~~~~SS~~~~

Saturday 19th, July 1997

Severus laid in his brand new bed, courtesy of the ongoing renovations to his Spinner's End home, thinking about what needed to be accomplished that day. The sun was shining through his street-facing window and he could hear the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen below signifying that the young wizard living with him full time was not only awake, but unfortunately had probably been for several hours now. As Severus and Harry were approaching the two month mark since their chaotic rescue from Malfoy Manor, and the death of Voldemort, there was no more denying something was not right with Harry. The teenager had been getting more and more distant with not only the professor, but his friends as well. Severus noticed - particularly since his last chemotherapy treatment, yet he admitted the timing could be a coincidence - he hadn't been sleeping nearly as well as he had been even in the first couple of weeks since their rescue. Severus was concerned, obviously, yet so in over his head on this topic, he didn't exactly know where to turn to help Harry through this challenging phase.

Which brought his thoughts back to the day ahead of them, having decided the best course of action to start figuring out how to help the Gryffindor was to discuss it with his muggle Pediatric Oncologist, Dr Meghan Swanson. It was a slippery slope though because no matter which way Severus had tried to approach his young charge with his concerns, he always said he was fine - a word the professor still loathed from last fall's debacles with Harry's mental health struggles - and therefore he didn't necessarily want the Gryffindor to know he would be reaching out to his physician for assistance; it would only make him more self-conscious about whatever he was struggling through.

Before leaving the castle at the end of the school year last month, Severus had been educated about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, for both himself and Harry. At the time, the young wizard seemed perfectly fine with the transition from the hospital wing back to his quarters in the dungeons, and even started attending meals in the Great Hall the final two weeks of term. In hindsight, he could see how those early days gave him a false sense of security about how Harry was actually handling everything that had happened to him, and as things started to settle down, his walls were slowly crumbling in. To help keep Harry's mind occupied - specifically while his friends spent most of their time studying for their final examinations - on the weekends, Severus strategically left the castle with the Gryffindor on pre-planned day trips.

The first trip they went on was to fulfill his promise to take Harry to Godric's Hollow in order to see his parents' graves. Not so surprisingly, it had been the first time Severus, himself, visited the cemetery to pay his own respects in this reality and to see it with the expectation of his son's grave being beside them was almost debilitating. After the cemetery, the pair of wizards walked into the charming village square towards where he knew a special obelisk sat in its center. Severus hadn't told Harry about the statue erected in his family's honor, afraid the meek Gryffindor would not care to see how the other residents viewed his parents' sacrifice. He knew the moment Harry noticed the obelisk change into the statue of his family when his already slow strides drastically decreased. Torn between doing what he wanted - to go up and comfort Harry - and what he thought he should do - give Harry the time and space to accept what had happened - he stood in the middle of the square with his body facing perpendicular to the distraught teen. Eventually, the Boy-Who-Lived worked his way through it and approached the statue depicting Lily and James holding baby Harry. Neither spoke as they stood by the statue thinking about how different their lives would have been had the family of three stayed intact, and Severus couldn't help feeling relieved; Harry could have stayed with his parents after being hit with the Killing Curse for the second time, and yet he'd chosen to come back.

The final part of their visit in Godric's Hollow, and the one he expected to be the hardest on the young wizard, was to the old cottage where Voldemort had attacked the family on Halloween in 1981; the event that triggered so much disparity in Harry's young life. This time, Severus did not leave his side as they stood looking out at the ruins of the home and the sign in front stating the cottage remained in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family. The sign had been filled with supportive messages throughout the years for the young survivor, and reading through them seemed to fill Harry with hope. As mournful as the day had been, it helped to heal the void in Harry; especially now with Voldemort really gone and they officially closed a chapter of his life only to be looked back upon instead of continuing to live through it.

On the second weekend, the professor brought the young wizard back to Cokeworth and showed him where his mother grew up and around Spinner's End. Severus himself had only gone back to his childhood home in this reality the one time before Christmas to retrieve the pictures for Harry. This time he had the chance to take a really good look at the place and he was surprised - and appalled - at how his former self chose to continue living there each summer. The row house was far more rundown than he remembered and he was embarrassed to bring Harry to see it. Severus had to hide his surprise over the teen actually wanting to live with him after seeing the state of the place, but as expected, Harry was humble about it all and together they made plans on how to fix it up for the pair of them to move in after the end of term. Throughout all of their planning, he found himself having to resist the urge to recreate their home from his old reality - where the memories with his son were still so strong - because this Harry was different and regardless of his own feelings about the space, he wanted to create one that would help Harry finally feel at home.

That left only one weekend before the end of term, and with it, Harry's first chemotherapy at the outpatient center of the hospital. Exams had ended the previous week, so naturally the professor assumed Harry would choose to enjoy the time with his friends. Although he did see them, in hindsight, the former spy should have known something was amiss with the young wizard then. As far as he knew - which admittedly was not as much as he would have liked - when they left the castle, Harry had yet to talk with Draco about what had happened during their time in the Manor and was probably a big part of his current struggles. Assuming the Gryffindor needed closure, Severus tried different ways to find out more information or suggest he reach out to the blonde Slytherin, but he was sure every attempt fell on deaf ears.

Unfortunately, Severus knew how difficult the first step of healing from their imprisonment could be. Only days before the end of term, and going home to Cokeworth for the summer, he managed to take his own first step in putting away the demons from that experience by having lunch in Hogsmeade with Lucius and Narcissa. He felt lighter than before the luncheon - and therefore deemed it

successful- since that afternoon, however, Lucius had made no less than five different attempts to try and convince Severus to join the Malfoys apothecary research team. Unwilling to commit to any fall plans before knowing what was going on with Harry, he continued to brush off the other Slytherin's offer; so while it helped in one aspect of his life, it further complicated another.

Overall, Harry's physical health had seemed to improve as he settled into. his Maintenance Phase of treatment. The young wizard had good days where if it weren't for his tablet medication Severus would hardly know he was still fighting the Leukemia. Other times, he had bad days where the normally vibrant Gryffindor could barely get out of bed; and that was outside of his treatment days where he faced the same side effects he had all year long. By the end of the school year, they were both far more exhausted than they should have been given that the last month was spent without any classes to attend or teach and his alternating health was difficult to manage at times.

Severus pressed his palms onto his eyes as he finally committed to getting up for the day. He quietly made his way through the corridor from his bedroom to the upstairs lavatory he shared with Harry, hearing the unmistakable sound of cooking from the kitchen and hoping the teen had at least been able to get some decent sleep before his treatment later that morning. This room was one of the first to be redone - after Harry's room, of course - as it was completely unsuitable, bordering on unsafe, for a teenager to use; not to mention to use it comfortably after his treatments. The room was still small, but it was amazing what a coat of paint - grey to brighten up the space and match their quarters back at Hogwarts - and some new fixtures could do to make it feel completely different and it was more than enough for the two of them.

Harry's appointment at the clinic in Surrey wasn't until eleven o'clock in the morning, meaning he still had several hours to fill before needing to leave in order to be there thirty minutes early. In that time, Severus wanted to discuss the next big thing for the Potter & Snape household: Harry's milestone 17th birthday. The professor would be lying if he said he wasn't looking at the upcoming occasion filled with joy laced with grief. He was grateful to be spending this important date with this Harry, but he could admit he was still grieving the loss of his son and he could not overlook the fact that this was a time they were supposed to be spending together at the beach. Two weeks ago, Severus had almost suggested taking Harry back to Shell Cottage for his birthday, except that was around the time he started noticing the Gryffindor's withdrawal from the world around him and it only continued to increase as the days passed. Splashing water onto face - in hopes of looking more put together then he was - Severus finished up in the lavatory, completely unprepared for what day ahead of him would hold.

Dressed in his standard muggle attire of a white Oxford shirt and black trousers, the professor made his way down the creaking stairs towards the kitchen where he already knew Harry would be. The stairs had been his biggest frustration from their renovations. No matter how many spells - or physically hammered nails - he'd thrown at the old wooden feature, it refused to stay silent and each step he took announced his arrival with a painful sounding creak. Although he couldn't hide his own travels throughout their home, knowing whenever Harry walked from one floor to the other - mostly during his bouts of insomnia - had its benefits. Oddly, this was not an issue in the Spinner's End home in his old reality, adding to the mind boggling mystery of what was causing the noise in the first place.

Approaching the kitchen from the sitting room - the only room requiring no renovations in the home - Severus brandished his wand the second he heard murmuring coming from the other side of the door. With slow and steady steps, the former spy held his breath crossing between the sofa and the fireplace in the sitting room, and then passed the desk to the right of the kitchen door where Harry liked to work on his sketching. The murmuring became louder the closer he got to the closed door, and he could confirm there were two voices in the kitchen - as opposed to Harry nervously talking to himself - yet they were still murmurs suggesting the use of the Muffliato spell. One of the voices was easily identified as Harry's - Severus would be able to pick his voice out from almost anywhere - and the other was most definitely female; narrowing down the list of potential guests dramatically, as well as the level of danger he could be walking into. After all, Bellatrix Lastrange was killed at the Battle of Malfoy Manor, as it was being called, and if Alecto Carrow managed to escape from Azkaban, he certainly would have known about it. That left very few other dangerous options.

Swinging the door opened, he dropped his ebony wand at the sight in front of him and instantly felt foolish for his knee jerk reaction. With her back to the door, Molly Weasley was standing directly across from him at the stove making breakfast with Harry sitting at the three person table along the right side of the room.

"Morning, Severus," the Gryffindor wizard sullenly greeted him. "Mrs Weasley firecalled this morning and asked to drop in... I didn't think you'd mind… but I probably should have asked you first."

The Weasley matriarch confidently turned and handed him a cup of black coffee. "Thank you Molly," he accepted it graciously and then added, "you know you're welcome here anytime, however you need not cook for us."

"Oh, it's nothing, Severus," she stated rather pointedly while levitating three bowls of porridge, yoghurt, and an assortment of fruits over to the table. "You'll be pleased to know Harry offered to whip something up for me, but I simply refused."

Severus made eye contact with the raven-haired Gryffindor still dressed in his pair of navy blue pyjamas, who raised his shoulders and took a careful bite of his porridge; his customary breakfast before chemotherapy treatment, showing Molly knew what today was for her surrogate son. The thought of her diligently keeping track of his treatment schedule warmed him in a way he didn't even have in his old reality. Back there, he'd obviously had more acquaintances - some might call them friends - then his counterpart here, yet here. those same relationships, built over a much smaller amount of time, had a much greater meaning to him. It was also a testament to this Harry's need to be surrounded by these friends as a way to make up for his lack of parental guidance before things changed between the last year. Now, the teenager had an entire village of people willing to help him, if only the young wizard could see how much he needed said help and could learn to accept it.

"So what brings you over, Molly?" Severus asked when they were collectively around halfway through their impromptu breakfast plans.

If the witch had any ulterior motives - as the professor suspected she did - she never let on about them. Instead, she flushed a bit on her cheeks, smiled at Harry and announced, "Someone has a very special birthday coming up and I wanted to talk to you both about it. If it's not too much, I'd like to have a small party… that is, unless you have plans already."

Naturally, Harry's face lit up bright red at the mention of his birthday. Last year, things had been so chaotic and the Gryffindor had been far too sick to celebrate his sixteenth, so this would essentially be the first real birthday the two of them spent together. Severus wasn't at all surprised the Weasley matriarch would also want to mark Harry's coming of age. He'd been like a son to her for so many years, and down to his core, the professor was thankful she could be there for him in this reality before he arrived.

Raising his eyebrows towards the young wizard, Severus admitted, "Actually, we hadn't had a chance to discuss it yet."

"You don't need to go through all of that Mrs Weasley-" Harry protested, but was promptly interrupted.

"Nonsense," she bellowed again, "seventeen is a big moment for any witch or wizard and should be celebrated in some way."

The professor could see Harry's confliction written all over his face. Molly was correct, for any normal wizard seventeen marked the time when The Trace was lifted and they could use magic outside of school making it a time to rejoice. Harry, though, could not. The chemotherapy he was taking - both in the tablets and the IV form - was slowly burning out his magical core trying to protect him from their awful side effects. With the soul fragment from Voldemort now gone, and with it the block protecting his core, any magic he used, intentionally or accidentally, would burn through his core faster.

Adding to the magic component anxiety was the fact that when he was seventeen and an adult to the wizarding world, Minerva's guardianship over him would officially expire. While his former Head of House took guardianship of him on paper, leaving Severus the true responsibility for his well-being, the idea of having no real 'parent' would be overwhelming. These two large dark clouds looming over the 31st of July would lead to it feeling no more special than any other birthday to the Gryffindor, which living with his relatives went completely unnoticed. Once again, Severus was torn between pushing Harry to do what he thought the young wizard needed to do versus what he wanted to do, and he had no clue which was the right answer.

"In that case," Molly declared, "Harry, you finish up your breakfast while Severus and I work out the details. Nothing big, of course, it's far too close to your treatment."

"Really, it's fine-"

"I'll make certain it's nothing over the top," he reassured the teen to help ease his visual anxiety over the idea, as he stood. "You finish your breakfast."

"Yes, sir," Harry obediently muttered, taking another minuscule bite of his porridge; another indication there was something plaguing the young wizard's mind.

Unceremoniously, he led Molly back into the sitting room, whispering Muffliato once the door was closed, otherwise he fully knew they could be overheard perfectly from the kitchen. Too worked up over trying to anticipate whatever the witch truly wanted to discuss, he chose to stand to the left of the fireplace, nestled between his towering bookshelves full of various texts he had collected throughout the years. The books were really the only piece of the house he kept from his counterpart's life during the renovations, as they were still relevant to him; only opting to move some of the darker materials to the top shelf, just in case Harry became a little too curious. Molly chose to sit on the sofa - the same one from his quarters in his old reality where Harry so often rested, especially as he neared the end - and was clearly nervous about whatever else she needed to discuss. He easily picked up on the way she was running the palms of her hands down her long maroon muggle skirt, mismatched from her pink blouse, and her shifting eyes taking in the room around her.

Deciding to put the matriarch out of her nervous misery, he finally asked, "Was there something specific you felt the need to discuss with me? I can already assume this visit is not solely about Harry's birthday."

"I would like to throw him a small party," she conceded, furrowing her eyebrows looking over to him. "I'm worried about him, Severus."

"As am I," he admitted with a frown. "Which is probably why a birthday party is not exactly appropriate given the circumstances."

The red-headed witch waved her hand over to him. "What I'm thinking of is more like a dinner than a party," she admonished him, then paused and said, "Ron tells me Harry hasn't written back and that's not like him. Last year was… obviously different, but he'd assumed since Harry lived here… well, we'd hoped to hear from him."

Outwardly Severus didn't react, but on the inside her statement to Harry's lack of returned communication was deeply concerning. She would have no way of knowing the former spy had actually questioned Harry about writing to his friends the other day, and the young wizard told him he had yet to receive any letters. It didn't excuse his own reasoning for not starting the exchange, but Severus was more focused on the more alarming part; how he hadn't picked up on the Gryffindor's apparently blatant lie.

"Ron has written?" The dark-haired wizard confirmed, his obsidian eyes narrowing as he planned his next move.

Molly skeptically nodded, "Of course he's written! Him and Hermione both have and neither received anything back."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, the kind Severus used to be able to navigate expertly through and even use to his advantage. But that was before Malfoy Manor, before their lives were torn apart and put back together with the pieces placed close enough to appear correct to any outsider, yet still not fitting perfectly in place creating a façade of calm and healing. Now the former spy found himself crumbling in the silence, needing to fill in the empty space.

"I was planning on speaking with his Oncologist today," Severus divulged, shifting his eyes away from Molly's hazel ones looking to him for answers about the child they both cared deeply about. "I don't know if it's a reaction to his medications or if he's still sorting through everything from the Manor, but she's a good place to start. If she doesn't have any suggestions, I'll reach out to Healer Walker next."

Nadine Walker was the last person Severus still had to reconcile with over the Manor experience. Never did he expect to walk out of the Manor alive and in those situations, things are said which may not normally have been. They had grown to depend on one another - at least during his time at the Manor - and as far he knew she had yet to go back to work at St Mungo's, and was still coming to her own terms with her capture and subsequent role in Draco's Blood Ritual. He'd planned to reach out to check on her - finding he legitimately wanted to know how she was - but every reason he came up with seemed more unrealistic than the next.

"You'll let me know what she says?"

"Of course, Molly. We all want what's best for Harry," he confidently told her, meaning every word of it.

"Perfect," she emphasized the single word giving the professor the impression she wasn't exactly done with him. His suspicion was confirmed when she failed to stand signifying the end to their conversation.

"Was there more you wished to discuss?" He prompted the witch. Her hands were twisting in her lap and she was staring at them as if all the answers to the universe were written on their backs. "What is going on, Molly? You didn't come here for Harry's birthday plans or lacking missives."

"Unfortunately, no I didn't," she confessed, "Albus called an Order meeting last night-" Severus couldn't resist rolling his eyes; apparently his services were no longer required, "-to prepare for any lingering Death Eater activity in the upcoming months."

"If he wants to spend his energy and resources on a - excuse my pun - witch hunt, I am not about to stop him," he explained, folding his arms across his chest in contempt. "However, the likelihood of any leftover Death Eaters being able to come together in any kind of threat is almost non-existent. Without a strong leader, most of whom are either dead or in Azkaban, they won't be able to gain enough traction."

The worry on Molly's face increased with his assessment of the situation and the former Death Eater silently questioned how she had gotten the job of telling him about this in the first place. "Albus disagrees-"

"Tell me, Molly," Severus threw his hands up, releasing the anger and frustration that had been building inside of him, "where was Albus during our two months of captivity?! Where was he during those early morning hours of the 16th?! Sitting at the farm waiting for his soldiers to get back, that's where! Pardon me if I don't look to the headmaster as the all seeing eye he thinks he is after he more or less abandoned his post."

Once the words left Severus's mouth, it released a tension within him he didn't realize he'd been holding onto. The fact that Albus Dumbledore - the leader of the Order of the Phoenix - wasn't in the Manor when the battle took place had bothered him from the moment he landed back at Hogwarts.

"He did the best he could that night," Molly tried to explain. "He planned-"

"Your son was almost killed in that battle," Severus pointed out, "all the while he sat back in the safety of the farm waiting to hear from us when there was no reason he couldn't tell things had gone wrong." He paused for dramatic effect; she already knew what his next question was going to be. "Did anyone happen to send him a patronus?"

Her silence spoke volumes even before replying. "I was told Remus sent one before leaving the wine cellars for the dungeons to get you… that is, once they heard the dueling from us upstairs."

"There you have it."

The professor could tell Molly was just as angry with their leader as he was, and if Albus had gotten an earful from the witch afterwards, Severus wished he could have been there to see it. Her information confirmed his previous assumption of the headmaster having knowledge of things going south early on, and yet the older wizard still wasn't held accountable for his lack of actions during the battle. It would make any claims he made - like the one Molly had just told him - difficult to stand behind, meaning at some point he'd have to sit down with the man and find out what, if anything, was actually going on. Once the professor knew Harry would be alright - at least physically - the last month he lived at the school was spent avoiding Albus as much as possible; never being able to find the right way to express his disappointment in his mentor.

"I can tell you," Severus finally replied, understanding his lack of agreement wouldn't stop the headmaster from pursuing the idea, "should any of my former colleagues be considering an attempt at power - over what I'd still question - they won't come close to having the support needed to be successful. This is no longer related to Voldemort and should now fall to the responsibility of the Auror Department. Let Kingsley and Tonks track down the last of them. As far as I'm concerned, the Order is no longer needed."

"I'll relay your message to him, Severus." Understanding his message loud and clear, the Gryffindor witch nodded her head and stood. "And please do consider my offer for Harry's birthday, I'd love to have you both over at the house at least for dinner."

"Thank you, Molly, I'll speak with Harry about it and let you know either way," Severus politely responded, pulling the beaker of floo powder from the mantle and held it out for her, but before she left he added: "Keep me informed with any other information Albus might have. I'll reach out to some of my associates and see what I can find, although I must admit, after my well known defection, I doubt I'll be able to gain anything of value."

To that, Molly gave him a warm smile - the kind he always felt he never deserved - and then simply turned around, calling out "the Burrow", before stepping into the floo and leaving for Ottery St Catchpole. Severus stood still for a solid minute, clutching onto the bookcase in front of him, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright and if he let go, he would simply collapse to the ground. He was sure of his assessment about the threat - or lack thereof - from the remaining Death Eaters, but he was too paranoid to place all of his trust in himself over something that could end up being so detrimental to Harry's safety. There was no other way to be sure; he'd have to make contact with Lucius over it and hope the Malfoy patriarch hadn't burned every bridge he'd built over his years of aristocracy.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry woke up well before dawn on the day of his second chemotherapy treatment of his second cycle and he was already dreading it. Somehow, the monthly treatments were almost worse than when he had them weekly in his previous phases. He wasn't sure if they were actually harder on his body or if it only felt like it because of the three "free weekends" between treatments. Whatever the reason, he hated going and now understood why Dr Swanson had stressed the importance of compliance in this phase and how many patients didn't finish their two or three years of it.

One of the reasons Maintenance felt harder was the outpatient center he now went to for the treatments, which he also hated. With Voldemort gone, so was his need for strict security and therefore he didn't have chemotherapy coming to him any longer. At first, the idea of getting out and having different surroundings for his treatment was almost energizing, but last month he went for the first time and instantly missed the comfort of his own bed or sofa to the public treatment room. Thankfully, he only had a one hour IV for each of these - not counting the time for his blood work, his antiemetic, and the IT making it closer to four hours spent there - and he shuttered just thinking about what spending the five hour treatments there from Consolidation would have been like. Last month, he hadn't really thought about what to do during his time at the clinic - since he used to do them from home and could move around to keep his mind busy - and had spent most of the time talking to Snape or watching the other four patients in the treatment room - all far older than him - with their families. This time he already had a small bag packed with his sketchpad and pencils, plus a couple of other books he'd found in the bookcases from the sitting room to read while waiting for his treatment to finish.

Had Snape seen the young wizard up so early, he would assume Harry was anxious about his chemotherapy. Although technically the professor wouldn't be wrong - he was always anxious about chemotherapy - the truth was his insomnia started the first week after leaving Hogwarts and officially moving in with Snape full-time in their recently renovated home. Naturally, Harry assumed he was just getting used to his new space, but he really did love the small home; it was perfect for the two of them. His bedroom was everything he could have ever wanted and set up in a very similar fashion to his room in their dungeon quarters with light blue painted walls adorned with Gryffindor and Quidditch posters and pictures of his sketches throughout the year. On the wall flush with the door was his wardrobe, holding his casual clothes and pyjamas as he'd left his useless school clothes back at Hogwarts. The plush bed - with the same green bedspread he'd brought with him from Hogwarts - was set up along the right wall coming out into the room under his window. In that position, he could sit up in his bed and watch the sunset over the winding river in the distance and the old mill smokestacks crumbling from their lack of use over the years. The neighborhood around Spinner's End might have left a lot to be desired, and occasionally Harry didn't always feel the safest, nevertheless he learned his way around quickly - when he was feeling well enough to leave - and the fact that no one here knew anything about him was a welcome change. No one would ever guess that after a month of living in Cokeworth with Snape, he actually did like the area. It probably helped knowing his mum had grown up here and whenever he spent time by the polluted river - imagining it back in its clean state - or the park, he thought about how she walked the same paths he was walking through.

Once he came to terms that the insomnia wasn't caused by his unfamiliar surroundings, he thought maybe it had to do with the idea that he kind of had a parent now, except unlike Ron, Hermione, or even Draco, his parental figure had no real connection to him. As crazy as it was, considering the year they had and everything they'd been through, in the back of his mind, it didn't always feel real to him. Sometimes, he found himself worrying there was a chance Snape would change his mind about this whole thing and turn his back on Harry; what would he do then? However, his uncertainty decreased as the days passed and the two wizards fell into a good routine and rhythm together. After only the first week and a half of living in Spinner's End, the severe anxiety lessened a bit and he found himself trusting the professor would be there for him through just about anything, as close to unconditional love as they could be given their circumstances.

The nightmares started about a week later, following a similar timeframe of the nightmares after the graveyard and the Department of Mysteries; with Cedric's and Sirius's deaths playing over in his head every time he fell asleep. They confused him because no one of significance died at Malfoy Manor that day, and he wasn't treated nearly as badly as Draco or Snape had during his imprisonment, yet his mind kept bringing him back to watch - standing there waiting for - Snape to be killed by Voldemort in the Malfoy Manor Drawing Room. When entering these nightmares, his body instantly became flooded with adrenaline, fear, and intense anguish, believing he wouldn't be able to get free in time and Snape would die. During these nightmares, his mind wasn't clear enough to know it had actually ended fine; they were rescued and ultimately they survived. The 16th of May had been one of the scariest days of his life - which was saying a lot if one looked at his earlier Hogwarts years and all of his experiences with Voldemort - and as the nightmares continued, he had no doubts his insomnia was related to how he was handling, or not handling, his time spent imprisoned under Voldemort's watch and believing Snape was about to be killed.

Most nights when Harry found himself awake and unable to fall asleep, or early in the morning unable to go back to sleep - as he was that day - he assumed Snape was none the wiser. They never talked about his sleeping habits, or even about how he was feeling overall, and the Gryffindor saw no issues with it; having no desire to go over every tiny detail of his head or body. If he decided there was no hope of eventually going to sleep, he usually sat up in his room reading, sketching, or doing just about anything he could to avoid thinking about the letters sitting in the tiny desk next to his bed from his friends. Not surprisingly, the letters started arriving only two days after school ended, but what did surprise him was the one dropped off by Apollo, Draco's Eagle Owl, followed by another a week later, and the one delivered in the muggle post from Dudley. He had yet to open any of them, unwilling to know what his friends were doing this summer, and in the case of Draco's letter, not yet ready to deal with what had happened. Neither of them expected to leave the Manor alive - Harry had jumped in front of the Killing Curse, after all - and therefore things were said he wasn't ready to face: like his childhood, his magic, how he was feeling about his chemotherapy treatments and cancer prognosis, or his plans for the future. All of it was messy and he didn't know where to start sorting through it to finally make some kind of sense.

That day, after waking up around half past four in the morning, the letters were practically burning a hole in his desk as he laid in his plush bed next to it. Another one from Ron - or at least the Burrow, since it was possible Hermione was staying there - showed up two days ago and just as he had with the others, he placed it in the top drawer and tried to forget about it. So in an effort to escape the constant reminders of his friends, Harry moved to the sitting room where he picked out random texts from Snape's collection: The Dangers of Chimeras, Guide to Curse Breaking, and Wandless Spellcasting, the latter of which he couldn't do a thing with, nevertheless it was interesting to read. And that's where he still was when Mrs Weasley firecalled over at seven in the morning; surely not expecting to see her son's best friend wrapped up in the red blanket she'd given him when he started chemotherapy last summer. Without thinking that this was still Snape's home and he should have gotten the man's permission first, he invited Mrs Weasley to visit through the floo.

While she made breakfast for the three of them - at her strict insistence and Harry's help with the muggle stove - no matter how hard Harry tried to get information from the Gryffindor witch about her impromptu visit, she kept changing the subject back to innocuous topics like Ginny's O.W.L. marks, his birthday, or Bill and Fleur's upcoming wedding in France mid-August. The last one was a bit of a hot topic in the Spinner's End home as of late, but the witch had no way of knowing the sensitive subject she'd brought up. The eldest Weasley son's wedding was going to be on the 23rd of August, and while Harry would be an adult in less than a fortnight - and should be able to come and go as he pleased - he still felt like he needed Snape's permission to attend. To further complicate the situation, he had next month's chemotherapy treatment only the week before and still being immunocompromised, especially so close to his treatment, made something like a wedding risky to his health. He wanted to be there to support Ron and Ginny - plus the couple helped rescue him from Malfoy Manor, but that was a reason he didn't like to think about - and was determined to try any way possible between now and the 22nd of August to convince the professor… technically as a courtesy because he'd be seventeen already.

Things got interesting when Snape joined them roughly thirty minutes later, and the young Gryffindor watched the two people closest to being his parents navigate seamlessly through an obviously clandestine conversation. Mrs Weasley had an agenda - outside of the ridiculous birthday plans - to discuss with the professor, yet she didn't slip up on it once; either while preparing breakfast for the three of them or when she sat down to eat with them. What Harry was most interested in, however, was whatever they were talking about when they both excused themselves to the sitting room; again, under the guise of planning something for his birthday. He had anticipated the privacy ward, but not the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he could not get the flimsy door leading into the sitting room to open for him. Clearly, he'd underestimated Snape's security warding ability.

Giving up on the idea of eavesdropping, Harry sat back down at the tiny kitchen table to wait on his mentor's and best friend's mum's return. The room had come a long way after the renovations and Harry was still a little surprised Snape - even the acerbic version of the professor he had known the previous five years - lived in those conditions. The countertop along the wall opposite of the table had been replaced from their badly cracking state with a smooth grey one, and open shelves lined the walls above it to hold their dishes in place of the light wood cabinets making the room feel far more spacious than it used to. On the wall across from the sitting room door held the muggle stove, allowing Harry the ability to use it. At first the Gryffindor assumed Snape only utilized it because of Harry's issue with his magic, however the professor had sounded very convincing when he explained he'd always kept the home as a muggle one instead of converting it to use magic.

When Snape finally came back into the room without Mrs Weasley, his body language was completely closed off, distant, and difficult to read. Living with the professor outside of school - and Privet Drive at the beginning of last summer - certainly had taken some adjusting to as they began to recognize their "casual personalities". Never in his first five years of knowing the man, or even the last year with this new version, would Harry ever describe him as relaxed, however that would be exactly how he'd describe his unofficial guardian since moving in. The combination of Voldemort's demise, Maintenance Phase, and Harry's own presence appeared to physically and mentally calm the previously angry wizard, but speaking with Mrs Weasley almost undid all of that in a matter of a quarter of an hour.

"She wasn't here just to talk about my birthday, was she?" He gravely asked, reading Snape's closed off expression.

The professor unceremoniously sat down at the table, pinched the bridge of his nose, and replied, "No, not exactly. Though, you should start considering how you would like to mark the occasion. I have the feeling she won't take 'no' for an answer."

Harry didn't want to celebrate his seventeenth birthday and somehow he knew that wouldn't be acceptable for either Snape or Mrs Weasley. How could he help them understand that for him, his seventeenth birthday only meant that he was now completely responsible for himself, which wasn't much different than the rest of his life, but still not something that warranted celebrating. No one else seemed to see it that way, only adding to his isolated feelings. He considered questioning if it were safe, knowing Snape would always put his health first, however trying to think ahead - a first for him and a skill he could admit he'd picked up living with a Slytherin for over a year - if he wanted to lobby going to the wedding next month, he couldn't use the crowd as a reason to get out of his own birthday non-party.

"I'll think about it," the young wizard committed, picking up on the distraction and getting back to his own inquiry, "so then what did she want?"

"You need to finish eating," Snape pointed to Harry's bowl of half eaten porridge. Another distraction. Whatever the two had talked about, it couldn't have been good. Choosing his battles, Harry took a bite of the now cold porridge. It had the desired effect because the professor gave a hard sigh and asked, "Why did you tell me you hadn't heard from your friends this summer?"

Shite. This wasn't exactly where he expected the conversation to go.

"Mrs Weasley told you?" He averted his eyes away from the uncomfortable glare the older wizard was giving him.

"More or less," Snape responded, "She asked me why you hadn't written back and from that, I was able to deduce you had received post from them. So I'll ask you again, why did you lie to me?"

He didn't say it in an accusatory way; not like the old Snape would have done in the same situation.

"I didn't lie-" Harry defended himself, but instantly was cut off.

"Then perhaps you need the definition of a lie?"

Harry recoiled as if he'd been physically hit. That was something the old Snape would have said and it caught him completely off-guard.

"No," Harry retorted aggressively, his eyebrows furrowed, "I don't need a definition. It was… just easier to say that."

His green eyes looked over Snape's right shoulder towards the door leading back into the sitting room. His only way out of the room would take him past the professor, besides the door behind him which would take him to their tiny back garden; no more than a patch of grass and a total of three tiny green shrubs lining the side of the house. The Gryffindor would have preferred taking care of this garden than his Aunt and Uncle's on Privet Drive for almost fifteen years as this one required no care at all. What the back garden wouldn't do was get him out of this conversation.

"What's going on, Harry?" Snape flat out asked him.

"Nothing," Harry answered, his eyes pleading to drop the conversation.

The professor took a second to compose himself, "I don't believe that and I don't think you do either. It's not like you to be this isolated."

"Like you would know," he mumbled and watched the hurt cross the other wizard's eyes. When it became apparent Snape wasn't going to refute the accusation - how could he when he hadn't really known Harry that well - the Gryffindor stood up, took his bowl to the sink, and rinsed it. The hot water and motion of his hands scrubbing the porridge from the ceramic bowl gave him something to focus on beside the burning of Snape's eyes on the back of his head.

"Harry-"

"I'm going to take a shower," the young wizard interrupted, slamming the dish, with more force than he expected, onto the shelf where it was stored when not in use. "I don't want to be late for my appointment."

His hand had barely touched the knob to the door leading him to freedom from the suffocating room, when Snape's hand pulled on his shoulder - sending the Gryffindor back to the gardens at Malfoy Manor when Draco did the same move - and turned the young wizard around. Harry instantly lifted his hands to defend himself and dropped them just as quickly, but not before Snape narrowed his eyes at the movement. The two wizards stood staring at one another in the deafening silence, neither sure what to do next.

"Your morning medication," the professor eventually stated, holding his hand out to the Gryffindor with his various tablets sitting in his opened palm; his eyes never leaving Harry's. How could he forget the plethora of tablets he took everyday and would continue to take until the end of 1999. Most of these particular tablets were to keep him from catching a variety of illnesses due to his lower immune system, caused by the chemotherapy, as well as to help decrease the side effects from it. In addition to the daily prophylactic tablets, starting today he added an extra two chemo tablets which he would take for the next five days. It was ingrained in his head, and yet he'd completely forgotten about them; a move that could be damaging to his treatment plan.

Mirroring his mentor's stance, the young wizard watched as Snape slowly dropped the individual tablets - he knew each of them by name at this point - into his trembling hand. With a stuttered, "T-thank you," Harry then took off up the stairs for the lavatory, his mind 500 miles away back at Malfoy Manor, supposedly far from whatever Snape and Mrs Weasley were discussing.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry hated everything about the outpatient chemotherapy center he was required to go to every month for his IV and IT treatments. From the sterile smell greeting him the second the doors opened to the cold room where all the treatment stations were set up, he really missed doing chemotherapy back home. He even thought doing chemo at Malfoy Manor was better than the fish bowl at the treatment center, and that had been done by his doctor under extreme duress; an experience he never expected to prefer over the impersonal clinic.

Just as he had last month, Snape accompanied the Gryffindor to his appointment, and Harry knew regardless of his current animosity for the other wizard, ultimately it was for the best. Regardless of doing nothing outside of sitting in a reclining chair while the medications and fluids infused into his port - the small device he'd opted to have surgically placed in his chest before his very first treatment just over a year ago - he knew he was going to be extremely exhausted afterwards. In fact, the rest of the day would be spent between sleeping in his bedroom or camped out in front of the loo in the lavatory he shared with Snape back home. Therefore, his treatment would make the simple act of him walking out of the brick building difficult to do alone. Harry needed - wanted really - Snape there with him and after the year they'd had, he was proud of himself for being able to admit it freely, even if he was upset with the man for calling him out on not writing to his friends.

"Harry Potter?" a smiling nurse called out questioningly, looking around the waiting room for him. The two wizards were sitting in the back of the moderately crowded room, avoiding any of the other six or seven patients waiting for their own treatment time. Harry had decided to stay comfortable for his treatment in a pair of grey running trousers and a buttoned down grey pyjama shirt. He was sure he looked a bit ridiculous in the mismatched style of clothes, however it gave easy access to the port and would allow him to go home and fall right into bed. When he stood, the nurse gave him a kind smile watching him walk towards her. "You and your father can follow me."

Giving a small glance over his shoulder at Snape walking behind him, Harry nervously shifted the weight of his bag on his right shoulder following her lead. Only his second time at the clinic, the Gryffindor took a couple of deep breaths to slow down his racing heart. This whole process reminded him of the day he went to the hospital for testing and received his diagnosis only a year ago. Although good had eventually come from it all, the whole experience had left scars deep inside of him that he wanted to ignore; forever if possible.

"Right this way," the nurse opened a private room where he would eventually get his Intrathecal Chemotherapy - the process of getting the medication injected directly into his spinal cord to prevent the Leukemia from spreading - but first the nurse would collect his preliminary stats. With his chemotherapy medication being "made to order" at each visit - to account for things like his fluctuating weight - each appointment started with having a variety of things done to him: blood tests, measuring his weight and height, and checking his blood pressure, to name a few. The nurse led them into the room and quickly said, "I'll be right back to get your measurements, I need to grab a couple things."

Once the door was closed behind them, Snape unbuttoned the sleeves of his white shirt and rolled them up to his mid-forearm - showing off his dark mark which had finally started to fade - indicating this procedure room was far warmer than the waiting room. Harry wouldn't know, his nerves were too jumbled and he found himself trembling slightly all over, despite the air temperature. The room had a large exam table, where he instinctively jumped up to sit, with two plastic chairs beside it; naturally, Snape took the chair closest to the table. The room overall looked exactly as the procedure room at Healer Smithe's office, where he had his first bone marrow biopsy - the test confirming the Leukemia in his bone marrow and blood. His legs were swinging back and forth filling the room with the crinkle of the papery material covering the table and a soft bang when his heels hit the solid table beneath him.

"Would you please sit still?" Snape demanded, concentrating on the paperwork the nurse had given him to complete.

The young wizard stopped his legs so abruptly, they hit the front of the table with a loud bang almost causing the professor to startle - he was far too collected for a reaction as that - but it did earn him a pointed glare before the dark eyes moved back to the clipboard filled with the various forms.

"Sorry," Harry sheepishly replied. "Do you have to fill all of that out for every visit?"

"It appears so," Snape continued to look through and sign the documents, "at least for the next year when it will then become your responsibility to read over all of this and provide your own consent to the medications they're going to give you."

The Gryffindor thought hard about that statement. He hadn't considered the fact that his treatments were in the muggle world and therefore he was still under Snape's care, as his medical proxy. It was definitely an interesting difference between the two worlds, but before he got a chance to think about it any further, the nurse returned. She was dressed in a pair of bright blue hospital scrubs reminding him a little bit of the bright green robes the healers wore at St Mungo's. She looked around Snape's age and had bright blue eyes and platinum blonde straight hair, similar to Draco's and his parents'; a thought that caused his breath to hitch and his palms to start to sweat.

"Sorry about the wait," she told him, far more cheerfully than Harry thought was necessary. "My name's Samantha and I'll be doing your preliminary work today. Can you confirm your name and birthday?"

At first Harry didn't answer, his mind was too far away, lost in her familiarity and what was about to happen most of the day.

"Harry?" Snape asked and placed a hand on the young wizard's knee causing him to jump. Snape's black eyes watched him come back to the present and Harry shook his head trying to physically clear out the cobwebs that had settled in.

"Erm…" he started, "Harry James Potter, the 31st of July 1980."

"Perfect," Samantha noted something down in his file, "it looks like you're scheduled for an Intrathecal today followed by a one hour infusion. Does that sound correct?"

Harry nodded and that opened a dam to a series of questions - how was he feeling, did he have any of the series of symptoms, she rattled off, was there anything he was concerned about - and a series of tests - blood drawn, temperature taken, and then his height and weight recorded - completed. Samantha went through what to expect and made sure Harry and Snape knew about the side effects he could experience today and into tomorrow, as well as when to call Dr Swanson should something seem wrong. To the young wizard, it was a formality; he was already intimately aware of the vomiting that would strike him around the time they returned home - possibly triggered by disapparation, but Harry refused to stay in Surrey any longer than necessary - and he knew about the nerve pain in his hands, the decrease in blood counts making him more susceptible to infection and bleeding, and that he wouldn't feel like himself again until midday Monday. The whole process took roughly twenty minutes, before they were led back to the waiting room while his blood work was being run to confirm he was healthy enough to get the chemotherapy; he never laughed at the irony of the situation, it was far too sad. Once they knew his blood counts were high enough to survive the plummet from the chemo, Dr Swanson would write up his specific chemotherapy cocktail and they'd be called back to start the antiemetic and pain medication while waiting for the chemo to be prepared. All of that had to take place before his IT and then his one hour IV, thus making a two hour procedure more like four or five hours long by the time they were finally ready to leave the clinic.

"I apologize for blindsiding you this morning," Snape randomly said while in the waiting room.

"So what did Mrs Weasley really want?" The young wizard replied, "Just to rat me out that I hadn't returned Ron's letters? What difference does it make to her anyway?"

"We're worried about you," the answer shouldn't have taken Harry as off guard as it did. Although they had been much more open about where they stood with one another since the Malfoy Manor imprisonment, they also had yet to discuss anything in detail regarding what happened or the prophecy. Harry simply pushed all of that away, tucked it nicely into his Occlumency forest where he could deal with it a little at a time; the problem being, he wasn't dealing with it at all. "I want to help you, Harry, but you need to tell me what's going on first."

The professor was asking a lot from him, asking things he didn't even know about himself. Was he alright? No, that much he knew, but he couldn't exactly explain what the problem was either. Voldemort was dead, meaning he was no longer The Chosen One, his chemotherapy was settling into Maintenance Phase where it would be consistent for the next 30 months, his magic… well, he still had issues with his magic, but he couldn't exactly talk about it surrounded by muggles. So what else could be causing him to feel as chaotic as he did inside?

He closed his eyes, finding himself calming down by focusing on the black surrounding him, and taking a deep breath he started to say, "I-"

"Mr Potter?" The interruption was at the worst time possible and when his eyes burst open at the formal sound of his surname, it took a second for the room around him to come into focus. Samantha had called for them from across the room, "We're ready for you."

The Gryffindor turned and looked over at Snape, whose face appeared more pale than normal under the harsh fluorescent lights and his dark hair framing it, and he narrowed his black eyes making Harry feel extremely self-conscious.

"We'll talk later," Snape whispered and nodded his head, gesturing for Harry to go through the door and officially start his treatment.

Harry had already been completely drained before stepping foot into the clinic and was surprised when he made it through his pre-treatment medications and the horrible IT more or less awake; meaning his eyes were opened and he could answer the plethora of checks and questions, but there was very little he would remember of it all. So by the time he settled into the chair, waiting for Samantha to collect his specifically made medications to start infusing into his port, he knew he had no real chance of staying awake after his predawn wake up call.

~~~~SS~~~~

"He looks exhausted," Dr Meghan Swanson pointed out as she sat in the chair beside Severus's, next to Harry's station during the last of his chemotherapy. The young wizard had fallen asleep before the nurse had even brought his real medication and therefore the professor did not want to leave him alone and exposed to meet with the muggle physician as he'd originally planned. Dr Swanson flipped open the chart on the table beside the chair and lectured, "And his weight decreased more than what's considered 'healthy' for this stage. Has he been sleeping well? Or at all?"

"No," Severus flat out answered, "he hasn't said anything, of course, but I can tell he's either up late into the night or early in the morning… sometimes both."

"Is it safe to assume he refuses to use the sleep aid I gave you last month?"

He wanted to laugh, however the situation was anything but funny. After Harry's capture last March, the young wizard refused any medications to help him fall - or stay - asleep, not trusting he would wake up in his own bed. The former Death Eater could understand Harry's hesitation, as at least one of those same medications aided Draco in being able to get him to Malfoy Manor in the first place, but he'd been told the young wizard had taken the melatonin and that was a step backwards. Severus had hoped, given enough time, nature would take its course and sleep would eventually come back to the Gryffindor. Unfortunately, things only seemed to get worse as the weeks went on.

"Yes," Severus answered, "I've tried offering him tea before bed, the melatonin which he took at the Manor, and he's refused them claiming he doesn't have any issue sleeping."

They both looked down at the young wizard who had finally found the evasive rest he desperately needed. The dark circles under his eyes and the gaunt features - which had started to disappear sometime during the beginning of his Maintenance Phase - around his face had returned. Outside of his hair which had grown back, the Gryffindor looked just as ill as ever. Severus couldn't help being overwhelmed, how could he not notice Harry slipping so quickly into his struggles?

As if reading his mind, Dr Swanson said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Severus. It's much more difficult to see the subtle changes when you see the patient every day," she tried to reassure him. "Many times it doesn't become obvious until someone outside of the home mentions it."

"I should know what's going on with my-" he stopped himself before finishing the sentence, embarrassed at how he wanted to say his son, on top of the fact that he didn't know what was going on with the teen. Life in Maintenance should have been getting easier and yet Harry was fighting no less than he had in his previously phases. The professor's mind raced back to the start of Phase Two of Consolidation, back when things settled a bit for the Gryffindor with his treatments, until he became mentally troubled during the transition.

"It's never so black and white," she told him, already knowing he wouldn't cut himself any slack. "Harry has a lot of things to work through, and unlike in the past, most of his fight is happening in his head. Remember, just because this part of his treatment is more regimented and predictable does not, by any means, equate to being easy. Not taking into account his-" she looked over her shoulder at the other patients in the room and leaned in closer to whisper "-magic… he's likely having a hard time adjusting to the new schedule and the fact that the people around him might expect him to start getting better, when in reality he is still as ill as before, and has a rough road ahead of him."

Severus thought back to Harry not responding to his friends' letters. Had they dismissed his illness and the significance of its impact on him? Had he done that over the last two months, since being rescued from the Manor? If he had, it certainly wasn't done intentionally.

"That's not even counting," the doctor continued, "his unique position with school and his future or the fact he probably still hasn't dealt with the trauma from his kidnapping. There's a lot going on in a small amount of time."

Harry groaned from the reclined seat next to them, his face far from relaxed; like he was fighting himself inside of his nightmares tainting the little sleep he could find. Instinctively, Severus pulled up the blanket provided by the clinic from where it had fallen down to the Gryffindor's waist to cover up to his thin chest, casting a wandless and nonverbal heating charm in the process. Harry was always cold, no matter the temperature outside or how many jumpers and warming charms he used. Severus watched as the teen he loved settled back down, but his features were still guarded in his sleep. He turned back around to Dr Swanson - who watched his every move - he could see her contemplating what to say about her observation in her head.

"How are you handling it all?" Her sharp question left the professor aghast. "Between taking care of Harry and coming to terms with your own capture, I imagine things have been more difficult than usual."

He shook his head, "Outside of worrying about Harry, I've lived through worse."

"You watched the child you love get killed-" she boldly stated, and held her hand up to stop Severus's predictable interruption, "-you didn't know he would survive, so in that moment you thought he'd gotten killed."

Closing his eyes, Severus brought back the memory of those awful early morning hours of the 16th of May. No, he hadn't known Harry would survive when he jumped in front of the Killing Curse meant for him; he didn't know Voldemort would only kill the soul fragment giving Severus the chance to finally defeat the bastard in once and for all. The dark wizard was gone from their lives forever, nevertheless his presence still lingered within all of them. He had no doubt Dr Swanson herself still had nightmares of her own imprisonment, when she was only allowed to leave her windowless cell twice in the entire two month - for Harry's two IT and IV treatments he did at the Manor.

"Severus," she called his name again, bringing him back before the memory could officially take over, "I've read through Healer Smithe's notes and you've been resistant to get Harry, or yourself, into any therapy. Why?"

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight, then turned back to look down at Harry. That conversation with Alton - and again with Minerva - was practically a lifetime ago. Harry had been having a rough reaction to the painful chemotherapy and wanted to give up. They'd made it through and it never seemed like an issue.

"Harry worked through the issue prompting that conversation," Severus repeated what he'd just thought, "besides… you know he couldn't safely leave the castle. And apparently he ended up not being safe inside of it either."

"It's safe now, correct?" She challenged him. "So why haven't you reached out to get him, and yourself, help?"

"I…"

He trailed off, unsure how to respond. She gave him another half minute - a long and awkward silence - before writing something down on her notepad and tearing it off to hand to him. "It will help you both," she kindly told him, "I am confident saying one hundred percent of my patients see a therapist at some point during treatment… both the patient and his or her family. Cancer is a big adjustment for anyone and you both have your fair share of things outside of the diagnosis to handle. Now this therapist isn't 'one of your kind' or have any relatives, as far as I know, so you'll want to use some discretion, but she's helped out many of my patients make it through their darkest times."

He took the paper and gave a small nod. Why hadn't he thought about this before? There was so much going on at the time, just thinking of the past year made his head hurt: the diagnosis, the first Privet Drive attack, Alton's betrayal, Harry's pneumonia, the horcrux discovery, Christmas, and then the prophecy and Manor; not to mention the shift between Harry and himself from enemy to mentor. When were they supposed to find time in all of that to sit down and talk about it all? Now is that time, he answered himself.

"Ok," he committed, adding it to the suddenly long list of the things he had to handle. "How are you doing with everything since the Manor?"

Normally, he wouldn't have asked such a personal question to someone he technically barely knew, but he could feel her own discomfort with the events as they'd touched on them earlier. Dr Swanson's face flushed as she stood to grab a pair of gloves to check on Harry's IV progress, obviously more to give herself time to gather her thoughts than for the medications.

"I'm surviving," she answered, swapping the last of the chemotherapy for a bag of fluids which Harry ended each treatment with. "I'm taking things one day at a time. My family's been great about it all, but I'm also seeing someone to help me through it."

What could he say to the person whose life had been altered - probably tortured, and thankfully not killed - to save his child; because that's what Harry was to him. Her entire purpose at the Manor, the only reason she'd been kept alive, was to make sure Harry could get his life-saving chemotherapy so he, in turn, could keep Voldemort alive. Honestly, he was surprised she'd agreed to continue treating the Gryffindor after everything she was put through for him.

"Well," the muggle doctor changed her demeanor so suddenly he almost thought someone else had joined in their corner of the room, "he should be ready to go after this bag of fluids, but you're welcome to stay to let him rest as long as he needs. Samantha will check him out once he's ready to go and you know the drill from here. He should stay inside until he's feeling better, remember hand washing and sanitizing especially for the next week, and call me immediately at the first sign of any illness; fever, cough, congestion. He's still considered immunocompromised. Do you need a refill on any of his tablets?"

"No, not this time," Severus answered. The tablet prescriptions all matched Harry's three month cycles - so he wouldn't need a refill until next month - making things easier for him to manage.

"Perfect," she nodded her head far too quickly to seem completely in control, "then I'll see you both back here on-" she flipped through Harry's file, "-the 16th of next month. I don't want to see him any sooner."

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave one more sympathetic stare at the teen before walking away. Severus watched her go to the desk that separated the waiting area from the treatment area and speak with Samantha; most likely to let her know Harry was permitted to finish his impromptu nap. The nap would complicate many parts of their day - such as letting the chemotherapy catch up to him, making disapparating home more painful, or making his already odd sleep schedule even more so - but he wouldn't wake the teen. They'd just have to deal with the fallout as they did with everything else.

The professor spent the next hour watching the other patients - all much older than Harry - come and go as their various treatments started or ended. Most left the two of them alone, only giving a glance to what appeared like a father sitting vigil at his son's side. An older woman, he guessed in her sixties or seventies, went out of her way to pass by him and gave a small nod of her head in approval. It made his insides ache, none of them knew how much he'd messed up in his life and he still was making mistakes with Harry; the last thing he deserved was their approval or, worse, their sympathy.

"I've got the paperwork completed, so he'll be ready to go whenever he wakes up," Samantha's voice came from behind him, a position he hated and in his haste to rectify it he accidentally knocked Harry's bag - which had been sitting on the table beside his chair - to the ground with a loud bang!

"Dammit," he swore under his breath and immediately looked over at Harry who started to stir from the noise, before kneeling down to pick up the fallen belongings laying across the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Potter," the nurse bent down to help him. The contents of Harry's bag had caught his attention and he hadn't noticed her faux pas with his name. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Scattered on the floor around them were the set of Harry's colored pencils and his sketchbook, plus a couple of books the young wizard should not have brought; the most interesting being A Parent's Guide to Accidental Magic. Severus recognized this text from his own library in the sitting room - where he was sure Harry had pulled it from - most likely purchased by his mother when he'd started doing accidental magic around the house as a way to help her husband come to understand what was happening with their son. In the end, it didn't do anything to make Tobias Snape any more accepting of having a wizard as a son. In fact, Severus doubted his muggle father had even opened the damn book. But he was curious over why Harry had this particular book and brought it out to the muggle clinic with him. After the destruction of the soul fragment inside of Harry and the subsequent loss of his magical core block, they knew the Gryffindor's magic was now completely raw and untrained. Alton warned them, not long after Harry had finally woken up, to expect an increase in his accidental magic as it started to manifest itself; no different than a magical child. So far, Severus hadn't seen any magic from the teen at all, let alone anything as extreme as accidental magic tended to be, but he wondered if Harry had noticed some, triggering the need for the book.

The professor tabled that observation for later as he immediately grabbed for the wizarding textbooks, making sure the muggle nurse did not catch sight of them while she went for the art supplies. He had just gotten them safely stowed when he caught a glimpse at the sketchpad in Samantha's hands. It had flipped open and the nurse was now holding it in a way where he could see the top of what looked like angry grey storm clouds, so different from the Gryffindor's typical sketching.

"Can I see-" he started to ask, but was interrupted by Harry sleepy, voice asking "What's going on?"

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Samantha called out to Harry, simultaneously placing the sketchbook back into the young wizard's bag, preventing Severus from getting a better look at it. "I accidentally scared your father-"

"You didn't scare me," the older wizard finally interjected. Now with Harry awake, he really did want to get home before the side effects hit too hard and disapparation became nearly impossible. "I simply was not expecting you to be that close."

Harry sat up in the chair, causing it to pivot forward and looked down at his empty port, "Am I ready for the chemo?"

"It's already done," Samantha told him with a frown, "you slept through it, poor thing. Do you feel like you can get up?"

Harry's eyes went wide behind his glasses, surely thinking about how difficult the trip home was bound to be. "Yeah," he said with a groan, "we should go."

"There's no rush if you're still sleepy," the nurse helped Harry swing his legs over to the side so he could stand, "Dr Swanson worked it out so you can stay as long as you need."

"Thank you," the professor took the lead of the conversation after seeing the worry in Harry's eyes, "I should get him home where he'll be more comfortable in his bed."

"I understand," the nurse finally conceded, "we'll see you back here on the 16th."

Harry nodded his head and accepted Severus's support to help him walk out of the cancer center. Unfortunately, the young wizard only made it about five meters outside the front door before he was doubled over vomiting into the side garden.

"You should have woken me up," Harry complained with a shaky voice, still bent over with his hands on his trembling knees.

The former spy held in his urge to lecture the teen on his odd sleep habits, and instead focused his thoughts on the piece of paper in the pocket of his trousers with the name of the muggle mind doctor. Harry needed help, that much he knew and this was beyond his capabilities, "That's a discussion for another's day. Let's get you home."

The disapparation from the clinic to Spinner's End was as bad as Severus had expected. No amount of shielding Harry was going to absorb the twisting-feeling enough to prevent the teen from falling onto the street in the alleyway and again, vomiting whatever little substance was left in his stomach. Kneeling down next to the Gryffindor, the former spy thought back to his own painful disapparation from his capture by Lucius, when he had a broken rib and in a full-body bind. Shaking the memories away, he turned his focus to the present; where he had a sixteen year boy barely able to walk the half a block to their home after taking one of the harshest forms of wizarding transportation.

"Come on, Harry," Severus urged the Gryffindor, draping the thin arm around his own strong shoulders. "We're almost there."

Harry simply moaned in response, but did stand, helping the professor get them through the rundown neighborhood. By the time they finally made it back into the home and up the stairs to Harry's room, it was not only after dinner, Severus had come to the decision that the young wizard could not continue to disapparate after treatments; going forward they would need to find alternate accommodations closer to the clinic. It was a battle for another day, as he knew the Gryffindor would protest, nevertheless he'd put his foot down not giving him a choice in the matter; spending two days at a hotel in Surrey was significantly better than disapparating.

Since Harry's chemotherapy the previous month - and his first at the outpatient clinic - fell on the day after term ended at Hogwarts, he had spent the time recovering in the familiarity of their dungeon quarters as the Spinner's End renovations had only just been completed, but they hadn't officially moved in yet. This month, they were settled into their home and giving Harry the chance to recover here for the first time. Looking around Harry's bedroom and into the narrow corridor outside of it, Severus quickly noticed a key detail he'd somehow managed to overlook in their renovation plans. Similar to Shell Cottage, their home in Cokeworth only had a single lavatory. Although it was situated on the second floor between their bedrooms - unlike the seaside cottage where it was on the first floor - it meant once Harry was in bed resting, he would have to get out of his bedroom, down the corridor, and into the lavatory to sick up. Ultimately, he would have to consider adding a door on the Gryffindor's side, but until those plans could be made, Severus transfigured a pail from one of Harry's old trainers and charmed it to self-clean, allowing the young wizard the ability to stay in bed if he wanted and hopefully preventing him from camping out on the lavatory floor.

Having missed Harry's first two months of Maintenance - from being locked up in a tiny cell in Malfoy Manor - it surprised Severus how much more exhausting the once a month chemotherapy felt compared to the weekly treatment they'd fought through for the first nine months of this battle, and he was ashamed to think the small break - while stressful in its own right - had been refreshing. Most of the time between the IV chemotherapy treatments were spent with Harry feeling physically well and it had given him - and presumably Harry - a false sense of security of the road ahead of them.

With a long night coming up, he made his way into the kitchen intending to prepare a bowl of broth for Harry and a sandwich for himself, but ended up at the kitchen table; exactly where his day started with a very blunt conversation with Molly Weasley. He cradled his head in his hands which were propped up on the table and rubbed his temples unsure of when the headache coursing through his brain had officially started. Giving himself a minute to clear his mind, the professor pulled out the small sphere he had first made for the young wizard when they were back at Privet Drive last year. Harry's sphere had been left sitting on his bedside desk and he had the companion; his lifeline to know if the teen needed him while he was away by glowing a shade of yellow, orange, or red - depending on the severity of the issue - when Harry squeezed it. This sphere had seen them in their best and their worst of times, and today showed him just how far they had to go in the war they were fighting on several different fronts.

Gaining his composure, Severus finished preparing their meager dinner the muggle way, thankful his home was set up as a muggle household to give his mind and hands something to focus on outside of Harry's physical health, the young wizard's upcoming birthday, the lingering Death Eaters putting the Order on alert, and both Spinner's End residents' mental health. He pulled a plain white ceramic plate from the shelf, fully intending on transfiguring it into a tray to carry up the ham sandwich - he planned eat it outside of Harry's room to prevent the smells from troubling his already roiling stomach - bowl of chicken broth with rice, bread, and a sliced avocado, however his concentration wasn't anywhere near where it should have been and instead of a wooden tray, he ended up with an elongated white ceramic plate. Although it worked for his purpose, he didn't like to see the amateur mistake, or the visual evidence of his turbulent mind.

Severus was halfway up the stairs, with their dinner levitating in front of him, when he heard it: a loud shattering coming from Harry's bedroom that vibrated out the corridor and down the hallway. His concentration now lost, the tray crashed to the stairs in front of him and he jumped over it with more athleticism than he would have expected from his aching body. The scene he ran into was unlike anything he could have prepared himself for. The window overlooking the polluted river was completely blown out - or inward, based on the shards of glass coating the floor beneath his feet - and rain was pouring into the room, soaking Harry's bed located beneath it. The rest of the bedroom was torn apart, as if the window exploding had caused a shockwave throughout; books from the small bookcase littered the floor, one of the wardrobe doors had broken its bottom hinge and dangled precariously from the top, and the small set of items Harry left sitting on his bedside desk, including his wand out of habit, his sketching supplies, and a cup of water were thrown across the floor. His well trained eyes shifted across the room inventorying everything and at the same searching for the most important piece of the room: Harry. Luckily, the young wizard appeared to be missing when all of this occurred, sending a wave of panic and suspense through his body.

Turning on his heels, waving his wand across the room behind him to start the repairing and cleaning process, he walked out and took a hard right towards the lavatory. The corridor from Harry's side of the second floor to the other side - where his own room was located - could be crossed in less than five strides and just off center, closer to Harry's room, was where he knew the Gryffindor would be. Carefully opening the door to the lavatory, Severus furrowed his brows at the condition of the recently renovated room. Similar to the young wizard's bedroom, the lavatory looked as if it had been completely ransacked. The mirror was shattered, with the shards covering the sink and floor, all of the towels usually held neatly on the shelf and other toiletries were scattered across the floor, and hanging over the loo was Harry; the one person who mattered the most in the chaos.

"Harry, what happened?" the professor asked, bending down again, beside the young wizard.

Harry's emerald eyes were confused as he looked at the room around him. Severus could feel the static energy of Harry's magic encircling them with increasing power as the Gryffindor's anxiety rose.

"I- I dunno," Harry stuttered, leaning back against the wall across from the loo, his dull glassy eyes widening in shock.

Once again, the professor waved his wand to clean up the room around them hoping none of the shards of glass accidently hit them in the process. Harry's blood counts would be at their lowest over the next few days and what would be a small cut to anyone else, could be fatal for him.

"Were you hurt?" He asked the sixteen year old in front of him, visibly checking over where he could for signs of bleeding.

"No," Harry shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Let's get you back into bed," he suggested, helping the young wizard up from the cold floor.

Moving from the lavatory back to the bedroom was far more difficult than he was used to in his Hogwarts home; again, due to the lack of ensuite arrangement. Harry was shaking by the time he made it into his bed, but didn't settle in to sleep. With a wave of his wand, Severus summoned the young wizard's tablet pain medication and handed it to him with the recently refilled glass of water from the desk next to the bed. The top drawer to the desk was left open - an oversight in his haste to fix the room - and it didn't take the former spy's trained eye to see the rolls of parchment addressed to Harry sitting untouched inside of it. What did take his keen sight was noticing the opened muggle envelope tucked under the sketchpad on top. Harry had read at least one letter, presumably from Dudley or Hermione, since arriving home.

"You should start to feel better soon," the professor lied. He knew Harry would not call him out on it, preferring instead to allow hope the pain and nausea would actually pass soon.

"I forgot today is the anniversary of the Privet Drive attack," Harry explained almost out of the blue, "and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's death."

Had it really been a year since that fateful day? Severus's heart lurched at the memory of walking into Harry's bedroom and finding it in shambles; the roof caving in from the attacks and Harry lost beneath the rubble. That had been the day after he told Harry about his old reality, and their first real challenge of what would end up being a completely life altering year. Neither of them could have predicted where they would end up - no much how much the professor had hoped for it - or that things would become so normal between them. Healer Walker had said it best though, without the challenges from last year they never would have overcome the animosity his counterpart had created between them in this reality, but he wished he could have soared Harry the pain.

Focusing away from his own memories and back onto the ill teen before him, the pieces started falling into place regarding the opened letter and Harry's episode of accidental magic. The scene he walked into - specifically the bedroom - was too reminiscent of the Privet Drive attack to be coincidental.

"How do you feel about that?" Severus treaded lightly with the question, not wanting to create any more anxiety over the situation and triggering another magic episode.

"Like shite!" The young wizard exclaimed, "How could I forget something this important?!"

He wanted to tell Harry to give himself a break, that he had a lot going on lately, and no one would hold it against him. But he knew they would be wasted words and wouldn't make the teen feel any better about it all. In that sense, Severus and Harry were very much alike.

"I must admit," the professor started, "I, too, did not consider the importance of the day."

Harry was raking his hands over the blanket on top of him. Each pass carried more aggression and anger seeping from his fingers onto the bedding, and Severus could feel the static of the Gryffindor's magic continuing to build up around them, layering on top of what had started in the lavatory. If he didn't act soon, they risked his raw magic reacting, most likely in a violent manner, and there was no predicting what would happen this time. So, without thinking twice, Severus reached his hand out and took a hold of Harry's; noting how cold it felt. The sudden contact startled the young wizard, but pulled him out from whatever mental chasm he had fallen into. Following the path of Harry's eyes, he turned towards the desk behind him and to the letter tucked under the sketchpad.

"Dudley wanted to come by today," Harry sadly confirmed what had triggered his accidental magic. Severus didn't say anything, choosing to wait in hopes that Harry would be able to finally talk about something that was bothering him. "You're right… I haven't been reading anything from my friends… and now after everything Dudley and I have overcome, I look like the biggest git by not remembering the day his parents were killed - because of me - and couldn't even write back so he wouldn't be alone today."

"He couldn't have-"

"Tagging along with me would have been better than sitting at Aunt Marge's feeling completely alone and seemingly forgotten!" Harry interrupted. "Dudley saved my life, and I feel like I failed him."

"Harry," Severus moved so he was sitting on the edge of the young wizard's bed next to him, where he would be perceived as being on his side rather than against him by sitting on the desk chair, "your cousin will understand that you've had a lot going on. If it will help ease your mind, I'll make a trip to the countryside to personally deliver him a message from you, either written or spoken."

The very last thing he wanted to do after going through whatever the next several nights entailed for them was to visit the sister of Vernon Dursley, however if it helped Harry even a fraction, he'd gladly endure it.

"Thanks," the young wizard half-heartedly mumbled. It wasn't much, but he'd take whatever he could get.

"I think you should read the letters from your friends and respond to them," he ignored Harry's pleading face and lifted his right hand to show the two small scars on them, "if for no other reason than to give Hedwig something to do. She seems far too bored downstairs."

The small sarcasm succeeded in its intended effect and Harry gave a small chuckle. Early in his chemotherapy treatment, Alton had told them Harry was too immunocompromised to have Hedwig stay with him, so the Snowy Owl had lived in the Owlery at school and was now free to come and go from her new perch - complete with several shiny toys attached to it per Hermione's suggestion - downstairs. Still unable to actually live with her owner, the owl was not shy about expressing her displeasure with the arrangements and oftentimes seemed to seek out the professor to make sure he knew of it.

"Ok," Harry eventually replied, though Severus couldn't tell if he was being honest or not. "What did my magic do?"

The professor looked around the room, everything was back as should have been, leaving no evidence of its previous state. Telling Harry about what he was able to do - from a different room no less - wouldn't serve either of them well at that moment. They'd have to discuss it, like everything else going on with the Gryffindor, but tonight wasn't that time.

"Let's just say it was a reaction to your duress over the situation with your cousin," Severus carefully explained.

Harry turned away, pulling his hand from Severus's to look out the window. "You remember what Healer Smithe told me," he said, "every time I use magic during chemo, it's just less I'll have later."

"We will get it figured out," Severus promised, wishing he could take away all of the worry that was so blatantly on the young wizard's mind. No sixteen, almost seventeen, year old should have to think about half of the things Harry had to lately. "I'll speak with Albus, he had some ideas of how to get your raw magic more under control."

At the end of term, Severus had planned to discuss with Albus how to help get Harry's magic into a position to give him as much left over at the end, and - as with so many other things at the end of term - it hadn't gotten done. If he were honest with himself, as the days went on he'd grown angry with the headmaster over his lack of presence at the Battle of Malfoy Manor and in return kept his distance from the man while he worked through his own feelings of everything. It was easier to ignore it all - as he was sure Harry was also doing - yet the time had come to start facing the reality of their situation. Harry needed him to be in control so, regardless of his current animosity towards his mentor, he'd put that resentment aside for Harry's sake and hope his idea could contain the raw magic before the young wizard was able to officially start to retrain it after the end of his treatments.

Most of the rest of the night was spent helping Harry to and from the loo or urging him to eat. Unfortunately, tomorrow wasn't likely to be any easier on them, but he'd push through it; that's what was needed. It wasn't until sometime past midnight, while he sat in a plush chair conjured beside Harry's bed, watching him finally get some relief and rest, that Severus was able to think back on the events of the day; specifically the accidental magic. In all of his time teaching immature witches and wizards, he'd seen - or at least heard - of some unique events caused by accidental magic, though none of them had manifested itself as violently as Harry's had. If this was an indication of things to come, he had his work cut out for him; both in trying to contain it as well as keeping them both safe from it. They had expected accidental magic, however - as Harry had pointed out - any magic used now meant less for Harry when his Chemotherapy ended in December of 1999 and if this kept up at its current rate, he'd have nothing left long before that time. Worrying his lower lip in conflict, he leaned over and brushed the fringe of Harry's hair from his forehead, eyeing the fading scar that would no longer plague the teen, yet there was still so much they had to face ahead of them and so many unknowns still to discover. The one thing he knew - that he could always use to guide his way - he would do anything to help this child, even go back to Hogwarts, putting himself directly into the line of fire for the Order of the Phoenix.

~~~~HP~~~~

Hi Harry,

It's me, Dudley, but I'm guessing you knew that already because you probably don't get too much muggle (I can't believe I can use that word so casually now) post. I hope it's ok that I'm writing to you since Professor Snape gave me his address before the end of the school year… I have a feeling he's the kind of person who doesn't tell that information to just anyone, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, how are you doing? We didn't really get a chance to talk too much since you were rescued. At first, I told myself you were still recovering from everything and that the end of year exams for Professor Burbage kept me busy. I don't know if that's true though. I mean, technically you were recovering from everything and I was stuck grading hundreds of essays and exams, but things just seemed different. What I'm trying to say is, I want to make sure you're alright because I don't think you are.

I'll be staying at Aunt Marge's house over the summer since she's my guardian and while I don't think it's a good idea for you to come out here, I'd like to see you sometime. Aunt Marge is as angry as ever and now I remember why I was so miserable by the end of last summer. The more I live here, the more I feel like I just don't belong here. Is that how you felt living with us all those years? If so, I really am sorry.

I know you probably don't care about it, but the 19th of July is only ten days away. It's the day my parents died, and I really don't want to be alone. Do you think Professor Snape can help so we can meet up somewhere, maybe? Like I said, it's probably not a good idea for you to come here with your's and Aunt Marge's history (you did kind of blow her up, and looking back I'd do the same thing if I could) plus she's still angry about… nevermind, it's just a bad idea overall. If we can meet-up somewhere, I'd be really great.

Anyway, I hope this summer is treating you well and you're able to get some rest being away from the school. If you can't send me back a letter in the muggle post, I'll keep a look out for Hedwig and send my reply with her. Take care, Harry, and I hope to see you soon.

Your Cousin,

Dudley

Harry read through his cousin's letter for what had to be the ninth or tenth time since opening it two days ago after his chemotherapy. Thinking it through, he wasn't sure what reminded him about the anniversary of the Privet Drive attack when he'd gotten home from his treatment, but once he did remember, panic flooded his aching body as Dudley's two letters came back to him. Somehow he knew he'd let Dudley down before he even opened the oldest letter. How could he forget about the anniversary of his Aunt and Uncle's death? They were dead because of him, after all, and now a year removed from it - combined with his newfound relationship with Snape - he had a feeling of regret and grief over their deaths he had not had right after learning of the news.

He was sitting up in his bed watching the light from the sun filter down through the industrial, broken landscape of Cokeworth, trying to find something to say to Dudley to explain why he spent the anniversary of his parents' death alone after explicitly asking not to. Small balled up pieces of parchment littered the floor around his bed, each one filled with a worse sounding excuse than the last. If only he'd actually read the letter sooner, he could blame it on his chemotherapy; there was no way Dudley would have known about his treatment schedule or how difficult they were for him otherwise and therefore, the blame could only be placed on him. Throughout all of his discarded drafts of his letters, the young wizard kept coming back to one single idea, the only one that didn't feel like empty words to him: to invite Dudley to Spinner's End, and Harry was sure Snape would not go for it. But what else could he do to make it up to his cousin when all of his written words sounded so empty?

Deciding the first step was to talk it over with his mentor, the Gryffindor swung his legs over the side of the bed, secretly wishing for the heated floors from Malfoy Manor the second his bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. Harry made his way to the lavatory, knowing it would be free because he'd already heard the distinct creaking of the staircase when Snape had woken up - or at least made his way downstairs - about an hour after Harry had awoken. They had a long two nights from his chemotherapy and he didn't know what time the professor had finally left his room after he'd eventually fallen asleep, however it had to have been well after one o'clock in the morning; meaning he likely had only gotten a couple hours of sleep last night. Today, Harry was feeling more like himself, with only the nerves inside of him causing his roiling stomach, and that would hopefully be solved shortly.

His shower after recovering from chemotherapy always helped reset his mentality about the upcoming month ahead of him. He could almost see the water - with the help of a bit of scrubbing - washing away the layer of grime he felt accumulated on his top layers of skin. That first shower of his chemo-free month acted like his "reset button" and for the next few weeks, at least as long as the tablets cooperated, he could almost forget about repeating the awful weekend next month. What the shower didn't do was warm him up inside. It seemed no matter how hot he set the water, it could never really get rid of the constant cold in his bones. In fact, the only time since before his diagnosis he truly felt warm was when he was sitting with his parents after getting hit by the Killing Curse; a time he tried not to think too much about or he would find himself craving for that feeling again.

Dressed for the day in his favorite Gryffindor jumper and a pair of jeans which had been magically altered to fit his slimmer waist, he made his way out of the lavatory and down the stairs. Out of habit from his days at Privet Drive, the young wizard carefully tiptoed down the wooden staircase trying to avoid the squeaking steps. Every time he came down the stairs, he swore the location of the creaking changed, making it nearly impossible for him to find the culprit step. Obviously it frustrated Snape just as much because the professor tried every way possible to get it to stop - both with muggle and magical means - all to no avail. Why it bothered Snape so much, Harry had no clue, but it was definitely a strange anomaly in their small home and not one he looked at fondly.

As the Gryffindor entered the kitchen, he was immediately put on defense by the stifling thick air radiating around the room. Snape was dressed far more formally than he normally was, at least since they returned to Cokeworth at the beginning of the summer, in a set of black robes - as opposed to his casual muggle attire - and looking more grim than Harry expected to see him going into their calmer three weeks. He was reading the Daily Prophet, just like he did every morning, where their faces were still splattered across the front page once again. Each day Harry was sure it would be the last of their new claimed fame, but each morning he was disappointed.

"Where are you going?" Harry pointedly asked, quickly coming to the conclusion his unofficial guardian had to be visiting somewhere in the wizarding community to be dressed in robes, but he looked too formal to be going someplace like Diagon Alley. And then, for good measure, he added, "What's going on?"

"I'm happy to see you up and moving," Snape announced, motioning for Harry to sit at the place setting where a plate of eggs and yoghurt was waiting for him, along a small cup filled with his morning medications. Harry wasn't surprised by that being Snape's first gesture as his eating habits were constantly on close watch by the man. "And I have a few errands to run this morning," he confirmed once Harry was seated across from him.

"Where?" The young wizard one again asked, intimately familiar with this cat and mouse game they played to get information.

Snape glanced across the table thoughtfully, watching Harry take his morning tablets before starting to pick at his breakfast. Satisfied with the reaction, he replied in an extremely strategic voice, "I have to go and see Lucius."

Harry's breath hitched, causing a rogue piece of egg to attempt to slide down his trachea, instantly causing him to go into a coughing fit.

"Wh-" the Gryffindor tried to say, but was stopped by his continued coughing and Snape's raised hand telling him to wait before speaking. After a minute, he'd managed to catch his breath enough to question, "So you have to go back there?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Snape replied, handing the young wizard a glass of juice from across the table. "Hopefully it won't take too long, Lucius has a previous engagement to attend this afternoon, and then I wanted to stop by your cousin's home to deliver whatever message you have for him."

Harry quickly averted his eyes back down to his plate at the mention of Dudley's letter. He'd wanted to wait to ask Snape about inviting the muggle over - preferably when they weren't talking about Malfoy Manor - but now that the professor had breached the topic, it seemed like the better time.

"Well, y'see-" Harry started, making trails through his plain yoghurt with his spoon before continuing almost too quickly, "- I was hoping… that maybe he could come stay here for a couple of days… maybe just until after my birthday. I did completely forget about his parents death and all, and it-"

"Harry," Snape gratefully interrupted his filibuster, "I can hardly understand you when you speak that quickly. Try again, but slower this time, please."

"Oh," Harry sheepishly answered and then continued, more slowly this time, "well, I was hoping Dudley could stay here with us… to make up for my missing his letter."

A long pause fell over the kitchen table and Harry could see Snape contemplating his request. "First," Snape started with, "you do not owe your cousin anything. Inviting him over should be what you want, not only to ease your guilty conscience." Of course, Harry didn't see it that way, but he let the other wizard continue. "Second, you should keep in mind you're only two days post chemotherapy and were already considered immunocompromised before that. Is it wise asking someone else to come into our home?"

Our home. Those two words left Harry feeling warm inside in a way he hadn't felt since seeing his parents. They reminded him that although he was feeling vulnerable about their situation lately, Snape was not; he was all in on whatever relationship this was and the more Harry heard things like that, the more he could trust not to be hurt. To his point though, Harry had thought about the germ situation.

"Well," the Gryffindor sat up a little taller as he prepared his - at least in his mind - well thought out answer, "I was thinking you could use that sanitizing spell you did last year when I was in hard quarantine? I'm not in quarantine now, and I'm really careful with my hand washing and stuff, so I don't see how it's any different."

The satisfied smile that fell across Snape's face left him both curious, and a little scared. "Yes," Snape confirmed, "I can use that spell, and I'm happy to hear you thinking about it for purposes like this."

He was testing me?! Harry thought to himself, completely astonished. Of course he kept his own health in mind, he had expected them to be past all of this.

"So? Does that mean he can stay with us?" With narrowed black eyes staring back at him, Harry held his head high on confidence. Not wanting to appear weak in his request, he added, "I want to see Dudley, and not just because I completely screwed up. I miss him too."

"Ok," Snape replied with a nod of his head, then looked back down at his paper as if the last several minutes hadn't just happened. "I can't wait for the Prophet to find a new story to report on. I'm tired of seeing my name and face across every single copy."

"You know, you're probably more famous than me now," Harry smirked, going back to finishing whatever he could of his breakfast, knowing it was the one answer the professor wouldn't want to hear. And of course, he wasn't at all surprised when he was greeted with a scone tossed across the table hitting him straight on the top of his lowered head.

~~~~SS~~~~

Harry's request to have his muggle cousin over through his birthday didn't exactly come as a shock to Severus. He'd read the letter from Dudley after Harry had fallen asleep Saturday night and he knew the Gryffindor would feel the need to compensate somehow. He would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to hear the teen reaching out to someone - he'd take anyone at this point - even if the reason was less than ideal; and Severus didn't believe Harry's half hearted attempt at hiding his guilt.

However, before he could go to pick up the muggle teenager - an act he would prefer to the one he was about to do - he had to go back to Malfoy Manor for the first time since his capture. During his firecall with the Malfoy patriarch yesterday, he'd been cryptically told that while the family would be in London that day, it would not be an ideal time to meet with the other Slytherin. Although Severus would have preferred to meet yesterday afternoon in London - muggle London to be exact, in order to keep his face out of the wizarding media as much as possible - as opposed to this morning for tea at Malfoy Manor, he took what he could. Of course, the last time Severus had stepped foot in the manor had been after he'd killed Voldemort, as he was being escorted out by Kingsley Shacklebolt; surely as a security measure after using an Unforgivable Curse with a dozen witnesses. Kingsley had woken him up - still on the floor of the drawing room - once all of the aurors arrived and started arresting the marked Death Eaters; himself, Draco, and Lucius excluded. There wasn't much he remembered of that final journey from his imprisonment, only the sight of Harry falling to the ground playing over and over again in front of his eyes.

When he walked through the main floo located near the foyer of the Manor, Lucius was nowhere to be seen despite expecting his arrival. Most of the foyer hadn't changed - which would be expected given the fact most ancient family manors were never remodeled to the extent Spinner's End had been - however the new decor did wonders to make the space at least appear different from the previous battlegrounds. The marble floor where the bodies of the fallen Death Eaters had been collected was now covered with what looked to be a new Persian rug, and the windows seemed to let more daylight through than he thought possible, brightening up the space more than he'd ever seen it before. Neither change would come close to erasing the memories of what had happened, and he hoped there were more extensive renovations going on throughout the property; particularly in the Drawing Room where everything ended that awful morning. If he lived here, Severus was positive he would never be able to step foot in that particular room again no matter how much had supposedly changed.

"Severus," the almost too serene voice of Narcissa Malfoy came from behind him. The matriarch was wearing an exquisite set of silver and black robes making his own seem almost inappropriate as they, without a doubt, cost more than Severus's monthly salary from Hogwarts. She reached out her hand, which he promptly shook, and continued, "Lucius wasn't expecting you for another quarter of an hour."

Thinking back to the conversation with Lucius from the previous day, the former spy did not recall stating a specific time of his arrival for this impromptu conversation. Yet as confusing as the comment was to him, he didn't dare call her out on it. Just looking at her, the former spy could tell she was barely holding herself together behind a fake smile and to point out her discrepancy would only cause her more grief.

"I must have been mistaken on my end," he apologized. "If now is an inconvenient time, I can certainly return-"

"No, nonsense," she interrupted him with a wave of her hand, "I'll take you out back to the gardens where tea is being served today."

To that, he didn't respond beyond simply choosing to follow his host through the manor he unfortunately knew all too well.

"The whole place is getting redone," she turned over her shoulder to tell him as they walked through the Hall and passed by the Library, "so please pardon the noise. I had hoped they would work with a bit more urgency, however something always seems to come up and it's taken far longer than any of us expected."

Taking a good look through the corridors, like in the foyer everything appeared brighter - as if the chandeliers held extra magic within them or the mirrors and windows had simply been scrubbed clean and were no longer carrying the weight of the Dark Magic living within the walls - but it was still just as extravagant as it always had been. Walking through the corridors, vaguely listening to the Slytherin witch talking him through exactly what had changed, he paid more attention to her than his surroundings. The last time he'd seen Narcissa, they had lunch in Hogsmeade where the professor assured them there were no hard feelings and thanked the matriarch for her assistance with Harry, specifically during his treatments. Being locked away from the Gryffindor during the times he knew he was needed the most was one of the hardest parts of the whole ordeal, before the final battle at least. He knew Harry had to feel scared and vulnerable, on top of self-conscious and guilt-ridden, but having someone, anyone, there beside him would have made all the difference; he hadn't been alone and for that Severus was eternally grateful.

The Narcissa Malfoy he'd met with back in Hogsmeade was just as prim and proper as he remembered her being before Voldemort took over their lives, but she also had a maternal aura surrounding her that he had never previously noticed. She had been kind, apologetic, and ready to put what they'd been through behind them to move forward. The woman walking him through the stately manor could not be any further from the Hogsmeade Narcissa Malfoy. She played tour guide to him pointing out facts such as the options she had to go through to pick the new chandeliers, the type of wood chosen for the new crown moulding - needing repair due to stray hexes from the morning's battle - or where the new rugs had come from to cover the memories of those who were injured; such as Pettigrew's and Traver's unconscious bodies in the Library where Lupin and himself had taken them down, but, unfortunately, had not killed them. Clearly, in the two months since his lunch with the couple Narcissa had slipped - metaphorically speaking - further away; not too unlike his own observation with Harry. It appeared she was having her own issues dealing with the reality of what had happened and Severus wondered if her husband was aware of the changes, if he was struggling as well, and how Draco was faring in all of this.

"I'll let you both have some privacy," the blonde witch announced, gesturing him out of the beautiful set of glass french doors leading to the back garden. "I'm needed upstairs, though Sinsey will assist you should you require her."

Severus held a straight face when he recognized the Malfoys' house elf's name from his old reality. She was the one who told him and Lucius about their sons with the Dragon Dust at the Christmas Party. He almost smiled at the memory - feeling an odd sense of calm instead of the usual grief when thinking of his son - but he stopped himself at the last second, realizing how inappropriate the action would appear.

"Thank you, Narcissa," he formally answered and made his way out to the gardens.

Having not spent a lot of time out here in the past, Severus couldn't necessarily tell what was new versus what had lived through the Battle of Malfoy Manor. From the information he'd been given, outside of Lucius disabling the wards in the pouring rain, there wasn't much that had happened in the back gardens in terms of dueling. That being said, had the battle occurred anywhere in his home, the whole place would need to be demolished to rid himself of the constant reminders. Life was hard enough without having to live in the place that caused so much pain and anguish.

Lost in his thoughts, Severus only noticed when he transitioned from the floral lined cobblestone path to the open stone platform filled with comfortable plush chairs surrounding a six place dining table already setup for morning tea, when he felt himself pass through the distinct thick air of a privacy ward. The Malfoy patriarch was seated at the far end of the table - giving him a perfect vantage point of all incoming guests - complete with a cup of tea in his hand, leafing through a set of parchment logically from the dozens of folders spread out on the tabletop. Similar to his wife, Lucius was dressed in a lavish set of black robes, reminding Severus so much of the set he wore for Harry's funeral he literally paused his walking to shake his head clear before approaching his former Death Eater colleague.

"I only needed a small moment of your time," Severus greeted the older wizard, "it hardly required all this pomp and circumstance."

"Ah, Severus," the blonde placed his floral tea cup back onto its matching saucer and, with a wave of his hand, the chair to his right pulled out as an invitation for the professor to take a seat. "Please join me, you know how Narcissa is with these things."

Placing the blame on Narcissa for arranging the morning's tea told him that Lucius was well aware of his wife's delicate state of mind. Her natural reaction to the events was to make everything neat and tidy by imagining nothing had changed; not the house, not her family, nor the wizarding world as a whole.

"How is Narcissa?"Severus casually inquired, accepting the offered cup of tea. The aromatic orange scent threw him off as he'd expected something a little more subdued and traditional, nonetheless he took a tentative sip. "Pardon my frankness, but I'm surprised you're still living in the Manor through the… renovations."

"These are hardly renovations," Lucius's grey eyes shifted their focus from Severus's face to the area behind him, making sure they were indeed alone regardless of the wards he'd previously set up. "The truth is-" he took a deep breath, as if what he had to say was not only difficult, but physically painful to him, "she's not well. None of us are really... and yet comparatively, we have much to be thankful for. I'm sure you understand given everything between yourself and Mr Potter."

There was so much in that single statement he had to digest. For one, he disagreed about the Malfoys having more to be thankful for; not that he would say so to the man across from him. Draco certainly had things to work through, and while the Malfoy parents may have fared better in the situation overall, emotional wounds and scars were no less real than the physical ones himself and Draco had to also battle. The most interesting part of Lucius's admission was his acceptance over the idea that his family was still suffering. There were many other traits Severus would use to describe the blonde Slytherin before 'family man' but looking over at him, the professor could not deny the deep concern he saw in the pair of eyes he was looking into. It challenged him to consider his own approach with Harry, who not only had the ramifications from the Manor to deal with, but also his cancer and his magic, on top of adjusting to their new living situation. Suddenly the piece of torn paper from Dr Swanson - left sitting on his bedside table - became more important than just about anything; he needed to find a way to get Harry help through this period of adjustment.

Unsure how to respond, Severus turned to look about the gardens, half of which were in some kind of construction. The fountain, originally located at the front of the hedge maze, had been removed and in its place a new garden was being constructed with a smaller, less magical-looking fountain at the center surrounded by what appeared to be Stargazer Lilies. The hedges to the maze had been cut so short the average person would be able to stand on their tiptoe to see over it and Severus questioned the purpose of that alteration. As far as he knew, nothing had happened within the maze, however the idea that no one could get lost within it - within their property - held its own story.

"What happened to the peacocks?" The professor found himself questioning, almost rudely considering his company and locale.

With a quick check around his shoulder, Lucius somberly responded, "They're with Zolenor, our magical creatures handler. That was non-negotiable as part of the renovations, though I expect they'll return once things calm down."

Severus mindlessly nodded his understanding. As odd as it appeared, it made perfect sense to him. The fowl had been used to send messages to the Order and therefore helped orchestrate the rescue; essentially jump-starting the Battle of Malfoy Manor. Having them strut around the gardens would act as a constant reminder of what happened there.

"And the wine cellars?"

"Completely closed off," Lucius complained, "though that is only temporary, until the Tunnels can be secured… or dismantled if she has her way, which she most likely will. I'm sure you understand, things must be just as challenging in your home."

There it was; the door had been opened, the olive branch offered. It was a chance for him to go through how much they weren't handling their own nightmares. How had this meeting, originally planned to discuss any lingering Death Eater threats, turned into one about their coping, or lack thereof.

"It's been…" Severus struggled to find the right word to describe their situation, but when he did he found himself wanting to talk about all the doubts he had swimming every which way in his head, "...difficult. Harry acts like nothing's happened, and like everything's changed at the same time. He's… withdrawn, not sleeping, hardly eating, and... somehow in all of this, after two months of living together, I've only just managed to notice it."

The pregnant pause that fell over them brought the professor back to his old reality, back to the Christmas party where the two wizards sat in the library drinking firewhiskey and talking about the pressures of Harry's potions treatment. That was the day he learned of the book where he found not only the potion used to confirm Harry held a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him, but also about the Blood Ritual used to keep Draco more or less alive through the final two months of Voldemort's reign of terror over the Manor. There was so much intertwined between the realities, it was difficult to separate one from the other; ultimately he knew he needed to travel into this world in order for things to end as they did, otherwise Harry would have died in both realms. Now, if only they could get past their latest enemies - their own minds and memories - they could finally live as he'd hoped when he decided to take the red potion in the first place.

"Draco," Lucius started, bringing Severus back to their tea time, "unfortunately, has had similar issues in terms of sleeping and eating. I take it you're receiving help…" The way the blonde trailed off proved he had known the answer before asking, and as a reaction he took a clean sheet of parchment and proceeded to write something upon it. "This is the name of the physician we use. He's an American squib, but don't let that deter you, he has been helpful thus far."

Unsure which was more surprising - the fact that the Malfoys were seeing a therapist, or that this therapist was a squib from the United States - he took the offered parchment and mentally placed it beside the muggle one offered to him from Dr Swanson.

"How is Draco handling it all?" Severus asked, feeling even more connected to the teen after the whole ordeal than before it.

Lupin, Arthur Weasley, and even Tonks thought he shouldn't give the young Slytherin the benefit of the doubt after hearing he'd been the one to capture Harry, but they couldn't begin to understand the complexity they both faced. Severus hadn't been much older than Draco when he had willingly joined the Death Eaters and even older when he turned spy. None of them could appreciate his understanding of the impossible position Draco had been placed into by willingly joining the Death Eaters initially as a spy and then his untimely discovery. If the young blonde hadn't done what he did, he would have been killed as a traitor; a fate he didn't deserve, especially at only sixteen years old. Of course, his defending of Draco would be far easier had Harry also made amends; which had yet to occur and as the days went on, the likelihood of it became less and less.

"Well, if his request - or should I say, demand - not to return to Hogwarts next year is of any indication, I'd say he still has a ways to go," the blonde leaned back in his chair, to which Severus mirrored his more casual posture. "I won't lie, it's one of the reasons I wanted to meet with you here. While I know you've come with your own agenda, I was hoping for a quid pro quo, so to say."

This for that. Generally speaking, making deals with the Malfoys - even in a post-Voldemort life - should always be done with the utmost of caution. Back in March, he was in a position where he needed to put his trust in the Malfoys. Now, he could probably get the information he needed without a trade for whatever the other wizard had in mind, but it wouldn't be nearly as accurate or as timely.

"I have not yet made a decision on your research position," he took a chance at what he thought the offer would be in hopes of narrowing down the field. "Depending on the course of action for Harry's magic, I may decide to stay at Hogwarts at least another year."

"A waste of good talent if you ask me," Lucius complimented and insulted him at the same time, "however the position is yours when you do come finally around to the idea, as we both know you will. Even outside of the significant pay increase, without needing to be placed at the school any longer, you'll grow tired of babysitting and marking essays. Besides, your post at the school may have some value after all."

"We shall see," the professor vaguely answered. "So it's not the research position, what is it you require?"

That was as close to agreeing to the quid pro quo as he was comfortable getting. Understanding his message, Lucius gave him a half smile, "As I've said," the other wizard continued, "Draco has declared his refusal to go back to school next year, claiming his safety as his number one concern."

To Severus, that was a very valid and real concern to have. Draco and Lucius had gone to trial for bearing the Dark Mark and while they'd been acquitted of their crimes, mostly due to the Order's and his own testimony - an affidavit on his part, having refused to physically attend - the teen would still have to face his housemates upon his return for his final year. If Harry were in a similar position, he would not allow the Gryffindor to go back without a solid plan in place to protect him, however given Lucius's tone he had already been planning to account for his son's safety and therefore Draco's excuse was just that: an excuse. Directly following the trial, Draco's room in the professor's quarters had been converted to no longer have access to Severus's and Harry's space, and therefore he did not see the headmaster having an issue with a similar arrangement being made.

"He needs to finish his final year and take his N.E.W.T.s ," the professor advocated for his student, "being as close to finishing as he is, a year of private education would be a complete disservice to him, not to mention if healing is still in his professional sights it will hold him back. How did he do on his end of term exams?"

Lucius gave a proud smirk, "Given how he missed two months of instruction and had less than three weeks to catch up? He did extremely well."

The odd compliment from his father would have gone a long way to Draco, and he hoped Lucius had expressed his pride in his son's performance. After spending time living with the young Slytherin, he learned the positive feedback - while unexpected - did well to motivate the teen.

"I can certainly speak with Albus about ensuring his safety," the professor said the words knowing it wasn't exactly what the other wizard had in mind. "We could set up an arrangement like he had at the end of last year where he's completely sequestered, or perhaps a private room in Slytherin might be a better option to help keep him away from the isolation.

"Please understand, I doubt Harry will be permitted to stay in the Gryffindor tower next year as he won't be a student, and therefore I cannot have Draco staying with me again. The boys were… difficult before all of this, and given what's happened it would only add to their mutual animosity."

"I understand," Lucius reassured him. "It will definitely be a unique year for all involved."

"Comparatively, it may end up being the least chaotic one of their seven years," Severus honestly answered, wishing he could believe it. If nothing else, it served as a good transition to discuss his own agenda for the trip, "Which actually brings me to the purpose of my visit."

Lucius didn't try to hide his surprise at the subject matter, "Don't tell me Albus Dumbledore believes the Dark Lord is not truly gone again. The man refuses to give up."

"Not quite," to give himself time to plan, he took a long sip of the orange tea, "he does, however, believe we should expect a resurgence of the remaining Death Eaters."

The blonde wizard shook his head in disbelief, "Why does that not shock me? Can the headmaster not stand the thought of no longer having any purpose outside of managing a school of amateur witches and wizards?"

"While I agree, I also feel it prudent we do our due diligence if there is an increased risk of a coup d'etat," Severus pointed out. "We discussed this very-"

"I do remember that conversation," Lucius uncharacteristically rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, "and if I remember it correctly, we determined any remaining threats wouldn't have the resources to back a full scale attack."

It was Severus's turn to smirk, "Nowhere was it implied there would be a 'full scale attack'. Without Voldemort -" Severus emphasized the use of the previously forbidden name, to show he was unwilling to let it control him any longer, "- none of the lower leveled followers would be able to take over the muggles, which was their original intent, after all. However, as the only remaining marked Death Eaters from that day who are not either dead or in Azkaban both of our families could very well be targets for retaliation."

The former spy did not miss Lucius's slight glance down at his own Dark Mark hidden beneath the lavish layers of his long robes. As he waited for the Patriarch to make his next move, Severus silently wondered if all of their marks were disappearing at the same rate, or if the magic imbued within the Mark could quantify their loyalty in the end; would the Carrows' or Rodolphus's mark still continue to be branded into their arm years after their master's death while Severus's own had already started to fade significantly?

"Lucius," both wizards were drawn out from their own, independent thoughts by Narcissa's crackling voice, "watch the time, Darling, or you'll be late."

The message must have meant something to the blonde because he immediately started organizing the papers in front of him; an act to appear flustered as they both knew a simple spell would have packed up the lot into the bag stored at his feet.

"I'll reach out to a couple of my associates I know to be still very much in communication with our former colleagues," Lucius cryptically told him. "If there's anything of substance there, they'll shake the tree hard enough to easily identify any… potential future threats."

"And you can trust this associate?"

"As much as any of us can be trusted," the blonde wizard gave another half smile, "but he'll be discreet and it's the best we can ask for."

Satisfied with the outcome of his visit, he bid farewell and was almost back to the cobblestone pathway leading out of the back garden - heading to the floo in the entrance hall - when Lucius called out with a question chilling him more than it should have, "Did Harry receive Draco's post the other week?"

At first, Severus assumed the Gryffindor was being accused of something, but when he gave the question a second thought, it became more apparent that it was Lucius's way of checking on Draco's own claim. Being the second person to ask in as many days, it told a story Severus did not want to hear: Harry had intentionally been ignoring not only his friends and his cousin, but everyone. If Draco had been able to gain the courage to write to Harry - and Severus could only assume the contents of the letter had to do with their imprisonment - something had to change with the Gryffindor.

Acting as if the question did not bother him either way, Severus gave a small frown and answered, "I'm not sure, but I'll check with him when I get home."

Sunday 20th July, 1997

Draco eyed the carpet. Fifteen geometric squares to the left and seven to the right. That was one more than the week before, meaning his chair made a modest migration in the days between his time occupying it. The sun slanting in from the windows made a gradual, malingering crawl across the grey and turquoise carpet, industrial and flat but tastefully modern like the rest of the minimalist doctor's office.

Doctor? Was that the right term? Draco wasn't even sure. Muggle titles were strange. Hermione had once referred to her parents as 'doctors' but she also said they rehabilitated teeth and not the mind like the man seated across from him and his parents, scribbling on his notepad every so often and flipping through the dozens of pages tucked in his files.

Two months had passed since the nightmare at the Manor, but the ending of one nightmare only birthed itself into hundreds of others. Draco - and his parents, really - didn't expect to survive the ordeal; they weren't meant or designed to, if they were following the precious prophecy Draco had learned about. And in the aftermath of everything, when the embers of the destruction and sundered mess finally settled, they were left nearly transient by choice and aimless in how to resume their lives.

How do you return to a life you never wanted that now held no place in the world?

Draco briefly looked up from the carpet to watch his mother, an enormous smile stretched across her heavily make-up'd face, regale to Dr Cobb how wonderful the renovations were coming along on the Manor. It was fake - a fake smile to match the fake renovations, a fake outer shell to the world to maintain that precious, perfect image their proud family needed to continue to maintain, according to his mother. 'Image is everything, darling. Who are we if we can't even trust our shadows to follow us and stand tall?'

And yet here they were, meeting with a 'mind' doctor once a week as a family and several other times individually. They'd first started seeing Dr Cobb, an American squib with credentials as extensive as Draco's pedigree, a month ago, though whose decision it was to begin the service was still a mystery to the blonde. His mother had looked chagrined and shameful when they prepared for their first session, tugging on her fitted soft leather gloves and coolly avoiding all eye contact with the Malfoy men. His father, on the other hand, had been uncharacteristically somber and watchful of Draco as he explained the purpose of the doctor and how he sought only the 'best' in the industry. Mind doctors, he explained, were not well established among the wizarding populace but he needed a clinician knowledgeable of their world and ways, and of the war that had just ended.

Choosing an American at least alleviated some of the familiarity with their surname. They'd be hard pressed to find someone in Britain, even a squib, who hadn't followed or heard of the highly publicized Death Eater trials, with the infamous Malfoy father-son outcome.

Four weeks of meetings with Dr Cobb and Draco could count how many words he'd said, even in the individual sessions he had with the middle-aged man.

'How are you feeling today, Draco?'

'I dunno. Fine. Good.'

'And what makes you feel good today?'

It was always the same conversation with Cobb. The same start and the same ending with that last question by the doctor, which the teen refused to give an answer to. Why? Because he was too tired and too empty to lie more than he already had. Was he feeling good or fine? No, but that's what his mother wanted to paint to the rest of the world. That their family - the combination of two of the most ancient and powerful Pureblood families in wizarding existence - continued to thrive and persevere despite their hardships and trials, that they were immune to scuffs and dents and could emerge from fire unscathed. But that wasn't the way the world, or people, worked. No one could step away from battle without injury, either bodily or mentally. And their blood, the very thing that damned him to weeks of tortuous ritual craft, didn't save them from suffering. It only made it worse; he didn't know how to mend the emptiness inside him, and didn't know if the emptiness was supposed to be filled with something else. Something more fulfilling? Something worth living for?

Did he even want to escape the wistful numbness? Some days it felt better to feel nothing, and other days he relished the pain that reminded him he was still alive.

The vast majority of Wizarding Britain held the opinion that his family saw an unwarranted amount of clemency thanks to his parents' integral involvement in freeing the ever-infamous Harry Potter and Severus Snape. But the popular opinion was tainted by the knowledge that it was Draco who kidnapped Harry in the first place. That it was Draco who was a marked Death Eater, albeit under spying pretense but his loyalty was questioned in the end. Those who were close to the war and case knew the truth: Draco was nothing more than a scared boy played like a pawn between two opposing forces, Dumbledore and Voldemort alike, and all culpability fell to the teen in the end. Voldemort was killed and couldn't pacify the masses in being accountable, as ironic as it were. And Dumbledore was seen as doing no harm. He was praised for his efforts in successfully guiding the Order, despite never even stepping foot in the Manor or even Malfoy property.

No. The public wanted someone to place blame on. They wanted a face - someone they could hate because that's how society worked. Punishments across the centuries were always heavily publicized, crude and barbaric, to please the palette of morbid intrigue. As a society and whole, they moved past humiliating criminals in wooden stocks and displaying gruesome hangings in the town square, though the thirst for retribution continued to run strong. People wanted a person to hate. A person to blame. A person to be angry with.

Silently, Draco looked down at his lap as he listlessly listened to his mother drone on and on about how 'delightful' the manor was looking. There were no real renovations going on; a centuries old manor would see facelifts every so often and undergo some restorations, but renovations? Not nearly dramatic enough in Draco's mind. If he had his way, he'd tear down his ancestral home, salt and burn the land, and build a new estate that resembled nothing of its predecessor. His mother's idea of renovations was having a small army of cleaning crews in the manor around the clock. The gardens had been gutted and were being redesigned by some award-winning Dutch witch responsible for the infamous Keukenhof tulips in Amsterdam.

"And Draco, what do you think about the changes being done to the manor?"

Three sets of eyes rested on him, waiting for his response, with each person expecting something very different from him. And while Draco didn't grant the question anymore attention than a lame shrug of his shoulders, the disappointment from the trio was palpable. His mother wanted him to praise the efforts and support her stance of showing a unified, rehabilitated front. That their family - the proud, strong Malfoys - weren't defined by their chapter of darkness in supporting the Dark Lord. That chapter was a mixture of misguided ideals and manipulated thoughts influenced by Voldemort himself. It was his mother's idea to run with the mantra that they were victims in the war as much as anyone else; a husband forced to fund a villain to save his family, a mother following her maternal instincts in caring for the two captured boys in the manor, and a son cornered into spying for the Order only to be nearly killed in the end.

Dr Cobb wanted any kind of response from Draco, even if it was a lie. The teen once asked if the doctor preferred him to lie than to stay silent, for which the American rolled his shoulders indifferently and begged for something other than a non-answer, such as his trusty, 'I don't know'.

His father, though, was a mystery.

"Draco's still spending insurmountable time in his room, Dr Cobb," Lucius muttered quietly, his cultured, articulate voice rolling over the curves in the sentence. "He's continued to take his meals there."

At this, the teen glanced up, staring at his father in a mixture of betrayal and curiosity. Had it been two years ago, he would've been amazed the Malfoy patriarch noticed anything about his ongoings outside of how it pertained to the family and their image. Certainly not his routine in the manor and how he chose to spend his holiday between school terms. Before the war, before Azkaban, his father embraced the parenting theory that children were at their best when scarcely seen. And when seen, they were well-reared, miniature versions of their parents. Posh. Collected. Clean.

Narcissa pressed her lips together to smother a frown and looked down at her hands neatly folded in her lap, disapproving of her husband's candidness.

"Some alone time is natural, Lucius. Especially for a young man his age and after the type of event he's been through. We've discussed how to respect space," Dr Cobb replied smoothly, his accent dragging the vowels out longer than Draco was used to. It was an interesting accent, something he could attach himself to and become distracted from the actual content being spoken.

Lucius nodded once, quickly. "Yes, and I've- we, Narcissa and I, have been utilizing the support exercises per your advising. But that doesn't change my concerns. His sleep schedule is quite...liberal."

This made Draco look out the window of the high rise tower the office was situated in. Muggle London. The tall, thin buildings stretching impossibly up into the sky were a puzzle of sharp corners, steel, and glass, so different from the Medieval-like, topsy turvy structures found in Diagon Alley. Before the war, Draco would've balked at the thought of traveling to the very heart of the Muggle city, dressed in a grungy Muggle ensemble that looked more befitting for a Weasley than a Malfoy, and taking advice from a lowly squib.

It was his choice to wear the white-washed, jean trousers, a long-sleeved flannel button down left open over a plain cotton t-shirt. It was so basic, so painfully mundane, so Muggle that it couldn't be further from the haute couture robes lining his wardrobe and closet. And that was precisely why he chose it. It didn't remind him of the past, of the person he used to be. That person was no more and somehow, supposedly with the help of this American squib mind doctor, he was supposed to craft a new identity from the pieces leftover from the war.

His mother had looked scandalized when she first saw him in the 'grubby' clothes, but his father, surprisingly, said nothing when they left the manor. The older wizard merely nodded a few times as if he understood the clothes' purpose. Rather than admonishing his son, he instead had placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered him towards the apparition point.

Draco watched dozens upon dozens of cars and buses lineup in gridlock traffic below all the while his father voiced his concerns to the doctor about the teen's sleeping habits. There was a small part of him that was bothered with his father's concern, but not bothered enough to find the strength to voice it. No, he wasn't bothered enough to feel much of anything. It was a prickle, an annoyance, and nothing more. It was as if he existed in a constant state of Occlumency, in a world that was diluted of colors and flavors as he moved through his days on autopilot, doing the bare minimum to stay alive but nothing in terms of living.

"...He hasn't seen any of his friends or girlfriend since he's come home from school. And I doubt if he's actually seen them much since the trial even," Lucius said. "He's sent owls but there's been no correspondence back from-"

"Lucius, darling!" Narcissa interrupted, gently slapping a dainty hand against her husband's shoulder and leveled him a reproachful smile. "Draco is right here, and to speak as though he's not is rather indecorous of you. If Draco wishes to bring up his friends or girlfriend, he would do so on his own."

The Malfoy patriarch stared at his wife for a few beats. Her smile didn't lessen, but it also didn't reach her eyes. There was a storm brewing in the older Malfoy's gaze, an argument that wanted to be brooked but he knew time and place wasn't appropriate. Instead, he boldly ignored his wife's stare and words and sighed heavily at the doctor. "I trust you understand my worries."

Dr Cobb placed his clipboard on the accent table beside him and massaged the bridge of his nose. After a few seconds passed, he turned towards his youngest patient, ignoring the married couple sending seething looks at one another. "One or two months is a long time not to talk with someone you're dating. Especially at your age."

It wasn't a question. And yet, Draco blinked at how disarming the statement was, feeling compelled to say something back. "Suppose so."

"Are you still dating this girl? The same girl you risked everything for? The same girl you made the choice to save in exchange for another boy's life? That's the same girl you haven't spoken to in so long?"

His mouth felt dry at the reminder. Yes, he had made that conscious decision. A decision that no one - especially a teenager - should have to make. But he was a Slytherin through and through, and didn't have the boldfaced bravery Gryffindors had. He didn't have the courage to easily own up to the decision that would follow him for the rest of his days. And what he could say to Harry? How could he tell him that he weighed Harry's life below that of Hermione's at the end of the day? That he knew he was delivering Harry to his death? When they were in the manor together, it was easier to adopt a hasty 'forgive and forget' and make amends in what they assumed were the last days of their life. But now that they were no longer living on borrowed time, they were forced to acknowledge everything; every action, every nuance, every word uttered.

The sudden flush of panic and torment below his ribcage came hard and fast. But he was faster at bottling it up and tossing it back down into the recesses of his body, where it could get lost with the rest of his emotions.

Wetting his lips, Draco looked down at his hands hanging in front of him. "I sent-I sent her a letter," he mumbled. "Well, I sent the letter to Potter with a request for him to pass it along to her. She knows that I needed some…" He gestured vaguely, "That I needed some time to get things proper."

Narcissa snapped her head up, her phony smile renewed on her visage. "A perfectly sensible response to a significant other," she rushed to say. "And school day romances are certainly fickle ones, aren't they? I'm positive Miss Granger has her own family and matters to attend to and keep herself occupied. Mr Potter will relay the message and all will be well." Her eyes flashed with panic and flicked downwards as she caught herself on her verbiage. "I mean to say that all is well, but it will be more well when those letters are passed along."

The silence that transcended was stifling and hot and cloying. The only sound was from the honking of cars in the streets below them.

Unable to stand it any longer and not wanting to give his mother the luxury of existing in her fantasy, Draco was about to shoot up from his chair and abruptly leave the office when his father's quiet voice stopped him: "Everything isn't all well, Narcissa. We wouldn't be here if it were."

"I'd like to see Draco in two days from now, alone," Dr Cobb casually said, scribbling something on his clipboard with drawn together brows. "And Lucius, I'd like to see you tomorrow, alone, if that works for your schedule."

Before either Malfoy patriarch or heir could say anything, Narcissa interjected with a stiff laugh. "Sessions three days in a row, doctor? Making the trip to Muggle London isn't an easy venture for us, you understand."

The American doctor looked nonplussed with her and opened his hands in what Draco could only describe as a shrugging gesture. "There's a lot of untraveled roads to cover with your family, Narcissa. A lot of unpaved, rocky roads that won't be - as you put it - an easy venture. Your investment in your family, especially your son, might require you to make some concessions. You knew this when you asked to start services with me."

Narcissa pressed rouge-painted lips together in a thin line. "Perhaps you can make a house call. All of our other healers do so."

Cobb smiled wryly. "Convenient for them, but I'm not a healer. I'm a psychologist. A doctor. And our original agreement for no sessions to be held in the manor still stands." He paused for a moment, waiting to see if the Matriarch would toss a counterargument. But she didn't - she only looked away in disapproval. "I'll tell you what, though. Lucius, I'll still meet with you here in the office tomorrow, assuming you can make it work with your schedule. And Draco… I'll see you at Stonehenge in two days. I think that's pretty close to the manor, and being outside will be a nice change of scenery for us both."

The distance from the manor was a small miracle for Draco. Despite how much time he shuttered himself into his bedroom, he actually hated being inside the dwelling he was a forced captive of for two months. The trip to Muggle London, though terrifyingly new with strange sounds, smells, and people, was a small reprieve from the dark memories that stalked him in his childhood home.

But to voice that required energy. Energy that he didn't possess. So he bottled up his displeasure and tossed it back into the cellar with the rest of his emotions and pulled his apathy back on. "Sure, whatever."

The blasé answer was accepted unconditionally as it always was by the American, his warm smile and quirky accent making Draco instantly like the man despite how mentally invasive some of his questions were. He wished he could give the doctor more to go on, or not let him down constantly during their sessions. The psychologist always reassured that there were no right or wrong answers once he stepped through the doorway, but the young Slytherin knew there were inclinations and preferences.

If he were more open with himself, more true with his emotions, if he could feel more than nothing, maybe he wouldn't be such a difficult patient for the doctor. Maybe Cobb wouldn't need to see them as frequent as he wanted, maybe his mother wouldn't pretend to the world that they were still a perfectly sculpted family, maybe he'd have the courage to talk with his girlfriend.

As Dr Cobb brought the session to a close and walked the Malfoys out, Draco thought heavily of Hermione. He last really spoke with her after the trial, when he was still astonished at the amount of mercy the Wizengamot showed him and pardoned his Death Eater involvement. While he was still charged as a Marked Death Eater, it was a baseless, administrative move that carried no power behind it beyond leaving a permanent blemish in Draco's files. He was acquitted on all sentencing and allowed to walk free, the only chains attached to him coming from the grounds of his own guilt.

In the aftermath of the trial, he'd felt lighthearted and thankful. Happy, almost. And riding on that adrenaline, he found the strength to talk to his fretting girlfriend and give her the respect she deserved in telling her he was alright, that he was satisfied with the outcome, and that he was sorry for what she went through.

It was a painfully nearsighted apology, zoning in solely on her and ignoring all of the elephants in the room that needed to be addressed. She wanted to hear about how and why he kidnapped Harry - their prophesied Chosen One, their precious weapon, the Boy Who Lived - but he couldn't give that to her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

After their session, the small family favored a placid silence as they walked to the apparition point a few blocks from the tall building. The silence continued when the three popped up on the dusty road a few meters from the glittering golden and iron wrought gates that mouthed the front of their manor, freshly polished from the 'renovations' and deceivingly immaculate. The newly bedded lilacs and gingersnaps beside them immediately flowed a steady stream of sweet aromas, placed purposefully there to welcome arriving witches and wizards to Malfoy Manor.

Everything in the manor had a purpose, even down to the flowers. Once upon a time, Draco stood with confidence in knowing his own purpose: the heir, a perfect replica of his father's image destined to walk steadily in his shadow. Those plans were dashed, though. Outside of being the heir by birth, he didn't know his purpose. He didn't know who he was anymore.

The silence was broken when they stepped through the front doors and into the grand foyer, expensive dragonhide shoes, designer heels, and faded chucks cushioned beneath the brand-new, hand-woven Persian rug. It covered the spot where his Aunt Bellatrix's lifeless body had been dragged with the rest of the fallen after the battle. After Harry was 'killed' and Voldemort succumbed to a fast-thinking Snape, Draco had been nearly numb in body and mind as he was shuffled out of the drawing room, wedged between his parents, but enough of mind to immediately recognize the bodies in the foyer. Bellatrix. Rabastan. Several other Death Eaters.

"Well, that was… delightful," Narcissa said with a stiff, quick smile as she tugged off her gloves one finger at a time. "It was rather kind of Dr Cobb to make alternate arrangements for you, Draco. You ought to have shown more appreciation. Make mind that you thank him when you see him at Stonehenge."

"Of course, mother" the teen mumbled. He wouldn't.

Narcissa blinked and looked surprised at the quick agreement, anticipating her son's argument back and caught off guard when it never came. Maybe it would've been easier for her if he had. At his numb obedience, the Matriarch shot a fretting, panicked look at her husband before wringing her hands together briefly. "Splendid. Very good. Supper will be served soon so go clean yourselves up."

She turned stiffly and began to walk away, her heels clinking-clanking on the glossed marble floor before pausing to look back at the unmoving father and son. "And Draco, darling, change into appropriate clothing. You look...dreadful."

Draco stared at her retreating figure. He wouldn't change; the flannel shirt was wrinkled from the day and the cotton shirt felt liberating compared to his normal heavy robes and jackets. If he shed the button down, his left arm would be exposed, showing off the ghastly mark his mother told him to always keep concealed, as if that could hide the ugly truth.

"I have to talk with you," Draco said to his father as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and neatly folded it over his right forearm. Lucius had been on his way towards the grand staircase, pausing with his hand on the banister to look back questioningly at his son. "I… I've been thinking about my education. I have another year of Hogwarts left, theoretically speaking."

Lucius narrowed his eyes on the boy and dropped his hand from the banister to approach him slowly, cautiously. He read between the lines immediately. "Yes, you do," he replied sharply. "Your Seventh Year is an important one, Draco. It will equip you with applicable skills instead of the basic, droning theories found in books. And with our new business prospects coming on the horizon, it will be imperative that you have the most-"

"I'm not going back."

Draco couldn't look at his father, caught between anger, humiliation, and whatever other emotions were fighting within him to get out. Instead, he looked down at his shoes - 'trainers', Hermione had called them - and traced the curved, rubber white toe tip peeking out from his jeans with his gaze.

He didn't see the concern flood the Malfoy patriarch's eyes and misinterpreted his silence as disappointment.

"I… I'll write Dumbledore tomorrow," Draco quickly tacked on, still looking down. "And make arrangements to set up independent study. It's been done before and-and I'm sure it's what he'll prefer anyways. He doesn't want me in that school - not after… anyways, it'll be better for everyone, won't it? I can study here from the manor and help out with the new resear-"

"No," Lucius cut in like a mallet dropping. He took a step forward, making the teen tense and glance up. "Draco, you are returning to Hogwarts and that's final. If you're worried about Dumbledore, which you shouldn't be, I'll speak with him personally."

Draco barked a laugh. "It's a bit late for me to pull the 'father' card, isn't it? I don't think that'll work as well as it used to." He turned away again and set his jaw, not liking - and not used to - the uncanny amount of worry he depicted in his father's voice. "It's not right for me to go back, father. Even before March, I wasn't exactly safe just waltzing about the halls and acting chummy with my housemates. How do you think I'll be received now?"

"You're placing far too much power over yourself into your classmates' incapable hands," Lucius countered. "You're a Malfoy. You don't bother with the thoughts and opinions of-"

"That's precisely the problem!" The teen didn't quite yell, but increased his tenor loud enough that it caught and echoed around the large foyer, upsetting some of the portraits who tried to shush him. "I'm a Malfoy! And if people don't see that and get disgusted, they'll see this-" he jutted his left arm out, "- and pass all the judgment they need. Sure, the Wizengamot cleared my name but it was nothing I did that earned it."

The concern in the older wizard's eyes was quickly eclipsed with anger. "That is not true, Draco," he hissed. "You took that mark to help the Order, which you did. You followed every detail given to you to the letter and would've saved this family had I not interfered. And Potter-"

"-Don't," Draco shook his head quickly, frantically. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. All he wanted was to tell his father of his decision and then retreat back to his room to sleep. "I've given this thought and it's the best decision for all of us. Mother… She can't handle anymore negativity directed at us. Look at her!"

"Your mother means well and would expect you to stomach children's taunting better than resorting to dropping out of Hogwarts entirely. You must finish, Draco." While a myriad of emotions played across his son's face, Lucius zoned in on only the pain depicted on youthful features uncannily similar to his own. "Though I don't believe it's the case, if it's your image you're worried about, not returning to Hogwarts will do more tarnishing than hiding away here in the manor like an artefact. Dr Cobb has said it before - you must return to a sense of normalcy, Draco. Hogwarts will do that for you much better than anything here."

Something broke in Draco's chest at his father's atypically soft words. The heavy burden that was once wound up so tight unraveled itself quickly, making him nearly succumb to every feeling he tried to suffocate down within him. His father knew of the pain the manor brought, he knew how much he hated it. Hogwarts would at least get him away from the manor and its wretched memories.

Draco raked his fingers through his hair, clawing at the white-blonde roots. "And what about safety?"

His argument was weak and Lucius batted it down with a gracefully arched brow. "We were able to ensure your safety without a single issue when you returned after the trial. This new school year will be no different."

"I'm not staying in that bloody room next to Snape and Potter again. And there's no way I can go back to the Slytherin dorms." He laughed ruefully. "Hufflepuff, perhaps? Or maybe Ravenclaw. I think I'll look brilliant in blue and bronze. Really will bring out my eyes. I don't believe I helped put any of their relatives away in Azkaban so they shouldn't be as narky with me as the Slytherins."

Lucius stiffened at his son's sarcasm. "If Ravenclaw is what it'll take then I'll ensure it happens. Alternatively - and more realistically - I can also arrange for an offsite flat in Hogsmeade for you if more...convenient living quarters cannot be secured. It's a small commute that I'm positive Dumbledore would be willing to allow."

"Or I can commute through the floo system just for classes while staying here. It's not like I'm desperate for the full Hogwarts experience," the teen half-heartedly mumbled and returned his stare downcast to inspect the frayed hem on his trousers. Jeans were wretched and stiff. How Muggles tolerated them on a daily basis was beyond him.

Ever his father, Lucius took the lame counter as a means that he won the discussion. Or at least managed to win the battle; achievement over the war would be determined later, once he was able to ensure the boy actually was returning to school. "Allow me to speak with Severus and Dumbledore. If they are unable to convince me of your safety, then I will arrange for you to complete your education remotely. You may be of age now, but I'm still your father and head of this household. And if you wish to see our new business partnership fulfilled, you'll heed my advising. Understood?"

Draco quietly considered it. The words were the most subtle, gracious way of saying, 'my house, my call, my rules', and Lucius wasn't afraid to pull rank as far as inheritance and Draco's aspiring career plans were a concern. It was true now that he was of age, he could officially become more entrenched in the Malfoy's business stakes, with the latest medical endeavor being one Draco wanted to personally head up when he was deemed ready. That vision wouldn't come to prosper if it was killed prematurely from the official head of Malfoy Enterprises.

He looked around the foyer briefly, taking in the brand-new rug, the stench of strong cleaning potions and the sizzle in the air from the sanitizing spells, the way the portraits tended to hide away or speak with themselves in hushed tones rather than engage the teenager in proud stories of his heritage. Despite the charmed drapes opening every morning to welcome in floods of sunlight through the large windows, the manor was darker and drearier than before. The shadows that were once corporeal during Voldemort's residence now only existed in the teen's mind, coalescing and shivering from one room to the next.

If it weren't for his Knockturn potioneer, who kept sideways books, Draco's stash of dreamless droughts would've been up and he wouldn't have been able to get a wink of sleep. Insomnia came immediately, especially around 3am when his waking nightmares and panic attacks grew worse. Sleep was the only thing that saved him. Dreamless sleep was the closest thing he had to not existing.

"Draco?"

Clearing his throat, the teen nodded once. "Sure, fine. Talk with Dumbledore and Snape. Let me know if I'm changing uniforms or decorating a new flat."

~~~~HP~~~~

Dear Harry,

It's Hermione again, but I'm guessing you knew that before you opened this. I'm not sure if you received my last letter or not, we haven't heard from you at all so far this summer. If you did, I really hope everything is alright and that you're just taking the time to adjust to living with Professor Snape or have gone on holiday. I've been staying with my parents this summer, which is why this letter is arriving by muggle post (and we've taken a short trip to the beach, which was quite lovely) but I'll be heading to the Burrow for your birthday and staying there the rest of the summer, or at least until Bill and Fleur's wedding. Needless to say, I don't think Lavender is very happy about it, but I really couldn't care less.

I'm sure you understand this more than any of us, but it seems odd to have such a normal summer, without the Order or Voldemort hanging over our heads, you know? The only thing I have to focus on now is the N.E. this year and… well, things with Draco. You haven't heard from him have you? I hate to ask because if you're not getting these (or worse, not responding) it sounds awful to bring it up, but I'm worried about him too. If only we had more time at school before the end of term, it seemed like you'd just gotten back from the hospital wing and then we were back on the Hogwarts Express, well, us anyways. There was still so much left unsaid between us… I mean all of us, not just me and Draco.

Anyway, if you get this please write back to me so I know you're ok. I'm probably just making things more complicated in my head and, it's just that, for once, you're having a great summer.

Love you, Harry

Hermione

While waiting for Snape to return from his errands, hopefully with Dudley in tow, Harry decided to take another big step and start reading the letters from his friends. To get into the right mindset, he pulled all seven letters out - three from Ron, two from Hermione, and two from Draco - and placed them across his bed, seating himself at the top staring down at them as if they could attack him at any moment. Why did he feel this way? What did he really think his friends would say that made him feel like he couldn't hear from them?

After delaying all he could, most of which was spent staring down at the river wondering where it would take him should he decide to follow it, he finally picked up the first letter. Somehow he convinced himself starting with Hermione's letter would be the easiest on him, completely forgetting how emotional she could be and afterwards he was worse than before. The reason she felt like their time had been short at the end of term was because by the time he had recovered enough for Madam Pomfrey to release him from the hospital wing - and then from his monthly chemotherapy - he didn't really want to spend it with his friends. He mostly kept to his room in the dungeons, sketching, or studying as if he had to catch-up on the time lost even though he knew he wouldn't be going back next year.

That was another depressing realization: there would be no last Hogwarts letter coming to him with this year's supplies and information on taking his N.E. . In fact, since he and Snape really had yet to talk about anything relating to his magic, he had no idea what would be happening to him come the 1st of September. Naturally, he assumed the professor would go back to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, though the more he thought about it, maybe he'd go back to Potions now; the little bit of class he had with Slughorn was enough to know the older wizard was nowhere near as competent as Snape, after all. I wonder how I was at Potions in the other world? He randomly thought to himself. Given that Snape could actually be a decent instructor when he wasn't so angry and sarcastic, he imagined his counterpart in the professor's old reality was probably pretty good at the class. He probably didn't have to worry about the marks to become an auror… yet in the end, it didn't matter; neither of them would get to live that dream.

"Harry?"

The young wizard was brought from his sullen thoughts back into his own bedroom - where he tried not to think about how the other Harry might have had it decorated - by the sound of his name being called on the other side of his door. Grabbing the letters into a pile, he squished them back into the top drawer of his desk, without caring about how wrinkled and possibly difficult to read they would be later on, and went to open his wooden door knowing Dudley was on the other side. Snape had come through after all and brought the other teen to their muggle neighborhood.

"Hey, Dudley," the young wizard greeted, legitimately excited to see his cousin, but at the same time completely unsure what to do next. He'd never had a home of his own to have someone visit and this was such a reversal of their roles, it put him immediately on edge. Doing what seemed natural, he swung the door open and gestured for Dudley to enter, as he apologized, "I'm sorry about missing your letter. I didn't read it until… well, it was too late."

"S'ok, Harry," Dudley brushed off the concern, but Harry could tell he was feeling down about it. "Even before Professor Snape explained the situation to me -" Harry furrowed his brows thinking about what Snape had given as an excuse, "- I knew you had a lot going on. Thanks for letting me stay here, it's loads better than Aunt Marge's!"

"I dunno about that," Harry turned towards the window overlooking the broken down neighborhood he oddly loved living in. "Doesn't Marge live on, like, a thousand acres or something?"

"Something like that," Dudley chuckled, taking a seat on the desk chair while Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, "I will say watching Professor Snape try to explain to Aunt Marge and my coming here to stay with you was pretty entertaining."

Harry laughed imagining what that must have looked like and wishing he'd been there to see it. But not Aunt Marge; he had no doubt in his mind that she would probably try to kill him if he showed up there. The instant the laugh radiated through his core, the Gryffindor felt a piece of anxiety he had building up inside of him break free, and he could almost breathe a microscopic bit better. Had things gotten so bad lately that the single laugh - alongside the sight of his cousin - could feel so polarizing?

"Was he at least wearing muggle clothes?" Harry asked, remembering the nicer set of robes the professor had left in that morning.

"Yeah," the other boy confirmed, "but I would have loved to see him show up in his teaching robes. He's not nearly as intimidating looking like a Pastor in his black button down and black trousers."

Again, Harry relaxed at the laugh that he belted out in with. He was far too familiar with Snape's intimidating, billowing robes and it was odd to think about how much that had changed - so slowly it happened almost without him noticing it - to get them to the point where he'd voluntarily live with the man… or even more, choose to die for him. Harry wanted to know what happened after he jumped in front of the Killing Curse, but it never seemed like the right time to ask Snape - and realistically, that time might be never - and he wasn't exactly talking to Draco lately. There were others in the Drawing Room that morning he could ask, Remus and McGonagall the most likely, but he hadn't seen the former and his guardian gave him such sympathetic eyes whenever he talked about the event that he never risked flat out asking. Ultimately, if he wanted to know what happened he needed to speak to the two Slytherins. The change of mood hit him by surprise; how such a drastic change could happen so quickly and it suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. If he didn't know any better, he was certain there were pins sticking him all over his chest, piercing his insides with every breath he attempted to take.

"You.. 'k… ry?"

Dudley's voice sounded muffled and distant, bringing him back to when he was laying beneath the rubble of his bedroom ceiling after the attack on Privet Drive a year ago… almost exactly a year ago and that was why Dudley was here. He looked over at his cousin and he barely recognized the teen. Born only a month before Harry and yet growing up together they couldn't look any further apart. That wasn't the case anymore though. While Dudley's hair and eyes were a vastly different color than the Gryffindor's - to which Harry was grateful his hair hadn't grown back blonde - they both now had a haunted aura surrounding them. He appeared as broken on the outside as the young wizard felt inside.

"Harry!" He snapped out of his turmoiled thoughts when Dudley called his name while simultaneously placing his hand on Harry's forearm causing him to jump.

"Sorry," the Gryffindor apologized, "I was… thinking about something."

The other teen's blue eyes watched him intently and Harry's face started to flush at the obvious attention he was drawing. This would have been the perfect time to ask about what had happened at the school while he was stuck - or imprisoned - at the Manor; it could have started the long road to healing the wound he kept hiding away in his Occlumency Forest.

Instead of asking the question he needed to know, he lamely went with, "So, how long are you staying?"

"Erm, until the 2nd, I think," Dudley nervously answered, wanting to ask Harry what had happened in his head. "At least that's what Professor Snape told Aunt Marge. Which reminds me, can he like… make people do things? Because I'm pretty sure Aunt Marge was about to deck him then changed her mind and told him to take me."

To take me. The phrase reminded Harry of how his Aunt and Uncle used to talk about him; like he was rubbish having to be dealt with. Dudley certainly wasn't in his position - Aunt Marge legitimately loved him - however between the two of them, Harry was now in the better place. Against all odds, Snape did love him and he did finally have a place to call home.

"I mean," Harry started with a small grin, realizing he had yet to answer Dudley, "there are spells out there to do stuff like that, but he shouldn't have used any of them."

"Somehow I doubt Professor Snape is one to care about what he should and shouldn't be doing."

The jested comment threw both boys into another fit of laughter and one that didn't even make much sense. For Harry - and he assumed Dudley as well - it was nice to have someone else there with him, someone who might understand what he was going through.

~~~~SS~~~~

Having woken up that morning with no intentions of inviting a guest in his home, Severus was oddly calm with the addition of Dudley. Not only did Harry physically seem to improve, the sound of both boys' laughter throughout the afternoon calmed his own nerves about Harry being able to connect with someone again as well as the information he gathered from the meeting with Lucius earlier that day. What started as a way to ease Harry's guilty conscience about forgetting his relatives' death, might actually have turned out to help the young wizard more than either of them could have anticipated in the long run. Severus reminded himself he needed to be patient and not push Harry too hard, knowing full well that it would only backfire in the end, and at the same time he eventually needed to be honest with Harry about what was going on with the potential Death Eater threat; this way the young wizard wouldn't feel like the person he was supposed to depend on couldn't trust him. No, Severus was determined to learn from the mistakes of last year and bring Harry into what was going on, he only needed to find the right time to do it.

Given that floor space in their home was at a premium and Harry's bedroom could not fit two beds, whenever the Gryffindor had friends stay over in his old reality, Severus simply transfigured Harry's single bed into a set of bunk beds for the duration of the visit. While he really wished he could do that with Dudley's visit - since he thought someone staying with the young wizard would do him well - he didn't think the boys would agree to the arrangement. It was one thing to 'bury the hatchet', so to say, about their rocky past in an effort to forge a new friendship, and another to forcibly live in such tight quarters together. That was how he'd come to the decision to put Dudley in the sitting room, transfiguring the sofa to a bed and making sure to ward off the door to his private potions laboratory; he didn't think Dudley would wander into the dark and damp cellar, but he wasn't exactly prepared to face the consequences should the muggle make that unwise choice.

Dinner with the two teens went surprisingly smooth and quite reminiscent of their time spent together at Shell Cottage over Christmas holiday. Looking back at their time at the seaside cottage, things really had been perfect - at least up until New Years - and those were the times the former spy often thought about when life seemed to want to drag him down. In the back of his mind, he hoped this would seem similar to Harry, allowing him to start feeling a bit more comfortable to talk. The young wizard needed to be surrounded by people who would support him through this tough time, and even having someone here, the professor would probably still contact one - or quite possibly both as it would be remiss to overlook a recommendation from Lucius Malfoy - of the mind doctors provided to him.

"So what are we doing for your birthday?" Dudley questioned across the tiny kitchen table when most of their other innocuous conversations had been exhausted.

"I really don't wanna do anything," Harry not-so-surprisingly announced. His attitude throughout dinner had vastly improved from only the afternoon with his cousin - Severus even took note of his increased eating - however he apparently was refusing giving in on his birthday plans. "Why does everyone care so much about the day I was born?"

Dudley's face flushed and mumbled, "This'll be your first real time celebrating it."

Severus carefully watched the two teens, the raven-haired to his left and blonde straight across the table from him, waiting to see how this would play out. Harry hadn't lifted his head at the comment, and instead pushed the remainder of his fish and chips across his dinner plate. Around him, the professor could once again feel the buildup of magic coming from his left side with Dudley none the wiser.

"Fine," Harry conceded seconds before Severus was going to get involved, not trusting the Gryffindor's raw magic not to lash out at his cousin. "Hermione already seems to think we're doing something at the Burrow anyway, so just please keep it small."

Relief poured through Severus's body and he released the breath he'd been holding, "Of course, Harry," he reassured the teen, "you're still-"

"Immunocompromised," Harry aggressively interrupted, pinching his eyes closed as he said it, "yeah, I got that."

And in that quick exchange, all of the good progress Harry seemed to make dissipated right before his very eyes. The former spy watched Harry from his peripheral vision, the Gryffindor's lips pursed in anger and frustration from the comments both himself and Dudley had made.

Dudley was the first to break the deafening silence, "No offense to Ron or anything, but aren't the Weasleys like… half of the school or something?"

"In my experience-" Severus started to lecture the muggle on his absolute hatred of 'no offense' - which in his experience always meant offense - but he was stopped by the sound of Harry laughing; another full laughter at something seemingly small and yet it was one of the best sounds his ears could pick up. The laugh was contagious and suddenly Dudley started laughing for no other reason than Harry was, followed by himself giving a single chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

"He has a point, Severus," Harry finally added once he'd caught his breath enough to speak. "Their family alone is like a Quidditch team. At that point, does it really matter who I'm around?"

"Whom," Severus corrected, "and as a matter of fact, yes, it still does. Pardon me if I love you enough to want to keep you safe."

The sentence was out of his mouth before he had time to process it. In the past two months - the last time either of them had said those words - Severus and Harry had both been pretty explicit about where they stood. Harry knew Severus thought of him as his son and vice versa, even if nothing was officially on paper. The Gryffindor still had Minerva as his guardian and while he'd considered filing his own paperwork to make things be more official, with Harry's coming of age birthday only ten days away he did not need a legal parent any longer. Sometimes, though, he found himself reconsidering it, even if it would be only for the gesture and message it would send to the insecure teen.

Time practically stood still, but in reality it was only several seconds before Harry nonchalantly answered, "And I do appreciate it, thank you."

The rest of the dinner passed by with very little fanfare. Dudley relentlessly asked the former spy to tell him how he'd managed to convince his sorry excuse for an Aunt to let him visit, insisting he had somehow controlled her mind, and his non-committal answer either way did very little to refute the accusation. Notably, Harry did not at all mention that the magic his cousin was suggesting was highly illegal and could instantly land him in Azkaban; not to mention he'd be breaking the Statue of Secrecy. The truth was if one knew the right way to speak, one could become extremely convincing regardless of whom they were speaking to and luckily, Severus knew - and frequently practiced - such skills.

The three of them also discussed Dudley's return to Hogwarts to continue assisting Professor Burbage with Muggle Studies, though what he told his guardian Severus had no clue. Somewhere in all of the events from the previous year, he never questioned how the muggle teen had managed not to complete his year of school. He imagined Albus had a great deal to do with it - and likely used the boy's safety from Voldemort as an excuse - and while the dark wizard was no longer a threat, it no longer mattered to him either. The chances of Severus and Harry returning to the school were becoming greater each day of the summer holiday, and having Dudley there, someone his age who also was not a student, as Harry wouldn't be, would make the transition for the Gryffindor infinitely easier to bear. Ironically, after discussing Dudley's plans for the following September, the conversation had taken an expected turn to the group of friends and what they were doing this summer. While Dudley went on about the letter he'd received from Hermione, and how grateful he was that it came by muggle post so he wouldn't have to explain an owl's appearance in the middle of the day, Harry once again became withdrawn from the conversation and it didn't take a master Legilimens like Severus to know the young wizard was thinking about the letters in his bedroom desk drawer.

"Dudley," the professor interrupted what was sure to be a riveting story about his suspicion of magical people being around him whenever he saw an owl in the daytime, "can you give Harry and I a minute, please?"

He wasn't sure if it was his request alone or his choice of adverb at the end, but Harry's head shot straight up from his meal for the first time since Dudley asked about their friends.

Giving a quick glance between the two wizards, Dudley replied, "Yeah… of course. Is it alright if I take a shower?"

Severus inclined his head just enough to get his point across. "There are towels on the shelf, you can't miss them," he directed, all while keeping his eyes focused on Harry. He waited until the other teen had taken his plate to the sink - rinsing it off in the process - and heard the telltale creak of the stairs signalling Dudley heading up to the second floor.

"I think I'll just-" Harry stood to leave, but Severus grabbed his arm, not roughly, but enough to demonstrate he wouldn't let the young wizard off that easily.

"Sit," was the only directive the older wizard gave. Luckily, Harry obeyed and returned to his seat where Severus waved his wand, vanishing the dishes to the sink. Now that they were sitting across from one another, Severus's heart was practically beating from his chest from nerves about what he wanted to tell the Gryffindor. In the end, he started talking from his heart and hoped something he said would resonate with Harry, "I went to see Lucius today, at the manor. I was nervous to be back there, which seems… a bit foolish as I'd been there plenty of times. But you know what? I felt better after leaving. Not right away. I didn't notice until sometime after arriving back home."

Harry's emerald eyes watched him intently, almost as if they didn't believe he was telling the truth.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know you're not alone," Severus replied without any hesitation. Embarrassed, Harry looked away and they both sat in the suffocating silence until Severus asked, "Did you get a letter from Draco?"

"I got two," Harry murmured, not even attempting to hide his knowledge of the significance behind the question. It didn't necessarily matter what was in the correspondence he received from the other wizard imprisoned with him, what mattered was his inability to read it when Draco had taken the leap to reach out. Maybe there was more merit to the therapy Lucius was sending his own son to.

"And did you read them?"

With another firm pursing of his lips, Harry swiftly shook his head. They were at an impasse and Severus was helpless trying to figure out which way to turn.

"Do you feel comfortable here?" He asked; his hope was that in moving away from the subject Harry didn't want to talk about and onto one equally as important, but possibly easier to discuss would help. "It's a big step to go from living together in the neutral castle to moving in here. I would certainly understand if you had reservations or regrets regarding the decision."

"I love it here," Harry replied so quickly, the professor had no choice but to believe him.

"Your treatments, then?" Severus laid his hands on the table in front of him and intertwined his fingers in a position he hoped would appear less threatening. "Do you feel uncertain about what's coming up?"

"Why does it matter if I read the bloody letters?" Harry exasperatedly pleaded, yet Severus wasn't letting this go; not this time.

"Watch your language," he admonished the teen, "I couldn't care less if you read or respond to your friends, however it's a testament to your coping… or lack thereof… and I want to help you. I know you're not sleeping well - you've kept to yourself most of the time, and I don't feel you're eating nearly enough. So in reality, the letters are a minuscule part of the bigger picture I'm starting to see in front of me."

He could see the wheels turning in Harry's head, connecting the dots to what he had noticed in himself and what Severus was pointing out.

"I can do better," Harry whispered, mirroring the response the young wizard had given during a similar conversation about his lack of eating last year; before the feeding tube was required to get him back to a semi-healthy weight. Their situation was supposed to be getting easier in Maintenance and yet that couldn't be any further from the truth.

"Lucius gave me the name of a doctor they're seeing to help cope with what's happened," Severus wasn't sure why he was telling this to Harry or where he was going with it, he was simply reacting purely off his instincts, "I've also been given a name from Dr Swanson, whom she wants you to see… well, both of us to see."

The windows in the room started to rattle, but Harry didn't even lift his head, "You think I'm crazy?"

"No," he instantly answered, "I think starting at the end of your fourth year, you've had more things piled on top of you than anyone can be expected to handle alone. Not to mention Dr Swanson said most of her patients seek help early on in their treatment. And to give you some perspective, those patients haven't had their parents murdered, left to grow up in an abusive household-" he held hand up to stop Harry's anticipated argument to his childhood, "- watched their murderer get resurrected, watch their classmate then their Godfather get killed, get kidnapped, and now moved into their previously most hated professor's house."

"Obviously I don't hate you anymore."

"That's not the point, Harry, and you know that," he flatly replied, "what would you do if it were Ron or Hermione going through this?"

It had been a calculated risk to list the stresses Harry had to deal with on top of fighting the cancer that might have been trying to overcome his blood cells once again, but one which thankfully paid off when the air in the room started to settle.

"When you put it like that, it does sound like kind of a lot," the Gryffindor finally admitted. His green eyes were shifting across the empty table in front of him before he lifted them to meet Severus's, and the professor breathed a sigh of relief to see a spark back within them that had been gone for far too long. "Can you give me some time to work through it? I'm not saying I won't see one of those doctors, but I want to give myself a chance first."

"That's fair," Severus agreed, knowing he could keep a closer eye on Harry in the meantime. "But do expect me to check in with you."

"That's fair," Harry gave a small smile, because he repeated Severus's own sentiment or because he truly felt satisfied to have someone looking out for him, the professor couldn't tell. On the surface, he hoped it was the latter and that this would be the start to what would be a summer of healing for them all, but in the back of his mind the fact that Harry hadn't really answered any of his questions had not gone unnoticed.

Monday 21st July, 1997

Lucius wouldn't ever say it, but he loved this Muggle coffee shop.

Teetering on the edge of Millenium Pier with the Thames flowing at its back, Wharfinger Cottage pillared at its left, and the infamous Tower of London nearly right in front of it, Bridge Cafe was popular among visitors. They flocked to it - parents trying to provide an educational field trip during summer time, tourists from overseas, locals simply enjoying their national heritage - solely for its convenience. It was so basic that it didn't even have a name of its own; it simply borrowed the most famous landmark and called it a success. Which worked incredibly in its favor.

It was a small structure with an open counter front and windowed display of cut sandwiches, pastries, and biscuits for sale. There was no seating for the customers. No actual building for them to even step inside of. The owner was also the cashier and barista (and the cook, if Lucius had to venture a guess). And the man - elderly with sagging, leather-like tanned skin - moved incredibly fast for his ailing years. He also had a memory like none other. Despite seeing hundreds of new customers daily from the boat-fulls of tourists spit out on the pier beside his shop, the man always remembered a returning customer. And he remembered what they ordered and any specific details about it.

Dressed in a Muggle fitted suit, Lucius fit in rather well among the London business elites. And when he was alone, without worrying about his wife's sanity and his son's crippling depression, he found himself lavishing in the anonymity Muggle London procured. When he began attending individual therapy sessions with Dr Cobb, Lucius meandered around the area, at first aimless and letting his feet simply keep pace with his troubled thoughts. At first, they favored a perimeter either close to the skyscraper housing Cobb's office, or the approved apparition points tucked in alleys. But the more wayward his thoughts became, the more distant his wanderings ventured. And eventually, he stumbled across the notorious Tower of London, standing tall and proud despite its flagrant history.

Years ago, he'd always planned to take Draco to see it. It was a place of sinister history for their people, one of the many places that secretly tortured and eventually murdered dozens of their kind. Heretics, they were called. If Draco ever wavered in his Pureblood ideologies, if he ever questioned the ideals Lucius and Narcissa drilled into him, it was Lucius's plan to bring Draco under guise to the heart of London to show him the landmark. It wasn't commemorated as it ought to have been; the Muggles turned it into a circus, a tourist trap, for all to witness and bawk over their darkest moments of existence. Not even the Muggles really knew what happened inside the fortress.

"Long black aeropress?"

Lucius looked away from the tower to nod to the coffee shop owner. "Yes, please."

It was the same order he always had. The same he'd get the next time he visited Muggle London. Which would be before he had a therapy session. Because he was finding himself coming up with excuses to wander the metropolis as a nameless, reputationless person floating from one street to the next as he mulled on his thoughts on how to save his family.

The Malfoy patriarch roamed his stare over the coffee premises. The menu was nothing more than a dusty, old chalkboard that still had remnants of the previous day's menu. The prices were cheap, especially for Lucius's standards. And the one time he tried the tea was the last time; as talented as the barista was at making a long black and working coffee grounds, he couldn't make a spot of tea to save his life.

The coffee was beyond divine. It was rich and bold in flavor, but deceiving light and velvety at the same time, delivering the best of both worlds in savoring a perfect cup. If Lucius wasn't worried about giving away his unsolicited trips to Muggle London, he would've offered to buy the man's shop out and simply hire him on full-time at the manor. He could easily afford the man's salary for the rest of his few years left plus promise him a luxurious life.

But money wasn't the shop owner's chief motivation. He didn't get up every day before dawn, hobble in opening up the shuttered shop, cut up some small sandwiches, and serve tired teachers and visiting tourists for the money. He didn't make the best cup of coffee in all of England for the money.

The idea that money couldn't buy everything was becoming a theme to Lucius. It bought him the best mind doctor he could find, it afforded unparalleled crafters to oversee the renovations on the manor, it paid the exorbitant import fees on the tulips and Polynesian orchids for their new gardens. But it didn't fix his son or his wife. And it didn't make him suddenly know how to be a present father and husband.

Sipping on the black coffee, Lucius made his way back towards the tower for his appointment. It was a decent walk, several blocks, but he welcomed the distraction and the cool breeze. Muggle London tasted and smelled different; not of the rolling meadows and green hills in Wiltshire, but of people and technology and liberties. Different liberties from their own but liberties all the same. Of automobiles and magic-less innovation, of different foods and spiced drinks, of sounds coming from everywhere and everything, of being able to get lost in the dizzying world and escape into the background. No one looked, no one really cared about others. They walked in tandem together crossing the street when the little box changed from the red person to the green one. But no one cared where the other was headed, who they were, what they did or what they didn't do. No one cared that he was a Malfoy and that he almost killed his own son with his bad life choices.

The lift up to Cobb's office had a near silent hum to it. After checking in with the secretary, Lucius sat in a leather-upholstered armchair and waited with his paper cup of coffee. How his life had changed so drastically. Fifteen months ago, he was Lord of his household, an immaculate Pureblood with an unblemished pedigree he held proudly over anything to do with Muggleborns. Twelve months ago, he became Azkaban's newest resident. And three months ago, he was a captive in his own home and forced to watch his son be used to keep an evil wizard alive.

"Lucius?"

The wizard glanced up at the familiar American accent - a strange one that had once grated on his nerves but he eventually warmed up to it. He greeted Cobb with a stiff nod of his head and followed him into his office.

It was a tastefully decorated corner office that provided sweeping views of the bustling steel jungle below, the streets intersecting and zigzagging with rancor. Lucius spared the view only the most cursory of glances before finding his trademarked seat on the long couch he sat at with his family the day before. Across from him, Dr Cobb plucked his pen from his jumper and began to scribble something at the top of his clipboard. "How are we doing today, Lucius?"

"Quite fine, thank you."

Content with whatever was written, the psychologist tossed the clipboard to his tidy desk that sat adjacent to their small sitting area. The automatic response from his patient earned only the smallest of grins from the squib. "Do you know why I asked to see you alone today?"

Lucius had some guesses and he almost played dumb out of instinct not to show his hand too preemptively in a meeting, but he had to remind himself that Cobb was an ally. And the session wasn't a place to utilize cunning and deception. "Because of Draco, I presume. And my wife's inability to see the struggles he's still going through. Really, she fails to see the struggles all of us still have. I had a-" he almost said 'colleague' but had to force himself to grapple with the truth, "-I had Severus over this morning for tea and she acted as though he wasn't a forced captive held in deplorable conditions in our very home. It's as if she's forgotten the past year has even happened."

Cobb leaned forward slightly. "Quite a bit I'd like to discuss from what you just said, but let's start with Severus. You had him over for tea? Your idea or his?"

The wizard snorted. "Truthfully? I don't even know. He has something I want and I have something he wants. I suppose it was a mutual agreement in the end." He paused for a moment, slate eyes looking away. "Draco told me last night he doesn't intend to return to Hogwarts. He cited his safety as his main concern but I don't believe that. Strange that I feel like I don't know him anymore, or that I am losing him more and more each and every day, but I can still discern his lies easily. Is that what it means to be a father?"

The question was asked with rhetoric sarcasm but Cobb met it with a gracious smile and shrug. "I've told you this before, Lucius. There's no mold to fit in how to be a father or a parent. You make that yourself. That's what parenting is all about."

"So what have I been doing for the past seventeen years then? Watching my child be raised by forces outside of my own devices?" The slight incline of the doctor's brows told Lucius that he wanted the wizard to answer his own questions. Lucius seethed and shook his head, tabling the thoughts for the moment. "For discretion and safety sake, I can't speak of what Severus is asking of me, but it certainly has to do with past… engagements of more questionable caliber. In return, I'm asking him to assist in arranging secure lodging for Draco at Hogwarts."

Cobb nodded slowly. "He has to go back to Hogwarts. I'm sure you can find him tutors and get private education that's on par - or maybe even better - than his curriculum at Hogwarts, but the routine and regularity of school will do him wonders in healing. He needs to get back to that normalcy."

"I've told him as much," Lucius shortly replied with a sigh. "But in our world, he's of age. If he so wishes to stop his education a year shy and be forever deemed a Hogwarts truant, then that's his prerogative and there's little I can legally do." He hesitated. "However, I did - in a labyrinthine and roundabout way - exert an arm of extortion to get to him to back down from his plan. Our newest business prospects in creating a Muggle-disease research and treatment center has been one of the only positives he talks about. Especially with me. We're both heading it up together. I discursively threatened to remove his involvement unless he returned to Hogwarts. Does that make me a bad parent? Holding something that he clearly wants above his head to get him to do what I want?"

Cobb chuckled softly. "Did you always give him dessert before his dinner when he begged for it?"

"A hardly fitting comparison."

"I disagree," the American said lightly. "And it wasn't a rhetorical question, either. If he asked for it, did you give him dessert before dinner?"

Lucius had to think about that. Any good parent would know the answer. But he wasn't a good parent. Not yet, at least. "He knew never to ask," he quietly replied. "As a very young child, perhaps, he would occasionally get sweets throughout the day. But once he was old enough to begin his tutoring in earnest, his etiquette training began immediately. He was taught with staunch, strict methods never to interrupt a meal's flow."

"Who taught him with those methods? You and Narcissa?"

The wizard shook his head. "I don't recall her name. A German governess who reared barons and lords in Eastern Europe."

Cobb nodded slowly. "And what about other things? Toys, clothes, brooms, Quidditch games and matches? Did he ever ask for something and you not give it to him? Or set a reasonable, healthy goal for him to achieve before giving it to him?"

Lucius took a moment to wade through the past seventeen years. The memories were like silt; sticky, thick, and murky. "Draco was never left wanting for anything. If he asked for it… yes, he typically received it. He had the best brooms, which I also furnished for his entire Quidditch team. He saw any Quidditch match he wanted from the best box in the stadium. My standards for him, though, were always high. I wanted him to be the best not because he figuratively had to be for eventual career-planning purposes, but because Malfoys aren't anything less than perfect. That's what he was taught."

"And now? What's changed? Don't you still hold him to those standards?"

The Malfoy patriarch wet his lips and looked down hopelessly into his hands. "I don't know if I can anymore. Everyday I see him I feel like he's drifting away. He sleeps all the time - I used to never go into his room. It was always his private space, especially when he became a teenager, and I respected it. But since the trial when he started spending all of his time in his room, I'd knock every so often to check on him and he wouldn't answer. So I started to open the door and check on him. Asleep. He's always asleep."

There was silence for a few beats before the doctor spoke. "I recall him being prescribed sleeping droughts and dreamless sleep potions two months ago. Did he get a new prescription? I don't remember seeing that in his files."

Lucius shook his head slowly. "It wouldn't be there because he hasn't. He exhausted his dosage limits and the healers recommended him to explore other sleeping aids. Maybe something less addictive like infused valerian or skullcap. I don't trust that he hasn't stopped taking the potions, though obtained through questionable means. Our family still has resources. And if he absolutely had to, he's always been exceptionally skillful at potions and could figure out how to brew them himself. I've never told Narcissa my suspicions. Not because she's a bad mother." He hurriedly added that, as though feeling compelled to defend his wife's strange behavior lately. "I don't wish to worry her."

Cobb didn't seem to take notice of the Narcissa comment. "If he's taking potions to that extent, Lucius, it can be dangerous for him."

"I know," the Malfoy patriarch agreed with a heavy breath. "I was hoping he would stop once we began seeing you. But nothing's improved with him. He doesn't talk with me. His mother barely looks at him for more than a few seconds, and when she does it's like she's looking through him. But never at him. I feel like… I feel like if he doesn't go back to Hogwarts, he'll simply become a recluse in body and completely gone in mind. At the same time, I don't know if I trust having him so far away with people who might wish him harm."

Cobb hummed to himself for a few minutes before kicking his left ankle to rest on his right knee. "It is completely normal to set healthy and achievable goals for children to work towards. I don't like the word 'standards' because it doesn't really give much room for growth in either direction. Putting your foot down about Hogwarts I think is difficult for you because you've never really had to put your foot down with him before."

"Perhaps," Lucius mumbled. "I don't think I'm one to measure the sanctity of a father's decision-making process, all things considered. Until the Dark Lord's return, it was so much easier with Draco. But once he came back and my allegiances were demanded, I knew it was only a matter of time before Draco would be expected to fall into line. I didn't want that life for him. A Pureblood, yes. But pulled into the world of killing and torture… through my own hand, I made him give up so much of his life. Every shred of his innocence, all because of my iniquities."

"Sins of the father is an old philosophical debate," Cobb began. "To see you taking accountability for your past actions causing pain to your family is a huge step, Lucius. I'm proud and you should take this moment to be proud of yourself. But don't get stuck on that. You won't ever get to chapter two if you keep trying to re-write chapter one."

"And if there is no chapter two?"

"Well, that would be a very boring book, wouldn't it?"

Lucius chuckled alongside the doctor, but inwardly, he was reeling. Part of him enjoyed the freeing sensation of admitting that he was the major wrong-doing catalyst for his family. And that he was doing everything within his power, no matter how limited it might've become from recent events, to guide his family back to a path of positive outcome. They wouldn't be what they were before, but they shouldn't either. And yet, the other part of him panicked at the unknown.

Lucius ran his hand down his features, trying to stir them alert. "I worry for Narcissa. That is to say, I have always worried for Narcissa but I worry for her now."

The doctor unhooked his ankle off his knee and gave the wizard a puzzled look. "You've always worried for her? Narcissa seems to be a strong, capable witch. I can understand now but you said always."

What was it about the doctor's office that made the truth so much sweeter and easier to grab for. Maybe it was from Lucius's own selfish desires to get his family back to a place of healthy standing that he thought his own reconciliation would do it, but he found himself digging through buried truths and lies that hadn't seen the light of day. "Yes, always," he repeated after a thick swallow. "Narcissa doesn't… she does not take loss and trauma well. She never has. And it almost cost us our marriage years ago when we first were married. And I…" He squeezed his hands together, palms feeling balmy. "I knew that I would cause her torture before we were even married. I knew something that would bring her torment if we were married and I said nothing."

Cobb studied him for a few seconds. "What was it?"

The wizard looked down at his hands, at the elegant wedding band entombed around his finger. "Everyone knew the Black sisters. The eldest two, Bellatrix and Andromeda, were two and one years my senior, respectfully. And the youngest, Narcissa, was a year my junior. Had I not shown an inclination to a Pureblooded witch, my parents would've selected one on my behalf, but I knew early on, when I first met her, I was going to marry her."

When an encouraging silence greeted him, the wizard smiled almost sadly at the memory but forced himself to continue. "Everyone knew Bellatrix the best. And truly, Bellatrix was the epitome of what a Pureblooded witch ought to have been: she was fierce, passionate to her heritage, but she had this inability to think about anyone unless they were right in front of her. It was as if she could only consider someone's feelings or how they were impacted if she could see them, and once they stepped away, so too did her thoughts about them. She was cold and calculating, and her heart was surrounded by this hatred that eventually became insanity. I saw that and I knew that despite her being a very good Pureblood, that wasn't what I wanted bred into my child."

He took a breath and looked out the window, out at the other towers, but he was taken elsewhere. Back in time. "Andromeda was just as bold and fierce as Bellatrix. Those two always garnered the most attention when we were in Hogwarts. Their rivalry was well known. It's truly a pity that Andromeda was severed from her family line. She was a formidable witch, even with her desire to wed a Muggleborn. But my own son is now courting one. We'll save that for another session."

Hermione Granger. Lucius hadn't even had much time to process that his son was dating a Muggleborn for months and had hidden it from him. But Hermione Granger was the whole reason Draco even captured Harry. She was the whole reason so many people hated his son, blaming him for having kidnapped their 'Chosen One' and almost costing them the war if not for Harry and Snape's quick and benevolent thinking.

Cobb smiled lightly. "For another session."

Lucius took that as his cue to continue. "Narcissa was mostly forgotten when placed side by side amongst her sisters. But she was everything Bellatrix wasn't. Kind, compassionate, maternal. She was Slytherin to her core, to be certain, but she used her cunning in different ways. She was as fierce as Andromeda but she was fierce for her family. And it turned out, family was the only thing she wanted." He swallowed sharply. "She wanted a family. It was well known. 'Three isn't enough, five is too much, four is just right', she used to say when discussing her future children. Four. She wanted four. Among the Black family tree, it wasn't unheard of. Many of them had three or more children. But for the Malfoys it was…. impossible."

Another silence lapsed. Another waiting, expectant silence. Lucius hated it.

"I knew I couldn't give that to her. It's still disputed on the cause, but our family is unable to produce offspring easily. At the most, one child can come to fruition but not easily. Some of our ancestors' portrait's say it's from a curse. Malfoy. Middle French for 'bad faith'. The more popular belief is that it's caused from the dark artefacts kept in the manor. Either way, I didn't tell her because I knew if I did, she wouldn't have married me." He paused. "It was the first time my selfishness caused her pain."

Dr Cobb nodded slowly in understanding. "But you were able to conceive."

Lucius laughed darkly. "Eventually. And not easily. If you were to ask me how many lives I've taken, I'd be unable to answer you truthfully. For I don't know how many unborn children I add to that list, but I'm sure if you ask Narcissa, she kept count." He shook his head and looked down. "It killed her. Each and every failed pregnancy she took personal blame for despite it not being her fault at all. And kind of like now, she began to wilt and suffer horribly. I was losing her and I needed to do something. Severus gave us fertility potions, but nothing seemed to work. I pledged myself to the Dark Lord and our home saw more dark artefacts than ever before. I was hopeless. And hopeless men do desperate things."

He could've stopped there. Should've.

Instead, he kept going on in a shaky voice that didn't sound like him. "Our family's enterprises span across the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and through some of our Muggle exchanges, I reached out to contacts in the medical industry. Through utmost discretion, I received consultation with a Muggle physician and Narcissa was put in treatment immediately."

"Did it work?" Cobb asked.

"Draco was born eight months later. A little earlier than planned but her pregnancy wasn't easy on her body. He was healthy and perfect and everything to us both. I knew she wanted more children but we both knew that wasn't happening. Because to keep what we did secret from certain audiences I had to… dispose of the Muggle physicians. They gave me a child and I killed them for it."

The silence that filled the room afterwards was uncomfortable and unbearable. But neither the squib or the wizard interrupted it. They simply existed in it, Cobb studying him with a soft, sad expression and Lucius examining his hands. Hands that had done the bad deeds he finally recounted. What kind of a man was the doctor to take that kind of news in such good stride?

"I'm not admitting this to start to reconcile with my past transgressions. I've long gone to bed with them," Lucius finally said. "But I still struggle to come to terms with the lie and pain I caused Narcissa. I swore to myself seventeen years ago that I wouldn't do it again. That every decision I made would be in the best interest of my family. I suppose you can have the best of intentions and still be a rotten husband and father."

"Have you been honest with Narcissa since? Does she now know the truth of why you struggled to conceive?" Cobb asked in his gentle, doctor voice.

Lucius nodded quickly. "Of course. As I've said, we've made terms with that struggle as best as we could. But her motherly side… the way she helped out the Potter boy during his time of captivity at the manor, most people were shocked to hear it. I wasn't. Narcissa would help out any child in need, even if they're not her own. And he needed her then."

"How is she coping now compared to how she coped eighteen years ago?"

"Different in a way, but the same in another," the wizard replied. "Back then, she was the new Madame to our household and I don't think she fully understood the power she carried. Now, she's utilizing every tool at her disposal. What with these ridiculous renovations that are simply giving her busy work. That's all she's doing. Giving herself inane distractions and casting off anything that reminds her of those horrible months. She even sent my peacocks away!"

Dr Cobb closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "Maybe that's a goal we can work on when I meet with you and Narcissa next. I feel that's a very good milestone to work towards. The peacocks did play a big role in the battle, and welcoming them back will mean something."

"Perhaps," Lucius mumbled. "In the meantime, doctor? What am I supposed to do? Clearly, my judgment is poor when it comes to my family. I've given you more than enough evidence of that. So tell me, because short of making another grievous mistake, I don't know what to do anymore. My family is falling apart before my eyes. And everything I do to try to make it better only makes me feel worse. I've even considered sending Draco to Beauxbaton! We have legacy there from distant relatives, he speaks French fluently, but I know Hogwarts will give him that sense of-of normalcy again."

Cobb gave him a weak, sad smile that mirrored Lucius's inner turmoil perfectly. "I can't tell you what to do, Lucius. But I can tell you that sometimes the hardest parts of parenting, and some of the most crucial parts of healing, are the most painful." The doctor tapped a finger against his thigh in thought. "But everything you said today was a huge breakthrough for you. I'm not sure what unnerved you enough to get to this point, but the only change that you mentioned today was the visit with Severus. I'd like you to visit with him again."

"You want me to visit with the man whose ward my son kidnapped and delivered to his death?" Lucius asked flatly. "While we both agreed there was no ill-will between us, we're both from families that wouldn't air grudges even if there was."

"I want you to visit with a friend," the American gently corrected with a chuckle. "Twice a month, in fact. Even if he returns to Hogwarts, I want you to chisel the time out to have tea with him."

The wizard sighed defeatedly. Arguing wouldn't do him any good. He was placing his and his family's eventual wellbeing in the squib's hopefully able hands. "Fine. And what exactly do you want me to say to him?"

Cobb shrugged gently. "Whatever feels right. Maybe that's talking about your sons. Maybe it's talking about your business. But twice a month." He paused a moment, considering the Pureblood across from him, before reaching over to his desk to pluck his clipboard off of it. "As for Draco, I have a small homework assignment for you. This packet here-" he lifted a stapled stack of white paper with printed words scribbled across it, "-has a long list of what we call 'character questions'. Typically, authors use them when working on characters in their books but I like to use them as exercises. Each week, I want you to read three questions and provide answers about Draco. If you don't know the answer, you'll need to find it out without just asking him."

Reaching for the packet offered to him, Lucius held back his critical judgment and knee jerk refusal. He looked down at the paper, glancing at the first set of questions: 'Favorite colour?' Easy enough. He knew Draco liked green the most. It was the colour of Slytherin and a colour found in their family crest. Then again, he did own quite a few dark blue robes that seemed to match his likeness. Did he really like green or was it just another thing shoved on him at a young age?

Tabling that one, he quickly looked at the next question. 'What are their feet like?' Lucius almost did a double take. What an absolutely mad, ridiculous question. He didn't know what his feet were like. And what kind of person had the literary repertoire to describe feet? Sure, Draco walked barefoot through the home when he was in his nightclothes, but Lucius couldn't recall taking the time to really look at his feet. He never thought to look at him that much.

He hated the exercise already.

Fighting back a defeated sigh and his instinct to throw the packet back in the doctor's face, Lucius finally looked at the third question. 'What makes them laugh out loud?'

He continued to stare at the packet as he conjured every image of Draco laughing in his mind. Sure, of course he'd seen his son laugh hundred of times. Genuine laughter, too, like when Lucius told a low-browed joke about some social faux pas he witnessed the Weasley patriarch make at the ministry. But that was years ago, wasn't it? When was the last time he saw his son give a full-bodied, hearty laugh? The kind that made his eyes crinkle in the corners and take on the shape of narrowed almonds, a feature inherited from his mother to be sure. The kind that made the corners of his lips curl back to the point of forcing the small dimples along the ridge of his jaw to hollow out and become pronounced. The kind that stopped existing when Draco was stripped of his boyhood prematurely and thrown into a world that chewed him up and spit him out. And everyone else that watched was all the happier for it.

He couldn't remember because the laughs didn't exist. Not anymore. But Lucius promised himself that they would eventually.

~~~~HP~~~~

Hi Hermione,

I'm sorry this is so late. I did get your letters (both of them), but I'm just getting around to reading them. Things here have been going alright, or at least as ok as they can be. Severus and I have gotten into a good routine and living together has become pretty normal at this point. Dudley's staying with us for a while and I didn't realize how much I missed having him around… all of you guys actually. I'm planning on taking him around the neighborhood here to show him where our mums grew up. I doubt he even knows this was their childhood neighborhood and I hope he can appreciate it like I've learned to. We were supposed to go on Tuesday, but I ended up pretty sick that day and half of Wednesday, then today's rained most of the day (I feel bad sending Hedwig in the rain, so you might get this a day late). Hopefully we'll make it out tomorrow because we're both getting right bored stuck in the house after three days.

Severus spoke to Mrs Weasley last night and we will be getting together for my birthday at the Burrow. The idea of celebrating my birthday feels a bit weird to me, but I guess it's a big deal to everyone else. It will be nice to see you all again, even if it's just for a quick dinner.

You asked if I've heard from Draco and yes, I have. He sent me two letters but I haven't opened them yet. Honestly, I haven't been ready to hear what he has to say to me about everything. Things back… there… I don't know. If I do read them (and there's something you should know) I'll definitely let you know. I'm sorry things have been rough between you guys.

There is one thing I wanted to get your opinion on - what do you know about accidental magic? Not wanting to put too much in a letter, I've started doing accidental magic again, only unlike last year (or when I was a kid), it's not exactly helpful, if you know what I mean. Severus only has one book here about it and so far nothing I've experienced has matched what's in the book. We can talk about it more when I see you at the Burrow, if that's easier, but I thought I'd see if you had anything I could read about it.

Hope you've had a great holiday so far,

Harry

P.S. The shiny toys you recommended last term for Hedwig has helped keep her from getting too bored, but she's been in a mood lately so just be careful… she may bite.

Friday 25th July 1997

Harry really hated the idea of sending Hedwig out in the rain yesterday, so had waited to send Hermione's letter until he woke up Friday morning to a crisp and clear, sunny day. Although he hadn't said anything, Harry could see the relief in Snape's eyes while he watched the young wizard present the rolled up parchment to Hedwig - along with an owl treat as a bribe for his extended absence - and asked her to bring it to Hermione. He almost felt guilty that the real reason he wrote to her was to ask her about his accidental magic, and not as some reconciliation he had with his feelings as Snape was sure to take it. In the end, he was grateful the professor didn't mention anything about it, so he wouldn't have to lie, and after breakfast he went in search of Dudley, who he found out in their tiny back garden.

There was still a chill in the air - at least to Harry - and he ran his hands up and down the arms of the grey jumper he was wearing, which contrasted his cousin's own bright red t-shirt, providing a great visual of just how different the two of them could be at times. The garden was more like a courtyard being that it was surrounded on both sides by brick walls, making the small space appear even more suffocating. If someone wanted to go outside to find some extra breathing air, the back was not the place to go for it. Not that he got to leave the house often, but when he needed a new perspective, Harry enjoyed sitting out on the single front cracked step leading from their front door to the road. The view was so different from that same position on Privet Drive, it was almost calming to him; a way for him to know how much his life had changed. Opening the back door from the house to the garden, Harry watched for a second as Dudley ran in place on the small patch of grass, with his back to Harry.

"Whatcha doing?" The young wizard asked, approaching the other teen carefully from behind so as not to scare him.

"We used to do this series of warm ups for boxing," Dudley was panting with his hands on his knees. "It helps me clear my head sometimes, y'know? I used to run around the perimeter of Aunt Marge's field, but this works fine."

Something about running - in what he imagined the field of Aunt Marge's large rescue looked like - sounded liberating to Harry and he thought taking a run around their block might actually help him sort through all of the messiness inside of his head. While he'd never really had the urge to go running in the past, suddenly his body was craving the physical exercise it had been lacking since his diagnosis and with it his year spent indoors, quarantined away from people.

"Mind if I join you next time?" Harry found himself asking without even consciously realizing it. "Maybe we can take a run around the neighborhood?"

"Sure. But-" Dudley looked precariously over the wall, however Harry already knew he wouldn't be able to see anything from their vantage point, "- is it… safe?"

Harry couldn't help laughing and immediately felt bad about doing so. "For the most part, yeah it is," he told his cousin and then used it as the opportunity to take Dudley to the old Evans' home. "In fact, let's go for a quick walk. There's something I wanted to show you."

When finally making his way out of the small row house, Harry didn't care that the sun shining down on the dilapidated street was brighter than it was warm, because just the act of it hitting his skin almost instantly re-energized him. For being an industrial town - previously run by the mill before it was closed, leaving most of the residents out of work - it had a quieting, almost relaxed atmosphere around the outside; like it knew the horrors of things happening behind the closed doors such as at the old Snape residence. The first time Harry walked into the pre-renovated home, his mind was taken to the memory from his Occlumency lessons when Snape was a child, living in the same bedroom Harry was now sleeping in. It had to be difficult to continue to live in your childhood home when so many awful things had happened there. Harry knew, from the Occlumency attack last year, that his other self and the professor had managed to build a good, fulfilling life in the home and hopefully they could do that now; to push out the old, battered memories living there with them.

Looking up and down the street, while waiting for Dudley to change for their walk, Harry got his bearings straight trying to remember the best way to get to his mum's old house. They would have to cross over the dirty river using the old steel bridge separating the two parts of town - Spinner's End being on the lower class side of Cokeworth - away from the broken smokestacks on the horizon. The first thing the young wizard noticed when Snape brought him here about a month ago was how different the two sides were from each other. He could imagine, and almost feel, how difficult the stigma of living "on the wrong side of town", as Uncle Vernon would say, would be to overcome in a place like this. Pride filled his small frame thinking about his mum befriending a kid like Snape - a kid too much like he would have been had his mother seen him at age nine - coming from this side of the neighborhood, without any prejudice based on his questionable, dodgy appearance.

The sound of the door opening behind him drew his attention back to his cousin. Suddenly he had the urge to know what Dudley knew about their mums' lives growing up. Had he been told they lived in a milling town? The Gryffindor thought not, otherwise Dudley would have said something about the familiar name of Cokeworth. Taking that thought further, it also meant the other teen hadn't recognized this as the place Uncle Vernon had taken them to get away from Harry's Hogwarts letters. He had a difficult time wrapping his head around how close he had been to Snape the night they spent at the Railview Hotel - a fact Snape had known from his old reality, giving them both a good laugh at this Harry's shocked face when the professor told him he'd spent a night in Cokeworth before - while he was completely oblivious to how important it would be to his life later on.

"Ready?" Harry asked his muggle cousin and they took off to the left, towards the pathway leading to the bridge.

There wasn't much to point out on their side of the river, and it was no surprise when Snape showed him around, all of the "iconic landmarks" had been on the other side. It definitely painted the picture of the professor not only spending a lot of time outside of his home, but that he didn't stay on his side of town often.

Once they crossed the bridge, Harry took Dudley to the old park where Snape first met the Gryffindor's mum; the very place that started a whole series of events he could finally not look back upon with dread. For once in his life, especially now while standing outside in fresh air and sunshine, he could almost feel happy about where he had ended up. Yes, he was still having his own struggles and demons he fought, and he still had Leukemia - something that wouldn't be officially going away for years - but somewhere underneath all of that, he was actually happy with his life.

"C'mon, Harry," Dudley eventually whined while they were sitting on the only pair of non-broken swings, "why did you bring me here? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be out of the house for a bit, and this area at least looks a little bit nicer, but you obviously have something in mind."

Harry toed the dirt beneath his swing, watching in almost a trace as the brown soil was pushed up onto the top of his black trainer, as he thought about how to delicately bring up their final destination. "What would you say if I told you that you'd been to Cokeworth before?"

Skeptically, the blonde boy looked around, clearly confused by the bold statement.

"I'd say you're crazy."

Harry gave a small laugh and pointed at the set of tracks just off the tree line in front of them, "See those tracks over there? If you follow them west, they'll lead you right by a small place called the Railview Hotel. Does that sound familiar?"

It took about five seconds, but when Dudley's face went white and his eyes practically fell from his head, Harry knew he remembered.

"You mean, my dad brought us here?!" Dudley called out somewhere between angry and disgusted. It hadn't been the reaction the young wizard was expecting and he briefly reconsidered if his cousin was ready to see the Evans' home; if his grief was still too fresh. "What was he thinking?!"

The second question had a lot less steam to it, and when Dudley began to laugh, deep down, Harry knew it would be alright. They both started in on the odd memories of that summer, about how Dudley barely knew what was going on, and how looking back he could see how wrong it was to not only try to escape Harry's history, but to have actively withheld such an important piece of who the young wizard really was. To Harry the words were everything he ever wanted to hear from his relatives, but it was also too little too late. He no longer needed their validation over the wrongs they'd done to him or the reasoning why; all he wanted was to continue to live his life in Cokeworth with Snape, and move on.

"I'm surprised your mum never told you about Cokeworth," Harry eventually transitioned to the part he actually wanted to discuss.

"Why would she?"

The words were on the tip of Harry's tongue, yet they wouldn't leave. Instead, he gestured for Dudley to follow him the short walk down to Mill Drive, where the road was lined with perfectly spaced trees - most of which were dead or dying, but Harry could imagine how it would have looked back in the day - and the row homes here were painted a variety of colors; a sharp contrast to the identical dull browns over on Spinner's End. They walked to the middle of the street, until Harry's strides started to slow looking at the numbers on the doors to each home, abruptly stopping in front of number 24, a brick home coated in white peeling paint at the end of its row and a steep set of steps leading to the equally chipped red door. An extra set of windows on the front of this home showcased it being larger than Snape's on the other side, which matched the rest of this part of the neighborhood; the wealthier side, nevertheless still a whole different world from Privet Drive.

"Harry?" Dudley placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, pretending not to notice the Gryffindor flinch. "What's-"

"They grew up here," Harry interrupted his cousin. He turned to look the muggle in the eyes when he told him, "this is where our mums grew up."

Now was Dudley's turn to go silent as he turned back to the rundown home. Harry knew the questions going through his head, or at least the one Harry would have wanted to know: why hadn't he known about where his mum lived? No one expected their parents to die so suddenly and at such a young age as both of theirs had, but to never have known where his mother spent the first part of her life was something so basic, and yet Petunia Dursley had been so afraid of magic she never mentioned it.

For the longest time, too long if anyone had been around watching them, the pair of cousins stood outside of the home where their mothers had celebrated their birthdays and holidays, and where they came together before being torn so unbelievably apart, neither knowing at some point their sons would eventually reconcile their lost friendship. Even with so much having changed over the last year, Harry could have never expected the two of them would be right where they were that day.

"They had a cousin with Leukemia," Dudley said so randomly Harry wasn't sure he'd actually said anything at all.

When the blonde didn't elaborate, Harry asked, pretending he didn't hear the hitch in his voice, "How do you know that?"

"I asked mum after you came back from your surgery last year," Dudley sadly explained, "I read through the pamphlets Professor Snape left for you and when I saw it said it runs in families, I thought I should ask."

For reasons he couldn't even begin to decipher, Harry wanted to cry. He'd thought he had lost that information with the death of his Aunt; ironically also the one person who had literally withheld his own history from him, so he had no reason to believe she'd tell him the truth. But Dudley had thought to ask the question he probably should have at least tried to ask himself, and was able to finally give him the last piece to the puzzle about his Leukemia.

"Who… erm… I mean..." the young wizard stuttered, unable to form the question he desperately needed to know, and thankfully the other teen understood.

"It was our mums' aunt's son... I think I got that right," he started, screwing his eyes as he went through the connection in his head. "He had it as a really little kid, a lot younger than you, maybe five? But back in the 60's treatments weren't what they are now and he… uh…"

"He died," Harry finished the awkward sentence, and yet even knowing the distant relative hadn't survived the very disease he was now battling, the simple fact he now knew where it came from made all the difference in his outlook. He was no longer some anomaly, like his mum with her magic. However, unlike with his magic - which he was happy to pass down to all potential future generations after him - he hoped the Leukemia never popped up again should he ever manage to have children. Of course, if he hadn't been made into a horcrux, or more accurately if the soul fragment hadn't blocked a significant part of his magical core, his magic would have killed off the cancerous cells before they took over Hopefully it would be a moot point and the cancer would just be gone from his family line forever. The raven-haired teen turned toward his cousin, it was hard to fathom that they were the last descendants of their respective family lines, and unfortunately, unless magic showed up in Dudley's children, he would have to look out for this hidden, horrible disease. If nothing else, should Dudley be faced with that scenario, maybe Harry could help provide some solace to the child; having gone through the treatments himself.

"Thank you," Harry acknowledged, "I'd been wondering 'bout it, but figured that history was gone."

Dudley didn't answer and, to Harry, that was alright. This was a difficult topic to talk about and he was grateful for the small piece of the puzzle he had gotten from the other boy. Without a word to each other, they turned and started the trek back to Spinner's End. Harry couldn't help thinking about his mum or Snape taking this exact route as children going to visit one another. How much more bearable would living at Privet Drive had been if he'd had a friend like Lily Evans - both magical and kind - to hang out with everyday?

"How do you… like living here?" Dudley nervously asked after a minute of walking and taking in the area around them where their mothers had walked and played.

"I love it," Harry furrowed his brows peering over to his cousin beside him, getting the urge to expand on his reasoning, "It feels so different then Little Whinging, and I feel like… I dunno, like I belong here or something. It really feels like home to me… I'm probably not explaining right."

"No, I understand," Dudley somberly said, reaching his hand out to stop Harry from their walk. "That's our fault. You think you don't deserve something good because you grew up in a cupboard, but it's not true."

"I'm over that, Dudley," Harry reassured the blonde, motioning for them to cross the rusted bridge to go back to their side of town. "I am happy here, even in a place like this. It's where Severus lives and that means it's where I want to be. No one's ever asked me what I wanted before, not about the cupboard, or going back to Privet Drive year after year, or even who my guardian was going to be after, y'know… but this, I chose to come here with Severus. I could have gone with the Weasleys to the Burrow - which you'll finally get to see next week - or stayed in Scotland with Minerva wherever she lives outside of school… hell, I even have my Godfather's old house in London I could go to after my birthday. But I want to be here, and it's where I'm also wanted."

Harry had no idea what made him say all of that, but he had to admit another piece of the boulder sitting in his chest chipped away at the proclamation. Still, Harry paused as the pair crested the bridge to think over what he'd just discovered about himself. Had this been what was missing, his self-realization that he was comfortable in this new life? Combined with the information he'd just learned regarding his family history with Leukemia, could things start to change - for the better - for the first time in a month?

They were standing still, watching the river - its water so dark with pollution it was almost black - winding between the overgrown, rubbish-strewn riverbanks, and from that position they could turn to their left and see the broken neighborhood they were heading towards or turn to their right to see a better kept version of where he now called home; where his mother had lived in the "nicer side of town".

"If you like being here so much," Dudley softly broke the silence between them, "then why do you have so many nightmares?"

The accusation - though it really wasn't one - came so suddenly, Harry lost his grip on the railing and almost fell to the ground.

"I don't know what-"

"I heard you," Dudley interjected before the Gryffindor could finish his denial, "I was coming upstairs to use the loo the other night and you were yelling, not loud, but enough so I could hear from the lavatory."

The young wizard's face started to blanch from embarrassment.

"Sometimes I have nightmares," Harry changed tactics and tried to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal, maybe then Dudley wouldn't make it one either. "Don't you?"

"Not like what I heard," the other boy continued, "I tried to go in and wake you up, but I couldn't get into your room."

This isn't good. Harry thought silently. The only explanation for his door being locked was his accidental magic, and it should have been helping him get out of his nightmares, not preventing someone from getting to him. At some point - and this maybe that point, he wasn't exactly sure - he'd need to tell Snape what was going on. That train of thought brought a more immediate question to his mind.

"Did you tell Severus?" Harry warily asked, wanting to know if he should expect walking into a conversation with the professor or not.

"No," Dudley flatly responded, and didn't offer any further explanation.

"Good," Harry turned away, "don't tell him, alright? He has enough to worry about right now."

He could feel Dudley's uneasiness about the request made, but still his muggle cousin mumbled his acknowledgement and the two continued on their way back to Spinner's End, just in time for dinner. The whole way back, Harry's mind was only half paying attention to where they were going - causing them to make no less than three wrong turns. He kept going back to the strange turn of events from the afternoon: his family history, his nightmares, and his accidental magic. And yet, with all of that weighing on his mind, he focused on the fact that this time when Dudley brought up his nightmares, it wasn't to mock him, but instead out of a legitimate concern for his well-being.

~~~~SS~~~~

Tuesday 29th July, 1997

As the second person Severus had told about his old life - the first if he didn't count Harry and, for some reason, in his mind the young wizard didn't exactly count - he valued Minerva's opinion more than just about anyone's lately. During the school year, they'd gotten into an unofficial cadence where they would meet for tea in his office every Friday night and he'd vehemently deny it if anyone tried to call him out on how much he looked forward to those nights. She had become not only a source of information this last year, but a confidant on his unique situation. They had come together to support Harry in a way the young Gryffindor should have had all along, and Severus found if he focused too hard on the past, he became far too angry to think clearly, and that was exactly what he needed to do today.

With school completed for the summer, the defense professor assumed his ritual with Minerva would have ended, however he was pleasantly surprised when only the second week into the summer holiday, the Head of Gryffindor firecalled him to set up tea each Tuesday until the 1st of September. Since then, typically she came over to Spinner's End to give Harry a chance to see his guardian - for whatever that was worth - but this morning he urgently requested to meet with her at Hogwarts as what he had to discuss absolutely could not be overheard by any wandering ears; muggle and magical alike.

For the last twenty-four hours, he'd been contemplating how to handle the situation he managed to walk into yesterday morning. While Harry and Dudley were out for a run around the neighborhood in the morning, an activity the young wizard started randomly and Severus wasn't completely sure he was supportive of, the professor hadn't thought any harm could come from catching up on some of the chores around the house with the place empty for the next three-quarters of an hour or so; depending on how ambitious the teens were that morning. Looking back, he felt guilty for being as frustrated with Harry after they'd left, because once again the Gryffindor failed to bring down his bed linens to be washed. Had that one simple act been done, Severus wouldn't have been itching with anxiety over what he'd found when he entered the small bedroom to collect them.

Laundry was the single piece of their home he left for magic - otherwise he'd be doing it all by hand as the home did not have a unit - and therefore the only chore Harry was completely exempt from helping with. He didn't think it was too much to ask that the teen bring down the linens three times a week to be washed, per the guidelines from Dr Swanson, and yet he always seemed to forget them. Stomping up the stairs, ignoring the lack of creaking on them that morning, Severus was thinking about how he could try to further stress to his child how important staying on top of the sanitizing still was, especially if he had every intention on running each morning. He hadn't been paying attention to the room around him until it was too late and sitting on top of the bed - left wide open in the young wizard's haste to leave - was the sketchbook. Under normal circumstances, the professor would have respected Harry's privacy and used his wand to discreetly move the coveted object, however he was already angry with Harry and his mind wandered back to the drawing he had caught a glimpse of at the chemotherapy clinic earlier that month. It was wrong, he knew that much, but he justified it to himself by claiming not only had Harry really caused this situation to begin with, but Severus needed to know what was going on with him and this was the best window into his young psyche.

What he found was far from anything he could have expected to see. The first noticeable difference was that Harry's normal sketches almost always included people within them in some capacity - usually the main feature. That had clearly been his way of finding and capturing the need to be surrounded by people after living most of his life alone. The sketches he saw that day were almost completely void of any life, outside of a random faceless person here or there. Also typical to Harry's art was how diligently he worked to complete a picture before starting a new one, and this book was filled with partially completed or more likely abandoned pieces. No matter how he looked at it, what he held in his hands - and then proceeded to flip through - couldn't have been any further from Harry's normal sketches, and Severus would have questioned if it was even his had he not already seen the stormy sketch from before.

The first picture, and most likely what Harry was working on before going out to run, was a dark green forest that reminded Severus of his Occlumency image; a place where Harry was supposed to feel safe and secure. Instead this forest was torn apart, with tree limbs dangling from precarious angles threatening to fall crashing down to the ground. In the background of the forest, red eyes - the only sign of any life in the picture - were staring savagely forward, almost appearing like they could see out of the frame and directly into the viewer's own eyes. The other pictures did not get any better. There was the stormy clouds he recognized instantly and the rest of the picture showed angry waves crashing onto a beach with lightning striking into the ocean. Finally, there was one depicting Hogwarts underneath a swirling set of clouds and a dark hooded figure stood at the base of what he guessed was the Astronomy Tower. Nothing particularly jumped out at him like the previous two sketches, but he had no less of a bad feeling about it.

Fear coursed through Severus's body as he sat at his desk in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom across from Minerva, a pot of tea holding warm between them. He'd just finished explaining yesterday's discovery and it was obvious she needed a minute to sort through the details herself before attempting to give her opinion on the matter. Having never raised her own child, one wouldn't think the Gryffindor witch would be an ideal choice to seek advice from for this issue, however as the head of a house like Gryffindor he wasn't about to discredit the experience she'd gained over the years. Not to mention even if she were technically only Harry's guardian on paper and the young wizard was no longer a member of her house at the school, she deserved to know what was going on with the teen.

