~~~~HP~~~~

"What exactly do you mean when you say he'll be 'staying here until other arrangements can be made'?" Harry asked indignantly.

He had been asleep when Snape finally made it home last night. While the sleep was desperately needed, having had such a hard time with it lately, he had really wished he'd been able to ask what Madam Pomfrey had alluded to earlier. Instead, at around one o'clock in the morning, the young wizard had woken up in so much pain that he used the sphere for the first time since the chemotherapy after New Year's. At that point, he had no idea who would come - specifically if Remus was still there - so he was pleasantly surprised when Snape walked through his bedroom door, dressed in his black flannel pyjamas and feet bare, already dispensing out the new higher dosage of pain tablets in his strong hands for the young wizard to take. The gratitude he felt for the man at that time, for the simple fact that he knew exactly what was needed, could not be quantified.

That wasn't the time when the professor explained what had happened to keep him away; already knowing that Harry wouldn't be able to go back to sleep if he'd known. The former spy waited until the next morning over breakfast - which for Harry was a couple of bites of scrambled eggs mixed with cheese this time - to tell the Gryffindor everything that had happened at the match, with the attack, and the aftereffects of it; primarily Chester Summerby's death. It was as disheartening as Harry had imagined. Summerby was the second Hufflepuff to have died at the hands of Voldemort during a school sanctioned event and while this one wasn't completely attributed to Harry, he still felt the guilt blanket around him.

The rest of the morning, Harry focused on his inward feelings. Between Hermione, Remus, and now Chester, he had more than enough to think through. Which was why at lunch, when Snape first mentioned the blonde Slytherin moving in, he was sure he was about to explode any second. How did they know the attack was targeted to Draco anyway? Why would Voldemort try to kill his newest recruit? It made no sense, and he almost started with that last question, but one look into Snape's dark eyes stopped that thought before it left his mouth.

"You mean like he did over the summer?" Harry continued, hoping, almost begging it to be like that arrangement. "He'll have his own space that just so happens to be connected to ours."

"Not exactly," Snape said, preparing the young wizard's afternoon set of nutrients. "His room will be located in the same space, you can see the door there now, however unlike last time his room will not have an entrance into the outside corridor. Nor will it have any other means of entry."

So he was basically getting a bedroom on the other side of the sitting room. Suddenly, Harry was feeling significantly more suffocated than when it was only him and Snape. His viewpoint of Draco may have changed, but that didn't mean he wanted to live with the Slytherin. Who did they really think was going to get to him inside of the castle? And if they were worried about him, would that mean Snape actually was in danger of getting taken to Voldemort? The professor had assured Harry that it wasn't possible, but now-

"Harry," he was brought out of his panicked stupor by Snape sitting down at the table, calling his name. "It's only for a week or so, he'll definitely be gone before you start the hard quarantine. "

"Where's he going to go then?" It was the next logical question to ask mostly because he didn't want to sound too heartless towards Draco, especially because he was dating Hermione. "What about his classes and meals?"

"He'll be in classes, however he'll be taking his meals with us down here," Harry averted his eyes at this fact, but could feel the professor waiting for a reaction. He wanted to have a fit - he was certainly angry enough for it - except he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of it, so he sat there defiantly staring at the man, not missing the fact that the professor ignored his first question. "Outside of mealtime, I do not see any real reason for you two to cross paths if that is what you want."

"You could have told me this earlier," he unfairly accused. This wasn't Snape's fault, and the young wizard did understand that, it was difficult not to place the blame there though. "When's he moving in?"

There was a pregnant pause that told Harry he was not going to like the answer, "He should be released from the hospital wing by dinner time and then he'll be coming here straight away."

