~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 26, March 1997

For Harry, the first week of his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor was far less eventful than he would have expected. Physically, he was feeling better than he had since his diagnosis and that was mostly due to the long break between Phase Three and Maintenance where he went two weeks without any chemotherapy - tablets or IVs - and was coming to an end on the upcoming Saturday. He was afraid to ask how they'd be obtaining and administering his muggle treatments, so he didn't, however that also didn't mean he was unaware of what had to happen.

So when Healer Walker told him they were prepared for Saturday, he knew Dr Swanson was somewhere in the Manor. Yet another person's life was in danger for him, building onto Draco's accusation from last week and weighing extremely heavily on his mind. All of that only increased his inability to sleep. Most of the nights, he'd lay awake staring at the ceiling or counting the stars on the walls, while listening to Draco's steady breathing from the other side of the room. During chemotherapy he couldn't sleep because of the pain, and now that the pain was gone - or more manageable - he couldn't sleep from his racing thoughts. Unfortunately, Healer Walker could tell his recent bout with insomnia was wearing on him, nevertheless he refused to take the sleeping tablets; no longer trusting what would happen while he was asleep.

Each day, Healer Walker or Narcissa brought their meals to them and each night whoever brought their dinner would stay and eat as a way to give them a bit more normalcy to the already bad situation. Harry very much preferred to have dinner with Healer Walker than Narcissa, but he could see Draco physically relax in the presence of his mother so he never complained. He would love to have his own mother there during that time if she could have been and he wasn't about to deny Draco that chance. He'd already caused enough problems, and they certainly didn't need any more of them.

By Monday, one of the women - though he had a feeling it may have been a joint effort - had made arrangements so they could actually leave their room for a short period of time each day as long as they were heavily guarded. To Harry, that would mean being followed and or escorted by a Death Eater, and he definitely didn't trust that arrangement. Voldemort just needed him alive after all, nowhere did any of their extensive research say he could be almost dead to release the soul fragment; otherwise he probably would have done something about it by now. Recognizing that Harry was not comfortable leaving the small room yet - though Draco took every opportunity he could to leave, especially after learning exactly what his role would be in the upcoming ritual - Healer Walker managed to bring him a notebook and muggle pencils so he could sketch. At first he was so relieved to have something to take his mind off the sheer boredom, he didn't think much about it, but midway through his first drawing - Harry and Draco in their current predicament - it dawned on him that Snape must have told her about his hobby. That brought a whole slew of other questions: what did they talk about all day long? Were they in similar living quarters as he and Draco were?

"Is this your bedroom?" Harry asked that afternoon as they ate their lunch on their respective beds.

The Slytherin across from him literally laughed at the question.

"Oh, you were serious?" He rhetorically asked when Harry's face clearly showed he didn't find whatever he'd asked funny. "No, this is one of the many guest rooms. Like I would have stars painted on my walls, c'mon Potter, use that brain of yours."

Harry rolled his eyes at the insult. After living together back at Hogwarts - albeit with less interaction - and then this week as actual roommates, they'd both learned to pick up on the other's small idiosyncrasies. Draco, for example, was exceedingly sarcastic or arrogant when a subject he was uncomfortable with was brought up, like his parents' position with Voldemort or his feelings about the upcoming ritual. Harry, on the other hand, got extremely quiet during similar conversations; for him that was usually related to what happened with Snape and dealing with his Leukemia. They eventually came to an unspoken agreement to stay away from those topics and therefore the Gryffindor was highly intrigued about his roommate's reaction to the logical question. Why wouldn't he assume this was Draco's bedroom?

"Alright," he answered, "so why wouldn't you get to stay in your own room? I imagine it was big enough for both of us?"

Again, that earned him another sarcastic laugh, "As the only heir to the Malfoy fortune, it definitely is big enough for us. We'd be significantly more comfortable than here, but I also know at least a half dozen ways to sneak out of it and I guarantee you the Dark Lord anticipated that."

The way it was said made Harry think about the time Ron, Fred, and George rescued him from Privet Drive before second year. Harry couldn't even get out of his own bedroom through the normal door or window, let alone find four other ways out. That also wasn't taking into account that this room could probably fit two and a half of his rooms from Privet Drive, and the blonde was saying his was even bigger than this one.

"Where is your room compared to this one?"

"Going to try to take a peek at it, are you?" Draco jested. "That would actually require you to leave this room, just in case you didn't realize that already."

"Stop being such a prat," the Gryffindor called back, throwing one of his pillows across the room hitting Draco on his side. "I'm just trying to figure out where we are exactly."

"Good luck with that," he tossed the pillow back to Harry, "this is about a 4500 square meter mansion, knowing two rooms isn't going to tell you shite. But if you need to know, my room is down the corridor from this one, near my parents' room."

Harry nodded. There wasn't much else he was going to do with that information, but the thought that the other teen had walked by this room countless number of times and never realized he would be imprisoned in it was strange.

"Why don't you ever leave?" Draco asked him. "I can't imagine you like being locked up in a room all day."

