------ HG ------

Malfoy Manor was not simply grand, it was regal. Hermione had never seen such a lavishly decorated house. The floors were made of a dark green marble so shiny that Hermione could see her reflection staring back at her. The walls were covered with black wallpaper decorated with silver vines. Silver flowers sprouted out of the walls, their petals opening and closely languidly. A shimmer of glitter fell from the flowers in a shining stream each time the petals opened. The glitter vanished into thin air before it touched the polished floors. White marble statues were everywhere, standing out in the black background. Winged horses stood on the four corners of the room, their wings spread wide and their head lifted up in a proud attitude. Two mermaids flanked the double doors, their golden scales glowing in the half light. And there were others, magical creatures hanging from the ceiling, protruding from the walls, standing tall behind the chairs. Hermione got the constant feeling that she was being watched.

Despite the clearly expensive decorations, the overall effect of the dark coloring was rather gloomy. The black furniture and wallpaper seemed to absorb all the light flittering through the narrow windows. They were set so high up in the walls that Hermione couldn’t catch a single glimpse of the outside. Enclosed within these four walls, Hermione felt stifled and trapped. The Burrow with its large windows and doors was much more welcoming than this melancholy place. There was life at the Burrow: constant voices drifting in and out, the chatter of the garden gnomes, the clash and bang of children playing outside and the continual echoes of laughter. Everything was fresh and peaceful at the Burrow while here, the silence and lack of light was oppressive. This place looked like a breathtaking museum rather than a proper home.

Hermione was sitting on a black leather couch in the middle of a large drawing room. The doors on either side were so far away Hermione couldn’t distinguish the marking on them. There was a roaring fire in front of her but the fire was a deep emerald and instead of warmth, its bright flames were cold like frozen ice. Mr. Malfoy sat in the armchair directly opposite her. His snake headed walking stick was leaning on the side of the chair, its sharp fangs pointed right at her.

It unsettled her, the way Mr. Malfoy was watching her. His grey eyes were fixed intently on her face, observing every shift in expression, every deformity and every insecurity. She felt as if she was under a microscope being examined by hungry eyes. Hermione shifted a little in her seat uncomfortably but she stared right back at him. If he felt the need to stare at her like a unmannered boy then he deserved the same treatment. She examined his face at her leisure, trying to ignore those probing eyes.

It was astonishing how much like his son he looked, not only the color of his hair and eyes but also the shape of his face. He looked exactly like an older version of Draco Malfoy. There were winkles in the corner of his eyes and they shone brightly with a sentiment Hermione couldn’t quite understand. His lips were curled at the sides slightly as if he was trying his best to suppress a smile. Oddly he looked happy, even delighted about something. Hermione couldn’t really understand why that was. Nothing that made a Malfoy happy could be good.

But then again, Mr. Malfoy had saved her life back at the death eater gathering. At least, that’s what he claimed. Mr. Malfoy had told her that he meant no harm. The only reason she was brought here was because Professor Snape had seen her eavesdropping and he wanted her to be brought to a safe place. Hermione wasn’t sure about that. How can Mr. Malfoy, the known criminal be considered safe? Still, apart from the blatant staring and the occasional patronizing tone Mr. Malfoy was behaving decently. He had removed the freezing charm on her and he had even given her a cup of pumpkin juice and a plate of chocolate chip cookies to nibble on. That was unexpected. A Malfoy being decent was not something she was used to.

Maybe he was being nice because he wanted something from her. Maybe he thought that she could give him information about the Order of the Phoenix. Well, if that was the case he would be disappointed. Children were not allowed at the order meetings and even though Ron grumbled and complained about the unfairness of it, Hermione understood the reasoning behind that rule. Information inside the wizarding world was never safe, especially in the hands of children who didn’t know enough magic to defend themselves. A swift mind reading or mind controlling spell could easy extract the information out of her. Hermione has been studying and practicing all the spells she could get her hands on but still, it was not enough. Against a fully grown wizard she was defenseless.

“Well? What do you think of my home, Miss Granger?” Malfoy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He was still watching her. Really, why did he have to do that all the time? It was getting creepy.

“It’s good place, well decorated.” Hermione answered reasonably. Somehow she didn’t think that calling it gloomy and worse than the Burrow would go down well with Mr. Malfoy.

“Still, you don’t like it.” That was not a question. Hermione thought it was safe not to answer. She wished Professor Snape would come soon and get her out of this mess. “Why is that, Miss Granger? What is it that you could possibly disapprove of in the great Malfoy family home?”

“It is a little too dark for me.” Hermione replied reluctantly. Mr. Malfoy chuckled, the crinkles around his eyes becoming more pronounced.

“A typical Gryffindor response.” Mr. Malfoy didn’t seem the least bit offended by her words. His eyes sparkled brightest as if, for some reason, her response pleased him. “But I except you’ll have to get used to it. You’ll stay here for some time.” The hair on Hermione’s neck stood on end.

“But you told me that as soon as Professor Snape gets here, I’ll be gone.”

“Of course. But Severus is a busy man. It might take him a while to get here.” Something about the way he said it unsettled Hermione. He sounded like he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to keep her here and examine her like a curious specimen. “Now tell me, little muggleborn. What was a girl like you doing in the secret tunnels of the Black Basilisk?”

“I was curious.” Hermione stately evenly. She picked up the glass of pumpkin juice hovering on the table beside her. The glass was cold under her fingertips, freezing her already cold fingers. Mr. Malfoy chuckled again, sharing a laugh with himself.

“Curious? And have you satisfied your curiosity? Did you like what you found down there, little girl?” Hermione took a sip of the pumpkin juice, hoping that it would hide her face. Oh yes, what she had seen down there had definitely satisfied her curiosity. She had seen so much inside those dark tunnels and yet there was so much more that she didn’t see. She wished to go down there and learn more. Mostly, it was because she wanted to learn to protect herself from these weapons but another part of her, a part she didn’t want to acknowledge, simply wanted to see and to know the darker side of magic. She wanted to understand how it worked. Hermione shivered. Her extreme curiosity scared even her sometimes.