Harry couldn't help it. He let out a groan that showed just how much he was unhappy with the situation in front of him. Snape's face didn't look all that convinced that this was a good idea either. In fact, the Gryffindor had to assume that the man was looking forward to it just as little as Harry was.

It'll only be a week or so until they can find a better way to protect him… how will the Order do that?

Living with Draco, at least the start of that first week, turned out to be far better than Harry would have thought possible. The blonde Slytherin arrived just before dinner, as promised, but Harry was still not feeling well - from the leftover effects of chemotherapy or as a reaction to his new living arrangements, he couldn't say for sure - and spent that time in bed trying to sleep. Unfortunately, as always sleep evaded him and he ended up mostly tossing and turning through the evening, until Snape finally walked in, slowly just in case Harry was asleep and that notion warmed his heart. Harry closed his eyes as he heard the professor approach his bed.

"Are you intentionally hiding away from Draco?"

Apparently his pretending wasn't good enough this time. Opening his eyes, he pushed himself up in his bed until his back was being supported by the wooden headboard.

"I really am tired, y'know," he said sheepishly. "But I can't sleep. How's that for irony?"

"That's probably because it's only half past seven in the evening and therefore not your usual time to go to sleep," Snape said. "Dr Swanson had recommended only laying in bed when you are ready to go to sleep. It will help your brain associate your bed with sleeping, therefore help in the endeavor of falling asleep."

Harry was sure there was some medical research behind that, though it sounded a little loony to him. How could his brain be convinced of something just because he sleeps in it? Snape was probably just trying to get him to go out and mingle - that sounded like a word Snape would use - with his new roommate.

Ha! At least he's not making us share a room!

Suddenly the situation could seem a whole lot worse than it was, and he felt a little silly in hiding away.

"Besides," the professor continued, "you need to eat something in order to take your medications tonight and I think you'll find Draco's not at all wanting to sit around and sing campfire songs either."

Harry couldn't help it, the image of the three of them - probably the oddest trio on the planet, or at least wizarding Britain - sitting around the fireplace singing was enough to make him smirk. Damn him! Harry thought. He didn't want to be so sullen, but it felt good; it felt right to him inside even if in the back of that mind, he knew it was his chemotherapy tablets messing with his brain.

Making his way to the kitchen, Harry took a peek around the corridor into the sitting room. Sitting in the armchair facing towards the kitchen was Draco. He was dressed in a pair of black silk-like pyjama bottoms with a matching solid black long sleeved pyjama shirt that made Harry look twice because he never thought of the fact that Draco Malfoy didn't wear his normal dressy clothes or robes to bed. His right leg was crossed over his left knee creating the perfect alcove on his lap for the stack of parchment he was working on. In that position, Harry could easily see that his feet were bare; something the Gryffindor himself could never do because the cold would run deep down to his bones and never leave. Draco's blonde head was turned to the side, as if he were contemplating something serious on the parchment in front of him, and every so often his quill would scratch across the parchment. Oddly, he was completely oblivious to Harry watching him from right outside the kitchen doorway, a sign that the new spy was not completely there.

Even from this distance, Harry could see that Draco's face was covered in small healing bruises and the Gryffindor immediately thought about his platelets. If that had been him, based on the amount of bruising present on just the parts he could see, combined with that being the state of them after the use of healing spells and bruise salve, Harry knew he would have been dead long before anyone could have gotten to him. He shivered at the thought. The Snitch was supposed to be the one thing that couldn't be tampered with, and yet somehow - just like he always did - Voldemort managed to get to it. Between the attack and his thoughts on what normal Quidditch injuries would do to his body, Harry admitted, for the first time ever, that he was thankful he wasn't allowed to participate this year.

