Severus sighed as he gazed out the large window and sipped his wine. He couldn’t settle his mind. He still could hardly believe the magical discoveries made in Potter and Malfoy. For the both of them to have such rare and powerful magic was amazing. Then there was the overwhelming guilt and blame both boys clearly had over their abuse. Both were in complete denial; Potter called it punishment and Malfoy called it training. Finally, there was what had happened with Potter earlier that day. It had not sounded like a normal dream. He hadn’t been surprised when both boys fell asleep during their pseudo-meditation. However, he had been startled when Potter suddenly began to scream. Malfoy had been startled awake and stared at Potter in horror, eventually leaving the sofa to give Potter space. Severus hadn’t known what to do except to try and wake Potter. It had taken several long minutes while the agonized screams continued, pulling at something deep inside him.

The obvious pain Potter had been in upon waking had also greatly concerned him, especially when two Pain Relievers seemed to have little effect. Then Potter had told them what he’d dreamed, what he’d seen. What had Potter experienced? How was it possible?

He took another sip of his wine. He wasn’t sure he could do it, take care of the two boys. He wasn’t the best choice for helping deal with trauma, incredible magic, and strange visions from a dark lord. While he’d felt a lessening in his hate of Potter and Malfoy as he got more inklings of their childhoods, it was still very slight. He had absolutely no desire to form any kind of relationship with either teen beyond student and teacher. Additionally, they were all putting themselves at such risk that summer. Any relationship other than hated students and teacher would be far too dangerous for all of them, considering their individual roles.

He pinched between his eyes as he felt a minor pounding in his skull. He just didn’t know what to think or do about it all. He spun when he heard a small sound and found Potter hovering awkwardly in the library doorway.

“Potter, you should be in bed,” Severus said, absently noting the tattered and hideous shirt and pants the boy was wearing as pajamas.

“Sorry, sir, I just…I couldn’t sleep,” Potter said, adjusting the crutch under his arm to be more comfortable. “I’ll go back to bed.”

“No, Potter, come sit,” Severus said. He saw a bit of surprise on the boy’s face and watched Potter limp to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He moved to sit on the end of the sofa furthest from Potter, resting his wineglass on the sofa arm. “I assume these wanderings are common?”

Potter looked at him and he could see suspicion in the green eyes. Eventually the boy just shrugged, turning his gaze back to the empty fireplace.

“Do you dream of your relatives often?” Severus asked, knowing both Potter and Malfoy had terrible nightmares nearly every night.

Potter shot him a guarded glare. “I’m not talking about them.”

“Why is that?” Severus asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Potter said and Severus rolled his eyes to himself.

“Do you think me an imbecile, Potter?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, just a bastard that’s looking for more things to use against me,” Potter snapped and Severus felt his anger rise at the tone, insult, and implication. He took a large drink of wine and blew out a deep breath to remain calm.

“I asked you and Malfoy earlier, have I hurt you since you’ve been here?” Severus said.

Potter’s glare was downright hateful. “You don’t have to hit me to hurt me.”

Severus found himself stunned at Potter’s clear reference to his verbal comments over the years. He didn’t think Potter cared enough about how Severus treated him to be hurt by the things he’d said. Sure, he knew he was vicious to his students, particularly Potter, but the Gryffindor had always fought back and responded with his own anger and hatred. Their volatile relationship had always been reciprocal. Had his treatment actually bothered Potter, upset him?

“I am unable to take back my past comments and treatment,” he said.

“Would you even want to?” Potter retorted harshly, causing Severus to blink, stunned once again. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Don’t pretend anything’s changed or that you understand anything.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not presume to know what other’s do or do not understand.”

He met Potter’s eyes steadily as the boy frowned at him. He saw Potter was about to say something when he spotted another hovering figure.

“Mr. Malfoy, take a seat,” Severus called out, watching as Potter swung around to watch Malfoy shuffle uncomfortably to the empty end of the sofa. “Also experiencing some insomnia?”

“It’s nothing,” Malfoy said quietly.

Severus couldn’t help his frustrated sigh as he took another long drink of his wine. He was going to need a refill at this rate. Potter and Malfoy very clearly needed help, but he couldn’t provide it. They needed someone they trusted, someone that would coddle them. He was not that person and never would be.

“I’m sure,” Severus said, unwilling to continue accepting their excuses and denials. He just raised an eyebrow when Malfoy glared at him.

“Just don’t,” Malfoy snapped.

