thermometer beeped. He pulled it out, reading the tiny black number on the opposite side.
"98.7," he told Snape, "Sounds normal enough."
Snape took the device from him and stood, "Indeed. Eat your food."
Harry ate his toast and drank his milk in solitude. He wondered if Snape would mind terribly if he stayed in bed all day.
Normally such inactivity would get to him, but he needed to let the food in his belly settle. Otherwise it would surely come back up.
He also didn't believe he had the strength to do anything more today. Not that there was anything else to do.
Harry was just drifting into a light slumber when a knock sounded on his door. Suppressing a groan in case it was Snape, Harry rolled over. Seeing it was only Malfoy, he went ahead and let out his groan.
"No offense, Malfoy, but I kind of feel like shite right now, so I don't really want to argue or hash out how unfair life is at the moment."
That wasn't strictly fair to Malfoy, who, even Harry had to grudgingly admit, had turned out to be less of a pain than he'd anticipated.
"I didn't come in here to talk, Potter," said Malfoy, clearly affronted, "Severus says we're going for a walk."
Harry pulled his sheets over his head.
"Very mature of you," Malfoy sneered.
Two seconds later, the blankets were yanked back down.
"Hey!" Harry cried, "What're you playing at?" he demanded.
Malfoy folded his arms over his chest, "Severus says we're going for a walk, and that's exactly what we're going to do. So quit your whinging and get dressed. You may be perfectly content to stay cooped up in here, but I'm not." And with that, Malfoy swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Harry moaned piteously. Did they not understand how dreadful he felt just now?
With great care, Harry dragged himself from the comfort of his bed, and shuffled gingerly into the loo.
He did need to go, actually. And brushing his teeth sounded very refreshing.
Maybe a walk, (if it were short) would do him some good.
Harry washed his face, and brushed his teeth after pulling off the bandage on the back of his hand, careful not to look at the spot where the IV had been.
It was probably healed by now, but Harry didn't want to look at the spot.
Feeling a little less miserable, Harry dressed and pulled on his shoes. He'd had to sit down to pull on his jeans, and he'd ended up lying flat on his back for five minutes, but the end result was victorious.
Slowly, he shuffled from his room to the living room, one hand on the wall, the other clutching his stomach. Sweat had already begun to bead at his hairline already by the time he'd reached the sofa.
"We better not be going far," he muttered, lowering himself on the cushions.
"You are not," Snape said from behind him.
Harry craned his neck around as Snape entered the room.
"We're going outside," Draco said, a pair of trainers in his hands. He sat in the armchair to put them on.
Harry grimaced, "This is the dungeons though," he pointed out, "Sounds far to me. Unless we're flooing."
Harry wasn't sure which option horrified him more.
"There is a short cut, I assure you," said Snape. "Draco, fetch the bag from the kitchen."
Draco finished tying off his laces, hopping up to do Snape's bidding. Harry's eyes followed him as he went.
"He's cheerful," he said. A little resentful.
Snape offered Harry a hand to pull him up, "Draco doesn't do well with forced captivity," he said.
Harry laughed a little, and then stopped. Did Snape just joke with him? How utterly strange.
"Alright, let's get out of here," said Draco, holding a black pack on one shoulder, "I'm already frightfully pale as it is, my skin needs some bloody sunshine."
Snape raised an eyebrow, looking at Harry.
Definitely joking with him than.
Harry took a deep breath, let it go, and grinned back.
0000
The shortcut, it turned out, was a short flight of stairs and a dark passage that existed on the side of the castle facing the black lake. The walk wasn't more than 5 minutes, but Harry was panting and sweaty by the end of it.
Snape held Harry by his upper arm as they neared a row of birch trees just near the waters edge.
"Lay out the blanket, Draco," instructed Snape, still gripping Harry.
Malfoy set the bag down and pulled out a thick blanket, which he spread out beneath the shade of the tree's branches.
Snape helped Harry lower himself onto the side closest to the trunk, and Harry propped himself against it.
"Lunch is in the bag," said Snape as Malfoy flopped on the other end of the blanket to take off his shoes and socks. "You are not to leave this area. Safe as Hogwarts may be, I expect you both to exercise caution and behave."
Snape's eyes lingered on Harry, then Malfoy.
"We've got it." Malfoy said grudgingly, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment under Snape's gaze.
"You'd better," Snape retorted, "If either of you make so much as one-"
Malfoy stood up, tossing his socks on top of his shoes on the blanket, "Alright, alright. We'll be perfect children, just go Severus."
Harry thought Snape might pack them both up and send them back into the dungeons if Malfoy gave him anymore sass, but Snape merely shook his head irately.
"Mr. Potter, this should be on you at all times." Snape passed him the grey cube he'd left on his bed table last night.
Harry slipped it into his pocket, "Thanks."
Snape gave them both one last look before turning and walking back to the castle.
"What a pain," commented Malfoy, shaking his head. "Haven't been treated like a two year old in years."
Harry pulled his knees up to untie his shoelaces, "I bet he wouldn't have given us the warnings if you hadn't been a prat in the first place."
Malfoy made a face, "Yeah, well. I doubt that."
Harry peeled his socks off, sighing in relief as he did so. "Where'd Snape go anyway?" he asked, lowering himself onto his back on the blanket, and stretching out. The sun peeped through branches and leaves like beaming rays of gold; Harry closed his eyes.
"To see Dumbledore. He said he had to arrange for your aunt to come tomorrow while we're out. Make sure you don't keel over and die." Malfoy laughed at his supposed cleverness.
"Shut up." Harry said, though he didn't really care what Malfoy said either way. He had already moved onto more important things. Like Aunt Petunia visiting, for instance.
He wondered if she might tell him stories from when she and his mum were kids. Normal, untainted stories, without any over exaggerations about freakishness.
Harry sighed. What a strange year this was turning out to be.
"Where are you and Snape going?" he asked idly, opening his eyes to squint at the sun through the leaves. How long has it been since he was last out in the open?
Malfoy breathed out noisily next to him. "To Diagon Alley. For school things."
Harry rolled his head to the side, squinting at Malfoy now, who was lying on his side, propped on an elbow. He was envious, of course. He hadn't realised till now that he wouldn't get a trip to Diagon Alley this year, which was upsetting because Diagon Alley had been his first real venture into the Wizarding World. Going every year reminded him of that day.
The day he'd learned who he really was. The day he'd finally felt like a person, and not a freak or a burden.
Harry looked back up at the sky, no longer thinking it was beautiful, but rather that the perfect puffs of white clouds and the bright blue sky were mocking his misfortune.
"I don't want to go," said Malfoy breezily. "I really don't see why I have to. It's risky enough I'm going back to school at all. Severus should just get my stuff himself. Or make some elf do it."
That got Harry's hackles up, but he was determined to ignore Malfoy and his stupid spoiled comments.
"Actually, I kind of want to get out for awhile. Being cramped up in his quarters, decent though they are, is starting to get to me. He really should let me out more. I'm not the sick one, after all."
"Well, maybe if you hadn't messed with the floo, he'd trust you a bit more," said Harry scathingly. What an absolute tosser Malfoy could be. Harry couldn't wait for September 1st if it only meant getting rid of stupid prats like the one next to him. Harry breathed in and out strongly through his nose, his nausea seemed to be returning now too.
Before Malfoy could come up with a reply, or bother him anymore, Harry said, "Can't you go sit by the lake or something?"
Malfoy made an affronted sound, but Harry could hear him stand and stomp away.
His joy and relief considerably lessened, Harry curled on his side, his arms clutching his stomach. Sleep, he decided, was the only real escape he'd ever have.
