Harry wasn’t sure what to do with Draco. He couldn’t reconcile the teen he now shared a room with from the insufferable prat he’d been spying on for months. The arrogant, aristocratic haughtiness the blond had carried himself with for years was but a distant memory. It had been torn clean off—ripped away like layers of skin until the raw flesh beneath was exposed in all its grotesque grandeur. And it wasn’t a pretty sight to behold; Draco looked—broken, defeated. And Harry had never thought he would see him that way, with all his buoyant, exasperating Malfoyness stripped away.

Harry could think of nothing to do to help; he wasn’t even sure that his help was at all wanted. He’d tried to give the Slytherin a wide berth at first, not wanting to impose. Only intruding to bring Draco food and to retrieve the mostly untouched plates when enough time had passed that it was clear the blond wouldn’t eat any more. He’d turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the nightmares that shook him through the night and refrained from asking questions come morning. But four days had passed, and Harry was nearing the end of his rope. He had never been good at standing by while others suffered—even if that particular someone was a vicious Slytherin he had no affinity for—and he just didn’t have it in him to stand by and do nothing any longer. Friend or foe, he would do something.

Only, they weren’t enemies anymore, but they sure as hell weren’t friends. They weren’t anything—so, where did that leave him? Stuck sharing a room with someone he didn’t know, much less understand. And, if Saturnine was to be trusted, he was looking at a whole summer for the two of them to get acquainted. Whatever relationship they were going to build had to start somewhere, right?

As he finished getting ready for bed, Harry felt sure there would be nightmares again tonight—there were nightmares every night. And the lack of sleep wasn’t helping Draco’s frayed nerves getting better. Neither did the lack of food. While he could do little for the latter, maybe he could try something for the former. It was as good a place as any to pull out the proverbial olive branch.

Only Harry didn’t know what to say. “Sorry you sold your soul to the wrong guy” seemed oddly lacking. “Sorry you’ve probably been marked for death for doing the right thing” sounded worse. Was there even a right thing to say?

“Sorry you got dragged into this, but if only you knew how happy I was that I wasn’t alone in that cell” was what he wanted to say, but he doubted it would have been well received.

Actions speak louder than words, he’d heard said once. Bearing that in mind, he spelled the lights off. And instead of moving to his bed to lie down for the night, he aimed for the one that had been placed alongside the opposite wall where his desk used to be.

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he said in a soft voice, “You need to sleep, Draco.” Then laying down atop the covers next to Draco’s frail body, he added, “We both need to sleep.”

He’d half-expected to be kicked out of the bed, or at least shoved over the side, but Draco said nothing. Did nothing. The level of apathy the blond displayed tore at Harry’s heart like a well-aimed curse. It was also the proof, if he needed it, that he’d done the right thing.

Willing his heavy limbs to relax so that his still sore muscles could get the rest they so rightfully deserved, Harry waited for the Slytherin’s breathing to even out. It didn’t take long, and the Gryffindor fell asleep shortly afterwards.

Neither boy woke up until the first rays of morning light were on them the next day. Harry wordlessly got out of bed then and into the small en-suite shower room. Draco watched him go with a small frown marring his pale brow. He didn’t really look better, but Harry fancied there was a bit more life in his quicksilver eyes.

***

Later that day, Draco forced himself out of bed when Harry told him that Professor Dumbledore was coming to visit. He was not particularly eager to have a cup of tea with the man he’d been tasked to murder. But if there was to be news about his situation or his parents, he wanted to hear it straight from the seasoned wizard.

He hadn’t left their shared bedroom since that woman, who wasn’t really a French witch who had studied at Beauxbatons, had taken them here. He’d played the post-Cruciatus hurt for all it was worth to buy himself more time and avoid having to confront the situation just yet. He’d barely seen the witch, whose real name he now knew was Saturnine Snape, and relied on Harry to get his food and a modicum of information.