"Wouldn't be the first time," it was a bitter comment that he hadn't meant to say and his green eyes - no longer dulled in pain or illness, which would change this Saturday when he started Maintenance Phase - were daring the Malfoy heir to ask.

Draco delayed his response by dramatically taking a bite of a chip that came with their sandwiches, "Don't be so dramatic, you weren't locked in your room during quarantine. It was only until Severus came home and could sanitize the rest of the rooms."

Harry didn't laugh though, nor did he say another word about it. He could feel Draco's hard glare against the top of his bald head, waiting for Harry to admit that it was those two awful weeks he was talking about.

"You've been locked in a bedroom before, haven't you?"

"Let's just say, it wasn't nearly as nice as this," Harry eventually replied, "but just like here there were people on the other side of the door that I really didn't want to see anyways, so it wasn't so bad. At least I have a lavatory here."

"Where did you grow up?" Draco asked. Harry turned his head in question about if the wizarding world had known he was in Little Whinging that whole time.

"Surrey," the Gryffindor said, "in a house where our kitchen and dining room could probably fit in here, and had zero architecture or character to it."

"That also means nothing can be changed," Draco commented with a sarcastic chuckle. "Most kids can make their room look how they want it to, but here these rooms cannot be touched."

Harry smiled, "So you're saying you don't have any Slytherin posters hanging up in your massive bedroom? No Quidditch teams?"

"My father would have fit over it if I had anything like that on my walls."

"Ron's bedroom is painted orange for the Chudley Cannons," Harry calmly said, but not casually enough because Draco coughed on his pumpkin juice.

"Don't ever compare anything of mine to the Weasels," he retorted back after gaining some composure.

"I'm just saying that it's ironic," Harry drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, "you're complaining-" he held up a hand to Draco's upcoming protest, "- commenting, about how you were never able to put even a Slytherin flag up, and Ron, who you mock relentlessly about his home, has his entire bedroom decorated to his favorite Quidditch team."

Draco didn't respond and Harry knew he'd managed to win that small argument.

"And what about your bedroom? The one you were locked in," the blonde eventually broke the silence with the question Harry should have expected. "Any Gryffindor flags adorning your walls?"

"Only during the summer," Harry thought back to the days he'd arrive back at Privet Drive, when he'd pull out his Gryffindor banners and pictures of his parents and friends from his trunk, putting them neatly in their temporary home for the next two months. It seemed pointless - and Draco wouldn't understand - but to him it was a necessity to get through those awful weeks before he returned to his real home: Hogwarts.

"You only decorated in the summer?" The Slytherin asked confused, "Why didn't you leave it up while you were gone?"

"Because it probably wouldn't be there when I returned," Harry answered almost too quickly. He had no doubt in his mind that Uncle Vernon went through his room after returning from Kings Cross Station every 1st of September just itching to throw out anything Harry may have accidentally left behind. "Let's just say the relatives I lived with didn't really like me living there."

"Dudley's parents?"

"Yeah," Harry found himself saying, "I told you Dudley and I only recently started getting along. As for my aunt and uncle, let's also say they were happier without me there."

He didn't mention that they left him to grow up in a cupboard under the stairs, or that if it weren't for Snape showing up in his lavatory that fateful night in July, they probably wouldn't have caught the Leukemia in time.

"Every wizarding kid," Draco said quietly, almost like he was afraid to mention it, "grew up knowing about the Boy-Who-Lived. To be honest, it never occurred to me that you wouldn't know a single thing about the wizarding world. I mean, if you asked any witch or wizard about our age, they'd tell you how jealous they were that you were so famous and would probably be going to Hogwarts with us. "

"Think about what you just said," Harry challenged, "I'm famous for not dying. That's all it was. My mother did it all."

"She was a muggleborn too," Draco said and in reaction to Harry's hard glare, he added, "there's nothing wrong with that, it's just ironic, don't you think?"

This was getting far too close to a topic he didn't want to talk about: the prophecy. Maybe sometime during their imprisonment he would be able to talk about it, but right now he just couldn't. The wound was still too fresh.

So in an effort to distract the Slytherin away from this he asked, "Are you nervous about tonight?"

The air in the room immediately changed; Harry had been hoping it would, but that didn't make him any more prepared for it. That night, or more accurately tomorrow, sometime before three o'clock in the morning, Draco would be brought for his first ritual. The way it was explained, Draco's pure blood - and something to do with the planets when he was born - could be used to clean out the cancer from Voldemort's, but only temporarily; every two nights the ritual would need to be repeated because the cancer would return. It sounded absolutely horrific and definitely considered Dark Magic. Harry still didn't know if Draco knew about Harry's blood being used for Voldemort's resurrection - and he didn't offer that information - but now they would both have something else, more rare, in common: their blood would reside within the evil wizard, Harry's killing him and Draco's attempting to heal him. At least Harry hadn't known about his blood being used in the resurrection until he was tied to the headstone, and by then he had more important things to worry about.

"What do you think?" Draco sharply replied. "How would you feel getting your blood drained every two nights?"

Not good, was obviously the first answer the Gryffindor thought of, but he chose not answer. No good would come from it.