0000
Draco stalked off towards the lake's edge, dropping down on his bum to roll his trousers up to his knees.
"Effing Potter," he muttered to himself as he dipped his feet in. Draco had simply been trying to have a conversation with the plonker! And what a bloody wanker Potter was about it too.
Draco slumped over, elbows on his knees, and swished his legs in the water. He wouldn't have any friends at Hogwarts this year.
Surely word would have spread amongst the Death Eaters' families about the Malfoys' disgrace.
Crabbe and Goyle would know, for certain. They were never really what he would call friends, but they were the closest thing to it.
Pansy would probably drop him the second she saw him in the most dramatic way she could come up with.
Maybe Zabini, but he never seemed to care particularly for anyone.
He'd be an outcast. An example of what betraying the Dark Lord came out to.
Draco would never, ever admit it to anyone, but more than anything he feared in this world, it wasn't death, or even torture. It was solitude. Complete and utter solitude of the involuntary variety.
Essentially, being alone.
He'd been cast aside all his life, put in the back of his parents' heads, for they had only cared when he was doing to deliberately draw their attention.
He was a child with no one but house-elves for company. Those terrible, little creatures had fed and clothed him when he could not, taken him outside to play, took care of him when he was sick, and had done every single thing Draco had spent years wishing his parents would do.
Oh, his mother had been decent enough. She'd given him the occasional hug and kiss. Came up to his room once or twice while he was ill, but Draco was painfully aware of how little he mattered to his parents beyond being the completion of their perfect, pureblood family.
Without realising it, Draco had begun to cry. He wasn't sobbing like a girl or anything, but tears were dripping down his cheeks in rapid succession.
He'd been sure Hogwarts would be his escape.
At Hogwarts, he'd have friends who wanted to be around him. People who actually cared about his interests.
He had known Crabbe and Goyle from pureblood dinners and social gatherings, but Draco had wanted a confidant… an equal.
Potter had cast him aside just as everyone else he'd wanted to cared about him.
And Draco had hated him for it.
Draco scrubbed his hands over his face, scoffing at himself. All this time away from his father, and his harsh ideas of upbringing, and now Draco was going soft.
Kicking his legs in the water roughly, Draco exhaled heavily, wiping his eyes again to clear the evidence of his tears.
"I can't do this alone," he whispered to no one.
0000
If possible, Harry felt even worse just now then he had all day. His back hurt from the uneven position he'd fallen asleep in, his stomach roiled, and his body ached.
He had a runny nose now too, and his hair was plastered against his sweaty forehead.
Harry moaned a little as he turned over.
"So you're awake then," said Malfoy, sounded much more subdued.
Harry grimaced in response.
"You look terrible. We should go back."
Harry nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth, his guts would come spilling out.
Malfoy sighed loudly, "Well, squeeze that cube thing he gave you," he prompted impatiently. "No sense waiting around for him to come back on his own."
Harry dragged one arm from his belly to fish the cube from his pocket. "I just squeeze then?" he whispered.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Give it here," he said bossily, snatching the cube from Harry's hand.
Too weak to protest, Harry let his hand fall back to his stomach and closed his eyes.
He was practically dizzy with nausea.
How in Merlin's name would he walk back?
Suddenly, his stomach gave a horrifying lurch. Harry's eyes popped open, and he sat up, quicker than he should have.
He barely had time to say, "Malfoy-" before he keeled over and threw up in the grass beside the tree trunk.
"Cripes, Potter!" He heard Malfoy yelp, but he was too busy dry heaving to respond.
He hadn't any food to vomit, only bile and water.
It seared his throat and nose as it came up.
"Get Snape," Harry groaned between dry heaves, his arms and knees shaking as he held himself up.
His eyes stung with tears and his nose ran.
He dry heaved twice more before his stomach stopped jerking. Harry sat back on his heels, swiping at his face with the bottom of his t-shirt.
Carefully, he crawled away from the sick, Malfoy must have run off towards the castle because he was nowhere in sight now.
Harry curled into a ball and waited for Snape.
He needed water to wash the taste out of his mouth or he might be sick again.
0000
"Severus! Severus!" Draco shouted in a panic as he ran towards the castle. The man in question seemed to have already been on his way toward them, but his pace quickened at Draco's call.
"What is it, what is the matter?" he asked urgently, grabbing Draco by the arms.
Draco gasped for air, winded by all the running he'd done, "It's Potter. He started sicking up all over the grass out of nowhere!"
Later, Draco would realise how frightened he must have sounded.
Later, Draco would watch Severus help Potter to stand, and support most of his weight all the way back to the dungeons.
Later, Draco would bite back his scathing remarks and make his most concerted effort to be nice to Potter yet.
Later, he would acknowledge how much he'd changed in such a short amount of time.
But for now, he would accept the fact that he truly did not, could not, despise Potter.
To be continued...
It's Bonkers, But It's Theirs by MarieLewis
Author's Notes:
Please feel free to find me on twitter or tumblr!
@danamrohr
thisgirlsgoingtoleakycon.tumblr.com
August 31, Day 12
The days following his first treatment are monotonous and uncomfortable.
Snape came in every morning to check his temperature and force him to eat and drink. He'd gotten Harry a new toothbrush with soft bristles, a cup with a built in straw, and even a scale to weigh himself on in the loo.
It's during one of those weeks when the words pop out of Harry's mouth. He hadn't even realised he'd been thinking them until after they're out. To be fair, Snape was kind of helping Harry off the floor in the lavatory where he'd been expelling his insides into the toilet.
Since then Snape's been calling him Harry. Didn't even make a fuss when Harry had awkwardly mumbled the request to be called by his first name. He'd even told Harry to call him Severus if he'd like to. (Harry still stuttered trying to say it though.)
Most days Harry stayed in bed, either too dizzy or too tired to get up. Snape forces him out for meals, but otherwise leaves him be. Sometimes Malfoy comes in to check on him, (Snape's orders,) they talk. Argue, really. But Harry was starting to think they're sort of, well, not friends, but also not enemies.
His whole world was just bonkers now.
It was August 31st. A day Harry usually spent bouncing on his toes waiting to go to Hogwarts the next day. Instead, Harry had stayed in bed the entire day, too sick to get up even for the dry toast and soup Snape usually threatened him into eating.
Malfoy and Snape were out last minute shopping. Something Snape hadn't been too happy about, but he hadn't had a chance to do much before then. What with Harry being borderline bedridden and all.
Much to Harry's surprise, Snape took looking after him very seriously. Harry had figured at first that Snape would be decent, at best. But they guy was really looking out for him. Right down to coaxing fluids and food into him, and making sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. (Not that Harry would, he hasn't completely lost all self-control.)
But eating and drinking for him was a problem right then. Most things tasted like metal now. Especially water. Snape had him try different things until he found something that agreed with Harry's new refined diet, which consisted of mostly dairy and bread.
See, the chemo had a lot of side-effects, some Harry hadn't even remembered until Snape had double checked the list Harry's oncologist had given them to make life easier.
The vomiting was unpleasant, but at least Harry could handle it most days. He just had to keep really still if he felt nauseated during the day. And Snape had antiemetic pills for him if that didn't work.
Actually, vain as it probably seemed, Harry was most worried about the hair loss. Snape had asked him if he'd like to have it chopped off all at once, before the shedding started, but at the time Harry couldn't answer.
He wasn't sure if shaving his hair now would be better or worse. It would still be gone, wouldn't it? And maybe a part of him wanted to see Ron and Hermione one last time before he got anymore strange and different.
He hadn't told them yet. Hadn't even written them since before all of this had happened. He hadn't written Aunt Petunia either. Not in the last two weeks. Harry wanted to see them in person, if that were possible. He'd been meaning to ask Snape about it, actually.