“What did you think of our newest weapon? The flesh eating ladybugs are quite a nice invention.”

“It’s dark magic. It’s dangerous and forbidden and I definitely did not like it.” Hermione lifted her chin haughtily and stared at him.

“Oh really? So there was no part of you that wanted to watch? Wasn’t there a small part of you that couldn’t look away as the flesh was slowly being eaten.” Hermione gulped but didn’t answer. He was getting too close to the truth. Hermione opted to change the subject instead. It was her turn to ask questions, after all.

“Why are you doing this, Mr. Malfoy? Why are you trying to save me?”

“Because Severus asked me to. I can never deny him anything.” Hermione was puzzled by the genuine smile that crossed his face when he talked about the professor. There was brotherly affection in his tone. Maybe they truly were genuine friends. Considering Malfoy’s dark reputation, that was not a good thing.

“But you work for the dark side? Why are you helping me, a muggleborn?”

“That is the problem with you Gryffindors. You are too single minded. For you, there is only two choices, light and dark.”

“What other choice is there?”

“Why there is everything in between! Lie and truth. Dark and Light. Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Why do you assume that one has to always pick a side? Life is short. Why not have a taste of both?” Malfoy was still watching her, examining her reaction to her words. How was she supposed to react? That was the most idiotic thing she had ever heard. How can someone be a Death Eater and work for the light at the same time. It did not make sense. The reasoning was entirely childish and immoral.

“One cannot chose light and darkness at the same time. Everyone must pick a side.” She stated somewhat coldly. This man’s words were utterly ridiculous.

“Oh, I see the misunderstanding. Of course, one cannot choose both at the same time. What I meant is that some people like the prestigious Malfoy family like to hover in the neutral zone. At times, we like to dabble in the light but when we see the chance of a profit, we slip into the dark one.”

“So your saying that you join whichever side gives you the most profit.”

“Exactly.” Mr. Malfoy nodded smugly, like a professor who has just won an argument. “The light or the dark. It doesn’t much matter as long as I get what I want.”

“So basically, you’re a hired assassin.” Hermione voice was dripping with open contempt. What kind of a man lived like that? He cared for nothing but money and power. He didn’t care about the people getting hurt, he didn’t care about the families that were destroyed. All he cared about was getting what he wanted. How can anyone be that superficial? Did this man have no conscience, no sense of right and wrong? To her surprise, Malfoy threw his head back and laughed.

“That’s aristocratic hired assassin to you, little Miss Perfect.”

“That idea is simply vile.” Hermione stated, sneering at the man sitting in front of her. But her angry words fell on deaf ears, he continued to smile at her, amused by her angry reaction.

“Of course I’m vile. That is what Malfoys are for, after all.” Hermione opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about his ideals but the sound of heavy footsteps distracted her. Someone was running towards them, every step filled with urgency. Hermione snapped her head around and stared at the door, wondering who that could be. It couldn’t be Professor Snape, his footsteps were much quieter. Then who was it? Another death eater maybe? Someone who could be there to hurt her. Hermione heard an angry voice barking orders. It was a stern female voice.

“Ah, I believe my wife has returned home.” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Mr. Malfoy stand up and slowly walk towards the door. Right at that moment, the double doors burst open, the oak panels hitting the wall so hard, a silver vine fluttered to the floor.

And there, standing on the threshold, framed by the golden mermaids, was the most beautiful woman Hermione had ever seen. Mrs. Malfoy looked like a snow queen with her pale skin and regal pose. Her face, unmarred by any imperfections, was set in a stern expression, her mouth a grim line and her chin lifted high into the air, defying the world around her. She was dressed in a long black gown that trailed all the way to the floor. Black raven feathers decorated the hemline and the sleeves. The dress was low cut, leaving her long pale neck completely bare. A single ruby sat on her neck, heaving up and down as she breathed heavily, exhausted from running. Her blond hair was pinned into a tight bun high up on her head but wavy strands were left to fall from the side of her face, dropping onto her shoulders.

“Where is she?” Mrs. Malfoy demanded. Her voice was loud, invading the entire room. She spoke with the sternness of one who was accustomed to being obeyed. She had not seen Hermione who was peeking at her from behind the high backed couch. All she saw was her husband, rushing up to her with a big smile on his face.

“So, I see that you have heard the news, my love.” He beamed at her, taking her hand in his but with a jerk of her hand, Mrs. Malfoy impatiently waved him away.

“Take me to her.” She commanding, staring pointedly at her husband. Hermione wondered who she was talking about. Who was she in such a hurry to see? Hermione got the unpleasant feeling that Mrs. Malfoy was asking after her. Maybe she has found out that a muggleborn is in her house and she was angry. Maybe she thought that her high and mighty house should not be touched by people like Hermione. Well, it was her husband’s fault that Hermione was here at all. If she was given a choice, she would be far away from here.

“Why she is right here, my love.” And sure enough Malfoy lifted up his walking stick and pointed in her direction with its snake tip. Mrs. Malfoy slowly turned around and their eyes met. Her black eyes opened wide, staring at Hermione in complete shock. A dead silence had fallen over the room. Mrs. Malfoy’s chest rose and fell quickly as she became more and more agitated. She reached out and clutched her husband’s hand, her eyes not leaving Hermione’s. Mr. Malfoy’s fingers turned blue from her fierce grip and he winced slightly but he didn’t take his hand away. He gazed at his wife with alternating expressions of fear and joy.

“Lucius.” She hissed, still watching Hermione.

“Yes, my dear.” Mr. Malfoy whispered back.

“Is it her? Is it really her?”

“There is no doubt about it whatsoever. This is her.” He replied. What was going on? Why were the Malfoys so interested in her? They were acting weird. Mrs. Malfoy was watching Hermione as if she were some kind of weird creature that had emerged out of a fairytale. Why has she suddenly turned pale and agitated? Surely, this extreme reaction couldn’t just be because she didn’t want a muggleborn in her house. Something else was going on here, something Hermione couldn’t understand.

“But, my dear, I don’t think it’s wise to…” Mr. Malfoy started but his wife quickly interrupted him.