"I'll probably be-"

"I'm going for a walk," Draco interrupted as he placed his plate on the tray and stood to stretch. "You want to come this time?"

Harry furrowed his brows like he was actually considering it when he already knew the answer.

"No," he replied, "I'm going do some more sketching."

"Suit yourself," the blonde nonchalantly replied. "I'll take your tray if you're done."

Harry nodded and the other teen stacked the plates and cups neatly before picking them up to head to the door.

"Who do you think my escort will be today?" Draco called out loud enough for the posted Death Eater to hear through the door, "Shall we see who's behind door number one?"

Harry laughed and shook his head recognizing Draco's need to cover up his true feelings about what was going to happen overnight and not at all blaming him for it. If Harry had to go through what the blonde would, he'd react the same way. At some point, it didn't do to dwell on the things you couldn't change and instead they needed to focus on what they could do and for Harry, that meant writing down everything he knew about Draco's bedroom. It didn't go unnoticed to the Gryffindor that if the teen had a half dozen ways to escape out of it, and it was near their current cell, they may be able to use that to their advantage to find a way to escape.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Harry called out to his roommate before he left.

"Trust me, Potter," Draco said before he left, "there are very few of your Gryffindor antics that I would actually be caught dead doing."

~~~~SS~~~~

"I can't do this," Nadine said, while pacing across the small space between their mattresses and the potions workbench. "This is completely barbaric and absolutely sickening."

Severus had been trying every way he knew how to get the healer mentally prepared for what she'd be doing in less than six hours. As someone who had taken a vow to protect and to heal, to purposefully cause harm to a patient instead was definitely something she was currently struggling with.

As for Severus that week, he'd only been out of their cell to deliver the Dark Lord's next round of potions last Saturday - during which the evil wizard took the opportunity to continue to torture his former Death Eater - and the rest of the week he'd been locked up. Having never been a social person, in either reality, he didn't expect the isolation and lack of natural daylight, even from an enchanted window, to wear on him as badly as it had and knowing Harry and Draco were being held here, at least in a guest room and not a cell, did not help the matter. Early on in the week, he found himself struggling to stay motivated and therefore changed strategies from doing all 64 phials of potion at once to doing a smaller set everyday. It was less efficient overall, but gave him something to focus his nervous mind on.

When Nadine returned the previous week with the cryptic message from Harry about the loss of his magic, he ended up in a fit of rage that terrified his roommate. Not only would this put the young wizard at a disadvantage at the Manor, it would weigh negatively on his mental fortitude; constantly questioning what he'd do should they actually get out of this seemingly impossible situation, and if the soul fragment could ever be removed giving him access to the rest of his magical core which would then need to be retrained. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he was supposed to be by Harry's side to help him through this transition, especially considering the whole idea of draining his top core had been the professor's idea. Now, the young wizard would have no one there, likely not wanting to admit that he was magicless; he couldn't defend himself even if he had access to a wand. After his raging fit, the healer - oblivious to why that simple statement would yield that reaction - gave him a little more space, at least until the ritual was upon them and she started to panic herself.

Each day, he had casually asked Nadine about both of the teens she'd been caring for, eventually leading to her picking up on his concerns for the two wizards. From then on, she would bring him a very detailed report after every visit, or dinner if she ate with them that night. Draco recovered well from his experience with the Dark Lord and, as of Monday when they were granted the privilege, spent as much time as he could get away with by wandering in the gardens under a heavy watch from at least one - possibly two since the Malfoy heir knew the area so well - guard. Mentally, he knew his Slytherin would keep all of his anxiety about the upcoming procedure building up inside of him, not unlike Harry before his very first chemotherapy treatment back in July. It was an unfortunate reality that eventually this would become normal to the blonde, just as Harry became accustomed to his own treatments. Suddenly, creating the potions to poison the Dark Lord seemed all the more important; then they would only be dealing with a shadow like in his own reality. It wouldn't be ideal, but it would save them in the immediate and that was where he needed to place his focus.

Harry, on the other hand, had not once left the room where they were being held prisoner. Even back at Privet Drive, Severus had required Harry to be at the table for as many meals as he physically could be at so his mind could have a change of scenery. Being isolated away now, stuck in his own thoughts about the unknown on top of everything else Severus knew he was struggling with, was bound to be a toxic combination. As a way to help the Gryffindor, he suggested to Nadine that she try to obtain for him a sketchbook and muggle pencils - a request that earned him a peculiar look - but she did oblige his request. The next day, her report on Harry was much more positive.

"Are you trained in Occlumency?" He asked the frantic witch in front of him. Based on the look she gave him, she not only wasn't trained in it, she didn't have a clue of what he was talking about.

They'd gone through all of the physical requirements of the ritual: what incisions to make in which location, how to collect the blood in the best manner to prevent excess blood loss for Draco - unfortunately the Dark Lord did not carry any risk of blood loss in this process - and when the optimal timing was to give the Blood Replenishing Potion. That last one she'd already known and because of that, he received a very pointed lecture on what exactly Healers learned for their given profession compared to a Potion's Masters. It was her way of dealing with what she was being forced to do, but with his own foul mood they proceeded to spend the next several hours in an awkward silence.

"How many people have you killed?" She stopped her pacing when she realized the question she'd just asked, "I didn't mean-"

"Too many," he interrupted her with an honest answer she wasn't expecting."

"How did you…"

"First, this is not the same," he stood to face her so what he was about to say would have more meaning than empty words, "You are not killing someone. Quite the opposite actually, you're actually trying to heal even if we'd both rather that particular wizard not be healed.

"Second, and this is a very important point, you are being coerced into it. While I eventually changed my alliances, the deaths I caused while I voluntarily supported the Dark Lord, are my own. I did not need to be convinced to do them, I had my own justifications for them however it was absolutely not the same."

"I just…" she sat upon her bed and hung her head into her hands.

"You'll do this because if you don't, he'll kill you and find someone else," the former Death Eater bluntly told her, "and if that happens, he may replace you with someone less gentle and kind. Think about what would happen to Draco if Bellatrix were making the incisions."

Nadine shivered, "She'll be there saying the incantations."

"And that will be terrifying enough for Draco," he pointed out, "imagine if she were the one wielding the knife."

The healer nodded, but it didn't help to improve her pallid face. Knowing what one had to do didn't necessarily translate to accepting one's fate.

"You should try to sleep," he eventually ended the uncomfortable silence, "two o'clock in the morning will be here far too soon."

Even with the lanterns extinguished - the fire would stay lit all night otherwise they would not only be too cold in the dungeons, but they would not be able to see a hand in front of their face - both prisoners sat awake on their mattresses. He went through his own struggles in his mind while waiting for the healer's breathing to even out, indicating that she'd fallen asleep. It never came though. If she was going to do this every other night, Severus knew she would need to find some way to accept what was happening. As the minutes and hours ticked by, the professor inventoried in his head all of the ingredients they had available in the small laboratory - almost all of which were needed for the Dark Lord's potions - and the small amount of healing potions they had at their disposal. If he got creative with two or three of the ingredients and sacrificed at least one pain potion, he was confident he could put together a decent calming draught to help her get through at least the next week's worth of rituals. Hopefully by that point, she would come to terms with her latest task and they'd be able to finally start to come up with the next step in their escape plan.

