Severus sipped his coffee and perused the Daily Prophet while Malfoy and Potter ate their breakfasts in tense silence. They’d come down at the same time, and he hadn’t missed Malfoy’s hateful glances or the dark circles under Potter’s eyes. He glanced over the paper and rolled his eyes at Potter.

“Stop playing with your food like a child,” he snapped.

Potter jumped at being addressed, but instantly pulled a glare onto his face.

“Yeah, Potter. You acted enough like a baby with all that screaming last night,” Malfoy sneered.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt your precious beauty sleep?” Potter retorted.

“Is that why you refuse to go back to those filthy Muggles of yours? They actually kicked you out for being such a weak waste of space?” Malfoy spat.

“That’s none of your damn business, ferret,” Potter snapped. “What about you, huh? Daddy finally realize how humiliating it is to have you for a son?”

“At least I have parents, orphan.”

Severus slammed a hand on the table, dropping the Prophet so he could glare at the boys. They both jumped and turned wide, startled eyes on him.

“That is enough,” Severus said. “If you cannot speak civilly, do not speak at all. I will not have my peace disrupted because I was forced to take in the likes of the two of you.”

He stared the two boys down, meeting both green and grey eyes. Both flashed, furious at him and with each other, but there was another emotion hidden behind their rage. Whatever it was made them both back down, dropping their gazes back to their eggs and toast. Once he was satisfied the boys weren’t going to speak to each other again, he returned to his Daily Prophet.

He had no idea how this was going to work. He couldn’t stand Potter or Malfoy, and he really didn’t give a damn about anything they’d gone through or done. They were both arrogant, spoiled brats that brought out the worst in him and each other. His home would be levelled by the end of the month with the two of them there going at each other with their destructive tendencies. He should have refused and insisted they be returned to their homes, damn Dumbledore’s belief that they were hiding secret magical powers and strength. Malfoy was competent and intelligent, sure, but neither were going to suddenly be revealed as their age’s most powerful wizards.

He would do as Dumbledore requested and discover how the two got into the castle, but that would be all. He had no desire to coddle them through their abuse or any other issues. He studiously ignored the small voice in his head pointing out how badly he’d wanted and needed someone to help him through his own abuse at their age, yet never received it. They both had more than enough people to turn to for sappy affection.

He finished his coffee and folded the paper, placing it on the table beside his empty plate. Both boys had also finished their breakfasts and were sitting quietly, staring at their cleared plates. He groaned internally at the petulant expressions.

Merlin, save me from moody, traumatized teenage boys, he thought before clearing his throat to get the boys’ attention. They seemed to be hesitant, likely still cowed by his previous anger and comment.

“Mr. Malfoy, you will return to your room. Mr. Potter, meet me upstairs in the library,” Severus told them and left the dining room before they could respond. He was determined to find out about the boys’ magic as quick as possible so they could just ignore each other for the rest of their stay together.

He walked down the hall and pushed through the double doors at the very end, entering his very large library. He sat in one of the wingback chairs and waited for Potter, wondering how he was meant to convince the boy to tell him his secrets. He did not understand what made Dumbledore believe the two boys would confide in him.

He looked up when he heard Potter’s distinctive gait and watched the Gryffindor limp into the room. He gave the boy a few moments to gaze around and take in the circular room with its bookshelf-lined walls, intricate fireplace, desks and chairs, sofas, recliners, wingbacks, glass coffee table, window seat, and huge bay-like windows. He thought he saw a twitch of a smile on Potter’s face and was surprised the Gryffindor seemed to be able to appreciate such a room.

“Take a seat,” Severus said, gesturing to the sofa adjacent to his own seat.

Potter shuffled over and sat heavily in the center of the sofa, blowing out a deep breath. It was clearly still taking a lot of energy for Potter to get around with his broken leg. It was healing well and Severus anticipated he’d be fully healed by the end of the month.

“Now, tell me how you got to Hogwarts,” Severus said, deciding to just jump in. Potter had always responded better to bluntness.

Potter huffed, irritated. “I already told Dumbledore, I don’t know.”

“You Apparated,” Severus pointed out.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Potter said snappishly. Potter glared at him when he raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. “I grew up with Muggles, remember? And no one has ever said that word since I’ve come to the wizarding world.”

Severus hummed, conceding that the boy was likely telling the truth and was unaware of the magical form of transportation.

“What happened that night?” Severus asked.

The boy’s eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his mouth shut.

“I don’t care about what your disgusting relatives did to you to cause this,” Severus said, looking at the injuries pointedly and the boy blanched slightly, stiffening. “You are not returning and you can do therapy with the Weasleys or your mutt. I only want to know about when you passed out.”