Well, that and the Occlumency training.
Snape hadn't said a word about it since he'd first told Harry they'd be resuming; and Harry hadn't plucked up the guts to ask.
His scar wasn't even stinging anymore. So he figured it wasn't a real pressing matter at the moment. He'd mention it today though, right after he asked about Ron and Hermione visiting after the Opening Feast.
Harry had made this decision in the shower, after finally dragging himself out of bed at 12 in the afternoon. Snape and Malfoy had left two hours earlier, disguised with charms to look like a brown haired, middle aged man and his son.
Snape had said he'd left food for Harry under a stasis charm in the kitchen, (and that if some of it wasn't eaten he'd be less than pleased.)
But the very thought of food was enough to make his stomach roil uncomfortably, so after Harry finished his shower, he dragged on a clean pair of pajamas and stationed himself on the couch with one of Snape's books.
In the time it took for Snape and Malfoy to return Harry had moved once to pour himself a glass of milk from the carton Snape had bought for him and left in the cold cupboard.
(Slowly but surely, Snape seemed to be collecting all the things he knew Harry would keep down or eat and drink without a fuss. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the consideration yet.)
Snape and Malfoy came through the door, (not the floo) laden with paper bags and parcels, still in the disguise they'd left in.
Harry placed his book on the coffee table beside his milk. "I take it Voldemort didn't find you?" he asked lightly. Malfoy jerked so hard he nearly dropped his bags. Oh. Harry thought, a little too late, that was probably in poor taste. Considering.
He did his best to look contrite when Snape shot him a look.
"Feel free to help, you lump," said Malfoy, taking the long way around the living room to the kitchen in order to shove Harry's leg on his way. "Most of this stuff is for you anyway."
Harry perked up. "Really?" he asked, slowly lifting himself off the couch. He felt better. But not by much. This happened sometimes. Good days and bad days. Or an hour or two on a bad day where he didn't feel like he'd just been hit by the Knight Bus.
He followed Malfoy into the kitchen where Snape was already putting away the groceries.
Harry picked through the bags on the table. "Did you go to muggle London today?" he inquired, lifting a can a vanilla flavored protein powder and shaking it from side to side to show Snape.
"Yes," Snape answered shortly, turning back to the cupboards to put away what looked like canned soup.
Harry came up beside him to inspect. "Hey, you didn't have to buy me all this food," he said, once he'd read the labels. "The house elves make tons of food as it is."
"Tons of food you don't eat," said Malfoy who, obviously feeling that he no longer needed to help, had sat down with his feet propped up on the table.
Snape rolled his eyes and swiped them off. "Do that again and I'll use a stinging hex," he warned, then, turning back to Harry said, "I'd rather you had food you can choose and make here. I won't always be home to use the floo for you, and you should be able to eat whenever you're hungry."
That made sense, Harry supposed. After all, what if he skipped breakfast and lunch, but was hungry before it was dinner time? So he shrugged, and said, "Thanks."
Then Snape spotted the uneaten food on the table.
0000
Draco had mostly come to terms with going back to school. Mostly. He'd started having nightmares a week ago -sometimes about his mum, other times about being murdered in his sleep in the Slytherin dorm, or kidnapped straight out of his bed and taken to the Dark Lord.
The dreams were warranted, he reasoned with himself whenever he awoke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.
After today though, he sort of felt calmer. Not so anxious. Severus could give really good advice when he wanted to.
He hadn't tried to make Draco talk about his problems. He'd simply put a hand on his shoulder outside of Flourish and Blotts and said, "Any time you feel that this is too much, no one who matters will mind if you take a break."
Draco had spent the rest of their day out thinking about what Severus had said. Because of 'no one who matters'. It had taken all day for Draco to realise that the only person who mattered now had just spent the entire day with him buying stuff for two boys he hadn't even fathered himself.
That sort of thing put other 'things' into perspective… and kind of made him feel… things.
So even though Draco had no idea where his dad was, or if he was even alive. He felt...okay. Not terrible, not great. Just. Okay.
And could he really ask to be anything else considering?
His feet smacked the floor roughly when Severus swiped them off the table. His heels were smarting, but he only smiled.
0000
Harry kind of loved and hated where his life was going. Whenever he got especially bored of laying around and reading all day, he made lists. One with pros, one with cons. Some with the names of all the people he'd eventually have to tell about his cancer. (That one was buried behind the crap in his desk drawer.)
Truth was, except for the cancer and the chemo and the general miserableness that came with being sick all the time and throwing up whenever he tried to eat or stand up, Harry was sort of...okay.
He wasn't an idiot though, and he knew he was mostly feeling that way because he'd been having a good day, but Harry tried to hang on to the okay-ness whenever he could.
Snape had forced broth and an anti-emetic pill into Harry before sending him back to bed with a book and the instructions to get some rest.
Malfoy had laughed at Harry because 'getting rest' was pretty much all Harry did ever. But Harry wasn't arguing. He slept because he was constantly tired, and when he wasn't tired he was too nauseous to get out of bed anyway.
"I'll be in to check on you later," said Snape, as Harry walked passed him into the sitting room.
Harry nodded, trailing a hand against the wall for balance. When Snape said 'check' he meant a series of things. He'd check Harry's temperature, ask him how he was feeling, make sure Harry's port wasn't getting an infection, give him pain relievers if his head was hurting, anti-emetics if he felt like vomiting, and a glass of milk or water if he was thirsty.
It was comforting. Harry hadn't thought he'd ever associate that word with Snape, but he couldn't deny the truth.
Harry went to the loo to clean up before bed, brushing his teeth with the extra soft toothbrush Snape had bought for him. He climbed into bed ten minutes later, dressed in his pajamas, struggling to keep his eyes open, lying atop his covers.
He could hear Snape and Malfoy talking, not what they were saying, just the hum of their voices. Harry yawned, blinked, then fell asleep.
0000
"What about the train," asked Draco, sitting on the couch, hands clutched together in his lap to hide the tremors.
Severus, one leg crossed over the other, sat in the armchair next to the fireplace, he looked up from the journal he used to track Potter's sickness. "I wouldn't advise it. We do not yet know which friends of yours are trustworthy."
Draco scoffed, "Friends?" he said derisively. "I can tell you right now. None. You know what it's like with Death Eater kids, we're all just pulling seniority based on whose father the Dark Lord liked best."
Severus nodded in understanding.
"They'd eat me alive. I have no idea what sort of position my father has now, but it can't be good. You and Dumbledore don't even have any idea where the Dark Lord is right now!" Draco snapped his mouth shut, bringing one shaking hand up to swipe away the perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
He forced himself to breathe normally, waving off Severus when he moved to stand.
"My mark hasn't burned at all. Not for a while. And I know yours hasn't either."
"It has not, and I'm afraid it would only stir suspicion if I were to inquire," said Severus, closing the journal.
Draco puffed out a breath. "Great, well, guess I'll just have to watch my back." He tried to shrug off the tight feeling in his chest.
Severus leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, eyes boring into Draco's, "You are welcome to stay down here and complete your work. I am more than able to speak with your teachers about your…" Severus paused, obviously looking for the right way to say, 'cowardice'. "Situation." He continued, but Draco was already shaking his head.
No matter how scared he'd never admit to being, Draco couldn't stay down here. Severus already had one practically helpless person to worry about. And Draco wasn't even trying to be mean, Potter couldn't use magic, could barely walk without reeling, or eat without throwing it up.
He can't just expect Severus to look out for him too. Not when Draco can look after himself.