"I take it you didn't ask him about them?" She predictably asked, starting out their conversation.

"No," Severus replied, "I did not think breaking whatever trust we have was a sound idea given the circumstances."

"Yet you looked through the book anyways," she chided him.

The younger professor resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "I did not ask you here to get lectured on my own questionable choices. If that's all you can provide, then I think this week's tea can be cut short."

"Calm down, Severus," Minerva waved her hand before taking another long sip of tea. "I simply thought your reasoning rather ironic given how this information was obtained to begin with."

"I wasn't snooping," he explained and instantly realized that was exactly what his colleague had expected from him.

"It seems to me," she ignored his insulted expression, "you already know the answer. His doctor gave you the number for the muggle mind healer, and it's obvious he needs help."

Severus ran his hands down his face. They all made it sound so simple, except when he tried to talk to Harry, it was anything but.

"It's not that easy," he attempted to explain. "Harry has made it clear he doesn't want to see yet another physician, outside of his two. He's practically an adult and there's not much else I can really do if he refuses."

She gave him a warm smile, one he had not only started to get used to, but really appreciated. When he'd been locked up captive for two month, he never expected his view on those around him to change so much. Where he used to scoff at other's need for validation, he now found himself accepting - and needing - another opinion on his own matters.

"There's a reason you're the head of Slytherin, Severus," Minerva stated matter-of-factly, "and I have no doubt you'll find a way to get through to him. But-" she emphasized the word, "- if you find yourself needing help, I would recommend reaching out to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. They were his first family, after all, and I mean no offense in saying I think he'll take their opinion a bit more seriously. It is why we see more students come to us, as their Head of House with troubles as opposed to their parents."

Logically, what she said made perfect sense. How many times had he been approached by one of his Slytherins regarding trouble at home? Or with something at school? The answer was far too much. He'd heard anything from suspected abuse in a first year, to Mr Zabini's issues with his latest stepfather, and even students having issues in classes such as reading. They were conversations he hated having not because it was awkward for him, but because it was a testament to how little these students felt they could trust anyone else. As hard as he always appeared to his students, as their Head of House, he tried to demonstrate that he was also their advocate; he wanted to be someone he needed when he had been a student there. Which brought to light another question: had Harry ever tried to discuss his own issues at home with Minerva? And if so, why was nothing ever done to help the child? He knew the answer of course: Albus Dumbledore and the blasted Blood Wards on the property.

"And how are you handling everything, Severus?" Minerva asked as she did at some point during every single tea time they had. "Molly tells me she informed you of Albus's most recent concern?"

This time, he did roll his eyes at her mention of the headmaster. "Yes," he confirmed he had heard the latest news choosing to ignore her first inquiry, "and I met with Lucius to help us determine just how serious this needs to be taken.

"As I've told Molly, any remaining followers won't have enough power to reform in any capacity. It's why they all disbanded back in '81. I suspect the most we'll see is some minor infractions and I'll reiterate this again, it's nothing the Aurors can't handle. Surely Scrimgeour will want to make sure he has a handle on this situation, especially given he had zero affiliation with the death of Voldemort making him look like the incompetent wizard we all know he is. This is nothing we, and the Order, need to be involved in."

His sentiment caused the Gryffindor witch to give a small chuckle. "While I agree, I don't think Albus has it in him not to fight the wrongs of the world."

Anger and resentment resurfaced within Severus over the absence of Albus during the Battle of Malfoy Manor. He left his soldiers to clean up the mess he had started and for that, Severus could not forgive him. It also meant that if the headmaster was so determined to get involved in what was clearly an Auror's responsibility, he would need to stay a step ahead of the headmaster.

"What did Lucius have to say?" She added when he failed to return her sentiment.

"He's going to discreetly dig around and see what pops up," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, giving his head a small shake. "I have another meeting with him, at his insistence, next week. Hopefully, he'll have something of substance to share and we can finally put this behind us."

The words he said sounded right, they were exactly what he wanted to say, nevertheless he didn't believe them. As angry as he was with Albus and while he questioned the other wizard's ability to think clearly - especially when it related to Voldemort and the Death Eaters - he also could admit that his own instincts were telling him danger was on the way. He'd be as vigilant as he needed to be where it related to Harry, but he'd never show his hand to Albus; it wasn't worth the risk. Severus had no way of knowing that the meeting with Lucius would be a social visit - at the requirement of his therapist - and that his friend would not have the information he seeked; he'd need to wait over a fortnight for anything worthwhile on the Death Eater front.

The professors' tea continued on with less important topics the longer it went on. They discussed everything from Harry's birthday celebration in two days - which of course, Minerva was attending - to Quidditch, and the price increase of parchment. It wasn't until they were almost finished with their tea that the topic of his potential return as the Defense professor came up that Severus remembered the last topic he'd wanted to discuss with her: Harry's accidental magic.

"What do you know about the manifestation of accidental magic?" He asked instead of answering her question about if he'd come to a decision on their return to the school or not.

At the sudden, and presumed intentional, change of subject, the Transfiguration Professor furrowed her brows. He thought she would push back to find out his purpose and therefore was surprised when she next spoke, "Probably not much more than you do. It's generally a form of self-defense used in magical children before they have a wand. As far as I know, there's not been much research in the field, though you may want to ask Filius about it."

He doubted her claim that there wasn't much research in this particular form of magic, he just needed to find it.

"What's going on, Severus?" She interrupted his thoughts again with the obvious question.

He took another long sip of his tea to give himself time to consider how much he wanted to tell her, but couldn't deny that she'd been extremely helpful last year when looking into Harry's magical core issues. If nothing else came from last year - which would be a complete lie because although so many bad things had happened, a great deal of good came from them too - he had learned he liked being able to depend on others and he needed to be a role model for Harry, who was struggling with the same concept.

"I think Harry's new magic, the raw magic, could become harmful," he chose his words carefully so as not to cause alarm or make Harry appear dangerous to those around him.

"To himself?" She clarified, already onto his subterfuge, and his lack of response was all the confirmation she needed. "In this case, I think we need to look for something relating to untrained magic rather than accidental. I'll see what I can find, you certainly have enough going on right now."

If he remembered right, that was almost her exact statement made when she took over researching Harry's magic last year. Hopefully what she found would be better news than anything they found last year, but he had enough experience to know he couldn't be that lucky.

Tuesday 22nd July, 1997

There wasn't much that could overpower a potent sleeping drought and bring on a premature wakefulness, but the sensation of being watched was certainly one of them.

Turning to his back as he dragged the exquisite silk and modal bed linens with him, Draco let loose a light groan of protest at being woken up. Sleep shared in his reluctance to leave, coating his eyes in its dust and lingering on his mind's periphery in case he decided to roll over and go back to sleep. The potions were always the same in the morning; it made it difficult for the teen to rouse, his alertness stunted, and an odd taste of cotton clung to his tongue.

Staring up at the intricate braided moulding cascading up the walls, to the angles of the room, and finally the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom, Draco continued to feel the set of eyes on him. If it were months ago, he would've immediately reached for his wand haphazardly tossed on the bedside table to throw a hex or three in the vicinity he thought his intruder was. But he lacked the willpower to do much of anything. It wasn't that he was welcoming injury or death.

But he wasn't unwelcoming it, either.

The moulding in the room was renowned. It was a masterful art piece in and of itself, hand carved pieces brought in from the enchanted Black Forests in Germany. The woods there were cursed from the omnipresent dark magic constantly circling the mountain range, the local witches and wizards clinging to their destructive habits as much as a fish clung to water or a bird strived for air. The trees, in return, had soaked up the malevolent energy over the centuries, their trunks and bark swelling to unnatural angles and girth. Living forests, they called it, but that was an ambivalent moniker in creation. To live would mean to prosper and strive for life; all the trees knew was a hopeless, evil magic that sucked vitality out and spit hatred back.

Maybe it was fitting that Draco's parents had selected the room they had for him when he was a child. The entire bedroom was outfitted in the living wood, the moulding carved into plaits and braids and stacked to create awe inspiring pieces. There were no knots in the wood, though. The magic was timeless and had mutated the trees to abandon their capability to count their own age. They were true slaves to the nefarious forces that fed them.

Figuring that if the intruder was going to do him harm, he would've already done it, Draco shoved himself up to a wobbly elbow and looked around the sizable bedroom.

The floor was a dark, espresso wood that was partially covered by oriental rugs. A large four-poster bed with silver and taupe linens, modestly patterned, matched the dark green velvet drapes hanging around it like a veil. In what he assumed was the safety and privacy of his own space, Draco always slept with the drapes open, much different from how he favored them closed when in the dorms at Hogwarts. Looking around the space that had been his for thirteen years - the bedroom he was moved to when old enough to live more independently - it didn't take the teen very long to find his intruder. Then again, the man put zero effort forward in trying to remain hidden as he sat in the small sitting area tucked closest to the enormous windows.

Draco pawed at the sleep on his face, not sure yet if he was more annoyed or curious about the man's presence. "Can't remember the last time you were in here," he mumbled.

Gracefully pushing himself off the wingback chaise, Lucius hummed a little as he glanced around the chamber, as though seeing it for the first time. "You always liked this room as a child. Said it felt like you were in a forest."

"I remember." But as a child, Draco didn't know at the time that the forest the trees were imported from was filled with evil deeds and darkness. The room itself was a dark artefact. Looking his father up and down, taking in his immaculately groomed hair and regal robes, the man was clearly dressed for the day and not looking like he was pressed to explain his presence. "Either you're here with some kind of urgent news or you're trying for a new angle to get something. Unless mother has died or taken ill, I don't know why you'd come in here at all. And you definitely don't seem the least bit worried."

The older wizard stopped beside his desk. The surface was clean. Draco knew never to leave papers out, lest prying eyes and sticky fingers found their way near them. "Your mother has asked me to assess your room for renovations."

The teen crossed his arms but made no move to rise from the bed. "And you couldn't wait for me to get up?"

Lucius chuckled. "It's a half past ten in the morning, Draco. The day is nearly half over and you're still asleep. I didn't have the time to wait for you to wake up." Which was a lie considering the older wizard was clearly sitting in a chair moments ago. But Draco didn't point that out - it didn't have to be, they both already knew it. And they both knew exactly what his father was getting at with his accusing tone.

"Yeah, well, I didn't sleep great last night." The lie was half-hearted at best and even Draco didn't believe it. Was that all the father and son could do in conversations? Spit lies back and forth in a battle of endless wit and see which one buckled first? "Why couldn't mother just ask me about the renovations? It's my room, anyways. If anyone should have a say, it ought to be me."

His father glanced briefly back at him, his silver eyes brightened with something; pain, pity, hurt? The emotions were naked and not normally found on the Malfoy patriarch, and so the teen didn't know how to register them. But they were the only response he'd get. Once again, the two wizards existed in the unspoken as they danced around the true answer.

His mother didn't ask him because she didn't want to talk to him. At least not about anything of import or having anything to do with what happened months ago. Sometimes, it bothered Draco that she chose to ignore him in a sense, but other times, he found it liberating. His father hadn't been there at four in the morning when he was weak, shivering, and drained of blood. It was his mother who was there each and every night changing out his clothing, tucking him into bed, ensuring both boys - him and Harry - were as comfortable and safe as she could promise given the circumstances. It was her that remained at his bedside and rearranged his blonde strands just to show that she was still there for him.

She was coping in her own way. And her way was destroying and recreating as much as she possibly could. It was less painful to build new memories on the graves of the dead than around the walls of the half living.

Lucius nodded up at the dark moulding. "The wood will be removed. It's far too dark for the palette your mother is trying to introduce in the manor." He wasn't referencing colours. "While the renovations go on, you won't be able to stay here. Instead of moving you to a different room, I was thinking perhaps we could go on holiday for a few weeks. At least before you start Hogwarts again."

If. Draco wanted to counter with. If I go back to Hogwarts. But he knew it was a losing battle. His father had met with Snape the previous day for tea, during which he made himself scarce and holed himself in his room to avoid any accidental run-ins with the professor. That was an engagement he could absolutely do without. But if his father met with Snape, he undoubtedly was trying to hold up his end of the bargain to ensure safe accommodations for him during his last school year.

"Our problems would be here when we got back," the teen mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair, working through a knot and forcing some kind of order to the strands. It wasn't difficult; like many of his features, he inherited his father's delicate hair.

"They would, yes," his father agreed lightly. "But getting away for a short time might do everyone some good. I was thinking we could visit the chateau in Reims. It's been sometime since we've seen it and you've always enjoyed the French countryside."

That was true. Draco did have a penchant for the freeing bliss of the vineyards and fertile hills. Their chateau there was old - newer in construction compared to the manor but the land was more ancestral than their estate in Wiltshire. It was where his ancestor, Armand Malfoy, migrated from during the Norman invasion and established the Malfoy legacy on British soil. Their Reims chateau had seen revitalization in the seventeenth century by the celebrated wizarding architect, Louis Le Vau. While the Muggles knew him for his beautiful work on the Versailles Palace, they didn't know about his majestic creations in the Wizarding World including the Malfoy Chateau and several Beauxbaton wings.

However, leaving before the next full moon, due in a little less than a fortnight, might disrupt the exhausting ritual Draco was in the middle of completing. But his parents weren't aware of his time constraints - he didn't want his parents knowing that he was in the midst of attempting to perfect the Animagus ritual in the off chance that it didn't work or that his animal was a disgrace to their name - and he wasn't keen on showing his hand just yet. So he had to play it safe.

After holding the mandrake leaf for so long in his mouth, he barely noticed it tucked under his tongue.

"Can we go a few weeks into August?" Draco asked as he threw the blankets back and swung his legs over the side of the bed, barefeet meeting the heated floor. "I've got a… a few things I need to take care of here."

"Oh?"

Lucius was never the prying type unless it fit his narrative and goal. At least, the old Lucius was like that. The old Lucius also never waltzed into his room, uninvited and unannounced, under flimsy pretenses. "I was thinking more on what Dr Cobb said the other day about Hermione. And I… I think it's about time I speak with her. Assuming she even wants to talk with me."

The older wizard turned away from the desk to look more fully at the teen sitting perched on the edge of the bed. They were both unfamiliar with the strangeness of casual conversation. And really, the last time they were able to speak in earnest without Voldemort's darkness hanging over their shoulders was years ago. Before Lucius was tossed into Azkaban. Even during his fifth year, Draco remembered how distracted his father was, and felt the reverberating shift the Dark Lord's ascension did to their relationship.

Now without the background noise, they were left to figure out how to be parent and child.

The boy's candidness took Lucius by brief surprise. But he was quick to capitalize on what he hoped was a sudden inspiration of openness. "You'll never know until you try. Do you know what you'll say to her?"

They never talked about his relationship with a Muggleborn, and Draco was forced to navigate his father's feelings about Hermione in the dark. Was his father still intoxicated on the Pureblood ideals? Did he frown on the relationship and hope Draco would return to the path his parents wanted for him? Did they see it as a temporary fling? Did they hate her for being the one weakness that forced Draco into a position of kidnapping Harry?

He shook his head at the question. "Not really. I have a lot that I want to say but I don't know how to say it. And I don't think she'll want to- what are you looking at?" He furrowed his brows and followed his father's downward-angled gaze. "Are you looking at my feet?"

"Hm? Pardon?" A brief panicked look crossed his father's face before he tucked it back in. "Of course not. I was simply in thought."

The entire morning was strange. "Right well… I need to shower and get to Stonehenge for my appointment. I… erm… please tell mother that the renovations are fine and I'd be happy to spend a week or two at the chateau so long as we go in the middle of August."

His father was chagrined and awkward as he quickly excused himself from the bedroom and left behind a confused Draco. Everything had seemed oddly comfortable between the two of them despite his father's invasion of privacy and waiting for him in the sitting area. That's what the elder Malfoy was doing; he wasn't inspecting his room to determine renovations. He was waiting for his son to wake up.

But even the sheer awkwardness of that didn't unsettle Draco as much as it probably should've. While he wasn't exactly happy about the invasion, he also never once demanded his father vacate his room. And the elder Malfoy didn't appear too bothered by the rare spot of intimate conversation they stumbled on. No, he'd gotten awkward at the end, when Hermione was brought up and he found his father in deep thought staring at the floor.

And so Draco assumed that, despite being forced to reconsider their wrong Pureblood ideals, his father continued to harbor hesitations about Muggleborns. Never did it cross his mind that his father was genuinely studying his feet.

Stonehenge was an interesting place.

It butted against the southern farms technically on Malfoy property, and so his parents presumptuously claimed to own a stake at the acclaimed landmark. In actuality, no one owned it. Muggle Britain liked to believe that since it rested within their borders, it was a national monument they could bleed for tourism profit. But among the wizarding world - not just Britain but the entire world - Stonehenge answered to no one. And it belonged to no one. No one had the power to claim that strong of a magical signature.

When he was a boy, Draco's flying lessons were allowed only within his family's lands for safety sake and to make sure he abided by the ministry's rulings. From the southern property, he was able to see the legendary stones and the hoard of people crowding around it, making out the hundreds of people balking at the archaic formation.

Most were Muggles. Wizards and witches that traveled came by apparition and were afforded their own entrance tucked in a hollowed out gully that rested, serendipitously, on the northern crust just where the Malfoy property line began. The gully was deep and ravenous with vines, obscuring wildflowers and fragrant fennel, and a field of four-leaf clovers that attracted leprechauns during their autumn mating migrations. Though typically jovial with a mischievous streak, the magical creatures - or 'beings', according to the protesters lobbying for more liberal sentient definitions - tended to be fierce and possessive when searching for their ideal mates. Which made the gully in the fall, at times, a magical battleground with pissed off leprechauns defending their turf as they searched for the best four-leaf clover to present to their prospective mates.

For old time sake, Draco considered taking his broom but couldn't muster the interest enough to carry the plan out. Flying was a fun pastime, but he stopped really caring about the sport when his mind became preoccupied with other training lessons. Like how to be a spy for the Order and not wind up killed. Which he botched up fantastically. Still, he left his broom in his wardrobe along with the army of couture robes and suits he still couldn't bring himself to wear. They reminded him of his life before. When he knew exactly what was expected of him, what it meant to be a Malfoy, what his ideals were. Now he didn't know, and to wear those clothes felt like he was trying to masquerade as something he wasn't.

He kept wearing the Muggle jeans, flannel long-sleeved top over a plain cotton t-shirt, and trainers that, strangely enough, had the name of its creator patched on the side of it and were commonly called 'Chucks'. Bizarre that Muggles would actually want to display the name of the creator on a shoe. Why would you want to ruin the shoe with a label that couldn't be taken off?

After the tossing of his stomach had settled following the apparition, Draco hadn't lingered long in the gully. Two wizarding families had arrived separately with impatient, summer-crazed children in tow and a pair of tired parents just looking to get their offspring out of the home. Draco had ignored them, stuffed his hands into his jean trousers, and shuffled along the valleyed gorge.

After feeling the anti-muggle wards sizzle around him, letting him know he was nakedly exposed and in an area shared for both kinds of people, Draco had begun to look for Dr Cobb. Stonehenge was always busy in the summer when Muggle and Wizarding children were between terms and parents chose to take holiday then. Stonehenge's landscape was surrounded by a sea of cascading farms and vibrant green hills with the occasional rural home and renovated castle turret marking the horizon. But civilization had given the landmark a wide, great berth. And yet, people were drawn to Stonehenge.

Dr Cobb found Draco first. He flagged him down with a happy wave and holler, which the teen returned with a much more reserved tilt of his head and didn't bother to take his hands out of his pockets, and guided them to a small grassy slope a short distance away from the ancient stones jutting out from the soil.

Now sitting beside the psychologist, neither caring about the grass stains on their jeans, Draco stared forward at the landmark. He'd gotten through the basal pleasantries: 'How are you feeling today, Draco?' was met with the standard, 'Fine'. And then the silence collapsed on them. It was the same silence that joined in on every session as the doctor simply waited for the young wizard to speak his mind, never rushing him. He'd poke and prod every so often, and showed no impatience when the Malfoy heir clammed up and told the Squib all he felt was numbness.

"Why do Muggles come here?"

Dr Cobb looked surprised at the question at first but glanced back out at the enormous, weathered stones. A cool breeze carried by them, making the grasses sway and shift. "To appreciate the history and the feat people long ago managed to do. We like to gawk at the unknown. It's the same reason people debate whether the afterlife is real or not, and don't get into debates about if grass is green or red. Mystery is the spice of life."

Draco tilted his head to the side as he considered the answer. It wasn't right, though. He didn't believe it. "People - Muggles - travel from across seas… America, Asia, Australia, India… all for rocks that they can see in a book. None of their technology is here. Why come?" He paused for a second before turning towards the doctor to read his reaction. "Do you feel a pull to it?"

"You mean in the same way you're drawn to it?"

The young wizard nodded slowly. "We come here because of the magic. It's old, raw, and chaotic, but strong enough that the signature hasn't faded. It's like.. It feels like a potion that exploded. The same kind of magic left in the air that… that tingles. That's what this feels like." He shrugged a little. "It's the same kind of ancient magic that the Egyptians used to build the pyramids, construct the Colossus of Rhodes, and create - and destroy during the Chimeran-Dragon Wars - the Gardens of Babylon."

Cobb seemed to know this already. "The Seven Wonders of the World. That's what the Muggles call them. Though only one is still standing."

"That you lot can see," Draco countered. "Half of those landmarks are still there. Just hidden from Muggles with some old, strong warding. But…" he looked back at the stone landmark, watching a child race down the trail with her cardigan flying behind her like a cape. "Why are Muggles drawn to them? You have no Magic. You shouldn't make these trips just to see old things. And yet you do."

"The mind doesn't have to be influenced by magic to appreciate wonders and craftsmanship, Draco."

"Perhaps not but it's different. There's thousands of old landmarks. Ceres tits, I can name a dozen off the top of my head that are older, more brilliant, and would give Muggles more to see than those seven 'wonders'. But Muggles still, still travel so far just to stare at a pile of rocks, empty sand, or a deserted beach. And for what? To try to imagine what used to be there?"

Cobb turned more fully to him now, eyeing him in equal parts curiosity and dubiousness and said nothing.

"We're drawn here for the old magic. We can sense it just like we can sense the old magic in those other locations," the teen continued softly, making sure they weren't overheard despite the distance between them and the crowd. "As a child, when I first saw how many muggles come here, I couldn't understand why. My parents said they were all deaf to magic. And then they told me about Squibs and Muggleborns, and how magic had the habit of being finicky in how it manifested and with who."

The American chuckled a little. "It's a shock for magical parents to have a squib. I can tell you from experience."

But Draco acted like he didn't hear him, continuing to look down at the blades of grass around him. "I had a theory as a kid that maybe magic just comes in different forms. We're such a small percent of the global population but maybe it's not magic that's the minority but just how we show it. Maybe Muggles are drawn here too because they can sense it. They just sense it in a different way. Like hair colour. We all have hair, but the colour changes depending on what we inherit."

Another breeze slendered by them as the doctor leaned back on his palms. "An interesting theory to have," he casually said. "What do you think that'd mean if it were true?"

"I dunno," the teen mumbled in a half-defeated voice and began ripping blades of grass to toss them forward. "Nothing, I suppose. It means nothing beyond only further showing we know rubbish about magical theory. My father yelled at me when I first brought it up, telling me that Muggles are inferior and therefore can't know anything about magic. That they're, by design, subservient to us."

"What do you believe?"

Draco shook his head and grabbed another handful of grass. "I don't-"

"-No. You have to know something. You can't just not have an opinion. What do you think? You. Draco Malfoy. I don't want to hear what your parents told you, what Hogwarts or Headmaster Father Time told you. I want to hear what you think."

The teen smirked a little at Dumbledore's nickname and tucked it away to use later. "I don't…" Know. He fought not to say it. Because he didn't know. The part he used to play as the perfect Pureblood son had decayed, failed to stand the test of time, and he didn't know what to think anymore. He was always told how to act, what to think, what was proper and what wasn't. But he was of age now, wasn't he? He was his own wizard and had proven himself more than capable of attempting to guide his family out of harm's way. He would've been successful had his father not intervened.

Muggles. What did he think about muggles?

Looking up from the growing pile of grass clippings in front of him, Draco watched a mother fight with the buttons on her young daughter's jumper while the father, completely oblivious to the struggle, took a violent amount of pictures with his camera of the stones.

"Muggles terrify me," the teen eventually began with no idea of where he was going. "I thought that Muggleborns wouldn't be strong in magic and would only weigh down my classes at Hogwarts, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The positively worst wizard in our class is a bloody Pureblood. Longbottom." He spit out the name and shook his head at the boy's disgrace. "And the best witch is a Muggleborn. For a while, I chalked it up to being a fluke. Or maybe they both would shift positions as we got older and our studies became more difficult. But it never happened. She got stronger and he, somehow, got even worse."

The father must've had over a dozen pictures of the unmoving stone from the same angle. If they had magical photographs, he wouldn't need to take a battery of stills to capture the moment. He stopped and popped open a small compartment on the bottom of the camera and proceeded to remove two small cylinder items to exchange with near identical ones stowed in a backpack. Draco watched the entire procedure curiously. Meanwhile, the little girl wailed and kicked her feet in displeasure of having her jumper fastened while the mother leveled her with exasperated words.

Was this a typical Muggle family outing? He wondered if Hermione had similar family moments.

As if reading him like a book, Cobb asked, "You started dating that smart, Muggleborn witch, so your thoughts must've changed. What terrifies you about Muggles?"

Draco ignored the question. "I'm going to see Hermione tomorrow. She doesn't know it, but I'm… I'm going to make the trip to her house in London. Apparition, obviously. I don't want to tell her in case I wanker out at the last moment and don't end up going. This way I won't disappoint her anymore than I already have."

"What makes you think you disappointed her?"

The teen laughed ruefully. "She's a Gryffindor! For every ounce of self-preservation they lack, they make up for it in bravery, which is also coincidentally called being a fatalist. Regardless, she'll think I'm some coward for not reaching out to her sooner. I couldn't even send my letters directly to her! They went to Potter first. She hasn't even replied to those."

"And are you? A coward, I mean?"

"What kind of fucking question is that?" Draco snapped, turning to look seethingly at the doctor only to find the American watching him calmly. "Of course I'm a coward! I can't even… here, let's go down the list of cowardly acts and failures I've made. Hold onto your pants because this will be quite the list." He lifted up his hands to count on his fingers. "I've failed at being a Pureblood son, a Death Eater, a spy for the Order - really, the fact that I failed both of those simultaneously is pathetically impressive - a Seeker for my Quidditch team, a friend to Potter, a boyfriend to Hermione, a patient to you, a student to my mentor." He dropped his hand down to slam it on the grass with each word. "Every. Single. Thing. I have tried to do, I've failed at. So you tell me, why would a Gryffindor, the 'brightest witch of her age', want to be with me?"

Cobb took the explosion in the same steady, tranquil stride he always had. Actually, he looked pleased with the teen's explosion. "So if you're such a shitty kid, why was she with you in the first place? She began dating you when she knew you were undercover, after you bullied her for years."

Draco almost fell over, surprised at the doctor's pointed audacity. His eyes widened a bit. "What?! I don't know! Maybe she had a lapse of judgment, just like I had a lapse of judgment thinking I deserved to be with her."

"The brightest witch of her age had a lapse of judgment? For seven or eight months?"

The wizard clamped his mouth shut and tightened his jaw for a moment. In his anger, he almost swallowed the mandrake leaf. It was quickly stuffed back under his tongue. "Things have changed. I'm washed up. I failed all of those things. Before the manor incident, I was a spy. Now I'm nothing. Why would she want to be with someone who runs away and dodges their girlfriend for months?"

The doctor grinned a little. "People aren't always looking to gain something from someone, Draco. That's your father's thinking. She might want to be with you just because you're you."

The teen frowned and hissed through his clenched teeth. "Me?! I don't even know who I am anymore!"

Cobb slapped him good-naturedly on his shoulder. "Then who better to learn it from than someone who genuinely wants to be with you for you? And look at it like this - you have a rare opportunity. You have a clean slate, Draco, the ability to re-write yourself how you want to."

Draco wasn't sure he could ever share in the American's enthusiasm on the topic. The ability to rewrite himself sounded freeing and liberating, but he was creating something from shattered pieces that had little resemblance to what they used to form. There were no blueprints to follow, no guidance beyond the mind doctor he barely knew, and he watched his parents flounder with similar struggles. What attributes did the powerful Malfoy family get to retain from their old lives and what would have to be rediscovered?

A clean slate? So what happened to the past seventeen years? To his childhood? Did he completely forget it and try to now emerge into adulthood with skeleton morals and values still in the building stages?

"I don't know what I'll say to her but-but I'm hoping it comes to me when I get there," Draco grumbled as he looked back up at the Muggle family, the father with his camera now trying to coordinate his fuming child into a pose in front of the stones. "I need her for the ritual, too. I have no one else to ask." A sad truth, he had no friends, allies, or acquaintances that'd help him.

"Have you told your parents you're trying to become an Animagus?"

The wizard shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want them to worry should I botch it up and end up half owl or something terrifying." It was partially the reason he hadn't told them. The real reason was the main purpose of his interest in going through the convoluted, grueling process in the first place. Since the trial and his involvement as a Death Eater and spy came to light, his reputation was sundered beyond recognition. No longer did he turn heads in Diagon Alley from jealous resentment, awe of his wealth, or a strange combination of the two. No longer did people mutter about the Malfoy's antiquitidated, proud pedigree and stare at them in wonder.

Now, instead of staring, they glared in brazen contempt.

Traveling to Diagon Alley was no longer a casual, easy trip. Once there, Draco was easily identified with his telltale, pale blonde hair and definitive Malfoy features, and became the spotlight to all sorts of unsavory attention. In part thanks to the media's spin on his trial and wording it that the aurors "coerced a confession" from him under veritaserum, he was a less than desirable wizard to the public. In reality, while he was given veritaserum when he explained his involvement with being a spy, orders as a Death Eater, and recounted everything that happened while captive at the manor, all marked Death Eaters were put under the truth serum. It wasn't that the Aurors "coerced" anything out of him; they followed strict protocol and he freely spoke of his experiences without complaint. He would've been forthcoming even without the veritaserum. There was nothing for him to hide, have it be his time as a spy or decision to take Harry to save Hermione.

But the media sliced and diluted the truth to fit what made a compelling story. Everyone became obsessed with the "Junior Death Eater" turned spy and his questionable actions in the course of the war. Despite sacrificing his life, despite his father being a key player in orchestrating their release that indirectly led to Voldemort's demise, despite all the good Draco did, journalists twisted the truth into gnarled, prickly vines that only left deeper wounds on the young Slytherin.

And considering he didn't see his reputation - or his family's - jumping back on the mend overnight, he decided to take things into his own hands. If his image caused such a ruckus in public, and likely put a damper on his safety, he decided shortly after the trial that he'd either have to keep a constant supply of polyjuice potion and some willing subject, or he'd need to make himself into something else on a whim.

Disillusionment had its location and interaction limitations. Polyjuice was a process to produce and had time constraints. No, he needed something that allowed him to be the catalyst, to decide when and where he'd take shape and when he was hidden.

Becoming an animagus was the most logical, ridiculous, and unexpected option he could pick.

"When do you plan on telling your parents?"

The question pulled Draco out of his thoughts and made him look back at the squib. "Dunno exactly. I don't like the idea of keeping it from them, once I know I did it right and my animal isn't something bloody wretched. With my luck, it'll be something useless like… a rabbit."

"Rabbits aren't all that bad. I'd hate to be something cliche like a cat."

The teen chuckled lightly. "I don't eat or normally sleep nearly enough to be a cat, thank Merlin. No, I'm hoping it'll be something interesting but useful, and able to mix in with crowds. Maybe a bird. But only a bit over a week to go and then this mandrake leaf can finally come out."

"Assuming you don't swallow it between now and then," Cobb taunted good-naturedly.

"If I swallow it, it's because you said that and you are absolutely fired if I do."

~~~~HP~~~~

Thursday, 31st July 1997

For the first time in his life, Harry actually woke up on the morning of his birthday feeling different, rather just knowing he was a year older. Perhaps it had to do with no longer having the Trace on him - not that it meant much to him without being able to actually do magic - or maybe because now he knew he was officially responsible for himself.

The day started out unlike any of the young wizard's other birthday too. With the exception of last year where'd been too sick to do much, this birthday immediately stood apart simply by the Happy Birthday greetings he'd received at breakfast from Snape - who also had stopped by his room at midnight for the same purpose - and, more shockingly, Dudley. After spending all of his birthdays ignored by his cousin, Harry hadn't even realized how much he missed by not having his own birthday acknowledged in his home growing up until that morning. It demonstrated what both boys could have had if only Aunt Petunia didn't grow up hating magic, and by extension her sister and her nephew, and that started the Gryffindor's downfall. Harry spent most of the morning completely unaware how quickly those turbulent thoughts turned toxic in his head as he added those to the fact he couldn't do magic and was now fully independent; more or less alone. By the time the three residents of Spinner's End arrived at the Burrow just after lunchtime, Harry was already wanting to go home, having no real desire to celebrate the day, but not daring to say a word about it to the people around him who did want to celebrate.

Arriving at the Burrow for the first time since the summer he went to the Quidditch World Cup gave Harry the relaxed aura of home at the same time as an unhealthy rise in his already elevated apprehension. The last time he'd been to the magical home he loved so much, he had no clue about Death Eaters - an unbelievable occurrence for as much as they had affected his life as a whole - he hadn't unofficially killed a member of their family, and back then almost all of the rest of them had not just risked their lives to rescue him from Malfoy Manor. And while he logically knew the Weasleys wouldn't hold any of that against him, just the thought of it all put the Gryffindor further into a negative frame of mind the second the topsy-turvy home came into sight, causing his stomach to tie itself in knots, this time having nothing to do with his medications.

Opposite of Harry, Dudley couldn't contain his excitement the second his feet landed in the field full of tall wispy grass, and spent the walk up to the home gaping - and incessantly asking Snape - about the level of magic required to hold the structure safely in place. His first time arriving at the Burrow, Harry had never questioned the spells or incantations needed, he accepted the magic at face value and relished in what his new world - which was now becoming his old world - could accomplish. When they finally made it to the house and were welcomed into the home, Dudley's blue eyes immediately widened to take in the magic all around him. This time, Harry couldn't hold back his smile at seeing his cousin so enamored by the life he previously dismissed.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Mrs Weasley greeted the group of three with her arms wide open to embrace the Gryffindor, causing him to feel guilty for his overall melancholic thoughts. The Weasley matriarch had on a quilted apron covered in soft white flour which transferred to Harry's red jumper with the warm hug, but he didn't care one bit, choosing to concentrate on the moment before him. "I cannot believe you're already seventeen! Where have the years gone?!"

Harry smiled at the same time his cheeks blanched, and gave a small humbled, "Thank you, Mrs Weasley," rather than explaining how quickly time must pass when they spent it constantly trying to stay alive from Voldemort. He didn't want to damper anyone else's mood for the day.

"Now, there's some tables set up out back where we'll be having dinner," she instructed, leading them into the home, "and all the kids are out there. It's going to be just us, Hermione, Remus and Tonks, and Minerva, so a very small group tonight."

Dudley gave a smirk at Snape, who did not react, much to the muggle's chagrin, outside of giving a small nod for the two boys to take off to meet their friends.

"How does all of this work?" Dudley whispered to him as they walked through the center of the bottom floor; through the small sitting room and the kitchen - where a series of dishes were working on mixing and stirring what was bound to be either dinner or a cake, or possibly both - on their way outside. "Don't you guys have to concentrate on the incantations or something? I always thought you'd have to physically be there for a spell to work."

Harry thought back to when he first saw the Burrow before his second year, remembering his own amazement at the dishes washing themselves, or a stack of yarn being knit into a scarf, and the broom sweeping across the floor without a person carefully navigating it through the maze of furniture crammed into the small space. Never did he question how it worked; the magic just did, and back then, he trusted the system would teach him everything he needed to know in order to go off onto his own someday. It took him back to the quandaries he had about domestic charms and spells when staying - or more accurately, imprisoned - at Malfoy Manor and before he could prevent it, the comfortable, messy kitchen of the Burrow dissolved around him, replaced by the pristine marble lavatory he and Draco shared for two months. He was now standing at the lavatory sink, holding a snowy white towel embedded with a heating charm, questioning why he hadn't learned half of the required spells or other nuisances needed to run a wizarding household.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out from almost directly in front of him. The cold and inner turmoil he'd been struggling with started to melt away when she reached out and wrapped him in a hug; more relaxed than her typical hugs, like she knew if she squeezed him too hard, he might break.

Somehow he'd managed to get through the backdoor and into the overgrown garden with almost no recollection of it and now stood in front of a set of tables directly outside the door with Dudley behind him. There were two tables set up, presumably one for the adults and the other for the children to the left and right of the door, respectively. Luckily, the adults were all still inside, leaving only five sets of eyes on him instead of double that.

"Yeah," Harry managed to reply, breathlessly, shaking his head clear, "I'll be alright."

He wanted to act like today was no different than any other day, but that idea only lasted a second before everyone around him rang in with a loud "Happy Birthday" as soon as he and Dudley took their seats at the table. Harry chose the open chair next to Ron - with Hermione taking the empty seat on the other side of him - leaving Dudley directly across the rectangular table next to Ginny. With everything going on at the end of last year, he'd hardly gotten the chance to see the youngest Weasley. She still had the scar across her face from the attack on this very home, where Charlie was kidnapped and later killed, but she was chatting away with Fred or George and appeared no less affected by the incident than this time last year, before it happened. At some point last year, after the Gryffindor witch awoke from the curse, they leaned on each other about their own recoveries. What happened after that? Obviously he knew Ginny went back to classes, desperate to catch up on her important O.W.L. year, and he went back to tutoring in Snape's quarters. Looking around the table at his friends, each subgroup laughing, or pretending to argue in the case of Fred and George, over things like the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, their latest pick up Quidditch game earlier in the day - leading to Ginny's declaration to play professionally after Hogwarts, which apparently Mrs Weasley vehemently disagreed with - and the latest scheme for sneaking the Weasley's products passed Filch into the school. For the first time, their lives weren't dictated by Voldemort or an impending war, and yet Harry felt more isolated than he had ever before. His fifth year had been one of his most difficult, in terms of isolation; no matter where he turned, he was either called a liar or constantly being reminded of Cedric's death. And while last year he would have thought he should have felt more alone - being literally isolated away and then held prisoner for weeks on end - somehow that wasn't the case. Now sitting back with his group of friends, people who had been with him through his brightest and darkest of times, he couldn't help feeling like a stranger dropped right down into the middle of their conversations; having no clue of their context and showing just how much he no longer belonged with them.

"Wait a minute," Dudley exclaimed with a hint of horror in his voice when the conversation turned to Ginny's upcoming Apparation Classes, yet another experience Harry had missed last year, "you can actually leave a body part behind?"

The whole table burst out laughing, and even Harry smirked. Dudley had been side-along apparated so many times he was surprised the other teen hadn't questioned what happened with his body parts during it.

"Oh, our dear muggle friend," George wrapped his arm, jokingly, around Dudley's shoulder, "it's not only possible, it's bloody expected to get splinched at least once during class."

"That is not true!" Hermione corrected them. "Plenty of people learn to apparate without getting splinched!"

"Our little Ronnie's just not one of them," Fred teased, causing the youngest brother's face to turn bright red and touch his left eyebrow.

"You splinched yourself?" Harry asked, amused by new information.

"It was just an eyebrow," the redhead mumbled, shooting daggers from his eyes at his twin brothers. "And I'm going to retake the bloody test this summer!"

"If you still don't pass," George continued to taunt, "You could always just take the flying car everywhere."

"Oh wait," Fred interjected, "you let that one loose in the Forbidden Forest!"

Another round of laughter rang throughout the table, and this time Dudley turned bright red. That had been the summer Harry practically starved while being locked away in his bedroom, and the young wizard had no doubt his cousin remembered it.

"What about your brooms?" Dudley asked when the laughter calmed down. "I mean, aren't witches supposed to fly on brooms?"

"Hey now!" Ginny spoke up, clearly offended, "and how do you think that would look to the muggles, seeing a bunch of people flying through the air? We'd be limited to traveling in the dark, or under disillusionment charms."

"Not to mention how uncomfortable that would be for long trips," Ron's painfully contorted face demonstrated exactly what he thought about the topic.

"I don't know," Harry skeptically joined in, "I'd prefer a broom to floo'ing every single time."

"That's because you always fall flat on your face," Ron joked, earning him a swat from Hermione, which Harry had to lean forward to avoid it coming from behind his back, causing the two of them to start bickering.

"Do you always have to…"

"Oh c'mon 'Mione, he knows it's just a joke…"

"I miss flying," Harry said quietly, hoping to avoid anyone overhearing him complain, but he failed and the entire table silenced.

The air around them became uncomfortably thick as the seven teenagers exchanged worried expressions between each other.

That was, everyone besides Fred and George who appeared to be having a conversation without a single word shared out loud. The identical redheads nodded back and forth towards each other, and every-so-often one of them would furrow his eyebrows or frown.

"Great idea," Fred announced, clapping his hands and standing; George followed suit directly after him, "let's go."

The rest of the table watched, until Ginny gained the sense to ask, "What are you two up to this time?"

"Well-" George began, and as they always do, Fred jumped right into the sentence.

"it's Harry's birthday-"

"And if he misses flying-"

"Then it's only fair that-"

"he should get to fly!" They finished together.

It took a second for the other guests at the table - and even longer for Harry - to catch on to what the twins were suggesting. Once they did though, the whole table instantly started talking over one another: about the logistics of where to fly and who was going to get to use which broom. All the while people stood up from the table ready to follow George to the small shed near the back of the garden where he was already pulling out their brooms and Quidditch gear.

"Woah, woah, woah," Harry stood as he loudly objected, "this is an awful idea! For one, I can't even use a broom-"

"You'll come with me, mate," Ron offered so logically, Harry questioned if this wasn't pre-planned somehow. "You can trust me, I'll be careful up there with you, otherwise we all know Snape won't hesitate to use me as a dueling dummy."

Ginny perked up at the suggestion, "That's perfect, I'll take Hermione."

"That leaves Dudley with me," Fred chimed in, clasping his hand on the muggle's shoulders. Leading them both away from the table, he called out back to Harry, "Don't worry, Harry, I won't do anything up there you wouldn't do."

Nothing about that statement made the raven-haired wizard feel any better about what was to come, but with Quidditch cancelled his fourth year for the Triwizard Tournament, then his own ban by Umbridge during his fifth year, and not being able to use magic starting last summer, it had been way too long since he'd flown, and inside he was itching to be back on a broom; even if it was riding with Ron. Putting his own hesitations aside, Harry took off after the group, pulling Hermione grudgingly behind him.

The second Harry's feet left the ground, the weight on his mind and chest lightened, giving him the most carefree feeling since he had been sitting in Healer Smithe's office last July after his many tests and his diagnosis. Ron's Cleansweep Eleven broomstick wasn't nearly as fast nor as smooth as his Firebolt, however neither of those qualities were required to lift his spirits on a day that, for any other seventeen year old wizard, should have been exciting and new. Knowing his friend as well as he did, Harry knew what Ron was capable of on a broom and therefore he could easily tell the other Gryffindor had kept his promise to fly with more caution than he normally would. Fred on the other hand - and even Ginny with Hermione - didn't appear to hold back at all and were set on giving the first muggle to their home the full flying experience. Based on the terrified sounds coming from the pair's direction, no one would be surprised if Dudley saw stars for the next several hours.

Once in the air, and after a few practice laps around the pond, the group took off into the adjoining orchard, where most of the Weasley family's flying and Quidditch games occurred. Most importantly, the more distance Harry got from the Burrow, the clearer his mind became. During all the Occlumency training with Snape last year, never did he question why flying over his forest was the strongest Occlumency image, but until that moment he seemed to forget exactly what flying had meant to him. It was more than an activity he naturally excelled at, it had quickly become a way for him to escape the demands of his life - even at the age of eleven - and somehow Voldemort's death hadn't made his life any easier, like he had naturally always assumed it would.

"How're you doing back there?" Ron called out to him from the front.

"Brilliant!"

And for once Harry didn't have to tell a lie, or say what he thought people expected from him. Up there - especially as a passenger on the broom, which he found he appreciated just as much as driving - he didn't have to think about a single thing outside of the wind blowing through his raven-black hair, where he would have no chance of taming it for the rest of the night, and watching the sun moving through the sky on its way towards the horizon.

The seven teenagers stayed out flying and throwing the Quidditch Quaffle for several hours, none of them caring if they missed dinner or the rest of the party. Dudley eventually adjusted to the feeling of flying - helped significantly by Fred slowing down to avoid being vomited on by his nauseated passenger - and even joined in on their modified Quidditch game midway through their flight. To Harry, the time literally appeared to melt away far too quickly, and before he knew it, Tonks arrived on a broom the Gryffindor recognized as Bill's old one, to round the teens up for dinner.

"Hey you lot!" The metamorphmagus called out while flying up to them, "did you all plan on coming back anytime soon? We can't exactly have a birthday party without the guest of honor, now can we?"

"Well," Harry began to respond, his face blanching from embarrassment, willing to do or say just about anything to move the spotlight from him, "if you guys were really that hungry, I wouldn't have minded you starting without me."

The collective snickering from the surrounding brooms hit Harry the wrong way, reminding him too much of his first days back in classes last year when he would be mocked for his lack of hair or the feeding tube. Usually, that kind of response meant the person - in this case him - said something cruel, like Crabbe or Goyle… or Draco. The thought of the blonde Slytherin Harry had been avoiding popping up into his mind caused his heartbeat to rise suddenly and his brain to get so fuzzy he nearly fell from his broom; the sudden change of position brought him out of his potential anxiety attack at the last moment.

"Hold it, Harry," Ron said, compensating for his friend's shifting of weight on the back of his broom, but from his position Harry couldn't see his friends' concerned faces, "We should start heading back, guys."

"Yeah," Tonks added, smugly, "before Snape ends up in a total fit over you being gone."

Once again Harry's face flushed. This time, though, he didn't feel the embarrassment he expected at such a bold statement, and instead he felt happy to have someone care enough to worry if he was alright. He also questioned if he needed the professor's permission to go flying. If so, odds were he would most likely hear about it when they got home as opposed to at the party. Snape generally didn't like to cause a scene in public and after living with the man, he wondered if the professor wasn't nearly as easy on the Slytherins as he appeared in classes - and choosing to take points only in private.

They were greeted by the stunning sight of the waning sun, splashing rays of deep orange over the garden of the Burrow when they arrived back. The two individual tables had been combined into one long rectangular picnic-type table, not too unlike those used in the Great Hall, sitting perpendicular to the house. In front of the table - making a T - were two new tables, one filled end to end with platters and bowls of almost every food imaginable, and the other with a beach ball sized cake shaped like a Golden Snitch. The tables were surrounded by flickering golden yellow lights and, in the middle of those, purple lanterns with the number 17 on the sides floated above the tables, reminding Harry of the balloons he'd always seen at Dudley's birthday parties. Purple and gold streamers were wrapped around the trees on either side making the area look more festive than Harry thought he deserved.

"Happy Birthday!" The collective group stood to cheer as the teens all landed, and Fred and George volunteered to put the brooms and equipment away; which consisted of a flick of their wands to vanish them back to the shed.

True to her word, Mrs Weasley had kept the get together as small as physically possible. In addition to Tonks, who went to stand next to Remus - something Harry was still getting used to - there was McGonagall, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Snape, plus the seven teens; himself included. He knew there were concessions made on his behalf such as the absence of Bill and Fleur, Percy - who had recently reconciled with his family, however Harry was still angry with the middle Weasley son - Lavender, Draco, and Angelina Johnson - who Harry heard Fred officially started dating over last Easter year. And of course, if everyone could have their way, the Daily Prophet would be here pleading to get their next headline for the front pages of tomorrow's paper, surely to be something along the lines of: The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice enters adulthood surrounded by his pseudo-family. On second thought, "pseudo" seemed too educated of a word for Rita Skeeter and she'd probably call them his "fake family" instead and focus on his painful past. He certainly didn't need to read about it all to remember it, no one did lately. And that was the exact reason he and Snape rarely left Cokeworth for the Wizarding World, and the longer he stayed in the muggle community, the more the thought of possibly losing his magic wouldn't be the worst problem to have. Maybe then he could go to a muggle university and find a career where he could settle down and simply live; an act that most other seventeen year olds - his friends included - took for granted.

Snape must have picked up on his animosity as the guests started loading plates with piles of food, everything from roasted chicken to Shepard's Pie, because the professor came up beside him and wrapped one of his strong arms around Harry's still too bony shoulder.

"Do you want to go home?" The professor discreetly asked him.

"No," Harry lied. "Just lost in my thoughts."

Harry knew the other wizard didn't buy his answer, and was grateful when he wasn't called out on it.

"Why don't you go sit down," Snape instructed, "I'll go and get you a plate of food."

"Thank you, sir," the Gryffindor gratefully responded. When he chose the only two open spaces, for himself and Snape, near the end of the table, the young wizard inwardly groaned at the sight of Remus sitting across from one of them. He hadn't seen the last Marauder since he was brought into the Drawing Room by Greyback.

"Happy birthday, Harry," the other wizard said in his always kind voice.

"Thank you, Remus," Harry instinctively intertwined his hands on the top of the chipped wooden table for no other reason than to give him something to focus on. Unfortunately, it didn't really help. All he could think about was the sight of Remus's brown eyes sympathetically staring at him when he had been escorted by Greyback into the Drawing Room. With those same brown eyes burning into the top of his head, Harry found he had the sudden urge to apologize for being the reason everyone almost died that night, "Remus, I'm really sorry-"

"Do not apologize, Harry," Remus predictably interrupted, "For one, regardless of what you may think you need to be sorry over, none of it was your fault." Harry gave a small smile at the man across from him. He'd heard these words a countless number of times and yet knowing Remus didn't blame him filled in another part of the empty hole inside of him. Too bad the moment was short lived and crumbled when Remus continued, "If anyone is to blame, it's Draco Malfoy. He should be held responsible for his actions... Turning his back on the Order after everything we di-"

"That's enough," Snape's dark voice radiated around them. Even in the open air of the back garden, the vibrations of his contempt for the last Marauder could be sensed by each and every guest at the table. Harry, as well as almost everyone in attendance, knew how different Snape's perception of Draco was from the rest of the Order's. Like everything else from that awful experience, Snape and Harry hadn't talked about his own sentiment regarding Draco's betrayal, nor did the professor ask anything about their time together locked in the room or followed in the corridors.

"Of course," Remus politely backed off, "I'm sorry, Severus… and Harry, too. This isn't the time to air our grievances."

"Hardly," Snape answered, not at all acknowledging the apology he'd just received. The professor promptly ignored Remus as he sat down at the table and urged Harry to eat something from his small plate of food, explaining - even though Harry already knew - how he couldn't take his evening medications until the hour after he finished eating.

The food - along with help from the plentiful drinks Harry could not partake in due to his medications - helped to calm everyone down from the stressful start of the evening. With each round, the noise in the garden grew from a respectable dinner conversation to a boisterous, yet festive celebration. News of Lupin and Tonks' engagement rang across the tables, turning into complaints from Ginny and Mrs Weasley about Bill's upcoming nuptials in France; of which the matriarch had no hand in planning, blanketing her overall negativity on the event with more sorrow than Ginny's angry fire. While someone like Ron might take offense at having a little of the night's attention siphoned away from his birthday to the newly engaged couple, Harry found himself relieved. His mind was still halfway stuck at Malfoy Manor with Draco, and sadly, without Snape. As the night went on, long after the cake was cut, Fred and George brought out a new product they'd developed which acted like a birthday version of the Wizarding Christmas Crackers. Harry's personal favorite, a red and gold striped hat shaped as a birthday cake with small firecrackers bursting from the candles at random intervals, he wore while opening up his gifts. Snape didn't even attempt to hide his displeasure - much to the other guests' amusement - when these crackers were included in the large box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products the twins had given to him for his birthday. To mark the special occasion, he'd also received a new blanket from Mrs Weasley, - yellow this time, which he planned to he keep in his bedroom, allowing the red one to stay in the sitting room - complete with a well placed warming charm that he immediately wrapped around himself right there in front of everyone. Dudley gave him a new set of high quality pencils for his sketching along with another book, and Harry had to hide away his guilt over his latest trend of unfinished work; never quite being able to finish a picture since he'd woken up in the hospital wing. A big box from Ron and Ginny revealed an assortment of Honeyduke's candy, the part he missed most from having to skip almost a year's worth of Hogsmeade visits, and he was looking more forward to eating them then he should have been. He received a warm navy blue jumper from Hermione, and McGonagall gifted him a practice snitch having recharmed it to be used indoors. He received a leather covered journal from Remus and Tonks, with a message on the inside telling him to keep his head up and things would work out fine. Harry thanked the couple, wishing deep down that he could believe the optimism held within their message, and equally in disbelief that the man who should have been the closest to him - having been best friends with his father - had no clue about the challenges he faced daily in his life.

For reasons unknown, or at least unacknowledged, Harry saved Snape's gift for last. The box was heavier than he'd expect, given that it fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, and was wrapped in matte green - but not Slytherin green - paper with a black ribbon tightly bound around it. The young wizard took several seconds to admire the small package, thinking of Snape not only picking out whatever had been placed inside of it for him, but also taking the time to wrap it, even if he likely used magic. With the eyes of the group staring upon him, he slowly unwrapped the package revealing a plain, unmarked brown box. Furrowing his brows, his curiosity peaked, Harry slowly opened the lid on the box and held his breath as he pulled out a brand new watch, completely ignoring the "oohs" and "aahs" from the other guests.

"It's a long standing wizarding tradition to give a watch on a wizard's seventeenth birthday," Mrs Weasley explained, pride filling her voice, and Harry had no doubt in his mind that had he not received this from Snape, she would have presented him with one.

When Harry lifted his head, he met Snape's obsidian eyes and tried to say "thank you", but being left completely speechless, it only came out as a small whisper.

"Turn it over," Snape's strong baritone voice instructed him, "and press your thumb to the back."

With shaking hands - completely unsure why he was so nervous to begin with - Harry turned the watch so it's chrome back faced upwards. At first he was confused at the blank surface, having expected some kind of inscription, until he remembered he needed to press his thumb to it. Nothing could have prepared him for the surge of emotion flowing through his body when he lifted his thumb from the smooth back of the watch and words "Stay Strong," briefly appeared, followed immediately by "My Son."

No other spoken words were needed, Harry simply grasped the watch in his hand, walked up to Snape and gave him a hug, not at all caring about the people watching him. Most of these people had seen him prepared to die for the professor only two months ago, and if not, they had certainly heard the story at some point in the time that had passed.

"Just because today you are officially an adult," Snape quietly told him with so much conviction it left the Gryffindor no room to question his intent, "does not mean you are alone. You will always have a place to call home no matter where I am, understood?"

Harry swiftly nodded his head with a quick, "thank you, Severus," knowing those two words couldn't come close to expressing how much it had meant to him; how much he needed the reminder. For the first time since deciding to come back from the afterlife - or wherever he ended up with his parents - the crippling anxiety Harry had been carrying around with him didn't appear nearly as suffocating. For the first time, he could believe that maybe he would make it through after all.

When most everyone left for the night, after wishing Harry "Happy Birthday" another dozen or so times, the group of seventeen year olds sat around a fire lit in a stone basin talking and laughing like it could have been any other year. The fire was warm on Harry's face and combined with the new yellow blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he could almost convince himself he was no longer ill.

"What was on the watch?" Ron asked for the third time since Harry had gotten it.

"It's still none of your business," the raven-haired wizard sarcastically responded with a smirk. He'd eventually tell Ron, but still relishing in the love he felt from Snape, he didn't want Ron - or anyone - to ruin it.

Hermione shook her head, "Do you always have to be so tactless, Ronald? It's a family matter, let it rest."

The redhead pursed his lips together and nodded his head towards Harry, who had a very bad feeling about what was about to come from their friend's mouth, "Tactless, eh? How about this one for you? Where's your boyfriend tonight? And does he know you're staying at my place for the rest of the summer?"

Hermione's face fell and Harry awkwardly turned towards Dudley who looked equally shocked by the random question.

"Ron-" Harry started, ready to take the blame- not wanting to see his friends fight - knowing at least Lavender would have been there if it weren't for his health, but Hermione interrupted him before he got any further.

"No, Harry," she spat out while simultaneously jumping to her feet, "don't apologize for Ronald being such a… a… complete arse!"

None of them were surprised when the witch abruptly left the garden with a mumbled, "Happy Birthday, Harry," and took off inside, slamming the door behind her.

"What the bloody hell, Ron?" Harry angrily questioned. "What's all that about?!"

"I'm just tired of her constantly nagging me about things," the other wizard explained. "That shut her up though."

He was sure he looked like a fish out of water staring agape at his best friend's idiotic logic. Giving his own head a disappointed shake, Harry stood and said, "Sometimes you can be pretty daft, y'know? And a right git."

Without waiting for a response, he took off into the house in hopes of finding out what was going on. While Ron definitely lacked any sensitivity to the subject, Hermione's reaction told its own troubled story.

"Are you ready to go?" Snape questioned the moment he walked into the kitchen where Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting with Snape and McGonagall having what most likely wasn't tea. The way the professor asked the question though, made it sound like he either wanted desperately to leave or had been caught completely off-guard and was actually talking about something he didn't want Harry to hear: if Harry had to take a guess, he would bet it was the latter.

"Erm… not really. I wanted to go to check on Hermione before we leave."

Mrs Weasley shuffled over to him in a rush, confirming his previous suspicion about the topic of the adults' conversation, "I believe she went on upstairs, dear. She's staying in Bill's old room… go on up."

The young Gryffindor looked between the center stairs and the four adults in the kitchen, worrying his bottom lip debating what to do. One glance over at Snape answered his conundrum for him; had he continued to stay, things would not have ended well.

Bill's old room was only one floor up and next to Ginny's, who must have heard him coming up the stairs because her door opened right as Harry reached the top.

"I thought you were Ron," she said to him, almost relieved, leaning casually against her door already dressed in a pair of floral pyjamas bottoms and a bright orange bed shirt. "She's pretty angry at him right now. Should make for a great summer if those are in a row. Why are guys so… clueless sometimes?"

"I dunno, but I'll see what I can to make life a bit easier for you," Harry looked back at the closed door behind him, "I can't make any promises, though."

He tentatively walked up to the door and knocked, not surprised at all when he got no response.

"'Mione? Is it alright if I come in?" He waited patiently for about half a minute when he heard a muffled "sure" from the other side.

Having never been in this bedroom at the Burrow, Harry opened the door carefully, unsure of what he'd find. The room reminded him of his own back at home, with just enough space for the bed off to the left and a wardrobe directly in front of him. The only difference really being Harry's room could fit his small desk beside his bed. Like Ginny, Hermione had already gotten dressed in her own set of blue pyjamas with small yellow stars across them, making Harry uncomfortable being in her room alone with her. Unsurprisingly, she was sitting on her bed - her eyes red from crying - surrounded by about a half dozen books; all opened, of course, and appeared to be in different subjects.

At his questioning expression, she uncharacteristically mumbled, "I thought I'd do some studying for my N.E.W.T.s."

"All the subjects at once?" He laughed, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, "What happened down there?"

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about," she waved off his worry over her.

"Now you sound like Severus." It made her giggle, and Harry found himself happy to have been able to raise her spirits, even just a little. "Why isn't Draco here?"

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, "you can't really think that would have been a smart idea."

He was taken aback by her blunt honesty, "Because of my immune system?"

"No," he could see her seriousness written across her face, "he's a bit… angry right now… and you heard Remus earlier. Draco's already scared he's going to get ostracized for what he did and being here… surrounded by the Order… it wouldn't go well for him."

"He said that?" Harry asked, surprised. Maybe Draco's letters still sitting in his desk weren't as put together as he originally thought. If he were honest, it was the reason he hadn't read them yet: being too afraid the other wizard was healing better than him from their ordeal. And if Draco - who was literally used as an ingredient for weeks - could put what happened behind him, why couldn't Harry?

"Not in so many words, of course," she reached out and took Harry's right hand, rubbing small circles over the scars still visible from Umbridge's blood quill. "You didn't read his letters, did you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of," she laughed, softly, "but what really gave it away was the letters in there you were supposed to send to me."

"Oh," he sheepishly replied, "I didn't… I mean... they're still… wait, how do you know?"

When said like that, Harry realized he didn't sound any better than Ron had outside, but it was too late to take it back.

"He stopped by my house last Saturday and accused me of ignoring him and you of hating him." There was so much of that statement he wanted to question. How did Draco Malfoy end up in her muggle neighborhood? And why had the Slytherin written to him to send to her to begin with? Hadn't they already sorted through everything before they left school last month? Before he could ask any of those, Hermione continued, "I'm worried about you both, Harry. He's… I think he's…"

Harry wanted to help her find the word she was struggling to find, yet he knew she would take anything he said and try to apply it to him.

"He's depressed," she finished matter-of-factly, "and I think you are too."

"I am not," Harry immediately defended himself, "did he tell you what happened to him? If he did, then you know nothing like that happened to me, so I'm not…" he couldn't say the word. "... wait, why's he mad at me? Because I didn't forward his love letters?"

"He did tell me everything that happened," Hermione confirmed with a physical shudder, "and no, he was angry with me for you not reading his missives…"

She trailed off and Harry gave her time to continue, and when she didn't, he prompted angrily, "Then what does he have to be angry with me about? He wasn't the one who was drugged, kidnapped and-"

"Don't put me in the middle!" She yelled at him and it was only then he recognized he, too, had yelled his proclamation first. "This is exactly why I said it wouldn't be a good idea and I didn't want to talk about it. You're one of my best friends, Harry, do you think I don't see what's going to happen when we get back to school? I'm going to be torn between my best friends and the guy who risked everything to save my life? Don't put me in that position."

"I won't," Harry promised without even thinking twice about it, never wanting to intentionally do something like that to her. "And I don't even know if I'm going back to school."

"You should talk to him, Harry," she may have ignored his statement, but her eyes told him she didn't miss it, "I think you'll find you're more alike than you think you are."

The young wizard clenched his jaw and turned to face the window. If it weren't dark outside, he would be able to see Mr Weasley's garage where the patriarch kept his random assortment of muggle electronics he loved to tinker with to clear his head. What Harry wouldn't give to go back to the summer before fourth year, before Voldemort, before Sirius was killed, before the cancer diagnosis… but he wouldn't be willing to give up Snape, or his home, and - at least in this world - he wouldn't have any of that without all the bad that had happened.

He didn't know if he could actually speak to Draco, however he could admit reading whatever was in those letters he'd been avoiding would be a good enough place to start. Turning back to Hermione, he hated that somehow he'd managed to make the situation worse. In the end, there was really only two questions he needed to know from her about her relationship with Draco:

"Did he apologize to you?"

"Yes," she answered clearly and confidently.

"And you're ok with everything he had to tell you?"

That question made her pause before she said, "Yes."

"Ok," he conceded, "I'll do what I can to make it right."

By the time he and Snape made it back home, Harry was absolutely exhausted, but he could honestly say that for as melancholy as his seventeenth birthday started - and as dramatic as it ended - there was no other way he would want to spend the day; besides maybe being able to do magic. After wishing Snape goodnight, taking notice that the man hadn't gone to his own room, but instead to the sitting room, the young wizard laid in his bed wrapped up in his green, soft bedspread staring at the watch resting on the edge of desk right next to where his glasses were stored each night. Before falling asleep, he could have chosen to focus on the two upcoming weddings they talked about today, how angry Remus still looked about the Malfoy Manor situation, or the position he and Draco had inadvertently put Hermione in, yet he chose to push all of those intrusive thoughts aside to focus on the watch sitting directly in front of him. Every so often he reached out his hand more confidently than he did when he'd first received it, and rubbed his thumb across the back just to see the phrase, "Stay Strong, My Son" over and over again, allowing it to fill him with hope that this would forever be his home as he blissfully fell asleep.

Saturday 26th July, 1997

Draco didn't make it to Hermione's house the day after his session at Stonehenge as planned. Though his procrastinating was partially to blame, the main concern was the logistical issue of realizing apparating to the middle of her parent's London suburban neighborhood would break some magic secrecy laws. And with the wizarding world sifting through the Malfoys' activities with a fine-tooth comb in search of damming material to crucify them further, he wasn't about to appease the masses.

Dr Cobb suggested he expand his exploration of muggle innovation, citing the young wizard's new experiences in muggle London, and venture taking a bus or train. The thought terrified Draco; he always apparated to a designated alley a few blocks away from the doctor's tower in the heart of the boiling metropolis and only had to walk the remaining distance for his appointments. Occasionally, especially when it was just him and his father, the two wizards would meander to a local coffee shop for tea, but they never wandered so far to justify needing to learn muggle transportation.

The only muggle transportation Draco had ever used in his life was the Hogwarts Express. And even that carried a questionable reputation among the Pureblood families. Each year, some Pureblood parent would petition the school governors to allow those with magical means to simply floo into the school. And each year it'd get 'considered' for a month before being politely denied.

Thankfully, Draco had some old letters from Hermione they exchanged over the Christmas break - some of the worst few weeks of his life - where she mentioned the exact suburb she lived in. Hampstead Gardens of northwest London. The name itself meant little to the Pureblood; he didn't know how muggles orientated their towns and neighborhoods. The most exposure he got was seeing the rural hamlets circled around the manor, and Hermione's neighborhood sounded much more crowded and lively than those.

Getting there was the issue. It took him a day to accept he couldn't pull off apparating without drawing attention to himself, nor did he feel confident in his conviction and mindset enough not to splinch himself from the unknown distance. It took another day for him to come to terms that he wasn't prepared to learn muggle transportation.

He could've asked his parents to apparate him, though that would've opened up the door for them to ask questions and get more involved in his personal life than he was prepared for. And that also didn't solve the issue with being seen by muggles popping into the middle of their precious suburbia.

Broom was out - it was too far and too light out for that. Nor was he capable of navigating that far from the air where there were no street signs or indication of where he was.

Which left the Rolls-Royce.

It was Draco's first time using the prized Muggle vehicle outfitted with thick, intricate spells that made the contraption run. Years ago, his father taught him the wandwork and incantations required to make the luxurious vehicle whir to life, and then the additional incantations needed to relay his desired location. The car itself was beyond expensive but the true value came from the exquisite spells layered in heaps on it. It drove itself, navigating the roads and existing among Britain's traffic autonomously. That meant that while Draco would be forced to sit in the car for the nearly two hour drive to London, he wouldn't have to do much of any work along the way.

Of course, he had to appear like he was driving it for the other muggles on the road.

When Saturday rolled around, he tried to make every excuse he could that day to justify it being a bad day to go visit her. Breakfast with his parents. Reading in his room. Watching the gardening witches levitate a pergola over a small pond in the backyard with Japanese koi. By the time the sun began its slow crawl down the sky in the early afternoon, he'd run dry of excuses. And suddenly, he felt impatient to see her.

Picking his clothes brought on a wash of anxiety mixed in with annoyance. Before the incident at their manor months ago, he would've unthinkingly grabbed for his black, fitted muggle suits. They formed around his figure perfectly, the fabric imported from Italy and the lining a refined mulberry silk from India. But those suits were crafted for the boy he used to be. Back when he knew how to wear them and the image he was going for. Now he wasn't sure.

He wondered if Hermione would recognize him in the muggle clothes. And if she did, he wondered if she would even like him that way. Maybe it was too far removed from what he used to be.

After settling on his trusty jeans, trainers, t-shirt, and flannel long-sleeved shirt to cover up his left arm, Draco set out to find the car in the garage tucked on the far, far edge of their property. His father knew he was going to see Hermione and needed the car to do it, having given his blessing and a curious look at the teen but said nothing more. For that, Draco was infinitely pleased. He wasn't ready to field questions from the older wizard. They still hadn't talked about his relationship with a Muggleborn, but that conversation wouldn't happen if Hermione decided a month of radio silence was her breaking point and cut off their relationship altogether.

He'd do everything in his power to explain the truth to her. If nothing else, she deserved that much. And that much he could give her.

The almost two hour trip to northwest London was, surprisingly, a pleasant time. The car maneuvered all on its own, leaving Draco to merely sit in the driver seat, hands on the wheel in a loose, unfamiliar grip, and looking like he was in control. The rural roads were empty for the most part, allowing him to be restless with his thoughts and zone out on the countryside whizzing by him. As the time passed and he got closer to London, more and more cars began to join him on the roads and he was no longer able to ignore their presence.

It was his first time driving despite not actually driving at all. And it was terrifying.

Some people got too close and honked at one another, others weaved dangerously in and out of their crowded little pack, reminding Draco of how he'd fly aggressively on the pitch in pursuit of the snitch. If he knew how the wheel, clutch, or any instruments in the car worked, he might've gotten the nerve to take hold of the vehicle on his own. Maybe driving fast and dangerous, like he did with his broom, would have the same freeing feeling. But he needed to get to the Granger's in one piece and didn't think his parents would approve of him returning the car battered and broken.

As he drew closer and closer towards London, Draco watched the landscape around him morph. The trees and open fields abruptly shifted to occupied lots with narrow roads and sparse patches of grass. Instead of the world being green and earthy like the fertile, open hills of Wiltshire, muggle suburbia was a thriving hive with so many people, houses, structures, and cars. He knew that muggles outpaced his own kind's population and monopolized on the land, oftentimes preferring to sacrifice space and privacy in exchange for a more convenient commute. Without the advantage of magic, they were forced to rely on the basal transportation methods like the long car ride he'd just suffered.

It was late afternoon by the time Draco realized his car had taken a turn off the main highway and was now navigating thin roads lined with manicured hedge walls in uncanny synchrony and brick houses, some duplexes and others freestanding. Even without having a map in front of him, he had a feeling he finally entered Hermione's neighborhood, Hampstead Garden.

Before Draco could begin to formulate his opinion, his car took a sudden turn right onto a one-way. The houses were closer towards the road and there were several cars parked on the curb, forcing his own vehicle to smoothly drive around them. It was a cramped street but strangely quaint and welcoming.

His car slowly crept to a stop in front of a faded black driveway connected to a one-car garage and a three story house. With palms clammy and a nervous tingle burning in his stomach, Draco didn't move from his safe spot in the car, merely eyeing the small dwelling apprehensively.

This was it. Hermione Granger's home. A muggle's house. In a painfully stereotypical, charming suburban neighborhood.

Tempted as he was to give into his nerves and direct the car back to Wiltshire, Draco mustered whatever bravery he had and kicked the door open, planted two feet on the asphalt, and stood on the shallow curb's dip. The house was probably considered a decent size by muggle standards, but for someone accustomed to living in a manor the size of a resort, he found it horribly cramped. The exterior was made of faded red and burnished brick, thick white framed windows - eight windows faced the street, he was amazed that the house was so small he could count them - and a brown shingled hipped roof with dramatic slopes to accommodate the third floor. It was taller than it was wide, but from his vantage point Draco couldn't tell how far back it ran on the plot. Maybe it was simply rectangular shaped.

Glancing at the neighbors houses, though, showed him that the chances of it being deceptively larger was not high.

There was one front door, rather narrow and uneventful looking, that was accompanied by a single, cement stoop with a crack down the middle and a black stone path leading up to it from the street. The plants and landscaping were more wild and unkept than the manor, but not unseemly. The bushes on the left were overgrown and large, but the hedge between the garage and home were perfectly square and leveled. It was a strange mishmash of immaculate perfectionism thrown together with a careless hand.

Kind of like Hermione. Perfect in her class scores, but more cavalier with her general appearance. His urge to get back in the car and stomach the two hour drive home was stronger. It was a stupid idea - he didn't know what he was going to say to Hermione despite reciting speeches on the way there, didn't know if she'd even want to see him considering she never replied to any of his letters, and was completely out of his element in the muggle neighborhood.

Everything around him was so foreign and eerily strange; they had plastic boxes for their trash sitting on the grassy bank next to the street, matchbox sized houses and cars crowding the area, and a constant soundtrack of buzzing and motors.

It was a mistake. Turning around with a defeated sigh, he grabbed for the door handle with every intention of retreating back to Wiltshire and the safe recluse of his bed.

"Oiy, lovely set of wheels there, lad. Is that a '77 Corniche?"

Draco would've ignored the deep, baritone voice - naturally full of authority but ragged and unrefined unlike his own father's caramelly brogue - if it hadn't been a few meters behind him. His hand instinctively wanted to reach for his wand hidden against his side, but one glance in the car window reflection showed him the man speaking behind him was clearly, obnoxiously, indisputably muggle.

Abandoning the car door handle to turn to face the man properly, Draco would've actually preferred a Death Eater looking to get a comeuppance on his 'traitorous' family. At least then he would be justified in drawing his wand, acting on his fear, and relying on magic. At least then he wouldn't be forced to deal with his sudden crescendo of anxiety as he stared at the smiling, jovial man in front of him.

The Muggle was older with thin blonde-reddish hair, a receding hairline glistening with sweat, and dressed in a raggedy old t-shirt, jean shorts that stopped at the knee, dirty white socks that went up to his shins, and grass-stained white trainers. Draco could smell the disgusting mixture of body odor, petrol, and sod from the large bag of grass clippings held between his hands. The man, still smiling, shifted his eyes between Draco and the car behind him, and it was only then the teenager put two and two together.

"Huh? Oh. Um…" The wizard awkwardly looked over his shoulder at the vehicle. "I… erm… No, it's a Royce-Rolls."

The Muggle's eyes, bright blue and so full of life, immediately snapped back to Draco. He laughed lightly. "Right, right. A Rolls-Royce. But a Corniche. Body work looks to be the restyle in '77. Before your time but I was in my prime during those days, I was. Hard to tell now I'm sure." He lovingly patted the small potbelly protruding from his oil and sweat stained t-shirt. "Bet she drives like a dream, she does."

Draco's mind went blank. Why didn't he take Muggle Studies? Why didn't he learn how to better communicate with Muggles? Why did he think this was a good idea?

For a few seconds, Draco merely stared at the man and the man seemed content to continue gazing in open adoration at his car. Out of pure panic of what to do and make the man go away, he stammered out, "I'm here visiting someone who lives at this address." He nodded at the house in front of him. "Hermione Granger. Do you know her?"

That caught the man's attention. "Know her? Well, that depends on the day and when you ask her. Sometimes she's right proud to claim me as her dad, and other times I think she tries to pretend we aren't related. Typically after I embarrass her or tell a joke. Dad and dentist jokes are some of the most cruddy."

Dentist. Dad. It was Hermione's father.

When picking his clothes, it never really crossed Draco's mind that he might run into her parents and have to be introduced to them. Among Pureblood society, a boy courting a girl was expected to always look his best when in attendance with his potential future in-laws. Impressions were the spine of their community. And he completely botched that etiquette up. He should've picked the black fitted suit for his inaugural meeting with her parents. Instead he was wearing baggy jeans, an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt, and cotton. So much cotton.

Then again, Mr Granger was covered in sweat, petrol, mud, and grass. Neither one of them were at their finest for a meeting. And who said anything about him courting her? Was he technically courting her?

"Are you a friend of Hermione's? One of them Weasley boys then? A bit blonde in the hair compared to the other one I met but genetics are fickle sometimes, aren't they?"

Draco frowned immediately. "No. No, I'm not a Weasley." That offended him. "I'm… erm… Draco Malfoy. We're…." His mouth went dry just as his words did. Were they still dating? He hadn't talked with her for a month and she was ignoring his letters. "I know her from… I'm- We were… erm- are. We are kind of-"

Thankfully, the Muggle put him out of his misery with a snap of his fingers. "You're the boyfriend!"

The boyfriend. Not her boyfriend. The boyfriend. But that also meant that she still considered them dating, at least as far as her parents were concerned.

At the very least, that dredged up Draco's manners. He stepped away from the car to properly introduce himself. "Yes, sir. Draco Malfoy. A pleasure to meet you." Protocol dictated that he extend his hand for a gentleman's handshake, but taking in the muggle's acrid smell and dirty appearance, he panicked at the thought of touching him.

Mr Granger saw the debate and twitch in the young wizard's hand and arm, and chuckled fondly. "Apologies for the smell. Weekend yard work, you know how it is." No, he really didn't. "It's nice to finally have a face to go with the name. Unique name at that, Draco. Jane and I used to be astronomy buffs back at Uni. Where are my manners? I'm Charles Granger. You can just call me Chuck or Charlie."

Everything about the muggle unsettled Draco - from his easy smiles to his shared name with Charlie Weasley - but nothing bothered him more than how much he immediately liked the man. He was quirky and smelly and covered in half the yard and laughed way too freely. And he acted like they hadn't seen each other before in a Diagon Alley shop when his father got into a physical brawl with Arthur Weasley. To be fair, Draco hardly remembered Hermione's parents either, far too distracted with other things and took heart that her parents hadn't taken note of him.

"I was… um… I was looking for Hermione. Is she home?" Draco asked, looking away from the muggle towards the house behind him.

Mr Granger scratched at his disappearing hairline and shook his head. "Not at the moment. She just went down to the corner shop with her mum, though. Be back in a wee second." Seeing disappointment flash on the boy's face, he jerked his head at the luxury car. "Hermione mentioned you live out in Wiltshire, innit?"

Draco nodded. There wasn't necessarily a town that he lived in. It was always just the manor in Wiltshire. "North of Salisbury."

"Quite the drive. Hermione'll be cheesed off if I don't make you come inside and wait for her. She'll be back soon."

Before leaving the manor, Draco should've sent an owl and made sure he picked a good time to come. He brought it on himself to assume she lingered around her home like he did, being friendless with nowhere to go and no drive to leave even if he did. It was tempting to turn down Mr Granger's offer, but waiting was his best option to finally talk with Hermione.

Running his hand over the nap of his neck, the Slytherin nodded slowly. "I don't mind waiting out here for her. I wouldn't want to-"

"Chuck! You win one of those weekly prize draws you keep trying for?! And blow your earnings on the car?"

Both Draco and Mr Granger looked across the street - the former scared at the unfamiliar voice and reaching for his wand while the latter had a big, goofy smile stretched across his face. Standing at the end of his driveway, pushing one of the plastic bins containing trash to a small grassy embankment, was a man in plaid shorts and a collared polo, his salt and pepper hair neatly styled to match his clean-shaven face. The friendly ambiance was palpable between the two neighbors even with the street that separated them. And even with the street and the distance, they both seemed completely content to yell across the expanse.

Draco was mortified. He would never hold a conversation like that, not just because the manor had no neighbors. And he could only imagine the aghast expression his parents would have if they witnessed the unseemly spectacle in the flesh. A man covered in sod yelling across the street to another man pushing a bin of rubbish with his bare hands. Muggles were animals.

"I wish!" Mr Granger bellowed back before gesturing to the blonde wizard, gratefully without actually touching him. "Remember Hermione's boyfriend I was telling you about? It's his car!"

"No kidding?" The neighbor clapped his hands, clearly approving of the expensive vehicle gracing their little street. "He's a keeper then. Don't scare him off." He turned towards the pallid, scared-into-silence teenager. "The real question is which club do you drink pints for? Arsenals I hope!"

Which club… Draco blinked owlishly at the question. The man might as well have been speaking a different language.

Seeing the young man's blank, panicked look, Mr Granger chuckled and shook his head. " 'e's from Wiltshire. Probably a Southampton fan," he quickly lied on the teen's behalf, saving the young wizard from having to bumble his way through and admit that he had no idea what football clubs were. "Listen, I've got to get cleaned up for supper, but come over Wednesday for the PSV match. We can watch it in the den."

The neighbor nodded. "Right-o! We'll see if Wenger's new training style keeps paying off. Leave it to a Frenchman to make the club turn dry and give the players a bloody meal plan to follow."

While Mr Granger and his chatty neighbor exchanged a few more jovial pleasantries, Draco discerned they were talking about a sport. It was reminiscent of his father's own Quidditch conversations with ministry officials in the days leading up to the Cup tournament, where they were afforded affluent luxuries and a gracious host with high brow society. Those days were, in a way, simpler, back when Draco tried to turn a cheek to the nightmarish curtain slowly descending on his life. He relished the wealth and influence his family name brought, and the kind of commanding attention his father immediately garnered from his peers. Those days were easier, predictable, safer. And they were so distant that they felt like they belonged to someone else. If he knew those moments would string together to create pivotal events that'd ruin his family with a landslide, he would've done something sooner.

"Draco, lad? Your car will be safe here. Though Mr Pennyworth across the way might come over and snap some photos with it." Mr Granger dragged the brown bag of grass to rest beside the rubbish bins and gestured for Draco to join him up the walkway.

Once inside, Draco was guided to a small sitting parlor and adjoining dining room separated by a humble squared archway that spanned the length of the rooms. Both were small, at least by his standards, and crammed in with a combination of uncoordinated pastel floral print drapes and botanical wallpaper, lace doilies underneath framed family stills, and hoary orange-hued oak furniture covered in high gloss lacquer. The carpet was pathetically flat with a disconcerting lack of padding, and the only tasteful decor was the white moulding layered around the door frames and windows. But even that was almost eclipsed by the garish hunter green paint.

Thankfully, Draco was saved from engaging in much dialogue and having to lie about how pleasant the home was. Mr Granger, after depositing the wizard on a love seat in the front room, gestured down at his own unkempt state, and excused himself for a shower. Dinner, he called back from halfway up the stairs, would be served when the girls returned.

Dinner? Draco had zero intention on staying for dinner.

Alone with his thoughts, he looked around the small yet whimsical area. It was maybe half the size of the manor's entrance hall - at least in width but it lacked the sweeping three story tall ceilings and grand staircase yawning up to the second floor. And while the entrance hall was only the first taste of the mansion, Draco was currently staring at half of the entire bottom of the Granger's residence. The other half was devoted to a kitchen that he could spot through a narrow doorway and another section of rooms off set from the minuscule foyer.

It was strange trying to imagine Hermione coming from such chastened beginnings. There was no magic, no extravagance, or priceless art. It was his first glimpse of Muggle living, and it seemed so casual and small and meager. And yet, still bleeding with an enormous amount of life and love. As gaudy as the decor was, he couldn't turn without seeing some framed picture of Hermione as a child or the family smiling from a beach or snowy mountain. All of the portraits in Malfoy Manor were done to capture their haughty likeness, and he was always told they were never allowed to smile.

Even if they were, they wouldn't have the pure radiance that the Grangers emitted from their out of focus pictures. The Malfoys didn't have that kind of familial connection.

Luckily, Draco was saved from the treachery of his own melancholic thoughts when the front door opened and a pair of laughing, feminine voices carried through the home, enchanting its very foundation and breathing love into the homestead.

Draco was on his feet in seconds. And as the voices drew closer, so too did his anxiety; worries over her hating him, over blaming him for what he did, over the weak man he felt like.

But all of those worries were cast out the window when Hermione rounded the corner and immediately stopped, feet turning stiff like lead, as her soft russet eyes met his awaiting silver ones.

"Draco!" She spared only a half second roaming her stare up and down his figure, taking in his unfamiliar attire, before hastily closing the distance between them and throwing her arms around him.

Unexpectedly, by a magic stronger than anything Draco was familiar with, all of his apprehension, doubts, and anxiety were gone as her body pressed against his. His arms immediately wrapped around her smaller figure, collapsing around her in a protective hold in preparation for her to move away too prematurely. He wasn't ready for it. If he had his way, he would exist like that for the rest of the day or all of eternity. The world fell quiet as it was forced to watch the reunion, both teenagers basking in the unabashed presence of the other, expecting nothing but getting so much at the same time.

He dug his face into her hair-covered neck, enjoying her familiar scent of stale inkpots and, albeit cheap, soury raspberry shampoo. It brought his world into focus and reminded him that what he did, all of his sacrifices, were worth it if it meant he was able to hold her one last time.

She was the first to break the hug, drawing back a bit to look up at him with caring yet widened eyes. "What are you doing here? I mean, it's wonderful that you're here but… how did you get here? Apparition?"

Of course she'd pragmatically focus on the logistics. He shook his head and nodded towards the bay window behind them. "I took that thing out there."

"A car? You know how to drive?"

"Merlin's bollocks, no," he choked out a laugh. It felt good to laugh. "Belongs to my parents. Spelled to work itself. I was going to apparate but I didn't… It doesn't matter. I'm sorry if this is a bad time - your father said you were going to be having dinner soon and I can come back a different-"

"-No! Draco, no, you're fine," she smiled up at him, ignoring the sounds of her mother tip-toeing up the stairs, undoubtedly to find the Granger patriarch and ask about the curious white-blonde boy entangled up with their daughter. "How have you been? I've been so worried!"

He frowned and leaned back a little from her. "What do you mean you've been so worried? Why haven't you responded to any of my letters? I thought you hated me for what I did or… or for not contacting you sooner. Or something! Merlin, every time an owl flew back, I practically assaulted the bloody bird to check if it was a response from you."

It was her time to frown and scrunch her brows together in concern. "You wrote? I never received anything from you. Maybe Apollo delivered them to the wrong house. Did you send them here?"

No, Apollo didn't mess up. That messenger had done a fine job.

It only solidified Draco's presumption that him and Harry were not fine. They might've struck a cursory, frail accord when both captured at the manor, but that treaty was tenuous at best and weak enough that it shattered when their lives were yanked back from a potential death. Now that they could look at things through a wider lens, Harry must've rekindled his blame at the Malfoy heir. There was no better explanation for him blatantly ignoring his letters and request to have them passed over to Hermione.

"No, I didn't send them here," Draco eventually replied in a defeated tone. "I sent them to Harry and asked him to pass them along to you. I - stupidly - thought that you wouldn't accept anything from Apollo and that Harry would…"

Hermione's face fell as she understood the unspoken. And while she looked on the verge of wanting to say something on it, she didn't.

"Can we talk somewhere private?" Draco whispered to her, looking around the room with a grotesque amount of floral print. He hoped wherever she led him wouldn't have a botanical garden plastered on the walls and drapes.

Hermione wordlessly nodded, gently took his hand, and guided him from the sitting room. They zigzagged back into the teeny foyer and continued their trek through another narrow doorway and corridor. At the end of it was a white door left ajar and a cheerful pooling of sunlight coming out of the room, almost enticingly.

The entire house was bright and welcoming. And Draco felt his breaths come in easier while inside. Maybe it was the small size that kept him grounded, letting him know exactly where the windows and entrances were. Or maybe it was the refreshing amount of light and lack of sinister magic seeping from the house's pores.

Draco followed her to the room at the end of the hall, which turned out to be her bedroom.

If they were courting, he'd just shattered at least three rules. No chaperone, accompanying her to a bedroom, and not reassuring her parents about his respectable intentions.

He wasn't sure what kind of bedroom he was expecting Hermione Granger to keep. When they were children and he took sport in making fun of her, he conjured images of a barbaric room with sticks for toys and mundane, still photographs. He also expected it to be a mess, much like her wayward hair that she used to keep more wild when they were kids, and there to be an unnatural amount of Gryffindor colors splashed on every surface.

What he wasn't prepared for was the exact opposite of all of that.

The room was extremely small by his standards. Not even big enough to fit a queen size bed. Instead, there was a slender twin shoved against the same wall the door was located on. A bay window took up half of the wall perpendicular to it, with a tasteful alcove that had a built in desk, a very thin and uncomfortable looking chair missing chunks out of it by design, and a collection of small potted plants and a strangely tall desk lamp.

The carpet was that same style of incredibly thin turf and the most brassy color of sky blue that did nothing to compliment that periwinkle and white painted walls. To add insult to injury, her bed comforter was white with thin strings of pastel flowers - why is there so much floral print everywhere - and the bottom half was covered in an itchy looking blue blanket. Across from the bed was a wingback armchair in electric teal upholstery.

Four dominant shades of blue. None of them matched or were even remotely harmonizing.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Hermione patted the spot next to her but Draco ignored the invitation. Instead he awkwardly stood near the foot of it and dove his fingers into his hair, raking at the soft roots as he fought for his nerve and tried to collect himself enough to talk to her.

The truth. She deserved the truth.

"Draco, I'm just happy that you're well. I was so worried about you. I know you said you needed time to process, and I'm more than happy to give you that time, but please don't push me out."

Yanking his fingers free from his hair, leaving a myriad of blonde strands standing at awkward angles, he nodded in appreciation for being given a starting point. "I know and I'm… Merlin, Hermione. I'm so sorry for that. I promise you that I won't do it again - I won't ignore you again. You're the person that least deserves it. And I was stupid for thinking Potter would actually be man enough to pass along the letters. I'm sorry."

She grinned ruefully. "Apology accepted. And cut him some slack - he's going through just as hard of a time, Draco."

The Slytherin barked a humorless laugh. "Oh he is, is he? Yes, I suppose getting used to celebrity status can take some time. Don't worry, I'm sure the Prophet will run a birthday special for him next week and he'll find comfort in being praised as the hero that survived a kidnapping, muggle disease, and the killing curse twice. I'll probably get an honorable mention for being the villain who kidnapped him."

Hermione didn't stay seated on the bed long. She slowly stood up, perhaps recognizing that the discussion was taking a distasteful turn. "Is that what all of this is about?" Her eyes narrowed on him, but her voice was so sympathetic it made him turn away. "Are you jealous of him?"

"What?!" He spun back to her. "Jealous of him? No! What is there to be jealous of? The fact that the Prophet is running articles heralding his success while completely ignoring all of the lives and sacrifices others made? The fact that he did nothing except step in front of a killing curse meant for another? You do realize that, right? Harry did nothing in this war. I'll give him credit for having the bravery I don't to take his own life. That's the only thing about him I'm jealous of."

She blinked rapidly as if struck and slowly shook her head. "Don't say that, Draco."

"Why not? Save for you, everything else in my life is in shambles. My father looks at me like I'm about to shatter at any moment." Because he was. "And my mother? Well, she can't even manage to be in a room with me for more than a few minutes before finding some excuse to leave. Because I'm a living, breathing reminder of what our family had to endure, and no matter how many galleons she throws at renovations on the home, she can't change me from being that reminder."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Hermione mumbled warmly and looked torn like she wasn't sure how to word her next sentence. "Maybe… Maybe if you and Harry talk. Maybe if you apologize for what you did, things will be-"

"Apologize?!" Later on, he'd regret not putting a silencing charm on her room and saving himself the embarrassment of yelling with her parents in the home. "The only words I have for that tosser are hexes and curses, both the spell sort and swear words." With a few sharp, purposeful steps, he closed the distance between them and spoke dangerously low to her in a volume just above a whisper. "I have nothing to apologize to him for, Hermione. Nothing."

She said nothing for a few lengthy seconds as they stared at one another, her brows knitting together in concern and confusion. "But… you were a spy for the Order. You're on our side. You didn't want to kidnap Harry. You were forced to do it."

"I was," he nodded once. "But I did it to save you. Don't you get that? Doesn't anyone get that?!" Drowning in the sudden flood of emotions that he kept behind a perfectly constructed dam for months, he spun away from her and tangled his fingers in his hair again. "I'm not you, or Potter, or any of the Order members who would happily give their families' lives in exchange to make sure some prophecy came to fruition. I have loyalty and priorities and-and my own desires for who I want to survive the war!"

Her eyes glistened with the continued wave of sympathy, but also confusion and contemplation.

He pressed on. "Every time someone says that I'm an awful person, that I deserve to be tossed into Azkaban for kidnapping Harry and that I got off easy because my father just so happened to be responsible for making the escape possible, all I hear is them damning you to death. Because that's what they're saying! Don't you see? If I didn't take Harry, the Death Eaters would've gotten him anyways and you would've been killed."

He saw the debate flash on her face and her mouth open to refute him. He quickly cut it off before she could speak by yanking back his left sleeve and shoving his forearm at her. "I know the Death Eaters, Hermione. I was one! They wanted Potter and they had ways to get to him - his healers were compromised, Snape got taken… it was only a matter of time before Harry was taken too, if not by me then by another, and they'd have taken and killed you too, in front of me most likely."

Hermione swallowed thickly a few times, a sad understanding finding peace in her eyes. "I knew the risks I took when I started dating you, Draco." She smiled sadly. "They're the same risks I took when I became Harry's friend."

"So you're just willing to die for him then? You wanted me to let them kill you?"

The question hit her hard. So hard that she sat back down on the bed and looked at her hands worrying themselves together. "I don't know," she quietly answered. "I know that… that Harry was the Chosen One. He had to survive to make sure Voldemort died and to end the war. He was-"

"Enough!" Draco yelled so loud that they both flinched. "I'm bloody sick of it! Chosen One this, Chosen One that. That's really ironic coming from you of all people, considering you dropped Divinations and cursed the subject for being too unclear and 'fluffy', I believe your words were in the library that year. Everyone except for maybe the Ravenclaws considered Trelawny to be a fraud, for Merlin's sakes! So how is it that you can swear off all of her classes as made up rubbish, but cling to this one prophecy? What makes this prophecy so much better than any of the other garbage that god forsaken professor's muttered about?!"

Hermione looked down at the floor between her feet. "Woolly. I called it woolly."

"And suddenly now you're paying into the whole prophecy stuff to the point that you're willing to die for him? Bollocks, Hermione!" He approached her again, but this time gentler and spoke more softly. "I chose to become involved in this war to make a difference and avoid Azkaban, that's true. I could've gone into hiding last summer with my mother. In hindsight, maybe I should've. But originally I chose to spy to try to save two people in the war: my mother and father. That changed four months later when we started dating and… and then I decided that if you three survived - you and my parents - then my sacrifice was worth it. Because I sacrificed everything else, Hermione."

She closed her eyes and nodded weakly. "I know."

"No, you don't. But maybe it's about time we had that discussion I told you I wasn't ready to have yet."

He calmed down enough to sit on the strangely teal wingback while she sat perched on her bed, respectfully silent and supportive, while he trudged through the previous year, going over all of his experiences as a Death Eater and leaving nothing untouched. He didn't watch her reaction when he described the raids, the rounds of torture he propelled onto others, and got choked up when he eventually got to Christmas break. But he persevered, going into bitter detail about losing any shred of dignity he had left, either at Rabastan Lestrange's hand or his own doing by taking lives.

Dinner time came and went, the hours passed, and they continued talking, her parents not bothering them. Hermione occasionally asked a few clarifying questions or involuntarily gasped, but otherwise graced him with a loving, supportive silence.

She became cross when he described his mother taking forever in finalizing her own arrangements and affairs that delayed his eventual hiding. And it was because of that, and because it was nudged back to Easter break, that the entire kidnapping debacle was hatched. Had Snape gotten his way and the Malfoys immediately been secured in hiding in Zanzibar, Harry never would've been kidnapped and Voldemort would've rotted from the muggle disease. But that's not how it happened.

When he got to the kidnapping part, he stopped and looked at her. "I did everything right, Hermione. I gave Dumbledore the sign that my cover was blown and that I was being forced to act under duress. At first, when my father told me about that signal, I was almost in tears with relief. Because you Gryffindors always touted how wonderful and strong and great Dumbledore is. He's always been there for Harry. And this one time I needed him to be there for me, he abandoned me. He knew my cover was up."

Hermione stared at him and shook her head frantically from side to side. "No, Dumbledore would've done something. He would've-"

"-He did nothing, Hermione." He didn't yell, too exhausted from the conversation that had gone on for hours. "The Order kept me for questioning for a few days, and I thought that was their own cover to buy time to arrange my hiding. They never should've released me without getting the surveillance spells off me and getting a proper debriefing. Instead, Dumbledore didn't even try and just released me. He didn't even try. Because all of us, in his eyes, are just collateral damage. I knew I was damned and would be killed, but I wasn't about to let you get tossed onto a casualty list. Because you would've. And if that means I'm forever going to be hated by the public, so be it."

The witch looked troubled, but by which part Draco wasn't sure. Maybe she was finally understanding that every time someone cursed him for kidnapping Harry, they were indirectly supporting Hermione's murder and sacrifice. Or maybe she was shook at the thought of Dumbledore no longer being a pillar of benevolence and unadulterated altruism.

After a few moments, Hermione pushed herself up from the bed to approach him on the chair, reaching out to caress her hand along the ridge of his jawline. "I don't blame you or think you're a villain," she softly said. "I'm sorry you were put in that position. All of those positions. No sixteen year old should be a spy and be expected to know how to handle those sorts of things." She paused. "But I do think you and Harry should talk. Not right now but eventually."

Draco turned his cheek into her hand and relished the relieving feeling of her touch that reaffirmed they were ok. "I have a mind doctor I'm seeing. A.. erm… American squib. Psychologist, I think his title is. We do enough talking between us that I don't have to add Harry into the mix."

"I'm not asking you to do it right away. But promise me that eventually, you'll talk with him."

The Slytherin placed his hands on her hips and groaned in the back of his throat. "Only if you promise to come with me to France. My parents want to spend some time in Reims and I don't like the thought of not being able to see you that long."

"France?" She hooked a brow up. "When? Because I'm actually going to France towards the end of August and was going to invite you to come with me. There's a… there's a wedding. And I wanted to bring you as my date."

"Whose wedding?"

The hesitation in her voice was all he needed to know that she didn't want to say it. "Fleur and Bill Weasley. And- wait! Before you say no, you did ignore me for a month. The least you can do is come with me as my date to their wedding."

The thought of being stuck at a happy event like a wedding with the Weasleys, of all people, sounded as close to hell as Draco could get. Not to mention, Harry and Snape would certainly be there. "Are we still negotiating?"

"I like to call it compromising. We're meeting each other halfway."

"Fine." Negotiating. "I'll go with you to this wedding on certain terms. First, you come with me to Reims and meet my parents. We're going towards the end of the third week in August." She stiffened and looked panicked. "I met your parents and it's only proper if you meet mine."

"Yes, but my parents didn't fund a megalomaniacs war and live by the family motto of…." she casually plucked his hand up to read the inscription on the side of his platinum signet ring. "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. 'Purity will always conquer'. Of course, I'm sure they'll just love me."

Touche. "Purity comes in all kinds of forms," he countered with a smirk. "Not just the obvious type of purity a Pureblood family would honor. Besides, the Latin word Sanctimonia also shares the meaning of charity and chastity and virtue."

She leaned back a bit to gaze at him down the length of her nose, amused but clearly unconvinced. "So all of this time, the Malfoys have been misinterpreting their own motto when it really means 'Charity will always conquer'?" She shook her head. "Is that your only condition for going to the wedding?"

"I don't want to sit with Snape or Harry when we're there."

Hermione nodded immediately. "Then you'll be happy to hear that Harry isn't going. If Snape goes, we won't sit near him. I'll agree to those terms if you agree to not only go to the wedding but also take me to Disneyland."

Disneyland in Paris. Right. He'd promised that to her months ago.

"You drive a hard bargain, woman," he grumbled but was far from actually annoyed. In her empowering presence, he felt like he could finally approach all the demons he shied away from. He felt confident and like himself, and not nearly like the withering, scared wizard cowed into silence at the manor. "Isn't a Weasley wedding close enough to a circus for you?"

"That's not funny, Draco."

"Fine, I agree to your terms. Just be prepared for everyone to glare at me. Maybe even toss a few death threats."

"They won't do that. I promise."

The heaviness of their conversation had passed like storm clouds, leaving behind the aftermath of relieved parties to enjoy the break in the dreary weather. They breathed easy, smiled wantonly at each other, and just enjoyed their company. But the day had turned in and welcomed its nocturnal counterpart, the sun being exchanged for the moon and the hours stretching into early evening. They both missed dinner and Draco had a two hour drive back to Wiltshire.

Standing to stretch, his muscles creaking at being prone for so long on the chair, Draco looked out the window briefly. "Before I go, I need to ask a favor of you." He flipped his tongue to the side, digging underneath the soggy mandrake leaf to press it against the flatness of his tongue, and opened his mouth to show her. At first, she said nothing, just leaned forward with a confused expression, but when she realized what it was, she nearly fell backwards in shock.

"You're doing it?! The full moon is-"

"-Next Sunday, I know." He stashed the leaf back under his tongue. "I can do that part on my own, assuming the bloody weather cooperates and I don't have to start this all over. But I'll need you there when I finish it during the storm. I… I'm afraid of messing it up and ending up as a half bird or something."

Hermione continued to stare at him in wonder. "What makes you so sure it'll be a bird? No one really knows what their animagus form will be unless they've made a patronus."

"I feel like a bird is pretty close to my personality. Cunning, flighty, quick to peck someone's eyes out."

His poor attempt at levity was ignored as she shook her head slowly. "I can't believe you're doing it. Have you told your parents? You'll need to. And you'll need to register right away. Especially with your trial and probation that-"

"Right, about that…" He cut her off and awkwardly looked to the side, staring at a strange electronic box with a lit up digital clock. There were a collection of thin plastic cases directly beside it. "I'm… um… I'm going to register. But I'm not going to do it right away. I want to use it while the heat on me and my family is at its worst, and register once it gets better. That way I can travel and whatnot without danger. Which means I need you to not tell other people about it."

Hermione jerked. "You want me to lie?"

"I mean, I didn't say to lie, per se. It's just… omitting the truth. And… and I guess lying if someone were to ask you. Hermione, please. I promise to register when things improve. And that's even assuming I don't mess this up and it works."

"You're brilliant," she blurted out in a rush. "You won't mess it up." She paused to chew on her bottom lip and consider his request. "Another compromise then. I will keep it a secret all the way up until the end of the first term. By then, you better register — you're on probation and they'll immediately throw you in Azkaban if they find out. So, by end of term, preferably sooner. Deal?"

Four months. He would be granted anonymity for four months. It was the best he could get. "Deal."

She let out a sigh, smiled, and reached for him. "Good. Now, let's go see if dad left some food out for us and then get you set up in the spare room for the night. Mum will have a fit if you drove two hours back home at this hour."

He didn't put up a fight as he was guided out the bedroom, finding the rest of the house quiet and sleepy. And while he didn't like the thought of spending the night in the muggle home, he also didn't like the idea of leaving her and going back to the depressing manor. "It's not like I'm actually driving, Hermione. I sit there and pretend. It's rather relaxing."

She stopped when they were right outside of the kitchen, the appetizing aroma of fish pie wafting out, and leveled him a look. "Well, then pretend that it's exhausting so that I have a reason to keep you here longer. Really, who's the Slytherin here? You or me?"

~~~~SS~~~~

Wednesday, 7th August 1997

The week after Harry's birthday saw a calmness in the young wizard Severus had never seen in this Harry before - even after going through his counterpart's memories of the teen. It helped that the week was also settled in between chemotherapy treatments - far enough after July's to be recovered and still far enough from August not to be anxious about it - and his tablet medication had been cooperating with him. One of the most frustrating, and least talked about, parts of being a caregiver to a child undergoing chemotherapy had to be how randomly things appeared to happen; how Harry could go from feeling perfectly healthy to miserable overnight without a single change to anything he was taking or doing. Each morning Severus woke up questioning what kind of day it would be, waiting for the other shoe to drop and their serenity to come to an abrupt end. The morning of the 7th it happened to be the bad one. In fact, if the professor hadn't absolutely had to meet with Albus that afternoon regarding Harry, he would have cancelled the entire visit to stay home with the ill teen.

Severus knew something was wrong the moment he opened his bedroom door. Without knowing exactly why, his intuition told him he needed to check on Harry; something felt amiss with the situation. When he passed the closed lavatory door, not a single sound could be heard on the other side, leading the former spy to believe the Gryffindor had to still be in bed, and with any luck catching up on the sleep they both knew - but hardly discussed - he wasn't getting on a regular basis. Continuing on, Harry's door was ajar, though not enough to see into from the corridor, so Severus approached it carefully unsure of what he would be walking into. With his wand brandished, just in case, he pushed the door open disappointed and instantly went on alarm to find the room completely empty. In hindsight, the professor realized he expected to find the room torn apart like last month, and was relieved to find it in its normal, somewhat messy state.

The former spy turned on his heels heading out of the room in search of the teen, deciding to make his way down to the sitting room where he knew Harry liked to go during the height of his insomnia. His foot had barely touched the top step when the creeek - louder and far higher up on the stairs that usual - caused him to pause. The staircase was an enigma in itself, but this time something inside Severus told him it was significant, and so he racked his brain, coming up with only one - not so logical - explanation. He approached the lavatory with more caution than he had with the young wizard's room, placing his ear against the wooden door, there still wasn't a single sound to be heard through it. With his heart nearly pounding from chest as his anxiety of what could be happening on the other side of the door, he reached down, grasped the knob, and attempted to open it. 'Attempted' being the important word because he couldn't get it opened regardless of how much force he used against the thin wooden frame.

"Harry!" The professor called out, failing to keep the panic from his voice. "If you can hear me, I need you to open the door!"

Frustrated, yet not at all surprised, by the lack of response on the other side, Severus withdrew his wand one more time and proceeded to yell every unlocking spell he knew. When those didn't yield the results he wanted, the former Death Eater changed tactics and was only a half a second away from blasting the damn door down before remembering how small the other room was. Without knowing Harry's exact location on the other side, he could end up doing more harm than good and therefore decided on a safer - albeit slower - diffindo to cut the door from its hinges. Thankfully, Harry's accidental magic hadn't completely kept him out, but he would definitely need to expedite finding out what was going on with it before any lasting damage could be done to the teen. Last year, during his worst bouts of magic early on in his treatment, it usually reacted to something the young wizard needed, so this new form concerned him greatly.

Stepping into the tiny room, the surge of static energy that met Severus quickly dissipated once he approached Harry at the loo; still dressed in his red pyjamas from the previous night, his shirt clinging to his chest from sweat. The professor's own heart ached at the obvious exhaustion on the young wizard's face, and he silently questioned to himself why Harry hadn't used his sphere if he needed help. It was there for times like this, and there were plenty of things, medications mostly, Severus could have done to help make the night more comfortable for him. Carefully - ignoring the protesting of his joints - the older wizard lowered himself to the floor, his knees drawn up towards his chest in the only position allowing him to fit in the space between the wall and the sink.

Acting on his well honed instincts after a year of this, he rubbed small circles on Harry's lower back, applying just enough pressure to help calm the Gryffindor's cramping stomach. "Rough night?"

Nodding, Harry leaned back, resting the weight of his body on the professor's right side and said, "I hate this."

"Yes," Severus responded neutrally and in the exact manner Dr Swanson instructed him to when it seemed Harry might want to give up, "I know you do."

They sat in that position on the cold tiled floor of the lavatory for what seemed like over an hour, yet couldn't logically have been more than twenty minutes, when Harry painfully asked, "Why didn't you come last night? When I squeezed the sphere?"

The betrayal in the young voice almost shattered him instantly. While he couldn't be certain about what exactly had happened the previous night to Harry, he was sure his sphere never illuminated.

"I'm sorry," Severus apologized, "mine never reacted. I'll take a look and recharm them this afternoon... see if that helps."

Knowing Harry had tried to contact him - probably more than once - last night and eventually gave up, caused his heart to break further and his mind to start going into overdrive analyzing the situation. Turning his primary focus back to the child shivering on the floor beside him, Severus summoned Harry's yellow blanket - carefully draping it over his body - along with a glass, the bottle of ginger ale from the kitchen, and both his antiemetic and pain medications; one of which was bound to work.

"T-thank you," Harry shivered, taking the medication, then laying down on his side with his head resting awkwardly in Severus's lap.

If anyone were to walk in on the scene, the former Death Eater was sure they looked ridiculous, two grown wizards sitting - or laying, in Harry's case - squeezed onto the lavatory floor like a box filled wall to wall with Beetle Eyes. He found he cared very little about what things looked like to the outside world. No one could ever imagine how difficult things really were for them behind their closed doors, and he would never wish this on anyone. Sitting there on the floor, the professor knew exactly what he had to do: at his meeting with Albus this afternoon, he would finally discuss returning to Hogwarts for at least one more year.

"No."

Severus promptly tossed the book which had been placed in front of him back across the messy desk to the white haired wizard he'd been meeting with for the last hour and half. At first glance, for Severus the decision was simple; he wasn't about to subject Harry to whatever Dark Magic the headmaster had managed to scrape up. The child was already deep within what could only be described as the muggle version of the Dark Arts, and adding the wizarding kind on top of it couldn't do him any good. Except, deep down Severus knew the decision wasn't so black and white. Harry's magic would continue to fight against the chemotherapy side effects, granted it would be at a slower rate with the easier - he shook his head because he would never describe this morning as easy - medications compared to last year, meaning they he would not only continue to see this dangerous magic, but it would eventually cause the burning throughout the Gryffindor's body again; something he knew Harry hadn't considered yet.

The defense professor rigidly sat up in the wingback chair, covered in a thick red and gold fabric he almost transfigured out of spite before he sat down. He'd come back to the castle for the previously scheduled meeting, after asking Minerva to stay with Harry; who coincidentally had a matter of her own to discuss with him upon his arrival back.

Uncharacteristically, the defense professor arrived late and after explaining his theory about Harry's raw accidental magic preventing the young wizard from getting help in the early morning hours, the headmaster started in on his idea to help alleviate the issue. Never had Severus expected his mentor - and the leader in the side of the light - to suggest something akin to the blood ritual Draco had to endure for two horrifying months. True, the Ritual for Magical Suppression - to essentially replace the previous block on Harry's core with something less permanent than a soul fragment - was not nearly as nauseating as draining a teenagers blood and transfusing it into a recipient, but this ritual would surely be complicated, painful, and full of steps that individually could land them in Azkaban, and together might even qualify for a Dementor's Kiss.

"I don't think you have much of a choice, Severus," Albus not so nicely pointed out, "this is no longer simply an issue in protecting his magic for later use. If what you're telling me is true, this raw magic has the ability to become violent. I imagine you do not wish to cause him harm, nor risk having him harm others?"

The question was rhetorical, or at least it should have been, however the uncomfortable silence told him Albus expected a response. Still, Severus refused to acknowledge the ridiculousness with an answer. Anyone would know he wouldn't want any harm to come to Harry, or anyone else regardless of what his students used to say, and therefore required nothing more. Unfortunately, he should have anticipated Albus's own interpretation of his protested silence as agreement.

"I'm going to assume," the headmaster began, his blue eyes twinkling ferociously behind his half-moon spectacles, "your reaction, or lack thereof, means I can expect you back in the classroom the 2nd of September?"

Not one to be backed into a corner, Severus aggressively pulled the damn book back to read through what was required to put this "block" in place.

"Assuming I endorse this ridiculous plan," he bellowed, flipping a page, "why must he stay in the castle? I assumed your idea would be more active, however this seems quite the opposite, we simply follow this painstakingly long process and he won't be able to do magic any longer."

"While that may be correct, on paper," Albus stood and began to pace with his hands clasped behind his back, "we both have enough experience to know things are hardly so black and white."

Severus narrowed his onyx eyes trying not to interpret the statement in regards to his blatant animosity over the Malfoy Manor battle and the headmaster's lack of presence. What he was suggesting would require more trust then Severus had for the man at that time.

"Where were you that night?" Severus hadn't planned to ask the question, let alone so pointedly, yet there it was now sitting between them. The dragon in the room had been spotlighted and now it couldn't just be swept under the rug.

Albus stopped his pacing, mid-step, and turned more nimbly than a man of his age should. "I'm sorry you feel I let you down, Severus," he casually announced.

The lack of answer did not go unnoticed by either wizard and this time the former Death Eater wasn't about to let it go, "I didn't ask you for an apology. I asked where you were that night, and while I cannot guarantee your answer will get me back into that classroom, I can promise you that I won't be stepping foot in this castle again if you fail to provide one."

The threat was far from empty. If he so wanted, the professor could apparate from the Hogwarts gates to another set just as regal out in Wiltshire and have another job in the Malfoy Lab for Disease Research and Development working to create a new potions regimens to treat cancer in the Wizarding Community; an endeavor he wanted to do in his old reality. What the threat didn't have this time around was any weight behind it. Severus knew good and well, Albus could find another - probably more qualified and far more likable - professor to replace him in less than a week. The tides had drastically turned and as the two wizards metaphorically stood off against one another, he was intimately aware of the fact he no longer had the upper hand as the lead spy against Voldemort for the Order of the Phoenix.

"I was attending to another matter," the headmaster eventually answered in a quiet, calming voice.

"Do pray tell," the dark-haired wizard challenged through his clenched teeth, feeling his anger and resentment rising to the surface, completely unable to push it back behind his Occlumency any longer, "what could be more important than rescuing your precious pawns?!"

"I must apologize again, my boy-" he lifted his wrinkled hand to prevent Severus from arguing against wanting the apology. "After we discovered Harry as an accidental horcrux last fall, you were more than a little preoccupied with both Harry and Draco, and I hadn't been nearly as forthcoming with my own comings and goings as I probably should have been."

To Severus, that wasn't nearly as shocking of a revelation as the headmaster had likely expected it to be. Though he hated to admit it, the other wizard was right. While Severus recognized last year Albus had looked just as tired as he did and internally questioned what had happened to cause the reaction, he had never actually sought the answer; something had always come up with either Harry or Draco. Now, he could sense his desperation increasing, dying to know what else Albus hadn't shared with him.

In the long silence, Albus resumed his pacing as he spoke, "I've spent decades hunting Tom down and doing everything in my control to stop or prevent his rise to power. For years it's consumed so much of my time and energy, and while it's had its merits, like knowing he was not truly gone the first time Harry survived the Killing Curse, occasionally my search has led me down a winding, seemingly wayward path.

"This was one such time, Severus. You see, after we figured out a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul escaped death after the rebounded curse, finding itself within Harry, I was brought back to two other mysterious deaths which had occurred in Tom's history: the Riddle Family and a Hepzibah Smith. I feared he could have made at least two other horcruxes, with or without his knowledge. Last year I did everything I could to find, and subsequently destroy if necessary, any potential links he could have used to return."

It took the younger professor a solid minute to work through and comprehend the information he'd been told. There was a lot to unravel and the implications of having one unknown horcrux were so significant, his breathing became shaky at just the idea of it. Still confused with the connection to their previous conversation, he carefully asked, "What does this have to do with your untimely absence at the Battle of Malfoy Manor?"

"Ah, yes," Albus once again stopped his pacing and promptly sat back down in his chair, his hands folded before him on the desk like they were having any normal chat about his upcoming curriculum, instead of trying to rebuild the last delicate thread holding together their trust. "Remember, Severus, the end goal of that mission was for rescue, not arrest or kill. Therefore, never did I anticipate what should have been a quick in and out process to turn into a battle that would forever end up in our history books."

Severus rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but he expected no less from the man. "And what about when you received Lupin's patronus? You clearly knew at that juncture the situation inside of the Manor had drastically changed. Where were you?"

"Obviously, once you and Harry were taken, my attention was diverted from my previous quest for these potential horcruxes and onto a way to rescue you both," Albus's eyes squinted, almost in pain, and without the twinkle there any longer, their blue color was dull and somber. Somehow, Severus could tell he was not going to like this explanation. "When I received the news from Remus about the duels breaking out, and decided to move from a clandestine rescue to a full-on attack, I decided my time was best spent making sure the last potential horcrux had been secured. And therefore, I left the Farm for a small shop in Denmark where I had previously tracked down an ancient locket - which had gone missing the same day as the death of its last known owner, Hepzibah Smith - in the event Lord Voldemort saw his demise that night."

This time, his anger - fueled by not only his current resentment for the man in front of him, but also his grief from replaying Harry's death in his head - could not be contained. He stood so rapidly, the plush chair fell back behind him with a soft and unsatisfying crash, and leaned over menacingly at the man who he used to think upon like a father.

"And what about Harry?!" He spat at the headmaster, who to his credit did not flinch at either the aggressive movement nor the threatening tone to his voice. "You knew he had a piece of Voldemort's soul within him. If you assumed, enough to abandon your people for your little treasure hunt I might add, Voldemort might be killed that night, what did you think would happen to Harry?!"

"You already know the answer to that question, Severus," Albus challenged without hesitation. "The likelihood of either of you walking out of that Manor alive was getting smaller by the second. The Order had their commands, rescue first, arrest second… and a subset were given a specific command to go after Tom if given the opportunity."

The breath within his lungs was sucked right out by the confession.

"Whom?" He demanded, already knowing he'd never get the names. Had things gone differently, that specific team would have been hailed the heroes of the night and their faces would be plastered across the Daily Prophet. Instead, they'd barely scraped by with their victory and now Severus was the one avoiding the media as often as he could. With a repulsed look on his face, Severus shook his head and said, "You disgust me. Is that all he is to you? A means to an end?!"

The deafening silence throughout the office was broken up only by the sound of Severus's deep breaths, as he allowed his anger to seep through him. It felt too good to try to stop it, to be able to let loose and feel the tingling of his previously stored away emotions reach all the way to his toes that were now curling up in his black boots, and out to each fingertip. His hands clenched into fists in rhythm with his jaw, debating if he could actually hit the elderly wizard sitting so stoically in front of him. Instead, he settled on slamming his fist onto the desk, causing all the belongings on its top to rattle.

If nothing else, this visit gave him a lot to think about. What he thought, or hoped, would give him the answers to help them control Harry's magic before it overtook the young wizard, turned into a lesson on yet another dark magic ritual and discovering the reason the leader of their group abandoned them; having assumed Harry would be killed. As much as he wanted to yell and curse - both magically and verbally - the older wizard, Severus knew he needed to put Harry's needs in front of his own feelings and do what was best for the Gryffindor. Did that mean he had to go along with the ridiculous plan without a smidge of his own research? Absolutely not. He would take the awful book home and find as much information on it as possible.

Shaking his head in disappointment over Albus's revelation and his own confusing situation, he turned to storm from the office, missing the effects of his teaching robes billowing behind him. His hand was centimeters from the knob, half expecting it to be locked, when he heard Albus's strained voice.

"It wasn't real, Severus," the headmaster called out. The former spy's hand stopped on the knob, but he didn't dare turn around; not willing to give the headmaster the satisfaction. "Do try to understand, though had it been, and I not acted as I did that night, we would be in no different of a position than we were in November of 1981, facing the potential for a resurrected Lord Voldemort, this time without the Leukemia in his body to fall back upon. Sometimes difficult decisions need to be made and this, unfortunately, was one of those."

"That doesn't make it right," Severus chided and stormed from the office, realizing he had wanted to ask about the potential Death Eater threat, but too desperate to get back to Harry to care.

~~~~HP~~~~

Dear Harry,

First and foremost, I'm sorry about what happened at the end of your birthday party last week. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you (or Ron) and it was especially not fair to you on such a day. Things haven't exactly been easy for any of us as we try to navigate this "new normal" and I feel like we're all failing at it in some way or another. What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry for acting how I did and I really do believe you and Draco need to talk this out. You'd be surprised how confused he is about all of this too, and (like you) he's struggling with where to go now.

Anyway, you left so suddenly last week, I completely forgot to give you the book I found about accidental magic. I get the feeling this isn't exactly what you're looking for, but until we have a chance to talk about what's going on, it's the best I could find. The most relevant part (I think) is where it says accidental magic manifests as a young witch or wizard gains access to their magical core. It made it sound as if the magical core expands, so to say, as we get older. That would explain why we learn certain spells at specific times (or why some can master spells earlier than others), but it makes sense if you've been given a large section of magic you didn't have access to before. More or less, your body doesn't know how to react to it and it sounds like it could be dangerous if not handled properly. Unfortunately, nowhere in the book (at least not that I was able to find) talked about what to do if someone suddenly had access to their entire core, but it does talk about how accidental magic stops once it gets trained… which you can't do right now. Have you asked Professor Snape? I bet he knows what to do. He probably already has a plan and you're wasting all this energy over nothing.

I shouldn't ask this, but I'm going to anyway (so don't hate me)... Will you be at Hogwarts next year? Ron and I got our letters for next year the other day and nothing stood out saying we had a new professor for Defense (though I'm not sure it would), so I thought there's probably a good chance Professor Snape was coming back. And if he comes back, then you would too, right? I mean, he can't just leave you. Mr and Mrs Weasley would be happy if you stayed here, but after seeing you last week, I have a feeling you want to stay with Professor Snape.

Anyway, I hope we get to see you before school starts… just in case. I'm going to stay with Draco in Reims starting on the 18th before the wedding (he wants me to meet his parents!) but maybe sometime after the wedding we can all get together somewhere.

Take care, Harry, and keep your head up. Things will be better this year regardless of where you end up in the end.

Love you,

Hermione

Harry woke up from the much needed sleep sometime between lunch and dinner time to the sound of rain crashing across the roof in sheets and the feeling of not being alone. When he finally had the energy to crack open his eyes, the young wizard was confused by the sight of the dark, gloomy sky out of his bedroom window, since he was sure he'd fallen asleep on the lavatory floor again. Laying on his side facing the window, the first thing he noticed was his stomach no longer clenching, signaling the seemingly random effect of his medication had finally passed; for which he was grateful. Just in case, the Gryffindor carefully turned over in hopes of finding his glasses and figuring out who was sitting in his room giving him the feeling of being watched. Luckily, he didn't need to wait too long for an answer on either of those.

"Careful, now," the fragile voice of his former guardian, Professor McGonagall, said while simultaneously handing him his glasses and helping him sit up, his body protesting each small movement. "How are you feeling?"

"M'ok," Harry mumbled, his voice scratchy from the vomiting and sleep. He reached over for the glass of water he always kept by his bed, happy for the relief of the cold water on his sore throat, and then asked, "Where's Severus?"

McGonagall's brown eyes shifted to the window, watching the stormy weather outside pelting angrily against the window, "I'm afraid he had an errand to run and he didn't want to wake you. I expect he'll be back very soon."

Harry drew his legs up to his chest and followed the professor's gaze out the window. Days like these - gloomy, cold, and wet - were the easiest days to be stuck sick inside. The sky was a dark, ugly shade of grey, looking far more menacing than anything he'd seen at Privet Drive, probably because the area was already so dark and run down, and every so often it lit up with blue lightning which he actually enjoyed watching. There was something calming about when the outside matched his own internal animosity that made things not look so grim.

"I can imagine there were plenty of other things you had planned to do today besides sit and watch me sleep?"

"I think you and Severus need to start learning when it's ok to ask for help," she replied back to his bitter statement. "It's really amazing how much alike you both are and yet no one really realized it until now."

Harry turned back to face his former professor, and gave her a small smirk. Never in his wildest dreams did he think anyone would even compare him to Severus Snape, and even stranger than just that, he was actually proud of the comparison. "He tells me I don't have any sense of self-preservation, that I charge into situations without thinking."

"Oh, he's certainly correct about that," she admitted to him, "I had high hopes you would have taken after Lily more than James, but it was clear early on you have his sense of adventure. And if you ever have a son, I think that may be the day I finally retire… I'm not sure I'll survive another generation of Potters."

That time, Harry did give a full laugh, "What about Weasleys then? Just imagine what Fred and George's kids'll be like."

"Pure demons," she answered with a stone serious face, and Harry almost couldn't contain his laughter.

"That all seems so far away," the young wizard explained with a small shake of his head, before turning more serious, "but my parents were what… twenty when they had me? I couldn't imagine being a parent in three years, and in the middle of a war even. And now it's everyone's last year at school, then we'll all go our separate ways. Or at least they will… I'll still be here."

Another bitter statement, but he couldn't not talk about his fears once he started. Ever since he received the watch for his birthday from Snape, he found himself removing it just to see the inscription inside and letting the feeling of acceptance fill him with a serenity he had never had in his life. It didn't push away all of his negativity, but it helped him get from one day to the next and gave him the confidence during these dark moments to keep his strength and continue forward.

"You won't be here forever, Harry," she reassured her lion. "No matter what it may seem like today."

"I won't be in classes next year," he challenged.

"No, you won't," she agreed as if it weren't as big of a deal as Harry knew it was, and glanced down at her wringing hands. "However, I believe Severus is speaking with Albus about finding alternate arrangements for you next year. We all want you to succeed wherever it is you end up and we'll all do what we can, even if it means private tutelage during the year outside of classes."

"But I can't-"

"Do magic," she interrupted him with a stern expression, "yes, I am well aware of that fact and we will figure it out."

Harry nodded almost aimlessly, not exactly believing what she was saying, but also knowing trying to argue it would be futile. He was getting used to having a set of parents - no matter how unconventional they were - who looked out for his best interest in a way that wasn't as sympathetic as Mrs Weasley always treated him. They pushed him when he needed it, even if he wasn't aware of it and called him out when he was being challenging; not letting him get away with falling into the abyss he sometimes found himself metaphorically standing in front of. Going a step further into his thoughts, the young wizard naturally assumed after turning seventeen - and without being a part of Gryffindor house - McGonagall wouldn't have any interest in his well being. It was ridiculous, he knew, but how was he supposed to know she'd continue to stay involved and wouldn't simply choose to walk away? No one had ever been on his side before… and that brought his mind to another topic he thought he may be able to work for his benefit.

"Are you going to Bill and Fleur's wedding?" Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed to appear less ill in hopes the professor wouldn't immediately say he couldn't.

"Of course I am," the elderly witch nodded her head, and Harry knew by her sly smile she knew his purpose for asking.

Harry silently watched McGonagall across from him, and when the silence became too much for him, he prompted her with, "You don't think you can talk Severus into-"

"What do you expect her to talk me into?" Snape's deep voice interjected from the doorway. To Harry, he looked more exhausted than when he'd last seen the man in the lavatory earlier that morning and it had nothing to do with his wetted down hair plastered to the side of his face, having just come in from the storm outside.

"Oh, Erm…" Harry stammered, looking over to McGonagall who simply shook her head, giving him no help. "I want to go to Bill and Fleur's wedding at the end of the month."

He knew he'd said it far too quickly to sound anywhere near as confident or in control as he'd hoped to sound when making the request, however it was now on the proverbial table for them to discuss.

"Minerva," the dark-haired professor said, walking into the room, "will you please give us a moment?"

"Of course, Severus," the Gryffindor witch replied. "If it's alright, I'll meet you downstairs. I'd like to hear how today went."

Snape nodded his head and took the seat McGonagall had vacated before heading out of the room. He knew she had made it downstairs when he heard the creak from her walking down the staircase. Harry almost grinned at Snape's cringe from the sound he was trying so hard to rid their home of.

"I swear it moves," Harry started with, hoping the neutral topic would ease the tension that had settled into the room.

"Yes, I've noticed," the professor pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated, and then ran his wand over his body to instantly dry himself. "You know my feelings about the wedding, Harry."

This couldn't be any further from the way he wanted to breach the sensitive topic, however time was running out with the wedding only a little over a fortnight away.

"I've been really careful lately," the Gryffindor pleaded. "Plus, it's a full week after chemotherapy, and I'll even wear the mask again if you want me to. I need to be there, Severus."

It was his last ditch effort to sway the man to see his side. Before his birthday - and the watch - he would have probably mentioned that he didn't necessarily need his permission anymore. But that simple gift, and with it the gesture of being his son, had changed his feelings about using that excuse; no matter how realistic it was. Prepared to hear a flat out no, along with a myriad of reasons why, Harry frowned and turned back towards the windows, unwilling to let the professor see how disappointed he was with the answer.

Therefore the young wizard couldn't hide his surprise, even if he tried, when he heard Snape's conflicted voice say, "Give me a day to think it through. If I change my mind and decide we will attend, then we can discuss the logistics to keep you safe."

Satisfied with the answer, Harry nodded his head with a whispered, "Thank you."

~~~~SS~~~~

As if the abysmal meeting with Albus - after starting the day with Harry in the lavatory - hadn't been hard enough, he did not anticipate walking into the conversation between Minerva and Harry. The only consolation was that he had interrupted his colleague's response, so at least Harry didn't think he could put the two professors against each other to try and get his way out of things. Suddenly, he started to reconsider if having a Harry Potter with a little more cunning to him was actually a good idea in the end.

"You're too hard on the child, Severus," he was assaulted by Minerva's lecture immediately upon opening the door leading from the sitting room to the kitchen. "Besides, you know as well as I do that he doesn't technically need your permission to go."

He was too tired to go through this with her, and yet the stern expression on her face told him he wasn't getting out of it and she definitely did not agree with him. With a wave of his wand, a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses came flying over to the table where he proceeded to pour them both a healthy glass each.

"I am aware he does not require my permission," he conceded after taking two sips of the warm wine. "And at the same time, I do appreciate his desire for it."

"Then why don't you let the boy go to the wedding?" The way she said it made it sound like the easiest decision in the world, like he could just turn around and say it was perfectly fine and safe to do.

"You know why-" he began, but stopped when the witch lifted her wrinkled, yet not weak, hand and pursed his lips closed.

"The real reason, Severus."

Unwilling to give in that easily, Severus clicked his teeth trying to find the right way to say what he needed to convey to her. In the end, he decided to go with his tried and true method: pure logic.

"By the day of the wedding," the wizard explained, "he'll only be a week past chemotherapy, plus he'll have just finished his five day course of chemotherapy tablets."

A simple glance across the table and into Minerva's eyes told him she wasn't buying into his reasoning.

"Don't you think you're being a bit overprotective? If I remember correctly, he used to go to classes far sooner after chemotherapy." She paused and Severus found himself grateful she hadn't mentioned the irony of the one time Harry had gotten sick the young wizard had literally been in quarantine. "You need to trust him to take care of himself."

"But that was before he almost died!"

He hadn't meant to yell out the declaration of his deep rooted anxiety, and afterwards he felt embarrassed for losing control on top of the grief that started trickling in from behind his Occlumency shields. Cradling his head in his hands - to protect his dignity as well as to help keep his composure - he waited for the heckling he was sure would be coming his way from across his table.

"That was a terrifying day, Severus," Minerva started instead, her own voice laced with grief similar to his own. "Do not forget I was there too, and to see Harry so distraught over your potential death… and then to… watch him do what he did. I may have only ended up as his guardian out of convenience, however I do still care for the boy."

"I know," Severus defended her position. "It's..."

"...Different," she finished for him after he trailed off trying to find the right word, "and I think if you look deep down you'll find your sudden interest in his immune system to be a reaction over your fear of him dying. I'm not saying you shouldn't worry about his health, Merlin knows you're the closest one to his care outside of his healers, but I challenge you to consider the why before using it as an excuse."

Under normal circumstances, Severus would have huffed off the pointed challenge. However, this situation was anything but normal and he respected Minerva far too much not to take what she'd said to heart. The two of them had been through thick and thin together in this reality and his old one and therefore he couldn't - with good conscience - dismiss her claim, no matter how much he wanted to.

"And what if you're correct?" He retorted back, focusing his attention on swirling his wine in its glass and watching the drips slowly make their way back down the sides, "are you suggesting I simply let him make every decision on this? We both know he thinks very little in regards to his own well-being. The child ran after Voldemort at only eleven!"

"You know I wouldn't condone recklessness," she replied with a small shake of her head, "but you both know what he can and can't handle and if you talk to him about it, and about your own fears, I think you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised how seriously he'll take the trust and responsibility given to him."

As he was about to argue that he didn't exactly agree, the irony wasn't lost on him that this version of Harry - the one he hadn't had a larger influence in raising - had actually chosen the safer treatment compared to the one who had been his official son. If anything, that alone should have shown him the Gryffindor had some kind of sense to put his own needs first, yet for far too many nights he had nightmares of the young wizard throwing himself in front of the green light.

"I will speak with him about it," Severus gave in, but it was as far as he was comfortable committing to at this juncture. "Have you found anything on raw magic, yet?"

Minerva did not disappoint as she pulled out five small cubes and then enlarged them into their normal sized text books.

"If you'll recall," the witch started while Severus flipped through the book on the top, "when we hypothesized the block within Harry's core, I had found one example of the block's removal?"

He nodded his head in confirmation, remembering that conversation almost a year ago, "Blood magic, if I remember correctly?"

"Unfortunately," her eyes held a worry in them and he knew for the second time that day he wasn't going to like where this was going. "I decided to start with that single removal case, as Accidental Magic was far too broad of a search to yield the information we wanted, and it's a good thing I did. Of course as we already know, Harry's block was different from this young witch's case, being that it was caused by a piece of Voldemort's soul and not a natural block, but I believe the theory behind it is all the same."

"What happened when they removed the block?"

Minerva took a sip of her wine in a move Severus knew was her way of delaying the bad news.

"Understand, Severus, this young lady was quite a bit older than Harry when the ritual had been performed," the other professor prefaced, "plus she gained access to her entire core at once after never having a bit of previous magical ability. I would expect Harry's innate ability to do magic help guide his new raw magic."

"Spit it out, Minerva," he grimaced.

"To put it frankly, it killed her," she bluntly told him. "Now that's not to say Harry has no options. Like I said, his case is far from her's, mostly because his core has already had a set of trained magic, however the sudden appearance of the large amount of raw magic consumed her. From what I was able to find, she had violent outbursts which eventually turned against her quicker than she could train it."

"What should have been done to prevent it?" He demanded.

"Honestly?" She rhetorically asked, "they should have left the block in place. There's a reason why it's never been discussed. But since we're already in the position we are, the best option for Harry is to start getting the raw magic retrained."

"But combined with his chemotherapy, that will leave him almost nothing after three years," Severus pointed out the fact they both already knew.

"He understood the risks when deciding on treatment, Severus, plus with the easier medications he should still have at least enough to live in the magical world, though maybe a bit more cautiously," the Gryffindor witch rationalized. She paused to give them time to come to terms with the information before stating, "Not to mention, it's the only option we have that doesn't end up with Harry being killed by the cancer or his own magic."

He couldn't tell her about what the headmaster had told him - about replacing the block - not until he could come to terms with that option himself and thoroughly research it. Somehow the complicated day had only managed to get worse and allowing Harry to go to the eldest Weasley son's wedding was far from their biggest hurdle.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 15th, August 1997

The day before Harry's chemotherapy treatments were usually the most tainted by his own negativity over what he knew to expect from them; an anxiety typically starting to build around the midway point between his treatments and by the end of his second cycle - six months in - he'd come to recognize. For this reason, when he woke up the morning of the 15th he seriously struggled with his own feelings about the day ahead of him. Although tomorrow meant chemotherapy, today he and Snape were going to Diagon Alley to get a new set of dress robes because the professor finally agreed to allow him to go to Bill and Fleur's wedding the following Saturday. The news of being allowed to attend the wedding didn't come nearly as quickly as he'd hoped after asking McGonagall to ask his mentor on his behalf, nevertheless the result was the same and for that he was grateful.

Snape told him the news only four days ago and with it came a full range of conditions Harry had barely listened to before agreeing to them. What he did know about these conditions was as of the morning of the wedding - Harry had hoped the professor would agree to go earlier, but he'd be happy with whatever he could get - if for any reason Snape didn't feel the young wizard was well enough to attend, he could rescind his permission. It took Harry longer than he thought it should have to realize that "rescind" meant "take back", however he eventually got there. Harry was also expected to be honest about how he felt starting two days before the wedding and leading up to the day. If Snape thought for even a second he hadn't been completely truthful about it, the Gryffindor would be subjected to a diagnostic scan. The threat was symbolic, at best, because Harry already knew the magical tests couldn't give any insight into his blood count levels - otherwise he wouldn't have needed to go get the muggle tests when he was diagnosed - but the meaning was loud and clear: if he wasn't feeling well, he couldn't go.

Since the week between chemotherapy and the wedding would be spent more or less in self-quarantine - as his blood counts would plummet after tomorrow's treatment - it left the pair of wizards today to finally venture out into wizarding London. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited to be getting back into the magical world, even with his own animosity about his magic. On the one hand he'd been itching just to get back to a place surrounded by magic, to see the plates of food floating through the Leaky Cauldron, or the lanterns being lit with the help of a wand, but it also meant he would have a constant reminder of what he could potentially be losing; especially as he continued to notice more incidences with his accidental magic. If nothing else, he was willing to put aside his own worries to get to spend the day out and about instead of stuck in the house, only really leaving for his morning run he continued to do after Dudley left at the beginning of the month.

The only part of the day Harry really didn't look forward to was the attention being in the wizarding world was bound to draw to him. The first month after the Battle at Malfoy Manor had been spent in the safety of Hogwarts - away from any of the wizarding media - and once term ended, he came directly to Spinner's End where he had pretty much spent the entire time, outside of his trips to the chemotherapy clinic and the Burrow for his birthday. With McGonagall as his official guardian, he would have no connection to Snape's address, giving them both the privacy they wanted, however he heard there were several reporters camped out at McGonagall's Scottish cottage for the first fortnight after the end of term. As the true hero for killing Voldemort, Harry was surprised no one had found Snape's address some way to try and catch sight of the professor. In the end though, he realized they probably didn't have a death wish and stalking a former Death Eater - specifically one who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the Prophet - would not be the best idea. Despite their lack of media presence, however, it didn't stop the most frequently read Wizarding Paper from running story after story about the two of them and their roles in the battle to defeat Voldemort.

"So what's our plan today?" Harry burst into the kitchen with more energy than any previous day in the last month. He was dressed in a grey t-shirt, which he planned to throw a jumper over before heading out to London, and a pair of comfortable jeans, having no intentions on wearing robes for their trip into the Wizarding World.

Snape either wasn't ready yet, or agreed with the young wizard's sentiment, as he was also dressed in muggle clothing; although his were a bit dressier than Harry's selection. Just like every other morning, Snape sat at the table with a cup of black coffee, but unlike any other morning, today he was feverishly writing out something Harry couldn't see - not coincidentally - down on a piece of parchment with the rest of his placement covered in loose pieces and folders.

"Go to Diagon Alley for new dress robes," the professor flatly replied, not even lifting his head from whatever he'd been working on. "Unfortunately, I'm in need of a new set as well."

"Yeah, I got that part," Harry tried to peek over the former spy's shoulder to no avail as he walked past the man and to his own seat. "I meant about getting there. We've obviously stayed away from the wizarding world for a reason and I wasn't sure if you had any way for us to be… I dunno… stealthy about the trip."

Snape's confused - and halfway amused - face was almost worth sounding a bit daft in his statement. Harry could see the moment the professor caught onto what he'd asked, but instead of going into some well thought out plan to hide them, he narrowed his dark eyes from across the table and said, "You do realize being a spy for the Order had nothing to do with hiding my physical appearance? Occlumency was all I needed and I think we're both equally pleased you no longer have to concern yourself with that endeavor."

"I wasn't that bad," the Gryffindor mumbled, more than a little insulted.

"Nor did I say you were."

Harry beamed at the half-compliment. Occlumency - and by default Legilimency and his visions from Voldemort - had caused them so much anguish in the last year. This was the closest they had ever gotten to discussing the prophecy and their time at the Manor in recent days, but as much as Harry hoped they would continue to talk about it, Snape went back to drinking his coffee and continuing whatever list he'd started. A strained silence fell over the pair of wizards and Harry took the moment to start on his breakfast, most of his excitement now replaced by a nervous energy he hadn't felt since they'd essentially gone into hiding.

"What are you working on?" Harry finally gave into the silence and asked.

In response, Snape waved his wand over the contents of the table, vanishing all of the parchment besides a small piece in front of him which appeared to be another list of some sort. Again, Harry was filled with disappointment.

"Unfortunately," Snape began, lifting the young wizard's glum outlook just a little, "it appears I'm going to find myself in the classroom for at least another year."

The official decision, Harry thought, hoping he looked less panicked than he felt inside.

"So what does that mean exactly?" He tentatively inquired.

"It means nothing more than our collective-" he emphasized those two words, "-return to the castle before the 1st of September. Additionally, the headmaster, Minerva, and I are working through a way to control some of your accidental magic as well as keep you as up to date as possible with your studies."

"What good is that going to do?" He didn't mean it to sound as aggressive as it came out, but the question was a valid one nonetheless.

"The former will hopefully mean working on the latter will not be done in vain," Snape honestly told him. "You cannot exactly do nothing in the castle all day and at some point you will get back to your magical education. Try to be patient. This is a marathon, not a sprint."

Patience really wasn't one of Harry's strongest attributes. He tended to be more of a run in and take charge kind of person, which was what the first nine months of his treatments were like. As much as he hated them, the intensity and constant changes at least gave him the impression they were actively fighting it. Now, with each month and cycle so monotonous, they moved from the short game to the long game, and it was trying; even at the best of times. Adding the school environment - and his pseudo lessons - to that would only complicate things further.

"So then what am I going to do?" He asked, sending himself into an almost frenzy. "Potions, which I don't really need anymore, and Herbology? Those are really the only two classes where I don't need to do magic. Will I have to retake my O.W.L.s-"

"Calm down," the professor lifted his hand to prevent the young wizard from moving into a further panic, "you will not have to sit your O.W.L.s again. Once your magic is ready to retrain, the most you'll have to do is retake the practicals for the spell casting courses - Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense - which is why getting the theory done for your final year will make that process far more efficient."

"I thought the Board of Governors didn't want me to take just theory?" Harry challenged, remembering when he'd actually been kicked out of classes last year.

He could tell he was pushing his luck when Snape rubbed the space between his eyebrows, "We're considering private lessons, unsponsored by Hogwarts. Believe it or not, your professors still want to see you succeed. I've already filed the appropriate paperwork to allow you to live with me on the grounds. That power, as we all know from Trelawney in your fifth year, falls to headmaster and he had no issues granting the exception. As you won't technically be a student, you will not be permitted to stay in Gryffindor Tower, though you will be granted the same provisions as any other student including meals in the Great Hall should you decide to join your former classmates, and access to the school Library and other resources."

"Perfect," Harry muttered. If nothing else, at least he'd get to see his friends in their last year together, and with Voldemort gone, it was bound to be the least eventful one yet.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus had not planned on telling Harry about returning to Hogwarts that morning - not wanting to damper their day out - however when the Gryffindor asked about the work laid across the table, something had to be said. In truth, Severus had been up most of the nights this week researching the ritual Albus suggested they use, as well as pouring himself into the texts Minerva left for him. No matter how he looked at the situation, the Magical Suppression Ritual had to be their best option to keep Harry's raw magic from overtaking himself, with an overall end goal of retaining said magic until Harry completed his Maintenance Chemotherapy. Ultimately Harry would have the choice - start the retraining process now to calm the magic at the very likely expense of draining it during chemo - or the ritual, but he needed to be prepared for the likely outcome of him choosing to replace the block.

Nevertheless, the more research the professor did on the headmaster's suggestion, the less he liked it. Originally, the ritual had been written in the ancient Sumarian language from 3rd-2nd millennium Mesopotamia. During that era, the region was seeing linguistic reform from Sumarian to Akkadian, and the initial translation wrongfully assumed it was written in Akkadian. Due to the error in the translation, it was believed to have been used to "steal" magic from one wizard to another, thus giving it the classification of "Dark Magic'' and quickly making it illegal to perform. Of course, they learned early on the victim's magic wasn't necessarily getting transferred to the user - luckily, causing the ritual to fall out of use - but it wasn't until a half of a century later they discovered it blocked out the victim's magic. Although following the ritual's history proved difficult, at one point it appeared to be used as a punishment for when a crime was committed not necessarily requiring a stay in Azkaban, but the inconsistency made it difficult to manage.

Severus's first question regarding the ritual was answered very early on in his research: the process was extremely painful, akin to the burning out of a magical core as the magic would fight to retain its power. And since when attempting to steal another's magic, one rarely cared about ways to make the experience a pleasant one, it contained no information on how to lessen the pain. Naturally, the professor turned to his tried and true Potions knowledge in hopes of finding some way to make it manageable. His second question - which really wasn't a question as much as an early realization - came when reading about how quickly this ritual fell out of favor. Apparently, the way the users came to the conclusion the ritual did not work, outside of one's magic not increasing, was when the supposed newly made squib could once again do magic. Just like with the blood ritual, this one appeared to be temporary, though unlike the former, there wasn't a set timeframe on its efficacy, though it did appear to last far longer - weeks compared to days - than the Blood Ritual Draco had been used for. Now he understood why Albus wanted Harry to stay at the castle instead of simply placing the block and returning home; at some point this process would need to be repeated.

Their plans for Diagon Alley should have been simple: two sets of dress robes to wear for the wedding, as he had decided that morning he absolutely could not put on his only pair of dress robes which still reminded him of his son's funeral. As the summer was coming to a close faster than he was prepared for - especially now that he would be going back to teaching - the pain from the other Harry's death, his first son, was no less suffocating. If anything, having to navigate through this Harry's current struggles, as well as his own fallout from watching the young Gryffindor die a second time, only served as a reminder of what he'd lost. Today, he was determined to get back to some semblance of normalcy and that was exactly what he'd told himself when deciding to venture into Diagon Alley as two of the most widely discussed wizards in recent history. In hindsight, he should have at least casted a glamour on them both to avert at least some of the attention away from them and therefore he had no one to blame but himself for the potentially disastrous outcome.

Arriving into the wizarding marketplace wasn't nearly as chaotic as he'd expected. Mostly because the one part he'd actually planned - to arrive nestled between the breakfast and lunch hours, some of the slowest hours the Leaky Cauldron would see on a Friday - had been a good choice.

"Why couldn't we just owl order robes?" Harry warily asked as they caught the eye of the few patrons sitting at the bar of the rundown pub. "This is like my first year all over again, but at least now I know why they're staring."

"Pretend you don't notice them," Severus advised, following his own advice. Although it meant a higher potential for the Hogwarts crowd, the witches and wizards anxiously visiting for their school supplies, waiting until the end of the summer to do this had the benefit of Harry's hair having fully grown back, so at least the Gryffindor hopefully wouldn't feel self-conscious about his illness on top of everything else. It was one thing to be stared at for being the only person to survive the killing curse - twice at that - and another to be stared at for being sick. "And do you really think I could alter a set of dress robes if they came via owl? If so, you are overly confident in my tailoring abilities."

"You adjusted my jeans," Harry rationalized, looking down at his still baggy set of muggle jeans, "how different can it be?"

They made it to the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, getting by with a simple wave here or there, and Severus hoped if they were quick enough, they could get back out before the lunchtime shopping crowd arrived. Turning to Harry, he gave a smirk and suggested, "Do ask that question to Madam Malkin and let me know the dissertation you receive. Or, shall I save you the energy and tell you to trust me that it is very different."

"Fine," Harry conceded, "that's fair."

When the wall opened up, they were greeted by a moderately crowded Alley, mostly filled with school aged kids collecting their supplies for the upcoming year, as Severus had expected. Oddly, back in his old reality this would be a time he enjoyed getting to do with Harry - something so normal which almost every father and son did together - and he grieved over the idea that he would not get to do it this year. This year, there would be no celebration marking the end of Harry's magical education, there wouldn't even be a celebration over making it through another phase in his treatment. For the next three years, Harry would find himself more or less in a state of stasis as he waited to finish his Maintenance Phase. They were only halfway through the first year and he could easily foresee the young wizard getting frustrated with the apparent lack of progress. It would be something he'd need to keep a close watch on.

Walking down the alley to Madam Malkin's was definitely more stressful than arriving at The Leaky Cauldron. They were constantly stopped - Harry as some kind of good luck charm for being The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, and himself to be thanked for killing Voldemort - or pointed at by those either not brave enough to approach them, or wishing to provide them some kind of privacy while still acknowledging their accomplishments. With the constant responding to the other patrons in the alleyway, Harry almost missed their destination completely, only turning in when Severus pulled him by the arm into the quieter shop.

"Ouch!" Harry complained, rubbing where the professor had just pulled on his upper arm, "you could have said something, y'know?"

"My apologies," he said, concerned, "are you-"

"There they are!" A small, plump witch greeted the pair the moment they crossed the threshold into the robe shop. Severus instinctively stepped between the incoming woman and Harry. "I was wondering when I'd see you this summer! School robes or Weasley wedding?"

"Erm, the wedding," Harry replied, walking a bit more confidently into the shop after realizing they were the only two in the establishment besides Madam Malkin herself and a small, dirty white kitten wandering about the Ravenclaw robes. "I need a new set of dress robes."

"I most certainly can see that," the dressmaker beckoned them over and prompted Harry to stand in front of the mirror before she walked exaggeratingly around him. "And you, professor?"

"I'll need a new set as well," he answered, but sat down in the chair behind Harry's station instead of standing at his own. "Finish up with Harry first, though."

Swiftly, definitely faster than Harry expected, the young wizard was surrounded by sets of dress robes in all different colors. Each one reminded Severus of the other Harry - the navy set from his adoption and the Malfoys' Christmas Party, green from the Yule Ball, black transfigured to a muggle suit for Petunia Dursley's funeral - and he could tell this Harry was completely overwhelmed with the fitting process. While the young wizard had made up a lot of his lost weight from the first intensive part of his treatment, he still struggled with eating overall and his latest running hobby certainly did not help. The Gryffindor was barely eating the calories needed to sustain a boy of his age doing nothing at all, let alone adding in a morning run, no matter how short he made it. To balance the running, Severus had started him back on the higher calorie smoothies as a compromise to allow the activity until he could speak with Dr Swanson about it at the chemotherapy center tomorrow.

"I like the black and red one the best," Harry said once he'd tried on seemingly every single set in the shop, mostly to Madam Malkin's insistence and both of their chagrin, antsy to leave. "I think it fit the nicest too."

"Oh, don't you worry about that," the short witch answered, "I'll fix up any of these you like so it fits you perfectly."

Severus rolled his eyes, causing Harry to smirk on the mirror, "I still like the black and red the best."

She finished marking Harry's measurements - to adjust after Severus had his own set fitted - on the dress robes he picked and gestured for Severus to take the station next to the Gryffindor where three all black robes hung.

"Haven't seen you two out and about lately," Madam Malkin casually mentioned, conveniently - and he was sure intentionally - while he changed in the dressing room into the first set.

"We've wanted to keep a low profile this summer," the professor called out before giving Harry a chance to respond.

"But you are going to the wedding?" She continued, "it's the talk of the week right now… a Weasley getting not only a Beauxbatons witch, but a Triwizard Champion, and part Veela! Oh my, he's sure a lucky one!"

"What's wrong with Bill?" He heard Harry defend his best friend's brother. "Why shouldn't he be able to get a witch like Fleur?"

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," the seamstress backpedaled her previous statement, "just talk amongst the community, is all."

Severus came out from the dressing room to the sight of Harry looking like he was about to leap out at the plump woman. Beyond the Gryffindor, and directly in front of Severus, were the large picture windows allowing anyone from the Alley to peek into the shop, and there now stood at least ten people watching them.

"These will suffice," he quickly said in hopes of shifting the situation from where it was headed to something a bit more innocuous.

"Are you certain you wouldn't entertain anything besides black, professor?" Madam Malkin expressed.

"Yeah," Harry chimed in, "maybe a good set of Slytherin green for you?"

"I hardly think your opinion is necessary," he lectured towards Harry. "It's either these or we don't go next week."

"Black it is," Harry nodded and left to change back into the comfortable muggle attire he wore for shopping.

"Severus?"

The former spy - who hated being caught off guard - was taken by surprise by the familiar female voice, who sounded equally in shock to see him. He turned and standing not three meters away stood Nadine Walker. The Ravenclaw looked almost exactly as he'd last seen her, when they escaped from their shared prison cell at Malfoy Manor; her icy blue eyes no less haunted and dejected almost three months later, telling him she was not handling herself any better than the rest of them were. While her raven-black hair was now cut shorter than it had been back at the Manor, it still had the same bushy texture he remembered.

"Healer Walker-" he started, completely unsure of what to say. If he were honest, had he seen her first he probably would have slipped out of the shop trying to stay as undetected as possible. Obviously he wasn't brave enough to reach out to the witch he poured his heart out to on their last day at the Manor, otherwise he would have done it by now.

"Nadine," she corrected him, nervously, "please, it's Nadine."

"Nadine, then," he nodded and then cringed the second the next words came out of his mouth, "how are you?"

Why would he ask her a question like that? He very well knew how she was, even if she turned and walked away from him right then and there.

"I'm… doing alright," the lie fell from her mouth with less ease than it did his own.

"Is that Healer Walker?" Harry asked from the other side of the door in front of Severus. He quickly opened the door, the confliction on his young face painfully obvious. Then it turned a bright red and he simply said, "Hi."

"Hi," she gave an equally awkward wave and Severus was sure she regretted her decision to step into the shop, "it's good to see you, Harry. You're looking well."

Harry self-consciously looked down, as if inspecting himself or expecting himself to turn a shade of blue.

"Well," she looked over to see where Madam Malkin had walked off to the counter and where a set of blue robes - what she must have been by to pick up - sat waiting for her to finish purchasing, "you both look busy and I just wanted to say 'hi' and see how both were-"

"If you're free later," Severus interrupted her nervous dialogue, "perhaps we could find somewhere to talk?"

The question left his mouth before his brain even knew what it was telling him to do. Somewhere after she said his name until that moment, he had come to the conclusion that he wanted to clear the air between them. He'd been meaning to get in touch with her, except he never seemed to have the right reason. Now seemed as good of time as any.

"I'd like that," The healer visibly relaxed at his suggestion and Severus knew he'd made the right decision to ask. "I have to make a couple more stops and it looks like you're -" she pointed to his unfitted dress robes, " - going to be a little bit still, but I can meet you both over at Theobold's for lunch later?"

Severus quickly agreed, anxious to get the last of his reconciliations behind him. Maybe then he could finally put the wounds he'd been carrying for far too long to rest and move on.

"Were you flirting with Healer Walker?" Harry asked once they finally left Madam Malkin's, both new sets of dress robes shrunken and safely stored in Severus's pocket.

"Hardly."

Harry let a couple of seconds pass before adding, "Then why did you ask her on a date?"

That definitely caught Severus's attention. "I did not ask her on a date," he whispered to avoid any onlookers - who were increasing in numbers as the day continued - from overhearing, "I simply wanted to take some time to clear the air between us."

"It sounded like a date."

"You're going to be there."

"So?"

"Harry," Severus said, turning to the young wizard, determined to get to the bottom of whatever the teen was misunderstanding, "regardless of what you may think, two adults of the opposite gender can have coffee together without there being any romantic feelings, especially if one of them is married already."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked rather pointedly.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I did spend two months locked in a cell with her," he could feel the emotions from his imprisonment starting to surface and in an effort to rebury them, he threw out a fact to completely derail the unapproachable conversation. "Plus, where I'm originally from, she was your healer."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, causing the people around them to look over. Severus waved them off as Harry turned to whisper, "Does she know that? Why didn't you tell me this before? Like when I saw her get captured?!"

"It didn't exactly seem relevant at the time," he answered, watching the people around them start to stir, "and this is hardly the place to discuss something like this."

Harry turned around and saw what Severus did. More people had joined in taking notice of them. Even the small white kitten from the robe shop appeared to be stalking the wizards, almost with an attitude strutting down the Alley.

"Let's go get some lunch at Theobold's and then-"

"Harry?!" A loud screech came from behind them, startling the former spy more than it should have.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Dear Merlin," not at all surprised when he turned and saw Ron and Hermione waving over from near Flourish and Blotts.

"Can I go with them and meet you after your date?" Harry asked with a smirk.

This child was going to be the end of him someday; he just knew it. "Go ahead," he instructed, "but under no circumstances are you to call my having coffee with Healer Walker a date again, agreed?"

"Agreed," the Gryffindor said, and took off to be with his friends.

To Severus, it had to be one of the best sights of the summer: Harry actually reaching out to his friends and appearing genuinely excited to see them, even if it came at the expense of hearing Ronald Weasley call out, "Did you say Snape's going on a date?"

Theobold's Cafe and Tearoom was a newer establishment in Diagon Alley, only opening up in the last decade, which of course made it a big deal in a location that had been built back in the 1500's. The more modern - some, Severus included, would choose to describe it as cleaner and brighter as opposed to modern - style was highly debated after its opening, nevertheless it had so far stood the test of the wizarding world and became the preferred locale to stop for simple sandwiches with tea or coffee.

The single room barely fit the sea of small, two- or four-person square tables in the center, with larger booth style seats along the perimeter, all of which were covered in a plain, cream colored tablecloths made of some kind of fabric Draco could certainly identify, to match the brightly painted sandstone walls. Darker brown exposed beams contrasted the paint between them and ran the length of the ceiling, working their way down the wall to the floor, giving the dining area a very earthly feel to it. Nothing about Theobold's appeared modern to him, and even the name sounded like a misnomer when one walked into the quaint restaurant.

He easily spotted Nadine off to the right, already seated at a four person table looking through the clashing blue menu sitting open in front of her. Looking around the room, blue tea cups were stacked and positioned at all different angles on the walls - held by magic, no doubt - and Severus questioned who decided on such a bright accent color to the otherwise subdued decor. They made the room itself feel more disorienting to him than he already felt just standing in the entryway.

As if recognizing herself being watched, and if he were honest, she was probably more aware of that type of thing after her experience, Nadine lifted her head and gave him a warm smile he knew, deep down, he didn't deserve. There were four other couples and one family of six sitting in the restaurant all of who were whispering as he passed.

"Apparently you're famous now," Nadine laughed after he awkwardly sat in the dark wooden chair across from her. "Of course, killing the darkest wizard of our time will do that to a person."

"In hindsight, I'm lucky I didn't end up in Azkaban," he commented. "With all those witnesses and what I have on my arm, no one would have thought twice if I'd gotten the Dementor's Kiss."

"As always, you're too hard on yourself."

He wasn't about to argue the fact any longer. She had known what he did from their many conversations about her need to do something awful against her will. At least she'd been coerced into slicing open Draco's arm and draining his blood every other night, Severus had voluntarily agreed to take the Mark and killed when asked to. No one threatened the person he loved, nor had his life been in danger when he acted as a Death Eater; at least at the beginning. He'd come to terms - or so he thought he had - with those demons years ago, yet Harry's vision about the prophecy and their subsequent capture had opened that wound and he hadn't exactly been able to figure out how to close it again.

"No Harry?" She changed the topic away from the one they both knew they were there to discuss, but neither really ready to start, "I had expected him to be close by."

"He found his friends," Severus gave a small smile at the sight of the young wizard taking off like any normal seventeen year old. "I suspect he'll arrive once they've had time to catch up with him."

The healer nodded mindlessly, but before she could speak again, a small witch appeared at their table to take their order: a ham sandwich with crisps and a cup of camomile tea for Nadine and a bowl of stew with black coffee for Severus. The redhead waitress could not be much older than Harry, but surprisingly not someone Severus recognized from Hogwarts, meaning she either had private tutoring or went to one of the other schools. The fact she did not write their orders down - an act which always made Severus nervous - gave him little confidence they would actually be getting what they had ordered.

"How is Harry doing?" Nadine questioned once their coffee and tea arrived, inching them closer to the taboo topic. "I've been meaning to reach out to him, but I wasn't sure how he'd take hearing from me."

He could lie… tell her things were fine, that the young wizard had adjusted to his new treatment regimen and living situation well enough, and he was coping perfectly after what he'd experienced. She'd know, and not just from his pregnant pause as he contemplated his two paths in the conversation, but because in her bright blue eyes he could see she struggled the same as Harry; as they all were. While the world around regaled in their narrow escape from their imprisonment, the conquering of Voldemort, and Harry's heroic sacrifice for the man he started to see as a father, they were left trying to find the missing pieces from their old life; not understanding those pieces had been permanently altered or left behind.

"Harry probably would not have read your letter," Severus answered honestly. "Until recently, he's been more or less ignoring all of his incoming missives."

The healer furrowed her brows with a frown, physically looking as concerned as he felt on the inside, "That's very concerning. You both look well, but I know looks can be deceiving."

Not even he could miss her not so subtle message. "They certainly can. How have you been since… everything?"

Nadine looked down at her tea cup, nervously fidgeting with it between her slender hands. Those hands had healed him time and time again, after every meeting with Voldemort for two months. She hadn't known him or anything about him when she fixed his broken rib and the countless number of wounds caused by Rabastan, Lucius, and Voldemort on the night of his capture, but she had known about it all, by the end, and yet her healing continued regardless.

"I never had the chance to thank you," he added when it became clear she needed help in starting the long overdue conversation.

It got her attention, because her head whipped up causing her short black hair to pass right over her face. "What do you have to thank me for?" She argued, "You're the one who saved us!"

This time, Severus turned to look away, and to keep his mind occupied while he fumbled through the exchange, he counted the blue tea cups around the room. He made it to twenty-four cups before the sound of Nadine clearing her throat caught his attention.

"You continued to heal me" he told her as if he were talking about the weather, "even after everything… after seeing my Mark."

"Well, it's not like you were faring any better than I was at that point," she sighed, "besides, it's my job, to heal… or at least it used to be. You, on the other hand, didn't have to do everything you did to help get me ready for… the ritual.

"I was never questioned about it," she added, "did you know that? It seemed like no one even cared about it in the end."

"I told you they wouldn't," he hated to sound as snarky as he did, nonetheless, her small smile told him it was the right thing to say in the moment. "You were working on his orders and I'd be surprised if anyone thought any different. Now, if you had been marked… well that would be different."

"Or if Draco hadn't been," the healer challenged him. "I get the impression had it been Harry used in the ritual, or any other non-marked sixteen year old, it would have been a bigger deal than they made it."

Unfortunately, she wasn't necessarily wrong. While the Malfoys had been given more clemency than anyone had expected, they weren't left completely unscathed. Obviously his meeting with Lucius had brought to light just how much they were struggling; no different than himself, Harry, and Dr Swanson or Healer Walker. And yet the details of Draco's sacrifice - for Voldemort in exchange for his life - went more or less unreported by the media. Until now, he suspected the lack of coverage came from the media's fear over what drawing attention to the ancient ritual could do, and more specifically, what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands. What Nadine had just proposed caused him to question that suspicion and if the outcome could have been different had Harry given the blood instead of Draco. As far as he knew, the reason for Harry's surviving the killing curse the second time had not been made public for similar reasons, - to not draw attention to horcruxes in an effort to prevent people from attempting to make them - so maybe he wasn't too far off, but ultimately, he would never know the answer.

"I don't know," Severus admitted, and then decided to get back on track by asking, "what did you mean when you said your job was to heal? You're not working at St Mungo's any longer?"

Again, Nadine averted her eyes, but only for a moment this time. "No, I'm not," she told him, "I've decided on a sabbatical. And after being held captive by… him… I guess they weren't about to deny my request."

"Will you go back?" The question sounded odd, but he knew from his other life how seriously she took her specialty on muggle diseases. Of course, back there, Harry was the most complicated case she had and she took his death almost as hard as any of them.

"I don't know what's in my future yet," she gave a small, ironic laugh not meant to be funny in the slightest, "L- Lucius reached out to me. He's… he's starting a, I don't even know what it is, for muggle diseases and he wants me to head it. I guess Draco's taken an interest in healing, of all things, and he wants me to help train him after his final year at Hogwarts."

Severus made sure his face stayed as neutral as he could. Though he'd never gotten the details behind the animosity between the other Slytherin and Nadine, he knew she vehemently hated the man. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," she mirrored his previous answer. "If I'm honest, it's everything I've ever dreamed of, if only it were for any other family. To expect me to turn around and work for them? Who is he kidding, right?!"

"I don't think you should be so quick to dismiss the opportunity," he claimed. "You likely wouldn't see Lucius or Narcissa, therefore you shouldn't feel the need to pass up something like this on those grounds alone."

"Is that the advice you give to yourself?" His face gave away the shock before he could stop himself. "Lucius told me he offered you a similar position. He wouldn't say if you've accepted it or not."

Lucius obviously saw the need for a healer of Nadine's caliber and specialty for his endeavor to become successful - Severus would call him a fool had he not reached out to the Ravenclaw - yet why would the elder Malfoy assume his own position could influence Nadine's decision?

"That's probably because he expects me to change my mind," he cryptically replied. "My situation, however, is quite a bit different than yours. I have Harry to consider and his need to be at Hogwarts this year. If it weren't for that, I might consider the offer."

She smiled at his own indecisive answer. In his old reality, he craved the answers he wasn't given when his son was diagnosed: why had Harry gotten it - the obvious one everyone always asked - except for him, he always questioned why magic couldn't do more to cure it? Moving into this reality, the need to fulfill that simple quest hadn't gone away with last year's events and he still found himself behind the familiarity of his books searching for a way to prevent another father from going through the nightmare he currently lived through. Plus, while Harry's prognosis looked promising today, they both knew it could change at any one of these chemotherapy appointments. And even if didn't - and Harry never had to deal with Leukemia again, not all children were as lucky as the Gryffindor. Deep into his core, he wanted to be behind the research potions bench, it just wasn't the right year; Harry's current needs came first and for that reason, Lucius would have to learn some patience.

"Well," the witch across from him continued, "I'm still not sure what I want to do yet."

Severus went to speak - to perhaps provide some kind of solace to her - when their waitress returned with their lunch, causing him to pause his thoughts on the matter. Out of nowhere, as his beef stew in its white, floral bowl was placed down in front of him, his heart rate increased exponentially and his anxiety instantly rose. The smell… it reminded him of the measly stew practically thrown at them in the cell at Malfoy Manor, and based on the look from Nadine across the table, she recognized it too.

"Excuse me," the professor called out to the red-headed witch, who didn't hesitate to return to their table with a smile, "can I get this wrapped up? I seem to have lost my appetite this afternoon."

He'd bring it home for Harry, and be sure to go down to his potions laboratory while the young wizard ate it.

"Is there something else I can get for you-"

Severus didn't have time to tell her "no thank you", nor did Nadine have the time to offer a piece of her sandwich to him instead, because suddenly the windows facing out to Diagon Alley shattered. Reacting purely on his instincts, the former spy stood and pushed the young waitress to the ground, so she could be safely covered by the tables, and then did the same to Nadine - this time joining her down on the ground - just in case another attack came their way. The air around them smelled of burning wood and he wanted, no he needed, to get to Harry.

"Stay here," he told the frightened Healer when it appeared, at least for the time being, there wouldn't be a second attack. "I need to go find Harry."

"I'll come with you," she called, brandishing her reed wand, "if anyone's injured, they'll need help."

Without wanting to argue and cause a further delay, he motioned his head to the door for her to follow him. They walked carefully through the restaurant reassuring the other patrons it would be alright, though not having any clue if it would or not. As he approached the door leading outside, the fear in the pit of stomach grew exponentially with the burning scent pouring in through the doorway. Outside was both pure chaos and deafeningly loud with people running up, down, and across the cobblestone street, trying to find safety and their loved ones. Severus's blood ran cold when he saw the rush of people running past him and the unmistakable sound of Harry screaming in obvious pain.

~~~~HP~~~~

"Mum's pretty much gone crazy at this point," Ron complained as the three friends walked outside of Flourish and Blotts, where Mrs Weasley went in to pick up some kind of special ordered stationary for the wedding, thrilled to be asked to help. Harry tried his best to ignore the whispers coming from the people walking by them, though every so often he stopped and gave a small wave. "She's been checking our robes, and packing then unpacking us for days now! Not to mention, cleaning all around the house, you'd think the wedding was going to be there instead of… wherever… in France."

"Locronan in Brittany, Ron," Hermione corrected with a laugh. "I haven't been to that part of France with mum and dad, but I hear it's supposed to be a beautiful location for a wedding."

Ron gave a disgusted face while Hermione swooned, causing Harry to chuckle a little.

"Did I tell you Severus is going to let me go?" Harry told them, then quickly added, "Assuming I'm feeling alright some crazy amount of days beforehand."

"That's great, mate!" Ron replied, "Lav was supposed to come as my plus one, but her parents wouldn't let her travel to France for a wedding without them. Now I won't be all alone anymore!"

Harry looked between his two friends, not at all trying to hide his confusion. Ron was peering over to Hermione who had an expression of pure panic upon her face.

"What's going on, 'Mione?" He carefully asked, halfway afraid of whatever the answer could be.

"It's just," the young witch started, biting her right thumbnail nervously, "Draco's coming as my date."

"Oh," Harry found himself saying, his voice laced with thick disappointment. Of course she'd bring her boyfriend as her date, he wasn't exactly sure why he hadn't anticipated that first. Trying to be supportive, he said, "That's fine. I'll hang out with Ron and Severus, or... any of the other Weasleys."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she immediately cried, placing a hand on his forearm and giving it a careful squeeze, "I just… I should have told you earlier… I didn't think you'd be there because of chemotherapy being so close and I know you guys haven't really-"

"It's fine, Hermione," he sounded more confident than he felt inside and that was exactly what he wanted to portray to her. If he were going back to Hogwarts - which is what it sounded like he would be doing - he needed to learn to accept his friends moving on without him. That didn't mean it would be easy, or that he wouldn't feel resentment fill him up inside, but outwardly he needed to appear in control and understanding. "I promise I won't cause any issues there, but is Mrs Weasley alright with it?"

"Oh, of course!" She called out. "I asked her before I invited him. I wouldn't… oh my goodness… I would never put her in that position."

"At this point," Ron jumped in, "mum would agree to just about anything."

The comment, and its insinuation, granted Ron another friendly slap from Hermione across his upper arm. They started talking back and forth, with Harry hardly paying any attention. Instead he focused on the small, partially muddy white kitten - most likely the same one he'd seen in Madam Malkin's - stalking around the edges of the shops. Every-so-often the fluffy kitten would crouch down and then pounce at what Harry could only assume to be a bug because it was far too small to be going after anything bigger, like a rat or a mouse. At this point in the afternoon most of the wizarding marketplace was now bustling with activity, and surprisingly none of them noticed the splash of white fur poking around at their feet. Harry rolled his eyes when he discovered the reasoning: most of them were paying far too much attention to him to see the kitten so out of place in the street.

"It's not my fault Lavender had to cancel at the last minute-," he heard Hermione start to say, stopping when a wizard in bright purple robes approached them. The stranger looked to be in his mid-fifties, rather plump with a head full of unruly brown hair, and a moustache reminding him too much of Uncle Vernon.

"Mr Potter, it's so good to see you," the wizard reached his hand to shake Harry's, and the young Gryffindor pulled his own back at the last moment.

"Who are you?" Harry asked cautiously, while Ron and Hermione stepped closer to him.

"Please forgive me," the wizard placed his own right hand over his chest and lifted his left into the air. At this point, the hair on the back of Harry's neck rose as he noticed more attention being drawn to them. He needed to get rid of the stranger, and quickly, before anyone else had the daft idea to actually approach him. "My name is Otis… Otis Cribbe and I followed everything about your abduction in the Prophet. I'm so honored to finally get to see you… or, meet you rather."

Harry took a step back when Otis took one towards him. In the face of the threat - perceived or real - the young wizard was hyper aware of the weight of his wand resting in his jeans pocket. Being of age meant he could use it now without fear of retribution, except he didn't know if his untrained magic would cooperate. What would happen if he attempted a spell his new magic hadn't technically learned yet? Deciding magic wasn't a viable option and going to find Snape was the better plan, he turned to walk away, until he felt himself being pulled back by a hand on his shoulder. Again, Harry's mind brought him back to a different place; back to Privet Drive when his uncle would take hold of him. Reacting purely on his instincts, the young Gryffindor turned around quickly, his arm extending at the right length to knock the plump wizard off balance and onto the ground, himself falling shortly afterwards.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, kneeling down to her friend who was now on his hands and knees panting, fighting off a wave of nausea.

The raven-haired wizard could hear the commotion around him increasing in intensity, however none of the words were coherent enough to make out. It all sounded like he'd fallen miles under the ocean and he closed his eyes tightly to help reorientate himself. Embracing the darkness, hoping when he opened his eyes, he'd be alone, his reprieve was interrupted by a series of bright lights. To his horror, when he finally opened his eyes, he saw Rita Skeeter pushing her way through the gathered crowd with a photographer behind her; his camera lifted taking pictures haphazardly over her head, almost in slow motion.

"What is going on-" Harry heard Mrs Weasley's commanding voice coming from the doorway to Flourish and Blotts on his right, and later he would say she looked at him petrified, though Ron and Hermione would disagree with his version of it. Mrs Weasley eventually stood between him and Rita Skeeter, while the latter kept talking in her high, shrill voice.

I need to get out of here! Harry thought to himself, in a panic.

Suddenly, as all of the people around him seemed to be getting closer and his lungs strained for the air his brain so desperately needed, there came a loud boom! from behind the group of spectators and in front of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mrs Weasley. Using the opportunity as a distraction - completely unaware and uninterested in the cause of the explosion - Harry turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction from the mob of people.

The acrid smell of burning wood hit Harry's nose, and while he slowed his pace down slightly, he didn't dare stop to find out why. For once in his life, the need to put as much space between him and the danger outweighed his Gryffindor bravery. Of course, what he hadn't considered was the image of running away after knocking someone to the ground followed by an explosion would appear to those around him. Snape. He needed to find Snape and then they could get out of there and go back home. Using his well honed running skills - from his newly picked up hobby and from his childhood escaping Dudley and his gang of friends - the young wizard darted in and out of the crowd, all of who were surely headed towards Flourish and Blotts to find out what had happened.

"Stop!"

"... slow down…"

"Catch him-"

The sounds of the people chasing him rang through his ears and just as he rounded the turn towards Knockturn Alley, a strong hand gripped his upper arm with so much force he thought it would rip his arm from its socket while he was still in motion. His feet dragged on the ground, scuffing his trainers up more than they already were, and he knew what was coming, he could feel the surge of his magic tingling throughout him ready to burst.

"Lemme go!" He screamed, still struggling against the faceless wizard pulling him back to where he'd come from. "Please, you need-"

Suddenly, Harry cried out in pain as he felt his magic turn into him and his body started shaking as if he were being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse or Voldemort's possession again. The hands tightly closed around his upper arm quickly released him and Harry fell to the hard cobblestone ground, still writhing in pain while the electric current continued to course through his body, leaving no part untouched.

Around him, people started to gather, at first to question his involvement with the explosion, then to watch in a horrible fascination as The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice fought against an invisible enemy. Harry couldn't hear anything outside of his own screaming and labored breaths, otherwise he would have heard his friends, Mrs Weasley, Snape, and Healer Walker pushing their way through the crowd, trying to make their way to him. Finally, Harry's eyes made contact with Snape's as soon as the professor made it to the edge of the circle surrounding him and as quickly as the electrifying pain started, it stopped.

Flooded with relief from the pain ending and knowing Snape would take care of everything, Harry's eyes got heavy and he welcomed the incoming darkness before the professor - with the healer directly behind him - even made his way to where the Gryffindor lay on the street in the middle of Diagon Alley.

~~~~SS~~~~

No matter how many times Nadine tried enervate, Harry wouldn't wake while laying in the middle of the street of Diagon Alley, surrounded by more people wanting to watch than actually help. This left Severus to make the quick decision on where to take him: St Mungo's because the young wizard was clearly cursed by something, or the hospital in Surrey where his current physicians worked to help assess his muggle ailments. In the end, he chose St Mungo's as long as Alton could be called in to consult on the bruising - which he watched get more distinguished the longer they delayed in the street - before any magic was used on the young wizard. Ironic given his lunch conversation with Nadine, it brought to light how important a cohesive muggle-magical field actually was in the Wizarding World. There were plenty of instances where a magical person might need or benefit from muggle treatment, and as it stood currently, that just didn't exist. It would be a thought to contemplate on a different day, once Harry was healthy.

Arriving at St Mungo's was a blur of activities, none of which he could do a thing about. In fact, Molly Weasley ended up pulling him into the waiting area while the healers - specifically Alton who had arrived shortly before them - went to work to find out what had happened, and make sure Harry was no longer in any danger. That anxiety-inducing hour felt too much like the time Harry had pneumonia, when the professor sat crumbled in his sitting room with Minerva, waiting. Severus hated waiting; nothing good ever came from one's mind sitting idle for too long in these types of situations.

Only three other families shared the waiting room with Severus, Molly, Ron, and Hermione: each of whom were in separate corners, almost as if they were afraid getting too close to one another would somehow pass their family's ailments along. While he didn't know why the other's were at the wizarding hospital, he knew none of them had a son with muggle cancer who'd just been attacked. The professor waited as patiently as he could, passing the time by pacing the small, impersonal room, leaving only to go grab a cup of coffee. The stark white light emitted from the ceiling agitated his nerves, for reasons unknown to him. For being a place that saw people in their most high-strung moods, he'd expected the room to be as calming as possible, nevertheless this was far from it. The small brown table he claimed as his own, placed in between two of the most uncomfortable sofas in the farthest corner of the room, were quickly littered by his empty coffee cups - one, then two, and four - until finally he'd been called back around dinner time.

The Emergency Ward of St Mungo's was reserved for the patients who were still being evaluated before moving to the correct floor for specialized treatment, or who needed care across several disciplines. Severus assumed Harry fell into the latter category. If this would have happened ten years from now, the Gryffindor would have been whisked away to the Malfoys Center for Muggle Diseases, where he'd have full access to both muggle and magical treatment methods. There wouldn't be healers scrambling around the room questioning and second guessing their plan of action in healing the young wizard. Should they use just enough bruise salves to stop the active internal bleeding - a question posed to Severus during his time in the wait room, and he answered with an emphatic 'yes' - or should they focus on finding the cause of the curse - their first instinct until Alton not so nicely corrected them?

The large ward could hold a total of eight patients, however only two other beds, each with two guests sitting vigil, were occupied. Harry had been given as much privacy as possible by being placed in the farthest corner of the room with the curtain pulled tightly around his area and an Auror standing guard outside. Severus wanted to ask if the Auror - one he didn't recognize as either his former classmate or student - was there for Harry's protection or the other patients', but decided not to stir up any more trouble for the Gryffindor.

Although Harry was considered in stable condition, he remained unconscious. Severus sat by his bedside, with his elbow propped up on his knees, cradling his head, willing to give just about anything for the young wizard to wake up. After the small amount of bruise salve to get the initial bleeding to stop, Alton had immediately started Harry on medication to help his blood clot and help control the internal bleeding caused when he'd been violently grabbed in the street and then subsequently dropped onto the hard ground. Once the bruising was under control, Alton then added a medication to help stop the nerve pain, because, even unconscious, Harry groaned and shuddered every single time he was touched, leading his friend to believe there were after effects still plaguing his weak body. Overall, the combination seemed to help and soon after the regimen started, when Severus could finally see the child, he appeared to simply be sleeping.

"Any idea how long he'll be out?" Came the smooth voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The head Auror peeked around the curtain to Severus's left.

"That depends," the former Death Eater defensively growled with a sneer, "Are you asking on the record or off?"

"Don't be like that, Severus," the other wizard pleaded, taking the second chair next to Severus's and watched Harry's labored breaths come in spurts, demonstrating just how far he still had to be healed.

Severus couldn't say he was at all surprised when he heard the Aurors were called in immediately after the explosion near Flourish and Blotts; even before Harry had taken a run for his safety. Something like that - especially in the post-Voldemort world - wouldn't be taken lightly. While sitting in the waiting room, Severus had already started to prepare himself for Harry's accidental magic to be blamed for the event. Based on the information he had managed to put together - sitting in the street of Diagon Alley and while pacing across the waiting room - from his own observations of the event, plus Ron and Hermione's accounts, the Aurors would look to Harry as a prime suspect, and inevitably one of them would show up to discuss it with him. Luckily, no one had been hurt in the incident, besides Harry, which would help the young wizard in the end. If they found the explosion was caused by an outburst of accidental magic - something Severus didn't exactly believe himself - there were plenty of precedents they could use to defend Harry to keep him out of too much trouble. That certainly didn't mean it would be easy as most of those cases were due to underaged wizards, not ones with five and a half years of magical education.

"Off the record," Kingsley responded, just as exhausted sounding as Severus felt, "at least for now."

"Alton, Harry's regular Healer, is hopeful once his pain comes down to a more tolerable level, he'll start to wake." That had been the best answer given after Severus incessantly asked the same question to his friend. "At this point, all we can do is wait."

"And he'll be alright?" Severus turned his head and stared at the Auror until he added, "This is still off the record."

"As long as the muggle medications keep working, Alton says he'll be as fine as a Leukemia patient can be after going through everything from this afternoon."

A thick, uncomfortable silence fell between the two wizards who at one point had fought side by side, albeit grudgingly and secretly. Unlike Moody, Kingsley had less of an issue with Severus's change of alliance. If he had, the professor was certain he'd still be left rotting in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Occasionally, Severus felt a sense of respect from Shacklebolt, which was something he rarely received from anyone besides Albus or Minerva, and now Harry, and for that reason only, he'd continue this conversation.

"On the record," Kingsley graciously stated, making it crystal clear they'd transitioned from colleagues to professionals, "we haven't found any sign of foul play against Mr Potter. By all accounts, it appears as if he'd been hit by the Cruciatus Curse - eye witnesses stated he suddenly started convulsing and writhing in pain on the street, yet none of our preliminary findings show the curse being used."

Severus clenched his jaw tight. Being on the record meant anything he said would be used against Harry in the event he was charged with the explosion. Giving himself half a minute, he finally went with a generic enough question to hopefully uncover some information without giving his own hypothesis away, "So where does that leave you?"

Kingsley - fully aware of what the former spy was up to - shook his head with a smirk and answered, "We'll still do an in-depth look at the area, as well as get an official statement from the eye-witnesses." This time, the Auror paused, debating in his own head how much he wanted to provide their potential prime suspect and only victim's parental figure. "Mr Barracks, the wizard responsible for the bruising to Harry's arm, stated he also received an electrical-like shock, causing his abrupt release of Mr Potter. Does that sound like something the Cruciatus can do?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"No," Kingsley leaned over and casually rested his forearms on his thighs, "I'm asking the current Defense Against the Dark Arts Master at Hogwarts and a colleague who I happen to know has more knowledge on these curses than any single member of my team."

The flattery wasn't needed, nor did it change his perspective on the issue at hand: Kingsley Shacklebolt being the Head of the Auror Department and the child he loved as his son in the middle of a more than a little questionable situation. They weren't colleagues right now, and the idea of someone attacking Harry would ultimately be the better of the two scenarios. As a Slytherin, this should have been easy - lie to preserve Harry's perceived innocence - yet he found himself wanting answers to what had happened, and only the truth would get him there.

"That is not a typical characteristic of the Cruciatus Curse," he confirmed. "While the experience is akin to every nerve in the body being shot with an electrical current, since it's not an actual current, it would not be shared should any bystander be foolish enough to touch the victim, or in this case, be holding onto the victim when the curse was used."

"So we're looking for something new?"

"Yes, in many ways," Severus cryptically replied. "I'm sure you've verified Mr Barracks's own innocence on the matter?"

"Naturally," the other wizard answered, "his wand was clear of any nefarious activity."

"That doesn't make him innocent," Severus spat back, "he dragged a teenager through the streets, hard enough to leave quite an extensive bruise I might add. That alone could have killed Harry had he not made it here as quickly as he did."

"Do you want to press charges against him?" Kingsley challenged back, "Think about what that will open up, Severus. The best we can do right now is try to get this to blow over with as little attention as possible… and that will be a challenge in its own right."

"How much damage was done?"

At first the former spy told himself he wouldn't ask; finding out would only make Harry appear more guilty. At the same time, he needed to be able to start planning how to get the young wizard out of as much trouble as possible, and to that he needed to know what they were up against.

"Off the record," Kingsley offered, to which Severus was grateful. This type of information shouldn't normally be available outside of Kingsley's official capacity as an Auror. And it wouldn't be available if Harry hadn't been so vital to the Order and Kingsley not involved with the organization. Severus found himself questioning if Albus somehow influenced this seemingly impromptu meeting in any way; it certainly had the meddling Headmaster's scent all over it. "To oversimplify it, Olivander's was set on fire, followed - or caused by, we're still trying to sort through those details - an outburst of magic. The latter is what caused the surrounding windows to blow out and, at the same time, destroyed several very old charms on the surrounding buildings. Most of the affected establishments will be uninhabitable until new charms can be set up."

"Such as?" Another question the professor knew better than to ask, nevertheless he wanted to know.

"Half of Diagon Alley is held up by balancing or permanent sticking charms, and once they were hit by the explosive magic, they immediately dissipated," Kingsley explained. He paused, silently asking if the professor actually wanted the details, and when Severus gestured with his hand for him to continue, the Auror gave a wary expression and said, "Half of the roof and the entire chimney on Mrs Lott's Swiss Bakery, for example, completely crumbled. Luckily, the old witch was quick enough to escape before she could sustain any injuries. The apothecary saw massive damage in regards to their glass phials, interestingly most of which had an impressive number of anti-breaking charms on them. And the rest saw cosmetic damage - signs splintered, doors charred, things of that matter."

Severus let each one of those pictures fill his vision. With magic, the repairs wouldn't necessarily be difficult, however that really wasn't the concern.

"How bad is this looking for him?"

Kingsley turned to peer over at Harry still laying in his bed, not nearly as peacefully as he had been earlier, which hopefully was a good sign, "I'll certainly let you know when - or rather, if - you need to be concerned for him. We're still early on in the investigation, and things can change quite quickly in this stage. We've checked his wand, of course, but he'll need to be brought in for questioning once he's recovered enough. You should prepare him, because I wouldn't be surprised if they ask to see his memory of the event, especially considering he's of age.

"Beyond that, at this point, we're focusing our efforts on interviewing the eye-witnesses from the street, Mr Barracks, your waitress at Theobold's, and obviously Olivander and Mrs Lotts, though not much has come out of it. There are a few left though, one of which came to us only a couple of hours ago. He's being interrogated as we speak, but if what I overheard before coming here is at all true, I think Harry will be just fine, legally at least. Honestly? Right now your biggest worry should be Rita Skeeter and whatever damage she's likely to put in tomorrow's Prophet."

Severus shook his head, not wanting to consider what the blasted witch would write after seeing Harry assault a man, then go running from the scene of an attack. No matter how he tried to think about it, no good would come from the publicity and he considered contacting Lucius to see if he could run some kind of interference.