It wasn't just the physical remnants of the attack that struck Harry's sympathy for his Slytherin classmate. He'd been watching Draco for about a minute when the other wizard lifted his head and his dull grey met Harry's pain filled emerald ones and something about him seemed different. The week before Phase Three, and his quarantine, started and the two days at tutoring, he'd noticed Draco seemed off somehow, but now this went far beyond even those times. Draco seemed changed; he looked afraid. Harry had been used to a life where people were always trying to kill him either unintentionally, like his aunt and uncle, or intentionally, like Voldemort. It seemed the idea that he may have been the target of the attack yesterday was definitely getting to the Malfoy heir.

Before either teen could react, Snape came up behind Harry and gestured him into the kitchen where he proceeded to make the Gryffindor a bowl of soup and placed his evening medication beside the bowl.

"What happened to Draco?" Harry found himself asking. "How close was he to the Snitch when it exploded?"

"You'll have to ask him for the details," Snape professionally replied; Harry knew he wouldn't. "I would not divulge your medical history to him, however I will say he was close enough to be severely injured and that was before he fell off his broom to the ground."

Harry winced at the thought of falling from his broom at any height. Having had plenty of severe Quidditch accidents - a jinxed broom, a cursed bludger, and a dementor attack, to name a few - he knew how much damage could be caused from falling from one's broom. Quidditch really was a savage game, yet he would give anything to be back on his Firebolt racing across the pitch.

Draco mostly kept to himself that first night, to which Harry was grateful, but suspicious. The Gryffindor spent the night working on his school assignments out on the sofa per Snape's rather pointed suggestion that he not hang out in his bed unless he were sleeping. The task was one that he still questioned the relevancy given his situation, but he hadn't gotten the courage to ask Snape again about no longer attending classes after his quarantine was completed. The professor looked physically exhausted lately, more so every single day, and he wondered what else the wizard had going on that would cause the dark circles under his eyes that - in just the right light - mirrored Harry's own. It couldn't just be the Leukemia, because the Gryffindor had been trying really hard to handle as much of it himself now that he'd gone this long in chemotherapy and knew what to expect. He no longer needed someone right by his side anymore. Assuming it had something to do with Draco's previous and current situation, he was going through the conversations they'd all had to see if he could find any clues to what was going on.

"What happened with Lupin yesterday?" Snape asked, just as Harry was about to excuse himself to his bedroom, deciding sitting out with the two Slytherins wouldn't help him think. The timing was particular enough that it couldn't be a coincidence, to which Harry narrowed his eyes. The previous constant scratching of Draco's quill stopped at the question which echoed across the stone walls and floor, and a deafening silence filled the air between them.

"Why do you think something happened?" Harry tried to keep his voice even, so he didn't show how nervous he was by the question.

The professor laid his reading across his lap, much in the same way Draco had when Harry saw him from the corridor. "For one, you haven't said a word as to how the visit went, but mostly because the werewolf was… disturbed when I arrived back. I have my assumptions, but would like to hear your reaction."

Draco gave scowl when Snape had called Remus a werewolf, fueling Harry's anger once again. Yes, that is what the other Gryffindor technically was, but it was a very derogatory way of going about giving him a title.

"It was nothing," Harry growled out, his teeth clenched. "I'm going to bed."

"Harry," Snape sternly called.

"No! Just leave it alright?"

There was no way he could tell Snape what Remus had accused him of yesterday. Given a couple of days Harry knew he would forgive his former professor, but he needed that time to cool down. Maybe then he could explain what had happened.

He'd made it almost out of view before turning around to the sight of two sets of eyes - one of steeled grey and the other onyx black - watching him practically hobble away from them.

"I'll be there in a moment to set up your nutrients for the night," Snape commented, to which Harry sadly nodded. In his mind he was protecting both Snape and Remus from each other; the two people he deeply cared about and absolutely didn't want fighting with him stuck in the middle.