Severus sighed and stood, "The offer remains open, should you change your mind." He walked by Draco on the settee, and for a split second, rest his hand on the top of Draco's head. "I will wake you in time for breakfast," he said, then left.
0000
Harry awoke to a rustling sound and the feeling of someone pulling his sheets out from under him. "Wazgoinon?" he mumbled, face still pressed into his pillow. Hands rolled him over, sheets were pulled up to his shoulders. Harry blinked blearily, the person was fuzzy, but Harry could make out long dark hair and a hooked nose.
"Go back to sleep," said Snape.
0000
September 1st, Day 13
Harry slumped at the breakfast table across from Malfoy, both of them picking at their bowls of oatmeal.
Snape had checked his temperature this morning and found out Harry was running a little hot, so instead of leaving him to his bed and his sleep, Harry was up eating breakfast so he could take his medicine.
Only oatmeal tasted like aluminium these days. And so did orange juice.
"Eat. Both of you," said Snape, lowering his newspaper and setting it beside his empty bowl.
Harry sighed, scooped up a spoonful, and took a small bite off the tip. He raised his eyes to find Snape watching him, he shrugged in response. "It tastes like coins," he said, shrugging again.
It was Snape's turn to sigh, "What doesn't taste funny?" he asked tiredly.
Harry felt bad, but answered anyway. "Uhm, toast?"
"You need to eat something with some sort of nutritional value," Snape rebuked, rising from the table. Harry watched as he opened the cold cupboard and took out a carton of eggs. Snape raised it towards Harry in question.
"I guess," said Harry. He hadn't had eggs yet, maybe they'd be okay.
Malfoy, who had slumped in his chair and given up all pretense, kicked Harry's shin under the table to get his attention. "Why does everything taste funny to you?" he asked.
He looked genuinely curious, so even though Harry automatically felt the need for a defensive retort, he answered.
"It's the chemotherapy," he explained, "Makes a lot of stuff taste like metal."
Malfoy made a face, "That's… unfortunate."
Harry cracked a smile, "Yeah," he snorted, "Tell me about it. Actually," he turned to look at Snape again, who was cracking an egg into a pan, "If I'm sick, will I still be able to get chemo?"
Snape pulled a spatula out of a drawer, turning around to lean his back against the counter, "It depends."
"On what?" Harry asked, propping his feet up on Snape's chair, scooting down in his own enough for his head to hit the back of his.
Snape scrambled the egg in the pan, "On whether or not we can get rid of that temperature today, and if you're actually coming down with something or just running hot. If you go over 100.4 degrees, or have any of the other symptoms, I'll have to take you in."
Harry made a face, "What was my temperature when you checked earlier?"
Snape flipped his egg onto a plate and set it in front of Harry, "99.1," he said, giving Harry a fork, "Now eat. Take the fever reducer and the vitamins, and tell me if you are experiencing any of the symptoms on the list I gave you this morning."
Harry poked his egg with his fork, "Yes sir."
0000
Draco stood in the lavatory beside his room, examining his face in the mirror. He'd been sort of irritated at first, that Potter had gotten the real bedroom, and Draco only had the study-turned-bedroom, but he'd realised shortly after Potter's first treatment why he'd need a bathroom inside his room.
Draco straightened his school robes with hands that were pale and shaky. He wondered if people could tell how terrified he was just by looking at his face. It had occurred to him, several times in the last few hours before the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, that this may very well be his last day in Severus' quarters.
Call him dramatic, but Draco wasn't going to underestimate his classmates. Death Eater kids would do anything to gain the Dark Lord's, (or their parents) favor. If anyone knew that, it was him.
His face looked paler than usual.
Draco pinched his cheeks.
They are inferior to you, he told himself. Act above them, and they will not question you.
Draco breathed in. Breathed out. His hands stopped shaking.
0000
Laid up in bed after a shower in cold water and another choked down meal, Harry stared at the orbs of light floating near the ceiling.
For the first time since the flying car fiasco in his second year, he wouldn't be riding the train to Hogwarts.
In fact, he wasn't even allowed outside of these rooms to any other part of the castle without Snape.
He missed Hogwarts.
A knock brought him away from his self-pity. Malfoy stood in the doorway, dressed in Slytherin robes, an expression of practiced aloofness on his face. Harry's lips twisted in envy.
"Come to gloat?" he jeered, turning his head back to the ceiling.
The taunt was uncalled for, he realized. Malfoy hadn't said so much as a word about being able to go back to school when Harry could not.
Malfoy sauntered all the way in, plopping himself on the foot of Harry's bed, ignoring the weak kick Harry aimed at his thigh. "No, actually. I came to ask how you were."
Harry raised himself up on his elbows to get a good look at Malfoy, "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"
Malfoy let out a short laugh, "I don't know what happened to me either. I should be rejoicing in your suffering," he said, shaking his head and smiling to himself.
"Yeah, that sounds about right." Harry lied back down against his pillows. "I guess this is what happens when you lock three people in a room for weeks on end. Maybe this was Dumbledore's plan all along because he was sick of listening to me complain about you and Snape complain about me."
They both laughed this time.
"I'm fine though," said Harry with a sigh, "No fever, no chest pain or any other thing on this laundry list of things to watch out for." He picked up the list Snape had left on his night table.
Malfoy reached a hand out, "Let me see that."
Harry passed it to him. "Those are all the hospital worthy chemo side-effects. We're supposed to call my health team if I experience any of them."
Malfoy perused the paper with a pinched brow, "Your health team?" he inquired.
A tickle itched at Harry's throat and he raised an arm to cough into his elbow. "Yeah. Healer Beesley, Ms. Hemmingway, my oncologist, Dr. John."
Malfoy nodded, passing back the sheet. "If you, uh, want company when you're, you know, doing treatments, I wouldn't mind, uh," he cleared his throat, "you know."
Harry's eyebrows climbed up his forehead, "Malfoy," he breathed dramatically, "Are you offering to sit by bedside and hold my hand? Be still my heart!" Harry placed a hand over his heart.
Malfoy scowled at him, "Fine. But Severus will probably have grading to do so if you want to sit there for hours bored out of your mind, be my guest."
That wiped the grin from Harry's face. "Okay. Yeah. My next one's on the 8th."
Malfoy nodded, fiddled with the front of his robes, "Do your friends know yet?"
Harry grimaced, "No… I've been meaning to ask Snape if I could have them down here tonight after the feast."
"He'll probably say yes."
Frowning, Harry looked away from Malfoy. "I don't know if I want him to."
"Want who to what?"
Both their heads snapped to the doorway, where Snape stood, leaning against the wall.
Harry let out a breath, "Want you to let Hermione and Ron down here to see me so I can, you know, fill them in."
Snape strode into the room, pulling Harry's chair from his desk to sit on. "And you don't want me to approve because…?"
Harry made a face, "They'll kill me for not saying something sooner," he muttered, playing with a loose string on his comforter. "And Ron will have a fit because I've been down here with two Slytherins this whole time."
Malfoy scoffed, "That ginger-haired imbecile couldn't comprehend an emergency even if he did have more than two brain cells to rub together," he said derisively.
Harry kicked at him again, "You don't know Ron, so don't say stuff about him."
Malfoy crossed his arms, but kept his mouth closed.
Snape cleared his throat, "Actually, your friends have been hounding the headmaster and every Order member they can since the attack on your home. So they will be coming down here tonight after the feast. I'm afraid you must face your fears."
Harry blew out a breath. "I guess it's better they see me now. Before my hair falls out."
"Before what?" Malfoy asked incredulously.
"Before my hair falls out. It's another side effect to one of the drugs in the chemo." It felt easy to explain these things to Malfoy. Way easier than thinking about them himself, or imagining them happening.