"That actually leads me to why I'm here," Kingsley continued, bringing Severus back from his winding thoughts, "I need to ask if you would assist on the interrogation of this particular witness."

Narrowing his tired eyes, the former spy asked, "I don't see how you can think it would be appropriate."

"Trust me, Severus," the Auror leaned over, "you're going to want to be in on this one."

~~~~HP~~~~

Even without his glasses on, Harry knew when he woke up, he wasn't at home on Spinner's End. He recognized the scent of the hospital wing, but he also knew he hadn't been at school - so why would he be at the Hogwarts hospital wing? - and it seemed darker than when he normally woke up there. The white completely surrounding his bed area meant he was partitioned off from the rest of the room, surely in an effort to give him some privacy, meaning he had to be in some kind of medical setting which he quickly confirmed by the plain white, starchy linens he was far too familiar with. In his hazy state, he'd managed to narrow down the options to either the hospital in Surrey or St Mungo's. The metal old style bed frame, far from the technological muggle hospital bed he remembered from his surgery to insert his port, plus the overall lack of muggle medical equipment - outside of the IV stand near his head - tipped the scale to St Mungo's. Though that triggered the question: if he were being treated at St Mungo's, why did he have an IV running into the port in his chest and another on the top of his hand.

Instinctively, the young wizard reached for his glasses to take in the room around him and as he sat up he gritted his teeth in pain. The upper half of his left arm was sore - and most definitely bruised - from being dragged down the street, while at the same time his right side ached; likely from the fall when whoever had a hold of him eventually let go. But more than either of those, his nerves were still extremely sensitive, to where every move he made sent a jolt of fire down his spine and into each of his extremities. Never in all of the times he'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse had it lasted this long or been this difficult to recover from.

Breathing through the pain, Harry reached to the table beside his bed and grabbed ahold of his glasses, promptly shoving them on his face. The entire action brought him to a cold sweat, so he laid back onto his pillow hoping whatever he was experiencing would pass soon. Moving only his eyes, he looked around hoping to get some kind of answers to what had happened. Although he didn't have a window in his partitioned space - how he usually determined what time he awoke in the hospital wing - he could tell it was dark outside based on the lack of sunlight hitting the white curtain; meaning he'd been unconscious for at least half the day. On the right side of his bed stood an IV stand with two bags hanging on it, neither of which he had any clue as to what they were. His bed was completely surrounded by the white curtain - as he'd suspected, for privacy from the other patients in the shared ward - with two small chairs on the left hand side; one of which he could see filled with a slump figure covered in a black cloak, sleeping. Without a doubt, he knew it had to be Snape.

"S-sir?" Harry stuttered, trying to stay completely still otherwise he knew another wave of pain would rush through his weak body. His heart sank when the figure didn't move, so he tried again, a little louder this time, "Sev- Severus?"

Thankfully, that had gotten the professor's attention - because Harry didn't think he had the energy to call out again - and the professor shot up in his chair, startling Harry, causing him to yelp out in pain.

"Try to stay still," Snape instructed, walking up to the bed and Harry would have loved to comply, except his entire body shook from the pain. "Moving will only make it worse. You're at St Mungo's, but you're going to be alright."

At that moment, no part of the young wizard believed him, but he nodded his head to at least let the other wizard know he'd been heard. Snape laid a cool towel over Harry's forehead, and when he continued grimacing in pain after a minute, the Slytherin said, "Let me go and get Alton, I'm sure he can help adjust your medications to get you some relief."

The two minutes of Snape's absence felt like an eternity. Harry would have rather cut off his arms than continue to feel the electrical shocks running through them. He didn't cry - though he wanted to - because he'd been through so much it almost seemed trivial to allow his tears to fall. Luckily, when the curtain next opened, Healer Smithe - with Snape swiftly approaching in his wake - confidently walked up to the IV hanging beside his bed.

"It's good to see you finally awake," his Healer announced, while simultaneously switching bags on the IV stand. "This should help bring your pain levels back down while the rest of the medications continue to do their work."

"Th-thank you," Harry stammered, rubbing his head and feeling his nerves fire on both his fingers and his forehead. "W-what time is it?"

"It's just after two o'clock in the morning," Alton replied, looking through the file he carried into the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by the knight bus," Harry groaned, but the new pain medication made him feel warm and kind of fuzzy inside, "What happened?"

Snape spoke up, taking charge of the situation from the healer, for which Harry found himself grateful. He couldn't remember much of what had happened, just that he'd been at Diagon Alley trying on dozens of dress robes, being pulled by someone, the Cruciatus Curse, and then he'd woken up here. "There was an attack at Diagon Alley. You don't remember anything?"

Harry's dull emerald eyes went wide. An attack? All of the terror from Voldemort's reign should have been behind them. The Gryffindor closed his eyes trying to bring back something from the day. Burning wood. The smell of burning wood hit his nose and his breathing started to rapidly increase. Screams filled his ears... from the attack? He didn't think so. Running, panting, he remembered running away. But why would he run?

"Someone grabbed me," he managed to say, except he didn't exactly remember it as much as he just knew it had happened.

"That's right," Alton spoke up. "You've got an extensive bruise on your left arm and your entire right side is both bruised and scraped up. We used a bit of bruise salve to get it under control before switching to platelets, and now it should heal up nicely on its own. I'll keep a close watch on it the rest of the night and into the morning."

"But what about tomorrow's-"

"We'll see how you're feeling," Snape interrupted him, obviously already having anticipated where Harry's priorities would fall. "It can always be rescheduled for later in the week to give you time to heal."

Had it been any other month, Harry would jump at the opportunity to delay chemotherapy; even only by a couple of days. Unfortunately, being the week before Bill and Fleur's wedding meant any delay would impact his ability to go. He needed every day possible to allow his blood counts to rebound enough for Snape's comfort. Not wanting to complain - determined to get to chemotherapy in the morning, even if it meant he had to take himself there - Harry simply nodded his head and allowed Healer Smithe to finish his examination.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now," the healer said, after going through a myriad of tests, "but you should start to feel better as the night goes on, and with any luck you'll be heading out of here in the morning.

"After some extensive magical testing, we - Healer Walker and myself - were able to determine your raw magic had a burst of energy right around the time you were being dragged through the street," the normally kind looking healer had an expression of pure revulsion on his face as he said that part. "It's likely your magic tried to protect you from the assault, but it became misdirected and while your attacker did feel a jolt, most of the electric current pointed itself inwardly. Generally speaking, that's not what we see in traditional accidental magic."

Harry closed his eyes trying to get a feel for the magic stirring deep inside of him, ready to burst at any given moment. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that it had the reaction it did. He'd noticed something not quite right back when he had his first "post-horcrux removal" chemotherapy. Who would have thought he would prefer to have a piece of Voldemort's soul still lodged beside his own? Things had only seemed to get more complicated since that fateful day and its removal.

"So, what do I do to get it under control?" The young wizard asked. Although not ready to admit to what he'd been experiencing, this had been enough to trigger the much needed conversation.

"After speaking with Severus about some observations he's had lately, it's my professional opinion, as your magical healer, that you start the retraining process now," Healer Smithe unsurprisingly announced. "I know I said you could wait until after Maintenance, but this definitely changes things. You can't have your magic harming you… or potentially others down the road."

Harry didn't necessarily disagree, however, equally unprepared to concede to losing his magic so quickly he challenged, "Isn't there some kind of compromise? So I don't risk losing it?"

"I'm certain there is somewhere on the spectrum," the healer agreed. "Typically, we see accidental magic start to slow once the magical education process begins. Given you've had a large amount of magic deposited to you instead of a gradual increase, it's hard to say how much formal instruction it will take to swing the pendulum - so to say - in your favor. What we need is just enough to taper off the volatility of it, but not enough to cause massive depletion throughout your chemotherapy."

"That sounds complicated and not really an exact science," Harry winced in pain as another shock wave passed through him. During this whole conversation, he didn't miss the observation that, uncharacteristically, Snape hadn't spoken up about the accidental magic issue.

"No," the healer replied with a sigh, "it most certainly is not an exact science. I have a couple of resources I'll be referring to in order to find the right magical regimen to balance your health and safety, while giving you the best chance to be left with magic left two and a half years from now. Understand though, my priority is your health and safety."

Grief filled so much of Harry's body, it had to be seeping out of his pores. After everything he'd been through - the ups and downs - in regards to his magic, the unknown of it had to be the worst part of it all. He almost wished Healer Smithe would have flat out told him they couldn't save his magic. Then he'd at least have an answer, something he could hang his hat on and be prepared for. Having even a small chance of keeping it only caused him more stress through the already stressful process.

"So, then I go back to being a first year?"

This time, Snape stepped in to answer, but when he did, Harry could tell by the tone of his voice he had more to say on the matter, "Minerva and I will speak with Albus and find the best solution for this endeavor."

"Should I even be at school? Am I dangerous to the other students?" The Gryffindor nervously asked, hoping this hadn't been the reason for Snape's standoffish demeanor.

"We don't believe so," the professor curtly replied, a little too quickly for Harry's liking. He then turned to the healer and added, "Alton, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

"Of course, Severus," the Healer answered. "I'll be back to check on your progress, and come the morning, we'll discuss your plans for chemotherapy tomorrow."

Too sore to move, Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes allowing the feeling of his medication to overtake him, determined to do whatever it took to get to chemotherapy in the next - or more like that same - morning.

"I shouldn't have run away," Harry sullenly told Snape once he was certain they were as alone as they could be in a public ward.

"Harry," his mentor pulled his chair closer to the Gryffindor's bed, "you were acting on your instincts and the need to remove yourself from the potentially dangerous situation."

"What about my Gryffindor instincts?!" He argued, "if there had been an attack, I should have been helping those people, not running from it! What I did was something a…"

He stopped himself mid-sentence, trailing off and leaving the last three words 'Slytherin would do' hanging heavily between them. No one would call him out as a coward, rationally he knew that, but the picture it painted couldn't be further from how he viewed himself; and how he wanted others to view him. His parents had stood up and died for him, he should be expected to do the same.

"So what are my options with going back to school?" Harry changed the topic back to one he knew the pair would feel more comfortable navigating through at the early hour. "You said you don't think I'm dangerous to the other students, so what's going on?"

"Will you be honest with me?"

That was asking a lot and Snape knew it. While he hadn't exactly lied about things since the Manor experience, neither wizard could say they'd been honest either. But if Harry wanted the truth - the very thing he had always told the adults in his life he needed - then this would require him to take a leap of faith and be honest with Snape about his magic.

"I think my accidental magic is trying to… I dunno… hurt me somehow," he looked away when he said it, unable to watch the disappointment cross his mentor's face. "I asked Hermione for a couple of books, but so far I haven't found anything about bad accidental magic. In fact, old Pureblood families used to celebrate the start of their child's accidental magic. Which would explain by Neville's family used to torture him to get it to show itself."

Snape shook his head, in disappointment or disbelief, Harry couldn't be sure.

"Thank you," Snape confidently said and the Gryffindor's head shot up in surprise, sending a wave of pain down the back of his neck, "I wished you felt comfortable enough to tell me this sooner. I know how difficult for you it was to say it now, and I appreciate you putting your trust in me.

"As for your magic, you do have options. Remember the case Minerva found regarding the squib who had her magical block removed making her a witch?"

Harry nodded, not at all liking the tone Snape took while telling the story he very much remembered from last year.

"As it turns out," the professor continued, his voice lowering to just above a whisper as he ran his right hand nervously across his forehead, stopping to massage the small muscles between his eyebrows, "the witch had a similar reaction you are now experiencing when she received her full core of untrained, raw magic. Where she differed was that she had been a bit older than you when the block had been removed, and therefore received a full core's worth, instead of a portion of her core. What she quickly started experiencing, however, was described as powerful, angry magic targeted solely against herself. Whereas most accidental magic aids the new witch or wizard, this had overtaken her faster than she could train it."

Harry released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and covered his mouth with his hand. At least being numb all over from this news meant he no longer felt the pain from the electrical shocks still coursing through him. At that point, he would have welcomed the pain because that would be infinitely better than the numbing anxiety currently taking over inside of him.

"S-so," he stuttered, audibly swallowed, and tried again, hoping to keep himself sounding strong this time, "so where does this leave me? Obviously I need to try to retrain it."

Snape waved his wand and a book came flying out from the bag Harry hadn't previously noticed beside the professor's feet. He'd gone home at some point to gather belongings, assuming he'd be staying for a while.

"As I said, you have options," the older wizard opened the book and placed it in Harry's lap, "Albus found a way to replace the block onto your core, without you needing to become a horcrux, which will suppress any of your magic - both intentionally and accidentally casted."

Harry - still numb from the news or from the medications, he didn't care - pushed up on his elbows, accepting Snape's assistance to help him into a sitting position. The book in his lap almost seeped with dark magic and the young wizard knew before reading he wouldn't allow whatever the headmaster had found to be done on him.

Sacrificial Magical Suppression

From the Library of Ashurbanipal
Translation and commentary provided: D.N Skinner

The ancient Mesopotamians, most notably during the 3rd to 2nd millennium, saw a rich migration in linguistic and magical innovations. Akkadian and Sumarian, the two languages in the region, had a cultural symbiosis between them, leading to a shared lexicon and phonological and morphological convergence. Though Sumarian fell out of popular favor, it continued to be used for sacred and religious purposes with heavy bilingualism from Akkadian, which eventually replaced the language entirely in 1st century AD, long after the neighboring civilizations adopted their ritual and mistranslated their texts.

This particular ritual was most commonly used, per the original cuneiform text in Sumarian, to temporarily restrict a wizard's access to their magic. Though initially misunderstood as malevolent - due to cultural assumption and mistranslation - this ritual's intended purpose was neutral in intention. Magic was the ultimate sacrifice that one could offer to their Gods, and in the face of a catastrophic calamity, this ritual was created to appease their deities.

The incantation is to be spoken in Sumarian.

Ingredients:

• Fresh blood of the host
• Grave dirt taken from a relative of the host
• Red clay collected from Abyaneh during a full moon
• A phial of Water of Life from Abkhazia

After collecting the necessary ingredients, the host will mix five drops of blood into the Water of Life, and use this to wet the dirt and clay. While speaking the incantation, the host will create two figurines in the shape of dogs out of both clay and dirt. These figurines will be placed under the host's bed for three nights. On the third night, the ritual will have taken hold of the host. He will suffer one night of sleepless dreams followed by three months of dreamless sleeps, as the world will taste and feel bland while he is separated from a part of himself.

"No," Harry flatly answered, snapping the book shut, "I'm not doing this. How can you even consider it after everything Draco went through?"

"It's certainly not an easy decision, but one you should not make lightly," Snape turned away from Harry. "You should understand, though, your magic can kill you before you even get the chance to retrain it enough. Not to mention the risk you run of having nothing left after Maintenance."

In the split second Harry had made up his mind against the ritual, he hadn't considered either of those facts. What good did he do fighting the cancer if his magic ended up killing him anyway? Again, the idea of his destiny to die came flooding back into him from last year. Back then, Voldemort had been his second worry, and somehow that seemed easier than the idea of his magic killing him.

"But Healer Smithe said we can find a balance," Harry pleaded, "if we can, then I don't care about losing my magic. I knew the risk going into the chemotherapy. I can't agree to do whatever it is this-" he tossed the book back to Snape, "-entails if there's another viable option."

"Viable is a subjective word," Snape half mumbled. "There's a chance we won't know when the tipping point hits."

Harry clenched his eyes shut tightly, determined to find a compromise somewhere in their situation. "We'll know if the accidental magic doesn't stop, right?"

"Theoretically," Snape conceded after a longer pause than Harry thought necessary.

"So what if I agree to an all or nothing?" Harry suggested. "I start training it and if, after a time frame you're comfortable with, the accidental magic doesn't at least return to the normal, happy magic, I'll do the ritual?"

"I don't think you're thinking this all the way through," Snape noncommittally stated, "plus, this is hardly the time or place to make these types of decisions."

"Ok, fine," Harry tried again, "how about we revisit on Monday. By then I'll be over the side effects from my chemo tomorrow… or today... and we'll both be in a lower state of anxiety over it."

"Now you sound like your pain medication is working too well," Snape grumbled. "Dare I say, you sound almost rational."

Harry couldn't hold the chuckle and grin from his face.

"I don't need your permission," Harry reminded the professor, "I'm of age, and on paper, you're not my parent. If I don't want to do the ritual, you can't force me."

The Gryffindor had no idea what that statement - claiming he couldn't be forced into a decision which could decide if he lived or died - would mean to Snape. It brought the older wizard back to a different time and place where he had pushed his son too hard, and too forcefully to make what he assumed was the right decision. This time around, he wouldn't make that same mistake.

"I can agree to revisit the topic on Monday," Snape finally answered.

Relief filled Harry's exhausted body. He had no idea how long he'd been awake, but his eyes were now getting heavy when one last stray thought - or more accurately, memory - popped up in his mind. Hadn't he been the one to cause the attack on Diagon Alley? Images of him pushing down the wizard - what was his name? Mr Otis? - seconds before the explosion across from him, allowing him the ability to escape. Fear took over where his sleepiness had previously settled.

"My magic did it," Harry breathlessly said, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. "Why didn't they arrest me?"

"What are you talking about?" Snape didn't hide his own confusion at the sudden shift in conversation and attitude, "I don't see why you think they'd arrest you. For one, you're The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice and fighting cancer, both of which would impact their decision to send you to Azkaban, but more importantly, you didn't do anything wrong."

"What about the explosion? Or whatever that was?" Harry frantically replied, "Didn't my magic do that?"

"Ah," Snape nodded his head, infuriating Harry with his nonchalant attitude over the situation, "as it turns out, the latest theory does not involve you nor your magic as the culprit for that incident. There just so happened to be an eyewitness who saw the people causing the destruction."

"At the exact time I was being bombarded by some crazy wizard?" Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "And who-"

"Draco," Snape answered Harry's question before he could finish, and the single word practically sucked all of the oxygen from the young wizard's lungs. "Draco Malfoy had been there and saw it all."

Wednesday, 13th August, 1997

Never before had Draco been so excited to read the waterlogged tea leaves plastered in the bottom of his cup. Since the full moon ten days ago - which he was immensely thankful for the weather's docility and having it be a cloudless night - he'd had to get up at sunrise to mutter the Animagus incantation, and do the same routine at night. All the while he waited and prayed and continued to check the projected weather through divination for the needed 'lightning storm' to complete the ritual.

That morning, after innocently brewing his tea with the special divination blend his parents kept tucked in the kitchen, Draco had struggled to contain his excitement at breakfast. The sheer fact that he was sitting at the breakfast table alone was cause for excitement in his parents' eyes; ever since his visit with the Grangers two weeks ago, he'd been more easily coerced out of his bedroom to join his parents in the dining room proper. It was strange how an innocuous visit that turned into an overnight stay had such a grounding impact on him. The small London suburban house was barely big enough to fit the Granger's measly family of three - in his polished opinion - and yet their home was fuller, larger, and warmer than any centimeter of space in the manner. The walls were covered in Muggle still photographs of their family, some candid like the one with a young Hermione laughing after someone smashed a cake and frosting on her face, and others professional, but it was the compelling relaxation that told the house's story. That the walls heard and absorbed years of laughter and happiness, as opposed to the manor sheltering dark secrets and screams of anguish.

When he returned to the manor after spending an awkward night in Mr Granger's study, Draco had tried to see his own home in a similar light. At first, it was easier, still relaxed from the Grangers that made him temporarily forget about the atrocities that occurred in his own home. But as the days passed and his memory of Hermione's quirky parents faded, so too did those tender feelings. A familiar coldness began to set into his bones, but he kept showing up to the dining room for meals in hopes that he could stave it off and rekindle that alien warmheartedness.

In the two weeks that passed, his family continued to attend Cobb's sessions, his mother kept fussing over the renovations and trying to decide the new tea room's upholstery palette, and his father found a strange sport in asking Draco peculiar questions, like when he first started to enjoy quidditch and what his favorite aspect of the sport was. And what was worse - or more? - his father seemed genuinely interested in his response, patiently urging him to continue his thoughts on topics that were mundane in the wake of the battle that occurred only several months ago. And yet, Draco found himself relaxing during the questions. They were a pleasant distraction from the soured thoughts that continued to circle in his head, and he even began to look forward to some of his conversations with his father.

Draco's string of bad luck finally cleared when his father announced at breakfast, minutes after the young Slytherin read the leaves that told him a lightning storm was due that night, that his parents would be traveling to London for dinner at some posh, old restaurant established by Napoleon's chef centuries ago.

Though they once cherished a privileged socialite lifestyle and enjoyed dining at high-brow establishments, his parents hadn't gone out for over a year. Not since before his father was tossed in Azkaban and Voldemort's stifling hatred descended on them. Even in the aftermath of the war, their family was unable to enjoy the freedom and affluent entitlement they once had. They couldn't show their faces in Diagon Alley without being heckled; two thirds of their family bore the Mark, and one of th responsible for kidnapping the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. The Prophet had a field day coining them a variety of colorful terms, 'Father and Son Death Eater Duo', 'Like Father, Like Son'.

When his father said they were having dinner in London, he didn't mean Wizarding London. He meant Muggle London.

Wearing his Muggle clothes, Draco yet again wondered how different their lives became. Never before would his parents, hailing from the Purest of bloodlines, ever socializing with Muggles. Granted, the variety of Muggles that'd locale the luxurious restaurant were at the same wealthy caliber as his family, but they were mute to magic and deaf to the ways of their world. They were the oppressors, his parents had always lectured into him, people who were created of lesser material and forced to rely on the barbarism of electricity.

And they were going to get dolled up and break bread with them.

His mother had been silent and white-knuckled her satin napkin while his father calmly explained their dinner plans, the smile carved on her face befitting a statue better than a breathing person. Draco had only glanced briefly at her, trying to read her reaction, to know that the dinner plans were his father's idea.

Musing on the strange morning events, Draco impatiently shifted his weight as he listened to the crack of lightning and the rumbling thunder that followed. Where was Hermione? He firecalled the damn Weasley pigpen twenty minutes ago, suffered the awkward introductions with a cold-shouldered Ginny Weasley, and told Hermione that the weather was perfect to complete the Animagus ritual that night and asked her to floo to the manor 'immediately'.

That was twenty minutes ago. Why was it taking her so long?

The floo room was situated conveniently off from the main entrance hall, allowing visitors to still get the full intimidating effect of the manor whether they walked through the front doors or floo'ed in. It was night by the time the storm festered to its height, cords of brilliant lightning sundering the starless sky every minute. And leaning in the doorway to the floo room, Draco split his attention from eyeing the dormant fireplace to the immense windows giving a perfect show of the weather he desperately needed. His left hand cradled a small potion while his right held a thick, ancient tome about the ritual itself. If something foul were to happen, he'd need Hermione to act quickly by either referring to the book, or being able to transport him to St Mungos.

Hopefully within the hour, he'd know what animal he'd become.

Sighing heavily finally did the trick. The roar of the floo made him whip around and watch as a soot-covered Hermione stepped out of it. Taking in her appearance that was sharply different from what he was able to see through the firecall, Draco narrowed his gaze on her curiously.

"Are you wearing… makeup? And what happened to your hair?"

So that's what took her so long.

The question made Hermione freeze and self-consciously run her hand over the uneven bun pinned to the back of her head with magic. A few stray curls - frizzy beyond belief - framed her face into what was probably supposed to be an alluring style. And maybe on anyone but Hermione, who looked incredibly out of her element, awkward, now sheepish, it looked like a clumsy facade painted over a brick wall.

"I…" the witch began inelegantly, staring back at him nervously. She chewed the lipstick off her bottom lip. "It's my first time seeing the manor and I wasn't sure…"

She wanted to make a good impression. The reality of it hit Draco so hard he couldn't help but chuckle and relish the affection that filled his core. "I showed up unannounced at your house looking so rubbish that your father mistaken me for a Weasley." He had promptly got rid of the clothes he wore that day after that judgment. "You don't have to go through all of…" He fought for the word to describe the heavy makeup mess on her face and instead just gestured his hand over her, "all of whatever this is. Just be comfortable, Hermione. Especially for tonight."

The witch let out a long, heavy sigh of relief and yanked out her wand immediately. With a few waves of it, the makeup was vanished off and her hair plopped down from her head in a fantastic wave of frizziness. "Thank god. Ginny did it."

Draco, for his benefit, managed to hold back the insult on the Weasley witch and instead wrapped an arm around Hermione to begin guiding her out of the grand entrance hall into a side corridor. "Yes, well. You don't have to go through all of that. And my parents are out for the night so we shouldn't be disturbed."

The Gryffindor witch tried to look nonchalant as they weaved in and out of corridors, passing by priceless artwork and intriguing friezes. He could tell when one really interested her; she would slow considerably and look like she wanted to stop to appraise the piece more intently, but she didn't let herself get distracted. They were in the manor for a purpose; the weather wouldn't hold out for them. The tour, if Hermione was adventurous enough to ask and Draco was mentally strong enough to provide, would come after.

Assuming he didn't end up as a half-elephant, half-wizard monstrosity.

"I cleared out the ballroom and added a few items in case something happens," Draco explained as he pushed open the heavy ivy-moulded doors that led to the manor's ballroom. They were only one set of the many doors that fed into the regal room lavished in expensive motifs, gold filigree, and a three-story domed ceiling with painted murals of constellations and Roman wizarding battles. One side of the ballroom fed into the manor proper while the other had french windowed doors that led into a side garden with aromatic fountains and perfectly manicured flower beds.

"It's gorgeous," Hermione mumbled in astonishment when they entered, leaning back to stare in awe at the painted ceiling and enchanted chandelier raining down specks of gold dust that dissolved before it reached them. "Do you have many parties here?"

Draco paused for a moment. "Not anymore." He didn't want to think about that life - when they were at the height of society, when he wore his pedigree like a badge of honor, when he treated the world like a slave at his whims, when he thought himself untouchable to foulness when the foulness was embedded in his very existence. "Come on. I set up over here, near the gardens."

A set of french doors were yanked open wide, allowing the storm's wind to careen into the manor. He'd transfigured several items in the room to suit his needs for the ritual: a chair became a full-body mirror and two tables became two huge tanks of water, one fresh and the other salt. Hermione inspected each before leveling a quizzical look at the Slytherin. "Water?"

He shrugged. "In case my animal is a fish or something water-based." Pointing to the rain-drenched gardens, he continued. "And if I get turned into something bloody huge, I can get outside quick. And here," he handed her the book. "I found this in my family's library. It's old and… likely has some questionable content in it, but if anything goes wrong, you can try to find the counterspell in there."

Though Hermione took the book, she gave him a look. "Draco, you're going to be brilliant. I know you are. But… but if anything happens, I'll be right here. And St Mungos is only a floo away." As he took out his wand from his jeans, she stepped back several paces - maybe she also believed an elephant transformation was on the table - and looked him over. "Are you going to wear that?"

Wand out, the Slytherin was about to pop off the top of the potion. "What? Why not? Clothes get transformed with me."

"Once you're trained, they do. It's not uncommon for novices to accidentally forget clothes."

"So where would they end up?" He looked down at his Muggle ensemble. Not that he was particularly attached to them, but losing the clothing would be a bit of a damper.

The question did the impossible and stumped the Gryffindor witch, who stood there with scrunched brows. "I… don't know, actually. If they didn't transform with you initially, they'd either get ripped up or fall off you, depending on what your animal is. And if you manage to transform your clothes with you but don't transform them back when you return to human form, I guess they just… disappear?"

The blonde wizard frowned. "A bit too ambiguous for my taste." He made a mental note to research that later on. After toeing off his shoes, he shed himself of all of his clothes down to his boxers, neatly piling up the garments and then moving to stand in front of the mirror. He wouldn't mind if his underpants were shredded or got tossed into some random realm where all Animagus clothes were banished too. Maybe there was some dimension just filled with garments and wizarding clothes collected through the centuries. Maybe some kind of magical creature collected and resold them.

Bringing himself back to the task at hand, the Slytherin took a woodening breath, uncapped the potion, and tossed the bitter contents into the back of his throat. He didn't think as he moved through the motions, swallowing the acrid liquid before immediately placing the tip of his smooth wand against his heart and muttering the incantation he'd been saying twice a day for the past ten days.

The spell took immediately. The ritual completed itself.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the painful sensation of bones gnawing, skin shriveling, and organs rotating in directions they weren't intended to was not in the forecast. Gritting his teeth and slamming his eyes shut, Draco fought back the sudden urge to vomit as bile began to rise in his core, an unbalancing sensation rushing through him and making him uncoordinated and dizzy. Sensations suddenly blared to life as he collapsed forward, instinctively bringing his hands up in a blind attempt to catch himself. With his eyes closed and vertigo plaguing him, he wasn't sure if it worked or not, but considering his face wasn't in pain, he guessed it did.

Sounds and smells were suddenly heightened to the extent that he felt overwhelmed by them. He could smell the elves prepping the pudding and liver for breakfast, the fish they were salting for lunch, and the wet licorice root in the garden. He could hear so many voices, though muffled and too distant to make out. And it was only when the nauseating sensation and pain in his limbs abruptly ended that he realized the ritual was done and his transformation was complete.

Hermione gasped above him. "Oh, Draco! It worked! You're…"

Above him?

Draco's eyes snapped open immediately, and his vision was filled with the marble ballroom floor only inches from his face. But the ivory and taupe swirled marble didn't look like the colors he knew they should've been. Instead, they were horrifically muted almost to the point of being grey. And the color was blindingly bright. In fact, the sides of his vision were so bright and wide that he felt a headache immediately coming on. Why was the room so bright all of a sudden?

After closing his eyes for a few seconds to give himself more time to acclimate to his weird vision, he tried again. This time, he panned his stare around a little in search of his body and hands, only to find that he had no hands to speak of. He was standing on them.

Looking down further, he stared at two delicate white paws. Panic filled him as he quickly looked up into the mirror he'd placed in front of him.

"Draco… you're…. adorable!"

No. No, this couldn't be right.

In his reflection was the rest of the animal belonging to the two paws. A small, extremely fluffy white Persian kitten with ears pinned back in anger, bushy tail lashing side to side, stared back at him. If it weren't for his own grey eyes perfectly reflected back on the kitten, he wouldn't believe it was him. And yet, he knew it was. A kitten. He went through the painstaking process of holding a mandrake leaf in his mouth for a month, uttered an incantation twice a day, and perfected weather divination all to become a cat.

No. No, this couldn't be right.

McGonagall was a cat. A Gryffindor witch with as many maternal bones as Molly Weasley, brave and strong, was a cat. Slytherins weren't anything like Gryffindors. Why would he be a cat? And not just a cat; he was a kitten. Not even a full-grown cat. The explosion of fur on him was incredibly unruly, soft, and thin, and not the coat that an adult cat had. At seventeen years old, he was legally an adult wizard in their world. Sure, he likely had a few more years before he finished filling out physically, but certainly that didn't equate to being a kitten.

No. No, this couldn't be right.

"Draco," Hermione cautiously began as she watched the kitten's tail continue to seethingly flick. "I know you don't like this." Yes, she guessed that right. "But it worked! And.. and a cat is a perfect animal!"

"Are you kidding me?! This is a bloody embarrassment!" He yelled at her reflection, watching her inch closer and closer, her hands awkwardly opening and closing. "Don't you dare touch me or pick me up."

His anger was completely lost on her. She stopped and laughed nervously. "I can't understand you. You just… meow at me. But there were some growls in there so I think I got the message. Look at it like this - a cat is a lot more casual to see around than something like… an otter! You can fit in perfectly at Hogwarts, or really anywhere. People see stray cats all the time."

He balked at her. A stray? Him? Absolutely not. He might be a kitten, but he was anything but a mangey, flea-infested stray likely found rolling around in the Weasley pigpen.

Deciding to ignore her for the moment, Draco focused on his new body. The overwhelming flood of sounds and smells made sense, and maybe with some training he could learn to hone in on those attributes to twist them to his benefit. But everything else… his diminutive height, stark white fur, and questionable vision all made a mess of a situation. The height and fur he could extrapolate some kind of cunning tool, but the vision?

The only advantage he could currently see was his broadened periphery. He could see so much more on the sides of his small body. But that was as far as the advantage went. Colours were washed out in grey, muted tones that had a hazy layer over them. There were no rich shades. And everything past six meters became so fuzzy and out of focus that it looked like he was trying to see the world through an intense cloud of obscuring smoke. And yet the ground directly in front of him was also out of focus. Did cats really suffer from such horrible visual acuity?

Turning to glance around the ballroom, Draco paused when he looked outside into the dark, stormy garden. And yet, it wasn't really dark at all. The blurriness hindering his vision abruptly cleared up when looking in the inky shadows, and he was suddenly able to make out minute details that he normally wouldn't have been able to; the pebbled texture on the pavilion, a rodent's minuscule movement as it scurried through some ivy, and, the weirdest of all, a strange glow bleeding through the clouds in the sky, reminding him of the northern lights as the radiance pulsed in random areas.

"Can you transform back?"

The question from Hermione made Draco look away from the bizarre glow behind the storm clouds to consider her curiously. He figured he could; all he'd have to do was mutter the incantation again until he trained himself to be proficient enough to do it wandless and wordless.

Where was his wand?

His boxers weren't in a heap around him so they must've survived the transformation, and his wand wasn't on the ground somewhere. Did it get integrated into his kitten body? Sitting back on his haunches, Draco inspected his right front paw, flexing his fingers - toes? - a few times and watching the razor-sharp small claws come out. Those would be handy. Plopping that paw down, he lifted his left with the intent of doing the same examination but a flash of black on his little foreleg made him freeze.

Leaning forward, he didn't even think as he used his nose to nudge the fluff to the side to better see the dark spot hidden under the dense layer of fur. There it was, tattooed onto his bright pink skin and staining a small thatch of fur around it was the Dark Mark.

Any excitement he might've begun to feel for his new Animagus form suddenly dried up as harsh reality set in. He wasn't completing the tedious ritual to triumph over a difficult milestone; he wasn't doing it to prove his prowess as a wizard. He was doing it to hide from society in plain sight, because he was a coward who couldn't face his actions and preferred the guise of a kitten. And yet, in poetic irony, the very symbol he was trying to hide followed him as a cat.

It would always follow him. Even when the blackness faded. The outline would still be there. The nightmare would never go away.

He muttered the incantation in a flat, defeated tone and didn't even flinch when his body suffered the pains of morphing back to a human. The blonde Slytherin was still cradling his left arm, sitting cross-legged on the marble, when he returned to his full, thankfully boxer-clad stature. His wand clattered to the ground beside him.

"It worked!" Hermione gleefully exclaimed as she rushed to his side. She stopped when she saw him staring down at the Mark, expression crushed and defeated and tired. "Oh. Draco, you can't see it when you're in your Animagus form. I certainly couldn't see it! And I doubt anyone else could unless they were really searching."

Draco dropped his arm and snorted. "I'll hex anyone who even tries to touch me. I might look like a cat but I'm absolutely not one. I don't want to be held, pet, touched. And don't call me adorable. I'm not Crookshanks, for Merlin's sake."

The words, though saturated in arrogance, gave away that the Slytherin accepted his form. It might've been unmanly, cute, and small, but it was deceptively useful with a toolbox of potential benefits. He could travel without anyone knowing it was him, listen in on conversations far away, smell and track people and things once he learned how to use it, and could see perfectly in the dark.

"So, what was it like?" Hermione excitedly pressed as Draco began to dress himself.

The wizard shook his head at the memory. "Odd. I need to work on how to separate smells and sounds. It's all so much at once. And… the sky has this weird glow to it. Not continuous but more like… in oscillating rhythms. It's cloudy so I couldn't see which constellations it was around."

Hermione tilted her head to the side to consider the question before nodding once. "We can research it. I'm afraid I don't know too much about the ritual or cats, so research in either area might take some time."

"You cover cats and I cover the ritual?"

"Technically, you're the cat now so you should read up on your own biology."

He sighed as he finished tying his trainers. "As much as I hate to admit the logic in that, I suppose it's true. I'll be going to Diagon Alley in a few days anyways to look at some things, so I'll see if Flourish and Blotts has something about cats."

"My aunt is actually a big fan of cats. She's got dozens of them," Hermione explained, mirroring Draco's disgusted face with one of her own. "Yeah, I know. It's as bad as it sounds. But anyways, I'll ask her to see if she has a book she can lend me."

Reaching her side, the wizard wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in. "So this is my life now? Borrowing books from a crazy cat hag?"

"Hey, watch it." She warned. "Or next time I'm playing with your paws."

Friday, 15th August, 1997

On the best of days, Diagon Alley was decently well-kept. Sanitizing charms were typically cast in the wee morning hours before the swarms and stampedes of shoppers and visitors trampled the narrow, weaving streets. At night, when merchants closed up their shops and restaurants counted their tills, they did the bare minimum to clean the exterior perimeter of their establishments. Most were eager to go home after a long day of work, and none were keen to expend their diminished energy to clean up.

On the worst of days, Diagon Alley was an utter cesspool of dirt, scum, and trash. Which just happened to also be the district's state most of the time. In fact, Draco couldn't remember a time he ever thought Diagon Alley was actually clean. And as he walked briskly through the densely packed streets, threading back and forth between narrow legs and squeezing where no wizard should ever be allowed, he began to think that his Animagus plan was a terrible idea. It was one thing to notice the dirt and debris when he stepped on it with a shoe; it was another nightmare entirely when his paws nakedly walked in muddy puddles of slop and the white fur on his feet was now stained a repulsive brown.

Was this really worse than dealing with stares and angry gossip-mongers that continued to blame him for kidnapping the Chosen One? Was walking around as a dirty kitten in the streets like some feral fleabag the preferable choice to being an undesirable villain to the Wizarding World?

Two days ago, Draco had finished the Animagus ritual with Hermione and had detested being a Persian white kitten. Out of all of the possible animals and insects he could've been, the universe decided to apply a thick coating of divine comedy, as if the shambles of his once perfect life weren't hilarious enough for them, and make him into a fluffy kitten. Not a cat. Not a kneazle. Not a tiger or fierce feline.

A domesticate, long-haired kitten with soft white fur.

A day ago, at breakfast - which Draco forced himself out of bed to attend - he decided to take a leap of faith and tell his parents.

"Are you going to register?" Lucius had asked after staring at his son for several long, uncomfortable seconds. His fork holding a sliced peach continued to hang in mid-air, the fruit forgotten.

"Eventually," Draco had evasively responded, studying the rim of his tea cup. "I want to use it while at-" he caught himself before saying Hogwarts, not quite ready to admit defeat and agree to return to school, "-while out in public when I don't want to gather so much… attention."

His father brows dipped modestly. It was a subtle change on his perfectly poised features, but enough that Draco registered it as disappointment.

"That's lovely, darling," his mother had cut in with a distracted tone and forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, her gaze never leaving the newspaper she was flipping through. "Have you seen the Society Pages today, Lucius? Marcus Flint and Isla MacDougal are engaged! A brilliant match."

And that was that. His mother dove her nose into the false whisperings of what they used to be, of what was familiar to her, and refused to acknowledge her son drowning as he fought the torrential storm of his nightmares and transgressions. Perhaps if she wasn't shattered in her own way, she would've applauded him on completing the wizarding milestone; he was an untrained Animagus, apprenticed to no one, and had meandered his way through the ritual by self-teaching. To accomplish it was no small feat. But what drove him to do it eclipsed any pride his mother could've had for him.

Draco didn't go back to the dining room again. Not for lunch or dinner that day. And not for breakfast on the current day. Whatever familiarity and warmth he thought he could find in the manor was nothing more than an optical illusion. It was wishful thinking after being flooded with the alien warmth and compassion at the Grangers. But his parents weren't like the Grangers. They favored control and autonomy over themselves and their subjects, influence and wealth, but not affection. At least not in the outward, typical sense of the word.

At the very least, that morning Draco had sought out his father and told him about his intended visit to Diagon Alley. The older wizard had looked at him in surprise for a few moments before agreeing that leaving the manor, especially to emerge into wizarding Britain, was a fine idea and wholeheartedly encouraged it. And though Lucius didn't offer to accompany Draco, the teen could see that his father wanted to extend his company and go with him.

It was awkward to watch; his own father didn't know how to word his desire to be with his son on the trip. And so he didn't. And Draco pretended that his father never wanted to come in the first place so he didn't have to torture himself with knowing his own father didn't know how to be one.

After flooing to Diagon Alley, Draco had been quick to dodge around a corner and mutter the quick incantation to shift into his Animagus form. He'd spent the better part of the previous day making the shift back and forth, testing the magic's limits and trying to incite the transformation without having to utter the spell. And while he no longer was pained and felt the uncanny sensation of his organs resizing themselves, he still couldn't do it wordless yet. According to his family's texts, that level of mastery came with better acquaintancing himself with the process, making his body conditioned to the magic, and already know how to funnel the energy to the right channels.

It would also help if he had an actual Animagus teacher. But getting a teacher would mean he'd have to blow his secret and register, and that'd defeat the entire purpose.

Trying to dodge a wizard taking a sudden step backwards didn't pan out as well as Draco had hoped. He was somewhere in Northside, traveling along the curb in what he wrongfully assumed was the safest trail for him, when the heel of a boot knocked him square in his side. Yelping a curse - or howling loudly to everyone else around him - as he was flung into the street, Draco barely managed to twist his body to narrowly avoid the lurch of shoppers stomping towards him, completely unaware of the clumsy kitten.

So much for being agile and light-footed.

His once snow-white fur was now stained with dirt and filth, and a disgusting smell that he wouldn't have been able to detect in his normal, human form clung to him. Hissing lowly, the Slytherin hastily found his balance on his four paws and decided the best option was to get off the main strip.

Just as Draco was about to slink into an inky side alley - bright and welcoming for him with his newfound feline eyesight - a familiar smell hit his nose, making him freeze with one paw in the side alley. He was still getting used to the strange senses, some heightened and others limited, but he was starting to realize that his body had categorized smells and synergized combinations towards certain individuals and things. Without seeing him, he knew his father smelled of clary sage and sandalwood aftershave, Da Hong Pao tea, and a telltale scent that was familiar but indescribable. In parts, the smells meant nothing, but together they created a perfect blend that was decisively 'Lucius Malfoy'. And as a cat, when he caught a whiff of the scent trail, he didn't have to see his father to know it was him. He simply knew.

It was an attribute to being a cat that he was beginning to see great value in.

But the smell he just caught a whiff of off Diagon Alley's main lane… a strange combination of blowfly larvae, the musky odor of unwashed hair, and a faint trace of sulfur and rotten eggs. As a human, he'd been around the aromatic blend hundreds of times, even lived among the wizard they belonged to and didn't find the attributes revolting. They were subtle, so subtle that his normal nose didn't ever detect the individual components. But as a cat, he dissected the aromatic signature and knew immediately who it belonged to.

Stiff and unmoving, he watched as Snape walked down the alley, Harry at his side, newly emerged from the Leaky Cauldron. Great. As if the day couldn't get any worse.

Draco wanted to leave. He had the sudden desire to flee into the collapsing shadows of the side alley in front of him, where he could slip back to the manor and abandon his inaugural trip. But he couldn't move. All he could do was stand stiffly in a mixture of morbid curiosity and burning animosity as he watched the two wizards grab the attention and awe of anyone they passed. While Draco was hidden as a cat, covered in muck and street grime, about to banish himself to the hidden shadows, Snape and Potter gallivanted about with a practically swooning audience watching their every move in sickening admiration.

For everything Draco had sacrificed - his innocence, his remaining childhood years, his family, his life - he was now seen by the world as worse than an afterthought or byline. A byline he could work with; that meant he was at least given credit that was overshadowed. But that's not what happened. All of his sacrifices were superfluous and irrelevant; they did nothing to outshine his decision to kidnap Harry. No one bothered to hear that he did it to save a life.

To say he was angry was an understatement, but who he was angry at and why, he wasn't sure. Could he be angry at himself for letting the cards of life stack against him? Could he be angry at the world for twisting the truth so wretchedly? Could he be angry at Harry for reaping the benefits of his torment?

Was he angry at himself for not being man enough to approach Harry and work their issues out? He was a Slytherin and Malfoy; that wasn't an approach he took. They were renowned for cunning and slyness, not bolded bravery and speaking their emotions.

The only solace he got was seeing how uncomfortable Harry looked with the attention.

Turning his back on his ex-mentor and roommate during his imprisonment, Draco dove into the murky alley, willing the darkness to swallow him whole.

The alley was slender and meager, large enough for a slim trolley and nothing more. For a cat, though, it was no problem walking down the damp, grossly uneven cobblestone that probably hadn't seen a proper cleaning spell since Merlin's days. It was a back alley that was used for quick travels between shops, or where witches and wizards slung their rubbish out the window when they didn't simply vanish it.

He tried not to think about all of the filth under his paws. Strange that he adopted so much of a cat's senses - the sensitive eyesight to brightness, the perfected night vision, a fantastic sense of smell and hearing, whiskers that somehow told him whether he could fit in a crevice or not, a balancing tail that he was still getting the hang of - but he didn't inherit a cat's instincts. He never once considered bringing a paw to his mouth to lick, or rubbing against the edge of a building for comfort. In fact, the sheer possibility of licking his own feet, now covered in centuries worth of dirt, made a sickness roll in his stomach.

Emerging from the side alley back into the main strip, Draco paused to look up and down the street. It was still packed, though less so than near the Leaky Cauldron, and he could finally get his bearings. Originally, his plan for coming to Diagon Alley was to test the efficacy of his Animagus form, whether it proved capable of being a suitable disguise, and to search for cat books to better learn about his newfound biology. The form itself was helpful in getting around undetected, but there was so much more potential to extract from it. Being a kitten, at first, was humiliating and reducing, but he now saw the value in it. No one assumed a small feline with an explosion of pearly white fur, soft delicate paws, and a pink nose was spying on others with an executing arm of cunning and scrutiny.

A cat book. He really didn't want to borrow Hermione's crazy cat hag aunt's book. That also made him wonder what kind of relatives the Muggleborn had. Probably a spinster incapable of holding normal conversation and blamed the failures of her love life on others. What kind of a woman would prefer the company of so many cats?

Looking around, Draco realized he was beside Madam Malkin's and a short trot from Flourish and Blott's. Would the bookstore actually have a book on cats? Animagus and magical creatures, certainly, they kept a steady supply for those subjects. But a mere cat book? He was better off at checking the Magical Menagerie, though that shop meant he'd have to travel further.

Did he need robes? He eyed the shop through his fuzzy, white-washed vision, the colors muted with overlays of greys.

An older wizard opened up the door to leave just as Draco made his decision to slink inside the robe shop, making the wizard give a sharp 'hmfph' at the sudden cat that rudely cut him off.

There were so many memories in the robe shop that Draco felt bombarded by the spirits of the past, most of them happy and exciting, for he'd typically only visit the shop in the days leading up to the start of term at Hogwarts. First year he was with both parents, second year he was with his father, third year both parents, fourth year his father. By the summer before fifth year, his father was too distracted by his Death Eater obligations, leaving his mother to accompany him. And the previous summer before sixth year, the Malfoy patriarch was imprisoned in Azkaban and couldn't make the trip even if he wanted to.

Fourth year. That was the last year his father came with him to Diagon Alley to buy robes and school supplies. Potter was a full-fledged adult, Snape wasn't even his blood or legal parent, and yet the Potion Master went with the Gryffindor undoubtedly for support.

Speak of the devil and he will appear, or something was the saying. For just as Draco was creeping around the Ravenclaw robes, he caught wind of an extremely familiar scent of iron salt and gallnuts pigment, faint traces of sulfur, and, the most overwhelming of all, some kind of sickly aroma that permeated so intensely it overshadowed all the other smells in the shop. That last smell was indescribable beyond simply knowing it originated from some kind of organic ailment, a secretion of odor by the body when something was off. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew it was the odor of disease, a precursor to death.

"There they are! I was wondering when I'd see you this summer! School robes or Weasley wedding?" Madam Malkin's cheery voice exploded.

Merlin, the wedding. As if any of the Weasleys, the actual hosts, would be wearing anything better than their grimmy secondhand robes. Draco watched Harry and Snape talk with the seamstress, unknowingly swatting his tail against the front of the Ravenclaw robes.

"Erm, the wedding. I need a new set of robes," Potter replied. Even if it wasn't the wedding, the raven-haired wizard would need new robes. The sizing charm on his current clothes was unmistakable to the naked eye. It made Draco almost feel sympathetic for his fashion faux pas if he wasn't miffed with the Gryffindor for reasons he couldn't fathom. When had he stopped covering himself in the comforting bliss of numbness?

"I can most certainly see that," came Malkin's words as she urged the two over to her workstation. Though they fell out of view for Draco, he could hear them talking like they were right in front of him, much to his dismay. He just wanted to shop in peace; everywhere he looked and went there was Harry or reminders of the deed he committed. When was he allowed to simply live his own life?

Still new to his body, the Slytherin didn't know how to drown out certain sounds and focus on others. The world was a detonation of smells and sounds, and he understood now why cats slept the majority of their lives away. If it wasn't because they were genuinely exhausted from filtering through the bombardment of senses, it was because they'd rather be asleep then deal with it.

And so as he walked around the shop, he was forced to listen to the entire conversation between Snape, Harry, and Madam Malkin.

To try to distract himself while waiting for them to leave and get fitted for his own robes for the wedding, Draco looked between the school robes he was loitering near. Ravenclaw hung nearest to him, the hems unseamed and ready for quick fitting for those who didn't have the funds for more customized attire, while the Slytherin robes hung beside it. Which would he be wearing this year? For his entire life, he'd always prided himself with knowing he was destined for the green and silver tie. All of his notable family on both sides were sorted into the House, and he was no different. For five years, he was regarded as the king of Slytherin, the unofficial leader of their house even without being the oldest. The wealth of influence he possessed made him a power to be trifled with, whether it was inner-House disputes or architecting deeds beyond his typical threshold. For years, Draco redefined the characteristics of being a Slytherin through his cunning and resources.

Was he willing to throw all of that away and put on a Ravenclaw robe just because he was ashamed to show himself to his old housemates? Was he really that cowardly and afraid for his safety in their dorms? Was he ready and willing to go against his own nature and embrace Ravenclaw?

It felt hollow and forced. It wasn't him. Sure, he certainly possessed all of the Ravenclaw chief traits: wisdom, intelligence, and wit. But he used those traits to bolster up his Slytherin ones; he employed intellect to achieve his lofty ambitions, laced a disarming wit with his cunning, and kept a steady supply of wisdom to maintain his leadership and resources. He didn't possess the Ravenclaw traits independently; they were there to support his more pronounced, dominant ones.

His Slytherin ones. He was a Slytherin. And if his father came back with the option for him to return to Hogwarts under the assumption that he'd be 're-sorted' into Ravenclaw, Draco decided he'd tell him he no longer wanted that. He would sooner be a Hogwarts dropout. Slytherin was his House, and if he couldn't return wearing green and silver, he wouldn't be returning at all.

Just to solidify his decision, Draco rubbed his body against the Ravenclaw robes some more, soiling the black fabric with his stark white fur. And then did the same to the Gryffindors for good measure. As he was using his front claws to discreetly snag a few side seams on the Gryffindor ties, he idly listened to Snape trample through his awkward conversation with Healer Walker, who was also his captive roommate months ago. Were they making date plans? Wasn't she married?

The teen internally shrugged. Snape was Slytherin, at the end of the day. Good for him.

Draco didn't want to follow them - really, he didn't find their conversation the least bit interesting and he hated to see how much fanfare Harry was getting for having done absolutely nothing in Voldemort's demise besides actively committing suicide - but he slinked out after them when they left the shop, keeping a sizable distance that he hoped was casual enough. It was a good training exercise, he convinced himself, to see how well he could eavesdrop on people in his new form. His hearing was beyond otherworldly if only he could train himself to hone in on one source.

Snape and Harry were perfectly viable training dummies. Balancing on the curb's edge, he stalked them slowly.

"I did not ask her on a date. I simply wanted to take some time to clear the air between us," Snape whispered, though Draco heard him as clear as day.

"It sounded like a date," Harry countered.

"You're going to be there."

"So?"

"Harry," Snape stopped and turned to his young ward. Draco barely dug his paws into the curb fast enough to stop himself. "Regardless of what you may think, two adults of the opposite gender can have coffee together without there being any romantic feelings, especially if one of them is married already."

Draco made a sinful assumption between the lines of what the professor said; maybe the older Slytherin was just in the market for a good shag. He wouldn't discredit the man after everything he went through. But Harry, ever his Gryffindor self, didn't even come close to making that assumption. "How do you know that?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I did spend two months locked in a cell with her. Plus, where I'm originally from, she was your healer."

Draco was so puzzled and shocked by the words that he barely took notice to Harry's own surprised exclamation. Where I'm originally from. He'd heard similar sentiments in the past from Snape, had begun to web together presumptions on what it could mean, but never followed up on them. Here it was again, this reference that made no sense.

Where was Snape originally from? Healer Walker was in charge of Harry's care? That wasn't right. That couldn't be right. Draco internally filed that tidbit of information with a mental bookmark to follow up on through reconnaissance work later on. It was a puzzle with a missing piece that he felt oddly intrigued by, something he had to work out if nothing else to have better information on his peers.

"Harry?!"

Draco barely managed to dive to the side to avoid Hermione's gaze as she - and Ron, together, much to his annoyance - waved to Harry from Flourish and Blotts. When Harry joined them, Draco had all intentions of giving his girlfriend privacy with her friends, especially seeing as how she didn't know he was there. But a strong, ugly current of jealousy coursed through him like a river when he stared at the redhead. It should've been him walking out of Flourish and Blotts with her, it should've been him shopping with her for dress robes and school supplies and buying lavender ice cream while laughing over how insanely packed their seventh year would be. It should've been him with her downing shots of fire whiskey while she leveled him disapproving stares over her butterbeer, all the while using the rim to hide her amused smirk. But it wasn't him - it was Ron Weasley because Draco was too cowardly to show himself in Diagon Alley.

He followed the trio down the alley, hugging the shops and using the bustling crowd to hide his presence. Come Hogwarts, if he returned, he had every intention on spending as much public time with the witch as possible. Image be damned.

Sharp, jerkish movement near the curb made Draco dig his paws into the grimy ground and spin around to spot it. If he weren't a cat, imbued with otherworldly senses, he would've missed the teeny creature entirely: a beetle scurrying along the alley in a suspiciously neat path. Too neat for a wild beetle.

Quickly closing the distance between them, Draco lumbered towards what he could only assume - and pray - was the infamous Rita Skeeter. Since the trial, she went out of her way to slander him and his family's name at every opportunity, whether it was reminding the wizarding world of the deeds he committed while a spy - all of which had been chronicled during his trial, including the raids, duels with the aurors, and when he was forced to kill - to the more mundane, such as the construction activity around the manor. Benevolent media stories drew some readers, but misery loves company, and reading about the fallen state of an ancient and powerful family did the perfect trick.

If he could squish her, he'd be doing the magical world a great service. He wouldn't even expect a 'thank you' for it.

Pouncing left and right, powder white paws slamming down together only for the beetle to zig away at the last moment, Draco cursed his lack of feline finesse. How did he even begin to hone his acquired yet raw animal instincts?

A familiar voice suddenly mixed in with the din of his surroundings and pulled his attention from the beetle, reminding him of a french horn in an orchestra. It was bold enough to depict if you focused on it, but could get lost in the harmonic cacophony of a trained ear. Unfortunately for Draco, he wasn't a trained animagus and didn't know how to exist in the overwhelming world, and rather was subject to random bursts of sounds and smells. This one voice, though, was enough to make the entire world fizzle away to softness as nervousness and trepidation began to fester in his belly.

He identified the voices before seeing them: Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin. Unmarked followers of Voldemort who would've killed their own mothers if it meant getting into the inner circle. Draco had only met them a few times, typically when they were given mundane orders, but his heightened senses had categorized voices from ages past. What were two of Voldemort's followers doing together in Diagon Alley?

He'd only just begun his animagus spying curriculum in the past hour, but he supposed it was high time to put it to good use.

Creeping around Ollivander's, making sure his weight was perfectly distributed between his four paws to soften his footsteps, Draco pressed his body against the shop's brick side to watch the two shady wizards. Ash continued walking down the alley while Talpin remained back, his beady eyes focused on Harry and the thick crowd he was gaining. If Draco had to pick, he'd say Ash was the more intelligent one, but using that word to describe either was generous and liberal. They had been desperate for Voldemort's approval, zealots more than followers and drunk on the surface-depth ideals of Pureblood supremacy. They didn't question the intent of their orders; they simply performed them with as much gusto as a priestess performed her rituals. And maybe that was why Voldemort never actually welcomed them into his inner circle and began their initiation. Though loyal without fault, they were riotously unbalanced, eager for carrion, and easy to fall off their hinges. Like a knife, they were sharp but deadly if turned the wrong way, and slippery between the fingers. They were most useful when pressured on a certain point rather than employed all the time; their edges remained sharper that way and the possessor never got accidentally cut.

Hearing the crowd's rancor grow in intensity, Draco hesitantly took his eyes off the two wizards to look behind him. It was a brief glance, long enough for him to see Harry getting into some kind of altercation with an older wizard, before the sound of rustling fabric made him snap his attention back down the narrow alley. Ash was nowhere to be seen anymore as Talpin drew his slender wand from his robes and cast a lick of fire from the tip of his wand, directing it at Ollivander's.

It felt like everything moved in slow motion as the fire immediately consumed the ancient shop, flooding its heated fury over the roof, shattering the frosted, bubbled windows, and dissolving any protective wards the wand shop might've had due to the fire's own magical essence. The fire caught faster than it should've thanks to the spell, igniting the hundreds of priceless wands and creating a festering inferno ripping through the small structure. Within seconds, as Draco stood watching in frozen horror, the fire crescendoed in a combustible finale. An explosion in the shop's attic sent a plume of burnt timber, shimmering embers, and an echoing shockwave throughout Diagon Alley.

The explosion sent Draco back several yards, making his small body collide with the other side of the alley wall. Grumbling lowly under his breath as he got back onto his wobbly feet, he watched as the fire quickly spread from Ollivander's to the surrounding shops. And one look back into the side street, in hopes of finding the culprits that started it, only showed an empty, barren alley.

~~~~SS~~~~

The chairs in the chemotherapy center, at least those meant for the support person of the patient receiving treatment, were some of the most uncomfortable chairs Severus had ever sat in. They were made of hard plastic giving no flexibility for the user's body shape, and Severus's particular chair that morning wobbled awkwardly on its metal legs with every shift of his position. To make him even more uncomfortable, the large room didn't have even the hint of a breeze making it feel stiflingly hot and Severus found himself almost suffocating from the heat; though Harry and the other patients stayed bundled up under blankets receiving their treatment for the day.

Not having to go through what Harry did during these appointments meant the professor would never actually verbalize his complaints about his discomfort, and instead chose to suffer silently in the universe's hardest chair, while rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as his only reprieve from the oppressive heat. It brought to light how often he - and most witches and wizards - altered furniture, or their environment as a whole, to meet their individual comfort on a regular basis, and the disadvantage muggles had over small things like that in their magicless life. Hopefully, this retraining process would allow Harry to retain at least some of his magic so he could live as comfortably as possible. Harry moaned, drawing Severus's attention back to the child in front of him and somewhere in his gloomy demeanor, he could admit today's appointment likely seemed worse than usual because the pair of wizards had arrived directly from St Mungo's where Harry had just barely been discharged an hour ago, leaving both of them on very little sleep.

Thinking back it also didn't help that the previous day had challenged Severus more than it should have for being a former Death Eater who regularly found himself in Voldemort's presence and actively lying to the dark wizard's face. As expected, Harry hadn't reacted well over Draco being questioned about the events from the Diagon Alley attack, sounding almost like he'd rather take the blame than have the blonde involved. It took Severus about a half an hour to explain to Harry what had happened - both at the DMLE and Diagon Alley - and throughout the entire thing, the young wizard quietly sat with a look of pure defiance on his face, as if Severus had somehow betrayed him for going to the blonde's aid. Shifting his weight in the uncomfortable chair Severus watched Harry as he thought back on what had happened with Draco the previous day:

When Severus had first arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - after Alton reassured him several times he would be notified immediately if Harry awoke in his absence - he followed Kingsley through the office, ignoring the states and murmurings coming from those around him. Barely halfway through the aurors office, the former spy could already hear the arrogant aggression spewing from Draco's snide remarks at whoever had been assigned to take his statement. Severus's adrenaline kicked in when he recognized the fear Draco had been trying to cover, and he quickened his steps through the messy, loud office, towards a private room in the back where they were holding the young Slytherin.

"Why is Williamson taking point on this?" Severus demanded, approaching the doorway to the office slowly.

"It's his territory," Kingsley responded, "and I have no reason not to allow it. We're already under close scrutiny as it is from Scrimgeour for our failure in locating and taking down Voldemort, and I can't very well remove an officer as respected as Williamson without an impeccably good reason."

"And a vendetta against Death Eaters isn't enough?"

"Then you'd be talking about more than half of my department, Severus," the lead Auror rationalized. "I need something more than that."

He didn't knock - already having decided he'd rather deal with his own fallout than continue to leave Draco getting harassed - when he finally pushed through the almost closed door. The sight before him made his blood boil. As he'd guessed, unfortunately, and inappropriately in Severus's opinion, Auror Mark Williamson appeared to be overseeing the investigation, explaining how what should have been a simple witness testimony turned into something more akin to an interrogation. Severus had the deplorable pleasure of several run-ins with the decorated Auror in his time as a Death Eater during the first war, when Williamson - a Gryffindor before even Lucius's time at Hogwarts - had still been relatively new to the force and desperate to prove himself. In a fashion too similar to Severus's own rising up within the Death Eaters, this particular auror worked his way up the ranks, quickly earning himself a position on the team solely dedicated to search for, and subsequently arrest as many Death Eaters as they could; a team aptly headed by Alastor Moody. Those two made quite the pair, and had Severus not been dueling against them as often as he had, he would admit to their many talents with both defensive and offensive spells. Severus could only assume that once Moody stepped down from the DMLE, Williamson took over leading the task force in hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, at least until the hype around Voldemort's first death had dissipated. After that point, Severus had no clue - or desire to know - what Auror Williamson had been assigned to, but at some point, Kingsley over ranked him and took over the lead when Voldemort returned, leaving Williamson lower on the team.

Of all the history Severus personally had with the auror, the most significant piece - and the most pertinent to Draco's current situation - came from the second Privet Drive attack last year; the one where the Order successfully rescued Sarah and Mary Smithe from Malfoy Manor. During Severus's debriefing with the young spy over the event, Draco described his first ever duel against an auror; one who Severus instantly recognized as Williamson by the wand work alone. That night, Draco confessed to feeling overwhelmed, to the point he was certain he'd be killed, and Severus remembered his own duels against Williamson; more specifically the sheer ferocity and passion the other wizard had thrown in every curse and hex. Under different circumstances, it would have reminded the professor of Harry's style of dueling, and he admitted that had life gone a little differently - had the young Gryffindor not been diagnosed with Leukemia - he could have made an excellent auror in the field. True to his nature, on the night of the second Privet Drive attack, Williamson fought valiantly, with hexes aimed to kill, not knowing the masked Death Eater he fought had not only been a child, but also one aligned with the Order as a spy - a piece of information which only became public after the trials. The fact that Draco walked away from that duel alive technically meant he'd won, however they both knew emotional wounds could run deeper, and leave just as many scars, than physical ones and the young wizard had been shaken up after the encounter. It had been Draco's first real lesson in living the life of a spy; a defeating realization that should he be killed in battle, he would die labeled as a Death Eater, only to be mourned in secrecy.

"- don't know why you even bothered asking, if you had zero intention on believing a bloody word I said!" Draco's familiar drawl echoed across the walls, causing Severus to exhale and steel his nerves for the task ahead of him. Like Harry, Severus hadn't seen Draco much after returning to the school and the two of them hadn't much time - or courage, if he were being honest with himself - to clear the air between them.

"Is there a problem here?" Severus called while stalking into the room in an effort to appear to have more control over the situation than he had. "Sounds to me like you should be listening to what your witness has to say, rather than interrogating him."

It reminded him far too much of his own interrogation with Moody at the Hogwarts hospital wing after the first Privet Drive attack. The middle-aged balding wizard in his customary red Auror's robes was leaning over the desk towards Draco, who - to his credit - appeared calm, outside of the scowl plastered across his face. The teenager looked to be unrestrained nor did he have any other hints of an arrest outside of the blatant aggression being thrown at him from his interviewer. Again, a hard lesson about being a spy: you will always be second guessed, no matter how much you've done to prove yourself.

"Who said anything about interrogating him?" Auror Williamson stood and walked to face Severus, giving a glance down at the professor's left forearm. There would never be a day he - nor Draco - wouldn't be judged by their mistakes in life. Long after the Dark Mark faded, they'd still be seen by nothing more than Death Eaters who were freed.

"Just calling it how I see it," the former spy threatened. "Are you alright, Draco?"

"I'm fine," the blonde Slytherin spat back from across the table. "I'd be better if they could get my statement and leave me be."

"What's keeping him here?" Severus demanded from either Auror.

"He claims-" Williamson emphasized the word as a show of his dominance, "he saw a pair of wizards he recognized as You-Know-Who's followers. Seems a bit convenient for a Marked man, if you ask me."

The implication - Draco seeing Death Eaters attack Diagon Alley and Williamson suggesting Draco had been involved rather than a witness - ran his blood ice cold. The need to tread lightly, yet still maintaining his sense of authority, was at its highest.

"Have you collected his memories?" Kingsley asked, trying to defuse the situation. "I take it, he's agreed to that."

" 'Course I did, boss,'' Williamson pointed to a small pensieve sitting in the corner of the office where thin silver strands danced in the water. "Something seems off with them, though."

"Draco," Severus called as non-threateningly as possible, "would it be alright if I took a look with Auror Shacklebolt?"

He could see Draco's high cheekbones stiffen at the request and he knew Williamson had spoken the truth. For a split second, Severus assumed he was about to be denied his request - and he wouldn't blame his young Slytherin - so when the blonde swiftly nodded, he had to hide his genuine surprise.

Landing in the memory, he knew exactly what Auror Williamson had been referring to: the memory had a fuzziness around it normally associated with a tampered memory. Memory retrieval from witnesses was a highly debated practice in the DMLE, and reserved for only the most precarious situations - when a witness's testimony either cannot be trusted or is conflicting with other testimonies. In Draco's case, both would be true.

Kingsley dropped down right behind him and shook his head.

"This isn't good, Severus," the Auror warned. "He knows Occlumency?"

"Of course he does, however if he altered using that method, you'd never know it. He was nervous," Severus tried to rationalize after a second. "You said he came forward on his own, correct?"

"That's right," the other wizard confirmed. "He asked for me directly, but unfortunately I'd already left for the scene and Williamson returned first. By the time I made it back to the DMLE the interview had already started. Once I overheard his story, I went immediately to find you."

Severus nodded, watching the scene before him unfold.

Draco had been walking along the storefronts across from where Harry and his friends were wandering outside of Flourish and Blotts. If he didn't know Hermione was the blonde's girlfriend, the way he had been watching them would look suspicious in and of itself. Instead, he justified it as a nervous teenage boy wanting to approach the girl he loved, but equally not wanting to cause a scene with the other two Gryffindor wizards; especially because Harry and Draco still hadn't made amends yet. Overall, not a crime, though it didn't help make him look less guilty.

A sound from around the corner - clearer, Severus observed, than he would have expected given the action going on in Diagon Alley as Harry had begun attracting more people to his presence - drew Draco's attention away from the Golden Trio and toward Olivander's. The fuzziness from the memory started to clear, and by the time they approached the famous wand shop, where their surroundings used to be hazy, now appeared crystal clear.

"It's cleared up," he made sure to point out to Kingsley, who was in full Auror detective mode, examining the surroundings to be sure no small detail was overlooked, "I'm willing to bet the start of the memory had more to do with his nerves and amateur ability to capture his memories than an attempt to tamper with it."

Kingsley didn't appear nearly as confident with the former spy's reasoning, but eventually, he skeptically replied, "I can work with that so long as the rest stays this clear."

It was the best he could ask for given the situation. Luckily, for himself and Draco, they didn't encounter any more haziness nor any other reason to doubt the remainder of the memory because what he eventually saw absolutely would relieve Harry of any guilt in the situation. Just as Draco rounded the corner, two wizards in dark cloaks were seen creeping down Diagon Alley.

"Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin," Severus identified the two men, "they were as low-level followers as one could get. Both unmarked, but would have done - or killed - just about anything for the chance at it. They never would have made it though, the Dark Lord enjoyed toying with their emotions and needed their intel far too much to risk them becoming complacent. They'd come on raids when more wands were needed, but their involvement didn't go much further."

The pair of wizards watched, alongside Draco, as Ash continued down Diagon Alley and Talpin stayed behind eyeing the other patrons as they continued to gather around Harry and his friends. Draco turned at the sounds of the crowd gawking, which Severus knew was caused after Harry pushed down the wizard who had scared him, and given the timeline of events, he worried they were going to miss the damning evidence he desperately needed. It was one thing to see someone looking suspicious, and another to actually see said person doing something suspicious, and they needed the latter to prove both Draco - now that the teen had stepped forward admitting, as a Marked former Death Eater, he'd been at the scene of the crime - and Harry's innocence in the attack. At the very last second, Draco turned just in time to see Talpin cast fire from his wand, throw it into Olivander's, and then duck away to stay safely out of sight.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Severus breathed a sigh of relief, unaware he'd said the words out loud.

"He'll be fine, Severus," Kingsley confidently stated, "Both boys will be. I'll get Williamson to start canvassing for these two wizards tonight, and with a perfect ID, I don't anticipate too much trouble finding them."

"They never were the sharpest of his followers," Severus criticized. "They'd have to be complete idiots to think someone wouldn't see them here… Olivander's, could they choose a more public location?"

"You'd be surprised over some of the things we see," Kingsley countered. "Let's get back so I can release Mr Malfoy."

"Well, what did I tell you?" Auror Williamson accused no sooner than when Severus and Kingsley's feet landed back into the office. "He's hiding something-" the angry wizard turned to Draco "-and trust me, I'm going to get it out of you!"

Without thinking - and in hindsight, sitting in the chemotherapy center looking back on it, Severus should have controlled himself better - the former spy pulled Auror Williamson by the collar of his red robes until he fell flat on his back onto the hard, black and white marble floor.

"Never lay a hand on him again," Severus menacingly yelled down into the other wizard's face. Then kneeling over him, in a voice just above an angry whisper, he promised, "otherwise you'll find you have me to deal with, and you don't want me as your enemy, Williamson."

"Did you catch that, Shacklebolt?" The scared auror asked his boss when Severus finally stood.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear a thing," Kingsley feigned ignorance, then turning to Draco he added, "Your memory's been validated, processed, and stored. You're free to go, but we may need to reach out if we have any follow up questions."

"I'll be in Reims next week with my girlfriend, but I take it you'll know how to find me," the blonde Slytherin hissed and stood, the scowl still plastered on his face to hide the fear Severus could detect, pushing his way out the door.

"Draco!" The professor called out after his former protége, feeling overwhelmingly like he let the teen down these last two months.

"I didn't need your help back there," Draco ranted, doubling back until he was face to face with the professor. "Shouldn't you be plastered at Potter's side? Or am I supposed to feel honored that you left his bedside vigil just to do what I already had under control."

"You have no clue what you're-"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Draco interrupted, then waved his wand, placing a privacy ward up around them since they'd generated some of their own interest in the office, "I don't hear shite from you for months and all of a sudden you show up like you have to fix my mistakes? New flash Snape, this isn't like back in the Order. You have no claim over me anymore, and I think I've done my fair share to show you… and anyone else… that I can handle things myself."

"Oh, excuse me," the professor sarcastically retorted, "I must have missed how you planned to explain a completely obvious attempt at altering a memory."

The Malfoy heir physically recoiled at the accusation, his nostrils flaring in a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"What did you alter?" Severus had asked, then immediately held his hand up to stop whatever answer - most likely a lie - was about to come from the teen's mouth. "On second thought, don't tell me. Do not tell a soul, not even Hermione, understood?"

He could only hope Draco would heed his warning and keep whatever the original content of the memory was to himself, because if he told anyone why that memory had been altered, it could be detrimental to his reputation and his legal defense in the matter.

Last night, by the time Severus made it back to St Mungo's - after a quick stop by home for clothes and reading material - it was already almost ten o'clock at night and he couldn't wait to put an end to the horrible day; even if Harry remained unconscious until morning. Although there had been no indication the Gryffindor suffered any more unconscious than awake, guilt over the idea of getting - and needing - a good night's rest weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to toss and turn while he attempted to sleep in the transfigured chair, his black traveling cloak draped over him as a blanket.

Today, Severus wanted nothing more than to simply take the young wizard home instead of having him sit at the impersonal chemotherapy center. Actually, his first preference would have been to keep Harry at St Mungo's until all of the lingering effects from his accidental magic had ceased, but the second Alton checked in on the Gryffindor this morning and Harry could more or less move without grimacing in pain, the Gryffindor demanded to leave. Severus knew his arguing would be futile - Harry being of age would work against him in this regard - and therefore committed to making sure the young wizard at least tried to rest as much as possible at home after chemotherapy.

"Why is this wedding so important to you?" Severus asked while Harry sat back in the reclined chair, his eyes closed as he was getting his prophylactic medications and waiting on his latest blood results, which the same nurse from last month - Samantha - had recently taken. Under no circumstances did he want to sound confrontational, but the question had been lingering in his mind since Harry's rather bold declaration last night of needing to be there, and if nothing else, it would take both of their attention away from their exhaustion.

"Well," the Gryffindor opened his eyes, sitting up further in the chair to face Severus trying not to wince from the lingering pain in his body, "for one, Ron's my best friend, and the Weasley's were pretty much my first family. I should be there to support them." He started to play with the hem of his shirt as he contemplated continuing. "Plus, for whatever it's worth, Fleur competed with me in the tournament and… well… you wouldn't really understand… but I need to be there for her, too."

The professor had to think back to his counterpart's memories of those events because his Harry - his son - hadn't competed in the tournament after the first task. Where he was from, Harry safely cheered on Cedric from the stands as the Hufflepuff won the tournament, and then the entire castle stayed up far too late celebrating. Images of Gillyweed stolen from his storeroom, the eerie maze, and a severely injured Harry landing with Cedric's dead body danced across his eyes. It made perfect sense why the teenager would always feel connected to Fleur - and Viktor - even if the Veela wasn't about to marry into his surrogate family. They had all survived an event forever linking them together in a way no other person could understand, and yet none of them should have had to experience it.

"I understand," he replied. The cream colored blanket had fallen from Harry's lap when he'd sat up, so Severus reached down and placed it back onto the chilled teen.

"Thanks," Harry said, wrapping himself in the blanket, making Severus feel even hotter just watching him. "I thought you'd be happy I still wanted to come today… self-preservation and all that stuff you say I need to learn more of."

"Deciding to leave a trained medical facility while only barely able to function as a result of an… accident… is hardly what I had in mind when making those statements," he lectured, "in fact, dare I say, it's quite the opposite."

"Eh," Harry smirked, "It's just trading off one ailment for another. Besides, this will help keep me out of the Auror's office a little longer, right?"

"How did you-"

"Good guess," Harry answered the question before the professor could finish. "Even if Malfoy managed to prove I didn't do it, I'm pretty sure I'm not that lucky to get out of this without a single question."

"Unfortunately, you are correct," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, stressed just thinking about what to expect in the coming weeks, "Kingsley plans to speak with you about what happened. They'll likely ask to see your memory of the event as well."

Harry stiffened, "Can they do that? Ask to see my memory of it?"

"Yes, they can. And being an adult in our world now means you'll need to give your consent, otherwise…"

"I'll look guilty," Harry once again finished.

"Here we are!" Samantha's bright and bubbly voice called over to them as she approached with a file holding Harry's latest blood results and his IV bag of chemotherapy. Before setting anything up, she opened the file and explained, "Your blood results came back perfect and Dr Swanson has everything in place for today. No IT this time, so once this runs through you'll be good to go until next month."

Severus shook his head slightly. Good to go was a phrase only someone who didn't have to deal with after effects of these treatments would use. Under no circumstances could Harry's next day or two be described as good to go.

Putting aside his own sour attitude from the nurse, he listened to her go on about the blood results as she prepped his port. They'd gotten so used to getting clear results - ever since Harry technically went into remission after his first month of Intensive Chemotherapy - Severus found himself humbled every visit when the nurse went through it with them. There were patients who weren't as lucky, who expected to come in like any other treatment only to find something had gone wrong. Harry, he knew, never let his guard down. The professor was well aware how it impacted the young wizard's sleep on a regular basis, and the relief that crossed his emerald eyes couldn't be any more obvious.

The pair of wizards spent the first half of the actual treatment time talking over plans for the wedding, should Harry feel well enough to go. Severus reiterated to the young wizard how the condition of his health referred to not only his chemotherapy and Leukemia side effects, but it now also extended to the damage done by his accidental magic. As promised, Severus resisted the urge to pick up on their conversation from the previous night, or more accurately earlier that morning, about his magic and the Gryffindor's rather hasty decision not to use the ritual instead of going through extensive magical training. Every part of him wanted to demand Harry reconsider - pointing out just how fatal this could end up being in the end - but he wanted to learn from his mistakes in his old reality. Had he approached the dreadful crossroads more clear headed back then, perhaps he could have convinced his son to take the chemotherapy route to begin with. And yet, sitting there listening to Harry go on about Ron, Hermione, Molly Weasley and all the wedding preparations, he found himself not regretting where he ended up at all. He didn't care one bit that this child - the one fighting the same disease which killed his son - wasn't the same, and this life wasn't anything like he imagined; he simply sat there and let the contentment fill him up inside.

"Severus? Do you think you can grab me something to drink?" Harry suddenly asked with only about a quarter of an hour left of his chemotherapy. The former spy watched the teenager carefully, his breathing had become labored and his face paled since the start of his real medication. Severus silently cursed himself for not thinking of a place to stay nearby so they wouldn't have to disapparate back home when Harry felt so sick.

"Let me see what I can find. I'll be right back," he replied and pulled the blanket further up around Harry's chest before walking to the front desk where Samantha sat sorting through paperwork.

"How can I help you, Mr Potter?" The nurse smiled at him. After three months of seeing the woman, it seemed wrong to correct her about his name now. She obviously never looked at the paperwork he signed at each appointment, questioning why his signature surname did not start with a "P".

"Do you happen to have any ginger ale around here?" Asked the professor, a small flinch crossed his cheeks."Or know of where I can get some?"

"Is he feeling queasy already?" She frowned when he nodded and said with a smile, "Let me go and see what I can find for him."

Without thinking, Severus gave a hard exhale, and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows trying to get some relief from the stifling hot room. He leaned against the tall countertop resting his weight on his hands, hoping to release some of his pent up stress.

"That's an interesting tattoo you have there. Does it mean something?"

The question from behind took him off guard and he whipped around - ready to fight should it be necessary - to see another nurse approach the desk from the other side of the waiting room. She looked to be around his age with brown eyes, straight, platinum blonde hair - reminding him of his encounter with Draco less than twenty-four hours ago - and carried a stack of files in her arms. He must have been giving a completely blank stare because she nodded her head to his Dark Mark, now clearly visible with his sleeves rolled up. Instinctively, he pulled the white fabric down to cover it, mindlessly buttoning the two small buttons on each sleeve. The Mark had lightened considerably in the week after Voldemort's demise, and each week he had been pleased to see it continue to lighten until about a fortnight ago when it practically stalled. The ugly skull and snake hadn't faded anywhere near where he'd hoped, not even to the level it had been right before evil wizard's return. It had taken time the first go around, and rationally he knew he needed to be patient, but he was losing his nerve every time he saw the awful reminder of Malfoy Manor.

"It's so I never forget how young and stupid one could be as an eager teenager," he answered, hardly making eye contact with the nurse.

"Sounds like the start of a good story, if you ask me," she placed the files on the counter beside him and said, "I'm Mae, by the way." Then she gave him a questioning smile, while she waited for him to reciprocate his introduction. Therefore, when he simply continued to stare at her without so much as a peep, she continued, "I've seen you here a couple of times-" she looked over to the area of Harry's station, "- is that your son you're with? It's Potter, right?"

The former spy watched her intently. Perhaps he was being too paranoid, but he couldn't help question how many patients walked through these doors in the weeks between Harry's treatments. Surely, too many to remember their measly three times, he determined, especially when Samantha had been Harry's nurse for all three. Being one of the youngest patients in the center during his treatments definitely drew attention to the pair of them, and Severus cursed himself for not realizing that fact until this moment. It would be too easy for someone to pick up on their schedule.

"Yes," Severus skeptically replied, conveniently ignoring her assumption at his surname, "he's my son."

"This disease… it can be hard to handle something like this all alone," she continued, looking down to his hands grasping onto the counter in behind him.

"We manage," the professor narrowed his eyes at the nurse, turning, happy to see Samantha walking towards him with a can of Ginger Ale and a plastic cup of ice.

"He sure is lucky to have you," Mae commented just before Severus left to go back to Harry, "and hopefully he understands the meaning behind that tattoo. Wouldn't want him following whatever story you have behind it."

The exchange with Mae, the nurse, and its oddity, stuck with Severus the rest of the day; long after he returned with the Ginger Ale for Harry - who had already vomited in his absence - and long after returning back home - with their next appointment on the calendar for the 13th of September - where they continued the same song and dance from the previous months of treatments. Severus spent the afternoon hours between the young wizard's bedroom and the tiny lavatory, all the while attempting to urge the Gryffindor to try to eat something - broth and a smoothie - in order to keep his strength after being unconscious half of the previous day. Coming off the stressful day yesterday had been, Severus found himself pushed further than he had ever been, at least since some of Harry's more extreme rounds of chemotherapy last year. He craved longingly for his bed, but knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep over the next two nights.

This disease… it's hard to handle something like this all alone.

Mae's toxic words tore through his mind as he made his way down the stairs and into the sitting room, for the first time, at half past eight that night. Those words - hard to handle this alone - couldn't have come at a worse moment. Was he really doing this alone? No, he had Minerva and Molly... he knew he could call upon either witch at any time if he needed help, however he also knew himself well enough to admit he wouldn't reach out to ask for that help. Why did he think the self-preservation he preached so often to Harry no longer applied to himself? Somehow, the fact he had been the one to make the promise to the small twelve year old to care for the child to the best of his abilities superseded any self-preservation logic, and while it may not have been referring to this child, he took the vow no less seriously.

With Harry finally settled in for however long he could rest, Severus unceremoniously plopped down in his armchair near the fireplace, knowing he should try to sleep too but unable to turn his anxious mind off. Too tired to do it the muggle way, he waved his ebony wand and summoned a glass and the bottle of firewhiskey from the shelf directly behind him, and poured himself a drink.

"Severus?" The stoic voice of Lucius Malfoy called from the fireplace and Severus sighed in frustration. "Would it be alright if I came through for a little… chat?"

The professor ran his hand down his face, not wanting to see the other Slytherin, but knowing after yesterday's events - not to mention the information he had already asked for - the meeting was needed.

"Yes," he reluctantly replied, "come on through."

In a matter of seconds, the Malfoy patriarch was standing in Severus's sitting room, appearing more out of place than he'd ever seen the other wizard in his expensive black and silver Mulberry silk robes. The haughty air around the blonde Slytherin filled up most of the tiny, cramped space demonstrating just how far the two colleagues - tied through their mutual love for the Dark Arts and previous Death Eater activities - could be from one another. Giving his wand another wave, Severus summoned a second glass and poured a healthy serving for Lucius, then topped off his own glass to match.

"Rough day?" The blonde asked, taking the drink and a seat on the sofa beside the professor.

"One could say that," he answered vaguely, sipping his amber drink. "Harry had chemotherapy today, after just barely being able to walk himself out of St Mungo's."

He explained it as if the other man could somehow relate to his troubles. If Lucius had ever sat with Draco while the teen had been ill, Severus would go straight to Albus and demand to be the head of Hufflepuff. Glancing over at the blonde, he questioned if that were true now. Clearly, Lucius had changed - as they all had - in response to Voldemort's return, the only question became: was it too little, too late to repair his own damaged relationship with his son.

"And you're certain there's no use in even attempting the new potions?" Lucius casually asked. "My team has already made some… significant… changes to the approach per the guidelines from Nadine Walker. It's about the only light of day she gave my offer, so far."

"The original formulation had a toxic error made in the procedure," the professor painfully pointed out, "instead of removing the overgrown cells, it added to them."

"Yes, I had been informed of such by Ms Walker," Lucius shook his head disappointedly. "An amateur mistake that would not have made it past my team without discovery had we been the original creators. Which is also why we need a Potions Master as renowned as yourself on staff."

Tucking his pain as tightly as he could behind his Occlumency shields, Severus looked over to Lucius, trying yet again to recruit him over, although this time he wasn't about to dismiss it so quickly.

"If you'll recall from my previous life, I did not discover the error," Severus lamented, "though I may give your offer another consideration."

The half smile crossing the blonde's face almost made him immediately rescind his statement.

"Not going back to the school after all?" The blonde boasted, then quickly added, "not that I blame you, teaching is a-"

"I am returning to the classroom this year," the professor interrupted, "I may, however, be able to provide some part-time assistance."

Lucius skeptically looked around the small room. From his vantage point, the other Slytherin could see into most of the kitchen through the opened door to his left, and to his right he could see out the empty doorway to the stairs leading up to the second floor. Two of his tiny 56 square meter home could fit within the Malfoy Manor entrance hall, and Severus suddenly felt more judged from the aristocratic man than ever before. The suggestion to work part-time had nothing to do with the salary - given he lived in his childhood home, his pay from Hogwarts could comfortably support Harry and himself - instead it came from the realization that after the Diagon Alley attack there was truly a need for muggle and magical medicine to come together in a cohesive discipline.

Muggle medicine, for example, had a wider range of medications, such as the levels of sleeping aids Harry refused to use. They could take something as simple as melatonin, the natural hormone responsible for falling asleep, or increase to an over the counter tablet working more effectively than its natural counterpart, without the addictive qualities. And if the patient required an even stronger dose, prescription tablets - in a wide range of strengths - could be taken. In the wizarding world, a person was limited to Dreamless Sleep, and its highly addictive qualities limited its use significantly. This format could be found across many levels of muggle medicine; both in treating and diagnosing illnesses. Muggle medicine wasn't without its faults, as Severus and Harry were intimately aware of, the biggest being how long they took to work and its ineffective targeting as a close second. Imagine the possibilities if they could combine the benefits of muggle diagnostics and medicine with the magical ability to work almost instantaneously?

"An ill child and two jobs?" Lucius taunted, "Aren't you biting off a bit more than you can chew?"

"Allow me to be the judge of that. Besides, from what I saw at the Ministry yesterday, you have your hands full yourself," Severus curtly replied. "Nor does it appear as if you need to reach out to your associate any longer. It's obvious there is some kind of activity from Voldemort's remaining followers, no matter how lowly they were."

Lucius gave a small hmph from the back of his throat and took a large sip of his whiskey. "I'd hardly call Ash and Talpin a threat to the wizarding world as a whole. Yesterday was a prime example of their idiocracy. All of their efforts and not a single fatality."

Severus didn't exactly agree with the sentiment behind the statement, yet that didn't make it any less true.

"As for your original inquiry," the Malfoy patriarch continued while shifting his glass nervously between his hands, "you may be interested to know I came across several very interesting cargo manifests making their way from Denmark to a final destination both us are far too intimately familiar with."

The older Slytherin placed his glass dramatically on the table between them and pulled out several pieces of parchment from his inside robe pocket. He looked over the contents prior to handing them across the tiny space into the professor's waiting hands. It quickly became apparent - even before he saw the destination listed as one of Voldemort's more obscure safe houses - the contents in these shipments would be put to nefarious use. Lucius had come through after all.

"Can you confirm this information is accurate?" The professor gave an imperceptible cringe at the question; a man like Lucius wouldn't present information without verifying it first. To save his dignity, he added. "And it's secure?"

"Give me some credit," Lucius replied. "My family's enterprise has its hands in very specific logistical entities. Those manifests are both accurate and discreet. I assume you want to provide those to Dumbledore?"

"Not necessarily. I'll present the information and see where he goes with it," Severus carefully answered, not wanting to show too much of his animosity towards his employer. As he went to return the parchment back to Lucius, the other wizard held up his hand refusing to take them.

"They're yours to keep," the blonde Slytherin told him. "I only ask you to treat them with as much discretion as I had obtaining them."

"Certainly," Severus nodded and stood to place them on the shelf within the same book he'd found the answers about Horcruxes. With his back still turned to Lucius he said, "Holding up my part of our agreement, I've worked it out with Albus for Draco to have a heavily warded private room off of the Slytherin common room, opposite of the other dormitories-" he turned to face his friend, "-That is, unless you have any objections."

At the professor's last meeting with the headmaster, Albus had offered any solution Severus deemed appropriate for his Slytherin. Back then he weighed the young wizard's mental health against his safety, giving the former a slightly higher priority and therefore made the decision to attach the private room to the common room as opposed to keeping it secluded as they'd done at the end of term. Until yesterday, he had doubts about that decision, however after seeing the pain in Draco's eyes after the interrogation, he knew he'd made a sound choice. The Malfoy heir needed to start getting back to some normalcy and allowing him to feel connected to his house - for better or worse - would aid in that endeavor.

"No objections, per se," said Lucius, "but I trust you'll stay abreast on the situation and, if needed, alternate arrangements will be reevaluated in an expedited manner?"

"Certainly," Severus assured him, as he sat back down onto the sofa, feeling relieved to have passed an important milestone.

The two wizards chatted for longer than Severus wanted given how exhausted he had been prior to Lucius's arrival. When he poured the two of them an unspoken and mutually agreed upon last glass of firewhiskey, they settled into a casual conversation about the renovations on the manor - and Narcissa's handling of the events overall - to Draco's future plans in healing, and Harry's latest treatments; not that Lucius would know the first thing about the chemotherapy, nevertheless he sounded appropriately intrigued to hear about the process, what happened on a cellular level, and Leukemia overall.

"I shouldn't have to relay this, but the job is yours, Severus," the blonde announced before finishing off his glass of whiskey to signal the end of their impromptu meeting, "even in a part-time capacity. I'll make whatever arrangements you need."

Severus felt a deep gratitude he never had for the other man, but he didn't get a chance to answer because the sphere - which he'd kept stored in the pocket of his trousers - heated up so quickly the former Death Eater uncharacteristically jumped from his armchair, instantly pulling out the bright red, flashing sphere.

"Severus, what is-"

Without taking the time to explain, the professor raced from the room, to the stairs - missing the creaking noise from both himself and Lucius following behind - up to Harry's bedroom. From the corridor, everything appeared calm behind the doors of both the room and the lavatory. He turned the knob to Harry's bedroom and pushed with all his might, feeling completely defeated when it didn't budge. When his brute force failed, he brandished his wand and began casting every unlocking spell he knew, then diffindo, remembering the last time this had happened. Still, the door stayed closed and no sound could be heard from within. He tried, in vain, not to panic, but unconsciously he started to shake at the thought of what could be happening on the other side of the door while he stood completely helpless.

"Will you allow me to try?" When Lucius spoke, his voice was laced with a kindness Severus had never heard from this wizard before. He didn't ask any questions or require any further information; father-to-father, he simply knew something bad had happened and his friend needed his help anyway he could.

Desperate for any way into the room, Severus stepped aside and after only two attempts at spells even the professor wasn't aware of, the door flung open and Harry's screams filled the air around them.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry opened his eyes surprised to find he didn't feel the familiar aches and pains he'd come to associate with his chemotherapy days and the several to follow. Swinging his bare feet over the side of the bed, his muscles weren't protesting as they usually would have, his stomach wasn't roiling, and his mind wasn't clouded with the almost constant fatigue, even when he didn't have chemotherapy that day. Somehow he felt completely back to normal - even better than before his fifth year - and while it should have been a red flag something wasn't exactly right with the situation, the Gryffindor didn't question it.

Looking down, he was dressed in an odd pair of pyjamas - a dark grey oversized t-shirt he recognized as Dudley's, mismatched with silk bottoms as black as the night - which made no sense. Not giving it a second thought, Harry stood on his shaky legs, ignorant to the absence of the sudden coldness that usually greeted him from the old wooden floor. Instead, he found himself relishing in the warmth magically radiating from the boards into the soles of his bare feet as he walked across the room and into the dark corridor. For the first time since waking up, he realized it was still dark outside, yet he had the energy of someone waking up from a midday nap. Carefully heading down the stairs, listening closely for any sign of Snape still awake in the early hours before dawn, he frowned when the creaking he'd come to expect didn't sound; in fact, he made it to the bottom without a single noise escaping from the rickety old staircase.

When Harry turned into the sitting room, he stopped dead in his tracks. Something wasn't right, the room was completely empty. Where the armchair and sofa used to sit - on top of an old rug - the floors were completely barren. The towering bookcases were still in place, but their shelves lacked the weight of the hundred books that used to overfill them. His footsteps echoed across the tiny space, somehow making it feel suffocatingly small and expansive at the same time. Trekking through the room, still mystified on where their - ok, mostly Snape's - belongings had gone, Harry nervously opened the door leading into the kitchen and his stomach dropped. Just as in the sitting room, the kitchen had been cleared out completely. Gone were their plain ceramic dishes stored on the open shelving over the countertop, and the small three person table - which used to sit awkwardly pushed against the right wall - was missing. The biggest change in this room, unlike the previous one he'd been in, was the cabinets and countertops: neither one the newer renovated pieces he and Snape selected and installed before the summer holiday, but instead were back to the original yellowed ones they had replaced before moving in. He could no longer keep the panic from rising within him, his breathing became rapid, and his body started to ache. Where was Snape and why was the house in the condition before it had been fixed up? How was that even possible? Had he swapped realities like Snape did last year?

Thinking back, the young wizard couldn't remember what he'd been doing before waking up wherever he was now. Chemotherapy. Logically, when he awoke, he had expected to feel sick from his chemotherapy, so had he been at the chemo center? Or had he made it home already? Unable to answer those two simple questions, finding Snape quickly became his top priority.

The Gryffindor turned on his heels and raced out of the kitchen, back to the stairs. This time, as he climbed to the second floor, the creaking followed him on each step he took. Though puzzled by the random change, he didn't stop to question why the stairs had previously remained silent. The only place he could think was to get to Snape's bedroom because surely the professor had to still be asleep. Without considering the consequences, the Gryffindor pushed open the rickety wooden door and again stopped dead in his tracks. Where Snape's bedroom should have been was now a perfect replica of the Malfoy Manor drawing room, exactly as he'd last seen it at the end of the battle on the 16th of May, only instead of being filled with Death Eaters and prisoners, it was empty. Slowly, Harry started backing up, desperate to get out as fast as possible, except only centimeters from the door, it slammed behind him; clipping the side of his arm so hard he wouldn't be surprised when the bruise showed up. He turned and grabbed at the brass knob to leave, but froze when the voice he never thought he'd hear again spoke from behind him.

"Leaving so soon, Harry Potter?" The sound of Voldemort's icy, yet exhilarated tone immediately put the young wizard on defense. He grabbed for his wand and cringed when he realized he had nowhere to store it in the odd pyjamas, nor did he even think about grabbing it when he first left his bedroom. "I always thought you were a coward, hiding behind your friends, letting them do all the work and making all the sacrifices while you sat back and reaped the benefits and fame from them."

Something about that statement - one he'd heard too many times from Draco to ignore - caused the anger within him to rise. Harry's fists were clenched at his sides, itching to lash out at the evil wizard who had taken so much from him, unable to logically conclude that the man had been killed. He didn't see the body, after all, so in his mind he managed to convince himself it could be real. Maybe Voldemort hadn't actually been killed and he'd been locked away in the Department of Mysteries all this time, only to have somehow secretly escaped?

The reason didn't matter, only that when he turned to face the serpentined wizard, he refused to back down. As with everything else in the Gryffindor's life lately, nothing was as it seemed, and before him wasn't only Voldemort standing in the empty drawing room as expected, but Snape was laying on the ground at the dark wizard's bare feet moaning in pain.

"Severus!" Harry yelled and when he tried to run to the man who, for all intents and purposes, was his father, he was magically thrown to the ground. Above him, Voldemort's pale face started to laugh maniacally.

"You're a fool, Harry Potter!" The dark wizard taunted.

"H-h-h," the slumped form of Snape groaned from the floor in front of them.

Determined not to let Voldemort win this time, Harry pulled himself up off the floor ready to fight - in a muggle fist fight if necessary. Ignoring his swaying body, the Gryffindor stood debating his first move. Just as he had back in May, Voldemort started to circle menacingly around the young wizard and Snape, while Harry watched for any signs of the Killing Curse coming towards him. In preparation to defend himself or Snape, he lifted his arm and audibly gasped when he saw they were covered in black spots - not much bigger than a Sickle - almost swimming across his skin. He used his right hand to poke one of the spots and it floated from the top of his arm to the underside. As the seconds ticked away the spots began to multiply and enlarge. With each round, Harry started to feel more fatigued and achy, until he could barely hold himself upright and he ended up crumbling to the floor.

Laying helplessly, Harry looked around and saw Voldemort laughing, but no sound came out from his sinister mouth. In fact, the only sound the young wizard could hear was the beating of his own heart drumming into his ears and the whooshing of his blood drowning out anything and everything around him. He didn't need to hear to know what was coming next when Voldemort stopped circling, directly in front of Snape, and pulled back his ivory wand. Harry tried to crawl, to place himself between the green light he knew would be coming any second and Snape. If only the black spots - now encasing his entire body, making it impossible for him to move - would release him from their hold, he could have made it in time, he could have saved Snape instead of watching the green light leave Voldemort's wand and hit his father-figure directly onto his chest.

Harry screamed, and gasped for breath - panicking from feeling as if he would never be able to properly breathe again - positive the green killing curse would be slamming into his chest at any moment. When nothing came, he tentatively opened his eyes, unable to see the close quarters of the bedroom he'd come to feel the most comfortable in, and instead still stuck in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

"Harry!" Snape's baritone voice cut through the chaos in his head and when the young wizard turned towards the side of his bed, he was legitimately confused to see the professor watching him intently. "You're safe, son."

"Severus?" The young wizard confirmed in a whispered voice, but as the haziness around the room started to clear, Harry's eyes shifted their focus from the comforting onyx black eyes directly in front of him to the wisp of platinum blonde over the professor's left shoulder. The Gryffindor's breathing exponentially increased and he moved so quickly to the far edge of his bed a strong wave of nausea passed through his weakened body. Harry started shaking his head back and forth rapidly, trying to rid the hallucination of Lucius Malfoy from his bedroom, and repeating to himself, "No… he's not here… it's only in my head… I'm home..."

Snape turned to follow where Harry's eyes had focused, not surprised to see Lucius standing just on the inside threshold of the room. If possible, his face had paled more than normal, and his grey eyes were wide taking in the scene before him.

"Lucius," the professor urgently called back to the other wizard, all the while Harry continued to mutter, still thinking he was stuck somewhere between his nightmare and reality, "would you mind waiting in the sitting room?"

Lucius straightened himself up and stoically answered, "I can see myself out. We'll discuss the arrangements for your new position after the start of term, in case you find you have less… availability… than you originally expected."

Somehow Harry managed to pick up on the small statement. Is Snape going to work for Lucius Malfoy, of all people? The thought consumed his mind, filling in each small crevasse trying to sort through the reasons why the professor would want to go help out the Malfoys. The active thinking - even if illogical - helped calm him from the almost hysterical state he'd been in, to one where he could start to see around him. The dark and dreary walls of the Malfoy Manor drawing room melted away and in their place the soft blue from his bedroom appeared, adorned with his Gryffindor flags, Quidditch posters, and sketches he'd done of his friends and family - Snape and Dudley.

No longer able to hold back the acrid bile rising against the back of his throat, Harry turned and grabbed the pail from the side of his bed nearest the window. His body shook through the waves of heaving and he concentrated as hard as he could on the warm, steady hand placed firmly on his back.

"He's not dead," Harry announced the moment his voice recovered from the vomiting. He started violently shaking his head back and forth to help emphasize his point, "Voldemort… he was here and-"

"He is dead, Harry," Snape moved up closer onto the bed so he was facing the Gryffindor. "I killed him myself with the wand you secured for me. He is gone. Forever."

"But I didn't see him," Harry lifted his eyes, pleading for answers. How could they be sure he had been killed if neither of them were conscious? "And you…"

Harry trailed off. They hadn't ever talked about that night. In fact, if it weren't for McGonagall, Harry wouldn't have known Snape had passed out, and he wasn't about to mention it to the man in front of him.

Without any words exchanged, Snape picked up Harry's new yellow blanket, which had fallen to the floor from his thrashing, and wrapped it snuggly around Harry's shoulders. Then he pulled his wand and repaired the broken glass on the floor - from the fallen cup of water Harry always kept on the bedside table - and tapped the edge of the glass to fill it with a silent Aguamenti before handing it to the young wizard. Harry welcomed the relief the cool, fresh water provided, although it sat so heavily on his stomach he could only manage two sips; afraid he'd start vomiting again.

"I saw his lifeless body that night," Snape eventually explained. "After Kingsley woke me up, they escorted me out. Whether intentionally or not, I walked right past the bodies of those killed that night. Moody had been guarding the dead, and first in line was Voldemort. He is dead, Harry, and he cannot come back this time."

Somehow, hearing that proclamation didn't help to ease his anxiety as much as he thought it would.

"How can you be sure?" Harry quietly asked. "He came back last time. How do we know he doesn't have another horcrux out there somewhere?"

Snape paused, making Harry slightly uncomfortable, "I… spoke with Albus several weeks ago. He spent a good portion of last year considering that very question and determined any potential horcruxes have been… taken care of."

"So he's really-"

"-dead, yes."

Harry's shaky breathing filled the silence between them as he looked over his arm, remembering the black spots practically floating right underneath his skin. Just a nightmare, he thought to himself. It had been a very realistic nightmare incorporating everything he'd been ignoring since the start of the summer: his fears over Voldemort's return, Snape's abandonment of him, and his Leukemia growing inside of his blood.

"What happened at the Manor the night of the battle?" The young wizard asked the question he needed to know all along, but never felt comfortable enough to ask.

Snape shifted uncomfortably on the bed, glancing at the clock - a quarter to one in the morning - then ran his hand across the back of his neck.

"Is there something specific…"

"I just-" Harry thought about what exactly he wanted to know, "-where were you? And how did the Order get there?"

Nodding almost mindlessly, Snape started in on what he knew the Gryffindor - both of them really - needed to finally talk about, "I was kept in a small cell in the dungeons with Healer Walker. As I mentioned the other day, she was your Healer where I came from and she provided Voldemort with the Potions formulas needed to combat the cancer. I spent most of my time there brewing them."

"What about the rest of the time?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, remembering moments Harry knew they both wanted to forget.

"Occasionally, I was permitted to leave," the professor recalled, "but those instances were limited to the delivery of his weekly potions and were… incredibly uncomfortable."

Harry's eyes widened at the implication Snape made. "I was ok there," the Gryffindor almost randomly said, "I mean, I wasn't hurt or anything… not like that o-or the way Draco was used. So then why does it still bother me so much?"

"You were imprisoned against your will by the megalomaniac who murdered your parents, and for years had tried to murder you," Snape explained, "it's a natural reaction to feel abused even if you were never touched in any way."

The statement - and validation of his feelings - opened a floodgate within the young wizard. He found he wanted to say all the things that he'd been hiding away for months.

"I'm sorry, Severus," those three words chipped away the largest part of the boulder sitting on top of his chest. "I shouldn't have left. If you hadn't gone out looking for me that night, you never would have been taken and then-"

"We spoke about this already, Harry," Snape reminded him, "your reactions were justified. I should have told you about my role with the prophecy, that I sent Voldemort to your family's doorstep. It's a regret I live with everyday and I know changing my alliances to the Order does not erase that evil act; it will forever live with me."

"It had to happen like it did though," Harry justified. "Isn't that the thing with prophecies?"

Snape gave a hmph of disbelief, "Divinations is hardly a science, magical or otherwise. Did we fulfill the prophecy? Most likely, however it's just as likely to have been self-fulfilled."

Harry couldn't hold back his own chuckle, even knowing the act would cause his aching body to hurt.

"He was here," Harry started to tell the professor about his dream, ignoring the nerves churning in his stomach, "I woke up in my room, but the house was completely empty… like you'd moved without me. And when I went to your room to find you, I walked into the drawing room and he was there. He wouldn't let me leave… and you were dying on the floor… I tried to get to you, to save you like last time, but these… black spots started to grow under my skin… I think it represented the cancer because I got really tired and fell to the floor, not able to move and then he… this time I couldn't move to stand in between you and the Killing Curse."

"We survived, Harry," Snape told him, clearly, "We are surviving and we will do everything in our power to continue surviving. I promise, I am not leaving you behind. Not ever."

The words were exactly what Harry needed to hear, and while some of the pain went away, he recognized it would take more of these conversations. These times where he could check in and release his fears and doubts.

"I think I'd like to see the doctor Dr Swanson recommended," Harry bravely admitted, thinking back to the black spots - the Leukemia in his blood - expanding and growing exponentially. It showed how uncertain he felt about trusting his treatments to continue working.

"I can certainly arrange it," Snape said, without judgement. "Are you sure you'd rather the muggle physician instead of the squib the Malfoys are seeing? Then you could be more open about the other areas of your life."

Harry thought about it, but he needed someone who knew what he was going through specifically in relation to his cancer. Yes, there were a lot of other situations to deal with - to talk about - but he also had a lot of support from his family and friends for those.

"Yeah," the Gryffindor answered, "I want to see the muggle doctor."

Snape nodded, "Is there anything else you'd like to know from our time at the Manor?"

Harry sat up taller in his bed, finding he wasn't nearly as tired as he would have expected to be, "How did the Order know how to get into the Manor?"

The question kick-started a conversation lasting until almost dawn. The pair of wizards only stopped periodically for Harry to sick up - in the loo or the pail, when he was too sore to move - and for Snape to bring up some soup and a smoothie around three in the morning, before settling in on the other side of the bed, facing Harry. The former spy spent most of the time walking the Gryffindor through the rather brilliant plan he worked on with Lucius to use the peacocks to take missives to the Order guard on duty; a position he knew the Order put there months ago. The former spy explained how he had learned about the tunnels from Lucius and they both had a good laugh over Harry's retelling of the ghost story Draco told him when the young wizard had learned of them himself. Severus walked through the plan for the night of their rescue, which teams were assigned where, and finally, how it all went wrong.

The conversation wasn't limited to Snape's point of view during their time at the Manor. Harry told the professor everything about his own - and admittedly more comfortable - experience; how he felt about sharing a room with Draco, about chemotherapy and Dr Swanson drilling into him the ability to identify his tablet medications as a precaution, about Narcissa's assistance during the rougher sick nights, and their trips to the back gardens and library in hopes of trying to find their own way out of there. The young wizard touched on Draco's rituals and how the two of them fell into this strange camaraderie when neither teen expected to walk out of there alive. Harry opened up about how vulnerable he felt and how he still hadn't been able to open the letters he'd received from Draco, even after knowing they were about Hermione. He'd told the young Slytherin more about his life growing up than he was comfortable with the blonde knowing - his experience with starting chemotherapy and how unsure he felt about his future - and now he had no idea how to act around the other wizard. Running into Draco Malfoy at the start of term - or even worse, at the wedding! - had to be the number one thing Harry was not looking forward to, and by the end of his story, he felt comfortable enough to tell Snape about that worry.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Snape reassured the anxious wizard, "but I do have a feeling Draco is similarly concerned about your first meeting."

"For some reason, I think he's more likely to hex me into oblivion than quietly walk away," Harry chuckled.

"That's not exactly an incorrect observation to make," Snape conceded, "however I think you'll find him equally perplexed with how to handle your newfound situation."

"So what will I be doing at Hogwarts?"

Snape considered the question, "As I agreed… I think it was yesterday… we'll wait to discuss that once you're feeling better. I think now, if you have no other questions, you should try to get some rest."

As if the mere suggestion triggered the Gryffindor's exhaustion, Harry let out a big yawn. They still had a long day ahead of them and the sun would be rising far too soon. He felt better though, lighter than he could remember being. The nightmare may have been a culmination of every horrible experience he could imagine, but like so many other things, it birthed a new appreciation for what had been sitting in front of him. From their talk - combined with the promise of getting help to work through his anxiety over his cancer - Harry found he could fall asleep easily for the first time in weeks, despite his body aching and his stomach still churning from the side effects of his latest treatment.

~~~~SS~~~~

Monday 18th, August 1997

Both Severus and Harry spent almost all of Sunday in bed - or at least resting - catching up on the sleep they missed from their middle of the night conversation after Harry's nightmare, and dealing with the side effects of the young wizard's chemotherapy. By Monday morning, the professor found himself in a much better frame of mind for what was on his agenda for the day: go back to the hospital to get Harry's medication refilled, schedule an appointment for Harry with the mind doctor, and come to a conclusion on how to handle Harry's magical training. To prepare for the last conversation, Severus woke up in the early hours of the morning to familiarize himself with what lessons could look like for the Gryffindor if he were adamant on choosing to try to retrain his magic. In the professor's mind, they were in a no win situation; either they go with Harry's choice of retraining or Albus's option of placing this questionably legal magical block in his core. And while neither was without its own set of risks, the magical block - at least as far Severus had researched - was not fatal. Ultimately, he'd leave the decision up to Harry, which was why he decided to prepare for how to go about the magical training, anticipating this being the decision the young wizard would make.

Sitting in the same armchair he'd been in during Lucius's visit the other night - and already on his second cup of coffee of the day - Severus had managed to get a good start on a tentative class schedule for the Gryffindor when he heard the creak of the staircase, followed by Harry's telltale soft steps as he made his way down the short corridor. The professor drew his wand and levitated the plate of scrambled eggs, fruit, and yoghurt he prepared for the Gryffindor along with a glass of water and his morning medications, dropping them down nicely on the table in between the armchair and the sofa.

"Morning," Harry rubbed his tired eyes and paused when he saw the new location of his breakfast. "What's going on?"

"I thought you could use a change of scenery this morning."

Harry cautiously looked around the room, and Severus followed his vision. The window in the sitting room - located behind the sofa - faced the front of the house and showed the empty street outside. A soft rain had started sometime around five in the morning and based on the dark grey, overcast clouds, didn't appear to be letting up anytime soon. Severus didn't mind, but he knew Harry had likely been hoping to go for his usual morning run.

"Guess I'm staying inside today," the Gryffindor commented, and finally sat down on the sofa. "Not that I really want to risk going out. With my luck, I'll end up sick for the first time in a while right before the wedding."

"That's fair," Severus casually answered. "If this wedding means as much to you as you claim, it's best not to make any unnecessary trips."

"I know you don't understand, but it does mean a lot to me," Harry retorted, after taking his tablets two at a time. "So what did you want to talk about? I can only assume that's why we're in here instead of the kitchen."

"As I said-"

"Yeah, I got it."

It couldn't be anymore obvious they were nervous after their conversation regarding Harry's nightmare, in addition to the one they both knew they were about to start. Severus watched Harry push his breakfast across his plate, mixing the sliced strawberries and blueberries with the vanilla yoghurt before taking a bite. Satisfied, he went back to working on Harry's potential schedule for next year, knowing he should have been working on his own curriculum; an endeavor far past its due date.

"How has your sketching been lately?" The professor asked. "I haven't seen you with your notebook nearly as much as I'm used to."

"Oh, erm…" Harry took a large sip of his water, "it's been… difficult lately."

The honest answer took all of Severus's willpower not to react to, and the trust Harry placed in him by providing such an honest answer didn't go unappreciated.

"Difficult, how? Is it no longer enjoyable?"

"No, it's not that," the young wizard shook his head causing his messy black hair to sway, "I'm just not as focused lately. I have a lot of things started, but just can't seem to finish them."

"You've had a lot on your mind as of late," Severus offered, "not to mention the changes in your life. I'll be going to the hospital later to see Dr Swanson for a refill of your prescriptions, and I'll speak with her about how to schedule an appointment with Dr Snyder. Hopefully that will help ease some of your anxieties."

"Thank you, Severus," Harry responded, "for staying on top of all of this stuff too… like my prescriptions… I don't think I could remember half the things you do."

"You needn't thank me. I have no doubt you'd handle it just fine if you were required to," he waved off the gratitude as he always did, but something on Harry's face told him the young wizard needed the acknowledgement this time. Harry had struggled with his memory near the end of last year and over the summer hadn't seen any improvement. "But you are welcome. I meant it when I said you'll have a home here with me, always remember that. You are not alone."

A companionable silence fell over the pair of wizards as the first ice broke between them. Harry nibbled his breakfast more than Severus would have preferred, however he was eating and therefore the professor did not comment on it.

"Did I hear you're going to work for the Malfoys?" Harry asked a bit disgruntled and confused. "I thought we were going back to Hogwarts in September?"

"You're right on both accounts, actually," Severus answered, not exactly ready for this conversation, yet not about to shy away from it either, "I'll be helping to find ways to better identify, diagnose, and treat muggle diseases in the Wizarding community. It's something I wanted to do back there and after seeing you struggle in St Mungo's to get the collaborative care you needed, I thought it worth my time to do what I can to help bridge the gap.

"It's not just cancer, though obviously it's where my first interests lie, that mystifies the wizarding world. Think of the possibilities to combine our levels of medications. What I would have given to be able to utilize your muggle pain medication when my Mark burned last year."

In his final attempt to create the modified burn salve, Severus had been able to find a derivative of morphine that worked well in the already present salve. If he'd had enough time and resources at his disposal, he could have done so much more with it; perfected it to give his followers a way out. Perhaps he could have enticed those - such as Lucius, Yaxley, and Dolohov - away without fear of retribution, without having to worry about forever having the link between servant and master. How different could things have been if they'd been able to cut out Voldemort's reign right out from underneath him. Sure, he would have found more followers - and had those who would never shy away like the Lestranges and Carrows - but the quality of Death Eaters wouldn't be the same.

"I think it's a great idea," Harry supportively said. "If you could help one witch or wizard not have to go through this, it'll be worth it. They're lucky to have you."

Uncomfortable once again with the gratitude, the professor released a cleansing breath, "I'll only be at the laboratory occasionally on the weekends since I will still be teaching Defense this year, and you will be coming back to the castle with me."

"So then are you working on your curriculum for next year?" Harry asked after a long silence.

"Not exactly," The professor began and stared at Harry for a moment, contemplating if this were the right time to bring up the decision on his raw magic. "You vehemently announced your desire to retrain your magic as the means of controlling it. Therefore I'm working on a potential schedule for you. That is, unless you've changed your mind?"

Severus tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible in his reply so as not to pass judgement on his potential disagreement with Harry's decision. He refused to make this a power struggle as he could clearly - in hindsight - see it had been his downfall in his old reality. And so the die had been casted and now it fell into Harry's court to pick up and continue.

"No, I haven't," the Gryffindor shook his head, "I'm not doing that… whatever it was… it's just too close to what I saw Draco do. I can't."

"May I have a chance to explain my thoughts on the subject?" Harry's emerald eyes became filled with shock at the logical, respectable sounding request and the professor found himself more than a little surprised when the young wizard nodded his head. "I need to know that you've thought this through from all angles rather than simply making a decision of this importance based on an emotional-" Severus held up his hand to stop Harry's anticipated argument, "- however rightly so, it's still emotional nonetheless - reaction to events you've seen. The ritual will need a blood sample to run, but it's no more than you get before chemotherapy and if it would help, I can ask Alton to pull it from your port the morning it is needed."

The idea had come to him only in that moment, and while they would want as few people to know about the ritual as possible, if it helped Harry feel more comfortable the risk would be worth taking. He wouldn't be lucky enough for Alton to do it with no questions asked, but hopefully the healer would understand their need to do it.

"It helps," Harry grudgingly admitted, "but I still don't want to. The blood is only part of the issue. Mostly it's because this is something Voldemort would do - he did do - messing with old dark magic to save himself, and I refuse to pull myself down to his level, especially if there's another, equally viable option. If I make this concession now, what's next?"

Severus didn't agree with the extrapolation, nevertheless, the argument was far more sound and thought out than he'd initially given the young wizard credit for. It demonstrated the fundamental core difference between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Harry would put his life on the line to maintain his righteous separation of what was right and wrong. In the end, arguing about life being filled with calculated risks, or not being black and white, would only further ostracize the teen; putting them in the same situation they'd been in at the crossroads of his old reality. The Slytherin way to handle it would be giving himself the opportunity to change Harry's mind later and he could only achieve that one way.

"I understand," he conceded, causing Harry's head to snap up, "and I think we can come to an agreement which will work for the both of us. I won't hold you back from starting to retrain your magic, if you'll allow Alton a weekly magical checkup. And should we find the raw magic has not ceased its attack on you, then you will agree to the magical block."

He could see Harry's mind working through what he'd been told. The decision would ultimately be the Gryffindor's, but there was little the teen could actually do to influence the outcome. Retraining would either work or it would not, and he would only benefit from having a contingency plan ready.

"I don't understand," Harry leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "it's my magic I'm gambling at the end of all this, and it's my life at risk, so why can't I make the decision without any strings attached."

"Because you're forgetting that to risk your life unnecessarily is selfish to those around you who would be devastated should you die… especially if there was a safer alternative available."

Harry's jaw clenched as he considered the words spoken to him. The concept - even after considering his friends, cousin, and the Weasleys - of someone grieving for him was foreign for Harry and, unfortunately, Severus could relate from his own experience. Until Harry became his son, he'd never had the feeling of someone legitimately caring if he lived or died. Now, things in his life had changed so much he couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Ok," the young wizard gave in, "I can agree to check in and change tactics if the retraining isn't working."

"As I see fit," Severus added.

"As you see fit," Harry repeated. "So then what does this new training look like for me?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at the teen across from him, amazed at how young seventeen actually appeared. Why did the wizarding world think children this young could make life altering decisions alone?

"For one," he began to explain as he ran his hand across his forehead in an effort to prevent an early migraine, "I'm proposing to include you in the general classes. Obviously, you'll have to start at a lower level given your magic is completely untrained. The goal is not to get you to the level of a fully functional wizard yet, rather to give your magic enough organization to ease the accidental outbursts. Needless to say, there's not exactly a precedent set for these types of situations."

"Soooo, is there a chance I won't be a firstie again?"

"No, I don't think you need to go all the way back to the beginning," the professor explained. "We'll do an aptitude test next week when we return to the school, but I anticipate your magic picking up the first year spells rather quickly… at least in the courses you naturally excelled at."

Harry beamed at the compliment. Had anyone overheard Severus Snape saying that sentence two years ago - in this reality - not a soul would have believed it. Of course, there were some who still wouldn't believe it, however only Harry had to and his bright green eyes told him the young wizard was finally feeling secure in their newfound relationship.

"Will I get to go back to the Tower?"

"Now you're pushing your luck," Severus gave a chuckle as he said it, and when Harry didn't retract the question, he added, "if it means that much, I can add it as a discussion point with Dr Swanson today."

"As a matter of fact," Harry boldly said, while sitting upright more confidently, "it does mean that much to me. If I get to go to classes with everyone and get to eat in the Great Hall, I don't see why I can't live in the Tower. At least when it's not around my treatments."

"Let me see what your physician's professional opinion is first."

"Maybe you can teach Neville the sanitizing charm?" Harry lightly suggested, practically ignoring the professor's previous statement. "Then he could at least clean our dorm out before I sleep in there."

Severus gave a skeptical expression, "If anyone, I'd look to Mr Thomas for that duty."

Harry smiled, assuming he'd won the battle, and as long as Dr Swanson gave the go-ahead, Severus would allow it. He simply didn't want to get Harry's hopes up only to have them crushed; he'd had too much negativity in his life lately for that.

"Would you like you to join me at the hospital today?" Severus inquired.

"Nah," Harry answered, "I already hate going there once a month. That's enough for me. And besides, I think I'm going to self-quarantine this week… in preparation for the wedding… just in case."

"Speaking of," the former spy transitioned, pulling out a pamphlet he'd received from Molly Weasley when he gave their tentative répondez s'il vous plaît the other week and handed it to Harry. "I've made arrangements for us to stay Friday and Saturday night in the same hotel the Weasleys and Miss Granger will be staying. Each morning starting Wednesday until Saturday, I'll be running a diagnostic spell to be sure you are not coming down with something, and then another Thursday and Friday night. Assuming all of those are acceptable, you'll be permitted to attend."

He watched Harry look over the information for the Le Moulin de l'Abbaye, a magical hotel in Brantôme, France, situated on a beautiful winding river with impressive views of Brantôme. If Severus wasn't so nervous about Harry's health in attending the wedding, he would be exceptionally excited to be able to visit that area of France.

"Really?" Harry exclaimed, his eyes lighting up, "I just assumed we would apparate there Saturday afternoon and back Saturday night."

"I don't exactly feel comfortable side along apparating you to a location this far away that I have not previously been to, therefore we will be taking a prearranged portkey there and back," Severus told the Gryffindor, who nodded his agreement, "and somehow Molly managed to convince me being there the Friday beforehand was considered as important as the wedding, though I must admit, I feel it had more to do with keeping the youngest Mr Weasley occupied."

Of course, it didn't exactly happen as he'd explained it to Harry, but he wouldn't tell the young wizard. The fact that this small hotel was magical and close to a magical hospital with a muggle trained physician - a friend of Alton's who had volunteered to step in should anything happen with Harry - wasn't exactly something he wanted to advertise. Or that when Molly asked if they'd be staying close to the wedding and he explained his logic for choosing this particular hotel, on the other side of France, she graciously moved her own reservations to be with them.

Harry laughed. "That sounds about right. But you said Hermione's going to be there? I thought she'd be staying in Reims with Draco. She's meeting his parents… well, today I think."

Severus's eyebrows sprang up to his forehead faster than he could remember to contain his reaction. Lucius hadn't mentioned meeting Draco's girlfriend only two days after their meeting. Outside of that intriguing train of thought, Severus was brought to another more immediate concern.

"How does that make you feel?" He asked the young wizard. "After everything you all have been through?"

"As long as he treats her well…" Harry shrugged as he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, even though it had been his own change of topic. With Severus refusing to fill in the awkward silence, Harry gave in and continued, "I have enough going on in my life right now, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on things normal seventeen year olds should be doing. Like… I dunno, going on awkward dates, though technically I can check that one off my bucket list."

"Oh?" Severus commented before he could stop himself.

"Cho Chang, fifth year," Harry sheepishly relied, "and let's just say I don't see what the big deal is about dating, but at the same time I wish I could. Does that make sense?"

"Unfortunately," the professor answered, causing Harry to start to laugh yet again.

"Did I date anyone back where… y'know?" Harry turned too serious too quickly for Severus's liking.

"You attended the Yule Ball with Miss Chang," Severus remembered. His face uncharacteristically flushed at the memory of Harry getting caught with the Ravenclaw by Minerva, "and you may have had one or two… incidents with the young lady."

This time, Harry's cheeks were the ones to flush a deep, dark red. "Did I-"

"I don't know," Severus interrupted him, saving them both from what was bound to be an unpleasant conversation.

"You know what," Harry said, standing with his only half empty plate, "let's just pretend I didn't ask that and didn't mention anything about dating."

Without another word, or giving Severus a chance to reply, Harry abruptly left the room for the kitchen where Severus could easily hear the young wizard laughing alongside the water from the kitchen tap while he washed his breakfast dishes.

When Harry had said he had spent far too much time at the hospital to want to join Severus on his meeting with Dr Swanson, he'd been exaggerating. All of Harry's treatments were being done at the chemotherapy center, meaning neither of them had stepped foot into the muggle Surrey hospital since Harry had his port placed last summer. Walking into the sterile environment triggered all five of Severus's senses and his body became flooded with dread and grief. The smell reminded him of walking the young wizard over to the lift - where Harry has gotten his first view of a collaborative muggle-magical practice. The echoing of his footsteps across the atrium brought him back to the slow strides they'd made down to the cafeteria for a bite of lunch while waiting on Harry's bone marrow biopsy results; he could almost taste the sandwich he had that afternoon contemplating how he could get Harry's young mind off what Severus already knew was coming. And finally, the bustling of every physician, nurse, and patient, reminded him how far they still had to go in this process; how any moment the floor could be dropped from beneath them and life as they knew it could once again change.

As a full muggle physician, Dr Swanson's office did not require any magical signature to identify him as a wizard, like Alton's office did. Although located in the Oncology wing, as opposed to pediatrics where they went to see Alton, the office had a lot of the same feel to it as the healer's with its bright yellow walls, covered with letters, numbers, and cartoon characters Severus didn't recognize, and a variety of vinyl chairs sized for both adults and children. Unlike Alton's office, though, there were large portraits around the room depicting children in various stages of their treatment; some were in a hospital room, others in a clinic setting, but all of them without hair and showing off the many IV lines required to battle against whichever cancer plagued their small bodies. And most prominently placed in the room, right besides the check-in window where the professor had gone to announce his arrival, was a cork board filled with photographs of what Severus assumed were Dr Swanson's patients. Dozens of pictures of children of all ages showed off a more realistic view of life as a pediatric oncology patient. Many included Dr Swanson, in an isolation gown and mask checking on her hospitalized patients, in her typical skirt and blouse during an office visit, and even a few in casual clothing visiting with a patient in their home.

As a late adolescent, Harry's treatment would straddle the line between being considered a pediatric patient and an adult one. Given that he started his treatment as a pediatric patient, they opted to keep his care consistent and finish it out with Dr Swanson. Eventually, though, he'd need to find an adult oncologist for his years of follow-up testing, to ensure if the cancer does come back, they find out as quickly as possible. It was a task that could be put off until closer to the end of maintenance, and the former spy found himself grieving over the thought of leaving the muggle doctor's practice for someone new; someone who wouldn't know Harry, his story, and what the young adult had been through. They hadn't gotten much choice in selecting Dr Swanson, however things had been going well and any possible change terrified him that it would break whatever balance they'd managed to get to. Of course, perhaps by then, the Malfoys would have made enough progress in their muggle-wizarding facility and the Gryffindor could go to a Healer for the rest of his care, it would be the ideal scenario, after all.

Fittingly, Severus chose a plain red, adult-sized chair to sit in while he waited for Dr Swanson's arrival. When he checked in at the front window, the receptionist explained the physician would be back shortly, after finishing her rounds in the hospital. And so the professor sat in the back of the office waiting room, subtly watching the people around him, intimately aware of just how out of place he looked in his customary muggle attire of a long sleeved buttoned down black shirt and black trousers in the otherwise bright room. His mind focused on the preparations he needed to complete before presenting the alternative curriculum to Albus, and came to the decision to a stop by Alton's office for an extra set of eyes on the document while at the hospital, and he completely missed the person calling out to him by the wrong name.

"Mr Potter?" Severus was finally brought back to the room in front of him by the hand touching his shoulder. Standing in front of him, wearing a set of light yellow scrubs with small pink teddy bears, was Mae; the nurse from the chemotherapy center. "Is everything alright?"

"My apologies," the professor stated, ignoring her cheeks flushing from the formality, yet again choosing not to correct the wrong surname, "I'm waiting on Dr Swanson's return and was lost in my thoughts."

"She should be back any second," the nurse turned towards the door leading to the corridor, presumably where she'd just come from before sitting into the blue chair beside Severus's red one. "Is it anything I can help you with?"

"Do you even work here?" Severus accused, not at all caring how it portrayed him.

However, instead of being insulted - which wouldn't have been the worst reaction - she gave a small laugh and countered with, "You caught me, I like to pop my head into random offices just to see who I can mess with."

Unamused, Severus didn't validate her heckling with a response.

"Of course, I work here," she continued more seriously this time, her dark brown eyes - contrasting her bright blonde hair - watched him carefully, "and I work in the clinic on some weekends. I live a busy life, y'know."

"Obviously."

"So is it something I can help with?" Mae asked again. "Instead of Dr Swanson?"

Her persistence was exhausting to the professor's already tired mind, so rather than snap back as he normally would have, he replied, "It's something I need to discuss with Dr Swanson, and her alone."

"Severus," As if on cue, Harry's doctor walked into the office with her arms filled with wayward files and loose leaf paper, "I'm running a bit behind today. Mae, can you please take Mr Snape to my office, and I'll be right there."

Internally, Severus cringed at the use of his actual name. He had no rational reason to care if this nurse knew it or not, but old habits die hard and as she led him through the corridor to a large office at the end, she turned and asked, "So Mr Snape, huh?"

"You assumed Harry and I shared the same surname," he replied, walking past her to stand on the other side of the threshold to the doctor's office, "I simply did not correct you."

"Very interesting," Mae smirked, her eyes narrowed at him, as she pulled out a small notepad and a pen. Without any further explanation, she proceeded to write something quickly on the top sheet, tore the paper out, folded it, and then handed it to him. "I'm sure there's an interesting story there too, Severus Snape, and I'd love to hear it sometime."

As she sauntered away, Severus opened the small paper he held in his hand. Staring back at him written in a very feminine handwriting was a series of digits the former spy recognized as a phone number - Mae's phone number if he were to take a guess.

"Someone seems to be pretty popular around my office," Dr Swanson announced her arrival and gestured for Severus to take a seat across from her desk made of a rich dark cherry. It held a half a dozen picture frames of the doctor with her husband and two boys; in one they were camping, another from her wedding, and then the older of the two boys playing football for his school team. Behind the desk a large picture window, with long ivory curtains framing it, overlooked the small pond on the backside of the hospital, where Severus could see the rain hitting the surface of the water. The banks of the pond were lined with planted trees - all at an even distance - with colorful flowers between them, and a paved walking path went around the perimeter. He could imagine, on nicer days than today, families visiting their sick relatives exiting the back doors of the hospital to take a walk around the pond in an effort to regain their composure.

The office itself was bright and airy, painted a soft green with half wall bookcases - in the same dark cherry wood as her desk - on the walls to the left and right of the door. On the wall above the bookcases to Severus's right displayed all of Dr Swanson's many diplomas and certificates of achievement in her area of expertise - pediatric oncology - making him feel Harry was in more than capable hands to navigate him through this disease. How many other parents had sat in the same chair, looking about the room desperate to find some indication things would be alright for their child? If Dr Swanson had set up the office to help calm nervous parents' and children's fears, she succeeded.

Severus shook his head, and without thinking placed the small piece of paper into the front pocket of his trousers, instead of the rubbish bin, though he had no intentions on ever calling the number.

"So what was it you wanted to discuss?" She asked, clearing herself a space on her desk for her hands, "Is everything alright with Harry?"

"More or less," Severus honestly answered, deciding to start with the more complicated issue, "he'll be returning to school and has asked to go back to staying in the dormitories."

A warm smile crossed Dr Swanson's face, "And you're worried about him."

She said it as a statement, not a question, and it didn't go unnoticed by Severus.

"Shouldn't I be?"

The oncologist gave him a hard stare and then shuffled through a set of folders on her desk, pulling a moderately sized one from the pile; presumably Harry's, readily available because he had chemotherapy only two days ago. The professor watched her eyes scan through the pages as she flipped them, every-so-often pausing over a part of the document.

"It's natural to worry, Severus," she reassured him, "and while past behavior isn't necessarily an indication of future health, nothing in Harry's results show he's at a high risk for relapse or infection. Keep in mind these tests are taken before chemotherapy, where his white blood cells do decline, so keeping him more secluded than a dormitory for a couple of days after his treatments would be preferred, but overall he's been rebounding without any issues."

"So then, he's alright to go back to the dormitories?" Severus confirmed. "He can certainly go back to staying with me after his monthly treatments, that won't be an issue. He'll be far more comfortable there anyways."

"Anything can change at any moment," the physician carefully said to him, and he knew she couldn't professionally state that there wasn't a risk involved, "but you do a good job at keeping him safe and I know you have your means to continue to do so."

As always, he brushed off her compliment, "We get by."

"I'm serious," she continued, "it's important you hear that you're doing good with him. And not just with his physical health, he's come a long way from the malnourished sixteen year old I first met."

Again, Severus didn't answer.

"Have you called Dr Snyder?"

"Not yet," Severus answered, "I wanted to ask if there is anything specific I need to-"

"Let me reach out to him on your behalf, and get something scheduled," she made a note in Harry's file laying open on her desk which Severus couldn't read from his vantage point. "Does a specific day or time work best?"

"Anytime after Sunday," he answered. "Thank you."

After getting Harry's prescriptions refilled and bidding Dr Swanson - and her office - goodbye, Severus's next stop for the day was to go over to Alton's side of the hospital to get his friend's opinion of Harry's magical retraining courses. Although Albus wouldn't require the healer's approval to get the custom curriculum through the Board of Governors, as the medical professional overseeing Harry's Magical Health, his word would go a long way in securing the right signatures.

This time, as Severus placed his hand over the lift button to read his magical signature - and alert Alton's office to an incoming wizard - Severus was brought back to the day of Harry's diagnosis, back when the Gryffindor didn't trust him and yet allowed his hated Potions Professor to walk him into the hospital, then stay with him during those first awful test, and finally when he received the news no one wanted to hear. To Severus, who practically lived through that day twice, coming back to the same office was almost numbing. If asked, he would never be able to explain how he managed to walk from the lift into the healer's office without crumbling to the floor.

"You look tired, Severus," Alton said, handing the professor a cup of black coffee in his office before taking his seat on the other side of the desk. He then picked up the sheets of parchment Severus brought and added, "Of course, if you've gotten all of this done in only four days, you probably haven't been sleeping."

Why did it seem everyone suddenly cared about his own habits lately? Never had anyone paid so much attention to his schedule or how he chose to live his life.

"I didn't come for a lecture," the professor aggressively answered, "I need to get this off to Albus and your endorsement would certainly make things easier."

"Why does it need to be approved by the Board of Governors?" Alton questioned. "This doesn't need to be school sanctioned since he's technically not taking classes in an official capacity."

Severus agreed, however he wasn't about to get into a debate over the politics of it all. "As we'll be utilizing school resources, their approval is mandatory."

For the second time in as many hours, Severus watched the person across from him scan through the files before him or her.

"In my professional opinion," Alton started, giving Severus a bit of relief that - at least this time - he could get an official recommendation and not have to interpret the meaning, "I don't see why he can't go back to Sixth level Potions and Herbology. He's done most of the work for those classes and they require minimal magical use. At least let him stay caught up there.

"Defense will require heavy use of magic, however from his files-" Alton looked up, his brown eyes meeting the professor's black, "-his real files this time, it's his strongest subject so you should put most of his focus there. I'd expect the raw magic to organize relatively easily making it the biggest gain. On the other side, I'd go light on Transfiguration. Being his least confident course, it'll take a lot of magic with little organizational return. Charms is somewhere in the middle. The benefit there is that those are spells that could help him once he can go back to unrestricted magical use."

Severus nodded his head in agreement. So far, it wasn't anything he hadn't already considered. "How long do you suspect it will take until the magic isn't considered raw any longer?"

"There's no way to tell that, Severus," the healer passed the parchment - with his notes added - back across the desk, "Harry had an incident of pretty extreme accidental magic as a thirteen year old, and that was only with a fraction of his core available."

"He had been under extreme distress at the time," the professor countered, thinking back to the news of Harry blowing up his Aunt Marge, something which obviously didn't happen in his old reality.

"Dare I say he's under an equal amount of stress during his treatments each month," Alton challenged. "All I'm saying is, best case scenario, this organization could be something that comes naturally to his magic and we see the events stop early on and he can cease magical training. Worst case, he had a history of strong accidental magic, and it would behoove us to prepare him for the need to continue through Maintenance."

Or until his magic is gone, sat heavily between the two wizards.

"If it doesn't stop the accidental magic, why bother continuing to train?" Severus countered, considering if he needed to push Harry into the magical block ritual instead. "Isn't that the point of all of this?"

"Understand, there's never been a case like Harry's before, so this is a lot of speculation," the healer gave a small laugh, "but the severity of the events should decrease, even if they don't fully stop during his most extreme situations. We'll keep monitoring him throughout and make adjustments where needed."

Somehow Alton sounded far more confident than Severus knew he should feel. Was that how physicians - muggle and magical alike - spoke to calm down their patient's worried parents? If so, could he place his trust in his friend to have Harry's best interest in mind? He had to. Not only was there no other option, this went above Severus's own abilities. It didn't mean he'd go into this blindly and stop searching and learning all he could about Harry's unique situations, but had to relinquish some amount of control.

"What about where to start him?" The professor asked. "Would it make sense to do a placement test or start him in first year for all courses outside of Potions and Herbology?"

"I can test him next week," the brown-haired wizard answered. "It will give us a good idea of where he's starting and if he really needs to relearn everything or if there are areas where a refresher will do."

Ultimately, that was the best Severus could ask for and exactly what he'd expected when coming to his friend's office. The two wizards spent the rest of his visit talking about how Sarah and Mary were recovering from their own ordeal, and the exciting start to Mary's own accidental magic this summer; to which Alton commented on Severus becoming her professor someday. It wouldn't happen though. He already knew once Harry had moved on from the school, he'd also move on to different - probably better, as he hated teaching - things that did not constantly remind him of Voldemort... the whole reason he became a professor in the first place.

Monday, 18th, August 1997

"This? This is your chateau? It's beautiful!"

Standing on the circle path, Draco smirked down at the glazed cobblestones mortared perfectly around the marble fountain. He let a familiar arrogance fill his voice. "Surprised, are you? I suppose you would be after staying in Weasley's hovel. Do they at least clean their trough daily?"

Hermione readjusted her beaded bag on her shoulder and slapped the Slytherin's arm. "Don't start, Draco," she warned in her half-joking, half-serious tone that managed to get her point across. But given the stars in her russet eyes, he's own point had reached its mark.

"It's your home for the next week," the Malfoy heir quickly tacked on with a fleeting, almost nervous smile. "You're free to go anywhere you want, enjoy the gardens or vineyards - we ferment our own champagne here, at houses and cellars on the other side of the property. I can arrange for a tasting for us tomorrow if you'd like."

The Reims château captured the true essence of the Haussmann style architecture with cream-colored sandstone facades, remarkable mansard roofs angled at forty-five degrees with dormer windows, ornamental reliefs and intricate hand carved stone mouldings, and rows of florid, arched windows framed with twisting iron wrought rails. It embodied the very meaning of Old World, French charm while also doing an applaudable job at striking intimidation in the hearts of those who came across its regal path.

Designed in a rigid, H-shape with three stories and a top floor, the entrance was a grand affair in the very center with the two sides of the building valleying a vibrant green front lawn and perfectly carved hedges. Thick, limestone pillars stood vigil around the front doors that were situated under a modest balcony accessible from the second story. And the garden that welcomed visitors and its masters was filled with French lavender that became more fragrant at dawn, vibrant orange blossoms, and delicate violets and roses.

It was strange how nervous Draco felt. Usually so emboldened with arrogance and a hefty dose of egotism, he rarely worried about the thoughts or judgments of others. Why should he, according to his parents; lions never bothered with the thoughts and opinions of sheep. But ever since they used the portkey moments ago that transported them from Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England to Malfoy Chateau in Reims, France, he couldn't calm the whirlwind festering in his stomach.

He'd seen the Grangers suburban house, had fallen in love with the whimsical bliss of their casual homestead, and was suddenly nervous over living with Hermione for a week in another country at his family's ancestral home. Not to mention, he would finally broach the subject of dating a Muggleborn to his parents, considering they were planning on staying together, all four of them, in the chateau.

Could something go wrong? Most likely if his father was still the same man who threw a punch at Arthur Weasley in a bookshop while shopping for school supplies. But was his father that same man? He honestly didn't know anymore. Not since they survived the nightmare at the manor a few months ago, when they were all forced to grab at the shattered remains of their previous lives and try to piece their existence and family back together. His father had changed, just as they all had, but how and to what extent? He wasn't sure.

Would Lucius Malfoy, renowned Pureblood supremacist and once upon a time decorated Death Eater, accept that his only son and heir was courting a Muggleborn? More than courting, if Draco was being honest with himself. He was willing to die for Hermione, willing to take another's life for her, willing to do anything to ensure she survived and was happy. If he had his way, he'd make her his wife within the hour. But wishing that was a selfish deed in and of itself; a brilliant witch with a flawless record, she had the world at her fingertips and he didn't want to trample on her future with his own desires.

Now standing on the front lawn of the chateau, a few yards away from the gatehouse where the portkey dropped them, Draco was beginning to think having her spend the holiday with him in Reims was a colossal mistake. If his father didn't dish out some demeaning sentiments to her, his emotionally stunted mother would. Narcissa Malfoy still couldn't be bothered to look at her only son the same way she used to, only seeing him as the living reminder of what happened in their home. She was broken in her own disorganized way, unable to deal with the mess of their family.

Maybe the entire holiday was a mistake.

"I'd love to have a tasting," Hermione's response brought the blonde back to the present, her words caressed with her own nervous tilt. She looked apprehensively between the Slytherin and the enormous chateau. "Are we… going inside? I thought we were having dinner with your parents. We shouldn't keep them waiting."

"Hm? Oh, right. Yes, you're right. I can show you to your room, too. You'll be in one of the suites in the northwestern wing. It's lovely - overlooks the back gardens, if I remember correctly."

She smiled, the curves of her lips twitching with nerves. "Do you not come here often?"

"Not really. We used to visit more when my grandfather was alive — he split his time between living here and our other manor in Vecstameriena, Latvia." Maintaining a level smile at her, he didn't indulge that their Latvia manor was infested with haunted creatures and spirits, was more of a museum for dark artefacts, and a place he loathed visiting.

They made their way into the elegant manor, where two witch servants were waiting for them at the threshold to take Hermione's shrunken bags. Draco already vanished his luggage to his bedroom once they used the portkey, assuming he'd still be settled in the same bedroom he always had when visiting the chateau.

Though she looked awkward and morally challenged in doing so, Hermione was eventually coerced to hand over her palm-size luggage to the waiting servants. After they left, she turned to the Slytherin with an arched brow. "No house elves? I'm proud to see SPEW left an impact on your family."

He gave a haughty tutt and guided her towards the grand staircase, a marvelous creation made of matte alabaster marble and small sparkling granite diamond shapes wedged periodically between the stairs. Their steps were softened by the plush ornate stair runner. "The domestics here are more reliable than French house elves," he explained. "Employing them - yes, employing, they are salaried - ensures our safety. French house elves are known for being vicious and feral creatures. They ripped the throat out of a wizard last month during an attack to sacrifice to their pantheon."

Hermione froze when they reached the second floor and turned to him with mouth open, brows knitted in horror. "Oh my gosh, that's awful! You're joking!"

He cracked a smile. "I absolutely am." And he was reminded all too well how he pulled the same stunt with Harry months back when telling him about the fabricated ghosts that swelled the tunnels under the manor, the same tunnels that saved them both from their torment and impending demise.

The chateau's interior was as posh and elegant as the exterior. And in many ways, Draco actually preferred it to their Wiltshire manor that was properly his home. Unlike Malfoy Manor that maintained a sea of morphing shadows stalking one room to the next and splatterings of dark gothic architecture weaved between depressing Elizabethan designs, the Reims Chateau was bright and welcoming. Odd that it had half the windows the manor did, but somehow still provided a light, airy, and spacious ambiance.

It continued to maintain the beautiful Haussmann style with light grey hewn stone and quintessential decorative moulding, pale marble and limestone pillars and flourishes, and the occasional splash of color in the awe-inspiring, woven tapestries hanging periodically between timeless Malfoy portraits. And as the two teens walked from one corridor to the next, Draco allowed the relaxing, open ambiance to calm his nerves. Maybe the holiday wouldn't be a fantastic failure in the end, after all. If nothing else, he felt proud to be sharing his heritage with the witch he loved.

"I won't need much time to get ready for dinner," Hermione said after eyeing a portrait of Draco's great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother watching her with narrowed, judgmental eyes. "Unless you think I should take longer. I don't know how these things go. I'd just hate to show late for my first meeting with your parents. First impressions and all that."

Reaching Hermione's room, Draco turned the gold-coated bronze doorknob and pushed it open for her, gentlemanly gesturing for her to enter first. "They're just having drinks in the parlour, and if we let them keep at it, the meal will be infinitely more relaxing. Dinner won't actually be served for an hour so take all the time you need, Hermione. If you want to get a tour, we can do that before."

The suite was tastefully kept with the same bright, airy milieu as the rest of the chateau. A quaint sitting room greeted them with rich velvet couches, an entire wall of floor to ceiling white bookshelves with an antique desk centered between them, and tall sweeping ceilings bringing in more light than it absorbed. A doorway on the opposite end led to a tastefully romantic bedroom with fanciful layers of billowing floral fabric swept over the bed and another door that led to a lavatory as large as an entire floor of the Weasley's house.

"Again, I'm blown away by all of this, Draco," she mumbled as she surveyed the sitting room, nervously fingering the hem of her cardigan. "But honestly, I don't need all of this. A…A smaller room would be fine."

He smirked. "We don't have smaller ones." A lie but he wasn't about to put his girlfriend in the lesser guest rooms shoved on the first floor. "My room's at the end of the hall. Did you want me to show you around or did you want to…" He blinked, recognizing he was treading in unfamiliar waters. "I don't know… powder your nose or whatever?"

Hermione returned his blink with one of her own before looking down to assess her attire - a cheerful lilac sundress hemmed just below the knee, dainty but tastefully modest, and a white knitted cardigan. "Do I need to freshen up? What am I saying? Of course I should! Is this dress alright? Should I change into formal clothes?" She chewed on her bottom lip. "What are you wearing?"

Leaning against the side of the doorframe, Draco studied her in amusement. Had it been a year or two prior, he would've relished the overwhelming nerves the Muggleborn battled, interpreting it as a testament that his family's overwhelming presence was a weaponized power in itself. And maybe years back, when he'd torment the know-it-all Gryffindor and call her derogatory names like he was waving around a trophy, he would've found sport in watching her squirm at the prospects of meeting his parents for the, technically, third time.

Because she had already met the infamous Lucius Malfoy twice before - the first during the summer prior to second year. They were twelve and he still looked at his father in salivating adoration and striving to earn the elder Malfoy's affections and approval through any way he could. Back in those days, the word Mudblood slipped off the tongue as easy as his name and he could convince himself his soul never wilted from it.

Now, looking at Hermione, he'd hex someone into oblivion if anyone called her that.

"Robes," Draco eventually answered unhelpfully when he realized she was still having a mild panic attack and began to rifle through her now normal sized luggage. His penchant for Muggle clothes was still strong, but had waned considerably since his visit to the Grangers and completing the animagus ritual. He just wasn't wearing the same wardrobe he had before the Battle of Malfoy Manor. Instead, he ordered a whole new set of couture robes that, while they looked similar to their predecessors, they felt renewed and different.

The witch shot up from the couch, where she was emptying the mini-wardrobe she somehow managed to fit in her suitcase, to look at her boyfriend in desperation. "Well, is my dress appropriate? Does it compliment you? I should've let Ginny talk me into buying more dress robes."

"What happened to that Gryffindor bravery? You sound more like a Hufflepuff to me."

A pillow went flying off the couch towards him, but it was easily caught thanks to still well-honed Seeker skills.

"This chateau is beautiful, Mr and Mrs Malfoy. And my room is… huge and lovely. I don't think I've ever stayed in such nice accommodations before."

Listening to Hermione bumble through another round of compliments, Draco repeatedly speared the tip of his fork in and out of the first dinner course, a delicacy of duck foie gras cooked in a buckwheat crust and local berries. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, his etiquette governess was having a mild panic over his indecorous table manners as he shattered them left and right.

After convincing Hermione that she looked more than presentable for dinner, the blonde Slytherin took her on an abridged tour of the chateau, condensed enough to fit in their pre-dinner hour gap, with the promise to show her everything else - the champagne cellars and brewing warehouses, the fountains with a teeming fae colony, and, of course, their hidden library - the following day. When they entered the elegant dining room, an expansive chamber with several unused antechambers attached to it, both teens had exchanged nervous glances; she was eager to give off a good impression and he was apprehensive of his parents souring the only bright spot of his life.

The introductions were awkward at first. Unsurprisingly, his father had immediately taken the lead, but it was the incredibly surprising greeting he opened with that really left Draco amazed:

"It's so very nice to meet you again, Miss Granger."

Again. And just like that, the mood and scene had been set, authored by none other than Lucius Malfoy, acknowledging all previous meetings with that one simple, innocent word, holding so much meaning behind it. Draco had felt a burden lifted from his shoulders; no longer did he worry about how to recognize the troubled waters between his family and Hermione and whether or not they were going to function on the faulty assumption that those prior introductions ever existed. Did they start anew and pretend they were meeting for the first time? Did they courageously face the past? It was never in his family's nature to confront their mistakes; they were masters of slipping blame to others or covering up any blunders to their names. But facing those blunders head on?

Anyone but Lucius Malfoy would've been clumsy in the introductions and tense circumstances. The epitome of control and poise, his calculating smile never faltered for a second as he took Hermione's hand in his - the same hand used to hold his wand and kill countless Muggles - and gave a genuine handshake.

The air had turned solid for a second while everyone waited for the explosion. For the other foot to fall. For the fallout to decay the moment. But it never came. At least from the Malfoy patriarch, there were no demeaning or judgmental words laced in his countenance. From Narcissa Malfoy, however, the aristocratic woman eyed Hermione in a strange cold shrewdness, the look making Draco immediately feel skeptically defensive. His mother could insult someone through backhanded compliments all the while looking perfectly noble while doing so. He was prepared for that; he wasn't prepared for the appraising frostiness.

Draco gave up on murdering his foie gras with his fork and instead downed his second glass of champagne.

"It's a family heirloom," Narcissa proudly answered the Gryffindor with a saccharine smile, the corners of her lips cut as sharp as diamonds. "Draco is set to inherit it - all of this. And his wife, whoever that may be, will be the madam of his assets. We haven't betrothed him, you know. He's considered one of the most eligible and sought after heirs."

A panicked, confused look crossed Hermione's face as she nervously glanced at the Slytherin teen beside her for a second before looking back across the grand dining table at the other witch. "Erm, I…"

"Mother," Draco mumbled in a warning growl. He didn't know where the Malfoy matriarch was going with that string of thought, but he wasn't interested in finding out. They were only one course into the dinner with six more to go, and they already had to send for a second bottle of champagne.

Narcissa pretended she didn't hear her son; ignoring his presence was becoming far too second nature for her. "Among Pureblood society, it's not unheard of for prominent young heirs to be arranged in a union with a witch from an equally influential family. Sometimes even at birth! But we've allowed Draco a rare opportunity of choice. And I do hope he...shows more urgency in concreting his nuptials." She gracefully swung her fragile flute to her full-lips, curving them daintily around the rim to steal the smallest of sips.

Draco narrowed his gaze on his mother. At first, he worried she was flaunting his "eligibility" to his Muggleborn girlfriend in a way to scare her off. To intimidate that, yes, there likely were Pureblood families dying to throw their daughters into a marriage with him. But the more she droned on, the more Narcissa Malfoy sounded uncharacteristically pushy about it.

She sounded like she was trying to sell the idea of marriage to Hermione.

"I can't imagine not having that kind of choice," Hermione politely responded, but the stiffness in her voice told Draco she was beginning to get defensive. "My parents have always encouraged me to make my own decisions and to stand by them, even if they're the wrong ones."

"Your parents..," Lucius's honeyed words cut in. He'd been watching Hermione carefully throughout the entire meal, studying her in the way he studied his dark artefacts and ancient books. "Muggles, yes? Was it difficult for them to support your decision of embracing a witch bequest, abandoning your kinship, and studying in a world so divided from their own? A most intriguing breed of people."

The room turned silent and Draco's cheeks began to flush with heat. "Father, that-"

"It really wasn't difficult for them," Hermione cut in, her shoulders squared back and spine stiffened straight up, making her pale lavender dress fall femininely around her slender form. Though he wouldn't dare say it then, Draco would later tell her how marvelous anger looked on her. "They knew I was different from them and my peers. I think they were more relieved to know that I had a rightful place where my aptitudes could be turned into a lifestyle."

Lucius smirked at her. But it wasn't his normal belittling smirk typically reserved for Muggleborns. It was satisfied, as if he were expecting her reaction. " 'Rightful' is a fascinating term to use. Among all of your celebrated masteries and proficiencies, Miss Granger, 'entitled' wouldn't be one I'd so quickly extend to you."

Only the Malfoy patriarch could both insult and compliment in the same sentence and leave his audience confused on how to interpret and react. The skill was renowned, and one Draco used to envy. Part of him wanted to jump in to stand up for his girlfriend, but he wasn't even sure there was anything to defend. His mother seemed preoccupied with discussing his unwed status to his girlfriend, and his father… well, he wasn't sure what his father's angle and end-game plan was. But such was the risk with Lucius Malfoy. Rarely could one dilute the wizard's intention long before his ambitious goal succeeded, if at all.

The second course was brought out: John Dory from La Barre-de-Monts on a bed of risotto, caviar garnish, and champagne sauce.

Hermione didn't even look as the servant exchanged her empty plate with the new course. She stared back at the Malfoy patriarch in the way she stared at her cauldron when trying to decipher a tricky potion brewing issue. "Aren't all born witches and wizards entitled to live in the world they belong in?"

"Are they? I can think of a select few who had a similar sentiment of entitlement. Ironically, they are the same ones given the monikers of the darkest wizards in our lifetimes," Lucius casually said in an almost distracted tone as he picked up his second fork at his place setting to poke at the new course. "Entitlement is as useful of a concept as laziness - truly, they're fraternal twins, often coming hand in hand. But for you, Miss Granger, you claim entitlement out of impractical humility."

Her eyes blazed with scorn. "Impractical humility?"

The rich, succulent dish couldn't distract Draco from the strange air around him. His mother continued to stare at his girlfriend through sizing up, examining eyes, as if she were weighing the artistic qualities of a robe and if it met her impossible standards, while his father weaved in and out of his confusing vernacular towards whatever damnable goal he sought.

Draco wanted to defend her - he was expecting to. But he didn't know what to defend her from.

Hailing a servant with a mere raise of his heavily ring-ladened hand, Lucius nodded at the dish in front of him when the servant approached. "Too much caviar powder. Remove it." He turned to Hermione immediately after, as if he didn't send the fifty-galleon plate away. "Yes, impractical humility. You see, humility is a perfectly viable blade to keep at one's side, but like all tools, it's useful in only the most specific of circumstances. An overuse of it makes the edges dull and lose their luster. It's no longer a tool but a bludger to yourself."

The Gryffindor witch lowered her hackles some, considering the older wizard with a skeptical but intrigued gaze. "Humility is a fine quality to have."

"Oh, I agree," Lucius replied with a canny smile. "But time and place is what separates it from being banally flawed to a useful asset. You, for example, have no reason for being humble when it comes to your many accolades, especially in the present audience. You are entirely within your limits to claim you belong in the magical world not because of an inherited entitlement, but because you rightfully earned it."

Draco almost dropped his third flute of champagne. It was a compliment from Lucius. And yet, it wasn't decorated and flowery and the type that left you feeling warm in an aftermath glow. It was the type that was skeptically flattering.

Before either teen could react, Narcissa Malfoy pipped in: "Did you know that this chateau was built originally for Draco's ancestors' wedding? Isn't that romantic? I'd say it is about time we have another wedding here. Next winter, perhaps?"

The blonde teen rolled his eyes. "Mother, you are about as subtle as an anvil."

The third course came out: Lobster from L'Île-d'Yeu, turnip-rooted millefeuille with tomatoes and zucchini. No one noticed it being served. A fourth bottle of champagne was uncorked and brought out.

"Your impressive academic records are storied, Miss Granger," Lucius began in a professional, to the point tone. There was no snide lilt in his words, no hidden insult waiting to spring out. It was all business. "When Draco came home during your first year winter break, we berated him for allowing a Muggleborn to surpass him in marks. He'd been raised in a highly magical household, surrounded by it and provided with the best tutors in preliminary magic, and yet he was a junior to someone new to it."

Lucius paused there, staring at Hermione, waiting for her reaction. It was how he managed complete control over the conversation, giving cues for when he wanted their input.

Uncertain on how to feel with his father's words, Draco looked over at his girlfriend. On one hand, he complimented Hermione, but at the expense of putting down his own son. Being second to Hermione in class work was always a difficult spot for the Malfoy father and son; for years Draco resented the Gryffindor witch for being the catalyst that drove him away from getting his father's rare acceptance. All he ever wanted was his father's impossible approval. When his father was tossed in Azkaban and he stopped holding onto that resentment, he was finally able to breathe freely and be honest with his feelings of admiration for Hermione.

Hermione took a small bite of her lobster and cleared her throat. "Draco's always been my academic rival." Her smaller hand reached under the table, finding Draco's to lace their fingers together and give a supportive squeeze. "He's caught up in his classes even without being in them and is probably the most intelligent person I've met. You should be proud of him."

Immediately, Draco looked at the head of the table where his father sat, trying to ignore his ache to hear the older wizard validate and acknowledge him.

But Lucius wouldn't give him the light of day. His focus - proverbially and physically - was centered on Hermione, and his son didn't exist in that moment beyond being a conversational engine for his point. "Have you given your career any consideration, Miss Granger?"

The Gryffindor blinked, taken off-guard by the random inquiry. She'd been expecting to go to battle with Lucius, or to defend her boyfriend in the face of his bullying father. But much like the Slytherin teen, she was beginning to realize the questioning wasn't an interrogation to pin her into a corner and humiliate her; it was to study her rigor, tenacity, intellect, and wit. She was being interviewed for a position. "I… have been weighing my options. Research has always been easy and interesting for me, especially with the more… restricted subjects. But I want to use it for good, so maybe researching and cataloguing dark magic for the Ministry. Most Dark Arts isn't necessarily prohibited but there's so much that's unregulated."

The irony in her words brought the entire table to a silent standstill. The three Slytherins exchanged a few looks and Draco wondered how many bottles of wine they'd burn through before they reached the seventh course.

Lucius shattered the silence with a soft chuckle. "Researching dark arts for the Ministry? Fascinating and dangerous work, Miss Granger. Unfortunately - or perhaps, fortunately, depending on which side you stand - the more potent dark artefacts are coveted by ancient families who have no interest satisfying the Ministry's scholarly whims and giving up their family heirlooms. Because it's never scholarly - it's control and regulation. You said it yourself. How do you plan to circumvent that disincentive?"

The Gryffindor paused only long enough to sip her champagne, and Draco internally applauded her at how casual she made it look. Under the table, he caressed small circles with his thumb on the back of her hand. "I never said I'd remove the artefacts," she replied. "You can keep them - they'll just be catalogued."

The Malfoy patriarch shallowly elevated a sculpted brow. "You mean to say 'they', I'm sure, Miss Granger."

Hermione grinned unapologetically. "That's what I said."

And just like that, with a wolfish, marauding smile, Lucius leaned back in his chair, giving Hermione a look worth more than every sickle and galleon in his swollen vaults: approval. And Draco felt his own overwhelming anxiety flutter away like birds being released from their suffocating cages. While he hungered for his father's own approval, to get it for Hermione was unexpected yet so much sweeter. He could live with trying to constantly earn the Malfoy patriarch's eye - he'd already lived seventeen years doing it, so what was another few decades? - but to get Hermione approved by him was… monumental.

Had the night ended on that note, he would've been beyond relieved, happy even, and able to push away the numbness he surrounded himself in since the nightmarish Battle of Malfoy Manor. But life wasn't so grand to him, and his father continued speaking.

Lucius tented his fingers. "You know, Miss Granger, I had Narcissa check the Genealogical Society on a hunch before we left England. Your command of magic is revolutionary, especially for your origins. A puzzle worth finishing. And I wasn't the least bit surprised to discover that your father has a direct - albeit estranged - blood relation with the Dagworth-Granger lineage."

A Pureblood family. Draco didn't know the Dagworth-Grangers well - they weren't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, though they were Pureblood all the same with impressive feats - but he knew Hermione was Muggleborn with painfully Muggle parents. He'd met them before, had seen her father covered in grass clippings and smelly petrol, and watched him have a conversation about a Muggle sport with a neighbor. There was no magic to be found, none.

The fourth course was brought: beef from Chauvigny, salted crusted potatoes, and truffle mushrooms sabayon.

Hermione furrowed her brows and looked briefly at Draco in confusion, who only mirrored her expression, before turning back to the elder Malfoys. "Are you sure? My entire family are Muggles. There's no way that I'm-"

"Quite sure," Lucius interrupted as he began to delicately cut into the palm-sized beef medallion. "Narcissa has already gone ahead and ensured your name will be added to their pedigree chart." He looked up from his meal to smile briefly at the teens across from him. "Perhaps now that you are blood-related to that family, one that is highly revered for their potioneering accomplishments, you may find your Dark Arts research ambitions much more viable. I will say that I was rather pleased to discover the relation between you and that particular Pureblood family, despite the familial distance."

Just as Draco began to open his mouth to argue the accuracy of this so-called, serendipitously discovered "Pureblood" relation, his mother dreamily cut in: "Connecting the Malfoys with the Dagworth-Granger pedigree has not been done before. Your wedding will be the talk of Pureblood society and the wizarding world!"

Draco grabbed for the fifth champagne bottle and filled his glass to the rim and wondered whether his parents' reactions to Hermione was a blessing or a curse.

Much later on after dinner had come to a close and the four witches and wizards went their own separate ways, Draco followed Hermione back to her suite. It was an unbecoming, audacious move for a Pureblooded son - and now, apparently, a distantly related Pureblooded daughter if his parents had their way - but he didn't care. He needed to be with Hermione, to feel empowered in her bolstering, brave presence, to confirm that he didn't scare her away with his parents' odd antics, convoluted conversations, and machinated pedigree. He needed to know that they were alright before he cornered his father to demand what he was playing at with this Dagworth-Granger business.

Prior to coming to France, Draco expected to be caught between his old, Pureblood existence with his staunchly fanatical parents and his Muggleborn, stubborn girlfriend. But he didn't expect the tables to turn so dramatically that he could no longer tell if the tables were even standing anymore. The climate and landscape had dramatically changed all by his parents' words and apparent preparation for the meeting; because that's what they must've done. As he always did, his father cultivated that dinner conversation long before it actually occurred. It was a game of chess to him: he knew the end game and only had to nudge the pieces to acquiesce to their placements in order to achieve the desired result.

"Anyone can have strength to incite action with results and consequences, Draco. That's just a law of nature," Lucius had told his son in the days leading up to his first year at Hogwarts. "But a Malfoy has power. And power, when guided by wisdom, produces not just results but intended consequences."

Slipping into her suite, Draco immediately wrapped his arms around Hermione, wordlessly tugging her in close and savoring the familiarity of her in fear that it would be the last. Would she slip away? Leave him in Reims? Did she resent him and his family for everything they said and did? Was she just being polite with having sat through the remaining dinner courses and politely engaging in the pleasant conversation that filled the table?

Hermione immediately returned the embrace with fervor, nestling her face against the crook of his neck, content to stand there as long as he was. And though they didn't exchange any words, the language shared between their flush bodies spoke apologies, liturgies of love, and promises for a better future together. And they existed in that span of admirable silence, allowing the rest of the world to stop existing while they only focused on each other.

"I'm going to talk with him," Draco eventually said, pulling back after what felt like minutes had passed. "And… And I'm going to get this figured out. I can get your name taken off the pedi-"

"Draco," she shushed him with a quick kiss on his lips, her own curled gently in opposition to his worried expression. "It's fine. What does it matter? I know what I am and I'm not ashamed of it. So what if some dusty old stacks has me listed as an estranged, distant relative? I don't care about blood. I never have. You know that."

He wasn't convinced. "But by doing that, they're making a statement that they don't accept you as a muggleborn."

Shifting her hold on him, she gently guided him to the couch to sit. "So? They're accepting me. Or… I think they are? It sounds like if your mother had her way, it'd be our wedding in a few days and not Fleur and Bill's."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I haven't a clue what's gotten into her lately. I think she's just wanting a way to get back into society's limelight and out of the gutter. I think she sees you as the way to do it. Which I'm going to tell her that you're not that!" He began speaking swiftly, spurred on by his panic that he could lose the one and only good thing in his life. "I'm not dating you because you're Saint Potter's best friend - I couldn't care less! I'm not looking to elevate my social status through you. I love you and I'd spend the rest of my life with you even if it meant being on the bottom rung of society."

Hermione stopped moving, maybe even breathing, as she stared at him. "You love me?"

He blinked. Was that his first time actually saying it to her? Since the Battle of Malfoy Manor, he'd shied away from any inkling of emotion, instead embracing the ignorant bliss of numbness. After being raised to never allow emotion to overcome you, even at the expense of concealing and suppressing feelings, to suddenly have so many was like being dropped in the middle of the ocean when he never learned how to swim. Where others were taught - even encouraged - to welcome and validate emotions, he wasn't. "What? Of course I do! I'd give my life for you, Hermione. And I practically did months ago when I kidnapped Harry to make sure you would live."

The witch continued to stare at him unblinking, and he worried if she even heard him. And for a few seconds, he worried that he made a horrible mistake by proclaiming his sincere adoration for her. He absolutely loved her beyond anything that he could put into words; she was the one and only thing in his life that kept him striving towards a place of benevolence, but he worried that he would soil her own radiance with his darkness. Or that she would find his heart too infected with shadows to love.

He'd done horrible, implorable things - killed, tortured, all for the good of the Order but he did them. Good intentions didn't erase the actual deeds committed, and it didn't make his mental anguish and ugliness any less grueling.

Just as he prepared to blanket himself in the coldness of Occlumency to shield himself from her rejection, Hermione surprised him as she leaned forward, making their lips meet. At first the kiss was fragile and delicate, the type that had to be handled carefully lest you wanted it to slowly unravel at the seams. And Draco breathed in her love and smell and taste, and panicked as he fought to decipher the chaste kiss's meaning.

She pulled inches away, their lips ghosting over each other as she spoke, "I love you, too."

All of his doubts and worries were cast aside with those four small words. And he knew that no matter what transpired with his father later on, him and Hermione would be better than alright. She accepted him for all of his faults and flaws - his bigotry past, prejudiced parents trying to make concessions to accept her while not entirely waffling on their traditions and beliefs, and dark acts committed when he was a spy. And he accepted her stubborn bravery, friendship with Potter and Weasley, and Muggleborn nature and parents. They came from two completely opposite lives and spectrums, and somehow built a plane of existence for them to thrive and meet in between. There would always be aspects of each other's lives they simply couldn't understand or change; and that was alright. That was part of the unconditional acceptance process in learning that puzzles were composed of intricacies with some pieces extending one way and others extending inwards. In parts, the pieces look jagged and incomplete, but together they harmonized perfectly.

In a messy tornado of clothes being tossed to the side, hurried kisses, and urgent touches, the two stumbled clumsily towards the bedroom.

In the aftermath of their intimacy, they dreamily talked about everything and anything, still caught in each other's arms and intertwined in the sheets. They chatted about the upcoming wedding, laughed about how Disneyland would be fun and interesting when they visited the next day, and he made fun of her horrible attempts at French. She spoke rapidly about how excited she was for the start of their final school year, now that he finalized his accommodations offer from Dumbledore and Snape, and offered various study schedules to manage their overwhelming coursework. To become a healer, Draco had to get at least 'Outstanding' or 'Exceeds Expectations' on Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, all the while still excelling in his coursework in his other classes.

"You're still going the healer route?" Hermione asked as she shifted her body against his, looking up at the moonlight flooding silver radiance on the ceiling molding.

Draco nodded as he carded his fingers in her hair. "I'd like to. But I want to do more than just magic healing. I want to be hands-on in treatment and program development for my family's new Muggle Disease Center. But in order to do that, I need to learn about Muggle diseases. And I honestly haven't an idea on how."

The witch hummed a little before shrugging and simply stating, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, "Well, you can learn through Muggle schools."

And that launched an entire conversation on what Muggle education entailed, how Muggle primary and secondary schools functioned, what university was and what Hermione would've studied had she not committed to a life of magic and being a witch.

As the hours twisted further into the night, the teens' voices grew dreamy and sleepy. And they moved more sluggishly through their conversations: Hermione proudly spoke about her ambitions as Head Girl, and Draco promised to use his new animagus form to sneak into her room.

The moon was just cresting to its zenith when they both fell into a blissful slumber.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 22nd, August 1997

How hard is it to open a folded up piece of parchment?

That question rang over and over in Harry's head since he woke up an hour ago, just before five in the morning. Assuming the young wizard passed his morning diagnostic scan from Snape, the two of them would be heading off to France for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and he hadn't forgotten Hermione mentioning the small detail of Draco being in attendance tomorrow night. So once again, he sat on his bed watching the sun crest over the industrial landscape from his bedroom window, with both of the blonde Slytherin's letters sitting on top of his bedspread, letting his anxiety of dealing with Draco overshadow the excitement of attending the wedding.

It all started after he had another dream - not exactly a nightmare, yet not necessarily something good - last night about his time at Malfoy Manor, locked in the room with Draco. This time, against all odds, he'd managed to find a connection between the Celestial Room they were locked in and Draco's bedroom through a well hidden passage in their large en suite lavatory. After taking the secret passage - which wasn't much more than a tunnel of dirt no wider than their shoulders - into the Malfoy heir's bedroom, they found Buckbeak sitting in his pristine bed and rode him out the window. All would have been fine, except Harry remembered he'd forgotten Snape halfway across the expansive front garden, but when he tried to get Buckbeak to turn around, he was bitten on his left forearm, and as a result, a large bruise started rapidly taking over his arm. Harry woke up with a startle right as he'd fallen from Buckbeak and was rushing towards the ground. Covered in sweat, when he awoke he knew he had to try to open the letters; it seemed like a very logical thing to do, especially if he'd promised Hermione not to put her in the middle. An hour later, though, they still sat untouched in front of him and, realistically, no closer to getting opened.

This is ridiculous, the Gryffindor thought to himself, you already know what's in them! Somehow, knowing they each contained a letter Harry was supposed to forward over didn't prevent him from questioning what else the blonde had written. Did he pretend as if nothing had happened; simply inquiring about his holiday and hoped to see him at school next term? Or was the other teen honest about how awkward he felt? While Harry preferred, and expected, the first option, his paralyzing fear of the second - of Draco handling the situation better than him - prevented him from opening either letter.

The knock on his door didn't alarm Harry at all. As promised, starting Wednesday morning - plus last night - Snape had come in first thing to run a diagnostic scan on the Gryffindor. So far, his medications had cooperated and his scans had satisfied the professor each morning. Harry thought the process was a little nebulous as they couldn't actually detect his blood counts, but it served his purpose in the end - plus he was sure Snape hadn't overlooked that fact - and therefore he didn't mention anything about it.

"All packed?" The professor asked as he entered Harry's room; the one that had been his own back when he lived in the tiny house.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, quickly stuffing the letters from Draco under his pillow, knowing Snape didn't miss the gesture.

"Including your dress robes?"

Giving his head a nod, Harry laughed, "Of course that includes my dress robes."

"I have to ask," the professor said and withdrew his wand in the same manner he did each morning before running it from Harry's head to his bare feet. The Gryffindor grinned from the tickle as the magic combined with his own to give them some kind of idea - though not as detailed as Harry's unique situation would require - of his overall health.

"Satisfied?" Harry smugly asked knowing Snape did not particularly want to attend the wedding the next day, yet also not wanting any harm to come to Harry to get out of it. "Are we good to go?"

"Get dressed," Snape curtly replied; it was the closest the young wizard knew he would get to a 'you were right' from the man, "our portkey isn't scheduled until after breakfast, and I expect you to eat this morning."

With more energy than he'd had in a long time, Harry jumped up from the bed, still in his green flannel pyjamas, pulled the letters from under his pillow and placed them back into the top desk drawer. He wouldn't let them dampen his spirits and decided he would deal with them when he returned from France on Sunday afternoon; an empty promise, he knew, but a battle for another day.

Harry had just pulled his packed bag out from where he'd stored it under his bed, and about to pick out a nice jumper to wear when he heard Snape remind him, "Don't forget to pack your wand, just in case."

He froze; his hands holding onto a pair of jeans, midway through their journey out of the bag. How could he forget to pack his wand? Sensing Harry's own anxiety over the situation, the professor causally reached over, plucked the wand from its dedicated space on the bedside table, and held it out for Harry. Just like in the dream, it hadn't crossed his mind to include it. The wand held between his hands felt foreign to him in a way it never had before, and he simply stared at the stick of holly wood containing a Phoenix feather within it that he couldn't use even if he wanted to.

A battle for another day, the young wizard told himself, tucking the wand into his bag.

By the time Harry made it down for breakfast, after a quick shower and dressing in a green jumper over a navy blue plain tee-shirt and jeans, his thoughts were consumed by not only completely forgetting his wand, but how strange it had felt in his hands.

"Do you think I need a new wand?" Harry sadly questioned out loud when he entered the kitchen where Snape stood at the counter drinking a cup of coffee.

To his credit, the professor gave the inquiry its due diligence - by slowly finishing his sip - before starting, "I don't see why you would, but we can certainly ask Alton next week when we're back at the castle. Why do you ask?"

Harry passed the professor, grabbed a bowl from the open shelves, and poured himself a helping of cold cereal, which he took to his seat at the small table where his morning tablets were sitting waiting for him, showcasing yet another thing Harry hadn't even thought about bringing.

"When you handed me my wand upstairs," he tentatively began, not wanting to draw too much attention to the issue, "it felt different to me. And in my dream the other night, I completely forgot about grabbing my wand before I left my room to find you. In fact, it didn't even cross my mind until I was standing in front of Voldemort and I didn't have it."

Snape joined the Gryffindor at the table and watched him intently. "I wouldn't put any significance on your nightmare," he confidently stated. "The wand feeling different could simply mean your new magic isn't used to it yet, and as you start training next week it will adjust. Let's wait to hold judgement until you start using it again and we see the outcome."

In theory, that sounded all fine and good, except Harry didn't exactly have the best track record for being patient. Plus, next week would answer so many of his questions, and at the same time create a dozen more.

"Do you think I'll be able to do any magic?" Harry tried not to feel guilty for all of the questions he'd been asking that morning.

"Eat," Snape prompted, to which Harry took a small spoonful, "and yes, you absolutely will be able to do magic. You are still a wizard, after all."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray the doubt growing inside of him.

"Today and tomorrow," the professor continued, "enjoy the time with your friends, the Weasleys, and Miss Delacor… though I guess she'll be Mrs Weasley after tomorrow.

"Next week we return to Hogwarts-" he raised his right pointer finger to silence Harry's expected question, "-where your cousin should already be settled and preparing for the year ahead, so you will not be alone. I've arranged Alton to come by on Tuesday for testing and Wednesday you have an appointment with Dr Snyder, the mind healer from Dr Swanson."

Harry felt his face instantly flush. While he'd been the one to request seeing the mind doctor - psychologist - the stigma surrounding the idea made him uncomfortable. Snape had done more than enough to help him through his struggles lately, and he should trust his mentor and his two doctors about his prognosis, but for some reason he was having a difficult time accepting that things were alright; that his body would continue to be Leukemia-free. That's what he hoped to gain from seeing this… Dr Snyder.

Before he knew it, September would be here and Harry hoped he'd be in a position to finally put the last year behind him. Having gotten the approval from Dr Swanson, or as close to an approval as he would get, to return to Gryffindor tower with his dormmates, he was determined to make this year - the last one with his friends - the best one yet; even if he were stuck in lower level classes than the rest of them.

The portkey from their home in Cokeworth to Brantôme, France reminded Harry how much he hated wizarding transportation, and how much he legitimately missed traveling by car. No matter how awful they felt at the time, remembering the trips to King's Cross Station with Uncle Vernon in his company vehicle every 1st of September, filled Harry with happiness. Those days were his escape, his reward for surviving the hard summer months, and the young wizard wondered if his counterpart in Snape's old world felt the same way about going back to school. He certainly never drove in a car to the train station, but did he feel the excitement in the freedom to come in the upcoming school year? Or did that get overshadowed by leaving a place he could finally call home and having his father living at the school with him? Harry supposed he'd find out next week once he returned to the castle.

A part of wizarding transportation most of the magical world overlooked was the jarring feeling of going from one environment to another in a matter of seconds. Magical people didn't get to watch from a car, bus, or train window as the landscape raced by, subtly changing, for example, from the industrial, damp, smoggy street of Spinner's End to the lush green pastures surrounding The Abbey - Snape quickly provided Harry with the English version of the hotel's name after his first awful attempt to say it in French. Instead, when Harry's feet finally hit the ground on the loose gravel road, supported by the professor's grip on his upper arm, he instantly knew they were somewhere new. Gone were the smells of the old mill - mostly sulfur - and polluted river he hadn't realized he'd gotten so used to, and in their place was the crisp smell of clean, fresh water coming from the beautiful river winding across the hotel grounds in front of him, and the aromas of pastries wafting over from the bistro he would soon find over the hill to his left.

"We're lucky we didn't land in the water," the young wizard commented with a smirk.

"It's not luck," Snape replied, guiding them over a long stone bridge with arches spanning over the small waterfalls beneath, creating a very picturesque scene from the river which Harry knew Hermione - and pretty much any of the girls at school - would instantly swoon over, "it's called skill."

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Harry followed the professor over the bridge towards their final destination for the night and hopefully where his friends were already checked in. The Gryffindor paused in awe when the first view of the hotel came into view. Outside of the Leaky Cauldron and the Railview, he'd never stayed at a hotel before, wizarding or muggle. The Abbey couldn't be any further from either of those establishments and it fulfilled every image he'd had about being in France. The main building was made of an ivory stone with bright blue shutters, clashing and complementing the exterior at the same time, with equally bright red doors. Deep green ivy - Harry was sure Neville could identify in a second - scaled the corners and side of the building so tightly only the blue shutters could be seen along the other wall, giving the hotel a feeling of almost being directly connected to the environment around it. Standing on the bridge overlooking the place he was lucky enough to be staying at for the next two nights, combined with the sound from the waterfall to his left, all of Harry's worries from the morning melted away; he couldn't think of his magic, his Leukemia, or even care about seeing Draco the next day.

"Are you coming?" Snape called to him from the other side of the bridge, causing Harry to startle back to reality and run - more characteristically of his pre-cancer self - up to the other wizard.

Checking in couldn't be simpler, though they did need to register both Harry's and Snape's wand to the room they'd be staying in. The French woman working at the front desk did her best to speak English, however eventually - or maybe reluctantly, Harry couldn't be sure - Snape put them all out of their misery and finished the process in what sounded like almost perfect French. There had been a lot of new things Harry had learned about his former evil Potions Professor and new mentor, but the ability to speak perfect French, a skill that surely would have spanned across both realities, had to be high on the list of things he would never have expected; second only to the man's close childhood friendship with Harry's mother.

"When did you learn French?" Harry questioned as they were being led to their room by a witch not much older than the Gryffindor.

Snape gave a small smile and said, "As I started importing ingredients from around the continent, I found the ability to speak their language quite useful in verifying I requested, and subsequently received, the correct substance."

Harry chewed on the answer, "So you did it to make sure you didn't get ripped off?"

"Precisely."

The reasoning was so mundane, and yet so… Snape… that Harry couldn't help chuckling. At this point, almost nothing would surprise him about the man.

As they continued to walk through the property, meandering passed the tables out on the patio overlooking the water and the city across from it, Harry realized they were getting an unofficial tour from their French hostess on their way to the room. Taking in all the sights around him, the young wizard continued to be amazed at not only the incorporation of magic into the quintessential structures, but how it had to be the most stunning place he'd been to. Ironically, the hotel used to be an old mill and had three buildings holding the twenty rooms available: The Mill - where their room was located and the largest of the three - The Miller's House and The Abbey House. Harry wanted to make a comment about how they couldn't seem to get away from milling, but one look at Snape's face while they were being led into The Mill, said it wouldn't be appreciated at that exact moment.

Harry was happy to find their room located on the ground floor because he found himself more tired than he wanted to admit from their travels. He didn't understand how he could spend a month running each morning and now after only taking a portkey, then a tour around the small hotel grounds he could be exhausted.

Immediately walking into their room, he was greeted by the soft light streaming in from two floor to ceiling windows in the far corner of the room. The walls were painted an almost shining white - though Harry didn't think white could necessarily get brighter - and the windows had silver curtains lining either side with a sheer panel covering the center. A small sofa, no wider than Harry's thin waist, sat in front of the windows and when he peeked through the sheer curtain, a beautiful view of the lake greeted him.

Their hostess speaking French drew the young wizards attention away from the scenery outside back into their room. She was pointing to the single, king sized bed on the wall across from his small sofa and asking Snape something Harry couldn't understand, while pointing between the two wizard's. Without missing a beat, Snape answered - again in seemingly perfect French - and the hostess nodded, pulling out her wand at the same time. Harry's green eyes widened as the single King bed separated into two twins and the light green linens instantly transfigured for the new sleeping arrangements.

Overall, the room was what Aunt Petunia would have called "quaint" in that its small size would only be overlooked by the rich design filling it. Coming from living most of his life in a cupboard under the stairs, and now in a far more comfortable, yet still small bedroom, Harry felt relaxed in the space.

"Good enough?" Snape asked, after taking a sweep across the room, looking into the closet and the door Harry assumed led to their lavatory.

"It's brilliant!" Harry answered, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. He moved onto the bed furthest from the door, laying on his back, relishing the soft mattress and bedding beneath him. His pre-five AM wake up call quickly caught up to him, and without planning Harry found himself fast asleep in his jeans and jumper on the bed.

"I don't see why the wedding has to be all the way in France," Ron once again complained while the three Gryffindors walked over the old stone bridge on their way to check out the town on the other side.

"It's beautiful, for one," Hermione lectured, "and it's where Fleur grew up."

"Well, what about where Bill grew up?" The redhead retorted. "We could've had a nice wedding at home without any need for all this…"

"Culture?" Harry offered with a smile. "Sorry, but I get it Ron. If you and Lavender were getting married, would you give two licks on half of the decisions needed for a wedding?"

"Blimey, no" Ron laughed, "I'm not picking out flowers, table cloths and matching chair covers," he gave a shiver at what Harry knew the youngest brother had obviously seen Bill just go through, "she could do all of that!"

"Exactly," Harry responded, "which is why we're now walking in France and not in your back garden."

"I guess," Ron shrugged. The two wizards continued their banter about wedding details Mrs Weasley - and by extension the rest of the Weasley family - had been hearing about for months as they made their way through the cobblestone streets of Brantôme. The further they got from the hotel, and into things like dancing lessons and dress robes requirements, the more hilarious their conversation became, until Ron finally announced, "gonna be honest, not sure I understand the big deal in the first place. I mean, they should just go to the Ministry and be done with it, that's what I'd want to do, after all."

Harry didn't exactly believe his friend. It was something Harry would have liked more than Ron, as they all knew how much the redhead loved standing out in his family, and what better occasion than a wedding to do just that. He was about to say something akin to the sentiment, but stopped when Hermione finally spoke, for the first time since they started discussing tomorrow's upcoming nuptials.

"It's a statement," Hermione harshly answered, unintentionally slowing her gait and falling two steps behind them, "it's a way for parents to show off their children and their accomplishments."

Hermione turned away and walked across the street to the grassy river bank where she sat down under a large shade tree with her knees drawn up as far as her blue sun dress would allow. Harry and Ron exchanged a look between them, neither having a clue as to what was going on with their friends or how to help her. Ron gave his head an awkward shake, so Harry took the lead in following the same path the Gryffindor witch had taken and sat down on her right. Wrapping his left arm around her shoulder, wincing from the still healing bruise caused when the wizard grabbed him in Diagon Alley, he pulled Hermione into a side hug. In their six years of friendship, Harry never had romantic feelings for the witch, and with her noticeably less bushy hair falling right under his chin, he imagined this would be how he'd feel if his parents had lived and he'd had a sister.

"How did meeting the parents go?" Harry instinctually asked. It made the most sense that her animosity to the wedding conversation had to do with Draco's parents.

Hermione lifted her head, her eyebrows furrowed and she thought back to what had happened only four days ago, and suddenly Harry felt like a total git for not asking about it sooner.

"It went well, actually," she replied.

"If they so much as-" Ron started, plopping himself down on her other side.

"They were fine," Hermione interrupted, "just… his mum, his mother did a lot of… talking about weddings and getting married."

"Are you afraid it will scare Draco off?" Harry quickly asked before Ron could jump in with something potentially insensitive about her Slytherin boyfriend.

"No!" She vehemently replied, her cheeks flushing as she thought back to a moment Harry didn't want any details to. "He handled it amazingly. But from his mother, I got the impression all I am is a means to an end. A way to… I don't know, get their family back in the good graces of the wizarding world."

"Gits," Ron said under his breath, and Harry shot him a look behind Hermione's back. "I mean, I guess it could have been worse? They didn't harp on you for being muggleborn, did they?"

"No, in fact, it was quite the opposite."

"They celebrated you being muggleborn?" Ron jested, unfortunately being halfway serious.

"Not exactly," Hermione giggled, "Lucius tried to convince me they found some connection to a family of Purebloods, the Dagworth-Grangers."

Ron's eyes widened, "Seriously?! That would explain-"

Harry reached around Hermione's shoulders and gave Ron's arm a small punch.

"No, Ronald," Hermione lectured, "it's not true. No one in my family has magic in their blood. Draco says the Malfoys are notorious for creating false family blood lines. Something about allowing them to stay true to their Pureblood beliefs while staying away from inbreeding."

As Harry sat on the river bank, the long grass tickling his ankles beneath his jeans and the cool breeze rustling through his messy black hair, he considered what she'd said. It made sense. By definition there were only so many Pureblood families left and therefore either they married each other - which Harry knew happened more often than the wizarding world liked to talk about - or things had to be fibbed along the way. He wasn't about to say any of that to his friend, and, for once, Ron didn't either. Harry knew far too well what it felt like to be lied to about your family history; to be told you were something you aren't, or worse to have the people you wanted to like you wish you were something you weren't.

"And things with Draco?" Harry suggested. "How did everything go with him?"

"He took me to Disneyland," Hermione laughed, as if that explained everything, and for someone like Draco it probably could stand as a testament to his feelings for his girlfriend.

"Very impressive," the raven-haired wizard said. Then, seeing Ron's confused face he went into what should have been a quick explanation of the muggle amusement park, but as his friend's freckled face fell with each awkward description of the rides and characters, Harry found himself needing to go deeper into his limited knowledge of mechanics.

"Alright, I think I get the point," Ron finally stopped Harry by waving his hands throughout the air, horrified. "Just based off of that, he must really like you, 'Mione. Seriously, my dad's all about everything muggle, but there's no way I'm getting in a metal box and trusting it's not going to plummet me to the ground without at least a backup arresto momento possible."

Harry laughed, "This coming from the person who flew to Hogwarts with me in an enchanted car."

"Hey, now!" Ron called out, pretending to be offended. "That car worked out just fine."

"Until it didn't," Harry countered. Turning back to Hermione, who had moved off Harry's shoulder and now the three of them laid in the grass staring up at the bright blue, cloudless sky, "So where did that leave things between you and the Malfoys?"

"Cautiously optimistic?" Hermione guessed, not sounding anymore sure of herself than she had when they started this conversation. Leaning up onto her elbows, she elaborated, "It wasn't exactly awful, and I can't say they were devastated to hear Draco and I are getting close to a year of dating, so as good as I could have hoped for."

"Well," Ron boisterously said, "I'm pretty sure my parents hate Lav, and they haven't even really met her, so you're doing better than I am."

The comment worked as intended and the three of them burst out laughing, causing the couples and families surrounding them to turn. And for once, Harry didn't mind the people surrounding them watching as the three friends joked around. Being outside of wizarding Britain meant these people probably didn't know anything about him being The Chosen One or The Boy-Who-Lived - once or twice -, and with his hair fully grown back and the small circle of his port half hidden by the hem of his t-shirt, they wouldn't know he had cancer. Right then, they were three normal seventeen year olds relaxing in the grass on the riverbed overlooking the waterfalls catching up on their summer; not three war survivors who were desperate for at least a single normal year of school.

"Did I tell you guys I'll be back in the Tower this year?" Harry interrupted the quiet that had fallen over them after their laughing fit. "Severus got it worked out with McGonagall and I'm assuming Dumbledore, and because I'll technically be a student again, I'm offered room and board."

"That's great!" Ron practically yelled out at the same time Hermione cautiously said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Seriously, Hermione," Ron bellowed, "let the man enjoy our last year! Although on second thought, maybe we should have this conversation outside of the Head Girl's earshot?"

Hermione's face immediately flushed as she turned to Harry, "I should have told you-"

"Don't worry about it. Seriously, no one deserves it more than you do. Congratulations," Harry genuinely said, rolling onto his stomach, not caring about the grass now smeared across his back. "And besides, it's only your last year, who knows where I'll be next year."

"I dunno," Ron warily answered, "I might prefer staying at school. Mum - and dad, but mostly mum - has been all over me about picking a career."

"What about the Auror program?" Harry suggested. The last he knew, Ron still wanted to join the aurors.

"Let's be honest," the redhead smirked, "I'm not passing the Potions N.E.W.T.s. As much as I'd like to blame Snape for it, I didn't do much better last year with Slughorn. And now mum's refusing to let me even consider working with Fred and George-"

"She wants you to actually sit your N.E.W.T.s," Hermione reprimanded. "Someday, those two will regret not taking their exams."

"Hardly! They are wicked successful," Ron gave Harry a smile. "Seriously though, Harry, you're going to be with us next year in the dorm, right? They're not like, separating you out?"

Harry stood. The sun was getting lower in the sky, causing the cool breeze to now leave a chill in his bones.

"Let's head back," he suggested, reaching his hand down to help Hermione up. Once they started back towards the bridge, Harry nodded, "Yeah, I'll be back with you guys. Severus is going to teach Dean the new sanitizing charm he's been using to help keep the dorm clean. The only time I won't be there is after treatment, and trust me you wouldn't want me there anyway. So, only like... two nights a month I'll be gone."

Ron clasped his hands on Harry's shoulders practically dancing around him. "This is going to be the best year ever. Seriously, mate, no more Voldemort, you're not sick anymore, and you don't even have to study for your N.E.W.T.s…. Plus you've already done all these classes once, it should be a breeze!"

Hermione shook her head disappointedly and Harry didn't add anything to his friend's assumptions. On the one hand, Ron's enthusiasm felt encouraging - like he could have a carefree last year with his friends - but on the other hand it showed how little his best friend understood his situation. Having treatments once a month didn't mean he wasn't sick anymore; the dozen or so tablets he took everyday constantly reminded him of that fact. He could pretend though, and for that he was grateful to have a friend like Ron by his side. With a new determination flooding his insides, Harry turned his attention back to rejoin the conversation his friends were having about Quidditch this year, and the raven-haired wizard couldn't wait to sit in the stands cheering on his friends.

Saturday 23rd August, 1997

His throat was sore and scratchy. No matter how many times Harry took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table, the scratchiness wouldn't go away. Dread immediately filled every centimeter of his body as he thought about the irony of how careful he'd been not to get sick, only to wake up the morning of the wedding with a sore, scratchy throat. He tried to convince himself it had to do with the drier air in the hotel, and therefore it wouldn't require telling Snape, but he knew better; every single doctor or healer he saw emphasized the importance of saying if he felt ill.

But I don't feel sick, the young wizard rationalized to himself. He didn't have a cough, his body didn't ache - at least no more than usual - and he didn't feel feverish, so did a sore throat alone really constitute as "sick"?

He turned over in his plush twin bed, not surprised to see Snape's bed not only empty, but the pastel green bedding so expertly made, had Harry not seen the other wizard in it before falling asleep last night, he'd assume it hadn't been used. Although they'd been living together for a year now, last night had been the first time the wizards had slept in the same room. Suddenly Harry felt very self-conscious; what if he talked in his sleep? Or had a nightmare and didn't remember waking the professor up?

"Sleep well?" Snape's baritone voice coming from the doorway leading to their lavatory startled him from his anxious thoughts. Harry groaned. Now that the professor had seen him awake, the daily diagnostic scan would be coming any minute and he'd be rushed off to Dr Swanson's office, completely missing the wedding.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, justifying to himself that he didn't lie; he really had slept well, waking up seemed to be the issue. "You?"

"Sufficient," Snape cryptically answered, drawing his wand and gesturing towards the side of Harry's bed, before sitting down next to him.

With a swift nod, Harry held his breath nervously when he felt the tickle run from his head all the way to his toes, then out to the tips of each finger. His emerald eyes shifted around the room, not wanting to see the sympathy - and probably panic - sure to be on Snape's facial features when the results came back.

"Everything looks good," the professor declared, causing Harry's head to shoot around too quickly to hide his surprise. Snape's black eyes narrowed, "Were you expecting otherwise?"

"No," Harry lied, and without trying to draw too much attention to his situation, he took another painful sip of water, then proceeded to get up and ready for the day, "of course not. Just excited, is all."

Having never been to a magical or muggle wedding, the young wizard had no idea what to expect, but an expansive white tent set up in the courtyard of a castle rivaling Hogwarts in both its size and age was far from it. Most of the weddings he'd seen on the telly we're done in stuffy looking churches with an after party - known as a reception, as Hermione eventually corrected him - at some equally suffocating banquet hall decked out in flowers. The hotel had a prearranged portkey for them and Hermione - the Weasleys having gone well before lunchtime to spend some time with Bill before his big day - taking them directly outside the castle in Brittany; although Snape promptly explained they would be apparating back and Harry couldn't decide which was worse.

The ceremony was being conducted in the gardens to the left side of the stone courtyard. Wooden chairs decorated in purple and white lace were placed on the grassy area in two columns with the traditional aisle between them covered in a white fabric runner. Balls of purple, light blue, and pink small flowers levitated at the start of the rows, alternating with a tall white candle - its flame flickering with the cadence of the soft, warm wind - creating almost a runway for the wedding party to enter when the time came. The aisle led to a raised white dais, reminding Harry too much of his visions of Voldemort for his liking, only this one had an arch completely covered in purple and white satin braided up and around it. He guessed Bill and Fleur would exchange their vows to each other underneath it. Looking around, even he could admit to the beauty of the landscape.

Before arriving at the castle, Harry was worried he and Snape would be out of place in their extremely formal dress robes, however that was far from the case. As they were escorted by Ron - whose job before the ceremony was to seat the guests - to their chairs on the side designated for the groom's family, Harry almost questioned if they were too underdressed compared to the French side filled with ball gowns in every hue of the rainbow and dress robes consisting of more parts than Harry could name. Glancing at Snape seated to his left, Harry thought, strictly to himself, the man appeared dressed more for a funeral than for a wedding.

The Weasley family all sat in the front row, three in front of Harry and Snape. As the music started, signifying the beginning of the ceremony, the Gryffindor urgently looked around for Hermione, who had left them the second they landed at the castle from the portkey. Craning his neck every which way, he finally caught a glimpse of her soft buttery yellow gown tucked in the second to last row, with Draco Malfoy sitting formally beside her. The Slytherin didn't seem uncomfortable in the slightest, except for choosing to sit in the back, dressed in a set of exquisite robes as equally dark as Snape's, but with a light blue tie complementing perfectly with the color of Hermione's dress. Catching Hermione's brown eyes, he lifted his hand, giving her a small wave right as the ceremony officially started. Sitting out in the sun, the ceremony felt long and sweltering hot- which Harry almost welcomed, but he imagined Snape being absolutely miserable between his fully black robes and long black hair - and the young wizard breathed a sigh of relief when it finally ended.

Luck was on Harry's side and by the time the wedding guests were moved from the garden ceremony to the tent in the courtyard just before dinnertime, his sore throat was nothing more than a horrible memory. Soft classical music welcomed them from a stringed quartet set up in the back of the room, and once again Harry found himself in awe at the endless possibilities of magic. He'd obviously known about extension charms after staying at the Quidditch World Cup, but the elaborately decorated room he walked into challenged all those previous notions as it appeared to have no end.

In addition to the tent being physically bigger on the inside, the ceiling had been charmed with twinkling lights running up the angles of the otherwise dark blue canvas making it appear as if the guests were dancing under the stars. A sea of round tables covered in white tablecloths with light and dark purple decorated chairs were scattered to the left and right of a wooden dance floor constructed in the center. Above each table, a golden sphere - not too different from the one Harry used to alert Snape when he felt ill - let out a soft yellow glow in just the right amount of illumination for the table below to see.

"Woah," Harry said, unable to keep his amazement contained as they walked through the tables in search of theirs. Snape smiled and gave his head a small shake at Harry's almost juvenile reaction. "Do you think my parents' wedding looked half as nice as this?"

He asked the question a split second before realizing how it would sound to the other wizard.

"I didn't-" Harry started to apologize, but Snape stopped him.

"As the sole heir in the Potter family, I have no doubt that no expense was spared in their wedding preparations, and had the Potter's been left to plan the event, it would have been an overtly lavish affair," Snape detailed, pointing to an empty table close to where the bride and groom would be seated, and where small pieces of folded parchment sat with their names elegant scripted in shimmering silver ink. "However, given their quick engagement, and subsequent wedding, the raging war going on across the country, and your mother's more subtle - yet pronounced - nature, I imagine it was a more subdued occasion."

People started to crowd around them looking at the cards placed in front of the six other place settings at their table. Harry flushed, realizing people wanted to sit with them; the two wizards - but technically only one of them - who rid Voldemort from Britain's clutches forever. Suddenly, Harry questioned if attending the wedding was a good idea after all.

Turning his attention back to Snape and the explanation he'd just received about his parents, Harry replied "Thank you. I know it has to be hard for you to talk about them."

"You are entitled to hear about your parents, Harry," Snape told him, finally picking up the name card to his right and peeking at who would be sitting beside him, "and you should know, I have long put the animosity between your father and I behind me. I won't say it was easy, but it's done."

"Well the other you certainly hadn't," Harry laughed, hoping to ease the situation a little more. Motioning his head to the name card Snape still held in his hand, he asked, "So who's sitting next to you?"

Without a single word, the professor passed the parchment to Harry, who almost burst out laughing when the name Xenophilius Lovegood sparkled before him.

"Well, this is bound to be an interesting night," the Gryffindor smirked.

Dinner had been as extravagant as Harry expected given the rest of the wedding atmosphere. Each course brought out was more impressive than the next, leading up to the main course of roasted duck with a side made from zucchini, pumpkins, dates and pears. In addition to the Lovegoods seated to Snape's right, they also had Ginny - sitting next to Luna, with Dean Thomas as her date - and finally a couple by the surname of Beaufort; an aunt and uncle from Fleur's side who, by the end of dinner, Harry doubted spoke a word of English and looked bored out of their minds. Harry would almost say they were the most miserable among them, except Snape sat stoically - and uncomfortably - at the table half filled with his students, and one visibly anxious editor not hiding his attempt to try and pry some kind of information from the Slytherin to use in the next edition of The Quibbler.

"Did I hear you're coming back to the Tower this year, Harry?" Dean asked across the table from him.

The raven-haired Gryffindor glanced over to Ginny, the only source that particular information could have come from, "Yeah, at least most of the time, anyway."

"That's great!" The other Gryffindor wizard exclaimed, making Harry feel good inside for being missed by his dormmates, "the room felt empty last year without you, though I'm not about to complain about the extra space without your bed there."

Harry laughed. All this time, he assumed the castle would have adjusted the size of their room down to accommodate only four boys. Turns out, they all just got to enjoy some extra breathing room.

"Sorry to disappoint you guys then," Harry joked as the French couple started speaking rapidly - in French, he assumed - to each other. Harry turned towards Snape, remembering the man spoke the language fluently, but either the professor didn't seem to notice them or they weren't speaking French after all, because he hardly reacted to their conversation.

"Trust me," Dean spoke up loudly, "I'd give up the space to stop Ron's sulking!"

"I didn't sulk," Ron's offended voice called out as he walked up from behind Dean and then mumbled, "I just missed my friend, is all."

"I'm sure Neville would have stepped right in," Ginny added, and Harry knew he missed an inside joke when the three other Gryffindor's started to rambunctiously laugh.

"Hey Gin," Ron said once they finally calmed down, "we're needed for family pictures."

"Perfect," Ginny answered so excitedly, Harry almost physically recoiled. The last he'd heard, Ginny still referred to the newest Mrs Weasley as phlegm and so her newfound energy confused him.

"That's my cue," Xenophilius randomly said, looking torn between trying to stay and continue his failure to gain any kind of information from Snape or go to capture this momentous occasion of the new families joining. Deciding he wouldn't get any further at their dinner table, the eccentric wizard stood and pulled a small notebook of parchment and a quill from his pocket.

"She spent last weekend with Fleur and Gabrielle," Luna whimsically announced about her friend after the brother and sister had left. "They went to the hot springs in Fontpédrouse. I don't exactly think I'd want to sit in a pond of boiling water, but she sounded like she had a good time. She mentioned something about Fairies… did you know they can be feisty creatures? People think they only like to hide in witches' hair-'' the Ravenclaw then leaned in closely towards Snape and Harry and said in a low whisper, "-but they actually take the hair back and use it in very complicated Elixirs."

That certainly got Snape's attention, and the Potions Master's head turned inquisitively while his black eyes narrowed.

"Luna?" Harry quickly asked before Snape could get into a theoretical discussion on the supposed Fairy Potions that surely would lead nowhere good, "Would you like to dance?"

"Oh!" The blonde acted surprised, but Harry recognized it as her normal tone, "I'd love to Harry. Did you know the earliest origins of organized dancing is said to be from India over 9,000 years ago?"

"No," Harry smiled as he walked around the two chairs separating them and held his hand out for her, "I didn't know that."

Luna took his hand graciously and stood, showcasing off her eclectic green and gold sparkled gown, cut in a fashion to make it seem like each layer flowed down almost independently. To Harry, he thought maybe the dress had a bad run in with a centaur, but he knew better than to comment on it.

The moment before he could walk away towards the dance floor, Snape's hand grasped Harry's left forearm. The Gryffindor turned, expecting a lecture from his mentor about how he's still immunocompromised - not that he could forget after the scare with his sore throat only that morning - and his green eyes widened in surprise when the professor said, "Thank you."

With another smile, Harry nodded and replied, "Anytime, Severus."

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus hadn't slept well the night before the wedding. Most of the time he tossed and turned in the lush bedding listening to Harry cough more often than he wanted to admit. Sometime around two in the morning, he got up and silently casted a diagnostic spell on the young wizard, perplexed but satisfied to see there were no ailments currently within him. Severus was well aware of the limitations on the diagnostic spells, choosing to let Harry believe he didn't take those into account, however any infections from his low blood counts would show up from the complicated diagnostic charm he'd been using. By the time the professor finally decided to get up for the day, he'd gotten, at most, three hours of sleep.

Throughout the day, he'd kept a close eye on Harry and while it had been obvious the Gryffindor woke up with a sore throat on top of - or perhaps due to - coughing most of the night, as the day went on it seemed to clear up. Equally alarming was Harry's lack of notification over his ill feelings that morning. He'd hoped after the rapport they'd managed to build, the young wizard would have felt comfortable coming to him with the suspicion. When they got back home, it would be something for them to discuss because he needed to be able to trust Harry to tell him the truth about how he felt, even if it would ruin an event he'd been looking forward to.

No matter how little sleep he'd gotten and dour he normally felt, Severus had to admit the wedding ceremony itself had been beautiful. Bill and Fleur really did complement each other well and he found himself truly hoping the couple would find happiness together.

Severus watched as Harry danced with Luna Lovegood on the dark wooden dance floor in what started as a way to give him just a moment of peace from the constant badgering of the Lovegoods, his current students, and the French couple he did not trust. For starters, their French had been sloppy enough for him to recognize they likely spoke English and yet chose to pretend they didn't understand a word around them. Then there was simply his intuition telling him they should be watched as the night went on. Perhaps he was being paranoid, nevertheless he'd prefer that over any harm come to Harry or himself. As one dance turned into two, then four, and the other teens joined in, Severus's mind went back to watching his son - his first son - dance at the Yule Ball. Here, Harry looked just as carefree and happy as he had back in the old reality, before the cancer diagnosis literally tore their life apart. Maybe they could end up healing their wounds throughout this year, assuming things managed to stay just that: manageable.

Opting not to sit alone at the table, Severus eventually made his way over to the bar on the far side of the room, choosing to stand in a position where he could continue to watch Harry with his friends on the dance floor, as well as keep a close watch on the Beauforts, just in case. With a glass of French wizarding champagne, he watched the sea of guests who clearly had already partaken in too many alcoholic beverages frantically dance around the floor.

After his own first glass had emptied and he was nursing his second, Severus started to question if he should have explicitly told Harry about the dangers of consuming alcohol while on his medications; one of which was tucked in the professor's robe pocket waiting for the young wizard to take later. Unlike when the teen had gone to Hogsmeade and Slughorn's ridiculous Christmas party, the tablets he currently took weren't only prophylactic - used to prevent infection or other secondary diseases - but instead full chemotherapy medications. He was being over protective, he knew, and Harry likely would feel embarrassed with the intrusion and reminder of his cancer at a time he could forget about it, yet the risk outweighed the reward. And so leaving his half finished glass on the bar top, Severus went to make his way over to the teen until a voice called to him from a small way down the bar.

"Talk of the table," Draco's over confident voice called out to him over the loud music, "is questioning why Severus Snape is escorting Harry Potter to the Weasley wedding."

Turning around to greet his Slytherin student - who smoothly held two glasses of champagne in his hands, likely for himself and Hermione - he intently watched the blonde's face for any sign to tell if the statement was meant as a friend or foe. With Draco, it could go either way. Naturally, in his observation of the group of his students, he'd noticed Harry and Draco eye one another cautiously, however neither took the initiative to approach the other, and the Slytherin had stealthily moved - to the loo, the bar for drinks, or back to their table - whenever his date approached her friend. While for the best, given a wedding was hardly the place to air out one's differences, the professor couldn't help feeling a nervous energy build inside of him knowing at some point these two boys would need to face each other and sooner rather than later. Harry may not have any classes with the seventh years, but they would surely cross paths while at school.

"People love to gossip," he neutrally replied.

"It's odd, you see," Draco's eyes held within them a mysterious knowledge Severus had no chance of uncovering. Even though he could nonverbally use legilimency, he'd personally trained Draco in Occlumency during his spy training last year, and therefore he knew he had no chance of the act going undetected, "the more I think about it, I, too, start to question why Potter's living with you instead of McGonagall this summer. Sure, it partially made sense when we were at school and he couldn't go anywhere near another soul without potentially killing himself, but what's his excuse now? Not only is he a full-fledged adult wizard, you're not his guardian."

"What are you insinuating?"

"All I'm saying is if it weren't you and Potter, I'd think something a little more… inappropriate were going on."

Anger as Severus had never known before filled almost every cell in his body. If anyone dared to make an accusation like that - and braved doing so to his face - he'd have no problems telling them where to shove it. The conversation had taken a turn Severus not only wasn't prepared for, but he had no intentions of getting into with the teen. Deciding not to give him the satisfaction, Severus did what Slytherins do best: he ignored the Malfoy heir's questions and countered with his own statement, one he expected would throw Draco off his axis and hopefully distract him.

"I've heard from your father you've decided to accept the Headmaster's living arrangements to allow you to safely return to school." He knew it had its intended effect when he saw Draco's jaw clench tight.

"So what if I have?" Draco sneered back at him, causing the champagne in the glasses to teeter and threaten to spill over the edge, "I'm entitled to finish my education just as anyone else."

"You have my apologies for your misunderstanding," the professor explained, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I think it's highly beneficial for you to come back to the school in as normal of a capacity as possible. I'm merely satisfied we could find a way which met your standards."

Draco paused as he thought about how to answer. Standing before the seventeen year old, Severus found himself thinking that, similar to last year, if only Harry and Draco could get past their mutual discomfort from their time imprisoned together, they could benefit from a continued friendship. They had each seen the other - a usually guarded child - at his lowest point; they needed to build on that bond, not tear it down.

"While I don't expect any issues, I do hope you know you can confide in me should any arise," Severus added, once it became apparent Draco wouldn't be responding. "As your Head of House, I also think it prudent we set up time to check in periodically. I know things when we were all last at school together were… strained… however I will take whatever initiative you need to feel comfortable during your final year."

"Isn't that a small piece of irony," Draco taunted, "I'm surprised you're willing to take on Slytherin house when you're responsible for putting away how many of your students' relatives? Let's just go with the generic 'a lot'."

"Know thy enemy, Draco," he answered rather flatly for the amount of anger stirring beneath the surface, "and as you are well aware, sometimes the best way to stay ahead is to go straight to them. Furthermore, I hope they'll understand I am not personally responsible for their parents' abhorrent choices in life."

"I doubt it will be seen like that," Draco retorted.

"I guess we'll find out next month."

Before the blonde could come up with what was sure to be another excuse, Hermione walked up behind him so quickly he almost dropped the two drinks in his hand.

"You coming back?" She asked, taking a delicate sip from the offered glass. Then, as if she'd just noticed his presence, sheepishly nodded her head and said, "Hi Professor Snape. Lovely party isn't it?"

Every fiber in his body wanted to walk away without honoring her with a response. She was one of Harry's best friends, though, and as such, he knew it would behoove him not to cause any ripples between them.

"Very much so," he curtly answered and then left back towards the bar; the opposite direction the couple was surely headed, having no intentions on following them at the moment.

With Draco's words - or more accurately, warning - weighing heavily on his mind, he took a seat at an open bar stool on the opposite end of the bar, sandwiched between two sets of French speaking couples, where he could still see Harry on the dance floor with his friends. With a drink in his hand - a tumbler of Firewhiskey this round - he started working through all the scenarios where being the Head of Slytherin could go wrong. Unfortunately, by the time he'd made it to the bottom of the glass, and promptly ordered another, disastrous outcomes triumphed over any other four to one.

"I hope you are aware," the voice of Minerva brought him back to the present, "seeing Severus Snape at a wedding won't take long to circulate the school?"

"Certainly not after it's on the front page of the bloody Prophet tomorrow," he dourly answered, secretly hoping the headline was somewhat in his favor. "I'd almost prefer the damn Quibbler. At least no one takes that rubbish seriously."

"No one should take the Prophet seriously either," she admonished.

"What one should do and the reality of a situation are, unfortunately, very different things."

Minerva raised her glass in a mock toast to his sentiment. A far-off expression crossed her face, and Severus followed her gaze to Bill and Fleur dancing, both of them not paying a bit of attention to anyone besides the other.

"Isn't it hard to believe only three years ago, that same young witch competed in one of the fiercest tournaments of the Wizarding World?" She remembered, still lost in the memories from that awful year. "Who would have thought we'd be here now?"

"Certainly not I," he admitted and based on the sympathy in his colleague's eyes, he knew she picked up on his double meaning. This wasn't the life he'd expected in either reality. If he'd been back in his old world, Harry would have likely attended the wedding alone - or with a date of his own - and here, his counterpart not only wouldn't have been invited, he wouldn't dare step foot anywhere near an event with as many flowers and satin. Yet somehow, this felt right to him. No one could truly understand his unique position, nevertheless he found that knowing Minerva knew about it and could reference it calmed the consternation Draco managed to stir up far better than the Firewhiskey had.

The pair of professors continued to watch the couple, who were lucky enough to start their life together without the threat of Voldemort looming over them like an ugly black cloud waiting to pour. They'd be able to build their life and their family together, as young newlyweds expect to do without worrying one - or both - of them would be killed in battle. This was exactly how life should be, and what the Order worked so hard to protect; to give them a chance to live freely. Had Lily and James lived that fateful Halloween night, and Voldemort not been killed, what would life have been like? Awful. It didn't take Trelawney to predict that much.

Severus and Minerva chatted about the new school year, the basic outline for Harry's course schedule, along with a healthy dose of friendly banter over their upcoming Quidditch matches and how without Draco as seeker against Ginny Weasley, Slytherin stood little chance. Severus didn't even attempt to argue against it, there were few of his students that would be a match for the Gryffindor witch, who he would bet a large sum of galleons would go professional some day. Midway through some slow song Severus didn't recognize, and noticeably Harry didn't continue dancing to, a small vibration went off in the inner pocket of the Defense Professor's dress robes; the alarm for Harry's dose of daily chemotherapy medication to be taken an hour after the young wizard finished dinner. Pulling open his robe he discreetly slipped his hand into the inner pocket, furrowing his dark eyebrows in confusion as his hand came out with more than just the small bottle carrying the tablets.

"Everything alright, Severus?" Minerva asked, equally confused and a little alarmed by his reaction.

Giving his head a small nod, he moved the bottle to his left hand for safe holding while he examined the slip of folded paper - not parchment - also stored in the pocket of his brand new, never worn before dress robes. He knew the contents immediately, however to be sure he carefully opened the paper and as expected, he'd been correct. Staring back at him was Mae's phone number. He hadn't the slightest clue as to how it made its way from his bedside table - where he'd placed it after he got home from the hospital last Monday - to his dress robe pocket. In that moment, as he got up to go give Harry his medication and, surrounded by the contagious atmosphere of the wedding around him, he thought calling the number might not necessarily be the worst idea in the world.