During the daylight hours, Harry had filled in some of the gaps in his memory about the rescue and explained that he’d concluded that Leen Nine was indeed Severus’ younger sister, but that it seemed the two siblings had been estranged for years. That had cut where Draco had thought he couldn’t be hurt anymore, given how much he’d been flailed alive already. His godfather had a sister, and he’d never once in sixteen years heard about it. That was how little Severus thought of him.

The Gryffindor had been more St. Bernard than lion those past couple of days—always on hand and eager to help—and Draco admitted that the old him would have gladly taken advantage of the situation. As it was, it had taken him days to get over the fact that Harry so readily wanted to help—in truth, he hadn’t yet got over the shock of it. And there was no way he was willing to contemplate what had happened last night—not even in the privacy of his own thoughts. So far as the young Slytherin was concerned, they had both slept in their own beds—end of story.

Dragging himself out of the bedroom, Draco discovered that Cove Cottage was smaller than he’d realised. But that explained the living arrangement and shared bedroom. He’d already gathered from the sight outside the bedroom’s bay window that it was in the middle of nowhere, but he hadn’t imagined that it was this—well, humble was the polite word for it, wasn’t it?

Moving to the living room, he was forced to share the sofa with Harry and Saturnine as Dumbledore took the only armchair. Seeing that the second bedroom’s door remained inexplicably closed, Draco realised his godfather wouldn’t be joining them. That had been expected, Saturnine having explained to them two days prior that Severus was too weak to get out of bed. Still, Draco had held onto a sliver of hope that he’d make an appearance for the headmaster’s visit.

Draco hadn’t seen Professor Dumbledore up close in a long time, and now that he sat mere feet away from him, he could see that the seasoned wizard looked sickly. His face was gaunt, and the heavy creases on his skin gave the impression that he hadn’t slept in weeks. One of his hands was hidden from sight beneath a velvet glove, and the limb seemed dead to the world.

“My dear boys,” Dumbledore said, his eyes somehow still finding the strength to twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles. “It pleases me to see you both up and about.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” Harry said from where he sat in the middle of their odd trio. Draco had taken the seat furthest from the headmaster, while Saturnine sat perched on the edge of the sofa on the kitchen’s side. She seemed ready to bolt away at a moment’s notice, her eyes darting towards the closed bedroom door every minute or so.

“And you, too, my dear,” Dumbledore added, addressing the witch. “How’s your brother doing?”

Draco peered up at that, interested in the answer. “He’s getting a little bit stronger each day, but it will be a long recovery.” Then, with a smile that felt forced, she added, “And he’s proving to be an awful patient.”

Dumbledore smiled, and Harry chuckled, but both reactions seemed equally empty to him. That made him wonder what audience they were putting on a show for.

“Have you got any news, sir?” she asked.

“Many,” he replied, then his eyes flittered over the two teens. Draco understood the gesture for what it was. The headmaster had many things to say, and most of them would be said after they’d been dismissed.

“We’re all ears,” Saturnine said with an encouraging wave of her hand. There’d been a certain steeliness to her voice that made her comment easy to understand—she wouldn’t have the two students sent away.

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a second, but then he launched into a monologue. “The bodies of two Death Eaters were found in the wreckage: a young Albanian wizard named Yanton Lavasky and Bellatrix Lestrange. The first fell victim to one of Severus’ attacks, while Mrs Lestrange died due to the fire that burned half of the house down. The Aurors believe some candles were thrown over during the fight, and the carpets caught up in flames. With the house being as old as it was and badly maintained, it didn’t take long for the flames to eat up most of the west wing.

“Four more wizards were apprehended: Avery, Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers. They’re being interrogated by the Aurors as we speak. Last I heard, Avery doesn’t know much, and the Lestranges are keeping quiet, but Dolohov is being very loquacious.”

“Any word on Voldemort?” Harry asked, and Draco tensed in anticipation of pain at the name, but his Dark Mark remained quiet. He looked down at his forearm with a frown.

“He was long gone when the Aurors got there, and we’ve lost track of him again,” Dumbledore explained. “Unless either of you heard or saw something that could help us?”

Harry shook his head, and he did the same. Aside from the Dark Lord’s displeasure, they hadn’t seen or heard much of anything.