~~~~HP~~~~

As with Snape's quarters back at Hogwarts, the celestial room - as Harry had started to call it - had a clock over the mantle that the young wizard tried very hard not to watch, especially as he was up late into the middle of the night. Unique to this particular night though, was that Draco's deep even breaths, indicating the blonde was asleep, were not heard throughout the room. Harry tried to keep his own breathing relaxed as he stared at the ceiling pleading with his mind to shut down and go to sleep, knowing the effort would be futile.

"Shouldn't you try to get some sleep while you can?" Harry asked across the darkened room.

There was a three second delay in the other wizard's reply, "As if you can talk. I know you don't sleep every night."

"And who's fault is that?" the Gryffindor replied. "Maybe if I hadn't been drugged, I would feel a little better about taking the medication meant to help with that."

Again, there was a long pause. "That's fair," Draco answered, "I wouldn't quite trust it either."

Harry turned to face the direction of the other bed, "So then, why aren't you sleeping?"

He could hear rustling from across the room and a hard sigh, "I refuse to let them have the satisfaction of waking me up tonight. I want to do this on my own terms. I'm sure that won't always be the case, but for the first time I'm not going to show them a gram of weakness."

"That's fair," Harry mirrored Draco's previous response. "I'd probably do the same thing."

The more he lived with the Malfoy heir - really lived with him, not just shared a set of quarters with rooms on opposite ends - the more he was amazed with how similar they really were. They couldn't have grown up any more different, and yet Harry felt like Draco was a Slytherin version of himself. Not for the first time he questioned to himself if he would have turned out closer to what Draco was like, a little more arrogant and overconfident, if his parents hadn't been killed. That single event had so many different repercussions that came from it, both good and bad. In the end though, Harry liked who he was, but would he have grown up to be the same person if he had lived in a full wizarding house instead of in a cupboard under the stairs of a muggle one?

"Eventually, I'm sure I'll get used to it," the Slytherin continued. Harry wanted to say he didn't think that would be possible, but he could tell Draco wasn't done yet. "I mean… I'm sure you were really nervous before your first muggle treatment? And now… well, you don't even flinch when the needle gets anywhere near you, but that hasn't always been the case, right?"

The pleading in that last word was loud and clear. Harry was so surprised by the analogy and he turned his head inquisitively in thinking about it. His first chemotherapy felt like a lifetime ago, somehow even further than his port insertion even though that happened first. And did Draco sound… envious of Harry's reaction to it all?

"Yeah," the Gryffindor answered, "I was more nervous about the surgery for my port though. They had to give me medication to fall asleep and, well, cut a hole in my chest to put it in."

"That's… " Draco started to respond, but trailed off momentarily, "I was going to say barbaric, although it's not much different than what I'm about to have done. At least you were guaranteed to be asleep for it, and I'm not leaving with anything inside of me."