~~~~SS~~~~

Friday 7, February 1997

Severus knew he shouldn't have asked what happened between Harry and Lupin on Saturday after his chemotherapy. All the werewolf had to do was make sure Harry stayed comfortable and the professor had no doubt in his mind that Lupin was practically on top of him the whole day. It was hard to watch someone you cared about - he used that term loosely because it wasn't like Lupin had tried to be there for Harry previously - go through what Harry was and not try to help every small way possible. But he knew the young Gryffindor well enough to know he needed to maintain as much independence as he could through this, and by over helping, it would yield the opposite effect.

Going back to his own actions of that night, he had absolutely no idea what had gotten into him to ask. Something about the dead quiet space, interrupted only by the sound of Draco's quill scratching as he wrote up his account of what had happened at the Quidditch match, had gotten to him. The Order and the Aurors - in that priority - would review his detailed description for any clues of what could have happened that afternoon. Given the odd reaction of the Snitch, it was believed that somehow mid-game, the real Snitch had been replaced with the attack version, however there was no sign of any intruder on the grounds that day. That simple fact kept him alert throughout the week. If Albus came through, Draco would be safely hidden somewhere with protection from the Order this weekend and he could then breathe a little easier.

By the middle of the week, the three residents of the dungeon quarters had fallen into some sort of routine, if that was what one would call it. Draco was able to leave for classes, so long as he was there for meals; the thought being that mealtime with the other Slytherins was tempting fate a little too much compared to a classroom where the professor would be able to keep a closer watch over the students. In his own class, he'd taken the liberty of assigning permanent dueling partners until Easter break where he was able to not-so-randomly pair Draco with Dean Thomas, who was a surprisingly competent dueling partner for the Slytherin, but wouldn't take a fatal shot; at least not in class. It also gave him the appearance of it being a fully random selection and being able to keep his agenda at least partially hidden. The Slytherins had to know about the Malfoy heir's departure from the common room and for that he thought a bit of the truth would do them well in their subterfuge. So on Sunday night he stood in the common room, with his students surrounding him making him feel like a piece of meat dangling in front of a pack of wolves, and he articulated that the Malfoys immediately insisted Draco be held separate from the student body outside of his classes until a full investigation could be completed. With a look of disgust upon his face to help sell the partial lie, he made sure to emphasize that the headmaster had to comply, though only grudgingly so. They didn't buy it, he knew that the instant he left, nevertheless what's done was done and he vowed he'd do whatever it took to keep the blonde safe.

Harry had not taken to the new living arrangements well. He really had hoped that by having the week off of the chemotherapy tablets - which he suspected had been causing much of Harry's emotional strain - the Gryffindor would ease back into his usual self, except that had not happened right away. To help him feel a little less smothered by the arrangements, Severus had taken to doing his marking or any other classroom activities in his home or classroom office. So far, his heavy wards had not shown any issues between the two classmates.

That was how he ended up using his classroom office on Friday evening in an attempt to give Harry and Draco their space. Should they decide to actually speak to one another - a surprising revelation from this week as it seemed neither teenager was particularly keen on starting a conversation - he thought they could learn a few things; each with his own unique viewpoint on the other's situation. This was an idea he'd had way back when Draco first started on his path to redemption in July and it'd only gotten stronger as time went on. Deep inside, his instincts were telling him that their mutual alliance would be vital to winning this war. While his instincts hadn't been the best as of late, it was still a feeling he was unwilling to let go.

The knock on his door drew his attention up from the seventh year exams he'd been marking. Minerva was in the doorway wringing her aged hands, but not in the nervous way he'd so often seen Harry and Draco do. Resisting the urge to jump to conclusions, he motioned to the chair across from his desk in hopes his colleague would take a seat, thus confirming that there was no emergency. Fortunately, she accepted his offer.

"How are you doing, Severus?" She got straight to the point.

Clenching his jaw, he answered, "I'm currently marking seventh year exams and finding errors I'd expect out of Longbottom-" he ignored her pointed glare at the insult to her lion, "-how do you think I'm doing, Minerva?"

"Then let me specify that a little more you," she gave a small smile as he conjured two glasses and filled them both from the firewhiskey he'd brought from his quarters specifically for tonight. "How are Harry and Mr Malfoy taking to their new living situation?"

"Would it be more troublesome if I told you that this week has been quite quiet in my quarters?"