~~~~SS~~~~

Tuesday 26th, August 1997

Until this summer there had been so few times Severus needed to use the muggle telephone in his home, he felt confident saying he never used it. Now, with Harry actively seeing a muggle physician, visiting the chemotherapy center monthly, and having prescriptions at a muggle pharmacy, it had seen more use in the last two months than the previous fifteen years, in both realities, combined. Yet somehow, none of those phone calls made - or received - compared to the one he contemplated making that morning. For the last two days, Severus had been carrying the piece of paper with Mae's phone number on it around in his pocket, and with him and Harry returning to Hogwarts later in the afternoon, he finally ran out of time to procrastinate.

Severus was sitting in the armchair of his sitting room, enjoying the crackling of the fire as it interrupted his anxious thoughts and helped soothe his racing heart. What purpose did calling the nurse serve again? Because if it served no purpose, why bother calling? He could hear Harry upstairs, supposedly packing, making more ruckus than should be necessary. It would be the perfect excuse to avoid this task - to check in on the young wizard - except it would not aid in ridding the young muggle woman from his mind.

Against his better judgement, before he could come up with another pointless excuse certain to rival any he'd heard from Longbottom, the professor picked up the phone simultaneously waving his wand behind him to ward the room for privacy. Under no circumstances did he want Harry to overhear what was bound to be, at best, an awkward conversation.

"Hello?" The voice on the other side of the phone sounded just sassy enough, Severus instantly knew he had reached the right person.

"Hello," he formally said into the ancient sandstone colored receiver he cradled in his hand; the rest of the muggle device balanced on his right knee. "This is Severus Snape. I'm calling for-"

"Eight days," the voice slowly and arrogantly interrupted him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going to lie," Mae continued with more amusement than anger, somehow managing to confuse and intrigue Severus at the same time, "I think that has to hold some kind of record. Usually when a girl gives out her number, it's a max of three days wait… maybe four… but eight seems a bit excessive. It definitely gives me the right to hang up on you."

He was embarrassed to admit to himself that it had taken him until the end of her - lecture? - to fully grasp what she'd been talking about.

"Though it's hardly any of your business," he snapped back, giving his eyes a hard roll. She had no idea who she had chosen to deal with, he had no doubt he could meet her tic for tac in this little dance, "I have been out of the country."

"Lemme guess," a soft chuckle crossed through the phone line, "secret spy mission stuff?"

"What?" He asked almost too quickly to sound casual. "I attended a wedding."

"More boring, but still acceptable," she commented. Flirting, he realized. She was flirting with him and he not only had no clue how to react, he couldn't be certain he wanted her to be flirting. "So you're home now…"

"Indeed I am," he filled the silence when she trailed off, unwilling to divulge too much information, but at the same time uncomfortable with her leading the call. "Would you have preferred, as you so eloquently put it, 'secret spy mission stuff'?"

"Maybe," she declared, "it certainly would give a good reason for why you lied to me about your name."

"I'd hardly call that lying," he defended himself against the accusation for the second time, "as I said last week, you made an assumption, which in general is a horrible habit regardless of the circumstances, and I simply allowed you to believe it. Who am I to correct your wrong observations?"

"Ok, fine then, Severus Snape," Mae emphasized his correct surname, "if you're not a super secret spy, what is it you do when you're not looking after your son?"

He felt torn. Obviously he couldn't tell her about his real job, but should he correct her about his relationship with Harry? That one he technically had lied about.

"You still there?"

"Yes, I am... sorry," Severus apologized and instantly felt foolish over it. "I'm a professor... at Harry's school."

"Well that's fitting," the muggle nurse responded, and Severus could hear rustling through the phone as if she were settling into a more comfortable position. "No offense-" the professor cringed at the use of the phrase he hated almost more than Harry's 'fine', "-you don't exactly have that professor look to you. What do you teach? Oh wait! Can I guess?!"

Severus gave a hard hmph into the receiver, "Be my guest."

Mae's voice hummed into his ear as she thought through the options and then confidently yelled out, "Math!"

"Oh please," he complained. "I'm a little more creative than that."

"Ok, fine," she went back to the humming, "Literature."

"No."

"Oh c'mon," she teased, "you can't blame me for that one, your vocabulary is more formal than anyone I've met… and I see a lot of people every day. So then, what do you teach?"

"Chemistry," it had taken some quick thinking, while she'd contemplated his class of choice, to come up with the closest equivalent to Potions; because there certainly wasn't anything even remotely similar to Defense Against the Dark Arts in a normal muggle curriculum.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she chuckled sarcastically. "All of my chemistry teachers were absolutely terrifying."

"Comes with the territory, I'm afraid," he played along. "My students certainly wouldn't disagree with your sentiment and in no way do I claim to be a nice person, especially when compared to an oncology nurse."

"Well I guess honesty is always a good way to sell yourself," another laugh, "but I challenge that a man who sits alone beside his son every month is not a nice person."

And just like that the conversation took a hard turn; a little further from the friendly banter they'd been having and more towards… he couldn't really say.

Against all odds, Severus managed to navigate the conversation with an ease he hadn't felt in a long time. Mae's personality was so different then his own, he felt refreshed when talking to her. The phone call had a natural feeling as they moved almost seamlessly from one topic to the next, going from talking about their hobbies: she enjoyed baking when she wasn't working, much to the enjoyment of her flatmate, to their favorite books and movies - the latter of which Severus had no muggle reference for and opted to say he did not often visit the cinema - and landing on their favorite foods and restaurants.

"So do you and Harry live in Surrey? Or close to the hospital in Guildford?" Mae asked after she went into a story about how the cafe across the street from the hospital knew almost all the nurses' regular orders, her tone switching to a more somber one than she previously used, to match the almost taboo subject matter.

"Harry used to," Severus carefully replied, toeing the line between the truth and a lie. "It's how he ended with Dr Swanson. We now live in the Midlands."

"That's a long drive to make every month," she said. "But Dr Swanson's worth it. She takes really good care of her patients. She's too modest to say so, but her recovery rate is one of the best in the area… knows when she needs to treat aggressively and doesn't hesitate to do so. Which is why she went off to the countryside to treat a VIP patient for a couple of months in the spring. We only saw her when she came into the hospital for his… or her, we never got the details… medications and blood tests. But I'm sure you know that already, because Harry would have seen Dr Ryan in her place."

"That's right," Severus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Never could he forget how much damage had been caused by Voldemort, but he never considered the story they had to make up to cover her disappearance - and monthly reappearances. He couldn't help wonder what happened to her normal patients during those awful months, had any of them been negatively affected by her absence?

"Listen, I really hate to say this, but I've gotta run," the muggle suddenly announced, "So... Do I get your number? Or is this a one-way thing and I have to wait another eight days for you to call me?"

Dammit, Severus thought to himself. He'd be leaving Spinner's End for Hogwarts in only a matter of hours. That meant should she call him, he'd have no way of knowing, or answering. How come he didn't think about that before he dialed her number, like as he procrastinated this whole thing for two day? Cursing himself, he came up with the only reason he could think of and committed to solving the - probably not as unique as he thought - problem between now and Saturday.

"I'm actually in the process of moving," he started, shaking his head back and forth knowing it sounded like an abhorrent excuse, "and unfortunately I don't know what my new number will be yet."

"Oh, that's convenient," she didn't sound angry, so that part was going his way, but he could hear her questioning his honesty on the subject.

"No, it's not like that," he tried to correct where this was heading. He was a former spy, for Merlin's sake, he should be able to navigate these waters effortlessly, "I work at a boarding school and I won't know the number you can reach me at until I get there later this week. I'll be in Surrey on Saturday, though, so perhaps we can meet up in the evening and I can give it to you then?"

"Very smooth," Mae commented, a bit of zest laced in her voice, "I'm not saying I believe your reason, but I like the outcome. I get off from work at the clinic at four and can meet you at The Village Tree in Guildford by half past five. They're over on Sutton Green."

"I am agreeable to that arrangement," he formally replied, writing down the name and street location on a spare bit of parchment next to him.

Another laugh worked its way from her home to his, "And you're sure you don't teach literature?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," he answered, "I will see you Saturday?"

"It's a date!" Mae's voice exclaimed seconds before she hung up the phone - without a proper salutation, he noted - and left Severus holding the muggle contraption to his ear, contemplating what he'd just managed to get himself into.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry stood in front of his trunk - in his bedroom at Spinner's End - trying to figure out the position he'd never thought he would ever find himself in: deciding what to pack and what to leave behind before going back to school. Seeing as Snape would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, they needed to be back at the school the week before classes resumed. The Gryffindor wasn't exactly given a reason as to why he needed to be there so early, but it didn't matter in the end. This left him with the decision to either pack up all his worldly belongings as he had every other year, or choose to leave some of it at home. Home; a completely foreign and new concept to the young wizard.

In preparation for making such a decision, he'd completely emptied his trunk onto his bed and already separated out the things he no longer needed in either home - Cokeworth or Hogwarts - including a set of over a dozen broken quills, desiccated beetle eyes he thought of asking Snape if they were of any use and decided it best not to, an old badge that flickered feebly between SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and POTTER STINKS, and a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope. That pile would be tossed into the rubbish bin and never thought of again.

Next to the rubbish, was a pile of his old textbooks and any school related papers. At first, he considered this the set of items he'd be leaving behind, however without knowing what level classes he'd be in this term, it instead turned into the "Consider Bringing" pile and he added his beanies from last year, since Dr Swanson explained his hair may choose to fall out again. Finally, he had the "Must Haves" or his school essentials, including his blankets from Mrs Weasley, his invisibility cloak - which he was amazed Snape hadn't confiscated this summer, though Harry could admit he'd had no inkling to try and use it - the Marauder's Map, his robes and uniforms - though he questioned if they would fit again this year - and the objects that made the whole process come to a complete halt: the broken fragments of Sirius's enchanted mirror.

When Harry first pulled the fragments of the mirror from his trunk, his initial thought was how lucky he'd been not to slice his finger on the raw, sharp edges. The last thing he needed as Snape went about the house packing as frantically as Harry was an unexpected trip to the muggle hospital from excessive bleeding. One day, he wouldn't have to worry about those types of things, but unfortunately, that wouldn't be until long after Maintenance ended. After the anxiety of cutting himself ended, the dread and guilt over the identity of the object hit him hard. How could he have forgotten Sirius - and his mirror - so easily over this past year? Sure, he had a lot going on, but to completely forget was inexcusable. And so for the next ten minutes, he'd sat on his bed, putting together the pieces of the mirror, simultaneously unable to throw them out, not sure if he could leave them in Snape's childhood bedroom, and finally deciding to bring them back to school only after he asked Snape if they can be charmed not to cut him. There had to be a spell to do that, otherwise even given how much magic could accomplish, it seemed like kind of a miss in their education. After his trunk was finally completely cleaned out, and all the contents on his bed, he came to the conclusion he had absolutely no idea how to partially pack for school.

The knock on his door didn't surprise him, nor did Snape entering when Harry's normal "come in," never came. Since they returned from the wedding, the Gryffindor had felt more put together than he could ever remember; definitely since his diagnosis and probably since his first detentions with Umbridge. With the memory of the awful witch fresh in his mind, Harry unconsciously rubbed the still raised scar on the back of his right hand with his left fingertips; an ugly tattoo he'd likely have for the rest of his life, because if Snape hadn't managed to find something to remove it, odds were he'd be stuck with it forever. While Harry had fared well in the two days since the wedding, having more energy and a clearer mind, it almost had the opposite effect on Snape. The professor seemed more distracted - maybe even nervous - than beforehand and Harry had been racking his brain trying to find what could have happened to cause such a reaction.

"You are aware that your belongings need to be in your trunk before we leave?" Snape jested as he approached Harry's no longer organized piles.

"Yeah, I got that part," Harry sarcastically replied, frustrated that he couldn't even make a bloody decision like this alone. He was a Gryffindor, had single handedly killed a basilisk at the age of twelve, and couldn't commit to what to take to school. Tossing another broken quill into what he hoped was the rubbish lot, he aggressively added, "It's picking what to put in the bloody trunk that's the problem."

Snape's black eyes watched over him and Harry averted his own to avoid seeing the sympathy deep within them, while running his hand nervously through his black hair, relishing in the feel of it. Although Harry may have had some knowledge about how Snape could relate to him and his upbringing, the professor never had to pack up all of his worldly possessions each summer. The room he currently occupied had been Snape's growing up in the tiny attached home, and Harry had found several remnants while cleaning out the room - an old style Slytherin colored tie and a Slytherin flag, for example - tucked in the back of the wardrobe. Harry didn't tell the other wizard he'd found them, rather he placed them with his Gryffindor attire, a visual reminder about how far he'd come in his acceptance of his rival house.

"I'm sure you're well aware by this point, but it is worth restating," Snape said, inspecting the mess Harry had made on his bed, "you are more than welcome to leave whatever you'd like in this room."

"I know," Harry nodded mindlessly, "I just don't know what I'll need this year. I don't even know what class levels I'll be in, so I might as well pack everything."

"Generally speaking," Snape reassured, "I don't come back during the school year, though do not forget, we'll already be returning monthly for your treatments and on some kind of regular basis for appointments with Dr Snyder. Therefore, stopping by here will not be an issue, if need be. And if it's something urgent, such as a textbook, my floo has been made available."

Again, Harry nodded. For some reason, he'd completely forgotten about leaving the school for treatments - already missing having them done in their quarters - and his appointment with the muggle psychologist this coming Thursday. He had no clue what to expect at the appointments, but he didn't think it would require anything too far into the school year.

"Is there anything I can help you narrow down?" Snape asked, pointing to the pile mostly identifiable as his rubbish.

"All of that can go," Harry mumbled, and with a wave of Snape's ebony wand, the first set of his things disappeared and he could focus on the other, albeit more difficult, lots. "Since we'll be back for that appointment Thursday," the Gryffindor reasoned, "I'll leave some of my higher level textbooks until I know where my magical test will place me?"

He asked it as a question hoping for Snape's approval and naturally, the professor picked up on the request. "Of course. Though I would prioritize your sixth year Herbology and Potions texts since there is no need to start further back than the year you missed."

Harry picked up the three required sixth year Herbology books and Snape's battered copy of Advanced Potion Making he'd been given last year and placed those in his trunk.

"It's a start," the young wizard said, sitting down where the pile of rubbish had previously been located. He lowered his head and tugged on a string from the plain red t-shirt he chose for that morning. "Should I take my first year books for the other classes?"

"Not all of them," Snape answered, moving the books around the bed on Harry's left. "I would focus the lower years on Transfiguration and Charms… maybe years one, two and three. And for Defense, bring three and four. If any others are needed, we can certainly stop by here before or after your visit with Dr Snyder.

"As for your clothing, obviously your robes and uniforms from last year, unless you feel they can't be altered-" Harry's face started to blanch at the obvious statement to his still thin frame, "- and remember we're in a castle in Scotland, so warmer clothing would be advised. You should also bring clothing to wear to your treatments, the rest can stay here."

Two years ago, the commanding tone Snape just gave him would have sent Harry reeling; making him want to do everything and anything he could to do exactly the opposite. The reaction wouldn't be intentional, per se, simply his way of dealing with his deep hatred for bullying adults and this professor specifically. This time, he knew it had been said with the purpose of helping Harry make a decision when his brain couldn't put too many cohesive thoughts together rather than belittling him. Not for the first time in the last year, Harry questioned what growing up with this version of Snape would have been like. How much happier could he have been with an adult in his corner?

You'd also be dead, the Gryffindor had to remind himself. At one point in his life - sooner in the past then he'd care to admit - the trade off might have been worth it, a few great years before he died at barely seventeen. But he'd come a long way from those days. Both wizards had. Without another word said between the pair, Harry picked through his belongings and placed the things he thought he might need at least for the beginning of the school year into his trunk.

"Is this rubbish?" Snape's question drew Harry's attention back to the room around him. The professor was holding up the sharpest of pieces from Sirius's broken mirror, one eyebrow skeptically raised to his hairline.

"No, it's not," the Gryffindor responded, hoping it wouldn't require any further explanation, "But is there a spell you can put on it so I can't accidentally cut myself?"

Snape peered over at him for ten long seconds, and Harry couldn't help feeling judged by the obsidian stare. The professor waved his wand over the piece of glass in his hand, then over the remaining pieces on the bed, without a single word about Harry's lack of explanation, for which the young wizard was eternally grateful.

Wednesday 27th August, 1997

Yesterday, when stepping out of the floo from Spinner's End to their Hogwarts quarters left Harry with a very strange feeling inside. For the first time in his life, he actually found himself sad to be leaving his home; because that was really what it had become. Somehow, against all of the odds, him and Snape managed to create a home together, one which Harry loved all the way to his core. He'd never lived in a place where he felt accepted, safe, and cared for. And while he knew coming back to Hogwarts didn't change any of that, he also didn't want to have to give it up.

That first night back at the school had been mostly spent with Dudley, helping his cousin set up the Muggle Studies classroom with muggle literature, movies, and sports equipment, while Snape set up his Defense classroom. Harry tried to sneak a peek at the curriculum to give his friends a head start, but Snape made it very clear doing so would land him in detention - with a comment about how only Harry Potter could receive a detention before school resumed. It lacked the old annoyance and ire it used to have and they both had a good chuckle over it before Harry decided to go find Dudley.

"Did I tell you Draco's going to be in class this year?" Dudley mentioned as the two boys catalogued the videotapes by era - to which Harry had no clue how they would actually be viewed in the castle, but hadn't asked - which required them to be taken out of boxes in the cupboard and placed on specific shelves around the room. The task could have been much quicker with magic, yet neither boy could do it.

Astonished, Harry dropped the set of tapes he'd been carrying, a loud crash echoed off the barren stone walls. "You're having me on, right? I don't care if he's dating… English royalty… there's no way Draco Malfoy would step foot in muggle studies."

Dudley shrugged his shoulders, "Dunno what to tell you besides Professor Burbage had me add his name to the roster this morning. I thought maybe you'd know something."

Harry's face turned a dark red. They were a week out from the start of term, and he still hadn't opened even one of the two letters Draco sent him. Giving his head a small shake, indicating he had no idea why the Slytherin - likely the only one from the House of Snakes in Hogwarts history - decided to sign up for Muggle Studies.

"Then I should probably mention that I think Professor Burbage is gonna ask you to speak in the fifth year section about muggle medicine," Dudley continued, helping Harry pick up the fallen VHS tapes and bring them to their specific shelves.

"No," Harry refused, remembering how Dudley mentioned it last year, but nothing ever came to fruition on the idea. "I'm not being showcased like some magical freak."

The second that last word left his mouth, Harry wished he could take it back. Sometimes, he forgot Dudley was the same kid he grew up with at Privet Drive. He could blame it on his constant forgetfulness - a side effect from the chemotherapy drugs, which Dr Swanson said would hopefully reverse when he finally stopped in two years - he'd be lying though, in reality he just didn't think.

"Dudley, I'm-"

"It's fine. I deserved that," his cousin quickly shot back, but not before Harry saw the pain and regret pass through the muggle's blue eyes. A thick air fell over them, making Harry so uncomfortable he started picking at the small hairs on the backs of his left arm. They continued to work in silence for about five more minutes, and just when Harry started thinking he'd managed to close the topic of his informational speaking, Dudley added, "Professor Snape's going to speak to the class during that segment."

This time, Harry did better at not appearing taken completely by surprise when he asked, "Why?"

Appearing happy to have gained the Gryffindor's attention, Dudley turned to face his cousin and said, "Something 'bout major breakthroughs in a collaborative muggle and magical healing. The way Professor Burbage explained it, this is an entirely new aspect and can completely change how Potions and diagnostics are approached."

Harry knew Snape had decided to go work with the Malfoys, commended it even, because if anyone could make headway on a new chemotherapy potion, it'd be Snape. This, though, sounded like a whole different approach that went far beyond Leukemia and cancer in general. Hadn't Snape mentioned that before? He honestly couldn't remember.

"I'm not committing to anything, but what would you want me to talk about?"

Dudley's smile told him getting out of it would be nearly impossible now, and that his muggle cousin had a bit more Slytherin to him than Harry gave him credit for. If Snape saw a benefit to talking to the upcoming generation about the advances he, personally, was trying to make in a collaborative effort, then Harry could explain things like: IVs, tablets, his port, and surgery - an event he'd like to never have to repeat, but if he wanted his port removed, would be inevitable.

That night Harry, Dudley, and Snape had dinner in the Great Hall with the other professors who'd returned for the year. Naturally, they all asked how Harry had been since leaving the castle in June, not that he would tell them anything besides fine - which earned him a sideways glare from Snape. Throughout dinner, Harry learned more about Professor Flitwick's summer travels around the continent attending various Charms and dueling conferences then he ever wanted to know, how McGonagall's renovations on her family's home in the Scottish hills went, and all about Professor Burbage's time spent in the United States visiting her sister's family on a farm in Iowa. Harry and Snape added their own stories of their holiday, centered mostly around their time in France for the Weasley-Delacor wedding; the professor not at all shy in recounting the many dances Harry shared with Luna, much to the young Gryffindor's great embarrassment. He had fun that night, with a lot of laughing, and being surrounded by the familiarity of the school was almost healing in and of itself.

Never would Harry think sleeping in the dungeons could feel so comfortable. He'd been in such a bad mental space in the time between being released from the hospital wing, after waking up from wherever he'd been, and the end of term, that those last few weeks were a complete fog. And so while he originally lobbied - and had been subsequently turned down - to sleep in the Tower, that first night in his room and comfortable bed chipped away at yet another piece of the boulder within him. Each day the boulder got smaller and he found he could start to breathe easier.

The young wizard woke up Wednesday morning to the sun shining on his face from his enchanted window - still depicting an image from the Black Lake, but he hadn't forgotten Draco's window had other options - energizing him for the day ahead. Today Healer Smithe would be arriving at the castle and he'd finally get to test out his magic to determine where he'd be placed this year. As nervous as he'd been about how his classes would work, after talking with Ron and Hermione, and even Dean, Ginny, and Luna, he found himself oddly looking forward to what the year would bring. Unlike his friends, there wouldn't be the academic pressures of the past, and there was definitely no Voldemort to watch his back for. Basically, as long as he could keep his accidental magic in line, meaning to make sure it didn't attack him, it could be his best year yet.

"You look peppy this morning," Snape grumbled as Harry practically bounced into their small kitchen for breakfast. Snape was seated at the table with his normal cup of black coffee and plate of buttered toast with only a single corner bitten from it.

"I slept well," Harry announced. Most of the summer, at least until his nightmare, Snape had been well aware of Harry's trouble sleeping.

"Perhaps we should have returned to the castle earlier in the summer," Snape said with a yawn; obviously the professor hadn't shared his own sentiment.

Harry took what had been his usual seat at the small three person table, not too dissimilar from the one at their home in Cokeworth, where a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and peanut butter toast sat next to his cup of morning medications. He grabbed a green apple from the basket of fruit in the middle of the table in hopes of calming his stomach a bit; hopefully only nerves from what the day ahead of him would bring. Turning around, Harry noticed how the kitchen was spotless; a sign that breakfast had come from house elves and another clue to the professor's exhaustion. While taking his tablets, Harry peered around the room, taking in whatever he could, trying to be stealthy about it. Snape had gone back to reading a book Harry hadn't seen before, and true to form, couldn't tell a single thing about it.

"Whatcha reading?" He asked. Sometimes the best way to get information was simply to inquire about it.

Snape glared at him in the same manner Harry had seen a countless number of times from Hermione when she didn't want to be interrupted.

So much for finding out that way, Harry thought to himself, as he picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting in the middle of the table,in an attempt to look as casual as possible. He almost spit his pumpkin juice all over his breakfast when his eyes caught sight of a headline off to the right-hand side.

Two Former Death Eaters Arrested While in Muggle London!

Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin were arrested on Sunday the 24th of August, 1997 on charges for the attack at Diagon Alley occurring on Friday 15th August, 1997. Both wizards were originally arrested by muggle London police for attempted arson on a local pub, before being extradited by the Muggle-Magical Liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Though unmarked, as positively identified former followers of You-Know-Who, Ash and Talpin are being held in Azkaban pending trial in September.

Whispers in the DMLE over the use of a new memory extraction technique has made...

"Did you see this?" Harry turned the paper over and slid it across the table.

Giving a swift glance at the headline, Snape went back to his book with a simple, "That's Monday's paper. Yes, I had seen it."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "So then why didn't you tell me?"

The sound of the sadness in the young wizard's voice, caused Snape to place a piece of parchment to mark his place and looked up, "I am sorry for not mentioning it. We both had a lot going on with returning to school and it slipped my mind that you would be so interested."

Harry smiled. Until everything last year he would never think of Snape as someone normal enough to forget something, anything really.

"Can they really call these two former Death Eaters?" Harry cautiously asked. He knew he was toeing a fine line, but he hated the idea of two wizards capable of attacking a street full of innocent people being in the same category as Snape.

"Technically, with Voldemort gone, the Death Eater organization fell," Snape logically explained. "Ergo, they were part of the former group who were called Death Eaters."

"That seems like a stretch," Harry muttered as he continued to read through the article, which gave no other relevant information outside of their trial pending next month and the mention of a reliable witness testimony Harry knew to be Draco.

A comfortable silence fell over the table as the wizards continued reading their own respective material. Every so often, Harry would try to inconspicuously crane his neck towards Snape to try and see what had the professor's undivided attention that morning. After about five minutes of this, Snape awkwardly cleared his throat.

"I know this is a delicate subject," the professor's dark eyes narrowed at Harry from across the table, "however, have you considered getting a haircut before the start of the school year? It appears to be getting far more unmanageable than usual."

Self conscious, Harry lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. The raven locks had always been messy and wild, but since his hair had grown back he could admit it had been worse than normal. It didn't help that he hadn't considered cutting it and after all these months, the length was far longer than he'd worn it before it fell out.

"I don't know, have you?" Harry retorted back, unable to pass up the opportunity. "You'd be the talk of the school if you showed up to the welcoming feast with a nice clean cut."

"My apologies," Snape dragged out the sarcastic reply, "I was unaware you had the desire to grow it out."

"It's not that," Harry pushed a piece of his eggs around the circumference of his plate, imagining it racing around the world, "I just figured if it's going to fall out again, then why bother?"

"Who said it will fall out again?"

"Well," Harry lifted his head to meet Snape's eyes, "Dr Swanson, technically. She said my body may react all different ways during Maintenance and that included my hair falling out again. So why pretend everything is back to normal when I know it's not."

"You should not make the decisions of today for the possibility of what may or may not happen tomorrow," the professor philosophically told him. "You need to try to live your life, Harry. It's the best advice anyone could give you right now. Things may change tomorrow or six months from now, but that does not mean you stop living in your present."

He nodded, understanding, in theory, the words and meaning behind them.

"It's not that easy," the Gryffindor replied, once again running his fingers through his hair, and working them through a knot at the end.

"Never did anyone claim it would be," Snape stood, tucking the unknown book tightly under his arm, giving Harry no chance at discovering its subject, "that does not mean you don't try. Finish up breakfast and then we'll head to the Room of Requirement for your magical testing."

After Snape left, Harry contemplated the advice he'd just been given, as well as considering what it meant when the former spy expertly evaded Harry's own questions.

If Snape weren't standing directly behind him as they made their way through the corridors, his firm, but gentle hand keeping them moving towards their destination, Harry was certain they would never have made it to the Room of Requirement. The last time he'd had his magic checked had been right before the vision about the prophecy, and while the young wizard had come to terms with that event, something about trying it out again caused his blood to beat through his ears. Before he knew it, the two of them were standing in front of a plain door he knew would take them to where Healer Smithe waited for them.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked, causing Harry to jump.

"No."

Harry surprised himself with his honest answer. A year ago he'd lie and just do it because he'd be expected to. Today, things felt different, he'd changed and could now admit when things were drowning him.

"We cannot stand out here forever."

"I know that," Harry replied. "I just need a second."

Ten seconds later, Snape moved from behind the Gryffindor to standing in front of him and asked again, "Ready?"

"Not really," Harry looked at the professor oddly aware at how close in height they were.

In the past, Snape had almost always been towering over him - albeit Harry had usually been sitting at a desk - and now they appeared more as equals. While Harry still struggled with reaching an ideal weight for his age, he'd completely missed how tall he'd grown over the years. Eye to eye, Harry watched Snape's expression subtly change from annoyed - at Harry's delay - to understanding. With a small nod, as if to say "take your time", the professor moved out of the way and stood beside the Gryffindor, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Ok," Harry eventually said about four minutes later. "Now or never, right?"

"Indeed."

Snape took the initiative to open the door and held it open for Harry to enter. The Room looked exactly as it had for his tests the previous year, with a chalkboard at the front to record his results with different colored chalk, a basket of objects - all of them far smaller than anything he tested with last year - he'd use to levitate and summon, and an area off to the side covered in mats where he'd hoped they'd get to try some dueling. The only difference, and a big one at that, was instead of the long conference-style table where Dumbledore and McGonagall had joined, a small round table sat in its place with only Healer Smithe present.

"Just us?" Harry asked, confused.

"I thought you'd like a little more discretion this time around," Snape explained and the warmth Harry had gotten used to in his core radiated through him. The little things Snape did - like anticipating how Harry might feel falling flat on his face during this test on top of anxiety from the last time he'd been tested - were the things he never knew he missed growing up without parents. And Snape did all of this without any pomp and circumstance to it, as if this were completely normal; which for the professor, was probably true as he'd been Harry's father in his old reality.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Healer Smithe greeted the pair and motioned for them to take the remaining two chairs. "Before we get started, do you understand everything going on with your magical core? Why we have to test you?"

With his knee bouncing from nerves, Harry nodded his head. "Erm… yeah," he looked over to Snape who didn't jump in, a sign for the Gryffindor to continue. "Basically, my raw magic doesn't know how to act now that I have it all available and I need to start training it."

"A bit over simplified," the healer gave a small laugh, reminding Harry too much of Remus in his first year teaching, "but more or less that is the gist of it.

"Today, I'll be running you through a series of tests to see if there is any organization to your new magic. That will give us a sense of where to start you in terms of lessons. Do you have any questions before we jump in?"

"Loads of them," Harry sheepishly answered. "The biggest one... and I guess it kinda answers a couple others… What is this going to do to my magic in the long run? And during chemotherapy?"

Harry turned when Snape gave a hard sigh. They'd disagreed on the course of action for how to handle his magic; the professor wanting to do that awful Magical Block Ritual and Harry practically begging to do the retraining.

"What we're looking to do is find a balance," Healer Smithe confidently started, and he drew a circle on the chalkboard with the squiggly lines Harry had seen before when Snape first explained about the magical block. "If this is your core now, completely jumbled and disorganized, it's causing flare ups in accidental magic. Only unlike your old accidental magic, this is being aimed at you, rather than to help you. This year, you'll focus on finding the minimum amount of organization - just enough to taper off the severity of the accidental magic - without causing it to deplete."

Harry watched the lines in the circle start to organize at the top, while the ones below stayed jumbled. Every so often - but at a far less frequent rate - one of the disorganized lines left the circle briefly before coming back.

That must be the accidental magic.

"And we'll be able to keep track of his accidental magic intensity?" Snape finally spoke up, sounding more skeptical than Harry was comfortable with.

"Yes!" The Healer got excited when he answered, "I've found a way to measure the output of your core. It's completely subjective, meaning the number itself doesn't mean anything without other values to compare it to. So basically, I can watch what your core does over time and we can see how effective the retraining process is at limiting the flare ups."

"That's brilliant," Harry said. He wanted to ask what they would do if they found his magic wasn't responding to the training, but he already knew it would be the Magical Suppression Ritual; plus one look at Snape told him not to mention it. For whatever reason, the professor clearly didn't want his healer to know about it. "So what's first?"

If Harry had been frustrated at the magical testing he did with Snape back in March - the one where he had the vision from Voldemort about the prophecy - it didn't compare to how defeated he felt during this one. Back then, when his magic had been at its lowest before it finally disappeared, he still felt in control of it, even if the magic itself didn't react with the same vigor or finesse as it normally did. Now, after two hours of lumos, accio, wingardium leviosa, incendio, and immobulus, he was ready to smash his wand onto the floor, splintering it to pieces. Half of the spells flat out didn't work and the other half were obviously weaker than a seventeen year old wizard's spells should be.

For some unknown reason, his incendio - and only the fire making spell - worked every single time without hesitation. "At least I can light a fire consistently," the young wizard sarcastically told the other two.

Equally frustrated, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, "This isn't necessarily testing what you already know," he reminded, though the Gryffindor didn't know if it was intended for himself or for Harry.

"We are simply trying to figure out which classes you should be placed in," Healer Smithe chimed in, "putting you through courses your magic is already familiar with will not help train it. We need to organize the magic and therefore your actual mastery of any particular spell isn't really necessary or relevant."

"But these are first year spells I can't do," Harry threw himself down onto the mats - which wouldn't get any use for Defense this time around since he couldn't do any spells - toed off his trainers to get more comfortable. "I thought you said I wouldn't be in the first year classes?"

"I said I didn't think you would be," Snape defended, "however we needed to see where your magical abilities lie."

"Well now we know they're bloody awful!"

"Harry," Healer Smithe kneeled down in front of the angry Gryffindor, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about. The fact you could do at least half of spells successfully-" he raised his hand to stop Harry's rebuttal, "-even at the lower output level, and inconsistently, is fantastic. What it shows me is that once you get back into using magic again, the learning curve will be quick. Hopefully, it will stay that way and by spring term, maybe Easter, you'll have enough of the magic under control to stop using it regularly."

"We cannot wait that long," Snape immediately argued. "His magic could kill him by then."

Harry clenched his jaw tight at the forward statement. Sure, he knew his life was in danger - and that Snape, at least by appearances, preferred to go with the Magical Block - but hearing it put so brazenly hit him the wrong way. There always seemed to be something out there trying to kill him and he had to keep reminding himself of his friends and what this year could mean. Closing his eyes, he pictured himself in the Gryffindor common room sitting on the red sofa in front of the fire, wrapped up in his yellow blanket, talking to his housemates, then he moved to his dormitory where he could see all five beds so clear in his mind, he could have been there last term instead of the year before. He let the sounds of Seamus's boisterous laugh fill his ears and the sight of all five wizards sitting up in bed going over the last Quidditch match - they won, of course. He could make it a good year; he could choose to have a good attitude about it all and not care where his magical abilities lie. He had to. If he didn't, he knew it would consume him otherwise.

Opening his eyes, Healer Smithe and Snape were both staring at him. He stood up carefully, grabbing his trainers in his left hand, wand still tightly held in his right, and announced: "If it's alright, I think I'm going to go for a run. Just tell me which classes to show up to and which books to bring."

"Harry," he heard his healer call out to him as he reached the door leading out of the Room of Requirement, "we'll get this under control before it gets out of hand, you have my word."

For what it was worth, Harry believed Healer Smithe. It amazed him how he'd gone from depending on no one but himself for so long, to having a whole team of people he needed to trust to ensure his survival.

The feeling of being able to depend on others to guide him through this rocky terrain equally calmed and terrified him. But it was what they were here for; Dr Swanson to keep the cancer from killing him, Healer Smithe to keep track of his magic, soon to be Dr Snyder who would supposedly help him sort through all his emotions surrounding the first two, his friends to keep him laughing, and then Snape - arguably the most important - who was there to pick up anything that fell between the cracks. In a short, yet significant year, Harry learned to respect the professor more than almost anyone else in his life at that moment. He had to fight against the feeling of injustice that wanted to take over; where were these people when he'd been practically starved locked in his bedroom on Privet Drive?

"Thank you," Harry said, letting out a big sigh, "I appreciate it."

~~~~SS~~~~

Friday 29th, August 1997

With most of the professors moving back into the castle the previous Tuesday, Severus's weekly tea with Minerva had been pushed back until Friday afternoon. After three days of grueling classroom set up - reminding Severus why the prospect of not returning to the classroom had been so enticing to begin with - during the daylight hours, and each night spent pouring over various Charms books hoping to find a logical solution to present to Mae the following day, the professor needed whatever break he could get; even an hour of tea with his esteemed colleague.

Yesterday, he'd taken Harry to the uninspiring brick medical office in Surrey for his first appointment with the muggle mind doctor - though he shouldn't call Dr Snyder such, as the title sounded a bit too harsh and Severus truly believed the muggle man could help Harry learn to cope through his current challenges - Dr Swanson recommended. He'd gone through all the reminders with the young wizard about things not to mention: magic, Hogwarts by name, potions, and spells. Ultimately, he would have felt infinitely more comfortable sending Harry to the squib doctor just in case, but this was the Gryffindor's decision and his need to come to terms with how to handle the upswing in his diagnosis was more important than possibly having to Obliviate the man. As Severus sat idly in the small, ironically almost claustrophobic waiting room, flipping through some muggle magazine on healthy living, he couldn't stop his own mind from attempting to sort through all the things he'd been trying to cope with on his own. In the end, he simply placed them neatly behind his Occlumency shields to deal with at a more convenient time.

When Harry returned to the waiting room - his new doctor following behind - the teen looked more shaken up than Severus expected. Based on his eyes, it was obvious he'd cried at some point, but his shifting weight said he didn't want Severus to know about it. The professor couldn't care less if he'd cried, Merlin himself knew they'd been through more than enough to warrant it. Hopefully this process, overall, would help Harry understand better about the things going on with his body and allow him to come to terms with them. Dr Snyder, a man who appeared to be in his late-fifties, surprised Severus by stating he wanted the two of them in his next session scheduled for a fortnight; allowing Harry to adjust to his first full week of classes in over a year. Somehow, leaving the office with family therapy on the horizon hadn't crossed his mind, and he questioned if should consider discussing what to expect with Lucius at their own meeting next weekend - after his first day of work at the Malfoy Lab for Disease Research and Development, or MLD for short.

Needless to say, when Minerva walked into his Defense classroom office with a pot of tea expertly levitating in front of her, he was more than a little relieved for the bit of normalcy the witch provided. His desk was completely covered with random Charms books and stray parchment, easily stacked with a wave of his wand into a neat pile on the side of his desk.

"Don't you think it's a bit early for your desk to be this cluttered with work? Classes don't even start for another four days," she teased, but Severus thought back to this time last year. Hadn't he discovered the possibility of Voldemort having Leukemia back on the first day of term by doing almost this same thing? The parallel between the two starts of term frightened him, not that he'd admit to such. There could not be any possible way this year would compare to the last, and if so, Severus wasn't sure they'd survive.

Never one to respect his privacy - or more accurately, one who liked to see how far she could push her boundaries - Minerva reached over and grabbed the top book, Advanced Spellwork for the Wizarding Home, and then peered at the rest of them neatly stacked on the desk.

"If you are attempting to purloin Filius's position, you'll need more than-" she mentally counted the texts, "- seven texts on the subject. He has quite the extensive pedigree for Charms."

Annoyed, Severus rolled his eyes.

"It's for a personal project," he responded, pouring them both a cup of peppermint tea; a rather interesting choice for the meeting.

The grey haired witch took a sip of her tea and settled back into the straight backed chair across from Severus. With a smile, she asked, "Is it something to do with Harry? If so, I'm certain Filius will assist, if you humbly ask."

"This has nothing to do with Harry," he reassured the young wizard's former guardian. "Which reminds me," the Slytherin opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the final schedule for Harry's return to classes and handed it to Minerva, more than happy to have something else to focus her attention on. Without a word - knowing exactly what she held - her eyes started scanning the timetable.

Wednesday's magical testing had been more tedious than Severus expected, thus taking them a bit longer to decide where to place the Gryffindor. The seemingly sporadic and half successes appeared to distress the young wizard more than the spells that had simply failed to react,

and briefly he considered if it would have been better for the teen's magic to be completely new and untrained. As it always seemed as of late, Harry continued to be an anomaly in that his magic worked a little here and a little there, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint the levels where he should start. When Harry had gotten back from his run late in the afternoon, the two wizards sat down to discuss Alton's results and what this year could look like for the Gryffindor; or at least the recommendations he'd take to Albus and the board of Governors.

Getting Albus's approval proved harder than any of them expected. He brought his recommendations to the Headmaster for initial approval and the older wizard challenged them - more so than Severus thought necessary - about the logistics of having a student who should have been starting his seventh year sharing classes with second and third years; where Severus ended up recommending Harry's placement on most of his subjects. It led to a heated debate over Harry's status as a student in general. In the end, Albus agreed to take the recommendations to the Board of Governors, where they approved it the same day, and Harry was officially re-enrolled in Hogwarts.

"And you believe this will help curb his raw magic?" asked Minerva, skeptically. From any other person, Severus would have found himself insulted and have the strong urge - which he'd probably succumb to - to reply sarcastically. With Minerva, however, he legitimately valued opinion and welcomed her challenge.

"I have my doubts," he honestly replied, "but Alton appears confident and our options are limited. Based on the testing done, it's believed starting him a year above where his magic reacted… questionably… will help accelerate the process overall. For Charms and Transfiguration, that is second year, while Defense is third year. Potions and Herbology he can retake his sixth year, NEWT level, and be perfectly safe as the required magic is not too extreme."

"So then his magic had some kind of reaction?"

"Oh, yes," he took another sip of his tea and leaned back in his black chair, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, "for almost every first year spell, he had at least a partial reaction. Most weren't consistent, by any means, but a reaction nevertheless, and therefore something we can build on."

Minerva paused to take in what he'd told her as she mirrored his own sip of tea. The former spy noticed a small tremor to her hand as she placed the floral tea cup - lilies, he recognized - back onto its saucer on his desk.

"Is there a way to check-in that it's going well?" She eventually questioned. Severus tried to ignore the pleading, or exasperation, evident in her voice. "Or will we one day wake to his magic over taking him?"

"For one," Severus answered, "we will definitely notice if the magic does not cease to desist. Similar to the event at Diagon Alley, he'd continue to have these episodes rather than stopping them. Alton has also devised a… system, so to say, to help keep track of his disorganized magic. The value alone is useless, but keeping a graph of the values over time will give him an indication if it is successful or not."

A companionable silence enveloped the two colleagues who, to anyone else, would define the other as a friend, though they'd never claimed it to one another. Severus could see the question weighing on her sharp mind, the words forming on her lips for a second before dropping it. She didn't want to ask. Or more accurately, she didn't want to hear the answer. He patiently waited, hoping she'd drop the issue, yet knowing she would not.

"And are we supposed to simply hope it aligns itself before it kills him?" She asked discontentedly. "Is there no contingency plan in place should these numbers not end up favorable?"

Being lectured by Minerva McGonagall always reminded Severus of his own awful Hogwarts days. Back then, she still blatantly favored her Lions, and therefore he usually found himself on the wrong end of a lecture about how he should not instigate trouble between himself and the Marauders. If she ever spoke with his four bullies, Severus never knew about it. Inevitably, Slughorn would give him a similar lecture, though he mostly focused on how one needed to choose one's battles carefully. Neither were very helpful in the end, and he loathed thinking back on them.

"Unfortunately it's not too unlike his chemotherapy treatments," Severus rationalized, already knowing the witch wouldn't believe he agreed with his own statement, "it's killing off all the rapidly growing cells in hopes of ridding the cancer at a faster rate than it can multiply. If it is successful, as we've seen thus far, he continues to live, if not… well we just have to hope-" he emphasized her own choice of wording back to her, "we catch it in time."

Being posed with the very pointed question, Severus made the executive decision to bring Minerva up to speed on the magical block ritual as a contingency plan, justifying it by telling himself it's better she heard about it now - when the likelihood of using it was still low - than before they were forced to move forward. Although Draco's ritual hadn't been made public, as part of the Order, Minerva had been briefed on everything that had occurred during their time in the Manor; including high level details of the Blood Cleansing Ritual. He'd been right when telling Harry that the blood required for the potion aspect of the ritual wasn't nearly as barbaric as the one Draco went through, but based on Minerva's equally repulsed face as he outlined the process, the fact the ritual needed blood - not to mention soil from his parents' grave - to begin with was already too much. As he continued going through the ritual's history, its use, and procedure, he started to hope it would never be needed.

"And Albus actually wanted Harry to go through this?" Minerva asked once he completed his miniature lesson on the dark magic ritual. "Rather than simply try to retrain his magic?"

"I think Albus wanted to do everything in his power to give Harry the best chance of living in the magical world as possible," Severus said; until that moment, he hadn't considered the reason why Albus chose this route first, but he found himself believing his own explanation. "It's the least the headmaster could do for leaving a magical child in the hands of Petunia Dursley. He's lucky Harry hadn't become an Obsurial for Merlin's sake."

She didn't comment on his implication, confirming what Severus already knew to be true: she questioned what happened over the summer holidays, why Harry always returned to school thinner and tired looking. Yet she never did anything about it. Until, in his old reality, only he made the horrid decision to almost hit the young Gryffindor, no one ever challenged the headmaster on his decision to place Harry in the muggles' care, that Albus's "love will conquer all" mentality would fail them.

"The good news is," Minerva changed the subject, handing the timetable back to Severus, "the students in his second year classes hardly know Harry, other than by name of course, since he barely attended classes en masse last year and never lived in the Tower. Your third year Defense may prove difficult."

With a hmph and a sneer he topped off the two cups on the desk and replied, "I dare a single student to even attempt to cause trouble in any of my classes, let alone towards a student in Harry's predicament."

"And your Slytherins?" She challenged, both eyebrows raised interested in his answer.

"I'll handle the issues as they arise," he strategically said, "and I'm sure we'll have plenty with both Harry and Draco's return, as well as students trying to oppose my own return as an authority figure. However, as the balance of power in the House has been challenged, we'll have to wait and see where the tides fall. There is a chance Draco maintains his status and can aid in my messaging of not being responsible for any of their relatives recent change of address to Azkaban."

She didn't understand and Severus wouldn't expect her to. As much as he knew about the Gryffindor way of life from navigating through it with Harry in his old world, they ran their house in a more laissez faire manner than Slytherin. In Gryffindor, they didn't have a pecking order to maintain in order to prevent over ambitious students from trying to sabotage one another.

"Should you need any assistance, Severus, simply say the word."

The conviction in her voice was such that he had no choice but to believe she would help if he needed it, regardless of her lack of understanding. And so with a small nod of his head, he reminded himself not to try to take on the world's problems alone, he had help if he could swallow his pride enough to ask for it.

"Now seriously," the Transfiguration Professor broke their silence, "what are you working on with all those charms books?"

Against his better judgement, he gave a small chuckle at her persistence. Glancing over at the stack of books, he briefly considered lying - flat out telling her it didn't concern her nor her students - but instead he found himself saying, almost without thinking, "I need to find a way to communicate with someone in the muggle world while here at school."

"Why? Don't all of Harry's physicians have magical methods of getting in touch?" He felt his face start to flush and couldn't remember a time when that had happened. But before he could remember Dr Snyder having no clue about Harry being magical - a perfect excuse for his endeavor - Minerva picked up on his obvious discomfort and asked with a smile, "Do tell Severus, this wouldn't happen to be a romantic interest, would it?"

The blasted woman was getting far too much enjoyment from this. His silence, though, spoke volumes and Minerva tried to hide her smile behind her tea cup.

"I don't know exactly what it is yet," he explained and gave a long pause as he contemplated what to tell her next. "But I want to see where it goes, which I cannot do if she cannot get a hold of me. And I can't very well tell her to expect an owl with my letter."

Gleefully, far more than she should have been, Minerva's eyes twinkled behind her glasses, "Have you considered asking Arthur?"

Taking him off guard, Severus shook his head, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. "Arthur Weasley? Why would I ask him?"

"For one," Minerva laughed, "he oversees the department involved with charming muggle objects, which I believe you're attempting to do. But mostly because his last task for the Order - before the rescue operation, obviously - had been to create a way for the members of the Order to be able to stay in contact with each other should we have had to go into hiding. I'm willing to bet he has a solution to your communication dilemma."

He hadn't known that, and the fact he hadn't known concerned him more than it should have. Did caring for Harry last year really pull him so far away from his other duties? Would he face the same challenges this year? And if so - which was more than a little likely - how would Harry staying in the Tower complicate the matter further? Suddenly, a trip to the Burrow before the start of term seemed appropriate and not only to see if the Weasley patriarch could help solve his muggle technology issue. He would need to ensure Harry had a support system in place among his friends and for them to feel comfortable enough to contact him - or Minerva - should an emergency arise.

"Thank you," he surprised himself by saying.

"Any chance you'll tell me who she is?" Minerva asked, pushing her luck further and further.

"None at all."

The two colleagues were laughing when a knock at the door drew their attention away from the awkwardness. Severus would have guessed it was Harry stopping by looking for him, and therefore put on alert by the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt in his doorway.

"Kingsley," Severus stood to greet the head auror he hadn't seen since Draco's interrogation, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Tea?" Minerva asked, as the other wizard approached.

"I'm afraid this isn't a social visit, Minerva," Kingsley declined. Then he turned to Severus and said, "The news of the Board of Governors approving Harry Potter's return to the school hit the Ministry this morning. Unfortunately the DMLE sees no reason the boy can't come to provide his statement and memory on the Diagon Alley attack if he's been allowed to return."

Severus gave a hard sigh. He knew it would be coming when he read the two Death Eaters - Ash and Talpin - had been taken into custody, pending trial, in Monday's edition of the Daily Prophet. Nevertheless, the fact Harry wouldn't be accused of causing the attack didn't necessarily make the news any easier to hear.

"You know I've delayed as long as I could, Severus," the auror added.

"I appreciate it, Kingsley," Severus replied with a quick nod of head, understanding the words the other wizard hadn't said: 'I will continue to do my best to protect him'. And while Harry had a village of people willing to do whatever it took to assist him, Severus still went through every scenario this could possibly end in. "Do you need to accompany me to get him? Or will our arrival at the Ministry shortly after you suffice?"

"You know I need to go with you to collect him to ensure the integrity of the witness," the auror formally answered, "Technically, I don't even need your permission, and alternatively could bring him in with you unaware."

Severus had known that, or could have at least guessed, but it didn't ease his anxiety about what was going to happen. He wanted nothing more than to spare Harry the ordeal of going through the rigorous process of reliving the event and any kind of interrogation it might bring. Unfortunately, one did not always get what one wanted and it would only cause the situation, and Harry by extension, to appear guilty.

"Alright," Severus hesitantly agreed, "let's get this over with."

~~~~HP~~~~

The Ministry of Magic left no warm and fuzzy feelings in Harry as his only two visits to the governing body of Wizarding Britain had been stressful and depressing; in that order. Therefore, when Snape walked into the Gryffindor's dungeon bedroom only an hour earlier - where Harry had been taking his anger out on his practice snitch after two failed attempts to finish some half completed sketching - explaining how they needed to go to the Ministry of Magic, his palms immediately began to sweat and his breathing shallowed.

Anxiety. Panic attacks. Two conditions he'd become intimately familiar with in the last year, going as far as Dr Swanson flat out telling him he suffered from panic attacks after he had passed out from one. At the time, it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle life how "normal people" did, or worse, how the people around him expected him to handle it. Snape's insistence that Harry confide in him helped the young wizard the most; to help Harry understand he didn't have to shoulder the responsibility alone, he could trust his emotions with someone else and lean on him when Harry needed support. But surprisingly, his appointment with Dr Snyder the previous day taught Harry to accept the words - anxiety and panic attacks - as a part of his life and not to shy away from them, going as far as telling Harry every cancer patient struggled with the same two conditions to some degree.

The session started out as Harry had expected, going over his previous medical history - physical and mental - and Harry found himself grateful Dr Swanson had already filled Dr Snyder in on some of the more sensitive topics, like living at a boarding school for "gifted students" or how he'd become the ward of the school last summer after his guardians had died in a car accident. What his muggle oncologist didn't mention was why Harry lived with his aunt and uncle to begin with, and so Harry found himself starting out by telling the middle aged, grey haired man all about his parents getting murdered when he was only a year old. Although it made Harry uncomfortable to explain it all - a task he rarely had to do because most of his peers knew his history - the doctor's validation over his rough start in life eased some of his initial discomfort about the appointment overall.

"So Harry," the doctor confidently transitioned, making Harry shift in the plush red chair he sat in, "tell me what you know about your diagnosis?"

Harry had been well aware the purpose for the appointment was to discuss his cancer, at the same time though, the bluntness startled him. For some reason he expected to warm up into that so he explained everything he knew about his cancer; Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, a blood cancer which had apparently been passed down from his mother's side - a fact he knew thanks to Dudley - and he was in the Maintenance Phase of his treatment.

"And do you know what Maintenance means?" Dr Snyder inquisitively asked.

"Of course I do," the young wizard aggressively answered. "It means I'm doing chemotherapy to prevent it from coming back."

"So then you believe the cancer is gone?"

Did he believe that? Hadn't he basically admitted just that?

"Erm…." the young wizard mindlessly ran his left hand across the back of his right, nervously rubbing the scar which constantly reminded him not to lie. He would never give Dolores Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing he'd started thinking about it as a way to keep himself honest about his own internal feelings; that ultimately it drove him to be honest with the muggle he'd asked to see, even though it made him uncomfortable, "I dunno. They… erm… Dr Swanson and Dr Smithe tell me it's kind of gone, but if I don't finish the next couple of years' worth of treatment, it can come back. Or it's more likely to come back than stay away… so I guess I have a hard time believing them. If it were really gone, then I shouldn't have to do anything else."

"That's a bit of an oversimplification of the process, but Dr Swanson is a very respectable physician in her area of expertise," the psychologist had replied, and Harry blanched then turned his focus back to his intertwined hands. He hadn't meant to insult her. He knew how hard she worked to keep him healthy. "She's told you ALL is one of the more treatable cancers in children, and the regimen you're on is what makes it so-" Harry nodded, "- then why don't you believe her?"

"I just…" Harry has felt himself struggle with how to explain himself, yet he had the suspicion Dr Snyder already knew. How many cancer patients did he see as a referral from Dr Swanson? A lot, he guessed. But once he got his head wrapped around what exactly was bothering him, he had the urge to say it out loud, or rather practically yell it, "... I can't see it. There's nothing that's different now from when I was declared in remission back in August! How can they… Dr Swanson… simply expect me to trust that it's gone when nothing has changed?! One day I'm doing chemotherapy so intense it almost broke me, and the next I'm told I only need to go once a month! It makes no sense!"

Those thoughts had been running through his mind all year, but this was his first time acknowledging them; giving them an identity, even if he'd said the words previously. That simple statement led them into a discussion about why Harry couldn't believe what was going on with his prognosis.

"It's like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop," the muggle psychologist had explained to him. He couldn't trust the relatively normal feeling because he'd been focusing too hard on what might go wrong. The psychologist further explained how people who are so used to negative things happening in their lives - to which Harry surely qualified - sometimes have a more difficult time accepting when life looked positive. When that happened, they tended to naturally gravitate back into the negativity; back towards the familiar place where they know what to expect.

He was told it had to do with his 'anxiety' and they'd work together to get him through it so he could start to enjoy the times he had the energy to do things like go back to school or hang out with his friends, and then separately be able to cope should something happen down the road. Like everything else - namely his chemotherapy - this would be a marathon, not a sprint. Though it initially seemed counterintuitive to the young wizard, admitting he needed help, in addition to saying those words - Anxiety and Panic Attacks - out loud, helped break through yet another layer of his boulder and Harry found himself leaving the appointment feeling lighter and looking forward to his next session in a fortnight: a combined one with Snape.

Of course, nothing he talked about the previous day with his newest physician helped ease the dread rapidly filling his body as he entered the atrium of the Ministry of Magic on Friday afternoon. The first time he visited the underground offices had been for his underaged magical use trial with Mr Weasley before his fifth year, and the last time, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, he actively tried not to think about too often. On top of the physical times he, personally, had been in the atrium, Charlie Weasley's body had been found there last summer after he'd been killed by Death Eaters after the attack on the Burrow, leaving Harry feeling worse than ever.

Snape didn't attempt to hide his own discomfort and displeasure with the situation they found themselves in that afternoon. The man stoically and silently walked beside Harry as they followed Kingsley to the lifts. The Gryffindor was well aware Snape nor McGonagall were required to accompany him since he had turned seventeen only a month ago. Kingsley could have come to Hogwarts and demanded Harry join him at the DMLE, a fact Harry kept repeating to himself as a way to calm his nerves. The Order - or at least the previous members - were still looking out for him even after Voldemort's death. Between chemotherapy and the wedding, he hadn't had much time to discuss the attack on Diagon, and at the time, Harry found himself perfectly fine with it, partly because he didn't want to talk about the fact he'd run away from the danger instead of protecting the other patrons, and partly because he didn't want to think of Draco Malfoy bailing him out with his witness testimony. Now, though, he wished he'd asked so he would know what to expect.

Being that the young wizard had wanted to be an Auror, walking into the office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made him miss that particular aspect of his magical education. He could barely cast a Lumos - and inconsistently when he did - so his chances of actually entering the Auror Training Program once he finally made it through N.E.W.T.s was now non-existent. Another broken product of his cancer diagnosis - the need to refocus his efforts towards a new career, one he could start in his mid-twenties and not be too far behind - he couldn't continue to ignore.

For a Friday afternoon, the office appeared livelier and louder than Harry would have expected. The department floor consisted of several sets of pods, made up of three desks each - two facing one another and the third along the right side of the pair - with a filing cabinet set up for each pod. The wall to the right of the corridor leading into the office had floor to ceiling enchanted windows, only instead of a beautiful lake or mountain scene as he had at Hogwarts, it showed dozens of security footage Harry never knew existed from around the wizarding world; including the entrance to Diagon Alley, where they could watch witches and wizards coming and going at any given time, and within the Ministry of Magic itself. On the back wall, past the sea of desks filled with various employees in all states of activity, were five private offices, all with their doors closed. Files and parchment raced across the office, with drawers of the cabinets opening and closing automatically at the last possible second to safely store the weeks' worth of paperwork. Harry stood in the doorway to the office in awe at the pure organized chaos of magic that came with being an auror.

The same respect Harry always had for Kingsley radiated from each auror the three wizards passed on their way through the desks towards the private offices. While the room never really silenced, it did quiet down significantly with Kingsley's presence.

"Wortcher, Harry," Tonks called as they approached her desk in the row closest to the office. "Here for your memory retrieval?"

"Erm… yeah."

"You'll do great," the metamorphmagus exclaimed. "It's not as bad as everyone says, even with Williamson leading the way."

Harry felt Snape stiffen behind him at the mention of who Harry assumed was another auror.

"We should get this done," Kingsley beckoned to them, the door to the middle office now opened.

"Before you go, Remus and I would love to have you over for the holiday. I know it's kind of far away, but the school year passes by so quickly," Tonks said.

Harry wanted to hope Remus had this planned all along, but unless Tonks knew he'd be in for his memory retrieval - something that seemed unlikely because otherwise Snape would have likely known - the offer was strictly the Hufflepuff witch improvising. Maybe they'd talked about having him over the summer and never got around to actually inviting him, but it left him little relief of his sorrow over how little the last Marauder knew about him. He wanted a relationship with Remus, and Tonks by association, so if for no other reason, he should attempt to rebuild it; after all, it took two to make things work.

"That sounds great," Harry replied with a smile, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Perfect! Good luck in there," Tonks said with a wink before turning back around to whatever work she'd been feverishly writing down.

"Let's get this over with," Harry mumbled to no one in particular and then passed by Kingsley into the room.

The office for memory retrieval - as Harry unofficially referred to it - had a large rectangular, dark wooden table in the center with five chairs scattered haphazardly around it and a pensieve floating at the edge of the far side. Lanterns placed in each corner of the room provided little light leaving it dark and more menacing than he expected it to be. The worst part of the entire room - at least to the young wizard - was the frigid cold temperature; causing him to run his hand up and down his arms wishing he'd doubled his jumper. The door behind them closed with a loud bang echoing across the dark walls, making Harry jump a bit. With a shiver he tried to hide in an effort to appear fully in control, he approached the table where an auror in his early fifties stood just to the right of it.

"If it isn't the famous Harry Potter," the other wizard greeted the young Gryffindor, "I'm Mark Williamson and as the lead auror on the Diagon Alley attack, I'll be the one collecting and reviewing your memory of the event. This should be a pretty straight forward process."

"But you caught the guys responsible, right? I read about it in the Prophet earlier this week." It came out sounding more condescending than he wanted, but Harry wanted to sound competent for Auror Williamson, and therefore let the statement stand.

"While that may be true," the older wizard explained, "we still need to collect every piece of evidence for the trial. Leave no stone unturned and your viewpoint may show us things others couldn't."

"I didn't see them," Harry challenged back, ignoring the firm grasp of Snape's hand on his shoulder.

"Let us be the judge of that," Williamson winked at him. "Your mind absorbs significantly more information on the environment around you than you consciously realize, which is why we've found it's best to review memories of key events."

Harry looked back at the door where Kingsley still stood, and the Order member gave his head an almost imperceptible nod to confirm the other auror's validity.

His lips pursed to prevent showing his fear, Harry muttered "if you say so," under his breath as Snape gestured for the teen to take a seat at the head of the table, closest to the pensieve, with Williamson to his right and Snape to his left. If it were even possible, the bottom of the plain wooden chair felt colder than any other part of the room, and this time Harry could not contain the shiver from running up his spine.

"Are you cold?" Williamson asked. "If I remember what I read correctly, your muggle disease has a rather… negative impact on your body. It's the reason Auror Shacklebolt had us delay this little meeting. I could get you a blanket if you need it. You should be as comfortable as possible for this to be effective."

Locking his bright emerald eyes with Williamson's duller green ones, Harry shook his head, "No, sir," he lied, ignoring Snape's concerned expression, "I'm fine."

"Let me know if there's anything I can get you in the meantime." Then turning to Snape, he asked, "Can we get some privacy? The boy is seventeen, after all, and I'm afraid we need no outside influences on his recollection of the events." The auror glared across the table at Snape as he made his request, which Harry already knew would be vehemently denied.

"No," Snape flat out refused, folding his arms across his chest. "I'll be staying for the recollection."

"Severus," Kingsley warned. The air in the cold room seemed to drop ten degrees as the seconds ticked by in silence, "You can wait outside of the door and trust me to keep an eye on Harry."

The young Gryffindor could sense the consternation emanating from Snape. "It's ok," Harry added, "I'll be fine."

Grudgingly, Snape glared across at Williamson, then stormed from the room, causing Harry to question to himself why the two wizards seemed at odds with each other. Once the door closed for the second time in his already short visit, Harry's heart rate increased exponentially.

Luckily, Kingsley took the lead and spoke first, "Have you ever had a memory removed, Harry?"

The young wizard thought back to his Occlumency lesson with Snape the previous year and gave a silent nod. "I can't do it myself, though," he remembered to mention, unwilling to give any extra context to the reasoning in front of Williamson.

"Not to worry, I'll be doing the extraction," the head auror announced, taking the seat Snape had vacated. "Once it's in the pensieve, Auror Williamson and myself will view it to confirm its authenticity. Do you have any questions?"

"Will I get it back?"

"Of course," Kingsley kindly replied, and Williamson gave a smirk from across the table, "as long as there are no issues upon its viewing, once the memory has been validated, we'll duplicate it, and return the original to you."

Seemed simple enough, except for the mention of "any issues."

"What would cause issues with the memory?" Harry tentatively asked, "I mean, it's my memory of the event, there's nothing you can really do about it."

"You'd be surprised what we find, kid," Williamson spoke up and Harry found it a bit hypocritical that the older wizard used Harry's new adult status to demand he do this process alone, yet referred to him as kid; a title Harry held in almost as little esteem as boy.

Sensing the stress levels rising, Kingsley positioned his chair so he was facing Harry and lifted his wand to rest it on the young Gryffindor's temple.

"Now Harry," Kingsley's already deep voice lowered at least an octave as he calmly explained what to do, "close your eyes and think about that day in Diagon Alley… where you were right before the attack, in as much detail as you can remember. Everything from who you were with, the sights, sounds, and even smells. When you think you have it all and are ready for me to extract the memory, nod your head."

Harry had to resist the urge to nod that he'd understood, and instead closed his eyes, thankful for a reason to get away from the dark, damp, and cold room around him. He thought about shopping in Diagon Alley with Snape, then focused only on after he went to Flourish and Blotts with Ron and Hermione - unwilling to chance that either auror would overhear the conversation he'd had with Snape about where he came from - in as much detail as he could remember. For as much as his memory enjoyed dragging him through the worst of times in painstaking details, recalling everything from the attack proved more difficult than he expected.

First, he brought forth the sight of Ron and Hermione, the bustling street where the small white kitten played, the sounds of their conversation, and then the interruption from Mr Cribbe. The fear and panic he'd felt that afternoon flooded his system once again when he remembered the man's hand pulling on his shoulder, and the threatening step he took towards Harry; unexpectedly, a vision of Uncle Vernon followed. Pushing that piece aside - hoping it wouldn't show up in the memory - he remembered pushing the wizard to the ground and all of the eyes in Diagon Alley turning on him. The loud explosion triggered something in his mind and the rest of the memory came to him without any struggle. Him running as fast as he could to get away from the crowd. The smell of burned wood from behind him. Another hand grabbing his left upper arm with so much force he unconsciously stretched it out while sitting in the relative safety of the auror's office. It had taken the full week for his wounds - his bruised arm and scrapped up side - to fully heal from the event. Then he could practically feel the electrical current of his raw magic fighting against him as it coursed through his body so strongly he couldn't recall being dropped, or more accurately thrown, to the ground as he'd been told after waking up at St Mungo's. The last image he pulled up, the one before his world went black, was the sight of Snape's worried face pushing his way through the crowd with Healer Walker right behind him. Love. That had been the final feeling he associated with the memory; Snape's love for him through his fear of Harry's wellbeing.

Finally satisfied he had it all in place, Harry nodded his head. Just like before Occlumency with Snape, he heard Kingsley whisper a spell he didn't recognize and felt the tickle of a thread pull and tear across the front of his mind. It seemed to need more coaxing than with Snape, and Harry questioned if that was due to his trust in Snape more than the aurors or because of his improvement in Occlumency overall.

Time practically stood still before he finally heard Kingsley say, just above a whisper, "That's perfect. You did great, Harry"

The young Gryffindor didn't exactly believe him. He couldn't know how Harry had done with the extraction until they viewed the memory. It took Harry's eyes a moment - and several rounds of blinking - to readjust to the room around him, and even before they did, he couldn't miss Auror Williamson's odd glare across the table.

For obvious reasons, Harry couldn't go into the pensieve with Kingsley and Auror Williamson, but Snape hadn't been allowed to come back into the room either, with no explanation given as to why. That left the young wizard in an awkward position alone in the office with no idea how long it would take for his chaperones to return.

Being alone had its advantages, and the first thing Harry did was stand up in hopes of getting his circulation moving to help warm himself up. The room itself was small, barely big enough to hold the table where the pensieve sat, and the lack of window - enchanted, seeing as they were underground - made him almost claustrophobic, something he usually never experienced. The wall on the left side of the table was covered with moving photographs, all of the Diagon Alley attack from various angles. Harry naturally assumed they were taken from the memories collected in a similar manner he'd just gone through from all the witnesses.

One showed Harry and his friends in front of Flourish and Blotts, Ron and Hermione clearly bickering over the wedding details based on their facial expressions. In another, he could see Mr Cribbe talking to a witch he'd been in the Alley with when they recognized Harry and the plump wizard excitedly pointed at the group of three as they approached. Shame filled Harry as he realized the older man had been legitimately honest in his intentions when he greeted them that day; he'd only wanted to give his best wishes.

There were pictures - memories - from inside the buildings too: from Mr Olivander as he grabbed his most coveted wands from behind his desk so they wouldn't succumb to the flames shooting in through the windows, of Mrs Potts narrowly escaping the crumbling of her roof - reminding Harry too much of his bedroom ceiling collapsing in on him during the first Privet Drive attack - and one from the apothecary showing the moment in slow motion, using a photo developing technology Harry made a mental note to ask Collin about, the glass bottles shattered across the small shop. From the witness's vantage point in the apothecary, Harry could clearly see the other patrons get blasted with the shards of glass. Thankfully, he already knew no one had been seriously injured; besides himself, of course.

With a shake of his head, Harry had turned to go back to the table, anticipating Kingsley and Williamson's return when one last picture caught his eye. Tucked in the corner of the wall was a photograph showing a man in robes as black as night with hair to match, throwing a fireball from his wand into Olivander's store.

Frantically, the Gryffindor looked through all the other photographs attached to the wall, yet even knowing exactly where to look in the Alley, no others could show this precise act; the rest being blocked by a building or another person. It could only mean one thing, and Harry dreaded it: this memory had to belong to Draco Malfoy, confirming the Slytherin had not only been there - so close to Harry and his friends he could have been spying on them - but also he saved Harry from looking guilty in the whole situation.

"Dammit " Harry muttered under his breath. The last thing he needed was to feel like he owed Draco as they entered the school year having not spoken since they shared a prison cell in Malfoy Manor.

Kingsley and Auror Shacklebolt returned to the office only three minutes after Harry took his seat back at the table. The pair asked him several clarifying questions, like Did he recall anyone following them earlier in the day? - A lot of people were watching them as they did their shopping - Or to explain why he ran from the scene? - He felt trapped, and left it at that, thankful they didn't ask anything further, though he wanted to ask if the memory of Uncle Vernon had showed up or not. In the end, his memory of the event had been deemed satisfactory and Snape was allowed to re-enter the room. The young wizard hoped this would be the last he'd see of Auror Williamson having no idea they'd cross paths again in only three short days.

Thursday, 28th, August 1997

Draco turned the one-page menu over - a wrinkly long piece of paper with water stains and finger smudges - in a poor effort to find more food offerings. But no matter how many times he flipped it back and forth, the sparse selection didn't change: one side of the menu listed the food and the other side was devoted to cask ales, beers, and a plethora of spirits. The owners - and majority of the patrons, considering the cackle of drunkards hugging the bar when it was only noon - didn't put much effort into the 'gastro' part of the 'gastropub' they ran.

They'd only just gotten back to England from France the day prior, during which Draco and Hermione were forced to say a temporary farewell until they'd meet up again on the following Monday at King's Cross Station for their trip back to Hogwarts. It was bittersweet knowing his girlfriend was returning to the Burrow to spend the remaining days of summer with Ron Weasley, while he was relegated back to the dreary manor, where his demons and shadows thrived in his absence.

Today was his last session with Dr Cobb before he returned to school and the first appointment since the Diagon Alley incident and Reims trip. Which meant the session had plenty of content to go over if Draco was interested in sharing that much detail. If it was only an individual session between himself and the psychologist, he probably wouldn't freely divulge on what occurred; reliving the experiences - breaking protocol and reporting a couple of renegade Death Eaters, being mistreated by an Auror he dueled against while a spy, and then the awkward meeting between Hermione and his parents - wasn't on his agenda of things to experience.

He was tired of being chased by his past transgressions, exhausted by the actions he'd forever be held accountable for, and didn't want to muck through them and analyze 'how they made him feel'.

Unfortunately for him, Cobb requested both Lucius and Draco for the session. A father-son appointment. And that meant his father would bare all to the mind doctor, as was his usual form, in hopes that it would garner some kind of traction in their venture towards completion and healing again. To be clear, it wasn't an altruistic, benevolent move with a heartfelt optimism for the best outcome; it was a strategic, collateral damage decision to temporarily show weakness with the intention of reaping a better return. A Slytherin and Malfoy at his finest.

Attending the session in Downtown London, in the forest of towers and technology and muggle innovation, was expected. What was unexpected was his father's insistence that they have lunch at a nearby gastropub lovingly named, 'Cthulhu by the Sea'.

At first, Draco cast assumptions on what a muggle pub named after Cthulhu could've been; dark, sinister, Knockturn Alley sort of variety. He still found it strange that a retired auror famous for infiltrating a zealotus cult responsible for nearly raising Cthulhu from a cosmic realm became a critically acclaimed Muggle author and poet. But apparently once-decorated Auror Howard Phillips Lovecraft abandoned his famous identity in the wizarding world to sell his experiences to the muggles as 'fiction', and ended up becoming just as celebrated among those circles.

Lovecraft was known for his vitriol words that splashed horror and darkness on the pages. But the pub that was named after the creature that gained him infamy was anything but sinister and horrific. It was bright, welcoming, and airy with a mishmash of architectural styles. An entire wall of near ceiling to floor windows in the Elizabethan style to bring in a flood of natural light, scalloped maroon drapes at the tops of the windows in a traditional English design, perfectly symmetrical moulding and plasterwork in geometric wainscotting on the walls with white on top and glossy black on the bottom, and plain wood and leather-upholstered chairs stylized in pure Cromwellian fashion.

In a way it reminded Draco of the Three Broomsticks in the traditional British pub-style. But it was louder, livelier, and had a different feel about it.

Everything in Muggle London had a different feel about it. And the fact that his father suggested the locale before their session with Cobb was surprising, to say the least. Then again, his father was surprising him left and right when it came to muggle things, like his conditional acceptance of Muggleborn Hermione Granger as his girlfriend.

Placing his menu down, Draco looked across the table at his father, dressed in a crisp Muggle suit to match the teen's muggle casual jeans and tshirt. "How did you get Hermione somehow related to the Dagworth-Grangers? Who did you pay off for that favor?"

It was a bold assumption, but one the young Slytherin debated on mentioning ever since his parents first met Hermione in Reims and they unveiled the surprise connection between Hermione's paternal side and the Pureblood family.

It was all bullocks. Everyone knew it.

Lucius didn't even look up from his menu as he responded in a casual, almost bored tone. "Details hardly considered pertinent, don't you think?"

"I think those details are brilliant to know," Draco immediately retorted. "Wouldn't it be lovely to know the price tag you placed on my girlfriend's acceptance to our family? I for one surely would."

The older wizard sighed and gracefully dropped the menu down to the table to join his son's. "Dramatics are unbecoming of you, Draco." He paused to consider the clearly incensed teen glaring back at him. "If you absolutely must know, your mother's charity work for the Genealogical Society has continued to maintain her sponsorship seat. There are certain, unsolicited benefits that come along with our annual gracious donations, this just being one of them."

It was the confirmation Draco needed, the affirmation that they all knew existed. "Why?" He blurted out the question before he could stop himself. "She's the only good thing in my life right now. Isn't that reason enough to accept her?"

The words, slathered in hurt and incrimination, slapped Lucius so hard that the older wizard blinked in a rare form of momentary stupor. But before he could find his faltered poise, their server approached their tables to take their orders.

Fish and chips for both of them, mumbled in half-hearted grace as they both fought with their trampled emotions, neither one strong enough to know how to respond to their feelings.

After the server left, the father and son fell into a collapsing, cloying silence that cast shadows on their imperfections and the awkwardness that flooded them. Before the war and Voldemort's return, Draco would never have sat in a dockside muggle pub on the eve of a mind doctor visit. And even if he did, he would've known what to talk about or would've known what to listen to. Back in those days, he idolized the commanding aura that surrounded his father, how he could force people to fall into line and heed his word without ever raising his voice. It was in the way that he spoke in low tones, predatory and so filled with power that no one could imagine disputing him. His displeasures were feared, and his approval was sought by many.

Could Draco still idolize those attributes even in the aftermath of everything?

"Draco, I wanted to tell you…"

The uncomfortable lilt in the Malfoy patriarch's voice was what immediately grabbed Draco's attention, so alien and uncommonly found on the man. Looking at the wizard he idolized for so long, that he placed on an impossibly soaring pillar as the epitome of strength and confidence, he wondered what happened to land them in such a spot. They were the victors from the war - they won, and yet across from him sat his father, uncharacteristically fiddling with his hands in a nervous tick, trying to fix his son's broken identity while holding the shattered remains of his own.

Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Lucius stared at the table that rivered between them while he fought with his internal dialogue, subdued emotions, and how to express himself. "I wanted to tell you how… happy I am that you're returning to Hogwarts." The sentence was a feat to get out, as if he were speaking a different language entirely, fighting with himself. "Proud. I am proud of you."

The words brought on a flood of confusing, zig zagging emotions, the first of which felt like a boulder was placed on Draco's chest and left to crush against his lungs. The air was rushed out of them, making him wonder if he could breathe at all. For years he hungered for those words, and now that he had them, he wasn't sure what to do with it.

A torrential storm of emotions spilled over him, easily drowning him in their weight and inky depths. The blonde teen looked down at the table, fingers splayed over the uneven grained surface to ground himself.

"I haven't done anything worth being proud over," he lamely said back with just as much unfamiliarity as his father was in showing his affection. "Going back to school is something that's expected. It's right. Purposeful and proper. What pride is there to have in doing the basic expectations?"

"These past few months haven't been the smoothest of living. Your mother and I recognize-"

"Mother doesn't recognize anything!" The words left him on their own accord, getting caught in the lump resting in his throat and hitching his voice up from the emotion. "She can barely stand to look at me, for Merlin's sake. I think she's more than happy with her renovations and pretending like the past fifteen months never happened. Probably can't wait for me to go off to school again just so she doesn't have to look at me."

"That's not true, Draco," the older wizard mumbled in a confusing refrain of remorse and doubt at his own words. Because they all knew it was a thin veil of poorly constructed lies, and no matter how sweet smelling they were, it was a fallacy that simply didn't exist. Narcissa Malfoy's healing was stunted in the jungle of her own mind, where she fought with demons and death eaters and shadows that chained her to the past. Where did her husband and her son fit in that narrative? No one knew. Maybe nowhere.

When Draco said nothing else in response, only looking away as a drunken group of fishermen stumbled into the pub laughing, Lucius broke the ice that surrounded them with rarely spoken truths: "Come winter break, should your mother's renovations still be in progress, I'll be making alternate living arrangements for us to spend the weeks." He paused, clear grey eyes finding his son's. "Just you and I."

Draco stared back. While his father continued to speak in clandestine words and code, it was more candid and blunt than ever before. And raised to slice words and derive their meaning, he was beginning to figure out what his father was suggesting. "Without mother?"

Lucius looked down at his lap, eyes hooded to conceal his emotion. "So long as she's preoccupied with her renovations, this will be the most sound decision for… for you. For us. She's been informed she has until then to get her affairs in order." He looked like he wanted to say more, to drop all hidden pretenses and speak plainly like his heart desired, but Lucius existed in a world that operated with control and poise. And to break from that rigid mold took more than all the weight of the galleons in their vaults.

But Draco was raised in the same emotionally repressing environment, and he understood what his father said. His mother was given an ultimatum: either begin to heal or Lucius would take Draco away from her hurtful antics.

It was the most uncharacteristically selfless action his father had ever done. And yet, it was the first thing Lucius Malfoy committed to doing as a father that Draco could ever recall in his seventeen years. It was still wrapped in the similar airs of confidence and staunch poshiness of their family, but the undercarriage of warmth was driven with such a moving intensity it left the Slytherin teen wordless. Was it for some ulterior motive? Was it a test? Was it genuine?

The teen scattered his gaze all around the lip of the table, seeing nothing but the board of their lives playing out pieces and moves. It was an exhausting life to live, always trying to dilute someone's intentions and anticipate their next step, but emotion was a fogging variable to the process.

His father had no motive beyond his son's wellbeing. While Lucius Malfoy was certainly playing a game against outside forces, it wasn't against Draco. For once, he wasn't a pawn being sacrificed across the board in a perfectly executed riposte - he was the king kept safeguarded behind a platoon of bishops and knights.

How did he feel knowing his father acknowledged his mother's detrimental habits? How did he feel knowing his father was willing to relocate away from her all because of him? Draco wasn't sure - the numbness he usually blanketed over his emotions was yanked away by his father's candidness, leaving the teen to question so much.

In the absence of knowing what to say or how to show his own emotional reaction, Draco took a leap of faith to speak in similar notes of open frankness with his father on a topic he'd been wrestling with since Reims. "I've been thinking about our new disease center…" He paused for a moment. "Do you remember our holiday in Luxor when I was a child? I was around six years old, I think - my first trip to Egypt?"

Lucius looked back at the blonde teen in momentary surprise, taken off guard at the question's topic and abrupt change of conversation. But he recovered quickly with a dry, flat chuckle. "You couldn't possibly be referring to the trip where I took you to the dark necropolis, Deir el-Bahari, under direct order only to wear the charmed robes given to you? The same trip that you ignored those orders and snuck your stuffed animal dragon- what was his name again? Rufus? - into an ancient dark tomb, managed to walk out with a 3500 year old curse attached to your toy, which followed us home to Wiltshire and required the combined efforts of the British and Egyptian Ministries to decurse? No, Draco, I don't think I - or either Ministry, for that matter - will ever forget that trip."

Yes. It was quite the memorable holiday. It'd taken only a few weeks after their return for little Draco to get stalked from the angry spirits of Ahmose I and Amenhotep I. Malfoy Manor's natural inclination towards the dark occult ushered in the malevolent spirits with glee, and the small family didn't realize the haunting until the spirits were closing in on claiming the young heir's soul. Draco never managed to get all the details from his parents on how and why his father couldn't decurse him himself, but considering he was nearly killed by wraithful Egyptian spirits, he guessed the situation was beyond the Malfoy patriarch's decursing repertoire.

"Yeah, right, that's the exact trip I'm talking about," the young Slytherin scratched the back of his head. Reminding himself he was in a Muggle pub, he lowered his voice. "But before I managed to get some vengeful spirits attached to my plushie, do you remember the tutoring you arranged for me with High Priest Amentemha?"

Lucius waved a hand dismissively over the table, above their two untouched glasses of white wine. "Operate on the assumption that I do."

The younger wizard wet his lips and leaned forward. "He taught me all about the honored pasts and history of their people. More than three thousand years ago, the ancient Egyptians were innovators in ritualcraft. More than innovators, they were masters at it, and weaved rituals seamlessly in their daily activities. Yes, the more demanding rituals were carried out by highly trained priests and priestesses, but otherwise, magic was a common household commodity that flowed into their purposes as predictable as the Nile."

His father tilted his head slightly; listening but no doubt racing Draco to the finish line in trying to anticipate what his son was getting at. "True exemplars of Magic."

Draco nodded quickly. "Precisely. An uncontested title they proudly wear on their breast pocket. Their rituals have stood the test of time and continue to be replicated all across the Wizarding World! They're role models in it, despite their un-dichotomous mindset with dark and light magic. Magic is simply magic to them - a tool imbued by their gods, per their belief, and something that's inherent to most."

They were interrupted when their server returned with their identical plates of food. Though neither Malfoy reached for their meals.

"As intriguing as Egyptian antiquities are, I trust you're gradually making your way to a point," Lucius said once they were alone again. "Though I applaud your memory and academic candor in remembering tutoring from over a decade ago. I'm glad to see it was galleons well spent."

Draco knew his chance was now or never. His future was on the line - a future him and Hermione had briefly discussed in Reims, though they both recognized the blockades along the way. Lucius Malfoy - or the man he used to be - was one of the most damaging to Draco's future plans. But the old Lucius Malfoy never would've suggested a Muggle pub for lunch or made a hard decision to potentially separate from his wife for the good of his son's mental health.

The old Lucius Malfoy only cared enough to ensure a strong, Pure bloodline with no weaknesses. That wizard died at the Battle of Malfoy Manor.

"But despite their daily, heavy use of ritualcraft and magic, the Egyptians weren't entirely reliant on it. Not like we are," Draco continued. "They believed that magic brought on an automatic response when they reached the limits of their technology and science. There were some overlaps between technology and magic in their society, sometimes between healing and military use, but for the most part, they didn't see one advantageous over the other. You see, Egyptians were just as renowned for their Muggle technology as they were for their magic. Magic and muggle science existed harmoniously hand in hand, and their civilization soared from it."

Draco felt his palms go sweaty as his father narrowed his eyes on him. The older wizard's emotions were perfectly tucked away, though, making it impossible for the teen to read his audience. Was it all a mistake to bring up? Would Lucius agree with him?

"That's exactly what we're trying to achieve with our disease center, though it's more of the opposite, I suppose," the younger Slytherin hurriedly tacked on. "Clearly, our healing ability isn't nearly as robust as we've assumed it to be, largely because we simply haven't been exposed to the amount of maladies the muggles have. What we're trying to do is learn muggle illnesses and develop treatments for them, but we don't know about muggle science. I'm confident Snape can perfect potions at his bench if given the time and ingredients, but think about how much more we could do if we understood the muggle side of things."

Lucius slowly leaned back in his chair as a wash of cold pragmatism veiled his features, much like they did when he attended business meetings. Because that's what their roles had shifted to: business partners. "I've offered generously pensioned positions to Healer Walker, Severus, and several other healers with some connections in the muggle community. I'm guessing you have a different proposal?"

The ticking clock on the wall hammered loudly as Draco took a deep breath. "The type of training we need is specific. We need healers and researchers who know both muggle medicine and magic healing. The chances of finding that in a pool of applicants is... limited. What if we developed a training curriculum that combines those things? We'll be the only ones to specialize in it. We set the same requirements for becoming a healer after leaving Hogwarts and have them complete their training with us, while working at our Center, of course."

A radiant and distant look filled the Malfoy patriarch's eyes as thoughts and ideas filled him. Though he kept looking at Draco, he was feverishly working through the idea in his head. "A proprietary training? Specific only to the Malfoy Center?"

Draco nodded. "We'll keep the program very quiet so competitors can't replicate it."

Lucius looked away in thought, thumb and finger running over his chin. "Monopolize on the specialty."

"A global monopoly if we play our cards right."

The older Slytherin was silent for a few lengthy seconds before looking back at his son with a curious, assessing glance. "There is one major flaw with your proposal. You said it yourself - our applicant pool for employees, especially those involved in the muggle side of disease knowledge, is lacking. And those who are our leading candidates have wavering loyalty I wouldn't trust my Gringotts key with."

Snape? His father wouldn't trust Snape with his Gringotts key? He supposed it only stood to show that despite their familiar pasts, both his father and Snape were Slytherins and loyalty to one another was conditional.

"Right, loyalty is something we'll have to-"

"It should stay in the family," Lucius interjected lightly, like it was the most obvious answer. "Your returning to Hogwarts was to pursue a healing designation, was it not? You wanted to be involved in program development, after all."

Draco blinked. "Yes, but I don't know a thing about Muggle medicine. I've asked Hermione some, and she described a rubbish schooling route Muggles go through to become doctors. It's long and bloody confusing and-"

"And? Don't tell me you're complaining over academia. Truly, Draco, I knew you wanted me to approve of this plan from the start of the conversation, but do give me more credit and pick a more convincing argument if you're trying to deceive me into believing that I suggest it."

The teen unflappably gazed back at his father who looked pleased at himself for calling his bluff. Their conversations were always a chess match, always a mix of hidden interest and intentions, all the while trying to figure out the other's angle. "Yes, fine, you're right," Draco conceded with a huff. "I've spoken with Hermione and… and I think it would be in our best interest if I studied muggle medicine."

To his utter surprise, his father smirked. "While attending to your healer training?"

"Ideally."

"Are you aware of how long it'll take you?"

The teen looked down at his untouched fish and chips. The newspaper under the meal was practically translucent from the pooling oil. "Years. A decade at best."

It was silent for several seconds, during which Draco remained impassive and patient in waiting for his father's decision. It was an act. His father likely already made his decision in seconds and was simply waiting to see if his progeny would buckle.

"I have associates in high ranking dean positions at several universities," the older Slytherin began. "While I'm confident I can gain you admission with conveniently manufactured school records, you'll need to attend foundational tutoring to stay enrolled. You'll be expected to begin the Center's program development while still a student yourself." His father leaned forward a bit, a somber expression studying his son's. And he asked the one question Draco had never been asked before by him: "Is this what you truly want, though?"

Never before was Draco's future up to him; he was always following the path given to him, determined by someone else. A Pureblooded son with prejudice ideals. A Death Eater. A Spy.

He smiled. "It is."

The rest of the meal passed by in a whirl of wine, beyond deep fried fish they both refused to eat, and conversations over topics Draco would never have dreamed of having with his father. He told him all about his horrible experience when first asking Hermione out, how he trailed her back to the Gryffindor tower after a prefects meeting and she worried that he was ill or hit his head. His father listened with a faint smile, nearly unnoticeable on his lips but enough to fill his eyes. And he continued listening to Draco talk about his quasi run-in with Harry and Snape in Diagon Alley in his animagus form, how it made him feel jealous and angry and loath being a slave to the emotions he didn't understand.

It was rare for a Malfoy to speak so openly with their worries and weaknesses, but something felt different at the table. And his father, though he said nothing, acknowledged his son with a simple, silent nod.

As the day morphed from lunch towards dinner, they talked about Hogwarts. Lucius told him to return home the moment something felt amiss. The older Malfoy didn't reassure him that nothing nefarious wouldn't happen, which didn't go unnoticed by Draco. Maybe his father knew then that the forces acting against their family had a reach beyond his own.

When the time for dinner arrived, they just finished off a bottle of wine as Draco rehashed the Weasley wedding. Lucius listened intently, chuckling every so often as his son tore into the Weasley's poor attempt of dressing rich and formal. Considering his father didn't chide him to not waste good insults on the Weasleys, that told Draco that the older wizard didn't see the insults as severely hateful as they once were. Or that his father's opinion of the Weasley's had changed, if however small and marginal.

Realizing the time, the Malfoy wizards paid the measly bill and left the pub just as more muggles were spilling into it, eager for ale and food at the end of their day. The air around the docks was tepid and smelled of fish and salt, but Draco couldn't find anything sour about it.

And as they talked about Draco's odd experiences and struggles as an animagus, his father guiding them towards an amazing coffee shop he insisted Draco just had to try, neither one said anything about the psychologist session they missed. For the first time in a long time Draco walked beside his father with a renewed sense of purpose, regency, and pride.

~~~~SS~~~~

Saturday, 30st August, 1997

The moment Severus approached the topsy-turvy home, he knew choosing to visit the Burrow on the Saturday before term began had been an awful idea. The noise radiating from the dwelling could be heard meters away, coming in waves of "where's my-", "I'm missing-", and "Do you think I need-", making him grateful he only had Harry to deal with. Unfortunately, his firecall an hour earlier had gone unanswered - most likely unheard in the mass of confusion - so he could only hope the exchange of his surprise visit wouldn't be too awkward for him to bare, and that the patriarch - the main reason for his visit - would be home on a Saturday morning. Arthur Weasley's position in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts wasn't any secret, though Severus could admit he didn't exactly know what the red-headed wizard actually did on a day-by-day basis. He had heard all about the raids they conducted in his old reality, many of which were done overnight, but he couldn't be certain the man worked a normal Monday to Friday schedule.

By the time the Slytherin approached the old wooden front door, the dew from the tall meadow grass left the bottoms of his black trousers damp, and so he pointed his wand to cast a quick drying spell, thinking he should have waited until later in the afternoon to arrive. He should have continued to try to solve this on his own and put the idea about this whole trip out of his mind. There were dozens of things and acts he should have done before coming to the Weasleys to ask for the strangest piece of advice, but he had completely run out of time and as of this morning, he remained empty-handed. Alternatively, he could choose to skip the meeting - refusing to think about it as a date - with Mae and go back to Hogwarts to prepare for the students' arrival on Monday. He could spend the day with Harry, who had seemed a little down this morning when Severus had explained he would be out in the morning and the evening; though the prospect of spending the day moving himself into the Tower did raise his spirits slightly. But the truth was he wanted to go on this… to go to this meeting; he needed to see where it could go and he enjoyed the short talks he'd had so far with the muggle nurse.

His firm, loud knock on the door reminded him of some of his harshest days teaching Potions. When, without fail, some idiotic first year - most likely a muggleborn student as his classroom was typically their first introduction to many of the unique ingredients and processes - would come too close to mixing their ingredients incorrectly, potentially causing an explosion or melting cauldron, and his fist hitting his own desk caused the entire room to instantly halt. He still held that power to intimidate, but after adopting Harry in his old reality, combined with the challenges this last year had brought, he found himself less likely to use those tactics to control his students. He wasn't soft, by any means, still often making his students cry by his realistic - some might say hostile or malicious - remarks in regard to their lessons, but it no longer held the same vile sting as it used to. And most of all, he didn't get the same pleasure from seeing them squirm.

Eventually, someone on the inside of the home managed to hear his knocking through the ruckus and when the door opened, Ginny Weasley gave a small jump in surprise to see him there.

"Professor Snape?" The youngest Weasley child asked.

Dressed in a light green and and yellow sundress, she looked much more confident than she did in her brothers' hand-me-down robes, and Severus found himself coming to the realization there were only two more years left - though this would likely be his last - of this generation of Weasleys at Hogwarts. After over a decade of Weasley children, they would finally be gone.

"After being your professor for the last five years, Miss Weasley, I do hope you can correctly identify my presence."

"Of course," she retorted, and Severus knew he'd been spending too much time with the Weasley clan when she practically rolled her eyes at his comment. "I wasn't expecting to see you, is all. Did you need mum for something?"

"Severus? Is that you?" Molly Weasley called, pushing her way into the doorway from behind her daughter. The matriarch looked completely disheveled with a flour covered apron over a bright dress, and her red hair sticking out every which way in a frizzy mess. If he had three children to get ready for the Hogwarts Express in two days time, he would probably feel the same way she looked. Simultaneously though, he knew she would grieve these days as her last child was heading into her N.E.W.T. courses; time couldn't stand still and before she knew it, the house would be eerily quiet on the 31st of August. "Go on, Ginny. You still have summer work to complete."

"See you in class, professor," Ginny smirked and walked back into the noisy house.

Molly closed the door behind her, taking a refreshing breath of the crisp morning air. Then with concern-filled eyes, she asked, "Everything alright, Severus? Is it Harry-

"Harry is fine," he interrupted quickly to ease her worried thoughts. "I was actually hoping to speak with Arthur regarding a… personal project I'm working on."

Suddenly, a large crash came from behind the closed front door. Molly, who had likely become desensitized to the chaos long ago, didn't even flinch.

"Do you need…" he pointed to the door.

She waved off his comment, "Fred and George are home to see the kids off on Monday. I'll be lucky if the house is still standing by then."

"I'll be sure to warn Minerva to check for any contraband attempted to be snuck into the castle this year."

Molly gave a sad laugh, then pointed out towards the garage on the corner of their property, "Arthur spends the Saturday before school doing some kind of last minute work. You'd think he'd realize that I know exactly what he's up to after all these years. But we only have one more after this, so I figure why mention it now."

"Thank you, Molly," he said, unsure - and slightly uncomfortable - with what to do with her last statement.

"Anytime, Severus," she smiled and gave him a small pat, which would be patronizing from almost anyone else, on his upper arm.

The walk to the garage was easy, no more than a matter of going around their fenced perimeter of the side and back gardens towards where he could already hear tools banging and clanging, metal on metal. Severus used the walk to work through exactly what he wanted to ask the muggle-loving pureblood wizard. Blood traitor, they'd been called by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Severus shivered against the soft wind, wondering when those random memories would cease to exist in his mind. Never, he knew, but they would fade with time, turning into a distant memory and he anxiously awaited those wonderful moments. Today, he would relish in whatever muggle-magical knowledge Arthur could provide. If Minerva was correct - and why wouldn't she be - about Arthur being tasked with finding a way for the Order to stay in communication if part or all of them had needed to go into hiding, it wouldn't be a stretch for him to have a solution to Severus's own conundrum.

The sound of mechanical work continued to increase as he approached the half open door leading into the garage. The smell of oil and grease wafted out reminding Severus of his own long days and nights over the potions bench; an activity he didn't do nearly as much anymore, greatly missed, and was anxious to start again the following week at the MLD.

"Arthur?" The former spy called out, peeking his head into the garage.

Having never stepped foot in the Weasley garage, from either reality, Severus had no idea what to expect. However, a room filled almost to the brim with what the professor would classify as junk was far from what he imagined. He guessed the patriarch had a method to his madness, and could only assume the man could actually identify the random parts and objects around him. Severus crinkled his hooked nose as the door magically opened the rest of the way and a horrid stench hit it. Arthur was standing at a workbench - though the actual bench top could not be seen - surrounded by cords of different lengths and sizes, several motors scattered in pieces, and three muggle radios. Further down on the bench, wrenches, screwdrivers, other tools sat haphazardly across the wooden surface waiting for some kind of use. Severus silently questioned if the other wizard knew how to use any of them in their normal capacity, and if so, where he'd learned it from. Only Arthur's tuft of red hair could be seen over the radios on the bench, at least until he raised his head at the professor's greeting.

"Severus!" The Gryffindor joyfully greeted, standing tall with his arms opened wide, almost knocking over a can of some kind of black liquid in the process. Immediately, the Slytherin was put on edge. He'd never really sat down to speak with Arthur Weasley, at least not as often as Molly - who primarily attended the plentiful of disciplinary meetings for Fred and George - and definitely not outside of an Order meeting or classroom setting. The redhead swung his arm around beckoning the professor inside with a hurried, "Come in, come in."

Afraid to touch anything in the organized chaos, Severus entered the garage peering at all the things around him.

"What brings to you Ottery St Catchpole this fine morning?" Arthur asked, pulling out a stool for Severus and sitting back down in the one he'd been previously occupying. "My children can't be in trouble before term has even started, that would certainly be some kind of record!"

Severus gave a small chuckle and shook his head from side to side. Was this how Lucius felt when he had been over at Spinner's End?

"No, nothing like that," he reassured the Gryffindor to his right. "I hope I didn't interrupt-" he pointed to a radio completely dismantled, "- otherwise, I can come back another time," he lied. If he left right then, he knew he would never return, meaning he couldn't see Mae - and would completely ruin any chance of whatever was potentially happening between them; an anomaly he couldn't even begin to put a name to.

"Not at all," Arthur reassured him and, pointing at the radios, he added, "I had been messing with these just in case You-Know-Who forced the Order, or anyone really, into hiding. We'd be able to communicate with a special station. Thankfully, that's a moot point, now with… him gone and all… but, it gives me a reason to be out here." He looked over towards where the house would be located on the other side of the metal garage wall.

Nodding his understanding, Severus picked up the front piece of the radios, completely unable to identify anything the Gryffindor had been working on. Arthur had a talent and in his own quest to combine muggle and magical medicine, he wondered what other things could be made more efficient with a cross-disciplinary viewpoint. Ironically, Arthur's whole career at the Ministry was spent preventing the very thing the man loved the most - mixing muggle objects with magic - making him possibly the best one to do it; he knew exactly what not to do. Unfortunately, the Wizarding World quickly learned when done incorrectly, the muggles became far too suspicious of the magical activity. However, there certainly were exceptions and that was where he found himself wanting to explore.

"You have a natural talent for these kinds of things," Severus awkwardly transitioned, figuring the whole day would likely be one awkward moment after the next.

"I try to stay on top of things," Arthur humbly replied. "In my line of work, you'd be surprised at some of the things we come across. Obviously as a first generation Half-blood, you probably recognized all of this stuff." Arthur swept his hand over the garage, giving Severus more credit than he deserved. "So, if not the children, or the Order-" he paused and Severus shook his head denying that his visit had anything to do with their mutual organization, "-is it Harry?"

"No," Severus quietly answered, feeling his breathing shallow as his nerves increased. "I need to ask you a favor… or some advice, possibly both."

Arthur's eyes lit up, and he shifted himself on his grease smeared stool until he was facing Severus. His face didn't have any hint of mocking on it, and instead he appeared to take the request seriously; for which Severus found himself filled with deep gratitude. Here was a man who had been proverbially dragged through the mud by the group Severus had voluntarily joined and - at one point in his life believed in - ready to put aside their difference to assist the former Death Eater without taking any amusement in it.

"What is it you're needing?"

This was it; now or never. He could choose to walk away and leave Mae and her loud, obnoxious, and completely opposite-to-him personality behind him. Yet he knew he'd regret it and he'd already lived too much of his life with regrets.

"There's… someone, a muggle, I need to be able to speak with, possibly regularly, while I'm at Hogwarts," he started to explain. "I have a phone at my home, however I'd prefer if I could either take the call at Hogwarts or at a minimum have some way to know this person was trying to reach me."

"Ah," Arthur cryptically said, nodding his head quickly, "I have just the thing you need."

The Gryffindor stood from his stool and went to the back of the garage where another workbench took up the entire length of the wall covered with pieces and parts to things Severus couldn't identify. Arthur rustled through the pile, placing mismatched tools, cords, and light bulbs off to the side.

"Here it is!" He called out lifting a very plain, black telephone up in the air. At first glance, Severus couldn't tell anything different with the phone; looking no functionally different than his at home. Naturally, he assumed the other wizard had misunderstood his meaning. Arthur proudly thrusted the black boxy phone into Severus's hands and announced, "This is a teally-frone."

"Telephone," Severus corrected, but the man was already moving onto the explanation, missing the pronunciation.

"Back in the summer betweeeeenn… second and third year," Arthur sat down and pointed at the phone, "Ron wanted to talk to Harry at his relatives home, so I found everything I could about these… things… it ended up as a disaster, but that's besides the point… I created this beauty shortly after."

Severus furrowed his black eyebrows trying to find the nicest way to ask what the bloody hell he was talking about. Gently, he asked, "So, will this be able to solve my problem?"

"Yes, yes," Arthur quickly confirmed, "this teally-frone is more like…. What do muggles call them? Prage? No, that's not it-" He screwed his eyes up towards the ceiling as he thought for the right word and Severus was concerned he had finally been pushed too far, "-a pager! Simply plug this plug into your wall, pick up the receiver and run your wand over the mouthpiece. Then, whenever you receive a teally-frone call, it will tell the other person to leave a missive, and then wherever your wand is located, a bit of parchment will pop up with the message."

Warily, Severus looked down at the very regular looking phone in his hands. He'd never heard the term "pager" before, but Harry would probably know more about it. Regardless, this was almost too simple. He'd hoped Arthur would be able to help him, and while this wouldn't allow him to speak with Mae, it would let him know when she called and he could floo back home when convenient to do so.

"This is… perfect," he told the Gryffindor who had a large smile from the compliment. "How much for-"

"Nothing," Arthur cut him off.

"You spent a lot of time working on this, you should surely expect to be compensated for your time."

"As much as I appreciate it," the red-headed wizard reasoned, "let's be honest, the thing would probably sit on that counter collecting dust for the next decade. By then, there will be so many other things for me to discover. Molly would probably pay you just to get it out of here!"

Severus couldn't help laughing at the sentiment. Given the room around him, he was lucky Arthur had been able to find the telephone in the first place.

"Thank you," he said. "If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate."

"I hope that works out for you," Arthur said. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Actually," Severus said after a second's hesitation, "I was hoping to have a word with Ron and Hermione."

"Oh?" Arthur questioned, standing up, to which Severus followed suit. "Harry this time?'

"Unfortunately, yes" the professor replied once they reached the door leading to the garden, "Harry will be returning to the Tower this year, and classes in general, and I hoped to get their help in keeping a closer eye on him."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you know," Arthur started as they made their way back towards the house, the noise still as loud as beforehand, "Harry has always been very independent."

Severus held his tongue against correcting the Gryffindor. Harry's independence came from the need to protect himself and hide the truth about the abusive home he grew up in. Under no circumstances was it a trait to be celebrated or rewarded. How could no one have seen the correlation to help the young wizard when he needed it the most?

They entered the Burrow from the back garden door, near where the tables had been set up for Harry's birthday party. Much to his surprise, entering near the kitchen was actually quieter than when Molly greeted him at the front door. With a house full of teenagers - he included the twins as they mentally were about on the same level as Ron or Ginny - he would have expected the kitchen area to be the first place they'd be found.

"Get everything settled?" Molly inquired, as she passed by them on her way to the stairs with an armful of black robes and various red and gold clothing, reminding him the house was full of Gryffindors. The entire wizarding world would be up in arms if any green and silver made its way into this household.

"Yes," he said, lifting the phone in his hands as if it explained everything. "Though, I'd hoped to have a word with Ron and Hermione before I took my leave?"

Molly flushed, over his formality in asking or from all her galivanting across the house, he couldn't say. She called up the center of the rickety staircase - one, he noted, that did not creak - at a far higher decibel level than he prepared his ears to hear. The sound of loud, clumsy feet racing down the stairs almost made Severus reconsider his decision, but when Ron came to a screeching halt at the sight of his Defense professor at the bottom, it made his own discomfort worth it.

"Professor Snape would like to speak with you both," Molly lectured in a voice Severus could tell she reserved for warning her children that any misstep would end in severe punishment. Then turning back to him, she kindly added, "you'll have some privacy in the sitting room."

Since the ground floor of the Burrow consisted of an open circle around the staircase, the professor naturally assumed the privacy the matriarch mentioned was permission for him to cast a privacy ward around them. The tiny room - close to the size of his own at Spinner's End - had both a comfortable and terrifying feeling to it, with its slanted wooden beamed ceiling looking as if the structure above him could collapse at any moment, contrasted by the mismatching old brown sofa, large cream colored armchair, and smaller red armchair; all of which were covered in bright blankets sure to have been handmade by Molly herself. The two Gryffindors settled next to each other on the sofa, while Severus expectantly took the larger armchair across from them, where he rested his elbows on his thighs in an attempt to calm the obvious increasing anxiety in the red-headed wizard. The small circle table in the middle of the furniture was hardly large enough to hold the textbooks, parchment, and inkwell left upon it, evidence of someone trying to finish up last minute summer assignments; Herbology, he guessed, based on the textbook.

With a wave of his wand, the privacy ward was cast around them and he heard Ron audibly gulp.

"As I know you are both already aware," the former spy began, "Harry will be returning to the Tower this year and to select classes."

"We have, sir," Hermione spoke up, confidently. "I think it's going to be good for him… so he doesn't feel so secluded this year."

There were times he truly appreciated the Gryffindor know-it-all's propensity to over evaluate any given situation. In class, depending on its utilization, she could challenge or hinder her classmates. This, however, was not one of those times he welcomed her attempt to over analyze the situation.

"While that may be true, Miss Granger," the professor emphasized, "it also leaves him in a vulnerable position to hide away anything he deems 'not important'. And, unfortunately, when it comes to situations relating to himself, I think we can all agree he tends to take a more liberal definition of 'not important'."

The statement sat heavily between them as the two teenagers unwrapped what he'd just explained. For a split second, Severus thought he would need to be more explicit, but thankfully Hermione's brown eyes showed him she understood. If need be, she could then explain it to the youngest Weasley wizard once he left.

"Professor," Hermione said, "we've always supported Harry and encouraged him to-"

"Yes," Severus interrupted what was sure to be some defense to their friendship, "you have supported him - your word, Miss Granger - in hiding away anything he might have needed help with. What Harry needs now isn't someone to enable his subterfuge in a given situation, he needs friends to assist him in making the difficult decision to come forward when things aren't going well. If he wakes up with a sore throat, for example.

"So far, you've supported his ability to hide away his starvation and neglect each and every summer, and the abuse from within his own family as well as from at least one professor on the Hogwarts staff-"

"But, sir, how did you-"

"Did you tell anyone about it, Miss Granger?" He argued, trying to keep himself in control of the situation, trying to understand these children were faced with situations no child should ever be in, and they reacted as children would. They thought by respecting Harry's wishes to keep their silence, they were helping him, when in fact they enabled the abuse to continue.

"No, but Harry-"

"-Does not always know what's best for him."

Those were the words they all needed to hear. Harry would put anyone else's needs before his own and then claim his Gryffindors righteousness as the reason why. Severus stood by his assessment last year that they did their students a disservice when sorted by their dominant traits. No one had to encourage Harry's chivalry, to right every wrong except when it related to himself. That trait was reserved for Slytherins and this child - the one he felt in his heart was his child - would do anything to separate himself from the house of Voldemort; even if it killed him in the end.

For better or worse, that statement broke apart the last barrier between Severus and Harry's two closest confidants. He made sure to tell them he didn't expect them to lose Harry's trust, because he needed them this year. But at the same time, Harry needed someone to be strong enough to tell the teen when things were getting dangerous, when he needed to seek help. This year would challenge them all, and Severus could only hope between him, Minerva, and these two teenagers - not to mention the rest of Gryffindor House - Harry would reach out to one of them if things got too much for him to handle alone.

"Where are you going?"

Harry was lying down on the sitting room sofa when Severus entered at a quarter to five in the evening, giving him just enough time to floo home to set up his new phone before disapparating to a space near the restaurant in Guildford. He paused at the sight of Harry, leaning up on his elbows with a book he'd been previously reading now resting on his chest, because from this angle - especially with his hair grown back - he didn't look much different than Severus's son used to. This could have been a scene from his old reality, one he would never have gotten to live because the other Harry didn't get a chance to live to be seventeen. Every so often the grief managed to make its way through his Occlumency shields, as well as every other technique he used so he could continue to function on a day-by-day basis. This had been one of those times, and he could tell Harry realized it as he rounded the corner and unceremoniously sat down in his armchair.

"As I mentioned this morning," Severus managed to say without any quivering in his voice, "I will be going out for a bit tonight. I'll have my sphere with me should you need me and Minerva is obviously in the castle. Feel free to begin moving your belongings up to the Gryffindor tower while I'm away, and of course you may

leave anything here you'd like."

Harry narrowed his green eyes, sitting up the rest of the way and placing the book - Severus's old potions text - onto the table in front of him.

"Yeah," Harry said, suspiciously, "I remember all that, but where are you going? You look… nice."

Almost insulted, Severus looked down at what he thought was his normal muggle attire. Admittedly, he had picked his nicer pair of black trousers and his normal white buttoned down shirt had been dressed up with a black vest over it. In hindsight, he should have opted to put the vest on at Spinner's End instead of here, where Harry would have noticed the addition.

"I need to stop by home, and then-" the professor paused, quickly considering if he wanted to tell Harry about the date with one of Dr Swanson's nurses. He certainly didn't need the teenager's approval, and if he were honest, it was only marginally appropriate to begin with. At the last second, he decided if things with Mae went well, he'd eventually tell Harry. No need to get onto it if he fell flat on his face tonight, though it might make his next chemotherapy treatment a little awkward, "-I have an appointment at Gringotts."

Harry's eyes narrowed further, until they were only a small slit of green, obviously not trusting the explanation he'd been given, but not exactly knowing why.

"Then why aren't you wearing robes?" The teenager challenged with a smirk firmly planted on his face.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, "My choice of attire to visit the goblins is none of your concern. However, as I'm sure you can remember from our last Diagon Alley trip, I was wearing muggle clothing."

"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged with a chuckle and dramatically picked up the book from the table and went back to reading, or at least he appeared to go back to reading.

"I've left your medication out on the countertop in the kitchen," Severus reminded the young wizard, "take it an-"

"-hour after dinner," Harry abruptly finished for him. "That one I can remember. Good luck with the Goblins."

Based on Harry's tone of voice and expression, he knew there was no way the Gryffindor believed his lie, but Severus simply shook his head as he stood to leave. Giving Harry a warning look - as if to say be good while I'm gone - he took a handful of floo powder and exited his quarters for Spinner's End.

The town of Guildford in Surrey, where the hospital and chemotherapy center were located, sat only about 30 kilometers from Little Whinging and 200 from Cokeworth. While traveling via apparation made something like distance not quite as problematic, Severus hated whenever he had to side-along Harry that far after chemotherapy. For his appointments during the school year, he would have to get creative because apparating from Guildford to Cokeworth, then flooing to Hogwarts would take a lot out of the young wizard. With still a fortnight to consider his options, he put that thought - and many of the others about Harry's cancer which always occupied his mind - away to focus on the night ahead of him. Regardless of what he didn't want to call it, similar to the birthday non-party Harry organized for his last birthday, he was going on a date.

Under normal, not-about-to-be-on-a-date circumstances, Severus would have found himself enjoying the area where the Village Tree gastropub was located. Filled with cobblestone streets, a clean, winding river, festivals throughout the year - one marking the end of the summer was going on that night - and the castle situated in the town center, Guildford had something of interest for almost any occasion. Severus could definitely understand the allure to reside in the quiet, muggle town, especially for the younger generation.

The Village Tree was located on the other side of Guildford from the hospital and chemotherapy center, out in the countryside surrounded by lush green fields, meaning the professor had to disapparate as close to the restaurant as possible, then immediately cast a disillusionment charm so as not to draw attention to his sudden presence. Though counterintuitive at first, he preferred apparating into the more populated areas where his sudden appearance wouldn't be nearly as noticeable among the crowd, than into a half empty field where a single man walking along the road would look out of place.

The moment his eyes caught sight of the charming building with its white brick bottom, red cedar shingle siding, and a plethora of windows lining the bottom and top floor surely providing enough natural light to create a serene atmosphere for the patrons inside, Severus wanted to turn around and leave. Why did he think it would be a good idea to meet a muggle nurse for dinner on a Saturday night? Unfortunately midway through his decision to leave, he looked ahead and saw Mae leaning against the building waving her arm in the air to get his attention. Dressed in a solid royal blue, knee length dress paired with a white short-sleeved cardigan and her straight blonde hair done up in a loose bun with tendrils outlining her face, the muggle looked casual, yet stunning, even if currently acting boisterous and loud.

"You're early?!" Her eyebrows rose so far they practically hit her hairline.

"You say it as if you already judged me for being late," Severus responded, walking up to his dinner companion for the night. Back at the hospital, he hadn't noticed how tall she stood. In her torture device looking high heeled shoes, she met him eye-to-eye, taking away some of his usual self-assurance. "Is your opinion of me already that low?"

Mae shrugged, and the professor had to resist the urge to cringe at the gesture he saw far too often from teenagers almost daily, "You are the one who took eight days to call me. I wouldn't be half surprised if you didn't show. I mean, I have no way to contact you, so the ball was completely in your court. And that's a lot of trust to give someone I barely know."

Without any preamble, Severus pulled the small slip of paper he prepared at home with his telephone number to Spinner's End. He had no way to test if Arthur's contraption would actually work, and he had no idea the track record for such inventions, however if it was anything like the flying car Harry and Ron flew to school in their second year, he wouldn't hold his breath.

"The elusive phone number," she smiled as she continued to taunt him. "Should I feel honored you've given this up before our date? What if I'm a total creeper or something?"

"Then I'll simply swap rooms with my most hated colleague," Severus seriously retorted, "I certainly would not care if he received incessant phone calls at all hours of the night."

She gave a half laugh and half snort - one Severus found annoyingly endearing - not expecting such a response from him. As he held the door open for her, she promptly tucked the slip of paper into her blue pocketbook, then walked inside. Now he very well couldn't turn back.

The interior of the restaurant had a very comfortable, rustic look to it. The walls were the same white brick as the outside, and a black brick fireplace sat on the right-hand wall. As Severus assumed, the windows brought in enough natural light not to need much from the pendant lights hanging over each table during the day. The tables were made of a smooth dark walnut, making the white cloth napkins shockingly stand out. A full bar, stocked with any type of alcohol the patrons could want, separated the front dining area from the back, where Mae and Severus were led. The exposed brick continued into the back dining room, but with less windows, the soft glow from above the table, combined with the fire from a second fireplace - on the left side this time - created a very serene atmosphere.

The type of atmosphere one expects on a date, the former Death Eater thought with a half grimace. Clearly the hostess could tell the couple were out on a date and likely chose to seat them accordingly.

The pair were escorted to a two person table located near the fireplace, where the familiar popping and crackling of the fire almost instantly calmed the professor's nerves. If not for the succulent aromas wafting by his nose, Severus could close his eyes and almost imagine he were sitting back at home - either of them - in his sitting room.

If a future version of himself had come to visit him earlier that morning, telling of how easy and casual the beginning of his date would be, Severus would have probably hexed himself. What he'd anticipated would be an uncomfortable exchange of pleasantries, with not much conversation to it, ended up being a very natural start with Mae asking all about moving into his boarding school.

Once their waitress had taken their order - mushroom alfredo for Mae and breaded wholetail scampi for Severus, both with a glass of pinot grigio - things took an interesting turn.

"Severus is a very… unique name," she said, after taking a sip of her white wine, "I take it you're named after someone?"

"If so, I am unaware of it," he blandly answered, unwilling to bring up his middle namesake to his father. "If I remember correctly, it translates to 'stern' in Latin. Quite appropriate if you'd ask my students. And is Mae a familiar name?"

She gave another laugh, drawing attention to their small table.

"Actually, my first name is after my grandmother," the nurse smirked and Severus waited to hear why she found the story so enlightening. "Mae is actually my middle name-" she cringed, then raising her hand she sheepishly added, "I'm Malinda Scott."

"Shall I assume you are familiar with the phrase 'the pot calling the kettle black'," he teased, "and therefore you need not require my explanation of it?"

"I did not lie about my name," she loudly justified, "I've used Mae since primary school… try going through life as Malinda… so for all intents and purposes, it is my name. You on the other hand went galivanting around under a false name."

His life as a spy had given him far too many pseudonyms to remember them all, and somehow the one time he hadn't been trying to cover his identity, it happened naturally.

"Semantics," he casually claimed, "it makes certain aspects of my life easier by allowing people to make assumptions in very specific situations. And for the record, I was hardly galivanting."

She narrowed her brown eyes across from him, making his cheeks feel flush. To help alleviate the tension, he took a sip of his wine and looked around the large room. Since their arrival, three other couples had arrived. One of them, sitting in the corner, looked about ten years his senior, and appeared so comfortable around one another he assumed they'd been married long enough to not only know each other's favorite dish from this specific restaurant, but likely from anywhere they went.

"Divorced?" She guessed, crossing the line of what Severus deemed appropriate for a first date, however her personality didn't exactly scream the best decorum to begin with, and yet knowing that he still agreed on the date. "Or is there a more interesting story behind having a different last name than your son?"

Another choice. He could go on with the farce and pretend to be a mid-thirties divorced parent. But he pretended so much in his life and a piece of him - the hidden part he tried not to think too much about - enjoyed having someone to talk to. He already couldn't tell her about his magic, so lying about Harry felt like it crossed the line too much.

"Technically, I am not Harry's biological parent," he carefully said.

"Technically," she repeated with a hard emphasis on the word, "another lie? How can one technically not be a parent and yet be the only one bringing him in for treatment? And be on a first name basis with his doctor?"

"He's a ward of the school," Severus replied, watching her eyes as she began to comprehend what he said, "his parents died when he was only a year old. I've been looking out for him for years, and therefore he feels like my son. Only recently I've taken over as his medical proxy given his illness."

"Oh," sympathy filled her eyes and she didn't even know half of the story. Regardless of her good intentions, Severus knew Harry hated to see people feeling sorry for him. "That's... awful. He's lucky to have you."

"He does not want your sympathy," the professor practically scolded her, "Harry's situation is unfortunate, nevertheless he's come to terms with it years ago. We do the best we can."

"I've been working with cancer patients for over a decade," she became far more somber than he'd ever seen her and he regretted the turn the conversation had taken, "and I still have a soft spot for the kids. I know I shouldn't… is that why I've not seen you both in the office? Because he's been away at school?"

Inwardly, the former spy sighed, luckily he'd already thought about this coming up, "Yes, we had it arranged early on so most of his treatment was done at the school."

"Impressive," she commented, "not many patients received the level of personalized care he has."

"As I said, his situation is… unique."

"Actually," her pompous attitude returned in full force at the opportunity to correct him, "you said 'unfortunate'."

By the time their entrees arrived, Severus had learned Mae originally wanted to become an oncologist after her mother had been diagnosed with brain cancer when she was only fifteen years old and she'd seen the suffering her mother had gone through. Unfortunately, her path took a winding turn after the matriarch succumbed to the disease only a short year later, leaving her father distraught and unable to properly care for her ten year old brother. At that point, Mae decided to take a year off school to help out her dad, then went back part-time to earn a nursing degree in both adult and pediatric specialties.

Based on some quick calculations Severus guessed the nurse had to be somewhere around 34 years old - he knew better than to ask though. Mae talked about how deep down she regretted not pursuing her dream of medicine, but early on she'd learned as a nurse, she could be more hands on with patients during the times they needed someone there with them the most. Severus purposefully stayed as far away from Harry and his own battle with Leukemia as possible, only crossing the line to tell her he knew how much the patients appreciated her presence; how lonely and isolating this disease left people in its disastrous wake. His date also talked about growing up near Cambridge, and how she decided to move to Guildford only when she accepted the position working with Dr Swanson seven years ago, and then at the chemotherapy center five years ago. She lived in a two-floor flat near the Guilford Castle, with her flatmate, Jessica, who also worked as a nurse, but in the emergency department of the muggle hospital, meaning they could go days on opposite schedules and rarely see each other.

During their entrees, Mae took the upper hand in the conversation and used the opportunity to pepper him with questions all about teaching at a boarding school. In addition to the typical inquiries, "do you have live a dorm style room", "do you have to eat every meal with your colleagues'', and "do you ever get bored on the weekends", he was also subjected to a set of questions far more liberal than he would have liked, including "how is living with hundreds of hormonal teenagers", "what's the most awkward situation you've ever witnessed", and "the worst explosion you've ever had in class"? She laughed at the stories he told - all evidence of magic removed, of course - of hunting students out past curfew, drunken staff Christmas parties - particularly the one where Professor Trelawney somehow ate a set of biscuits laced with one of the more "experimental" plants from their botany department and attempted to serenade the headmaster; the culprit of the toxic biscuits had, regrettably, never been found, though Severus knew of a couple students with ties to the kitchen staff - and hours upon hours of detentions. He conveniently stayed away from his childhood, and he knew she could tell the subject was strictly off limits; earning his respect by honoring the unspoken request.

No one had ever listened to what he said with as much interest as Mae; at least not since his friendship with Lily. While Mae had the same fiery attitude, prepared to tell him off or challenge him if he said something almost contradictory, she had a much different way of going about it than Lily. By all accounts, Mae should have left him feeling nervous, anxious, and itching to leave, but for whatever reason he felt the exact opposite and by the time they'd finished dessert, he realized they had spent the better part of four hours at the Village Tree.

"I need to get back to Harry," he said after paying their bill, feeling guilty to have left the young wizard alone for so long. Never did he anticipate, when he left his quarters by floo, he would thoroughly enjoy the company of Mae and the date overall.

"If I call this number sometime, will it reach you or one of your prat colleagues?" She boldly asked as they exited the restaurant. The sun had set and a small cool breeze filled the air around them.

Severus gave a small chuckle and said, "It will reach me. I will warn you though, I'm not often in my rooms, but I'll receive your message and call you back as soon as I'm able."

He could only hope he'd could trust Arthur and he would, indeed, get her message because he did hope to hear from her again.

When Severus finally returned home to Hogwarts - after disapparating to Spinner's End, then flooing back - around quarter to ten, the sitting room was quiet. The lanterns in the corners of the room were dimmed, allowing him enough light to see around the furniture, though he could have easily navigated the room with his eyes closed. Harry had cleaned up his school books from the table and sofa, leaving everything in an almost pristine condition. He made a detour into the kitchen on his way to the bedroom corridor, to make sure Harry had taken his medication. Severus smiled, pleased to see the bottle of tablets no longer on the countertop and instead replaced neatly back onto the shelf alongside the Gryffindor's other bottles of medications.

The former spy took a second outside of Harry's door to see if he could tell if the young wizard was asleep yet. When he heard a small rustling coming from the other side, he knocked, and then opened the door. Harry was already dressed for bed in a pair of green and black plaid pyjama bottoms and a plain black, long sleeved shirt, laying in his bed on his back, staring up towards the ceiling, focusing his eyes back and forth on something Severus could not see, but knew it had to be the practice snitch he'd received from Minerva for his birthday.

Upon noticing the professor standing in his doorway, Harry started to sit up, grabbing the snitch from the air with very little effort - a move Severus would have cursed if Harry were still playing on the Quidditch team this year - on his way and swung his legs over the side of the still made bed. With a mischievous smile, the teen asked, "Went to see the Goblins, huh?"

Not one to give someone - especially Harry - that satisfaction, Severus simply replied, "Shut up and go to bed."

Monday 1st September 1997

~~~~HP~~~~

Gryffindor Tower had been the first place to truly feel like home for Harry, yet - like any home, he assumed - it didn't always have the best of memories. On the other side of his first comfortable bed, first Christmas morning greeted with presents, and first friends, were the memories of his and Ron's confrontational nights in their fourth year, murmurings in the common room about him being a liar during fifth year, and firecalling with Sirius in both of those years. Somehow, now that Harry had two other places he called home, the Tower didn't carry the same fuzzy nostalgia to it any longer. Harry sat on the edge of what had always been "his bed" in the circle of five relishing in the odd quiet of the otherwise always chaotic room.

Harry had already moved a lot of his belongings into his dorm on Saturday, while Snape was out - an event neither of them had discussed, and the young wizard wasn't sure he wanted to know about - but with Snape and Dudley finishing the last minute preparations in their classrooms, the young wizard didn't have much else to do until dinner time, when he'd go back to the dungeons to get ready for the Welcoming Feast. A bittersweet feeling filled him as he sat on the newly prepared linens, running his hand across the red curtains around his bed. Tonight, he'd leave their quarters and not return until the 13th - after his next treatment - and it would be the first real time since his diagnosis he would be on his own. He would also be surrounded by his friends, though, and he tried to focus on how much he missed them this past year; how good it would feel when he laid down in the bed he currently sat in, with the four other wizards who acted as his first family.

The rest of the students would be arriving soon, and while Harry hadn't asked to go back to London in order to ride on the Hogwarts Express one last time with his friends, he knew he'd feel as uncertain about it as he did sitting in his dorm. For the most part, his trips to school on the old fashioned steam engine had been filled with joyous memories, but his last time on it, before his fifth year - when Ron and Hermione first became prefects - certainly tainted them. He could live without the Hogwarts Express, he admitted, but going another year locked away in the dungeons - he shuddered at the memories the thought provoked - would practically kill him, so he focused on what he did have. He needed his friends, he needed to be in classes, and he needed to cling onto any sense of normalcy he could; even if deep down, he knew he was only pretending.

The knock at the door across from his bed caused him to jump. With no one else in the castle besides the teachers, he assumed the person on the other side of the door had to be McGonagall. And so when the door cautiously opened, after his quiet "come in", Harry was surprised to see Snape standing there; the Head of Slytherin in the Gryffindor tower awkwardly surrounded by a room filled with crimson and gold.

"What are you doing in here?" At the sight of a professor in his dorm, the Gryffindor instinctively stood while holding onto the front post of his bed. "How did you get in here?"

"Clearly, you failed to take notice on the lack of password needed to enter this afternoon," Snape sarcastically replied, walking into the room and peering around at the other four, completely empty beds. Harry's face blanched when he indeed remembered walking into the Common Room without the password. "But if you think for a second the other Head of Houses do not have the passwords for each other's common rooms, you're highly mistaken."

Scrunching his eyes at the man across from him, Harry said, "So you could give any of your Slytherins access here at any time?"

"If one had little integrity," Snape leaned against what would be Ron's bed in only a few short hours, and Harry almost laughed at the thought of his best friend's face if he knew, "then yes, one could give any student the password to a different common room, just as the Head Girl and Head Boy could. While it's less dangerous than say... using an illegally brewed polyjuice potion to infiltrate the other houses... I would not be given the title - and respect - of Head of House if I abused such a privilege."

Again, Harry felt himself flush at the mention of the polyjuice potion in his second year, and then further at insulting Snape's trust. While the professor may have had less than ideal teaching practices, even before he and Snape had worked through their relationship, the Gryffindor would have to admit - albeit grudgingly - the professor appeared to have somehow earned a high level of respect from the other professors and staff.

"Sorry, sir," Harry sighed looking around the room, deciding to change the topic. "It's going to be weird being back here. I feel like I've changed so much since the last night I slept in this bed, and yet I want to be back so bad. What if I'm disappointed?"

"There's a high probability you will be," Snape honestly replied, gesturing for Harry to sit back down on his bed. "Try to keep your expectations leveled as much as possible, though based on what I saw at the wedding, no one will give you a hard time. You're strong, Harry, and while the transition may feel challenging and overwhelming, you will get through it."

"At least I won't have to worry about classes," Harry laughed, "since I've already done a lot of it, things should be easier."

"Again," Snape warned, "try not to have too many expectations. I think you'll find attending a full day of classes, regardless of their difficulty level, will be a challenge for you. We also still don't know how your magic will choose to react, so that could take more out of you than normal."

"It is going to be exhausting," Harry agreed, thinking back on all the days he took an afternoon nap and not being able to anymore. "Plus, Dudley and I are going to try to run at the pitch every morning."

"Level-"

"-my expectations," Harry cut in. "I got it."

"Are you ready to head downstairs and prepare for the feast?" Snape asked, watching Harry's reaction carefully. "The other students should be arriving shortly."

Other students. Two words that to anyone else wouldn't mean anything, but to Harry they meant the world. They were a promise of the good things to come, how things were finally going to settle down and for once, Harry found himself ready for whatever tomorrow - and the upcoming months - would bring them.

The noise from the corridor outside of the Great Hall was practically deafening as the upper level students started pouring into the castle from the carriages. Harry anxiously waited at the Gryffindor table, drumming his hands nervously on the surface in front of him, causing the plates and utensils to rattle. If he'd been sitting with Snape, he could practically hear the professor lecture him about sitting still, however the comment would be futile; only a full body bind spell could possibly hold him and his nerves steady. The professors - all except for McGonagall, Hagrid, and oddly Dumbledore - had taken their seats at the front tables only about five minutes earlier. Watching them all sit and converse so casually had given Harry something to focus on as he waited, imagining what the professors talked about as they prepared to start the next school year. Knowing what he did now from behind the scenes, they were probably comparing notes of the most troublesome students from the previous year, or who had upcoming relatives to watch out for in the first years. Harry smiled at the image in his head of that conversation; no doubt each year had some kind of count down to the last Weasley.

Dressing in his Gryffindor uniform and robes had been far easier than he expected. Whereas last year's first time back into the school filled him with apprehension and dread, this year he channeled those feelings and converted them into an energy he couldn't begin to describe. Now he just wanted to jump into classes, watch Quidditch, and be surrounded by his classmates again. He wasn't naive enough to believe his life would stay positive forever - that there wouldn't be challenges to overcome, because there would be plenty - but for now, he felt satisfied with putting those off for later and focusing in on the here and now.

The two large wooden doors opened and the young wizard stood to watch the other students enter. Within the sea of back robes, he could only catch small glimpses of red, blue, or yellow - notably, no green - as the teenagers continued to pass by him, most stopping to say "hi", but others too consumed in their conversation to care.

"-heard they had to hold him back-"

That small snippet from a passing Ravenclaw caught his attention, and suddenly Harry felt taken aback. He was just about to question how the student body had already heard about his unique schedule when a Hufflepuff passed, saying:

"-blood all over his robes!"

"Got a good hit in-"

Obviously, he missed something exciting on the train and it probably had something to do with the missing Slytherins. Turning back to the professors' table, Snape's head was bobbing back and forth as he, too, became aware of his own house's absence from the sea of returning students.

"Harry!" The young wizard heard Ginny calling his name from the doorway and he couldn't contain his smile as he saw Ron, Lavender, Neville, and Luna starting to make their way over to him. His eyes quickly shifted to the group of Slytherins entering in behind his group of friends - minus Hermione, who likely had to stay behind as Head Girl - all of whom were smirking, like they had a secret shared between them.

"Wait until you hear what happened on the train!" Ron began, but the entire hall went quiet, drawing Harry's attention back to the entrance door.

Once all the Slytherins finally entered the hall, Hermione - with Anthony Goldstein, Head Boy as Harry was told by Neville, walking slightly in front of her - entered looking more annoyed than Harry had ever seen her, even towards Ron. She was holding hands with Draco, reminding Harry that at some point he'd have to come face-to-face with the other wizard, in a bold move to start their final year. As the Gryffindor witch slowly pulled away to join her housemates, the blonde carefully beckoned his girlfriend back, not releasing her hand in the process, then bent over and gave her a kiss right in front of the whole student body. He leaned over her as he whispered something in her ear, before he promptly turned to join the Slytherin table.

"Everything ok?" Harry asked Hermione when she made it to the table and they all took their seats. "Sounds like there were some issues on the train."

"I can't talk about, Harry," the Gryffindor witch said exasperatedly.

"Oh, but I can!" Ron exclaimed, far too happy for Harry to think something bad had happened. "Malfoy went nutter on Harper right as we got into Hogsmeade! From what I saw of Harper's nose, Malfoy took a good swing at 'im."

Harry's eyes went wide and he swiftly turned around to try to see Draco at the Slytherin table. With a bit of craning of his neck, he found the Malfoy heir sitting alone at the end of table, presumably at the area saved for the new Slytherin first years. The other wizard's shoulders were slumped, and he had a scowl planted on his face. A glance up at the professors' table confirmed Snape was as intrigued as Harry about the situation.

"Why?" Harry asked, turning back towards his friends. The familiarity and normalcy from the last several minutes healed - or possibly concealed - more of his wounds than he ever could have expected.

"I… can't say," Hermione repeated with a grimace. Harry noticed her cheeks start to flush, proving there had to be something interesting about what happened. "As Head Girl, I'm a bit more… limited on the gossip I can talk about."

"I heard Harper's getting the seeker position," Ginny spoke up. "Maybe that was it? Honestly, he doesn't stand a chance this year, so I don't know why he'd brag about it."

To everyone's surprise, Harry spoke up to the blonde's defense, "No. Draco wouldn't hit another student, especially a Slytherin, over Quidditch. That's a big risk to take."

Hermione's face fell, "That's right. Thank you, Harry."

"Yeah, he's probably right. Had to be something bigger than that, even for the likes of Malfoy," Ron joined in. Then determined to give Harry the play-by-play, he added, "Whatever the reason, we'd just pulled into the station and Harper was getting out of the Slytherin car when Malfoy practically jumped him from behind. They both ended up on the floor outside of the train, at which point Hagrid started calling out at 'em to stop, and for the Slytherin prefects and Hermione and Goldstein."

When Ron paused, the rest of the table started talking at a wildfire pace over the event, to the point where Harry could barely understand what any of them were saying. Hermione had her head cradled into her hands while the rumors continued to fly across the table.

"So they get up," Ron's hands were moving animatedly as he continued the story, "and I kinda lost track of where they went because I was trying to get through the crowd… thinking they needed more prefect help, y'know-" Harry doubted that reasoning, but kept his mouth shut, "- and by the time I made it onto the platform, Harper's bleeding from his nose and it won't stop! Finally, Hagrid let's 'Mione cast… I don't even know where she learned it from-" Harry was pretty sure she mumbled "Draco" from under her hands, nevertheless the young wizard didn't think it worth mentioning, "-but it got the bleeding to stop, at least.

"Hagrid then sent Harper with Hermione off in the first carriage... probably to Madam Pomfrey… while Goldstein and two of the Slytherin prefects left in the second carriage. Which if you're doing the math, meant we were short on carriages for the rest of us."

"Oh, c'mon, Ron," Hermione finally spoke up. "Priorities, seriously!"

Harry smiled. He shouldn't have, given the circumstances, but he couldn't deny it had been the first place his brain went as the redhead told the story of two carriages leaving with only two or three people in them each. Images of students sitting on each other's laps came to mind, giving him a small chuckle.

Harry had a dozen follow-up questions he wanted to ask, but the door to the Great Hall opened again, only this time McGonagall and about fifty tiny eleven year olds started to walk up the aisle between the tables. For the first time - which wasn't saying much since he missed almost half of sortings since starting at Hogwarts - he would get to see the sorting without being hungry, sitting at the table antsy, waiting for his first full meal in two months. This time, he could focus on the small - there was no way we were that tiny, he thought to himself - excited children as they stood in front of the stool where they would soon be asked to sit upon and have the hat placed on their heads. Gryffindor gained thirteen new students, all excited and eager to join the House of the Lions.

When Dumbledore approached the podium, the noise in the Great Hall lowered as both students and staff were anxious to start their meal and the year.

"Each year as I prepare to stand before you to greet our new students and to welcome back our returning students and faculty, I am amazed at how quickly twelve months can pass by," the headmaster started and Harry found himself filled with gratitude to be able to sit there. "While I had expected to stand here tonight to talk of hope and the promise of a successful year ahead of us, unfortunately events occurred earlier this evening where, instead, I must once again ask you for your utmost respect towards the privacy of your fellow classmates.

"Please keep in mind you have fellow classmates who have circumstances beyond their control which may leave them needing alternate accommodations inside or outside of the classroom. I promise you, these arrangements have been approved by our Board of Governors and are supported by the Hogwarts Code of Conduct. I must also emphasize every student who has been admitted onto these premises tonight has the same rights to a magical education, as well as safe accommodations within this castle. Should anyone have any concerns or feel their own education hindered by these special circumstances, do not hesitate to speak with your Heads of House. Understand, though, they cannot divulge any personal information on any student and will not tolerate being asked to do."

Harry gulped and turned towards Malfoy. Why did it always feel like the universe constantly threw the two of them together?

"This year," Dumbledore continued, moving on to his more business as usual voice, "I am pleased to announce for the first time in more years than I care to admit, we do not have any staff changes. Professor Snape has agreed to return to the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

This year, unlike any in the past, a majority of the Great Hall broke out clapping for the professor. His new status as the wizard who killed Lord Voldemort may have helped boost his reputation, but Harry found himself legitimately excited to finally get to participate in his class. The headmaster then went on to explain several other 'housekeeping' announcements such as the current ban on any Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products, the Forbidden Forest still being forbidden, and the Quidditch trial schedule, with Ravenclaw and Slytherin on the first weekend in October, and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff on the second.

As always, the moment Dumbledore finished his speech, plates and bowls of food magically appeared on the table in front of them. The "oohs" and "aahs" from the new first years reminded Harry of his own first Welcoming Feast. He could never imagine a time where magic became so mundane he ceased to be amazed by it, but nothing compared to first walking into Hogwarts and the start of one's very first school year.

The students around the table dug into the food - except Harry, whose lack of appetite still hindered his ability to eat regularly, and therefore only filled half of his plate - and talked wildly about everything from the train fight, to tomorrow's classes, and what they all did over the summer holiday.

"So, Harry," Pavarti excitedly called out, "I saw you went to Bill's wedding. How was it? I bet it was gorgeous!"

Harry swallowed the bite of bread in his mouth to give him time to decide how to answer. If it were anyone else, he would have shrugged it off, but someone like Pavarti asking him - as opposed to Ron or Ginny, who would have been guaranteed to be there - felt significant.

"Erm… it was nice," Harry answered with eyebrows down, looking over at Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Dean for assistance. "We all had a good time."

"Her dress looked absolutely stunning!"

Harry shook his head as the girls started gossiping about things like flowers, dresses, the reception, and who danced with whom. Hermione also talked about her visit in Reims meeting the Malfoys and going to Disneyland Paris, where half of the table were swooning jealous and the other half terrified. Oddly enough, the split wasn't based on blood purity as one would have expected. Despite the talk of the table around him veering off from the wedding and onto other topics, Harry continued to ponder what felt off about the conversation as he picked at his food, not exactly having the appetite to eat, but knowing now that he was staying in the Tower, his ability to snack later had significantly decreased. He'd just come to the conclusion he'd need to talk to McGonagall or Snape about keeping something in his dorm - otherwise he'd likely lose any of the progress in regaining weight that he made since starting Maintenance - when the pieces fell into place about why the wedding comment bothered him so much.

"The wedding was in the Daily Prophet," he said it as a statement, not a question, and to no one in particular. Of course it would be publicized, he sat with Xenophilius Lovegood and saw some journalists - likely for the Prophet and other news outlets - he hadn't recognized.

His classmates looked back and forth across the long table at one another. If it weren't for the rest of the school in the large hall, Harry was certain the room would have become silent, though unsure if it were because he was three conversations behind them or because they knew something he should have known about already.

"Ya dedn't see it, ded ya?" Seamus finally spoke up when it became apparent no one else wanted to mention whatever had been written in the wizarding papers.

"No," Harry answered warily. "We ended up back here not long after the wedding. What'd it say?"

Once again, Harry didn't get a chance to have his question answered, but this time not due to any normal interruption. The doors to the Great Hall flung open - only magic could cause the heavy doors to react so nimbly - and slammed into the wall behind them with an almost deafening BANG, causing the entire room to jump. Turning towards the commotion, Harry moved every which way to try and see around the other students. It didn't take long to find the issue, because almost as soon as the doors opened, Auror Williamson and Kingsley Shacklebolt stormed down the aisle heading straight to Dumbledore at the head table.

"This can't be good," Hermione shook her head, not even attempting to hide her worry from her face.

"He's working on the Diagon Alley attack," Harry whispered to his friends, nodding at the first auror. "He collected my memory from that day."

Hermione's expression didn't seem to relax anymore from his statement. Instead, she - along with every single other student - watched them carefully approach the professors' table where Dumbledore met them. Harry wasn't close enough to overhear anything, but even if he had been, he was sure they would have cast a pretty heavy privacy ward. To his credit, the headmaster didn't appear at all perturbed or concerned over their sudden arrival. The three wizards spoke back and forth for a minute, until Dumbledore gave his head a firm shake and walked back to the table to talk to Snape. Harry, picking up that this likely had to do with the fight on the train, turned around to find Draco. The blonde Slytherin was still seated in the same position - right in the middle of the new sets of Slytherins - with his head down, focused on his plate of food, not much fuller than Harry's.

"Draco Malfoy!" Kingsley's booming voice echoed across the room practically vibrating against the stone walls, obviously having used a sonorous charm. Simultaneously, Auror Williamson made his way over to the Slytherin table, where he grasped Draco's upper arm and started pulling the teen up from his seat. "Would you please accompany us? We have a few questions."

"He's getting arrested!"

"What happened to Harper?"

"- this can't be just from a punch?"

The hall filled with questions and speculations faster than Harry had ever seen it. For once, he was grateful this had nothing to do with him, but the fear and acceptance he saw when his eyes locked with Draco's gray ones as he passed by the tables sent a shiver down the Gryffindor's spine.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus knew something happened on the train in the moment there were statistically less Slytherins entering the Great Hall than any of the other Houses. He'd assumed it had to do with Draco; an assumption confirmed when the blonde came in - hand in hand with Hermione - after the rest of his housemates. The professor didn't expect the Malfoy heir to be welcomed back with open arms, however he didn't anticipate any physical altercations, especially before term had even begun.

"What happened, Albus?" Severus asked when the headmaster took his seat, after his start of term speech. "And why was I not involved in the matter?"

Ever the peace-keeper, Albus calmly replied, "There seemed to be a misunderstanding between Mr Malfoy and Mr Harper on some language used to describe Miss Granger. The matter had been handled quickly with Mr Harper sent to the hospital wing, and Mr Malfoy will see you after the feast to assign his punishment."

"And what shall happen to Harper?" Severus inquired, able to guess what the sixth year Slytherin had called Draco's muggleborn girlfriend.

"Surely, Mr Malfoy's… physical retribution was severe enough," the older wizard answered, giving Severus a small, almost inappropriate wink.

Since Jeremy Harper - and Madam Pomfrey - had yet to make it to the Great Hall, he figured it safe to make that assumption as well. At least until Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mark Williamson stormed open the Great Hall doors demanding Draco's presence and practically ripping him from his table. While the two aurors technically followed protocol by alerting the headmaster of their intentions first - to which Albus told him what was about to happen mere seconds beforehand - they should have allowed the matter to be handled internally, instead of announcing his name throughout the hall. Anger rose within Severus, and this time he had no desire to push it back down.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Severus demanded the moment he crossed the privacy wards set up on the antechamber off of the Great Hall; the same one used when Harry had been announced as the fourth Triwizard Champion. "Since when does the Auror Office get involved for a school yard fight?"

Draco was sitting in a high back chair with Auror Williamson pacing back and forth in front of him and Kingsley standing off to the left hand side.

"As I'm sure you're well aware of, Severus," Kingsley began, "the Malfoy family, including Draco, are under strict probation after their association with Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Part of such probationary agreements is-"

"Get to the point, Kingsley," Severus spat out, ready to wring the Head Auror's neck if he didn't move this along.

"The point is when we receive a claim of someone afraid for his life after being attacked, we need to take it seriously," Kingsley answered.

"He's full of it!" Draco spoke up. "I didn't do anything to make him 'fear for his life'. Trust me, if I wanted him to-"

"That's enough, Draco," Severus interrupted his student before he could make the situation any worse. Williamson was watching Draco intently, waiting - probably hoping - for him to mess up and give the pair a legitimate reason to arrest him, and Severus refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Where do we go from here, gentleman?" Albus calmly asked, clearly wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. It didn't surprise the professor that the other wizard would want to sweep an incident like this under the proverbial rug.

"We need a statement," Kingsley explained, "and we've been asked to increase security in the school."

"Oh, you want a statement?" Draco said threateningly, "How about you ask Harper about all the shite he was saying the entire ride here? Bet he won't tell you a thing about how I didn't give him a fucking glance at any of that!"

"Draco!" Severus warned again.

"No," the teen tried to stand from his chair, but Williamson pushed him back down. "Why isn't his arse in this room? Did you even think to interrogate him before demanding my arrest?"

"No one is getting arrested," Kingsley tried to reason.

"At least not yet," Williamson taunted. "Keep on going though and I'm sure we'll find something to nab you on."

Severus angrily cleared his throat, "What kind of increase of security are you suggesting? Draco will already be staying in a private room to ensure his own safety, I don't see what else the Aurors can ask for."

The pregnant pause to follow told them all that whatever they were about to ask for would not be favorable to the student in question.

"Random inspections," Kingsley said. "We've been asked to drop into the school from time to time to 'check on Mr Malfoy's continued compliance with this probation.'"

"What does that even mean?" The teenager questioned. "Continued compliance sounds like a bunch of bullocks, but no one asked for my opinion."

"That's right," Williamson added, giving the chair a small - yet firm - kick. Severus ran his hand across the back of his neck and started his own pacing.

"Gentleman," Albus raised his hands for attention. "I'll support Severus's statement, since when does a single student's claim generate this much attention? Yes, I understand Mr Harper's fear of his life, however we are handling it internally by separating Mr Malfoy from his housemates-" Severus gritted his teeth from Albus's blatant manipulation of Draco's living arrangements, "- and he does not have any classes with Mr Harper, so I don't see why any further involvement from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is necessary."

"We've received several inquiries over the summer about concerns over the students' safety with Draco's return to the school," Kingsley explained. "What happened at the train station certainly will not help the matter. We've managed to appease the Wizengamot with random drop ins to the school, including checks of his wand."

Severus could read the writing on the wall: either they agreed to the ridiculous demands or Draco could face being removed from the school, at best, and thrown into Azkaban, at worst. After all he put into getting the blonde here, and in a position to hopefully finish his magical education and move onto healing, he wasn't about to mess it up by continuing to deny the aurors what they needed.

"We can agree to that," Albus announced, "I simply ask you to come see me, or a member of my staff, before storming through the castle in search for one of my students."

"And I'd like to be present during the scanning of his wand," Severus demanded.

"He's of age," Williamson retorted, "therefore guardian consent is not required. And denying our request is a violation of his probation and grounds to send him to Azkaban. As you are well aware, a Dark Mark equates to a zero tolerance policy."

It was a threat, and one Severus had to take seriously as he bore the same Mark on his arm. The professor sneered at the auror. Basically, going forward, if Draco so much as breathed the wrong way, they could send him to Azkaban.

"As a student of the school," Severus argued, "and in my house, under my supervision, he has the right to request my presence."

Luckily, Draco picked up on his message, and albeit grudgingly, announced, "I'd like Professor Snape there whenever my guards come calling."

"It's settled then," Albus cheerfully clamped his hands together. For Severus, though, this was far from settled.

"Care to explain to me what really happened on the train?"

Severus barely knocked before walking into Draco's private room with the question practically falling from his mouth. He had just finished instilling the fear of Salazar Slytherin himself into his students during their annual post-Welcoming Feast house meeting, where he made sure each and every one of them knew he had eyes and ears on his house, and they had a zero tolerance policy: should anyone feel the need to challenge or question his authority, they would be severely punished. Mandatory study time starting two hours before curfew - in the Common Room for years one through five, with the other two having the option to study in their dorms - Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, was the first change he instituted to help him keep track of where his students were during the week. Though there were groans of disapproval, no one dared to challenge him.

Severus wasn't naive. It wouldn't prevent every issue but it would certainly deter the more casual troublemakers, leaving him time to deal with the people he was most concerned about, like Harper, Crabbe, Goyle, and possibly Zabini. Luckily, Severus had learned Theodore Nott would not be in attendance this year, as he was serving a lengthy sentence in Azkaban for his collaboration with his father in the Quidditch attack of last year. The young Slytherin had been arrested while in class back in April, leaving Severus feeling ashamed he hadn't thought about his student's whereabouts earlier. And while those he identified were certainly at the top of his list to watch, in reality any student whose relative sat in Azkaban - either due to him directly or not - could cause him trouble. He briefly considered only teaching one term, long enough to determine if Harry's magic would respond positively to retraining, however the tides had turned and he couldn't, with a clear conscience, leave Draco in Horace's incapable hands.

Draco's private, single room was smaller than the room the blonde had when living with Severus last year, and if possible, even smaller than Harry's bedroom back at Spinner's End, if one did not take into account his attached private lavatory. The castle had to have some kind of guidelines on how much space adding to a professor's quarters required compared to a private student dormitory because the room had just enough space for the four poster bed situated directly across from the door, nestled under a large window - stretching about 25 centimeters from the ceiling down to the middle of the wall - with a view into the Black Lake, a small desk across from the bed, and a wardrobe on the wall flushed with the door. Another door, next to the desk, opened into a lavatory containing a shower, toilet, and sink; just enough for one person to get by. The decor of the room matched the rest of the Slytherin dormitories with plain stone grey walls and a large green with silver trimmed rug covering most of the stone floor, which Severus knew was necessary to keep one's bare feet from freezing on the always cold dungeon floor, no matter the season. Unlike the Gryffindor dormitory the professor had seen for the first time earlier that day when he'd collected Harry for the Welcoming Feast, the Slytherin dorms felt less gaudy and more modern, less comfortable, though more practical. While they didn't have stone insets to sit and watch the night skies, they had larger picture windows throughout to observe the creatures; magical and non-magical alike. Severus would never admit how often he'd sat on his own bed throughout his time in the castle as a student and watched the window into the eerie lake, nor would he say how calm that simple act had made him feel inside, especially after his and Lily's friendship broke apart.

It felt like a whole different lifetime, and maybe it was, as he watched Draco - a child too much like himself and yet so different at the same time - sit down onto his bed, having also just finished his last Slytherin House Welcome Meeting of his life.

"I was handling myself just fine on the train," Draco began, his words once laced with frustration gave way to acceptance. The teen had obviously figured out that if he wanted any chance of making it through even the first term of classes, he needed Severus on his side. He could not succeed with the professor, his former mentor, against him, and therefore he'd need to be honest. "I heard every word they said, but a little Occlumency here and there, and just like that, it didn't make one bloody difference to me."

Draco stopped. He didn't pause, Severus noted, he literally didn't know how to continue.

"And on your way off the train?" The professor prompted. "What changed your reaction? What got through your Occlumency?"

"She'll always get through my shields," Draco answered, and while Severus knew exactly what he was talking about, he wouldn't let the teen off that easily.

"What did Harper say?"

Uncharacteristically biting his lower lip, the blonde stood and started to angrily pace across the small floor.

"Draco," Severus tried again, "what did Harper say about Hermione to make you hit him?"

"He-" the young wizard closed his eyes, like to say it again caused him physical pain; probably remembering himself saying it a countless number of times in the past. "He called her a Mudblood… or more specifically he said 'Let's leave him alone, guys, he's obviously pretty comfortable between his Mudblood's legs', like she's my personal property to do whatever I want to."

Severus cringed, not caring the impression it gave Draco of him. Right now, his Slytherin needed someone on his side, to feel the same burn he felt when he heard that phrase muttered towards him.

"I shouldn't have hit him," Draco admitted, "I know that much. I'm bloody lucky I didn't end up in Azkaban, no questions asked! But what was I supposed to do? Walk away and let him slander her across the school?"

"He knew it would get to you," Severus told him, "and now he knows just how quickly the aurors will react. You need to be-"

"-careful, I know that," Draco interrupted in a similar fashion to Harry's own reaction earlier today, reminding him that, if nothing else, delaying the two teenagers' inevitable confrontation was the only good to come from the auror's interruption.

"I get the impression Miss Granger is not one in need of a knight in shining armor," the professor stated rather matter-of-factly.

"I figured that one out for myself, thank you very much," Draco said. "Her disappointed face was enough to tell me I shouldn't have hit him."

"She seemed to forgive you well enough,"Severus had briefly debated if he should mention the very public kiss between the two, and in the end Draco's small flush told him he'd been fine.

"I love her."

There were dozens upon dozens of things the professors would have expected this particular teen to say, before declaring his love for his girlfriend.

Severus walked over to Draco - who had stopped his pacing moments before his last statement and was holding onto the post at the foot of his bed, closest to the professor - and placed his hand firmly on the blonde's shoulder.

"I know," Severus whispered to him, hoping he could try to convey his understanding, "and you did good."

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry didn't want to admit how exhausted he felt when he made it back to the Tower with the rest of the Gryffindors. There were a whole new set from last year he barely knew, plus the new firsties, and as expected they all wanted to talk to him. Keeping Snape's constant reminder about his immune system in mind, most people understood when he explained he didn't want to get too close. Ron and Hermione stood by him to help navigate names and warnings - like, when Ron whispered to him, "watch out for Camellia Rooks, she's a bit like Seamus was in his first year" and made a pretend explosion with his hands - because he'd be attending Charms and Transfiguration with the second year students; an idea Harry was still trying to gauge his housemate's reaction to.

Harry ended up sitting on the red sofa in front of the fireplace, where at any given time at least three other Gryffindors were sitting around him, rapid firing questions. Apparently, Dumbledore's request for privacy speech had zero effect on the other students because the question ranged from the innocuous, "where did you stay this summer", to a more bold "what was it like getting hit by the killing curse", to the inappropriate "what's it like living with Snape " or "I thought you were going to die". He only half answered them, partially because the students asking weren't necessarily interested in his response, and quickly moved onto their next inquiry, but mostly because his mind was still back at the Welcoming Feast.

It didn't go unnoticed that Draco and Snape had not returned after being escorted out by Auror Williamson. He knew Draco and the Malfoys had been sentenced to probation, but until that moment, he hadn't thought to question what it exactly meant. Hermione explained how the Slytherin was more or less in detention with the Auror's Office and any offense - from a school fight to checking out a restricted book without prior authorization - could get him arrested. For having wanted to be an auror, Harry was embarrassed for how little he knew about the Wizarding - and muggle for that matter - justice system. In hindsight, it made sense they had a scale of punishments to fit a wide range of crimes. And if not everyone went to Azkaban for life, what happened to them? Obviously, they had this "probation" law, and extrapolating out, there were probably levels of Azkaban imprisonment - maybe how often Dementors visited each cell and how long a witch or wizard stayed imprisoned. Unfortunately, Harry personally knew too many people sentenced to life in the prison and would be happy to never have to cross paths with anyone like that again. Which led the young wizard to the question: did Snape have similar restrictions or did his spy status from the first war protect him?

Even though he was barely paying attention, thankfully just as his patience was wearing, Harry ended up being saved from the conversations when his watch - which he still always wore, except when sleeping - started to vibrate on his wrist. Harry smiled as he thought back and realized it had been almost exactly an hour since he'd finished eating dinner and time for his chemotherapy tablet. The idea of Snape charming his watch as a way to remind him daily of his medication - which forgetting could single-handedly increase the likelihood of a relapse - warmed his heart. Excusing himself for the night, with a polite promise to answer any other questions another night, he bid his housemates farewell and made his way up to the seventh year dorms. He made it halfway up the winding staircase when he realized Ron and his three other dormmates were behind him on their way up too.

"You guys didn't have to follow me up," Harry said as the group of five rounded the last of the stairs at the very top of the Tower. "I'm sure you'd rather spend time with the rest of the house on the first night."

"Nah," Ron patted Harry on the shoulder walking inside. "We saw that lot too much last year, plus without 'Mione here all the time, I've got my hands full with the firsties. I can use a break for the rest of the night. Not my fault if they're too tired to make it to class in the morning."

Harry laughed - thinking it kind of was his fault if they were - making his way over to his bed where his bottles of medications were safely stored in his table next to it, along with a detailed schedule of when to take them, his sketching supplies, the Marauder's Map, and the two letters from Draco; still unopened. Harry paused as he reached for the bottle with 6-Mercaptopurine on its side, and instead picked up one of the letters. When he'd first received them, he'd kept them in order so when he finally gained the courage to open them, he would know which one came first. Now, after a summer going from being hidden away at his desk to his bed, they'd gotten completely mixed up. The front of both had a very neatly scribed Harry Potter in black ink, nothing fancy, but at the same time not hastily written. Draco hadn't just thrown these letters together, they were deliberately thought out and planned. The Gryffindor allowed his mind to fill with images of Draco being forcibly pulled from the Slytherin table and pushed into the antechamber off the Great Hall. Perhaps he wasn't faring as well as Harry thought. He flipped the letter over in his hands, with every intention of finally opening it when he felt his bed dip down next to him.

"Who's that from?" Ron asked from his side, pointing to the letter.

"No one," the raven-haired wizard answered, reaching back over and placing the letter in his bedside table drawer and picking up his tablet bottle instead. Unfortunately, his water goblet was empty, meaning he'd have to go to the lavatory to fill it, as Aguamenti definitely would be beyond his magic's current ability. Sensing his friend's need, Ron pulled out his wand.

"I got it, mate," the redhead told him, and with a whispered, "Aguamenti" the goblet slowly filled with cool, clear water.

"Thanks. That spell really should be taught earlier than sixth year," Harry complained with an awkward laugh, then took his tablet with ease.

"We'll help you however we can, Harry," Neville told him from across the room, while Dean and Seamus nodded their heads in agreement.

Gratitude. Harry was filled with gratitude that he could be surrounded by people willing to be there for him. And not because he was The Chosen One or The Boy-Who-Lived… twice, but because they'd practically grown up together these past six years, and his absence during the last had not gone unnoticed - as he had assumed it had, in his lowest of days. They were just as happy to have him back as he felt to be back.