“There is no need for either of you to hide that you are having nightmares,” Severus said, receiving glares. “I have woken you both from them in these couple weeks.”

Neither Potter or Malfoy had ever had their nightmares directly addressed before as their glares faltered in favour of wide eyes.

“Nightmares are normal, but can be managed. I do not know the exte—”

“Exactly, you don’t know!” Malfoy interrupted angrily.

“Mr. Malfoy—”

“No, he’s right, you don’t know anything so just leave it alone,” Potter jumped in.

Despite the tense situation, Severus was amused that the boys didn’t seem to realize they had agreed with each other and were teaming up against him. He knew very little about what both boys had gone through, but they truly were not too different. And, when he thought about it, they were not too different from him when he was their age.

“I likely know more than you think,” Severus said.

“You think so?” Malfoy sneered. “Did your father use the Cruciatus on you almost every day from the time you were four?”

“Or were you beaten within an inch of your life to ‘beat the freak out’ when you were five?” Potter added in.

Severus wasn’t sure if either of them were completely aware of what they had just revealed and not just to him, but to each other. He crossed his legs casually and gazed at them, a part of him wondering why he was about to admit this to them.

“My father was a Muggle so, no, there was no Cruciatus, but he made his dislike of having a magical son well known.”

The silence that filled the library was poignant. He was unsettled by having revealed something so personal about himself, but a part of him was telling him it had been necessary. He didn’t like the boys and he never would, but they needed to know someone could understand. Maybe then they would be willing to speak to someone about their abuse the way he never did.

He looked at them calmly as they stared at him with wide, puzzled eyes and tried to comprehend what they’d just heard. He understood the difficulty to accept the revelation into the image they had of him. He’d had the same struggle accepting ‘abused child’ into what he believed he knew about his students.

“I believe it is time we all returned to bed,” Severus said when no comments were forthcoming. “The two of you have hardly slept while you’ve been here, so take this. Dreamless Sleep.” He waved his hand and two vials popped into existence, floating in front of Potter and Malfoy.

Both hesitated before slowly taking the potions from the air.

“Go to bed and take the potion,” Severus instructed. “Go. Now,” he said when neither boy made any indication to move. With the push, they eventually got to their feet and he watched them slowly leave the library. Severus took some time to finish his wine and ignore the odd feelings he had to give Potter and Malfoy enough time to get into bed, take the potion, and fall asleep. He left the library eventually and quietly checked in on each boy, satisfied to find them both peacefully fast asleep.

Though his mind was no less chaotic, he returned to his own bed and did his best to get some additional sleep.

Harry looked up from the letters he was struggling to write as a light breeze blew through his hair. He gazed out at the huge expanse of green property, its end marked by a tall, intricate iron fence. He swung gently in the cushioned porch swing, feeling at least somewhat relaxed. He hated to admit it, even silently to himself, but, despite the company, he was beginning to enjoy Snape’s residence. It was a peaceful, open place and he adored it considering he was usually locked away inside Privet Drive. Being in the same quarters as Snape and Malfoy left a lot to be desired, but at the same time, again loathe though he was to admit it, they hadn’t been wholly terrible. Neither were the way they were at Hogwarts and Malfoy had obviously been through something too. Snape had said, if they tried, they’d find they weren’t so different, and maybe the professor was right. He didn’t like Malfoy, but he could sympathize with the idea of being horribly hurt by those that were supposed to love you. Then there had been Snape’s revelation the other night. Though vague, it was clear he had been admitting to also being harmed—abused—as a child. He’d been unable to understand what Snape had told them at the time and why. He still wasn’t completely sure on the why.

He sighed, enjoying the sun and continuous breeze. It had been an intense two weeks and he wasn’t sure what it all meant or was leading to.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned his head to look at Snape in the doorway.

“Come inside. We must speak with the headmaster,” Snape said, disappearing back inside, but leaving the door open for him.

Harry sighed again. After his strange dream during training, Snape had determined Dumbledore needed to be informed. He wasn’t sure he agreed and he didn’t really want to tell Dumbledore anything. The man had been oddly dismissive of him and, honestly, it hurt. He’d thought the headmaster cared about him, yet, now when he could use the most help, the man was pulling away, keeping him in the dark and alone.