"If you'd rather," interrupted Snape, "We could go out to muggle London, look for some caps and have it all cut off in one go."
Exhibit A, right there, Harry felt his palms go clammy. "I-I dunno," he stuttered, "I have to, um, think about it."
Malfoy leaned sideways on the bed, holding himself up on his elbow, head supported by his hand. He squinted at Harry. "Cut it off in one go. And wear those beanie, winter hats. It won't look that bad."
"Easy for you to say," muttered Harry mutinously, "You aren't the one losing all your hair."
"The hair will grow back when you finish the treatments," said Snape, in the weird almost soothing way he spoke to Harry whenever it came to his health.
Harry pushed himself into a sitting position against the headboard. "That depends on whether the cancer is gone when this is all over," he pointed out. "What if I have to go through another round right after?"
Snape massaged the space between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, "Then we'll keep doing what we already are."
Yeah, sure. Miss another year of school, watch all his friends graduate, hide from Voldemort. That's exactly what Harry wanted to keep doing.
"Harry," called Snape, "Focus on getting better, not on things you can't help."
0000
Slytherin had gained 4 new students this year. 2 of which were actually muggleborns, Draco was sure. He hadn't seen Crabbe or Goyle yet, as a Prefect he'd had to sit by the first years and lead them out of the hall. It was only a matter of time now though, he couldn't exactly hide in the Common Room.
"Well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy."
Draco turned, behind him stood Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. Fantastic.
They stood bunched together, arms crossed, sly and gloating expressions on their faces.
Draco clenched his jaw. "What're you lot staring at? Don't have anything better to do?"
Zabini's chuckle was so condescending Draco had to force himself not to punch him right in the fat mouth.
Cut your losses, he scolded himself, focus on what you can do.
"Crabbe, Goyle, did your parents go on that double vacation they had planned for the summer hols?" he asked assertively. Act like you're superior and they will believe you are.
Crabbe and Goyle blinked at him, Zabini raised an eyebrow, Pansy, well, Pansy was Pansy, she simpered.
"Uhhh, no." said Goyle, finally.
But the job was done, Crabbe moved from behind Zabini to talk to Draco about how his mother tried to make him take summer courses from a tutor in potions and defense, and the others followed.
Except Zabini, who stood by the fireplace, staring at Draco with a cold, calculating smile. He'd have to watch his back there.
Draco leaned casually against the arm of his chair, watching, listening, deflecting, and pretending.
0000
Harry sat in the armchair closest to the fire, stomach twisting with anxiety. Any minute now and he'd have to tell Ron and Hermione about his cancer.
How did you tell someone that?
'Hey guys, I have cancer and I can't use magic because it's weird and tangled and confusing, but uh, I'm living with Snape and he's nice, oh and Malfoy's not so bad, and I might lose all my hair in the next week!'
Harry passed a sweaty hand over his face.
He wasn't ready to do this. He wanted to ask Snape to tell them for him. He had a headache and a sore back and an itchy spot on his arm and an unsettled stomach. And Hermione was going to panic and then go on a research binge, and Ron was going to shout, and damn it, Harry was tired, okay?
And he missed his friends, and Hogwarts, and Aunt Petunia, and how being healthy felt.
Oh Merlin, a lump was forming in his throat. Harry pressed his knuckles into his eyes, willing himself to calm down-to stop panicking.
The fireplace crackled green, Harry tensed. Snape came through first, long black teachers robes billowing around him, he gave Harry what could almost pass for a reassuring look, and stepped aside just as Hermione and Ron came tumbling out.
0000
Draco slept with his wand clutched in his hand, imperturbable charms around his closed curtains, and one eye open.
0000
"So it's a muggle disease?" asked Ron, head tilted to the side, eyes rimmed red.
Hermione had cried first, and somehow Harry and Ron had both gotten something in their eyes at the same time.
Harry blew out a breath, pushing his socked feet against Hermione's. They were sitting on his bed, Ron against the footboard, Harry and Hermione side by side against the headboard. "Yeah," he said. "Apparently my mom had it when she was little, but, I don't know, something about her magic overcoming it or something."
Hermione tilted her head to lay on his shoulder, "How come your magic doesn't just 'overcome' it?" she said softly.
Harry blew her hair out of his face, "I dunno. Snape and Dumbledore have some theories, but we've sort of decided the 'why' isn't important right now. Just me getting better."
"Well, good." said Ron, shaking his head in disbelief, "You can't catch a bloody break, can you?"
Harry laughed, "Nope. But at least I got Aunt Petunia and Dudley out of it, right?" He was trying to inject some levity, but Ron only nodded, and Hermione just squeezed his hand and said, "Right."
He breathed in deeply, "Look, guys, I'm gonna be fine. Just… sick for a while. Chemotherapy has worked on tons of people before, and cancer isn't all that new. So, I'll just lay low, do what my doctor says, and get better."
Harry marveled at his ability to act like he wasn't a panicked mess.
Hermione lifted her head off his shoulder to kiss his cheek; Harry blushed.
"Tell us when your treatments are. We'll come visit," she told him.
"D'you think we can?" Ron asked, nudging Harry's toes with his own.
Harry shrugged, "I'll ask Snape, but I don't see why not."
Ron nodded his head, "Good."
Neither Ron nor Hermione had said anything about him living with Snape yet. Neither of them. Not a single word.
Harry wondered if it was because Dumbledore had had a word with them already, or if they figured there were bigger fish to fry.
They sat in silence for a while after that. Harry fell asleep, eventually, with Hermione's head still on his shoulder and Ron's feet hitting his everytime he moved them. He wondered how Malfoy had fared against Slytherin, when Snape would make his friends leave, if chemo the second time would be harder than the first.
Hermione shifted against him, Ron bumped his feet again, and Harry stopped wondering.
To be continued...
End Notes:
Hey everyone, so sorry about the late updates and the long waits between. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, even when I've been so terrible about keeping up with this story! I won't abandon this, so worry not. I love it too much to do that.
Feel free to PM me or tweet me if you have questions or requests, or even if you just want to harass me about updating. I do not mind at all! It helps me get excited about writing, actually.
Thanks so much to my wonderful beta and friend, and to all of you who have read my story.
-Marie.
Harry's Haircut by MarieLewis
"I actually sort of miss Malfoy, is that weird?" Harry looked up at Snape through the hair hanging over his eyes. "I mean, he's pretty annoying on his best day, but it's so quiet and boring down here all day… even if I spend most of the day sleeping."
Snape snorted, passing Harry the thermometer to stick under his tongue. "I'm dutht taying," he tried to continue around the thermometer.
"Close your mouth," said Snape, "We can't go out tonight if you're running a fever."
Harry made a face at him, but obediently stopped talking.
They were going to muggle London to shop, then to meet Aunt Petunia at the safe house where Dumbledore had left them after the fiasco at Privet Drive. Harry liked to think they were just going so he could get out of the dungeons, but he knew the real reason.
He'd woken up yesterday morning with a bald spot on the back of his head and a pillow covered in short, black strands of hair. His hair. Which had already begun to shed. Harry was ashamed to admit he hadn't handled it very well.
In fact, he'd only gotten out of bed to eat when Snape had promised to take him to buy hats and see Aunt Petunia.
(Of course he'd gotten right back into bed when Snape had tried to suggest going to a barber, but was anyone really keeping points?)
There was something so… Harry hated to use the term heart-wrenching, but there it was. Heart-wrenching. And painful. About his hair falling out, bit by bit.