Despite Harry's pure exhaustion from the day, and the fact he would be up early to go running with Dudley, the five Gryffindors stayed up far too late. They all sat around Harry and Ron's beds eating leftover Honeydukes chocolate from Harry's birthday and other odds and ends found throughout their trunks. They talked about the year ahead, N.E. - the one thing Harry wasn't sad about missing - Quidditch, and dating. The last of which earned the most grief with Dean and Ginny would be going onto their second year dating. Harry would have expected Dean to be uncomfortable talking about his relationship with Ron right next to him, but maybe they'd gotten past the awkwardness of it last year. He made a mental note to ask Seamus - who would certainly give the best details - if there had been any kind of blow-out between them over it. Throughout the whole conversation, from uncomfortable first dates to deciding birthday or Christmas presents, Harry came to the conclusion he'd live vicariously through his dormmates, having no energy himself to try and decipher the confusing world of dating and witches.

Monday, 1st September, 1997

It would be their last time riding the Hogwarts Express to commemorate the start of their final school year. It was a series of 'lasts' where their academia was concerned, and yet the ending of one life chapter only ushered in the start of another. Six years ago, Draco remembered sitting on the bumpy ride with peers he once thought were 'friends' - they were the sons and daughters of his father's associates eager to fall into the Malfoy heir's social orbit - as he looked forward to his Hogwarts days. Since he could remember, he'd been fed stories of his parents' Hogwart legacies, of his father's glory as a prefect and his mother's social charms. His father stressed the importance of those early years in setting the stage of gathering influence; Draco was pressured to follow in his father's perfectly manicured footsteps in developing alliances, figuring out foes, establishing favors, and structuring a ruling class in his house with him at the top.

At the tender age of eleven years old, he had looked forward to the challenge with giddy nerves. For years, he was raised seeing his father schmooze his way in and out of social circles, completely circumnavigating the proverbial 'social ladder' to instead levitate himself where he needed to be. Lucius Malfoy was everywhere but nowhere, a shade that visited only long enough to make a ripple effect that'd prove beneficial down the line. That was how Lucius Malfoy operated; he was never focused on the immediate gain. He set up plays long before his adversaries and allies had any idea of what he was attempting, and by the time they did figure it out, they were already so entrenched in his web they couldn't hope to get out of it. He was all attack, and an extremely limited few managed to escape his cunning.

Draco had once dreamed of finishing Hogwarts with a similar reputation as his father. He once dreamed of being Head Boy, top of his class, and likely engaged by the end of his final term. His pristine future would be envied by all, and he'd keep a court of loyal subjects who would eventually progress into aristocratic associates as he moved to inherit the Malfoy Conglomerate and complete high-valued acquisitions and work on global diversification. He once dreamed of being engaged to a Pureblooded, wealthy witch, a highly publicized affair cultivated under superb etiquettes. He once thought Hogwarts would make him.

He never thought it would break him. And he never dreamed he'd be sitting beside Hermione Granger, his girlfriend, with charity case Ron Weasley and annoying Lavender Brown across from them.

The train jostled as it crept from the station. Draco looked out the window, watching the station and London slowly slip away. His father remained in the crowd - he could still see the flash of snow-blonde hair belonging to the man currently in conversation with, strangely enough, Xenophilius Lovegood. Lucius might've mostly changed from the man he used to be, but parts were still the same. And he didn't hold an audience with a man like Lovegood without deriving some kind of benefit from it. The fact that his father waited to engage the man, or vice versa, until the train pulled out of the station made Draco narrow his gaze on the window and begin to guess the end game potential.

As ridiculous as The Quibbler was, often the butt of jokes and rarely taken seriously if read at all, it was press. And the power of the quill was often more baleful than all of the unforgivables combined. Trust and reputation took months or years to build, but a single article could tear that same man's integrity down in seconds.

"Money is the blood of nations," Lucius had once told Draco. "Know how to bleed it, how to control it, and you have power. But an ink and quill… never underestimate that. Always keep the quill on your side."

"Our last year," Lavender was the first in their small, awkward group to break the silence. She didn't seem to notice the Gryffindor and Slytherin boys dodging each other's eye. The witch tugged on her boyfriend's arm. "Can you believe it, Won-Won?"

Draco looked across to the other seat, smirking at the redhead. "Yeah, Won-Won. Can you believe it?"

Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm. "Behave," came her hissed response, almost drowned out entirely by a pack of energetic first years passing by them in search of some seats, their robes whirling in a sea of black clouds.

"They're so…small," Ron furrowed his brows as he nodded at the passing children, completely ignoring his girlfriend's endearing use of his nickname and the Slytherin's repeating of it, much to Draco's disappointment. At least a verbal tic for tac could've given them some entertainment for the ride. "Were we that small?"

Hermione chuckled. "Afraid so. It was so odd how fast everyone grew - I swear, when we came back third and fourth year, the boys practically grew fifty centimeters over the summer. And then the girls…" she frowned and shrugged a little. "None of us really changed, I don't think."

Though both boys shared knowing smirks, Draco was at least smart - and gentleman - enough to know to keep his mouth shut. Weasley wasn't. "I dunno," the redhead boasted with a stupid lopsided smile. "I can think of a few parts that grew on the girls."

While the both witches huffed and hawed at his indecency, Draco let Weasley enjoy his ungentlemanly moment in solitude, and instead looked out the train window at the landscape passing them by. Sure, he had the ghost of an amused smile, but he was still on the outskirts of their friend circle; he was an accessory attached to Hermione, and wouldn't be sitting across Ron and his bint of a girlfriend had Hermione not been there.

Could he enjoy a salacious, crude joke with Weasley like he used to with Nott and Blaise? Could he even consider Weasley an acquaintance, or were they still categorized as, while lesser grade, enemies?

It was difficult considering Weasley still had no idea about Draco's involvement with his murdered brother - really, Draco wasn't tormented by any guilt over the matter but it complicated things - and hadn't barraged the Slytherin with sharp words of contempt for kidnapping Harry. In fact, despite a few nasty glances thrown his way, the youngest Weasley wizard hadn't said anything about the topic. Most curious.

It would've been easier for the blonde had Weasley grown a forked tongue and had it out with him. That he could prepare for. That he knew how to hold an arrogant facade of indifference to, despite how he felt internally, and could then move on with his life knowing where they stood.

The train had only just emerged from the city proper and spit out into the blossoming countryside, where slopes and hillsides rolled with fertile wildgrasses and the start of autumn foliage. The locomotive snarled up to its full speed with a guttural whistle, carrying a heap of eager passengers on its back. Well, most were eager. Draco wasn't sure what to feel as he watched the landscape whizz by in a vomit of colors. In another life, he would've been basking in the praise and adoration of his friends, who'd sing his celebrations as a bonafide Slytherin and speak eagerly of his promising Pureblood future after Hogwarts. In another life, he would've been sitting two rows back with the other Slytherins - Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle, and several up and coming sixth years - while throwing disdainful commentary at the Gryffindors. They were the perfect targets, so bold with conviction and victims of their own innate "courage".

He used to be the one dishing out the insults and bullying. Now he was listening to them, the sole target of their acidity.

The conversation between the Gryffindors was promptly ignored as Draco idly listened to and systematically recognized the Slytherin voices undoubtedly directed at him. Two rows back behind them was Jeremy Harper, an uppity and overly ambitious sixth year, along with Pansy, Blaise, and several other sixth years. So far, he didn't hear Crabbe or Goyle.

The only voice that was loud enough to actually hear was the one meant to be overheard: Jeremy Harper.

"...gotta give it to 'em though. I wouldn't come back to school after being such a bloody failure." A pause for a nasally laugh. "Maybe those Gryffindors are rubbing off on him. Bravery and all that shite. Fecking disgrace for a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy."

The conversation around him from the Gryffindors suddenly stopped, certainly they heard the ridiculing from Harper, and the trio all looked at the sole speck of green among a sea of courageous red. But Draco didn't flinch; he didn't turn his head, didn't even blink. He wouldn't give Harper the satisfaction of knowing he got a rise out of him. Harper was the type that if given a moment, he would seize it. And so the blonde Slytherin simply didn't give him one.

In another life, Draco was that bully sitting on the bench, slinging the insults. But he did it with poise and game; Harper did it with the ambitions of desperate acceptance. He was trying to win over his Slytherin subjects much like Draco had during their first train ride when they were eleven years old. The biggest difference was the glaring flaw in Harper's plan; when Draco did it, they were still in the whims of boyhood and his jokes - albeit demeaning at the Gryffindors expenses - aged appropriately with them. Ever his father's son, Draco used a perfect blend of simplistic insults laced with derogatory words, just to get the ideal balance of shock value. It worked-shock was the pathway to disarming even your worst of enemies and best of friends.

That was Harper's first mistake. The second was assuming his subjects were a captive audience who shared with those ideals.

"...Couldn't do anything right on either side. I'd probably hide in some hole if I was him. Or off myself." Harper's nasally laugh carried the distance with far too much ease. Draco's leg twitched. Beside him, Hermione shared a troubled look with Ron, the same one that made her jaw square with righteousness on the eve before she'd launch herself into some noble lecture that she thought virtuous. And that was where the Gryffindors made their mistake-for six years, they thought their virtuous attitudes were the best defense against a Slytherin's acidity. In actuality, it was only fuel to their fire. Draco knew that firsthand.

Hermione did that thing where she sucked in air through her nose, the process she went through when steeling her nerves, and Draco knew what came next. He reached out and placed a stilling hand on her forearm - the first move he'd made since Harper began ridiculing him - to stop her from standing up. She was tense under his touch, and looked at him in a mixture of confusion and anger at his move.

He turned to her. "Don't."

"Draco," her face crumbled more, as if it physically pained her Gryffindor self not to run to the aid of the wounded victim. And while he was many things, a wounded victim he refused to be. At least in this situation. "He can't just say those things about you! How can you ignore that?"

Across from her, even Ron looked bothered. But he also looked bothered that he was bothered, like the mere prospects of feeling anything beyond acrimony towards the blonde Slytherin was troubling. The redheaded wizard shifted his eyes uneasily between Hermione, Draco, and the pack of Slytherins two rows back, sizing up the situation but uncertain on how he should respond.

It was humorous, in a way, that the Gryffindor was finally put in a crisis where he wasn't sure if he was meant to stand up for someone who used to be his bully. Was there a limit to their fount of eye rolling valor?

"Because I can," Draco replied to her, stiffly looking back out the window but not seeing the landscape one bit. When he spoke, it was quiet and low in a tenor reserved solely for the four of them, his lips barely moving enough to form the words. "And you can. He wants a rise. You won't give it to him."

Hermione gave a hmph of disapproval and staunchly crossed her arms over her front, maybe in a last ditch effort to show requested self-restraint and not reach for her wand to hex Jeremy Harper. Across from her, Lavender chewed on her bottom lip nervously, also looking peeved and bothered by the foul turn their train ride took.

Leave it to a pack of Lions to struggle not to get involved in a fight that wasn't theirs to pick. Draco didn't need them to fight his battles-it was a battle that wasn't even worth fighting. Slytherins didn't fight in that way, anyways. Infighting within their House was often malicious but unseen; they were resourceful and cunning, but covert and sly in machinating tactic and strategy from unseen forces. They didn't think about the immediate battle, but considered the grander picture of the war. Sometimes losing battles were needed sacrifices in order to line up a crushing defeat later on.

And sometimes the best way to make friends was to make enemies out of the right people. That was Jeremy Harper's third mistake. He assumed Blaise, Pansy, and the rest of the Slytherins were immediate in tossing the Malfoy heir off his throne, to villainize him for what he did. But the lawlessness of Slytherins rarely operated on knee jerk reactions. They might have had slippery morals, but they still diluted situations to try to find the best outcome in their favor. Jeremy Harper was a wildcard to them; either he'd win over their allegiance by assuming Draco's throne, or he'd go down in flames trying.

Draco heard Blaise mutter something too low for him to make out before the olive-skinned Slytherin left his seat beside Harper and swiftly made his way up the aisle, his bag slung to his shoulder. He never returned.

As the hours passed and their train wormed further north towards Hogwarts, Harper's insults continued with the same lack of creativity and cleverness as before. Really, Draco felt more insulted that the younger Slytherin was so lame and flimsy in the art of bullying. Didn't he learn anything from watching Draco over the years?

This was the best contender for Draco's reign?

Luckily, the Gryffindors were convinced to ignore him enough to resume their bootless conversations, mostly about their hopes and worries for school, Hermione rambling on about the importance of study schedules, and Lavender trying to gossip about the new relationships and rumored engagements on the horizon, though no one else shared in her gossiping interest. Unsurprisingly, no one brought up Harry, the previous war they just emerged from, or any of the topics deemed 'untouchable', leaving the Slytherin to wonder if he was considered an untouchable topic around Harry.

Ironic that Snape and his father could somehow find friendship in the aftermath of the war and the horribleness they all shared, yet their sons couldn't even exchange words with each other. Which in and of itself was strange. They shared a bedroom, had seen each other at their utter worst, and stared down death's door a few times during the ordeal. Maybe it was because they never knew how to exist with one another without the mess of a war or being enemies.

"We should probably get in line for the lavatory to get changed," Lavender suggested as she stood up and turned to Ron. "I want to be the first off the train, arm and arm, and go into the school together. Make it special."

Draco spared a quick glance at Hermione and they both cracked a small smile at the witch's cringy affection. But she was right; if they wanted to avoid the hustling packs of students changing into their uniforms last minute, they'd need to do so soon. Outside the train, twilight battered the sky into a bruised scattering of soft yellow and pink and an encroaching indigo. The Scottish Highlands welcomed them in its elevated arms, the landscape having turned from simple flat plains to jagged, dramatic slopes, mountains covered by vibrant green glens, and crystalline lakes caught in the rigid scapes valleys. It was wild and thriving with nature, so much so that there were hardly any settlements along the feral vista.

The temperature dropped the higher up they climbed, and soon they'd be in Hogsmeade.

Draco grabbed his bag and set off towards the front of the train with Hermione in search of an open lavatory. There were small swells of first years in house-less, generic robes and attire, all nervous and excited at the same time as they lingered in the aisles. Some looked at their newfound friends in desperation, wondering if they would be sorted into different houses and therefore test the bonds of their newly formed friendships. Others kept a small proverbial distance from each other, knowing that there was the possibility of them not being in the same house and not wanting to face the fallout of it.

"Wait for me?" Hermione asked as she took the next open lavatory at Draco's behest.

He nodded back and stared at the closed door that she disappeared behind. Next in line, he was hopeful that he wouldn't have to wait long, especially considering the eyes he felt boring into his back from the second years lined up behind him. A couple of Hufflepuffs, if he were to venture a guess from their fleeting stares that always seemed to quickly look away when he'd tried to catch them in the act. Gryffindors and Slytherins would've kept staring even if caught, either through bolded bravery or in a show of refusing to be intimidated And Ravenclaws wouldn't have been staring in the first place - they didn't so much care about his reputation or him.

The door to the other lavatory - not the one Hermione currently occupied - opened and Draco couldn't be happier to no longer be the spectacle for a pair of curious Hufflepuffs. Preparing to eagerly enter the lavatory to change, the blonde instead found himself rooted in his spot when his eyes landed on a familiar set of deep brown ones. They were the same eyes he looked at for years, for inspiration as a friend and reaffirmation of his power.

"Zabini."

"Malfoy."

The two Slytherins stared at each other with emotionally flat expressions, neither one sure how to react to the other, ironically much the same way Draco treated Harry. The silence spread between them, the type that begged for a confession to shatter the awkwardness.

It was Blaise that broke the silence first as he stepped forward boldly, shoulders proud but arms deftly at his side to show that he meant no harm and wasn't aggressive. "Harper's a bloody twit."

Draco arched a brow. Without taking his eyes off the other Slytherin, he nodded his head in the direction of their seats. "Pansy seems to get on with him well enough."

The other wizard snorted-only someone as suave as Blaise could make the disdainful gesture still come off as caramelly and sophisticated. "Pansy likes anyone with potential. It's even more in her favor when they fancy her back. First part you fulfilled, second part you didn't."

That wasn't a secret. Draco might've taken her to the Yule Ball and stomached her annoying fawning, but not once did he consider dating or courting her. At the most, she could've been an easy lay, but he never acted on it. Don't shit where you eat sort of mentality. "Things are different now, aren't they?"

Blaise didn't say anything right away, just studied the Malfoy heir in the same quiet manner he always did, slowly dissolving outer walls and working to deduce what lay underneath. Blaise was good at that, figuring out a man's worth and weighing against his own goals and ambitions to decide if they were worth his time. He was as much his mother's son as Draco was his father's, they just went about their business with different methods.

But the fact that Blaise didn't let himself get captured in Harper's orbit spoke volumes. It meant he didn't see value in the uppity sixth year, at least not enough to abandon his fealty to Draco and immediately back Harper. It wasn't surprising that Harper was wooing Pansy and Blaise; they were the two Slytherins, beyond Crabbe and Goyle, Draco kept in his confidence. If Harper had them as subjects, he could teeter the power of balance in his favor, systematically taking over important pieces on their proverbial chessboard.

"Haven't seen Crabbe and Goyle," Draco tried to casually bring up. "Don't tell me they finally got kicked out of Hogwarts for their rubbish marks."

The attempt for information might as well have been transparent, Blaise saw through it so quickly. His full lips crescented in a faint smirk, showing a small glimpse of stark white teeth. "Up at the front of the train with me," he offered up the information for free, though that was a double edged sword. Either he continued to trust in Draco and indulged his curiosities out of an undercurrent of allegiance, or he gave the information because it showed that the imbecile wizards were now sitting with Blaise and suggesting their own loyalty rested with him.

Draco maintained an unflappable look. "With you, are they?" He asked flatly.

The other Slytherin narrowed his eyes before chuckling dryly. "They needed a place to sit and I didn't mind the company." They continued staring at one another for a few seconds, the air between them changing a little, before Blaise stepped forward into Draco's space and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "A lot of Slytherins need a place to sit."

Blaise left without another word, and Draco wasn't inspired enough to make assumptions and act. No, he was playing a game of subtlety - any good Slytherin was - and his best knight had told him his pawns and bishops were a scattered mess on the board with little cohesion. Slytherins were interesting creatures; as ambitious and self-fulfilling as they were, they were horribly far-sighted in pursuing a single-minded goal towards greatness. But sometimes greatness didn't mean the good kind, and it often meant losing perspective on the ground directly in front of them. Without a mastermind to guide the flow of their energy, they were aimless until they identified the next greatest person's coattails to ride on.

Changing into his uniform on the train for the last time should've felt symbolic or sentimental. But as Draco emerged from the lavatory, still fixing his tie, he felt nothing but numbness. It would be the last year he'd wear the uniform, though he'd likely exchange it for a different one once he began his healer training, both in the wizarding and muggle world. His father had given him his word that he would reach out to contacts at muggle universities to pull strings, fabricate the needed school marks and academic record, and secure the teenage Malfoy acceptance. Maybe if Draco was a lesser person - or maybe a morally-chained Gryffindor - he would've been upset that his acceptance to the university was getting paved by his father's coffers and not his own accomplishments.

But Draco wasn't a Gryffindor and he didn't lose a wink of sleep knowing he was stealing some other muggle's spot at the university because his father was willing to throw an absurd amount of galleons at them.

Attending a muggle university… that was another stressor he needed to come to terms with. He didn't know anything about muggles and their backwards world. Sure, he was going to be taking Muggle Studies, but two semesters of coursework wouldn't replace a lifetime of refusing to acknowledge the muggle world and their attributes. He was having to learn an entire culture, technology, and norms in the span of a few months instead of seven years.

When Hermione got out of the lavatory - longer than he took, which was impressive considering he went in after her - he didn't mention how her hair looked less frizzy and somewhat tamer. Clearly, she was doing more than just changing into her school uniform. The train churned into Hogsmeade station with a slow gait, night already fastly descended on them as the sky transitioned from twilight to waning dust to finally evening.

Lavender and Ron were already dressed in their uniform and robes back at their seats, sitting and looking not the least bit interested to leave the train quickly. Typical of Weasley- he lazily walked into classrooms, was the first to dash out at the end of a class, and showed no interest in rushing the start of his seventh year. In a way, Ron's academic rigor somewhat reminded Draco of Crabbe and Goyle. And though he wouldn't say it aloud ever, he gave Ron much more credit in surpassing them in intelligence even with his weak interest in schoolwork.

"I need to get off the train early for Head Girl duties," Hermione announced as she reached forward to straighten Draco's tie. It was straight - he never left his tie a mess - and so he figured she only did it for an excuse to touch him. The smile on the edges of her lips only reaffirmed the suspicion. "I can meet up with you before the welcoming feast if you want."

"I'll go with you," Draco replied. "Why not watch Goldstein brilliantly cock up the role that should've been mine?"

Hermione leveled him a look that was meant to be admonishing, but her sympathies in the truth of his words eclipsed it. It was true; Head Boy should've been bestowed on him. He wasn't even a Prefect that year; it went to Blaise Zabini in his absence. Apparently in the conditions of his return to school, when they decided his safety was best assured if lodged separate from his House, he was also to abstain from any student body activities. They never even asked him. Yet again, it was another part of his identity stolen from him.

They left the Gryffindor couple behind while they both made their way to the train doors that'd opened up only seconds earlier. Hand in hand, fingers laced together, the Slytherin-Gryffindor couple were ready to take the year on in sweeping force. And maybe that was what caused the upset. Because Draco had been hearing Harper's demeaning insults for the hours-long train ride, absorbing each verbal blow with the bottomless perseverance his father drilled into him at an early age. In a game of subtlety, resorting to insults was admitting defeat. And maybe if their hands weren't conjoined together, and maybe if Draco wasn't basking Hermione's radiance and power, and maybe if he wasn't so enchanted by her, he could've kept using his shields against Harper's comment.

But people who only use a shield to block are ignoring a perfectly good weapon in their hands.

They both stepped out of the train onto Hogsmeade's dark platform when Harper's nasally voice, a mere meter ahead of them, shattered the calm over Draco. "Ah, look, there Malfoy is. Let's leave 'em alone, guys, he's obviously pretty comfortable between his Mudblood's legs."

A part of Draco longed to release it all, the weight he carried, the bitter taste of memory and the corrosion of hate. And for the greater train ride, he was able to forget the ball of acidity that developed over the course of the past year, a result of being forced into a life he didn't want and then made to live with the consequences he didn't create. Those consequences were made through his adoration for Hermione, the one good blip in his morose sea of darkness that was his life.

And in that moment, those fragile few seconds, he felt something brittle in him snap.

The meter between Draco and Harper was suddenly gone and Hermione's hand was no longer captured in his. He must've dropped it somewhere along the way, but when and how he wasn't sure, nor would he be sure even afterwards. Acting purely on instinct - if one could even call it that - he roughly grabbed Harper's shoulder with all the intention of murdering him. It was a small miracle that his instinct was so basic and distracted with masculine bravado, and that logic and sense fled him. Had he been of sound mind, he would've pulled his wand and hexed Harper with spells that'd give him a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

Luckily for both of them, all Draco armed himself with were his fists.

Spinning Harper around with one hand, Draco threw his fist and all of his weight behind it at the younger Slytherin's face. He barely even heard the sound of bone and cartilage breaking before he threw himself bodily on the other wizard, not the least bit caring about the crowd they quickly attracted. Some were cheering them on - scandal and mischief were the spice of life - and others, the younger students, stood with wide eyes and wondered what kind of school they were going to.

Both Slytherins fell down to the ground in a heap of limbs and robes. He got a few more punches into Harper - maybe his nose and face, he couldn't be sure - before Hagrid and several of the prefects managed to get involved. A half-giant had a fear-inducing effect when he wanted to, and several ground shaking bellows from Hagrid knocked the aggressive fever out of Draco. He stilled just long enough for Hagrid to grab both boys by the scruff of their robes and easily yank them to their feet, keeping both boys separated.

Harper was a wet mess of blood, snot, and tears. The sight was enough to give Draco some sense of satisfaction, and he all of a sudden understood why his father resorted to muggle dueling Arthur Weasley before second year.

"Enough! Both 'a ya!" Though Hagrid seemed to be mostly talking to the wizard with a clean face and blood on his fists.

Dropped with significantly less care than Harper, Draco gathered his wits in the aftermath of what happened. Poise and control in the face of a game of subtlety was the ultimate sophistication, and what he'd just done contradicted the lessons his father instilled in him. And yet, watching Harper painfully limp away with Hermione - who casted a perfect healing charm on him that Draco had taught her - concreted his decision to throw hands with the other boy. Harper was a bully and bullies took opportunities. But Harper forgot something; Draco was the exemplification of a bully and he saw a moment given to him and took it.

There was a buzz washing over the students whispering to one another, some excited over the spectacle, others worried, while the majority of blue-tie wearing students leveled him unimpressed glances. They just wanted a school year free of drama and the ability to focus solely on their academics. Harry Potter had once been the antagonist to a placid education, and they were not about to stomach another distraction.

The prefects demanded the students "move on" and "get to the carriages and boats" and try to ignore the drying blood on the platform and the disheveled Slytherin standing in a slight daze. The students rushed past him in a sea of moving water, forced to listen to the prefects though still avidly talking about the fight, while Draco was largely left alone. When sense and reason returned to him, the blonde's only regret was making Hermione's job as Head Girl suddenly harder, now that she had to ensure the wellbeing of a tosser for a student who bold facedly called her a mudblood.

The carriage ride to Hogwarts was faster and more depressing than Draco remembered it ever being before. He sat with a bunch of quiet third year Slytherins who tried to ignore his presence and hold a conversation as if he wasn't there at all. But their wandering eyes and nervous laughs betrayed them. And just like that, with a single fistfight, his reputation was forming.

When they finally arrived at the castle, Draco didn't join the strong current of students flooding into the Great Hall, enchanted by the amber glow of the floating candles and seduced by the choir. Why did they have a choir in the first place? Quidditch made sense - it was a sport that used magical prowess in handling a broom. But singing?

There was nothing enchanting or magical about the start of term to Draco. His fists still had phantom aches where they collided - and broke, if guessing by the amount of blood - with Harper's very stupid face. The only consolation Draco got was the hopeful chance that Harper's already infuriating nasally voice would become even more nasally after getting his nose rearranged by his knuckles. But considering how quick Hermione was to cast the healing spell, the chances were slim.

Waiting in a little alcove beside the Great Hall was Hermione, fidgeting on the balls of her feet and fingering the hem of her robes while worriedly scanning the crowd. When their eyes met, relief washed over her face and he made his way over towards her, weaving between a sea of students rushing into the feast.

"Everything alright?" He asked it in the most nonchalant, casual tone, like he didn't just smash another Slytherin's face in on the platform.

She balked at him. "Oh, you mean besides me helping a bleeding student to Madam Pomfrey? I expected Head Girl duties to be difficult but didn't anticipate it starting before we even arrived at Hogwarts. What were you thinking, Draco? Honestly!"

Maybe he should've felt more remorse like her. Or maybe that was what separated them; she was an inherently good person while he was a bad person just trying to live a good life. "I was thinking I wanted to hit him to shut him up."

The witch stared at him hard. "Violence doesn't solve anything."

"I dunno about that. He seemed to stop talking rather quickly."

To her credit, she acted like she didn't hear him but the twitch in her squared, stiff jaw gave her away. "What happened to ignoring him? He's right angry, you know. Was going on and on to Madam Pomfrey about how you went mad and attacked him unprovoked."

A swarm of Slytherins rushed past their little alcove, all loud and talking fervently over the fight and trying to guess what happened to Harper. Of course they were extracting unspoken strengths and weaknesses from the 'fight'; Draco hitting his attempted usurper sent a strong message through their House. After they passed, the corridor had gotten significantly quieter as the majority of the student body were finding their seats in preparation for the commencement of the welcoming speech. Distantly, Draco heard the choir quieting itself.

"Unprovoked?! He's bloody lucky I didn't hex his face into his arse." He wasn't actually sure that was a hex but now he was curious to research it later on. With some innovation, maybe he could create the spell, though that begged the question of how to test it. Maybe Harper could serve a purpose, all for academia, of course.

Hermione's frazzled, bothered, and worried expression - all attributes that made her look ravishing, if Draco was being honest with himself - broke for a few seconds as she fought against a small smile. "Come on. We're going to be late. And that wouldn't do for the Head Girl."

Walking hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, green beside red, the two made their way into the Great Hall. As stragglers, they got the attention Draco wanted. And when he felt dozens of eyes on them, he made his move. Before she could separate their hands and move towards her respected table with the other Gryffindors, he gently pulled her in, breathed in her raspberry scented shampoo, and brushed their lips together in a quaint, delicate kiss. It was fragile and provocative and a bold statement all in the same breath. It wasn't the fiery type of kiss that physically swept a woman off her feet, but the meaning behind it was profound and stilling enough to make Hermione's cheeks flush and her breaths come in shallow wisps. And the rest of the hall watched on as the Slytherin made a silent pact with the student body to kiss and hold and be as public as he wanted with his Gryffindor, Muggleborn witch.

While she was still in a bit of a daze, he leaned in towards her to whisper in her ear. "I'll come by your room tonight. Just keep the door unlatched."

Going to their own tables and separating was harder than actually walking into the castle again. While Hermione was accepted to a table filled with her friends, Draco was met with a myriad of faces: some disdainful at what he did during the war, the younger batch curious on the fight that'd broken out, and the smart ones that ignored him and gave him the cold shoulder. Those were the true Slytherins; don't associate with filth out of fear of sullying your own reputation. If it was him, he would've done the same.

In another life, he would've taken a central spot at the table, flanked on his sides by his loyal subjects to run things as he saw fit and be fawned on by his many achievements and anticipated accolades. Instead he took a spot at the very end of the table, where the incoming first years would sit once they got sorted. That was how he was going to start his final year of Hogwarts: sitting with a bunch of eleven year olds.

The pomp and circumstance was mostly ignored by Draco. He didn't care about the Sorting Hat and his stupid riddles, barely noticed which students got placed where, and wouldn't even pretend to be interested in Dumbledore's speech. The man had abandoned him in his final hour of need. Suddenly, an anger flared inside the wizard. Maybe it wasn't Potter that he blamed and held so much contempt for. Maybe it was the ailing old headmaster held in high esteem by the Gryffindors, who clearly favored the lions, all the while leaving Draco out to dry when he needed some of that altruism and benevolence the old man was supposedly revered for. But no, Dumbledore didn't give it. He didn't give Draco anything beyond a welcome letter back to Hogwarts and arranging some meager private quarters. Was Draco supposed to be thankful for that? Did Dumbledore think he was doing the teen a favor by having him back and giving him private lodging?

The prideful part of Draco was tempted to stomp up to the head table and demand he return to the dormitory, safety be damned. But the self-preservation side - arguably his more dominant trait - won out and convinced him that having a private room would keep him not only safe, but at a resource advantage compared to his peers.

It wasn't until the once vacant spots around him got filled by miniature witches and wizards - Weasley was right, the first years were tiny - that he realized the sorting hat had done its thing. Looking up, Draco eyed his new neighbors to take assessment of the new Slytherin stock, especially the fearless one who plopped down directly beside him.

A girl. A young, mousey looking girl so thin and small that her robes - altered in a poor attempt to fit her awkward, frail frame - sat directly beside the Malfoy heir. Thanks to zoning out during the Sorting Ceremony, Draco entirely missed the names and faces of the new Slytherins and so he was at a momentary loss for who his new neighbor was for a few seconds. But that's all it took - a few seconds for him to immediately recognize her ashy brown hair, golden-tan complexion, and cold hazel eyes. No, they'd never officially met but he heard enough about her to figure out who she was.

The Pureblood society was small and mostly self-contained with steep admission requirements and arguably stiffer criteria to stay in the exclusive club. In result, most families knew everything there was to know about one another: their magical affinity and Dark Arts leanings, allowance of blood traitor ideologies, achievements and influence, and many others. For this particular girl, she was a Pureblood hailing from the distant Middle East country of Jordan. Her lineage - strong and pure - was rich with dabbling in the darker of dark arts, though the particular area they lived in Jordan, a small coastal town on the Red Sea, was notorious for it. Necromancy was a daily exercise, often taught at an early age, and they lived with an iron fist around spirits and creatures. The difference between their family and the Malfoys was that the latter respected the Dark Arts, understood its destructive force, and treated it as an ally. The other family did not and paid the ultimate price.

"I'm Hala Khatib," the girl offered without being asked, not looking up from the table's edge.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco stiffly introduced back, not all that interested in engaging in social pleasantries, least of all with a girl of such sinister infamy, if the rumors held any water. "But you probably already know that, don't you? From what I've heard, you know a lot of things about people that you shouldn't."

A humorless smile, the cold type that was morose with a bitter spice to it, crossed her face. "I heard that you sold out your friend and gave him to the Dark Lord after turning your back on your other friends."

Touche.

"You know what they say about rumors," Draco lamely offered back. The girl, Hala, finally looked up from the table to eye him. There was something off about her. Despite her small, fragile frame - borderline emaciated if Draco had to describe it - there was a clouding grief and stilling chill in her stare. As if she witnessed the horridness of humanity, walked through nightmares on the norm, and developed a hardened shell from it. Because that was precisely what she did.

Six years ago, when Hala was only five years old and Draco was early on in his Hogwarts career, her parents had made their last attempt to control spirits. A vengeful jinn spiraled away from their clutches, angered at being enslaved to their whims, and murdered her parents and two older brothers. But not Hala. The news of her family's murder rocked Pureblood society; it was a fear they all had with the dark arts, solidifying the very real threat that encompassed their sinister hobbies. Little Hala had been there for the murders, had seen the jinn take revenge on his captors, and had, somehow, lived to tell the tale.

Rumors abound about her, especially after she relocated to Cornwall to live with her grandmother on the coast. Those who met her lamented on her strangeness, on the way that her piercing stare saw through and into you, and the way that she would have premonitions unprovoked. Supposedly, if the rumors were true, the young witch was gifted the sight of a seer, specifically to see death premonitions.

Draco wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

"Are you going to ask?" She queried with a curious tilt of her head, as if she could read his mind.

He instinctively brought his Occlumency shields up. "Ask what?"

Hala considered him with a blank expression for a few seconds. Distantly, Dumbledore was beginning his speech, making both of them lower their voices. "About your death. It's what everyone asks. Unless you don't care."

He recognized the irony and steel in her voice, like she was challenging him to fall in line with everyone else. "Well, sorry to disappoint," he wasn't sorry at all. "Why would I care about something that's bound to happen anyways at the end of my life? All men die. Why should mine be special? Can you tell me something that's useful instead?"

It was a lie. They sat at a table of Slytherins who all shared the same strong sense of self-preservation. It was the same trait that became Voldemort's one fear: death. Their lives were nothing more than ticking time bombs, each passing second wasting away potential moments of greatness. They were driven to achieve all that they could, ambitious to leave behind a sterling legacy. Death was the only challenge. And Voldemort tried to overcome that challenge with immortality.

Hala didn't call him on his lie, but the more genuine, girlish smile told them both that she knew. "I'm excited to see our Common Room. It's under the lake." Humorous that she informed him, as if he hadn't been living in the Slytherin dorms for the past six years. She was bold like that. "I love swimming. Grew up doing it. I think that's why I got sorted into this House. Its element is water, isn't it? Do you like to swim?"

The abrupt casualness of their conversation disarmed Draco for a few seconds, during which he glanced over at Dumbledore as he was wrapping up his speech. "It's alright, I suppose. But I don't suggest swimming in the Black Lake." He looked back at his new...friend? Were they friends now? "There's merpeople and other ungodly creatures in there that wouldn't take kindly to you splashing about. Not to mention it's bloody freezing."

The younger Slytherin didn't answer right away. She stared at him, her gaze roaming over his features as if in internal deliberation with herself, like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if it was a good move. The contemplative look was curious to Draco, but he didn't press it. The girl was rumored to be a seer; maybe she was seeing his death. It wasn't something he wanted to know.

When the feast was served, Draco almost convinced himself that luck and charity were on his side, that the start of term might've begun on rocky feet but it was turning for the better. He made a friend with a girl who clearly knew his turmoiled background, coming from her own murky one that they cancelled each other out. Hala wasn't much of an eater - explaining her extremely bony structure - and Draco had no appetite after the fistfight with Harper. He mostly picked at the food on his plate: roasted chicken, bacon, mashed potatoes, and carrots, but didn't commit to eating much of anything.

He should've known something was wrong when Jeremy Harper never showed up to dinner. Instead, two Aurors burst into the hall, shattering tradition and any means of normalcy Draco disillusioned himself to possess.

The hour or hours - he wasn't even sure - that passed after he was forcibly seized and interrogated by the Aurors was a blur. Earlier in the night, when taken to Madam Pomfrey for healing, Harper had played a vengeful card against the Malfoy Heir by pleading for intervention by the Aurors, crying that he worried for his safety after getting attacked by a Marked Death Eater. The card had its intended effect; Draco's probation was Harper's biggest ally, and now the other Slytherin wizard knew it.

Everything Draco did would be scrutinized. The Aurors - specifically the wanker Auror Williamson - happily informed him to expect periodic, unannounced checks on Draco, where he would be isolated and his wand investigated to see if any dark spells were cast. Or any spells that would lead to an indictment. The terms were hazy and ambiguous, stylized that way to disfavor his position and give the Aurors complete autonomy over him. Yet again, he was punished for saving a life by sacrificing another.

After the interrogation, Draco found himself sitting on the edge of his bed in his teeny private room reeling in the aftermath of everything. It was smaller than the one he had back in Snape's quarters, which was nothing short of depressingly impressive, but private all the same. His Head of House had just left, leaving the young Slytherin with nothing but his thoughts about everything that occurred.

Looking at his hands, he wondered how he was supposed to get back to living a life when he didn't like the one he was given. All of his attempts to move forward, to pave a new path over the crumbled remains of what he used to walk on, were thwarted. Not really one to wallow in self-pity, he couldn't help but feel like the laws of the universe conspired against him.

How was he supposed to get out of an abysmal life if all of his resources acted against him?

Draco looked around his room, or what there was to even look at. Classes would be starting the next day and the smart thing to do would be going to sleep. Sleep wouldn't come to him, though. Not with his mood soured and thoughts so dark they rivaled the bottomless lake outside his window. Hidden in his chest at the end of the bed was a refreshed supply of sleeping droughts, newly replenished from his Knockturn dealer just before leaving for school. They were dangerous, he knew. Largely because he already recognized the dependency he was building on them. There were only two ways he could find sleep: under a potion's influence or with Hermione in his arms.

Still dressed in his uniform, Draco slipped out of his dorm room, slinked through the empty Common Room basked by the nocturnal lake's eerie glow, and, once confident no one else was around, shifted down into his animagus form. It was his inaugural venture through the castle as the fluffy white kitten, the first trip of many between the Slytherin dungeons and the Head Girl quarters.

The castle was quiet and dreamy at night. It was riddled with dark arts tucked in the corners if you knew where to look, but that didn't bother Draco. And now taking the corridors as a cat, he got to experience the castle like never before. The darkness suited him, even with the faint glow of the night lanterns, allowing his feline eyes to see things he wouldn't normally be able to see. Night time stopped being night; it was a new world with a newfound dimness.

And the smells. Oh the smells.

Every student, every familiar, every elf - the most disgusting in the lot - that walked the corridors in the past few hours left behind an explosion of smells. Even if Draco wanted to, he couldn't dissect and discern what each were and who they belonged to. So potent and many, the overwhelming aromas made his head hurt behind his eyes, and he was half tempted to shift back and simply trot the rest of the way.

It was a little bittersweet standing outside the Head Girl quarters, located right across the corridor from Head Boy's. That should've been his room. He should've been behind the Black Walnut door, hanging up his Slytherin banners and Quidditch posters, shoving books into empty shelves, setting up his quills and ink pots, and casting charms on the shower to make sure it was the perfect temperature. He should've been living a royal life in real private quarters- not a broom closet off the Slytherin Common Room - while dealing with the headache of his Gryffindor counterpart.

Instead, the introverted, babyfaced Anthony Goldstein was hogging up the space, undoubtedly stringing up his own mixture of Ravenclaw banners, Mezuzah, and over abundance of books that were the closest to friends he'd ever get. In truth, Draco had no real opinion about the other seventh year wizard; they'd known each other as peers for years, served as prefects together, but never really crossed each other's paths. Which was interesting to note, as Anthony Goldstein was a Pureblood and something of an arithmancy scholar; there was no reason to avoid the other wizard.

Draco made a mental note to reach out to the Ravenclaw at some point that year, maybe under the guise of talking arithmancy and see if a friendship was in the cards. It'd be a large step, befriending someone without any expectation of a return investment, and a very un-Slytherin thing to do. At his next session with Dr Cobb, which was in two weeks, he'd have to tell the mind doctor about it and see how that weighed against his psyche.

Still in his kitten form, Draco nudged his small body against Hermione's door to test it. It was late, long after curfew, and the last thing Hermione saw of him was when the aurors yanked him out of the Great Hall. Did she still expect him that night? As a Gryffindor, she wouldn't have heard that he was released from questioning. No, the entire school sans the Slytherins wouldn't know until breakfast that he wasn't tossed in an Azkaban cell, despite how much Auror Williamson clearly wanted it.

It had taken every ounce of Draco's self-restraint not to wittily insult the auror's pisspoor dueling and inability to best a mere teenager. But he wasn't sure if Williamson knew the masked Death Eater he dueled on Privet Drive was him, and the Slytherin wasn't ready to show his hand quite yet when the status quo between them was slighted in the older wizard's favor.

Draco needed resources and allies. Maybe befriending Goldstein would serve a purpose after all.

The door to Hermione's quarters nudged open against his miniscule weight. Even after curfew, after hours past dinner, without knowing if Draco was even still in the castle, Hermione held onto hope and left her door ajar for him.

The door opening a teeny amount was enough to grab the witches attention. He found her dressed in her pajamas sitting at the desk near the large lancet window, the crisscross ironwork over the glass fracturing the moon's silver glow over her features. Her hair was damp and she looked tired, half crescent dark circles hanging low under her worried eyes. But when she saw him - the familiar white kitten - she jumped to her feet with a deep exhalation of breath that she was holding for the past few hours.

"Oh, thank god!"

Draco distantly heard her as he transformed back to his normal stature, inwardly happy that his uniform followed him. He still wasn't sure where clothes that didn't transform with their animagus owner went, though he was determined to research the answer at some point that term.

He was barely standing at his normal, lanky height before a witch and forest of brown hair flung herself into his arms, her own wrapping around him strongly, fearing that the world would spin some more and take him away. "I'm fine. Sorry I didn't come sooner - Snape wanted to talk with me."

Hermione held him so tight that if it were anyone else, he would've drawn his wand and hexed them against the wall. But there was no threat or inkling of panic from her closeness. No, she was exactly what he needed in a time of duress. "I was so worried after they took you," she mumbled, her voice muffled from his robes. "That you'd wind up in Azkaban or-or that I'd never see you again! What happened?!"

"Nothing, nothing happened." The attempt to skirt the question was half-baked, but her enchanting qualities over him did that. Made it difficult to be the sly, caballing person he used to be. At the same time, though, he didn't want to worry her.

She pulled back a little, just enough to stare pointedly up at him. "I wouldn't call that 'nothing', Draco. They-they took you - maybe even illegally seized, I'll read up on the statutes tomorrow - in the middle of school! They can't do that!"

Leave it to Hermione Granger to learn the Wizengamot's regulations and statutes, probably even expert-level, in a single school term.

Heaving a breath, the Slytherin carefully guided her to her bed. It was a four-poster, average sized bed with Gryffindor-red curtains, bed spread, and a few fluffy pillows. In fact, now that he took the time to look around her room, the entire color palette was in the vomit-inducing Lion colors. And the proud Gryffindor banner on her wall - did it really have to be so big? - felt like it was judging him.

"They can," he calmly told her after they sat on the bed, but he continued to glance around her room, taking in the small but welcoming feeling it offered. The window to the outside awarded a sprawling view of the dense Forbidden Forest and rocky landscape in the distance. It felt strange being in a bedroom so high up after spending six years in the dungeons. "My probationary terms give them that kind of power."

"Then you'll need to be more careful on what you do," Hermione immediately lectured, speaking in fast, worried tones. She'd make a good mother one day. "That means no fighting, no provoking Harper or any others with a grudge against you, no casting questionably decent spells, no getting in trouble for anything. Got it?"

He snorted. "Taking all of the fun out of the school year, aren't you?"

She smacked his arm, a little harder than just mere flirting. "I mean it, Draco! And I'm still going to read the Wizengamot's statutes. They cannot treat you like some low criminal! It's not right."

That Gryffindor bravery, so selfless and serving towards others. He used to make fun of it; never did he think he'd be the recipient of their bottomless altruism, like he was the underdog in need of someone in his corner. It was tempting to fall into the role, to allow the Gryffindor to fight for him, but that wasn't what he wanted from her.

Instead of acknowledging her attempts, Draco glanced behind them at the pillows. "After all of that lecturing on following rules - which we'll absolutely ignore that we're both breaking the rules by my being here - do you mind if I spend the night here?"

Hermione looked surprised, her mouth closing immediately. It was a bold question; it was her first day as Head Girl and she'd already had to deal with a fight - indirectly involving her - between another student and her boyfriend, was an accomplice to her boyfriend breaking curfew and going into a girl's room, and now was being asked to support his violating the immense rule of coed cohabitation.

She chewed her bottom lip in thought, looking at Draco intensely and weighing the consequences. Inwardly, the Slytherin prayed her Gryffindor benevolence would come through for him; all that awaited him in his room were his nightmares and sleeping potions.

"Fine," she conceded. "Just tonight. And only tonight, Draco. Come the morning, you'll have to leave before breakfast in your animagus form and meet me outside the Great Hall, try to make it look like you left the dungeons earlier than everyone else."

He quickly agreed, eager to put the sticky logistics behind them and focus on just enjoying the moment between the two of them. In fact, he didn't want to think about any bemuddling distractions; not Harper, the aurors, the conniving Slytherins he left back in the dungeons, though he was already preparing to get his own revenge on Harper in some form or another. Instead, he wanted to focus on his time with her and asked her all about their Gryffindor meeting, earning him a curious look from the witch. And he listened on, actually interested in the Lions way of life for the first time. It was different from his own; Snape put the fear of Merlin in them if they stepped out of line, while McGonagall exercised an impressive measure of patience.

Both dressed down for sleep, they laid in bed together under the blankets that he kept transfiguring to green only for her to dispel the charm and bring them back to red. In between the casting, he told her about the Slytherin's own meeting and some of the changes happening, including his new little friend, Hala, and the study hour that would be enforced.

"A study hour?" Hermione asked after dismissing a green charm on the curtains, though they were now back to their original dreary brown state, completely bypassing the red she initially charmed hours ago. "That's actually not a bad idea. I should suggest it to Professor McGonagall."

He watched her cast the color charm, though this time she even added a ward attachment. "Maybe for you lot it's brilliant. For us, we don't need a bloody sitter making sure we're keeping up on our studies. If anyone fails, it's their own faults." He lifted his wand and gave a few lazy flicks of it, easily dismantling her ward and turning the curtains back to green. "Since when does Snape start dotting over his students? That handholding rubbish is for Hufflepuffs."

There was a pause. "He's changed a lot in the past year, you know. A lot of people have. I have a faint memory of a snobbish blonde boy bullying me before. Said awful things. Kind of looked like you a bit."

"It's different," he mumbled, a bit distracted with his thoughts. Now that he thought about it, Snape did change an incredible amount a year ago. Change didn't happen without a catalyst, without a spark. "I grew up knowing Snape since before I could walk. I would know him better than anyone here, wouldn't I? That wizard...I dunno. He's not the same. He's… nicer. Actually listens instead of just talking over you. And then there's Potter…"

Hermione sighed. "Draco, please don't start-"

"He's beyond accommodating with Potter," Draco ignored her. He wasn't starting anything nefarious, but was quietly speaking his thoughts. "Like Snape's a completely different person, you know?"

The witch hummed a little before reaching over to press two fingers against his chin and turn his head to look at her. "There's nothing wrong with people changing for the better, is all I'm saying. Maybe he was always this man and the person you thought you knew was just putting up an act or something. I don't know, Draco. I don't question the good things, and neither should you. He changed for the better! Why can't you just accept that something good happened? Harry finally has a family, someone who cares about him like he deserves."

He considered her and fought with his immediate assumption that she was only naive to accept the "good" at face value. He was taught to always question the sudden shift of the wind, because nothing happened on its own. But maybe in this regard she was right. Maybe accepting good was like befriending Anthony Goldstein; it was keeping a positive outlook, turning away from his teachings to expect a heinous act, and simply see the virtue in others.

What he didn't want to do was consider Potter. That was a topic that they avoided at all costs, yet it was a topic that, if he were being honest with himself, needed attention. He couldn't dodge the other wizard forever.

Draco nodded at the still green curtains. "Decided to finally see it my way, have you?"

Her wand flew up and cast the red charming spell faster than he could blink.

~~~~HP~~~~

Tuesday 2nd, September 1997

"Why does Snape have me scheduled for charm revision this afternoon?" Dean called out over the table as the group of Gryffindors ate breakfast on their last, first day of classes, reviewing their new timetables. Harry leaned over to take a look at Dean's parchment and sure enough, a small missive was included - written in Snape's distinctive script - instructing Dean to arrive at his office between his last class and dinnertime.

"He's going to teach you a new spell," Harry answered with a small chuckle. He hadn't really taken Snape seriously when he said he would choose Dean to learn the sanitizing spell, but clearly he should have. It made sense, the professor wouldn't trust Neville - nor would the Gryffindor actually stand in the same room with the professor long enough to learn -, Seamus likely would skive off thinking it a joke, and while Ron would do it, there was too much negative history to put either wizard in such a position. So Dean had been the logical choice, though Harry wished he'd been able to give the other Gryffindor a heads up first.

"It's to help keep our dorm sanitized for me," Harry explained. "For the most part, I'm alright now, but it'll be more important when I come back from treatment because my immune system is really low then."

"Congratulations, Dean!" Hermione emphatically said, causing everyone around them to look at her, confused. "The fact that Professor Snape trusts you to learn such a complicated and custom spell goes to show where he thinks your magical abilities lie."

Dean did not look convinced. "Or it means if Harry gets sick, Snape has a perfectly valid reason to come and kill me."

"Let's be serious," Ron said nervously, placing his cup of pumpkin juice down with an almost trembling hand, "it's Snape we're talking about here... he doesn't need some cockeyed plan, if he wanted to kill you I'm willing to bet he could do it without anyone even blinking towards him."

"Ron!" Hermione chided, "You shouldn't say that about a professor."

"Or you'll be next on his list," Ginny added with a giggle.

Harry couldn't contain his own laugh. So far, being back among his friends had been everything he'd hoped it would be. Looking down at his own timetable, though, left him with doubts about the rest of school. His magic had been behaving - for lack of a better word - and he hoped this process of retraining would be easy and painless, so he could just focus on the things in front of him: his friends and regaining what he lost last year.

"You feeling alright, Harry?" Hermione asked across the table. "You haven't eaten much."

"Sometimes I still don't have much of an appetite," he answered, pushing around the porridge in his bowl before taking a small bite.

"Dedn't ya go runnin' this mornin'?" Seamus watched him carefully.

Maybe I don't want all of them paying this much attention, Harry thought to himself.

He nodded and was just about to tell them all about the smoothie he received with his breakfast - obviously, courtesy of Snape and probably Madam Pomfrey setting it up with the House Elves - that morning, but the owls coming in to deliver the mail distracted everyone at the table. Once again, the young wizard was brought back to the first mail call he'd seen his first year at Hogwarts. He'd been amazed at how the owls knew exactly where to go, and equally terrified one of them would splatter droppings all over his breakfast plate. Just like his first year, the new muggleborns looked up in the same awe Harry had six years ago.

"I don't know why you continue to read that garbage," Harry commented when a copy of the Daily Prophet dropped in front of Hermione.

She completely ignored the same song and dance they did each year, except last year, of course. Harry would never be able to forgive the damage Rita Skeeter had done to him over the years, and couldn't see how Hermione managed to at least forget, if not forgive. While Harry could admit to the Prophet having more than one journalist, the newspaper never seemed to care about the quality of what any of them published, making all of it pure rubbish to him.

"This is why!" Hermione angrily yelled out in the hall, folding the paper in half and slamming it down on the table across from her with so much force Ron's pumpkin juice practically fell over. He'd seen her this angry before, and each time was equally scary, but the dampness in her eyes made him take her more seriously now.

Taking a deep breath, Harry looked over the paper. The top left corner had an advertisement for the latest broom, The Firebolt Millennium, and then underneath that gave the status on a group trying to overturn the ban on flying carpets - obviously not something to make her this upset. Confused, Harry kept scanning the paper until he reached a small headline near the bottom:

Remains Found in Seaside Cave!

A set of bones have been unearthed in a small cave off the coast of Devon over a week ago. No details have been provided on the age or cause of death, but a source at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has speculated that this particular cave used to be a popular site for occult sacrificial rituals. An ongoing investigation has been started, and this reporter will be sure to update as more information is provided.

"It's interesting," Harry said, questioningly, "but I don't see why you're so upset over it."

Based on the brown eyes staring menacingly back at him, that had been the wrong thing to say. Rather than trying to justify his answer, he flipped the paper back over to her and pointed to the only story on the page he could find any relevance to.

Hermione's bushy eyebrows furrowed down as she read it. "Oh," she sheepishly replied, and flipped the paper over, shoving it back in his direction. "This is what I was talking about, but that other story can't be too good either."

This time, Harry didn't have to question which article had made her so angry. Splashed on the page - at least it wasn't the front page, but he knew better than to tell her such - he saw a picture of Draco in the courtroom he knew too well from his Dementor trial before fifth year, which quickly switched to one of the Malfoy family walking free from the ministry.

Hogwarts No longer Safe?

Dangerous, Supposedly Former Death Eater Returns

By: Rita Skeeter

Term hadn't even begun when two high ranking aurors were called to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in response to a complaint made against Draco Malfoy. A third year Hufflepuff, who shall remain unnamed, has stated he 'feared for his life' after he was suddenly, and viciously, attacked exiting the train at Hogsmeade Station. Those closest to the situation have reported that while no lasting injuries were sustained by this attack, the victim required an overnight stay in the hospital wing to ensure no further damage had been caused.

Many have already begun to question how an incident such as this could be possible. The question of how one bearing the Dark Mark would be allowed to return to the school premises to continue the tirade against innocent children could only be asked to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who has a turbulent history of allowing marked followers of Lord Voldemort into the school. As previously reported, the Malfoy family received what some call a light sentence for their crimes against humanity with a probationary period and restitution fines. Although the details of their probation sentence have not been made available for the public, given the fact Draco Malfoy remains in the school tells us there was not a zero tolerance clause attached to it. Therefore, one must ask: how many of these attacks will it take to finally get the Death Eater removed from the premises? How far will it need to go before proper action is finally taken?

So what has been done to protect these young witches and wizards? Sources have said random inspections will be completed by the two distinguished aurors assigned to this case, which will include inspection of the perpetrator's wand. We can only hope when a damaging spell is found in his wand's history, they will act accordingly to keep our children safe.

"This is bullocks!" Harry yelled, feeling the injustice for Draco fill him up inside. "She didn't even get the right person-" he looked back over the story,"- a third year Hufflepuff paints a completely different picture than a sixth year Slytherin."

"Because he's a Slytherin?" Hermione challenged, her face almost repulsed that he'd suggest such a thing.

"No," Harry argued back, "because they're housemates. Let's be honest, we're a little more… liberal... within our own house than the others."

"Except for Slytherin and Gryffindor," the bushy haired witch claimed, and as much as he wanted to, Harry couldn't exactly deny it.

"Fine," he conceded, "but she didn't say Gryffindor."

Their side of the table went silent - not that anyone would have noticed as more students arrived in the Great Hall - while the rest of their friends read through what had been written.

"What did he say, 'Mione?" Ron was the first to break their silence with his question, "Harper. Obviously he said something worse than all the shite I heard him spewing on the train for Malfoy to act like he did."

Their friend's face instantly turned a dark crimson red and she averted her eyes away from them. Harry swallowed back the pain he could feel from her as she remembered whatever had been said, and somehow he knew it had to do with her.

"You can tell us, Hermione," he reached over the table and grabbed her hand in the same way she'd done countless times for him in the past. They needed to stand with each other, and he needed her to know she didn't have to face this alone.

"I barely heard it," she began, almost in a trance. "I had gotten off the train first, and had just turned to find Draco when Harper pushed past him and said…" she steeled her emotions, and straightened her back, as if it would make it easier to admit what had been said about her, "he said, 'Let's leave him alone, guys, he's obviously pretty comfortable between his Mudblood's legs'."

Immediately, Hermione crumbled and covered her face with her hands. Harry let out a shaky breath. They'd been through a lot over the years, and unfortunately Hermione had been called many things in them, yet somehow none of it compared to what Harper said. If he'd been there to hear it, Harry knew he would have reacted the same way Draco did; or at least he'd try.

"That…" Ron grumbled, slamming his right fist into his left palm, his head shaking back and forth. "And that's why Malfoy hit 'im?"

Hermione's head snapped up, "Of course that's why! He's not a monster, Ron! I sure hope you'd do the same if someone insinuated… that... about Lavender! When are you going to get it through your thick head that he actually loves me? That someone could-"

"I know that, a'right?" Ron interrupted her, "I saw the way he was looking at you while at the wedding, ok? You can't fake that. And I'm happy he decked Harper, just wish I could've been there to help 'im."

Harry was impressed by Ron's emotional sentiment. He, too, had been watching the couple at the wedding, and not only so he could make sure to stay away from Draco as he'd promised Hermione. Having had no role model for healthy relationships, he couldn't exactly say what 'love' looked like, but it would be how he'd describe them at the wedding. The fact that Draco would risk going to Azkaban for her - twice if Harry counted his own kidnapping to save the witch's life - showed he would put her best interest over his in a heartbeat. And for Harry, that was enough to earn his respect.

Before any of them could say anything further about it, the bell signaling the end of breakfast, and the official beginning of school, rang. The group started to collect their bags when McGonagall hurriedly shuffled over to the table.

"Is everyone over here set for your classes?" She asked, touching her hair, flustered. "Are there any questions about your timetables?"

Collectively, they all shook their heads. Harry wanted to mention that, as seventh years, if they had questions the rest of their house would be doomed and she had bigger problems, but somehow he knew it would not be appreciated at that exact moment. Instead, he grabbed his bag and he got up from the table ready to get the day started.

"Harry, can you please stay a second?" McGonagall added right before he had a chance to escape.

"But professor," he complained, waving his friends goodbye, "I really don't want to be late."

"I just wanted to make sure you don't have any questions about your classroom arrangements," she raised her eyebrows in the way he always took as being in trouble.

With an audible gulp, the young wizard replied, "Erm, seems pretty straight forward. I have-" he looked at the crumbled parchment gripped in his left fist, "-Charms with the second years now."

He ignored the sympathy from his former guardian's eyes. The last thing he needed was his professors feeling sorry for him. This was his life now and he'd come to accept it, if for no other reason than it being better than the alternative.

"And there's nothing you need-"

"I'm fine, Professor," Harry stopped her. "Really, this will be good for me. At least we're not pretending everything is normal like last year. This is actually better, trust me, plus I have almost half a day free, so I'm all good. Is that all? Because I really don't wanna be late."

"Of course not,"she nodded sternly. "You let me know if anything doesn't seem right."

He frowned for a second, wondering what she meant by "doesn't seem right", but instead of asking he gave a small wave, and a smile, then took off to Charms class.

Harry raced through the corridors determined to not be tardy on his first day in this new schedule. Things today would be awkward enough - being seventeen with a class full of twelve year olds - to add losing points on top of it.

He made it into the classroom with two minutes to spare, but that didn't mean no attention was drawn to him. In hindsight, losing five points for Gryffindor might have been preferred, because then Professor Flitwick would already have had the class focused for the start of their lesson when he walked into the room instead of every student watching him make his way to find an open seat. Luckily, one near the door had been left open and Harry promptly took it and began removing his quill, parchment, book, and inkwell from his school bag; feeling too much like Hermione. The raven-haired wizard paused in his actions when the realization he'd be taking every class without Ron and Hermione hit him hard. The closest he'd have to friends in class would be Ginny and Luna in Herbology and Ginny in Potions, and somehow that didn't seem like enough.

"So it's true," a Slytherin boy called from directly across the classroom, sounding too much like Draco in their early years,"the Great Harry Potter has fallen."

Harry rolled his eyes. At five years this kid's senior, Harry refused to react, silently wondering if it were ingrained in Slytherins to naturally hate him. Either way, he'd spend two out of his five classes with this group of students, so not intentionally causing any unnecessary animosity was important to him.

"Give it up, Nott!" A Gryffindor girl - whose name Harry couldn't remember from last night's introductions - to his right spat back.

The name Nott brought Harry back to the Malfoy Manor Drawing Room. He could almost feel the older Death Eater's arms pushing against his throat and into his skin as he held Harry back. The musky smell of sweat and some herb Harry couldn't place filled his nose, pushing out the scent of parchment that he didn't even realize was so prevalent in the Charms classroom. Trying to force himself back into the present, Harry licked his lips and could have sworn he tasted the coppery blood from where he'd bitten down on Nott senior's hand. The bite had been so hard, Harry knew he'd torn off skin, but he didn't care, knowing it had been enough to get the Death Eater to release him and his wand - the wand Snape used to finally kill Voldemort.

Opening his eyes, not knowing he had closed them until that moment, he took notice of the Slytherin wizard now directly across from. The boy looked just as thin and stringy as Theodore Nott in Harry's year - whom Harry only now realized had not been in the Great Hall during the Welcoming Feast - with sandy hair matted down on his head. While he looked taller than any of the other boys in the class, he was still significantly shorter and scrawnier than Harry, proving this attitude likely came from somewhere personal rather than a typical bullying behavior.

"You related to Theodore Nott?" Harry asked, completely ignoring the accusation about his own "fallen status" in the wizard world.

"He's my cousin," Nott replied, but not until after taking a second to consider if he wanted to admit to such a fact. Behind his wall of arrogance, Harry recognized the uneasiness and grief laced in the younger wizard's voice. "You're the reason he's in Azkaban, and now look at you, a pathetic seventeen year old no better than a second-"

"That will be enough, Mr Nott," Professor Flitwick called out as he entered the classroom, taking his place standing on the stack of books to match their height. "That will be five points from Slytherin for inappropriate conduct towards a classmate."

The other students started to snicker at the quick point deduction. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have joined them, however something inside of him had changed. Points, and the house cup, seemed completely unimportant compared to the thoughts flowing through his mind: Voldemort, Azkaban, families ripped apart and grieving their loss, his own situation with his magic, and his Leukemia.

Most of the class went relatively easy for Harry. Professor Flitwick explained how the first fortnight of lessons would be spent on revisions of the more commonly used spells from first year: Lumos, Incendio, Wingardium Leviosa, Alohomora, and Diffindo. At first, Harry felt very unsure of himself knowing that during his magical testing only half of his Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa spells were successful, but as the morning went by, he quickly realized there were students still struggling with the movement and incantation pronunciation, so perhaps practicals wouldn't necessarily be too bad.

By the last quarter of the class, Harry felt ready to slam his head down on his desk, proving how different - and ultimately challenging - this experience would be for him. He expected to struggle with the practicals, but never did he anticipate how unbelievably boring relearning the incantations would be. Since his brain and hands still remembered the second year - or technically first year during the revisions - curriculum, everything they covered during the first part of class were things Harry did not need to relearn. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't need to relearn, just retrain, yet at the same time, he came to the conclusion bringing that up would only hurt him. Knowing the Board of Governors, they'd claim a practical-only curriculum did not qualify as a full-time student - similar to the theory only debacle last year - and he'd be forced to live back in the dungeons all year.

Once they were finally allowed to begin practical revision, Harry's nerves immediately started to rise. The students around him all excitedly picked up their wands and jumped into practising Lumos. For the most part, wand tips lit up in varying intensity across the room, while Harry stared down at his holly wand as if he were eyeing his closest enemy.

"Mr Potter?" The tiny charms professor called to him. "Are there any issues you'd like to discuss before you begin?"

"Erm… no, sir," Harry answered, picking up his wand.

It felt different in his hands. He'd gotten so used to not using magic, that now being forced to use it felt almost foreign to him, and not in the way he'd previously experienced after a magicless summer. This magic was different; stronger and harder to reach at the same time.

"Lumos," the older Gryffindor whispered, putting all his hope into seeing his wand tip illuminate.

"Try a little louder," the Gryffindor witch beside him said after his second failed attempt. She had dark red hair - too dark to be related to the Weasleys - set in long pigtail plaits running down both sides of her face. "Otherwise, your magic can't hear what you want it to do."

In theory, he knew she was correct, but for Harry, that hadn't exactly been true. As of his fifth year, he no longer needed to completely announce the spell in order for it to work; giving him the first peeks of nonverbal magic. Of course, he didn't exactly want to admit that in the middle of class.

"Lumos!" Harry repeated with more conviction then he'd previously used on any of these revision spells. To his surprise, the tip of his wand glowed brightly throughout the room.

"See?" The redhead nodded with a smile. "You need to show your magic that you can control it."

"Thanks," Harry replied, feeling almost foolish about not taking that simple, basic rule seriously. "Erm-" he furrowed his eyebrows trying to remember her name.

"Leilani Catts," she reminded him, then turned back to her own revision where she continued to successfully cast spell after spell.

The rest of the spells Harry tried wouldn't all come as easily throughout the lesson, but he couldn't deny that by the time he left the classroom, his outlook about his magic had been raised for the first time since his diagnosis.

Maybe this will actually work after all?

~~~~SS~~~~

Waking up in his quarters the first official day of term reminded Severus too much of his first day waking up after his son's death. Harry's lack of presence could be felt the moment he opened his eyes, only this time, he could tell himself his child was sleeping upstairs in the Tower; exactly where he should be. He would go up for breakfast - needing to hand out the timetables to his Slytherins - and the young wizard would be sitting at the Gryffindor table with his friends ready to start another school year. And while this year would be anything but typical for Harry, to the professor it seemed like it could have been the start of any other year from his old reality.

He'd arranged with Poppy and the kitchen house elves, mostly Dobby to his own chagrin, to have Harry's morning medications - the multi-vitamin, antibiotics, antivirals, and one chemotherapy tablet during the first five days of his cycle - along with a smoothie delivered to his plate each morning. The teen had been adamant on continuing to run with Dudley, and Severus could see a shift in his mental outlook the more he continued the trend - much as sketching did during his harshest treatments secluded in the dungeons - and therefore he didn't discourage the act. Per Dr Swanson's guidelines, as long as Harry could keep up his caloric intake to balance the activity, exercise would only help him; physically and mentally.

Severus barely had enough time to finish his own breakfast between handing out his students' timetables and answering too many daft first year-level questions - like how one could possibly get from the potions classroom in the dungeons to the Divinations classroom in the North Tower without being late. Considering he had six prefects to answer ridiculous things like that, it instantly put him in a sour mood, compounding onto the fact he'd not gotten a chance to talk to Harry since before the Welcoming Feast. Back in his old reality, he would go days without getting a chance to speak with his son, but that rarely happened once he'd been diagnosed, at which point they spoke almost daily. Here, he had no idea how to navigate their relationship in a seemingly normal school environment. Ultimately, he would leave it up to Harry to decide how much contact they had outside of classes and his time for treatment.

From what he could see of the Gryffindor, he looked ready for whatever his day might bring. Days like these, Harry hardly looked sick. He had energy to laugh with his friends, he wasn't overly fatigued, and he could go about life as if he wasn't constantly fighting for it. If it weren't for the tablets - too many tablets to be considered normal, even by muggle standards - he took, then they'd be able to pretend these good days were normal. Instead, Severus's mind was plagued with waiting for the bad day to follow, and it always did.

At first sight, no one else would likely be able to tell, but the young wizard was starting to fill out his uniform better than the last time he'd worn it back in January. All the work they'd collectively put into Harry gaining back his strength combined with the lack of weekly chemotherapy had started to pay off. Unfortunately, it didn't go unnoticed by Severus how little the teen had eaten for breakfast. At some point, he'd need to remind Harry the importance of keeping his weight up, and at the same time he'd check with Minerva to see if she could help arrange to have several high calorie snacks available in his dorm so he wouldn't need to go to the kitchens. While he knew Harry absolutely could get down there if he were hungry - or grab something from their meal to store for later - the professor also knew he likely wouldn't put in the effort. With such a small appetite, they'd quickly found if the snacks weren't easily and readily accessible Harry simply didn't think about eating.

Severus's first day of teaching only got worse as he went from one awful class to the next. From the first years struggling to understand the concept that Defense Against the Dark Arts consisted of more than dueling, to the fifth years - specifically the Ravenclaws - panicking unnecessarily about being ill-prepared for their O.W.L.s. due to the gaps in their previous curriculum and none of them trusting his reassurance that he would fill in said gaps in an appropriate amount of time, he found himself questioning why he'd chosen to come back to a profession he hated; especially in the course he felt less comfortable teaching. With Potions, at least he knew his lesson plans like the back of his hand and could go through the first day lecture half asleep if necessary.

As his mood continued to decline, he almost opted to cancel Dean's lesson on his sanitizing spell, however doing so would only harm Harry, so he'd get through it. Rationally, he told himself Dean was a good student and it shouldn't take him long to pick it up - he feared for the teen should it take longer than an hour. By the time he saw the students go from awkward first years to - hopefully - confident, adult seventh years, Severus had a good idea who would pass their N.E.W.T.s. in his subject, who would succeed in their career goals, and who could handle an extra assignment here or there, and Dean fell into all three of those categories. The young wizard was a silent observer, who kept his head down and focused on his work despite the chaotic environment of the Gryffindor Common Room. And while he wasn't some child genius with the answers to next month's topics, like Hermione or Draco, he quietly - unlike Harry, who always vocalized his learning - picked up the material and stored it in his head for later use. Those were the students a professor had to watch out for, because they knew more than they let on and Severus never liked to be surprised.

By the end of the day, a deep exhaustion filled Severus's core and he wondered how Harry had fared in his first day of classes. Third year defense - Harry's class - fell on Wednesdays before lunch and first thing Friday morning, so he would at least get to check in with the teen the next day. By then, hopefully he'd have some idea how his magic had reacted to its first set of organizational training.

The professor had been so lost in his thoughts between Harry's magic and trying to get ahead on his marking of summer essays - determined not to fall behind just in case he needed time off later -, he almost missed when the small pop of parchment appeared on his desk, sitting on top of the pile of essays with a distinct, curvy script of writing across it. Embarrassingly, it took the former spy a second to understand not onlythe identity of the parchment, but also where it had come from and the dual significance of its meaning: Arthur Weasley's crazed invention - the one the patriarch's entire career actively tried to prevent - actually worked, but more importantly, Mae had taken the time to call him.

Nervously, Severus picked up the palm-sized parchment and began to silently read:

Hi Severus, it's Mae… Mae Scott, just in case you know more than one Mae.

I know you're probably still in class, or finishing up your day, but I had to check that number you gave me would, in fact, ring you correctly. I mean, one could never be so sure - the whole professor thing could actually be a spy cover, after all, and you'd never be able to tell me.

Fine, you caught me, the truth is you didn't seem too keen on returning to teaching, so thought you could use a friendly voice at the end of your first day. I totally get if you're super busy keeping hundreds of students in line, but I'll be home most of the night if you get a chance to call me back.

I hope your first day went well and you weren't too hard on the kids… or maybe I should say, they weren't too hard on you, but somehow I get the feeling I was right the first way.

Anyways, I hope to talk to you soon.

Bye!

The awkwardness seeping from her message somehow broke through his bitter attitude. He found himself half smiling, half smirking, hating to admit how nice it felt to know she thought of him on the first day of term. The whole situation with the muggle nurse was everything he didn't need at the moment, nevertheless he couldn't deny that as Harry became more settled in his environment - not necessarily this year, but in the future - he'd be forced to take a less active role in the young wizard's life. He remembered Molly Weasley huffing about their home getting her children, plus Hermione for whatever reason, ready for school grieving the idea that she'd only do it one more time. Having only been a parent for five - or six with the time travel? - years, he felt wrong comparing himself to the experienced matriarch, yet he knew how she felt. At not even forty, he still had so much of his life ahead of him, and while he wouldn't look back on finishing chemotherapy with the same bittersweetness as Molly would sending Ginny off on the Hogwarts Express for the last time, it would still be a defining moment in his and Harry's life that would be ending.

Dean's knock on the Defense room office door sounded so distant, Severus wasn't sure if it had to do with the Gryffindor's nerves over this session, or because he'd been lost in his own thoughts.

"Come in," he beckoned the seventh year into his office while simultaneously placing the missive from Mae's call under the stack of essays. He'd try to make it back to Spinner's End later that night to call her back, however the first night after classes tended to be one of the busiest of the year.

"Sir?" Dean respectfully asked. "You wanted to see me after classes?"

Motioning to the chair in front of his desk, Severus watched the wizard carefully take his seat skeptically, yet open to hear whatever Severus had to say.

Training Dean on the new spell had been quicker than the professor had anticipated; taking only thirty minutes until the Gryffindor could consistently sanitize the floor space Severus had marked off to practice. Dean showed he took the responsibility seriously by staying engaged and asking all the right questions one would expect when learning a customized spell - things like finding the base root of the latin incantation and breaking down the wand motions. To say he was impressed - something Severus rarely admitted to - would be an understatement.

"Have you made a decision on your career path after Hogwarts, Mr Thomas?" Severus asked once he deemed their training complete. The professor gently pushed the papers across his desk, leaving a space for him to halfway sit on the edge, with the teen standing in front of him. The posture wasn't random, he wanted Dean to feel comfortable and he'd hoped to accomplish it by taking a less authoritarian posture.

"N-not really sir," Dean stuttered, not hiding his visible surprise by the question. "I figured I'd take whatever N.E.W.T.s I qualified for and see what my options are from there."

"That's a rather… laissez faire approach," Severus admonished. He would never allow his Slytherins to look at their coursework in such a way. Taking potentially unnecessary courses diluted the student's focus on those he or she required, therefore narrowing down the scope of potential careers was an important step. "Have you considered something in spell work? Perhaps spell creation or curse breaking?"

Dean nervously shifted his weight between his feet, but didn't break eye contact or show any other signs of being uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

"You picked up this spell extremely quickly," the professor began to explain his rationale, "you easily made all the adjustments, and asked all the right questions… such as breaking down the root of the incantation. Dare I say, not many people have an aptitude for this level of spellwork, and if Professor Flitwick hasn't told you such already, I would suggest you ask to sit down with him - or Professor McGonagall, if you're more comfortable - and see if there's a future career you'd enjoy in it."

Deciding he had nothing else to say on the matter, Severus nodded his head and made his way back behind his desk.

"You created this spell?" The Gryffindor asked as Severus took his seat, giving a swift nod in response. "I guess I never thought much about how spells are made. O-or that new ones are still being created."

"Both ends of Charms - creating and disassembling spells - can be a very rewarding career if the right opportunity is found."

"Thank you, sir," Dean told him, picking up his bag to leave. The former spy could practically hear the teen nervous heart beating from his chest. "I'll ask Professor McGonagall about it."

"You do that," Severus muttered under his breath, after the door finally closed and he found himself alone once again. He still had almost an hour until dinner time, so he closed his eyes, rubbing them with his fingertips to try and ease away the migraine he felt coming on. Unfortunately, his reprieve only lasted about a minute when another knock - more forceful this time - broke his focus. Assuming it was Dean with another question, but hoping it was Harry, the professor couldn't be any more surprised when Lucius Malfoy pushed open his door.

"You have no one to blame, but yourself, Severus," the blonde wizard said with a half chuckle, "you could have been working in the laboratory full-time rather than babysitting -" he held his pale, ring adorned hand up to stop the professor's protests, "- I am well aware of your reasonings, and they don't change the fact that you are better than this job."

"What do you want, Lucius?" Severus demanded, not up for whatever hidden agenda the other wizard might have had planned. "I'm needed in the Great Hall by dinner."

"More babysitting, I presume?"

"That part is accurate," he conceded, "at least in the Defense classroom, it's more instructing than babysitting. So what brings you here?"

"My, my, aren't we a bit wound up this afternoon," the blonde retorted, sitting down in the chair Dean had recently vacated. "Obviously, I'm here to discuss my son and the involvement of the aurors at the school. What do you make of the situation?"

"Honestly? He's lucky he didn't get arrested," Severus commented, having no luck on keeping his headache away. "As long as he keeps his head down and a close watch on his wand use, I don't expect any issues. As his Defense professor, I'll be able to make sure he's appropriately matched in any classroom practicals, and remind him to watch his use of spells. Unfortunately, Auror Williamson did not specify which spells would trigger an investigation, but it's best to assume anything more than a stupefy would at least lead to questioning."

Lucius sat back in his chair and crossed his hand over his knees. "That serious, then?"

With a nod, Severus added, "Kingsley will do what he can to keep Draco's path clear, as repayment for his assistance to the Order last year, but there is only so much he can do and I would prepare for Williamson to be the one dropping in unannounced for the status checks. As long as Draco keeps to himself and stays on the right side of legal, he should make it to the end of the year."

"I see." Somehow, the two words from the aristocrat's mouth sent shivers down Severus's spine. "I guess it's a good thing I've made… alternate arrangements."

Nothing about that statement sounded good.

"Such as?" Severus questioned, his well trained eyes never leaving Lucius's. The blonde pulled a piece of parchment out from his inner robe pocket, reminding him of the paper Mae had given him with her phone number written on it; the one safely stored in his bed side table drawer.

"I've secured a property in Hogsmeade," Lucius began, sliding the folded parchment across the desk, "there are several of my… associates securing the property around the clock with strict instructions to keep a watchful eye on Draco. Should anything arise, my son knows he can find safety there. If, for any reason you, or Harry, are in need of protection, this parchment will tell you everything you need to locate the safehouse."

A Fidelius Charm. On a property in Hogsmeade. He had too many questions: how would these associates keep track of Draco within the castle? Wouldn't that make Draco look more guilty? Of course, for as trigger happy as Williamson appeared to be in relation with the Malfoys, if anything the young Slytherin would be falsely accused before anything substantial was found.

"Thank you," the professor decided to go with instead, understanding in some cases, the less he knew the better.

"I come bearing one more piece of information," the older wizard announced, pulling out a tiny square from his robes. He placed it on the desk and enlarged it into a booklet with a nondescript black cover. "Are you still planning on coming into the lab this weekend?"

The pair of wizards proceeded to spend every available second until the dinner hour going over the details of the Malfoy Lab for Disease Research and Development and what Severus should expect on his first day. The first piece of half of the conversation focused on getting to the laboratory. Also under a Fidelius Charm - to guarantee the security of their employees and any proprietary information - the building was located on a plot of land completely owned and controlled by the Malfoy Enterprises, in the middle of the countryside. Apparently, one could gain access by apparating to a very specific set of coordinates exempt from the rest of the heavily warded area, and taking the rest of the trip by foot. The first ten pages or so of the booklet - also warded so only Severus could see its contents - gave details on the coordinates so one could successfully apparate until more familiar with the locale.

Once Severus more or less felt confident he could get to the laboratory on Saturday morning without splinching himself, they moved into the work he'd be responsible for while there. They had the laboratory set up into "pods" and his specific pod - composed of at least four other potioneers whom he may, or may not, see on any given weekend - was currently working on two projects simultaneously. Their first project was to continue to perfect the Potions regimen Harry had been on in his old reality. They'd obviously redone the section with the fatal error, but were exploring ways to make the process faster - to get the patient into remission quicker - giving it a higher rate of success.

More recently, and the part Severus was the most interested in, they started developing potions to help magical people on muggle chemotherapy better handle the side effects of their treatment. The Malfoy patriarch continued to explain - prefacing it with a warning about his lack of technical knowledge - their challenge of finding the right balance of magical use so as not to deplete the patient's magical core. Dr Swanson had emphasized, and Severus had seen first hand, how much the body weakened throughout chemotherapy, so patients who needed extended treatments were less likely to continue. Therefore, something like this would not only make life more comfortable during chemotherapy, it could also help extend therapy which would otherwise not be possible. No matter how he looked at it, this hit so close to home Severus knew it could not be a coincidence. Yet neither of them mentioned how something like this could have completely changed how Harry went through his treatments. They didn't have to, as Slytherins they both knew: this project most likely started after Lucius's visit to Spinner's End after Harry's treatment last month, and Lucius knew how much the project meant to his friend.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday, 5th September 1997

To Harry, the Hogwarts grounds were some of the most underrated parts of the school. Everyone - himself included as a small first year - awed at the castle with its tall towers, beautiful windows and archways, enchanted staircases, and rich history pouring through the walls. When he walked the grounds, though, similar to when he moved into Snape's Spinner's End home, he knew he wasn't in Little Whinging. The mountains surrounding their plot of land creating the crisp cool air, the smell of the Black Lake, and the sounds of students enjoying their time outside before snow blanketed the grass always made him feel good inside; proof he actually escaped from the cupboard under the stairs.

The first week of classes had left Harry both physically and mentally exhausted in a way he couldn't remember feeling before. Despite how much he craved to go back up to his dorm after his last class on Friday afternoon - Herbology with the sixth years - and crawl under his warm yellow blanket, he forced himself to walk down to the lake where he already had planned to meet his friends that afternoon. Professor Sprout kept him after class to discuss the expectations for him during the year, so he wasn't surprised to find Ron, Dudley, Lavender, Ginny, and Dean already deep in conversation at the clearing under a large shade tree. Lavender, based on the size of it, looked to be wearing Ron's school robe - leaving her boyfriend in his school jumper over his half tucked in white shirt beneath it - sat against the tree trunk with Ron, Dudley, Ginny, and Dean sitting in the grass.

"There 'e is," Ron called out, beckoning Harry over to their group with a wave of his arm, "we didn't think you were going to make it."

"Professor Sprout asked me to stay after class," he told them, feeling a little resentful when Ginny nodded. Having two classes with the youngest Weasley helped make at least some of his day a little more comfortable - almost normal - but he didn't necessarily like to talk about being behind. He plopped his school bag from his shoulder onto the ground and sat down in the grass.

"You're so lucky," Lavender whined, to which Harry narrowed his eyes skeptically at her. "I'd rather end my week with Herbology. Whoever thought of Friday afternoon Defense, especially for the seventh years, is just cruel."

Harry laughed knowing Snape - and probably most of the professors - felt the same way about their last class of the week.

"Someone has to be at the end of the week, and on our end they're all equally bad," Dudley chimed in. "What's wrong with Defense? Sounds like it's at least interesting."

"It's loads better than when we ended the week with History of Magic," Harry chuckled. "What was that? Our third year?"

"I completely disagree," Ron seriously said, and just when Harry was about to argue with him, the red-head added, "I loved starting the weekend with an early nap."

The group all laughed; even Dudley who wouldn't get the inside joke having never been a part of Binns class. Though for Harry, what used to only be a boring class, would always be an awful reminder of his vision of Sirius during that class's O.W.L., but being able to look back without the searing pain in his chest definitely showed how far he'd come.

"If it weren't for Hermione," Dean laughed, "you two would never have passed for as much as you slept in that class."

"Those were the days," Ron threw his arms over his head, learning on them as he laid down in the grass to relax. "We should have enjoyed it then, didn't know what we were in for!"

"Where is 'Mione?" Harry looked around as he questioned their missing friend.

"Head Girl duty," Ginny pointed with her thumb back up to the castle. "Some Slytherin firstie came up to her on our way out here. She lost her wand, and looked about ready to cry at the thought of telling Snape about it."

Harry almost choked on his own spit at the thought of what Snape's reaction would have been to such a question. The man may have changed a bit, but he still hated dealing with the first years and would often talk about nominating prefects who would do anything that even remotely sounded like coddling for him.

"Can't she just summon it?" Dudley surprised them all with his well thought out question, and how casually he spoke about magic.

"Of course she can!" Lavender spoke up. Then while practically laying down across Ron's chest, she sang, reminding Harry too much of Moaning Myrtle, "But I bet she's using it as an excuse to jumpstart her date night with a certain blonde Slytherin. That's what I'd do if so I had that nice, private room."

Harry's eyes went wide at what the older witch suggested, and all the boys in the group averted their gaze away from each other.

"Rumor has it," Lavender continued, showing no sign she picked up on how uncomfortable the situation made them, "an engagement is expected this year from them. A Malfoy courting anyone for a year is significant, you know. I heard he was supposed to be arranged with one of the Greengrass girls, until-"

"That's not true," Harry shook his head, unwilling to let his friend - Hermione, he convinced himself - become the punchline of some rumor. "Hermione had dinner with the Malfoys over the summer and told us he was never involved in that Pureblood stuff."

"Dinner with the parents, huh?" The brunette witch pointed out, "Don't shoot the owl, I'm just saying what I've heard. And none of us should be surprised if she's got a ring before the year's out."

It made Harry uncomfortable, more so than he wanted to admit. With his own future so uncertain, it made it hard for him to imagine his friends already thinking about things like marriage. Weren't they supposed to get jobs first? His parents hadn't, and thinking about his friends and their parents, most of them hadn't either.

"Oh, Harry!" Lavender exclaimed, clapping her hands and making Harry jump from the sudden change of tone. "Speaking of our favorite Slytherin, tell me everything you've heard about Hala Khatib. I've been dying to ask someone about her and… you know… what everyone says she can do."

Harry didn't even try to hide his confusion, "I have no idea who you're talking about. What does she have to do with me? And Draco?"

"Well, don't you take classes with her? She's a first year."

"Lav," Ron seriously said, giving his head a small shake and Harry felt his ears turn red, "don't."

"I'm not with any first years," he aggressively replied, trying to hold in his frustration. "She's the one Draco sits with right? So, what's up with her?"

"She can see death," Ginny chimed in."At least that's what I heard some Slytherins talking about the other day. If you get too close, I guess she can see a flash of your death. But I guess she doesn't like to talk about it."

"Who could blame her?" Dean added. "I wouldn't want to say anything to anyone about it."

"Well remind me to stay far away from her," Harry said, making the others laugh, not knowing how serious he actually was about the whole situation. His death constantly sat heavily on his mind at any given moment, he didn't need anyone adding to it. Briefly, he considered asking Snape about this ability - he'd probably have the most details on it - but he also refused to fuel the gossip. Having been on the other side of the gossip too many times, he refused to add to someone else's misery, even to satisfy his own morbid curiosity.

"Do you think it's true?" Ron asked. "Like, that she can really see how you're going to die?"

"Well, she was the only survivor from her family's attack," Ginny reasoned, "it would make sense if she knew what was going to happen."

Harry frowned as his friends all turned to watch him. The parallel wasn't lost on him, and while he heard his parents' death when the Dementors had come close to him, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have even distant memories living through it. Lost in his thoughts, Harry heard words like Jordan - a country he couldn't exactly point to on a map - and then jinn - a dark creature he didn't remember learning about.

Thankfully, the talk of the group quickly switched over to Quidditch and how the Montrose Magpies annihilated the Tutshill Tornados in the most embarrassing game of Quidditch history. As Harry had not only been living in the muggle world at the time, but actively staying away from the wizarding world as much as possible, it had been his first time hearing how the Tornado's seeker literally had the snitch in his hands twice and failed to grasp it. That led Harry and Ginny into a heated debate on if that alone were grounds for immediate removal from the team. Harry fell on the side of everyone having bad days, while Ginny emphatically argued the Seeker's entire job was to catch the snitch, and to miss it not once, but twice in the same game - plus adding in the overall loss - should have him packing his broom. The passion the young witch had for the game couldn't be clearer and Harry thought any team would be crazy for not picking her up to play professionally.

When the sun started to set, Harry stood and suggested they all head back in for dinner. He didn't want to say out loud how cold he felt when almost everyone else - besides Dudley, he interestingly thought - had another person to help keep them warm. Given his fatigue, Harry fell behind his friends and waved them on with a "I'll catch up to you later" every time they turned to make sure he was following. And when they eventually all took off, Dudley surprised him again by staying back with him.

"You could've gone ahead," Harry waved off the gesture, not unlike Snape always seemed to do. "I'm just a little tired after the full week of classes."

"It's not gonna hurt me to walk in a little later than everyone else," his cousin said, walking directly in tandem with the Gryffindor. "Has running been too much?"

"No! Not at all." The last thing Harry wanted was Dudley to feel guilty. "It's been great actually. Overall I'm doing alright, but it's been a while since I've had a full schedule of anything."

"That makes sense," the blonde responded. "You'll let me know if it's too much though?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, a bit distracted when his eyes caught the sight of a familiar, small white kitten stalking in the grass at the end of the courtyard. Turning back to Dudley, desperate to change the topic away from his health, he said, "You know, you could have invited Susan out here with us. We wouldn't have minded her joining in. I doubt she ever slept in History of Magic though."

Without a second of hesitation, Dudley replied, "I know that, but then you'd be the only one without someone, and I didn't want you to feel alone."

~~~~SS~~~~

Saturday, 6th September 1997

Severus's eyes were closed when his feet landed in the wispy field located in the middle of some obscure countryside. It had been years since he'd been as nervous to apparate as he had that morning and wouldn't deny his relief when he realized he had not splinched even a hair from his body. Apparating to the specific coordinates laid out by the MLD booklet, when also surrounded by extremely heavy wards, could be exceedingly dangerous to the most skilled wizard, which Severus categorized himself.

The first week of classes had gone far better than Severus had expected, especially given how rough his first day had been. Defense lessons with Harry on Wednesday and Friday were oddly casual, with the young wizard paying attention to the lectures; far more than the professor had anticipated given they were starting with theoretical revisions before moving into practical revisions next week. On Wednesday, he'd asked Harry to stay after class. No matter how much Severus told himself he would leave the first move up to the Gryffindor, he knew he'd give into his anxiety the second the young wizard walked into his classroom. Their conversation was quick, but effective; long enough to ease his mind about Harry's adjustment, yet short enough not to feel too invasive on the young wizard's privacy. Trying to take the impromptu meeting at face value, the teen appeared to be handling his unique classroom situation well and, for what it was worth, looked happy. They were still a little too early on in the school year to make any determinations on Harry's health, and the Gryffindor promised to come to him if things became too difficult; like if he found himself forgetting to take any of his tablets on a regular basis. Harry's excitement over his magic's cooperation during his first Charms class was almost infectious, leaving Severus with hope - a word he'd found himself using more and more - that this retraining would actually work out for the Gryffindor.

It took him until Thursday night to find the time to floo back to Spinner's End and call Mae. She'd had her own rough week, and while obviously she couldn't give him any details about it, he knew enough to be able to make assumptions of what had happened. The phone call lasted until almost ten at night, but he arrived back in his quarters with a new energy he could hardly recognize. Ultimately, if he wanted to continue this with Mae, he'd need to find a way to still stay available to his prefects, should anything happen. As far as Severus knew there wasn't anything stating he had to be available one-hundred percent of the time, but with his house in its current state of flux, he couldn't be gone for any major amount of time without having some way for them to get a hold of him. With his luck, the aurors would show up during one of his absences.

Friday brought the reinstated weekly tea with Minerva after dinner, and Severus found the normalcy inviting, especially after the first week of classes. About halfway through their tea, Severus came to the realization that the other professor had been doing for him what he'd been trying to do for Harry: be a consistent support and confidant. He couldn't deny every time he spoke with Minerva he felt lighter and could focus more clearly on the challenges facing him. They mostly talked about Harry, and how his adjustment back into the school had been received internally and from his fellow classmates. Socially, as far as she could tell - Severus resisted the urge to question her level of supervision on her house - there hadn't been any issues within the house. They both agreed Harry hadn't been eating nearly as much as he should be, and Minerva took on the task of setting up a rotation of healthy snacks available to him in his dorm and common room - to be emphatically replenished by Dobby - and keep a close eye on the young wizard while Severus worked away from the castle. Even if he could have done without the Transfiguration Professor's insistence about his romantic interest in Mae, it had been a perfect end of the week and exactly what he needed to stay focused on his first day at the MLD.

"I told Narcissa you had this under control," the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy came from behind Severus, "but of course she refused to take my word on your abilities and instead insisted that leaving one of our top Potions Masters splinched in the middle of the field would reflect negatively on the laboratory overall."

"How endearing," Severus responded, not nearly as amused as the blonde across from him. "Will I be able to pass onto the warded path?" He asked motioning to the dirt path Lucius currently stood on which would, presumably, take him to the laboratory.

"Did you read the booklet?"

"Would I be here in one piece if I hadn't?"

"Then you'll be fine."

Not wishing to end up in any of the dozen ways the Malfoy Enterprises could have set up their privacy wards to protect against accidental intruders, Severus carefully took a step towards the path. When his left foot hit the dirt, he let out the breath he'd been holding and finished crossing into the protective bubble to the MLD. Based on the large open space he apparated into, the professor expected a decent walk ahead of him to the building housing the research center, but once he completely crossed the wards, the grassy field transformed into a campus - for lack of a better word - consisting of two large grey stoned buildings at the end the winding stone walkway. A small pond with a walking path around the perimeter, reminding Severus of the area behind the hospital in Surrey, spanned between the two buildings, with picnic tables on the lush garden surrounding it. On a Saturday morning, the campus was quiet and serene, but he could imagine during the week when the full staff occupied the buildings, witches and wizards would be buzzing around the area, desperate for a break from their tedious bench work.

"What's the other building for?" Severus asked, only half expecting a truthful answer.

"Originally," Lucius began, walking beside the professor on their way up the now stone pathway and pointing to the building to the right of the one they were headed towards, "that one solely housed the offices for all of Malfoy Enterprises. As I'm sure you can imagine, it takes a lot of people in the background to make sure things run smoothly in all of our market reaches. Recently, most of those offices have been relocated to an equally secured location closer to London, as they'll support the new infrastructure for our Medical Center wing off St Mungo's. That project, realistically, is still several years away, however we need to start the process now.

"The rest of the departments relating specifically to the Research Center were all moved to the top floor of the building to make way for the new Training Center."

Without meaning to, Severus stopped his trek up to the laboratory.

"A training center for whom?"

Doubling back so he faced the professor, Lucius gave a half smile and challenged, "Who do you think will be running the Medical Center? Certainly not magical-only healers from St Mungo's? While I'm still working on the right enticement to secure Nadine Walker, she can hardly be expected to be responsible for every patient who requires - or requests - a combination of muggle and magical treatment."

"I suppose not," Severus agreed. He thought back to his old reality and how lucky they'd been to have Healer Walker on staff when Harry had gone in with his bloody nose and bruising. Any other healer would have treated his symptoms and sent them away having had nothing coming back on the diagnostic scans, simply because they did not know any better. The protocol at the time was not to check for Muggle illnesses in the magical population.

"We're making history, Severus," the blonde continued, "changing the entire medical system, and that will require a new training program to encompass both magical and muggle methods. That is our next and final step… to give new healers in training a path to dual certification in muggle and magical medicine. I imagine Harry's first healer had to take two separate training courses?"

"He did," the professor confirmed on behalf of Alton.

"Well, here we're going to find a way for the two separate entities to work with each other, remove any redundancies, to make it feasible… perhaps even beneficial, to pick up the dual curriculum. We're not only focusing on muggle disease, but using muggle methods to cure magical ones as well. As you'll see should we ever make it into the laboratory, we have a whole pod dedicated to studying the muggle Chicken Pox vaccination in hopes of replicating it against Dragon Pox."

It made sense, and had Severus been speaking to anyone else, he might have been impressed by the multitude of planning that had gone into this single market. However, taking a simple idea and expanding it into a business venture was how the Malfoys made their billions. What started as "helping to give the magical community more options to treat muggle diseases" was now growing into changing the landscape of magical medicine overall regardless of the disease.

"And where does Draco fall within this plan?" asked Severus, hoping the Malfoy patriarch had taken into consideration his own son's desire to become a healer.

Lucius smirked, "This is, more or less, his endeavor. He's decided to specialize in muggle diseases, similar to Healer Walker, and will help develop the curriculum to the training center."

Now that news did impress him. The fact Draco thought about going a step further in his desire to heal, meant he, too, had started to heal himself. And to pick something so personal to Hermione, Severus, and even Harry, showed the young Slytherin's ability to connect with the people around him. While Harry looked happy on the outside, a vast improvement from his outlook on life earlier in the summer, Severus suspected he still hadn't opened the letters from Draco, a very clear sign he had some way to go in healing.

If possible, the inside of the Medical Research Center was more impressive than even the Ministry of Magic. The large, spanning atrium had a cascading waterfall in the center which could only work with the help of magic pulling the water at odd angles - reminding Severus of the one at Malfoy Manor causing him to wonder if Narcissa had her hand in helping to design the campus - surrounded by a garden filled with enough plants to rival the Hogwarts gardens. The atrium itself was rectangular, reached three stories high showcasing the different floors, and completely surrounded in optically clear glass. The walls surrounding each floor were so clear, Severus almost questioned if the ceilings were held by magic until he reached out to touch one. Light poured in from the windows facing the front where they had just entered, in addition to the large chandelier lanterns charmed to burn with white flames, as opposed to the typical yellow or orange, creating a very aseptic atmosphere to the space; unique to the wizarding world, but not unlike the hospital and chemotherapy center in Surrey.

The first part of the tour brought him straight through the atrium out to the back of the campus where a large glass greenhouse - bigger than any Severus had seen, including Hogwarts' - sat directly connected to the left side of the building. A cobblestone walkway led from the back of the atrium through the side of the greenhouse, straight to a door leading, the professor assumed, directly into the laboratory. Whereas the Hogwarts greenhouses had a wide variety of magical plants to aid in the different levels of education, with a separate section maintained for the Potions Class and Infirmary, the Malfoy Research Center had rows and rows of the same plants and herbs - magical and muggle alike - they would be using in their research procedure.

"Does this supply the manufacturing of the potions," asked Severus, walking through the aisles, giving a nod to the herbologist caring for the plentiful plants, "or are these for research use only?"

"This lot," Lucius swept his hand across the entire greenhouse, "is research-grade only. We keep another, larger, greenhouse on the same site as the manufacturing facility. I've found compartmentalization is the key to keeping my Enterprise's assets as secure as possible. It's also why we try to keep everything on property as much as we can, only bringing in pre-prepared ingredients under the more dire circumstances. This way, we can attest to their purity and authenticity."

Severus nodded, understanding the underlying meaning of the statement. Under no circumstances did they want to be responsible for ill-prepared potions because they ordered powdered Fluxweed and received Henbane instead. Keeping everything in house did not account for human error, of course, however, a set of stringent requirements for employment would help keep only those with the highest plant knowledge on staff.

"And the non-plant ingredients?" The professor questioned. They'd made their way back inside and into where he assumed he would be working for the remainder of the day.

"We outsource what we must," Lucius gave a low tsk of disappointment, "but each year my team overseeing inventory management tells me we're making strides in becoming fully self-sustained."

Images of a Flubberworm breeding site flashed through Severus's mind. It would be the dream career for someone with an aptitude in Care of Magical Creatures, though definitely not something the former spy would be volunteering for anytime soon. Again, even if becoming one hundred percent self-sustained was doubtful, the benefits of being as close to that as possible would outweigh any of the potential downfalls - which was mostly the cost.

Before heading into the space Severus would be stationed at, Lucius brought him to the lower level, where a fully operational cafeteria was located with seating both inside as well as out by the lake, accessible through a set of french glass doors on the side of the room.

Then they took the lift up to the top floor where a corridor of offices were located allowing Lucius - and later Draco, though his healing career choice would alter those plans slightly - to work when in the building. The entrepreneur casually let slip that each of their buildings had identical workspaces for the executive employees, so they could stay abreast with whichever specific aspect of the business they chose to visit. The office, or more like the entire floor based on its size, had the only frosted glass in the building along the inside walls, and the outside overlooked the lake. It was stunning, and held the look of power one would expect for Lucius Malfoy.

Finally, they made their way down to the second floor where the main research laboratory was located. The laboratory looked like a large - and even that adjective didn't fully do the expansive room justice - version of his old potions classroom. The main difference, and one he welcomed whole heatedly, was instead of the dark and dreary walls and floor of the dungeons, they had white tiled floors and the same optically clear glass walls. Four long potions benches sat facing one another in "pods" as Lucius had previously alluded to, with cauldrons sitting across each station- some boiling over fires, others waiting under a stasis spell for their Potioneer's return on Monday morning - ingredients brining in jars on the desk tops and books of parchment opened to their latest work - each with a privacy spell on them allowing only the user access to their work. While they were clearly running on a weekend skeleton crew, in Severus's mind, he could feel the buzz of excitement as each team, or pod, worked through their latest conundrum. In a quick sweep of the room while they made their way towards the back, Severus counted about fifteen pods; far exceeding his expectations as to how far Lucius's reach went in potions research overall.

The far two corners of the room had doors, each with a large piece of parchment on the front, which he instantly identified as the ingredients cupboards. A long white countertop lined the walls right outside of the two cupboards with several workstations consisting of tools such as a scale, cutting board, knives of various sizes, spatulas, phials, and a mortar and pestle. There were four employees - a witch and three wizards - sitting at different stations preparing the ingredients that would be stored in the cupboard. Watching them work as he passed by, he could imagine the range of ingredients lining the shelves of the cupboards, and he found himself anxious to get started on whatever project he'd be assigned.

"Here we are," Lucius announced as they stood in front of a pod of eight benches rather than the typical four in the other areas, where a brown haired wizard about Severus's age sat behind a boiling cauldron, pretending - though as a former spy, Severus knew better - he didn't notice their arrival. Raising a single eyebrow at the different configuration, Lucius added, "When I assigned the second project, naturally the team needed to expand. Otherwise I'd never make any headway on either project."

The statement wasn't said in a manner to show his kindness, it very boldly stated how deep the Malfoys' pockets could go when they needed to be stretched. The blonde Slytherin would know Severus had his fill of grunt work as he worked his way - quicker than any other applicants at the time - through his apprenticeship. During his time on the bench, he had become intimately aware that more work never equated to more hands on the bench; only that the hands already working there needed to work faster or work longer. The offer to double the team with a second project highlighted a difference that came when choosing to work with the Malfoys.

"How very liberal of you," Severus retorted, then pointed at a completely cleared out space, "I take it, that's my area."

"You would be correct," stated the other Slytherin. "Mr Clagg, here, will assist you with the in's and out's of your workspace and projects. I'll leave the division of projects between you, however, Mr Clagg, I will point out we are fortunate to have Severus on board with us. Do keep that in mind."

To his credit, the other Potioneer took the warning from Lucius with a grain of salt and didn't appear to hold any animosity towards Severus for possible nepotism. Severus eventually learned Arlie Clagg was a Half-Blood wizard in his early-forties who went to school at Durmstrang - explaining why Severus hadn't come across the man in the potions circles to date - and had been working for the Malfoys for the last five years. Before this position, he worked in Russia for a small apothecary while finishing his apprenticeship, then moved to Hungary where he did research for potions manufacturing at Gyógyít Apothecary; a major competitor in the continental potions market and quite an impressive position for as young of a wizard as he'd have been at the time.

Clagg walked Severus through the work their pod had been doing, along with the plentiful of obstacles they ran into along the way; the major one being their overall lack of knowledge on muggle biochemistry. In addition to the two of them, there were four other wizards and two witches and some combination would be working on the weekends with him, depending on where their individual progress fell during the week. Severus's work would be starting out piggybacking off of the week day's work, until he could figure out his own schedule and get into a good working rhythm on the weekends he came into the lab. Ultimately, he would need to find a way to balance his multiple jobs - parenting Harry, obviously taking the top priority. It wouldn't be that simple though. Unfortunately, with Harry's illness as random as it was, if the young wizard woke up sick on a morning he needed to be in the lab, the professor would need to make the difficult decision on how to handle the division of his attention. The spectrum of how sick Harry ended up, combined with his other support systems, would help him choose which way to go, but it wouldn't be easy by any means. If Lucius or his pod-mates didn't understand, he would have to walk away.

Severus spent most of his first day reviewing his pod's notes about the chemotherapy potions, as that project made the most sense to him, to familiarize himself with the work they'd done and where they were headed. The sheer mountain of journals to review would take him a few weeks to get through before he could light his first cauldron, and he questioned if Lucius would allow him to take any of them off-site for reading as he could between classes. Suddenly, refusing the position when it had first been offered back in June seemed like a bad idea. He'd do it though, because Harry was worth every second of his time spent here. Even if the young wizard wouldn't be able to use the potions in lieu of chemotherapy, he could benefit from any of the other parts they'd be working on, and for that reason, he'd do whatever it took.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry spent most of the Sunday before the second week of classes in and out of the library with his friends studying, even though the homework in his classes - Potions and Herbology the only notable exceptions - was easier than the first time he took the classes. It reminded him of Hermione's comment about wishing she could retake classes… something about retaining information better the second time, he didn't exactly pay attention to her sentiment at the time. But he continued to work diligently through the theory lessons because it was expected of him and he'd rather spend time with his friends studying than alone in his dorm, then every couple of nights they'd all go to the Room of Requirement to help Harry with his practical work. So far, his accidental magic had, more or less, stayed under control and he anxiously awaited his next magical testing with Alton on Thursday; before his next chemotherapy treatment.

The first week of school healed a wound in the young wizard he hadn't realized had been there since Voldemort's return and his friends seemingly abandoned him between the summer of fourth and fifth year - at least until he'd been brought to the Order's headquarters. Having his friends around him made his life feel more normal, only now it was even better because he had a parental figure too. While he hadn't seen Snape nearly as much as he did last year, there were little things done throughout the week to let him know of his mentor's presence. The most prominent being when a basket of snacks showed up on his bedside table yesterday morning and he was more excited than he should have been to be able to avoid eating a large meal. Then of course, he had dinner with the professor the previous night where he learned about - or as much as Snape was permitted to say - his new position at the Malfoys Research Center. While most of the limited information went above Harry's level of knowledge in Potions, he could tell Snape felt satisfied and happy with the decision to start working there part-time. Hopefully once he had his magic retrained, Snape could move to a full-time position where the young wizard had no doubt the man would be happier than teaching.

Sunday night, Harry ended up back in the library with Ron and Hermione - Lavender had to serve detention after McGonagall overheard her calling Professor Sprout an old hag and Dudley was off spending time with Susan Bones - after dinner in the Great Hall. The trio sat at the end of a long table with a scattering of students - mostly fifth years - along the rest of it, everyone already deep into their studying as they frantically tried to finish assignments procrastinated from the week.

"How do we have this much work after only the first week?" Ron complained, letting his head fall onto the books in front of him. Harry had to admit, N.E.W.T.s. classes looked awful and he had his doubts on if he'd be able to catch up with such a long gap after his fifth year and his strange sixth year. But he figured he'd have plenty of time to figure all of that out, and refused to let the negativity bring him down.

"How else do you expect them to make sure we're ready for our careers?" Hermione predictably lectured.

Ron snapped his head up so quickly, Harry thought he heard his neck crack several times. He couldn't help laughing at the repulsive look upon his friend's freckled face.

"I don't know what you're planning on doing," Ron started out a little too loud, so Harry elbowed him in the side reminding him to quiet down, "but I'm not taking a job that has me doing five courses at the same time. I don't think this is real-world experience… especially if I end up working with Fred and George anyway."

"Well," huffed the Gryffindor witch, "you're… probably right."

"Mark the calendar, Harry," Ron chuckled, "'Mione said I'm right 'bout something."

Watching Hermione's reaction, Harry couldn't help noticing how frazzled, and torn, she appeared with her books scattered across the table. Even in their deepest study sessions for the O.W.L.s, she had more poise and self-assurance than one week into her N.E.W.T. courses.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry softly asked.

"Yeah," answered the witch, sounding almost defeated. Living with Snape for as long as he had, Harry learned if he stayed quiet when the awkward silence encapsulated them, he could gain more information than trying to fill in that space. He was rewarded when she continued, barely looking up at them as she spoke, "It's just… all of my life I wanted to do something important after Hogwarts… Work at the Ministry, fight for equal rights, explore and catalog missing dark artefacts…"

"Ok?" Harry prompted when she trailed off and didn't continue, "I'm sure any of those would be perfect jobs for you. Let's be honest, you could probably be Minister for Magic if you wanted to, so what's the problem?"

"The problem," she answered exasperatedly, "is that I don't think that's what I want to do anymore."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance between each other. Never had they seen their friend so unsure about herself and it broke Harry's heart. Hermione was confident, brave, and hard-working, yet deep down she had the same insecurities as they all did. Harry could relate to her, but didn't dare say so; no one wanted to hear about someone else's problem while they were struggling. He knew it didn't help one bit at making things better.

"So then what do you want to do?" Ron asked the question as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if this type of revelation, especially while she started her final year, wouldn't completely unravel her.

She took a deep breath.

"I want to open a paper," she finally looked up, and when her brown eyes met Harry's he could see a passion in them that he'd never seen before. "I want to give the Magical Community a source of information they can trust, something that's not biased, or more concerned about their ratings."

"There's the Quibbler," Ron offered, to which Hermione just glared at him.

"So, what's the problem?" Harry closed his book, more interested in helping Hermione than writing about poisonous plants for the second time. "Sounds like you know exactly what you want to do. I mean, it won't happen overnight… and you'll probably need to start with working at a paper first, but-"

"-I hardly think I need Arithmancy," she interrupted, tossing that text book over to him, "Or Herbology? Or Ancient Runes?! Half the classes I'm taking I don't need anymore."

Shhhhhh! Was said to them from the other side of the table.

"Listen to me, 'Mione," Harry reached over and held her hand, "no matter what career you pick, you'll be better off with the knowledge you have from these classes. Sure, you might not need Herbology to be a journalist, or an editor, but think about how much better your writing will be because you understand the topics you're writing about. And it will give your readers confidence in what you have to say. Trust me, do what makes you happy… life is too short to do what you think others expect you to."

He hadn't meant to say the last part, and the wetness of Hermione's eyes told him she understood the meaning behind it.

"Thank you," she choked out, as a flash of blonde crossed by their table and stopped sheepishly in front of them.

At the sight of Draco standing by their table, Harry's heart instantly started beating against his chest, trying to escape, and his hands began to sweat. He averted his eyes anywhere he could besides the grey ones watching over their table.

"Hey Weasley-," the Slytherin greeted without his usual sneer, "-Potter."

That single word. Potter. Held more meaning to it that Harry was prepared to rationalize. Unable to find his own voice, Harry nodded a quick greeting in response.

Turning to Hermione, Draco confidently said, "I was hoping I could borrow your Ancient Runes notes. Mine seem to have had an… accident with a water goblet on my desk."

Hermione flushed until her cheeks matched the color of Ron's hair. Swiftly, she started packing up her school bag. "Of course. They're back in my room, though. I finished Ancient Runes this morning."

An almost imperceptible nod came from Draco as he watched her packing up, clearly knowing that making any attempt to help and potentially ruining her unique organizational system would not end well for any of them. Once she finished packing her school bag, she told Ron and Harry, "I'll see you guys tomorrow," then left with her hand clasped in Draco's.

"They're going to snog, y'know?" Ron chuckled once the couple had completely left the library.

"I have a feeling that's not all they're doing," Harry added with a smirk, thinking back on the witch's embarrassment and Lavender's comments the other day. Suddenly, Harry's watch began to vibrate, causing him to jump a little. "Let's head back to the Tower, I need to take my medicine."

Three hours later, Harry was laying in his bed completely wrapped up in his yellow blanket from Mrs Weasley and his thick crimson Gryffindor comforter, wondering how the Tower almost felt colder than the dungeons. Staring up at the top of his bed, he could hear the wind outside angrily whipping passed the windows of their dorm. When he packed up his trunk to come back to school, Snape had mentioned something about living in a castle in Northern Scotland and it being cold. Until he arrived at the castle his first year, he didn't know what to expect about the school. When muggleborns were delivered their letter, were they told about Hogwarts being in a castle or were they instructed to read Hogwarts: A History before showing up to King's Cross Station? It would definitely explain why Hermione had been so emphatic about the text.

"Did Malfoy seem different to you tonight?" Ron's voice broke through Harry's random thoughts. "And can she really bring a bloke back to her room?"

"What do you mean by different? All he said was Weasley and Potter," Harry furrowed his brows as he tried to find any hidden meaning behind the encounter. "How had he been in classes?"

"Rather quiet, now that I think about it," the red-head almost mumbled. "He really just does his work and that's it… doesn't even answer questions."

"I can't imagine it's easy living back with the Slytherins," said Harry. He hadn't considered that before, but while he'd been welcomed back into the Tower and Gryffindor with open arms, the other wizard definitely wouldn't be with the Slytherins.

"I think Hermione's really in love with him-" Ron started, and Harry had to resist the urge to say he'd hope so, since they'd been dating for almost a year, "- I'm trying to give him a chance… for her sake." He paused and then quickly, and in almost a whisper, asked, "What was it like living with him?"

The raven-haired wizard smiled as a series of scenes from Transfiguration Roulette flooded his vision, specifically the half clock, half rabbit creature Snape had to fix for them. This was quickly followed by the time Snape caught them helping each other out on their assignments; Draco with Defense and Harry's Charms. Then images of dueling in the Room of Requirement broke in, followed by their time in the Celestial Room. Harry shook his head to clear it.

"I'd be lying if I said it was all bad," Harry admitted. "Not counting when we were… y'know…"

Ron sat up onto his side so he faced Harry. Their other dormmates were there, but none of them paid the two best friends any attention. Dean and Seamus were arguing about which dark creature they thought they could successfully battle, while Neville looked to be engrossed in one of his textbooks- Harry would bet some advanced Herbology.

"If you ever need to… talk… 'bout anything that happened there,'' Ron told him, sheepishly. "I know mum had a real hard time even after we got home from school. She still cried a lot, but wouldn't tell me or Ginny anything about what happened-"

"I'm not going to gossip about it if that's what you're thinking," Harry argued, turning onto his side to face Ron, as he propped himself up on his forearm.

"No, it's not that," his friend blurted out. He sat up on his bed with his elbows on his thighs facing Harry and he could see the struggle in Ron's eyes as he fought for the right words to explain what he meant. "I want to help you… if… you need it. We weren't really there for you much last year and… I want to be now."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Harry forced himself to calm down. What Ron was saying had to be one of the more mature things to come from the red-head. In fact, when Harry looked back on several of their more recent conversations, he couldn't help question when he'd missed his friend's growth.

Then he looked around the room when he realized how quiet the space around him had gotten. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all watching the two of them, and Harry found himself once again filled with gratitude over having friends standing - for the most part - by his side.

Biting his lower lip, Harry closed his eyes and without really thinking about it, started talking. At first he couldn't look at any of the other wizards as he explained how his relationship with Snape changed throughout the course of the year - without any details of different realities - starting from their time at his relatives and the Privet Drive attack. It got easier the longer he spoke, and before he knew it, he'd gone over the details of why Dean had to sanitize the room every night, what chemotherapy was like - even showing them his port, which Dean had wanted to ask about but didn't feel comfortable - and how come he always felt cold. He struggled through the magical theory parts, not because he didn't understand, but because he wasn't sure what he could tell them. In the end, he kept it high-level; that his magic hadn't reacted well with the chemotherapy and at one point had almost completely burned out by the end of last year. Finally, he confided in them about how unsure he felt with his future, both magically and physically.

They all got a good laugh when he explained Transfiguration Roulette and took bets on if McGonagall knew about the game, all agreeing that if so, she'd probably be very good at it. Ron commented how fortunate they were that the twins didn't know about it, and Seamus vowed to start it as a new Gryffindor tradition; something Harry shook his head over. He didn't mention how Draco told him the Slytherins played the game often, it seemed too cruel to ruin their devious plans.

When it came to the part about his own kidnapping, Harry's voice caught. At first he didn't think he'd be able to continue and he gave the lame excuse about it getting late. As the good friend he was - or trying to be - Ron brought him a goblet of water and sat beside him on his bed. When none of the other boys made a move to go to sleep, Harry gave a small nod and started to talk about his time at Malfoy Manor the best he could. It helped that he'd already gone through a lot of the stories with Snape, so his mind had time to come to terms with his own feelings on the events. This time he tried to focus the story on Malfoy Manor as a whole, rather than the people inside of it. He told them about the gardens with the hedge maze they couldn't get anywhere near, the library almost rivalling Hogwarts, and so many rooms - each with a unique name based on the theme - he couldn't imagine having them all filled at once. Given the audience, they were all as in as much awe over the structure as Harry had secretly been when he'd first seen the Manor, and if any of them wondered why he chose not to mention anything about Draco, the Death Eaters, or Voldemort, they never asked. Eventually, Harry walked them through the tunnels, where Neville shuddered over the ghost story, and how he tried to work through an escape plan using them. He made sure to tell them he'd been physically alright, and he left out everything about Draco's Ritual.

The story finally turned to the night of the rescue and again Harry didn't know if he wanted to explain it all. For one, he barely understood what happened, then of course he'd basically have to relive it. Thankfully, most of those details had been in the Daily Prophet's almost constant stream of news articles about Snape, Harry, and the defeat of Voldemort. After everything Harry had gone through, he felt validated to know his friends understood why he threw himself in front of the killing curse for the professor they had once collectively hated. There was no mention about the Order, or about Harry continuing to live with Snape over the summer. They had questions: why Harry's magic needed to be retrained, if they needed to do anything besides Dean continuing to sanitize the room, and how he felt about Draco - the last one strangely from Neville.

It was almost two in the morning by the time they dimmed the lanterns and the seventh year boys were all in their beds. Dawn - along with Harry's morning run - would come way too quickly, but Harry didn't care about it one bit because he felt closer to his friends and lighter with each passing day.

~~~~SS~~~~

Wednesday, 10 September 1997

The irony of having Harry's third year class on the same days - Wednesdays and Fridays - as the seventh year wasn't lost on Severus. Wednesdays in particular were enlightening because the two classes straddled the lunch hour, third year directly before and seventh year directly afterwards, reminding the professor of where Harry was compared to where he should be.

"Take your seats," he called to the seventh years as they entered, still distracted and loud from their lunch break. Generally speaking, he used the first class of the week as lecture and the second class as practical work, however he made exceptions for the lessons directly after lunch. He learned early on in his teaching career trying to lecture to any level of students post lunch ended in disaster and half the class asleep. In the case of this class, they were also challenged with being the last class of the week, but Severus prioritized the lunch coma over the end of week jitters, meaning their first class for the week generally focused on the practical lesson - dueling revision specifically on today's agenda - as opposed to a theory lecture.

He sat at his desk watching his students file in, still impressed with the high number who qualified to take the course. It had been Harry's extra defense lessons in his fifth year that created a wave of students not only able to pass the O.W.L. but who were also interested enough in the course to continue to the N.E.W.T. level. As much as Severus, himself, hated teaching, with the Auror program no longer in the cards for Harry's future career, he thought the young wizard should consider teaching; either at Hogwarts or as a private tutor. He had the patience and discipline needed to deal with young kids - two characteristics Severus generally did not possess - and if it weren't something he legitimately enjoyed, there wouldn't be so many students currently excelling in Defense Against the Dark Arts from only a year of clandestine tutoring. A battle and a conversation for another day, possibly with Minerva first, but as Harry continued to thrive through his chemotherapy, at some point his future career plans would need to be discussed.

The students seemed to only get louder as they filed into the classroom and to their seats; generally speaking, a negative sign for the class overall. Luckily, with six years of classes behind them, everyone had enough sense to be seated before the bell rang - the only notable exception being Lavender Brown's empty seat, an interesting observation as her boyfriend was in attendance beside her usual spot - and he stood from his desk to signal the start of class.

"Today," he started, his deep voice echoing on the stone walls and immediately ceasing all the lingering talking, "we'll be reviewing the defensive strategies you should have mastered at the end of last year and you will find to be a focus on your N.E.W.T. exam at-"

The door in the back of the room opened up and in walked the missing Gryffindor witch. Her cheeks flushed as the entire classroom turned to watch her approach her usual seat in the third row.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Brown," Severus announced, refusing to allow her tardiness to go unpunished. "That will be ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of presence when the lesson began. Unless of course, you have a logical explanation for being late to my class when you've just come from lunch."

He lifted his eyebrows and held out his hands, challenging her to continue. Any other student wouldn't take the bait and instead would choose to sit down and focus on their work. Nonetheless, this particular student always had been different from her peers.

"Oh," she said with a giggle, "I had to stop by the lavatory to freshen up before class. You'd be surprised how much lipstick comes off while eating lunch, and by the end, I looked absolutely ghastly!"

The Gryffindor witch slowly took her seat, while the entire room sat still in silence as the ridiculousness of her answer hung heavy in the air. Choosing to not validate her need for grooming over being in class on time, he let the points stand and continued with his lesson for the day.

For the most part, the rest of class went relatively easy. The professor first had the students team up in pairs, having to hide his surprise when Draco chose Blaise - Hermione turned the blonde down, stating that putting them together wouldn't be a fair team - and then he assigned two-on-two duels staggered throughout the classroom. Given how quickly the spells started flying, he immediately regretted the decision not to take this class outside, and silently gave Tonks more credit for seeing the class to the end last term. Clearly the Hufflepuff managed to hold her own against students practically her own age and this year he looked forward to starting his courses with a more well rounded batch of students than following Umbridge's reign of terror during his first term teaching Defense.

Draco and Blaise were paired against Hermione and Parvati, who Severus hoped would provide Draco a decent opponent while still challenging his loyalty towards his girlfriend. While he no longer had to prepare the young Slytherin to be a spy, he always liked to put those with close relations against one another to help hone their ability to focus when faced with an opponent they may not want to duel. As expected, the boys took the upper hand early on, fighting both more aggressively as well as a bit more underhanded than Severus would have liked to see in a classroom setting. Draco refrained from any harmful hexes - as they'd planned, just in case his wand were randomly inspected - however his ability to turn even the most mundane spells into an attack or defense was notable and remarkable. Blaise also seemed to have become more confident in his spellwork - from the repertoire of the spells he used to his accuracy of them - since the last class Severus had taught. To say he was impressed with the pair of wizards would be an understatement, and if he'd made a wager on the winner of the duel based on their ferocity at the start, he doubted the girls stood a chance.

Against all odds, the foursome outlasted every other group in the class, but unfortunately, the Slytherins' overall lack of communication cost them the duel in the end, and rather quickly he noted. Where Hermione and Parvati looked as if they could practically read each other's minds while they ducked and crouched between the desks around the perimeter of the room, taking open shots almost in a synchronized manner, Blaise and Draco failed to coordinate their attacks the longer the duel continued. As their arena grew from the other students' fights ending, the pair of wizards found themselves further away from one another, and losing that visual caused them to forget to work as a team - out of sight, out of mind really was a phrase to remember in almost any magical discipline. Not coordinating their attacks and defenses meant when the boys both went to hit Parvati - Draco with incarcerous and Blaise with stupefy, both blocked with ease - neither were prepared for Hermione's sneak attack on Draco from behind; ironically also with incarcerous. From there, the two-on-one duel didn't take long for Blaise to fall and the classroom, all of whom had been silently watching them, erupted in cheering.

Bested by his girlfriend, Draco's face turned a bright red when Hermione walked over and cut off the ropes detaining him. Even more surprising to Severus than Zabini and Draco's choice to pair up was when the olive skinned wizard held out his hand to help Draco up from the floor.

"We'll get 'em next time," he heard Zabini tell the blonde as they walked back to their newly placed desks.

Returning to the front of the classroom, the students quieted down almost autonomously, "Based on the performances I saw today, I don't feel the need to spend an exorbitant amount of time on revision from last term." He waved his wand and small, folded pieces of parchment raced from his desk and landed specifically in front of the respective student.

"You'll find the parchment before you contains two spells, one offensive and one defensive," he clasped his hands behind his back as he paced the front, "These are unique to you, as they are spells which I've identified during this lesson as potential weaknesses. I've provided you with an example of your downfall in using the incantation, and I expect a scroll of parchment per spell on how the spells should be performed and how you expect to improve upon them throughout the year.

"This will be part of a term-long project where we'll have similar bimonthly duels - though the next may be outdoors - and I will continue to provide you with a detailed list of improvements. While today's list is inclusive of spells only, that will not always be the case. Things like teamwork-," he looked towards Ron and Neville, "- a wider variation of spells, and communication-" a sideways glance at Draco and Blaise, "-may also be included. The partner you chose today will be your partner through the end of term, and I highly encourage you to study, practice, and learn how your individual style can help you grow stronger as a team. As N.E.W.T. students, seventy percent of your final grade will be your practical examinations, so heed my warning to take these exercises seriously."

The faces of the students staring back at him had a satisfying combination of terror, excitement, and dread. All a sure sign he'd done his job well. As if on cue, the bell rang signalling the end of class right as he finished speaking his last word and the students filtered out of the room rapidly talking about this unique assignment.

"How did you feel tonight went?" Severus asked Harry while the young wizard assisted in setting the table for a late dinner in their quarters the next night.

The pair of wizards had just completed Harry's magical testing in the Room of Requirement less than an hour ago. Alton ran Harry through the same tests he did before school started, and while the young wizard's magic didn't react any different than during his baseline testing, according to Alton's magical readouts there was no indication of any negative impact from the retraining process. Unsurprisingly, no matter how many different ways Severus asked the question, Alton couldn't - or wouldn't - give any information on if it had been beneficial at reducing his accidental magic. The professor understood they simply didn't have enough data yet, but the healer's claim over the fact Harry had not experienced any accidental magic being a good sign didn't exactly do much to ease his mind.

The testing ended up going well past dinner time, and therefore Severus invited Harry to dinner in their quarters, excited to have some good time with the young wizard he thought of as his son.

Severus watched Harry from the corner of his eye, reach up to pull down two white plates - similar to their home in Spinner's End - from the kitchen shelf and went to set them down at their usual seats. The act, so normal and carefree, pulled at Severus's heart simultaneously; aching and comforting him.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, Severus missed Harry this year. Never would he wish to go back to the life of intensive chemotherapy - where Harry's own life sat previously in the balance - but without the young wizard living with him daily, the professor often found himself worrying over Harry's wellbeing. Most mornings, he struggled with waking up not knowing which reality he lived in, and more importantly, if Harry was alive and safely sleeping upstairs in the Tower. While the anxiety and confusion usually dissipated relatively quickly, occasionally it took until he saw the Gryffindor in the Great Hall during breakfast - happily chatting with his friends and eating what would be considered a decent breakfast given his past struggles - for Severus's mind to accept that all was well.

Unfortunately, that morning, on top of his usual panic, the former spy woke up feeling something bad was going to happen. His intuition forced his eyes open before dawn to the crackling of his fireplace in the otherwise dark and silent bedroom; unable to shake the feeling of impending disaster. Naturally, he first checked the sphere by his bed, which had been quiet since their return to the castle, and thinking back at this month between Harry's treatments, it had been oddly uneventful in regards to the good and bad days. Harry had been taking his medications - Severus occasionally verified this after their Defense class - and yet they were now two days away from his next chemotherapy appointment and the young wizard hadn't had any lingering side effects from the tablets. No matter how much Severus wanted to believe Harry's body had fully adjusted to the medications and they'd seen the last of his "bad days", he knew better. Dr Swanson's message to them both had been crystal clear: they should expect Harry to experience varying reactions throughout Maintenance, even though he took the same medications for years. Basically, they needed to enjoy the good days when they came, and get through the bad ones as best they could. As their first month of all good days, though, Severus found it difficult not to hope it stayed this way forever.

"I think it went well," the Gryffindor told him, as he sat down and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "I mean, my magic isn't getting worse and I haven't had any accidental magic, so what else could I ask for? And once I start mastering some of these spells, maybe things will pick up?"

Severus uncharacteristically plopped himself down at the other place settings and started serving out the Shepard's Pie - one of Harry's favorites - served from the House Elves. "You also haven't had any rough days this month, which incidentally, is when you typically saw the accidental magic attacks."

"Sure," Harry smirked, "go ahead and jinx it, why don't you?"

Severus watched the teen until he took a tentative bite of his food, "All I'm saying is to keep your expectations-"

"-leveled," Harry interrupted, his smirk turned into a frown. "You say that a lot… too much, even. Can't you just let me enjoy the normal month I've had? If you think I don't know what's coming up, you need to take a good look at which one of us is actually going through this."

He deserved it. He knew his anxious mood fueled his comment towards the young wizard and although it had come from a place of concern for the teen, it clearly didn't come across that way to Harry.

Waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Weren't those the words Dr Snyder had told Harry at his first appointment? Hadn't Severus, himself, told the young wizard not to live for what might happen? Again, he questioned why his own advice - especially the positive type - never seemed to apply for him.

"You have my sincerest apologies," Severus's low, baritone voice rang across the tiny kitchen. In response, Harry lifted his head just enough for his emerald eyes to meet the professor's over his wire-rimmed glasses. The pain in those eyes, aided by being caused from his own words, cut into him like a knife."If I could switch places with you, I wouldn't think twice."

The air around them became heavy with grief and regret. Harry looked back down at his plate, swirling his food until it made a sloppy paste. Severus knew hearing a declaration like that one made Harry uncomfortable, but he needed to hear it. He needed to understand what it meant.

When the silence became too much to bear and Harry started to shift in his chair - likely feeling scrutinized - the Gryffindor dropped his fork and, with a face filled with consternation, demanded, "Why do you say things like that?"

Severus watched Harry fiddle with his watch, a sign demonstrating he understood the reason, but had a hard time accepting it.

"Because I care about you, Harry," Severus sadly answered, "and it hurts me to see you in the pain you've had to experience. Something no one should ever have to go through, yet it would hurt me less to do it myself than how I feel watching you continue to suffer and know there's nothing I can do to make it go away."

Harry's extremely small, yet still there, smile calmed his nerves and right about the time Severus thought perhaps his instincts over something bad happening that day were wrong, a piece of parchment popped up in front of his face - the signal someone had approached his door - and a loud, frantic banging came from the entrance. Confidently, Severus picked up the parchment and at the sight of the name written in a golden script, all of the air from his lungs immediately emptied. Hermione Granger. The muggleborn's name, combined with her frantic pound at his door, brought the professor back to the day which forever changed their lives: the day Harry had the vision about his role with the prophecy.

Without saying a word, Severus rushed from the table to the door, hearing Harry follow behind him.

"Professor Snape," Hermione's exasperated voice called out to him from behind the door at the exact moment he opened it. The Gryffindor witch, still in her school robes, was bent over with her hands firmly on her knees trying to catch her breath. Regardless of where she'd been - most likely the library - when she decided to race to the dungeons, it appeared she hadn't slowed for a second until she reached his door.

"Miss Granger-"

"They took him!" She called out almost hysterically. "They just stormed into the library, disarmed him, and grabbed him. Can they do that?!"

"Who did?" Severus asked, assuming whatever she'd just described happened to Draco.

"The Aurors!" She yelled at him.

"Dammit!" Severus cursed, grabbing his teaching robes to throw over his casual Oxford white shirt and black trousers, in hopes to intimidate Williamson at least a little bit. Through gritted teeth, and more to himself than the two students, he muttered, "What do they expect to find at almost nine o'clock at night?!"

"Sir?" Harry's quiet voice came from behind him. "What's going on?"

"I have to go to the Headmaster's office," he said to Harry, lifting his hand to stop the upcoming interruption. "I can't explain it now, but feel free to stay as long as you'd like… finish your dinner."

"But-"

"Do as I say, Harry," the professor demanded.

Satisfied with the small nod from Harry, Severus stormed out the door hoping to relieve his pent up tension on an overzealous auror.

~~~~SS~~~~

Slamming open Albus's door had never felt so good to Severus, though he suspected the headmaster had already been expecting his arrival, as the eldest wizard hardly flinched when the wooden door hit the back of the wall, taking down the element of surprise. Draco was seated in the left side chair across from the esteemed desk, with Kingsley, Albus, Minerva, and Auror Williamson standing around him, the young Slytherin's hawthorn wand clasped tightly in the latter's hands.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Severus threatened, gesturing towards the wand in question.

"Calm down," Williamson taunted him. "We haven't started yet."

The former spy approached the other wizard and, not backing down, he challenged, "According to our Head Girl, you've been in possession of his wand since you illegally detained him. How do I know you haven't tampered with it?"

Standing up tall, his broad shoulders pushed back, Williamson didn't attempt to hide eyes drifting down to Severus's left forearm. Then in a voice just above a whisper he growled, "Which one of us is the Auror again?" He raised his eyebrows, challenging Severus to answer, who refused to give the man the satisfaction. A smirk rivalling Lucius's crossed Williamson's face as he said, "That's right, it's me."

"Severus," Minerva's stern voice brought him back to the room around him, "I was within view of Mr Malfoy's wand the entire time it was in Auror Williamson's possession. I can confirm nothing nefarious happened to it."

He narrowed his eyes at Williamson, "And practically arresting him?"

"We have that right, Severus," Kingsley spoke up. "Though I will make sure going forward, it's not nearly as harsh as tonight."

"We do appreciate that," Albus said, stepping out from the shadows of the office and sauntering in front of Draco. "Shall we continue, gentlemen?"

"Of course, Albus," Kingsley responded. He pulled out a book of red parchment, which would allow him to record their findings simultaneously creating a certified copy directly to the auror's office at the DMLE. That second copy, found on yellowed parchment, would then be the official document and completely tamper resistant. "Auror Williamson will cast the Priori Incantato and I will record the spells on this parchment. Once I reach twelve, the number randomly selected for tonight's check-in, he'll cast the counter charm. Only those twelve spells will be under review for the inspection. At this point, I'll have Albus and Severus sign as witnesses for Mr Malfoy, and Mark will sign as the witness for the DMLE.

"Once we all sign this document, it's binding, so should you disagree with anything I've written, speak up because you will not get a chance to disagree later. Only after all of the signatures are obtained will Mr Malfoy be able to take possession of his wand. Any questions?"

"What if we can't tell what the prior spell is from the echo?" Severus asked in an attempt to prevent any issues during the process.

"Great question," Kingsley said, turning to Draco. "You cannot speak or try to explain any of the spells that we may see. The only exception is if we can't collectively decide what the spell is. I, and I alone, will be the one to ask you to tell us what it is. You can answer with the title of the spell, like fire-making, or the incantation, incendio, but nothing else. No explanation, or reasoning. Trust me, that's in your best interest."

Impressed with the answer, and satisfied that Draco's rights were being maintained, Severus nodded his agreement to the group.

As he'd been instructed, Draco stayed silent while the two aurors pulled the last twelve spells from his wand. With each spell they saw, Kingsley recorded it on the official record, and luckily they were all relatively easy to distinguish: a drying spell, two aguamentis, three levitation charms - all consistent with spells used when studying in the library - and then an accio, a hot air charm commonly used after showering, Colloportus and a ward specific to his dorm room door, Nox, and Lumos. Auror Williamson casted Deletrius right after the twelfth one, ending the reversal spell and surprising Severus with his integrity not to try and draw it out further - though he had been in Gryffindor, not Slytherin, so perhaps it made more sense than Severus original thought.

"Can you verify everything on here looks correct?" Kingsley requested, handing the parchment to Albus who walked over towards Severus so they could review it together.

Although the former spy had no qualms with the head auror, he made sure to review the document carefully; checking the accuracy of every character written before reluctantly signing his name at the bottom.

"Do I get my wand back now?" Draco asked, speaking up for the first time since Severus arrived in the office, causing conflict within the professor about the pride he felt. With his wand back in his possession, the blonde wizard rolled it between his hands - as if verifying its authenticity - and said, "I take it I'm done?"

"Yes," Kingsley answered, "although, I'd like to remind you these visits will continue throughout the year at a random frequency and time of day."

An official auror statement if he'd ever heard one. Draco stood to leave and Severus had every intention of joining him until Albus called him back.

"Severus," the headmaster's smooth voice rang through the office, "I need you and Auror Shacklebolt to stay for a minute. Minerva, if you'd so kindly see Auror Williamson out, I would be most appreciative."

Hesitantly, the former spy sat down in the seat Draco vacated.

"I can see myself out, headmaster," the auror answered. Minerva pursed her lips, but nodded, while watching Draco. Severus released a small sigh - she'd make sure his student got back to his dorm without any run-ins with the man. Turning to Kingsley, Williamson said, "I'll head back and start processing the report."

"Thank you, Williamson," the other auror replied. "I'll be back at the office shortly."

When Minerva, Draco, and Williamson left, Albus casually walked around to his desk and sat down in his large - far too stuffed for Severus's liking - chair and Kingsley took the other chair beside the younger professor.

"I don't like this," Severus grumbled, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. "He cannot come into this school and literally drag out an innocent student."

"I'll remind him for these visits that Mr Malfoy is assumed innocent until proven guilty," Kingsley reasoned. "However, these do need to be taken seriously. Any infraction on Mr Malfoy's part will get him arrested, no questions asked. I know you don't like Williamson, but he's the best man on the force right now. He may not like the Malfoys' lean sentence, but he'll be fair, so long as there's nothing to hide."

"We understand," Albus jumped in. "Now, can we move onto bigger, though not necessarily more important, issues at hand?"

"Certainly," Severus agreed, ready to put this night behind him and get back to his quarters. "Am I to assume there's been an update on our favorite terror organization?"

"Unfortunately, so," Albus began. His blue eyes dulled behind his half-moon spectacles, showing his pain in having to report this. "There's been another attack. This time in Godric's Hollow."

Severus tightly closed his eyes as he thought back to the visit he and Harry took to the young wizard's birthplace only three months ago.

"How can we be sure it's Death Eaters?"

This time, Kingsley spoke, "It followed the same pattern as the Diagon Alley attack. Arson to the buildings, followed by a magical explosion. I'm sure the details will be in the Prophet tomorrow morning, though I did ask them to give us a couple of days to process the scene before releasing any information. We'll see if they comply."

"And we're certain Talpin and Ash couldn't somehow be behind this?"

He knew the answer, but had to ask to be sure because the implication was far too damaging. He'd hoped the two Death Eaters were acting alone - as evident from their mediocre attack on Diagon Alley - however two attacks so closely linked would point to an organized group. To make matters worse, Harry had been at the wizarding marketplace the day of the attack and now his birthplace had been targeted, which did not bode well for the child's safety.

"They were tried two days ago and sentenced to ten years in Azkaban each," the auror replied, insulted. "We pulled their memories at the time of arrest, and again at their trial, and weren't able to find any connections to more recent Death Eater activity. We'll keep trying though."

"If you keep digging like that, you're going to make them insane," Severus warned; images of the Longbottoms flooded his vision.

No one responded about how that wouldn't exactly be the worst thing in the world.

"What's their angle?" The Slytherin challenged. "If there are Death Eaters trying to reorganize, which I still believe is close to impossible with the crew I know to be in Azkaban, why? Voldemort wanted to overpower the muggles, yet there are two attacks on the magical community. It doesn't make sense."

"Most acts of terrorism don't make sense," Kingsley responded, sadly. "We may never know, and definitely not until we catch those responsible for this new incident."

Focusing back to Albus, the professor urgently asked, "What does this mean for Harry? I'm guessing you think he's a target?"

"It's still too early to say, Severus," the headmaster explained. "I don't want to add any undue stress to the boy, so I'll trust your discretion on the matter. Should we find more concrete evidence of him being in danger, we'll notify you immediately. In the meantime, should you hear anything, please do bring it to our attention."

It went without saying, but he nodded his agreement for good measure. He wouldn't lie to Harry, but given how much the young wizard struggled this summer, he refused to add to the burden already upon him for a suspected and unsubstantiated claim. It would be a conversation he'd have with caution and care, adjusting based on how Harry reacted to the news.

The three wizards spent the next hour going over the sparse information they learned from Ash and Talpin's memories, and Severus updated the other two - at a very high level - on the shipping manifest from Lucius, as well as Harry's condition; both in regards to his illness and magic. He could tell Albus had his own doubts over the magical training being successful, and while Severus didn't disagree, he also wanted to support Harry however he could.

"Before you go, Severus," Kingsley called out to him, after the former spy bid the wizards farewell and was down the spiral staircase headed back to his quarters having already stayed longer than he'd wanted. Without speaking a word, Severus raised his eyebrows for the auror to continue. "I found something interesting when processing the images from Harry's memory of the Diagon Alley attack."

That certainly piqued the former spy's interest. "Do tell," he prompted when the other man finally caught up to his place in the corridor.

"Draco couldn't be found in any of them."

He didn't react; Kingsley would be looking for how he took the news.

"Perhaps Harry didn't recognize him there?" the professor suggested, "or simply didn't get a good look around with everything else going on."

"It doesn't work that way, Severus, and you know it."

"Dammit, Kingsley," he growled. "What do you expect? You had to have missed something because he was there!"

The auror he respected more than anyone else in the entire DMLE - the whole ministry, if he were honest - sighed almost defeatedly.

"If I were you," he nodded his head at Severus seriously, "I'd try to get some answers from the young Mr Malfoy. It could help to quickly clear up the situation."

Severus chose to take the longer path down to his quarters in an effort to start processing the information he'd learned. Draco seeing more of these visits definitely would be expected, although he hoped they'd be far less aggressive - on his end as well - going forward, but it was the information he received from Kingsley that concerned him the most. The attack in Godric's Hollow, plus the sentencing of Ash and Talpin, couldn't be anything good, especially with Harry having chemotherapy on Saturday, an event scheduled in advance on a very regular cadence. Anyone who read the Prophet knew about Harry's cancer, and while it may take a Death Eater some searching, eventually they'd find the chemotherapy center and his schedule.

Thinking about Harry brought the professor back to their pseudo-argument before Hermione's arrival. Being half past eleven at night, and past curfew, meant Harry would be back up in the Tower, hopefully back asleep not putting any extra thought into what happened over dinner. The Gryffindor's magical testing had been positive and he shouldn't have said otherwise.

Opening the door to his quarters Severus hung his teaching robes up on the coat rack behind the door without a second thought at the lanterns dimly lit around the room. Fully prepared to pour himself a glass of Firewhiskey to help calm his mind and relax in front of the fire, he smiled when he entered the sitting room. Laying across the sofa, in the same manner he always did when he fell asleep, was Harry. Though still dressed in his jeans and Gryffindor jumper, he looked so peaceful laying on his back with his right arm draped over his forehead - pushing his glasses down his nose - and his left arm extended, hanging off the side.

Harry stayed and tried to wait up for him. Swallowing back the rise of emotions - not prepared to deal with them that night - Severus drew his wand and summoned Harry's red blanket he kept in his bedroom down there. As he placed it over the young wizard, he noticed how exhausted he looked, even while asleep. These first few weeks of school would be an adjustment with his lingering illness, but somehow Harry continued to push through it, never really dwelling on the injustice of his life, though no one would blame him if he had.

Abandoning his pre-bedtime plans, Severus carefully removed Harry's glasses and placed them on the table in front of the sofa. "I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered.

"M'sorry too," Harry mumbled, but didn't open his eyes or give any other indication he had truly awoken. They'd talk tomorrow and be fine, but not for the first time, he wished his life were just a little less complicated for the Gryffindor.

~~~~HP~~~~

Saturday 13, September 1997

In order to give Harry the most time to get through the chemotherapy side effects, Snape moved his normal mid-day appointment at the clinic to first thing in the morning. The extra couple of hours would hopefully make it so the young wizard could be back in classes Monday morning because after the positive - regardless of whatever Snape thought - results from his magical test, he wanted to continue to give his magic the best chance possible.

Normally, Harry had no issues with getting up early - he'd done it for years living with the Dursleys and three days a week now to go running with Dudley - but being up at half past five in the morning to be at his seven o'clock chemo appointment made him grumpier than usual. Given the early wake up call for a Saturday, the Gryffindor stayed the night in Snape's quarters so he didn't unnecessarily wake up any of his dormmates. Dressed in a mismatched pair of jogging bottoms and a green long sleeved buttoned pyjama top, Harry felt more self-conscious than usual. Typically, he didn't mind wearing the comfortable clothing to the clinic, and although the other patients and nurses there wouldn't mock him, he still didn't feel good about walking through the castle looking so ragged.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he saw Snape sitting at the table with his normal cup of black coffee reading the Daily Prophet.

"I don't want to go,"declared Harry as he practically flung himself into the chair in front of his bowl of porridge.

"I could gather as much," the professor answered without giving Harry anywhere near the reaction he'd hoped for. Glancing over the top of the paper, the professor nodded his head for Harry to begin eating and asked, "Why don't you want to go today?"

Forced to think rationally about the situation, the blunt question managed to kick Harry's grumpy mood down a notch.

Eventually, he lifted his head and explained, "I've just been feeling so good lately - even better than before my diagnosis, which I now can see how sick I was then without even knowing it-" he shook his head in disbelief, "-and it seems counterproductive to make myself sick again."

That statement had managed to get Snape's full attention. He folded the paper closed and placed it down on the table where Harry could see the headline Godric's Hollow Under Attack. Yesterday, Snape explained to him what happened in Godric's Hollow. How suspected former - Harry still cringed at the words that sounded too much like defected, as in Snape's case - Death Eaters tore through the town, setting fire to anything they could on a direct path to his old home. The wards around the Potter home recorded a variety of attempts to break through them and bring the house down, ending with Fiendfyre. None of the curses made it through that night, but the picture on the front page of the Prophet showed the dozen or so homes which hadn't been as fortunate. Rationally, he knew he shouldn't blame himself, but watching the picture span down the burnt street, he did. Harry heart ached at the damage caused - and the two lives lost - from that night.

The young wizard convinced himself to peel his eyes away from the paper and back to Snape. The black ones staring back at him didn't usually hold sympathy, knowing Harry wouldn't want that kind of attention, yet that morning, they most certainly did.

"This is the exact complacency Dr Swanson warned us about," he carefully explained. "You won't continue to feel this well if you don't continue to go to these appointments."

"I know that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it," he grabbed for a banana from the bowl of fruit on the table and started cutting it up into his bowl. "Do you think they were looking for me?"

"In your condemned, abandoned home? Not at all. Your location in the school is not a secret," the professor flipped the paper over so the picture now faced the table. "If anything this was a statement, a draw for attention."

"From who?"

"Whom," Snape corrected, causing Harry to roll his eyes. "And it could be anyone. The attack on Diagon Alley had been done by lowly followers, so Occam's Razor says there are likely more of them out there. I promise you, Harry, they will not have enough support behind them to do much harm. Eventually, this will die down."

"Did it happen last time?"

The conflict in Snape's face couldn't be any more obvious, and Harry wondered if the man would choose to lie.

"No," he answered honestly. "After the first war, most of his followers who weren't arrested or killed went into hiding. Remember, it had been a different time then, we'd been in war for years already. Even the Death Eaters found relief in its ending."

Harry nodded mindlessly, understanding the words he said, but not fully able to appreciate them. Lives had been torn apart from the first war, and while his had been forever changed - for the years to come after 31st October 1981 - it wasn't in the same way. He'd been too young to really understand, on a fundamental level, what the people who fought and lived in fear had gone through.

In the silence, Snape had summoned what appeared to be work for his new lab position. A book of parchment came flying in from the other room. As Snape added his notes into the margins, taking a quiet sip of his coffee after each addition, Harry could see the pages filled with equations, ingredients, and formulas. To the Gryffindor, it looked like gibberish, but he knew Snape's love for the subject made it easy for the man to translate and lose himself in the text.

They sat in a stiff silence until Harry finished about half of his breakfast; a good amount given he would be seeing it later in the day.

"Why do you drink coffee?"

Instantly, a small flush creeped up his cheeks at the juvenile question he'd thought about each morning and had never expected to actually ask; blaming the early morning wake up call on his lack of self-control.

"Why do you drink pumpkin juice?" Snape countered.

"You just don't come across as a coffee person over tea," Harry reasoned, he couldn't exactly take the question back so he figured he should at least try to get the answer.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry and just when the Gryffindor assumed he wouldn't get one, he heard, "Outside of one's particular preference for its taste, coffee contains more caffeine than tea. At one point in my previous life, I found myself getting very little sleep and found consuming coffee, occasionally with an Invigorating Draught, helped to get through the day."

Harry felt his cheeks turn a darker shade of red, picking up on the times Snape alluded to: back when the other Harry had been dying.

"I'll just go grab my bag now," the young wizard said, anxious to get out of the memories he'd drawn up for the professor. "Are we flooing home first or apparating there?"

"We'll be apparating to the hospital and back," Snape answered, his long fingers pinching closed his eyes. "I figured it might be easier that way then to apparate then floo."

While he didn't exactly like the idea of walking through the grounds and castle to come back, Harry couldn't disagree because the last thing he wanted after chemotherapy was to endure two forms of magical transportation back to back.

At barely half past six in the morning, the walk through the castle felt almost calming to the Gryffindor. The corridors were quiet and the lanterns low, similar to how they were when he used to roam the castle at night. His footsteps echoed through the empty large hall - with a small squeak from his trainers every now and then - once they made their way up the stairs from the dungeons. The rare silence throughout the castle confirmed the long time rumour of Snape's ability to walk without making a single sound. Crossing the Entrance Hall and out the expansive wooden doors, Harry wondered how the man managed to do it and tried to lighten the pressure of his own steps to no avail.

The sun had barely started to rise at the early hour, and therefore as they exited the courtyard to the pathway leading towards Hogsmeade, Harry was greeted by the first streaks of golden light reaching across the purple and blue sky. The melody from the early birds chirping held the promise of a beautiful Saturday afternoon; one he'd spend sick in bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Crookshanks crouched down in the grass, his ears tucked back on his head, clearly trying to hunt one of the birds in the tree above him. Not wanting to disturb Hermione's familiar, Harry slowed his gait to a stop, which Snape - a half step in front of him - noticed and oddly followed suit, his own black eyes watching the feline off to the side. Suddenly, a small white kitten jumped up from behind the large ginger cat toward the tree. The ball of white fluff - a Persian cat, Harry knew - had no chance of reaching the bird in the tree, making Harry chuckle a bit at the attempt.

"Hey there, Crookshanks, I haven't seen you much lately," Harry said, kneeling down to the cat he knew so well. Crookshanks walked up to the Gryffindor and rubbed his face against Harry's knee."Who's this you have here? A friend?"

He reached his hand out to the kitten, half hoping to get them back into the castle before something much larger than the new feline confused it for breakfast. Unfortunately, before his hand could get anywhere near the fluffy animal, it swiftly arched its back aggressively and hissed at him. The small mouth with tiny, albeit very sharp, teeth didn't appear nearly as intimidating as he was sure the kitten thought. Still, he didn't dare try to approach it again. Harry turned to Snape, not like the professor would be able to do anything, but he hadn't expected to see the other wizard watching the pair of cats so intently; his dark brows furrowed and his head turned, deep in thought.

"You two better go back inside before something tries to get your new friend," Harry told Crookshanks. Being such a low-key cat, Crookshanks's answer to him was to stretch his body across Harry's side while the Gryffindor scratched his back. Unfortunately, the kitten didn't seem nearly as relaxed as his older companion.

The sound of Snape clearing his throat caught Harry's attention; they had to go or he'd be late for his treatment. So he picked his bag back up and as he walked by, the kitten swatted at him with its powder puff paw in an action far too cute to be threatening.

"I bet every girl in the school wants that familiar," Harry said to Snape, but the professor's inquisitive expression told him the man either disagreed or his mind was entirely some place else.

"Harry Potter?" A voice Harry didn't recognize called his name from the doorway leading back to exam rooms where he would be getting his blood drawn and his IT treatment done.

The young wizard had seen the nurse with bright blonde hair at each appointment, but she'd never been assigned to his care; he'd always had Samantha. Although Harry usually prided himself in his flexibility, having a new nurse didn't feel right to him. Snape, though, didn't seem to care too much as the professor spent more time than usual handing in his pre-treatment paperwork, even before they knew this new nurse would be assigned to his care.

"My name's Mae," the muggle introduced herself and at the same time gestured for him to enter the first exam room on the right. "And I'll be getting you all set up for your treatment this morning-" she looked down at the file in her hand, "-an intrathecal and one hour Vincristine?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, then without thinking about how it would sound to the nurse, he asked "Where's Samantha?"

The blonde gave a shake of her head and sent him an exaggerated expression, "I know it may seem like we're always working, but occasionally we do get vacations, y'know? I hope she's somewhere soaking up some sun while I'm working her early shift on top of my own this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound-"

Her laugh to his uncomfortable response reminded him of Tonks - an older version of Tonks, but the same sassy attitude, nonetheless - and caused him to pause.

"I'm just giving you a hard time," she reassured him, sitting in the chair across from him - already up on the exam table, as usual - with Snape in the plastic chair to her right. "Samantha is on vacation, though, and I am working a double this weekend and the next."

Wait, did she say the last part to Severus?

Harry contemplated the question as the new nurse took his blood pressure, his height and weight, and went through the myriad of questions about his last month. By the time she'd taken his blood sample and set him up with the antiemetic medication - giving him a wink when she said she'd allow them to stay in the exam room - he determined it did, in fact, appear like she told his mentor she'd be working a double shift this weekend and the next. But why would she bother with that tidbit of information? And did he imagine it or did Snape seem to pick up some kind of hidden meaning behind the statement? The man had given an almost imperceptible nod. In fact, had Harry not been so aware of the professor's mannerisms, he probably wouldn't have noticed or understood its meaning. Before Harry could ask Snape - who spent most of his time in the exam room still reviewing the book of parchment he'd been looking over during breakfast - about it, a knock at the door interrupted him. Expecting Mae, Harry smiled when Dr Swanson walked in and felt relieved when she jumped into his results.

"Overall, things are looking promising," the muggle physician began, flipping the files over in her arms. "Your blood results are exactly where we want them to be, and your weight is coming up nicely. Eating has been a challenge for you since the day I took over, so I'm happy to finally see a positive trend. Has your appetite improved?"

Harry's cheeks flushed at the blunt question. "Erm… I guess?" He couldn't be sure where, when, or how the change occurred. "I have more snacks available and I just… I dunno… it helps that everyone around me is eating, so even if I'm not hungry, I still find myself eating here and there. That probably doesn't make much sense."

"Quite the opposite, actually," Dr Swanson smiled. "Eating is a social activity and oftentimes, we see more patients overcome their lack of appetite simply by being around others. Unfortunately, last year prohibited that for you, not to mention you started further on the smaller side than we like, so it's good to see the change now."

Feeling proud for accomplishing something while at school, Harry found himself sitting up taller on the exam table.

"And you're taking your tablets?" She asked very clinically - a trait that used to bother Harry, but now he appreciated it - while sitting next to Snape in the chair across from Harry.

"Mmhmm," he nodded.

Giving him a serious glare over her black plastic framed glasses, she clarified, "At the correct times? Being distracted at school hasn't caused any major delay?"

"No, ma'am," Harry watched Snape's reaction to his declaration. "My morning tablets are waiting for me at breakfast, the evening ones at dinner, and my watch is set to alarm for my daily chemotherapy one an hour after I finish eating. So far, I've been handling the schedule just fine."

"That's great to hear," the doctor replied, making a note in his file. Placing it closed on top of her lap, she leaned forward making Harry uncomfortable. "Tell me how you're sleeping."

The young wizard averted his eyes from both adults in the room. He'd been expecting the question, but had expected just that - a question. Being asked so open endedly threw him off.

"A bit better overall, I think," Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've had a really good month… without really any side effects besides the normal achiness and fatigue, so it's kinda hard to tell if that's the reason or…"

When Harry tailed off, Dr Swanson waited to see if he would continue. When he didn't, she filled in the silence, "The reason for better sleep is less important than the outcome from it. You look more rested and that wouldn't necessarily happen unless you were actually getting sleep. I can't guarantee every month will be this good-" Harry made eye contact with Snape, both wizards remembering their conversation from breakfast, "-but try to enjoy the time it is. Remember not to overdo things with your classes, don't feel bad if you need to take some time off here or there, and take your pain medications when you need them so you can try to get back to life as normally as possible."

"I do use them." For some reason, Harry felt it important she knew this. "And for the most part, they help. Only occasionally I need the morphine.. usually right after the monthly treatments and when I have the extra week of chemo tablets."

He hated the additional tablets he needed to take the five days after his IV treatments. They made him feel almost toxic inside. To help, he started visualizing that feeling was caused by fighting the cancer. Unfortunately, it didn't always make things more bearable.

From there, they went into discussing Harry's sessions with Dr Snyder; the one before school and the one earlier this week, as he hadn't seen Dr Swanson since before his first appointment with the psychologist. Though she didn't press him for any of the details, the Gryffindor found himself animatedly telling her everything he could remember, from the explanation of his anxiety to the coping mechanisms he'd been given to try, and even how the joint session went with Snape this last appointment. He left out how the psychologist asked to meet alone with Snape next time because as a caregiver his emotional and mental needs were no less important. According to Dr Snyder, the professor may not be the one battling this disease, but watching someone he loved go through it - even before their unique pseudo parent-child relationship - could be equally difficult and damaging. Not surprisingly, the longer the muggle psychologist spoke, the more uncomfortable Snape appeared.

Finally, Dr Swanson asked about his magical training. In addition to his regular class workload and psychologist appointment this week, Harry had his required magical testing and it couldn't have gone any better. He'd made some decent progress in mastering the spellwork, specifically in Defense as Healer Smithe had predicted, and adding the third data point on his Magical Output Level, as Harry aptly called it, showed his accidental magic level decreasing. For the first time since his diagnosis - or if he were honest, even since his name came out of the Goblet of Fire - things were looking up and reacting exactly as expected.

With his monthly interview completed, Mae returned to assist with his IT procedure. Watching the blonde nurse interact with Snape it became obvious the two of them had met before, yet Harry couldn't recall a time he had met this nurse outside of seeing her around and thinking she reminded him of Draco; who he thankfully had managed to avoid at school so far. The combination of little things like a joke here or there about Snape's always black or white wardrobe - which Harry had a good laugh about her assessment of what he'd look like in a nice forest green - or the light touch on the professor's shoulder, with what appeared like more of an understanding squeeze, while she helped Dr Swanson set up for the procedure supported his hypothesis, but it was the way she tried to distract him during the IT that finally confirmed it. What started with her describing her most embarrassing Chemistry accidents in school - and Harry trying his hardest not to laugh at her hilarious recounting of dropping an entire watch glass of her newly made white powdered substance directly on her professor's black leather shoes - ended with her asking him to tell her how hard Severus, her word, was as a Chemistry Professor. Luckily, with Snape helping to hold his head down into the fetal position, the man couldn't see the realization in Harry's emerald eyes. How else would she know he taught the muggle equivalent to Potion unless they'd had a personal conversation about it. Pretending not to connect the dots laid out before him, Harry started explaining that most of the students were terrified of the professor and they often had bets in the dorms over his ability to turn into a bat. She laughed, which had been the point of it after all, and once again Harry was relieved not to see Snape's face during the exchange.

When the two wizards were settled back into the main treatment room, Harry covered by the clinic-supplied blanket while receiving his treatment, he considered what to do with the information he'd been piecing together. Snape and Mae had to have talked at some point without him present. And while the blonde muggle usually wasn't his nurse, he still couldn't determine how he felt regarding where it appeared they were headed.

Harry shifted his body up in the reclining chair, grimacing as his body started to protest the poison pumping into it, unable to contain a groan, to sit more upright.

Watching the professor closely, Harry casually asked, "So how do you know Mae?"

Snape hesitated. The pause was so subtle he knew the former spy thought he wouldn't notice, inadvertently giving the young wizard the upper hand in the situation.

"I met her when I visited Dr Swanson about your tablet refills before the wedding," he smoothly explained, barely lifting his head from the book of parchment on his research study. "She technically works for Dr Swanson and here on the weekends."