He pushed off the swing, hopping into position on his crutch. He hobbled his way inside and into the sitting room. He hadn’t spent much time in the room, preferring the library, but it was a large, comfortable room as well. A huge fireplace domineered over the room that was filled with nothing but sofas, loveseats, and chairs, all sat on a fluffy white carpet. He headed to the sofa, sitting heavily, and looked at Snape and Dumbledore in their own respective seats around the room.

“Harry, Professor Snape tells me you had a strange dream the other day,” Dumbledore said, gazing at Harry over his glasses.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry said.

“Tell me about it,” Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair to listen.

“It was Lucius Malfoy. He was being tortured for not knowing where his son is,” Harry explained. “Voldemort wants Malfoy, said he’s meant to be Voldemort’s best.”

“And where were you in this dream?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced at Snape who, despite the rough conversation a couple nights before, was watching him calmly. Strangely, Harry felt his unease settle slightly at the sight. He turned back to the headmaster.

“I was the one torturing Mr. Malfoy. I was Voldemort. I could…feel him,” Harry admitted and felt his unease return full force when Dumbledore’s eyes turned serious. “Was…was I…possessed?” he asked, voicing the deep fear he’d had since that day.

“No, I do not believe that is what happened,” Dumbledore said. “However, there does seem to be more to the connection you share with Voldemort than we realized.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, feeling fear twist his stomach.

“I do not know everything, but it would seem you can both see through each other and enter each other’s minds,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort is likely unaware of your connection, but it may not remain that way.”

“So, he could enter my mind and see what I’m doing? Who I’m with?” Harry said, his fear growing. What would that mean for his friends? Would he be putting them all in danger?

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “It is unknown the full extent of what he could do should he become aware of this connection.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “What do I do?”

“I feel it would be prudent for you to learn to protect your mind before Voldemort discovers your connection,” Dumbledore said and Harry frowned, confused. “Professor Snape will teach you.”

Harry looked at Snape, finding the man looked surprised and annoyed. More training with Snape?

“Headmaster, I hardly think—” Snape tried to argue but was cut off.

“Severus, there really is no other option. It seems it is imperative Harry learn this,” Dumbledore said.

“The amount of trust required simply does not exist between us,” Snape said and Harry silently agreed. Virtually no trust existed between the two of them.

“You will have to make it work regardless,” Dumbledore said.

Snape frowned, still seemingly irritated, but appeared to grudgingly accept the headmaster’s order. “And what of Mr. Malfoy?”

“What about him, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry watched Snape’s eyebrow jump and looked back at the headmaster, confused by the almost cold expression Dumbledore had acquired as they mentioned Malfoy. Surely Dumbledore was concerned about the Slytherin. Dumbledore cared about all of his students…didn’t he?

“Do you still intend for him to return to Lucius?” Snape said, seeming to be confused about the headmaster’s demeanour as well.

“Of course. There is no other choice,” Dumbledore said.

“Headmaster, the danger the boy will be in is astronomical. You heard Potter. The Dark Lord wants Malfoy,” Snape said. “I can only imagine the things the Dark Lord will subject Mr. Malfoy to were he to discover Mr. Malfoy’s true powers.”

Harry was surprised at the odd jolt he felt in his chest. Snape was right. Between Lucius and Voldemort, Malfoy was in a load of danger. He had run away from what both of them had planned for him. And, Malfoy’s new magic? Voldemort would want to use it, would enslave and imprison Malfoy to keep it for himself.

“We can ensure Voldemort never learns of Mr. Malfoy’s magic,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Malfoy will also need to learn Occlumency.”

Harry was stunned. Dumbledore was willing to send Malfoy back, directly into Voldemort’s hands?

“Albus, you cannot be serious,” Snape said, starting to sound angry now. “A week is not nearly enough time for the boy to learn anything.”

“You will have to make it work,” Dumbledore repeated.

“It takes years to become a proficient Occlumens, you know that,” Snape said, glaring at the headmaster.

“He simply needs to know how to hide a few specific memories and his magic,” Dumbledore said.

Harry frowned even more. Simply? That didn’t sound simple.

“Which takes proficiency!” Snape snapped. “It cannot be done in a week!”

“I have faith, my boy,” Dumbledore said with a smile that almost seemed condescending. “I must be off. Thank you for telling me about your dream, Harry.”

“Uh, right,” Harry said, too stunned by the man’s strange treatment of Malfoy.