“Nonsense, Lucius. I have been cautious for too long.” She hissed irritably. Mrs. Malfoy walked over to Hermione and gracefully sank down onto the couch, only a few paces away from her. She sat so close to her that their knees nearly touched. Hermione immediately felt uncomfortable. She tried to shift away slowly without attracting any attention. If Hermione thought that Mr. Malfoy’s stare was uncomfortable, his wife’s stare was a ten times worse. Her dilated eyes were fixed on her face as if trying to commit every inch of her skin to memory. She was gazing at her with such an intensity, her eyes seemed to burn.

“Hermione Granger, we meet at last.” Mrs. Malfoy’s mouth opened into a thin smile. Up close, she was even more intimidatingly beautiful. Her skin was stretched smoothly over a perfect oval face, free of any imperfections. But there was something threatening about her. She looked like a sculpture with an ice heart, ready to rip apart anyone who dared to disagree with her.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor. My name is Narcissa.” She extended a hand towards her. Five long pointed nails stared at Hermione like the claws of a predatory animal. With a very confused frown, Hermione shook her hand. Her skin was smooth and cold like the scales of a fish.

“I trust that Lucius has treated you well.” Hermione nodded, wishing that the woman would sit a little bit further away.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Mrs. Malfoy. “You’re the best student Hogwarts has seen for a very long time.” Hermione’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. A compliment from a Malfoy? That, she most certainly didn’t except. This situation was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Still, she couldn’t help flushing at the heavy compliment.

“I do get decent grades.”

“Better than decent from what I’ve heard from Severus and Professor Sprout.” Hermione shouldn’t feel flattered by compliments given by a potentially dangerous person but the truth is, she did.

“Professor Snape talks about me?”

“All the time. Severus is a true potions genius and working with incompetent students annoys him terribly. Apparently, you are one of the few he enjoys teaching.” Hermione told herself firmly not to feel too flattered by her words. They are most likely nothing but lies, a way to make Hermione put her guard down.

“I always did want to get to know you better. You are such a special girl.” Okay. She definitely wants something. Why else would she flatter her like this? Maybe she thinks she can charm information out of Hermione or turn her into an ally. Well, whatever the reason, it won’t work. Hermione has to be careful what she says to these people.

“Hopefully, after tonight’s dinner we’ll know a lot more about you.” Mrs. Malfoy continued, oblivious to Hermione’s discomfort and mistrust.

“You’re having dinner prepared? That is very generous of you, Mrs. Malfoy…”

“Call me Narcissa.”

“Er… Okay.” Hermione felt like she had been sucked into a hole and ended up in a different dimension. Everything was simply so illogical. “I really have to leave now. My friends will be worried so I’m sorry but I can’t stay for dinner. I’m going home as soon as Professor Snape gets here.” She made to stand up but a cold hand closed over her arm, holding her there with a vicelike grip.

“No. You are staying for dinner.” Her tone of voice was final, not allowing for any more arguments. “If you have no preference, we’ll simply stick to our normal Friday night schedule.”

“But really I…”

“I shall have the appetizers and drinks brought in immediately.” No matter how much she protested Hermione couldn’t get a word in. The grip on her hand remained, firmly restraining her in place. And so it was that Hermione found herself being dragged to the dining room and served dish after dish of rich food. Under Mrs. Malfoy’s watchful eye she ate until she was full to bursting and during all this time, Mrs. Malfoy never stopped asking her questions.

At first, Hermione suspected that this was a way to loosen her up, to gain her trust so that she might let something important slip but the afternoon wore on and Mrs. Malfoy kept asking her about her life. Nothing about Harry or about the Order or even about Hogwarts. All she wanted to know was about her. What was Hermione’s favorite color? What was her best subject in school? What were her parents like? Was she happy growing up in muggle London? And so it was that in between sips of butterbeer and bites of shrimp, Hermione found herself mapping out every detail of her life while the Malfoys sat on either side of her, listening with rapt attention as if every word out of her lips was a treasure that has been yearned for. Not once during the three hour dinner did they stop looking at her, gauging her reactions, observing every little movement, their shining eyes hungry for more.

------ SS ------

A massive set of double doors towered over him. They were made of solid gold and they were flanked by two goblin sculptures that stared at Severus, their eyes made of sparkling rubies. On the door, elegant black letters wrote out the words ‘Relics of the past.’

Unknown to the Malfoys, Severus had slipped into their home. That wasn’t hard to do considering the fact that he knew their floo password. He had taken endless flights of stairs until he arrived outside the highest room in the west wing. It was the most ridiculously lavish room in the entire house and that was saying something. The Malfoys always felt the need to adorn everything he owned with rubies and diamonds, a highly impractical method but then again, the Malfoys were an impractical pair.

This room is where Lucius kept his extensive collection of important historical artifacts. Some items were as harmless as cloaks and suit of arms worn by famous witches and wizards. Merlin’s own cloak was displayed within these doors. But there were others items, things that could be dangerous and powerful: dark arts relics and lethal potions. Normally, such items would be illegal and anyone stupid enough to display them would be locked up in Azkaban but these particular items were different. They were considered antic relics and therefore, they were perfectly legal.

When Severus had heard that a powerful and complex potion had blinded Harry he had immediately suspected the Malfoys. Dumbledore was right. No other potions master in England could’ve brewed such a complex potion and, being illegal, it couldn’t be imported from oversees. But what if this potion was considered an antic. Then it was possible to safely import it from anywhere around the world. Of course, antics were ridiculously expensive and only a handful of people could afford them. This made the Malfoys prime suspects.

Despite Severus’s annoyance that Miss Granger had recklessly put herself in danger, he had to admit that she was the perfect distraction. She would keep the Malfoys busy for a long time leaving him free to search their home. Severus sighed dejectedly. He didn’t know what to do if he found prove that the Malfoys had blinded Harry. He couldn’t just hand them over to Dumbledore. Maybe if he could just reason with them, come to some sort of deal. Severus just had to hope for the best.