An odd emotion skittered across the boy’s face, but it didn’t stay and Severus brushed it aside.

“Nothing happened,” Potter said. “I passed out, that’s it.”

“What did you feel before you fell unconscious?”

Potter shrugged, dropping his eyes to stare at the coffee table. “Pain,” he said deadpanned.

Severus was surprised the boy had admitted such a thing to him. “Anything else? Anything different?”

He watched as Potter thought back to that evening. It seemed Potter was getting slightly lost in the memory, but he just waited for the boy to handle it himself.

“I felt a pressure in my chest,” Potter said and Severus frowned. Besides, some bruising, there had been no damage to Potter’s chest that would justify any kind of pressure.

“What did it feel like?” Severus asked.

Potter scoffed, sounding annoyed again. “I don’t know, just…pressure.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated himself at Potter’s idiocy. “Describe it, you imbecile. Was it a steady pressure? Widespread? Localized? Fluctuating?”

“It felt like a ball that was expanding,” Potter said. “Satisfied?”

Severus just glared at him. “You can go, Potter. Get to your room and stay there.”

“Wait, what?” Potter said, taken aback. “Well, what does it mean, the pressure?”

“I don’t know yet, that’s why we are done,” Severus said. “Now, get out.”

Potter glared but, wisely, did not speak his mind. He just struggled to his feet and hobbled back to his room.

Draco quickly slipped back down the hall and into his room before Potter exited the library. He sat in the dark grey, poufy chair in the corner of the room, being careful not to aggravate his destroyed shoulder in any way. Letting out a sigh at the mere effort of curling up in a chair, he let his eyes fall on the carpeted floor as his mind wandered.

So, Potter was abused by his Muggle relatives. He snorted quietly to himself.

Always knew Potter was pathetic, can’t even stop a bloody Muggle, he thought derisively.

He ignored the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop his father either, justified his inaction with the fact that his father had used magic on him. If he’d tried to fight back, Lucius could have easily paralyzed him, knocked him out, or straight up killed him in a second with a simple flick of his wand.

His gaze moved to his hand on the armrest when it began to tremble yet again. As he watched his fingers shake, the ghost of the Cruciatus crept over his entire body and he shivered, his eyes falling shut as he returned to that night in Malfoy Manor.

Lucius’ voice echoed in his head and he jerked as though he was still being struck, remembering and lost in the memory. He felt tears begin to leak from his eyes and he felt a pressure in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He began to gasp for air, his head growing light and his ears feeling like water was rushing into them.

“Malfoy.”

He heard the voice call his name, but his trapped mind turned the voice into his father’s. He tried to curl up even more, hoping to escape his father. He couldn’t go through it again.

“Malfoy!”

His eyes flew open and he jumped at the shout. He cringed as he realized Snape was close and towering over him.

“Do you require a potion?” Snape asked.

Draco clenched his still trembling hand. “I’m fine.”

“That is not what I asked,” Snape said.

Draco shot him a mild glare, annoyed. “No, sir, I do not need a potion.”

“Watch your tone, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said in a low voice. “I will not tolerate your disrespect, no matter your condition or circumstances.”

Draco gave the professor an icy stare, forcing himself to ignore the little sting in his chest at Snape’s uncaring dismissal of what had happened to him. He didn’t expect—or want—any kind of pity, but he couldn’t help but want someone that would care or understand at least a little bit.

“Come to the library,” Snape said and left, not bothering to wait for Draco.

Draco took a deep breath, shoving the remnants of his memory-driven panic attack to the back of his mind. He got to his feet with a sigh and headed to the library. He was momentarily stunned by the room when he entered. Malfoy Manor had a library, but the atmosphere was completely different to Snape’s library.

It was a circular room and it was huge. From one side of the door to the other, almost floor to ceiling, lining the entire room were stuffed bookshelves. He was astonished by the sheer number of books. To the left of the door was one of two sitting areas with a deep red sofa, two black recliners, a cushy rocking chair, and a small, circular coffee table. Continuing around the room, there were two long desks pushed together, one chair on one side and two on the other. Just behind the desks was a couple of tall white doors in the wall, one of the only spots that wasn’t bookshelves, indicating some kind of cabinet. Across the huge room from the double door entrance was a tall window with a cozy window seat. To the right of the doors was the second sitting area, complete with a stone fireplace, a dark grey sofa and loveseat, a rectangular glass coffee table, and a couple of dark green wingback chairs. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and he pushed away the image of the chandelier he had stared up at. The floor was a lovely dark hardwood though there were soft, dark carpets under the sitting areas.