“Work hard, boys,” Dumbledore said and Harry watched with furrowed eyebrows as the headmaster left, presumably to take the Floo in the study. He looked back at Snape who was rubbing his forehead, eyes closed in obvious irritation. He really had no idea what had just been decided or arranged, but it couldn’t be good if it had Snape frustrated. Eventually the man moved his hand so his cheek was propped between his forefinger and thumb. He stared straight ahead with faraway eyes.

“You may go, Potter. Finish your letters and I will deliver them at tomorrow’s Order meeting,” Snape said, his tone oddly neutral considering the anger in the dark eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly and left the sofa. He paused in the doorway and looked back at the professor, unable to describe or explain the emotions he was feeling.

Draco stared at the small glow in the distance with a frown. He looked around, finding himself in a huge, dark room. He could tell the room was filled with shelves, could feel the space around him was filled and could just make out shadowy edges. He couldn’t see anything else, though, except the small light some distance away, and it was all he seemed to care about. Whatever it was, was calling to him. He needed to know what it was.

He started walking towards it, realizing he was walking down a path created by the shelves on either side of him. As he walked, he passed more and more shelves. They seemed to be never-ending and he still didn’t know what they held.

He paused and looked to his right, suddenly concerned and confused that he couldn’t make out anything around him. Where was he? He raised a hand to try and touch the shelves he knew to be there, but then the light in the distance pulsed. His attention was pulled back to it and, again, it was as though it was the only thing that mattered.

He continued down the center aisle, the light growing just a little larger. He heard a sound then, a muffled scream.

He frowned. Was he not alone?

He turned around, away from the light, and jumped when something suddenly fell in front of him, shattering at his feet, obviously made of glass. He kicked at the shards, making them tinkle across what seemed to be a marble floor.

Where the hell was he?

Another muffled scream made him turn around again, back towards the light. Only now, it was gone and he was left in complete darkness. His heart began to pound with anxiety and his eyes darted around, desperate to see something.

He was suddenly overcome by excruciating pain and collapsed to the floor. He screamed, tearing his throat. Yet, through his screams, he could still hear another.

Who was that? He needed to help them.

In the midst of his torture, his eyes snapped open and he forced himself awake.

He flew up in bed, breathing hard at the remembered Cruciatus. He hadn’t seen his father in the dream, but he knew that’s who had been torturing him. It was always Lucius. He would never escape.

His head snapped up when he registered a muted scream, just like in the dream. It was real. He’d been hearing a real scream. He tossed his blanket off and approached his door, quietly pulling it open. He peeked into the dark hallway, illuminated only by a sconce on the wall by Snape’s bedroom door. Both Snape’s and Potter’s doors were closed and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He was about to return to bed when he heard it again. It was coming from Potter’s room. He quickly but quietly padded across the hall, putting his ear to Potter’s door before slowly opening it. Like his, the room was dark with the lack of moonlight, but he was still able to make out a twisting Potter on the bed.

He fully entered the room, hurrying to the side of the bed. He stared down at the thrashing Potter with wide eyes, jumping and cringing at the strangled scream that rang out. Was it a nightmare? Or was it whatever had happened in training a few days ago? That had been terrifying. So was this.

What should he do? Where was Snape? The professor seemed to always know when they were having a nightmare and needed to be woken up.

Biting his lip, he reached out and gently grasped Potter’s shoulder, shaking it a little. “Potter, wake up. You’re fine.”

Potter screamed again. It was anguished and Draco felt a tug in his chest. He shook Potter a bit harder.

“Potter, you’re okay,” he said louder, starting to feel a hint of worry when the green eyes snapped open.

Draco hissed at the sting he felt on his cheek as an almost charged-like air rushed past him. He didn’t know what happened, but he ignored it for now, focusing on Potter.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, watching Potter take shaky breaths and swing his eyes to Draco.

“Snape,” the Gryffindor gasped out, his eyes still wild.

Draco frowned. “He’s in bed, I think. I can ge—”

He was interrupted by Potter shaking his head violently and pushing himself up so he was sitting.

“He’s not here,” Potter said, bringing a hand up to rub his scar which Draco realized was an angry red. “Summoned. He was being tortured.”

“Why?” Draco asked.

“For not knowing where I am, why I wasn’t in Privet Drive,” Potter said.

Draco was about to speak when they heard a door slam downstairs. Glancing at each other, they hurried out to the hall, Potter barely managing to position his crutch properly. They watched the dark figure that was Snape storm his way up the stairs and towards them. Draco couldn’t help but step back at the sight of Snape in overly familiar black robes and silver mask in hand. How often he’d seen his father in the same clothes and how often he’d receive some kind of torture upon his father’s return.