Severus pushed lightly on the double doors and they automatically opened to reveal the Malfoy’s famous collection. Rows and rows of marble shelves sparkled under the light of enormous chandeliers. Transparent crystal boxes of different sizes and shapes stood on every shelf and they each contained a different item. Some enclosed cloaks and daggers, others held wands, potions, cauldrons and strange items Severus couldn’t recognize. Each box had a golden label sitting on top showing their names and their historical significance.

Severus stared dejectedly at the room in front of him. It was so long that the end disappeared out of sight. It would take hours to search through this entire room. To make matters worse, this collection was not divided by subject matter, but by date. So the potions were not stored together, they were strewn about the room in between strange boxes and weapons. The plank closest to Severus read 5000 B.C. and the corridor extended until it reached the 21st century. This might take him all day and even then, it might not be enough time to find out the truth. Just fantastic! Who on earth’s name would organize items by date? How can anyone find what they what if all they have in front of them is a bunch of dates. This is just the sort of impractical thing Lucius would do.

Shaking his head, Severus stepped into the room. Immediately the age line drawn across the entrance glowed a bright green. Lucius said it was there to keep children from accessing potentially dangerous items but really, it was only drawn to keep Draco away. That boy had an obsession with this room. As long as Severus could remember Draco had tried and failed to get in. Severus smiled as he remembered how angry little Draco had been when his father told him sternly that under no circumstances was he allowed in. That little one had quite a temper when he didn’t get what he want. Severus walked up to the nearest shelf and, spotting a potion, began his long and tedious search.

Three hours and a hundred curses later, Severus was standing under a sign that read 19th century. And there, sitting on a low shelf, was the potion Severus had been searching for all along. Goroth’s Doom, named after the wizard who invented it. According to the sign, he was once considered the best potions master in the world. Everybody knew him and revered him for his great accomplishments and his unmatched talent. But one day, Goroth took on an apprentice. A little boy coming from a lowly family. He was very talented and, at first, his master was delighted at how quickly he learned the secrets of the trade. But then, the young apprentice began to make great potions, ones that were better than his master’s. Goroth, driven by jealousy and fear of losing his place as the best, invented a blindness potion. He slipped it into his apprentice’s drink and blinded him, thinking that without his sight, he would never again be able to create potions. But his cruelty was his doom. Without his sight, his apprentice’s other senses became even sharper. With smell and touch he made potions more powerful than any that had ever been invented. He cured hundreds of deceases and soon he became famous in all the land. Goroth’s name was soon forgotten, overshadowed by his blind apprentice.

And there it lay, that very potion resting contentedly inside a minuscule glass box. It was a plain inky black liquid but within it, a bright red streak swirled around. It looked like a little creature trapped in a black pool desperately searching for a way out. Severus stared at it, impressed despite himself. He had heard of Goroth’s Doom. It was a famous legend in the history of potions. Why would anyone waste such an artifact to blind an eleven year old boy? Would Lucius, who fawned over his precious collection, do such a thing?

And yet, it must be what happened. Severus could see that the potion vial was half empty. The stopper was lopsided as if someone had hastily jammed it back onto the vial. On the transparent box there were cloudy stains like the scattering of finger prints. Yes, this potion has been used recently. Maybe Lucius had thought that using this potion to blind the Boy-Who-Lived was oddly poetic, the mixing of two legendary figures.

Reluctantly, Severus opened the box. His fingers were sweaty with nerves as he carefully extracted the little bottle, the relic of a great legend. There was a dull pop as he took out the stopper. Instantly, the red streak inside the liquid swum to the surface as if expecting to be freed. Severus took out a glass pipette and extracted a small sample, enough to let him analyze its contents. With this, Severus could create the antidote. He could restore Harry’s eyesight. Of course, his troubles were not over. He still didn’t know what to tell Dumbledore. He couldn’t hand in the Malfoys and, antidote or not, Severus still couldn’t clear his name but right now, that didn’t matter. He had done it. He had found the potion. He could cure his ward. Severus couldn’t wait to get home and see Harry’s face when he told him the good news.

------ HP ------

Damn it. He hated being blind. When the hell was he getting his sight back? He can’t find anything! He has searched all over the place for the Hogwarts: a History. It had been a present from Hermione and it had a read aloud charm on it. Yes, there is no book more boring than Hogwarts: a History but Harry was desperate. He needed something to do. He was tired of waiting around with nothing but his worry for company. Sometimes images flashed through his head, images of Snape being captured by Dumbledore. At other times, it was Hermione he saw standing terrified in the middle of a ring of death eaters. Ah! In all his life Harry had never felt this powerless. When there was danger Harry was always jumping ahead, right in the middle of it. He wasn’t used to waiting around, hoping that nothing would happen to the people he cared about the most.

There it is. His fist closed around a thick spine. It was sitting at the very bottom of his trunk, hidden under layers of old socks and broken quills. He tugged at it but it wouldn’t budge. It was too deeply buried. It has been there for months, ever since Hermione had given it to him last Christmas. Harry gave it a heavy tug and it came loose suddenly, sending Harry sprawling onto his back.

“You’re as graceful as a monkey, Potter.” Harry spun around so suddenly, his neck creaked but of course, he didn’t see anything. He didn’t need to see to recognize that infuriating voice. It was Draco Malfoy, the annoying, selfish, irritating prat. What was he doing here in the middle of his room, at Snape’s Manor? How long had been standing there, watching Harry? It scared him, how close Malfoy had gotten. His voice came from only a few feet away. Harry quickly scampered to his feet and glared at Malfoy’s general direction. He was the last person on earth Harry was expecting to see right now. Just when Harry thought things couldn’t get any more stressful this idiot walks in. Just fantastic.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry didn’t like this, being in a room with Malfoy while he was blind and vulnerable. He had his wand but what use will that be? He couldn’t see the target. If Malfoy attacks, Harry will be nothing but a sitting duck. Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He tried to isolate where the voice was coming from. He pictured the room in his mind. The dull off-white walls. The polished stone floor. The simple wooden desk and chair in one corner and the tall oak cupboard in the other. Judging by his voice, Malfoy must be somewhere near the oak cupboard. Sure enough, Harry heard the faint creak of wood as Malfoy leaned against it.