When he had fallen asleep that night his dream had been a clipshow of Sirius telling him how his hair looked just like his dad's. Maybe it was a little ridiculous, but Harry couldn't help but feel that pieces of himself were deteriorating right along with his body.
He was skeletal, at best. There was a lump where his skin covered his port. His clothes hung on him like drapes, and he had a perpetual cough and sniffle. He was living with Snape and weirdly buddies with Malfoy, but he'd still looked like himself. He still had green eyes like his mother, and messy hair like his dad.
Well. No hair. Not anymore.
The cancer would take that too.
And alright, so he'd curled into a ball with his hands over his head for two hours yesterday...and maybe those were tears in his eyes. There wasn't anyone down here to witness his piteousness anyway.
Besides Snape, who seemed to understand.
The thermometer beeped, and Harry removed it from his mouth, passing it into Snape's waiting hand. Harry had told Snape he didn't have to come in every morning and help him do this-he could do it himself. Snape had said, "You could," and passed him his anti-emetic pills.
"No fever. How are you feeling?"
Snape had such a weird way of being affectionate, Harry thought, flopping backwards onto his bed with a sigh. He always asked Harry how he felt, but when he did it was in a 'not really comfortable but trying to sound normal' sort of way. "The same I guess.. Just tired and bored, as usual."
Snape pat Harry's leg, "Up. You need breakfast," he nudged Harry again. "Your friends can come over tonight if you'd like. It is Friday, after all. I'm sure they have all sorts of gossip to share about your classmates."
"How is Hogwarts, by the way? And Malfoy? And everything?" Harry rubbed an eye with his fist, yawning, "I feel so secluded down here. Like, I literally have no idea what is happening at Hogwarts and I'm living here."
Snape sat on the edge of Harry's bed, nudging him in the thigh until Harry sat up again. "Hogwarts is the same as it always is. Brats run around the halls causing noise and destruction, imbeciles use what little brain cells they have to create excuses for absent homework, weepy first year miss their homes, etc. etc. etc."
Harry laughed, "I don't remember me or Ron being weepy about being away from home when we were first years. Maybe Hermione a little, but she had it tough in the beginning."
Snape pushed him in the back until Harry stood, stretching his arms over his head and groaning. "Go brush your teeth," said Snape, standing himself, "What would you like for breakfast - and don't tell me you aren't hungry!" he snapped just as Harry opened his mouth to say just that.
Harry walked gingerly to his lavatory, one hand trailing the wall to help him keep his balance. "Toast I guess...and maybe an egg?" he added when Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Harry walked a little faster to get to the loo and closed the door behind him before Snape tried to make him eat anything else.
0000
Draco's favorite class was, without a doubt, potions class. It's the only class he can actually relax in because Severus was the only other person he absolutely knew who could watch his back.
Yes, he knew how pathetic he was, thank you very much.
Draco spent every day looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to try and sneak up and curse him from behind. At night he practically slept with one eye open. He was exhausted, and once a day for 120 minutes, he can finally let his guard down.
Today they're brewing some sort of elixir, Draco can't even remember what, he followed the instructions methodically, and sat silently when he was finished.
Around him his classmates are gathering their things and stuffing them in their bags. Potions is their last class of the day, so Draco gets why they're in such a rush.
"You comin' or what?" asked Greg, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his fat face twisted in a grimace as he stared down at the scorch mark his ruined potion had left on his table.
Draco shakes his head, schooling his expression to look nonchalant. "I have to ask the professor about the grade he gave me on my essay yesterday."
Greg grunts, "Be'er you than me, mate," he said, shoving his cheer in with a screech.
Almost all of the students have gone when Draco realised that Potter's obnoxious friends are merely pretending to pack up their stuff. Great. He sat very still in the hopes that they wouldn't notice him.
Severus waited until everyone else had gone before he waved his wand, locking the door.
Weasley's already too pale and freckly face went even whiter, if that was possible.
"Can I help you?" asked Snape in a voice that Draco recognized to be barely tolerant. He must be making an effort for Potter's sake.
What had the world become?
"Well," began Granger, inching up to Severus' desk, "We were wondering, since it's Friday...if we might visit Harry for a bit?"
Draco rolled his eyes. Did she really think that simpering, tentative, little voice would work on Severus? Please. Spare him the second hand embarrassment.
"Very well. However, Mr. Potter is going to visit his aunt tonight, and we will not be home before 8pm. Come at 9:00 and be discreet."
Draco's mouth had dropped open wide enough to swallow elephants.
"Thank you so much, Professor!" exclaimed Granger, positively beaming. She grabbed Weasley's arm and pulled him along with her as she made her way to the door.
"I can't believe you're willingly letting them in your home," said Draco the minute the door had slammed shut again.
Truthfully, he was jealous, and maybe a little upset. He'd wanted to go back to Severus' quarters that night himself, but if Potter and company would all be there, well, that's two too many for him.
Even if he's sick and tired of watching his back 24/7.
Severus massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Yes, well, Potter's been downstairs alone for a week, and I'd rather he not sink any further into the mood he's been in of late."
"What mood?" asked Draco, leaving his seat near the back of the class in favor of one closer to Severus' desk.
Severus sighed, "His hair has begun to fall out. Potter is finding it difficult to come to terms with the reality of his situation."
Draco propped his feet up on the table in front of him, "You should just take him to get it all shaved off at once," he stated. "Then he won't have to watch the slow depressing process."
"I broached the idea to him yesterday." Snape replied.
"What'd he say?"
"Nothing. But he spent the rest of the day in bed with a pillow over his head."
A feeling akin to sympathy bloomed in Draco's chest. Dear sweet Merlin, what was wrong with him?
"I am hoping to convince him while we are out tonight buying hats and visiting his aunt."
Draco pursed his lips, "You're leaving the school?" He tried not to sound petulant.
Severus nodded. "I promised him an excursion yesterday in an attempt to coax him out of bed."
"Hah! You've gone soft," Draco accused with mirth.
Severus fixed him with a glare, "Well, I was going to invite you along, but since you seem content to sit there and insult me-"
"Yes!" he nearly shouted, "Yes, I'll go. Can I go home now though?"
Maybe at the same moment, both he and Severus realised what Draco had said.
Home.
Draco couldn't meet Severus' eyes.
"Yes. You can go home now."
0000
Harry craned his neck from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of what felt to him like a massive bald patch in the back of his head.
He didn't have a hand mirror to use, but he'd been hoping he could at least see part of it.
He craned his neck again. Strained his eyes.
Nothing.
Harry sighed, tentatively reaching up with his hands to probe his scalp. He could feel it. A perfect circle, right, smack in the middle of his head.
Coincidentally, he realised, the same spot of hair that always stuck out stubbornly whenever he'd bothered to comb his hair.
"Is this what you do all day while we're gone? Preen in front of the mirror?"
Harry knocked his hip against the marble counter edge in his haste to wheel 'round.
"You jerk- owwww," he breathed out as he bent in half, clutching his hip bone.
Malfoy left his spot against the door jamb, his hands clutching Harry's arms and pulling him upright. "This was not my fault - you're a total klutz," he said, leaning Harry against the counter and batting his hands away.
"You snuck up on me!" Harry protested, still breathing hard as Malfoy lifted the edge of his shirt up over his hip. Already his skin had turned a sickly colour of yellowish green. The bruise throbbed along with his heart beat.
"Damn it," sighed Malfoy, "Severus is gonna kill me."
"I hope so," Harry said, yanking his shirt back down, he stepped away from the counter, meaning to leave the lavatory and get away from Malfoy, but a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him suddenly.
"Easy there, oh unstable one," said Malfoy, grabbing his arms again as he swayed on his feet.
"I hate you," replied Harry, as Malfoy half dragged, half supported Harry back to his bed.