Giving a small chuckle at that small concession, Harry said, "As for the actual first treatment, I used to use a salve that made the port area numb so it didn't hurt, but I don't need it anymore. I guess they just did a lot of little things to make it as comfortable as possible. Maybe Healer Walker can get something like that for your arm."

"I doubt it," the Slytherin responded, "But you were still… nervous… right?"

Scared. That was the word the other teenager had wanted to use, except his pride wouldn't let him admit to being something so weak. Under normal circumstances, Harry would never admit to that either - especially when talking to Draco - however these weren't normal circumstances and Draco was indeed scared about what would happen in less than a half an hour.

"Of course I was scared," Harry confidently said, "I still am. Even though the chemotherapy is mostly tablet based for the next three years, it doesn't mean I'm in the clear yet. I can still get a blood test back that says the cancer returned and then I start all over, but with a significantly worse prognosis." He paused expecting Draco to make some comment about how dramatic he was being. When he was met with silence though, he continued, "That first one, though? I was terrified. I practically skipped over all the information I was given to read hoping if I ignored it for as long as possible, it wouldn't be real."

"Sounds like something I'd do," was mumbled from the other bed.

An odd companionable silence enveloped the room and Harry's eyes fell to the foot of his bed where he watched dying flames in the fireplace flicker up the sides. He heard rustling from Draco's side of the room again and saw his lanky figure move to the window and stand there staring out at the glowing gardens. Without any warning, their heavy door creaked open and Harry instantly recognized Dolohov and Rookwood. They strided into the bedroom, not even attempting to damper their heavy footsteps, with their wands brandished aggressively. Clearly, the two Death Eaters had been anticipating a fight and not for their prisoner to be standing there waiting for them. Draco had wanted to appear strong as well as in complete control that night, and Harry was proud of his friend for having accomplished exactly that. Dolohov recovered from his small fit of shock first and roughly grabbed the blonde by one arm - so hard that even Harry flinched - while Rookwood seized the other, both of them sparing a watchful glance at the one bed still occupied. Harry gave a small, imperceptible nod to Draco as the teen was walked out of their room for the first of many nights being used as the latest cure for the most evil wizard of their time.

Neither Harry nor Draco talked about the details of the ritual. As curious as Harry was about it, he didn't want to put the other wizard in a position to have to explain it. So leading into that first night, all the Gryffindor knew about it was that it had to take place at three in the morning and they needed several - he thought five, except the more he considered it, he wasn't sure someone could survive that - chalices of Draco's blood. The other thing the two teenage wizards did not discuss was what would happen after the ritual. Harry assumed a combination of Death Eaters - most likely Dolohov and Rookwood again - would return the Malfoy heir to their room, but what condition would the Slytherin be in? Losing as much blood as Harry thought several chalices would be, he wasn't likely to come sauntered back into their room and go to bed. As the clock on the mantle ticked to three on the hour - the time they'd officially be starting the ritual - Harry decided he'd wait up for his roommate to help him in whatever way the other teen needed. It wasn't like he'd be able to sleep anyways, every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to that dark blood red room where Shape first delivered that awful prophecy to Voldemort. It was probably the least horrific of his nightmares, and yet the one that plagued his mind the most.

Deciding that he didn't want to stay in bed, the young wizard grabbed his sketchbook and pencils from his bedside table, and settled in front of the fireplace. He started a new picture yesterday of Draco with Hermione. Given everything going on, he hoped to help raise Draco's spirits with this small picture of home. So focused on his work, Harry missed the door opening to his right and jumped when a single figure approached him.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Narcissa's voice broke through his moment of panic. "I was hoping to be here when Draco returned."

Throughout the week, the Gryffindor hadn't much to add during their occasional dinners with the Matriarch, and instead he simply watched the mother and son interact in a very guarded fashion. It was nothing like he'd ever imagined his own interactions with his mum, but it was far better than what he had - nothing - so who was he to judge them. The fact that she was here waiting for his return, meant more than any words she could have ever said to him.

"I'm not sure how long it's supposed to take," Harry replied, cringing at how awkward he sounded to someone so prim and proper.

"Mind if I join you while we wait?" She motioned to the empty space across from him on the floor of Draco's side of the fireplace. Harry was astonished that someone like her would want to sit on the floor with him.

"Sure," that answer earned him another cringe.

With all the grace he would expect from the Slytherin witch, she practically glided down to the floor, sitting with her legs neatly tucked to her side. Harry knew she was a Black, and wondered if she'd learned this level of etiquette from that elite pureblood family or once she married into the fortune of the Malfoys. They sat in an uncomfortable silence; more so than any other silence Harry had ever experienced. He had no idea what to say to the witch across from him and he didn't want to draw attention to his sketching by continuing with it. That left him feeling like he wanted to fidget and had no way to release the nervous tension.

"You've been granted permission to visit the gardens," she said to him once it seemed they could go no longer in the silence. "I know Draco has visited, but I don't think I've seen you leave yet."