“What’s the plan?” Saturnine asked, and once more, the headmaster’s gaze flickered his way. Draco tensed again, sure that this time he would be dismissed.

“We will proceed as agreed,” Dumbledore said eventually. “The four of you will stay here until September when you can all relocate to Hogwarts. It will not be safe for either of you elsewhere.”

Saturnine nodded in agreement, and Draco fleetingly wondered why they would welcome him back to Hogwarts when he’d nearly brought about its destruction. Surely Azkaban would be more appropriate.

“What of the Horcruxes?” she asked then, and this time, even Harry tensed beside him. Draco had never heard the word before, but surely it was an important subject. He forced all of his attention to the conversation at hand.

The headmaster’s gaze darkened as his eyes glared at the young witch in warning. Saturnine pretended not to notice and carried on as if nothing had happened. “I plan on asking Severus about the locket. He may have heard something. Then I’ll look for what’s left in the other Houses.” She paused. “Unless you have another idea?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” the old wizard admitted through clenched teeth. “But I agree with your idea to bring Severus in on this. Time is running out, and we need all the help we can get. The Dark Lord won’t let this go unpunished. It will take him a little time to recoup, and then I fear his vengeance will be felt deeply.”

“Has the Order learned anything?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, without Severus, we’ve lost our best source of information. Now we can do little more than turn stones at random to see what lies beneath.”

“Put some pressure on Dolohov and the Lestranges,” she advised. “Pitch them against each other—let them know the other’s talking, and whoever gives us the most will get the preferential treatment.”

“I’m not sure—”

“If you’re going with the old technique of trying to show them the errors of their ways, you’re wasting your breath on the likes of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange,” she cut in. “They have no good side you can appeal to. But as Slytherins, they have a keen sense of self-preservation. Tell them what horror lies ahead, and then tell them it will either be for them or Dolohov. Use them against each other. Use their nature against them.”

Dumbledore nodded as he heeded her advice. “I see now why Scrimgeour took an interest in you,” he said. “You really do have a different way of seeing things.”

The sneer on the dark-haired witch’s lips made it look like she’d just swallowed something foul.

“Do you have any more out-of-the-box tactics we could try?” Dumbledore asked with an amused chuckle.

“None for now, I’m afraid,” she replied. “There might be more once I’ve had a long chat with Severus, but he’s not ready for that yet.”

“Very well, then,” the headmaster said, standing up, joints cracking. “I’ll best be going. Saturnine, do let me know if you require anything, and give your brother my best.”

She gave him a parting nod but remained silent.

“Boys,” he said, nodding their way.

“Good day, sir,” Harry said, and Draco mumbled something that sounded vaguely similar.

The old headmaster was gone through the Floo an instant later, leaving the three of them where they were. Saturnine had gotten up to see him away. Harry was standing, too, and he seemed intent on going to their bedroom.

“Draco, would you mind staying for a little while?” Saturnine asked. With one pointed look, she made Harry leave the room without a fuss. A kettle of tea floated in from the kitchen an instant later, followed by two cups.

Draco was surprised to see she’d had the tea ready, and she didn’t offer any to the headmaster.

The dark-haired witch poured their drinks the instant the tea-set landed on the coffee table. She handed him his cup before taking a sip of hers and moved to sit back down at the opposite end of the sofa. She folded one of her long legs beneath her as she turned to face him.

“You must be wondering why I insisted for you to stay,” she said without preamble.

Draco could have pretended that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he found that he didn’t have the energy to play games. He nodded over the teacup that was on its way to his lips.

“You made a though choice in the Room of Requirement that night—one that could easily have cost you your life. I’m doing this to honour that decision.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. So, he remained quiet. What did she care, anyway?

“I know this must be difficult for you. And I’m probably the last person you want to discuss this with,” she continued, “but I wanted you to know that you’re not here by accident or because we didn’t know what to do with you. You’ve earned your place.”