The extra information tipped the scale in Harry's mind, nevertheless he didn't mention anything about his suspicion. Instead, he ended up vomiting and officially kicking off the start of the horrible weekend ahead of him.

~~~~SS~~~~

There were many parts of teaching Severus would be happy to leave behind when his teaching career ended, but marking had to be at the top of the list. With school now in full swing, plus trying to keep up with Harry's magical testing and bimonthly psychology appointments, choosing not to acknowledge his own, Severus had to stay on top of his marking more so than any previous year; including last year. So once he finally got Harry settled into his room in their familiar dungeon quarters - after trying his hardest to shield the Gryffindor from the curious stares as they walked through the castle, though he suspected Harry hardly cared at that point - the professor resisted the urge to head straight to his own bedroom to take a nap in preparation for whatever the rest of the day and night would hold. Instead, he went to his office to grab the latest essays from his desk to start the awful process of marking from the comfort of his sitting room. So far, they've battled some form of Harry's accidental magic during each IV chemotherapy appointment, and this time Severus would be mentally prepared for it.

Usually working the afternoon shift, the professor couldn't have been any more surprised to see Mae at the clinic early this morning, and even more shocked to find she'd been covering for Samantha as Harry's nurse. In the fortnight since classes started, Severus had been able to make several trips back to his home for calls with the nurse. They'd planned their next date - by their fourth phone call, he grudgingly admitted to title their outings as such - for Saturday the 27th; last weekend dedicated to his work at the MLD, this one for Harry's treatment, and now he understood the next for her double shift. She invited him over to her flat, after his shift at the lab, for dinner with her flatmate. No matter the reason for the delay from their first date to the second, the former Death Eater couldn't hide the fact he was actually looking forward to it.

Seeing Mae with Harry gave the professor a renewed appreciation for the nurses taking care of the young wizard. He'd never considered the line of duty drawn between physician and nurse, however that morning it couldn't be more obvious to him. Where Dr Swanson gave the facts of his illness, treatments, and care in a very reassuring, "I have everything under control way", Mae - and in hindsight, Samantha - had been there for any of Harry's immediate needs. From anything like a cup of water to helping calm the teen during the intrathecal procedure he'd had plenty of times already, the nurses had been on top of it and did so in a way that felt natural; like they had this extra comforting piece of them to give out to their scared or overwhelmed patients. Something about seeing the woman he enjoyed spending time with helping out the boy he thought of as his son left an imprint on his heart he couldn't quite place. It didn't quite feel like how he felt remembering his time with Lily - it was almost more significant.

I should tell Harry.

The thought creeped up on Severus halfway through marking Dennis Creevey's revision essay on Red Caps. He hadn't meant to intentionally keep his potential relationship with Mae from Harry, it simply never felt like the right time or they were busy with some other school or magic related topic. Not to mention, at almost 38 years old, he didn't exactly need the teen's permission. But he wanted to maintain the trust they'd built, and it wouldn't take Harry long to put the pieces of the puzzle together, especially after their interactions this morning.

Severus placed the quill filled with red ink and the parchment scroll he'd been marking on the sitting room table in front of him, then rubbed his temples with both of his hands. He could feel a headache - possibly a migraine - coming on, his fourth one this week. The clock on the mantle showed ten to seven o'clock, the late hour confirmed by the sun setting in his enchanted window depicting a scene of the whomping willow. Both he and Harry had missed dinner, though he knew neither of them would feel like eating, and he'd been marking - or attempting to at least - for roughly three hours, with little to show for it in the small pile of completed essays on the table in front of him. In those three hours, Harry had been mostly quiet. The professor had left the young wizard's bedroom door ajar, refusing to give his accidental magic any help in preventing Severus from hearing if Harry needed him. So far, he'd heard rustling in the room and every so often a groan from the Gryffindor, but nothing alarming - no vomiting, no door closing, just the sleep he knew Harry's body needed to recover.

Severus wouldn't be able to tell if he'd seen the sphere light up, felt its vibration against the side of his left leg where it had been placed, or had heard Harry's screaming from the bedroom first. Without thinking, he rushed from his armchair in the sitting room and in almost record time made it to the threshold of Harry's room half expecting to be unable to enter, and released a breath of relief when he crossed into the room. The teen's bedroom had been left alone since last year, so Severus didn't need to illuminate the lanterns any more to find his way to the bed in the far corner of the room under another enchanted window - this one showing the Black Lake. His heart broke when he approached and saw Harry laying on his side, in the same fetal position he needed to be in for his IT treatments. His back faced Severus, so at first the former spy couldn't see the painful grimace on the young wizard's face, but could see this pyjama shirt already clinging to his back from sweat.

"Harry," he loudly called out, in an attempt to get through the agonizing screaming and moaning. He kneeled beside the bed with his hands hovering over Harry as he debated if touching him would make things worse or not. "Tell me what's going on."

When that didn't yield any results, outside of Harry's continued wails, Severus decided to try a more direct tactic with yes or no questions.

"Do you feel sick?"

The black mop of hair shook on the white pillow.

"Are you in pain?"

A nod.

"Is it your joints?"

Another no.

"Your stomach?"

Finally, a nod. Severus waved his wand to summon Harry's antiemetic and pain medications. As Harry said he didn't feel sick, Severus placed the antiemetic down on the bedside table, deciding to go with the pain tablets. The moment he dropped one of the tablets into his open palm, he paused when Harry simultaneously crunched into a tighter ball, clenching his stomach, getting the strangest feeling of deja vu. Didn't Harry have a similar reaction to his magical core dying? Being his first chemotherapy treatment during his magical retraining, this was most likely a reaction to that and last year only the IV of morphine helped ease the young wizard's pain.

Torn with what to do, Severus put the tablet back in the bottle and immediately conjured his patronus and used it to send a message to Alton with words like: needed at Hogwarts, Harry in pain, bring IV meds. His rising panic would be heard loud and clear in the message and the professor could only hope his friend would be able to decipher its meaning.

"Make it stop," Harry complained. "The burning… make it stop."

"Alton will bring you something soon, Harry," he tried to reassure the Gryffindor, still writhing on the bed. He placed his hand confidently and firmly on Harry's left shoulder in hopes the contact would remind the teenager he wasn't alone during this.

The minutes ticked by like hours as the two wizards waited for the one person they knew could bring some relief from the burning in Harry's core. Unable to move to the side of the bed, let alone to the loo, Harry ended up vomiting - from the pain or chemotherapy, Severus didn't know - in his bed right before Severus heard his floo roar to life in the other room.

"In here, Alton!" He uncharacteristically yelled while cleaning the vomit as best he could with Scourgify. The bedding would have to be changed,but it would do for now.

Finally, Alton hurried into the room carrying his black medical bag, acting like he had complete control of the situation.

"What's going on, Severus?" he asked while taking out the IV supplies, demonstrating his level of trust in the professor's assessment of Harry's condition.

"He says it's burning in his stomach," he told the healer. Moving out of the way so the other man could do his work, Severus sat at the foot of the bed watching as Alton carefully helped Harry unroll onto his back, so he could access his port for the morphine

"Harry?" Alton's kind, steady voice asked. Harry vehemently started shaking his head back and forth in his pillow. "If you can hear me, Harry, squeeze my hand-" the longest pause followed until, "- perfect. I'm going to start you on some pain medication through your port and then run a diagnostic scan to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Harry nodded, instead of a verbal confirmation, as he continued to moan in pain. To Severus, the time it took Alton to set up the IV felt like the longest moments of his life. What he wouldn't give to trade places with Harry; to be able to take away the anguish he had to be feeling. Anything, everything. He'd give it all to be able to take this away.

The two older wizards could tell the morphine started to work when Harry's muscles began to relax and the trembling throughout his weakened body slowed, coming to an eventual stop. Relief poured through Severus when Harry's eyes blinked closed. No words were exchanged between the friends while Alton ran several different diagnostic charms on the sleeping teen.

"Well?" The anxious professor stood up next to the healer.

"Everything looks good," Alton replied, and Severus had to hold back his anger. He wanted to challenge the man - if everything looked good, then Harry wouldn't need an IV of pain medication. "Let's go out to the sitting room and talk... give Harry some time to rest."

Unfortunately, Severus found himself unable to calm down. He sat in his armchair, cradling his head in his hands. They'd been through so much, and yet somehow he'd managed to push back the awful memories of those early chemo days; back when Harry had hours of back-to-back days, when he had been in so much misery he begged to give up. If everything went right, the treatment in males with ALL lasted roughly three and half years and they were barely over a year in. He didn't even want to consider what it would look like if things didn't all go right.

"It's his magical core, isn't it?" Severus eventually asked, lifting his head to meet Alton's light brown eyes with his own black. The healer gave a small nod. "I thought with the lighter medications, the burning would cease? He'd been in Maintenance for over half a year without a reaction like that." His arm swung back towards Harry's room to help emphasize his point.

"Remember, Severus," Alton carefully began, "he hadn't been actively using his magic. Now it's getting taxed from classes as well as while it's trying to heal him from the chemotherapy side effects, just like we talked about on Day One."

"Then we need to move to plan B," he stood and started pacing in front of the fireplace, convincing himself placing the magical block had now become the only solution. Obviously, retraining wouldn't work. "He can't continue like this," he ran his hands through his long black hair as he muttered to himself, "Albus will help, and between the two of us, we can get the ingredients by Friday and this can all be-"

"What are you talking about?" Alton firmly interrupted him.

In his high anxiety state, Severus hadn't considered who was sitting on the sofa directly across from him. Stopping his pacing to look at the man who had been through so much with him over the year - and further back if he cared to admit to it - and in Alton's eyes he could see they were no longer talking physician to patient's parent, rather father-to-father. Years ago, Severus had gone out of his way to help Mary Smithe overcome her illness utilizing magic and for the first time, Severus could see that Alton was doing the same for him: helping his son by utilizing muggle medicine.

In that moment, Severus broke down and told the other wizard about the magical ritual Albus wanted to do. He summoned the text with the procedure and told the man everything he knew about it: how it would temporarily block out all of Harry's magic leaving him as a squib, how they had no real idea of how long the effects would last, that he still hadn't found a way to make the normally painful process bearable for Harry, and Harry's hard stance against such an act. Alton listened with an open mind, a skill the former spy guessed he'd learned as part of his healer training or perhaps was simply his Ravenclaw traits showing through - a deep desire to learn everything he could about the illegal ritual. He read through the text at least three times, asking logical questions about the ingredients, where and how to secure them, and if Severus thought Harry was mentally strong enough to go through with it.

"As Harry's healer," Alton said, breaking the silence which had fallen over them once the Healer's questions were all answered, his hand patted the book as he spoke, "I can tell you we're not here yet."

Anger fueled Severus's next response, "How can you say that?! What about-"

"- this is one instance, Severus," the other man closed the book, but instead of placing it back on the table he held it on his lap. "We shouldn't ignore this issue, however we also shouldn't condemn him for it either."

"You said-"

"It's a balance," the Healer cut him off yet again, making Severus's blood boil. "We need to find the right balance and stick to it."

Flinging himself back into his chair, Severus started fidgeting - an act more akin to Harry than himself - and running his fingers back and forth through the gaps between them. He desperately wanted a glass of Firewhiskey, but also knew he had to be completely here, mentally, should Harry need something, so the small movements helped work out the pent up aggression inside of him.

"So what do we do now?" He asked once he trusted his voice not to verbally slaughter the other wizard.

Releasing a sigh, feeling as if he'd won the battle - and perhaps he had, for now anyway - Alton rested his forearms on his thighs as he leaned over close to the professor. "I'll test his magic again next week," he commanded, "assuming things there look positive, which I fully anticipate because this was not an instance of accidental magic-" Severus found himself agreeing to that statement, he'd been able to get into the room, after all, "-then my suggestion is to drop his Transfiguration class. It's the least helpful in organizing his magic and hopefully that will balance out more of his core. I'm also going to suggest we go back to IV pain medication after his monthly treatments. I can plan to stop by after he leaves the clinic to get him setup, and Madam Pomfrey can handle the removal of it."

He didn't necessarily like it, but he could agree to give it a try before pushing the block ritual.

Alton stayed until almost eleven that night. Before leaving, they both made their way back to the Gryffindor's bedroom where the healer ran another two diagnostic charms on the teen and switched out his IV medication to last him until the morning. Harry, luckily, slept straight through all of it and once they were alone, Severus knew he should have resigned to his bedroom, nevertheless he sat down in the chair beside Harry's bed and watched the young wizard sleep. Somehow he appeared peaceful and pained at the same time; his cheeks twitching, though his eyelids softly closed.

Sometimes it felt like too much for him. That at any moment he would turn around and life would simply crumble away. It was hard; harder than managing most of this disease in his old reality. Back there, the majority of his energy had been spent brewing, an activity that ironically calmed him and therefore would help him through the harder times - like when Harry struggled with his memory during the first regimen - and the rest of the time, at least until the end, had been almost life as normal. This, though, this tore him into pieces and he'd be lucky if he had them all, let alone know how to begin putting them back together. Sitting in the dark bedroom, watching his son sleep away the pain, Mae's words returned to him: this disease is hard to handle alone. And yet, although he knew he was surrounded by help, he couldn't feel anymore alone. No one else felt half as responsible for Harry's well being as he did, and most of the time he wouldn't have it any other way. Today, he felt defeated in a way that had him second guessing far too many aspects of his life.

"Sev'rus?" The dry, crackling voice from the bed brought him out of his miserable mindscape and back to the present.

"How do you feel?" The professor asked, helping Harry sit up against the headboard of his bed so he could take a sip of water.

"Awful," Harry answered. "My body hurts and… was that the same burning as my hell weeks last year?"

Taking the goblet from Harry's shaking hands, Severus placed it on the bedside table, next to the watch he always saw the young wizard wearing, then proceeded to explain everything Alton had relayed. Unwilling to sound as unsure of the situation as he felt, Severus spoke with confidence in how his healer planned to handle this latest development working. It's what a parent would tell their scared child, and if Harry caught onto his ploy, he didn't mention it. For the most part, Harry sounded engaged and ready to do whatever it took to keep going with his retraining; even laughing about how he looked forward to not taking Transfiguration anymore.

Now with an IV of morphine attached to his port, Harry's ease of mobility significantly decreased, meaning he had to resort to using the pail whenever he needed to sick up. One particularly bad round had Severus sitting on the bed with Harry, helping to hold him steady so he didn't further soil his bedding.

"You went on a date with her didn't you? That night with goblins..." The absolutely random question from Harry while his head was still half in the pail confused the professor.

"What are you talking about?" He answered, yet in the back of his mind he knew exactly what Harry meant.

"The new nurse," with his eyes closed, the Gryffindor let out a trembling breath. "What was her name? Mae?"

"Ah," Severus said, hoping to over his alarm at the conversation, "You should be focusing more on you right now, then on me."

"It's ok," Harry told him, laying back down in his bed facing towards the professor, his eyes squinted as he tried to focus without his glasses, to which Severus handed him. "She seemed nice and a whole lot better than you dating a goblin."

"I'm not dating anyone," he lamented, not wanting to give up the small smile itching to leave him."I've gone on one date."

"So far," the Gryffindor challenged. "Seriously, you could have told me you fancied her."

Severus furrowed his eyebrows thinking back to how everything with Mae came about.

"It just sort of happened," he said, "I don't know what I think about it yet besides the fact that you are still my first priority, and you always will be, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry laughed. "How do you talk to her though? I mean, my experience may be severely limited, but even I know any woman, magical or muggle, wouldn't be alright going weeks without any communication. And it's not like you can send her an owl... Trust me, Muggles aren't used to seeing those flying around casually during the day."

"I have…. My methods for staying in communication," he said, trying not to think about the implication of Harry's last statement. This time it was Harry's turn to frown as he contemplated what that could mean. "I may have taken a visit to Arthur Weasley."

Harry laughed, and rather than feel embarrassed - as Severus would have anticipated - he felt grateful the teen could laugh after the incident he'd just gone through. As they seemed to do every month following his chemotherapy treatment, the two of them stayed up until the early hours of the morning going over what to expect in the coming weeks with Harry's magic, Severus's awkward date with Mae at the Village Tree, and answering the Gryffindor's questions - to the best of his ability - on his work at the Malfoys' laboratory; prompted by the professor's almost constant review of the laboratory notes Lucius managed to secure for him in an effort to get him caught up on the theory and get him on the bench as quickly as possible. These late nights were exhausting, mentally from the day and physically as Harry still dealt with the side effects of treatment, but he would never deny Harry the chance to talk about the many thoughts plaguing his young mind, and Severus could admit he benefited from them too. By the time the sun started to peek over the horizon, Harry had finally fallen asleep once again. Alton would be returning in a matter of hours to check on the young wizard's IV, and so Severus made his way to the kitchen for the first of many cups of coffee he'd drink that day.

Saturday, 13th September, 1997

A twin pair of fluffy paws lunged forward. The grass smooshed beneath the kitten's miniscule weight, a wiry tail flicking excitedly back and forth in anticipation for seeing his kill. But just like the past dozen times, the grasshopper effortlessly hopped off a blade of grass a solid meter away from the pint-size predator, all cheeky and pompous as it dashed away.

Draco watched the grasshopper make its escape as he pressed himself back up to a sitting position on his back haunches. Yet again, his prey got away. Yet again, he failed at honing in on the legendary feline hunting skills.

Attempting to hunt on the edge of the castle's property, just before the Forbidden Forest treeline, wasn't an ideal way to spend an early Saturday morning. No, he should've been in the potions laboratory, laboring over a cauldron steeping Marianan kelp to make sure it achieved the proper foaming consistency. He'd botched his own supply earlier in the week - much to his partner's, Hermione, chagrin - and needed to replenish his stores to be prepared for the next week's curriculum. He'd promised an angry-faced Hermione that he would go through the painstaking process to make sure they were set up for the next week - and he meant it. Both perfectionists in their academics, neither was willing to settle for anything other than the best.

The Malfoy heir woke up that morning with every intention of spending hours in the lab making a stockpile of ingredients. It was early - so early that breakfast wasn't even served yet in the Great Hall for the professors and staff. And when Draco had emerged from his private room, swarms of faintly glowing light flooded the Common Room from the still dormant lake, the shimmers from the depths dreary and dark and mysterious. Not even the squid made his rounds to greet the young Slytherin that morning, still asleep in whatever den he inhabited in the watery abyss. But the solitude was short lived—by the time Draco silently crept through the barren dungeon corridors and made it to the lab, a familiar voice made him freeze right outside the classroom.

Harper and another sixth year Slytherin had already been in the lab and were just beginning to set up their cauldrons to continue a six-day brewing procedure. If they missed one day or made a mistake in the regimen, they'd have to start the whole process over, and undoubtedly receive a failing mark for the lesson.

Draco had lingered outside the lab with a scowl long enough to weigh the pros and cons of entering and attempting to share the space. For every advantage he came up with, he only had to remind himself that it was Jeremy fucking Harper to suddenly negate any advantage found from going into the lab. No, the only advantage he could extrapolate that morning was getting as far from Harper as physically possible, for both of their sakes. Of course the prat unknowingly thwarted any hope Draco had of throwing himself into his work, completing it before noon, and spending the rest of his day in the library with Hermione debating whether the Mispar Hechrechi or Mispar Bone'eh encoding variation for Gematria Arithmancy was more accurate.

Not that he needed to debate it. Regardless of what the Gryffindor witch thought, the Revu'a equation formation found in Mispar Bone'eh was far superior. Honestly.

After abandoning the lab and any hope he had of getting ahead on brewing, Draco had angrily stalked his way out of the castle, too unsettled to return to bed and not quite in the mood for any company, even Hermione's, and stomped outside into the brisk morning air. The coolness splashed a cold dose of rationality in the face of his burgeoning discord, and reminded him the teachings of his father to always maintain poise and control no matter how the status quo or ante changed.

And so that brought him to his current plight. Wanting to still find use of his early morning, the young Slytherin transformed into his animagus form, slinked through the tall grasses until he found a small clearing a safe distance from the castle and any chance of a passing student spotting him, and set his sights on perfecting his hunting skills.

A dozen prey. And a dozen failures. If he wanted to win a rematch with Rita Skeeter's beetle form, he'd need to train and somehow figure out how to coordinate his lanky legs and strange senses. The morning brought on a rush of overwhelming aromas, so potent and rich from the early dew that he almost threw in the towel prematurely to escape back to the castle. How could he possibly begin to hone skills that he didn't fully understand the breadth of? He still wasn't sure why the night sky had explosions of magnificent light, similar to the Weasleys' fireworks but static and less fatal. Though areas would radiate and pulse halos of brilliance, it never fizzled out. Was it a neverending cosmic firework spectacle that only cats could be audience to? Or was it something completely unrelated—was he going insane from the animagus ritual, a side effect he would've been taught had he followed a normal path and received tutelage in the magic?

"You need to be patient or not. Pick one."

The gruff voice made Draco tense and look all around him in search of it - not that it did much help, the early morning sunlight was blaringly bright to his still unfamiliar eyesight, casting his world in layers of headache inducing sensitivity. And to make matters worse, he was horribly farsighted, making anything immediately in front of him fuzzy beyond recognition.

"I am being patient," the Slytherin heatedly retorted back to the grumpy-sounding male voice. Bothered that he couldn't see his counterpart, his ears flattened against his head. "Keep your commentary to yourself or bugger off. Last thing I need is some pathetic bird or insect critiquing me."

Faint jostling from a branch in the tree above the kitten came just before a large, solid mass of orange fur dropped nimbly to the grassy ground, elegantly if Draco had to describe it, on all four, massive paws. A familiar scent - one that wasn't remotely capable of pinpointing down like humans - immediately flooded Draco's senses, and he recognized who the crusty, low brogue voice belonged to before his sight caught up with his nose.

"The blue jay that flew off when you were after it wasn't pathetic. The grasshopper that jumped out of your way wasn't pathetic. But your hunting skills… now that is pathetic, kit."

Draco stood up on all fours when the other cat casually sauntered towards him. "Crookshanks," he tried to sneer but he wasn't sure a kitten was even capable of it. "Dishing a bit of payback after I kicked you off the bed the other night? Suppose you're due it."

The other cat didn't stop at an appreciable, socially appropriate distance from Draco. No, he kept going, leaving the Slytherin temporarily aghast as he impeded his personal space and the two cats were nearly nose to nose. The white kitten instinctively took a step back, trying to maintain distance between them.

Crookshanks paused a moment and gave him a narrowed look. "If you were a real cat, you'd know how to hunt. And you wouldn't be backing away right now."

As a human, it was hard to read the ginger cat's emotive state - not that Draco was invested in appeasing or getting along with his girlfriend's pet - but as a cat, he somehow knew Crookshanks was curious, tired, and not aggressive. The emotions drifted in the air between them, small yet distinct traces carrying like dust, and instinctively he lifted his pink nose to the air and sniffed.

Yes, it was definitely a smell that told him those things. But how could he know it through a smell? And it wasn't even a smell with definitive attributes—it simply just was.

Crookshanks continued to regard him with a blank, almost flat stare. "I thought Hermione would've selected a smarter mate."

He let the insult slide. "Why do I smell what you're… you're…" Draco stammered for the word. "Feeling? Your mood? Merlin, I don't know how to describe it!"

His new counterpart slowly sat down, dual front paws separated slightly while his strong legs pillared up to his sturdy body, making Crookshanks seem infinitely more intimidating than he ever looked when Draco was shoving him off his robes or shooing him away when him and Hermione were on the eve of intimacy.

"How else would you know those things?" Crookshanks asked, continuing to eye his smaller counterpart with a lazy, almost bored gaze. Before Draco could answer - or maybe Crookshanks wasn't really patient or expecting an answer - the larger cat tilted his head down in a gesture that the Slytherin somehow interpreted as beckoning. "Come here."

After the last week Draco had - humiliated with Blaise after losing a duel against two witches, dealing with his first Auror check in visit, pulling all the stops to continue avoiding any and all run ins with Harry - he really had no interest in pandering to a cat posturing at him. Crookshanks. His girlfriend's cat was demanding that he - an actual bonafide, one meter eighty-two tall wizard - take orders from a pet? Like he was some kind of inferior being?

He knew animals had pecking orders, notably cats. Establishing dominant roles was essential to their species survival. But he'd be damned if he was seen as the inferior one in this haphazardly, disastrous duo the two cats somehow got themselves in.

Crookshanks registered Draco's hesitation with a heavy sigh, lazily stood up, and, with lightning speed he didn't think the large cat possessed, swatted him right across his face.

The physical pain was nothing compared to the bruised ego Draco was left with, stumbling a little to the side and fighting to regain traction under his paws. He prepared to launch himself into a full-on cat fight with the other male - luckily forgetting that he could simply transform back to a human and punt the ginger cat - but when he looked at Crookshanks, he didn't see any kind of aggression on his counterpart. No, the other cat was sitting there nonchalantly, like he didn't just hit him, with a rather flat expression.

The entire exchange confused the Slytherin, making him second guess everything he thought about the half-kneazle.

"Good. You're catching on. Maybe Hermione does have a better mate selection than I gave her credit for," Crookshanks said in a mundane brogue to Draco's silence. "You want to know how to be a cat? Then start acting like one. I'll show you but the moment you begin acting out, I'm walking away and the lesson's over."

Draco gave his best attempt at a sneer. "Why would you teach me anything?" His eyes narrowed. "What's in it for you? I'd hardly call us on friendly terms. You hissed at me a couple nights ago."

If cat's could shrug, Crookshanks certainly did so. Or maybe it was the strange pheromones that Draco could somehow smell and interpret the other male's emotions, meanings, and many other things that would've been beyond beneficial to a human. If he could harness that same ability while around his girlfriend, it'd make interpreting her moments of "I'm fine" and eliminate the guesswork.

"A favor," Crookshanks eventually answered back with a slow yawn. "Not sure what it is yet but it'll come to me."

The Slytherin felt his ears flatten against his small head. "Expect me to sign away on a blank cheque, do you? I'm not that stupid, cat."

Crookshanks shoved himself to his feet in that same annoyingly apathetic manner he favored, like he couldn't be bothered to actually show any sense of urgency or care, like the entire conversation with Draco was a big inconvenience or as casual as chatting about the moving clouds. "Suit yourself, kit. Hey, good luck with the hunting." His lumbering form turned around and gave a slothful stretch, slow and snoozy, before gingerly walking away. "Might want to try some of the water crickets. You might get lucky and drown one with your splashing before it could fly away…"

Draco wanted to snare and yell - hiss, in his current case - and curse the fecking cat into oblivion. But he watched the ginger beast slowly create more distance between them, and he felt his only life line in learning how to be a cat slipping between his fingers.

"Wait! Crookshanks!"

He hopped to catch up with the larger male and nearly ran into him when the orange cat abruptly stopped, completely anticipating the Slytherin's waffling on his terms. That part hurt more than his wounded pride. "You're learning already, kit. We have a deal then?"

"I have a name," Draco sneered. "I'd appreciate you using it."

"You don't need one. Cats don't have names. Not like that, we don't." Crookshanks stood and nodded towards the tree he'd jumped out of only moments ago. "You have a lot to learn, kit. Your hunting skills come second to everything else for now, but we'll get to that eventually."

"Today?"

"I said eventually."

And so Draco began the first lesson of many that would comprise his education in learning how to be the animal his mind most closely aligned. The first segment of their lesson was dedicated to learning the approach, how to greet another cat and learn a quick spread of each other's emotions and aggression level all through scent. While Draco refused to sniff another cat's behind, Crookshanks eagerly informed him - with glee in his voice - that Draco was indisputably seen as the submissive one, and therefore wasn't entitled to initiate the sniffing introduction ritual in the first place. The dominant cat - Crookshanks, in their case - would take the first sniff, learn about Draco, and then decide how much he wanted Draco to learn about him. Either he'd be receptive to allowing the smaller cat to return the sniffing or he'd give a prompt swat and hiss, and their meeting would be at a close. For teaching sake, the larger male allowed the kitten to get close enough to get a heavy dose of the pheromones, while Crookshanks tried to encourage and teach him how to identify what they meant.

By the end of the hour, Draco learned - all through smells - that Crookshanks most enjoyed pollock freshly pulled from the Black Lake, was tired from hunting all night, and that he was a male with no interest in mating. The last part bothered him; those were details he didn't need to know about his girlfriend's cat.

The morning was starting to creep into a normal hour when Crookshanks finally led his new protege towards a grassy embankment a close distance from a tree housing a small choir of singing birds. "Here's the thing with hunting, kit. You've got two options. You can either be patient and wait it out, let the prey forget you're there and then strike, or you move quickly immediately. There's no middle."

Draco glanced at Crookshanks lowering himself to the ground, his entire body somehow contained in a small footprint with taut legs ready to spring forward on a moment's notice. "Which way is better?"

Crookshanks considered him for a second, but his yellow eyes didn't leave his prey: a cheerful bird that Draco couldn't tell the actual color of with his compromised, feline vision. "Whichever one gets you the hunt. Pay attention. Don't do anything - just watch."

Being a passive audience wasn't on Draco's agenda that morning. He didn't have the luxury of time like a cat; his schedule was already jam packed with classes, appointments with his mind doctor, trying to get into a muggle university, and manage a new family business venture afar. Unlike Crookshanks, the Slytherin couldn't just lounge around all day, waiting for the next convenient lesson to sprout up. No, he needed to learn right away if he wanted to use his animagus form around Hogwarts, especially in the realm of learning about others, scouting, and keeping his ear to the pavement. The House of Snakes was in a frenzied state of anarchy, some allegiances weakened and while new ones were formed in the shadows. His throne was cracked but not shattered, and he still had a chance at bolstering the wealth of power he used to wear like a crown.

He was a smidge behind Crookshanks, eyes locked on the birds, when Draco decided he'd give the advice from his 'mentor' a solid shot. He wasn't going to sit there and watch; for years he'd watched cats hunt and pouce and go through their little hunting routine. Now was the time to learn experientially.

It was undoubtedly comical seeing a white cotton-ball kitten explode out from the grassy brush, little legs stretched forward, claws out in preparation for a kill. As much as the kitten longed to fulfill some predatory dream, it didn't come across that way. Not when Draco barely reached even the tree and instead smacked down on the ground in a fantastic heap of failure.

Adding the bird to his growing list of escaped prey was one thing. But having an audience - Potter and Snape - was another beast entirely.

Out of practically nowhere, Snape and Harry emerged from behind them, having witnessed Draco's embarrassing leap and disappointment at being a cat. But Harry didn't know that. He had no idea that the kitten he was now inches from was his once arch nemesis, roommate in their dire hour, and now counterpart they both avoided. What was their relationship now?

"Hey there, Crookshanks, I haven't seen you much lately," the Gryffindor wizard greeted them, namely the orange beast of a cat that happily greeted him back with a lazy trot over and nudged his face against the wizard's knee. The traitor."Who's this you have here? A friend?"

To make matters worse, Harry thought petting Draco would be a sound move.

The other wizard's hand reached for him, making Draco lurch back. "Don't touch me!" He yelled, though he was sure only a pathetic hiss was what actually came out. And considering the neutral to amused expression on Potter's face, his hiss didn't create the fear-inducing threat he was gunning for.

"Kit…" Crookshanks shot the Slytherin a warning glance from his nestling against Harry.

No, Draco wasn't having any of it. The last thing he wanted was to be pet by Harry. It was already demeaning enough that his reputation was murdered beyond recognition largely because of Harry, forcing him to transform into a kitten to safely navigate the castle if he wanted to avoid attention all the while gathering information. Was it solely for safety precautions? Probably not. His life would be harder if he walked as a wizard among his peers, but he doubted any of them had the gall to throw harmful hexes his way. A stinging hex here and there was one thing, and nothing more than an annoyance after being turned on the knife of a well-aimed Cruciatus more times than he cared to remember.

"You two better go back inside before something tries to get your new friend," Harry said while continuing to give Crookshanks affection and scritches, the half-kneazle stretching this way and that to get the best angle from the wizard.

Being outside with Potter, nearly alone if not for their chaperones, rained down memories that Draco could've done without. The gardens at his ancestral home, the place that had become his prison, the manor where he was born and expected to die. He and Harry had shared walks together in the gardens, the fresh wind fanning their despair and giving them a deceiving dose of freedom. Those walks were nice, conversations filled with whimsical visions for a future neither boy believed they'd live to see. Maybe that was why the conversations were freeing; they were unburdened by expectations, for the only expectations anyone had for them then was their deaths.

Maybe they were meant to die in that manor. Maybe that was why they finally found peace. They'd moved past anticipating their deaths; they'd accepted it, knowing that all they had was a thrown together friendship between the two so as not to be alone in their waning hours. An act that didn't occur left anyone reeling with trudged anticipation, good or bad. They spun out from it, unsure how to make ends with what they created in the desperate times, and having no prior solid relationship to return to.

Maybe the world would've been better - easier, happier - had they both perished there. Then Draco wouldn't be hidden as a kitten to the world while Harry was enveloped in a newfound family, walking the grounds with his 'adopted' father, finding serenity while his body fought against him.

So caught up in that depressing notion, Draco gave a solid swat with his paw when Harry walked by. It wasn't intimidating, not in the least. The Gryffindor said something but Draco wasn't paying much attention to him. His focus was on Snape - on his inquisitive, dark expression and the black eyes that followed him uncannily. It wasn't a look a professor ought to give a kitten. It was a look of trying to figure out a problem, trying to make sense of something that didn't quite add up.

"Well, I'd say that was a good ending for the lesson, kit." Crookshanks stretched again, this time more genuinely tired than his simple lazy self. His yellow eyes bore into the feisty kitten. "Meet me again earlier than today and we'll go over smells or something in the forest."

Draco stared in the direction Snape and Harry departed from, together. "Next saturday then?"

"Your labels don't mean anything to me. Another day. Early. That should translate enough for you to figure out."

After his impromptu lesson with the ginger cat, Draco made his way back into the castle, still bothered by the interaction with Harry. Part of him didn't want to be, though. If they were still friends, he would've laughed at the strangeness of their meeting, and probably even confide in the other wizard about the white kitten he came across being him. Maybe if they were more full, unbroken, unjaded by cynicism, they could be honest with one another and ignore the valley of hurt that separated them.

That canyon wasn't new. It was dug at the very first meeting the Malfoy heir had with the Boy-Who-Lived, when he desperately wanted to be friends - had secretly daydreamed of being best mates with the famous Potter boy - and was turned away because he didn't know how to socialize properly with him. If only the pieces all fell into place and they became friends, how would life have changed? Would Harry's disease have been caught sooner? Would he have been ushered into Pureblood society and poisoned with the same ideals Draco was for years? Would Voldemort's return have been brought on with applauding fanfare instead of in shadows?

Draco made his way back towards the potions lab, hoping enough time had passed that Jeremy Harper completed whatever brewing he was doing and vacated the area. As he lingered outside of the lab, he thought about revenge and retribution, about how it wouldn't give back what had been stolen from him. About how he wasn't sure if he cared about it anymore. But embrace something long enough - a thought, a feeling, a fantasy - and it shapes you like a forge. The hunger for it lay in Draco, too strong to be set aside.

It only took a few minutes for Draco to transform back to his kitten form, slink into the potions lab and find Harper and his mates sitting in the back of the classroom, half-heartedly watching their brewing cauldrons but more invested in their conversation about Quidditch and witches. It took less than a minute for an unassuming kitten, innately curious as all cats are, to innocently hop up on the bench and forcefully rub its body against the cauldron at the perfect angle to upset it from its hook and make it tumble over the edge, splashing the ruined contents on the floor.

Amid a crowd of cursing students, yelling at their lost work and blaming the 'bloody cat' that dashed out of the lab and no longer existed, Draco casually strode down the dungeon corridors, a smile on his face.

Wednesday, 17th September, 1997

Lucius turned the quill over in his hand, ink staining his ring and index finger, as he considered the Vice-Chancellor's written words. Alec Broers was on the cusp of knighthood, had been fighting for it for years, and Lucius was more than willing to tip the scales in the man's favor if only he followed through on the bargain. If all went as planned, by next fall, both Draco and Alec Broers would have new titles; a student at University of Cambridge and newly minted Baron among the Knight Bachelors.

It paid off to still hold considerable sway among the high courts and House of Lords, even through subterfuge and underhanded currents. To the wizarding world, the Malfoys severed all ties to the royal family and orders of chivalry, but to the parties who mattered, their influence was as emboldened as ever.

Lucius looked out his study window, watching the fae dragons cheerfully fly in and out of the thriving gardens behind Malfoy Manor. The fae dragons were the latest addition to the gardens, a rare breed of small, palm-sized creatures that swarmed bright flowers and collected fallen petals for their broods. They left a sprinkle of shimmering dust in their wake, which when collected was a strong ingredient for an emerging healing potion in development at their lab. The dragons were fickle beasts, needing a perfect garden with beyond ideal growing conditions, plenty of sunlight, and enough space for them to go about their blithesome lifestyles. In the wilds, they were found in open glades with rich soil and verdant foliage.

Narcissa thought adding them to the garden would make the once dreary estate happier. Like the dragons could erase the memories. Lucius didn't stop her; he liked the dragons enough.

Looking down at the paper again, Lucius's eyes traced the university letterhead's exotic curve, the coat of arms an interesting one. It had four lions on it, yellow on top of a red background, and not a single etch of green or silver. But soon enough, the University of Cambridge would see its first Slytherin. Assuming Draco was agreeable to interview with the Vice-Chancellor and didn't mind the bargaining terms attached. It wouldn't be any different than his second year, when Lucius secured the boy's position as seeker at Hogwarts. This one carried more terms, though. The admission Lucius could guarantee, but to stay enrolled was Draco's responsibility. He'd have to maintain sterling grades in the prestigious medical school, all the while also continuing his healer training in the wizarding world, managing business affairs, and cementing wedlock to ensure their family line was secure.

While Hogwarts was ending, Draco was only just about to start the rest of his life.

Picking up the quill again, Lucius hastily wrote back to the Vice-Chancellor, confirming an interview in December for Draco. People were predictable. It was the biggest of flaws and the grandest of virtues.

With that dealt with, Lucius turned his attention to the reports from Hogsmeade, knowing that there was a solicitor - by title only - waiting outside his study to meet with him. Wilson Pike. Being head of the Malfoy estate meant more than just managing finances, businesses, and whistling in tune with aristocrats. The pains of managing an army without the luxury of a junior officer to help out - his heir being away at school - left all of the work to fall on Lucius. Not that he was one to complain; being a major player in the game was what he was destined for.

Summoning a house elf, he told it to bring Wilson Pike in. Lucius didn't stand to do it. Not yet.

Seconds later, Pike entered the grand study, features schooled behind a cultivated mask of indifference. The posh and regency around him was ignored, immune to the likes of the Malfoys and their flaunting of wealth. And knowing exactly what was expected of him, Pike moved to sit in the high backed walnut chair directly in front of his employer, situated in the epicenter of an oriental rug.

Neither said anything for a few tense seconds after he sat in the chair, both wizards staring expectantly at one another in muted anticipation for something to happen. Under the chair, under the rug, was a warded trap devised of intricate, ancient runes designed to dispel any glamors and notify Lucius of any charms on Pike's identity. And having visited his employer since landing on his payroll years ago, Pike knew the routine. He didn't even blink when Lucius finally stood and walked around him, towards the expensive cabinet near the far window.

"How's your wife?" Lucius asked. Pike had no wife.

Pike didn't hesitate to answer. "My old lady grows older and more bitter by the day."

Lucius nodded to himself as he poured two glasses of Remy Martin, satisfied with their code. He required three authentications to confirm his spies identities: the warded trap, the verbal code, and the blood. Reaching further into his cognac cabinet, his fingers brushed against the hidden vials tucked against the cabinet's inner leg, quickly picking the right one and splashing a teeny bit of crimson in with the expensive cognac.

Once seated back behind his desk, Lucius offered the glass to his counterpart, taking a tepid sip of his own in the process. Warm and caramelly with a rich texture, the drink caressed his tastes and tried to sooth the bitterness in the back of his throat. But no amount of alcohol, rare cask or not, could ever sooth that.

Pike drank from his own crystal glass with the same air of apathy, almost bored even, that he had when he first walked in, completely knowing that he was drinking a small trace of his own blood. "Damn me, that's good," he smacked his lips together, savoring the taste, whether the blood or the cognac, Lucius wasn't sure.

Fully satisfied that the man seated in front of him was, in fact, Wilson Pike, Lucius nodded more impatiently and tapped a knuckle on the reports rivered between them. Had it not been Pike, the potion in his drink would've killed him. "What happened to the man following my wife last week?"

The spy blinked once, undisturbed by the questions forwardedness and lack of pleasantries. "Taken care of."

"Questioned?"

That made Pike pause. "Not when he was alive. He had an unfortunate misstep and the ground broke his fall. Muggle London." The wizard shrugged like that explained everything. And it did-they wouldn't have been able to safely use hexes and spells and charms in the nakedness of London without drawing attention, but a clumsy, unfortunate accident was boring enough not to raise questions from muggles or wizards. "We inspected his body afterwards and found nothing besides his wand."

Reaching into his robes, Pike pulled free a thin wooden box - plain oak with copper filigree - and slid it across the desk to his employer. Delicately picking it up, Lucius never took his eyes off the spy; no, he'd learned that long ago. While the man was under his payroll and bound by an Unbreakable Vow to remain loyal to him, he didn't doubt there were loopholes to exploit. A man of power, influence, and wealth, he also didn't doubt that there weren't troves of people out there, enemies and friends alike, striving to find those loopholes and strike at the Malfoy family.

Turning the box over in his hands, Lucius considered Wilson Pike. The man was an interesting fellow, one of his more veteran spies who joined his network years ago before Draco even began Hogwarts. His features were remarkably unremarkable; the type of face that could get easily lost in a crowd, undistinguished and average. He had an ageless quality about him, where he could pass as a man of Lucius's years if he didn't shave for a week but then look fresh-faced and a few years older than Draco if he did. And those timeless, malleable features were what made him the ideal spy.

Spies were a needed evil. When Lucius first assumed control over the Malfoy family shortly after Draco's birth - an heir apparent was the necessary element to assume the position - and his own father relocated himself to their Latvia estate, Lucius bolstered his spy network. Familiarizing himself with their skills was essential to know where to place them and who was best for which job, but it also ensured he understood who was closest to their family. Who was privy to their secrets and what their weaknesses were. They were all men, at the end of the day, with the weaknesses of flesh. Greed and power. He didn't doubt their loyalty went as far as their payroll and the magic that bound them to be loyal to the Malfoys, but if another with better wealth and power and influence strolled along in hopes to drive a battering ram against their family, a turned agent could be their unraveling. Lucius did everything in his power to make sure his spies wouldn't have the capacity to turn against them, even using some of the darker rituals from restricted books.

For a decade, his spies worked in a humming harmony like a hive of bees. They all knew what to do, what to expect, and moved about with a sense of agency and autonomy. Lucius oversaw them but wasn't required to really get involved in their day to day operations. Wilson Pike proved himself more than capable of handling that. Once Draco began Hogwarts, however, and the Dark Lord emerged from his banished limbo, things took a dark turn.

But that made sense. It made sense that Lucius had to hire more hands to watch over his family and assets during those dark times. What didn't make sense was the sudden increase of attacks on their family since Voldemort's demise a few months ago. The Dark Lord was dead. Death Eaters were either arrested or left in a splintered state. The wizarding world either looked at their family in acrimony or fear but no more than they did before the war.

And yet, in the past few months, Narcissa had a stalker trailing her in muggle London, someone mangled the wards on the west property at the Malfoy Manor in a measly break-in attempt, and some shipping documents from the lab had been 'misplaced'. In parts, Lucius wouldn't have batted an eye at the string of episodes; attempts on their lives and wealth wasn't a new thing. No, even Draco had attempts on his life - either through kidnapping for ransom or just murder - ever since he was born. But those attempts were sprinkled between each other and had a kind of cohesion about them. These events were one directly after the other, intensity and frequency grabbing the attention of his spymaster and making him react.

Lucius placed the box on the desk and looked at Pike. "And Hogsmeade?"

"Quiet. The boy hasn't come at all," Pike answered flatly. A fracture broke his apathetic features, making him look troubled. "He shouldn't be there. My recommendation is that all three of you go to Latvia until we're able to get more details."

Lucius chuckled humorlessly. "The loveliest thing about a recommendation is the ability to ignore it without consequence. I'll not be driven from my home by an uninspiring shade." That part was true; Lucius had no intention on leaving the manor. But he had considered sending Draco to Beauxbaton for his education or, if in dire straits, their Latvia estate, despite how much Draco feared it for all its dark magic. "And inside the school?"

"Also quiet. The auror inspection went fine - shook the boy up but his wand was clean. We're working on getting a copy of the report from DMLE." There was a well placed mole in the ministry mailroom; a small enough position not to draw attention but enough to gain them access to records. "The Old Man is keeping an eye on things. Says Draco's befriended Hala Khatib, of all people."

That was interesting, enough to make a chill race down Lucius's spine. The girl who survived a jinn attack thanks to her own demons caged inside her. It was a disputed circumstance, whether the young witch was the sole survivor from seeing the vicious assault in a premonition, or from housing a sinister evil so dark it scared the jinn off when it reached for her. Knowing what he knew about a jinn's nature, and considering the girl was clearly there during her family's bloody demise, Lucius felt confident it was the latter. Even if little Hala knew about the impending murders, there was no feasible way she would be able to escape the fast-moving creature's clutches, not when it had ample time to rip apart her family members limb by limb and then leave her without a single scratch.

And she was now friends with his son. Interesting indeed.

More than interesting, it was ironic. The type of irony that was both humorous and satisfying. Six years ago, Draco had attempted to befriend another child who was a sole survivor of their family's murders, having walked away from a curse meant to kill. At the time, no one knew it was from a goodhearted sacrifice, and conspiracy theories began to emerge and fester with the years. The potential coming of the next Dark Lord was one of the leading thoughts, though was quickly debunked after their first year at Hogwarts. Still, Lucius knew how much his son wanted that friendship with Potter to work before he even met him, how excited he was that they were the same age - exactly eight weeks apart, to the very day - and thought that uniqueness would aid in his quest. But Potter wasn't anything like Draco expected him to be, and Draco wasn't half the boy he became in the past year.

And though Draco clearly grew up and matured into a young man in the past year, he was still his father's son and a Malfoy to his core. The coldness was inherited from Lucius, from the snow in his hair to the frost guarding his heart, and his penchant for dark arts and artefacts ran as deep. No matter who he courted and - if Lucius was being honest with himself - eventually married, Draco wouldn't be able to ignore the pull of dark arts. It was part of him, enmeshed into his being. All Malfoys were seduced by the mystery and power of dark arts, either under the guise of scholars to learn their secrets or as wealthy collectors simply looking to hoard their riches. But dark arts, from an inanimate object to a seer able to witness death premonitions, would always appeal to a Malfoy.

"Tell the Old Man to keep watch and report to me immediately should something… odd come from Draco's friendship with Khatib," Lucius replied. The Old Man was a portrait of a crusty sea cabin - more of a shanty, really - hugging a shallow cliffside beside a white-crested ocean. The portrait was drawn from a distance, making the cabin and her features more difficult to discern from a quick passerby. But if one stopped and looked really hard, they would see an old man sitting in the cabin's shadow, a fishing pole in one hand and a green bottle in the other, watching. Always watching.

There was a duplicate in the Hogsmeade safehouse. Years ago, when still part of the Board of Governors, Lucius had slyly 'donated' dozens of portraits to the school, all of them save one innocuous and innocent. Though heavily checked for wards and curses, they all came back clear and were eagerly accepted to the school. He'd nearly forgotten the spying portrait he placed in the school until a month ago. The Old Man had made the exorbitant donation more than worth it.

Pike nodded. "Of course, sir."

Lucius looked down at the box in front of him. The wand box. It might as well have held the perpetrator's ashes. He should've felt better having it in his possession, but he didn't. All he felt was numbness, like he was trailing something that shouldn't have been there. Like he was missing something. "Are the portkeys still ready?"

"They are. Unregistered, of course. Old spellwork but still functional."

The portkeys led to their various properties in Greater Europe and elsewhere. Some went to small safehouses, like the Hogsmeade location, and others took them directly to their estates. That feeling like he was missing the greater picture prickled at Lucius's mind, and he knew he'd get no rest. Even as he ordered Pike to give a full briefing on matters - Draco's safety at school, the issues at the lab, and Narcissa's security detail - he couldn't shake the feeling. His mind kept doing summersaults, fighting to get to the bottom of what inch of landscape he was missing to graze, what aspect of his family's existence did he forget to bolster and secure. And unfortunately, by the time he'd figure it out, it'd be too late.

~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 24th September, 1997

For Harry, the next ten days passed by without too much fanfare. His magical testing post-chemotherapy, and the return of his burning core, showed another set of positive results to his magical training. Even with the clear sign of his core dying, the accidental magic output was starting to decrease as his magic organized. To try to keep things more balanced, Healer Smithe went ahead and completely excused Harry from Transfiguration; his worst class overall and one where the healer said he'd see the least amount of organizational return. Since Harry hated the class, to no fault of Professor McGonagall, he didn't mind it one bit.

Having one less class ultimately meant he had more free time, however the Gryffindor quickly learned that free time alone - when his friends were still in class - wasn't much fun at all. Most of the time, Harry spent his extra hours sitting by the lake trying to rekindle his sketching, eventually determining drawing people in his current mindscape was far too difficult and switched over to magical creatures: the giant squid, Buckbeak, and the centaurs. Each one had brought its own set of memories to the Gryffindor, but they were easier for him to manage than the constant reminders from sketching Snape, Dudley, or even Ginny.

As the days continued to move towards the end of September, Harry found the cold air penetrated his yellow blanket too much for him to continue his outdoor breaks. Prior to his diagnosis, he would have been one of those students who spent as much time on the school grounds as possible, trying his hardest to soak up as much of the fall sunshine before the grey winter skies settled in over the castle until spring. Now, his body had little tolerance to the cold. According to Healer Smithe at his last testing, it certainly didn't help that his body started with less fat reserves prior to his treatment even began, then combined with his difficulty eating and lower blood counts, it was very common. Regardless of the reasons, Harry hated it. He couldn't do something as simple as keeping himself warm, and that constant reminder hurt him when all he wanted to do was pretend life had gone back to normal.

Of course, life couldn't go back to normal because there was no normal anymore. A fact amplified when the Daily Prophet started running daily spotlights on the potential suspected Death Eater reemergence once the details on the Godric's Hollow attack had finally come out. These morning spotlights included anything from "Where Are They Now?" guesses on the location of the missing or lower ranked Death Eaters, to outlining the trial and sentencing of Ash and Talpin for their coordination of the Diagon Alley attack, and any updates on the Godric's Hollow attack - so far, nothing of use had been found and the responsible witches or wizards were still out there. The last thought hit Harry hard, wondering if they were targeting him, and Snape had simply waved off his concern. Shouldn't they be trying to prepare for any possible scenario? And what made Snape so confident he was right on the matter? Those two questions continued to plague Harry's mind each morning Hermione showed the Gryffindor table the latest news.

All the talk of Death Eaters over the last two weeks put an uncomfortable - even to Harry - emphasis on the Slytherins; Snape and Draco in particular. Not surprisingly, Kingsley and Auror Williamson showed up Monday morning to do another random check on the Malfoy Heir - this time pulling him from his room in the Slytherin Dungeon - and by lunchtime, a rumor ran through the Great Hall that he'd been arrested for dark spells found on his wand, as no one had seen him in classes the rest of the morning. It turned out only to be because the blonde missed his first morning class and then worked at the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey afterwards, but the whole incident left Harry intrigued. The Gryffindor never asked Snape for the details from the Aurors' first check-in, which had interrupted their dinner, knowing the professor wouldn't tell him, although he got the distinct impression their visits were anything but pleasant.

So far, due to Harry's alternative classes, the two wizards had no problems staying away from one another, and Hermione - and to some extent Ron - did well at not bringing up the taboo topic of their mutual reconciliation. He never forgot Hermione's words to him at the Burrow the night of his birthday: she thought they'd learn a lot from one another. Although Harry had managed to get through most of his mental struggles in coming to terms with his imprisonment - mostly due to his friends and Snape - and working his way into accepting his illness, thanks to Dr Snyder, he still hadn't been able to open the letters Draco sent over the summer. Strangely, it seemed the longer he went without opening them, the heavier they weighed on his mind and, at the same time, the easier it became to ignore them. No matter how much time passed, or how much the two of them could ignore one another, Harry occasionally found his thoughts brought back to the other wizard. Inevitably, at some point they would have to make amends - if for no other reason than their shared connection with Hermione - yet Harry had no clue how they could get there.

On Wednesdays, Harry started his day with Defense with the third years. As Healer Smithe predicted, Defense had been the one class he still excelled in and Harry really didn't mind having to retake it. Class with Snape this year felt more comfortable than either of them could have expected, especially when Harry had no friends with him in the class. The Gryffindor managed to stay focused and engaged more so than any other class he'd taken at Hogwarts, besides maybe Lupin's class. Wednesdays though, Snape designated to their lectures - with practicals on Fridays - and no matter how much Harry tried to take Hermione's advice on learning material twice, he had a much harder time staying focused learning about nocturnal beasts for the second time than any of the spellwork.

In the last ten minutes of class, Snape had graciously given them time to get a head start on their next essays. Naturally, Harry took the first two of these minutes observing the professor - knowing Snape wouldn't usually give time like this for homework - noticing how exhausted the man was looking. Guilt filled his body knowing he had contributed to at least the start of the exhaustion by not only staying up all night after his chemotherapy almost two weeks ago, but he knew Snape had been feverishly researching everything he could about his magical core burning; evident when the man knew just as much as Healer Smithe on his last testing day. Combined with all his studying for his new research job, a private appointment with Dr Snyder, arranging calls with Mae - this one Harry only suspected, not about to snoop into Snape's private life - and now all the new Death Eater rumors, he couldn't blame the professor for wanting to make his classes as easy as possible.

"Potter."

Harry tried his hardest to ignore the sound of his name being whispered tauntingly from the seat directly behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know the young voice belonged to Oliver Ackerly, a fourteen year old Ravenclaw Harry really hadn't known before joining this class. Since having to navigate the second years with Nott's cousin, Harry knew well enough to keep his head down, even with the younger year students.

"Hey, Potter!"

Still, Harry didn't react or so much as move.

"Maybe the twats gone lost his hearing now?" Another Ravenclaw, Mark Pertinger, added. Harry could almost picture the two of them working side by side trying to get a rise out of him. He had no idea what the younger wizard wanted to accomplish by slinging the insults toward him, but he stuck to his decision not to give them the satisfaction.

"It'll certainly make it easier for the Death Eaters to get a hold of him," Oliver continued to taunt. "Maybe then the rest of us could finally live in peace and-"

"Do you have a question with your assignment, Mr Ackerly?" Snape stood from his desk and swiftly made his way across the classroom until he towered over the pair of wizards. "I shall warn you, though, based on the nonsensical rubbish I've received on Mr Pertinger's last assignment, I would caution you not to trust a word he says."

Harry suppressed a laugh. To a Ravenclaw, the insult would hit hard.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw-," Snape continued and the two students started to protest, "-each for disturbing my class!"

It seemed a bit steep to Harry, but he didn't say a thing about it.

"Starting mid-October," Snape walked through the room as he spoke, his hands grasped behind his back, "we'll begin our lesson on Boggarts. Can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?"

The class remained silent, most likely in hopes that the bell would ring before having to answer.

"Mr Potter?" The professor's predictable response rang across the class. Of course he knew Harry could answer it, though most of the time he refrained from calling on the young wizard for these types of questions.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned towards Snape and answered, "A Boggart is a shape-shifter which changes its form to match the person's greatest fear."

"Very good," Snape flatly replied, showing his disappointment in the other students, though Harry definitely didn't think it fair; they wouldn't have a reason to read that far ahead in the textbook. "Given the nature of this particular dark creature, I've decided to split the practical for this lesson into semi-private lessons-"

"Private lessons?" Harry called out, confused.

"Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Mr Potter," Snape reprimanded him. "And yes. It is my belief that to require a student to admit to their greatest fear in front of their peers can be quite… disturbing. Therefore, prior to leaving today, you'll sign up in groups of three for a day and time to go through the practical on a more individualized basis."

To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Remus had them all go through the exercise together and it didn't seem too bad overall. Of course, he could also see where giving a bunch of rivaling students access to each other's biggest fears could be used against them. The thought was definitely something a Slytherin would consider versus a Gryffindor like Remus. Either way, with his last Boggart being Snape dead - an image he had to quickly push from his mind - he didn't exactly want that announced throughout the school. So as he waited in line for the sign up sheet right before the end of class, Harry found himself grateful for the smaller groups.

There were only two students - Hufflepuff girls he'd been paired with for last week's practical - in front of him when Oliver Ackerly pushed his way up from the back of the line. Harry could feel the other wizard's presence long before his elbow jutted into Harry's right side, causing the Gryffindor to hmph. Then the Ravenclaw leaned in and whispered, "I see you're going to let your daddy stand up for you Potter. Some Gryffindor honor you have."

This time, Harry whipped around, his face becoming red with anger, "I didn't do a single thing to you, Ackerly. Leave it alone."

"Or what?" The Ravenclaw boasted, taking a step closer to Harry until they were almost chest to chest, visually reminding the Gryffindor that Oliver was three years younger than him. Giving his head a shake, fully intending on signing up for his lesson and walking away, Harry turned around with his hands clenched into fists beside his legs, when Oliver said, "You're such a wanker. You can't even protect yourself if you wanted to. Maybe this time your daddy can keep you safe from the Death Eaters. You going to let him die for you just like you let your mum die?"

Without any conscious thought - reacting fully on his aggression and instincts - Harry quickly flipped back around, simultaneously drawing back his fist, then let it loose and squarely punched the shorter wizard in the jaw. Before anyone around the room could react, Ackerly lunged at Harry and the boys were on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand in their fight with their classmates circled around them. It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes - Harry would never be able to tell - later when he felt himself dragged away from the Ravenclaw he had been fighting.

"Enough!" Snape's angry voice boomed, practically vibrating into Harry's core. Now that he had been magically removed from Ackerly, Harry felt a trickle of blood trailing from his nose. Licking his lips, the coppery taste caused him to grimace, as he remembered the nosebleed the night Snape broke into Privet Drive.

The panic - shielded by his rage - on Snape's face from Harry's bleeding wouldn't be noticeable to anyone besides the Gryffindor who'd come to know the man more than almost anyone else in the school.

"I'm fine," he instinctively said. The last thing he wanted after the things Ackerly announced to his classmates was Snape fussing over him.

"Get to the hospital wing," Snape instructed, disappointment laced in his voice. Conjuring a handkerchief, he handed it to Harry to collect the blood from his nose, "I'll meet you there after I deal with things here. Have Madam Pomfrey call Dr Swanson immediately."

Harry nodded, brushing his robes off as he stood, feeling his ribs aching and willing to bet they were bruised too. Ackerly's lip was split and also bleeding, but other than that he didn't appear hurt. Embarrassment crept up Harry's cheeks for starting a fight with a fourteen year old at the age of seventeen.

In the time it took for the Gryffindor to walk from the Defense classroom to the hospital wing, his nosebleed did not show any signs of slowing down. Being ten days from chemotherapy, he would have expected his blood count to have increased enough by now, but admittedly no one had ever had a reason to test them mid treatment cycle. For all he knew, it took until closer to the next treatment to fully rebound, and that meant he would have to be more careful going forward.

Walking into the hospital wing for the first time of the year brought Harry back to the day he woke up after being hit by the Killing Curse. He'd spent time with his parents - regardless if he could actually say that happened or not - and yet he didn't necessarily feel sad about leaving them. On the contrary, he'd been excited to get back to Snape, even if at the time he expected to still have to face off with Voldemort. So when the too familiar smell of the hospital wing hit his nose through the non-bleeding side, he wasn't surprised when the anticipated anxiety didn't follow. What did catch him completely off guard was the sight of Draco Malfoy, wearing his uniform minus his outer robe, sorting through potions on the bed furthest from the doorway. The blonde looked up at the sound of the large door opening and Harry could feel the air in the room get heavy when their eyes met.

Draco's eyes shifted to the bloody cloth Harry held against the bottom of his nose and he gestured with his head to the second bed on the left - one closer than Harry's usual spot. Wanting to leave and have Snape call his physician instead, the Gryffindor pulled out some of his bravery and walked to bed where he took off his outer robe and sat down.

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked when Draco approached him on the bed. He elevated his head slightly in hopes of slowing the bleeding, only allowing him to see Draco from the bottom of his vision.

"She got called away for a Potions accident," Draco explained. He carefully pulled back the handkerchief to see the stream of blood still slowly making its way from Harry's nose towards his lips. With a grimace, he said, "We have strict orders not to magically heal you without your oncologist's approval for anything less than profuse bleeding, which I guess fortunately this isn't. I'll run a diagnostic spell to make sure there's no internal bleeding then I'll go give her a call."

He was all business, which Harry oddly appreciated, pulling his wand out and running the length of the Gryffindor's body. Draco was surprisingly calm - in a way Harry hadn't seen the other wizard before - as he watched the results come through.

"Well, your nose isn't broken," Draco said it as if he were talking about the latest Quidditch scores. He lifted his eyes up from the parchment, filled with doubt as the blood continued to pour from the Gryffindor's nose. "When was your last chemo?"

"On the thirteenth," Harry swallowed trying to rid himself of the thick coppery liquid going down the back of his throat. He wanted to ask if Draco knew how long it would take for his blood counts to rebound, but doubted he knew the answer "Are you sure you did the scan right?"

Clenching his jaw for a moment in what Harry could assume was his way of resisting the urge to reply with an insult back, Draco eventually responded, "If I can't do a simple diagnostic spell, I shouldn't be here. Your nose isn't broken."

The Gryffindor gave his nose a wiggle and didn't feel any pain. Having never had a broken nose before he had to guess it would be more painful than this.

"How does your right side feel?" asked Draco, continuing to scan his results. "You have a lot of bruising there."

"It hurts," Harry unexpectedly groaned when he pushed on the spot Ackerly had elbowed him. The ribs beneath were still very tender and he could already visualize the purple bruising showing up in the next day. "I was elbowed in the rib cage."

The Slytherin stared flatly at him, the question practically dancing on his tongue. In true Malfoy fashion, his grey eyes narrowed and he furrowed his brows, "Aren't you in classes with second years? They're like… twelve."

"This was with the third years," the raven-haired teen practically spat back. "Listen, if you can't help me I'll just wait for Madam Pomfrey to return."

"Look, like I said," the Slytherin reiterated, turning more professional once again, "I can't even give you a muggle pain tablet without your muggle doctor's approval. Let me-"

The door opened suddenly and Madam Pomfrey came strutting into the infirmary. "I swear, Severus may have been hated by almost the entire the student body, but never have I had to go to his classroom for a-" she jumped a bit when she saw the two wizards at the bed, Harry still holding the now mostly red handkerchief to his nose, "- Oh my! Muggle fighting Mr Potter?" She admonished him.

"Something like that," Harry answered, his voice nasally from holding his nose.

"I'll go call Dr Swanson and see how she wants to handle this," the Matron called out. "Draco, grab him a new handkerchief while I make this call. Dare I say, he needs another at this point."

"Yes, Madam," Draco obediently replied. He swiftly walked over to the cupboard and came back with a larger bandage and a folded up hospital wing pyjama shirt. "You might want to get changed into this," he laid the striped buttoned shirt on the bed, "they're going to want to see your side. And I found another bruise starting on your back."

"Thank you," Harry said without thinking about the recipient and a part of him hoped the other teen would pick up their need to clear the air between them and start the conversation. Unfortunately, that hope quickly dissipated when the Slytherin next spoke.

"It's my job, Potter."

And without so much as a second glance back at the Gryffindor, Draco clicked his wand on the small teal partition separating the beds and it expanded to completely enclose the space to give him privacy.

~~~~SS~~~~

Since the Daily Prophet's declaration of a new regime of Death Eaters, of course giving no actual context to the supposed movement, Severus's office had become a revolving door of his Slytherins bringing all sorts of comments and concerns. From first years terrified to enter the Common Room if a child of one of the previously convicted Death Eaters were in there, to a pair of fourth years stating they no longer felt safe walking the corridors alone, and even his prefects coming to his quarters to report inter-house magical disputes, their entire structure had practically dissolved overnight. The only benefits he'd been able to find from the blasted articles had to be the confidence it instilled that at least most of his students didn't, in fact, fear him. But with great respect, comes great responsibility - or some muggle phrase like that - meaning he had a House meeting scheduled for nine o'clock that night to discuss several new rules he'd be putting in place for the protection and safety of their house; he still needed to work on his phrasing before then.

With so much chaos going on between the Death Eaters - where Albus once again asked for his assistance regardless of his own reassurance that a new regime was not likely -, Harry's chemotherapy and magical core issues, stealthily keeping up with Draco's whereabouts, working at the MLD last Saturday and this one coming up, and talking to Mae twice a week and their next date only three days away, the absolute last thing he needed was for Harry to turn around and physically hit another student, a third year, no less. It really shouldn't have surprised him since Harry had always worn his heart on his sleeve and been a victim to his own anger, and if Draco could start the year off muggle dueling, certainly Harry would end up doing so at least once. He'd only hoped they could have been more than only three weeks apart.

Obviously, he'd need to let Minerva know - probably should have let her know immediately - but he couldn't do it until he got the chance to figure out what the bloody hell the child had been thinking. Luckily, Oliver Ackley had no real damage done by Harry's hit, only a split lip and a bump on the head from hitting it on a desk when he lunged at Harry. Unfortunately, no real injuries meant he couldn't go and see Harry until he handled the Ravenclaw. That consisted of documenting his side of the story and assigning his punishment of twenty house points lost and detention that night - conveniently to be served with Mr Filch as he had his house meeting to prepare for - all of which took upwards of fifteen minutes.

As he stormed through the corridors on his way to the hospital wing, his mind raced between fear over the young wizard's nosebleed being more than a broken nose and infuriation over the Gryffindor's inability to be able control his own temper. Walking on almost autopilot to his destination, Severus found himself unhealthily focusing on Harry's bloody nose. No matter how many times he replayed the fight in his head, he couldn't find the moment where Ackerly actually hit Harry in the face. He could have missed it, obviously there had been a lot going on, but he definitely needed to discuss it with Dr Swanson, who hopefully had already been called.

Harry was the only patient in the hospital wing and yet the number of people in attendance caused his heart to stop momentarily for no other reason than he associated many people with bad news. In reality, Draco's presence next to Madam Pomfrey was the only unexpected person. Approaching the second bed on the left, one closer to the door than Harry's usual spot, he immediately noticed the Gryffindor laying in the bed, now dressed in a set of hospital wing issued pyjamas unbuttoned to allow access to his port with an IV hanging next to the bed attached. Dr Swanson stood on the far side of the bed, facing towards Severus, with Madam Pomfrey and Draco on the close side, both of their backs to him.

"What happened?" demanded Severus, releasing some of his pent up aggression still lingering from his brisk walk.

"Told you he'd freak out," Harry casually answered.

"I'll deal with you a minute," the professor bellowed. "Anyone care to tell me what's going on?"

He'd expected a bit of magic needed to repair Harry's broken nose - which to their credit was no longer actively bleeding - as muggles really had no way to fix a broken nose, and possibly enough bruise salve to slow any bruising on his body. Never had he considered to prepare himself for Harry to have an IV to stop the bleeding.

"It's just a precaution," Dr Swanson spoke up. "He has some pretty serious internal bleeding on his side, and obviously you saw his nose."

"Broken?"

"Surprisingly, no," the doctor said, flipping through the files in her hand. "The bleeding most likely came from a ruptured membrane inside his nasal cavity. It's very commonly seen in patients on chemotherapy and is certainly within the realm of possibilities from taking a hard fall."

Severus ran his hand down his face. The anxiety of seeing his son with the nosebleeds and bruising - plus bone pain as his marrow crowded with the extra white blood cells from the Leukemia - clouded his ability to think rationally about the situation in front of him. His mind could only take so much, and this pushed him beyond his limits.

"Sit down, Severus," Dr Swanson instructed and, apparently agreeing with the muggle doctor, Poppy conjured up a chair for him.

"Thank you, Poppy," he said. Although he normally hated to show any weakness, the people around him had seen him in some of his darkest times. "So what now?"

"Staying out of fights is a good place to start," Dr Swanson lectured to the young wizard in the bed. "Beyond that I'll check your side to make sure it's starting to heal and you'll be on your way."

She made it sound so simple, and to her it may have been. He still wasn't convinced they were out of danger yet, but at this point he had no reason for feeling that way besides his intuition, and it had been wrong before, after all.

"What happened in class, Harry?" Severus bluntly asked his child when Dr Swanson and Madam Pomfrey had finally left for her office, and Draco to lunch. "Dare I say, you've done some foolish things in your seven years here, but I don't recall any actual fighting."

"I got banned from Quidditch fifth year for fighting with Malfoy," Harry admitted.

"That incident," the professor angrily replied, "may have slipped my memory, however my original question still stands."

At first, the young wizard didn't react and Severus thought he'd have to repeat the question. When he did speak, his voice was low, not necessarily due to remorse or embarrassment, but laced with a more sinister undertone Severus didn't like.

"He just got to me," Harry claimed, "I'd been ignoring him most of the class, and then he said… it doesn't matter. I couldn't just let him go around saying things like that."

The statement reminded Severus of the conversation he'd had with Draco about his fight at Hogsmeade Station, and he wanted to ask how having the young Slytherin here during the ordeal went, but he knew better than to draw attention to the complicated situation.

Severus's elbows were propped up on his knees and he pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping for some strength to make it through the already long day.

"I've dealt with Mr Ackerly already," he began. "As the instigator to the fight, he earned himself a detention tonight, but as the one who took the first swing you've gotten yourself two: Friday night and Sunday night in my office.

"I'm disappointed in you, Harry. You know better than this. As a seventeen year old, you need to be setting an example in this school and the behavior you showed this morning-"

"He crossed a line!" Harry threw up his arms as he defended himself. "I didn't do a single thing to him!"

Severus paused as he contemplated how much information to give the teen in front of him.

"Did you happen to read the Prophet this morning?" He asked, hoping to lead Harry to the right conclusion.

Practically rolling his green eyes, the Gryffindor replied, "I choose not to read that rubbish. Nothing good ever comes out of it… sometimes Hermione shows it to me, though."

The last part had been said grudgingly.

"Well this morning, that rubbish reported the names of those killed in the Godric's Hollow attack," the Slytherin said, unwilling to get into a debate over the validity of the paper in general. For better or worse, it was their only decent source of information, even if only half of it could be trusted to be a fraction of the truth. "Let's just say one of the victims - an elderly witch - had the surname Ackerly."

While it wouldn't excuse the taunting or bullying - for lack of a better word - the Ravenclaw bestowed on Harry, it could at least give some context to the situation.

"I didn't know," Harry responded, his eyes darting around the room as he took in the information.

"According to Filius, he didn't want anyone to know about it," Severus explained. "You can certainly understand and appreciate when information you wish to keep private gets slandered across Wizarding Britain."

"He said they're looking for me," Harry broke the silence with his statement. "I don't want to get anyone else killed."

"Look at me," Severus commanded and when Harry's eyes met his own, he tried to put as much reassurance into them as he possibly could. "They are not trying to get to you. The DMLE isn't even sure Death Eaters are responsible for that attack-" he held his hand up to quiet Harry's anticipated argument, "-yes, it's very similar to the Diagon Alley attack and those culprits are in Azkaban. There is something to be said when a crime looks almost too similar to another. I won't go through it all now, but understand there have been no official connections made between the two. Until then, all we have to go by is speculations and doing so blindly can be exceedingly dangerous."

Harry nodded his understanding, though Severus suspected it was more ceremonial. He knew Harry - now this Harry just as much as the other - enough to know he wouldn't take the words at face value. They would continue to fester beneath his skin until the teen found some ridiculous Gryffindor antic to jump into in hopes of sparing anyone else. He'd need to watch the young wizard, and somehow even more closely than he had already been doing.

Dr Swanson excused Harry from his classes for the rest of the day and made the young wizard stay in the hospital wing, much to the Gryffindor's chagrin. Severus could relate as he equally despised being stuck in the hospital wing for any given amount of time, but no matter how much Harry tried to argue being an adult wizard meant he could make his own decisions, as a child under the care of the school, he wouldn't be permitted to leave until Madam Pomfrey gave her approval. For once, Severus felt grateful for the Matron's overly cautious nature.

Severus made it to his classes for the rest the day and then spent his office hours before dinner reconfiguring his sixth year curriculum to account for the class he missed due to this incident. If he shortened the revision before their next exam - requiring the students to do more outside of the classroom - they could be back on schedule by the third week of October. Sixth years were a difficult set though in terms of trusting their ability to be responsible for their own work outside of class. Sandwiched between their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. year - both of which typically saw students taking their studying to an almost unhealthy level - sixth years fell into one of two buckets: those who continued to burn themselves out studying at some unmanageable rate, and those who used the year as a break between the exams; rarely did he see students fall in the middle.

By dinnertime, Harry had been released from the clutches of the hospital wing. His pallor was still far more pale than Severus would have liked to see, and he clutched his side every so often - particularly when reaching across the table to serve himself food - but ultimately he would be alright. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him and assisted where he needed it, and more importantly Harry allowed it. This gave Severus time to focus on his next task of the exceedingly long day: the house meeting with his Slytherins. Having instituted required study time in the hour prior to curfew, he'd hoped to have the ability to keep a closer watch - for his prefects more than himself - over the students. Now, though, he'd need to get creative to give him the ability to watch over the house, in general, more effectively.

The former spy sat at his Defense office desk, only an hour left to get his plan together, when a knock on the door instantly drew his attention out of his turbulent thoughts.

"Come in," he called out, half annoyed to have been interrupted.

There had been many people he'd expected to see on the other side of the doorway when it opened - Harry, Draco, one of his Slytherins, even Filius to discuss Ackerly's abhorrent behavior that morning - the one person he hadn't expected was Albus. His dark navy blue robes with twinkling stars upon them reminded Severus of the late hour, and his blue eyes filled with compassion highlighted the significance to the other wizard's visit. Rarely did the headmaster step into Severus's classroom, opting to send a missive for any of his teachers to report to his office, or on a more urgent matter, the headmaster may visit his quarters; though Severus doubted Albus did so with many of the other professors. No matter how much he hated to admit it, he'd always had a particularly close relationship with the older man, a mentorship of sorts. Severus had respected him, and valued his opinion for more reasons than simply his attempt to save Lily. Those had definitely been challenged this year, post Battle of Malfoy Manor, and to say they'd fully overcome their animosity would be a lie.

"How can I help you, Albus?" The dark-haired professor asked. "I'm needed in my house in less than an hour's time."

"It's good to hear there hasn't been too much upset with your rank among your students," the headmaster commented, slowly walking into the room and standing in front of Severus still seated at his desk. The stance, combined with his hands clasped behind his back, made Severus feel as if he were the one in trouble. "I've always thought the natural balance within the Slytherins to be quite unique. It's a system that fell into place centuries ago and still organically stands to this day."

"It's currently hanging by a thread," Severus reluctantly admitted. "Draco's change in alliance has predictably created a shift in their overall structure of power. We now have certain students trying to tip the scales against him."

"Mr Harper, I presume?"

"So it seems," Severus sighed. "Outside of the issue at Hogsmeade station, several students have come to me with concerns regarding his behavior towards his housemates."

"Above and beyond what I've heard happening regarding the newest Death Eater news?"

Severus flinched at the not-so-subtle shift in conversation.

"The entire student body would benefit if you'd ban that damn, sorry excuse for a newspaper from the school grounds," he lectured.

"You know I cannot do that, my boy," Albus's eyes twinkled in sympathy, giving the Slytherin no reason not to believe he truly wished he could. The headmaster had his own struggles with the paper - and Rita Skeeter - over the years and if that hadn't forced his hand, the reporting of supposed Death Eater activity certainly wouldn't.

"Have you gotten any other information from Kingsley on that front?" He was fishing to find out the purpose of the odd visit sooner rather than later.

"They have a good lead on the responsible party from the Godric's Hollow attack," the headmaster told him, not budging from his position standing before Severus's desk. "It appears the memory retrieval process has been an integral piece-" Severus couldn't help rolling his eyes, still unsure what this new procedure would mean in the long run for investigations, "-and the DMLE has confirmed the culprits were seen in genuine Death Eater masks. Unfortunately, the Prophet's claims aren't as unsubstantiated as you may think."

"I'm telling you, there is no perceivable way -"

"I do not wish to continue arguing with you over this, Severus," Albus cut him off, making the Slytherin again feel as if he were being reprimanded. "I have to look at the information in front of me, and unfortunately it does not support your claims."

"So you'd rather believe a half-cocked reporter more interested in her rating than a former Death Eater who intimately knew how the ranks in Voldemort's reigns worked?"

"I'm going to believe what my own observations are showing me," the Gryffindor challenged. "And I would think if these attacks have even the chance of involving Harry, you would want to do everything in your power to get them under control, no matter how unlikely the scenario may be."

Of course he would, and Albus knew that. Forcing his hand into a conspiracy he didn't believe in would have lasting implications, but it appeared to be a play the headmaster was willing to risk.

"Why are you here, Albus?" He refused to give the man the satisfaction of saying he'd follow up with Lucius on Saturday at the MLD; he'd know, though, what Severus would be doing next.

The abrupt change of topic somehow triggered the headmaster to start slowly walking around the moderately sized office. He peered over at the Severus's bookshelf filled with school appropriate texts on dark magic - he held almost a library's worth of less than school appropriate texts back home at Spinner's End, as well as on the upper shelves in his quarters - and the various artefacts he had in preparation for his upcoming lessons.

"I heard you had some issues in your classroom this morning," he turned his head, giving Severus his typical 'all knowing' expression, "I merely wanted to see how Harry was doing."

"Could you have not asked him yourself?"

"Of course," Albus gave a small, sad laugh, "though I must admit, my relationship with Harry has been a bit strained after his fifth year. Not only that, I'd like to make sure you are alright with all that has happened."

The understatement of the century right there, Severus thought to himself. Rather than continue the song and dance moves with Albus, the former spy went through the incident in his classroom, outlining almost methodically and clinically the insults slung around by the pair of Ravenclaws leading up to the muggle fight. He explained about Harry's need for Dr Swanson's visit and the disciplinary measures he took - which surprisingly the headmaster approved. Never in the course of the conversation did it appear as if his judgement was being questioned; Albus knew better than to try to hide something of that nature. As they continued to talk - from Harry, to Severus's new work at the MLD, landing on the decision to continue to keep both Trelawney and Firenze on staff - when a quick look at the clock on his desk showed he only had five minutes until the start of his house meeting.

"I have to go, Albus," the younger professor proclaimed, interrupting what he assumed to be a riveting story on Firenze's latest student following. Since his addition to the school, the class sizes for Divinations had skyrocketed, "Lest I be late for my own meeting and I dare not set that precedent."

"Of course, Severus," the headmaster nodded, "do please let me know what you discover on our earlier topic, and, as always, if you need any help with the students, my door is open."

When the headmaster left, Severus still had no clue what he'd be telling his students in only a matter of minutes. How often had he lectured any number of the teens about not being prepared - specifically, if they weren't prepared the few minutes prior to class, they wouldn't be in that short amount of time. His own words came back to haunt him as he stormed from his office hoping to find some kind of guidance he could provide to his Snakes.

Perhaps if he had a clearer mind and hadn't been rushing to the dungeons, the small white kitten - the same one he continued to ponder since seeing it before Harry's chemotherapy - practically racing him down the corridor would have been a bit amusing. Instead, it weaved daringly between his heavy, yet quiet, footsteps and the professor swore at the damn thing for getting in his way. As it continued on, somehow managing to put more space between them, Severus could have sworn he saw the fluffy white head - with its bright eyes and pink nose - turn towards him with what he could only describe as a small smirk of acknowledgement, just before it darted down the stairwell into the dungeons.

Almost more frustrated from the encounter with the pesky feline, Severus made his way down the dark stairwell into the bowels of the castle. Throughout all of his years at Hogwarts - as a student and professor - plus all the plentiful trips from the upper part of the castle into the depths, he could never figure out where the line crossing under the Black Lake was actually located. Somehow, the thought of slowly descending into the expansive lake - large enough to hold an entire village of merpeople and a Giant Squid with ease - and the murky waters being on the other side of the stone walls seemed worse than seeing the green tinted water through the windows in the Slytherin Common Room, and therefore he tried not to visualize too much of it.

Suddenly, a streak of white crossed his vision as the professor reached the bottom of the stairwell and took his first step into the shadowed corridor leading towards his house. He blinked his eyes in surprise because as much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny the sight was one, Draco Malfoy, running across the corridor and now stood before him stark naked.

"Professor!" The blonde Slytherin called out shocked, covering himself at the same time Severus turned to his right; just enough to keep the teen in sight without actually seeing anything.

"You're late to our house meeting, Mr Malfoy," Severus lectured, wanting nothing more than to figure out what the hell would cause a student of Draco's caliber to end up clothless outside of his dormitory. "Care to enlighten me as to why?"

"This isn't what it looks like."

"Mr Malfoy, I'm not certain I could articulate what I think this looks like right now," he grimaced at the thought. "Are you alone?"

"Erm… yes, sir," the Malfoy heir uncharacteristically stumbled, though his eyes didn't peer off to wherever a specific, potentially-hidden Gryffindor witch could have been, so he felt inclined to believe the young wizard.

"And did you… come to this situation on your own accord?" Severus asked. "Or shall I include this incident as an example in my lecture to your housemates?"

Draco's face turned bright red; another uncharacteristic attribute to the normally stoic student.

"No… I mean, yes…" the blonde stuttered, his eyebrows furrowed down so low his eyes were almost squinted closed, then with more aggression than Severus would have expected given the situation they found themselves in, he added, "...I mean… no one did this to me."

Turning back a little more towards Draco, who to his credit had been patiently waiting for the professor to deem this either innocent enough or awkward enough to let him continue to the Common Room, Severus gave his wand a wave to conjure a plain black robe, then promptly tossed it at the young Slytherin's feet. In hindsight, the more appropriate reaction would have been to conjure up the robe when he first noticed the lack of clothing, however he got the feeling Draco's desire not to speak of this event again would ensure no harm would come from his slip of decorum.

"As we're both already late," Severus announced, "I shall give you time to get back to your dorm to get yourself settled... and decent prior to my own arrival and the start of our meeting."

Draco promptly turned - not muttering another word about their encounter - and walked away with his head held high. In the dimly lit dungeons, Severus could only make out the outline of the teen, but it provided enough to notice the blonde break out into a run as he turned the corner.

Severus would never forget his first house meeting after taking over as Head of Slytherin. He had been barely older than the seventh years, - compounded by having attended school with them during his final year - and felt no more qualified than any of the Slytherin prefects. As he built his reputation of being the hardarse professor, not willing to take excuses from anyone, facing the hundred of children at any given moment didn't concern him. He learned to embrace and feed from the power he had over them, and being a Slytherin he understood their specific needs from a Head of House. He listened without coddling, he advised on complicated situations without requiring personal details, and most importantly, he allowed the residents of the house to fall into their own balance of power. This last point was one no other professor, not even the Headmaster, could truly understand and appreciate. These students were ambitious to a fault and without the proper peer-led organization - a checks and balances so to say - they would take advantage of any situation, any chance they could get. The current situation, and his entire reason for having the house meeting to begin with, broke the normal protocol on several levels. His students had expressed their concerns directly to him, as opposed to the prefects, demonstrating they felt they could no longer trust the ranks of the house.

Standing in front of his students, with the wall of windows to his back, the professor internally struggled about how to best communicate what he needed to say; never allowing the hint of fear and doubt to creep past his blank expression.

"It has come to my attention that certain claims made by the Daily Prophet have made the life of a Slytherin in this school explicitly difficult," Severus started. His hands were clenched behind his back, not unlike Albus's were when they spoke less than an hour ago. "First, I would like to reassure everyone in attendance that your safety in the school, and specifically within these walls, is of the utmost importance to myself and to the headmaster." He ignored the snickering of disapproval from including Albus in his sentiment, and he couldn't blame them; the other wizard had let Slytherins down countless times, going back to his own Hogwarts days. "Should anyone-" his eye contact paused momentarily on the Greengrass sisters, who were able to return this year, though he'd heard their parents were no longer living together, "-find themselves in a situation where they feel their personal safety is compromised, my door remains open to you. I will do my best to work with the other Heads of Houses to rectify any misguided behavior-"

"-like you did with Potter today?" Simon Nott - Theodore's second year cousin - challenged. "From what I heard, he attacked an innocent Ravenclaw for no reason and didn't get so much as a point removed."

"As you're relatively new to our House, let me remind you we do not partake in classroom gossip," he lectured. "In response to your accusation of my own disciplinary measures in my classroom, I can tell you Oliver Ackerly instigated that particular incident, and Harry Potter was punished in a manner equally sufficient. I've left any remaining measures to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick."

"Yeah, right," he recognized the nasally voice of Jeremy Harper from the back, "like they'll really do anything. We need to stand up for ourselves!"

The collective cheers alarmed him. Had they really gotten this far gone?

"That's ridiculous," Draco spoke up but not as loud and demanding as Harper did. "We're not bloody Gryffindors, which is exactly what you'll be if you listen to him and we're all better than that."

Interestingly, Blaise was the first to nod his head, and slowly a majority of the rest followed. Severus inclined his head slightly as an acknowledgement to the Malfoy heir's continued control - however shakey it may be - in the house.

"As I cannot guarantee each professor will take the magnitude of the issue seriously, internally I have set up a mentor system," he flicked his eyes at the bulletin board near the doorway leading out of the common room, where three pages of parchment appeared, "I've created pairs between one upper year student and one or two lower years based on your course and study schedule. Effective tomorrow morning, the mentor will accompany their mentee to and from classes, the Great Hall, and the library. The mentor will also be expected to assist their mentee during our mandatory study hour nightly. I will make all the arrangements with your professors to ensure you are available for this endeavor. The chaperone duty will be temporary, until the status quo within the castle has been re-establish, though you should plan on the study partners to last until the end of term as I've been disappointed with the compliance thus far."

The noise level increased as the students craned their necks backwards in an attempt to see the parchment on the bulletin board. Severus almost rolled his eyes at their foolishness. No one would be able to see up the platform leading to the door, a distance of at least 20 meters, and if any of them could, he or she would immediately become their next Seeker.

"If we may move on," his deep voice radiated throughout the room, showing his anger for having the need to discuss this part of the meeting, "it had also come to my attention there have been disputes within our own house. Might I remind you: you are all Slytherins and as such, you will respect one another. We have to work twice as hard to shed the judgement cast upon us and cannot afford to crumble from within. I expect better from every single one of you, and though I may not be able to control how other Heads of House handle their students, you are under my authority. I guarantee you, should I find that anyone is bringing harm to one of our own, I will personally see to it that the threat is permanently removed."

He paused to allow any protests, and this time not a single person spoke up against him. They knew he took his role as their Head of House seriously, would do anything possible to keep his students safe, and certainly had the means to get any of them at least expelled at any given moment. Hopefully, his warning would be enough and they wouldn't have to revisit this topic of conversation again.

If Severus said he hadn't been surprised when sometime around eleven o'clock that night the name Draco Malfoy popped up on a piece of parchment before him, it would be a lie. After their encounter in the corridor earlier, he expected to see very little of the Malfoy heir, yet there in his hands he held the notification showing the teen stood outside the professor's door. On his way to answer the door, he had to push back the disappointment of the notification not being from Mae. Though he'd be seeing her again on Saturday night, Severus found himself thinking more about her during whatever free time he had and anxiously awaiting their next phone call. It annoyed him to no end - a woman having this type of effect on him - and yet, at the same time, he didn't want to walk away from whatever they were building.

"May I remind you, Mr Malfoy, you are no longer a prefect," Severus greeted his student, "and therefore you do not have permission to be out after curfew, nor would you be delivering news of an emergency."

"May I come in?"

Draco, dressed down in a green muggle jumper and pair of black jeans - an odd sight for someone previously known as the Slytherin Prince - shifted his weight when he made his request. Outside of Harry, under normal circumstances Severus wouldn't allow a student into his personal quarters. His connection with Draco, however, was far from falling under what would be considered "normal circumstances", and though the teen was no longer considered Severus's protége, he still felt responsible for the young wizard's well-being.

"I should at least deduct points for this," Severus pressed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes and moved aside to allow Draco entry.

"But you won't," the teen arrogantly claimed walking into the sitting room. The last time they both had been in these rooms together had been before his kidnapping. At the time, neither of them knew what would be in store for them, and even if they had, it wasn't the kind of thing someone could prepare for.

Torn between not wanting to encourage this behavior and needing something to help calm his own nerves from the day, Severus flicked his wand and a pot of tea he'd previously been preparing came levitating into the sitting room: two cups and saucers behind it. He hastily served the two of them tea and then took a refreshing sip.

"Is there an agenda for this late night rendezvous?"

"I wanted to thank you for pairing me up with Hala," Draco didn't lift his head from staring at the cup in his hand as he said it. "I know she's mentioned some… concerns about being alone with several of our housemates. They don't really like her much."

"I am well aware of her situation within the school," Severus admitted, unable to provide the first year's mentor with much more information. Unlike other houses, Slytherins were careful with their trust, only giving one chance because they refused to be burned twice, and Severus refused to lose any of the trust they confided in him. In addition to that, though, for this particular situation, Hala had met with him the other day on Draco's behalf - worried because she thought she'd overheard Harper talk about sabotaging the Malfoy heir - and that was something he did not want to advertise. So he'd let Draco believe their pairing had more to do with her than him. "And how did you feel about the meeting overall?"

"Well, it certainly had its intended effect," Draco responded. "More than half the house was up in arms about it."

"Those would be the students I need to keep a closer watch on," Severus commented, already having a good list of those who would be against this type of action. "With any luck, this will be just enough to remind the instigators I am still in control of things and they're under close scrutiny."

"We heard the message loud and clear," Draco said, "but you better have a contingency plan because first it's mandatory study time, and now a forced mentorship… there's bound to be some resistance."

"That's what I am hoping for. It will give me a better idea of what exactly I'm dealing with and then I can make alterations as needed to curb as much violence as possible."

A neutral silence fell between them as the two Slytherins continued their tea. He had to remind himself Draco was still only seventeen, and regardless of how much he and Harry had been through, the blonde was still too young to be dealing with these issues. They should be thinking about their future, excited at the prospect of starting their careers, and eventually a family. How long would it take for the next generation of students to be able to enjoy their school year almost carefree?

"I saw you helping with Harry this morning," Severus eventually said.

Based on Draco's immediate change in posture - his shoulders stiffening, his wide jaw clenching, and the tea cup passing between his hands - Severus knew the change of topic made the other Slytherin uncomfortable. Once again he found himself torn between doing what the teen needed, and what made him comfortable. Severus wouldn't back away from a challenge; that had been the only Gryffindor trait in his body and it stemmed more from his own stubborn pride rather than any righteousness.

"It's my job." The words were barely audible.

"I'm sure Dr Swanson provided you with some decent information about muggle medicine," he chose to phrase it as a statement, knowing Draco would answer.

"It's bloody barbaric!" The blonde called out. "And no pun intended. I could have fixed his nose with an elementary healing spell even Longbottom could do and sent him on his way before Madam Pomfrey had returned. Even if it had been broken! A broken nose isn't much different than say… a broken finger."

"And you've repaired a broken finger?"

His pale face grimaced. "I never realized how much the non-Seeker positions get injured until that first Quidditch game working with Madam Pomfrey. By the end, I could do a pretty painless Episkey with my eyes closed."

"This suits you," he added, building up Draco's comfort level. "I've rarely seen you this animated discussing something as mundane as healing."

"I think you mean plebeian," he grumbled back, then placed his tea cup on its saucer on top of the table in front of him and leaned over, resting his arms on his legs, "but I'm over it. I don't want to push pawns around like my father anymore. I can't do that. Hermione deserves better-" he paused and Severus waited; the objection sat on the tip of tongue, "-I deserve better."

Satisfied with the answer, Severus barely took a breath as he asked, "And things with you and Harry?"

"Ha! He accused me of not knowing how to run a diagnostic spell," the teen lemented. "I'll be the first to admit, based on the amount of blood, I half expected his nose to be shattered… he should be grateful it wasn't, but no! He acted almost as if he wanted his nose to be broken… Maybe he did? Maybe it's a Gryffindor badge of honor, I dunno… we don't exactly talk anymore."

The pseudo-diatribe was more than either of the wizards had said about the other since their rescue. They may not have been face to face as often with Harry's change of class roster, but that didn't mean out of sight, out of mind. No, contrary to what they both wanted to happen between them, it was only a matter of time until something acted as a catalyst to their mutual reconciliation. Severus could only hope it would happen sooner rather than later so they could all put the last piece of their time at Malfoy Manor behind them once and for all. When Harry and Draco could speak on proper terms again, Severus would be able to breathe easy knowing things were finally healing.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 26th September, 1997

Harry couldn't seem to catch a break in that final week of September. He woke up suddenly before dawn on Friday morning to the familiar pain ripping through his body he too often knew came from his chemotherapy tablets, and shivering so ferociously his charmed yellow blanket had no hope in combating the cold from his bones. Though he had been bound to have a "bad day" - outside of the daily fatigue he'd mostly gotten used to and then the bleeding from two days ago - while at school, he had foolishly allowed himself to fall into a false sense of security surrounded by the normalcy of the last month. Now, the nausea and pain were back to remind him his body still had to keep fighting to keep the cancer away; he wasn't completely healed yet, his battle was still far from victory.

Having not considered what he'd do in this scenario, when the nausea became too much to handle in his room - and he could admit it wouldn't quickly pass - he pulled the crimson curtains away from around his bed, grabbed his glasses, shoving them onto his face so quickly they sat half crooked , and wished he had the self-cleaning pail beside him. Rushing up from his bed he raced out of the room and down the circular stairs, heading straight to the lavatory he shared with all the other Gryffindor boys.

The tower was designed with four floors higher than the common room - the lavatory, then three dormitories - with the remaining four dormitories below the Common Room. When he first moved into Hogwarts, Harry loved that they'd been lucky enough to have the top floor; and even happier when he found only the sign outside changed each year rather than the location within the Tower, giving them a prime location each of his seven years in Gryffindor. After living in a cupboard in the middle of the house for pretty much all of his life, he felt a strange calm at sitting on the window ledge overlooking the grounds from such a high angle. Having to go down three rounds of the spiral stairs to use the lavatory never bothered him before, but he'd rarely been sick to his stomach while away at school, and if he had been, a quick trip to Madam Pomfrey for a Stomach Soother always did the trick to prevent the middle of the night rush to the loo.

Harry's bare feet pattered down the cold stone steps, almost in the same cadence as his beating heart, with only the early morning moonlight filtering into through the windows and the soft, dimmed glow from the few lanterns lit for this exact purpose: guiding his way. Located on the floor above the Common Room - three floors down from Harry's dorm - the boys' lavatory was split into two half circles, separated by a wall of sinks. The door from the staircase led directly into the left side consisting of the toilets and sinks, and at the far end a small walkway between the two halves led around to the other side where their showers were located. It seemed small for the amount of boys sharing the space, but they'd never really had any issues. By now, they all pretty much knew who liked to wake up early for the first crack at the showers, and those who - like Ron - would prefer to sleep and shower later. Harry always hoped, yet doubted, the girls had a bigger space than the boys otherwise they would never make it to class on time without needing to wake at some awful early hour in the morning.

Entering into the lavatory in record time, Harry felt grateful to have just barely made it into the first stall before the nausea completely overtook him. Feeling utterly alone, kneeling on the cold floor in front of the loo as the vomiting tore through his body - having no idea how long until morning nor how he'd get to his medication set aside for these occasions - reminded him of those early treatment days back at Privet Drive. Back then, he had no idea what to expect from the chemo and once he realized what was in store for him, he thought he'd have to go through it all alone. That was until Snape showed up and rather than mock his weakness like Harry had fully expected from the man, he genuinely helped him. Never would Harry be able to explain to anyone how much he appreciated the professor's presence during those early sick days. Looking back, those days had started them on the long road to where they were now, and without them, Harry doubted he would have been able to overcome his animosity for the Slytherin. It was the only real thing he owed to his illness.

When the heaving finally subsided and Harry's weak body could no longer hold himself up, Harry laid down on the floor in front of the toilet, on his side with his knees drawn to his chest, completely unaware of his convulsive shivering. His blue and white striped pyjamas clung to every angle of his torso from his sweat, yet at the same time he couldn't get warm. Frustration tore through his mind as he thought about his current circumstances. How could he feel perfectly fine going to bed yesterday and wake up only hours later unable to move? He knew, of course, but somehow being surrounded by the school environment - and knowing his dorm mates slept soundly only floors above him - made the reasoning all the more crushing than ever before.

Against all odds, the young wizard managed to fall asleep on the lavatory floor, only waking up sick one more time between his arrival at the loo and when he felt a pair of warm hands shaking his arm.

"Harry?!" Ron's panicked voice called into his ear, the word feeling like it was beating against the side of his skull. "Harry, wake up, mate."

With a groan, the raven-haired Gryffindor rolled over from his side onto his back and cracked his eyes open to see Colin and Dennis Creevey - still dressed in their pyjamas - standing over him and Ron kneeling to his right. Light coming in from over the top of the stall told him somehow he'd made it to morning, but he knew there was no way he'd be able to go to classes that day.

"S'ry, guys," mumbled Harry as he tried to sit up, quickly finding he didn't have the energy to move on his own.

"Careful there," Ron told him, helping Harry up until he could lean his back against the side of the stall. His face flushed as he looked over at the Creevey brothers watching him, and picking up on Harry's embarrassment, Ron pushed them aside and lectured, "Give 'im some privacy, will ya?!"

Alone - at least in the stall, Harry could still see feet out in the lavatory - he went to tell his friend "thank you" but ended up back over the loo. As he succumbed to another round of violent vomiting, he tried not to think about the people standing outside listening to him be sick and instead focused on his friend's hand firmly pressed around his shoulders, as if to remind Harry he wasn't alone, yet not exactly sure what his friend would need from him.

"Ron? 'arry?" Seamus asked, peeking his head into the doorway. "I grabbed all de bottles from 'arry's bedside table, naht sure what any o' dem do though."

Harry reached out with a shaking arm and the other wizard dropped them in his hands.

"Can you get 'im a goblet of water?" Ron asked, while Harry searched the bottles for the correct one to help his nausea, though having no real hope that it would work. Once he found the right one, he handed the rest to Ron, who was watching him carefully dispense two white, oval tablets. "You sure it's those, mate?"

If he didn't feel so sick, Harry would have answered back with some sarcastic remark about having taken enough of the tablets to know which was which, except he didn't have the energy. Instead, he glared over at his friend - noticing he had come to the lavatory still dressed in only his undershirt and bright red boxer shorts, not appearing to care at all - then took the offered goblet from Seamus and swallowed the tablets.

"Thanks," he groaned and went to lay back down on the cold floor when he heard a lot of mumbling outside. Then, as if there weren't enough spectators already, Dean squeezed into the opened stall doorway with his charmed blanket.

"Here ya go, Harry," his friend said, "I've cleared out the lavatory for you, and Neville went to get Professor Snape."

"Neville went?" Harry closed his eyes through another wave of pain, shivering as Ron covered him in the blanket. Maybe he should take a pain tablet too.

Ron moved from his kneeling position to his bottom, only managing to fit because Harry shifted his legs over into the stall beside them, and began to explain, "When the Creevey brother, I was too tired to figure out which one, came in telling us you were sick in loo, I knew we needed to get him, but only Neville and I knew where his quarters are... I offered to go and was practically out the door, but Neville said I should be here with you and that he'd do it."

Gratitude. Harry's tired body flooded with so much gratitude it almost replaced the sick feeling inside of him. Neville - the one Gryffindor everyone mocked for being one - hadn't thought twice before going to potentially wake up his boggart for Harry. These had been his first friends, his first family, and he didn't know how he'd ever repay them, or how he'd manage the next several years in school without them when they left for the real world at the end of the year.

Harry's ears picked up a stern knock on the outside door of the lavatory and he knew it had to be Snape arriving. Dean glanced back at the same time the door opened and the room became filled with noise from the stairwell; by this point, the other boys would have either heard what was going on with Harry, or legitimately needed to use the facilities and had been told to bugger off. Regardless of the reason, Harry knew he had to move and get out of their way.

"Hold it, Mr Potter," McGonagall's firm voice said when he started the stand. "Severus will be here shortly."

What's she doing in the boys' lavatory?!

Ron must have thought the same thing, because he looked down at his unorthodox pyjamas and his entire face flushed when he met Harry's eyes. It had been enough to make Harry give a small chuckle.

" 'm alright, Professor," Harry tried to reassure her, but his trembling voice betrayed his confidence. In reality, his body had been getting used to feeling healthy, so this change not only came as an emotional challenge, but a more physical one than he hadn't been used to.

The door opened and closed again and this time no sound was heard from the hallway, meaning either a privacy ward had been cast or Snape scared everyone in the stairwell away; a sight Harry would have loved to see.

"Mr Finnegan, Mr Thomas, if you'll please go back to your dorm? I believe you have classes to get ready for," Snape's dark voice came from the other side of the stall, dismissing the two Gryffindors.

"What's going on?" Neville's voice boldly called out from somewhere near the lavatory door. "Is- is he gonna be alright?"

The sigh from Snape couldn't be any more condescending; as if to say had Harry been in any actual danger, the professors wouldn't be so callous in their response.

"Yes, Mr Longbottom," the Defense Professor responded, "this is a normal reaction to his medications."

"But-" Neville tried to argue and was immediately cut off by McGonagall.

"We have this handled from here," their Head of House reassured them in a much kinder tone than Snape ever would. "Now please return to your dormitory."

Harry heard the main door open and close one more time leaving him, Ron, and the two professors remaining in the lavatory.

"Mr Weasley," McGonagall said, handing over a scarlet red dressing gown she'd obviously just conjured, her eyes disapproving of his current attire, "please give us some space."

Sheepishly, Ron stood up, his face as red as the dressing gown now tightly wrapped around his midsection, "I'll just… head back upstairs."

"Actually," Snape surprised them all with his interjection, "I'd appreciate your assistance helping Harry back to his room -" he turned to Harry and asked, "-that is unless you'd like to wait out these effects in our quarters?"

As tempting as it was to go downstairs to his comfortable, soft bed with the conveniently attached lavatory, Harry didn't want to walk through the school in his current condition and he definitely wasn't about to floo anywhere.

"No, sir," he answered, "I'll be fine here."

The two professors carefully watched him, and as he started to shift to move, Snape reached down to help him up by wrapping his arms around Harry's side.

Harry wanted to protest when both Ron and Snape assisted him back upstairs to his bed, but he found himself too exhausted to say a word. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all sitting on their beds talking; about what, Harry didn't know because they halted immediately when they saw Snape enter a half second before Harry and Ron. None of the other Gryffindors mentioned anything about the Head of Slytherin standing in their room and once again Harry was grateful to be surrounded by his friends and family.

Against all odds, Harry managed to fall asleep and next awoke to the smell of chicken soup causing his stomach to grumble; not exactly a sign that this bout was over, but good enough to tell him it likely wouldn't last the entire day. He expected to be in his bedroom down in the dungeons until he heard murmuring coming from near Ron's bed, confusing him about where he'd fallen asleep having never been sick in the Tower. Cracking his eyes open, happy for the overcast day blocking the sun from shining in on his sore eyes, another wave of nausea coursed through his body.

"Here you are, mate," Ron said, jumping up from his own bed and handing Harry the pail Snape conjured and charmed earlier that morning before he'd left to teach.

The redhead sat beside Harry, not at all shying away from his vomiting, with a hand tentatively wrapped around his shoulder, through the three waves of heaving. Once Harry placed the pail back on the floor opposite of Ron, the red-head handed him a goblet of water and his glasses.

"Thanks," Harry croaked, absolutely hating the way his throat felt on these 'bad days'. "Shouldn't you be in class right around now?"

"Naw," Ron shrugged, "McGonagall excused me for the day. Professor Snape didn't want to leave you here all alone."

"I would have survived," Harry claimed. "If I really needed someone, I could have called Dobby."

With a small chuckle, Ron said, "Snape pretty much nixed that idea the second McGonagall suggested the same thing. He wanted someone reliable."

"And he chose you?"

"I thought that too," Ron sat back on the foot of the bed so he faced Harry. He pulled out his wand and levitated over the tray containing the bowl of soup with bread from the bedside table onto Harry's lap. "We'd all do it for you, though, even without the benefit of skipping class."

The steam rising in front of him nearly warmed him up inside from just the anticipation of it sitting in his stomach. Carefully, he dipped the spoon and took a cautious sip hoping his stomach would cooperate.

"What time is it?" Harry asked. "Am I eating lunch or dinner?"

"That's lunch," Ron answered, "it's about one o'clock. The guys came by with it to check on you. You just missed 'em."

Harry's face warmed with embarrassment. "What happened this morning? I mean… how much did everyone see?"

"Enough," Ron squinted his eyes in thought. "Dean said McGonagall sat all the boys down after Snape left and explained what was going on. That you have good days and bad days, and that sometimes Snape or her may need to stop by to help. Erm… she made sure to tell us that you're not contagious… guess that question came up from a first year."

"Can't really blame them, I'd want to know the same thing if I found someone laying like that in front of the loo," Harry commented.

Ron only shrugged. A companionable silence fell over them while Harry tried to finish his soup.

"You scared me though," Ron eventually said, sounding so much unlike himself Harry almost didn't know how to react. "I think I thought you were fine now because you only take those… muggle..."

"... tablets," Harry offered.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "and then you were at Snape's for that weekend, but Monday morning you were fine at breakfast."

He could understand how based on those observations his friends could come to that assumption, unwilling to admit even to himself that occasionally he allowed himself to believe it too.

"It's not that simple," Harry thought back on some of the things Dr Snyder had told him, "this is… something that's going to come and go for the next couple of years. Ironically, most of it's from the medications, but I need 'em."

"That makes no sense," Ron confusedly stated and Harry didn't want to say he agreed.

"Let's go down to the Common Room," he told Ron instead, "I need a change of scenery."

"We can play some Wizard's Chess?" Ron offered, perking back up to his normal, more chipper self.

"Sounds great."

If Ron noticed his lack of enthusiasm, the other wizard didn't mention it. Instead, he walked directly behind Harry, who was dressed in his warmest pyjamas and wrapped in his yellow blanket, down the circular stairs to the common room. For the most part, the room was empty with only a set of fifth years studying at a table to the left of the fireplace and a pair of first years - one of whom Harry knew had been homesick lately and could often be found crying to her friends - playing Gobstones on the floor in front of the fireplace. Harry's stomach clenched at the mere thought of the smell radiating from the marbles. He paused on the bottom step, debating on if he wanted to go back upstairs or continue down and deal with the stench.

"Hey," Ron called out to the group by the fireplace, "would you mind?"

The two first years - Harry had learned their names at some point, but couldn't come close to remembering them in that moment - looked up at them and nodded. Leaving the Gobstones on the floor, in a move McGonagall would have hated to see, they took off out the portrait hole most likely heading towards their last class of the day.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry commented as he set up the chess board between them on the scarlet sofa directly in front of the fireplace. "I would have been fine with it."

"It's one of the benefits of being a seventh year," Ron smiled. "Think of all the times we were booted from the Common Room as firsties!"

Harry screwed his eyes in thought, "No, I don't think that really happened."

"Sounded good anyways," Ron replied, causing them both to laugh.

Harry couldn't help thinking about how much he needed this: to have Ron there beside him and how much time they seemed to have missed over the past year. Even now, while Harry had a much lighter schedule and was able to spend the time with his friends, more often than he'd like to admit, they were busy with exams and homework much more difficult than Harry's own. Where they used to fill their spare time with Quidditch, chess, and just messing around, it was now rarely spent all together - one of them inevitably had Head Girl or prefect duty, or was finding alone time with their significant other - and most of the time they did spend together was usually in the library. To have this break, even with only Ron, felt like healing to Harry.

They fell into a natural rhythm, talking about the upcoming Quidditch trials - incidentally, they fell on 11 October, the same day as his next chemotherapy appointment and Harry made a mental note to ask Snape about moving his treatment back a day - where Ron mentioned he'd been made Quidditch captain this year. First prefect - an honor that Harry used to resent Dumbledore for giving away to Ron, but could almost understand why he had - and now Quidditch captain. Ron had, more or less, lived up to the image he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised their first year. He wanted to feel jealous, but thinking harder about it hadn't he also attained what he wanted? Sure, he didn't get his whole family back - it would never be possible - but he had a father figure he loved and for what it was worth he'd gotten to spend time with his parents. Listening to Ron ramble on about Quidditch practice schedules, plays, and drills, Harry's mind wandered back to the mirror. What would he see if given the chance to peek into it now? The answer, of course, was what Dumbledore alluded to the night he'd found Harry sitting in front of the mirror: he was wise enough now to know not to look at it in the first place.

"You've gotten good at this," Ron grudgingly exclaimed, almost randomly. "I know it's been a while since we've played, but bloody hell you've come a long way. I actually have to think now!"

Harry smiled at the compliment, unsure when his skills - one that still got him creamed by Draco and Snape - had improved enough to notice, "Believe it or not, I've had a lot of time to play over the year. And Snape's really good, though he didn't actually teach me as much as Draco did while we were living together."

Ron audibly gulped at the mention of their fellow classmate.

"I saw him the other day," Harry mentioned, making his next move, "did I tell you that? At the hospital wing after my… fight."

"No, you didn't mention it," Ron uncomfortably answered. "How'd it go?"

"Erm… fine, I guess," he warily replied. "He was professional and didn't really say much of anything." Ron's blue eyes peered across the board at him. Harry could see the question lingering as the other Gryffindor internally debated whether to ask it or not. Putting them both out of their misery, Harry sighed and asked, "What's going on?"

"It's…" Ron's eyes averted over to the fireplace for a moment as he collected his thoughts, "Well… Why aren't you guys talking? I mean, don't get me wrong he can be a right git at times... Is that it? Did he do something-"

"No," Harry cut in leaning back against the armrest, "he didn't do anything. It's... complicated. Has he said anything? I know you guys hang out sometimes…"

He trailed off hoping Ron wouldn't take it offensively. Harry understood that sometimes they wanted to spend time as couples, especially when Harry's schedule didn't coincide with the seventh years'.

"Naw, mate, he's really quiet about it," Ron confessed, "it's not even like when we were in our row fourth year and 'Mione really felt torn in the middle. We just don't mention you… like an old divorced couple."

Harry picked up the pillow from behind his back and tossed over the board, hitting Ron in the head. The action caused their pieces to start yelling at him and then bickering between each other so quickly, neither Harry nor Ron could keep the argument straight. In the end, the two wizards started laughing again.

"Seriously though," Ron brought them back to the topic at hand, "you guys need to figure this out. I think him and Hermione are getting pretty serious-" Harry's eyebrows shot up and Ron chuckled, "-yeah, like that. I know Lav made a big fuss a couple of weeks ago about all that gossip, but I see it in Hermione's eyes. If he asked her, they'd be engaged and what would you do then?"

Harry ran his hand down his face when posed with the very blunt question. He'd kept his promise not to put Hermione in the middle, rather they all simply ignored it instead, but that couldn't last forever. At some point, he'd have to confront Draco, his nightmares of their time together, and find a way for them to move forward.

"I'll work on that," Harry committed, mostly because he had no other option.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry lost both of their games, however it wasn't nearly the slaughter - his pieces' observation, not his own - that usually happened. During their game the two of them jumped from talking about Ron and Lavender's relationship - and much to Harry's discomfort, how the couple crossed that line recently, with Ron boldly stating he couldn't believe he waited this long to do it - to Percy's apology to Mr and Mrs Weasley at the end of the summer, landing on how difficult the N.E.W.T classes were this year. Harry had just started his own complaining, telling Ron how difficult it was to have to sit through lectures he had already done and write essays over again.

"Why don't you just copy the ones you already did?" Ron suggested in a low tone as the Common Room filled with students finishing the last class of the week - it should have been Herbology for Harry and Defense for Ron. "Let's be honest here, Harry, between the two of us, I'm sure we can find most of our old essays."

"Ron," Harry tried to be serious, but his smile betrayed him, "as a Prefect, should you be encouraging this?"

"Blimey no," Ron laughed, "but Dumbledore kinda knew what he was getting when he made me one, so what can I say?"

"You know I can't do that," Harry shook his head.

To his credit, Ron didn't dwell on the subject, instead he went on about how he was sure he would fail all his N.E.W.T.s and he didn't mind because then he'd have no other option but to work with Fred and George. However, as they continued playing Ron's idea began to worm its way into his head like a parasite. He'd left most of his old essays back at Spinner's End. It'd be easy to ask Snape to go back - for what reason, he'd still have to decide - and get them. He knew they wouldn't be exactly the same as what was being requested to write now, but most would be similar enough not to bore him out of his mind when working on them.

~~~~SS~~~~

If someone were to have asked Severus to guess the most random way he would start his Friday, getting woken up by Neville Longbottom banging on the door to his quarters wouldn't have even made the list. The scenario was so unlikely, he would go as far to say that even if they were the only two souls left in the castle that morning, this specific wake up call still would not have crossed his mind. The fact that the child whose boggart was Severus had sought him out - on a sluggish morning for him of all days where he had actually still been asleep - to help out a classmate, also meant for the first time in this reality, Severus awarded the Gryffindor points.

He'd spent the previous night - longer and later than he should have given how little sleep he'd been getting - back at Spinner's End finalizing his date on Saturday night over at Mae's flat. Her flatmate Jessica was supposedly a very good cook and therefore would be preparing dinner for the three of them. In her typical pushy yet flirty way, she grilled him about foods he liked and didn't like until he had to blatantly explain to her that ninety percent of his meals came from his school and the rest consisted of him cooking for just himself and Harry, and therefore the bar was set pretty low. He wouldn't say his cooking skills were fantastic, but he was decent enough to get him and Harry by without starving or any major nutritional gaps. Needless to say, with the last several stressful weeks he'd had, Severus found he didn't want to walk away from the phone call - and the distraction it provided him - so he'd not gotten back to his quarters until almost half past midnight and it was well after one in the morning by the time he made it to bed.

Sometime over the last month of living back in the castle, Severus had managed to get used to Harry being in the Tower. Their occasional dinners sufficed his need to check in with the teen, then one random night he found he no longer had to hold his breath when walking by Harry's empty bedroom heading towards his own, and his first thought each morning wasn't questioning if he were alive. So between the late night talking with Mae, managing his students' behavior, and the nosebleed incident, Longbottom's early morning wake up call - and his subsequent message of Harry laying on the Gryffindor lavatory floor sick - shook him more than it should have. The inevitability of a bad day could not be avoided, but neither of them had wanted to discuss what to do when it did.

As he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower with Longbottom, Severus felt lucky on two accounts: his talk with the young Weasley wizard had obviously sunk into his otherwise thick skull, and Harry's accidental magic had left him alone; if it hadn't he could almost guarantee it would have been more than Longbottom at his door when the lavatory refused to allow them entry to help their friend.

Giving Weasley the day off - much to Minerva's chagrin - to stay with Harry had been a last minute decision because in that moment, all Severus knew was that he didn't want to pressure Harry to accompany him back down to the dungeons, where Severus could stay with him, if he didn't feel up to it and leaving him in the hands of the emphatical house elf Dobby made him shudder. While any of the seventh year boys would do it, Harry would wake up more comfortable seeing Ron than any of them, convincing himself that moving the seventh year's surprise quiz from their Friday class to their Wednesday class had more to do with his unwillingness to mark it this weekend than refusing to penalize Ron for missing class to help his friend.

Minerva arranged for Harry's dormmates to bring him a bowl of soup for lunch, giving Severus the ability to keep a closer eye on his students. The murmurings and rumors he'd managed to pick up following their house meeting two days ago were not positive at all. If nothing else, the process of the younger students being led to and from their classes - reminiscent of the time during the Chamber of Secrets events where the professors had to escort students to class - by an older one, seemed to show the other house that Severus was watching his pupils much closer than ever before. If only his older students would understand this basic concept, Severus could sleep more soundly.

His mind had been mostly kept occupied by his classes, massive amounts of coffee, and a small Invigorating Draught around one o'clock in the afternoon when all else seemed to fail. At the start of his last class of the day, Dean approached his desk to tell him Harry had still been asleep when they dropped off the soup at lunchtime and that Ron told him Harry had only woken up sick twice, falling back asleep easily when each round subsided. Overall, it helped calm his nerves from not getting the chance to check on Harry himself and Severus managed to end the week with some sense of control.

For dinner, he knew Harry wouldn't make it to the Great Hall and though he couldn't exactly have dinner in the Gryffindor Common Room - or the seventh year dormitory, if the young wizard hadn't managed to move throughout the day - he used bringing the meal early as a reason to visit. With a plate filled with scrambled eggs, yoghurt, peanut butter toast, and a smoothie, Severus made his way through the corridors to the Gryffindor portrait, giving The Fat Lady the faculty password - Dumbledore - then walking through the portrait hole. Prior to this year, in his tenure as a professor in both realities, Severus could count on a single hand the number of times he'd been in the Gryffindor Common Room; one of which had been to collect Harry before the Welcoming Feast this term. The gaudy crimson and gold furnishings and tapestries couldn't be any further from the sleeker cool decor of his own Common Room, exemplifying the main difference between the two houses: Gryffindors being bold and loud, compared to the subtle, hidden nature of Slytherins. And yet against all odds, he and Harry managed to overcome those differences and live harmoniously together.

Being a Friday evening, Severus wasn't sure why he'd expected to see more students around the room when he entered. The weather outside had been overcast, misty, and dreary all day, but apparently that never stopped Gryffindors from going to celebrate the start of the weekend. Severus gave a hard sigh at the Gobstone set sitting out in front of the fireplace, the previous users hastily leaving and forgetting to return it to its rightful place. Between the lack of structure in this House and Harry's upbringing as a House Elf, Severus was surprised the young wizard kept his bedroom as neat and tidy - comparatively speaking - as he did.

In the almost empty Common Room, he easily found Harry laying across the sofa in front of the fireplace and the Gobstone set, causing Severus to question if Harry had been the one playing earlier. Upon his entry into the room, the seven or so other students quickly gathered their belongings and swiftly dispersed up the staircases leading to the dorms. His eyes narrowed at the sight of two fifth year girls heading up with the group of boys to the boys' dormitory. Slytherin's dorms also allowed the girls access to the boys' dorms - and conversely not the other way around - yet he'd never actually seen it happen. As this wasn't his house to manage, he'd let it go without so much as a comment to Minerva; there was a reason for the large discrepancy between the number of appropriate relationship conversations she had to have with her students compared to himself.

As he carefully approached Harry - in an effort not to scare the teen - Severus almost choked when he noticed the sketchbook and pencils in the Gryffindor's lap and hands. Not wanting to make too many assumptions, he tried to keep the small sliver of hope at bay, however when he saw the subject of the sketch was from the Weasley-Delacor wedding - Harry and Luna dancing alongside Ginny with Dean, and even Hermione and Draco - he couldn't help feeling relieved. This was a good sign, a sign of healing, and a sign of progress.

"Harry?" He called out from behind the young wizard, not wanting to surprise him, nor draw too much attention to him seeing the young wizard sketching. "I brought you some dinner."

As expected, Harry closed the sketchbook quickly, embarrassed to have been caught doing the activity directly correlating to his mental health, and shifted his body to make room for Severus to sit beside him on the sofa. Harry's face was too pale and too tired to be considered back to health, nevertheless he appeared better than he did on any of his previous "bad days". By the morning, he'd be back up and moving almost as well any of his healthy days.

"Thanks," Harry took the offered plate. "I'm not too hungry right now though."

"There's a stasis charm over the plate," Severus explained. "My presence is required at dinner tonight, however I'll be by check on you afterwards and would like to see at least some of it eaten."

Harry nodded. By now, they intimately knew the landscape of these times and their designated roles during them. Severus knew the Gryffindor understood how important it was for him not to completely skip his meals.

"How did today go?" The professor asked. "I half anticipated you to still be in bed."

"Today wasn't too bad," Harry admitted, "outside of this morning at least. I think I slept most of it off… really wish that happened more often. Thanks for coming this morning, by the way."

"You need not thank me for that," Severus predictably stated. "As a reminder, though, I understand it's not always easy to remember during those times, your sphere will work across the castle. Should you need me, that is always the fastest way to alert me."

"Yeah," Harry frowned, fiddling with the hem of his blanket, "I didn't think about it at the time."

"It's an adjustment and we'll get used to navigating these new times," Severus kindly told him. "And you are always welcome back at our quarters when you're having a sick day."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed, then took a sip of the smoothie. Severus knew the odds of him only consuming that portion of his dinner was higher than he wanted to see. "Do you still want me in detention tonight?"

Severus gave an exhausted chuckle, having completely forgotten about the child's punishment for fighting. Closing his eyes to mentally bring up his schedule, Severus said, "We'll reschedule tonight's to Wednesday night."

"Wednesday?" Harry confusedly asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I do have other obligations to arrange it around," he commented realizing what a bad week it'd been based on the number of detentions he'd given. "Unless you'd prefer to serve it with Filch on Monday."

"No," Harry promptly responded. "Sunday and Wednesday are perfect."

The pair sat on the sofa, watching the dancing flames of the fire as they crackled and moved across the stones containing them, and once again Severus's eyes were drawn to the setup of Gobstones. "My mother used to play Gobstones," Severus randomly said, a scowl on his face, unsure why he felt compelled to share the tidbit of information.

"She did?"

Based on the tone used, Severus could tell the teen was equally surprised by the revelation. His green eyes brightened up over the prospect of learning something new about the professor.

He'd been thinking of his parents, how he'd shunned muggles for years because he naturally assumed his mother would have been happier had she married a wizard. Now that he was… whatever he had… with Mae, he could start to understand why she'd gotten into a relationship with Tobias in the first place. She hadn't been thinking about how he would eventually turn on her and their son over the fact they had magic. Could she have really known the man she'd fallen in love with - giving up her family and her world for - would eventually turn on her? She'd only been thinking about how much cared for him.

"The lowest of the wizarding games, yes," Severus growled. "She was the head of the Gobstone team here at school."

Harry smiled, "Did you join?"

"Absolutely not," he remembered, "though my mother insisted on it each year. In her delusional mind, since she was so adept at the sport, she assumed I had to be. Instead, I told her potions took up too much of my time."

"Do you regret it?" Harry's inquisitively asked. "Lying to her, I mean?"

"I didn't say I lied."

"You didn't have to."

"No," Severus shook his head. "I never thought twice about it. Things were hard enough without adding Gobstones to the mix."

"If your dad was a muggle," Harry cautiously began, "how did they meet?"

The question was innocent enough, and one Harry had asked him in his old reality, albeit at a much younger age.

When Severus began to speak next, he purposefully chose not to make eye contact with Harry as he went through the story. "Their fathers - to say, my grandfathers - were miners working in separate towns, but for companies owned by the same family… a set of brothers if I remember correctly. My mother's father mined for Moonstones, which you should be familiar with its use in potions-" Harry nodded, hopefully remembering the essay from his fifth year on the Draught of Peace, "- and my father's father mined for coal in the muggle mine. They met at a cross company function the summer after my mother's final year at Hogwarts. They courted shortly after, and I can only assume things had been well enough, they were happy when they got married and when my father took the job at the height of the paper mill in Cokeworth."

Severus didn't mention - and Harry didn't ask - that atypical for the era, his parents had him later in their life; just shy of thirty the year of his birth. He had his suspicions as to why they had no desire to have children earlier, his father's alcoholism and abusiveness the leading theory. The idea of his mother not wanting to bring a child into the world and subjected to a father like Tobias Snape made him feel minisculey better about his childhood; that if she'd had her way he would have been saved from his own childhood. Though for whatever reason, he did exist and his father's blatant hatred towards them, coupled with his mother's resentment, certainly helped to support his theory. Between his and his mother's magic and the mill taking a deep decline before he started at Hogwarts, Severus and his mother never stood a chance. Harry didn't need to know that information. This Harry had seen enough while attempting to protect himself during their awful Occlumency lessons in his fifth year to connect the dots.

"And my mum's dad?" Harry's eyes had brightened as they usually did whenever they talked about his mother, "I guess that would be my grandfather… he worked at the mill too?"

Severus inclined his head slightly, "In the time Lily and I lived there, just about everyone in Cokeworth worked for the mill in some capacity. As I'm sure you saw, the neighborhood varied based on the position in the mill. My father could barely keep his job as an operator, showing up hungover more times than I could count, whereas Mr Evans started as a superintendent and eventually worked his way up into the management team. Luckily, he had enough foresight to move on long before the mill closed. See, my father had far too much pride to listen to anyone else about how to keep his job and stayed until the end."

"Did you spend a lot of time with my grandparents?"

"The Evans always welcomed me into their home and family," Severus smiled, thinking back on his Christmas spent skiing with them, in spite of Petunia's angry fussing when she couldn't bring her boyfriend, "and I spent as much time there, or more accurately away from my own home, as possible."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, just above a whisper, staring down at his hands as he ran them across the yellow blanket covering his legs.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," Severus replied, genuinely confused as to what could have triggered this reaction, though knowing without a doubt what the apology was for. "All of that occured years before you were born, ergo you have no reason to apologize."

"I just know what it's like-"

"Your situation, while similar in nature, is the one deserving an apology," he made sure to emphasize the last word. "You had adults place you in that home and never thought to check in on your well being. It's quite different when the child is born into such an environment."

"I disagree," Harry shrugged and he tried to hide a big yawn as he took another sip from his smoothie, "it's not like you got to choose your parents. Well, I guess you could have run away like Sirius did, but by then it's kinda too late."

Severus scowled at the idea of being compared to the likes of Sirius Black. The mongrel may not have liked his family, but Severus would have bet he didn't live in the same fear as Severus or Harry had.

"Are your parents still alive?" Harry quietly asked.

Severus had to think back, never had he mentioned his parents' deaths so the assumption was a natural one, though living in his childhood home would tend to lead one to believe them to be deceased.

"No," he stated matter-of-factly, demonstrating how little regard he had for them in the end. "My mother became gravely ill in February of my seventh year, something from the mill I did not even try to understand at the time. Though I don't doubt had my father allowed her, it wasn't anything a healer and potions couldn't cure. Then, without my mother there to stop him, it wasn't long before my father succumbed to the alcohol. I didn't exactly care much about it."

Harry continued to stare down at his hands, turmoil written all over his face. He had questions, Severus knew him well enough by this point, but he didn't ask. Students started filtering down from the dorms drawing his attention to the late hour and his need to not discuss his personal life in front of other students, especially Gryffindors.

"Your dinner will still be fresh for the rest of the night," he signified the end of their conversation, "do please try to get some rest. I'll be back to check on you this evening."

"Before you go," Harry said quickly as the professor rose, it gave away his nerves regarding whatever the request would be, "are you going back home tomorrow before your date?"

Severus peered around, happy to see the other Gryffindors had vacated prior to Harry's declaration of his plans the next night. Noticing his reaction, Harry mumbled "Sorry."

"Yes, I will be returning home first, is there anything specific you needed me to bring back?"

"Erm…" Harry's hands were wringing in his lap, "I was hoping I could go with you there and then just come back when you're done. It'll give me time to sort through some of the books and stuff I left that I need."

The non-answer to his inquiry - a pathetic attempt at a Slytherin technique Severus and Draco had long perfected - caused him to question the real reason for Harry's need to return home. Of course, he'd assured Harry home would always be available should he need something, and Severus didn't want to break that trust upon the first request. And it also helped that in order to uncover the truth, he'd have to allow the Gryffindor home and from there he'd be able to find out what he needed so desperately in such a short time.

"Let me check with Minerva to see if she's available to accompany you tomorrow night," Severus responded, "I'm not comfortable with leaving you alone while I'm in the company of muggles, and help from any other capable adult being so far away should you need them."

"What about Remus?" Harry suggested, once again too quick for him not to be suspicious. "Tonks mentioned they wanted to see me over the holiday, so this could work."

Narrowing his eyes, not necessarily wanting the werewolf in his home, but unwilling to let Harry stay there alone, especially after a day like today. Not to mention, if he was suggesting Lupin, there had to be advantage to him versus Minerva.

"I'll firecall the were-" he caught himself and grudgingly changed it, "-Lupin to see if he has any interest in staying with you. I'm working at the MLD until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon and need to be in Guildford at five. Be ready to leave at half past four, sharp. Now, get some sleep."

"Thank you, Severus," Harry smiled, apparently feeling as if he'd won whatever it was he had hiding up his sleeve.

When it came to his Slytherins, Severus typically tried to stay as far away from the rumors and gossip as possible. He heard it, of course, and stored the information neatly away while choosing to come to his own conclusions about things like Crabbe and Goyle's complete ineptitude for anything more difficult than breathing, or Parkinson's desire to be the next Bellatrix. But when the gossip around the school quickly turned to Hala Khatib - an orphaned first year Slytherin from Jordan who was the sole survivor, out of her family of five, from a jinn attack when she was five or six - and her ability to foresee someone's death, Severus couldn't help taking that one a little more seriously than usual. The students were all terrified of her, leaving her with only Draco as a friend, and Severus with plenty of talk around the school to monitor. None of it could be substantiated, however as much as he hated to admit it, since Divinations and seers had played such a significant role in almost half of his life, he couldn't immediately discount the claims he'd heard, no matter how much he wanted to inside. Instead, he handled her unique situation as he had when Harry first arrived at Hogwarts and watched her closely from a distance. Thus far, there hadn't been any reason to believe the claims made against her, and though the witch was certainly odd - in a more conscious way than Luna - she never appeared threatening in any way.

That all changed when a special edition from the Daily Prophet dropped down at dinner. What started as any normal Friday night in the Great Hall - loud and boisterous with anxious teenagers ready to forget about classes and homework until Sunday afternoon - quickly took a turn when the noise from his Slytherin table suddenly became almost deafening loud. He'd been discussing Harry's request to go back to Spinner's End with Minerva - who agreed with Harry about asking Lupin and Tonks to accompany him - when the swarm of owls came rushing through the windows. Severus's copy of the newspaper would be waiting for him in his quarters, but interested to see what would warrant a special release, he leaned over towards Minerva, who stealthily shifted her paper so he could see it.

Breaking News: Two Mysterious Deaths in Azkaban Prison!

By: Rita Skeeter

The bodies of Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin, the two Death Eaters responsible for the attack on Diagon Alley over a month ago and recently sentenced to Azkaban, were found dead in their prison cells earlier this afternoon. While the death of inmates is not uncommon in the Wizarding Prison, the sudden death merely minutes from each other, alongside the fact that these specific inmates had been working together to plan and execute the attack does leave many with questions over the cause of death.

By first glance, neither death is speculated to be suicide, though the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has yet to speak on the matter. Sources close to the investigation tell me the aurors in charge of the investigation have brought in for questioning Talpin's cellmate and fellow unmarked follower of You-Know-Who, Fenrir Greyback, who appeared distressed shortly before his new cellmate's body was discovered.

As this is part of a pending investigation, more information will be reported as soon as it becomes available.

Severus hardly had a chance to digest the information he'd read or continue on with the rest of the news article outlining Talpin and Ash's timeline of their day, as well as any significant events since their sentencing, because the noise from his students continued to rise.

"Trouble in paradise, Severus?" Minerva leaned over towards him, gesturing to the table where the Slytherins were not only loud, but on their way to belligerent. Something about the latest news had shaken them, and it appeared to have something to do with Miss Khatib.

"If only it were that simple," he shook his head watching them closely trying to determine if they could work it out before having to stand up and reprimand them on their disrespectful, abhorrent behavior, like a bunch of… well, children. They knew better than to act in such a manner, particularly when pointed towards a fellow Housemate.

"- she did it!"

"- else would she have known?"

"We all heard her say it back-"

"-told you she was-"

Upon hearing those phrases thrown around, not only by the Slytherins, but, on a lesser scale also from some of the other houses as students stood to glance across the hall at the small eleven year old, Severus's intuition spiked. To her credit, Hala sat beside Draco with her head down, ignoring every single comment, stare, and gesture pointed towards her. Either she really had no idea of what was going on around her, or she had become an expert at ignoring the reactions of her fellow classmates; neither of which was good. Draco's face contorted into one filled with disgust and he leaned over to whisper something in the first year's ear.

"Severus?" Albus asked from Minerva's other side.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," he answered the unasked request and made his way over to the table, feeling all eyes in the Great Hall on him.

At this point, the noise emanating from the Slytherin table rivalled that of any given Quidditch match. Severus allowed his anger to fill him, knowing he needed to be in control, without losing control, of the situation to figure this out.

"Get up," he demanded in a low hiss, causing the arguing to cease immediately, "I expect every single one of you to arrive at the Common Room no less than three minutes after I cross the threshold."

Not speaking another word, he turned and stormed straight down the aisle, relishing in the sound of chairs scraping and dishes clanking as each of them scrambled to follow him. The first rule of his house was that disciplinary measures would be handled privately and he'd be damned if he broke it during a time where the Slytherins were at their least stable. Charging through the corridors down to the dungeons, he pitied the poor soul who took over as Head of Slytherin when he left; realistically Horace, ideally new blood. Hopefully he or she would have an easier time with Voldemort gone for good, at least once the current students - those intimately touched by the evil - filtered through.

Exactly two minutes and thirty-eight seconds after his foot crossed into the Common Room, the last student - unsurprisingly, Jeremy Harper - entered. In any given year, rarely did Severus have to stand before the house and lecture them on behavioral issues, and now he'd done it twice in the same week.

"To say I am disappointed in your representation of our house tonight would be an extreme understatement," he spat at them, "I expect a concise, relevant explanation as to why you all believe it acceptable to act as a pack of hormonal Hufflepuffs."

The silence following his instruction calmed his nerves. The teenagers looked around at one another daring one of them to explain to their stern Head of House why his presence had been needed to reign them in.

Draco broke the deafening silence first, a testament to his ability to hold rank in the House, "They're afraid Khatib is going to go around predicting everyone's death."

Frustratedly, Severus tightly closed eyes; a move commonly seen when dealing with Longbottom or Lovegood in Potions class, "I am well aware of the rather pointed accusations surrounding Miss Khatib, however someone better start telling me why you seem to think a foolish school rumor gives you the right to act as five years old at dinner!"

This time when the awkward silence enveloped the room, most of the students turned to Draco - the mentor of the student in question - which in hindsight could help earn his right back into the Slytherin's good graces just as easily as tear him down.

"They're terrified because she was right," the Malfoy heir replied with a hint of arrogance - or perhaps pride? - laced in his voice. "Back when the Prophet first reported on them getting locked up in Azkaban, she told us it might as well be a death sentence-"

"They won't make it," Hala's small, unwavering voice from the left side, announced, "I said they won't make it."

Severus simply stared at her, not sure how to navigate a situation that he was sure had never come up before. If there had been a precedent for handling potentially seer students, he'd not been privy to it. Regardless of if she'd been right or not in her assessment towards the fates of these two Death Eaters, he couldn't very well have his house in fear of her.

"Let me make sure I understand… you all are aware that you live in a magical castle," he started his lecture, "using magic to do things muggles would - and have - kill to be able to do. You all have the option to take the, albeit questionably legitimate, course in Divinations, and yet the idea of an eleven year old predicting the death of two men incarcerated in a location where deaths in general are not uncommon is completely unraveling you?"

"I wouldn't say that," Pansy Parkinson spoke up against him.

"Then please enlighten me, Miss Parkinson, on why you all acted as if the sky were falling?"

Her face blanched for a second, then she straightened up taller, "Now she can pretty much say whatever the bloody-"

"I dare you to complete that sentence, Miss Parkinson," Severus warned with a growl. Turning to Hala and Draco, he lowered his voice, "Miss Khatib, unless you foresee the guaranteed death of your classmates or any other person of significance, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself-"

"It doesn't work like that," her timid voice cut him off. "They're not guaranteed. It can change, you see, depending on choices made."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing this day - week and month - would hurry up and end, he bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself the goal was not to make her cry. "Even more reason to keep your… visions… to yourself. Might I also suggest an introduction with Professor Trelawney. I'm sure Mr Malfoy can assist in the arrangements."

Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod that would satisfy the masses of his students and hopefully give Hala some kind of direction with her potential gift. Despite the words he'd just said, as much as he loathed to admit he should take some time with the young Slytherin to find out more about what had happened with her family, where this "seer" or "death prediction" idea came from, and discuss ways she can cope with it, at some point it would have to be done; and probably with Albus as well.

"Every single one of you better get out of my presence in the next sixty seconds," he dismissed his students not knowing his work had only just begun.

~~~~SS~~~~

Saturday 27th September, 1997

Severus knew the Calming Draught he took at half past midnight last night should have been Dreamless Sleep. The former had very little effect on him anymore, however as he didn't wish to be late to the lab this morning, he took the almost worthless potion and subsequently spent the first three hours of his night tossing and turning in his bed thinking through every scenario possible where the deaths of Ash and Talpin could have been anything but suspicious.

Unfortunately, even after spending two hours in Albus's office, neither of them could come up with a logical reason two wizards found guilty of the same crime - and sentenced only seventeen days ago - would be found dead in separate cells, simultaneously. Albus argued it fully supported his claim of Death Eater reorganization, stating the murders could be an attempt to keep them quiet and restating the fact the culprits from the Godric's Hollow attack still hadn't been found - Severus wanted to mention they hadn't yet been identified, but chose to keep his comment to himself. As he'd done every time Albus tried to bring the Order back together with potential Death Eater activities, the former spy emphatically argued the headmaster was speculating, at best. He continued to yell that not only could these incidents be perfectly explained without any Voldemort supportive magical supremacy group, but by focusing on this one segment, they could be missing subtle yet equally important clues to find who actually orchestrated the attacks and now murders. In the end, the two wizards could only agree on one thing: regardless of whoever ended up being behind them, all three occurrences were related. Sadly, it was one step closer than the aurors were to solving the damn cases.

Unable to come to a consensus outside of Albus tracking down more information on the Azkaban murders - Severus still maintained his position of this being a Ministry only situation - Severus opted to discuss the interesting conversation he'd had with his Slytherins earlier that evening, specifically any guidelines for potentially seer students.

"We all know the rumors, Severus," Albus had told him, staring at the floor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, as if he were trying to translate ancient runes below his feet, "and you said she predicted the Azkaban deaths correctly?"

"I said," Severus emphasized the second word to make sure his words were understood this time, "my students claimed she told them the day the sentence was announced in the papers they would be dead. I did not ask for particulars. Given the high percentage of deaths which occur in Azkaban, I challenge this supposed premonition."

"But those, my boy," Albus paused his pacing and lifted his head to meet the younger professor's eye, "are typically prisoners who see life in Azkaban, not ten years. And for them both to kill themselves simultaneously? After only seventeen days?"

"Perhaps the prospect of ten years was too much for them," Severus speculated. "Black spent twelve and yet he managed to lose what little sense in his brain he had left, who's to say those last two were what tipped him over the edge?"

"Do you really believe it a double suicide?"

Severus sighed and ran his left hand across the back of his neck, an action which caused his sleeve to pull up and showcase his Mark, still darker than he liked to see it contrasted against his pale skin. He couldn't say with any amount of certainty what he believed anymore.

"No," he admitted the closest answer to the truth, "they weren't suicide. Nevertheless, Death Eaters killing each other makes no more sense. Besides, I was asking you about Miss Khatib."

"Ah, yes," Albus raised his hand, "thank you for getting us back on track. We cannot ostracize the young lady. Unlike a prophecy, these… visions… she has, they aren't set in stone?"

"Neither are prophecies," Severus pointed out.

"Patronize me."

Rolling his eyes, Severus answered, "She claims they change based on other's actions. Rather convenient, if you ask me."

Albus turned, deep in thought, to examine a glass cabinet of small phials filled with liquids of various colors, reminding Severus of the red potion that brought him here over a year ago. The time went by so quickly, and though he would never forget his old life - the dominating memories in his head - he had adjusted to living here more quickly than he ever expected.

When Albus finally spoke, he did so with his back to the younger wizard, still examining the phials, his voice laced with a mysterious undertone, "My best advice, Severus, would be to keep a close watch on Miss Khatib and Draco, as they've seem to become close. Do not be so quick to discount that of which you do not understand."

The entire meeting with the headmaster left him with a migraine and angry for getting nothing accomplished outside of wasting his time. It had been after curfew when he'd finally left the old man's office, thus meaning he couldn't check in on Harry. Luckily on the way to his quarters he'd run into Ron - supposedly on prefect duty, yet Severus had the feeling had he checked, he would have found Miss Brown in an empty classroom nearby - who had been able to tell him Harry eventually finished half of his dinner around eight o'clock and went straight back to sleep. Unsolicited, the Weasley wizard said he'd explained to Harry about the Prophet article, followed by the disturbance from the Slytherins over dinner, likely preventing Severus from being able to stop by the Tower. Severus appreciated the message - both to and from Harry - although he hated the necessity of it. In a way, life had almost seemed easier last year, at least then he had been able to be where he wanted to be. For a brief moment, he considered telling Lucius he'd have to hold off at the lab, but deep down he enjoyed the work he did there, and having committed to the responsibility, he'd see it through for however long he could manage.

Of course, arriving at the MLD bright and early Saturday morning, the prospect of putting in a full day - followed almost immediately by his date - already exhausted him and he'd yet to light a cauldron. Unwilling to cancel his evening for rest he wouldn't get anyway, Severus had an Invigorating Draught stored in his pocket to help get him through the first part of his day.

"Morning, Thomas," Severus greeted the security guard at the atrium, handing his wand to be scanned as proof of entry. The act seemed trivial as the doors leading into the building had enough enchantments and wards they could have been found in Gringotts.

"Morning, Mr Snape," the elderly wizard - Severus would have guessed the man in his sixties - responded. "Busy morning already in there. Must be something big going on. We haven't had this many people here on a Saturday in over a year, and before nine in the morning, no less!"

Unfortunately, Severus's pod hadn't made much progress in his two weeks on the bench - taking into account the one he missed for Harry's treatment - so he found himself genuinely curious as to what Thomas alluded to. It didn't take him long to discover because the moment he walked into the bright laboratory, giving a small wave to people he still hardly knew but they all knew him, he saw at least triple the people buzzing around the floor than usual. Most were congregated at the pod five spots away from his own and in the center of them all, he saw the last person he ever expected to see in the building: Nadine Walker. Dressed in the typical green robes worn by the healers at St Mungo's, Healer Walker looked in her element as she hurried from cauldron to cauldron making notes at each one and asking questions to the potioneer sitting in front of it. As the witch or wizard answered her questions, Severus watched her eyes brighten, listening carefully to every word told to her and nodding her head in delight.

"Severus," she said with a smile as he approached the pod on the way to his own, far more lonely looking with the rest of the area filled. "I didn't expect to see you here."

She leaned over and gave him a small hug, a move he would have scuffed at from anyone else, but seeing her so lively after everything they'd been through together threw him off.

"I could say the same," he answered. "Last I heard, you vehemently turned down Lucius's offer."

"I could say the same about you," she repeated his phrase back. A small flush creeped up her cheeks. "The truth is, I thought about what you told me… about not turning down the opportunity due to my issues with the owner-" Severus noted her refusal to use Lucius's name and made sure he steered far away from the subject, "-and decided the worst that could happen is I quit if it became too much for me."

"And?" He prompted.

"And… so far, I've been kept busy enough not to have to think too hard about… things." Her eyes gave away her uneasiness with the situation and how badly she'd wanted this arrangement to work.

"So what's going on here?" He changed the subject to one he knew would comfort her. "I've not seen you here the last couple times I've been."

"I'm usually at St Mungo's," as a nervous habit, she attempted to tuck a strain of hair behind her ear, but it was too short now, so she scratched the spot instead, "or working behind the scenes here or with the diagnostic center. Today though-" her voice raised indicating her excitement over what was going on, "-I'm consulting on a new sedative potion. It's one they've been working on for two years now and finally making it to the last phase before trials. The last batch was close, but we had to switch out the active ingredient to… I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"Not at all," he answered. "It's refreshing to hear someone talk about potions without groaning and complaining."

"Healer Walker?" One of the potioneers called to her from across the bench.

"I've got to finish up here," she looked over to him regretfully, "but if I'm still here later, maybe we can have lunch?"

"Of course," he politely told her, "good luck with your next phase."

As he approached his own pod of benches, he noticed once again Arlie Clagg sat hunched over a cauldron, already deep into his own work. Severus questioned what time the man generally arrived as every time Severus had been at the lab the other wizard was present and engaged in his experiment. The note from the weekday Potioneer he partnered with - a witch he'd never met, who had handwriting messier than his own - told him he'd be continuing her work on the Leukopenia potion: to help decrease the white blood cell count. He waved his wand, taking her cauldron out of stasis and activating the documentation charm to keep track of each and every move made on the bench to begin his part of the procedure.

As a natural introvert, Severus found himself falling into a calming state being able to sit at the bench and focus on his work. Most of the day, he got by barely speaking to anyone; not even Arlie and they shared a workspace. The monotonous actions and the focused work helped his mind unwind, especially from the overly stressful week, in a way not even Occlumency had ever done. Unlike in his personal laboratory and in the classroom where every single technique had to be taught, most of his ingredients were prepared for him either in bulk in the cupboard or fresh by an apprentice. It would take some getting used to, nevertheless, his first day at the lab he had been surprised how much more productive he could be when not focusing on things like chopping, scaling, and measuring.

The best part of his whole working day - something no one would really understand or quantify - he felt as if he were helping Harry; he actively was working against the disease that continued to plague them. Yes, he knew he helped everytime he sat up with the young wizard long into the early morning hours, or when he grabbed the third cup of ginger ale hoping it would finally ease his nausea, and keeping track of the medications - the ones to save his life and those to help make him more comfortable. This, though, felt different to him; more concrete, more active fighting. A better treatment and a possible cure; both of which he hoped Harry would never need a drop of by the time they were finished with them.

Nadine left before lunchtime, having gotten called away for a non-MLD related emergency at St Mungo's. It left Severus alone for lunch - not necessarily the worst situation - but he'd felt a piece of him calm knowing it demonstrated another step towards her healing. Slowly, the victims from Malfoy Manor and Voldemort's reign were getting better and would continue to do so; at some point, they'd be able to put it all behind them.

More bustling than usual for a Saturday due to the extra personnel for the sedation draught, Severus had a more difficult time finding a secluded table in the cafeteria where he could be as unseen as possible. The excessive talking practically bounced off the walls, completely surrounding him as he walked through the pristine room with his tray of stew and coffee levitating in front of him. He'd almost been forced to find a table out by the lake, until at the last moment he found a small two-person round one tucked back by the window leading outside. Settled with a book to read on magical plants from across the country, his desire to finish his lunch in silence was quickly dashed.

"Cahn I seet here?" A delicate voice disturbed his thoughts, having no earthly idea how dangerously close she came to getting hexed from startling him. "Everywhere else ees full."

The professor looked up to see a witch with mousy brown hair filled with tight curls that bounced as she spoke, standing there physically holding her tray. He narrowed his eyes at her then focused on the room behind her where the other tables were clearly filled more than any other Saturday he'd been here, but still had the odd seat open here or there.

"I hear the lake is lovely to eat beside this time of year," he answered.

"Oh," she turned and glanced out towards the lake where a soft drizzle he hadn't realized had started since his arrival, explaining why not a single person sat at the tables neatly lined up. "I suppose eet's nahtheeng a watair repelleeng chahrm cahn't hahndle."

Her voice, sad and lonely, trailed off near the end of her statement. He was getting soft. There had to be no other explanation for the words that almost autonomously flowed from his mouth, "Take a seat."

My good deed for the day is done.

To emphasize his lack of socializing, he immediately turned his head down and continued to read his book, making notes in the margins when needed. For the most part, his antisocial nature - keeping his head down and in his book - worked to keep his tablemate quiet. Unfortunately, either her inherent need to speak superseded his need for silence or, more likely, she simply didn't pick up subtly at all.

"I'm sahrry to hear ahbout your sahn," she told him halfway through her chicken salad sandwich; ironically, Harry's absolute worst lunch at Hogwarts.

Her words shook him to his core as he thought back on how she could possibly know about his son from his old reality. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your sahn," she repeated, "he's why you're wahrkeeng on ziss pahtion prahjects, cahrrect? Zat's whaht everyone says here ahbout you. Well, ahnd zat you've keelled a dahrk weezahrd here."

The fact she didn't know about Voldemort, or his role in his death, reminded him that while Britain had been terrorized, the rest of the world continued on as if nothing happened.

"Thank you," he answered uncomfortably. "Which project are you working on? I've not seen you here before."

"Eets my first week," the French witch replied, "I'm wahrkeeng on Drahgahn Pahx. Deed you know muggles hahve medeecahtions zey cahn use to mahke sure zey dahn't get diseases?"

"Vaccinations," Severus answered.

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up when she realized he knew what she was talking about, "Zat's whaht we do. We're trying to mahke ze mahgeec recahgnize ze eellness to prevent eet."

A vaccination for Dragon Pox would be paramount in the Wizarding World, however realistically, manipulating magic to recognize the virus before it infects would be a revolutionary use for potions. Though difficult, that's what the MLD did: found possibilities from impossible situations, an empowering message to those who worked on any of the teams. Like any proud Potioneer, no matter where one came from, she rattled off the methods her team had been using, the failures and challenges they'd faced so far, and her excitement over the prospect of being selected to be part of it all. He nodded where he should and took his Invigorating Draught - ignoring her questioning stare - once he'd finished his own lunch sometime near the end of her diatribe.

"Please Miss Beaufort, give the man some breathing space," Severus almost couldn't think of a time he'd been so grateful to hear Lucius's smooth voice coming from behind him. The witch - Beaufort, a name he'd heard before but was too tired to place at the moment - clamped her mouth shut and turned bright red. "Severus, please follow me."

Heading back to the laboratory alongside the Malfoy patriarch, Severus noticed how quiet the room became in his presence.

"I saw Nadine Walker earlier today," Severus mentioned. "You managed to finally win her over? I would have expected her to hex you rather than agreeing to work for you."

Lucius gave a half smile, "Yes, well that's why she ended up in Ravenclaw. In the end, her need for education and information overpowered her need to stand up for herself. Don't worry-" he added at the professor's almost repulsed face, "-I've reassured her that our time, specifically alone, will be kept on an as-needed basis. Thus far, we've yet to break the arrangement."

"And I doubt you'll give me any insight as to why she hates you," he intentionally said it as a statement, not a question.

"A story for another day, I'm afraid," Lucius replied, "I simply saw you drowning in friendly banter and thought it prudent to assist. You're getting soft, Severus. A year or two ago, you would have told the young witch off without a second's hesitation."

"It's been a long week."

"Obviously," the blonde stated as they approached the entrance to the lab. "Try to get some rest, Severus, you look dreadful."

Easy for him to say, the former spy thought, watching the other wizard walk away not knowing how much they evied each other.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry woke up to the sound of rain crashing against the side of the castle and the seventh year dorm completely empty. Rarely was he the last to wake in the dorm - that title had always gone to Ron - but since he spent most of the night restlessly tossing and turning, it only made sense that he'd oversleep in the morning, especially with the weather being so dark and dreary. Most of the night he'd been awake pondering the news the Gryffindors returned from dinner boisterously gossiping about: the deaths of Ash and Talpin. The Gryffindors quickly fell on two sides, those who claimed deaths like this were common in Azkaban - to which Harry couldn't comment one way or another - and those who said they had to be planned murders. To complicate the matter even more, the Slytherin table ended up being removed from the Great Hall because they were causing a fuss about Hala Khatib having predicted the pair's deaths. For reasons Harry couldn't figure out, the idea of Hala's premonition coming true caused him just as much grief as the deaths - or murders - and sometime around one o'clock in the morning he decided he'd spend today in the library researching death premonitions and jinns. Of course, that didn't mean he could fall asleep, so instead of trying to solve the world's problems, he spent the next hour or two looking over the Marauder's Map; specifically how Snape was still up pacing - likely in his bedroom pondering the same questions keeping Harry awake - and Draco completely still next to Hermione, a clear indication he was spending the night there.

Grudgingly, Harry pulled himself out of his warm bed to get ready for the day at a quarter past ten meaning he'd more than missed breakfast - though he wasn't anywhere near hungry - and his morning medications. His body protested the walk down the stairs to the lavatory, where he didn't cross another wizard on his way. He ultimately needed a shower to wash away the sick feeling he always had coating his skin after his "bad days" but he found he was simply too tired, and settled instead on giving his face a good washing, then dressing in a pair of black jogging bottoms and his Gryffindor jumper. If any of the professors had a problem with his attire in the library, he'd come back to the Common Room until going back home with Snape.

"There you are," Hermione greeted him when he reached the bottom of the stairs, causing him to startle from not expecting anyone to still be here. She was dressed in her casual muggle clothes, a pink long sleeved shirt and jeans, sitting across the sofa in front of the fireplace with her knees bent propping up the large book in her lap. She turned her head to the side, giving him the sad face he learned to associate with times she felt bad for him but didn't want to say anything. "I was just about to come up and check in on you. How are you feeling?"

Rubbing his eyes, giving away his exhaustion, he sat down on the other side of her feet and answered, "Tired. I didn't sleep really well. Not from being sick-" he added quickly, so she wouldn't worry anymore that usual about him, "-just a lot on my mind last night."

There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask his friend, the top of which had to do with Draco spending the night in her room. Her hazel eyes on him stopped any chance of that as he realized how little time he had spent with this third of their group. With him and Draco still avoiding each other and Hermione obviously wanting to spend time with her boyfriend - hence why he slept over at her room - it left little time for them as a group. Ron, Dudley, and pretty much everyone else hung out with the blonde included, leaving only him who needed to be separated and asking such a pointed question would only further distance her.

"Whatcha reading?" Harry decided to go with instead, "I don't care what advanced classes you're taking, I'm pretty sure they don't need a book that thick."

Her cheeks blushed and she closed the book in a move Harry had seen too many times from Snape when he didn't want Harry to see what he was studying. "Just doing a little research on the Wizarding Judicial system. It's quite fascinating, really, it's a combination of the 1600's wizarding world with a touch of more modern Britain."

Harry almost laughed, "So basically, at some point they decided not to burn everyone at the stake?"

She wrinkled her face at his crude comment, "That never worked anyway-"

"-I remember," he cut her off before she went into a lecture on witch burning. "So what happened to journalism? Decided you wanted to take a stab at the Wizengamot instead?"

Worrying her bottom lip, her answer shouldn't have come as a surprise, "I'm trying to make sure everything going on with Draco is legal. I swear they shouldn't be able to just decide these things willy-nilly." This time, Harry did laugh. "It seems wrong."

"It's better than going to Azkaban," Harry offered. "And I'm pretty sure Severus wouldn't let them do anything they weren't allowed to."

She huffed, "Yes, well… he doesn't exactly have the best track record with them either, does he?"

Harry recoiled as if her accusation had physically hit him. "Well, he's doing the best he can. I mean, what else do you expect?"

"Nothing," Hermione argued back, insulted, "which is why I'm doing all the research I can myself on it."

He thought back on the research Snape had done on chemotherapy and his diagnosis back at Privet Drive. How many times had the man asked him if he'd read through the pamphlets before his port had been placed? Too many, Harry answered to himself. And yet Hermione engulfed herself in this side quest - on top of all of her other classes, Head Girl duties, N.E.W.T.s, and a boyfriend - so she could make sure he was being handled fairly. Suddenly he felt like an awful friend to Hermione and son to Snape.

"How's he doing?" Harry asked, needing no other specificity on the subject; she'd know he meant Draco.

The young witch took a cleansing breath, this had been the first time he had flat out asked about the Slytherin since his birthday. "He's angry," she sadly replied, frowning, "and I think it's covering up that he's scared about what this year will hold. He'd never admit to it though."

Harry nodded, understanding how the other felt. "I don't blame him, you know… for kidnapping me. I can appreciate the position he'd been put in. I never wanted any of that to happen… to anyone."

He jumped when he felt her hand on his knee, not noticing that she'd gotten up and now sat directly beside him.

"You should tell him that," she suggested. "I think you guys need to figure this out, you're only making it worse the longer it goes on."

"He'd hex me," Harry smirked. "And this time I couldn't hex him back."

"If it's any consolation," she said, giving him a friendly jab in the ribs, "he can't use any questionable spells right now. So really, you're better off talking to him now than before."

Harry smiled, "I heard what he did to Harper's face. Almost as bad as falling into the Whomping Willow, from what I'm told."

"Hey now," she laughed, "you weren't any better to Ackerly."

Harry rolled his eyes, "But I didn't manage to break his nose, no matter how much I wanted to. Plus, I'm pretty sure Snape won't think twice on removing me from the school if I get into another fight."

Bringing the former Death Eater back into the conversation caused the air between them to drastically shift. What they'd managed to get to a light-hearted, friendly banter turned to an icy cold shoulder.

"Why?" The witch closed her eyes when she asked it and her face grimaced.

Again, Harry recoiled, wishing he could take the comment back, not wanting to get into an argument about Snape. Figuring she wouldn't drop the subject, he answered as honestly as he could, "He doesn't want anything to happen to me."

"But, Harry," she jerked around swiftly until she faced him, her left leg tucked at some impossible angle under her bottom, "I know he's been great with you and he really stood up to help when you needed it the most. And I couldn't be more grateful because I couldn't be there for you and you finally have a family you can love…"

Harry swallowed back the lump forming in his throat and prompted, "But…"

Another big breath, "But… when I look back at it… now that you're mostly out of danger… it seems odd. How does someone change so drastically? Hear me out-" she held her hand to stop his protest and he could see this conversation hurt her almost as much as him, "- After Sirius… after he died, you were so ready to blame Snape, and then adding in everything with the… remedial potions lessons, it doesn't make any sense. I didn't question the major shift back then because you needed him and you were happy, for once in your life. But now… when I think about it…"

Frustrated, Harry ran his hands through his too long hair; he definitely should have showered that morning, maybe then he would have been saved from this awful conversation.

"Is that how you see me?" He asked half rhetorically, standing up desperate to get away. "Someone so pathetic and desperate for attention he wouldn't think twice when someone's actually decent? Let me set the record straight for you, Hermione, I don't want the attention, if you remember right I had plenty of that. What I needed was someone to listen to me and put my interest as 'just Harry' above The-Boy-Who-Lived. So whatever happened between us, is just that… between us. You can't even begin to understand… while you guys were up here going to classes, snogging, and enjoying your lives, I was down there struggling, just wanting it all to end! There were days I wanted to just walk away and he kept me going, so you don't get to sit here and question why when you didn't do a single thing to help!"

Not wanting to hear another word from her, Harry stormed out of the portrait hole figuring he could bury himself deep within the library, where no one would expect to find him. He only had to hide out for a couple of hours, and lunch - at some point, even he knew he'd have to eat - he could easily grab from the kitchens. With a plan in mind, he set out for the library hoping to put his negative energy to good use in finding whatever he could on death premonitions and whatever the bloody hell a jinn was.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus didn't get time for any rest after completing his shift at the MLD and arriving back at Hogwarts to prepare for his date. He had just enough time to firecall Lupin - holding back the sneer and the plentiful of jiving comments in the process - and see if he and Tonks could stay at Spinner's End with Harry, and then have a quick shower. For what it was worth, the werewolf only asked if Harry was alright and not where Severus would be preventing him from staying with the young wizard. He also didn't ask why they'd be in Cokeworth instead of Hogwarts, to which Severus shook his head in defeat; not everyone could be as observant as he. All that mattered to the professor was the werewolf had come through stating he'd meet them at Spinner's End a mere five minutes before Severus had to leave for Guildford - giving him as little time with the last Marauder as possible.

Severus had just long enough to finish dressing - choosing a more casual set of black jeans and a grey fitted jumper - when he heard the door to his quarters open signalling Harry's punctual arrival.

"In here," he called out to the teen from his bedroom.

There had been very few times Harry had been in his bedroom - at Hogwarts or Spinner's End - and based on his hesitation prior to entering, one would have thought the child expected to be punished for it. Eventually, he entered and took a seat on the bed with his legs slightly kicking back and forth.

"You should tie your hair back," Harry mumbled from the bed as Severus tried to figure out where to store his wand and sphere in the more fashionable, yet less comfortable muggle clothing. "It'll look neater that way."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the teen's suggestion taking note at how sullen the child appeared. Though clearly engaged in the situation - having just given unsolicited advice - he seemed equally distant and quieter than usual. Having left for the lab before Hogwarts' Saturday breakfast this morning, Severus didn't have a chance to see Harry since dropping his dinner off yesterday evening almost twenty-four hours ago. In addition to his overall demeanor, the Gryffindor's face still had the familiar pallor to it, causing the professor to question if he should cancel the entire evening and keep Harry at the castle.

Knowing he had one chance until Harry caught onto his plan, Severus approached the bed without pause and placed his hand against Harry's forehead - no fever.

"What's that for?" Harry complained, pulling his head backwards so quickly he almost fell back onto the silver bedspread.

"Just checking," Severus replied. "How have you felt today?"

"Fine."

The one word caused Severus's nostrils to flare and his jaw to clench. Clearly he wasn't fine, but he doubted asking any further questions would yield any different answer.

"Are you sure you're ok with my going out tonight?" He tried in an effort to take a different approach. "I can reschedule-"

"No," Harry boldly interrupted, "it's fine."

A pregnant pause fell between them. Severus ran his hand across the bottom on his jaw thinking of his next move. Not saying another word to the Gryffindor, he turned and left for his attached lavatory, returning a minute later with his hair neatly tied at the base of his neck.

Harry gave a small smirk, but didn't comment. "Are you nervous?"

"Not at all," he lied, unwilling to let anyone know how refreshing it felt to have someone who didn't know about his turbulent past or judge him based on the mark on his arm. "You should bring some school work to get started on," the professor lectured. "You've missed two days this week and I'm sure you don't want to spend all of tomorrow trying to catch up."

"No, sir," Harry politely replied, standing from the bed until he was face to face with him. In that position, Severus was tempted to use Legilimency to find out what happened to cause the shift in the young wizard's behavior, but he resisted the urge. As much as pained him to wait, he would figure it out the hard way by giving Harry his space, in hopes he either said something to give the man a clue or optimally confided in him.

True to his current mood, the second they arrived at the sitting room at Spinner's End, Harry raced straight up to his bedroom - the stairs giving their now customary creak along his way. Alone in the sitting room, Severus debated between following him up the stairs or pouring himself a glass of wine. Against his better judgement, he flicked his wand and a bottle of red wine and a glass came over to him from the shelf beside the fireplace. Between his morning, Harry's apparent attitude, the prospect of seeing - inviting was more like it - Lupin into his home, and his date, he'd be shocked if he made it out with his sanity intact. Sipping his wine, Severus looked up the stairs trying to rack his brain on what could have caused such a big change in Harry's demeanor in only a day. If he weren't so physically and mentally tired, and needing to be in a better mindset for this date, he'd have lectured Harry on how to act appropriately. As it was, he half wanted just to call Mae and cancel, go upstairs and take a nap in his own bed, however he hadn't seen her since before term started and he knew he'd regret that decision later.

A knock on the door came only five minutes later, making Lupin and his fiance early; no big surprise there, he should have known not to pad the time in case the other wizard was late.

"Hello, Severus," Lupin greeted when the professor swung the door open to reveal the last person - people, since Tonks counted by association - he ever wanted to see standing on his doorstep.

"You look nice," Tonks, sporting long teal hair, called out from behind her fiance, "kind of a muggle casual?"

"Something like that," Severus flatly answered and stepped aside to allow the couple entry into his home. He knew he should feel grateful the other man could stay with Harry, especially given the young wizard's current disposition, but the werewolf's experiences with Harry after his diagnosis had been shaky, at best. Some visits were fine - like back at Privet Drive when Harry had his port surgically inserted - and others tense; unfortunately, there were more of the latter lately.

"Where's Harry?" The metamorphmagus asked.

Severus exhaled dramatically, "In his room. Top of the stairs, on the right. If you make the very unwise decision to go into the room on the left, I am not responsible for what may become of you."

Tonk snorted and elbowed Lupin in the stomach; a gesture reminding Severus how young she was compared to them. He grimaced as he put it into perspective: she left Hogwarts the year prior to Harry's arrival, and she was about a decade younger than Mae. Lupin had to be either incredibly lucky or incredibly stupid, and Severus knew where his vote would lie.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry knew he wasn't being fair to Snape by taking his bad mood out on the man. He'd tried to calm himself down before meeting him in the dungeons, but everytime he saw the professor his argument with Hermione came flooding back to him and anger refueled whatever he'd managed to tuck away. Why did Hermione suddenly care why Snape had changed so much? So what if the professor hated Harry and then didn't? Thinking back about those early Privet Drive days, it didn't seem like such a big change at the time and Harry could give the man credit for acting his part well. Knowing what he did now, it had to be difficult to pretend to hate the boy he thought of as his son… on top of waking up in a completely different world, having to deal with Voldemort too. Sitting on his bed, Harry shook his head to clear those convoluted thoughts from his already boggled down mind.

Snape had seemed exhausted lately, making Harry feel almost guilty to be utilizing his current state for the Gryffindor's own gain; justifying it by telling himself Snape would likely be proud of the bit of Slytherin coming out. He should have asked why Snape seemed so tired, beyond the obvious reason of the Death Eaters in the news and his Slytherins going nutters over Hala's premonition.

I would have loved to see that, Harry thought to himself with a laugh.

Unfortunately, his quest to find any information on death premonitions left him oddly empty handed. Halfway through his day at the library, Harry quickly realized how much he depended on Hermione to navigate the overfilled collection of books. Naturally, he started with jinn - being a dark creature at least gave him a category to focus on - however the explanation he read went over his head; something about creatures, mostly found in Islamic countries, living in a mirror world and on rare occasions attack because they got jealous. It seemed a little far fetched to him, but admittedly, the dark creative aspect of Defense Against the Dark Arts had never been his strong suit.

He had half a sandwich, crisps, and fruit for lunch in the kitchens - much to Dobby's emphatic delight - then promptly returned to the library to focus on Divinations; a class he quickly realized he'd never looked up in the library because Hermione dropped out of the class, then he and Ron never took seriously enough to research on their own. Working his way through the library's sections - seemingly with no rhyme or reason - he finally found all sorts of books about crystal balls, reading different tea types, and prophecies; the latter of which he hesitantly looked through because it seemed logical to have premonitions and prophecies in the same category. In the end, he came up empty handed and considered testing if his seventh year status would gain him access to the restricted section regardless of his lower level classes, but it had been time to go meet Snape. He'd officially spent the day at the library and had nothing to show for it.

Switching gears, he figured given his sour mood overall, his best chance of successfully finding and sneaking back his old class essays would be heading straight to his room upon arriving at Spinner's End. There had been a fifty-fifty chance of Snape following him in a fit over his attitude, but he hedged the bet that his upcoming date would distract him enough to let Harry be. The last thing the man wanted would be to show up to his date's flat with his full anger turned up; she'd be terrified. Once Snape left for the night - the staircase gave him plenty of notice that the professor had been on his way up to say goodbye and therefore hide his papers - Harry focused on his next step of needing to find some books to hide them in order to stealthily bring back. As his main excuse to come back home in the first place, he couldn't really leave empty handed. There weren't really any books in his room he could logically convince Snape he needed, so Harry made his way down to the sitting room where he knew he'd find at least one book on magical plants he could convince Snape he wanted to borrow for Herbology. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned back with his eyes squinted, questioning their odd silence during this trip.

"Wortcher, Harry," Tonks loudly greeted when he turned into the sitting room. Lupin and the Hufflepuff were sitting snuggled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace, Lupin reading through a book and Tonks filling out something in a file filled with parchment.

"When did you guys get here?" Harry asked, choosing not to sit with them, but instead look for the book he'd been there to find.

"Right before Severus left," Remus placed his finger in the page he'd been reading and closed it. "He told us you'd had a bit of a rough day yesterday and should wait for you down here." Harry paused, his face flushing from the childish explanation. "Join us for some tea? There's something I'd hoped to talk with you about."

Cautiously, Harry turned around from his place behind Snape's favorite armchair and looked over at the couple. Tonk had her arm laced with Remus's, and for some reason that made Harry more angry than the thought of Snape being out on a date at that very moment. Torn between finding the book he needed to hide his essays and listening to his former professor, Harry sighed, nodded, and with a random book he'd plucked from the shelf to keep his hands busy, he nervously took a seat in Snape's armchair. He'd always sat on the sofa in their quarters at Hogwarts and here at home, so sitting down in the professor's armchair seemed sacreligious; as if the man could somehow tell and would storm in at any moment to remove him. Instead of a dark figure swooping in at him, Harry noticed how worn in the seat and arms of the chair felt; a perfect fit to Snape.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Harry quietly asked, flipping the text over in his hands, hardly noticing its title Secrets of the Darkest Arts, by: Owle Bullock.

"How have you been?" The other Gryffindor handed him a cup of tea from the set in the table in front of them and a biscuit which Harry declined. Unlike Snape, Remus didn't hassle him about the missed food.

"I've been good," Harry told him, and for once he'd been able to speak the truth. "Classes are pretty easy, my magic is getting stronger, and yesterday was really the only sick day - outside of treatment - that I've had."

"That's great," Remus exclaimed, but he sounded nervous, more so than Harry had ever heard him. His hands were wringing in his lap with Tonks keenly watching him. Harry wondered if the full moon was close or had recently ended - he could appreciate the cyclic nature of how they would affect him - yet he felt confident the full moon had been over a week ago; Snape wouldn't allow him here otherwise.

"Everything alright?" Harry prompted. His heart started to race thinking about all the bad things Remus could be delaying telling him.

With a forced smile, the other wizard tapped his hands on the thighs, released a large breath and said, "I owe you an apology-" Harry wanted to tell him he didn't, but he shook his head before the young wizard could get a word out, "- I'm truly sorry for being so absent from your life. I can see how much you needed someone and I should have been there for you."

"It's fine," Harry sighed. Why today, of all days, did everyone feel the need to talk about this? "Seriously, Remus, you did the best you could. Can't we just move on? Start over?"

"It's not that simple, Harry," Remus started, but embracing his anger, Harry interrupted.

"But it is!" He exclaimed, "If Severus and I can get past everything, and me and Dudley can move on, it's not a big deal. What honestly do we have to figure out?" By the end, he'd been practically pleading to move on. "Between the wards on my aunt's house and being… y'know, a werewolf sometimes, there wasn't much you could do."

"I realize that," Remus sadly said. "I want us to be on better terms. After Sirius… died, I know it was hard on you and then everything with your cancer happened and we didn't get a chance to clear the air between us."

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, releasing his clenched fists from around the book in the process, then opened them and said, "Consider it cleared. You helped save my life and you were my dad's best friend. We can start over."

Tonks smiled up at the older Gryffindor and patted him patronizingly on his shoulder with a whispered, "I told you'd it'd be fine."

Remus grabbed her hand, held it between his own, not taking his eyes off Harry. "We've set a wedding date, the second of May next year."

"Well, that's great," responded Harry, his hands opening wide asking what the issue seemed to be with it. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, of course. It's soon," Remus nervously smiled, "And well… I wanted to ask you if you'd be my best man."

Flustered, Harry inquisitively turned his head, "You want me to be your best man?"

"Yes," replied the older Gryffindor confidently. "That is, if you-"

"I'd be honored," Harry quickly cut in. Though he had no idea what being a best man entailed, the fact that Remus had wanted him - the one responsible for killing who would have been his best man - made him feel good; loved even.

"I'm relieved," Remus unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, a sign over how nervous he had been to ask. Did he really think Harry wouldn't want to stand next to him in support for his new marriage?

Once Remus had gotten the question out in the open, the rest of the night went much smoother. They spent the next hour catching up on missed time. Remus asked about Harry's plans after Hogwarts, agreeing with him about having plenty of time to consider his options, which lead to Tonks explaining how intense auror training had been - unfortunately, her description alone validated that even if he didn't have the magic issue, he wouldn't survive while doing chemotherapy - and the couple asked Harry all about his illness and treatments. Oddly enough, Harry found he didn't feel the slightest bit of embarrassment talking about it, even though growing up in wizarding households, neither of them had much of a clue about bone marrow, blood cells, or tablet medication. Harry boldly asked when and how they'd become a couple, not mentioning their large age gap figuring they wouldn't appreciate it being pointed out. As they went through how Tonks' persistence eventually wore Remus down and he almost grudgingly agreed to go on a date, Harry was reminded about Snape and Mae. He couldn't deny how much happier and carefree Remus appeared with Tonks, and Harry found himself smiling at the thought of Snape being able to find some kind of happiness; maybe not forever, but during this seemingly calmer time.

The more they talked, the better and more relaxed Harry began to feel. For dinner, they ordered in Chinese takeaway from the only restaurant that delivered to their area of town. Ironically, it also happened to be Snape's favorite restaurant and Harry naturally assumed it wasn't as coincidental as the professor wanted Harry to believe when he first explained the phenomenon over the summer. By the time the food arrived, the young wizard had completely forgotten any animosity held between him and Remus, along with the book he unconsciously tucked into his school bag to take back to Hogwarts, before he made his way into the kitchen to set the table for three.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus had no idea how he could stand before the Dark Lord and blatantly tell him he'd forever be his faithful, trusted servant, a lie which could have - and on too many occasions should have - gotten him killed, and not feel nearly as nervous as he did standing in front of the brown brick flat belonging to Mae and Jessica with a bottle of wine not at all mentally prepared to have dinner with them. He didn't relate to people, especially women, and yet somehow he managed to convince himself this would be a sound idea. Closing his eyes, he flooded his mind with their first date, how Mae looked in her blue dress, her hair perfectly placed on her head. He focused on her laugh travelling through the phone line each time they had spoken and eventually his nerves began to calm. This was good; he wanted this for as long as he could have it, assuming he didn't manage to screw it up like he did everything else.

More in control of himself, the former spy walked up the drive from Hillcrest Road, under the brown brick archway leading to a small garage. The building itself looked to have two flats side-by-side, and he walked up to the plain white door with the number seven prominently placed on it. Prior to knocking, he peered at his surroundings - the side effect of being a paranoid spy for sixteen years - and, determining nothing appeared out of place, he firmly knocked on the door. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself, trying not to fidget as he heard someone clumsily running on the other side of the door. Based on the running rate of speed, Severus took a small step backwards expecting the door to fling open in his face. Luckily, the pounding of feet stopped suddenly and a small pause had him picturing the nurse fixing herself before greeting him.

"Punctual yet again," Mae's familiar voice announced from the other side of the threshold. Tonight she'd dressed casually in a pair of dark blue jeans and a tight green jumper hugging all the right curves on her body and confirming he'd dressed accordingly for the occasion. Instantly, any nerves he previously had melted away at her joking smile. "You know, if you keep showing up on time, I'm going to have to believe it's only the phone you have difficulty using."

"Good evening to you too," he offered her the bottle of wine, the one thing he had confidence in selecting for tonight. When she made no motion to let him in, he narrowed his eyes at her and asked, "Am I banished out on the porch for the evening? Though I have no qualms with dining alfresco, it may be a bit cold tonight, even for my comfort."

"Are you trying to tell me vampires don't like the cold?"

He smiled, completely unprepared for such an action and shook his head, walking carefully into the small flat when she moved away to allow him entry. Strange. Had someone asked him to describe the feeling of being willingly invited into a muggle woman's home, he'd say strange - a word no more eloquent than something Ronald Weasley would use.

The front door opened up on the ground floor into the lounge with the brown wooden staircase directly in front of him leading to the first floor. He'd be willing to bet it didn't creak randomly as his did back at Spinner's End. The rest of the ground floor could be seen from his vantage point in the entryway, to his right a door naturally leading into the kitchen, and to his left, just beyond the sitting area - consisting of a white three-person sofa, light brown coffee table, and television on the wall flushed with the staircase - was a conservatory used for their dining room, reminiscent of the one at Privet Drive. Strangely the space - certainly not the decor - resembled his home on Spinner's End combined with 4 Privet Drive, leading him to believe two bedrooms and a single bath likely resided on the first floor.

"It's lovely," Severus told Mae as she led him through the lounge towards the conservatory. The round table in the conservatory was set for three, with light blue plates and red wine glasses. On the far end, a door led out to a small fenced back garden, rare to find in a flat these days, with more grass in their fenced area than on his entire street. Without warning, Severus became hyper aware of Mae's presence beside him as she opened the bottle of wine at the table, and he felt as if the temperature in the room spiked by a hundred degrees, causing him to mindlessly push his sleeves up to his elbows, "You said your flatmate will be joining us?"

Mae gave a small laugh, "She'll be right down," and she reached in front of him to grab two of the wine glasses from the table and poured them both a glass. Handing one out for him she added, "I hope lasagna's alright for dinner. It's one of my favorites and you said you're not picky."

"Of course," he answered, filing the tidbit of information away for later, never knowing when being able to identify her favorite foods might come in handy. Taking a sip of his wine did nothing to help ease the nervous heat, and though his selection would pair perfectly with their Italian meal, he almost wished he'd brought a more refreshing white.

"So you must be the professor Mae talks so fondly of," the voice from the stairway drew Severus's attention away from the dinner table - and unfortunately, Mae - to her flatmate.

Jessica had long dark auburn hair, cascading down her back and wore an unflattering floral dress, intriguing Severus as to the choice of attire when planning to meet her roommate's latest beau. Still unwilling to die an early death by inquiring of their ages, Severus guessed Jessica to be a couple of years older than Mae, somewhere between her 34 and his 38. She had a warm smile on her face, and curiously it almost instantly dropped when he approached her to introduce himself.

"Severus," he greeted, offering her his hand to shake. When she didn't reciprocate, he amended his statement, "Severus Snape. You must be Jessica?"

Perhaps it had to do with his appearance - particularly his long hair - but whatever the cause, it couldn't be more obvious that at first glance she would not be friendly towards him. Dinner had been a confusing and strained affair, yet Severus's experience in hostile environments served him well and he handled it with ease. Rarely did he have Italian food being at the castle during the year and cooking for one - now two, however Harry's measly appetite hardly counted - and Jessica's lasagna did not disappoint. However her cold shoulder towards him throughout the meal didn't coincide with someone who would have gone through the trouble to prepare such a meal, and as time went on, the flatmate continued to be a conundrum to him.

Though her answers were short and snippy, he'd managed to learn the two muggles met through Dr Swanson at the hospital, who suggested Mae to Jessica after the latter nurse mentioned she'd been looking for a flatmate when her last one up and moved without warning. Being new to the area and her practice, Dr Swanson thought of Mae and it kicked off a seven year friendship. Despite sometimes working opposite shifts and going as long as a week without seeing one another, Severus could tell they'd become as close as sisters, and if he had any chance of continuing to court Mae, Jessica's approval was paramount; adding to the importance of identifying the cause of her consternation with him.

True to his personality, Severus held his own and by dessert, a strawberry and blueberry trifle prepared by Mae, he knew he'd have his work cut out for him in gaining over the red-headed nurse's trust. He wouldn't go as far to say Jessica didn't like him, but she definitely had reservations in regards to his relationship with Mae. Equally the silent listener and protector, she soaked in every detail he provided on his career, his hobbies - mostly reading - and his relationship with Harry, and didn't hesitate to ask the more pointed questions, obviously in an attempt to catch him in a lie. He held his own, telling as much of the truth as he could and stripping the magic from his answers as needed. Not all of their conversations were difficult, and Severus enjoyed the time spent between the pseudo-interrogations, when things felt comfortable and normal, just three people ranging from their early to late thirties highlighting how few people Severus actually conversed with like this and why Harry clung to his friends like his lifeline.

Jessica had been quiet as Severus helped clear the table to the small kitchen, not much bigger than his own, but had the significant difference of having a woman's touch to it. The oak cabinets were modern for the muggle world and matched perfectly with the golden countertop with hints of dark brown splattered throughout. Opposite of his own plain white dishes, mismatched linens, and furnishings, everything in Mae and Jessica's tied together in feminine perfection, and it all had a place within their home.

Though it was getting late, and Severus hated to think about what Lupin and Tonks were getting into back at Spinner's End, he agreed to tea before ending their night. They moved to the sitting room for evening tea with Severus and Mae on the sofa - where the professor sat comfortably in the corner with his right ankle propped on his left knee and Mae beside him, close enough to be flirtatious yet far enough to be sly about it - and Jessica pulled up a chair from the dinner table to sit in across from them. A sitcom Severus had no clue about played on the television, spurring Mae to heckle his lack of technological knowledge.

"How do you manage to survive like you're still in the Middle Ages?" Mae laughed. "You don't watch the telly, you don't go to the cinema, you don't eat out, and you only read classical literature."

"That last one is not completely true," he defended himself, shifting to sit forward on the sofa.

"Textbooks hardly count and before you argue with me on that one, you always have your nose deep in one at the clinic," she argued. "I'm all for staying on top of your area of study, but even I like a good novel and movie every now and then."

"I wouldn't have taken you as the tattoo type," Jessica randomly exclaimed, her voice laced with an accusatory distrust making Severus sneer at her. "Seems a bit… bold for a chemistry professor, especially in such a prominent location."

"I hardly think my previous life choices are any of your concern," he didn't say it nearly as angrily as he wanted to. "As for my professional life, that's between me and my headmaster."

"You are dating my best friend," she claimed, "therefore I think it earns me the right to ask."

"The right to ask, certainly," the former spy agreed, "not the right to demand an answer, or judge me for things I've come to terms with long ago."

A good minute pause elapsed when Jessica added, "I've seen it before… in the same spot too, on a pair of patients brought in only last week. In my line of work, we see gang symbols all the time and all of them mean bad news. I have to admit, though, this one was new and it seems odd to have it pop up again in my own house."

It took all of Severus's Occlumency not to react to the proclamation. Never would a former Death Eater voluntarily walk into a muggle hospital, and yet to have two at the same time couldn't be a coincidence. He wanted to do Legilimency - to see who she could possibly have been referring to - nevertheless doing so would be an unnecessary risk; there wasn't anything he could do with it anyway.

"As I've said," the professor leaned forward with his feet planted firmly on the floor and his arms - both sleeves currently pulled down - resting on his thighs, then just above an angry whisper he continued, "I owe you no explanation. Should Mae require one, she's more than welcome to inquire and I'll answer her accordingly."

"Jess," Mae finally spoke up, "drop it, alright. It's fine."

"Suit yourself, but based on the injuries we had to fix, you better get some answers," Jessica said, not attempting to hide her hostility. She stood, slammed her teacup down on the table between them, "I'll just be upstairs for the rest of the night."

Watching the nurse walk away left him with more questions than answers. What had happened with these two mysterious Death Eaters? Didn't the Prophet article mention Ash and Talpin had been arrested for trying to burn down a muggle pub? The only option he had was to get the information to Kingsley, who could work with the DMLE muggle liaison to find out whatever he could about them.

Feeling Mae's presence next to him, he rested back against the sofa with his arm draped around her. Her allowance of such a move settled his nerves, but he still watched for any reaction indicating the new information about his "gang symbol" had altered things between them.

"I should probably take my leave," he told her carefully. "Harry's… staying in our quarters tonight. He had a rough day yesterday."

"You should have said something," Mae responded, half in her normal tone, and half in her concerned nursing one.

"He's alright with this-" Severus motioned between them, then looked over to the stairs and added, "however after everything tonight, I'd understand if you wanted to walk away." He tried to ignore the painful feeling in his chest as he said the words, embarrassed for it having such an effect on him when he barely knew her. "I stand by my statement to your flatmate, if you have any questions, I'm more than willing to answer them, to help ease your mind."

"I have one," she shifted away from him and turned to face him head on, "when I first met you in the clinic, I asked you about the tattoo-" he nodded, remembering how exhausted he'd felt that day and how much he wanted her to leave him be, "- you told me it's so you never forget how young and stupid one could be as an eager teenager. Is that still true?"

The verbatim repeating of his own response back to him hit Severus hard. She'd never asked him about his Mark again, either on their first date nor on any of the numerous phone conversations they'd had. She trusted the explanation she'd been given at the clinic and he knew his answer tonight would be the foundation for their next several encounters.

"Yes," he told her, "that part of my life is one-hundred percent, completely over. I have nothing to do with this mark anymore."

She nodded and her small smile eased some of his pain. For now, things were stable. He survived to hopefully see her again. Against his insistence, Mae walked him to the door and out onto the small porch. At half past nine o'clock at night, the waning crescent moon sat high in the sky and the cold air released the tension in his chest.

"I want to apologize for Jessica's behavior tonight. I don't care what she saw, she had no right to attack you like that," Mae told him, running her arms up and down to keep herself warm. "I promise she's not always such a git."

"Well, it's a good thing it's not her I'm interested in seeing again," the admission caught Severus, himself, off guard. Things between them were changing if he'd been comfortable enough to say such a statement.

A cold breeze passed over them and Mae shivered, her light jumper not even close enough to keep her warm in the brisk fall weather. Against his better judgement, Severus reached out to her and ran his hands up and down the outside of her arms in an attempt to warm her up. Her soft smile warmed him, then before he could say a single thing, she leaned forward up on her tiptoes and placed a small kiss on his unsuspecting lips.

~~~~HP~~~~

Sunday 28th September 1997

Well, now what am I going to do? Harry asked himself while sitting on his bed Sunday after breakfast. How did he manage to get himself into these situations?

Since Snape didn't make it home until almost ten o'clock last night, the professor didn't question the texts Harry needed to bring back. In hindsight, Snape had seemed a bit distracted when he'd returned, but Harry hadn't wanted to draw any undesirable attention to his school bag, so he'd let it go as having good luck. Of course, had he been required to show Snape the extra books he needed, then he would have clearly seen he had the wrong one and been able to swap them out. No good could come from having Snape's copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullockin his possession, and he had no idea how he'd be able to stealthily return it.

"I know you're in there, Harry," Ron called out to him from the other side of his curtains. The raven-haired wizard jumped when they opened up quickly, Ron having just broken the unspoken rule in their dorm: never open a dormmate's curtains unsuspectingly.

"Cut it out, you twat!" Harry yelled back at him, reaching out to draw the curtains once again, but Ron's grip - from standing compared to Harry's seated position- prevented them from closing.

"I want to know why you're avoiding us."

Harry felt his bed dip and he flipped the illicit book over, but the back depicted a picture of what he could only assume - or possibly hope, given the nature of the book the possibilities were endless - was the Dementor's Kiss. Ron's eyes boggled out of his head, but instead of pointing out the text, he grabbed the three pieces of parchment scattered beside it written in Harry's scribbled writing. ""Did'ja end up getting 'em?"

Relieved to have a change of topic away from his row with Hermione and the book, Harry nodded proudly. "Severus didn't even question me on it either. I'll obviously have to rewrite them… even I can admit I've gotten better with a quill since second year and last year's essays were done using a muggle pen. But that's loads better than starting from scratch, plus I've got the professor's corrections, so it'll be worth it."

"I'm so jealous," Ron said while reading over a Herbology essay from last year, completely ignorant to how stupid it sounded. Never would Harry want to be retaking classes he'd already taken, but in an effort to put his sour mood from yesterday behind him, he didn't pursue correcting his friend. "So why'd you avoid us all day yesterday?"

"I wasn't-" Harry started, stopping at the expression crossing Ron's face."I was at the library most of the day."

"And lunch?" Ron challenged. "You better hope 'Mione doesn't rat you out to Snape for skipping a meal."

Harry gave a sarcastic laugh, "Doubt that it'll happen. Besides, Dobby can vouch that I ate in the kitchens yesterday."

"So then you were avoiding us," the other wizard stated. "And why were you in the library?"

Sometimes Harry loved Ron's chaotic mind. "I wanted to see if I could find anything on jinns and death premonitions, because… well, the whole thing with Khatib the other night."

Ron nodded his understanding. "I remember hearing mum and dad talk about her family after the attack happened because it's not all that common for jinn attacks to be in the British news. Gonna be honest, though, I didn't pay much attention. Kinda wish I did, now. What'd you find?"

"Not much really. And what I did read, I didn't exactly understand," Harry admitted. Unconsciously, he reached up and touched his scar on his forehead. It had been getting lighter since Voldemort's death, a visual reminder of the dark wizard's permanent death this time. "Do you think she could see these premonitions before the attack? Or because of it?"

Ron - completely oblivious to how torn Harry felt about the first year Slytherin, not sure if he wanted to help her or stay as far away as he could - simply frowned and shrugged. Unfortunately, Harry knew too well what it was like to have the whole school fear you; thinking you'll go ballistic one night and kill them all, or in his case only the muggleborns as the Heir of Slytherin. Deep down he wanted to do what he could to help her, but he couldn't deny that at the same time, she scared him too. He didn't want to know even a possibility of when or how he'd die.

"Is that why you have this?" Ron asked, picking up the Dark Arts book before Harry could stop him. His green eyes narrowed as he saw a slip of parchment fall from the pages and flutter slowly to his bed. "This is some serious stuff, Harry. You could get expelled for having it and thrown in Azkaban if you use it."

"Erm…" Harry stalled, picking up the folded parchment and reading it over. It looked like some kind of order form dated at the end of June, but that was all Harry could really understand. There was a shipping location he didn't recognize and a destination in Northern Britain, then a list of items ranging from plants and phials to ink and parchment. His eyes stopped scanning when they reached something called a Guigne de la Côte, buried in the middle of the long document. For reasons he couldn't figure out, Harry's stomach churned as if he'd just finished an awful round of chemotherapy. Snape had been storing this inside the book - not just any book, one about the darkest of arts - and he didn't want to even start thinking as to why. Suddenly, getting the text back to Spinner's End without Snape noticing was the least of his worries.

A small knock on their door caused all the blood to drain from Harry's face. He quickly grabbed the book out Ron's hands, shoving it, the order form, and his old essays into his school bag as fast as possible. They'd all been safely stored a split second before the door opened and Hermione walked in.

"I was hoping I'd find you here," she said, sadness laced in her voice. For the second time, Harry felt his bed dip, relieved to have hidden his books and old essays; Hermione would almost be worse than Snape over this. "Can we talk?"

Uncomfortable with what would be coming, Harry looked at his watch and said, "I have detention with Snape." Her glare told him she knew he stretched the truth. "Fine," he admitted, "I have twenty minutes before I'm actually late for the detention."

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," Hermione told him, and Harry finally understood why Snape hated when he apologized for every little thing. Of course, what Hermione said hadn't been little, by any means, but after Remus's apology yesterday, he was tired of hearing them.

"So you're the reason why he's ignoring us," Ron teased, "should've known."

A death glare rivaling Snape's left Hermione's face directed at Ron and Harry couldn't help smiling.

"It's fine, Hermione," he told her, prepared to let things go between them. If one good thing came from his Leukemia diagnosis, it was how to know what was worth holding a grudge over and when to give forgiveness. This last month surrounded by his friends had been one of the best since the Triwizard Tournament and he wasn't willing to let his own stubbornness continue to taint it. "I know from your side of things, it looks weird, but trust me, things between me and Severus are good."

"I know that," Hermione explained, "it's just… There's been a lot of talk since the wedding, and I've ignored most of it because you're so happy, but then Draco said-"

"Well there's your problem," Harry interrupted, without any malice in his voice, "Draco doesn't know what he's talking about either. Trust me, Hermione, no one else matters. Let the good just be good for once."

"I guess..."

Harry knew she wasn't convinced and outside of Harry telling her about Snape's old world, she probably never would be. She would let it go, though, for the same reason he would forgive her: their friendship meant more than either of their individual needs to be right.

"I really have to go now, otherwise Severus will have a fit over me being late." He stood and slung his school bag over his shoulder.

"Whatever he has you doing today," Ron exclaimed with a chuckle, "just keep thinking about how good it felt to deck Ackerly."

Predictably, the comment earned Ron a swat across his arm and Harry once again laughed, happy to have everything between them settled. If only he could find a solution as easily for the Dark Arts book in his possession.

Harry knocked tentatively on the Defense classroom door, assuming he'd be meeting Snape here to serve his detention rather than in their quarters. When classes first resumed, he had questioned how things would fall between them - managing their parent/child relationship alongside the teacher/student one - but he really hadn't needed to worry. Obviously Snape had already been familiar with this terrain from his old reality, and all Harry had to do was follow his lead. Where he expected to feel suffocated, having never had someone watching out for him, he felt oddly at peace with it. Keeping the separation between their two roles, Harry naturally assumed this would be a teacher detention to be served in the classroom.

The strict sounding, "come in," from the other side of the door instantly put all of Harry's confidence aside and in its place sat dread. Those two words had been his old Professor Snape tone and one Harry not only hadn't expected to hear, but had hoped to never hear again.

"Sir?" Harry questionably asked as he gently pushed the door open. Snape, dressed in his typical black teaching robes, sat at his desk marking what looked like an endless number of essays. His face had the old Snape anger to it, making Harry want to turn around and go straight back to the Tower.

When Snape recognized who had opened the classroom door, his face relaxed and in his normal - or new normal, bringing Harry back to yesterday's conversation with Hermione - voice he asked, "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Erm," Harry toed the floor beneath his feet, briefly considering lying to get out of the detention; clearly the professor had forgotten, "I'm here for my detention, sir. Is everything alright?"

"Yes," with a wave of Snape's wand, the essays vanished - most likely to his office at the back of the room - and he motioned to the desk near his own, "I'm expecting a student a little later for a meeting and it slipped my mind. I'll get you started on your detention first."

Hesitantly, Harry closed the door behind him and slowly made his way towards his mentor. The book and form in his bag made it feel kilos heavier, knowing it couldn't actually be true.

"You'll be doing lines today," Snape told him. The simple phrase brought him back to Umbridge's office. It had been the last time he'd done lines for a detention, and though he logically knew Snape wouldn't have him use a blood quill - he shivered thinking about the blood failing to stop flowing through the cuts - he trembled a bit as he sat at his desk, almost preferring to scrub cauldrons. Noticing the Gryffindor's discomfort, Snape stood, walked over to the other side of his desk and sat on the edge in a position Harry rarely saw the man.

"We haven't had much time to talk these last couple of weeks," Snape started. "I know I've been pulled away in many different directions so far this year and I feel as if I've not been as available as you may need."

"No," Harry automatically countered, "you've had a lot of things going on… with the Slytherins, and the Death Eater stuff in the papers, and your lab work..."

"Regardless, you are still my first priority and I should be checking in more often," he watched Harry so closely, the young wizard half expected to hear Legillimens whispered. "How did things go with Lupin yesterday?"

Unable to hide his surprise at the random question, Harry honestly answered, "It went fine. He… Erm… he asked me to be his Best Man at his wedding in May. I told him yes, but maybe I should have checked with-"

The professor held up his hand to stop Harry's nervous rambling before it got out of control. "You needn't my permission on anything, but specifically a request as such. How do you feel about being his Best Man?"

Harry gave a sad laugh, "Weird, if I'm honest. I mean, Sirius surely would have been… if he hadn't… if I hadn't…" Harry looked down at the scars on his right hand. That awful year, with that awful woman, he'd never get away from.

"You didn't kill him, Harry," Snape confidently said. "And most importantly, Lupin doesn't blame you. If he did, do you think he'd ask you to step in for such high honor?"

"I 'spose not,'' Harry mumbled, still looking down at his desk and feeling Snape's eyes almost burning a hole in the top of his head. Desperate to alleviate the awkwardness, or at least shift it from himself to Snape, Harry mischievously asked, "How did your date go last night?"

"I know what you're trying to do," Snape retorted, folding his arms across his chest, "and it's not going to work."

"You can't blame me for trying," Harry smiled. "You didn't even mention it when you came home."

"Then let's talk about it," the conviction in Snape's voice made Harry regret where this conversation could be headed. He should have known better than to play this game with the Head of Slytherin; he would always lose. "How do you feel about me dating one of your nurses?"

Harry sighed, this one would be difficult to get out of.

"She's not exactly my nurse," he countered, resisting the urge to make a crude joke about it, "and actually I did want to talk you about rescheduling-"

"Do not change the subject," Snape cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then in a condescending voice, he added, "I should have made myself clearer, how do you feel about my dating a nurse who works for your oncologist and one who may or may not be responsible for giving you your life saving medications?"

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't date someone who would withhold my medicine because you broke up with her," Harry replied back. "So as long as we can go under that assumption, I'm fine with it."

Visibly exhausted from the conversation, Snape ran his hand down his face, filling Harry with guilt for being difficult during what should have been a normal detention.

"Why do you want to change your chemotherapy?"

Harry almost wanted to forget about the Quidditch trials, if for no other reason than to give the man a break.

"It's stupid," Harry answered, and when Snape didn't respond beyond staring at him, the Gryffindor continued, "Quidditch trials are that weekend. Gryffindor's on Saturday, so I thought I could move chemo to Sunday."

"Because Quidditch is more important than chemotherapy?"

"When you put it like that, no," Harry argued, "but it's only one day. And you wanted to move it back after the Diagon Alley attack, so I don't see how this is any different?"

"The difference," Snape emphasized the last word, "is that over the summer you were injured, a perfectly sound reason to delay. Because you want to see your friends try out for Quidditch is hardly the same."

"I don't need your permission," Harry furrowed his brows, hating the words as they fell from his mouth. Quickly he added, "But I won't do it without you."

"As the one who disapparates you to and from the clinic, I should hope not."

A small knock on the door, and it's subsequent opening, drew both wizards' attention away from their argument. Harry's breath hitched when he saw, standing in the doorway, Hala Khatib. She stood tall in a set of dark robes - oddly formal for a Sunday - hanging off her frame in a way Harry was all too familiar with. She looked between the two of them, unblinking, giving Harry chills at her eeriness.

"Miss Khatib, please come in," Snape called out to her. At first, she didn't budge, just stared off at them almost in a trance. A slight humming rang through the room, and Harry turned back around at Snape and shrugged his shoulders. Snape repeated his request, a little louder this time, "Miss Khatib!"

"I'm here for our meeting, Professor," the eleven year old answered as if she hadn't been standing there watching them for a solid minute and a half. She reminded Harry a little of Luna, but in a less bubbly, more serious kind of way.

"Yes, I know…" the professor sighed, exasperated, "go wait in my office and I'll be right in."

As she walked into the room, heading to the office behind Snape's desk, Harry tried to keep his head down and not watch her. The last thing he wanted was to do to her what everyone did to him coming to Hogwarts as The-Boy-Who-Lived, yet she didn't seem nearly as bothered as he'd been with it all. She walked right past him with her head held high. Turning away quickly, in case her gift required eye contact, like Legilimency, Harry knew right then he really didn't want to get to know her, no matter how much alike their situations may have been.

Unaffected by her presence, Snape pulled out his wand and tapped the chalkboard next to his desk. The phrase I will not fight. I will learn to control my temper appeared. "You are to write these two sentences two hundred times."

He turned - robes billowing in their normal teaching fashion - to follow Hala into the office when Harry pleaded, "Just think about it, will you? It's only one day and would mean a lot to me."

Fully swapped into his teaching persona, the former Death Eater turned in the doorway of his office and said, "Get to work," before slamming the door closed behind him. Things were not looking promising for the Quidditch trials.

~~~~SS~~~~

The last thing Severus wanted to do on Sunday was meet with Hala Khatib about her supposed gift. He stood by his belief that Divinations in all forms was little more than rubbish, and yet he knew his opinion had been swayed largely by the damn prophecy about Voldemort. Back as an eager Death Eater, had he placed as little trust in the art as he did in the present, he never would have brought his findings to Voldemort in the first place. That single moment would forever haunt him as his worst, and in a way his best, decision of his life. One could not appreciate light without dark, good without evil, and happiness without sadness; a truth he knew all too well.

Outside of his meeting with Hala, he also needed to send to a missive to Kingsley with the information regarding the two unknown Death Eaters treated in the Guildford hospital last week, and oversee Harry's first detention from his idiotic fight with Ackerly. He'd already sent off the letter to the head auror - choosing to circumvent Albus refusing to feed the older wizard's theory about Death Eater activity - and tried to focus on marking the stack of essays which had piled up throughout the week. As a student, he never considered how many essays the professors had to mark, all having to be done outside of the classroom. Serves him right for all the complaining he used to do about how easy the professors had it compared to the students. Of course, as far he knew none of the professors had a sick child to care for, a part time position, and the Head of House to a set of students on the verge of an internal rebellion. Come to think of it though, Minerva had to manage having a werewolf for a student. If he were being honest, he could admit to that single situation almost being worse than all of his put together. Almost, but not quite.

By the time Harry knocked on his door ready to start his detention, Severus had already worked himself up to discuss their house situation with Hala, completely forgetting Harry would be there first. Setting it up this way made sense because he could get Harry started on his lines - the best use of detention time for a Sunday - but given Harry's odd mood yesterday, the teen didn't exactly need to be exposed to his "Slytherin Head of House" personality. Picking up on the Gryffindor's wariness, Severus tried to put him at ease before assigning the lines, but based on Harry's responses it hadn't worked as he'd hoped.

Hala's arrival for her meeting with him could not have come at a worse time: Harry pleading to move his next treatment back so he could attend the Gryffindor Quidditch trials. Things had been easy, relatively speaking, and any change in their norm gave the illusion a chance to fall apart. So far since returning to school, Harry complained about going to his last treatment and had asked to move the next one. The precedent agreeing to it could be a dangerous one. And yet, as Harry aptly pointed out, he didn't necessarily need Severus's permission to alter his appointments. Even as the teen's muggle medical proxy, at seventeen he was old enough to have a significant say in his own health decisions. It had been the same argument from the original crossroad in his previous reality, only Harry had been sixteen compared to the wizarding coming of age at seventeen. Hopefully this time, in this situation with this version of Harry, he could reason with the young wizard as to why it wouldn't be a sound decision.

He had come to that conclusion in the extremely short walk from his classroom to his office, and now sat behind his desk with Hala Khatib patiently waiting for him to initiate their long overdue meeting. When she first entered his classroom, he recognized the telltale sign of her premonition visions, including her unseeing stare, slight rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, and a hum coming from so deep inside of her that it couldn't be intentionally made. As any Slytherin would, he wanted to ask what she'd seen, if for no other reason than to try to prevent the inevitability of the event. He wouldn't ask, not only because it would be inappropriate, but because he didn't want to feed the gossip around her; his position as her Head of House required him to alleviate, not add to, the chaos.

The child sitting in the chair across from his desk - peering around at his texts lining his office walls and pictures of various dark creatures - didn't seem at all perturbed to have been called into his office on a Sunday.

"I'm going to keep this brief, Miss Khatib," Severus announced, sitting up regally in his chair with his hands folded together on his desk.

"I should think so," Hala proclaimed, "you already have a lot of things to worry about."

"It seems you've caused quite a commotion among your fellow classmates in a particularly short amount of time," he ignored her pointed statement. "As the damage has already been done, I'd like you to tell me about these supposed visions."

She shifted in her chair, though not in an uncomfortable way.

"You don't believe me, do you?" The first year boldly asked.

Severus's face twitched as he held back his initial reaction - to tell her it's none of her business - and he considered the long term benefits to aligning with her. She'd already come to him earlier this year with concerns over Draco and although from his current position he felt she had little room to worry about others, he did appreciate her loyalty to him.

"I believe in what I can see," he told her, "and what I can physically do on my own accord."

"So do I."

Those three words spoke volumes. Feeling a headache coming on, he rubbed the space between his brows already wanting to go to bed though it wasn't even nearing the lunch hour yet.

"Do they come true?" Uncharacteristically, the question left this mouth before he had a chance to stop it.

"Free will still exists, Professor," she replied, "and as long as that remains, nothing is guaranteed."

Why the bloody hell couldn't she be put in Ravenclaw? Then she'd be Filius's problem.

"In that case," he lectured, "there is no good to come from verbalizing these… visions… and I recommend you keep them to yourself, regardless if they pertain to individuals inside or outside of the school."

"You already said I would," she told him, "in our house meeting last week."

"And I stand by my original statement, Miss Khatib."

"Then why am I here?"

Or perhaps Gryffindor would have been a more appropriate placement?

He stared at her, another anomaly for him to figure out, as if he didn't have enough going on at the moment. The thought - in almost her exact words when they first spoke - chilled him to his core.

"You're here because you are quickly making enemies within your own house and among the other students," he warned. "That needs to be corrected, otherwise it not only reflects negatively on you and the rest of your time at Hogwarts, but of Slytherin as a whole."

"Don't you want to know?" Her almost hollow voice, quiet yet firm, radiated through him. Simultaneously, he finally understood why Harry hated when he answered a question with a question. "What I saw back there? And when you walked in here? Everyone does… until they don't."

The admission of her visions - the very things he wanted to continue to tell himself weren't real - somehow changed the landscape between them in the small office completely. So she had seen Harry's and his own death; not guaranteed by any means, only a possibility.

"No, Miss Khatib," he lied, "I have no desire to know how one will die."

"Interesting," she turned her head inquisitively at him, almost daring him to take the bait she was about to offer. "But what if it could be prevented?"

He couldn't help thinking back to the red potion he had, in hindsight, foolishly taken. Though it had thus far turned out for the better, there wasn't any guarantee it would have, and he couldn't deny the fact that he essentially traded Cedric Diggory's, Charlie Weasley's, Matthew's, and Chester Summerby's life to save Harry's, and those deaths would never leave his conscious. If it hadn't been for his extreme grief, he never would have considered taking it in the first place.

"One should not play with fate." He stood his ground. No matter how much he wanted to hear Harry would die an old man from old age, he didn't trust himself not to do something drastic, if he were told it would be as a young man from Leukemia. In an effort to get control over this conversation, be asked, "Can you control it?"

She gave a hard, teetering on the edge of evil laugh. "If I could control it, don't you think I would have by now?"

"No reason to be crass," he admonished her, then, approaching the topic in another manner as he found himself completely off his normal axis around her, he said "I'd like to understand you and your situation better."

That simple proclamation eased the child and when he asked her to tell him about life in Jordan, she told him she didn't remember much, but she knew her parents had been highly involved in the diabolical sect of Jordan - fairly common, Severus knew, for the region - though she didn't know exactly what they did for their occupation. As a close equivalent to the Dark Arts in Europe, Severus couldn't help wondering if that had been how she ended up in his house. Her two brothers had been four and seven years her senior, making them only nine and twelve when they were killed in the jinn attack. She'd been found by a neighbor the next morning and promptly sent off to live with her maternal grandmother - a witch she'd hardly seen, outside of holidays and other special occasions - who by the sounds of it, couldn't be any different from the home she'd grown up in her first five years of life. Severus breathed a little easier knowing that at least this orphaned child had gone off to live with a wholesome elderly lady who baked tea cakes every Saturday and liked to visit antique shops on Sunday afternoons, as opposed to a family scared of a child with abilities beyond their understanding, and therefore chose to lock said child in a cupboard under the stairs. In fact, though the grandmother could have resented Hala for her family's death, from the sounds of it, she had been exceptionally well cared for; even more so than most of his Slytherins by their own parents.

The conversation became a little more tense when he asked about the history of her premonitions. As far as she knew she always had them, but back then she assumed they were living nightmares. Her family had taken her to healers, but it wasn't until after the attack and her coming to the UK that they suspected premonitions. No one in her family had a history of seer tendencies, and that alone was intriguing to the professor. Typically speaking, these types of "gifts" were inherited, however he suspected at some point long ago they would have had to "pop up" in generations. If nothing else, it solved the long wondered quandary: did she receive the gift from the jinn attack or did she survive because of it? By the end, Severus assumed the latter, not because she foresaw the attack - if that had been so, she would have saved her family - but because the jinn had seen the dark magic inside of her and did not want to touch the child.

The meeting had lasted just over an hour, and more than checking the box that he'd had it with her, the professor felt he better understood his student in a way he should have done back when she'd first been sorted into his house. Based on her demeanor, the meeting had zero impact on her. She'd go back to their Common Room as if nothing had happened. Severus was all set to convince himself to do the same by pulling out the stack of essays to continue marking - knowing Harry wouldn't be close to finishing his lines, and Severus would end up order lunch for the two of them - when he noticed the witch pause at his door, with her hand on the brass knob already half turned ready to leave. He watched her closely for any sign of distress or assistance she may need. After almost a minute of her standing with her back towards him, hand so firmly on the knob her knuckles had turned white, the professor asked, "Miss Khatib, was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Without turning completely around, she said over her shoulder, "Watch yourself, Professor... a-and don't let him reschedule."