"I hate you, too. Wait here while I get an ice pack."
Harry flopped backward, stared at the ceiling, and waited for the world to stop spinning.
0000
"So how's school?" asked Potter, lying on his side in bed, ice pack on his hip, supporting his upper body with one elbow.
Draco, sitting crossed legged at the foot of the bed, moved his knight to E4, taking Potter's last bishop before answering. "It stinks. Not as bad as this-" he gestured towards Potter's prone form "-but Slytherin isn't the greatest house to be in when you might be in trouble with the Dark Lord."
Subconsciously, he rubbed the bandaged mark on his arm. He wore long sleeves all the time now, but down here in the dungeons, he had rolled up his sleeves to trounce Potter in a game of wizard's chess.
"Does it still hurt?"
Draco stopped rubbing his arm. "No."
Potter moved another pawn, completely opening up his queen and king to his castles.
The pieces groaned in protest.
"You are truly terrible at this game," commented Draco, his castle destroying another one of Potter's knights.
"I know," Potter groaned, "Ron lets me win sometimes."
Draco snorted. "I find it absolutely unbelievable that he has enough brain cells to rub together, let alone to play this game," he scathed.
Potter fixed him with a look, "If you're just gonna say nasty things about my friends, I'd rather you not keep me company."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You are ridiculously sensitive. But fine. I will leave your friends alone."
"You know, if you weren't so prickly all the time, we might be friends."
Draco felt heat rise in his face. What the hell does one say to that.
"Are you prone to making such sentimental comments?" he sniped. "Because if you are, I'd rather we weren't friends."
Potter laughed, "Once upon a time, you wanted to be my friend. In fact, I remember you making the effort to find me in the train and everything."
"Shut up," groused Draco, "I was young and foolish."
"I'd like to point out that you are still both of those things," said a deep voice from the hallway.
Draco looked up, Severus stood just outside Potter's door, looking at the two of them playing chess with an odd expression on his face.
"Hi, Professor," said Potter.
"Good afternoon. That move is ill-advised."
Potter paused in the act of moving the last pawn blocking Draco from putting him straight into check mate.
"Severus! Why did you tell him? I could have put us both out of our misery."
"Hey!" Potter protested, "You know, for the record, I've never actually been taught how to play this game."
Draco shook his head, "That's a losers excuse," he told Potter, "This game can be played by a simpleton."
"D'you know how to not insult people?" asked Potter caustically.
"Now who's the prickly one," muttered Draco. He moved his queen forward, "Check."
"Damn it."
Severus sat on the edge of the bed by Potter, reaching forward to move a piece.
Draco nearly slapped his hand away. "You can't help him!"
Severus looked up, "Yes, I can."
0000
Harry beat Malfoy (with Snape's help) 20 minutes later, cackling with delight.
Now he was laid out on the couch in the sitting room, Malfoy was going over Snape's books, scoffing at some of the titles, and pulling others out that he'd already read, handing them to Harry with a, "If you're going to be here all day you might as well read."
"I do read," said Harry, sitting up to make room for Malfoy to flop down by his feet, "I just get headaches before I get very far."
Malfoy regarded him somberly, "Oh. Well, that's-"
Harry put up a hand to stop him, "You don't have to say anything. It's just reality now."
"I do have to give you credit for taking this all so calmly. If it were me, I'd still be curled in a ball on the floor doing something undignified."
Harry chuckled, "I spent yesterday curled in my bed, crying over my hair so don't give me too much credit."
Malfoy scratched the back of his own head as if to check that he hadn't also gotten a bald spot. "Well, I suppose we can make an exception in what's dignified in that case."
"You know, I really thought being forced to live with you would be worse than the cancer."
"I feel as though I should be insulted, but I'm too busy contemplating how I ended up sitting on a couch with you having a conversation that doesn't involve hexes."
Harry let out a bark like laugh. "Remember when you blew up that potion in Snape's lab?" Tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes.
Malfoy punched, albeit lightly, his leg. "Shut up, you fool!"
Oh, right. Snape wasn't supposed to know about that.
Harry reeled in his laughter, "You're not so bad, Malfoy. Too bad you were such a prick in the beginning."
Malfoy shifted in his seat. "I don't know that I'd be so forgiving if I were in your place," he said, suddenly serious. "Last year with Umbridge was-"
Stiffening, Harry looked down at his hands, "I'd rather we didn't talk about last year at all, if you don't mind."
There was no sense dredging up the past in anything less than a lighthearted joke. Between him and Snape and Malfoy, coexisting under the same roof would be impossible if the hashed out every past transgression.
Harry pinched his finger tips on the hem of his shirt, mumbling, "I'm fine with letting all that go, you know? I mean, if it were me last year, I'd be so angry I'd have cursed you into within an inch of your life, but me now? Well, no point in fighting about things like that anymore," he said, eyes still averted, "I mean, I know you're alright-ish, and that you're not on Voldemort's side anymore so…"
Malfoy sighed, sounding relieved. "Yeah. Me too."
0000
They ate dinner before they left. Or rather, Severus and Draco ate dinner, and Potter slurped half his soup before declaring himself 'not hungry'.
Muggle London was a bustling, exciting place, even after dark. They are, all three of them, disguised to look like a brown haired muggle man with his two sons.
Severus couldn't use any magic on Potter, but he'd turned one of Potter's Gryffindor scarves into a beanie he could pull down over his scar, and changed the shape of his glasses to squares.
Draco was crossing his fingers that the cover of darkness would keep anyone from recognizing him immediately.
It's chilly for a night in September, Draco thinks winter will come sooner rather than later this year. He wonders how Christmas will work for the three of them and their weird little dynamic.
He considers Severus family, and Potter 'alright', but he can't imagine doing 'family-ish' things with the two of them.
Draco didn't even know if Severus celebrated Christmas. And Potter never went home for Christmas, so maybe he didn't observe the holiday either.
Draco is accustomed to waking with a pile of presents at the foot of his bed, and even more under a huge tree in the foyer. The Malfoys hosted a Christmas party every year with all of the richest and most influential people from all over the Wizarding World.
Recently, Draco's been forgetting how well-placed his family had been before the Dark Lord returned.
In the last two year, they'd been reduced to groveling servants. Servants! The thought makes Draco's skin crawl, but even as he thinks it, he pulls his jacket closer around him, and clutches his wand in his pocket a little tighter.
What if the Dark Lord or one of his glorified servants recognizes him somehow through the glamour.
He quelches the urge to grab Severus' arm as he walks beside him.
0000
The first store they enter is a department store so large Harry knows he'd get lost if he doesn't keep up with Snape's brisk pace.
The shopping list he'd been made to write before they had left was clutched in his hand. It read: shirts, pants, hats.
He'd only put hats at first, then Snape had pointed out none of his clothes fit anymore either.
Harry had wondered aloud how he was going to pay for his things if he had no muggle money, Malfoy had rolled his eyes, and Snape had said, "It is taken care of." Like that explained anything.
Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore or Snape were paying for his chemo treatments, but he can't figure out a way to ask without being rude. So he awkwardly tried to say thanks for everything when he can.
Snape wasn't a fan of 'thank yous' or apologies for that matter.
Harry trailed his hand over a rack of t-shirts as he passed by and took a moment to take in the fact that he, Malfoy, and Snape were shopping for clothes in a muggle department store.
The store is cold. A little too cold, and Harry is sort of freezing in his too thin jacket. He kind of just wanted to be done shopping and back in bed, to be completely honest.
He sniffled, swiping a hand under his nose, and folding his arms across his chest. "Malfoy," he hissed, panting and walking as fast as he could to catch up. Snape was a little further ahead, walking with purpose to a section filled with pajamas.