“My place should be in Azkaban,” he said before biting at his lower lip to stop himself from saying more. He hadn’t meant to admit this aloud, but his mouth had bypassed his brain.

“Really?” she asked mirthfully. “And for what crime?”

“Do you want a list?” he demanded, and she smiled at him—actually smiled. It unnerved him, and he added, “Should I make it chronological or alphabetical, Professor?”

“Give me your worst,” she instructed, taking one last sip of tea before placing the cup back on the table to give him her full attention. She crossed her arms over her chest as one of her eyebrows rose challengingly.

“I tried to kill the headmaster,” he said, thinking that ought to shut her up. “Twice.”

It had little impact. “And you failed. Twice,” she replied. “Appallingly so, I might add. Were you even trying?”

That incensed him. How dared she? “Of course I was—what did you think? That it was a prank?”

“One might have wondered.” She shrugged. “Give me another one, then.”

“I fixed the Vanishing Cabinet and let the Death Eaters in,” Draco said, his voice rising.

“No, Harry did,” she corrected in an even voice. “You couldn’t even get that one done right. Give me another one.”

“I—I’ve been awful to Harry for years. I insulted all his friends. Called Granger a Mudblood. I—I—I messed with his potions, reported him and his little Defence club to Umbridge last year, I—I…”

“What—you stole a cookie, too?” she asked laughingly. “Boy, you’ll have to do a lot better if you want me to drop you off at Hotel Azkaban. Give. Me. Another. One.”

“I’m a Death Eater!” he screamed in despair, his right hand reaching for his left arm and forcing his emerald shirt sleeve up so harshly the cufflinks went flying. Before the little diamonds had the time to land on the floor, Saturnine had uncrossed her arms and squeezed his into a tight grasp, twisting his wrist to expose the dark ink on the pale underside.

“So is my brother,” she said in a soft voice that was in complete contrast with her rash actions. “Should I book him a suite, too?”

Draco was barely aware of tears pooling in his eyes, but he couldn’t care less. Saturnine kept holding onto his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh painfully as she held him in place. Her azure eyes bore into his, and he couldn’t look away from the sheer intensity of her gaze.

“Tell me, was it even your decision?” she continued in her deceptively soft voice. “Did your parents have the courtesy to ask you if you wanted the mark? Or did they simply make the appointment and inform you of the date?”

“Christmas gift,” Draco answered through the lump that had formed in his throat. “It was my Christmas gift.”

Saturnine smiled at him then, a soft chagrined smile so honest that it broke the veil of coldness he’d been hiding behind for days. A wave of feelings submerged him, and he shook under the strain. The raven-haired witch used the grip she had on his arm to yank him forward and straight into her arms. Draco went willingly, unable to fight her any more than he was to fight the onslaught of feelings.

“You did nothing wrong, Draco,” she whispered above his head. “You did the best you could to survive, that’s all. And when you were finally given a choice, when you could at long last make a decision on your own, you chose to do something good. You saved a life.” She placed a small kiss on the crown of his head, and he couldn’t remember someone ever doing that to him. “You saved Harry’s life—and I thank you for it.”

“What’s going to happen to me now?” he asked through his tears, and his voice shook under the strain.

“I don’t know,” she whispered above his head before placing another kiss atop his hair. “But we’ll figure something out, I promise you. Severus and I will see to it that you’re taken care of. Okay?

“You’ve got to get better now, Draco. The war is not over, and there’ll be more battles. You’re going to need all your strength. And that starts with eating and sleeping more, okay?” She forced him away a little to catch his gaze. “No more of that attitude you’ve had going on for the past couple of days. I won’t stand for that.

“And I want you to work on your summer essays. You will bring each of them to me when they’re finished. And they better be good, or you will have to start over—I’m here to help if you have any questions, though. Also, you’re to keep your half of the bedroom clean, and you will help with the chores. Harry already does the breakfasts; so, you can do the suppers.”

“I’ve never cooked a single thing in my life,” Draco was forced to admit. The rest he could manage, but aside from piling things up into sandwiches, he was hopeless in a kitchen.

“As I said, I’m here to help.”