“What are you two doing?” Snape growled when he finally realized they were there.

“Sir, I saw—” Potter started only for Snape’s eyes to blaze dangerously.

“Get to bed!” Snape said loudly, brushing past them.

“Do you need help?” Draco asked. “Potter said—”

“Do not make me tell you again,” Snape said angrily. “To bed.”

“But, sir—” they said together.

“Bed!” Snape yelled, his eyes flashing and mouth turning into a snarl. “Do not presume I need help from the ones responsible for putting me in this position.”

Draco was taken aback at the pain he felt at the hateful words. Glancing at Potter, he was sure he saw the same pain in the Gryffindor’s face. Was it really all their fault?

“Get out of my sight,” Snape said and disappeared into his room.

Draco and Potter jumped at the slamming door, leaving them in a deafening silence. Draco looked between Potter and Snape’s room, filled with hurt and confusion. They hadn’t been necessarily friendly with each other and they would obviously never like each other, but he was still surprised by the pure hate Snape had just shown them. He’d been…tolerant this last week, so the return of his anger and the volatility in his voice was shocking. Looking at Potter showed the Gryffindor seemed to also be conflicted.

“Potter—” he started, unsure what to say but knowing he wanted to say something. However, Potter cut him off before he could continue.

“Just shut up, Malfoy. Leave me alone,” Potter said, his tone almost bitter.

He watched the Gryffindor limp back into his room, swinging the door shut behind him. Draco, alone in the hall, sighed and returned to his bedroom. Unsurprisingly, he got no more sleep that night.

Draco frowned at the long, but thin cut on his left cheek just above the cheekbone. His fingers ghosted over it, wincing at the slight sting. It must’ve been what he felt when he woke Potter, but how had it happened? He dropped his hand and sighed, still feeling the hurt from Snape’s blame. Was it all truly their fault, his and Potter’s? He had run away rather than just taking his training as he always had which had caused Lucius’ torture and Voldemort’s anger. Potter had also run away and refused to go back which seemed to have led to the Muggles’ murders and now Snape’s torture. Being with Snape had caused the professor even more risk in his position.

He supposed Snape was right. It was their fault.

With another sigh, sadder this time, he left his bathroom to get dressed and head to breakfast. He was surprised Snape hadn’t called him down yet. He normally knocked on their doors at eight so they could be down for eight-thirty.

He left his room to find Potter’s door open, indicating the Gryffindor was already downstairs, and Snape’s door closed, like usual. He headed downstairs and to the dining room, surprised once again when he found only Potter at the table. Potter looked at him and shrugged, obviously clueless about Snape’s absence like him. He slid into his normal seat and food appeared on the table.

It was strange to be eating without Snape which, he supposed, was a strange thought in and of itself. It’s not like it was nice being around Snape or overly comfortable, but it had seemed like there had been minute changes. Aside from last night, Snape hadn’t actually yelled at them for…days. It had almost felt like he was helping them and not just because Dumbledore was making him. There was no kindness or care in the help, but it was help, something neither he nor Potter had ever really had before. Due to this, the tension in the manor had eased somewhat.

Until now.

He and Potter ate in a heavy silence, both contemplating how much they were to blame and what they should do. He figured he should just go back to Malfoy Manor and accept whatever was waiting for him. He was a Malfoy and he would take anything with the grace befitting the name. he wondered what Potter was deciding since he had no home to return to.

He glanced at the Gryffindor as Potter apparently finished his breakfast and pushed away from the table. The other boy hadn’t eaten much, but he said nothing as he watched Potter easily prop himself on his crutch and limped from the room.

Left alone, Draco found his stomach begin to twist and he abandoned his own breakfast, suddenly feeling ill. He didn’t have much time to try and settle his stomach before Snape’s voice was echoing angrily through the manor.

“Malfoy! Library immediately!”

The twisting got worse, making it painful as well as sickening. He wanted to ignore the demand, but he didn’t want to know how far Snape would go if enraged. At Hogwarts, he was restrained by rules, but, in his own home, Snape could do anything to them. He left the dining room and headed up the stairs, catching Potter’s eye as the Gryffindor headed outside. The worry in the green eyes did nothing to make him feel better. He hurried up the stairs and to the library, hesitantly slipping into the room.