His blood instantly drained from his face, but she'd long left his office by the time his brain caught up to her statement.

~~~~HP~~~~

Tuesday 31st, September 1997

"Harry, wake up," Ron's loud voice, combined with his firm hand on his shoulder shaking him awake, put Harry immediately on alert. He'd come back to the Common Room to rest during what should have been his Transfiguration class, and must have fallen asleep.

The insomnia Harry had fought after being rescued from Malfoy Manor had unfortunately returned in full force. The first couple hours of the nights he spent tossing and turning, listening to the other four boys - realistically, mostly Ron - snoring away, having no problem finding the sleep he wanted to have. Eventually, he'd get angry enough about being unable to fall asleep and would try to pass the time reading through any number of the texts he'd brought back from the library, attempting to sketch, or watching the Marauder's Map; questioning how Draco managed to stealthily maneuver from the Slytherin Common Room - right down the corridor from Snape's quarters - to Hermione's room almost every night.

Unfortunately, none of those activities prevented him from thinking about Snape's Dark Arts book, including whatever the professor was getting into with the paper, or ease him into the sleep his body needed, causing him to see the sunrise each morning. It was Tuesday's sunrise when Harry came to the conclusion he couldn't figure this out on his own and he'd have to ask Hermione, less risk missing a countless number of nights' rest. While his day would be clear, having no double Transfiguration in the afternoon, the Gryffindor witch's schedule would be packed, but he made a plan in his mind to go and ask her about it after class - without the Dark Arts book which could get him expelled… or arrested.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, rubbing his eyes from under his glasses and sitting up from the sofa to find about ten other Gryffindors watching him. His face flushed wondering if he'd said something as he slept.

"You feeling a'right, mate?" His friend asked, and Harry tried to ignore the sympathy in the blue eyes staring back at him.

Releasing a big yawn, Harry stretched and nodded. "Yeah," he lied, "I'm fine. Just waiting for you lot to get back. Where's 'Mione?"

"Library with Parvati," Ron sat down beside him, making Harry a bit uncomfortable. "Snape has us 'getting to know' -" he used air quotes and made his voice sounds condescending as he said it, "- our partner for Defense this year. We duel every other week, and it's like, our entire mark this year… or something like that. Anyways, she's with Parvati."

Jealousy filled Harry up faster than he could hide it. His third year Defense class would be starting their semi-private - fully private in his case, per Snape's explicit instructions - lessons on Boggarts next month, which didn't sound nearly as exciting as dueling twice a month. He'd get there, or so he kept telling himself, nevertheless each day it became harder to let the injustice of his situation go, especially when faced with the daily reminder of what he should be doing instead.

"Wanna come with me to the library?" Harry changed the subject. He gave his body a long stretch, working out his aching muscles and bones from his impromptu nap.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ron stood alongside Harry, grabbing for his elbow before the raven-haired wizard sharply pulled it away. "You look exhausted."

"I just didn't sleep very well last night," Harry admitted, hoping if he gave his friend a little consolation, he'd be left alone.

Aggressively grabbing his school bag from near his feet, where he always kept the Dark Arts book - having learned the hard way not to trust leaving anything of this value in the dorm after Riddle's Diary - Harry made his way out of the portrait hole and towards the library. Ron's heavy footsteps shuffled up from behind him in almost no time at all.

"Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey?" Ron called out, this time succeeding in pulling Harry around by his shoulder. "This is the third or fourth time you've fallen asleep in three days. I'll be honest with you, the last time I saw you this tired was at the end of fifth year, right before… y'know?"

Clenching his teeth so hard he thought he might break one, Harry yanked his shoulder out of Ron's grasp, "The difference is, back then I slept and still woke up tired. I've had a lot on my mind and was up most of the night... that's it, I promise.

"Look, I don't wanna fight, so can you trust me to know what's going on with my own body?" When Ron still didn't say anything, Harry rolled his eyes and added, "if I don't get any sleep tonight, I'll talk to Madam Pomfrey in the morning, better?"

It took a second - why, Harry hadn't the slightest clue - before the other wizard softly replied, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good," Harry tried to hide his surprise over his friend's answer, "are you coming with me to the library or not?"

Again, Ron hesitated just enough for Harry to recognize something wrong, "No, I have Quidditch practice. I actually woke you up to see if you wanted to come watch."

As much as Harry wanted to go to the pitch, giving him another excuse to delay asking Hermione about the parchment, the rain drizzling outside told him it would be a bad idea. Once the damp cold weather got into his body, he'd never be able to get it out and warm up.

"I really need to talk to Hermione about something," he declined the offer, "I'll see you at dinner though, ok?"

Harry didn't wait for Ron's response, continuing down the stairs, heading straight to the library, already knowing exactly where he'd find Hermione there.

Having spent more time voluntarily in the library in the first month of school than any others, Harry noticed Madam Pince keeping a very close watch over him, and he couldn't exactly blame her. With Hermione being an integral part of the trio, the room filled to the brim of ancient texts always seemed to be the core of whatever trouble they were bound to get into. Therefore, her swooping nature and overly stern, untrusting glances towards him - regardless that year's visits being more studious than mischievous - didn't come as a surprise to him. Over the years, Hermione had even become a point of suspicion for the librarian, meaning Harry never realistically stood a chance and long since stopped trying to earn her respect.

Of course, just because he wanted to come and go from the room with as little attention to himself as possible from the matron didn't mean it happened. Giving a wave to Madam Pince - one that went either unnoticed or unacknowledged - on his way to Hermione's normal studying spot at a long table in the section on Wizarding History of the 1400's, he crossed paths with Parvati.

"Hey Parvati," he turned and called out to his fellow Gryffindor as she passed by him a little too loudly, earning him a shhh followed by a warning stare from the strict librarian.

Sheepishly ducking his head, Harry walked closer to the young witch and whispered, "I thought you were studying with Hermione. Is she here?"

"She's still back there," Parvati said with a small smirk on her face and a giggle Harry didn't want to try to interpret. "I'd make a bit of noise on your way over though, wouldn't want you to startle her."

It didn't take Harry long to find out what Parvati had been talking about. He rounded the corner of the history section, allowing his muscle memory to bring him to the right place as he simultaneously pulled out the parchment to show Hermione, and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his friend arm in arm - albeit studying a book between them - and whispering with Draco. Having already gotten their attention and being too close to turn around without appearing foolish, he steeled his Gryffindor bravery and approached the pair.

"Hey, 'Mione," he said, his eyes shifting periodically over to Draco who didn't appear nearly as awkward about the encounter as Harry felt, "can I get your help on something?"

He held out the parchment to her, which she took as she stood and they walked away from her boyfriend for some privacy; a move Harry felt thankful for.

"Is this for one of your classes?" She asked him in an accusatory manner Harry would have scoffed had he not been trying to keep his head about him between the Dark Arts book and Draco only two meters beside them. Her brown eyes shifted over the document and her brows lowered the further down she read.

"Erm," Harry stalled, "not exactly… do you know what any of that stuff is on it?"

"It kind of looks like a shipping list I've seen my parents get when they reorder supplies for the office," she didn't sound nearly as confident as he'd hoped, "but there's something odd about it."

"It's for exporting goods," Draco's sudden presence almost made Harry pull his wand, unsure what he'd actually accomplish with it though. The Slytherin stood stoically near Hermione peeking over her shoulder. Harry should have been fuming angry, however the information was the surest answer he'd gotten in the last three days. "My father… has things like these all around his office."

Wetting his lips, wondering if the other wizard was presenting an olive branch or a favor, Harry shifted his bag to his other shoulder and decided to take a risk by asking, "What'd you mean by exporting?"

"Moving products across another country's border," the Malfoy heir explained. "Whatever was in this shipment went from Thisted, Denmark on its way to Durham-" he pointed out the addresses on the top of the document, then to the lines in the middle, "- and here is where the shipper declares what is moving from one country to the next."

"If it's magical though," Harry questioned out loud, "then why can't they just apparate it there?"

Draco gave his head a small shake, "Each governing body needs to know what's coming in and out of their land. How else do you think they'll make sure no one is bringing an illegal dragon egg from, say… Romania?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and smiled.

"Personally, I think it's more as a way to increase revenue," Draco continued as if this wasn't more than either of them had said to each other since their imprisonment, "some of the items on here will see a hefty tax because we can get them locally. Like the ink… seems stupid to pay these prices when you can pop over to Diagon Alley for a fraction of the cost."

"Then why do it?" Harry asked the next logical question, forgetting for a moment who he had been talking to.

It seemed to peak Draco's interest. His grey eyes lit up and he silently gestured to take hold of the document; Harry gave a small nod.

"To hide something a little more risky to import, of course," Draco scanned the document, flipping it over to inspect the backside - which Harry hadn't even thought to look at - and then back to the front. The Gryffindor knew the other wizard had found something when he frowned.

"This," said Hermione in the same voice she used when trying to figure out why she didn't instantly have an answer. Her finger pointed to Guigne de la Côte buried in the middle of the lines, "it's the only one I'm not remotely familiar with… everything else I can figure out, but not this one." Turning to Draco she asked, "Do you know?"

The blonde's grey eyes didn't leave the document when he asked Harry, "Where did you say you found this?"

"I didn't," Harry retorted, too quickly not to sound guilty over the situation. Thinking fast, he added, "it was sitting at my Potions bench."

Draco didn't believe him, Harry knew that much immediately, but the other teen didn't call him out on it. Instead, he finally looked up, glancing quickly between Harry and Hermione - the latter still unsuspectingly scanning the document for any small clue in an effort to solve the puzzle she wouldn't be able to start putting together - then raised his eyebrows and gave his head another small shake.

"I haven't any idea," Draco lied. "It doesn't translate to anything." A secret between them, and possibly, a promise towards reconciliation.

~~~~SS

It took until Wednesday for Severus to hear back from Kingsley about the two unknown Death Eaters in muggle Surrey. Severus was in his Defense classroom office, catching up on some planning in the small break before the start of the third year class - Harry's class - when the missive arrived for him.

Severus,

I found something of interest regarding your inquiry. I'll stop by this evening to discuss further.

-K.S

He appreciated Kingsley's ability to be straight and to the point; exactly as Severus preferred and for some unearthly reason a trait Albus could not begin to comprehend. The professor certainly had enough problems to sort through and with any luck, Kingsley would give him news and this could be something easily passed on to the DMLE and therefore off his conscience.

Severus closed his eyes, rubbing his hands uncharacteristically over them thinking of his latest conundrum this week: Harry. No matter how much Severus tried to explain away the young wizard's attitude, there was definitely something going on with him. He'd been distracted - more so than usual - going as far as keeping to himself at mealtimes and between classes. Preemptively, Severus reached out to the Gryffindor's other professors to see if they'd noticed anything in the last two days, however none of them had noticed any changes.

"Professor Snape?" He heard his name a split second ahead of the knock on his door. Lifting his head, a small expression of surprise fell through his usual indifference to see Ron Weasley, of all people, standing in his doorway. The Gryffindor's cheeks were pink, giving away either his rush to get to the office during their break between classes or his embarrassment - or quite possibly fear - of interrupting the professor's time.

"I'm sure you know by now, Mr Weasley," he said in a bored overtone, "your class is not until after the lunch hour."

"Huh?" The red-head not so eloquently said, his brows knitting so low he almost had his eyes closed. Shifting his weight nervously, he replied, "Oh, it's not that, Professor..."

The pause to follow the young wizard's declaration frustrated Severus. Thinking through what the teen could possibly want, he took another guess, "If you're trying to ask to switch your Defense partner, I commend your… bravery… however you'll have to find a way to work more effectively with Mr Longbottom. Dare I say, there has to be a reason he ended up in the House of Lions, I suggest you find it."

Ron gave a small chuckle. They both knew his words were just that: words, without the same vile scathing they used to carry against the dark-haired boy who could have easily been the subject of the prophecy instead of Harry. It helped that Severus was no longer responsible for the safety of a classroom of students using volatile ingredients on a daily basis, however the most significant change in his view on the other teen came from Neville's willingness to help Harry; specifically when it continued to put him in the line of fire with his Boggart - tutoring Harry in Severus's quarters and then waking the professor to come to aid of his friend. In fact, Severus wouldn't be at all surprised if the boy's Boggart no longer resembled the professor.

"No, sir," Ron said, taking a step into the room. Severus tapped his wand at the end of his desk and the chair swung out for the Gryffindor. Obediently, he sat, but peered back at the door. Picking up the reason for his hesitation, Severus waved his wand and the door slowly closed.

"It's… Erm… it's Harry, sir."

Ron looked down at his hands placed neatly on his lap and Severus could appreciate how difficult it had to be for the Gryffindor to approach him about his friend.

Not wanting to read more into the situation, Severus asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

"He's… he's not sleeping, sir," Ron finally told him, this time without a hint of hesitation. The former spy could see the conflict in the young wizard's eyes over the idea of going to a professor over something that normally wouldn't be noticed between a set of seventeen year old boys. "Or at least, he's not sleeping at night."

"During the day then?"

Ron nodded his head, "Between classes, I think. I've asked around the Tower and the consensus is he's been sleeping on and off in the Common Room. I tried to tell him to see Madam Pomfrey, but he refused."

The conversation the professor had with Harry's two friends prior to the start of school came rushing back to him. Harry wouldn't go to the medi-witch for help; he'd think he didn't need it or he knew she'd give him the muggle sleeping tablets he still refused to take, most likely both. Taking a second - or forty-five - to think about how best to handle the situation, Severus slowly released the breath he'd been holding.

"Thank you, Ron," he told the nervous Gryffindor, using his given name as a way to differentiate the situation as personal as opposed to a student-teacher issue, "I'll handle it from here."

"You won't tell 'im I said something, will you?"

"You have my utmost discretion on the topic," he replied, but the confused face coming from across the table made him clarify, "No, I won't tell him you approached me."

To say he wasn't disappointed in Harry's lack of responsibility would be an understatement. They'd discussed his need to speak up when things changed, and sleeping habits were definitely covered. As he watched Harry's best friend leave, surely heading to his own class, Severus considered all the ways to go about confronting Harry. The most obvious - observing the child on his own - he could do right then in class, and again during the young wizard's second detention later in the evening, but confronting him about it would not go well.

When the third years, plus Harry, arrived, he started in on his lecture introducing Grindylows. Distracted, Severus could say it was far from his best lesson in any course he'd ever taught, barring his first two years teaching. He still cringed when he thought back on those early years, proof of Albus's inability to select professors with his pupils' best interest in mind. Severus had been planted in his post as Potions Master for the specific purpose of being able to spy for Voldemort, and in doing so, spy for Dumbledore. He had truly lived a double life - triple if he counted the reality change - and was more than ready to settle down away from it all.

For what it was worth, Harry didn't necessarily appear any different than he had in any previous class, nevertheless he knew how well the Gryffindor could hide his own discomfort. After all he'd been carving his hand for Merlin knew how long without anyone the wiser to it.

Still, when the bell rang, he called out, "Mr Potter, please stay behind."

As expected, the juvenile thirteen year olds all snickered at Harry's supposed reprimanding; Ackerly going as far as to kick the back of Harry's chair.

"Five points from Ravenclaw, Mr Ackerly," Severus said from the front of the classroom, barely even lifting his head. "And if you think I don't see every single movement in my classroom, you're going to be highly disappointed."

Though true that he could see everything going on, he certainly couldn't hear every corner of the room, so he missed whatever the Ravenclaw leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear before taking off out the door. Whatever it had been, it had left Harry visibly fuming.

"What did he say to you?" Severus asked once the two wizards were alone and Harry had moved up to the front of the classroom.

"S'not important," the young wizard mumbled, flopping down into an empty desk, "I can handle him."

Severus raised his brows, "Without fighting?"

"Yes," Harry replied back. "Was there something you needed?"

"I'd like to have dinner tonight," Severus offered.

Harry laughed, "I like to have dinner too, it's one of my favorite meals, actually."

"You know what I meant," the professor exclaimed, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"What about my detention?"

"You'll be doing more lines, but from the comfort of my sitting room this time," Severus waited, refusing to fill in the deafening silence.

"Fine," Harry conceded, his arms tightly wrapped around his chest wanting to defy the request, "I'll meet you in our quarters by dinnertime."

Once the door to his classroom had shut behind Harry, Severus relaxed his body and decided to take lunch in his office instead of the Great Hall in an effort to give Harry a bit of space. Unfortunately for Severus, the rest of his day would only get more challenging from here.

Much to Severus's delight, Harry actually showed for dinner on time. However, unlike their previous mid-week meals, the young wizard spent most of the meal - a chicken and broccoli pasta bake with a caesar salad - quietly pushing the food around on his plate. With each rotation of the broccoli around the white ceramic plate, Severus's agitation with the teen grew.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" Severus finally broke the heavy silence as they finished up dinner. His voice cracked at the third word, and so he cleared his throat to add, "I can tell there's something bothering you, so there's no use in saying 'nothing'."

Watching the Gryffindor cautiously for any sign of him breaking down, Severus saw his jaw clench tight; a move the Slytherin had done a countless number of times when someone asked him questions he felt uncomfortable answering.

"You're not sleeping," Severus said as a statement, knowing Harry wouldn't answer the question honestly.

"I'm fine." The fork in Harry's hand crashed down onto his plate demonstrating just how 'not fine' he was inside.

"Harry!" Severus sternly spoke, "you will respect me and our home. Understood?" A face filled with defiance stared back at him. "Now, tell me why you're not sleeping and why you haven't come to me, Minerva, or Madam Pomfrey?"

"Because I'm fine," he pleaded again. "I don't see why my sleeping habits are all of sudden so interesting to everyone."

"If something has changed in your body-"

"I'm not sick, alright," Harry finally looked up at him and Severus could see the truth in his eyes.

"Then what is it? Tell me what's going on."

Giving his school bag at his feet a glance, he aggressively said, "I've had a lot on my mind lately. And sure, maybe it's made it difficult to… sleep at night, but it'll go away."

"Your body needs proper rest, Harry-"

"I think I know what my bloody body needs more than anybody else!" The Gryffindor stood from his chair so quickly it fell backwards with a bang. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone?!"

Without another sound, Harry stormed from the kitchen, towards his bedroom, Severus following directly behind him.

"Harry James Potter, don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you," his dark voice threatened across the small corridor.

"Or you'll what?" Harry challenged, walking straight up to him. "I don't have to stay here! And I certainly don't have to answer to you!"

The words cut through Severus like a knife, not because they came seemingly out of nowhere, but because they were completely true. If Harry wanted, he could walk away and never look back. They'd come so far in the last year, he wanted to know what triggered this reaction. Is this what really kept the young wizard up at night? Trying to find a way to walk away? No, logically it made no sense.

However, before Severus could get a chance to ask the child standing in front of him, his floo roared to life and Kingsley stood in his sitting room.

"Is this a bad time?" The head auror awkwardly asked, clearly picking up on the heavy, static atmosphere in the room.

"Not at all," Harry answered, pushing his way past Severus towards the door, "I was just leaving."

"You have a detention to serve, Mr Potter," Severus rationally said. "In the sitting room, now."

Unmoving, Harry curtly answered, "Do you think it's appropriate, sir?"

He pondered Harry's ridiculous question. If the Gryffindor were any other student, it absolutely wouldn't be appropriate. But this was Harry; the child - practically his child - who he'd stayed up with until dawn while he vomited, who he'd travelled Merlin knew where - or how - to save, and who had taken the Killing Curse meant for him. They were so far beyond this conversation, and yet here they were having it, in front of Kingsley, no less.

"Two hundred lines." Severus said, guiding Harry by his shoulders to the desk along the left wall in the Sitting Room where parchment and ink sat, and Harry pulled away then sat down.

"What should I write, sir?"

There were so many phrases he wanted to make the child write, respecting one's elders at the top of the list. Instead, he watched Harry's body tremble and decided to go another route entirely.

"I want you to write every single thing on your mind," he calmly told the young wizard.

"What kind of punishment is that?"

"One that will help you see how dangerous your actions are," the professor pointed to the parchment. "I will not be reading them, but I expect to see two hundred lines of writing prior to its incineration. If every single one of those lines reads I hate Severus Snape -" he raised his hands in defeat, "-then so be it."

There was no doubt this crossed a line, but he hoped the risk outweighed the reward and Harry would feel better at the end of the exercise.

"Kingsley and I have a private matter to discuss," he continued, pointing to the door across from the Sitting Room, "and we'll be in my office for the time being. If you should finish before us, please go wait in your bedroom."

To his credit, Harry didn't put up a fight. And if Severus were honest, he didn't know what he'd do if the Gryffindor had.

"Rough start to the year?" Kingsley commented the second the door closed behind the pair of wizards.

"Actually, no, this is a new development," Severus told him, resisting the urge to pour a glass of Firewhiskey. He sat down on the far side of his desk, trying to ground himself to prepare for this conversation. The two pseudo-colleagues sat in silence, Severus questioning how he ended up voluntarily meeting alone with the auror, how far he'd come in such a short time. Having no desire to make this a casual call, he said, "But you had news for me?"

"I can confirm the liaison office was notified that two persons with a magical signature were treated at the Guildford hospital on the 17th."

"How did two Death Eaters end up at a muggle hospital?"

"They were unconscious when brought in"

"And are they now under the welcomed watch of the Dementors in Azkaban?"

"Unfortunately, no," Kingsley regrettably told him, "they left - or should I say, disappeared - before we got there to transfer."

There were at least a dozen questions the former spy had: who were these two Death Eaters, how did they get away without the muggle or magical law enforcement getting to them, but most importantly, why had they ended up there in the first place? The latter, he asked Kingsley already knowing the answer, it would take time to get the right paperwork in order to legally have access to those records. Had he'd been the one responsible for getting the information - and a part of him didn't completely discount the option - he'd use the Imperius curse without thinking twice.

"I know you maintain your stance on the Death Eaters," Kingsley started, "but is it possible you and Lucius are no longer in a position to provide accurate information?"

Useless. The other wizard might as well have called Severus useless. Images from this reality of him goading Sirius over the same situation flooded his mind.

"Possible? Absolutely," he admitted, "probable even, but we have the unique position to know how these people think and that's an aspect no one on your team can-"

He wanted to continue to defend his position and his belief that these events were not caused by Death Eaters. Or at least state that if they were caused by them, they were doing a bloody awful job at it and at some point they would be sure to fail. Unfortunately, he never got the chance because all the lanterns in his office - and presumably the rest of his quarters - turned a bright red and a caterwauling sound shook the walls around him, both signals of grave danger in the Slytherin Dungeons.

~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 1st October, 1997

For the fourth night in a row, Harry hardly slept. He tossed and turned, unable to shut down his racing mind - the top of which was the document he found in Snape's book and Draco's odd behavior in helping to identify its purpose - to fall into any sleep, let alone a restful one. Last night, sitting up in his bed trying not to disturb his dormmates made him feel lonelier than ever, and this time - probably triggered by the encounter with Draco at the library - it brought back the memories of him refusing to sleep until Draco had been returned from the Blood Ritual. No matter how many times he told himself they were safe, his mind kept pulling him back in time, making sleep even harder to come by than before.

By Wednesday morning, Harry could admit that the lack of real sleep had a negative impact on his overall mood. Over breakfast that morning, while trying to ignore Ron and Lavender making plans to meet at the Room of Requirement after classes - for what he didn't want to think about - Harry had committed to trying to work his way out of his sour mood and gave himself until Friday, a solid week since his last good night's rest, until he sucked it up and went to Madam Pomfrey for help. The plan had seemed solid to him, if for no other reason than to hold himself accountable for the things he could control, and he liked to think he would have gone through with it if only Ackerly had left him alone at the end of Defense class that morning.

We can't all shag a professor to get away with murder, the third year Ravenclaw had told him after getting reprimanded for kicking Harry's chair.

The Gryffindor had obviously heard the rumors being whispered behind his back since returning to school, and he started to question if he and Snape had been talked about like this last year when he'd been quarantined away in the professor's quarters. Either way, the blatant attack on top of the argument he'd had with Hermione about Snape's change of personality left him feeling simultaneously drained, restless, and agitated. So when Snape requested his presence for dinner in their quarters, followed by instructing his detention to be served there, it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Little did he know what a chaotic night it would end up being instead.

He hadn't intended to start the argument with Snape at the end of dinner - and he definitely didn't mean what he'd said about not wanting to stay there - but all through the strained event, Ackerly's annoying, volatile voice taunted him through his ears. He hadn't felt this type of anger since his fifth year when the mental connection to Voldemort started, giving him little hope in controlling it as their conversation turned to his own sleeping habits. The Gryffindor wasn't sure if the accusation legitimately came from Snape's inherent ability to tell that he hadn't been sleeping, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion Ron helped lead the professor to this conclusion mostly due to the strange timing of his friend's own confrontation only yesterday. Sometimes he really wished everyone would leave him be; stop asking him how he felt, and stop acting like he could break at any moment.

Kingsley's arrival had been an unexpected, much needed interruption. Never had Harry felt so happy to see the head auror, though in hindsight, he shouldn't have continued arguing with Snape in front of the other wizard. The professor had always been a private man, so in that regard, even Harry knew he'd crossed a line. The fact that Snape had him doing lines - no, a list, not lines - out in the sitting room while they conversed in his office told Harry the visit was anything but casual. Of course putting those pieces together made Harry antsy to know what was going on, at the same time though, he wasn't suicidal enough to attempt to eavesdrop, knowing it would be the last thing he did on this Earth.

Looking down at the empty parchment, the young wizard tried to focus his restless energy on the assignment at hand: to write every single thing on his mind.

The punishment made absolutely no sense. Why did Snape care what he had on his mind? And how did it have anything to do with hitting Ackerly in the first place? He dipped his quill tip into the inkpot so forcefully the whole thing almost tipped over and he was genuinely surprised the tip didn't break right in the pot.

1. I hate Severus Snape

Per Snape's suggestion, it seemed like a good place to start.

2. I hate Severus Snape

3. I hate Oliver Ackerly

4. I need to sleep

5. Why can't everyone leave me alone?

6. I'm bored in my classes

7. My magic is fine

Those first seven came to him much faster and easier than he imagined, though the thought of writing two hundred seemed daunting. For good measure, he added three more I hate Severus Snape to round out his first ten. He'd just finished the "e" on the last "Snape" when the lanterns around the room - and the quarters as a whole - turned red and a high pitched siren radiated throughout. Obviously some kind of alarm, Snape came rushing out of his office.

"What's that?!" The teen yelled as loud as he could, his hands covering his ears to keep out the noise.

"Stay here!" Snape instructed, pointing back to the desk, then flung open the door and stormed out of his quarters with Kingsley in his wake.

Not one sit on the sidelines, cancer be damned, Harry didn't think twice as he followed the other two wizards out into the hallway. Relief temporarily poured through Harry as he exited the room to find the alarm noise wasn't wailing throughout the corridor. Had the blaring sounds continued into the tight space, the young wizard could almost guarantee his ears would be bleeding. Whatever relief came from the lack of alarm was replaced when he saw the normal lanterns shined an odd bright yellow - not a sun light color or normal flame, but a deep yellow like the crayon he used to get from Dudley as a kid because his cousin claimed no one could see yellow anyways - illuminating the entire corridor, leaving no shadows in the normally dark space. Up ahead, he could hear people yelling and an overall state of panic not too far around the corner. Snape had already made it halfway down the corridor, between their door and the right turn leading to the Slytherin Common Room - a location Harry wasn't supposed to know about - when the Gryffindor stopped and called out to the man.

"What's going on?!" he demanded, yelling in as confident of a voice as he could manage. Regardless of their fight, Harry truly wanted to help however he could; at least until the terrifying sight of Snape furiously running up to him filled his vision.

"Do you have the inability to follow even the most simple commands?" The professor screamed, reminding Harry of before: before the potion brought the man to this reality, before they made amends, before Harry started to depend on him. "Go back and do not come out until I return, understood?"

If the Gryffindor hadn't already been irritable from his lack of sleep and Ackerly's crude comment, he probably would have understood Snape's insult came from a place of love. Given the circumstances, though, he had no hope of logically reaching that conclusion. Instead, he pursed his lips together in defiance, feeling his cheeks twitch in the process, turned, and ran back into the room he'd been banished to. Slamming the door behind him, leaning against it with all his weight, Harry let himself seethe in his fury.

Who does he think he is? He's not my parent! Harry dangerously thought to himself. He should just leave and go back to the Tower, or try to talk some reason into the professor a different day. Thinking over his options, he walked into the room - oblivious to the water starting to enter under the door as he moved away - and looked around. The idea hit him like a herd of hippogriffs. He was now all alone in Snape's quarters, it would be the perfect time to return the Dark Arts book completely undetected. Practically running to his school bag beside the desk - with his guaranteed to be unfinished lines sitting on top - he pulled out the book which had been almost burning a hole in his mind since he'd accidentally brought it back to school.

Where should I put it?

The million galleon question. The sitting room had so many books in the bookcase, he knew he'd be able to put it almost anywhere without Snape noticing it. The most logical place though - outside of being in the professor's office, where Harry didn't dare to walk into - would be on the highest shelf closest to the office door. Snape kept most of his dangerous books out of visitor's unsuspecting reach; this one an obvious exception for reasons Harry didn't want to consider.

Pointing his wand at the Dark Arts book, fully intending on levitating the text up to the decided upon shelf, he paused. The image of the shipping document filled his vision and without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he pulled it out of the book, placed it on the desk, and pointed his wand, then whispered,"Geminio."

Nothing happened. Frustration grew within the young wizard. Of all the times for his magic to choose to be complicated, it had to be when he needed it to work quickly and effectively. Without knowing how long Snape would be occupied, he needed to duplicate the parchment and get the book placed as quickly as possible.

Thinking back about what Leilani Catts told him during their first Charms class, he tried again, much louder this time, and almost jumped for joy when the parchment split into two identical copies.

"Yes!" He rejoiced to no one, pride swelling inside of him. Stuffing the duplicated copy - in case Snape could identify the original versus a duplicate - in his bag on top of the desk, he proceeded to successfully levitate the book up to the highest shelf directly to the left of the office door.

With it now out of his possession, Harry almost immediately felt better; like a piece of his anxiety had broken away. His mind was clearer, and so he decided to stay and finish his lines - no matter how ridiculous the exercise seemed - and he had just made it back to the desk when his feet splashed in about two or three centimeters of water. Carefully, he bent down to touch the water, sending a shiver up his spine from the coldness of it.

Where would this have come from? He thought, turning around and noticing it covered almost everywhere in their quarters and appeared to be coming from under and around the door leading out into the corridor.

The Black Lake! The thought hit him at the same time he questioned if the windows in the Slytherin Common Room could ever actually break open.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus didn't have time to deal with the defiance that crossed Harry's face and could only hope that the child would - for once in his life - listen to the prevailing logic of the adult overseeing his care.

The lanterns in the normally dark shadowed corridor showed a bright yellow, providing plenty of light across the area; a reaction to the emergency wards to allow the students to exit the Dungeons safely. With his wand brandished and a series of spells, everything from Stupefy for an enemy to Aguamenti for a fire - however he'd be surprised if anything could catch fire in a castle made of stone - sitting on the tip of his tongue, he continued down the corridor to catch up with Kingsley. The noise from up ahead which originally started as panic yelling started to rise exponentially.

Water. The sound he heard was water flowing through the corridor racing towards him at some unknown, but definitely high rate of speed. If he hadn't been distracted by Harry's appearance, he would have recognized the danger immediately and been prepared. Instead, a second after the answer came to him, a wall of rapidly moving, frigidly cold water - obviously from the Black Lake - came barreling down the corridor, sweeping him right off his feet. The force of the water hitting him knocked the wind from his lungs and he had to fight against the urge to inhale underneath. He felt the current push him down, where his back and head scraped against a stone surface - either the wall or the floor, he couldn't tell which direction he currently faced - and continued to drag him against his will away from his destination. Immediately, he started to try to regain his composure so he could restand, to make his way to the Common Room.

With the first initial wave behind him, the pressure from the water evened out enough for Severus to rise to his feet, though the current in the waist deep water made moving difficult and slow. As much as he wanted to go back to make sure Harry had made it into his quarters safely, doing so would make returning to the Common Room nearly impossible and he needed to get to his students who he knew were in danger.

As the professor reached the corner of the corridor leading towards the entrance of Slytherin's Common Room, the current in the water continued to increase and he found the only effective way to move through it was by gripping the stones along the wall to help give him leverage. Assuming the source of the water came from the windows somewhere within the Slytherin Dungeons, if he could only get around the turn, he'd be able to stand on the staircase - the one leading to the upper part of the castle - about three meters to the left and across from the main Slytherin entrance to assess the damage.

"Severus!" Kingsley called from up ahead just as the professor rounded the sharp turn. The auror stood on the same staircase Severus had been aiming to get to, and he had at least twenty students - all injured in one way or another - sitting up on the landing behind him. For now, they'd be safe because knowing the little he did on fluid dynamics, the entire dungeons would have to flood before the water level would rise up those stairs. Even then, it would only continue to rise until equilibrium could be maintained with the level of the lake outside; still, enough water to do major damage, but they'd have time to act.

"What do we know?" Severus commanded, just as Albus, Minerva, and Poppy made their way down the stairs, the last not paying any attention to the chaos around her, instead focusing on conjuring stretchers for the injured students and levitating them up to higher ground.

"The charms on the windows in the Slytherin Common Room have failed," Albus answered with more panic in his voice than Severus had ever heard. "I've evacuated the upper levels, but we need to get in to repair the glass and replace the protective charms."

No shite, Severus thought, but didn't dare comment. With one last push to cross the current, almost getting swept away again, Severus successfully reached the stairs. The door to the Common Room was open - having either been opened automatically when the windows failed or forced opened by the rushing water, it didn't matter to him - and water continued to pour out. The staircase being slightly off center from the entryway, combined with another staircase on the other side of the door leading another three meters down into the Common Room, meant even without anything happening Severus wouldn't be able to see what was going on inside. He watched as books, parchment, and quills raced out going almost haphazardly left or right down the other corridors, taking serious note of the lack of people exiting.

"How many students do you think were inside when it broke?" Kingsley practically read Severus's mind.

All three of the other adults looked to Severus for answers, and the blood completely drained from his face as he made a sickening realization: it was Wednesday night.

"What time is it?" Severus frantically asked, trying in vain to remain in control of his rapid thoughts.

How long did Harry and I spend having dinner? How many first through fifth years do I have? Do they actually follow the bloody rule I set?

"Why does-" Minerva started, but got interrupted by Albus.

"It's a quarter to eight."

"Dammit," Severus swore. "It's their study time-" he yelled, throwing his hands over to the door, "-they were all in there!"

"Oh my," Minerva said, covering her mouth with her hand.

Turning to Kingsley, Severus demanded, "How many went up already?"

The other wizard took a fraction of a second too long to answer, so Severus menacingly yelled, "I asked you, HOW MANY HAVE GONE UP?!"

That certainly got his point across, "Thirty-five? Maybe a little more, by the time I made it here. The ones who stayed couldn't safely move on their own."

"Think for a minute, Severus," Albus spoke quickly, watching the Defense Professor start to formulate a plan in his head, "the doors to the dorms would have sealed once the water reached their threshold. They're safer in there, at least for now, than they would be out here."

"You don't understand," Severus practically cried, "they were told to work in the Common Room and not enough have come out yet!"

Suddenly, as if something holding the water inside had broken apart, another strong gush of water poured from the entrance doors and with it two third years clinging tightly to one another. Luckily, the pair of witches were pushed towards the main stairwell - as opposed to the other direction - and close enough for Severus to lunge out and grab onto the closest one with his right hand. He pulled with all his might against the force of the water, not noticing Kingsley balancing him out by holding onto his left arm. Between the two wizards, they managed to get the castaway students onto the stairs, handing them off to Poppy for care.

"There must be some residual magic trying to hold back the water," Severus hypothesized, not caring if anyone had even heard him or not. He didn't think - how many times had he told Harry not to do the very thing he was about to do - and acting on instincts alone, Severus pushed his way from the stairs into the almost chest deep water, adjusting his feet to balance as the water continued to try to push him down.

"Severus, wait!" The professor turned and watched Kingsley and Albus enter the water, also struggling against the current to make their way to the other side of the corridor. "You get the students out, we'll work on fixing up the windows."

Severus gave a curt nod, and together the three wizards prepared to breach the doorway. With the second surge of water equalizing, getting into the Common Room wasn't nearly as complicated as Severus would have expected, however he quickly learned that had been the easiest part of their journey.

The Slytherin Dungeons were set up with the Common Room positioned below the doorway by about two and half meters, with a stone landing followed by a set of stairs leading down to the main floor. The water levels reached just below Severus's chest height, meaning the entire room below the stairway was completely underwater. Having lived in these rooms for seven years, followed by being the Head of House for the last seventeen, seeing his stomping ground completely torn apart left him wary inside.

The windows on the wall directly across from him were shattered, only the top third of each still having any glass intact - presumably from the protective charms still in place - and given the flow of water coming in, at least another third below the waterline was being held by residual magic; the back up spells placed as a means to protect them as much as possible should the first fail. An assortment of cushions, books, robes, quills, and even some fish floated across the surface in the rhythm of the current. Destroyed. His first real home had been utterly destroyed.

Severus's attention was brought back to their present situation by the sight of Kingsley and Albus, both with a Scuba Spell consisting of a stronger, more targeted bubble head charm as well as a warming and waterproofing spell on their clothing firmly in place, taking off into the murky, frigid water. Stopping the water would only be the first step, but it was a necessary first step before anything else could be done. Turning his focus to his job - the search and rescue - Severus surveyed the scene around him. A quick count showed about forty students scattered around the top of the water, all holding onto the moulding and archways Severus had never put much thought into during his many moments in the room, but would never be able to ignore again.

His aching body flooded with relief when he saw Draco treading water with Hala next to him, holding onto the archway leading towards the boys' dormitory, not wanting to admit his fear that Draco's newly added dorm might not have included the emergency sealing charm should a disaster such as this occur. The blonde appeared beaten up and held his arm at an odd angle telling Severus something in it had been broken.

He had two options when approaching the rescue of the students: swimming out and bringing them back one by one to where they could stand on the platform - at least most of them could stand and be above the water - or sending something over to them and pulling them in. The latter made the most sense since he doubted he'd be able to swim across the current in the middle of the room as many times as it would take, but with the students injured they wouldn't be able to grab - or wrap around themselves - unaided. Based on the time since the alarm first sounded, he had no doubt the students would be tiring soon, so whichever he chose, it would have to be quick.

"Professor!" He heard the familiar voice of Hala call out to him. "Let me help you."

"Stay right there, Miss Khatib!" He directed, but she listened almost as well as Harry did and instantly started swimming towards him.

"Get out," he demanded, yelling down at her as she treaded water in front of him, being too short to touch the bottom. "Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey are waiting on the staircase outside."

Little did he know, the Transfiguration professor had created and set up barriers to funnel the students out of the Common Room doorway and straight to the stairs. The two barriers - one on each side leading to the bottom stair - were made of a netting material to allow the water to flow freely, but the students could not cross.

"I'm a good swimmer," she claimed in a voice far too serene for the situation at hand. "I'll swim out to them. Give me a rope… you don't have much time, Professor."

The way she said it, so demanding and so sure of herself, brought Severus back to their conversation only four days ago. Had she seen how this ended? Even so, he still could not risk endangering the life of a student to assist in his duty.

"I'm a good swimmer," she reiterated, no less adamant about assisting and somehow reminding him of Lily at the most inopportune moment.

"Yes, you mentioned that more than once," the professor grudgingly stated and, against his better judgement - which seemed to be happening far too often as of late - he conjured three ropes long enough to span the length of the Common Room and a muggle life jacket. The first rope he tied around her small waist, and then tied the other side to his own, so he would always be attached to her, then placed the life jacket around her with stern instructions to fasten it closed. The second and third ropes he made a slip knot in and handed the rounded part to her while wrapping the other sides around his forearm.

"Go," he told her, gesturing to Draco first, "drape the loose end over his head and under his arms, then tug on the rope when he's ready to go. I'll pull him in and you can swim off to the next student and start preparing the rope. I'll levitate this one back over to you once the student is out to safety so you don't have to come back each time."

She took the two ropes and started swimming to Draco. The Malfoy heir looked worse for wear compared to the others and Severus questioned if he'd tried to help any of his classmates. It would be such a Gryffindor move - not unlike what his small housemate would be doing any second - but it would also show his growth of character. Before Severus knew it - much faster than any eleven year old should be able to swim - the rope in his right hand tugged hard and he started to pull Draco to safety. The blonde was floating on his back, in the position Hala had sent him off, and kicking his legs to propel himself using the rope as his guide.

"Here you are," Severus told Draco, helping him to his feet, suddenly aware just how tall the teen had grown. "Are you hurt?"

"Goyle's in the lake! And… and..." Draco frantically said, seemingly ignoring his question. "When the glass broke, they just… I tried to hold onto them..."

"We'll get them," Severus reassured the teen, unsure if after all this time they'd recover any of those students alive or only the remains of their bodies. Another sharp tug on the other rope alerted him to the next student ready to bring in. He pulled the rope from around Draco's shoulders, careful to navigate as easily as possible around his obviously broken collarbone, and said, "Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are on the staircase outside waiting for you. Hopefully they've called in some help."

Finally, he levitated the newly freed rope off to Hala while he reeled in the next student - the younger Greengrass sister. This continued in a rhythmic fashion with Hala swimming from student to student, grabbing the rope he sent off to her and helping each of her classmates secure it under their arms. As the time moved on, the current - out to the lake and inwardly - started to slow, signifying the successful work Albus and Kingsley were doing to close up the gaping holes. He dared not to think about the next step: somehow getting any of the students from their dorms.

One problem at a time, he told himself. As long as the sealing charms held, the students would be safe there. Hopefully, those emergency spells would stay intact better than those on the window, otherwise since the dorms were below the Common Room, there would be no students left to save. His stomach churned at the thought and the subsequent conversations he'd have to have with their parents.

Shaking his head clear, he focused on the last student's - young Mr Nott's - arrival to him, with Hala returning directly afterwards. The relief he felt was short-lived though, because just as he sent Nott and Hala out into the hallways a loud boom echoed across the room from the top portions of the windows breaking open, and another wall of water came crashing towards him. He had just enough time to cast Diffindo on the rope around his own waist, successfully disattaching himself from Hala and ensuring she wouldn't be pulled away from safety. He felt his feet get swept out from underneath him due to the undercurrent pulling him into the room as the wall of water from the newly broken window simultaneously pushed him down, slamming his head hard against the stone stairs. Instantly, the world around him went black and his last two thoughts were: he hoped he'd be able to hold his breath and that Kingsley remembered Harry was still in his quarters.

~~~~HP~~~~

In hindsight, deciding to leave the quarters hadn't been the brightest of ideas. Had Hermione been there with him, Harry knew she would have given him a lecture on water dynamics - is that a thing? - telling him that opening the door would break the seal holding the water on the other side away from him, causing the room to completely flood. Of course, the Gryffindor witch wasn't there, therefore he was shocked when he pulled open the door and a wallof cold lake water crashed into him, knocking him straight to the ground. Not having expected to be met by the water, the young wizard hadn't thought to take a breath, and as he struggled to stand against the water rushing in to fill in the newly opened space, he felt himself start to panic. His lungs burned as he fought against the urge to inhale, and it felt like hours until the current calmed enough for him to stand in the now waist deep flooded threshold. The room, and their quarters as a whole, were ruined. Water littered with debris continued to flow in through the door - Harry now unable to close it against the incoming pressure - and he hadn't the slightest clue of what to do.

Severus! The Gryffindor thought. He's out there!

Listening to his instincts screaming for him to go help, Harry waded the best he could out into the corridor, all the while ignoring the aches coming from his left side and down his left leg. He allowed his adrenaline to fuel him with only the thought of getting to Snape and doing what he could to get the Slytherin students to safety.

The corridor was filled with as much water as their rooms, so moving about was easier than Harry had expected. The bright yellow lanterns lit the way to the staircase, just ahead of the Slytherin Dungeon, going up to the main floor of the castle. The sound of the water flowing through the castle, hitting against the stone walls whenever jostled, made him nervous. This was unlike anything he'd ever thought possible at Hogwarts; somehow worse than Voldemort trying to obtain the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, or even the Chamber of Secrets with a basilisk slithering around the pipes petrifying students. He held onto the stones of the wall to help guide him and keep him upright as he walked against the current and towards the panicked sound of students ahead of him.

"Hello?" He uttered, pulling himself around the corner on the same side as the Slytherin Entrance and opposite of the stairs - his original destination - where he saw McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey placing injured students onto stretchers and sending them up the stairs. Notably missing was Snape and Kingsley. "Professor McGonagall! Over here!"

"Harry?" His former guardian questioned at the same time Madam Pomfrey huffed, "Mr Potter, what are you doing over there?"

Someone, Harry assumed Professor McGonagall, had set up a net running on each side of the entrance doors - held open by the water continuing to flow out - so as not to miss any students who may float out of the room. Using the net as a guide, Harry held on tightly and followed it across the corridor, grabbing McGonagall's outstretched hand to help hoist him over the net and onto the stairs.

"Get up to higher grounds, Potter," she instructed him with a nod of her head back to where Madam Pomfrey worked. "And let Poppy check you for injuries."

"I'm fine," Harry reassured her, then asked, "where's Severus?" He followed her worried eyes to the door leading into the room currently filling with water from the Black Lake. "I have to go-"

"You are not going anywhere near that room," the professor admonished, her voice trembling as she said it.

Harry wanted to argue. Actually, he wanted to push past her and run into the room anyway, pretty confident that even in his weaker state, he could make it past the elderly witch. The only thing that stopped him was the sight of Draco's platinum blonde hair approaching them from the doorway. The Slytherin appeared confused, like he wasn't expecting to walk out of the completely flooded Common Room into an equally flooded corridor and stairwell. His right arm was holding up his left as he slowly made his way across, using the current from behind to help propel him forward. Harry's emerald eyes met Draco's dull grey ones and a pang of sympathy he couldn't hold back hit his stomach. A student's Common Room should be their safe haven, and not only had the other teen's been broken - reminding the Gryffindor of when his own dorm has been broken into by Sirius, an assumed mass murderer at the time - but since Draco had orchestrated Harry's kidnapping in an attempt to save Hermione's life, he would never feel the same security every other Hogwarts student had when entering their House. Harry could have done more to help the other wizard, he should have done more instead of hiding away from the magical world at Spinner's End all summer.

Harry pushed his way past McGonagall until he stood on the last step and reached his right arm out to help grab Draco. The Slytherin carefully let go of his left arm and grabbed ahold of Harry's hand to help steady himself up onto the stairs. Standing face to face Harry could see the pure exhaustion in Draco's eyes and evidence of the ordeal he'd just been through: his clothing soaked, his arm clearly broken, his lips tinged blue from the length of time spent in the cold water, and the scrapes and cuts marking his otherwise pale face. Harry wished he had something of use to tell the other teen, but they both knew from experience that in a situation like this, no one wanted to be patronized and told everything would be alright. And so he remained silent, hoping his body language conveyed all he needed to say.

"Here you are, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey shuffled her way over and wrapped Draco in a charmed warm blanket, then walked him over to the landing ten stairs up; high enough to be out of the water level.

Harry made eye contact with McGonagall, daring her to tell him to get back, just as another student, Astoria Greengrass, made her way from the flooded Dungeon. Once again, Harry reached out to help her make her way across and up to Professor McGonagall who brought her to Madam Pomfrey on the upper landing. The Gryffindor didn't know how many students had been in the Dungeons - either in the Common Room or the dorms - when the glass broke, and it didn't matter; he'd stay however long it took. As his classmates started coming out one at a time in a slow rhythm, he continued reaching out and guiding them to their Transfiguration Professor. Occasionally he'd take a step off the bottom stair and into the corridor, earning him a stern "Harry!" from McGonagall, but he only did that when absolutely necessary; for those who were too short to walk across the space without the water going over their heads, or those too injured to cross safely. Together he and McGonagall worked in tandem, quietly, quickly, and as efficiently as possible.

His arms were tired and his body cold and sore, yet Harry didn't stop until he had ahold of the second year Nott - too focused on his duty to remember this child's uncle binding him in the Malfoy Manor drawing room - and the Slytherin announced he had been the last one rescued from the main Common Room. So where were the rest? Were they still stuck down in the dorms? Would Snape stay in there until every student had been rescued?

Harry briefly considered if he should accompany Madam Pomfrey to the hospital wing rather than wait for Snape. Based on his last encounter with his mentor, Harry doubted his presence on the stairs would go over well. He never got a chance to decide though, because a wave of water came pouring out of the room pushing Hala out with it. Using his last push of energy, Harry lunged from the stairs toward the small witch, not noticing McGonagall helping to hold him back. He managed to grab hold of her robes before the current took her down and he - with McGonagall's help - pulled her out to safety.

The water level continued to rise, causing Harry to have to back up two steps in order not to be pulled out into the stronger current.

"What's going on in there?" Harry asked Hala. "Where's Severus?"

"The headmaster almost had it closed," she cryptically told him. "And then it broke again."

"Where is Severus?" He repeated louder, in hopes this time she would understand what he had been asking.

"The other wizard…"

When she paused, it took all of Harry's might not to shake her to get her to answer him. Someone had to see Snape in there!

"Kingsley," Harry offered her the only other option he could think of for the other wizard.

"Yes," she confirmed, "he'll get it closed."

Harry ran his hands irately through his long wet hair, almost pulling it out in the process.

"Minerva!" The sound of the second best person Harry could hope to hear at that moment, Dumbledore, exclaimed from the common room.

The headmaster looked almost dry as he struggled through the now shoulder deep water, a grave expression painted on his face. A raft floated out of the door behind the headmaster - at a much slower pace showing Kingsley had almost completely repaired the window - carrying a collapsed figure, immediately identifiable as Snape. From his vantage point on the stairs, Harry could only see that the professor laid completely still, his entire body soaked, with a steady stream of blood running down his head, coloring the water pooled up on the raft.

Harry went to take off into the water, but McGonagall's firm grasp - stronger than he'd thought possible and more maternal than he'd been prepared for - held him back.

"No,"Harry shook his head rapidly, "he has to be alright."

Hadn't the last real thing he'd said to Snape been about him not wanting to live there any longer? How could he be so stupid?

Lost in his thoughts and impending grief, the young wizard completely missed when Dumbledore reached the stairs and McGonagall managed to pull him all the way up to the landing where Nott, Hala, and three other younger Slytherins still waited, also anxious to see if their Head of House were alright.

Somehow through all the noise in his head, Harry managed to hear Madam Pomfrey call out, "He's alive, now everybody move out of my way so I can get the professor up to the hospital wing at once."

"You go with them, Harry," McGonagall instructed, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze, then turning to Dumbledore she added matter-of-factly, "I'll stay to help you and Kingsley drain the water."

Harry mindlessly nodded. For the first time ever, the hospital wing sounded like an amazing idea.

The adrenaline coursing through Harry's body started to subside the moment he'd been led to one of the beds in the overfilled hospital wing by a healer who'd been called from St Mungo's. Suddenly, he could feel every ache and pain shooting through him and he started almost convulsively shaking from the cold seeping into his skin. The friendly healer who'd first assisted him to the bed, - she'd given him her name, but he couldn't remember it - immediately dried his heavy, wet clothes, then wrapped a charmed warm blanket around his shoulders and he found himself saddened that the warming charm wasn't nearly as powerful as his red or yellow blanket from Mrs Weasley. Completely distracted by the noise around him, Harry didn't notice the healer run her wand over him to start the diagnostic charm.

Under normal circumstances, the infirmary could hold around twenty beds, and in the young Gryffindor's plenty of visits he'd yet to see half of them filled at once. He knew they had to be similarly filled after the attack at the Quidditch pitch last year when Chester Somerby had been killed, however Harry had been downstairs in the middle of chemotherapy - waiting anxiously to hear of some kind of news - during the horrific event. That night, beds had obviously been conjured and rearranged to fill in as much space as possible, then set up in stations: a triage section to assess the incoming students - where he currently sat -, curtained off treatment areas, and space in the back where those who needed to stay overnight could have some privacy. Unfortunately, on two occasions Harry had seen students taken via portkey to St Mungo's, his heart heavy at the thought of what they may need that couldn't be done at Hogwarts.

"Excuse me?" Harry jumped at the feeling of the healer's hand placed on his shoulder, causing her to startle a bit. "Sorry for frightening you," she told him, handing him a set of white and blue striped hospital wing pyjamas, "your diagnostic scan showed a severe hematoma along your left side. I'm going to need you to change so I can do a proper exam."

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked, "she brought Professor Snape up here. I need to know if he's alright."

As Madam Pomfrey rushed Snape up to the infirmary, Harry tried his hardest to keep up with her. His body had other plans though, because not even halfway up the stairs he had to slow down, finally limping into the room a good ten minutes after Snape should have already been here.

"Your professor is being worked on right now, dear," the healer explained. "Once he's stable, I'll get you whatever information I can."

"You don't understand," Harry pleaded, "I have to go-"

"You are not going anywhere, Mr Potter," the familiar voice of Healer Walker floated in from behind his partition a second before she opened it - Harry took the chance to crane his neck to see if he could find Snape - and entered his tight space. "Thank you Suzann," she told the first healer, "I'll take over here. Mr Potter requires a unique treatment plan."

The healer, Suzann, placed the pyjamas at the end of the bed, gave him a smile and left out the same part of the partition Healer Walker had entered in, giving Harry no better view into the room.

"Where-"

"Madam Pomfrey and another healer from St Mungo's are working on him now," she roughly explained, reading over the results from the diagnostic charm. "Now, I need to look at the damage to your side. I'm going to have to call in Dr Swanson to see what we can use for you, but I suspect she'll bring something to stop the bleeding, an antibiotic to prevent any infection from being in the water, and some kind of pain medication. I expect you to be in these- " she handed him the pyjamas again," -when I return. Only after you're taken care of, and as long as he's in a stable condition, will you be able to see Severus."

Her stern voice, one he was certain she'd perfected from years of dealing with difficult patients, left him no room for debate. She didn't even wait for him to say anything before she abruptly left. Alone in the small space, only large enough for the bed he sat on and for a person or two to walk around it - the rest needed to create similar setups for the other dozens of students - , Harry started to take off his now dry clothes. When he'd gotten dressed out of his uniform this afternoon for dinner with Snape, he hadn't expected to be swimming through the Black Lake in the Dungeon corridors, otherwise he would have doubled up on his jumpers, because while they were no longer wet, the cold had already seeped deep into his bones. He longed for a hot bath, but wouldn't likely get one until Snape's quarters were fully repaired or Ron gave him the password for the prefect lavatory. Navigating his arms out of his Gryffindor Quidditch jumper proved to be more difficult than expected due to the pain on his left side and his arms being sore from pulling in dozens - but not nearly enough to account for the whole house, a thought which terrified him - of Slytherin students out of the water. With his shirt now removed, Harry finally got a good look at the damage caused by the initial surge of water into Snape's quarters. His entire side, from under his arm down to his hip - disappearing below the waistband of his blue jeans - was covered in a deep red bruise, dark enough to make him wince at the thought of what it would look like tomorrow when it turned purple.

Maybe I can get some bruise salve on it instead.

His lower half hadn't fared much better, but he decided it best not to take an inventory of his wounds. No matter how bad they looked - and probably were inside - it didn't compare to what he'd seen coming out of the Slytherin Common Room or around the hospital wing.

As promised, Healer Walker returned with Dr Swanson in tow, both women looking disappointed in his inability to sit on the sidelines and out of trouble. Healer Walker explained Harry's diagnostic scan while the muggle doctor set him up with muggle medication - he'd stopped asking about it all at this point, but assumed it would be some combination of what he'd been told earlier - through his port. Being two and half weeks from his last chemotherapy, she'd been pleasantly surprised at the healing the wounds were done on their own. Still, the young wizard would have probably given his left little toe to get a bruise salve, because although his life might not be in danger, it didn't mean it didn't bloody hurt.

By half past ten, Harry had been moved to a bed near the back of the wing, having been told he had to stay overnight while his medication ran, but as with every other night - combined with the still bustling of the hospital wing - his mind wouldn't turn off to get any sleep. Dr Swanson offered him a sleeping tablet, already knowing his answer, and so he sat up in bed listening to the healers do their magic on the next round of students, those saved from the dorms and in the best condition of everyone. He had yet to hear anything about Snape and his condition. What he would give to hear the man's acerbic voice lecturing the people fussing over him, to know that his mentor would be just fine. Hermione showed up well after curfew, reporting to McGonagall that the Great Hall had been converted into sleeping quarters for the displaced Slytherins and for the second time that night, Harry thought about Sirius and his entry into the castle. She walked their Head of House through the arrangements made, Anthony Goldstein responsible for conjuring cots and Hermione working with the House Elves to provide warm beverages, her voice getting closer to his curtained off bed as she spoke.

He heard her pause at the end of her over detailed report and asked, "Is Harry here?"

McGonagall didn't respond, but Harry heard two sets of soft footsteps approaching his bed. Acting quickly, the young wizard shuffled down in his bed and closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. It's not that he didn't want to talk to his friend, but he'd had enough people fussing over him for one night and her sad brown eyes would only make him feel more guilty about leaving the safety of Snape's quarters to begin with. The rustling of the curtained partition told him the pair of witches had entered, so he laid completely still.

"Oh Harry," she said, disappointedly, then brushed the back of her hand against his left cheek and carefully removed his glasses from his face. "How do you keep getting yourself into these messes?"

If he had any inclination to speak with her, he would have told her he hadn't been trying to get into trouble and that who knew if McGonagall could have gotten all the students over to safety by herself. But he didn't want to talk to her, or anyone else, so he continued to feign sleep - listening to Hermione tell him a story about three brothers who cheated death to their ultimate demise - until he heard the chair scrap across the floor, and felt her hand brush the hair from his forehand, before placing a soft kiss where it had laid.

"Sleep well, Harry," she told him, then quietly crept from his small room and over to Draco's based on the sounds around him.

The adrenaline from the night must have had a bigger effect on the young wizard than he thought possible, because at some point he had managed to fall asleep. When he next awoke, the room around him was silent and still; all of the injured students having been attended to and were either sleeping in the Great Hall, staying overnight in the hospital wing, or sent to St Mungo's depending on the severity of their injuries. Grabbing his glasses from the small table beside his bed, he tried to figure out the time based on the amount, or lack of, daylight coming through the windows. The sky was still a dark black, leading him to believe it had to be deep in the middle of the night. His IV of muggle medication was still attached to his port, however the bag was fuller than he last remembered, meaning Dr Swanson had been by recently to change it out. Unfortunately, as he shifted in his bed, his side still ached horribly.

Moving the IV stand with his hand, happy to find it moved under his touch, the young wizard swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up needing to use the loo. Holding the IV stand in his right hand, he carefully peeked around the edge of the partition to see if the coast was clear.

On his way back to his bed, Harry counted at least three dozen beds occupied - based solely on the tightly closed partitions around them - and his stomach dropped. How could something like this happen in the first place? He'd made it halfway back to bed when an opened partition caught his attention. Doubling back, he almost fell over at the sight of Snape laying in the bed, still unconscious. Carefully, the Gryffindor navigated his way into the space, careful not to touch the partition and risk drawing attention to himself. If possible, the professor's face was paler than usual. His head had a white bandage - still tinged with red from where he'd been bleeding - wrapped tightly around it, a stark contrast from his dark black hair sticking out from beneath it. He looked so different from the normally proud, stoic man Harry knew. Being here, like this, would be the last thing Snape would ever want.

Deciding to stay for a bit, Harry sat down in the closest of the two empty chairs, resting his head on the top of his closed fists.

"You know, if our roles were reversed, you'd be irately lecturing me right about now," Harry honestly spoke. "You'd be going on and on about how I shouldn't run into every single dangerous situation like it's my responsibility to fix everything. I know they're your students, and so it's not exactly the same, but I still need you here.

"I guess we're more alike than either of us thought, huh?" Harry ran his hand down his face, avoiding the tubing for his IV in the process. Steepling his fingers and pressing them against his lips, he released a shaky breath. "I didn't mean what I said tonight. Things have been so… different this year… and there's just… It doesn't matter, though, I shouldn't have said it."

"Are you actually trying to wake up the entire wing?" Draco's voice from behind him startled Harry. He turned just as the Slytherin started to enter Snape's temporary room, "You look like shite, Potter."

"Yeah, well, you don't look much better," Harry retorted. "Should you be up and moving around?"

"Probably not," Draco softly announced, plopping himself down in the chair next to Harry. "The broken bones they could fix up fine, but I have some kind of concussion from hitting my head on more surfaces than I can remember, and apparently that can't be fixed with magic, so here I get to stay here tonight. If I'm being held captive, I might as well get to move around."

"I'm not exactly sure it works like that," Harry shook his head, confused by the Slytherin's logic, "but it's probably for the best you stay the night."

"Well, unlike you," Draco arrogantly, stated, "I'm not exactly used to ending up here every other week. But I'll make sure to remind you that 'it's for the best' the next time you're complaining about staying here."

Somehow the idea of Draco considering them on talking terms again in the future hit him hard. Ultimately, he did want to fix things between him and the Malfoy heir, and the events from that night couldn't make it any clearer to Harry.

"Why don't you just go ahead tell me exactly what's on your mind?" He'd said it sarcastically, with a touch of humor in his voice, not expecting Draco to actually take him seriously.

For whatever reason, though, probably a side effect from his head injury, the blonde dramatically turned to him and said, "Let's start with you being a total prat."

"Wait," Harry held a hand to stop what he was sure would be an unfiltered tirade, "why do you think I'm being a prat? I haven't said a single thing about what happened."

"That's exactly why," Draco argued. "Glad you can see things my way."

Harry shook his head, not following the strange logic Draco had somehow come up with, "You're going to have to give me a little more than that."

Giving a sigh, Draco looked over at the bed where Snape laid completely unconscious, as if he could simply be sleeping.

"I saved your friend," the Slytherin started, "I literally did what you would've done in the same situation, sacrificed yourself if it meant keeping Hermione alive. Only you would have been praised for doing something so selfless and brave. Instead, the kid with the Dark Mark gets skewered, and you sat on your arse and let the world think I'm some piece of shite. Classy move there, Potter."

The irony of what the blonde said wasn't lost on Harry, and he couldn't deny it being the truth. Had he known about Hermione's life being in danger when Draco first showed up that awful night, he probably would've marched himself into the manor on his own accord. What would have changed then? Had he known? Draco could have been spared his own imprisonment and being sliced open every other night for the bloody - quite literally - ritual, Hermione would have been saved, and everything else? Well, he couldn't exactly say what would have come of their time at the Manor without the Malfoys' assistance. Why couldn't it happen this way then? It took Harry a second to remember the young Slytherin had been monitored. It had been why he kept cutting Harry's pointed questions off. All of that, though, was in the past and the Gryffindor finally understood the need to move on.

"Well, I'm sorry, alright?" Harry told the other boy, "I should have spoken up about what happened. I had… my own shite going on... and it was easier to ignore it all."

"Eh," Draco uncharacteristically replied, making Harry wonder if he shouldn't be taking advantage of the other boy's loose tongue due to his head injury. "We all had our own shite to deal with after that. I mean, we were supposed to die, right? Let's be honest, you probably did die from your stupid Gryffindor bravery and that's not the kind of stuff you can sweep under the rug."

Harry almost laughed, "Is that your psychologist talking?"

Draco's face contorted in an unfurled anger, "Damn my father! And what the hell is Severus doing telling people this shite! Does nobody know how to keep things to themselves anymore? I don't want my business talked about all over the damn school."

"Has anyone ever told you that you curse a lot when you have a head injury?"

"No," he bluntly answered, then repeated, though Harry was sure he hadn't realized he'd already said it, "unlike you, I don't end up here every week."

"That was low," Harry responded, sitting back in his chair. "So then where does that leave us?"

"I'm not sitting around a campfire singing songs with you, that's for sure," Draco narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor and turned his head inquisitively.

"I'm not asking you to," Harry replied, hardly offended. "I just know we can't keep avoiding each other like we have been. But the things that were said back there-"

"How about this," Draco interrupted him, gratefully putting Harry out of his awkward misery, "Let's just forget about what we may have said in the room, alright? And we can't use it against the other. Neither one of us expected to walk out of there and I certainly don't want some of my… less than desirable actions making their way into the school gossip circles."

Harry had to legitimately think back at what the other wizard could be alluding to. There had been plenty of things he didn't want the school to know about - mostly the way he'd been treated growing up - which Draco could, and mostly likely would, use to his advantage someday. Then the nights the blonde returned from the Blood Ritual flooded to the forefront of his mind. How many times did Narcissa clean him up in the lavatory? Almost every time. And then there were the times Draco admitted to being scared about the rituals. Now Harry understood how Draco could feel just as vulnerable as he did.

"I can agree to that," Harry nodded.

"And you have to let me get one good punch at you."

"That's ridiculous," the Gryffindor laughed, hoping the blonde's head injury was the cause of the odd request. "For one, I think we can both agree, neither of us are in any condition to fight, and besides, Madam Pomfrey would have a fit."

"Doesn't have to be now, Potter," Draco pointed to his head, implying for Harry to think about it, "It can be years from now for all I care. You owe me for leaving me high and dry to the Wizarding media."

"Doesn't matter when it is," the Gryffindor exclaimed, "I'm not just going to let you hit me!"

"Why's that?" Draco taunted with a sly expression on his face as he leaned closer to Harry, offering out his hand to shake, not unlike their first time on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago, "Scared, Potter?"

Harry gave the other teen a scowl, but one without a gram of malice behind it. He looked down at the pale hand being offered, placed his own within it, and looking back up directly into Draco's grey eyes, he said, "You wish."

Wednesday, 1st October, 1997

"You're wrong. Ahmes only used positive rational unit fractions. Two-thirds can't be in the two-n table."

Calling Hermione Granger wrong while trying to work the impossible clasp on her bra was a dangerous game, but Draco was never one to play on the safe side of things.

The witch jerked her head a little back and forth, but didn't stop his hands, her body pressed against his. "You're wrong, Draco. Two-thirds is the single exception, along with integers. The algorithm is - most of the time - ignored when n is a prime. That's why you got that question wrong on last week's exam."

The clasp gave but Draco didn't feel nearly as triumphant as he should've, not when he was getting schooled by his girlfriend on advanced arithmancy. He pulled back a little, still keeping her in his arms, to level a look at her properly. Her Gryffindor red bed linens mocked him. "Doesn't matter. The equation reads linearly - variable chi, solve for chi, and express chi. Prime number or not, it's superfluous to the multiplicants."

She smirked, like she knew something he didn't, and leaned forward to pepper a string of kisses along the ridge of his jaw. "It's not cosmetic to the Diophantine approximation. We're dealing with Rhind, not Golenishchev."

"Well, fuck me." He sighed. "They're both chavs."

She gave a breathy chuckle at his low-key admit to defeat and pushed him back against the bed, diving in for her kill. So she was right. He messed up one of the foundational concepts of ancient Egyptian arithmancy. Despite a solid grasp on linear equations and proceeding to work out the problem with lauding success, his ignorance to the basic rule set his work on fire and ruined what should've been a sterling exam. He couldn't even be fully mad; getting academically corrected by his brilliant witch half-naked checked off a few of his fantasies.

The two hours between their last class of the day and dinner was time they spent together. And when conversation turned dry and their yearning for one another took over, not even arithmancy calculations could distract them any longer. In the aftermath of it all, laying with each other in her vomit-inducing Gryffindor bed with its shoddy gold trim, Draco reflected back on the past few weeks. His school marks, despite the one wrong question on his arithmancy exam, were as strong as ever, he was making progress with Dr Cobb, and his cat lessons with Crookshanks continued to improve. There were bumps and bruises, awkwardness along the way, but all in all, he was fairly happy with his Hogwarts days, all things considered.

Then again, the gorgeous witch currently tracing imaginary circles on his arm might've swayed his opinion. She was getting dangerously close to the ugly mark staining his forearm, her fingers moving aimlessly as they simply existed with one another.

"I can bring some dinner back here for us, if you'd like," Draco offered, turning over on his side and subtly pulling his arm from her. He didn't need her small, delicate fingers getting tarnished by touching the Mark. "It's the closest that I can do to taking you out for a proper meal until a Hogsmeade weekend comes up."

Hermione smiled a little. "Or you can sit with us."

A groan threatened to rumble up his throat, but he stopped it at the last moment. "You can sit with us. I'm sure you and Hala would get along brilliantly."

Meals would forever be a sore point. Their houses sat on complete opposite sides of the Great Hall, sandwiching Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, as if the sea between them could make their shared animosity any lesser. But a timeless rivalry didn't stop existing simply because two star crossed lovers wanted it too - rivalries weren't always malevolent and cruel. They served a greater purpose, bolstered House pride and drove students to do their best in hopes of outshining the other. Maybe that was why Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fell to the bylines; they lacked that fire under them, the grit to outperform another.

But that rivalry was a foe to Hermione and Draco. Or more so the awkwardness that continued to persevere between Draco and Harry. In truth, the Slytherin felt confident that if Harry grew bold enough to admit that Draco's kidnapping was to save another Gryffindor, the other Lions would grudgingly accept him. Befriend and like him? Not likely. But acceptance didn't mean liking someone. And all he needed was acceptance and the surety that none of them would slip some poison into his food.

Poison. He thought back to the shipping manifest Harry showed him the day before, the one with the French term for Belladonna. Why would Harry have that in his possession? What was he playing at? He made a mental note to finally gather his wits and reach out to Harry in the near future to follow up on the manifest. Despite the inelegance between them, he felt a strange obligation to steer the good-to-do Gryffindor in the murky, violent waters of dark herbs and objects, and belladonna was without a doubt one of the darker ones.

"I think that girl, Hala, likes you," Hermione teased, sidestepping the awkward conversation of their lack of ability to share a meal with one another. She was good like that, knowing how to salvage their time together when a tense subject began to trickle in. Which was ironic because she could also be the antagonist to creating strife when her stubbornness and need to be right showed. "You have a little admirer. Should I be jealous?"

"If it means I get to shag you more often, then yes, absolutely." The smack that he was waiting for didn't disappoint. "But honestly, no. I'm her only friend, if you can even call me that. It's not like we take strolls together between classes or get chummy about quidditch together."

The flirtiness in Hermione dried up a little, replaced with contemplation and question. "Do you really believe it? That she sees death?"

It was a question Draco inwardly asked himself every time Hala looked at him, staring with her unfocused, distant look. What did she see? Did he really want to know? Would it make his moments of bliss with Hermione feel shorter, lesser, like he couldn't get enough if he knew his days were limited? He already knew his days were numbered; everyone's were and if he learned anything in the past year, it was not to waste a single second, never let a moment pass when you could seize it because you might not get another chance.

Whenever he looked at Hermione, a marriage proposal danced on the tip of his tongue. He was a hypocrite to his own mantra, scared of her potential rejection and the ruining it'd do to their relationship.

Reluctantly pushing himself up from the bed, Draco focused on her question and shoved that fear to the back of his mind, where it belonged. "I believe she sees something. I asked her once before about it, and she said that what she sees doesn't really matter. That our true futures are hidden in rooms, locked by our choices, and she's standing in the corridor able to see the closed doors but nothing more. A bit esoteric for my taste but that's a bloody seer for you."

Registering their need to get dressed and changed for dinner, Hermione mirrored his actions, slipping out of the bed with all the grace she could in her barren state and began collecting their clothes banished to various nooks and crannies. "Has she said anything about you? Or… or anyone else?"

Catching his boxers tossed to him, the young wizard quietly slipped them on, studying her conflicted expression. She was never good with concealing her emotions, so expressive and outward with them. If he did propose, he'd need to teach her how to suppress her true feelings when around certain Pureblood circles, lest she wanted to have them used against her. "Just ask what you want to actually know."

Dressing in her skirt and top, Hermione sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's Harry," she admitted, cringing preemptively at how he would react to the other wizard being brought up. "I'm just… worried, is all. I thought maybe Hala would have some kind of… idea… on his illness."

Draco arched a brow up. "I thought divination was 'whoolly'."

The Gryffindor rolled her eyes at her own words being used against her. "It is whoolly. It's not a science - and don't even think of arguing against that, I know you agree with me. It's… it's not exact and there's no process for it." She chewed her bottom lip. "But that doesn't mean it's all wrong. Yes, it is rubbish but not complete rubbish."

It's wrong but not completely wrong. Draco stared at her. Witches were impossible to rationalize with when they grasped onto irrational ideas.

"Let's pretend that I'm following your madness," he half-joked as he slung his tie around his neck, tucking it into his collar and began to criss-cross it perfectly without having to see what he was doing. Six years of boarding school would do that to a person. "I don't think Hala's ever actually met Harry. She's a first year, and as far as I'm aware, he's got no classes with her. And if by some coincidence she has met him, she hasn't told me. This might shock a Gryffindor but us Slytherins don't sit around conspiring about Harry. In fact, for a while I tried to pretend he wasn't even at the school but you lot made that pretty impossible."

The attempt of levity wasn't even registered by the witch, who also busied herself with the final touches of her uniform. "You'd tell me, though, right? If Hala did say anything about Harry?"

Now that gave Draco a pause. A significant, lengthy pause. In that pause, he sliced and diluted the question, exploring the potential avenues his answer could take him. Fealty to his girlfriend or loyalty to a new friend, a fellow Slytherin, another Pureblood? And what about Harry? Didn't the other wizard deserve privacy for own future? Did his girlfriend deserve to be worried with those potential 'what if's?

He swallowed the lump in his throat at the only answer that came back to his musings. "No, I wouldn't tell you," he quietly answered back with all the honesty in his being, holding her stare and waiting for the fall out that'd come. "One prophecy is enough."

She crossed the gap between them and framed both hands against the sides of his face. And then smiled, relieved. "Thank you."

It was enough to almost convince Draco to sit with her at dinner. Almost. But when they entered the Great Hall, he saw Hala sitting alone at the very end of the table in what had become his new spot, the closest Slytherin a solid half meter away from her, tucked so far away that they looked uncomfortable on the bench. Draco gently drew Hermione in, briskly hugging her and giving a quick kiss to her lips, but if he knew what would happen in the coming hours, he would've held onto her forever. Would've said what he wanted to say. Would've asked her to marry him right there. Would've done many things had he known.

Hala was talkative during dinner, a striking difference from her normally reclusive demeanor. She spoke of Jordan, about her family's town of Aqaba and the turquoise warm waters and how the sands would gleam like diamonds during sunset. She told him the difference between the shimmering Red Sea, teeming with thriving forests of corals and tropical fish, compared to the churning, cold waters around Cromwell. The current in Cromwell was more vicious and unforgiving, while Aqaba's waters were like swimming in a bathtub. Cromwell, she told him, made her into a strong swimmer.

And while Draco listened and occasionally grunted a noncommittal answer, he didn't share in her love for the sport and really had nothing to offer to the conversation. Jordan? He'd never been, but he could reflect on his few holidays to Egypt and Israel. But his lack of flair for swimming didn't sour Hala's own admiration for the hobby, and she continued on as if he was as excited about it as she was.

Later, he would look back at the conversation and curse himself for not seeing her subtle attempt to tell him what was potentially in the cards. He never asked her about the futures she saw, and she never wanted to outwardly tell him; their friendship was never built around her abilities or his influence as a Malfoy, something novel to both of them. And yet, he completely missed the signs she was trying to give him.

After dinner, Draco and Hala retired back to the Common Room to kick off the start of their mentorship, study time. Picking a spot nearest the windows, he dragged the two armchairs to face one another and plopped down in one, spreading his arithmancy book across his legs, intent on researching Hermione's correction. The water cast an eerie, subdued emerald glow into the room, the lake turning in for its dormant state as night descended. The lake had a strange calming effect on the Malfoy heir; during boyhood, he tried to imagine what it would look like based on his parents' description of their Hogwarts years, and created all kinds of images and scenes. He thought he'd see the merpeople a lot more often then he did, which was never, and would come to consider the giant squid as a House pet, which was more accurate.

As much as Draco put up a public protest over Snape's mandated study hour, he actually enjoyed it. If left to his own devices, his time in the Common Room would've been kept to an absolute minimum; he had a private room to study in or, ideally, Hermione's. In the past, he used to plop on the leather couch with an eager flock of Slytherins and do his studying while maintaining his throne. Those days were long gone.

Or maybe not exactly gone, but different.

He thought the Slytherins all hated him with burning malice and a drive for his murder, having been instrumental to Voldemort's demise in a sort of backhanded way. Alternatively - and lesser known - he was also crucial to keeping the Dark wizard alive for a few months, so his usefulness could be argued for either party, if they really wanted to focus on details. But the Slytherins still looked at him, often under the guise of hidden agendas and not-so-secret glances, for guidance. Harper tried to assume everything Draco built up, thinking his own Purebloodedness and continued belief in expired ideals would build him a crown.

All it built him was a crown of rust, flaking and cracking and filled with false promises. Harper was as ambitious as any Slytherin ought to be, but he didn't have the resources or cunning to get anywhere near those lofty dreams.

And so Draco had focused on rebuilding what he thought was lost. He needed new knights and bishops, people who could fill out his ranks as associates and bolster his own strength where he needed it. Hermione, to an extent, was helping in that regard. Ronald Weasely and him struck a neutral armistice, enough to exist and begin developing a new acquaintanceship. Lavender Brown, for all of her ditziness, was the first person to know of any gossip happening in the school and even beyond the castle walls. She was a herald without even knowing it, and spilled her secrets to their small group excitedly. Anthony Goldstein had taken Draco's olive branch to discuss arithmancy, and through it he learned Goldstein's family were heavily involved in international banking.

Blaise and him were still working on figuring out where they stood and how to return to a friendship when so much of the landscape had changed. Crabbe and Goyle, interestingly enough, were quiet and reclusive, keeping to themselves but always watching intently when Draco and Blaise talked, as if waiting for the signal that they could return to Draco's sides. But they never would again. Even after Draco orchestrated a new brotherhood and rebuilt what had been torn asunder, never would those two return to where they were. That sun had set, that reign was over. A new one was in order.

As Draco helped Hala on her transfiguration homework, he considered her. In centuries past, kings and emperors always kept seers and witches in their court, especially seers and those with the gift of prophecy. Some would say the seers played their own game with their rulers, them being the ones in true power. Men believe they're in control when they're the ones making decisions, but rarely do they ever question who presented the choices.

Keeping that in mind, Draco expected nothing from Hala but sensed something deeper in her that appealed to him. It was a light that glowed among the darkness, something he couldn't explain but knew he had to figure out. Despite all of her loyalty to him, how she eagerly awaited him at meals and looked sincerely excited when he sat down beside her, there was a darkness in her that put him on edge. There was only one other person who made him feel the same way, and that dark wizard was long dead.

But he liked Hala, despite all of that. She was a victim of circumstance, just like he was, and he hoped that whatever demons danced inside her could be calmed before she'd be killed.

"You're very good with transfiguration," the young witch mumbled as she scratched her quill against a page in her book, scribbling down some notes. "I don't think I'll get good marks this year in it."

Transfiguration came so second nature to Draco he wasn't sure what advice to give her. "If Neville Longbottom can manage to pass the class, I'm sure you'll be fine. McGonagall isn't impossible to learn from, regardless how much she favors the Gryffindors. Just means you have to work harder."

A faint smile crossed her face, resolved and determined. "Thank you for being my friend, Draco." She outstretched her hand across the table towards him, quill still within her small fingers as if acting like she wanted to give it to him.

Brows furrowing together in confusion, Draco reached across with the intention of taking what he assumed to be the offered quill. But he was wrong. She dropped the writing utensil moments before his fingers met it and suddenly grabbed his hand.

He never heard the quill hit the ground before hell broke loose. Before the water reached them.

Draco dreamed of water. And pain. And screaming students. And Snape's worried face while Hala swam through an impossible current. He dreamed of Harry's emotive expression, so filled with thoughts and feelings, so conflicted but real. He dreamed of the dungeons, once a haven of safety that'd become a watery tomb.

The stiffness of the bed linens was what woke Draco; not the feeling of the eyes on him or the small, familiar fingers entwined around his. He knew Hermione liked to watch him sleep, initially a strange hobby that became endearingly quaint. Did they fall asleep after intimacy? Was it almost the dinner hour? What day was it even?

He could've let himself get caught up in that assumption, the possibility that the past few hellish hours never happened. The dreams - or memories - were clouded with age and frayed on the periphery with fuzziness, much like a dream or a drunk-induced haze. But that didn't explain the stiff bed linens, tough like wood and unyielding like their matron who oversaw the hospital wing.

Because that was exactly where he knew the bed linens were found. He sat on them enough times when counting and inventorying potions during his hours spent working in the hospital wing, or the few times he caught a nap on a bed in the corner between classes. He knew the starchy fabric from an observer's viewpoint, knew the roughness of their embrace and how much he'd hate to actually be laying in one.

The visions weren't a dream - they were memories, fuzzied by a head injury if the constant throbbing behind his eyes was any indication.

Opening his eyes, Draco confirmed that he was, in fact, tucked into a slender bed, redressed from his soggy uniform with a pair of hospital-grade pyjamas that rivaled the linen's rigidity. They were the scratchy, arthritic type that creased before it wrinkled. Cheap material meant to be cut and thrown away if an emergency demanded it. On a patient, it made sense, but on him, he didn't like them one bit.

"Hey!" A soft voice was suddenly at his side, the abruptness of it further confirming to the Slytherin that his mind and wits were as jostled as the rest of his body. "How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"

Draco shook his head and turned to look at Hermione. The entire world shifted like it wasn't supposed to. "How is everyone? Have I been asleep this whole time? What happened?"

Leaning close near his bedside, still gripping his hand, the witch took a shaky, quivering breath. Her eyes were damp and her cheeks glistened under the very dim lighting. There wasn't a moon that night. Or if there was one, it abandoned them as soon as hope did. "You've been kind of between being awake and asleep. I got here as soon as I could, about an hour ago."

The healer in him made him begin roaming his hands over his body, inspecting the shattered collarbone he knew he had before. It was perfect now, his arm no longer hanging at a strange, languid angle. The constant throb throb throb in his head couldn't be helped. Not by magic healing. He made a mental note to investigate a muggle medicine for head injuries and see the efficacy of transitioning it to the wizarding world.

Draco looked up at her then. "How is everyone?" He repeated the unanswered question.

She shook her head and looked down, failing at holding back a volley of tears that fell from her eyes. "I don't know. They-they just said that they were getting a full headcount. Some were taken to St Mungos but-but they didn't tell us - Anthony and me, I mean - anything else. I don't know if anyone…"

She couldn't finish the sentence and for that Draco was thankful. He wasn't ready to face the potential fatalities from the accident, if it could even be called that.

"Hala saved you," Hermione blurted out, looking up and gripping his hand tighter. "She saved a lot of people but you were the first. Did she know?"

Falling back on the woefully thin pillows with a haggard sigh, Draco shook his head, though immediately regretted the action. The world lurched again and he closed his eyes to wait the spinning sensation out. At Hermione's question, he thought back to the moments before the window directly beside them broke, when the water rushed in so fast and fierce that it swept them both up in its fury. If Hala didn't grab his hand, if she wasn't a good swimmer, he could've been taken out with the current. "I'm not sure. Maybe," he half-lied because he wasn't sure what Hala saw. "It's… rather hard to think right now. Or remember things. What rubbish did Pomfrey give me?"

Hermione half-snorted, half-sobbed. "The potion that you demanded. You don't remember?"

He cracked open an eye. "I demanded it? Why in the bloody hell would she listen to me?"

"She said you weren't wrong but the mix of ingredients was a bit unique to her. Concentrated ginkgo, steeped willow bark, and Basan egg yolk. That last one really threw her."

As it should've. The fact that he added a fire-breathing japanese chicken egg known for its hallucinogenic properties intrigued even him. But it must've done something to leave him with only an omnipresent drum in his head, harmoniously finding his heart's steady cadence, and still allowing him to have his wits about him. Things were certainly 'off'; his thoughts were sluggish and all managed to go from his mind straight to his tongue and out his mouth. But all in all, he felt more invigorated than he ought to have, restless even. He made another mental note to bring that unique synergy blend to the lab for further investigating.

"I can't believe something like this happened," he began without really realizing he was talking, speaking from a fount of words he didn't know existed. The veil he always strained his words through to make sure they were clear of emotion or weakness was gone. There was a mental lag of a few seconds when he was aghast at his own candidness. "Six years I've lived down there and not even so much as a crack on those windows. So what? I start dating you and now I'm getting all of your cracked luck and brushes with death? You lot are cursed, you know that."

The joke had its intended effect, making her smile through her tears. "I'd hit you if you weren't in a hospital bed."

"You can take a pass on it and hit me tomorrow, because I intend on getting out of here then. I want to figure out what happened and… Merlin, my room is probably in shambles," Draco groaned against his pillows. The partitions around him were mostly quiet save for soft whispers from the other patients. "How much did the dungeons flood?"

The Gryffindor gently rolled a shoulder in a light shrug. "I don't know anything, Draco. Just that students were rescued and a headcount is getting underway with the more severe ones transported out. I-I think Dumbledore must've gotten the flooding under control. He would've-"

"Don't break into song about him," Draco icily cut her off. "With how much he hates all of us, me especially, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one to do it. Finally getting his revenge on us all, I bet. Only surprised that it took him this long to finally-"

"He would never!" Hermione immediately countered, her voice dangerous and low. "And-and he doesn't hate you. Please, Draco, just rest. No one did anything - it was an accident. The windows are old and maybe the squid hit it. Or the merpeople. They were rather aggressive with the boats at the start of term. Bumped one so hard a poor first year nearly fell out. Maybe something's gotten into them."

He could believe that if the merpeople had been actually active around their windows in the past month. But like always, they rarely visited the Slytherins, preferring to keep to themselves in the inky depths. No, Draco was sitting by the windows seconds before it shattered. There was nothing out there save for an impending wall of water iching to get in. But given the small fingers desperately gripping his, and the russet eyes still damp with emotion, and her entire body both exhausted and energized from worry, he didn't call her bluff. It was a safe enough fantasy for them both to believe, no matter how unrealistic it was.

The craziest thing about a head injury was time. Draco had no concept of it. He kept forgetting if it was morning or night, and one glance out the dark windows told him it definitely wasn't during the day. He lost track of how long he talked to Hermione, mostly about happy things to keep their minds off the accident and his close call with death. It was still there though, the threat, lingering on the edge of their sentences, quivering their voices with fear, and making their gazes at one another more smoldering and infatuated. They talked about the Hallowe'en Feast and their favorite confections - they weren't dating last year when the feast rolled around - and debated whether the bubbling butterscotch brownie or pixie wing dust cake was better. And when they stumbled on the tense topic of where they'd sit during the festival, they both made the plan to ask Anthony Goldstein if he'd mind their company at the Ravenclaw table. Secretly, Draco wished things would improve by then to at least allow one of them to sit at the others table, ideally Draco with the Gryffindors because he couldn't imagine there being a scenario that the Slytherins would be friendly with the Muggleborn know-it-all.

They could've been talking for ten minutes or three hours; Draco wasn't even sure. But time stopped existing the moment a tall wizard with snow-white hair identical to his own stepped past the partition and into his homey little 'room'. Dressed in an exquisite slate mulberry silk brocade robe, tailored with zari silver threading valued at a professor's annual salary alone, Lucius Malfoy cut an imposing figure. Despite the midnight hour, the wizard looked every bit regal, commanding, and in control, and to see him there, in a hospital wing surrounded by injured children, made Draco nearly succumb to his encroaching fatigue.

He expected parents to be called, to show up and worry about their children who were nearly drowned in their dorms. But his father? He didn't expect it. He didn't anticipate it because that would've just meant getting his hopes up when he didn't want to even acknowledge wanting his father there in the first place.

But there he was in all his glory, immaculately kept like he wasn't woken from a restful sleep to rush to the school. And Draco almost believed that if he didn't see the strange, unfamiliar worry in the patriarch's mercurial eyes.

"Draco."

He said it with a sigh of relief. Like he didn't expect to find his son there. Like he didn't expect him to be alive. And Draco had his own moment of relief, elated beyond elated that his once distant parent showed, but confused on what his presence meant. It shifted things, their dynamic and expectations, for an heir couldn't persevere and live on if he didn't possess steeled nerves and pillared legs to stand on his own.

Hermione tensed and immediately stood up. "Oh! Mr Malfoy…" Her mouth opened and closed a few times. "I can leave...I didn't know- I thought that- The parents were called hours ago that I didn't think-"

Raising a ringed hand, the older wizard gestured for the young witch to calm herself. It was impressive how one simple gesture of the wrist could drain the tension that began to pool around them. "Your presence here is of no ill-consequence, Miss Granger. On the contrary, I believe it is me that ought to be apologizing for the interruption."

The witch blinked once, disarmed by the response that she expected to be full of corrosion. Her eyes swept between father and son, still registering the churny air between the three of them, built up from their tumultuous history sparked full of acrity and kindling of relationships both good and evil, and quickly nodded as if coming to terms with something. A smile crossed her small lips. Kissable lips, in Draco's opinion.

In the end, the young Gryffindor excused herself, the lone lion slipping free from the pit of snakes, and left after giving a chaste, loving kiss to her boyfriend. Both Malfoys eyed the area that she once occupied, her presence so full and profound that the open space continued to feel filled.

"I'm going to marry her." Draco wasn't sure if it was the concussion talking or his brush with death that urged him to blurt that out.

Lucius hooked a sculpted brow up, turning to regard his bed-bound son with a tucked in expression. But there was something in his silvery eyes, something beyond the conniving and conspiring, slipped between the alcoves of his inner corridors to spin and lurch in its unfamiliar surroundings. Because 'fear' and 'concern' were unfamiliar to the older Slytherin. "Well, I don't suggest you marry her from your hospital bed. That would make for a poor ceremony, and your mother would have a fit over how it'd look for the society papers."

The teen blinked a few times, trying to clear the omnipresent cobwebs from his vision and thoughts. He wondered what he hoped to gain from admitting his intentions with Hermione, if he wanted to hear his father's old ways and feel like he should fight for her. Maybe he wanted to see the old Lucius Malfoy to ground him when everything was just washed away by a flood. And with everything the flood swept up, he wondered if it had washed away his sins, or if his stains simply ran too deep.

The silence after his father spoke must've been longer than Draco realized, for the older wizard approached him and balanced his fingertips on the edge of the bed, the closest he'd get to actually hugging his injured son. "The healers say you'll make a fast recovery," Lucius nodded slowly. "Fast enough that my insistence to relocate you to St Mungos was deemed superfluous. How do you feel?"

"Like I just got half-drowned by an entire lake. How else should I feel?"

Lucius watched him carefully for a few seconds, physically wrangling with his forming words and thoughts. "I suppose you're lucid enough to refuse coming home then? For your safety, of course. I don't surmise you need reminding that it was you who cited safety as your chief concern with returning to school."

A chill danced down Draco's spine. No, he didn't want to leave. Not anymore. Not when life was becoming compliant. "It was an accident," he countered. "And what kind of message would that send to any enemies that we're easily scared?"

"Fear is a useful friend, Draco. It teaches you to pick your battles."

"Precisely. And this is one that isn't worth running from." The teen shoved himself up on his pillows, growing more annoyed with his parent's presence than finding any kind of solace from it. He wasn't interested in exchanging rhetoric and diplomatic blows with his father; he wanted sleep and rest and to get back to rebuilding his life. "It was a bloody accident, father. Those windows are three days younger than dirt. And even if it wasn't an accident, I'm not leaving. I didn't work my arse off this past month to get this close to the healer training only to turn spineless when the first threat - not that I'm saying it's a threat - comes my way."

A small smile spread on Lucius's face. "I expected as much. As far as it being a threat… well, that's partially why I'm here. After checking in on you, I'll be speaking with Dumbledore directly to offer a sizable donation, galleons and labor, to repair and reinforce the Common Room."

Draco wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel with the news. And if he wasn't injured with a concussion - the second head injury in less than a year - he would've noticed the modest sizzle in the air around them, signifying his father had set up a silencing bubble.

There was a defining moment in all children's lives, a horrifying moment when they realized their parents weren't invisible heroes, when they learned their mothers cried as much as them behind closed doors and their fathers were good at hiding how scared they were when checking for intruders. When they learned the limitations of their parents and how, in the process of learning, their childhood was stolen from them. It eroded the sanctity of whimsical childhood and left behind an exposed young adult, tempered by bitterness and scared at everything they were left to face on their own.

Draco had thought he experienced that when he began Hogwarts and inched into his teenage years. The summer between third and fourth year consisted of him feeling like he knew everything his father did, eager for his own chance to prove himself. He thought he had his father figured out, all talk and little to show for it. He thought his father had once been a paragon of perfection among the Death Eaters but the sun had long set on his glory days and would soon rise for himself.

He'd been wrong.

And as he watched his father stand beside his hospital bed, already elbows-deep in orchestrating and pulling strings to set a stage with his players, Draco wondered when that horrifying moment would actually come. Because so far, Lucius Malfoy was beginning to prove that his strength only really emerged when he was pushed and shoved out of his comfort level. During the Battle of Malfoy Manor, he'd killed a man who harmed his son and now through clandestine efforts, continued to pour resources into his family.

He wondered the extent of his father's reach, his limitations, where he'd hit his wall and prove unable to follow through. Maybe those limitations and boundaries existed before his short stint in Azkaban. And maybe, like everything else Azkaban stolen, it'd taken Lucius Malfoy's limitations and boundaries and left him more unpredictable and sharp than before.

Lucius had fantastic memories in the Slytherin common room. They were some of his favorites before he got married and celebrated the birth of his son, those memories framed in gold and the best he'd ever experienced. But during boyhood, when he still feared Abraxas Malfoy and yearned to fill his father's expectations, he couldn't imagine a better place than the dungeon common room meters beneath the lake's choppy surface.

Slowly walking through the water-logged room, he took his time inspecting everything he could. The overturned furniture, the kelp strangling the bookshelves, the stench of rotting fish and stagnant water, the slime that covered the rocks and was primed to birth mold and mildew. To say the Slytherin common room was wrecked would be an understatement. It was a disaster.

After checking on Draco and chatting with him until the boy fell asleep, Lucius had kept his word and sought out an audience with Hogwarts' esteemed headmaster. Their history was riddled with holes, filled in with derision, and washed over with a mutual neutrality blanketed by shared goals. Goals with different paths and intentions, but truly the same at the end of the day. For all of Dumbledore's "Gryffindor pride", he was the epitome of ambitions. Becoming headmaster and a renowned wizard wasn't an accident that simply fell into his lap. Convenient how so many forgot that.

The conversation with Dumbledore had gone alarmingly well. The headmaster, exhausted and drained but willing to speak with a student's parent, had listened to Lucius's offer to pay for all the Slytherin repairs and hire on his own renovation team to complete the project in half the projected time. Instead of the Slytherins being displaced for two weeks, they'd only have to stomach a week of temporary lodging in the Great Hall. It was a generous offer, a blank cheque without any known stipulations attached. To Dumbledore's face, Lucius played the card of an overly concerned parent only looking out for his heir's best, as clearly the headmaster's 'best' almost got his son drowned.

Dumbledore had been placed in a precarious situation. The House most disjointed from his favor, at least to the public eye, had almost been killed. To the public, as well as the Governors, rumors were undoubtedly going to be festering aplenty. To accept the generous donation from the Malfoys, one of the very Slytherin families hurt by the flood, sent a silencing spear into the rumors.

Lucius's team would arrive at dawn to begin the work.

Humming a little to himself, the Malfoy patriarch eyed the framed portrait on the wall, the painted Old Man with his crusty cabin hugging the sea's edge. If one looked hard enough, they wouldn't find the old man in the portrait. He'd ran when the lake flooded. And in the duplicate portrait at the Hogsmeade safehouse, Lucius's solicitor had learned what happened before the school even contacted the parents. And that was why Lucius was ready for the firecall, worried and already dressed, prepared to leave. Narcissa had looked worried for a second, a flicker of her previous self hidden in the emaciated shell left behind. But that flicker, much like a flame, died out with a single breath, and she insisted Lucius go to the school alone only after they heard that Draco was recovering just fine.

The spying portrait had been a fantastic idea. So fantastic that Lucius had a dozen more he intended on putting up. If someone was trying to harm his child, he was determined to find out who. Even if that person was one he called a friend.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus added in the powdered unicorn horn at the precise moment the first bubbles in teal liquid began to rise indicating its intention to boil. This would be his third attempt at the revision of this particular potion, keeping him occupied in the cellar of his home on Spinner's End - where he recently moved into after the death of his father - for the last two days; he hadn't seen daylight in that long. This time he'd get it, if for no other reason than he'd run out of ideas to try if it blew up in his face again. He stretched out his arms after giving the potion five anti-clockwise turns and waited for the color to change to a bright emerald green - the same shade as Lily's eyes, though a potion this vile should never be compared to someone like her - when he could add the Belladonna. At that point, the concoction would either accept the deadly ingredient and he would finally have a successful rendition to present to the Dark Lord at his next summons, or it wouldn't and… well, he'd seen plenty of that result over the last two days.

Unfortunately, instead of adding the ground pure Belladonna as planned, he dropped it all over the floor when his left forearm started to fiercely burn. He'd taken the Mark less than a year ago and he still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of his master's call; nor did he anticipate a day when he would. In his distracted state, not to mention the final ingredient nos scattered across the cement floor, Severus missed the chance to complete the potion, evident when the color rapidly changed from a smooth green to a black sludge. It was better than the explosions from the last four attempts, but still meant he'd have to start over. Giving his wand a wave over his workbench, the Death Eater vanished the contents to the washing sink, then opened the bottom drawer where he pulled out the personalized mask he wore to each summons, along with his robes. The last second before disapparating, at the risk of being punished for being late, Severus grabbed a phial of Invigorating Draft just in case it ended up being a long night. Satisfied with his preparation and mask firmly affixed to his face, he touched the moving, burning mark on the inside of his forearm and instantly disapparated to the Dark Lord's side.

They never knew where the Dark Lord would call them, and Severus couldn't have been more surprised when his black boots landed on a hard, rocky surface in some kind of cavern. The dark night outside was pitched black, telling him they couldn't be too far from home, and he smelled the smallest touch of salt and algae in the air. Up ahead, through a narrow pathway, he saw the flickering of a fire lighting his way and heard the sounds of heckling and taunting hinting at the purpose of their summons: a muggle must had been caught and they'd be responsible for 'seeing to his or her punishment' as entertainment for their Lord. Severus hated muggles - particularly those like his father and Lily's awful excuse for a sister - but he discovered early on he didn't hate them enough to take the same sadistic pleasure the others did in torturing them. Unfortunately, he learned the hard way to play his part well, less he meet a similar fate.

Approaching the summons location, Severus took a quick survey of the situation. In the center of the room a large fire burned high, creating enough light to see around the room. Unlike their normal torturing summons, it appeared as if they were inside a castle of some sort rather out in the elements in the middle of who knew where. The Dark Lord stood on the far side of the fire on a dais built up so he could see over the fire and into each corner of the space, keeping a close watch over the situation in front of him. A total of four masked Death Eaters were in a half circle on the left side of the fire with a woman - their victim for the night - laid bound at their feet. Though each Death Eater arrived masked, Severus quickly realized he benefited from knowing who stood beside him at these events and started paying closer attention to the voices and references to the people beneath them. That night, Severus only recognized one person and of course it had to be Lucius Malfoy. In addition to the Dark Lord and his marked followers, there were two other wizards Severus hadn't seen before standing on the other side of fire. For a split second, Severus thought perhaps this summons would be an initiation, however it quickly became apparent the Dark Lord didn't view these two visitors with as much regard as his marked Death Eaters.

"Let us begin," the Dark Lord called in a voice Severus knew meant trouble, and then immediately felt the indescribable pain of the Cruciatus Curse; his punishment for being the last to arrive.

In the Hogwarts hospital wing, Severus woke up gasping for breath, sure that this time that horrible curse had done him in. Panic filled every cell in his body when he found he couldn't take in any of the oxygen his brain needed to function; how could he find a way out from the Dark Lord's grasp if he didn't have the oxygen for his brain to think. In the panic, he couldn't recognize that the noises surrounding him made no sense for being at a Death Eater meeting. Where hexes and curses to their victim should have been were a cacophony of people calling his name - Severus! Severus, can you hear me? Finally with a loud Anapneo yelled out from somewhere to his left, Severus could breathe once again.

Opening his eyes the former Death Eater found himself not in a rocky locale being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, but instead in the Hogwarts hospital wing surrounded by Madam Pomfrey, Minerva, and Harry. The sun flowing in from the windows above his head strained his eyes, and when he tried to sit up his whole upper body ached preventing him from moving much further than his elbows.

What had happened? The last thing Severus remembered had been a Death Eater summons… but no, it had only been a nightmare of one of those awful memories he'd forever be haunted by. He had been fighting with Harry, hadn't he? Over dinner because of…. The flood in the Slytherin Common Room! The events of the previous night came back to him as quickly as those last flooded waters had hit him. Had he been successful in rescuing his students? Suddenly getting up and to the Dungeons felt more important than ever.

"Severus!" Poppy's commanding voice brought his brain out of the fog and into the room around him. "You're going to be alright, just try to stay calm."

"I need…" he struggled to think about what he needed to do, "the Common Room."

"Everyone is out," Minerva was the voice of reason, "you took care of those in the Common Room, then Albus, Kingsley, and I were able to siphon the water out and get to the dormitories in the early hours of this morning. Everyone has been accounted for."

He wanted to ask if "accounted for" meant they were all alive, but he dared not ask; his mind and body couldn't handle that news at the moment, and he suspected the two witches were well aware of this fact.

"Lay back down and let me run a diagnostic scan," Poppy took control, as she always did.

Not having the energy argue, Severus leaned back against his stacked pillows and closed his eyes to give himself the impression of having privacy. Each pass of the diagnostic charm and Poppy's lack of comments made him feel better about his situation.

"You're healing up just fine," Poppy announced. "Took a nasty hit to the head I'm afraid, but there's not much we can do to fix a concussion outside of a headache drought," she placed a phial on the table beside him, which he instantly recognized as the potion in question, along with three others used for general healing.

He learned he'd been unconscious most of the day, and it was now Thursday afternoon, just past lunchtime, and Albus had, for good reason, canceled classes for the entire day. Poppy clinically went through his list of injuries, not unlike she used to do for him after his summons - bringing him unwillingly back to his dream - followed by Minerva getting him up to date about the status of his students. Ten of them ended up in the Black Lake, having been pulled out by the current, and thankfully saved by the creatures living in the water. All ten needed to be sent for more specialized care at St Mungo's, but as of that morning's update, Poppy said there would be no fatalities expected. None of the students trapped in the dorms received any physical injuries, however based on Poppy's assessment, they'd been shaken up quite a bit once they discovered they were trapped in the room. Of all the other injuries, currently eighteen patients, himself included, were remaining in the hospital wing under medical care and would be there for at least another night; most with head injuries requiring a two night stay per school guidelines. The rest had been cleared to leave earlier that morning.

The Slytherin Dungeons were completely off-limits until further notice while a thorough investigation was underway, where Albus, Kingsley, Tonks and another half a dozen aurors were currently. Therefore his students were left to stay temporarily in the Great Hall, converted nightly into more comfortable accommodations by adding camp beds and sofas. The arrangement provided them a step up from the sleeping bags during the Sirius Black incident and would do for now. Finally, because Harry had opened the door to help - something he'd address with the young wizard alone - his quarters needed to be repaired as well. For the time being, he'd be in the hospital wing, and then Albus would set him up in one of the guest quarters. As for the rest of the Dungeons, the doors to the classrooms and offices remained closed and therefore their charms intact, making any water damage both manageable and easily fixable.

During the entire exchange with both witches, Severus kept a close eye on Harry, who sat practically sulking in a chair near the back corner of his partitioned area staring between his own hands and over at Severus. He didn't appear too injured - his face scraped up and bruised, but both appeared to be healing well and he'd winced when he turned, leaving the professor to believe his side likely had a bad contusion - though the professor didn't like what Minerva had told him about the young Gryffindor's assistance in rescuing his freed classmates. Surely had the Transfiguration professor wanted to, she could have called an adult for help. Nevertheless, it demonstrated exactly how Harry had managed to get into the situations he'd been in all of these years. Harry's presence, despite his lack of speaking, said more than any words could. Yet again, they'd make it through the rocky terrain - Severus shook his head from the image of his nightmare - and be able to move on.

"Harry," Minerva turned and addressed the child on the forefront of his mind, "Would you please go to Madam Pomfrey's floo and order some lunch for yourself and Severus? I should think soup and sandwiches would be an acceptable meal."

"I'll help you, deary," Poppy announced, holding her hand out to Harry to help escort him from the room.

Without a sound, the young wizard sullenly nodded his head and took off to the Matron's office. As expected, given her dismissal of her Lion, Minerva waved her wand to cast a privacy spell around them.

"What's going on, Minerva?"

The colleague he now thought of as his closest friend took a seat in the chair Harry had vacated, pulling it closer to his bedside.

"Tonk and Moody were here this morning questioning the students about what happened prior to the windows breaking," she chose her words carefully and Severus internally questioned why. It made complete sense that the aurors would investigate, and for once he didn't mind their presence. At least, he rationalized, Williamson hadn't been assigned the task.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Severus responded, not hiding his confusion. "I'm certain they'll be wanting my account of the events, though I do have the benefit of having Kingsley with me, who I'm certain gave a detailed review of our actions already."

"He has provided his statement," she confirmed, her wrinkled hands shuffled in her lap

He narrowed his eyes back at her, "Then what is the issue?"

"It didn't strike me as odd when you said it before going into the Common Room," she anxiously started, "but it sounded very perculure when your students explained how you demanded - their words - they be in the Common Room two hours prior to curfew."

"They were to use those hours for the purpose of studying," he shook his head, hoping his head injury had been preventing him from understanding. "I still don't see how that's problematic."

Minerva's face grimaced, a sign of bad news to come, "The question had been raised if you'd required that of your students every year, and if not, then why this year?"

Severus had no doubt in his mind the question had come from Moody. The ex-auror shouldn't have been involved to begin with and he could only assume he'd been brought in as a favor for Dumbledore; likely since the headmaster still thought Death Eaters were targeting them in some way, and having two Marked wizards in his castle didn't help things in the slightest. Still, the accusation under other circumstances would have been logical, unfortunately he didn't quite see it that way in the current light.

Gritting his teeth, Severus spat out, "Given the landscape of my house, I did it as a means of keeping track of my students." A deafening silence enveloped their small corner of the hospital wing and Severus could admit his anger had been misplaced. "Thank you for the insight. I'll keep this in mind during my interrogation."

"Severus-"

"I understand, Minerva, " he cut her off, not wanting her to think he didn't know what she was doing for him. "And you have my deepest gratitude for looking out for me, as well as your assistance last night. We all need to find a way to move forward now."

Against his will, he let out a large yawn. Having only been awake for no more than thirty minutes, he didn't see how he could be tired, nevertheless the exhaustion hit him like the Knight Bus.

"I'll go check on your lunch," the witch said, patting his leg through his blankets, the only person outside of Harry he would ever allow to do so without receiving a tongue lashing.

Left alone with his thoughts, the professor started to consider what Minerva had alluded towards. Inevitably, he had become a suspect for attempting to murder his students, but with Kingsley by his side from at least a quarter hour before the windows broke, truthfully they had very little to hold against him. His requiring of the students to be in the Common Room was circumstantial, at best, and wouldn't be nearly enough to do any damage to him. If that didn't do anything, there was the lack of motive: why would he try to kill his entire house of students? And then run in to go rescue them?

Scratch that, he sullenly thought, Moody could likely find a motive that would stick.

As if knowing he needed something to help clear his mind from the negativity surrounding him, a piece of parchment popped up in his lap.

Hey Sev - it's Mae! I hope it's alright that I call you Sev, it's such a natural nickname for an otherwise staunchy given name like Severus.

Anyway, I know you work this Saturday and I'm on another double at the clinic, so I thought maybe we could catch a movie at the cinema out here on Sunday afternoon? I know you're not into the whole movie scene, but I've been dying to see Titanic and it'd be awesome to go with you.

I hope things are going well at school. Gimme a ring back when you get a chance!

The light heartedness of her message broke through Severus's sour mood and he found himself smiling at the image of her leaving this message for him. Assuming the DMLE cleared up the investigation by then and his students were safe, he would go with her on Sunday; he wanted to go with her to the cinema. The first and the last time he went had been with Lily and her parents; the first during the summer holiday before their first year, and the last over the Christmas holiday of their fifth. The last time though, felt too much like a date to him and he immediately knew had their friendship not ended a few months later, he'd never go again with her. As much as he loved Lily, she never had those same feelings for him and that day had been too painful for him to repeat. Sitting there looking at the missive, he couldn't understand what Mae saw in him, let alone enough to want to go out with him for a third time.

"Everything alright?"

Harry's voice startled him, and Severus looked up to see the young wizard coming around the curtain with two trays levitating in front of him, favoring his right side as he walked.

"It's nothing," the professor replied, placing the parchment upside down on the bedside table. "Your magic is getting stronger."

"Yeah," Harry answered, proudly, "I don't use it too much because of… y'know, the magical core pain, but it's good to have the option if I need it."

The Gryffindor placed one of the trays - a steaming bowl of split pea soup, half a ham sandwich, and strawberries and apples in sweet yogurt - across Severus's lap and then sat in the chair closest to his bed with his own tray.

"On that note," Severus told him, "I doubt I'll be making it to your evaluation with Alton tonight. You should still go, though. It's important to chart the readings."

Harry nodded, "S'alright, sir. I'll let you know what he says, but things have been going so well I don't expect anything major to come back."

Even after the life he'd lived, Harry was still too young and too naive to be afraid of that statement. For Severus, he feared when things went well; afraid they'd miss the internal bleeding when focusing on the broken wrist. He wouldn't spoil the young wizard's outlook on life with his own negativity, especially when they worked so hard with Dr Snyder to overcome the Gryffindor's anxiety about Maintenance, so he simply nodded his approval.

"About last night," Severus started, taking a small sip of his soup from the large spoon. It felt wonderful on his throat - sore from the water he'd inhaled and had removed from his airway - and he felt each of his cells perk up.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry practically jumped on Severus's pause from his sip as an opportunity to take the upper hand in the conversation. "I shouldn't have said what I did. After everything you've done for me…"

"You should not have left our quarters," Severus lectured, trying not to draw attention to the obvious issue of Harry's emotional state during their previous dinner. " And then continuing to put yourself in danger rather than getting out of the Dungeons? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?" Harry winced and held his side, unknowingly confirming to Severus where he'd been - and still was - hurt. But it wouldn't do either of them any good to argue about Harry's need to save the day, so Severus wet his lips and asked, "So what has been plaguing your mind lately?"

Harry fiddled with the hem of Severus's blanket, "I dunno what you're talking about."

An obvious lie.

"We both know that's not true," the professor pushed. "If there wasn't anything bothering you, then you'd be sleeping and you wouldn't have said what you did last night."

"You sound pretty confident on that."

"Because I am."

Harry's defiant expression clearly showed his dislike of Severus's statement, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the Gryffindor didn't answer him on principle alone. The professor had to remind himself that this Harry still wouldn't be used to Severus's ability to read his plentiful emotions straight from his young face; that while the two Harry's were so different, their core was still eerily similar to one another.

"I'm trying to help you, Harry," Severus offered. "I know you can't see it that way."

"What if I don't want your help?" The young wizard challenged for no other reason than to show he could.

Pinching his eyes closed, Severus muttered just above a whisper, "You are going to be the death of me someday, child."

Something about the statement started to unravel Harry's attitude, and with everything Severus anticipated to hear next, he would never have guessed Harry's words would be, "They know you're different and there's been… questions... about us."

"Who has said something?"

"Hermione, for one," Harry grudgingly answered, then quickly clarified with, "not questioning our relationship like that, but she mentioned how she knew you've changed. Doesn't it bother you?"

Severus raised an eyebrow, "Do I come across as the type of person who cares about what a bunch of teenagers think of me?" The Gryffindor paused, as if to argue the point but intelligently decided against it. "Exactly. And frankly, neither are you."

The young wizard sighed in defeat. "So then you're just going to let them question why you're so different?"

He didn't get to answer the question, or even finish his lunch, because the sound of the hospital wing door slamming into the wall from its forceful opening caught his attention.

"What do you think you're doing storming into my infirmary like this?" He heard Madam Pomfrey's strict voice yell to the intruders. "You have no-"

"I've been told Severus Snape is awake," a gruff voice Severus didn't recognize cut her off. "We were supposed to be notified immediately."

The former spy didn't like the tone emanating from the wizard; obviously an auror, and not one familiar with his unique position. Hell must have frozen over, because he found himself wishing it had been Moody who came to interrogate him.

Ignoring Madam Pomfrey's stalling tactics - none of which would work - Severus turned to Harry and calmly said, "We'll talk about this later. You need to go before you get wrapped up in whatever this is about to be."

Harry gave a worried glance behind him to the commotion growing out in the main area. "I've already been questioned by Tonks. It was intense, but not too awful," he said standing from his chair. "I promise I'll be by tonight after my evaluation with Healer Smithe."

Severus nodded, hoping he'd be lucky enough to still be in the castle as of tonight rather than locked up in some hidden hospital wing in Azkaban; not even defeating Voldemort could save him from attempted murder of over a hundred students. Regardless of all their Occlumency lessons, he could plainly see Harry had the same thought running through his mind. Nevertheless, neither would say anything, and instead chose to pretend nothing out of the norm was about to happen. As Harry left, Severus caught sight of the Gryffindor's lunch tray at the foot of his bed - still completely untouched.

"Where are you going?" The gruff voice outside of his partitioned room asked; Severus assumed towards Harry.

"He's fine for now," he heard Moody's familiar voice explain, and the former spy found himself more relieved to have a former Order member present. "We questioned him this morning."

A harsh grumble came from the man walking towards his bed; his lumbering footsteps so loud, Severus could visually picture where the auror was in the room. In preparation for the inevitable interrogation, the professor added his own half eaten lunch to the foot of the bed with Harry's, and straightened himself up to appear more in control of himself.

"Severus Snape?" The auror, a heavy-set man in his mid-fifties with dark brown hair under a Trilby hat, stepped around the curtain with Moody and Poppy right behind. The other wizard didn't wear the typical auror robes, leading Severus to the conclusion he didn't see much field work. Combined with being the one chosen to interrogate him, the man likely ranked somewhere between Kingsley as Head Auror and Pius Thickness as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; the latter of whom was far too political to make any physical appearance in any case. All of those observations told Severus the story of a wizard who either had a bone to pick with a former Death Eater, or who hated being inconvenienced by being brought into the field, most likely a little of both.

"As no one else jumped to your obscenely loud call," Severus unwisely taunted, "then yes, that would be me."

Whether the statement earned him the Auror's respect or simply caught the man off guard, he gave a small, unexpected hmph and shook his head.

"You should know," Poppy spoke up to defend her patient, "Severus sustained a mild concussion last night and as an active patient under my care, I won't have you rustling him up."

"Well, we can always arrest him," the auror told her, without breaking eye contact with Severus, though the professor could tell the malice had greatly dissipated.

"Then you best find a way to do that," she called his bluff. "If any of my monitoring spells show signs of duress, this little meeting is over."

"We won't kill 'im, Poppy, he's not worth the paperwork," Moody told her and cast what Severus naturally assumed was a privacy spell the moment her foot left the area. "I need your wand, Severus."

In pure silence and keeping his eyes trained on the new wizard, Severus reached beneath his pillow, withdrew his wand, and handed it over to the ex-auror. Whether the man wanted to check it or simply have it in his possession during their chat didn't make one difference to him.

"Do I get the pleasure of knowing the name of the person who's going to attempt to get me to falsely confess to events I had nothing to do with?" He aggressively asked. The other wizard may feel comfortable taking his guard down, but Severus absolutely did not.

"Chief Samson," the man introduced himself, "I've been called in to make sure everything's done by the book and ask the tough questions. As I'm sure you can understand, a lot of kids with parents in high up places were attacked last night-"

"I don't see what the status of the students' family has to do with anything," Severus pointed out. It wouldn't change his situation in the long run, except it would go on the record; hopefully in his favor.

"I'll be the one asking the questions today," Samson casually lectured. "And the first one I need to know is why every single student in your house was in the Dungeon last night."

"From what I hear, you already know that answer," responded Severus, flatly, "I doubt you'd be here otherwise."

"So are you refusing to answer?"

"Not at all," Severus acted as if this happened to him all of the time. The last thing he'd show to this man was weakness; he'd stood his ground against Voldemort, an auror he could handle. "At the start of term I required all of my students to be in the Dungeon for a scheduled study hour."

Samson took out a pad of parchment and a self-inking quill, then began to write. "And is this extra study hour something you require every year?"

"No."

"Just this year?"

"Yes."

"And why would you do a thing like that?" Samson keenly watched him, waiting for the smallest sign of a lie or an embellishment of the truth.

He didn't falter, though he questioned how many other - less intensively trained witches or wizards - had over the years, and answered, "To keep a closer watch on my students. If they're in their Common Room, then they can't be getting harassed by any of the others for the abhorrent choices their parents or family members may have made in life."

"And yet only a month into term," the auror accused, "they're attacked within the very same room you told them to seek refuge in."

Releasing a subset of his frustration, Severus said, "I sure hope you have a better case built than just 'I told them to be in the Common Room on certain nights of the week to study' because had this happened after curfew it wouldn't have made a damn difference either way!"

"But it didn't happen after curfew, did it?" The auror leaned over towards Severus, "it happened at a time when very few would know the entire house would be present."

"The requirement I set for my house was not kept a secret, by any means," he shook his head disappointedly, "in addition to the other members of the staff who were aptly notified - for detention purposes - there had been a wave of complaints made throughout the student body. Dare I say there wasn't a single soul who wasn't aware of my new regulation."

The other auror paused. He had to have known, or at least logically extrapolated it, and yet the look in his eyes told a different story.

"Let's talk about detentions," Samson abruptly changed the subject. "I have a report here that Mr Harry Potter should have been serving one last night. And yet you weren't in your classroom office at the time of the flooding. Why did you move the detention to your personal quarters in the dungeons?"

"Then I have to ask, what would have happened had I not been there?" The former spy countered. "But to answer your question, Mr Potter had been having a difficult week, and I wanted to have a chance to personally check in with him. As I'm sure you are already aware, I serve as his medical proxy for his muggle illness and subsequent treatments therefore making it imperative I know when things aren't well."

Severus stretched his neck from side to side, only now noticing Moody running through the spells on his wand. Unless he were in the Common Room at the time the enchantments were broken - the feat in itself, he couldn't even start to figure out how it had been done - he didn't understand what they expected to find.

The interrogation continued for another two hours. Poppy checked in periodically and though Severus told her he was fine, he also got the impression that if he needed to, he could have gotten her assistance in delaying this rendezvous and she would have been more than happy to help. Doing so, however, would only aid in making him appear more guilty, and as such he allowed the questioning to continue. Once they'd gone over every single step he took leading up to the breaking windows - sure to be corroborated by Harry and Kingsley - they moved onto his actions inside the Common Room; apparently not anywhere near enough to alleviate any of the guilt from the other circumstantial evidence.

The chief auror questioned his choice in having Hala swim to the students and he wondered if any of the other students had been nervous to see their fellow classmate, particularly the eleven year old they teased on a regular basis, coming to their aid. Severus explained, as best he could, that the decision had been made by weighing the challenges he faced in the room and his need to be the one anchoring the rope to pull the students in. Was it a risk? Absolutely. But one worth taking and it worked out for them all in the end. Based on the phrasing of the questions, he could tell Samson's reasoning was to check on the idea of Severus using Hala in hopes of her failing to successfully swim across the currents. During the entire time this line of questioning continued, Moody had stopped messing with Severus's wand and paid closer attention - no matter how distracted the ex-auror looked, Severus had no doubt he'd been paying attention - to his answers.

"It's clear," Moody finally said, tossing the ebony wand over to the chief. "If he did something, it had to be a while ago, and I doubt the spell would have lasted as long as it did."

So they did find something, after all.

Samson examined the wand, running his own over it a couple of times.

"Here you are, Mr Snape," the other wizard handed him his wand without so much as a second glance. He then closed the notebook of parchment. "I think I have everything we need today. Unfortunately our investigation can take upwards of another week or so, and until then no one will be allowed in or out of the premises. Professor Dumbledore will be in touch with the families for provisions to be sent during their displacement."

"And the repairs?" Severus asked, imagining the shambles they'd be left to deal with.

"Once we collect the evidence from the Dungeon itself," Samson curtly explained, "you'll have access to come into specific areas at a time to start drying, cleaning, and repairing. That timeline will be up to the headmaster."

Between the faculty on staff, they'd have no issues getting it done relatively quickly, so long as the DMLE could get their own piece done efficiently. Not about to dignify that with a response, Severus let his silence speak for him.

Understanding their time had ended, Samson stood up to leave - ironically, Moody made no such motion - but paused right before rounding the partition.

"It would behoove you to stay available," the chief not so cryptically told him, "just in case we find anything of interest."

Neither of the wizards who stayed behind so much as moved at the suggestion. By this point in the day, Severus had been far too tired - physically and mentally - to deal with whatever Samson wanted to engage in. Besides, perhaps he was being over confident, but he had no doubt in his normal capacity he could run circles around the auror.

"You've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, now haven't you," Moody declared, after what Severus could only assume had been a reasonable timeframe for Samson to leave.

"Nothing I can't handle," he assured the other wizard. As much as he hated to show any kind of weakness, Severus closed his eyes as a headache started to form. "What's the deal with him?"

"Samson?" Moody rhetorically asked. "You know he's just doing his job, but between us… he messed up pretty bad early on after taking the chief position, and managed to get onto the bad side of Madam Bones. Since then he's spent most of his time pushing papers and taking fire calls. Thickness, being as soft as he is, finally caved after the tenth call, in a matter of hours, into the DMLE over this and figured he needed more than just a round of regular aurors."

"So he has a grudge and something to prove," he said as a statement rather than a question, and one he didn't need an answer to. "Are you going to tell me what they found in the Common Room? Or did you stay behind for a different friendly chat?"

He could feel Moody's grin. The same one that said he held the power, though they both knew Albus had instructed the ex-auror to stay behind, and if he didn't, the headmaster would have no problem bringing Severus up to date on things. Their relationship may have been strained more than ever, but he knew the headmaster would confide in him in the end.

"Williamson discovered traces of a dark spell used in the Diagon Alley attack which has the ability to strip a structure of any previously placed enchantments," Moody told him, and Severus opened his eyes as he considered the implications.

"All previous enchantments?" He clarified.

Moody nodded with an almost sinister smile. In another era, this would be the type of case Moody would thrive on. "Every single one. It's what caused the buildings to crumble in Diagon Alley. And they found it again in Godric's Hollow."

"Dammit," Severus cursed. "And I take it, that's how the window in the Dungeons broke?" To answer, the other wizard tapped his right temple with his middle finger. His mind was reeling in the possibilities. "So you're saying one of my students did this? Unless of course… can spells be time-lapsed?"

"We're in uncharted waters, Snape," Moody told him, finally standing to take his leave. "But if I had to take a guess, I'd say as the Hogwarts Defense Master, not to mention your previous run-ins with this level of magic, you have a pretty good head start."

~~~~HP~~~~

After leaving Snape to be interrogated by Moody and an auror Harry didn't want to get to know, the young wizard decided to head back to the Tower to try to rest his sore body. Though he'd been woken up early that morning in the hospital wing by another round of angry Slytherin parents, he didn't feel nearly as tired as he expected. He hadn't slept well last night because he'd been plagued with nightmares most of the night - once he'd gone back to bed from his talk with Draco - yet he couldn't imagine trying to sleep at the moment. It ended up being a good thing because the instant his feet crossed through the portrait hole, he was bombarded by Gryffindors who had obviously found out about his knowledge of the events.

"... heard the windows broke!"

"Bet Khatib had something to do…"

"...Giant Squid made its way…"

Through the series of loud questions being shot at him from every which way, Harry came to the conclusion the rest of the school had only been informed about an accident occurring in the dungeons injuring students and displacing the entire Slytherin house.

"Break it up, you vultures!" Ron's voice yelled from the other side of the room as he approached Harry, "Let the man breathe a bit."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry mumbled and walked with his friend over to the corner where a set of first years quickly moved out from the plush armchairs. Shortly after sitting down - minding his bruised side - Seamus, Dean and Ginny, and Neville all joined them. Only then did Harry notice the rain pouring down the window explaining why most of the house had been indoors when classes were cancelled. "Where's Hermione?"

"Dunno," Ron shrugged, "guessing checking in on Malfoy. I'm surprised you didn't see her, she was in a right fit yesterday over the two of you."

Harry nodded, unsure if there was a more appropriate answer he should have gone with.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ginny asked him, her head turned as he winced in pain from the sitting position.

"I will be," he told her. "Trust me, Dr Swanson wouldn't let me leave otherwise. I'm just sore from falling… or getting knocked down… by the water."

"So it really did flood?" Had any other person in Gryffindor asked him besides Neville, Harry would have waved off the confirmation of the rumor everyone wanted to know about. Neville's innocent voice, though, tore through him and he found himself giving yet another nod.

"Blimey," Seamus declared, unable to keep the smirk from his face. At Neville's sad glare, the Irishman laughed and said, "c'mon dahn't tell me you've never cahnsidered it. We all talked abooeht it 'appenin at sahme point… weshed it even."

Guilt. The guilt Harry had been pushing away over the whole event started to resurface against his wishes. He tried to convince himself the emotion he'd become far too familiar with over the years was there because he knew if he hadn't left Snape's quarters the man would be able to go back to his home instead of needing to stay in the guest quarters for an indeterminate amount of time.

It would be a lie though.

Then he tried to tell himself he felt guilty because never would he wish something like this on anyone, no matter how badly they treated him in the past. But that would also be a lie, and with each lie he told himself, the guilt continued to eat away at his conscience. The truth he wanted to deny wouldn't stay hidden away. Every year the Slytherins - the children supporting the dark wizard who actively tried to kill him over and over - continued to berate him, and when he'd been in some of his darkest moments, Harry couldn't say he'd never wished for those windows to break and whatever fallout to happen; to give the students who caused him so much grief a taste of their own cruelty. However, unlike his own father and godfather at the same age, Harry knew he would never act on those teenage boy impulses. He would never tell an unsuspecting kid how to follow his werewolf friend to get attacked, and he didn't actually want any of his classmates to die. A small consolation to his guilty conscience could have been that he'd outgrown the thoughts on wanting the Slytherins to experience some anomaly anymore, except the current target of his rage had been shifted to Oliver Ackerly as of late.

"So what happened?" asked Dean, once all the debating over who wanted to see the Slytherins' demise ended. "Was anyone seriously hurt?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, still in a strange haze, shaking his head to clear it, "a lot of kids were. Some even had to go to St Mungo's last night, but last I heard there were no fatalities."

The simple admission, - and saying the word, fatalities, that could damage so many people in its wake - opened a floodgate within the young wizard and he told them everything he could remember: the water trickling into Snape's quarters, his mistake in opening the door, and swimming down the corridor in the freezing water to meet McGonagall on the stairs. He'd told it all only a couple of hours ago to Tonks when she arrived in the hospital wing prior to his discharge to question him. At first, he assumed the Hufflepuff had only wanted to know about the timeline of what happened, but while she did take a detailed account of his actions, they spent an inordinate amount of time going over his purpose for being in the Dungeons last night. He answered her honestly, about Snape requesting to have dinner and then serve his detention down there. Whether he'd answered correctly or not, he wasn't sure because it then turned into an inquisition over the reasoning behind having dinner with the professor. Things like: How often are you down here for dinner? Do you usually serve detention in the professor's classroom? What did Professor Snape have you do for detention? The last one he found himself partially lying about, telling her he'd been assigned lines about controlling his anger instead of needing to write two hundred things on his mind; a feat which wouldn't be nearly as difficult now. Overall, her questioning didn't really phase the him too much, already used to being blamed for the strange things happening in the castle - like the Chamber of Secrets opening or somehow being chosen as a fourth champion in the Triwizard tournament - however by the end he started to wonder how much of a suspect he'd been for her to be so pointed in several of them.

"So how did they get out of the Common Room?" Dean logically asked once Harry had finished catching them all up on his own account from the events.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged, "I'm guessing Severus helped them somehow, but I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to him about it. I also think Hala had something to do with it because she came out last, but she didn't seem nearly as… concerned, maybe… or hurt as everyone else."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Ron claimed, "I bet she knew about it ahead of time. You don't think someone did this on purpose instead of some freak accident, do you?"

"You're being ridiculous, Ron," Ginny laughed at him. "Who would get into the school and attack the Slytherins of all people?!"

Ron and Harry shared a look knowing full well Hogwarts wasn't some impenetrable fortress. In fact, Harry wouldn't think twice about that happening if it had been Gryffindor attacked. For Slytherin to be attacked, though, seemed almost too far fetched, except based on his conversation with Tonks it seemed like their leading theory. How else could one account for enchantments placed centuries ago suddenly breaking without any warning? How long did enchantments last? Surely they had to be reset every once in a while, right? But if that were true, then wouldn't someone - most likely Dumbledore - know they needed updating? He wanted to ask Hermione, who would probably know the answers to all of these questions, but he had a feeling the words Hogwarts: A History would leave her lips and he cringed at the thought. He'd ask Snape, who would give him a short, succinct "yes" or "no".

At this point, another dozen Gryffindors - most of whom Harry didn't personally know - had gathered around making him feel oddly claustrophobic. Spending most of his childhood sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs meant claustrophobic wasn't a feeling he got too often, but when he did encounter it he felt sick.

"What abooeht all dat stuff de Prahphets been sayin'?" Seamus raised his brows in curiosity. "It can't be all roehbbesh."

"No," Harry vehemently denied. He believed all the reasons Snape had been saying for weeks, but even more than that, something about it didn't seem right to him either, "if it's Death Eaters, then why attack the children of Voldemort's followers? Not to mention, most of them are sitting in Azkaban right now. It makes absolutely no sense."

"I heard they're looking at Professor Snape," a second year, Leilani from his first Charms class, leaned in to say. The witch reminded him too much of Hermione for her own good.

"Where'd you hear that?" Neville asked in disbelief. "You're talking about a professor trying to kill his own students. That's a big accusation to make."

"Well it definitely wouldn't be the first time it's happened," Ron casually mentioned, and yet none of the other students would understand even half of the meaning behind the statement.

Harry noticed their corner suddenly got quiet and when he looked around, every set of eyes were on him.

"Besides the fact he wouldn't do something like this," Harry started, rolling his eyes, hating that they had to have this conversation, "I was with him from dinner time until the alarm sounded. He didn't have time to get into the Slytherin Common Room and disable the enchantments on the windows."

"Of course you'd say that. You practically killed yourself to protect him, so you're not exactly the best judge of his character," a fifth year, Simeon Codde, challenged. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but I've heard you and Snape are-"

Moving faster than Harry had ever seen him, Ron stood up and shoved the smaller wizard before he could finish his sentence. "Leave 'im alone, Codde."

"Friends with Ackerly, are you?" Harry shook his head disgusted. He didn't need this, especially now of all times.

"You can't blame people for asking questions," Codde jeered. "Two years ago, everyone knew the deep loathing between the two of you and now you're having dinner and living with the man. What do you expect people to think?"

"Let me give you a piece of friendly house-advice," Ron warned, pulling the other Gryffindor up by the collar of his jumper, "we protect our own, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of this."

"Leave it alone, Ron," Harry stood, ready to get away from the Common Room. "I really don't care what the lot of them think."

He pushed his way past the group of Gryffindors and across the Common Room, ignoring the stares from everyone watching him, straight out of the portrait hole. If nothing else, this gave him a good excuse to leave the suffocating room. It had all become too much to process: the rumors, the shipping document, his classes, and now the flood and with it, Snape's - and his own - accusation of guilt. He knew the professor well enough at this point to know he wouldn't do something like this to anyone; at least not to anyone as innocent as his students. And even if it were the old Snape, the man would be a little more sly about the whole thing. Realistically, Snape had studied the Dark Arts for most of his life before becoming a spy, if he wanted to kill someone, no one would ever know about it. That thought caused Harry to shiver.

For the second time that day, the young wizard's legs took him on a journey without him consciously thinking about where he wanted to go; which probably would've been back to the hospital wing. In almost no time at all, he found himself standing outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a place that held so much history in the school - with a professor almost every year trying to kill him - and recently where so much of his internal consternation originated. For being so excited to be in Snape's class, he now dreaded attending Defense even more than he ever had with Potions.

Though he knew the door to the classroom would be locked - Snape often talked of his distrust in students when given access to a room filled with objects used to study against the Dark Arts - but it didn't stop him from trying it anyways. Frustrated by the unbudging door, Harry kicked the bottom as hard as he could, immediately regretting the decision when his right toes began to throb in his trainers. Defeated, he leaned against the wall under a stained glass window to the left of the classroom and sank to the floor. With his knees drawn and his forehead resting on top of them, he sat there allowing his guilt, anger, and grief to consume him.

He could have been sitting there for ten minutes or ten hours, the time feeling as if it rushed and crept by simultaneously, when he heard a soft voice ask, "Harry? Are you alright?"

Not having to lift his head to know Hermione had joined him, he answered into his knees, "I really wish people would stop asking me that."

"We're worried about you," she told him, and then the air around him shifted making her presence sitting beside him known. "There's been a lot going on lately with you."

This time, Harry did turn his head to look at his friend, who he now realized had to have been seeking him out because her room wasn't near the Defense classroom.

"How's Draco?"

She gave a nervous smile, "I'm not going to let you get away with changing the subject that easily… but he's… struggling too. I heard you guys talked last night."

"He doesn't come across as one to kiss and tell," Harry sarcastically said.

The joke had its intended effect and the witch laughed, "He's not usually, but with the concussion he's been speaking… a little more liberally than usual."

"He told me he reserved the right to punch me at some point in the future."

She smiled and Harry's angry mood practically melted away. "That sounds like him. I wouldn't worry too much about it. If anything, it shows he's still planning to be your friend in the future."

"I really hadn't thought about it like it," he grudgingly admitted. "Are we considered friends?"

Hermione shrugged. "I imagine as much as anyone in your situation can. Anyway," she paused, and Harry could feel her question coming upon him, "tell me what's going on," she urged him, reaching over and placing her hand onto his arm resting on his knee. "Something's been off lately, we can tell."

"I can handle it," Harry tried to say, but her face told him he wouldn't get out of it this time. She'd stayed by his side through thick and thin and he needed to be able to lean on her and Ron; now more than ever. "I'm just getting tired of everyone questioning mine and Severus's relationship. I don't see why it matters or where they got the idea in the first place."

Hermione uncharacteristically bit her top lip as she frowned. "You never did hear about the Prophet article after Bill's wedding, did you?" Harry nervously shook his head. "Well-" she scrunched her eyes, and though he could connect the dots, he didn't fill in the awkward space, "-they may have implied a less parental relationship between the two of you because he…" another uncomfortable pause, "escorted you - their words - to the wedding."

Even being able to guess what had been written about him didn't make the blow any easier. Closing his eyes, he took three deep breaths in order to stop himself from turning around and punching the stone wall behind him. Yet another reason to hate that bloody paper, he scuffed his foot across the stone floor as he thought about what he'd say to Rita Skeeter if given the chance.

"I really hate her," he ended up saying to Hermione, surprising himself with the lack of vigor in his voice. Somehow he'd managed to accept this as his fate. "She has no right reporting on things she knows nothing about."

"You're preaching to the choir, Harry." The muggle phrase completely threw him off and they both ended up laughing. "Seriously, what is going on with Professor Snape?"

The question, though expected, made him startle. He'd been through so much with her and Ron, he couldn't believe he hadn't told them yet.

"You can't tell anyone," Harry prompted, and as expected she nodded her head. "Not even Draco."

The second condition caused her to narrow her eyes, weighing the truth she was about to receive against the need to keep it from her boyfriend. Eventually, longer than Harry thought necessary - proving not only how serious the couple had become, but also how making amends with the Slytherin had been a good idea after all - she nodded her agreement.

"He seems different," Harry started, looking down at his hand rolling a stone on the ground beneath his palm, "because he is different."

The moment the sentence left his mouth, Harry realized how much he'd been dying to tell someone about his history. So right there in the corridor outside of the Snape's classroom, he told her about how odd the professor had been acting when he first showed up at his relative's house last summer, then how on the night before the Privet Drive attack he learned the man had come from somewhere completely different; a world where Harry had officially become his son on paper, but he still had Leukemia and choosing a different route, succumbed to the disease. Hermione listened, encouraging him when he needed it and asking questions as they came up - how could he be sure Snape had told him the truth? How did he feel about the situation? Were there any side effects from the mysterious potion? Did he know the name of the potion, which of course, she'd be researching, or where it came from? He answered what he could, ignored what he didn't want to answer, and reassured the Gryffindor witch over and over that as odd as it sounded, he trusted Snape completely and, most importantly, he was happy. He could tell for her it was all she needed to hear. By the time they reached the end, the pair of friends were leaning against one another in a position which felt to Harry so much like if he had a sister.

"You can't tell Draco," Harry reminded her. "I doubt Severus has told him anything, and I definitely don't want to be the reason he finds out."

"Of course I won't," she reassured him, but at the same time, he could see her mind working through the situation. "Although…" her voice rose like it always did when she came up with a unique, and usually smart, idea, "he has gotten pretty close to Goldstein and may be able to help you with your Ackerly problem. I won't say a word without your permission, but just think about it, alright? You have enough going on right now, let us help if we can."

Us. We. Harry may have told her he'd think it over, except he already knew he wouldn't take her up on it. The last thing he needed was for Draco to fight his fights for him… especially one he didn't think he should be fighting in the first place.

"So why didn't he adopt you here? Professor Snape?" asked Hermione, curiously. "I mean, I know you don't really need a parent now that you're of age, but there has to be some benefit to it, right?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged, trying to pretend it didn't bother him either way. "He just never asked me to."

Hermione's arm reached around and gave him a hug - careful not to squeeze too hard on his injured side - right as his stomach grumbled giving away his missed lunch.

"Let's go to dinner," she smiled at him. "I don't even want to know if you've eaten anything today."

Dinner had been an uneventful meal - to which Harry was eternally thankful over - and the rest of his night only further raised his spirits. Healer Smithe's magical testing showed his magic making more progress even with his lack of Transfiguration class, and the healer felt confident that by his next treatment on the 11th the IV of Morphine would be enough to keep him comfortable should the magical core pain return. The healer checked his injuries to make sure they were continuing to heal, then ran a diagnostic charm to check for any sign of infection; something Harry hadn't considered after spending however long he did in the cold water.

Afterwards he went straight to the hospital wing to visit Snape, as he promised earlier. With the good news regarding his magic, healing side, and clear diagnostic scan, plus his confession to Hermione, the young wizard found he wasn't nearly as interested in continuing to discuss the rumors of their relationship and for reasons Harry didn't question, Snape also dropped the subject. The conversation had been far from uneventful though. Harry learned Snape would be released from the infirmary in the morning, and to expect an announcement from Dumbledore at breakfast about classes being cancelled again tomorrow. He almost asked why, but from the look on Snape's face, he knew it had to do with the aurors and their investigation.

He stayed with the professor until curfew when Madam Pomfrey forced him to leave; a new situation for the Gryffindor since he normally was the one stuck there, not visiting. Getting into bed that night - having survived the walk through the Common Room - Harry had never been so happy to put the last two days behind him. The whole school had a lot coming up as they all did their part to fix the Dungeons, help the Slytherins adjust to their displacement, play host to the Aurors investigating the accident, and adjusting to life under the knowledge that both he and Snape were likely the prime suspects in whatever they might find in the coming days.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 3rd, October 1997

The sound erupting during breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, specifically when Dumbledore confirmed the Slytherin Dungeon had flooded from the windows breaking, was so deafening Harry found himself having to cover his ears from the commotion. Peering around the room, he realized that with classes cancelled yesterday the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws probably wouldn't have found out the details from anywhere else. The Gryffindors only knew, of course, because of Harry's retelling of his own experience during it. Continuing to roam over his frantic classmates, his eyes landed on the Slytherin table barely half full. With Snape being discharged from the hospital wing that morning, he hoped it meant most of the others would be coming back too, because their missing presence - along with the camp beds Harry saw last night set up in that very room - made it obvious things had gone terribly wrong in the school. And no matter how bad Harry felt about thinking it, he found himself grateful that at least this hadn't been targeted at him.

Overall, the consensus among the students was wary at best. This morning, once news of a potential attack at the school reached the non-Slytherin parents, more owls than Harry ever seen at one time flooded the Great Hall for mail call from worried parents wanting to make sure their children were safe. As with any other year when tragedy struck at Hogwarts, Harry didn't look out for Hedwig, but this time rather than feeling bad about it he smiled knowing his lack of mail was because the adults looking out for him were already there, not because they wanted to hear of his ultimate demise. Turning towards the professors' table, his smile faded at the sight of McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick missing; the former and latter having been assigned to help with Dungeon cleanup. With any luck, Snape's quarters would be repaired early on so he could at least go down there to get his school bag - left on the top of the desk, hopefully unharmed.

As Snape hinted when Harry visited him last night, Dumbledore also announced classes being cancelled for the day. Although unlike yesterday, where the students were advised to stay close to their Common Room, they were given free reign in the castle as if it were a Saturday, so long as they stayed away from the Dungeons and out of the aurors' way.

"Anyone interested in trials next week, extra Quidditch practice after lunch!" Ron announced down the table, food practically flying from his mouth in the process. "Hey, d'you think the Slytherins will still have their Trials on Sunday?"

"Doubtful," Harry told him. "When I visited Severus last night-" he tried to ignore Codde's smirk at the professor's given name, "- I'd say about a third of the students were still there. I don't think Madam Pomfrey will clear any of them to fly anytime soon."

"But most are first and second years, right?" Ginny asked. "I know they can play, but generally speaking Slytherin doesn't usually have younger years on their team."

Harry tuned out the talk of swapping trial weekends - something he'd be in full support of since he doubted Snape would come around on letting him change next Saturday's chemo - and focused his attention back towards the half full Slytherin table on the other side of the Great Hall. Harry noticed most of those accounted for were the older years; Goyle and Draco the only notable exceptions. He'd heard Goyle ended up in the Black Lake from the outgoing current and had been brought to safety from the Giant Squid - of all things - and like Snape, Draco had stayed another night due to his concussion, having been in the Common Room with Hala when the windows broke. The rumors of the first year seer's knowledge of the event spread like wildfire across the table because apparently people had overheard her boasting to Draco about being a strong swimmer that night at dinner.

"Earth to Harry," Ron's voice brought him back to his friends around him. "You up for some Quidditch?"

"I'll come watch, but I can't play," Harry told them, regretfully, "I can only imagine what would happen if I were to fall off my broom."

Ron frowned, disappointed his friend couldn't play in the last year they'd get the chance to. "Promise to gimme some advice on who to watch out for when trials come around?"

Harry smiled, "You bet. I'll keep a close eye on them."

"Do you think the aurors will come around questioning all of us?" The random question, of course, came from Lavender, as she clung to a letter - presumably from her parents - in her left hand. Her brown eyes widened as she declared, "What if someone's out for the whole school? Think about it, this week it's the Slytherins flooding, and next week the Hufflepuff Common Room caves in?!"

"Ded yer parents poeht dat idea in yer 'ead?" Seamus asked, pointing to the parchment.

"Mhmmm," she nodded, her forehead crinkled with worry, "but they can't be too far off, can they? What if the Tower crumbles? I doubt anyone could save us from falling to our deaths while we sleep."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harry lifted his hands to try to calm her hysterical imagination down. "First of all, I'm pretty sure the Tower isn't being held up by enchantments..." Harry trailed off as his mind brought up the pictures he saw at the DMLE for his memory extraction of chimneys crumbled in the Diagon Alley attack. Those had been held up by all sorts of enchantments and they'd been stripped not unlike the Slytherin windows. It seemed too coincidental for his liking.

"You alright, Harry?" Hermione softly asked from across the table. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he gave his head a small shake, and her eyebrows raised slightly in a silent agreement to talk about it in lesser company. "Erm… and anyway, I'm sure after this, and all the parent complaints, Dumbledore will make sure the wards on the school are maintained, so nothing like this happens again."

Based on the snippets of the conversations around him, the other students had a lot of the same fears. Perhaps not growing up with parents - without someone to constantly worry about his well being - had made him less paranoid over things like this. At the same time, he couldn't exactly say he fully trusted Dumbledore either; not after what he, personally, had gone through under his care. It didn't bother him, it only meant he had to continue to look out for himself. Admittedly, the idea of the Tower falling down had never come to mind.

"Harry," Parvati called to him, "or Hermione… do either if you know what's going to happen to the Slytherins? Surely they're going to be out of their house for a while."

Harry swallowed the bite of porridge he'd just taken, then said, "According to Severus, it'll take about two weeks to get the renovations done in order for it to be liveable again. They can't start until the aurors finish their investigation, and then they have to work around the professors' schedule to get help. I tried to convince him that it'd be worth cancelling classes so they could focus on the repairs, but he didn't go for it."

"That's awful, Harry!" Hermione admonished him. He winced expecting her to give him her typical hit, but it never came. "Can you imagine how far behind we'd be if we took off a whole week, on top of yesterday and today? Some of us still have to take our N.E.W.T.s-" she slapped her hand over her mouth when she realized what she said, "-I'm so sorry, Harry! I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Harry reassured her, "I've come to terms with not finishing school anytime in the near future."

"So, what'll you do?" The question came from Dennis Creevey further down the table. "Maybe go to a muggle uni?"

"I really haven't thought too much about it," the raven-haired Gryffindor shrugged. "There's still so much I don't know about my options without finishing here first. I'd be interested in a uni, but without finishing muggle school, I don't know if I could."

"Draco's going to uni," Hermione announced and looked around nervously at the stares she received from the table. Frowning, she sheepishly added,"Though I'm not sure it necessarily applies to your situation. I'm sure you need a program with flexibility…"

Hermione continued to rattle on nervously about what she knew of the muggle schools as if Harry didn't grow up in the muggle world. Luckily, those who did grow up in magical households wanted to hear all about it and asked enough questions to keep her occupied and draw the attention away from his own clueless idea on his future. He'd be happy with just being able to put chemotherapy and Leukemia behind him, but it begged the question: what would he do with his life while he waited for it all to end?

~~~~SS~~~~

Sleeping in the hospital wing had always been challenging, even under the best of circumstances, but being surrounded by his students - separated by partitions didn't make a single damn difference - made for an exceedingly restless night and a grumpy Severus Snape on Friday. The very first thing the professor did after being discharged from Poppy's care was check on the students still left in the hospital wing and St Mungo's to get a good picture of the amount of injuries he'd be dealing with. Those with concussions, like himself, were expected to be released throughout the day, so long as they passed the series of tests Poppy's would run to determine when they were considered out of danger enough to be released. Outside of those at St Mungo's, he should have most of his students return by the end of the night.

It would give him two days to get things settled before classes started again on Monday. Per his request, his own quarters were at the bottom of the priority list to get repaired - so long as he could get into them this afternoon to secure some belongings to move into the guest quarters, his second stop after leaving the hospital wing - and therefore most of the focus would be on the students dorms while the investigation on the windows continued. His first stop of the day? The headmaster's office to discuss where his students would be living during the estimated two week renovations. Under no circumstances would he allow them to keep residence in the Great Hall for a fortnight. From there he'd go to his quarters and collect some belongings and, with any luck, he'd be able to slip back to Spinner's End to accept Mae's date request and start his research on time lapsed spells. If there was any connection between what happened to his students and the Diagon Alley or Godric's Hollow attack, he'd do anything he could to find it.

"Chocolate frogs," Severus growled to the gargoyle guarding Albus's steps.

The last time Severus had visited the office had been for Draco's second drop-in visit almost two Mondays ago. While that particular one had been a calmer affair - a combination of knowing what to expect and having so few spells cast first thing in the morning - he still felt the sting of the early morning visit. How could so much happen in only a month of school with Voldemort now dead? Until Harry's arrival at the school seven years ago, they would go years without any one of the issues they've already had thus far, let alone all of them. But the things happening this year really had nothing to do with Harry. What were the odds?

"Come in, Severus," Albus announced a second prior to the professor's knock. Upon entering, Severus paused at the doorway when he saw the headmaster was not alone. Lucius Malfoy stoically sat in the tall back chair across from Albus's desk, dressed in his usual haughty custom robes: a dark charcoal gray with black embellishments, a stark contrast to the headmaster's bright golden robes. "Impeccable timing, we were just talking about you."

Severus narrowed his dark eyes over the room, not at all wanting to hear he'd been discussed prior to his arrival.

"Seems you've got yourself a bit of mess, Severus," the Malfoy patriarch greeted him. If the past six months between them hadn't occurred, Severus would have taken offense, rather than brush off the pointed statement. "Shall I assume you won't be coming into the laboratory tomorrow?"

Giving Albus a small nod, he answered, "As long as things here are underway and can be handled without my presence, my intention is to be there in the morning, as usual."

Albus clapped his hands together, then gestured for Severus to take the seat next to Lucius, "Then you've arrived at a perfect time, my boy-" Severus grimaced at the usage of the endearing title, "-Lucius has graciously offered to supply a team for the renovations. It would allow our professors to stay focused on teaching, as well as provide around the clock work to cut the time in half."

Outwardly, Severus didn't react - a skill well honed throughout his life - but inwardly he asked a million questions. The first being: will this team be safe? He quickly answered it as "yes". Although the reputation of Slytherin parents painted a picture of neglectful parents who left their children to be raised by nannies and house elves was true, the other side of the picture would show overly cautious parents who would do anything to protect their heirs; in many instances, the sole heirs to very wealthy, old Pureblood families. Therefore, he found himself not all concerned about the potential agenda of the wizards brought in. They would likely be scrutinized under a higher level than anyone the Board of Governors would find.

Severus's main concern fell on the opposite side of the spectrum, wondering what would be reported back to Lucius as a point of contention. The very last thing they needed was to have the patriarch come in demanding changes to be made to either the structures or the wards. Regardless of where the blonde's loyalties lay, a private citizen could not make decisions for the school based on his son's best interest in his final year.

"How very… generous of you, Lucius," Severus said. "Do we know when the investigation will be wrapped up enough for us to get started?"

"By tomorrow we should have access to everything outside of the area directly in front of the windows. The area will be warded off to allow the crew to come in and work," Albus answered and Severus nodded. "Today we'll be able to start in the dormitories and Draco's room, with the expectation of getting the students back into their beds by Monday night."

Less than ideal - he'd hoped to have them back to their dorms by Sunday in order to give them a normal day of classes - but he couldn't complain because it was better than the original estimate of mid- to late-week. The trio went through the schedule of what to expect from the aurors as well as a detailed explanation of the Malfoy restoration crew. The fact the other Slytherin had a crew to work on the repairs was cause for concern, but either way the school needed the help and Albus assured him - with Lucius's agreement - they would be monitored at all times. Not being required to assist on the Slytherin dorms gave Severus the time to focus on his own quarters and seeing to their repair.

"Have you seen Draco this morning?" Severus asked the blonde, unable to recall hearing his distinctive voice from around the partitions. "I believe he'll be discharged from the hospital wing later this afternoon. We've made arrangements for another set of private quarters to be placed near the Great Hall. I hope that suffices your requirement for his safety?"

"That's satisfactory to hear on both accounts," Lucius slyly said. "As long as Draco's comfortable with the arrangements, I'll hold back my requirement to bring him home. It was my intention to stop by the hospital wing on my way out and if he's well we will have a look at the room."

"By all means," Albus practically jumped up from behind his desk, and the pair of younger wizards mirrored his posture by standing, "I shall not wish to keep you from your son a moment longer. Mr Filch will see that your crew has access to the dormitories today and will be responsible for overseeing their progress. If you have any concerns, please do bring them to my attention."

The dismissal couldn't be anymore obvious and Albus had to know Lucius would see straight through it. Wondering about the headmaster's ultimate agenda, he had mindlessly gone to follow Lucius when Albus asked him to stay.

"The best you can give my Dungeons is Filch's supervision?" Severus sarcastically lectured when the two professors were alone. "The idiot couldn't tell a nefarious spell from an innocuous one to save his life."

"He's loyal to the castle, Severus," the older wizard cryptically said, "and to me. He may not know the front from the back end of a wand, but he'll question every stone touched and won't let them get away with anything that shouldn't be done."

He wasn't ready to concede that easily and made a mental note to check in on the progress from time to time.

"Now," the headmaster continued, taking his seat once again behind his desk, "I have the official reports from St Mungo's and Poppy. Do you have time to discuss them?"

Retaking his seat, Severus gestured for the man to continue, anxious to hear how his students were faring and to prepare himself for the inevitable attack coming his way from their parents.

In the end, Severus learned roughly half of his Slytherins were considered fully healed and outside of any emotional reactions - the former Death Eater baulked at Albus's choice of phrasing - to the event, they would be fine and expected to return to classes on Monday. Out of the other half, those who ended up in the Black Lake, outside of Goyle who'd been rescued first and returned that morning, would be staying at St Mungo's to monitor their condition until further notice and all listed as contingent to return Monday depending on their status over the weekend. All in all, Severus counted every lucky star out there that there had been no fatalities and a couple missing days of classes was his biggest worry.

When visiting his quarters for the first time to pack a bag of his belongings and floo to Spinner's End, he tried hard not to let his anger and disappointment in Harry fuel him. Had the teen stayed put, as Severus had demanded of him, the enchantments on the door would have held together during the worst of the flooding and his child would not have ended up hurt at all. Not being completely sealed, the water would have continued to work its way in from every crevice around the door, but it would not have broken it down. Harry would have been safe. Instead, he comes to find out that the idiotic child opened the damn door, got pummeled by a wall of water and then left to go and help. He'd never understand Gryffindors and their need for senseless heroic acts. Had his Slytherins attempted that from their dormitories, they would have been killed - before making it up to the Common Room, and therefore their sense of self-preservation literally saves their lives.

As expected, anything roughly waist height and lower had been damaged by the flooding. It could all be fixed, of course, but it didn't stop the stress induced from the sight of his still soaked furniture and slick, soggy floor from creeping in on him. How could it be possible for him to have more going on this year than any other? And now in the last two days, he added repairing his quarters, researching if spells could be time-lapsed, the idea of a potential attack on his house, and Harry's current situation with the rumors regarding their relationship to the already heap of responsibility sitting on his shoulders. The latter he knew he couldn't do much about, yet he still found his mind constantly chewing for some kind of action to take. For now, he'd have to settle on focusing his effort into what he could do and it was getting to Spinner's End to find a book specifically on dark charms he knew he had there. If he managed to confirm Voldemort's soul piece living in Harry, he could find out what had caused the enchantments on the windows to essentially dissolve.

Arriving into his and Harry's home through the floor left him feeling defeated. Not for the first time, Severus questioned if he shouldn't take Harry out of school and return home. He could work at the lab full-time and, most importantly, Harry would be safe. Working his way through his bookcase, he questioned the validity of his assumption. Outside of his sleeping lately, since returning to Hogwarts, Harry had been feeling the best he'd ever been - possibly in his life, at least in this reality - and taking him away from that would only do more harm than good. No, he needed to stay put for both Harry's sake and his students and find a way to work through all of his challenges.

It took Severus a whole five minutes of fake looking for the book and contemplating the situation with Harry before he determined he needed a distraction. Sitting in his armchair, feeling the emptiness of the house around him, the professor summoned a bottle of red wine from the kitchen and conjured a wine glass. Three sips later, he picked up the phone - holding back a smirk as the phrase "trealy-frone" crossed his mind in Arthur's voice - and dialed Mae's phone number; one he knew from memory by now.

"Hey there," Mae said after only two rings, making Severus question to himself how she knew it would be him on the other end. He was tempted to hang up to make a point, but his brain was far too hazy to play mind games.

"How did you know it'd be me?" He went with instead.

She laughed. "Well, I have this cute little box attached to my phone that tells me the number dialing in. It's practically magic, you should get one. Maybe then you'd answer your phone when it rings."

Rolling his eyes, knowing the gesture was lost on her, he replied, "I'll keep that in mind."

"You sound exhausted for not even being dinner time on a Friday night," she told him, but in a more concerning way than she'd ever used before. "And aren't you usually teaching right around now?"

"That's because it's been a difficult couple of days," Severus said and thought through what she could know, "We had quite a large… flood in the dorms I oversee. My students have all been displaced, several still injured, and needless to say, it's been a complete mess."

"I'm so sorry, Severus," she sighed, "I swear I have some of the worst timing on things. Was that Harry's dormitory?"

He couldn't help smiling as he thought of her face blushing from her embarrassment over what started as teasing and ended up concerning.

"Thankfully no, he's in a different dormitory," Severus chuckled. "I don't particularly care to know what he and housemates do at any given moment. I leave that up to my colleague."

"It's probably for the best," she laughed. "Are you alright?"

Clearly out of sorts from his head injury, Severus paused long enough not to be able to pull off a lie, so he went with a partial one, "I slipped on the wet floor and ended up in our infirmary, but I'll be fine."

"Well now I feel like a total arse," she said. "Listen, if you need to rest this weekend, we can reschedule-"

"I guarantee you," Severus cut her off, not liking where she was headed, "if I'm still resting all the way until Sunday, I'll probably murder someone."

"Why do I get the feeling you're not exaggerating on that one?" she joked. "I bet you make an awful patient."

"You have absolutely no idea," he replied, resting his head on the palm of his propped up arm.

They made arrangements to meet at her flat in Guildford at one o'clock Sunday afternoon, then Mae went on to tell him all about her week, specifically the new practitioner at the clinic she immediately did not get along with. Somehow Severus ended up retelling the story - without the fact that this all happened in a castle hundreds of kilometers away because magical enchantments on the windows broke, of course - of the flood and his week with Harry. The more he talked, the better he felt and Severus found himself even explaining Harry's recent attitude and his lack of sleeping. Mae listened, not jumping in with advice regarding his care of the young wizard, which he appreciated more than he could tell her.

When Severus finally hung up with Mae, he hadn't realized how much of the time had gotten away from him during the call. With the dinner hour right around the corner, he resumed his search for the text, finding it and two others he thought would be useful in his quest. Just as he was getting ready to floo back to his quarters - to pack his bag and hopefully settle into the guest rooms for the night - an interesting title caught his eye: The Subtle Art of Becoming an Animagus . With his brain still fuzzy from the concussion, he couldn't exactly recall a reason why he was drawn to the text, but he added it to his pile just in case. Perhaps he thought Harry's lack of sleep was caused by the Gryffindor's anxiety over trying not to swallow a mandrake leaf. If that ended up the case, and Harry was trying to become an Animagus on his own, the child would have a lot more to worry about than some rumors from a third year Ravenclaw.

~~~~HP~~~~

Every cell in Harry's body wanted to play Quidditch as he watched his housemates fly across the pitch. His still sore and bruised side served him well as a constant reminder to why getting on a broom would be an unbelievably bad idea, so whenever he found himself desperately wanting to join in, he gave himself a small poke. Snape would probably have an issue with this method, but he'd have a bigger fit seeing Harry on a broom. He sat in the stands wrapped tightly in his yellow blanket with Hermione sitting on his right and Dudley on his left, quizzing the Gryffindor witch on Defense; her class should have had a quiz that afternoon and she'd been determined not to waste the extra study time.

Now that Harry had his old essays to work from - a fact he was not about to share with Hermione - he found he didn't worry as much about the day to day schoolwork. Unfortunately, that meant his mind had more capacity to go through all the other things he didn't want to think about like the flood, Snape, Ackerly, and Draco. And although watching Quidditch helped to keep his thoughts from wandering back to any of the taboo topics, Harry found it also distracted him away from Hermione's study guide. The witch had already had to grab him attention away at least a dozen times.

"You miss it, don't you?" Dudley asked when Hermione had to remind Harry yet again to pay attention to her questions. At Harry's confused expression, Dudley clarified, "Quidditch?"

"Oh. Yeah," Harry confirmed, wrapping his blanket a little tighter around himself more for protection from the personal question than the cold. "This would have been my last year, and I dunno when I'll actually get to fly again, let alone play Quidditch. The crazy thing is, I haven't actually gotten to play since third year."

"It's hitting Draco hard too this year," Hermione sadly told the boys. Harry wasn't sure if Dudley knew they'd made amends, yet he didn't question Hermione's statement.

Harry frowned, "Why isn't he playing?"

Uncharacteristically, Hermione shrugged. "We didn't really talk about it," she told him. "After… you both were captured last year, his prefect duties went to Blaise and Harper took the seeker position. Since Blaise kept the prefect status, I think he naturally assumed Harper would get his old position."

"Serves him right," a voice called out from the stands behind them. Harry turned and saw Colin Creevey sitting huddled up looking almost as cold as Harry felt, surrounded by a bunch of fifth and sixth years, some of which Harry knew from his Herbology and Potions classes.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, starting to feel like a broken record. No one understood half the things he - and Draco, Hermione, and Snape - had to deal with lately and he was tired of everyone putting their noses in where they didn't belong.

"We all know he didn't get captured," one of the fifth years spoke up. "He kidnapped you and walked himself right into the situation. I don't see how you can defend someone like that."

Harry may have only recently buried the wand, so to say, with the Slytherin, but he'd come to terms with his kidnapping - and Draco's role in it - back at the Celestial Room. He was also tired of all the fighting and all the negative energy spent between the students: him and Ackerly, the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, Draco and practically the rest of the school for one reason or another. Someone had to stop the cycle and with all Harry's own negativity lately, it seemed like whether he wanted to or not, it would be him, then and there.

"You have something to say about it?" Harry challenged, ready to fight whichever way the group would go. "Well don't be shy then, go ahead and tell me what you know about it all."

Standing up - Dudley and Hermione mirroring his actions - Harry turned so he was facing the other Gryffindors. Suddenly, none of the wizards who'd been taunting them wanted to volunteer their side of the story.

"If you think you have this all figured out," Harry continued, on a roll and unable to stop himself, "let me ask you this. What would you do in his situation? Tell me Colin, what if Dennis's life had been threatened if you didn't manage to bring me in? You're telling me you'd exchange your little brother's life for mine? I'd be flattered, really, but don't think for a second I'd believe you."

Colin looked over to Dennis sitting down beside him and Harry knew he finally had their attention. The older Gryffindor brother had worshipped Harry since his arrival at the school, yet at the same time, he would do anything for his younger brother and based on his clenched jaw, he was upset about being caught in the cross hairs.

"But Malfoy doesn't have any siblings," the other fifth year accused. "He doesn't care about-"

"He has Hermione!" Harry yelled, not giving a damn who heard him, and pointed his hand at her, "who just so happens to be my best friend, and you can bet that had I known she'd been threatened, I'd have walked my arse up to the gates at Malfoy Manor myself! Do you really think I would let anyone be killed in my place?!"

"Harry," Hermione tugged on his elbow, looking around at the crowd that had gathered not only around the stands, but the Quidditch players in the air flew over, and the students on the ground did as well. "Leave it be."

"No!" Harry pulled his arm out of her grasp, "You all think it's so easy, right? To do the 'right thing'-" the last two words were emphasized with air quotes. "Well let me tell you, until you've been in the situation… until you're faced with the impossible choice of betraying a friend and an ally or letting your girlfriend get murdered…" he shook his head and with a face filled with disgust, he spat out, "you know what? I hope you're never in that position. I hope you don't ever have to put a place value on one person's life over another because there's really not a right or a wrong way to handle it. I really don't give a damn what you all think happened that night because I know what did and I'm damn proud Draco was brave enough to put my best friend's life first."

Panting from the combination of his small diatribe and getting so worked up, Harry looked around at the crowd he'd managed to gather around him. The air was charged with the energy of his words, and so silent not even the birds were chirping their happy late afternoon tunes, leaving only his heavy breathing to fill in the space. Harry felt sick to his stomach that for the second time in as many days, he'd had to fight within his own house. Colin and Dennis Creevey refused to make eye contact with him, and he felt Hermione's arm snake it's way around his shoulders to help guide him from the stands and back into the castle. Before they left though, Harry's eyes locked with a set of grey ones on the ground next to the Quidditch stands. Harry wanted to apologize to the Slytherin for having lost his own courage over the summer and not doing what should have been done when the slander first started. He still had a long way to go, but the first step was the hardest - or at least that's what Dr Snyder always told him - and he vowed to refuse to allow people to walk over him and his friends any longer. Whether he liked it or not, being the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice made him influential and his voice or lack of voice on any given matter meant something to others. He'd just have to make sure that going forward he didn't forget about it, and to stand up for what - and whom - he believed in.

"C'mon guys," Harry said to Hermione and Dudley, "let's get ready for dinner."

When he turned around to head down the stands, Harry startled at the sight in front of him. Ron, Dean, and Ginny, all hoovered on their brooms nodding their heads or clapping in full support of Harry, Hermione, and by extension, Draco. Ron's blue eyes held a fire in them and when he silently mouthed, "later," Harry knew he wouldn't get out of sharing the details with the other third of their trio, unsure why it had taken this long to be honest with him.

It turned out, later meant over dinner and not in the privacy of their dorm as Harry would have assumed. Harry, Hermione, and Dudley all walked as briskly as the Gryffindor could back up to the castle in silence in order to get ready for dinner. Allowing his anger over Draco's situation, as a perfectly reasonable excuse not to deal with any of his own issues, to take over, he managed to ignore every stare, whisper, and point along the way until he made it back to his dorm for a long hot shower - the only way he could successfully rid the cold from his bones - then off to the Great Hall alone; the Quidditch crew still getting ready themselves and Hermione likely off with her boyfriend after the afternoon's mess.

"Why didn't you tell me, mate?" Ron's loud semi-accusatory voice coming up behind him caused Harry to jump right as the redhead sat down next to him. Harry squinted at his friend trying to make sense of his question. "About Hermione," Ron added.

"Oh," Harry's voice dropped with his head as he thought about how to answer it. "I guess I figured you already knew?" It definitely came out more as a question than a confident statement. Why hadn't they talked about it until now? In finding the answer to that question, Harry said, "And I didn't think it was my place to tell. I don't know what happened while we were… there for those weeks. And honestly, I just wanted to put it all behind me, to forget it all."

"We were scared out of our minds," Ron filled his plate to the brim with lamb chops, bread, boiled potatoes, and root vegetables, Harry feeling physically sick at the amount of food the other wizard could pack away. "No one would tell us anything outside of you being kidnapped and that they - the Order - were doing everything to get you back. Nott... this was before he got arrested for the Quidditch attack kept running his mouth about Draco being the one to get to you. We were all angry."

"At Draco?" Harry logically asked, peering around the Hall looking for the blonde.

"At everything, really," Ron gave a sad laugh, and Harry noticed everyone around nodding their heads, "at Draco for seemingly betraying you, at the Slytherins for gloating about it every chance they got, that we couldn't get any information from anyone, that they expected us all to just go about life as normal. It was bad.

"And then when we find out you're safe… or at least not completely dead… we find out that Draco had been held captive too, when most of the time we assumed he'd been protected there, and that was confusing-"

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry felt bad interrupting, but he didn't need the running tally of every way he worried his friends. "I should've said something before now."

"So what did happen?" The question came from Neville across the table from him.

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation he should have had when he'd been first rescued back in May. "There's not much to tell. After Snape was captured, Voldemort found out Draco was a spy for the Order and placed a surveillance charm on him with orders to kidnap me or Hermione would be given to Greyback, then killed."

The Gryffindors around him all started talking over one another, asking him questions about everything from his capture and Draco's involvement, to Death Eaters in general. There wasn't a single Gryffindor Hermione hadn't helped in some way over their years at Hogwarts and finding out about the threat over her life hit them as hard as it had Harry. He spent most of the chaotic time calming Ron down, who had taken the news the hardest; shifting between overly worried about Hermione's well-being, angry with Harry for withholding the information to begin with, and coming to terms with his acceptance over Draco ultimately doing what either of them would've done too.

When the loud conversations around him abruptly stopped, the instant silence almost hurt his ears. Looking at his housemates for the source of their change of behavior, he followed their gaze behind him to where Hermione stood holding Draco's hand. The blond Slytherin didn't have his usual sneer, even though it had long lost any of its animosity towards the Lions, but he still stood proud as he waited with his girlfriend.

In a silent understanding, Harry leaned over to Neville and Seamus - sitting on the other side of Ron and Lavender - and waving his hand he told them, "Move down and make some room, guys."

At first, he could tell they were unsure if they wanted to let Draco sit with them, and by this point most of the Great Hall had quieted down watching the public acceptance or denial of the Slytherin Prince joining the Gryffindor Princess for dinner. Eventually, they beckoned down the bench for everyone to move over until two spots were created to Harry's right: Hermione taking the one directly next to him and Draco beside her. And then, as if nothing of significance had just occurred, the group went right back to their normal, loud, and boisterous conversations on everything from the Quidditch trials next week, to the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of the month, and the upcoming midterm exams.

"Hey Potter," the Malfoy heir called, leaning around Hermione's back as she was deep in a conversation with Parvati about their upcoming duel on Wednesday. Leaning back, matching Draco's posture, Harry raised his eyebrows silently asking the Slytherin to continue, "Maybe I won't have to punch you after all."

"You're very welcome, Malfoy," Harry arrogantly replied, feeling content with the last piece of his summer anxieties having finally settled and melted away; just in time for another to start when the Daily Prophet delivered another rare evening edition.

"How can you be so calm when everyone in the wizarding world saw this tonight?!"

Harry hadn't meant for the statement to come out so angry, but something about Snape's nonchalant attitude over the entire thing frustrated him beyond belief. To help make his point, he slammed down the Daily Prophet onto the kitchen table of Snape's guest quarters with the headline:

Students Attacked at Hogwarts -
Aurors Suspect Head of House.

Though Snape's name - or any of the Houses at Hogwarts - wasn't specifically mentioned in the article, sitting in the Great Hall after the Slytherin Common Room almost fatally flooded didn't take much imagination to connect the dots. The professor, though, simply went back to eating his meal, his head merely giving a small shake of disappointment, as murmurings circulated through the tables. When he'd apparently deemed it an appropriate amount of time - much longer than Harry would have waited - to stand his ground in the Great Hall, Snape slowly made his way out with no more sense of urgency than if he'd read to expect rain tomorrow. Bothered by the article, its insinuations, and Snape's laissez faire reaction to it, Harry jumped up from his seat beside Hermione - uttered a rushed "see ya guys in the Tower" - and followed Snape all the way to his guest quarters; not caring one bit what the rest of the student body would think.

"For one," Snape calmly said, tossing the paper back across the table, "I am the adult and you are the child. Therefore, it is not your responsibility - no matter how misguided your thoughts on the subject may have been in the past - to worry or fix my problem.

"Secondly, do not make the assumption that because I do not stand up and throw a fit, does not mean I am - in your words - 'being calm' about the situation. In contrast, I am intricately aware of how much damage an accusation such as this could bring across the many aspects of my life and career. I do not, however, recall reading anything in the article even remotely official stating the aurors were looking towards me… or any of the other Heads of House -" Harry rolled his eyes, as if they'd be accusing Professor Sprout of plotting to kill the Slytherins, "- and I do hold some sort of belief in the magical world as a whole to be able to absolve my suspected guilt during the aurors' investigation because I am not guilty of what they are supposedly accusing me."

Harry sat back in his chair with his arms tightly crossed across his chest and a voice barely audible, he challenged, "Because they've never falsely accused someone before and sent him to Azkaban for twelve years?"

At first, the professor didn't react; something that would have made Harry feel more comfortable than the heavy silence between them. Eventually, and without so much as glare, Snape raised his wand - causing the young wizard to instinctively flinch - and levitated a kettle, cups, and tea, over to the table. In silence, Harry watched the professor spoon out the loose tea into the kettle, then magically fill it with water, heat it up, and pour the steaming liquid into the waiting cups. He nudged one of them across to the table to Harry, who instantly recognized the chamomile scent and slowly took a sip from his own.

When Snape placed his own tea cup back down on the table, in a much calmer voice than Harry would have expected, he said, "My situation is in no way comparable to that of your godfather's. No one dying is obviously a good start, and I certainly am not taking pleasure over the events - or at least appearing to do so. But the biggest difference, one you should pay the most attention to, is that the aurors are investigating the potential crime, something that did not happen after those muggle deaths, mostly likely due to Minister Bagnold's desire to put as much of Voldemort and his reign of terror behind them."

Harry fiddled with his tea cup; rotating it slowly in hands and watching the ripples glide across the golden liquid within, unsure how to respond to the declaration. Feeling Snape's eyes still staring at the top of his head, he lifted his eyes to meet his mentor's onyx one.

"I didn't mean…" Harry started, but stopped, clenching his jaw tight as he composed his next words. "It's not fair that they get to get away with writing whatever the hell they want-"

"-watch the language."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "How can you expect me to just sit here and do nothing? Doesn't it bother you?"

"Yes, Harry, it does bother me and I will handle it in a way I deem appropriate." Snape paused and shook his head, "You cannot go through life thinking you are responsible to right every single wrong in the world. Not only is it a losing battle, it's one that will absolutely drain you in the end."

Harry half expected to hear the other wizard mention something about idiotic Gryffindors, but it never came. They'd come so far from those days, each wizard able to finally see the benefits to the other's side.

"Ok," Harry eventually conceded, not happy to drop it, but willing to try. "Can you at least tell me what happened with the aurors? Why do they think you did this?"

The dark eyes watching him cautiously from across the table squinted in a half grimace. He could see Snape's internal struggle over what - and how much - to tell him, but sighed in relief when the Slytherin began to speak.

"As everyone already knows, and yet has only now somehow managed to draw unwanted attention," he said, pinching his eyes closed momentarily, and when he looked back up they held more confusion than Harry ever remembered seeing, "I required all of my students to be in the common room prior to curfew. I'm not even sure what the official hour should have been, or if they realistically followed the damn rule every week-" he pointed at Harry to stop his anticipated interruption, "- I am the adult, remember?"

"So how will they know you're innocent?" The simple question sounded more juvenile by his voice cracking on the last word.

Snape's furrowed brow didn't help ease his mind in the slightest, "They've inspected my wand, taken my statement and corroborated my alibi between you and Kingsley, and I'll be available to them should they have any follow up inquiries… unfortunately, at this point, we can't do much else outside of waiting for the DMLE to complete their part."

It made sense to Harry, and at the same time, too coincidental for the aurors to be realistically pursuing Snape with anything more than questioning him; which they already did yesterday. So what if he told them all to be in the common room at a certain time? Weren't they all told the same thing when they attended classes everyday? What about when he had chemotherapy every month? Given the right resources and time, almost anyone could know he was expected at the clinic in Guildford next Saturday morning. Suddenly, he didn't feel so comfortable with the arrangement given the Death Eaters responsible for the Godric's Hollow attack were still out there and they still had no clue about who - or what - caused the deaths of Ash and Talpin in Azkaban.

"If nothing else, you should trust Professor Dumbledore. He wouldn't allow me to stay in the castle if he had any doubts of my innocence and the aurors will know that," Snape said, mistaking Harry's silence as trying to make sense of the situation the man had just explained rather than pondering his own issues, "but most of all, I need you to trust me when I say that I promise you I will not do anything that would leave you alone or vulnerable."

For some reason, the young wizard couldn't stop himself from thinking that was the kind of promise no one knew for sure they could keep.

~~~~SS~~~~

The atmosphere in the Great Hall-converted into a dormitory couldn't be any further from "Great" when Severus entered in the quarter hour after curfew. The candles no longer hung across the ceiling and the lanterns along the outside perimeter casted an eerie shadow across the space. The fireplace stayed lit - a distinct difference from the normal post dinner Hall - making it feel slightly more inviting, but not doing nearly enough to push away the cold from the room; a cold not caused by the early October weather seeping in through the drafty castle windows or stone walls, rather one birthed by the common thread of near tragedy forever linking them together.

Harry had stayed in the professor's temporary kitchen longer than expected. They talked about the investigation - more so regarding Harry's own partial interrogation than any intimate details found thus far - making sure to hide away his anxieties clouding the events. Hopefully this would lose steam as the reports came in with Kingsley's testimony supporting Severus's innocence during the hour prior to the enchantments and windows breaking. Unfortunately, the best case scenario would be for the report to claim failed security wards due to regular depletion over time. Technically, it would put Albus at fault, however the situation of repairing the ancient school wards wasn't something Severus thought came up often in one's tenure as Headmaster, so hopefully the other wizard would not see any major fallout from the events. He had his doubts over the innocuous nature of the dissolved enchantments, and as such would prepare himself as needed; which right now meant addressing his students and learning all he could from his Dark Charms texts.

They ended their night on a lighter topic; Severus's day at the MLD tomorrow and his date - with your girlfriend per Harry's overtly joyful banter - planned for Sunday. Severus may have had every intention of keeping his weekend plans, he also knew they very well could be cancelled if this conversation with his Slytherins went badly. Should his students need him here, for anything from providing structure to coordinating care with the hospital wing, he would make sure to accommodate them. Their foundation as a whole had shifted dramatically prior to the flood and now who knew where they'd be on the other side of it.

As promised, the Great Hall had been converted into a comfortable sleeping and studying area for his students. Without the tables taking up a majority of the space, one would be amazed at the amount of room available to house approximately a quarter of the student body comfortably. When they'd needed it to hold everyone during Sirius Black's - Severus shook his head for this being the second time in as many hours the Animagus had come to his mind - invasion into the castle, they'd all been squished together in sleeping bags, and Severus would not accept that level for his students after all they'd been through in the past two days. Camp beds were set up on the close and far end of the room, separated by gender with the boys nearest the door, donned in the same lavish green and silver bedding from the Slytherin dormitories. The middle of the Hall contained several sofas and armchairs, along with rows of desks for students to work in, and where a majority of the house was currently located.

The best part, and most important in Severus's opinion, was Albus's assurance to him that once the dinner hour ended and the room officially turned over to the Slytherins, only students from their house could be admitted. By no means was it comfortable or something they could sustain long-term, but as with everything else surrounding this event, it would do, and it gave them the protection they needed during a time they felt the most exposed. For all he knew, whoever had orchestrated this to begin with had known the next logical place to move the students would be the Great Hall; playing directly into his or her hand. The thought caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

"Professor?" Hala Khatib softly spoke, once again sending a proverbial shiver down his spine.

The more he interacted with the small first year, the less he liked her and simultaneously the more curious he became. Equally intriguing was how somehow he'd managed to unconsciously walk straight up to her sitting at one of the desks off to the left, near the fireplace - a clear deviation from his previous track into the center of the common area. Clasping his hands behind his back, he lifted his chin and asked, "Am I to assume you have sufficiently healed from your rescue escapade, Miss Khatib?"

Her mouth stayed tightly shut as she turned her head inquisitively at him, looking almost through him. A full minute passed, his students watching in fascination and a hint of fear, until she finally declared, "I am fine, professor. I do love swimming… and running… I'm pretty nimble on my feet, y'know. How are you?"

The last part sounded so randomly placed - not because no student outside of Harry would ever ask him such a question, its syntax didn't match the rest of her statement - Severus's head recoiled back several centimeters.

"I'll recover," he gave a firm nod and turned to address the rest of the house. Being on the far left hand side now meant he had the perfect vantage point to see his entire house of students; less those still needing care at St Mungo's.

"Mr Zabini," Severus loudly announced across the room, not caring that the seventh year he sought sat no more than four meters to his right, "go call Draco from his room."

"Yes, sir," the other wizard politely said, placing his Transfiguration book upside down on the armchair as he stood.

While Severus waited for the remaining two students to return, he inventoried the conditions of the other students. Most appeared healed on the outside - healing spells, potions, and salves could fix almost anything on the surface - however their hard eyes told a different story. Their home had been decimated and with it the only place they had any semblance of safety; though even that had been challenged as of late. This would forever change the landscape between him and his students, and between them as peers, making whatever statement he made that night more important than any other in his career.

Understanding the purpose for their Head of House's visit, the remaining students began to gather on any remaining seat available, and when they all filled up, they uncharacteristically sat on the floor. It took no more than five minutes for Blaise to return with Draco in his wake and both boys to join the group; Blaise regaining his spot on the silver armchair and Draco choosing to stand in the very back of the crowd, his jaw clenched and a small sneer upon his face as he looked around at his fellow classmates.

"First and foremost," Severus began, his voice more somber than any other time he'd addressed his students, especially this year, "I'd like to assure you all that while what you read in the papers this evening is not entirely false, there were several… pertinent… details left out-"

"-So the aurors do think you did this?" Harper's nasally voice cut him off, causing the rest of the house to turn towards their classmate - a move the young, ambitious student surely anticipated.

"I should hope they would," Severus admitted without faltering. "As someone with unlimited access to your Common Room and dormitories at any given time, combined with my requirement for every single one of you to be in the Dungeons prior to curfew had they not questioned me about it, I would argue they weren't taking the incident seriously enough. Those two reasons alone give them more than enough plausible reason to turn to as a reasonable first suspect. I was, in fact, interrogated by Chief Sampson yesterday upon waking, and I will likely continue to be questioned regarding my abrupt change in policies this year and whereabouts leading up to the windows breaking-" he inadvertently made eye contact with Hala. "Thus far, everything I've stated has been checked out and, as of this moment, I am not being charged in relation to the crime. There is no doubt in my mind that had the DMLE seriously considered me a danger, I would not be standing here. As the aurors continue to wrap up their evidence gathering and start putting the pieces together I will continue to make myself available to them, you all should be prepared to be questioned as well. They may pull you from classes, meals, or the library, to do so.

"The headmaster and I expect full compliance on your part during this period of questioning and encourage you to speak up about anything you may have seen or heard since the start of term. A word of caution: take this extremely seriously. What you say to the aurors is part of an official investigation and lying in any form - by omission or otherwise - is considered perjury and even as students, is punishable by full extent of the law. Those of you under seventeen will require parental or guardian consent in order for them to speak with you. Though the aurors are professional and will obtain this, if your parent or guardian is not present, I suggest you ask to see the written consent waiving their physical presence. If they cannot produce this document, you are not required to speak with them… ultimately, you need to look out for your own best interest. As your Head of House, all of you, regardless of your age, may request for me to sit in as well. Given the circumstances, I will not take offense should this make any of you uncomfortable, however the only other substitute would be the headmaster."

He paused knowing everything he'd explained would take some time to sink in. The students would be craving some kind of normalcy again; something he desperately wanted to provide for them, but not at the expense of them being ill-prepared for what may lie ahead. Whether no one wanted to speak up about the Prophet article and interrogation, or were simply too worn out to ask, he didn't know, however when the first question - when can we go back? - came from one of the second year girls, he assumed it to be the latter.

"I spoke with Professor Dumbledore this morning regarding the clean up and renovations to your space," Severus said, addressing the group as a whole, but not missing Draco's proud smirk knowing his father had a hand in this aspect of the flood, "and due to a rather… wealthy… donation, he's expecting you to be back into the dormitory portion no later than Monday night. Most of the common room will continue to be completely warded off, but we mutually agreed getting you all back into your beds, safely, is a top priority."

He went on to explain the plans, in detail, for the renovations on their Common Room and dormitories; making sure to emphasize their safety more times than probably necessary. Again, very few questions or comments were brought up, yet he didn't dare make the assumption that their silence equated to their trust. They were all Slytherins, after all, and while Severus may have been doubting what it meant for him lately, he wouldn't be the least surprised - or unprepared - if half of this students tired to take advantage of the situation he found himself in with the aurors, the Prophet, and now the wizarding world as a whole.

~~~~SS~~~~

Sunday 5th October 1997

The cinema in Guildford was easily quadruple the size of the one Severus had last stepped foot in, belonging to the town right outside of Cokeworth. While that town fared better than his own place of residence, the cinema consisted of no more than two broken screens set up in a nondescript brick building serving flat soda and stale popcorn. As early teenagers unable to see the downfall of their own stomping ground on the horizon, Severus and Lily hardly noticed it. For one, they had nothing like the building the professor currently stood before to compare it to, but mostly because after living ten months in a castle without electricity, getting to sit and be immersed in a world so different from their own - in both the muggle and the wizarding world - felt like a retreat. There were few times Severus would choose to go back to his childhood days, however those he spent with Lily and her parents were probably the only ones he'd ever consider.

Severus apparated into an alley just outside of Mae's flat and together they walked the three kilometers along the winding Riverwalk to the cinema. He couldn't have spelled a more perfect early October day, with the sun shining in the blue cloudless sky, radiating its warm rays to counter the cool, crisp breeze drifting through the air. Mae had dressed in a set of dark blue jeans paired with a navy and white striped jumper, and her hair tied back in a tidy ponytail. Somehow she managed to make the casual Sunday attire look incredibly sexy, distracting the professor more than ever. During their meandering walk along the river, she animatedly talked about her visit the previous night with her father, brother - Robert, or Bobby for short - and his wife, Lauren, where her brother and sister in law announced the upcoming news of their first child due in April. Based on the excitement in the nurse's voice about becoming an aunt, he concluded she had at least a decent relationship with her sister-in-law; having had to put her own career goals on hold to help out with her brother, it could have gone either way. Her father, though, wasn't as lucky. Once Mae finished her schooling and moved away, she resented her father for not being able to take care of his children - unable at the time to understand his grief, coupled with not being allowed to grieve herself - and it practically tore them apart. She refused to talk to him until Bobby's wedding two years ago and they had been working to repair the strained relationship since.

Inevitably, Mae asked him about his own family. Choosing not to dwell on the negativity talking about his parents usually brought - not wanting to taint their pleasant time together - he simplified the story to his parents having both died in his late teens and without any siblings, he focused on his work, at least until Harry came into the picture. Naturally, the conversation moved onto his relationship with the teen and Severus strategically chose to integrate a little of both realities into their history: Harry's parents had been murdered - refusing to minimize Lily's death to anything less significant - when Harry was only a toddler, then he went to live with his aunt and uncle who were unfortunately killed in a car accident. Harry could decide if he wanted to reveal his previous living conditions with her should he ever meet her in a casual capacity.

The prospect of meeting Mae under the title of Severus's date - Harry kept trying to use another word since he'd found out about the woman, but the professor flat out refused to allow him - came up during dinner with the Gryffindor in his new guest quarters last night. As everyone in his house appeared as well adjusted as possible yesterday morning, Severus had gone to the laboratory for the day and returned with every intention on starting the repairs to his normal quarters, however the stress over the last week, combined with his odd sleeping schedule, didn't leave him with enough energy to even attempt. Instead, at Harry's instance, the pair journeyed down to Dungeons to collect the Gryffindor's school bag, then immediately returned upstairs for their meal. When the topic moved onto Severus's plans for Sunday - specifically why he wouldn't be working on the repairs - and he explained he'd be taking Mae to the cinema, Harry couldn't let the topic go. The conversation had been light, humorous, and something that easily could have been from his old reality; as if the two of them had lived together for years instead of a single one. Ultimately, whatever had broken the dam preventing Draco and Harry's reconciliation had done wonders in healing the young wizard's internal wounds. Reminding himself not to pry into the dynamic between the previous enemies, Severus hoped going forward their mutual friendship would continue to grow and stabilize their previously turbulent lives. If Harry ever wanted to talk about what occurred between them, he knew Severus would welcome the conversation whole heartedly.

Back in the present sunny Sunday afternoon, Severus waved off Mae's praise for standing up to help with Harry. He didn't need it, nor did he want it. Having caused the child's orphaned status to begin with - then not giving enough of a damn about him to check on his well being - the last thing he deserved was praise. Picking up on his hesitation - completely oblivious as to the reason - she changed the subject to the movie they were about to see. Originally, she was supposed to have a "girl's date" with Jessica to see it, but her flatmate's schedule for the next week and half didn't seem to line up with her's and eventually Jessica recommended she go with Severus. Surprisingly, in contrast to his normal sarcastic and almost pessimistic nature - not too unlike his own, which he called realism - Mae came to the conclusion the offer had been an olive branch after their disastrous first meeting. Not wanting to see what potentially wasn't there, in his mind Severus went about still believing the other nurse distrusted him and, for lack of a better word, hated him. Her concern came from love and care for Mae, of course, but it also once again proved to Severus how he would never be free from judgement based on his Mark, even to muggles who would never understand its true meaning.

The outside of the Guildford cinema had a very modern look to match the rest of the treendy town with a white concrete exterior and a red metal awning stretching out across the wall of glass doors beckoning the patrons inside. Holding the door open for his date - a lesson learned from Lily's father rather than his own - he followed her into the large atrium, where he couldn't feel any more out of place surrounded by the lights, screens, and crowds of people. All of his senses were heightened and, for reasons he could not explain, a feeling of danger filled his stomach. He had to fight the urge to either hex every person who accidentally bumped into him in the line for their tickets, or turn around and simply leave.