"I'd certainly question why that is," she responded. "Given the situation both boys have found themselves in, I would expect them to be anything but calm."

"Agreed," he said, although just because he agreed with that statement did not make it true. "We're surviving, Minerva, no need to worry yourself over our account."

A still silence came over the unlikely of friends. He could see a question or request in her eyes, but he refused to give into the need to break the quiet. If she had something to tell him, she could approach him herself with it.

"I think it's best if Harry doesn't come back to class," she eventually said once both of their glasses were sitting empty on his desk between them. "The Board of Governors have come back with the notion that once his quarantine is completed in March, there's no way he'll be able to end term with completed marks and therefore should not be utilizing already strained classroom resources."

The last part was said in a way that he knew she was almost repeating verbatim; likely from an official letter or an in-person meeting she attended. As his guardian, she would be responsible for overseeing this aspect of his care, and ultimately Severus would trust her judgement. It wasn't news to him, they all knew he'd have to repeat his sixth year and he wouldn't really be able to do that until his magic was back. But with his coursework in the theory coming back with acceptable marks, he'd hoped it wouldn't draw unwanted attention to him. As the Boy-Who-Lived, he wasn't granted that privilege; any other child would simply be allowed to participate without the grade or the expectation that he would be moving on.

"They're targeting him," he said angrily to the witch across from him. But she knew that already; that the child they'd both chosen to protect - for him far longer than the Ministry knew about - would never get a fair take on life.

Before either of them could say anything, a piece of parchment appeared on his desk with writing he recognized as Albus's before he'd picked it up.

"I'm needed in the headmaster's office," he explained, and highly considered pouring another glass of firewhiskey, but decided against it. "Hopefully it has to do with Draco's next arrangements."

The headmaster was cutting it a little close, nevertheless it was better than nothing. With any luck, he would have some news on where at least Draco and Narcissa, with or without the Malfoy patriarch, would be heading next.

The all too familiar walk to the headmaster's office was far too quiet. At this time on a Friday night, most students were already back in their common rooms or the Great Hall ready to start their weekend and he found himself envious of their naivety of the war around them. The sound of his quick footsteps rang across the empty corridor as he was both anxious and dreading to know what would come of his student.

So when he walked into the office he'd spent more time in this year than any previous year, in either reality, he didn't expect to hear the elderly wizard declare, "Young Mr Malfoy will need to stay put a little longer in your care."

It took every skill he had ever honed as a spy not to react to this news. The headmaster was seated behind his desk, writing a missive and had barely lifted his head when delivering the statement in a move he knew was supposed to make it appear as if it were not as big of an issue as it was.

"May I inquire as to why?"

"As I've previously mentioned," Albus placed his quill down carefully and folded his hands in an overly patronizing way, "I've managed to make contact with Narcissa Malfoy and she will help us, however she's requested time to get their affairs in order. She needs time to make her own arrangements."

This was absolutely ridiculous. Upon hearing that her son was essentially given a guaranteed ticket to Azkaban by the Dark Lord's task, and then possibly being targeted for death, her first reaction was to 'make her own arrangements?'

"And in the meantime?" He asked incredulously, "We just let her live with the Dark Lord knowing that we're trying to get involved? You've officially lost your mind."

"Severus," the other wizard said in a way that the former spy knew he wasn't going to like the next sentence. "You of all people could never forget what a mother would do for her son. You personally know what a parent would do for his son."

His heart ached at the reminder he never needed on both of those accounts.

"Narcissa is hardly Lily."

"While that may be true," Albus stood to greet his defense professor, "she is not a marked Death Eater, and she would do anything to save Draco from his current fate."

"Being a mother does not immediately measure one's ability to sacrifice for her child."

It was a bitter statement marked for his own mother and not Narcissa. He knew the latter would do whatever it took to save her child; she was brave in a way that was more like a Gryffindor than a Slytherin, but she would accomplish it using all the cunning and self-preservation that his snakes were known for. If anyone could pull it off, Narcissa would and they - at least her and Draco - would be better off for it. So until that moment came, the blonde would have to sit tight.