“Now, now, Potter, is that any way to greet someone?” Malfoy’s cold voice drawled lazily. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” Harry clenched his fists tightly. He had forgotten just how irritating this spoiled brat could be.

“Oh right, you don’t have any, do you, Potter?” Harry didn’t need his sight to see the self-satisfied smirk on Malfoy’s face. Harry clamped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clicked together. Under normal circumstances he would’ve yelled at Malfoy and maybe even gotten in a punch or two but not now. If Malfoy got angry and started hexing him, Harry couldn’t fight back. No, this was not the time to start a fight.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry meant his words to sound neutral but even he could hear the barely suppressed anger in his tone.

“I could ask you the same question, Potter. Last time I checked this isn’t your house.” There was the tap of feet on the floor as Malfoy moved towards him. Harry slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped the handle of his wand. If he was attacked, he sure as hell wouldn’t go down without a fight. But he shouldn’t have worried. The springs of the bed creaked as Malfoy flopped down onto it. The prat was making himself right at home, strutting into the room and using his own bed. He seems to have forgotten that this was Harry’s room and he was anything but welcome.

“I’m living with Snape now, Malfoy. You know that. Now, if you don’t mind, get out of my room.” Malfoy ignored him completely. There was a crunch as he bit into an apple. He must’ve taken the one sitting on Harry’s desk, the one he had been planning to eat while peacefully listening to Hogwarts: a History.

“What I don’t understand is why. Why are you living with my Head of House instead of your relatives? Did they get tired of a useless lump taking up the extra space?” Do not get angry. Do not get angry. It cannot end well.

“I just needed a change of air.” Harry stated through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath and sat down on his desk chair. There was a dull thud as he hit his elbow on the edge. A jolt of pain shot up through his hand. Harry groaned and clutched his elbow tightly as if trying to stop the pain from flowing.

“Really, Potter? You were so desperate for a change of air that you came to live with a man who hates your guts? That’s believable.” Malfoy’s words were muffled as he continued to chew on the apple. It continued to crunch under his teeth. Harry was grateful for the continued sound. At least it let him know where Malfoy was, on his bed, eating his apple.

“For your information, Malfoy, he doesn’t hate me anymore.” Harry tried to ignore Malfoy’s derisive snort. “And you didn’t answer my question, what the hell are you doing here, in Snape’s house?”

“I have every right to be here, Potter. In fact, I have more right to be here than you do. I’m Professor Snape’s godson.”

“What?” Harry gaped stupidly.

“You heard me, Potter. I’m his godson. I come here all the time. In fact, I even have a key to the house. I can come in and out every time I feel like it.” Harry blinked. He didn’t know what to say to that. So that was why Snape favored Malfoy all the time. They were practically family. It made perfect sense but that didn’t mean Harry had to like it. Summer was meant to be a time free from Malfoy’s immature taunts but how was that supposed to happen, when he can drop in anytime he wants? Harry felt the familiar churning of his stomach. He could feel the stab of jealousy. He knew the feeling only too well. For years, Harry had felt it, watching his cousin get all the attention while he sulked in a corner, completely forgotten. Was that going to happen again? Was Snape going to ignore him while Malfoy was here?

“You might have a key to the house, Malfoy, but that doesn’t give you the right to walk into my room. Now, if you don’t mind I have things to do.” The springs of his bed creaked again. For one hopeful moment Harry thought that Malfoy really was going to leave but no. He only turned on his side so that he could get a better view of Harry.

“You know something, Potter. This used to be my room.” Malfoy drawled in his usual cold voice. “I thought I’d come by and see how my old room is looking.” Harry’s hands quivered at his side. No, he had not known that. So Malfoy had slept in this bed and worked on this desk. Harry had been given Malfoy’s room just like at the Dursleys. What did that matter? Nothing at all. Harry most certainly did not mind it. This was his room now. Snape had given it to him and the spoiled brat had no right to it.

“I see that it’s as dull and boring as always. It’s a good thing that I no longer sleep here.” Malfoy continued.

“And why is that? Did you do something horrible and get kicked out?” Malfoy snorted with amusement. There was a soft click, as if something heavy and metallic was being lifted off his nightstand. It was probably one of Harry’s Quidditch figurines. Damn it! Why did Malfoy have to touch his stuff? He’ll probably break them out of pure spite.

“Kicked out? Me? Don’t be ridiculous, Potter.” Harry’s figurine whisked through the air. Harry winced, thinking that it would fall to the ground and get shattered into a million pieces but no, there was a soft thump as it landed in Malfoy’s hand. “Uncle Severus would never kick me out of anything. He always gives me what I want.” Uncle Severus? Malfoy calls him Uncle Severus? That’s ridiculous and it doesn’t even make any sense. Snape was not his uncle. He might be his godfather but they were not blood related.

“Then why did he give your bedroom to me, Malfoy?”

“Because I didn’t want it anymore, Potter. This had been my room when I was a kid but a few years ago, I moved to the West Wing. Most of the best rooms are there. Nothing as grand as the rooms at my place, of course, but my new room is definitely better than this dump.” Malfoy is being an idiot. He is just trying to provoke Harry. He is doing what he always did, playing with his mind. Well, Harry won’t let him this time. This room was perfectly fine for him. So what if it wasn’t the best room in the house? What if it wasn’t good enough for high and mighty Draco Malfoy. This was the room that his guardian had given him and he liked it just fine.

“Why do you think he gave you this room, Potter? I mean, as his ward, shouldn’t you be given one of the best ones in the house? Oh, I forgot, he doesn’t like you, does he?”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry snapped. Oh, if only he had his sight back, he could’ve hexed Malfoy into oblivion. How dare he come in here and start putting doubts into Harry’s mind. Snape and he were doing fine. In fact, they were doing better than fine. Snape had shared a part of his past with Harry. They have become closer than ever before and Malfoy would not be the one to ruin it.

“The best part of my new room is that it’s only a few doors away from Uncle Severus’s. That way, it’s much easier to find him.” Snape’s room was in a different wing of the mansion? Harry did not know that. In fact, he didn’t even know which part of the house he was currently in. He had never had a proper tour and he had no idea how to find Snape if he needed the man. Harry tried to not let this bother him. It didn’t mean anything. Snape had always been there when Harry needed him.