He wasn't aware she was keeping such a close eye on him or that he was expected to leave just because he could. Should he tell her he was afraid of being alone with the Death Eaters, her husband being one of them?

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry replied, hoping that would be enough for her to move on.

The minutes continued to tick by and the young wizard was just about to excuse himself to bed - figuring Draco had his mum there and Harry's presence wasn't needed - when Narcissa said, "Thank you. For giving Draco a chance. I doubt he would have gotten very far without your support."

Feeling himself flush, in embarrassment or anger he wasn't exactly sure, the Gryffindor thought back to his expressive reactions to Draco's alliance with the Order. No, he definitely had nothing to do with keeping Draco out of Azkaban; if the choice had been his, the Slytherin wouldn't have been allowed back for the school year. In hindsight, it was probably for the best that Snape didn't listen to his pleading not to trust the blonde.

"It's Snape you should be thanking," Harry honestly replied. "He's been looking out for Draco probably longer than even I'm aware of."

Much to Harry's surprise, the witch across from him didn't hide her own astonishment at his proclamation. Why did everyone assume he had so much power in the Order? He knew, of course, it was the fact that he'd survived the killing curse as a toddler - it always came back to that event - but the truth was he had zero power over what happened in the war against the evil wizard and even less in how his own role fit into that plan.

Not wanting to validate her reaction with a response, he simply stood fully intent on heading to his bed. He didn't make it though, instead the door once again swung open revealing the dark outline of three people. Two large Death Eaters - Dolohov and Rookwood - once again sandwiched Draco's tall, thin frame, but this time they were dragging him into the room as opposed to how they escorted him out only an hour and a half earlier. As they approached the pair - Narcissa no longer seated on the floor, but between the Death Eaters and Harry in front of the fireplace - the Gryffindor got a good view of Draco. The young Slytherin wizard had his head hung low, though this was more due to his lack of energy than the normal shame that one would expect with that body language, and his feet were dragging behind him. Dolohov and Rookwood didn't even attempt to slow when the teen's feet caught at the edge of the rug, rather they pulled hard causing even Harry to cringe at the odd angle Draco's bare feet ended up in; the partially conscious wizard only murmured something completely incomprehensible, but whatever he'd said it was intended for his two captors.

"He's been healed," Rookwood called out, practically tossing the young wizard into his mother's arms, "and he's had the maximum dose of Blood Replenishing Potion. Nothing else we can do."

Harry took a half step closer, but stopped at the obvious scent of urine emanating from his roommate. Saying a silent wish that the other teen wouldn't remember this - he'd unfortunately been there himself during a few particularly awful chemotherapy days - he grimaced in sympathy.

"Yeah," Dolohov said, picking up on Harry's expression, "he's pissed himself somewhere on the stairs. Might want to go clean it up, Narcissa."

That last statement, with the added emphasis on the Malfoy Matriarch's name, was meant to degrade her; to show her that they were in charge of the Manor no matter which family had occupied the premises for the previous centuries.

Harry watched her carefully and with as much grace as she had sitting with him on the floor, she raised her head proud and replied, "It will get taken care of." She then draped her son's right arm - the one that hadn't been cut up in the ritual - over her shoulder. "Come Draco, let's get you cleaned up."

The Gryffindor hesitated when the mother and son started slowly walking to the lavatory, unsure if he should provide any assistance during such a private moment. Rookwood took the opportunity to reach towards Harry, his large hands barely grazing the Gryffindor's shoulder before Harry instinctively pulled back and Dolohov stopped his partner.

"We have our orders," Dolohov exclaimed, "he's not to be touched by anyone."

"It would be so easy," Rookwood responded with a snarl. Then with a hiss through his teeth, he added, "I don't know what it is the Dark Lord wants with you, but you're lucky… for now."

Releasing the breath be hadn't known he was holding, the two Death Eaters unceremoniously left the room. With Draco and his mother already in the lavatory presumably cleaning up, Harry decided to try and sleep. Hopefully the next ritual night would be less eventful, otherwise he would just have to get used to never sleeping again because there was no way he was leaving himself vulnerable in the night when whichever two Death Eaters came by to return their specimen.

Saturday 29, March 1997

"Harry…" the Gryffindor stirred in his plush bed at the sound of his name. It was a familiar voice, one that he wasn't terrified from, yet not comforting enough to bring him back from the much needed sleep he so rarely found.

It was the morning after the second ritual, and just as with the first, Harry and Draco both stayed awake talking about nothing of substance - mostly about schooling before Hogwarts, or more specifically how most wizarding children were homeschooled or tutored before they went away to one of the magical boarding schools - until a new set of Death Eaters came to collect the Malfoy heir. That morning's collection crew was Yaxley and Rabastan, and they both took about half a minute talking to the guard left on duty at his door before leaving; tonight's was Rodolphus. The small exchange gave Harry the idea of keeping track of which Death Eaters were on duty at any given time. At some point, even dark wizards had to sleep since Invigorating Draught could only do so much, and the young wizard knew first hand how difficult it was to function after several nights in a row of little to no sleep. If he could figure out their schedule, both guarding the door at any given time and the crew to bring Draco to where Voldemort was for the rituals, he might be able to use that to his advantage. The possibility of an escape was still very far away, but if he focused now he could try to find the weaknesses and areas he could exploit. So he donated a section in the back of his sketchbook to escape notes and schedules, leaving the last couple of pages to fill in with innocuous drawings to keep its real contents hidden. His dedication to his new plan required him to do two additional things: get more sleep and to start exploring the area immediately around their room as well as the grounds around the Manor. Next week, once he was recovered from, or more accurately adjusted to, the start of his Maintenance Phase he would figure out a better way to get sleep and make his first journey out onto the grounds.