This is going to be a great way to start the weekend.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry woke up Saturday morning in a strange mood. On the one hand, today would be the last round of IV chemotherapy for the next fortnight; a whole four days longer than his longest stretch yet. But on the other hand he was starting another seven days of the tablet chemotherapy medication - three per day - and he had just started feeling more normal from the previous round of it. To add insult to injury, as of last night Draco was still living there, and while technically Snape had assured him the blonde would be gone by his hard quarantine, Harry had hoped he wouldn't be sticking around for today's chemotherapy.

Luck was not on his side when he entered the kitchen and Draco was sitting at the table shuffling his breakfast of a poached egg, fried tomato, and toast, appearing more agitated today with a firm scowl on in his face, than he had any of the previous days he'd been here. Harry took his own seat at his customary bowl of porridge that had zero chance of staying down today and his morning medications, which Snape must have set out for him as the professor was nowhere to be seen. Harry took the tablets three at a time ignoring Draco's stare he could feel upon him.

"Muggle medicine is so inefficient," the Slytherin said in disgust, "how are those… things supposed to do anything?"

Harry wanted to laugh at the pettiness of the statement, and he probably would have had he not been surprised by Draco's acknowledgment of their cohabitation for almost the first time since he moved in last week. They had been taking their meals together, but until now the other teen had been more or less silent.

"Well," Harry resisted the urge to respond with full sarcasm, "since wizards don't actually have a treatment for Leukemia, it's really the best option I have."

"But they do," Draco challenged him, "there are potions out there that they use."

Harry squinted his eyes. There were many ways the other teen could have found out that information, the first - and most logical - being as part of his healer lessons, but the most probable was because of Voldemort. Harry didn't want to think about what that meant. He knew that brewing potions to combat the chemotherapy was the most likely reason for the dark wizard wanting Snape's capture, but he didn't know if Draco knew that.

"I must just enjoy torturing myself, I guess," Harry said sadly.

"What do they even do?"

Harry gave a hard sigh, "Well, three of them this week are specific to my chemo, but the rest are mostly to prevent things, like pain, or nausea… or infections."

"Like the pneumonia?"

The question was one that wouldn't have surprised him from anyone else. That event must have had a big impact on the Malfoy heir for him to remember it now and Harry wondered why that was.

"Exactly like that," Harry replied carefully, but his attention was pulled to the doorway where Snape had just walked in.

"Madam Pomfrey is here," Snape promptly said. Harry went to stand, but the professor gestured for him to stay seated. "We need to talk this morning before your treatment."

No part of that statement filled Harry with confidence that it would be a topic he would like. He looked over at Draco pretty sure that he didn't want the Slytherin there if they were discussing anything about his health.

"He can stay. He's been notified of this last night," Snape said, very calculated, "Unfortunately, there's been a change of plans and Draco will need to stay with us until further notice."

It was said so formally that the only thing running through Harry's mind was that he hoped the other wizard hadn't been told the news in that manner. Knowing Snape, it could go either way, but now Harry knew the cause of Draco's foul mood.

"Why?" Harry bluntly asked.

"It's none of your business," Draco spoke up and then pushing his chair back so fast it would have toppled over had Harry not caught it, he practically ran from the room.

"He's clearly taking the news well," Harry replied, but he couldn't blame Draco. If the young wizard were in his position he would probably be just as angry.

"Please, don't cause problems," Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, "that's all I ask of you."

"Me?" Harry asked almost insulted, "he hasn't said more than two words to me since he's gotten here and when he does it's to say that I'm using inefficient medication. I'm not going to go out of my way to say anything to him."