“Since you seem to love your new room so much, Malfoy, why don’t you go there and stop bothering me!” Harry snapped.

“Jeez, Potter, mind your temper You wouldn’t want Uncle Severus to make you scrub cauldrons all summer.”

“You’re the one who should be careful, Malfoy. Snape likes me now. You won’t get away with being a complete git like you were in school.” Harry stated with more confidence than he felt. Was that really true? Would Snape take his side over his godson’s? Malfoy snorted again. Harry could imagine the malevolent glimmer in his eyes as he watched Harry, trying to aim his sharp words straight into his mind.

“You think that after a few weeks, Uncle Severus would choose you over me? You’re delusional, Potter. Even if I wasn’t his godson, he’d still prefer me to you. I’m excellent at Potions and I’m in his house. Why the hell would he prefer someone like you?” Harry’s temper rose with every word. Malfoy was good at making people feel terrible. He knew how to aim close to the mark. Malfoy was just like his father, the death eater. He enjoyed making others suffer. Surely, Snape won’t care for someone like that, someone spiteful and spoiled, someone without a conscience.

“Because I understand him better than you do, Malfoy. I bet I know more about him than you do.”

“Really?” Harry could hear the laughter in Malfoy’s voice. Harry was nothing but a joke to him. Someone who he would enjoy crushing. The bastard. Malfoy sat up in bed. He must be watching Harry with those ice cold eyes, yearning to see the hurt in his face. “Let’s test that theory, shall we? Who’s Uncle Severus’s best friend?” Harry flushed in embarrassment. Obviously, he had no idea. He didn’t even know if Snape had any close friends. Nobody came to visit the manor but then again, if his friends were death eaters, that wasn’t very likely to happen. Harry took a wild guess.

“Your father.” He stated.

“Wrong, Potter. It’s my mother.” Harry eyebrows rose into his hairline. That, he hadn’t expected.

“Well, if you don’t know that then maybe you’ll know this. What does Professor Snape fear?” Harry was feeling worse and worse by the minute. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy was right. There’s so much he didn’t know about Snape.

“You don’t know that either? And you think you know him better than I do? Pathetic.” Harry hands clenched and unclenched on his desk. If he threw a punch into the air, what’s the chance that it would hit Malfoy’s face? Maybe if he was lucky he could knock out a few teeth and that ridiculous smirk will disappear. Or maybe he could break his nose and his stupid pointed chin.

“I might not know about silly things like that, Malfoy, but I know about his past. I know that he and I have something in common: being raised by horrid people. I understand what he feels more than you do.” There was a heartbeat of silence. Malfoy didn’t utter a single word. Finally, Harry has shocked him speechless. He probably had no idea what Harry was talking about. Snape had not shared his past with a git like him. No, Harry was the one that he told his past to. Harry, his ward, not Malfoy.

“What? You don’t have anything to say to that? I bet you didn’t even know that he had problems with his parents.”

“Of course I knew that, Potter!” Malfoy snapped irritably. His words had lost their casual confidence. He was being defensive. Harry smiled. Malfoy was not the only one who knew how to aim right.

“Oh really? Then why don’t you tell me why he didn’t get along with his parents?” Oh this was delightful. Malfoy did not know how to respond. Clearly he did not know the truth. Who’s the favorite now, Malfoy?

“That’s what I thought. You have no idea, do you? Well, I’m not going to tell you anything. Clearly he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you about his past.” There was a thud of shoes hitting the floor. Malfoy had hopped down from the bed and started walking. He was coming towards Harry. Crap. So much for keeping his temper and not angering Malfoy. Harry tensed immediately. He stood up, his hand closing over the wand in his pocket. Where was he? Was he standing right in front of him, close enough to throw a punch? Had be drawn out his wand and even now, was it pointed at his chest, a dark spell on the tip of his tongue. First years were not supposed to know spells aggressive enough to truly hurt someone but maybe his father had taught him a few death eater tricks. All sounds in the room had suddenly seized. Harry realized that he had no idea where Malfoy was. The attack could come from any side and he couldn’t even run away. This was worse than when Dudley caught him without his glasses.

“You’re wrong, Potter.” The voice was coming from somewhere slightly to his left. Harry turned in that direction. To his surprise, Malfoy’s tone was not angry. No, he sounded more like a boy who was just about to win a fight. There was victory in his cold cruel voice. Somehow Harry knew that whatever was going to happen now, he wouldn’t like one bit. “Uncle Severus trusts me, Potter. He trusts me much more than you. If we both told him something different, who do you think he’ll believe? Me, Potter. The only one whose words he will listen to is me.” Harry should let it go. It’ll be safer to let it go but he couldn’t. He had to get in the last word. He had to show Malfoy that he was not the second best. He was Professor Snape’s ward and nothing will change that.

“You’re wrong. He knows what you are, a liar and a bastard. He knows that nothing that comes out of your mouth is true. The only reason that Snape tolerates you is because of your parents. He will never trust someone like you.”

“Nice argument, Potter, but you’re wrong. I can prove it.” Malfoy was moving again. Harry could hear his shoes tapping the ground. He was circling Harry like a bird of prey, ready to dive in for the kill. Well, Harry was no prey. He was not that easy to break. This was not the school year anymore. Snape will not blindly favor Malfoy again. He cares for Harry and he will listen to his words. “How do you like being blind, Potter? Do you like groping around the room, stumbling over your own feet? How do you like knowing that you’re helpless in front of me? I could hex you and you couldn’t do a thing.” Maybe this was it. Maybe this was Malfoy’s plan. He was going to hex Harry and expect Snape to take his side. Well, he was the one who was delusional. That was not going to happen. If he hexed Harry, Snape will take his side. He just knew it.

“Go on then, Malfoy. Hex me and let’s see how Snape will react.” Harry challenged.