Today, though, was supposed to be his first chemotherapy in the Manor and for some reason he was more nervous than he had been almost any other time. For one, Snape wouldn't be here during it, and while he had done plenty of ITs and one-hour IVs without the professor, this was his start to Maintenance; it was a day he'd been expecting to spend with the man and start to feel some semblance of normalcy for the next almost three years. Now he'd be spending it in a room he was still not comfortable in, with a roommate who would be able to hear every retch, groan, and moan, and without knowing if he could trust whoever would be delivering his new tablet medications on their complicated schedule.

"Harry," the kind voice called out to him again, "you need to wake up now."

If only it were that easy to simply open his heavy eyelids. After Draco was taken away by Yaxley and Rabastan, Narcissa joined him in the room to once again wait on Draco. This time, the Matriarch brought with her Wizard's Chess board and the two of them played in silence until Draco returned only marginally better than the first night. Yesterday, between the ritual nights, Healer Walker assured him that the other teen wasn't in any danger, but he was certain he could hear doubt in her voice so he didn't press for further answers. Her dull blue eyes told him everything he needed to know; that this ritual was keeping Draco alive even if it came with a 'higher than anyone would like' risk of death.

"C'mon, Harry," this time the voice pleaded with him in almost a panic, that he knew if he denied her the result something bad would happen to one or both of them. When he finally was able to crack his eyes open he was equally surprised and horrified to see Dr Swanson's face taking up most of his field of vision, "There you are."

She smiled at him like they weren't both being held against their will and once he was able to sit up, he immediately found the cause of her panic; standing directly over her right shoulder - watching every single move she made - was a female Death Eater Harry wasn't completely familiar with, but thought her name was something Carrow.

"Sorry," he said nervously, "it's been a rough-" he wasn't sure how much his muggle doctor knew about Draco and the Blood Ritual - he assumed nothing - so he didn't want to give her too much information, "-couple of nights."

Picking up on his hesitation, she nodded, "The healer says you haven't been sleeping well?"

"No, I haven't," he admitted, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands almost as a demonstration to his exhaustion, "I'm not comfortable taking the sleeping pills either."

"I understand," those two words told him everything he needed to know. She'd been brought up to date about what had happened to him and what her new monthly job was here; one that if she failed to do she would be killed. "I can add the melatonin you were taking back in January nightly which should help you fall asleep a little more naturally."

"Every other night," he said and looked over to Draco's bed where the blonde was still fast asleep.

"Of course," another code to tell him she knew he was worried about his own safety when the Death Eaters came to return Draco.

She pulled out a piece of paper that he recognized was his blood sample results that she must have run while he was sleeping, though he didn't know how she was able to run them at the hospital. He figured they had to have some way of getting her to the hospital to get his medications and however they did that, they would do the same for his blood work. It was either Polyjuice Potion or - and he inwardly groaned when he realized this was the most likely option - the Imperious Curse. He wanted to ask her how she was; if, as a muggle, she'd been treated alright seeing as she was the key to his livelihood, but he could already see his answer in her body language. As she prepared the antiemetic, her hands were uncharacteristically shaking, and he was sure there were bruises trailing down the side of her neck under her black muggle jumper.

When he was set up with the IV of antiemetic attached to his port, the door opened and in walked Narcissa following two trays of breakfast. She gave a small gasp at the sight of the two extra adults she likely hadn't anticipated being in the room, though her concentration on the trays never faltered.

"Severus told me that you like to have porridge for breakfast before your treatments," Narcissa explained, floating the tray containing a bowl of hot porridge, a plate assortment of fruits, and toast with peanut butter, over to his bed. On the tray, there was also a goblet of pumpkin juice, a glass of water and a small cup of his medications. Harry unexpectedly gave her a smile on a "thank you" because it was such a small comfort from home that made him warm inside.