Of course, that all sounded good and fine talking to Snape that morning, but about an hour or two before dinnertime - when his chemotherapy had already taken its toll on his body - he was desperate for something to distract him from his own misery. Through process of elimination, the Gryffindor assumed Snape was in his office because he never spent time in his bedroom besides to sleep, and the sitting room and kitchen were empty when Harry slowly emerged from his bedroom. He walked carefully - pulling his IV of morphine with him, though it wasn't nearly enough to alleviate his pain - across the sitting room, making sure not to trip on his shaking legs until he was standing in front of the newest addition to their home. The dark wooden door was cracked open and Harry could hear the scratching of a quill on the other side. Lifting a hand and saying a small wish to come out alive after this, he knocked on the door, pushing it open a little further in the process.

"Yeah?" Came Draco's reply on the other side.

Audibly gulping and trying to slow the beating of his heart, Harry pushed the door open. Draco's room looked so much different than his own that he was literally taken aback. The walls matched the rest of the quarters with light grey painted stones and the four poster bed was in the same location as in Harry's room, but in contrast to the dark wood of his own, Draco's was made of a very light colored wood. He had a green bedspread, but not nearly as comfortable looking as Harry's favorite green one. The Gryffindor wondered where he'd gotten it from because it wasn't the same Slytherin green he'd expect from the Slytherin dorms and he doubted the blonde had been able to get anything from his home to stay here. Next to the bed was a very basic looking desk that was so full of parchment, the ink pot was barely visible, and on the wall flushed with the door he'd just entered from was a tall wardrobe. Finally, directly across the room from him was a door that he assumed led to the lavatory since he'd not run into Draco once in the lavatory his own room was connected to; he'd spent most of the day in there and would have known if they'd been sharing it. Out of all of that though, the biggest difference was the overall atmosphere of the room. While Harry's was light and airy, Draco's room was dark and sullen, not unlike the teen that lived there. It took Harry a minute of looking around the room to find that the source of at least the darkness was due to the enchanted window being turned off.

"What's the view?" He asked taking a calculated step into the room. His body was weak from the chemotherapy and it ached just standing there from the small walk from his own bedroom to his new housemate's room. It was a risk coming. Draco could easily throw him out - verbally, physically, magically - but it felt like the right thing to do given the circumstances and it was infinitely better than waiting for his own circumstances to improve.

Instead of saying a single word, the Slytherin - who was arranging something in his wardrobe - waved his hand and a view of under the black lake appeared before him. While it did nothing to help brighten up the room, as his own window did, it was relaxing to watch the sea creatures swimming across the window. The view went black just as the giant squid was crossing.

"Why'd you turn it off?" He asked, hoping to get something for all his work in getting over here.

"I'm guessing Severus wanted me to feel a little more comfortable-" he spat out that last word, "- but I don't want to want to be reminded of where I can't be."

It made sense to Harry, though he wouldn't say so. When he was in quarantine the first time, he didn't like being reminded of where he couldn't go, but he did love the comfort his enchanted window gave him. It reminded him that there was something out there waiting for him when his life could go back to normal.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"So we're back to Potter now, are we?" Harry boldly asked. He was dying to sit down. Now in addition to the pain, it was getting hard to breathe from the effort of standing.

"I don't know," Draco narrowed his eyes distractedly, "for Merlin's sake, Harry, would you just sit down before you pass out."

The Gryffindor gave a small relieved chuckle and made his way with his IV stand to the chair at the desk. Immediately, it became easier to breathe by just sitting.

"So what's going on?" Harry asked out loud, but in the back of his mind he told himself this was a bad idea. He felt self-conscious in his navy flannel pyjamas next to Draco's pristine black long-sleeved button-up and matching black trousers. His eyes lingered on the other teen's left forearm for an extra second. "I know something's been going on, and I'm guessing it has to do with why you're staying here, but you were off even before the Quidditch attack."

"You think you know everything, do you?" Draco responded. "Of course, because you're Harry bloody Potter, the only one that's not disposable in this war."