“Oh but I already did. I was the one who blinded you, Potter. I slipped a dark potion into your breakfast ages ago when you were busy eating at the Gryffindor table. And now here you are, blind and helpless.” Harry froze in place. The information took a while to sink in. Malfoy. It was Malfoy. What the hell? This git was the one who poisoned him? The bloody bastard. Harry was shaking with fury. This was all his fault. Snape being imprisoned by Dumbledore. Him falling out with Ron. Hermione running off to a potentially lethal death eater meeting. Everything was Malfoy’s fault! Every day, Harry had to live in darkness with nothing but the cruel memories playing over and over again in his mind. Every morning, he woke up to utter blackness and he felt panic and fear rush at him. He was helpless and vulnerable. And it was all Malfoy’s fault! He was not just a jerk, he was pure evil.

“And you know what the best part is? Even if you tell Uncle Severus the truth, he won’t believe you. If you accuse me of poisoning you, it is you who’ll get in trouble. I’ll deny doing anything so horrible and he will believe me.” That was a lie. Snape will take Harry’s side. He was doing everything to find out who poisoned Harry. He will never let Malfoy get away with this.

“My godfather will always believe me, Potter. He will choose me over you. Just because he was forced to take you in doesn’t mean that you will ever replace me, Potter.” Harry reached behind him. His fingers closed around something cold and slippery. Without pausing to think, he threw it as hard as he could in Malfoy’s direction. There was a dull thump as his target hit the mark. Then, there was a loud crack and the glass hit the floor, pieces shattering everywhere. Malfoy screamed. Harry was going to be attacked now but he was ready. Blind or not, he was going to punch the living daylights out of this evil bastard.

Dimly, Harry heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards them. In a matter of seconds, his bedroom door burst open and someone stormed into the room. It must be Snape. He was here, finally. He will yell at Malfoy and get the antidote for Harry. He will be cured!

“Uncle Severus!” Malfoy moaned pathetically. The stupid git. He probably just had a scratch and he was whimpering to get attention.

“Draco! What…” Harry opened his mouth to tell his guardian everything but the note of fear and panic in Snape’s voice made the words die in his throat.

“Is that blood, Draco?” Snape yelled, rushing up to his godson.

“Ah! Oh Uncle, my leg, my leg. It hurts!” Malfoy whimpered.

“Its alright, Draco. I’ll take care of this. Come here and sit on the bed.” Malfoy moaned and sniveled as he was led to the bed. Snape whipped out his wand and a second later he was murmuring incantations under his breathe. Occasionally, he would stop and comfort Malfoy who was still whimpering pathetically. Harry just sat there, completely forgotten. For a second, as he listened to Malfoy’s cries. Harry felt a stab of guilt at attacking him and getting him injured but then he remembered what Malfoy had done to him. He deserved much worse than this. Harry had given Malfoy a small cut but Malfoy had taken away his sight. He was the criminal here. Besides, Malfoy was not in pain. He was just pretending to get Snape’s sympathy and turn him against Harry. Well, it won’t work. When Snape finds out the truth, Malfoy will be in a heap of trouble. After a few minutes, Snape finished taking care of Malfoy’s injuries. He had summoned a lotion and applied it on his leg before carefully bandaging it with Elladen, a magical plant with cauterizing properties. It was only then that he noticed Harry sitting quietly in his chair, waiting to be heard.

“What has been going on in here, Potter?” His deep baritone voice was filled with anger. Harry gulped, trying not to look too guilty. He was not the bad person here.

“Well, sir, Malfoy and I were arguing and then…”

“He threw a vase at me!” Malfoy interrupted him angrily. Harry privately wished he had another vase so he could cut the other leg too.

“Is this true, Mr. Potter? Did you attack Draco with a vase causing deep gashes on his leg?” Harry couldn’t help but notice the disparity. He was Mr. Potter and Malfoy was Draco. That wasn’t fair and wasn’t exactly promising either. What if Malfoy was right? What if Snape did believe him over Harry? No. No. Snape won’t be that unfair, not anymore.

“Yes, I did but it was his fault!” Harry tried to defend himself. He voice was loud and indignant.

“Oh really? So according to you it was Draco’s own fault that you, being a typical Gryffindor, have no control over your temper?”

“No, that’s not what happened. He…” Harry began but Snape ignored his words.

“You have attacked him, unprovoked and without justifiable cause.”

“I will tell you why I attacked him if you just listen!” Harry barked. He was standing up now, his fists balled at his sides.

“Very well, Mr. Potter, proceed with your explanation.”

“He poisoned me, Professor! Malfoy was the one who blinded me. Okay, I did throw a vase at him but he did something so much worse. I’m blind because of him, sir. You don’t need to go looking for the person who cursed me because I found him. Its him, its Malfoy! He poisoned me and then came here to gloat.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice was calm and collected. He didn’t sound angry at all, only mildly confused. Oh he was good, a born liar.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about Malfoy!”

“Merlin, Potter, you’ve finally gone barking mad. Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled that you’re blind. The person who did it should receive a gift basket but it definitely wasn’t me. I’m a first year remember? I don’t know any dark magic or dark potions.” If Snape wasn’t standing there, Harry would’ve thrown himself at Malfoy, punching every inch of skin he could find. It was incredible how smoothly this idiot lied.

“You’re going to pay for this, Malfoy. You’re going to pay for what you did to me!”

“That is quite enough, Potter!” Snape hissed angrily. “You have done too much all ready.”

“But… but…” Harry stuttered. He couldn’t believe his ears. Snape didn’t believe him. He choose to believe Malfoy, the lying sadistic jerk. How is that even possible? Snape cared for him. He should be on Harry’s side. He should be yelling at Malfoy, not him! Everything was wrong. This is not how it was supposed to be. Harry could almost picture Malfoy sitting there triumphantly, laughing at his anger and confusion.

“He poisoned me, professor. He’s a criminal.”

“It’s astonishing the lengths you go to attack Draco. He is many things but he is not a bad person. Draco would never do such a thing so I suggest you stop lying, Potter.” Harry clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t have anything else to say. Malfoy had won. Nothing had changed. Snape was going to let Malfoy hurt and attack him without lifting a finger to help him. It was Dudley and Harry hunting all over again. No matter where he was he would always be second best, overshadowed by someone who had no consciousness and once again the responsible adult in his life was sitting back and letting it happen. It was not fair. It was just not fair. Snape was his guardian. Snape cared. Why couldn’t he see that Harry was the one telling the truth? Suddenly, everything became too much. Harry stormed out of the room, not caring where he was going. Snape’s voice called after him and he ran faster, not caring if he’d trip and fall flat on his face.