Dr Swanson was all business though, when she immediately dumped the small cup of his medications onto his tray and started walking him through each one, presumably so he would be able to recognize if he was getting something he shouldn't be. There were his normal prophylactic tablets that he would continue taking as the chemotherapy ones would cause his white blood cells to drop lower than normal. Thankfully, it wasn't enough to issue a full quarantine, but he would be subjected to the tablets until all of his chemotherapy treatment was considered completed; a date that felt like forever away. For the first five days of each month, from the day of his monthly Saturday IV - with or without an IT - through that first Wednesday, he would take two tablets that were the same ones that caused his aggression in Phase Three. She reiterated that given the shorter time frame and dosage, he likely wouldn't have the same volatile reaction, and Harry had to hold back a smirk when he saw Narcissa's eyebrows rise at the warning. Then on each of the other Saturdays when he didn't have an IV treatment, he'd receive a single, completely different chemotherapy tablet, and since she would not be here to bring it to him, the muggle doctor showed him a detailed picture of what it looked like. Finally, and probably the easiest to remember, was his daily chemotherapy tablet which would accompany his dinner every night. This one needed to be taken an hour after eating because any food in his stomach would decrease its effectiveness - which was obviously bad - and needed to be taken with only water. Again, she showed him a detailed picture of what it should look like. When everything from Maintenance Phase was said and done, he'd take over 1,000 of just that daily tablet and total it would be about 1,500 chemotherapy tablets, just from this day through the end; which in some kind of strange irony was Christmas Day 1999. He got the point loud and clear through: he needed to be watchful over every single tablet - all 1,500 plus the prophylactic ones - he took from here until he… ultimately he wasn't sure exactly what was going to be happening to him. His best guess was that he'd probably be killed once Voldemort figured out how to make another Horcrux and Draco would follow as soon as the Leukemia was gone. He tried not to focus on that though, otherwise it would only depress him further.

Like every other normal treatment day, he ate his breakfast, had a quick shower after the antiemetic was done dripping, and when he returned, next to his bed was the exam table where he would be getting the IT completed. This was the part he was the most nervous about because he hadn't had an IT done in almost a month; since the first day of his second hell week back at the beginning of the month. Harry thought back to that time - it had been on Ron's birthday and he fully intended on celebrating his friend's coming of age until everything went so wrong - as he tried to lay still in the fetal position with his spine exposed for his muggle doctor. He was facing towards Draco's bed and every so often his eyes met with the grey ones that were now awake and slowly eating his own breakfast, his mother right at his side. Grief filled the Gryffindor, as he tried not to shake from his nerves, at the thought of how much he wanted Snape to be there. The professor usually helped hold him still for these procedures and now his absence was a dark cloud hanging over the young wizard's already negative mind. Draco's eyes though weren't all there yet, he was still gaining back his strength as the blood replenishing potion worked its way through his body correcting what had been forcibly taken from him. It was Narcissa though, who looked back at him each time Draco's turned towards Harry, with both horror over the muggle treatment and compassion for the child she saw enduring this alone.

"Harry," the Gryffindor heard Dr Swanson's alarming voice call out from behind him, "I need you to try and stay completely still. I know you can do this."

He nodded and closed his eyes, trying not to feel the burning stares from the other people in the room.

Occlumency, he thought. If he could get his forest up then just maybe he could get through this and not have to worry about it again for another month.

"Here," Narcissa's voice spoke above his head, "how can I help?"

Harry wasn't sure who was more surprised, himself or Dr Swanson. Gaining composure over herself, the muggle physician said, "It's important he stay completely still. Can you assist with that?"

Narcissa's hands were centimeters away from his skin, he could feel their warm presence radiating onto him, but just before they touched him, she asked, "Are you alright with this?"

It was a simple question that somehow threw him off because it seemed like he rarely was given options about things. Unable to find his voice, he nodded his consent to allow her to help him stay perfectly still. He didn't want to feel grateful, except the gratitude simply filled him up inside, temporarily masking the grief he'd previously been feeling. It was still there, like the warming spell on the navy rug; always present, even if his feet weren't touching it to feel it.

Somehow, the Gryffindor made it through the rest of his first Maintenance treatment relatively uneventfully; at least no more than usual. Given the extra size of the bedroom, Harry wasn't used to the longer walk - or in urgent matters, run - to the lavatory, nor was he used to an audience most of the day. Right after lunch, Draco was mostly back to normal, and he left to take his daily afternoon walk. Harry had assumed the Malfoy witch would have accompanied her son, so when he was laying on the lavatory floor when he heard the heavy bedroom door close, he was surprised when another person walked quietly into the lavatory beside him. His body was shaking from the vomiting and Draco's old black pyjamas clung to his thin frame from sweat. It was an awful feeling to be stuck somewhere between hot and cold, but the thought that he would get the next three Saturdays chemo-free almost got him through it.

A warm cloth was pressed to the back of his neck and he wanted to protest, to tell her that he was fine and could do it alone, but it warmed him in just the right places. They didn't speak - Harry was far too tired and embarrassed to say anything - and for the longest time they sat there on the plush grey rug on the floor, reminiscent of those awkward early days at Privet Drive with Snape. He yearned for those simpler times, when he wasn't even thinking about Voldemort, he knew -or at least he thought he did - where he stood with the "evil Potion's Master", the idea of losing his magic was only a possibility instead of a reality, and he was completely oblivious to the extra piece of soul next to his own that would both help and haunt him. In the end though, he knew he couldn't go back and he was far too exhausted to listen to his pride and refuse the help. Narcissa stayed mostly by his side that day and later would go back to the dungeons and give Snape a complete report - parent to parent - over how Harry handled the first treatment in hopes of easing the professor's anxious mind.