"I wouldn't say that-" Harry started, but was immediately interrupted.

"You don't have to say it! Everyone else says it for you."

The Gryffindor shook his head. This was not going well. Why did he think it would be a good idea to subject himself to this?

Standing to leave, deciding to cut his losses early, he told the blonde, "I just thought you could use someone to talk to, is all. Guess I was wrong."

It wasn't a far distance between where he was at the desk and the door leading back to the sitting room, but it seemed to take him forever to cross it.

"I'm going into hiding."

It was said so quietly that had the room not been so silent, he probably wouldn't have heard Draco say it. He turned, and was now facing the other wizard who was sitting on his bed.

"Why?"

"Because I failed the Dark Lord," Draco said honestly, "or at least I'm going to. It's either that or end up in Azkaban.

"And here I am going to classes like nothing's going to change. Or talking to Hermione like I'm not just going to disappear someday on her. And I can't tell her because it'd put her in danger… more danger than I already put her in for my own desires."

Harry shivered at the last statement. He didn't want to think about Draco's desires with his best friend, except he had the Slytherin talking and that was a good sign.

"You might as well sit back down," the Slytherin called out pointing to the desk chair again in a very un-Malfoy-like manner. "Now all of that has gotten pushed back because my mother needs to get her affairs in order, whatever that means. Not that you could understand, it's not like your mother told the Dark Lord she needed time to think before standing in front of the killing curse for you."

There was something in Draco's voice - envy, Harry thought - that made him ache inside and not because of the chemotherapy. How bad did someone's life have to be to envy the orphan with cancer? That's not even mentioning how he was raised; as far as he knew, the Slytherin didn't know anything about that. What was going on with the other boy that he'd be envious of Harry's situation? Ironically, Harry would give up his parents' honor of dying for him if it meant he could have them back with him. Snape was doing everything he could, but some days he wanted to feel his mum hold him when he was at his lowest.

"You should tell Hermione," Harry confidently said. "I know you want to keep her safe, but you'd be surprised what she can handle. I'm probably not the best person to talk to about this kind of stuff, but I get the feeling you're supposed to be able to talk about these things with your girlfriend."

"There's something we can agree on," Draco gave a small chuckle, "you're not the best person to talk about with this sort of stuff. Hell, your cousin would be better at this point."

It was an odd statement that struck Harry the wrong way, "What are you talking about?"

"I think he's dating or… whatever the Hufflepuff girl, Bones."

"You're kidding me?!" He felt bad that he hadn't thought about Dudley since starting this phase of chemotherapy, but apparently his muggle cousin had truly found comfort within the castle. Again, Harry found himself happy for the teen and a little jealous that he would now be the only one without a pair in their group; at least until Draco left.

"Want to play some chess or something?" Draco eventually asked when neither knew where to go with the conversation. A chess board came flying over from underneath the wardrobe and settled on the bed between them. Then, Harry moved slowly onto the other side of the bed to be closer to the board, leaning against the wall to help support himself.

The two wizards didn't speak much during the game, which had to be paused twice for Harry to be sick - confirming that the extra door in Draco's bedroom did indeed lead to a lavatory - but somehow the conflict that had been lingering between them was gone. When they did talk, it wasn't about Death Eaters or cancer, the closest they got to either of those taboo topics was their equal feelings that it was pointless to continue in their respective classes. They joked that at some point, maybe they'd return to Hogwarts together to finish out the education they'd be missing. Harry was losing the game miserably pretty early on, not at all surprising given that he had a hard time focusing in general when his body wasn't fighting against constant nausea and pain, nonetheless he was enjoying the company and new perspective that Draco provided. Unfortunately, the game was far from over when Snape walked in the room to call the two teenagers for dinner. It didn't matter, because by that point, Draco had already put the game away as Harry had somehow fallen asleep mid-game and was now laying across the bed with Draco at his desk continuing to work on his statement for the Aurors due that night.