-------- HP --------

“The summer morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips.” Snape’s voice seemed to come from all around him. He was sitting in a large armchair in the drawing room with Malfoy at his side. Snape was reading to him. The book was Tom Saywer and Harry knew it well. A friendly teacher had once given Harry an old copy. It was old and wrinkled with pages sticking out at odd angles and yet, Harry had loved it. When he was locked up in his cupboard with nothing to do all day, he had read that book again and again. He had read it so many times that he knew it almost by heart. And yet, coming from Snape’s lips, the story was even better than Harry remembered it.

“There was a cheer in every face, and a spring in every step. The locust trees were in bloom, and the fragrance of blossoms filled the air.” Snape’s voice normally so emotionless and cold seemed to take on a new life as he read the story. He paused in all the right places, his tone tilting with the words. Harry strained his ears and listened hard. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, a soft background to Snape’s deep voice.

“Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation, and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.” Harry sighed. He felt like an intruder, stealing something that did not belong to him. These words were not meant for him. They were for Malfoy, Snape’s godson, the boy who had poisoned him. Harry had not been invited. He was standing outside the door, listening to muffled words. Merlin, this was so wrong. Harry had imagined this moment before, the moment when Snape’s voice would read a story, the same way Snape’s mother had read to him all those years ago. He had imagined sitting beside Snape, sharing the same book. He had imagined falling asleep to the sound of his voice. But it was not Harry who was sitting there right now, being comforted and read to. No, it was Malfoy, the evil bastard who was getting all the attention. A loud yawn came from the room. Snape’s voice paused in the middle of a sentence.

“You ought to go to sleep, Draco. It is already long past your bedtime.” Snape’s voice was stern but his affection for his godson shone through his words. Harry had once heard someone say that a name was sweeter coming from the mouth of a loved one. As Snape said Malfoy’s name, Harry understood what that truly meant. Snape had never used that tone when saying his name. There was only anger and, at best, a vague sense of tolerance when he uttered the word ‘Potter.’ Harry hated that. He hated the fact that Malfoy came first in Snape’s eyes.

“Five more minutes, Uncle. Read until the end of this chapter.” Malfoy drawled confidently, like one who was sure of victory. Harry doubted that Snape ever denied him anything. The stupid spoiled arrogant idiot. He had parents who gave him everything, why did have to take Snape too?

“That is what you said last chapter and the chapter before that.” Was Malfoy sitting with his head on Snape’s shoulder right now? Was he smirking triumphantly, basking in Harry’s fall from grace? “In fact, I do believe that ‘five more minutes’ was always your favorite expression.” Harry wished that Snape would just send him home. It was getting late. Surely Malfoy wasn’t going to spend the night? Harry couldn’t stand the thought of sharing this house with Malfoy. If he was capable of blinding Harry what more could he do? Apart from the stab of jealousy Harry felt every time Snape talked to him, Malfoy was dangerous. He needed to be stopped.

“Uncle?” Malfoy whispered.

“What is it, Draco?”

“Can’t I stay here for the rest of the summer?” At Malfoy’s words Harry gasped so loudly he was afraid that he had betrayed his presence. No. Malfoy cannot stay here for the summer. Harry would never be able to step outside his room without fear of being hexed and cursed.

“We already discussed this, Draco. You know you have to leave for France in a week’s time.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Malfoy was not staying here that long. Thank God for small mercies. Maybe when this git is gone, Snape will notice Harry again. Maybe then, Harry can find some way to convince him of the truth.

“But I don’t what to go to France! I’ll have to stay with Aunt Jacintha and Uncle Holand. Nobody in the world is as dull as they are.” Malfoy whined. He sounded like a petulant little child being denied a treat.

“And yet, it is your parents wish that you should reside at their house.” There was a moment of silence. Malfoy must be in there pouting like an unattractive fish.

“I guess you’re right. I have to go whether I like it or not.”

“There is so need to sound so disheartened. I expect we’ll see each other quite often.” Snape responded. Harry was surprised to hear the fondness in his tone. He never knew Snape to display his emotions so openly.

“Yeah, I know.” Malfoy stated. He still sounded annoyed and unconvinced. Finally something was not going his way and he couldn’t stand it. Typical spoiled brat. “I can’t wait to graduate from Hogwarts, Uncle. Then, I’ll be living here full time. You won’t get rid of me that easily then!” Snape chuckled good naturedly.

“By your words, I assume that you are still considering a career in potions after graduating.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Once I pass my N.E.W.Ts I’m going to become your apprentice and learn how to become a great potions Master like you.” Harry had enough. He didn’t want to listen to this conversion anymore. It was making him sick. He should just turn around and walk back into his room. If he goes to sleep and wakes up in the morning, Malfoy will just become a bad dream that has vanished in the night.

“It takes quite a lot of effort and hard work to become a successful potion’s master.”

“I know, Uncle, but I can definitely do it. I’m great at potions and all the other subjects required to entire the potion’s field.”

“Of course you will. You are a bright young wizard, Draco, and I have no doubt whatsoever that you shall achieve whatever you wish in life.” Yes, Malfoy was smart. His potions were always brilliant, just as good as Hermione’s. For the first time in his life, Harry wished he was like Malfoy. Would Snape consider him Malfoy’s equal if he brewed the correct potions and got Outstanding in all his assignments? Was that why Snape liked Malfoy even if he was a lying, cheating soulless idiot, because he was good at potions, something Harry would never become?

Harry should not listen. He should walk away but he can’t. He slides down the wall and sits on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. He listens to Snape’s words of praise and admiration, hating Malfoy more and more every minute. That git must be so happy now. He had his godfather all to himself. Not only did he blind Harry but he also turned Snape against him. That bastard will pay for this. Harry will make sure of that. Whatever the cost, Harry will make him pay.