"You alright?" Mae, who stood in front of him in line, turned to ask him, giving his dark green long sleeved button down shirt - where his wand currently sat - a playful slap. "You look absolutely terrified."

Frowning at her insinuation, he almost wished he brought a headache draught knowing he'd need it by the end.

"I'll be fine," he told her. Straightening his posture, he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and slowly rotated her around to face the front; conveniently leaving his hands in their place. "Crowds make me nervous."

"Interesting," she teased, flirtatiously leaning back against him, which allowed him to wrap his arm completely around her front, "I never would have guessed."

When they were next in line, Severus pointed to the open window, where he purchased their tickets, and they made their way into the lobby. Although the space was somehow louder than the atrium area, it had the benefit of a larger space to help spread out the crowd of people, allowing the professor to breathe a little easier.

Unlike every other person in the theatre, Severus had no real idea of what to expect from the film going into it. The fact couldn't be made any more obvious as they heard couples - teenagers and adults alike - animatedly debate things like the actor choices and potential plotlines, while they all made their way over to theatre number two. He let Mae choose their seats in the already over half filled room, and they ended up in the upper third, off to the right side of the row, much to Severus's delight - it made him much more comfortable knowing he could get to the aisle quickly should he need to. Though the seats felt too plush and reminded him of a seating contraption Albus would transfigure, he didn't complain; this date was for Mae - an event she'd looked forward to for weeks as she'd only told him over half a dozen times on the way over - and he'd settle for a bit of discomfort to see her smile.

Severus found himself calming as the movie started and he became wrapped up in the fictional storyline of the two main characters. Everyone in the UK - wizarding and muggle, alike - knew the story of the Titanic and the tragedy surrounding her maiden voyage to America. However, the Wizarding Community learned the events just a bit differently during History of Magic than muggle history clasys. While its sinking involved an iceberg in both instances, it didn't exactly happen as the movie - and Severus's muggle knowledge - depicted it. In the wizarding reality, the iceberg had been a well known hideout for a small community of dark wizards during the early 1900's. At the time, a recent pick up in magical activity caused the Prime Minister to release a notification to all passing vessels instructing them to steer clear of the potentially dangerous area. To this day, no one knows why the captain chose to ignore the warning, but after sailing too close, a wizard by the name of Haskell Hilganis jumped aboard the ship, commandeered it, and intentionally sunk it. According to the security wizards onboard that night, their assailant and his crew rushed straight down to the cargo hold, where they strategically collected several boxes before slicing open the hull - most likely using Diffindo - and leaving via disapparation.

The theories were vast and wide starting with the idea of the captain being under the Imperius curse making him ignore the bulletin allowing Hilganis and his crew to collect their treasure, and going as far as to say the entire scheme had been set up by the Titanic manufacturers intentionally holding the bulletin from the captain all along. Either way they never discovered what was stolen, and in addition to the muggle tragedy it brought to light the ethical question on if breaking the Statute of Secrecy should be allowed under catastrophic muggle mortal peril. Under the circumstances, the small amount of magical people did what they could to protect the muggles without any charges brought against them, but in the end, the event would forever live in both sets of history books.

Severus would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed by the cinematics used in the film. Granted it had been decades since he'd last seen one, it definitely lived up to the expectations Mae had gone to great lengths to explain to him any chance she could get. The only downfall to the afternoon, and one he could not explain to his date, was how watching the water race through the ship's corridors - damaging everything and everyone in its destructive path - followed by the people floating helplessly in the cold ocean waters hanging on for their lives, reminded him too much of the flood in the Slytherin Dungeons. With so much death, destruction, and negativity already in the world - him personally living through a lot of it - he would never understand how muggles could continue to engulf themselves in it for the pleasure of cinema entertainment. Mae clearly enjoyed the film, and therefore, by extension, Severus enjoyed the time spent with her.

"That was incredible!" The nurse declared when they finally walked out - danced out in Mae's case - of the theatre. The sun was already low in the sky preparing to set in less than an hour, painting it in stunning pink and purple streaks, and showcasing how long the film and their time indoors had been. Severus hadn't considered the change of the weather during their afternoon in the cinema, yet the cold evening air didn't seem to bother Mae as she continued to prance off down the pathway leading back to her flat. "The water looked so real! And did you see all the small details?! It was perfect!"

He chuckled at her amazement and imagined her reaction to the magical world. Someone so engrossed in the magic of film could be completely fascinated or frightened by it and if he had any intention in continuing to see her, he had to hope it would be the former. Otherwise no matter what they were starting, it would inevitably fail.

"They certainly made it look realistic," Severus commented, following his date to the Riverwalk, refusing to let his own thoughts about magic taint the rest of their date. The lights lining the bed of grass between the pavement and the waterway were already illuminated in preparation for the sun's departure and casted a soft glow to light their journey. "Films have certainly come a long way since I've last seen one."

"You're unbelievable, you know that? How long has it been since you've been to the cinema?" she shook her head, circling back casually and gently took a hold of his hand. Before he could answer her apparently rhetorical question she added, "How can you live so… isolated? That can't be good for a growing boy like Harry."

"Oh, trust me," Severus reassured her with a chuckle, "Harry makes up for it with his own adventures."

She gave a hard laugh, "Bobby was like that growing up too… always getting into something. Me? Believe it or not I was so much more subdued and quiet than I am now."

That he could believe, but he didn't dare say anything about it. For better or worse, experiencing the death of someone so close at such a young age had a way of shaping and changing people. "I still have some time until I'm needed back at the school," he changed the subject, "would you like to go for dinner?"

Mae turned her head and narrowed her dark brown eyes at him. "Jessica is working overnight at the hospital tonight," she suggestively said, "we can go back to my flat, order takeaway pizza, and open a bottle of wine."

Standing at another, albeit less important, proverbial crossroad, Severus couldn't deny how much he wanted to go with her back to her empty flat. He'd been the one to state that he still had time available for the night and all he had waiting for him at Hogwarts was repairs to his quarters. They would have to wait, however, because wherever the night could lead was guaranteed to be better than applying individual drying spells to all of his and Harry's belongings.

Giving her hand a small, but confident squeeze, he peered down at her, nodded, and said, "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

~~~~HP~~~~

To Harry, it seemed early for everything to go back to normal, but by Sunday night that's exactly how it felt as he searched the castle for his friends, knowing he'd find them in the library finishing up their homework from the long weekend spent procrastinating. Harry, himself, technically had nothing to work on - since he didn't really need to study for the upcoming tests and even if he hadn't finished his latest essays, he couldn't exactly show Hermione he'd been using his older ones. But he'd been bored out of his mind with nothing else to do in the final hour and half before curfew. First he stopped by Snape's new quarters, just in case the professor had returned from his date, only to find it completely empty. He quickly made the decision not to check their dungeon quarters after being warned multiple times that it wasn't safe to be down there alone. It had taken all of his willpower not to question why having a chaperone suddenly made it safer, and for that he prided himself. Not to mention, if the man had returned from his cinema date and had gone downstairs, he would be focused on repairing the room - something Harry still carried around an immense amount of guilt about - and he didn't exactly want to get in the middle of that.

So he walked into the library with his school books and sketch pad, just in case he could get away with not studying, practically sulking his way over to their normal table. Dudley, Dean, Ginny, Hermione, Draco, Ron, and even Lavender were all so deep into their writing or reading none of them noticed his arrival. If the courses were hard enough to have Ron and Lavender working so studiously, Harry was already dreading whenever he did end up having to take his N.E.W.T.s. Standing three meters from the table, he took a second to appreciate how large his group of friends had grown over the course of his Hogwarts career, feeling so happy he thought he could cast a Patronus regardless of his untrained magic. How did he manage to go from the boy under the cupboard without a single friend to having a whole group so close he considered them family? No matter what had happened throughout the last six years - and the one to come - Hogwarts had really been a life changing place for him and something he would forever be grateful to have been to.

Knowing full and well what a bad idea it was to sneak up on Hermione during a serious study session, Harry cleared his throat to grab their attention.

"Hey, guys," he said, feeling a little more nervous than he should have given the good weekend they had together, "mind if I join you?"

"Of course!" Hermione emphatically announced, moving the books and parchment covering the empty space beside her over.

"Thanks," he awkwardly said, sitting down next to her at the end of the table, and pulling out his second year Charms text. His class had a test coming up on the freezing charm and while he had no doubt he could pass the test - making a note to himself to check with Snape or McGonagall if he were actually getting graded this year - he would feel uncomfortable sketching while his friends were studying so intensely.

"How's Severus's quarters coming along?" Draco leaned behind Hermione to ask him several minutes later. "Is he making any progress?"

Harry gave a soft chuckle. "I don't think so. He took me down there last night to grab my stuff-" he placed his hand over the canvas bag to make a point, "- but nothing looked touched yet. Unless he went back after dinner, I don't think he's even started."

"He can't be expected to do all the repairs alone, can he?" The question came from Ginny across the table from him.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno if it's what's expected or if that's just what he wants."

Dean spoke up, adding, "I imagine someone like Professor Snape doesn't exactly want just anyone looking through his stuff. Who knows what they'd find down there."

"It's not that bad. He keeps the questionable stuff out of reach, but I'm sure it's something like that, " Harry answered, thinking back on the Dark Arts book he added to the shelf moments before the flood. Then to Draco he asked, "How are the Slytherin rooms coming along?"

"Just dandy," Draco sarcastically replied. "In fact, I wish they'd move a bit slower, if you want to know the truth."

Hermione flushed and gave his upper arm a hard smack. Harry knew the Malfoy heir had his own room somewhere off the corridor outside of the Great Hall, but he didn't need to know if the blonde spent his nights there or not. Last night, Harry could tell Snape had been fishing for information on how he'd made amends with Draco when the professor had given more information about the repairs on the Slytherin Dungeon - also explaining how they'd separated Draco from the other Slytherins - than he probably should have. Harry stayed quiet, wondering if Snape would eventually come out and ask the question, and took in as much as he could about the situation, never knowing when it would be useful.

"Since we're not studying," Lavender took control of the conversation and slammed her Herbology book closed so hard it echoed across the shelves around them, "let's talk about something more important-"

"Like Quidditch trials next weekend?" Ron suggested, excitedly.

"No, Won-Won," she giggled, causing her boyfriend's face to flush beet red, "the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of the month!"

Shhhh! Came from the table directly behind theirs.

"Glad to know your shopping and butterbeer habits are more important than my housemates' potential murders," Draco admonished, to which Harry actually agreed.

"Someone's being a little dramatic, doncha think?"

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to whatever assignment he'd been working on.

"Anyway," Lavender ignored all the wizards' - minus Ron's, of course - blank expressions as she dramatically spoke, "it's scheduled before the Halloween feast-" she shook her hands by her face as she squealed, "-and we should do something good to commemorate the event. Plus it's our last first Hogsmeade weekend.. ever "

"Like what?" Ginny asked, also closing her book deeming study time over. "I'll still be here next year, but could use a distraction from this awful Transfiguration essay."

Physically excited to have someone in on this crazy idea with her, the two of them started chatting about things they could all do as a group besides toasting at the Three Broomsticks.

"Oh, I have the perfect idea!" Lavender jumped as an idea popped into her head so fast Harry was surprised she didn't hurt herself. He hadn't been the only one to think this because Hermione shook her head and Draco looked over at Harry with a smirk. "We can have a seance… at the shrieking shack?"

"No," Harry immediately stated a little too loudly, earning him a cross look from those around them. "Have the seance, but we're not going to the shrieking shack."

The sadness from Hermione's eyes would be lost on everyone at the table besides Harry and Ron. Harry couldn't be sure what the rest of the school knew about the incident between them with Sirius and Remus in the broken down building - he could have sworn he heard Hermione whisper it's a long story, though he didn't know to whom - and he wasn't about to get into it in the middle of the library.

"I don't think I ask for a lot, guys," he said in a much calmer voice, "but I'm not going to the Shrieking Shack. You can go without me."

"Is someone scare-" Lavender started, but Ron almost violently elbowed her with a dangerously mumbled "drop it" under his breath.

The air surrounding their table became heavy. For Harry it was filled with the memories of Sirius. Most days he found the grief over Sirius's death had become manageable, and as with so many of the other things in his life - being orphaned, growing up in an abusive family, and being targeted by Voldemort - he could finally start to process those and really heal from them. There were wounds closer to the surface though - like Malfoy Manor and Draco, his magic, and cancer - which still stung, but even those weren't nearly as debilitating any longer. Every so often, however, something was said or done that pulled one of those painful memories to the surface and being caught off guard pushed back some of his progress.

"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked, and Harry hadn't realized his best friend had moved until he now sat directly across from him. "We'll find something else to do. It's not a problem."

"Thanks," Harry nodded his head rapidly, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the table.

"So, Ron," Dean was the first to speak up, "do you have any idea who'll be selecting for the team this year?"

Ron gave a sideways glance at Draco across the table, deciding if any information he would give could be used against the team. Harry only picked up on bits and pieces of their conversation as Ron walked the table through having to decide between a the short term game - and a potential win in his final year - or the long term play - getting some of the more prospective rookies the experience to flourish in the next year or two. As a strategist, the red headed wizard liked to think three or five steps ahead, but he had a difficult time putting today's winnings in jeopardy for the prospect of tomorrow.

"Harry," Ron took a breath from discussing his year long strategy with Dean to ask, "What'd you think of the prospects on Friday?"

Without thinking about it, Harry also gave a glare over towards Draco. He didn't know where the blonde sat in his own house, but as a Slytherin, he didn't expect the other wizard to hold back any information gathered which could give them any kind of assistance on the pitch. Had he been in Hufflepuff, the thought may not have crossed his mind so boldly.

"I think we all know Ginny's still the best option for Seeker," he told his friend, confidently. "And honestly, Codde showed some promise as Chaser, but obviously his attitude lately would be a bit difficult to manage. Beyond that, I was a little distracted on Friday."

"Yeah, I guess you were, huh," Ron chuckled. "And I don't care if Codde got picked up by the Tornadoes tomorrow, I'd have a hard time putting him on the team after everything he said."

"You'd do it though," Harry challenged back. "And the team might be better for it, so long as he can keep his priorities straight with his team."

"I guess," Ron unhappily conceded. His blue eyes went wide as he remembered to ask, "Hey! Any luck getting Snape to move your appointment on Saturday so you can at least be there?"

"Not going to happen," Harry sadly shook his head, remembering the argument they'd gotten into over dinner last night. "He told me Quidditch is not even in the realm of being as important as my health or my classes. His words."

"But it's only one day," Ron whined. "And it's our last year. What a git!"

"Guess we match now, Potter," Draco sarcastically said. "At least it's Quidditch that's more important than your life instead of Hogsmeade."

"I didn't mean it like that, Malfoy, and you know it," Ron practically spat back at the Slytherin. "I just don't see why you can't move it one day back. Hell, even moving it early would be better because you're pretty much fine the next day."

Harry disagreed, but didn't want to get into his level of pain, fatigue, and vomiting after chemo, especially because he was nervous about how his magical core would handle this round now that he cut out his extra class. If removing Transfiguration did work, then he'd just have the normal pain, but if it didn't… well, at least Healer Smithe would be setting him up with the IV of pain medication to help make it manageable.

Rather than tell any of that to Ron, though, Harry simply stated, "Even if I could change it to Friday, or Thursday night, that would still leave both me and Severus missing classes for a whole day. He won't go for it. I'm just not going to be there."

"But-"

"Ronald!" Hermione curtly said through her clenched jaw.

Another awkward silence fell over the set of students, and when it became too much for Harry to handle, he swiftly started packing up his books into his school bag.

"I think I'm gonna head back to the Common Room," he said, hating how the wavering of his voice gave away how much he hated having to miss something like Quidditch. Last year he'd even been able to go. Granted he ended up in the hospital wing, but he'd gotten to see - and more importantly experience - some of it.

"You don't have to go-"

Hermione tried to stop him by placing her hand on his arm when he stood, but Harry cut her off by lamely pulling his arm out from under hers and held up his watch, "I have to go take medicine anyways. I'll see you guys later."

The dark, quiet atmosphere of the library, with its towering bookcases and shadowed walls, never felt more suffocating to him. And considering all the times he'd spent researching questionable things - the Philosopher's Stone, Polyjuice Potion, and a way to breathe underwater to name a few - over the years, it was an impressive feat to now feel so uncomfortable. Later, he'd say the only reason Draco had been able to sneak up on him right as he reached the doors was from being so distracted in his thoughts. It wouldn't technically be a lie, nevertheless he should have been more aware of his surroundings.

"Harry," Draco quietly called, pulling the Gryffindor's shoulder around, causing Harry to drop his bag in the haste to meet his potential attacker. "What the hell?" Draco's reflexes kicked in and he took two swift steps back to get out of Harry's arm's reach, "it's me, you prat!"

Harry blinked rapidly, clearing his vision and the cobwebs from his mind. His eyes widened as he realized what just happened, "m'so sorry, Draco. I was… it doesn't matter. What's going on?"

Harry looked over the other teen's shoulder to see if he drew the short straw to check in on him. Much to his surprise, though, their friends hardly seemed to notice the blonde's departure. Where he expected them to be looking closely and watching for his reaction, everyone but Hermione was cleaning up their own study space by throwing books, quills, and parchment almost haphazardly into their bags. Harry picked up his own from the floor, and making eye contact with Draco, he raised his eyebrows beckoning the other wizard to continue whatever he'd come for.

"I may have some… information… on that document you showed me last week," Draco whispered so softly Harry had to strain his ears to hear it. "C'mon," Draco bellowed at Harry's confused face, "the one you found in Slughorn's class?"

Harry nodded. Based on the emphasis Draco put on their Potions Professor's name, it couldn't be clearer he didn't believe Harry's original reasoning for having the document.

"So what about it?" asked Harry, nervously shifting his weight, both intrigued to know and wanting to avoid it at the same time.

"If I were you," Draco furrowed his blonde brows as he spoke, "I'd stay as far away from it as possible."

"Why's that?" Harry naturally asked. The conviction in Draco's voice told him he should take it seriously, but then he had to know what Snape was getting himself into. What could the professor be involved in that was so bad? A lot, Harry knew.

"The word Hermione didn't know… Guigne de la Côte," Draco lowered his voice as he said it in perfect French, with a perfect French accent, "it stands for Belladonna-" that word Harry certainly recognized, "-and if Professor Slughorn were bringing it in legally, that shipping document would have used Atropa belladonna, the scientific name, instead of that obscure French version. Nothing good can from whatever it is you're poking your head around, and based on your Potions and Herbology experience, I can guarantee you're way over your head on this."

Harry audibly gulped at the pointed warning, suddenly remembering Snape, too, spoke perfect French.

"Thanks," the Gryffindor responded, grateful to be able to arrange his thoughts enough to speak clearly, "I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm serious," Draco exclaimed when Harry turned to leave. Pausing and looking back, the Slytherin disappointedly shook his head, "for once, Potter, keep yourself out of trouble."

Harry couldn't hold back the smirk, "I'll try to remember that, Malfoy. But… y'know trouble just has a way of finding me sometimes."

Tuesday 7th, October 1997

Based on the Slytherin table in the Great Hall on Tuesday, all of the Slytherin students had made it back in one piece and by lunchtime the rumor around the castle was they'd be back in their dorms that night. Outside of the stray auror - not hesitating to pull a student out of classes for questioning, Harry included on one occasion to pull his memory of the rescue - or a repair wizard here or there, things had pretty much gotten back to normal; or as normal as they could get when there's talk about an entire house of students almost being killed.

For Harry though, his focus changed slightly as the conversation with Draco began to weigh heavily on his mind. Belladonna. Obviously, he knew the word from Potions class - they had Essence of Belladonna in their Potions making kits - but he couldn't remember what they'd used this weaker version for and more importantly, what Snape planned to do with the full potency, extremely dangerous, poisonous plant. It was the last thought which once again caused Harry to sit up in his bed until the early dawn hours trying to sort through the information he knew while he watched on the Marauder's Map all of the Slytherins fast asleep in the Great Hall for the last night except for one who had visited his girlfriend's private room again. Sitting up in the middle of the night obsessing over how Draco had managed to move around the castle undetected every night - a move which used to belong solely to him - hurt his head far less, and ultimately caused him less worry, than trying to think about what Snape could be doing with Belladonna or what would happen to the professor if he got caught with it. What was the legality of only possessing the plant versus using it in a Potion or for… no, his brain refused to go there. In another day and time, he would have immediately thought the former spy was trying to kill someone, but now he was just confused over it all.

Harry had double potions with the sixth years - one of his only two classes which matched his actual education level - to end his day. He liked Professor Slughorn well enough - although the professor occasionally gave Harry a creepy feeling when he went on and on about his collections - even after the man's negligence last year caused the Gryffindor a stay in the hospital wing, and for the first time ever, Harry had started off the first term doing genuinely well in the class. His success from Snape's book or memory from the first time around gave Harry his pick of partners for most of their more complicated brews, and Ginny every single time because the last thing he needed in his life was someone new to deal with.

Today they were working on Polyjuice Potion, a brew Harry had too much history with even if he had never actually brewed it himself, and therefore had nothing extra to bring to the cauldron. To make matters worse, after staying up for the second night in a row, combined with the general fatigue from his medication, the young wizard had very little hope for staying awake. In hindsight, he probably should have skived off the class altogether for the safety of those around him.

"arry…" he heard his name called, only it sounded muffled and far away, like someone was calling him from underwater. "Harry, wake up!"

A sharp pain radiated from his side, causing him to sit straight up, now fully aware that he'd not only fallen asleep waiting for their potion to boil, but of the entire class and Slughorn watching him. The professor stood at the front of the classroom, his arched eyebrows up, holding up a folded piece of parchment into the air.

"Erm," Harry nervously said, "sorry, sir. What did you ask?"

"It's quite alright, Mr Potter," Slughorn told him, and Harry wondered if he'd give anyone else the same flexibility or if he'd been told to expect the young wizard to have some complications during class. He didn't really know this professor well enough, only that he didn't seem like the kind to publicly shame someone like Snape. "A missive has arrived at my desk for you."

Harry felt his ears flush. Being called out for sleeping in class not due to missing the lesson, but for something else entirely made the situation feel worse. He slowly walked up to the front of the classroom, where he collected the parchment and made his way back to his desk. Slughorn's voice rang in the back of his mind - the professor going over the next steps to their brew - while he read through the message he immediately knew was from Snape based on the distinctive handwriting; that same writing located throughout his textbook for his current class.

Harry,

Due to a scheduling conflict, your appointment with Dr Snyder has been moved to tomorrow and Healer Smithe to this afternoon. Please report to your magical testing directly after Potions class rather than my office.

S.S.

Harry scrunched his eyebrows as he read through the missive a second, then a third time. The week before chemotherapy was always busy: an appointment with Dr Snyder on Tuesdays - one he hoped he'd be able to stop soon -, magical testing Thursdays, and chemo on Saturday. Adding in his normal classes, running with Dudley, and now his research on Belladonna, it made for an exhausting schedule. The actual order of his appointments didn't exactly matter to Harry, but he didn't like when they had to change so suddenly.

"Everything alright?" Ginny asked him, effortlessly cutting up her boomslang skin. Harry still had to be careful when handling his potions knife and in his current state he'd asked Ginny if she could do the cutting. Another reason he always partnered with her: she wouldn't ask questions over such a request.

"Yeah," he yawned, "just a change to my schedule this afternoon Severus wanted to tell me about."

"How's everything going with him?" She casually asked. "Seems to be really helping you out. Honestly, I don't think mum and dad could have managed all the muggle things, no matter how much dad would like to try."

The extra information about her parents secretly told Harry she didn't buy into the rumors regarding him and the professor. He sighed, relieved to have another person on his side. Until the gossip ran its course, he needed as many people by him as possible.

"Since your dad once asked me about a rubber duck, I think it's safe to say he'd be a bit over his head with all my medications and appointments," Harry laughed at the memory of his first time meeting Mr Weasley. "But things with Severus have been good. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without him."

Harry raced through the corridors trying to get from the Dungeons to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor as quickly as possible. Slughorn had kept him after class to assign a detention - to be served Friday night - for falling asleep in class. No matter how much the Gryffindor wanted to be angry with the Potions Master, if for no other reason than to utilize that energy into running faster, he couldn't live with Snape for a year and not pick up a lesson or two on the safety needed during the brewing process. Unfortunately, his sleepy state could have put him, Ginny, and his classmates in danger, so he wouldn't complain about spending his last night before this month's treatment in the dungeons probably cleaning a week's worth of first years' disgusting cauldrons.

"You're late," Snape's voice behind him caused Harry to jump. In his hurried state, he must have passed the professor without even realizing it.

"Sorry, sir," Harry apologized for the second time in as many hours, "Slughorn kept me after class." Snape's single raised eyebrow told Harry he better continue with his explanation. "I have to serve detention on Friday night."

"And for what, may I ask, did you do to deserve this detection?"

"Erm," Harry stalled, knowing he couldn't tell Snape he'd fallen asleep in the middle of class. The man would extrapolate it into places Harry didn't want to go, and he couldn't really say he'd been up most of the night wondering what the professor needed with full strength Belladonna. Thinking quickly under Snape's scrutiny, he lied, "I wasn't paying attention and almost missed the beginning of step three. Ginny and I were talking."

"And I take it Miss Weasley will also be serving detention?" The question seemed odd coming from the professor who blatantly gave out one sided punishments, but to Harry it told him Snape didn't believe his story in the first place. Still, Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be steady enough to sound truthful, so they could move onto his magical testing. Narrow black eyes stared straight into his own, drawing Harry's attention to their similar heights. Seemingly satisfied, Snape held his arm out to the door and asked, "Shall we head in?"

This week's magical testing was Harry's favorite by far. They ran through all of the normal charms - summoning, levitation, Lumos and Incendio - and when he could cast those perfectly he had finally been approved to work on defensive spells such as Immobulus, Expelliarmus, and Rictusempra. At first he'd only been allowed to go against the dummies, but when he demonstrated his abilities, he asked - or more accurately, begged - to duel against Snape. The professor had gone easy on him, and although Harry was proud of himself for not getting tired as quickly as he had last year - likely due to him actually exercising - by the end he had a thick layer of sweat coating his body and stood with his hands on his knees, straining to breathe as if he'd run a marathon. It felt good though. For as careful as he'd had to be with his body and magic, to be told not to limit himself filled him with hope.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked, approaching the Gryffindor still attempting to catch his breath.

"Brilliant!" Harry huffed, his face breaking out in a large smile. Finally able to stand, he added, "I forgot how good it feels to duel. And my magic… I think it's stronger, if that makes sense."

"It should," Healer Smithe broke in from near the table, still waving his wand in different directions as he measured Harry's magical levels. When they first started this at the end of August, he'd been nervous about the aggressive wand waving during his spell work, but now it was normal and Harry didn't even blink as they passed over him. "Remember, you're doing all of this because you have access to a part of your core you hadn't had access to originally in these classes. A significant amount, I might add. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say what you have now is bigger than what you lost in March and assuming we can keep it under control, you'll still live comfortably in the magical world."

Harry grinned, wiping the sweat from his forehead before it could fall into his eyes, not caring how goofy he may have looked in the process.

"How are his measurements today?" asked Snape, barely winded after their sparing, of course he mostly defended, not unlike the time the professor let Harry battle him to blow off steam last January. He almost laughed remembering McGonagall's face when she saw the pair of them and the lecture Snape received for it.

Harry would look back and be embarrassed that he missed the small wince in Healer Smithe's cheeks as he looked over the charts he filled in each week. Being a former spy and used to picking up on the small idiocracies in others, Snape hadn't, and it was the small panicked tone Harry heard in the professor's question that put him on edge.

"Is something wrong?" Harry walked over to the other two wizards at the table. The chart laid open still recording the Gryffindor's readings was completely foreign to him, and therefore Harry didn't even attempt to read it as Snape was doing.

"Not necessarily," the healer sighed. "Your levels stayed relatively the same this week, which on average isn't bad, but if they plateau now, I'm afraid it won't be not enough for long term success."

"So… what does that mean?"

"It means that if your magic stays where it's at now," Healer Smithe softly explained, "I would anticipate your accidental magic to come back. Now whether it would negatively or positively affect you? I can't say for sure, but it's not worth the risk to your safety."

"So what do I do?" Harry posed the question to his Healer, but his eyes never left Snape who silently flipped through the charts and graphs from each week's session.

Throwing him off the doom and gloom train, Healer Smithe smiled, as he suggested, "I think it's time to move you up a level."

"Are you serious?" Harry almost choked on his words saying them so quickly. "It's barely been six weeks. How can I be ready to move up?!"

"Because your magic already knows what to do," Snape answered, relief pouring from his voice. The professor turned to Healer Smithe and said, "Let's get him through next week, after chemotherapy, then we'll adjust his schedule. That will give Minerva and I time to make the necessary arrangements."

Harry was beaming. Moving up in Charms and Defense would mean he no longer had any classes with the second years - eliminating the younger Nott - and although his class with Ackerly would only change from Defense to Charms, it meant there was hope that by the end of term he'd be able to put the Ravenclaw completely behind him.

"So why did we have to change the schedule tonight?" Harry asked Snape as the two of them made their way to the professor's quarters for dinner together; his session having gone past the dinner hour yet again. The fact that they were walking to his guest quarters didn't go unnoticed by the young wizard, meaning the repairs to their home hadn't been completed yet. Selfishly, he really hoped they would be done by Saturday because the guest quarters didn't have a room for him, and he didn't particularly want to be laying sick on the sofa after chemo. Since he knew Snape was doing most the renovations himself, Harry didn't want to ask if they'd be done in time, and offering to help would only get him lectured.

"When Alton expressed his plans to have you push yourself this week," Snape began as if they were talking about the latest potions journal, "we decided by doing it earlier, it would give your core more time to replenish prior to chemotherapy, where it will be strained again."

Harry shuttered remembering the magical core pain. "Thank you," he peered over at the man walking beside him, "I know I say that a lot, but I really do appreciate the little things like this."

Predictably, Snape told him he didn't need the gratitude, but Harry didn't care. He'd never had anyone look out for his best interest and he wanted to make sure it didn't go unappreciated.

As they walked side by side chatting about the results from his test - Snape seemingly not nearly as excited as Harry over them - the young wizard's mind drifted back to the shipping document. Maybe there was another explanation for why Snape had it in a book about the Darkest of Arts? His first hypothesis had naturally been for his work at the lab, but the dates didn't match up. Snape only started the first weekend of term and the date on the document showed the shipment moved this past June. Not to mention, he didn't have to ask Draco to know any of the ingredients needed for the lab would be provided there, and he doubted Belladonna - a known poison - would be used in any healing potion.

But isn't my chemotherapy kind of considered a poison? Harry thought to himself, mindlessly following Snape around the last turn of the corridor leading to his temporary quarters. Maybe he had been thinking about this the wrong way? The Gryffindor could admit, in hindsight, that he hadn't been in the clearest mindset over the summer and Snape had spent a lot of time in the cellar where his personal potions lab was located; the only room in the small house Harry hadn't even seen. Could the professor have been working on something for a personal project or a privately paid work? His logic led him into more questions than answers and ended up at the only one that mattered: could Belladonna be used for anything positive? Finding that answer was definitely a good place to start.

"You're deep in thought," Snape pointed out as he held the door open to his quarters for Harry to enter.

"No, I'm not," Harry defended himself.

He'd only been in the set of rooms twice, and he already felt comfortable in the neutral beige painted stone place. The layout was similar to Snape's and McGonagall's main quarters with a sitting room, lavatory, and bedroom, but lacked the second bedroom, office, and kitchen; meaning they couldn't cook any meals and had to take them in the sitting room. Harry dropped himself onto the less comfortable sofa.

"Then surely you heard me tell you all of the answers to this Friday's pop quiz?"

"Erm… we have a quiz on Friday?" Harry kicked himself for not paying closer attention.

"No," Snape smirked, gesturing to the plate of food on the table for the young wizard to start eating, "it's tomorrow."

"Well, shite." Harry laughed.

"Watch your language," Snape admonished, then asked, "so what were you thinking so intently over?"

Again, Harry knew he couldn't tell the man the truth and guilt radiated throughout his body over it. This one, though, he didn't feel as bad not sharing. After all, he didn't have to tell Snape everything going on through his mind.

Feigning embarrassment over the pretend topic he'd come up with, Harry averted his eyes down to his food and quietly replied, "I was debating on if I should ask you how your date went on Sunday. I stopped by pretty late, but you weren't back yet."

A pregnant pause fell between them. Finishing his bite, Snape broke the silence first, "And your conclusion from this internal debate?"

The Gryffindor's cheeks turned red, "Well... how was it?"

Snape gave a small smirk, the edges of his lips curling in his self-satisfaction over his upcoming answer, "That's none of your business."

"Oh, I see," Harry laughed, and then without missing a beat, he said, "It was that good, wasn't it?"

~~~~SS~~~~

Wednesday 8th, October 1997

Dinner with Harry the previous night - after the Gryffindor's questionable magical testing - had been enlightening. Without really having to say a word, Severus learned two very important things from the young wizard: his mind was contemplating something bigger than Severus's relationship with Mae and Harry didn't foresee the danger with his magical outputs plateauing. His own natural skepticism, however, made it difficult to accept Alton's results at face value, even if in theory they made sense. Harry's magic needed to be organized to curb his magic's output typically seen in the form of Accidental Magic, and it had to be done at a faster pace than usual. So while they didn't know if pushing the magic up a level would work to bring the accidental magic levels down further, he could convince himself, at least in the short term, to give it a try. Should the results not continue to improve next week, they'd need to think of other options quickly.

Those were the thoughts racing through the professor's mind as he attempted to sleep in his temporary quarters for the last night. As of Wednesday morning, all of his Slytherins were accounted for in the castle and they had slept safely back in their dormitories. The Common Room would remain off limits until Friday night, when Lucius's crew predicted they'd be completed with the work once the aurors wrapped up their investigation tomorrow morning. In the meantime, Lucius offered his crew to assist with Severus's repairs, to which the professor finally agreed because he had to admit there was no way he'd get them done by himself in time for Harry's chemotherapy on Saturday. Torn between allowing unknown wizards into his home unaccompanied or having Harry lay on the sofa in his guest quarters ill, he set up some heavy privacy and alarming wards on the more private parts of his quarters and humbly thanked Lucius for the assistance. By the end of the day, a whole week after the flood, he'd be back in his home and Harry would have a place he could be comfortable after chemotherapy; an event which never got any easier, no matter how many times they went through it.

"Who can tell me about a draugr?" Severus asked the silent students in front of him, officially kicking off the start of his class and hoping against all odds he could keep away the post-lunch drowsiness at bay.

Severus would never freely admit that his favorite class was this year's seventh year Defense class. It could have been that this group of students were uniquely involved with Harry and his connection to Voldemort in the past, or perhaps being in the same year as Harry when he taught his clandestine defense group had inspired them in the subject, but regardless of the reason, he found them to be more engaged and focused than any of his other classes; including his former Potions course. They seemed to have a true understanding that the things he taught had real meaning, and they were determined to know everything they could about the dark creatures and counter curses before heading out into the real world as newly minted adult witches and wizards. Their energy alone almost made his teaching career feel rewarding. Almost. Today, those attributes would be challenged because missing class on Friday put him behind schedule, meaning the lecture on this Nordic dark creature would now fall directly after their lunch period.

Severus dramatically turned and wrote the word D-R-A-U-G-R on the chalkboard while he'd asked the question, not at all surprised when he faced the class again and only Hermione's hand stood straight up into the air. For once, he'd be rejoiced to see someone else showing they'd read ahead - or in this case behind as this material should have been covered last week - in their books instead of waiting for him to go through the lecture first.

"Mr Malfoy," he called on the only other student he knew would have the answer. This year, Draco had been more withdrawn in class overall than usual, no longer raising his hand or volunteering to demonstrate their latest spell work, and though Severus respected his reasoning, he also tried to help pull him out of his own imprisonment. "Care to take an attempt at a guess?"

"Not particularly," the blonde Slytherin replied, causing a series of chuckles to wave across the other students.

"Pardon me," Severus sarcastically stated, "you made it sound as if it were a request. Let me clarify it for Mr Malfoy: tell me what you know about a draugr."

"They're found in Denmark," Draco answered, arrogantly.

"As well as Norway, Iceland, and parts of Sweden," Severus corrected to Draco, then continued to address the rest of the class. "By definition, the draugr is an undead creature from Norse mythology. The original Norse meaning of the word is ghost, however they are not like the ghosts you see here around the castle, as they have a corporeal body. Can anyone tell me where one would find a draugr?"

Once again, only Hermione's hand raised impatiently into the air.

"Alright, Miss Granger," Severus sighed, "please explain to the class what I mistakenly hoped they would have all read over the long weekend."

The Gryffindor witch sat up proudly, trying to keep the smile from her face, "A draugr typically lives within their graves, often guarding treasure buried within, however they have been known to leave the grave to torment living beings, especially those who have wronged them in life. They also often have superhuman strength, can change their size and weight at will, and some even possess the ability to shape-shift, making them a formidable opponent that even magic can't easily surpass."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Severus said, writing down her statements on the board for the others to note their importance. He summoned over several pictures of the beasts from his desk, enlarged them, and using a sticking charm, attached them beside the notes.

"If magic doesn't work, how do you win against one?" The very logical question came from Anthony Goldstein.

Severus turned around and, with his hands clasped behind, very casually explained, "The preferred method is to cut off the draugr's head, burn the body, and dump the ashes in the sea. Now there is debate among the wizarding community regarding if magical methods may be used for those steps, but the details still remain in question.

"Though typically known to terrorize its victims in the nighttime hours, the draugr is not limited by the daylight…"

Severus continued his lecture randomly calling on students to try and keep them as involved in the subject matter as possible. He started with helping them to identify a draugr's presence - by a great light that glowed from the grave like "fox-fire" which would form a barrier between the land of the living and the land of the dead - and how an encounter with one would almost always lead to death.

For probably the first time ever, Severus paused his lecture when Ron Weasley's hand rose into the air.

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

"Erm," the redhead stalled, "how're they any different than the inferi we learned about last year?" The reference to their previous course surprised Severus as much as the correlation in the first place. "Aren't they both 'undead'?"

"That is correct," the professor told him, and Ron's astonishment in his own abilities made Severus shake his head. "Inferi are bodies forcibly brought back for another wizard's bidding, where as a draugr is created more naturally. While someone cannot necessarily choose to become one, there are certain traits which lend themselves towards a person to cross that line. For example, during their time alive, a person filled with greed and selfishness might find their souls not wanting to move on into the afterlife-"

"So we shouldn't be surprised to see Daddy Malfoy become one someday?" Pansy Parkinson interrupted.

In response, Hermione shot the other witch a scowl, while Draco didn't even flinch. Severus chose not to validate the comment with a response either way, instead walking them through the possible signs a recently deceased individual could become one - such as the body being found vertically rather than horizontally - and then the ways one could try to prevent a draugr from the deceased such as burying the body with iron scissors and tying the large toes together. He ended the lecture by stating that while extremely dangerous, most of these creatures choosing to stay by their tombs to guard their riches, the draugr also expressed an innate jealousy of the living, stemming from a longing for the things of the life it once had and such motivation could trigger an attack on nearby villages.

"Like the jinn, right?" Blaise Zabini asked, when the professor paused his lecture. "Doesn't it attack because it's jealous of our world?"

Severus stood before the class, every set of eyes trained on him. Jinns were dark creatures found in Islamic lore, and as such were not part of the European Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Given Hala Khatib's unique presence at Hogwarts, he'd considered adding a small section on the creatures, but ultimately chose not to draw attention to her situation. Given the pointed question and Severus's innate need for information - especially in the Dark Arts - pushed him into answering.

"They are similar, yes," he told the students honestly. "Jinn are found in Islamic countries, as opposed to Nordic, and therefore typically not a dark creature we study."

"But you know about them, don't you?" Draco challenged him. "So you can teach us."

The clock on the wall showed they still had a quarter hour left of their class, not enough time to get into a full description of the creatures, but enough to give them some kind of understanding of what their classmate went through. Severus found himself wondering how Harry felt sitting in class when he first learned about the Killing Curse - inappropriately in his fourth year - thinking about his parents' last breaths, and the professor would never be able to forget Neville's face when he taught about the Cruciatus Curse last year.

"I do," Severus admitted. Giving a hard sigh, he waved his wand across the board to clear it and wrote J-I-N-N in large letters, deciding to jump right in. "The jinn originates before 7th century Islam and thought to transcend the boundaries of the physical world, they are said to be made of "smokeless fire". As spiritual entities, the jinn are considered dual dimensional with the ability to live and operate in both manifest and invisible domains. And similar to the draugr, thought to be amorphous, therefore capable of shape-shifting into human or animal form."

"And they're hostile?" Dean Thomas asked, but not in a scared way, in a very scholarly way of someone seeking knowledge.

"Most of them are hostile, or at least not all that friendly to humans," he walked through the rows of desks as he spoke, "although some can be friendly and helpful. It is possible for magicians or wise men and women to gain power over a jinn and use it to perform amazing and magical tasks. Be wary, for even a friendly Jinn is unpredictable and certainly anyone who breaks an agreement with a jinn will strongly regret it. Oftentimes, they take pleasure in punishing people for wronging them, even if it were done unintentionally."

"Like the goblins?" Parvati questioned.

"Not too unlike making deals with goblins," Severus answered, "though while dealing with goblins should be done with caution, rarely will you pay with your life or the life of those you care about. A jinn will not hesitate to kill everyone in its path."

"Except for Khatib." A heavy silence fell over the classroom at Terry Boot's honest statement.

"Yes," Severus replied, holding himself together trying not to think about Harry and his parallel to Hala, or her warning about him not skipping this month's chemotherapy, "occasionally there are exceptions we don't understand."

Thankfully, the bell rang before any other questions could be asked. He assigned them all two rolls of parchment outlining the characteristics on the draugr - with emphasis on what to do if they were to encounter one - and reminded them of their next duels on Friday afternoon's class.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry sat on the soft blue sofa in Dr Snyder's office with his hands clenched between his closed knees; a position making him feel more guarded even though he'd been in the office with the muggle man several times already. The room was painted a soft buttery yellow with vertical dark blue pinstripes in an alternating pattern of one thick stripe followed by two thin ones, then repeating. If it were meant to be calming, Harry thought they'd missed the mark because the lines made him feel trapped, reminding him of the bars on his window back at Privet Drive. So rather than look at the room around him, Harry focused his attention to the doctor in the equally blue armchair across from him. The muggle had a full head of cleanly cut short grey hair in a length rarely seen in the wizarding world, brown eyes lined with his age, which somehow fit his patient personality perfectly. Harry learned early on the muggle mind doctor would simply sit there and watch the young wizard for the full hour if Harry didn't feel like talking. It was good to have that choice - or the power, rather - but since Harry had asked to see Dr Snyder in the first place, and he really did want to talk about everything on his mind - even if it made him feel like Lavender by the end - he never exercised that right.

Harry liked Dr Snyder, and ultimately enjoyed the time carved out of his schedule to meet with him. Similar to how Dr Swanson kept his blood healthy and Healer Smithe kept his magic growing, Dr Snyder helped his mind stay healthy. Typically they talked about his diagnosis, living with cancer - and managing its side effects - and ways to handle his anxiety surrounding it all, but occasionally they also went over things like how he felt being behind in school, his goals for five years from now, and his relationships with the people around him; usually Snape, however they touched on his friends, Dudley, and even Draco. Harry quickly found that while his original reasoning for coming to Dr Snyder had been to learn to accept this last stage of his chemotherapy, the other topics they covered almost had a bigger impact on his mind than he originally anticipated, and it just so happened this last topic was where Harry and his muggle psychologist wandered into during the second half of their one hour appointment.

"Let's talk about your community," Dr Snyder transitioned, folding his left leg over his right knee in a move Harry had seen Snape often do. It usually meant the professor had a difficult topic to cover, so Harry braced himself.

"Erm…" the teen nervously fidgeted on the sofa, "do you mean like at my school?"

"That's certainly one type of community," Dr Snyder said in a way that didn't tell Harry if it was the answer he wanted to hear or not. "Tell me about your friends. You're certainly lucky to have the opportunity to move back into your boarding school."

Harry closed his eyes and thought hard about this year, specifically how amazing it'd been to be with his friends again. He took himself back to laughing in their dorm before bed, Wizarding Chess in the common room, studying in the library, and watching his team fly around the Quidditch pitch. He allowed all of those memories to fill him up inside, and when he opened his eyes, he immediately started in on explaining how well things at school had been going being surrounded by his first family. Unable to tell the muggle about the magical details, he did his best to fill in as much as he could by changing Quidditch to Football, dropping the Wizarding element from their Chess, and the rest he let flow using what he thought could be muggle equivalent names for his classes. Obviously this would be easier to talk about if he'd been seeing the squib doctor, but growing up in the muggle world allowed him to handle the complicated conversation with ease, and with each example of how well adjusted he'd become at school, Harry's voice relaxed and his smile grew.

"All of this sounds wonderful," Dr Snyder chuckled after Harry's story of how Dean came out of the showers one day with teal hair thanks to a well placed prank from Seamus, " but do your roommates and friends understand the details about your Leukemia?"

Dr Snyder's question felt like he'd thrown a pail of ice cold water over Harry's head. The young wizard's smile vanished from his face and he had to work his hardest to control his breathing so he didn't show how much it affected him. He liked the idea of compartmentalizing those parts of his life - his old, "normal" life from his new one.

"Of course they do," he swiftly answered, his eyebrows lowering as if to say asking such a question was ridiculous. "They've done a lot to help me out since school started."

"Like when you've been sick?" The muggle challenged back to him.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, and without thinking added, "I mean, I've only been sick in the dorms once so far, but they were all really great about it."

"Do you talk with them about the challenges you face? Or about your fears?"

"What kind of question is that?" Harry asked, offended. "We don't exactly sit around like a bunch of girls talking about our innermost feelings. Did you do that when you were seventeen?"

Another chuckle. For reasons he couldn't figure out, the sound irritated Harry down to his last nerve, "You make a good point, but I didn't have cancer at this already challenging time in life. That changes the landscape quite a bit, otherwise you wouldn't be here." When Harry didn't respond he continued, "So then let me ask you this a different way, outside of our appointments, who do you talk to about your Leukemia or Chemotherapy?"

Harry's jaw clenched tight, almost instantly giving him a headache deep into his temples. Peering around the room, the blue bars looked like they would cave in at any moment. No, this room definitely wasn't relaxing, at least not to someone who'd literally been locked in his bedroom summer after summer.

"Talking about it here has helped," Harry told him the truth, "I don't need someone at school too."

"Having a community who understands the unique challenges we face is an important part of any recovery, whether that be an illness or any other trauma." Harry thought back to Draco and their time at Malfoy Manor, the only two who made up such a distinctive community. The young wizard squirmed under Dr Snyder's friendly stare. "What about the outpatient clinic? Are there other patients there you see each month?"

"Yes," the young wizard said defiantly, unsure where the added aggression had come from.

"And do you ever talk with any of them?"

"Not really," Harry mumbled, and at Dr Snyder's silence, he eventually amended, "ok, not at all. But honestly, what am I supposed to say? 'Hey, you look as miserable as I do'? Trust me, no one wants to hear that, they already know. We all already know."

For the first time since starting these sessions, Harry walked out of the office and down the familiar hallway to the room where Snape always sat waiting for him to be done feeling more confused than when he entered the office. Although the things Dr Snyder asked were within the realm of what Harry needed to hear, it didn't mean he wanted to hear or do any of them. With only two days left before his next chemotherapy, Harry knew he'd have a lot to think about. Just as he turned the corner into the waiting room, he immediately stopped dead in his tracks, practically falling over his own feet at the sight in front of him: Snape sitting next to Mae - the nurse dressed in a pair of green scrubs with large pink hearts all over them, obviously having come over from work - the two adults kissing, not at all noticing his presence. It only took him a second to decide to use his undetected arrival to his advantage. If he were really lucky, Snape might not even ask him anything about the session.

"I really hope you're the girlfriend," Harry called out so loudly Mae hit the back of her head against the wall behind her in her haste to provide as much space between her and Snape as possible. For what it was worth, Snape barely flinched, only releasing a hard sigh and then reached out to check the bump surely forming on the back of the nurse's head. Approaching the couple, Harry tried to hold in his smirk as he added, "otherwise I think Severus and I need to have a long chat about taking relationships seriously."

"Oh we're going to have a serious talk alright," Snape told him, his eyes flickering between anger and amusement. Mae's laugh tipped the scales to the latter and Harry released the breath he held waiting for the fallout.

"It's fine, Sev," she placed her hand on Snape's shoulder pulling him back a little to relax in the chair. "Yes, I'm the girlfriend," She didn't wait for Harry to respond, "I saw you guys coming into the building as I finished my shift and came up to say 'hi'. I must have just missed you though."

Harry sat down in the black cushioned chair across the aisle and directly in front of Snape. He arrogantly placed his hands on the armrests and leaned back.

"So what," the teen sarcastically began, "you guys have been sitting here snogging for an hour?"

"Harry!"

Another laugh from Mae told him Snape's red face - from anger or embarrassment, Harry didn't really care, but was sure he'd find out which once they were alone later that night - wouldn't be too dangerous.

"You didn't tell me he was so spunky," the nurse said to both of them, making Harry grin. "You probably don't remember me…"

"Yeah, I do," Harry filled in where she had intentionally trailed off, hoping he'd do exactly that, "You work at the chemo clinic and told me about your horrible chemistry classes, then let us stay in the exam room during my treatment. I really appreciated that, by the way."

"Anytime." She smiled, blushing for the time, even after the teen caught them in such a precarious position, and Harry found himself relieved by the happiness he felt for Snape. No matter what he told the professor regarding his comfort with their relationship, he had hoped when the time finally came to meet Mae, it would be true. "Well, I'm sure you guys have a lot to catch up on after your appointment, so I really should-"

"Maybe we can find a place to have dinner around here?" Harry suggested, half wanting to get to know his mentor's girlfriend and half hoping it would distract the man from asking about his conversations with Dr Snyder. Turning towards Snape he said, "We already missed dinner at school, and then you wouldn't have to worry about cooking."

"You mean to save me from the painstaking process of ordering from the kitchens?" Snape clearly knew Harry's plan and wasn't buying it. The two of them stared off for a solid thirty seconds, so intently Harry thought about his Occlumency forest anticipating the professor's invasion of his privacy. It didn't come, though, instead Snape nodded, turned to Mae and asked, "Would you care to join us for dinner?"

Mae suggested three different restaurants - a traditional pub, an Indian restaurant, and an all day breakfast cafe - each no more than a block's walk from the hospital and where she frequently visited after work. They chose the English Pub and took off together in search of their meal. Having not expected to walk a great distance to disapparate, Harry had only brought his light jacket, and the cold October air in Guildford quickly penetrated it, until Snape took off his own to wrap snugly around the young wizard's shoulders, leaving him only in a long sleeved muggle dress shirt. Harry hated the attention it generated, but between the extra layer and the brisk walking speed, he warmed up pretty quickly and forgot all about Mae's concerned brown eyes.

Dinner had been as casual as Harry could have hoped. They sat in a corner booth with Mae and Snape on one side and Harry on the other sitting in the middle of his own bench, pretty evenly between them. Harry had lied to Snape when he told the professor his biggest worry about him dating one of the oncology nurses was losing access to his medication if they'd broken up. In reality, his only fear was her treating him differently knowing all she did about his condition if the couple stayed together long term; how easy it would be for her to sympathize - or worse patronize - over him being sick and make a big deal about it. Had she been any other muggle, he could almost pretend nothing was wrong, but she not only knew, she'd helped take care of him at his last treatment. Luckily, those anxieties were quickly swept away because not once in the entire dinner did she mention his cancer. The closest she got to the topic was when she asked about his school - what courses he liked and those he hated - and if he had any trouble getting back into the routine of things this year. Still, even then she didn't give any indication over why he needed to get "back into a routine" in the first place.

Harry enjoyed learning about the nurse and hearing stories of her family - having really only known people as only children or with huge families - though the thought of her having a younger brother only eleven years older than Harry sounded really strange to him. Some quick math in his head told him she was only seventeen years older than him; meaning he'd been born when she was his current age. Once again, Harry was brought back to his friends' relationships - specifically Hermione and Draco's for how serious he could see them becoming - and thought about how unprepared he felt to think about marriage or having a child at his age. Snape was his parents' age, and he had been only twenty when Harry was born. Surely, being as young as they were, his parents would have had another child or two if they had lived past the war, right? And what about Snape? If there hadn't been a war going on would he have gotten married and had children of his own? He drew the line to his anxious questioning at the last question, no part of him wanted to think of the professor in that way.

By the end of the night, Harry came to the conclusion he liked Mae; and not in a "she's a good nurse" way, but in a "she's good for Snape'' way. Somehow her brass, a little bit bossy, and loud nature complemented his quiet, logical, and introverted one. Never would Harry guess those two personalities would come together - and that didn't even account for the magic/muggle thing - but it worked. Harry could see his approval meant a lot to the man, so the Gryffindor made sure to sound reassuring when they said their goodbyes to Mae for the night. It was least he could do for Snape. The man more than deserved to find someone in his life who wouldn't bring him nearly as much stress as Harry and Hogwarts did on a regular basis.

~~~~SS~~~~

Friday 10th October 1997

"What do you know about the Statute of Secrecy laws?" Severus asked Minerva over their weekly tea on Friday night. Given the chaos of the last several weeks, they'd been missing these much needed rendezvous, and Severus relished in the normalcy they brought.

Having already discussed the arrangements for Harry to move up in his courses next week, Minerva had moved on to the newly decided upon Halloween Ball the prefects suggested putting together at their meeting last night; one Severus never attended, but this time he had the reasonable excuse of overseeing the detention of an unfortunate fourth year Hufflepuff. The lot of students thought the last minute celebration an ideal way to unify the school and restore some positive energy after the flood, and perhaps his attendance yesterday could have prevented their train of thinking, Merlin knew Minerva, Pomona, and Filius likely gave their overly enthusiastic support. The very last thing Severus wanted on top of everything else this month was to supervise and organize a ball in only twenty-one days, and so naturally, he chose to do his best to ignore it - at least during this time with his colleague - and work through his mind's own latest tangent: the complexity of Mae learning about magic at some point.

"Good to know you're on top of the Slytherin decoration responsibility," she quipped. "Shall I just assume all of your house's duties will be shifted off to Pomona's house as usual?"

"No," he squinted his eyes across at her and took a sip of his tea to delay his inevitable agreement to the ball. "I'll speak with my prefects and see what they feel comfortable taking on for this last minute, ill-planned endeavor. As you can imagine, they're a bit off kilter as of late."

"That's all I expect, Severus," her smile showed she believed she'd won the battle and he had to hold back his eye roll. "As for your original inquiry, you cannot tell her."

"I am aware of that fact," he bellowed back. "What I'm curious about is when one is allowed to cross that line. As far as I know my own mother was not forthcoming with the information until well after I had been born. Surely we aren't required to wait until accidental magic is seen in a child?"

Severus hadn't realized his issue with the Statute until stating that very question out loud. The double edged sword wasn't lost on him: either they permanently lived in the muggle world - only revealing their true nature after welcoming a magical child - or they choose to break the Statute at some earlier moment, risking the need to obliviate their significant other should the relationship not last. Neither of those scenarios benefitted the magical person in the relationship, and on some microscopic level, Severus could almost understand how Voldemort managed to start his following, at least prior to his turning it from a campaign to regain their rights among the muggles and into mass genocide against them.

"Assuming the woman you fancy does not have a magical relative, it's the sacrifice you make when deciding to pursue the relationship," she sadly explained, and he could see the pain in her eyes telling him of a story she likely didn't want to discuss. If she had, the witch would have no qualms of going into it with him, therefore he respected her privacy and didn't inquire.

"Our magical community is far too small to rely solely on magical blood to continue family lines," he scoffed, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "The sacred twenty-eight are already littered with enough incentual relationships to generate generations of defects, can you imagine if the half-bloods and muggleborns succumbed to the same ideology? Not to mention that for every two muggles who welcome their magical spouse and child with open arms, there is at least one who ends up like my own father or Harry's relatives. Think of all the hardship we could save these magical children if their muggle parent knew what he or she was getting into beforehand."

"Now you sound like Voldemort," she told him, and paused staring thoughtfully across the desk at him. "You're not wrong," she eventually conceded, "but it's a dangerous game to play. Though the ministry has no set rules quantifying when a relationship could be deemed serious enough to break the secrecy, adding a magical child - one who will display magic uncontrollably - certainly warrants the need to inform the other parent. We already have muggleborns being scrutinized prior to their Hogwarts letter, no need to add to the situation unnecessarily."

"And those who don't have children?"

"Then the magical partner chooses to live in the muggle world. That being said, I doubt the Ministry is checking in on every muggle-magical relationship, so long as the muggle maintains the secrecy I imagine it wouldn't be an issue," her statement had a finality to it making it clear it was the best she could offer him. It would be a lot to consider, and not only for himself, but Harry too. He knew the young wizard's feelings about living in the magical world - hence his desire to try and protect Harry's magic - so what would maintaining his courting with Mae mean for the Gryffindor Severus permanently chose to live in the muggle world? Against his better judgement, he'd table those thoughts for now and focus only on the situation directly in front of him.

"How ridiculously outlandish of an event should I be expecting for this Halloween ball?" He grudgingly asked, kicking off a lengthy conversation on how they could possibly pull off an elegant event while keeping in the spirit of the eerie holiday.

Between cauldrons filled with bubbling green punch, spider web covered back tables, and black and orange floral centerpiece, Severus had more than enough to think about before Pomona knocked on the door to his office, pushing the slightly ajar door fully opened. He had a complicated history with the Hufflepuff head of house, mostly due to her inability to understand his own harsher methods in his classes. Even in his old reality, the two colleagues would often find themselves in a heated debate about how she should consider adopting several of his classroom methodology as her class surpassed his in injuries every single year. Students often had a false sense of security working with plants over poisonous and explosive potions and yet she never seemed overly concerned for their safety. Each time they engaged in their debate, she'd nod her head and, like any good Hufflepuff, tell him she'd take it under consideration, and he walked away knowing she'd forget at the first possible chance.

"Pomona," Minerva announced, turning to greet their guest, "we were just going over the plans for the Halloween ball. It's such a tight turnaround, but Severus has assured me his students are committed to hitting the deadline-"

"Hardly," he lamented, but the elder witch didn't stop from his interruption.

"-would you care to join us? We have plenty of tea."

Severus watched Minerva thinking she was getting far too much pleasure in the situation and wondering if she had something extra in her tea he should be asking for in his own.

"No, no, no," the Herbology professor nervously declined. Severus intently watched her hands wringing over one another, in front of her chest confirming whatever the topic of conversation, it had nothing to do with the ball. To help ease her anxiety over it, Severus waved his wand to pull out the second chair for her, which she promptly accepted. "Thank you. I'm… ah, I'm... actually glad you're both here, it will make this easier having only to go through it once."

Minerva's light hearted body language immediately stiffened, matching Severus's own. There were only two reasons the Hufflepuff professor could want to speak with them together: an unlikely issue with one of her students between both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, or the more probable reason something involving Harry.

"Harry?" Severus confirmed, his anxiety instantly rising when Pomona slowly nodded her head. Harry was currently serving detention in the dungeons, so he reasoned if the young wizard had been in danger, Horace would have been here rather than Pomona.

"Obviously he's in a unique position having to repeat my course," she began speaking after handing him two rolled up sheets of parchment. He unrolled them, placing each one face up on his desk while he continued to listen to the other professor's explanation, "but I often see this type of thing from siblings, especially those who are closer in age, so I keep copies of all the essays I collect for a certain amount of time. I can honestly say I didn't expect this from Harry."

Cheating. Severus quickly picked up the fact she was accusing Harry of cheating. Luckily he chose to hold his judgement until he could examine the essays himself because what he found sincerely shocked him. For all of Harry's righteousness and need to be fair, he didn't think the child had it in him to literally copy one of his essays from last year - with the corrections Professor Sprout provided almost verbatim - filled in. And yet, there was no other explanation for the work he was looking at upon his desk. He would never condone cheating, but at the same time he certainly knew his Slytherins often tried to get away with similar stunts, but they had a cunningness to them to at least make the new work appear as if it weren't copied from an older classmate or sibling. Severus's mind ventured back to the young wizard's random request to go back to Spinner's End, and suddenly it all made sense. He'd been capitalizing on his situation, and had it been Charms - a class he only needed the practical for his magical retraining - Severus wouldn't have felt the anger and distrust rise within him. Instead it had to be one of his only two classes that he legitimately needed the theory grade in too.

"I can't believe Harry would do something like this," Minerva shockingly stated. There was no denying it had been exactly what Harry had done.

"I'll take care of it," Severus answered, not listening to whatever the two witches were conversing about. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"He's still in my house, Severus," Minerva practically yelled as the former spy rose from his desk, ready to storm into the dungeons. "Disciplinary matters such as this fall to me."

"He knowingly abused a privilege-"

"- I'm certain it's just a misunderstanding," Pomona tried to rationalize. "Maybe he thought since he'd taken the theory last year-"

Severus cut her off by slamming his hand down on his desk, "He knew exactly what he was doing when he asked to accompany me back to our home for the sole purpose of collecting these-" he held up the essays as tangible proof, "-he needs to learn there are consequences to those actions. Either of you are more than welcome to add your own punishment to my own."

Minerva quietly considered the options in front of her. "That's quite alright," she decided, "I'm sure you will already cover anything I would have to add. I'll speak with him on Monday when he's back in the Tower."

As Severus stormed from his office towards the depths of the school with the full intention of interrupting Harry's detention with Horace, he changed his mind once he reached the bottom step. If any Head of House disturbed his detention as he wanted to do, he'd be furious, and technically Severus wasn't even Harry's Head of House, which only further complicated the matter. With chemotherapy early tomorrow morning, the young wizard would be staying the night in their quarters, giving him the ideal opportunity to breach the subject on his own terms.

Severus settled into his armchair in the sitting room - giving him a perfect line of sight to the door - and took the opportunity to review the two essays Pomona brought to his office. Reading through the essay on Snargaluff Pods with a focus on how to safely extract them, Severus almost managed to convince himself Harry hadn't necessarily been in the wrong to reuse the essay. He had, after all, written the original, unlike when an older sibling or housemate provides their old essays to another, and as the topic was identical in nature, Harry still learned from the lesson as intended. Where the Gryffindor faltered though, and where the major infraction lay, was his use of Pomona's corrections and suggestions. Given the same situation, a Slytherin would have at least reworded the professor's text rather than plagiarize it, and in that case he'd be able to argue in favor for his student. This was just pure laziness for a student who had the easiest schedule in the entire school.

In hindsight he had hoped the extra time waiting for Harry would help him calm down, however the opposite ended up being true, so when Harry walked in into their quarters only half an hour later, he was still sitting in his armchair seething inside. Harry had his Gryffindor robe slung haphazardly over his shoulder and evidence of the cauldrons he'd scrubbed all over the arms of his shirt. Severus briefly felt thankful he'd been scrubbing and not chopping ingredients for next week's lessons because the less chance they gave Harry to cut himself - and Severus had seen the young wizard weld a potions knife plenty of times to know he couldn't do it without nicking his fingers at least once - the better. His school bag was slung over the shoulder opposite his robe and filled with everything he'd need to spend the weekend recovering from chemotherapy tomorrow.

Walking into the room towards his bedroom, Harry jumped at the sight of Severus silently watching him from the sitting room.

"You could make some noise or something," Harry complained, his hand reaching up to his chest as if he'd almost had a heart attack from the fright. Severus didn't waver. Carefully walking into the sitting room, obviously picking up on the angry air around the professor, Harry dropped his bag and robe onto the floor beside the sofa and warily asked, "What is going on? Did I forget something?"

"Take a seat," Severus managed to get out through his clenched teeth, "we need to talk."

Harry obediently sat down on the sofa, his back straight as an arrow having no idea what lay ahead of him.

"I swear I didn't tell anyone about you having a girlfriend," Harry started in on an explanation of what he expected to be in trouble over.

Under different circumstances, Severus would have loved to wait it out, continue to silently stare at the young wizard to see where this admission was going. Unfortunately, he needed to release his pent anger, so he leaned forward and slammed the papers down onto the table between them and said, "Explain."

To his credit, Harry didn't recoil at the sound of Severus's hand coming in contact with the hard wood table, and he did his due diligence by examining the papers before attempting a hasty, half thought through explanation. Severus watched the teen's green eyes as they scanned the parchment back and forth and relished in the moment they went wide in understanding of what he'd been caught doing.

"It's not how it looks-" Harry quickly stated.

"Oh good," the professor threw his hands in the air before crossing them over his chest as he leaned back, anxious to hear Harry's explanation, already knowing it would make no difference to him. "Because it looks like you took your old essay, added in the corrections from your professor, and handed it in again this year, thus proving you haven't actually learned anything from the lesson you're being graded on."

"Erm…" Harry's brows furrowed down onto his face, "well, you see… I guess it does look like how it is."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Are you hard of hearing now?" Severus bold accused.

"No," Harry held back his anger at the insult, "I just meant… if you already know the situation, then does it really matter?"

"Cheating, which is exactly what this is-" Severus aggressively picked the papers up in his hand and shook them between the pair, "- is a serious offense. Did you not think the professors have ways to identify plagiarism?! Don't answer that, obviously you didn't or I hope you wouldn't have done something so idiotic! It's bad enough you and Mr Weasley regularly turned in work that clearly had been derived, if not written by, Miss Granger year after year, but at least then there wasn't anything to compare it to!"

"I'm sor-"

"Not to mention," once Severus started in on his lecture, he found he didn't want to stop, "you've abused a privilege I've given for you to be able to go back home to collect whatever you may need for the school year. That is an absolutely deplorable way to show respect to someone who has worked hard to get you healthy and everything you need to succeed in your schooling!"

"I'm-"

"I'm sorry isn't going to cut it this time, Harry," the professor interjected, not wanting to hear the condescending words uttered from the young wizard.

"Then what can I do? I don't exactly have access to a time turner to go back and fix it."

"First of all, you'll be serving detention with Professor Sprout for however long she needs your assistance in her greenhouse, not to be limited to this year alone. Second-" he lifted his hand to stop whatever protests Harry was certain to bring up, "you will be rewriting every single essay for both Herbology and Potions, since the beginning of the school year."

"What?!" Harry yelled. "That's not fair! I've barely just started using the essays!"

"The purpose of assigned homework is to help the information sink into the thick skulls of teenage students, therefore if you are merely copying the assignment from one vector to another, you will not be retaining any of the information. By rewriting every essay you will have a better chance at ensuring you learn the materials."

Harry sat defiantly staring at him for a solid minute chewing over what he'd been told. Severus expected him to continue to complain or try to explain again, and therefore was surprised when he asked, "Am I done? I'd like to get a shower before going to bed."

"Yes, you may go now," the professor answered, not even moving when Harry's bedroom door predictably slammed closed.

Severus sat still in the sitting room going over everything that had been said between the two wizards. Had he been too hard on Harry? If the child needed help, all he had to do was ask any of his professors and they would have been more than willing to assist him. Severus closed his eyes tightly and leaned back, listening to the shower running from the lavatory. Harry always showered the night before chemotherapy and then again the moment he felt well enough on Sunday, and it served to him as a reminder that if he didn't clear the air with the teen now, his next real chance wouldn't be until Sunday evening.

The shower stopped about twenty minutes later and Severus opened his eyes, then rubbed his hands nervously down the top of his trousers in preparation for the task ahead of him. Taking his time to cross the sitting room and the corridor leading to their bedrooms, the sound of the desk drawers opening and slamming shut gave him a clear indication Harry had not calmed down from their argument.

When his knock went unanswered, Severus cautiously opened the door. The room was still brightly lit by the lanterns in the corners and the enchanted window was no longer set on the scene of the Black Lake. The professor didn't have to use legilimency to know the flood caused the change to it. Harry was standing at his desk aggressively packing away paper and muggle pens into his school bag he would be bringing to the clinic in the morning.

"What? Didn't you say enough already?" Harry muttered just loud enough for Severus to hear. Eventually, the young wizard turned and faced Severus.

Gesturing to the bed, Severus sat down and to his surprise, Harry followed. The teen was already dressed for bed in a pair of all black long sleeved pyjamas, and with his long black hair still dripping wet reminded Severus more of himself at seventeen than James Potter.

"How have classes been?" He carefully asked the Gryffindor. Though he wanted to give Harry a chance to explain the situation, he also didn't want to lead him to an answer.

"They're either boring," Harry complained, but the professor respected him for his honesty, "or they make no sense. There really is no in-between."

Giving his head a slight nod in understanding, Severus said, "Can I assume the boring classes are Charms and Defense leaving Herbology and Potions too difficult?" Harry nodded. "What makes the latter two difficult?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno," he answered, his frustration heavy in his voice, "I know I did all of this last year, but it was different when it was one on one, y'know?"

"Yes, that I can appreciate," Severus confirmed, to which Harry visibly relaxed from the validation of his feelings. "But what you must understand is you should have come to me, or one of your professors, when you found yourself having trouble… even if it's that the class work is boring you-"

"-yeah, right," Harry scoffed. "Like you'd really listen if I said second year Charms lectures were putting me to sleep."

"Possibly not," Severus admitted, "I'd probably tell you to deal with it and move on, but you never gave me that opportunity."

A heavy silence fell between them. "I'm sorry," the young wizard eventually said, "I'm bringing my Herbology to chemo tomorrow and I'll get started on rewriting the essays."

"Good," Severus pointedly answered, not about to undo the punishment he'd already set in motion. If anything, redoing his work would give Harry a better foundation for the work he struggled in. "Should you need any assistance, I can obviously help in Potions and am sufficient enough in Herbology to be able to explain a sixth year level."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry chuckled, making Severus feel a little more comfortable about the situation. It always amazed him how far they'd managed to come since he arrived here - especially given their turbulent past in this reality - and how easily they could navigate a situation like this one. "Did you hear about the Halloween ball?"

Now it was Severus's turn to laugh, "How could I not? I'm assuming this originated from your Common Room?"

Feigning insult, Harry dramatically draped his hand over his heart, "Why would you assume such a thing?!" Severus lifted one eyebrow in response. "Fine… it may have come from Lavender, through Ron, but it wouldn't be happening if the rest of the prefects didn't agree on it!"

"Be sure to thank the bubbling couple for me."

"Don't be like that," Harry pleaded. "You have to admit we all need this. It'll be good for the school to have something good to focus on even if it's a silly dance… too bad you can't bring Mae," he quietly admitted. "How does all that work?"

And just like that, somehow the universe managed to bring his night back around full circle and he spent the next ten minutes explaining the details - or at least as much as he knew of them - of the Statute of Secrecy to the teen. Severus almost laughed at Harry's retelling of Molly's reaction over the possibility of being seen when the the Weasley wizards rescued Harry from Privet Drive prior to his second year; not over the child's need for rescue or the thought of them plummeting to the ground in a faulty accident, but Harry's animated reenactment of the story, complete with voices and actions. From there they discussed Harry's own attendance to the ball and his desire to go alone this time. The professor couldn't help correlate this occasion to the Yule Ball, where he had to practically be dragged out in his dress robes - reminding Severus he needed to make a trip home to collect their set from the wedding - and yet ended up having a good time. The child sitting next to him appeared calm and almost excited over the upcoming event. Despite his own ill feelings towards the ball, perhaps Lavender and the prefects weren't completely mental and something as simple as a dance could help the school and students come together after their near tragedy.

If only Harry and Severus could stay in that moment, where the biggest things they had to worry about were Harry's essays and who the young wizard would or wouldn't take to the Halloween ball. Unfortunately, neither of them knew the course they'd set upon months ago would come back to them, causing the floor to be ripped out from beneath their feet long before they made it to the Halloween ball.

~~~~HP~~~~

Saturday 11th, October 1997

During Harry's last appointment with Dr Snyder the previous Wednesday - the one where he came out to Snape and Mae snogging - the psychologist talked a lot about the chemotherapy clinic and embracing the community Harry had become a part of, whether he wanted to be or not. The conversation sat heavily with the young wizard the rest of the week, so when he finally walked in on Saturday, he couldn't deny he had a whole different outlook on the place. An almost comforting feeling fell over him like a blanket, where coldness and dread used to be.

He could admit there was something to be said about the "normality" in the air being surrounded by the other cancer patients and nurses - people who literally saw this every day - which at first made him nervous, but against all odds, now seemed to relax him. He recognized some of the more regular nurses, like Samantha and Mae, of course - though if Snape's girlfriend was working that day it wouldn't be until closer to the afternoon - and a few other patients; enough to give a friendly wave. Even if they never actually spoke to one another, as Dr Snyder pointed out they were all part of the same club, all fighting the same fight, just in different parts of their bodies, and Harry should try to connect with them even if it was only a smile. Overall, Harry could say the extra encouragement helped him come to accept the new community he was part of - living a life with long term chemotherapy - and he hoped to breathe a little easier because of it.

Samantha walked them through the same procedure as every other month: blood sample, height, weight, and blood pressure, questions about how he'd been feeling. She then moved them to the main treatment area - not allowing them to stay in the private room as Mae had last month - where the young wizard settled into the lounge chair hooked up to the antiemetic while they waited on the go ahead from Dr Swanson: the news that his blood counts could survive the plummeting from the chemotherapy.

That morning, Harry brought his Herbology work, as it really was the only class that, at a glance, could look muggle. He certainly had plenty of essays to rewrite as part of Snape's punishment from last night, and getting a head start while he felt well enough would be a good use of that time. At breakfast this morning, Harry noticed the professor seemed a little more level headed about the event, and he could have sworn at one point he saw the corner of the man's lips try to rise in a smirk. As a Slytherin, the young wizard would have thought his mentor to be a little more understanding about trying to make use of his available resources, however the fact the man was also a professor probably negated any of those cunning traits.

"I really am sorry about my essays," Harry dared to apologize yet again, as he pulled out a piece of paper and a muggle pen from his school bag then placed them on the tray set up over his lap. He loved the way he felt during the supportive medications before chemotherapy because they masked some of his general pain he always had from the tablets; pain he didn't notice was there, until it was gone.

"Yes, you did, in fact, tell me that last night," Snape replied, not lifting his head from his own book set up across his lap.

Harry nervously fidgeted in the chair, "I just figured as long as I wrote the original then why do I have to repeat it this year?"

"As I previously told you on the topic," Snape sighed, this time lifting his eyes enough to look over at the Gryffindor, "essays are assigned as a way for students to study the relevant material during that particular lesson. And therefore you should use it as a way to actually study, which cannot be done when one is simply copying, verbatim, another assignment. The bigger issue, though, is that you used your professor's corrections as opposed to actually thinking about what you'd done wrong last year and work out the solution on your own to correct it. Had you done that simple yet important step I might have been able to see your side of things. Finally, and this absolutely should not negate the other two reasons, it's a very-" he lowered his voice, "-Slytherin thing to do."

Harry smiled. So he had been right after all. In his mind, the other two weren't much different than getting Hermione's help, something he greatly missed, but he didn't find it wise to mention it at that exact moment.

"I thought you said I needed be a little more snake-like in my life?" Harry argued, holding back a smile.

"That is not what I meant," Snape closed the book in his lap, using his finger to hold his place as he made full eye contact with Harry. "You really do need to take this year seriously, Harry," Snape continued with less vigor than the Gryffindor expected. In fact, he sounded almost distracted.

Harry then noticed Snape start to lean side to side, now looking beyond Harry's face instead of at it. Turning around the teen saw the professor watching the nurses at the station behind him, next to the rooms where he'd just had his exam and blood drawn and would soon have his IT done. Two other nurses Harry didn't know, but recognized, stood beside Samantha as she spoke on the telephone with a file opened on the desk in front of her, hurriedly writing down whatever instructions were being told to her. Harry hoped she was getting the approval on his blood results so he could get started and out of there in time to at least hear how the Gryffindor Quidditch trials went before he got too sick, but based on her closed off body language he doubted that was the case.

"She's not working today," Harry told the professor with a smile, taking a guess the other wizard was looking for Mae.

"Don't you think I already know that?" Snape sharply replied, his eyes never leaving the commotion behind him. His curt voice, laced with an edge of panic, left Harry feeling vulnerable, and if he were honest, a little scared.

"What do you think is going on?"

"I do not know," Snape's slow baritone voice sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

But before the Gryffindor could say anything else, Samantha returned with a set of purple gloves on and started to unhook the antiemetic from Harry's port. It hadn't even come close to finishing.

"Well, it looks like we need to collect another blood sample," the nurse explained, giving Harry a smile he couldn't help suspect was covering up for something.

"Why?" asked Harry and Snape simultaneously. In any other situation the Gryffindor would have found it amusing, but his heart was practically beating from his chest at this odd deviation from their normal routine.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," the nurse answered, sadly, "we're not given that level of information. I'm just told Dr Swanson has requested another set."

Harry looked across the table at his mentor, whose dark obsidian eyes narrowed while he intensely watched Samantha collect more than the usual tubes. It couldn't be any more obvious that something wasn't right.

"If you could collect your things," Samantha pointed down at his school bag and Harry quickly closed his Herbology book, which had been open to a page on Sneezewort , "I'm going to go ahead and move you to one of the exam rooms while we wait on these results."

"Were my blood counts too low?" Harry questioned, confused as to why they'd move him from the main room into a private exam room if she'd already taken his blood samples. Sure, during his exam he'd hoped she'd let him have his chemotherapy there instead of the main room, like Mae did, however now it terrified him.

"Again, I'm just following Dr Swanson's orders," Samantha unhooked the rest of his IV, flushing it out at the end, while Snape began repacking his school bag. Neither of the wizards spoke a word to each other, they just followed the movements needed to get from point A to point B.

Once his things were packed, Harry noticed the other patients curiously watching him, causing his face to instantly heat up and his hands to tremble. Had they been here when someone else's blood counts were too low for chemotherapy? Maybe this was a normal reaction they'd seen another time or had lived through themselves? Although he'd been told having low blood counts was common during chemo, he'd always been lucky that in all of his time through the intensive and consolidation phases, he'd never had to reschedule a treatment from it. In fact, though he'd always been anxious over the results, deep down he'd gotten to the point to where the blood draws were simply a step he had to take; a checkbox to mark off or the pharmacy wouldn't release his medications.

Harry didn't remember walking out of the main treatment room or down the hallway. So when the door closed hard behind him, he jumped, having no clue how'd he'd gotten to the small exam room where the two wizards found themselves alone. Had Samantha told them how long it would take? Had she given any other instructions he didn't hear? Or had she just opened the door, shuffled them in, and left? Harry looked to Snape for some kind of answers. The man had been his pillar through all of this, he knew about the Leukemia before Harry had; had lived through what the other Harry had to go through. He always had an answer and often an explanation to go alongside it, but one glance at the man's ghostly white face told Harry this was not one of those times. He looked completely defeated sitting in the red plastic chair - across from the exam table Harry had instinctively jumped onto, even if he barely remembered doing it - with his elbows propped on his knees, fingers steepled, and held under his chin. Most uncharacteristically, the professor's legs bounced, causing his head to almost vibrate in a similar fashion to Harry's own whenever he was nervous. Suddenly Harry's mind flashed back to all the times Snape told him to sit still and it became obvious that the man didn't only feel scared about what they'd just experienced, he was absolutely terrified over it.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Harry lied, as his body started to shiver caused by a cold deep down into his bones from his nerves. Something in his movements finally caught Snape's attention because he looked to Harry, stood, then draped his black coat over the young wizard's shoulders. "Thanks," Harry mumbled, though it didn't stop him from shaking. This kind of cold couldn't be solved by a coat or blanket, no matter how many warming charms were on it.

The clock on the wall continued to tick the seconds away. Harry watched Snape finger his wand tucked into his shirt, itching to silence the almost deafening clicks with each passing minute. They sat in silence as a quarter of an hour passed, then a half, and right before three quarters of an hour, Harry whispered with a scratchy voice, "She took more blood than normal… More phials, I mean, than they usually do for chemotherapy."

Swallowing loud enough for Harry to hear across the small room, Snape said, "I noticed that as well."

But Harry didn't get to ask any other questions, sure that if anyone could figure out a logical solution, it would be Snape, because a small, tentative knock drew both of their eyes longingly to the door. It cracked open and Harry almost cried at the sight of Dr Swanson's stone face with Healer Smithe directly behind her.

No, this definitely would not be good news.

"Good morning, Harry," Dr Swanson entered the room and ever so carefully - far more calculated than her usual hurried state - closed the door behind the healer. The four of them barely fit in the small exam room, however Harry hardly noticed. Instead, he focused on the small quiver in her voice that was there for only a second before she steeled her emotions again; too similar to the way Snape always managed to do. "I'm sure you've got a ton of things going on your head right now, so I'll jump straight to the point. This morning's blood sample… well, both of them… showed abnormally high numbers of lymphoblasts. Do you remember that term?"

Harry shook his head. A lie. He knew, but he needed her to say it out loud, otherwise he could convince himself it wasn't real.

"Those are immature white blood cells and typically the first sign we see of ALL," she clarified and Harry's heart broke. Did he cry when he'd heard almost those same exact words over a year ago from Healer Smithe? He didn't think so, nevertheless at that moment he couldn't stop the tears from forming in his eyes if he'd tried. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Swiping the tears away with the back of his right hand - ironically across the scar stating I must not tell lies - Harry sniffled and without lifting his head, he quietly answered, "It's back."

"I'm afraid that's what it looks like," Dr Swanson said the words Harry had hoped to never hear. "We ran a second-"

"- and a third-" Healer Smithe interjected.

"Yes, and a third test to be certain," she continued, "but I'd like to confirm with a bone marrow biopsy, as well as several other tests, to check if it's spread to anywhere else in your body."

Harry nodded, trying to think of what else he needed to know, but was too numb to move. How could one have dozens of questions and not be able to ask any of them?

"So what now?" Snape finally spoke up and Harry could hear the man's own grief heavy in his voice.

"I've scheduled the biopsy and imaging back at the hospital," Healer Smithe took the lead. "We'll use magical methods for the processing, so we should know what we're dealing with later this afternoon. While you go through all of those, Dr Swanson and I will start putting together a new treatment plan."

"But I feel fine," Harry lifted his head for the first time and wished the three pairs of eyes - black, brown, and blue - didn't look so sad. "I'm not tired or sick." He looked at Snape for support. How could the professor not see that this wasn't right, that last time he'd been very sick and now he felt fine? "And I've had no bruising or nosebleeds… at least not unwarranted ones, nothing like before. So how could I… erm… how could it come back?"

"You are absolutely right, Harry," once again, Healer Smithe started to answer, "based on the levels we're seeing, we should expect to see some kind of symptoms and I believe it's because of your magic. It's still early to say, but since we know your raw magic was focusing itself inwardly, it's not out of the realm of possibility that it facilitated the relapse, and then masked the symptoms. I'll be honest, it's not a scenario I'd anticipated. I, too, figured we'd see something if this were to happen."

If he understood right - an assumption in his current state, so he very well could be wrong - all this time they'd been celebrating his magic actually cooperating with the retraining and it's been silently, and that was the key term to use, killing him.

"You said this was the one the most treatable cancers," Harry recalled his healer's words from the day of his diagnosis, willing to find any way to turn the conversation around, "So… is that still… I mean… does that change when…"

He couldn't finish his question and was relieved when his muggle doctor understood.

"While that may be true for newly diagnosed cases, Harry," Dr Swanson started and Harry could feel the frustration he had when he'd first met her work it's way back up, "an ALL relapse, which is what it's called when the cancer comes out of remission, is unfortunately quite a bit harder to cure. Even with the aggressive treatments used, long term remission is achieved only thirty to fifty percent of the time."

Harry's stomach instantly lurched and his body started shaking, so he pulled Snape's coat tighter around him though it did no good. He didn't have to ask what happened to the other fifty to seventy percent of patients who didn't reach long term remission. Just when he felt like he was about to crumble, Snape's strong, solid arm wrapped its way around Harry's shoulders and the young wizard leaned into his mentor's chest.

"What I will say," Dr Swanson continued, "is that looking over your tests, outside of one questionable result at the beginning, which Dr Smithe consulted with me before doing the continuous chemotherapy, the rest have responded extremely well to your treatments. There's no guarantees, of course, but that is a positive trend we want to see in order to achieve a second remission."

"You said aggressive treatment," Snape said. "What does that mean?"

Healer Smithe spoke up, "Let's get everything confirmed first and then we'll talk about treatments once Dr Swanson and I have some time to go over a regimen plan."

Harry lifted his head so quickly, he almost hit the underside of Snape's jaw. "Could I do the potions this time?" He pleaded, "Maybe they'll work-"

Healer Smithe was shaking his head before Harry had a chance to finish his idea, making the Gryffindor angry inside. "As Dr Swanson mentioned, a relapse requires a far more aggressive protocol and the potions were a risk back when you were newly diagnosed with a nine out of ten remission rate. I'm afraid it's far too risky to offer it as an option. At that point, you might as well not do any treatment at all."

"Then when will we know the next steps?" Snape asked, more angrily than Harry would have expected. In fact, the more Harry looked at the professor, the more it seemed like he wanted to hit the healer.

"Right now we know the Leukemia has relapsed," Dr Swanson jumped back in, saying it without any doubt in her voice, "but until we get the biopsy and imaging, we don't know exactly what levels we're dealing with yet."

Wiping his eyes one more time, Harry stood up from the exam table, thankful to have Snape's arm holding tightly to him otherwise he was sure he'd fall straight to the ground. As they left the chemotherapy center for the hospital, Harry walked slowly with his school bag slung over his shoulder, and staring down at the floor knowing every single patient he passed knew why he didn't stay for his normal treatment, and deep down they were feeling grateful they hadn't been the one to get this news.

Harry felt so scared, numb, and defeated when he stumbled through the floo well after dinnertime - not that he was hungry with the bland lunch they had at the cafeteria still sitting heavily on his anxious stomach - he hardly noticed the physical pain he was in from the range of tests they had put him through at the hospital. If it had been a typical chemotherapy day, they would have disapparated from the clinic to right outside of the Hogwarts gates, but Harry couldn't take the possibility of seeing people in his current mood, especially if the Quidditch trials were still ongoing. Somehow he'd managed to get into, more or less, a stable state, and he was sure the moment his eyes met with one of his classmate's it would break him apart.

The whole afternoon felt like he was watching it all happen to him from a distance; as if it weren't even him, but someone else, maybe one of the other patients back at the clinic. People scurried around professionally and with a kindness he could only associate with someone who'd been given their death sentence. No matter how many different ways Healer Smithe and Dr Swanson - tag teaming him and Snape with information - explained his prognosis, it still didn't feel true. He didn't want to believe a single word they said.

The tests started with Dr Swanson taking another bone marrow biopsy, which Harry knew he'd never get used to, followed by a lumbar puncture to test his spinal fluids. Though those had been the same two tests he'd done back in Healer Smithe's office the first time around, this time knowing what they were looking for and what to expect made them infinitely harder to get through. After their third attempt, Dr Swanson prescribed the young wizard an anti-anxiety medication so he'd be able to calm down and stop shaking. In addition to the tests he'd done during his original diagnosis, they also took a scan of his brain and other areas of his body Dr Swanson said were common relapse sites for ALL. By then, the muggle calming draught was at its highest and Harry hardly remembered what they'd poked and prodded to get the images, and honestly, he didn't care much.

Once all of those were completed, they ended up back in Dr Swanson's office where she officially diagnosed him with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia Relapse targeted only in his bone marrow. Though he'd been given the unofficial diagnosis hours earlier, it still cut into his heart like a knife and he knew he'd never get used to hearing the word relapse. Dr Swanson kept emphasizing its sole location in his bone marrow, perhaps thinking by telling him they'd caught it before spreading to any other part of his body would be some kind of consolation to the bad news, but it made no difference to Harry's outlook on the situation. Nothing could lessen the blow of his diagnosis and he already dreaded having to tell everyone - his friends, Dudley, the Weasleys, Tonk and Remus - about what had happened.

As for treatment, they had a follow up scheduled for tomorrow to discuss the next steps; quicker than he'd expected and yet long enough away to cause his anxiety to eat away at him. He wanted to tell himself he could do another round of the chemotherapy he went through last year, but based on how often Dr Swanson referred to their next step as aggressive chemotherapy, he seriously began to doubt his abilities. Hadn't he done aggressive chemotherapy? How much worse could it really get? Those two questions filled every crevasse of his mind and yet, either from the calming medication or his own fear, he couldn't bring himself to ask about it. Instead he went through the motions, nodded his head when he should, and leaned on Snape to make it home; first to Spinner's End - where he wanted to stay - and then through the floo when the professor told him they'd be more comfortable in their quarters.

For Harry, the diagnosis of his relapse was distressing in itself, but Snape's reaction - or lack thereof - almost overshadowed it. Throughout all of the tests and information given to them, the professor stayed oddly quiet; only asking for clarification when Harry seemed not to understand or too overwhelmed to remember to ask. Thinking back, the Slytherin almost seemed better put together during his first diagnosis than this one and he wondered when the reality would hit the other wizard and how he would react when it did.

Without thinking, Harry headed straight to his bedroom, hearing Snape say something in the background, but like all the other words he'd heard throughout the day, they didn't register in his mind. He wanted to take a shower, to scrub away the residue of the day from the top layer of his skin. If only he could scrub all the way down to his blood, to his bones, and wash away the Leukemia once again crowding the space within it. He couldn't though, and he didn't have the energy to move much further than his bed - where he found himself curled up, facing the window, his back to the door - let alone make it to the shower. The soft knock on his door went unanswered as Harry stared unseeingly into his enchanted window, not noticing the raging storm outside of the castle matching his own internal feelings, and he hardly registered the door opening or Snape's footsteps across his room. He blinked back to the present when he felt the bed beneath his side dip down, and he could feel the professor's eyes watching him.

"I'm fine," Harry tried to assure Snape, hating that his voice betrayed him with its trembling. "You don't have to babysit me."

"It's ok to be not fine," Snape's deep voice tore right through the Gryffindor's false exterior, "the news today-"

"-is fine," Harry firmly interrupted, and faster than he'd moved all day, he sat up in his bed, pushed past Snape, and stormed across his room to stand in front of his wardrobe, "Seriously… I'll just start over again, right? Isn't that what I do? I just keep going-" he hadn't realized he had started pacing and running his hands up and down his arms while he spoke, each word getting faster and louder, "-I keep beating whatever's thrown at me and that's it. First my relatives, then Voldemort how many times… five? Six? But who's counting? So why not this?" He couldn't say the word relapse, it would make the situation too real for him, the word felt like a bitter poison in the back of his throat. Not knowing what he was doing, the young wizard pulled back his arm and slammed his open palm into his wooden wardrobe door, causing the door on the right side to rattle, freed it from its latch, and swung open. The motion released a piece of his frustration, and so he repeated it twice… three times... four… and right before he could hit it a fifth time, a strong firm grip took hold of his wrist and carefully pulled it away.

"Harry," Snape's smooth, firm voice said, and the young wizard wondered when he'd gotten so close. "Stop before you hurt yourself."

He didn't turn to face the man he needed more than anything, instead he rested his head against the now closed wardrobe enjoying the cool smooth texture against his too hot forehead.

"How much worse can this really get?" Harry asked, his shaking voice showing exactly how scared he felt in that moment. "Isn't this what I died from back there? So, what does it matter anymore?"

"No," Snape told him, "that's not how it happened back there. Back there, you died from a mistake made in your potions. Had that not happened, who's to say you would have died from the cancer?"

Harry closed his eyes as he came face to face with his own mortality from Snape's other world. What the professor said made no sense, but he was in no condition to question it. Later. He'd ask for clarification on it later, once all of this finally sunk in.

Suddenly, standing there with his head against his wardrobe, it became clear to Harry why the news seemed harder to handle now than at his first diagnosis. This time around, he knew exactly what to expect. Now he knew what was in store for him, or what the minimum of what he could anticipate as this round was bound to be worse.

"So what now?" Harry sniffled, hating himself for how weak he sounded.

"Now, we keep fighting," Snape told him, and in one swift movement, he turned Harry around and wrapped him in a strong embrace. The action completely unravelled the Gryffindor who would have surely crumbled to the floor had the professor not been there to support him. Tears he hadn't realized he'd been holding back fell from his eyes and for once he didn't care about feeling embarrassed. For the most part, throughout this last year he'd kept a positive attitude about it all, but standing there facing the reality waiting for him, he couldn't do it any longer; he didn't want to do it any longer. Deep down he knew something had been wrong - he knew the other shoe would drop - and now he'd been blindsided just like he had wanted to avoid all along.

"I can't do it," he cried into Snape's chest, violently shaking his head from side to side. "I'm sorry, but I just can't go through all of that again. I'm not strong enough and I'm just tired of fighting. I'm so sorry."

"Harry, this isn't the time-"

"IT IS!" Harry screamed, pushing back away from Snape's comfort. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE, SO DON'T TELL WHEN I CAN AND CAN'T TALK ABOUT IT!"

"Stop!" Snape exclaimed, causing Harry's head to snap up and look at him. The man's dark eyes held a pain within them Harry had never seen. And yet in all outwardly appearances, he appeared calm. The professor's hand reached out and grabbed ahold of Harry's left wrist, which he now realized had been scratching at his port, almost as if he subconsciously wanted to remove it. The small device had sat there so long he hardly noticed it anymore, however in his current state it felt like a foreign part of his body he needed to expel immediately. "This is not a decision we make after the news we received this morning, understood? It's why Alton and Dr Swanson did not present the treatment plan yet. We need time to process what's going on. We need time to rest. We need time to think."

Harry couldn't help but notice how there was no "I" or "you" in his speech, only "we"; a testament to Harry that he was not alone in this. That while only he would have to endure the pain of whatever aggressive chemotherapy entailed, Snape would stand by his side, or kneel beside him while he was sick, during it all.

They stood in that same position, staring at one another daring the other to make the first move for what seemed like hours. When Snape eventually moved, he held his arm out towards Harry's bed and slowly led the young wizard back to it. Sometime during the short walk back to the bed, Snape had summoned the muggle sleeping tablets Harry had been refusing to take since his kidnapping.

He helped Harry sit down in his bed, held out the tablet with a glass of water from the bedside table and said, "You need to take this tonight. It's not an option."

Harry didn't try to talk his way out of it, showing just how exhausted and fuzzy his mind was in that moment. Not saying a word, and still dressed in the clothes he expected to get chemotherapy in that morning, Harry laid down on his side, gently prodding his port, and hoping sleep would come quickly so he could wake up far away from the nightmare he managed to find himself in.

~~~~SS~~~~

This cannot be happening. I can't do this again.

Those selfish thoughts ran rampantly through Severus's mind, tearing down all the neat and tidy walls he'd built over the year in order to deal with his unique situation: his first son's death, the cancer in this Harry, Harry's accidental magic, the looming Death Eater threat, and his normal everyday life. Sitting in that suffocating exam room, listening to the news of Harry's Leukemia relapse had every nerve in Severus's body firing at once, leaving him somewhere between overstimulated and numb for the rest of the day.

They were headed into deep, dark, uncharted waters, yet the situation felt far too close to the day of his first son's terminal diagnosis for his liking. He'd been familiar with Leukemia, almost an expert in navigating the Gryffindor's prognosis - magically and medically - , its symptoms, and side effects. Outside of the error in the original potions formulation, it had almost been textbook easy. A relapse, though, would not only bring him into a new, unfamiliar realm, it was one where the odds were against the teen; where Harry was more likely to succumb to the cancer than survive it, and that didn't even account for his magic aiding the cancer growing within him. When he heard Harry's raw magic may have caused the relapse, evidence of yet another failed crossroad, it took all of his resolve not to break down right there in the office. Everything he'd been working towards, everything - and everyone - he'd sacrificed to give Harry a chance to live, had potentially been for naught.

Completely defeated, Severus allowed his legs to carry him out of Harry's bedroom without sparing a second thought over his destination. Unsurprisingly, those legs brought him to the only place where he had any chance of escaping this newest reality - his liquor cabinet. Mindlessly, his hands fumbled to open the door and haphazardly pulled out a dusty bottle of firewhiskey and a glass tumbler. The three quarter full bottle of amber liquid was plenty more than he should be drinking, yet given the circumstances he subconsciously took note of the second full bottle - a gift from Albus last Christmas - tucked away behind it. Being as busy as he had this year, he'd hardly spent any casual time in his quarters and therefore the bottle and glass in his hands felt almost foreign to him as he walked to his armchair. How could the year - one which promised healing, growing, and friendship - take such a dark turn so quickly? Between the flood and the relapse, Severus found himself completely unraveling; he'd previously reached his limit and was now pummeling towards the bottom, unable to come up with any other way to slow himself down.

Some unknown time later, Severus had no clue what number glass of firewhiskey he poured, nor did he care. Whatever it took to numb his pain and despair he would welcome it with open arms. Gone were all of his inhibitions, those he strategically erected to make sure he would never turn into his drunken father, and in its place was pure desperation. Slamming back the current glass of whiskey in his hand, he relished in the burning sensation trailing down his throat, following it all the way into his stomach. If only the burning could penetrate his core and erase the crushing feeling suffocating him from the inside out; maybe then he could find some way to function and continue to move forward. He cradled his head in his right hand - propped up by his elbow on his knee - with the glass hanging in his left mere centimeters from the floor, his mind raced, trying to put some sense into what was happening. Letting the glass slip from his fingers, it fell to the ground, landing safely on its side - not giving him the satisfaction of hearing it shatter - spilling the last bit of liquid onto the floor around his feet. His unseeing eyes watched the glass roll, coming to an abrupt stop when it hit the gap between his armchair and the stone floor. The rest of his drinks for the night would come straight from the bottle.

This has to be a nightmare, he told himself over and over until the idea consumed every corner of his befuddled mind and, heavily aided by the alcohol, he started to truly believe it. It made perfect sense. If only he could find something to show himself he was living elsewhere - perhaps still in his old reality - it would startle him awake into the comfort of his bed and he'd be able to breathe easier. Pushing himself up and out of his chair, Severus frantically stumbled around the room turning over everything within his reach in hopes of discovering at least one object to prove to himself this wasn't real: a picture frame from his old life, a book he never owned here, or the adoption certificate.

Against all odds, he'd somehow managed to stagger his way over to the bookcases lining the wall near his office - making an impromptu stop by the liquor cabinet along the way to swap the almost empty bottle for the full one - and started forcefully pulling down every object he could reach. The sound of his own heart beating into his ears coupled with his labored breathing drowned out the deafening crash of each heavy book as they tumbled to the floor. His inability to reach the top three shelves along the wall didn't matter because he'd exhausted himself long before his feeble attempt to get to them. The floor around him was now littered in potions journals, old textbooks, years worth of his own research notebooks, broken pieces of quills, and shattered glasses and spilled ink; all of which had a rightful place in his quarters. Severus sank to the ground wishing for a split second it would swallow him whole. Maybe then he would wake up and find they'd made a mistake after all and Harry would be fine.

Surrounded by his belongings - evidence of his failure mocking him - the professor's sluggish, drunken mind struggled to find any solution possible, when his eyes somehow caught sight of the book Albus brought him outlining the Magical Block Ritual. Taking a swig of whiskey from the bottle, he pulled the book open and hastily searched for the recipe he needed. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious he questioned why he hadn't thought about it before. There wouldn't be a red potion at the end this time if things went wrong, so he had to do this right from the beginning, and that meant first blocking Harry's magic. If they didn't take this crucial, albeit dark, step, any and all of the treatments his doctor and healer talked about tomorrow would be worthless as the magic continued to assist the Leukemia in killing the young wizard.

Tapping into the academic side of his brain - hoping the liquor hadn't washed away too much at this point of the night - he managed to find the ritual. The ingredients seemed straight forward, if difficult to obtain, and until now he'd not really considered how they'd go about getting them:

Fresh blood of the host
Grave dirt taken from a relative of the host
Red clay collected from Abyaneh during a full moon
A phial of Water of Life from Abkhazia

Though unpleasant, the first two would be the easiest. Harry could donate blood the first morning of the ritual, and a trip to Godric's Hollow for a visit to Lily and James's grave sites - surely they'd understand the need to disturb their resting place - would be quick and painless. Having just sent off the latest batch of Wolfsbane to Lupin last week in preparation for the full moon on Tuesday, they wouldn't have to wait a month for someone to go to Iran and collect the red clay. Severus would never say their situation was lucky, but not having this drag on another month waiting for the next full moon worked in their favor.

The last one though - a phial of Water of Life from Abkhazia - would prove difficult, if not impossible. The Water of Life, also known to some as the Spring of Life or Fountain of Youth, resided in the land of the darkness and could only be collected by those willing to pay the steep price. The stories surrounding the Water of Life were filled with irony of those who searched for it carrying all of their gold and riches only to find the price was the one thing they wouldn't pay: life for life. Severus admitted he didn't know exactly what "life for life" entailed, but he wouldn't hesitate trading his own life for Harry's. Nevertheless even in his completely intoxicated state, he knew how much the young wizard needed him here, leaving him without any other viable options. Hopelessness seeped into every part of his body as the professor sat on the cold ground, his legs sprawled out in front of him like a toddler, trying to find an answer; he had to fix this, Harry had to be alright in the end.

And as he was as close to giving up as he'd ever been, the professor took another long draw of the amber liquid and he thought back to a day not too unlike this one, when he needed a solution no matter how desperate or impossible it seemed. Back there he'd found it; he'd left that night to go get his answer, and instantly he knew where he needed to go. But first, he had to call someone to stay with Harry. Should the young wizard wake up in his absence, the last thing Severus wanted was for him to be alone. His current depressive state made casting anything more than a few silver wisps of his Patronus impossible, so instead he belligerently stuck his head into the floo and practically demanded Minerva to come through to his quarters.

"Severus, what happened here?" His colleague and friend shockingly asked when she stepped out from the floo and saw the mess from the bookcases strown upon the floor. "Are you alright?"

"M'fine," he slurred, not making eye contact as he collected the book he'd need to convince Lucius of his plans, "I need you t'watch 'arry for a bit."

"Have you been drinking?" She admonished, though the empty bottle by the cabinet behind her and the fallen glass on the floor near her feet gave all the confirmation she needed. "Where is Harry?"

"Can't esplain now." His wobbly hand pointed to Harry's room, "He's sleeeeepin'. Should be down the 'ole night. I have ta go. I 'ave ta fix this."

Determination quickly replaced where his depression had once settled - masking it at best, but he'd take whatever he could get - and so ignoring Minerva's protests, he grabbed his travelling cloak, wand, and the bottle of whiskey, then pulled open his door. Clearly torn between following her former student or staying with Harry, Minerva continued to plead for him to return as he made his way down the corridor, but she didn't cross the threshold. Severus paused at the bottom of the stairs leading out of the dungeons and released a whiskey laced breath when he didn't hear her firm footsteps following him; she'd correctly decided to stay with her Lion.

A small swift movement from the corner of his eye - paired with his limited reasoning skills - had the professor brandishing his wand, ready to duel the potential enemy he was sure was lurking within the depths of the castle waiting to attack. His wand shook from the trembling in his arm as his eyes focused on the "potentially deadly creature": the white kitten he had too often seen wandering around the school. A nagging in the back of his mind warned him of some significance to the cat, but it was too hazy to come to any solid conclusion.

"What're you lookin' at?" He wailed at the small mammal, simultaneously stowing his wand back into his cloak. The cat stood frozen in the corridor near the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon with its back raised in either fear or aggression, neither of which Severus cared about. "Why're ya even down 'ere?! Geddout b'fore you end up in my potions cubbrd!"

Stumbling up the stairs as gracefully as possible, Severus didn't notice the cat slinking its way a consistent two meters behind him. Being small and nimble had its advantages, making the ball of white fluff able to sneak through the heavy wooden doors leading out of the grounds right before they closed behind the professor. The storms which swept through the castle earlier in the afternoon had moved on, but it left the ground frigid and wet, causing the kitten's fur to be quickly covered in mud. Undeterred, the feline utilized his ability to see in the dark to aid him in watching and following his unsteady target - who luckily hadn't tripped on any of the stones - down the pathway leading to where he knew the anti-apparation wards were located. His grey eyes widened in shock when the professor disappeared without hesitation and he hoped the other wizard would land in one piece on the other side.

Searing pain greeted Severus when his feet landed outside of the tall wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Although he'd never splinched himself in all of years apparating, he recognized the blinding pain in his left side as exactly that. It made sense, he probably should not have attempted to disapparate in his condition, nevertheless he'd made it to his intended destination and therefore a little lost skin - quite literally - was a worthwhile sacrifice. Nevertheless, he still had the bottle of firewhiskey in his hand and he felt his wand tucked in his robe, so there wasn't much else he needed.

As the pain quickly increased and his black muggle shirt - the one he'd worn to the chemotherapy clinic - beneath his cloak became cold and wet from the sticky blood, he stumbled towards the gates in hopes of getting the Malfoy Patriarch's attention. In his mind he imagined he would simply cross the wards, thus alerting the residents to his presence, but reality rarely matched expectations, especially on a day such as that one. Instead, he stumbled up to the gate, grasping his left side with his right arm and falling face first into the cold iron bars, dragging his shirt agonizingly across his splinched skin. Crossing the security wards in this manner triggered an instant, but silent, alarm and the professor found himself on the wrong end of three wands pointed directly at him; one through the gate he practically laid upon and the other two jabbed roughly into his back.

He hadn't checked the time before his departure from Hogwarts, an oversight on his part likely due to the amount of alcohol clouding his judgement. It had been dark when he'd left, and since he hadn't passed any students, he assumed it to be after ten o'clock - the weekend curfew for the entire student population. Otherwise, surely someone would have seen him in his inebriated state as they waited until the very last second to get back to their Common Room. If he had to guess, it was nearing eleven o'clock, but knowing Lucius, he'd be burning the midnight oil trying to stay on top of his many business ventures.

"m'a friend of Lussus," Severus's dark voice slurred, lifting his hands, causing him to wince when the pressure left his injured side. "I need ta see 'im. S'importnt."

"Hold it there," the guard warned, and the wands surrounding him tightened when Severus moved to grab his side again. This wasn't how it went in his old reality, then again, he'd been much more clear headed there.

Just when the former spy thought he'd need to abandon his quest, adding another failure to the day, he heard Lucius's calculated voice.

"Thank you, gentlemen," the other Slytherin announced, "you may stand down, this man is a friend… and one who appears to be quite injured."

No words were exchanged while the guards backed away and the gates opened to allow him entry. Each step Severus took up to the manor pulled on the wound at his side, but he didn't make a sound of protest. He was on a mission and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize its success.

"It appears Narcissa had been right about your apparation skills after all," Lucius commented, helping the professor into one of their sitting rooms off the entryway and into a silver wingback chair. The professor couldn't hold back the groans when he removed his travelling cloak and lifted the side of his shirt to see the damage. Sure enough, a section of his side - roughly fifteen centimeters around - was missing, leaving a shallow crater of bleeding skin.

"Of course that-" Lucius's head nodded to the bottle of firewhiskey still clutched for dear life in Severus's left hand, "-likely had something to do with it. Merlin, Severus, you know better than to disapparate in this state. You're lucky you didn't decapitate yourself."

"I'need your 'elp," Severus pleaded, completely ignoring the blonde's lecture and his bleeding side.

"What you need is to get sober," Lucius chided, "and some Dittany."

Severus shook his head, but no words came out from his mouth. He didn't need either of those, he needed to help Harry.

"Lucius?" Narcissa's soft voice caused the professor to turn towards the open doorway to his left. "Is everything… what happened?"

She rushed up to the pair of wizards with her eyes wide, looking calculatedly into Severus's new wound. The fire roaring in the large fireplace to Severus's right baked the room in a soft orange glow allowing him to see that the Matriarch was already dressed for bed in a dark green silk dressing gown and matching slippers. If she were embarrassed by her attire in front of him, she didn't show it as she summoned several potions Severus knew by sight alone: Essence of Dittany, Pain Draught, Sobriety Elixir, and a Calming Draught. How she knew he'd need the last one, Severus could only guess.

He took the Pain Draught without question - the Dittany did it's best work when the recipient wasn't clenching against the painful work - but refused the Sobriety Elixir. Sobering up immediately defeated the entire purpose of the drinking and the calming draught just wouldn't do enough to block the crushing feeling in his chest.

"You need to take this, Severus," Narcissa commanded, removing the bottle of firewhiskey from his grip and pressing the uncorked phial of black liquid in its place.

"No," his brows knitted together as if he didn't understand the words she'd just said to him. "I'need life water."

"We'll figure it all out after I fix up your side," she told him in a voice one would use if speaking to a petulant young child, "and you need to drink this in order for me to do it. You can have the Calming Draught right afterwards."

She was lying and she knew he'd know it - at least in his sobered state - however something in her voice told Severus they would help him, but not if he didn't play by their rules. Feeling sweat bead up on his forehead, he gave a swift nod and drank back the Sobriety Elixir in much the same manner as he did the firewhiskey to get him to this state in the first place. The elixir was thick, like a sludge, coating his tongue and the path it took down his throat to his stomach. The process of ridding the excess alcohol from his bloodstream didn't hurt - a testament to the brewer's skill level - and he immediately took the Calming Draught when the flood of emotions came washing over him; the helplessness over Harry's relapse, his own doubts of being able to handle more rounds of chemotherapy, and the fear of watching Harry succumb to this disease for a second time. The Calming Draught was a strong one, but not nearly as effective as the alcohol had been.

Seeing the professor's eyes clear, Narcissa silently went to work on closing his wound using the Dittany and then wrapping it tight with a set of conjured bandages around his entire waist.

"That'll work for now," she said, sitting back to admire her work. Severus blanched in embarrassment at the large spot of blood on the front of her expensive dressing gown. "I want you to go to Madam Pomfrey when you return to Hogwarts, though. She'll make sure it holds."

"Thank you, Narcissa," he told her, "You have my sincerest apologies for my actions earlier."

She gave a curt nod and left the room with only the smallest of glance in Lucius's direction.

"Still having trouble?" Severus inquired, feeling the weight of the world seeping back into him with the alcohol now gone from his system.

"We still have a long road ahead of us," the patriarch peered back at the door leading to the rest of the enormous manor where his wife had just walked out through. "I will say, fixing you up has been the most… focused... she's been, what with the renovations coming to an end."

Severus swallowed back the lump growing in his throat.

"So tell me," Lucius walked over to the fireplace, his back strategically turned towards Severus, and watched the flames slowly dance across their home, "what happened to cause such a reaction from a wizard as careful as yourself? The Severus I know wouldn't dare leave himself so vulnerable. I always imagined you as a locked up drunk, making sure you couldn't leave whatever prison you decided to inebriate yourself in."

"I'll just see myself out," Severus began to stand, halting when the door in front of him closed automatically.

"Are you forgetting this?" Lucius held out the bottle to which Severus did not reach for. "You came here seeking something important enough to risk splinching yourself dead, you might as well ask for it."

If it weren't for the Calming Draught, the professor was sure he'd uncharacteristically crumble to the floor thinking back on the conversation at the chemotherapy clinic.

"I need Water of Life from Abkhazia," he replied quietly, staring into Lucius's grey eyes; the same eyes Draco inherited. Now with a sober mind, he didn't know what he'd been thinking coming here. Even if Lucius knew how to get to the source and what to exchange, he doubted his own ability to be able to do it in time.

"I see," Lucius turned, his hands were clasped together in front of his chest. "Am I correct to assume its need is for a certain young wizarding savior?"

Severus grimaced at the question. He hated when others referred to Harry as such, but they toed the line of getting into a conversation far from either of their comfort zones.

"It came back," he averted his eyes away from his friend as he said the three words, unable to say them otherwise. "I can't even begin to start to explain it all, but his healer believes his magic caused it… and now we need…"

Lucius's eyes lit up for a fraction of a second, and with a half grin he said, "You're going to block his magical core."

Severus didn't respond. He didn't have to, the other wizard said it as a statement, not a question.

"It's amazing what we'd do for the children we love," Lucius continued, cryptically. "They do drive us mad most of the time, and yet we'd kill to keep them alive."

"Do you know how to get it or not?" Severus demanded, tired from the day and his aching side and wishing he hadn't made the bloody trip. "I don't have time for games."

"Then you're in luck, Severus," the blonde chorted. "The Malfoys have collected a wide variety of ancient, rare, and usually dark artefacts over the centuries. It's been longer than I'd like to admit since I've visited the vault, however I do seem to recall there being a rather healthy supply of the Water of Life you seek."

Suddenly, Severus felt sick to his stomach at the idea of the family collecting from this spring. The Malfoys' questionable ethics were no secret in the wizarding community across the continent, not only in Britain, and yet the thought of their seemingly disposable sacrifices to obtain the water felt like it should have crossed a line even for them. As someone who benefitted from those questionable morals more often than he would like, did it really make him any better than Lucius? And did it change if one needed to taint their soul to save the life of the child he loved as his son?

"The cost? I'm sure something so difficult to replace would be priceless," Severus neutrally replied. It would tell Lucius of his interest without committing blindly.

The aristocratic wizard looked down at the professor sitting back in the wingback chair clutching his wrapped side."I don't need anything from you now, Severus," he bargained, "but I would expect if a favor were required, you would not stand in my way."

A "blank cheque" as the muggles would say, or probably more in tune with selling his mortal soul to the mortal devil. Though they'd certainly crossed the line into friendship over the year, what Severus needed went far beyond what a friend would give. To replenish what he took would require Lucius - or any future Malfoy - to venture off towards the Middle East likely with someone who would be sacrificed for their cause. Could Severus condemn another person to their death in the future so he could help save Harry's life today?

He closed his eyes and before he talked himself out of it, nodded his head and answered, "Of course. Whatever it is you need."

"Don't sound so doom and gloom," the other wizard sighed, "I'm certainly the better person to owe a favor to than the Dark Lord and we both still bear that mark. When do you need the ingredient?"

"As soon as possible," Severus answered, not commenting on the other part of his statement. "The full moon is Tuesday, so no later than then."

"I don't foresee that being an issue."

The clock above the mantle rang midnight and Severus could almost breathe a little lighter. The day had flipped over and now the awful news fell into "yesterday", a small but important detail. Today, Dr Swanson and Healer Smithe would be over to go through Harry's next treatment plan; today would be focused on how to fix the problem. His period of wallowing - or at least one of them - was now behind him and in its place a plan of action.

"I'd offer you a nightcap," Lucius jested, pulling down his container of floo powder, "however it wouldn't mix well with the Sobriety Elixir. After all, what good is wasting a potion if you're only going to turn around and negate its purpose?

"I would highly suggest you refrain from apparating until your side is healed, and floo home before floo'ing to Hogwarts."

Severus gave a sad chucklein response. His exhaustion had caught up with him and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, and floo'ing would achieve the result far quicker than attempting to disapparate. The thought of Minerva back in his quarters - having to face the Gryffindor with a full explanation - seemed daunting, but he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd accomplished more than what he came here for and at least now being sober would help him get through what may be waiting to attack him when he made it back into his Hogwarts sitting room.

"I'll keep this-" Lucius shook the bottle of firewhiskey playfully, "- if you don't mind. Certainly you have more at home, but do try to let the Elixir work its way out of your system first."

"I'll keep that in mind," Severus flatly responded. He reached out and grabbed a handful of powder, but before throwing it down he added, "Thank you, Lucius."

Not waiting for a response which wouldn't come, he called out "Spinner's End" and disappeared to his muggle home, where he would floo back to Hogwarts to sort through whatever the minimum amount of information Minerva would take to get her to leave for the night.

~~~~SS~~~~

Sunday 12th October 1997

"I've informed Albus of the situation regarding Harry," Minerva explained as she sat across from Severus too early in the morning on Sunday, having gone to bed no more than four hours ago. "He wants to be here when Harry's doctors come by today."

In his more sobered state last night, upon his return to his quarters, Severus informed Harry's former guardian and Head of House of the news they received at his chemotherapy appointment. She'd cried - of course, they all would in the next coming weeks as they adjusted to a life fighting active Leukemia rather than maintaining his remission - but she listened to his rambling without interruption. The anticipated embarrassment over divulging his own fears and his selfish thoughts on how this would impact him or if he would be able to withstand Harry starting chemotherapy over to the other professor never hit him, demonstrating how strong their friendship had grown. Minerva held back her option when Severus mentioned Harry not wanting to do the next set of treatment, and how even if they did convince him to do it, they no longer had a choice in blocking the young wizard's magic first. This led him into a detailed account of his trip to Malfoy Manor - where she instinctively started huffing and hawing over his being splinched and insisted she check the healing of his wound immediately - and finally they discussed what would be needed to get started on the ritual. Though she agreed the step was now necessary, she cautioned him not to overwhelm Harry with it, knowing how much the young Gryffindor did not want to utilize Dark Magic to save his life. Under any other circumstances, Severus would have argued that lying by omission wouldn't sit well either, but a certain level of cunningness would be required to get Harry on board with another regimen of chemotherapy, let alone the Magical Block Ritual.

As she had done last year, Minerva assured him she would handle Harry's academics and also coordinate with Albus to secure the ingredients for the ritual - outside of the Water of Life, which he'd obviously already covered - so he could focus on the young Gryffindor's muggle medications. Their impromptu meeting came to an end in the early hours before dawn, and in his haste to put the day behind him, it never occurred to Severus to ensure his floo were locked so she couldn't return when he'd hardly been out bed yet; still dressed in his pyjamas and slippers when she inappropriately waltzed into his bedroom at not even eight o'clock in the morning.

I should have hexed her.

"Of course you told him," he lamented, making no attempt at keeping the disdain from his voice. At least she'd had the forethought to make coffee for him; never did he have a steaming cup already waiting for him at the kitchen table as he did this morning. Despite the Sobriety Elixir from Narcissa, his head pounded against the inside of his cranium with the beat of his heart and he resisted the urge to throw Minerva out so he could go back to bed. "Did you tell him of my own condition as well?"

For now, he'd play nice.

"No," the single word fell between them like a promise of a secret keeper. She'd hold his inebriated state from his employer, so long as he maintained control over his own actions. She wasn't protecting him as much as Harry, nevertheless, he appreciated her for it. "So what comes next?"

He hated her sunny disposition and outlook on the situation he equally wanted to continue to sulk over and get up to fix. In the daylight, he'd hoped his own thoughts on the subject would lighten, however every time he closed his eyes he watched his son take his last breath and a crippling fear of it being this Harry ripped straight through him.

"Alton and Dr Swanson will be here around eleven to go over Harry's new treatment," Severus began as a plate of buttered toast magically made its way across the table to him, refusing to be ignored. "In the meantime, we've been told to stop any chemotherapy tablets, but to continue with his prophylactic ones." He gave a sad sigh and pushed the plate away. "Unfortunately his immune system will only get worse from here before it gets better. He'll likely have to move back in here permanently."

"I suspected as much," she picked up the plate and firmly placed it directly in front of Severus, her eyes not leaving his until he conceded and took a bite. "And his magic?"

She knew all of this from their conversation in the early morning hours. He should have been frustrated with her over having to repeat himself, but he found going over it again somehow calmed his anxious mind; a fact she likely knew as well.

"I've sent the information on the ritual over to Alton for his review. Though he agrees the Ritual is necessary, he's also checking several other texts just to be sure we've exhausted all of our options," he rubbed his temples as he said it. "Regardless of his findings, unlike last time where Harry's accidental magic was helpful when it flared, this time around it's most certainly not. Therefore he absolutely cannot go through the strong medications without it blocked. Otherwise, I have zero doubt it would kill him before the cancer got the chance."

"He can't seem to catch a break." That didn't require a response, nor was he going to give her one. "And you're certain you can trust Lucius Malfoy with the last ingredient?"

This accusation broke his last nerve and Severus slammed his hand onto the table in response, causing his coffee cup to rattle and the black liquid to slosh over the edge onto the matching white saucer.

"Unless you are willing to travel thousands of kilometers with a human sacrifice in tow," he threatened her, "I don't have any other options but to trust the man who risked his own life to help organize Harry's rescue from within the Manor right under Voldemort's non-existent nose! What else do you expect me to do?!"

His voice shook by the time he finished the last word, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the sympathy in Minerva's; the same sympathy she would need to hide when she saw Harry. Severus, though, needed to gain control of himself; to prove to Harry this didn't bother him, and that it was nothing more than a small hurdle, as opposed to a canyon, for them to navigate over. The lie wouldn't be easy; unlike last year Harry knew what was coming, more so than reading any pamphlets could have prepared him for.

"I don't like having to depend on someone who doesn't have a generous bone in his body," she chided.

"Ultimately, we should be thankful the Malfoy family has such questionable morals throughout the years," he replied with his eyes still closed and massaging the headache from his forehead. A strained silence enveloped them, only broken by Minerva's small sips of her tea.

"I don't know how to tell Harry he won't be able to attend classes," Severus confessed. His voice cracked partially through the statement knowing how much it would hurt Harry to hear. To anyone else school seemed trivial, comparatively, but it was the one piece of the young Gryffindor's life which held any sense of normalcy; a word they'd only started getting used to again and slipped straight through their fingers when they were least expecting it.

Minerva placed her hand on Severus's right forearm giving him a small pat that from anyone else would feel patronizing. "As I said last night, I'll handle his education schedule. I'm sure he'll understand some changes will need to be made."

He didn't believe her, but didn't say a word, not wanting to break whatever hope she had about the situation. Harry would not understand, nor would he take to any of the information they learned today with a positive attitude. The young wizard had seemingly used up all of his positivity throughout the last year and unfortunately Severus didn't think he had enough for the both of them to make it through this in one piece.

~~~~HP~~~~

Confusion clouded Harry's head when his eyelids fluttered open and he saw the ceiling and walls of his dungeon bedroom. His limbs felt heavy, as if filled with sand when he fell asleep, making the physical effort it took to pull himself up and out of bed unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The sun shimmering in from the enchanted window - which now showed the Quidditch Pitch, Harry being unable to see the Black Lake the same way since the flood - told him he slept in later than usual, and though his stomach wasn't protesting his potentially missed breakfast, he was keenly aware it lacked the normal nausea when waking up the day after chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy. The word triggered his mind to yesterday and the memories flooded back to him instantly clearing away any lingering fuzziness. Harry sat with his legs hanging over his bed and his head cradled in his hands thinking over the last twenty-four hours. Relapse. Dr Swanson's words rang in his ears so clearly he might as well have been back in her office. The reason he didn't feel sick - at least not in the typical sense, though his chest was tight and he had a difficult time breathing - from chemotherapy was simply because he didn't have chemotherapy yesterday; instead they found out the cancer had come back. Harry closed his eyes and flashes of his tests at the hospital passed by them followed by his conversation with Snape playing back in slow motion.

Today began the first day of a new battle, one he wasn't really sure he had the energy to fight. If he'd get away with it, he would stay there in bed all day: roll up in his red blanket and stare out the window at the pitch. Eventually it would show the Hufflepuff - or the rescheduled Slytherin? - trials and he could watch them, pretending nothing outside of his room existed. Maybe he could convince himself it was true. But Snape wouldn't allow him to wallow - a word more likely to come from McGonagall than Snape - and so using as much energy as he could muster, the Gryffindor got out of bed and chose another set of equally comfortable clothes - black jogging bottoms, a long sleeved red shirt, and a red jumper - figuring the last thing he wanted Snape to see was him still in the clothes from yesterday. In fact, he wondered if the man could incinerate them so he never had to see the constant reminder of what had happened while wearing them.

He should shower, but similar to last night, he simply didn't have the energy, and no amount of scrubbing or washing would help make him feel better about the situation he was going to walk into. It would only delay the inevitable, and as much as he wanted to do exactly that, ultimately having Snape come searching for him would be worse. Dread filled every inch of Harry's body as he made his way from his bedroom and heard voices coming from the kitchen. The last thing he needed was to start a day like today with socializing.

"Harry," McGonagall's voice, filled with a deep seeded grief gave away her knowledge of what happened yesterday, greeted him as he entered the kitchen, "how are you?"

His former guardian stood at the kitchen counter stirring her cup of tea, her eyes glassy and swollen and her face scrunched in concern for him. Snape sat at the table with his own cup of coffee firmly held between his hands. Since Harry's original diagnosis, the Slytherin had been a constant source of strength, someone Harry knew he could depend on, who had all of the answers. But the man at the table couldn't be any further from that person, appearing equally as lost and broken as Harry. How could they go from arguing over his essays and laughing about the Halloween Ball to barely functioning in less than two days? And what could have happened to warrant McGonagall's presence this morning, Snape hardly being able to make eye contact with her?

"Morning, Professor," Harry mumbled, sitting in his normal chair beside Snape where a bowl of porridge waited alongside his morning medications; notably missing was the second day of his five day chemotherapy tablet he'd been told to stop, leaving only his prophylactic ones. Snape reached out and waved his wand over the bowl to rewarm the breakfast. "I'm alright... Severus told you everything going on?"

Clenching her hands on the countertop behind her, she carefully responded, "Yes, Severus has told me what I need to know. If it's alright with you, I'd like to be here when your muggle doctor and Healer go over the next steps. Albus as well. You may be a fully adult wizard, but we want to help you any way we can."

Harry nodded and sloshed the heavy porridge around in his bowl, knowing he had zero chance of actually consuming any of it.

"Playing with your breakfast will not provide you the nutrients you need," Snape predictably lectured, and for once Harry didn't feel like arguing him so he plucked an apple from the bowl on the table and took a small bite. The fruit was cold - a benefit to living in a magical castle - but the usual sweet crisp taste was replaced by a tasteless ash. The entire fruit might as well have been made of clay. "Dr Swanson and Healer Smithe will be here within the hour to go over the treatment plan with us."

He sounded cold and distant, making Harry feel as if he were being blamed for this. After all, that's what he'd been ingrained to think from the adults around him thought when things went wrong. Harry was to blame and always the one punished for it, but it didn't make him feel any better about it.

Trying to fill the uncomfortable silence, Minerva brought her tea to the table and pulled her chair until she sat directly beside Harry, a little too close for his current mood. "Harry, I want you to know I'm here if-"

"-I'm fine," he cut her off from what was sure to be some sentimental declaration of how she'd help him. He didn't want to hear it. Unfortunately, no one could really help him, at least not in the way he needed. "Really, it's alright… I'll be alright. I just want to get all of this over with."

Harry's stomach rolled as he took another bite out of his apple.

"What'd you give me last night, sir?" Harry broke the stillness first with his question.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape asked. Harry thought he heard a hint of pride hidden beneath the words.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Surprisingly, I kind of did."

"That was the purpose, after all," Snape responded, a bit more smugly for Harry's liking. "It was a prescription strength tablet. They should be used a bit more sparingly than the others you used to take. Dare I say last night was necessary and tonight you may take another."

Harry nodded almost mindlessly. Once again he was dependent on Snape to keep track of everything and shame over his reaction last night filled him. He should have been more appreciative, especially because this couldn't be any easier on the professor. Not after he watched this disease take a version of himself in his old reality.

But what did Severus say yesterday about it? The cancer didn't technically kill me?

Harry's eyes lit up as he remembered the details from their conversation in his bedroom. Snape mentioned something about there being an error in the potions he'd been taking. But didn't Snape make the potions? To Harry's already chaotic mind, focusing on that instead of his own impossible situation helped to keep his self-pity from settling in. Maybe keeping his mind moving, solving one puzzle after another, would fix all of this he faced. Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to ask Snape to clarify what he'd started last night because the floo roared to life three times announcing the arrival of his doctor's and Dumbledore, so he could start his fight against his Leukemia all over again.

If they tried to fit even one more person in the small sitting room, Harry was certain it would burst. In fact, he imagined the group occupying every seat available - including two conjured chairs in front of the fireplace - looked like the clown cars he'd seen in one of the Dudley's shows; where clowns continued to pour out of an impossibly small vehicle. Harry sat suffocatingly sandwiched on the sofa between McGonagall to his left, closest to Snape in his normal armchair, and Madam Pomfrey to his right, with Dumbledore using the armchair directly across from Snape, Dr Swanson settled into a conjured chair on the right side of the fireplace, and Healer Smithe to the left, beside Snape. Greetings had been made all around for everyone except Harry, who didn't feel much like conversing regardless of who was there. Now with tea and sandwiches - both of which Harry accepted, but placed immediately on the table in front of him - served from the kitchens, they were finally ready to get started. But Harry found he couldn't sit still. Though Snape stared at the young wizard's bouncing leg, he didn't comment on it; probably remembering his own from yesterday, and if he had said something Harry couldn't guarantee he wouldn't make a comment about it back to him.

"So, Harry," Dr Swanson started out in a voice reminding the young wizard why he hadn't liked her when she first took over his care. Realistically, he didn't like the news she brought and her headstrong, almost arrogant attitude - one which saw her patients through more remissions than any other oncologist in Surrey - didn't help. "I imagine the last twenty-four hours have hit you hard."

Six sets of eyes focused on him. "Erm… well, obviously."

She smiled, "Everything you're feeling right now is perfectly normal, but Dr Smithe and I have reviewed your results and think we've come up with a treatment plan that will give you a good chance at not only achieving a second remission, but staying there this time."

Harry looked down at his hands on his laps and watched as his fingers tightly wrapped around one another until he could barely figure out which digit belonged to which hand.

"Harry," this time Healer Smithe spoke, causing the Gryffindor to think he missed part of the conversation.

"Sorry," he quickly averted his eyes from those watching him.

"How much detail on this new treatment would you like to hear?" His Healer offered the same question he asked Harry when they went through his first treatment. Back then everything sounded like a foreign language he was sure he'd never understand and now, despite speaking it fluently - wishing he couldn't - he found he didn't want the extra details.

"Kinda high level?" The teen's voice raised half an octave at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question with zero confidence; not far from how he felt inside. Snape's eyes watching him told the same story they did before each phase last year: the professor would walk Harry through the information in as much or little detail as he needed later.

Harry cracked a small smile at the expression of triumph Healer Smithe gave to Dr Swanson, as if to say he knew their patient better than she did regardless of actively treating him over less time. Harry couldn't deny his better rapport with Healer Smithe had to do with the man not only being a wizard, but being there for those early months, back when Harry still felt lost in the foreign countryside of Leukemia. But the thought of starting over with Dr Swanson tainted any small joy he'd gotten.

"Well in a way, even though we're doing a more aggressive treatment, it's easier to remember all the steps compared to the protocol you did originally," Dr Swanson handed out a schedule to him and Snape, but having not expected Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Madam Pomfrey in attendance, she didn't have any additional copies. Without missing a beat, Snape duplicated his schedule, handing them to the other three adults in the room. The action drew Harry's attention around the room. Though he may not have had a traditional mum and dad sitting there beside him, he was still surrounded by adults who cared for him, not even counting the students floors above his head - going about their weekend as if nothing Earth shattering was happening in the Dungeons - who were all proverbially by his side too.

I can do this. Harry told himself, releasing a breath and peering down at his new schedule for the first time.

The white muggle copy paper was color coded, a small touch Harry appreciated, with blue, green, and pink, and at first glance appeared to be almost easier than his previous phases. If he read it right, he'd do four days of IV treatments, ten days off, one day of IV, six days off - the first three of which would have chemo tablets to take - and then repeat. The pink he easily identified as the tablet schedule, and the green - falling on the single IV day - was obviously an IV; the same one he currently had at the clinic each month. That only left him the blue, identified as IVs yet he couldn't figure out what the different color signified.

Flipping the paper over showed a description of each medication he'd be given and suddenly he could see where the word aggressive came from: in those first four days he'd get a total of twelve chemotherapy doses; one of which was a continuous IV for the first three days, a different set had to run for a full twenty-four hours on the second and fourth day, and the rest came in three hour IVs every twelve hours on days one, two, and three. All of the oxygen in Harry's lungs were sucked straight out; this would be harder than he thought, and that was saying something. What it didn't answer, though, was the reason for the blue instead of the green for the first IVs.

"As I said," Dr Swanson commanded everyone's attention back to her, "it's really an easy schedule to remember. Like Maintenance, this is done in cycles rather than rounds or phases, called Cycle A and Cycle B-" Harry rolled his eyes, hoping the muggle doctor saw his expression, not caring what the appropriate terminology was, "-with one cycle lasting twenty-one days, and you'll repeat each cycle four times for a total of eight three-week cycles. Assuming remission is achieved and everything continues to progress nicely, you'll then go onto another Maintenance phase, but only for two years."

Twenty-four weeks, Harry sadly thought. He'd have twenty-four weeks of aggressive chemotherapy to endure, followed by another two years of Maintenance. Based on the dated schedule she provided it would start this Saturday the eighteenth and take him all the way until the beginning of April; assuming things went one-hundred percent perfectly.

"Can we start with what these… cycles… mean? And what's the blue?" Harry quietly asked. Now that he looked at the medication list a little closer, he saw the first four days - the mysterious blue - were different medications during the first and second cycle. The blue days of Cycle B contained seventeen doses of medication, starting with a twenty-four hour plus a one hour IV on the first day, six one hours on days two and three, ending with another twenty-four hour and an injection on the last day.

"Actually," he amended his first statement, "can we just do Cycle A today and cover B closer to when it starts?"

"Of course, Harry," that answer came from Snape, for which the young wizard felt grateful. He would temper the information so as not overwhelm Harry as they worked their way through it all.

"So at a very high level," Dr Swanson started again, "you'll start with four days of, more or less, continuous IV treatments. One of which will last the first three days, the rest starting and stopping at different intervals with no more than three at one time. Then after all of that, you'll get ten days off-"

"-I'm going to need that much time to recover," Harry interrupted, already feeling his skin crawl from the phantom poison running through his veins. This was sounding worse and worse the more they spoke about it.

"That's why this regimen gives the ten days," she boldly reiterated. "Then you'll do the same IV you've been doing in Maintenance at the clinic, followed by three days of tablets only, three days completely off, and that's Cycle A."

She made it sound easy, and luckily no one validated her sentiment over it. This was going to be anything but easy.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, shaking his head to clear away some of the confusion, "the green means I'm getting chemo at the clinic, so where are the blue IVs?"

She took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself for what was to come, "Those first four days of each cycle - at least at the beginning - will all be done as an inpatient treatment." Harry blinked his unseeing eyes at her. Understanding he had no clue what she meant, she clarified, "In the Surrey hospital-"

"-No." Harry flat out refused.

"Harry," Dr Swanson bit her lip, patronizingly leaning over towards him, "this is non-negotiable. Not only will you be getting chemotherapy done throughout the day and night, you need to be under close watch for any serious side effects and to protect your immune system."

Harry looked over at Snape for support, "But I did the continuous chemo here last summer. And I was able to stay in the castle the rest of time."

"That was different, Harry," Healer Smithe jumped in and the young wizard wished everyone would stop saying his name when talking to him. "During your continuous chemo last summer you had one medication, now you'll have as many as three running concurrently, but starting and stopping throughout the day. Not only will it be difficult to manage here with only Dr Swanson, Madam Pomfrey, and myself, but your body may not tolerate them and you need to be in a place where you can receive emergency care should you quickly need it."

This didn't sound fair, and yet he knew there wasn't anything he could do outside of refusing the treatment in general; an option he hadn't completely dismissed yet.

"We can only keep you so safe here," this one from Madam Pomfrey. "I appreciate your confidence in me, but there are things I cannot fix. If you'll recall, we had to send students to St Mungo's after the flood for that very reason. Sometimes people need to be under a constant watch or have access to equipment or personnel with a specific set of expertise that, unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn't have."

The room fell so silent, Harry was certain they could all hear his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

"It's only four or five days out of every twenty-one," Snape attempted to rationalize. Harry could hear the pain and sorrow laced in his voice, making him feel guilty for putting the man through this. "And you won't be alone if you don't want to be."

"That's right," Dr Swanson quickly added, "Severus, or even one of your friends, can certainly stay with you if you'd like. And so long as you're feeling well, and everyone takes the proper quarantine precautions, you're allowed a couple of visitors at a time during the day."

None of that made the young wizard feel any better.

"I need to think about it," Harry shamefully replied to his bare feet. Then looking up at Dr Swanson, he questioned, "How long do I have to decide if I want to do this?"

Again, the room fell into a painful, deafening silence.

"At seventeen," the muggle doctor began to speak very clearly, as if she were carefully calculating every word prior to leaving her mouth, "you fall into the category of still being a minor in the muggle world, but close enough to weigh in on decisions relating to your own body. It's a murky grey area where Severus - as your medical proxy - could contest against it. Unfortunately, that process can be both messy and lengthy.

"Right now, I can tell you we caught the relapse early enough that with this aggressive treatment, you have a very good prognosis for a long-term second remission if we start treatment now. I cannot guarantee that will be the case in a month or two. Therefore I recommend you take the treatment while you have the best chance at beating this."

"But it's still my choice?"

The muggle doctor paused momentarily as she contemplated how to answer the question she hated hearing the most from her patients. And regretfully one she received far too often from Harry's age group. The need to feel in control too often clouded their judgment on their future, putting them at an unnecessary risk.

"At seventeen," she repeated, her eye contact never faltering, "no one will forcibly hold you down and place the IV in your port, however you will need to be seen by Dr Snyder - which I recommend bumping up to at least weekly sessions anyways - before you can waive your treatment options. It's to make sure you understand the gravity of your decision. Without this treatment, Harry, you have no chance at surviving this and you will die."

As intended, those last three words sat heavy on Harry's chest. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't know if he was strong enough to do this. So then where did that leave him?

"There's no middle ground?" He naively pleaded. "Something that's not so… much?"

"Unfortunately, a second remission is typically difficult to achieve," the physician honestly told him. "Most of the time I'd start looking at a bone marrow transplant, and that may still be something we have to do depending on how the Leukemia reacts to the early treatment, but without any living parents or siblings, you'd need a strong unrelated donor, and frankly those are difficult to find and rarely see long term success. So to answer your question, no, there is no middle ground and this is your best option for survival."

"Can I think about it?" Harry stared down at his hands in his lap, afraid to see the disappointment in each set of eyes watching him.

"How about this?" Healer Smithe suggested. "We'll get everything started as if you're reporting to the hospital Saturday morning, it's mostly paperwork anyway. Then we won't lose any time while you think it over."

It sounded logical, if a little condescending, but he couldn't turn it down without being complicated for the sake of being complicated.

"Ok," Harry agreed, mostly because he needed to leave the room before all of the walls closed in on him and they wouldn't allow him to leave without at least agreeing to the compromise. "Can I go now?"

"Well there's-" Healer Smithe started, but was stopped by Snape.

"Go ahead, Harry," the professor dismissed, "I'll come by once everyone here has worked out some of the more… boring... details."

Harry stood, rubbed his sweaty palms on his jogging bottoms, and awkwardly gave a wave to the people around him, noticing for the first time that Dumbledore hadn't spoken a word during the entire conversation. Too exhausted to question why the headmaster had to be there to begin with, he made his way to his bedroom - once again foregoing a shower - ignoring the heightened voices radiating behind him. He didn't stop walking until he was snuggled into his bed, with his red blanket tucked over his entire body, where he began to cry hoping all of this would just go away.

~~~~SS~~~~

"What about his magic, Severus?" Alton demanded the moment Harry walked out of sight. "You even said he can't-"

"I know, Alton," Severus practically yelled at his friend, "but he couldn't take any more bad news this morning. Unless of course you wanted to completely push him over the edge? That's a guaranteed way to make sure he denies his treatment all together."

"I have to agree with Severus on this one," Poppy chimed in, her head nodding frantically. "Harry's had a lot thrown at him over the years and while he's taken most of it in stride, he's reached his limit."

Alton shook his head, "The ritual takes three days on its own, plus we need to secure the clay under the full moon... which is Tuesday. It's already going to be a tight schedule, but if we can get everything in place Tuesday night, we can do the ritual Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and he can start chemotherapy in the hospital on Saturday. We get one shot at this. If we miss it, he can't start treatment until next month, and you heard Dr Swanson's very pointed explanation…"

He trailed off and they all knew why. If they didn't start now, who knew how much the cancer would continue to grow and spread before they got their next chance.

"Then we proceed as planned," Albus finally spoke up from the other armchair. "That gives Severus until Wednesday to get Harry on board with the chemotherapy and by extension the Magical Block as he cannot do one without the other and have any chance of surviving."

"I think I'd have better luck facing the Basilisk," Severus quipped, and for a solid minute, no one else spoke.

"If he's away from the school for four days," Minerva continued to stare down at her schedule, "he'll miss at least the Monday and Tuesday of classes-"

"- Minerva," Albus dismally interjected, "without magic, there's very little he can do in classes at all."

"No," Severus refuted. "We are not going to sit here and discuss taking him out of the one part of his life that feels consistent to him."

"I agree with that part," Dr Swanson added. "He needs something to keep his mind busy and motivated the rest of the time he's not doing chemo. Even if it's just auditing classes."

"It's not that easy," Alton chided his muggle counterpart, "unlike a muggle school, he needs magic to participate. Last year, we got away with at least the theory for him to focus on, but since he started this year at various levels, where would that leave him? Fake repeating sixth year again? I doubt that will be fulfilling."

"No," Severus agreed, thinking of Harry and the situation with his essays, "that would be too condescending. He already doesn't believe he's doing anything worthwhile in classes today."

"Albus and I will work on his curriculum, you focus on getting him into treatment. If you need assistance, might I suggest Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. Or perhaps even Mr Malfoy?" Minerva suggested hopefully. "One of them will be able to help get through to him."

"In the meantime," Albus stood signifying the end of their meeting, "we move forward as if everything is going as planned, the Ritual will start on Wednesday, completed on Friday, and Saturday he'll report to Surrey for treatment."

Albus made it sound so simple and Severus hoped to Merlin it would be. A gratitude the former spy had never previously experienced filled him up. Even in his old reality when he son received the terminal diagnosis, he hadn't had this much support. Obviously, he'd been surrounded by those who grieved for him or with him, but it had been different. Harry had been different by virtue of being adopted, where here he had collected a full range of extended family and friends to support him. Now if only one of them could get through to him and help the young wizard see he was worth all the pain this round of chemotherapy would bring, Severus could believe they'd make it passed this.

Hey Sev, it's Mae. I was calling to check in on you and Harry. Samantha couldn't give me any details, but she gave me a ring this morning and asked if I'd heard from you, so I'm guessing things didn't go as they should have yesterday. Hopefully it's nothing, but if that's not the case, I'm here for you both.

Bye!

Severus decided it best to give Harry some time alone after the news he'd received regarding his treatment plan. When he heard the shower start shortly after all of their guests left, the professor settled into his armchair, and closed his eyes, laying his head back to think about the missive he'd just received from Mae. Though happy Harry's privacy had been maintained from Samantha, as a patient of Dr Swanson - where Mae worked most of her week - the news would eventually reach the nurse and for reasons he couldn't quite figure out, he felt he should be the one to tell her. Nevertheless, that would require a trip back to Spinner's End and he didn't need to be a seer to know it would be impossible to do today. Not to mention he had no idea what to say to her, someone who saw this happen probably more often than she'd ever admit to the parent of a patient. No, he'd wait and try to call her back tomorrow. By then, she probably would have at least seen the record of his official diagnosis in his chart and know anyways, but he'd live with that; just as she'd have to live with waiting for his return call.

Severus mentally walked through the week ahead of him. Tomorrow started the second full week of October and with it the start of his semi-private Boggart sessions for his third years, lasting until their official course on the creatures the week of Halloween. Now he wasn't sure how he would fit them in, but at the same time didn't want to make too drastic of a decision - like cancelling them in lieu of an impersonal classwide lesson - should this be more manageable than he expected. Regardless of the situation this week and the upcoming month, he would have to get some help with his classes because if he had a difficult time keeping up last year, it would be arduous.

The clock over the mantle showed almost two o'clock when Severus noticed the shower no longer running. Getting up to check in on Harry, his exhausted eyes glared over the plates, saucers, and cups littering the sitting room table from their earlier gathering. Brandishing his wand to vanish the contents to the kitchen to deal with later, he paused a split second before the nonverbal spell left his thoughts. The teacup directly in front of Harry's spot - oddly in the center of the three person sofa rather than the side closest to Severus's chair where he usually sat - remained full and his sandwich untouched; officially all the young wizard had eaten in the last day was a half an apple. Picking up the plate of food, Severus made his way to Harry's room, the feeling of deja vu creeping over him from their argument Friday night. This time, at least, his knock did not go unanswered, rather a curt "come in" drifted across the threshold warning him of the atmosphere he was about to enter.

Also reminiscent of Friday, Harry stood before his wardrobe aggressively opening and slamming drawers as he dressed, though he dressed as if he were going out into the castle, wearing his jeans - fitting on his slim waist the best they had since the end of his fifth year - and a plain navy blue jumper. Finding the last piece to his ensemble in his drawers, a pair of thick wool socks, the Gryffindor ignored Severus completely as he went back to his bed, pulling on the socks and starting on his trainers.

"Are you going somewhere?" Severus firmly placed the plate of the untouched lunch down on the desk, then pulled out the chair and casually straddled it. "You didn't touch your lunch."

"I heard what you guys were talking about after I left," Harry accused, still not making eye contact with Severus as he tied the laces on his trainers so tightly they would likely cut off circulation in a matter of minutes. The lack of an answer to the professor's questions didn't go unnoticed.

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping," Severus coldly replied.

Finished with his laces, Harry dropped his foot to the ground and stared menacingly at his mentor.

"So that's it?!" He raised his voice, crackling on the last word. "I just shouldn't have been listening in on information that's about my life?! Were you even planning on asking me about the Ritual? Because I can tell you Dumbledore doesn't give a shite about what I think of it, but I thought you were better than him!"

"Harry," Severus rested his arms on the top of the chair to appear less threatening, "I had every intention of discussing it with you when you were in a better state of mind to handle the conversation. You'd basically just told us you'd rather die than spend four days at the hospital. Dare I say you were not, nor are you still, in a clear state of mind to rationally discuss these options."

"What options?!" Harry stood and threw his hands up in the air. "As far as I can tell, I don't have any fucking options!"

"Watch your language," Severus sternly warned, standing to mirror Harry's posture and trying unsuccessfully to hold back his own anger. "I know you're angry, so am I for the record, but don't misdirect it at me."

"Well you're one talking about me and making plans for me behind my back!"

"That is part of my duty as your medical proxy," the professor spat, too tired to keep up the facade and quickly losing control of his anger, "If you remember correctly I wanted to block your magic in the first place! Maybe if you had listened to me, yet again, this could have been prevented!"

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back; much like when he called Lily that awful name. The hurt in Harry's eyes tore through him like a white hot knife, ripping and tearing at every fiber in his body. But the worst part of all was the teen's continued silence; his emerald eyes dulled from pain and confusion rapidly peered around the room at anything and everything besides Severus.

"So you think this is all my fault." Harry's voice didn't tremble. Severus almost wished it had, it would have made his statement feel more like something he could handle.

"I didn't say-"

"-you might as well have!" Harry grabbed his school bag, and aggressively slung it over his shoulder. "Don't follow me."

Not about to take orders from a child, Severus didn't heed the warning and left the room behind Harry out into the corridor.

"Don't you walk away from me," he said, somewhere between reprimandingly and apologetically.

"I need some space, Severus," Harry whipped around to say. "I need some fresh air, and I need some time to think, and I need to be alone. Please-" his eyes practically begged Severus to grant him this one thing, "-do not follow me."

Licking his lips - and going against every single alert in his brain - Severus asked just above a whisper, "Promise me you won't do anything dangerous?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what that promise would mean, and then nodded his head. For whatever it was worth, Severus wanted to believe him, and so he let the young wizard walk out. The second the door closed, he couldn't control his own body crumbling against the wall and down to the floor.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry probably shouldn't have come up to the Owlery for two reasons: last he'd been told, he still couldn't be around Hedwig for long periods of time because him was still immunocompromised, and the cold mid-October wind blowing through the open windows quickly froze him to the bone. In his need to put as much distance between himself and the Dungeons as possible, it had been the second place the Gryffindor thought of; after the Astronomy Tower, but seeing Hedwig would brighten his depressed disposition, and so he headed there, instantly regretting the decision not to grab his on the way out.

Despite his running with Dudley most mornings - so long as the weather held - the jog from the Dungeons to the Owlery left Harry completely winded. He didn't think he'd pushed himself too fast, yet when he finally entered the dropping crusted stone room, he had to stop with his hands firmly on his knees so he could sucked in as much oxygen as his lungs could hold. The dry, crisp, cold air burned his airways, but he welcomed the pain, using it to ground him from the last two days of hell he'd just lived through. This physical pain he could handle, this he had control over.

Suddenly, the loud flapping of wings off to the left-handed side of the room caught his attention. Owls of all different colors and sizes began screeching and flying vertically in the room, obviously in an attempt to get away from something on the floor in front of them leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. Hedwig was easily visible in the scuffle by her bright white feathers contrasted against the dark brown rafters and when she saw Harry in her flight to safety, she immediately flew over to his outstretched, waiting arm.

"What's going on over there, girl?" Harry asked his owl, slowly walking over and around the still frantic avians, ducking his head this way and that to avoid a talon to the face. "Ah ha!"

When he reached the edge of the room, directly underneath the window he saw what was no doubt the cause of the commotion: Crookshanks and the small white kitten both crouched down as if they'd been hunting tail feathers.

"Get out of here," Harry brushed his arm down at the two felines, causing Hedwig to walk further up his arm, settling onto his shoulder. "You know better than to be here, Crookshanks!"

Harry swooped down once more, this time making contact with the ginger cat's side shoo-ing him along. He felt the air move around his arm as the kitten pathetically swiped at Harry's hand, trying to protect his new friend. Had Harry been thinking about the situation hard enough, he would have found it odd that the kitten's claws intentionally fell short of slicing open the top of his hand, given his own distraction with Hermione's cat.

"These birds can eat you, y'know," Harry lectured to the kitten, as it ran behind Crookshanks out the door. His eyes suspiciously narrowed as the kitten took one long glance back before heading down the stairs after its friend.

"There you guys go," Harry told his snowy owl, who affectionately nipped at his ear, just as she always did only this time, Harry found himself constantly on edge thinking she would bite him a little too hard and draw blood.

Where he expected the high tower of the Owlery would give him a better perspective to think about his situation, he instead found himself transported to the last time he stepped foot in the building - to write to Sirius. The pain of losing his Godfather - in general, not even accounting for his own actions in the circumstances - opened the floodgate of feelings he tried to suppress regarding his life. Shaking from both the cold and the heavy blanket of sorrow, he held out his arm towards one of the perches for Hedwig to step back onto, giving her wings a ruffle in the process. Harry pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes to stop any tears that dared to fall. He refused to cry over it - Sirius's death, his fight with Snape, or his relapse. No good would come from his tears, or so he tried to convince himself. When a shiver attacked him so fiercely his whole body shook, Harry knew he couldn't stay. Bidding farewell to Hedwig, he carefully walked down the steps so as not to accidentally slip on owl droppings; he'd never hear the end of it from Ron, Seamus, and even Ginny if he managed to break a bone from owl poop.

Threatening rain any moment, the overcast sky and the cold wind kept his walk solitary. Along the way, he went back to his conversation with Snape. Deep down he knew the professor hadn't necessarily said what he did to hurt Harry, and the pain in his onyx eyes told a story of father's grief; that these last two days weren't any easier on the man even if he wouldn't be the one going through the ritual or chemo. Having always been in the action, Harry wondered what it would be like on the other side: watching someone he loved go through everything he had. What if it were Ron or Hermione or… no, he couldn't go there.

"I know you're following me," Harry announced to seemingly no one as he entered the side entrance of the school. Coming to a stop just barely inside the doors, under a lantern for both light and warmth, he closely watched the thick wooden door slowly close. Sure enough, when the gap in the door looked too small to fit almost anything bigger than a kitten through it, the white ball of fluff slipped in almost undetected.

"Who do you belong to?" Harry curiously asked, bending down onto the balls of his feet and reaching his hand out to pet the cat who instantly backed away. "I'm guessing a Hufflepuff.

If cats could give a death glare, Harry was certain this cat had just given him one to rival any from Snape.

"Well, you're not a Gryffindor, except you do seem to spend a lot of time with Hermione's cat," he leaned against the stone wall, falling onto his bottom, unconsciously deciding that talking to the cat was a necessity at this point. "I guess you could be a Ravenclaw. I just don't know many of them too well, besides Luna, of course. I'm still thinking Hufflepuff though, and in that case you should steer clear of Crookshanks. He's a grumpy old cat and probably the reason you thought it a smart idea to harass the owls. Let me help you out... it's not. They hunt things bigger than you all the time."

Harry held his hand out, surprised when the kitten instinctively reached out with his small pink nose to smell his hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the Gryffindor told the unsure feline, and slowly the skittish cat creeped closer to him. "See, look at that," he declared to no one, "I can actually do something right."

Smoothly, Harry retracted his hand, drew his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and laid his head down. He sat in that position - leaning against the stone and the kitten across from him who had lost its attention on him for a spider crawling by - for what felt like hours, but was only minutes.

"I'm just so tired of fighting" Harry confessed to the ball of fluff while it stalked the spider, trying unsuccessfully to catch the bug. Once he started talking though, he couldn't stop, "And no matter what everyone thinks, I really don't have all the answers. Half the time I'm making shite up and the other half I'm just lucky. But no, because I'm Harry Bloody Potter, I must know everything. I wish I could be a cat, it's gotta be easy… getting to sleep and lounge around all day. At least that's what Crookshanks seems to do when he's not hunting something he probably shouldn't be eating."

Harry ran his hands through his long, black hair sadly knowing it would inevitably fall out again. Mourning the loss of something so menial like his hair felt wrong - like something Lockhart would have done - and yet he couldn't control the emotional reaction.

"So what if I don't want to continue chemo or block my magic? It should be my decision right? I don't owe anyone an explanation, especially when none of them are the ones sitting there every day with it?"

Harry lifted his head and the cat must have understood at least something he'd said because it paused with the spider delicately held between its paw and the floor, but in his distracted state, the arachnid escaped.

Resting his chin on his knees, the Gryffindor nodded towards the spider and with a smirk he said, "You lost it."

The cat jumped around and pounced again, his sharp little claws activated for the kill, but came up empty handed; the spider had long left.

"It's back," Harry said to the cat who faced away from him with his tail straight up waiting, hoping for his prey to return. "I did everything I was supposed to, but the cancer came back anyway… just when things were starting to feel good again too. And now I'm supposed to put my life on hold, to block my magic, so I can get even more chemotherapy and hopefully get rid of it, but even that's not guaranteed. I can do all of this for nothing… so it's not as easy of a decision as everyone seems to think. How can Severus not realize that? He's seen what it does to me, and… what if I'm not strong enough this time?"

In his plea to his feline friend, Harry hadn't noticed the kitten saunter back up to him; his wet nose leading his way until he found himself centimeters from the Gryffindor's arm wrapped tightly around his legs.

"I'll do it though," he turned to the cat who froze at the sight of Harry watching him, "not because I don't have a choice, or because I chose wrong by not blocking my magic to begin with... but because deep down, I really don't want to die."

Stating that out loud released something inside of Harry, like the fact that he made one very important decision would make the rest of them come easier. He wanted to find his friends and talk to them and at some point he needed to go back to the Dungeons to iron things out with Snape.

Releasing a deep sigh, he watched the cat sitting completely still beside him, practically frozen. Seizing the opportunity - fueled by the heaviness in his chest starting to dissipate - Harry reached his hand out gently booping the kitten on his tiny pink nose. The action startled the cat to the present where it instantly arched his back and hissed; a sound significantly less threatening than the animal likely wanted.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice echoed down the corridor as her and Ron came running up to him. Her cheeks were red and her hair frizzier than usual, suggesting they were running throughout the castle looking for him.

"There you are, mate," Ron said when they reached him. Harry didn't attempt to stand to greet them. "We've been lookin' everywhere for you. What are ya doin' sitting down there?"

"Just talking to Crookshanks's new friend," Harry smiled at the chance to joke around with his friends - before things took a serious turn when he would have to tell them the news - but when he turned around to point out the white kitten, he was gone. "Where'd he go?!"

Ron shook his head, "You sure you're not seeing things? Maybe it was Peeves-"

"I think I know the difference between a poltergeist and a kitten," Harry aggressively retorted.

"You said a kitten?" Hermione's asked, straightening up and looking around. "Did it look like a Persian cat? White and fluffy?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, giving Ron a satisfied glare. "It followed me down from the Owlery where I caught him and Crookshanks messing with the owls. Do you know who it belongs to?"

Hermione nervously nodded her head, "Possibly.'

"So, uh," Ron said, sitting down beside Harry, "what'd you say to this cat? Anything to do with why Snape busted into the Common Room demanding we find you?"

"Ronald!" Hermione chided. If she hadn't already sat on Harry's other side, he was sure the redhead would have been hit for the question.

"He came to find me?" Harry ignored their concerned glares.

"Not really, mate," Ron shook his head, then clarified, "he came in to tell us you'd need us and that we should do whatever was necessary to find you."

Harry slowly shook his head, feeling the nerves in his stomach make it roil.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione gently prodded, wrapping her warm arm around his shoulder. "You're not usually this well so soon after treatment."

Harry closed his eyes focusing on his breathing the way Dr Snyder had taught him to in order to keep himself calm or he was sure his heart would beat right out of his chest. "I couldn't get chemo yesterday…"

Those five words released the last part of the boulder sitting on his chest and Harry found himself telling them everything that happened since yesterday morning. He explained how scared he was sitting in the exam room, all the tests he'd gone through, and the final, crushing, diagnosis. Then he walked them through the treatment plan laid out for him only hours ago - emphasizing the four hard days of inpatient chemotherapy he wasn't sure he could do - and how Snape continued to make plans to block his magic when they'd thought Harry had left. His two best friends didn't ask about the Magical Block Ritual, and Hermione couldn't help crying on Harry's shoulder over the prognosis he'd given them - only three to five out of ten reaching long-term remission - even Ron looked pale and fell quieter near the end of the conversation.

When Harry had released everything building up on his chest, the trio stayed sitting on the floor, a large blanket conjured by Hermione draped over their laps, in silence. Harry had no clue how long they stayed like that, nor did he care. If he could, he would sit there with them forever, and maybe in the meantime, the world would find a way to fall back into its rightful place

"We'll be by you, Harry," Hermione broke the silence first. "I don't care what it takes, I promise, you won't go through this alone."

Harry closed his eyes wishing it could be true, "Be realistic, Hermione, with N.E.W.T.s this year you guys have already been too busy to even breathe-"

"Screw the N.E.W.T.s," Ron declared, causing Hermione to gasp and Harry to give a sad laugh. "I'm serious! I've already told you guys I'm not cut out for these exams and I'm planning to work with Fred and George anyways. I don't need 'em!"

"You mum- ," Hermione started what they all knew was going to be some lecture on the necessity of the examinations.

"-will leave me be," Ron cut her off. "Come on, she loves Harry almost more than any of us, and if anything can get her off my back about these bloody exams, it's spending my time helping him instead of studying."

"I can start researching this ritual…" Hermione conceded, then continued to ramble on, but Harry didn't hear a word of it.

Sitting between his best friends - two pieces he didn't have by him when he started out his chemo last year - the fear inside of him over what was to come lessened to a level where he could logically think about whatever this journey ahead of him threatened to bring. He needed to remember he wasn't alone. Next to him would be his friends - a group who recently expanded to include his dorm mates, and even Draco again - and his family - Dudley, Remus and Tonks, the Weasleys - and of course Snape, by his side, and together they could accomplish almost anything.

"I'm sorry, did you say he booped you on the nose?"

Draco stared at the psychologist. In his mind's eye, he saw himself holding his wand extended as the American took his last breath, a flash of vivacious green radiance spilling out from the Hawthorn tip. Maybe if he had any other Auror except for Williamson breathing down his neck he'd get some kind of pity and clemency for having to resort to an Unforgivable on the Squib, all for the sake of his masculinity.

"Out of the entire story, why do you have to zero in on that part?" Draco shifted on the stiff couch and glanced out the large windows, where the steel jungle of Muggle London festered and thrived. He'd arrived for his monthly therapy session minutes ago. "Aren't you curious about bloody well everything else?"

"Of course I am," Cobb calmly said. "Your recent amends with Harry is fantastic to hear but booping your nose-"

"-Can we not use that word?-"

"-is something physical. What were you feeling at the time that allowed him to get so close? What did you feel afterwards?"

"Annoyance. Ironically, a similar brand of emotion I'm feeling right now. Well done for making me relive it," the Slytherin spat back, but not nearly with as much scorn as he wanted. Or thought he wanted. Because while he wouldn't admit it aloud to the American, those were brilliant questions to ask. What was he thinking at the time to allow the Gryffindor to get so close? Sure, they buried the wand and were beginning the painstaking process of kindling a friendship crafted from still burning embers, but the Malfoy heir never liked people in his immediate space. Space was a commodity, sometimes rare, that he always cherished more than galleons and gold.

Maybe in that moment with Harry, he'd been disarmed enough with the boy's anguish to allow his own to shine through, to take him back to a bedroom with stars and moons that served as both their prisons. Maybe he found solace in connecting with another as broken as he once was. Had it been months ago, before he began seeing Cobb and worked on building his life back up, he could have related his own pain and misery to Harry's.

"Annoyance is a step up from the closed off young man you used to be when we started meeting." Cobb casually tossed his clipboard, Draco's file, and his pen to his desk, signalling that they were veering off from any agenda the doctor had for the session. "Annoyance. Why annoyance?"

Draco dropped his gaze down to his lap, eyeing the random white-washed patterns on his muggle jeans. "People die. That's what we do without failure. Some people die sooner than others. And some have the luxury of knowing when and how that'll happen. Dying of an illness isn't the most glorious way to go out, not the sort that I think a Gryffindor dreams of - you know, self-sacrifice and tears and dramatics - but do you know how much honor there is in dying?" He didn't wait for an answer. "None."

A blaring fire truck with its sirens wailing fought through the congested traffic below their tower. "Have you always held that belief? Even before your own recent brush with death during the flooding?"

The Slytherin laughed ruefully. "I've had more brushes with death in the past twelve months than most do in their lifetime, some spontaneous and others I very well knew I was marching into. You really think a flood would change my view on death?"

Cobb didn't miss a beat. "Did it?"

Neither did Draco. "A bit."

That was why the teen continued seeing the American doctor; he wasn't afraid to call his bluffs, to ask the bolded, obvious questions that were usually hidden under Draco's natural airs of arrogance and sarcasm. Their conversation launched into a depthful discussion of the teen's sudden realization that he couldn't loiter and wait to pursue what he wanted, whether that be progressing his family's new lab, becoming the best healer, or marrying the smartest witch of her age. The first two aspirations were well underway, and he proudly spoke about the leaps and bounds the lab was making while only being in its first year of production. He had an interview arranged with some official at Cambridge, undoubtedly bought by his father's bottomless pockets, and he felt confident in being able to sway the Muggle in solidifying his acceptance to the school.

"And your foundations classes? How are those going?" Cobb asked when they broached the topic of him preparing for muggle uni.

Draco hesitated for a moment, not one to readily admit when he was challenged. It was true that his parents afforded the best tutors and governors for him during his boyhood years, teaching him everything from intense literature to Greek rhetoric. A naturally scholastic individual with an enthusiastic mind eager to learn more, he took to school and lessons quickly, always striving to be the best in all of his academics. But he missed out on the essential academic components of muggle curriculum: modern chemistry, physics, biology. Science and technology. He was delving into a world, specifically his area of study, within a realm that he was attempting to navigate partially blind.

Partially because he was still a Malfoy and had no doubt in his ability to adapt and persevere.

He was learning what a human cell was and how it functioned, what radiation was and how science converted energy, all in tandem while learning how to work a VCR and why you couldn't pick up a phone while also accessing the World Wide Web, more casually called an 'internet' but Draco didn't understand where the shortened name came from. He was expected to get stellar, near perfect NEWTs while also covering over a decade of muggle education. Had it been anyone else other than the perfection-driven Slytherin, he doubted they'd have the discipline and grit to see it through.

In the end, Draco told Cobb how he, surprisingly, enjoyed nuclear science the most, the concepts so close to the mysterious art of alchemy that he had doubts that they weren't related. Science wasn't so much different from magic, with the sole difference being that humans were directly in control of the outcome or effect rather than an intangible force. Science was brusque and confusing and complex, all for the added benefit of achieving what magic could do in mere seconds. Muggles worked harder for what could naturally come to a wizard. They needed intelligence, countless disciplines, and intense study to accomplish the feats that they did. Like keeping a tower standing in the middle of muggle London, or transporting hundreds cross country in a metal contraption that flew among the clouds.

Or leaving the planet. Magic had yet to accomplish that. In fact, Draco was learning that there were quite a few limitations their wizarding society self-imposed.

"I like the internet," the teen blurted out as a gentle rain began to pelt the office window. "It's like a library - the biggest library I've ever been too - shrunken into one little box. I don't have to fight to find a book, or if I have a question on something I can find the answer rather fast." The words tasted bitter as they formed on his tongue. "We don't have that. Our knowledge is more… difficult to find. Limited to books and lectures, and access to books isn't always open."

Knowledge was the energy source of societies. When knowledge was stunted and didn't move easily across a culture, the culture rarely evolved, so stuck in the same ways without any avenue of deviation or introduction of new thoughts. Muggles, Draco was quickly realizing, didn't have that issue. Their technology flourished with open access to discussions, immediate communication without the reliance on fire, and manipulating natural elements to make it all work.

Their conversation shifted from his anticipation for his future career - a sterling one at that, a diamond that was recently reshined and found its lost glimmer - to his relationship with Hermione. That was a complicated topic he wasn't too interested to jump into the intricacies with the doctor, innately closed off about his intimate life. Strange that it was just as hard to talk about the happiest part of his life as it was the most painful. Intense emotions, either the warm, tender ones or the sordid kind, were never easy topics to broach. Either you didn't want to relive the pain or you didn't want to risk ruining the best thing of your life by allowing it to be dissected and discussed in the open world.

"I've decided that I'm going to propose to her," the Slytherin slowly admitted, straining his words through a mental sieve to give just enough detail without any emotional baggage he wasn't prepared to unpack. "Been talking to Goldstein about how I want to do it. Got a plan finally, I think."

Cobb arched his brows. "A plan?"

"Right. I don't want to just…" the blonde made a vague hand gesture. "I can't just bluntly fall to a knee and bloody ask her. That's… not what she deserves."

"What do you think she deserves?"

Images of Hermione, emblazoned by her Gryffindor pride and blind bravery, self-sacrificing qualities, and stubborn bossiness flashed into Draco's mind. If he had to pick a moment when he really fell for the witch, he'd be hard pressed to determine if it was when she bested him in all their First Year classes or the well-aimed slap in Third Year. Despite how much time passed, he would swear he still felt the tingle of a phantom touch on his cheek, inciting a jolting mix of pain and surprise. Never had he been hit before. Never had he been truly challenged by another academically. Never before had he felt like he found his equal until he met her.

"I dunno," Draco mumbled with a quick shake of his head, readjusting himself on the couch. It was nothing short of a miracle that Dumbledore allowed him to keep attending the therapy sessions. One of the added benefits of being estranged with the rest of his House was that no one inquired on where he slipped off too. In previous years, he would've had an entourage questioning his comings and goings, but now no one really cared. At the most, Hala always gave him a wistful smile when he returned, almost relieved that he was back. "A Gryffindor probably dreams of a marriage proposal after saving a burning orphanage or freeing some dragons about to be poached."

The teen explained to the doctor his plan for his proposal, with his inclusion of Harry being the closest to satisfying the 'burning orphanage' criteria and himself as the dragon, if namesakes counted. The fact that the Slytherin decided he needed to talk to Harry and Ron at all about it surprised him more than Cobb. But the two other boys were her best friends, unblooded brothers, and knew her the best. Any future with Hermione would include them as well. They both came to terms that there were aspects of their lives they'd have to learn to accept; she grudgingly agreed to learn his Pureblood society ways and he agreed to stomach the other thirds of their Golden Trio.

He didn't need their advice on how to propose; he had a plan already for that and was working with Anthony Goldstein to make it a reality, his new friendship with the Ravenclaw pleasantly developing into something casual and unexpected. They often talked about schoolwork, international banking news, finances and business, the latest theory in numerology, and debated the efficacy of curse breakers current arithmancy curriculum. It was a refreshing friendship free of expectations and diplomatic weaves, neither one approaching the other with a hidden agenda. They were simply friends, at least for now. In the future, as Draco planned to progress through his education and take a more active role at his family's corporations, he had plans to enlist his friendship with the Ravenclaw in the domains of banking and finance, knowing full well Goldstein would follow his parents footsteps to become a banking tycoon. And knowing Goldstein's pragmatic mind, he had no doubts the other wizard would welcome a quasi-professional relationship with the Malfoy, filling the role as a financial advisor.

The session with Cobb progressed past his healthy relationship with his soon-to-be fiance and jumped into the tumultuous topic of his parents, as confusing as they were. His father stepped up where parenting was a concern, filling a role that had been vacant for almost all of Draco's life. Since boyhood, the silver-haired patriarch kept his heir at an arm's distance, instilling pride and fear and slippery morals with equally slippery methods. There were few memories the teen had of his father acting like a storybook parent, and most of those memories existed only in make believe. In the past year, though, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shattered shell of his former self, becoming that pretend father from Draco's fantasies.

But Draco was seventeen already. A teenager but one of age and well past the years in need of a shoulder to cry on, a strong body to lean against, a voice of reason to soil and sow morals. Or so he thought, as all boys his age did.

"And where do things fall with your mother?" Cobb asked in that gentle voice he used when touching on a painful nerve.

"Too busying being conflicted over colour palettes and drapery swatches," the teen sharply retorted. "I almost drowned and she couldn't even be bothered to check on me, could she? But she'll suddenly clear her schedule to have tea with a painter from Austria if it means getting some art for the manor. That's where things fall with her. I'm considered less important than art."

They talked more about his mother, or rather Cobb did his best to get the young wizard to contemplate and introspect on what their dynamic shifted into. In truth, Draco didn't have the stomach or mind for it, not after only one parent arrived at Hogwarts in the dead of night while the other remained kilometers away in Wiltshire. But neither did Draco have the stomach or mind to admit to Cobb that the only thing he was looking forward to was the end of term, when he could make good on his father's promise to make living arrangements to leave his mother. Maybe if he was a different person, a better person with better morals and ideals and a natural benevolent streak, he'd feel guilt for the strain he was placing on his parents' marriage. But no matter how far he looked, he couldn't find anything even remotely close to guilt.

Because while he might've done good things from an outsider's perspective, perspective was the key term. Everything shifted when one angle did as well.

As the session was drawing closer towards its end, the rain outside pitter pattering more sensually, Cobb inquired on the Slytherin's friends, especially the new ones that were once coined as 'enemies'. It was a lighter topic, but no less one that Draco sluiced and diluted in heavy doses before feeling confident enough to answer. Picking at some non-existent fuzzies on the hem of his shirt, the blonde distantly described his relationships as if he were reciting a potion mixing instruction. However, his voice did warm up, a modest chuckle coerced from his throat, when he recalled a specific interaction with the unlikely group.

"They want me to get a Ouija board," the heir recalled, brows drawn together slightly at the memory. "Or rather, bring the one that my family has at the manor to school. Weasley's bint for a girlfriend thought holding a seance would be bloody fun. Obviously her knowledge in the dark artefact is lacking." He thought about how eager and excited she looked compared to his horror-stricken, hesitant reaction to the suggestion. A downright awful, fatalist suggestion, which was probably why the Gryffindor even suggested it.

Cobb looked surprised. "And you agreed?"

"Not right away, no. The muggle of all people, Dudley, said he had a board. I should've known it was a bunch of bollocks when he made it seem like no big deal that he had one. He can't use magic - why would he have a board?!" He shook his head at the memory. "A few days later, he came back with this 'board' and showed me, Hermione, Weasley and his witch. It was…" His face contorted into disgust as he fought for the word to describe the replica. "It was fake! Like cheap cardboard with some flipsy sticker over the top! He said he got it from the store, in the board game section!"

The fact that Cobb looked amused and on the verge of laughing made Draco see red. What was wrong with Muggles?

"Ah, yes. Ouija boards are something of a… novelty game for muggles. You can find them in department stores. They're not magical though."

Draco blinked A non-magical board was considered a fun pastime for muggles? A board with a history deeply entrenched in summoning dark creatures and spirits with the intent to enslave and force them to do a wizard's bidding was looked at as a game for muggles? The entire concept, the mere thought, was mind boggling.

"I'd be arrested if I showed up at Hogwarts with a ouija board- a real ouija board," Draco countered, repulsion dripping between his words. "You know, the real-deal with the board made out of human skin and the planchette sculpted from a sun-bleached skull."

"So after you saw the fake Muggle board and your friends asked you to get the 'real deal', you told them no? That it's too dangerous of a tool?"

It was a sensible guess. Too bad for Cobb, his young patient was running dry of sensibilities where dark magic was a concern. He was a true Malfoy, drawn to the darkness much like a firefly was drawn to the flame.

"Of course not," the Slytherin scoffed. "I told them I'd bring it at the end of the month, after I go home to get my formal robes for the ridiculous ball the school decided to throw. I'll obviously be smart about it, hide the board, and immediately drop it off afterwards at the Hogsmeade safehouse my father set up for me. I can shrink it and then carry it in my animagus form."

"You're going to carry a highly illegal item in your highly illegal form."

It was poetic, at the very least. Draco smirked humorlessly. "If that's the way you want to look at it, then so be it. But hey, weren't you the one who was chirping on about getting along with others? About making new friends?"

Cobb was bound by confidentiality not to leak Draco's illicit movements and activities, but based on the tense chuckles from the man, Draco was sure Cobb would've if he could've. He was a good man, carved from a rock much more refined and pure than Draco was, even with his sterling pedigree. For all of his deafness in magic, he wasn't blinded from what was in front of him, instead being able to see things that people couldn't, could recognize the blemishes and unpolished finishes, could look past the austere exterior to the true depths of what lay within someone. He was a better man than Draco was, and Draco hated that he could so easily admit his shortcomings when placed beside the psychologist.

"The end of term is coming up," Cobb gently reminded, a brow hiked up to drive his point home. "What are your thoughts on keeping your promise to your soon-to-be fiance and family about signing up on the animagus registry? When do you plan on doing that?"

Draco looked out the window, watching the churning storm overhead release its fury in mouthfuls of spit. Rain drenched London, flooding the streets and teeny cars below, but there wasn't a speck of lightning among the overcast skyline. It was a rainstorm and nothing more. And he needed more.

The Slytherin looked back at the squib. "Soon."

~~~~SS~~~~

Tuesday 14 October 1997

Severus sat at his Defense classroom desk in his last class of the day, overseeing the sixth years taking their exam on Inferi. The scratching of the quills throughout the room gave him none of the typical calming effects he'd expect to feel on an exam day, leaving his mind swimming in the sea of uncertainty about the upcoming changes in his life. Would the students be able to withstand another year of split professors teaching them when inevitably Severus had to take time off to be with Harry? He'd promised them - and himself - one solid, last year, but now he couldn't keep that promise and it tore him up inside, then filled him with guilt over the selfishness of his concern. With the end of the hour approaching, Severus stretched out his arms from the chair - his body physically aching from the mental stress - and wanted nothing more than to go back downstairs to his quarters to go to sleep for however long he could manage.

Much to his relief, on Sunday night, Harry had returned to their quarters, still feeling down and confused, but with a more open mind to discuss the road ahead of them. The pair of wizards sat down at the kitchen table and over two bowls of soup, hours of arguing - then agreeing, then arguing again - they laid everything out in front of them. Severus was as honest with the young wizard as he could be regarding the ritual - intentionally leaving out how to obtain the Water of Life, knowing it would only distress the teen more - and what to expect with it. Despite the fact Harry eventually agreed to the ritual and the chemotherapy - both having been decided on the young wizard's terms, a very important point he should have originally considered - Severus still felt uneasy about the week ahead of them and had had difficulty finding sleep since. As their conversation Sunday night went well past curfew, Harry stayed the night in his dungeon bedroom, but returned to the Tower yesterday, just as he would have from chemotherapy. He'd given the Gryffindor a sleep tablet each of the nights he'd spent in the Dungeons, and instructed him to go to Madam Pomfrey a half hour prior to bedtime if he needed one tonight. Although he didn't think Harry would do anything drastic, unfortunately, given the circumstances, he didn't trust the teen to take them unsupervised in his dorm. The rest of the week, the young wizard would be in the Dungeons for the ritual and neither of them really knew what to expect.

The last two days had been challenging as Severus came to terms with this new reality, one that, unlike during the original diagnosis, put him on a level playing field with Harry. He never realized when he first showed up in this world he had allowed himself to believe that if only Harry chose the muggle chemotherapy the young wizard would live. Obviously he had other challenges here with Voldemort and being a Horcrux, but the Leukemia would be cured with this one important change of decision. Never did he think the Gryffindor's life would once again be in danger from itself, and being caught off guard was almost as difficult to accept as the relapse diagnosis.

Harry had thought about it though, and Severus's guilt tore straight through him when he tried to sleep. He'd been the one to insist Harry needed to see the positive, to live his life for today rather than tomorrow, and most of his advice stemmed from his own ideals of the cancer truly being gone. What if Harry felt his magic fighting against him, but was unable to describe it? Did the retraining and reorganization push it from the physical manifestation of locking doors and breaking glass to something worse? Not only would those answers remain a mystery, they really no longer mattered. All that did matter was blocking Harry's magic so they could start trying to force the cancer back into remission; hopefully for good this time.

Severus knew the news of Harry's relapse had made its way through the school when the Gryffindors showed up to breakfast this morning more quiet and somber than ever before. Minerva and Albus had notified the other professors, yet no one dared to approach him at the staff table. He didn't care what reason his colleagues subscribed to explain his seemingly odd relationship with Harry - though he obviously knew Harry's opinion on it - as long as they left him alone with his grief, they would live to see another day. If not… well, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to control his anger towards them.

Severus had spent almost every free second yesterday researching the Ritual, but today he forced himself to focus on other - not necessarily more important, simply different - topics, which included starting to study the possibility of time lapsed spells and any way to dissolve protective enchantments. He'd been midway through an advanced Charms book during his sixth years exam when the door to his classroom opened and Lucius Malfoy walked in. The other wizard wore a Zari brocade robe, black and rich cobalt blue, with real silver threading, standing out like a sore thumb in the sea of Hogwarts uniforms and robes. In his left hand, he held a small package which Severus knew exactly what it contained; relieved to see the man came through after all. Murmurs instantly started circulating through the classroom once Severus nodded at the other wizard, who slowly - taking each step as if he were calculating its impact on the future generations of witches and wizards - made his way to the front of the classroom.

"No talking during the examination," the professor reminded his students, never once removing his eyes from the Malfoy patriarch approaching him. He gave a quick nod towards his office, silently telling the aristocratic man to wait there until his proctored exam was completed.

Severus's office sat behind his desk, therefore unwilling to ever leave his back to a Malfoy, he walked up and down the aisles of desks under the guise of making sure the students had properly refocused on their examination. The bell rang a mere three minutes later and, as they always did - more so after an exam than a regular class -, the students jumped from their desks and grabbed their bags in a rush to leave; successfully making it to the middle of the week. All, that was, except a blonde Ravenclaw still feverishly scribbling across her parchment, having no clue her classmates had left her behind.

"Time is up, Miss Lovegood," he announced, stoically walking up and down the desks to collect the exams while trying to make his voice sound less exhausted than he felt. "Please leave your exam on your desk."

At the sound of his voice, she looked up and turned her head around the classroom recognizing she was now the lone student in the room. Raising his single eyebrow, he waited for her to either say something or preferably to get up and leave.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor," she turned her head to the side, "I must have missed the bell."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in the process hoping to gain just a bit of strength and patience to handle her whimsical personality. When he reopened them, she still stood beside her desk watching him as if he were one of her imaginary creatures she saw for the first time.

"That will be all, Miss Lovegood," Severus instructed, "you are dismissed."

"I'm sorry to hear about Harry," she said to him in a tone no different than if she were telling him to expect rain in the next hour. "Sometimes life seems unfair, but they say we're only given what we can handle. He's strong. He'll make it through this."

Her words brought him back to another conversation with an equally peculiar student, his own this time: don't let him reschedule. When Hala Khatib had first uttered those five words prior to exiting his office, they had shaken him just as much as reflecting on those words presently. As much as he wanted to believe Miss Lovegood's claim - even willing to go as far as to break his own rule against trusting Divinations - she was no seer. None of them could know what would come of this relapse, at least no one he was willing to ask.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood," he told her rather than kicking her out of the classroom as he originally wanted to, "however, you should tell that to Harry."

"Oh, I have," she smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you knew it too."

Not waiting for his response, the Ravenclaw skipped out of the classroom, her long blonde hair bouncing across her back, leaving Severus standing foolishly among the desks staring at her now empty one an aisle over. Her exam sat diagonally across the top, and when he moved to her aisle to collect it, he paused. Where he expected to see a hastily written, partially completed exam, he was greeted with an elaborately drawn picture of some animal on the backside of the parchment. Flipping it over, he almost laughed at the fully completed sheet staring back at him.

At first glance each question was filled out to its entirety, meaning Luna had either stayed to finish her drawing or to deliver her message to him. Severus hoped it was the former, but deep down knew it to be the latter. Whether he liked it or not, and having no clue as to when it occurred, the Lovegoods somehow crossed the threshold into acquaintances.

Waving his wand in the air, he sent the exams to a pile on his desk in his office, where he headed to deal with Lucius waiting for him.

"Glad to see you're back on your feet enough to teach," Lucius taunted when Severus entered his office. The other Slytherin meandered along the perimeter exploring the various texts and artifacts Severus used in his lesson; no doubt not up to the Malfoy standards, though he wouldn't announce such a thing. "Dare I say, even with the Sobriety Elixir I had my doubts you'd be back so soon."

"It was sufficient," the professor scowled, not telling him about the thumping headache he had all the way until Monday morning as a side effect to the instant sobering. He walked behind his desk, gesturing for Lucius to take a seat in the straight back chair across from him, which the blonde did only once Severus sat first. "Do you have it?"

The question required no explanation. It hadn't even been required to begin with as there would be no other reason for the man to be in his office if he hadn't secured the Water of Life.

"A bit impatient, aren't we?" Lucius smoothly commented, pulling two opaque black phials from his bag. "As I am sure you are aware, the condition you are forcing is only temporary and will require a booster - so to say - approximately every three months. This should be enough to get him to Easter."

Severus carefully took hold of the phials, immediately noticing two significant details: a small, almost electrical, current surrounded them and the abnormally high thickness of the glass phial itself; both attributes to protect the priceless material held inside. Slipping them carefully into a protected pocket of his robes, he said, "Thank you again, Lucius."

The other wizard winced at the gratitude.

"Have you considered how you're going to handle the situation long-term?" Lucius asked, leaning back arrogantly in his chair. "Though I have enough of that particular ingredient to get him through years of this, if necessary, I suspect once you allow his magic to return you'll be in the same situation."

He made a valid point Severus hadn't fully worked his way through yet. If the ritual lasted approximately three months, they would need to repeat it until Harry was completely done with his treatment. Even stopping midway through his second Maintenance would leave him vulnerable for a third relapse and those statistics were worse than a second; he'd made the unwise decision to look it up yesterday. This had to work and to give it the best chance they had to keep his magic blocked until they could practically guarantee no more cancer cells festered within his blood.

"We'll have to keep his magic blocked until he's done with treatment in its entirety," Severus lamely explained, unwilling to provide the length of time required. If Lucius had known about it, he didn't offer either. "If everything goes well this week, I unfortunately will not be able to be at the laboratory this weekend. Harry's new treatment schedule is basically two out of every three weekends, but one is only Saturdays, like he'd been doing. I'll check with Minerva or Molly Weasley to see if either of them could go with him in my place, leaving me available outside of his lengthier stay."

"So you'll be going from approximately three Saturdays a month down to only one?" Lucius confirmed. "Assuming you can't make alternate arrangements for Harry's care."

He let the statement rest between them. Harry's lack of magic meant that if he wanted to, he could leave Hogwarts, take the young wizard back to Spinner's End and work at the MLD during the week and fill in the weekends as needed. However, now that his house was threatened, Draco had an auror ready to arrest him at a moment's notice, and he had no doubt Harry needed his friends more than ever, the professor found he no longer desired to leave Hogwarts behind. He wanted to make it through this year, see this unique group of seventh years off, and then he could walk away. The plan was perfect, except he knew the best laid plans rarely worked out - he had the proof of two phials sitting in his pocket.

"I'll certainly give you plenty of notice once I figure out how my schedule will fall," Severus uncomfortably told him.

"Take care of your son, Severus," the other Slytherin surprisingly responded, waving off Severus's offer. "I'll handle the laboratory schedule with your pod. Simply let me know when you are available and we'll shuffle as needed."

He hated the implication that he was giving up a piece of himself - one he'd only recently found - but grateful for the flexibility. He promised to let Lucius, and by extension his pod, know what was happening and when to expect him back to his research. His end goal was to hopefully be on some kind of cadence, but he had no idea what the first month would look like under the new treatment regimen, let alone the next twenty-five very long weeks, all of which could change if they didn't reach remission with his first or second cycle.

"Tell me about Hala Khatib," Lucius requested - a seemingly random one - in a manner far from friendly. "Obviously, I know of her family's history - probably more than most - yet my source has reported she's gotten rather close with Draco."

Severus's face stayed expressionless, although inside he had at least a dozen questions regarding the other wizard's statements.