Snape was facing away from the doors in the center of the room with a normal wooden chair with a cushion set up behind him. The professor was dressed in his normal black outfit, but without the billowing outer robe. Everything seemed normal, if a little more like how it was at Hogwarts rather than what it had been like the last week. Draco didn’t know what to think.

“Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his tone unreadable just like his expression as he turned around.

Draco did as he was told, sitting in the chair stiffly.

“Do you know what Occlumency is?” Snape asked.

Draco frowned slightly. “Sort of, sir.”

“You will be required to master Occlumency in order to keep your Aether Magic hidden from the Dark Lord,” Snape said. “I assume your father had you learn as part of your…training.”

Draco flinched slightly at the way Snape drawled the word ‘training’. He still couldn’t tell what the tone was and it made him horribly uncomfortable, not knowing what Snape meant.

“No, sir, he never did,” Draco said.

“Pity,” Snape said, almost sneering. “He could have at least made your…training sessions productive.”

Draco felt another sting of pain. It was like Snape didn’t care what Lucius had done to Draco under the guise of training, only that the sessions hadn’t been more ‘productive’. Did Snape truly not care about the curses and beatings Lucius had inflicted on Draco his entire life? It had seemed like Snape hadn’t approved, had even disliked the idea that Draco and Potter had been so terribly hurt by their families. Was it all an act, a lie?

“You have a week to learn this,” Snape said and Draco blinked, stunned.

“A week? But, I…I can’t,” Draco argued weakly.

“Try,” Snape growled and he pulled his wand. “I am going to search for memories and your Aether Magic. Hide them and block me.”

Draco tensed. He’d heard of Occlumency, and read a little bit about it. He knew some of the theory, some of the concept, but he wasn’t sure he could put it into practice, especially not with his magic. How did he hide his magic?

“Legilimens,” Snape said harshly and he was pulled into his own mind.

Memories raced by as Snape searched, flinging unimportant ones to the side. Soon, his search stopped and a memory of Lucius torturing Draco after a Death Eater meeting began to play. It was like it was happening all over again and Draco couldn’t help but whimper. Snape pulled roughly from his mind, making him gasp as he returned to the library.

“Pathetic,” Snape spat. “Your father was always pitiful at Occlumency too.”

“I—I’m not…him,” Draco gasped out, his head beginning to ache.

“No, you are not,” Snape said and Draco couldn’t tell if the professor meant it as a good or bad thing. “Try again. Clear your mind, similar to when you found your magic.”

Draco was somewhat surprised at the little bit of direction and tried to do as he was told. He tried to think of nothing as Snape’s spell brought them into his memories again. When Snape landed on a ‘training’ session, he did manage to push him away to another, more inconsequential memory, but then the professor ducked him and dove deep. It was no longer just memories flying around, it was also his magic. The silver and white strands stood out from the gold. Draco tried to push Snape back into his normal mind, tried to stop the silver-white strands from leaving his core, but it was no use. He had no idea how to hide his magic.

Snape once again retreated harshly, increasing Draco’s headache.

“You are not even trying,” Snape said and Draco glared.

“I am! I stopped you from seeing the memory,” Draco pointed out.

“But not your magic which the Dark Lord will detect in an instant,” Snape said.

“I don’t know how to hide magic!” Draco said loudly.

“You must unless you want the Dark Lord to use you!” Snape shouted back. “Is that what you want? Enslavement?”

“No, but it’s what I’m going to get!” Draco yelled. “I obviously don’t have a choice! I’m going back no matter what, so why bother with all of this?”

“To protect yourself, you idiot!”

“I can’t!”

Tears formed in Draco’s eyes.

“I am not what anyone wants me to be and I’m going to die because of it,” Draco said, his voice falling quiet. “I’m going to die and it’s my fault because I can’t be my father.”

He wasn’t sure if he expected Snape to say anything, but he didn’t give the man a chance either way.

“You said it yourself, it’s our fault,” Draco said, trying to hold back his pooling tears. “Potter and I know what we’ve done. We never wanted anyone to get hurt or die because we couldn’t just take it, couldn’t just accept it for being what we deserved. We don’t want anyone to get hurt, so just don’t bother and send us back. It’s no more than we deserve and we know that.”

Snape’s dark eyes remained completely unreadable, deep voids of seemingly nothing. Draco was powerless to stop the few tears that fell, but quickly swiped them away as he rose from the chair. He gave the professor a long, sad stare before leaving him in the library.