It was the comfiest room he’d ever been in.

“Stop gaping like a mindless idiot and sit down,” Snape snapped from where he sat in one of the wingback chairs.

Draco couldn’t help his hateful glare as he moved to sit on the grey sofa. He couldn’t believe how awful Snape was being. It was nothing like when they were at Hogwarts. Was Snape actually a Death Eater and had only treated him decently because he thought Draco was also loyal?

“What happened three days ago, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked bluntly.

Draco stiffened. He didn’t want to talk about it, especially with Snape. Besides, he doubted anyone would believe him. He’d done well crafting his specific reputation and image. He was the Malfoy prince that could get his beloved father to do anything for him. The Draco Malfoy presented to the world was adored by his father, not abused.

He internally winced at the word, having never thought of the incidents as such.

“Answer me,” Snape demanded.

Draco glowered at him. “It’s really none of your business, sir.”

“I truly don’t care what was done to you, but it could help explain how you got to Hogwarts,” Snape said.

Draco felt a pang again, but continued to ignore the feeling, remaining silent.

“I assume it was your father,” Snape said. “Lucius always was an utter bastard.”

Draco frowned at the comment. It almost sounded like Snape disapproved of what Lucius had done, but how could that be? The professor had said he didn’t care.

“Before you fell unconscious, did you feel anything?” Snape asked, quickly moving on from his comment, leaving Draco confused.

He didn’t want to think about it again, but he brought up the memory of those final moments when he’d been sure he might die.

“Hard to tell, but I think there was a pressure that was…unrelated,” Draco said. “I was out right when it started, so I don’t know what it was.”

“I see,” Snape said. “That is all I require. Return to your room.”

Draco blinked at the sudden dismissal, having expected a longer conversation and more of an interrogation. “Sir, I…I don’t…”

“Get out,” Snape growled. “Surely you understand such a simple instruction.”

Wondering to himself if he could hate anyone more than his father, Draco dragged himself back to his room. He scowled when he noticed Potter standing in his own doorway, staring at him.

“Go to hell, Potter,” he spat even though the Gryffindor hadn’t done or said anything and stalked into his room, swinging the door shut behind him to block out the world.

Severus massaged his brow and his eyes fell shut at the fast-approaching headache. It had only been one full day of having the two boys in his home and he had no idea how he was meant to survive three weeks with both and then all summer with Potter. He couldn’t stand either of them with their arrogance and attitude.

He could accept that, perhaps, they weren’t as spoiled at home as he’d always assumed, but that didn’t erase their atrocious and irritating behaviour of the last four years. They may not be spoiled at home, but they certainly were at Hogwarts. Malfoy with the whole of Slytherin bowing to him and his threats of his precious father. Potter with the worship of students and staff alike, indulging his every whim. He refused to treat them like anything special.

He thought back to what both had told him about feeling a pressure before falling unconscious. It sounded like accidental magic to him. Though uncommon at their age, it wasn’t unheard of, particularly in the face of some kind of trauma. Their magic had simply responded to the danger they were in and removed them. How it got them into the castle, he didn’t know, but the headmaster could investigate that part himself. He’d done his part. Now the boys just had to heal, but that could, thankfully, be done with very little interaction.

He knew he was being harsh, especially considering both were obviously abused and he understood such a life, but he couldn’t concern himself with them, not that summer. He needed all of his focus on his job. The life of a spy was a dangerously delicate balance and he couldn’t let anything distract him, even minutely. He could only imagine what would be done to him if it were discovered he had Harry Potter in his possession.

That’s all it was. He hated them and he couldn’t take any risks.

He hissed and grasped his arm as the Mark flared to life with a summons. He cursed at the timing. It just had to be on the first day he had Malfoy and Potter in the house. He left the library, his fist clenched in pain but no other indication that something was wrong.

“Potter, Malfoy, get out here,” he demanded, standing in the hall between the two rooms.

Only a few seconds passed before each boy hesitantly opened their doors and peeked out.

“I must leave for a few hours to complete an errand,” he said, glancing at both of them. He gave them piercing glares when he noticed both sets of eyes flicker to his arm, daring them to say anything. “You will remain in your rooms until I return. I will be locking your doors, so do not bother trying to escape. I will let you out in the morning.”

He could tell both boys wanted to argue, but they, wisely, chose to listen and disappeared back into their rooms. He waved his hand at each, casting a strong Locking Charm. He then summoned his robes and mask, left his home and wards, and pressed a hand to his Dark Mark, letting it bring him to Voldemort’s side.

Inside, both Harry and Draco fell onto their beds and stared despondently at the ceiling.

Maybe it isn’t any different here, they thought.