"What is it?" Malfoy asked, stopping in the middle of the walkway so that Harry could stop breathing like a steam train in his efforts to reach him. "Merlin, you're like Longbottom every time he's late for class. Is that actual sweat?"
Harry scrubbed a hand over the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, spots appearing in front of his eyes as he swayed on his feat in front of Malfoy. Harry open and shut his eyes repeatedly, the snappy retort he'd had on his tongue forgotten.
Malfoy grabbed him by the upper arms, "Whoa. Are you going to pass out? If you're going to pass out you'd better tell me now because weight loss or not you aren't that thin. Are you going to puke? Don't puke. Should I call Severus? I'll call Severus. Can you stand here on your own, maybe I should just yell for him-"
Harry shook his head, blinking furiously to clear his vision, "No. Malfoy, just- stop talking. Gimme a second here. I just...Overestimated myself, I guess." The world stopped spinning and returned to rights. "I think it's just vertigo or something. From being horizontal all the time. Or not eating."
He peered into Malfoy's face, at his pinched expression and blanched skin.
Harry couldn't stop the sly grin pulling at his lips, "Aw, shucks, Malfoy, are you worrying about me?"
Malfoy's expression went from panicked and concerned to carefully indifferent.
"No, you toad. Now what do you want?" he snapped.
Harry recognized the deflection for what it was, and let it slide. "Er, I was wondering if you were actually cold enough to be wearing your jumper?"
Malfoy gave him a weird look. "Okay… no? I guess. I dunno. I'm just wearing it."
Harry scratched the back of his neck self consciously. "Well, I'm sort of freezing so I was wondering how attached to it you were, and if you might mind letting poor, sick me borrow it?" He put on his most winning smile.
Rolling his eyes, Malfoy shucked his jumper and passed it and his scarf over to Harry. "Just don't wipe your nose on it, you cretin."
0000
All in all, Harry considered the shopping trip to be a success. He had four different coloured beanie type hats. Two different shades of blue, (Harry's favorite colour), a red one, and a green one Snape and Malfoy had forced on him saying things like, "Green isn't just for Slytherins" and "Don't be ridiculous, that band of colour around the rim is more white than silver."
Snape had helped him pick button downs to wear to chemo, and Malfoy had helped him find slacks that didn't make them both bust a gut laughing over ugly styles and colours.
But mostly shopping was a success because Harry had almost entirely forgotten about shaving his hair off.
"Can we go to my aunt's first?" he asked, biting the corner of his lip, hoping his voice hadn't sounded half as simpering as he thought it did, "I just don't want her to see me, you know… after." Harry looked anywhere but at Snape and Malfoy.
A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed and let go. "Okay, Harry."
And wasn't that another thing he'd never get used to?
0000
It gave Draco pause to realise he hadn't thought of Potter's relatives as just 'muggles' at all since he'd entered their home.
He'd thought of them as Potter's Aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley.
The familiar 'at war with his upbringing' feeling creeped up on him, but it wasn't as strong as it had been when all of this had first started.
Slowly and quietly, he'd become accustomed to his new life.
Liked it, even.
How very… strange.
Draco shifted awkwardly in his seat on the couch, dividing his attention between a box in front of them that had somehow been charmed to display a continuing stream of images called a 'telly', and the rather heavy-set boy beside him whom Potter had addressed as 'Big D'.
Severus, Mrs. Dursley, and Potter were in the kitchen, but Draco could hear the buzzing of the 'electric' shaver they were using to remove all of Potter's hair. Draco considered the whole practice barbaric, using questionable muggle inventions to cut off ones hair, but Potter had seemed a strange mix between relieved and misty eyed when his aunt had run her fingers through his hair, cupped his face, and told him she'd cut his hair herself if he wanted.
Draco wasn't so blind he couldn't see there was some sort of past weight in the suggestion. Some complex of memories from Potter's childhood Draco knew nothing about. But here he was, sitting on a couch in, not just a muggle's home, but Potter's relatives' couch in front of a most ridiculous show where a woman believed she could wriggle her nose and babble nonsense to cast some spell.
A truly appalling creation to tell all.
"So, uh, are-are you Harry's friend from his s-school?" stuttered 'Big D', his second chin wobbling.
Draco made a concentrated effort to keep his manners about him. A small smile formed on his lips as he remembered the amount of schemes and curses and insults he'd thrown Potter's way in the six years he'd known him. "You could say that." he said curtly, hoping Dudley wouldn't try to continue a conversation.
The buzzing in the kitchen was now accented by soft sniffles and words murmured too quietly for Draco to hear. He wanted to go in there, he realised. Not even to tease. Just to… to be there, he supposed.
He felt strangely invested in Potter's sickness. Draco was blaming their dual confinement.
"D'you think Harry's going to be okay? You know...after?"
Draco turned away from the insipid woman on the 'telly' who had now taken to saying "Darren!" every two seconds. "A simple haircut is the least Harry Potter can handle," he bit out with a harsh, derisive laugh. His rudeness likely uncalled for because according to Potter, his relatives had very little idea about his life away from them.
It irked him, inexplicably, how little they knew. Even he, Draco, who had spent the better part of his time at Hogwarts searching for ways to undermine and discredit Potter was not unaware of just how much Potter had done, willingly or unwillingly, in the Wizarding World.
The damned kid was in history books for Merlin's sake.
Dudley looked down at his hands, which, in all honestly, looked like bear mitts to Draco, and made an expression akin to a pouting toddler.
Draco released a long suffering sigh, closed his eyes and prayed to the powers that be for patience. "Potter does not break so easily," he said haltingly, barely able to comprehend what was coming out of his own mouth, "I have seen him overcome great adversaries and be hardly the worse for wear." Draco formed his face into what he hoped looked like an encouraging smile and not a disgusted grimace.
Dudley looked up at him then, face shining with hope, "Yeah?"
What had is life become? "Yeah."
0000
Aunt Petunia dusted the remaining hair from his shoulders, her thumbs circling gently around his ears before she cupped his face in her palms, stopping to kiss his forehead. She thumbed a wayward tear from his cheek.
"Sorry," mumbled Harry, forcing a weak, watery smile. "I don't know why I'm being such a baby about this." He sniffed, blinking back more stupid tears. Talking only seemed to make him cry more. "It's just hair, it'll grow back." He choked out, then stopped trying all together and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He wasn't even really crying. No breath hitching, chest aching sobs. Just tears that welled up and dropped down his cheeks and didn't seem to stop.
It was frustrating. And embarrassing. And… if Harry was going to be completely honest with himself, kind of relieving. Like the ball of stress and anxiety he'd had growing in his chest since Uncle Vernon's car flipped over on Privet Drive was unraveling with every pathetic sniffle.
Aunt Petunia put her arms around his shoulders, one hand coming up to rest against the back of his hairless head.
Harry wasn't sure where Snape had gone, but he hoped he and his aunt were alone. He'd rather not have anyone else witness his admittedly long overdue breakdown.
He kept his heels pressed into his eyelids, but he let Aunt Petunia hold him close, so close that the backs of his hands were digging into her bony shoulder, and he could feel her heart beat thumping against his forehead.
She didn't say anything. Just stood in front of him, holding him while he released shaky exhales and piteous, unstoppable tears.
To be continued...
End Notes:
A/N: Hey everyone! I just wanted to say thank you for all of the wonderful reviews, and I hope to post another chapter before the end of this month. If you have any questions, or you would simply like to talk to me, you can find me on twitter and tumblr where I am more likely to respond.
Twitter: conventionjunky
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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.